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and its scenery for sketches delicious. It houses are the prettiest things I ever saw: is a village, built nearly all of wood; the they are in this way,
but inuch more beautiful than I can show only that I ubserve on a Sunday they wear in a small sketch. They are delicately white nightcaps : every man that I can see clean, and mostly have fine vines and now out of my window has one on; and plenty of grapes about them. The stones they are all playing at ball and nine-pins, on the roof are to keep the wood from just as they do in France. There is anbeing blown off. Then the people dress other kind of cap worn here made of silk; so well, and all look so happy, that it is a this is limp, and does not look so well. pleasure to be among them. I cannot un- They have also a flat straw hat. derstand a word they say, and yet they are all civil and obliging. If any children happen to see me drawing out of doors, they always run to fetch a chair for me The women are dressed in this manner.
The women work much more than the men ; they even row the boats on the lakes. All the Swiss, however, are very industrious; and I like Switzerland altogether exceedingly. I leave this place tomorrow, and am going on to the beautiful valley of Sornen, (there was a view of it in the Diorama,) and then to the lake of the fo'r cantons, or lake of Lucerne, and round the canton of the Valais to Geneva, and from thence for the lakes of Italy. If you examine a map for these places, it will be an amusement for you.
Lady Byron bas been here for two days; she is making a tour of Switzerland. There are several English passing through. I can scarcely give you a better notion of the situation of this beautiful little village, than'
by saying that it is in a valley between two The poor people and ladies are in the lakes, and that there are the most charming same style exactly: the caps are made of walks you can imagine to the eminences on horsehair, and the hair dressed quite plain the river side, and along the borders of the in front, and plaited behind almost to the lakes. There are more goats here than in ground with black ribbons. They wear Wales : they all wear a little bell roond silver chains from each side of the bosom, their neck; and the sheep and cows being to pass under the arms, and fasten on similarly distinguished, the movement of the back. They are not all pretty, but the flocks and herds keep an incessant they are particularly clean and neat. There tinkling, and relieve the stillness of the is nothing remarkable in the mer.'s dress, beauteous scenery.
What did you
Gretna Green Marriages. quaintness of phraseology, and occasion.
ally convulsed the court with laughter. THE BLACKSMITH.
He was interrogated both by Mr. Scarlett
and Mr. Coltman in succession. On Friday, March 23, at Lancaster Lent Who are you, Laing ? assizes 1827, before Mr. baron llullock, Why, I live in Springfield. tame on the trial of an indictment against Well, what did you do in this affair? Edward Gibbon Wakefield and William Why, I was sent for to Linton's, where Wakefield, (brothers,) Edward Thevenot, I found two gentlemen, as it may be, and (their servant,) and Frances the wife of one lady. Èdward Wakefield, (father of the brothers,) Did you know them? for conspiring by subtle stratagems and
I did not. false representations to take and carry away Do you see them in court ? Ellen Turner, a maid, unmarried, and within Why, no I cannot say. the age of sixteen years, the only child and
do! heiress of William Turner, from the care of Why I joined them, and then got the the Misses Daulby, who had the education lady's address, where she come from, and and governance of Miss Turner, and caus the party's I believe. ing her to contract matrimony with the What did they do then? said Edward Gibbon Wakefield, without Why, the gentleman wrote down the the knowledge and consent of her father, names, and the lady gave way to it. to her great disparagement, to her father's In fact, you married them after the usual discomfort, and against the king's peace. way? Thevenot was acquitted; the other defend Yes, yes, I married them after the Scotch ants were found guilty," and the bro- form, that is, by my putting on the ring on thers stood committed to Lancaster-castle. the lady's finger, and that way.
To a second indictment, under the statute Were they both agreeable ? of 4 and 5 Philip and Mary, against the O yes, I joined their hands as man and brothers, for the abduction of Miss Turner, wife. they withdrew their plea of " not guilty,”
Was that the whole of the ceremonyand pleaded “ guilty" to the fifth count. was it the end of it?
In the course of the defence to the first I wished them well, shook hands with indictment, David Laing, the celebrated them, and, as I said, they then both emblacksmith of Gretna-green, was examined; braced each other very agreeably. and, indeed, the trial is only mentioned in What else did you do? these pages, for the purpose of sketching I think I told the lady that I generally had this anomalous character as he appeared in a present from 'em, as it may be, of such a the witness-box, and represented his own thing as money to buy a pair of gloves, proceedings, according to The Times' re and she gave me, with her own hand, a port:- viz.
twenty-shilling Bank of England note to In appearance this old man was made to buy them. assume a superiority over bis usual com Where did she get the note ? panions. Somebody had dressed him in a How do I know. black coat, and velvet waistcoat and breeches What did the gentleman say to you? of the same colour, with a shining pair of Oh, you ask what did he treat me with. top boots—the shape of his hat, too, re No, I do not; what did he say to you? sembled the clerical fashion. He seemed He did nothing to me; but I did to him a vulgar fellow, though not without shrewd what I have done to many before, that is, ness and that air of familiarity, which he you must know, to join them together; join might be supposed to have acquired by the hands, and so on. I bargained many in freedom necessarily permitted by persons that way, and she was perfectly agreeable, of a better rank of life, to one who was and made no objections. conscious he had the power of performing Did you give them a certificate ? for them a guilty, but important ceremony, Oh! yes, I gave it to the lady.
On entering the witness-box, he leaned [Here a piece of paper was identified by forward towards the counsel employed to this witness, and read in evidence, purexamine him, with a ludicrous expression porting to certify that Edward Gibbon of gravity upon his features, and accom Wakefield and Ellen Turner had been panied every answer with a knitting of his duly married according to the form wrinkled brow, and significant nodding of required by the Scottish law. This his head, which gave peculiar force to his paper, except the names and dates,
was a printed register, at the top of I followed many occupations
cut, apparently of the royal arms ] No, I were not.
Why, I was a merchant once. O, yes; he asked me what sort of wine That is a travelling vagrant pedlar, as I they had in Linton's house, and I said they understand your term ? had three kinds, with the best of Shumpine Yes, may be. (Champagne.) He asked me which I would Were you ever any thing else in the way take, and I said Shumpine, and so and so; of calling ? while they went into another room to dine, Never. I finished the wine, and then off I came. I Come back now to what you call the returned, and saw them still in the very marriage. Do you pretend to say that it best of comfortable spirits.
was done after the common old form of the Mr. SCARLETT.-We have done with you, church of Scotland ? Is not the general Laing.
way by a clergyman? Mr. BROUGHAU.—But my turn is to That is not the general way altogecome with you, my gentleman. What did ther. you get for this job besides the Shumpine ? Do you mean that the common ordinary Did you get money as well as Shumpine ?? way in Scotland is not to send for a clergyYes, sure I did, and so and so.
man, but to go a hunting after a fellow like Well, how much? Thirty or forty pounds or thereabouts, as Scotland is not in the practice altogether
of going after clergymen. Many does nos Or fifty pounds, as it may be, Mr. Black- go that way at all. smith ?
Do you mean to swear, then, that the May be, for I cannot say to a few pounds. regular common mode is not to go before a I am dull of hearing.
clergyman? Was this marriage ceremony, which you I do not say that, as it may be. have been describing, exactly what the law Answer me the question plainly, or else and church of Scotland require on such you shall not so easily get back to this occasions, as your certificate (as you call it) good old work of yours in Scotland as you asserts?
think? O yes, it is in the old common form. I say as it may be, the marriages in Scot
What! Do you mean in the old common land an't always done in the churches. form of the church of Scotland, fellow? I know that as well as you do, for the
There is no prayer-book required to be clergyman sometimes attends in private produced, I tell you.
houses, or it is done before a justice depute; Will you answer me when I ask you, but is this the regular mode? what do you mean by the old ordinary I say it ent no wrong mode—it is law. form of the church of Scotland, when this Re-examined by Mr. SCARLETT. transaction has nothing whatever to do with Well, is it the irregular mode? that church? Were you never a clergyman No, not irregular, but as it may be unof that country?
regular, but its right still. Never.
You mcan your own good old unregular How long are you practising this delight- mode ? ful art?
Yes; I have been both in the courts of Upwards of forty-eight years I am doing Edinburgh and Dublin, and my marriages these marriages.
have always been held legal. How old are you?
What form of words do you use? I am now beyond seventy-five.
Why, you come before me, and sayWhat do you do to get your livelihood ? Mr. SCARLETT.—No, I will not, for I do I do these.
not want to be married ; but suppose a Pretty doing it is; but how did you get man did who called for your services, what your livelihood, say, before these last pre- is he to do? cious forty-eight years of your life?
Why, it is I that do it. Surely I ask I was a gentleman.
them, before two witnesses, do you take What do you call a gentleman ?
one and other for man and wife, and they Being sometimes poor, sometimes rich. say they do, and I then declare them to be Come now, say what was your occupa
man and wife for ever more, and so and so, tion before you took to this trade? in the Scotch way you observe.
The Court --Mr. Attorney, (addressing Mr. Scarlett, who is attorney-general for the county palatine,) is it by a fellow like this, that you mean to prove the custom of the law of Scotland as to valid marriage ?
Here the blacksmith's examination ter*minated.
Beside the garden path, the crocus now
Turn to the ocean-how the scene is changed.
This unfortunate being, well known by the designation of “the poor poet," was born at Soham, in Cambridgeshire, in 1748, where his father was a leather-seller, but having been unfortunate in business, and marrying a second wife, disputes and family broils arose.
It was probably from this discomfort in his paternal dwelling-place, that he left home never to return. At first, and for an uncertain period, he was a maker and seller of pets and some small wares. Afterwards, he composed verses on birthdays and weddings, acrostics on names, and such like matters. Naturally mild and unassuming in his manners, he attracted the attention and sympathy of many, and by this means lived, or, rather, suffered life! That his mind was diseased there can be no doubt, for no sane being would have preferred an existence such as his. What gave the first morbid turn to his feelings is perhaps unknown. His sharp, lively, sparkling eye might have conveyed an idea that he had suffered disappointment in the tender passion; while, from the serious tendency of many of his compositions, it may be apprehended that religion, or false notions of religion, in his very young days, operated to increase the unhappiness that distressed his faculties. Unaided by education of any kind, he yet had attained to write, although his MSS. were scarcely intelligible to any but himself; he could spell correctly, was a very decent grammarian, and had even acquired a smattering of Latin and Greek.
From the age of sixteen to seventy years, poor Chambers travelled about the county of Suffolk, a sort of wandering baru, gaining a precarious subsistence by selling his own effusions, of which he had a number printed in cheap forms. Among the poorer people of the country, he was mostly received with a hearty welcome; they held him in great estimation as a poet, and sometiines bestowed on him a small pecuniary recompense for the ready adaptation of his poetical qualities, in the construction of verses on certain occasions suitable to their taste or wishes. Compositions of this nature were mostly suggested to him by his muse during the stillness of night, while reposing in some friendly barn or hay-loft. When so inspired, he would immediately arise and commit the effusion to paper. His memory was retentive, and, to amuse his hearers, he would repeat most of his pieces by heart.
He wandered for a considerable time in the who desired to assist him. His wretched west of Suffolk, particularly at Haverhill; hovel was emptied, its miserable accumuand Mr. John Webb, of that place, in his lations were consigned to the flames, and poem entitled “ Haverhill," thus cotices he was put into a new habitation, clothed
from head to foot, and so metamorphosed,
that but few knew him at first sight. A An hapless oatcast, on whose natal day
bedstead and bedding, a chair, table, and No star propitious beam'd a kindly ray. By some malignant infuence doom'd to roam
necessary crockery were provided for his The world's wide dreary waste, and know no home.
comfort, but the poor creature was often Yet heav'n to cheer him as he pass'd along,
heard to exclaim, of the cleansing and Infus'd in life's sour cup the sweets of song.
burning, that“ it was the worst day's work Upon his couch of straw, or bed of hay,
he ever met with.” After a few short weeks The poetaster tun'd the acrostic lay :
he left this home, and a shilling a week On him an humble muse her favours shed,
allowed him by a gentleman, besides some And nightly musings earn'd his daily bread. weekly pence, donations from ladies in the
Meek, unassuming, modest shade! forgive town, for a life of wandering privation and, This frail attempt to make thy memory live.
at times, of absolute want, until the closing Minstrel, adieu 1-to me thy fate's unknown ;. scene of his weary pilgrimage. He breathed Since last I saw you, many & year has flowa. his last on the 4th of January, 1827, in an Full oft has summer poured her fervid beams, unoccupied farm-house belonging to Mr, And winter's icy breath congeal'd the streams. Thurston of Stradbroke, where he had been Perhaps, lorn wretch | unfriended and alone permitted the use of two rooms. Within lo hovel vile, thou gav'st thy final groan!
a few days before, he had been as well as Clos'd the blear's eye, ordain'd no more to weep,
usual, but he suddenly became ill, and had And sunk, unheeded sunk, in death's long sleep! the attention of two women, neighbours,
Chambers left Haverhill, never to return who provided him warm gruel, and a few to it, in the year 1790. In peregrinating things his situation required. Some one the country, which he did in every change he died there was food in the house, with
had given him a warm blanket, and when of sky, through storms, and through snow, or whatever might betide, he was often tenpence halfpenny in money, a few scraps supported entirely by the spontaneous be- of poetry, and a bushel of wheat which he nevolence of those who witnessed his wan
had gleaned in the harvest. A decent coffin derings. In his verses on a snow-storm, he and shroud were provided, and he was
buried in Stradbrook churchyard.* says :
Chambers was literally one of the poor This vile raincent hangs in tatters ;
at all times; and hence his annals are short No warm garment to defeud :
and simple. Disregard of personal apO'er my flesh thu chill snow scatters; pearance was natural to his poverty-stricken No snug hutl-no social friend!
circumstances and melancholy disposition; About four years before his death, while
for the wheel of his fortune was fixed by sojourning in Woodbridge, sleeping in a
habit, as by a nail in a sure place, to conmiserable hut on the barrack ground, and
stant indigence. Neglected in his youth, daily wandering about the town, with every
and without fixed employment, he brooded visible mark of misery to distress the eye,
throughout life on his hopeless condition, his condition became a libel upon the feel.
without a friend of his own rank who ings of the inhabitants of the place; a few could participate in his sorrows. He was a gentlemen determined he should no longer lonely man, and a wanderer, who had neither wander in such a state of wretchedness,
act nor part in the common ways of the offered to clothe and cleanse him, and
world. provide a comfortable room, bed, &c. and a person to shave him and wash for him ;
Vaurhall. and they threatened, if he would not comply,
A DRAMATIC SKETCH. to take him home to where he belonged. His aversion to a poor. house amounted
For the Table Book to horror: he expresses somewhat to that Characters-Mr. Greenfat, Mrs. Greenfat, effect in one of his poems
Masters Peter and Humphrey Greenfat, 'Mongst Belial's sons of contention and strife,
Misses Theodosia and Arabella GreenTo breathe out the transient remains of my life!
fat, and Mr. John Eelskin. This dread operated in behalf of those • The Ipswich Journal, January 31, 1897.