[19]See vol. i. p. 61.[20]New Monthly Magazine, January, 1826.January 8.1826.First Sunday after Epiphany.Chronology.On the 8th of January, 1753, died sir Thomas Burnet, one of the judges of the court of Common Pleas, of the gout in his stomach, at his house in Lincoln’s-inn fields. He was the eldest son of the celebrated Dr. Gilbert Burnet, bishop of Salisbury; was several years consul at Lisbon; and in November, 1741, made one of the judges of the Common Pleas, in room of judge Fortescue, who was appointed master of the rolls. On November 23, 1745, when the lord chancellor, judges, and association of the gentlemen of the law, waited on his majesty with their address, on occasion of the rebellion, he was knighted. He was an able and upright judge, and a great benefactor to thepoor.[21]THE NEW YEAR NEW MOONTo the Editor of the Every-Day Book.Sir,Encouraged by your various expressions of willingness to receive notices of customs not already “imprinted” in your first volume, I take the liberty of presenting the first of several which I have not yet seen in print.I am, sir,Your constant reader,J. O. W.Chelsea.MONEY AND THE MOON.Gentle reader,If thou art not over-much prejudiced by the advances of modernization, (I like a long new-coined word,) so that, even in these “latter days,” thou dost not hesitate to place explicit reliance on ancient, yet infallible “sayings and doings,” (ancient enough, since they have been handed down to us by our grandmothers—and who would doubt the weight and authority ofso manyyears?—and infallible enough, since they themselves absolutely believed in their “quite-correctness,”) I will tell thee a secret well worth knowing, ifthatcan be called a secret which arises out of a well-known and almost universal custom, at least, in “days of yore.” It is neither more nor less than the possession throughout “the rolling year” of a pocket never without money. Is not this indeed a secret well worth knowing? Yet the means of its accomplishment are exceedingly simple (as all difficult things are when once known.) On the first day of the first new moon of the new year, or so soon afterwards as you observe it, all that you have to do is this:—on the first glance you take at “pale Luna’s silvery crest” in the western sky, put your hand in your pocket, shut your eyes, and turn the smallest piece ofsilvercoin you possess upside down in your said pocket. This will ensure you (if you will buttrustits infallibility!) throughout the whole year that “summum bonum” of earthly wishes, a pocket never empty. If, however, you neglect, on the first appearance of the moon, your case is hopeless; nevertheless and notwithstanding, at a future new moon you may pursue the same course, and it willbe sureto hold good during the then current month, but not a “whit” longer.This mention of the new moon and its crest brings to mind a few verses I wrote some time ago, and having searched my scrap-book, (undoubtedlynot sucha one asGeoffery Crayon’s,) I copied them from thence, and they are here under. Although written in the “merry merry month of May,” they may be read in the “dreary dark December,” for every new moon presents the same beautiful phenomenon.A Simile.Hast thou ne’er marked, when first the crescent moonShines faintly in the western horizon,O’er her whole orb a slight soft blush o’erspread,As though she were abashed to be thus seenFrom the sun’s couch with silver steps retreating?Hast thou ne’er marked, that when by slow degrees,Night after night, her crescent shape is lost,And steadily she gains her stores of light,Till half her form resplendently proclaimsAn envious rival to the stars around—Then mark’st thou not, that nought of her sweet blushRemains to please the gazer’s wistful sight,And that she shines increasingly in strength,Till she is full-orb’d, mistress of the sky?—So is it with the mind, when silentlyInto the young heart’s void steals timorous love.Then enter with it fancy’s fairy dreams,Visions of glory, reveries of bliss;And then they come and go, till comes, alas!Knowledge, forced on us, of the “world without!”How soon these scenes of beauty disappear!How soon fond thought sinks into nothingness!How soon the mind discovers that true blissReposes not on sublunary things,But is alone when passion’s blaze is o’erIn that high happy sphere, where love’s supreme.Here it may not be out of place to endeavour to describe, as familiarly as possible, the cause of the lunar appearance. Hold a piece of looking-glass in a ray of sunshine, and then move a small ball through thereflectedray: it is easy to conceive that both sides will be illumined; that side towards the sun by thedirect sunbeam, and the side towards the mirror, though less powerfully, by thereflected sunbeam. In a somewhat similar manner, the earth supplies the place of the mirror, and as at every new moon, and for several days after the moon is in that part of her orbit between the earth and the sun, the rays of the sun are reflected from the earth to the dark side of the moon, and consequently to the inhabitants of that part of the moon, (if any such there be, and query why should there not be such?) the earth must present the curious appearance of afullmoon of many times the diameter which ours presents.J. O. W.NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.Mean Temperature 36·05.[21]Gentleman’s Magazine.January 9.1826.Plough Monday.The first Monday after Twelfthday.[22]Chronology.On the 9th of January, 1752, William Stroud was tried before the bench of justices at Westminster-hall, for personating various characters and names, and defrauding numbers of people, in order to support his extravagance. It appeared by the evidence, that he had cheated a tailor of a suit of velvet clothes, trimmed with gold; a jeweller of upwards of 100l.in rings and watches, which he pawned; a coachmaker of a chaise; a carver and cabinet-maker of household goods; a hosier, hatter, and shoemaker, and, in short, some of almost every other business, to the amount of a large sum. He sometimes appeared like a gentleman attended with livery servants; sometimes as a nobleman’s steward; and, in the summer time, he travelled the west of England, in the character of Doctor Rock; and, at the same time, wrote to London for goods, in the names of the Rev. Laroche, and the Rev. Thomas Strickland. The evidence was full against him; notwithstanding which, he made a long speech in his own defence. He was sentenced to six months’ hard labour in Bridewell, and, within that time, to be six times publicly whipped.Such offences are familiar to tradesmen of the present times, through many perpetrators of the like stamp; but all of them are not of the same audacity as Stroud, who, in the month following his conviction, wrote and published his life, wherein he gives a very extraordinary account of his adventures, but passes slightly over, or palliates his blackest crimes. He was bred a haberdasher of small wares in Fleet-street, married his mistress’s sisterbefore his apprenticeship determined, set up in the Poultry, became a bankrupt, in three months got his certificate signed, and again set up in Holborn, where he lived but a little while before he was thrown into the King’s Bench for debt, and there got acquainted with one Playstowe, who gradually led him into scenes of fraud, which he afterwards imitated. Playstowe being a handsome man, usually passed for a gentleman, and Stroud for his steward; at last the former, after many adventures, married a girl with 4000l., flew to France, and left Stroud in the lurch, who then retired to Yorkshire, and lived some time with his aunt, pretending his wife was dead, and he was just on the brink of marrying advantageously, when his real character was traced. He then went to Ireland, passed for a man of fashion, hired an equipage, made the most of that country, and escaped to London. His next grand expedition was to the west of England, where he still personated the man of fortune, got acquainted with a young lady, and pursued her to London, where justice overtook him; and, instead of wedlock, bound him in the fetters of Bridewell.On the 24th of June, 1752, Stroud received “his last and severest whipping, from the White Bear to St. James’s churchPiccadilly.”[23]NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.Mean Temperature 36·12.[22]See vol. i. p. 71.[23]Gentleman’s Magazine.January 10.Winter in London.On the 10th of January, 1812, it is observed, that London was this day involved, for several hours, in palpable darkness. The shops, offices, &c., were necessarily lighted up; but, the streets not being lighted as at night, it required no small care in the passenger to find his way, and avoid accidents. The sky where any light pervaded it, showed the aspect of bronze. Such is, occasionally, the effect of the accumulation of smoke between two opposite gentle currents, or by means of a misty calm. The fuliginous cloud was visible, in this instance, from a distance of forty miles. Were it not for the extreme mobility of our atmosphere, this volcano of a hundred thousand mouths would, in winter, be scarcelyhabitable![24]Winter in the Country.All out door workNow stands; the waggoner, with wisp-wound feet,And wheelspokes almost filled, his destined stageScarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood,Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veilsIn white array, disguising to the viewObjects well known, now faintly recognised.One colour clothes the mountain and the plain,Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fallUpon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake,Or where some beetling rock o’erjutting hangsAbove the vaulty precipice’s cove.Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertopsThe level dreary waste; and coppice woods,Diminished of their height, like bushes seem.With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocksOnward still urged by man and dog, escapeThe smothering drift; while, skulking at a side,Is seen the fox, with close downfolded tail,Watching his time to seize a straggling prey;Or from some lofty crag he ominous howls,And makes approaching night more dismal fall.Grahame.Mr. Paul Pry in the Character of Mr. Liston.“Just popp’d in, you know!”LETTERfromPAUL PRY.To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.Sir,I hope I don’t intrude—I have called at Ludgate-hill a great many times to see you, and made many kind inquiries, but I am always informed you are “not at home;” and what’s worse, I never can learn when you’ll be “at home;” I’m constantly told, “it’s very uncertain.” This looks veryodd; I don’t think itcorrect. Then again, on asking your people what theEvery-Day Bookis all about? they say it’s abouteverything; but that you know is no answer—is it? I want something more than that. When I tell ’em so, and that I’m so much engaged I haven’t time to read, they say the book is as useful to people engaged in business as to people out of business—as ifIwas in business! I wish to acquaint every body, that I am not in business, and never was in business, though I’ve a deal of business to do; but then it’s for my own amusement, and that’s nobody’s business, you know—as I also told ’em. They say it’s impossible to describe the contents of the book, but that all the particulars are in the Index; that’s just what I wanted; but behold! it is “notout”—that is, it is notin—I mean not in the book—youtake. Excuse my humorsomeness: I only wish to know when I can get it? They say in a few days, but, bless you, I don’t believe ’em; for though I let ’em know I’ve a world of things to communicate to you, when you’ve time to see me, and let me ask you a few questions, they won’t creditme, and why should I creditthem—I was not born yesterday, I assure you. I’m of a very ancient stock, and I’ve some notion you and I are kinsmen—don’t you think we are? I dare say there’s a likeness, for I’m surewe are of the same disposition; if you aren’t, how can you find out so much “abouteverything.” If I can make out that you are one of thePryfamily, it will be mutually agreeable—won’t it? How people will stare—won’t they?I suppose you’ve heard how I’ve been used by Mr. Liston—my private character exposed on the public stage, and the whole town roaring at the whole of thePryfamily. But we are neither to be cried down nor laughed down, and so I’d have let the play-goers know, if the managers had allowed me to sing a song on New-year’s night, in imitation of Mr. Liston when he’s a playingme. Will you believe it—they burst out a laughing, and would not let me go on the boards—they said the audience would suppose me to be the actor himself; what harm would that have done the theatre?—can you tell? They said, it would hurt Mr. Liston’s feelings—never consideringmyfeelings! If ever I try to serve them or their theatre again, I’ll be—Liston!They shall be matched, however, if you’ll help me. I’ve copied out my song, and if you’ll print it in theEvery-Day Book, it will drive ’em mad. I wish, of all things, that Mr. Cruikshank could see me in the character of Liston—he couldhitme I know—don’t you think he could?—just as I am—“quite correct”—like he did “Guy Faux” last 5th of November. I never laughed so much in all my life as when I sawthat. Bless you, I can mimic Liston all to nothing. Do get your friend George to your house some day—any day he likes—it’s all one to me, for I calleveryday; and as I’m an “every-day”man, you know, why you might pop me at the head of the song in yourEvery-Day Book—that’sa joke you know—I can’t help laughing—so droll! I’ve enclosed the song, you see.[The wish of this correspondent is complied with, and the manner wherein, it is presumed, he would have sung the song, is hinted at parenthetically.]MR. PAUL PRY’S SONG,Intended to have been sung by him at the Theatre,In the Character of MR. LISTON,ON NEW YEAR’S EVE.Tune——Mr. Liston’s.(Pryingly.)I hope I don’t intrude!—(Fearfully.)I thought I heard acough—(Apologetically.)I hope I am not rude—(Confidentially.)Isay—the Year’s goingoff!(Inquisitively.)Wherecanhe be goingto?(Ruminatively.)It’s very odd!—it’sserious!—(Self-satisfactively.)I’m ratherknowingtoo!—(Insinuatively.)But isn’t itmysterious?(Comfortably.)’Twas better than the other—(Informingly.)The one that went before;—(Consolingly.)But then there’ll beanother—(Delightedly.)And that’s one comfort more!(Alarmedly.)I’m half afraid he’sgone!(Kindlily.)Mustpartwith the old fellow!(Hastily.)Excuse me—I must run—(Exit.)(Returns.)Forgot my umbrella.(Determinedly.)I’ll watch thenewone though,(Circumspectly.)Andseewhathe’llbe at—(Exit.)(Returns.)Beg pardon—didn’t bow—(Bows and exit.)(Returns.)Bid pardon—left my hat.(Lingeringly.)It’s always the wish of Paul,(Seriously.)To bequite correctand right—(Respectfully.)Ladies and gentlemen—all—(Retreatingly.)I wish you very good night!(Recollectively.)And—ladies and gentlemen—all!(Interjectively.)You laugh so much, I declare—(Vexedly.)I’m not Mr. Liston!—I’mPaul!—(Lastly.)I wish you a happy New Year!—(Exit finally.)If you print this in theEvery-Day Bookit will send Liston into fits—it will kill him—won’t it? But you know that’s all right—if he takes me off I’ve a right to take him off—haven’t I? I say, that’sanotherjoke—isn’t it? Bless you, I co’d do as good as that for ever. But I want to see you, and ask you how you go on? and I’ve lots of intelligence for you—suchthings as never were known in this world—all true, and on the very best authority, you may take my word for it. Several of my relations have sent you budgets. Though they know you won’t publish their names unless they like it, they don’t choose to sign ’em to their letters for private reasons,—why don’t you print ’em? They cann’t give up their authors you know, (that’s impossible,) but what does that signify? And then you give ’em so much trouble to call and make inquiries—not that they care about that, but it looks so. However, I’m in a great hurry and so you’ll excuse me.—Mind though I shall pop in every day till I catch you. I hope you’ll print the song—it’s all my own writing, it will do for Liston, depend on it. What a joke—isn’t it a good one?Pryory Place,Yours eternally,January 6, 1826.Paul Pry.P. S. Don’t forget the Index—I want to learn all the particulars—multum in parvo—all quite correct.P. S. I’m told you’veelevenchildren—is it true? What day shall you have another?—to-day?—Twelfth-day? thatwouldbe ajoke—wouldn’t it? I hope I don’t intrude. I don’t wish to seem curious.NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.Mean Temperature 36·07.[24]Howard on Climate.January 11.Feast Week.This is a term in many parts of England for an annual festivity celebrated on the occasion described in the subjoined communication.For the Every-Day Book.THE FEAST WEEK.This festival, so called, is supposed to be nearly coeval with the establishment of Christianity in this island. Every new church that was founded was dedicated to some peculiar saint, and was naturally followed by a public religious celebration, generally on the day of that saint, or on the Sunday immediately following. Whatever might be the origin, the festival part is still observed in most of the villages of several of the midland and other counties. It is a season much to be remembered, and is anticipated with no little pleasure by the expecting villagers. The joyful note of preparation is given during the preceding week; and the clash, and splash, and bustle of cleansing, and whitewashing, and dusting, is to be seen and heard in almost every cottage. Nor is the still more important object of laying in a good solid supply for a hungry host of visitors forgotten. Happy those who can commanda hamfor the occasion. This is a great favourite, as it is acut-and-come-againdish, ready at hand at all times. But this is mostly with the tip-topping part. Few but can boast of a substantial plum-pudding!—And now the important day is arrived. The merry bells from the steeple announce the event; and groups of friends and relations, not forgetting distant cousins and children, are seen making their way, long before the hour of dinner, to the appointed spot. This is Sunday; and in the afternoon a portion of these strangers, clean and neatly dressed, are seen flocking to the village church, where the elevated band in the gallery, in great force both in noise and number, contribute lustily to their edification, and the clergyman endeavours to improve the solemnity of the occasion by an appropriate address. During the early part of the ensuing week, the feastis kept up with much spirit: the village presents a holiday appearance, and openhousekeeping, as far as may be, is the order of the day; the bells at intervals send forth an enlivening peal; all work is nearly suspended; gay stalls of gingerbread and fruit, according to the season of the year, together with swings and roundabouts, spread out their allurements to the children; bowls, quoits, and nine-pins, for the men; and the merry dance in the evening, for the lasses. Fresh visitors keep dropping in; and almost all who can make any excuse of acquaintance are acknowledged, and are hospitably entertained, according to the means of their village friends. As the week advances, these means gradually diminish; and as an empty house has few attractions, by the end of the week the bustle ceases, and all is still and silent, as if it had never been.Man naturally requires excitement and relaxation; but it is essentially necessary that they should be adapted to his situation and circumstances. Thefeast week, however alluring it may appear in description, is in reality productive of greater evil than good. The excitement lasts too long, and the enjoyment, whatever it may be, is purchased at the sacrifice of too great expense. It is a well-known fact, that many of the poor who have exerted every effort to make this profuse, but short-lived display, have scarcely bread to eat for weeks after. But there is no alternative, if they expect to be received with the same spirit of hospitality by their friends. The alehouses, in the interim, are too often scenes of drunkenness and disorder; and the labouring man who has been idle and dissipated for a week, is little disposed for toil and temperance the next. Here, then, the illusion of rural simplicity ends! These things are managed much better where onefair day, as it is called, is set apart in each year, as is the case in many counties; the excitement, which is intense for ten or twelve hours, is fully sufficient for the purpose; all is noise and merriment, and one general and simultaneous burst and explosion, if it may be so expressed, takes place. You see groups of happy faces. Every one is willing “to laugh he knows not why, and cares not wherefore;” andone day’sgratification serves him forevery day’spleasing topic of reference for weeks to come.S. P.NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.Mean Temperature 35·62.January 12.Leeches unhurt by Frost.Among the cold-blooded animals which resist the effects of a low temperature, we may reckon the common leech, which is otherwise interesting to the meteorologist, on account of its peculiar habits and movements under different states of the atmosphere. A group of these animals left accidentally in a closet without a fire, during the frost of 1816, not only survived, but appeared to suffer no injury from being locked up in a mass of ice for manydays.[25]SWEEPING RHETORIC.Certain rewards allowed by act of parliament to firemen, turncocks, and others, who first appear with their engines and implements at premises sworn to be on fire, were claimed at the public office, Marlborough-street, in this month, 1826, and resisted on the ground that the chimney, which belonged to a brewery, and was more than eighty feet high, was not, and could not be on fire. A witness to that end, gave a lively specimen of familiar statement and illustration. He began by telling the magistrate, that he was a sweep-chimney by profession—a piece of information very unnecessary, for he was as black and sooty a sweep as ever mounted a chimney-top,—and then went on in this fashion—“This here man, (pointing to the patrol,) your wortship, has told a false affidavit. I knows that ere chimley from a hinfant, and she knows my foot as well as my own mother. The way as I goes up her is this—I goes in all round the boiler, then I twistes in the chimley like the smoke, and then up I goes with the wind, for, your wortship, there’s a wind in her that would blow you out like a feather, if you didn’t know her as well as I do, and that makes me always go to the top myself, because there isn’t a brick in her that doesn’t know my foot. So that you see, your wortship, no soot or blacks is ever in her: the wind won’t let ’em stop: and besides they knows that I go up her regular. So that she always keeps herself as clean as a new pin. I’ll be bound the sides of her is as clean this minute as I am (not saying much for the chimney); therefore, yourwortship, that ere man as saw two yards of fire coming out of her, did not see no such thing, I say; and he has told your wortship, and these here gentlemen present, a false affidavit, I say. I was brought up in that chimley, your wortship, and I can’t abear to hear such things said—lies of her; and that’s all as I knows at present, please yourwortship.”[26]AMUSEMENTS.The London Christmas evenings of 1826, appear to have been kept out of doors, for every place of entertainment was overflowing every night.At this season, from six o’clock in the evening, a full tide of passengers sets in along every leading street to each of the theatres. Hackney coaches drawl, and cabriolets make their way, and jostle each other, and private carriages swiftly roll, and draw up to the box door with a vigorous sweep, which the horses of hired vehicles are too aged, or too low in condition to achieve. Within a hundred yards of either playhouse, hands are continually thrust into each coach window, with “a bill of the play,” and repeated cries of “only a penny!” The coachdoor being opened, down fall the steps with a sharp clackity-clack-click, and the companies alight, if they can, without the supernumerary aid of attendant pliers, who offer their over-ready arms to lean upon, and kindly entreat—“Take care, sir!—mind how you step ma’am—this way if you please—this way,” all against your will, and ending with “I hope you’ll please to remember a poor fellow!” the “poor fellow” having done nothing but interrupt you. When past the “pay place,” great coats, umbrellas, shawls or other useful accompaniments to and from “the house,” though real encumbrances within it, may be safely deposited with persons stationed for their reception, who attach tickets to them, and deliver corresponding numbers, which ensure the return of your property on your coming out; sixpence or a shilling being a gratuity for the accommodation. Then, when the whole is over, there is the strict blockade of coaches further than the eye can reach; servants looking out for the parties they came with, and getting up their masters’ carriages; and a full cry of hackney coachmen and their representatives, vociferating “Want a coach, sir? Here’s your coach, sir! Which is it, sir? Coach to the city, sir! West end, sir! Here! Coach to the city! Coach to Whitechapel! Coach to Portman-square! Coach to Pentonville! Coach to the Regent’s Park! This way! this way! Stand clear there! Chariot, or a coach, sir? No chariots, sir, and all the coaches are hired! There’s a coach here, sir—just below! Coachman, draw up!” and drawing up is impossible, and there is an incessant confusion of calls and complaints, and running against each other, arising out of the immediate wants of every body, which can only be successively gratified. Pedestrians make their way home, or to the inns, as fast as possible, or turn in to sup at the fish-shops, which, in five minutes, are more lively than their oysters were at any time. “Waiter! Waiter! Yes, sir! Attend to you directly, sir! Yours is gone for, sir! Why, I’ve ordered nothing! It’s coming directly, sir! Ginger-beer—why this is poison! Spruce—why this is ginger-beer! Porter, sir! I told you brandy and water! Stewed oysters! I ordered scolloped! When am I to havemysupper? You’ve had it, sir—I beg your pardon, sir, the gentleman that sat here is gone, sir! Waiter! waiter!” and so on; and he who has patience, is sure to be indulged with an opportunity of retaining it, amidst loud talking and laughter; varied views of the new pantomime; conflicting testimony as to the merits of the clown and the harlequin; the “new scenery, dresses, and machinery;” likings and dislikings of certain actresses; “the lovely” Miss So-and-so, or “that detestable” woman, Mrs. Such-an-one, that clever fellow, “Thing-a-merry,” or that stupid dog, “What-d’ye-call-um.” These topics failing, and the oysters discussed, then are stated and considered the advantages of taking something “to keep’em down;” the comparative merits of Burton, Windsor, or Edinburgh ale; the qualities of porter; the wholesomeness of smoking; the difference between a pipe and a segar, and the preference of one to the other; whether brandy or rum, or the clear spirit of juniper, is the best preservative of health; which of the company or their friends can drink most; whether the last fight was “a cross,” and who of all the men in the fancy is most “game;” whether the magistrates dare to interfere with “the ring;” whether if fighting should be “put an end to” Englishmen will have halfthe courage they had three hundred years ago, before prize fighting existed; whether Thurtell was not “a good one” to the last, and whether there’s a better “trump” in the room. On these points, or to points like these, the conversation of an oyster room is turned by sitters after the play, till they adjourn to “spend the evening” at the “flash-and-foolish” houses which “keep it up” all night in the peculiar neighbourhood of the public office, Bow-street. This is more than mere animal gratification, as the police reports exemplify.Seasonable Refreshment.Seasonable Refreshment.Capital oysters, I declare!Excellent spruce, and ginger beer!Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread—We’ll just have a pipe—and then to bed.*Why should notthisbe deemed a real scene, and as respectable as that just described. It is quite as lively and as intellectual. The monkey eats, and according to many accounts can catch fish as well as man. It is told of this animal, that from love of the crab and experience of his claws, he gently shakes his tail before the hole of the crab, who, as soon as he begins to “pull him by his long tail,” is drawn out by that dependancy and falls a prey to his decoyer. It is related that a party of officers belonging to the 25th regiment of infantry, on service at Gibraltar, amused themselves with whiting fishing at the back of the rock till they were obliged to shift their ground from being pelted from above, they did not know by whom. At their new station they caught plenty of fish, but the drum havingunexpectedly beat to arms, they rowed hastily ashore, and drew their boat high and dry upon the beach. On their return they were greatly surprised to find it in a different position ashore, and some hooks baited which they had left bare. In the end it was ascertained that their pelters while they were fishing were a party of young monkeys. They were driven off by two or three old ones who remained secretly observing the whiting fishing of the officers till they had retired. The old monkeys then launched the boat, put to sea, baited their hooks, and proceeded to work. The few fish they caught, they hauled up with infinite gratification, and when tired they landed, placed the boat as nearly as they could in its old position, and went up the rock with their prey. General Elliot, while commander at Gibraltar, never suffered the monkeys with which the rock abounds to be molested or taken.The faculty of imitation in monkeys is limited, but not so in man; a remarkable instance of this is lately adduced in a pleasant little story of perhaps the greatest performer on our stage.Garrick.At a splendid dinner-party at lord ——’s they suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was become of him, till they were drawn to the window by the convulsive screams and peals of laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see Garrick mimicking a turkey-cock in the court yard, with his coat-tail stuck out behind, and in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party only two persons present had seen the British Roscius; and they seemed as willing as the rest to renew their acquaintance with their old favourite. This anecdote is new: it is related by the able writer of a paper concerning “Persons one would wish to haveseen,”[27]as an instance of Garrick’s singleness of purpose when he was fully possessed by an idea.NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.Mean Temperature 34·45.[25]Howard on Climate.[26]The Times, 5th January, 1826.[27]In the New Monthly Magazine, Jan. 1826.January 13.1826. Hilary Cambridge Term begins.St.Veronica.Some curious circumstances are connected with the name of this saint, who appears to have been a poor ignorant girl, born near Milan, where she worked in the fields for her living. Conceiving a desire to become a nun, she sat up at night to learn to read and write, which, her biographer says, for want of an instructor, was a great fatigue to her. He proceeds to tell us, that she was relieved from labour of that kind in the following manner:—“One day, being in great anxiety about her learning, the mother of God, in a comfortable vision, bade her banish that anxiety, for it was enough if she knew three letters.” So Veronica became a nun, seeking “the greatest drudgery,” desiring “to live always on bread and water,” and dying “at the hour which she had foretold, in the year 1497, and the fifty-second of her age. Her sanctity was confirmed by miracles.” We gather this from Alban Butler, who subjoins, by way of note,thus:—“The print of the holy face of our Saviour on a linen clothis kept in St. Peter’s church at Rome, with singular veneration.—Some private writers and churches have given the name of St. Veronica to the devout woman who is said to have presented this linen to our divine Redeemer, but without sufficient warrant.”Before saying any thing concerning the earlier St. Veronica, or “this linen” whereon Romish writers allege Christ impressed his own portrait by wiping his face with it, mention may be made ofanotherportrait of him which Romish writers affirm he miraculously executed in the same manner, and sent to Abgarus, king of Edessa, in the way hereafter related. They have further been so careful as to publish a print of this pretended portrait, with representations around illustrating the history they tell of it. An engraving from it immediately follows. The Latin inscription beneath their print is placed beneath the presentengraving.Effigies Christi Domini.Ex ipsomet Divino Exemplariad Abgarummissa Genuæ in EcclesiaSti. BartolomæiClericorum Reg.Sti. PauliSumma Veneratione asservatoAccuratissime Expressa.Enlarged illustration(380 kB).No circumstance is more remarkable than the existence of this pretended resemblance, as an object of veneration in the Romish church. Being one of the greatest curiosities in its numerous cabinets of relics, it has a place in this work, which, while it records manners and customs, endeavours to point out their origin, and the means by which they have been continued. Nor let it be imagined that these representations have not influenced our own country; there is evidence to the contrary already, and more can be adduced if need require, which will incontestably prove that many of our present popular customs are derived from such sources.NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.Mean Temperature 35·27.January 14.1826. Oxford Hilary Term begins.Sailors.Mariners form a distinct community, with peculiar manners, little known to their inland fellow countrymen, except through books. In this way Smollett has done much, and from Mr. Leigh Hunt’s “Indicator,” which may not be in every one’s hands, though it ought to be, is extracted the following excellent description:Seamen on Shore.And first of the common sailor.—The moment the common sailor lands, he goes to see the watchmaker, or the old boy at the Ship. His first object is to spend his money: but his first sensation is the strange firmness of the earth, which he goes treading in a sort of heavy light way, half waggoner and half dancing master, his shoulders rolling, and his feet touching and going; the same way, in short, in which he keeps himself prepared for all the rolling chances of the vessel, when on deck. There is always, to us, this appearance of lightness of foot and heavy strength of upper works, in a sailor. And he feels it himself. He lets his jacket fly open, and his shoulders slouch, and his hair grow long to be gathered into a heavy pigtail; but when full dressed, he prides himself on a certain gentility of toe; on a white stocking and a natty shoe, issuing lightly out of the flowing blue trowser. His arms are neutral, hanging and swinging in a curve aloof; his hands, half open, look as if they had just been handling ropes, and had no object in life but to handle them again. He is proud of appearing in a new hat and slops, with a belcher handkerchief flowing loosely round his neck, and the corner of another out of his pocket. Thus equipped, with pinchbeck buckles in his shoes (which he bought for gold) he puts some tobacco in his mouth, not as if he were going to use it directly, but as if he stuffed it in a pouch on one side, as a pelican does fish, to employ it hereafter: and so, with Bet Monson at his side, and perhaps a cane or whanghee twisted under his other arm, sallies forth to take possession of all Lubberland. He buys every thing that he comes athwart,—nuts, gingerbread, apples, shoe-strings, beer, brandy, gin, buckles, knives, a watch, (two, if he has money enough,) gowns and handkerchiefs for Bet, and his mother and sisters, dozens of “superfine best men’s cotton stockings,” dozens of “superfine best women’s cotton ditto,” best good check for shirts (though he has too much already), infinite needles and thread (to sew his trowsers with some day), a footman’s laced hat, bear’s grease to make his hair grow (by way of joke), several sticks, all sorts of jew articles, a flute (which he can’t play and never intends), a leg of mutton which he carries somewhere to roast, and for a piece of which the landlord of the Ship makes him pay twice what he gave for the whole;—in short, all that money can be spent upon, which is every thing but medicine gratis; and this he would insist on paying for. He would buy all the painted parrots on an Italian’s head, on purpose to break them, rather than not spend his money. He has fiddles and a dance at the Ship, with oceans of flip and grog; and gives the blind fiddler tobacco for sweetmeats, and half a crown for treading on his toe. He asks the landlady with a sigh, after her daughter Nance who first fired his heart with her silk stockings; and finding that she is married and in trouble, leaves five crowns for her; which the old lady appropriates as part payment for a shilling in advance. He goes to the port playhouse with Bet Monson, and a great red handkerchief full of apples, gingerbread nuts, and fresh beef; calls out for the fiddlers and Rule Britannia; pelts Tom Sikes in the pit; and compares Othello to the black ship’s cook in his white night-cap. When he comes to London, he and some messmates take a hackney-coach, full of Bet Monsons and tobacco pipes, and go through the streets smoking and lolling out of window. He has ever been cautious of venturing on horseback; and among his other sights in foreign parts, relates with unfeigned astonishment how he has seen the Turks ride,—“Only,” says he, guarding against the hearer’s incredulity, “they have saddle-boxes to hold ’em in, fore and aft; and shovels like for stirrups.” He will tell you how the Chinese drink, and theNegursdance, and the monkies pelt youwith cocoa-nuts; and how king Domy would have built him a mud hut and made him a peer of the realm, if he would have stopped with him and taught him to make trowsers. He has a sister at a “school for young ladies,” who blushes with a mixture of pleasure and shame at his appearance; and whose confusion he completes, by slipping fourpence into her hand, and saying out loud that he has “no more copper” about him. His mother and elder sisters at home doat on all he says and does, telling him however that he is a great sea-fellow, and was always wild ever since he was a hop-o’-my-thumb no higher than the window-locker. He tells his mother she would be a duchess in Paranaboo; at which the good old portly dame laughs and looks proud. When his sisters complain of his romping, he says that they are only sorry it is not the baker. He frightens them with a mask made after the New Zealand fashion, and is forgiven for his learning. Their mantle-piece is filled by him with shells and shark’s teeth; and when he goes to sea again, there is no end of tears, and God-bless you, and home-made gingerbread.Hisofficeron shore does much of all this, only, generally speaking, in a higher taste. The moment he lands he buys quantities of jewellery and other valuables, for all the females of his acquaintance; and is taken in for every article. He sends in a cart load of fresh meat to the ship, though he is going to town next day; and calling in at a chandler’s for some candles, is persuaded to buy a dozen of green wax, with which he lights up the ship at evening; regretting that the fine moonlight hinders the effect of the colour. A man, with a bundle beneath his arm, accosts him in an undertone; and, with a look in which respect for his knowledge is mixed with an avowed zeal for his own interest, asks if his honour will just step under the gangway here, and inspect some real India shawls. The gallant lieutenant says to himself, “this fellow knows what’s what by his face;” and so he proves it by being taken in on the spot. When he brings the shawls home, he says to his sister with an air of triumph, “there Poll, there’s something for you; only cost me twelve, and is worth twenty, if it’s worth a dollar.” She turns pale—“Twenty what, my dear George? Why, you haven’t given twelve dollars for it, I hope?” “Not I, by the Lord.”—“That’s lucky; because you see, my dear George, that all together is not worth more than fourteen or fifteen shillings.” “Fourteen or fifteen what! Why, it’s real India, en’t it? Why the fellow told me so; or I’m sure I’d as soon”—(here he tries to hide his blushes with a bluster) “I’d as soon have given him twelve douses on the chaps as twelve guineas.” “TwelveGUINEAS,” exclaims the sister; and then drawling forth “Why—my—DEAR—George,” is proceeding to show him what the articles would have cost him at Condell’s, when he interrupts her by requesting her to go and choose for herself a tea-table service. He then makes his escape to some messmates at a coffee-house, and drowns his recollection of the shawls in the best wine, and a discussion on the comparative merits of the English and West Indian beauties and tables. At the theatre afterwards, where he has never been before, he takes a lady at the back of one of the boxes for a woman of quality: and when after returning his long respectful gaze with a smile, she turns aside and puts her handkerchief to her mouth, he thinks it is in derision, till his friend undeceives him. He is introduced to the lady; and ever afterwards, at first sight of a woman of quality (without any disparagement either to those charming personages), expects her to give him a smile. He thinks the other ladies much better creatures than they are taken for; and for their parts, they tell him, that if all men were like himself, they would trust the sex again:—which, for aught we know, is the truth. He has, indeed, what he thinks a very liberal opinion of ladies in general; judging them all, in a manner, with the eye of a seaman’s experience. Yet he will believe nevertheless in the “true-love” of any given damsel whom he seeks in the way of marriage, let him roam as much, or remain as long at a distance as he pleases. It is not that he wants feeling; but that he has read of it, time out of mind, in songs; and he looks upon constancy as a sort of exploit, answering to those which he performs at sea. He is nice in his watches and linen. He makes you presents of cornelians, antique seals, cocoa-nuts set in silver, and other valuables. When he shakes hands with you, it is like being caught in a windlass. He would not swagger about the streets in his uniform, for the world. He is generally modest in company, though liable to be irritated by what hethinks ungentlemanly behaviour. He is also liable to be rendered irritable by sickness; partly because he has been used to command others, and to be served with all possible deference and alacrity; and partly, because the idea of suffering pain, without any honour or profit to get by it, is unprofessional, and he is not accustomed to it. He treats talents unlike his own with great respect. He often perceives his own so little felt that it teaches him this feeling for that of others. Besides, he admires the quantity of information which people can get, without travelling like himself; especially when he sees how interesting his own becomes, to them as well as to every body else. When he tells a story, particularly if full of wonders, he takes care to maintain his character for truth and simplicity, by qualifying it with all possible reservations, concessions, and anticipations of objection; such as “in case, at such times as, so to speak, as it were, at least, at any rate.” He seldom uses sea-terms but when jocosely provoked by something contrary to his habits of life; as for instance, if he is always meeting you on horseback, he asks if you never mean to walk the deck again; or if he finds you studying day after day, he says you are always overhauling your log-book. He makes more new acquaintances, and forgets his old ones less, than any other man in the busy world; for he is so compelled to make his home every where, remembers his native one as such a place of enjoyment, has all his friendly recollections so fixed upon his mind at sea, and has so much to tell and to hear when he returns, that change and separation lose with him the most heartless part of their nature. He also sees such a variety of customs and manners, that he becomes charitable in his opinions altogether; and charity, while it diffuses the affections, cannot let the old ones go. Half the secret of human intercourse is to make allowance for each other.When the officer is superannuated or retires, he becomes, if intelligent and inquiring, one of the most agreeable old men in the world, equally welcome to the silent for his card-playing, and to the conversational for his recollections. He is fond of astronomy and books of voyages; and is immortal with all who know him, for having been round the world, or seen the Transit of Venus, or had one of his fingers carried off by a New Zealand hatchet, or a present of feathers from an Otaheitean beauty. If not elevated by his acquirements above some of his humbler tastes, he delights in a corner-cupboard holding his cocoa-nuts and punch-bowl; has his summer-house castellated and planted with wooden cannon; and sets up the figure of his old ship, the Britannia or the Lovely Nancy, for a statue in the garden; where it stares eternally with red cheeks and round black eyes, as if in astonishment at its situation.NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.Mean Temperature 36·20.January 15.Changes of Climate.An opinion has been long entertained, that there are vicissitudes in the climate and temperature of the air unknown to former times, and that such variations exist in America as well as in Europe. It is said that the transatlantic changes have been more frequent, and the heat of the sun not so early or so strongly experienced as formerly. In America, these alterations are attributed to a more obvious cause than uncertain hypothesis, and at not many degrees distance. For instance, the ice in the great river St. Lawrence, at Quebec, did not break up till the first week in May, 1817, when it floated down the stream in huge masses, and in vast quantities; these, with other masses from the coast of Labrador, &c. spread a general coldness many degrees to the southward. But a few weeks before the snow fell in some parts of New England, and New York, to a considerable depth, and there were severe frosts. The vessels from England and Ireland, which arrived at Quebec, all concurred in their accounts of the dangers which they encountered, and the cold which they suffered. In fine, it would appear that the ice in those regions had accumulated to so alarming a degree, as to threaten a material change in all the adjacent countries, and to verify the theory of some who imagined that the extreme cold of the north was gradually making encroachments upon the extreme heat of the south. They have remarked, in confirmation of their opinions, that the accounts of travellers and navigators, furnish strong reasons for supposing that the islands of ice in the higher northern latitudes, as well as the glaciers on theAlps, continue perpetually to increase in bulk. At certain times, in the ice mountains of Switzerland, there occur fissures, which show the immense thickness of the frozen matter; some of these cracks have measured three or four hundred ells deep. The great islands of ice, in the northern seas bordering upon Hudson’s Bay, have been observed to be immersed one hundred fathoms beneath the surface of the sea, and to have risen a fifth or sixth part above the surface, measuring, at the same time, about a mile and a half in diameter. It has been shown by Dr. Lyster, that the marine ice contains some salt, and less air, than common ice, and that it therefore is more difficult of solution. From these premises, he endeavours to account for the perpetual augmentation of those floating islands. By a celebrated experiment of Mr. Boyle, it has been demonstrated that ice evaporates very fast, in severe frosty weather, when the wind blows upon it; and as ice, in a thawing state, is known to contain six times more cold than water, at the same degree of sensible coldness, it is easy to conceive that winds sweeping over islands and continents of ice, perhaps much belownorthingon Fahrenheit’s scale, and rushing thence into our latitudes, must bring most intense degrees of cold along with them. If to this be added the quantity of cold produced by the evaporation of the water, as well as by the solution of ice, it can scarcely be doubted but that the arctic seas are the principal source of the cold of our winters, and that it is brought hither by the regions of the air blowing from the north, and which take an apparently easterly direction, by their coming to a part of the surface of the earth, which moves faster than the latitude from which they originate. Hence, the increase of the ice in the polar regions, by increasing the cold of our climate, adds, at the same time, to the bulk of the glaciers of Italy and Switzerland.Reasonings of this kind are supported by the greatest names, and countenanced by the authentic reports of the best informed travellers. Mr. Bradley attributes the cold winds and wet weather, which sometimes happen in May and June, to the solution of ice islands accidentally detached and floating from the north. Mr. Barham, about the year 1718, in his voyage from Jamaica to England, in the beginning of June, met with some of those islands, which were involved in such a fog that the ship was in danger of striking against them. One of them measured sixty miles in length.On the 22d of December, 1789, there was an instance of ice islands having been wafted from the southern polar regions. It was on these islands that the Guardian struck, at the commencement of her passage from the Cape of Good Hope towards Botany Bay. These islands were wrapt in darkness, about one hundred and fifty fathoms long, and above fifty fathoms above the surface of the waves. In the process of solution, a fragment from the summit of one of them broke off, and plunging into the sea, caused a tremendous commotion in the water, and dense smoke all around it.These facts were strongly urged upon public attention in the autumn of1817,[28]as grounds of not only curious and interesting, but likewise of highly important speculation. A supposed change in the temper, and the very character of our seasons, was deemed to have fallen within the observation of even young men, or at least middle-aged men; and upon this supposition, it was not deemed extravagant to anticipate the combined force of the naval world employed in navigating the immense masses of ice into the more southern oceans; while to render the notion more agreeable, and to enliven the minds of such as might think such matters of speculation dull or uninteresting, the project was laid before them in a versified garb, characterising the arctic regions.
[19]See vol. i. p. 61.[20]New Monthly Magazine, January, 1826.
[19]See vol. i. p. 61.
[20]New Monthly Magazine, January, 1826.
1826.First Sunday after Epiphany.
On the 8th of January, 1753, died sir Thomas Burnet, one of the judges of the court of Common Pleas, of the gout in his stomach, at his house in Lincoln’s-inn fields. He was the eldest son of the celebrated Dr. Gilbert Burnet, bishop of Salisbury; was several years consul at Lisbon; and in November, 1741, made one of the judges of the Common Pleas, in room of judge Fortescue, who was appointed master of the rolls. On November 23, 1745, when the lord chancellor, judges, and association of the gentlemen of the law, waited on his majesty with their address, on occasion of the rebellion, he was knighted. He was an able and upright judge, and a great benefactor to thepoor.[21]
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,
Encouraged by your various expressions of willingness to receive notices of customs not already “imprinted” in your first volume, I take the liberty of presenting the first of several which I have not yet seen in print.
I am, sir,Your constant reader,J. O. W.
Chelsea.
Gentle reader,
If thou art not over-much prejudiced by the advances of modernization, (I like a long new-coined word,) so that, even in these “latter days,” thou dost not hesitate to place explicit reliance on ancient, yet infallible “sayings and doings,” (ancient enough, since they have been handed down to us by our grandmothers—and who would doubt the weight and authority ofso manyyears?—and infallible enough, since they themselves absolutely believed in their “quite-correctness,”) I will tell thee a secret well worth knowing, ifthatcan be called a secret which arises out of a well-known and almost universal custom, at least, in “days of yore.” It is neither more nor less than the possession throughout “the rolling year” of a pocket never without money. Is not this indeed a secret well worth knowing? Yet the means of its accomplishment are exceedingly simple (as all difficult things are when once known.) On the first day of the first new moon of the new year, or so soon afterwards as you observe it, all that you have to do is this:—on the first glance you take at “pale Luna’s silvery crest” in the western sky, put your hand in your pocket, shut your eyes, and turn the smallest piece ofsilvercoin you possess upside down in your said pocket. This will ensure you (if you will buttrustits infallibility!) throughout the whole year that “summum bonum” of earthly wishes, a pocket never empty. If, however, you neglect, on the first appearance of the moon, your case is hopeless; nevertheless and notwithstanding, at a future new moon you may pursue the same course, and it willbe sureto hold good during the then current month, but not a “whit” longer.
This mention of the new moon and its crest brings to mind a few verses I wrote some time ago, and having searched my scrap-book, (undoubtedlynot sucha one asGeoffery Crayon’s,) I copied them from thence, and they are here under. Although written in the “merry merry month of May,” they may be read in the “dreary dark December,” for every new moon presents the same beautiful phenomenon.
A Simile.Hast thou ne’er marked, when first the crescent moonShines faintly in the western horizon,O’er her whole orb a slight soft blush o’erspread,As though she were abashed to be thus seenFrom the sun’s couch with silver steps retreating?Hast thou ne’er marked, that when by slow degrees,Night after night, her crescent shape is lost,And steadily she gains her stores of light,Till half her form resplendently proclaimsAn envious rival to the stars around—Then mark’st thou not, that nought of her sweet blushRemains to please the gazer’s wistful sight,And that she shines increasingly in strength,Till she is full-orb’d, mistress of the sky?—So is it with the mind, when silentlyInto the young heart’s void steals timorous love.Then enter with it fancy’s fairy dreams,Visions of glory, reveries of bliss;And then they come and go, till comes, alas!Knowledge, forced on us, of the “world without!”How soon these scenes of beauty disappear!How soon fond thought sinks into nothingness!How soon the mind discovers that true blissReposes not on sublunary things,But is alone when passion’s blaze is o’erIn that high happy sphere, where love’s supreme.
A Simile.
Hast thou ne’er marked, when first the crescent moonShines faintly in the western horizon,O’er her whole orb a slight soft blush o’erspread,As though she were abashed to be thus seenFrom the sun’s couch with silver steps retreating?Hast thou ne’er marked, that when by slow degrees,Night after night, her crescent shape is lost,And steadily she gains her stores of light,Till half her form resplendently proclaimsAn envious rival to the stars around—Then mark’st thou not, that nought of her sweet blushRemains to please the gazer’s wistful sight,And that she shines increasingly in strength,Till she is full-orb’d, mistress of the sky?—So is it with the mind, when silentlyInto the young heart’s void steals timorous love.Then enter with it fancy’s fairy dreams,Visions of glory, reveries of bliss;And then they come and go, till comes, alas!Knowledge, forced on us, of the “world without!”How soon these scenes of beauty disappear!How soon fond thought sinks into nothingness!How soon the mind discovers that true blissReposes not on sublunary things,But is alone when passion’s blaze is o’erIn that high happy sphere, where love’s supreme.
Hast thou ne’er marked, when first the crescent moonShines faintly in the western horizon,O’er her whole orb a slight soft blush o’erspread,As though she were abashed to be thus seenFrom the sun’s couch with silver steps retreating?Hast thou ne’er marked, that when by slow degrees,Night after night, her crescent shape is lost,And steadily she gains her stores of light,Till half her form resplendently proclaimsAn envious rival to the stars around—Then mark’st thou not, that nought of her sweet blushRemains to please the gazer’s wistful sight,And that she shines increasingly in strength,Till she is full-orb’d, mistress of the sky?—So is it with the mind, when silentlyInto the young heart’s void steals timorous love.Then enter with it fancy’s fairy dreams,Visions of glory, reveries of bliss;And then they come and go, till comes, alas!Knowledge, forced on us, of the “world without!”How soon these scenes of beauty disappear!How soon fond thought sinks into nothingness!How soon the mind discovers that true blissReposes not on sublunary things,But is alone when passion’s blaze is o’erIn that high happy sphere, where love’s supreme.
Here it may not be out of place to endeavour to describe, as familiarly as possible, the cause of the lunar appearance. Hold a piece of looking-glass in a ray of sunshine, and then move a small ball through thereflectedray: it is easy to conceive that both sides will be illumined; that side towards the sun by thedirect sunbeam, and the side towards the mirror, though less powerfully, by thereflected sunbeam. In a somewhat similar manner, the earth supplies the place of the mirror, and as at every new moon, and for several days after the moon is in that part of her orbit between the earth and the sun, the rays of the sun are reflected from the earth to the dark side of the moon, and consequently to the inhabitants of that part of the moon, (if any such there be, and query why should there not be such?) the earth must present the curious appearance of afullmoon of many times the diameter which ours presents.
J. O. W.
Mean Temperature 36·05.
[21]Gentleman’s Magazine.
[21]Gentleman’s Magazine.
1826.Plough Monday.The first Monday after Twelfthday.[22]
On the 9th of January, 1752, William Stroud was tried before the bench of justices at Westminster-hall, for personating various characters and names, and defrauding numbers of people, in order to support his extravagance. It appeared by the evidence, that he had cheated a tailor of a suit of velvet clothes, trimmed with gold; a jeweller of upwards of 100l.in rings and watches, which he pawned; a coachmaker of a chaise; a carver and cabinet-maker of household goods; a hosier, hatter, and shoemaker, and, in short, some of almost every other business, to the amount of a large sum. He sometimes appeared like a gentleman attended with livery servants; sometimes as a nobleman’s steward; and, in the summer time, he travelled the west of England, in the character of Doctor Rock; and, at the same time, wrote to London for goods, in the names of the Rev. Laroche, and the Rev. Thomas Strickland. The evidence was full against him; notwithstanding which, he made a long speech in his own defence. He was sentenced to six months’ hard labour in Bridewell, and, within that time, to be six times publicly whipped.
Such offences are familiar to tradesmen of the present times, through many perpetrators of the like stamp; but all of them are not of the same audacity as Stroud, who, in the month following his conviction, wrote and published his life, wherein he gives a very extraordinary account of his adventures, but passes slightly over, or palliates his blackest crimes. He was bred a haberdasher of small wares in Fleet-street, married his mistress’s sisterbefore his apprenticeship determined, set up in the Poultry, became a bankrupt, in three months got his certificate signed, and again set up in Holborn, where he lived but a little while before he was thrown into the King’s Bench for debt, and there got acquainted with one Playstowe, who gradually led him into scenes of fraud, which he afterwards imitated. Playstowe being a handsome man, usually passed for a gentleman, and Stroud for his steward; at last the former, after many adventures, married a girl with 4000l., flew to France, and left Stroud in the lurch, who then retired to Yorkshire, and lived some time with his aunt, pretending his wife was dead, and he was just on the brink of marrying advantageously, when his real character was traced. He then went to Ireland, passed for a man of fashion, hired an equipage, made the most of that country, and escaped to London. His next grand expedition was to the west of England, where he still personated the man of fortune, got acquainted with a young lady, and pursued her to London, where justice overtook him; and, instead of wedlock, bound him in the fetters of Bridewell.
On the 24th of June, 1752, Stroud received “his last and severest whipping, from the White Bear to St. James’s churchPiccadilly.”[23]
Mean Temperature 36·12.
[22]See vol. i. p. 71.[23]Gentleman’s Magazine.
[22]See vol. i. p. 71.
[23]Gentleman’s Magazine.
On the 10th of January, 1812, it is observed, that London was this day involved, for several hours, in palpable darkness. The shops, offices, &c., were necessarily lighted up; but, the streets not being lighted as at night, it required no small care in the passenger to find his way, and avoid accidents. The sky where any light pervaded it, showed the aspect of bronze. Such is, occasionally, the effect of the accumulation of smoke between two opposite gentle currents, or by means of a misty calm. The fuliginous cloud was visible, in this instance, from a distance of forty miles. Were it not for the extreme mobility of our atmosphere, this volcano of a hundred thousand mouths would, in winter, be scarcelyhabitable![24]
Winter in the Country.All out door workNow stands; the waggoner, with wisp-wound feet,And wheelspokes almost filled, his destined stageScarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood,Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veilsIn white array, disguising to the viewObjects well known, now faintly recognised.One colour clothes the mountain and the plain,Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fallUpon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake,Or where some beetling rock o’erjutting hangsAbove the vaulty precipice’s cove.Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertopsThe level dreary waste; and coppice woods,Diminished of their height, like bushes seem.With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocksOnward still urged by man and dog, escapeThe smothering drift; while, skulking at a side,Is seen the fox, with close downfolded tail,Watching his time to seize a straggling prey;Or from some lofty crag he ominous howls,And makes approaching night more dismal fall.Grahame.
Winter in the Country.
All out door workNow stands; the waggoner, with wisp-wound feet,And wheelspokes almost filled, his destined stageScarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood,Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veilsIn white array, disguising to the viewObjects well known, now faintly recognised.One colour clothes the mountain and the plain,Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fallUpon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake,Or where some beetling rock o’erjutting hangsAbove the vaulty precipice’s cove.Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertopsThe level dreary waste; and coppice woods,Diminished of their height, like bushes seem.With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocksOnward still urged by man and dog, escapeThe smothering drift; while, skulking at a side,Is seen the fox, with close downfolded tail,Watching his time to seize a straggling prey;Or from some lofty crag he ominous howls,And makes approaching night more dismal fall.
All out door workNow stands; the waggoner, with wisp-wound feet,And wheelspokes almost filled, his destined stageScarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood,Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veilsIn white array, disguising to the viewObjects well known, now faintly recognised.One colour clothes the mountain and the plain,Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fallUpon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake,Or where some beetling rock o’erjutting hangsAbove the vaulty precipice’s cove.Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertopsThe level dreary waste; and coppice woods,Diminished of their height, like bushes seem.With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocksOnward still urged by man and dog, escapeThe smothering drift; while, skulking at a side,Is seen the fox, with close downfolded tail,Watching his time to seize a straggling prey;Or from some lofty crag he ominous howls,And makes approaching night more dismal fall.
Grahame.
Mr. Paul Pry in the Character of Mr. Liston.“Just popp’d in, you know!”
Mr. Paul Pry in the Character of Mr. Liston.“Just popp’d in, you know!”
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,
I hope I don’t intrude—I have called at Ludgate-hill a great many times to see you, and made many kind inquiries, but I am always informed you are “not at home;” and what’s worse, I never can learn when you’ll be “at home;” I’m constantly told, “it’s very uncertain.” This looks veryodd; I don’t think itcorrect. Then again, on asking your people what theEvery-Day Bookis all about? they say it’s abouteverything; but that you know is no answer—is it? I want something more than that. When I tell ’em so, and that I’m so much engaged I haven’t time to read, they say the book is as useful to people engaged in business as to people out of business—as ifIwas in business! I wish to acquaint every body, that I am not in business, and never was in business, though I’ve a deal of business to do; but then it’s for my own amusement, and that’s nobody’s business, you know—as I also told ’em. They say it’s impossible to describe the contents of the book, but that all the particulars are in the Index; that’s just what I wanted; but behold! it is “notout”—that is, it is notin—I mean not in the book—youtake. Excuse my humorsomeness: I only wish to know when I can get it? They say in a few days, but, bless you, I don’t believe ’em; for though I let ’em know I’ve a world of things to communicate to you, when you’ve time to see me, and let me ask you a few questions, they won’t creditme, and why should I creditthem—I was not born yesterday, I assure you. I’m of a very ancient stock, and I’ve some notion you and I are kinsmen—don’t you think we are? I dare say there’s a likeness, for I’m surewe are of the same disposition; if you aren’t, how can you find out so much “abouteverything.” If I can make out that you are one of thePryfamily, it will be mutually agreeable—won’t it? How people will stare—won’t they?
I suppose you’ve heard how I’ve been used by Mr. Liston—my private character exposed on the public stage, and the whole town roaring at the whole of thePryfamily. But we are neither to be cried down nor laughed down, and so I’d have let the play-goers know, if the managers had allowed me to sing a song on New-year’s night, in imitation of Mr. Liston when he’s a playingme. Will you believe it—they burst out a laughing, and would not let me go on the boards—they said the audience would suppose me to be the actor himself; what harm would that have done the theatre?—can you tell? They said, it would hurt Mr. Liston’s feelings—never consideringmyfeelings! If ever I try to serve them or their theatre again, I’ll be—Liston!They shall be matched, however, if you’ll help me. I’ve copied out my song, and if you’ll print it in theEvery-Day Book, it will drive ’em mad. I wish, of all things, that Mr. Cruikshank could see me in the character of Liston—he couldhitme I know—don’t you think he could?—just as I am—“quite correct”—like he did “Guy Faux” last 5th of November. I never laughed so much in all my life as when I sawthat. Bless you, I can mimic Liston all to nothing. Do get your friend George to your house some day—any day he likes—it’s all one to me, for I calleveryday; and as I’m an “every-day”man, you know, why you might pop me at the head of the song in yourEvery-Day Book—that’sa joke you know—I can’t help laughing—so droll! I’ve enclosed the song, you see.
[The wish of this correspondent is complied with, and the manner wherein, it is presumed, he would have sung the song, is hinted at parenthetically.]
MR. PAUL PRY’S SONG,Intended to have been sung by him at the Theatre,In the Character of MR. LISTON,ON NEW YEAR’S EVE.
Tune——Mr. Liston’s.(Pryingly.)I hope I don’t intrude!—(Fearfully.)I thought I heard acough—(Apologetically.)I hope I am not rude—(Confidentially.)Isay—the Year’s goingoff!(Inquisitively.)Wherecanhe be goingto?(Ruminatively.)It’s very odd!—it’sserious!—(Self-satisfactively.)I’m ratherknowingtoo!—(Insinuatively.)But isn’t itmysterious?(Comfortably.)’Twas better than the other—(Informingly.)The one that went before;—(Consolingly.)But then there’ll beanother—(Delightedly.)And that’s one comfort more!(Alarmedly.)I’m half afraid he’sgone!(Kindlily.)Mustpartwith the old fellow!(Hastily.)Excuse me—I must run—(Exit.)(Returns.)Forgot my umbrella.(Determinedly.)I’ll watch thenewone though,(Circumspectly.)Andseewhathe’llbe at—(Exit.)(Returns.)Beg pardon—didn’t bow—(Bows and exit.)(Returns.)Bid pardon—left my hat.(Lingeringly.)It’s always the wish of Paul,(Seriously.)To bequite correctand right—(Respectfully.)Ladies and gentlemen—all—(Retreatingly.)I wish you very good night!(Recollectively.)And—ladies and gentlemen—all!(Interjectively.)You laugh so much, I declare—(Vexedly.)I’m not Mr. Liston!—I’mPaul!—(Lastly.)I wish you a happy New Year!—(Exit finally.)
Tune——Mr. Liston’s.
(Pryingly.)I hope I don’t intrude!—(Fearfully.)I thought I heard acough—(Apologetically.)I hope I am not rude—(Confidentially.)Isay—the Year’s goingoff!(Inquisitively.)Wherecanhe be goingto?(Ruminatively.)It’s very odd!—it’sserious!—(Self-satisfactively.)I’m ratherknowingtoo!—(Insinuatively.)But isn’t itmysterious?(Comfortably.)’Twas better than the other—(Informingly.)The one that went before;—(Consolingly.)But then there’ll beanother—(Delightedly.)And that’s one comfort more!(Alarmedly.)I’m half afraid he’sgone!(Kindlily.)Mustpartwith the old fellow!(Hastily.)Excuse me—I must run—(Exit.)(Returns.)Forgot my umbrella.(Determinedly.)I’ll watch thenewone though,(Circumspectly.)Andseewhathe’llbe at—(Exit.)(Returns.)Beg pardon—didn’t bow—(Bows and exit.)(Returns.)Bid pardon—left my hat.(Lingeringly.)It’s always the wish of Paul,(Seriously.)To bequite correctand right—(Respectfully.)Ladies and gentlemen—all—(Retreatingly.)I wish you very good night!(Recollectively.)And—ladies and gentlemen—all!(Interjectively.)You laugh so much, I declare—(Vexedly.)I’m not Mr. Liston!—I’mPaul!—(Lastly.)I wish you a happy New Year!—(Exit finally.)
(Pryingly.)I hope I don’t intrude!—(Fearfully.)I thought I heard acough—(Apologetically.)I hope I am not rude—(Confidentially.)Isay—the Year’s goingoff!
(Inquisitively.)Wherecanhe be goingto?(Ruminatively.)It’s very odd!—it’sserious!—(Self-satisfactively.)I’m ratherknowingtoo!—(Insinuatively.)But isn’t itmysterious?
(Comfortably.)’Twas better than the other—(Informingly.)The one that went before;—(Consolingly.)But then there’ll beanother—(Delightedly.)And that’s one comfort more!
(Alarmedly.)I’m half afraid he’sgone!(Kindlily.)Mustpartwith the old fellow!(Hastily.)Excuse me—I must run—(Exit.)(Returns.)Forgot my umbrella.
(Determinedly.)I’ll watch thenewone though,(Circumspectly.)Andseewhathe’llbe at—(Exit.)(Returns.)Beg pardon—didn’t bow—(Bows and exit.)(Returns.)Bid pardon—left my hat.
(Lingeringly.)It’s always the wish of Paul,(Seriously.)To bequite correctand right—(Respectfully.)Ladies and gentlemen—all—(Retreatingly.)I wish you very good night!
(Recollectively.)And—ladies and gentlemen—all!(Interjectively.)You laugh so much, I declare—(Vexedly.)I’m not Mr. Liston!—I’mPaul!—(Lastly.)I wish you a happy New Year!—(Exit finally.)
If you print this in theEvery-Day Bookit will send Liston into fits—it will kill him—won’t it? But you know that’s all right—if he takes me off I’ve a right to take him off—haven’t I? I say, that’sanotherjoke—isn’t it? Bless you, I co’d do as good as that for ever. But I want to see you, and ask you how you go on? and I’ve lots of intelligence for you—suchthings as never were known in this world—all true, and on the very best authority, you may take my word for it. Several of my relations have sent you budgets. Though they know you won’t publish their names unless they like it, they don’t choose to sign ’em to their letters for private reasons,—why don’t you print ’em? They cann’t give up their authors you know, (that’s impossible,) but what does that signify? And then you give ’em so much trouble to call and make inquiries—not that they care about that, but it looks so. However, I’m in a great hurry and so you’ll excuse me.—Mind though I shall pop in every day till I catch you. I hope you’ll print the song—it’s all my own writing, it will do for Liston, depend on it. What a joke—isn’t it a good one?
Pryory Place,
Yours eternally,
January 6, 1826.
Paul Pry.
P. S. Don’t forget the Index—I want to learn all the particulars—multum in parvo—all quite correct.
P. S. I’m told you’veelevenchildren—is it true? What day shall you have another?—to-day?—Twelfth-day? thatwouldbe ajoke—wouldn’t it? I hope I don’t intrude. I don’t wish to seem curious.
Mean Temperature 36·07.
[24]Howard on Climate.
[24]Howard on Climate.
This is a term in many parts of England for an annual festivity celebrated on the occasion described in the subjoined communication.
For the Every-Day Book.THE FEAST WEEK.
This festival, so called, is supposed to be nearly coeval with the establishment of Christianity in this island. Every new church that was founded was dedicated to some peculiar saint, and was naturally followed by a public religious celebration, generally on the day of that saint, or on the Sunday immediately following. Whatever might be the origin, the festival part is still observed in most of the villages of several of the midland and other counties. It is a season much to be remembered, and is anticipated with no little pleasure by the expecting villagers. The joyful note of preparation is given during the preceding week; and the clash, and splash, and bustle of cleansing, and whitewashing, and dusting, is to be seen and heard in almost every cottage. Nor is the still more important object of laying in a good solid supply for a hungry host of visitors forgotten. Happy those who can commanda hamfor the occasion. This is a great favourite, as it is acut-and-come-againdish, ready at hand at all times. But this is mostly with the tip-topping part. Few but can boast of a substantial plum-pudding!—And now the important day is arrived. The merry bells from the steeple announce the event; and groups of friends and relations, not forgetting distant cousins and children, are seen making their way, long before the hour of dinner, to the appointed spot. This is Sunday; and in the afternoon a portion of these strangers, clean and neatly dressed, are seen flocking to the village church, where the elevated band in the gallery, in great force both in noise and number, contribute lustily to their edification, and the clergyman endeavours to improve the solemnity of the occasion by an appropriate address. During the early part of the ensuing week, the feastis kept up with much spirit: the village presents a holiday appearance, and openhousekeeping, as far as may be, is the order of the day; the bells at intervals send forth an enlivening peal; all work is nearly suspended; gay stalls of gingerbread and fruit, according to the season of the year, together with swings and roundabouts, spread out their allurements to the children; bowls, quoits, and nine-pins, for the men; and the merry dance in the evening, for the lasses. Fresh visitors keep dropping in; and almost all who can make any excuse of acquaintance are acknowledged, and are hospitably entertained, according to the means of their village friends. As the week advances, these means gradually diminish; and as an empty house has few attractions, by the end of the week the bustle ceases, and all is still and silent, as if it had never been.
Man naturally requires excitement and relaxation; but it is essentially necessary that they should be adapted to his situation and circumstances. Thefeast week, however alluring it may appear in description, is in reality productive of greater evil than good. The excitement lasts too long, and the enjoyment, whatever it may be, is purchased at the sacrifice of too great expense. It is a well-known fact, that many of the poor who have exerted every effort to make this profuse, but short-lived display, have scarcely bread to eat for weeks after. But there is no alternative, if they expect to be received with the same spirit of hospitality by their friends. The alehouses, in the interim, are too often scenes of drunkenness and disorder; and the labouring man who has been idle and dissipated for a week, is little disposed for toil and temperance the next. Here, then, the illusion of rural simplicity ends! These things are managed much better where onefair day, as it is called, is set apart in each year, as is the case in many counties; the excitement, which is intense for ten or twelve hours, is fully sufficient for the purpose; all is noise and merriment, and one general and simultaneous burst and explosion, if it may be so expressed, takes place. You see groups of happy faces. Every one is willing “to laugh he knows not why, and cares not wherefore;” andone day’sgratification serves him forevery day’spleasing topic of reference for weeks to come.
S. P.
Mean Temperature 35·62.
Among the cold-blooded animals which resist the effects of a low temperature, we may reckon the common leech, which is otherwise interesting to the meteorologist, on account of its peculiar habits and movements under different states of the atmosphere. A group of these animals left accidentally in a closet without a fire, during the frost of 1816, not only survived, but appeared to suffer no injury from being locked up in a mass of ice for manydays.[25]
Certain rewards allowed by act of parliament to firemen, turncocks, and others, who first appear with their engines and implements at premises sworn to be on fire, were claimed at the public office, Marlborough-street, in this month, 1826, and resisted on the ground that the chimney, which belonged to a brewery, and was more than eighty feet high, was not, and could not be on fire. A witness to that end, gave a lively specimen of familiar statement and illustration. He began by telling the magistrate, that he was a sweep-chimney by profession—a piece of information very unnecessary, for he was as black and sooty a sweep as ever mounted a chimney-top,—and then went on in this fashion—“This here man, (pointing to the patrol,) your wortship, has told a false affidavit. I knows that ere chimley from a hinfant, and she knows my foot as well as my own mother. The way as I goes up her is this—I goes in all round the boiler, then I twistes in the chimley like the smoke, and then up I goes with the wind, for, your wortship, there’s a wind in her that would blow you out like a feather, if you didn’t know her as well as I do, and that makes me always go to the top myself, because there isn’t a brick in her that doesn’t know my foot. So that you see, your wortship, no soot or blacks is ever in her: the wind won’t let ’em stop: and besides they knows that I go up her regular. So that she always keeps herself as clean as a new pin. I’ll be bound the sides of her is as clean this minute as I am (not saying much for the chimney); therefore, yourwortship, that ere man as saw two yards of fire coming out of her, did not see no such thing, I say; and he has told your wortship, and these here gentlemen present, a false affidavit, I say. I was brought up in that chimley, your wortship, and I can’t abear to hear such things said—lies of her; and that’s all as I knows at present, please yourwortship.”[26]
The London Christmas evenings of 1826, appear to have been kept out of doors, for every place of entertainment was overflowing every night.
At this season, from six o’clock in the evening, a full tide of passengers sets in along every leading street to each of the theatres. Hackney coaches drawl, and cabriolets make their way, and jostle each other, and private carriages swiftly roll, and draw up to the box door with a vigorous sweep, which the horses of hired vehicles are too aged, or too low in condition to achieve. Within a hundred yards of either playhouse, hands are continually thrust into each coach window, with “a bill of the play,” and repeated cries of “only a penny!” The coachdoor being opened, down fall the steps with a sharp clackity-clack-click, and the companies alight, if they can, without the supernumerary aid of attendant pliers, who offer their over-ready arms to lean upon, and kindly entreat—“Take care, sir!—mind how you step ma’am—this way if you please—this way,” all against your will, and ending with “I hope you’ll please to remember a poor fellow!” the “poor fellow” having done nothing but interrupt you. When past the “pay place,” great coats, umbrellas, shawls or other useful accompaniments to and from “the house,” though real encumbrances within it, may be safely deposited with persons stationed for their reception, who attach tickets to them, and deliver corresponding numbers, which ensure the return of your property on your coming out; sixpence or a shilling being a gratuity for the accommodation. Then, when the whole is over, there is the strict blockade of coaches further than the eye can reach; servants looking out for the parties they came with, and getting up their masters’ carriages; and a full cry of hackney coachmen and their representatives, vociferating “Want a coach, sir? Here’s your coach, sir! Which is it, sir? Coach to the city, sir! West end, sir! Here! Coach to the city! Coach to Whitechapel! Coach to Portman-square! Coach to Pentonville! Coach to the Regent’s Park! This way! this way! Stand clear there! Chariot, or a coach, sir? No chariots, sir, and all the coaches are hired! There’s a coach here, sir—just below! Coachman, draw up!” and drawing up is impossible, and there is an incessant confusion of calls and complaints, and running against each other, arising out of the immediate wants of every body, which can only be successively gratified. Pedestrians make their way home, or to the inns, as fast as possible, or turn in to sup at the fish-shops, which, in five minutes, are more lively than their oysters were at any time. “Waiter! Waiter! Yes, sir! Attend to you directly, sir! Yours is gone for, sir! Why, I’ve ordered nothing! It’s coming directly, sir! Ginger-beer—why this is poison! Spruce—why this is ginger-beer! Porter, sir! I told you brandy and water! Stewed oysters! I ordered scolloped! When am I to havemysupper? You’ve had it, sir—I beg your pardon, sir, the gentleman that sat here is gone, sir! Waiter! waiter!” and so on; and he who has patience, is sure to be indulged with an opportunity of retaining it, amidst loud talking and laughter; varied views of the new pantomime; conflicting testimony as to the merits of the clown and the harlequin; the “new scenery, dresses, and machinery;” likings and dislikings of certain actresses; “the lovely” Miss So-and-so, or “that detestable” woman, Mrs. Such-an-one, that clever fellow, “Thing-a-merry,” or that stupid dog, “What-d’ye-call-um.” These topics failing, and the oysters discussed, then are stated and considered the advantages of taking something “to keep’em down;” the comparative merits of Burton, Windsor, or Edinburgh ale; the qualities of porter; the wholesomeness of smoking; the difference between a pipe and a segar, and the preference of one to the other; whether brandy or rum, or the clear spirit of juniper, is the best preservative of health; which of the company or their friends can drink most; whether the last fight was “a cross,” and who of all the men in the fancy is most “game;” whether the magistrates dare to interfere with “the ring;” whether if fighting should be “put an end to” Englishmen will have halfthe courage they had three hundred years ago, before prize fighting existed; whether Thurtell was not “a good one” to the last, and whether there’s a better “trump” in the room. On these points, or to points like these, the conversation of an oyster room is turned by sitters after the play, till they adjourn to “spend the evening” at the “flash-and-foolish” houses which “keep it up” all night in the peculiar neighbourhood of the public office, Bow-street. This is more than mere animal gratification, as the police reports exemplify.
Seasonable Refreshment.Capital oysters, I declare!Excellent spruce, and ginger beer!Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread—We’ll just have a pipe—and then to bed.*
Seasonable Refreshment.
Capital oysters, I declare!Excellent spruce, and ginger beer!Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread—We’ll just have a pipe—and then to bed.*
Capital oysters, I declare!Excellent spruce, and ginger beer!Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread—We’ll just have a pipe—and then to bed.
Capital oysters, I declare!Excellent spruce, and ginger beer!Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread—We’ll just have a pipe—and then to bed.
*
Why should notthisbe deemed a real scene, and as respectable as that just described. It is quite as lively and as intellectual. The monkey eats, and according to many accounts can catch fish as well as man. It is told of this animal, that from love of the crab and experience of his claws, he gently shakes his tail before the hole of the crab, who, as soon as he begins to “pull him by his long tail,” is drawn out by that dependancy and falls a prey to his decoyer. It is related that a party of officers belonging to the 25th regiment of infantry, on service at Gibraltar, amused themselves with whiting fishing at the back of the rock till they were obliged to shift their ground from being pelted from above, they did not know by whom. At their new station they caught plenty of fish, but the drum havingunexpectedly beat to arms, they rowed hastily ashore, and drew their boat high and dry upon the beach. On their return they were greatly surprised to find it in a different position ashore, and some hooks baited which they had left bare. In the end it was ascertained that their pelters while they were fishing were a party of young monkeys. They were driven off by two or three old ones who remained secretly observing the whiting fishing of the officers till they had retired. The old monkeys then launched the boat, put to sea, baited their hooks, and proceeded to work. The few fish they caught, they hauled up with infinite gratification, and when tired they landed, placed the boat as nearly as they could in its old position, and went up the rock with their prey. General Elliot, while commander at Gibraltar, never suffered the monkeys with which the rock abounds to be molested or taken.
The faculty of imitation in monkeys is limited, but not so in man; a remarkable instance of this is lately adduced in a pleasant little story of perhaps the greatest performer on our stage.
At a splendid dinner-party at lord ——’s they suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was become of him, till they were drawn to the window by the convulsive screams and peals of laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see Garrick mimicking a turkey-cock in the court yard, with his coat-tail stuck out behind, and in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party only two persons present had seen the British Roscius; and they seemed as willing as the rest to renew their acquaintance with their old favourite. This anecdote is new: it is related by the able writer of a paper concerning “Persons one would wish to haveseen,”[27]as an instance of Garrick’s singleness of purpose when he was fully possessed by an idea.
Mean Temperature 34·45.
[25]Howard on Climate.[26]The Times, 5th January, 1826.[27]In the New Monthly Magazine, Jan. 1826.
[25]Howard on Climate.
[26]The Times, 5th January, 1826.
[27]In the New Monthly Magazine, Jan. 1826.
1826. Hilary Cambridge Term begins.
Some curious circumstances are connected with the name of this saint, who appears to have been a poor ignorant girl, born near Milan, where she worked in the fields for her living. Conceiving a desire to become a nun, she sat up at night to learn to read and write, which, her biographer says, for want of an instructor, was a great fatigue to her. He proceeds to tell us, that she was relieved from labour of that kind in the following manner:—“One day, being in great anxiety about her learning, the mother of God, in a comfortable vision, bade her banish that anxiety, for it was enough if she knew three letters.” So Veronica became a nun, seeking “the greatest drudgery,” desiring “to live always on bread and water,” and dying “at the hour which she had foretold, in the year 1497, and the fifty-second of her age. Her sanctity was confirmed by miracles.” We gather this from Alban Butler, who subjoins, by way of note,thus:—
“The print of the holy face of our Saviour on a linen clothis kept in St. Peter’s church at Rome, with singular veneration.—Some private writers and churches have given the name of St. Veronica to the devout woman who is said to have presented this linen to our divine Redeemer, but without sufficient warrant.”
Before saying any thing concerning the earlier St. Veronica, or “this linen” whereon Romish writers allege Christ impressed his own portrait by wiping his face with it, mention may be made ofanotherportrait of him which Romish writers affirm he miraculously executed in the same manner, and sent to Abgarus, king of Edessa, in the way hereafter related. They have further been so careful as to publish a print of this pretended portrait, with representations around illustrating the history they tell of it. An engraving from it immediately follows. The Latin inscription beneath their print is placed beneath the presentengraving.
Effigies Christi Domini.Ex ipsomet Divino Exemplariad Abgarummissa Genuæ in EcclesiaSti. BartolomæiClericorum Reg.Sti. PauliSumma Veneratione asservatoAccuratissime Expressa.
Effigies Christi Domini.
Ex ipsomet Divino Exemplariad Abgarummissa Genuæ in EcclesiaSti. BartolomæiClericorum Reg.Sti. PauliSumma Veneratione asservatoAccuratissime Expressa.
Enlarged illustration(380 kB).
No circumstance is more remarkable than the existence of this pretended resemblance, as an object of veneration in the Romish church. Being one of the greatest curiosities in its numerous cabinets of relics, it has a place in this work, which, while it records manners and customs, endeavours to point out their origin, and the means by which they have been continued. Nor let it be imagined that these representations have not influenced our own country; there is evidence to the contrary already, and more can be adduced if need require, which will incontestably prove that many of our present popular customs are derived from such sources.
Mean Temperature 35·27.
1826. Oxford Hilary Term begins.
Mariners form a distinct community, with peculiar manners, little known to their inland fellow countrymen, except through books. In this way Smollett has done much, and from Mr. Leigh Hunt’s “Indicator,” which may not be in every one’s hands, though it ought to be, is extracted the following excellent description:
And first of the common sailor.—The moment the common sailor lands, he goes to see the watchmaker, or the old boy at the Ship. His first object is to spend his money: but his first sensation is the strange firmness of the earth, which he goes treading in a sort of heavy light way, half waggoner and half dancing master, his shoulders rolling, and his feet touching and going; the same way, in short, in which he keeps himself prepared for all the rolling chances of the vessel, when on deck. There is always, to us, this appearance of lightness of foot and heavy strength of upper works, in a sailor. And he feels it himself. He lets his jacket fly open, and his shoulders slouch, and his hair grow long to be gathered into a heavy pigtail; but when full dressed, he prides himself on a certain gentility of toe; on a white stocking and a natty shoe, issuing lightly out of the flowing blue trowser. His arms are neutral, hanging and swinging in a curve aloof; his hands, half open, look as if they had just been handling ropes, and had no object in life but to handle them again. He is proud of appearing in a new hat and slops, with a belcher handkerchief flowing loosely round his neck, and the corner of another out of his pocket. Thus equipped, with pinchbeck buckles in his shoes (which he bought for gold) he puts some tobacco in his mouth, not as if he were going to use it directly, but as if he stuffed it in a pouch on one side, as a pelican does fish, to employ it hereafter: and so, with Bet Monson at his side, and perhaps a cane or whanghee twisted under his other arm, sallies forth to take possession of all Lubberland. He buys every thing that he comes athwart,—nuts, gingerbread, apples, shoe-strings, beer, brandy, gin, buckles, knives, a watch, (two, if he has money enough,) gowns and handkerchiefs for Bet, and his mother and sisters, dozens of “superfine best men’s cotton stockings,” dozens of “superfine best women’s cotton ditto,” best good check for shirts (though he has too much already), infinite needles and thread (to sew his trowsers with some day), a footman’s laced hat, bear’s grease to make his hair grow (by way of joke), several sticks, all sorts of jew articles, a flute (which he can’t play and never intends), a leg of mutton which he carries somewhere to roast, and for a piece of which the landlord of the Ship makes him pay twice what he gave for the whole;—in short, all that money can be spent upon, which is every thing but medicine gratis; and this he would insist on paying for. He would buy all the painted parrots on an Italian’s head, on purpose to break them, rather than not spend his money. He has fiddles and a dance at the Ship, with oceans of flip and grog; and gives the blind fiddler tobacco for sweetmeats, and half a crown for treading on his toe. He asks the landlady with a sigh, after her daughter Nance who first fired his heart with her silk stockings; and finding that she is married and in trouble, leaves five crowns for her; which the old lady appropriates as part payment for a shilling in advance. He goes to the port playhouse with Bet Monson, and a great red handkerchief full of apples, gingerbread nuts, and fresh beef; calls out for the fiddlers and Rule Britannia; pelts Tom Sikes in the pit; and compares Othello to the black ship’s cook in his white night-cap. When he comes to London, he and some messmates take a hackney-coach, full of Bet Monsons and tobacco pipes, and go through the streets smoking and lolling out of window. He has ever been cautious of venturing on horseback; and among his other sights in foreign parts, relates with unfeigned astonishment how he has seen the Turks ride,—“Only,” says he, guarding against the hearer’s incredulity, “they have saddle-boxes to hold ’em in, fore and aft; and shovels like for stirrups.” He will tell you how the Chinese drink, and theNegursdance, and the monkies pelt youwith cocoa-nuts; and how king Domy would have built him a mud hut and made him a peer of the realm, if he would have stopped with him and taught him to make trowsers. He has a sister at a “school for young ladies,” who blushes with a mixture of pleasure and shame at his appearance; and whose confusion he completes, by slipping fourpence into her hand, and saying out loud that he has “no more copper” about him. His mother and elder sisters at home doat on all he says and does, telling him however that he is a great sea-fellow, and was always wild ever since he was a hop-o’-my-thumb no higher than the window-locker. He tells his mother she would be a duchess in Paranaboo; at which the good old portly dame laughs and looks proud. When his sisters complain of his romping, he says that they are only sorry it is not the baker. He frightens them with a mask made after the New Zealand fashion, and is forgiven for his learning. Their mantle-piece is filled by him with shells and shark’s teeth; and when he goes to sea again, there is no end of tears, and God-bless you, and home-made gingerbread.
Hisofficeron shore does much of all this, only, generally speaking, in a higher taste. The moment he lands he buys quantities of jewellery and other valuables, for all the females of his acquaintance; and is taken in for every article. He sends in a cart load of fresh meat to the ship, though he is going to town next day; and calling in at a chandler’s for some candles, is persuaded to buy a dozen of green wax, with which he lights up the ship at evening; regretting that the fine moonlight hinders the effect of the colour. A man, with a bundle beneath his arm, accosts him in an undertone; and, with a look in which respect for his knowledge is mixed with an avowed zeal for his own interest, asks if his honour will just step under the gangway here, and inspect some real India shawls. The gallant lieutenant says to himself, “this fellow knows what’s what by his face;” and so he proves it by being taken in on the spot. When he brings the shawls home, he says to his sister with an air of triumph, “there Poll, there’s something for you; only cost me twelve, and is worth twenty, if it’s worth a dollar.” She turns pale—“Twenty what, my dear George? Why, you haven’t given twelve dollars for it, I hope?” “Not I, by the Lord.”—“That’s lucky; because you see, my dear George, that all together is not worth more than fourteen or fifteen shillings.” “Fourteen or fifteen what! Why, it’s real India, en’t it? Why the fellow told me so; or I’m sure I’d as soon”—(here he tries to hide his blushes with a bluster) “I’d as soon have given him twelve douses on the chaps as twelve guineas.” “TwelveGUINEAS,” exclaims the sister; and then drawling forth “Why—my—DEAR—George,” is proceeding to show him what the articles would have cost him at Condell’s, when he interrupts her by requesting her to go and choose for herself a tea-table service. He then makes his escape to some messmates at a coffee-house, and drowns his recollection of the shawls in the best wine, and a discussion on the comparative merits of the English and West Indian beauties and tables. At the theatre afterwards, where he has never been before, he takes a lady at the back of one of the boxes for a woman of quality: and when after returning his long respectful gaze with a smile, she turns aside and puts her handkerchief to her mouth, he thinks it is in derision, till his friend undeceives him. He is introduced to the lady; and ever afterwards, at first sight of a woman of quality (without any disparagement either to those charming personages), expects her to give him a smile. He thinks the other ladies much better creatures than they are taken for; and for their parts, they tell him, that if all men were like himself, they would trust the sex again:—which, for aught we know, is the truth. He has, indeed, what he thinks a very liberal opinion of ladies in general; judging them all, in a manner, with the eye of a seaman’s experience. Yet he will believe nevertheless in the “true-love” of any given damsel whom he seeks in the way of marriage, let him roam as much, or remain as long at a distance as he pleases. It is not that he wants feeling; but that he has read of it, time out of mind, in songs; and he looks upon constancy as a sort of exploit, answering to those which he performs at sea. He is nice in his watches and linen. He makes you presents of cornelians, antique seals, cocoa-nuts set in silver, and other valuables. When he shakes hands with you, it is like being caught in a windlass. He would not swagger about the streets in his uniform, for the world. He is generally modest in company, though liable to be irritated by what hethinks ungentlemanly behaviour. He is also liable to be rendered irritable by sickness; partly because he has been used to command others, and to be served with all possible deference and alacrity; and partly, because the idea of suffering pain, without any honour or profit to get by it, is unprofessional, and he is not accustomed to it. He treats talents unlike his own with great respect. He often perceives his own so little felt that it teaches him this feeling for that of others. Besides, he admires the quantity of information which people can get, without travelling like himself; especially when he sees how interesting his own becomes, to them as well as to every body else. When he tells a story, particularly if full of wonders, he takes care to maintain his character for truth and simplicity, by qualifying it with all possible reservations, concessions, and anticipations of objection; such as “in case, at such times as, so to speak, as it were, at least, at any rate.” He seldom uses sea-terms but when jocosely provoked by something contrary to his habits of life; as for instance, if he is always meeting you on horseback, he asks if you never mean to walk the deck again; or if he finds you studying day after day, he says you are always overhauling your log-book. He makes more new acquaintances, and forgets his old ones less, than any other man in the busy world; for he is so compelled to make his home every where, remembers his native one as such a place of enjoyment, has all his friendly recollections so fixed upon his mind at sea, and has so much to tell and to hear when he returns, that change and separation lose with him the most heartless part of their nature. He also sees such a variety of customs and manners, that he becomes charitable in his opinions altogether; and charity, while it diffuses the affections, cannot let the old ones go. Half the secret of human intercourse is to make allowance for each other.
When the officer is superannuated or retires, he becomes, if intelligent and inquiring, one of the most agreeable old men in the world, equally welcome to the silent for his card-playing, and to the conversational for his recollections. He is fond of astronomy and books of voyages; and is immortal with all who know him, for having been round the world, or seen the Transit of Venus, or had one of his fingers carried off by a New Zealand hatchet, or a present of feathers from an Otaheitean beauty. If not elevated by his acquirements above some of his humbler tastes, he delights in a corner-cupboard holding his cocoa-nuts and punch-bowl; has his summer-house castellated and planted with wooden cannon; and sets up the figure of his old ship, the Britannia or the Lovely Nancy, for a statue in the garden; where it stares eternally with red cheeks and round black eyes, as if in astonishment at its situation.
Mean Temperature 36·20.
An opinion has been long entertained, that there are vicissitudes in the climate and temperature of the air unknown to former times, and that such variations exist in America as well as in Europe. It is said that the transatlantic changes have been more frequent, and the heat of the sun not so early or so strongly experienced as formerly. In America, these alterations are attributed to a more obvious cause than uncertain hypothesis, and at not many degrees distance. For instance, the ice in the great river St. Lawrence, at Quebec, did not break up till the first week in May, 1817, when it floated down the stream in huge masses, and in vast quantities; these, with other masses from the coast of Labrador, &c. spread a general coldness many degrees to the southward. But a few weeks before the snow fell in some parts of New England, and New York, to a considerable depth, and there were severe frosts. The vessels from England and Ireland, which arrived at Quebec, all concurred in their accounts of the dangers which they encountered, and the cold which they suffered. In fine, it would appear that the ice in those regions had accumulated to so alarming a degree, as to threaten a material change in all the adjacent countries, and to verify the theory of some who imagined that the extreme cold of the north was gradually making encroachments upon the extreme heat of the south. They have remarked, in confirmation of their opinions, that the accounts of travellers and navigators, furnish strong reasons for supposing that the islands of ice in the higher northern latitudes, as well as the glaciers on theAlps, continue perpetually to increase in bulk. At certain times, in the ice mountains of Switzerland, there occur fissures, which show the immense thickness of the frozen matter; some of these cracks have measured three or four hundred ells deep. The great islands of ice, in the northern seas bordering upon Hudson’s Bay, have been observed to be immersed one hundred fathoms beneath the surface of the sea, and to have risen a fifth or sixth part above the surface, measuring, at the same time, about a mile and a half in diameter. It has been shown by Dr. Lyster, that the marine ice contains some salt, and less air, than common ice, and that it therefore is more difficult of solution. From these premises, he endeavours to account for the perpetual augmentation of those floating islands. By a celebrated experiment of Mr. Boyle, it has been demonstrated that ice evaporates very fast, in severe frosty weather, when the wind blows upon it; and as ice, in a thawing state, is known to contain six times more cold than water, at the same degree of sensible coldness, it is easy to conceive that winds sweeping over islands and continents of ice, perhaps much belownorthingon Fahrenheit’s scale, and rushing thence into our latitudes, must bring most intense degrees of cold along with them. If to this be added the quantity of cold produced by the evaporation of the water, as well as by the solution of ice, it can scarcely be doubted but that the arctic seas are the principal source of the cold of our winters, and that it is brought hither by the regions of the air blowing from the north, and which take an apparently easterly direction, by their coming to a part of the surface of the earth, which moves faster than the latitude from which they originate. Hence, the increase of the ice in the polar regions, by increasing the cold of our climate, adds, at the same time, to the bulk of the glaciers of Italy and Switzerland.
Reasonings of this kind are supported by the greatest names, and countenanced by the authentic reports of the best informed travellers. Mr. Bradley attributes the cold winds and wet weather, which sometimes happen in May and June, to the solution of ice islands accidentally detached and floating from the north. Mr. Barham, about the year 1718, in his voyage from Jamaica to England, in the beginning of June, met with some of those islands, which were involved in such a fog that the ship was in danger of striking against them. One of them measured sixty miles in length.
On the 22d of December, 1789, there was an instance of ice islands having been wafted from the southern polar regions. It was on these islands that the Guardian struck, at the commencement of her passage from the Cape of Good Hope towards Botany Bay. These islands were wrapt in darkness, about one hundred and fifty fathoms long, and above fifty fathoms above the surface of the waves. In the process of solution, a fragment from the summit of one of them broke off, and plunging into the sea, caused a tremendous commotion in the water, and dense smoke all around it.
These facts were strongly urged upon public attention in the autumn of1817,[28]as grounds of not only curious and interesting, but likewise of highly important speculation. A supposed change in the temper, and the very character of our seasons, was deemed to have fallen within the observation of even young men, or at least middle-aged men; and upon this supposition, it was not deemed extravagant to anticipate the combined force of the naval world employed in navigating the immense masses of ice into the more southern oceans; while to render the notion more agreeable, and to enliven the minds of such as might think such matters of speculation dull or uninteresting, the project was laid before them in a versified garb, characterising the arctic regions.