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a poem

For sport alone pursues the cruel chase, And o'er the open fields with rapid speed Amid the beamings of the geutle days. To the close shelt'ring covert wing their way. Upbraid, ye ravening tribes, our wanton rage, When to the hedge-rows thus the birds For bunger kindles you, and lawless want;

repair, But lavish fed, in nature's bounty rollid, Most certain is our sport; but oft in brakes To joy at anguish, and delight in blood, So deep they lie, that far above our head Is what your borrid bosoms never knew. The waving branches close, and vex'd we bea

So sings the muse of “The Seasons" on The startled covey one by one make off. the one side; on the other, we have“ the Now may we visit some remoter ground; ay of the last minstrel” in praise of My eager wishes are insatiate yet, “ Fowling," the “rev.John Vincent, B. A. And end but with the sun.

Yet happy he, curate of Constantine, Cornwall," whose “passion for rural sports, and the beau. Wzo ere the nooontide beams infame the skies,

Has bagg'd the spoil ; with lighter step he ties of nature," gave birth to

treads, where nature and sport were to be the Nor faints so fast beneath the scorching ray. only features of the picture," and wherein The morning hours well spent, should mighty he thus describes.

toil Full of th' expected sport my heart beats Require some respite, he content can seek high,

Th' o'er-arching shade, or to the friendly farm And with impatient step I haste to reach Betake him, where with hospitable band The stubbles, where the scatter'd ears afford His simple host brings forth the gratefu A sweet repast to the yet heedless game.

draught How my brave dogs o'er the broad furrows Of honest home-brew'd beer, or cider cool. bound,

Such friendly treatment may each fowler find Quart'ring their ground exactly. Ah! that Who never violates the farmer's rights, point

Nor with injurious violence, invades Answers my eager hopes, and fills my breast His fields of standing corn. Let us forbear With joy unspeakable. How close they lie ! Such cruel wrong, though on the very verge Whilst to the spot with steady pace I tend. Of the high waving field our days should point. Now from the ground with noisy wing they

burst, And dart away. My victim singled out,

The pen of a country gentleman comIn his aërial course falls short, nor skims

municates an account of a remarkable Th’ adjoining hedge o'er which the rest unhurt character created by “love of the gun.” Have pass’d. Now let us from that lofty hedge Survey with heedful eye the country round;

THE LOSCOE MISER. That we may bend our course once more to

For the Every-Day Book. The scatter'd covey: for no marker waits About sixty years ago, at Loscoe, a Upon my steps, though hill and valley here, small village in Derbyshire, lived James With shrubby copse, and far extended brake Woolley, notorious for three things, the Of high-grown furze, alternate rise around.

very good clocks he made, his eccentric Inviting is the view,-far to the right

system of farming, and the very great In rows of dusky green, potatoes stretch, care he took of his money. He was, like With turnips mingled of a livelier hue. Towards the vale, fenc d by the prickly furze

Elwes and Dancer, an old bachelor, and That down the hill irregularly slopes,

for the same reason, it was a favourite Upwards they seem'd to fly; nor is their flight that “fine wives and fine gardens are

maxim with him, and ever upon his lips, Long at this early season. Let us beat, With diligence and speed restrain’d, the mighty expensive things :" he conseground,

quently kept at a very respectful distance Making each circuit good.

from both. He had, indeed, an unconNear yonder hedge-row where high grass querable dread of any thing “fine," or and ferns

that approached in any way that awful The secret hollow shade, my pointers stand. and ghost-like term "expensive." How beautiful they look! with outstretch'd

It would seem that Woolley's avaricious tails, With heads immovable and eyes fast fix'd,

bias, was not, as is generally the case, his One fore-leg rais'd and bent, the other firm,

first ruling passion, though a phrenoloAdvancing forward, presses on the ground !

gist, might entertain a different opinion Convolv'd and Autt'ring on the blood-stain'd

“When young,” says Blackner in his Hisearth,

tory of Nottinghamshire," he was partiai The partridge lies :-thus one by one they fall, to shooting; but being detected at his Save what with happier fate escape untouch'd, sport upon the estate of the depraved

meet

William Andrew Horne, Esq. of Butterly shabby and vagrant appearance nearly (who was executed on the 11th of Decem- excluded him from the scene of good-eaiber, 1759, at Nottingham, for the murdering, and even when the burgesses sat of a child) and compelled by him to pay down to table, no one seemed disposed the penalty, he made a vow never to cease to accommodate the miserly old gentlefrom labour, except when nature com man with a seat. The chairs were quickly pelled him, till he had obtained sufficient filled : having no time to lose, be crept property to justify him in following his under the table and thrusting up his head favourite sport, without dreading the forced himself violently into one, but not frowns of his haughty neighbour. He before he had received some heavy blows accordingly fell to work, and continued on the bare skull. at it till he was weary, when he rested, and The most prominent incident in his to it again,”-a plan which he pursued history, was à ploughing scheme of his without any regard to night or day. He own invention. He had long lamented denied bimself the use of an ordinary that he kept horses at a great expense for bed, and of every other comfort, as well the purposes of husbandry. To have kept as necessary, except of the meanest kind. a saddle-horse would have been extravaBut when he had acquired property, to gant-and at last fancying he could do qualify hiin to carry a gun, he had lost without them, they were sold, and the all relish for the sport; and he continued money carefully laid by. This was a trito labour at clock-making, except when umph-a noble saving! The winter passhe found an opportunity of trafficking in ed away, and his hay and corn-stacks land, till he had amassed a considerable stood undiminished; ploughing time howfortune, which he bequeathed to one of ever arrived, and his new plan must be his relations. I believe he died about carried into effect. The plough was 1770."

drawn from its inglorious resting place, It must have been a singular spectacle and a score men were summoned from to any one except Woolley's neighbours, the village to supply the place of horses. who were the daily observers of his habits, At the breakfast-table he was not without to have seen a man worth upwards of fears of a famine-he could starve him20,0001. up at five in the morning brush- self, but a score of brawny villagers, hun. ing away with his bare feet the dew as he gry, and anticipating a hard day's work, fetched

up

his cows from the pasture, his would eat, and drink too, and must be sashoes and stockings carefully held under tisfied. They soon proceeded to the field, his arm to prevent them from being in- where a long continued drought had made jured by the wet ; though, by the by, a the ground almost impenetrable; the day glance at them would have satisfied any became excessively hot, and the men tugone they had but little to fear from the ged and puffed to little purpose; they iew or any thing else. A penny loaf again ate heartily, and drank more good boiled in a small piece of linen, made him ale than the old man had patience to an excellent pudding ; this with a half- think of; and difficult as it was, to force penny worth of small beer from the vil- the share through the unyielding sward, lage alehouse was his more than ordinary it was still more difficult to refrain from dinner, and rarely sported unless on holy- laughing out at the grotesque figure their days, or when he had a friend or tenant group presented. They made many wry to share the luxury.

faces, and more wry furrows, and spoiled Once in his life Woolley was convicted with their feet what they had not ploughof liberality. He had at great labour and ed amiss. But this was not all. Had a expense of time made, what he considered, balloon been sent up from the field it a clock of considerable value, and, as it could scarcely have drawn together more was probably too large for common pur- intruders; he tried, but in vain, to keep joses, he presented it to the corporation them off ; they thronged upon him from of Nottingham, for the exchange. In re- all quarters; his gates were all set open turn he was made a freeman of the town. or thrown off the hooks; and the fences They could not have conferred on him a broken down in every direction. Woolley greater favour : the honour mattered not perceived his error; the men, the rope -but election-dinners were things which traces, and the plough were sent home in a powerfully appealed through his stomach hurry, and with some blustering, and many io his heart. The first le attended was oaths, the trespassers were got rid of. The productive of a ludicrous incident. His fences were mended, and the gates re

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placed, and baving to his heart's content ants, and dream all night long of what
gratified his whim, he returned to the they have not seen."
old-fashioned custom of ploughing with
borses, until in bis brains' fertility he

The almanac day for Bartholomew fair, could discover something better and less is on the third of the month, which this “expensive !"

year fell on a Sunday, and it being pre

scribed that the fair shall be proclaimed NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. “ on or before the third," proclamation Mean Temperature ... 60.40. was accordingly made, and the fair com

menced on Saturday the second of Sep

tember, 1826. Its appearance on that September 2.

and subsequent days, proves that it is London BURNT, 1666.

going out like the lottery, by force of public This notice in our almanacs was de opinion; for the people no longer buy scriptively illustrated in vol. i. col. 1150, lottery tickets even in the last lottery, 165.

pay as they used to do at “ Bartlemy

fair." There were this year only three BARTHOLOMEW FAIR, 1826. shows at sixpence, and one at twopence; Another year arrives, and spite of core all the rest were only a penny.” poration “ resolutions," and references to The sixpenny shows were, Clarke, with " the committee,” and “reports,” and riders and tumblers; Richardson, with his recommendations,” to abolish the fair, tragi-comical company, enacting “ Paul it is held again. “Now,” says an agree Pry;" and wicked Wombwell, with his able observer, “ Now arrives that Satur, fellow brutes. nalia of nondescript noise and nonconfor- In the twopenny show were four lively mity, ‘Bartlemy fair ;'-when that prince little crocodiles about twelve inches long, of peace-officers, the lord mayor, changes hatched from the eggs at Peckham, by his sword of state into a sixpenny trum- steam; two larger crocodiles; four cages pet, and becomes the lord of misrule and of fierce rattle snakes; and a dwarf lady. . the patron of pickpocketş; and lady Hol- In the penny shows were a glass-blower, land's name leads an unlettered mob in- sitting at work in a glass wig, with rows stead of a lettered one; when Mr. Rich- of curls all over, making pretty little teaardson maintains, during three whole cups at threepence each, and miniature days and a half, a managerial supremacy tobacco pipes for a penny; he was asthat must be not a little enviable even in sisted by a wretched looking female, who the eyes of Mr. Elliston himself; and was a sword-swallower at the last figure, Mr. Gyngell holds, during the same pe- and figured in this by placing her feet on riod, a scarcely less distinguished station hot iron, and licking a poker nearly red as the Apollo of servant-maids; when hot with her tongue. In “ Brown's grand

the incomparable (not to say eternal) company from Paris,” there were juggling, young Master Saunders' rides on horse tight-rope dancing, a learned horse, and back to the admiration of all beholders, playing on the salt-box with a rolling-pin, in the person of his eldest son; and when to a tune which is said to be peculiar to all the giants in the land, and the dwarfs the pastime. The other penny shows too, make a general muster, and each were nearly as last year, and silver-haired proves to be, according to the most cor- ladies and dwarfs, more plentiful and less rect measurement, at least a foot taller or in demand than learned pigs, who, on shorter than any other in the fair, and in that account, drew good houses." fact, the only one worth seeing, all the In this year's fair there was not one rest being impostors ! In short, when “up-and-down," or round-about." every booth in the fair combines in itself The west side of Giltspur-street was an the attractions of all the rest, and so per- attractive mart to certain "men of letplexes with its irresistible merit the rapt ters;" for the ground was covered with imagination of the half-holyday school. “ relics of literature.". In the language boys who have got but sixpence to spend of my informant, for I did not visit the upon the whole, that they eye the out. fair myself, there was a “path of genius" sides of each in a state of pleasing de- from St. Sepulchre's church to Cock-lane. spair, till their leave of absence is expired He mentions that a person, apparently an twice over, and then return home filled with visions of giants and gingerbread

• Minor of the Months

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agent of a religious society, was anxiously fer walking where I walked when novelty busy in the fair distributing a bill en was charming; where I can have the titled-“ Are you prepared to die?” pleasur

sure of recollecting that I formerly felt pleasure-of rising to the enjoyment of a spirit hovering over the remains it had

animated. Roman REMAINS AT PENTONVILLE,

One of my oldest, and therefore one of and

my still-admired walks is by the way of THE WHITE CONDUIT.

Islington. I am partial to it, because,

when I was eleven years old, I went every I am not learned in the history or the evening from my father's, near Red Lionscience of phrenology, but, unless I am

square, to a lodging in that village mistaken, surely in the days of “ cranio

onsumption,

," and returned the followlogy,” the organ of inhabitiveness

was ing morning. I thus became acquainted called the organ of “ travelling.”. Within with Canonbury, and the Pied Bull

, and the last minute I have felt my head in Barresbury-park, and White Conduitsearch of the development. I imagine it house; and the intimacy has been kept must be very palpable to the scientific, up until presumptuous takings in, and for I not only incline to wander but to enclosures, and new buildings, have nearly locate. However that may be, I cannot destroyed it. The old site seems like an find it myself—for want, I suppose, of a old friend who has formed fashionable topographical view of the cranium, and I acquaintanceships, and lost his old hearthave not a copy of Mr. Cruikshank's warming smiles in the constraint of a new “ Illustrations of Phr.nology" to refer to. face.

At home, I always it in the same place In my last Islington walk, I took a if I can make my way to it without dis- survey of the only remains of the Romar turbing the children; all of whom, by the encampment, near Barnesbury-park. This by, (I speak of the younger ones,) are is a quadrangle of about one hundred great sticklers for rights of sitting, and and thirty feet, surrounded by a fosse or urge their claims on each other with a ditch, about five-and-twenty feet wide, persistence which takes all my authority and twelve feet deep. It is close to the to abate. I have a habit, too, at a friend's west side of the present end of the house of always preferring the seat. I New Road, in a line with Penton-street; dropped into on my first visit; and the immediately opposite to it, on the east same elsewhere. The first time I went to side of the road, is built a row of houses, the Chapter Coffee-house, some five-and, at present uninhabited, called Minervatwenty years ago, I accidentally found place. This quadrangle is supposed to myself alone with old Dr. Buchan, in the have been the prætorium or head quarters same box; it was by the fireplace on the of Suetonius, when he engaged the British left from Paternoster-row door: poor queen, Boadicea, about the year 60. The Robert Heron presently afterwards enter- conflict was in the eastward valley below, ed, and then a troop of the doctor's fami- at the back of Pentonville. Here Boadicea, liars dropped in, one by one; and I sat in with her two daughters before her in the the corner, a stranger to all of them, and same war-chariot, traversed the plain, therefore a silent auditor of their pleasant haranguing ber troops; telling them, as disputations. At my next appearance I Tacitus records, “ that it was usual to forbore from occupying the same seat, the Britons to war under the conduct of because it would have been an obtrusion women," and inciting them to on the literary community; but I got into geance for the oppression of public liberty, the adjoining box, and that always, for the for the stripes inflicted on her person, for period of my then frequenting the house, the defilenient of her virgin daughters ; " was my coveted box. After an absence declaring “ that in that battic liey must of twenty years, I returned to the “Chap, remain utterly victorious or utterly peo'sh. ter,” and involuntarily stepped to the old such was the firm purpose of her who spot; it was pre-occupied; and in the

was a woman; the men, if they pleased, doctor's box were other faces, and talkers might still enjoy life and bondage." The of other things. I strode away to a dis- slaughter was terrible, eighty thousand of tant part of the room to an inviting the Britons were left dead on the field; it vacancy, which, from that accident, and terminated victoriously for the Romans, my propensity, became my desirable sit near Gray's-inn-lane, at the place called ting place at every future visit. My strolls“ Battle Bridge,” in commemoration of abroad are of the same character. I pre- she erent.

66 ven

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Pretorium of the Roman Camp near Pentonville. The pencil of the artist has been em- complete, considering that nearly eighteen ployed to give a correct and picturesque centuries have elapsed since it was formed representation as it now appears, in Sep- by the Roman soldiery. In a short time the tember, 1826, of trong last vestige of the spirit of improvement will entirely efface Roman porer in this suburb. The view it, and houses and gardens occupy its site is takes bodd the north-east angle of the In the fosse of this station, which is prætoriure. Until within a few years the overrun with sedge and brake, there is ground about it was unbroken; and, even so pretly a “bit,” to use an artist's word, now, the quadrangle itself is surprisingly that I have caused it to be sketched.

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The Old Well in the Fosse.

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