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Those good old turn-stiles too,—can I ever forget them? the hours I have spun round upon them, when a boy; or those in which I have almost laughed myself to death at the remembrance of my village pedagogue's disaster! Methinks I see nim now. The time a sultry day ;—the fiomine a goodly person of some eighteen or twenty stone;—the scene a footpath sentinelled with turn-stiles, one of which held him fast, as in utter amazement at his bulk. Never shall I forget his efforts arid agonies to extricate himself, nor his lion-like roars, which brought some labourers to his assistance, who, when they had recovered from their convulsions of laughter, knocked off the top, and let him go. It is long since I saw a turnstile, and I suspect the Falstaffs have cried them down. But, without a jest, stiles and fieldpaths are vanishing eveiy where. There is nothing upon which the advance of wealth and population has made so serious an inroad. As land has increased in value, wastes and heaths have been parcelled out and enclosed, but seldom have footpaths been left. The poet and the naturalist, who before had, perhaps, the greatest real property in them, have had?-no allotment. They have been totally driven out of the promised land. Nor is this all. Goldsmith complained, in his day, that—
"The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe, that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their
growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen. Indignant spurns the cottage from the green."
And it is but too true that "the pressure of contiguous pride" has driven farther and farther, from that day to this, the public from the rich man's lands. "They make a solitude and call it peace." Even the quiet and picturesque footpath that led across his lawn, or stole along his wood-side, giving to the poor man, with his burden, a cooler and a nearer cut to the village, is become a nuisance. One would have thought that the rustic labourer with his scythe on his shoulder, or his bill-hook and hedging mittens in nis hand, the cottage dame in her black bonnet and scarlet-cloak, the bonny village maiden in the sweetness of health and simplicity, or the boy strolling along full of life and curiosity, might have had sufficient interest, in themselves, for a culti
vated taste, passing occasionally at a distance across the park or lawn not only to be tolerated, but even to be welcomed as objects agreeably enlivening the stately solitude of the hall. But they have not. And what is more, they are commonly the most jealous of pedestrian trespassers who seldom visit their own estates, but permit the seasons to scatter their charms around their villas and rural possessions without the heart to enjoy, or even the presence to behold them. How often have I myself been arrested in some longfrequented dale, in some spot endeared by its own beauties and the fascinations of memory, by a board, exhibiting, in giant characters, Stopped by an order of Sessions.' and denouncing the terms of the law upon trespassers. This is a little too muoh. I would not be querulous for the poor against the rich. I would not teach them to look with an envious and covetous eye upon their villas, lawns, cattle, and equipage; but when the path of immemorial usage is closed, when the little streak, almost as fine as a mathematical line, along the wealthy man's ample field, is grudgingly erased, it is impossible not to feel indignation at the pitiful monopoly. Is there no village champion to be found bold enough to put in his protest against these encroaenments, to assert this public right—for a right it is, as authentic as that by which the land itself is held, and as cleaily acknowledged by the laws? Is there no local "Hampden with dauntless breast" to " withstand the little tyrant of the fields," and to save our good old fieldpaths? If not, we shall, in a few years, be doomed to the highways and the hedges: to look, like Dives, from a sultry region of turnpikes, into a pleasant one of verdure and foliage which we may not approach. Already the stranger, if he lose his way, is in jeopardy of falling into the horrid fangs of a steel-trap; the botanist enters a wood to gather a flower, and is shot with a springgun; death haunts our dells and copses, and the poet complains, in regretful notes, that he—
"Wanders away to field and glen Far as he may for the gentlemen." I am not so much of a poet, and so little of a political economist, as to lament over the progress of population. It is true that I see, with a poetical regret, green fields and beautiful fresh tracts swallowed up in cities; but my joy in the increase of human life and happiness far outbalances that imaginative pain. But it is when I see unnecessary and arbitrary encroachments upon the rural privileges of the public that I grieve. Exactly in the same proportion as our population and commercial habits gain upon us, do we need all possible opportunities to keep alive in us the spirit of nature.
"The world is too much with us, late and soon Getting and spending; we lay waste our
powers, Little there is in nature that is ours."
We give ourselves up to the artificial habits and objects of ambition, till we endanger the higher and better feelings and capacities of our being; and it is alone to the united influence of religion, literature, and nature, that we must look for the preservation of our moral nobility. Whenever, therefore, 1 behold one of our old lidd paths closed, I regard it as another link in the chain which Mammon is winding around us,—another avenue cut off by which we might fly to the lofty sanctuary of nature for power to withstand him. H.
Bulls And Bkll Ringing At Bury
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Lambeth, July 13, 1826.
My dear Sir,—To your late interesting
notices of " Bells" and "Bell-ringing,"
the following singular letter, which ap
Iiears in a Suffolk paper, may be added, happen to know something of this "jangling;" and when I resided in the town of Bury St. Edmund's some years back, was compelled to listen to "the most hideous noise" of St. James's lofty opponents. But •' who shall decide when doctors disagree ?"—Why, Mr. Editor,—ice will. It is a hardship, a cruelty, a usurpation, a " tale of woe." Listen to St. James's statement, and then let us raise our bells, and ring a "righte sounde and merie" peal, such as will almost "split the ears of the groundlings."—
"To the Editor of the Bury Post.
"Sir,—Since we have been repeatedly asked why St. James's ringers lost the privilege of ringing in St. Mary's steeple, as far as it lies in our power we will answer it. Ever since the year 1714, up
to the period of 1813, the ringing in thu town was conducted by one company only, who had the liberty of ringing at both steeples; and in St. Mary's steeple there are recorded two peals rung by the Bury company, one of which was rung in 1779, and the other in 1799. In 1813, the bells of St. Mary's wanting some repairs, the ringers applied to the churchwardens, and they having declined doing any thing to them, the ringers ceased from ringing altogether until the bells were repaired. At length an offer was made to the churchwardens to raise a young company, which offer was accepted by them, and the bells were partially repaired. In consequence of which a company was raised, and a part of it consisted of old men who were incapable of learning to ring; youth being the only time when such an art can be acquired. It was agreed that when this company could ring one course of eight (or 112 changes), that each one should receive one pound, which they have never asked for, well knowing they were never entitled to it; at the same time, it appears evident that the parish consented they should learn to ring. In 1817, only two years and a half after the company was raised, three bells were obliged to be rehung, at nearly twenty pounds' expense. Taking an account of the annual repairs of the bells, and the repairs in 1814, the three years of sixteen-change ringers cost the parish nearly thuty pounds, which would have rehung the whole peal, being a deal more than what the old ringers would have caused them to be repaired for in 1814. We, the present company of St. James's ringers, are well aware that St. Mary's company had the offer to learn to ring in September, 1814, which we made no opposition to; and if St. Mary's had learnt, we would have gladly taken them by the hand as brother ringers; but after twelve years' arduous struggle in endeavouring to learn to ring, they are no forwarder than the first week they began. They could only then ring (no more than they can now) sixteen changes, and that very imperfectly, being but a very small part of the whole revolution of changes on eight bells, which consist of 40,320. We, St. James's ringers, or 'old ringers,' as we have been commonly called, often get blamed for the most hideous noite made in St. Mary's steeple; and after the jangling of the bells, miscalled ringing, which they afforded the other
evening, we indulge in the hope that our future use of the steeple will be generally allowed.
"We are, Sir, most gratefully,
Ah! much respected "St. James's company," do " indulge the hope" of making St. Mary's bells speak eloquently again. If my pen can avail, you shall soon pull " Old Tom's" tail in that steeple; and all his sons, daughters, and kindred around him, shall lift up their voices in well-tuned chorus, and sing " hallelujahs" of returning joy. "Those evening bells, those evening bells," which used to frighten all the dogs and old women in the parish, and which used to make me wish were suspended round the ringers' necks, shall utter sweet music and respond delightedly to lovers' vows and tales whispered in shady lanes and groves, in the vicinity of your beautiful town. You, worthy old bellmen, who have discoursed so rapidly on the marriages of my father, and uncle, and cousin, and friend, and acquaintance, who would have (for a guinea I) paid the same compliment to myself, (although I was wedded in a distant land, and like a hero of romance and true knight-errant, claimed my fair bride, without consulting "father or mother, sister or brother,") and made yourselves as merry at my expense, as my pleasantest friends or bitterest enemies could have wished, had I hinted such a thing!
Oh 1 respectable churchwardens—discharge the "young company," who chant unfeelingly and unprofitably. Remember the " old ringers!"
"Pity the sorrows of the poor old men."
Respect talent—consider their virtues— patronise that art which " can only be attained when young"—and which the "young company" cannot attain—(does this mean they are stupid?)—and console the "old ringers,''and let them pull on until they are pulled into their graves! Think how they have moved the venerable tower of old St. James's with their music*—nay, until the very bricks and stones above, wished to become more intimately acquainted with them! Do not let a stigma
• A Tew years ago it was unsafe to ring the ten heMs in St. James's steeple. It has been repaired—I eannot say its fine Saxon architecture either beautified or improved.
be cast upon them—for, should the good town's-people imagine the " most hideous noise" was caused by the " old ringers," their characters are gone for ever—they dare not even look at you through a sheet of paper! How " many a time and oft" have they fired their feux de joie on the king's birthday—how many thousand changes pealed for the alderman's annual feast—how many " tiddle-lol-tols" played on the celebration of your electionparish dinners, See. &c. Then think of their fine — half-minute—scientific—eloquent " tolls" for the death of the " young —the brave—and the fair!" Oh! — respectable gentlemen in office—" think of these things."
I can aver, the ringers of St. Mary's are only to be equalled in the variety of their tunes, and unaccountable changes.by " the most hideous noise" of our Waterloo-road bellmen. I suppose they are a " youngcompany." I can only say, then, I wish they were old, if there were any chance of their playing in tune and time.
And now, farewell, my good "old ringers" of St. James's. I have done all I can for you, and will say there is as much difference between your ringing and the "young company" at St. Mary's, as there is between the fiddling of the late Billy Waters and Signor Spagnoletti, the leader of the large theatre in the Haymarket!
Farewell! May you have possession of St. Mary's steeple by the time you see this in the Every-Day Book ; and may the first merry peal be given in honour of your considerate and faithful townsman—
Mean Temperature . .60-67
On the fifth of July, 1685, the duke of Monmouth's enterprise against James 11.was ended by the battle of Sedgemoor, near Bridgwater, in Somersetshire. The duke's army consisting of native followers attacked the king's veteran troops, routed them, and would finally have conquered, if error in Monmouth as a leader, and the cowardice of lord Gray, one of his commanders, had not devoted them to defeat.
Now firtt published.
To several letters of distinguished individuals, first brought to light in these sheets, the editor is enabled to add another, if the character of the writer, and the remarkable event he communicates, be considered in connection with the authority to whom the letter was addressed, it will be regarded as a document of real importance.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
July 1,1826. Sir,—I had intended to have sent you this communication in time for insertion under the date of the twenty-sixth of June, which, according to the New Style, corresponds with the fourteenth, on which the letter was written, a copy of which I send:—it is from Oliver Cromwell to the Speaker Lenthall, giving an account of the battle of Naseby.—It was presented to me a great many years ago by a friend in Northamptonshire, and is, I think, an historical curiosity.—I make no comment on its style; it speaks for itself.
I am, &c.
E. S. F.
"To the Honourable W. Lenthall,
"Speaker to the Commons House of Parliament. "Sir, "Being Commanded by you to this Service, I think myself bound to acquaint you with the good hand of God towards you and us: We marched yesterday after the King, who went before us from Daventry to Haversbrowe, and quartered about Six Miles from him—he drew out
to meet us—Both armies engag'd. We,
after three hours fight—very doubtful,
at last routed his army—kill'd and took about 5000—very many officers—but of what quality, we yet know not.—We took also about 200 Carag. all he had— and all his Guns being 12 in number— whereof two were Demi Culverins and 1 think the rest Fasces—we pursued the
Enemy from three miles short of Haversbrowe to nine beyond—Ever to sight of Leicester, whither the King fled.—Sir— this is none other but the hand of God :■— and to him alone belongs the Glory— wherein none are to share with him.—The General served you with all faithfulness and honor—and the best recommendation I can give of him is, that I dare say, he attributes all to God and would rather perish than to assume to himself, which is an honest and thriving way—Yet as much for Bravery must be given him in this Action as to a man.—Honest men served you faithfully in this Action.—Sir, they are trusty—I beseech you, in the Name of God, not to discourage them.— I wish this Action may beget thankfulness and Humility in all that are coocern'd in it—He that ventures his Life for the good of his Country—I wish he trusts God for the liberty of his Conscience and you for the Liberty he fights for.—In this, he rests who is your most humble Servant "O. Cromwell." "Havertbrowe, June 14, 16IS."
The gentleman who possesses Cromwell's original letter is known to the editor, who thus publicly expresses his thanks to him, as he has done privately, for having communicated so valuable an historical document to the public, through the Every-Day Book.
With the particulars respecting this foundation in the present volume, it was intended to give the two engravings subjoined. They were ready, and the printer waited for them, and delayed the publication an entire day, while the engraver's messenger carried them about with him, without the accompaniment of a recollection that they were in his pocket, until after the sheet had appeared without them. This is a disclosure of one of the many " secret sorrows" lately endured by the editor, who begs the reader to bear in mind thai the cuts belong to col. 766.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
June 24, 1826. Sir,—It was about this season of the year, though I am not aware of any precise day being fixed for the excursion, that the chief magistrate of the city, in the stately barge, attended by all the "pride, pomp, and circumstance" of flags, gilding,and music, used, when I was a boy, which is a good thirty years ago, to proceed up the river Thames as far as Staines, and, I believe, pour a glass of wine, or perform some 3uch ceremony, upon a stone, which, standing in a meadow a short distance above Staines-bridge, marks the city's watery jurisdiction. The custom may, for aught I know to the contrary, be still continued, though I suspect it has become obsolete, and my conjecture is strengthened by not observing in your Every-Day Book any mention of this civic excursion, or " Swan-hopping," as I believe it was called. My reason for reviving the memory of it now, is to introduce an authentic anecdote. Your invitations to correspondents have been
frequent; and should I be fortunate enough to assist you to a column in a way that will be gratifying to you and your numerous readers, 1 shall rejoice in the opportunity.
I am, Sir, &c.
The following curious circumstance occurred, several years ago, at a tavern in the vicinity cf Putney-biidge. Several members of one of the city companies having accompanied the chief magistrate on an excursion up the river, quitted his lordship, and landed at the house in question. A boat containing a party of six ladies, elegantly dressed, and rowed by two watermen, in scailet jackets, put in at the same time.
The happy citizens relieved from the controul of their dames, could not resist this opportunity of showing their gallantry and politeness. They stepped forward and offered their aid to assist the ladies in landing; the offer was accepted; and this act of civility was followed by others. They walked, talked, and laughed together, till dinner was announced. The gentlemen went to the larger room; the ladies sat down to a repast laid out for them by their order in a smaller one.
After some time the ladies again returned to the lawn, where the gentlemen occasionally joined them and continued their civilities till the watermen informed them the tide served for their return to town. The gentlemen then assisted the ladies on board, and wished them a safe voyage. Soon after they called for their bill, which was handed to the chairman in due form; but it is impossible to express the surprise which marked his countenance on reading the following items :—" Dinner, desert, wine, tea, See. for the ladies, 71. 10*.;" together with a charge of twelve shillings for servants' refreshments. The landlord was sent for and questioned as to this charge, who said the ladies had desired the bill should be delivered to their tpoiuet, who would settle it. An explanation now took place, when it appeared the parties were strangers to each other; for these sprightly dames, taking advantage of the occasional civilities of the gallant and unsuspecting twan-hoppen, had imposed themselves on honest Boniface, nothing loth perhaps to be imposed on, as the wives of the city company, and, as such, had been served vt ith an elegant