Notes.

A PLEA FOR THE CITY CHURCHES.

When a bachelor is found wandering about, he cares not whither, your fair readers (for doubtless such a "dealer in curiosities" as you are has many of that sex who, however unjustly, have the credit of the "curious" bump) will naturally exclaim "he must be in love," or "something horrible has happened to him." Let us, however, disappoint them by assuring them we shall keep our own counsel. If the former be the cause, green lanes and meandering streams would suit his case better than Gracechurch Street, London, with the thermometer five or six degrees below freezing point, and the snow (!) the colour and consistency of chocolate. Such a situation, however, was ours, when our friend the Incumbent of Holy Trinity, Minories, accosted us. He was going to his church; would we accompany him? We would have gone to New Zealand with him, if he had asked us, at that moment. The locale of the Minories was nearly as unknown to us as the aforesaid flourishing colony. On entering the church (which will not repay an architectural zealot), while our friend was extracting a burial register, our eye fell on an old monument or two. There was a goodly Sir John Pelham, who had been cruelly cut down by the hand of death in 1580, looking gravely at his sweet spouse, a dame of the noble house of Bletsoe. Behind him is kneeling his little son and heir Oliver, whom, as the inscription informs us, "Death enforced to follow fast" his papa, as he died in 1584.

And there was a stately monument of the first Lord Dartmouth, a magnanimous hero, and Master of the Ordnance to Charles II. and his renegade brother. We were informed that a gentlemen in the vestry had come for the certificate of the burial of Viscount Lewisham, who died some thirty years ago; that the Legge family were all buried here; that after having dignified the aristocratic parish of St. George, Hanover Square, and the salons of May Fair, during life, they were content to lie quietly in the Minories! Does not the high blood of the "city merchant" of the present clay, of the "gentleman" of the Stock Exchange, curdle at the thought? Yes, there lie many a noble heart, many a once beautiful face but we must now-a-days, forsooth, forget the City as soon as we have made our money in its dirty alleys. To lie there after death! pooh, the thought is absurd. (Thanks to Lord Palmerston, we have no option now.)

Well, we were then asked by the worthy Incumbent, "Would you not like to see my head?" Did he take us for a Lavater or a Spurzheim? However, we were not left in suspense long, for out of the muniment closet was produced a tin box; we thought of Reading biscuits, but we were undeceived shortly. Taken out carefully and gently, was produced a human head! No mere skull, but a perfect human head! Alas! its wearer had lost it in an untimely hour. Start not, fair reader! we often lose our heads and hearts too, but not, we hope, in the mode our poor friend did. It was clear a choice had been given to him, but it was a Hobson's choice. He had been axed whether he would or no! He had been decapitated! We were told that now ghastly head had once been filled with many an anxious, and perhaps happy, thought. It had had right royal ideas. It was said to be the head of Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, the father of the sweet Lady Jane Grey. We could muse and moralise; but Captain Cuttle cuts us short, "When found, make a Note of it." We found it then there, Sir; will you make the Note? The good captain does not like to be prolix. Has his esteemed old relative, Sylvanus Urban (many happy new years to him!), made the note before?

We came away, shall we say better in mind? Yes, said we, a walk in the City may be as instructive, and as good a cure for melancholy, as the charming country. An old city church can tell its tale, and a good one too. We thought of those quaint old monuments, handed down from older churches 'tis true, but still over the slumbering ashes of our forefathers; and when the thought of the destroying hand that hung over them arose amid many associations, the Bard of Avon's fearful monumental denunciation came to our aid:

Richard Hooper.

St. Stephen's, Westminster.

ECHO POETRY.

"A Dialogue between a Glutton and Echo.

Gl. My belly I do deifie.

Echo. Fie.

Gl. Who curbs his appetite's a fool.

Echo. Ah fool!

Gl. I do not like this abstinence.

Echo. Hence.

Gl. My joy's a feast, my wish is wine.

Echo. Swine!

Gl. We epicures are happie truly.

Echo. You lie.

Gl. Who's that which giveth me the lie?

Echo. I.

Gl. What? Echo, thou that mock'st a voice?

Echo. A voice.

Gl. May I not, Echo, eat my fill?

Echo. Ill.

Gl. Will't hurt me if I drink too much?

Echo. Much.

Gl. Thou Mock'st me, Nymph; I'll not believe it.

Echo. Believe't.

Gl. Dost thou condemn then what I do?

Echo. I do.

Gl. I grant it doth exhaust the purse.

Echo. Worse.

Gl. Is't this which dulls the sharpest wit?

Echo. Best wit.

Gl. Is't this which brings infirmities?

Echo. It is.

Gl. Whither will't bring my soul? canst tell?

Echo. T' hell.

Gl. Dost thou no gluttons virtuous know?

Echo. No.

Gl. Wouldst have me temperate till I die?

Echo. I.

Gl. Shall I therein finde ease and pleasure?

Echo. Yea sure.

Gl. But is't a thing which profit brings?

Echo. It brings.

Gl. To minde or bodie? or to both?

Echo. To both.

Gl. Will it my life on earth prolong?

Echo. O long!

Gl. Will it make me vigorous until death?

Echo. Till death.

Gl. Will't bring me to eternall blisse?

Echo. Yes.

Gl. Then, sweetest Temperance, I'll love thee.

Echo. I love thee.

Gl. Then, swinish Gluttonie, I'll leave thee.

Echo. I'll leave thee.

Gl. I'll be a belly god no more.

Echo. No more.

Gl. If all be true which thou dost tell, They who fare sparingly fare well.

Echo. Farewell.

"S. J."

"Hygiasticon: or the right Course of preserving Life and Health unto extream old Age: together with soundnesse and integritie of the Senses, Judgement, and Memorie. Written in Latine by Leonard Lessius, and now done into English. 24mo. Cambridge, 1634."

I send the above poem, and title of the work it is copied from, in the hope it may interest those of your correspondents who have lately been turning their attention to this style of composition.

H. B.

Warwick.

AMBIGUITY IN PUBLIC WRITING.

In Brenan's Composition and Punctuation, published by Wilson, Royal Exchange, he strongly condemns the one and the other, as used for the former and the latter, or the first and the last. The understood rule is, that the one refers to the nearest or latter person or thing mentioned, and the other to the farthest or former; and if that were strictly adhered to, no objection could be raised. But I have found, from careful observation for two or three years past, that some of our standard writers reverse the rule, and use the one for the former, and the other for the latter, by which I have often been completely puzzled to know what they meant in cases of importance. Now, since there is not the slightest chance of unanimity here, I think the author is right in condemning their referential usage altogether. A French grammarian says, "Ce qui n'est pas clair n'est pas Français;" but though French is far from having no ambiguities, he showed that he fully appreciated what ought to be the proudest boast of any language, clearness. There is a notable want of it on the marble tablet under the portico of St. Paul's, Covent Gardens, which says:

"The church of this parish having been destroyed by fire on the 17th day of September, A.D. 1795, was rebuilt, and opened for divine service on the 1st day of August, A.D. 1798."

The writer, no doubt, congratulated himself on avoiding the then common error, in similar cases, of "This church having," &c.; for that asserted, that the very building we were looking at was burned down! But in eschewing one manifest blunder, he fell into ambiguity, and inconclusiveness equally reprehensible. For, as it never was imperative that a parish church should be always confined to a particular spot, we are left in doubt as to where the former one stood; nor, indeed, are we told whether the present building is the parish church. Better thus: "The church of this parish, which stood on the present site, having," &c.

Clarus.

A CAROL OF THE KINGS.

According to one legend, the three sons of Noah were raised from the dead to represent all mankind at Bethlehem. According to another, they slept a deep sleep in a cavern on Ararat until Messias was born, and then an angel aroused and showed them The Southern Cross, then first created to be the beacon of their way.

When the starry signal had fulfilled its office it went on, journeying towards the south, until it reached its place to bend above The Peaceful Sea in memorial of the Child Jesu.

H. of M.

SIR W. SCOTT AND SIR W. NAPIER.

Some short time ago there appeared in The Times certain letters relative to a song of Sir Walter Scott in disparagement of Fox, said to have been sung at the dinner given in Edinburgh on the acquittal of Viscount Melville. In one letter, signed "W. Napier," it is asserted, on the authority of a lady, that Scott sang the song, which gave great offence to the Whig party at the time.

Now, I must take the liberty of declaring this assertion to be incorrect. I had the honour of knowing pretty intimately Sir Walter from the year 1817 down to the period of his departure for the Continent. I have been present at many convivial meetings with him, and conversed with him times without number, and he has repeatedly declared that, although fond of music, he could not sing from his boyhood, and could not even hum a tune so as to be intelligible to a listener. The idea, therefore, of his making such a public exhibition of himself as to sing at a public meeting, is preposterous.

But in the next place the cotemporary evidence on the subject is conclusive. An account of the dinner was published in the Courant newspaper, and it is there stated "that one song was sung, the poetry of which was said to come from the muse of 'the last lay,' and was sung with admirable effect by the proprietor of the Ballantyne Press."

It is perhaps unnecessary to explain that the singer was the late John Ballantyne, and I have my doubts if the song referred to in the controversy was the one sung upon the occasion. This, however, is merely a speculation arising from the fact, that this was a song not included in Sir Walter Scott's works, which upon the very highest authority I have been informed was sung there, but of which Lord Ellenborough, and not Charles Fox, was the hero. It is entitled "Justice Law," and is highly laudatory of the Archbishop of Canterbury. It has been printed in the Supplement to the Court of Session Garland, p. 10., and the concluding verse is as follows:

Again I repeat this conjecture may be erroneous; but that Sir Walter never sung any song at all at the meeting is, I think, beyond dispute.

J. M.