MARCH.

Now husbandman and hinds in March prepare,And order take, against the teeming year,Survey their lands, and keep a good look outTo get their fields and farms well fenc’d about.Now careful gard’ners, during sunny days,Admit to greenhouses the genial rays:Vines, espaliers, and standard trees demandThe pruner’s skilful eye, and ready hand;And num’rous shoots and roots court the kind toilOf transplantation, or another soil.*

In the “Mirror of the Months” it is observed, that at this season a strange commotion may be seen and heard among the winged creatures, portending momentous matters. The lark is high up in the cold air before daylight, and his chosen mistress is listening to him down among the dank grass, with the dew still upon her unshaken wing. The robin, too, has left off, for a brief season, his low plaintive piping, which it must be confessed was poured forth for his own exclusive satisfaction,and, reckoning on his spruce looks and sparkling eyes, issues his quick peremptory love-call, in a somewhat ungallant and husband-like manner.

The sparrows, who have lately been sulking silently about from tree to tree, with ruffled plumes and drooping wings, now spruce themselves up till they do not look half their former size; and if it were not pairing-time, one might fancy that there was more of war than of love in their noisy squabblings.

Now, also, the ants first begin to show themselves from their subterranean sleeping-rooms; those winged abortions, the bats, perplex the eyes of evening wanderers by their seeming ubiquity; and the owls hold scientific converse with each other at half a mile distance.

Now, quitting the country till next month, we find London all alive, Lent and Lady-day notwithstanding; for the latter is but a day after all; and he must have a very countrified conscience who cannot satisfy it as to the former, by doing penance once or twice at an oratorio, and hearing comic songs sung in a foreign tongue; or, if this does not do, he may fast if he please, every Friday, by eating salt fish in addition to the rest of his fare.

During this month some birds that took refuge in our temperate climate, from the rigour of the arctic winters, now begin to leave us, and return to the countries where they were bred; the redwing-thrush, fieldfare, and woodcock, are of this kind, and they retire to spend their summer in Norway, Sweden, and other northern regions. The reason why these birds quit the north of Europe in winter is evidently to escape the severity of the frost; but why at the approach of spring they should return to their former haunts is not so easily accounted for. It cannot be want of food, for if during thewinterin this country they are able to subsist, they may fare plentifully through the rest of the year; neither can their migration be caused by an impatience of warmth, for the season when they quit this country is by no means so hot as the Lapland summers; and in fact, from a few stragglers or wounded birds annually breeding here, it is evident that there is nothing in our climate or soil which should hinder them from making this country their permanent residence, as the thrush, blackbird, and other of their congeners, actually do. The crane, the stork, and other birds, which used formerly to be natives of our island, have quitted it as cultivation and population have extended; it is probable, also, that the same reason forbids the fieldfare and redwing-thrush, which are of a timorous, retired disposition, to make choice of England as a place of sufficient security to breedin.[73]

In this month commences the yeaning season of those gentle animals whose clothing yields us our own, and engages in its manufacture a large portion of human industry and ingenuity. The poet of “The Fleece” beautifully describes and admonishes the shepherd of the accidents to which these emblems of peace and innocence are exposed, when “abroad in the meadows beside of their dams.”

Spread around thy tend’rest diligenceIn flow’ry spring-time, when the new-dropt lamb,Tott’ring with weakness by his mother’s side,Feels the fresh world about him; and each thorn,Hillock, or furrow, trips his feeble feet:O, guard his meek sweet innocence from allTh’ innumerous ills, that rush around his life:Mark the quick kite, with beak and talons prone,Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain;Observe the lurking crows; beware the brake,There the sly fox the careless minute waits;Nor trust thy neighbour’s dog, nor earth, nor sky;Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide.Eurus oft slings his hail; the tardy fieldsPay not their promis’d food; and oft the damO’er her weak twins with empty udder mourns,Or fails to guard, when the bold bird of preyAlights, and hops in many turns around,And tires her also turning: to her aidBe nimble, and the weakest, in thine arms,Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft,Between the lark’s note and the nightingale’s,His hungry bleating still with tepid milk;In this soft office may thy children join,And charitable habits learn in sport:Nor yield him to himself, ere vernal airsSprinkle thy little croft with daisy flowers.Dyer.

Dyer.

[73]Aikin’s Year.

To the particulars connected with this anniversary, related in vol. i. p. 317-322, may be added that Coles, in his “Adam in Eden,” says, concerning leeks, “The gentlemen in Wales have them in great regard, both for their feeding, and to wear in their hats upon St. David’s day.”

It is affirmed in the “Royal Apophthegms” of James I., that “the Welchmen in commemoration of the Great Fight by the Black Prince of Wales, do wearLeeksas their chosen ensign.”

Mr. Brand received through the late Mr. Jones, Welsh bard to the king, as prince of Wales, a transcript of the following lines from a MS. in the British Museum.

I like the leeke above all herbes and flowers.When first we wore the same the feild was ours.The leeke is white and greene, wherby is mentThat Britaines are both stout and eminent;Next to the lion and the unicorn,The leeke’s the fairest emblyn that is worne.Harl. MS.1977.

Harl. MS.1977.

The bishop’s “Last Good Night,” a single sheet satire, dated 1642, has a stanza which runsthus:—

“Landaff, provide for St. David’s day,Lest the leeke, and red-herring run away:Are you resolved to go or stay?You are called for, Landaff:Come in, Landaff.”

There is the following proverb on thisday:—

“Upon St. David’s day, put oats and barley in the clay.”Ray.

“Upon St. David’s day, put oats and barley in the clay.”

Ray.

Mean Temperature 42·27.

A rare quarto tract alleges some extraordinary appearances in Ireland on this day in the year 1679. It is here reprinted verbatim, beginning with the title-page: viz.

A true Accountof divers most strange and prodigiousApparitionsseen in the Airat Poins-town, in the county of Tipperary, in Ireland: March the second, 1678-9. Attested by Sixteen Persons that were Eye-witnesses. Published at Dublin, and thence communicated hither. Licensed, 1679. London: printed for L. C., 1679.

Upon the second day of this present month, being Sunday in the evening, near sun-set, several gentlemen and others, hereinafter named, walked forth into the fields, and the sun going down behind a hill, and appearing somewhat bigger than ordinary, they discourst about it, directing their eyes towards the place where the sun set.

When one of the company observed in the air, near the place where the sun went down, an arm of a blackish blew colour, with a ruddy complexioned hand at one end and at the other end a cross piece, with a ring fastned to the middle of it, like one end of an anchor, which stood still a while, and then made northwards, and so disappeared; while they were startled at the sight which they all saw, and wondred what it should be and mean, there appeared at a great distance in the air, from the same part of the sky, something like a ship coming towards them; and so near to them it came, that they could distinctly perceive the masts, sails, tacklings, and men; she then seemed to tack about, and sailed with the stern foremost, northwards, upon a dark, smooth sea, (not seen before,) which stretcheditself from south-west to the north-west; having seemed thus to sail for some few minutes, she sunk by degrees into the sea, her stern first, and as she sunk, they perceived her men plainly running up the tackling, in the fore-part of the ship, as it were, to save themselves from drowning.

The ship disappearing, they all sate down on a green bank, talking of, and wondring at what they had seen, for a small space, and then appeared (as that ship had done) a fort, or high place strongly fortifyed, with somewhat like a castle on the top of it: out of the sides of which, by reason of some clouds of smoake, and a flash of fire suddenly issuing out, they concluded some shot to be made. The fort then immediately was divided into two parts, which were in an instant transformed into two exact ships, like the other they had seen, with their heads towards each other. That towards the south, seemed to chase the other with its stern foremost, northwards, till it sunk with its stern first, as the first ship had done. The other ship sayled sometime after, and then sunk with its head first. It was observed, that men were running upon the decks in these two ships, but they did not see them climb up, as in the last ship, excepting one man, whom they saw distinctly to get up with much haste upon the very top of the bowsprit of the second ship, as they were sinking. They supposed the two last ships were engaged and fighting, for they saw like bullets rouling upon the sea, while they were both visible.

The ships being gone, the company rose, and were about to go away, when one of them perswaded the rest to stay, and said, he saw some little black thing coming towards them, which he believed would be worth their observation, then some of the rest observed the same; whereupon, they sate down again, and presently there appeared a chariot, somewhat like that which Neptune is represented riding in, drawn with two horses, which turned as the ships had done, northward. And immediately after it, came a strange frightful creature, which they concluded to be some kind of serpent, having an head like a snake, and a knotted bunch or bulk at the other end, something resembling a snail’s house.

This monster came suddenly behind the chariot, and gave it a sudden violent blow, then out of the chariot straight leaped a bull and a dog, which following him seemed to bait him: these also went northward, as the former phenomena had done, the bull first holding his head downward, then the dog, and then the chariot, till they all sunk down one after another, about the same place, and just in the same manner as the former.

These last meteors being vanished, there were several appearances like ships, and other things, in the same place, and after that like order with the former; but the relators were so surprised and pleased with what they had seen, especially with the bull and dog, that they did not much observe them; and besides, they were not so visible as the rest, the night drawing on so fast, that they could not well discern them.

The whole time of the vision or representation lasted near an hour, and it was observable, that it was a very clear and a very calm evening, no cloud seen, no mist, nor any wind stirring. All the phenomena came out of the west, or south-west. They seemed very small, and afar off, and at first seemed like birds at a good distance, and then being come to the place, where there was the appearance of a sea, they were discerned plainly in their just proportion. They all moved northwards, the ships, as appeared by their sails, went against the wind; they all sunk out of sight, much about the same place. When they disappeared, they did not dilate themselves, and become invisible as clouds do, but every the least part of them, was as distinctly seen at the last, as they had been all along. The height of the scene on which these meteors moved, was about as much above the horizon, as the sun is being half an hour high. Of the whole company, there was not any one but saw all those things, as above written; all agreed in their notions and opinions about them, and were all the while busie talking concerning what they saw, either much troubled, or much pleased, according to the nature of the appearance.

The names of the persons who saw the foregoing passage:

Mr. Allye, a minister, living near the place.Lieutenant Dunstervile and his son.Mr. Grace, his son-in-law.

Lieutenant Dwine,Mr. Dwine, his brother,}Scholars and Travellers.

Lieutenant Dwine,Mr. Dwine, his brother,

}Scholars and Travellers.

Mr. Christopher Hewelson.Mr. Richard Foster.Mr. Adam Hewelson.Mr. Bates, a schoolmaster.Mr. Larkin.Mrs. Dunstervile,her daughter-in-law,her maiden-daughter.Mr. Dwine’s daughter.Mrs. Grace, her daughter.

This account was given by Mr. C. Hewelson and Mr. R. Foster, two of the beforenamed spectators: and when it was related, a servant of Mr. C. H., being present, did confirm the truth of it; affirming, that he and others of the servants being then together at Poins-town, in another place, saw the very same sights, and did very much wonder at them.Finis.

This wonderful wonder is worthy of preservation, for the very reason that renders it scarcely worthy of remark. It was a practice, before the period when the preceding tract was printed, for partisans to fabricate and publish strange narratives in behalf of the side they pretended to aid, with the further view of blackening or injuring those whom they opposed. Such stories were winked at as “pious frauds,” and found ready sale among the vulgar. As parties declined, the business of the writers and venders of such productions declined, and some among them of desperate fortune resorted to similar manufactures on any subject likely to astonish the uninformed. The present “True Account” may be regarded as a curious specimen of this kind of forgery. The pamphlet was printed in London; the scene being laid in Ireland, it probably never reached Poins-town, and if it even travelled thither, the chance is that there were only a few who could read it, and certainly none of those few were interested in its contradiction. At the present time it is common in Somersetshire to hear a street-hawker crying, “A wonderful account of an apparition that appeared in Hertfordshire,” and selling his papers to an admiring crowd; the same fellow travelling into Hertfordshire, there cries the very same “Apparition that appeared in Somersetshire;” and his printed account equally well authenticates it to a similarly constituted audience.

Mean Temperature 42·80.

This saint is called Winwaloc, by father Cressy, and Winwaloke by father Porter.

St. Winwaloe’s father, named Fragan, or Fracan, was nearly related to Cathoun, one of the kings or princes of Wales. In consequence of Saxon invasions, Fragan emigrated from Wales to Armorica, where the spot he inhabited is “called from him to this day Plou-fragan.” Whether Winwaloe was born there or in Wales is uncertain; but he was put under St. Budoc, a British abbot of a monastery in Isleverte, near the isle of Brebat, from whence with other monks he travelled, till they built themselves a monastery at Landevenech, three leagues from Brest.

He died in 529, at an advancedage.[74]

Father Cressy says, that St. Winwaloe worked many miracles; “among which the most stupendous was his raising a young man to life.” He further tells, that “St. Patrick presented himself to him in a vision, with an angelicall brightnes, and having a golden diadem on his head,” and told him he paid him a visit, to prevent Winwaloe, who desired to see him, “so tedious a journey by sea and land.” St. Patrick in this interview foretold St. Winwaloe so much, that the father of his monastery released him with the other monks before-mentioned, that they might become hermits; for which purpose they travelled, till, wanting a ship, St. Winwaloe struck the sea with his staff, which opened a passage for them, and they walked through singing, and dryshod, “himself marching in the front, the waters on both sides standing like walls.” Father Cressy says, that St. Winwaloe never sat in the church; that “every day he repeated the hundred and fifty psalms;” that to his bed he had neither feathers nor clothes, “but instead of feathers he strewed under him nutshells, and instead of blankets, sand mingled with pebbles, and two great stones under his head;” that he wore the same clothes night and day; that his bread was made with half of barley and half of ashes; that his other diet was a mixture of meal and cabbage without fat; and that “he took this refection once, only in two, and sometimes three dayes.”

Besides other particulars, Cressy adds, that “a town in Shropshire, called even in the Saxons’ time Wenlock, (which seems a contraction from Winwaloc,) from him took its denomination.”

So father Porter entitles one of his particulars concerning St. Winwaloe, which he relates in his “Flowers of the Saincts” in these words: “The devill envying soe great sanctitie, endeavoured with his hellish plotts to trouble and molest his pious labours, appeared unto him as he prayed in his oratorie, in the most uglie and horrid shapes that the master of wickednes could invent, vomitting out of his infernall throate manie reprochfull wordes against him; when he nothing dismayed thereat, courageously proceeded in his devotions, and brandishing the chief armes of life, the holy crosse, against that black messenger of death, he compelled him to vanish away in confusion.”

Bishop Patrick, in his “Reflexions upon the Devotions of the Roman Church,” cites from the latin “Acts of the Saints,” a miracle which is quite as miraculous as either of the preceding. “A sister of St. Winwaloc had her eye plucked out by a goose, as she was playing. St. Winwaloc was taught by an angel a sign whereby to know that goose from the rest, and having cut it open, found the eye in its entrails, preserved by the power of God unhurt, and shining like a gem; which he took and put it again in its proper place, and recovered his sister; and was so kind also to the goose as to send it away alive, after it had been cut up, to the rest of the flock.”

A correspondent, whose signature has before appeared, transmits the annexed communication concerning the hamlet of Winnold, and the fair held there annually on this day.

For the Every-Day Book.

A priory, dedicated to St. Winwaloe, was founded by the family of the earls of Clare, before the seventh year of king John, (1206,) in a hamlet, (thence called, by corruption, the hamlet of Whinwall,Winnold, orWynhold,) belonging to the parish of Wereham, in Norfolk, as a cell to the abbey of Mounstroll, of the order of St. Bennet, in the diocese of Amiens, in France. In 1321, the abbot and convent sold it to Hugh Scarlet, of London, who conveyed it to the lady Elizabeth de Burso, the sister and coheir of Gilbert, earl of Clare, and she afterwards gave it to West Dereham abbey, situate a few miles from Wereham. At the general dissolution it was valued, with West Dereham, at 252l.12s.11d.(Speed,) and 228l.(Dugdale.) Little of the priory is now remaining, except a part which is thought to have been the chapel.

A fair for horses and cattle on this day, which was originally kept in this hamlet ofWinnold, has existed probably from the foundation of the priory, as it is mentioned in the tenth of Edward III. (1337,) when the priory and the fair were given to West Dereham abbey. Though the abbey and priory, as establishments, are annihilated, the fair (probably from its utility) has continued with reputation to the present day. Soon after the dissolution, it was removed to the adjoining parish of Wimbotsham, and continued to be held there till within the last thirty years, when it was again removed a few miles further, to the market town of Downham, as a more convenient spot, and is now kept in a field there, called, for reasons unknown, “the Howdell,” and is at this time a very large horse and cattle fair; but, though it has undergone these removals, it still retains its ancient, original appellation of “WinnoldFair.”[75]This fair, which is perhaps of greater antiquity than any now kept in the kingdom, will probably preserve the memory ofSt. Winnold, in the west of Norfolk and the adjoining counties, for centuries to come, above the whole host of his canonized brethren. He is also commemorated, by the following traditional West Norfolk proverbialdistich:—

“First comes David, next comes Chad,And then comesWinnoldas though he was mad.”

noticing the two previous days in March, (the first and second,) and in allusion to the prevalence of windy weather at this period. WhetherSt. Winnold, in the zenith of his fame, was remarkable for an irascibility of temper, I am not enabled to say; yet it rarely happens when the first few days in March are not attended with such boisterous and tempestuous weather, generally from thenorth, that he might not improperly be termed the Norfolk “Boreas.”

Mean Temperature 42·10.

[74]Butler.[75]Blomfield’s Norfolk. Taylor’s Index Monasticus.

[74]Butler.

[75]Blomfield’s Norfolk. Taylor’s Index Monasticus.

The fair author of the “Flora Domestica” inquires, “Who can see, or hear the name of the daisy, the common field daisy, without a thousand pleasurable associations? It is connected with the sports of childhood and with the pleasures of youth. We walk abroad to seek it; yet it is the very emblem of home. It is a favourite with man, woman, and child: it is therobinof flowers. Turn it all ways, and on every side you will find new beauty. You are attracted by the snowy white leaves, contrasted by the golden tuft in the centre, as it rears its head above the green grass: pluck it, and you will find it backed by a delicate star of green, and tipped with a blush-colour, or a bright crimson.

‘Daisies with their pinky lashes’

are among the first darlings of spring. They are in flower almost all the year; closing in the evening, and in wet weather, and opening on the return of the sun.”

In the poem of a living poet are these elegant stanzas:

To the Daisy.A nun demure, of lowly port;Or sprightly maiden of Love’s court,In thy simplicity the sportOf all temptations;A queen in crown of rubies drest;A starveling in a scanty vest;Are all, as seem to suit thee best,Thy appellations.A little Cyclops, with one eyeStaring to threaten or defy,That thought comes next, and instantlyThe freak is over;The freak will vanish, and behold!A silver shield with boss of gold,That spreads itself, some fairy boldIn fight to cover.I see thee glittering from afar;And then thou art a pretty star,Not quite so fair as many areIn heaven above thee!Yet like a star, with glittering crest,Self-poised in air, thou seem’st to rest;—May peace come never to his nest,Who shall reprove thee.Sweet flower! for by that name at last,When all my reveries are past,I call thee, and to that cleave fast;Sweet silent creature!That breath’st with me in sun and air,Do thou, as thou art wont, repairMy heart with gladness, and a shareOf thy meek nature.Wordsworth.

To the Daisy.

A nun demure, of lowly port;Or sprightly maiden of Love’s court,In thy simplicity the sportOf all temptations;A queen in crown of rubies drest;A starveling in a scanty vest;Are all, as seem to suit thee best,Thy appellations.A little Cyclops, with one eyeStaring to threaten or defy,That thought comes next, and instantlyThe freak is over;The freak will vanish, and behold!A silver shield with boss of gold,That spreads itself, some fairy boldIn fight to cover.I see thee glittering from afar;And then thou art a pretty star,Not quite so fair as many areIn heaven above thee!Yet like a star, with glittering crest,Self-poised in air, thou seem’st to rest;—May peace come never to his nest,Who shall reprove thee.Sweet flower! for by that name at last,When all my reveries are past,I call thee, and to that cleave fast;Sweet silent creature!That breath’st with me in sun and air,Do thou, as thou art wont, repairMy heart with gladness, and a shareOf thy meek nature.

A little Cyclops, with one eyeStaring to threaten or defy,That thought comes next, and instantlyThe freak is over;The freak will vanish, and behold!A silver shield with boss of gold,That spreads itself, some fairy boldIn fight to cover.

I see thee glittering from afar;And then thou art a pretty star,Not quite so fair as many areIn heaven above thee!Yet like a star, with glittering crest,Self-poised in air, thou seem’st to rest;—May peace come never to his nest,Who shall reprove thee.

Sweet flower! for by that name at last,When all my reveries are past,I call thee, and to that cleave fast;Sweet silent creature!That breath’st with me in sun and air,Do thou, as thou art wont, repairMy heart with gladness, and a shareOf thy meek nature.

Wordsworth.

This evergreen of flowers is honoured by the same delightful bard in other poems; our young readers will not find fault if they are again invited to indulge; and the graver moralist will be equally gratified.

To the Daisy.In youth from rock to rock I went,From hill to hill, in discontentOf pleasure high and turbulent,Most pleased when most uneasy;But now my own delights I make,—My thirst at every rill can slake,And gladly Nature’s love partakeOf thee, sweet daisy!When soothed awhile by milder airs,Thee Winter in the garland wearsThat thinly shades his few grey hairs;Spring cannot shun thee;Whole summer fields are thine by right;And Autumn, melancholy wight,Doth in thy crimson head delightWhen rains are on thee.In shoals and bands, a morrice train,Thou greet’st the traveller in the lane;If welcomed once, thou count’st it gain;Thou art not daunted,Nor carest if thou be set at naught:And oft alone in nooks remoteWe meet thee, like a pleasant thought,When such are wanted.Be violets in their secret mewsThe flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;Proud be the rose, with rains and dewsHer head impearling;Thou liv’st with less ambitious aim,Yet hast not gone without thy fameThou art indeed by many a claimThe poet’s darling.If to a rock from rains he fly,Or some bright day of April sky,Imprisoned by hot sunshine lieNear the green holly,And wearily at length should fare;He need but look about, and thereThou art!—a friend at hand, to scareHis melancholy.A hundred times, by rock or bower,Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,Have I derived from thy sweet powerSome apprehension;Some steady love; some brief delight;Some memory that had taken flight;Some chime of fancy, wrong or right;Or stray invention.If stately passions in me burn,And one chance look to thee should turn,I drink out of an humbler urnA lowlier pleasure;The homely sympathy that heedsThe common life, our nature breeds;A wisdom fitted to the needsOf hearts at leisure.When, smitten by the morning ray,I see thee rise alert and gay,Then, cheerful flower! my spirits playWith kindred gladness:And when, at dusk, by dews opprestThou sink’st, the image of thy restHath often eased my pensive breastOf careful sadness.And all day long I number yet,All seasons through, another debt,Which I, wherever thou art met,To thee am owing;An instinct call it, a blind sense;A happy genial influence,Coming one knows not how nor whence,Nor whither going.Child of the year! that round dost runThy course, bold lover of the sun,And cheerful when the day’s begunAs morning leveret,Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain;Dear shalt thou be to future menAs in old time;—thou, not in vain,Art Nature’s favourite.

To the Daisy.

In youth from rock to rock I went,From hill to hill, in discontentOf pleasure high and turbulent,Most pleased when most uneasy;But now my own delights I make,—My thirst at every rill can slake,And gladly Nature’s love partakeOf thee, sweet daisy!When soothed awhile by milder airs,Thee Winter in the garland wearsThat thinly shades his few grey hairs;Spring cannot shun thee;Whole summer fields are thine by right;And Autumn, melancholy wight,Doth in thy crimson head delightWhen rains are on thee.In shoals and bands, a morrice train,Thou greet’st the traveller in the lane;If welcomed once, thou count’st it gain;Thou art not daunted,Nor carest if thou be set at naught:And oft alone in nooks remoteWe meet thee, like a pleasant thought,When such are wanted.Be violets in their secret mewsThe flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;Proud be the rose, with rains and dewsHer head impearling;Thou liv’st with less ambitious aim,Yet hast not gone without thy fameThou art indeed by many a claimThe poet’s darling.If to a rock from rains he fly,Or some bright day of April sky,Imprisoned by hot sunshine lieNear the green holly,And wearily at length should fare;He need but look about, and thereThou art!—a friend at hand, to scareHis melancholy.A hundred times, by rock or bower,Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,Have I derived from thy sweet powerSome apprehension;Some steady love; some brief delight;Some memory that had taken flight;Some chime of fancy, wrong or right;Or stray invention.If stately passions in me burn,And one chance look to thee should turn,I drink out of an humbler urnA lowlier pleasure;The homely sympathy that heedsThe common life, our nature breeds;A wisdom fitted to the needsOf hearts at leisure.When, smitten by the morning ray,I see thee rise alert and gay,Then, cheerful flower! my spirits playWith kindred gladness:And when, at dusk, by dews opprestThou sink’st, the image of thy restHath often eased my pensive breastOf careful sadness.And all day long I number yet,All seasons through, another debt,Which I, wherever thou art met,To thee am owing;An instinct call it, a blind sense;A happy genial influence,Coming one knows not how nor whence,Nor whither going.Child of the year! that round dost runThy course, bold lover of the sun,And cheerful when the day’s begunAs morning leveret,Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain;Dear shalt thou be to future menAs in old time;—thou, not in vain,Art Nature’s favourite.

When soothed awhile by milder airs,Thee Winter in the garland wearsThat thinly shades his few grey hairs;Spring cannot shun thee;Whole summer fields are thine by right;And Autumn, melancholy wight,Doth in thy crimson head delightWhen rains are on thee.

In shoals and bands, a morrice train,Thou greet’st the traveller in the lane;If welcomed once, thou count’st it gain;Thou art not daunted,Nor carest if thou be set at naught:And oft alone in nooks remoteWe meet thee, like a pleasant thought,When such are wanted.

Be violets in their secret mewsThe flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;Proud be the rose, with rains and dewsHer head impearling;Thou liv’st with less ambitious aim,Yet hast not gone without thy fameThou art indeed by many a claimThe poet’s darling.

If to a rock from rains he fly,Or some bright day of April sky,Imprisoned by hot sunshine lieNear the green holly,And wearily at length should fare;He need but look about, and thereThou art!—a friend at hand, to scareHis melancholy.

A hundred times, by rock or bower,Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,Have I derived from thy sweet powerSome apprehension;Some steady love; some brief delight;Some memory that had taken flight;Some chime of fancy, wrong or right;Or stray invention.

If stately passions in me burn,And one chance look to thee should turn,I drink out of an humbler urnA lowlier pleasure;The homely sympathy that heedsThe common life, our nature breeds;A wisdom fitted to the needsOf hearts at leisure.

When, smitten by the morning ray,I see thee rise alert and gay,Then, cheerful flower! my spirits playWith kindred gladness:And when, at dusk, by dews opprestThou sink’st, the image of thy restHath often eased my pensive breastOf careful sadness.

And all day long I number yet,All seasons through, another debt,Which I, wherever thou art met,To thee am owing;An instinct call it, a blind sense;A happy genial influence,Coming one knows not how nor whence,Nor whither going.

Child of the year! that round dost runThy course, bold lover of the sun,And cheerful when the day’s begunAs morning leveret,Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain;Dear shalt thou be to future menAs in old time;—thou, not in vain,Art Nature’s favourite.

Mean Temperature 42·10.

1826.—Mid Lent Sunday.

For particulars of this day, see vol. i. p. 358.

Yes—Flowers again! It is the season of their approach; therefore make ready for their coming, and listen to the fair herald who is eloquent in praise of their eloquence. She tells us, in her “Flora Domestica,” and who dare deny? that “flowers do speak a language, a clear and intelligible language: ask Mr. Wordsworth, for to him they have spoken, until they excited ‘thoughts that lie too deep for tears;’ ask Chaucer, for he held companionship with them in the meadows; ask any of the poets, ancient or modern. Observe them, reader, love them, linger over them; and ask your own heart, if they do not speak affection, benevolence, and piety. None have better understood the language of flowers than the simple-minded peasant-poet, Clare, whose volumes are like a beautiful country, diversified with woods, meadows, heaths, and flower-gardens:

Bowing adorers of the gale,Ye cowslips delicately pale,Upraise your loaded stems;Unfold your cups in splendour, speak!Who decked you with that ruddy streak,And gilt your golden gems?Violets, sweet tenants of the shade,In purple’s richest pride arrayed,Your errand here fulfil;Go bid the artist’s simple stainYour lustre imitate, in vain,And match your Maker’s skill.Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth,Embroiderers of the carpet earth,That stud the velvet sod;Open to spring’s refreshing air,In sweetest smiling bloom declareYour Maker, and my God.”Clare.

Bowing adorers of the gale,Ye cowslips delicately pale,Upraise your loaded stems;Unfold your cups in splendour, speak!Who decked you with that ruddy streak,And gilt your golden gems?

Violets, sweet tenants of the shade,In purple’s richest pride arrayed,Your errand here fulfil;Go bid the artist’s simple stainYour lustre imitate, in vain,And match your Maker’s skill.

Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth,Embroiderers of the carpet earth,That stud the velvet sod;Open to spring’s refreshing air,In sweetest smiling bloom declareYour Maker, and my God.”

Clare.

Mean Temperature 39·69.

Mean Temperature 40·22.

Merriment in March.The wooden bird on horseback showing,By beat of drum with pipers blowing,They troop along huzzaing, tooting,To hold their annual game of shooting.*

Merriment in March.

The wooden bird on horseback showing,By beat of drum with pipers blowing,They troop along huzzaing, tooting,To hold their annual game of shooting.*

The wooden bird on horseback showing,By beat of drum with pipers blowing,They troop along huzzaing, tooting,To hold their annual game of shooting.

This is a French sport, which, according to a print from whence the presentrepresentationwas taken, is peculiar to the month of March. The inscription on the engraving just mentioned,is—

MARS.REJOUISSANCES DU PAPEGUAY.Les Triomphes d’un ConquérantFont voir plus de magnificence:Mais au défaut de l’opulence,Ceux cy ne coutent point de Sang.

MARS.REJOUISSANCES DU PAPEGUAY.

Les Triomphes d’un ConquérantFont voir plus de magnificence:Mais au défaut de l’opulence,Ceux cy ne coutent point de Sang.

The “Papeguay,”Papegai, orPapegaut, is “a wooden bird to shoot at, a shawfowl.”[76]This wooden bird in theprintis carried on a pole by the man on horseback, attended by those who are about to partake of the sport, and preceded by music. It seems to be a rustic amusement, and, perhaps, some light may be thrown on it by the following account from Miss Plumtre’s “Residence in France.” She says, that in connection with the church of St. John, at Aix, which formerly belonged to the knights of St. John of Jerusalem, there is a ceremony which used to be calledLe Bravade de St. Jean d’Aix, instituted in the year 1272, on the return of the army which had followed Louis IX. or St. Louis, in his last expedition to Egypt and the Holy-land.According to Miss Plumptre, it was held on the eve of St. John the Baptist. A large bird of any kind was tethered in a field without the town, so that it could fly only to a certain height, and the youth of the place, those only of the second order of nobles, took aim at him with their bows and arrows in presence of all the nobility, gentry, and magistracy. He who killed the bird was king of the archers for the year ensuing, and the two who had gone the nearest after him were appointed his lieutenant and standard-bearer; he also nominated several other officers from among the competitors. The company then returned into the town, the judges of the contest marching first, followed by the victors: bonfires were made in several parts, round which the people danced, while the king and his officers went from one to the other till they had danced by turns at them all. The same diversions were repeated the following day; and both evenings the king, at the conclusion of them, was attended home by his officers and a concourse of people, among whom he distributed largesses to a considerable amount.

At the first institution of this ceremony, the intention of which was to incite the young men to render themselves expert marksmen, the king enjoyed very extensive privileges during the year; but in latter times they had been reduced to those of wearing a large silver medal which was presented to him at his accession, of enjoying the right of shooting wherever he chose, of partaking in the grand mass celebrated by the order of Malta at their church on the festival of St. John, and of being exempted from lodging soldiers, and paying what was calledLe droit de piquet, a tax upon all the flour brought into the town. After the invention of the arquebuse, instead of shooting at a live bird with arrows, they fired at a wooden bird upon a pole, and he who could bring it down was appointed king: any one who brought it down two years together was declared emperor, and in that quality exempted for life from all municipal taxes. This ceremony continued till the revolution.

It appears from hence that this custom of shooting at a wooden bird on St. John’s eve is very similar to that which theengravingrepresents, as the merriment of thePapeguay, or wooden bird, belonging to the month of March.

To the portrait of this eminent antiquary atp. 194, is annexed the day of his birth, in 1682, and the day whereon he died, in 1760. That engraving of him is after an etching made “in 1781, at the particular request of the Rev. William Cole, from a drawing made by the Rev. Michael Tyson, from an original painting by Dahl.” Mr. Cole, in a letter to Mr. Steevens, speaks of the etching thus: “The copy pleases me infinitely; nothing can be more exact and like the copy I sent, and which, as well as I can recollect, is equally so to the original. Notwithstanding the distance of time when Dahl drew his portrait and that in which I knew him, and the strange metamorphose that age and caprice had made in his figure, yet I could easily trace some lines and traits of what Mr. Dahl had given of him.” Agreeably to the promise already given, some particulars remain to be added concerning the distinguished individual it represents.

Browne Willis was grandson of Dr. Thomas Willis, the most celebrated physician of his time, and the eldest son of Thomas Willis, esq., of Bletchley, in the county of Bucks. When at Westminster school, “the neighbouring abbey drew his admiration: here he loved to walk and contemplate. The solemnity of the building, the antique appearance, the monuments, filled his whole mind. He delighted himself in reading old inscriptions. Here he first imbibed the love of antiquities, and the impression grew indelible.” At seventeen he was admitted a gentleman commoner of Christ Church college; in 1705 he represented the town of Buckingham in parliament, where he constantly attended, and often sat on committees; in 1707 he married; in 1718 he became an active member of the society of antiquaries; in 1720 the university of Oxford conferred on him the degree of M. A. by diploma; and in 1740 he received from it the degree of LL.D. On the 11th of February, 1760, he was buried in Fenny Stratford chapel, an edifice which, though he founded it himself, he was accustomed to attribute to the munificence of others, “who were in reality only contributors.” Of his numerous antiquarian works the principal are “Notitia Parliamentaria, oran History of the Counties, Cities, and Boroughs in England and Wales,” 3 vols. 8vo. “Mitred Abbies, &c.” 2 vols. 8vo. “Cathedrals of England,” 3 vols. 4to. and 4 vols. 8vo.—He attained a most extensive erudition in the topographical, architectural, and numismatic remains of England by devoting his life to their study, which he pursued with unabated ardour, uncheered by the common hope of deriving even a sufficiency from his various publications to defray their expenses. In a letter to his friend Dr. Ducarel, when he was seventy-four years of age, he says, “I am 100l.out of pocket by what I have printed; except my octavo of Parliaments, which brought me 15l.profit, though I gave it all away, and above 20l.more to build Buckingham tower steeple; and now, as I hoped for subscription to this book, (his last work, the History of the Town and Hundred of Buckingham) am like to have half the impression on my hands. Sold only 69 copies, of which to gentlemen of Buckinghamshire, only 28.” In the same year, 1756, he writes to one of his daughters, “I have worked for nothing; nay, except in one book, have been out of pocket, and at great expense in what I printed.” He considerably impaired his fortune by the scrupulosity and magnitude of his researches and collections, which he persevered in till he grew so weak and infirm that he had not strength to reach down and turn over his books, or draw up particulars with his own hands. Yet even then, in his seventy-eighth year, he amused himself by inquiries concerning “Bells,” and obtained returns of the contents of belfries in nearly six hundred parishes of the county of Lincoln, which he entered in the “Parochiale Anglicanum.”

An account of Dr. Willis was read to the society of antiquaries, by his friend Dr. Ducarel, who sums up his character in these words:—“This learned society, of which he was one of the first revivers, and one of the most industrious members, can bear me witness that he was indefatigable in his researches; for his works were of the most laborious kind. But what enabled him, besides his unwearied diligence, to bring them to perfection, was, his being blessed with a most excellent memory. He had laid so good a foundation of learning, that, though he had chiefly conversed with records, and other matters of antiquity which are not apt to form a polite style, yet he expressed himself, in all his compositions, in an easy and genteel manner. He was, indeed, one of the first who placed our ecclesiastical history and antiquities upon a firm basis, by grounding them upon records and registers; which, in the main, are unexceptionable authorities. During the course of his long life, he had visited every cathedral in England and Wales, except Carlisle; which journeys he used to call hispilgrimages. In his friendships none more sincere and hearty; always communicative, and ever ready to assist every studious and inquisitive person: this occasioned an acquaintance and connection between him and all his learned contemporaries. For his mother, the university of Oxford, he always expressed the most awful respect and the warmest esteem. As to his piety and moral qualifications, he was strictly religious, without any mixture of superstition or enthusiasm, and quite exemplary in this respect: and of this, his many public works, in building, repairing, and beautifying of churches, are so many standing evidences. He was charitable to the poor and needy; just and upright towards all men. In a word, no one ever deserved better of the society of antiquaries; if industry and an incessant application, throughout a long life, to the investigating the antiquities of this national church and state, is deserving of their countenance.”

The editor of theEvery-Day Bookpossesses an unprinted letter written by Dr. Willis to the learned bishop Tanner, when chancellor of Norwich. A copy of this letter is subjoined, together with a fac-simile of its date and the place from whence it was addressed, in Dr. Willis’s hand-writing, and a further fac-simile of his autograph at the conclusion. The epistle is written on a proof impression of “The Ichnography or Platform of the Cathedral Church of Christ Church in Oxford,” one of the plates in Dr. Willis’s “Cathedrals,” relative to which, as well as other works, he sought information from his distinguished brother antiquary. This letter is a good specimen of Dr. Willis’s epistolary style of communication, and of that minuteness of investigation which is indispensable to antiquarian labours: it likewise testifies his solicitude for the education of his eldestson “Tom,” who died four years before himself, and expresses a natural desire that Dr. Tanner would visit his ecclesiastical foundation at Fenny Stratford.

Copy.

ToThe Rev. Dr. TannerChancellor of NorwichattNorwich

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