Next was November; he full grown and fat
   As fed with lard, and that right well might seeme;
   For he had been a fatting hogs of late,
   That yet his browes with sweat did reek and steam;
    And yet the season was full sharp and breem;
   In planting eeke he took no small delight,
    Whereon he rode, not easie was to deeme
   For it a dreadful centaure was in sight,
The seed of Saturn and fair Nais, Chiron hight.


This is the eleventh month of the year. The anglo-saxons gave names in their own tongue to each month and "November they termed wint-monat, to wit, wind-moneth, whereby wee may see that our ancestors were in this season of the yeare made acquainted with blustring Boreas; and it was the antient custome for shipmen then to shrowd themselves at home, and to give over sea-faring (notwithstanding the littlenesse of their then used voyages) untill blustring March had bidden them well to fare."* [Verstegan.] They likewise called it blot-monath. In the saxon, "blot" means blood; and in this month they killed great abundance of cattle for winter-store, or, according to some, for purposes of sacrifice to their deities.† [Dr. F. Sayer.]

Bishop Warburton commences a letter to his friend Hurd, with an allusion to the evil influence which the gloominess of this moght is prverbially supposed to have on the mind. He dates from Bedford-row, October 28th, 1749:—"I am now got hither," he says, "to spend the month of November: the dreadful month of November! when the little wretches hang and drown themselves, and the great ones sell themselves to the court and the devil."

"This is the month," says Mr. Leigh Hunt, "in which we are said by the Frenchman to hang and drown ourselves. We also agree with him to call it 'the gloomy month of November;' and, above all, with our in-door, money-getting, and unimaginative habits, all the rest of the year, we contrive to make it so. Not all of us, however: and fewer and fewer, we trust, every day. It is a fact well known to the medical philosopher, that, in proportion as people do not like air and exercise, their blood becomes darker and darker: now what corrupts and thickens the circulation, and keeps the humours within the pores, darkens and clogs the mind; and we are then in a state to receive pleasure but indifferently or confusedly, and pain with tenfold painfulness. If we add to this a quantity of unnecessary cares and sordid mistakes, it is so much the worse. A love of nature is the refuge. He who grapples with March, and has the smiling eyes upon him of June and August, need have no fear of November.—And as the Italian proverb says, every medal has its reverse. November, with its loss of verdure, its frequent rains, the fall of the leaf, and the visible approach of winter, is undoubtedly a gloomy month to the gloomy; but to others, it brings but pensiveness, a feeling very far from destitute of pleasure; and if the healthiest and most imaginative of us may feel their spirits pulled down by reflections connected with earth, its mortalities, and its mistakes, we should but strengthen ourselves the more to make strong and sweet music with the changeful but harmonious movements of nature." This pleasant observer of the months further remarks, that, "There are many pleasures in November if we will lift up our matter-of-fact eyes, and find that there are matters-of-fact we seldom dream of. It is a pleasant thing to meet the gentle fine days, that come to contradict our sayings for us; it is a pleasant thing to see the primrose come back again in woods and meadows; it is a pleasant thing to catch the whistle of the green plover, and to see the greenfinches congregate; it is a pleasant thing to listen to the deep amorous note of the wood-pigeons, who now come back again; and it is a pleasant thing to hear the deeper voice of the stags, making their triumphant love amidst the falling leaves.

"Besides a quantity of fruit, our gardens retain a number of the flowers of last month, with the stripped lily in leaf; and, in addition to several of the flowering trees and shrubs, we have the fertile and glowing china-roses in flower: and in fruit the pyracantha, with its lustruous red-berries, that cluster so beautifully on the walls of cottages. This is the time also for domestic cultivators of flowers to be very busy in preparing for those spring and winter ornaments, which used to be thought the work of magic. They may plant hyacinths, dwarf tulips, polyanthus-narcissus, or any other moderately-growing bulbous roots, either in water-glasses, or in pots of light dry earth, to flower early in their apartments. If in glasses, the bulb should be a little in the water; if in pots, a little in the earth, or but just covered. They should be kept in a warm light room.

"The trees generally lose their leaves in the following succession:—walnut, mulberry, horse-chestnut, sycamore, lime, ash, then, after an interval, elm, then beech and oak, then apple and peach-trees, sometimes not till the end of November; and lastly, pollard oaks and young beeches, which retain their withered leaves till pushed off by their new ones in spring. Oaks that happen to be stripped of their leaves by chaffers, will often surprise the haunter of nature by being clothed again soon after midsummer with a beautiful vivid foliage.

"The farmer endeavours to finish his ploughing this month, and then lays up his instruments for the spring. Cattle are kept in the yard or stable, sheep turned into the turnip-field, or in bad weather fed with hay; bees moved under shelter, and pigeons fed in the dove-house.

"Among our autumnal pleasures, we ought not to have omitted the very falling of the leaves:

To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air,
Go eddying round.

C. Lamb

"Towards the end of the month, under the groves and other shady places, they begin to lie in heaps, and to rustle to the foot of the passenger; and there they will like till the young leaves are grown overhead, and spring comes to look down upon them with their flowers:—

O Spring! of hope, and love, and youth, and gladness,
Wind-winged emblem! brightest, best, and fairest!
Whence comest thou, when, with dark winter's sadness,
The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest?
Sister of joy, thou art the child who wearest
Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet;
Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest
Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet,
Disturbing not the leaves, which are her winding sheet.

November 1.

All Saints. St. Cæsarius, A. D. 300. St. Mary. M. St. Marcellus, Bp. of Paris, 5th Cent. St. Benignus, Apostle of Burgundy, A. D. 272. St. Austremonius, 3d Cent. St. Harold VI., King of Denmark, A. D. 980.

All Saints.

This festival in the almanacs and the church of England calendar is from the church of Rome, which celebrates it in commemoration of those of its saints, to whom, on account of their number, particular days could not be allotted in their individual honour.

On this day, in many parts of England, apples are bobbed for, and nuts cracked, as upon its vigil, yesterday; and we still retain traces of other customs that we had in common with Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, in days of old.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Should the following excerpt relative to the first of November be of use to you, it is at your service, extracted from a scarce and vluable work by Dr. W. Own Pughe, entitled "Translations of the Heroic Elegies of Llywarch Hèn, London, 1792."

"The first day of November was considered (among the ancient Welsh) as the conclusion of summer, and was celebrated with bonfires, accompanied with ceremonies suitable to the event, and some parts of Wales still retain these customs. Ireland retains similar ones, and the fire that is made at these seasons, is called Beal teinidh, in the Irish language, and some antiquaries of that country, in establishing the eras of the different colonies planted in the island, have been happy enough to adduce as an argument for their Phœnician origin this term of Beal teinidh.

"The meaning of tàn, (in Welsh), like the Irish teinidh, is fire, and Bal is simply a projecting springing out or expanding, and when applied to vegetation, it means a budding or shooting out of leaves and blossoms, the same as balant, of which it is the root, and it is also the root of bala and of blwydd, blwyddyn and blynedd. a year, or circle of vegetation. So the signification of bál dán, or tán bál, would be the rejoicing fire for the vegetation, or for the crop of the year."

The following seven triplets by Llywarch Hèn, who lived to the surprising age of one hundred and forty years, and wrote in the sixth century, also relate to the subject. The translations, which are strictly literal, are also from the pen of Dr. Pughe.

[set these side-by-side in an html table]



On All Saints day hard is the grain,
The leaves are dropping, the puddle is full,
At setting off in the morning
Woe to him that will trust a stranger.

Calangauaf caled grawn
Dail ar gychwyn, Uynwyn Uawn:—
Y bore cyn noi fyned,
Gwae a ymddiried i estrawn

All Saints day, a time of pleasant gossiping,
The gale and the storm keep equal pace,
It is the labour of falsehood to keep a secret.

Calangauaf cain gyfrin,
Cyfred awel a drychin:
Gwaith celwydd yw celu rhin.

On All Saints day the stags are lean,
Yellow are the tops of birch; deserted is the summer dwelling:
Woe to him who for a trifle deserves a curse.

Calangauaf cul hyddod
Melyn blaen bedw, gweddw hafod:
Gwae a haedd mefyl er bychod.

On All Saints day the tops of the branches are bent;
In the mouth of the mischievous, distrubance is congenial:
Where there is no natural gift there will be no learning.

Calangauaf crwm blaen gwrysg:
Gnawd o ben diried derfysg;
Lle ni bo dawn ni bydd dysg.

On All Saints day blustering is the weather,
Very unlike the beginning of the past fair season:
Besides God there is none who knows the future.

Calangauaf garw hin,
Annhebyg i gyntefin:
Namwyn Duw nid oes dewin.

On All Saints day 'tis hard and dry,
Doubly black is the crow, quick is the arrow from the bow,
For the stumbling of the old, the looks of the young wear a smile.

Calangauaf caled cras,
Purddu bran, buan o fras:
Am gwymp hen chwerddid gwèn gwâs.

On All Saints day bare is the place where the heath is burnt,
The plough is in the furrow, the ox at work:
Amongst a hundred 'tis a chance to find a friend.

Calangauaf Uwn goddaith,
Aradyr yn rhych, ych yn ngwaith:
O'r cant oded cydymmaith.

It will be perceived that each triplet, as was customary with the ancient Britons is accompanied by a moral maxim, without relation to the subject of the song.



Laurastinus. Laurastinus sempervirens.
Dedicated to St. Fortunatus.

November 2.

All Souls; or the Commemoration of the Faithful departed. St. Victorinus Bp. A. D. 304. St. Marcian, A. D. 387. St. Vulgan, 8th Cent.

All Souls.

This day, also a festival in the almanacs, and the church of England calendar, is from the Romish church, which celebrtes it with masses and ceremonies devised for the occasion. "Odilon, abbot of Cluny, in the 9th century, first enjoined [t]he ceremony of praying for the dead on this day in his own monastery; and the like practice was partially adopted by other religious houses until the year 998, when it was established as a general festival throughout the western churches. To mark the pre-eminent importance of this festival, if it happened on a Sunday it was not postponed to the Monday, as was the case with other such solemnities, but kept on the Saturday, in order that the church might the sooner aid the suffering souls, and, that the dead might have every benefit from the pious exertions of the living, the remembrance of this ordinance was kept up, by persons dressed in black, who went round the different towns, ringing a loud and dismal-toned bell at the corner of each street, every Sunday evening during the month; and calling upon the inhabitants to remembers the deceased suffering the expiatory flames of purgatory, and to join in prayer for the repose of their souls."* [Brady's Clavis Calendaria.]


Mr. John M'Creery, to whose press Mr. Roscoe committed his "History of Leo X.," and the subsequent productions of his pen, has marked this day by dating a beautiful poem on it, which all who desire to seize the "golden grains" of time will do well to learn and remember daily.



Mark the golden grains that pass
Brightly thro' this channell'd glass,
Measuring by their ceaseless fall
Heaven's most precious gift to all!
Busy, till its sand be done,
See the shining current run;
But, th' allotted numbers shed,
Another hour of life hath fled!
Its task perform'd, its travail past,
Like mortal man it rests at last!—
Yet let some hand invert its frame
And all its powers return the same,
Whilst any golden grains remain
'Twill work its little hour again.—
But who shall turn the glass for man,
When all his golden grains have ran?
Who shall collect his scatter'd sand,
Dispers'd by time's unsparing hand?—
Never can one grain be found,
Howe'er we anxious search around!

Then, daughters, since this truth is plain,
That Time once gone ne'er comes again,
Improv'd bid every moment pass—
See how the sand rolls down your glass.

Nov. 2. 1810.    J. M. C.

Mr. M'Creery first printed this little effusion of his just and vigorous mind on a small slip, one of which he gave at the time to the editor of the Every-Day Book, who if he has not like

——— the little busy bee
Improved each shining hour,

is not therefore less able to determine the value of those that are gone for ever; nor therefore less anxious to secure each that may fall to him; nor less qualified to enjoin on his youthful readers the importance of this truth, "that time once gone, ne'er comes again." He would bid them remember, in the conscience-burning words of one or our poets, that—

"Time is the stuff that life is made of."


Winter Cherry. Physalis.
Dedicated to St. Marcian.

November 3.

St. Malachi, Abp. of Armagh, A. D. 1148. St. Hubert, Bp. of Leige, A. D. 727. St. Wenefride, or Winefride. St. Papoul, or Papulus, 3d. Cent. St. Flour, A. D. 389. St. Rumwald.

Without being sad, we may be serious; and continue to-day the theme of yesterday.

Mr. Bowring, from whose former poteical works several citations have already glistened these pages, in a subsequent collectionf of effusions, has versified to our purpose. He reminds us that—

Man is not left untold, untaught,
   Untrain'd by heav'n to heavenly things;
No! ev'ry fleeting hour has brought
   Lessons of wisdom on its wings;
And ev're day bids solemn thought
   Soar above earth's imaginings.

In life, in death, a voice is heard,
   Speaking in heaven's own eloquence,
That calls on purposes deferr'd,
   On wand'ring thought, on wild'ring sense,
And bids reflection, long interr'd,
   Arouse from its indifference.

Another poem is a translation


Ach wie nichtig, ach wie flüchtig!

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is our earthly being!
'Tis a mist in wintry weather,
Gather'd in an hour together,
And as soon dispers'd in ether.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Are our days departing!
Like a deep and headlong river
Flowing onward, flowing ever—
Tarrying not and stopping never.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Are the world's enjoyments!
All the hues of change they borrow,
Bright to-day and dark to-morrow—
Mingled lot of joy and sorrow!

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is all earthly beauty!
Like a summer flow'ret blowing,
Scattered by the breezes, blowing
O'er the bed on which 'twas growing.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is the strength of mortals!
On a lion's power they pride them,
With security beside them—
Yet what overthrows betide them!

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is all earthly pleasure!
'Tis an air-suspended bubble,
Blown about in tears and trouble,
Broken soon by flying stubble.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is all earthly honour!
He who wields a monarch's thunder,
Tearing right and law asunder,
Is to-morrow trodden under.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is all mortal wisdom!
He who with poetic fiction
Sway'd and silenced contradiction,
Soon is still'd by death's infliction.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is all earthly music!
Though he sing as angels sweetly,
Play he never so discreetly,
Death will overpower him fleetly.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Are all mortal treasures!
Let him pile and pile untiring,
Time, that adds to his desiring,
Shall disperse the heap aspiring.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is the world's ambition!
Thou who sit'st upon the steepest
Height, and there securely sleepest,
Soon wilt sink, alas! the deepest.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   Is the pomp of mortals!
Clad in purple—and elated,
O'er their fellows elevated,
They shall be by death unseated.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
   All—yes! all that's earthly!
Every thing is fading—flying—
Man is mortal—earth is dying—
Christian! live on Heav'n relying.

The same writer truly pictures our fearful estate, if we heed not the silent progress of "the enemy," that by proper attention we may convert into a friend.—


On! on! our moments hurry by
   Like shadows of a passing cloud,
Till general darkness wraps the sky,
   And man sleeps senseless in his shroud.

He sports, he trifles time away,
   Till time is his to waste no more:
Heedless he hears the surges play;
   And then is dash'd upon the shore.

He has no thought of coming days,
   Though they alone desrve his thought
And so the heedless wanderer strays,
   And treasures nought and gathers nought.

Though wisdom speak—his ear is dull;
   Though virtue smile—he sees her not;
His cup of vanity is full;
   And all besides forgone—forgot.

These "memorabilia" are from a three-shilling volume, entitled "Hymns, by Joh Bowring," intended as a sequel to the "Matins and Vespers." Mr. Bowring does not claim that his "little book" shall supply the place of similar productions. "If it be allowed," he says, "to add any thing to the treasures of our devotinal poetry; if any of its pages should be hereafter blended with the exercises of domestic and social worship; or if it shall be the companion of meditative solitude, the writer will be more than rewarded." All this gentleman's poetical works, diversified as they are, tend "to mend the heart."


Primrose. Primula vulgaris.
Dedicated to St. Flour.

November 4.

St. Charles Borromeo, Cardinal, Abp. of Milan, A. D. 1584. Sts. Vitalis and Agricola, A. D. 304. St. Joannicius, Abbot, A. D. 845. St. Clarus, A. D. 894. St. Brinstan, Bp. of Winchester, A. D. 931.


So say our almanacs, directly in opposition to the fact, that king William III. did not land until the next day, the 5th: we have only to look into our annals and be assured that the almanacs are in error. Rapin says, "The fourth of November being Sunday, and the prince's birthday, now (in 1688) thirty-eight years of age, was by him dedicated to devotion; the fleet still continuing their course, in order to land at Dartmouth, or Torbay. But in the night, whether by the violence of the wind, or the negligence of the pilot, the fleet was carried beyond the desired ports without a possibility of putting back, such was the fury of the wind. But soon after, the wind turned to the south, which happily carried the fleet into Torbay, the most convenient place for landing the horse of any in England. The forces were landed with such diligence and tranquility, that the whole army was on shore before night. It was thus that the prince of Orange landed in England, without any opposition, on the 5th of November, whilst the English were celebrating the memory of their deliverance from the powder-plot about fourscore years before," &c. Hume also says, "the prince had a prosperous voyage, and landed his army safely in Torbay on the 5th of November, the anniversary of the gunpowder treason." these historians ground their statements on the authority of bishop Burnet, who was on board the fleet, and from other writers of the period, and their accuracy is provable fromt he public records of the kingdom, notwithstanding the almanac-makers say to the contrary. It must be admitted, however, that the fourth is kept as the anniversary of the landing of king William, a holiday at different public offices.


Strawberry-tree. Arbutus.
Dedicated to St. Brinstan.

November 5.

St. Bertille, Abbess of Chelles, A. D. 692.

Powder Plot, 1605.

This is a great day in the calendar of the church of England: it is duly noticed by the almanacs, and kept as a holiday at the public offices. In the "Common Prayer Book," there is "A Form of Prayer with Thanksgiving, to be used yearly upon the Fifth day of November; for the happy deliverance of King JAMES I., and the three Estates of England, from the most Traiterous and bloody-intended Massacre by Gunpowder: And also for the happy Arrival of His late Majesty (King WILLIAM III.) on this Day, for the Deliverance of our Church and Nation."


There cannot be a better representation of "Guy Fawkes," as he is borne about the metropolis, "in effigy," on the fifth of November, every year, than the drawing to this article by Mr. Cruikshank. It is not to be expected that poor boys should be well informed as to Guy's history, or be particular about his costume. With them "Guy Fawkes-day," or, as they as often call it, "Pope-day," is a holiday, and as they reckon their year by their holidays, this, on account of its festivous enjoyment, is the greatest holiday of the season. They prepare long before hand, not "Guy," but the fuel wherewith he is to be burnt, and the fireworks to fling about at the burning: "the Guy" is the last thing thought of, "the bonfire" the first. About this time ill is sure to betide the owner of an ill-secured fence; stakes are extracted from hedges, and branches torn from trees; crack, crack, goes loose paling; deserted buildings yield up their floorings; unbolted flip-flapping doors are released from their hinges as supernumeraries; and more burnables are deemed lawful prize than the law allows. These are secretly stored in some enclosed place, which other "collectors" cannot find, or dare not venture to invade. Then comes the making of "the Guy," which is easily done with straw, after the materials of dress are obtained: these are an old coat, waistcoat, breeches, and stockings, which usually as ill accord in their proportions and fitness, as the parts in some of the new churches. His hose and coat are frequently "a world too wide;" in such cases his legs are infinitely too big, and the coat is "hung like a loose sack about him." A barber's block for the head is "the very thing itself;" chalk and charcoal make capital eyes and brows, which are the main features, inasmuch as the chin commonly drops upon the breast, and all deficiencies are hid by "buttonning up:" a large wig is a capital achievement. Formerly an old cocked hat was the reigning fashion for a "Guy;" though the more strictly informed "dresser of the character" preferred a mock-mitre; now, however, both hat and mitre have disappeared, and a stiff paper cap painted, and knotted with paper strips, in imitation of ribbon, is its substitute; a frill and ruffles of writing-paper so far completes the figure. Yet this neither was not, nor is, a Guy, without a dark lantern in one hand, and a spread bunch of matches in the other. The figure thus furnished, and fastened in a chair, is carried about the streets in the manner represented in the engraving; the boys shouting forth the words of the motto with loud huzzas, and running up to passengers hat in hand, with "pray remember Guy! please to remember Guy [Fawkes].

Guy Fawkes.

Guy Fawkes.

Please to remember the fifth of November
      Gunpowder treason and plot;
We know no reason, why gunpowder treason
      Should ever be forgot!
         Holla boys! holla boys! huzzamdash;a—a!

A stick and a stake, for king George's sake,
A stick and a stump, for Guy Fawkes's rump!
         Holla boys! holla boys! huzza—a—a

Scuffles seldom happen now, but "in my youthful days," "when Guy met Guy—then came the tug of war!" The partisans fought, and a decided victory ended in the capture of "Guy" belonging to the vanquished. Sometimes desperate bands, who imitted, or were destitute of the means to make "Guys," went forth like Froissart's knights "upon adventures." An enterprise of this sort was called "going to smug a Guy," that is, to steal one by "force of arms," fists, and sticks, from its rightful owners. These partisans were always successful, for they always attacked the weak.

In such times, the burning of "a good Guy" was a scene of uproar unknown to the present day. The bonfire in Lincoln's Inn Fields was of this superior order of disorder. It was made at the great Queen-street corner, immediately opposite Newcastle-house. Fuel came all day long, in carts people have remembered when upwards of two hundred cart-loads were brought to make and feed this bonfire, and more than thirty "Guys" were burnt upon gibbets between eight and twelve o'clock at night.

At the same period, the butchers in Clare-market had a bonfire in the open space of the market, next to Bear-yard, and they thrashed each other "round about the wood-fire," with the strongest sinews of slaughtered bulls. Large parties of butchers from all the markets paraded the streets, ringing peals from marrow-bones-and-cleavers, so loud as to overpower the storms of sound that came from the rocking belfries of the churches. By ten o'clock, London was so lit up by bonfires and fireworks, that from the suburbs it looked in one red heat. Many were the overthrows of horsemen and carriages, from the discharge of hand-rockets, and the pressure of moving mobs inflamed to violence by drink, and fighting their way against each other.

This fiery zeal has gradually decreased. Men no longer take part or interest in such an observance of the day, and boys carry about their "Guy" with no other sentiment or knowledge respecting him, than body-snatchers have of a newly-raised corpse, or the method of dissecting it; their only question is, how much they shall get by the operation to make merry with. They sometimes confound their confused notion of the principle with the mawkin, and for "the Guy," they say, "the Pope." Their difference is not by the way of distinction, but ignorance. "No popery," no longer ferments; the spirit is of the lees.

The day is commonly called Gunpowder treason, and has been kept as an anniversary from 1605, when the plot was discovered, the night before it was to have been put in execution. The design was to blow up the king, James I., the prince of Wales, and the lords and commons assembled in parliament. One of the conspirators, being desirous of saving lord Monteagle, addressed an anonymous letter to him, ten days before the parliament met, in which was this expression, "the danger is past, so soon as you have burnt the letter." The earl of Salisbury waid it was written by some fool or madman; but the king said, "so soon as you have burnt the letter," was to be interpreted, in as short a space as you shall take to burn the letter. Then, comparing the sentence with one foregoing, "that they should receive a terrible blow, this parliament, and yet should not see hurt them," he concluded, that some sudden blow was preparing by means of gunpowder. Accordingly, all the rooms and cellars under the parliament-house were searched; but as nothing was discovered, it was resolved on the fourth of Nobember, at midnight, the day before the parliament met, to search under the wood, in a cellar hired by Mr. Percy, a papist. Accordingly sir Thomas Knevet, going about that time, found at the door a man in a cloak and boots, whom he apprehended. This was Guy Fawkes, who passed for Percy's servant. On removing the wood, &c. they discovered thirty-six barrels of gunpowder, and on Guy Fawkes being searched, there were found upon him, a dark lantern, a tinder-box, and three matches. Instead of being dismayed, he boldly said, if he had been taken within the cellar, he would have blown up himself and them together. On his examination, he confessed the design was to blow up the king and parliament, and expressed great sorrow that it was not done, saying, it was the devil and not God that was the discoverer. The number of persons discovered to have been in the conspiracy were about thirteen; they were all Roman catholics, and their design was to restore the catholic religion in England. It appears that Guy Fawkes and his associates had assembled, and concerted the plot at the old King's-head tavern, in Leadenhall-street. Two of the conspirators were killed, in endeavouring to avoid apprehension; eight were executed. Two jesuits, Oldcorn and Garnet, also suffered death; the former for saying, "the ill success of the conspiracy did not render it the less just;" the latter for being privy to the conspiracy and not revealing it.

A corporation notice is annually left at the house of every inhabitant in the city of London, previous to lord mayor's day. The following (delivered in St. Bride's) is its form:

October the 11th, 1825.

BY Virtue of a Precept from my LORD MAYOR, in order to prevent any Tumults and Riots that may happen on the Fifth of NOVEMBER and the next ensuing LORD MAYOR'S DAY, you are required to charge all your Servants and Lodgers, that they neither make, nor cause to be made, any SQUIBS, SERPENTS, FIRE BALLOONS, or other FIREWORKS, nor fire, fling, nor throw them out of your House, Shop, or Warehouse, or in the Streets of this City, on the Penalties contained in an Act of Parliament made in the Tenth year of the late King WILLIAM.

Note. The Act was made perpetual, and is not expired, as some ignorantly suppose.


Taylor, Printer, Basinghall Street.

On the fifth of November, a year or two ago, an outrageous sparkle of humour broke forth. A poor hard-working man, while at breakfast in his garret, was enticed from it by a message that some one who knew him wished to speak to him at the street door. When he got there he was shaken hands with, and invited to a chair. He had scarcely said "nay" before "the ayes had him," and clapping him in the vacant seat, tied him there. They then painted his face to their liking, put a wig and paper cap on his head, fastened a dark lantern in one of his hands, and a bundle of matches in the other, and carried him about all day, with shouts of laughter and huzzas, begging for their "Guy." When he was released at night he went home, and having slept upon his wrongs, he carried them the next morning to a police office, whither his offenders were presently brought by warrant, before the magistrates, who ordered them to find bail or stand committed. It is illegal to smug a man for "a Guy."


Angular Physalis. Physalis Alkakengi.
Dedicated to St. Bertille.

November 6.

St. Leonard, 6th Cent. St. Winoc, Abbot, 8th Cent. St. Iltutus, 6th Cent.

Michaelmas Term begins.

Now Monsieur TERM will come to town,
The lawyer putteth on his gown;
Revenge doth run post-swift on legs,
And's sweet as muscadine and eggs;
And this makes many go to law
For that which is not worth a straw,
But only they their mind will have,
No reason hear, nor council crave.

Poor Robin's Almanac, 1757.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

October, 1825.

Presuming the object you have in view in your Every-Day Book is to convey useful and pleasing information with the utmost correctness, and, if possible, without contradiction, I beg leave to say, your statement in page 100, "that in each term there is one day whereon the courts do not transact business, namely, on Candlemas-day in Hilary Term, Ascension-day in Easter Term, Midsummer-day in Trinity Term, and All-Saints'-day in Michaelmas Term," is not quite correct with respect to the two last days; for in last term (Trinity) Midsummer-day was subsequent to the last day, which was on the 22d of June. And if Midsummer-day falls on the morrow of Corpus Christi, as it did in 1614, 1698, 1709, and 1791, Trinity full Term then commences, and the courts sit on that day; otherwise, if it occurs in the term it is a dies non. In 1702, 1713, 1724, 1795, and 1801, when Midsummer-day fell upon what was regularly the last day of term, the courts did not then sit, regarding it as a Sunday, and the term was prolonged to the 25th. (See Blackstone's Commentaries, vol. iii. page 278.) With respect to All-Saints'-day, (1st of November,) it does not now occur in Michaelmas Term, for by the statute 24th Geo. II. c. 48, (1752,) the Essoin day of that term is on the morrow of All-Souls, 3d of November, consequently Michaelmas Term does not actually commence before the 6th of November.

With respect to the grand days of the inns of court, I find by "The Student's Guide to Lincoln's Inn," the two first days you mention are correct with respect to that society; but in Trinity Term the grand day is uncertain, unless Midsummer-day is in the term, then that is generally the grand day. In Michaelmas Term, grand day is on the second Thursday in the term.

In page 156, you state, "It is of ancient custom on the first day of term for the judges to breakfast with the lord chancellor in Lincoln's Inn Hall." Till within these few years, and only on the present lord chancellor removing from Bedford-square, the judges, together with the master of the rolls and his officers, the vice-chancellor, the masters in chancery, the king's serjeants and counsel, with the different officers of the court of chancery, always assembled at the cancellor's house to breakfast, and from thence, following the chancellor in his state carriage, to Westminster. But on the removal of lord Eldon to Hamilton-place, his lordship desired to meet the gentlemen of the courts of law and equity in Lincoln's Inn Hall; and from that time, the judges, &c. have met in Lincoln's Inn. This place is better adapted to the convenience of the profession than one more distant.

The above observations, if worth notice, may be used on the first day of next term, the 6th of November; but as the 6th is on a Sunday, term will not actually begin until the 7th.

I am, sir, &c.
S. G.

Lincoln's Inn, New-square.


Yew. Taxus baccata.
Dedicated to St. Leonard.

November 7.

St. Willibrord, 1st Bp. of Utrecht, A. D. 738. St. Werenfrid. St. Prosdecionus, 1st. Bp. of Padua, A. D. 103.


Hats and Bonnets.

On the 7th of November, 1615, (Michaelmas Term, 13 Jac. I.) when Ann Turner, a physician's widow, was indicted at the bar of the court of king's bench, before sir Edward Coke (as an accessary before the fact) for the murder of sir Thomas Overbury, the learned judge observing she had a hat on, told her "to put it off; that a woman might be covered in a church, but not when arraigned in a court of justice." Whereupon she said, she thought it singular that she might be covered in the house of God, and not in the judicature of man. Sir Edward told her, "that from God no secrets were hid; but that it was not so with man, whose intellects were weak; therefore, in the investigation of truth, and especially when the life of a fellow creature is put in jeopardy, on the charge of having deprived another of life, the court should see all obstacles removed; and, because the countenance is often an index to the mind, all covering should be taken away from the face." Thereupon the chief justice ordered her hat to be taken off, and she covered her hair with her handkerchief.

On Sunday, the 7th of November, 1824, being the hundredth anniversary of the death of the celebrated John Eyrle, Esq., Pope's "Man of Ross," the new society of ringers in that town rung a "muffled peal" on the occasion.—Hereford Paper.* [the Times, 17th November, 1824.]


Large Furerœa. Furerœa Gigantea.
Dedicated to St. Willibrord.

November 8.

The four crowned Brothers, Martyrs, A. D. 304. St. Willehad, Bp. A. D. 787. St. Godfrey, Bp. A. D. 1118.

Now the leaf
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove;
Oft startling such as studious walk below;
And slowly circles through the waving air.

As the maturing and disperson of seeds was a striking character of the last month, so the fall of the leaf distinguishes the present. From this circumstance, the whole declining season of the year is often in common language denominated the fall. The melancholy sensations which attend this gradual death of vegetable nature, by which the trees are stripped of all their beauty, and left so many monuments of decay and desolation, forcibly suggest to the reflecting mind an apt comparison for the future generations of man.† [Aikin's Natural History of the Year.]

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now with'ring on the ground.
Another race the following spring supplies;
They fall successive, and successive rise:
So generations in their course decay,
So flourish these, when those are pass'd away.

Pope's Homer.


Cape Aletris. Veltheimia glauca.
Dedicated to The four Brothers.

November 9.

The Dedication of the Church of St. John Laterans. St. Theodorus, surnamed Tyro, A. D. 306. St. Mathurin, A. D. 388. St. Vanne, or Vitonus, Bp. A. D. 525. St. Benignus, or Binen, Bp. A. D. 468.

Lord Mayor's Day.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Enclosed are official printed copies of the two precepts issued previous to lord mayor's day, for the purpose of informing the master and wardens of the respective livery companies, to whom they are directed, (as well as the aldermen of the wards through which the procession passes,) of the preparations necessary to be made on that day. These precepts are first ordered to be printed at a court of aldermen; directions accordingly are afterwards given by the town cleark, and, when printed, they are sent to the four attornies of the lord mayor's court, by whom they are filled up, afterwards they are left at the mansion-house, and lastly they are intrusted to the marshalmen to be delivered. The larger precept is sent to the aldermen of the wards of Cheap, Cordwainer, Vintry, Farringdon within, Farringdon without, Bread-street, Cripplegate within, and Castle Baynard. The smaller precept is forwarded to the whole of the livery companies.

I am, sir, &c.
S. G. *

November 2, 1825.

Precept to the Aldermen.

By the MAYOR.

To the Aldermen of the Ward of

FORASMUCH AS WILLIAM VENABLES, Esquire, lately elected Lord Mayor of this City for the Year ensuing, is on Wednesday the Ninth Day of November next to be accompanied by his Brethren the Aldermen, and attended by the Livery of the several Companies of this City, to go from Guildhall, exactly at Eleven o'clock in the Forenoon, to Blackfriars Stairs, and from thence by Water to Westminster there to be sworn, and at his return will land at Blackfriars Stairs, and pass from thence to Fleet Bridge, through Ludgate Street, Saint Paul's Church Yard, Cheapside, and down King Street to the Guildhall, to Dinner:

Now, for the more decent and orderly Performance of the said Solemnity, and for preventing any Tumults and Disorders which may happen by the great Concourse of People,

These are in his Majesty's Name to require you to cause the Constables within your Ward to keep a good and sufficient double Watch and Ward of able Men well weaponed on that Day, as well as at the landing Places as in the Streets through which the said Solemnities are to pass; and you are required to charge the said Constables to preserve the said Streets and Passages free and clear from all Stops and Obstructions, and not permit any Coach, Cart, or Dray to stand therein; and if any Coachman, Drayman, or Carman refuse to move out of the said Streets, that they carry such Coachman, Drayman, or Carman to one of the Compters, and such Coach, Dray, or Cart to the Green Yard, and take their Numbers that they may be prosecuted according to Law. And although every Person is bound by the Law to take Notice of all general Acts of Parliament, yet that there may not be the least colour or pretence of Ignorance or Inadvertency, these are also to require you to cause your Beadle to go from House to House, and acquaint the several Inhabitants, that by an Act of Parliament made in the ninth and tenth years of the Reign of King William the Third (which is made perpetual,) It is enacted that no Person of what degree or quality soever shall make, sell, or expose to sale, any Squibs, Serpents, or other Fireworks; or any Cases, Moulds, or other Implements whatsoever for making such fireworks, nor shall permit any Person to cast or throw any Squibs, Serpents, or other Fireworks from out of or in their Houses, Lodgings, or Habitations, nor shall any Person whatsoever cast, throw, or fire any such Squibs, Serpents, or other Fireworks, in, out of, or into any Street, House, or Passage; every such Offence being adjudged by the said Act to be a common Nuisance, and every Offender for every such single Offence being liable to the several Penalties inflicted by the said Act.

And you are to enjoin your Constables and Watchmen carefully to observe and apprehend all such Persons as shall presume to offend against the said Act, or shall commit any Riots, Tumults, or other Disorders whatsoever, and bring them before me or some other of his Majesty's Justices of the Peace within this City, that they may be punished according to the said Act, and as the Law directs.

And that you cause Notice to be given to the Inhabitants of your Ward to adorn the Fronts and Balconies of their Houses with their best Hangings or other Ornaments, and that they cause the Streets before their respective Houses to be cleanly swept and well paved and amended, whereof the Scavengers are also to take Notice, and to be warned that they see the same duly and effectually performed. And if any Constable, Beadle, or other Officer shall be found remiss and negligent in their Duty, in not apprehending any offending, they shall be prosecuted for such their Neglect, Default, or Remissness, according to the utmost Severity of the Law. Dated this Eleventh Day of October, 1825.


[Note: set in small type, centered] Printed by Arthur Taylor, Printer to the Honourable City of London, Basinghall Street.

Precept to the Companies.

By the MAYOR.

To the Master and Wardens of the Company of

WHEREAS the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor Elect and Court of Aldermen have appointed at their return from Westminster, on Wednesday the 9th day of November next, to land at Blackfriars Stairs, and pass from thence to Fleet Street, through Ludgate Street, to St. Paul's Church Yard, down Cheapside and King-street, to the Guildhall, to Dinner:

These are therefore to require you to be in your Barge by Eleven o'clock in the Forenoon precisely, his Lordship being resolved to be going by that time; and that as well in your going as return you will cause your Barge to go in order according to your precedency; and that such of your Company as walk in the Streets land at Blackfriars Stairs aforesaid; and that you be early and regular in taking and keeping your Standings. Dated the Eleventh day of October, 1825.


[set in small centered type] Printed by A. Taylor, 40, Basinghall Street.

Lord Mayor's Show.

Lord Mayor's Show.

How London did pour out her citizens!
The Mayor and all his brethren in best sort!


The procession of the corporation of London to Westminster on the occasion of the new lord mayor being sworn into office, is familiar to most residents in the metropolis, and the journals annually record the modern processions and festivals in the Guildhall, sufficiently to acquaint those who have not witnessed them with the nature of the proceedings. It is not purposed then, for the present, to describe what passes in our own times, but to acquaint the citizens and all who feel an interest in ancient customs, with something of the splendour attendant upon the ceremony in old times.

In 1575, "William Smythe, citezen and haberdasher of London," wrote "A breffe description of the Royall Citie of London, capitall citie of this realme of England." This manuscript which is in existence sets forth as follows:

"The day of St. Simon and St. Jude, the mayor enters into his state and office. The next day he goes by water to Westminster in most triumphant-like manner, his barge being garnished with the arms of the city; and near it a ship-boat of the queen's majesty being trimmed up and rigged like a ship of war, with divers pieces of ordnance, standards, pennons, and targets of the proper arms of the said mayor, of his company, and of the merchants' adventurers, or of the staple, or of the company of the new trades; next before him goeth the barge of the livery of his own company, decked with their own proper arms; then the bachelors' barge; and so all the companies in London, in order, every one having their own proper barge, with the arms of their company. And so passing along the Thames, he landeth at Westminster, where he taketh his oath in the exchequer before the judge there; which done, he returneth by water as aforesaid, and landeth at Paul's wharf, where he, and the rest of the aldermen take their horses, and in great pomp pass through Cheapside. And first of all cometh two great standards, one having the arms of the city, and the other the arms of the mayor's company: next them two drums and a flute, then an ensign of the city, and then about lxx or lxxx poore men marching two and two, in blue gowns, with red sleeves and caps, every one bearing a pike and a target, whereon is painted the arms of all them that have been mayors of the same company that this new mayor is of. Then two banners, one of the king's arms, the other of the mayor's own proper arms. Then a set of hautboys playing, and after them certain wyfflers,* [Whiffler, Mr. DOUCE says, in his "Illustrations of Shakspeare," is a term undoubtedly borrowed from whiffle, another name for a fife or small flute; for whifflers were originally those who preceded armies or processions, as fifers or pipers: in process of time the term whiffler, which had been always used in the sense of a fifer, came to signify any person who went before in a procession. He observes, that Minshow defines him to be a club or staff-bearer, and that it appears, whifflers carried white staves, as in the annual feast of the printers, founders, and ink-makers, described by Randle Holme.

Mr. Archdeacon Nares, in his Glossary, cites Grose's mention of the whifflers at Norwich, who make way for the corporation by flourishing their swords.

A friend informs me, that the dexterity of the Norwich whifflers in turning their swords to every possible direction is amazing.

Ar. Archdeacon Nares remarks, that in the city of London, young freemen, who march at the head of their proper companies on the lord Mayor's day, sometimes with flags, were called whifflers, or bachelor whifflers, not because they cleared the way, but because they went first as whifflers did; and he quotes a character in the old play of the City Match, saying, "I look'd the next lord mayor's day to see you o' the livery, or one of the bachelor whifflers."

Hone on Mysteries.] in velvet coats and chains of gold, with white staves in their hands; then the Pageant of Triumph richly decked, whereupon by certain figures and writings, some matter touching justice and the office of a magistrate is represented. Then sixteen trumpeters, eight and eight, having banners of the mayor's company. Then certain wyfflers in velvet coats and chains, with white staves as before. Then the bachelors, two and two, in long gowns, with crimson hoods on their shoulders of satin; which bachelors are chosen every year of the same company, that the mayor is of, (but not of the living) and serve as gentlemen on that and other festival days, to wait on the mayor, being in number according to the quantity of the company, sometimes sixty, or one hundred. After them twelve trumpeters more, with banners of the mayor's company; then the drum and flute of the city, and an ensign of the mayor's company; and after, the waits of the city in blue gowns, red sleeves and caps, every one having a silver collar about his neck. Then they of the livery in their long gowns, every one having his hood on his left shoulder, half-black and half-red, the number of them according to the greatness of the company whereof they are. After them follow sheriff's-officers, and then the mayor's officers, with other officers of the city, as the common serjeant, and the chamberlain; next before the mayor goeth the sword-bearer, having on his head the cap of honour, and the sword of the city in his right hand, in a rich scabbard, set with pearl, and on his left hand goeth the common crier of the city, with his great mace on his shoulder all gilt. The mayor hath on a long gown of scarlet, an on his left shoulder a hood of black velvet, and a rich collar of gold or SS. about his neck, and with him rideth the old mayor also, in his scarlet gown, hood of velvet, and a chain of gold about his neck. Then all the aldermen, two and two, (among whom is the recorder,) all in scarlet gowns; those that have been mayors have chains of gold, the others have black velvet tippets. The two sheriffs come last of all, in their black scarlet gowns and chains of gold. In this order they pass along through the city to the Guildhall, where they dine that day, to the number of one thousand persons, all at the charge of the mayor and the two sheriffs. This feat costeth 400l., whereof the mayor payeth 200l. and each of the sheriffs 100l. Immediately after dinner, they go to St. Paul's church, every one of the aforesaid poor men bearing staff, torches, and targets, which torches are lighted when it is late, before they come from evening prayer."* [Dr. Drake's Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii.] In more ancient times, the procession to and from Westminster was by land; until in 1453, sir John Norman built a sumptuous barge at his own expense, for the purpose of going by water, whereupon watermen made a song in his praise, beginning, "Row thy boat, Norman." The twelve companies emulating their chief have, from that period, graced the Thames on lord mayor's day.

The first account of this annual exhibition known to have been published, was written by George Peele, for the inauguration of sir Wolstone Dixie, knight, on the 29th of October, 1585. On that occasion, as was customary to the times, there were dramatic representations in the procession—of an allegorical character. Children were dressed to personify the city, magnanimity, loyalty, science, the country, and the river Thames. They also represented a soldier, a sailor, and nymphs, with appropriate speeches. The show opened with a moor on the back of a lynx. On sir Thomas Middleton's mayoralty, in 1613, the solemnity is described as unparalleled for the cost, art, and magnificence of the shows, pageants, chariots, morning, noon, and night triumphs. In 1655, the city pageants, after a discontinuance of about fourteen years, were revived. Edmund Gayton, the author of the description for that year, says, that "our metropolis for these planetary pageants, was as famous and renowned in foreign nations, as for their faith, wealth, and valour." In the show of 1659, an European, and Egyptian, and a Persian, were personated. On lord mayor's day, 1671, the king, queen, and nobility being present, there were "sundry shows, shapes, scenes, speeches and songs, in parts;" and the like, in 1672, and 1673, when the king, queen, duke and duchess of York, prince Rupert, the duke of Monmouth, foreign ambassadors, the chief nobility, and secretary of state, were at the celebration of lord mayor's day, in 1674, when there were "emblematical figures, artful pieces of architecture, and rural dancing, with pieces spoken on each pageant."

The printed description of these processions are usually entitled "Triumphs," though they are more commonly called "The London Pageants," all of them are scarce, and some of such extreme rarity, as to bear a price at the rate of two and three guineas a leaf. The description of sir Patience Ward's show, on the 29th of October, 1680, composed by Thomas Jordan, is an interesting specimen of the setting out and pageantry of this procession. The lord mayor being of the livery of the merchant-tailors' company, at seven o'clock in the morning, liverymen of the first rank, appointed to conduct the business of the day, assembled at merchant-tailors' hall, to meet the masters, wardens, and assistants, in their gowns, faced with foyns, (the skin of the martin.) In the second rank, others in gowns faced with budge, (lambs'-skin, with the wool dressed outwards,) and livery-hoods. In the third rank, a number of foyns-bachelors, and forty budge-bachelors, both attired in scarlet hoods and gowns. Sixty gentlemen-ushers, in velvet coats and chains of gold, bearing white staves. Thirty more in plush and buff, bearing colours and banners. Thirty-six of the king's trumpeters, with silver trumpets, headed by the serjeant-trumpeter, he wearing two scarfs, one the lord mayor's, and the other the company's colours. The king's drum-major, followed by four of the king's drums and fifes. Seven other drums and two fifes, wearing vests of buff, with black breeches and waste scarfs. Two city marshals on horseback, with attendants. The foot-marshal, with a rich broad shoulder-scarf, to put them in rank and file, attended by six others. The fence-master, with attendants, bearing bright broadswords drawn. Poor pensioners, with gowns and caps, bearing standards and banners. A troop of poor persons, in azure gowns and caps. One hundred more with javelins and targets, bearing the arms of their benefactors. Being all assembled, they are by the foot-marshal's judgment, arranged into six divisions, ranked out by two and two. The first division contains the ensigns of the company, followed by the poor company of pensioners. Four drums and one fife. Pensioners in coats as before described. Persons of worth, each bearing a standard or banner. Four trumpets. Two merchant-tailors' ensigns, bearing their supporters and crest, Six gentlemen-ushers. The budge-bachelors, marching in measured order. Second division. Six trumpets. Two gentlemen, bearing the coats of arms of the city, and the merchant-tailors' company. Eight gentlemen, wearing gold chains. The foyns-bachelors. Third division. Two gentleman [sic] in velvet coats with banners. Ten gentlemen-ushers in coats and chains of gold, as before described. A large body of the livery in their gowns and livery-hoods, followed by "all lord mayors in the potential mood." In their rear divers of the city trumpets. Two gentlemen bearing the arms of the city and the lord mayor. Gentlemen-ushers. The court of assistants. Four drums. Six trumpets. Three gallants, bearing the banners of the diadem. The king's, queen's, and city's ensigns, attended by six gentlemen as pages. The masters and wardens of the merchant-tailors' company. Thus formed, they march from merchant-tailors' hall to the lord mayor's house, where his lordship and the aldermen take horse, according to their degree, and the whole body proceed in state to Guildhall. Being met at the gate by the old lord mayor, and there attired with the gown, fur hood, and scarf, and guarded by knights, esquires, and gentlemen, they all march through King-street down to Three-Crane-wharf, where the lord mayor and aldermen, discharging some of the attendants, take barge at the west-end of the wharf; the court of assistants' livery, and the best of the gentlemen-ushers taking barge at the east-end. The rest of the ushers, with the foyns and the budge-bachelors, remain ashore, with others, to await the return of his lordship, who proceeds with several city companies by water, and is rowed all along by the Strand to Westminster; a pleasure boat with great guns aboard saluting him on the way. At New Palace Stairs they disembark, and making a lane to the hall, the lord mayor passes along to take the oath and go through the usual ceremonies. These being completed, he makes a liberal donation to the poor of Westminster, reembarks with all his retinue, and being rowed back to Blackfriars Stairs, he lands there under beat of drum and a salute of three volleys from the artillery company in their martial cornaments, some in buff, with head-pieces, many being of massy silver. From Blackfriars they march before the lord mayor and aldermen through Cheapside to Guildhall. The pensioners and banners who went not to Westminster, being set in order to march, the foot-marshal in the rear of the artillery company, leads the way along by the channel up Ludgate-hill, through Ludgate, into St. Paul's Churchyard, and so into Cheapside, where his lordship is entertained by the first pageant, consisting of a large stage, with the coat armour of the merchant-tailors' company, eminently erected, consisting of a large tent royal, gules, fringed and richly garnished, or, lined, faced, and doubled, ermine. This stage is winged or flanked by two other stages, bearing two excellent figures of lively carved camels, the supporters to the company's coat. On the back of one camel, a black native Indian, in a golden robe, a purple mantle fringed with gold, pearl pendants in his ears, coronet of gold with feathers, and golden buskins laced with scarlet ribbon, holds a golden bridle in his left, and a banner of the company, representing Treasure in his right hand. On the other camel, a West Indian, in a robe of silver, scarlet mantle, diamonds pendant from his ears, buskings of silver, laced with purple ribbons, a golden crown feathered, holds a silver bridle in his left and a banner of the lord mayor, representing Traffic, in his right hand. On one of the camel stages four figures sit on pedestals, one at each corner, representing Diligence, Industry, Ingenuity, and Success; on the other camel-stage, in like manner, Mediocrity, Amity, Verity, Variety, all richly habited in silk or sarcenet, bear splendid emblems and banners. The royal tent, or imperial pavilion, between these two stages, is supported on one side by a minister of state representing Royalty, and on the other side by another representing Loyalty; each in rich robes of honor gules, wearing on their left arms shields azure, with this motto in gold, For the king and kingdom, one bearing a banner of the king's, and the other one of the city's banners. On a high and eminent seat of throne-like ascension is seated Sovereignty, in royal posture and alone, with black curled hair, wearing an imperial crown, a robe of purple velvet, lined, faced, and caped with ermine, a collar of SS with a George pendant; bearing in one hand a golden globe, in the other a royal sceptre. On a seat beneath, are Principality, Nobility, and Honour, all richly habited. On the next seat, gradually descending beneath, are, 1. Gentility, shaped like a scholar and soldier, holding in one hand, clad with a golden gauntlet, a silver spear, in the other a book; 2. Integrity, wearing an earl's coronet for the court, a loose robe of scarlet-coloured silk for the city, underneath a close coat of grass-green plush for the county; 3. Commonalty, as a knight of the shire in parliamentary robes. On the lowest seat, an ancient English Hero, with brown curling hair, in ancient armour, as worn by chief commanders, the coat of mail richly gilt, crimson and velvet scart fringed with gold, a quiver of arrows in a gold belt on one side, a sword at the other, buskins laced with silver and gold, a silver helmet with red and white plume, in one hand a large long bow, and a spear in the other. This personage, representing sir John Hawkwood, a merchant-tailor of martial renown under Edward III., when he conquered France, as soon as he perceives the lord mayor prepared, with attention riseth up, and with a martial bow exhibiteth a speech in verse of thirty-seven lines, in compliment to the merchant-tailors and the lord mayor. His lordship testifying his approbation, rideth with all his brethren through the throng of spectators, till at Milk-street end, he is interecepted by the second pageant, which is a chariot of ovation, or peaceful triumph, adorned with delightful pieces of curious painting, and drawn by a golden lion and a lamb. On the lion is mounted a young negro prince, richly habited, according ot the royal mode in India, holding a golden bridle, and in the other hand St. George's banner, representing Power. On the lamb is mounted a white beautiful seraphim-like creature, with long bright flaxen curled hair, and on it a golden coronet of cherubims' heads and wings, a carnation sarcenet robe, with a silver mantle and wings of gold, silver, purple, and scarlet, reining the lamb by a silver bridle in his left hand, and with his right bearing an angelical staff, charged with a red cross, representing Clemency. In the chariot sitteth seven persons, 1. Concordia. 2. Unanimia, 3. Pacifica, 4. Consentania, 5. Melodea, 6. Benevolentia, (whose habits, and those of other characters already and hereafter mentioned, are not described here for want of room) and 7. "Harmonia, a lady of great gravity, with masculine aspect, wearing a lovely dark brown peruke, curiously curled, on which is planted a crown imperial; she wears a robe of French green velvet, pleasantly embroidered with gold, a crimson coloured silk and silver mantle, and sitting majestically alone in front, upon the approach and fixation of my lord mayor, improves the opportunity, riseth up, and delivereth and oration." This consists of forty-four lines in verse, wherein she acquaints his lordship that the other characters are her attributes, recommends unity, because division is the policy of the pope and the jesuits, expresses her belief that if the lion and the lamb fall out, she should run to ruin, descants upon magistrate-like virtues, and in the end tells his lordship,—

You have done all things fair, no action foul;
Your sherevalry gave relish of good rule,
Nor need they doubt your mayoralty, therefore,
Begging your pardon, I shall say no more.

This speech being concluded, his lordship exhibiting a gracious aspect of favourable acceptation, advanceth further towards Guildhall, but is civilly obstructed by another scene, and in regard, his lordship is a merchant, and his company merchant-tailors, the Third Triumphal Scene, or Pageant, is a ship called the Patience, with masts and sails, fully rigged and manned, the captain whereof addresseth to my lord a speech beginning,—

What cheer, my lord? I am return'd from sea,
To amplifie your day of Jubilee,
In this tried vessel. &c.

His lordship having surveyed the ship, and the trumpets sounding, he continueth his determined course toward Guildhall, but by the way is once more obstructed by another scene, called the Palace of Pleasure, which is a triumphal ionic arch of excellent structure, where, in distinct and perspicuous situations, sitteth nine beautiful and pleasant ladies, whose names, natures, and ornaments are consentaneous, 1. Jollity, 2. Delight, 3. Fancy, 4. Felicity, 5. Wit, 6. Invention, 7. Tumult, 8. Slaughter, 9. Gladness; all of them properly enrobed and adorned; and to augment their delight, there are several persons properly habited, playing on sundry loud instruments of music, one of which, with a voice as loud and as tunable as a treble hautboy, chanteth out a Ditty in commendation of the Merchant-tailors' Trade, commencing thus,

Of all the professions that ever were nam'd
The Taylers though slighted, is much to be fam'd;
For various invention and antiquity,
No trade with the Taylers compared may be:
For warmth and distinction and fashion he doth
Provide for both sexes with silk, stuff, and cloth:
Then do not disdain him or slight him, or flout him,
Since (if well consider'd) you can't live without him.
   But let all due praises (that can be) be made
   To honour and dignifie the Taylers trade.

When Adam and Eve out of Eden were hurl'd,
They were at that time king and queen of the world:
Yet this royal couple were forced to play
The Taylers, and put themselves in green array;
For modesty and for necessity's sake
They had figs for the belly, and leaves for the back
And afterward clothing of sheep-skins they made
Then judge if a Tayler was not the first trade,
   The oldest profession; and they are but railers,
   Who scoff and deride men that be Merchant-Taylers.

This song, containing firve more verses, being ended, the foot-marshal places the assistants, livery, and the companies on both sides of King's-street, and the pensioners with their targets hung on the tops of the javelins; in the rear of them the ensign-bearers; drums and fifes in front; he then hastens the foins and budge-bachelors, together with the gentlemen ushers, to Guildhall, where his lordship is again saluted by the artillery-men with three volleys more, which concludes their duty. His land attendants pass through the gallery or lane so made into Guildhall; after which the company repairs to dinner in the hall, and the several silk-works and triumphs are likewise conveyed into Blackwell-hall; and the officers aforesaid, and the children that sit in the pageants, there refresh themselves until his lordship has dined. At the dinner in Guildhall, his lordship and the guests being all seated, the city music begin to touch their instruments with very artful fingers. Their ears being as well feasted as their palates, and a concert lesson or two succeeding, "a sober person with a good voice, grave humour, and audible utterance proper to the condition of the times," sings a song called the Protestants' Exhortation, the burden whereof is, Love one another, and the subject against the catholics. The song being ended, the musicians play divers new airs, which having done, three or four "habit themselves according to the humour of the song," and one of them chanteth forth the Plotting Papist's Litany, in ten stanzas, the first of which ends with

Joyntly then wee 'l agree,
      To sing a Litany,
And let the burden be,
      Ora pro nobis.

In the year 1688, the second mayoralty of sir Thomas Pilkington, who being of the skinner's company, a pageant in honour of their occupation, consisted of "a spacious wilderness, haunted and inhabited with all manner of wild beasts and birds of various shapes and colours, even to beasts of prey, as wolves, bears, panthers, leopards, sables, and beavers; likewise dogs, cats, foxes, and rabbits, which tossed up now and then into a balcony fell oft upon the company's heads, and by them tossed again into the crowd, afforded great diversion; melodious harmony likewise allayed the fury of the wild beasts, who were continually moving, dancing, curvetting, and tumbling to the music."

On the alteration of the style, the swearing in of the lord mayor and the accompanying show, which had been on the 29th of October, was changed to the 9th of November. The speeches in the pageants were usually composed by the city poet, an officer of the corporation, with an annual salary, who provided a printed description for the members of the corporation before the day. Settle, the last city poet, wrote the last pamphlet intended to describe a lord mayor's show; it was for sir Charles Duncombe's, in 1708, but the prince of Denmark's death the day before, prevented the exhibition. The last lord mayor who rode on horseback at his mayoralty was sir Gilbert Heathcote in the reign of queen Anne.

It will be remarked after this perusal, that the modern exhibitions have no pretension to vie with the grandeur of the old "London triumphs." In 1760, the court of common council recommended pageants to be exhibited for the entertainment of their majesties on lord mayor's day. Such revivals are inexpedient, yet probably some means might be devised for improving the appearance of the present procession, without further expenditure from the city funds, or interfering with the public appropriation of the allowance for the support of the civic dignity. All that remains of the lord mayor's show, to remind the curiously informed of its ancient character is in the first part of the procession, wherein the poor men of the company to which the lord mayor belongs, or persons hired to represent them, are habited in long gowns and close caps of the company's colour, and bear painted shields on their arms, but without javelins. So many of these head the show, as there are years in the lord mayor's age. Their obsolete costume and hobbling walk are sport for the unsedate, who, from imperfect tradition, year after year, are accustomed to call them "old bachelors"—tongues less polite call the "old fogeys." The numerous band of gentlemen-ushers in velvet coats, wearing chains of gold and bearing white staves, is reduced to half-a-dozen full-dressed footmen, carrying umbrellas in their hands. The antiquarian reminiscences occasioned by the throwing of substances that stone-eaters alone would covet, from the tops of the houses, can arise no more; and even the giants in Guildhall are elevated upon octagon stone columns, to watch and ward the great west window, in no other than a gigantic capacity: their proper situation they were displaced from some few years ago, owing, it is presumed, to lack of information in the civic authorities, that figures of giants anciently belonged to Guildhall, and that their corporate station was at the Guildhall door. In their present station, they are as much out of place as a church weathercock would be if it were removed from the steeple, and put on the sounding board of the pulpit.


To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

It is not often that men, now-a-days, send copies of verses to their wives, but I think the editor of the Every-Day Book who is fond of the times gone by, is still old fashioned enough not to condemn the practice. The following lines, which have not appeared in print, are much at your service. My best wishes attend the complete success of your useful and instructive undertaking.

I remain,
Your constant reader,

Norfolk, Oct. 19, 1825.

To Mrs. ——— on my Birth-day.

My Betsy lo! the year's gone round,
   We see this day once more,
November's leaves bespread the ground,
   And I am forty-four.

I look me back to boyhood's days,
   When I was wont to pore
O'er grammar, 'neath a master's gaze,
   Nor thought of forty-four.

The mathematics I began,
   Twice two I said was four,
What more know I, tho' time has ran,
   And made me forty-four.

Of French and crabbed Latin too
   I laid in little store,
Yet both are pleasing to my view,
   Now I am forty-four.

Thus time makes pleasant in his round
   What once to us was sore,
This truth full often have I found,
   Ere I was forty-four.

One nymph to crown our nuptial bliss,
   See dancing on the floor,
May all our days be blest as this
   On which I am forty-four.

Tho' small my girl, our share, our wealth,
   On wolf, we bar the door;
If Providence but sends me health,
   I'm blest at forty-four.

For thee, my love, long life I ask,
   That blessing sent of yore,
When men like boys conn'd o'er a task
   At ten times forty-four.

The Aerial, or The Great Unknown.

The Aerial, or The Great Unknown,


"The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
And this is of them."

This personage has obtained himself to be sketched and lithographed. It is a true portraiture of his dress and form, but not of his face. By way of denoting his pretension to "deathless notoriety," it has these few expressive words beneath it; namely,—"Without equal in nature or art, this or in any other age or globe." Afterwards follows this intimation, "Published as the act directs, by Mr. Leeming, London, October, 1825." In vain did he solicit the printsellers to sell the prints for five shillings each. Although he had coupled it with written intimation that he is "the Ærial invaluable," and that after his decease will be inscribed on his tomb, "If this was not a gentleman, he would not have been buried in christian burial," yet the publishers were impenetrable to "assurance," and therefore before and after, and on Guy Fawke's day, a man was employed to walk the streets with a board bearing a couple of the impressions pasted thereon, the said man bearing also unpasted ones, "to all who choose to buy them" at one shilling each.

The first public intimation of this "phenomenon," is in the Times of Saturday, July 2, 1825:—"An individual in a splended dress of Spanish costume has excited much attention at Vauxhall gardens. Having walked or rather skipped round the promenade, with a great air of consequence, saluting the company as he passed along, he at length mingled amongst the audience in front of the orchestra, and distributed a number of cards, on each of which was written, 'The Ærial challenges the whole world to find a man that can in any way compete with him as such.' After having served about three or four hundred of these challenges, he darted off like lightning, taking the whole ciruit of the gardens in his career, and made his exit through the grand entrance into the road where a carriage was in waiting for him, into which he sprang, and was driven off."

Postponing a few particulars of this visitation of Vauxhall by "The Ærial" for a minute or two, we proceed to state that he declares himself "an Adonis;" that to glad the eyes of artists with a view of his uncommon person, he condescended to leave the good town of Manchester by the common stage coach, and that assuming the disguise of common dress, like Apollo in "Midas" after expulsion from the celestials, he arrived in Longon on the [ ] day of June. Dull as he found this metropolis to person merit, yet, to his "Agreeable Surprise," there were some who said in the language of Lingo:—

"Such beauties in view I
Can never praise too high."

Sculptors and painters of eminence to whom he proffered disclosure of his elegant person were honoured by visits from him. He represents some interviews to this effect. Sir Thomas Lawrence, the president of the royal academy, gazed upon him, and inquired what "he considered the essential principle of man?" the Ærial immediately answered "the thigh." Sir Thomas insensible to the mundane charms before him, observed that he thought the beauties of the mind should be preferred to those of the body, and therefore suggested the propriety of his cultivating mental beauty. This was an indignity, for it was opposed to the theory maintained by the Ærial, that mental beauty results from personal beauty. Mr. Haydon was not quite so shocking; he admitted to, and to the cost of the Ærial, as will hereafter appear, that he had "a beautiful leg." His oral developement of his sylph-like perfections to Mr. Chantry, induced that gentleman to decline prolongation of the interview, and to say he should at once call himself Ærial, and from that moment he did. Mr. Behnes told him that he was "no conjuror," and that every body laughed at him. The Ærial was not to be so subdued, nor by such means humbled. He deemed them to be the sayings of envy. His organ of self-esteem attained a new swell, and in harmonious strength he rose like Antæus from the dust, a giant refreshed.

He conceives that he is the most beautiful person in the world, and hence besides calling himself "the Ærial," the "New Discovery," and "the Great Unknown," he adds "the Paragon of Perfection," "the Phoenix," "the Grand Arcana of Nature.["] Some one intimated that arcanum would be correct; he said, he did not choose to hum, and he was "not to be hummed." It was hinted that he might assume the name of Apollo; he turned from the speaker with contempt—"Apollo is nothing compared with me; there is no figure to compete with me in any respect, except the Achilles in the park, which may be somewhat like me in the under part of the foot upon the ground, but upon that it is impossible to determine with accuracy, unless the figure flew from the pedestal."

He relates, that he visited Dr. Thornton, who lectures at the Marlborough rooms, in great Marlborough-street, on "craniology, botany, chemistry, astronomy, vision, hearing, the circulation of the blood, digestion, and the beneficial effects produced by the different gases in the cure of diseases." He inquired of this gentleman whether he thought "an exhibition of something never before seen under the sun, and which, when seen, people would fall down and worship, would be likely to take?" The doctor inquired what the "something" was; the Ærial answered by inquiring which of all the exhibitions was likely to be the most successful; the doctor answered, "the panorama of London in the Regent's-park when it opens." "But what do you think an infinitely more attractive exhibition will produce." "It is impossible to say—perhaps 20,000l. a year; but what is yours?"—"You shall see—but not now—to-morrow." On the morrow the Ærial came with a small bundle; and having obtained permission to retire therewith, alone to a room, promised to return in a few minutes, and cheer the sight of the doctor and his family with a more astonishing production of nature than the doctor or all mankind born before him had seen, or after ages could see. During his absence, the doctor's household were on tiptoe expectation till the long-looked-at door opened, when the Ærial entered in a close-fitting dress, and walking to the middle of the room, threw out his chest and left arm, and projecting his right arm behind, cried, "Behold!"

Determined on an immediate public exhibition, the Ærial conceived the idea of a new joint stock company, "capital one million;" for which "good and valuable consideration,["] he proposed to put himself at the disposition of the company "so soon as the subscription was filled up." To certain observations of the chancellor against the "new companies," the Ærial attributed a general indifference to personal overtures that he made to several individuals, with a view to arrangements for bringing him "into the market." He resolved to speculate on his own account; the first thing to be obtained was a "grand room;" but the proprietor of the "Egyptian-hall" was deaf to the voice of the charmer, and every room in London was denied to him, except on degrading conditions which people "without souls" are accustomed to require on such applications. Could he have obtained one friend to have gone shares with him, the summum bonum might have been obtained. If only one monied man would have advanced with capital, the Ærial would have advanced in person. It was to have been an exhibition by candlelight, for candlelight he said was indispensable to produce "extreme height," and render him in common eyes "a giant." This effect of exhibition by candlelight, would be, he said, a "new discovery;" and therefore he added to himself the title of the "New Discovery." He is five feet one inch and a quarter high. Some one unthinkingly conversing in his presence, stated him to be five feet one inch and half; the Ærial corrected the inaccuracy with severity. "A quarter, sir," he said; "five feet one and a quarter, sir; mine is the perfect height; a quarter of an inch more would be higher, a quarter of an inch less would be lower than the standard of perfection!"

Acquiring experience from disappointment, and deeming that the wonder of his person might be as insupportable as "excess of light," the Ærial purposed to let himself in upon the public by degrees. At his chambers in Thavies-inn, he procured the attendance of a person to mould that limb, which Mr. Haydon, from inability to duly appreciate the rest of his body, had determined "a beautiful leg." The operation was so tedious, that the mould was not completed till eleven o'clock in the evening. It was then carried away for the purpose of being cast, but the Ærial suspected "all was not right," and "convinced," he says, "that the artist was sitting up to surreptitiously take a thousand casts from it, in the course of the night, and sell them all over the country," he jumped into a hackney, between one and two in the morning, and caused the coachman to drive him "as fast as the horses could go," to the artist's house. The coachman, then he, the door-knocker seized, and there both kept "lowd rub a dub tabering, with frapping rip rap." The drowsy servant roused from slumber, "creeping like snail, unwillingly" opened the street door; the Ærial called out "where's my leg! I'm come for my leg!" and, seizing "the candle," rushed to the workroom, which to his astonishment was in darkness till illumined by his presence, and the light he bore in his hand. On seeing the mould of his leg in the basket just as it had been brought, he seized and bore it off to his own home, and after this achievement slept in peace. In the morning he carried it himself to another place, and having had a cast taken from it in his own presence, conveyed both away, and meditated how "all might see, and having seen, admire." Finally, he deposited the cast with Mr. Cottrell, at his "last and boot-tree manufactory," No. 125, (near Leather-lane,) Holborn, upon a promise that it should be exhibited in the shop window without note or comment: "it will speak for itself," he said. He frequently made kind inquiries as to the portional representation of himself, till he was informed, that "two hundred pounds had been bid for it:" this was not enough. On a subsequent interview, he was acquainted that "another person said he was willing to give three hundred for it." This undervaluation was decisive. "Such people," he said, "shall not have a part of my person: give me my leg; plenty now will desire an entire cast of me: I will submit to it for the sake of the world for a thousand pounds; no less: here is my address, let any one who desires it come to me." He once more resumed the actual possession of the cast, but no one came, and he pondered in vain to account for the motives of "the world." At length, by accident, he let the cast fall and broke it; this he entirely destroyed. He next sought how to dispose of the mould without disgrace to it, or to himself. Sudden and quick in purpose, he resolved to bury it in the ocean. The mail carried him to Dover, and from on board a steam-vessel, when midway between England and France, he let it down to the bed of the sea, as to the bed of honour, and "left it alone in its glory."

After this funeral excursion, which had extended to Calais, he was, on Monday, the 29th of August, at the public office, Marlborough-street. The newspapers state the circumstance to this effect:—"A young man, smart and flippant withal, was introduced to Mr. Conant, the presiding magistrate. Whether the individual thought with Burke, that 'mystery was an attribute of the sublime,' we know not—but this we know, he at first attempted to hide his merits under the humble appellative of Joseph Thompson; but subsequently owned a lawful right to the name of Joseph Leeming;—whether to an immoderate love of the grape, or malt, was to be attributed the inclination of Joseph Leeming matters not, a serious charge of drunkenness, and its almost certain offspring, a riotous comportment in his majesty's highway, was made against him. When it was demanded what part of the metropolis was dignified by the sojourn of Joseph, he replied, No. 20, Newman-street, where he had tarried about a week. Indeed, Joseph, by his own avowal, is of the swallow nature—one of those roving sons of fortune who fillip the world aside, and cock their hat at fate. With this disposition he seldom remains more than a week anywhere,—perhaps he thinks with Virgil, that 'in no fixed place the happy souls reside,' and therefore puts his happiness in quick migration. He had come direct from Calais. 'And pray, sir,' said the magistrate, 'what was your business at Calais?' — 'My business?' retorted Joseph Leeming, 'business, indeed!' — 'Well, sir,' replied the magistrate, making due acknowledgment for having imagined that Joseph Leeming could have any business, 'what was your pleasure?' but our hero was not to be catechised in this manner, yet feeling that his dependence on his powers were gradually relaxing, he sent for an artist to astonish the world by a publication of that fame which the modesty of Joseph Leeming kept concealed. The messenger said the artist was not at home, but he learned from a man at the house, that Joseph Leeming was, what no one could have discovered, namely, a conjuror; and then came the grand discovery which we have now to relate. England is now the museum of the world; she has balloons, fighting-dogs, fighting-men, giantesses, and griping churchmen. Mr. Leeming, with a laudable spirit to improve the number of these curiosities, and to distend the jaws of public wonderment somewhat wider, had hit upon a plan by which he might fly through the air and wage an equal battle with rooks and magpies. He had purposed, by the aid of a pair of patent wings, (to be had only of the inventor,) to fly from one of the Dover cliffs down into the town of Calais, or, upon extraordinary occasions, to light upon Paris gates, thereby saving a world of trouble resulting from passports and gendarmerie. However, nothing is more uncertain than the resolve of genius, Mr. Leeming had lately examined the cliffs of Dover, and whether, as he surveyed the shores of France from chalky England, he thought a trip to the 'land of the Gaul' was too venturous for a goose we know not; but the feat was relinquished, and the good people of Dover and Calais were denied the pleasure of beholding an ærial race between Mr. Leeming and a sea-gull for the point of destination. After this introduction of Mr. Leeming, in his national greatness, to Mr. Conant, his worship recurred to the original subject, and asked Mr. Leeming if he had his 'wings' about him. Mr. Leeming said it was a question he should not answer. 'Because if you have,' said Mr. Conant, 'you may fly out of the office as soon as you please, after you have paid five shillings for being drunk.' Mr. Leeming paid the five shillings; and so much had the adventure awakened curiosity to the suggested voyage, that the spectators could not divest themselves of the hope of seeing Mr. Leeming fly from the step of the office-door to a neighbouring chimney-pot; in this, however, they were deceived, as he preferred walking out."

Whether Mr. Leeming proposed "to fly" from Dover cliffs or not is of little consequence, but a person at Dover who meditated and perhaps achieved the experiment, deemed it inexpedient to be considered the Ærial of Marlborough-street, and by public announcement, disclaimed the identity. His appearance at that police office was after his return from Calais. He was on his way home to Newman-street, in "tipsy dance," when in the imperative mood, he inquired his way of a watchman, who, preferring the suaviter in modo, lodged him in the house appointed for the reception of many who indulge too freely in "life in London." The constable inquired "who are you?" "If you cannot perceive I am a great man with a mere look," said the Ærial, "I shall not tell you: I will have you all punished." The result as we have seen, was the proceedings before Mr. Conant.

For the visit to Vauxhall mentioned in the Times, he made due preparation. His dress was a close jacket of blue and silver; theatrical "trunks," or short breeches, reaching to within two or three inches above the knee; white silk stockings of twenty shillings the pair; blue kid shoes; a doublet frill or ruff, edged with lace round the neck; and wristbands trimmed with lace. His entrance into the gardens without a hat, surprised and astonished the waiters, who ran across to each other inquiring "who is he?" They imagined him a distinguished foreigner, but as he walked the gardens unrecognized their curiosity ceased. During the performances he was little noticed, for being uncovered, the company presumed he was some performer awaiting his turn to exhibit; but when the amusements had ceased, one or two visiters begged to know whom they had the honour of addressing. He answered, "you'll find out by and bye." Inquiries becoming troublesome, and a crowd of gazers pressing on, he suddenly broke through, and sustained the character of Ærial, by a "light fantastic toe" sort of flight, from one part of the ground to another, till having arrived at the saloon and rotunda escape was impossible. From a private pocket he handed the printed card copies in The Times paragraph, with another inscribed, "THE NEW DISCOVERY challenges the whole World, and artists individually, to find a man, or even design, that can in any way, in form or shape, be compared to him." The distribution of three or four hundred of these challenges were, in general, satisfactory answers; and when he intimated an inclination to walk, a passage was made, through which he passed with the most dignified deportment he could assume, while the company followed huzzaing. A gentleman required a ring for him; it was instantly complied with, and the Ærial put himself into various positions, with the intent of displaying his transcendant form in the attitudes of ancient statues; that which seemed to give the most lively satisfaction to himself and his increasing audience was the gladiator, wherein he is represented by the engraving to this article. He maintained it with painful perseverance and patient endurance, while the perspiration poured down his face, and the spectators shrieked with laughter and amazement. This achievement was the height of his ambition; at its conclusion he withdrew to a couch, whereon he duly reclined in a studied attitude, to the admiration of thousands, who, tempted by the "Wonderful Discovery," flocked in from the supper rooms to gaze. Loud cries and shouts of "encore," roused him from temporary repose; but it was not to indulge the anxious desire, for he walked apparently indisturbed by the distinction he had obtained, and entering a box called for "wine, mighty wine." Draughts of this were succeeded by potations of rack-punch, while loud calls upon him were unanswered; allegations derogatory to his dignity were noticed by looks of indignation and contempt; "he spoke not, he moved not," till increased throng and uproar raised his indignation, when a person withdrew him from the gardens, put on his cloak, and the Ærial retired delighted with his reception.

Perusing the papers on the morrow, and not finding accounts respecting his Vauxhall adventure, he found an advertisement of a song dedicated to the duke of York, printed in blue and white. "They are my colours," said the Ærial, "they are the colours of an ærial,—the duke is an ærial." Elated by this conception, he bought another new pair of silk stockings, and accomplished another visit to Vauxhall the same evening, where being immediately recognised by some who had seen him the evening before, he was soon surrounded. On this occasion he adventured an challenge, with an offer of 500l. to any one who would match himself against him for beauty. Being pushed and pursued he sprung on the supper-table of a company, to the loss or great damage of his second pair of silks, and went home on foot by daylight, amidst the grins of unappreciating people passing to their labour.

On the night of the juvenile fete, as the duke of Cambridge was to be present with his son, the Ærial once more visted Vauxhall. Unhappily, the duke and the young prince were the attracting objects.

Deserted in his utmost need,
By those his former fancies fed,

the Ærial retired to a box, and, through the medium of the waiters, consoled himself from their beaufets so effectually, that before supper time he was better qualified to represent an attendant in a bacchanal procession, that the celestial character he assumed. Imagining that certain smiles indicated a deadly jealously of his super-human structure, and dreading assassination from the hands of the envious, he manifested his feelings in an undaunted manner, and was overpowered in a scuffle. Being unable to walk from excess of devotion to the rosy deity, he was deposited in one of the cloak rooms, and left to repose: on awaking and sallying forth into the gardens he was astonished to find the place deserted; and, for lamp-light, the glare of the sun. His cloak and purse were not to be found; remonstrance and entreaty were alike vain; he was assured he should have both when they were recoverable, but not then, and he found it convenient to accept the best substitute the place afforded. To be content, where discontent avails not, is a philosophical rudiment, and therefore he philosophically submitted to be assisted by the waiters into a moth-eaten, mouldy, ragged watchman's scarlet frieze cloak, with "R. G. V. H.," denoting "royal Gardens, Vauxhall," worked in large worsted letters on the back; and in this attire he wandered, "not unseen," to his dormitory at a few miles distance. The particular compliments he received by the way are not relatable. After a few hours' rest, he made personal application at Vauxhall for his cloak and purse, and both were returned to him, accompanied by an assurance from them that he must not appear there again. Undaunted by so unexpected a return for the patronage he had vouch-safed towards the gardens, and conceiving that the proprietors ought not to sustain the injury his absence would inflict on them, he laid out another pound in a fourth pair of hose, and again, "in silk attire," covered by a cloak, presented himself at the door, but he had scarcely advanced from paying his entrance-money when constables hurried him out, and he was not allowed to re-enter. This was the last appearance of the Ærial at Vauxhall.

Conceiving that the managers of the theatres would gladly avail themselves of his attractive powers, he habited himself as before described, and announced himself at their doors as "The Ærial;" but they were "not at home," nor were they "at home" to his subsequent calls. Such gross inattention to their interests was inconceivable; for it seems he coveted no other remuneration than "to walk across the stage and back again, and receive the plaudits of the audience." He affirms that he appeared on the boards of the Manchester theatre, and that the people hooted because he would not deign to remain long enough for the gratification of their extreme curiosity. Though convinced that no one ever appeared to such advantage as he does, in the dress wherein he has already appeared in public, yet he walks en deshabille on ordinary occasions, lest he should suffer violence from the fathers, brothers, and lovers of the British ladies, who, according to his own affirmation, are ready to throw themselves at his feet upon the least encouragment. He says he is deteremined to ally himself to her alone, if she can be found, who knows herself to be a Venus as he knows himself to be an Adonis. He is of opinion that he is "winning each heart and delighting each eye;" and he calls himself "the immortal Mr. L——." It was suggested to him as possible, that as no income resulted from his outgoings, his property might be expended. His answer was to this effect:—"when I am at the last extremity I can marry any lady I please with thirty thousand pounds." If he should find himself mistaken in his conceptions before matters have proceeded so far, those to whom his flights have rendered him a public character will soon forget his extraordinary assumptions, and he will find a common station more conducive to his personal quiet. He is unknown to the writer of this article, who, nevertheless, is so well informed respecting him as to be persuaded that when Mr. L.'s feverish excitement is over, his talents merely require diligent cultivation in a different direction to ensure this. A man is in less danger who thinks too meanly, than he who thinks to highly of himself. It is easier to be comfortable in a lower sphere, than to reach an elevated one and live happy in it.

Letter from the Ærial.

When this sheet was going to press a letter was received; which, being properly authenticated, is here subjoined, with the words in italics as marked in the original.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

November 16, 1825.

I conceive that nothing but my "death," or at least "the beautiful leg," will atone to the world for my little indiscretions. If you expect me to appeal to the public, I answer, that I have been without father and mother eleven years, nearly, though now only twenty-five years old, and measuring five feet two inches and a half and in the hands of guardians, though not wanting money, four of whom it took to put me in the watchhouse, and I answer that I would rather be hanged if "the most liberal nation of earth" wishes it.

You have observed that the company shrieked with laughter and amazement. Now I say I was the only one who shrieked with laughter, as I should at another hoax on the public. You might have spared me the trouble of answering you, if you had not introduced a most immutable picture of my conduct. You have represented me as the individual courting excessive censure or praise; but I must here be puppy enough to talk of general opinion, and say, that notwithstanding the pretended christian burial of me by the newspapers, it still appears by each and every of them that in the end the magistrate had no just cause to hate me. Besides acquiring experience from disappointment, and Mr. Chantry who sent for me, I had a dream which clearly convinced me I should not part with the cast.

I have no occasion to mention the author of the following quotation:—

"Let Hercules himself do what he may,
The cat will mew, the dog will have his day."

I am, Sir,
Your most obedient servant,

No. 61, Berwick Street, Soho.

Having inserted this letter here the matter ends, for nothing remains to be said.

It being within the purpose of the Every-Day Book to observe on the phenomena of the times, Mr. Leeming, as "the Ærial," was included, but not until he had been previously in print from the character he assumed. His present letter speaks for itself. He admits "little" indiscretions: among these "little" ones a large one was, what he terms, his "hoax" on the public; but his visits to the artists are of another character. There exists no feeling towards him, on the part of the editor of this work, but a kind one; and he advises him, for his own sake, to "study to be quiet."

Happy the man whose wish and care,
   A few paternal acres bound;
Content to breathe his native air,
            In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
   Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
            In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
   Hours, days, and years, slide soft away:
In health of body, peace of mind,
            Quiet by day:

Sound sleep by night, study and ease
   Together mix'd; sweet recreation!
And innocence which most does please
            With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
   Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
            Tell where I lie.



Glaucus Aletris. Veltheimia glauca.
Dedicated to St. John Lateran.

November 10.

St. Andrew Avellino, A. D. 1608. Sts. Trypho and Respicius, A. D. 250. St. Nympha, 5th Cent. St. Justus, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 627. St. Milles, Bp., and Sts. Abrosimus and Sina, A. D. 341.


London on the 10th of November.

Thin attendance on 'Change to-day—dull eyes—languid countentance—a little nervous this morning—fresh demand for soda-water and ginger-beer—much breakfasting at the coffee-houses about twelve—scrags of mutton in great request—confounded head-ache—shall be home early to-morrow, my dear—let me have a little broth—deuce take the lord mayor; I'll never go again.*— [Morning Advertiser, Nov. 15, 1824.]


Scotch Fir. Pinus Silvestris.
Dedicated to St. Nympha.

November 11.

St. Martin, Bp. A. D. 397. St. Mennas, A. D. 304.

St. Martin.

He is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. By Romish writers he is called "the Great St. Martin, the glory of Gaul." They say that he was born in Lower Hungary, about 316, and becoming a soldier, a beggar requested alms, when having no money he drew his sword, and cutting his cloak into two pieces, gave half to the beggar, and wrapped himself up in the other; whereupon Christ appeared to him the next night, in the half he had given away, asked him if he knew it, and said to angels that surrounded him, "Martin has given me this garment." This occasioned him to leave the army and enter the church, and he was made an exorcist by St. Hilary. Turning hermit, he lived on roots and wild herbs, and unawares ate a quantity of hellebore sufficient to kill an unprivileged person. After this, one of his disciples fell ill of a fever, and died suddenly without baptism; "whereupon," says Alban Butler, "feeling in himself a divine impulse to work a miracle," he stretched himself upon the body, and prayed till the deceased came to life. She said her soul had been before the divine tribunal, and been sentenced to a dark dungeon;— but that on two angels representing St. Martin was praying for her coming back, she was ordered to be restored to the body and raised to life. "Another time the saint restored to life, in the same manner, a slave who had hanged himself." In 371, he was chosen bishop of Tours, and is said to have lived in a narrow hole in the side of a rock. Near to it was a chapel with an altar, over a tomb, but St. Martin would not visit it, becuase, although the person buried was represented to have been a martyr, he was not assured that the relics were genuine. He went, however, one day with some of his clergy, and prayed for information, whereupon on his left hand, "he saw near him a pale ghost of a fierce aspect, whom he commanded to speak; the ghost told his name, and it appeared that he had been a robber who was executed for his crimes, whom the people honoured as a martyr; none but St. Martin saw him, the rest only heard his voice; he thereupon caused the altar to be removed. After the rectification of this trifling mistake, he went on raising the dead, casting out devils, and receiving revelations; but as he grew older "it cost him more difficulty, and longer prayers, to cast out devils than formerly." He died in 397, and his shrine worked the usual miracles. This account of St. Martin is abstracted from the rev. Alban Butler's life of him.


A custom anciently prevailed, though generally confined at present to country villages, of killing cows, oxen, swine, &c. at this season, which were cured for the winter, when fresh provisions were seldom or never to be had.

When Easter comes, who knows not than
That veale and bacon is the man?
And Martilmass Beefe doth beare good tacke,
When countrey folke do dainties lacke.


Martlemas beef was beef dried in the chimney, as bacon, and is so called, because it was usual to kill the beef for this provision about the feast of St. Martin.* [Tusser Redivivus.] There is mention of

—dried flitches of some smoked beeve,
Hang'd on a writhen wythe since Martin's Eve.


Mr. Brand relates, that rustic families in Northumberland clubbed at Martinmas to buy a cow or other animal; the union for this purchase is called a "mart." After the animal was killed, they filled the entrails with a kind of pudding meat, consisting of blood, suet, groats, &c. which being formed into little sausage links, were boiled and sent about as presents. These are called "black-puddings" from their colour. There is also noticed a kind of entertainment in Germany, called the "feast of sausages," which was wont to be celebrated with great joy and festivity. The day is a great festival on the continent: new wines then begin to be tasted, and the hours are spent in carousing. An old author says, that the great doings on this occasion almost throughout Europe in his time, are derived from an ancient Athenian festival, observed in honour of Bacchus, upon the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth days of the month Anthestcrion, corresponding with our November. Another says, that the eleventh month had a name from the ceremony of "tapping their barrels on it;" when it was customary to make merry. It is likewase imagined by Dr. Stukeley, in his "Itinerary" concerning Martinsal-hill, thus: "I take the name of this hill to come from the merriments among the northern people, called Martinalia, or drinking healths to the memory of St. Martin, practised by our Saxon and Danish ancestors. I doubt not but upon St. Martin's day, or Martinmass, all the young people in the neighbourhood assembled here, as they do now upon the adjacent St. Ann's-hill, upon St. Ann's day." He adds, that "St. Martin's day, in the Norway clogs, (or wooden almanacs) is marked with a goose: for on that day they always feasted with a roasted goose: they say, St. Martin, being elected to a bishoprick, hid himself, (noluit episcopari) but was discovered by that animal. We have transferred the ceremony to Michaelmas."* [Brand.]

Dr. Forster, so often cited, observes, that a medal has lately been struck in France in commemoration of this laudable custom; on one side of which is embossed a goose, and on the reverse occurs the word Martinalia. Relative to the custom of goose-eating, it is further noticed in the "Perennial Calendar," that the festival of St. Martin occurs when geese are in high season. "It is always celebreated with a voracity the more eager, as it happens on the eve of the petit carême, when fowls can no longer be presented on the tables of a religious age. A German monk, Martin Schoock, has made it a case of conscience whether, even on the eve of the little Lent, it be allowable to eat goose: 'An liceat Martinalibus anserem comedere?' After having dived into the weedy pool of the casuist's arguments, the delighted devotee emerges with the premission to roast his goose; and thus the goose came to be a standing dish on Martinmas as well as Michaelmas day."

In some of the old church calendars the celebration of this day is called "The Martinalia, a genial feast; wines are tasted of and drawn from the lees; Bacchus is the figure of Martin."† [Brady's Clavis Calendaria.]

"Time's Telescope," for 1814, cites some extracts from a little ballad, entitled "Martilmasse Day:"—

It is the day of Martilmasse,
Cuppes of ale should freelie passe;
What though Wynter has begunne
To push downe the Summer sunne,
To our fire we can betake,
And enjoye the crackling brake,
Never heedinge Wynter's face
On the day of Martilmasse.

Some do the citie now frequent,
Where costlie shows and merriment
Do weare the vaporish eveninge out
With interlude and revellinge rout;
Such as did pleasure Englande's queene
When here her Royal Grace was seen
Yet will they not this day let passe,
The merrie day of Martilmasse.

When the dailie sportes be done,
Round the market crosse they runne,
Prentis laddes and gallant blades
Dancing with their gamesome maids,
Till the Beadel, stout and sowre,
Shakes his bell, and calls the houre;
Then farewell ladde and farewell lasse
To the merry night of Martilmasse.

Martilmasse shall come againe,
Spite of wind, and snow, and raine;
But many a strange thing must be done,
Many a cause be lost and won,
Many a tool must leave his pelfe,
Many a worldlinge cheat himselfe,
And many a marvel come to passe,
Before return of Martilmasse.


Weymouth Pine. Pinus Strobus.
Dedicated to St. Martin.

November 12.

St. Martin, Pope, A. D. 655. St. Nilus, A. D. 390. St. Livin, A. D. 633. St. Lebwin, Patron of Daventer, 8th Cent.

Birth-day of Admiral Vernon.

The anniversary of this famous old admiral's nativity was formerly kept with great enthusiasm. It was distinguished in 1740 in a very extraordinary manner, by the ringing of bells, and public dinners in many places, &c. In the evening there were the greatest rejoicings, bonfires, and illuminations in London and other cities, that had been known for many years. Don Blass was burnt in some places, and at Chacery-lane-end was a pageant, whereon was represented admiral Vernon, and a Spaniard on his knees offering him a sword; a view of Porto Bello, &c.; over the admiral was wrote, "Venit, vidit, vicit;" and under him, "Vernon semper viret."* [Gentleman's Magazine.]


Grape Aloe, Velthennia Uvaria.
Dedicated to St. Nilus.

November 13.

St. Homobonus, A. D. 1197. St. Didacus, A. D. 1463. St. Stanislas Kostka, A. D. 1568. St. Mitrius. St. Brice, A. D. 444. St. Constant, of Logherne, A. D. 777. St. Chillen, or Killian, of Ireland.

St. Brice.

This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs, for what reason is unknown. He was born at Tours, became a monk under St. Martin, and succeeded him in the see of that city.


The church of St. John, Clerkenwell, having been closed for reparation since the first Sunday in July, was opened for divine service on the 13th of November, 1825, by the Rev. W. E. L. Faulkner, M. A. rector of the parish. The exterior of the present edifice is altogether unseemly. It is frequently called St. John's chapel, and has more the air of a meeting for dissenting worship, than a structure of the establishment; if it had not a sort of steeple with a bell, it might be mistaken for a theatre; but the interior is in every respect befitting its ecclesiastical use. It has spacious galleries, is well pewed below, and thoroughly lighted, with a very commodious vestry. In these respects it is creditable to the inhabitants who have now so judiciously fitted it up, that it will not require more than usual cleaning for many years. Still it is to be regretted, that a structure, essentially, gothic, should have been accommodated to modern architecture. The deviation seems to have taken place on its appropriation to the use of the parish of St. John, about a century preceding the reparation it has now undergone.

St. John's parish is distinct from the parish of St. James, although, as regards their poor, they are under one management; and the parish of St. James has, in other respects, an ascendancy, which formerly was the cause of open dissention. This difference originated on the setting out of the parish, the boundaries whereof are described by an entry in the vestry-book, which states in what way the church became parochial. Before referring to it, a glance may be taken of the annexed engraving. It is from an original drawing of a south view of the church in the year 1508, and preserved in the Cotton collection. It is especially curious, because it shows the old square tower, on the site whereof the present church stands, with the great bell tower above, which is rapturously described by Stowe, as will be mentioned presently. The building with two windows between three buttresses, surmounted by pinnacles, was anciently the library.

Church of St. John, Clerkenwell, in 1508.

Church of St. John, Clerkenwell, in 1508.


The History of the Parish of St. John, Clerkenwell.

On friday the twenty seventh Day of December in the year of our Lord Christ one thousand seven hundred twenty and three, and in the tenth Year of the Reign of George by the Grace of God, king of Great Britain, &c. being St. John's Day, this Church was consecrated and dedicated to the Service of Almighty God by the Right Reverend Father in God Edmund [Gibson] by Divine Permission Lord Bishop of London, by the Name of the Church of St. John Clerkenwell in the County of Middlesex.

This Church is what was the Choir of the antient Church of the Knights Hospitallers, or the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem in England, which Order began at Jerusalem about the Year of our Lord Christ 1099, taking its rise and name from an Hospital built for the reception of Christian Strangers and Pilgrims, who came to perform their Devotion at the Place of our Lord's Sepulchre, and from a Church adjoining dedicated to St. John Baptist.

In the 11th Century the Christians in the Holy Land were very much harassed by the Turks, till some Merchants from Amalfi in Italy visited the parts about Syria and Egypt, and so far recommended themselves to the Inhabitants by the many rare and pretious commodities they brought thither, that the Calif of Egypt gave them a part of Jerusalem to live in, where they built a Cloister and transplanted thither from Italy an Abbot with some Benedictine Monks, who entertained all Christian Pilgrims and travellers: soon after a Cloister was erected for Women, and these being too small, the Hospital or Alms-House just mentioned was founded for the reception of both sick and well, under the direction of an Overseer maintained chiefly by Alms from Amalfi and other parts of Italy: shortly after, the Church was built, and dedicated to St. John Baptist; tradition informing, that his Father Zachary had often travelled that way, from whence those of this Foundation took the Name of Joannitæ, and continued an Order of Hospitalers or Alms-men some few Years.

In the year 1099, when the Christian Princes, under the command of Godfrey of Bologne, Duke of Lorrain besieged Jerusalem, Gerard the then overseer, with the rest of the Hospitalers by a sudden and unexpected Sally upon the rear of the Turks, contributed greatly to the overthrow of the infidels, and the recovery of the Holy-Land. Godfrey made public acknowledgments of this signal piece of Service, and being created King of Jerusalem gave the Hospitalers large presents, and put the defence of many Towns into their hands. From this time their Order commenced that of Knighthood, Gerard being their first Grand Master. The Order was confirmed by Pope Honorius the second, and by the then Patriarch of Jerusalem. The members of it were called indifferently the Knights Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem. It was their Vow and Profession to exercise hospitality, to resist the Barbarians that should offer any injury to Pilgrims on the High Ways, and to maintain the Christian religion by force of Arms in their Country. They soon greatly increased in Fame and Riches and spread into many nations: the services they did to Christian Princes procured them every where great respect, Wealth and Privileges, insomuch that tho' at first they professed voluntary poverty, they were afterwards at once in Possession of 19000 Manors in Christendom.

This Order flourished with great pomp and splendour in this Nation: their Prior was reckoned the first Baron in England; their Establishment here was very early, for about a Year after their first Institution and Jerusalem, viz. An. Dom. 1100, Jordan Briset Baron, and Muriel his wife, founded a Priory in this place for the Knights of this Order, and built a Church, which was dedicated to the Honour of St. John Baptist, in the Year 1185, being then consecrated by Heraclius Patriarch of Jerusalem. Both Church and House were burnt in 1381, by the Essex Rebels, but were afterwards rebuilt and continued in the possession of the Knights Hospitallers till the 32nd Year of Henry the 8th (which was years after the general Dissolution of Religious Houses in this Kingdom,) when by a particular Act of Parliament the Priory was suppressed, and the House, Church, and all the Lands of the Knights Hospitallers were vested in the Crown, with all Privileges, &c. thereto belonging, other than the right of Sanctuary, which Right is by this Act discharged, but with an express saving of the Privileges common to Churches and Church Yards applied and used to God's service. In this Act of Parliament the Hospital, House, Church, &c. are mentioned, not as a part of, or within the Parish of St. James, Clerkenwell, but as situate and being near to the City of London, in the County of Middlesex, and so the same are mentioned in the grant from the Crown and subsequent writings.

The Hospital or Priory Church, and House of St. John were preserved from Spoil and down-pulling so long as Henry the 8th lived; but in the third Year of King Edward the 6th the Body and side Isles with the great Bell tower, (a most curious piece of workmanship, graven, gilt, and enamelled,) were pulled down; but the Choir, (which remained,) was closed up in the reign of Queen Mary, who restored the Order and incorporated a Priory and several Brethren, and granted to them this Church, House, and many Lands; but the Order being again dissolved by Queen Elizabeth, the Church and Priory remained in the Crown till the 9th day of May, in the 5h year of King James the first, when by Letters Patent of that date the King granted the same to Ralph Freeman and his heirs, in free and common Soccage by the name of the City or House of the late Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem in England, in the County of Middlesex, and all the City, Circuit, and Precinct of the same House, having therein one great Mansion House, one great Chapel, &c., containing by estimation 5 acres. From Freeman the said Church or Chapel, and part of the great house and gardens, came in the 10th Year of King James the first Ld. Wm. Cecil Lord Burghley, Son and Heir apparent of Thomas Earl of Exeter, by whose daughter the Lady Diana, it passed in marriage in the 5th Year of King Charles the 1st to Thomas, Lord Bruce, afterwards Earl of Elgin, whose son Robert was created Earl of Ailesbury, in which Family this Church or Chapel, (from thence called Ailesbury Chapel,) continued till the Year 1706, and being then sold by them, was afterwards, viz. in the Year 1721, purchased by Mr. Simon Michell, with intent to accomodate the Inhabitants of a new Street by him then partly built, called Red Lion Street, and the neighbouring inhabitants with a convenient place for Divine Worship. He afterwards enlarged the said Chapel, or what was used as such, being the middle Isle only by restoring thereto the North isle, (which had been made part of a dwelling-house,) and also the South Isle, (the upper part of which had been converted into a Library, and the lower part separated by a wall from what was left to the Chapel,) and having likewise entirely new built the west front, and new roofed the whole, and furnished the Chapel with convenient Galleries and Pews, he proposed it thus rebuilt and beautified to the Commissioners appointed in pursuance of Acts of Parliament for building 50 New Churches in and about London, as proper to be by them converted into a Parochial Church for such an adjoining District, as they should think fit to appoint for a Parish to the same.

This proposal being accepted and an agreement made by the Commissioners with Mr. Simon Michell, he and Mr. Hutten (his trustee) by bargain and sale enrolled in Chancery, bearing date the 29th day of August 1723, conveyed the Chapel, and the ground extending from the East end thereof to St. John's Street, (on the front part whereof next to St. John's Street, stood 2 houses,) to the said Commissioners, who by Deed bearing date the 11th day of December 1723 and afterwards enrolled in Chancery, did, pursuant to their Power, granted by the said Acts of Parliament, declare and appoint the Chapel to be from and for ever after the Enrollment of that Deed and the consecration of the Chapel, a Parish Church by such Name as should be given thereto in the act of Consecration; and by the same Deed the said Commissioners did pursuant to the said Acts of Parliament set out and appoint a Parish for the said Church, and ascertained the Bonds and Limits of such new parish to be as followeth:—

The entry in the vestry-book, hitherto given verbatim, proceeds to set out the parish bounds in words, and a copy of the act of consecration.

It is interesting to go a little farther inot the history of this ancient church.

While Henry VIII. reigned, "the rebels of Essex and Kent," in 1381, set fire to the house, causing it to burn for the space of seven days together, and not suffering any to quench it: afterwards the church, and houses thereto appertaining, were new built, and the church finished by Thomas Docwray, lord prior there about the year 1504, as appears by the inscription over the gate-house, mentioned by Stow as remaining in his time, and which still remains. The church was employed as a storehouse for the king's "toyles and tents for hunting and for the wars," &c. Stow, who says this, speaking of its destruction in [t]he third year of king Edward VI., adds, that the church for the most part, to wit, the body and side isles with the great bell tower was undermined and blown up with gunpowder, and the stone thereof employed in building the lord protector's (Somerset) house in the Strand. The great bell tower he calls "a most curious piece of workmanship, graven, gilt, and inameled to the great beautifying of the city, and passing all other that I have sceene." He adds that the part of the quire which remained, with some side chapels, was closed up at the west end by cardinal Pole, in the reign of queen Mary, and the other was repaired, and sir Thomas Tresham Knight, made the lord prior there with the restitution of some lands. At the suppression, the priory was valued "to dispend in lands, 3385l. 19s. 8d. yearly; sir William Weston being then lord prior, died on the 7th of May, 1540." The king granted "great yeerely pensions" to the knights; and to the lord prior, during his life, 1000l. "but he never received a penny." He died of a broken heart on Ascension-day in the same year, the very day the house was suppressed. An account of the exhumation of his body on the 27th of April, 1788, on taking down the old church of St. James, Clerkenwell, with interesting particulars respecting him, may be seen in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for that year. Mr. Bartholomew of Red Lion-street, Clerkenwell, a lover, and as far as he is permitted by the other inhabitants, a preserver of the antiquities of his parish of St. John, is in possession of a portion of prior Weston's cere-cloth.

The only vestiges of the antiquity and extent of this church are in Jerusalem-court, which runs from St. John's-square into St. John's-street, and is bounded on the left by houses or dwellings constructed within the remaining part of the south wall: they are now, (in November, 1825,) undergoing reparation by new facing, but portions of the old church buttresses remain, though they are much mutilated, and their shafts buried to the extent of many feet below the pavement. There is not a single inscription or monument of any age remaining. The only remarkable stone in the churchyard is a memoritur of the late "Mrs. Sarah Newman of No. 63, Cow-cross-street, St. Sepulchre," who died a few years ago, and is rendered "remarkable" by an amplification of the ever-recurring epitaph, "Affliction sore" &c. She is made to say—

Pain was my portion,
Physic was my food,
Groans was my devotion,
Drugs did me no good;
Christ was my physician,
Knew what way was best,
To ease me of my pain,
He took my soul to rest.

A mural inscription in the church, represents "Simon Michell Esq. a member of the Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn, descended from a family of that name in Somersetshire. He died August 30, 1750, aged 74." He was a barrister, and member of parliament for Boston. Red Lion-street, built by him, is the best class of houses erected in his time in Clerkenwell, which, among the "lower orders," is called "Jack Adams's parish," for a reason that, if it can be authentically communicated, will be hereafter inserted.

The old gateway of St. John's priory remains in the state wherein it is seen monthly on the title-page of the "Gentleman's Magazine." The east turret and the great rooms over the gateway, are used as a tavern called "The old St. John of Jerusalem," occupied and kept by Mr. William Flint, who formerly carried on the business of a printer in the Old Bailey. The lower part of the west turret is the watchhouse of St. John's parish. On entering the gateway from the south, the fixed iron shaft of the top hinge, whereon the ancient gate swung, is about level with the elbow of a person of ordinary stature: from this, the height to which the ground has been raised above the old level may be imagined. The gateway itself has been lately repaired at the parish expense, chiefly at the instance of Mr. Bartholomew, who took great pains to ascertain and properly colour the arms of Prior Docwray on the crown of the arch, and the remaining ornaments, some of which had been hidden in the watchhouse. An ancient door in the watchhouse bricked up, and boarded over by the wainscotting, retains an old carved oak-facing at the top; through Mr. Bartholomew's persistance it was not destroyed, and he has caused a small flap with hinges to be inserted in the wainscot for the purpose of disclosing this carving, from time to time, to curious inquirers. He is one of the few inhabitants of Clerkenwell, who take an interest in maintaining the reputation of this suburb for its former grandeur.

The rental of St. John's parish in the year 1782, was 12,658l. In 1825, it amounted to 21,724l., not so much from additional building, as from increase in the value of property.

St. John's-gate will be always remembered in connection with the "Gentleman's Magazine," which was first printed there by Edmund Cave.


Bay. Laurus poetica.
Dedicated to St. Homobonus.

November 14.

St. Lawrence, Abp. of Dublin, A. D. 1180. St. Dubricius, A. D. 522.


This annual custom in the county of Lincoln is fixed for the 13th of November; which, in 1825, being Sunday, it was postponed to the next day, Monday the 14th. A correspondent's communication sets forth ample and curious particulars of the usage.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

As your very respectable and highly entertaining publication, the Every-Day Book, is a receptacle for local usages and customs, doubtless the Stamford bull-running, which takes place annually on the 13th of November, will be acceptable. It is conducted with a most determined spirit, and unlike most other customs, seems to increase in notoriety yearly.

Butcher says, "the bull-running is a sport of no pleasure, except to such as take a pleasure in beastliness and mischief. It is performed just the day six weeks before Christmas. The butchers of the town at their own charge, against the time, purchase a wild bull; this bull over night is had into some stable or barn belonging to the alderman; the next morning proclamation is made by the common bellman of the town, round about the same, that each one shut up his shop-doors and gates, and none, under pain of imprisonment, do any violence to strangers; for the preventing whereof (the town being a great thoroughfare, and then being in term time,) a guard is appointed for the passing of travellers through the same, without hurt. None [to] have any iron upon their bull-clubs, or other staff which they pursue the bull with: which proclamation made, and the gates all shut up, the bull is turned out of the alderman's house, and then, hivie, skivy, tag-rag, men, women, and children, of all sorts and sizes, with all the dogs in the town, promiscuously running after him with their bull-clubs, spattering dirt in each other's faces, that one would think them to be so many furies started out of hell for the punishment of Cerberus, as when Theseus and Perillus conquered the place, as Ovid describes it—

"'A ragged troop of boys and girls,
Do pellow him with stones,
With clubs, with whips, and many nips,
They part his skin from bones.'

"And (which is the greater shame) I have seen both Senatores majorum gentium et matrone de euodem gradu, following this bulling business.

"I can say no more of it, but only to set forth the antiquity thereof, (as the tradition goes,) William, earl of Warren, in the time of king John, standing upon his castle-wall under the same, saw two bulls fighting for one cow. A butcher of the town, the owner of one of the bulls, with a great mastiff dog, accidentally coming by set his dog upon his own bull, who forced the same bull up into the town, which no sooner was come within the same, but all the butcher's dogs, great and small, followed in pursuit of the bull, which by this time made stark mad with the noise of the people, and the fierceness of the dogs, ran over man, woman, and child, that stood in his way. This caused all the butchers and others in the town to rise up as it were in a tumult, making such a hideous noise that the sound thereof came into the castle into the ears of earl Warren, who presently mounted on horseback, and rid into the town to see the business; which then appearing (to his humour) very delightful, he gave all the meadows in which the bulls were at first found fighting, (which we now call the castle meadows,) perpetually as a common to the butchers of the town, to keep their cattle in till the time of slaughter, upon this condition, that upon the day on which this sport first began, the butchers of the town should from time to time yearly for ever, find a mad bull for the continuance of that sport."

Mr. Lowe speaks more favourably of the "bull-running" than Butcher. He calls it "a good old custom," and says, "there is nothing similar to it in his majesty's dominions, nor I believe in the dominions of any other potentate on the globe: no, it stands without a rival." "If," says Lowe, "the doctrine of transmigration be true, nothing can be more certain than that the soul of earl Warren animated the body of Mr. Robert Ridlington, once a tanner, alderman, and mayor, of this corporation, who to perpetuate this gallant diversion as much as in him lay, left half-a-crown to be paid annually to each of the five parishes (of Stamford,) for the trouble of stopping the gates and avenues of the town, which is received on St. Thomas's-day. I therefore hold it incumbent on me to record this spirited bequest, and to let this par nobile fratrum go hand in hand to posterity, for which legacy every bullard in gratitude ought to drink on that day to the joint memory of both. Since this account may chance to fall into the hands of some who are strangers to the town, I would have such know that when this gala-day falls either on a market-day or on a Sunday, that neither the market nor even the sabbath is put off on its account; but, on the contrary, it is itself postponed till the morrow, which must be acknowledged to be an instance of great forbearance!"

So much for the accounts of Butcher and Lowe. I shall now proceed to state the manner in which the sport is conducted in the present day.

The bull being duly procured, is shut up the night previous to the appointed morn, in a place provided for the purpose, and, long ere dawn of day, no peaceable person lying on his bed, can enjoy the pleasing and renovating stupor which, if unmolested by the cry of "bull for ever," the leaden key of Somnus would afford him. At eleven o'clock, Taurus is loosed from his prison-house generally into a street stopped at each end, which he parades in majesty sublime. At this dangerous juncture every post, pump, and the like is in requisition, and those who are fortunate enough to get sheltered behind one sit in conscious security,

"grinning with a ghastly smile"

at those who less fortunate than themselves must, for protection, have recourse to flight. The carts and waggons which form the stoppage at the ends of the street, are crowded with individuals as well as the roofs of houses; in short, every place tenable is occupied. Some years back it was customary to irritate the bull by goading him with pointed sticks, but this is now wholly done away with, it being declared unnecessarily cruel, and different means are resorted to to enrage him. Frequently, a hogshead with both ends knocked out is brought, wherein a man places himself, and by rolling it to the bull, provokes him to toss it. He tosses, but tosses in vain; its inmate is trained too well to the sport to be easily dislodged; so that by this and other means equally harmless and teazing, he is rendered sufficiently infuriated to afford "prime sport." The street is then unstopped, when, all agog, men, boys, and bull, tumble one over the other to get free.

Bridging the bull is next thought of; this, if he be much enraged, is the most dangerous part of the ceremony; it consists in driving him upon the bridge, which is a great height from the water, and crowds of people press to him on three sides.

"Shouts rend the air and onward goes the throng,
Arms locked in arms, and man drives man along,"

Regardless of the danger to which the van is exposed, they press closer and closer; at length, in spite of his amazing powers he yields to the combined strength of his numerous opponents, and is tumbled into the water. On again rising to the surface, his first care generally is to land, which, in most cases, he effects in the meadows; these are very swampy, full of rivers, and spacious. November being a month invariably attended with rain, the stay-laced sportful dandy, alas! too frequently finds that the slippery ground is no respecter of persons, and in spite of all his efforts to maintain his equilibrium, in submissive, prostrate attitude, he embraces his mother earth.

The sport is attended regularly by a patroness,—

"A bold virago stout and tall,
Like Joan of France, or English Mall,"

clad in blue, with a rare display of ribbons, and other insignia of her high office, who by close of day generally imbibes so much of the inspiring spirit of sir John Barleycorn, as to make her fully verify the words of Hamlet, viz.—

"Frailty, thy name is woman."

Thus the amusement continues, until night puts a stop to the proceedings; the baited animal is then slaughtered, and his carcass sold at a reduced price to the lower classes, who to "top the day," regale themselves with a supper of bull beef.

So ends this jovial sport, which, as Mr. Lowe says, "stands without a rival." In conclusion, it only remains for me to state, that I have been more than once present at this "bull-running," and am far from forming the idea that it is so cruel as some represent it to be; fatigue is the greatest pain the bull is subjected to; and, on the other hand, the men who so courageously cope with him are in imminent danger of loss of life, or broken limbs, whilst they possess not the most distant idea of doing any thing more injurious to the animal than irritating him.

I am, Sir, &c.

October 17, 1825.


Portugal Laurel. Cerasus Lusitanica.
Dedicated to St. Lawrence.

November 15.

St. Gertrude, Abbess, A. D. 1292. St. Leopold, Marquis of Austria, A. D. 1136. St. Eugenius, A. D. 275. St. Malo, or Maclou, A. D. 565.

St. Machutus.

This saint is in the church of England calendar and almanacs. He is the "St. Malo, or Maclou," of Alban Butler; according to whom he was born in England, and sent to Ireland for his education, where he was offered a bishopric but declined it. Going to Brittany he became disciple to a recluse named Aron, near Aleth, of which city he was the first bishop, and died November 15, 565. St. Malo derives its name from him. The ground whereon he stands in the church of England calendar is unknown.


Sweet Coltsfoot. Tussilago fragrans.
Dedicated to St. Gertrude.

November 16.

St. Edmund, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 1242. St. Eucherius, Bp. of Lyons, A. D. 460.

Stourbridge Fair.

A correspondent in the subjoined note mentions a singular character, which should be taken into the particulars concerning this fair related at page 1300.

(For the Every-Day Book.)

Mr. Editor,
In addition to your account of Stourbridge fair I send you the following, related to me by an individual of great veracity, who attended the fairs in 1766 and 1767.

Exclusive of the servants in red coats there was also another person dressed in similar clothing, with a string over his shoulders, from whence were suspended quantities of spigots and fossetts, and also round each arm many more were fastened. He was called "Lord of the Tap," and his duty consisted in visiting all the booths in which ale was sold, to determine whether it was fit and proper beverage for the persons attending the fairs.

In the account published at Cambridge in 1806, as given in your excellent miscellany, no notice is taken of this personage, and it may therefore be presumed the office had been discontinued.

J. N.

November 16, 1825.


African Hemp. Sansciviera Guineam.
Dedicated to St. Edmund.

November 17.

St. Gregory Thaumaturgus, Bp. A. D. 270. St. Dionysius, Abp. of Alexandria, A. D. 265. St. Gregory, Bp. of Tours, A. D. 596. St. Hugh, Bp. of Lincoln, A. D. 1200. St. Anian, or Agnan, Bp. A. D. 453.

Queen Elizabeth's Accession.

This day was formerly noted in the almanacs as the anniversary of queen Elizabeth's accession to the throne, in the year 1558. In 1679, while the bill for excluding the duke of York, afterwards James II., from the throne of England, was in agitation, there was a remarkable cavalcade in London on this day. The following account of it was drawn up at the time:—

"The bells generally about the town began to ring at three o'clock in the morning. At the approach of evening, all things being in readiness, the solemn procession began, setting forth from Moor-gate, and so passed first to Aldgate, and from thence through Leadenhall-street, by the Royal Exchange, through Cheapside, and so to Temple-bar, in the ensuing order, viz.

"1. Six whifflers, to clear the way, in pioneers' caps, and red waistcoats.

"2. A bellman ringing, and with a loud but dolesome voice, crying out all the way, 'remember justice Godfrey.'

"3. A dead body, representing justice Godfrey, in a decent black habit, carried before a jesuit in black, on horseback, in like manner as he was carried by the assassins to Primrose-hill.

"4. A priest, in a surplice, with a cope embroidered with dead bones, skeletons, sculls, and the like, giving pardons very plentifully to all those that should murder protestants, and proclaiming it meritorious.

"5. A priest in black, alone, with a great silver cross.

"6. Four carmelites, in white and black habits.

"7. Four grey-fryars, in the proper habits of their order.

"8. Six jesuits, with bloody daggers.

"9. A concert of wind music.

"10. Four bishops, in purple, and lawn sleeves, with a golden cross on their breast, and crosier staves in their hands.

"11. Four other bishops, in pontificalibus, with surplices and rich embroidered copes, and golden mitres on their heads.

"12. Six cardinals, in scarlet robes and caps.

"13. The pope's doctor, (sir George Wakeman, the queen's physician,) with jesuit's powder in one hand, and an urinal in the other.

"14. Two priests in surplices, with two golden crosses.

"Lastly, the pope, in a lofty glorious pageant, representing a chair of state, covered with scarlet, richly embroidered and fringed, and bedecked with golden balls and crosses. At his feet a cushion of state, and two boys in surplices, with white silk banners, and bloody crucifixes and daggers, with an incense pot before them, censing his holiness, who was arrayed in a splendid scarlet gown, lined through with ermine, and richly daubed with gold and silver lace; on his head a triple crown of gold, and a glorious collar of gold and precious stones, St. Peter's keys, a number of beads, agnus deis, and other catholic trumpery. At his back, his holiness's privy councillor, (the degraded seraphim, anglice, the devil,) frequently caressing, hugging, and whispering him, and ofttimes instructing him aloud, 'to destroy his majesty, to forge a protestant plot, and to fire the city again;' to which purpose he held an infernal torch in his hand.

"The whole procession was attended with 150 flambeaux and lights, by order; but so many more came in voluntarily that there was some thousands.

"Never were the balconies, windows, and houses more numerously lined, or the streets closer thronged with multitudes of people, all expressing their abhorrence of popery, with continual shouts and exclamations, so that it is modestly computed that, in the whole progress, there could not be fewer than 200,000 spectators.

"Thus, with a slow and solemn state they proceeded to Temple-bar; where, with innumberable swarms, the houses seemed to be converted into heaps of men, and women, and children; for whose diversion there were provided great variety of excellent fireworks.

"Temple-bar being, since its rebuilding, adorned with four stately statues, viz. those of queen Elizabeth and king James on the inward, or eastern side, fronting the city, and those of king Charles I. and king Charles II. on the outside, facing towards Westminster; and the statue of queen Elizabeth, in regard to the day, having on a crown of gilded laurel, and in her hand a golden shield, with this motto inscribed, —'The Protestant Religion and Magna Charta,' and flambeauxs placed before it; the pope being brought up near thereunto, the following song (alluding to the posture of those statues) was sung in parts, between one representing the English cardinal, (Howard,) and others acting the people.


"From York to London town we came,
   To talk of popish ire,
To reconcile you all to Rome,
   And prevent Smithfield fire.


"Cease, cease, thou Norfolk cardinal,
   See yonder stands queen Bess,
Who sav'd our souls from popish thrall,
   O! queen Bess, queen Bess, queen Bess.

"Your popish plot and Smithfield threat
   We do not fear at all;
For lo! beneath queen Bess's feet
   You fall, you fall, you fall!

"'Tis true, our king's on t'other side,
   Looking tow'rds Whitehall,
But could we bring him round about,
   He'd counterplot you all.

"Then down with James and set up Charles
   On good queen Bess's side,
That all true commons, lords, and earls,
   May wish him a fruitful bride.

"Now God preserve great Charles our king
   And eke all honest men;
And traitors all to justice bring,
   Amen, amen, amen.

"Then having entertained the throning spectators for some time with the ingenious fireworks, a vast bonfire being prepared just over against the Inner Temple Gate, his holiness, after some compliments and reluctances, was decently toppled from all his grandeur into the impartial flames; the craft devil leaving his infallibilityship in the lurch, and laughing as heartily at his deserved ignominious end as subtle jesuits do at the ruin of bigotted lay-catholics whom themselves have drawn in; or as credulous Coleman's abettors did, when, with pretences of a reprieve at the last gasp, they made him vomit up his soul with a lie, and sealed up his dangerous chops with a flatter. This justice was attended with a prodigious shout, that might be heard far beyond Somerset-house, (where the queen resided,) and it was believed the echo, by continual reverberations, before it ceased, reached Scotland, [the duke was then there,] France, and even Rome itself, damping them withal with a dreadful astonishment."

These particulars, from a tract in lord Somers's collection, are related in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for 1740; and the writer adds, that "the place of prompter-general, Mr. North insinuates, was filled by lord Shaftesbury."


Tree Stramony. Datura arborea.
Dedicated to St. Gregory.

November 18.

The Dedication of the Churches of Sts. Peter, and Paul, at Rome. Sts. Alphæus, and Zachæus; also Romanus, and Barulas. St. Odo, Abbot of Cluni, A. D. 942. St. Hilda, or Hild, Abbess, A. D. 680.

The "Mirror of the Months," a pleasing volume published in the autumn of 1825, and devoted to the service of the year, points to the appearance of nature at this time:—"The last storm of autumn, or the first of winter, (call it which you will) has strewed the bosom of the all-receiving earth with the few leaves that were still clinging, though dead, to the already sapless branches; and now all stand bare once more, spreading out their innumerable ramifications against the cold grey sky, as if sketched there for a study by the pencil of your only successful drawing-mistress—nature.

"Of all the numerous changes that are perpetually taking place in the general appearance of rural scenery during the year, there is none so striking as this which is attendant on the falling of the leaves; and there is none in which the unpleasing effects so greatly predominate over the pleasing ones. To say truth, a grove denuded of its late gorgeous attire, and instead of bowing majestically before the winds, standing erect and motionless while they are blowing through it, is 'a sorry sight,' and one upon which we will not dwell. But even this sad consequence of the coming on of winter (sad in most of its mere visible effects,) is not entirely without redeeming accompaniments; for in most cases it lays open to our view objects that we are glad to see again, if it be but in virture of their association with past years; and in many cases it opens vistas into sweet distances that we had almost forgotten, and brings into view objects that we may have been sighing for the sight of all the summer long. Suppose, for example, that the summer view from windows of a favourite sleeping-room is bounded by a screen of shrubs, shelving upwards from the turf, and terminating in a little copse of limes, beeches, and sycamores; the prettiest boundary that can greet the morning glance when the shutters are opened, and the sun slants gaily in at them, as if glad to be again admitted. How pleasant is it, when (as now) the winds of winter have stripped the branches that thus bound our view in, to spy beyond them, as if through network, the sky-pointing spire of the distant village church, rising from behind the old yew tree that darkens its portal; and the trim parsonage beside it, its ivy-grown windows glittering perhaps in the early sun! Oh, none but those who will see the good that is in every thing, know how very few evils there are without some of it attendant on them, and yet how much of good there is unmixed with any evil.

"But though the least pleasant sight connected with the coming on of winter in this month is to see the leaves that have so gladdened the groves all the summer long, falling every where around us, withered and dead,—that sight is accompanied by another which is too often overlooked. Though most of the leaves fall in winter, and the stems and branches which they beautified stand bare, many of them remain all the year round, and look brighter and fresher now than they did in spring, in virtue of the contrasts that are every where about them. Indeed the cultivation of evergreens has become so general with us of late years, that the home enclosures about our country dwellings, from the proudest down to even the poorest, are seldom to be seen without a plentiful supply, which we now, in this month, first begin to observe, and acknowledge the value of. It must be a poor plot of garden-ground indeed that does not now boast its clumps of winter-blowing laurestinus; its trim holly bushes, bright with their scarlet berries; or its tall spruce firs, shooting up their pyramid of feathery branches beside the low ivy-grown porch. Of this last-named profuse ornamentor of whatever is permitted to afford it support, (the ivy) we now too every where perceive the beautifully picturesque effects: though there is one effect of it also perceived about this time, which I cannot persuade myself to be reconciled to: I mean where the trunk of a tall tree is bound about with ivy almost to its top, which during the summer has scarcely been distinguished as a separate growth, but which now, when the other leaves are fallen, and the outspread branches stand bare, offers to the eye, not a contrast, but a contradiction. But let us not dwell on any thing in disfavour of ivy, which is one of the prime boasts of the village scenery of our island, and which even at this season of the year offers pictures to the eye that cannot be paralleled elsewhere. Perhaps as a single object of sight, there is nothing which gives so much innocent pleasure to so many persons as an English village church, when the ivy has held undisputed possession of it for many years, and has hung its fantastic banners all around it. There is a charm about an object of this kind, which it is as difficult to resist as to explain."


Curly Passion-flower. Passiflora serrata.
Dedicated to the Churches of Sts. Peter and Paul.

November 19.

St. Elizabeth, of Hungary, A. D. 1231. St. Pontian, Pope, A. D. 230. St. Barlaam.


Apple-fruited Passion-flower. Passiflora maliformis.
Dedicated to St. Elizabeth.

November 20.

St. Edmund, King and Martyr, A. D. 870. St. Humbert, Bp. of the East Angles, A. D. 855. St. Felix, of Valois, A. D. 1212. St. Bernward, Bp., A. D. 1021. St. Masentia, 7th Cent.

St. Edmund,

King and Martyr

This English king and saint is in the church of England calendar and almanacs. St. Edmund was king of East Anglia, which took its name from a people called the Angles, who landed on the eastern coast of Britain, under twelve chiefs, the survivor of whom, Uffa, assumed the title of king of the East Angles. This kingdom contained Norfolk and Suffolk, with part of Cambridgeshire. The chief towns were Norwich, Thetford, Ely, and Cambridge. In 867, the Danes landed in East Anglia, and after ravaging different parts of the island, and continuing some time in Northumberland, returned into East Anglia, committing, in their route, the most horrid barbarities. Edmund the king opposed them; but his army was defeated at Thetford, and the king being taken prisoner, fell a miserable victim to their barbarity, for they tied him to a tree, as a butt, or mark, and then shot him to death with arrows. The place where Edmund was interred had the name of St. Edmund's Bury, but is now generally called Bury. Canute the Great built a stately church over his grave, and greatly enlarged the town[.]


Red Stapelia. Stapelia rufa.
Dedicated to St. Edmund, King.

November 21.

The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. St. Columban, Abbot, A. D. 615. St. Gelasius, Pope, A. D. 496.

Ghost of an Arm Chair.

A lady assured the editor of the "Perennial Calendar," of the truth of the following story. She had ordered an armed chair which stood in her room to be sent to a sick friend, and thought it had been sent conformably to her orders. Waking, however, in the night, and looking by the light of the night-lamp at the furniture in her room, she cast her eyes on the place where the said chair used to stand, and saw it, as she thought, in its place. She at first expressed herself to her husband as being vexed that the chair had not been sent; but, as he protested that it was actually gone, she got out of bed to convince herself, and distinctly saw the chair, even on a nearer approach to it. What now became very remarkable was, that the spotted chair-cover which was over it, assumed an unusual clearness, and the pattern assumed the appearance of being studded with bright stars. She got close to it, and putting her hand out to touch it, found her fingers go through the spectrum unresisted. Astonished, she now viewed it as an illusion, and presently saw it vanish, by becoming fainter till it disappeared. Dr. Forster considers this apparition as affording a clue to one mode by which spectra are introduced, namely, by local association. The lady had anticipated seeing the chair in its place, from its always being associated with the rest of the furniture; and this anticipation of an image of perception was the basis of a corresponding image of spectral illusion.


Largeflowered Wood Sorrel. Oxalis grandiflora.
Dedicated to the Presentation of the V. Mary.

St. Cecilia.

St. Cecilia.

   ——Divine Cecìlia came,
   Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
   Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
   And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
   Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
   Or both divide the crown;
   He rais'd a mortal to the skies,
   She drew an angel down.


November 22.

St. Cecily, A. D. 230. St. Theodorus, A. D. 821. Sts. Philemon, and Appia.

St. Cecilia.

This saint is in the church of England calendar, and in the almanacs. Her having existed has been doubted, but she is a saint of the Romish church, and Butler gives her life, wherein he calls her "the patroness of church music." He says, that she was married to a nobleman named Valerian, whom, with her brother Tibertius, she converted, and with them she was martyred. Various legends, and many pictures and prints, represent her as engaged in music, or listening to it from celestial performers. Hence the ode for St. Cecilia's day by Dryden, who was a catholic, concludes by saying,

"She drew an angel down."

Formerly, concerts on her festival-day were fashionable, and Pope honoured her in numbers, though "the numbers came" not to him, as to Dryden. The preceding engraving is from a design by M. de Vos, engraved by J. Sadler. Her husband is represented, allured by the harmony, entering a room, wherein she sits. According to catholic story, he found a young man playing on the organ, Cecilia described him to Valerian as an angel, and from that time she received "angels' visits."


Trumpet-flowered Wood Sorrel. Oxalis ubiflora.
Dedicated to St. Cecilia.

November 23.

St. Clement, Pope, A. D. 100. St. Amphilochius, Bp. of Iconium, A. D. 394. St. Tron, A. D. 693. St. Daniel, Bp. A. D. 545.

St. Clement.

This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs.

Clement was a follower and coadjutor of the apostle Paul, who, writing to the Philippians, (iv. 3.) requires them to be mindful of the flock and their teachers, and distinguishes Clement by name—"help those women which laboured with me in the gospel, and with Clement also, and with other my follow-labourers." The Romish writers contend for the direct papal succession from the apostles, and call Clement a pope; but in the uninterrupted succession they claim for the pontiffs of their hierarchy, they fail in establishing as indisputable whether he was the first, second, or third pope; the name itself was not devised until centuries afterwards. Some of them say he was martyred, others contend that he died a natural death. The advocates for his martyrdom assign him an anchor as a symbol of distinction, because they allege that he was thrown into the sea with an anchor about his neck. It is further alleged that two of his disciples desirous of recovering his remains, assembled a multitude and prayed for the discovery, and, as usual, there was a miracle. "Immediately the sea retired for the space of three miles, or a league, in such sort that they could go into it for all that space as upon the dry land; and they found in it a chapel, or little church, made by the hands of angels; and within the church a chest of stone, in which was the body of St. Clement, and by it the anchor with which he had been cast into the sea. This miracle did not happen only that year in which the holy pope died, but it happened also every year, and the sea retired itself three miles, as was said, leaving the way dry for seven days, namely, the day of his martyrdom, and the other six following days."* [Ribadeneira.] Though "travellers see strange sights," no modern tourist has related this annual miracle, which is still performed by the sea in the neighbourhood of Rome, on the days aforesaid, as duly and truly as the annual liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius at Naples—"or, if not, why not?"

Protestants, in London, are reminded of St. Clement's apocryphal death by his anchor being the weathercock that "turns and turns," to every wind, on the steeple of the parish church of St. Clement Danes in the Strand. It denotes the efflux of time as a minute-hand upon the clock; it denotes the limits of the parish as a mark upon the boundary stones; it graces the beadles' staves; and on the breasts of the charity children is, in the eyes of the parishioners, "a badge of honour."

It appears from a state proclamation, dated July 22, 1540, that children were accustomed to be decked, and go about on St. Clement's day in procession. From an ancient custom of going about on the night of this festival to beg drink to make merry with, a pot was formerly marked against the 23d of November upon the old clog-almanacs.† [Plot's Staffordshire.]

St. Clement is the patron of blacksmiths. His quality in this respect is not noticed by Brand, or other observers of our ancient customs, nor do they mention any observances by that trade in commemoration of his festival. But the following communications will show the estimation wherein he is held among the "cunning workmen in iron."

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Chancery-lane, Nov. 19, 1825.

As secretary of the "Benevolent Institution of Smiths," I take the liberty of jogging your memory. I hope you will not forget our St. Clement, (Nov. 23,) in your interesting Every-Day Book. When I was a child, an old man went about in the trade, reciting the following ode on smithery, which, I believe, is very old. If you think it worthy a place in your work, it will much oblige me and our trade; for it is now quite forgot, with many good customs of hospitality of the olden days which are no more. I hope you will cull your flowers of antiquity, and collect all you can for our trade; there is a story of St. Dunstan, the smith, with his tongs, pinching the devil by the nose, &c.

An Ode on Smithery, 1610.

"By reading of old authors we do find
The smiths have been a trade time out of mind;
And it's believed they may be bold to say,
There's not the like to them now at this day.
For was it not for smiths what could we do,
We soon should loose our lives and money too;
The miser would be stript of all his store,
And lose the golden god he doth adore:
No tradesman could be safe, or take his rest
But thieves and rogues would nightly him molest;
It's by our cunning art, and ancient skill,
That we are saved from those who would work ill.
   The smith at night, and soon as he doth rise,
Doth always cleanse and wash his face and eyes;
Kindles his fire, and the bellows blows,
Tucks up his shirt sleeves, and to work he goes:
Then makes the hammer and the anvil ring,
And thus he lives as merry as a king.
   A working smith all other trades excels,
In useful labour wheresoe'er he dwells;
Toss up your caps ye sons of Vulcan then,
For there are none of all the sons of men,
That can with the brave working smiths compare,
Their work is hard, and jolly lads they are.
What though a smith looks sometimes very black,
And sometimes gets but one shirt to his back
And that is out at elbows, and so thin
That you through twenty holes may see his skin;
Yet when he's drest and clean, you all will say,
That smiths are men not made of common clay.
They serve the living, and they serve the dead,
They serve the mitre, and the crowned head;
They all are men of honour and renown,
Honest, and just, and loyal to the crown.
The many worthy deeds that they have done,
Have spread their fame beyond the rising sun
So if we have offended rich or poor,
We will be good boys, and do so no more.

I hope you will polish up for insertion. I will call for the old copy at your office: I should have sent it sooner, but could not find it, and the trouble it has cost me has made it valuable.

I remain, &c.

7, Hill-street,

The editor has given the "ode" without Mr. Johnson's alterations and additions, because its original state is better suited to convey a notion of his predecessors' manners; for the same reason, his suggestion to "polish up" has been declined. The homliness of those who preceded him is not discreditable to him, or any of the brethren of his trade. They are daily increasing in respectability, and ought to be a thriving branch. Compared with those who lived before them, they have extraordinary means of becoming acquainted with the principles of their varied manufacture, by becoming members of the Mechanics' Institution. Many blacksmiths have already joined that society. A diligent and good hand who knows more than his fellows, will be the best workman, and get the most money; and frugality abroad, and economy at home, will secure his independence. Attendance at the Mechanics' Institution will teach these things: and St. Clement cannot be better honoured than by observing them.

ST. CLEMENT, at Woolwich.

R. R. obligingly communicates with his name, the following account of an annual ceremony on the evening of St. Clement's day, by the blacksmiths' apprentices of the dockyard there.

(For the Every-Day Book.)

One of the senior apprentices being chosen to serve as old Clem, (so called by them,) is attired in a great coat, having his head covered with an oakham wig, face masked, and a long white beard flowing therefrom; thus attired, he seats himself in a large wooden chair, chiefly covered with a sort of stuff called buntin, with a crown and anchor, made of wood, on the top, and around it, four transparencies, representing "the blacksmiths' arms," "anchor smiths at work," "Britannia with her anchor," and "Mount Etna." He has before him a pair of tongs and wooden hammer which, in general, he makes good use of whilst reciting his speech. A mate, also masked, attends him with a wooden sledge-hammer; he is also surrounded by a number of other attendants, some of whom carry torches, banners, flags, &c.; others battle-axes, tomahawkes, and other accoutrements of war. This procession, headed by a drum and fife, and six men with old Clem mounted on their shoulders, proceed round the town, stopping and refreshing at nearly every public house, (which, by the by, are pretty numerous,) not forgetting to call on the blacksmiths and officers of the dockyard: there the money-box is pretty freely handed, after old Clem and his mate have recited their speeches, which commence by the mate calling for order, with

"Gentlemen all, attention give,
And wish St. Clem, long, long to live."

Old Clem then recites the following speech:—

"I am the real St. Clement, the first founder of brass, iron, and steel, from the ore. I have been to Mount Etna, where the god Vulcan first built his forge, and forged the armour and thunderbolts for the god Jupiter. I have been through the deserts of Arabia; through Asia, Africa, and America; through the city of Pongrove; through the town of Tipmingo; and all the northern parts of Scotland. I arrived in London on the twenty-third of Nivember, and came down to his majesty's dockyard, at Woolwich, to see how all the gentlemen Vulcans came on there. I found them all hard at work, and wish to leave them well on the twenty-fourth."

The mate then subjoins:—

"Come all you Vulcans stout and strong,
Unto St. Clem we do belong,
I know this house is well prepared
With plenty of money and good strong beer,
And we must drink before we part,
All for to cheer each merry heart.
Come all you Vulcans, strong and stout,
Unto St. Clem I pray turn out;
For now St. Clem's going round the town,
His coach and six goes merrily round.
    Huzza, —a, —a."

After having gone round the town and collected a pretty decent sum, they retire to some public house, where they enjoy as good a supper as the money collected will allow.

R. R.


Convex Wood Sorrel. Oxalis convexula.
Dedicated to St. Clement.

November 24.

St. John of the Cross, A. D. 1591. St. Chrysogonus. Sts. Flora and Mary, A. D. 851. St. Cianan, or Kenan, Bp. of Duleek, in Ireland, A. D. 489.

London in November.

In the already cited "Mirror of the Months," there is a feeling account of certain days in the metropolis, at this season, which every one who has sojourned in "that overgrown place" will immediately recognize to be "quite correct."

"Now the atmosphere of London begins to thicken over head, and assume its natural appearance, preparatory to its becoming, about Christmas time, that 'palpable obscure,' which is one of its proudest boasts; and which, among its other merits, may reckon that of engendering those far-famed fogs, of which every body has heard, but to which no one has ever done justice. A London fog, in November, is a thing for which I have a sort of natural affection—to say nothing of an acquired one—the result of a hackney-coach adventure, in which the fair part of the fare threw herself into my arms for protection amidst the pleasing horrors of an overthrow.

"As an affair of mere breath, there is something tangible in a London fog. In the evanescent air of Italy, a man might as well not breathe at all, for any thing he knows of the matter. But in a well-mixed metropolitan fog, there is something substantial and satisfying. You can feel what you breathe, and see it too. It is like breathing water,—as we may suppose the fishes to do. And then the taste of it, when dashed with a due seasoning of seacoal smoke, is far from insipid. It is also meat and drink at the same time: something between egg-flip and omelètte soufflèe, but much more digestible than either. Not that I would recommend it medicinally, especially to persons of queasy stomachs, delicate nerves, and afflicted with bile. But for persons of a good robust habit of body, and not dainty withal, (which such, by the by, never are,) there is nothing better in its way. And it wraps you all round like a cloak, too—a patent water-proof one, which no rain ever penetrated. No—I maintain that a real London fog is a thing not to be sneezed at—if you help it. Mem. As many spurious imitations of the above are abroad,—such as Scotch mists, and the like,—which are no less deleterious than disagreeable,—please to ask for the 'true London particular,'—as manufactured by Thames, Coalgas, Smoke, Steam, & Co. No others are genuine."

Water-proof Boots and Shoes.

Take one pound of drying (boiled linseed) oil, two ounces of yellow wax, two ounces of spirits of turpentine, and one of Burgundy pitch, melted carefully over a slow fire. With this composition new shoes and boots are to be rubbed in the sun, or at a distance from the fire, with a small bit of sponge, as often as they become dry, until they are fully saturated; the leather then is impervious to wet, the shoes and boots last much longer, acquire softness and pliability, and thus prepared, are the most effectual preservatives against cold.

A Notable Woman.

On the 24th of November, 1735, a butcher near Rumford, in Essex, was rode up to by a woman well mounted on a side saddle, who, to his astonishment, presented a pistol, and demanded his money. In amazement he asked her what she meant, and received his answer from a genteel looking man, who coming to him on horseback, said he was a brute to deny the lady's request, and enforced this conviction by telling him that if he did not gratify her desire immediately he would shoot him through the head. The butcher could not resist and invitation to be gallant, when supported by such arguments, and he placed six guineas and his watch in her hands.* [Gentleman's Magazine.]


Starry Stapelia. Stapelia radiata.
Dedicated to St. John of the Cross.

November 25.

St. Catharine. 3d. Cent. St. Erasmus, or Elme.

St. Catharine.

This saint is in the church of England calendar, and the almanacs. It is doubtful whether she ever existed; yet in mass-books and breviaries, we find her prayed to and honoured by hymns, with stories of her miracles so wonderfully apocryphal that even cardinal Baronius blushes for the threadbare legends. In Alban Butler's memoirs of this saint, it may be discovered by a scrutinizing eye, that while her popularity seems to force him to relate particulars concerning her, he leaves himself room to disavow them; but this is hardly fair, for the great body of readers of his "Lives of the Saints," are too confiding to criticise hidden meanings. "From this martyr's uncommon erudition," he says, "and the extraordinary spirit of piety by which she sanctified her learning, and the use she made of it, she is chosen, in the schools, the patroness and model of christian philosophers." According to his authorities she was beheaded under the emperor Maxentius, or Maximinus II. He adds, "She is said first to have been put upon an engine made of four wheels joined together, and stuck with sharp pointed spikes, that when the wheels were moved her body might be torn to pieces. The acts add, that at the first stirring of the terrible engine, the cords with which the martyr

St. Catharine and the Emperor Marentius.

St. Catharine and the Emperor Marentius.


was tied, were broke asunder by the invisible power of an angel, and, the engine falling to pieces by the wheels being separated from one another, she was delivered from death. Hence, the name of "St. Catharine's wheel."

The Catharine-wheel, a sign in the Borough, and at other inns and public houses, and the Catharine-wheel in fireworks, testify this saint's notoriety in England. Besides pictures and engravings representing her pretended marriage with Christ, others, which are more numerous, represent her with her wheel. She was, in common with other papal saints, also painted in churches, and there is still a very fine, though somewhat mutilated, painting of her, on the glass window in the chancel of the church of West Wickham, a village delightfully situated in Kent, between Bromley and Croydon. The editor of the Every-Day Book went thither, and took a tracing from the window itself, and now presents an engraving from that tracing, under the expectation that, as an ornament, it may be acceptable to all, and, as perpetuating a relic of antiquity, be still more acceptable to a few. The figure under St[.] Catharine's feet is the tyrant Maxentius. In this church there are other fine and perfect remains of the beautifully painted glass which anciently adorned it. A coach leaves the Ship, at Charing-cross, every afternoon for the Swan, at West Wickham, which is kept by Mr. Crittel, who can give a visiter a good bed, good cheer, and good information, and if need be, put a good horse into a good stable. A short and pleasant walk of a mile to the church the next morning will be gratifying in many ways. The village is one of the most retired and agreeable spots in the vicinity of the metropolis. It is not yet deformed by building speculations.

St. Catharine's Day.

Old Barnaby Googe, from Naogeorgus, says—

"What should I tell what sophisters
      on Cathrins day devise?
Or else the superstitious toyes
      that maisters exercise."

Anciently women and girls in Ireland kept a fast every Wednesday and Saturday throughout the year, and some of them also on St. Catharine's day; nor would they omit it though it happened on their birthday, or they were ever so ill. The reason given for it was that the girls might get good husbands, and the women better ones, either by the death, desertion, or reformation of their living ones.* [Camden Brit.]

St. Catharine was esteemed the saint and patroness of spinsters, and her holiday observed by young women meeting on this day, and making merry together, which they call "Cathar'ning."† [La Motte on Poetry and Painting, 1730, 12 mo.] Something of this still remains in remote parts of England.

Our correspondent R. R. (in November, 1825,) says, "On the 25th of November, St. Catharine's day, a man dressed in woman's clothes, with a large wheel by his side, to represent St. Catharine, was brought out of the royal arsenal at Woolwich, (by the workmen of that place,) about six o'clock in the evening, seated in a large wooden chair, and carried by men round the town, with attendants, &c. similar to St. Clement's. They stopped at different houses, where they used to recite a speech; but this ceremony has been discontinued these last eight or nine years."

Much might be said and contemplated in addition to the notice already taken of the demolition of the church of St. Catharine's, near the Tower. Its destruction has commenced, is proceeding, and will be completed in a short time. The surrender of this edifice will, in the end, become a precedent for a spoliation imagined by very few on the day when he utters this foreboding.

25th of November, 1825.


Sweet Butter-bur. Tussilago frgrans
Dedicated to St. Catharine.

November 26.

St. Peter, Martyr, Bp. of Alexandria, A. D. 311. St. Nicon, surnamed Metanoite, A. D. 998. St. Sylvester Gozzolini, A. D. 1267. St. Conrad, Bp. of Constance, A. D. 976.


and "more last words" respecting


To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

I do not remember to have seen in your book "where every-day we turn the leaf to read," any notice of a custom, which is not only very prevalent, but which is, also, most harmless in its nature and endearing in its tendency—promotes in its practice goodwill and good humour—and, not unfrequently, with those who view the "future i' th' instant," love itself. Among the many new moon customs, such as looking through a new silk handkerchief to ascertain the number of your loves, feeling for money in your pocket, to see if you will have a lucky month, &c.; I know of none so pleasant, or, to my thinking, so rational, as that of claiming the FIRST KISS FOR A PAIR OF GLOVES! The person, in a company, male or female, who first gets a glimpse of the new moon, immediately kisses some member of the company, and pronounces with a triumphant chuckle, "Aha! Jane, (or as the name may be,) there's a pair of gloves for me!" By this means a pleasant interruption is often given to a tedious tale, or uninteresting debate, and a new subject starts, in which all may join with greater or less avidity. How happy is some modest youth, should the blushing and ingenuous girl, whom he has secretly "singled from the world," have laid him under the penalty of a pair of new gloves, by that soft phrase and that first delicious kiss—how fruitful are his sweet anticipations of that golden time—

"When life is all one dream of love and flowers."

How joyful is an amiable sister, if, by this species of initiation, she has been enabled to re-conciliate the vagrant affections of some estranged brother: and even where love and sisterly feelings are out of the question, viewed as an interchange of common (common!) friendship, between the sexes, how felicitous is it in effect and operation! Should you, Mr. Editor, be of opinion with me, respecting this no longer "tyrant custom," you may, possibly, by printing this letter, be productive of much good humour, and a pair of new gloves.

I am,
Your constant and approving reader,
W. G. T.


P. S. I cannot write the name of the town where I reside, without feeling a strong inducement to say one word of him, who has been so pleasantly immortalized by yourself, and the inimitable being who wrote so affectingly of "Rosamund Gray," and the "Old Familiar Faces"—I mean poor Starkey. I was born, and have lived all my life (not a long one), in the town where he terminated his humble career, and gave another name to the neglected and unpitied list of those, who seem chiefly to have entered the world for the purpose of swelling

"The short and simple annals of the poor,"

and my earliest recollections are haunted by his meagre care-worn form;—many a time have I shrunk from the shaking of his stick, and the imperious "dem your bluds," which he bestowed with uncommon celerity on the defenceless heads of his young and unthinking sources of annoyance, as they assailed him from the corners which he was accustomed to pass. But the captain was a humble man, and these "moods of the mind" were seldom indulged in, save when he was returning, brim-full of brief and intemperate importance, from the Black Horse, in Pilgrim-street, the tap-room of which was the scene of many a learned disputation with the "unwashed artificers" of the evening, and in which the captain was always proportionably brilliant to the number of gills he had drank. On these occasions, in his efforts to silence the sons of toil, he did not scruple to use his Latin—and, in such instances, appeal was impossible, and victory sure. Among several anecdotes, I am in possession of two, which you, his most celebrious biographer, may not think unworthy of recording. On one evening, when he was returning from a carousal, furnished by the generosity of friends, or his own indiscretion—for the captain despised to-morrow as much as any man, and was fully convinced of the propriety of the apophthegm, "sufficient unto the day is its own evil"—he found the gate of the Freemen's Hospital, where he resided, closed, and no one in a better condition for exclaiming with Dr. Beattie,

"Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb!"

than himself. What was to be done? To fly over was impossible—and he was much too deep in the scale of intoxication to dream of scaling the wall. A party of young bucks, "ripe for fun," fresh from their sacrifices at the shrine of "the reeling goddess with the zoneless waist," came up the street; to these, hat in hand, did the captain prefer his petition to be assisted over, and they, with a thoughtlessness hardly to be excused by their condition, took him up, and threw him completely on to the grass plot on the other side. The veteran scrambled to his legs, and, for the wall was not very high on the inside, returned them thanks in his best manner for their timely assistance, utterly forgetful that it might have proved most disastrous both to himself and them. The second, and with which I must conclude a postscript which has already far outgrown the letter, was less harmless and equally illustrative of the man. He had gone with another eleemosynary worthy, on some gratulatory occasion, to the hall of one of the members for the town, and the butler, who was well aware of the object of his guests, treated them handsomely in his refectory to cold beef and good ale. He was accidentally called away, and the two friends were left alone. Alas! for the temptations which continually beset us! The "expedition of" the captain's "violent love outran the pauser, reason:" he suggested, and both adopted, the expedient of secreting a slice or two of the member's beef, to make more substantial the repast of the evening. Starkey's share was deposited in his hat. The man in office returned, pressed his visiters afresh, "and still the circling cup was drained," until the home-brewed had made considerable innovations, and the travellers thought it fitting to depart. The captain's habitual politeness was an overmatch for his cunning: whilst he was yet at the door, cast his "last lingering looks behind," he must needs take off his hat to give more effect to the fervour of his farewell—when—"out upon 't"—the beef fell as flat on his oration, as did the hat of corporal Trim on the floor in the scene of his eloquence. Starkey was dumb-founded, his associate was in agonies, and the butler was convulsed with the most "side-splitting" laughter. The captain, like other great men, has not fallen "unsung." Hearken to Gilchrist, one of the "bards of the Tyne," who thus sings in his apotheosis of Benjamin Starkey:—

"His game is up, his pipe is out, an' fairly laid his craw,
His fame 'ill blaw about just like coal dust at Shiney-Raw.
He surely was a joker rare—what times there'd been for a' the nation,
Had he but lived to be a mayor, the glory o' wor [sic] corporation!
            "Whack, &c."

W. G. T.


Linear Wood Sorrel. Oxalis linearis.
Dedicated to St. Conrad.

November 27.

St. Maximus, Bp. of Riez, A. D. 460. St. James, surnamed Intercisus, A. D. 421. St. Maharsapor, A. D. 421. St. Virgil, Bp. of Saltzburg, A. D. 784. St. Secundin, or Seachnal, Bp. of Dunsaghlin, in Meath, A. D. 447.


The Great Storm


In Little Wild-street chapel, Lincoln's Inn Fields, a sermon is annually preached on this day in commemoration of the "GREAT STORM" in 1703.

This fearful tempest was preceded by a strong west wind, which set in about the middle of the month; and every day, and almost every hour, increased in force until the 24th, when it blew furiously, occasioned much alarm, and some damage was sustained. On the 25th, and through the night following, it continued with unusual violence. On the morning of Friday, the 26th, it raged so fearfully that only few people had courage to venture abroad. Towards evening it rose still higher; the night setting in with excessive darkness added general horror to the scene, and prevented any from seeking security abroad from their homes, had that been possible. The extraordinary power of the wind created a noise, hoarse and dreadful, like thunder, which carried terror to every ear, and appalled every heart. There were also appearances in the heavens that resembled lightning. "The air," says a writer at the time, "was full of meteors and fiery vapours; yet," he adds, "I am of opinion, that there was really no lightning, in the common acceptation of the term; for the clouds, that flew with such violence through the air, were not to my observation such as are usually freighted with thunder and lightning; the hurries nature was then in do not consist with the system of thunder." Some imagined the tempest was accompanied with an earthquake. "Horror and confusion seized upon all, whether on shore or at sea; no pen can describe it, no tongue can express it, no thought can conceive it, unless theirs who were in the extremity of it; and who being touched with a due sense of the sparing mercy of their Maker, retain the deep impressions of his goodness upon their minds though the danger be past. To venture abroad was to rush into instant death, and to stay within afforded no other prospect than that of being buried under the ruins of a falling habitation. Some in their distraction did the former, and met death in the streets; others the latter, and in their own houses received their final doom." One hundred and twenty-three persons were killed by the falling of dwellings; amongst these were the bishop of Bath and Wells (Dr. Richard Kidder) and his lady, by the fall of any part of the episcopal palace of Wells; and lady Penelope Nicholas, sister to the bishop of London, at Horsley, in Sussex. Those who perished in the waters, in the floods of the Severn and the Thames, on the coast of Holland, and in ships blown away and never heard of afterwards, are computed to have amounted to eight thousand.

All ranks and degrees were affected by this amazing tempest, for every family that had any thing to lose lost something: land, houses, churches, corn, trees, rivers, all were disturbed or damaged by its fury; small buildings were for the most part whooly swept away, "as chaff before the wind." Above eight hundred dwelling-houses were laid in ruins. Few of those that resisted escaped from being unroofed, which is clear from the prodigious increase in the price of tiles, which rose from twenty-one shillings to six pounds the thousand. About two thousand stacks of chimnies were blown down in and about London. When the day broke the houses were mostly stripped, and appeared like so many skeletons. The consternation was so great that trade and business were suspended, for the first occupation of the mind was so to repair the houses that families might be preserved from the inclemency of the weather in the rigorous season. The streets were covered with brickbats, broken tiles, signs, bulks, and penthouses.

The lead which covered one hundred churches, and many public buildings, was rolled up, and hurled in prodigious quantities to distances almost incredible; spires and turrets of many others were thrown down. Innumerable stacks of corn and hay were blown away, or so torn and scattered as to rec[e]ive great damage.

Multitudes of cattle were lost. In one level in Gloucestershire, on the banks of the Severn, fifteen thousand sheep were drowned. Innumerable trees were torn up by the roots; one writer says, that he himself numbered seventeen thousand in part of the county of Kent alone, and that, tired with counting, he left off reckoning.

The damage in the city of London, only, was computed at near two millions sterling. At Bristol, it was about two hundred thousand pounds. In the whole, it was supposed, that the loss was greater than that produced by the great fire of London, 1666, which was estimated at four millions.

The greater part of the navy was at sea, and if the storm had not been at its height at full flood, and in a spring-tide, the loss might have been nearly fatal to the nation. It was so considerable, that fifteen or sixteen men of war were cast away, and more than two thousand seamen perished. Few merchantmen were lost; for most of those that were driven to sea were safe. Rear-admiral Beaumont with a squadron then lying in the Downs, perished with his own and several other ships on the Goodwin Sands.

The ships lost by the storm were estimated at three hundred. In the river Thames, only four ships remained between London-bridge and Limehouse, the rest being driven below, and lying there miserably beating against one another. Five hundred wherries, three hundred ship-boats, and one hundred lighters and barges were entirely lost; and a much greater number received considerable damage. The wind blew from the western seas, which preventing many ships from putting to sea, and driving others into harbour, occasioned great numbers to escape destruction.

The Eddystone lighthouse near Plymouth was precipitated in the surrounding ocean, and with it Mr. Winstanley, the ingenious architect, by whom it was contrived, and the people who were with him.—"Having been frequently told that the edifice was too slight to withstand the fury of the winds and waves, he was accustomed to reply contemptuously, that he only wished to be in it when a storm should happen. Unfortunately his desire was gratified. Signals of distress were made, but in so tremendous a sea no vessel could live, or would venture to put off for their relief."* [Belsham's Hist. of G. Britain.]

The amazing strength and rapidity of the wind, are evidenced by the following well authenticated circumstances. Near Shaftesbury a stone of near four hundred pounds weight, which had lain for some years fixed in the ground, fenced by a bank with a low stone wall upon it, was lifted up by the wind, and carried into a hollow way, distant at least seven yards from the place. This is mentioned in a sermon preached by Dr. Samuel Stennett in 1788. Dr. Andrew Gifford in a sermon preached at Little Wylde-street, on the 27th of November, 1734, says that "in a country town, a large stable was at once removed off its foundation and instantly carried quite across the highway, over the heads of five horses and the man the was then feeding them, without hurting any one of them, or removing the rack and manger, both of which remained for a considerable time to the admiration of every beholder." Dr. Gifford in the same sermon gives an account of "several remarkable deliverances." One of the most remarkable instances of this kind occurred at a house in the Strand, in which were no less than fourteen persons: "Four of them fell with a great part of the house, &c. three stories, and several two; and though buried in the ruins, were taken out unhurt: of these, three were children; one that lay by itself, in a little bed near its nurse; another in a cradle; and the third was found hanging (as it were wrap'd up) in some curtains that hitch'd by the way; neither of whom received the least damage. In another place, as a minister was crossing a court near his house, a stone from the top of a chimney upwards of one hundred and forty pounds weight, fell close to his heels, and cut between his footsteps four inches deep into the ground. Soon after, upon drawing in his arm, which he had held out on some occasion, another stone of near the same weight and size, brush'd by his elbow, and fell close to his foot, which must necessarily, in the eye of reason, have killed him, had it fallen while it was extended." In the Poultry, where two boys were lying in a garret, a huge stack of chimnies fell in, which making its way through that and all the other floors to the cellar, it was followed by the bed with the boys asleep in it, who first awaked in that gloomy place of confusion without hurt.

So awful a visitation produced serious impressions on the government, and a day of fasting and humiliation was appointed by authority. The introductory part of the proclamation, issued by queen Anne for that purpose, claims attention from its solemn import.

"WHEREAS, by the late most terrible and dreadful Storms of Wind, with which it hath pleased Almighty God to afflict the greatest part of this our Kingdom, of Friday and Saturday, the Twenty-Sixth and Twenty-Seventh days of November last, some of our Ships of War, and many Ships of our loving Subjects have been destroyed and lost at Sea, and great numbers of our subjects, serving on board the same have perished, and many houses and other buildings of our good Subjects have been either wholly thrown down and demolished, or very much damnified and defaced, and thereby several persons have been killed, and many Stacks of Corn and Hay thrown down and scattered abroad, to the great damage and impoverishment of many others, especially the poorer sort, and great numbers of Timber and other Trees have by the said Storm been torn up by the roots in many parts of this our Kingdom: a Calamity of this sort so dreadful and astonishing, that the like hath not been seen or felt in the memory of any person living in this our Kingdom, and which loudly calls for the deepest and most solemn humiliation of us and our people: therefore out of a deep and pious sense of what we and all our people have suffered by the said dreadful Wind and Storms, (which we most humbly acknowledge to be a token of the divine displeasure, and that it was the infinite Mercy of God that we and our people were not thereby wholly destroyed,) We have Resolved, and do hereby command, that a General Public Fast be observed," &c.

This public fast was accordingly observed, throughout England, on the nineteenth of January following, with great seriousness and devotion by all orders and denominations. The protestant dissenters, notwithstanding their objections to the interference of the civil magistrate in matters of religion, deeming this to be an occasion wherein they might unite with their countrymen in openly bewailing the general calamity, rendered the supplication universal, by opening their places of worship, and every church and meeting-house was crowded.


"It may not be generally known, that a Mr. JOSEPH TAYLOR, having experienced a merciful preservation, during the 'Great Storm,' in 1703; and, being at that period, a member of the (Baptist) church, meeting in Little Wild-street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, instituted an annual sermon, to perpetuate the recollection of that affecting occurrence; leaving, in trust, a small sum to be thus annually expended."

The above announcement is prefixed to a sermon preached in the before-mentioned chapel, in the year 1821, by the rev. George Pritchard. The annual sermon at that place has been regularly preached, but Mr. Pritchard's is the last printed one. It has an appendix of "remarkable facts, which could not so conveniently be introduced into the discourse." The rev. Robert Winter, A. M. (now D. D.) preached the sermon of 1798, which was the last published one preceding Mr. Pritchard's.

Mr. Joseph Taylor was a bookseller in Paternoster-row. He left 40l. for the purpose mentioned, to which the church added 5l., and purchased 50l. three per cent. consols, which is now standing in the name of the three trustees, who pay the minister.

[set as table:]

£ s. d.

For the sermon - 1 0 0

Distributing of Notices - 0 2 6

Clerk - - - 0 2 6

Two Pew-openers 2s. 6d. each - 0 5 0

£1 10 0

The following is a copy of the notice, printed and distributed in the year 1825.


On Sunday Evening, November 27, 1825,


Annual Sermon

In commemoration of the Great Storm in 1703,


In Little Wild Street Chapel,



Of Prescot Street.

"A collection will be made after the service for the support of the Evening Lecture, which was commenced at the beginning of the present year, and will be continued every Sunday evening, to which the inhabitants of Wild-street, and its vicinity, are earnestly solicited to attend.

"Service commences at half-past six o'clock."

Etymology of the Seasons.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Mr. Editor,
I am, no doubt, with many others, obliged by the information contained in your Every-Day Book, especially in giving the etymology and origin of things of old and present practices.

But being a dabbler in etymology myself, I was disappointed in finding none for the present season of the year, autumn; and as many of our names of places were, no doubt, given by our Saxon ancestors, we in the north retain more of that language, and consquently more familiar with the names of places than you in England.

Perhaps there is not one hundred persons in Langbourn ward know any meaning to the two words by which the ward is called; but to any child in Scotland the words are significant.

Will you then allow me to give you my etymology of the seasons?

Spring makes itself familiar to almost every one; but summer, or as we would say in Scotland, means an addition, or "sum-more," or "some-mere;" viz. if a person was not satisfied with his portion of victuals, he would say "I want sum-mere."

And does not this correspond with the season, which in all the plants and fruits of the field and garden, is getting "sum-mere" every day, until the months of August and September, when according to the order and appointment of the great Lawgiver, they are brought to perfection, and gathered in?

Then comes the present season, autumn, or as we would in the north say, "ae-tum," or "all-empty," which is the present state of the gardens, trees, and fields; they are "ae-tum."

The last season brings with it its own name by its effects, "wind-tere."

If these observations will add any thing to your fund of information, it will not diminish that of

Your humble servant,

PS.—Observe, they pronounce the A in scotland as in France, Aa.

November 16, 1825.


Lupinleaved Wood Sorrel. Oxalis lupinifolia.
Dedicated to St. Virgil.

November 28.

St. Stephen the Younger, A. D. 764. St. James of La Marea, of Ancona, A. D. 476.

[Michaelmas Term ends.]


Exhibited in November, 1825.

An invitation to a private view of the "Rath," or state carriage of the king of Ava, or emperor of the Burmans, at the Egyptian-hall, Piccadilly, gave the editor of the Every-Day Book an opportunity of inspecting it, on Friday, the 18th of November, previous to its public exhibition; and having been accompanied by an artist, for whom he obtained permission to make a drawing of the splendid vehicle, he is enabled to present the accompanying engraving.

The Times, in speaking of it, remarks, that "The Burmese artists have produced a very formidable rival to that gorgeous piece of lumber, the lord mayor's coach. It is not indeed quite so heavy, nor quite so glassy as that moving monument of metropolitan magnificence; but it is not inferior to it in glitter and in gilding, and is far superior in the splendour of the gems and rubies which adorn it. It differs from the metropolitan carriage in having no seats in the interior, and no place for either sword-bearer, chaplain, or any other inferior officer. The reason of this is, that whenever the 'golden monarch' vouchsafes to show himself to his subjects, who with true legitimate loyalty worship him as an emanation from the deity, he orders his throne to be removed into it, and sits thereon, the sole object of their awe and admiration."

The British Press well observes, that "Independent of the splendour of this magnificent vehicle, its appearance in this country at the present moment is attended with much additional and extrinsic interest. It is the first specimen of the progress of the arts in a country of the very existence of which we appeared to be oblivious, till recent and extraordinary events recalled it to our notice. The map of Asia alone reminded us that an immense portion of the vast tract of country lying between China and our Indian possessions, and constituting the eastern peninsula of India, was designated by the name of the Burmah empire. But so little did we know of the people, or the country they inhabited, that geographers were not agreed upon the orthography of the name. The attack upon Chittagong at length aroused our attention to the concerns of this warlike people, when one of the first intimations we received of their existence was the threat, after they had expelled us from India, to invade England. Our soldiers found themselves engaged in a contest different from any they had before experienced in that part of the world, and

The Rath, or Burmese Imperial State Carriage

The Rath, or Burmese Imperial State Carriage;

Captured, in September, 1825, at Tav°y, a sea-port in the Burmese Empire.

with a people who, to the impetuous bravery of savages, added all the artifices of civilized warfare. We had to do with an enemy of whose history and resources we knew absolutely nothing. On those heads our information is still but scanty. It is the information which 'the Rath,' or imperial carriage, affords respecting the state of the mechanical arts among the Burmese, that we consider particularly curious and interesting."

Before more minute description it may be remarked, that the eye is chiefly struck by the fretted golden roof, rising step by step from the square oblong body of the carriage, like an ascending pile of rich shrine-work. "It consists of seven stages, diminishing in the most skilful and beautiful proportions towards the top. The carving is highly beautiful, and the whole structure is set thick with stones and gems of considerable value. These add little to the effect when seen from below, but ascending the gallery of the hall, the spectator observes them, relieved by the yellow ground of the gilding, and sparkling beneath him like dew-drops in a field of cowslips. Their presence in so elevated a situation well serve to explain the accuracy of finish preserved throughout, even in the nicest and most minute portions of the work. Gilt metal bells, with large heart-shaped chrystal drops attached to them, surround the lower stages of the pagoda, and, when the carriage is put in motion, emit a soft and pleasing sound."* [The British Press.] The apex of the roof is a pinnacle, called the tee, elevated on a pedestal. The tee is an emblem of royalty. It is formed of movable belts, or coronals, of gold, wherein are set large amethysts of a greenish or purple colour: its summit is a small banner, or vane, of crystal.

The length of the carriage itself is thirteen feet seven inches; or, if taken from the extremity of the pole, twenty-eight feet five inches. Its width is six feet nine inches, and its height, to the summit of the tee, is nineteen feet two inches. The carriage body is five feet seven inches in length, by four feet six inches in width, and its height, taken from the interior, is five feet eight inches. The four wheels are of uniform height, are remarkable for their lightness and elegance, and the peculiar mode by which the spokes are secured, and measure only four feet two inches: the spokes richly silvered, are of a very hard wood, called in the east, iron wood: the felloes are cased in brass, and the caps to the naves elegantly designed of bell metal. The pole, also of iron wood, is heavy and massive; it was destined to be attached to elephants by which the vehicle was intended to be drawn upon all grand or state occasions. The extremity of the pole is surmounted by the head and fore part of a dragon, a figure of idolatrous worship in the east; this ornament is boldly executed, and richly gilt and ornamented; the scales being composed of a curiously coloured talc. The other parts of the carriage are the wood of the oriental sassafras tree, which combines strength with lightness, and emits a grateful odour; and being hard and elastic, is easily worked, and peculiarly fitted for carving. The body of the carriage is composed of twelve panels, three on each face or front, and these are subdivided into small squares of the clear and nearly transparent horn of the rhinoceros and buffalo, and other animals of eastern idolatry. These squares are set in broad gilt frames, studded at every angle with raised silvered glass mirrors: the higher part of these panels has a range of rich small looking-glasses, intended to reflect the gilding of the upper, or pagoda stages.

The whole body is set in, or supported by four wreathed dragon-like figures, fantastically entwined to answer the purposes of pillars to the pagoda roof, and carved and ornamented in a style of vigour and correctness that would do credit to a European designer: the scaly or body part are of talc, and the eyes of pale ruby stones.

The interior roof is latticed with small looking-glasses studded with mirrors as on the outside panels: the bottom or flooring of the body is of matted cane, covered with crimson cloth, edged with gold lace, and the under or frame part of the carriage is of matted cane in panels.

The upper part of each face of the body is composed of sash glasses, set in broad gilt frames, to draw up and let down after the European fashion, but without case or lining to protect the glass from fracture when down; the catches to secure them when up, are simple and curious, and the strings of these glasses are wove crimson cotton. On the frames of the glasses is much writing in the Burmese character, but the language being utterly unknown in this country, cannot be deciphered; it is supposed to be adulatory sentences to the "golden monarch" seated within.

The body is staid by braces of leather; the springs, which are of iron, richly gilt, differ not from the present fashionable C spring, and allow the carriage an easy and agreeable motion. The steps merely hook on to the outside: it is presumed they were destined to be carried by an attendant; they are light and elegantly formed of gilt metal, with cane threads.

A few years previous to the rupture which placed this carriage in the possession of the British, the governor-general of India, having heard that his Burmese majesty was rather curious in his carriages, one was sent to him some few years since, by our governnor-general, but it failed in exciting his admiration—he said it was not so handsome as his own. It having lamps rather pleased him, but he ridiculed other parts of it, particularly, that a portion so exposed to being soiled as the steps, should be folded and put up within side.

The Burmese are yet ignorant of that useful formation of the fore part of the carriage, which enables those of European manufacture to be turned and directed with such facility: the fore part of that now under description, does not admit of a lateral movement of more than four inches, it therefore requires a very extended space in order to bring it completely round.

On a gilt bar before the front of the body, with their heads towards the carriage, stand two Japanese peacocks, a bird which is held sacred by this superstitious people; their figure and plumage are so perfectly represented, as to convey the natural appearance of life; two others to correspond are perched on a bar behind. On the fore part of the frame of the carriage, mounted on a silvered pedestal, in a kneeling position, is the tee-bearer, a small carved image with a lofty golden wand in his hands, surmounted with a small tee, the emblem of sovereignty: he is richly dressed in green velvet, the front laced with jargoon diamonds, with a triple belt round the body, of blue sapphires, emeralds, and jargoon diamonds; his leggings are also embroidered with sapphires. In the front of his cap is a rich cluster of white sapphires encircled with a double star of rubies and emeralds: the cap is likewise thickly studded with the carbuncle, a stone little known to us, but in high estimation with the ancients. Behind the carriage are two figures; their lower limbs are tattooed, as is the custom with the Burmese: from their position, being on one knee, their hands raised and open, and their eyes directed as in the act of firing, they are supposed to have borne a representation of the carbine, or some such fire-arm weapon of defence, indicative of protection.

The pagoda roof constitutes the most beautiful, and is, in short, the only imposing ornament of the carriage. The gilding is resplendent, and the design and carving of the rich borders which adorn each stage are no less admirable. These borders are studded with amethysts, emeralds, jargoon diamonds, garnets, hyacinths, rubies, tourmalines, and other precious gems, drops of amber and crystal being also interspersed. From every angle ascends a light spiral gilt ornament, enriched with crystals and emeralds.

This pagoda roofing, as well as that of the great imperial palace, and of the state war-boat or barge, bears an exact similitude to the chief sacred temple at Shoemadro. The Burman sovereign, the king of Ava, with every eastern Bhuddish monarch, considers himself sacred, and claims to be worshipped in common with deity itself; so that when enthroned in his palace, or journeying on warlike or pleasurable excursions in his carriage, he becomes an object of idolatry.

The seat or throne for the inside is movable, for the purpose of being taken out and used in council or audience on a journey. It is a low seat of cane-work, richly gilt, folding in the centre, and covered by a velvet cushion. The front is studded with almost every variety of precious stone, disposed and contrasted with the greatest taste and skill. The centre belt is particularly rich in gems, and the rose-like clusters or circles are uniformly composed of what is termed the stones of the orient: viz. pearl, coral, sapphire, cornelian, cat's-eye, emerald, and ruby. A range of buffalo-horn panels ornament the front and sides of the throne, at each end of which is a recess, for the body of a lion like jos-god figure, called Sing, a mythological lion, very richly carved and gilt; the feet and teeth are of pearl; the bodies are covered with sapphires, hyacinths, emeralds, tourmalines, carbuncles, jargoon diamonds, and rubies; the eyes are of a tri-coloured sapphire. Six small carved and gilt figures in a praying or supplicatory attitude, are fixed on each side of the seat of the throne, they may be supposed to be interceding for the mercy or safety of the monarch: their eyes are rubies, their drop ear-rings cornelian, and their hair the light feather of the peacock.

The chattah, or umbrella, which overshadows the throne, is an emblem or representation of regal authority and power.

It is not to be doubted, that the caparisons of the elephants would equal in splendour the richness of the carriage, but one only of the elephants belonging to the carriage was captured; the caparisons for both are presumed to have escaped with the other animal. It is imagined that the necks of these ponderous beings bore their drivers, with small hooked spears to guide them, and that the cortêge combined all the great officers of state, priests, and attendants, male and female, besides the imperial body-guard mounted on eighty white elephants.

Among the innumerable titles, the emperor of the Burmans styles himself "king of the white elephant." Xacca, the founder of Indian idolatry, is affirmed by the Brahmins to have gone through a metampsychosis eighty thousand times, his soul having passed into that number of brutes; that the last was in a white elephant, and that after these changes he was received into the company of the gods, and is now a pagod.

This carriage was taken with the workmen who built it, and all their accounts. From these it appeared, that it had been three years in building, that the gems were supplied from the king's treasury, or by contribution from the various states, and that the workmen were remunerated by the government. Independent of these items, the expenses were stated in the accounts to have been twenty-five thousand rupees, (three thousand one hundred and twenty-five pounds.) The stones are not less in number than twenty thousand, which its reputed value at Tavoy was a lac of rupees, twelve thousand five hundred pounds.

It was in August, 1824, that the expedition was placed under the command of lieutenant-colonel Miles, C. B., a distinguished officer in his majesty's service. It comprised his majesty's 89th regiment, 7th Madras infantry, some artillery, and

The Tee


The Tee,

The ornament surmounting the roof of
the Burmese State Carriage.

other native troops, amounting in the whole to about one thousand men. The naval force, under the command of captain Hardy, consisted of the Teignmouth, Mercury, Thetis, Panang cruiser Jesse, with three gun boats, three Malay prows, and two row boats. The expedition sailed from Rangoon on the 26th of August, and proceeded up the Tavoy river, which is full of shoals and natural difficulties. On the 9th of September, Tavoy, a place of considerable strength, with ten thousand fighting men, and many mounted guns, surrendered to the expedition. The viceroy of the province, his son, and other persons of consequence, were among the prisoners, and colonel Miles states in his despatch, that, with the spoil, he took "a new state carriage for the king of Ava, with one elephant only." This is the carriage now described. After subsequent successes the expedition returned to Rangoon, whither the carriage was also conveyed; from thence, it was forwarded to Calcutta, and there sold for the benefit of the captors. The purchaser, judging that it would prove an attractive object of curiosity in Europe, forwarded it to London, by the Cornwall, captain Brooks, and it was immediately conveyed to the Egyptian-hall for exhibition. It is not too much to say that it is a curiosity. A people emerging from the bosom of a remote region, wherein they had been concealed until captain Symes's embassy, and struggling in full confidence against British tactics, must, in every point of view, be interesting subjects of inquiry. The Burmese state carriage, setting aside its attractions as a novelty, is a remarkable object for a contemplative eye.

Unlike Asiatics in general, the Burmese are a powerful, athletic, and intelligent men. They inhabit a fine country, rich in rivers and harbours. It unites the British possessions in India with the immense Chinese empire. By incessant encroachments on surrounding petty states, they have swallowed them up in one vast empire. Their jealousy, at the preponderance of our eastern power, has been manifested on many occasions. They aided the Mahratta confederacy; and if the promptness of the marquis of Hastings had not deprived them of their allies before they were prepared for action, a diversion would doubtless have then been made by them on our eastern frontier[.]

Burmah is the designation of an active and vigorous race, originally inhabiting the line of mountains, separating the great peninsula, stretching from the confines of Tartary to the Indian Ocean, and considered, by many, the Golden Chersonesus of the ancients. From their heights and native fastnesses, this people have successively fixed their yoke upon the entire peninsula of Aracan, and after seizing successively the separate states and kingdoms of Ava, Pegue, &c., have condensed their conquests into one powerful state, called the Burmah empire, from their own original name. This great Hindoo-Chinese country, has gone on extending itself on every possible occasion. They subdued Assam, a fertile province of such extent, as to include an area of sixty thousand square miles, inhabited by a warlike people who had stood many powerful contests with neighbouring states. On one occasion, Mohammed Shar, emperor of Hindostan, attempted to conquer Assam with one hundred thousand cavalry; the Assamese annihilated them. The subjugation of such a nation, and constant aggressions, have perfected the Burmese in every species of attack and defence: their stockade system, in a mountainous country, closely intersected with nullahs, or thick reedy jungles, sometimes thirty feet in height, has attained the highest perfection. Besides Aracan, they have conquered part of Siam, so that on all sides the Burmese territory appears to rest upon natural barriers, which might seem to prescribe limits to its progress, and ensure repose and security to its grandeur. Towards the east, immense deserts divide its boundaries from China; on the south, it has extended itself to the ocean; on the north, it rests upon the high mountains of Tartary, dividing it from Tibet; on the west, a great and almost impassable tract of jungle wood, marshes, and alluvial swamps of the great river Houghly, or the Ganges, has, till now, interposed boundaries between itself and the British possessions. Beyond this latter boundary and skirting of Assam is the district of Chittagong, the point whence originated the contest between the Burmese and the British.

The Burmese population is estimated at from seventeen to nineteen millions of people, lively, industrious, energetic, further advanced in civilization than most of the eastern nations, frank and candid, and destitute of that pusillanimity which characterises the Hindoos, and of that revengefull malignity which is a leading trait in the Malay character. Some are even powerful logicians, and take delight in investigating new subjects, be they ever so abstruse. Their learning is confined to the male sex, and the boys are taught by the priests. Females are denied education, except in the higher classes. Their books are numerous, and written in a flowing and elegant style, and much ingenuity is manifested in the construction of their stories.

The monarch is arbitrary. He is the sole lord and proprietor of life and property in his dominions; his word is absolute law. Every male above a certain age is a soldier, the property of the sovereign, and liable to be called into service at any moment.

The country presents a rich and beautiful appearance, and, if cultivated, would be one of the finest in the world. Captain Cox says, "wherever I have landed, I have met with security and abundance, the houses and farmyards put me in mind of the habitations of our little farmers in England."

There is a variety of other information concerning this extraordinary race, in the interesting memoir which may be obtained at the rooms in Piccadilly. These were formerly occupied by "Bullock's Museum." Mr. Bullock, however, retired to Mexico, to form a museum in that country for the instruction of its native population; and Mr. George Lackington purchased the premises in order to let such portions as individuals may require, from time to time, for purposes of exhibition, or as rooms for the display and sale of works in the fine arts, and other articles of refinement. Mr. Day's "Exhibition of the Moses of the Vatican," and other casts from Michael Angelo, with numerous subjects in sculpture and painting, of eminent talent, remains under the same roof with the Burmese carriage, to charm every eye that can be delighted by magnificent objects.


This term denotes the coming of the Saviour. In ecclesiastical language it is the denomination of the four weeks preceding the celebration of his birthday. In the Romish church this season of preparation for Christmas is a time of penance and devotion. It consists of four weeks, or at least four Sundays, which commence from the Sunday nearest to St. Andrew's day, whether before or after it: anciently it was kept as a rigorous fast.* [Butler on the Fasts.]

In the church of England it commences at the same period. In 1825, St. Andrew's day being a fixed festival on the 30th of November, and happening on a Wednesday, the nearest Sunday to it, being the 27th of November, was the first Sunday in Advent; in 1826, St. Andrew's day happening on a Thursday, the nearest Sunday to it is on the 3d of December, and, therefore, the first Sunday in Advent.

New Annual Literature.


The literary character and high embellishment of the German almanacs, have occasioned an annual publication of beautifully printed works for presents at this season. The Amulet, for 1826, is of this order. Its purpose is to blend religious instruction with literary amusement. Messrs. W. L. Bowles, Milman, Bowring, Montgomery, Bernard, Barton, Conder, Clare, T. C. Croker, Dr. Anster, Mrs. Hofland, &c.; and, indeed, individuals of various denominations, are contributors of sixty original essays and poems to this elegant volume, which is embellished by highly finished engravings from designs by Martin, Westall, Brooke, and other painters of talent. Mr. Martin's two subjects are engraved by himself in his own peculiarly effective manner. Hence, while the Amulet aims to inculcate the fitness of Christian precepts, and the beauty of the Christian character, it is a specimen of the progress of elegant literature and fine art.

The Amulet contains a descriptive poem, wherein the meaning of the word advent is exemplified; it commences on the next page.


A Poetical Sketch.


'Twas Christmas—and the morning of that day,
When holy men agree to celebrate
The glorious advent of their common Lord,
The Christ of God, the Saviour of mankind!
I, as my wont, sped forth, at early dawn,
To join in that triumphant natal hymn,
By Christians offer'd in the house of prayer.
Full of these thoughts, and musing of the theme,
The high, the glorious theme of man's redemption,
As I pass'd onward through the village lane,
My eye was greeted, and my mind was struck,
By the approach of a strange cavalcade,—
If cavalcade that might be called, which here
Six folks composed—the living and the dead.
It was a rustic funeral, off betimes
To some remoter village. I have seen
The fair or sumptuous, yea, the gorgeous rites,
The ceremonial, and the trappings proud,
With which the rich man goeth to the dust;
And I have seen the pauper's coffin borne
With quick and hurried step, without a friend
To follow—one to stand on the grave's brink,
To weep, to sigh, to steal one last sad look,
Then turn away for ever from the sight.
But ne'er did pompous funeral of the proud,
Nor pauper's coffin unattended borne,
Impress me like this picturesque array.
Upright and tall, the coffin-bearer, first
Rode, mounted on an old gray, shaggy ass;
A cloak of black hung from his shoulders down,
And to the hinder fetlocks of the beast
Depended, not unseemly: from his hat
A long crape streamer did the old man wear,
Which ever and anon play'd with the wind:
The wind, too, frequently blew back his cloak,
And then I saw the plain neat oaken coffin,
Which held, perchance, a child of ten years old.
Around the coffin, from beneath the lid,
Appear'd the margin of a milk-white shroud,
All cut, and crimp'd, and pounc'd with eyelet-holes
As well became the last, last earthly robe
In which maternal love its object sees.
A couple follow'd, in whose looks I read
The recent traces of parental grief,
Which grief and agony had written there.
A junior train—a little boy and girl,
Next follow'd, in habiliments of black;
And yet with faces, which methought bespoke
Somewhat of pride in being marshall'd thus,
No less than decorous and demure respect.
The train pass'd by: but onward as I sped,
I could not raze the picture from my mind;
Nor could I keep the unavailing wish
That I had own'd albeit but an hour,
Thy gifted pencil, Stothard!—rather still,
That mine had match'd thy more than graphic pen,
Descriptive Wordsworth! This at least I claim,
Feebly, full feebly to have sketch'd a scene,
Which, 'midst a thousand recollections stor'd
Of village sights, impress'd my pensive mind
With some emotions ne'er to be forgot.

Sheffield Park. [The Amulet.]


Variegated Stapelia. Stapelia variegata.
Dedicated to St. Stephen, the younger.

November 29.

St. Saturninus, Bp. A. D. 257. St. Radbod, Bp. A. D. 918.


Invention of Printing by Steam.

The Times journal of Tuesday, Novem[b]er the 29th, 1814, was the first newspaper printed by steam. To the editor of the Every-Day Book the application of machinery, through this power, to the production of a newspaper seemed so pregnant with advantages to the world, that he purchased The Times of that morning, within an hour of its appearance, "as a curiosity," and here transcribes from it the words wherein it announced and described the mode by which its fitness for publication was on that day effected.

The Times introduces the subject, through its "leading article," thus:—


"Our journal of this day presents to the public the practical result of the greatest improvement connected with printing, since the discovery of the art itself. The reader of this paragraph now holds in his hand, one of the many thousand impressions of The Times newspaper, which were taken off last night by a mechanical apparatus. A system of machinery almost organic has been devised and arranged, which, while it relieves the human frame of its most laborious efforts in printing, far exceeds all human powers in rapidity and despatch. That the magnitude of the invention may be justly appreciated by its effects, we shall inform the public, that after the letters are placed by the compositors, and enclosed in what is called the form, little more remains for man to do, than to attend upon, and watch this unconscious agent in its operations. The machine is then merely supplied with paper: itself places the form, inks it, adjusts the paper to the form newly inked, stamps the sheet, and gives it forth to the hands of the attendant, at the same time withdrawing the form for a fresh coat of ink, which itself again distributes, to meet the ensuing sheet now advancing for impression; and the whole of these complicated acts is performed with such a velocity and simultaneousness of movement, that no less than eleven hundred sheets are impressed in one hour.

"That the completion of an invention of this kind, not the effect of chance, but the result of mechanical combinations methodically arranged in the mind of the artist, would be attended with many obstructions and much delay, may be readily admitted. Our share in this event has, indeed, only been the application of the discovery, under an agreement with the Patentees, to our own particular business; yet few can conceive,—even with this limited interest,—the various disappointments and deep anxiety to which we have for a long course of time been subjected.

"Of the person who made this discovery we have but little to add. Sir CHRISTOPHER WREN'S noblest monument is to be found in the building which he erected; so is the best tribute of praise, which we are capable of offering to the inventor of the Printing Machine, comprised in the preceding description, which we have feebly sketched, of the powers and utility of his invention. It must suffice to say farther, that he is a Saxon by birth; that his name is KŒNIG; and that the invention has been executed under the direction of his friend and countryman BAUER."

On the 3d of December, 1824, The Times commences a series of remarks, entitled, "Invention of Printing by Steam," by observing thus. "Ten years elapsed on the 29th of last month, since this journal appeared for the first time printed by a mechanical apparatus; and it has continued to be printed by the same method to the present day." It speaks of consequent advantages to the public, from earlier publication, and better presswork, and says, "This journal is undoubtedly the first work ever printed by a mechanical apparatus: we attempted on its introduction to do justice to the claims of the inventor Mr. Kœnig, who some years afterwards returned to his native country, Germany, not benefited, we fear, up to the full extent of his merits, by his wonderful invention and his exertions in England." In refuting some pretensions which infringed on Mr. Kœnig's claim to consideration as the author of the invention, The Times states, that "before Mr. Kœnig left this country, he accomplished the last great improvement, —namely, the printing of the sheet on both sides. In consequence of successive improvements, suggested and planned by Mr. Kœnig the inventor, our machines now print 2,000 with more ease than 1,100 in their original state." Hence, as in 1814, 1,100 is represented to have been the number then thrown off within the hour, it follows that the number now printed every hour is 2,000. The Times adds, "we cannot close this account without giving our testimony not only to the enlightened mind and ardent spirit of Mr. Kœnig, but also to his strict honour and pure integrity. Our intercourse with him was constant, during the very critical and trying period when he was bringing his invention into practice at our office; so that we had no slight knowledge of his manners and character: and the consequence has been, sincere friendship and high regard for him ever since."


Sphenogyne. Sphenogyne piliflora.
Dedicated to St. Saturninus.

November 30.

St. Andrew, Apostle. St. Narses, Bp. and Companions. Sts. Sapor and Isaac. Bps. Mahanes, Abraham, and Simeon, A. D. 339.

St. Andrew.


This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. He was one of the apostles. It is affirmed that he was put to death in the year 69, at Patræ, in Achaia, by having been scourged, and then fastened with cords to a cross, in which position he remained "teaching and instructing the people all the time," until his death, at the end of two days. It is the common opinion that the cross of St. Andrew was in the form of the letter X, styled a cross decussate, composed of two pieces of timber crossing each other obliquely in the midde. That such crosses were sometimes used is certain, yet no clear proofs are produced as to the form of St. Andrew's cross. A part of what was said to have been this cross was carried to Brussels, by Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, and Brabant, who in honour of it, instituted the knights of the golden fleece, who, for the badge of their order, wear a figure of this cross, called St. Andrew's cross, or the cross of Burgundy. The Scots honour St. Andrew as principal patron of their country, and their historians tell us, that a certain abbot called Regulus, brought thither from Constantinople in 369, certain relics of this apostle, which he deposited in a church that he built in his honour, with a monastery called Abernethy, where now the city of St. Andrew stands. Many pilgrims resorted thither from foreign countries, and the Scottish monks of that place were the first who were culdees. The Muscovites say, he preached among them, and claim him as the principal titular saint of their empire. Peter the Great instituted the first order of knighthood under his name. This is the order of the blue ribbon; the order of the red ribbon, or of St. Alexander Newski, was instituted by his widow and successor to the throne, the empress Catherine.* [Butler.]

Naogeorgus, in the words of his translator Barnaby Googe, says,

To Andrew all the lovers and
   the lustie wooers come,
Beleeving through his ayde, and
   certaine ceremonies done,
(While as to him they presentes bring,
   and conjure all the night,)
To have good lucke, and to obtaine
   their chiefe and sweete delight.

In an account of the parish of Easling, in Kent, it is related that, "On St. Andrew's day, November 30, there is yearly a diversion called squirrel-hunting in this and the neighbouring parishes, when the labourers and lower kind of people, assembling together, form a lawless rabble, and being accoutred with guns, poles, clubs, and other such weapons, spend the greatest part of the day in parading through the woods and grounds, with loud shoutings; and, under the pretence of demolishing the squirrels, some few of which they kill, they destroy numbers of hares, pheasants, partridges, and in short whatever comes in their way, breaking down the hedges, and doing much other mischief, and in the evening betaking themselves to the alehouses."* [Hasted's Kent.]

At Dudingston, distant from Edinburgh a little more than a mile, many opulent citizens resort in the summer months to solace themselves over one of the ancient homely dishes of Scotland, for which the place has been long celebrated, singed sheep's heads boiled or baked. The frequent use of this solace in that village, is supposed to have arisen from the practice of slaughtering the sheep fed on the neighbouring hill for the market, removing the carcases to town, and leaving the head, &c. to be consumed in the place.† [Sir J. Sinclair's Statist. Acc. of Scotland.] Brand adds, that "singed sheep's heads are borne in the procession before the Scots in London, on St. Andrew's day."

There is a marvellous pleasant story in the "Golden Legend," of a bishop that loved St. Andrew, and worshipped him above all other saints, and remembered him every day, and said prayers in honour of God and St. Andrew, insomuch that the devil spitefully determined to do him mischief. Wherefore, on a certain day, the devil transformed himself "in to the fourme of a ryght fayre woman," and came to the bishop's palace, and desired in that "fourme" to confess, as women do. When the bishop was informed of the message, he answered that she should go and confess herself to his "penytauncer," who had power from him to hear confessions. Thereupon she sent the bishop word, that she would not reveal the secrets of her confession to any but himself; therefore the bishop commanded her to be brought to him. Whereupon, being in his presence, she told him, that her father was a mighty king, who had purposed to give her to a prince in marriage, but that having devoted herself to piety, she refused, and that her father had constrained her so much, that she must either have consented to his will, or suffered divers torments; wherefore she chose to live in exile, and had fled secretly away to the bishop, of whose holy life she had heard, and with whom she now prayed to live in secret contemplation, "and eschewe the evyll perylles of this present lyfe." Then the bishop marvelled greatly, as well for the nobility of her descent, as for the beauty of her person, and said choose thee an house, "and I wyll that thou dyne with me this daye;" and she answered that evil suspicion might come thereof, and the splendour of his renown be thereby impaired. To this the bishop replied, that there would be many others present, therefore there could be no such suspicion. Then the devil dined with the bishop, who did not know him, but admired him as a fair lady, to whom therefore the bishop paid so much attention, that the devil perceived his advantage, and began to increase in beauty more and more; and more and more the bishop marvelled at the exceeding loveliness before him, and did homage thereto, and conceived greater affection than a bishop should. Then a pilgrim smote at the bishop's gate, and though he knocked hard they would not open the door; then the pilgrim at the gate knocked louder, and the bishop grew less charitable and more polite, and asked the beautiful creature before him, whether it was her pleasure that the pilgrim should enter; and she desired that a question should be put to the pilgrim, which, if he could answer, he should be received, and if he could not, he should abide without as not worthy to come in. And the company assented thereto, and the bishop said, none of them were so able to propose the question as the lady, because in fair speaking and wisdom, she surpassed them all. Then she required that it should be demanded of the pilgrim, which is the greatest marvel in the smallest space that ever God made? And then the bishop's messenger propounded the question to the pilgrim, who answered that it was the diversity and excellence of the faces of men, because from the beginning of the world there are not two men whose faces "were lyke, and semblante in all thynges:" and the company declared that this was a very good answer to the question. Then she said, that to prove the further knowledge of the pilgrim, he ought to be asked what thing of the earth is higher than all the heaven; and the pilgrim answered, the body of Jesus Christ, which is in the imperial heaven, is of earthly flesh, and is more high than all the heaven; and by this answer they were again surprised, and marvellously praised the pilgrim's wisdom. Then she desired that a third question might be asked of the pilgrim, which if he could answer, then he would be worthy to be received at the bishop's table; and by her order, the messenger demanded this question of the pilgrim, "What is the distance from the bottomless pit into the imperial heaven?" and the pilgrim answered, "Go to him that sent thee to me, and ask the question of him, for he can better answer it, because he measured this distance when he fell from heaven into the bottomless pit, and I never measured it:" and when the messenger heard this, he was sore afraid, and fearfully told the pilgrim's message to the bishop and all the others, who when they heard the same, were also sore afraid. Then forthwith the devil vanished away from before their eyes; and the bishop repented, and sent the messenger to bring in the pilgrim, but he could not be found. So the bishop assembled the people and told them what had happened, and required them to pray that it might be revealed who this pilgrim was, that he delivered him from so great peril: and the same night it was revealed to the bishop, that it was St. Andrew who had put himself into the habit of a pilgrim for the bishop's deliverance. "Than began the bisshop more and more to have devocyon and remembraunce of saynt Andrewe than he hadde tofore."


Three-coloured Wood Sorrel. Oxalis tricolor.
Dedicated to St. Sapor.


The celebrated Belzoni died at the close of the year 1823, and at the same period of the year 1825, the newspapers contain advertisements and appeals, in behalf of his widow, to a British public, whose national character Belzoni has elevated, by introducing into England many splendid remains of ancient grandeur. The journals of another year will record whether these representations were sufficient to rouse national feeling to a sense of national honour, and the necessity of relieving a lady whose husband perished in an enterprise to enrich her country, by making it the deposit of his further discoveries. Belzoni had penetrated and examined distant regions, and after disclosing the results of his investigations, and all the curious monuments of art he collected on his travels, he left London for the deserts of Africa, where he fell while labouring towards Timbuctoo, for other specimens of human ingenuity, and endeavouring to explore and point out channels of enterprise to our manufacturers and merchants. It is from these classes especially that his fate claims commiseration; and from them, and the public in general, Mrs. Belzoni should derive aid. Removal of her embarrassment, is only a suspension of the misfortunes that await a bereaved female, if she is not afforded the means of future support. This is said by one who never saw her or her late husband, and who only volunteers the plain thoughts of a plain man, who knows the advantages which England derives from Belzoni's ardour and perseverance, and is somewhat qualified, perhaps, to compassionate Mrs. Belzoni's helplessness. During a season of festal enjoyment, when friends and neighbours "make wassail," any individual of right feeling might thaw indifference into regard for her situation, and "make the widow's heart sing for joy."

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