Born: John Flaxman,
sculptor, 1755, York; Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles,
governor of Java (1811�1816), author of a History of
Java, founder of the Zoological Society, 1781.
Died: Henry II of
England, 1189, Chinon Castle; Pope Benedict XI, 1303;
Sir Thomas More, Chancellor of England, beheaded 1535,
London; Edward VI of England, 1553, Greenwich;
Archbishop Grindal, 1583, Croydon; Humphry Wanley,
learned scholar, 1726; Michael Bruce, poet, 1767,
Kinnesswood, Tlinross-shire; George Augustus Elliot,
Lord Heathfield, military commander, 1790: Granville
Sharpe, philanthropist, 1813, Fulham: Samuel
Whitbread, statesman, 1815: Sir Henry Raeburn,
painter, 1823, Edinburgh; Sir Thomas Munro, 1827,
Madras; D. M. Moir, poet and miscellaneous writer,
1851, Musselburgh Scotland; Andrew Crosse,
electrician, 1855: Sir Francis Palgrave, historian,
1861.
Feast Day: St. Julian,
anchoret, about 370. St. Palladius, apostle of the
Scots, bishop and confessor, about 450. St. Moninna,
of Ireland, virgin, 518. St. Goar, priest and
confessor, 575. St. Sexburgh, abbess of Ely, 7th
century.
SIR THOMAS MORE
When Sir Thomas More was
installed as lord chancellor, in the room of
Cardinal Wolsey, the Duke
of Norfolk, by the king's express
command, commended him 'unto the people, there with
great applause and joy gathered together,' for his
admirable wisdome, integritie, and innocencie, joined
with most pleasant facilitie of witt; praise which
perfectly suited its subject.
Sir Thomas More united
prudence with pleasantry, great and singular learning
with simplicity of life, and unaffected humility with
the proudest temporal greatness: he preferred the love
of his family, and the quiet pleasures of his own
house-hold, to the favours of kings or delights of
courts. It was only after the repeated urging of
Henry, that at last he consented to relinquish his
studious and secluded life at Chelsea: and it may
truly be said that he was never happy after: for,
besides his natural shrinking from public
responsibility, and his disregard of worldly
notoriety, he had a remarkably clear insight into
Henry's character, and never put much faith in his
abundant favours.
More was retained in the
king's household like a personal friend, except that
there must have been a degree of tyranny in his being
kept thus continually from his own family. But his
pleasantries amused the king and his queen, and his
learning was useful to a monarch, who was writing a
book which was to be the wonder of Christendom, and
which had to be looked over, corrected, and arranged
by Sir Thomas, as Sir Thomas himself admits, before
Europe could be honoured with a glance at it. He was
employed on several embassies alone, and in company
with Wolsey: and finally, much against his will, he
succeeded in 1529, to the highest honours, upon
Wolsey's fall.
He filled the office of
chancellor with a wisdom and unspotted integrity which
were unexampled in his own time: and yet united with
these virtues such graceful ease and agreeable
manners, that it seemed to him no effort to he honest,
and no difficulty to be just. When one woman sought to
bribe him, by presenting him with a valuable cup, he
ordered his butler to fill it with wine, and having
drunk her health, returned it: and when another
presented him with a pair of gloves, containing forty
pounds, he accepted the gloves and returned the gold,
declaring that 'he preferred his gloves without
lining?'
More, though liberal-minded,
was a stanch believer in the pope's supremacy, and had
a great dread of heresy: and when Henry opposed the
pope's will and decree by marrying Anne
Boleyn, More
resigned his chancellorship. He did not do so
ostensibly on that account, but the king was shrewd
enough to surmise his true reason. Henry really loved
his servant, and did his utmost to obtain his approval
of the new marriage, but the ex-chancellor preserved a
discreet silence. The king, piqued by the neutrality
of one whose opinion he valued, and on whom he fancied
he had bestowed so many inestimable benefits,
determined to make the late favourite acquiesce in his
sovereign's will. More was invited to the coronation,
and urged to appear, but he refused. He was
threatened, but he only smiled. His name was put in
the bill of attainder against the supposed accomplices
of Joan of Kent, and then erased as a favour. But when
the oath was put to him, which declared the lawfulness
of the king's marriage, he would not take it, and so
was committed to the Tower: and after many attempts,
first to change him, and then to make him betray
himself, so as to afford just ground for condemnation,
he was tried and condemned unjustly, and beheaded, to
the regret and shame of the whole nation, and all the
world's astonishment and disgust.
The body of Sir Thomas More
was first interred in St. Peter's Church, in the
Tower, and afterwards in Chelsea Church: but his head
was stuck on a pole, and placed on London Bridge,
where it remained fourteen days. His eldest and
favourite daughter, Margaret Roper, much grieved and
shocked at this exposure of her father's head,
determined, if possible, to gain possession of it. She
succeeded: and, according to Aubrey, in a very
remarkable manner. 'One day,' says he, 'as she was
passing under the bridge, looking on her father's
head, she exclaimed: "That head has lain many a time
in my lap, would to God it would fall into my lap as I
pass under!" She had her wish, and it did fall into
her lap!' Improbable as this incident may appear, it
is not unlikely that it really occurred. For having
tried in vain to gain possession of the head by open
and direct means, she bribed or persuaded one of the
bridge-keepers to throw it over the bridge, as if to
make room for another, just when he should see her
passing in a boat beneath. And she doubtless made the
above exclamation to her boatmen, to prevent the
suspicion of a concerted scheme between her and the
bridge-keeper. However some of these particulars may
be questioned, it appears certain that Margaret Roper
gained possession of her father's head by some such
means, for when summoned before the council for having
it in her custody, she boldly declared that 'her
father's head should not be food for fishes!' For this
she was imprisoned, but was soon liberated, and
allowed to retain her father's head, which she had
enclosed in a leaden box, and preserved it with the
tenderest devotion. She died in 1544, aged 36, and was
buried in the Roper vault, in St.
Dunstan's Church,
Canterbury: and, according to her own desire, her
father's head was placed in her coffin. But
subsequently, for some cause not now known, it was
removed from its leaden case, and deposited in a small
niche in the wall of the vault, with an iron grating
before it, where it now remains in the condition of a
fleshless skull.
Margaret Roper was well
skilled in Greek, Latin, and other languages: a
proficient in the arts and sciences as then known: and
a woman of remarkable determination and strength of
character. A tradition, preserved in the Roper family,
records that Queen Elizabeth offered her a ducal
coronet, which she refused, lest it should be
considered as a compromise for what she regarded as
the judicial murder of her father.
HUMPHRY
WANLEY, THE ANTIQUARY
This laborious worker in the
field of antiquarianism was the son of the author of
that strange collection of curious, but
ill-authenticated matters, the Wonders of the Little
World, and was born March 21, 1671-2. He was placed to
some mechanical business: but all the time he could
command, he employed in searching for and reading
ancient manuscripts, by copying and imitating which he
acquired a particular facility in judging of their
authenticity and dates. Dr. Lloyd, bishop of
Worcester, pleased with this extraordinary taste in so
young a person, sent him to Oxford. He was next
appointed by Harley, Earl of Oxford, to arrange his
valuable collections of manuscripts and books; and his
lordship's eldest son allowed Wanley a pension, and
continued him in his situation of librarian till his
death. His industry as a bibliographer was untiring,
and various public libraries and collections of
manuscripts benefited from his labours.
Humphry was a very unselfish
being, and extremely faithful to his patrons. He was
in the habit of collecting scarce articles for Lord
Oxford's library. One day, having procured a rarity,
he went to his lordship's town-house, where several
cabinet ministers were assembled, and Wanley was
desired to wait a few minutes. The weather was cold,
and he became irritated by the delay: so he determined
to retaliate by increasing the price for his treasure.
When the ministers departed, Wanley was admitted to
Lord Oxford.
'I have, my lord,' said
Wanley, 'a most rare article, but it is very dear.
It is the property of a widow, who has two
daughters: they have seen better days. She would
scarcely permit me to bring it, though I left a
promissory-note for the hundred pounds she demanded,
in case I did not return it.'
'A hundred pounds, Wanley:
that is a great sum for so small a thing!'
'It is, my lord: but you
have so often asked me to get it, that I thought I
could not do less than shew it your lordship,
particularly as it is quite perfect, and is the only
copy known.'
'It is a large sum: however,
I must have it. Give me pen, ink, and paper.' A
draught was drawn for a hundred pounds, in
presenting which his lordship said: 'Now, Wanley,
perhaps you purchased this at some bookstall!'
Humphry expressed a seeming
surprise, shrugged up his shoulders, and left the book
with the peer, for what he really did give for it at a
bookstall�sixpence!
Wanley died July 6, 1726, and
was buried in the old church of St. Marylebone, under
a flat stone.
ANDREW CROSSE
Andrew Crosse was a country
gentleman, who spent his whole life at Fyne Court, on
his patrimonial acres, six miles from Taunton, on the
Quantock Hills. His leisure he employed in electrical
experiments made on a gigantic scale. Shewing a large
party, that had come from a distance to see his
apparatus, two enormous Leyden jars, which he charged
by means of wires stretched for miles among the
forest-trees, an old gentleman contemplated the
arrangement with a look of grave disapprobation, and,
at length, with much solemnity, observed:
'Mr.
Crosse, don't you think it is rather impious to bottle
the lightning?'
'Let me answer your question
by asking another,' replied Mr. Crosse, laughing.
'Don't you think, sir, it might be considered rather
impious to bottle the rain-water?'
Whilst engaged in the
construction of a variety of minerals, by subjecting
various matters held in solution to electrical action,
he, in 1837, hit on a discovery, which, blazoned
abroad in the news-papers, raised round his name a
storm of obloquy which happily his hearty good-nature
enabled him to endure without discomfort.
Having mixed two ounces of
powdered flint with six ounces of carbonate of potassa,
fused them together in a strong heat, then reduced the
compound to powder, and dissolved it in boiling-water,
he obtained silicate of potassa, a portion of which he
diluted in boiling water, slowly adding hydrochloric
acid to super-saturation. This fluid he subjected to a
long continued electric action, through the
intervention of a porous stone, in order to form, if
possible, crystals of silica, 'but this failed. On the
fourteenth day from the commencement of the
experiment, he observed, through a lens, a few small
whitish excrescences projecting from the middle of the
electrified stone. On the eighteenth day, these
projections had become enlarged, and struck out seven
or eight filaments. On the twenty-sixth day, they
assumed the forms of perfect insects, standing erect
on a few bristles, which were their tails. On the
twenty-eighth day they moved their legs, and soon
after detached themselves from the stone, and began to
move about. In the course of a few weeks, about a
hundred insects had made their appearance. The smaller
ones had six legs and the larger eight, and were
pronounced as 'belonging to the genus Affirm.
At first Mr. Crosse imagined
that these insects must have originated from some ova
in the water. He repeated the experiment, taking every
conceivable care to subject his materials to processes
destructive of life, but the acari duly reappeared
under the same conditions. Others tried the
experiment, with even more rigid pains to exclude and
destroy imperceptible ova, but still acari came to
life, walked about, fed, multiplied, and only died
after frost, which always proved fatal to them. The
discussion which followed these remarkable experiments
still continues. Some hold that they are clear proofs
of spontaneous generation, and of the possibility of
animal creation wherever the requisite conditions are
supplied. Others firmly maintain the impossibility of
such new creation, and assert that ova must needs be
present, having eluded the contrivances to destroy or
to strain them out. About the Acarus Crossii, as it
was called, Crosse himself put forth no theory, drew
no inferences, and attacked no established belief. He
was very little of a theorist: he simply said, I did
so and so, and so and so was the result. The abuse
lavished on him for the inferences that might be drawn
from his discovery was singularly out of place.
Mr. Crosse was not wealthy, and
his secluded life at home among the Somersetshire
hills was first a necessity and then a habit. He was
far from unsocial, and he excited in all who knew him
the heartiest friendship. He was twice married; and
died on the 6th July 1855, in the room in which,
seventy-one years before, he had been born.
A
MODERN HERMIT
In the village of Newton
Burgoland, which is a hamlet of the parish of
Swepstone, near Ashby-de-la-Zouch, Leicestershire, is
now (1863) living au eccentric character, who styles
himself 'The Old Hermit of Newton Burgoland.' Though
he has resided here nearly fifteen years, his real
name, William Lole, is scarcely known: and a stranger
might search for him in vain, even in his own hamlet,
unless he inquired for 'The Old Hermit.' Yet he is no
recluse, no ascetic. It cannot be said of him:
'The moss his bed, the
cave his humble cell;
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well'
He lives among the haunts of
men, in a comfortable cottage: he can enjoy a good
dinner, can drink his glass of beer, and smoke his
pipe with as much relish as any man. Yet, according to
his own definition, he is entitled to the appellation
of a hermit. 'True hermits,' says he, 'throughout
every age, have been the firm abettors of freedom.'
And, as regards his appearance, his fancies, and his
habits, he is a hermit�a solitaire, in the midst of
his fellow-beings. He wears a long beard, and has a
very venerable appearance. In his dress he is the veriest dandy, if we regard
its profuseness and
singularity. He has a multitude of suits, all of an
original and very fantastical description. They must
have cost more than half his income, and have
exhausted his utmost ingenuity to devise. He has no
less than twenty different kinds of hats, each of
which has its own name and form, with some emblem or
motto on it�sometimes both. Here are a few examples:
Motto or Emblem. Without
money, without friends, without credit.
-
Bellows: Blow the flames of
freedom with God's word of truth.
-
Helmet. Will fight for the
birthright of consciences, love, life, property, and
national independence.
-
Patent Tea-pot: To draw out
the flavour of the tea best�Union and Goodwill.
-
Wash-basin of Reform:
White-washed face, and collyed heart.
-
Bee-hive. The toils of
industry are sweet: a wise people live at peace.
The shapes of the hats, and
the devices on them, are intended to symbolise some
important fact or sentiment.
The rest of
his dress is as
fantastical as his hats. He has twelve suits of
clothes, each with a peculiar name, differing from the
others, and, like his hats, intended to be
emblematical. One dress, which he calls 'Odd
Fellows,' is of white cotton or linen. It hangs
loosely over the body, except being bound round the
waist with a white girdle, buckled in the front. Over
his left breast is a heart-shaped badge, bearing the
words, 'Liberty of conscience,' which he calls his 'Order of the Star.' The hat
which he wears with this
dress is nearly white, and of common shape, but has on
it four fanciful devices, bound with black ribbon, and
inscribed, severally, with these words: 'Bless,
feed�good allowance�well clothed�all working-men.'
Another dress, which he calls
'Foresters,' is a kind of frock-coat, made of soft
brown leather, slightly embroidered with braid. This
coat is closed down the front with white buttons, and
bound round the waist with a white girdle, fastened
with a white buckle. The hat, slightly resembling a
turban, is divided into black and white stripes,
running round it.
Another dress, which he has
named 'Military,' has some resemblance to the military
costume at the beginning of the present century. The
coat is sloped off at the waist, and faced with fur;
dark knee-breeches, and buckled shoes. The hat
belonging to this dress is no longer in existence. It
was a large conspicuous article, a composition between
the old-fashioned cocked-hat, and that worn by
military commanders: but instead of the military
plume, it had two upright peaks on the crown, not
unlike the tips of a horse's ears. This hat, which he
asserts cost five pounds, was the pride of his heart.
He considered it a perfect specimen of exquisite taste
and ingenuity. He preserved it with religious care,
and never wore it but on important occasions.
On one of these occasions he
arrayed himself in his 'Military,' and adjusted his
pet-hat with consequential precision. Exulting in his
fancied dignity, he sallied forth from his hermitage:
but, forgetful of the hermit's humility, he strode
along the road with a somewhat martial air. When, Lo!
he met a group of giddy, mischievous youths who were
just looking out for a frolic. The old hermit's queer
appearance, of course, attracted their notice. His
fantastical hat, his antiquated military costume, the
whimsical mixture of his reverent and defiant air,
might have conquered the gravity of a Stoic. No wonder
the merry youths were convulsed with laughter. But
nothing less than a practical joke would satisfy them.
So they rushed round the old hermit, knocked off his
hat, tossed it into the air, kicked it about for a
football, and finally tore it into tatters. Thus
perished our sage's pet-hat. Alas! for pets, whether
old hermits' hats or young ladies' pug-dogs, they are
sure to come to an untimely end.
The old hermit still
mourns over his lost hat, and descants of its glories
with melancholy pleasure. 'Ah!' says he, 'it was a
perfect beauty�a wonderful production! It cost me many
a sleepless night to invent it. Many a meal I lost to
save money to pay for it. I shall never have its like
again. I cannot afford it. I grow old, and times grow
harder with me, Ah! those audacious lads. Would they
had had some-thing better to do! It was downright
cruelty to rob the poor old hermit of such a noble
hat!' His mania for symbolisation pervades all his
thoughts and doings. His garden is a complete
collection of emblems. The trees, the walks, the
squares, the beds, the flowers, the seats and arbours�are
all symbolically arranged. In the passage leading into
the garden are 'the three seats of Self-inquiry,' each
inscribed with one of these questions: 'Am I vile? Am
I a hypocrite? Am I a Christian?' Among the emblems
and mottoes, which are marked by different-coloured
pebbles or flowers, are these:
'The vessels of the
tabernacle;' "The Christian's armour�olive-branch,
baptismal-font, breastplate of righteousness, shield
of faith,' &c. 'Mount Pisgah;' a circle enclosing the
motto�'Eternal love has wed my soul;' 'A bee-hive;' 'A
church;' 'Sacred urn;' 'Universal grave;' "Bed of
diamonds;' 'A heart, enclosing the rose of Sharon;'
All the implements used in gardening. 'The two
hearts' bowers;' 'The lovers' prayer; 'Conjugal
bliss;' 'The Hermit's coat of arms; 'Gossips' Court,'
with motto: 'Don't tell anybody!' 'The kitchen-walk'
contains representations of culinary utensils, with
mottoes. 'Feast square' contains�' Venison pasty,
Round of beef,' &c.; The Odd Fellow's Square,' with
'The hen-pecked husband put on water-gruel.' 'The
oratory,' with various mottoes; 'The orchestry,'
mottoes, 'God save our noble queen; Britons never
shall be slaves,' &c. 'The sand-glass of Time;' 'The
assembly-room;' 'The wedding-walk;' "The Holy Mount;'
'Noah's ark, Rainbow, Jacob's ladder,' &c. 'The Bank
of Faith;' 'The Saloon;' 'The Enchanted Ground;' 'The
Exit'�all with their respective emblems and mottoes.
Besides these fantastical
devices, there are, or were, in his garden,
representations of the inquisition and purgatory;
effigies of the apostles; and mounds covered with
flowers, to represent the graves of the Reformers. In
the midst of the religious emblems stood a large tub,
with a queer desk before it, to represent a pulpit.
When his garden was full of visitors, as it often used
to be, he would clamber into this tub, and harangue
them in a long rambling tirade against popery, and all
kinds of real or fancied religious and political
oppression. He declaims vociferously against the pope
as Antichrist and the enemy of humanity; and when he
fled from Rome in the guise of a servant, our old
hermit decked his hat with laurels, and, thus
equipped, went to the Independent chapel, declaring
that 'the reign of the man of sin was over.' He also
raised a mock-gallows in his garden, and suspended on
it an effigy of the pope, whimsically dressed, with
many books sticking out of his pockets, which, he
said, contained the doctrines of popery.
Though he
professes Christianity, and owns the Bible to be a
divine revelation, yet he belongs to no religious
community, and very rarely enters a place of worship.
He is extremely poor, and how he ekes out a livelihood
is a marvel; for though his house and garden are his
own property, they yield him no income. His garden,
which might have been made profitable, is so fully
occupied with his whimsical devices, that it produces
scarcely any fruit or vegetables. And often, when
laying out some new fancy in his garden, he would be
so engrossed with it, that he would have passed day
after day without food, had not one kind neighbour and
another carried him a ready-dressed meal. He gains a
little, however, by opening his garden to tea-parties,
on which occasions he supplies the visitors with
tea-services, and charges them one shilling or
sixpence a head, according to their condition in life.
But this income, which is very scanty and precarious,
lasts only during the summer season. Occasionally he
prints little pamphlets or tracts, consisting of
mottoes and trite sayings; but these, though sold at a
high price, can scarcely pay the expense of printing.
He is now in such poverty that he is thankful for any
assistance, which does not require him to relinquish
his present mode of living. He has a brother in
competent circumstances, who has offered to share his
home with him; but, 'No,' says the old hermit, 'for
what would then become of my garden? My heart is in my
garden. I cannot leave it!'
