April 24.

Amor is love and Amory is his namethat did begin this pomp and princelye game,the charge is great to him that all begun,let him be satisfyed now all is done.

Notwithstanding Mr. Amory exerted himself and entertained the citizens so well in 1610, it was ordered in 1612, “that the sports and recreations used on St. George’s day, should in future be done by the direction of the mayor and citizens, and not of any privateperson.[138]” No authority has occurred in my researches on this subject, for tracing the gradual alterations by which the bell and the bowl of these ancient races, have been converted to the ordinary prizes at similar meetings. They are now held the first entire week in May, which comes as near the original time (old St. George’s day) as possible. They generally attract a vast assemblage of the fashionable world, and the city subscribes liberally to keep up the respectability of the races.

I am, Sir, &c.A.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Mr. Editor,—In “A Tour through the whole Island of Great Britain,” 4 vols. 12mo., there is the following notice of an accident on St. George’s day, which you will oblige a constant reader by inserting in theEvery-Day Book.

J. H.

On Wednesday the 23d of April, 1740, the upper church at Guildford, in Surrey, fell down. It was an ancient building, and not long before, seven hundred and fifty pounds were expended upon it in repairs. There was preaching in it on the Sunday before, and workmen were employed in taking down the bells, who, providentially, had quitted the spot about a quarter of an hour before the accident happened, so that not one person received any hurt, though numbers were spectators. Three bells had been taken down, and the other three fell with the steeple, which broke the body of the church to pieces, though the steeple received but little damage by the fall.

At Laurie and Whittle’s print-shop “nearly opposite St. Dunstan’s church, Fleet-street,” or rather at Jemmy Whittle’s, for he was the manager of the concern—I cannot help calling him “Jemmy,” for I knew him afterwards, in a passing way, wheneverybody called him Jemmy; and after his recollection failed, and he dared no longer to flash his merriment at the “Cock,” at Temple-bar, and the “Black Jack,” in Portugal-street, but stood, like a sign of himself, at his own door, unable to remember the names of his old friends, they called him “poorJemmy!”—I say, I remember at Jemmy Whittle’s there was always a change of prints in spring-time. Jemmy liked, as he said, to “give the public something alive, fresh and clever, classical and correct!” Oneprint, however, was never changed; this was “St. Dunstan and the Devil.” To any who inquired why he always had “thatoldthing” in the window, and thought it would be better out, Jemmy answered, “No, no, my boy! that’smysign—no change—church and state, you know!—no politics, you know!—I hate politics! there’s the church, you know, [pointing to St. Dunstan’s,] and here am I, my boy!—it’smysign, you know!—no change, my boy!” Alas, how changed! I desired to give a copy of the print on St. Dunstan’s day in the first volume of theEvery-Day Book, and it could not be found at “the old shop,” nor at any printsellers I resorted to. Another print of Jemmy Whittle’s was a favourite with me, as well as himself; for, through every mutation of “dressing out” his window it maintained its place with St. Dunstan. It was a mezzotinto, called

The Laughing Boy.“In summer’s heat, and winter’s cold.”

The Laughing Boy.

“In summer’s heat, and winter’s cold.”

During all seasons this print was exhibited, “fresh, and fresh.” At that time prints from the Flemish and Dutch masters, and humorous matters of all kinds, were public favourites. From my early liking to the “Laughing Boy,” and because, with the merit of good design, it is a superior specimen of popular taste at the time I speak of, acopyis at the service of that reader, who may perhaps think with “poor Jemmy Whittle,” that an agreeable subject is always in season, and that as a worse might have been presented, this speaking relatively, is really very pretty.

I am now speaking of five and thirty years ago, when shop windows, especially printsellers’, were set out according to the season. I remember that in spring-time “Jemmy Whittle,” and “Carrington Bowles, in St. Paul’s Church-yard,” used to decorate their panes with twelve prints of flowers of “the months,” engraved after Baptiste, and “coloured after nature,”—a show almost, at that time, as gorgeous as “Solomon’s Temple, in all its glory, all over nothing but gold and jewels,” which a man exhibited to my wondering eyes for a halfpenny.

Spring arrives in London—and even east of Temple-bar—as early as in the country. For—though there are neither hawthorns to blossom, nor daisies to blow—there is scarcely a house “in the city,” without a few flower pots inside or outside; and when “the seeds come up,” the Londoner knows that the spring is “come to town.” The almanac, also, tells him, that the sun rises earlier every day, and he makes his apprentices rise easier; and the shop begins to be watered and swept before breakfast; and perchance, as the good man stands at his door to look up, and “wonder what sort of a day it will be,” he sees a basket with primroses or cowslips, and from thence he hazards to assert, at “the house he uses” in the evening, that the spring is very forward; which is confirmed, to his credit, by some neighbour, who usually sleeps at Bow or Brompton, or Pentonville or Kennington, or some other adjacent part of “the country.”

To the east of Temple-bar, the flower-girl is “the herald of spring.” She cries “cowslips! sweet cowslips!” till she screams “bow-pots! sweet, and pretty bow-pots!” which is the sure and certain token of full spring in London. WhenIwas a child, I got “a bow-pot” of as many wall-flowers and harebells as I could then hold in my hand, with a sprig of sweet briar at the back of the bunch, for a halfpenny—sucha handful; but, now, “they can’t make a ha’penny bow-pot—there’s nothing under a penny;” and the penny bow-pot is not half so big as the ha’penny one, and somehow or other the flowers don’t smell, tome, as they used todo.——

It will not do however to run on thus, for something remains to be said concerning the patron of the day; and, to be plain with the reader, the recollections of former times are not always the most cheering to the writer.

There are some circumstances in the history of Russia which abate our pretensions to our celebrated saint. In that country he is much revered. His figure occurs in all the churches, represented as usual, riding on a horse, and piercing a dragon with his lance. This device also forms part of the arms of the Russian sovereign, and is on several of the coins. Certain English historians have conjectured, that Ivan Vassilievitch II., being presented with the garter by queen Elizabeth, assumed the George and the dragon for his arms, and ordered it to be stamped upon the current money. But it does not appear that the tzar was created a knight of the garter; and it is certain that the sovereigns of Moscow bore this device before they had the least connection with England. In Hackluyt, vol. i. p. 255, Chanceler, the first Englishman who discovered Russia, speaks of a despatch sent in 1554, from Ivan Vassilievitch to queen Mary:—“This letter was written in the Moscovian tongue, in letter much like to the Greeke letters, very faire written in paper, with a broade seale hanging at the same, sealed in paper upon waxe. This seale was much like the broad seale of England, having on the one side theimage of a man on horseback in complete harnesse fighting with a dragon.”

Russian coins of a very early date represent the figure of a horseman spearing a dragon; one particularly, of Michael Androvitz appears to have been struck in 1305, forty years before the institution of the order of the garter in England. From this period, numerous Russian coins are successively distinguished by the same emblem. Various notions have been put forth concerning the origin of the figure; but it seems probable that the Russians received the image of St. George and the dragon either from the Greeks or from the Tartars, by both of whom he was much revered; by the former as a christian saint and martyr, and by the latter as a prophet or a deity. We know from history, that in the fourth or fifth century he was much worshipped amongst the Greeks; and that afterwards the crusaders, during their first expedition into the Holy Land, found many temples erected to his honour. The Russians, therefore, whowere converted to christianity by the Greeks, certainly must have received at the same time a large catalogue of saints, which made an essential part of the Greek worship, and there can be no reason to imagine that St. George was omitted.

In a villa of prince Dolgorucki, near Moscow, is an old basso-relievo of St. George and the dragon, found in a ruined church at Intermen, in the Crimea; it had a Greek inscription almost erased, but the words ΑΙΟΟ ΓΕΟΡΓΟΟ, or St. George, and the date 1330, were still legible. As it appears from this basso-relievo that he was worshipped in the Crimea so near the court of Russia when the great dukes resided at Kiof, his introduction into that country is easily accounted for.

Still, it is very likely that the Russians received from the Tartars the image of a horseman spearing a serpent, as represented upon their most ancient coins, and which formed a part of the great duke’s arms, towards the beginning of the sixteenth century. The Russians had none before they were conquered by the Tartars; and soon after they were brought under the Tartar yoke, they struck money. The first Russian coins bear a Tartar inscription, afterwards, with Tartar letters on one side, and Russian characters on the other; and there is still preserved in the cabinet of St. Petersburgh, a piece of money, exhibiting a horseman piercing a dragon, with the name of the great duke in Russian, and on the reverse a Tartar inscription.

The story of a saint or a deity spearing a dragon, was known all over the east; among the Mahometans, a person called Gergis or George, under a similar figure, was much revered as a prophet; and similar emblems have been discovered among many barbarous nations of the east. Whether these nations took it from the Greeks, or the latter from them, cannot be ascertained; for of the real existence of such a person as St. George, no positive proofs have ever been advanced.

But whether the Russians derived St. George from the Greeks or the Tartars, it is certain that his figure was adopted as the arms of the grand dukes, and that the emblem of the saint and the dragon, has been uniformly represented on the reverse of the Russian coins.

With respect to the arms, Herberstein, in his account of his embassy to Moscow in 1518, under Vassili Ivanovitch, has given a wooden print of that prince, at the bottom of which are engraved his arms, representing thus—

naked man on horseback and serpent

a naked man on horseback, piercing a serpent with his lance. The equestrian figure in this device has a Tartar-like appearance, and is so coarse and rude, that it seems to have been derived from a people in a far more uncivilized state of society than the Greeks: add to this, that the Greeks always represented St. George clad in armour.

Mean Temperature 48·27.

[131]Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.[132]Ibid.[133]Ibid.[134]Ibid.[135]Harl. MSS. 2150. f. 356.[136]Ivy.[137]Fire.[138]Corporation Records.

[131]Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.

[132]Ibid.

[133]Ibid.

[134]Ibid.

[135]Harl. MSS. 2150. f. 356.

[136]Ivy.

[137]Fire.

[138]Corporation Records.

St. Mark’s Eve.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,—As you solicit communications of local usages or customs, I send you some account of the “Watching the church” on St. Mark’s E’en, in Yorkshire. According to the superstitions of some other counties, the eve of St. John’s day is the privileged night for unquiet spirits to revisit the upper world, and flit over the scenes of their mortal existence. But, in Yorkshire, it was believed by the superstitious and the peasantry within these twenty years, and is so still perhaps, that if a person have the hardihood to place himself within the porch of the church, or in a position which commands the church door, on the ghostly e’en of St. Mark, (it must be St. Mark, O. S.,) he will see the souls of those whose bodies are to be buried at that church the following year, approach the church in the dead waste and middle of the night. The doors are flung open by some invisible hand just at twelve o’clock, and the spiritsenter in the rotation their mortal bodies are to die in. This hour is an epitome of the year; those who are to die soon, enter the first—and those who will almost survive the year, do not approach until nearly one o’clock, at which time the doors are carefully closed and secured as they were in the day. Another remarkable feature in the shadowy pageant is this; those that come to an untimely end, are represented by their ghostly proxies, in the very article of dissolution. If a person is to be hanged, or to hang himself, as Burns says in his “Tam O’Shanter,”

“Wi’ his last gasp his gab will gape.”

If the person is to be drowned, his representative will come as if struggling and splashing in water, and so on in other cases of premature death. I must likewise mention, that the “church-watcher” pretends he is fixed in a state of impotence to his seat, during the ghostly hour, and only receives the use of his powers of locomotion when the clock strikes one. Another peculiarity attends this nocturnal scene: the souls of those who are to be seriously indisposed, likewise join the procession; they peep into the church, face about, and return to their wonted residences in their slumbering mortal habitations. But the souls of thecondemnedenter the church, and are not observed to return.

When a boy at home, I recollect a man who was said to watch the church; his name was “Joe Brown.” This man used to inspire my youthful fancy with great awe. I was not the only one who regarded him with fear: he contrived by a certain mysterious behaviour, to impress weak and youthful minds with feelings which bordered upon terror. His person is vividly imprinted on my memory; his face was broad, his features coarse, and he had what is called a hare-lip, which caused him to speak through the nose, or tosnaffle, as they term it in Yorkshire. He never would directly acknowledge that he watched the church; but a mysterious shrug or nod tended to convey the assertion. Two circumstances which took place in my remembrance, served to stamp his fame as a ghost-seer. At the fair-tide, he quarreled with a young man, who put him out of the room in which they were drinking; he told his antagonist that he would be under the sod before that day twelve months, which happened to be the case. The other circumstance was this; he reported a young man would be drowned, who lived in the same street in which my father’s house was situated. I well recollect the report being current early in the year. On Easter Sunday, a fine young man, a bricklayer’s apprentice went to bathe in the river Ouse, (which runs byC——d,my native town,) and was drowned; this fulfilled his prediction, and made him be regarded with wonder. Whether excited by the celebrity such casual forebodings acquired him, or whether a knavish propensity lurked at the bottom of his affected visionary abstractedness, this last of the “church-watchers” turned out an arrant rogue; the latter years of his execrable existence were marked with rapine and murder. For a time he assumed the mask of religion, but the discipline of the sect he joined was too strict to suit his dishonest views. He was expelled the society for mal-practices, quickly joined himself to another, and afterwards associated with a loose young man, who, if alive, is in New South Wales, whither he was transported for life. They commenced a system of petty plunder, which soon increased to more daring acts of robbery and burglary. They withdrew to a distance fromC——dfor a time; a warrant was out against them for a burglary, of which they were the suspected perpetrators. They went to a small town where they were not known, and assumed the disguise of fortune-tellers. “Old Joe” was the “wise man,” and affected to be dumb, whilst his younger confederate, like a flamen of old, interpreted his mystic signs. They lodged at a house kept by two aged sisters, spinsters. They found that these females were possessed of a little money, and kept it in a box. One night they gave their hostesses sweetened ale, in which they had infused a quantity of laudanum. One of the poor women never woke again, but the other lived. These men were taken up and examined, but liberated for want of proof. They afterwards were suspected of having shot the Leeds and Selby carrier in the night; at length they were taken for stealing some hams, and in consequence of their bad character, sentenced to transportation for life. The termination of Joe’s life was remarkable; Sampson like, he drew destruction on his own head. When about to be embarked for Botany Bay, Joe, either touched by conscience, or through reluctance to leave England, madea confession of his crimes. He and his companion were removed from the Isle of Wight to York castle. Joe alone was put on his trial, and, though not convicted on his own confession, corroborating circumstances of his guilt were produced, and the sister of the poisoned female appeared against him. He was found guilty of the murder, and executed at York, at the Lent assizes of 1809. Sir Simon Le Blanc was the judge.

I have dwelt longer, perhaps, on the vile actions of this last of the “church-watchers” than will be amusing to the reader; but he seemed completely identified with the local superstitions of the county. In some degree he made them subservient to further his roguish designs, by assuming the goblin appearance of the “Barguest,” and, with his auxiliary, turned it to no bad account. This preternatural appearance alarmed the superstitious, who fled, pursued by the supposed demon. In their panic haste they would leave their doors or gates open, and the rogues never failed to turn these oversights to good account, plundering the house or robbing the premises. This statement is strictly true, they robbed several people in this novel and ingenious manner. By the by, it may be observed, that the “Barguest” is an out-of-door goblin, believed by the vulgar to haunt the streets and lanes of country towns and villages. Its alleged appearance indicates death, or some great calamity.

I am, Sir, &c.J. P.

On Monday, April 24, 1825, the late Henry Fuseli, Esq., R. A. was buried in St. Paul’s cathedral, and a circumstance occurred at his funeral which ought to be known. A gentleman, whose intimacy with Mr. Fuseli seems to have been overlooked by the managers of the funeral, was desirous of paying the last sad tribute of respect to the remains of his friend. He waited the arrival of the body at the cathedral gate, and, after the authorized mourners had alighted, joined with others in following the procession. At the instant that the train from the mourning coaches had entered the great west doors, they were slammed to from within against all who bore not the undertaker’s habiliments of woe, and it was announced that the rest were to go round to the north door. At that door admittance was refused to all who would not pay “twopence a piece.” Those who “paid twopence” were thus permitted to hasten and rejoin the train. The corpse on being borne down the stairs of the vault was then followed as before. Here the door of the vault was suddenly thrust against all who were not mourners,ex officio, and a shilling demanded from each of the sympathizing attendants who had not on the funeral garments. Compliance with this further exaction qualified them to see the “funeral performed.” This was personally communicated to the editor by the gentleman referred to.

Mean Temperature 48·97.

St. Mark’s day was anciently kept a fast through all the country, and no flesh eaten upon it. Also upon this, and the three first days of Cross, or the Rogation week, there were processions by the prior and monks of Durham to one of the parish churches, and a sermon preached at each. Upon Holy Thursday was a procession with two crosses, borne before the monks, and each in rich copes; the prior in one of cloth of gold, so massy that his train was supported. Shrines and relics were also carried. Of the two litanies performed twice in the year, the greater and the less, the first, on St. Mark’s day, was instituted by Gregory on account of a pestilence, called also theblack cross, from the black clothes worn from weeping and penance; or “peraventure, because they covered the crosse and auters with blessed hayres.” The smaller litany was sung three days before the Ascension, and was called the rogations, processions, &c., because then a general procession was made, the cross borne, and bells rung. In the procession of some churches there was a dragon with a great tail filled full of chaff, which was emptied on the third day, to show that the devil after prevailing the first and second day, before and under the law, was on “the thyrde day of grace, by the passion of Jhesu criste, put out of hisreame.”[140]

Mean Temperature 49·57.

[139]See vol. i. p. 512, 521, &c.[140]Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

[139]See vol. i. p. 512, 521, &c.

[140]Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,—Permit me to call your attention to the following description of a storm, which may be acceptable to the readers of theEvery-Day Book.

I am, Sir, &c.J. W.

On Sunday, the 26th of April, 1818, about half-past twelve o’clock, the neighbourhood of Stanmore was visited by a tremendous storm of hail, rain, and wind, accompanied by some unusual phenomena. The elevated situation of Bushey heath afforded me peculiar facilities for viewing its progress and effects, which occupied in space about five miles in a direct line, and in time about twenty minutes. The morning had been close and sultry, the heavens sufficiently clear to enable me to observe the transit of the sun over the meridian, the wind variable, the barometer 29,000 inches, the thermometer 61°, the hygrometer 52°, and the variation of the needle 24° 41′ 46′′ west. I shortly observed the heavens in the south-east quarter much overcast, and some dense black clouds forming in that direction, which immediately discharged rain in torrents, followed by tremendous hail, lightning, and thunder. In about half an hour the fury of the storm had somewhat abated, when my attention was attracted to the south-east by an amazing commotion among the clouds, which appeared to roll over and into each other with considerable rapidity. Beneath these dark clouds there appeared a small white one, moving with surprising velocity towards the north-west; at the same time whirling round in a horizontal direction with prodigious quickness, accompanied with a horrid noise, which I can only compare to a stunning and most discordant whistle. The form of this white cloud was, in the first instance, that of a very obtuse cone with its apex downwards, which, during its rotary motion, occasionally approached and retired from the earth; the tail of the cone elongating continually as it receded, but on approaching the surface of the ground expanding like the lower part of an hour-glass; when it appeared to collect all the surrounding air into its immediate vortex, as it rebounded with such violence as to root up trees, unroof houses and hayricks, throw down walls and in short every thing that impeded its progress. The effects were, however, exceedingly partial and irregular, depending apparently on the distance of the mouth of the funnel from such objects as chanced to come in the course of direction; as also on the area included within the vortex, at the times it exerted its powers of destruction. This whirlwind appears to have commenced near Mrs. Dickson’s farm, situated about one mile to the west of the village of Kenton, in Middlesex; and from thence proceeded in a north by west direction, by compass, over Bellemont, through the orchard adjoining the widow Woodbridge’s cottage, over Mr. Roberts’s field, Mr. Riddock’s nursery, Mr. Martin’s pleasure-grounds, Mr. Utterson’s plantations, and the marquis of Abercorn’s to Mr. Blackwell’s premises, where it changed its direction from north by west, to north by east, passing over Bushey village, through Mr. Bellas’s farm and orchard, and finally exhausting its fury about a mile and a half further. At Mr. Dickson’s farm it removed some ridge tiles, and part of the thatch of outhouses and hayricks; and on reaching widow Woodbridge’s orchard it had obtained much greater force, as it levelled the fruit trees and tore away a greater part of the tiling of the cottage, against which it carried a wooden building several feet with great violence. In passing through Mr. Roberts’s field it blew down eleven large elms, the breadth of the tornado at this place not exceeding one hundred yards, as was evident from the trifling injury sustained by the other trees to the right and left. Crossing the road leading to Stanmore, it entered Mr. Riddock’s nursery, where it did considerable injury to the young trees, and almost entirely stripped one side of the house, carrying away the thatch of the hayricks, and unroofing some of the outhouses. A large may-bush that stood in front of the greenhouse of Mr. Martin was rooted up, but neither the building nor glass received the smallest injury; while a shed at the back of the house, and likewise the cow-house which almost adjoined, had many tiles carried away. It next entered Mr. Utterson’s plantations, and destroyed fifty trees, appearing to have selected particular ones to wreak its fury; for while one was torn up by the roots, those aroundit were untouched, and some were broken in two places as though they had been twice subjected to the action of the vortex. On approaching Mr. Utterson’s cottage the storm divided into two parts, one proceeded to the right, the other to the left, as was shown by the thatch remaining undisturbed, while trees standing both in front and behind the house were thrown down. At the extremity of the house the storm seems to have again united, as it tore away some wooden paling though completely sheltered by the building, stripping the tiles of lower outhouses, and throwing down a considerable part of the garden wall. At the marquis of Abercorn’s it passed close by an elm, one of whose branches it carried away, the remainder being untouched; and it then threw down about seventy-five yards of garden wall, and leaving an interval of the same extent uninjured, destroyed thirty more; this seems to imply that the storm had here a second time divided. Near this spot one of the marquis’s workmen was thrown down by the violence of the wind, and after being rolled over repeatedly, was at length compelled to hold by the grass to prevent his being carried further. In passing over the dovehouse the pigeons were whirled to the ground, and a quantity of paling was torn up and blown to a great distance. The current of wind now proceeded across the road to Mr. Blackwell’s brick-kiln, tearing from its hinges and tumbling into a ditch a fieldgate; levelling sixty-five feet of the garden wall in one direction, and also the upper part of another wall running in right angles, in the opposite. The outhouses at this place were much damaged, but the dwelling-house was not touched. After leaving the garden it assailed a large beech, which measured at the base eighteen feet in circumference. My eye happened to be fixed on this tree at the moment; the wind commenced by giving its large head a considerable twist, and in an instant tore it up by the roots. After passing over the gravel pits at Harrow Weald, and a part of the village of Bushey, where it nearly unroofed a house, it continued its course without doing any further mischief until it reached Mr. Bellas’s farm. At this place its effects were very destructive among the fruit-trees and large elms, besides tearing away the tiles and thatch of the house, buildings, and ricks; for here the storm appears to have contracted to a width of sixty yards, and its impetuosity to have increased in proportion as its breadth diminished. After passing in a north by east direction about a mile and a half further than Mr. Bellas’s farm, its fury most probably subsided, as the only further mischief I have been able to trace was the destruction of two small elms in a hedgerow, and whose support had been weakened by digging away the earth from their roots. I observed when the clouds or vapour from which all this storm proceeded, enveloped the upper part of the cone in which Mr. Blackwell burns his bricks, the cone appeared to be surrounded with a thick mist, and most violently agitated. I also observed that in its passage over the gravel pits, it tore up the earth and gravel, not in a uniform manner, but, as it were, by jumps, leaving intervals between the various points of contact of sometimes one hundred yards and upwards; and the dreadful whistling noise continued unabated until the cessation of the storm. This phenomena was at one time within less than a quarter of a mile of my house; but the trees in the garden were not much affected by it, though I have reason to believe, from the testimony of several persons, on whose veracity I can rely, that the violence of the storm was such as to force them to lay hold of hedges to prevent their being thrown down. Mr. Blackwell, in particular, mentioned that in returning from church with one of his children, in order to secure himself and boy from being carried away, he was obliged to hold by a stake. It is further stated on the most respectable authority, that cattle were seen lifted, or rather driven, from one end of the field to the other. There is reason to believe that one or more meteoric stones fell during the storm; for one of the late marquis of Abercorn’s gardeners told me he had observed “a large stone about the size of his fist, descend in nearly a perpendicular direction, after a very dazzling flash of lightning, not followed by thunder.” At my request he readily showed the spot on which it apparently fell; but the place being full of holes the search was unsuccessful; or it might have fallen into a pond situated near the place. I, as well as others, after a flash of lightning, heard a noise similar to the firing of a large rocket, or resembling a number of hard substances shot out of acart.[141]

Mean Temperature 49·35.

[141]Thomson’s Annals.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,—Having, like Falstaff, “babbled o’ green fields,” I resolved to visit them; and a few mornings ago, taking with me a certain talisman with his majesty’s head thereon, I bent my steps through the now populous town of Walworth, famous, like London, for its “Sir William,” and in whose history are many things well worthy your notice. Proceeding thence through Camberwell, I ascended the hill at whose foot quietly stands the Sunday resort of many town immured beings, the public-house yclept “the Fox-under-the-Hill.” Here the works of man are intruding on the country in villas of various shapes and dimensions, the sight of which would make the former possessors of the land, if they loved their fields, and could look around them, feel as did the American chief, who dining one day with some British officers at a house which commanded a view of the vast lakes and forests formerly the inheritance of his fathers, was observed to eye the scene before him with melancholy scrutiny.—“Chieftain,” remarked General ——, “you are sad!” “I am;” was his answer, “and how can I be otherwise, when I think of the time when all I look on was the property of my nation; but ’tis gone; the white men have got it, and we are a houseless and a homeless people. The white man came in his bark, and asked leave to tie it to a tree; it was given him—he then asked to build him a hut; it was granted—but how was our kindness repaid? his hut became a fort, his bark brought in her womb the children of the thunder to our shores—they drove us from forest to forest, from mountain to mountain, they destroyed our habitations and our people, they rooted up our trees, and have left us but the desert—Iamsad; and how can I be otherwise?” I return from this digression to ascend Herne Hill, the Elysium of many of our merchants and traders, whose dwellings look the abodes of happy mortals,—beings, seeking, in retirement from the busy world, to repay themselves for the anxieties and fatigues of life with peace and competence.

O, how blest is he who hereCan calmly end life’s wild career;He who in the torrid zone,Hath the spirit’s wasting known,Or pin’d where winter ’neath the pole,Through the body wrings the soul,Losing in this peaceful spotMemory of his former lot.And O, how happy were it mine,To build me here, ere life decline,A cot, ’mid these sequestered grounds,With every year three hundred pounds.

Gentlemen of Herne Hill I envy you—but I am not a money-getting man, so it is useless to wish for such a treasure. Proceeding onward, I wind down the southern declivity of this lovely Olympus—ithasbeen, ere now, to me, a Parnassus, but that is past, and the hoofs of Lancefield’s steeds have superseded those of Pegasus.—On the left a quiet green lane, such as Byron would have loved, leads to Dulwich, famous for its college, and the well paid and well fed inhabitants thereof, and its gallery of pictures. On the right is an opening as yet unprofaned by brick and mortar—the only place now left, from whence a traveller can view the soft scenery around. I go down this vista, and am rewarded with a beauteous prospect of variegated hills, vallies, meadows, &c. &c. I again approach the steep, retracing my path; and descending further, green fields and still greener hedges are on each side of me, studded with various wild flowers. At every step I hear the rich music of nature; the sky-lark is above me singing, heedless if thegled[142]be in the blue cloud; and at least a score of robins with their full bright eyes, and red bosoms, hopping about me, singing as stout as if it was winter, and looking quite as bold. There is a mixture of cheerfulness and melancholy in their song, which to me is pleasing; now loud and shrill, and now a long rolling sound like the rising of the wind. Advancing, I come in sight of the New Church of Norwood with its unsightly steeple. Ichabod! the glory of the church has departed. I never observe the new churches on the Surrey side of the river, without imagining their long bodies and short steeples look, from a distance, like the rudders of so many sailing barges. Whereis the grand oriel—the square tower? what have we in their stead? a common granary casement, and a shapeless spire. I again move onward rather tired, and turning to the left, after a short uphill journey with a charming view on all sides, arrive at “the Woodman,” where the talisman I spoke of showed its power, by instantly procuring me good eating and other refreshing solace. Here a man might sit for an hour unwearied, better in head and heart from the loveliness of the scenery beneath him; and here Irepose,—

Inhaling as the news I readThe fragrance of the Indian weed.

You are, I have heard, no smoker; yet there is “a something” in a pipe which produces that tranquillity of mind you so much need; if alone it is a companion, bringing quiet thoughts and pleasing visions; it is a good friend if not abused, and is, above all, a promoter of digestion—no bad quality. Below me, yet wearing its livery of brown, lies the wood, the shadowy haunt of the gypsey tribe ere magisterial authority drove them away. Many a pleasant hour have I spent in my younger days with its Cassandras, listening to their prophetic voices, and looking at their dark eyes.

O, the dusky hands are ne’er forgot,That my palm trac’d,Of her I clasp’d, in that calm spot,Around the waist;I feel the thrillOf her fingers still,Her dark eyes on me beam,O, what joyous thoughts my bosom fillOf that sweet dream.

But—as the songsays—

“Farewell to GlenowenFor I must be going.”

I proceed; Sydenham lies before me, beyond it in softened distance, Beckenham and Bromley meet the eye, with Dulwich below—and half hidden, and afar off, is smoky London, with the Abbey towers and St. Paul’s dome looking gloomily grand. In the foreground lies a rich variety of upland and dale, studded with snow white dwellings. Leaving the wood on my left, I reach the reservoir of the canal, and read no less than three boards threatening with the severest penalties all intruders. Again I am surrounded with sky-larks; I watch one leave the grass, he is up nearly a quarter of an hour, and here I meet a man with a dozen or more nests of young birds, blackbirds, thrushes, and robins, which is very early for the latter. Pacing slowly up a quiet lane to the left of the canal, I arrive at a few delightful cottages on the brow of the hill; below them to thesouth—

A lovely prospect opens wide,Wave-like hills on every side,By human hands diversified.

Somewhere near the canal, at a brickmaker’s hut, poor Dermody, the Irish poet, retired sick, and in poverty. Turning to the left I view Forest Hill, the sweetest haunt of my poetic hours, but here, as at every other desirable spot for meditation, frowns the warning board, placed by the hand of enviousmonopoly—

“The law will punish all who enter here.”

Nun Head Hill, the favourite resort of smoke-dried artisans, and other Londoners, is taken from them, and a narrow path is all that remains for their Sunday promenade. Ruminating on the change I move on, and espying a gap in the hedge, enter a field, where, reclining on the long grass, I muse, till, like the shadowy kings in Macbeth, my cares and sorrows pass before me. I listen! it is the music of heaven—numerous skylarks tower aloft, the best I have yet heard; ye that wish for good ones catch them here—which advice, if they heard, would doubtless bring them down on me with beak and claw. Hark! it is the tit-lark, the harbinger of the nightingale; he is just come over, and the other will quickly follow: he drops from the tallest tree, and sings till earth receives him. His song is short, but very sweet; nothing can equal his rising “Weet—weet—weet—weet—weet—weet—weet,” and dying “Feer—feer—feer—feer—feer—feer—feer,” and his lengthened “Snee——jug—jug—jug.” It is from him that the best notes of your canaries are obtained; he will sing till July. About the fifteenth, the fowler will go out, and the nightingale will sell his freedom for a meal-worm—how many of us mortals do the same to gratify our appetites! The bird now caught will be a good one, which is more than I can say of the mortal. He will not yet have paired with the hen, she not having made her appearance. The males arrive first, at least so say the catchers, but I doubt if they emigrate at all. The tame ones in cages when they leave off song getextremely fat, and are half stupid till the season returns; perhaps the wild ones do the same, and retire into secrecy during the winter. I merely surmise that such may be the case.

Evening drawing on, and the wind edging round to the northward, I bend my course through Peckham, and again enter the busy haunts of man, where, reaching my home, I sit down and write this for your columns, hoping it may be acceptable.

I am, Sir, &c.J.

Kent Road,April 14, 1826.

Mean Temperature 50·20.

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