St. John’s Well, at Harpham, Yorkshire.
To the Editor.
The preceding sketch was made on the 17th instant. The well stands by the roadside. The covering stones, though heavy, were at that time laid as above represented, having just before been knocked over by some waggon. Although but a poor subject for the pencil, it is an object of interest from its connection with St. John of Beverley.
“St. John of Beverley may be challenged by this county (York) on a threefold title; because therein he had his
“1. Birth; at Harpham, in this county, in the East Riding.
“2. Life; being three and thirty years, and upwards, archbishop of York.
“3. Death; at Beverley, in this county, in a college of his own foundation.
“He was educated under Theodorus the Grecian, and archbishop of Canterbury. Yet was he not so famous for his teacher as for his scholar, Venerable Bede, who wrote this John’s life; which he hath so spiced with miracles, that it is of the hottest for a discreet man to digest into his belief.”
See “Fuller’s Worthies,” in which a lengthened account of St. John may be found.
Bridlington, July 30, 1827. T. C.
Respecting the subject of the engraving, T. C. subsequently writes: “The stones over St. John’s Well were replaced when I passed it on the 9th of October, 1827.”
Concerning St. John of Beverley, not having “Fuller’s Worthies” at hand to refer to, a few brief particulars are collected from other sources. If the curious reader desires more, he may consult my authorities, and “old Fuller,” as recommended by T. C.
St. John of Beverley.
On his return from pupilage under St. Theodorus, in Kent, St. John of Beverley settled at Whitby, in the monastery of St. Hilda, till, in the reign of Alfred, he was made bishop of Hexham, which see he vacated in favour of St. Wilfrid, and sometime afterwards was seated in the archi-episcopal chair of York. He occasionally retreated to a monastery he had built at Beverley, which was then a forest, called Endeirwood, or Wood of the Deiri. In 717 he resigned the see of York to his chaplain, St. Wilfrid the younger, and finally retired to Beverley, where he died on the 7th of May, 721.[406]
According to Bede, St. John of Beverley being at a village near Hexham, there was brought to him a youth wholly dumb, and with a disorder in the head, “which entirely hindred the grouth of haires, except a few which, like bristles, stood in a thinn circle about the lower part of his head.” He desired the child “to putt forth his tongue, which the holy man took hold of, and made the sign of the crosse upon it. And having done this, he bid him speak: Pronounce, said he to him, gea, gea, (that is, yea, yea.) This the child pronounced distinctly, and presently after other words of more syllables; and, in conclusion, whole sentences: so that, before night, by frequent practice, he was able to expresse his thoughts freely.” Then St. John “commanded a surgeon to use his skill; and in a short time, by such care, but principally by the prayers and benedictions of the good prelat, he became of a lovely and chearfull countenance, adorned with beautifully curled haire, and ready in speech. This miracle was wrought in his first diocese.”[407] Notwithstanding the author of the “Church History of Brittany” calls this a “miracle,” the story rather proves that John of Beverley used a judicious method to remove impediments of speech, and obtained the growth of the boy’s hair by surgical aid.
The same writer adds, on the same authority, that the wife of “a count, named Puch,” was cured of a forty days’ sickness, by John of Beverley giving her holy water, which he had used in dedicating the count’s church. Also, according to him, when the lusty men of Beverley drag wild bulls into the church-yard (to bait them) in honour of the saint, they “immediately loose all their fury and fiercenes, and become gentle as lambes, so that they are left to their freedom to sport themselves.” William of Malmsbury relates this “as a thing usually performed, and generally acknowledged by the inhabitants of Beverley, in testimony of the sanctity of their glorious patron.”
Again, it is related in the Breviary of the church of Sarum, concerning St. John of Beverley, that while he governed in the see of York, “he was praying one day in the porch of St. Michael, and a certain deacon peeping in saw the Holy Ghost sitting upon the altar, excelling in whiteness a ray of the sun:” and the face of this deacon, whose name was Sigga, “was burnt by the heat of the Holy Spirit,” so that the skin of his cheek was shrivelled up; and his face was healed by the touch of the saint’s hand: and “the saint adjured him, that whilst he lived he would discover this vision to no man.”[408]
The more eminent fame of the patron of Beverley is posthumous. In 937, when England was invaded by the Norwegians, Danes, Picts, and certain chiefs of the Scottish isles, under Analaf the Dane, king Athelstan, marching with his army through Yorkshire to oppose them, met certain pilgrims returning from Beverley, who “informed him of the great miracles frequently done there, by the intercession of St. John.” Whereupon the king, with his army, went to Beverley, and entering into the church there performed his devotions before St. John’s tomb; and, earnestly begging his intercession, rose up before the clergy, and vowed, that if victory were vouched to him by the saint’s intercession, he would enrich that church with many privileges and plentiful revenues. “In token of which,” said he, “I leave this my knife upon the altar, which at my return I will redeem with an ample discharge of my vow.” Then he caused an ensign, duly blessed, to be taken out of the church, and carried before him. And at the sea-coast “he received a certain hope of victory by a vision, in which St. John of Beverley, appearing to him, commanded him to passe over the water, and fight the enemy, promising him the upper hand.” Athelstan was suddenly surprised by Analaf; but a sword fell “as from heaven” into the king’s scabbard, and he “not only drove Analafe out of his camp, but courageously sett upon the enemy, with whose blood he made his sword drunk, which he had received from heaven.” This battle, which was fought at Dunbar, was the bloodiest since the coming of the Saxons. The victory was entirely for the English: five kings were slain, and among them the Scottish king Constantine. Athelstan, returning in triumph, passed by the church of St. John at Beverley, where he redeemed his knife. He bestowed large possessions on the church, with privilege of sanctuary a mile round; ordaining that whoever should infringe it should forfeit eight pounds to the church; if within the three crosses, at the entrance of the town, twenty-four pounds; if within the church-yard, seventy-two pounds; but, if in sight of the relics, the penalty was the same that was due to the most enormous capital crime. A testimony of this privilege of sanctuary at Beverley was a chair of stone, thus inscribed:—“This stone chair is called Freed-stoole, or the Chaire of Peace: to which any offender flying shall enjoy entire security.” In the charter of the privilege, “King Athelstan,” saith mine author, “expressed it elegantly, in this distich:—
As heart may think or eye may see.”[409]
Moreover, respecting the great victory of Athelstan, an ancient biographer of the saints[410] relates, that the king prayed that through the intercession of St. John of Beverley he might show some evident sign, whereby both future and present ages might know, that the Scots ought, of right, to be subject to the English. And thereupon, saith this writer, “the king with his sword smote upon a hard rock by Dunbar, and to this day it is hollowed an ell deep by that stroke.”[411] This, saith another author, was near Dunbar castle; and “king Edward the first, when there was question before pope Boniface of his right and prerogative over Scotland, brought this historie for the maintenance and strength of his cause.”[412]
The monastery of St. John at Beverley having been destroyed by the Danes, king Athelstan founded in that place a church and college of canons, of which church St. Thomas à Becket was some time provost.[413] In 1037, the bones of St. John were “translated” into the church by Alfric, archbishop of York, and the feast of his translation ordained to be kept at York on the 25th of October.[414] “On the 24th of September, 1664, upon opening a grave in the church of Beverley a vault was discovered of free-stone, fifteen feet long and two broad; in which there was a sheet of lead, with an inscription, signifying that the church of Beverley having been burnt in the year 1188, search had been made for the relics of St. John, anno 1197, and that his bones were found in the east part of the sepulchre and there replaced. Upon this sheet lay a box of lead, in which were several pieces of bones, mixed with a little dust, and yielding a sweet smell: all these were reinterred in the middle alley of the church.”[415] Another writer[416] states the exhumation to have taken place “on the thirteenth of September, not the twenty-fourth;” and he adds, “that these relics had been hid in the beginning of the reign of king Edward VI.”
It must not be omitted, that the alleged successful intercession of St. John of Beverley in behalf of the English against the Scotch, is said to have been paralleled by patronage as fatal to the French. The memorable battle of Agincourt was fought in the year 1415, on the anniversary of the translation of St. John of Beverley, and Henry V. ascribed the decisive victory to the saint’s intercession. In a provincial synod, under Henry Chicheley, archbishop of Canterbury, is a decree, at the instance of that king, “whereby it appeares, that this most holy bishop, St. John of Beverley, hath been an ayde to the kings of England in the necessitie of their warres, not only in auncient, but allsoe in these later ages.”[417] In consequence of this ascription, his festivals were ordained to be celebrated annually through the whole kingdom of England. The anniversary of his death has ceased to be remembered from the time of the Reformation; but that of his translation is accidentally kept as a holiday by the shoemakers, in honour of their patron, St. Crispin, whose feast falls on the same day.
*
[406] Alban Butler.
[407] Father Cressy.
[408] Capgrave: in bishop Patrick’s Devotions of the Roman Church.
[409] Father Cressy.
[410] Capgrave.
[411] Bishop Patrick’s Devotions of the Roman Church.
[412] Father Porter’s Lives.
[413] Britannia Sancta.
[414] Alban Butler.
[415] Britannia Sancta.
[416] Alban Butler.
[417] Father Porter.
BEVERLEY THE STRONG MAN.
In March 1784, a porter of amazing strength, named Beverley, was detected in stealing pimento on board a ship in the river Thames. A number of men were scarcely able to secure him; and when they did, they were under the necessity of tying him down in a cart, to convey him to prison. The keeper of the Poultry Counter would not take him in; they were therefore obliged to apply for an order to carry him to Newgate. Beverley was supposed to have been the strongest man of his time in England.[418]
[418] Gentleman’s Magazine, March 1784.
Garrick Plays.
No. XXXIX.
[From the “Ambitious Statesman,” a Tragedy, by John Crowne, 1679.]
Vendome, returning from the wars, hears news, that Louize is false to him.
Louize is the Dauphin’s secret mistress.
I heard it in the army, but the sound
Was then as feeble as the distant murmurs
Of a great river mingling with the sea;
But now I am come near this river’s fall,
Tis louder than the cataracts of Nile.
If this be true,
Doomsday is near, and all the heavens are falling.—
I know not what to think of it, for every where
I meet a choking dust, such as is made
After removing all a palace furniture:
If she be gone, the world in my esteem
Is all bare walls; nothing remains in it
But dust and feathers, like a Turkish inn,
And the foul steps where plunderers have been.—
Valediction.
One poor thought after me, much less a messenger,
To know the truth; but if you do, he’ll find,
In some unfinish’d part of the creation,
Where Night and Chaos never were disturb’d,
But bed-rid lie in some dark rocky desart,
There will he find a thing—whether a man,
Or the collected shadows of the desart
Condens’d into a shade, he’ll hardly know;
This figure he will find walking alone,
Poring one while on some sad book at noon
By taper-light, for never day shone there:
Sometimes laid grovelling on the barren earth,
Moist with his tears, for never dew fell there:
And when night comes, not known from day by darkness,
But by some faithful messenger of time,
He’ll find him stretcht upon a bed of stone,
Cut from the bowels of some rocky cave,
Offering himself either to Sleep or Death;
And neither will accept the dismal wretch:
At length a Slumber, in its infant arms,
Takes up his heavy soul, but wanting strength
To bear it, quickly lets it fall again;
At which the wretch starts up, and walks about
All night, and all the time it should be day;
Till quite forgetting, quite forgot of every thing
But Sorrow, pines away, and in small time
Of the only man that durst inhabit there,
Becomes the only Ghost that dares walk there.
Incredulity to Virtue.
But only in men’s fancies, like the Phœnix;
Or if they once have been, they’re now but names
Of natures lost, which came into the world,
But could not live, nor propagate their kind.
Faithless Beauty.
Vendome. Yes, but with fear, for sure you’re not Woman.
A Comet glitter’d in the air o’ late,
And kept some weeks the frighted kingdom waking.
Long hair it had, like you; a shining aspect;
Its beauty smiled, at the same time it frighten’d;
And every horror in it had a grace.
[From “Belphegor,” a Comedy, by John Wilson, 1690.]
Doria Palace described.
The pretty contest between art and nature;
To see the wilderness, grots, arbours, ponds;
And in the midst, over a stately fountain,
The Neptune of the Ligurian sea—
Andrew Doria—the man who first
Taught Genoa not to serve: then to behold
The curious waterworks and wanton streams
Wind here and there, as if they had forgot
Their errand to the sea.
And then again, within
That vast prodigious cage, in which the groves
Of myrtle, orange, jessamine, beguile
The winged quire with a native warble,
And pride of their restraint. Then, up and down,
An antiquated marble, or broken statue,
Majestic ev’n in ruin.
And such a glorious palace:
Such pictures, carving, furniture! my words
Cannot reach half the splendour. And, after all,
To see the sea, fond of the goodly sight,
One while glide amorous, and lick her walls,
As who would say Come Follow; but, repuls’d,
Rally its whole artillery of waves,
And crowd into a storm!
[From the “Floating Island,” a Comedy, by the Rev. W. Strode, acted by the Students of Christ-Church, Oxford, 1639.]
Song.
Their hue let fall;
Her lips, that winter had out-born,
In June look’d pale:
Her heat grew cold, her nectar dry;
No juice she had but in her eye,
The wonted fire and flames to mortify.
When was this so dismal sight?—
When Adonis bade good night.
C. L.
PLAYERS—GHOST LAYERS.
For the Table Book.
Christian Malford, Wilts.
It required a large portion of courage to venture abroad after sunset at Christian Malford, for somebody’s apparition presented itself to the walker’s imagination. Spritely gossips met near their wells with their crooked sticks and buckets, to devise means for laying the disturbed returners and their once native associates; but a party of strolling players did more towards sending the spectres to the “tomb of all the Capulets,” than the divinations of feminine power.
Application being made to the magistrate, who was not exempt from the superstitious and revered infection, that plays might be performed in the malthouse, said to be so daringly haunted, a timely caution was given as to “Beelzebub and his imps,” and permission was granted, and bills were circulated by the magnanimous manager himself. He was a polite man, a famous anecdote retailer, retainer, and detailer, an excellent spouter, and a passable singer. His dress and address were eccentric. The hessians he wore, by fit necessity, were of the buskin order; and, as bread was then dear, a sixpenny loaf might have supplied the absence of calves. His pigtail-wig, hat, and all his apparel indeed, served, when on the dramatic floor, most aptly the variations required in his wardrobe.
I remember, when the “Miller of Mansfield” was played, the bell rang, the baize was drawn up by a stable-halter, the fiddler began to scrape a ditty by way of overture; but, before the miller could appear, a smockfrock was called for, from one of the frocked rustics in the gallery, (the back seats of the scaffolding.) This call was generously obeyed. A youth pulled off his upper-all, proudly observing, that “the player should have it, because his was a sacred persuasion.” The miller appeared, and the play proceeded, with often repeated praises of the frock. On another night, “Richard” was personated by a red-haired woman, an active stroller of the company. Her manner of enacting the deformed and ambitious Glo’ster so charmed the village censors, that for three weeks successively nothing else would please but “Richard.” Nor was the effect less operative in the field, (not of Bosworth)—Virgil’s “Bucolics and Georgics” were travestied. Reaphooks, sithes, pitchforks, and spades were set in contact in the daytime, to the great amusement and terror of quiet people.—The funds of the company being exhausted, the Thespians tramped off rather suddenly, leaving other bills than playbills behind them. Ever after this the ghosts of the malthouse disappeared, the rustics of the valley crying, as they triumphantly passed, “Off with his head!” and others, replying in the words of Hamlet, “Oh! what a falling off is here!”
ΠΡΙ.
Oct. 1827.
EX-THESPIANISM.
For the Table Book.
I am the son of a respectable attorney, who sent me, when very young, to an excellent school, at which I conducted myself much to the satisfaction of my superiors. It was customary for the scholars to enact a play at Christmas, to which the friends of the master were invited. On one of these occasions, when I was now nearly head-boy, I was called upon to perform the part of Charles Surface, in the admirable comedy of the School for Scandal. I studied the character, and played it with great applause, and shortly afterwards left the school, and was sent by my father to Boulogne to finish my education.
There were then at that place a number of English gentlemen, who were endeavouring to establish a company of amateurs. On their request I joined them, and made my first appearance upon a regular stage in the character of Shylock. It was a decided hit! I was received throughout with “unbounded applause,” and the next day was highly gratified by reading “honourable mention” of my performance in the newspapers. I repeated this and other characters several times with undiminished success; but, in the very zenith of my popularity, I was recalled to England by my father, who, having heard of my operations, began to fear (what afterwards proved to be the case) that I should be induced to adopt that as a profession, which I had hitherto considered merely as an amusement.
Soon after my return home my father articled me to himself, but it was impossible for me to forget my success at Boulogne, and my inclination for the stage ripened into a determination to become an actor. I secretly applied to Mr. Sims, of the Harp, who procured me an engagement in a sharing company in the west of England, where I was to do the “low comic business” and “second tragedy.” I spent some of the money that I had saved in buying wigs and a few other stage-requisites, and left my paternal roof with three pounds in my pocket.
My exchequer not being in a state to afford me the luxury of riding, I was compelled to walk the last thirty miles of my journey. Upon my arrival at ——, my first care was to inquire for the theatre, when I was directed to a barn, which had been dignified by that appellation. I was received with all possible civility by the company, which consisted of the manager, his wife, and three gentlemen. I was informed by the manager that Jane Shore was the play for that evening, and that he should expect me to perform the part of Belmont, and also that of Bombastes Furioso in the afterpiece. The wardrobe of the theatre was unable to afford me a dress superior to my own for the part of Belmont, I therefore played that character “accoutred as I was,” viz. in a blue coat, buff waistcoat, striped trowsers, and Wellington’s. The audience was very select, consisting only of ten persons, who seemed totally indifferent to the performance, for they never once, in the course of the evening, gave any indication of pleasure, or the reverse, but witnessed our efforts to amuse with the most provoking apathy. Between the pieces I was much surprised by one of the gentlemen requesting the loan of my hat for a few minutes, as he was about to sing a song, and he assured me that there was no hat in the company, save mine, which was worthy to appear before the audience. At the conclusion of the performance we shared the receipts, which, after deducting the expenses of the house, amounted to one shilling and sixpence each. We continued to act for some time, sharing (three nights a week) from about one shilling and sixpence to two shillings each, which sum did not at all equal my sanguine expectations. Frequently have I performed kings and princes after having breakfasted upon a turnip.
I soon found that this mode of living did not suit me, for I was becoming exceedingly spare. I therefore resolved to quit the company, and return to London. Having informed the manager of my intention, I departed, and arrived in the metropolis with twopence in my pocket. I proceeded to my father’s house, where I was received with kindness, and where I still continue. I have relinquished all my pretensions to the sock, having learned from experience that which it was not in the power of reason to convince me of.
Gilbertus.
SILCHESTER, HANTS.
For the Table Book.
Every thing in this world is subject to change, and the strongest buildings to decay. The ancient Vindonum of the Romans, from whence Constantius issued several of his edicts, does not form an exception to this rule. From being a principal Roman station, it is now a heap of ruins.
Silchester is situated about eleven miles from Reading, on the side of a hill, or rather on a level spot between two, and commands most beautiful views: from its being surrounded by woodland, a stranger would be unaware of his approach to it, until he arrived at the spot. The circumference of the walls is about two miles; they possess four gates, east, north, west, and south, and are in some places twelve or fourteen feet high, and four or five feet in width; there are many fine trees (as was observed by Leland in his time) growing out of them: the wall was surrounded by a deep and broad ditch, which is now in some places nearly filled up by the ruins of the wall, and beyond which is “the external vallum, very perfect and easily to be traced out round the whole city; its highest parts, even in the present state, are at least fifteen feet perpendicular from the bottom of the ditch. A straight line, drawn from the top of this bank to the wall on the north-east side, measured thirty-four yards, its full breadth.”[419]
Between the outside of the walls and the furthest vallum was the Pomœrium, which is defined by Livy to be that space of ground both within and without the walls, which the augurs, at the first building of cities, solemnly consecrated, and on which no edifices were suffered to be raised.[420] Plutarch is of a different opinion, and ascribes the derivation of Pomœrium to pone mœnia, and states that it signifies the line marked out for the wall at the first foundation of a city.[421]
About a hundred and fifty yards from the north-east angle of the wall is a Roman amphitheatre, the form of which is similar to that near Dorchester, with high and steep banks, now covered with a grove of trees, and has two entrances. The elevation of the amphitheatre consists of a mixture of clay and gravel: the seats were ranged in five rows one above the other; the slope between each measuring about six feet: each bank progressively rises, (and increases proportionably in width,) to a considerable height in the centre. The area of the amphitheatre is about twenty-five yards in diameter, as near as I could guess; it is commonly covered with water, and is become a complete marsh, having a drain across the centre, and is filled up with rushes. I was informed by the woman who showed it, that some gentlemen a short time since procured a shovel, and found a fine gravel bottom at about a foot deep.
The only buildings within the walls are the farm-house and the parish church, which is an ancient structure, built of brick and flint, in the form of the letter T. The interior of the church is plain and neat; the font is of an octagonal form, of plain stone; the pulpit is also octagonal, made of oak, and is remarkably neat; over it is a handsome carved oak sounding-board, surmounted by a dove, with an olive-branch in its mouth, and round the board, at the lower part, in seven compartments, is the following inscription:—“The Gyift of James Hore, Gent. 1639.” The ascent to the pulpit is from the minister’s reading-desk, which also serves for a seat for his family. The chancel is separated from the body of the church by a handsome carved screen, in excellent preservation. In the south wall of the church, under a low pointed arch, is the recumbent figure of a female, carved in stone, of a very remote date, with the feet resting against an animal, (probably a dog,) the head of which is much damaged: there is also an angel’s head, which has been broken off from some part of the monument, and is of course loose; from what part it came I was unable to discover.
In the chancel affixed to the north wall is the following inscription on a handsome white marble monument; it is surmounted by a crown of glory, and at the bottom is a death’s head:—
Hic juxta situs est
Johannis Paris, D.D.
Collegii Trinitatis apud Cantabrigiensis
Socius Senior
& hujus Ecclesiæ Rector: de quo
nisi opera loquantur
Siletur.
O I[422]
There are also monuments of the Baynards, the Cusanzes, and the Blewets, which families were owners of the manor from the time of the conquest for some generations.
On the south side of the city is a small postern under the wall, called by the common people “Onion’s hole,” and is so designated from a traditional account of a giant of that name; the coins which have been discovered are called from the cause “Onion’s pennies.”
A fair field is here open for the researches of the antiquarian; and it is much to be regretted that a good account of the place is not yet published. “The History and Antiquities of Silchester,” whence I have cited, is a pamphlet of thirty-two pages, and affords but little information. Hoping to see justice done to the place, I beg to subscribe myself, &c.
J. R. J.
[419] The History and Antiquities of Silchester, p. 12.
Silchester, a parish bordering on Berkshire, about 7 miles N. from Basingstoke, and 45 from London, contains, according to the last census, 85 houses and 407 inhabitants. It is supposed to have been once a populous city, called by the Romans “Segontiaci,” by the Britons “Caer-Segont,” and by the Saxons “Silcester,” or the great city. Capper.—Ed.
[420] Livy, b. i.
[421] Plutarch in Romul. See Kennet’s Antiquities of Rome, p. 29.
[422] I should like to be informed the meaning of these letters—there is no date to the monument. J. R. J.
TO THE NIGHTSHADE.
For the Table Book.
Thy stem clings round a stronger power,
Like a fond child that trusts and grows
More beautiful in feeling’s hour.
Shaped like a turban, with a spire
Of orange in a purple crest,
And humid eye of sunny fire.
Thou hearest not the happy airs
Breathed into zephyr’s faery dreams,
By insects’ wings, like leaves, in pairs.
Quits thee, with clust’ring berries red.
Hanging like grapes, and autumn’s cold
Chills what the noon-day’s sunbeams fed.
Gentle to touch and quickly faded;
’Tis death to taste thee void of skill,
And thou, like death, art nightly shaded.
*, *, P.
Sept. 1827.
The Velocitas, Or Malton, Driffield, and Hull Fly Boat
The Velocitas,
Or Malton, Driffield, and Hull Fly Boat.
To the Editor.
A carriage bearing this name, of which the above is a sketch, forms a neat, safe, pleasant, and commodious conveyance from Malton, by way of Driffield, to Hull every other day, and from Hull to Malton on the intermediate days, during the summer months. The vehicle is, in fact, a boat on wheels, driven like a stage-coach, and furnished on each side of the body with a seat, extending the whole length, on which the passengers are ranged. The top is covered with a permanent awning, to which a curtain appended may be drawn up or let down at pleasure, so as to enjoy a view of the country, or shut out the sun and weather.
Bridlington, Oct. 1827. T. C.
SHEEPSHEARING IN CUMBERLAND.
To the Editor.
Sir,—The letters of W. C., in a recent number of the Table Book, recalled to my mind four of the happiest years of my life, spent in Cumberland, amongst the beautiful lakes and mountains in the neighbourhood of Keswick, where I became acquainted with a custom which I shall attempt to describe.
A few days previous to the “clipping,” or shearing of the sheep, they are washed at a “beck,” or small river, not far from the mountain on which they are kept. The clippings that I have witnessed have generally been in St. John’s vale. Several farmers wash their sheep at the same place; and, by that means, greatly assist each other. The scene is most amusing. Imagine to yourself several hundred sheep scattered about in various directions; some of them enclosed in pens by the water-side; four or five men in the water rolling those about that are thrown in to them; the dames and the pretty maidens supplying the “mountain dew” very plentifully to the people assembled, particularly those that have got themselves well ducked; the boys pushing each other into the river, splashing the men, and raising tremendous shouts. Add to these a fine day in the beginning of June, and a beautiful landscape, composed of mountains, woods, cultivated lands, and a small meandering stream; the farmers and their wives, children, and servants, with hearty faces, and as merry as summer and good cheer can make them: and I am sure, sir, that you, who are a lover of nature in all her forms, could not wish a more delightful scene.
I will now proceed to the “clipping” itself. Early in the forenoon of the appointed day, the friends and relatives of the farmer assemble at his house, for they always assist each other, and after having regaled themselves with hung-beef, curds, and home-brewed ale, they proceed briskly to business. The men seat themselves on their stools, with shears in their hands, and the younger part of the company supply them with sheep from the fold; which, after having been sheared, have the private mark of the farmer stamped upon them with pitch. In the mean time the lasses are fluttering about, playing numerous tricks; for which, by the by, they get paid with interest by kisses; and the housewife may be seen busy in preparing the supper, which generally comprises all that the season affords. After the “clipping” is over, and the sheep driven on to the fells, (mountains,) they adjourn in a body to the house; and then begins a scene of rustic merriment, which those who have not witnessed it, can have no conception of. The evening is spent in drinking home-brewed ale, and singing. Their songs generally bear some allusion to the subject in question, and are always rural. But what heightens the pleasure is, that there is no quarrelling, and the night passes on in the utmost harmony. I have attended many of them, and never saw the slightest symptoms of anger in any of the party. They seldom break up till daylight makes its appearance next morning.
I am, sir,
Your constant reader,
A. W. R.
DR. GRAHAM.
For the Table Book.
In the year 1782, that extraordinary empiric of modern times, Dr. Graham, appeared in London. He was a graduate of Edinburgh, wrote in a bombastic style, and possessed a great fluency of elocution. He opened a mansion in Pall Mall, called “The Temple of Health;” the front was ornamented with an enormous gilt sun, a statue of Hygeia, and other attractive emblems. The rooms were superbly furnished, and the walls decorated with mirrors, so as to confer on the place an effect like that of an enchanted palace. Here he delivered “Lectures on Health, &c.” at the extravagant rate of two guineas each. As a further attraction, he entertained a female of beautiful figure, whom he called the “goddess of health.” He hired two men of extraordinary stature, provided with enormous cocked hats and showy liveries, to distribute bills from house to house about town.
These unusual means to excite curiosity were successful; but his two guinea auditors were soon exhausted; he then dropped to one guinea; afterwards to half a guinea; then to five shillings; and, subsequently, as he said, “for the benefit of all,” to two shillings and sixpence. When he could not “draw” at that price, he finally exhibited the “Temple of Health” at one shilling a head to daily crowds for several months.
Among the furniture of Dr. Graham’s temple was a celestial bed, which he pretended wrought miraculous effects on those who reposed on it: he demanded for its use during one night one hundred pounds; and such is the folly of wealth, that several personages of high rank acceded to his terms. He also pretended to have discovered “The Elixir of Life,” by taking of which a person might live as long as he pleased. When this was worn out, he recommended “earth bathing,” and sanctioned it by his own practice. During one hour every day, he admitted spectators to view him and the goddess of health immersed naked in the ground to their chins. The doctor’s head was dressed and powdered, and the goddess’s was arranged in the highest fashion of the times. He carried this exhibition to every provincial town wherein he could obtain permission of the magistrates. The goddess nearly fell a victim to the practice, and the doctor, in spite of his enormous charges and his “Elixir of life,” died in poor circumstances at the age of fifty-two.
Dr. Graham’s brother married the celebrated Mrs. Macaulay, the historian, and Dr. Arnold, of Leicester, the respectable author of an able treatise on insanity, married his sister. It is generally understood that the lady who performed the singular part of the “Goddess of Health” was Emma, afterwards the wife of sir William Hamilton, and the personal favourite of the celebrated lord Nelson. She died in misery—