Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 20, No. 577, July 7, 1827», sayfa 4

A DISTINCTION

"La-a-dy * *," exclaimed a certain Colonel, in that very original Scotch brogue which a long acquaintance with the world has not tended in any degree to diminish, "alloo me to introduce you to my brother, Carnal M– –." "What!" asked the lady, "are you both Colonels?" "Oo—ay—La-a-dy * *, that are we, in troth; but the daff'rence is this, my brother, you see, is Carnal" (Lieutenant-colonel he intended to express), "and I—am fool Carnal!"

M.L.B

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS

PETER PENCE

Were an ancient levy, or tax, of a penny on each house throughout England, paid to the Pope. It was called Peter-pence because collected on the day of St. Peter ad vincula. By the Saxons it was called Rome-feoh—i.e. the fee of Rome; and also Rome-scot, and Rome-pennying, because collected and sent to Rome;—and lastly, it was called Hearth-money, because every dwelling-house was liable to it, provided there were thirty-pence vivæ pecuniæ belonging to it;—nay, and every religious house, the Abbey of St. Alban's alone excepted.

This Peter-pence was at first given as a pension, or alms, by Ina, king of the West Saxons, in the year 727, being then in pilgrimage at Rome; and the like was done by Offa, king of the Mercians, throughout his dominions, in 794; and afterwards by Ethelwulph, through the whole kingdom, in the year 855.

It was not intended as a tribute to the Pope, but chiefly for the support of the English school, or college, at Rome. The popes, however, shared it with the college, and at length found means, to appropriate it to themselves.

At first it was only an occasional contribution; but it became at last a standing tax, being established by the laws of King Canute, Edward the Confessor, the Conqueror, &c. The bishops, who were charged with the collecting it, employed the rural deans and archdeacons therein.

Edward III. first forbade the payment; but it soon after returned, and continued till the time of Henry VIII., when Polydore Virgil resided here as the Pope's receiver general. It was abolished under that prince, and restored again under Philip and Mary; but it was finally prohibited under Queen Elizabeth.

WALTER E.C

POPISH RELICS

Ere the bright dawn of the Reformation lighted upon England, the furniture of churches appears, from ancient records, to have been of a splendid description; and vast sums are stated to have been lavished upon the images of saints, &c. Great Saint Mary's Chapel, Cambridge, is in the possession of an inventory of the goods and chattels possessed by that ancient edifice in the 19th year of Henry VII., of which the following is a transcript:—

"Item—A coat of tawney damask, purfled with velvet, appertaining to our Lady.

"Item—A coat for her son, of the same satin, purfled with black velvet, and spangled with gold.

"Item—A relic, called a box of silver with the oil of St. Nicholas.

"Item—Another little box of silver, with a bone of St. Lawrence.

"Item—A shoe of silver for the image of our Lady, and a piece of a penny, weighing in all two ounces in a box.

"Item—An image of our Lady and her Son, of copper and gilt, with a chrystal stone.

"Item—A collar of gold for to hang about our Lady's neck, of nine links in the collar.

"Item—A cap of black velvet, with fine pearl, for our Lady's son.

"Item—Two maces for St. Edmund.

"Item—Three small crowns for St. Katherine.

"Item—A cross and staff for St. Nicholas."

The orthography of this extract has been modernized, but the idiom (if any) has been retained.

JUVENIS

ANCIENT CHAIR

This curious relic is traditionally called the Prior's Chair, and belonged to the priory of Southwick, which formerly stood near Portsmouth, in Hampshire. It is made of oak, its several parts being fastened together with small wooden pegs. On the back of the chair, within a square panel, is carved an animal somewhat resembling a buck, which was probably the armorial bearing of the prior; as it was anciently, and is now, the custom to carve or paint on chairs placed in halls or other conspicuous places, the crest or arms of the proprietor. Above the panel are two mitres, and on each side of the arms of the chair is a rose, ornamented with rays issuing from its centre. This ancient specimen of furniture is extremely interesting as a specimen of the mechanical ingenuity of the age in which it was constructed, and as the only vestige of the establishment to which it was annexed. Upon part of the Priory buildings being taken down, a few years since, the Chair with other old furniture found on the premises, was sold by auction, when it was rescued from the hands of a person who was bidding for it as a smoking chair, by a gentleman, who allowed a drawing to be taken of it. Of the Priory of Southwick very scanty information is to be obtained: no mention of it is to be found in the Monasticon: but Sir Robert Atkyns, in his history of Gloucestershire, says that it was founded by Henry I. and dedicated to St. Mary. It was for canons regular of the order of St. Augustine. The last prior surrendered this convent on the 7th of April, 1539: it was valued in the catalogue of religious houses at 257l.

ANTIQUE KNIFE-HANDLE

This was found about 20 years since, at the manorhouse of Lake, near Amesbury, in Wiltshire. The handle consists of two figures, a warrior and a female: it was probably the haft of a small knife or dagger, is made of brass, and considering its great antiquity, is in good preservation. The features of the figures are the parts mostly injured by wear; the female holds in the right hand a small bag or purse, the custom of carrying which fell into disuse in the days of Queen Elizabeth. This ancient haft is, however, most likely of an age considerably anterior to the above reign, and from the costume in general, and the simple cross hilt of the sword attached to the warrior's side, it may not unjustly claim a date coeval with the Crusades.

ANCIENT BELL

This Bell, as the motto (God save the Queen, 1560,) explains, is of the age of Elizabeth. The handle is of considerably older date, and probably belonged to a mass-bell, as it bears the effigies of a devotee, holding her beads, and a cross. Indeed, the prayer for the Queen, on the Bell, in English, would indicate its subsequent age. This curious relic was a few years since in the possession of the Rev. Mr. Crutwell, a name distinguished in topographical and antiquarian literature.

FALCONRY TENURE

The manorial rights of Comberton, in the county of Cambridge, were formerly held by the lord, being the keeper of the king's falcons. A record of the year 1374 says, that the manor was held "by the service of carrying a goshawk at coronations."—JUVENIS.

THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

FUNERAL OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.—BY AN EYE-WITNESS

(Abridged from Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.)

When we arrived at the ford, which gave its fancied name to the poet's dwelling, we found the silver Tweed sparkling merrily along, as if all things were as they were wont to be. The young woods before us, and the towers, and gables, and pinnacles of the mansion, were smiling beneath the mellowing rays of the September sun, as if unconscious that the master-spirit which called them into being had for ever fled from them. The sound of wheels came on the ear at intervals, rushing from different directions, and indicating the frequent arrival of carriages; yet when we, availing ourselves of the open doors, had taken our well-known way through the garden, and passed beneath the Gothic screen that might have vied with the Beautiful Gate of the Temple itself, and on into the courtyard in front of the house, we were surprised to find it deserted and lonely. Before any one came to interrupt us, we had leisure to gaze around, and to wonder at the great growth of the trees and shrub's since we had last beheld them; and as we did so, the venerable shade of him who had last walked there with us, filled our imagination and our eyes—shifted with them as they shifted;—and as it glided around us, it recalled to our full hearts a thousand pleasing and touching recollections. But our dreams were at length abruptly broken, by the appearance of some of our acquaintances, who issued from the house; and the sight of their weeds of woe immediately recalled our thoughts to the garb of grief which we also wore, and to the sad object of our present visit.

Passing through the Gothic hall, we met with no one till we entered the library, where we found a considerable circle of gentlemen already assembled: these were chiefly from the neighbouring districts; but there were a few whom we recognised as having come from Edinburgh, and other places equally distant. Obscured within the shadow of one of the book-cases, we remained ruminating as if we had been absolutely alone, until we were interrupted by a summons to the drawing-room, where certain refreshments were prepared for those who had any inclination to partake of them. But we must confess our natural antipathy to all such mournful feasts; we therefore declined to join in this; and after catching, as well as our position near the door allowed us to do, a few stray sentences of a prayer, which was feelingly offered up by the parish clergyman, we became so oppressed by the heat of the room, that we ventured to steal away to enjoy the air in the porch.

That porch was soon tenanted in our imagination by that venerable ideal image which we had been all this while courting to our side. With it we continued to hold sacred communion—with it we looked, as we had formerly done with the reality, on the effigy of Maida;² and the harsh truth that Maida's master was now as cold as Maida itself, went rudely home to our hearts. But footsteps came slowly and heavily treading through the small armoury: they were those of the servants of the deceased, who, with full eyes, and yet fuller hearts, came reverently bearing the body of him whose courteous welcome had made that very porch so cheerful to us. We were the only witnesses of this usually unheeded part of the funeral duties: accident had given to us a privilege which was lost to the crowd within. We instinctively uncovered our heads, and stood subdued by an indescribable feeling of awe as the corpse was carried outwards; and we felt grateful, that it had thus fallen to our lot to behold the departure of these the honoured and precious remains of Sir Walter Scott from the house of Abbotsford, where all his earthly affections had been centered. The coffin was plain and unpretending, covered with black cloth, and having an ordinary plate on it, with this inscription, "Sir Walter Scott, of Abbotsford, Bart., aged 62." "Alas!" said we, as we followed the precious casket across the courtyard—"alas! have these been the limits of so valuable a life?"

Having followed the coffin until we saw it deposited in the hearse, which stood on the outside of the great gate of the courtyard, we felt ourselves unequal to returning into the apartment where the company were assembled; and we continued to loiter about, seeking for points of recollection which might strengthen the chain of association we wished to indulge in. Our attention was attracted, by observing the window of the study open, and we were led to look within, impelled by no idle or blameable curiosity, but rather like a pilgrim approaching the shrine where his warmest adoration has ever been paid. But, alas I the deep tones of the venerable old Principal Baird, whose voice was heard in earnest and impressive prayer, came upon us through an opposite door, from the library beyond; and the affecting allusions which he uttered again brought us back to the afflicting truth, that Sir Walter Scott was gone from us for ever!

The prayer was no sooner ended, than the company began to issue from the house. The carriages had been previously assembled on the haugh below, and were so arranged there, that they drove up in a continued line; and as each passed the great gateway, it took up its owners, and then proceeded. There certainly were not less than seventy gentlemen's carriages of all descriptions, two-wheeled as well as four-wheeled,—besides which there were a number of horsemen. The public road runs along the face of the hill, immediately above the house, in a direction from west to east; and the avenue leading from the gate of the courtyard runs up the hill in a westerly direction, entering the public road so obliquely as to produce a very awkward turn for carriages going eastward towards Melrose. Until we had passed this point some little way we could form no notion of the extent of the procession; but when we were thus enabled to form some judgment of it, we perceived that it had extended itself over about a mile of road.

Ere yet we had left the immediate vicinity of the house, we discovered a mournful group of women-servants weeping behind the hedge on our left, whither they had hurried to take their last look of that hearse which was carrying to the grave a kind and indulgent master, whose like they had no hope ever to look upon again.

The elevation of the road on the hill-side was such as to give us a full view of the valley, and we could observe that the summit of many of the little knolls at a distance, even those beyond the Tweed, were covered with small clusters of rustic gazers, all intent upon a spectacle equally calculated to move persons of every rank and description; and every now and then we found a little knot of spectators assembled by the way-side, whose motionless countenances and unbroken silence sufficiently testified the nature of their feelings.

As we approached the neat little village of Darnick, our attention was forcibly arrested by a very striking token of woe. On the top of an ancient tower—one of those, we believe, which Sir Walter has rendered classical—was placed a flag-staff, from which depended a broad, black banner of crape, or some other light material. There was not a breath of air to stir the film of a gossamer, so that light as the material seemed to be, it hung heavy and motionless—a sad and simple emblem, that eloquently spoke the general village sorrow. This we found more particularly expressed in detail, as we passed through the little place, by the many minuter insignia of mourning which the individual inhabitants had put on the fronts of their houses and shops—by the suspension of business—and by the respectful manner in which the young and the old, and people of both sexes, stood silently and reverently before their respective dwellings, wrapt in that all-absorbing sorrow which told how deeply he that was gone had rooted himself in their affections. When the hearse drew near to his own Melrose, the bell tolled sadly from the steeple of the church; and as we entered the street, we saw that here, as elsewhere, the inhabitants had vied with each other in unaffected and unpretending demonstrations of their individual affliction. In the little market-place we found the whole male population assembled, all decently dressed in deep mourning, drawn up in two lines, and standing with their hats off, silent and motionless. The effect of the procession when crossing the Fly Bridge over the Tweed, and still more when winding around that high and long sweep of the road which is immediately opposite to the promontory of Old Melrose, was extremely striking and picturesque; and the view, looking back from the high ground towards the Eildon hills and Melrose, over the varied vale of the Tweed, till the eye was arrested by the distant mountains, then seen under a rich Claude effect; and the devious course of the river, betrayed by fragments of water that sparkled here and there amid the yellow stubbles and green pastures, was exquisitely beautiful. But nothing gave so much interest to this glorious scene as the far-off woods of Abbotsford, then dimmed by the warm haze, and melting, as it were, from their reality, and so reminding us even yet more forcibly of the fleeting nature of all the things of this perishable world.