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

Garrick Plays.
No. XIII.

[From the “Battle of Alcazar, a Tragedy,” 1594.]

Muly Mahamet, driven from his throne into a desart, robs the Lioness to feed his fainting Wife Calipolis.

[From the “Seven Champions of Christendom,” by John Kirk, acted 1638.]

Calib, the Witch, in the opening Scene, in a Storm.

[From “Two Tragedies in One,” by Robert Yarrington, who wrote in the reign of Elizabeth.]

Truth, the Chorus, to the Spectators.

Murderer to his Sister, about to stow away the trunk of the body, having severed it from the limbs.

It is curious, that this old Play comprises the distinct action of two Atrocities; the one a vulgar murder, committed in our own Thames Street, with the names and incidents truly and historically set down; the other a Murder in high life, supposed to be acting at the same time in Italy, the scenes alternating between that country and England: the Story of the latter is mutatis mutandis no other than that of our own “Babes in the Wood,” transferred to Italy, from delicacy no doubt to some of the family of the rich Wicked Uncle, who might yet be living. The treatment of the two differs as the romance-like narratives in “God’s Revenge against Murder,” in which the Actors of the Murders (with the trifling exception that they were Murderers) are represented as most accomplished and every way amiable young Gentlefolks of either sex—as much as that differs from the honest unglossing pages of the homely Newgate Ordinary.

C. L.

The Old Bear Garden
AT BANKSIDE, SOUTHWARK.

Bear Baiting—Masters of the Bears and Dogs—Edward Alleyn—The Falcon Tavern, &c.

The Bull and the Bear baiting, on the Bankside, seem to have preceded, in point of time, the several other ancient theatres of the metropolis. The precise date of their erection is not ascertained, but a Bear-garden on the Bankside is mentioned by one Crowley, a poet, of the reign of Henry VIII., as being at that time in existence. He informs us, that the exhibitions were on a Sunday, that they drew full assemblies, and that the price of admission was then one halfpenny!

Whether these “rough games,” as a certain author terms them, were then exhibited in the same or similar amphitheatres, to those afterwards engraved in our old plans, or in the open air, the extract does not inform us. Nor does Stowe’s account afford any better idea. He merely tells us, that there were on the west bank “two bear gardens, the old and the new; places, wherein were kept beares, bulls, and other beasts to be bayted; as also mastives in several kenels, nourished to bayt them. These beares and other beasts,” he adds, “are there kept in plots of ground, scaffolded about, for the beholders to stand safe.”

In Aggass’s plan, taken 1574, and the plan of Braun, made about the same time, these plots of ground are engraved, with the addition of two circi, for the accommodation of the spectators, bearing the names of the “Bowll Baytyng, and the Beare Baytinge.” In both plans, the buildings appear to be completely circular, and were evidently intended as humble imitations of the ancient Roman amphitheatre. They stood in two adjoining fields, separated only by a small slip of land; but some differences are observable in the spots on which they are built.

In Aggas’s plan, which is the earliest, the disjoining slip of land contains only one large pond, common to the two places of exhibition; but in Braun, this appears divided into three ponds, besides a similar conveniency near each theatre. The use of these pieces of water is very well explained in Brown’s Travels, (1685) who has given a plate of the “Elector of Saxony his beare garden at Dresden,” in which is a large pond, with several bears amusing themselves in it; his account of which is highly curious:

“In the hunting-house, in the old town,” says he, “are fifteen bears, very well provided for, and looked unto. They have fountains and ponds, to wash themselves in, wherein they much delight: and near to the pond are high ragged posts or trees, set up for the bears to climb up, and scaffolds made at the top, to sun and dry themselves; where they will also sleep, and come and go as the keeper calls them.”

The ponds, and dog-kennels, for the bears on the Bankside, are clearly marked in the plans alluded to; and the construction of the amphitheatres themselves may be tolerably well conceived, notwithstanding the smallness of the scale on which they are drawn. They evidently consisted, within-side, of a lower tier of circular seats for the spectators, at the back of which, a sort of screen ran all round, in part open, so as to admit a view from without, evident in Braun’s delineation, by the figures who are looking through, on the outside. The buildings are unroofed, and in both plans shown during the time of performance, which in Aggas’s view is announced by the display of little flags or streamers on the top. The dogs are tied up in slips near each, ready for the sport, and the combatants actually engaged in Braun’s plan. Two little houses for retirement are at the head of each theatre.

The amusement of bear-baiting in England existed, however, long before the mention here made of it. In the Northumberland Household Book, compiled in the reign of Henry VII., enumerating “al maner of rewardis customable usede yearely to be yeven by my Lorde to strangers, as players, mynstraills, or any other strangers, whatsomever they be,” are the following:

“Furst, my Lorde usith and accustomyth to gyff yerely, the Kinge or the Queene’s barwarde. If they have one, when they custome to com unto hym, yearely—vj. s. viij. d.”

“Item, my Lorde usith and accustomyth to gyfe yerly, when his Lordshipe is at home, to his barward, when he comyth to my Lorde in Christmas, with his Lordshippe’s beests, for makynge of his Lordship pastyme, the said xij. days—xx. s.”

It made one of the favourite amusements of the romantic age of queen Elizabeth, and was introduced among the princely pleasures of Kenilworth in 1575, where the droll author of the account introduces the bear and dogs deciding their ancient grudge per duellum.[121]

“Well, Syr (says he), the bearz wear brought foorth intoo coourt, the dogs set too them, too argu the points eeven face to face, they had learnd coounsell allso a both parts: what may they be coounted parciall that are retained but a to syde, I ween. No wery feers both tou and toother eager in argument: if the dog in pleadyng woold pluk the bear by the throte, the bear with trauers woould claw him again by the skaip, confess and a list; but a voyd a coold not that waz bound too the bar: and hiz counsell toll’d him that it coold be too him no poliecy in pleading. Thearfore, thus with fending and proouing, with plucking and tugging, skratting and byting, by plain tooth and nayll, a to side and toother, such erspes of blood and leather was thear between them, az a month’s licking, I ween, wyl not recoover, and yet remain az far oout az euer they wear. It waz a sport very pleazaunt of theez beastys: to see the bear with hiz pink nyez leering after hiz enmiez approch, the nimblness and wayt of ye dog too take his auauntage, and the fors and experiens of the bear agayn to auoyd the assauts: if he wear bitten in one place, hoow he woold pynch in anoother too get free: that if he wear taken onez, then what shyft with byting, with clawyng, with roring, torsing and tumbling, he woold work to wynde hymself from them; and when he was lose, to shake hiz earz twyse or thryse wyth the blud and the slaver aboout hiz fiznamy, was a matter of a goodly releef.”

It is not to be wondered at, that an amusement, thus patronised by the great, and even by royalty itself, ferocious as it was, should be the delight of the vulgar, whose untutored taste it was peculiarly calculated to please. Accordingly, bear-baiting seems to have been amazingly frequented, at this time, especially on Sundays. On one of these days, in 1582, a dire accident befell the spectators. The scaffolding suddenly gave way, and multitudes of people were killed, or miserably maimed. This was looked upon as a judgment, and as such was noticed by divines, and other grave characters, in their sermons and writings. The lord mayor for that year (sir Thomas Blanke) wrote on the occasion to the lord treasurer, “that it gave great reason to acknowledge the hand of God, for breach of the Lord’s Day,” and moved him to redress the same.

Little notice, however, was taken of his application; the accident was forgot; and the barbarous amusement soon followed as much as ever, Stowe assuring us, in his work, printed many years afterwards, “that for baiting of bulls and bears, they were, till that time, much frequented, namely, in bear gardens on the Bankside.” The commonalty could not be expected to reform what had the sanction of the highest example, and the labours of the moralist were as unavailing as in the case of pugilism in the present day.

In the succeeding reign, the general introduction of the drama operated as a check to the practice, and the public taste took a turn. One of these theatres gave place to “the Globe;” the other remained long after. This second theatre, which retained its original name of the “Bear-baiting,” was rebuilt on a larger scale, about the beginning of James the First’s reign; and of an octagonal form instead of round, as before; in which respect it resembled the other theatres on the Bankside. The first engraving in this article contains a view of it in this state, from the long print of London by Vischer, usually called the Antwerp view. In this representation, the slips, or dog-kennels, are again distinctly marked, as well as the ponds. The second engraving, from Hollar’s view about 1648, shows it as it was a third time rebuilt on a larger scale, and again of the circular shape, when “plays” and prize-fighting were added to the amusements exhibited at it.

In the reign of James I. the “Bear-garden” was under the protection of royalty, and the mastership of it made a patent place. The celebrated actor Alleyn enjoyed this lucrative post, as keeper of the king’s wild beasts, or master of the royal bear-garden, situated on the Bankside, in Southwark. The profits of this place are said by his biographer to have been immense, sometimes amounting to 500l. a year; and well account for the great fortune he raised. A little before his death he sold his share and patent to his wife’s father, Mr. Hinchtoe, for 580l.

We have a good account of the “Bear-baiting,” in the reign of Charles II., by one Mons. Jorevin, a foreigner, whose observations on this country were published in 1672,[122] and who has given us the following curious detail of a visit he paid to it:—

“We went to see the Bergiardin, by Sodoark,[123] which is a great amphitheatre, where combats are fought between all sorts of animals, and sometimes men, as we once saw. Commonly, when any fencing-masters are desirous of showing their courage and their great skill, they issue mutual challenges, and, before they engage, parade the town with drums and trumpets sounding, to inform the public there is a challenge between two brave masters of the science of defence, and that the battle will be fought on such a day. We went to see this combat, which was performed on a stage in the middle of this amphitheatre, where, on the flourishes of trumpets, and the beat of drums, the combatants entered, stripped to their shirts. On a signal from the drum, they drew their swords, and immediately began the fight, skirmishing a long time without any wounds. They were both very skilful and courageous. The tallest had the advantage over the least; for, according to the English fashion of fencing, they endeavoured rather to cut, than push in the French manner; so that by his height he had the advantage of being able to strike his antagonist on the head, against which, the little one was on his guard. He had, in his turn, an advantage over the great one, in being able to give him the Jarnac stroke, by cutting him on his right ham, which he left in a manner quite unguarded. So that, all things considered, they were equally matched. Nevertheless, the tall one struck his antagonist on the wrist, which he almost cut off; but this did not prevent him from continuing the fight, after he had been dressed, and taken a glass or two of wine to give him courage, when he took ample vengeance for his wound; for a little afterwards, making a feint at the ham, the tall man, stooping in order to parry it, laid his whole head open, when the little one gave him a stroke, which took off a slice of his head, and almost all his ear. For my part, I think there is an inhumanity, a barbarity, and cruelty, in permitting men to kill each other for diversion. The surgeons immediately dressed them, and bound up their wounds; which being done, they resumed the combat, and both being sensible of their respective disadvantages, they therefore were a long time without giving or receiving a wound, which was the cause that the little one, failing to parry so exactly, being tired with this long battle received a stroke on his wounded wrist, which dividing the sinews, he remained vanquished, and the tall conqueror received the applause of the spectators. For my part, I should have had more pleasure in seeing the battle of the bears and dogs, which was fought the following day on the same theatre.”

It does not appear at what period the Bear-baiting was destroyed, but it was, probably, not long after the above period. Strype, in his first edition of Stowe, published 1720, speaking of “Bear Alley,” on this spot, says, “Here is a glass-house, and about the middle a new-built court, well-inhabited, called Bear-garden Square; so called, as built in the place where the Bear-garden formerly stood, until removed to the other side of the water; which is more convenient for the butchers, and such like, who are taken with such rustic sports as the baiting of bears and bulls.” The theatre was evidently destroyed to build this then new court.[124]

According to an entry in the Parochial Books in 1586, one Morgan Pope agreed to pay the parish of St. Saviour, Southwark, for the Bear-garden, and the ground where the dogs were kept, 6s. 8d. arrears and 6s. 8d. for tithes.

The old Bear-garden at Bankside, and the Globe theatre wherein Shakspeare’s plays were originally performed, and he himself sometimes acted, was in the manor or liberty of Paris Garden. Near this, and in the same manor, were the Hope, the Swan, and the Rose theatres. It appears from “an ancient Survey on vellum made in the reign of queen Elizabeth,” that “Olde Paris Garden Lane” ran from Bankside, in the direction of the present Blackfriars-road, to stairs at the river’s-side near to, or perhaps on the very spot now occupied by, the Surry end of Blackfriars-bridge, and opposite to this lane in the road of the Bankside stood an old stone cross, which, therefore, were it remaining, would now stand in Blackfriars-road, near Holland-street, leading to the present Falcon glass-house, opposite to which site was the old Falcon tavern, celebrated for having been the daily resort of Shakspeare and his dramatic companions. Till of late years, the Falcon inn was a house of great business, and the place from whence coaches went to all parts of Kent, Surry, and Sussex. In 1805, before the old house was taken down, Mr. Wilkinson, of Cornhill, caused a drawing to be made, and published an engraving of it. “The Bull and Bear Baiting” were two or three hundred yards eastward of the Falcon, and beyond were the Globe and the other theatres just mentioned. “The site of the Old Bear-garden retaining its name, is now occupied by Mr. Bradley’s extensive iron-foundery, in which shot and shells are cast for the government.”[125]

The royal officer, called the “master of the bears and dogs,” under queen Elizabeth and king James I., had a fee of a farthing per day. Sir John Darrington held the office in 1600, when he was commanded on a short notice to exhibit before the queen in the Tilt-yard; but not having a proper stock of animals, he was obliged to apply to Edward Alleyn, (the founder of Dulwich-college,) and Philip Henslow, then owner of the Bear-garden in Southwark, for their assistance. On his death, king James granted the office to sir William Steward, who, it seems, interrupted Alleyn and Henslow as not having a license, and yet refused to take their stock at a reasonable price, so that they were obliged to buy his patent. Alleyn and Henslow complained much of this in a petition to the king, containing many curious circumstances, which Mr. Lysons has published at length. Alleyn held this office till his death, or very near it: he is styled by it in the letters patent for the foundation of his college in 1620. Among his papers there is a covenant from Peter Street, for the building at the Bear-garden, fifty-six feet long and sixteen wide, the estimate of the carpenter’s work being sixty-five pounds.

The latest patent discovered to have been granted for the office of master of the bears and dogs is that granted to sir Sanders Duncombe in 1639, for the sole practising and profit of the fighting and combating of wild and domestic beasts in England, for fourteen years.

This practice was checked by the parliament in 1642. On the 10th of December in that year, Mr. Whittacre presented in writing an examination of the words expressed by the master of the Bear-garden, “that he would cut the throats of those that refused to subscribe a petition:” whereupon it was resolved, on the question “that Mr. Godfray, master of the Bear-garden, shall be forthwith committed to Newgate—Ordered, the masters of the Bear-garden, and all other persons who have interest there, be enjoined and required by this house, that for the future they do not permit to be used the game of bear-baiting in these times of great distraction, till this house do give further order herein.” The practice, however, did not wholly discontinue in the neighbourhood of London till 1750. Of late years this public exhibition was revived in Duck-lane, Westminster, and at the present time is not wholly suppressed.

Literature.

A NEW POEM.
“Ahab, in four Cantos. By S. R. Jackson.”

Mr. Jackson, the author of several poems, whose merits he deems to have been disregarded, puts forth “Ahab,” with renewed hope, and a remarkable address. He says—

“Reader, hast thou not seen a solitary buoy floating on the vast ocean? the waves dash against it, and the broad keel of the vessel sweeps over and presses it down, yet it rises again to the surface, prepared for every assault—I am like that buoy. Thrice have I appeared before you, thrice have the waves of neglect passed over me, and once more I rise, a candidate for your good opinion. My wish is not merely to succeed, but to merit success. Palmam qui meruit ferat, was the motto of one who will never be forgotten, and I hope to quote it without seeming to be presumptuous. I am told by some who are deemed competent judges, that I am deserving of encouragement, and I here solicit it.

“During the printing of this work, one has criticised a rough rhyme, another cried—‘Ha! what, you turned poet?’ and giving his head a significant shake, said, ‘better mind Cocker.’ ‘So I would,’ I replied, ‘but Cocker won’t mind me.’ In all the various changes of my life the Muse has not deserted me: beloved ones have vanished—friends have deceived—but she has remained faithful. One critic has advised this addition, another that curtailment; but remembering the story of the old man and the boy, and the ass, I plod on: not that I am indifferent to opinion—far from it; but there are persons whose advice one cannot take—who find fault merely for the sake of talking, and impale an author from mere spleen.

“The poem now submitted to your notice is founded on the 21st and 22d chapters in the First Book of Kings: in it I have endeavoured to show, that crime always brings its own punishment; that whenever we do wrong, an inward monitor reminds us of it: and have sought to revive in the spirits of Englishmen that patriotic feeling which is daily becoming more dormant.

“At this season,[126] when the leaves are falling fast, booksellers, as well as trees, get cold-hearted—they will not purchase; nor can I blame them, for if the tide of public opinion sets in against poetry, they would be wrong to buy what they cannot sell. Yet they might, some of them at least, treat an author more respectfully; they might look at his work, it would not take them a long time to do so; and they could then tell if it would suit them or not. Unfortunately, a manuscript need but be in verse, and it will be worth nothing. I fancy the booksellers are like the horse in the team, they have carried the poet’s bells so long that they have become weary of the jingle. Be this as it may, I have tried, and could not get a purchaser. It was true I had published before, but my productions came out unaided, and remained unnoticed. I had no patron’s name to herald mine. I sent copies to the Reviews, but, with the exception of the Literary Chronicle and Gentleman’s Magazine, they were unnoticed. The doors to publicity being thus closed against me, what could I do, but fail, as better bards have done before me——”

There is an affecting claim in the versified conclusion of the preface.

“With these feelings I submit my poem to notice, and but request such patronage as it may deserve.”

The following invocation, which commences the poem, will arrest attention.

Perhaps the reader may be further propitiated in the author’s behalf by the

“Dedication.”

“To the Rev. Christopher Benson, M. A. Prebendary of Worcester, and Rector of St. Giles in the Fields.

“Sir—Being wholly unused to patronage, I know not how to invoke it, but by plainly saying, that I wish for protection to whatever may be deemed worthy of regard in the following pages.

“I respectfully dedicate the poem to you, sir, from a deep sense of the esteem wherein you are held; and, I openly confess, with considerable anxiety that you may approve, and that your name may sanction and assist my efforts.

“In strictness perhaps I ought to have solicited your permission to do this; but, with the wishes I have expressed, and conscious of the rectitude of my motives, I persuade myself that you will see I could not afford to hazard your declining, from private feelings, a public testimony of unfeigned respect, from a humble and unknown individual.

“I am, sir, your most obedient
And sincerely devoted servant,
“Samuel Richard Jackson.

“Sept. 29, 1826.”

Mr. Jackson has other offspring besides the productions of his muse, and their infant voices may be imagined to proclaim in plain prose that the present volume, and it is a volume—a hundred pages in full sized octavo—is published for the author, by Messrs. Sherwood and Co. “price 4s. in boards.”—Kind-hearted readers will take the hint.

PULPIT CLOCKS, AND HOUR GLASSES.

In the annals of Dunstable Priory is this item: “In 1483, made a clock over the pulpit.”

A stand for a hour-glass still remains in many pulpits. A rector of Bibury used to preach two hours, regularly turning the glass. After the text, the esquire of the parish withdrew, smoked his pipe, and returned to the blessing. Lecturers’ pulpits have also hour-glasses. The priest had sometimes a watch found him by the parish.[127]

Easter.

RESTORATION OF THE CATHOLIC RELIGION IN FRANCE.

The catholic religion was that in which the French were brought up; and they were, from habit at least, if not from conviction, attached to it: so far was its overthrow from meeting with the general approbation and concurrence of the nation, that if it was acquiesced in for a time, it was merely from a feeling of inability to avert the blow; and the persecution which it experienced only served, as all persecution does, to endear the object of it more strongly to them.

Such would have been the effect, even if the attempt made had only been to substitute by force some other mode of faith in its place; but when the question was to annihilate religion itself, no sane mind could possibly dream of ultimate success. The sense of dependence upon some unseen power far above our comprehension, is a principle inherent in human nature;—no nation has yet been discovered, how remote soever from civilisation in its customs and manners, in which some ideas of a power superior to all earthly ones were not to be found.

The French are generally characterised as fond of novelty, and always seeking after it with eagerness; and yet, however paradoxical it may appear, it is no less true, that in many respects no people adhere more tenaciously to ancient habits and customs. Nothing contributed so essentially to the final overthrow of the violent revolutionists—no, not even the horror excited by the torrents of blood which they shed—as their endeavouring all at once to deprive the people of many habits and customs which they particularly cherished; nor did any thing contribute more strongly to Bonaparte’s power, than his restoring them.

These reflections were suggested to Miss Plumptre by one of the most remarkable scenes that occurred while she was at Paris—the procession to the church of Nôtre-Dame on Easter Sunday, for the public restoration of the catholic worship. The free exercise of their religion had been for several months allowed to the people, and the churches, which had long been shut, were reopened; but this was the first occasion on which the constituted authorities had, as a body, assisted in any religious ceremony. As to the reestablishment of religion being grateful to the people, not a doubt remained in her mind; every opportunity which had been afforded her of investigating the matter, since she first landed in France, had given her so strong a conviction of it, that it could not be increased by any thing she was about to witness. But another experiment which was to be made on the occasion was a greater subject of curiosity; and this was, that the procession and ceremonies were to be in some sort a revival of the ancient court splendour and pageantry.

Deeply impressed with this kind of curiosity, and knowing that the only way to be fully informed of the sentiments of the people was to make one among them, she and her friends took their stations in the square before the great entrance to the Palais-royal, where a double rank of soldiers formed a lane to keep a passage clear for the procession. They procured chairs from a neighbouring house, which served as seats till the cavalcade began, and then they stood on them to see it pass. She describes the ceremonies in the following manner.

The square was thronged with people, and we could with the utmost facility attend to the sentiments uttered by the circle round us. The restoration of religion seemed to engage but a small part of their attention—that was an idea so familiar to them, that it had almost ceased to excite emotion; but they were excessively occupied by speculations on the procession, which report had said was to be one of the most magnificent sights ever seen in France, at least since the banishment of royalty with all its brilliant train of appendages.

At length it began:—It consisted first of about five thousand of the consular guard, part infantry, part cavalry; next followed the carriages of the senate, the legislative body, the tribunate, and all the public officers, with those of the foreign ambassadors, and some private carriages. After these came the eight beautiful cream-coloured horses which had been just before presented to Bonaparte by the king of Spain, each led by a young Mameluke, in the costume of his country; and then Roustan, Bonaparte’s Mameluke, friend, and attendant, upon all occasions. Then came the coach with the three consuls, drawn by eight horses, with three footmen behind, who, with the coachmen, were all in rich liveries, green velvet laced with gold, and bags: the servants of some of the great public officers were also in bags and liveries. About a hundred dragoons following the consular carriage closed the procession.

A sort of cynical philosopher who stood near us made a wry face every now and then, as the procession passed, and once or twice muttered in his teeth, Qui est-ce qui peut dire que cet homme là n’a point de l’ostentation? “Who will pretend to say that this man is not ostentatious?” But the multitude, after having been lavish of “charmant!” “superbe!” “magnifique!” and other the like epithets, to all that preceded the consular carriage, at last, when they saw that appear with the eight horses, and the rich liveries and bags, gave a general shout, and exclaimed, Ah, voilà encore la bourse et la livrée!—oh, comme ça est beau!—Comme ça fait plaisir! voilà! qui commence véritablement un peu à prendre couleur! “Ah! see there again the bag and the livery!—Oh, how handsome that is!—What pleasure it gives to see it!—This begins indeed to assume something like an appearance!” Nor in the pleasure they felt at the revival of this parade, did the idea seem once to intrude itself, of examining into the birth of him who presided over it, or his pretensions to being their chief magistrate: it was enough that their ancient hobby-horse was restored, and it was matter of indifference to them by whom the curb which guided it was held. Among those whom I had a more particular opportunity of observing, was a well-dressed and respectable-looking man, about the middle age, who from his appearance might be supposed some creditable tradesman. He had been standing by me for some time before the procession began, and we had entered into conversation; he was eloquent in his eulogium of Bonaparte, for having made such an extraordinary progress in calming the spirit of faction, which had long harassed the country; and particularly he spoke with exultation of his having so entirely silenced the Jacobins, that there appeared every reason to hope that their influence was fallen, never to rise again. He was among the most eager in his expressions of admiration of the procession; and at the conclusion of it, turning to me, he said, with a very triumphant air and manner, Comme les Jacobins seront hébêtés de tout ceci. “How the Jacobins will be cast down with all this!”

While the procession was passing, the remarks were confined to general exclamation, as the objects that presented themselves struck the fancy of the spectators; but when all was gone by, comparisons in abundance began to fly about, between the splendour here displayed, and the mean appearance of every thing during the reign of Jacobinism, which all ended to the disadvantage of the latter, and the advantage of the present system: Tout étoit si mesquine dans ce tems là—Ceci est digne d’une nation telle que la France. “Every thing was so mean in those days—This is worthy of such a nation as France.” Some, who were too much behind to have seen the consular carriage, were eager in their inquiries about it. They could see, and had admired, the bags and liveries, but they could not tell what number of horses there were to the carriage; and they learned, with great satisfaction, that there were eight. Ah, c’est bien, they said, c’est comme autrefois—enfin nous reconnoissons notre pays. “Ah, ’tis well—’tis as formerly—at length we can recognise our own country again.” And then the troops—never was any thing seen plus superbe, plus magnifique—and they were all French, no Swiss guards. Here the ancien régime came in for a random stroke.

After discussing these things for a while, the assembly dispersed into different parts of the town, some going towards the church, to try whether any thing further was to be seen there; but most went to walk in the gardens of the Thuilleries, and other parts, to see the preparations for the illumination in the evening, and thus pass the time away till the procession was likely to return. We employed ourselves in this manner; and, after walking about for near two hours, resumed our former stations. Here we saw the procession return in the same order that it had gone; when it was received with similar notes of approbation. In the evening there was a concert for the public in the gardens of the Thuilleries, and the principal theatres were opened to the public gratis. The chateau and gardens of the Thuilleries were brilliantly illuminated, as were the public offices and the theatres, and there were fireworks in different parts of the town.

A very striking thing observable in this day, was the strong contrast presented between a great gathering together of the people in France and in England; and I must own that this contrast was not to the advantage of my own fellow-countrymen. On such occasions honest John Bull thinks he does not show the true spirit of liberty, unless he jostles, squeezes, elbows, and pushes his neighbours about as much as possible. Among the Parisian populace, on the contrary, there is a peaceableness of demeanour, a spirit of order, and an endeavour in each individual to accommodate his neighbour, which I confess I thought far more pleasing—shall I not say also more civilized—than honest John’s free-born elbowing and pushing. All the liberty desired by a Frenchman on such occasions, is that of walking about quietly to observe all that passes, and of imparting his observations and admiration to his neighbour; for talk he must—he would feel no pleasure unless he had some one to whom his feelings could be communicated.

We went the next morning to see the decorations of Nôtre-Dame, before they were taken down. All that could be done to give the church a tolerable appearance had been effected; and when full of company its dilapidated state might perhaps be little seen; but empty, that was still very conspicuous. The three consuls sat together under a canopy, Bonaparte in the middle, with Cambaceres on his right hand, and Lebrun on his left. Opposite to them sat cardinal Caprara, the pope’s legate, under a corresponding canopy.

A very curious circumstance attending this solemnity was, that the sermon was preached by the very same person who had preached the sermon at Rheims on the coronation of Louis XVI., Monsieur Boisgelin, then archbishop of Aix, in Provence, now archbishop of Tours. His discourse was allowed by all who heard it to be a very judicious one. He did not enter into politics, or launch into fulsome flattery of those in power; but dwelt principally on the necessity of an established religion, not only as a thing right in itself, but as essential to the preservation of good morals among the people—illustrating his argument by the excesses into which they had been led during the temporary abandonment of religion, and bestowing commendation upon those by whom it had been restored.[128]

Easter at Portaferry, Belfast, &c.

For the Table Book.

On Easter Monday several hundred of young persons of the town and neighbourhood of Portaferry, county of Down, resort, dressed in their best, to a pleasant walk near that town, called “The Walter.” The avowed object of each person is to see the fun, which consists in the men kissing the females, without reserve, whether married or single. This mode of salutation is quite a matter of course; it is never taken amiss, nor with much show of coyness; the female must be very ordinary indeed, who returns home without having received at least a dozen hearty busses. Tradition is silent as to the origin of this custom, which of late years is on the decline, especially in the respectability of the attendants.

On the same day several thousands of the working classes of the town and vicinity of Belfast, county of Antrim, resort to the Cave-hill, about three miles distant, where the day is spent in dancing, jumping, running, climbing the rugged rocks, and drinking. Here many a rude brawl takes place, many return home with black eyes and bloody noses, and in some cases with broken bones. Indeed it is with them the greatest holiday of the year, and to not a few it furnishes laughable treats to talk about, till the return of the following spring. On this evening a kind of dramatic piece is usually brought forward at the Belfast Theatre, called “The Humours of the Cave-hill.”

S. M. S.