May 29.

[190]Gentleman’s Magazine.

For customs on this day, see vol. i. p. 711 to 722.

This anniversary is an opportunity for introducing the following curiousview.

Boscobel House,Where Charles II. was concealed after the Battle of Worcester.

Thisengraving, from a rare print of great value, represents Boscobel-house, in the state it was when Charles II. and colonel Carlos took refuge there. They remained in the house till they became alarmed for their safety.

Dr Stukely mentions the straits to which Charles was reduced during his concealment at this place. “Not far from Boscobel-house, just by a horse track passing through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the henroost ladder, when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family reaching them victuals with the nuthook. The tree is now enclosed in with a brick wall, the insidewhereof is covered with laurel, of which we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustine palace, ‘mediamque tuebere quercum.’ Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one of its acorns. Over the door of the enclosure, I took this inscription inmarble:—

‘Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis Caroli II. Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in perpetuam rei tantae memoriam quam specimen firmae in reges fidei, muro cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.

‘Quercus amica Jovi.’”

Boscobel House, 1800.

The situation of the house in the above year, is shown by the annexedengraving, from a view of it at that period.

At a small distance from Boscobel is Whiteladies, so called from having been a nunnery of white or Cistercian nuns, extensive ruins of which remain.

Mean Temperature 58·37.

This day, in 1730, being the anniversary of the birth-day of the princesses Amelia and Caroline, Mr. Cook, a publican, discharged twenty-one guns in salute of their royal highnesses as they passed his door, “to drink the water at the wells by the New River Head in the parish of St. James, Clerkenwell.” It appears that “almost every day for the latter part of that month, there was so great a concourse of the nobility and gentry, that the proprietor took about thirty pounds in amorning.”[191]Clerkenwell, therefore, in 1730, was so fashionable as to be the resort of the court for recreation. At that time it had green lanes and bowling-alleys to delight the gentry, and attract the citizens of the metropolis. It is now, in 1826, covered with houses, and without a single public place of reputable entertainment; not even a bowling-green.

Mean Temperature 58·72.

[191]Gentleman’s Magazine

With the destruction of the elephant belonging to Mr. Cross, at Exeter Change,describedin the present volume, may be paralleled the destruction of another on this day in the year 1820. The particulars are related in the “London Magazine” of April 1, 1826; they seem to have been translated from a “Notice sur l’Elephantmort a Geneve le 31 Mai dernier,” in the “Almanach Historique, nommé Messager Boiteuxpour l’An de grace, 1821,” which has been sent to the editor of theEvery-Day Bookfor the purpose of enabling him to lay the annexedengravingbefore the readers of London, from a print in that “Almanac,” which is printed in quarto “á Vevey, chez Freres Lœrtscher.”

In May, 1820, for about a fortnight a fine Bengal elephant (Elephas Indicus, Cuvier—Elephas Maximus, Linn.) had been exhibited at Geneva. The elephants of this species are taller than those of Africa. They have an elevated cranium, which has two protuberances on its summit; the frontal bone is rather concave, and the head proportionably longer; their tusks are smaller than those of the African elephant. The animal in question had but one; he had lost the other by some accident. He was nine feet high, and of a dark-brown colour, he was ten years old, and had been bought in London six years before. Mademoiselle Garnier, (the niece of his proprietor,) to whom he was much attached, always travelled with him. She was the proprietor of an elephant which had broken loose at Venice a few years previously, and was killed by a cannon-shot, after it had committed considerable ravages in that city.

The present elephant was of a much gentler character, and had excited a general interest during its stay in Geneva, by its docility and intelligence; it performed all the usual tricks which are taught these animals, with a promptitude of obedience, a dexterity, and almost a grace, which were quite remarkable. Whenever mademoiselle Garnier witnessed his exercises, her presence seemed to call forth all these qualities to an extraordinary degree. According to her statement he was so familiar and social that he had more than once appeared on the stage at Lille, Antwerp, &c. playing the principal part in a procession, and seeming proud to carry the lady who acted the princess, before whom he would kneel to take her on his back. So far from being frightened at the lights, the music, and the noise of the house, he seemed delighted to take a part in the ceremony.

Accustomed to liberty, and much as he loved it, he yet endured confinement with patience, and when his keeper came to fasten him up for the night, he used to stretch out his foot to receive the iron ring by which he was chained till morning, to a post deeply fixed in the earth. Unlike these animals in England, he did not travel in a cage, but was led from one town to another by night; he had three drivers, his keeper, properly so called, and two others, one of whom had always inspired him with more fear than attachment.

During the latter part of his stay at Geneva he had exhibited symptoms of excitement and restlessness, arising from two causes—the one, the frequent discharges of musketry from the soldiers who were exercised near his habitation, at which he was greatly irritated; the other, the paroxysms to which these animals are subject for several weeks in the spring. Nevertheless, he had never disobeyed nor menaced his keepers.

His departure was fixed for the 31st of May. He left Geneva at midnight, the gates and drawbridges having been opened for that purpose by permission of the syndic of the guard, the magistrate at the head of the military police. He was driven by his keeper and his two assistants, who carried a lantern. Mademoiselle Garnier was to follow in the morning. He made no difficulty in crossing the drawbridge, and took the road to Switzerland apparently in high spirits. But about a quarter of a league from the town he appeared out of humour with the keeper, and disposed to attack him. The man ran away towards the city; the elephant pursued him up to the gate, which the officer on guard opened, on his own responsibility, wisely calculating that it would be more easy to secure him within the town than without it, and that he might do immense mischief on the high roads, especially as it was the market-day at Geneva. He re-entered the town without hesitation, pursuing, rather than following his keeper and guides, between whom and himself all influence, whether of attachment or of fear, seemed at an end. From this moment he was his own master.

He walked for some time in the place de Saint Gervais, appearing to enjoy his liberty and the beauty of the night. He lay down for a few minutes on a heap of sand, prepared for some repairs in the pavement, and played with the stones collected for the same purpose. Perceiving one of his guides, who was watching him from the entrance of one of the bridgesover the Rhone, he ran at him, and would have attacked him, and probably done him some serious injury, if he had not escaped.

Mademoiselle Garnier having been informed of what had passed, hastened to the spot, and trusting to the attachment he had always shown for her, went up to him with great courage, with some dainties of which he was particularly fond, and speaking to him with gentleness and confidence, led him into a place enclosed with walls near the barrack he had inhabited, into which he could not be induced to return. This place, called the Bastion d’Hollande, adjoined a shed containing caissoons, waggons, and gun-carriages; there were also cannon-balls piled up in an adjoining yard. Being left alone, and the gate shut upon him, he amused himself with trying his strength and skill upon every thing within his reach; he raised several caissoons and threw them on their sides, and seemed pleased at turning the wheels; he took up the balls with his trunk, and tossed them in the air, and ran about with a vivacity which might have been ascribed either to gaiety or to irritation.

At two in the morning, the syndic of the guard being informed of the circumstance, went to the spot to consult on the measures to be taken. Mademoiselle Garnier in a state of the utmost distress and agitation, entreated that the elephant might be killed in the most speedy and certain way possible. The syndic, sharing in the general feeling of interest the noble and gentle creature had excited in the town, opposed her desire. He represented that the animal was now in a place of security against all danger, whether to the public or himself; and that as his present state of irritation was, in its very nature, transient, and would soon yield to a proper regimen; but mademoiselle Garnier remembered the occurrences at Venice, and felt the whole weight and responsibility of the management of the animal was on herself alone; for the keeper and guides had decidedly refused to attend upon him again, and she persisted in her demand. The magistrate would not give his consent until it was put into writing and signed.

From that moment arrangements were made for destroying him. The chemists were laid under contribution for drugs, while two breaches were made in the wall, at each of which a four-pounder was placed, which was to be theratio ultimaif the poison failed.

M. Mayor, eminent as a surgeon, and for his learning in natural history, and one of the directors of the museum, had taken great delight in visiting the elephant during his stay, and the animal had evinced a particular affection for him. This induced the magistrate to request M. Mayor to administer the poison. M. Mayor, after mixing about three ounces of prussic acid with about ten ounces of brandy, which was the animal’s favourite liquor, called him by his name to one of the breaches. The elephant came immediately, seized the bottle with his trunk, and swallowed the liquor at one draught, as if it had been his usual drink. This poison, the operation of which, even in the smallest doses, is usually tremendously rapid, did not appear to produce any sensible effect on him; he walked backwards with a firm step to the middle of the enclosure, where he lay down for some moments. It was thought that the poison was beginning to act, but he soon rose again, and began to play with the caissoons, and to walk about in the courtyard of the arsenal. M. Mayor, presuming that the prussic acid which had been kept some time had lost its strength, prepared three boluses of an ounce of arsenic each, mixed with honey and sugar. The elephant came again at his call, and took them all from his hand. At the expiration of a quarter of an hour, he did not appear at all affected by them. A fresh dose was then offered him; he took it, smelt at it for some minutes, then threw it to a distance, and began again to play all sorts of tricks. Sometimes he came to the breach, and, twining his trunk round the mouth of the cannon, pushed it back as if he had some indistinct notion of the danger which threatened him.

It was five in the morning when the first dose of poison was administered; an hour had elapsed, and no symptom of its internal action appeared. Meanwhile the market time drew near, the space around the walls was rapidly filling with inquisitive spectators, and the order was given to fire. The gunner seized the moment in which the elephant, who had advanced to the breach, was retiring, and presented his side. The mouth of the cannon almost touched him. The ball entered near the ear behind the right eye, came out behind the left ear, went through a thick partition on the opposite side of the enclosure,and spent itself against a wall. The animal stood still for two or three seconds then tottered, and fell on his side without convulsion or movement.

Death of the Elephant at Geneva, May 31, 1820.

The aboveengraving, from that in the foreign almanac already mentioned, represents the manner wherein his death was effected.

The event circulated through the town with the rapidity of lightning. “They have killed the elephant!” “What had the noble creature done? he was so good, so gentle, so amiable!” “What a pity!” The people ran with one accord to the spot, to satisfy themselves with a nearer view. The eagerness was so great that the authorities were obliged to take steps for keeping order in the crowd, and a small sum of money was demanded from each for the benefit of the proprietor. The same evening, by arrangements entered into with mademoiselle Garnier, for securing the remains of the animal for the museum, the surgeons proceeded to open the body, which they continued to dissect for several successive days. The operations were executed by M. Mayor, the chevalier Bourdet, a naturalist and traveller, and M. Vichet, an eminent pupil of the veterinary surgeon of Alfort. They took an exact measurement of the animal. They traced its silhouette on the wall; and made separate casts of its head, and the two feet of one side. All the principal viscera, except the liver, which decomposed too rapidly, and the brain, which was shattered by the ball, were carefully removed and preserved in a solution of oxygenated muriate of mercury. The spleen was six feet long. The muscularor fleshy parts, as the season would not allow of their slow dissection, were taken away rather by the hatchet than the bistoury. They were given to the public, who were extremely eager and anxious to eat elephant’s flesh, and much tempted by its excellent appearance, dressed as it was with every variety of sauce. They seemed perfectly regardless of the poison, which indeed had not time to develope itself in the muscular system. Three or four hundred persons ate of it without injury, excepting one or two individuals, who brought on a fit of indigestion by indulging to excess. The osseous carcass was put into a state of maceration previous to re-composing the skeleton, in order to its deposit in the museum of natural history. The interest taken in that establishment was so strong, that the large sum required to secure possession of the entire carcass, was raised by subscription in a few days. The skin was found too thick to be tanned by the ordinary process, and as the epidermis began to detach itself naturally, it was carefully separated from the dermis, which it was not essential to preserve entire. The epidermis retained its proper consistency, in order to be supplied by a well-known process in covering the artificial carcass, constructed under the direction of Messrs. Mayor and Bourdet.

If mademoiselle Garnier had not succeeded in enticing the animal to the place where his destruction was effected, the mischief he might have occasioned by remaining at large, till the inhabitants of Geneva had risen from their beds to their daily occupations, can scarcely be imagined; especially as it was on a market-day, when the city is usually thronged with country people, and most persons are necessarily out of doors.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,—On this day, unusual bustle set the town of Buckingham alive. It was the festive consecration of the first Sunday after May-day. Having taken care of my horse and left the inn, I heard a band of music approaching the church, which is a cheerful edifice, standing on an eminence with a painted glass window. The bells rung merrily, and the sunshine gave lustre to the surrounding country, beautified by light and shade. The main street was presently lined with townspeople and villagers. My inquiries as to the cause of this “busy hum of men” were soon satisfied by the cry that, “They’re ringing the old bailiff out!” As the musicians (not of the opera band, nor of the Hanover rooms,) came nearer with the accumulating procession, I with difficulty learned the theme of their endeavours to be Weber’s “Hark! follow!” I never heard any thing surpass this murder of melody. Had Weber been present, he would not have regretted he had given the MS. of Der Freischütz, to discharge a trifling debt, which I am informed was really the case. Such discord, however, worked no “incantation” here. All faces smiled, all hearts appeared glad. The cavalcade moved in pairs. First two small children in white with garlands, then, behind them, two, a size larger; then others, increasing in growth and tallness, till six wreathed maidens and their swains moved onwards, dancing and shaking their curly locks in sportive glee around the Maypole, decorated in the habiliments of nature’s sweetest and choicest spring flowers and boughs. Dolls of various dresses were placed in the midst, as though they looked out of bowers for the arrival of kindred playfellows. Then came his worship, the bailiff, a sir John Falstaff-like sort of person, swelling with pleasurable consequence; the shining mace borne on the shoulder intimated his dignity. What a happy day of honour, of triumph, and greatness to him! Then followed the leading men of the town, the burgesses in their corporate robes and nosegays. Their friends paraded aside in their Sunday clothes, like “ladies of olden days” and “squires of high degree.” Favours and flags played on the fresh air, inviting rural enjoyment. Many rosy-faced damosels in their “best bibs and tuckers” illustrated the time by appearing at the windows; infants were held up to behold, and the aged crept to the doors, to take a glimpse of what they might not live to see repeated. As the procession arrived at the churchyard gate, soldiers were arranged in line, preparing to meet and unite in the gaiety of the day. It is thus pleasant to view the military and civil powers, peacefully ornamenting the general harmony of the season. The subordinates and illustrators of this annual custom, opened a passage at the church door, and the bailiff led the way into his seat. The bells rested their metal tongues,and the music ceased awhile. People of all descriptions, in all directions, hurried to their respective pews, with accommodating civility to strangers. The curate opened his book and his duties, the clerk unsheathed his spectacles, confined his nostrils, and the service was reverently performed, with a suitable discourse and decent melody. After this was ended, the bailiff and his friends returned in like order as they came, perambulating the precincts of the town. Then the glory of all true Britons, was manifested by the clatter of knives and forks, at the favourite depôt for provisions, and genuine hilarity closed the “ringing out of the old bailiff,” and the ringing in of the new one.

J. R. Prior.

With the preceding communication from Mr. Prior, are the following verses.

To the Dead Nettle.Unlike the rose,Thou hast not bards to singThy merits as thy beauty grows’Neath hedges in the spring.Unconscious flower!Thy downcast blossom seemsLike widowed thought in sorrow’s hourAway from pleasure’s beams.Young feeling’s eyeSurveys thee in thy vernal bed,Protected from the glare of sky,By lovely nature fed.He, that would learnSermons from thine eternal birth,Might safely to the world returnAnd triumph over earth.J. R. Prior.

To the Dead Nettle.

Unlike the rose,Thou hast not bards to singThy merits as thy beauty grows’Neath hedges in the spring.Unconscious flower!Thy downcast blossom seemsLike widowed thought in sorrow’s hourAway from pleasure’s beams.Young feeling’s eyeSurveys thee in thy vernal bed,Protected from the glare of sky,By lovely nature fed.He, that would learnSermons from thine eternal birth,Might safely to the world returnAnd triumph over earth.

Unlike the rose,Thou hast not bards to singThy merits as thy beauty grows’Neath hedges in the spring.

Unconscious flower!Thy downcast blossom seemsLike widowed thought in sorrow’s hourAway from pleasure’s beams.

Young feeling’s eyeSurveys thee in thy vernal bed,Protected from the glare of sky,By lovely nature fed.

He, that would learnSermons from thine eternal birth,Might safely to the world returnAnd triumph over earth.

J. R. Prior.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,—If you think the following lines worth insertion in yourEvery-Day Book, you are welcome to them.

I am, Sir, &c.H. M. Lander.

King’s Bench Walk,Temple.

Song.’Tis May! ’tis May! the skylarks sing,The swallow tribe is on the wing,The emerald meads look fresh and gay,And smiles the golden orb of day.’Tis May! ’tis May! the voice of loveInspiring calls to yonder grove;Then let us to the shades repair,Where health, and mirth, and music are.’Tis May! ’tis May! air, earth, and flood,With life and beauty are endowed:Myriads of forms creep, glide, and soar,Exultant through the genial hour.’Tis May! ’tis May! why should not manEmbrace the universal plan,Enjoy the seasons as they roll,And love while love inspires the soul.’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers soon fade,And voiceless grows the sylvan shade:The insects fall mid autumn’s gloom,And man is hastening to the tomb.’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers revive!Again the insect revellers live!But man’s lost bloom no charms restore,His youth once pass’d, returns no more.

Song.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the skylarks sing,The swallow tribe is on the wing,The emerald meads look fresh and gay,And smiles the golden orb of day.’Tis May! ’tis May! the voice of loveInspiring calls to yonder grove;Then let us to the shades repair,Where health, and mirth, and music are.’Tis May! ’tis May! air, earth, and flood,With life and beauty are endowed:Myriads of forms creep, glide, and soar,Exultant through the genial hour.’Tis May! ’tis May! why should not manEmbrace the universal plan,Enjoy the seasons as they roll,And love while love inspires the soul.’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers soon fade,And voiceless grows the sylvan shade:The insects fall mid autumn’s gloom,And man is hastening to the tomb.’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers revive!Again the insect revellers live!But man’s lost bloom no charms restore,His youth once pass’d, returns no more.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the skylarks sing,The swallow tribe is on the wing,The emerald meads look fresh and gay,And smiles the golden orb of day.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the voice of loveInspiring calls to yonder grove;Then let us to the shades repair,Where health, and mirth, and music are.

’Tis May! ’tis May! air, earth, and flood,With life and beauty are endowed:Myriads of forms creep, glide, and soar,Exultant through the genial hour.

’Tis May! ’tis May! why should not manEmbrace the universal plan,Enjoy the seasons as they roll,And love while love inspires the soul.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers soon fade,And voiceless grows the sylvan shade:The insects fall mid autumn’s gloom,And man is hastening to the tomb.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers revive!Again the insect revellers live!But man’s lost bloom no charms restore,His youth once pass’d, returns no more.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,—It may not, perhaps, be generally known what it was that gave rise to the writing of the old breaking-up song of “Dulce Domum,” so loudly and so cheerfully sung by youngsters previous to the vacation; and as an old custom is involved in it, you may deem both the song and the custom worthy a place in yourEvery-Day Book. They are subjoined.

I am, Sir, &c.Henry Brandon.

Leadenhall Street,May, 1826.

About two hundred and thirty years ago, a scholar of St. Mary’s college Winchester was, for some offence committed, confined by order of the master, and it being just previous to the Whitsuntide vacation, was not permitted to visit his friends, but remained a prisoner at the college, as report says, tied to a pillar. During this period he composed the well known “Dulce domum,” being the recollections of the pleasures he was wont to join in, at that season of the year. Grief at the disgrace and the disappointment he endured, so heavily affected him, that he did not live to witness the return of his companions, at the end of their holydays.

In commemoration of the above, annually on the evening preceding the Whitsun holydays, the master, scholars, and choristers of the above college, attended by a band of music, walk in procession round the court of the college and the pillar to which it is alleged the unfortunate youth was tied, and chant the verses which he composed in his affliction.

Dulce Domum!Concinamus, O sodales!Eja! quid silemus?Nobile canticum!Dulce melos, domum!Dulce domum, resonemus.Chorus.Domum, domum, dulce domum;Domum, domum, dulce domum!Dulce, dulce, domum!Dulce domum, resonemus!Appropinquat ecce! felixHora gaudiorum,Post grave tediumAdvenit omniumMeta petita laborum.Domum, domum, &c.Musa, libros mitte, fessa,Mitte pensa dura,Mitte negotiumJam datur otium,Me mea mittito cura.Domum, domum, &c.Ridet annus, prata rident;Nosque rideamus,Jam repetit domum,Daulius advena:Nosque domum repetamus,Domum, domum, &c.Heus! Rogere, fer caballos;Eja, nunc eamus.Limen amabileMatris et oscula,Suaviter et repetamus,Domum, domum, &c.Concinamus ad Penates,Vox et audiatur;Phosphore! quid jubar,Segnius emicans,Gaudia nostra moratur?Domum, domum, &c.

Dulce Domum!

Concinamus, O sodales!Eja! quid silemus?Nobile canticum!Dulce melos, domum!Dulce domum, resonemus.Chorus.Domum, domum, dulce domum;Domum, domum, dulce domum!Dulce, dulce, domum!Dulce domum, resonemus!Appropinquat ecce! felixHora gaudiorum,Post grave tediumAdvenit omniumMeta petita laborum.Domum, domum, &c.Musa, libros mitte, fessa,Mitte pensa dura,Mitte negotiumJam datur otium,Me mea mittito cura.Domum, domum, &c.Ridet annus, prata rident;Nosque rideamus,Jam repetit domum,Daulius advena:Nosque domum repetamus,Domum, domum, &c.Heus! Rogere, fer caballos;Eja, nunc eamus.Limen amabileMatris et oscula,Suaviter et repetamus,Domum, domum, &c.Concinamus ad Penates,Vox et audiatur;Phosphore! quid jubar,Segnius emicans,Gaudia nostra moratur?Domum, domum, &c.

Concinamus, O sodales!Eja! quid silemus?Nobile canticum!Dulce melos, domum!Dulce domum, resonemus.

Chorus.

Domum, domum, dulce domum;Domum, domum, dulce domum!Dulce, dulce, domum!Dulce domum, resonemus!

Appropinquat ecce! felixHora gaudiorum,Post grave tediumAdvenit omniumMeta petita laborum.Domum, domum, &c.

Musa, libros mitte, fessa,Mitte pensa dura,Mitte negotiumJam datur otium,Me mea mittito cura.Domum, domum, &c.

Ridet annus, prata rident;Nosque rideamus,Jam repetit domum,Daulius advena:Nosque domum repetamus,Domum, domum, &c.

Heus! Rogere, fer caballos;Eja, nunc eamus.Limen amabileMatris et oscula,Suaviter et repetamus,Domum, domum, &c.

Concinamus ad Penates,Vox et audiatur;Phosphore! quid jubar,Segnius emicans,Gaudia nostra moratur?Domum, domum, &c.

The above was put into an English dress, a copy of which is below:

Sing a sweet melodious measure,Waft enchanting lays around;Home! a theme replete with pleasure!Home! a grateful theme resound!Chorus.Home, sweet home! an ample treasure!Home! with every blessing crown’d!Home! perpetual source of pleasure!Home! a noble strain, resound.Lo! the joyful hour advances;Happy season of delight!Festal songs, and festal dances,All our tedious toil requite.Home, &c.Leave, my wearied muse, thy learning,Leave thy task, so hard to bear;Leave thy labour, ease returning,Leave this bosom, O! my care.Home, &c.See the year, the meadow, smiling!Let us then a smile display,Rural sports, our pain beguiling,Rural pastimes call away.Home, &c.Now the swallow seeks her dwelling,And no longer roves to roam;Her example thus impelling,Let us seek our native home.Home, &c.Let our men and steeds assemble,Panting for the wide champaign;Let the ground beneath us tremble,While we scour along the plain.Home, &c.Oh! what raptures, oh! what blisses.When we gain the lovely gate!Mother’s arms, and mother’s kisses,There, our bless’d arrival wait.Home, &c.Greet our household-gods with singing,Lend, O Lucifer, thy ray;Why should light, so slowly springing,All our promis’d joys delay?Home, &c.

Sing a sweet melodious measure,Waft enchanting lays around;Home! a theme replete with pleasure!Home! a grateful theme resound!

Chorus.

Home, sweet home! an ample treasure!Home! with every blessing crown’d!Home! perpetual source of pleasure!Home! a noble strain, resound.

Lo! the joyful hour advances;Happy season of delight!Festal songs, and festal dances,All our tedious toil requite.Home, &c.

Leave, my wearied muse, thy learning,Leave thy task, so hard to bear;Leave thy labour, ease returning,Leave this bosom, O! my care.Home, &c.

See the year, the meadow, smiling!Let us then a smile display,Rural sports, our pain beguiling,Rural pastimes call away.Home, &c.

Now the swallow seeks her dwelling,And no longer roves to roam;Her example thus impelling,Let us seek our native home.Home, &c.

Let our men and steeds assemble,Panting for the wide champaign;Let the ground beneath us tremble,While we scour along the plain.Home, &c.

Oh! what raptures, oh! what blisses.When we gain the lovely gate!Mother’s arms, and mother’s kisses,There, our bless’d arrival wait.Home, &c.

Greet our household-gods with singing,Lend, O Lucifer, thy ray;Why should light, so slowly springing,All our promis’d joys delay?Home, &c.

Mr. Brandon’s account of the “procession round the courts of the college,” and the singing of “Dulce Domum,” is sustained by the rev. Mr. Brand, who adds, of the song, that “it is no doubt of very remote antiquity, and that its origin must be traced, not to any ridiculous tradition, but to the tenderest feelings of human nature.” He refers for the English verses to the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for March, 1796, where they first appeared, and calls them “a spirited translation.” On looking into that volume, it seems they were written by one of Mr. Urban’s correspondents, who signs “J. R.” and dates from “New-street, Hanover-square.” Dr. Milner says, that from “amongst many translations of this Winchester ode,” the present “appears best to convey the sense, spirit, and measure, of the original; the former versions were unworthy of it.” He alleges that the existence of the original can only be traced up to the distance of about a century; yet its real author, and the occasion of its composition, are already clouded withfables.[192]

By the favour of a correspondent in North America, we are enabled to extract from the “Colonial Advocate” of Queenston, the following interesting article, by a Scotch resident, on the state of melody in the region he inhabits. It particularly relates to May.

“Dear Scotia! o’er the swelling seaFrom childhood’s hopes, from friends, from thee,On earth where’er thy offspring roam,This day their hearts should wander home.Her sons are brave, her daughters fair,Her gowan glens no slave can share,Then from the feeling never stray,That loves the land that’s far away.”

Sung by Mr. Maywood, on St. Andrew’s day, in New York.

I have often thought it a pity that there is no feature in which Canada, and indeed America in general, exhibits more dissimilarity to Scotland, than in its want of vocal music. On the highland hills, and in the lowland vallies, of Caledonia, we are delighted with the music of the feathered choristers, who fill heaven in a May morning with their matin songs. The shepherd whistles “The Yellow Hair’d Laddie”—the shepherdess sings “In April when primroses deck the sweet plain”—all nature seems in harmony. But here all is dulness and monotony,

“We call on pleasure—and aroundA mocking world repeats the sound!”

Even the emigrant seems to have forgotten his native mountains; and in the five years in which I have sojourned in America, I have not once heard “Roslin Castle” sung by a swain on a blithe summer’s day. Here they are all dull plodding farmers, as devoid of sober melody as the huge forests which surround them are void of grace and beauty: talk to them of poetry and music, and they will sit with sad civility, “as silent as Pygmalion’s wife.”

Now and then you may hear a hoarse raven of an old woodchopper in the barroom of a filthy tavern, roaring in discordant notes, “Yankee Doodle:” or, in a church or meeting-house, you may behold fifteen or twenty men and women picked out of the congregation, stuck up in a particular part of the house and singing the praises of redeeming love, with the voices of so many stentors. The affectation they display, cannot fail to disgust you: the form of godliness is present, but the power thereof is wanting.

The memory of a native Scotsman retraces back those halcyon days, when gladness filled the corn-field—when sober mirth and glee crowned the maiden feast—when the song went merrily round at Yule, to chase away the winter frosts; and coming to the day of universal rest from labour, calls to mind the venerable precentor with his well-remembered solemn tunes, whereold and young, infancy and advanced age, willingly joined together in singing his praise—where the fiddle and the flute, the harp and the organ, were useless—where no set people stood up in a corner, as if to say, “we, the aristocracy of this congregation, can offer a sweeter and more acceptable sacrifice than you, with our melodious voices so much better attuned than yours.”

It may, perhaps, appear irreverend in me, to say a word of sacred music in an essay intended for Scottish songs; but I thought the contrast would not be complete without this allusion. A late essayist “On vulgar prejudices against Literature,” uses a fine argument in favour of native poetry.

“Let us ask,” says he, “has Britain a greater claim to distinction among the nations of the world, from any one circumstance, however celebrated it be in arts and arms, than from its being the birthplace of Shakspeare? And if the celebration of the anniversary of Waterloo be held in the farthest settlements of India, so is the anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, the pastoral poet ofScotland:—

“Encamped by Indian rivers wild,The soldier, resting on his arms,In Burns’s carol sweet recallsThe scenes that blest him when a child,And glows and gladdens at the charmsOf Scotia’s woods and waterfalls.”

When kingdoms, and states, and cities pass away, what then proves to be the most imperishable of their records, the most durable of their glories? Is it not the lay of the poet? the eloquence of the patriot? the page of the historian? Is it not the genius of the nation, imprinted on these, the most splendid of its annals, and transmitted, as a legacy, and a token of its vanished glory, to the after ages of mankind? Andnow, when the glories of Greece and Rome are but shadows, does not our blood stir within us at the recital of their mighty achievements, and of their majestic thoughts, which, but for the page of the chronicler would have been long ere now a blank and a vacancy; glory departed without a trace, or figures traced upon the sand, and washed away by the returns of thetide:—

“Oh! who shall lightly say that fame,Is nothing but an empty name?When, but for those, our mighty dead,All ages past a blank would be,Sunk in oblivion’s murky bed,A desert bare, a shipless sea.They are the distant objects seen;The lofty marks of what hath been,Oh! who shall lightly say that fameIs nothing but an empty name?Where memory of the mighty deadTo earth-worn pilgrims’ wistful eyeThe brightest rays of cheering shed,That point to immortality.”

“Oh! who shall lightly say that fame,Is nothing but an empty name?When, but for those, our mighty dead,All ages past a blank would be,Sunk in oblivion’s murky bed,A desert bare, a shipless sea.

They are the distant objects seen;The lofty marks of what hath been,Oh! who shall lightly say that fameIs nothing but an empty name?

Where memory of the mighty deadTo earth-worn pilgrims’ wistful eyeThe brightest rays of cheering shed,That point to immortality.”

The blue hills and mountains, among which Byron first caught the enthusiasm of song; the green vallies and brown heaths where Scott learnt to tell of Flodden field, and deeds of other days, in verse, lasting as the source of the deep Niagara, yet return an echo to the well-known “Daintie Davie” of Robert Burns.

As down the burn they took their way,And through the flowery dale,His cheek to hers he aft did lay,And love was aye the tale.With “Mary, when shall we return,Sic pleasure to renew?”Quoth Mary, “Love, I like the burn,And aye shall follow you.”

As down the burn they took their way,And through the flowery dale,His cheek to hers he aft did lay,And love was aye the tale.

With “Mary, when shall we return,Sic pleasure to renew?”Quoth Mary, “Love, I like the burn,And aye shall follow you.”

How I should delight to hear such an artless tale sung on the braes of Queenston, or the green knowes and fertile plains around Ancaster.

I once in Montreal heard a gentleman from little York (a native of Perthshire) sing “Daintie Davie” in fine style; but it was the old set, and as it is a very good song, I think the first stanza and chorus may “drive dull care away” from half a dozen of my readers as well as a good hit at that silly body, oursapientattorney-general, or a squib at his forkhead Mr. Solicitor, would havedone:—

“Now rosy May comes in wi’ flowersTo deck her gay green spreading bowers,And now comes in my happy hours,To wander wi’ my Davie.Chorus.“Meet me on the warlock knowe,Daintie Davie, Daintie Davie,There I’ll spend the day with you,My ain dear Daintie Davie.”

“Now rosy May comes in wi’ flowersTo deck her gay green spreading bowers,And now comes in my happy hours,To wander wi’ my Davie.

Chorus.

“Meet me on the warlock knowe,Daintie Davie, Daintie Davie,There I’ll spend the day with you,My ain dear Daintie Davie.”

About two years ago, I wrote to a correspondent in Scotland, to send to Dundas about ten reams of our best Scottish, English, and Irish ballads, and to avoid any that were exceptionable in point of morality. This person has since arrived in America; but his ideas on the propriety of introducing ballads into a new country, I found to be different from mine—otherwise I had by this time employed several “wights of Homer’s craft” to disperse the twenty thousand halfpenny songs I then ordered. It would have, perhaps, sown the seeds of music in our land, and hundreds of American presses, may be, would have spread abundantly the pleasing stanzas, until accursed slavery had stopt the strain in the southern regions of republican tyranny.

I can call to mind the time, as well as if it were yesterday, when I first heard “The Maid of Lodi:” it was at a Scottish wedding, at Arthurstone. Sir Ewan, the aged sire of the brave colonel Cameron, who fell at Waterloo, was present with his lady; and, gentle reader, I think it was the youthful minister of the next parish who sung, accompanied by the bride’s youngest sister. It was followed by “Blythe, blythe,” which I must give the reader from memory. News is scarce this week—the king of France is dead, and surely the tidings of the next’s coronation will not arrive in time to fill a paragraph in the “Advocate” for a month to come—so let ushave—

Blythe, blythe and merry was she:Blythe was she but and ben;Blythe by the banks of Ern—Blythe in Glenturret glen.By Aughtertye grows the aik,By Yarrow banks the birken shaw;But Phemie was the bonniest lassThe flowers of Yarrow ever saw.Blythe, blythe, &c.Her looks were like a flower in May,Her smile was like a simmer morn;She tripped by the banks of Ern,As light’s a bird upon a thorn.Blythe, blythe, &c.Her bonnie face it was sae maekAs ony lamb upon a lee:The evening sun was ne’er so sweetAs was the blink o’ Phemie’s e’eBlythe, blythe, &c.The highland hills I’ve wander’d wide,And o’er the lowlands I hae been;But Phemie was the bonniest lassThat ever trode the dewy greenBlythe, blythe, &c.

Blythe, blythe and merry was she:Blythe was she but and ben;Blythe by the banks of Ern—Blythe in Glenturret glen.

By Aughtertye grows the aik,By Yarrow banks the birken shaw;But Phemie was the bonniest lassThe flowers of Yarrow ever saw.Blythe, blythe, &c.

Her looks were like a flower in May,Her smile was like a simmer morn;She tripped by the banks of Ern,As light’s a bird upon a thorn.Blythe, blythe, &c.

Her bonnie face it was sae maekAs ony lamb upon a lee:The evening sun was ne’er so sweetAs was the blink o’ Phemie’s e’eBlythe, blythe, &c.

The highland hills I’ve wander’d wide,And o’er the lowlands I hae been;But Phemie was the bonniest lassThat ever trode the dewy greenBlythe, blythe, &c.

A young farmer then gave us “The Lothian Lassie;” and as my recollection is pretty good, I shall put Canadian Scots girls in the way to mind it as well as me, by repeating the first stanza: would I could sing it as I have heard itsung:—

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