Born: George III, of
Great Britain, 1738, London; John Scott, Earl of
Eldon, Chancellor of England, 1751, Newcastle; James Pennethorne, architect,
1801, Worcester.
Died: M. A. Muret (Muretus),
commentator on the ancient classics, 1585, Route;
Archbishop Juxon, 1663, St. John's, Oxford; Admiral
Sir Charles Wager, 1743; Marshal Davoust, I823;
Marguerite, Countess of Blessington, novelist, Sm.,
1849, Paris.
Feast Day: St. Quirinus,
Bishop of Siscia, martyr, 304; St. Optatus, Bishop of
Milevum, confessor, 4th century; St. Bream, or Breague,
virgin, of Ireland; St. Nenooc, or Nennoca, virgin, of
Britain, 467; St. Burian, of Ireland. St. Petroc,
abbot and confessor, about 564; St. Walter, abbot of Fontanelle, or St.
Vandrilles, 1150; St. Walter, abbot
in San-Serviliano, 13th century.
KING GEORGE THE
THIRD'S
BIRTHDAY
At page 275 of the volume of
the Gentleman's Magazine for 1738, under a
subtitle, 'Wednesday, 24,' meaning the 24th of May, occurs the
following little paragraph:
'This morning, between six and seven, the Princess of Wales
was happily delivered of a prince at Norfolk House, St. James's Square, the
Archbishop or Canterbury being present.'
This prince was he who afterwards reigned sixty years over
England as George III.
The 4th of June, which was
assumed as the prince's birthday on the change of
style, must yet for many years be remembered on
account of the affectionate and constantly growing
interest felt in it during the old king's reign. A
royal birthday in the present time, notwithstanding
the respect and love cherished for the occupant of the
throne, is nothing to what it was '______ When George
the Third was king.'
The reverence felt for this
sovereign by the generality of his subjects was most
remarkable. It was a kind of religion with many of
them. He was spoken of as 'the best of characters,'
'the good old king;' no phrase of veneration or love
seemed to be thought inapplicable to him. And surely,
though he had his faults as a ruler, and they were of
a not very innocuous character, it is something, as
showing the power of personal or private goodness and
worth, that King George was thus held in general
regard.
The esteem for the personal
virtues of the king, joined to a feeling of political
duty which the circumstances of the country made
appear necessary, caused the 4th of June to be
observed as a holiday�not a formal and ostensible, but
a sincere holiday�over the whole empire. Every
municipality met with its best citizens to drink the
king's health. There were bonfires in many streets.
The boys kept up from morning to night an incessant
fusillade with their mimic artillery. Rioting often
arose from the very joyousness of the occasion. It is
a curious proof of the intense feeling connected with
the day, that in Edinburgh a Fourth, of June Club
continued for many years after King George's death to
meet and dine, and drink to his amiable memory.
The feelings of the people
regarding the king were brought to an unusually high
pitch in the year 1809, when he entered on the
fiftieth year of his reign. Passing over the formal
celebrations of the day, let us revive, from a
contemporary periodical, a poem written on that
occasion, as by Norman Nicholson, a shepherd
among the
Grampian Hills, who professed to have then just
entered upon the fiftieth year of his own professional
life. It is entitled,
Jubilee for Jubilee
Frae the Grampian Hills will
the Royal ear hear it,
And listen to Norman the Shepherd's plain tale!
The north wind is blawing, and gently will bear it,
Unvarnish'd and honest, o'er hill and o'er dale.
When London it reaches, at court, Sire, receive it,
Like a tale you may read it, or like a sang sing,
Poor Norman. is easy�but you may believe it,
I'm fifty years shepherd�you're fifty a king!
Your jubilee, then, wi' my ain I will mingle,
For you and mysel' twa fat lambkins I'll slay;
Fresh turf I will lay in a heap on my ingle,
An' wi' my auld neebours I'll rant out the day.
My pipes that I played on lang sync, I will blaw
them,
My chanter I'll teach to lilt over the spring;
My drones to the tune I will round an' round thraw
them,
0' fifty years shepherd, and fifty a king!
The flock o' Great Britain ye've lang wool attended,
The flock o' Great Britain demanded your care;
Frae the tod and the wolf they've been snugly
defended,
And led to fresh pasture, fresh water, and air.
My flocks I ha'e led day by day o'er the heather,
At night they around use ha'e danced in a ring;
I've been their protector thro' foul and fair
weather�
I'm fifty years shepherd�you're fifty a king!
Their fleeces I've shorn, frae the cauld to protect
me,
Their fleeces they gave, when a burden they grew;
When escaped frae the sheers, their looks did
respect me,
Sae the flock o' Great Britain still looks upon you.
They grudge not their monarch a mite o' their
riches,
Their active industry is ay on the wing;
Then you and me, Sire, I think are twa matches�
I'm fifty years shepherd�you're fifty a king!
Me wi' my sheep, Sire, and you wi' your subjects,
On that festive day will baith gladly rejoice;
Our twa hoary heads will be fou' o' new projects,
To please our leal vassals that made us their choice.
Wi' sweet rips o' hay I will treat a' my wethers,
The juice o' the vine to your lords you will bring;
The respect they ha'e for us is better than brithers'
I'm fifty years shepherd�you're fifty a king!
I live in the cottage where Norval was bred in,
You live in the palace your ancestors reared;
Nae guest uninvited dare come to your weddin',
Or ruthless invader pluck us by the beard.
Then thanks to the island we live, whar our shipping
Swim round us abreast, or like geese in a string;
For safe, I can say, as my brose I am sipping,
I'm fifty years shepherd�you're fifty a king!
But ah! Royal George, and
ah! humble Norman,
Life to us baith draws near to a close;
The year's far awa that has our natal hour, man,
The time's at our elbow that brings us repose!
Then e'en let it come, Sire, if conscience acquit
us,
A sigh frae our bosoms Death never shall wring;
And may the next jub'lee amang angels meet us,
To hail the auld shepherd, and worthy auld king!
DAVOUST APPARENT
INCONSISTENCIES OF HUMAN NATURE
The name of Davoust is held in
greater horror than that of any other of Napoleon's
generals, on account of the frightful oppression he
exercised upon the citizens of Hamburg, when occupying
that city for his master in 1813. His rapacity is
described as unbounded. It is at the same time true
that he was faithful beyond example to Napoleon
through all the proceedings of the two subsequent
years; and after Waterloo, when a Bourbon decree
prescribed several of his brother marshals, he wrote
to the minister St. Cyr, demanding that his name
should be substituted for theirs, as they had only
acted under his orders as the late war minister�a
piece of generosity reminding us of chivalrous times.
It is another curious and unexpected trait of Davoust,
that he was a bibliophilist, and possessed a fine
vellum library.
One is continually surprised
by incongruities in human character, although there is
perhaps no peculiarity of human nature more
conspicuous than what are called its inconsistencies.
It would at first sight appear impossible that
a noted
murderer could be tender-hearted; yet it is recorded
of Eugene Aram, that he had been observed to walk
aside to avoid treading on a worm. Archbishop Whately,
in his annotations to Bacon,
has the following
paragraph:
'When Thurtell the murderer was executed,
there was a shout of derision raised against the
phrenologists for saying that his organ of benevolence
was large. But they replied that there was also large
destructiveness, and a moral deficiency, which would
account for a man goaded to rage (by being cheated of
almost all he had by the man he killed) committing
that act. It is a remarkable confirmation of their
view, that a gentleman who visited the prison where Thurtell
was confined (shortly after the execution), found the
jailors, full of pity and affection for him. They
said he was a kind, good-hearted fellow, so obliging
and friendly, that they had never had a prisoner whom
they so much regretted. And such seems to have been
his general character, when not influenced at once by
the desire of revenge and of gain.'
The gentle benevolence and
piety of Izaak Walton shine
through all his writings.
The amiable sentimentalism of Mackenzie's novels (now
unduly neglected) was forty years ago deeply impressed
on the public mind. Yet both of these men were keen
pursuers of sports which infer the destruction, and,
what is worse, the torture of the humbler animals. It
is related that Mr. Mackenzie's wife, hearing him one
day tell how many brace of grouse he had bagged in a
late visit to the Highlands, and what a nice set of
flies he had bought to take to Gala Water next week,
exclaimed, 'Harry, Harry, you keep all your feeling
for your books! 'The writer knew this fine-toned
author when he was eighty-five years of age, and
retains a vivid recollection of the hearty,
world-like, life-enjoying style of the man, so
incongruous with all that one would imagine regarding
him who wrote the story of La Roche.
Take in connexion with these
remarks what Mr. Baker has set forth in his work,
styled The Rifle and the Hound in Ceylon (1854):
'I would always encourage a
love of sport in a lad; guided by its true spirit of
fair play, it is a feeling that will make him above
doing a mean thing in every station of life, and
will give him real feelings of humanity. I have had
great experience in the characters of thorough
sportsmen, and I can safely say that I never saw one
that was not a straightforward, honourable man, who
would scorn to take a dirty advantage of man or
animal. In fact, all real sportsmen that I have met
have been really tender-hearted men; men who shun
cruelty to an animal, and who are easily moved by a
tale of distress.'
THE FATE OF AMY
ROBSART
On the 4th of June 1550, Lord
Robert Dudley, who subsequently was a great figure in
English history, under the title of Earl of Leicester,
was married to Amy, the daughter of Sir John Robsart,
a gentleman of ancient family and large possessions in
Cornwall. It was perhaps an imprudent marriage, for
the bridegroom was only eighteen; but there was
nothing clandestine or secret about it�on the
contrary, it took place at the palace of Sheen, in the
presence of the young king, Edward VI. The pair lived
together ten years, but had no children. As this time
elapsed, Dudley rose in the favour of his sovereign
Elizabeth�even to such a degree that he might
evidently, if unmarried, have aspired to her royal
hand.
It is an odd consideration
regarding Elizabeth and her high reputation as a
sovereign, that one of her most famous ministers, and
one who enjoyed her personal favour during a long
course of years�whom, indeed, she loved, if she ever
loved any�was a man proved to have been guilty of
nearly every vice, a selfish adventurer, a treacherous
hypocrite, and a murderer. We have now to speak of the
first of a tolerably long series of wickednesses which
have to be charged to the account of Leicester. He was
still but Lord Robert Dudley when, in September 1560,
he got quit of the wife of his youth, Amy Robsart. We
know extremely little of this lady. There is one
letter of hers preserved, and it only tells a Mr.
Flowerden, probably a steward of her husband, to sell
the wool of certain sheep 'for six shillings the
stone, as you would sell for yourself.'
Cumnor Hall
|
The lady came
to her end at Cumnor Hall, a solitary manor-house in
Berkshire, not far from Oxford. This house was the
residence of a dependent of Dudley, one
Anthony
Forster, whose epitaph in the neighbouring church
still proclaims him as a gentleman of birth and
consideration, distinguished by skill in music and a
taste for horticulture�a worthy, sagacious, and
eloquent man, but whom we may surmise to have
nevertheless been not incapable of serving Dudley in
some of his worst ends.
The immediate instrument,
however, appears to have been
Sir Richard Varney,
another dependent of the aspiring courtier. By this
man and his servant, who alone were in the house, the
chamber of the unfortunate lady was invaded by night, and after
strangling her, and damaging her much about the head
and neck, they threw her down a stair, to support
their tale that she had died by an accidental fall.
Dudley paid all proper external respect to her memory,
by burying her magnificently in St. Mary's Church,
Oxford, at an expense of two thousand pounds. He did
not, however, escape suspicion. The neighbouring
gentry were so fully assured of the evil treatment of
the lady, that they sought to get an inquiry made into
the circumstances. We also find. Burleigh afterwards
presenting, among the reasons why it was inexpedient
for the queen to marry Leicester, 'that he is infamed
by the death of his wife.' Many actions of his
subsequent life show how fully he was capable of
ordering one woman out of the world to make way for
another.
Mickle, a poet of the latter
half of the eighteenth century, composed a ballad on
the tragic death of Amy Robsart,
whom he erroneously
thought to have been a countess. Its smooth,
euphonious strains, gave a charm to a composition
which a critical taste would scarcely approve of.
'____ Sore and sad that lady
grieved,
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear;
Full many a piercing scream was heard,
And many a cry of mortal fear.
The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
An aerial voice was heard to call;
And thrice the raven flapped its wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.
And in that manor now no
more
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball:
For ever since that dreary hour
Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall.
The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall;
Nor ever lead the sprightly dance
Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.'
The place, nevertheless, from
its natural beauties, its antique church, and the
romance connected with the ancient hall, has an
attraction for strangers. The BEAR�the inn which forms
the opening scene of the romance of Kenilworth�a very
curious specimen of old homely architecture, still
exists at Cumnor, with the Dudley arms (the bear and
ragged staff) over the door, strangely realizing to us
the dismal connexion of Leicester with the spot.