SUMMER AND THE POET.
POET.
What is it thou hast done?
Thou hast chased each vernal roamer
With thy fiercely burning sun.
Where may we hear it now?
Thou hast driven the nightingale
From the waving hawthorn bough.
Thou hast made the small brook flee;
And the light gales faintly quiver
In the dark and shadowy tree.
And on the green sward dance.
Thou hast smitten them to the tomb
With thy consuming glance.
Singing ’midst shocks of corn,
Thou hastenest to be gone,
As if joy might not be borne.
SUMMER.
Thou, who, with dreamy eyes,
In the forest’s moss hast lain,
Praising my silvery skies?
The shrill cicada’s tune,
When the odours of the pine
Gushed through the woods at noon?
I have wrought my task once more;
I have filled each fruitful place
With a plenty that runs o’er.
There is honey with the bee;
And, oh! thou thankless scorner,
There’s a parting boon for thee.
Sere Autumn yields his reign,
Winter, with stormy madness,
Shall chase thee from the plain.
Bright in thy spirit burn;
And each summer-thought and vision
Be thine till I return.
It may be remembered that from this volume the poem of “Penn and the Indians,” in a former sheet, was extracted.
Mompesson’s Pulpit in the Rock.
Mompesson’s Pulpit in the Rock.
What vision of strange aspect met his eyes!
In that fantastic temple’s porch was seen
The youthful pastor ——————
————————No sabbath sound
Came from the village;—no rejoicing bells
Were heard; no groups of strolling youth were found,
Nor lovers loitering on the distant fells,
No laugh, no shout of infancy, which tells
Where radiant health and happiness repair;
But silence, such as with the lifeless dwells.
The Desolation of Eyam.
A plate in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” of September, 1801, presents the above view, taken about three years before, accompanied by a remark from Mr. Urban’s correspondent, that it was “at that time an exact resemblance of the perforated rock near the village of Eyam, in which the pious and worthy Mr. Mompesson, the rector, punctually performed the duties of his office to the distressed inhabitants during the time of the plague in that village.”
Here it may be well to observe, in the expressive language of “William and Mary Howitt,” that “what a cordon of soldiers could not have accomplished was effected by the wisdom and love of one man. This measure was the salvation of the country. The plague, which would most probably have spread from place to place, may be said to have been hemmed in, and, in a dreadful and desolating struggle, destroyed and buried with its victims.”
William Mompesson exercised a power greater than legislators have yet attained. He had found the great secret of government. He ruled his flock by the Law of Kindness.
*
In the summer, 1757, five cottagers were digging on the heathy mountain above Eyam, which was the place of graves after the church-yard became a too narrow repository. Those men came to something which had the appearance of having once been linen. Conscious of their situation, they instantly buried it again. In a few days they all sickened of a putrid fever, and three of the five died. The disorder was contagious, and proved mortal to numbers of the inhabitants.
[383] Vol. lxxi. p. 300.
[384] The great and good Howard visited Eyam the year before he last left England, to examine in that village the records of the pestilential calamity which it had endured, and of those virtues which resembled his own.
[385] Eakring rectory.
Garrick Plays.
No. XXXVII.
[From “Ram Alley,” a Comedy, by Lodowick Barry, 1611.]
In the Prologue the Poet protests the innocence of his Play, and gives a promise of better things.
The Satyr’s tooth, and waspish sting.
Which most do hurt when least suspected,
By this Play are not affected.
But if conceit, with quick-turn’d scenes,
Observing all those ancient streams
Which from the Horse-foot fount do flow—
As time, place, person—and to show
Things never done, with that true life,
That thoughts and wits shall stand at strife,
Whether the things now shewn be true;
Or whether we ourselves now do
The things we but present: if these,
Free from the loathsome Stage-disease,
So over-worn, so tired and stale;
Not satyrising, but to rail;—
May win your favors, and inherit
But calm acceptance of his merit,—
He vows by paper, pen, and ink,
And by the Learned Sisters’ drink,
To spend his time, his lamps, his oil,
And never cease his brain to toil,
Till from the silent hours of night
He doth produce, for your delight,
Conceits so new, so harmless free,
That Puritans themselves may see
A Play; yet not in public preach,
That Players such lewd doctrine teach,
That their pure joints do quake and tremble,
When they do see a man resemble
The picture of a villain.—This,
As he a friend to Muses is,
To you by me he gives his word,
Is all his Play does now afford.
[From the “Royal King and Loyal Subject,” a Tragi-comedy, by T. Heywood, 1627.]
In the Prologue to this Play, Heywood descants upon the variety of topics, which had been introduced upon the English stage in that age,—the rich Shakspearian epoch.
The Gods themselves we’ve brought down to the stage,
And figured them in Planets; made ev’n Hell
Deliver up the Furies, by no spell
Saving the Muses’ raptures: further we
Have traffickt by their help; no History
We’ve left unrifled; our pens have been dipt
As well in opening each hid manuscript,
As tracts more vulgar, whether read or sung,
In our domestic or more foreign tongue.
Of Fairy elves, Nymphs of the Sea and Land,
The Lawns and Groves, no number can be scann’d,
Which we’ve not given feet to. Nay, ’tis known,
That when our Chronicles have barren grown
Of story, we have all Invention stretcht;
Dived low as to the center, and then reacht
Unto the Primum Mobile above,
(Nor ’scaped Things Intermediate), for your love
These have been acted often; all have past
Censure: of which some live, and some are cast.
For this[386] in agitation, stay the end;
Tho’ nothing please, yet nothing can offend.
[From the “Challenge to Beauty,” a Tragi-comedy, by T. Heywood, 1636.]
In the Prologue to this Play, Heywood commends the English Plays; not without a censure of some writers, who in his time had begun to degenerate.
Differ from us: and those that frequent are
In Italy and France, ev’n in these days,
Compared with ours, are rather Jiggs than Plays.
Like of the Spanish may be said, and Dutch;
None, versed in language, but confess them such.
They do not build their projects on that ground;
Nor have their phrases half the weight and sound,
Our labour’d Scenes have had. And yet our nation
(Already too much tax’d for imitation,
In seeking to ape others) cannot ’quit
Some of our Poets, who have sinn’d in it.
For where, before, great Patriots, Dukes, and Kings,
Presented for some high facinorous things[387]
Were the stage subject; now we strive to fly
In their low pitch, who never could soar high:
For now the common argument entreats
Of puling Lovers, crafty Bawds, or Cheats.
Nor blame I their quick fancies, who can fit
These queasy times with humours flash’d in wit,
Whose art I both encourage and commend;
I only wish that they would sometimes bend
To memorise the valours of such men,
Whose very names might dignify the pen;
And that our once-applauded Rosscian strain
In acting such might be revived again;
Which you to count’nance might the Stage make proud,
And poets strive to key their strings more loud.
C. L.
[386] His own Play.
[387] The foundations of the English Drama were laid deep in tragedy by Marlow, and others—Marlow especially—while our comedy was yet in its lisping state. To this tragic preponderance (forgetting his own sweet Comedies, and Shakspeare’s), Heywood seems to refer with regret; as in the “Rosscian Strain” he evidently alludes to Alleyn, who was great in the “Jew of Malta,” as Heywood elsewhere testifies, and in the principal tragic parts both of Marlow and Shakspeare.
Wrestling
IN CORNWALL AND DEVONSHIRE.
To the Editor.
Sir,—The ready insertion given to my letter on the above subject, in the second volume of the Every-Day Book, (p. 1009,) encourages me to hope that you will as readily insert the present, which enters more fully into the merits of this ancient sport, as practised in both counties, than any other communication you have as yet lain before your numerous readers.
Having been the first person to call your attention to the merits of Polkinhorne, Parkins, and Warren, of Cornwall, (to which I could easily have added the names of some dozen or two more, equally deserving of notice,) I was much amused at the article you extracted from the London Magazine, (into the Every-Day Book, vol. ii. p. 1337,) because I was present at the sport there spoken of; and being well acquainted with the play, and an eye-witness, I found the picture much too highly coloured.
I am neither a Cornwall nor a Devon man myself, but have resided in both counties for the last ten years, and am really an admirer of Abraham Cann, of Devon, whose behaviour in the ring no one can at all complain of: he is a fine fellow, but so is Polkinhorne, and, beyond doubt, the latter is “much the better man;” he threw Cann an acknowledged fair fall, and I regret he left the ring on the bad advice of those whom he thought then his friends. Had he not, I am certain he would have thrown Cann “over and over again.”
In a late number of the Table Book (p. 416) is given an extract from Homer, to show that Ulysses’ mode of wrestling was similar to that of Abraham Cann; it may be so; but what does Achilles say upon the subject:—
Nor weary out your gen’rous strength in vain.
Ye both have won: let others who excel
Now prove that prowess you have prov’d so well.”
Now Abraham Cann, with his monstrous shoe, and most horrible mode of kicking, has never yet been able to throw Polkinhorne, nor do I think he has the power or skill to enable him to do so. His defeat of Gaffney has added no laurel to his brow, for the Irishman had not a shadow of chance; nor is there an Irishman or a Cornishman, now in London, that would stand any chance with Cann; but he would find several awkward opponents if he would meet those from Westmoreland, Carlisle, and Cumberland, and play in their mode. In the match, however, between Polkinhorne and Cann the latter very properly received the stakes, on account of the former having quitted the ring on conceiving he had won the day, by throwing two falls. The second throw, on reference to the umpires, was after some time deemed not a fair back fall.—This, however, is foreign to my purpose; which is to systematically explain the methods of wrestling in Cornwall and Devon.
I have seen in Cornwall more persons present at these games, when the prize has only been a gold-laced hat, a waistcoat, or a pair of gloves, than ever attend the sports of Devon, (where the prizes are very liberal—for they don’t like to be kicked severely for a trifle,) or even at the famed meetings of later days in London, at the Eagle in the City Road, or the Golden Eagle in Mile End. How is this? Why, in the latter places, six, eight, and, at farthest, twelve standards are as much as a day’s play will admit of; while in Cornwall I have seen forty made in one day. At Penzance, on Monday, 24th ult.,[388] thirty standards were made, and the match concluded the day following. In Devon, what with the heavy shoes and thick padding, and time lost in equipment and kicking, half that number cannot be made in a day: I have frequently seen men obliged to leave the ring, and abandon the chance of a prize, owing solely to the hurt they have received by kicks from the knee downwards; and let me here add, that I have been present when even Cann’s brothers, or relations, have been obliged to do so. So much for kicking.—To the eye of a beholder unacquainted with wrestling, the Cornish mode must appear as play, and that of Devon barbarous.—It is an indisputable fact, that no Cornish wrestler of any note ever frequents the games in Devon; and that whenever those from Devon have played in Cornwall; they have been thrown: Jordan by Parkins, and so on.
At a Cornish wrestling, a man’s favourite play can be seen by the hitch or holdfast he takes; as right or left, which is sure to be crossed by left and right, and the struggle immediately commences. The off-hand play is that in which the men have each a gripe on his adversary’s collar, or on the collar and opposite elbow, or wrist; when by a sudden blow against the outside of the foot, by the striker’s inside, (if strong enough,) or by a corresponding twist of the collar, one lays the other flat on his back. This is called playing with the toe; but they never wear any shoes, and are generally bare-legged from the knee downwards.
When the hitch is collar and elbow, one mode of play is to lift with the heel placed in the fork, with the back twisted round towards the other’s front, and pulling him strongly by the elbow and collar, carry him forward; but a back fall is then uncertain. Another way is to heave forward or backward with the crook, or inlock, or with the hip.
But the struggle is on what is termed the closing play, which is by hitching over and under. If righthanded, the over player has his right hand on the loins, or over the right shoulder of his adversary, with his right side towards him, and his left hand on the right arm, at the wrist or elbow; he then throws forward with the hip, or backward and forward with the crook, as before.
The under player has his right hand on the left side of the collar, his left crossing the loins on the back, or crossing the belly in front, and facing his opponent’s left side. His defensive play is to stop the hip by the clamp and the crook; by pushing forward with his left hand on the nape of the neck, and then heaving; which in the ring is considered the best play. A good and sure heaver is a perfect player. It must be done backward, if the arm crosses the back; but if it crosses the belly, either backward or forward will do. Cann was thrown by Polkinhorne backwards, which is dangerous to the heaver to attempt; for, if he does not lift with sufficient strength, and keep himself clear of his antagonist’s legs, he will not go far enough round, and instead of throwing his adversary a fair fall, he may fall on his own back, which is termed throwing himself; or his adversary may crook his leg within, and overbalance the heaver and by a quick movement throw him. Thus was Warren thrown by Cann. (See the Every-Day Book, vol. ii. p. 1337.)
The forward heave, if done quickly, is certain. Both arms must cross the belly, and your adversary be lifted across your chest; then, plunging forward, you fall on him crosswise; he has thus no chance, and the fall is complete; but the in-turn, if adopted before the lift from the ground takes place, baffles the heaver.
The Cornish hug is a tremendous struggle for victory. Both grasp alike, and not much science is required. It only takes place where each conceives himself to be the stronger of the two. It is either right or left. If right, each man has his right hand on the other’s loins on the left side, and his left hand on the right shoulder; they stand face to face, and each strives to draw his adversary towards him, and grasps him round the waist, till the hug becomes close, and the weakest man is forced backward—the other falling heavily upon him. This is a very sure and hard fall. So much for Cornish play. Now for that of Devonshire; which resembles in every respect (the toe and heel excepted) the off-hand play of Cornwall, but goes no farther.
The Devonshire men have no under-play, nor have they one heaver; and they do not understand or practise the hug. Visit a Devon ring, and you’ll wait a tedious time after a man is thrown ere another appears. After undergoing the necessary preparations for a good kicking, &c. he enters, and shakes his adversary by the hand, and kicks and lays hold when he can get a fit opportunity. If he is conscious of superior strength he “goes to work,” and by strength of arms wrests him off his legs, and lays him flat; or, if too heavy for this, he carries him round by the hip. But when the men find they are “much of a muchness” it is really tiresome: “caution” is the word; the shoe, only, goes to work; and after dreadful hacking, cutting, and kicking, one is at last thrown. The hardest shoe and the best kicker carries the day. Cann is a very hard kicker and a cautious wrestler. The Irishman’s legs bore ample testimony of the effects of Cann’s shoe. He left him knee-deep in a stream of gore.
The Devon men never close with a Cornish adversary, if they find he possesses any science; because they have no underplay, and cannot prevent the risk of being heaved: they therefore stand off, with only one hand in the collar, and kick; the Cornishman then attempts to get in, and the Devonman tries to confine one of his opponent’s arms by holding him at the wrist, and keeping him from coming in either over or under, and at every move of his leg kicking it. Here ends the description; by which it will be plainly seen that a Cornishman cannot enter a Devon ring on any thing like an equality.
Wishing well to both counties, and disclaiming undue partiality to either, I remain a true lover of wrestling as a rustic sport, and your obedient servant,
Sam Sam’s Son.
October 8, 1827.
[388] See the West Briton paper of the 5th October.
Discoveries
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XII.
Ether—Weight and Elasticity of the Air—Air-guns.
By ether the moderns understand a rare fluid, or species of matter, beyond the atmosphere, and penetrating it, infinitely more subtile than the air we respire, of an immense extent, filling all the spaces where the celestial bodies roll, yet making no sensible resistance to their motions. Some suppose it to be a sort of air, much purer than that which invests our globe; others, that its nature approaches to that of the celestial fire, which emanates from the sun and other stars; others, again, suppose it to be generically different from all other matter, sui generis, and its parts finer than those of light; alleging that the exceeding tenuity of its parts renders it capable of that vast expansive force, which is the source of all that pressure and dilatation whence most of the phenomena in nature arise; for that by the extreme subtilty of its parts it intimately penetrates all bodies, and exerts its energy everywhere. This last is the opinion of Newton and Locke. But whatever be the sentiments now entertained on the subject, we find the origin of all of them in the ancients.
The stoics taught, that there was a subtile and active fire which pervaded the whole universe, that by the energy of this ethereal substance, to which they gave the name of ether, all the parts of nature were produced, preserved, and linked together; that it embraced every thing; and that in it the celestial bodies performed their revolutions.
According to Diogenes Laertius and Hierocles, Pythagoras affirmed, that the air which invests our earth is impure and mixed; but that the air above it is essentially pure and healthful. He calls it “free ether, emancipated from all gross matter, a celestial substance that fills all space, and penetrates at will the pores of all bodies.”
Aristotle, explaining Pythagoras’s opinion of ether, ascribes the same also to Anaxagoras. Aristotle himself, in another place, understands by ether, a fifth element pure and unalterable, of an active and vital nature, but entirely different from air and fire.
Empedocles, one of the most celebrated disciples of Pythagoras, is quoted by Plutarch, and St. Clemens Alexandrinus, as admitting an ethereal substance, which filled all space, and contained in it all the bodies of the universe, and which he calls by the names of Titan and Jupiter.
Plato distinguishes air into two kinds, the one gross and filled with vapours, which is what we breathe; the other “more refined, called ether, in which the celestial bodies are immerged, and where they roll.”
The nature of air was not less known to the ancients than that of ether. They regarded it as a general “menstruum,” containing all the volatile parts of every thing in nature, which being variously agitated, and differently combined, produced meteors, tempests, and all the other changes we experience. They also were acquainted with its weight, though the experiments transmitted to us, relative to this, are but few. Aristotle speaks of “a vessel filled with air as weighing more than one quite empty.” Treating of respiration, he reports the opinion of Empedocles, who ascribes the cause of it “to the weight of the air, which by its pressure insinuates itself with force” into the lungs. Plutarch, in the same terms, expresses the sentiments of Asclepiades. He represents him, among other things, as saying, that “the external air by its weight opens its way with force into the breast.” Heron of Alexandria ascribes effects to the elasticity of the air, which show that he perfectly understood that property of it.
Seneca also knew its weight, spring, and elasticity. He describes “the constant effort it makes to expand itself when it is compressed;” and he affirms, that “it has the property of condensing itself, and forcing its way through all obstacles that oppose its passage.”
It is still more surprising, however, that Ctesibius, “upon the principle of the air’s elasticity,” invented Wind-guns, which we look upon as a modern contrivance. Philo of Byzantium gives a very full and exact description of that curious machine, planned upon the property of the air’s being capable of condensation, and so constructed as to manage and direct the force of that element, in such a manner as to carry stones with rapidity to the greatest distance.
INSCRIBED ON A SIGN
At Castle Cary, Somerset.
FOOT,
Grinds razors, makes old umbrellas good as new:
Knives bladed, spurs and lanterns mended; other jobs done;
Teakettles clean’d, repaired, and carried home.
J. T. H.
Manners and Customs.
For the Table Book.
Provincial Sayings, &c.
Harvest-home Call,
in the County of Durham.
We’ve getten mell of Mr. ——’s corn,
Well won, and better shorn.
Hip, hip, hip!—Huzza! huzza! huzza!
An old Yorkshire May-Game.
“An account of a May-Game, performed at Richmond, Yorkshire, on the 29th of May, 1660, by the inhabitants of that town; whereby they demonstrated their universal joy for the happy return of Charles II., whom God was pleased to make the instrument of freeing this nation from tyranny, usurpation, and the dismal effects of a civil war.
“They came into the town, in solemn equipage, as follows:—
“1. Three antics before them with bagpipes.
“2. The representative of a lord, attended by trumpets, falconers, four pages, as many footmen, and fifty attendants, all suited as became persons of their quality.
“3. The representative of a sheriff, with forty attendants, in their liveries.
“4. The bishop of Hereford, with four pages and footmen, his chaplain, and twenty other household officers, besides their attendants.
“5. Two companies of morris-dancers, who acted their parts to the satisfaction of the spectators.
“6. Sixty nymphs, with music before them, following Diana, all richly adorned in white and gorgeous apparel, with pages and footmen attending them.
“7. Three companies of foot soldiers, with a captain and other officers, in great magnificence.
“8. Robin Hood, in scarlet, with forty bowmen, all clad in Lincoln green.
“Thus they marched into the town. Now follows their performance.
“They marched decently, in good order, round the market-cross, and came to the church, where they offered their cordial prayers for our most gracious sovereign; a sermon preached at that time.
“From thence my lord invited all his attendants to his house to dinner.
“The reverend bishop did the same to all his attendants, inviting the minister and other persons to his own house, where they were sumptuously entertained.
“The soldiers marched up to the cross, where they gave many vollies of shot, with push of pike, and other martial feats.
“There was erected a scaffold and arbours, where the morris-dancers and nymphs acted their parts; many thousands of spectators having come out of the country and villages adjacent.
“Two days were spent in acting ‘Robin Hood.’ The sheriff and reverend bishop sent bottles of sack to several officers acting in the play, who all performed their parts to the general satisfaction of the spectators, with acclamations of joy for the safe arrival of his sacred majesty.
“Something more might have been expected from the civil magistrate of the town, who permitted the conduit to run water all the time.
“The preceding rejoicings were performed by the commonalty of the borough of Richmond.”
Christmas Pie.
The following appeared in the Newcastle Chronicle, 6th Jan. 1770:—“Monday last was brought from Howick to Berwick, to be shipp’d for London, for sir Hen. Grey, bart., a pie, the contents whereof are as follows: viz. 2 bushels of flour, 20 lbs. of butter, 4 geese, 2 turkies, 2 rabbits, 4 wild ducks, 2 woodcocks, 6 snipes, and 4 partridges; 2 neats’ tongues, 2 curlews, 7 blackbirds, and 6 pigeons: it is supposed a very great curiosity, was made by Mrs. Dorothy Patterson, housekeeper at Howick. It was near nine feet in circumference at bottom, weighs about twelve stones, will take two men to present it to table; it is neatly fitted with a case, and four small wheels to facilitate its use to every guest that inclines to partake of its contents at table.”
Oliver Cromwell’s Weddings.
The singular mode of solemnizing marriages that took place during Cromwell’s usurpation, was pretty strictly observed for the space of four years; during which time sixty-six couple were joined together before the civil magistrate (at Knaresbrough.) The gentlemen who were applied to in this case, for the most part, appear to be Thomas Stockdale, of Bilton Park, Esq.; sir Thomas Mouleverer, bart. of Allerton Park; or the mayor of Ripon. The bans were published on three separate days before marriage, sometimes at the market-cross, and sometimes in the church. The following is a copy of one of the certificates:—
“30 Mar. 1651. Marmaduke Inman and Prudence Lowcock, both of the parish of Knaresbrough, were this day married together at Ripon, having first been published three several market-days in the market-place at Knaresbrough, according to the act of parliament, and no exceptions made.
“In the presence of
“Thomas Davie,
“Anthony Simpson.”
Electioneering.
In sir Henry Slingsby’s Diary is the following note, respecting the election at Knaresbrough in the year 1640. “There is an evil custom at such elections, to bestow wine on all the town, which cost me sixteen pounds at least.”
D. A. M.
A RARE BROAD FARTHING!
To the Editor.
Sir,—In your last very pleasing number, p. 242, you give an account of a “Farthing Lord.” As addenda to that article I state, that in the west of England I knew a penurious old gentleman, who, by way of generous reward, used to give the person who performed little services for him a farthing!, with this grateful apostrophe, “Here, my friend; here is a rare broad farthing for thee!—go thy way—call to-morrow; and, if thou earn it, thou shalt have another rare broad farthing!” By the exercise of this liberality, he gained the appellation of “Broad Farthing!” and retained it to the day of his death, when he left immense wealth.
I am, sir, yours, &c.
*, *, *.
Islington, August 25, 1827.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
The following good-tempered and agreeable letter has been published in illustration of an excellent engraving of Wilkie’s interesting picture of Sir Walter Scott and his family:—
Letter from Sir Walter Scott to Sir Adam Ferguson, descriptive of a Picture painted by David Wilkie, Esq., R.A., exhibited at the Royal Academy, 1818.
My dear Adam,—I have duly received your letter, with that enclosed from the gentleman whom you have patronised, by suffering the sketch from the pencil of our friend Wilkie to be engraved for his work.
The picture has something in it rather of a domestic character, as the personages are represented in a sort of masquerade, such being the pleasure of the accomplished painter. Nevertheless, if it is to be engraved, I do not see that I can offer any objection, since it is the wish of the distinguished artist, and the friendly proprietor of the sketch in question.
But Mr. Balmanno [Secretary to the Incorporated Artists’ Fund] mentions, besides, a desire to have anecdotes of my private and domestic life, or, as he expresses himself, a portrait of the author in his night-gown and slippers; and this from you, who, I dare say, could furnish some anecdotes of our younger days, which might now seem ludicrous enough.
Even as to my night-gown and slippers, I believe the time has been, when the articles of my wardrobe were as familiar to your memory as Poins’s to Prince Henry; but that time has been for some years past, and I cannot think it would be interesting to the public to learn that I had changed my old robe-de-chambre for a handsome douillette when I was last at Paris. The truth is, that a man of ordinary sense cannot be supposed delighted with the species of gossip which, in the dearth of other news, recurs to such a quiet individual as myself; and though, like a well-behaved lion of twenty years’ standing, I am not inclined to vex myself about what I cannot help, I will not in any case, in which I can prevent it, be accessory to these follies. There is no man known at all in literature, who may not have more to tell of his private life than I have: I have surmounted no difficulties either of birth or education, nor have I been favoured by any particular advantages, and my life has been as void of incidents of importance, as that of the “weary knife-grinder,”—
The follies of youth ought long since to have passed away; and if the prejudices and absurdities of age have come in their place, I will keep them, as Beau Tibbs did his prospect, for the amusement of my domestic friends. A mere enumeration of the persons in the sketch is all I can possibly permit to be published respecting myself and my family; and as must be the lot of humanity, when we look back seven or eight years, even what follows cannot be drawn up without some very painful recollections.
The idea which our inimitable Wilkie adopted was to represent our family group in the garb of south country peasants, supposed to be concerting a merry-making, for which some of the preparations are seen. The place is the terrace near Kayside, commanding an extensive view towards the Eildon hills. 1. The sitting figure, in the dress of a miller, I believe, represents Sir Walter Scott, author of a few scores of volumes, and proprietor of Abbotsford, in the county of Roxburgh. 2. In front, and presenting, we may suppose, a country wag somewhat addicted to poaching, stands sir Adam Ferguson, Knight-Keeper of the Regalia of Scotland. 3. In the background is a very handsome old man, upwards of eighty-four years old at the time, painted in his own character of a shepherd. He also belonged to the numerous clan of Scott. He used to claim credit for three things unusual among the Southland shepherds: first, that he had never been fou in the course of his life; secondly, he never had struck a man in anger; thirdly, that though intrusted with the management of large sales of stock, he had never lost a penny for his master by a bad debt. He died soon afterwards at Abbotsford. 4, 5, 6. Of the three female figures, the elder is the late regretted mother of the family represented. 5. The young person most forward in the group is Miss Sophia Charlotte Scott, now Mrs. J. G. Lockhart; and 6, her younger sister, Miss Ann Scott. Both are represented as ewe-milkers, with their leglins, or milk-pails. 7. On the left hand of the shepherd, the young man holding a fowling-piece is the eldest son of sir Walter, now captain in the king’s hussars. 8. The boy is the youngest of the family, Charles Scott, now of Brazenose College, Oxford. The two dogs were distinguished favourites of the family; the large one was a stag-hound of the old Highland breed, called Maida, and one of the handsomest dogs that could be found; it was a present from the chief of Glengary to sir Walter, and was highly valued, both on account of his beauty, his fidelity, and the great rarity of the breed. The other is a little Highland terrier, called Ourisk, (goblin,) of a particular kind, bred in Kintail. It was a present from the honourable Mr. Stewart Mackenzie, and is a valuable specimen of a race which is now also scarce.
Maida, like Bran, Luath, and other dogs of distinction, slumbers “beneath his stone,” distinguished by an epitaph, which, to the honour of Scottish scholarship be it spoken, has only one false quality in two lines.