He wandered for a considerable time in the west of Suffolk, particularly at Haverhill; and Mr. John Webb, of that place, in his poem entitled "Haverhill," thus notices him : An hapless outcast, on whose natal day The world's wide dreary waste, and know no home. derings. In his verses on a snow-storm, he says: This vile raiment hangs in tatters; No snug hut!-no social friend! About four years before his death, while sojourning in Woodbridge, sleeping in a miserable hut on the barrack ground, and daily wandering about the town, with every visible mark of misery to distress the eye, his condition became a libel upon the feelings of the inhabitants of the place; a few gentlemen determined he should no longer wander in such a state of wretchedness, offered to clothe and cleanse him, and provide a comfortable room, bed, &c. and a person to shave him and wash for him; and they threatened, if he would not comply, to take him home to where he belonged. His aversion to a poor-house amounted to horror: he expresses somewhat to that effect in one of his poems 'Mongst Belial's sons of contention and strife, To breathe out the transient remains of my life! This dread operated in behalf of those who desired to assist him. His wretched hovel was emptied, its miserable accumulations were consigned to the flames, and he was put into a new habitation, clothed from head to foot, and so metamorphosed, that but few knew him at first sight. A bedstead and bedding, a chair, table, and necessary crockery were provided for his comfort, but the poor creature was often heard to exclaim, of the cleansing and burning, that "it was the worst day's work he ever met with." After a few short weeks he left this home, and a shilling a week allowed him by a gentleman, besides some weekly pence, donations from ladies in the town, for a life of wandering privation and, at times, of absclute want, until the closing scene of his weary pilgrimage. He breathed his last on the 4th of January, 1827, in an unoccupied farm-house belonging to Mr. Thurston of Stradbroke, where he had been Within permitted the use of two rooms. a few days before, he had been as weli as usual, but he suddenly became ill, and had the attention of two women, neighbours, who provided him warm gruel, and a few things his situation required. Some one had given him a warm blanket, and when he died there was food in the house, with tenpence halfpenny in money, a few scraps of poetry, and a bushel of wheat which he had gleaned in the harvest. A decent coffin and shroud were provided, and he was buried in Stradbrook churchyard." Chambers was literally one of the poor at all times; and hence his annals are short and simple. Disregard of personal appearance was natural to his poverty-stricken circumstances and melancholy disposition; for the wheel of his fortune was fixed by habit, as by a nail in a sure place, to constant indigence. Neglected in his youth, and without fixed employment, he brooded throughout life on his hopeless condition, without a friend of his own rank who could participate in his sorrows. He was a lonely man, and a wanderer, who had neither act nor part in the common ways of the world. Vaurhall. A DRAMATIC SKETCH. For the Table Book. Characters-Mr. Greenfat, Mrs. Greenfat, Masters Peter and Humphrey Greenfat, Misses Theodosia and Arabella Greenfat, and Mr. John Eelskin. The Ipswich Journal, January 31, 1827. Seen dispersedly in various parts of the trod on my corn, and lamed me for the evening! gardens. Master Peter. Oh my! what a sweet place! Why, the lamps are thicker than the pears in our garden, at Walworth: what a load of oil they must burn! Miss Arabella. Mamma, is that the lady mayoress, with the ostridge feathers, and the pink satin gown? Mrs. Greenfat. No, my love; that's Miss Biddy Wilkins, of Gutter-lane! (To a waiter.) You ŕnde fellow, you've trod on my dress, and your nasty foot has torn off one of my flounces. Miss Theodosia. John, (to Mr. Eelskin,) how very pretty that hilluminated walk looks. Dear me! do you see the fountain? How vastly reviving this hot weather, isn't it? Mr. Eelskin. Ah, my beloved Theodosia! how should I notice the beauties of the scene in your company-when your eyes are brighter than the lamps, and your voice is sweeter than the music? In vain the fiddlers fiddle, and the singers sing, I can hear nothing-listen to nothing-but my adorable Theodosia ! Master Humphrey. La, papa, what's that funny round place, with flags on the top, and ballad women and men with cocked hats inside? Mr. Greenfat. That's the Hawkestraw. Mrs. Greenfat. Hush, my dear; it's vulgar to talk loud. Dosee, my love, don't hang so on Mr. John's arm, you'll quite fatigue him. That's Miss Tunstall-Miss Tunstall's going to sing. Now, my pretty Peter, don't talk so fast. Miss Arabella. Does that lady sing in French, mamma? Mrs. Greenfat. No, child, it's a senthemental air, and they never have no meaning? Miss Theodosia. That's the overthure to Friedshots; Eelskin, do you like it? Mr. Eelskin. On your piano I should. But shall I take you out of this glare of light? Would you choose a ramble in the dark walk, and a peep at the puppet-showcosmoramas? Mr. Greenfat. I hates this squalling. (Bell rings.) What's that for? Mr. Eelskin. That's for the fant-toesheeni, and the balancing man. Mr. Greenfat. Well then, let's go and look at Mr. Fant-toc-sheeni. Mrs. Greenfat. Oh, goodness, how I'm squeedged. Pray don't push so, sir-I'm astonished at your rudeness, mam! You've Mr. Greenfat. Sir, how dare you suffer your wife to tread on my wife's toes? Master Peter. My stars, sister, he's got a bagginette on his nose! Mrs. Greenfat. Mr. John, will you put little Humphy on your shoulder, and show him the fant-oh-see-ne? Master Humphrey. I can see now, mamma; there's Punch and Judy, mamma! Oh, my! how well they do dance! Mr. Greenfat. I can see this in the streets for nothing. Mrs. Greenfat. Yes, Mr. Greenfat, but not in such good company! Mr. Eelskin. This, my beautiful Theodosia, is the musical temple; it's very elegant-only it never plays. Them paintings on the walls were painted by Mungo Parke and Hingo Jones; the archatechture of this room is considered very fine! Master Peter. Oh, I'm so hot. (Bell rings.) Mr. Eelskin. That's for the hyder-hawlics. We'd better go into the gallery, and then the ladies won't be in the crowd. Mr. Greenfat. Come along then; we want to go into the gallery. A shilling a-piece, indeed! I wonder at your impu dence! Why, we paid three and sixpence a head at the door. Mr. Eelskin. Admission to the gallery is hextra. Mr. Greenfat. Downright robbery !—I won't pay a farthing more. Miss Arabella. See, mamma, water and fire at once!-how droll! Mrs. Greenfat. Pray be kind enough to take off your hat, sir; my little boy can't see a bit. Humphy, my dear, hold fast by the railing, and then you won't lose your place. Oh, Mr. John, how very close and sultry it is! Mr. Greenfat. What outlandish hussey's that, eh, John? sir. Mr. Eelskin. That's the female juggler, Miss Theodosia. Are those real knives, do you think, John? Mr. Eelskin. Oh, no doubt of it; only the edges are blunt to prevent mischief. Who's this wild-looking man? Oh, this is the male juggler and now we shall have a duet of juggling! Mrs. Greenfat. Can you see, Peter?Bella, my love, can you see? Mr. John, do you take care of Dosee? Well, I purtest I never saw any thing half so wonder ful: did you, Mr. Greenfat? Mr. Greenfat. Never: I wonder when it will be over? Mr. Eelskin. We'd better not go away; the ballet will begin presently, and I'm sure you'll like the dancing, Miss, for, excepting the Westrisis, and your own sweet self, I never saw better dancing. Miss Theodosia. Yes, I loves dancing; and at the last Cripplegate ball, the master of the ceremonies paid me several compli ments. Miss Arabella. Why do all the dancers wear plaids, mamma? Mrs. Greenfat. Because it's a cool dress, dear. Mr. Greenfat. Well, if a girl of mine whisked her petticoats about in that manner, I'd have her horsewhipped. Mr. Eelskin. Now we'll take a stroll till the concert begins again. This is the marine cave-very natural to look at, Miss, but nothing but paint and canvass, I assure you. This is the rewolving evening war for the present; after the fire-works, it still change into his majesty, King George. Yonder's the hermit and his cat. Master Peter. Mamma, does that old man always sit there? Mrs. Greenfat. I'm sure I don't know, child; does he, Mr. Eelskin? Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense-it's all gam mon! Mr. Eelskin. This way, my angel; the concert has recommenced. Miss Theodosia. Oh, that's Charles Taylor; I likes his singing; he's such a merry fellow do huncore him, John. Mrs. Greenfat. Dosee, my dear, you're too bold; it was a very impurent song: I declare I'm quite ashamed of you! Mr. Greenfat. Never mince matters; always speak your mind, girl. Mr. Eelskin. The fire-works come next. Suppose we get nearer the Moorish tower, and look for good places, as Mr. G. dislikes paying for the gallery. Now you'll not be afeard; there'll not be the least danger, depend. Mrs. Greenfat. Is there much smoke, Mr. John?-Do they fire many cannons? -I hates cannons-and smoke makes me cough. (Bell rings.) Run, run, my dearsHumphy, Peter, Bella, run! Mr. Greenfat, run, or we shall be too late! Eelskin and Dosee are a mile afore us! What's that red light? Oh, we shall all be burnt! What noise is that?-Oh, it's the bomb in the Park!-We shall all be burnt! Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense, woman, don't frighten the children! Miss Theodosia. Now you're sure the rockets won't fall on my new pink bonnet, nor the smoke soil my French white dress, nor the smell of the powder frighten me into fits?-Now you're quite sure of it, John? Mr. Eelskin. Quite sure, my charmer: I have stood here repeatedly, and never had a hair of my head hurt. See, Blackmore is on the rope; there he goes up-up-up! Isn't it pretty, Miss? Miss Theodosia. Oh, delightful!-Does he never break his neck? Mr. Eelskin. Never-it's insured! Now he descends. How they shoot the maroons at him! Don't be afeard, lovee, they sha'n't hurt you. See, Miss, how gracefully he bows to you.-Isn't it terrific? Miss Theodosia. Is this all?-I thought it would last for an hour, at least. John, I'm so hungry; I hope papa means to have supper? Master Peter. Mamma, I'm so hungry. Master Humphrey. Papa, I'm so dry. Miss Arabella. Mamma, I want somewhat to eat. Mrs. Greenfat. Greenfat, my dear, we must have some refreshments. Mr. Greenfat. Refreshments! where will you get them? All the boxes are full. -Oh, here's one. Waiter! what, the devil, call this a dish of beef?-It don't weigh three ounces! Bring half a gallon of stout, and plenty of bread. Can't we have some water for the children? Mr. Eelskin. Shouldn't we have a little wine, sir?-it's more genteeler. Mr. Greenfat. Wine, Eelskin, wine !Bad sherry at six shillings a bottle!— Couldn't reconcile it to my conscience. -We'll stick to the stout. Mrs. Greenfat. Eat, my loves.-Some more bread for Bella.-There's a bit of fat for you, Peter.-Humphy, you shall have my crust.-Pass the stout to Dosee, Mr. John.--Don't drink it all, my dear! Mr. Greenfat. Past two o'clock !-Shameful!—Waiter, bring the bill. Twelve shillings and eightpence - abominable! Charge a shilling a pot for stout-monstrous! Well, no matter; we'll walk home. Come along. TO MY TEA-POT. For the Table Book. 1. MY TEA-POT! while thy lips pour forth I'll pour forth my rhymes for thee: Commencing-" Amo tea." 2. Yes-let Anacreon's votary sip After fatigue, how dear to me And makes the water bubble: 4. I scorn the hop, disdain the malt, For tea my faithful palate yearns ; 5. Yet some assure me whilst I sip, 6. That she prefers it greatly: She warns me of Tea-dealers' tricks- Unwholesome drugs with some Tea; "Tis bad to sip-and yet to give Yet still, tenacious of my Tea, I think the grocers send it me Quite pure, ('tis what they call so.) Heedless of warnings, still I get "Tea veniente die, et Tea decedente," also. SAM SAM'S SON. Stratford upon Avon Church. From a sepia drawing, obligingly communicated by J. S. J., the reader is presented with this view of a church, "hallowed by being the sepulchral enclosure of the remains of the immortal Shakspeare." It exemplifies the two distinct styles, the early pointed and that of the fourteenth century. The tower is of the first construction; the windows of the transepts possess a preeminent and profuse display of the mullions and tracery characteristic of the latter period.* Mr. Carter, in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1816. VOL. I.-15. This structure is spacious and handsome, and was formerly collegiate, and dedicated to the Holy Trinity. A row of limes, trained so as to form an arched avenue, form an approach to the great door. A representation of a portion of this pleasant entrance is in an engraving of the church in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for 1807. Another opportunity will occur for relating particulars respecting the venerable edifice, and the illustrious bard, whose birth and burial at Stratford upon Avon confer on the town imperishable fame. |