JULY.

Then came hot July, boiling like to fire,That all his garments he had cast away.Upon a lyon raging yet with ireHe boldly rode, and made him to obey:(It was the beast that whilom did forrayThe Nemæan forest, till the AmphitrionideHim slew, and with his hide did him array:)Behind his backe a sithe, and by his sideUnder his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.

July is the seventh month of the year. According to ancient reckoning it was the fifth, and calledQuintilis, until Mark Antony denominated it July, in compliment to Caius Cæsar, the Roman dictator, whose surname was Julius, who improved the calendar, and was born in this month.

July was called by the Saxonshen-monath, which probably expressed the meaning of the German wordhain, signifying wood or trees; and hencehen-monathmight mean foliage month. They likewise called itheymonath, orhaymonth; “because,” says Verstegan, “therein they usually mowed and made their hay harvest;” and they also denominated itLida-aftera, meaning the second “Lida,” or second month after the sun’s descent.[205]

The beautifulrepresentationpreceding Spenser’s personification of July, on thepreceding page, was designed and engraved by Mr. Samuel Williams, of whom it should in justice be said, that his talents have enriched theEvery-Day Bookwith most of its best illustrations.

Now comes July, and with his fervid noonUnsinews labour. The swinkt mower sleeps;The weary maid rakes feebly; the warm swainPitches his load reluctant; the faint steer,Lashing his sides, draws sulkily alongThe slow encumbered wain in midday heat.

Mr. Leigh Hunt in hisMonths, after remarking that “July is so called after Julius Cæsar, who contrived to divide his names between months and dynasties, and among his better deeds of ambition reformed the calendar,” proceeds to notice, that—“The heat is greatest in this month on account of its previous duration. The reason why it is less so in August is, that the days are then much shorter, and the influence of the sun has been gradually diminishing. The farmer is still occupied in getting the productions of the earth into his garners; but those who can avoid labour enjoy as much rest and shade as possible. There is a sense of heat and quiet all over nature. The birds are silent. The little brooks are dried up. The earth is chapped with parching. The shadows of the trees are particularly grateful, heavy, and still. The oaks, which are freshest because latest in leaf, form noble clumpy canopies, looking, as you lie under them, of a strong and emulous green against the blue sky. The traveller delights to cut across the country through the fields and the leafy lanes, where nevertheless the flints sparkle with heat. The cattle get into the shade, or stand in the water. The active and air-cutting swallows, now beginning to assemble for migration, seek their prey about the shady places, where the insects, though of differently compounded natures, ‘fleshless and bloodless,’ seem to get for coolness, as they do at other times for warmth. The sound of insects is also the only audible thing now, increasing rather than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle contrast. The bee now and then sweeps across the ear with his gravest tone. The gnats

Their murmuring small trumpets sounden wide;Spenser.

Their murmuring small trumpets sounden wide;

Spenser.

and here and there the little musician of the grass touches forth his tricksy note.

The poetry of earth is never dead;When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,And hide in cooling trees, a voice will runFrom hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:That is the grasshopper’s.Keats.

The poetry of earth is never dead;When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,And hide in cooling trees, a voice will runFrom hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:That is the grasshopper’s.

Keats.

“Besides some of the flowers of last month, there are now candy-tufts, catchfly, columbines, egg-plant, French marygolds, lavateras, London-pride, marvel of Peru, veronicas, tuberoses, which seem born of the white rose and lily; and scarlet-beans, which though we are apt to think little of them because they furnish us with a good vegetable, are quick and beautiful growers, and in a few weeks will hang a walk or trellis with an exuberant tapestry of scarlet and green.

“The additional trees and shrubs in flower are bramble, button-wood, iteas, cistuses, climbers, and broom. Pimpernel, cockle, and fumitory, are now to be found in corn-fields, the blue-bell in wastes or by the road-sides; and the luxuriant hop is flowering.

“The fruits begin to abound and are more noticed, in proportion to the necessity for them occasioned by the summer heat. The strawberries are in their greatest quantity and perfection; andcurrants, gooseberries, and raspberries, have a world of juice for us, prepared, as it were, in so many crowds of little bottles, in which the sunshine has turned the dews of April into wine. The strawberry lurks about under a beautiful leaf. Currants are also extremely beautiful. A handsome bunch looks like pearls or rubies, and an imitation of it would make a most graceful ear-ring. We have seen it, when held lightly by fair fingers, present as lovely a drop, and piece of contrast, as any holding hand in a picture of Titian.

“Bulbous rooted flowers, that have almost done with their leaves, should now be taken up, and deposited in shallow wooden boxes. Mignionette should be transplanted into small pots, carnations be well attended to and supported, and auriculas kept clean from dead leaves and weeds, and in dry weather frequently watered.

“It is now the weather for bathing, a refreshment too little taken in this country, either in summer or winter. We say in winter, because with very little care in placing it near a cistern, and having a leathern pipe for it, a bath may be easily filled once or twice a week with warm water; and it is a vulgar error that the warm bath relaxes. An excess, either warm or cold, will relax; and so will any other excess: but the sole effect of the warm bath moderately taken is, that it throws off the bad humours of the body by opening and clearing the pores. As to summer bathing, a father may soon teach his children to swim, and thus perhaps might be the means of saving their lives some day or other, as well as health. Ladies also, though they cannot bathe in the open air as they do in some of the West Indian islands and other countries, by means of natural basins among the rocks, might oftener make a substitute for it at home in tepid baths. The most beautiful aspects under which Venus has been painted or sculptured, have been connected with bathing: and indeed there is perhaps no one thing that so equally contributes to the three graces of health, beauty, and good temper;—to health, in putting the body into its best state; to beauty, in clearing and tinting the skin; and to good temper, in rescuing the spirits from the irritability occasioned by those formidable personages ‘the nerves,’ which nothing else allays in so quick and entire a manner. See a lovely passage on the subject of bathing in sir Philip Sydney’s ‘Arcadia,’ where ‘Philoclea, blushing, and withall smiling, making shamefastnesse pleasant, and pleasure shamefast, tenderly moved her feet, unwonted to feel the naked ground, until the touch of the cold water made a pretty kind of shrugging come over her body, like the twinkling of the fairest among the fixed stars.’”

[205]Dr. Frank Sayers.

St. Rumbold, Bp.A. D.775.Sts. JuliusandAaron.St. Theobald, orThibault, 11th Cent.St. Gal I.Bp. 5th Cent.St. Calais, orCarilephus,A. D.542.St. Leonorus, orLunaire, Bp.St. Simeon Salus, 6th Cent.St. Thieri,A. D.533.St. Cybar,A. D.581.

1690. The battle of the Boyne, fought on this day, decided the fate of James II. and the Stuart tyranny, and established William III. on the throne of the people.

Agrimony.Agrimonia Eupatoria.Dedicated toSt. Aaron.

Visitation of the B. Virgin.Sts. ProcessusandMartinian, 1st Cent.St. Otho, Bp. 12th Cent.St. Monegoude,A. D.570.St. Oudoceus, Bp. of Landaff, 6th Cent.

White Lily.Lilium candidum.Dedicated to theVirgin Mary.

A Morning’s Walk in July.But when mild morn, in saffron stole,First issues from her eastern goal,Let not my due feet fail to climbSome breezy summit’s brow sublime,Whence Nature’s universal faceIllumined smiles with newborn grace,The misty streams that wind belowWith silver sparkling lustre glow,The groves and castled cliffs appearInvested all in radiance clear;O! every village charm beneath.The smoke that mounts in azure wreathO beauteous rural interchange!The simple spire and elmy grange;Content, indulging blissful hours,Whistles o’er the fragrant flowers:And cattle rous’d to pasture new,Shake jocund from their sides the dew.[206]

A Morning’s Walk in July.

But when mild morn, in saffron stole,First issues from her eastern goal,Let not my due feet fail to climbSome breezy summit’s brow sublime,Whence Nature’s universal faceIllumined smiles with newborn grace,The misty streams that wind belowWith silver sparkling lustre glow,The groves and castled cliffs appearInvested all in radiance clear;O! every village charm beneath.The smoke that mounts in azure wreathO beauteous rural interchange!The simple spire and elmy grange;Content, indulging blissful hours,Whistles o’er the fragrant flowers:And cattle rous’d to pasture new,Shake jocund from their sides the dew.[206]

[206]Ode on the Approach of Summer.

St. Phocas, a Gardener,A. D.303.St. Guthagon.St. Gunthiern, a Welsh Prince, 6th Cent.St. Bertram, 6th Cent.

On the 3d of July is annually celebrated, in Paris, in the church of St. Leu and St. Giles, a solemn office, in commemoration of amiraclewrought by the blessed virgin, in la Rue aux Ours, or the street for the bears; the history of which is as follows:—In the year 1518, a soldier coming out of a tavern in this Bear-street, where he had been gambling, and losing his money and clothes, was blaspheming the name of God; and as he passed by the image of the holy virgin, standing very quietly and inoffensively at the corner of the street, he struck it,or her, furiously with a knife he had in his hand; on whichGod permitted, as the modern and modest tellers of this tale say, the image to bleed abundantly. The ministers of justice were informed, and the wretch was seized, conducted to the spot where he had committed the sacrilege, tied to a post, and scourged, from six o’clock in the morning till night, till his eyes dropped out; his tongue was bored with a hot iron, and his body was cast into the fire. The blessed image was transported to Rome. This was the origin of a ceremony still remembered, and which once was very curious. The zeal of the inhabitants of Bear-street was conspicuous, and their devotion to the blessed virgin not less so. At first they only made the figure of the soldier, as we in England do of Guy Faux, and threw it into the fire; by degrees the feast became more solemn, and the soldier, who had been rudely fashioned out of faggots, was at last a composition of fireworks, which, after being carried in procession through the streets of Paris, took a flight into the air, to the great joy and edification of the Parisians, particularly of Bear-street. At last, however, the magistrates wisely recollected that the streets being narrow, and the buildings numerous in that part of the city, a fire might happen, and it would then be still more miraculous if the holy image should travel from Rome to Paris to extinguish the flames: not to mention that the holy image might not at that precise moment be so plentifully supplied as on a similar occasion our friend Gulliver was. In 1744, therefore, they forbad any future fire-work soldiers, and the poor distressed inhabitants of Bear-street, were once more reduced to their man of wood, whom they continue to burn with great affection every 3d of July, after having walked him about Paris three days. This figure is now made of osier, clothed, and armed with a knife, and of so horrid an appearance, it would undoubtedly frighten women and children who did not know the story of the sacrilegious soldier; as it is, they believe they see him breathe blasphemy. Messieurs, the associated gentlemen of Bear-street, give the money formerly spent in fireworks, to make a procession to the proxy of the blessed image which now stands where the bleeding one did, and to say a solemn mass to the blessed virgin, for the souls of the defunct gentlemen, associates of Bear-street. The mummery existed under Napoleon, as appears by the preceding particulars, dated Paris, July 12, 1807, and may be seen in theSunday Advertiser, of the 19th of that month.

On the 3d of July, 1810, a small loaf fastened by a string, was suspended from the equestrian statue at Charing-cross, to which was attached a placard, stating that it was purchased from a baker, and was extremely deficient in weight, and was one of a numerous batch. The notice concluded by simply observing, “Does this not deserve theaidof parliament?”This exhibition attracted a great crowd of people, until the whole of the loaf was nearly washed away by subsequent heavy rain.

“The Dog-star rages.”

Sirius, or the Dog-star, is represented as in the aboveengraving, on a garnet gem, in lord Besborough’s collection, etched by Worlidge. The late Mr. William Butler, in hisChronological Exercises, says, that on this day “commence, according to the almanacs, the Canicular, or Dog-days, which are a certain number of days preceding and following the heliacal rising of Canicula, or the Dog-star, in the morning. Their beginning is usually fixed in the calendars on the 3d of July, and their termination on the 11th of August; but this is a palpable mistake, since the heliacal rising of this star does not now take place, at least in our latitude, till near the latter end of August; and in five or six thousand years more, Canicula may chance to be charged with bringing frost and snow, as it will then, owing to the precession of the equinoxes, rise in November and December.”

Dr. Hutton remarks, that some authors say, from Hippocrates and Pliny, that the day this star first rises in the morning, the sea boils, wine turns sour, dogs begin to grow mad, the bile increases and irritates, and all animals grow languid; also, “the diseases it usually occasions in men are burning fevers, hysterics, and phrensies. The Romans sacrificed abrown dogevery year to Canicula, at his first rising to appease his rage.”

A Cambridge contributor to theEvery-Day Bookaffirms, that, in the year 1824, an edict was issued there for all persons keeping dogs either tomuzzleortie them up, and many a dog was tied up by the neck as a sacrifice; whether to theMayororCanicular, this deponent saith not; but the act and deed gave rise to the following

JEU D’ESPRIT.Good mister MayorAlldogsdeclareThe beam of justice falters!To miss thepuppies—sure she’s blind,Fordogsthey are alone consign’dTomuzzlesor tohalters!Cambridge,T. N.

JEU D’ESPRIT.

Good mister MayorAlldogsdeclareThe beam of justice falters!To miss thepuppies—sure she’s blind,Fordogsthey are alone consign’dTomuzzlesor tohalters!

Cambridge,

T. N.

Mr. Brady observes, in his “Clavis Calendaria,” “That the weather in July and August is generally more sultry than at any other period of the year, and that some particular diseases are consequently at that time more to be dreaded, both to man and beast, is past dispute. The exaggerated effects of the rising of Sirius are now, however, known to be groundless; and the superior heat usually felt during the Dog-days has been more philosophically accounted for. The sun, at this period of the year, not only darts his rays almost perpendicularly upon us, and of course with greater power; but has also continued to exert his influence through the spring and summer seasons, whereby the atmosphere and earth have received a warmth, proportioned to the continuity of its action; and moisture, in itself naturally cold, has been dissipated. Even in the course of aday, which has been aptly typified as ashort year, the greatest effect of the sun is generally felt at about two o’clock, although it has then passed the meridian, because by having so much longer exerted its powers, its consequent effects are more than commensurate for the diminution of heat in its rays. The cold of winter in like manner augments about the time the days begin toincrease, andcontinuesto do so, for a considerable time after, because, at that season, the earth has become wet and chilled, from the effects of the preceding gradualdecrease of power in the sun, although,at that time, when the cold is usually most severe, that orb is ascensive, and returning from the winter solstice: and our Saxon ancestors wereexperimentallyso well aware of this latter circumstance,that in the delineation on their calendars, to illustrate the characters of the months they represented February, as a man in the act of striking his arms across his body to warm himself: while there is also yet in common use a very old saying, grounded upon the like conviction, that ‘when the days lengthen, the frost is sure to strengthen.’

“The early Egyptians, whosehieroglyphical characters, aptly adapted bythemto the peculiarity of their climate and circumstances, were the principal or perhaps sole origin of all the heathenish superstitions of other nations, were taught by long observation and experience, that as soon as a particular star became visible, theNilewould overflow its banks; and they accordingly upon its very first appearance retreated to their terraces, where they remained until the inundation had subsided. This star, therefore, was called by themSihor, i. e. the Nile; as Σείριος is in Greek, andSiriusin Latin; and from thewarningit afforded them, they typified it as adog, or in most cases as a man with a dog’s head; that faithful animal having been, even in those times, distinguished for his peculiar qualities of watching over the affairs of man, and affordingwarningof approaching danger. The names assigned to this star by the Egyptians wasThaaut, orTayout, thedog; and in later timesSothis,Thotes, orThot, each bearing the like signification; but it was left for the subsequent ignorance of those other nations who adopted that character forSihor, nowSirius, without considering the true origin of its appellation, falsely to assign to it, the increasing heat of the season, and its consequent effects upon animated nature. The idea, however, of any such effects, either as to heat, or to disorders, from the influence of the canicular star, is now wholly exploded, from the reasons already assigned, and because ‘that star not only varies in its rising every year, as the latitude varies, but that it rises later and later every year in all latitudes;’ so that when it rises in winter, which, by the way, cannot be for five or six thousand years, it might, with equal propriety, be charged with increasing the frost: and besides, it is to be observed, that although Sirius is the nearest to the earth of any of thefixed stars, it is computed to be at the enormous distance of 2,200,000,000,000 miles from our globe; a space too prodigious to admit of its rays affordingany sensible heat: and which could not be passed by a cannon-ball, flying with its calculated velocity of 480 miles in one hour, in less than 523,211 years! Upon the whole, therefore, it evidently appears, that the origin of the name of this star was not only wholly disregarded, but that common and undigested opinion made itsconjunctionwith thesun, thecauseof heat, &c. instead of having regarded it as asignof the period when such effects might naturally be expected.”

There is no cure for the bite of a mad dog; and as at this time dogs go mad, it is proper to observe, that immediate burning out of the bitten part by caustic, or the cutting of it out by the surgeon’s knife, is the only remedy. If either burning or cutting be omitted, the bitten person, unless opiumed to death, or smothered between featherbeds, will in a few days or weeks die in unspeakable agony. The latter means are said to have been sometimes resorted to as a merciful method of extinguishing life. It is an appalling fact, thatthere is no cure for hydrophobia.

Preventive is better than cure, and in this case it is easy. Dogs, however useful in some situations, are wholly useless in towns. Exterminate them.

Against this a cry will go forth from all dog-owners: they will condemn the measure as proceeding from a barbarian; buttheyare the barbarians who keep animals subject to a disease fatal to human life. Such persons, so far from being entitled to a voice against its execution, merit abhorrence and contempt for daring to propose that every man, woman, and child among their friends and neighbours, should run the risk of a cruel death for the gratification of selfishness. Every honest man in every town who keeps a dog, should destroy it, and use his influence with others to destroy theirs. No means of preventinghydrophobiaexists but the destruction of dogs.

Oh! but dogs are useful; they guard our houses at night; they go in carts and guard our goods by day; they catch our rats; and, then, they are such faithful creatures! All this, though very true, does not urge one reason against their destruction as a preventive from their communicating a fatal and wholly incurable disease. Instead of house-dogs at night, get additional watchmen, or securewatchmen more vigilant than those you have, by paying a proper price for the important services required of them, which in most places are not half requited. Instead of cart-dogs, employ boys, of whom there are scores half-starving, who would willingly take charge of carts at little more than the expense of dog-keep. If rats must be caught, cats can catch them, or they may be poisoned. Instead of cultivating the fidelity of dogs, let dog-keepers cultivate a little fidelity in themselves towards their neighbours, and do as they would be done unto, by destroying their dogs.

Oh, but would you deprive the “poor” man of his dog? Yes. The poorer he is, the less occasion he has for a dog, and the less ability he has to maintain a dog. Few poor men in towns keep dogs but for the purpose of sport of some kind; making matches to fight them, drawing badgers with them, baiting bulls with them, or otherwise brutally misemploying them.

An act of parliament, inflicting heavy penalties for keeping dogs in towns, and empowering constables, beadles, street-keepers, and others, with rewards for carrying it into effect on every dog they meet, would put an end tohydrophobia.

It is a common practice to kill dogs at this season in some parts of the continent, and so did our ancestors. Ben Jonson, in his “Bartholomew Fair,” speaks of “thedog-killerin this month of August.” A dog-destroyer in every parish would be an important public officer.Remember!there is no cure for the bite of a mad dog.

To the Bellflower.With drooping bells of clearest blueThou didst attract my childish view,Almost resemblingThe azure butterflies that flewWhere on the heath thy blossoms grewSo lightly trembling.Where feathery fern and golden broomIncrease the sandrock cavern’s gloomI’ve seen thee tangled,’Mid tufts of purple heather bloomBy vain Arachne’s treacherous loomWith dewdrops spangled.’Mid ruins tumbling to decay,Thy flowers their heavenly hues display,Still freshly springing,Where pride and pomp have passed awayOn mossy tomb and turret gray,Like friendship clinging.When glowworm lamps illume the sceneAnd silvery daisies dot the green,Thy flowers revealing,Perchance to soothe the fairy queen,With faint sweet tones on night sereneSoft bells are pealing.But most I love thine azure braid,When softer flowers are all decayed,And thou appearestStealing beneath the hedgerow shade,Like joys that linger as they fade,Whose last are dearest.Thou art the flower of memory;The pensive soul recalls in theeThe year’s past pleasures;And, led by kindred thought, will flee,Till, back to careless infancy,The path she measures.Beneath autumnal breezes bleak,So faintly fair, so sadly meek,I’ve seen thee bending,Pale as the pale blue veins that streakConsumption’s thin, transparent cheek,With death hues blending.Thou shalt be sorrow’s love and mineThe violet and the eglantineWith Spring are banished.In Summer pinks and roses shine,But I of thee my wreath will twine,When these are vanished.May you like it.

To the Bellflower.

With drooping bells of clearest blueThou didst attract my childish view,Almost resemblingThe azure butterflies that flewWhere on the heath thy blossoms grewSo lightly trembling.Where feathery fern and golden broomIncrease the sandrock cavern’s gloomI’ve seen thee tangled,’Mid tufts of purple heather bloomBy vain Arachne’s treacherous loomWith dewdrops spangled.’Mid ruins tumbling to decay,Thy flowers their heavenly hues display,Still freshly springing,Where pride and pomp have passed awayOn mossy tomb and turret gray,Like friendship clinging.When glowworm lamps illume the sceneAnd silvery daisies dot the green,Thy flowers revealing,Perchance to soothe the fairy queen,With faint sweet tones on night sereneSoft bells are pealing.But most I love thine azure braid,When softer flowers are all decayed,And thou appearestStealing beneath the hedgerow shade,Like joys that linger as they fade,Whose last are dearest.Thou art the flower of memory;The pensive soul recalls in theeThe year’s past pleasures;And, led by kindred thought, will flee,Till, back to careless infancy,The path she measures.Beneath autumnal breezes bleak,So faintly fair, so sadly meek,I’ve seen thee bending,Pale as the pale blue veins that streakConsumption’s thin, transparent cheek,With death hues blending.Thou shalt be sorrow’s love and mineThe violet and the eglantineWith Spring are banished.In Summer pinks and roses shine,But I of thee my wreath will twine,When these are vanished.

With drooping bells of clearest blueThou didst attract my childish view,Almost resemblingThe azure butterflies that flewWhere on the heath thy blossoms grewSo lightly trembling.

Where feathery fern and golden broomIncrease the sandrock cavern’s gloomI’ve seen thee tangled,’Mid tufts of purple heather bloomBy vain Arachne’s treacherous loomWith dewdrops spangled.

’Mid ruins tumbling to decay,Thy flowers their heavenly hues display,Still freshly springing,Where pride and pomp have passed awayOn mossy tomb and turret gray,Like friendship clinging.

When glowworm lamps illume the sceneAnd silvery daisies dot the green,Thy flowers revealing,Perchance to soothe the fairy queen,With faint sweet tones on night sereneSoft bells are pealing.

But most I love thine azure braid,When softer flowers are all decayed,And thou appearestStealing beneath the hedgerow shade,Like joys that linger as they fade,Whose last are dearest.

Thou art the flower of memory;The pensive soul recalls in theeThe year’s past pleasures;And, led by kindred thought, will flee,Till, back to careless infancy,The path she measures.

Beneath autumnal breezes bleak,So faintly fair, so sadly meek,I’ve seen thee bending,Pale as the pale blue veins that streakConsumption’s thin, transparent cheek,With death hues blending.

Thou shalt be sorrow’s love and mineThe violet and the eglantineWith Spring are banished.In Summer pinks and roses shine,But I of thee my wreath will twine,When these are vanished.

May you like it.

Tried Mallow.Malva Sylvestris.Dedicated toSt. Phocas.

St. Ulric, orUdalric.St. Odo, Abp. of Canterbury, 10th Cent.St. Sisoes, orSisoy,A. D.429.St. Bertha, 8th Cent.St. Finbar, of Crimlen.St. Bolcan, disciple of St. Patrick.

He was son of count Hucbald, one of the first dukes of higher Germany. He became bishop of Augsburg, and rebuilt the celebrated cathedral there, in 962, dedicating it to St. Afra, patroness of that city, and died eighty years old, in 973, on ashes laid in the form of a cross upon a floor. Customs peculiar to this day are related in these verses:—

St. Huldryche.Wheresoeuer Huldryche hath his place, the people there brings inBoth carpes, and pykes, and mullets fat, his fauour here to win.Amid the church there sitteth one,and to the aultar nie,That selleth fish, and so good cheepe, that euery man may buie:Nor any thing he loseth here, bestowing thus his paine,For when it hath beene offred once, ’tis brought him all againe,That twise or thrise he selles the same vngodlinesse such gaineDoth still bring in, and plentiously the kitchin doth maintaine.Whence comes this same religion newe? what kind of God is thisSame Huldryche here, that so desires, and so delightes in fish?[207]

St. Huldryche.

Wheresoeuer Huldryche hath his place, the people there brings inBoth carpes, and pykes, and mullets fat, his fauour here to win.Amid the church there sitteth one,and to the aultar nie,That selleth fish, and so good cheepe, that euery man may buie:Nor any thing he loseth here, bestowing thus his paine,For when it hath beene offred once, ’tis brought him all againe,That twise or thrise he selles the same vngodlinesse such gaineDoth still bring in, and plentiously the kitchin doth maintaine.Whence comes this same religion newe? what kind of God is thisSame Huldryche here, that so desires, and so delightes in fish?[207]

Copper Day Lily.Hemerocallis fulva.Dedicated toSt. Ulric.

The London Barrow-woman

See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,With thread so white in tempting posies ty’d,Scatt’ring like blooming maid their glances roundWith pamper’d look draw little eyes aside,And must be bought.Shenstone.

Shenstone.

This is cherry season, but it is not to me as cherry seasons were. I like a great deal thatis, but I have an affection for whatwas. By-gone days seem to have been more fair than these; and I cannot help trying to

“catch the mannersdyingas theyfall.”

I have lived through the extremity of one age, into the beginning of another, and I believe a better; yet the former has been too much detracted: every thing new is not, therefore, good; nor was every thing old, bad. When I was a boy, I speak of just after the French revolution broke out, my admiration and taste were pure and natural, and one of my favourites at all times, and in cherry-time especially, was the London barrow-woman. There are no barrow-women now. They are quite “gone out,” or, rather, they have been “put down,” and by many they are not even missed. Look around; there is not one to be seen.

In those days there werewomenon the earth; finely grown, every way well-proportioned,handsome, and in stature like Mrs. Siddons. I speak of London women. Let not the ladies of the metropolis conceive offence, if I maintain that some of their mothers, and more among their grandmothers, were taller and more robust than they. Thattheyare otherwise may not be in their eyes a misfortune; should they, however, think it so “theirschoolsare more in fault than they.” Be that as it may, I am merely stating a fact. They have declined in personal elevation, as they have increased in moral elevation.

At that time lived the London barrow-woman:—

Her hair loose curl’d, the rest tuck’d up betweenHer neatly frill’d mob-cap, was scarcely seen;A black chip-hat, peculiarly her own,With ribbon puff’d around the small flat crownPinn’d to her head-dress, gave her blooming faceA jaunty openness and winning grace.*

On her legs were “women’s blacks,” or, in dry sunny weather, as at this season, stockings of white cotton, with black high-heeled shoes, and a pair of bright sparkling buckles; tight lacing distended her hips, which were further enlarged by her flowered cotton or chintz gown being drawn through the pocket-holes to balloon out behind, and display a quilted glazed petticoat of black or pink stuff, terminating about four inches above the ancles; she wore on her bosom, which was not so confined as to injure its fullness, a light gauze or muslin kerchief. This was her full dress, as she rolled through the street, and cried—

“Round and sound,Two-pence a pound,Cherries! rare ripe cherries!”

“Green and ripe gooseberries! amber-berries! ripe amber-berries!” “Currants! rare ripe currants!” ending, as she began, with cherries:—

“Cherries a ha’penny a stick!Come and pick! come and pickCherries! big as plums!Who comes? who comes?”

Each side of her well-laden barrow was dressed nearly halfway along with a row of sticks having cherries tied on them. To assist in retailing her other fruit, there lay before her a “full alehouse measure” of clean pewter, and a pair of shining brass scales, with thick turn-over rims, and leaden weights, for the “real black-hearts” that dyed the white cloth they lay on with purple stains. If she had an infant, she was sometimes met with it, at a particular spot, for her to suckle. She was then a study for a painter. Her hearty caresses of her child, while she hastily sat down on the arm of her barrow, and bared her bountiful bosom to give it nourishment; the frolic with which she tickled it; the tenderness with which she looked into its young, up-turned eyes, while the bland fluid overflowed its laughing mouth; her smothering kisses upon its crowing lips after its nurture; and her loud affectionate “God bless it!” when it was carried away, were indescribably beautiful.

As the seasons changed, so her wares varied. With the “rolling year,” she rolled round to us its successive fruits; but cherry-time was the meridian of her glory. Her clear and confident cry was then listened for, in the distance, with as much anxiety to hear it, as the proclamation of a herald, in the full authority of office, was awaited in ancient times. “What can keep the barrow-woman so long?—Surely she has not gone another way!—Hush! there she is; I hear her!” These were tokens of her importance in the neighbourhood she circled; and good housewives and servant girls came to the doors, with basins and dishes, to await her approach, and make their purchases of fruit for their pies and puddings. As she slowly trundled her barrow along the pavement, what doating looks were cast upon its delicacies by boys with ever-ready appetites! How he who had nothing to lay out envied him who a halfpenny entitled to a perplexing choice amidst the tempting variety! If currants were fixed on, the question was mooted, “Which are best—red or white?” If cherries—“white hearts, or blacks?” If gooseberries—“red or yellow?” Sometimes the decision as to the comparative merits of colour was negatived by a sudden impulsive preference for “the other sort,” or “something else;” and not seldom, after these deliberations, and being “served,” arose doubts and regrets, and an application to be allowed to change “these” for “them,”and perhaps the last choice was, in the end, the least satisfactory. Indecisiveness is not peculiar to childhood; “men are but children of a larger growth,” and their “conduct of the understanding” is nearly the same.

Mr. George Cruikshank, whose pencil is distinguished by power of decision in every character he sketches, and whose close observation of passing manners is unrivalled by any artist of the day, has sketched thebarrow-womanfor theEvery-Day Book, from his own recollection of her, aided somewhat by my own. It is engraved on wood by Mr. Henry White, and placed at the head of this article.

Before barrow-women quite “went out,” the poor things were sadly used. If they stopped to rest, or pitched their seat of custom where customers were likely to pass, street-keepers, authorized by orders unauthorized by law, drove them off, or beadles overthrew their fruit into the road. At last, an act of parliament made it penal to roll a wheel or keep a stand for the sale of any articles upon the pavement; and barrow-women and fruit-stalls were “put down.”

These daily purveyors to the refreshment of passengers in hot weather are not wholly extinct; a few, very few, still exist by mere sufferance—no more. Upon recollection of their number, and the grateful abundance heaped upon them, I could almost exclaim, in the words of the old Scotch-woman’s epitaph—

“Such desolation in my time has beenI have an end of all perfection seen!”

Ah! what a goodly sight was Holborn-hill in “mytime.”Thenthere was a comely row of fruit-stalls, skirting the edge of the pavement from opposite the steps of St. Andrew’s church to the corner of Shoe-lane. The fruit stood on tables covered with white cloths, and placed end to end, in one long line. In autumn, it was a lovely sight. The pears and apples were neatly piled in “ha’p’orths,” for there were then no pennyworths; “a pen’orth” would have been more than sufficient for moderate eating at one time. First, of the pears, came the “ripe Kat’er’nes;” these were succeeded by “fine Windsors,” and “real bergamys.” Apples “came in” with “green codlins;” then followed “golden rennets,” “golden pippins,” and “ripe nonpareils.” These were the common street-fruits. Such “golden pippins” as were then sold, three and four for a halfpenny, are now worth pence a piece, and the true “golden rennet” can only be heard of at great fruiterers. The decrease in the growth of this delightful apple is one of the “signs of the times!”

The finest apples in Covent-garden market come from Kent. Growers in that county, by leaving only a few branches upon the tree, produce the most delicious kinds, of a surprisingly large size. For these they demand and obtain very high prices; but instead of London in general being supplied, as it was formerly, with the best apples, little else is seen except swine-feed, or French, or American apples. The importations of this fruit are very large, and under the almost total disappearance of some of our finest sorts, very thankful we are to get inferior ones of foreign growth. Really good English apples are scarcely within the purchase of persons of moderate means.

This is the name of the common black worsted stockings, formerly an article of extensive consumption; they are now little made, because little worn. One of the greatest wholesale dealers in “women’s blacks,” in a manufacturing town, was celebrated for the largeness of his stock; his means enabled him to purchase all that were offered to him for sale, and it was his favourite article. He was an old-fashioned man, and while the servant-maids were leaving them off, he was unconscious of the change, because he could not believe it; he insisted it was impossible that household work could be done in “white cottons.” Offers of quantities were made to him at reduced prices, which he bought; his immense capital became locked up in his favourite “women’s blacks;” whenever their price in the market lowered, he could not make his mind up to be quite low enough; his warehouses were filled with them; when he determined to sell, the demand had wholly ceased; he could effect no sales; and, becoming bankrupt, he literally died of a broken heart—from an excessive and unrequited attachment to “women’s blacks.”

[207]Naogeorgus by Googe.

St. Peter, of Luxemburg, Card.A. D.1387.St. Modwena, 9th Cent.St. Edana, of Elphim and Tuam.

There is a beautiful mention of flowers, at this season, in some lines from the Italian of Louis Gonzago.

With an Indian Perfume-box to Maria deMancini, 1648.Oh! the Florence rose is freshe and faire,And rich the young carnations blowe,Wreathing in beauties’ ebonne haire,Or sighing on her breaste of snowe,But onlie violette shall twineThy ebonne tresses, ladye mine.Oh! dazzling shines the noon-daye sunne,So kinglye in his golden carre,But sweeter ’tis when day is done,To watche the evening’s dewye starre,In silence lighting fielde and grove,How like mye heart, how like mye love!Then, ladye, lowlye at thy feeteI lay this gift of memorie,All strange and rude, but treasures sweeteWithin its gloomy bosome lie.Trifles, Marie! may telle the tale,When wisdom, witte, and courage faile.Pulci.

With an Indian Perfume-box to Maria deMancini, 1648.

Oh! the Florence rose is freshe and faire,And rich the young carnations blowe,Wreathing in beauties’ ebonne haire,Or sighing on her breaste of snowe,But onlie violette shall twineThy ebonne tresses, ladye mine.Oh! dazzling shines the noon-daye sunne,So kinglye in his golden carre,But sweeter ’tis when day is done,To watche the evening’s dewye starre,In silence lighting fielde and grove,How like mye heart, how like mye love!Then, ladye, lowlye at thy feeteI lay this gift of memorie,All strange and rude, but treasures sweeteWithin its gloomy bosome lie.Trifles, Marie! may telle the tale,When wisdom, witte, and courage faile.

Oh! dazzling shines the noon-daye sunne,So kinglye in his golden carre,But sweeter ’tis when day is done,To watche the evening’s dewye starre,In silence lighting fielde and grove,How like mye heart, how like mye love!

Then, ladye, lowlye at thy feeteI lay this gift of memorie,All strange and rude, but treasures sweeteWithin its gloomy bosome lie.Trifles, Marie! may telle the tale,When wisdom, witte, and courage faile.

Pulci.

Double Yellow Rose.Rosa Sulphurea.Dedicated toSt. Edana.

Back to Index Next