Then came October, full of merry glee,
    For yet his noule was totty of the must,
    Which he was treading, in the wine-fat's see,
    And of the joyous oyle, whose gentle gust
    Made him so frollick, and so full of lust:
    Upon a dreadfull scorpion he did ride,
    The same which by Dianae's doom unjust
    Slew great Orion; and eeke by his side
He had his ploughing-share, and coulter ready tyde.


This is the tenth month of the year. From our Saxon ancestors, "October had the name of Wyn-monat," wyn signifying wine; "and albeit they had not anciently wines made in Germany, yet in this season had they them from divers countries adjoining."* [Verstegan.] They also called it Winter-fulleth.† [Dr. F. Sayer.]

In noticing the stanza, beneath the above engraving by Mr. Williams from his own design, Mr. Leigh Hunt says, that "Spenser, in marching his months before great nature, drew his descriptions of them from the world and its customs in general; but turn his October wine-vats into cider-presses and brewing-tubs, and it will do as well." He continues to observe, that "This month on account of its steady temperature, is chosen for the brewing of such malt liquor as is designed for keeping. The farmer continues to sow his corn, and the gardener plants forest and fruit trees. Many of our readers, though fond of gardens, will learn perhaps for the first time that trees are cheaper things than flowers; and that at the expense of not many shillings, they may plant a little shrubbery, or make a rural skreen for their parlour or study windows, of woodbine, guelder-roses, bays, arbutus, ivy, virgin's bower, or even the poplar, horse-chestnut, birch, sycamore, and plane-tree, of which the Greeks were so fond. A few roses also, planted in the earth, to flower about his walls or windows in monthly succession, are nothing in point of dearness to roses or other flowers purchased in pots. Some of the latter are nevertheless cheap and long-lived, and may be returned to the nursery-man at a small expense, to keep till they flower again. But if the lover of nature has to choose between flowers or flowering shrubs and trees, the latter, in our opinion, are much preferable, inasmuch as while they include the former, they can give a more retired and verdant feeling to a place, and call to mind, even in their very nestling and closeness, something of the whispering and quiet amplitude of nature.

"Fruits continue in abundance during this month, as everybody knows from the shop-keeper; for our grosser senses are well informed, if our others are not. We have yet to discover that imaginative pleasures are as real and touching as they, and give them their deepest relish. The additional flowers in October are almost confined to the anemone and scabious; and the flowering-trees and shrubs to the evergreen cytisus. But the hedges (and here let us observe, that the fields and other walks that are free to every one are sure to supply us with pleasure, when every other place fails.) are now sparkling with their abundant berries,—the wild rose with the hip, the hawthorn with the haw, the blackthorn with the sloe, the bramble with the blackberry; and the briony, privet, honeysuckle, elder, holly, and woody nightshade, with their other winter feasts for the birds. The wine obtained from the elder-berry makes a very pleasant and wholesome drink, when heated over a fire; but the humbler sloe, which the peasants eat, gets the start of him in reputation, by changing its name to port, of which wine it certainly makes a considerable ingredient. A gentleman, who lately figured in the beau-monde, and carried coxcombry to a pitch of the ingenious, was not aware how much truth he was uttering in his pleasant and disavowing definition of port wine: 'A strong intoxicating liquor much drank by the lower orders.'

"Swallows are generally seen for the last time this month, the house-martin the latest. The red-wing, field-fare, snipe, Royston crow, and wood-pigeon, return from more northern parts. The rooks return to the roost trees, and the tortoise begins to bury himself for the winter. The mornings and afternoons increase in mistiness, though the middle of the day is often very fine; and no weather when it is unclouded, is apt to give a clearer and manlier sensation than that of October. One of the most curious natural appearances is the gossamer, which is an infinite multitude of little threads shot out by minute spiders, who are thus wafted by the wind from place to place.

"The chief business of October, in the great economy of nature, is dissemination, which is performed among other means by the high winds which now return. Art imitates her as usual, and sows and plants also. We have already mentioned the gardener. This is the time for the domestic cultivator of flowers to finish planting as well, especially the bulbs that are intended to flower early in spring. And as the chief business of nature this month is dissemination or vegetable birth, so its chief beauty arises from vegetable death itself. We need not tell our readers we allude to the changing leaves with all their lights and shades of green, amber, red, light red, light and dark green, white, brown, russet, and yellow of all sorts."

The orient is lighted with crimson glow,
    The night and its dreams are fled,
And the glorious roll of nature now
    Is in all its brightness spread.
The autumn has tinged the trees with gold,
    And crimson'd the shrubs of the hills:
And the full seed sleeps in earth's bosom cold;
    And hope all the universe fills.


October 1.

St. Remigius, A. D. 533. St. Bavo, Patron of Ghent, A. D. 653. St. Piat, A. D. 286. St. Wasnulf, or Wasnon, A. D. 651. St. Fidharleus, Abbot in Ireland, A. D. 762. Festival of the Rosary.


This is another saint in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. He was bishop or archbishop of Rheims, and the instructor of Clovis, the first king of the Franks who professed christianity; Remigius baptized him by trine immersion. The accession of Clovis to the church, is deemed to have been the origin of the "most christian king," and the "eldest son of the church," which the kings of France are stiled in the present times.

Salters' Company.

The beadles and Servants of the worshipful company of salters are to attend divine service at St. Magnus church, London-bridge, pursuant to the will of sir John Salter, who died in the year 1605; who was a good benefactor to the said company, and ordered that the beadles and servants should go to the said church the first week in October, three times each person, and say, "How do you do brother Salter? I hope you are well!"* [Annual Register, 1769.]

Lowly Amaryllis. Amaryllis humilis.
Dedicated to St. Remigius.

October 2.

Feast of the Holy Angel-Guardians. St. Thomas, Bp. of Hereford, A. D. 1282. St. Leodegarius, or Leger, A. D. 678.


The festival of "the Holy Angel-Guardians" as they are called by Butler, is this day kept by his church. He says that, "according to St. Thomas," when the angels were created, the lowest among them were enlightened by those that were supreme in the orders. It is not to be gathered from him how many orders there were; but Holme says, that "after the fall of Lucifer the bright star and his company, there remained still in heaven more angels then [sic] ever there was, is, and shall be, men born in the earth." He adds, that they are "ranked into nine orders or chorus, called the nine quoires of holy angels;" and he ranks them thus:—

1. The order of seraphims.
2. The order of cherubims.
3. The order of archangels.
4. The order of angels.
5. The order of thrones.
6. The order of principalities[.]
7. The order of powers.
8. The order of dominions.
9. The order of virtues.

Some authors put them in this sequence: 1. seraphims; 2. cherubims; 3. thrones; 4. dominions; 5. virtues; 6. powers; 7. principalities; 8. archangels; 9. angels. Holme adds, that "God never erected any order, rule, or government, but the devil did and will imitate him; for where God hath his church, the devil will have his synagogue." The latter part of this affirmation is versified by honest Daniel De Foe. He begins his "True-born Englishman" with it:—

Wherever God erects a house of prayer
The devil's sure to have a chapel there.

Angel, in its primitive sense, denotes a messenger, and frequently signifies men, when, from the common notion of the term, it is conceived to denote ministering spirits. Angels, as celestial intelligences, have been the objects of over curious inquiry, and of worship. Paul prohibits this: "Let no man," he says, "beguile you of your reward, in a voluntary humility, and the worshipping of angels, intruding into those things which he hath not seen."* [Colossians ii. 17.] An erudite and sincere writer remarks, that "The worship, which so many christians pay to angels and saints, and images and relics, is really a false worship, hardly distinguishable from idolatry. When it is said, in excuse, that 'they worship these only as mediators,' that alters the case very little; since to apply to a false mediator is as much a departure from Jesus Christ, our only advocate, as to worship a fictitious deity is withdrawing our faith and allegiance from the true God."† [Jortin.]

Amid the multiplicity of representations by Roman catholic writers concerning angels, are these by Father Lewis Henriques, "That the streets of Paradise are adorned with tapestry, and all the histories of the world are engraven on the walls by excellent sculptors; that the angels have no particular houses, but go from one quarter to another for diversity; that they put on women's habits, and appear to the saints in the dress of ladies, with curles and locks, with waistcoats and fardingales, and the richest linens."

This occupation of the angels agrees with the occupations that Henriques assigns to the saints; who, according to him, are to enjoy, with other pleasures, the recreation of bathing: "There shall be pleasant bathes for that purpose; they shall swim like fishes, and sing as melodious as nightingales; the men and women shall delight themselves with muscarades, feasts and ballads; women shall sing more pleasantly than men, that the delight may be greater; and women shall rise again with very long hair, and shall appear with ribands and laces as they do upon earth." Father Henriques was a Jesuit, and communicates this information in a book entitled, "The Business of the Saints in Heaven," published by the written authority of Father Prado, the Provincial of the order of Jesuits at Castille, dated at Salamanca, April 28th, 1631.* [Moral Practice of the Jesuits. Lond. 12mo. 1670.]

Hannah Want.

"For Age and Want save while you may;
No morning sun lasts a whole day."

The Times and other journals report the "obit" of this female. "On the 2nd of October, 1825, died Mrs. Hannah Want, at Ditchingham, Norfolk, in the 106th year of her age. She was born on the 20th of August, 1720, and throughout this long life enjoyed a state of uninterrupted health; and retained her memory and perception to the end with a clearness truly astonishing. Till the day previous to her decease she was not confined to her bed; and on the 105th anniversary of her birth, entertained a party of her relatives who visited her to celebrate the day: she lived to see a numerous progeny to the fifth generation, and at her death there are now living children, grand-children, great-grand-children, and great-great-grand-children to the number of one hundred and twenty-one."

An intelligent correspondent writes: "As it is not an 'every-day;' occurrence for people to live so long, perhaps you may be pleased to immortalize Hannah Want, by giving her a leaf of your Every-Day Book." That the old lady may live as long after her death as this work shall be her survivor the Editor can promise, "with remainder over" to his survivors.

Hannah Want, in common with all long-livers, was an early riser. The following particulars are derived from a correspondent. She was seldom out of bed after nine at night, and even in winter; and towards the last of her life, was seldom in it after six in the morning. Her sleep was uniformly sound and tranquil; her eye-sight till within the last three years was clear; her appetite, till two days before her death, good; her memory excellent; she could recollect and discourse on whatever she knew during the last century. Her diet was plain common food, meat and poultry, pudding and dumpling, bread and vegetables in moderate quantities; she drank temperately, very temperately, of good, very good, mild home-brewed beer. During the last twenty years she had not taken tea, though to that period she had been accustomed to it. She never had the small pox, and never had been ill. Her first seventy-five years were passed at Bungay in Suffolk, her last thirty at the adjoining village of Ditchingham in Norfolk. She was the daughter of a farmer named Knighting. Her husband, John Want, a maltster, died on Christmas-day, 1802, at the age of eighty-five, leaving Hannah ill provided for, with an affectionate and dutiful daughter, who was better than house and land; for she cherished her surviving parent when "age and want, that ill-matched pair, make countless thousands mourn."

Hannah Want was of a serious and sedate turn; not very talkative, yet cheerfully joining in conversation. She was a plain, frugal, careful wife and mother; less inclined to insist on rights, than to perform duties; these she executed in all respects, "and all without hurry or care." Her stream of life was a gentle flow of equanimity, unruffled by storm or accident, till it was exhausted. She was never put out of her way but once, and that was when the house wherein she lived at Bungay was burned down, and none of the furniture saved, save one featherbed.

In answer to a series of questions from the Editor, respecting this aged and respectable female, addressed to another correspondent, he says, "What a work you make about an old woman! 'I'll answer none of your silly questions; ax Briant!' as a neighbouring magistrate said to sir Edmund Bacon, who was examining him in a court of justice. The old woman was well enough. There is nothing more to be learned about her, than how long a body may crawl upon the earth, and think nothing worth thinking—as if 'thinking was but an idle waste of thought;' and how long a person to whom 'naught is every thing, and every thing is nothing', did nothing worth doing. I suppose that the noted H. W. knew as much of life in 105 hours, as Hannah Want did in 105 years. All I know or can learn about her is nothing, and if you can make any thing of it you may. Some of our free-knowledgists, 'with a pale cast of thought' have taken a cast of her head, and discovered that her organ of self-destructiveness was harmonized by the organ of long-livitiveness." This latter correspondent is too hard upon Hannah; but he encloses information on another subject that may be useful hereafter, and therefore what he amusingly says respecting her, is at the service of those readers who are qualified to make something of nothing.

A portrait of Hannah Want, in 1824, when she was in her 104th year, taken by Mr. Robert Childs, "an ingenious gentleman" of Bungay, and etched by him, furnishes the present engraving of her.


Friars' Minors Soapwort. Saponaria Officinalis.
Dedicated to the Guardian Angels.

October 3.

St. Dionysius the Areopagite, A. D. 51. St. Gerard, Abbot, A. D. 959. The two Ewalds, A. D. 690.


Written at Chatsworth with a Pencil in October.


  I always lov'd thee, and thy yellow garb,
  October dear!—and I have hailed thy reign,
  On many a lovely, many a distant plain,
  But here, thou claim'st my warmest best regard.
  Not e'en the noble banks of silver Seine

Can rival Derwent's—where proud Chatsworth's tow'rs
Reflect Sol's setting rays—as now yon chain
Of gold-tipp'd mountains crown her lawns and bowers.
  Here, countless beauties catch the ravish'd view,
    Majestic scenes, all silent as the tomb;
    Save where the murmuring of Derwent's wave,
  To tenderest feelings the rapt soul subdue,
      While shadowy forms seem gliding through the gloom
    To visit those again they lov'd this side the grave.



Downy Helenium. Helenium pubeccens.
Dedicated to St. Dionysius.

October 4.

St. Francis of Assisium, A. D. 1226. Sts. Marcus, Marcian, &c. St. Petronius, Bp. A. D. 430. St. Ammon, Hermit, A. D. 308. St. Aurea, Abbess, A. D. 666. St. Edwin, King, A. D. 633. The Martyrs of Triers.


Before the close of the sessions of parliament in 1825 an act passed for the removal of the toll-gate at Hyde-park-corner, with a view to the free passage of horsemen and carriages between London and Pimlico. So great an accommodation to the inhabitants of that suburb, manifests a disposition to relieve other growing neighbourhoods of the metropolis from these vexatious imposts. On the present occasion a gentleman, evidently an artist, presented the Editor with a drawing Hyde-park-corner gate on the day when it was sold; it is engraved opposite. This liberal communication was accompanied by the subjoined letter:—

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

I have taken the liberty of enclosing you a representation of a scene which took place at Hyde-park-corner last Tuesday, October 4th, being no less than the public sale of the toll-house, and all the materials enumerated in the accompanying catalogue. If you were not present, the drawing I have sent may interest you as a view of the old toll-house and the last scene of its eventful history. You are at liberty to make what use of it you please. The sale commenced at one o'clock, the auctioneer stood under the arch before the door of the house one the north side of Piccadilly. Several carriage folks and equestrians, unconscious of the removal of the toll, stopped to pay, whilst the drivers of others passed through knowingly, with a look of satisfaction at their liberation from the accustomed restriction at that place. The poor dismantled house without a turnpike man, seemed "almost afraid to know itself"—"Othello's occupation was gone." By this time, if the conditions of the auction have been attended to, not a vestige is left on the spot. I have thought this event would interest a mind like yours, which permits not any change in the history of improvement, or of places full of old associations, to take place without record.

I remain, sir,
Yours, &c.

Sale of Hyde-Park-Corner Toll-gate.

Sale of Hyde-Park-Corner Toll-gate.

"The last time! a going! gone."


"Down! down! derry down!"


The sale by auction of the "toll-houses" on the north and south side of the road, with the "weighing machine," and lamp-posts at Hyde-park-corner, was effected by Mr. Abbott, the estate agent and appraiser, by order of the trustees of the roads. They were sold for building materials; the north toll-house was in five lots, the south in five other lots; the gates, rails posts, and inscription boards were in five more lots; and the engine-house was also in five lots. At the same time, the weighing machine and toll-houses at Jenny's Whim bridge were sold in seven lots; and the toll-house near the bun-house at Chelsea, with lamp posts on the road, were likewise sold in seven lots. The whole are entirely cleared away, to the relief of thousands of persons resident in these neighbourhoods. It is too much to expect every thing vexatious to disappear at once; this is a very good beginning, and if there be truth in the old saying, we may expect "a good ending."


Southernwood. Artemesia Aproxanum.
Dedicated to St. Francis Assissium.

October 5.

St. Placidus, &c. A. D. 546. St. Galla, 6th Cent.


The cantering of TIM TIMS* [Ante, p. 1308] startles him who told of his "youthful days," at the school wherein poor "Starkey" cyphered part of his little life. C. L. "getting well, but weak" from painful and severe indisposition, is "off and away" for a short discursion. Better health to him, and good be to him all his life. Here he is.


No. 2.

(For Hone's Every-Day Book.)

Mr. Collier, in his "Poetical Decameron" (Third Conversation) notices a Tract, printed in 1595, with the author's initials only, A. B., entitled "the Noblenesse of the Asse: a work rare, learned, and excellent." He has selected the following pretty passage from it. "He (the Ass) refuseth no burthen, he goes whither he is sent without any contradiction. He lifts not his foote against any one; he is no fugitive, nor malicious affected. He doth all things in good sort, and to his liking that hath cause to employ him. If strokes be given him, he cares not for them; and, as our modern poet singeth,

"Thou wouldst (perhaps) he should become thy foe,
And to that end dost beat him many times;
He cares not for himselfe, much lesse thy blow."* [Who this modern poet was, says Mr. C., is a secret worth discovering.—The wood-cut on the title of the Pamphlet is—an Ass with a wreath of laurel round his neck.]

Certainly Nature, foreseeing the cruel usage which this useful servant to man should receive at man's hand, did prudently in furnishing him with a tegument impervious to ordinary stripes. The malice of a child, or a weak hand, can make feeble impressions on him. His back offers no mark to a puny foeman. To a common whip or switch his hide presents an absolute insensibility. You might as well pretend to scourge a school-boy with a tough pair of leather breeches on. His jerkin is well fortified. And therefore the Costermongers "between the years 1790 and 1800" did more politicly than piously in lifting up a part of his upper garment. I well remember that beastly and bloody custom. I have often longed to see one of those refiners in discipline himself at the cart's tail, with just such a convenient spot laid bare to the tender mercies of the whipster. But since Nature has resumed her rights, it is to be hoped, that this patient creature does not suffer to extremities; and that to the savages who still belabour his poor carcase with their blows (considering the sort of anvil they are laid upon) he might in some sort, if he could speak, exclaim with the philosopher, "Lay on: you beat but upon the case of Anaxarchus."

Contemplating this natural safeguard, this fortified exterior, it is with pain I view the sleek, foppish, combed and curried, person of this animal, as he is transmuted and disnaturalized, at Watering Places, &c. where they affect to make a palfrey of him. Fie on all such sophistications! — It will never do, Master Groom. Something of his honest shaggy exterior will still peep up in spite of you—his good, rough, native, pine-apple coating. You cannot "refine a scorpion into a fish, though you rince it and scour it with ever so cleanly cookery."* [Milton: from memory.]

The modern poet, quoted by A. B., proceeds to celebrate a virtue, for which no one to this day had been aware that the Ass was remarkable.

One other gift this beast hath as his owne,
Wherewith the rest could not be furnished;
On man himselfe the same was not bestowne,
To wit—on him is ne'er engendered
The hatefull vermine that doth teare the skin
And to the bode [body] doth make his passage in.

And truly when one thinks on the suit of impenetrable armour with which Nature (like Vulcan to another Achilles) has provided him, these subtle enemies to our repose, would have shown some dexterity in getting into his quarters. As the bogs of Ireland by tradition expel toads and reptiles, he may well defy these small deer in his fastnesses. It seems the latter had not arrived at the exquisite policy adopted by the human vermin "between 1790 and 1800."

But the most singular and delightful gift of the Ass, according to the writer of this pamphlet, is his voice; the "goodly sweet, and continual brayings" of which, "whereof they forme a melodious and proportionable kinde of musicke," seem to have affected him with no ordinary pleasure. "Nor thinke I," he adds, "that any of our immoderne musitians can deny, but that their song is full of exceeding pleasure to be heard; because therein is to be discerned both concord, discord, singing in the meane, the beginning to sing in large compasse, then following on to rise and fall, the halfe note, whole note, musicke of five voices, firme singing by four voices, three together or one voice and a halfe. Then their variable contrarieties amongst them, when one delivers forth a long tenor, or a short, the pausing for time, breathing in measure, breaking the minim or very least moment of time. Last of all to heare the musicke of five or six voices chaunged to so many of Asses, is amongst them to heare a song of world without end."

There is no accounting for ears; or for that laudable enthusiasm with which an Author is tempted to invest a favourite subject with the most incompatible perfections. I should otherwise, for my own taste, have been inclined rather to have given a place to these extraordinary musicians at that banquet of nothing-less-than-sweet sounds, imagined by old Jeremy Collier (Essays, 1698; Part. 2.—On Music.) where, after describing the inspirating effects of martial music in a battle, he hazards an ingenious conjecture, whether a sort of Anti-music might not be invented, which should have quite the contrary effect of "sinking the spirits, shaking the nerves, curdling the blood, and inspiring despair, and cowardice and consternation." "'Tis probable" he says, "the roaring of lions, the warbling of cats and screech-owls, together with a mixture of the howling of dogs, judiciously imitated and compounded, might go a great way in this invention." The dose, we confess, is pretty potent, and skilfully enough prepared. But what shall we say to the Ass of Silenus (quoted by TIMS), who, if we may trust to classic lore, by his own proper sounds, without thanks to cat or screech-owl, dismaid and put to rout a whole army of giants? Here was Anti-music with a vengeance; a whole Pan-Dis-Harmonicon in a single lungs of leather!

But I keep you trifling too long on this Asinine subject. I have already past the Pons Asinorum, and will desist, remembering the old pedantic pun of Jem Boyer, my schoolmaster:—

Ass in præsenti seldom makes a WISE MAN in futuro.

C. L.


Starlike Camomile. Boltonia Asteroides.
Dedicated to St. Placidus.

October 6.

St. Bruno, Founder of the Carthusian Monks, A. D. 1101. St. Faith or Fides, and others.


This name in the church of England calendar and almanacs belongs to a saint of the Romish church.

According to Butler, St. Faith was a female of Aquitain, put to death under Dacian. He says she was titular saint of several churches in France, particularly that of Longueville in Normandy, which was enriched by Walter Giffard, earl of Buckingham. He also says she was "patroness of the priory of Horsam, in the county of Norfolk;" that "the subterraneous chapel of St. Faith, built under St. Paul's in London, was also very famous;" and that "an arm of the saint was formerly kept at Glastenbury." Nevertheless, Mr. Audley thinks, that as the ancient Romans deified Faith according to the heathen mythology, and as christian Rome celebrates on August 1st the passion of the holy virgins, Faith, Hope, and Charity, it is highly probable these virtues have been mistaken for persons; and, admitting this, Dr. M. Geddes smartly says, "they may be truly said to have suffered, and still to suffer martyrdom at Rome." Mr. Audley adds, "There is indeed the church of St. Faith at London; but as our calendar is mostly copied from the Romish one, that will account for the introduction of the good virgin amongst us."* [Comp. to Almanac.]


This saint was an anchoret and the founder of the Carthusian monks. He is stiled by writers of his own age "master of the Chartreuse;" from his order comes our Charter-house at London.

A prelate of the same name is renowned in story, and his last adventures are related in verse.


"Bruno, the bishop of Herbipolitanum, sailing in the river of Danubius, with Henry the Third, then emperour [sic], being not far from a place which the Germanes call Ben Strudel, or the devouring gulfe, which is neere unto Grinon, a castle in Austria, a spirit was heard clamouring aloud, 'Ho! ho! bishop Bruno, whither art thou travelling? but dispose of thyself how thou pleasest, thou shalt be my prey and spoile.' At the hearing of these words they were all stupified, and the bishop with the rest crost and blest themselves. The issue was, that within a short time after, the bishop feasting with the emperor in a castle belonging to the countesse of Esburch, a rafter fell from the roof of the chamber wherein they sate, and strooke him dead at the table."

Heywood's Hierarchie of the blessed Angels.

Bishop Bruno awoke in the dead midnight,
And he heard his heart beat loud with affright:
He dreamt he had rung the palace bell,
And the sound it gave was his passing knell.

Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain
He turned to sleep and he dreamt again
He rung at the palace gate once more,
And Death was the porter that opened the door.

He started up at the fearul dream,
And he heard at his window the screech owl scream!
Bishop Bruno slept no more that night;—
Oh! glad was he when he saw the day light!

Now he goes forth in proud array,
For he with the emperor dines to-day;
There was not a baron in Germany
That went with a nobler train than he.

Before and behind his soldiers ride,
The people throng'd to see their pride;
They bow'd the head, and the knee they bent,
But nobody blest him as he went.

So he went on stately and proud,
When he heard a voice that cried aloud,
Ho! ho! bishop Bruno! you travel with glee—
But I would have you know, you travel to me!

Behind, and before, and on either side,
He look'd, but nobody he espied;
And the bishop at that grew cold with fear,
For he heard the words distinct and clear.

And when he rung the palace bell,
He almost expected to hear his knell
And when the porter turn'd the key,
He almost expected Death to see.

But soon the bishop recover'd his glee,
For the emperor welcomed him royally
And now the tables were spread, and there
Were choicest wines and dainty fare.

And now the bishop had blest the meat,
When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat,—
With the emperor now you are dining in glee,
But know, bishop Bruno, you sup with me!

The bishop then grew pale with affright,
And suddenly lost his appetite;
All the wine and dainty cheer
Could not comfort his heart so sick with fear.

But little and little recovered he
For the wine went flowing merrily,
And he forgot his former dread,
And his cheeks again grew rosy red.

When he sat down to the royal fare
Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there;
But when the masquers entered the hall,
He was the merriest man of all.

Then from amid the masquers' crowd
There went a voice hollow and loud;
You have passed the day, bishop Bruno, with glee!
But you must pass the night with me!

His cheek grows pale and his eye-balls glare,
And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair;
With that there came one from the masquers' band,
And he took the bishop by the hand.

The bony hand suspended his breath,
His marrow grew cold at the touch of Death:
On saints in vain he attempted to call,
Bishop Bruno fell dead in the palace hall.



Lateflowering Feverfew. Pyrethrum Scrotinum.
Dedicated to St. Bruno.

October 7.

St. Mark, Pope, A. D. 336. Sts. Sergius and Bacchus. Sts. Marcellus and Apuleius. St. Justina of Padua, A. D. 304. St. Osith, A. D. 870.

Purveyance for Winter.

After the harvest for human subsistence during winter, most of the provision for other animals ripens, and those with provident instincts are engaged in the work of gathering and storing.

Perhaps the prettiest of living things in the forest are squirrels. They may now be seen fully employed in bearing off their future food; and now many of the little creatures are caught by the art of man; to be encaged for life to contribute to his amusement.

Squirrels and Hares.

On a remark by the hon. Daines Barrington, that "to observe the habits and manners of animals is the most pleasing part of the study of zoology," a correspondent, in a letter to "Mr. Urban," says "I have for several years diverted myself by keeping squirrels, and have found in them not less variety of humours and dispositions than Mr. Cowper observed in his hares. I have had grave and gay, fierce and gentle, sullen and familiar, and tractable and obedient squirrels. One property I think highly worthy of observation, which I have found common to the species, as far as my acquaintance has been by no means confined to a few: yet this property has, I believe, never been adverted to by any zoological writer. I mean, that they have an exact musical ear. Not that they seem to give the least attention to any music, vocal or instrumental, which they hear; but they universally dance in their cages to the most exact time, striking the ground with their feet in a regular measured cadence, and never changing their tune without an interval of rest. I have known them dance perhaps ten minutes in allegro time of eight quavers in a bar, thus:


then, after a pause, they would change to the time of six quavers divided into three quavers and a dotted crotchet, thus:


again, after a considerable rest, they would return to common time divided by four semiquavers, one crotchet, in a bar, thus:


always continuing to dance or jump to the same tune for many minutes, and always resting before a change of tune. I once kept a male and a female in one large cage, who performed a peculiar dance together thus; the male jumped sideways, describing a portion of a circle in the air; the female described a portion of a smaller circle concentric with the first, always keeping herself duly under the male, performing her leap precisely in the same time, and grounding her feet in the same moment with him.

Squirrel jumps.

While the male moved from A to B, or from B to A, the female moved from C to D, or from D to C, and their eight feet were so critically grounded together, that they gave but one note. I must observe, that this practice of dancing seems to be an expedient to amuse them in their confinement; because, when they are for a time released from their cages, they never dance, but reserve this diversion until they are again immured."

Mr. Urban's correspondent continues thus, "no squirrel will lay down what he actually has in his paws, to receive even food which he prefers, but will always eat or hide what he has, before he will accept what is offered to him. Their sagacity in the selection of their food is truly wonderful. I can easily credit what I have been told, that in their winter hoards not one faulty nut is to be found; for I never knew them accept a single nut, when offered to them, which was either decayed or destitute of kernel: some they reject having only smelt them; but they seem usually to try them by their weight, poising them in their fore-feet. In eating, they hold their food not with their whole fore-feet, but between the inner toes or thumbs. I know not whether any naturalist has observed that their teeth are of a deep orange colour."

This gentleman, who writes late in the year 1788, proceeds thus, "A squirrel sits by me while I write this, who was born in the spring, 1781, and has been mine near seven years. He is, like Yorick, 'a whoreson mad fellow—a pestilent knave—a fellow of infinite jest and fancy.['] When he came to me, I had a venerable squirrel, corpulent, and unwieldy with age. The young one agreed well with him from their first introduction, and slept in the same cage with him; but he could never refrain from diverting himself with the old gentleman's infirmities. It was my custom daily to let them both out on the floor, and then to set the cage on a table, placing a chair near it to help the old squirrel in returning to his home. This was great exercise to the poor old brute; and it was the delight of the young rogue to frustrate his efforts, by suffering him to climb up one bar of the chair, then pursuing him, embracing him round the waist, and pulling him down to the ground; then he would suffer him to reach the second bar, or perhaps the seat of the chair, and afterwards bring him back to the floor as at first. All this was done in sheer fun and frolic, with a look and manner full of inexpressible archness and drollery. The old one could not be seriously angry at it; he never fought or scolded, but gently complained and murmured at his unlucky companion. One day, about an hour after this exercise, the old squirrel was found dead in his cage, his wind and his heart being quite broken by the mishievous wit of his young mess-mate. My present squirrel one day assaulted and bit me without any provocation. To break him of this trick, I pursued him some minutes about the room, stamping and scolding at him, and threatening him with my handkerchief. After this, I continued to let him out daily, but took no notice of him for some months. The coolness was mutual: he neither fled from me, nor attempted to come near me. At length I called him to me: it appeared that he had only waited for me to make the first advance; he threw off his gravity towards me, and ran up on my shoulder. Our reconciliation was cordial and lasting; he has never attempted to bite me since, and there appears no probablility of another quarrel between us, though he is every year wonderfully savage and ferocious at the first coming-in of filberts and walnuts. He is frequently suffered to expatiate in my garden; he has never of late attempted to wander beyond it; he always climbs up a very high ash tree, and soon after returns to his cage, or into the parlour."

For what this observant writer says of hares, see the 17th day of the present month.


Indian Chrysanthemum. Chrysanthemum Indicum.
Dedicated to St. Mark, Pope.

October 8.

St. Bridget, A. D. 1373. St. Thais, A. D. 348. St. Pelagia, 5th Cent. St. Keyna, 5th or 6th Cent.


Sweet Maudlin. Actillea Ageratum.
Dedicated to St. Bridget.

October 9.

St. Dionysius, Bp. of Paris, and others, A. D. 272. St. Domninus, A. D. 304. St. Guislain, A. D. 681. St. Lewis Bertrand, A. D. 1581.

St. Denys.

This is the patron saint of France, and his name stands in our almanacs and in the church of England calendar, as well as in the Romish calendar.

St. Denys.

St. Denys had his head cut off, he did not care for that,
He took it up and carried it two miles without his hat.

"The times have been that when the brains were out the man would die;" they were "the times!" Yet, even in those times, except "the Anthrophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders," men, whose heads grew upon their shoulders, wore them in that situation during their natural lives until by accident a head was taken off, and then infallibly "the man would die." But the extraordinary persons called "saints," were exempt from ordinary fatality: could all their sayings be recorded, we might probably find it was as usual for a decapitated saint to ask, "Won't you give me my head?" before he walked to be buried, as for an old citizen to call, "Boy, bring me my wig," before he walked to the club.

St. Denys was beheaded with some other martyrs in the neighbourhood of Paris. "They beheaded them," says the reverend father Ribadeneira, "in that mountain which is at present called Mons Martyrum (Montmartre), the mountain of the martyrs, in memory and honour of them; but after they had martyred them, there happened a wonderful miracle. The body of St. Denys rose upon its feet, and took its own head up in its hands, as if he had triumphed and carried in it the crown and token of its victories. The angels of heaven went accompanying the saint, singing hymns choir-wise, with a celestial harmony and concert, and ended with these words, 'gloria tibi, Domine alleluia;' and the saint went with his head in his hands about two miles, till he met with a good woman called Catula, who came out of her house; and the body of St. Denys going to her, it put the head in her hands." Perhaps this is as great a miracle as any he wrought in his life, yet those which he wrought after his death "were innumerable." Ribadeneira adds one in favour of pope Stephen, who "fell sick, and was given over by the doctors in the very monastery of St. Denys, which is near Paris; where he had a revelation, and he saw the princes of the apostles, St. Peter, and St. Paul, and St. Denys, who lovingly touched him and gave him perfect health, and this happened in the year or our Lord, 704, upon the 28th of July; and in gratitude for this favour he gave great privileges to that church of St. Denys, and carried with him to Rome certain relics of his holy body, and built a monastery in his honour."

It appears from an anecdote related by an eminent French physician, that it was believed of St. Denys that he kissed his head while he carried it; and it is equally marvellous that a man was so mad as not to believe it true. The circumstance is thus related:

"A famous watchmaker of Paris, infatuated for a long time with the chimera of perpetual motion, became violently insane, from the overwhelming terror which the storms of the revolution excited. The derangement of his reason was marked with a singular trait. He was persuaded that he had lost his head on the scaffold, and that it was put in a heap with those of many other victims: but that the judges, by a rather too late retraction of their cruel decree, had ordered the heads to be resumed, and to be rejoined to their respective bodies; and he conceived that, by a curious kind of mistake, he had the head of one of his companions placed on his shoulders. He was admitted into the Bicétre, where he was continually complaining of his misfortune, and lamenting the fine teeth and wholesome breath which he had exchanged for those of very different qualities. In a little time, the hopes of discovering the perpetual motion returned; and he was rather encouraged than restrained in his endeavours to effect his object. When he conceived that he had accomplished it, and was in an ecstasy of joy, the sudden confusion of a failure removed his inclination even to resume the subject. He was still, however, possessed with idea that his head was not his own: but from this notion he was diverted by a repartee made to him, when he happened to be defending the possibility of the miracle of St. Denys, who, it is said, was in the habit of walking with his head between his hands, and in the position continually kissing it. 'What a fool you are to believe such a story,' it was replied, with a burst of laughter; 'How could St. Denys kiss his head? was it with his heels?' This unanswerable and unexpected retort struck and confounded the madman so much, that it prevented him from saying any thing farther on the subject; he again betook himself to business, and entirely regained his intellects."* [Pinel on Insanity.]

St. Denys, as the great patron of France, is highly distinguished. "France," says bishop Patrick, "glories in the relics of this saint; yet Baronius tells us, that Ratisbonne in Germany has long contested with them about it, and show his body there; and pope Leo IX. set out a declaration determining that the true body of St. Denys was entire at Ratisbonne, wanting only the little finger of his right hand, yet they of Paris ceased not their pretences to it, so that here are two bodies venerated of the same individual saint; and both of them are mistaken if they of Prague have not been cheated, among whose numerous relics I find the arm of St. Denys, the apostle of Paris, reckoned." The bishop concludes by extracting part of Latin service, in honour of St. Denys, from the "Roman Missal,"* [Paris, 1520, folio.] wherein the prominent miracle before alluded to is celebrated in the following words, thus rendered by the bishop into English:—

He fell indeed, but presently arose,
The breathless body find both feet and way,
He takes his head in hand, and forward goes,
Till the directing angels bid him stay.
Well may the church triumphantly proclaim
This martyr's death, and never dying fame.

Several devotional books contain prints representing St. Denys walking with his head in his hands. One of them, entitled "Le Tableau de la Croix, represente dans les Ceremonies de la Ste. Messe," consists of a hundred engravings by J. Collin,* [Imp. a Paris, 4to.] and from one of them the "lively portraiture" of the saint prefixed to this article is taken.


Milky Agaric. Agaricus lactiflorus.
Dedicated to St. Denis. [sic]

October 10.

St. Francis Borgia, A. D. 1572. St. Paulinus, Abp. of York, A. D. 644. St. John of Bridlington, A. D. 1379.


Oxford and Cambridge Terms begin on this day.


There is a fearful spirit busy now.
   Already have the elements unfurled
   Their banners: the great sea-wave is upcurled:
The cloud comes: the fierce winds begin to blow
   About, and blindly on their errands go;
   And quickly will the pale red leaves be hurled
   From their dry boughs, and all the forest world
Stripped of its pride, be like a desert show.
I love that moaning music which I hear
   In the bleak gusts of autumn, for the soul
Seems gathering tidings from another sphere,
   And, in sublime mysterious sympathy,
   Man's bounding spirit ebbs and swells more high,
Accordant to the billow's loftier roll.†
[Literary Pocket Book.]


Cape Acetris. Velthemia Viridifolia.
Dedicated to St. Francis Borgia.

October 1[1].

Sts. Tarachus, Probus, and Andronicus, A. D. 304. St. Gummar, or Gomar, A. D. 774. St. Ethelburge, or Edilburge, A. D. 664. St. Canieus, or Kenny, Abbot in Ireland, A. D. 599.

St. Ethelburge.

In ancient times, on the festival of this saint, furmity was "an usual dish."[double dagger][Fosbroke's Ency. of Antiq.]

Old Michaelmas Day.

On this day it was a custom in Hartfordshire for young men to assemble in the fields and choose a leader, whom they were obliged to follow through ponds and ditches, "over brake and briar." Every person they met was taken up by the arms and bumped, or swung against another. Each publican furnished a gallon of ale and plum-cake, which was consumed in the open air. This was a septennial custom and called ganging-day.* [Brand]


Holly. Hex aquifolium.
Dedicated to St. Ethelburge.

October 12.

St. Wilfrid, Bp. of York, A. D. 709.

Seasonable Work.

Now come the long evenings with devices for amusing them. In the intervals of recreation there is "work to do." This word "work" is significant of an employment which astonishes men, and seems never to tire the fingers of their industrious helpmates and daughters; except that, with an expression which we are at a loss to take for either jest or earnest, because it partakes of each, they now and then exclaim, "womens' work is never done!" The assertion is not exactly the fact, but it is not a great way from it. What "man of woman born" ever considered the quantity of stiches in a shirt without fear that a general mutiny among females might leave him "without a shirt to his back?" Cannot an ingenious spinner devise a seamless shirt, with its gussets, and wristbands, and collar, and selvages as durable as hemming? The immense work in a shirt is concealed, and yet happily every "better half" prides herself on thinking that she could never do too much towards making good shirts for her "good man." Is it not in his power to relieve her from some of this labour? Can he not form himself and friends into a "society of hearts and manufactures," and get shirts made, as well as washed, by machinery and steam? These inquiries are occasioned by the following


To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

I assure you the Every-Day Book is a great favourite among the ladies; and therefore, I send for your insertion a calculation, furnished me by a maiden aunt, of the number of stitches in a plain shirt she made for her grandfather.

[insert table, col 1376]

My aunt's grandfather's plain shirt,
As witness my hand,

Near Cambridge,


Wavy Fleabane. Inula undulata.
Dedicated to St. Wilfred.

October 13.

St. Edward, King and Confessor, A. D. 1066. Sts. Faustus, Januarius, and Martialis, A. D. 304. Seven Friar Minors, Martyrs, A. D. 1221. St. Colman, A. D. 1012. St. Gerald, Count of Aurillac, or Orilhac, A. D. 909.

Translation King Edward Confessor.

This, in the church of England calendar and almanacs, denotes the day to be a festival to the memory of the removal of his bones or relics, as they are called by the Roman church, from whence the festival is derived.


On the 13th of October, 1754, died at Stebbing in Essex, Mr. Jacob Powell. He weighed nearly forty stone, or five hundred and sixty pounds. His body was above five yards in circumference, and his limbs were in proportion. He had sixteen men to carry him to his grave.* [Gentleman's Magazine.]


Smooth Helenium. Helenium autumnale.
Dedicated to St. Edward.

October 14.

St. Calixtus, or Callistus, Pope, A. D. 222. St. Donatian, Bp. A. D. 389. St. Burckard, 1st. Bp. of Wurtsburg, A. D. 752. St. Dominic, surnamed Loricatus, A. D. 1060.


The year is now declining; "the sear, the yellow leaf" falls, and "dies in October." There is a moral in every thing to moralizing minds; these indications of wear on the face of the earth, induce moralities on the use and abuse of time.

The Hare and Tortoise.

   In days of yore, when Time was young,
When birds convers'd as well as sung,
When use of speech was not confin'd
Merely to brutes of human kind,
A forward hare, of swiftness vain,
The genius of the neighb'ring plain,
Would oft deride the drudging crowd:
For geniuses are ever proud.
He'd boast, his flight 'twere vain to follow,
For dog and horse he'd beat them hollow;
Nay, if he put forth all his strength,
Outstrip his brethren half a length.

   A tortoise heard his vain oration,
And vented thus his indignation:
"Oh puss! it bodes thee dire disgrace,
When I defy thee to the race.
Come, 'tis a match, nay, no denial,
I'll lay my shell upon the trial."
'Twas done and done, all fair, a bet,
Judges prepar'd, and distance set.

   The scamp'ring hare outstript the wind,
The creeping tortoise lagg'd behind,
And scarce had pass'd single pole,
When puss had almost reach'd the goal.
"Friend tortoise," quoth the jeering hare,
"Your burthen's more than you can bear,
To help your speed it were as well
That I should ease you of your shell:
Jog on a little faster, pr'ythee,
I'll take a nap, and then be with thee."
So said, so done, and safely sure,
For say, what conquest more secure?
Whene'er he walk'd (that's all that's in it)
He could o'er take him in a minute.

   The tortoise heard his taunting jeer,
But still resolv'd to persevere,
Still drawl'd along, as who should say,
I'll win, like Fabius, by delay;
On to the goal securely crept,
While puss unknowing soundly slept.

   The bets were won, the hare awoke
When thus the victor tortoise spoke:
"Puss, tho' I own thy quicker parts,
Things are not always done by starts,
You may deride my awkward pace,
But slow and steady wins the race."



Indian Fleabane. Inula Indica.
Dedicated to St. Calixtus.

October 15

St. Teresa, Virgin, A. D. 1582. St. Tecla, Abbess. St. Hospicius, or Hospis, A. D. 580.

Scent of Dogs, and Tobacco.

A contemporary kalendarian* [Dr. Forster.] appears to be an early smoker and a keen sportsman. He says, "From having constantly amused ourselves with our pipe early in the morning, we have discovered and are enabled to point out an almost infalliable [sic] method of judging of good scent. When the tobacco smoke seems to hang lazily in the air, scarcely sinking or rising, or moving from the place where it is emitted from the pipe, producing at the same time a strong smell, which lasts some time in the same place after the smoke is apparently dispersed, we may on that day be sure that the scent will lay well. We have seldom known this rule to deceive; but it must be remembered that the state of the air will sometimes change in the course of the day, and that the scent will drop all of a sudden, and thus throw the hounds all out, and break off the chase abruptly. For as Sommerville says:—

         Thus on on the air
Depend the hunter's hopes. When ruddy streaks
At eve forbode a blustering stormy day,
Or lowering clouds blacken the mountain's brow,
When nipping frosts, and the keen biting blasts
Of the dry parching east, menace the trees
With tender blossoms teeming, kindly spare
Thy sleeping pack, in their warm beds of straw
Low sinking at their ease; listless they shrink
Into some dark recess, nor hear thy voice
Though oft invoked; or haply if thy call
Rouse up the slumbering tribe, with heavy eyes
Glazed, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their tails
Inverted; high on their bent backs erect
Their pointed bristles stare, or 'mong the tufts
Of ranker weeds, each stomach-healing plant
Curious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn.
These inauspicious days, on other cares
Employ thy precious hours.


Sweet Sultan. Centaurea moschi.
Dedicated to St. Teresa.

October 16.

St. Gall, Abbot, A. D. 646. St. Lullus, or Lullon, Abp., A. D. 787. St. Mummolin, or Mommolin, Bp. A. D. 665.


To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Ascension-day, whereon there is a remarkable annual custom in maintenance of a tenure, has passed, but as it originated from a circumstance on the 16th of October, you can introduce it on that day, and it will probably be informing as well as amusing to the majority of readers. The narrative is derived from a tract formerly published at Whitby. I am, &c.


On this day in the fifth year of the reign of king Henry II. after the conquest of England, (1140,) by William, duke of Normandy, the lord of Uglebarnby, then called William de Bruce, the lord of Snaynton, called Ralph de Percy, and a gentleman freeholder called Allotson, did meet to hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood or desert, called Eskdale side; the wood or place did belong to the abbot of the monastery of Whitby in Yorkshire, who was then called Sedman, and abbot of the said place.

Then, the aforesaid gentlemen did meet with their hounds and boar-staves in the place aforesaid, and there found a great wild boar; and the hounds did run him very hard, near the chapel and hermitage of Eskdale side, where there was a monk of Whitby, who was an hermit; and the boar being so hard pursued, took in at the chapel door, and there laid him down, and died immediately, and the hermit shut the hounds out of the chapel, and kept himself at his meditation and prayers; the hounds standing at bay without, the gentlemen in the thick of the wood, put behind their game, in following the cry of the hounds, came to the hermitage and found the hounds round the chapel; then came the gentlemen to the door of the chapel, and called on the hermit, who did open the door, and then they got forth, and within lay the boar dead, for which the gentlemen, in a fury, because their hounds were put out of their game, run at the hermit with their boar-staves, whereof he died; then the gentlemen knowing, and perceiving that he was in peril of death, took sanctuary at Scarborough; but at that time, the abbot, being in great favour with the king, did remove them out of the sanctuary, whereby they became in danger of the law, and not privileged, but like to have the severity of the law, which was death. But the hermit being a holy man, and being very sick and at the point of death, sent for the abbot, and desired him to send for the gentlemen, who had wounded him to death; so doing, the gentlemen came, and the hermit being sick, said, "I am sure to die of these wounds:" but the abbot answered, "They shall die for it," but the hermit said, "Not so, for I will freely forgive them my death, if they are content to be enjoined this penalty (penance) for the safeguard of their souls;" the gentlemen being there present, bid him enjoin what he would, so he saved their lives: then said the hermit, "you and yours shall hold your land of the abbot of Whitby, and his successors in this manner: that upon Ascension-day Even, you or some of you shall come to the wood of Strayheads which is in Eskdale side, and the same (Ascension-day) at sun rising, and there shall the officer of the abbot blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how to find him, and deliver unto you William de Bruce, ten stakes, eleven street stowers, and eleven yadders, to be cut with a knife of a penny price; and you Ralph de Percy, shall take one and twenty of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and you Allotson, shall take nine of each sort to be cut as aforesaid, and to be taken on your backs, and carried to the town of Whitby, and to be there before nine o'clock of the same day before mentioned: and at the hour of nine o'clock, if it be full sea, to cease their service, as long as till it be low water, and at nine o'clock of the same day, each of you shall set your stakes at the brim of the water, each stake a yard from another, and so yadder them with your yadders, and to stake them on each side, with street stowers, that they stand three tides, without removing by the force of the water; each of you shall make at that hour in every year, except it be full sea at that hour, which when it shall happen to come to pass, the service shall cease: you shall do this to remember that you did slay me; and that you may the better call to God for mercy, repent youselves [sic], and do good works. The officer of Eskdale side, shall blow, Out on you! out on you! out on you! for this heinous crime of yours. If you or your successors refuse this service, so long as it shall not be a full sea, at the hour aforesaid, you or your's shall forfeit all your land to the abbot or his successors; this I do entreat, that you may have your lives, and goods for this service, and you to promise by your parts in heaven, that it shall be done by you and your successors, as it is aforesaid:" and then the abbot said, "I grant all that you have said, and will confirm it by the faith of an honest man." Then the hermit said, "My soul longeth for the Lord, and I as freely forgive these gentlemen by death, as Christ forgave the thief upon the cross;" and in the presence of the abbot and the rest, he said moreover these words, "In manus tuas, Domine commendo spiritum meum, a vinculis enim mortis redimisti me, Domine veritatis," (Into thy hands O Lord I recommend my spirit, for thou hast redeemed me from the bonds of death O Lord of Truth,) and the abbot and the rest said "Amen," and so yielded up the ghost the eighth day of December, upon whose soul God have mercy. Anno Domini, 1160.

N. B. this service is still annually performed.


Yarrow. Achillæ multifolium.
Dedicated to St. Gall.

October 17.

St. Hedwiges, or Avoice, duchess of Poland, A. D. 1243, St. Anstrudis, or Anstru, A. D. 688. St. Andrew of Crete, A. D. 761.

St. Etheldreda.

She was daughter of Annas, king of the East Angles, and born about 630, at Ixning, formerly a town of note on the western border of Suffolk, next Cambridgeshire. At Coldingham Abbey, Yorkshire, she took the veil under Ebba, daughter of king Ethelfrida, an abbess, afterwards celebrated for having saved herself and her nuns from the outrage of the Danes by mutilating their faces; the brutal invaders enclosed them in their convent and destroyed them by fire.

Notwithstanding Etheldreda's vow to remain a nun, she was twice forced by her parents to marry, and yet maintained her vow; hence she is styled, in the Romish breviaries, "twice a widow and always a virgin." On the death of her first husband Tonbert, a nobleman of the East Angles, the isle of Ely became her sole property by jointure, and she founded a convent, and the convent church there; and for their maintenance endowed them with the whole island. She married her second husband Egrid, king of Northumberland, on the death of Tonbert, in 671, but persisted in her vow, and died abbess of her convent on the 23d of June, 679. On the 17th of October, sixteen years afterwards, her relics were translated, and therefore on this day her festival is commemorated. In 870, the Danes made a descent on the isle of Ely, destroyed the convent and slaughtered the inhabitants. By abbreviation her name became corrupted to Auldrey and Audrey.* [Audley. Brady.]

Tawdry—St Audrey.

As at the annual fair in the isle of Ely, called St. Audrey's fair, "much ordinary but showy lace was usually sold to the country lasses, St. Audrey's lace soon became proverbial, and from that cause Taudry, [sic] a corruption of St. Audrey, was established as a common expression to denote not only lace, but any other part of female dress, which was much more gaudy in appearance than warranted by its real quality and value." This is the assertion of Mr. Brady, in his "Clavis Calendaria," who, for aught that appears to the contrary, gives the derivation of the word as his own conjecture, but Mr. Archdeacon Nares, in his admirable "Glossary," shows the meaning to have been derived from Harpsfield, "an old English historian," who refers to the appellation, and "makes St. Audrey die of a swelling in her throat, which she considered as a particular judgment, for having been in her youth much addicted to wearing fine necklaces." There is not now any grounds to doubt that tawdry comes from St. Audrey. It was so derived in Dr. Johnson's "dictionary" before Mr. Todd's edition. Dr. Ash deemed the word of "uncertain etymology."


The pleasant correspondent of Mr. Urban, whose account of his squirrels is introduced on the seventh day of the present month[link], was induced, by Mr. Cowper's experience in the management of his hares, to procure a hare about three weeks old. "The little creature," he says, "at first pined for his dam, and his liberty, and refused food. In a few days I prevailed with him to take some milk from my lips, and this is still his favourite method of drinking. Soon after, observing that he greedily lapped sweet things, I dipped a cabbage-leaf in honey, and thus tempted him to eat the first solid food he ever tasted. I beg leave to add to Mr. Cowper's mill of fare, nuts, walnuts, pears, sweet cakes of all kinds, sea biscuits, sugar, and, above all, apple-pie. Every thing which is hard and crisp seems to be particularly relished.—the iris of the hare is very beautiful; it has the appearance of the gills of a young mushroom, seeming to consist of very delicate fibres, disposed like radii issuing from a common centre. I shall be glad to be informed by any person, skilled in anatomy, whether this structure of the iris be not of use to enable the eye to bear the constant action of the light; as it is a common opinion that this animal sleeps, even in the day-time, with its eyes open. I have observed, likewise, that the fur of the hare is more strongly electrical than the hair of any other animal. If you apply the point of a finger to his side in frosty weather, the hairs are immediately strongly attracted towards it from all points, and closely embrace the finger on every side."

It should be added from this agreeable writer, as regards the squirrel, that he was much surprised at the great advantage the little animal derives from his extended tail, which brings his body so nearly to an equipoise with the air, as to render a leap or fall from the greatest height perfectly save to him. "My squirrel has more than once leaped from the window of the second story, and alighted on stone steps, or on hard gravel, without suffering any inconvenience. But I should be glad to have confirmation, from an eye-witness, of what Mr. Pennant relates on the credit of Linnæus, Klein, Rzaczinski, and Scheffer, viz. that a squirrel sometimes crosses a river on a piece of bark by way of boat, using his tail as a sail. Not less astonishing is the undaunted courage of these little brutes: they seem sometimes resolved to conquer as it were, by reflection and fortitude, their natural instinctive fears. I have often known a squirrel tremble and scream at the first sight of a dog or cat, and yet, within a few minutes, after several abortive attempts, summon resolution enough to march up and small at the very nose of his gigantic enemy. These approaches he always makes by short abrupt leaps, stamping the ground with his feet as loud as he can; his whole mien and countenance most ridiculously expressive of ancient Pistol's affected valour and intrepidity."


Be it remembered, that C. L. comes here and represents his relations; that is to say, on behalf of the recollections, being the next of kin, of him, the said C. L., and of sundry persons who are "aye treading" in the manner of squirrels aforesaid; and thus he saith:—

For the Every-Day Book.

What is gone with the Cages with the climbing Squirrel and bells to them, which were formerly the indispensable appendage to the outside of a Tinman's shop, and were in fact the only Live Signs? One, we believe, still hangs out on Holborn; but they are fast vainishing with the good old modes of our ancestors. They seem to have been superseded by that still more ingenious refinement of modern humanity—the Tread-mill; in which human Squirrels still perform a similar round of ceaseless, improgressive clambering; which must be nuts to them.

We almost doubt the fact of the teeth of this creature being so purely orange-coloured, as Mr. Urban's correspondent gives out. One of our old poets—and they were pretty sharp observers of nature—describes them as brown. But perhaps the naturalist referrred to meant "of the colour of a Maltese orange,"* [Fletcher in the "Faithful Shepherdess."—The Satyr offers to Clorin,

  —grapes whose lusty blood
Is the learned Poet's good.
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of Bacchus: nuts more brown
Than the squirrels' teeth that crack them.— —] which is rather more obfuscated than your fruit of Seville, or Saint Michael's; and may help to reconcile the difference. We cannot speak from observation, but we remember at school getting our fingers into the orangery of one of these little gentry (not having a due caution of the traps set there), and the result proved sourer than lemons. The Author of the Task somewhere speaks of their anger as being "insignificantly fierce," but we found the demonstration of it on this occasion quite as significant as we desired; and have not been disposed since to look any of these "gift horses" in the mouth. Maiden aunts keep these "small deer" as they do parrots, to bite people's fingers on purpose to give them good advice "not to venture so near the cage another time." As for their "six quavers divided into three quavers and dotted crotchet," I suppose, they may go into Jeremy Bentham's next budget of Fallacies, along with the "melodious and proportionable kinde of musicke," recorded in your last number of another highly gifted animal.* [Page 1360.]

C. L.


Tenleaved Sunflower. Helianthus decapetalus.
Dedicated to St. Anstrudis.

October 18.

St. Luke the Evangelist, A. D. 63. St. Julian Sabus, 4th Cent. St. Justin. St. Monon, 7th Cent.

St. Luke.

The name of this evangelist is in the church of England calendar and almanacs on this day, which was appointed his festival by the Romish church in the twelfth century. As a more convenient occasion will occur for a suitable notice of his history and character, it is deferred till then. It is presumed that he died about the year 70, in the eighty-fourth year of his age, having written his gospel about seven or eight years before.


Commonly called


At the pleasant village of Charlton, on the north side of Blackheath, about eight miles from London, a fair is held annually on St. Luke's day. It is called "Horn Fair," from the custom of carrying horns at it formerly, and the frequenters still wearing them. A foreigner travelling in England in the year 1598, mentions horns to have been conspicuously displayed in its neighbourhood at that early period. "Upon taking the air down the river (from London), on the left hand lies Ratcliffe, a considerable suburb. On the opposite shore is fixed a longpole with rams-horns upon it, the intention of which was vulgarly said to be a reflection upon wilful and contented cuckolds."† [Hentzner.] An old newspaper states, that it was formerly a custom for a procession to go from some of the inns in Bishopsgate-street, in which were, a king, a queen, a miller, a counsellor, &c., and a great number of others, with horns in their hats, to Charlton, where they went round the church three times. This was accompanied by so many indecencies on Blackheath, such as the whipping of females with furze, &c., that it gave rise to the proverb of "all is fair at Horn Fair."* [Brand.] A curious biographical memoir relates the custom of going to Horn Fair in womens' clothes. "I remember being there upon Horn-Fair day, I was dressed in my land-ladie's best gown and other women's attire, and to Horn Fair we went, and as we were coming back by water, all the cloathes were spoiled by dirty water, &c., that was flung on us in an inundation, for which I was obliged to present her with two guineas to make atonement for the damages sustained."† [Life of Mr. William Fuller, 1703, 12mo.] Mr. Brand, who cites these notices, and observes that Grose mentions this fair, adds, that "It consists of a riotous mob, who, after a printed summons dispersed through the adjacent towns, meet at Cuckold's point, near Deptford, and march from thence in procession through that town and Greenwich to Charlton, with horns of different kinds upon their heads; and at the fair there are sold rams' horns, and every sort of toy made of horn: even the ginger-bread figures have horns." The same recorder of customs mentions an absurd tradition of assigning the origin of this fair to a grant from king John, which, he very properly remarks, is "too ridiculous to merit the smallest attention."

"A sermon," says Mr. Brand, "is preached at Charlton church on the fair-day." This sermon is now discontinued on the festival-day: the practice was created by a bequest of twenty shillings a year to the minister of the parish for preaching it.

The horn-bearing at this fair may be conjectured to have originated from the symbol, accompanying the figure of St. Luke: when he is represented by sculpture or painting, he is usually in the act of writing, with an ox or cow by his side, whose horns are conspicuous. These seem to have been seized by the former inhabitants of Charlton on the day of the saint's festival, as a lively mode of sounding forth their rude pleasure for the holiday. Though most of the painted glass in the windows of the church was destroyed during the troubles in the time of Charles I., yet many fragments remain of St. Luke's ox with wings on his back, and goodly horns upon his head: indeed, with the exception of two or three armorial bearings, and a few cherubs' heads, these figures of St. Luke's horned symbol, which escaped destruction, and are carefully placed in the upper part of the windows, are the only painted glass remaining; save also, however, that in the east window, there are the head and shoulders of the saint himself, and the same parts of the figure of Aaron.

The procession of horns, customary at Charlton fair, has ceased; but horns still continue to be sold from the lowest to "the best booth in the fair." They are chiefly those of sheep, goats, and smaller animals and are usually gilt and decorated for their less innocent successors to these ornaments. The fair is still a kind of carnival or masquerade, On St. Luke's-day, 1825, though the weather was unfavourable to the customary humours, most of the visitors wore masks; several were disguised in women's clothes, and some assumed whimsical characters. The spacious and celebrated Crown and Anchor booth was the principal scene of their amusements. The fair is now held in a private field: formerly it was on the green opposite the church, and facing the mansion of sir Thomas Wilson. The late lady Wilson was a great admirer and patroness of the fair; the old lady was accustomed to come down with her attendants every morning during the fair, "and in long order go," from the steps of her ancient hall, to without the gates of her court-yard, when the bands of the different shows hailed her appearance, as a signal to strike up their melody of discords: Richardson, always pitched his great booth in front of the house. Latterly, however, the fair has diminished; Richardson was not there in 1825, nor were there any shows of consequence. "Horns! horns!" were the customary and chief cry, and the most conspicuous source of frolic: they were in the hat and bonnet of almost every person in the rout. A few years ago, it was usual for neighbouring gentry to proceed thither in their carriages during the morning to see the sports. The fair lasts three days.

One of the pleasantest walks from Greenwich is over Blackheath, along by the park-wall to Charlton; and from thence after passing through that village, across Woolwich common and Plumstead common, along green lanes, over the footpaths of the fields, to the very retired and rural village of East Wickham, which lies about half a mile on the north side of Welling, through which is the great London road to Dover. There are various pleasant views for the lover of cultivated nature, with occasional fine bursts of the broad flowing Thames. Students in botany and geology will not find it a stroll, barren of objects in their favourite sciences.


Floccose Agaric. Agaricus Floccosus.
Dedicated to St. Luke, Evangelist.

October 19.

St. Peter, of Alcantara, A. D. 1562. Sts. Ptolemy, Lucius, and another, A. D. 166. St. Frideswide, patroness of Oxford, 8th Cent. St. Ethbin, or Egbin, Abbot, 6th Cent.

The Last Rose of Summer.

'Tis the last rose of summer,
   Left blooming alone,
All her lovely companions
   Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
   No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
   Or give sigh for sigh!

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one
   To pine on the stem,
Since the lovely are sleepng,
   Go sleep thou with them;
Thus kindly I scatter
   Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
   Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
   When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
   The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered,
   And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
   This bleak world alone?



Tall Tickseed. Coreopsis procosa.
Dedicated to St. Frideswide.

October 20.

St. Artemius, A. D. 362. St. Barsabias, Abbot, and others, A. D. 342. St. Zenobius, Bp. St. Sindulphus, or St. Sendou, 7th Cent. St. Adian, Bp. of Mayo, A. D. 768.

Migration of Birds.

Woodcocks have now arrived. In the autumn and setting in of winter they keep dropping in from the Baltic singly, or in paris, till December. They instinctively land in the night, or in dark misty weather, for they are never seen to arrive, but are frequently discovered the next morning in any ditch which affords them shelter, after the extraordinary fatigue occasioned by the adverse gales which they often have to encounter in their aërial voyage. They do not remain near the shores longer than a day, when they are sufficiently recruited to proceed inland, and they visit the very same haunts which they left the preceding season. In temperate weather they retire to mossy moors, and high bleak mountainous parts; but as soon as the frost sets in, and the snows begin to fall, they seek lower and warmer situations, with boggy grounds and springs, and little oozing mossy rills, which are rarely frozen, where they shelter in close bushes of holly and furze, and the brakes of woody glens, or in dells which are covered with underwood: here they remain concealed during the day, and remove to different haunts and feed only in the night. From the beginning of March to the end of that month, or sometimes to the middle of April, they keep drawing towards the coasts, and avail themselves of the first fair wind to return to their native woods. — The snipe, scolopax gallinago, also comes now, and inhabits similar situations. It is migratory, and met with in all countries: like the woodcock, it shuns the extremes of heat and cold, by keeping upon the bleak moors in summer, and seeking the shelter of the valleys in winter. In unfrozen boggy places, runners from springs, or any open streamlets of water, they are often found in considerable numbers.* [Dr. Forster's Perennial Calendar.]


Yellow Sultan. Centaurea suavcolens.
Dedicated to St. Artemius.

October 21.

Sts. Ursula, and her Companions, 5th Cent. St. Hilarion, Abbot, A. d. 371. St. Fintan, or Munnu, Abbot, in Ireland, A. D. 634.


After a harvest with a good barley crop, a few minutes may be seasonably amused by a pleasant ballad.

John Barleycorn.[see also link]

There went three kings into the east,
   Three kings both great and high,
An' they ha' sworn a solemn oath
   John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,
   Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
   John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
   And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
   And sore surpris'd them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,
   And he grew thick and strong,
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
   That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn enter'd mild,
   When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
   Show'd he began to fail.

His colour sicken'd more and more,
   He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
   To show their deadly rage.

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
   And cut him by the knee;
they ty'd him fast upon a cart,
   Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
   And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
   And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit
   With water to the brim,
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
   There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
   To work him farther woe,
And still as signs of life appear'd,
   They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
   The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
   For he crush'd him between two stones.

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,
   And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
   Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
   Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
   'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his woe,
   'Twill heighten all his joy:
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
   Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
   Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
   Ne'er fail in old Scotland!



Hairy Silphium. Silphium asteriscus.
Dedicated to St. Ursula.

October 22.

St. Philip, Bp. of Heraclea, and others, A. D. 304. Sts. Nunilo and Alodia, A. D. 840. St. Donatus, Bp. of Fiesoli, in Tuscany, A. D. 816. St. Mello, or Melanius, 4th Cent. St. Mark, Bp. A. D. 156.

St. Mark, Bishop of Jerusalem.

The two first bishops of Jerusalem were "the apostle St. James and his brother St. Simeon; thirteen bishops who succeeded them were of the Jewish nation." Upon an edict of the emperor Adrian, prohibiting all Jews from coming to Jerusalem, Mark, being a Gentile Christian, was chosen bishop of the Christians in that city, and was their first Gentile bishop. He is said to have been martyred in 156.* [Butler.]


They who think the affections are always in season, may not deem these lines out of season.


To a Mother.

In the sweet "days of other years,"
When o'er my cradle first thy tears
Were blended with maternal fears,
   And anxious doubts for me;
How often rose my lisping prayer,
That heav'n a mother's life would spare,
Who watch'd with such incessant care,
   My helpless infancy.

Those happy hours are past away,
Yet fain I'd breathe an artless lay,
To greet my mother this blest day,
   For oh! it gave thee birth;
Hope whispers that it will be dear,
As seraph's music to thine ear,
That thou wilt hallow with a tear,
   This tribute to thy worth.

And thy approving voice would be
More sweet—more welcome far to me
Than greenest wreaths of minstrelsy,
   Pluck'd from the muses' bowers;
And round this lowly harp of mine,
I'd rather that a hand like thine,
One simple garland should entwine,
   Than amaranthine flowers.

My childish griefs were hush'd to rest,
Those lips on mine fond kisses prest,
Those arms my feeble form carest,
   When few a thought bestow'd—
When sickness threw its venom'd dart,
My pillow was thy aching heart—
Thy gentle looks could joy impart,
   With angel love they glow'd.

This world is but a troubled sea,
And rude its billows seem to me;
Yet my frail bark must shipwreck'd be,
   Ere I forget such friend;
Or send an orison on high,
That begs not blessings from the sky,
That heav'n will hear a daughter's sigh,
   And long thy life defend.


Three-leaved Silphium. Silphium trifoliatum.
Dedicated to St. Nunilo.

October 23.

St. Theodoret, A. D. 362. St. Romanus, Abp. of Rouen, A. D. 639. St. John Capistran, A. D. 1456. St. Ignatius, Patriarch of Constantinople, A. D. 878. St. Severin, Abp. of Cologn [sic], A. D. 400. Another St. Severin.

St. Severin.

The annals of the saints are confused. St. Severin, Abp. of Cologne, is famous in the history of the church: by him, his own diocese, and that of Tongres, "was purged from the venom of the Arian heresy, about the year 390." He "knew by revelation the death and glory of St. Martin at the time of his departure," and died about 400. So says Butler, who immediately begins with "Another St. Severin or Surin, patron of Bourdeaux," said by some "to have come to Bourdeaux from some part of the east;" and by others, to have been "the same with the foregoing archbishop of Cologne." It is difficult to make a distinction when we find "two single gentlemen rolled into one." Whether one or two is of little consequence perhaps: their biographers were miraculists. He of Cologne led "an angelical life," according to Butler, who adds, that "his life wrote by Fortunatus is the best:" the latter biographer achieved as great marvels with his pen, as his namesake with his wishing-cap.


Rushy Starwort. Aster junicus. Dedicated to St. Theodoret.

October 24.

St. Proclus, Abp. of Constantinople, A. D. 447. St. Felix, A. D. 303. St. Magloire, A. D. 575.

St. Proclus.

Besides his other perfections he was a queller of earthquakes. Butler instances that "Theophanes, and other Greek historians, tell us that a child was taken up into the air, and heard angels singing the Trisagion, or triple doxology," which is "in the preface of the mass;" and that therefore St. Proclus "taught the people to sing it:" he says that "it is at least agreed, that on their singing it the earthquakes ceased." Butler represents the style of this father to be "full of lively witty turns, more proper to please and delight than to move the heart." Twenty of his homilies were published at Rome in 1630, whereof "the first, fifth, and sixth are upon the blessed Virgin Mary, whose title of Mother of God," says Butler, "he justly extols." He wrote upon mysterious theology and the church festivals, and was a great disputant.


Zigzag Starwort. Aster flexuosus.
Dedicated to St. Proclus.

October 25.

Sts. Crysanthus and Daria, 3rd Cent. Sts. Crispin and Crispinian, A. D. 287. St. Gaudentius of Brescia, A. D. 420. St. Boniface I. Pope, A. D. 422.


The name of this saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs; why Crispinian's is disjoined from it we are not informed[.]

St. Crispin and St. Crispinian.

St. Crispin and St. Crispinian


"Our shoes were sow'd with merry notes,
   And by our mirth expell'd all moan;
Like nightingales, from whose sweet throats
   Most pleasant tunes are nightly blown:
      The Gentle Craft is fittest then
      For poor distressed gentlemen!"

St. Hugh's Song

This representation of St. Crispin and St. Crispinian at their seat of work, is faithfully copied from an old engraving of the same size by H. David. Every body knows that they were shoemakers, and patrons of that "art, trade, mystery, calling, or occupation," in praise whereof, when properly exercised, too much cannot be said. Now for a word or two concerning these saints. To begin seriously, we will recur to the tenth volume of the "Lives of the Saints," by "the Rev. Alban Butler," where, on the 504th page, we find St. Crispin and St Crispinian called "two glorious martyrs," and are told that they came from Rome to preach at Soissons, in France, "towards the middle of the third century, and, in imitation of St. Paul, worked with their hands in the night, making shoes, though they were said to have been nobly born and brothers." They converted many to the Christian faith, till a complaint was lodged against them before Rictius Varus, "the most implacable enemy of the Christian name," who had been appointed governor by the emperor Maximian Herculeus. Butler adds, that "they were victorious over this most inhuman judge, by the patience and constancy with which they bore the most cruel torments, and finished their course by the sword about the year 287." In the sixth century a great church was built to their honour at Soissons, and their shrine was richly ornamented. These are all the circumstances that Butler relates concerning these popular saints: most unaccountably he does not venture a single miracle in behalf of the good name and reputation of either.

On Crispin's-day, in the year 1415, the battle of Agincourt was fought between the English, under king Henry V., and the French, under the constable d'Albret. The French had "a force," says Hume, "which, if prudently conducted, was sufficient to trample down the English in the open field." They had nearly a hundred thousand cavalry. The English force was only six thousand men at arms, and twenty-four thousand foot, mostly archers. The constable of France had selected a strong position in the fields in front of the village of Agincourt. Each lord had planted his banner on the spot which he intended to occupy during the battle. The night was cold, dark, and rainy, but numerous fires lighted the horizon; while bursts of laughter and merriment were repeatedly heard from the soldiery, who spent their time in revelling and debate around their banners, discussing the probable events of the next day, and fixing the ransom of the English king and his barons. No one suspected the possibility of defeat, and yet no one could be ignorant that they lay in the vicinity of the field of Cressy. In that fatal field, and in the equally fatal field of Poictiers, the French had been the assailants: the French determined therefore, on the present occasion, to leave that dangerous honour to the English. To the army of Henry, wasted with disease, broken with fatigue, and weakened by the privations of a march through a hostile country in the presence of a superior force,—this was a night of hope and fear, of suspense and anxiety. They were men who had staked their lives on the event of the approaching battle, and spent the intervening moments in making their wills, and in attending the exercises of religion. Henry sent his officers to examine the ground by moon-light, arranged the operations of the next day, ordered bands of music to play in succession during the night, and before sun-rise summoned his troops to attend at matins and mass: from thence he led them to the field.

His archers, on whom rested his principal hope, he placed in front; beside his bow and arrows, his battle-axe or sword, each bore on his shoulder a long stake sharpened at both extremities, which he was instructed to fix obliquely before him in the ground, and thus oppose a rampart of pikes to the charge of the French cavalry. Many of these archers had stripped themselves naked; the others had bared their arms and breasts that they might exercise their limbs with more ease and execution: their well-earned reputation in former battles, and their savage appearance this day struck terror into their enemies. Henry himself appeared on a grey palfrey in a helmet of polished steel, surmounted by a crown sparkling with jewels, and wearing a surcoat whereon were emblazoned in gold the arms of England and France. Followed by a train of led horses, ornamented with the most gorgeous trappings, he rode from banner to banner cheering and exhorting the men. The French were drawn up in the same order, but with this fearful disparity in point of number, that while the English files were but four, theirs were thirty deep. In their lines were military engines or cannon to cast stones into the midst of the English. The French force relatively to the English was as seven or six to one. When Henry gave the word, "Banners advance!" the men shouted and ran towards the enemy, until they were within twenty paces, and then repeated the shout; this was echoed by a detachment which immediately issuing from its concealment in a meadow assailed the left flank of the French while the archers ran before their stakes, discharged their arrows, and then retired behind their rampart. To break this formidable body, a select battalion of eight hundred men at arms had been appointed by the constable; only seven score of these came into action; they were quickly slain, while the others unable to face the incessant shower of arrows, turned their vizors aside, and lost the government of their horses, which, frantic with pain, plunged back in different directions into the close ranks. The archers seizing the opportunity occasioned by this confusion, slung their bows behind them, and bursting into the mass of the enemy, with their sword and battle axes, killed the constable and principal commanders, and routed the first division of the army. Henry formed the archers again, and charged the second division for two hours in a bloody and doubtful contest, wherein Henry himself was brought on his knees by the mace of one of eighteen French knights who had bound themselves to kill or take him prisoner: he was rescued by his guards, and this second division was ultimately destroyed. The third shared the same fate, and resistance having ceased, Henry traversed the field with his barons, while the heralds examined the arms and numbered the bodies of the slain. Among them were eight thousand knights and esquires, more than a hundred bannerets, seven counts, the three dukes of Brabant, Bar, and Alençon, and the constable and admiral of France. The loss of the conquerors amounted to no more than sixteen hundred men, with the earl of Suffolk and the duke of York, who perished fighting by the king's side, and had an end more honourable than his life. Henry became master of fourteen thousand prisoners, the most distinguished of whom were the dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, and the counts of Eu, Vendome, and Richmond. As many of the slain as it was possible to recognise were buried in the nearest churches, or conveyed to the tombs of their ancestors. The rest, to the number of five thousand eight hundred, were deposited in three long and deep pits dug in the field of battle. This vast cemetery was surrounded by a strong enclosure of thorns and trees, which pointed out to succeeding generations the spot, where the resolution of a few Englishmen triumphed over the impetuous but ill-directed valour of their numerous enemies. Henry returned to England by way of Dover: the crowd plunged into the waves to meet him: and the conqueror was carried in their arms from his vessel to the beach. The road to London exhibited one triumphal procession. The lords, commons, and clergy, the mayor, aldermen, and citizens, conducted him into the capital: tapestry, representing the deeds of his ancestors, lined the walls of the houses: pageants were erected in the streets: sweet wines ran in the conduits: bands of children tastefully arrayed sang his praise: and the whole population seemed intoxicated with joy.—Lingard.

This memorable achievement on Crispin's-day is immortalized by Shakspeare, in a speech that he assigns to Henry V. before the battle.

This day is called—the feast of Crispian:
He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian:
He, that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly, on the vigil, feast his friends,
And say,—To-morrow is St. Crispian:
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars.
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,
But they'll remember, with advantages,
What feats they did that day: Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as household words,—
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick, and Talbot, Salisbury, and Glo'ster,—
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered:
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England, now abed,
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks
That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day.

In "Times Telescope" for 1816, it is observed, that "the shoemakers of the present day are not far behind their predecessors, in the manner of keeping St. Crispin. From the highest to the lowest it is a day of feasting and jollity. It is also, we believe, observed as a festival with the corporate body of cordwainers, or shoemakers, of London, but without any sort of procession on the occasion,— except the proceeding to a good tavern to partake of a good dinner, and drink the pious memory of St. Crispin."

On the 29th of July, 1822, the cordwainers of Newcastle held a coronation of the patron St. Crispin, and afterwards walked in procession through the several streets of that town. The coronation took place in the court of the Freemen's Hospital, at the Westgate, at eleven o'clock; soon after twelve, the procession moved forward through the principal streets of that town and Gateshead, and finally halted at the sign of the Chancellor's-head, in Newgate-street, where the members of the trade partook of a dinner provided for the occasion. A great number of people assembled to witness the procession, as there had not been a similar exhibition since the year 1789.* [Sykes's Local Records.]

The emperor Charles V. being curious to know the sentiments of his meanest subjects concerning himself and his administration, often went incog. and mixed himself in such companies and conversation as he thought proper. One night at Brussels, his boot requiring immediate mending, he was directed to a cobbler. Unluckily, it happened to be St. Crispin's holiday, and, instead of finding the cobbler inclined for work, he was in the height of his jollity among his acquaintance. The emperor acquainted him with what he wanted, and offered him a handsome gratuity.—"What, friend!" says the fellow, "do you know no better than to ask one of our craft to work on St. Crispin? Was it Charles himself, I'd not do a stitch for him now; but if you'll come in and drink St. Crispin, do and welcome: we are as merry as the emperor can be." The emperor accepted the offer: but while he was contemplaing their rude pleasure, instead of joining in it, the jovial host thus accosts him:—"What, I suppose you are some courtier politician or other, by that comtemplative phiz; but be you who or what your will, you are heartily welcome:—drink about—here's Charles the Fifth's health."—"Then you love Charles the fifth?" replied the emperor.—"Love him!" says the son of Crispin; "ay, ay, I love his long-noseship well enough; but I should love him much better would he but tax us a little less; but what have we to do with politics? round with the glasses, and merry be our hearts." After a short stay, the emperor took his leave, and thanked the cobbler for his hospitable reception. "That," cried he, "you are welcome to; but I would not have dishonoured St. Crispin to-day to have worked for the emperor." Charles, pleased with the good nature and humour of the man, sent for him next morning to court. You must imagine his surprise to see and hear his late guest was his sovereign: he feared his joke upon his long nose must be punished with death. The emperor thanked him for his hospitality, and, as a reward for it, bade him ask for what he most desired, and take the whole night to settle his surprise and his ambition. Next day he appeared, and requested that, for the future, the cobblers of Flanders might bear for their arms a boot with the emperor's crown upon it. That request was granted, and, as his ambition was so moderate, the emperor bade him make another. "If," says he, "I am to have my utmost wishes, command that, for the future, the company of cobblers shall take place of the company of shoemakers." It was, accordingly, so ordained; and, to this day, there is to be seen a chapel in Flanders, adorned with a boot and imperial crown on it: and in all processions, the company of cobblers takes precedence of the company of shoemakers.* [European Magazine, vol. xl.]


Fleabane Starwort. Aster Conizoides.
Dedicated to St. Crispin.
Meagre Starwort. Aster miser.
Dedicated to St. Crispinian.

October 26.

St. Evaristus, Pope, A. D. 112. Sts. Lucian and Marcian, A. D. 250.

It is noticed by Dr. Forster, that in a mild autumn late grapes now ripen on the vines, and that the gathering of the very late sorts of apples, and of winter pears, still continues: these latter fruits, like those of the earlier year, are to be laid up in the loft to complete their process of ripening, which, except in a few sorts, is seldom completed on the trees.


Late Golden Rod. Solidago petiolaris.
Dedicated to St. Evaristus.

October 27.

St. Frumentius, Apostle of Ethiopia, 4th Cent. St. Elesbaan, King of Ethiopia, A. D. 527. St. Abban, Abbot in Ireland, 6th. Cent.

Evelyn says, "the loppings and leaves of the elm, dried in the sun, prove a great relief to cattle when fodder is dear, and will be preferred to oats by the cattle." The Herefordshire people, in his time, gathered them in sacks for this purpose, and for their swine.


Floribund Starwort. Aster floribundus.
Dedicated to St. Frumentius.

October 28.

St. Simon, the Zealot, Apostle. St. Jude, Apostle. St. Faro, Bp. of Meaux, A. D. 672. St. Neot, A. D. 877.

St. Simon and St. Jude.

A festival to these apostles is maintained on this day in the church of England, whereon also it is celebrated by the church of Rome; hence their names in our almanacs.

Simon is called the Canaanite, either from Cana the place of his birth, or from his having been of a hot and sprightly temper. He remained with the other apostles till after pentecost, and is imagined on slight grounds to have preached in Britain, and there been put to death. Jude, or Judas, also called Thaddeus and Libbius, was brother to James the brother to Christ, (Matt. xiii. 55.) Lardner imagines he was the son of Joseph by a former wife. Some presume that he suffered martyrdom in Persia, but this is doubtful.* [Audley.]

This anniversary was deemed as rainy as St. Swithin's. A character in the "Roaring Girl," one of Dodsley's old plays, says, "as well as I know 'twill rain upon Simon and Jude's day:" and afterwards, "now a continual Simon and Jude's rain beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes." Hollinshed notices that on the eve of this day in 1536, when a battle was to have been fought between the troops of Henry VIII., and the insurgents in Yorkshire, there fell so great a rain that it could not take place. In the Runic calendar, the day is marked by a ship because these saints were fishermen.* [Brand.]


Late Chrysanthemum. Chrysanthemum scrotinum.
Dedicated to St. Simon.
Scattered Starwort. Aster passiflorus.
Dedicated to St. Jude.

October 29.

St. Narcissus, Bp. of Jerusalem, 2d Cent. St. Chef, in latin Theuderius, Abbot, A. D. 575.

New Literary Institution, in 1825.

At this period, active measures were adopted in London for forming a "Western Literary and Scientific Institution," for persons engaged in commercial and professional pursuits; its objects being 1. The establishment of a library of reference and circulation, and rooms for reading and conversation. 2. The formation of the members into classes, to assist them in the acquisition of ancient and modern languages. 3. The delivery of lectures in literature and science. This is an undertaking fraught with advantages, especially to young men whose situations do not permit them convenient access to means of instruction within the reach of their employers, many of whom may be likewise bettered by its maturity. The mechanics had an excellent "institution," while persons, who, engaged in promoting general business, and meriting equal regard, remained without the benefit which growing intelligence offers to all who have industry and inclination sufficient to devise methods for reaching it. Other institutions have arisen, and are rapidly arising, for equally praiseworthy purposes.


Green Autumnal Narcissus. Narcissus viridiflorus.
Dedicated to St. Narcissus, Bp.

October 30.

St. Marcellus, the Centurion, A. D. 298. St. Germanus, Bp. of Capua, A. D. 540. St. Asterius, Bp. of Amasea in Pontus, A. D. 400.


To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Oct. 29, 1825.

The ancient and beautiful collegiate church of St. Katharine finally closes tomorrow, previous to its demolition by the St. Katharine's dock company. The destruction of an edifice of such antiquity, one of the very few that escaped the great fire of 1666, has excited much public attention. I hope, therefore, that the subject will not be lost sight of in your Every-Day Book. Numbers of the nobility and gentry, who, notwithstanding an earnest appeal was made to them, left the sacred pile to its fate, have lately visited it. In fact, for the beauty and simplicity of its architecture, it has scarcely a rival in London, excepting the Temple church: the interior is ornamented with various specimens of ancient carving; a costly monument of the duke of Exeter, and various others of an interesting kind. This interesting fabric has been sacrificed by the present chapter, consisting of the master, sir Herbert Taylor, three brethren chaplains, and three sisters, to a new dock company, who have no doubt paid them handsomely for sanctioning the pulling down of the church, the violation of the graves, and the turning of hundreds of poor deserving people out of their homes; their plea is, that they have paid the chapter. I hope, sir, you will pardon the liberty I have taken in troubling you with these particulars; and that you will not forget poor Old Kate, deserted as she is by those whose duty it was to have supported her.

I remain,
Your obedient servant,

P. S. There is no more occasion for these docks than for one at the foot of Ludgate-hill.

The purpose of this correspondent may be answered, perhaps, by publishing his well-founded lamentation over the final dissolution of his church; his call upon me could not be declined. I did not get his note till the very hour that the service was commencing, and hurried from Ludgate-hill to the ancient "collegiate church of St. Katharine's by the Tower," where I arrived just before the conclusion of prayers. Numbers unable to get accomodation among the crowd within, were coming from the place; but "where there's a will there's a way," and I contrived to gain a passage to the chancel, and was ultimately conducted to a seat in a pew just as the rev. R. R. Bailey, resident chaplain of the tower, ascended the curious old pulpit of this remarkable structure. This gentleman, whose "History of the Tower" is well known to topographers and antiquaries, appropriately selected for his text, "Go to now, ye that say, to-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell and get gain." (James iv. 13.) He discoursed of the frailty of man's purpose, and the insecurity of his institutions, and enjoined hope and reliance on Him whose order ordained and preserves the world in its mutations. He spoke of the "unfeeling and encroaching hand of commerce," which had rudely seized on the venerable fabric, wherein no more shall be said—

"Lord, how delightful 'tis to see,
A whole assembly worship thee."

To some of the many present the building was endeared by locality, and its burial ground was sacred earth. Yet from thence the bones of their kindred were to be expelled, and the foundations of the edifice swept away. For eight centuries the site had been undisturbed, save for the reception of the departed from the world—for him whose friends claimed that there "the servant should be free from his master," or for the opulent, who, in his end, was needy as the needy, and required only "a little, little grave." Yet the very chambers of the dead were to be razed, and the remains of mortality dispersed, and a standing water was to be in their stead. The preacher, in sad remembrance, briefly, but strongly, touched on the coming demolition of the fane, and there were those among the congregation who deeply sorrowed. On the features of an elderly inhabitant opposite to me, there was a convulsive twitching, while, with his head thrown back, he watched the preacher's lips, and the big tear sprung from his eyes; and the partner of his long life leaned forward and wept; the bosoms of their daughters rose and fell in grief; matrons and virgins sobbed; manly hearts were swollen, and strong men were bowed.

After the sermon "sixty poor children of the precinct," for whose benefit it was preached—it was the last office that could be celebrated in their behalf—sung a hymn to the magnificent organ, which, on the morrow, was to be pulled down. They choralled in tender tones—

"Great God, O! hear our humble song,
   An off'ring to thy praise,
O! guard our tender youth from wrong,
   And keep us in thy ways!"

These were the offspring of a neighbournood of ill fame, whence, by liberal hands, they had been plucked and preserved as brands from the burning fire. It seemed as though they were about to be scattered from the fold wherein they had been folded and kept.

While the destruction of this edifice was contemplated, the purpose gave rise to remonstrance; but resistance was quelled by the applications, which are usually successful in such cases. "An Earnest Appeal to the Lords and Commons in Parliament, by a Clergyman," was ineffectually printed and circulated with the hope of preventing the act. This little tract says:—

"The collegiate body to whom the church and precinct pertain, and who have not always been so insensible to the nobler principles they now abandon, owe their origin to Maud, wife of king Stephen—their present constitution to Eleanor, wife of king Henry III.—and their exemption from the general dissolution in the time of Henry VIII. to the attractions (it is said) of Anne Boleyn. The queens' consort have from the first been patronesses, and on a vacancy of the crown matrimonial, the kings of England. The fabric for which, in default of its retained advocates, I have ventured not to plead, is of the age of king Edward III., lofty and well-proportioned, rich in ancient carving, adorned with effigies of a Holland, a Stafford, a Montacute, all allied to the blood royal, and in spite of successive mutilations is well able to plead for itself: surely then, for its own sake, as well as for the general interests involved in its preservation, it is not too much to ask, that it may, at least, be confronted with those who wish its destruction—that its obscure location may not cause its condemnation unseen—that no one will pass sentence who has not visited the spot, and that, having so done, he will suffer the unbiassed dictates of his own heart to decide."


Mixen Agaric. Agaricus fimetarius.
Dedicated to St. Marcellus.

October 31.

St. Quintin, A. D. 287. St. Wolfgang, Bp. of Ratisbon, A. D. 994. St. Foillan, A. D. 655.


Respecting this, which is the vigil of All Saints-day, Mr. Brand has collected many notices of customs; to him therefore we are indebted for the following particulars:—

On this night young people in the north of England dive for apples, or catch at them, when stuck upon one end of a kind of hanging beam, at the other extremity of which is fixed a lighted candle. This they do with their mouths only, their hands being tied behind their backs. From the custom of flinging nuts into the fire, or cracking them with their teeth, it has likewise obtained the name of nut-crack night. In an ancient illuminated missal in Mr. Douce's collection, a person is represented balancing himself upon a pole laid across two stools; at the end of the pole is a lighted candle, from which he is endeavouring to light another in his hand, at the risk of tumbling into a tub of water placed under him. A writer, about a century ago, says, "This is the last day of October, and the birth of this packet is partly owing to the affair of this night. I am alone; but the servants having demanded apples, ale, and nuts, I took the opportunity of running back my own annals of Allhallows Eve; for you are to know, my lord, that I have been a mere adept, a most famous artist, both in the college and country, on occasion of this anile, chimerical solemnity."* [Life of Harvey, the conjuror, 8vo., 1728.]

Pennant says, that the young women in Scotland determine the figure and size of their husbands by drawing cabbages blind-fold on Allhallow Even, and, like the English, fling nuts into the fire. It is mentioned by Burns, in a note to his poem on "Hallow E'en," that "The first ceremony of Hallow E'en is pulling each a stock or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells—the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the custoc, that is the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question." It appears that the Welsh have "a play in which the youth of both sexes seek for an even-leaved sprig of the ash: and the first of either sex that finds one, calls out Cyniver, and is answered by the first of the other that succeeds; and these two, if the omen fails not, are to be joined in wedlock."* [Owen's Welsh Dictionary.]

Burns says, that "Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and accordingly as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be." It is to be noted, that in Ireland, when the young women would know if their lovers are faithful, they put three nuts upon the bars of the grates, naming the nuts after the lovers. If a nut cracks or jumps, the lover will prove unfaithful; if it begins to blaze or burn, he has regard for the person making the trial. If the nuts, named after the girls and her lover, burn together, they will be married. This sort of divination is also in some parts of England at this time. Gay mentions it in his "Spell:"—

"Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame,
And to each nut I gave a sweet-heart's name:
This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd,
That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd;
As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow,
For t'was thy nut that did so brightly glow!"

There are some lines by Charles Graydon, Esq.—"On Nuts burning, Allhallows Eve."

"These glowing nuts are emblems true
Of what in human life we view;
The ill-match'd couple fret and fume,
And thus, in strife themselves consume;
Or, from each other wildly start,
And with a noise for ever part.
But see the happy happy pair,
Of genuine love and truth sincere;
With mutual fondness, while they burn,
Still to each other kindly turn:
And as the vital sparks decay
Together gently sink away:
Till life's fierce ordeal being past,
Their mingled ashes rest at last."* [Graydon's Collection of Poems, 8vo. Dublin, 1801.]

Burns says, "the passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature, in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own." He gives, therefore, the principal charms and spells of this night among the peasantry in the west of Scotland. One of these by young women, is, by pulling stalks of corn. "They go to the barn yard, and pull, each, at three several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage bed any thing but a maid." Another is by the blue clue. "Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot a clew of blue yarn; wind it in a new clew off the old one; and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread; demand, 'wha hauds?' i. e. who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the christian and surname of your future spouse." A third charm is by eating an apple at a glass. "Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair all the time; the face of your conjugal companion to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder."

In an appendix to the late Mr. "Pennant's Tour," several other very observable and perfectly new cusoms of divination on this night are enumerated. One is to "steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed, harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and then, 'hemp-seed I saw thee, hemp-seed I saw thee; and him (or her) that is to be my true, come after me and pou thee.' Look over your left shoulder and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, 'come after me and shaw thee,' that is, show thyself; in which case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, 'come after me and harrow thee.'"

Another is, "to winn three wechts o'naething." The wecht is the instrument used in winnowing corn. "This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible: for there is danger that the being, about to appear, may shut the doors and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht, and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and, the third time, an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue marking the employment or station in life."

Then there is "to fathom the stack three times." "Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a bear stack (barley stack), and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yokefellow." Another, "to dip your left shirt sleeve in a burn where three lairds land's meet." "You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running spring or rivulet, where 'three lairds' lands meet,' and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve as if to dry the other side of it."

The last is a singular species of divination "with three luggies, or dishes." "Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged: he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells with equal certainty no marriage at all. It is repeated three times: and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered." Sir Frederick Morton Eden says, that "Sowens, with butter instead of milk, is not only the Hallow E'en supper, but the Christmas and New-year's-day's breakfast, in many parts of Scotland."* [Eden's State of the Poor.]

In the province of Moray, in Scotland, "A solemnity was kept on the eve of the first of November as a thanksgiving for the safe in-gathering of the produce of the fields[.] This I am told, but have not seen: it is observed in Buchan and other countries, by having Hallow Eve fire kindled on some rising ground."†[Shaw's Hist. of Moray.]

In Ireland fires were anciently lighted up on the four great festivals of the Druids, but at this time they have dropped the fire of November, and substituted candles. The Welsh still retain the fire of November, but can give no reason for the illumination.‡[Vallancey, Collect. Hibern.]

The minister of Logierait, in Perthshire, describing that parish, says: "On the evening of the 31st of October, O. S. among many others, one remarkable ceremony is observed. Heath, broom, and dressings of flax, are tied upon a pole. This faggot is then kindled. One takes it upon his shoulders; and, running, bears it round the village. A crowd attend. When the first faggot is burnt out, a second is bound to the pole, and kindled in the same manner as before. Numbers of these blazing faggots are often carried about together; and when the night happens to be dark, they form a spendid illumination. This is Halloween, and is a night of great festivity."§[Sinclair's Stat. Acc. of Scotland.] Also at Callander, in Perthshire:—"On All Saints Even they set up bonfires in every village. When the bonfire is consumed, the ashes are carefully collected into the form of a circle. There is a stone put in, near the circumference, for every person of the several families interested in the bonfire; and whatever stone is moved out of its place, or injured before next morning, the person represented by that stone is devoted, or fey; and is supposed not to live twelve months from that day. The people received the consecrated fire from the Druid priests next morning, the virtues of which were supposed to continue for a year."* [Sinclair's Stat. Acc. of Scotland.] At Kirkmichael, in the same shire, "The practice of lighting bonfires on the first night of winter, accompanied with various ceremonies, still prevails in this and the neighbouring highland parishes."† [Ibid.] So likewise at Aberdeen, "The Midsummer Even fire, a relict of Druidism, was kindled in some parts of this county; the Hallow Even fire, another relict of Druidism, was kindled in Buchan. Various magic ceremonies were then celebrated to counteract the influence of witches and demons, and to prognosticate to the young their success or disappointment in the matrimonial lottery. These being devoutly finished, the Hallow fire was kindled, and guarded by the male part of the family. Societies were formed, either by pique or humour, to scatter certain fires, and the attack and defence here often conducted with art and fury."—"but now"—"the Hallow fire, when kindled, is attended by children only; and the country girl, renouncing the rites of magic, endeavours to enchant her swain by the charms of dress and of industry." ‡[Ibid.]

Pennant records, that in North Wales "there is a custom upon All Saints Eve of making a great fire called Coel Coeth, when every family about an hour in the night makes a great bonfire in the most conspicuous place near the house; and when the fire is almost extinguished, every one throws a white stone into the ashes, having first marked it; then, having said their prayers, turning round the fire, they go to bed. In the morning, as soon as they are up, they come to search out the stones; and if any one of them is found wanting, they have a notion that the person who threw it in will die before he sees another All Saints Eve." They also distribute soul cakes on All Souls-day, at the receiving of which poor people pray to God to bless the next crop of wheat.

Mr. Owen's account of the bards, in sir R. Hoare's "Itinerary of archbishop Baldwin through Wales," says, "The autumnal fire is still kindled in North Wales on the eve of the first day of November, and is attended by many ceremonies; such as running through the fire and smoke, each casting a stone into the fire, and all running off at the conclusion to escape from the black short-tailed sow; then supping upon parsnips, nuts, and apples; catching at an apple suspended by a string with the mouth alone, and the same by an apple in a tub of water; each throwing a nut into the fire, and those that burn bright betoken prosperity to the owners through the following year, but those that burn black and crackle denote misfortune. On the following morning the stones are searched for in the fire, and if any be missing they betide ill to those that threw them in."

At St. Kilda, on Hallow E'en night, they baked "a large cake in form of a triangle, furrowed round, and which was to be all eaten that night."* [Martin's Western Islands.] In England, there are still some parts wherein the grounds are illuminated upon the eve of All Souls, by bearing round them straw, or other fit materials, kindled into a blaze. The ceremony is called a tinley, and the Romish opinion among the common people is, that it represents an emblematical lighting of souls out of purgatory.

"The inhabitants of the isle of Lewis (one of the western islands of Scotland,) had an antient custom to sacrifice to an sea god, called Shony, at Hallow-tide, in the manner following: the inhabitants round the island came to the church of St. Mulvay, having each man his provision along with him. Every family furnished a peck of malt, and this was brewed into ale. One of their number was picked out to wade into the sea up to the middle; and, carrying a cup of ale in his hand, standing still in that posture, cried out with a loud voice, saying, 'Shony, I give you this cup of ale, hoping that you'll be so kind as to send us plenty of sea-ware, for enriching our ground the ensuing year;' and so threw the cup of ale into the sea. This was performed in the night time. At his return to land, they all went to church, where there was a candle burning upon the altar; and then standing silent for a little time, one of them gave a signal, at which the candle was put out, and immediately all of them went to the fields, where they fell a drinking their ale, and spent the remainder of the night in dancing and singing," &c.† [Ibid.]

At Blandford Forum, in Dorsetshire, "there was a custom, in the papal times, to ring bells at Allhallow-tide for all christian souls." Bishop Burnet gives a letter from king Henry the Eighth to Cranmer "against superstitious practices," wherein "the vigil and ringing of bells all the night long upon Allhallow-day at night," are directed to be abolished; and the said vigil to have no watching or ringing. So likewise a subsequent injunction, early in the reign of queen Elizabeth, orders "that the superfluous ringing of bels, and the superstitious ringing of bells at Alhallowntide, and at Al Soul's day, with the two nights next before and after, be prohibited."

General Vallancey says, concerning this night, "On the Oidhche Shamhna, (Ee Owna,) or vigil of Samam, the peasants in Ireland assemble with sticks and clubs, (the emblems of laceration,) going from house to house, collecting money, bread-cake, butter, cheese, eggs, &c. for the feast, repeating verses in honour of the solemnity, demanding preparations for the festival in the name of St. Columb Kill, desiring them to lay aside the fatted calf, and to bring forth the black sheep. The good women are employed in making the griddle cake and candles; these last are sent from house to house in the vicinity, and are lighted up on the (Saman) next day, before which they pray, or are supposed to pray, for the departed soul of the donor. Every house abounds in the best viands they can afford. Apples and nuts are devoured in abundance; the nut-shells are burnt, and from the ashes many strange things are foretold. Cabbages are torn up by the root. Hemp-seed is sown by the maidens, and they believe that if they look back, they will see the apparition of the man intended for their future spouse. They hand a shift before the fire, on the close of the feast, and sit up all night, concealed in a corner of the room, convinced that his apparition will come down the chimney and turn the shift. They throw a ball of yarn out of the window, and wind it on the reel within, convinced that if they repeat the paternoster backwards, and look at the ball of yarn without, they will then also see his sith, or apparition. They dip for apples in a tub of water, and endeavour to bring one up in the mouth. They suspend a cord with a cross stick, with apples at one point, and candles lighted at the other; and endeavour to catch the apple, while it is in a circular motion, in the mouth. These, and many other superstitious ceremonies, the remains of Druidism, are observed on this holiday, which will never be eradicated while the name of Saman is permitted to remain."

It is mentioned by a writer in the "Gentleman's Magazine," that lamb's-wool is a constant ingredient at a merry-making on Holy Eve, or on the evening before All Saints-day in Ireland. It is made there, he says, by bruising roasted apples, and mixing them with ale, or sometimes with milk. "Formerly, when the superior ranks were not too refined for these periodical meetings of jollity, white wine was frequently substituted for ale. To lamb's-wool, apples and nuts are added as a necessary part of the enternatinment; and the young folks amuse themselves with burning nuts in pairs on the bar of the grate, or among the warm embers, to which they give their name and that of their lovers, or those of their friends who are supposed to have such attachments; and from the manner of their burning and duration of the flame, &c. draw such inferences respecting the constancy or strength of their passions, as usually promote mirth and good humour." Lamb's-wool is thus etymologized by Vallancey:—"The first day of November was dedicated to the angel presiding over fruits, seeds, &c. and was therefore named La Mas Ubhal, that is, the day of the apple fruit, and being pronounced lamasool, the English have corrupted the name to lamb's-wool."


Fennel-leaved Tickseed[.] Corcopsis ferulefolia.
Dedicated to St. Quintin.


Now comes the season when the humble want,
And know the misery of their wretched scant:
Go, ye, and seek their homes, who have the power,
And ease the sorrows of their trying hour.

"There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth:
To him who gives a blessing never ceaseth.