Driven By Desire

On a stormy night, rideshare driver Alex picks up a mysterious woman

named Luna, whose piercing green eyes and sultry smile ignite
something primal inside him. As the rain drenches the city, the
tension between them becomes undeniable, turning a r

Author: CosmicQuill
ISBN: 9798230525363
Category: Adult
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Language: English
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.
November’s leaves bespread the ground,
And I am forty-four.
I look me back to boyhood’s days,
When I was wont to pore
O’er grammar, ’neath a master’s gaze,
Nor thought of forty-four.
The mathematics I began,
Twice two I said was four,
What more know I, tho’ time has ran,
And made me forty-four.
Of French and crabbed Latin too
I laid in little store,
Yet both are pleasing to my view,
Now I am forty-four.
Thus time makes pleasant in his round
What once to us was sore,
This truth full often have I found,
Ere I was forty-four.
One nymph to crown our nuptial bliss,
See dancing on the floor,
May all our days be blest as this
On which I am forty-four.
Tho’ small my girl, our share, our wealth,
On wolf, we bar the door;
If Providence but sends me health,
I’m blest at forty-four.
For thee, my love, long life I ask,
That blessing sent of yore,
When men like boys conn’d o’er a task
At ten times forty-four.
The Aerial, or The Great Unknown, AT VAUXHALL.
 The Aerial, or The Great Unknown,
AT VAUXHALL.

“The earth hath bubbles as the water has,

And this is of them.”
This personage has obtained himself to be sketched and
lithographed. It is a true portraiture of his dress and form, but not of
his face. By way of denoting his pretension to “deathless notoriety,”
it has these few expressive words beneath it; namely,—“Without
equal in nature or art, this or in any other age or globe.” Afterwards
follows this intimation, “Published as the act directs, by Mr. Leeming,
London, October, 1825.” In vain did he solicit the printsellers to sell
the prints for five shillings each. Although he had coupled it with
written intimation that he is “the Ærial invaluable,” and that after his
decease will be inscribed on his tomb, “If this was not a gentleman,
he would not have been buried in christian burial,” yet the publishers
were impenetrable to his “assurance,” and therefore before and
after, and on Guy Fawkes’ day, a man was employed to walk the
streets with a board bearing a couple of the impressions pasted
thereon, the said man bearing also unpasted ones, “to all who
choose to buy them” at one shilling each.
The first public intimation of this “phenomenon,” is in the Times
of Saturday, July 2, 1825:—“An individual in a splendid dress of
Spanish costume has excited much attention at Vauxhall gardens.
Having walked or rather skipped round the promenade, with a great
air of consequence, saluting the company as he passed along, he at
length mingled amongst the audience in the front of the orchestra,
and distributed a number of cards, on each of which was written,
‘The Ærial challenges the whole world to find a man that can in any
way compete with him as such.’ After having served about three or
four hundred of these challenges, he darted off like lightning, taking
the whole circuit of the gardens in his career, and made his exit
through the grand entrance into the road where a carriage was in
waiting for him, into which he sprang, and was driven off.”
Postponing a few particulars of this visitation of Vauxhall by “The
Ærial” for a minute or two, we proceed to state that he declares
himself “an Adonis;” that to glad the eyes of artists with a view of
his uncommon person, he condescended to leave the good town of
Manchester by the common stage coach, and that assuming the
disguise of common dress, like Apollo in “Midas” after expulsion from
the celestials, he arrived in London on the day of June. Dull as he
found this metropolis to personal merit, yet, to his “Agreeable
Surprise,” there were some who said in the language of Lingo:—
“Such beauties in view I
Can never praise too high.”
 Sculptors and painters of eminence to whom he proffered
disclosure of his elegant person were honoured by visits from him.
He represents some interviews to this effect. Sir Thomas Lawrence,
the president of the royal academy, gazed upon him, and inquired
what “he considered the essential principle of man?” the Ærial
immediately answered “the thigh.” Sir Thomas insensible to the
mundane charms before him, observed that he thought the beauties
of the mind should be preferred to those of the body, and therefore
suggested the propriety of his cultivating mental beauty. This was an
indignity, for it was opposed to the theory maintained by the Ærial,
that mental beauty results from personal beauty. Mr. Haydon was
not quite so shocking; he admitted to, and to the cost of the Ærial,
as will hereafter appear, that he had “a beautiful leg.” His oral
developement of his sylph-like perfections to Mr. Chantry, induced
that gentleman to decline prolongation of the interview, and to say
he should at once call himself Ærial, and from that moment he did.
Mr. Behnes told him that he was “no conjuror,” and that every body
laughed at him. The Ærial was not to be so subdued, nor by such
means humbled. He deemed them to be the sayings of envy. His
organ of self-esteem attained a new swell, and in harmonious
strength he rose like Antæus from the dust, a giant refreshed.
He conceives that he is the most beautiful person in the world,
and hence besides calling himself “the Ærial,” the “New Discovery,”
and “the Great Unknown,” he adds “the Paragon of Perfection,” “the
Phœnix,” “the God of Beauty,” and “the Grand Arcana of Nature.”
Some one intimated that arcanum would be correct; he said, he did
not choose to hum, and he was “not to be hummed.” It was hinted
that he might assume the name of Apollo; he turned from the
speaker with contempt—“Apollo is nothing compared with me; there
is no figure to compete with me in any respect, except the Achilles in
the park, which may be somewhat like me in the under part of the
foot upon the ground, but upon that it is impossible to determine
with accuracy, unless the figure flew from the pedestal.”
He relates, that he visited Dr. Thornton, who lectures at the
Marlborough rooms, in Great Marlborough-street, on “craniology,
botany, chemistry, astronomy, vision, hearing, the circulation of the
blood, digestion, and the beneficial effects produced by the different
gases in the cure of diseases.” He inquired of this gentleman
whether he thought “an exhibition of something never before seen
under the sun, and which, when seen, people would fall down and
worship, would be likely to take?” The doctor inquired what the
“something” was; the Ærial answered by inquiring which of all the
exhibitions was likely to be the most successful; the doctor
answered, “the panorama of London in the Regent’s-park when it
opens.” “But what do you think an infinitely more attractive
exhibition will produce.” “It is impossible to say—perhaps 20,000l. a
year; but what is yours?”—“You shall see—but not now—to-morrow.”
On the morrow the Ærial came with a small bundle; and having
obtained permission to retire therewith, alone to a room, promised
to return in a few minutes, and cheer the sight of the doctor and his
family with a more astonishing production of nature than the doctor
or all mankind born before him had seen, or after ages could see.
During his absence, the doctor’s household were on tiptoe
expectation till the long-looked-at door opened, when the Ærial
entered in a close-fitting dress, and walking to the middle of the
room, threw out his chest and left arm, and projecting his right arm
behind, cried, “Behold!”
Determined on an immediate public exhibition, the Ærial
conceived the idea of a new joint stock company, “capital one
million;” for which “good and valuable consideration,” he proposed to
put himself at the disposition of the company “so soon as the
subscription was filled up.” To certain observations of the chancellor
against the “new companies,” the Ærial attributed a general
indifference to personal overtures that he made to several
individuals, with a view to arrangements for bringing him “into the
market.” He resolved to speculate on his own account; the first thing
to be obtained was a “grand room;” but the proprietor of the
“Egyptian-hall” was deaf to the voice of the charmer, and every room
in London was denied to him, except on degrading conditions which
people “without souls” are accustomed to require on such
applications. Could he have obtained one friend to have gone shares
with him, the summum bonum might have been obtained. If only
one monied man would have advanced with capital, the Ærial would
have advanced in person. It was to have been an exhibition by
candlelight, for candlelight he said was indispensable to produce
“extreme height,” and render him in common eyes “a giant.” This
effect of exhibition by candlelight would be, he said, a “new
discovery;” and therefore he added to himself the title of the “New
Discovery.” He is five feet one inch and a quarter high. Some one
unthinkingly conversing in his presence, stated him to be five feet
one inch and a half; the Ærial corrected the inaccuracy with severity.
“A quarter, sir,” he said; “five feet one and a quarter, sir; mine is the
perfect height; a quarter of an inch more would be higher, a quarter
of an inch less would be lower than the standard of perfection!”
Acquiring experience from disappointment, and deeming that the
wonder of his person might be as insupportable as “excess of light,”
the Ærial purposed to let himself in upon the public by degrees. At
his chambers in Thavies-inn, he procured the attendance of a person
to mould that limb, which Mr. Haydon, from inability to duly
appreciate the rest of his body, had denominated “a beautiful leg.”
The operation was so tedious, that the mould was not completed till
eleven o’clock in the evening. It was then carried away for the
purpose of being cast, but the Ærial suspected “all was not right,”
and “convinced,” he says, “that the artist was sitting up to
surreptitiously take a thousand casts from it, in the course of the
night, and sell them all over the country,” he jumped into a hackney,
between one and two in the morning, and caused the coachman to
drive him “as fast as the horses could go,” to the artist’s house. The
coachman, then he, the door-knocker seized, and there both kept
“lowd rub a dub tabering, with frapping rip rap.” The drowsy servant
roused from slumber, “creeping like snail, unwillingly” opened the
street door; the Ærial called out “where’s my leg! I’m come for my
leg!” and, seizing “the candle,” rushed to the workroom, which to his
astonishment was in darkness till illumined by his presence, and the
light he bore in his hand. On seeing the mould of his leg in the
basket just as it had been brought, he seized and bore it off to his
own home, and after this achievement slept in peace. In the
morning he carried it himself to another place, and having had a
cast taken from it in his own presence, conveyed both away, and
meditated how “all might see, and having seen, admire.” Finally, he
deposited the cast with Mr. Cottrell, at his “last and boot-tree
manufactory,” No. 125, (near Leather-lane,) Holborn, upon a promise
that it should be exhibited in the shop window without note or
comment: “it will speak for itself,” he said. He frequently made kind
inquiries as to this portional representation of himself, till he was
informed, that “two hundred pounds had been bid for it:” this was
not enough. On a subsequent interview, he was acquainted that
“another person said he was willing to give three hundred for it.”
This undervaluation was decisive. “Such people” he said, “shall not
have a part of my person: give me my leg; plenty now will desire an
entire cast of me: I will submit to it for the sake of the world for a
thousand pounds; no less: here is my address, let any one who
desires it come to me.” He once more resumed the actual possession
of the cast, but no one came, and he pondered in vain to account
for the motives of “the world.” At length, by accident, he let the cast
fall and broke it; this he entirely destroyed. He next sought how to
dispose of the mould without disgrace to it, or to himself. Sudden
and quick in purpose, he resolved to bury it in the ocean. The mail
carried him to Dover, and from on board a steam-vessel, when
midway between England and France, he let it down to the bed of
the sea, as to the bed of honour, and “left it alone in its glory.”
After this funeral excursion, which had extended to Calais, he
was, on Monday, the 29th of August, at the public office,
Marlborough-street. The newspapers state the circumstance to this
effect:—“A young man, smart and flippant withal, was introduced to
Mr. Conant, the presiding magistrate. Whether the individual thought
with Burke, that ‘mystery was an attribute of the sublime,’ we know
not—but this we know, he at first attempted to hide his merits under
the humble appellative of Joseph Thompson; but subsequently
owned a lawful right to the name of Joseph Leeming;—whether to
an immoderate love of the grape, or malt, was to be attributed the
inclination of Joseph Leeming matters not, a serious charge of
drunkenness, and its almost certain offspring, a riotous comportment
in his majesty’s highway, was made against him. When it was
demanded what part of the metropolis was dignified by the sojourn
of Joseph, he replied, No. 20, Newman-street, where he had tarried
about a week. Indeed, Joseph, by his own avowal, is of the swallow
nature—one of those roving sons of fortune who fillip the world
aside, and cock their hat at fate. With this disposition he seldom
remains more than a week anywhere,—perhaps he thinks with Virgil,
that ‘in no fixed place the happy souls reside,’ and therefore puts his
happiness in quick migration. He had come direct from Calais. ‘And
pray, sir,’ said the magistrate, ‘what was your business at
Calais?’—‘My business?’ retorted Joseph Leeming, ‘business,
indeed!’—‘Well, sir,’ replied the magistrate, making due
acknowledgment for having imagined that Joseph Leeming could
have any business, ‘what was your pleasure?’ but our hero was not
to be catechised in this manner, yet feeling that his dependence on
his powers were gradually relaxing, he sent for an artist to astonish
the world by a publication of that fame which the modesty of Joseph
Leeming kept concealed. The messenger said the artist was not at
home, but he learned from a man at the house, that Joseph
Leeming was, what no one could have discovered, namely, a
conjuror; and then came the grand discovery which we have now to
relate. England is now the museum of the world; she has balloons,
fighting-dogs, fighting-men, giantesses, and griping churchmen. Mr.
Leeming, with a laudable spirit to improve the number of these
curiosities, and to distend the jaws of public wonderment somewhat
wider, had hit upon a plan by which he might fly through the air and
wage an equal battle with rooks and magpies. He had purposed, by
the aid of a pair of patent wings, (to be had only of the inventor,) to
fly from one of the Dover cliffs down into the town of Calais, or,
upon extraordinary occasions, to light upon Paris gates, thereby
saving a world of trouble resulting from passports and gendarmerie.
However, nothing is more uncertain than the resolve of genius, Mr.
Leeming had lately examined the cliffs of Dover, and whether, as he
surveyed the shores of France from chalky England, he thought a
trip to the ‘land of the Gaul’ was too venturous for a goose we know
not; but the feat was relinquished, and the good people of Dover
and Calais were denied the pleasure of beholding an ærial race
between Mr. Leeming and a sea-gull for the point of destination.
After this introduction of Mr. Leeming, in his national greatness, to
Mr. Conant, his worship recurred to the original subject, and asked
Mr. Leeming if he had his ‘wings’ about him. Mr. Leeming said it was
a question he should not answer. ‘Because if you have,’ said Mr.
Conant, ‘you may fly out of the office as soon as you please, after
you have paid five shillings for being drunk.’ Mr. Leeming paid the
five shillings; and so much had the adventure awakened curiosity to
the suggested voyage, that the spectators could not divest
themselves of the hope of seeing Mr. Leeming fly from the step of
the office-door to a neighbouring chimney-pot; in this, however, they
were deceived, as he preferred walking out.”
Whether Mr. Leeming proposed “to fly” from Dover cliffs or not is
of little consequence, but a person at Dover who meditated and
perhaps achieved the experiment, deemed it inexpedient to be
considered the Ærial of Marlborough-street, and by public
announcement, disclaimed the identity. His appearance at that police
office was after his return from Calais. He was on his way home to
Newman-street, in “tipsy dance,” when in the imperative mood, he
inquired his way of a watchman, who, preferring the suaviter in
modo, lodged him in the house appointed for the reception of many
who indulge too freely in “life in London.” The constable inquired
“who are you?” “If you cannot perceive I am a great man with a
mere look,” said the Ærial, “I shall not tell you: I will have you all
punished.” The result as we have seen, was the proceedings before
Mr. Conant.
For the visit to Vauxhall mentioned in The Times, he made due
preparation. His dress was a close jacket of blue and silver;
theatrical “trunks,” or short breeches, reaching to within two or three
inches above the knee; white silk stockings of twenty shillings the
pair; blue kid shoes; a double frill or ruff, edged with lace round the
neck; and wristbands trimmed with lace. His entrance into the
gardens without a hat, surprised and astonished the waiters, who
ran across to each other inquiring “who is he?” They imagined him a
distinguished foreigner, but as he walked the gardens unrecognised
their curiosity ceased. During the performances he was little noticed,
for being uncovered, the company presumed he was some
performer awaiting his turn to exhibit; but when the amusements
had ceased, one or two visiters begged to know whom they had the
honour of addressing. He answered, “you’ll find out by and bye.”
Inquiries becoming troublesome, and a crowd of gazers pressing on,
he suddenly broke through, and sustained the character of Ærial, by
a “light fantastic toe” sort of flight, from one part of the ground to
another, till having arrived at the saloon and rotunda escape was
impossible. From a private pocket he handed the printed card copied
in The Times paragraph, with another inscribed, “The New Discovery
challenges the whole World, and artists individually, to find a man, or
even design, that can in any way, in form or shape, be compared to
him.” The distribution of three or four hundred of these challenges
were, in general, satisfactory answers; and when he intimated an
inclination to walk, a passage was made, through which he passed
with the most dignified deportment he could assume, while the
company followed huzzaing. A gentleman required a ring for him; it
was instantly complied with, and the Ærial put himself into various
positions, with the intent of displaying his transcendant form in the
attitudes of ancient statues; that which seemed to give the most
lively satisfaction to himself and his increasing audience was the
gladiator, wherein he is represented by the engraving to this article.
He maintained it with painful perseverance and patient endurance,
while the perspiration poured down his face, and the spectators
shrieked with laughter and amazement. This achievement was the
height of his ambition; at its conclusion he withdrew to a couch,
whereon he duly reclined in a studied attitude, to the admiration of
thousands, who, tempted by the “Wonderful Discovery,” flocked in
from the supper rooms to gaze. Loud cries and shouts of “encore,”
roused him from temporary repose; but it was not to indulge the
anxious desire, for he walked apparently undisturbed by the
distinction he had obtained, and entering a box called for “wine,
mighty wine.” Draughts of this were succeeded by potations of rack-
punch, while loud calls upon him were unanswered; allegations
derogatory to his dignity were noticed by looks of indignation and
contempt; “he spoke not, he moved not,” till increased throng and
uproar raised his indignation, when a person withdrew him from the
gardens, put on his cloak, and the Ærial retired delighted with his
reception.
Perusing the papers on the morrow, and not finding accounts
respecting his Vauxhall adventure, he found an advertisement of a
song dedicated to the duke of York, printed in blue and white. “They
are my colours,” said the Ærial, “they are the colours of an ærial,—
the duke is an ærial.” Elated by this conception, he bought another
new pair of silk stockings, and accomplished another visit to Vauxhall
the same evening, where being immediately recognised by some
who had seen him the evening before, he was soon surrounded. On
this occasion he adventured a challenge, with an offer of 500l. to
any one who would match himself against him for beauty. Being
pushed and pursued he sprung on the supper-table of a company, to
the loss or great damage of his second pair of silks, and went home
on foot by daylight, amidst the grins of unappreciating people
passing to their labour.
On the night of the juvenile fete, as the duke of Cambridge was
to be present with his son, the Ærial once more visited Vauxhall.
Unhappily, the duke and the young prince were the attracting
objects.
Deserted in his utmost need,
By those his former fancies fed,
the Ærial retired to a box, and, through the medium of the waiters,
consoled himself from their beaufets so effectually, that before
supper time he was better qualified to represent an attendant in a
bacchanal procession, than the celestial character he assumed.
Imagining that certain smiles indicated a deadly jealousy of his
superhuman structure, and dreading assassination from the hands of
the envious, he manifested his feelings in an undaunted manner, and
was overpowered in a scuffle. Being unable to walk from excess of
devotion to the rosy deity, he was deposited in one of the cloak
rooms, and left to repose: on awaking and sallying forth into the
gardens he was astonished to find the place deserted; and, for
lamp-light, the glare of the sun. His cloak and purse were not to be
found; remonstrance and entreaty were alike vain; he was assured
he should have both when they were recoverable, but not then, and
he found it convenient to accept the best substitute the place
afforded. To be content, where discontent avails not, is a
philosophical rudiment, and therefore he philosophically submitted to
be assisted by the waiters into a moth-eaten, mouldy, ragged
watchman’s scarlet frieze cloak, with “R. G. V. H.,” denoting “Royal
Gardens, Vauxhall,” worked in large worsted letters on the back; and
in this attire he wandered, “not unseen,” to his dormitory at a few
miles distance. The particular compliments he received by the way
are not relatable. After a few hours’ rest, he made personal
application at Vauxhall for his cloak and purse, and both were
returned to him, accompanied by an assurance from them that he
must not appear there again. Undaunted by so unexpected a return
for the patronage he had vouchsafed towards the gardens, and
conceiving that the proprietors ought not to sustain the injury his
absence would inflict on them, he laid out another pound in a fourth
pair of hose, and again, “in silk attire,” covered by a cloak, presented
himself at the door, but he had scarcely advanced from paying his
entrance-money when constables hurried him out, and he was not
allowed to re-enter. This was the last appearance of the Ærial at
Vauxhall.
Conceiving that the managers of the theatres would gladly avail
themselves of his attractive powers, he habited himself as before
described, and announced himself at their doors as “The Ærial;” but
they were “not at home,” nor were they “at home” to his subsequent
calls. Such gross inattention to their interests was inconceivable; for
it seems he coveted no other remuneration than “to walk across the
stage and back again, and receive the plaudits of the audience.” He
affirms that he appeared on the boards of the Manchester theatre,
and that the people hooted because he would not deign to remain
long enough for the gratification of their extreme curiosity. Though
convinced that no one ever appeared to such advantage as he does,
in the dress wherein he has already appeared in public, yet he walks
en deshabille on ordinary occasions, lest he should suffer violence
from the fathers, brothers, and lovers of the British ladies, who,
according to his own affirmation, are ready to throw themselves at
his feet upon the least encouragement. He says he is determined to
ally himself to her alone, if she can be found, who knows herself to
be a Venus as he knows himself to be an Adonis. He is of opinion
that he is “winning each heart and delighting each eye;” and he calls
himself “the immortal Mr. L——.” It was suggested to him as
possible, that as no income resulted from his outgoings, his property
might be expended. His answer was to this effect:—“When I am at
the last extremity I can marry any lady I please with thirty thousand
pounds.” If he should find himself mistaken in his conceptions before
matters have proceeded so far, those to whom his flights have
rendered him a public character will soon forget his extraordinary
assumptions, and he will find a common station more conducive to
his personal quiet. He is unknown to the writer of this article, who,
nevertheless, is so well informed respecting him as to be persuaded
that when Mr. L.’s feverish excitement is over, his talents merely
require diligent cultivation in a different direction to ensure this. A
man is in less danger who thinks too meanly, than he who thinks too
highly of himself. It is easier to be comfortable in a lower sphere,
than to reach an elevated one and live happy in it.

Letter from the Ærial.

When this sheet was going to press a letter was received; which,
being properly authenticated, is here subjoined, with the words in
italics as marked in the original.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir, November 16, 1825.
I conceive that nothing but my “death,” or at least “the beautiful
leg,” will atone to the world for my little indiscretions. If you expect
me to appeal to the public, I answer, that I have been without father
and mother eleven years nearly, though now only twenty-five years
old, and measuring five feet two inches and a half, and in the hands
of guardians, though not wanting money, four of whom it took to
put me in the watchhouse, and I answer that I would rather be
hanged if “the most liberal nation of the earth” wishes it.
 You have observed that the company shrieked with laughter and
amazement. Now I say I was the only one who shrieked with
laughter, as I should at another hoax on the public. You might have
spared me the trouble of answering you, if you had not introduced a
most immutable picture of my conduct. You have represented me as
the individual courting excessive censure or praise; but I must here
be puppy enough to talk of general opinion, and say, that
notwithstanding the pretended christian burial of me by the
newspapers, it still appears by each and every of them that in the
end the magistrate had no just cause to hate me. Besides acquiring
experience from disappointment, and Mr. Chantry who sent for me, I
had a dream which clearly convinced me I should not part with the
cast.
I have no occasion to mention the author of the following
quotation:—
“Let Hercules himself do what he may,
The cat will mew, the dog will have his day.”
I am, Sir,
Your most obedient servant,
Joseph Leeming.
No. 61, Berwick Street, Soho.
Having inserted this letter here the matter ends, for nothing
remains to be said.
It being within the purpose of the Every-Day Book to observe on
the phenomena of the times, Mr. Leeming, as “the Ærial,” was
included, but not until he had been previously in print from the
character he assumed. His present letter speaks for itself. He admits
“little” indiscretions: among these “little” ones a large one was, what
he terms, his “hoax” on the public; but his visits to the artists are of
another character. There exists no feeling towards him, on the part
of the editor of this work, but a kind one; and he advises him, for his
own sake, to “study to be quiet.”

Happy the man whose wish and care,

A few paternal acres bound;
Content to breathe his native air,
 In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night, study and ease
Together mix’d; sweet recreation!
And innocence which most does please
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
Pope.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Glaucus Aletris. Veltheimia glauca.

Dedicated to St. John Lateran.

[382] Whiffler, Mr. Douce says, in his “Illustrations of Shakspeare,” is a

term undoubtedly borrowed from whiffle, another name for a fife or small
flute; for whifflers were originally those who preceded armies or
processions, as fifers or pipers: in process of time the term whiffler, which
had been always used in the sense of a fifer, came to signify any person
who went before in a procession. He observes, that Minshew defines him
to be a club or staff-bearer, and that it appears, whifflers carried white
staves, as in the annual feast of the printers, founders, and ink-makers,
described by Randle Holme.
Mr. Archdeacon Nares, in his Glossary, cites Grose’s mention of the
whifflers at Norwich, who make way for the corporation by flourishing
their swords.
A friend informs me, that the dexterity of the Norwich whifflers in turning
their swords to every possible direction is amazing.
 Mr. Archdeacon Nares remarks, that in the city of London, young freemen,
who march at the head of their proper companies on the lord Mayor’s day,
sometimes with flags, were called whifflers, or bachelor whifflers, not
because they cleared the way, but because they went first as whifflers
did; and he quotes a character in the old play of the City Match, saying, “I
look’d the next lord mayor’s day to see you o’ the livery, or one of the
bachelor whifflers.”
Hone on Mysteries.
[383] Dr. Drake’s Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii.

November 10.
St. Andrew Avellino, A. D. 1608. Sts. Trypho and
Respicius, A. D. 250. St. Nympha, 5th Cent. St. Justus,
Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 627. St. Milles, Bp., and Sts.
Abrosimus and Sina, A. D. 341.

Day after Lord Mayor’s Day.

London on the 10th of November.

Thin attendance on ’Change to-day—dull eyes—languid

countenance—a little nervous this morning—fresh demand for soda-
water and ginger-beer—much breakfasting at the coffee-houses
about twelve—scrags of mutton in great request—confounded head-
ache—shall be home early to-morrow, my dear—let me have a little
broth—deuce take the lord mayor; I’ll never go again.[384]—

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Scotch Fir. Pinus Silvestris.

Dedicated to St. Nympha.

[384] Morning Advertiser, Nov. 15, 1824.

 November 11.
St. Martin, Bp. A. D. 397. St. Mennas, A. D. 304.

St. Martin.
He is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. By
Romish writers he is called “the Great St. Martin, the glory of Gaul.”
They say that he was born in Lower Hungary, about 316, and
becoming a soldier, a beggar requested alms, when having no
money he drew his sword, and cutting his cloak into two pieces,
gave half to the beggar, and wrapped himself up in the other;
whereupon Christ appeared to him the next night, in the half he had
given away, asked him if he knew it, and said to angels that
surrounded him, “Martin has given me this garment.” This
occasioned him to leave the army and enter the church, and he was
made an exorcist by St. Hilary. Turning hermit, he lived on roots and
wild herbs, and unawares ate a quantity of hellebore sufficient to kill
an unprivileged person. After this, one of his disciples fell ill of a
fever, and died suddenly without baptism; “whereupon,” says Alban
Butler, “feeling in himself a divine impulse to work a miracle,” he
stretched himself upon the body, and prayed till the deceased came
to life. She said her soul had been before the divine tribunal, and
been sentenced to a dark dungeon;—but that on two angels
representing St. Martin was praying for her coming back, she was
ordered to be restored to the body and raised to life. “Another time
the saint restored to life, in the same manner, a slave who had
hanged himself.” In 371, he was chosen bishop of Tours, and is said
to have lived in a narrow hole in the side of a rock. Near to it was a
chapel with an altar, over a tomb, but St. Martin would not visit it,
because, although the person buried was represented to have been
a martyr, he was not assured that the relics were genuine. He went,
however, one day with some of his clergy, and prayed for
information, whereupon on his left hand, “he saw near him a pale
ghost of a fierce aspect, whom he commanded to speak; the ghost
told his name, and it appeared that he had been a robber who was
executed for his crimes, whom the people honoured as a martyr;
none but St. Martin saw him, the rest only heard his voice; he
thereupon caused the altar to be removed.” After the rectification of
this trifling mistake, he went on raising the dead, casting out devils,
and receiving revelations; but as he grew older “it cost him more
difficulty, and longer prayers, to cast out devils than formerly.” He
died in 397, and his shrine worked the usual miracles. This account
of St. Martin is abstracted from the rev. Alban Butler’s life of him.

Martinmas.
A custom anciently prevailed, though generally confined at
present to country villages, of killing cows, oxen, swine, &c. at this
season, which were cured for the winter, when fresh provisions were
seldom or never to be had.
When Easter comes, who knows not than
That veale and bacon is the man?
And Martilmass Beefe doth beare good tacke,
When countrey folke do dainties lacke.
Tusser.
Martlemas beef was beef dried in the chimney, as bacon, and is
so called, because it was usual to kill the beef for this provision
about the feast of St. Martin.[385] There is mention of
—dried flitches of some smoked beeve,
Hang’d on a writhen wythe since Martin’s Eve.
Hall.
Mr. Brand relates, that rustic families in Northumberland clubbed
at Martinmas to buy a cow or other animal; the union for this
purchase is called a “mart.” After the animal was killed, they filled
the entrails with a kind of pudding meat, consisting of blood, suet,
groats, &c. which being formed into little sausage links, were boiled
and sent about as presents. These are called “black-puddings” from
their colour. There is also noticed a kind of entertainment in
Germany, called the “feast of sausages,” which was wont to be
celebrated with great joy and festivity. The day is a great festival on
the continent: new wines then begin to be tasted, and the hours are
spent in carousing. An old author says, that the great doings on this
occasion almost throughout Europe in his time, are derived from an
ancient Athenian festival, observed in honour of Bacchus, upon the
eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth days of the month Anthesterion,
corresponding with our November. Another says, that the eleventh
month had a name from the ceremony of “tapping their barrels on
it;” when it was customary to make merry. It is likewise imagined by
Dr. Stukeley, in his “Itinerary” concerning Martinsal-hill, thus: “I take
the name of this hill to come from the merriments among the
northern people, called Martinalia, or drinking healths to the memory
of St. Martin, practised by our Saxon and Danish ancestors. I doubt
not but upon St. Martin’s day, or Martinmass, all the young people in
the neighbourhood assembled here, as they do now upon the
adjacent St. Ann’s-hill, upon St. Ann’s day.” He adds, that “St.
Martin’s day, in the Norway clogs, (or wooden almanacs) is marked
with a goose: for on that day they always feasted with a roasted
goose: they say, St. Martin, being elected to a bishoprick, hid
himself, (noluit episcopari) but was discovered by that animal. We
have transferred the ceremony to Michaelmas.”[386]
Dr. Forster, so often cited, observes, that a medal has lately been
struck in France in commemoration of this laudable custom; on one
side of which is embossed a goose, and on the reverse occurs the
word Martinalia. Relative to the custom of goose-eating, it is further
noticed in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the festival of St. Martin
occurs when geese are in high season. “It is always celebrated with
a voracity the more eager, as it happens on the eve of the petit
carême, when fowls can no longer be presented on the tables of a
religious age. A German monk, Martin Schoock, has made it a case
of conscience whether, even on the eve of the little Lent, it be
allowable to eat goose: ‘An liceat Martinalibus anserem comedere?’
After having dived into the weedy pool of the casuist’s arguments,
the delighted devotee emerges with the permission to roast his
goose; and thus the goose came to be a standing dish on Martinmas
as well as Michaelmas day.”
 In some of the old church calendars the celebration of this day is
called “The Martinalia, a genial feast; wines are tasted of and drawn
from the lees; Bacchus is the figure of Martin.”[387]
“Time’s Telescope,” for 1814, cites some extracts from a little
ballad, entitled “Martilmasse Day:”—
It is the day of Martilmasse,
Cuppes of ale should freelie passe;
What though Wynter has begunne
To push downe the Summer sunne,
To our fire we can betake,
And enjoye the crackling brake,
Never heedinge Wynter’s face
On the day of Martilmasse.
Some do the citie now frequent,
Where costlie shows and merriment
Do weare the vaporish eveninge out
With interlude and revellinge rout;
Such as did pleasure Englande’s queene
When here her Royal Grace was seen
Yet will they not this day let passe,
The merrie day of Martilmasse.
When the dailie sportes be done,
Round the market crosse they runne,
Prentis laddes and gallant blades
Dancing with their gamesome maids,
Till the Beadel, stout and sowre,
Shakes his bell, and calls the houre;
Then farewell ladde and farewell lasse
To the merry night of Martilmasse.
Martilmasse shall come againe,
Spite of wind, and snow, and raine;
But many a strange thing must be done,
Many a cause be lost and won,
Many a tool must leave his pelfe,
Many a worldlinge cheat himselfe,
And many a marvel come to passe,
Before return of Martilmasse.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.
 Weymouth Pine. Pinus Strobus.
Dedicated to St. Martin.

[385] Tusser Redivivus.

[386] Brand.
[387] Brady’s Clavis Calendaria.

November 12.
St. Martin, Pope, A. D. 655. St. Nilus, A. D. 390. St. Livin,
A. D. 633. St. Lebwin, Patron of Daventer, 8th Cent.

Birth-day of Admiral Vernon.

The anniversary of this famous old admiral’s nativity was formerly

kept with great enthusiasm. It was distinguished in 1740 in a very
extraordinary manner, by the ringing of bells, and public dinners in
many places, &c. In the evening there were the greatest rejoicings,
bonfires, and illuminations in London and other cities, that had been
known for many years. Don Blass was burnt in some places, and at
Chancery-lane-end was a pageant, whereon was represented
admiral Vernon, and a Spaniard on his knees offering him a sword; a
view of Porto Bello, &c.; over the admiral was wrote, “Venit, vidit,
vicit;” and under him, “Vernon semper viret.”[388]

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Grape Aloe. Velthennia Uvaria.

Dedicated to St. Nilus.
 [388] Gentleman’s Magazine.

November 13.
St. Homobonus, A. D. 1197. St. Didacus, A. D. 1463. St.
Stanislas Kostka, A. D. 1568. St. Mitrius. St. Brice, A. D.
444. St. Constant, of Logherne, A. D. 777. St. Chillen,
or Killian, of Ireland.

St. Brice.
This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs,
for what reason is unknown. He was born at Tours, became a monk
under St. Martin, and succeeded him in the see of that city.

St. John’s, Clerkenwell.

The church of St. John, Clerkenwell, having been closed for

reparation since the first Sunday in July, was opened for divine
service on the 13th of November, 1825, by the Rev. W. E. L.
Faulkner, M. A. rector of the parish. The exterior of the present
edifice is altogether unseemly. It is frequently called St. John’s
chapel, and has more the air of a meeting for dissenting worship,
than a structure of the establishment; if it had not a sort of steeple
with a bell, it might be mistaken for a theatre; but the interior is in
every respect befitting its ecclesiastical use. It has spacious galleries,
is well pewed below, and thoroughly lighted, with a very
commodious vestry. In these respects it is creditable to the
inhabitants who have now so judiciously fitted it up, that it will not
require more than usual cleaning for many years. Still it is to be
regretted, that a structure, essentially gothic, should have been
accommodated to modern architecture. The deviation seems to have