The reeling clouds,
Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet,
Which master to obey.
Company, in such cases, usually increases the misery. Your wife, with a new dress, soon loses her temper and its beauty; the children splash you and their little frilled continuations; and ill-humour is the order of the day; for on such occasions you cannot slip into a tavern, and follow Dean Swift's example:
On rainy days alone I dine,
Upon a chick, and pint of wine:
On rainy days I dine alone,
And pick my chicken to the bone.
Go you to the theatre in what is called a wet season, and perhaps after sitting through a dull five-act tragedy and two farces, your first solicitude is about the weather, and as if to increase the vexation, you cannot see the sky for a heavy portico or blind; then the ominous cry of "carriage, your honour"—"what terrible event does this portend"—and you have to pick your way, with your wife like Cinderella after the ball, through an avenue of link-boys and cadmen,5 and hear your name and address bawled out to all the thieves that happen to be present. Or, perchance, the coachman, whose inside porosity is well indicated by his bundle of coats, as Dr. Kitchiner says, is labouring under "the unwholesome effervescence of the hot and rebellious liquors which have been taken to revive the flagging spirits," and like a sponge, absorbs liquids, owing to the pressure of the surrounding air.
That we are attached to wet weather, a single comparison with our neighbours will abundantly prove. A Frenchman seldom stirs abroad without his parapluie; notwithstanding he is, compared with an Englishman, an al fresco animal, eating, drinking, dancing, reading, and seeing plays—all out of doors. A shower is more effectual in clearing the streets of Paris than those of London. People flock into cafés, the arcades of the Palais Royal, and splendid covered passages; and as soon as the rain ceases, scores of planks are thrown across the gutters in the centre of the streets, which species of pontooning is rewarded by the sous and centimes of the passengers. In Switzerland too, where the annual fall of rain is 40 inches, the streets are always washed clean, an effect which is admirably represented in the view of Unterseen, now exhibiting at the Diorama. But in Peru, the Andes intercept the clouds, and the constant heat over sandy deserts prevents clouds from forming, so that there is no rain. Here it never shines but it burns.
Wet-weather in the country is, however, a still greater infliction upon the sensitive nerves. There is no club-house, coffee-room, billiard-room, or theatre, to slip into; and if caught in a shower you must content yourself with the arcades of Nature, beneath which you enjoy the unwished-for luxury of a shower bath. Poor Nature is drenched and drowned; perhaps never better described than by that inveterate bard of Cockaigne, Captain Morris:
Oh! it settles the stomach when nothing is seen
But an ass on a common, or goose on a green.
We were once overtaken by such weather in a pedestrian tour through the Isle of Wight, when just then about to leave Niton for a geological excursion to the Needles. Reader, if you remember, the Sandrock Hotel is one of the most rural establishments in the island. Think of our being shut up there for six hours, with a thin duodecimo guide of less than 100 pages, which some mischievous fellow had made incomplete. How often did we read and re-read every line, and trace every road in the little map. At length we set off on our return to Newport. The rain partially ceased, and we were attracted out of the road to Luttrell's Tower, whence we were compelled to seek shelter in a miserable public-house in a village about three miles distant. No spare bed, a wretched smoky fire; and hard beer, and poor cheese, called Isle of Wight rock, were all the accommodation our host could provide. His parlour was just painted; but half-a-dozen sectarian books and an ill-toned flute amused us for an hour; then we again started, in harder rain than ever, for Newport. Compelled to halt twice, we saw some deplorable scenes of cottage misery, almost enough to put us out of conceit of rusticity, till after crossing a bleak, dreary heath, we espied the distant light of Newport. Never had we beheld gas light with such ecstasy, not even on the first lighting of St. James's Park. It was the eve of the Cowes' regatta, and the town was full; but our luggage was there, and we were secure. A delicious supper at the Bugle, and liberal outpourings of Newport ale, at length put us in good humour with our misfortunes; but on the following morning we hastened on to Ryde, and thus passed by steam to Portsmouth; having resolved to defer our geological expedition to that day twelve months. Perhaps we may again touch on this little journey. We have done for the present, lest our number should interrupt the enjoyment of any of the thousand pedestrians who are at this moment tracking
The slow ascending hill, the lofty wood
That mantles o'er its brow.
or coasting the castled shores and romantic cliffs of Vectis, or the Isle of Wight.
PHILO.
Duels had at one time become so frequent in France as to require particular enactments for their prevention; as, for example, when the debt about which any dispute occurred did not amount to five-pence. The regulation of the mode in which the barbarous custom might be maintained had engaged the attention of several of the French kings. In 1205, Philip Augustus restricted the length of the club, with which single combat was then pursued, to three feet; and in 1260, Saint Louis abolished the practice of deciding civil matters by duelling. With the revival of literature and of the arts, national manners became ameliorated, and duels necessarily declined. It was still, however, not unusual for the French to promote or to behold those single combats over which the pages of romance have thrown a delusive charm, and which were, in early times, hallowed, in the opinion of the vulgar, by their accompanying superstitious ceremonies. When any quarrel had been referred to this mode of decision, the parties met on the appointed day, and frequently in an open space, overshadowed by the walls of a convent, which thus lent its sanction to the bloody scene. From day-break the people were generally employed in erecting scaffolds and stages, and in placing themselves upon the towers and ramparts of the adjacent buildings. About noon, the cavalcade was usually seen to arrive at the door of the lists; then the herald cried, "Let the appellant appear," and his summons was answered by the entrance of the challenger, armed cap-a-pie, the escutcheon suspended from his neck, his visor lowered, and an image of some national saint in his hand. He was allowed to pass within the lists, and conducted to his tent. The accused person likewise appeared, and was led in the same manner to his tent. Then the herald, in his robe embroidered with fleur-de-lis, advanced to the centre of the lists, and exclaimed, "Oyez, oyez! lords, knights, squires, people of all condition, our sovereign lord, by the grace of God, King of France, forbids you, on pain of death or confiscation of goods, either to cry out, to speak, to cough, to spit, or to make signs." During a profound silence, in which nothing but the murmurs of the unconscious streamlet, or the chirping of birds might be heard, the combatants quitted their tents, to take individually the two first oaths. When the third oath was to be administered, it was customary for them to meet, and for the marshal to take the right hand of each and to place it on the cross. Then the functions of the priest began, and the usual address, endeavouring to conciliate the angry passions of the champions, and to remind them of their common dependence on the Supreme Being, may have tended to benefit the bystanders, although it generally failed of its effect with the combatants.
If the parties persisted, the last oath was administered. The combatants were obliged to swear solemnly that they had neither about them nor their horses, stone, nor herb, nor charm, nor invocation; and that they would fight only with their bodily strength, their weapons, and their horses. The crucifix and breviary were then presented to them to kiss, the parties retired into their tents, the heralds uttering their last admonition to exertion and courage, and the challengers rushed forth from their tents, which were immediately dragged from within the lists. Then the marshal of the field having cried out, "Let them pass, let them pass," the seconds retired. The combatants instantly mounted their horses, and the contest commenced.—Foreign Review.
On further inquiry, it has been found that the superstitious practice, formerly mentioned,6 of informing the bees of a death that takes place in a family, is very well known, and still prevails among the lower orders in this country. The disastrous consequence to be apprehended from noncompliance with this strange custom is not (as before stated) that the bees will desert the hive, but that they will dwindle and die. The manner of communicating the intelligence to the little community, with due form and ceremony, is this: to take the key of the house, and knock with it three times against the hive, telling the inmates, at the same time, that their master or mistress, &c., (as the case may be,) is dead!
Mr. Loudon says, when in Bedfordshire lately, "we were informed of an old man who sung a psalm last year in front of some hives which were not doing well, but which he said would thrive in consequence of that ceremony. Our informant could not state whether this was a local or individual superstition."—Magazine of Natural History.
We copy the following eloquent and impassioned paragraph from the last Edinburgh Review:—
"Thanks unto our ancestors, there is now no Star-chamber before whom may be summoned either the scholar, whose learning offends the bishops, by disproving incidentally the divine nature of tithes, or the counsellor, who gives his client an opinion against some assumed prerogative. There is no High Commission Court to throw into a gaol until his dying day, at the instigation of a Bancroft, the bencher who shall move for the discharge of an English subject from imprisonment contrary to law. It is no longer the duty of a privy councillor to seize the suspected volumes of an antiquarian, or plunder the papers of an ex-chief justice, whilst lying on his death-bed. Government licensers of the press are gone, whose infamous perversion of the writings of other lawyers will cause no future Hale to leave behind him orders expressly prohibiting the posthumous publication of his legal MSS., lest the sanctity of his name should be abused, to the destruction of those laws, of which he had been long the venerable and living image. An advocate of the present day need not absolutely withdraw (as Sir Thomas More is reported to have prudently done for a time) from his profession, because the crown had taken umbrage at his discharge of a public duty. It is, however, flattery and self-delusion to imagine that the lust of power and the weaknesses of human nature have been put down by the Bill of Rights, and that our forefathers have left nothing to be done by their descendants. The violence of former times is indeed no longer practicable; but the spirit which led to these excesses can never die; it changes its aspect and its instruments with circumstances, and takes the shape and character of its age. The risks and the temptations of the profession at the present day are quite as dangerous to its usefulness, its dignity, and its virtue, as the shears and branding-irons that frightened every barrister from signing Prynne's defence, or the writ that sent Maynard to the Tower. The public has a deep, an incalculable interest in the independence and fearless honour of its lawyers. In a system so complicated as ours, every thing must be taken at their word almost on trust; and proud as we, for the most part, justly are of the unsuspectedness of our judges, their integrity and manliness of mind are, of course, involved in that of the body out of which they must be chosen. There is not a man living whose life, liberty, and honour may not depend on the resoluteness as well as capacity of those by whom, when all may be at stake, he must be both advised and represented in a court of justice."
Our readers will easily recognise the great events in the history of the law in England, to which the reviewer alludes. Seldom have we read a more masterly page; it would even form an excellent rider to Mr. Brougham's recent speech on the same subject.
It is a mere mistake to condemn suppers. All the inferior animals stuff immediately previous to sleeping; and why not man, whose stomach is so much smaller, more delicate, and more exquisite a piece of machinery? Besides, it is a well-known fact, that a sound human stomach acts upon a well-drest dish, with nearly the power of an eight-horse steam-engine; and this being the case, good heavens! why should one be afraid of a few trifling turkey-legs, a bottle of Barclay's brown-stout, a Welsh rabbit, brandy and water, and a few more such fooleries? We appeal to the common sense of our readers and of the world.
The consumption of tea is increasing every year. In 1823, the importation was 24,000,000 lb.; in 1826 it was 30,000,000 lb.; and in the year ending Jan. 5, 1828, 39,746,147 lb.—Oriental Herald.
Addison, who was probably unacquainted with the flower described by Virgil, represents the Italian aster as a purple bush, with yellow flowers, instead of telling us that the flower had a yellow disk and purple rays.
Aureus ipse; sed in foliis, quae plurima circum
Funduntur, violae sublucet purpura nigrae.
Virgil, Georgic iv.
The flower Itself is of a golden hue,
The leaves inclining to a darker blue;
The leaves shoot thick about the root, and grow
Into a bush, and shade the turf below.
Addison.
Dryden falls into the same error:—
A flower there is that grows in meadow ground,
Aurelius called, and easy to be found;
For from one root the rising stem bestows
A wood of leaves and violet purple boughs.
The flower itself is glorious to behold,
And shines on altars like refulgent gold.
Mag. Nat. History
In 1726-7, there was a sharp warfare in London between two opera singers, La Faustina and La Cuzzoni, and their partizans. It went so far that young ladies dressed themselves a la Faustina and a la Cuzzoni. We need not wonder, therefore, at the hair à la Sontag in our days, or gentleman's whiskers à la Jocko.
In a recent voyage from Bombay to the Persian Gulf, an Arab sailor of a crew, who was the stoutest and strongest man in the ship on leaving Bombay, pined away by disease, and was committed to the deep by his Arab comrades on board, with greater feeling and solemnity than is usual among Indian sailors, and with the accustomed ceremonies and prayers of the Mohamedan religion. The smell of the dead body attracted several sharks round the ship, one of which, eight feet in length, was harpooned and hauled on board.—Oriental Herald.
At a late meeting of the Wernerian Society at Edinburgh, the Rev. Dr. Scot read a paper on the great fish that swallowed up Jonah, showing that it could not be a whale, as often supposed, but was probably a white shark.
The large horse-mushroom, except for catsup, should be very cautiously eaten. In wet seasons, or if produced on wet ground, it is very deleterious, if used in any great quantity.—Mag. Nat. Hist.
The sweat of the brow is not favourable to the operations of the brain; and the leisure which follows the daily labour of the peasant and manufacturer, will, even if no other demands are made upon it, afford but little scope for the over acquisition of knowledge. Long will it be ere the English husbandman renounces for study the pleasures of his weekly holiday, and long may it be ere the Scottish peasant be withdrawn by a thirst for knowledge from the duties of his Sabbath, and from the simple rights of his morning and evening sacrifice.—Foreign Rev.
A beautiful medal in memory of this celebrated statesman, has lately been struck at Paris, under the direction of M. Girard.
It is curious enough that people decorate their chimney-pieces with imitations of beautiful fruits, while they seem to think nothing at all of the originals hanging upon the trees, with all the elegant accompaniments of flourishing branches, buds, and leaves—Cobbet's English Gardener.
Lives in comparative retirement, in a small palace fitted up with the greatest simplicity, and his bed is really not better than that usually allotted to a domestic in England. His study is quite that of an official man of business. He has a large map of his own dominions; and in each town where troops are stationed he fixes a common pin, and on the head of the pin is a small bit of card, on which are written the names of the regiments, their numbers, and commanding officers, in the town. He thus, at any moment, can see the disposition of his immense army, which is very essential to such a government as Prussia, it being a mild despotic military system. He has a most excellent modern map of the Turkish provinces in Europe, and upon this is marked out every thing that can interest a military man. A number of pins, with green heads, point out the positions of the Russian army; and in the same manner, with red-and-white- headed pins, he distinguishes the stations of the different kinds of troops of the Turkish host.—Literary Gazette.
Othello is altogether unsuited to the lyrical drama, and supposing the contrary, Rossini, of all composers, was the most unfit to treat such a subject in music. The catastrophe in the English tragedy is necessary; we see it from the beginning as through a long and gloomy vista. We weep, or shudder, we draw a long sigh of despair, and feel that it could not have been otherwise. But in the opera, Othello is a ruffian, without excuse for his crime. We have suddenly a beautiful woman running distracted about the stage to a symphony—and a very noisy symphony—of violins, and butchered before our eyes to an allegro movement.—Foreign Review.
When last in Paris we were curious to know wherefore M. Jouy had written such exceptionable and abominable stuff as his last novel; and the gentleman to whom we addressed ourselves, answered, in a light lively vein; "Oh! M. Jouy has a name, and the booksellers pay well; and as they are very stupid, and depend on names for the sale of their books, he wrote down the first matter that came into his head."—Foreign Review.
Polangen, the frontier town of Russia, is famous for its trade in amber. This substance is found by the inhabitants on the coast, between Polangen and Pillau, either loosely on the shore, on which it has been thrown by the strong north and westerly winds, or in small hillocks of sand near the sea, where it is found in regular strata. The quantity found yearly in this manner, and on this small extent of coast, besides what little is sometimes discovered in beds of pit coal in the interior of the country, is said to amount to from 150 to 200 tons, yielding a revenue to the government of Prussia of about 100,000 francs. As amber is much less in vogue in Western Europe than in former times, the best pieces, which are very transparent, and frequently weigh as much as three ounces, are sent to Turkey and Persia, for the heads of their expensive pipes and hookahs. Very few trinkets are now sold for ornaments to ladies' dresses; and the great bulk of amber annually found is converted into a species of scented spirits and oil, which are much esteemed for the composition of delicate varnish. In the rough state, amber is sold by the ton, and forms an object of export trade from Memel and Konigsberg.—Granville's Travels in Russia.
The head of the late Dr. Gall has been taken off agreeably to his wishes, and dissected and dried for the benefit of science.
All the principal Italian composers were in flower about the age of twenty-five. There is scarcely an instance of a musician producing his chef-d'oeuvre after the age of thirty. Rossini was not twenty when he composed his Tancredi, and his Italiana in Algieri.
The most important principle perhaps in life is to have a pursuit—a useful one if possible, and at all events an innocent one. The unripe fruit tree of knowledge is, I believe, always bitter or sour; and scepticism and discontent—sickness of the mind—are often the results of devouring it.—Sir Humphry Davy.
A coffin has been discovered among the ruins of Elgin cathedral, supposed to be that of the royal victim of Macbeth.
When Cimarosa's opera of Matrimonio Segreto was performed before the Emperor Joseph, he invited all the singers to a banquet, and then in a fit of enthusiasm, sent them all back to the theatre to play and sing the whole opera over again!—Foreign Review.
Dinner is a corruption of decimer, from decimheure, or the French repast de dix-heure. Supper from souper, from the custom of providing soup for that occasion.
We have heard much of Dunstable larks but the enthusiasm with which gourmets speak of these tit-bits of luxury, is far exceeded by the Germans, who travel to Leipsic from a distance of many hundred miles, merely to eat a dinner of larks, and then return contented and peaceful to their families. So great is the slaughter of this bird at the Leipsic fair, that half a million are annually devoured, principally by the booksellers frequenting the city. What is the favourite bird at the coffee-house dinners of our friends in Paternoster Row?
Gottfried Mind, a celebrated Swiss painter, was called the Cat-Raphael, from the excellence with which he painted that animal. This peculiar talent was discovered and awakened by chance. At the time when Freudenberger was painting that since-published picture of the peasant cleaving wood before his cottage, with his wife sitting by, and feeding her child with pap out of a pot, round which a cat is prowling, Mind cast a broad stare on the sketch of this last figure, and said in his rugged, laconic way, "That is no cat!" Freudenberger asked, with a smile, whether Mind thought he could do it better. Mind offered to try; went into a corner, and drew the cat, which Freudenberger liked so much that he made his new pupil finish it out, and the master copied the scholar's work—for it is Mind's cat that is engraven in Freudenberger's plate. Imitations of Mind's cats are already common in the windows of printsellers.
When the manager of a theatre engaged Sacchini to write an opera, he was obliged to shut him up in a room with his mistress and his favourite cats, without them at his side he could do nothing. The fifth act of Pizarro was actually finished by Sheridan on the first evening of its performance, when the illustrious playwright was shut up in a room with a plate of sandwiches and two bottles of claret, to finish his drama.
Were instituted according to the following order of time, viz. London an Archbishoprick and Metropolitan of England, founded by Lucius, the first Christian king of Britain, A.D. 185; Llandaff, 185; Bangor, 516; St. David's, 519. The Archbishoprick of Wales from 550 till 1100, when the Bishop submitted to the Archbishop of Canterbury as his Metropolitan; St. Asaphs, 547. St. Augustine (or Austin) made Canterbury the Metropolitan Archbishoprick, by order of Pope Gregory, A.D. 596; Wells, 604; Rochester, 604; Winchester, 650; Lichfield and Coventry, 656; Worcester, 679; Hereford, 680; Durham, 690; Sodor and Man, 898; Exeter, 1050; Sherborne (changed to Salisbury) 1056; York (Archbishoprick) 1067; Dorchester (changed to Lincoln) 1070; Chichester, 1071; Thetford (changed to Norwich) 1088; Bath and Wells, 1088; Ely, 1109; Carlisle, 1133. The following six were founded upon the suppression of monasteries by Henry VIII.—Chester, Peterborough, Gloucester, Oxford, Bristol, and Westminster, 1538. Westminster was united to London in 1550.—Vide Tanner's Notitia Monastica.
C. G. E. P.
The lord of this manor, in the reign of Henry III. held it by this service, viz. to make the king a mess of pottage at his coronation; and so lately as the reign of Charles II. this service was ordered by the court of claims, and accepted by the king at his table.
C. G. E. P.
On Ludgate-hill, has, for more than a century, since its name was mentioned by Addison in the Spectator, occasioned a great variety of conjectures. These conjectures, however, all appear to have been erroneous, as the inn took the addition to its name from its having belonged to, or been kept by, a person of the name of Savage. The sign originally appears to have been a bell hung within a hoop, a common mode of representation in former times. This origin has been proved by a grant in the reign of Henry VI. in which John French, gentleman of London, gives to Joan French, widow, his mother, "all that tenement or inn called Savage's Inn, otherwise called the Bell on the Hoop." In the original "vocat" Savagesynne, alias vocat "Le Belle on the Hope." Perhaps the phrase "Cock-a-Hoop," may be derived from the sign of that bird standing on a hoop, thus most conspicuously displaying himself, as we find that sign or rather design existed in the reign above mentioned.
A dinner always accompanies meetings on public occasions; feasting was formerly attached in like manner to chantries, anniversaries, &c.; and, as it appears in part of the curious items in the parish books of Darlington, clergymen officiated for a donation of wine. It appears, too, that both ministers and parishioners were saddled with charitable aids to itinerants of various kinds; that noblemen granted passes in the manner of briefs; and that it was deemed right and proper for even churchwardens and overseers to patronize knowledge. Accordingly we have,
"1630. To Mr. Goodwine, a distressed scholer, 2s. 6d."
"1631. Given to a poor scholler, 12d.—Given to Mary Rigby, of Hauret West, in Pembrokeshire, in Wales, who had the Earle of Pembroke's passe.... To an Irish gentleman that had fouer children, and had Earl Marshall's passe, 12d."
"1635. To a souldier which came to the church on a Sunday, 6d."
"1639. For Mr. Thompson, that preached the forenoone and afternoone, for a quart of sack, 14d."
"1650. For six quartes of sacke to the ministre that preached, when we had not a ministere, 9s."
It is to be observed that this was in the puritanical era.
"1653. For a primer for a poore boy, 4d."
"1666. For one quarte of sacke, bestowed on Mr. Jellet, when he preached, 2s. 4d."
"1684. To the parson's order, given to a man both deaf and dumb, being sent from minister to minister to London, 6d.—To Mr. Bell, with a letter from London with the names of the Royal Family, 6d."
This is a curious item; for it shows that the Mercuries, diurnals, and intelligencers of the day, were not deemed sufficient for satisfactorily advertising public events.
"1688. To the ringers on Thanksgiving Day, for the young Prince, in money, ale, and coals, 7s. 4d."
This must have been for the birth of the Pretender, of warming-pan celebrity.
"1691. For a pint of brandy, when Mr. George Bell preached here, 1s. 4d.—When the Dean of Durham preached here, spent in a treat with him, 3s. 6d.—For a stranger that preacht, a dozen of ale, 1s."
Thus it plainly appears that church-wardens had a feast jointly with the minister at the parish expense, at least whenever a stranger preached.
"A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles."
TO MR. ——, STATIONER, HOLBORN.
SIR,—Sometime ago I wrote to you to send me a ream of foolscap, which I begged might be sent without delay, as it was for the purpose of writing out my Christmas bills. I think you must have forgotten me; and if I do not have the paper soon, I may wear a fool's-cap on account of not having my bills out in time. Mr. ——, who, in your absence, must sustain the greatest weight of business, and is, as I may say, the Atlas of your house, was the person I chiefly depended on. As for Mr. ——, one of your household, he dresses in royal purple, and being but in a medium way between sickness and health, was drinking imperial when I saw him, and therefore did not in-quire about the business; nor did I choose to come cap in hand to a gentleman that seemed as stately as an elephant, though to my thinking he is a bundle of conceit, all outside show; in short, a piece of lumberhand, on whom I would not waste paper to write him a note.
My journeyman, who is but a demy sort of a chap, will make but a small hand of the bills, and I shall go to pott. You also will be a sufferer, if you post-pone sending my paper, for you shall have neither plate paper,7 nor a single crown, no, nor a cartridge of halfpence from me this half year, unless you play your cards better. I have more bills to write out than a bag cap, made of the largest grand eagle you have in your warehouse, could contain; so that I shall look as blue as your sugar-paper, and bestow on you to boot some very ugly prayers, not in single hand, but by thick and thin couples, that will be a fine copy for my young man to take example by, if you disappoint.
Your humble servant, J. J.
A village pastor was examining his parishioners in their Catechism. The first question in the Heidelberg Catechism is this: "What is thy only consolation in life and in death?" A young girl, to whom the pastor put this question, laughed, and would not answer. The priest insisted. "Well, then," said she, at length, "if I must tell you, it is the young shoemaker, who lives in the Rue Agneaux."
The king of France, being at Calais, sent over an embassador, a verie tall person, upon no other errand but a complement to the king of England. At his audience he appeared in such a light garb, that afterwards the king ask'd Lord-keeper Bacon "what he thought of the French embassador?" He answer'd, "That he was a verie proper man."—"I," his majestie replied, "but what think you of his head-piece? is he a proper man for the office, of an embassador?"—"Sir," returned he, "it appears too often, that tall men are like high houses of four or five stories, wherein commonlie the upper-most room is worst-furnished."
The following anecdote is perfectly indicative of that dry humour which forms what Oxonians call a cool hand:—When Mr. Gurney, afterwards rector of Edgefield, in Norfolk, held a fellowship of Bene't, the master had a desire to get possession of the fellows' garden for himself. The rest of the fellows, resigned their keys, but Gurney resisted both his threats and entreaties, and refused to part with his key. "The other fellows," said the master, "have delivered up their keys."—"Then, master," said Gurney, "pray keep them, and you and I will keep all the other fellows out."—"Sir," continued the master, "am not I your master?"—"Granted," said Gurney, "but am I not your fellow?"
Louis XIV. was such a gourmand, that he would eat at a sitting four platesful of different soups, a whole pheasant, a partridge, a plateful of salad, mutton hashed with garlick, two good sized slices of ham, a dish of pastry, and, afterwards, fruit and sweetmeats. The descendant Bourbons are slandered for having appetites of considerable action; but this appears to have been one of a four or five man power.
C. HAMMOND, Slap Kiksis Builder. Long Sleeve Kicksis got up right, and kept by an artful dodge from visiting the knees, when worn without straps. Trotter Cases, Mud Pipes, and Boot Kiv'ers, carved to fit any Pins, and turned out slap.—(Verbatim et literatim copy.)
Footnote 1: (return)Merridew and Rider, Warwick and Leamington, and Goodhugh, Oxford-street, London.
Footnote 2: (return)Only the other evening we heard two sons of the whip on a hackney-coach stand thus invoke the showery deity: "God send us a good heavy shower;" then the fellows looked upwards, chuckled, and rubbed their hands.
Footnote 3: (return)Even the greatest hero of the age, who has won all his glory by land, has lately been drinking the Cheltenham waters. The proprietor of the well at which he drank, jocosely observed that his was "the best well-in-town."
Footnote 4: (return)This expression is not the exclusive property of Oxford, Cambridge, or the Horse Guards. See Shakspeare's Henry VIII, where the Duke of Buckingham says of Wolsey, "He bores me with some trick;" like another great man, the Cardinal must have been a great bore.
Footnote 5: (return)Towards the close of the last opera season we heard a ludicrous mistake. One of these fellows bawled out "the Duke of Grafton's carriage;" "No," replied the gentleman, smiling, and correcting the officious cadman, who had caught at the noble euphony, "Mr. Crafter's."
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