NOVEMBER.

And, when November came, there fellAnother limning in, to tellThe month’s employment; which we seeProvidance was, for time to be.Now was the last loud squeaking roarOf many a mighty forest boar,Whose head, when came the Christmas days,Was crown’d with rosemary and bays,And so brought in, with shoutings long,And minstrelsy, and choral song.*

We can now perceive the departure of “that delightful annual guest, the summer, under the agreeablealiasof autumn, in whose presence we have lately beenluxuriating. We might, perhaps, by a little gentle violence, prevail upon her to stay with us for a brief space longer; or might at least prevail upon ourselves to believe that she is not quite gone. But we shall do better by speeding her on her way to other climes, and welcoming ‘the coming guest,’ gray-haired winter:”—nor can we do better at this moment than take “note of preparation,” for a grateful adieu to the year and welcome to the comer.

On ushering in the winter we recur to the “Mirror of the Months,” from whence we have derived so many delightful reflections, and take a few “looks” in it, for, perhaps, the last time. At this season last year it presented to us the evergreens, and now, with a “now,” we select other appearances.

Now—as the branches become bare, another sight presents itself, which, trifling as it is, fixes the attention of all who see it. I mean thebirds’ neststhat are seen here and there in the now transparent hedges, bushes, and copses. It is not difficult to conceive why this sight should make the heart of the schoolboy leap with an imaginative joy, as it brings before his eyes visions of five blue eggs lying sweetly beside each other, on a bed of moss and feathers; or as many gaping bills lifting themselves from out what seems one callow body. But we are, unhappily, not all schoolboys; and it is to be hoped not many of us everhave beenbird-nesting ones. And yet we all look upon this sight with a momentary interest, that few other so indifferent objects are capable of exciting. The wise may condescend to explain this interest, if they please, or if they can. But if they do, it will be for their own satisfaction, not ours, who are content to be pleased, without insisting on penetrating into the cause of our pleasure.

Now, thefelling of woodfor the winter store commences; and, in a mild still day, the measured strokes of the wood-man’s axe, heard far away in the thick forest, bring with their sound an associated feeling, similar to that produced by a wreath of smoke rising from out the same scene: they tell us a tale of

“Uncertain dwellers in the pathless wood.”

THE WOODMAN.Far removed from noise and smoke,Hark! I hear the woodman’s stroke,Who dreams not as he fells the oak,What mischief dire he brews;How art may shape his falling trees,In aid of luxury and ease:—He weighs not matters such as these,But sings, and hacks, and hews.Perhaps, now fell’d by this bold man,That tree may form the spruce sedan;Or wheelbarrow, where oyster NanOft runs her vulgar rig;The stage, where boxers crowd in flocks;Or else a quack’s; perhaps, the stocks;Or posts for signs; or barber’s blocks,Where smiles the parson’s wig.Thou mak’st, bold peasant, oh what grief!The gibbet on which hangs the thief,The seat where sits the grave lord chief,The throne, the cobler’s stall.Thou pamper’st life in ev’ry stage,Mak’st folly’s whims, pride’s equipage;For children, toys; crutches, for age;And coffins for us all.C. Dibdin.

THE WOODMAN.

Far removed from noise and smoke,Hark! I hear the woodman’s stroke,Who dreams not as he fells the oak,What mischief dire he brews;How art may shape his falling trees,In aid of luxury and ease:—He weighs not matters such as these,But sings, and hacks, and hews.Perhaps, now fell’d by this bold man,That tree may form the spruce sedan;Or wheelbarrow, where oyster NanOft runs her vulgar rig;The stage, where boxers crowd in flocks;Or else a quack’s; perhaps, the stocks;Or posts for signs; or barber’s blocks,Where smiles the parson’s wig.Thou mak’st, bold peasant, oh what grief!The gibbet on which hangs the thief,The seat where sits the grave lord chief,The throne, the cobler’s stall.Thou pamper’st life in ev’ry stage,Mak’st folly’s whims, pride’s equipage;For children, toys; crutches, for age;And coffins for us all.

Far removed from noise and smoke,Hark! I hear the woodman’s stroke,Who dreams not as he fells the oak,What mischief dire he brews;

How art may shape his falling trees,In aid of luxury and ease:—He weighs not matters such as these,But sings, and hacks, and hews.

Perhaps, now fell’d by this bold man,That tree may form the spruce sedan;Or wheelbarrow, where oyster NanOft runs her vulgar rig;

The stage, where boxers crowd in flocks;Or else a quack’s; perhaps, the stocks;Or posts for signs; or barber’s blocks,Where smiles the parson’s wig.

Thou mak’st, bold peasant, oh what grief!The gibbet on which hangs the thief,The seat where sits the grave lord chief,The throne, the cobler’s stall.

Thou pamper’st life in ev’ry stage,Mak’st folly’s whims, pride’s equipage;For children, toys; crutches, for age;And coffins for us all.

C. Dibdin.

The “busy flail” too, which is now in full employment, fills the air about the homestead with a pleasant sound, and invites the passer-by to look in at the great open doors of the barn, and see the wheatstack reaching to the roof on either hand; the little pyramid of bright grain behind the threshers; the scattered ears between them, leaping and rustling beneath their fast-falling strokes; and the flail itself flying harmless round the labourers’ heads, though seeming to threaten danger at every turn; while, outside, the flock of “barn-door” poultry ply their ceaseless search for food, among the knee-deep straw; and the cattle, all their summer frolics forgotten, stand ruminating beside the half-empty hay-rack, or lean with inquiring faces over the gate that looks down into the village, or away towards the distant pastures.

Of thebirdsthat have hitherto made merry even at the approach of winter, now all are silent; all, save that one who now earns his title of “the household bird,” by haunting the thresholds and window-cills, and casting sidelong glances in-doors, as if to reconnoitre the positions of all within, before the pinching frosts force him to lay aside his fears, and flitin and out, silently, like a winged spirit. All are now silent except him; buthe, as he sits on the pointed palings beside the door-way, or on the topmost twig of the little black thorn that has been left growing in the otherwise closely-clipt hedge, pipes plaintive ditties with a lowinwardvoice—like that of a love-tainted maiden, as she sits apart from her companions, and sings soft melodies to herself, almost without knowing it.

Some of the other smallbirdsthat winter with us, but have hitherto kept aloof from our dwellings, now approach them, and mope about among the house-sparrows, on the bare branches, wondering what has become of all the leaves, and not knowing one tree from another. Of these the chief are, the hedge-sparrow, the blue titmouse, and the linnet. These also, together with the goldfinch, thrush, blackbird, &c. may still be seen rifling the hip and haw grown hedges of their scanty fruit. Almost all, however, even of those singing-birds that do not migrate, except the redbreast, wren, hedge-sparrow, and titmouse, disappear shortly after the commencement of this month, and go no one knows whither. But the pert house-sparrow keeps possession of the garden and courtyard all the winter; and the different species of wagtails may be seen busily haunting the clear cold spring-heads, and wading into the unfrozen water in search of their delicate food, consisting of insects in theaureliastate.

Now, thefarmerfinishes all his out-of-door work before the frosts set in, and lays by his implements till the awakening of spring calls him to his hand-labour again.

Now, thesheep, all their other more natural food failing, begin to be penned on patches of the turnip-field, where they first devour the green tops joyfully, and then gradually hollow out the juicy root, holding it firm with their feet, till nothing is left but the dry brown husk.

Now, theherdsstand all day long hanging their disconsolate heads beside the leafless hedges, and waiting as anxiously, but as patiently too, to be called home to the hay-fed stall, as they do in summer to be driven afield.

Now, coldrainscome deluging down, till the drenched ground, the dripping trees, the pouring eaves, and the torn ragged-skirted clouds, seemingly dragged downward slantwise by the threads of dusky rain that descend from them, are all mingled together in one blind confusion; while the few cattle that are left in the open pastures, forgetful of their till now interminable business of feeding, turn their backs upon the besieging storm, and hanging down their heads till their noses almost touch the ground, stand out in the middle of the fields motionless, like dead images.

Now, too, a single rain-storm, like the above, breaks up all the paths and ways at once, and makes home no longer “home” to those who are not obliged to leave it; while,en revance, it becomes doubly endeared to those who are.

Londonis so perfect an antithesis to the country in all things, that whatever is good for the one is bad for the other. Accordingly, as the country half forgets itself this month, so London just begins to know itself again.—Its streets revive from their late suspended animation, and are alive with anxious faces and musical with the mingled sounds of many wheels.

Now, the shops begin to shine out with their new winter wares; though as yet the chief profits of their owners depend on disposing of the “summer stock,” at fifty per cent. under prime cost.

Now, the theatres, admonished by their no longer empty benches, try which shall be the first to break through that hollow truce on the strength of which they have hitherto been acting only on alternate nights.

Now, during the first week, the citizens see visions and dream dreams, the burthens of which are barons of beef; and the first eight days are passed in a state of pleasing perplexity, touching their chance of a ticket for the lord mayor’s dinner on the ninth.

Now, all the little boys give thanks in their secret hearts to Guy Faux, for having attempted to burn “the parliament” with “gunpowder, treason, and plot,” since the said attempt gives them occasion to burn every thing they can lay their hands on,—their own fingers included: a bonfire being, in the eyes of an English schoolboy, the true “beauteous and sublime of human life.”

Ode to Winter.By a Gentleman of Cambridge.From mountains of eternal snow,And Zembla’s dreary plains;Where the bleak winds for ever blowAnd frost for ever reigns,Lo! Winter comes, in fogs array’d,With ice, and spangled dews;To dews, and fogs, and storms be paidThe tribute of the Muse.Each flowery carpet Nature spreadIs vanish’d from the eye;Where’er unhappy lovers tread,No Philomel is nigh.(For well I ween her plaintive note,Can soothing ease impart;The little warblings of her throatRelieve the wounded heart.)No blushing rose unfolds its bloom,No tender lilies blow,To scent the air with rich perfume,Or grace Lucinda’s brow.Th’ indulgent Father who protectsThe wretched and the poor;With the same gracious care directsThe sparrow to our door.Dark, scowling tempests rend the skies,And clouds obscure the day;His genial warmth the sun denies,And sheds a fainter ray.Yet blame we not the troubled air,Or seek defects to find;For Power Omnipotent is there,And ‘walks upon the wind.’Hail! every pair whom love unitesIn wedlock’s pleasing ties;That endless source of pure delights,That blessing to the wise!Though yon pale orb no warmth bestows,And storms united meet.The flame of love and friendship glowsWith unextinguish’d heat.

Ode to Winter.By a Gentleman of Cambridge.

From mountains of eternal snow,And Zembla’s dreary plains;Where the bleak winds for ever blowAnd frost for ever reigns,Lo! Winter comes, in fogs array’d,With ice, and spangled dews;To dews, and fogs, and storms be paidThe tribute of the Muse.Each flowery carpet Nature spreadIs vanish’d from the eye;Where’er unhappy lovers tread,No Philomel is nigh.(For well I ween her plaintive note,Can soothing ease impart;The little warblings of her throatRelieve the wounded heart.)No blushing rose unfolds its bloom,No tender lilies blow,To scent the air with rich perfume,Or grace Lucinda’s brow.Th’ indulgent Father who protectsThe wretched and the poor;With the same gracious care directsThe sparrow to our door.Dark, scowling tempests rend the skies,And clouds obscure the day;His genial warmth the sun denies,And sheds a fainter ray.Yet blame we not the troubled air,Or seek defects to find;For Power Omnipotent is there,And ‘walks upon the wind.’Hail! every pair whom love unitesIn wedlock’s pleasing ties;That endless source of pure delights,That blessing to the wise!Though yon pale orb no warmth bestows,And storms united meet.The flame of love and friendship glowsWith unextinguish’d heat.

From mountains of eternal snow,And Zembla’s dreary plains;Where the bleak winds for ever blowAnd frost for ever reigns,

Lo! Winter comes, in fogs array’d,With ice, and spangled dews;To dews, and fogs, and storms be paidThe tribute of the Muse.

Each flowery carpet Nature spreadIs vanish’d from the eye;Where’er unhappy lovers tread,No Philomel is nigh.

(For well I ween her plaintive note,Can soothing ease impart;The little warblings of her throatRelieve the wounded heart.)

No blushing rose unfolds its bloom,No tender lilies blow,To scent the air with rich perfume,Or grace Lucinda’s brow.

Th’ indulgent Father who protectsThe wretched and the poor;With the same gracious care directsThe sparrow to our door.

Dark, scowling tempests rend the skies,And clouds obscure the day;His genial warmth the sun denies,And sheds a fainter ray.

Yet blame we not the troubled air,Or seek defects to find;For Power Omnipotent is there,And ‘walks upon the wind.’

Hail! every pair whom love unitesIn wedlock’s pleasing ties;That endless source of pure delights,That blessing to the wise!

Though yon pale orb no warmth bestows,And storms united meet.The flame of love and friendship glowsWith unextinguish’d heat.

AllSaints.[405]

A remarkable colloquy between queen Elizabeth and dean Nowell at St. Paul’s cathedral on the 1st of November, 1561, is said to have originated the usage of inscribing texts of scripture in English on the inner side of the church-walls as we still see them in many parishes.

Her majesty having attended worship “went straight to the vestry, and applying herself to the dean, thus she spoke to him.”

Q.Mr. Dean, how came it to pass that a new service-book was placed on my cushion?

To which the dean answered:

D.Mayit please your majesty, I caused it to be placed there.

Then said the queen:

Q.Whereforedid you so?

D.Topresent your majesty with a new-year’s gift.

Q.Youcould never present me with a worse.

D.Whyso, madam?

Q.Youknow I have an aversion to idolatry and pictures of this kind.

D.Whereinis the idolatry, may it please your majesty?

Q.Inthe cuts resembling angels and saints; nay, grosser absurdities, pictures resembling the blessed Trinity.

D.Imeant no harm: nor did I think it would offend your majesty when I intended it for a new-year’s gift.

Q.Youmust needs be ignorant then. Have you forgot our proclamation against images, pictures, and Romish relics in churches? Was it not read in your deanery?

D.Itwas read. But be your majesty assured, I meant no harm, when I caused the cuts to be bound with the service-book.

Q.Youmust needs be very ignorant, to do this after our prohibition of them.

D.Itbeing my ignorance, your majesty may the better pardon me.

Q.Iam sorry for it: yet glad to hear it was your ignorance, rather than your opinion.

D.Beyour majesty assured it was my ignorance.

Q.Ifso, Mr. Dean, God grant you his Spirit, and more wisdom for the future.

D.Amen, I pray God.

Q.Ipray, Mr. Dean, how came you by these pictures?—Who engraved them?

D.Iknow not who engraved them,—I bought them.

Q.Fromwhom bought you them?

D.Froma German.

Q.Itis well it was from a stranger. Had it been any of our subjects, we should have questioned the matter. Pray let nomore of these mistakes, or of this kind, be committed within the churches of our realm for the future.

D.Thereshall not.

Mr. Nichols, after inserting the preceding dialogue, in “Queen Elizabeth’s Progresses,”remarks—

“This matter occasioned all the clergy in and about London, and the churchwardens of each parish, to search their churches and chapels: and caused them to wash out of the walls all paintings that seemed to be Romish and idolatrous; and in lieu thereof suitable texts, taken out of the holy scriptures, to be written.”

Similar inscriptions had been previously adopted: the effect of the queen’s disapprobation of pictured representations was to increase the number of painted texts.

Mr. J. T. Smith observes, that of these sacred sentences there were several within memory in the old church of Paddington, now pulled down; and also in the little old one of Clapham.

In an inside view of Ambleside church, painted by George Arnald, Esq. A. R. A. he has recorded several, which are particularly appropriate to their stations; for instance, that over the door admonishes the comers in; that above the pulpit exhorts the preacher to spare not his congregation; and another within sight of the singers, encourages them to offer praises to the Lord on high. These inscriptions have sometimes one line written in black, and the next in red; in other instances the first letter of each line is of a bright blue, green, or red. They are frequently surrounded by painted imitations of frames or scrolls, held up by boys painted in ruddle. It was the custom in earlier times to write them in French, with the first letter of the line considerably larger than the rest, and likewise of a bright colour curiously ornamented. Several of these were discovered in 1801, on the ceiling of a closet on the south side of the Painted Chamber, Westminster, now blocked up.

Others of a subsequent date, of the reign of Edward III. in Latin, were visible during the recent alterations of the house of commons, beautifully written in the finest jet black, with the first letters also of bright and different colours.

Hogarth, in his print of the sleeping congregation, has satirized this kind of church embellishments, by putting a tobacco pipe in the mouth of the angel who holds up the scroll; and illustrates the usual ignorance of country art, by giving three joints to one of his legs. The custom of putting up sacred sentences is still continued in many churches, but they are generally written in letters of gold upon black grounds, within the pannels of the fronts of thegalleries.[406]

Mean Temperature 48·00.

[405]See vol. 1. col. 1421.[406]Mr. J. T. Smith’s Ancient Topography of London, 4to p. 11.

[405]See vol. 1. col. 1421.

[406]Mr. J. T. Smith’s Ancient Topography of London, 4to p. 11.

AllSouls.[407]

Naogeorgus in his satire, the “Popish Kingdome,” has a “description which” Dr Forster says “is grossly exaggerated, like many other accounts of catholics written by protestants.” If the remark be fair, it is fair also to observe that many accounts of protestants written by catholics are equally gross in their exaggerations. It would be wiser, because it would be honest, were each to relate truth of the other, and become mutually charitable, and live like christians. How far Naogeorgus misrepresented the usages of the Romish churchmen in his time, it would not be easy to prove; nor ought his lines which follow in English, by Barnaby Googe, to be regarded here, otherwise than as homely memorials of past days.

All Soulne Day.For souls departed from this life, they also carefull bee;The shauen sort in numbers great, thou shalt assembled see,Where as their seruice with such speede they mumble out of hande,That none, though well they marke, a worde thereof can vnderstande.But soberly they sing, while as the people offring bee,For to releaue their parents soules that lie in miseree.For they beleeue the shauen sort, with dolefull harmonie,To draw the damned soules from hell, and bring them to the skie;Where they but onely here regarde, their belly and their gaine,And neuer troubled are with care of any soule in paine.Their seruice thus in ordering, and payde for masse and all,They to the tauerne streightways go, or to the parsons hall,Where all the day they drinke and play, and pots about do walk, &c.

All Soulne Day.

For souls departed from this life, they also carefull bee;The shauen sort in numbers great, thou shalt assembled see,Where as their seruice with such speede they mumble out of hande,That none, though well they marke, a worde thereof can vnderstande.But soberly they sing, while as the people offring bee,For to releaue their parents soules that lie in miseree.For they beleeue the shauen sort, with dolefull harmonie,To draw the damned soules from hell, and bring them to the skie;Where they but onely here regarde, their belly and their gaine,And neuer troubled are with care of any soule in paine.Their seruice thus in ordering, and payde for masse and all,They to the tauerne streightways go, or to the parsons hall,Where all the day they drinke and play, and pots about do walk, &c.

T. A. communicates that there is a custom very common in Cheshire calledOld Hob: it consists of a man carrying a dead horse’s head, covered with a sheet, to frighten people. This frolic is usual between All Soul’s day and Christmas.

Mean Temperature 47·37.

[407]See vol. i. col. 1423.

On the 3d of November, 1735, Peter Beckford, Esq. died in Jamaica, worth three hundred thousandpounds.[408]His direct male ancestor, served in a humble capacity in the armament under Penn and Venables, which captured that important island. Mr. Peter Beckford was father of the celebrated alderman Beckford, whose fortune enabled him to purchase the landed estate of the Meroyns in Wiltshire, which, till lately, formed a distinguished part of the possessions of the present Mr. Beckford.

A correspondent communicates a pleasant account of a wake in Wiltshire, during the present month.

“See, neighbours, what Joe Ody’s doing.”

The township of Clack stands on an eminence which gives a view of twenty miles round a part of the most beautiful county ofWilts.[409]Clack is attached to Bradenstoke-priory, remarkable for its forest, and the reception of the monks of St. Augustine. Many vestiges remain of the splendour of this abbey, which is now a large farm, and stone coffins have been found here. A carpenter in this neighbourhood recently digging a hole for the post to a gate, struck his spade against a substance which proved to be gold, and weighed two ounces: it was the image of a monk in the posture of prayer, with a a book open before him. A subterraneous passage once led from this place to Malmsbury-abbey, a distance of seven miles. At this ruin, when a boy, I was shown the stone upon which the blood is said to have been spilt by a school-master, who, in a passion, killed his pupil with a penknife.

Clack spring and fall Fairs were well attended formerly. They were held for horses, pigs, cows, oxen, sheep, and shows; but especially for the “hiring servants.” Hamlet’s words,—“Oh, what afalling off is here!” may not inappropriately be applied. Old Michaelmas-day is the time the fall fair is kept, but, really, every thing which constitutes a fair, seemed this year to be absent. A few farmers strolled up and down the main street in their boots, and took refuge in the hospitable houses; a few rustics waited about the “Mop” or “Statue” in their clean frocks twisted round their waists with their best clothes on; a few sellers of cattle looked round for customers, with thepiketickets in their hats; and a few maid servants placed themselves in a corner to be hired: here, there was no want ofClack, for many were raised in stature by their pattens and rather towering bonnets; and a few agriculturists’ daughters and dames, in whom neither scarcity of money nor apparel were visible, came prancing into the courts of their friends and alighting at the uppingstocks, and dashed in among the company with true spirit andbon hommie.

Clack fair was worth gazing at a few years ago. When JoeOdy,[410]thestultum ingenium, obtained leave toshowforth in the Blindhouse by conjuring rings off women’s fingers, and finding them in men’s pockets, eating fire and drawing yards of ribands out of his mouth, giving shuffling tricks with cards, to ascertain how much money was in the ploughman’s yellow purse, cutting off cock’s heads,pricking in the garter for love tokens, giving a chance at the “black cock or the white cock,” and lastly, raising the devil, who carries off the cheating parish baker upon his back. These, indeed, were fine opportunities for old women to talk about, when leaning over the hatch of the front door, to gossip with their ready neighbours in the same position opposite, while their goodmen of the house, sat in the porch chuckling with “pipe in one hand and jug in the other.” Then the “learned dog” told person’s names byletters; and here I discovered the secret of this canine sapiency, the master twitched his thumb and finger for the letter at which the dog stopped. I posed, master and dog, however, by giving my christian name “Jehoiada.” A word no fair scholar could readily spell; this shook the faith of many gaping disciples. The “poney” too was greatly admired for telling which lassie loved her morning bed, which would be first married, and which youth excelled in kissing a girl in a sly corner. The being “groundyoungagain,” no less enlivened the spirits of maiden aunts, and the seven tall single sisters; then the pelican put its beak on the child’s head for a night cap, and the monkeys and bears looked, grimaced and danced, to the three dogs in red jackets, with short pipes in their mouths; and the “climbing cat” ascended the “maypole,” and returned into its master’s box at a word. This year’s attractions chiefly were three booths for gingerbread and hard ware—a raree show! a blind fidler—the E. O. table—the birds, rats, and kittens in one cage—and a song sung here and there, called the “Bulleyed Farmers,” attributed to Bowles of Bremhill, but who disclaimed like Coleridge, the authorship of a satiric production.

Thus, fairs, amusements and the works of mortals, pass away—one age dies, another comes in its stead—but who will secure the sports of ancestry inviolate? who search into the workings of the illiterate, and hand them down to posterity, without the uncertain communication of oral tradition, which often obscures the light intended to be conveyed for information.—Thanks be to the art of printing, to the cultivation of reading, and the desire which accompanies both.

Mean Temperature 44·40.

[408]Gentleman’s Magazine.[409]There is a very old stanza known here, which though it gives no favourable mention of Clack, couples many surrounding places wellknown—“White Cliff—Pepper Cliff—Cliff and Cliff Ancey,Lyneham and lo—e Clack,C—seMalford[411]and Dauncey.”[410]A native of this part, and at the top ofMerry-Andrewism.[411]Christian Malford, no doubt, was abadford for the monks that came down the Avon to the surrounding abbeys.

[408]Gentleman’s Magazine.

[409]There is a very old stanza known here, which though it gives no favourable mention of Clack, couples many surrounding places wellknown—

“White Cliff—Pepper Cliff—Cliff and Cliff Ancey,Lyneham and lo—e Clack,C—seMalford[411]and Dauncey.”

[410]A native of this part, and at the top ofMerry-Andrewism.

[411]Christian Malford, no doubt, was abadford for the monks that came down the Avon to the surrounding abbeys.

On the day appointed for the commemoration of the landing of king William III. (who in fact landed on the5th[412]) it may be worth notice, that its centenary in 1788 is thus mentioned in the “Public Advertiser” of that year—“This day is appointed to commemorate an event, which, if deserving commemoration, oughtneverto be forgotten, and yet it is probable it will produce as much good moral or political effect as the events which distinguish Christmas, Good Friday, or Easter, from other days of the year. However, we are not disposed to quarrel with the scheme, the events of a day are few, the remembrance cannot be long. In the City, in Westminster, and in many of the principal towns in England, societies have been formed, cards of invitation sent, sold and bought, and grand dinners are prepared, and have this day been devoured with keen revolution appetites. Not to exclude the females, in some places balls are given; and that the religious may not wholly be disappointed, revolution sermons were this morning preached in several chapels and meeting-houses. Scotland is not behind hand in zeal upon this occasion, although a little so in point of time. To-morrow is their day of commemoration. Over all the kingdom a day of thanksgiving is appointed.”

For the Every-Day Book.

The essential services of king William III. to the cause of civil and religious liberty, his perseverance and prowess as a warrior, his shrewdness and dexterity as a statesman, adapting the most conciliatory means to the most patriotic ends, have been repeatedly dilated on, and generally acknowledged. Here, is merely purposed to be traced how he exercised one of the most exclusive, important, and durable prerogatives of an English monarch, by a brief recapitulation of such of his additions and promotions in the hereditory branch of our legislature as still are in existence.

The ancestor of the duke of Portland was count Bentinck, a Dutchman, of a family still of note in Holland; he hadbeen page of honour to king William, when he was only prince of Orange. He made him groom of the stole, privy purse, a lieutenant-general in the British army, colonel of a regiment of Dutch horse in the British pay, one of the privy-council, master of the horse, baron of Cirencester, viscount Woodstock, and earl of Portland, and afterwards ambassador extraordinary to the court of France. His son was made duke of Portland, and governor of Jamaica, by George I.

William Henry Nassau, commonly called seigneur, or lord of Zuletstein in Holland, was another follower of the fortunes of king William; he was related to his majesty, his father having been a natural son of the king’s grandfather. He was in the year 1695 created baron of Enfield, viscount Tunbridge, and earl of Rochfort.

Arnold Joost Van Keppel, another of Williams’s followers, was the second son of Bernard Van Pallant, lord of the manor of Keppel in Holland, a particular favourite of his majesty, who, soon after his accession to the throne, created him baron of Ashford, viscount Bury, and earl of Albemarle.

Earl Cowper is indebted for his barony of Wingham to queen Anne, and for his further titles of viscount Fordwich, and earl Cowper, to George I.; but he derives no inconsiderable portion of his wealth from his ancestress in the female line, lady Henrietta, daughter and heiress of the earl of Grantham, descended from monsieur d’Auverquerque, who was by that prince raised to the dignity of an English earl, by the title of Grantham, being representative of an illegitimate son of the celebrated shadthalder, prince Maurice.

The heroic marshal Schomberg, who fell in the memorable battle of the Boyne when upwards of eighty years of age, had previously been created by king William, a duke both in England and Ireland. His titles are extinct, but his heir general is the present duke of Leeds, who is at the same time heir male to the celebrated earl of Danby, who cuts so conspicuous a figure in the annals of Charles II., and was by William III. advanced to a dukedom.

The dukedom of Bolton was conferred by William on the marquis of Winchester, whose ancestors had for a century stood enrolled as premier marquisses of England.

Long before they were advanced by William III. to dukedoms, the houses of Russell and Cavendish had been noted as two of the most historical families in the English peerage. Their earldoms were respective creations of Edward VI. and James I. The individual of each house first ennobled, died possessed of the bulk of the extensive landed possessions, and strong parliamentary influence with which his representative is at the present moment invested.

The character and military achievements of John Churchill stand so preeminent in the history of Europe, that it need here only be remarked that from a baron, king William conferred on him the earldom of Marlborough, again advanced by queen Anne to a dukedom, carried on by act of parliament, after his victory of Blenheim, to the issue male of his daughters, and now vested in the noble family of Spencer, earl of Sunderland.

Lord Lumley, advanced to the earldom of Scarborough, was one of the memorable seven who signed the original letter of invitation to the prince of Orange.

Lord Coventry, descended from a lord keeper of the great seal to Charles I., was promoted by William III. to an earldom.

Sir Edward Villiers, a courtier, of the same family as the celebrated duke of Buckingham, received the earldom of Jersey.

The families of Cholmondeley, Fermor, and Ashburnham, were each raised by William III. to the dignity of English barons. They were each of considerable antiquity and extensive possessions. Each was, moreover, peculiarly distinguished for devoted attachment to the cause of Charles I., even when it stood in the extremest jeopardy.

These baronies are now vested respectively in the marquis of Cholmondeley, and the earls of Pomfret and Ashburnham.

The possessions, the influence, the connections of the male representative of the able, the restless, the unfortunate sir Harry Vane, were still of weightier calibre. He received from king William the barony of Barnard, now vested in the earl of Darlington.

Mean Temperature 43·27.

[412]See vol. i. col. 1428.

To keep alive the remembrance of this conspiracy, and in contemplation of its anniversary in 1826, a printed quarter sheet was published, “price one penny coloured, and one halfpenny plain.” It consists of a rude wood-cut of “a Guy,” carried about by boys, and the subjoined title with the accompanying verses.

Quick’s New Speech for theFifth of November,On the Downfall of Guy Fawkes.Good gentlefolks, pray,Remember this day,To which your kind notice we bringHere’s the figure of slyOld villainous Guy,Who wanted to murder the king:With powder a store,He bitterly swore,As he skulk’d in the vault to prepare,How the parliament too,By him and his crew,Should all be blown up in the air.So please to remember the fifth of November,Gunpowder treason and plot;We know no reason why gunpowder treasonShould ever be forgot.But James all so wise,Did the papists surprise,Who plotted the cruelty great;He guessed their intent,And Suffolk was sent,Who sav’d both the kingdom and state.With a lantern was found,Guy Fawkes under ground,And quick was the traitor bound fast:They said he should die,So hung him up high,And burnt him to ashes at last.So please to remember, &c.So we once a year,Go round without fear,To keep in remembrance the day:With assistance from you,To bring to your view,Guy Fawkes again blazing away:While with crackers and fire,In fullest desire,In his chair he thus merrily burns,So jolly we’ll be,And shout—may you see,Of this day many happy returns.So please to remember, &c.Then hollo boys! hollo boys! shout and huzza,Hollo boys! hollo boys! keep up the day,Hollo boys! hollo boys! let the bells ring,Down with the pope, and God save the king.Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!

Quick’s New Speech for theFifth of November,

On the Downfall of Guy Fawkes.

Good gentlefolks, pray,Remember this day,To which your kind notice we bringHere’s the figure of slyOld villainous Guy,Who wanted to murder the king:With powder a store,He bitterly swore,As he skulk’d in the vault to prepare,How the parliament too,By him and his crew,Should all be blown up in the air.So please to remember the fifth of November,Gunpowder treason and plot;We know no reason why gunpowder treasonShould ever be forgot.But James all so wise,Did the papists surprise,Who plotted the cruelty great;He guessed their intent,And Suffolk was sent,Who sav’d both the kingdom and state.With a lantern was found,Guy Fawkes under ground,And quick was the traitor bound fast:They said he should die,So hung him up high,And burnt him to ashes at last.So please to remember, &c.So we once a year,Go round without fear,To keep in remembrance the day:With assistance from you,To bring to your view,Guy Fawkes again blazing away:While with crackers and fire,In fullest desire,In his chair he thus merrily burns,So jolly we’ll be,And shout—may you see,Of this day many happy returns.So please to remember, &c.Then hollo boys! hollo boys! shout and huzza,Hollo boys! hollo boys! keep up the day,Hollo boys! hollo boys! let the bells ring,Down with the pope, and God save the king.Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!

But James all so wise,Did the papists surprise,Who plotted the cruelty great;He guessed their intent,And Suffolk was sent,Who sav’d both the kingdom and state.With a lantern was found,Guy Fawkes under ground,And quick was the traitor bound fast:They said he should die,So hung him up high,And burnt him to ashes at last.So please to remember, &c.

So we once a year,Go round without fear,To keep in remembrance the day:With assistance from you,To bring to your view,Guy Fawkes again blazing away:While with crackers and fire,In fullest desire,In his chair he thus merrily burns,So jolly we’ll be,And shout—may you see,Of this day many happy returns.So please to remember, &c.

Then hollo boys! hollo boys! shout and huzza,Hollo boys! hollo boys! keep up the day,Hollo boys! hollo boys! let the bells ring,Down with the pope, and God save the king.Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!

There was a publication in 1825, of similar character to the preceding. “Guy” was the subject of the cut, and the topic of the verses was a prayerfor—

————“a halfpenny to buy a faggot,And another to buy a match,And another to buy some touch paper,That the powder soon may catch.”

It contained the generalaverment—

“We know no reason,Why gunpowder treasonShould ever be forgot.”

Though it is not requisite to relate more particulars of the “gunpowder treason” than have been alreadymentioned,[413]yet a friendly finger points to a passage in an old writer, concerning one of the conspirators, which is at least amusing:—“Some days before the fatal stroke should be given, Master Keys, being at Tichmersh, in Northamptonshire, at the house of Mr. Gilbert Pickering, his brother-in-law, (but of a different religion, as a true protestant,) suddenly whipped out his sword, and in merriment made many offers therewith at the heads, necks, and sides of many gentlemen and gentlewomen then in his company. This, then, was taken as a mere frolic, and for the present passed accordingly; but afterwards, when the treason was discovered, such as remembered his gestures, thought thereby he did act what he intended to do, (if the plot had took effect,) hack and hew, kill and slay, all eminent persons of a different religion tothemselves.”[414]

A modern writer observes:—“It is not, perhaps, generally known, that we have a form of prayer for prisoners, which is printed in the ‘Irish Common Prayer-book,’ though not in ours. Mrs. Berkeley, in whosePreface of Prefacesto her son’s poems I first saw this mentioned, regrets the omission, observing, that the very fine prayer for those under sentence of death might, being read by the children of the poor, at leastkeep them from the gallows. The remark is just. If there be not room in our prayer-book, we have some services there which might better be dispensed with. It was not very decent in the late abolition of holydays, to let the two Charleses hold their place, when the Virgin Mary and the saints were deprived of the red letter privileges. If we are to have any state service, it ought to be for the expulsion of the Stuarts. There is no other part of their history which England ought to remember with sorrow and shame. Guy Faux also might now be dismissed, though theEye of Providencewould be a real loss. The Roman catholics know the effect of such prints as these, and there can be no good reason for not imitating them in this instance. I would have no prayer-book published without that eye of Providence init.”[415]

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Dear Sir,—At almost every village in England, thefifth of Novemberis regarded in a very especial manner. Some pay greater attention to it than others, but I believe it is invariably noticed by all.

I have been present at Old Purton bonfire, and perhaps the following short notice of it may not be uninteresting.

I before stated (col. 1207) that the green, or close, at Purton, is the spot allotted for amusements in general. This is also the place for the ceremonies on this highly important day, which I am about to describe.

Several weeks before, the boys of the village go to every house begging faggots; and if they are refused they all answertogether—

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