HEART BURIAL.

Appearance of the Heart of Lord Edward Bruce.

In consequence of a tradition, that the heart of lord Edward Bruce had been sent from Holland, and interred in the vault or burying-ground adjoining the old abbey church of Culross, in Perthshire, sir Robert Preston directed a search in that place in 1808, with the following result.—Two flat stones, without inscription, about four feet in length and two in breadth, were discovered about two feet below the level of the pavement, and partly under an old projection in the wall of the old building. These stones were strongly clasped together with iron; and when separated, a silver case, or box, of foreign workmanship, shaped like a heart, was found in a hollow or excavated place between them. Its lid was engraved with the arms and name “Lord Edward Bruse;” it had hinges and clasps; and when opened, was found to contain a heart, carefully embalmed, in a brownish coloured liquid. After drawings were taken of it, as represented in thepresentengravings, it was carefully replaced in its former situation. There was a small leaden box between the stones in another excavation; the contents of which, whatever they were originally, appeared reduced to dust.

Some time after this discovery, sir Robert Preston caused a delineation of the silver case, according to the exact dimensions, with an inscription recording its exhumation and re-deposit, to be engraved on a brass plate, and placed upon the projection of the wall where the heart wasfound.[320]

It is a remarkable fact, that the cause of the quarrel between lord Bruce and sir Edward Sackvile has remained wholly undetected, notwithstanding successive investigations at different periods. The last was conducted by the late lord Leicester, and several gentlemen, whose habits and love of investigation are equally well known, but they were unable to discover the slightest clue to the object of their anxious and diligent inquiry. Lord Clarendon, in his “History of the Rebellion,” records the combat as an occurrence of magnitude, from its sanguinary character and the eminence of the parties engaged in it. He does not say any thing respecting the occasion of the feud, although lord Bruce’s challenge seems to intimate that it was matter of public notoriety.

[319]Collins’s Peerage.[320]Archæologia, xx. 515.

[319]Collins’s Peerage.

[320]Archæologia, xx. 515.

During the rebuilding of part of the church of Chatham, Kent, in 1788, there was found in one of the vaults a leaden pot, containing, according to an inscription, the heart of a woman, one Hester Harris. The pot appeared to have been nailed up to the side of the vault, there being a piece of lead soldered on for thatpurpose.[321]

[321]Gent. Mag. 1789.

A Greek poet frequently offered little compliments to Augustus, with hopes of some small reward. His poems were worthless and unnoticed, but as he persisted in his adulation, Augustus amused himself with writing an epigram in praise of the poet, and when he received the next customary panegyric, presented his lines to the bard with surprising gravity. The poor man took and read them, and with apparent delight deliberately drew forth two farthings, and gave them to the emperor, saying, “This is not equal to the demands of your situation, sire; but ’tis all I have: if I had more I would give it to you.” Augustus could not resist this; he burst into laughter, and made the poet a handsome present.

Mr. Gifford relates the preceding anecdote, in a note on his Juvenal, from Macrobius. He makes the poet draw the farthings from his “pocket:” but the pocket was unknown to the Greeks and Romans. Mr. Fosbroke says the men used the girdle, and the women their bosom; and that Strutt thinks the scrip, and purse, or bag, were succedanea. The Anglo-Saxon and Norman women wore pocketting sleeves; and sleeves with pockets in them, mentioned by DuCange, Matthew Paris, Malmesbury, and Knighton, were searched, before the wearers could be admitted to the royal presence. Sleeve pockets are still worn by the monks in Portugal.

These useful appendages to dress were certainly not in use with the Greeks. The most ancient text wherein handkerchiefs are expressly mentioned, describes them as long cloths, calledoraria, used and worn by senators “ad emungendum et exspuendum;” that use is said to have grown out of the convenience of theorarium, which is supposed to have been merely used at first to wave for applause in the public shows. Mr. Fosbroke presumes it to have been the “swat-cloth” of the Anglo-Saxons; for one calledmappulaandmanipuluswas then worn on the left side to wipe the nose. In subsequent ages there was themanuariolum, one carried in the hand during summer, on account of perspiration. Queen Elizabeth wore handkerchiefs of party-coloured silk, or cambric, edged with gold lace.

The old robbers, in the “good old times,” when purses were carried in the hand or borne at the side, cut them away, and carried them off with the contents, and hence they were called “cut-purses.” In the scarce “History of Highwaymen,” by Smith, there is a story of a ludicrous private robbery, from “the person” of a man, mistakenly committed by one of these cut-purses. One of Shakspeare’s rogues, Autolycus, says, that “to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse.” Of course, “pickpockets” are of modern origin; they “came up” with the wearing of pockets.

[From the “Triumphant Widow,” a Comedy, by the Duke of Newcastle, 1677.]

Humours of a Thief going to Execution.

Officers.Room for the prisoner there, room for the prisoner.Footpad.Make room there; ’tis a strange thing a man cannot go to be hanged without crowding for it.1st Fellow.Pray, Sir, were not you a kin to oneHinde?[322]Footpad.No; I had run faster away then.2d Fellow.Pray, prisoner, before your death clear your conscience, and tell me truly, &c.(all ask him questions about robberies.)Margery.I am sure you had my Lady’s gilt caudle cup.Footpad.Yes, and would have kept it; but she has it again, has she not?James.And the plate out of mybuttery—Footpad.Well, and had she not it again? what a plague would you have? you examine me, as if you would hang me, after I am hanged. Pray, officers, rid me of these impertinent people, and let me die in quiet.1st Woman.O lord! how angry he is! that shews he is a right reprobate, I warrant you.Footpad.I believe, if all of you were to be hanged,[II-233,II-234]which I hope may be in good time, you would not be very merry.2d Woman.Lord, what a down look he has!1st Woman.Aye, and what a cloud in his forehead, goody Twattle, markthat—2d Woman.Aye, and such frowning wrinkles, I warrant you, not so much as a smile from him.Footpad.Smile, quoth she! Tho’ tis sport for you, ’tis none for me, I assure you.1st Woman.Aye, but ’tis so long before you are hanged.Footpad.I wish it longer, good woman.1st Fellow.Prithee, Mr. Thief, let this be a warning to you for ever doing the like again.Footpad.I promise you it shall.2d Woman.That’s well; thank you with all my heart, la! that was spoken like a precious godly man now.1st Woman.By my truly, methinks now he is a very proper man, as one shall see in a summer’s day.Footpad.Aye, so are all that are hanged; the gallows adds a great deal of grace to one’s person.2d Woman.I vow he is a lovely man; ’tis pity he should be taken away, as they say, in the flower of his age.1st Officer.Come, dispatch, dispatch; what a plague shall we stay all day, and neglect our business, to hang one thief?2d Officer.Pray, be hanged quickly, Sir; for I am to go to a Fair hard by.1st Officer.And I am to meet some friends to drink out a stand of ale by and by.1st Woman.Nay, pray let him speak, and die like a Christian.2d Woman.O, I have heard brave speeches at this place before.Footpad.Well, good people—if I may be bold to call you so—this Pulpit was not of my chusing. I shall shortly preach mortality to you without speaking, therefore pray take example by me, and then I know what will become of ye. I will be, I say, yourmemento mori, hoping you will all follow me.1st Fellow.O he speaks rarely.2d Fellow.Aye, does Latin it.Footpad.I have been too covetous, and at last taken for it, and am very sorry for it. I have been a great sinner, and condemned for it, which grieves me not a little, that I made not my escape, and so I heartily repent it, and so I die with this true confession.1st Woman (weeping).Mercy on him, for a better man was never hanged.2d Woman.So true and hearty repentance, and so pious.2d Fellow.Help him up higher on the ladder. Now you are above us all.Footpad.Truly I desire you were all equal with me; I have no pride in this world.1st Fellow.Will you not sing, Sir, before you are hanged?Footpad.No, I thank you; I am not so merrily disposed.Hangman.Come, are you ready?Footpad.Yes, I have been preparing for you these many years.1st Woman.Mercy on him, and save his better part.2d Woman.You see what we must all come to.(horn blows a reprieve.)Officer.A reprieve! how came that?Post.My Lady Haughty procured it.Footpad.I will always say, while I live, that her Ladyship is a civil person.1st Fellow.Pish, what must he not be hanged now?2d Fellow.What, did we come all this way for this?1st Woman.Take all this pains to see nothing?Footpad.Very pious good people, I shall shew you no sport this day.

Officers.Room for the prisoner there, room for the prisoner.

Footpad.Make room there; ’tis a strange thing a man cannot go to be hanged without crowding for it.

1st Fellow.Pray, Sir, were not you a kin to oneHinde?[322]

Footpad.No; I had run faster away then.

2d Fellow.Pray, prisoner, before your death clear your conscience, and tell me truly, &c.

(all ask him questions about robberies.)

Margery.I am sure you had my Lady’s gilt caudle cup.

Footpad.Yes, and would have kept it; but she has it again, has she not?

James.And the plate out of mybuttery—

Footpad.Well, and had she not it again? what a plague would you have? you examine me, as if you would hang me, after I am hanged. Pray, officers, rid me of these impertinent people, and let me die in quiet.

1st Woman.O lord! how angry he is! that shews he is a right reprobate, I warrant you.

Footpad.I believe, if all of you were to be hanged,[II-233,II-234]which I hope may be in good time, you would not be very merry.

2d Woman.Lord, what a down look he has!

1st Woman.Aye, and what a cloud in his forehead, goody Twattle, markthat—

2d Woman.Aye, and such frowning wrinkles, I warrant you, not so much as a smile from him.

Footpad.Smile, quoth she! Tho’ tis sport for you, ’tis none for me, I assure you.

1st Woman.Aye, but ’tis so long before you are hanged.

Footpad.I wish it longer, good woman.

1st Fellow.Prithee, Mr. Thief, let this be a warning to you for ever doing the like again.

Footpad.I promise you it shall.

2d Woman.That’s well; thank you with all my heart, la! that was spoken like a precious godly man now.

1st Woman.By my truly, methinks now he is a very proper man, as one shall see in a summer’s day.

Footpad.Aye, so are all that are hanged; the gallows adds a great deal of grace to one’s person.

2d Woman.I vow he is a lovely man; ’tis pity he should be taken away, as they say, in the flower of his age.

1st Officer.Come, dispatch, dispatch; what a plague shall we stay all day, and neglect our business, to hang one thief?

2d Officer.Pray, be hanged quickly, Sir; for I am to go to a Fair hard by.

1st Officer.And I am to meet some friends to drink out a stand of ale by and by.

1st Woman.Nay, pray let him speak, and die like a Christian.

2d Woman.O, I have heard brave speeches at this place before.

Footpad.Well, good people—if I may be bold to call you so—this Pulpit was not of my chusing. I shall shortly preach mortality to you without speaking, therefore pray take example by me, and then I know what will become of ye. I will be, I say, yourmemento mori, hoping you will all follow me.

1st Fellow.O he speaks rarely.

2d Fellow.Aye, does Latin it.

Footpad.I have been too covetous, and at last taken for it, and am very sorry for it. I have been a great sinner, and condemned for it, which grieves me not a little, that I made not my escape, and so I heartily repent it, and so I die with this true confession.

1st Woman (weeping).Mercy on him, for a better man was never hanged.

2d Woman.So true and hearty repentance, and so pious.

2d Fellow.Help him up higher on the ladder. Now you are above us all.

Footpad.Truly I desire you were all equal with me; I have no pride in this world.

1st Fellow.Will you not sing, Sir, before you are hanged?

Footpad.No, I thank you; I am not so merrily disposed.

Hangman.Come, are you ready?

Footpad.Yes, I have been preparing for you these many years.

1st Woman.Mercy on him, and save his better part.

2d Woman.You see what we must all come to.

(horn blows a reprieve.)

Officer.A reprieve! how came that?

Post.My Lady Haughty procured it.

Footpad.I will always say, while I live, that her Ladyship is a civil person.

1st Fellow.Pish, what must he not be hanged now?

2d Fellow.What, did we come all this way for this?

1st Woman.Take all this pains to see nothing?

Footpad.Very pious good people, I shall shew you no sport this day.

[From “Mamamouchi,” a Comedy, by Edward Ravenscroft, 1675.]

Foolish Lender.

Debtor.As to my affairs, you know I stand indebted to you.Creditor.A few dribbling sums, Sir.Debt.You lent ’em me very frankly, and with a great deal of generosity, and much like a gentleman.Cred.You are pleased to say so.Debt.But I know how to receive kindnesses, and to make returns according to the merits of the person that obliges me.Cred.No man better.Debt.Therefore pray let’s see how our accounts stand.Cred.They are down here in my table book.Debt.I am a man that love to acquit myself of all obligations assoon——Cred.See the memorandum.Debt.You have set it all down.Cred.All.Debt.Prayread—Cred.Lent, the second time I saw you, one hundred guineas.Debt.Right.Cred.Another time fifty.Debt.Yes.Cred.Lent for a certain occasion, which I did not tell you, one hundred and fifty.Debt.Did I not? that I should conceal any thing from my friend!Cred.No matter.Debt.It looks like mistrust, which is a wrong tofriendship—Cred.O Lord!Debt.I am so ashamed!—for I dare trust my soul with you. I borrowed it, to lend a person of quality, whom I employed to introduce me to the King, and recommend to his particular favour, that I might be able to do you service in your affairs.Cred.O did you so? then that debt is as it were paid; I’ll cross it out.Debt.By no means; you shall have it, or Ivow—Cred.Well, Sir, as you please.[II-235,II-236]Debt.I vow I would ne’er have borrowed of you again, as long as you lived—butproceed—Cred.Another time onehundred—Debt.O, that was to send into France to my wife to bring her over, but the Queen would not part with her then; and since, she is fallensick—Cred.Alas!Debt.But pretty wellrecovered—Cred.These four sums make up four hundredguineas—Debt.Just as can be; a very good account. Put down two hundred more, which I will borrow of you now; and then it will be just six hundred: that is, if it will be no inconvenience toyou—Cred.Euh, not in theleast—Debt.It is to make up a sum of two thousand pounds, which I am about to lay up in houses I have bought; but if it incommode you, I can have itelsewhere—Cred.O, by nomeans—Debt.You need but tell me, if it will be anytrouble—Cred.Lord, Sir, that you will thinkso—Debt.I know some will be glad of the occasion to serve me; but these are favours only to be asked of special friends. I thought you, being my most esteemed friend, would take it ill, if you should come to hear of it, that I did not ask youfirst—Cred.It is a great honour.

Debtor.As to my affairs, you know I stand indebted to you.

Creditor.A few dribbling sums, Sir.

Debt.You lent ’em me very frankly, and with a great deal of generosity, and much like a gentleman.

Cred.You are pleased to say so.

Debt.But I know how to receive kindnesses, and to make returns according to the merits of the person that obliges me.

Cred.No man better.

Debt.Therefore pray let’s see how our accounts stand.

Cred.They are down here in my table book.

Debt.I am a man that love to acquit myself of all obligations assoon——

Cred.See the memorandum.

Debt.You have set it all down.

Cred.All.

Debt.Prayread—

Cred.Lent, the second time I saw you, one hundred guineas.

Debt.Right.

Cred.Another time fifty.

Debt.Yes.

Cred.Lent for a certain occasion, which I did not tell you, one hundred and fifty.

Debt.Did I not? that I should conceal any thing from my friend!

Cred.No matter.

Debt.It looks like mistrust, which is a wrong tofriendship—

Cred.O Lord!

Debt.I am so ashamed!—for I dare trust my soul with you. I borrowed it, to lend a person of quality, whom I employed to introduce me to the King, and recommend to his particular favour, that I might be able to do you service in your affairs.

Cred.O did you so? then that debt is as it were paid; I’ll cross it out.

Debt.By no means; you shall have it, or Ivow—

Cred.Well, Sir, as you please.

[II-235,II-236]

Debt.I vow I would ne’er have borrowed of you again, as long as you lived—butproceed—

Cred.Another time onehundred—

Debt.O, that was to send into France to my wife to bring her over, but the Queen would not part with her then; and since, she is fallensick—

Cred.Alas!

Debt.But pretty wellrecovered—

Cred.These four sums make up four hundredguineas—

Debt.Just as can be; a very good account. Put down two hundred more, which I will borrow of you now; and then it will be just six hundred: that is, if it will be no inconvenience toyou—

Cred.Euh, not in theleast—

Debt.It is to make up a sum of two thousand pounds, which I am about to lay up in houses I have bought; but if it incommode you, I can have itelsewhere—

Cred.O, by nomeans—

Debt.You need but tell me, if it will be anytrouble—

Cred.Lord, Sir, that you will thinkso—

Debt.I know some will be glad of the occasion to serve me; but these are favours only to be asked of special friends. I thought you, being my most esteemed friend, would take it ill, if you should come to hear of it, that I did not ask youfirst—

Cred.It is a great honour.

C. L.

[322]A noted Highwayman in those days.

To the Editor.

Dear sir,—Dr. Whitaker, in his “History of Craven,” makes several extracts from the Compotus of Bolton in Craven, a folio of a thousand pages, kept by the monastery; which book begins in 1290 and ends in 1325. On one item, “In fururâ de Buget, vs.,” the doctor has the following note, which may be interesting to others besides the lovers of the delightful science of heraldry.

“In Fururâ de Buget.In the middle ages,furof different species formed an elegant and comfortable appendage, not only to professional habits, but to the ordinary dress of both sexes, from the sovereign to the private gentleman. Beneath the latter rank, none but the coarsest kinds were ever in use, whichtheycertainly wore; for Chaucer, who intended to clothe his personification of Avarice in the garb of Poverty, allows her, notwithstanding, ‘a burnette cote, furred with nomeniveere, but with a furre rough of lambe skynnes, hevy and blacke.’ (Rom. Ros.) The different sorts enumerated in the Compotus are, thebuget, orbudge,gris,de ventre leporino, the white fur of the hare’s belly, andde pellibus agninis, or lambs’ skins. The last of these, which still forms the lining of the hoods of the bachelors of arts at Cambridge, was anciently worn both by bishops and noblemen. For the first, see Mr. Warton’s note on ‘Comus,’ edit. i. p. 146; and the inventory of the wardrope of the second earl of Cumberland in that volume. With respect tobudge, orbuget, it is understood by Mr. Warton (note on Comus, line 709) to be fur in general; but this interpretation is negatived by the terms of the present article,fururâ de buget. Whateverbudgemay have been, it is unknown to Du Cange, who has, with immense labour and erudition, collected every thing known on the subject in the middle ages. It was certainly scarce and expensive, being used for the lining of the prior’s (Bolton) hood alone. After all, I suspect it to have been the skin of the Lithuanianweasel.[323]Even as late as Dr. Caiius’s time, the hoods of the regent masters of arts of Cambridge were lined ‘pelle arminâ seu Lituana candidâ.’Lituanis sometimes used by the old writers on heraldry as synonymous with ermine. If I am right in my conjecture, therefore,budgeso nearly resembled ermine, that either skin might be used indifferently as a badge of the same academical rank. And this accounts for Milton’s epithet ‘budge,’ as applied to doctors, whose congregation robes at Cambridge are still faced with ermine.Gris, I think, was the skin of the grey, orbadger.[324]The sleeves of Chaucer’s monk, ‘a fayre prelate,’ who was gayly and expensively habited, were ‘purfited withgris:’ and in the head of a bishop in painted glass, I have a fine specimen of this fur in the form of a tippet about the neck.

“It seems that, in the middle ages, ecclesiastics were apt to luxuriate in the use of beautiful and costly furs: ‘Ovium itaque et agnorum despiciuntur exuviæ; ermelini, gibelini (sables) martores exquiruntur et vulpes.’ This vanity was checked by an English sumptuary law—‘Statutum est ne quis escarleto, in Anglorum gente, sabelino,vario, vel grisèo uteretur,’ Brompton, Anno 1188. Again, in two MSS. quoted by Du Cange, to whom I am also indebted for the foregoing passage, the expensive furs are enumerated thus,

‘Vairs et gris, et ermines, et sables de rosie:’

and again,

‘Sables, ermines, et vair, et gris.’

Vairwas the skin of the Mus Ponticus, a kind of weasel, the same animal with the ermine, but in a different state, i. e. killed in summer when the belly was white and the back brown, whence it obtained the name of ‘Varia.’ The ancientmineveerewas ‘minuta varia,’ or fur composed of these diminutive skins; and Drayton was learned and accurate when he gave his well-dressed shepherd‘mittons[325]of bauson’s skin;’ that is, of gris, and a hood of mineveere. With respect tosables, I have only to add, that from their grave and sober elegance, they were retained as tippets in the habits of bishops and other dignitaries in England to the time of queen Elizabeth, when they gave place to a similar ornament of silk, the origin of the present scarf, which continued to be called a tippet till the reign of Charles II. See Baxter’s life, where we find that puritan, when sworn in king’s chaplain, refusing to wear the tippet.”

I am, &c.T. Q. M.

[323]I have since discovered that budge is the same with “shanks,” one of the many kinds of fur enumerated in the statute of the 24th Hen. VIII.; that is, a very delicate white skin stripped from the legs of a fine haired kid, and almost equal in value, as well as in appearance, to ermine. It is not impossible that the name may have been derived from the verb “budge,” as the legs are the instruments of locomotion. See Minshew, in voce Furre.Note to second edit. Whitaker’s Craven.[324]In the dialect of Craven, cornfactors or millers are called badgers. Why is this?—the derivation in Mr. Carr’s work, “Horæ Momenta Cravenæ,” Teut. Ratsen discurrere, seems to me very far-fetched. I am inclined to think that millers obtained the name from the colour of their clothes. T. Q. M.[325]Mittons are gloves with no fingers, having only a place for the thumb. They are much worn in Craven, and the Scotch shepherds, many of whom are constantly there, earn a little money by the sale of them: they knit them with common wood skewers. T. Q. M.

[324]In the dialect of Craven, cornfactors or millers are called badgers. Why is this?—the derivation in Mr. Carr’s work, “Horæ Momenta Cravenæ,” Teut. Ratsen discurrere, seems to me very far-fetched. I am inclined to think that millers obtained the name from the colour of their clothes. T. Q. M.

[325]Mittons are gloves with no fingers, having only a place for the thumb. They are much worn in Craven, and the Scotch shepherds, many of whom are constantly there, earn a little money by the sale of them: they knit them with common wood skewers. T. Q. M.

In the old lord mayors’ processions of London, there were, in the first division, the “budgebachelors marching in measuredorder.”[326]Thesebudge-bachelors go in the “Lord Mayor’s Show” to the present day, dressed in blue gowns trimmed with budge coloured fur, white. Bishop Corbet, in his “Iter Boreale,” speaks of

————— a most officious drudge,His face and gown drawn out with the samebudge;

implying, that his beard and habit were of like colour.Budge-row, Cannon-street, according to Stow, was “so called ofbudge-fur, and of skinners dwelling there.”

[326]See the “London Pageant” of 1680, in “Hone on Mysteries.”

To the Editor.

Sir,—You may perhaps think the “Old Arm Chair” worthy a place in your amusing columns. It is the production of a self-taught, or natural genius, like Bloomfield, living in the fens of this place, and carrying on the business of a small dairyman.

Isle of Ely,Yours obediently,

Aug. 14, 1827.M. W.

THE OLD ARM CHAIR.SeeTable Book,vol. i. p. 786.What recollections of the past,Of scenes gone by, and days that were,Crowd through my mind whene’er I castA look upon my father’s chair.How often have I climb’d his kneesTo pat his cheek, and stroke his hair;The kind paternal kiss to seize,When seated in this old arm chair.And much of monitory lore,Which bade me of the world beware;His tongue has utter’d o’er and o’er,When seated in this old arm chair.When ev’ning call’d us round the hearth.And storms disturb’d the wintry air;What merry tales of social mirthHave issued from this old arm chair.With summer’s toil and heat o’ercome,When weary nature sought repair;Oft has he thrown his languid frame,Exhausted, in this old arm chair.When adverse fortune cross’d his road,And bow’d him down with anxious care;How has he sigh’d beneath the load,When seated in this old arm chair.But death long since has clos’d his eyes;And peacefully he slumbers, whereA grassy turf is seen to rise,And fills no more this old arm chair.Ev’n that which does those scenes recall,Which age and wasting worms impairMust shortly into pieces fall,And cease to be an old arm chair.Yet while its smallest parts remain,My fancy shall behold him there;And memory stir those thoughts again,Of him who fill’d the old arm chair.

SeeTable Book,vol. i. p. 786.

What recollections of the past,Of scenes gone by, and days that were,Crowd through my mind whene’er I castA look upon my father’s chair.How often have I climb’d his kneesTo pat his cheek, and stroke his hair;The kind paternal kiss to seize,When seated in this old arm chair.And much of monitory lore,Which bade me of the world beware;His tongue has utter’d o’er and o’er,When seated in this old arm chair.When ev’ning call’d us round the hearth.And storms disturb’d the wintry air;What merry tales of social mirthHave issued from this old arm chair.With summer’s toil and heat o’ercome,When weary nature sought repair;Oft has he thrown his languid frame,Exhausted, in this old arm chair.When adverse fortune cross’d his road,And bow’d him down with anxious care;How has he sigh’d beneath the load,When seated in this old arm chair.But death long since has clos’d his eyes;And peacefully he slumbers, whereA grassy turf is seen to rise,And fills no more this old arm chair.Ev’n that which does those scenes recall,Which age and wasting worms impairMust shortly into pieces fall,And cease to be an old arm chair.Yet while its smallest parts remain,My fancy shall behold him there;And memory stir those thoughts again,Of him who fill’d the old arm chair.

What recollections of the past,Of scenes gone by, and days that were,Crowd through my mind whene’er I castA look upon my father’s chair.

How often have I climb’d his kneesTo pat his cheek, and stroke his hair;The kind paternal kiss to seize,When seated in this old arm chair.

And much of monitory lore,Which bade me of the world beware;His tongue has utter’d o’er and o’er,When seated in this old arm chair.

When ev’ning call’d us round the hearth.And storms disturb’d the wintry air;What merry tales of social mirthHave issued from this old arm chair.

With summer’s toil and heat o’ercome,When weary nature sought repair;Oft has he thrown his languid frame,Exhausted, in this old arm chair.

When adverse fortune cross’d his road,And bow’d him down with anxious care;How has he sigh’d beneath the load,When seated in this old arm chair.

But death long since has clos’d his eyes;And peacefully he slumbers, whereA grassy turf is seen to rise,And fills no more this old arm chair.

Ev’n that which does those scenes recall,Which age and wasting worms impairMust shortly into pieces fall,And cease to be an old arm chair.

Yet while its smallest parts remain,My fancy shall behold him there;And memory stir those thoughts again,Of him who fill’d the old arm chair.

For the Table Book.

SONNETTo T. Hood, Esq. written after reading his “Plea of the Midsummer Fairies.”Delightful bard! what praises meet are thine,More than my verse can sound to thee belong;Well hast thou pleaded, with a tongue divine,In this thy sweet and newly breathed song,Where, like the stream, smooth numbers gliding throng;Gather’d, methinks I see the elfin race,With theImmortalstanding them among,Smiling benign with more than courtly grace;Rescued I see them,—all their gambols trace,With their fair queen Titania in her bower,And all their avocations small embrace,Pictur’d by thee with a Shakspearean power—O when the time shall come thy soul must flee,Thenmay some hidden spiritpleadfor thee.

To T. Hood, Esq. written after reading his “Plea of the Midsummer Fairies.”

Delightful bard! what praises meet are thine,More than my verse can sound to thee belong;Well hast thou pleaded, with a tongue divine,In this thy sweet and newly breathed song,Where, like the stream, smooth numbers gliding throng;Gather’d, methinks I see the elfin race,With theImmortalstanding them among,Smiling benign with more than courtly grace;Rescued I see them,—all their gambols trace,With their fair queen Titania in her bower,And all their avocations small embrace,Pictur’d by thee with a Shakspearean power—O when the time shall come thy soul must flee,Thenmay some hidden spiritpleadfor thee.

Edward Moxon.

For the Table Book.

———— My better partsAre all thrown down; and that which here stands up,Is but aquintain, a mere lifeless block.As You Like it.

———— My better partsAre all thrown down; and that which here stands up,Is but aquintain, a mere lifeless block.

As You Like it.

Mr. Chalmers, in his edition of Shakspeare, gives the following annotation on the preceding passage:—“Aquintainwas apost, orbutt, set up for several kinds of martial exercises, against which they threw their darts, and exercised their arms. But all the commentators are at variance about this word, and have illustrated their opinions with cuts, for which we must refer the reader to the new edition, 21 vols. 8vo.”

Ben, the satirical sorrel Ben Jonson, thus notices this samequintin,quintain, orgwyntyn, as the Welsh spellit:—

——— AtquintinheIn honour of his bridal-tee.Hath challenged either wide countee;Come cut and long taile, for there beSix batchelors as bold as he,Adjuting to his company,And each one hath his livery.

The wordgwyntynliterally meantvane, and was corrupted by the English into quintin, or quintain. Thus, we may naturally suppose, that this ancient custom, and more particularly bridal game, was borrowed by the Britons from the Welsh, who had it from the Romans on their invasion of England. It is mentioned by Minshew, as being a sport held every fifth year among the Olympic games, or it was the last of the πενταθλοι, used on the fifth or last day of the Olympics: it is supposed to be a Roman game, and left in this island ever since their time.

Dr. Kennet, in his “Parochial Antiquities,” from Dr. Plot, says, that at the village of Blackthorn, through which the Roman road lay, they use it at their weddings to this day, on the common green, with much solemnity andmirth.[327]

Dr. Johnson says, I know not from whence it is derived; Minshew deduces it fromquintus, and calls it a game celebrated every fifth year;palus quintanus, and fromquintaine, French. It is, says he, an upright post, on the top of which a cross-post turned upon a pin; at one end of the cross-post was a broad board, and at the other a heavy sand-bag; the play was, to ride against the broad end with a lance, and pass by before the sand-bag, coming round, should strike the tilter to the ground. Sir Henry Spelman, who was a spectator of the game, coincides with this account, and says, “by which means, striking at the board, whirls round the bag and endangers the striker.” At weddings, in England and Wales, it was a constant amusement, and so generally practised in the latter country, that it may almost be said to class with their sports and manners.

In Roberts’s “Popular Antiquities ofWales,”[328]there is the following account of this ancient manly amusement. “On the day of the ceremony, the nuptial presents having previously been made, and the marriage privately celebrated at an early hour, the signal to the friends of the bridegroom was given by the piper, who was always present on these occasions, and mounted on a horse trained for the purpose; and the cavalcade being all mounted, set off at full speed, with the piper playing in the midst of them, for the house of the bride. The friends of the bride in the mean time having raised various obstructions to prevent their access to the house of the bride, such as ropes of straw across the road, blocking up the regular one, &c., and thequintain; the rider in passing struck the flat side, and if not dexterous was overtaken, and perhaps dismounted, by the sand-bag, and became a fair object forlaughter. Thegwyntynwas also guarded by champions of the opposite party; who, if it was passed successfully, challenged the adventurers to a trial of skill at one of the four and twenty games—a challenge which could not be declined; and hence to guard the gwyntyn was a service of high adventure.”

In Henry the Third’s time, or about the year 1253, it was much in fashion in almost every part of the kingdom: this game was sometimes played, by hanging a shield upon a staff fixed in the ground, and the skilful squire riding by struck the shield in such a manner as to detach it from itsligatures;[329]but this was of a less dangerous nature, and only used when the quintain could not be obtained.

There was another, but more hazardous manner, to those who were not skilled by habit in the use of the lance and javelin. It consisted of two large poles being drove into the ground, far enough apart to allow a man on horseback to ride full speed between them: at the top of these was an immense heavy sand-bag, fixed on a pivot, so as to swing freely round, and backward and forward, with amazing rapidity: this the young aspirant for chivalric honours delighted in, as a grand treat for the display of his personal bravery and contempt for danger. He commenced by reining in his steed opposite to the sand-bag, then dashing away at full speed, at the same time hurling the javelin at the bag with considerable force, and passing between the poles before it could resume its original position. Many of the squires and yeomen of Richard with the Lion-heart, held it in great esteem; and they would often pass through the supporters, regain their javelin, return back before the bag had sufficient time to fall, and ride bravely off without a single blow from this heavy instrument of pleasure. He who executed this feat in a handsome manner was declared victor, and the prize to which he became entitled was a peacock.

In the princely fête given by sir Rhys ap Thomas, in honour of his being admitted companion of the illustrious order of the Garter, it is mentioned thus:—“When they had dined they went to visit eache captaine in his quarters, wheare they found everie man in action, some wrestling, some hurling at the barr, some taking of the pike, some running at thequintaine, &c.” Dr. Watts thus explains it:—“A ludicrous and sportive way of tilting or running on horseback at some mark hung on high, moveable, and turning round; which, while the riders strike at with lances, unless they ride quickly off, the versatile beam strikes upon their shoulders.”

I earnestly recommend for the perusal of the reader, (if he delights in “merie deedes an’ greenewoodee sportes, inn thee brighte formes of ladees highh, immersed in uncouthe donjons, by treacherouse kings, greate lords, an’ mightee knights,”) the tale of “Castle Baynard,” in which he will find many very interesting customs, and more particularly, an excellent delineation of the above game. The author of this delightful little story is Hal Willis, who is possessed of considerable talent, and a knowledge of our ancestorial manners.

F. C. N.

[327]Vide also Mat. Paris: and Strype’s “History of London,” vol. i. 1st part, page 249, who delineates its figure.[328]Page 162.[329]Mill’s History of Chivalry.

[327]Vide also Mat. Paris: and Strype’s “History of London,” vol. i. 1st part, page 249, who delineates its figure.

[328]Page 162.

[329]Mill’s History of Chivalry.

Lord Braco, an ancestor of the earl of Fife, was remarkable for practising that celebrated rule, “Get all you can, and keep all you get.” One day, walking down the avenue from his house, he saw a farthing lying at his feet, which he took up and carefully cleaned. A beggar passing at the same time, entreated his lordship would give him the farthing, saying, it was not worth a nobleman’s attention. “Fin’a farthing toyoursel’, puir body,” replied his lordship, and carefully put the coin into his breeches pocket.

In addition to being his own farthingfin’er, his lordship was his own factor and rent-collector. A tenant who called upon him to pay his rent happened to be deficient a singlefarthing. This amount could not be excused; and the farmer had to seek the farthing. When the business was adjusted, the countryman said to his lordship, “Now Braco, I wou’d gie ye a shillin’ for a sight o’ a’ the goud an’ siller ye hae.”—“Weel, mon,” replied Braco, “it’s no cost ye ony mair;” and accordingly, for and in consideration of the aforesaid sum, in hand first well and truly paid, his lordship exhibited several iron boxes filled with gold and silver coin. “Now,” says the farmer, “I’m as rich as yoursel’, Braco.”—“Aye, mon!” said his lordship, “how can that be?”—“Because I’veseenit—an’youcan do nae mair.”

From a paper of Henry the Eighth’s time, among the MSS. at Skipton, I find that the following singular toll was anciently levied in Skirack and Crookrise:

“Note, that theise customes hayth ben used tyme out of mynd, by yereport of Rob. Garth, forster ther; the whych s-ay-eth, that he in all his tyme, and his father afore him in ytoffice, always hayth taken the sayd customes:

“First, that ev’ry bryde cumynge that waye shulde eyther gyve her lefte shoo orIIIs.IVd.to the forster of Crookryse, by way of custome or gaytcloys.”

The rest only relate to tolls taken for the passage of sheep, cattle, and wool.

The commutation was so high, that I suppose the penalty would generally be paid in kind; and by this ungallant custom, the poor brides of Craven would be reduced to tread the rugged ways of Crookrise in the situation of the light-footed sons ofThestius—

——— το λαιον ιχνος αναζβυλοι ωοδος,Τονδ εν ωεδιλοις.—Eurip. inFragm.[330]

——— το λαιον ιχνος αναζβυλοι ωοδος,Τονδ εν ωεδιλοις.—

Eurip. inFragm.[330]

[330]Dr. Whitaker’s History of Craven.

For the Table Book.

The following very remarkable anecdote is accompanied by a reference to the only work of any authority wherein I have met with it.

Prince George of Denmark, the nominal king-consort to queen Anne, in passing through Bristol, appeared on the Exchange, attended only by one gentleman, a military officer, and remained there till the merchants had pretty generally withdrawn, not one of them having sufficient resolution to speak to him, as perhaps they might not be prepared to ask such a guest to their houses. But this was not the case with all who saw him, for a person, whose name was John Duddlestone, a bodice-maker, in Corn-street, went up and asked the prince if he was not the husband of the queen, who informed him he was. John Duddlestone then told the prince, that he had observed, with a great deal of concern, that none of the merchants had invited him home to dinner, adding, it was not for want of love to the queen or to him, but because they did not consider themselves prepared to entertain so great a man; but John said, he was ashamed to think of his dining at an inn, and requested him to go and dine with him, and bring the gentleman along with him, informing him that he had a piece of good beef and a plum pudding, and ale of his dame’s own brewing. The prince admired the loyalty of the man, and though he had bespoke a dinner at the White Lion, went with him; and when they got to the house, Duddlestone called his wife, who was up stairs, desiring her to put on a clean apron and come down, for the queen’s husband and another gentleman were come to dine with them; she accordingly came down with her clean blue apron, and was immediately saluted by the prince. In the course of the dinner, the prince asked him if he ever went to London? He said, that since the ladies had worn stays instead of bodices, he sometimes went to buy whalebone; whereupon the prince desired him to take his wife when he went again, at the same time giving him a card, to facilitate his introduction to him at court.

In the course of a little time, John Duddlestone took his wife behind him to London, and, with the assistance of the card, found easy admittance to the prince, and by him they were introduced to the queen, who invited them to an approaching dinner, informing them that they must have new clothes for the occasion, allowing them to choose for themselves. Each therefore chosepurple velvet, such as the prince had then on, which was accordingly provided for them, and in that dress they were introduced by the queen herself, as the most loyal persons in the city of Bristol, and the only ones in that city who had invited the prince her husband to their house; and after the entertainment, the queen, desiringhimto kneel down, laid a sword on his head, and (to use lady Duddlestone’s own words) said to him, “Ston up, sir Jan.”

Sir “Jan” was offered money, or a place under government, but he did not choose to accept of either, informing the queen that he had “fifty poundsout at use,” and he apprehended that the number of people he saw about her must be very expensive. The queen, however, made lady Duddlestone a present of her gold watch from her side, which “my lady” considered as no small ornament, when she went to market, suspendedover a blue apron.

I first found this interesting account in “Corry’s History of Bristol,” which waspublished a few years ago; but whence it was derived that author does not mention. As the editor of theTable Bookis equally uninformed, perhaps some of his correspondents may be able to point out its origin; and, if it be authentic, communicate some particulars respecting the worthy knight and his dame.

The two illustrious moderns, Newton and Gassendi, attribute the continual change which happens in bodies to the different figure and magnitude of their minute corpuscles; and affirm, that their different junction or separation, and the variety of their arrangement, constitute the differences of bodies. This corpuscular philosophy can be traced from the times of Democritus, to its founder Moschus the Phœnician. It does not appear that the Phœnician school admitted the indivisibility of atoms; whereas, Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus did. And so the philosophers in all ages, down to the Cartesians and Newtonians, admit the same. Aristotle, as great in metaphysics as able in mathematics, treats of it in his works of both kinds. A modern proposition respecting it has been deemed new, although anciently it was expressed in almost the very same terms.

The Newtonians say, “that the smallest parcel of matter is able to cover the largest extent of space, by the number of parts into which it may be divided; and that without so much as leaving any one pore of the smallest dimension uncovered.” Anaxagoras had previously said, that each body, of whatever size, was infinitely divisible; insomuch, that a particle so small as the half of the foot of the minutest insect, might furnish out of itself parts sufficient for covering an hundred million of worlds, without ever becoming exhaustible as to the number of its parts. Democritus expressed the like proposition, when he affirmed that it was “possible to make a world out of an atom.” Chrysippus says the same, when he maintains that a drop of wine may be divided into a number of parts, each of itself sufficient to mingle with all the small particles of the ocean.

The ancients, as well as the moderns, definemotionto be change of place, or the passing from one place to another; they knew the acceleration of bodies in falling, but not so exactly as to determine its law or cause. It was an axiom of Aristotle and the Peripatetics, that a body in falling acquired a celerity of motion, proportionable to its distance from the place whence the motion began; but they knew not that this increase of the celerity of falling bodies was uniform, and that the spaces passed over in equal times increased proportionably to the unequal numbers 1, 3, 5, 7, &c. Two mistakes of Aristotle hindered him from arriving at the truth. The first was, that there were two tendencies in body; one downwards, carrying it to the centre, in those that were heavy; the other upwards, removing it from it, in those that were light. His second error was, that he thought different bodies rolled through space with a celerity proportional to their masses. He did not consider that the resistance of the medium was the only cause of this difference; for supposing them to move through an irresisting medium, or invacuo, the lightest bodies would then fall with the same velocity as the heaviest. This is demonstrated by means of the air-pump, wherein paper, lead, and gold, descend with equal swiftness.

Yet all the ancients were not thus ignorant. Lucretius, instructed in the principles of Democritus and Epicurus, arrived at this knowledge, and supports it by such arguments, as might do honour to the most experienced naturalist of our times.—“Admitting that there was nothing in the vacuum to resist the motion of bodies, it necessarily followed, that the lightest would descend with a celerity equal to the weightiest; that where there was no resistance in the medium, bodies must always move through equal spaces in equal times; but that the case would be different in such mediums, as opposed divers degrees of resistance to the bodies passing through them.” Hereupon, he alleges the very same reasonings which Galileo draws from experience to support his theory. He says, that “the difference of velocities ought to increase or abate, according to the difference of resistance in the medium; and that because air and water resist bodies differently, they fall through these mediums with different degrees of velocity.” We shallpresentlysee, that the ancients were acquainted with the principle ofgravitation.

To the Editor.

Dear sir,—When I sent you thesketchof “Tom Airay” of this place, and his associates, I was not aware that the practice of acting plays was a very ancient one in the parish of Linton, (in which this place is.) The following extract from Whitaker’s history will prove this to have been the case, and that Airay was “the last of a bright band.” It will doubtless be perused with interest by many of the inhabitants of Craven, very few of whom I am inclined to think know of the circumstance. Whitaker’s history is an expensive work, and only in the hands of a few.

“Many of these amusements were long after in use at Linton. But the most popular of their amusements was the practice of acting old plays, continued, I have no doubt, from the old ‘Kirk Sights,’ and clerk plays, though I can trace it in Craven no farther than 1606, where I find the following article in the accounts of Francis, earl ofCumberland:—

“‘Item, paid to the yonge men of the town, (Skipton,) being his l’ps tenants and servants, to fit them for acting plays this Christmas,IIIIs.’

“In the interval of a century from this time, it does not seem that they had much improved their stock of dramas; for, within the recollection of old persons with whom I have conversed, one of their favourite performances was ‘The Iron Age,’ by Heywood, a poet of the reign of James I., whose work, long since become scarce, and almost forgotten, had probably been handed down from father to son, through all that period. But in every play, whether tragedy or comedy, theViceconstituted one of thedramatis personæ, and was armed, as of old, with a sword of lath, and habited in a loose party-coloured dress, with a fur-cap, and fox’s brush behind. In some parts of Craven these personages were called clowns, as in Shakspeare’s time, and too often and too successfully attempted to excite a laugh by ribaldry and nonsense of their own; a practice which is very properly reprehended in Hamlet.

“In the ‘Destruction of Troy’ this personage easily united with Thersites; but he was often found in situations where his appearance was very incongruous, as ex. gr. in ‘George Barnwell.’ These rustic actors had neither stage nor scenes, but performed in a large room, what is called the‘house,’[331]of an ordinary dwelling.

“Sometimes they fabricated a kind of rude drama for themselves; in which case, as it is not likely that the plot would be very skilfully developed, the performers entered one by one, and each uttered a short metrical prologue, which they very properly chose to call a fore-speech. For why should these honest Englishmen be indebted to the Grecian stage for the word prologue, when they were certainly beholden to it for nothing else?

“In these fabrications, I believe, the subjects were frequently taken from printed plays; but the texture was of very inferior workmanship. For this I must beg my reader to give me credit; though, if all readers had the same relish for what, in the language of dulness, is called low, with Dr. Farmer and Mr. Warton, I could excite more than a smile by their travestie of the ‘Merchant of Venice.’ An old inhabitant of this place, (Linton,) whom I well knew, had the reputation of a dramatic manufacturer, though he had, in reality, no talents beyond those of an actor. But his fame drew upon him an awkward application; which, as the stated price of these services was three half crowns, he parried very dexterously by demanding half a guinea. Thus much for the chapter of amusements.”

In mentioning Airay’s stage companions I forgot to name Sim Coates, one of the principal. He was a club-footed man, and used to perform the “Fair Penitent!” He is lately dead.

I am, &c.

Grassington in Craven,T. Q. M.

Aug. 1, 1827.

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