THE DRAYMAN.

[88]Vide Mr. Dixon’s View of Durham.[89]Ibid.[90]Les Confessions, part. i. liv. i.

[88]Vide Mr. Dixon’s View of Durham.

[89]Ibid.

[90]Les Confessions, part. i. liv. i.

For the Table Book.

Lie heavy on him,earth!for heLaid many aheavy loadon thee.Epig.23,ChristmasTreat.

Lie heavy on him,earth!for heLaid many aheavy loadon thee.

Epig.23,ChristmasTreat.

The drayman is a being distinct from other men, as the brewer’s horse is distinct from other horses—each seems adapted to the other’s use: the one eats abundantly of grains, and prospers in its traces—the other drinks porter by the canful, and is hardly able to button his jerkin. Much of a drayman’slife is spent with his master’s team and barrels. Early rising is his indispensable duty; and, long ere the window-shutters of London shopkeepers are taken down, he, with his fellow stavesmen, are seen half way through the streets to the vender of what is vulgarly called “heavy wet.” Woe to the patience of a crowd, waiting to cross the roadway, when the long line, in clattering gear, are passing review, like a troop of unyielding soldiers. The driver, with his whip, looks as important as a sergeant-major; equipped in his coat of mail, the very pavement trembles with his gigantictread.[91]Sometimes his comrades ride on the shaft and sleep, to the imminent risk of their lives. Arrived at their destination, they move a slow and sure pace, which indicates that “all things should be taken easy,” for “the world was not made in a day.”

The cellar being the centre of gravity, the empty vessels are drawn out, and the full ones drawn in; but with as much science as would require Hercules himself to exercise, and Bacchus to improve. After these operations are performed, what a sight it is to behold the drayman at work over his breakfast, in the taproom if the weather is cold, or on a bench in view of a prospect, if the sunshine appears: the hunch of bread and meat, or a piece of cheese deposited in the hollow of his hand, which he divides into no small portions, are enough to pall the appetite. The manner in which he clenches the frothy pot, and conducts it to his mouth, and the long draft he takes, in gurgles down his unshorn, summer-like throat, almost warrant apprehensions of supply not being equal to demand, and consequent advance of price. He is an entire proof of the lusty quality of his master’s porter, for he is the largest opium-pill in the brewhouse dispensary. While feeding on the fat of the publican’s larder, his horses are shaking up the corn, so unfeelingly crammed in hair-bags, to their reeking nostrils. The drayman is a sort of rough give and take fellow; he uses the whip in a brangle, and his sayings are sometimes, like himself, rather dry. When he returns to the brewhouse, he is to be found in the stable, at the vat, and in the lower apartments. To guard against cold, he prefers a red nightcap to a Welsh wig, and takes great care of the grains, without making scruples. He is a good preparer, well versed in the art of refinement—knows when his articles work well, and is an excellent judge of brown stout. At evening, as his turn relieves him, he takes his next day’s orders at the counting-house, and with clean apron and face, goes to his club; and sometimes even ventures to make a benefit speech in behalf of the sick members, or a disconsolate widow. Now and then, in his best white “foul weather,” he treats his wife and nieces to “the Wells,” or “the Royalty,” taking something better than beer in his pocket, made to hold his “bunch of fives,” or any other esteemed commodity. At a “free and easy,” he sometimes “rubs up,” and enjoys a “bit of ’bacco” out of the tin box, wherein he drops his halfpenny before he fills; and then, like a true Spectator, smokes the company in a genteel way. If called upon for a song, he either complains of hoarseness, or of a bad memory; but should he indulge the call of his Vice on his right hand, he may be heard fifty yards in the wind, after which he is “knocked down” with thund’rous applause. He shakes his collops at a good joke about the “tap,” and agrees with Joe Miller, that

“Care to our coffin adds a nail no doubt,But every grin of laughter draws one out.”

An old dog’s-eared song-book is the companion to a bung-plug, a slate memoranda, and sundry utensils, which are his pocket residents. He is proud to wear a pair of fancy garters below knee, and on Mondays his neckcloth and stockings show that he was “clean as a new pinyesterday.” Like an undertaker, he smells of the beer to which he is attached, and rarely loses sight of “Dodd’s Sermon on Malt.” He ventures to play sly tricks with his favourite horse, and will give kick for kick when irritated. His language to his team is pure low Dutch, untranslatable, but perfectly understood when illustrated by a cut. It may be said that he moves in his own sphere; for, though he drives through the porter world, he spends much of his timeout ofthe public-house, and is rarelyte-ipse. What nature denies to others, custom sanctions in him, for “he eats, drinks, and ismerry.” If aroughspecimen of an unsophisticated John Bull were required, I would present the drayman.

J. R. P.

[91]I am here reminded of an old epigram on a “Fat Doctor,” in theChristmas Treat, xxxiii.“When Tadloe treads the streets, the paviers cry‘God bless you, sir!’ and lay their rammers by.”

[91]I am here reminded of an old epigram on a “Fat Doctor,” in theChristmas Treat, xxxiii.

“When Tadloe treads the streets, the paviers cry‘God bless you, sir!’ and lay their rammers by.”

SONNET.From the Spanish of Quevedo.For the Table Book.“En el mundo naciste, no a emmendarle.”In this wide world, beware to think, my friend,Thy lot is cast to change it, or amend;But to perform thy part, and give thy shareOf pitying aid; not to subdue, but bear.If prudent, thou may’st know the world; if wise,In virtue strong, thou may’st the world despise;For good, be grateful—be to ill resign’d,And to the better world exalt thy mind.The peril of thy soul in this world fear,But yet th’ Almighty’s wondrous work revere;See all things good but man; and chiefly see,With eye severe, the faults that dwell in thee.On them exert thine energies, and tryThyself to mend, ere judge the earth and sky.

For the Table Book.

“En el mundo naciste, no a emmendarle.”

In this wide world, beware to think, my friend,Thy lot is cast to change it, or amend;But to perform thy part, and give thy shareOf pitying aid; not to subdue, but bear.If prudent, thou may’st know the world; if wise,In virtue strong, thou may’st the world despise;For good, be grateful—be to ill resign’d,And to the better world exalt thy mind.The peril of thy soul in this world fear,But yet th’ Almighty’s wondrous work revere;See all things good but man; and chiefly see,With eye severe, the faults that dwell in thee.On them exert thine energies, and tryThyself to mend, ere judge the earth and sky.

In this wide world, beware to think, my friend,Thy lot is cast to change it, or amend;But to perform thy part, and give thy shareOf pitying aid; not to subdue, but bear.

If prudent, thou may’st know the world; if wise,In virtue strong, thou may’st the world despise;For good, be grateful—be to ill resign’d,And to the better world exalt thy mind.

The peril of thy soul in this world fear,But yet th’ Almighty’s wondrous work revere;See all things good but man; and chiefly see,With eye severe, the faults that dwell in thee.On them exert thine energies, and tryThyself to mend, ere judge the earth and sky.

King George II. was accustomed every other year to visit his German dominions with the greater part of the officers of his household, and especially those belonging to the kitchen. Once on his passage at sea, his first cook was so ill with the sea-sickness, that he could not hold up his head to dress his majesty’s dinner; this being told to the king, he was exceedingly sorry for it, as he was famous for making a Rhenish soup, which his majesty was very fond of; he therefore ordered inquiry to be made among the assistant-cooks, if any of them could make the above soup. One named Weston (father of Tom Weston, the player) undertook it, and so pleased the king, that he declared it was full as good as that made by the first cook. Soon after the king’s return to England, the first cook died; when the king was informed of it, he said, that his steward of the household always appointed his cooks, but that he would now name one for himself, and therefore asking if one Weston was still in the kitchen, and being answered that he was, “That man,” said he, “shall be my first cook, for he makes most excellent Rhenish soup.” This favour begot envy among all the servants, so that, when any dish was found fault with, they used to say it was Weston’s dressing: the king took notice of this, and said to the servants, it was very extraordinary, that every dish he disliked should happen to be Weston’s; “in future,” said he, “let every dish be marked with the name of the cook that makes it.” By this means the king detected their arts, and from that time Weston’s dishes pleased him most. The custom has continued ever since, and is still practised at the king’s table.

Pound, is derived from the Latin wordpondus.

Ounce, fromuncia, or twelfth, being the twelfth of a pound troy.

Inch, from the same word, being the twelfth of a foot.

Yard, from the Saxon wordgyrd, orgirth, being originally the circumference of the body, until Henry I. decreed that it should be the length of his arm.

HalfpennyandFarthing. In 1060, when William the Conqueror began to reign, thePenny, or sterling, was cast, with a deep cross, so that it might be broken in half, as aHalf-penny, or in quarters, forFourthings, orFarthings, as we now call them.

The internal economy of a mug-house in the reign of George I. is thus described by a foreigntraveller:—

At the mug-house club in Long-acre, where on Wednesdays a mixture of gentlemen, lawyers, and tradesmen meet in a great room, a grave old gentleman in his grey hairs, and nearly ninety years of age, is their president, and sits in an armed chair some steps higher than the rest. A harp plays all the while at the lower end of the room; and now and then some one of the company rises and entertains the rest with a song, (and by the by some are good masters.) Here is nothing drank but ale, and every gentleman chalks on the table as it is brought in: every one also, as in a coffee-house, retires when he pleases.

N. B. In the time of the parliament’ssitting, there are clubs composed of the members of the commons, where most affairs are digested before they are brought into the house.

A few years ago, one David Lloyd, a Welchman, who kept an inn at Hereford, had a living sow with six legs which occasioned great resort to the house. David also had a wife who was much addicted to drunkenness, and for which he used frequently to bestow on her an admonitory drubbing. One day, having taken an extra cup which operated in a powerful manner, and dreading the usual consequences, she opened the stye-door, let out David’s sow, and lay down in its place, hoping that a short unmolested nap would sufficiently dispel the fumes of the liquor. In the mean time, however, a company arrived to view the so much talked of animal; and Davy, proud of his office, ushered them to the stye, exclaiming, “Did any of you ever see such a creature before?”—“Indeed, Davy,” said one of the farmers, “I never before saw a sow so drunk as thine in all my life!”—Hence the term “as drunk as David’s sow.”

For the Table Book.

An inhabitant of the parish of Clerkenwell being called upon, a short time ago, to fill up the blanks of a printed circular under the following heads, in pursuance of an act of parliament passed in the sixth year of his present majesty’s reign, entitled “An Act for consolidating and amending the Laws relative to Jurors and Juries,” sent in his return asfollows:—

“Street.”

Baker-street—badly paved—rascally lighted—with one old woman of a watchman.

“Title, Quality, Calling, or Business.”

Notitle—noquality—nocalling, except when my wife and sixteen children call for bread and butter—and as forbusiness, Ihavenone. Times are bad, and there’s nobusinessto be done.

“Nature of Qualification; whether Freehold, Copyhold, or Leasehold Property.”

Nofreeholdproperty—nocopyholdproperty—noleaseholdproperty. In fact, nopropertyat all! I live by mywits, as one half of the world live, and am therefore NOTqualified.

Gaspard.

Suburban Sonnets.I.ISLINGTON.Thy fields, fair Islington! begin to bearUnwelcome buildings, and unseemly piles;The streets are spreading, and the Lord knows whereImprovement’s hand will spare the neighb’ring stiles:The rural blandishments of Maiden LaneAre ev’ry day becoming less and less,While kilns and lime roads force us to complainOf nuisances time only can suppress.A few more years, andCopenhagen HouseShall cease to charm the tailor and the snob;And where attornies’ clerks in smoke carouse,Regardless wholly of to-morrow’s job,Some Claremont Row, or Prospect-Place shall rise,Or terrace, p’rhaps, misnomer’dParadise!II.HAGBUSH LANE.PoorHagbush Lane! thy ancient charms are goingTo rack and ruin fast as they can go;And where but lately many a flow’r was growing,Nothing shall shortly be allow’d to grow!Thy humble cottage, where as yet they sellNo “nut-brown ale,” or luscious Stilton cheese—Where dusky gipsies in the summer dwell,And donkey drivers fight their dogs at ease,Shall feel ere long the lev’lling hand of taste,If that betastewhich darkens ev’ry field;Thy garden too shall likewise be displac’d,And no more “cabbage” to its master yield;But, in its stead, some new Vauxhall perchanceShall rise, renown’d for pantomime and dance!III.HIGHGATE.Already,Highgate! to thy skirts they bearBricks, mortar, timber, in no small degree,And thy once pure, exhilarating airIs growing pregnant with impurity!The would-be merchant has his “country box”A few short measures from the dusty road,Where friends on Sunday talk about the stocksOr praise the beauties of his “neat abode:”One deems the wall-flow’r garden, in the front,Unrivall’d for each aromatic bed;Another fancies that his old sow’s grunt“Is so muchlikethe country,” and insteadOf living longer down in Crooked-lane,Resolves, at once, to “ruralize” again!

Thy fields, fair Islington! begin to bearUnwelcome buildings, and unseemly piles;The streets are spreading, and the Lord knows whereImprovement’s hand will spare the neighb’ring stiles:The rural blandishments of Maiden LaneAre ev’ry day becoming less and less,While kilns and lime roads force us to complainOf nuisances time only can suppress.A few more years, andCopenhagen HouseShall cease to charm the tailor and the snob;And where attornies’ clerks in smoke carouse,Regardless wholly of to-morrow’s job,Some Claremont Row, or Prospect-Place shall rise,Or terrace, p’rhaps, misnomer’dParadise!

PoorHagbush Lane! thy ancient charms are goingTo rack and ruin fast as they can go;And where but lately many a flow’r was growing,Nothing shall shortly be allow’d to grow!Thy humble cottage, where as yet they sellNo “nut-brown ale,” or luscious Stilton cheese—Where dusky gipsies in the summer dwell,And donkey drivers fight their dogs at ease,Shall feel ere long the lev’lling hand of taste,If that betastewhich darkens ev’ry field;Thy garden too shall likewise be displac’d,And no more “cabbage” to its master yield;But, in its stead, some new Vauxhall perchanceShall rise, renown’d for pantomime and dance!

Already,Highgate! to thy skirts they bearBricks, mortar, timber, in no small degree,And thy once pure, exhilarating airIs growing pregnant with impurity!The would-be merchant has his “country box”A few short measures from the dusty road,Where friends on Sunday talk about the stocksOr praise the beauties of his “neat abode:”One deems the wall-flow’r garden, in the front,Unrivall’d for each aromatic bed;Another fancies that his old sow’s grunt“Is so muchlikethe country,” and insteadOf living longer down in Crooked-lane,Resolves, at once, to “ruralize” again!

Islington.

J. G.

Shepherd’s Well, Hampstead.

The verdant lawns which rise above the rillAre not unworthy Virgil’s past’ral song.

On the west side of Hampstead, in the middle of one of the pleasant meadows called Shepherd’s fields, at the left-hand of the footpath going from Belsize-house towards the church,this arch, embedded above and around by the green turf, forms a conduit-head to a beautiful spring: the specific gravity of the fluid, which yields several tuns a day, is little more than that of distilled water. Hampstead abounds in other springs, but they are mostly impregnated with mineral substances. The water of “Shepherd’s well,” therefore, is in continual request, and those who cannot otherwise conveniently obtain it, are supplied through a few of the villagers, who make a scanty living by carrying it to houses for a penny a pail-full. There is no carriage-way to the spot, and these poor things have much hard work for a very little money.

I first knew this spring in my childhood, when domiciled with a relation, who then occupied Belsize-house, by being allowed to go with Jeff the under-gardener, whose duty it was to fetch water from the spring. As I accompaniedhim, so a tame magpie accompaniedme: Jeff slouched on with his pails and yoke, and my ardour to precede was restrained by fear of some ill happening to Mag if I did not look after the rogue. He was a wayward bird, the first to follow wherever I went, but always according to his own fashion; he never put forth his speed till he found himself a long way behind, so that Jeff always led the van, and Mag always brought upthe rear, making up for long lagging by long hopping. On one occasion, however, as soon as we got out of the side-door from the out-house yard into Belsize-lane, Mag bounded across the road, and over the wicket along the meadows, with quick and long hops, throwing “side-long looks behind,” as if deriding my inability to keep up with him, till he reached the well: there we both waited for Jeff, who for once was last, and, on whose arrival, the bird took his station on the crown of the arch, looking alternately down to the well and up at Jeff. It was a sultry day in a season of drought, and, to Jeff’s surprise, the water was not easily within reach; while he was making efforts with the bucket, Mag seemed deeply interested in the experiment, and flitted about with tiresome assiduity. In a moment Jeff rose in a rage, execrated poor Mag, and vowed cruel vengeance on him. On our way home the bird preceded, and Jeff, to my continual alarm in behalf of Mag, several times stopped, and threw stones at him with great violence. It was not till we were housed, that the man’s anger was sufficiently appeased to let him acquaint me with its cause: and then I learned that Mag was a “wicked bird,” who knew of the low water before he set out, and was delighted with the mischief. From that day, Jeff hated him, and tried to maim him: the creature’s sagacity in eluding his brutal intent, he imputed to diabolical knowledge; and, while my estimation of Jeff as a good-natured fellow was considerably shaken, I acquired a secret fear of poor Mag. This was my first acquaintance with the superstitious and dangerous feelings of ignorance.

The water of Shepherd’s well is remarkable for not being subject to freeze. There is another spring sometimes resorted to near Kilburn, but this and the ponds in the Vale of Health are the ordinary sources of public supply to Hampstead. The chief inconvenience of habitations in this delightful village is the inadequate distribution of good water. Occasional visitants, for the sake of health, frequently sustain considerable injury by the insalubrity of private springs, and charge upon the fluid they breathe the mischiefs they derive from the fluid they drink. The localities of the place afford almost every variety of aspect and temperature that invalids require: and a constant sufficiency of wholesome water might be easily obtained by a few simple arrangements.

March 19, 1827.

[From the “Fair Maid of the Exchange,” a Comedy, by Thomas Heywood, 1637.]

Cripple offers to fit Frank Golding with ready made Love Epistles.

Frank.Of thy own writing?Crip.My own, I assure you, Sir.Frank.Faith, thou hast robb’d some sonnet-book or other.And now would’st make me think they are thy own.Crip.Why, think’st thou that I cannot write a Letter,Ditty, or Sonnet, with judicial phrase,As pretty, pleasing, and pathetical,As the best Ovid-imitating dunceIn the whole town?Frank.I think thou can’st not.Crip.Yea, I’ll swear I cannot.Yet, Sirrah, I could coney-catch the world,Make myself famous for a sudden wit,And be admired for my dexterity,Were I disposed.Frank.I prithee, how?Crip.Why, thus. There lived a Poet in this town,(If we may term our modern writers Poets),Sharp-witted, bitter-tongued; his pen, of steel;His ink was temper’d with the biting juiceAnd extracts of the bitterest weeds that grew;He never wrote but when the elementsOf fire and water tilted in his brain.This fellow, ready to give up his ghostTo Lucia’s bosom, did bequeath to meHis Library, which was just nothingBut rolls, and scrolls, and bundles of cast wit,Such as durst never visit Paul’s Church Yard.Amongst ’em all I lighted on a quireOr two of paper, fill’d with Songs and Ditties,And here and there a hungry Epigram;These I reserve to my own proper use,And Pater-noster-like have conn’d them all.I could now, when I am in company,At ale-house, tavern, or an ordinary,Upon a theme make an extemporal ditty(Or one at least should seem extemporal),Out of the abundance of this Legacy,That all would judge it, and report it too,To be the infant of a sudden wit,And then were I an admirable fellow.Frank.This were a piece of cunning.Crip.I could do more; for I could make enquiry,Where the best-witted gallants use to dine,Follow them to the tavern, and there sitIn the next room with a calve’s head and brimstone,And over-hear their talk, observe their humours,Collect their jests, put them into a play,And tire them too with payment to beholdWhat I have filch’d from them. This I could doBut O for shame that man should so arraignTheir own fee-simple wits for verbal theft!Yet men there be that have done this and that,And more by much more than the most ofthem.[92]

After this Specimen of the pleasanter vein of Heywood, I am tempted to extract some lines from his “Hierarchie of Angels, 1634;” not strictly as a Dramatic Poem, but because the passage contains a string of names, all but that ofWatson, his contemporary Dramatists. He is complaining in a mood half serious, half comic, of the disrespect which Poets in his own times meet with from the world, compared with the honors paid them by Antiquity.Thenthey could afford them three or four sonorous names, and at full length; as to Ovid, the addition of Publius Naso Sulmensis; to Seneca, that of Lucius Annæas Cordubensis; and the like.Now, says he,

Our modern Poets to that pass are driven,Those names are curtail’d which they first had given;And, as we wish’d to have their memories drown’d,We scarcely can afford them half their sound.Greene, who had in both Academies ta’enDegree of Master, yet could never gainTo be call’d more than Robin: who, had heProfest ought save the Muse, served, and been freeAfter a sev’n years prenticeship, might have(With credit too) gone Robert to his grave.Marlowe, renown’d for his rare art and wit,Could ne’er attain beyond the name of Kit;Although his Hero and Leander didMerit addition rather. Famous KidWas call’d but Tom. Tom Watson; though he wroteAble to make Apollo’s self to doteUpon his Muse; for all that he could strive,Yet never could to his full name arrive.Tom Nash (in his time of no small esteem)Could not a second syllable redeem.Excellent Beaumont, in the foremost rankOf the rarest wits, was never more than Frank.MellifluousShakspeare, whose inchanting quillCommanded mirth or passion, was butWill;And famous Jonson, though his learned penBe dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben.Fletcher, and Webster, of that learned packNone of the meanest, neither was but Jack;Decker but Tom; nor May, nor Middleton;And he’s now but Jack Ford, that once were John.

Possibly our Poet was a little sore, that this contemptuous curtailment of their Baptismal Names was chiefly exercised upon his Poetical Brethren of theDrama. We hear nothing about Sam Daniel, or Ned Spenser, in his catalogue. The familiarity of common discourse might probably take the greater liberties with the Dramatic Poets, as conceiving of them as more upon a level with the Stage Actors. Or did their greater publicity, and popularity in consequence, fasten these diminutives upon them out of a feeling of love and kindness; as we say Harry the Fifth, rather than Henry, when we would express good will?—as himself says, in those reviving words put into his mouth by Shakspeare, where he would comfort and confirm his doubting brothers:

Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,But Harry Harry!

And doubtless Heywood had an indistinct conception of this truth, when (coming to his own name), with that beautifulretractingwhich is natural to one that, not Satirically given, has wandered a little out of his way into something recriminative, he goes on to say:

Nor speak I this, that any here exprestShould think themselves less worthy than the rest,Whose names have their full syllables and sound;Or that Frank, Kit, or Jack, are the least woundUnto their fame and merit. I for my part(Think others what they please) accept that heart,Which courts my love in most familiar phrase;And that it takes not from my pains or praise,If any one to me so bluntly come:I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom.

C. L.

[92]The full title of this Play is “The Fair Maid of the Exchange, with the humours of the Cripple of Fenchurch.” The above Satire against some Dramatic Plagiarists of the time, is put into the mouth of the Cripple, who is an excellent fellow, and the Hero of the Comedy. Of his humour this extract is a sufficient specimen; but he is described (albeit a tradesman, yet wealthy withal) with heroic qualities of mind and body; the latter of which he evinces by rescuing his Mistress (the Fair Maid) from three robbers by the main force of one crutch lustily applied; and the former by his foregoing the advantages which this action gained him in her good opinion, and bestowing his wit and finesse in procuring for her a husband, in the person of his friend Golding, more worthy of her beauty, than he could conceive his own maimed and halting limbs to be. It would require some boldness in a dramatist now-a-days to exhibit such a Character; and some luck in finding a sufficient Actor, who would be willing to personate the infirmities, together with the virtues, of the Noble Cripple.

Col. 357. Last line but two of the lastextract—

“Blushing forth golden hair and glorious red”—

a sun-bright linespoiled:—

BlushforBlushing.

Last line but two of the extract preceding the former, (the end of the old man’sspeech)—

“Restrained liberty attain’d is sweet,”

should have a full stop.

These little blemishes kill such delicate things: prose feeds on grosser punctualities.

Will the reader be pleased to make the above corrections with a pen, and allow the fact of illness in excuse for editorial mischance?

For the Table Book.

In the year 1797 was circulated thefollowing:—

Proposalsfor Publishing by Subscription, aHistory of Snuff and Tobacco, in two Volumes.

Vol. I. to contain a Description of the Nose—Size of Noses—A Digression on Roman Noses—Whether long Noses are symptomatic—Origin of Tobacco—Tobacco first manufactured into Snuff—Enquiry who took the first Pinch—Essay on Sneezing—Whether the ancients sneezed, and at what—Origin of Pocket-handkerchiefs—Discrimination between Snuffing and taking Snuff; the former applied only to Candles—Parliamentary Snufftakers—Troubles in the time of Charles the First, as connected with Smoking.

Vol. II. Snufftakers in the Parliamentary army—Wit at a Pinch—Oval Snuff-boxes first used by the Round-heads—Manufacture of Tobacco Pipes—Dissertation on Pipe Clay—State of Snuff during the Commonwealth—The Union—Scotch Snuff first introduced—found very pungent and penetrating—Accession of George the Second—Snuff-boxes then made of Gold and Silver—George the Third—Scotch Snuff first introduced at Court—The Queen—German Snuffs in fashion—Female Snufftakers—Clean Tuckers, &c. &c.—Index and List of Subscribers.

In connection with this subject I beg to mention an anecdote, related to me by an old Gentleman who well remembered thecircumstance:—

“When every Shopkeeper had a Sign hanging out before his door, a Dealer in Snuff and Tobacco on Fish Street Hill, carried on a large trade, especially in Tobacco, for his Shop was greatly frequented by Sailors from the Ships in the River. In the course of time, a Person of the name of Farr opened a Shop nearly opposite, and hung out his Sign inscribed ‘The best Tobaccoby Farr.’ This (like the Shoemaker’s inscription, ‘Adam Strong Shoemaker,’ so well known) attracted the attention of the Sailors, who left the old Shop to buy ‘the best Tobacco by far.’ The old Shopkeeper observing that his opponent obtained much custom by his Sign, had a new one put up at his Door inscribed ‘Far betterTobacco than the best Tobaccoby Farr.’ This had its effect; his trade returned, and finally his opponent was obliged to give up business.”

W. P.

THE SMOKER’S SONG.For the Table Book.For thy sake, Tobacco, IWould do any thing but die!Charles Lamb.1.There is a tiny weed, man,That grows far o’er the sea man;The juice of which does more bewitchThan does the gossip’s tea, man.2.Its name is call’d tobacco,’Tis used near and far man;The car-man chews—but I will chooseThe daintier cigar, man.3.’Tis dainty ev’n in shape, man—So round, so smooth, so long, man!If you’re a churl, ’twill from you hurlYour spleen—you’ll sing a song, man!4.If you will once permit itTo touch your swelling lip, man,You soon shall see ’twill sweeter beThan what the bee doth sip, man!5.If e’er you are in trouble,This will your trouble still, man,On sea and land ’tis at command,An idle hour to kill, man!6.And if the blind god, Cupid,Should strike you to the heart, man,Take up a glass, and toast your lass—And—ne’er from smoking part, man!7.And also if you’re married,In Hymen’s chains fast bound, man;To plague your wife out of her life,Smoke still the whole year round, man!8.How sweet ’tis of an eveningWhen wint’ry winds do blow, man,As ’twere in spite, to take a pipe,And smoke by th’ fire’s glow, man!9.The sailor in his ship, man,When wildly rolls the wave, man,His pipe will smoke, and crack his jokeAbove his yawning grave, man!10.The soldier, in the tavern,Talks of the battle’s roar, man;With pipe in hand, he gives command,And thus he lives twice o’er man!11.All classes in this world, man,Have each their own enjoyment,But with a pipe, they’re all alike—’Tis every one’s employment!12.Of all the various pleasuresThat on this earth there are, man,There’s nought to me affords such gleeAs a pipe or sweet cigar, man!O. N. Y.

For the Table Book.

For thy sake, Tobacco, IWould do any thing but die!

Charles Lamb.

There is a tiny weed, man,That grows far o’er the sea man;The juice of which does more bewitchThan does the gossip’s tea, man.

Its name is call’d tobacco,’Tis used near and far man;The car-man chews—but I will chooseThe daintier cigar, man.

’Tis dainty ev’n in shape, man—So round, so smooth, so long, man!If you’re a churl, ’twill from you hurlYour spleen—you’ll sing a song, man!

If you will once permit itTo touch your swelling lip, man,You soon shall see ’twill sweeter beThan what the bee doth sip, man!

If e’er you are in trouble,This will your trouble still, man,On sea and land ’tis at command,An idle hour to kill, man!

And if the blind god, Cupid,Should strike you to the heart, man,Take up a glass, and toast your lass—And—ne’er from smoking part, man!

And also if you’re married,In Hymen’s chains fast bound, man;To plague your wife out of her life,Smoke still the whole year round, man!

How sweet ’tis of an eveningWhen wint’ry winds do blow, man,As ’twere in spite, to take a pipe,And smoke by th’ fire’s glow, man!

The sailor in his ship, man,When wildly rolls the wave, man,His pipe will smoke, and crack his jokeAbove his yawning grave, man!

10.

The soldier, in the tavern,Talks of the battle’s roar, man;With pipe in hand, he gives command,And thus he lives twice o’er man!

11.

All classes in this world, man,Have each their own enjoyment,But with a pipe, they’re all alike—’Tis every one’s employment!

12.

Of all the various pleasuresThat on this earth there are, man,There’s nought to me affords such gleeAs a pipe or sweet cigar, man!

O. N. Y.

There were very few free-schools in England before the Reformation. Youth were generally taught Latin in the monasteries, and young women had their education not at Hackney, as now, scilicit, anno 1678, but at nunneries, where they learnt needle-work, confectionary, surgery, physic, (apothecaries and surgeons being at that time very rare,) writing, drawing, &c. Old Jackquar, now living, has often seen from his house the nuns of St. Mary Kingston, in Wilts, coming forth into the Nymph Hay with their rocks and wheels to spin, sometimes to the number of threescore and ten, all whom were not nuns, but young girls sent there for their education.

Anciently, before the Reformation, ordinary men’s houses, as copyholders, and the like, had no chimneys, but flues like louver-holes; some of them were in being when I was a boy.

In the halls and parlours of great houses were wrote texts of Scripture on the painted cloths.

The lawyers say, that, before the time of king Henry VIII., one shall hardly find an action on the case as for slander, &c. once in a year, quod nota.

Before the last civil wars, in gentlemen’s houses at Christmas, the first dish that was brought to the table was a boar’s head with a lemon in his mouth. At Queen’s College in Oxford they still retain this custom; the bearer of it brings it into the hall, singing to an old tune an old Latin rhyme, “Caput apri defero,” &c. The first dish that was brought up to the table on Easter-day was a red herring riding away on horseback, i. e. a herring ordered by the cook something after the likeness of a man on horseback, set in a corn salad.

The custom of eating a gammon of bacon at Easter, which is still kept up in many parts of England, was founded on this, viz. to show their abhorrence to Judaism at that solemn commemoration of our Lord’s resurrection. In the Easter holydays was the clerk’s ale for his private benefit, and the solace of the neighbourhood.

The use of “Your humble servant” came first into England on the marriage of queen Mary, daughter of Henry IV. of France, which is derived fromVotre très humble serviteur. The usual salutation before that time was, “God keep you!” “God be with you!” and among the vulgar, “How dost do?” with a thump on the shoulder.

Till this time the court itself was unpolished and unmannered. King James’s court was so far from being civil to women, that the ladies, nay the queen herself, could hardly pass by the king’s apartment without receiving some affront.

At the parish priests’ houses in France, especially in Languedoc, the table-cloth is on the board all day long, and ready for what is in the house to be put thereon for strangers, travellers, friars, and pilgrims; so ’twas, I have heard my grandfather say, in his grandfather’s time.

Heretofore noblemen and gentlemen of fair estates had their heralds, who wore their coat of arms at Christmas, and at other solemn times, and cried “Largesse” thrice.

At Tomarton, in Gloucestershire, anciently the seat of the Rivers, is a dungeon thirteen or fourteen feet deep; about four feet high are iron rings fastened to the wall, which was probably to tie offending villains to, as all lords of manors had this power over their villains, (or soccage tenants,) and had all of them no doubt such places for their punishment. It is well known, all castles had dungeons, and so I believe had monasteries, for they had often within themselves power of life and death.

In days of yore, lords and gentlemen lived in the country like petty kings; had jura regalia belonging to their seigniories, had their castles and boroughs, had gallows within their liberties, where they could try, condemn, and execute. Never went to London but in parliament-time, or once a year to do their homage to the king. They always ate in gothic halls, at the high table ororeille, (which is a little room at the upper end of the hall, where stands a table,) with the folks at the side-tables. The meat was served up by watchwords. Jacks are but of late invention. The poor boys did turn the spits, and licked the dripping for their pains. The beds of the men-servants and retainers were in the hall, as now in the grand or privy chamber.

Here in the hall, the mumming and the loaf-stealing, and other Christmas sports, were performed.

The hearth was commonly in the middle, whence the saying, “Round about our coal-fire.”

A neat-built chapel, and a spacious hall, were all the rooms of note, the rest more small.

Every baron and gentleman of estate kept great horses for men at arms. Some had their armories sufficient to furnish out some hundreds of men.

The halls of the justices of peace were dreadful to behold; the screen was garnished with corselets and helmets gaping with open mouths, with coats of mail, lances, pikes, halberds, brown bills, batterdastors, and buckles.

Public inns were rare. Travellers were entertained at religious houses for three days together, if occasion served.

The meeting of the gentry were not at taverns, but in the fields or forests, with hawks and hounds, and their bugle-horns, in silken bawderies.

In the last age every gentleman-like man kept a sparrow-hawk, and the priest a hobby, as dame Julian Berners teaches us, (who wrote a treatise on field-sports, temp. Henry VI.:) it was a divertisement for young gentlewomen to manne sparrow-hawks and merlines.

Before the Reformation there were no poor’s rates; the charitable doles given at religious houses, and church-ale in every parish, did the business. In every parish there was a church-house, to which belonged spits, pots, crocks, &c. for dressing provision. Here the housekeepers met and were merry, and gave their charity. The young people came there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. Mr. A. Wood assures me, there were few or no alms-houses before the time of king Henry VIII.; that at Oxford, opposite to Christ church, is one of the most ancient in England. In every church was a poor man’s box, and the like at great inns.

In these times, besides the jollities above-mentioned, they had their pilgrimages to several shrines, as to Walsingham, Canterbury, Glastonbury, Bromholm, &c. Then the crusades to the holy wars were magnificent and splendid, and gave rise to the adventures of the knight-errant and romances; the solemnity attending processions in and about churches, and the perambulations in the fields, were great diversions also of those times.

Glass windows, except in churches and gentlemen’s houses, were rare before the time of Henry VIII. In my own remembrance, before the civil wars, copyholders and poor people had none.

About ninety years ago, noblemen’s and gentlemen’s coats were of the bedels and yeomen of the guards, i. e. gathered at the middle. The benchers in the inns of court yet retain that fashion in the make of their gowns.

Captain Silas Taylor says, that in days of yore, when a church was to be built, theywatched and prayed on the vigil of the dedication, and took that point of the horizon where the sun arose for the east, which makes that variation, so that few stand true, except those built between the two equinoxes. I have experimented some churches, and have found the line to point to that part of the horizon where the sun rises on the day of that saint to whom the church was dedicated.

Before the wake, or feast of the dedication of the church, they sat up all night fasting and praying, (viz.) on the eve of the wake.

In Scotland, especially among the Highlanders, the women make a courtesy to the new moon; and our English women in this country have a touch of this, some of them sitting astride on a gate or style the first evening the new moon appears, and say, “A fine moon, God bless her!” The like I observed in Herefordshire.

The Britons received the knowledge of husbandry from the Romans; the foot and the acre, which we yet use, is the nearest to them. In our west country, (and I believe so in the north,) they give no wages to the shepherd, but he has the keeping so many sheep with his master’s flock. Plautus hints at this in his Asinaria, act 3, scene 1, “etiam Opilio,” &c.

The Normans brought with them into England civility and building, which, though it was gothic, was yet magnificent.

Mr. Dugdale told me, that, about the time of king Henry III., the pope gave a bull, or patent, to a company of Italian architects, to travel up and down Europe to build churches.

Upon occasion of bustling in those days, great lords sounded their trumpets, and summoned those that held under them. Old sir Walter Long, of Draycot, kept a trumpeter, rode with thirty servants and retainers. Hence the sheriffs’ trumpets at this day.

No younger brothers were to betake themselves to trades, but were churchmen or retainers to great men.

From the time of Erasmus till about twenty years last past, the learning was downright pedantry. The conversation and habits of those times were as starched as their bands and square beards, and gravity was then taken for wisdom. The doctors in those days were but old boys, when quibbles passed for wit, even in their sermons.

The gentry and citizens had little learning of any kind, and their way of breeding up their children was suitable to the rest. They were as severe to their children as their schoolmasters, and their schoolmasters as masters of the house of correction: the child perfectly loathed the sight of his parents as the slave his torture.

Gentlemen of thirty and forty years old were to stand like mutes and fools bare-headed before their parents; and the daughters (grown women) were to stand at the cupboard-side during the whole time of her proud mother’s visit, unless (as the fashion was) leave was desired forsooth that a cushion should be given them to kneel upon, brought them by the servingman, after they had done sufficient penance in standing.

The boys (I mean the young fellow) had their foreheads turned up and stiffened with spittle: they were to stand mannerly forsooth thus, the foretop ordered as before, with one hand at the bandstring, and the other behind.

The gentlewomen had prodigious fans, as is to be seen in old pictures, like that instrument which is used to drive feathers, and it had a handle at least half a yard long; with these the daughters were oftentimes corrected, (sir Edward Coke, lord chief justice, rode the circuit with such a fan; sir William Dugdale told me he was an eye-witness of it. The earl of Manchester also used such a fan,) but fathers and mothers slashed their daughters in the time of their besom discipline, when they were perfect women.

At Oxford (and I believe at Cambridge) the rod was frequently used by the tutors and deans; and Dr. Potter, of Trinity college, I knew right well, whipped his pupil with his sword by his side, when he came to take his leave of him to go to the inns of court.

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