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Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores.—Virgil. I wrote the lines, Smith owned them—he told stories. Thomas Ingoldsby.

The familiar sponsorial abbreviative of John Bull.

Neither the Board of Commissioners, the superintendents, or the operatives are here intended. Sleeper is a technical term, implying a particular piece of timber used in the foundations of buildings.

Qu. Brag.—Printer's Devil.

Sir George Nayler, Knt., Garter King-at-Arms, etc., a signal example of the fallacious foundation of the proverb, which saith, “Grocers do not like plums.” We counted yesterday, on his armorial majesty's carriage and harness, eight-and-twenty coronets, two-and-twenty garters, and eighteen crests, besides full coats of arms, mantles, etc., as the story-book says, “all very grand.”

From my researches in a scarce tract, entitled Hume's History of England, I conclude the monarch here alluded to is the celebrated William of Normandy, sometimes called William the Conqueror, who came over in the famous Spanish Armada, and killed Queen Elizabeth at the battle of Agincourt. His uncle, William the Second, who succeeded him, and was surnamed Roofus, from the beautiful ceiling he put up in Westminster Hall (see the Ramsbottom papers in the possession of Theodore, King of Corsica), was never married. William the Conqueror married the daughter of Caleb Baldwin, Earl of Flanders, the “gracyous Queene” here alluded to. J. B.

Mr. Harris Nicolas, in his‘Synopsis of the Peerage,’ assigns 1621 as the date of the first creation of this title. It became extinct in the person of Humphry Clinker, 15th Lord, killed by the savages in the island of Owhyhee, A.D. 1540. J.B.

Probably Thomas A'Becket, or Cardinal Wolsey, who both flourished in this King's reign; the former was afterwards Archbishop of York, and suffered death for stealing the crown out of the Record Office in the Tower of London. J.B.

The “Mither,” here mentioned, was, in all probability, the celebrated Anne Boleyn, wife of John Wilkes, fourth Earl of Holdernesse. The fate of this beautiful but unfortunate woman, who was hanged at Tyburn, in 1745, by order of the inhuman Jeffries, for aiding in the escape of King Charles the First after the Battle of Blenheim, is matter of history. For a minute account of her execution, see Augustine ‘De Civitate Dei,’ and the ‘New Bath Guide.’ J.B.

I can find no account of these “fowr maydens” in all my friend Mr. Cawthorne's most valuable circulating library. It is, however, not unlikely that the “Pollie” last mentioned was the daughter of Mr. Peachum, some time keeper of his Majesty's gaol of Newgate, and afterwards the wife of Macbeth, the notorious highwayman who robbed and murdered Banquo, Member for Corfe Castle, in the fourteenth century. There is, however, a trifling difficulty as regards dates. For her history, see Gray's tragedy of ‘The Beggar's Opera.’ J. B.

A truly Royal present, amounting to about three hundred and seventeen pounds, four shillings, and threepence halfpenny of our present money.

By the laws of chivalry, as contained in the Napoleon Code, it was a heavy offence for a knight to strike a female, and was usually punished, especially during the period of the crusade, by setting the criminal in the pillory. Sir Philip Sydney narrowly escaped this degradation at the siege of Acre. J.B.

An awful imprecation, not unsuited to the complexion and creed of the dark ages, which preceded the invention of gas-lights, when infernal agency was believed in by every one; the story of the devil's flying away with Doctor Foster is familiar to most, though there is some reason to doubt its authenticity. Romulus, king of Greece, and Matthew Hopkins, Archbishop of Paris, were said to have been similarly disposed of; also a tailor (name unknown), as is recorded in the old ballad of Chevy Chase:—

Of the period when calves were first introduced into this country we have no certain account. It must, however, have been previous to the age of Elizabeth, inasmuch as we find England in that reign already celebrated for its beef, then commonly partaken of at breakfast, its introduction to the dinner-table being the innovation of a later age. That eminent naturalist, Mr. P. Hyson, has proved to demonstration that veal must have been antecedent to beef, as the maturity of the one is necessarily preceded by the precocity of the other; indeed, veal may be defined as beef in an incipient state. According to an antient distich preserved by that erudite antiquary, Mr. Puffman, [Hofman] of Bishopsgate Street Within,

If there be any truth in this tradition, the era must be that of King John, who was formally excommunicated by Pope Leo the Tenth (Ganganelli) for granting Catholic Emancipation, and refusing to kiss his toe. The dissolution of the monastic orders followed, and the Reformation was soon after brought about, principally through the preaching of the celebrated Martin Bree. This supposition is further countenanced by a passage in the old play of King John, by Barber Beaumont and Fletcher, in which the Lord Falconbridge, addressing the Archbishop of Austria, is made to say “And hang a calve's skin on those recreant limbs,” a recommendation which would seem to intimate that calve-skins were rare at that period, and worn only as an article of dress, on state occasions, by the principal nobility.

Leden, or as it is now spelt, Leadenhall, was formerly a Dominican Convent for monks of the Order of St. Francis. It occupied the site on which the market now stands, having Gracious (now Grace-church) street to the west, and to the east a magnificent pile of building belonging to the Honourable East India Company, against whom these ambitious ecclesiastics maintained a long litigation in the Court of Chancery on the subject of tythes.

Jackasses are supposed to be indigenous in this country; it is at least certain that they were common in the time of Richard the Conqueror, and the breed has by no means degenerated. From the peculiar sagacity of this “fine animal,” its name is held in great veneration in the City of London, as the symbol of “absolute wisdom,” and has not only been frequently conferred as a title of honour upon aldermen, but has even been supposed to lend a lustre to the name of the chief magistrate himself. Mr. Kempe, in his valuable History of the New Post Office, mentions a rare print, representing a Lord Mayor in his robes of office with an ass's head on. It were superfluous to speak farther of the ass, in its emblematic capacity, before a society which has so deservedly affixed A.S.S. as a proud distinction to the names of its members. As an article of food, the flesh of the ass is now little in request, except at corporation dinners and other civic entertainments, and occasionally, in the form of sausages, in the more thickly inhabited parts of the metropolis.

From this term of address it would seem that the salesman, or master butcher, here alluded to, was a person of distinction, or a member of a body corporate. Ealdermann, or Eorlderman, was a title of honour amongst the ancient Scandinavians or Scavengers, and is still used by their descendants, the Low Dutch, as the appropriate designation of an elderly lady. It was the custom formerly, for Eorldermen to ride upon white horses (see Tillotson and Jeffrey Monmouth passim). Their persons were held to be inviolable, and the form of an imprecation is still extant, made use of towards an offender who had inflicted an injury on one of their body— “Zoundes, Sir! you've cutte offe the Eorldermanne's thumbe!”

This title must not be confounded with the modern “Alderman,” an office of great dignity and importance, usually filled by persons of respectability.

Bobbe, an antient coin, equal in value to one shilling of our money. It was styled a Bobbe, from Robert Bruce, last Sovereign Prince of South Wales, who was slain in battle by Edward the Third, and whose effigy and legend it bore. One of these scarce coins is now in my possession, the head much defaced, and the inscription altogether obliterated.

A curious illustration of the state of the gastronomic thermometer in days of yore. Its fluctuations seem to have been nearly the same in all ages. My learned friend, Mr. Michael Scaley, whose experience in these matters is too well-known to need farther comment, affirms, that, “Weal is allays dearest a'ter Chrissmus.”

The Boar, or “Hogge,” was the well-known cognisance of the House of Lancaster, and usually stamped on the coins of all the Princes of that dynasty. When William the Third, surnamed the Crook-back Tyrant, from causing Perkin Warbeck to be smothered in the Tower, fell at Bosworth Field, Joseph de Lancaster, the sole survivor of the family, fled to America, where it is believed he still resides, exercising, in imitation of another great living potentate, the humble occupation of a schoolmaster. Mr. Heseltine's assertion, that he became a bricklayer in St. Giles's parish (vide ‘Last of the Plantagenets’), and built a stack of chimneys at Eastwell Park, for the Earl of Winchelsea, is a pleasing fiction, but utterly at variance with facts as developed by the severity of historical research. The precise value of the Hogge I have no means of ascertaining. The Tyzzie is the same as the Tizzy, i. e., sixpence, and was current during the “wars of the Roses,” so called from a noble but turbulent family, which recently became extinct in the person of the late George Rose, Esq., M.P., for the borough of Christ Church, Hants.

Qu. Artes perditæ? This distinguished Antiquary's orthography, like Lord Duberly's, “is a little loose.”

It need scarcely be said that the Tom Moore addressed in the above pathetic lines was not the poet, but one whose name was mixed up with that of a noble lord in certain bill transactions which came before the public.

Query, Sewn.—I'rinter's Devil.

Once Rector of the Parish, and buried in the chancel, a. d. 1719.

A worthy lady, authoress of “Tales of Mendicity,” printed and sold at bazaar aforesaid, for the benefit of the county hospital.