The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 3 (of 3) / Everlasting Calerdar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac

Gerardo; his wife murdered.

Doubt.

Owl.

[From the “Traitor,” a Tragedy, by J Shirley: by some said to have been written by one Rivers, a Jesuit: 1635.]

Sciarrah, whose life is forfeited, has offer of pardon, conditionally, that he bring his sister Amidea to consent to the Prince’s unlawful suit. He jestingly tries her affection.

[From the “Huntingdon Divertisement,” an Interlude, “for the general entertainment at the County Feast, held at Merchant Taylor’s Hall, June 20th, 1678, by W. M.”]

Humour of a retired Knight.

Sir Jeoffry Doe-right. Master Generous Goodman.

C.L.

“BURNING THE WITCH”
At Bridlington, &c.

For the Table Book.

A custom was very prevalent in this part of Yorkshire about fifty years ago, and earlier, which has since been gradually discontinuing, until it has become nearly extinct—called “burning the witch” in the harvest-field. On the evening of the day in which the last corn was cut belonging to a farmer, the reapers had a merrimaking, which consisted of an extra allowance of drink, and burning of peas in the straw. The peas when cut from the ground are left to dry in small heaps, named pea-reaps. Eight or ten of these reaps were collected into one, and set fire to in the field, whilst the labourers ran and danced about, ate the “brustled peas,” blacked each other’s faces with the burned straw, and played other tricks; the lads generally aiming for the lasses, and the lasses for the lads. Such of them as could add a little grease to the grime seldom failed to do it. Even the good dame herself has sometimes joined in the general sport, and consequently fallen in for her share of the face-blacking. The evening’s entertainment consisted also of the cream-pot, which was a supper of cream and cakes, provided and eaten in the house prior to the commencement of the sport in the field. Cream-pot cakes were made rather thick, and sweet with currants and caraway-seeds. They were crossed on the top by small squares, owing to the dough being slightly cut transversely immediately before baking. The practice of “burning the witch” probably had its origin in those days of superstition, when the belief in witchery so generally and, indeed, almost universally prevailed, and was considered necessary under an idea of its being available in preventing the overthrowing of the wains, the laming of the horses, and the injuring of the servants, and of securing general success in the removing, housing, or stacking of the produce of the farm.

T. C.

Bridlington, July, 1827.

P.S. October, 1827.—One evening in the harvest of this year I was at North Burton, near Bridlington, and three distinct fires were then seen in the fields.

T C.

WITCHCRAFT

For the Table Book.

Recollections of Practices formerly used to avert and avoid the Power of Witchery.

Having a small, smooth limestone, picked up on the beach, with its edges rubbed down by friction and the continual action of the sea, and with a natural hole through it, tied to the key of a house, warehouse, barn, stable, or other building, prevented the influence of witches over whatever the house, &c. contained.

Sailors nailed a horse-shoe on the foremast, and jockeys one on the stable-door, but to be effective the shoe ought necessarily to be found by accident.

On meeting a suspected witch the thumb of each hand was turned inward, and the fingers firmly closed upon it; care was also taken to let her have the wall-side or best path.

Caution was used that gloves, or any portion of apparel worn next to the skin, came not into the possession of a witch, as it was strongly believed she had an highly ascendant power over the rightful owner.

A bit of witch-wood, or a hare’s foot, was carried in the pocket, under an impression that the possessor was free from any harm that otherwise might accrue from the old hag’s malignant practices.

One thing of importance was not to go out of the house in a morning without taking a bite of bread, cake, or other eatable to break the fast.

A thick white curtain was hung inside the window, to prevent an “evil eye” being cast into the room.

If a few drops of the old creature’s blood could be obtained, they were considered sufficiently efficacious in preventing her “secret, black, and baneful workings.”

Although the practices abovementioned are spoken of in the past tense, they are not, at the present time, altogether done away; not a few, who are now living, are credulous enough to believe in their potency. The following may be mentioned as a fact, which occurred a short time ago in the neighbourhood where the writer of this article resides:—A person bought a pig, which after keeping for some time “grew very badly,” and witchery was suspected to be the cause; to ascertain the certainty of the fact nine buds of the elder-tree (here commonly called buttery) were laid in a straight line, and all pointing one way; a dish made of ash wood was inverted and placed carefully over them, and left to the next morning. This was done under an idea that if the pig was bewitched the buds would be found in disorder, but if not, in the state in which they were originally left.

T. C.

Bridlington, July 30, 1827.

OLD HOUSES AND FURNITURE.

To the Editor.

Sir,—A rare and valuable copy of “Holinshed’s Chronicles of Englande, Scotlande, and Irelande,” a black letter folio volume, with curious wood-cuts, “imprinted at London” in 1577, has lately fallen in my way, and afforded me considerable amusement. One chapter especially, in “The Seconde Booke of the Description of Britaine,” namely, “Cap. 10. Of the Maner of Buylding, and furniture of our Houses,” cannot fail, I think, to interest your readers.

After a very entertaining account of the construction of our ancient cottages and country houses before glass came into general use, this historian of the age of queen Elizabeth proceeds as follows:—

“The auncient maners and houses of our gentlemen are yet for the most part of strong tymber. Howbeit such as be lately buylded are commonly either of bricke, or harde stone, their rowmes large and stately, and houses of office farder distaunt fro their lodginges. Those of the nobilitie are likewise wrought with bricke and harde stone, as provision may best be made; but so magnificent and stately, as the basest house of a barren doth often match with some honours of princes in olde tyme; so that if ever curious buylding did flourish in Englande it is in these our dayes, wherein our worckemen excel and are in maner comparable in skill with old Vitrunius and Serlo. The furniture of our houses also exceedeth, and is growne in maner even to passing delicacie; and herein I do not speake of the nobilitie and gentrie onely, but even of the lowest sorte that have any thing ‘to take to.’[437] Certes, in noble men’s houses it is not rare to see abundance of arras, riche hangings of tapestry, silver vessell, and so much other plate as may furnish sūdrie cupbordes, to the summe ofte times of a thousand or two thousande pounde at the least; wherby the value of this and the reast of their stuffe doth grow to be inestimable. Likewise, in the houses of knightes, gentlemē, marchauntmen, and other wealthie citizens, it is not geson to beholde generallye their great provision of tapestrie, Turkye worke, pewter, brasse, fine linen, and therto costly cupbords of plate woorth five or sixe hundred pounde, to be demed by estimation. But as herein all these sortes doe farre exceede their elders and predecessours, so in tyme past the costly furniture STAYED THERE, whereas now it is descended yet lower, even unto the inferiour artificers and most fermers, who have learned to garnish also their cupbordes with plate, their beddes with tapestrie and silke hanginges, and their table with fine naperie, whereby the wealth of our countrie doth infinitely appeare. Neither do I speake this in reproch of any man, God is my judge, but to shew that I doe rejoyce rather to see how God hath blessed us with hys good giftes, and to behold how that in a time, wherein all thinges are growen to most excessive prices, we doe yet finde the meanes to obtayne and atchieve such furniture as hath heretofore been impossible.

“There are olde men yet dwelling in the village where I remayne, which have noted three things to be marveylously altered in Englande within their sound remembraunce. One is, the multitude of chimnies lately erected, wheras, in their young dayes there were not above two or three, if so many, in most uplandish townes of the realme, (the religious houses and mannour places of their lordes alwayes excepted, and peradventure some great personages,) but eache one made his fire against a reredosse in the hall, where he dined and dressed his meate.

“The second is the great amendment of lodginge; for, sayde they, our fathers, and we ourselves, have lyen full oft upon straw pallettes, covered onely with a sheete under coverlettes, made of dagswain or hop-harlots, (I use their own termes,) and a good round logge under their heades in steade of a boulster. If it were so that our fathers, or the good man of the house, had a matteress or flockbed, and therto a sacke of chafe to rest hys head upon, he thought himself as well lodged as the lorde of the towne; so well were they contented. Pillowes, sayde they, were thoughte meete onely for women in childbed. As for servants if they had any sheete above them it was well; for seldom had they any under their bodies to keepe them from the pricking strawes that ran oft thorow the canvass, and raced their hardened hides.[438]

“The thirde thinge they tell of is the exchange of treene platters into pewter, and woode spoones into silver or tin. For so cōmon were al sortes of treene vesselles in old time, that a man should hardly find four peces of pewter, of which one was, peradventure, a salte in a good farmer’s house; and yet for al this frugalitie, (if it may so be justly called,) they were scarse able to lyve and paye their rentes at their dayes without selling of a cow or a horse, or more, although they payde but foure poundes at the uttermost by the yeare. Such also was their poverty, that if a fermour or husbandman had been at the ale-house, a thing greatly used in those dayes, or amongst sixe or seaven of hys neyghbours, and there in a bravery to shewe what store he had did cast down his purse, and therein a noble, or sixe shillings in silver, unto them, it was very likely that all the rest could not lay downe so much against it: wheras, in my tyme, although peradventure foure pounde of olde rent be improved to fourty or fiftye pound, yet will the farmer think his gaines very small toward the middest of his terme, if he have not sixe or seaven yeres rent lying by him, therewith to purchase a newe lease, besides a faire garnish of pewter in his cowborde, three or foure feather beddes, so many coverlettes, and carpettes of tapestry, a silver salte, a bowle for wine, (if not an whole[439] neast,) and a dussen of spoones to furnishe up the sute. Thys also he taketh to be his owne cleare; for what stocke of money soever he gathereth in all his yeares, it is often seene that the landlorde will take such order with him for the same when he renueth his lease, which is commōly eight or ten yeares before it be expyred, sith it is nowe growen almost to a custome, that if he come not to his lorde so long before, another shall step in for a reversion, and so defeat him outright, that it shall never trouble him more, then the heare of his bearde when the barber hath washed and shaven it from his chinne.”

Submitting the above to the especial consideration of our “beaux” and “belles,” doctors and patients, landlords and farmers, and informing these last, that in the two reigns preceding land was let for one shilling per acre,

I remain, Mr. Editor,
yours respectfully,
N. S.

Morley, near Leeds,
October 15, 1827.

LONDINIANA.

For the Table Book.

Mr. Editor,—Since most of your readers will readily admit the propriety of the adage, “Time and quarter-day wait for no man,” allow me the favour of insertion for the following rhyming couplets, by John Heywood the elder, distinctively known as “the epigrammatist.” They are an extract from his “Workes, newlie imprinted, with six hundrede very pleasant, pithie, and ingenious Epigrammes, 1598, 4to.;” and are thus entitled:—

London-bridge had then houses upon it—a circumstance more fully treated of in the Chronicles of London-bridge, recently published—and half Foster-lane is becoming extinct by the erection of the new general-post-office. The other places still retain their old appellations.

I am, &c.
Will o’ th’ Wisp.

Oct. 12, 1827.

Thomsoniana.

To the Editor.

Sir,—I shall be greatly obliged, and there can be no doubt your readers will be considerably interested, by your insertion of the subjoined article in your valuable Table Book. It was copied from the “Weekly Entertainer,” published at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, in the year 1800.

I am, sir,
Yours, very respectfully,
G. H. I.

Memoranda of Mr. Thomson, the poet, collected from Mr. William Taylor, formerly a barber and peruke-maker, at Richmond, Surrey, now blind. September, 1791.

(Communicated by the Earl of Buchan.)

Q. Mr. Taylor, do you remember any thing of Thomson, who lived in Kew-lane some years ago?

A. Thomson?—

Q. Thomson, the poet.

A. Ay, very well. I have taken him by the nose many hundred times. I shaved him, I believe, seven or eight years, or more; he had a face as long as a horse; and he sweated so much, that I remember, after walking one day in summer, I shaved his head without lather by his own desire. His hair was as soft as a camel’s; I hardly ever felt such; and yet it grew so remarkably, that if it was but an inch long, it stood upright an end from his head like a brush. (Mr. Robertson[440] confirmed this remark.)

Q. His person, I am told, was large and clumsy?

A. Yes; he was pretty corpulent, and stooped forward rather when he walked, as though he was full of thought; he was very careless and negligent about his dress, and wore his clothes remarkably plain. (Mr. Robertson, when I read this to him, said, “He was clean, and yet slovenly; he stooped a good deal.”)

Q. Did he always wear a wig?

A. Always, in my memory, and very extravagant he was with them. I have seen a dozen at a time hanging up in my master’s shop, and all of them so big that nobody else could wear them. I suppose his sweating to such a degree made him have so many; for I have known him spoil a new one only in walking from London.

Q. He was a great walker, I believe?

A. Yes, he used to walk from Malloch’s, at Strand on the Green, near Kew Bridge, and from London, at all hours in the night; he seldom liked to go in a carriage, and I never saw him on horseback; I believe he was too fearful to ride. (Mr. Robertson said he could not bear to get upon a horse.)

Q. Had he a Scotch accent?

A. Very broad; he always called me Wull.

Q. Did you know any of his relations?

A. Yes; he had two nephews, (cousins,) Andrew and Gilbert Thomson, both gardeners, who were much with him. Andrew used to work in his garden, and keep it in order, at over hours; he died at Richmond, about eleven years ago, of a cancer in his face. Gilbert, his brother, lived at East Sheen, with one esquire Taylor, till he fell out of a mulberry-tree and was killed.

Q. Did Thomson keep much company?

A. Yes; a good deal of the writing sort. I remember Pope, and Paterson, and Malloch, and Lyttleton, and Dr. Armstrong, and Andrew Millar, the bookseller, who had a house near Thomson’s, in Kew-lane. Mr. Robertson could tell you more about them.

Q. Did Pope often visit him?

A. Very often; he used to wear a light-coloured great coat, and commonly kept it on in the house; he was a strange, ill-formed, little figure of a man; but I have heard him and Quin, and Paterson, talk together so at Thomson’s, that I could have listened to them for ever.

Q. Quin was frequently there, I suppose?

A. Yes; Mrs. Hobart, his housekeeper, often wished Quin dead, he made her master drink so. I have seen him and Quin coming from the Castle together at four o’clock in a morning, and not over sober you may be sure. When he was writing in his own house, he frequently sat with a bowl of punch before him, and that a good large one too.

Q. Did he sit much in his garden?

A. Yes, he had an arbour at the end of it, where he used to write in summer time. I have known him lie along by himself upon the grass near it, and talk away as though three or four people were along with him. (This might probably be when he was reciting his own compositions.)

Q. Did you ever see any of his writing?

A. I was once tempted, I remember, to take a peep; his papers used to lie in a loose pile upon the table in his study, and I had longed for a look at them a good while: so one morning while I was waiting in the room to shave him, and he was longer than usual before he came down, I slipped off the top sheet of paper, and expected to find something very curious, but I could make nothing of it. I could not even read it, for the letters looked like all in one.

Q. He was very affable in his manner?

A. O yes! he had no pride; he was very free in his conversation and very cheerful, and one of the best natured men that ever lived.

Q. He was seldom much burthened with cash?

A. No; to be sure he was deuced long-winded; but when he had money, he would send for his creditors, and pay them all round; he has paid my master between twenty and thirty pounds at a time.

Q. You did not keep a shop yourself then at that time?

A. No, sir; I lived with one Lander here for twenty years; and it was while I was apprentice and journeyman with him that I used to wait on Mr. Thomson. Lander made his majors and bobs, and a person of the name of Taylor, in Craven-street, in the Strand, made his tie-wigs. An excellent customer he was to both.

Q. Did you dress any of his visitors?

A. Yes; Quin and Lyttleton, sir George, I think he was called. He was so tender-faced I remember, and so devilish difficult to shave, that none of the men in the shop dared to venture on him except myself. I have often taken Quin by the nose too, which required some courage, let me tell you. One day he asked particularly if the razor was in good order; and protested he had as many barbers’ ears in his parlour at home, as any boy had of birds’ eggs on a string; and swore, if I did not shave him smoothly, he would add mine to the number. “Ah,” said Thomson, “Wull shaves very well, I assure you.”

Q. You have seen the “Seasons,” I suppose?

A. Yes, sir; and once had a great deal of them by heart. (He here quoted a passage from “Spring.”) Shepherd, who formerly kept the Castle inn, showed me a book of Thomson’s writing, which was about the rebellion in 1745, and set to music, but I think he told me not published. (I mentioned this to Mr. Robertson, but he thought Taylor had made small mistake; perhaps it might be some of the patriotic songs in the masque of Alfred.)

Q. The cause of his death is said to have been by taking a boat from Kew to Richmond, when he was much heated by walking?

A. No; I believe he got the better of that; but having had a batch of drinking with Quin, he took a quantity of cream of tartar, as he frequently did on such occasions, which, with a fever before, carried him off. (Mr. Robertson did not assent to this.)

Q. He lived, I think, in Kew Foot-lane?

A. Yes, and died there; at the furthest house next Richmond Gardens, now Mr. Boscawen’s. He lived sometime before at a smaller one higher up, inhabited by Mrs. Davis.

Q. Did you attend on him to the last?

A. Sir, I shaved him the very day before his death; he was very weak, but made a shift to sit up in bed. I asked him how he found himself that morning. “Ah, Wull,” he replied, “I am very bad indeed.” (Mr. Robertson told me, he ordered this operation himself as a refreshment to his friend.)

Taylor concluded by giving a hearty encomium on his character.

This conversation took place at one of the alcoves on Richmond-green, where I accidentally dropped in. I afterwards found it was a rural rendezvous for a set of old invalids on nature’s infirm list; who met there every afternoon, in fine weather, to recount and comment on the “tale of other times.”

I inquired after Lander, and Mrs. Hobart, and Taylor, of Craven-street, but found that none of them were surviving. Mrs. Hobart was thought to have a daughter married in the town, called Egerton; but it was not likely, from the distance of time, that she could impart any thing new.

Taylor told me, the late Dr. Dodd had applied to him several years ago for anecdotes and information relative to Thomson.

Park Egerton, the bookseller, near Whitehall, tells me, that when Thomson first came to London, he took up his abode with his predecessor, Millan, and finished his poem of “Winter” in the apartment over the shop; that Millan printed it for him, and it remained on his shelves a long time unnoticed; but after Thomson began to gain some reputation as a poet, he either went himself, or was taken by Mallet, to Millar in the Strand, with whom he entered into new engagements for printing his works; which so much incensed Millan, his first patron, and his countryman also, that they never afterwards were cordially reconciled, although lord Lyttleton took uncommon pains to mediate between them.

AN OLD SONG RESTORED
“Busy, curious, thirsty Fly.”

To the Editor.

Sir,—In Ritson’s “Collection of Old Songs” are but two verses of this, in my estimation, very beautiful song. Going from this place, Liverpool, to Chester, it was my good fortune to hear a blind fiddler on board the packet both play and sing the whole of the following, which I procured from him at his domicile about two years ago. He was lost in the same boat with the captain and others, during a gale of wind off Elesmere port. If you think them worthy a place in your amusing Table Book, be pleased to accept from

Sir,
Your most obedient servant,
J. F. Phœnix.

Bold-street, Liverpool,
Oct. 15, 1827.

HERMITS.

Mr. J. Pettit Andrews has two anecdotes concerning hermits, which exemplify the strength of the “ruling” passion, when the individual is “dead to the world:” viz.

St. Romuald.

Born at Ravenna, of noble parentage; he embraced, towards the middle of the tenth century, the state of a hermit, under the direction of a solitary, whose severity at least equalled his piety. Romuald bore for a long time, without a murmur, the repeated thumps which he received from his holy teacher; but observing that they were continually directed to his left side, “Honour my right ear, my dear master,” said he, meekly, “with some of your attention, for I have nearly lost the use of my left ear, through your partiality to that side.” Romuald, when he became master of his own conduct, showed that he could on occasion copy the rigour of his preceptor; for, hearing that his own father, who had embraced a monastic life, entertained thoughts of re-entering the world again, he hurried to the monastery, and, by the rhetoric of a very hearty drubbing, brought his unsteady parent over to a more settled way of thinking.

Amadeus, Duke of Savoy.

This prince, in the fifteenth century, took upon him to become a hermit; with how much abstinence and moderation he demeaned himself, may be judged from this circumstance, that the French make use of the expression “faire ripailles,” when they would speak of giving way to every indulgence and enjoyment; and they take the term from “Ripailles,” the name of this pious recluse’s hermitage.

Besides his attachment to every possible luxury, this holy anchoret had a peculiar pride in his beard, which was singularly fine and picturesque. Political motives made the cardinals seek him in his retreat, to confer on him the dignity of pope; but no persuasions nor representations would make him consent to part with that favourite beard, until the ridicule which its preposterous appearance under the tiara occasioned, brought him to agree to its removal. Even the pomp of the papal chair could not long detain him from Ripailles. He soon quitted the triple crown, that he might repossess his beloved retreat.

CURIOUS ANECDOTES OF BIRMINGHAM MANUFACTURERS AND MANUFACTURES.

Birmingham, says the late Mr. William Hutton, (the historian of this large and populous town,) Birmingham began with the productions of the anvil, and probably will end with them. The sons of the hammer were once her chief inhabitants; but that great crowd of artists is now lost in a greater. Genius seems to increase with multitude. Part of the riches, extension, and improvement of Birmingham, are owing to the late John Taylor, Esq. who possessed the singular power of perceiving things as they really were. The spring and consequence of action were open to his view. He rose from minute beginnings to shine in the commercial, as Shakspeare did in the poetical, and Newton in the philosophical, hemisphere.

To this uncommon genius we owe the gilt button, the japanned and gilt snuff-boxes, with the numerous race of enamels. From the same fountain issued the painted snuff-box, at which one servant earned three pounds ten shillings per week, by painting them at a farthing each. In his shops were weekly manufactured, buttons to the amount of 800l., exclusive of other valuable productions. One of the present nobility, of distinguished taste, examining the works with the master, purchased some of the articles, among others, a toy of eighty guineas value; and while paying for them, observed with a smile, “he plainly saw he could not reside in Birmingham for less than two hundred pounds a day.” Mr. Taylor died in 1775, at the age of sixty-four, after acquiring a fortune of 200,000l.

The active powers of genius, the instigation of profit, and the affinity of one calling to another, often induce the artist to change his occupation. There is nothing more common among us; even the divine and the lawyer are prone to this change. Thus the church throws her dead weight into the scale of commerce, and the law gives up the cause of contention: but there is nothing more disgraceful, except thieving, in other places. “I am told,” says an elderly gentleman, as he amused himself in a pitiful bookseller’s shop in a wretched market town, “that you are a stocking-maker by trade!” The humble bookseller, half confused, and wholly ashamed, could not deny the charge. “Ah,” cried the senior, whose features were modelled between the sneer and the smile, “there is neither honour nor profit in changing the trade you were bred to. Do not attempt to sell books, but stay at home, and pursue your own business.” The dejected bookseller, scarcely one step higher than a “walking stationer,” lived to acquire a large fortune. Had he followed the senior’s advice, he might, like a common foot soldier, have starved upon eight-pence a day. This humble and dejected bookseller was Mr. Hutton himself. He says, toy trades first made their appearance in Birmingham in the beginning of Charles the Second’s reign, in an endless variety, attended with all their beauties and their graces. When he wrote, he ranked, as first in preeminence, the

Button.

This beautiful ornament, says Mr. Hutton, appears with infinite variation; and though the original date is rather uncertain, yet we well remember the long coats of our grandfathers covered with half a gross of high tops, and the cloaks of our grandmothers ornamented with a horn button nearly the size of a crown piece, a watch, or a John-apple, curiously wrought, as having passed through the Birmingham press.

Though, continues Mr. Hutton, the common round button keeps on with the steady pace of the day, yet we sometimes see the oval, the square, the pea, the concave, and the pyramid, flash into existence. In some branches of traffic the wearer calls loudly for new fashions; but in this, the fashions tread upon each other, and crowd upon the wearer. The consumption of this article is astonishing: the value in 1781 was from three-pence a gross to one hundred and forty guineas.

In 1818, the art of gilding buttons was arrived at such a degree of refinement in Birmingham, that three pennyworth of gold was made to cover a gross of buttons: these were sold at a price proportionably low. The experiment has been tried to produce gilt buttons without any gold; but it was found not to answer, the manufacturer losing more in the consumption than he saved in the material. There seems, says Mr. Hutton, to be hidden treasures couched within this magic circle, known only to a few, who extract prodigious fortunes out of this useful toy, whilst a far greater number submit to a statute of bankruptcy. Trade, like a restive horse, can rarely be managed; for, where one is carried to the end of a successful journey, many are thrown off by the way.

The next to which Mr. Hutton calls our attention, is the

Buckle.

Perhaps the shoe, in one form or other, is nearly as ancient as the foot. It originally appeared under the name of sandal; this was no other than a sole without an upper-leather. That fashion has since been inverted, and we have sometimes seen an upper-leather nearly without a sole. But whatever was the cut of the shoe, it always demanded a fastening. Under the house of Plantagenet, the shoe shot horizontally from the foot, like a Dutch skate, to an enormous length; so that the extremity was fastened to the knee, sometimes with a silver chain, a silk lace, or even a packthread string, rather than avoid genteel taste.

This thriving beak drew the attention of the legislature, which determined to prune the exorbitant shoot; for, in 1465, we find an order of council, prohibiting the growth of the shoe toe beyond two inches, under the penalty of a dreadful curse from the priest—and, what was worse, the payment of twenty shillings to the king.

This fashion, like every other, gave way to time; and, in its stead, the rose began to bud upon the foot, which, under the house of Tudor, opened in great perfection. No shoe was fashionable without being fastened with a full blown rose. Ribbons of every colour, except white, the emblem of the depressed house of York, were had in esteem; but the red, like the house of Lancaster, held the preeminence. Under the house of Stuart the rose withered, which gave rise to the shoestring. The beaux of that age ornamented their lower tier with double laces of silk, tagged with silver, and the extremities were beautified with a small fringe of the same metal. The inferior class wore laces of plain silk, linen, or even a thong of leather; which last is yet to be met with in the humble plains of rural life.

The revolution was remarkable for the introduction of William, of liberty, and the minute buckle, not differing much in size and shape from the horse bean.

This offspring of fancy, like the clouds, is ever changing. The fashion of to-day is thrown into the casting-pot to-morrow.

The buckle seems to have undergone every figure, size, and shape of geometrical invention. It has passed through every form in Euclid. The large square buckle, plated with silver, was the ton of 1781. The ladies also adopted the reigning taste; it was difficult to discover their beautiful little feet, covered with an enormous shield of buckle; and we wondered to see the active motion under the massive load.

In 1812, the whole generation of fashions, in the buckle line, was extinct; a buckle was not to be found on a female foot, nor upon any foot except that of old age.

Guns.

King William was once lamenting, “that guns were not manufactured in his dominions, but that he was obliged to procure them from Holland, at a great expense, and with greater difficulty.” Sir Richard Newdigate, one of the members for the county, being present, told the king, “that genius resided in Warwickshire, and that he thought his constituents would answer his majesty’s wishes.” The king was pleased with the remark, and the member posted to Birmingham. Upon application to a person in Digbeth, the pattern was executed with precision, and, when presented to the royal board, gave entire satisfaction. Orders were immediately issued for large numbers, which have been so frequently repeated, that they never lost their road; and the ingenious artists were so amply rewarded, that they have rolled in their carriages to this day.

It seems that the word “London” marked upon guns is a better passport than the word “Birmingham;” and the Birmingham gun-makers had long been in the habit of marking their goods as being made in London.

In 1813 some of the principal gun-makers of London brought a bill into the House of Commons to oblige every manufacturer of firearms to mark them with his real name and place of abode. The Birmingham gun-makers took the alarm; petitioned the house against the bill, and thirty-two gun-makers instantly subscribed six hundred and fifty pounds to defray the expense of opposing it. They represented that they made the component parts of the London guns, which differed from theirs only in being put together, and marked in the metropolis.

Government authorized the gun-makers of Birmingham to erect a proof-house of their own, with wardens and a proof master; and allowed them to decorate their guns with the ensigns of royalty. All firearms manufactured in Birmingham and its vicinity are subjected to the proof required by the Board of Ordnance: the expense is not to exceed one shilling each piece; and the neglect of proving is attended with a penalty not exceeding twenty pounds.

Leather.

Though there is little appearance of that necessary article in Birmingham, yet it was once a famous market for leather. Digbeth not only abounded with tanners, but large numbers of hides arrived weekly for sale, and here the whole country found a supply. When the weather would allow, they were ranged in columns in the High-street, and at other times deposited in the leather-hall, at the east end of New-street, appropriated for their reception. This market was of great antiquity, perhaps not less than seven hundred years, and continued till the beginning of the eighteenth century. Two officers are still annually chosen, who are named leather sealers, from a power given them by ancient charter to mark the vendible hides; but now the leather sealers have no duty, but that of taking an elegant dinner. Shops are erected on tan-vats, the leather-hall is gone to destruction, and in 1781 there was only one solitary tanner in Birmingham.

Steel.

The manufacture of iron, in Birmingham, is ancient beyond research; that of steel is of modern date.

Pride is inseparable from the human character; the man without it, is the man without breath. We trace it in various forms, through every degree of people; but like those objects about us, it is best discovered in our own sphere; those above and those below us rather escape our notice; envy attacks an equal. Pride induced the pope to look with contempt on the European princes, and it now induces them to return the compliment; it taught insolence to the Spaniard, selfishness to the Dutch; it teaches the rival nations of France and England to contend for power. Pride induced a late high bailiff of Birmingham, at the proclamation of the Michaelmas fair, to hold his wand two feet higher than the usual rest, that he might dazzle the crowd with a beautiful glove hanging pendant, a ruffle curiously wrought, a ring set with brilliants, and a hand delicately white. Pride preserves a man from mean actions; it throws him upon meaner. It whets the sword for destruction; it urges the laudable acts of humanity. It is the universal hinge on which we move; it glides with the gentle stream of usefulness; it overflows the mounds of reason, and swells into a destructive flood. Like the sun, in his milder rays, it animates and draws us towards perfection; but like him, in his fiercer beams, it scorches and destroys.

Money is not the necessary attendant of pride, for it abounds nowhere more than in the lowest ranks. It adds a sprucer air to a Sunday dress, casts a look of disdain upon a bundle of rags; it boasts the honour of a family, while poverty unites a sole and upper leather with a bandage of shop-thread. There are people who even pride themselves upon humility.

This dangerous good, this necessary evil, supports the female character; without it, the brightest part of the creation would degenerate. It will be asked, “What portion may be allowed?” Prudence will answer, “As much as you please, but not to disgust.” It is equally found in the senate-house and the button-shop. The scene of action is the scene of pride. He who makes steel prides himself in carrying the art one step higher than he who makes iron.

This art appeared at Birmingham in the seventeenth century, and was introduced by the family of Kettle. The name of Steelhouse-lane will convey to posterity the situation of the works; the commercial spirit of Birmingham will convey the produce to the antipodes.

From the warm but dismal climate of this town issues the button which shines on the breast, and the bayonet intended to pierce it; the lancet which bleeds the man, and the rowel the horse; the lock which preserves the beloved bottle, and the screw to uncork it; the needle, equally obedient to the thimble and the pole.

Brass Works.

The manufacture of brass was introduced into Birmingham by the family of Turner about 1740. They erected those works at the south end of Coleshill-street; then near two hundred yards beyond the buildings, but now the buildings extend half a mile beyond them.

Under the black clouds which arose from this corpulent tunnel, some of the trades collected their daily supply of brass, but the major part was drawn from the Macclesfield, Cheadle, and Bristol companies.

“Causes are known by their effects;” the fine feelings of the heart are easily read in the features of the face; the still operations of the mind are discovered by the rougher operations of the hand. Every creature is fond of power, from that noble head of the creation man, who devours man, down to that insignificant mite who devours his cheese: every man strives to be free himself, and to shackle another. Where there is power of any kind, whether in the hands of a prince, a people, a body of men, or a private person, there is a propensity to abuse it: abuse of power will everlastingly seek itself a remedy, and frequently find it; nay, even this remedy may in time degenerate into abuse, and call loudly for another.

Brass is an object of some magnitude in the trades of Birmingham, the consumption is said to be a thousand tons per annum. The manufacture of this useful article had long been in the hands of few and opulent men, who, instead of making the humble bow for favours received, acted with despotic sovereignty, established their own laws, chose their customers, directed the price, and governed the market. In 1780 the article rose, either through caprice or necessity, perhaps the former, from seventy-two pounds a ton to eighty-four pounds. The result was, an advance upon the goods manufactured, followed by a number of counter-orders, and a stagnation of business.

In 1781, a person, from affection to the user or resentment to the maker, perhaps the latter, harangued the public in the weekly papers, censured the arbitrary measures of the brazen sovereigns, showed their dangerous influence over the trades of the town, and the easy manner in which works of our own might be constructed. Good often arises out of evil; this fiery match quickly kindled another furnace in Birmingham. Public meetings were advertised, a committee appointed, and subscriptions opened to fill two hundred shares, of one hundred pounds each, which was deemed a sufficient capital; each proprietor of a share to purchase one ton of brass annually. Works were immediately erected upon the banks of the canal, for the advantage of water carriage, and the whole was conducted with the true spirit of Birmingham freedom.

The old companies, which we may justly consider the directors of a South Sea bubble in miniature, sunk the price from eighty-four pounds to fifty-six pounds. Two inferences arise from this measure; that their profits were once very high, or were now very low; and, that like some former monarchs in the abuse of power, they repented one day too late.

Nails.

The art of nail-making is one of the most ancient in Birmingham. It is not, however, so much a trade in, as of Birmingham, for there are but few nail-makers left in the town; the nailors are chiefly masters, and rather opulent. The manufacturers are so scattered round the country, that we cannot travel far in any direction out of the sound of the nail-hammer. Birmingham, like a powerful magnet, draws the produce of the anvil to herself.

When I first approached Birmingham, says Mr. Hutton, from Walsall in 1741, I was surprised at the prodigious number of blacksmiths’ shops upon the road; and could not conceive how a country, though populous, could support so many people of the same occupation. In some of these shops I observed one or more females stript of their upper garment, and not overcharged with their lower, wielding the hammer with all the grace of the sex. The beauties of their face were rather eclipsed by the smut of the anvil. Struck with the novelty, I inquired “Whether the ladies in this country shod horses?” but was answered, with a smile, “They are nailers.”

A fire without heat, a nailer of a fair complexion, or one who despises the tankard, are equally rare among them. His whole system of faith may be comprised in one article—That the slender mug, used in a public-house, “is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.”

While the master reaps harvest of plenty, the workman submits to the scanty gleanings of penury, a thin habit, an early old age, and a figure bending towards the earth. Plenty comes not near his dwelling, except of rags and of children. His hammer is worn into deep hollows, fitting the fingers of a dark hand, hard as the timber it wears. His face, like the moon, is often seen through a cloud.

Bellows.

Man first catches the profession; the profession afterwards moulds the man. In whatever profession we engage we assume its character, become a part of it, vindicate its honour, its eminence, its antiquity, or feel a wound through its sides. Though there may be no more pride in a minister of state who opens a budget, than in a tinker who carries one, yet they equally contend for the honour of their trade.

The bellows-maker proclaims the honour of his art by observing, he alone produces that instrument which commands the winds; his soft breeze, like that of the south, counteracts the chill blasts of winter; by his efforts, like those of the sun, the world receives light; he creates when he pleases, and gives breath when he creates. In his caverns the winds sleep at pleasure, and by his “orders” they set Europe in flames. He farther pretends, that the antiquity of his occupation will appear from the plenty of elm, once in the neighbourhood, but long cut up for his use; that the leather-market in Birmingham, for many ages, furnished him with sides; and though the manufacture of iron is allowed to be extremely ancient, yet the smith could not procure his heat without a blast, nor could that blast be raised without the bellows. One inference will arise from these remarks, that bellows-making is one of the oldest trades in Birmingham.

Thread.

We who reside in the interior parts of the kingdom may observe the first traces of a river when it issues from its fountain, the current so extremely small, that if a bottle of liquor, distilled through the urinary vessels, were discharged into its course, it would manifestly augment the water and quicken the stream: the reviving bottle, having added spirits to the man, would seem to add spirits to the river. If we pursue this river, winding through one hundred and thirty miles, we shall observe it collect strength as it runs, expand its borders, swell into consequence, employ multitudes of people, carry wealth in its bosom, and exactly resemble thread-making in Birmingham. If we represent to our ideas a man able to employ three or four people, himself in an apron one of the number, but who being unable to write his name, shows his attachment to the Christian religion by signing the cross to receipts; whose method of book-keeping, like that of the publican, is a door and a lump of chalk; producing a book which none can peruse but himself; who having manufactured forty pounds weight of thread, of divers colours, and rammed it into a pair of leathern bags, something larger than a pair of boots, which we might deem the arms of his trade empaled; slung them on a horse, and placed himself on the top by way of a crest; visits an adjacent market, to starve with his goods at a stall, or retail them to the mercer, nor return without the money—we shall see a thread-maker of 1652. If we pursue this occupation, winding through the mazes of one hundred and thirty years, we shall see it enlarge its boundaries, multiply its people, increase its consequence and wealth, till in 1782 we behold the master in possession of correct accounts, the apron thrown aside, the stall kicked over, the bags tossed into the garret, and the mercer overlooked in the grand prospect of exportation. We farther behold him take the lead in provincial concerns, step into his own carriage, and hold the king’s commission as a magistrate.[441]