Notes.

THE GROANING-BOARD, A STORY OF THE DAYS OF CHARLES II.

The English public has ever been distinguished by an enormous amount of gullibility.

So sung old Thomas Weelkes in the year 1608, and so echo we in the year 1853! What with "spirit-rapping," "table-moving," "Chelsea ghosts," "Aztec children," &c., we shall soon, if we go on at the same rate, get the reputation of being past all cure.

In looking over, the other day, a volume in the Museum, marked MS. Sloane 958., I noticed the following hand-bill pasted on the first page:

"At the sign of the Wool-sack, in Newgate Market, is to be seen a strange and wonderful thing, which is an elm board, being touched with a hot iron, doth express itself as if it were a man dying with groans, and trembling, to the great admiration of all the hearers. It hath been presented before the king and his nobles, and hath given great satisfaction. Vivat Rex."

At the top of the bill is the king's arms, and the letters C. R., and in an old hand is written the date 1682. On the same page is an autograph of the original possessor of the volume, "Ex libris Jo. Coniers, Londini, pharmacopol, 1673."

In turning to Malcolm (Anecdotes of the Manners and Customs of London, 4to. 1811, p. 427.), we find the following elucidation of this mysterious exhibition:

"One of the most curious and ingenious amusements ever offered to the publick ear was contrived in the year 1682, when an elm plank was exhibited to the king and the credulous of London, which being touched by a hot iron, invariably produced a sound resembling deep groans. This sensible, and very irritable board, received numbers of noble visitors; and other boards, sympathising with their afflicted brother, demonstrated how much affected they might be by similar means. The publicans in different parts of the city immediately applied ignited metal to all the woodwork of their houses, in hopes of finding sensitive timber; but I do not perceive any were so successful as the landlord of the Bowman Tavern in Drury Lane, who had a mantle tree so extremely prompt and loud in its responses, that the sagacious observers were nearly unanimous in pronouncing it part of the same trunk which had afforded the original plank."

The following paragraph is also given by Malcolm from the Loyal London Mercury, Oct. 4, 1682:

"Some persons being this week drinking at the Queen's Arms Tavern, in St. Martin's-le-Grand, in the kitchen, and having laid the fire-fork in the fire to light their pipes, accidentally fell a discoursing of the groaning-board, and what might be the cause of it. One in the company, having the fork in his hand to light his pipe, would needs make trial of a long dresser that stood there, which, upon the first touch, made a great noise and groaning, more than ever the board that was showed did; and then they touched it three or four times, and found it far beyond the other. They all having seen it, the house is almost filled with spectators day and night, and any company calling for a glass of wine may see it; which, in the judgment of all, is far louder, and makes a longer groan than the other; which to report, unless seen, would seem incredible."

Among the Bagford Ballads in the Museum (three vols., under the press-mark 643. m.) is preserved the following singular broadside upon the subject, which is now reprinted for the first time:

"A NEW SONG, ON THE STRANGE AND WONDERFUL GROANING-BOARD.

"One says and swears, you do foretell

A change in Church and State;

Another says, you like not well

"The wisest say you are a cheat;

Another politician

Says, 'tis a misery as great

"London: Printed for T. P. in the year 1682."

The extraordinary and long-lived popularity of the "groaning-board" is fully evinced by the number of cotemporary allusions: a few will suffice.

Mrs. Mary Astell, in her Essay in Defence of the Female Sex, 1696, speaking of the character of a "coffee-house politician," observes:

"He is a mighty listener after prodigies: and never hears of a whale or a comet, but he apprehends some sudden revolution in the state, and looks upon a groaning-board, or a speaking-head, as forerunners of the day of judgment."

Swift, in his Tale of a Tub, written in the following year (1697), says of Jack:

"He wore a large plaister of artificiall causticks on his stomach, with the fervor of which he would set himself a groaning like the famous board upon application of a red-hot iron."

Steele, in the 44th number of the Tatler, speaking of Powell, the "puppet showman," says:

"He has not brains enough to make even wood speak as it ought to do: and I, that have heard the groaning-board, can despise all that his puppets shall be able to speak as long as they live."

So much for the "story" of the groaning-board. As to "how it was done," we leave the matter open to the reader's sagacity.

Edward F. Rimbault.

This was Stephen College, a joiner by trade, but a man of an active and violent spirit, who, making himself conspicuous by his opposition to the Court, obtained the name of the Protestant joiner. His fate is well known.

Martha Hatfield, a child twelve years old in Sept. 1652, who pretended to have visions "concerning Christ, faith, and other subjects." She was a second edition of the "holy maid of Kent."

THE ETYMOLOGY OF THE WORD "AWKWARD."

Most persons who have given their attention to the formation of words, and have employed their leisure in endeavouring to trace them to their source, must have remarked that there are many words in the English language which show on the part of learned philologists, the compilers of dictionaries, either a strange deficiency in reading, or a want of acquaintance with the older tongues: or perhaps, if we must find an excuse for them, a habit of "nodding."

The word awkward is one of these. Skinner's account is as follows:

"Ineptus, ἀμφαριστερός, præposterus, ab A.-S. æþerd perversus; hoc ab æ præp. loquelari negativa privativa, et weard, versus."

Johnson follows Skinner, interpreting awkward in the same way, and with the same derivation; but unfortunately he had met with the little word awk, and, not caring to inquire into the origin of it, as it seemed so plain, he explains it as "a barbarous contraction of awkward," giving the following example from L'Estrange:

"We have heard as arrant jingling in the pulpits as the steeples; and the professors ringing as awk as the bells to give notice of the conflagration."

Now the real state of the case is, that just as forward and backward are correlatives, so also are toward and awkward. We speak of a toward child as one who is quick and ready and apt; while, by an awkward one, we mean precisely the contrary. By the former we imply a disposition or readiness to press on to the mark; by the latter, that which is averse to it, and fails of the right way. Parallel instances, though of course not corresponding in meaning, are found in the Latin adversus, reversus, inversus, aversus.

The term awkward is compounded of the two A.-S. words aweg or awæg (which is itself made up of a, from, and wæg, a way), meaning away, out: "auferendi vim habet," says Bosworth, of which we have an instance in aweg weorpan, to throw away; and weard, toward, as in hamweard, homewards. We thus have the correlatives to-weard and aweg-weard, with the same termination, but with prefixes of exactly opposite meanings. In the latter word, the prefix would naturally come to be pronounced as one syllable, and the g as naturally converted into k.

The propriety of the use of the word awkward by Shakspeare, in the Second Part of Henry VI., Act III. Sc. 2., is thus rendered apparent:

i.e. untoward wind, or contrary: an epithet which editors, while they thought it required an apology, have been unable to explain rightly.

With regard to the word awk, I can only say that it is one of very unfrequent occurrence; I have met with it but once in the course of my own reading, so that I am unable to confirm my view as fully as I could wish; still, that one instance seems, as far as it goes, satisfactory enough: it occurs in Golding's translation of Ovid's Metam., London, 1567, fol. 177. p. 2.:

The awk end here is, of course, the wrong end, that which was not towards them.

Perhaps some of the readers of "N. & Q." may have met with other instances of the usage of the word. It does not occur in Chaucer nor (I am pretty sure) in Gower.

H. C. K.

INEDITED POEM.—"THE DECEITFULNESS OF LOVE."

The following lines, written about 1600, are, I think, well worthy of preservation in your columns. I believe they have never been published; but if any of your correspondents should have met with them, and can inform me of the author, I shall feel much obliged.

Chris. Roberts.

Bradford, Yorkshire.

Deceitfulness of Love.

BALE MSS., REFERRED TO IN TANNER'S "BIBLIOTHECA BRITANNICO-HIBERNICA."

Most persons who consult this laborious and useful work will probably have been struck and puzzled by the frequent occurrence of two references given by the Bishop as his authorities, namely, "MS. Bal. Sloan." and "MS. Bal. Glynn." To answer, therefore (by anticipation), a Query very likely to be made on this subject, I have to state, that by "MS. Bal. Sloan." Tanner refers to a manuscript work in two volumes, in Bale's handwriting, formerly in Sir Hans Sloane's collection, and numbered 287, but presented by him to the Bodleian Library; as appears by a letter from Hearne to Baker (in MS. Harl. 7031. f. 142.), dated August 6, 1715, in which he writes:

"We have Bale's accounts of the Carmelites, in two volumes, being not long since given to our public library by Dr. Sloane."

In the original MS. Sloane Catalogue, the work was thus entered: Joannes Balæus de sanctis et illustribus viris Ordinis Carmelitarum, et eorum Scriptis: Joannis Balæi Annales Carmelitarum. Another volume, partly, if not wholly, in Bale's handwriting, relative to the Carmelite Order, existed formerly in the Cottonian Library, under the press-mark Otho, D. IV., but was almost entirely destroyed in the fire which took place in 1731.

By "MS. Bal. Glynn.," or (as more fully referred to under "Adamus Carthusiensis") "MS. Bale penes D. Will. Glynn.," Tanner undoubtedly means a printed copy of Bale's Scriptorum Illustrium Majoris Brytanniæ Catalogus, with marginal notes in manuscript (probably by Bale himself) which was preserved in the library of Sir William Glynne, Bart., of Anbrosden. I learn this from Tanner's original Memoranda for his Bibliotheca, preserved in the Additional MSS. 6261. 6262., British Museum; in the former of which, ff. 122—124., is a transcript of the "MS. notæ in margine Balei, penes D. Will. Glynne." The Glynne MSS. are described in the Catt. MSS. Angliæ, fol. 1697, vol. ii. pt. 1. p. 49.; but the copy of Bale, here mentioned, is not included among them. These MSS. are said to be preserved at present in the library of Christ Church College, Oxford; and it is somewhat singular, that no account of the MSS. in this college should have been printed, either in the folio Catalogue of 1697, or in the valuable Catalogue of the MSS. in the college libraries recently published. Perhaps some of the correspondents of "N. & Q." may communicate information on this head.

F. Madden.

CHARLES FOX AND GIBBON.

The following is taken from the fly-leaves of my copy of Gibbon's Rome, 1st vol. 1779, 8vo.:

"The following anecdote and verses were written by the late Charles James Fox in the first volume of his Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.

"The author of this work declared publicly at Brookes's (a gaming-house in St. James' Street), upon the delivery of the Spanish Rescript in June, 1779, that there was no salvation for this country unless six of the heads of the cabinet council were cut off and laid upon the tables of both houses of parliament as examples; and in less than a fortnight he accepted a place under the same cabinet council.

"On the Author's Promotion to the Board of Trade in 1779. By the Right Hon. C. J. Fox.

G. M. B.

SAMUEL WILLIAMS.

The obituary of the past week records the death of Samuel Williams, a self-taught artist, whose pencil and graver have illustrated very many of the most popular works during the last forty years, and to whose productions the modern school of book-illustrations owes its chief force and character. Samuel Williams was born Feb. 23, 1788, at Colchester in Essex; and during his very earliest years, his self-taught powers were remarkable, as he could draw or copy with the greatest ease anything he saw; and he would get up at early dawn, before the other members of the family were stirring, to follow the bent of his genius. His boyish talents attracted much notice, and, had he not been very diffident, would have brought him before the world as a painter. In 1802, he was apprenticed to Mr. J. Marsden, a printer in Colchester, and thenceforward his pencil was destined to be employed in illustrating books. Whilst yet a lad, he etched on copper a frontispiece to a brochure entitled the Coggeshall Volunteers; and this was a remarkable production, as he had never seen etching or engraving on copper; and he about the same time taught himself engraving on wood, executing numerous little cuts for Mr. Marsden: amongst others, a frontispiece to a History of Colchester. So much was his talent seen by parties calling at his employer's, that Mr. Crosby, a publisher of some note in his day, promised that, when his apprenticeship ended, he should draw and engrave for him a natural history; and this promise was faithfully performed, and a series of three hundred cuts given to him immediately. Besides these, he executed numerous commissions for Mozley, Darton and Harvey, Arliss's Pocket Magazine, and other works; in all which a strong natural feeling and vigorous drawing were leading characteristics.

In 1809 he visited London for a short time, and returned to Colchester; and resided there till 1819, when he settled in London. In 1822, Mr. C. Whittingham published an edition of Robinson Crusoe, the illustrations to which are drawn and engraved by the subject of this notice; and the freedom of handling, as compared with cotemporary works, was conspicuous. After these, Trimmer's Natural History, published by Whittingham; the illustrations to Wiffin's Garcilasso de la Vega; and other works, showed his talents as a designer as well as engraver.

In 1825, William Hone started his Every-Day Book, employing Mr. Williams to make the drawings for the "Months," and other illustrations; and the peculiar style, like pen-and-ink sketches, attracted much notice, the freedom and ease of these drawings being greatly admired; and some of our present artists confess to having been first taught by copying the free off-hand sketches in Hone's Every-Day Book. A second volume followed in 1846, and the Table Book in 1847; in 1848 the Olio was published, and afterwards the Parterre; both works remarkable for their spirited illustrations. Several of the engravings to the London Stage, 1847, displayed great variety of expression in the figures and faces. Howitt's Rural Life of England, Selby's Forest Trees, Thomson's Seasons (the edition published by Bogue), Miller's Pictures of Country Life, all drawn and engraved by him, exhibit exquisite rural "bits," in which, like Bewick, Samuel Williams could express with the graver the touch of his pencil, thus far excelling his cotemporaries. The Memorials of the Martyrs was the last work on which he exercised his double skill. Of works not drawn by himself, Wiffin's Tasso shows some of his best efforts; but as for years past he had been engaged on most of the best works of the day, it is impossible to specify all. Had he devoted his time to painting, which the constant employment with pencil and graver prevented, he would have taken high rank as a painter of rural life, as his pictures of "Sketching a Countryman," and "Interior of a Blacksmith's Shop," exhibited in the Royal Academy when at Somerset House, testify, as they are marked by perfect drawing and admirable expression. Some miniatures on ivory, painted in his very youthful days, are marvellous for close manipulation and correct likeness. After a long and painful illness, borne with great fortitude, Mr. Williams expired on the 19th September, his wife having predeceased him not quite six weeks, leaving behind him four sons.

J. T.

SHAKSPEARE CORRESPONDENCE.

On a Passage in the Second Part of Henry IV.—The Death of Falstaff.—I have read with much pleasure your very temperate remarks on the fiery contributions of some of your correspondents; and I trust that, after so gentle a rebuke from certainly the most good-natured Editor living, all will henceforth go "merry as a marriage bell." Amongst the lore that I have picked up since my first acquaintance with "N. & Q.," is that profound truth,

but I must say I think it would be a very dull one if we all thought alike; as "N. & Q." would be a very dull book if it were not seasoned with differences of opinion, and its pages diversified with discussions and ingenious argument. And what can be more agreeable, when, like an animated conversation, it is conducted with fairness and good temper?

However, now we are to start fair again; and to begin with a difference, I must presume to question a decision of your own which I would fain see recalled. I believe with you that Mr. Collier's Notes and Emendations gives the true reading of the passage in Henry V., "on a table of green frieze," and I, moreover, think that Theobald's conjecture "and 'a babbled o' green fields," was worthy of any poet. Theobald was engaged in the laborious work of minute verbal correction, and necessarily took an isolated view of particular passages. Presenting the difficulty which this passage did, his suggestion was a happy and poetical thought. But when you say that the scholiast excelled his author, we must take another view of the case. The question is not as to which passage is the most poetical, but which is most in place; which was the idea most natural to be expressed. And in this I think you will admit that Shakspeare's judgment must be deferred to, and that taking the character of Falstaff, together with the other circumstances detailed of his death, it is not natural that he should be represented as "babbling o' green fields."

You are aware that Fielding, in his Journey from this World to the next, met with Shakspeare, who, in answer to a similar question to that put to Göthe, gave a like answer to the one you report. This arises in a great measure from the imperfection of language; the most careful writers at times express themselves obscurely. But with regard to Ben Jonson, I should say that, though neither a mean nor an unfriendly critic, he was certainly a prejudiced one. He saw Shakspeare from the conventional-classic point of view, and would doubtless have "blotted" much that we should have regretted submitting to his judgment. Yet, after all, the anecdote is not according to the fact. Shakspeare did "blot" thousands of lines, probably many more than Ben Jonson himself ever did; and of this we have the best evidence in whole plays almost re-written. Even in the single instance rare Ben gives of Shakspeare's incorrectness, published many years after the latter's death, the memory or hearing of the former either were at fault, or the line had been "blotted."

Absolute perfection is, of course, not to be looked for; there is no such thing in reference to human affairs, unless it be in constant and unobstructed growth and development. This is exhibited in Shakspeare's writing to a degree shown by no other writer. The shortcomings of Shakspeare are most evident when he is compared with himself,—the earlier with the later writer. But take his earliest work, so far as can be ascertained, in its earliest form, and the literature of the age cannot produce its equal.

Samuel Hickson.

"I knew there was but one way, for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields."—Shakspeare.

"I knew there was but one way, for his nose was as sharp as a pen on a table of green frieze."—Shakspeare corrected.

Some of the alterations in the manuscript corrections in Mr. Collier's old edition of Shakspeare's plays I agree with, but certainly not in this one, since we lose much and gain nothing by it. Shakspeare, in drawing a character such as Falstaff, loaded with every vice that flesh is heir to, and yet making him a favourite with the audience, must have been most anxious respecting his death, and therefore awakened our sympathy in his favour. In ushering in the account of the death-bed scene, he makes Bardolph say:

"Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell."

This expression Burns the poet considered the highest mark of regard that one man could pay to another, for in his poem on a departed friend, he says:

Mrs. Quickly, in describing the scene, says:

"He's in Arthur's (Abraham's) bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child; for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his finger's ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields."

Mrs. Quickly, after describing the outward signs of decay and second childishness, tells us he babbled. Shakspeare, as the only means of gaining our forgiveness, makes him die in repentance for his sins, and seems to have had the Twenty-third Psalm in his mind, where David puts his trust in God's grace, when amongst other passages it says: "He maketh me lie down in green pastures," and further on, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." I have endeavoured to give you a reason why I prefer the old reading of the text: if any of your correspondents will give a better for the new, I shall be glad to see it, as I am convinced the more we examine into the works of our wonderful bard, the more we shall be convinced of his superhuman genius; we are, therefore, all indebted to Mr. Collier for his searching investigations, as they set us in a reflective mood.

J. B.

Your just remarks on Theobald's "'a babbled of green fields" recalls to me a note which I find appended to the passage in the margin of my Shakspeare,

"'A babbled of green fields, i.e. singing snatches of the 23rd Psalm:

This note I jotted down in my schoolboy days, and thirty years' experience at the beds of the dying only convinces me of its correctness. Again and again have I heard the same sweet strains hymned from the lips of the dying, and soothing with hope the sinking spirit, ay, even of great and grievous sinners. Indeed, I have come to stamp it as a sure mark of impending death, and have said with the dame, "I knew there was but one way, for 'a babbled of green fields;" though I trust with different doctrine than her's, viz. that religion is the business of none but the dying, and thence, that to talk of religion is a sure sign of approaching death.

When Falstaff "babbled of green fields," he was labouring under no "calenture." His heart was far away amid the early fresh pure scenes of childhood, and he was babbling forth snatches of hymns and holy songs, learned on his mother's knee, and now called up, in his hour of need, to cheer, as best they might, his parting spirit. Strange is it that Theobald, when he suggested so happy an emendation, missed half its beauty and its real bearing.

Throughout the whole passage it is evident that Falstaff was ejaculating scraps of long forgotten hymns and Scripture texts, which were utterly incomprehensible to those about him. "'A babbled of green fields,"—"he cried out of sack,"—"and of women,"—"incarnate,"—"whore of Babylon,"—all suggest holy ejaculations, perverted by the ignorance of the godless bystanders.

In all Shakspeare there is hardly to be found a more touching scene, or one more true to nature; it is most graphic and characteristic. The loneliness of the dying sinner, with none to stand by him but the godless companions of his riot and debauchery; the eagerness of the despairing man to catch at anything of the semblance of hope that he could recall from the lessons of his childhood, "He shall feed me in a green pasture," &c.—then—ere he could reach those assuring words, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff comfort me," the miserable consciousness that it is all too late, "So 'a cried out God, God, God;"—then—the utter want of religious sympathy in the bystanders, Nym, Quickly, Bardolph, Boy, in their misinterpretations, and perverse commentaries on his ejaculations, just such as we might expect from hearts gorged to the full with vice and sensuality;—then—the redeeming touch of tenderness in the Dame, beaming through all her benighted efforts to cheer, in her own way (awful to think on, the only way known to her), the last hours of her dear old roysterer, "Now I, to comfort him, bid him 'a should not think of God, I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet;" and the undying fondness with which she upholds his memory, and will not brook a word of ribaldry, or what she deems slander, against it, all evidencing that—

Surely a scene more characteristic of all the parties in it, is not to be found in Shakspeare.

Nemo.

Minor Notes.

Doings of the Calf's Head Club.—In an old newspaper called The Weekly Oracle, of Feb. 1, 1735, is the following curious paragraph:

"Thursday (Jan. 29) in the evening a disorder of a very particular nature happened in Suffolk Street; 'tis said that several young gentlemen of distinction having met at a house there, calling themselves the Calf's Head Club; and about seven o'clock a bonfire being lit up before the door, just when it was in its height, they brought a calf's head to the window dressed in a napkin-cap, and after some huzzas, threw it into the fire. The mob were entertained with strong beer, and for some time hallooed as well as to best; but taking a disgust at some healths which were proposed, grew so outrageous that they broke all the windows, forced themselves into the house, and would probably have pulled it down, had not the guards been sent to prevent further mischief. The damage is computed at some hundred pounds. The guards were posted all night in the street for the security of the neighbourhood."

E. G. Ballard.

Epitaph by Wordsworth.—There is a beautiful epitaph by Wordsworth in Sprawley Church, Worcestershire, to the wife of G. C. Vernon, Esq., of Hanbury. Wordsworth has made the following slight alterations to it, in his published poems: I quote from the one-volume 8vo. edition of Moxon (1845). The first two lines are not on the tablet. The words within brackets are those which appear in the original epitaph:—

Cuthbert Bede, B.A.

Tailor's "Cabbage."—

"The term cabbage, by which tailors designate the cribbed pieces of cloth, is said to be derived from an old word, 'cablesh,' i. e. wind-fallen wood. And their 'hell,' where they store the cabbage, from 'helan,' to hide."

Clericus Rusticus.

Misquotations.—1. Sallust's memorable definition of friendship, as put into the mouth of Catiline (cap. 20.), is quoted in the "Translation of Aristotle's Ethics," in Bohn's Classical Library (p. 241. note h), as the saying of Terence.

2. The Critic of September 1st quotes the "Viximus insignes inter utramque facem" of Propertius (lib. iv. 11. 46.) as from Martial.

3. In Fraser's Magazine for October 1852, p. 461., we find "Quem patente portâ," &c. quoted from Terence instead of Catullus, as it is correctly in the number for May, 1853.

P. J. F. Gantillon, B.A.

The Ducking Stool.—In the Museum at Scarborough, one of these engines is preserved. It is said that there are persons still living in the town, who remember its services being employed when it stood upon the old pier. It is a substantial arm-chair of oak; with an iron bar extending from elbow to elbow, just as the wooden one is placed in child's chair to prevent the occupant from falling forward.

W. J. Bernhard Smith.

Temple.

Watch-paper Inscription.—Akin to dial inscriptions are inscriptions on watch-papers used in the days of our grandfathers, in the outer case of the corpulent watch now a-days seldom seen. I send you the following one, which I read many years since; but as I did not copy the lines, I cannot vouch for their being strictly accurate:

F. James.