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as long as he li>ed. St. Amand continued at Bordeaux as a private person; but surviving St. Surin, he was a his death restored to the station from which he had descended with so much gentleness and resignation. It is among the traditions of the church of St. Surin at Bordeaux, that the cemetery belonging to it was " consecrated by Jesus Christ himself, accompanied by seven bishops, who weie afterwards canonized, and were the
founders of the principal churches in Aquitaine."*
On an oval marble in Egham church, Surrey, are the following lines written by David Garrick, to the memory of the Reverend Mr. Thomas Beighton who was vicar of that church forty-five years, and died on the 23d of October, 1771, aged 73.
Near half an a?e, with every good man's praise,
Mean Tempetature .... 48 ' 00.
An October Sundat Mornino
For the Every-Day Book.
"Vat's the lime, Villiam?"
"Kevarler arler seven."
The " Mirror of the Months " seems to reflect every object to the reader's eye; but not having read more of that work than by extract, in the Every-Day Booh, I think an addendum, par hazard, may not be without truth and interest.
Rise early,—be abroad,—and after you have inspired sufficient fog to keep you coughing all day, you will see Jewboys and girls with their fathers and mothers veering forth from the purlieus of Houndsditch with sweetmeats, "ten a penny I" which information is sung, or said, ten thousand times before sunset. Now Irishmen, (except there be a fight in Copenhagen fields,) and women,are hurrying to and from mass, and the poorest creatures sit near the chapels, with all their own infants, and those of others, to excite pity, and call down the morning smile of charity.—Now newsboys come along the Strand with damp sheets of intelligence folded under their arms in a gieasy, dirty piece of thick (once) brown paper, or a
suitable envelope of leather. Now watercress women, or rather gills, with chubby babies hanging on one arm, and a flat basket suspended from the shoulder by a strap, stand at their station-post, near the pump, at a corner of the street.f Now mechanics in aprons, with unshorn, unwashed faces, take their birds, dogs, and pipes, towards the fields, which, with difficulty, they find. Now the foot and horseguards are preparing for parade in the parks—coaches are being loaded by passengers, dressed for " a few miles out of town"—the doors of liquor-shops are in motion—prayers at St. Paul's and Westminster are responded by choristers,— crowds of the lower orders create discord by the interference of the officious streetkeeper—and the "Angel" and "Elephant and Castle" are surrounded by jaunty company, arriving and departing with horses reeking before the short and long stage coaches.—Now the pious missionary drops religious tracts in the local stands of hackney coachmen, and paths leading to the metropolis.—Now nuts and walnuts slip-shelled are heaped in a basket with some dozens of the finest cracked, placed at the top, as specimens of the whole :— bullace, bilberries, sliced cocoa-nuts, apples, pears, damsons, blackberries, and oranges are glossed and piled for sale so
* Miu Plwnptrr
t This Is the only month In ihc year in which watsr-crrMM are without spawn.
imposingly, that no eye can escape them. —Now fruiterers' and druggists' windows, like six days' mourning, are half shuttered.—Now the basket and bell pass your house with muffins and crumpets.*— Placards are hung from newsvenders', at whose taking appearances, gossips stand to learn the fate of empires, during the lapse of hebdomadal warfare.—Now beggars carry the broom, and the great thoroughfares are in motion, and geese and game are sent to the rich, and the poor cheapen at the daring butcher's shop, for a scrag of mutton to keep company in the pot with the carrots and turnips.—Now the Israelites' little sheds are clothed with apparel, near which "a Jew's eye" is watching to catch the wants of the necessitous that purchase at second-hand.— Now eels are sold in sand at the bridges, and steam-boats loiter about wharfs and •tairs to take up stray people for Richmond and the Eel-pie house.—The pedestrian advocate now unbags his sticks and spreads them in array against a quiet, but public wall.—Chesnuts are just coming in, and biscuits and cardials are handed amongst the coldstreams relieving guard at Old Palace Yard, where the bands play favourite pieces enclosed by ranks and files of military men, and crowds of all classes and orders.—Now the bells are chiming for church,—dissenters and methodists are hastening to worship—baker's counters are being covered with laden dishes and platters— quakers are silently seated in their meetings,—and a few sailors are surveying the stupendous dome of St. Paul's, under which the cathedral service is performing on the inside of closed iron gates.—Now the beadle searches public-houses with the blinds let down.—Now winter patterns, great coats, tippets, muffs, cloaks and pelisses are worn, and many a thinlyclad carmelite shivers along the streets. With many variations, the "Sunday Morning'' passes away; and then artizans are returning from their rustication, and servants are waiting with cloths on their arms for the treasures of the oven—people are
seeking home from divine worship witr appetites and purple noses—< beer I' is echoed in every circle,—and pott meridian assumes new features, as gravities ano gaieties, in proportion to the weather, influence the cosmopolitan thermometer
Naturalists' Calendar. Mean Temperature ... 48 • 47.
Crispin. On this, the festival day of St. Crispin, enough has been already said* to show that it is the great holyday of the numerous brotherhood of cordwainers. Th« latter name they derive from their working in Spanish leather manufactured at Cordovan; their cordovan-ing has softened down into cordwaining
Shoes And Buckles. The business of a shoemaker is of great at.tiquity. The instrument for cleaning hides, the shoemaker's bristles added to the yarn, and his knife, were as early as the twelfth century. He was accustomed to hawk his goods, and it is conjectured that there was a separate trade for annexing the soles.f The Romans in classical times, wore cork soles in their shoes to secure the feet from water, especially in winter; and as high heels were no then introduced, the Roman ladies who wished to appear taller than they had been formed bynature, put plenty of cork under them.J The streets of Rome in the time of Domitian were blocked up by cobblers' stalls, which he therefore caused to be removed. In the middle ages shoes were cleaned by washing with a sponge; and oil, soap, and grease, were the substitutes for blacking. Buckles were worn in shoes in the fourteenth century. In an Irish abbey a human skeleton was found with marks of buckles on the shoes. In England they became fashionable many years before the reign of queen Mary; the labouring people wore them of copper; other persons had them of silver, or copper-gilt • not long after shoe-roses came in.§ Buckles revived before the revolution of 1689 , remained fashionable
• •■> B«th, before Sally l.nvnt were so fashionable, (their origin I shall shortly acquaint you with) vtuJKni were cried with a sone, beginning— "Don't you know the muffin man I
Hnn't you know his nam*, t And donH you know the muffin-man That lives in Bridewell-lane 1 kc" I reply, yes, I did know him, and a facetious little abort fellow he was, with a face as pocked as his crumpets; bu» his civility gained him friends and competence —virtue's just reward.
• See vol. i. col. IsS! ~~
t Fosbroke's Ency. of Antiquities,
till after the French revolution in 1789; and finally .became extinct before the close of the eighteenth century.
from 10 in the Morning till 7 at Night; if any aie not apprehensive of the certainty of the Success, they may come and have full satisfaction, that they may have their Money if they will.
In Robert Hegg's "Legend of St Cuthbert," reprinted at the end of Mr. Dixon's " Historioal'aud Descriptive View of the city of Durham and its Environs," we are told of St. Goodrick, that " in his younger age he was a pedlar, and carried his moveable shop from fair to fair upon his back," and used to visit Lindisfarne, "much delighting to heare the monkes tell wonders of St. Cuthbert; which soe enflamed his devotion, that he undertooke a pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre; and by the advice of St. Cuthbert in a dreame, repayred againe to the holy land, and washing his feete in Jordan, there left his thoe.t, with a vow to goe barefoot all his Ufe after."
Mean Temperature .... 47 • 87.
Royal Debts. On this subject a curious notice is extracted from "the Postman, October 2628, 1708"—viz.
THe Creditors of King Charles, K. James, and K. William, having found out and discovered sufficient Funds for securing a perpetual Interest for 4 Millions, without burdening the people, clogging the Trade or impairing the Revenue; and all their debts not amounting to ntar that Sum; the more to strengthen their interest, and to find the greater favour with the Parliament, have agreed that the Army and Transports Debentures and other Parliament Debts may if they please, joyn with them, and it is not expected that any great Debts shall pay any Charge for carrying on this Act, until it be happily accomplished, and no more will be expected afterwards than what shall be readily agreed to before hand, neither shall any be hindered from taking any other measures, if there should be but a suspicion of miscarriage, which is impossible if they Unite their Interest. They continue to meet by the Parliament Stairs in Old Palace-yard, there is a Note on the Door, where deily attendance is given
The notice of the battle wherein this ilillustrious admiral received his deathwound, (on the 21st,) might have been properly accompanied by the following quotation from a work which should be put into the chest of every boy on his going to sea. It is so delightfully written, as to rivet the attention of every reader whether mariner or landsman.
"The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public calamity: men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An object o» our admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed as if we had never, till then, known how deeply we loved and reverenced him. What the country had lost in its great naval hero— the greatest of our own, and of all former times—was scarcely taken into the account of grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after the battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end: the fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated, but destroyed: new navies must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, before the possibility of their invading our shores could again be contemplated. It was not, therefore, from any selfish reflection upon the magnitude of our loss that we mourned for him: the general sorrowwas of a higher character. The people of England grieved that funeral ceremonies, public monuments, and posthumous rewards, were all which they could now bestow upon him, whom the king, the legislature, and the nation, would alike have delighted to honour; whom every tongue would have blessed; whose presence in every village through which he might have passed would have awakened the church bells, have given schoolboys a holiday, have drawn children from their sports to gaze upon him, and 'old men from the chimney corner' to look upon Nelson, ere they died. The victory ol Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson's surpassing genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victoiy that ever was achieved upon the seas : and the destruction of this mighty fleet, by which all the maritime schemes of France were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; for while Nelson was living, to watch the combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in existence.—There was reason to suppose, from the appearances upon opening the body, that, in the course of nature, he might have attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be said to have fallen prematurely whose work wa< done; nor ought he to be lamented, who died so full of honours, and at the height of human fame. The most triumphant death is that of the maityr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of viclory : and if the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could scarcely have deDarted in a brighter blaze of glory."0
Mean Temperature ... 46 • 30.
Ctober In London. On looking into the "Mirror of the Months," we find "a lively portraiture" of the season.—" October is to London what April is to the country; it is the spiing of the London summer, when the hopes of the shopkeeper begin to bud forth, and he lays aside the insupportable labour of having nothing to do, for the delightful leisure of preparing to be in a perpetual bustle. During the last month or two he has been strttuously endeavouring to persuade himself that the Steyne at Brighton is as healthy as Bondstreet; the pavi of Pall Mall no more picturesque than the Pantiles of Tunbridge Wells; and winning a prize at one-cardloo at Margate, as piquant a process as serving a customer to the same amount of' profit. But now that the time is returned when ' business' must again be attended to, he discards with contempt all such mischievous heresies, and reembraces the only orthodox faith of a London shopkeeper— that London and his shop are the true ' beauteous and sublime' of human life. In fact, ' now is the winter of his discontent' (that is to say, what other people call summer) ' made glorious summer' by the near approach of winter ; and all the wit he is master of is put in requisition, to devise the means of proving thai every thing he has offered to 'his friends' the public,' up to this particular period, has become worse than obsolete. Accordingly, now are those poets of the shopkeepers, the invenlois of patterns, 'perplexed in the extreme; since, unless they can produce a something which shall necessarily supersede all their previous productions, their occupation's gone.—It is the same with all other caterers for the public taste; even the literary ones. Mr. Elliston, for his fortunate successor, if one there be.] ' ever anxious to contribute to the amusement of his liberal patrons, the public,' is already busieU in sowing the seeds of a new tragedy, two operatic romances, three grand romantic melc-dramas, and half a dozen farces, in the fertile soil of those poets whom he employs it. each of these departments respectively; while each of the London publishers is projecting a new ' periodical/ to appear on the first of January next; that which he started on the first of last January having, of course, died of old age ere this r
Bigixnino Of " Firm."
In October, fires have fairly gained possession of their places, and even greet us on coming down to breakfast in the rooming. Of all the discomforts of that most comfortless period of the London year which is neither winter nor summer, the most unequivocal is that of its being too cold to be without a fire, and not cold enough to have one. A set of polished fire-irons, standing sentry beside a pile of dead coals imprisoned behind a row of glittering bars, instead of mending the matter, makes it worse; inasmuch as it is better to look into an empty coffin, than to see the dead face of a friend in it. At the season in question, especially in the evening, one feels in a perpetual perplexity, whether to go out or stay at home; sit down or walk about; read, write, cast accounts, or call for the candle and go to bed. But let the fire be lighted, and all uncertainty is at an end, and we (or even one) may do any or all of these with equal satisfaction. In short, light but the tiie, and you bring the winter in at once; and what are twenty summers, with all their sunshine (when they are gone,) to one winter, with its indoor sunshine of a seacoal fire !•
Mr Leigh Hunt, who on the aflairs of "The Months" is our first authority, pleasantly inquires—" With our fire before us, and our books on each side, what shall we do? Shall we take out a life of somebody, or a Theocritus, or Dante, or Ariosto, or Montaigne, or Marcus Aurelius, or Horace, or Shakspeare who includes them all? Or shall we read an engraving from Poussin or Raphael? Or shall we sit with tilted chairs, planting our wrists upon our knees, and toasting the ap-turned palms of our hands, while we discourse of manners and of man's heart and hopes, with at least a sincerity, a good intention, and good nature, that ■hall warrant what we say with the sincere, the good-inttntioned, and the goodnatured ?'—He then agreeably brings us
to the mantlepieee. "Ah—take care You see what that old looking saucer is, with a handle to it? It is a venerable piece of earthenware, which may have been worth, to an Athenian, about twopence; but to an author, is worth a great deal more than ever he could—deny for it. And yet he would deny it too. It will fetch his imagination more than ever it fetched potter or penny-maker. Its little shallow circle overflows for him with the milk and honey of a thousand pleasant associations. This is one of the uses of having mantlepieces. You may often see on no very rich mantlepieee a representative body of all the elements, physical and intellectual,—a shell for the sea, a stuffed bird or some feathers for the air, a curious piece of mineral for the earth, a glass of water with some flowers in it for the visible process of creation,—a cast from sculpture for the mind of man;—and underneath all, is the bright and ever-springing fire, running up through them heavenwards, like hope through materiality."
Naturalists' Calendar. Mean Temperature ... 46. 02.
Yeomen Of The Guard. On this day in the year 1485, when king Henry VII. was crowned at Westminster, he instituted the body of royal attendants, called yeomen of the guard, who in later times acquired the appellation of " beef-eaters."
Naturalists Calendar. Mean Temperature ... 47 . 17.
The superstitious observances of this night, described in the former volume, are fast disappearing. In some places where young people were acustomed to meet fot purposes of divination, aud frequently frighten each other into fits, as of ancient custom, they have little regard to the old usages. The meetings c» Hallow-eve are becoming pleasant merrymakings; the dance prevails till suppertime, when they take a cheerful glasa and drink to their next happy meeting.
Naturalists' Calendar. Mean Temperature. . . 47-62.