University of Virginia Library

It has been the custom from time immemorial in America, for a fiddler to carry his fiddle in a bag of green flannel or baize, probably in a sort of punning allusion to the green Bays, with which the poets have crowned Apollo, the great patron of minstrelsy. Among the many modern innovations, introduced by the Normans, Danes, Saxons, and Britons, who are gradually overrunning that easy country, is that of carrying the fiddle about in a box, which singularly resembles a child's coffin, and presents an antidote to all gestic hilarity.

Almost all the ancient fiddles I have seen, have the head of a lion rudely carved, and gaping in a most outrageous manner. The reason of this is obvious, for as the Lion is the king of beasts, and the fiddle the most perfect, of course, the king of musical instruments, the carved head is doubtless intended to have a sort of hieroglyphical allusion to this analogy. Whether some connexion might not be traced by means of this hieroglyphic between the fiddle and the lyre of Osiris; alias Hermes Trismegistus, alias Mercury, the great Egyptian player, is a question deserving the serious consideration of Mr. Bryant, were he alive. That learned Atlas having so successfully transplanted Troy, with all its walls and battlements, like the house of our lady of Loretto, from one country into another, might be expected to prove Homer a Scotch piper, and Trismegistus a blind fiddler.

These orgies, which are undoubtedly borrowed from the aboriginal Americans, have a striking resemblance to the war-dances of the savages, being accompanied by similar howlings, groanings, gnashing of teeth, strange contortions, and extravagant gesticulations.

This jolly king, was a contemporary of Fergus, Brian Borhoime, king Twaddle, and many other illustrious monarchs, about whom we know nothing; at least, nothing worth knowing. It is probable that he was neither more nor less than one of the ancient lairds of Col, who was remarkable for being fond of fiddling. In these days there were a prodigious number of petty sovereigns, like those whom the bitter little Emperor of the Gauls has sent packing These high chieftains, if they only had a forest of five hundred trees, with a reasonable proportion of bushes; two or three half starved deer; a game keep er—I beg pardon—a forester—dressed in green and silver, with enormous whiskers, and a toasting-iron two yards long, to frighten the poor peasants—together with a corporal's guard of long-queued soldiers, would forthwith set themselves up for mighty kings, and under that sacred title pick pockets, and rob on the highways with the best of them.

Be this as it may, we learn that king Cole, or Col, was a great admirer of the fiddle, as appears from the following fragment of an ancient ballad sung on the Borders, preserved in the Bodleian Library.

Another reading of this valuable relique is communicated to me by my learned friend Mr R. Surtees of Mainforth, who had it from his nurse, a very old woman, deaf and blind, and therefore the more likely to have a good memory. It runs thus.

I shall endeavour to decide which of these is the true reading, in the next edition of this work.

I have taken infinite pains to ascertain the true breed of this faithful little animal, but cannot flatter myself with having arrived at that degree of certainty, which a matter of such interest demands. He was not a bull dog; nor a ban dog; nor a badger; nor a greyhound; nor a pointer; nor a turnspit; nor a pug; nor a wolf dog; nor a Danish; nor a Siberian; nor a Chinese; nor a Newfoundland dog. The most general tradition is, that he was mongrel, having the proboscis of a pug, the body of a greyhound, and the bandy legs of a turnspit.

This village is of great antiquity, in somuch that the oldest man now living at that place, who is so old that he cannot tell when he was born, does not remember its first settlement. The people here are noted for their “steady habits,” a source of great self-gratulation in many parts of America, whether these “steady habits” be good or bad, it would seem. The men wear the same shaped hats, the same redundant galligaskins, the same veritable linsey-woolsey coats, and the women appear in the same long-eared caps, striped petticoats, high-heel shoes, little silver buckles, and long waists, they figured in, during the happy days of the Dutch dynasty, rendered so illustrious by the renowned history of my friend Knickerbocker. In these “steady habits” they exceed even their neighbours in Connecticut, where fashions have undergone great changes since the golden age of the Blue Laws, when their simple ancestors were wont to cover their heads with half a pumpkin shell, and cut the hair by its regular outline, that no upstart hair might pride itself upon being longer than its neighbour. With respect to the fashion of their garments, there is a sad falling off, for I am enabled to state on the authority of an historian, who has told so many disagreeable truths of them, that in pure revenge they have called him a liar, that there is still extant in the family of Governor Jones of New-Haven, a pair of breeches, anciently worn on state occasions, by that redoubtable governor, so enormously puffed and plaited, as to contain by actual measurement twenty-four yards!

A pleasant river and village in Jersey, of which I can find nothing remarkable, except the following fragment of a ballad, preserved in the library of the honourable society of advocates in Edinburgh.

This fragment is of great value as demonstrating the antiquity of knapsacks, which have heretofore been considered of comparative modern invention. That the fragment itself is extremely ancient, is clearly ascertained from the peculiarity of the chorus, which it will be observed consists merely in a transposition of the two last lines of the preceding stanza. This is precisely the characteristic of the most ancient specimens of ballad extant, and may be observed in the productions of the old minstrels, as well as the romaunts of the troubadours, whose poetry is full of repetitions and transpositions. This peculiarity may be even detected in the writings of Homer, the great father of poetry, who frequently makes his heroes repeat in their speeches, what he has just before said in his own proper person, merely with some trifling transposition. Those conversant in ballad poetry, which is certainly the most ancient of all, will readily, by resorting to this criterion, be enabled to decide on the claims of any production to superior antiquity.

The ancient name of New-York, the most enlightened, elegant, and refined city of the New World. It was from this place, which possesses a harbour almost as beautiful as the bay of Naples, that those famous argonauts the wise men of Gotham, embarked in a bowl, or as some say an egg shell, for the purpose of searching out the Island of Atalantis, which Plato (ancestor of Plato, general of the Don Cossacks,) had just then discovered, but not laying down the latitude correctly, could never afterwards light on.

What became of these great navigators is not certainly known. The most received opinion is that they landed somewhere in Europe, and became the ancestors of that numerous race of metaphysicians, economics, encyclopedist, and Illuminati, who in their zeal to enlighten that unlucky quarter of the globe, have set it together by the ears, and put its fortunes to sea in an eggshell, to take the chance of their favourite mode of navigation.

Among the many learned dissertations on the origin of coats of arms, I am not a little surprised that no writer has yet attempted to deduce them from sign-posts. It is allowed on all sides that coats of arms came into use about the time of the Crusades. Now we are fully aware that in the innumerable mixed rabble of nobles, who could not read, and priests who could not write, of pious knights who took the cross to wipe off old scores, or run up new; and miserable retainers who went without any motive at all—amongst this promiscuous multitude there would be a prodigious number of tipplers, and consequently, a great many suttlers, would follow the camp to supply the wants, and minister to the vices of the soldiery.

In order to create a sort of individuality, in other words, to distinguish the person who sold liquor, from him who dealt in other articles, it is extremely natural to suppose that each would put up a sign at his door, beaing some rude representation of his calling. Thus the chequer board would indicate to the shrewd instinct of the thirsty crusader, that he might step in and arouse himself with a glass and a game. The mason's square and compass, that here resided a free and accepted mason; and the bottle spouting beer, that here was to be sold that inspiring liquor.

The numerous race of Gaultherus', Aimerie's, and Geoffrey's, who having no sir names, were jumbled together in such confusion that one could hardly tell himself from another, insomuch that when Duke Godfrey, called for one Geoffrey, there came an hundred,—these shrewd fellows, I say, did probably observe the great use of the aforesaid signs, in establishing an individuality of character, and took the hint of adopting something of the kind by way of distinction. Instead however of hanging their signs on a tree, or a pole, as did the suttlers, they procured them to be painted on their shields in a superior manner and with a variety of decorations, to distinguish them from the vulgar. As too, they followed no other business than that of cutting of throats, they would most probably adopt the figure of some beast of prey; a lion, a tiger, a unicorn, a griffen; or some strange, bitter, blood-thirsty looking animal with a horrible grim face, and a mouth wide enough to swallow a Saracen, or one of the giants so common in those days.

When in process of time, the descendants of the tavern keepers and nobles, got to be able to spell without much trouble, the former would in all likelihood add their names to these signs, together with some appropriate legend, such as “spiritous liquors sold here;” or “good entertainment for man and horse.” This of course would be followed up by the nobility who had imitated them in the first instance, and hence arose the fair and high sounding mottoes which are supposed to indicate the character, profession, and exploits of either themselves, or their illustrious ancestors.

That the reader may not doubt the singular instinct of the little dog in thus, as it were, knocking down his master for a song, I will relate a few instances of the sagacity of animals which are authenticated by undoubted history. I mean that sagacity which is displayed in a particular animal attaching itself to a particular man, and following him with such affectionate solicitude, as to indicate something more than instinctive devotion.

Nathaniel Wanley relates the following singular anecdote of a lynx, which came from Assyria with a person whose name I have forgot, “who was so affected towards one of his servants that it would attempt to detain him with its claws, when he was going away, and on his return received him with a wonderful alacrity and congratulation. At last the man crossed the sea with me to go into the Turkish camp, when the lynx refusing all nourishment languished and died.”

“At Patras in Achaia, a boy called Thoas, had formed a great friendship with a young dragon, who when he grew up was carried to the wilderness and left there, for fear he would do mischief. Bye and bye, Thoas returning with some of his companions from certain sights, he and his companions were set upon by robbers. Thoas cried out lustily: his voice was straight known to the dragon, who immediately came forth to his rescue, frighted some, and slew others, and so preserved the life of his friend.”

This attachment is the more remarkable, as dragons have at all times been considered as deadly enemies to all mankind except Giants and Enchanters, and have therefore been killed without mercy by the errant Knights.

King Porus had his life saved by an elephant, who when he was down, lifted him on his back with his trunk, and carried him off at the expense of his own life.

A dolphin in the Lucrine lake, as related by Mæcenas Fabianus, and others, loved a certain boy so much, that he came regularly every day and carried him on his back from Baiae to Puteoli to school, and back again. This he continued for many years until the boy fell sick and died. The dolphin came several days to the place, seeming to be very heavy and mournful, and spouting water as if he were crying, until at length, as was supposed, he died of grief and sorrow, and was found dead on the shore.

“Busbequius affirms, that a Spaniard of Minorca was so beloved by a crane, that the poor bird would walk any way with him, and in his absence seek about for him, make a noise, and knock at his door. When he took his last farewell, not able to endure her loss, she abstained from all food and died.”

But the most extraordinary instance is that related by Pliny, who says “at Aegium, a town in Achaia, a goose fell in love with a young man of Obenus, named Amphilochus.”

The goose prayed stoutly to Venus that her form might be changed, and the goddess at length taking pity on her, metamorphosed her into an exceeding pretty and foolish young lady, who could never however entirely divest herself of the love of feathers, and as Pliny says, “in many essentials remained a goose all her life.”

These instances of an ardent attachment, are quite sufficient to render probable, all that has been related in this poem of the sagacity of the little dog, and his love for his master, though an old man and blind withal.

The family of Gifford of Newark Tower, or as it is spelled in ancient ballads, Gyfforde, is of singular antiquity, and its origin, like that of most other illustrious houses enveloped in great uncertainty. Walter de Gyfforde was a famous knight in his day, and very intimate with all the celebrated Border chiefs, such as Buccleuch, Douglas, Kerr, and Craustoun. His most intimate friend however was Roger Bigod, the great swearer. They were all “ryghte lustye roysteringe blades,” as appears from the following lines of an old ballad, furnished me by Jacobus Porcus, to whom I cannot sufficiently express my obligations for the invaluable reliques he has favoured me with from time to time.

It is but justice, however, to the late Lord Archy to say, that he never committed any of these chivalric outrages upon his neighbours, except honest Joe Miller, against whom he used now and then to ride a Foray, despoiling him of some of his best jokes, and converting them to his own use. In general, he demeaned himself like a right hospitable gentleman, keeping open house, and entertaining all comers most royally. Lord Archy built the magnificent stables in the rear of his stately tower of Newark, where he always kept “four and twenty steeds,” ready dight, for his visitors to ride a hunting. He also had painted the great picture representing a hunting match, which being too large for his hall is suspended by two stout poles at the south-west corner of the castle. The following curious inscription is cut on the corner stone of the stables.

This inscription is remarkable on many accounts, but principally as appearing to be written by Lord Archy, after he was “dedde and ygonne.”

The present lord of Newark tower, who succeeded his brother Lord Archy in default of male issue, or indeed issue of any other kind. Lord John formerly resided at the stately castle occupied by Lord Joline at Princeton, but removed, to the ancient family mansion on the death of his brother. His lordship keeps up the ancient hospitality of the late lord, and is in every respect a worthy successor, and right worshipful supporter of the honours of his ancient and illustrious house.