[124]General Biog. Dict.[125]Spence.
[124]General Biog. Dict.
[125]Spence.
On this day, in the year 17 , there was a solemn mock procession, according to the fashion of the times, in ridicule of freemasonry, by an assemblage of humouristsand rabble, which strongly characterises the manners of the period. Without further preface, a large broadside publication, published at the time, is introduced to the reader’s attention, as an article of great rarity and singular curiosity.
The year wherein this procession took place, is not ascertainable from the broadside; but, from the mode of printing and other appearances, it seems to have been some years before that which is represented in a large two-sheet “Geometrical View of the Grand Procession of Scald Miserable Masons, designed as they were drawn up over against Somerset-house, in the Strand on the 27th of April, 1742. Invented, and engraved, by A. Benoist.”
It should be further observed, that the editor of theEvery-Day Bookis not a mason; but he disclaims any intention to discredit an order which appears to him to be founded on principles of good-will and kind affection. The broadside is simply introduced on account of its scarcity, and to exemplify the rudeness of former manners. It is headed by a spirited engraving on wood, of which a reducedcopyis placed below, with the title that precedes the original print subjoined.
The Solemn and Stately ProcessionOF THE SCALD MISERABLE MASONS,As it was martiall’d, on Thursday, the 18th of this Instant, April.
The Solemn and Stately ProcessionOF THE SCALD MISERABLE MASONS,As it was martiall’d, on Thursday, the 18th of this Instant, April.
Theengravingis succeeded by a serio-comic Address, commencingthus:—
The Remonstranceof the Right Worshipful theGrand Master, &c.of theScald Miserable Masons.
WHEREAS by our Manifesto some time past, dated from our Lodge in Brick-street,Wedid, in the most explicite manner, vindicate the ancient rights and privileges of this society, and by incontestable arguments evince our superior dignity and seniority to all otherinstitutions, whether Grand-Volgi, Gregorians, Hurlothrumbians, Ubiquarians, Hiccubites, Lumber-Troopers, or Free-Masons; yet, nevertheless, a few persons under the last denomination, still arrogate to themselves the usurped titles of Most Ancient and Honourable, in open violations of truth and justice; still endeavour to impose their false mysteries (for a premium) on the credulous and unwary, under pretence of being part of our brotherhood; and still are determin’d with drums, trumpets, gilt chariots, and other unconstitutional finery, to cast a reflection on the primitive simplicity and decent economy of our ancient and annual peregrination:Wetherefore think proper, in justification of Ourselves, publicly to disclaim all relation or alliance whatsoever, with the said society of Free-Masons, as the same must manifestly tend to the sacrifice of our dignity, the impeachment of our understanding, and the disgrace of our solemn mysteries:And Further, to convince the public of the candour and openness of our proceedings,Wehere present them with a key to our procession; and that the rather, as it consists of many things emblematical, mystical, hieroglyphical, comical, satirical, political, &c.
AND WHEREAS many, persuaded by the purity of our constitution, the nice morality of our brethren, and peculiar decency of our rites and ceremonies, have lately forsook the gross errors and follies of the Free-Masonry, are now become trueScald Miserables: It cannot but afford a most pleasing satisfaction to all who have any regard to truth and decency, to see our procession increased with such a number of proselytes; and behold those whose vanity, but the last year, exalted them into a borrowed equipage, now condescend to become the humble cargo of a sand-cart.
[Then follows the following:]
A KeyorExplanationofthe Solemn and Stately Procession of theScald Miserable Masons.
Two Tylers,or Guarders,
In yellow Cockades and Liveries, being the Colour ordained for the Sword Bearer of State. They, as youngest enter’d ’Prentices, are to guard the Lodge, with a drawn Sword, from all Cowens and Eves-droppers, that is Listeners, lest they should discover the incomprehensible Mysteries of Masonry.
A Grand Chorus of Instruments,
To wit. Four Sackbutts, or Cow’s Horns; six Hottentot Hautboys; four tinkling Cymbals, or Tea Canisters, with broken Glass in them; four Shovels and Brushes; two Double Bass Dripping-pans; a Tenor Frying-pan; a Salt-box in Delasol; and a Pair of Tubs.
Ragged enter’d ’Prentices,
Properly cloathed, giving the above Token, and the Word, which is Jachin.
The Funeral of Hyram,
Six stately unfledg’d Horses with Funeral Habilaments and Caparisons, carrying Escutcheons of the arms ofHyram Abiff, viz. a Master’s lodge, drawing, in a limping halting posture, with Solemn Pomp, a superb open hearse, nine Foot long, four Foot wide, and having a clouded Canopy, Inches and Feet innumerable in perpendicular Height, very nearly resembling a Brick Waggon: In the midst, upon a Throne of Tubs raised for that Purpose, lays the Corps in a Coffin cut out of one entire Ruby; but, for Decency’s sake, is covered with a Chimney-sweeper’s Stop-cloth, at the head of a memorable Sprig of Cassia.
Around in mournful Order placed, the loving, weeping, drunken Brethren sit with their Aprons, their Gloves they have put in their Pockets; at Top and at Bottom, on every side and every where, all round about, this open hearse is bestuck with Escutcheons and Streamers, some bearing the Arms, some his Crest, being the Sprig of Cassia, and some his Motto, viz. Macbenah.
Grand band of Musick as before.
Two Trophies
Of arms or achievements, properly quarter’d and emblazon’d, as allow’d by the college of arms, showing the family descents, with some particular marks of distinction, showing in what part of the administration that family has excelled. That on the right, the achievement of the right worshipfulPoney, beingParte Perpale, Glim, and Leather-dresser, viz. the Utensils of a Link and Black-shoe-Boy: That on the left the trophy of his excellency, —— —— Jack, Grand-master elect, and Chimney-sweeper.
The Equipage
Of the Grand-master, being neatly nasty, delicately squaled, and magnificently ridiculous, beyond all human bounds and conceivings. On the right the Grand-masterPoney, with the Compasses for his Jewel, appendant to a blue Riband round his neck: On the left his excellency —— —— Jack, with a Square hanging to a white Riband, as Grand-master elect: The Honourable Nic. Baboon, Esq.; senior grand Warden, with his Jewel, being the Level, all of solid gold, and blue Riband: Mr. Balaam van Assinman, Junior Warden, his Jewel the Plumb-Rule.
Attendants of Honour.
The Grand Sword Bearer, carrying the Sword of State. It is worth observing, This Sword was sent as a Present byIshmael Abiff(a relation in direct Descent to poor oldHyram) King of the Saracens, to his grace of Wattin, Grand-Master of the Holy-Lodge of St. John of Jerusalem in Clerkenwell, who stands upon our list of Grand-masters for the very same year.
The Grand Secretary, with his Insignia, &c.
Probationists and Candidatesclose the whole Procession.
Tickets to be had, for three Megs a Carcass to scran their Pannum-Boxes, at the Lodge in Brick-Street, near Hide-Park Corner; at the Barley-Broth Womens at St. Paul’s Church-Yard, and the Hospital-Gate in Smithfield; at Nan Duck’s in Black-Boy-Alley, Chick-Lane; &c. &c. &c.
Note.No Gentlemen’s Coaches, or whole Garments, are admitted in our Procession, or at the Feast.
Mean Temperature 47·22.
This open day may be devoted to the contemplation of appearances and products of the season, presented to us by ministering bards: the first to be ushered in, is an offering from a hand whence nothing can be proffered that will not be especially acceptable.
For the Every-Day Book
The Blackthorn.The April air is shrewd and keen;No leaf has dared unfold,Yet thy white blossom’s radiant sheen,Spring’s banner, I behold.Though all beside be dead and drear,Undauntedly thy flowers appear.Thou com’st the herald of a hostOf blooms which will not fail,When summer from some southern coastShall call the nightingale.Yet early, fair, rejoicing tree,Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.All other trees are wont to wear,First leaves, then flowers, and last,Their burden of rich fruit to bearWhen summer’s pride is past:But thou,—so prompt thy flowers to show,Bear’st but the harsh, unwelcome sloe.So oft young genius, at its birth,In confidence untried,Spreads its bright blossoms o’er the earth,And revels in its pride;But when we look its fruit to see,It stands a fair, but barren tree.So oft, in stern and barbarous lands,The bard is heard to sing,Ere the uncultured soul expands,In the poetic spring;Then, sad and bootless are his pains,And linked with woe his name remains.Therefore, thou tree whose early boughAll blossomed meets the gale,Thou stirrest in my memory nowFull many a tearful tale:And early, fair, rejoicing tree,Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.W. Howitt.
The Blackthorn.
The April air is shrewd and keen;No leaf has dared unfold,Yet thy white blossom’s radiant sheen,Spring’s banner, I behold.Though all beside be dead and drear,Undauntedly thy flowers appear.Thou com’st the herald of a hostOf blooms which will not fail,When summer from some southern coastShall call the nightingale.Yet early, fair, rejoicing tree,Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.All other trees are wont to wear,First leaves, then flowers, and last,Their burden of rich fruit to bearWhen summer’s pride is past:But thou,—so prompt thy flowers to show,Bear’st but the harsh, unwelcome sloe.So oft young genius, at its birth,In confidence untried,Spreads its bright blossoms o’er the earth,And revels in its pride;But when we look its fruit to see,It stands a fair, but barren tree.So oft, in stern and barbarous lands,The bard is heard to sing,Ere the uncultured soul expands,In the poetic spring;Then, sad and bootless are his pains,And linked with woe his name remains.Therefore, thou tree whose early boughAll blossomed meets the gale,Thou stirrest in my memory nowFull many a tearful tale:And early, fair, rejoicing tree,Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.
The April air is shrewd and keen;No leaf has dared unfold,Yet thy white blossom’s radiant sheen,Spring’s banner, I behold.Though all beside be dead and drear,Undauntedly thy flowers appear.
Thou com’st the herald of a hostOf blooms which will not fail,When summer from some southern coastShall call the nightingale.Yet early, fair, rejoicing tree,Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.
All other trees are wont to wear,First leaves, then flowers, and last,Their burden of rich fruit to bearWhen summer’s pride is past:But thou,—so prompt thy flowers to show,Bear’st but the harsh, unwelcome sloe.
So oft young genius, at its birth,In confidence untried,Spreads its bright blossoms o’er the earth,And revels in its pride;But when we look its fruit to see,It stands a fair, but barren tree.
So oft, in stern and barbarous lands,The bard is heard to sing,Ere the uncultured soul expands,In the poetic spring;Then, sad and bootless are his pains,And linked with woe his name remains.
Therefore, thou tree whose early boughAll blossomed meets the gale,Thou stirrest in my memory nowFull many a tearful tale:And early, fair, rejoicing tree,Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.
W. Howitt.
Passing the eye from the hedge-row to the earth, it lights on the “wee-tipp’d” emblem of “modesty” sung by poets of every clime wherein itblows:—
The Daisy.There is a flower, a little flower,With silver crest and golden eye,That welcomes every changing hour,And weathers every sky.The prouder beauties of the field,In gay but quick succession shine;Race after race their honours yield,They flourish and decline.But this small flower, to nature dear,While moon and stars their courses runWreaths the whole circle of the year,Companion of the sun.It smiles upon the lap of May,To sultry August spreads its charms,Lights pale October on his way,And twines December’s arms.The purple heath, the golden broom,On moory mountains catch the gale,O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume,The violet in the vale;But this bold floweret climbs the hill,Hides in the forests, haunts the glen,Plays on the margin of the rill,Peeps round the fox’s den.Within the garden’s cultured round,It shares the sweet carnation’s bed;And blooms on consecrated groundIn honour of the dead.The lambkin crops its crimson gem,The wild bee murmurs on its breast,The blue fly bends its pensile stem,Lights o’er the skylark’s nest.’Tis Flora’s page:—in every placeIn every season fresh and fairIt opens with perennial grace,And blossoms every where.On waste and woodland, rock and plain,Its humble buds unheeded rise;The rose has but a summer reign,The daisy never dies.Montgomery.
The Daisy.
There is a flower, a little flower,With silver crest and golden eye,That welcomes every changing hour,And weathers every sky.The prouder beauties of the field,In gay but quick succession shine;Race after race their honours yield,They flourish and decline.But this small flower, to nature dear,While moon and stars their courses runWreaths the whole circle of the year,Companion of the sun.It smiles upon the lap of May,To sultry August spreads its charms,Lights pale October on his way,And twines December’s arms.The purple heath, the golden broom,On moory mountains catch the gale,O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume,The violet in the vale;But this bold floweret climbs the hill,Hides in the forests, haunts the glen,Plays on the margin of the rill,Peeps round the fox’s den.Within the garden’s cultured round,It shares the sweet carnation’s bed;And blooms on consecrated groundIn honour of the dead.The lambkin crops its crimson gem,The wild bee murmurs on its breast,The blue fly bends its pensile stem,Lights o’er the skylark’s nest.’Tis Flora’s page:—in every placeIn every season fresh and fairIt opens with perennial grace,And blossoms every where.On waste and woodland, rock and plain,Its humble buds unheeded rise;The rose has but a summer reign,The daisy never dies.
There is a flower, a little flower,With silver crest and golden eye,That welcomes every changing hour,And weathers every sky.
The prouder beauties of the field,In gay but quick succession shine;Race after race their honours yield,They flourish and decline.
But this small flower, to nature dear,While moon and stars their courses runWreaths the whole circle of the year,Companion of the sun.
It smiles upon the lap of May,To sultry August spreads its charms,Lights pale October on his way,And twines December’s arms.
The purple heath, the golden broom,On moory mountains catch the gale,O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume,The violet in the vale;
But this bold floweret climbs the hill,Hides in the forests, haunts the glen,Plays on the margin of the rill,Peeps round the fox’s den.
Within the garden’s cultured round,It shares the sweet carnation’s bed;And blooms on consecrated groundIn honour of the dead.
The lambkin crops its crimson gem,The wild bee murmurs on its breast,The blue fly bends its pensile stem,Lights o’er the skylark’s nest.
’Tis Flora’s page:—in every placeIn every season fresh and fairIt opens with perennial grace,And blossoms every where.
On waste and woodland, rock and plain,Its humble buds unheeded rise;The rose has but a summer reign,The daisy never dies.
Montgomery.
The flower aptly described by Mr. Montgomery as “companion of the sun,” is not forgotten by a contemporary “child of song,” from whom, until now, no illustration has graced these pages: the absence may be apologized for, by opening one of his views of nature immediately.
Day Break in the Country.Awake! awake! the flowers unfold,And tremble bright in the sun,And the river shines a lake of gold,—For the young day has begun.The air is blythe, the sky is blue,And the lark, on lightsome wings,From bushes that sparkle rich with dew,To heaven her matin sings.Then awake, awake, while music’s note,Now bids thee sleep to shun,Light zephyrs of fragrance round thee floatFor the young day has begun.I’ve wandered o’er yon field of light,Where daisies wildly spring,And traced the spot where fays of nightFlew round on elfin wing:And I’ve watch’d the sudden darting beamMake gold the field of grain,Until clouds obscur’d the passing gleamAnd all frown’d dark again.Then awake, awake, each warbling bird,Now hails the dawning sun,Labour’s enlivening song is heard,—For the young day has begun.Is there to contemplation givenAn hour like this one,When twilight’s starless mantle’s rivenBy the uprising sun?When feather’d warblers fleet awake,His breaking beams to see,And hill and grove, and bush and brake,Are fill’d with melody.Then awake, awake, all seem to chideThy sleep, as round they run,The glories of heaven lie far and wide,—For the young day has begun.R. Ryan.
Day Break in the Country.
Awake! awake! the flowers unfold,And tremble bright in the sun,And the river shines a lake of gold,—For the young day has begun.The air is blythe, the sky is blue,And the lark, on lightsome wings,From bushes that sparkle rich with dew,To heaven her matin sings.Then awake, awake, while music’s note,Now bids thee sleep to shun,Light zephyrs of fragrance round thee floatFor the young day has begun.I’ve wandered o’er yon field of light,Where daisies wildly spring,And traced the spot where fays of nightFlew round on elfin wing:And I’ve watch’d the sudden darting beamMake gold the field of grain,Until clouds obscur’d the passing gleamAnd all frown’d dark again.Then awake, awake, each warbling bird,Now hails the dawning sun,Labour’s enlivening song is heard,—For the young day has begun.Is there to contemplation givenAn hour like this one,When twilight’s starless mantle’s rivenBy the uprising sun?When feather’d warblers fleet awake,His breaking beams to see,And hill and grove, and bush and brake,Are fill’d with melody.Then awake, awake, all seem to chideThy sleep, as round they run,The glories of heaven lie far and wide,—For the young day has begun.
Awake! awake! the flowers unfold,And tremble bright in the sun,And the river shines a lake of gold,—For the young day has begun.The air is blythe, the sky is blue,And the lark, on lightsome wings,From bushes that sparkle rich with dew,To heaven her matin sings.Then awake, awake, while music’s note,Now bids thee sleep to shun,Light zephyrs of fragrance round thee floatFor the young day has begun.
I’ve wandered o’er yon field of light,Where daisies wildly spring,And traced the spot where fays of nightFlew round on elfin wing:And I’ve watch’d the sudden darting beamMake gold the field of grain,Until clouds obscur’d the passing gleamAnd all frown’d dark again.Then awake, awake, each warbling bird,Now hails the dawning sun,Labour’s enlivening song is heard,—For the young day has begun.
Is there to contemplation givenAn hour like this one,When twilight’s starless mantle’s rivenBy the uprising sun?When feather’d warblers fleet awake,His breaking beams to see,And hill and grove, and bush and brake,Are fill’d with melody.Then awake, awake, all seem to chideThy sleep, as round they run,The glories of heaven lie far and wide,—For the young day has begun.
R. Ryan.
Our elder poets are rife in description of the spring; but passing their abundant stores to “Rare Ben,” one extract more, and “the day is done.”
Whence is it——————————————Winter is so quite forced henceAnd lock’d up under ground, that ev’ry senseHath several objects; trees have got their heads,The fields their coats; that now the shining meadsDo boast the paunse, lily, and the rose;And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blows?The seas are now more even than the land;The rivers run as smoothed by his hand;Only their heads are crisped by his stroke.How plays the yearling, with his brow scarce broke,Now in the open grass; and frisking lambsMake wanton ’saults about their dry suck’d dams?Who, to repair their bags, do rob the fields?How is’t each bough a several musick yields?The lusty throstle, early nightingale,Accord in tune, tho’ vary in their tale;The chirping swallow, call’d forth by the sun,And crested lark doth his division run:The yellow bees the air with murmur fill,The finches carol, and the turtles bill.Jonson.
Whence is it——————————————Winter is so quite forced henceAnd lock’d up under ground, that ev’ry senseHath several objects; trees have got their heads,The fields their coats; that now the shining meadsDo boast the paunse, lily, and the rose;And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blows?The seas are now more even than the land;The rivers run as smoothed by his hand;Only their heads are crisped by his stroke.How plays the yearling, with his brow scarce broke,Now in the open grass; and frisking lambsMake wanton ’saults about their dry suck’d dams?Who, to repair their bags, do rob the fields?How is’t each bough a several musick yields?The lusty throstle, early nightingale,Accord in tune, tho’ vary in their tale;The chirping swallow, call’d forth by the sun,And crested lark doth his division run:The yellow bees the air with murmur fill,The finches carol, and the turtles bill.
Whence is it——————————————Winter is so quite forced henceAnd lock’d up under ground, that ev’ry senseHath several objects; trees have got their heads,The fields their coats; that now the shining meadsDo boast the paunse, lily, and the rose;And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blows?The seas are now more even than the land;The rivers run as smoothed by his hand;Only their heads are crisped by his stroke.How plays the yearling, with his brow scarce broke,Now in the open grass; and frisking lambsMake wanton ’saults about their dry suck’d dams?Who, to repair their bags, do rob the fields?How is’t each bough a several musick yields?The lusty throstle, early nightingale,Accord in tune, tho’ vary in their tale;The chirping swallow, call’d forth by the sun,And crested lark doth his division run:The yellow bees the air with murmur fill,The finches carol, and the turtles bill.
Jonson.
Mean Temperature 48·52.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,—A notice of St. Katherine’s church, near the tower, having already appeared in your first volume, induces me to subjoin, from “Testamenta Vetusta,” by Nicholas Harris Nicolas,Esq.,[126]the will of the duchess of Exeter, who was buried at the east end of the church now no longer existing.
I am, Sir, &c.I.E——tt.
“Ann Holland, Dutchess of Exeter, April 20, 1457. My Body to be buried in the Chapel of the Chancel of the Church of St. Katharine’s, beside the Tower of London, where the Corpse of my Lord and husband is buried, and I forbid my executors to make any great feast, or to have a solemn hearse, or any costly lights, or largess of liveries, according to the glory or vain pomp of the world, at my funeral, but only to the worship of God, after the discretion of Mr. John Pynchebeke, Doctor in Divinity, one of my Executors. To the Master of St. Katharines, if he be present at the dirige and mass on my burial day, vis.viiid.; to every brother of that College being then present, iiis.ivd.; to every priest of the same College then present, xxd.; to every Clerk then present, xiid.; to every Chorister, vid.; to every Sister then present, xxd.; to every bedeman of the said place, viiid.; I will that my executors find an honest priest to say mass and pray for my soul, my lords soul, and all Christian souls, in the Chapel where my Body be buried, for the space of seven years next after my decease; and that for so doing he receive every year xii marks, and daily to say Placebo, Dirige, and Mass, when so disposed.” The duchess’s will was proved on the 15th of May, 1458.
Mean Temperature 49·10.
[126]Nichols and Son, 2 vols. royal 8vo.
[126]Nichols and Son, 2 vols. royal 8vo.
Leaving “hill and valley, dale and field,” we turn for “a passing time” to scenes where, according to the authority subjoined by a worthy correspondent, we find “disorder—order.”
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
April 15, 1826.
Sir,—The following notice of an ancient school for learning how to pick pockets is, I conceive, worthy notice in theEvery-Day Book.
I am, Sir, &c.T. A.
Kennington.
In the spring of 1585, Fleetwood, the recorder of London, with some of his brother magistrates, spent a day searching about after sundry persons who were receivers of felons. A considerable number were found in London, Westminster, Southwark, and the suburbs, with the names of forty-five “masterless men and cutpurses,” whose practice was to rob gentlemen’s chambers and artificers’ shops in and about London. They also discovered seven houses of entertainment for such in London; six in Westminster, three in the suburbs, and two in Southwark. Among the rest they found out one Watton, a gentleman born, and formerly a merchant of respectability but fallen into decay. This person kept an alehouse at Smart’s quay, near Billingsgate; but for some disorderly conduct it was put down. On this he began a new business, and opened his house for the reception of all the cutpurses in and about the city. In this house was a room to learn young boys to cut purses. Two devices were hung up; one was a pocket, and another was a purse. The pocket had in it certain counters, and was hung round with hawks’ bells, and over them hung a little sacringbell.[127]The purse had silver in it; and he that could take out a counter without any noise, was allowed to be a publicfoyster;[128]and he that could take a piece of silver out of the purse without noise of any of the bells, was adjudged aclevernypper.[129]These places gave great encouragement to evil doers in these times, but were soon aftersuppressed.[130]
Mean Temperature 48·77.
[127]A small bell used in the ceremony of the mass, and rung on the elevation of the consecrated host.[128]A pickpocket.[129]A pickpurse, or cutpurse, so called from persons having their purses hanging in front from their girdle.[130]Maitland.
[127]A small bell used in the ceremony of the mass, and rung on the elevation of the consecrated host.
[128]A pickpocket.
[129]A pickpurse, or cutpurse, so called from persons having their purses hanging in front from their girdle.
[130]Maitland.
“So runs the proverb; so believes the world.”
“So runs the proverb; so believes the world.”
“So runs the proverb; so believes the world.”
At least so say a great many who call themselves Christians, and who are willing to believe all evil of the Jews, who, in compliment to their own questionable goodness, they “religiously” hate, with all the soul of “irreligion.” The following account of an individual of the Jewish persuasion, well known to many observers of London characters, may disturb their position: it is communicated by a gentleman who gives his name to the editor with the article.
For the Every-Day Book.
They who are in the habit of observing the remarkable beings that perambulate the streets of this metropolis, either for profit or pleasure, must have observed “J. Levy,” not, to use a common phrase, “anevery-daycharacter,” but one who, for singularity of personal appearance, oddity of dress, simplicity of manner, and constant industry, deserves a place in yourEvery-Day Book.
For the last eighty years has Levy trudged the streets of “London and its environs,”—followed, latterly, by a dirty lame Jew boy, carrying a huge mahogany closed-up box, containing watches manufactured by makers of all degrees, from Tomkin to Levy of Liverpool—with jewellery of the most costly kind, to trinkets of Birmingham manufacture; and, strange to say, though his dealings have been extensive to a degree beyond imagination, he has hitherto given universal satisfaction.
A few evenings since, as I was smoking my accustomed “every-daycigar,” at a respectable house in Jewin-street, and looking quietly at the different sorts of persons forming the company assembled, a violent thumping upon the floor of the passage leading to the parlour, which was continued at an interval of every third second, announced the approach of some one who clearly imagined himself of no little importance, and thoroughly disturbed the quaker-like serenity of appearance which then prevailed in the room. “How is my dear good lady, and all her little ones? and her respectable husband?” inquired the stranger on the outside. Without waiting for a reply to the two questions, the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and in came a tall thin figure of a man, with a face plainly denoting that it had seen at least ninety winters, and bearing a beard of a dirty gray colour, some inches in length, and divided in the centre, but coming from under and above the ears, over which was tied a gaudy red and yellow silk handkerchief, and a huge pair of heavy costly-looking silver spectacles, which “ever and anon” he raised from his nose. He wore a coat which had once been blue, the skirts whereof almost hung to the ground, and were greatly in the fashion of a Greenwich pensioner’s; a velvet waistcoat with a double row of pearl buttons, to which was appended, through one of the buttonholes, a blue spotted handkerchief, reaching down to his knees, a pair of tight pantaloons, which evidently had been intended for another, as they scarcely gained the calf of his leg, and from the fobs whereof were suspended two watch-chains with a profusion of seals; and, on his head, was a hat projecting almost to points in the centre and back, but narrow in the sides. In his right hand a huge but well-made stick, wielded and pushed forward upon the ground by a powerful effort, had been the noisy herald of his approach.
On entering the room, he cast an inquiring look upon his astonished and quiet auditors, and stood for a moment to see the effect of his appearance: then, after an awful pause, lifting his spectacles to his nose, and almost thrusting his old but piercing eyes over the cases, with a tiger-like step he advanced to the full front of a quiet, inoffensive, Jack-Robinson-sort-of-a-man who was smoking his pipe, and, throwing his stick under his left arm, he took off his huge hat, thereby discovering a small velvet cap on the top of his head, and holding out his right hand he exclaimed, “Well, my good friend, how are you? my eyes are weak, but I can always, yes, always, discern a good friend: howare you? how is your good lady? I hope she is in good health, and all the little ones.” The astonished “Christian” looked as if he could have swallowed the pipe from which he was smoking, on being thus addressed by the bearded descendant of Moses, and being absolutely deprived of speech, cast an inquiring look of dismay around on his neighbours, who so far from commiserating his feelings, actually expressed by smiling countenances, the pleasure they took in the rencontre. This was adding oil to the fire, when suddenly turning full in the face of the Jew, who still held out his hand for a friendly shrug, he exclaimed with a voice of phrenzy, “My wife knows thee not! I know thee not! My children know thee not! Leave me! go!” The Jew’s hand was quickly withdrawn, while his alarmed countenance expressed the terror of his poor soul. The humiliated Jew said not a word, but quietly took his seat in the further corner of the room, and thence cast his eyes on a clock which was affixed to the wall, as if afraid of looking on a living object. He remained some minutes in this pitiable situation. At last, he took from his pocket, three or four watches, which he regularly applied to his ear, and afterwards wound up; then laying them upon the table, he triumphantly looked at the company, and—by his eyes—boldly challenged them to produce a wealth, equal to that he exposed to their view. Apparently satisfied, in his own mind, of his superiority as to wealth, over the man who had so cruelly denied all knowledge of him, he called in a kind, but a suppressed voice to the servant in attendance,—“Well, my dear! bring me a glass of good gin and water, sweet with sugar, mind little girl, and I will gratefully thank you; it will comfort my poor old heart.” “You shall have it, sir,” said the admiring girl, directing her attention to the exposed jewellery. They were the first kind words heard in that room by poor Levy, and they seemed to draw tears from his eyes; for, from his pocket, he brought forth as many handkerchiefs, of the most opposite and glowing colours, as the grave digger in Hamlet casts off waistcoats, all of which he successively applied to his eyes. The girl quickly returned with the required gin and water, and, after repeated stirring and tasting, casting an eager look at her, he, with the most marked humility, begged “one little,littlebit more sugar, and it would bebeautifuls,” which was of course granted, and the girl at parting was more liberally rewarded by the poor despised Jew, than by any other person in the room. Commiserating the feelings of a seemingly poor, and ancient man, whose religion and singularity of manner were his only crime, I spoke to him, and was highly delighted to find him infinitely superior to any about him; that is to say, so far as I could judge, for the greater number plainly showed, that they considered silence a sign of wisdom; probably it was so—with them.
Upon Levy leaving the room, I found he had lived in one house, in the neighbourhood, for upwards of sixty years, and borne an irreproachable character; that no man has ever called on him a second time for money due; that from goodness of heart, he has often gave away the fruits of his industry, and deprived himself of personal luxuries, to add to the comforts of others, without considering whether they were Jew or Gentile; that in his own house, he is liberal of his wine, and of attention to his guests; and that he does not deny, though he is far from publishing, that he has acquired wealth. And, yet, this honourable and venerable man, after having reached his ninety-third year, because of his eccentric costume and appearance, was deprived of the comforts of passing a happy hour, after the fatigues of the day. This I trust for the credit of christianity, and for his sake, is not a circumstance of “every-day.”
E. W. W.
Mean Temperature 48·67.
1826.King’s birth-day kept.
For an account of St. George the patron saint of England, and how he fought and conquered a cruel dragon, and thereby saved the princess of Sylene from being devoured, see vol. i. p. 496-502.
On St. George’s day, people of fashion were accustomed, even to the beginning of the nineteenth century, to wear coats of cloth of blue, being the national colour in honour of the national saint. This, however, seems to be a reasonable conjecturefor the custom. Mr. Archdeacon Nares, and other antiquaries, are at a loss for the real origin of the usage, which is ancient. In old times there were splendid pageants on this festival.
At Leicester, the “riding of the George” was one of the principal solemnities of the town. The inhabitants were bound to attend the mayor, or to “ride against the king,” as it is expressed, or for “riding the George,” or for any other thing to the pleasure of the mayor and worship of the town. St. George’s horse, harnessed, used to stand at the end of St. George’s chapel, in St. Martin’s church,Leicester.[131]
At Dublin, there are orders in the chain book of the city, for the maintenance of the pageant of St. George to the followingeffect:—
1. The mayor of the preceding year was to provide the emperor and empress with their horses and followers for the pageant; that is to say, the emperor with two doctors, and the empress with two knights and two maidens, richly apparelled, to bear up the train of her gown.
2. The mayor for the time being was to find St. George a horse, and the wardens to pay 3s.4d.for his wages that day; and the bailiffs for the time being were to find four horses with men mounted on them well apparelled, to bear the pole axe, the standard, and the several swords of the emperor and St. George.
3. The elder master of the guild was to find a maiden well attired to lead the dragon, and the clerk of the market was to find a golden line for the dragon.
4. The elder warden was to find four trumpets for St. George, but St. George himself was to pay their wages.
5. The younger warden was obliged to find the king of Dele, (Sylene,) and the queen of Dele, (Sylene,) as also two knights, to lead the queen, and two maidens in black apparel to bear the train of her gown. He was also to cause St. George’s chapel to be well hung with black, and completely apparelled to every purpose, and to provide it with cushions, rushes, and other requisites, for the festivities of theday.[132]
These provisions and preparations refer to the narrative of the adventures of St. George already given in vol. i. p. 497.
St. George’s day at the court of St. James’s is a grand day, and, therefore, a collar day, and observed accordingly by the knights of the different orders.
This is an opportunity for mentioning the origin of the collar worn by the judges.
This collar is derived from Sts. Simplicius and Faustinus, two Roman senators, who suffered martyrdom under Dioclesian. The religious society or confraternity of St. Simplicius wore silver collars of double S. S.; between which the collar contained twelve small pieces of silver, in which were engraven the twelve articles of the creed, together with a single trefoil. The image of St. Simplicius hung at the collar, and from it seven plates, representing the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost. This chain was worn because these two brethren were martyred by a stone with a chain about their necks, and thus thrown into the Tiber. Sir John Fenn says, that collars were in the fifteenth century ensigns of rank, of which the fashions ascertained the degrees. They were usually formed of S. S. having in the front centre a rose, or other device, and were made of gold or silver, according to the bearer. He says, that knights only wore a collar of S. S; but this is a mistake.
At the marriage of prince Arthur, son of Henry VII., in 1507, “Sir Nicholas Vaux ware a collar of Esses, which weyed, as the goldsmiths that made it reported, 800 pound of nobles.” The collar worn by the judges is still a collar of S. S. divested of certainappendages.[133]
The mint mark in 1630, under Charles I., was St. George; in the reign of James I. it was a cross of St. George, surmounting a St. Andrew’scross.[134]
The origin of this air has exercised the researches of numberless individuals; whether it has been thoroughly ascertained seems doubtful; but it may be suitable to introduce a translation of the words into the Welsh language, by a celebrated antiquary of the principality, Dr. Owen Pugh. It is printed, verbatim, from a private copy which the editor was favouredwith by Dr. Pugh in the course of the last summer.
CORONI SIOR IV.Duwcadwa erom ni,Mewn fyniant, clod, a bri,Ein BreninSior;Hir yna o lesâadTeyrnasa àr ei wlad,Ein gobaith da, ein tad,Ein haelav bor.Ei syn elynion oBob màn gàn warth àr foAent hwy i lawr;Dilëa di mòr iawnAmcanion brad sy lawn,Ac yna deua dawnDainoni mawr.Màl haul o dirion desTròsBrydaintaena lesHir oes ein ior;Ein breintiau, er ein mael,Areilied ev yn hael,A delo ìni gaelOes hir iSior!Idrison.Myhevin, 5, 1820.
CORONI SIOR IV.
Duwcadwa erom ni,Mewn fyniant, clod, a bri,Ein BreninSior;Hir yna o lesâadTeyrnasa àr ei wlad,Ein gobaith da, ein tad,Ein haelav bor.Ei syn elynion oBob màn gàn warth àr foAent hwy i lawr;Dilëa di mòr iawnAmcanion brad sy lawn,Ac yna deua dawnDainoni mawr.Màl haul o dirion desTròsBrydaintaena lesHir oes ein ior;Ein breintiau, er ein mael,Areilied ev yn hael,A delo ìni gaelOes hir iSior!
Duwcadwa erom ni,Mewn fyniant, clod, a bri,Ein BreninSior;
Hir yna o lesâadTeyrnasa àr ei wlad,Ein gobaith da, ein tad,Ein haelav bor.
Ei syn elynion oBob màn gàn warth àr foAent hwy i lawr;
Dilëa di mòr iawnAmcanion brad sy lawn,Ac yna deua dawnDainoni mawr.
Màl haul o dirion desTròsBrydaintaena lesHir oes ein ior;
Ein breintiau, er ein mael,Areilied ev yn hael,A delo ìni gaelOes hir iSior!
Idrison.
Myhevin, 5, 1820.
St. George’s day was selected at a very early period for the establishment of horse-races. An obliging correspondent communicates some interesting particulars of their institution.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Kennington, April 16, 1826.
Sir,—The following notice of an ancient race, formerly held near Chester, is, I conceive, worthy preservation in your interesting work, which, I hope, in course of time, will treasure up records of every custom, game, or ancient observance, formerly so common in “merry England.”
Mr. Lysons, in his “Magna Brittania,” says, there are some old articles of a race for two bells among the corporation records, the earliest date of which was in 1512.
In 1609 or 10, Mr. William Lester, mercer, being mayor of Chester, and Mr. Robert Ambrye or Amory, ironmonger, sheriff of the city, at his, the last mentioned person’s, own cost, did cause three silver bells to be made of good value, which bells he appointed to be run for with horses “uponSt. George’s Day, upon the Roode Dee from the new tower to the netes, there torning to run up to the watergate, that horse which come first there to have the beste bell; the second to have the seconde bell for that year putting in money, and for to—and shuerties to deliver in the bells that day twelvemonth.” The other bell was run for the same day upon the like conditions. This gave rise to the adage of “bearing the bell.” The bells and a bowl seem to have been brought down to the course with great pomp, as the following copy shows, carefully transcribed from the original among the Harleian MSS. in the BritishMuseum.[135]
“The maner of the showe, that is, if God spare life and healthe, shall be seene by all the behoulders upon SctGeorge’s day next, being the 23d of Aprill 1610, and the same with more addytion, to continew, being for the kyng’s crowne and dignitye, and the homage to the kynge and prynce, with that noble victor St. George, to be continued for ever, God save the Kynge.
Robart Amory.”