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THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, No. CCXLIX., BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE, FOR AUGUST,
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I. DAVID GARRICK.
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III. COLERIDGE AS A POET.
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IX. IRELAND ONCE MORE.
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HOW FRANK THORNTON WAS CURED. BY BOB CON
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NOTES: Old Border Games, 97 Aimé Argand, 98 Warrington Fair." Ib.- On the Epitaph ascribed to Milton, 100 Early Railway Travelling, 101 - P. Ker, 102 Unpublished Work of Hugo Grotius Glan-Aber Library Spirit-Soul -A Sussex Cricket Match - Hall - Noblemen at Fires - Shakespeare Emendations, 102. QUERIES:- Family of Alexander - Crassipies- Flagella tion Furricker-Inscription The Journey to Calvary Handfasting -Guienne and Languedoc - Missing Letters of James VI. and Charles I. Jeffrey Neve Noble of Edward III.- Births of the Palmers Papal Bulls relating to England - Peerage Pope's IndelicacyPrayer found in the Tomb of the Saviour, used as a Charm Richard of Cirencester, Charles Bertram, aud Wm. Stukeley: Mr. Britton's MSS., 104.
LONDON, SATURDAY, AUGUST 1, 1868.
QUERIES WITH ANSWERS: - The Book-Fish - Elizabeth Elstob- Melbourne House, now Dover House-"Agiologio Lusitano"- Beornia, 106.
REPLIES:- Duke of Roxburghe: "Floors," 108 - Calvin and Servetus, Ib.- Goldsmith's Epitaph, 109 - Earliest Bird, 110-Portrait of William Penn - Long Family Connection with Church-livings Portraits of Henry LawesHeraldic Query Jersey Families - Syon Cope - Corrupt English-Romney Marsh formed subsequently to Cæsar's Invasions Chronicle by John Douglas - Fuscum Saint Herefrid" Wire-in" - Dr. Wilmot's Letter-The Badger-Rothschild at the Battle of Waterloo - Parish Dante's "Inferno" - Clitheroe in 1775
"Button your Lip" - Quotation wanted- Marc Antony
as Bacchus Passage in "Lucretius," &c., 111. Notes on Books, &c.
OLD BORDER GAMES.
It is true, as Sir Walter has said,
"Old times are changed, old manners gone"; and it may not be out of place in "N. & Q." to make a note of some of the games which used to recreate the boyhood on Tweedside within the memory of man; but which are, I believe, nowo'-days, and now-o'-nights too, unknown to and unpractised by the rising generation. First:
Set-a-foot! which survived the Union a hundred years, and was played at during the early years of the present century. It consisted of a heroic contention, imbued with all the nationality of still older days. The signal for the war was chaunted as by bards
"Set-a-foot on Scotch ground, English, if ye dare."
And forthwith the two bodies of eight, ten, twelve, or even more schoolboys were arranged on either side, the one representing the Scotch and the other English forces; and, be it said in honour of these representations, they fought for the victory of their accepted cause as earnestly as if the battle were real:. --
"No slackness was there found, And many a gallant schoolfellow Lay panting on the ground."
The field was thus ordered. The green sward, divided by any slight natural hollow, was chosen if possible; if not, a conventional line was drawn,
and the combatants confronted each other across the imaginary border. In a heap, perhaps a hundred or two hundred yards behind each, was piled a booty of hats, coats, vests, and other clothing and chattels, which stood in the stead of property to be harried or cattle to be lifted. The game was played by raids to seize and carry off these deposits; as whenever the store was exhausted, the nationality was beaten. The races and the struggles to achieve this victory were full of excitement. Sometimes one, swift of foot, would rush alone into the exploit: sometimes two or three, to distract the adversary, without leaving their own side defenceless, or exposed to inroad. Then the chase; the escape of the invader with his plunder; or being obliged to throw it down for personal safety; or being captured, and sent back with it, there to stand, chapfallen and taunted, until one of his comrades could run in and touch him; when his restoration to the ranks was the result, though perhaps his ransomer was made prisoner in his stead. And so the war was carried on, so long as a rag was left to the pillager; and it was a sight to see occasionally, near the close, the awful condition of the losing side of the combatants. Almost every stitch of raiment was gradually devoted to the exigences of the battle, and deposit after deposit was harried till every article, shoes, stockings, braces, &c. was "won away," and many of their discomfited wearers at last succumbed to their fate with nothing to cover their nakedness but trousers and shirt. I am not sure that even the last was not sometimes staked on the issue, so enthusiastic was Set-a-foot.
Cock's-Odin was, from its name, probably another traditionary game handed down from Danish times; for of the Danes there are many memorials scattered all over the Border. The
play itself, however, throws no light upon any recognisable circumstance of their cruel invasions. It consisted merely of one boy sent forth to conceal himself within a certain range, and, after due law, the rest set out like so many hounds to discover and catch him if they could. What Odin could have to do with the fugitive I cannot conjecture; and whether the cock's victorious crow can be emblematical of triumph, is only a speculation worthy of a most inveterate Dryasdust. Of the same stamp may be a suggestion concerning three spots within a couple of miles of the scene of this game and Set-a-foot, viz., a fine farm, Wooden-qy. Woden, not Wood Den; Edenham-qy. Odenham, not a hamlet on the Eden rivulet; and may not the Trow Crags, a rocky ravine through which the Tweed rushes, derive their title from Thor? a very fitting godfather to such crags!
Boys and Girls.-In nothing is the change of manners more remarkable in country places than
in the alteration of the early intercourse between
"Boys and girls come out and play,
Leave your supper, leave your sleep,
Aimé Argand, a notable philosopher of the past century, born at Geneva in 1755, was a genius of no mean order. He had learnt philosophy with Bénédict de Saussure, came to Paris to join Montgolfier in the construction of the first balloons, invented a process for the improvement of wines by congelation, and even became famed as an adept in mechanical science. But his fame mainly rests on the invention of the lamp bearing his
Until nearly the close of the last century our means of illumination were limited to the use of tapers, candles, rushlights, and the primitive oillamp, which differed but little from the lucerna used two thousand years previously by the Romans. All attempts to obtain a greater illuminating power failed, because all sought it in the augmentation of the supply of oil or the enlargement of the wick, which only produced the effect of causing the flame to emit a larger amount of smoke, and of rendering the light more trying and injurious to the eye. Argand at last had the happy idea of arranging a number of small wicks in a circle, so as to allow a current of air to pass through the midst of the flame, which, in conjunction with a glass chimney, equalised the flow of the oil to the wicks (afterwards altered to one circular wick), ensured the entire combustion of the oil, and produced a brilliant flame.
Argand patented his discovery in England (about 1782), and appears to have been soon after involved in a lawsuit with the corporation of glass-cutters (cristalliers) in London, whom he attempted to restrain from infringing his patent for making glass chimneys to lamps. Shortly after a French perfumer, named Lange, became acquainted with Argand's lamps, and appropriated the invention to himself, taking out letters patent in France which granted him the exclusive right of making and selling the new lamps. Argand's
opposition to Lange's usurpation proved unavailing, and the unfortunate Swiss philosopher was finally compelled to enter into partnership with his unscrupulous opponent, who turned Arrand's ideas to profitable account. The French Revolution intervening, all privileges and patents were abolished, and Argand found himself again deprived of the fruits of a lifelong labour. history after this becomes very uncertain. While some assert that he became a monomaniac, and spent the remaining years of life haunting the cemeteries of London in search of materials for the elixir of life, others assert that he returned to his native country, where, however, no trace of him is found after his first departure. His death is asserted to have taken place in 1803, on January 24 or October 24.
I would respectfully ask some of your correspondents to give me any information on the following points:
1. Did a corporation or union of glass-cutters (cristalliers) exist in London in 1782? And if so, are there any records in existence to throw some light on Aimé Argand's lawsuit ?
2. Is there a copy of the letters patent granted to Argand in England?
3. Are there any traces of Argand's second stay in England? Are his death or burial registered in some French Protestant or other church in London?
4. Is anything known of a certain Jacques Antoine Argand, and a François Pierre Argand, who have been mistaken for Aimé Argand by some biographers, and asserted to be his brothers by others?
5. Is there any notice of Argand besides those found in the Penny Magazine, March 29, 1834; Biographical Dictionary of the U. K. S.; Didot's Biographie Universelle; Univers Illustré, No. 673; Sénébier, Histoire littéraire de Genève; Poggendorf, Wörterbuch zur Geschichte der exacten Wissenschaften; Wolf, Biographien der Schweiz. C. A. FEDERER. Bradford, Yorks.
The Ashton Reporter occasionally contains articles on local antiquities, which would be more useful if they were contributed to some periodical more accessible to the general reader than a country newspaper. Perhaps the following extract from the Ashton Reporter of July 4 may be thought worth reproducing in the pages of "N. & Q. :'
"The oldest Luncashire Ballad extant.
hamlet of Waterhouses, now better known, at least to "A few days ago we paid a brief visit to the retired outsiders, by its nom de plume of Daisy Nook. After admiring the tranquillity of the scene, and enjoying the faint
4th S. II. AUGUST 1, '68.]
NOTES AND QUERIES.
rippling sound of the Medlock as it lazily pursued its course, we sought out the 'hat shop' of old John Robinson. The veteran, who is now seventy and three, was busy at his work; at least, so busy as age and increasing infirmities would permit him. He is very deaf; and, worse still, his strength is failing him, so that he cannot work long without resting. The purport of our visit was to take down from his lips an old ballad, which, however, he knows only as a recitation. He has also several other curious recitations, and one song which so impresses the listener that he never forgets it. About five years ago a literary friend of Mr. Benjamin Brierley's wrote a pleasant sketch called Daisy Nook; or, a Londoner's Glance at Lancashire Life. He seems to have been particularly struck with the original manner in which our friend sung this, his favourite Cries of London,' which is a very lengthy composition, and has a different tune and a different cry' for every verse. The ballad we were in quest of is a curious version of Warrington Fair,' which appears in Harland's Older Ballads and Songs of Lancashire. It is therein stated that its date is fixed by the name "Rondle Shays," for the name of Sir Thomas Butler's bailiff in the 2nd Edward VI. (1548) was Randle Shay or Shaw.' Our friend Robinson, it appears, learned the ballad, when about nine years of age, from his uncle (old James Harrison, of Woodhouses, who married his father's sister). Harrison and his son Peter belonged to the Medlock Vale Rifle Corps, the former being the drummer, and the latter a fifer. This caused the father to lose a great deal of time, and his wife being a fleet handloom weaver (for they both followed that occupation), there were frequent bickerings between them respecting the relative amount of their several earnings. These connubial' fratches' were conducted on fair principles, as he was never known to interrupt the other whilst speaking. Once upon a time Harrison declared he would 'find' himself, and for that purpose went to buy in' at Ashton market. Espying a cow's head, and thinking it a good deal for a little money, he bought it, took it home, and boiled it, as it was for his Sunday's dinner! Not proving as savoury and palatable as he expected, he relinquished his plan of keeping himself, and determined no longer to have a separate board. It is right to add that ever after the worthy couple lived harmoniously together, happy, thrice happy, in the enjoyment of an occasional bout of camming" in the loomhouse. To return to our ballad, the story is this:-Somewhere a short distance from Warrington lived a loving couple-viz. Gilbert Scott and his good wife Grace, the latter pre-eminently his 'better half,' as is proved by the sequel of the story. The husband went to one Warrington fair, in order to sell his mare 'Berry,' so named probably from the original breeder or vendor. Or it might have been called 'Bury' from having been purchased in the town of that name. Be that as it may, a sharper met with the simple-minded rustic, and succeeded in buying the horse upon trust for the sum of 6s. 4d., which seems a trifle in these days, but was then a respectable sum. That it was the full value of the horse is proved in the last line but one, by Grace's choosing the money in preference to the mare. The grand apparel of the purchaser, his courteous address, and the loving shake of the hand, together with the more material sharing of the dainty eel pie, and expending half a groat upon him doubtless in Warrington ale, completely overcame the poor fellow. He allowed the old mare to be taken away by the stranger without even asking him his name, and solely on his promise of meeting him some time-and of course paying for the mare-at his neme Randle Shaw's, who was probably an innkeeper, as well as the bailiff to the lord of the manor. 'Neme' is an old Lancashire word for uncle, as is Nanty' (farther on) for aunt, and both are used as mere terms of courtesy, with
out reference to relationship. It seems that on coming out of the fair on his way home Gilbert met Mr. Shaw, and informed him of the sale he had made. That worthy personage seems to have mistrusted his informant's wit or business habits, for he at once inquired if he had got the money. Gilbert made a sorry reply. He had not yet fingered a penny, but assured his interrogator that the money was as safe as if it was in either of their hands, and stated further that if it was not he would never trust the rascally fellow again. Arriving at home, and finding his wife engaged in culinary duties, he at once informed her of the bargain he had made. His strong-minded, plucky spouse not only rated him soundly for his simplicity and credulity, but actually hit him in the face with a ladle! At the same time she declared that his astounding story excited her even more than did the village innkeeper's (Thomas's) strong ale. She inquired in the same breath the trickster's name, and a description of his dress. He confessed he had been so impressed with the bland address and cajolery of the gentleman's son that he was afraid to seem suspicious of his integrity by asking his name, and besides did not wish to put him to the trouble of repeating it. His wife was not satisfied with the promise that the stranger would meet her husband at Randle Shaw's some time, so on the following Wednesday, and for five market days, the energetic dame repaired to the well-known hostelry, and located herself in a room where she could observe every one approaching Warrington market. The good wife's patience was at last rewarded, for the impudent rascal, thinking by that time the affair had blown over, ventured forth for the purpose, most likely, of disposing of his ill-gotten nag. If Grace could not identify the rider as the thief, she at least could tell the old mare. So startling was her emotion that she well-nigh leapt out of the open casement into the street. As fate would have it the horse vendor dismounted to refresh, and just as he was preparing to lift the catch of the door to come in Grace was heaving up the latch to go out. She addressed him instanter, but civilly, stating that as her husband had sold him the mare he now desired him to send the money for her. With a masked oath, then popular, the sharper declared that he did not know her. Retorting with the same expletive, she gave him to understand in true Lancashire idiom that she was 'Owd Gilbert o wife Scott,' or in other words Mrs. Gilbert Scott. Instead of attempting to dispute her identity, the fellow declared his inability to pay. She as quickly replied that, in that case, she would take the mare. This determination was backed up by some remarkable gesticulations. Assuming an aggressive attitude, and preparing for a physical encounter, she pulled off her cap, and down fell the fillet or snood with which she had bound up her hair. Without more ado she seized hold of the sharper by the hair of his head, and pitched him against the watering-trough. The noise attracted the attention of the landlord, who came forward to separate them. He began to expostulate with Grace, but she cut him short in a brief but logical reply, and further expressed her determination to have satisfaction out of him, either in money or else by pulling out his throat. The innkeeper, after administering a gentle reproof, settled the matter by declaring that she might have either the horse or the money it sold for. Grace chose the latter, and instead of turning it up to her husband kept it all to herself, and she richly deserved it. In some respects the version here presented is very much the best of the two, yet there are six lines which appear in Mr. Harland's version, which are omitted here, probably lost from the memory of some one of the many links through which it has been transmitted. They occur just after Grace has swat' her husband over the face, and are as subjoined —
Grace lop an' hoo stroode, as if hoo'd bin woode,
Wi' squealin' and squalin' [they made sich a din] That to rid um my neme Rondle Shays he coom in.
Fye [Naunty] Grace, fye!' Fye, aye, o' the De'il! Done yo' think 'at it's oather fit, farrantly, or weel 'At mon should ha' boath money an' th' mare? Aw'll mak' him an example, aw'll heaw' him a groat; An' if he doesno' pay me aw'll poo' eawt his throat.' [Come, fye, Naunty Grace, come, fye, an' ha' done! Yo'ast ha' th' mare or money, whether yo' won;']
So Grace has getten th' money, and whomarts hoo's goan;
Hoo's kept ow' [hersel'], an' gen Gilbert [Scott] noan. "June 29th, 1868. "H."
The signature attached to the above article is generally supposed to indicate Mr. John Higson of Droylsden, the author of the Droylsden Historical Recorder and the Gorton Historical Recorder.. (Harland's Ballads of Lancashire, p. 122.) W. E. A. A.
Joynson Street, Strangeways.
ON THE EPITAPH ASCRIBED TO MILTON. The Times of the sixteenth of this month, which contains a versified Epitaph ascribed to Milton, dated in 1647, was placed in my hands on the day of its publication by a friend who is aware that I am not devoid of critical propensities, and my opinion as to the authorship of the poem was politely requested. The hazard was obvious, but I rejected that consideration. I read the poem with due attention, and this was my prompt reply: "It is rather Miltonic; but if written by Milton it would have been given in the edition of his Poems printed in 1673."
On reflection, and after a review of the antagonistic arguments which have successively appeared in the same journal, I shall venture to express my conviction that there is no patent evidence on the question at issue which can be compared in point of validity with that above-stated. If the manuscript epitaph should prove to be in the autograph of Milton, it might be a transcript-and prove no more than his favorable opinion of it.
Milton was a real conservative as to his poetical works; and Tom. Warton, after much research, could produce no other additions to the volume of 1673 than the four sonnets to Oliver Cromwell, lord Fairfax, sir Henry Vane, and Cyriac Skinner-which had been excluded for special reasons, but were printed in 1694. He was also precise as to dates. He informs us that two of the psalms were done at fifteen years old, and that a poem of eleven stanzas was written anno ætatis 17. The lines On Shakespear, now miscalled an epitaph, are dated 1630; Comus in 1634; Lycidas in 1637; and the majority of the psalms in 1648 and 1653. Moreover, at the close of his existence he re