May 27.

[150]Golden Legend.[151]Porter’s Flowers.[152]Strype’s Memorials.

[150]Golden Legend.

[151]Porter’s Flowers.

[152]Strype’s Memorials.

St. John, Pope,A. D.526.St. Bede,A. D.735.St. Julius, aboutA. D.302.

This pontiff was imprisoned by Theodoric, king of the Goths, in Italy, and died in confinement. This sovereign had previously put to death the philosopher Boëtius, who, according to Ribadeneira, after he was beheaded, was scoffingly asked by one of the executioners, “who hath put thee to death?” whereupon Boëtius answered, “wicked men,” and immediately taking up his head in his own hands, walked away with it to the adjoining church.

The life of “Venerable Bede” in Butler, is one of the best memoirs in his biography of the saints. He was an Englishman, in priest’s orders. It is said of him that he was a prodigy of learning in an unlearned age; that he surpassed Gregory the Great in eloquence and copiousness of style, and that Europe scarcely produced a greater scholar. He was a teacher of youth, and, at one time had six hundred pupils, yet he exercised his clerical functions with punctuality, and wrote an incredible number of works in theology, science, and the polite arts. It is true he fell into the prevailing credulity of the early age wherein he flourished, but he enlightened it by his erudition, and improved it by his unfeigned piety and unwearied zeal.

Not to ridicule so great a man, but as an instance of the desire to attribute wonderful miracles to distinguished characters, the following silly anecdote concerning Bede is extracted from the “Golden Legend.” He was blind, and desiring to be led forth to preach, his servant carried him to a heap of stones, to which, the good father, believing himself preaching to a sensible congregation, delivered a noble discourse, whereunto, when he had finished his sermon, the stones answered and said “Amen!”

Methinks that to some vacant hermitageMy feet would rather turn—to some dry nookScooped out of living rock, and near a brookHurled down a mountain cove from stage to stage,Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rageIn the soft heaven of a translucent pool;Thence creeping under forest arches cool,Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipagePerchance would throng my dreams. A beechen bowl,A Maple dish, my furniture should be;Crisp yellow leaves my bed; the hooting OwlMy nightwatch: nor should e’er the crested fowlFrom thorp or vill his matins sound for me,Tired of the world and all its industry.But what if one, through grove or flowery mead,Indulging thus at will the creeping feetOf a voluptuous indolence, should meetThe hovering shade of venerable Bede,The saint, the scholar, from a circle freedOf toil stupendous, in a hallowed seatOf learning, where he heard the billows beatOn a wild coast—rough monitors to feedPerpetual industry—sublime recluse!The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debtImposed on human kind, must first forgetThy diligence, thy unrelaxing useOf a long life, and, in the hour of death,The last dear service of thy passing breath!Wordsworth.

Wordsworth.

Every thing of good or evil, incident to any period of the year, is to be regarded seasonable; the present time of the year, therefore, must not be quarrelled with, if it be not always agreeable to us. Many days of this month, in 1825, have been most oppressive to the spirits, and injurious to the mental faculties, of persons who are unhappily susceptible of changes in the weather, and especially the winds. These have been borne with some philosophy, by the individual now holding the pen; but, alas! the effects are too apparent, he apprehends, to many who have read what he has been scarcely able to throw together. He hopes that these defaults will be placed to their proper account, and that cloudless skies and genial breezes will enable him to do better.

May, 1825.All hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!How joyous thy steeds from the ocean have sprung!The clouds and the waves smile to see thee returning,And young zephyrs laugh as they gambol along.No more with the tempest the river is swelling,No angry clouds frown, and no sky darkly lowers;The bee winds his horn, and the gay news is telling,That spring is arrived with her sunshine and flowers.From her home in the grass see the white primrose peeping,While diamond dew-drops around her are spread,She smiles through her tears, like an infant, whose weepingTo laughter is changed when its sorrows are fled.In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining,And nature with blossoms is wreathing the trees,The white and the green, in rich clusters entwining,Are sprinkling their sweets on the wings of each breeze.Then hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!Triumphant ride on in thy chariot of light;The earth, with thy bounties her forehead adorning,Comes forth, like a bride, from the chamber of night.E. C.

May, 1825.

All hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!How joyous thy steeds from the ocean have sprung!The clouds and the waves smile to see thee returning,And young zephyrs laugh as they gambol along.No more with the tempest the river is swelling,No angry clouds frown, and no sky darkly lowers;The bee winds his horn, and the gay news is telling,That spring is arrived with her sunshine and flowers.From her home in the grass see the white primrose peeping,While diamond dew-drops around her are spread,She smiles through her tears, like an infant, whose weepingTo laughter is changed when its sorrows are fled.In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining,And nature with blossoms is wreathing the trees,The white and the green, in rich clusters entwining,Are sprinkling their sweets on the wings of each breeze.Then hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!Triumphant ride on in thy chariot of light;The earth, with thy bounties her forehead adorning,Comes forth, like a bride, from the chamber of night.

All hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!How joyous thy steeds from the ocean have sprung!The clouds and the waves smile to see thee returning,And young zephyrs laugh as they gambol along.

No more with the tempest the river is swelling,No angry clouds frown, and no sky darkly lowers;The bee winds his horn, and the gay news is telling,That spring is arrived with her sunshine and flowers.

From her home in the grass see the white primrose peeping,While diamond dew-drops around her are spread,She smiles through her tears, like an infant, whose weepingTo laughter is changed when its sorrows are fled.

In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining,And nature with blossoms is wreathing the trees,The white and the green, in rich clusters entwining,Are sprinkling their sweets on the wings of each breeze.

Then hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!Triumphant ride on in thy chariot of light;The earth, with thy bounties her forehead adorning,Comes forth, like a bride, from the chamber of night.

E. C.

Buttercups.Ranunculus acris.Dedicated toSt. John, Pope.Yellow Bachelor’s Buttons.Ranunculus acris plenus.Dedicated toSt. Bede.

St. Germanus, Bp. of Paris,A. D.576.St. Caraunus, alsoCaranusandCaro, (in French,Cheron.)

1546. Cardinal Beaton was on this day assassinated in Scotland. He was primate of that kingdom, over which heexercised almost sovereign sway. Just before his death he got into his power George Wishart, a gentleman by birth, who preached against Romish superstitions, and caused him to be condemned to the stake for heresy. The cardinal refused the sacrament to his victim, on the ground that it was not reasonable to allow a spiritual benefit to an obstinate heretic, condemned by the church. Wishart was tied to a tree in the castle-yard of St. Andrew’s, with bags of gunpowder fastened about his body. The cardinal and prelates were seated on rich cushions with tapestry hangings before them, from whence they viewed the execution of their sentence. The gunpowder having exploded without ending Wishart’s bodily sufferings, the inflexible reformer exclaimed from the fire, “This flame hath scorched my body, yet hath it not daunted my spirit: but he who from yonder high place beholdeth me with such pride, shall within a few days lie in the same as ignominiously as now he is seen proudly to rest himself.” After these words, the cord that went about his neck was drawn by one of the executioners to stop his breath, the fire was increased, his body was consumed to ashes, and the cardinal caused proclamation to be made that none should pray for the heretic under pain of the heaviest ecclesiastical censures. If the church, said the priests, had found such a protector in former times, she had maintained her authority; but the cardinal’s cruelty struck the people with horror, and John Lesly, brother to the earl of Rothes, with Normand Lesly, the earl of Rothes’ son, (who was disgusted on account of some private quarrel,) and other persons of birth and quality, openly vowed to avenge Wishart’s death. Early in the morning they entered the cardinal’s palace at St. Andrews, which he had strongly fortified; though they were not above sixteen persons, they thrust out a hundred tradesmen and fifty servants, whom they seized separately, before any suspicion arose of their intentions; and having shut the gates, they proceeded very deliberately to execute their purpose on the cardinal. Beaton alarmed with the noise which he heard in the castle, barricadoed the door of his chamber: but finding that they had brought fire in order to force their way, and having obtained, as is believed, a promise of life, he opened the door; and reminding them that he was a priest, he conjured them to spare him. Two of them rushed upon him with drawn swords, but a third, James Melvil, stopped their career, and bade them reflect that this work was the work and judgment of God, and ought to be executed with becoming deliberation and gravity. Then turning the point of his sword towards Beaton, he called to him, “Repent thee, thou wicked cardinal, of all thy sins and iniquities, especially of the murder of Wishart, that instrument of God for the conversion of these lands: it is his death which now cries vengeance upon thee: we are sent by God to inflict the deserved punishment. For here, before the Almighty, I protest, that it is neither hatred of thy person, nor love of thy riches, nor fear of thy power, which moves me to seek thy death: but only because thou hast been, and still remainest, an obstinate enemy to Christ Jesus, and his holy gospel.” Having spoken these words, without giving Beaton time to finish that repentance to which he exhorted him, he thrust him through the body, and the cardinal fell dead at his feet. Upon a rumour that the castle was taken, a great tumult arose in the city; and several partisans of the cardinal armed themselves with intent to scale the walls. When they were told of his death, they desisted, and the people insisting upon a sight of the cardinal’s body, his corpse was exposed to their view from the very same place wherein he sat to behold the execution of George Wishart.

The sanguinary spirit of these times has disappeared, and we look upon what remains to us of the individuals who suffered, or acted under its influence, as memorials of such crimes and criminals as we in a milder age dare not imagine our country can be again afflicted with. The sight of cardinal Beaton’s house in the Cowgate, at Edinburgh, may have induced useful reflections on past intolerance, and increased charitable dispositions in some whose persuasions widely differ. If this be so, a representation of it in this sheet may not be less agreeable to the moralist than to the lover of antiquities. The drawing from whence theengravingon the next page is taken, was made on the spot in 1824.

Lurid Fleur-de-lis.Iris Lurida.Dedicated toSt. Germain.

Cardinal Beaton’s house at Edinburgh.

St. Maximinus, Bp. of Friers,A. D.349.St. Cyril.St. Conon and his son, of Iconia in Asia, aboutA. D.275.Sts. Sisinnius, Martyrius, and Alexander,A. D.397.

This day is so called from its being the anniversary of the day whereon king Charles II. entered London, in 1660, and re-established royalty, which had been suspended from the death of his father. It is usual with the vulgar people to wear oak-leaves in their hats on this day, and dress their horses’ heads with them. This is in commemoration of the shelter afforded to Charles by an oak while making his escape from England, after his defeat at Worcester, by Cromwell. The battle was fought on the 3d of September, 1651; Cromwell having utterly routed his army, Charles left Worcester at six o’clock in the afternoon, and without halting, travelled about twenty-six miles, in company with fifty or sixty of his friends, from whom he separated, without communicating his intentions to any of them, and went to Boscobel, a lone house in the borders of Staffordshire, inhabited by one Penderell, a farmer, to whom he intrusted himself. This man, assisted by his four brothers, clothed the king in a garb like their own, led him into the neighbouring wood, put a bill into his hand, and pretended to employ themselves in cutting faggots. Some nights he lay upon straw in the house, and fed on such homely fare as it afforded. For better concealment, he mounted upon anoak, where he sheltered himself among the leaves and branches for twenty-four hours. He saw several soldiers pass by. All of them were intent in search of the king; and some expressed, in his hearing, their earnest wishes of seizing him. This tree was afterwards denominated theRoyal Oak; and for many years was regarded by the neighbourhood with great veneration. Charles could neither stay, nor stir, without imminent danger. At length he and lord Wilmot, who was concealed in the neighbourhood, put themselves into the hands of colonel Lane, a zealous royalist, who lived at Bentley, not many miles distant. The king’s feet were so hurt by walking in heavy boots or countrymen’s shoes, which did not fit him, that he was obliged to mount on horseback; and he travelled in this situation to Bentley, attended by the Penderells. Lane formed a scheme for his journey to Bristol, where, it was hoped, he would find a ship, in which he might transport himself. He had a near kinswoman, Mrs. Norton, who lived within three miles of that city, and he obtained a pass (for, during those times of confusion, this precaution was requisite) for his sister Jane Lane and a servant to travel towards Bristol, under pretence of visiting and attending her relation. The king rode before the lady, and personated the servant. When they arrived at Norton’s, Mrs. Lane pretended that she had brought along as her servant a poor lad, a neighbouring farmer’s son, who was ill of an ague; and she begged a private room for him where he might be quiet. Though Charles kept himself retired in this chamber, the butler, one Pope, soon knew him: Charles was alarmed, but made the butler promise that he would keep the secret from every mortal, even from his master; and he was faithful to his engagement. No ship, it was found, would, for a month, set sail from Bristol, either for France or Spain; and the king was obliged to go to colonel Windham of Dorsetshire, a partisan of the royal family. During his journey he often passed through the hands of catholics; thePriest’s Hole, as they called it, the place where they were obliged to conceal their persecuted priests, was sometimes employed to shelter him. He continued several days in Windham’s house; and all his friends in Britain, and in every part of Europe, remained in the most anxious suspense with regard to his fortunes: no one could conjecture whether he were dead or alive; and the report of his death being generally believed, relaxed the vigilant search of his enemies. Trials were made to procure a vessel for his escape; but he still met with disappointments. Having left Windham’s house, he was obliged again to return to it. He passed through many other adventures; assumed different disguises; in every step was exposed to imminent perils; and received daily proofs of uncorrupted fidelity and attachment. The sagacity of a smith, who remarked that his horse’s shoes had been made in the north, and not in the west, as he pretended, once detected him; and he narrowly escaped. At Shoreham, in Sussex, a vessel was at last found, in which he embarked. He had been known to so many, that if he had not set sail in that critical moment it had been impossible for him to escape. After one and forty days’ concealment, he arrived safely at Fescamp in Normandy. No less than forty men and women had at different times been privy to his concealment and escape.[153]

Charles II. himself wrote a narrative of his remarkable “Escape.” From this it appears that while journeying with the Penderells, “he wore a very greasy old grey steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up, without lining or hatband: a green cloth coat, threadbare, even to the threads being worn white, and breeches of the same, with long knees down to the garter; with an old leathern doublet, a pair of white flannel stockings next to his legs, which the king said were his boot stockings, their tops being cut off to prevent their being discovered, and upon them a pair of old green yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the knees, with their feet cut off; his shoes were old, all slashed for the ease of his feet, and full of gravel; he had an old coarse shirt, patched both at the neck and hands; he had no gloves, but a long thorn stick, not very strong, but crooked three or four several ways, in his hand; his hair cut short up to his ears, and hands coloured; his majesty refusing to have any gloves, when father Hodlestone offered him some, as also to change his stick.”

Charles’s narrative is very minute in many particulars; especially as regardshis getting on shipboard, and his passage across the channel.

“We went,” he says, “towards Shoreham, four miles off a place called Brightelmstone, taking the master of the ship with us, on horseback, behind one of our company, and came to the vessel’s side, which was not above sixty tons. But it being low water, and the vessel lying dry, I and my lord Wilmot got up with a ladder into her, and went and lay down in the little cabin, till the tide came to fetch us off.

“But I was no sooner got into the ship, and lain down upon the bed, but the master came in to me, fell down upon his knees, and kissed my hand; telling me, that he knew me very well, and would venture life, and all that he had in the world, to set me down safe in France.

“So, about seven o’clock in the morning, it being high-water, we went out of the port; but the master being bound for Pool, loaden with sea-coal, because he would not have it seen from Shoreham that he did not go his intended voyage, but stood all the day, with a very easy sail, towards the Isle of Wight (only my lord Wilmot and myself, of my company, on board.) And as we were sailing, the master came to me, and desired me that I would persuade his men to use their endeavours with me to get him to set us on shore in France, the better to cover him from any suspicion thereof. Upon which, I went to the men, which were four and a boy, and told them, truly, that we were two merchants that had some misfortunes, and were a little in debt; that we had some money owing us at Rouen, in France, and were afraid of being arrested in England; that if they would persuade the master (the wind being very fair) to give us a trip over to Dieppe, or one of those ports near Rouen, they would oblige us very much, and with that I gave them twenty shillings to drink. Upon which, they undertook to second me, if I would propose it to the master. So I went to the master, and told him our condition, and that if he would give us a trip over to France, we would give him some consideration for it. Upon which he counterfeited difficulties, saying, that it would hinder his voyage. But his men, as they had promised me, joining their persuasions to ours, and, at last, he yielded to set us over.

“So, about five o’clock in the afternoon, as we were in sight of the Isle of Wight, we stood directly over to the coast of France, the wind being then full north; and the next morning, a little before day, we saw the coast. But the tide failing us, and the wind coming about to the south-west, we were forced to come to an anchor within two miles of the shore, till the tide of flood was done.

“We found ourselves just before an harbour in France, called Fescamp; and just as the tide of ebb was made, espied a vessel to leeward of us, which, by her nimble working, I suspected to be an Ostend privateer. Upon which, I went to my lord Wilmot, and telling him my opinion of that ship, proposed to him our going ashore in the little cock-boat, for fear they should prove so, as not knowing, but finding us going into a port of France, (there being then a war betwixt France and Spain,) they might plunder us, and possibly carry us away and set us ashore in England; the master also himself had the same opinion of her being an Ostender, and came to me to tell me so, which thought I made it my business to dissuade him from, for fear it should tempt him to set sail again with us for the coast of England: yet so sensible I was of it, that I and my lord Wilmot went both on shore in the cock-boat; and going up into the town of Fescamp, staid there all day to provide horses for Rouen. But the vessel which had so affrighted us, proved afterwards only a French hoy.

“The next day we got to Rouen, to an inn, one of the best in the town, in the fish-market, where they made difficulty to receive us, taking us, by our clothes, to be some thieves, or persons that had been doing some very ill thing, until Mr. Sandburne, a merchant, for whom I sent, came and answered for us.

“One particular more there is observable in relation to this our passage into France; that the vessel that brought us over had no sooner landed me, and I given her master a pass, for fear of meeting with any of our Jersey frigates, but the wind turned so happily for her, as to carry her directly for Pool, without its being known that she had ever been upon the coast of France.

“We staid at Rouen one day, to provide ourselves better clothes, and give notice to the queen, my mother, (who was then at Paris,) of my being safelylanded. After which, setting out in a hired coach, I was met by my mother, with coaches, short of Paris; and by her conducted thither, where I safely arrived.”

An antiquary, a century ago, mentions the “Royal Oak” as standing in his time. “A bow-shoot from Boscobel-house, just by a horse-track passing through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the hen-roost ladder, when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family reaching them victuals with the nut-hook. The tree is now inclosed in with a brick wall, the inside whereof is covered with laurel, of which we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustan palace, ‘mediamque tubere quercum.’ Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one of its acorns. Over the door of the inclosure, I took this inscription in marble:—‘Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis Caroli II. Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in perpetuam rei tantæ memoriam, quam specimen fermæ in reges fidei, muro cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.

“‘Quercus amica Jovi.’”[154]

A letter from an obliging correspondent, whose initials are affixed, claims a place here, in order to correct a literal inaccuracy, and for the facts subsequently mentioned.

To the Editor of the Every-day Book.

Sir,

As the “Royal Oak day” will form a prominent subject in your interesting work, I beg to call your attention to the fact, that colonel William Carlos was the companion of his majesty, in his concealment in the tree in Boscobel wood, and to hope that you will point out the right mode of spelling his name; Lord Clarendon, and others who copy from him, always call him colonel Careless, which is a vile misnomer. When a man does an action worthy of record, it is highly grievous to have his name spelt wrong:

“Thrice happy he whose name has been well speltIn the despatch. I knew a man whose lossWas printed Grove, altho’ his name was Grose.”Lord Byron.

“Thrice happy he whose name has been well speltIn the despatch. I knew a man whose lossWas printed Grove, altho’ his name was Grose.”

Lord Byron.

A coat of arms and a grant of ballastage dues were made to the colonel; but the latter interfering with the rights of the Trinity-house, was given up. A son of the colonel is buried at Fulham church. The book of “Boscobel,” first printed in 1660, contains accurate particulars of the event I refer to: this little work you have no doubt seen. I have seen a print of W. Pendrill, in an oval, encircled within the foliage of an oak tree, (as we may still see king Charles’s head on some alehouse signs,) with a copy of verses, in which the name of the colonel is correctly spelt.

I am, Sir, &c.

April16, 1825.

E. J. C.

The “Royal Oak” at Boscobel perished many years ago, but another tree has been raised in its stead to mark the spot.

Another correspondent, “Amicus,” who writes to the editor under his real name, favours the readers of this work with an account of a usage still preserved, on “Royal Oak day,” in the west of England.

To the Editor of the Every-day Book.

Sir,

At Tiverton Devon, on the 29th of May, it is customary for a number of young men, dressed in the style of the 17th century, and armed with swords, to parade the streets, and gather contributions from the inhabitants. At the head of the procession walks a man called “Oliver,” dressed in black, with his face and hands smeared over with soot and grease, and his body bound by a strong cord, the end of which is held by one of the men to prevent his running too far. After these come another troop, dressed in the same style, each man bearing a large branch of oak: four others, carrying a kind of throne made of oaken boughs on which a child is seated, bring up the rear. A great deal of merriment is excited among the boys, at the pranks of master “Oliver,” who capers about in a most ludicrous manner. Some of them amuse themselves by casting dirt, whilst others, more mischievously inclined, throw stones at him; but woe betide the young urchin who is caught; his face assumes a most awful appearance from the soot and grease with which “Oliver” begrimes it, whilst his companions, who have been lucky enough to escape his clutches, testify theirpleasure by loud shouts and acclamations. In the evening the whole party have a feast, the expenses of which are defrayed by the collection made in the morning.

I am, sir, yours, most obediently,

Amicus.

It has been customary on this day to dress the statue of Charles II. in the centre of the Royal Exchange with oaken boughs. As the removal of this statue has been contemplated, it may interest merchants and persons connected with the corporation, to be informed of the means adopted for placing it there. A correspondent, H. C. G., has enabled the editor to do this, by favouring him with the original precept issued by the court of aldermen on the occasion.

SMITH, MAYOR.

“Martis Vndecimo DieNovembr’, 1684,Annoque Regni RegisCaroliSecundi, Angl’, &c.Tricessimo Sexto.

“Whereas the statue of KingCharlesthe First (of Blessed Memory) is already Set up on the Royal Exchange, And the Company of Grocers have undertaken to Set up the Statue of His presentMajesty, And the Company of Clothworkers that of KingJames, And the Companies of Mercers and Fishmongers the Statues of QueenMaryand QueenElizabeth, And the Company of Drapers that ofEdwardthe Sixth, This Court doth Recommend it to the several Companies of this City hereafter named, (viz. The Companies of Goldsmiths, Skinners, Merchant-Taylors, Haberdashers, Salters, Ironmongers, Vintners, Dyers, Brewers, Leathersellers, Pewterers, Barber-Chirurgeons, Cutlers, Bakers, Waxchandlers, Tallowchandlers, Armourers, Girdlers, Butchers, Sadlers,) to raise Money by Contributions, or otherwise, for Setting up the Statues of the rest of theKingsof England (each Company One) beginning at theConqueror, as the Same were There Set up before the Great Fire. And for the better Order in Their proceeding herein, the Master and Wardens, or some Members of the said respective Companies, are desired within some Convenient time to Appear before This Court, and receive the further Directions of This Court therein.

“And in regard of the Inability of the Chamber of London to Advance Moneys for the Carrying on and Finishing the Conduit, begun to be Set up with HisMajestiesApprobation, at the Upper End of Cheapside, It is earnestly Recommended from This Court to all the Rest of the Companies of This City (other than those before Named) to raise Moneys likewise by Contributions, or otherwise, for the Carrying on and Finishing the said Work, so Necessary to the Ornament of this City; And to Pay the Same into the Chamber, to be Laid out and Imployed for the said Purpose.

“Wagstaffe.”

It is affirmed of Charles II. that he was mightily delighted with these beautiful stanzas,

The glories of our blood and stateAre shadows, not substantial things;There is no armour against fate.Death lays his icy hands on kings:Sceptre and crownMust tumble down,And in the dust be equal madeWith the poor crooked scythe and spade.Some men with swords may reap the field,And plant fresh laurels where they kill;But their strong nerves at last must yield,They tame but one another still.Early or late,They stoop to fate,And must give up their murmuring breath,When they pale captives creep to Death.The garlands wither on your brow;Then boast no more your mighty deeds:Upon Death’s purple altar nowSee where the victor victim bleeds:All heads must comeTo the cold tomb:Only the actions of the justSmell sweet and blossom in the dust.

Some men with swords may reap the field,And plant fresh laurels where they kill;But their strong nerves at last must yield,They tame but one another still.Early or late,They stoop to fate,And must give up their murmuring breath,When they pale captives creep to Death.

The garlands wither on your brow;Then boast no more your mighty deeds:Upon Death’s purple altar nowSee where the victor victim bleeds:All heads must comeTo the cold tomb:Only the actions of the justSmell sweet and blossom in the dust.

If it be really true that this king admired these sentiments, he is entitled to the praise of having libelled himself by his admiration of virtue. Waller in a letter to St. Evremond, relates a dialogue between Charles and the earl of Rochester, which shows the tenour of their manners. Waller says, “Grammont once told Rochester that if he could by any means divest himself of one half of his wit, the other half would make him the most agreeable man in the world. This observation of the Count’s did not strike me much when I heard it, but I remarked the propriety of it since. Last night I supped at lord Rochester’s with a select party; on such occasions he is not ambitious of shining; he is rather pleasant than arch; he is, comparatively, reserved; but you find something in thatrestraint that is more agreeable than the utmost exertion of talents in others. The reserve of Rochester gives you the idea of a copious river that fills its channel, and seems as if it would easily overflow its extensive banks, but is unwilling to spoil the beauty and verdure of the plains. The most perfect good humour was supported through the whole evening; nor was it in the least disturbed when, unexpectedly, towards the end of it, the king came in (no unusual thing with Charles II.) ‘Something has vexed him,’ said Rochester; ‘he never does me this honour but when he is in an ill humour.’ The following dialogue, or something very like it, then ensued:—

‘The King.—How the devil have I got here? The knaves have sold every cloak in the wardrobe.

‘Rochester.—Those knaves are fools. That is a part of dress, which, for their own sakes, your majesty ought never to be without.

‘The King.—Pshaw! I’m vexed!

‘Rochester.—I hate still life—I’m glad of it. Your majesty is never so entertaining as when—

‘The King.—Ridiculous! I believe the English are the most intractable people upon earth.

‘Rochester.—I must humbly beg your majesty’s pardon, if I presume in that respect.

‘The King.—You would find them so, were you in my place, and obliged to govern.

‘Rochester.—Were I in your majesty’s place, I would not govern at all.

‘The King.—How then?

‘Rochester.—I would send for my good lord Rochester, and command him to govern.

‘The King.—But the singular modesty of that nobleman.

‘Rochester.—He would certainly conform himself to your majesty’s bright example. How gloriously would the two grand social virtues flourish under his auspices!

‘The King.—O, prisca fides!What can these be?

‘Rochester.—The love of wine and women!

‘The King.—God bless your majesty!

‘Rochester.—These attachments keep the world in good humour, and therefore I say they are social virtues. Let the bishop of Salisbury deny it if he can.

‘The King.—He died last night. Have you a mind to succeed him?

‘Rochester.—On condition that I shall neither be called upon to preach on the 30th of January nor the 29th of May.

‘The King.—Those conditions are curious. You object to the first, I suppose, because it would be a melancholy subject; but the other—

‘Rochester.—Would be a melancholy subject too.

‘The King.—That is too much—

‘Rochester.—Nay, I only mean that the business would be a little too grave for the day. Nothing but the indulgence of the two grand social virtues could be a proper testimony for my joy upon that occasion.

‘The King.—Thou art the happiest fellow in my dominions. Let me perish if I do not envy thee thy impudence!’

“It is in such strain of conversation, generally, that this prince passes off his chagrin; and he never suffers his dignity to stand in the way of his humour.”

This showing is in favour of Charles, on whose character, as a king of England, posterity has long since pronounced judgment. A slave to his passions, and a pensioner to France, he was unworthy of the people’s “precious diadem.” He broke his public faith, and disregarded his private word. To the vessel of the state he was a “sunk rock,” whereon it had nearly foundered.

In the Romish church this was a splendid festival, with processions and services peculiar to its celebration; devotions were daily addressed to every person of the Trinity: as the other festivals commemorated the Unity in Trinity, so this commemorated the Trinity in Unity.[155]

In the Lambeth accounts are church-wardens’ charges for garlands and drink for the children, for garnishing-ribbons, and for singing men in the procession on Trinity-Sunday-even.[156]

It is still a custom of ancient usage for the judges and great law-officers of the crown, together with the lord mayor, aldermen, and common council, to attend divine service at St. Paul’s cathedral, and hear a sermon which is always preached there on Trinity Sunday by the lord mayor’s chaplain. At the first ensuing meeting of the common council, it isusual for that court to pass a vote of thanks to the chaplain for such sermon, and order the same to be printed at the expense of the corporation, unless, as sometimes has occurred, it contained sentiments obnoxious to their views.

In Curll’s “Miscellanies, 1714,” 8vo. is an account of Newnton, in North Wiltshire; where, to perpetuate the memory of the donation of a common to that place by king Athelstan and of a house for the hayward,i. e.the person who looked after the beasts that fed upon this common, the following ceremonies were appointed: “Upon every Trinity Sunday, the parishioners being come to the door of the hayward’s house, the door was struck thrice, in honour of the Holy Trinity; they then entered. The bell was rung; after which, silence being ordered, they read their prayers aforesaid. Then was a ghirland of flowers (about the year 1660, one was killed striving to take away the ghirland) made upon an hoop, brought forth by a maid of the town upon her neck, and a young man (a bachelor) of another parish, first saluted her three times, in honour of the Trinity, in respect of God the Father. Then she puts the ghirland upon his neck, and kisses him three times, in honour of the Trinity, particularly God the Son. Then he puts the ghirland on her neck again, and kisses her three times, in respect of the Holy Trinity, and particularly the Holy Ghost. Then he takes the ghirland from her neck, and, by the custom, must give her a penny at least, which, as fancy leads, is now exceeded, as 2s.6d.or &c. The method of giving this ghirland is from house to house annually, till it comes round. In the evening every commoner sends his supper up to this house, which is called the Ealehouse: and having before laid in there equally a stock of malt, which was brewed in the house, they sup together, and what was left was given to the poor.”

An old homily for Trinity Sunday declares that the form of the Trinity was found in man: that Adam, our forefather of the earth, was the first person; that Eve, of Adam, was the second person; and that of them both was the third person: further, that at the death of a man three bells were to be rung as his knell in worship of the Trinity, and two bells for a woman, as the second person of the Trinity.[157]

Blue Bottle.Centauria montana.Dedicated toSt. Cyril.

[153]Hume.[154]Stukeley, Itiner. Curios. 1724.[155]Shepherd.[156]Lysons in Brand.[157]Hone on Ancient Mysteries.

[153]Hume.

[154]Stukeley, Itiner. Curios. 1724.

[155]Shepherd.

[156]Lysons in Brand.

[157]Hone on Ancient Mysteries.

St. FelixI., Pope,A. D.274.St. Walstan, Confessor,A. D.1016.St. FerdinandIII., Confessor, King of Castile and Leon,A. D.1252.St. Maguil, in Latin,Madelgisilus, Recluse in Picardy, aboutA. D.685.

Of late years a fair has been held at Deptford on this day. It originated in trifling pastimes for persons who assembled to see the master and brethren of the Trinity-house, on their annual visit to the Trinity-house, at Deptford. First there were jingling matches; then came a booth or two; afterwards a few shows; and, in 1825, it was a very considerable fair. There were Richardson’s, and other dramatic exhibitions; the Crown and Anchor booth, with a variety of dancing and drinking booths, as at Greenwich fair this year, before described, besides shows in abundance.

This maritime corporation, according to their charter, meet annually on Trinity Monday, in their hospital for decayed sea-commanders and their widows at Deptford, to choose and swear in a master, wardens, and other officers, for the year ensuing. The importance of this institution to the naval interests of the country, and the active duties required of its members, are of great magnitude, and hence the master has usually been a nobleman of distinguished rank and statesman-like qualities, and his associates are always experienced naval officers: of late years lord Liverpool has been master. The ceremony in 1825 was thus conducted. The outer gates of the hospital were closed against strangers, and kept by a party of the hospital inhabitants; no person being allowed entrance without express permission. By this means the large and pleasantcourt-yard formed by the quadrangle, afforded ample accommodation to ladies and other respectable persons. In the mean time, the hall on the east side was under preparation within, and the door strictly guarded by constables stationed without; an assemblage of well-dressed females and their friends, agreeably diversified the lawn. From eleven until twelve o’clock, parties of two or three were so fortunate as to find favour in the eyes of Mr. Snaggs, the gentleman who conducted the arrangements, and gained entrance. The hall is a spacious handsome room, wherein divine service is performed twice a-week, and public business, as on this occasion, transacted within a space somewhat elevated, and railed off by balustrades. On getting within the doors, the eye was struck by the unexpected appearance of the boarded floor; it was strewed with green rushes, the use of which by our ancestors, who lived before floors were in existence, is well known. The reason for continuing the practice here, was not so apparent as the look itself was pleasant, by bringing the simple manners of other times to recollection. At about one o’clock, the sound of music having announced that lord Liverpool and his associate brethren had arrived within the outer gate, the hall doors were thrown open, and the procession entered. His lordship wore the star of the garter on a plain blue coat, with scarlet collar and cuffs, which dress, being the Windsor uniform, was also worn by the other gentlemen. They were preceded by the rev. Dr. Spry, late of Birmingham, now of Langham church, Portland-place, in full canonicals. After taking their seats at the great table within the balustrades, it was proclaimed, that this being Trinity Monday, and therefore, according to the charter, the day for electing the master, deputy-master, and elder brethren of the holy and undivided Trinity, the brethren were required to proceed to the election. Lord Liverpool, being thereupon nominated master, was elected by a show of hands, as were his coadjutors in like manner. The election concluded, large silver and silver-gilt cups, richly embossed and chased, filled with cool drink, were handed round; and the doors being thrown open, and the anxious expectants outside allowed to enter, the hall was presently filled, and a merry scene ensued. Large baskets filled with biscuits were laid on the table before the brethren; Lord Liverpool then rose, and throwing a biscuit into the middle of the hall, his example was followed by the rest of the brethren. Shouts of laughter arose, and a general scramble took place. This scene continued about ten minutes, successive baskets being brought in and thrown among the assembly, until such as chose to join in the scramble were supplied; the banner-bearers of the Trinity-house, in their rich scarlet dresses and badges, who had accompanied the procession into the hall, increased the merriment by their superior activity. A procession was afterwards formed, as before, to Deptford old church, where divine service was performed, and Dr. Spry being appointed to preach before the brethren, he delivered a sermon from Psalm cxlv. 9. “The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his works.” The discourse being ended, the master and brethren returned in procession to their state barges, which lay at the stairs of Messrs. Gordon & Co., anchor-smiths. They were then rowed back to the Tower, where they had embarked, in order to return to the Trinity-house from whence they had set out. Most of the vessels in the river hoisted their colours in honour of the corporation, and salutes were fired from different parts on shore. The Trinity-yacht, which lay off St. George’s, near Deptford, was completely hung with the colours of all nations, and presented a beautiful appearance. Indeed the whole scene was very delightful, and created high feelings in those who recollected that to the brethren of the Trinity are confided some of the highest functions that are exercised for the protection of life and property on our coasts and seas.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Dear Sir,

Though I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance, I know enough to persuade me that you are noevery-daybody. The love of nature seems to form so prominent a trait in your character, that I, who am also one of her votaries, can rest no longer without communicating with you on the subject. I like, too, the sober and solitary feeling with which you ruminate over by-gone pleasures, and scenes wherein your youth delighted: for, though I am but young myself, I have witnessed by far too many changes, andhave had cause to indulge too frequently in such cogitations.

I am a “Surrey-man,” as the worthy author of the “Athenæ Oxon.” would say: and though born with a desire to ramble, and a mind set on change, I have never till lately had an opportunity of strolling so far northward as “ould Iselton,” or “merry Islington:”—you may take which reading you please, but I prefer the first. But from the circumstance of your “walk out of London” having been directed that way, and having led you into so pleasant a mood, I am induced to look for similar enjoyment in my rambling excursions through its “town-like” and dim atmosphere. I am not ashamed to declare, that my taste in these matters differs widely from that of the “great and good” Johnson; who, though entitled, as a constellation of no ordinary “brilliance,” to the high sounding name of “the Great Bear,” (which I am not the first to appropriate to him,) seems to have set his whole soul on “bookes olde,” and “modern authors” of every other description, while the book of nature, which was schooling the negro-wanderer of the desert, proffered nothing to arrest his attention! Day unto day was uttering speech, and night unto night showing knowledge; the sun was going forth in glory, and the placid moon “walking in brightness;” and could he close his ears, and revert his gaze?—“De gustibus nil disputandum” I cannot say, for I do most heartily protest against his taste in such matters.

“The time of the singing of birds is come,” but, what is the worst of it, all these “songsters” are not “feathered.” There is a noted “Dickey” bird, who took it into his head, so long ago as the 25th of December last, to “sing through the heavens,”[158]—but I will have nothing to do with the “Christemasse Caroles” of modern day. Give me the “musical pyping” and “pleasaunte songes” of olden tyme, and I care not whether any more “ditees” of the kind are concocted till doomsday.

But I must not leave the singing of birds where I found it: I love to hear the nightingales emulating each other, and forming, by their “sweet jug jug,” a means of communication from one skirt of the wood to the other, while every tree seems joying in the sun’s first rays. There is such a wildness and variety in the note, that I could listen to it, unwearied, for hours. The dew still lies on the ground, and there is a breezy freshness about us: as our walk is continued, a “birde of songe, and mynstrell of the woode,” holds thetenorof its way across the path:—but it is no “noiselesstenor.” “Sweet jug, jug, jug,” says the olde balade:—

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