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You neede not hope by maile of proofe

To shun his cruell darte,
For he'll change himselfe to a shirt of maile

And lye nexte to your hearte.
More scathfull than an evill eye,

Than ghost or grammerie,
Not seventy times seven holy priestes

Could laye him in the sea.
Then father mother cease to chide

I'll doe the best I maye,
And when I see young love coming

I'll up and run awaye.
On the second day of July, 1744, is Dellicot was convicted at the quarter-
recorded the birth of a son to Mr. Arthur sessions for Salisbury, of petty larceny, for
Bulkeley.

stealing one penny; whereby his effects,
The child's baptism is remarkable from consisting of bank-notes to the amount of
these circumstances. The infant's god- 1801., and twenty guineas in money, were
fathers, by proxy, were Edward Downes, forfeited to the bishop, as lord of the
of Worth, in Cheshire, Esq. his great- manor; but his lordship humanely ordered
great-great-great uncle; Dr.. Ashton, 1001. of the money to be put to interest
master of Jesus-college, Cambridge, and for the benefit of the wretch's daughter ;
his brother, Mr. Joseph Ashton, of Surrey- 201. to be given to his aged father, and
street, in the Strand, his great-great-great the remainder to be returned to the
uncles. His godmothers by their proxies delinquent himself.*
were, Mrs. Elizabeth Wood, of Barnsley,
Yorkshire, his great-great-great-great aunt;
Mrs. Jane Wainwright, of Middlewood-

THE REGENT'S PARK.
hall, Yorkshire, his great-great grandmo-
ther; and Mrs. Dorothy Green, of the same

A correspondent's muse records an ac-
place, his great grandmother. It was
observed of Mrs. Wainwright, who was

commodation, which may be extended to
then eighty-nine years of age, that she other resorts, with the certainty of pro-
could properly say,
“ Rise, daughter, go

ducing much satisfaction in wearied
to thy daughter for thy daughter's pedestrians.
daughter has a son."
Mrs. Wainwright was sister to Dr.

IN THE REGENT'S-PARK, 1826,
Ashton and his brother mentioned above,
whose father and mother were twice mar-
ried, “first before a justice of peace by I covet not the funeral chair
Cromwell's law, and afterwards, as it was Th' Orlean maid was burnt in, when
common, by a parson; they lived sixty- Enthusiasts' voices rent the air
four

years together, and during the first fifty To clasp their Joan of Arc again.
years in one house, at Bradway, in Der-
byshire, where, though they had twelve I, learned Busby's chair, chuse not,t
children and six servants in family, they Nor on a bridge—the stony lot

Nor of a boat in stormy seas,
never buried one."*

Of travellers not afraid to freeze.

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CONGRATULATORY VERSES TO THE NEW

SEATS
versus CHAIRS.

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NATURALISTS' CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature ...62.12.

July 3,

I covet not the chair of state,

Nor that St. Peter's papal race
Exalted for Pope Joan the great,

But seek and find an easier place.
To halls and abbeys knights repaired,

And barons to their chairs retired;
The goblet, glove, and shield, were reared,

As war and love their cause inspired.

Dog days begin.

“ ALL-FOR A PENNY!"
On the third of July, 1751, William

* Gentleman's Magazine.

. Gentleman's Magazine.
I Vide Erery-Day "Book, No. 54, vol. ij.

Saint Edward's chair the minster keeps,

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. An antique chair the dutchess bears ; *

Mean Temperature ... 60: 30. The invalid-he hardly sleeps,

Though poled through Bath iu easy chairs.t The chairs St. James's-park contains,

July 4. The cbairs at Kew and Kensington,

TRANSLATION OF ST. MARTIN. Have rested weary hearts and brains

That charmed the town, now still and gone. This day is thus noticed as a festival I covet not the chair of guilt

in the church of England calendar and Macbeth upbraided for its ghost ;

the almanacs, wherein he is honoured Nor Gay's, on which much ink was spilt,

with another festival on the eleventh of When he wrote fables for his host.

November. What of Dan Lambert's ?-Oberon's chair?

The word “ translation" signifies, in Bunyan's at Bedford !--Johnson's seat?

reference to saints, as most readers already Chaucer's at Woodstock ?- Bloomfield's bare? know, that their remains were removed

Waxed, lasting, ended, and complete. from the graves wherein their bodies were Though without back, and sides, and arms,

deposited, to shrines or other places for

devotional purposes.
Thou, Regent's SEAT! art doubly dear!
Nature appears in youthful charms
For all that muse and travel here.

FOR THE HONOUR OF HACKNEYMEN. Canal, cburch, spire, and Primrose hill,

“Give a dog an ill name and hang With fowl and beast and chary sound, Invite the thought to peace, for still

him"-give hackney-coachmen good chaThou, like a friend, art faithful found.

racters and you'll be laughed at: and yet

there are civil coachmen in London, and A seat, then, patience seems to teach,

honest ones too. Prejudice against this Untired the weary limbs it bears;

most useful class of persons is strong, and To all that can its comforts reach, It succours through the round of years.

it is only fair to record an instance of in

tegrity which, after all, is as general, Whatever hand, or name, is writ

perhaps, among .hackneymen, as among In pencil on thy painted face;

those who ride in their coaches. Let not one word of ribald wit Produce a blush, or man disgrace.

Honesty REWARDED.-A circumstance took place on Tuesday, (July 4, 1826,)

which cannot be made too generally known “ Busby's CHAIR."

among hackney-coachmen, and persons

who use those vehicles. Talking of this-a word or two on A gentleman took a coach in St. Paul's “ Sedes Busbeiana.”

churchyard, about twenty minutes before The humorous representation of “ Dr. twelve, and was set down in Westminster Busby's chair," (on p. 34 of this volume,) exactly at noon. Having transacted his personifying the several parts of gram business there, he was proceeding homemar, as well as some of a schoolmaster's ward a little before one, when he suddenly more serious occupation, said to have missed a bank note for three hundred been from an original by sir Peter Lely, pounds, which he had in his pocket on is ascertained by the editor to have been entering the coach. He had not observed a mere bagatelle performance of a young either the number or date of the note, or man some five-and-twenty years ago. It the number of the coach. He therefore was engraved and published for Messrs. returned to the bankers in the city, and Laurie and Whittle, in Fleet-street, took ascertained the number and date of the greatly with the public, and had “a con- potę, then proceeded to the bank of Engsiderable run."

land, found that it had not been paid, and took measures to stop its payment, if pre

sented. After some further inquiry, he • Sedan chairs were first introduced into England in 1634. The first was used by the duke of Bucking applied about half-past three, at the hackham, to the indignation of the people, who exclaimney-coach office, in Essex-street, in the ed, that he was employing his fellow creatures to do the Strand, and there to his agreeable surprise, serrice of beasts.

Query,-a pun on Charing-cross. Printer's devil. he found that the coachman had already i Bloomfield, poor fellow, declared to the writer, that one of his shop pleasures was that of the shoe brought the note to the commissioners, at maker's country custom of waxing his customers to whose suggestion the gentleman paid the the seat of St. Crispin, preparatory to the serving out the pennyworth of the oil of strap.

coachman a reward of fifty pounds. The

name of the honest coachman should be English? What is so linked with our known: it is John Newell, the owner and rural tastes, our sweetest memories, and driver of the coach No. 314, and residing our sweetest poetry, as stiles and fieldin Marylebone-lane.

paths ? Goldsmith, Thomson, and MilIt should also be known, that persons ton have adorned them with some of their leaving property in hackney-coaches, may richest wreaths. They have consecrated very generally recover it by applying with- them to poetry and love. It is along the out delay at the office in Essex-street. footpath in secluded fields,-upon the Since the act of parliament requiring stile in the embowered lane,—where the hackney-coachmen to bring such articles wild-rose and the honey-suckle are lavishto the office came into effect, which is not ing their beauty and their fragrance, that four years and a half ago, no less than we delight to picture to ourselves rural one thousand and fifty-eight articles have lovers, breathing in the dewy sweetness of been so brought, being of the aggregate a summer evening vows still sweeter. value of forty-five thousand pounds, and It is there, that the poet seated, sends upwards.

back his soul into the freshness of his

youth, amongst attachments since withered Descend we from the coach, and, leav- by neglect, rendered painful by absence,

or broken by death; amongst dreams and ing the town, take a turn with a respected aspirations which, even now that they friend whither he would lead us.

pronounce their own fallacy, are lovely. FIELD Paths. It is there that he gazes upon

the

gorgeous (For the Every-Day Book.) sunset,--the evening star following with I love our real old English footpaths. silvery lamp the fading day, or the moon

showering her pale lustre through the I love those rustic and picturesque stiles, balmy night air, with a fancy that kindles opening their pleasant escapes from fre- and soars into the heavens before him, quented places, and dusty highways, into there, that we have all felt the charm of the solitudes of nature. It is delightful woods and green fields, and solitary boughs to catch a glimpse of one on the village waving in the golden sunshine, or darkgreen, under the old elder-tree by some

ening in the melancholy beauty of evening ancient cottage, or half hidden by the

shadows. Who has not thought how overhanging boughs of a wood. I love beautiful was the sight of a village conto see the smooth dry track, winding away gregation pouring out from their old grey in easy curves, along some green slope, to

church on a summer day, and streaming the churchyard, to the embosomed cottage, off through the quiet meadows, in all dior to the forest grange. It is to me an

rections, to their homes? Or who, that object of certain inspiration. It seems to invite cne from noise and publicity, with a poetic feeling, the mountaineers

has visited Alpine scenery, has not beheld into the heart of solitude and of rural delights. It beckons the imagination on, seclusions on a sabbath morning, pacing

come winding down out of their romantic through green and whispering corn fields, the solitary heath-tracks, bounding with through the short but verdant pasture; elastic step down the fern-clad dells, or the flowery mowing-grass ; the odorous

along the course of a riotous stream, as and sunny hayfield; the festivity of har- cheerful, as picturesque, and yet as solemn vest; from lovely farm to farm ; from

as the scenes around them? village to village ; by clear and mossy wells; by tinkling brooks, and deep stiles of all species,-ay, even the most

Again I say, I love field paths, and wood-skirted streams; to crofts, where inaccessible piece of rustic erection ever the daffodil is rejoicing in spring, or meadows, where the large, blue geraneum obesity. How many scenes of frolic and

set up in defiance of age, laziness, and embellishes the summer wayside; to heaths, with their warm, elastic sward merry confusion have I seen at a clumsy and crimson bells, the chithering of grass, blushes, and fine eventual vaulting on the

stile! What exclamations, and charming hoppers, the foxglove, and the old gnarled part of the ladies, and what an opportunity oak; in short, to all' the solitary haunts, does it afford to beaux of exhibiting a after which the city-pent lover of nature variety of gallant and delicate attentions. pants, as “the hart panteth after the wa

I consider a rude stile as any thing but ter-brooks." What is there so truly an impediment in the course of a rural • Daily papers.

courtship

Those good old turn-stiles too,--can I vated taste, passing occasionally at a ever forget them ? the bours I have spun distance across the park or lawn pot ouly round upon them, when a boy; or those to be tolerated, but even to be welcomed in which I have almost laughed myself as objects agreeably enlivening the stately to death at the remembrance of my village solitude of the hall. But they have not. pedagogue's_disaster! Methinks I see And what is more, they are commonly him now. The time a sultry day ;-the the most jealous of pedestrian trespassers domine a goodly person of some eighteen who seldom visit their own estates, but or twenty stone ;-the scene a footpath permit the seasons to scatter their charms sentinelled with turn-stiles, one of which around their villas and rural possessions held him fast, as in utter amazement at without the heart to enjoy, or even the his bulk. Never shall I forget his efforts presence to behold them,

How often and agonies to extricate himself, nor his have I myself been arrested in some longlion-like roars, which brought some la- frequented dale, in some spot endeared bourers to his assistance, who, when they by its own beauties and the fascinations had recovered from their convulsions of of memory, by a board, exhibiting, in laughter, knocked off the top, and let giant characters, Stopped by an order of him go. It is long since I saw a turostile, Sessions ! and denouncing

the terms of and I suspect the Falstaffs have cried the law upon trespassers. This is a little them down. But, without a jest, stiles too much. I would not be querulous for and fieldpaths are vanishing every where. the poor against the rich. I would not There is nothing upon which the advance teach them to look with an envious and of wealth and population has made so covetous eye upon their villas, lawns, cattle, serious an inroad. “As land has increased and equipage; but when the path of in value, wastes and heaths have been immemorial usage is closed, when the parcelled out and enclosed, but seldom little streak, almost as fine as a mathemahave footpaths been left. The poet tical line, along the wealthy man's ample and the naturalist, who before had, field, is grudgingly erased, it is inipossible perhaps, the greatest real property in not to feel indignation at the pitiful mothem, have had no allotment. They have nopoly. Is there no village champion to been totally driven out of the promised be found bold enough to put in his land. Nor is this all. Goldsmith com- protest against these encroachments, to plained, in his day, that

assert this public right-for a right it is, “ The man of wealth and pride

as authentic as that by which the land

itself is held, and as clearly acknowledged Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, by the laws ? Is there no local “Hampden Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;

with dauntless breast” to “ withstand the The robe, that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, little tyrant of the fields,” and to save Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their our good old field paths ? If not, we shall, growth;

in a few years, be doomed to the highHis seat, where solitary sports are seen, ways and the hedges : to look, like Dives, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green.” from a sultry region of turnpikes, into a

And it is but too true that “the pressure pleasant one of verdure and foliage which of contiguous pride” has driven farther we may not approach. Already the and farther, from that day to this, the stranger, if he lose his way, is in jeopublic from the rich man's lands. “They pardy of falling into the horrid fangs of a make a solitude and call it peace.” Even steel-trap; the botanist enters a wood to the quiet and picturesque footpath that gather a flower, and is shot with a springled across his lawn, or stole along his gun; death haunts our dells and copses, wood-side, giving to the poor man,

with and the poet complains, in regretful notes, his burden, a cooler and a nearer cut to

that he the village, is become a nuisance. One “ Wanders away to field and glen would have thought that the rustic la- Far as he may for the gentlemen." bourer with his scythe on his shoulder, I am not so much of a poet, and so little or his bill-hook and hedging mittens in of a political economist, as to lament over his hand, the cottage dame in her black the progress of population. It is true bonnet and scarlet cloak, the bonny village that I see, with a poetical regret, green maiden in the sweetness of health and fields and beautiful fresh tracts swallowed simplicity, or the boy strolling along full up in cities; but my joy in the increase of life and curiosity, might have had suf- of human life and happiness far outficient interest, in themselves, for a culti- balances that imaginative pain. But it is

ac

when I see unnecessary and arbitrary to the period of 1813, the ringing in this encroachments upon the rural privileges town was conducted by one company of the public that I grieve. Exactly in only, who had the liberty of ringing at the same proportion as our population both steeples ; and in St. Mary's steeple and commercial habits gain upon us, do there are recorded two peals rung by the we need all possible opportunities to keep Bury company, one of which was rung alive in us the spirit of nature.

in 1779, and the other in 1799. In 1813,

the bells of St. Mary's wanting some “ The world is too much with us, late and soon tepairs, the ringers applied to the churchGetting and spending; we lay waste our wardens, and they having declined doing powers,

any thing to them, the ringers ceased Little there is in nature that is ours."

from ringing altogether until the bells Wordsworth.

were repaired. At length an offer was

made to the church wardens to raise a We give ourselves up to the artificial young company, which offer was habits and objects. of ambition, till we cepted by them, and the bells were parendanger the higher and better feelings tially repaired. In consequence of which and capacities of our being; and it is alone to the united influence of religion, consisted of old men who were incapable

a company was raised, and a part of it literature, and nature, that we must look of learning to ring; youth being the only for the preservation of our moral nobility time when such an art can be acquired. Whenever, therefore, I behold one of our It was agreed that when this company old field paths closed, I regard it as another could ring one course of eight (or 112 link in the chain which Mammon is changes), that each one should receive winding around us,—another avenue cut one pound, which they have never asked off by which we might fly to the lofty for, well knowing they were never ensanctuary of nature for power to withstand titled to it; at the same time, it appears him,

H.

evident that the parish consented they should learn to ring. In 1817, only two

years and a half after the company was BELLS AND BELL RINGING AT BURY

raised, three bells were obliged to be ST. EDMUND's.

rehung, at nearly twenty pounds' ex

pense. Taking an account of the annual To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. repairs of the bells, and the repairs in

1814, the three years of sixteen-change Lambeth, July 13, 1826.

ringers cost the parish nearly thirty My dear Sir,-To your late interesting pounds, which would have rehung the notices of “ Bells” and “ Bell-ringing, whole peal, being a deal more than what the following singular letter, which ap- the old ringers would have caused them pears in a Suffolk paper, may be added. to be repaired for in 1814. We, the

happen to know something of this present company of St. James's ringers, “jangling;" and when I resided in the are well aware that St. Mary's company town of Bury St. Edmund's some years had the offer to learn to ring in Sepback, was compelled to listen to “ the tember, 1814, which we made no oppomost hideous noise" of St. James's lofty sition to; and if St. Mary's had learnt, opponents.

But “who shall decide we would have gladly taken them by the when doctors disagree?"-Why, Mr. hand as brother ringers; but after twelve Editor,—we will. It is a hardship, a years' arduous struggle in endeavouring cruelty, a usurpation, a “ tale of woe.”

to learn to ring, they are no forwarder Listen to St. James's statement, and than the first week they began. They then let us raise our bells, and ring a could only then ring (no more than they

righte sounde and merie” peal, such as can now) sixteen changes, and that will almost “split the ears of the ground- very imperfectly, being but a very small lings."

part of the whole revolution of changes “ To the Editor of the Bury Post.

on eight bells, which consist of 40,320.

We, St. James's ringers, or • old ringers, “ Sir,-Since we have been repeatedly as we have been commonly called, often asked why St. James's ringers lost the get blamed for the most hideous noise privilege of ringing in St. Mary's steeple, made in St. Mary's steeple ; and after as far as it lies in our power we will the jangling of the bells, miscalled ringanswer it. Ever since the year 1714, up ing, which they afforded the other

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