Mr. Hood’s talents are as versatile as his imagination is excursive: and it would be difficult to decide, whether he excels in the ludicrous or the grave. He depicts a pathetic scene with infinitely delicate and discriminative touches, and his powers are evidently equal to a high order of poetical grandeur. His “Sally Holt and the Death of John Hayloft,” is an exquisite specimen of natural feeling.

“Nature, unkind to Sally Holt as to Dogberry, denied to her that knowledge of reading and writing, which comes to some by instinct. A strong principle of religion made it a darling point with her to learn to read, that she might study in her Bible: but in spite of all the help of my cousin, and as ardent a desire for learning as ever dwelt in scholar, poor Sally never mastered beyond A-B-ab. Her mind, simple as her heart, was unequal to any more difficult combinations. Writing was worse to her than conjuring. My cousin was her amanuensis: and from the vague, unaccountable mistrust of ignorance, the inditer took the pains always to compare the verbal message with the transcript, by counting the number of the words.

“I would give up all the tender epistles of Mrs. Arthur Brooke, to have read one of Sally’s epistles; but they were amatory, and therefore kept sacred: for plain as she was, Sally Holt had a lover.

“There is an unpretending plainness in some faces that has its charm—an unaffected ugliness, a thousand times more bewitching than those would-be pretty looks that neither satisfy the critical sense, nor leave the matter of beauty at once to the imagination. We like better to make a new face than to mend an old one. Sally had not one good feature, except those which John Hayloft made for her in his dreams; and to judge from one token, her partial fancy was equally answerable for his charms. One precious lock—no, not a lock, but rather a remnant of very short, very coarse, very yellow hair, the clippings of a military crop, for John was a corporal—stood the foremost item amongst her treasures. To her they were curls, golden, Hyperian, and cherished long after the parent-head was laid low, with many more, on the bloody plain of Salamanca.

“I remember vividly at this moment the ecstasy of her grief at the receipt of the fatal news. She was standing near the dresser with a dish, just cleaned, in her dexter hand. Ninety-nine women in a hundred would have dropped the dish. Many would have flung themselves after it on the floor; but Sally put it up, orderly, on the shelf. The fall of John Hayloft could not induce the fall of the crockery. She felt the blow notwithstanding; and as soon as she had emptied her hands, began to give way to her emotions in her own manner. Affliction vents itself in various modes, with different temperaments: some rage, others compose themselves like monuments. Some weep, some sleep, some prose about death, and others poetize on it. Many take to a bottle, or to a rope. Some go to Margate, or Bath.

“Sally did nothing of these kinds. She neither snivelled, travelled, sickened, maddened, nor ranted, nor canted, nor hung, nor fuddled herself—she only rocked herself upon the kitchen chair!

“The action was not adequate to her relief. She got up—took a fresh chair—then another—and another—and another,—till she had rocked on all the chairs in the kitchen.

“The thing was tickling to both sympathies. It was pathetical to behold her grief, but ludicrous that she knew no better how to grieve.

“An American might have thought that she was in the act of enjoyment, but for an intermitting O dear! O dear! Passion could not wring more from her in the way of exclamation than the tooth-ache. Her lamentations were always the same, even in tone. By and by she pulled out the hair—the cropped, yellow, stunted, scrubby hair; then she fell to rocking—then O dear! O dear!—and then Da Capo.

“It was an odd sort of elegy; and yet, simple as it was, I thought it worth a thousand of lord Littelton’s!

“‘Heyday, Sally! what is the matter?’ was a very natural inquiry from my aunt, when she came down into the kitchen; and if she did not make it with her tongue, at least it was asked very intelligibly by her eyes. Now Sally had but one way of addressing her mistress, and she used it here. It was the same with which she would have asked for a holiday, except that the waters stood in her eyes.

“‘If you please, ma’am,’ said she, rising up from her chair, and dropping her old curtsey, ‘if you please, ma’am, it’s John Hayloft is dead;’ and then she began rocking again, as if grief was a baby that wanted jogging to sleep.”——

The many “stories of storm-ships and haunted vessels, of spectre shallops, and supernatural Dutch-doggers—the adventures of Solway sailors, with Mahound in his bottomless barges, and the careerings of the phantom-ship up and down the Hudson,” suggest to Mr. Hood a story entitled “The Demon-Ship.” This he illustrates by an engraving called “The Flying-Dutchman,” representing the aerial ascent of a native of the Low Countries, by virtue of a reversal of the personal gravity, which, particularly in a Hollander, has been commonly understood to have a tendency downwards. Be this as it may, Mr. Hood’s tale is illustrated by the tail-piece referred to. The story itself commences with a highly wrought description of a sea-storm, of uncommon merit, which will be the last extract from his interesting volume that can be ventured, viz.:—

Vol. II.—49.

Mr. Gliddon’s Cigar Divan. King Street, Covent Garden.

Our readers, whom, between ourselves, and without flattery, we take to be as social a set of persons as can be, people of an impartial humanity, and able to relish whatever concerneth a common good, whether a child’s story or a man’s pinch of snuff, (for snuff comes after knowledge,) doubtless recollect the famous tale of the Barmecide and his imaginary dinner in the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. We hereby invite them to an imaginary cigar and cup of coffee with us in a spot scarcely less oriental—to wit, our friend Gliddon’s Divan in King-street. Not that our fictitious enjoyment is to serve them instead of the real one. Quite the contrary; our object being to advance the good of all parties,—of our readers, inasmuch as they are good fellows in their snuffs,—of our friend, who can supply them in a manner different from any body else,—and of ourselves, because the subject is a pleasant one, and brings us all together agreeably. Those who have the greatest relish for things real, have also the best taste of them in imagination. We confess, that for our private eating (for a cigar, with coffee, may truly be said to be meat and drink to us) we prefer a bower with a single friend; but for public smoking, that is to say, for smoking with a greater number of persons, or in a coffee-room, especially now that the winter is coming on, and people cannot sit in bowers without boots, commend us to the warmth, and luxury, and conspiracy of comforts, in the Cigar Divan.

In general, the room is occupied by individuals, or groups of individuals, sitting apart at their respective little mahogany tables, and smoking, reading, or talking with one another in a considerate undertone, in order that nobody may be disturbed. But on the present occasion we will have the room to ourselves, and talk as we please. In the East it is common to see dirty streets and poor looking houses, and on being admitted into the interior of one of them, to find yourself in a beautiful room, noble with drapery, and splendid with fountains and gilded trellices. We do not mean to compare King-street with a street in Bagdad or Constantinople. We have too much respect for that eminent thoroughfare, clean in general, and classical always; where you cannot turn, but you meet recollections of the Drydens and Hogarths. The hotel next door to the Divan is still the same as in Hogarth’s picture of the Frosty Morning; and looking the other way, you see Dryden coming out of Rose Alley to spend his evening at the club in Russell-street. But there is mud and fog enough this weather to render the contrast between any thoroughfare and a carpeted interior considerable; and making due allowance for the palace of an effendi and the premises of a tradesman, a person’s surprise would hardly be greater, certainly his comfort not so great, in passing from the squalidness of a Turkish street into the gorgeous but suspicious wealth of the apartment of a pasha, as in slipping out of the mud, and dirt, and mist, and cold, and shudder, and blinking misery of an out-of-door November evening in London, into the oriental and carpeted warmth of Mr. Gliddon’s Divan. It is pleasant to think, what a number of elegant and cheerful places lurk behind shops, and in places where nobody would expect them. Mr. Gliddon’s shop is a very respectable one; but nobody would look for the saloon beyond it; and it seems in good oriental keeping, and a proper sesame, when on touching a door in the wall, you find yourself in a room like an eastern tent, the drapery festooned up around you, and views exhibited on all sides of mosques, and minarets, and palaces rising out of the water.

But here we are inside ourselves. What do you think of it?

B. This is a tent indeed, exactly as you have described it. It seems pitched in the middle of the Ganges or Tigris; for most of the views are in the midst of water.

J. Yes; we might fancy ourselves a party of British merchants, who had purchased a little island in an Eastern gulf, and built themselves a tent on it to smoke in. The scenes, though they have a panoramic effect, are really not panoramic daubs. This noble edifice on the left, touched in that delicate manner with silver, (or is it rather not gold?) unites the reality of architecture built by mortal hands, with the fairy lustre of a palace raised by enchantment. One has a mind to sail to it, and get an adventure.

E. And this on the left. What a fine sombre effect that mountain with a building on it has in the background;—how dark yet aerial! You would have a very solemn adventure there,—nothing under a speaking stone-gentleman, or the loss of your right eye.

O. Well, this snug little corner for me, under the bamboos; two gigantic walking-sticks in leaf! A cup of coffee served by a pretty Hindoo would do very well here; and there is a temple to be religious in, when convenient. ’Tis pleasant to have all one’s luxuries together.

T. If there is any fault, it is in the scene at the bottom of the room, which is perhaps too full of scattered objects. But all is remarkably well done; and as the newspapers have observed, as oriental as any thing in the paintings of Daniel or Hodges.

C. Are you sure we are not all Mussulmen? I begin to think I am a Turk under the influence of opium, who take my turban for a hat, and fancy I’m speaking English. We shall have the sultan upon us presently.

L. With old Ibrahim to give us the bastinado. I have no fair Persian at hand to offer him; and, if I had, wouldn’t do it. But here’s ——; he shall have him.

O. (grinding with laughter.) What, in woman’s clothes, to beguile him, and play the lute?

L. No; as a fair dealer; no less a prodigy, especially for a bookseller. You should save your head every day by a new joke; and we would have another new Arabian Nights, or the Adventures of Sultan Mahmoud and the Fair Dealer. You should be Scheherezade turned into a man. Every morning, the prince’s jester should say to you, “Brother Scratch-his-head, if you are awake, favour his Majesty with a handsome come-off.”

E. I cannot help thinking we are the Calenders, got into the house full of ladies; and that we shall have to repent, and rub our faces with ashes, crying out, “This is the reward of our debauchery: This is the reward of taking too many cups of coffee: This is the reward of excessive girl and tobacco.”

L. But, alas! in that case we should have the repentance without the lady, which is unfair. No ladies, I believe, are admitted here, Mr. Gliddon?

Mr. G. No, sir; it has been often observed to me, by way of hint, that it was a pity ladies were not admitted into English coffee-houses, as they are on the continent; but this is a smoking as well as a coffee-room. Ladies do not smoke in England, as they do in the East; and then, as extremes meet, and the most respectable creatures in the world render a place, it seems, not respectable, I was to take care how I risked my character, and made my Divan too comfortable.

O. And we call ourselves a gallant nation! We also go to the theatres to sit and hear ourselves complimented on our liberal treatment of women, and suffer them all the while to enjoy the standing-room!

C. Women are best away, after all. We should be making love, while they ought to be making the coffee.

L. Women and smoking would not do together, unless we smoked perfumes, and saw their eyes through a cloud of fragrance, like Venus in her ambrosial mist. This room, I confess, being full of oriental scenes, reminds one of other things oriental—of love and a lute. I could very well fancy myself Noureddin, sitting here with my fair Persian, eating peaches, and sending forth one of the songs of Hafiz over those listening waters.

J. The next time Mr. Gliddon indulges us with a new specimen of his magnificence, he must give us animate instead of inanimate scenes, and treat us with a series of subjects out of the Arabian Nights—lovers, genii, and elegant festivities.

Mr. G. Gentlemen, here is a little festivity at hand, not, I hope, altogether inelegant. Your coffee and cigars are ready.

C. Ah, this is the substantial picturesque. I was beginning to long for something oriental to eat, elegant or not; an East-dumpling for instance.

H. I wonder whether they have any puns in the East.

J. To be sure they have. The elegancies of some of their writers consist of a sort of serious punning, like the conceits of our old prosers; such as, a man was “deserted for his deserts;” or “graceless, though full of gracefulness, was his grace, and in great disgrace.”

C. But I mean proper puns; puns worthy of a Pundit.

L. You have it. It is part of their daily expunditure. How can there be men and not puns?

H. There’s an instance in Blue Beard; in a pun set to music by Kelly;

C. Good. I think I see Kelly, who used to stick his arms out, as if he were requesting you to see his limbs; and Mrs. Bland, whom he used to sing it to—a proper little Fatima. Come; I feel all the beauty of the room, now that one is “having something.” This is really very Grand, Signior; though to complete us, I think we ought to have some Sublime Port.

Mr. G. Excuse me: whining is not allowed to a true Mussulman.

C. Some snuff, however.

Mr. G. The best to be had.

W. Take some of mine; I have cropped the flower of the shop.

J. You sneeze, C. I thought you too old a snuff-taker for that.

C. The air of the water always makes me sneeze. It’s the Persian gulf here.

W. This is a right pinch, friend C. I’ll help you at another, as you’ve helped me.

C. Snuff’s a capital thing. I cannot help thinking there is something providential in snuff. If you observe, different refreshments come up among nations at different eras of the world. In the Elizabethan age, it was beef-steaks. Then tea and coffee came up; and people being irritable sometimes, perhaps with the new light let in upon them by the growth of the press, snuff was sent us to “support uneasy thoughts.” During the Assyrian monarchy, cherry-brandy may have been the thing. I have no doubt Semiramis took it; unless we suppose it too matronly a drink for So-Mere-a-Miss.

(Here the whole Assyrian monarchy is run down in a series of puns.)

H. Gentlemen, we shall make the Tour of Babel before we have done.

L. Talking of the refreshments of different ages, it is curious to see how we identify smoking with the Eastern nations; whereas it is a very modern thing among them, and was taught them from the west. One wonders what the Turks and Persians did before they took to smoking; just as the ladies and gentlemen of these nervous times wonder how their ancestors existed without tea for breakfast.

J. Coffee is a modern thing too in the East, though the usual accompaniment of their tobacco. “Coffee without Tobacco,” quoth the Persian, as our friend’s learned placard informs us, “is like meat without salt.”[479] But coffee is of Eastern growth. It is a species of jasmin. I remember, in a novel I read once, the heroine was described in grand terms, as “presiding at the hysonian altar;” that is to say, making tea. This lady might have asked her lover, whether before his hysonian recreation, he would not “orientalize in a cup of jessamine.”

W. I met with a little story in a book yesterday, which I must tell you, not because it is quite new or very applicable, but because it is Eastern, and made me laugh. I don’t know whether it is in the jest-books; but I never saw it before. A fellow was going home through one of the streets of Bagdad with a forbidden bottle of wine under his cloak, when the cadi stopped him. “What have you got there, fellow?” The fellow, who had contrived to plant himself against a wall, said, “Nothing, sir.” “Put out your hand, sir.” The right hand was put out; there was nothing in it. “Your left, sir.” The left was put out, equally innocent. “You see, sir,” said the fellow, “I have nothing.” “Come away from the wall,” said the cadi. “No, sir,” returned he, “it will break.”

H. Good. That is really dramatic. It reminds me that I must be off to the play.

J. And I.

C. And I.

O. And I. We’ll make a party of it, and finish our evening worthily with Shakspeare; one of the greatest of men, and most good-natured of punsters.

L. By the by, Mr. Gliddon, your room is not so large as in the lithographic print they have made of it; but it is more Eastern and picturesque.

W. We’ll have a more faithful print to accompany this conversation, for I am resolved to be treacherous for this night only, and publish it. It is not a proper specimen of what my friends could say; but it is not unlike something of what they do; and sociality, on all sides, will make the best of it. ☞

LAURENCE-KIRK SNUFF-BOXES.

James Sandy, the inventor of these pocket-utensils, lived a few years ago at Alyth, a town on the river Isla, in Perthshire, North Britain. The genius and eccentricity of character which distinguished him have been rarely surpassed. Deprived at an early age of the use of his legs, he contrived, by dint of ingenuity, not only to pass his time agreeably, but to render himself an useful member of society.

Sandy soon displayed a taste for mechanical pursuits; and contrived, as a workshop for his operations, a sort of circular bed, the sides of which being raised about eighteen inches above the clothes, were employed as a platform for turning-lathes, table-vices, and cases for tools of all kinds. His talent for practical mechanics was universal. He was skilled in all sorts of turning, and constructed several very curious lathes, as well as clocks and musical instruments of every description, which were no less admired for the sweetness of their tone than the elegance of their workmanship. He excelled, too, in the construction of optical instruments, and made some reflecting telescopes, the specula of which were not inferior to those finished by the most eminent London artists. He likewise suggested some important improvements in the machinery for spinning flax; and, as before stated, he was the first who made the wooden-jointed snuff-boxes, generally called Laurence-Kirk boxes, some of which, fabricated by this self-taught artist, were purchased and sent as presents to the royal family.

To his other endowments he added an accurate knowledge of drawing and engraving, and in both these arts produced specimens of great merit.

For upwards of fifty years Sandy quitted his bed only three times, and on these occasions his house was either inundated with water, or threatened with danger from fire. His unbounded curiosity prompted him to hatch different kinds of birds’ eggs by the natural warmth of his body, and he reared his various broods with all the tenderness of a parent. On visiting him it was no unusual thing to see singing birds of different species, to which he may be said to have given birth, perched on his head, and warbling the artificial notes he had taught them.

Naturally possessed of a good constitution, and an active, cheerful turn of mind, his house was the general coffee-room of the village, where the affairs of church and state were freely discussed. In consequence of long confinement his countenance had rather a sickly cast, but it was remarkably expressive, particularly when he was surrounded by his country friends. This singular man had acquired by his ingenuity and industry an honourable independence, and died possessed of considerable property. About three weeks before his death he married.

INN-YARDS.

For the Table Book.

It was a November morning—sullen and lowering. A dense fog left the houses but half distinguishable on either side the way, as I passed through Holborn to the Saracen’s Head, Snow-hill, where I had taken my place the preceding evening in the —— coach, in order to pay a long-promised visit to my friend and schoolfellow T——. My feelings were any thing but enviable. They were in a state of seasonable and almost intolerable irritation, resulting from all successive evils of a shivering and early resignation of enveloping bed-clothes, a hurried dressing, (productive of an utter failure in the arrangement of the bow of my neckcloth,) a trembling hand that caused a gash in my chin with a blunt razor, (all my others had been officiously packed up by Mrs. Sally,) a breakfast swallowed standing, (which I abominate, as it stands to reason it must be unwholesome,) tea that seemed “as if it never would grow cool,” though poured out in the saucer, and sundry admonitory twitchings of the bit of court-plaster on my sliced chin, threatening the total discomfiture of my habilimentary economy. All these things tended but little towards rendering my frame of mind peculiarly equable, while hurrying forward towards the point of destination, gulping down fresh (no not fresh) mouthfuls of the thick yellow atmosphere, at each extorted exclamation of disgust and impatience.

At last I arrived in the inn-yard, fully prepared for an expected look of surprise, and accompanying exclamation of—“The —— coach, sir! why, Lord bless you, sir, it’s off long ago; it leaves here at seven precisely, and it’s now nearly half past.” Conceive then what was my agreeable astonishment when I learned that the real time was only half past six! I found that, owing to my anxious fears lest I should be too late, I had neglected to perceive that my watch had gained half an hour in the course of the night; and the shame I now felt at having thus suffered my irritability to get the better of me, led me to reflect upon the patient gentleness of the mild and amiable Fanny, (my friend’s wife,) who is indeed a perfect specimen of a delightful woman. In her are joined those two qualities so rarely united (yet, which, when they are so, form a gem)—a truly feminine and gentle heart, and a strong and well-informed mind. It is truly delightful to see her blend the domestic duties of a housewife, (the fulfilment of which is ever graceful in a female,) and the affectionate attentions of a mother and wife, with literary information and attainments.

I was called off from this pleasing subject of reflection by a view of the scene before me. The coach, a handsome, well-built vehicle, stood on one side of the yard in all the brilliancy of a highly-varnished claret ground, and burnishe       The four beautiful, spirited animals belonging to it, with their glossy bright skins covered with cloths till the moment of “putting to,” were then led forth by a fellow in corduroy breeches, laying in massive rolls on his large muscular limbs, and terminating in a pair of dull and never-shining top-boots—a waistcoat which had been of red plush, spotted with black; but the glories of its gules and sable were well nigh effaced by the long line of successive cross-quarterings of grease and mud—a face hard and liny, that looked impenetrable, and certainly conveyed no idea to my mind of a “Robin Ostler,” who “never joy’d since the price of oats rose,” much less could it have ever been “the death of him.” He came forward with that slouching gait and hoarse rasping voice, so well personified by the admirable and all-observing Matthews.

Then the coachman appeared—well buttoned up to the throat in an enormous box-coat of a whitish drab colour, fastened with immense mother-o’-pearl buttons—a yellow silk handkerchief round his neck, reaching just under the nether lip, and covering the tips of his ears—a hat with brims, like the walls of Babylon—and an air of affected nonchalance, which tells you, that you are expected to look upon him in a very different light from the attentive “coachee” of some few years back. He is now a complete fine gentleman; for as the gentleman affects the coachman, why should not the coachman affect the gentleman? They are now not to be known apart.

The “luggage” is then brought forth and “loaded”—and all the passengers installed in their different places. The last directions are given. “More last words,” and a paper of biscuits is handed in at the coach-window to the little boy who is going to ——, under the special care of the coachman, and, as his mamma delightedly observes, is already become a favourite with the “kind-looking lady” opposite to him. The small parcel “to be left at Mr. K——’s at the small white cottage” is snugly slipt into the coach-pocket—and the final “all right” is given from the impatient passengers “behind.” How different is the quiet and orderly manner in which a vehicle is thus despatched to go hundreds of miles, from the dire bustle and utter “confusion of tongues” attendant upon the departure of a French diligence.——

Imagine a spacious yard, paved with stones shaped like enormous “sugared almonds,” jutting out in all directions to the utter annoyance of the five poor animals, or rather skeletons, in rope harness, which are about to be yoked to an uncouth machine, looking the complete antipodes of rapidity of motion—of a colour perfectly indescribable, but something approaching to a dingy red, intermixed with a rusty, dusty black—straw peeping out in every direction; whether from roof, or sides, or entangled among the broken, rickety steps, which project in awful forewarning of grazed shins and sprained ancles. The Conducteur in his dark blue jacket turned up with scarlet—leather breeches shining with the perpetual friction of the saddle—boots, like brewing vats—a hat, very nearly a “perfect cone,” with a rim, set in the middle of a regular copse-wood of coal black hair, surmounting a face whose dark complexion, fiercely sparkling eyes, and stiff mustachios, help to give force to the excessive tension of muscle in his countenance, which is actually convulsed with ire, as he sends forth volleys of sacrés and morbleus at the maudit entêté on the roof, who persists in loading the different articles in exact opposition to all the passionate remonstrances and directions of poor Monsieur le Conducteur. Femmes de chambres shrieking at the very top of their voices—“Garçons of fifty” equally vociferous in bawling “On vient! on vient!” though no one calls—Commissionaires insisting upon the necessity of passports to incredulous Englishmen, with an incessant “Mais que diable donc, Monsieur!”—Hordes of beggars shouting forth their humble petitions of “Pour l’amour du bon Dieu un petit liard, Monsieur.” “Ah! Seigneur, qu’est-ce que j’ai fait de mes clefs!” screams the landlady. “Sacré nom de tonnerre! tais-toi, donc,” growls the landlord, in a voice like the thunder he invokes.

At last the ponderous vehicle is set in motion amid the deafening clamour of the surrounding group, and the hideous, unrelentingly, eternal cracking of the Conducteur’s detested fouet!

M. H.

For the Table Book.

THE TURNPIKE MAN.

As the “Commissioners” rely on the trust reposed in the “Pikeman,” I imagine him to be worthy of being shown in the most favourable colours. Like a good sexton, he must attend to his toll—like a salesman, know his head of cattle—like a lottery prize-seeker, be acquainted with his number—like Fielding’s Minos, in his “Journey from this world to the next,” shut his gate against those who are brought up improperly to the bar. A modern Gilpin should scarcely risk a ride unwittingly through his demesne.

In the “dead waste and middle of the night,” when sleep steals over him wearily, how many calls of the coachman, the chaise driver, the stanhope gentleman, the important bagman, and the drover, is he obliged to obey! The imperative “Pike!”—“Gate!”—“Hallo!”—are like so many knells rung in his ear. The clock is a friend to most men in the various occupations of life; the shadow on the grass warns the shepherd and hind to retire to rest; the dial gives the gardener leave to quit his vegetable and floral world in safety till the succeeding morning; but the pikeman finds no solace in the instructive progress of his Dutch-clock, or in the more highly favoured one with a window before its pulselike-pendulum, (as the person with a window in his breast,) or in the weather betokening “man and woman,” who, like an unhappy couple, never go out together.

Who that has looked upon the pikeman’s contracted span—his little white-painted hut, like a showman’s figured canvass—but shrewdly guesses that the best portions of his sunside of comforts are on the outside? What a Jack in the Box![480] He seems in his room like a singing-bird in a cage. His cat and dog are his companions, save when the newsman, postman, or any man, in short, arrives. Munden’s “Crack” is not to be seen at every turnpike gate. A magpie, or blackbird, often hangs and whistles, like himself, in stationary captivity. Yet he is a man of some information. The waggoner, the duellist, the huckster, and the Gretna folks, in pursuit of romantic happiness, sometimes make him useful. The horse patrol consults him in the way of business; few fights occur without his knowledge; and even the political express gives him broad hints as to the secret operations of his majesty’s ministers. He is completely au fait in all common concerns in his vicinity—a local “finger-post.”

Occasionally, I have seen a chubfaced, curly-headed child playing near his “box” on the roadside, like idleness in ease, with rushes and flags round its brow, enjoying the luxuries of fancied greatness, and twisting leaves and weeds together—emblems of our varied and united virtues. And I have beheld a pikeman’s housewife (if her dwelling may be called a house) busily employed within her narrow sphere to “keep things straight,” and “make both ends meet,” with an understanding, that “all’s well that ends well.”[481] And I have observed her lovely child, kneeling before its mother on a stool, with its palms pressed together, in the grateful attitude of an acknowledged beneficent Providence.

I once knew an upright and a civil pikeman. He had seen better days.—One of the beauties of education is, that it distinguishes a man, however he is placed.—He was planed down, as a carpenter might say, from the knots of pride, to smooth humanity. To use a beautiful, though much quoted, apostrophe by Avon’s bard, “I shall not look upon his like again!” All good characters give useful example:—they teach as they live, and win inferiors in virtue by the brightness and placidity of their decline and fall.

There is a difference between a Tyburn-gate official, and a promiscuous sojourner, who guards the pass of a new, lone road, through which scarcely a roadster trots. The cockney keeper of cockney riders, is rarely without “short cut” and the “ready” in word and deed. In his short-pocketed white apron he stands defiance, and seems to say, “Who cares?” His knowing wink to the elastic arm of the coachee, which indicates the “all right!” has much meaning in it. His twirl of the sixpence on his thumb nail, and rattle of “coppers” for “small change,” prove his knowledge of exchange and the world.

The pikeman out of town is allowed a scrap of garden-ground, which he sedulously cultivates. In town, he has not the liberty of a back door—to be acquainted with his boundaries, you need only look at the “Farthing pie gate” for an example. He may be sometimes seen in a chair, in front of his domicile, making remarks on “men and manners.” His name hangs on a thread over his door: if he is an honest man, equestrians will appreciate his merits, and do well if they imitate his philosophy.

J. R. P.

Robert North, Esq. of Scarborough.

This portrait, copied from a picture at Scarborough by Mr. Baynes, jun. and not before engraven, is of a very worthy person, whose eccentricities in well doing rendered him in some degree remarkable. Mr. Robert North, whom it represents, was born at that place, of which his father was vicar, on the second of November, 1702. His education was liberal. After completing his studies at one of the universities he visited the continent, and was distinguished for refinement of manners and exemplary benevolence and piety. In the latter part of his life he sought retirement, and seldom went abroad except to the church, which he regularly attended on every occasion when service was performed. He generally appeared absorbed in meditation, and was accustomed to make ejaculatory prayers, or fervent aspirations, as he walked. Once in every year he had a sort of gala-day for the entertainment of his female friends, whom he charmed by his polite attention and pleasing conversation. With the next morning he resumed his usual seclusion for the ensuing twelvemonth. He lived many years in full expectation of the commencement of the millennium.

But that which has given celebrity to the name of the late “Robert North, Esq.” at Scarborough is the founding, in the year 1728, of a very useful institution, called “The Amicable Society,” for clothing and educating the children of the poor; which under the government of a president, four trustees, and four wardens, annually elected, with a fund for its support, arising from the weekly subscriptions of the members, collections made in the church, and other voluntary donations, continues to flourish. The number of children thus clothed and educated, now in the school, is sixty, and the number of members two hundred and sixty-five.

This institution has preserved many children from the contagion of evil example, and enabled them to follow useful occupations in life with credit and advantage. Several, who, by their early education at this seminary, attained a competent knowledge of navigation, became mates and commanders of vessels, and eventually benefactors and patrons of the institution.

The exact day of Mr. North’s death does not appear; but his interment is dated in the parish-register of Scarborough, 14th October, 1760.

Mr. North, by a singular codicil to his will, gives one pair of his silver candlesticks to the celebrated Dr. Young, author of the poem on the Last Day, &c.; and the other pair to the Rev. James Hervey, author of the Meditations among the Tombs, &c. “I call these,” he says, “in some measure legacies to the public, having given them to persons so well able to employ them for the benefit of mankind.”

The other legacies by this codicil are usually in themselves remarkable, and all the bequests are accompanied by remarks, which denote the peculiar character of the donor’s disposition: for example—“To the lady Lowther, of Swillington, a curious basket made of beads, the product of the virgin amusements of my grandmother—and her two sisters—it seeming highly proper to present a thing, which has gained the applause of most people, to a person who I hope has gained the applause of all. To Mrs. Philadelphia Boycott, my Kerry seal set in gold, with Mr. Addison’s head engraven on it—which will be very fitly deposited in the hands of a lady, whose letters are much celebrated for their wit and humour. In pursuance of an old promise, to Mrs. Barbara Tatton a picture in needlework, which was likewise made at the leisure hours of my aforesaid grandmother and her sisters, and which I suppose to have been designed for king Charles II.—the subject of which may perhaps sometimes engage her to reflect on this great truth, that the finest wit, if it deviate from the paths of virtue, is but a more elegant sort of folly. To Mrs. Christiana Hargrave, spinster, my silver coffee-pot, silver tea-pot, the silver stands for them, and my silver tea-canisters, milk-pot, and tea-spoons—being all of them baubles of some dignity and importance, even to women of sense, when in complaisance to the customs of an inconsiderate age they condescend to trifle. To the Rev. Thomas Adam,[482] rector of Wintringham in Lincolnshire, my mahogany bureau and bookcase—which may serve as a cabinet in which to reposit his manuscripts, till he may think it proper to make a cabinet of the world. In pursuance of an old promise to Mrs. Susannah Adam, his wife, my gold snuff-box—but if the contents of it prejudice her constitution, I hope she will upon this occasion follow the example of many fine ladies, who have many fine things which they never use. My silver cup and best silver tankard to Barnabas Legard, of Brompton, county of York, Esq., a person qualified by experience to teach our fine gentlemen a truth, which perhaps many of them will be surprised to hear—that temperance is the most delicious and refined luxury. To ensign William Massey, (my godson,) son of the late Capt. John Massey, of Hull, my sword; and hope he will, if ever occasion require it, convince a rash world that he has learned to obey his God as well as his general, and that he entertains too true a sense of honour ever to admit any thing into the character of a good soldier, which is inconsistent with the duty of a good Christian.[483] I give the sum of forty pounds, to be paid into the king’s exchequer.—I give thirty pounds to be added to the common stock of our East India company—which two last legacies I leave, as the best method I know, though not an exact one, of making restitution for the injustice I may have done, in buying (inadvertently) any uncustomed goods; and which I hope will be accepted by the great Judge of all men, in case I do not meet with a better before I die.—I give the sum of one hundred pounds to the person who shall within four years after my decease make and publish the best tragedy, entitled Virtue Triumphant—wherein among such others, as the poet shall think proper to introduce, shall be drawn the character of a virtuous man unconquered by misfortunes, &c. I give the sum of one hundred pounds to the person who shall, within four years after my decease, make and publish the best comedy; wherein—among such others as the poet shall think proper to introduce—shall be drawn the four following characters, viz. of a fine gentleman, a fine lady, a beau, and a coquet; the two first to be drawn with a thorough taste for religion and virtue, accompanied with fine sense and humour, and to be crowned with success; the two last with the fopperies and follies common to persons of these denominations, and to be made objects of contempt and ridicule,” &c.[484]

Mr. North’s Prizes for the Poets.

Nothing further appears to be known respecting Mr. North, except that, through the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for July, 1734, he proposed, and was the anonymous donor of fifty pounds, “as a prize for the poets,” to encourage them “to make the best poem, Latin or English, on Life, Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, viz. all the said subjects jointly, and not any single one independent of the rest:” and, that the poets might not be discouraged “upon suspicion of incapacity in their judges,” he entirely resigned the decision of the best poem to “universal suffrage” and election by “vote;” or, as he is pleased to call it, in the Magazine for August, “the public vote of kingdoms.” He presumes that this scheme “will probably be most agreeable to the poets themselves, because they will be tried by such a number as is not capable of being bribed, and because this method of determination will, as he conceives, tend most to the honour of that poet who shall succeed.” In October he prescribes that the voters shall sign a declaration, disclaiming undue influence; and he suggests, that if the majority of candidates prefer a determinate number of judges to the public at large, he will accord to that arrangement, provided they express their desires with their poems. Accordingly, the Gentleman’s Magazine of May, 1735, “informs the candidates, that as the majority of them are for a decision by a select number of judges, the donor is desirous that Mr. Urban should apply to three particular gentlemen of unexceptionable merit, to undertake this office;” and it is announced, that the poems will be published in “an entire Magazine Extraordinary,” to render which “acceptable, to those who have no great taste for poetry,” there will be added “something of general use.” In the following July the poems appeared in the promised “Gentleman’s Magazine Extraordinary, printed by E. Cave, at St. John’s Gate, for the benefit of the poets;” whereto was added, as of “general use,” agreeably to the above promise, and for those “who have no great taste in poetry,” the Debates in the first session of parliament for 1735.

What gratification Mr. North derived from his encouragement of “the poets,” is to be inferred from this—that, in the supplement to the Gentleman’s Magazine of the same year, 1735, he announced, that other prizes thereafter mentioned would be given to persons who should “make and send” to Mr. Urban, before the 11th of June, 1736, the four best poems, entitled “The Christian Hero”—viz.

“1. To the person who shall make the best will be given a gold medal, (intrinsic value about ten pounds,) which shall have the head of the right hon. the lady Elizabeth Hastings on one side, and that of James Oglethorpe, Esq. on the other, with this motto—‘England may challenge the world, 1736.’

“2. To the author of the second, a complete set of Archbishop Tillotson’s Sermons.

“3. To the author of the third, a complete set of Archbishop Sharpe’s Sermons. And,

“4. To the author of the fourth, a set of Cooke’s Sermons.”

In the Magazine of February, 1736, Mr. North begs pardon of the lady Elizabeth Hastings, (a female of distinguished piety,) for the uneasiness he had occasioned her by proposing to engrave her portrait on his prize medal: being, “however, desirous that the poets should exercise their pens,” he proposes to substitute the head of archbishop Tillotson, and “hopes that Mr. Oglethorpe will be prevailed upon to consent that the medal shall bear his effigies.” Several of the poems made by “the poets” for this second prize appear in the Magazine of the same year, to which readers, desirous of perusing the effusions elicited by Mr. North’s liberality, are referred.

The “James Oglethorpe, Esq.” whose head Mr. North coveted for his prize medal, was the late general Oglethorpe, who died in 1785, at the advanced age of ninety-seven, the oldest general in the service. Besides his military employments, first as secretary and aide-de-camp to prince Eugene, and afterwards in America, and at home during the rebellion in 1745, he was distinguished as a useful member of the House of Commons, by proposing several regulations for the benefit of trade and the reform of prisons. In 1732 he settled the colony of Georgia, and erected the town of Savannah, and arrived in England in June, 1734, with several Indian chiefs. This gentleman’s public services at that time, and his eminent philanthropy, were inducements to Mr. North to do him honour. The following is an interesting account of the presentation of the Indians at court.

On the 1st of August, 1734, Tomo Chachi, the king, Senauki his wife, with Tooanakowki, their son, Hillispilli, the war captain, and the other Cherokee Indians, brought over by Mr. Oglethorpe from Georgia, were introduced to his majesty at Kensington, who received them seated on his throne; when Tomo Chachi, micho, or king, made the following speech, at the same time presenting several eagles’ feathers, trophies of their country.

“This day I see the majesty of your face, the greatness of your house, and the number of your people. I am come for the good of the whole nation, called the Creeks, to renew the peace which was long ago had with the English. I am come over in my old days, though I cannot live to see any advantage to myself; I am come for the good of the children of all the nations of the Upper and of the Lower Creeks, that they may be instructed in the knowledge of the English.

“These are the feathers of the eagle, which is the swiftest of birds, and who flieth all round our nations. These feathers are a sign of peace in our land, and have been carried from town to town there; and we have brought them over to leave with you, O great king, as a sign of everlasting peace.

“O great king, whatsoever words you shall say unto me, I will tell them faithfully to all the kings of the Creek nations.”

To which his majesty graciously answered,

“I am glad of this opportunity of assuring you of my regard for the people from whom you come, and am extremely well pleased with the assurances you have brought me from them, and accept very gratefully this present, as an indication of their good disposition to me and my people. I shall always be ready to cultivate a good correspondence between them and my own subjects, and shall be glad of any occasion to show you a mark of my particular friendship and esteem.”

Tomo Chachi afterwards made the following speech to the queen.

“I am glad to see this day, and to have the opportunity of seeing, the mother of this great people.

“As our people are joined with your majesty’s, we do humbly hope to find you the common mother and protectress of us and all our children.”

Her majesty returned a suitably gracious answer.

The war captain, and other attendants of Tomo Chachi, were very importunate to appear at court in the costume of their own country, merely a covering round the waist, the rest of the body being naked, but were dissuaded from it by Mr. Oglethorpe. But their faces were variously painted after their country manner, some half black, others triangular, and others with bearded arrows instead of whiskers, Tomo Chachi, and Senauki, his wife, were dressed in scarlet, trimmed with gold.

On the 17th of the same month Tomo Chachi, and the rest of the Indians, dined with the lady Dutry at Putney; and then waited on the archbishop of Canterbury, (Potter,) who received them with the utmost kindness and tenderness, and expressed his fatherly concern for their ignorance with respect to Christianity, and his strong desire for their instruction. His grace, though very weak, would not sit down, the micho therefore omitted speaking to him what he intended, and only desired his blessing; adding, that what he had further to say he would speak to Dr. Lynch, his grace’s son-in-law, and then withdrew. He was afterwards entertained at a noble collation, and had a conference with Dr. Lynch, expressing his joy, as believing some good persons would be sent amongst them to instruct their youth.

On the 30th of October the Indian king, queen, prince, &c. set out from the Georgia office, in the king’s coaches, for Gravesend, to embark on their return home. During their stay in England, which had been about four months, his majesty allowed them 20l. a week for their subsistence. Whatever was curious and worthy observation in and about London and Westminster had been carefully shown them; and nothing had been wanting to contribute to their diversion and amusement, and to give them a just idea of English politeness and respect. In return, they expressed themselves heartily attached to the British nation. They had about the value of 400l. in presents. Prince William presented the young micho, John Towanohowi, with a gold watch, with an admonition to call upon Jesus Christ every morning when he looked on it, which he promised. They appeared particularly delighted with seeing his highness perform his exercise of riding the managed horse, the Horse Guards pass in review, and the agreeable appearance of the barges, &c. on the Thames on lord mayor’s day. In the same ship embarked several relations of the English settled in Georgia, with sir Francis Bathurst, his son, three daughters, and servants; together with fifty-six Saltzburghers, newly arrived from Rotterdam. These people had been at the German church in Trinity-lane, where 47l. was collected for them.[485]