APRIL.

AprilAPRIL.

April

On April, in old kalendars, is drawnA gallant hawker, pacing on a lawn,Holding a bell’d and hooded fowl of prey,Ready to loose him in the airy way.For daily, now, descends the solar beam,And the warm earth seems in a waking dream;Insects creep out, leaves burst, and flowers rise,And birds enchant the woods, and wing the skies;Each sentient being a new sense receives,And eloquently looks, to each, it lives.

The name of this month is before observed to have been derived from the verbaperire,[117]which signifies to open, because seeds germinate, and at this season flowers begin to blow; yet Macrobius affirms that it is derived from a Greek word signifyingaphrilis, or descendedfrom Venus, or, born of the scum of the sea, because Romulus dedicated the month to Venus. This may be the real derivation; the former is the most natural.

“April,” says the author of theMirror of the Months, “is spring—the only spring month that we possess—the most juvenile of the months, and the most feminine—the sweetest month of all the year; partly because it ushers in the May, and partly for its own sake, so far as any thing can be valuable without reference to any thing else. It is, to May and June, what ‘sweet fifteen,’ in the age of woman, is to passion-stricken eighteen, and perfect two-and-twenty. It is worth two Mays, because it tells tales of May in every sigh that it breathes, and every tear that it lets fall. It is the harbinger, the herald, the promise, the prophecy, the foretaste of all the beauties that are to follow it—of all, and more—of all the delights of summer, and all the ‘pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious autumn.’ It is fraught with beauties that no other month can bring before us, and

‘It bears a glass which shows us many more.’

Its life is one sweet alternation of smiles and sighs and tears, and tears and sighs and smiles, till it is consummated at last in the open laughter of May.”

By the same hand we are directed to observe, “what a sweet flush of new green has started up to the face of this meadow! And the new-born daisies that stud it here and there, give it the look of an emerald sky, powdered with snowy stars. In making our way to yonder hedgerow, which divides the meadow from the little copse that lines one side of it, let us not take the shortest way, but keep religiously to the little footpath; for the young grass is as yet too tender to bear being trod upon; and the young lambs themselves, while they go cropping its crisp points, let the sweet daisies alone, as if they loved to look upon a sight as pretty and as innocent as themselves.” It is further remarked that “the great charm of this month, both in the open country and the garden, is undoubtedly the infinitegreenwhich pervades it every where, and which we had best gaze our fill at while we may, as it lasts but a little while,—changing in a few weeks into an endless variety of shades and tints, that are equivalent to as many different colours. It is this, and the budding forth of every living member of the vegetable world, after its long winter death, that in fact constitutesthe spring; and the sight of which affects us in the manner it does, from various causes—chiefly moral and associated ones; but one of which is unquestionably physical: I mean the sight of so much tender green after the eye has been condemned to look for months and months on the mere negation of all colour, which prevails in winter in our climate. The eye feels cheered, cherished, and regaled by this colour, as the tongue does by a quick and pleasant taste, after having long palated nothing but tasteless and insipid things.—This is the principal charm of spring, no doubt. But another, and one that is scarcely second to this, is, the bright flush of blossoms that prevails over and almost hides every thing else in the fruit-garden and orchard. What exquisite differences and distinctions and resemblances there are between all the various blossoms of the fruit-trees; and no less in their general effect than in their separate details! The almond-blossom, which comes first of all, and while the tree is quite bare of leaves, is of a bright blush-rose colour; and when they are fully blown, the tree, if it has been kept to a compact head, instead of being permitted to straggle, looks like one huge rose, magnified by some fairy magic, to deck the bosom of some fair giantess. The various kinds of plum follow, the blossoms of which are snow-white, and as full and clustering as those of the almond. The peach and nectarine, which are now full blown, are unlike either of the above; and their sweet effect, as if growing out of the hard bare wall, or the rough wooden paling, is peculiarly pretty. They are of a deep blush colour, and of a delicate bell shape, the lips, however, divided, and turning backward, to expose the interior to the cherishing sun. But perhaps the bloom that is richest and mostpromisingin its general appearance is that of the cherry, clasping its white honours all round the long straight branches, from heel to point, and not letting a leaf or a bit of stem be seen, except the three or four leaves that come as a green finish at the extremity of each branch. The other blossoms, of the pears, and (loveliest of all) the apples, do not come in perfection till next month.”

The beauties of the seasons are a constant theme with their discoverers—the poets. Spring, as the reproductive source of “light and life and love,” has the preeminence with these children of nature. The authors of “The Forest Minstreland other poems,” William and Mary Howitt, have high claims upon reflective and imaginative minds, in return for the truth and beauty contained in an elegant volume, which cultivates the moral sense, and infuses a devotional spirit, through exquisite description and just application. The writers have traversed “woods and wilds, and fields, and lanes, with a curious and delighted eye,” and “written not for the sake of writing,” but for the indulgence of their overflowing feelings. They are “members of the Society of Friends,” and those who are accustomed to regard individuals of that community as necessarily incapable of poetical impression, will be pleased by reading from Mr. Howitt’s “Epistle Dedicatory” what he says of his own verses, and of his helpmate in thework:—

And now ’tis spring, and bards are gathering flowers;So I have cull’d you these, and with them sentThe gleanings of a nymph whom some few hoursAgo I met with—some few years I meant—Gathering “true-love” amongst the wild-wood bowers;You’ll find some buds all with this posy blent,If that ye know them, which some lady fairViewing, may haply prize, for they are wond’rous rare.

Artists have seldom represented friends—“of the Society of Friends,”—with poetical feeling. Mr. Howitt’s sketch of himself, and her whom he found gathering “true-love,” though they were not clad perhaps “as worldlings are,” would inspire a painter, whose art could be roused by the pen, to a charming picture of youthful affection. The habit of some of the young men, in the peaceable community, maintains its character, without that extremity of the fashion of being out of fashion, which marks the wearer as remarkably formal; while the young females of the society, still preserving the distinction prescribed by discipline, dress more attractively, to the cultivated eye, than a multitude of the sex who study variety of costume. Such lovers, pictured as they are imagined from Mr. Howitt’s lines, would grace a landscape, enfoliated from other stanzas in the same poem, which raise the fondest recollections of the pleasures of boyhood in spring.

Then did I gather, with a keen delight,All changes of the seasons, and their signs:Then did I speed forth, at the first glad sightOf the coy spring—of spring that archly shinesOut for a day—then goes—and then more brightComes laughing forth, like a gay lass that linesA dark lash with a ray that beams and burns,And scatters hopes and doubts, and smiles and frowns, by turns.On a sweet, shining morning thus sent out,It seem’d what man was made for, to look roundAnd trace the full brook, that, with clamorous route,O’er fallen trees, and roots black curling, woundThrough glens, with wild brakes scatter’d all about;Where not a leaf or green blade yet was foundSpringing to hide the red fern of last year,And hemlock’s broken stems, and rustling rank grass sere.But hazel catkins, and the bursting budsOf the fresh willow, whisper’d “spring is coming;”And bullfinches forth flitting from the woods,With their rich silver voices; and the hummingOf a new waken’d bee that pass’d; and the broodsOf ever dancing gnats, again consuming,In pleasant sun-light, their re-given time;And the germs swelling in the red shoots of the lime.All these were tell-tales of far brighter hours,That had been, and again were on their way;The breaking forth of green things, and of flowers,From the earth’s breast; from bank and quickening sprayDews, buds, and blossoms; and in woodland bowers,Fragrant and fresh, full many a sweet bird’s lay,Sending abroad, from the exultant spring,To every living heart a gladsome welcoming.Howitt.

On a sweet, shining morning thus sent out,It seem’d what man was made for, to look roundAnd trace the full brook, that, with clamorous route,O’er fallen trees, and roots black curling, woundThrough glens, with wild brakes scatter’d all about;Where not a leaf or green blade yet was foundSpringing to hide the red fern of last year,And hemlock’s broken stems, and rustling rank grass sere.

But hazel catkins, and the bursting budsOf the fresh willow, whisper’d “spring is coming;”And bullfinches forth flitting from the woods,With their rich silver voices; and the hummingOf a new waken’d bee that pass’d; and the broodsOf ever dancing gnats, again consuming,In pleasant sun-light, their re-given time;And the germs swelling in the red shoots of the lime.

All these were tell-tales of far brighter hours,That had been, and again were on their way;The breaking forth of green things, and of flowers,From the earth’s breast; from bank and quickening sprayDews, buds, and blossoms; and in woodland bowers,Fragrant and fresh, full many a sweet bird’s lay,Sending abroad, from the exultant spring,To every living heart a gladsome welcoming.

Howitt.

[117]Vol. i. p. 407.

In the first volume of the present work, (p. 409,) there is an account of the singular usage of fool-making to-day, which may be further illustrated by a few lines from an almanac of1760:—

The first of April, some do say,Is set apart for All Fool’s-day;But why the people call it so,Nor I, nor they themselves, do know.But on this day are people sentOn purpose for pure merriment;And though the day is known before,Yet frequently there is great storeOf these forgetfuls to be found,Who’re sent to flance Moll Dixon’s round;And having tried each shop and stall,And disappointed at them all,At last some tell them of the cheat,And then they hurry from the street,And straightway home with shame they run,And others laugh at what is done.But ’tis a thing to be disputed,Which is the greatest fool reputed,The man that innocently went,Or he that him designedly sent.Poor Robin.

Poor Robin.

The custom of making April fools prevails all over the continent. A lady relates that the day is further marked in Provence by every body, both rich and poor, having for dinner, under some form or other, a sort of peas peculiar to the country, calledpois chiches. While the convent of the Chartreux was standing, it was one of the great jokes of the day to send novices thither to ask for these peas, telling them that the fathers were obliged to give them away to any body who would come for them. So many applications were in consequence made in the course of the day for the promised bounty, that the patience of the monks was at last usually exhausted, and it was well if the vessel carried to receive the pease was not thrown at the head of the bearer.

There is an amusing anecdote connected with the church of the convent of the Chartreux, at Provence. It was dedicated to St. John, and over the portico were colossal statues of the four evangelists, which have been thrown down and broken to pieces, and the fragments lie scattered about. The first time Miss Plumptre with her party visited this spot, they found an old woman upon her knees before a block of stone, muttering something to herself:—when she arose up, curiosity led them to inquire, whether there was any thing particular in thatstone; to which she replied with a deep sigh,Ah oui, c’est un morceau de Saint Jean, “Ah yes, ’tis a piece of Saint John.” The old lady seemed to think that the saint’s intercession in her behalf, mutilated as he was, might still be of some avail.

In Xylander’s Plutarch there is a passage in Greek, relative to the “Feast of Fools,” celebrated by the Romans, to this effect, “Why do they call the Quirinalia the Feast of Fools? Either, because they allowed this day (as Juba tells us) to those who could not ascertain their own tribes, or because they permitted those who had missed the celebration of the Fornacalia in their proper tribes, along with the rest of the people, either out of negligence, absence, or ignorance, to hold their festival apart on this day.”

The Romans on the first day of April abstained from pleading causes, and the Roman ladies performed ablutions under myrtle trees, crowned themselves with its leaves, and offered sacrifices to Venus. This custom originated in a mythological story, that as Venus was drying her wetted hair by a river side, she was perceived by satyrs, whose gaze confusedher:—

But soon with myrtles she her beauties veiled,From whence this annual custom was entail’d.Ovid.

But soon with myrtles she her beauties veiled,From whence this annual custom was entail’d.

Ovid.

“April 1, 1695. All-Saints’ parish humbly request the metal of the statue, towards the repair of their bells.”

This refers to a statue of James II. pulled down from the Exchange in consequence of lord Lumley having entered the town and declared for a free parliament. It was an equestrian figure in copper, of the size of Charles I. at Charing-cross. The mob demolished the statue, dragged it to the quay, and cast it into the river. As the parish of All-Saints desired to turn the deposit to some account, the parish of St. Andrews petitioned for a share of the spoil, and it appears by the subjoined extract from the council books, that each was accommodated.

“Ordered that All-Saints have the metal belonging to the horse of the said statue, except a leg thereof, which must go towards the casting of a new bell for St. Andrew’s parish.”

A print of the statue was published “on two large sheets of Genoa paper,” price 5s.by Joseph Barber of Newcastle. There is an engraving from it in “Local Records, by John Sykes, bookseller, Newcastle, 1824,” a book which consists of a chronological arrangement of curious and interesting facts, and events, that have occurred exclusively in the counties of Durham and Northumberland, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Berwick, with an obituary and anecdotes of remarkable persons. The present notice is taken from Mr. Sykes’s work.

Mean Temperature 44·17.

On the 2d of April 1755, Severndroog castle, on the coast of Malabar, belonging to Angria, a celebrated pirate, was taken by commodore James. His relict, to commemorate her husband’s heroism, and to testify her affectionate respect to his memory, erected a tower of the same name on Shooters-hill, near Blackheath, where it is a distinguished land-mark at an immense distance to the circumjacent country.

Mean Temperature 44·37.

It is noticed on this day in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the birds are now arriving daily, and forming arrangements for the hatching and nurture of their future young. The different sorts of nests of each species, adapted to the wants of each, and springing out of their respective instincts, combined with the propensity to construct, would form a curious subject of research for the natural historian. Every part of the world furnishes materials for the aërial architects: leaves and small twigs, roots and dried grass, mixed with clay, serve for the external;whilst moss, wool, fine hair, and the softest animal and vegetable downs, form the warm internal part of these commodiousdwellings:—

Of vernal songsters—some to the holly hedge,Nestling, repair, and to the thicket some;Some to the rude protection of the thornCommit their feeble offspring: the cleft treeOffers its kind concealment to a few,Their food its insects, and its moss their nests:Others apart, far in the grassy daleOr roughening waste, their humble texture weave:But most in woodland solitudes delight,In unfrequented glooms or shaggy banks,Steep, and divided by a babbling brook,Whose murmurs soothe them all the livelong day,When by kind duty fixed. Among the rootsOf hazel, pendent o’er the plaintive stream,They frame the first foundation of their domes,Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid,And bound with clay together. Now ’tis naughtBut restless hurry through the busy air,Beat by unnumbered wings. The swallow sweepsThe slimy pool, to build the hanging houseIntent: and often from the careless backOf herds and flocks a thousand tugging billsPluck hair and wool; and oft, when unobserved,Steal from the barn a straw; till soft and warm,Clean and complete, their habitation grows.Thomson.

Thomson.

The cavern-loving wren sequestered seeksThe verdant shelter of the hollow stump,And with congenial moss, harmless deceit,Constructs a safe abode. On topmost boughsThe glossy raven, and the hoarsevoiced crow,Rocked by the storm, erect their airy nests.The ousel, lone frequenter of the groveOf fragrant pines, in solemn depth of shadeFinds rest; or ’mid the holly’s shining leaves,A simple bush the piping thrush contents,Though in the woodland concert he aloftTrills from his spotted throat a powerful strain,And scorns the humbler quire. The lark too asksA lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf,Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof;Songster of heaven! who to the sun such laysPours forth, as earth ne’er owns. Within the hedgeThe sparrow lays her skystained eggs. The barn,With eaves o’erpendant, holds the chattering tribe:Secret the linnet seeks the tangled copse:The white owl seeks some antique ruined wall,Fearless of rapine; or in hollow trees,Which age has caverned, safely courts repose:The thievish pie, in twofold colours clad,Roofs o’er her curious nest with firmwreathed twigs,And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreadsThe taloned kite, or pouncing hawk; savageHerself, with craft suspicion ever dwells.Bidlake.

Bidlake.

Mean Temperature 43·37.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Cornhill, March, 1826.

Sir,—The following observations on the leechworm were made by a gentleman who kept one several years for the purpose of a weather-glass:

A phial of water, containing a leech, I kept on the frame of my lower sash window, so that when I looked in the morning I could know what would be the weather of the following day. If the weather proves serene and beautiful, the leech lies motionless at the bottom of the glass, and rolled together in a spiral form.

If it rains, either before or after noon, it is found crept up to the top of its lodging, and there it remains till the weather is settled. If we are to have wind, the poor prisoner gallops through its limped habitation with amazing swiftness, and seldom rests till it begins to blow hard.

If a storm of thunder and rain is to succeed, for some days before it lodges, almost continually, without the water, and discovers very great uneasiness in violent throes and convulsions.

In the frost, as in clear summer weather, it lies constantly at the bottom; and in snow, as in rainy weather, it pitches its dwelling upon the very mouth of the phial.

What reasons may be assigned for these circumstances I must leave philosophers to determine, though one thing is evident to every body, that it must be affected in the same way as that of the mercury and spirits in the weather-glass. It has, doubtless, a very surprising sensation; for the change of weather, even days before, makes a visible alteration upon its manner of living.

Perhaps it may not be amiss to note, that the leech was kept in a common eight-ounce phial glass, about three-quarters filled with water, and covered on the mouth with a piece of linen rag. In the summer the water is changed once a week, and in the winter once a fortnight. This is a weather-glass which may be purchased at a very trifling expense, and which will last I do not know how many years.

I am, &c.J. F.

Mean Temperature 44·82.

Our friend J. H. H. whose letter on wild-fowl shooting, from Abbeville, is in vol. i. p. 1575, with another on lark shooting in France in the present volume,p. 91, writes from Southover, near Lewes, in Sussex, on this day, 1826, “How delightful the country looks! I shall leave you to imagine two swallows, the first I have seen, now preening themselves on the barn opposite, heartily glad that their long journey is at an end.” The birds come to us this year very early.

In a letter of the 5th of April, 1808, to Dr. Aikin, inserted in his “Athenæum,” Mr. Roots says,—“In the year 1801, being on a tour through the Highlands of Scotland, I visited the beautiful city of Glasgow, and in passing one of the principal streets in the neighbourhood of the Tron church, I observed about five-and-twenty or thirty people, chiefly females, assembled round a large public pump, waiting their separate turns for water; and although the pump had two spouts for the evacuation of the water behind and before, I took notice that one of the spouts was carefully plugged up, no one attempting to fill his vessel from that source, whilst each was waiting till the rest were served, sooner than draw the water from the spout in question. On inquiry into the cause of this proceeding, I was informed by an intelligent gentleman residing in the neighbourhood, that though one and thesamehandle produced thesamewater from thesamewell througheither of the spouts, yet the populace, and even better informed people, had for a number of years conceived an idea, which had been handed down from father to son, that the water when drawn from the hindermost spout would be of anunluckyandpoisonousnature; and this vulgar prejudice is from time to time kept afloat, inasmuch, as by its being never used, a kind of dusty fur at length collects, and the water, when suffered from curiosity to pass through, at first runs foul; and this tends to carry conviction still further to these ignorant people, who with the most solemn assurancesinformed me, it was certain death to taste of the water so drawn, and no argument could divest them of their superstitious conceit, though the well had been repeatedly cleaned out, before them, by order of the magistrates, and the internal mechanism of the pump explained. We need not be surprised at the bigotted ignorance of the ruder ages, either in this country or in less civilized regions, when we witness facts so grossly superstitious obtaining in our own time.”

Mean Temperature 45·67.

This period of the year is so awakening to intellectual powers, that for a few days some matters of fact are occasionally deferred in favour of imaginative and descriptive effusions occasioned by the season.

The Poet’s Pen.(From the Greek of Menecrates.)I was an useless reed; no cluster hungMy brow with purple grapes, no blossom flungThe coronet of crimson on my stem;No apple blushed upon me, nor (the gemOf flowers) the violet strewed the yellow heathAround my feet, nor Jessamine’s sweet wreathRobed me in silver: day and night I pinedOn the lone moor, and shiver’d in the wind.At length a poet found me. From my sideHe smoothed the pale and withered leaves, and dyedMy lips inHelicon. From that high hourISPOKE! My words were flame and living power,All the wide wonders of the earth were mine,Far as the surges roll, or sunbeams shine;Deep as earth’s bosom hides the emerald;High as the hills with thunder clouds are pall’d.And there was sweetness round me, that the dewHad never wet so sweet on violet’s blue.To me the mighty sceptre was a wand,The roar of nations peal’d at my command;To me the dungeon, sword, and scourge were vain,I smote the smiter, and I broke the chain;Or tow’ring o’er them all, without a plume,I pierced the purple air, the tempest’s gloom,Till blaz’d th’ Olympian glories on my eye,Stars, temples, thrones, and gods—infinity.Pulci

The Poet’s Pen.(From the Greek of Menecrates.)

I was an useless reed; no cluster hungMy brow with purple grapes, no blossom flungThe coronet of crimson on my stem;No apple blushed upon me, nor (the gemOf flowers) the violet strewed the yellow heathAround my feet, nor Jessamine’s sweet wreathRobed me in silver: day and night I pinedOn the lone moor, and shiver’d in the wind.At length a poet found me. From my sideHe smoothed the pale and withered leaves, and dyedMy lips inHelicon. From that high hourISPOKE! My words were flame and living power,All the wide wonders of the earth were mine,Far as the surges roll, or sunbeams shine;Deep as earth’s bosom hides the emerald;High as the hills with thunder clouds are pall’d.And there was sweetness round me, that the dewHad never wet so sweet on violet’s blue.To me the mighty sceptre was a wand,The roar of nations peal’d at my command;To me the dungeon, sword, and scourge were vain,I smote the smiter, and I broke the chain;Or tow’ring o’er them all, without a plume,I pierced the purple air, the tempest’s gloom,Till blaz’d th’ Olympian glories on my eye,Stars, temples, thrones, and gods—infinity.

Pulci

Mean Temperature 46·84.

Our old acquaintance with the saints is not broken: but they are sad intruders on the beauties of the world, and we part from them, for a little while, after the annexed communication of an attempt to honour them.

For the Every-Day Book.

The following anecdote, under the article “Black Friars,” in Brand’s “History of Newcastle-upon-Tyne,” as a specimen of the extreme perversion of mind in the Romish clergy of former times, is curious, and may amuse your readers as much as it has me.

Richard Marshall, who had been one of the brethren, and also prior of the house, in the year 1521, at St. Andrew’s, Scotland, informed his audience there, thatPater nostershould be addressed to God and not to the saints. The doctors of St. Andrew’s, in their great wisdom, or rather craftiness, appointed a preacher to oppose this tenet, which he did in a sermon from Matt. v. 3. “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” “Seeing,” says he, “we say good day,father, to any old man in the street, we may call a saint,pater, who is older than any alive: and seeing they are inheaven, we may say to any of them, ‘hallowedbe thy name;’ and since they are in thekingdomof heaven, we may say to any of them ‘thy kingdom come:’ and seeing their will isGod’s will, we may say, ‘thy willbe done,’” &c. When the friar was proceeding further, he was hissed and even obliged to leave the city. Yet we are told, the dispute continued among the doctors about thepater. Some would have it said to Godformaliter, to the saintsmaterialiter; others, to Godprincipaliter, to the saintsminus principaliter; orprimarioto God,secundarioto the saints; or to Godstrictè, and to the saintslatè. With all these distinctions they could not agree. It is said, that Tom, who was servant to the sub-prior of St. Andrew’s, one day perceiving his master in trouble, said to him, “Sir, what is the cause of your trouble?” The master answered, “We cannot agree about the saying of thepater.” The fellow replied, “To whom should it be said but to God alone?” The master asks, “What then shall we do with thesaints?” To which Tom rejoined, “Give themave’sandcrede’senough, that may suffice them, and too well too.” The readers of theEvery-Day Bookwill probably think that Tom was wiser or honester than his master.

J. F.

Mean Temperature 47·10.

On this day in the “Perennial Calendar,” Dr. Forster observes, that it may be proper to notice the general appearance of the wild and less cultivated parts of nature at this time. In the fields, the bulbous crowfoot,ranunculus bulbosus, begins to blow. Daisies become pretty common, and dandelions are seen here and there by road sides, and in fields, on a warm soil, are pretty abundant. The pilewort,ficaria verna, still decorates the thickets and shady green banks with its bright yellow stars of gold. It may be observed generally, that the flowers found at this time belong to the primaveral Flora; those of the vernal being as yet undeveloped. By the sides of rivers, streams, and ponds, along the wet margins of ditches, and in moist meadows, and marshes, grows the marsh marigold,caltha palustris, whose golden yellow flowers have a brilliant effect at a small distance.

Prolific galesWarm the soft air, and animate the vales.Woven with flowers and shrubs, and freshest green,Thrown with wild boldness o’er the lovely sceneA brilliant carpet, of unnumbered dyes,With sweet variety enchants the eyes.Thick are the trees with leaves; in every groveThe feathered minstrels tune their throats to love.Kleist.

Kleist.

A gentleman indulges the editor with the following account of a singular household utensil, and a drawing of it, from whence a correct engraving has been made; together with a letter from the late lord chancellor Thurlow, which from his distinguished hand on a singular occurrence, merits preservation.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

April 3, 1826.

Sir,—I shall be happy to communicate any thing in my power, connected with antiquities to theEvery-Day Book, which I have taken from the beginning and been highly pleased with; and, first, I send you a drawing for insertion, if you think it worthy, of a carving, in my possession, on an ancient oak board, two feet in diameter.

Ancient Carving.It represents the lettersI. h. c.in the centre, surrounded by this legend, viz.“An harte that is wyse wyll obstine fromsinnes and increas in the workes of God.”

Ancient Carving.It represents the lettersI. h. c.in the centre, surrounded by this legend, viz.

“An harte that is wyse wyll obstine fromsinnes and increas in the workes of God.”

As this legend reads backward, and all the carving is incuse, it was evidently intended to give impression to something; I imagine pastry.

An original letter is now before me, from lord chancellor Thurlow, to a Norfolk farmer, who had sent him a hare, and two and a half brace of partridges, enclosed in a large turnip of his own growth. The farmer had not any personal knowledge of his lordship, but, being aware he was a Norfolk man, he rightly conceived that his present would be looked upon with more interest on that account. The following is a copy of the chancellor’sletter:—

Bath, Dec. 31, 1778.

Sir,—I beg you will accept of my best thanks for your agreeable present. It gave me additional satisfaction to be so remembered in my native country; to which I, in particular, owe every sort of respect, and all the world agrees to admire for superiority in husbandry.

I am, Sir,Your most obligedAnd obedient servant,Thurlow.

Having transcribed his lordship’s answer, you are at liberty to do with that, and the drawing of my carving, as you please; with this “special observance,”that you do not insert my name, which, nevertheless, for your satisfaction, I subscribe, with my abode.

Believe me, Sir, &c.Eta.

⁂ The editor is gratified by the confidence reposed in him by the gentleman who wrote the preceding letter. He takes this opportunity of acknowledging similar marks of confidence, and reiterates the assurance, that such wishes will be always scrupulously observed.

It is respectfully observed to possessors of curiosities of any kind, whether ancient or modern, that if correct drawings of them be sent they shall be faithfully engraven and inserted, with the descriptive accounts.

The gradual disappearance of many singular traces of our ancestors, renders it necessary to call attention to the subject. “Apostle Spoons,” of which there is an engraving in vol. i. p. 178, have been dropping for the last thirty years into the refiner’s melting-pot, till sets of them are not to be purchased, or even seen, except in cabinets. Any thing of interest respecting domestic manners, habits, or customs, of old times, is coveted by the editor for the purpose of recording and handing them down to posterity.

Mean Temperature 46·72.

Some verses in the “Widow’s Tale,” are beautifully descriptive of the season.

All day the lowhung clouds have droptTheir garnered fulness down;All day that soft grey mist hath wraptHill, valley, grove, and town.There has not been a sound to-dayTo break the calm of nature;Nor motion, I might almost say,Of life or living creature;Of waving bough, or warbling bird,Or cattle faintly lowing;I could have half believed I heardThe leaves and blossoms growing.I stood to hear—I love it well,The rain’s continuous sound,Small drops, but thick and fast, they fell,Down straight into the ground.For leafy thickness is not yetEarth’s naked breast to screen,Though every dripping branch is setWith shoots of tender green.Sure, since I looked at early morn,Those honeysuckle budsHave swelled to double growth; that thornHath put forth larger studs;That lilac’s cleaving cones have burst,The milkwhite flowers revealing;Even now, upon my senses firstMethinks their sweets are stealing.The very earth, the steamy air,Is all with fragrance rife;And grace and beauty every whereAre flushing into life.Down, down they come—those fruitful stores!Those earth-rejoicing drops!A momentary deluge pours,Then thins, decreases, stops;And ere the dimples on the streamHave circled out of sight,Lo! from the west, a parting gleamBreaks forth of amber light.But yet behold—abrupt and loud,Comes down the glittering rain;The farewell of a passing cloud,The fringes of her train.

Mean Temperature 47·17.

Art, as well as nature, is busily occupied in providing for real wants or natural desires. To gratify the ears and eyes of the young, we have more street organs and shows in spring than in the autumn, and the adventures of that merry fellow “Punch in the Puppet-show,” are represented to successive crowds in every street, whence his exhibitors conceive they can extract funds for the increase of their treasury.

A kind hand communicates an article of curious import, peculiarly seasonable.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,—I do not know, whether in the absence of more interesting matter, a few remarks on an old favourite may be allowed. The character I am about to mention, has I am sure at one time or another delighted most of your readers, and I confess to be still amused with his vagaries—I mean “that celebrated wooden Roscius,Mister Punch.” It is very difficult to trace accurately the origin and variation of any character of this description; and I shall, therefore, only offer some unconnected notices.

In some of the old mysteries, wherein you are so well read, “the devil” was thebuffoonof the piece, and used to indulgehimself most freely in the gross indecencies tolerated in the earlier ages. When those mysteries began to be refined into moralities, thevicegradually superseded the former clown, if he may be so designated; and at the commencement of such change, frequently shared the comic part of the performance with him. Thevicewas armed with a dagger of lath, with which he was to belabour the devil, who, sometimes, however, at the conclusion of the piece, carried off thevicewith him. Here we have something like the club wielded by Punch, and the wand of harlequin, at the present time, and a similar finish of the devil and Punch, may be seen daily in our streets.

About the beginning of the sixteenth century the drama began to assume a more regular form, and the vice, in his turn, had to make way for the clown or fool, who served to fill up the space between the acts, by supposed extemporaneous witticisms; holding, occasionally, trials of wit with any of the spectators who were bold enough to venture with him. The last play, perhaps, in which the regular fool was introduced, was “The Woman Captain” of Shadwell, in the year 1680. Tarleton, in the time of Shakspeare, was a celebrated performer of this description. The fool was frequently dressed in a motley or party-coloured coat, and each leg clad in different coloured hose. A sort of hood covered his head, resembling a monk’s cowl: this was afterwards changed for a cap, each being usually surmounted with the neck and head of a cock, or sometimes only the crest, or comb; hence the termcockscomb. In his hand he carried the bauble, a short stick, having at one end a fool’s head, and at the other, frequently a bladder with peas or sand, to punish those who offended him. His dress was often adorned with morris-bells, or large knobs. We may observe much similarity to this dress, in the present costume of Punch. He degenerated into a wooden performer, about the time that the regular tragedy and comedy were introduced, i. e. in the beginning of the sixteenth century. Strolling players were prohibited a few years afterwards, and some of those performers who had not skill or interest enough to get a situation in any established company, went about the country with puppet shows, or “motions,” as they were then called, wherein Punch was a prominent character, though not by that name, which was a subsequent importation, originally Policinello, or Punchinello; and when this name was introduced from the continent, some modifications were made also in the character to whom the name was attached. The civil wars, and subsequent triumph of puritanism, depressed theatrical proceedings, and Punch with other performers was obliged to hide himself, or act by stealth; but in the jovial reign of Charles II., he, and his brother actors, broke out with renewed splendour, and until the time of George I. he maintained his rank manfully, being mentioned with considerablerespecteven by the “Spectator.” About this time, however, harlequinades were introduced, and have been so successfully continued, that poor Punch is contented to walk the streets like a snail, with his house on his back, though still possessing as much fun as ever.

Pantomime, in its more extended sense, was known to the Greek and Roman stages, being introduced on the latter by Pylades and Bathyllus, in the time of Augustus Cæsar. From that time to the present, different modifications of this representation have taken place on the continent, and the lofty scenes of ancient pantomime, are degenerated to thebizarreadventures of harlequin, pantaloon, zany, pierrot, scaramouch, &c.

The first pantomine performed by grotesque characters in this country, was at Drury-lane theatre, in the year 1702. It was composed by Mr. Weaver, and called “The Tavern Bilkers.” The next was performed at Drury-lane in 1716, and it was also composed by Mr. Weaver, in imitation of the ancient pantomime, and called “The Loves of Mars and Venus.”

In 1717, the first harlequinade, composed by Mr. Rich, was performed at the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, called, “Harlequin Executed.” This performer, who acted under the name of Lun, was so celebrated for his taste in composing these entertainments, and for his skill, as a harlequin, that they soon became established in the public favour. He flourished until the year 1761, and all his productions succeeded.

The harlequin on the French stage differed from ours, for he had considerable license of speech, somewhat similar to the theatric fools of the sixteenth century. Many of the witticisms of Dominique, acelebrated harlequin in the time of Louis XIV. are still on record; it is said, indeed, that before his time, harlequin was but a grotesque ignorant character, but that he being a man of wit, infused it into his representation, and invented the character of Pierrot as a foolish servant, to fill up the piece. The old character of zany was similar to our modern clown, who now is generally the possessor of all the wit in the performance. The name of pantaloon is said to have been derived from the watch-word of the Venetians,pianta leone;if so, (which is doubtful) it must have been applied in derision of their fallen state, as compared with their former splendour. A more doubtful origin has been given of the name of harlequin; a young Italian actor of eminence in this style of character, came to Paris in the time of Henry III. of France, and having been received into the house of the president, Achilles de Harlai, his brother actors, are said to have called him harlequino, from the name of his master. There was a knight called Harlequin, an extravagant dissipated man, who spent his substance in the wars of Charles Martel, against the Saracens, and afterwards lived by pillage. Tradition says he was saved from perdition in consequence of his services against the infidels, but condemned for a certain time to appear nightly upon earth, with those of his lineage.

But, as to derivations, some have derived the term merry-andrew, from the time of the Druids,an Drieu, i.e. Arch-Druid,—others, from the celebrated Andrew Borde, the writer and empiric. The merry-andrew used at fairs to wear a patched coat like the modern harlequin, and sometimes a hunch on his back. It has been remarked that the common people are apt to give to some well-known facetious personage, the name of a favourite dish; hence, the jack-pudding of the English; thejean-potageof the French; themacaroniof the Italians, &c.

A word or two more about Punch, and I have done. There are some hand-bills in the British Museum, of the time of queen Ann, from whence I made a few extracts some time ago. They principally relate to the shows at Bartlemy fair, and I observe at “Heatly’s booth,” that “the performances will be compleated with the merry humors of sir John Spendall and Punchinello;” and James Miles, at “the Gun-Musick booth,” among other dances &c., exhibited “a new entertainment between a scaramouch, a harlequin, and a punchinello, in imitation of bilking a reckoning,—and a new dance by four scaramouches, after the Italian manner,” &c.

The famous comedian Edwin, (the Liston of his day) acted the part of Punch, in a piece called “The Mirror,” at Covent-garden theatre: in this he introduced a burlesque song by C. Dibdin, which obtained some celebrity; evidently through the merit of the actor, rather than the song, as it has nothing particular to recommend it.

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