[From “Wit in a Constable,” a Comedy, by Henry Glapthorn.]
Books.
C. L.
For the Table Book.
To Mr. Charles Lamb.
I have a favour to ask of you. My desire is this: I would fain see a stream from thy Hippocrene flowing through the pages of the Table Book. A short article on the old Turk, who used to vend rhubarb in the City, I greatly desiderate. Methinks you would handle the subject delightfully. They tell us he is gone——
We have not seen him for some time past—Is he really dead? Must we hereafter speak of him only in the past tense? You are said to have divers strange items in your brain about him—Vent them I beseech you.
Poor Mummy!—How many hours hath he dreamt away on the sunny side of Cheap, with an opium cud in his cheek, mutely proffering his drug to the way-farers! That deep-toned bell above him, doubtless, hath often brought to his recollection the loud Allah-il-Allahs to which he listened heretofore in his fatherland—the city of minaret and mosque, old Constantinople. Will he never again be greeted by the nodding steeple of Bow?—Perhaps that ancient beldame, with her threatening head and loud tongue, at length effrayed the sallow being out of existence.
Hath his soul, in truth, echapped from that swarthy cutaneous case of which it was so long a tenant? Hath he glode over that gossamer bridge which leads to the paradise of the prophet of Mecca? Doth he pursue his old calling among the faithful? Are the blue-eyed beauties (those living diamonds) who hang about the neck of Mahomet ever qualmish? Did the immortal Houris lack rhubarb?
Prithee teach us to know more than we do of this Eastern mystery! Have some of the ministers of the old Magi eloped with him? Was he in truth a Turk? We have heard suspicions cast upon the authenticity of his complexion—was its tawniness a forgery? Oh! for a quo warranto to show by what authority he wore a turban! Was there any hypocrisy in his sad brow?—Poor Mummy!
The editor of the Table Book ought to perpetuate his features. He was part of the living furniture of the city—Have not our grandfathers seen him?
The tithe of a page from thy pen on this subject, surmounted by “a true portraicture & effigies,” would be a treat to me and many more. If thou art stil Elia—if thou art yet that gentle creature who has immortalized his predilection for the sow’s baby—roasted without sage—this boon wilt thou not deny me. Take the matter upon thee speedily.—Wilt thou not endorse thy Pegasus with this pleasant fardel?
An’ thou wilt not I shall be malicious and wish thee some trifling evil: to wit—by way of revenge for the appetite which thou hast created among the reading public for the infant progeny—the rising generation of swine—I will wish that some of the old demoniac leaven may rise up against thee in the modern pigs:—that thy sleep may be vexed with swinish visions; that a hog in armour, or a bashaw of a boar of three tails, may be thy midnight familiar—thy incubus;—that matronly sows may howl after thee in thy walks for their immolated offspring;—that Mab may tickle thee into fits “with a tithe-pig’s tail;”—that wheresoever thou goest to finger cash for copyright, instead of being paid in coin current, thou mayst be enforced to receive thy per-sheetage in guinea-pigs;—that thou mayst frequently dream thou art sitting on a hedge-hog;—that even as Oberon’s Queen doated on the translated Bottom, so may thy batchelorly brain doat upon an ideal image of the swine-faced lady——
Finally, I will wish, that when next G. D. visits thee, he may, by mistake, take away thy hat, and leave thee his own——
“Think of that Master Brook.”—
Yours ever,
E. C.M. D.
January 31, 1827.
Specimens of British Poetesses; selected, and chronologically arranged, by the Rev. Alexander Dyce, 1827, cr. 8vo. pp. 462.
Mr. Dyce remarks that, “from the great Collections of the English Poets, where so many worthless compositions find a place, the productions of women have been carefully excluded.” This utter neglect of female talent produces a counteracting effort: “the object of the present volume is to exhibit the growth and progress of the genius of our countrywomen in the department of poetry.” The collection of “Poems by eminent Ladies,” edited by the elder Colman and Bonnel Thornton, contained specimens of only eighteen female writers; Mr. Dyce offers specimens of the poetry of eighty-eight, ten of whom are still living. He commences with the dame Juliana Berners, Prioress of the Nunnery of Sopwell, “who resembled an abbot in respect of exercising an extensive manorial jurisdiction, and who hawked and hunted in common with other ladies of distinction,” and wrote in rhyme on field sports. The volume concludes with Miss Landon, whose initials, L. E. L., are attached to a profusion of talented poetry, in different journals.
The following are not to be regarded as examples of the charming variety selected by Mr. Dyce, in illustration of his purpose, but rather as “specimens” of peculiar thinking, or for their suitableness to the present time of the year.
Our language does not afford a more truly noble specimen of verse, dignified by high feeling, than the following chorus from “The Tragedy of Mariam, 1613,” ascribed to lady Elizabeth Carew.
Revenge of Injuries.
Margaret duchess of Newcastle, who died in 1673, “filled nearly twelve volumes folio with plays, poems, orations, philosophical discourses,” and miscellaneous pieces. Her lord also amused himself with his pen. This noble pair were honoured by the ridicule of Horace Walpole, who had more taste than feeling; and, notwithstanding the great qualities of the duke, who sacrificed three quarters of a million in thankless devotion to the royal cause, and, though the virtues of his duchess are unquestionable, the author of “The Dormant and Extinct Baronage of England” joins Walpole in contempt of their affection, and the means they employed to render each other happy during retirement. This is an extract from one of the duchess’s poems:—
Melancholy.
Elizabeth Thomas, (born 1675, died 1730,) in the fifteenth year of her age, was disturbed in her mind, by the sermons she heard in attending her grandmother at meetings, and by the reading of high predestinarian works. She “languished for some time,” in expectation of the publication of bishop Burnet’s work on the Thirty-nine Articles. When she read it, the bishop seemed to her more candid in stating the doctrines of the sects, than explicit in his own opinion; and, in this perplexity, retiring to her closet, she entered on a self-discussion, and wrote the following poem:—
Predestination, or, the Resolution.
Mary Chandler, born in 1687, the daughter of a dissenting minister at Bath, commended by Pope for her poetry, died in 1745. The specimen of her verse, selected by Mr. Dyce, is
Temperance.
Elizabeth Tollet (born 1694, died 1754) was authoress of Susanna, a sacred drama, and poems, from whence this is a seasonable extract:—
Winter Song.
Mrs. Tighe died in 1810. Mr. Dyce says, “Of this highly-gifted Irishwoman, I have not met with any poetical account; but I learn, from the notes to her poems, that she was the daughter of the Rev. William Blachford, and that she died in her thirty-seventh year. In the Psyche of Mrs. Tighe are several pictures, conceived in the true spirit of poetry; while over the whole composition is spread the richest glow of purified passion.” Besides specimens from that delightful poem, Mr. Dyce extracts
The Lily.
Every one is acquainted with the beautiful ballad which is the subject of the following notice; yet the succinct history, and the present accurate text, may justify the insertion of both.
Lady Anne Barnard.
Born —— died 1825.
Sister of the late Earl of Balcarras, and wife of Sir Andrew Barnard, wrote the charming song of Auld Robin Gray.
A quarto tract, edited by “the Ariosto of the North,” and circulated among the members of the Bannatyne Club, contains the original ballad, as corrected by Lady Anne, and two Continuations by the same authoress; while the Introduction consists almost entirely of a very interesting letter from her to the Editor, dated July 1823, part of which I take the liberty of inserting here:—
“‘Robin Gray,’ so called from its being the name of
the old herd at Balcarras, was born soon after the
close of the year 1771. My sister Margaret had
married, and accompanied her husband to London;
I was melancholy, and endeavoured to amuse myself
by attempting a few poetical trifles. There
was an ancient Scotch melody, of which I was
passionately fond; —— ——, who lived before
your day, used to sing it to us at Balcarras. She
did not object to its having improper words,
though I did. I longed to sing old Sophy’s air to
different words, and give to its plaintive tones
some little history of virtuous distress in humble
life, such as might suit it. While attempting to
effect this in my closet, I called to my little sister,
now Lady Hardwicke, who was the only person
near me, ‘I have been writing a ballad, my dear;
I am oppressing my heroine with many misfortunes.
I have already sent her Jamie to sea—and
broken her father’s arm—and made her mother
fall sick—and given her Auld Robin Gray for her
lover; but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow
within the four lines, poor thing! Help me to
one.’—‘Steal the cow, sister Anne,’ said the little
Elizabeth. The cow was immediately lifted by
me, and the song completed. At our fireside, and
[I-201,
I-202]
amongst our neighbours, ‘Auld Robin Gray’ was
always called for. I was pleased in secret with
the approbation it met with; but such was my
dread of being suspected of writing anything,
perceiving the shyness it created in those who
could write nothing, that I carefully kept my own
secret.* * * *
“Meantime, little as this matter seems to have been worthy of a dispute, it afterwards became a party question between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. ‘Robin Gray’ was either a very very ancient ballad, composed perhaps by David Rizzio, and a great curiosity, or a very very modern matter, and no curiosity at all. I was persecuted to avow whether I had written it or not,—where I had got it. Old Sophy kept my counsel, and I kept my own, in spite of the gratification of seeing a reward of twenty guineas offered in the newspapers to the person who should ascertain the point past a doubt, and the still more flattering circumstance of a visit from Mr. Jerningham, secretary to the Antiquarian Society, who endeavoured to entrap the truth from me in a manner I took amiss. Had he asked me the question obligingly, I should have told him the fact distinctly and confidentially. The annoyance, however, of this important ambassador from the Antiquaries, was amply repaid to me by the noble exhibition of the ‘Ballat of Auld Robin Gray’s Courtship,’ as performed by dancing-cogs under my window. It proved its popularity from the highest to the lowest, and gave me pleasure while I hugged myself in obscurity.”
The two versions of the second part were written many years after the first; in them, Auld Robin Gray falls sick,—confesses that he himself stole the cow, in order to force Jenny to marry him,—leaves to Jamie all his possessions,—dies,—and the young couple, of course, are united. Neither of the Continuations is given here, because, though both are beautiful, they are very inferior to the original tale, and greatly injure its effect.
Auld Robin Gray.[47]
The great and remarkable merit of Mr. Dyce is, that in this beautifully printed volume, he has reared imperishable columns to the honour of the sex, without a questionable trophy. His “specimens” are an assemblage so individually charming, that the mind is delighted by every part whereon the eye rests, and scrupulosity itself cannot make a single rejection on pretence of inadequate merit. He comes as a rightful herald, marshalling the perfections of each poetess, and discriminating with so much delicacy, that each of his pages is a page of honour to a high-born grace, or dignified beauty. His book is an elegant tribute to departed and living female genius; and while it claims respect from every lady in the land for its gallantry to the fair, its intrinsic worth is sure to force it into every well-appointed library.
[47] The text of the corrected copy is followed.
[48] “I must also mention” (says lady Anne, in the letter already quoted) “the laird of Dalziel’s advice, who, in a tête-à-tête, afterwards said, ‘My dear, the next time you sing that song, try to change the words a wee bit, and instead of singing, ‘To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea,’ say, to make it twenty merks, for a Scottish pund is but twenty pence, and Jamie was na such a gowk as to leave Jenny and gang to sea to lessen his gear. It is that line [whisper’d he] that tells me that sang was written by some bonnie lassie that didna ken the value of the Scots money quite so well as an auld writer in the town of Edinburgh would have kent it.’”
Hiring Servants at a Statute Fair.
This engraving may illustrate Mr. Pare’s account of the Warwickshire “statute” or “mop,”[49] and the general appearance of similar fairs for hiring servants. Even in London, bricklayers, and other house-labourers, still carry their respective implements to the places where they stand for hire: for which purpose they assemble in great numbers in Cheapside and at Charing-cross, every morning, at five or six o’clock. It is further worthy of observation, that, in old Rome, there were particular spots in which servants applied for hire.
Dr. Plott, speaking of the Statutes for hiring servants, says, that at Bloxham the carters stood with their whips in one place, and the shepherds with their crooks in another; but the maids, as far as he could observe, stood promiscuously. He adds, that this custom seems as old as our Saviour; and refers to Matt. xx. 3, “And he went out about the third hour and saw others standing idle in the market-place.”
In the statistical account of Scotland, it is said that, at the parish of Wamphray, “Hiring fairs are much frequented: those who are to hire wear a green sprig in their hat: and it is very seldom that servants will hire in any other place.”
Of ancient chartered fairs may be instanced as an example, the fair of St. Giles’s Hill or Down, near Winchester, which William the Conqueror instituted and gave as a kind of revenue to the bishop of Winchester. It was at first for three days, but afterwards by Henry III., prolonged to sixteen days. Its jurisdiction extended seven miles round, and comprehended even Southampton, then a capital and trading town. Merchants who sold wares at that time within that circuit forfeited them to the bishop. Officers were placed at a considerable distance, at bridges and other avenues of access to the fair, to exact toll of all merchandise passing that way. In the mean time, all shops in the city of Winchester were shut. A court, called the pavilion, composed of the bishop’s justiciaries and other officers, had power to try causes of various sorts for seven miles round. The bishop had a toll of every load or parcel of goods passing through the gates of the city. On St. Giles’s eve the mayor, bailiffs, and citizens of Winchester delivered the keys of the four gates to the bishop’s officers. Many and extraordinary were the privileges granted to the bishop on this occasion, all tending to obstruct trade and to oppress the people. Numerous foreign merchants frequented this fair; and several streets were formed in it, assigned to the sale of different commodities. The surrounding monasteries had shops or houses in these streets, used only at the fair; which they held under the bishop, and often let by lease for a term of years. Different counties had their different stations.
According to a curious record of the establishment and expenses of the household of Henry Percy, the fifth earl of Northumberland, A.D. 1512, the stores of his lordship’s house at Wresille, for the whole year, were laid in from fairs. The articles were “wine, wax, beiffes, muttons, wheite, and malt.” This proves that fairs were then the principal marts for purchasing necessaries in large quantities, which are now supplied by frequent trading towns: and the mention of “beiffes and muttons,” (which are salted oxen and sheep,) shows that at so late a period they knew little of breeding cattle.
The monks of the priories of Maxtoke in Warwickshire, and of Bicester in Oxfordshire, in the time of Henry VI., appear to have laid in yearly stores of various, yet common necessaries, at the fair of Stourbridge, in Cambridgeshire, at least one hundred miles distant from either monastery.
Menage, in his Etymological Dictionary, has accounted for the term “Valentine,” by stating that Madame Royale, daughter of Henry the Fourth of France, having built a palace near Turin, which, in honour of the saint, then in high esteem, she called the Valentine, at the first entertainment which she gave in it, was pleased to order that the ladies should receive their lovers for the year by lots, reserving to herself the privilege of being independent of chance, and of choosing her own partner. At the various balls which this gallant princess gave during the year, it was directed that each lady should receive a nosegay from her lover, and that, at every tournament, the knight’s trappings for his horse should be furnished by his allotted mistress, with this proviso, that the prize obtained should be hers. This custom, says Menage, occasioned the parties to be called “Valentines.”[50]
An elegant writer, in a journal of the present month, prepares for the annual festival with the following
A. S.
Monthly Magazine.
Another is pleased to treat the prevailing topic of the day as one of those “whims and oddities,” which exceedingly amuse the reading world, and make e’en sighing lovers smile.
Φ
New Monthly Magazine.
In the poems of Elizabeth Trefusis there is a “Valentine” with an expression of feeling which may well conclude the extracts already produced.