pans inserted in the top of the oven; the first directly over the fire, and the two others over the smoke-flue f. The roasting and baking are done in the space round the furnace.-Abridged from Loudon's Encyclopædia of Cottage Architecture.

The Public Journals.

A MASQUERADE IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS.

(From Polar Scenes—in the United Service Journal.) NOTICE was given that a grand Venetian carnival or masquerade would be held on board the Fury, to commence at six in the evening, and sanctioned by authority. It was also stated in the programme, that all the musical talent in the country was engaged for the occasion, and every attention would be paid on the part of the stewards to promote the conviviality of the evening-no one to be admitted except in character or domino-and no bad characters eligible. This notice was pasted up in the most conspicuous part of the ship, with a lively sketch appended to it, of a blind fiddler à la Cruikshank, led by a tottering old woman, with the sorry remnant of a soldier's coat on her back, and a round

hat.

Novelty has more or less its charms everywhere and for every one-from London to its antipodes and back again. On the present occasion, its influence in facilitating our ways and means was singularly successful. Masks and caps made of paper, wigs made of oakum, false calves, bonnets, shawls, gowns, and petticoats, were eagerly sought after, and as ingeniously contrived. In fact, the lower deck every evening presented a more than usual scene of busy animation, patching, darning, and transforming old clothes; making liveries out of red and green baize, lawyers' gowns of black bunting, and ladies' stays of good stiff number-one canvasspaste, putty, vermillion, and ivory-black, with features of mystery and cunning, some work

ing dexterously with smiles of self-satisfac tion, others perplexed and embarrassed in their schemes, and all equally anxious to disguise as much as possible the dress in which they hoped to disguise themselves.

A masquerade in the polar regions! Who ever heard of such a thing? It was as little thought of when we left England, as our attending the carnivals of Venice during our absence; and had the idea then occurred to probable as we knew the second to be impos us, we should have thought the first as im sible. In amateur plays, the difficulty of disguising one's self, and the still greater dif ficulty of casting the characters, may have suggested this kind of amusement; but I should have deemed it impossible to evade the lynx-eyed scrutiny of my companions, when the few places of concealment which a ship affords is considered.

I believe that when a case of necessity is made known on board a man-of-war, and particularly upon an occasion of this kind, which is yet more singular, there are few things which may not be procured without stirring one foot from the vessel, however ridiculous their being in the possession of a sailor may appear; and it was laughable enough to find our wants relieved as they became public,that is, indirectly,-through the medium of one, two, and often three agents, to escape detection. When, for instance, the plays were first introduced on a former voyage, an amateur wanted a pair of spurs to complete his costume. Who could have imagined that such an article would have found a restingplace in one of the discovery ships! The armourer set to work, when, to the astonishment of every one, an old sailor, who had never trusted himself on the back of a horse in his life, produced a pair from the bottom of his chest, wrapped in a piece of flannel, as highly polished as if they had done duty at the Horse Guards the week before. Upon the present occasion, a mask, a domino, a lady's fan, and some other things of an equally

novel nature, were found by one of the officers, which, we concluded, must have been dropped into his trunk by his fair fille-dechambre, when she packed it for him.

At last the eventful evening arrived, and no schoolboys ever broke loose from the trammels of their pedagogue with more searching anticipation of Christmas enjoyments, than did our seamen. The arrangements on board the Fury were too good to pass unnoticed, everything was so well adapted for the purpose for which it was designed. A rough sign over a raised platform, at the extreme end of the central part of the forecastle, exhibited the jolly sailor just landed from his voyage of discovery, with a well-filled purse in one hand, and a long pipe in the other. He had his blooming wife under his arm, and the Hecla and Fury were visible in the background. It is almost needless to add, that the jolly-faced landlady of the Jolly Sailor did ample justice to the good humour which rallied round her. At the farther end of the quarter-deck, another rude sign announced that the celebrated Swiss giantess, lately exhibited at most of the courts in Europe, patronized by his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence, and never before seen in the polar regions, to which she had been imported at very considerable risk and expense, might be viewed by the public for the trifling sum of one shilling; children admitted for half price, and an excellent band in attendance. A ludicrous group of Greenwich and Chelsea pensioners, enjoying themselves over some of Barclay, Perkins, and Co.'s entire, was naturally caricatured by one of our officers, in a transparency opposite the Jolly Sailor; and in the centre of the room, the orchestra was fitted up, in which the performers were instrumental in enlivening the scene. A reception-room was prepared on the lower deck for rheumatic or frost-bitten amateurs, or fashionable dandizettes, whose curtailed garments were not proof against the harsh clime of the Polar regions.

The characters began to assemble at six o'clock, and the busy scene of merry-making was soon at its meridian. The first who appeared was an elderly gentleman, whose dress, although somewhat the worse for wear, bespoke respectability, and whose peruke announced him a strict observer of old times. He regretted the indisposition of one of his carriage horses, owing to the badness of the roads, and deplored the uncivilized state of the country, not affording the common convenience of a sedan chair, or even a jarvey. This character was admirable throughout, and not recognised until the close of the evening, to be Sir Edward Parry's steward. A lady of distinction in an evening ball dress of light blue silk, with flounces of cut paper to imitate Brussels point, was followed by her servant, a native of Africa, in livery,

A

green baize, turned up with silver,-the embroidered parts a little tarnished,-were by Captain Hoppner and Mr. Crozier. A strolling fiddler, whose admirably constructed crutch well supplied the loss of his left leg, which he had left on the plain of Waterloo, and whose military attire presented a sorry remnant of the uniform of the regiment he had served in,-solicited alms for the support of nine starving children,—and his wife received the charity of the benevolent in an old hat,-exceedingly well supported by Sir Edward Parry and Mr. Halse. The next group which appeared, excited marked attention, and many were the efforts made to discover who they were; but they were secure in the success of their impenetrable disguise. It consisted of a hawking umbrella-mender, with his wife and daughter, as itinerant ballad-singers,-the latter, so sensitively tenacious of her charms, that she constantly appealed to her mother, under whose cloak she endeavoured to hide herself for protection. The produce of a small basket of tape, thread, and needles, helped to support this indigent family; and the style of their dialogue was in perfect keeping with their appearance. I never saw a better group than this, and I once paid an exorbitant sum for seeing many worse. There was a good deal of low wit and good humour in their individual parts, which was well supported by Lieutenant Sherer and two of the Hecla's seamen. miserably clad old soldier, whose exertion in keeping a pathway across the street clean, for the convenience of the public, which, by the by, he had previously strewed dirt over, to their no small annoyance, that he might have something to sweep,-went off with eclat, by Lieutenant Ross. And a wandering Jew, whose promissory notes were issued with characteristic caution, by a seaman of the Fury. A dialogue between a Scotch laird and a southern middleman, on the value of land, the breed of black cattle, and the average market-prices, was inimitably kept up by two of our sailors. There was a clown, whose buffoonery in descanting on the wonderful merits of the Swiss giantess was worthy a disciple of Grimaldi himself. He was quick at repartée, and yet he acknowledged himself as great a fool as any of the company. We had also a country practitioner in medicine, who was excellent; and a widow of one of the seamen of the last expedition, who made many appeals in a pathetic tone in behalf of her infant, which she carried in her arms,— urging its weak state, for it was not yet weaned,-" Rest thee, babe," in a shrill squeaking voice, with a strong nasal twang, quieted the sleeping innocent. Watchmen, riotous sailors with more money than wit, chimney-sweepers, young ladies, and a recruiting party, filled up the amusements of the evening, with a number of songs in

character. Each man had three tickets, which entitled him to three glasses of rum or brandy punch; and the Jolly Sailor, before alluded to, was the rallying point throughout the evening, and so well attended, that the landlord and his wife, who, by the by, were capital in their station, had no sinecure. Precisely at ten o'clock the company retired -the sailors well pleased with their evening's frolic, and the officers to discuss the merits of a good supper, and the various characters who had exhibited on the occasion.

There was not, throughout the festive scene, a single instance of inebriation on the part of the seamen. The rooms, as I have elsewhere stated, were tastefully fitted-up, and of the hundred who were present, it would have been difficult to find one who had not banished all care from his mind that night. The difference of the temperature between the lower and the upper deck was seventy degrees.

Manners and Customs.

PLOUGH MONDAY.

By Washington Irving. SHERWOOD Forest is a region that still retains much of the quaint customs and holyday games of the olden time. A day or two after my arrival at the Abbey, as I was walking in the cloisters, I heard the sound of rustic music, and now and then a burst of merriment, proceeding from the interior of the mansion. Presently the chamberlain came to me, and informed me that a party of country lads were in the servants' hall, performing Plough Monday antics, and invited me to witness their mummery. I gladly assented, for I am somewhat curious about these reliques of popular usages. The servants' hall was a fit place for the exhibition of an old Gothic game. It was a chamber of great extent, which, in monkish times, had been the refectory of the Abbey. A row of massive columns extended lengthwise through the centre, from whence sprang Gothic arches, supporting the low vaulted ceiling. Here was a set of rustics dressed up in something of the style represented in the books concerning popular antiquities. One was in a rough garb of frieze, with his head muffled in bearskin, and a bell dang. ling behind him, that jingled at every movement. He was the clown or fool of the party, probably a traditional representative of the ancient satyr. The rest were decorated with ribands, and armed with wooden swords. The leader of the troop recited the old ballad of St. George and the Dragon, which has been current among the country people for ages; his companions accompanied the recitation with some rude attempt at acting,, while the clown cut all kinds of antics.

To these succeeded a set of morrice dancers, gaily dressed up with ribands and hawks' bells. In this troop we had Robin Hood and Maid Marian; the latter represented by a smooth-faced boy: also, Beelzebub, equipped with a broom, and accompanied by his wife, Bessy, a termagant old beldame. These rude pageants are the lingering remains of the old customs of Plough Monday, when bands of rustics, fantastically dressed, and furnished with pipe and tabor, dragged what was called the "fool plough" from house to house, singing ballads and performing antics, for which they were rewarded with money and good cheer.

But it is not in " merry Sherwood Forest" alone that these remnants of old times prevail. They are to be met with in most of the counties north of the Trent, which classic stream seems to be the boundary line of primitive customs. During my recent Christmas sojourn at Barlborough Hall, in the skirts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire, I had witnessed many of the rustic festivities peculiar to that joyous season, which have rashly been pronounced obsolete by those who draw their experience merely from city life. I had seen the great Yule clog put on the fire on Christmas Eve, and the wassail bowl sent round, brimming with its spicy beverage. I had heard carols beneath my window, by the choristers of the neighbouring village, who went their rounds, about the ancient hall, at midnight, according to immemorial Christmas custom. We had mummers and mimers, too, with ballads and traditional dialogues, and the famous old interlude of the Hobby Horse, all represented in the antechamber and servants' hall, by rustics, who inherited the custom and the poetry from preceding generations.

The boar's head, crowned with rosemary, had taken its honoured station among the Christmas cheer; the festal board had been attended by glee singers and minstrels from the village, to entertain the company with hereditary songs and catches during their repast; and the old Pyrrhic game of the sword dance, handed down from the time of the Romans, was admirably performed in the courtyard of the mansion, by a band of young men, lithe and supple in their forms, and graceful in their movements, who, I was told, went the rounds of the villages and country seats during the Christmas holydays.

I specify these rural pageants and ceremonials, which I saw during my sojourn in this neighbourhood, because it has been deemed that some of the anecdotes of holyday customs, given in my preceding writings, related to usages which have entirely passed away. Critics who reside in cities have little idea of the primitive manners and observances which still prevail in remote and rural neighbourhoods.

In fact, in crossing the Trent, one seems to step back into old times; and in the vil lages of Sherwood Forest we are in a black letter region. The moss-grown cottages, the lowly mansions of grey stone, the Gothic crosses at each end of the villages, and the tall maypole in the centre, transport us, in imagination, to foregone centuries. Every thing has a quaint and antiquated air.-Miscellanies, No. II.

Anecdote Gallery.

A MODERN RELIC.

WHEN Kean quitted America, he came away richer by a huge quantity of transatlantic gold, and a considerable increase of professional reputation. But this was not all. He had acquired something more,-a secret treasure. His money was transmitted to England; his fame was noised about the world; but the new acquisition was hugged close to his heart, and revealed only to a chosen few.

Cooke was buried in New York; and when Kean was there, he visited what was supposed to be his grave. Being a great adınirer of the dead tragedian, he caused his body to be taken up and removed to another place, and over the new grave he erected a monument, in honour of the actor's genius. In the transition from the old grave to the new, Kean abstracted one of the toe-bones. It was a little, black relic, and might have passed for a tobacco-stopper. Some persons even said, "How do you know that this belonged to Cooke?" but the indignation of Kean at such scepticism, stifled all further questioning. He deposited the bone in his dressing-case, perfectly satisfied with its identity, locked it carefully up, and brought it to England.

When he arrived here, the Drury Lane Company, rejoicing at the return of their "head," resolved to meet and welcome him at some distance from London, and, by their presence, grace his entry into the metropolis. Elliston, as the principal person of the company, led the processsion. The actors followed, according to rank, and in due time arrived at Barnet. This was the place which Kean had appointed for receiving them. They were all to breakfast there, and then to return, in the tragedian's train, to London. On encountering the great actor, they were about to welcome him, each after his own fashion, when he stopped them, with a serious air." Before you say a word, my merry men," said he "Behold! Fall down, and kiss this relic! This is the toe-bone of the greatest creature that ever walked the earth of George Frederic Cooke. He was lying without a monument till I put one over him. Come, down with you all, and kiss the bone!" Elliston, between doubt and reverence, fell

upon his knees, and kissed the ridiculous relic. Another dropped down with difficulty; ("Our son was fat.") Then another came, and another; and thus actor after actor followed, from the beginning to the end of the line, till all had performed the ceremony.

In an hour or two, the procession formed again, and with Kean at its head, took the road to London. Our hero, still a treasurer (of relics), although he had given up the post of master and treasurer to the Drury Lane Fund, led the way to his house in Clarges Street. Arrived there, the greater part of his brother actors left him, and Kean proceeded to the library. His first words were to his wife, "I have brought Charles a fortune. I have brought something that the Directors of the British Museum would give ten thousand pounds for; but — they shan't have it." Mrs. Kean, lost in wonder, inquired what it was. "Look here!" said he, producing it. "Here it is. Here is the toe-bone of the greatest man that ever lived

-the illustrious George Frederic Cooke!" With that he proceeded to deposit it gently on the mantel-piece, saying, in caution, "Now, observe-I put this on the mantelpiece; but let no one dare to touch it. You may all look at it,-at a distance; but be sure that no one presumes to handle it."

Here it remained for several months. Occasionally, to an intelligent visiter, he would explain the merits of the bone; but otherwise it was honoured only by his own single admiration. His wife detested the bone. The servants hated it. The maids were afraid of it. They thought, probably, that it would get up and act. But no one ventured to hazard the tragedian's displeasure by meddling with it. At last,-it was one dull evening, when Kean had been absent from home for several days, and his wife was tired of waiting and watching for himthe detestable toe- bone presented itself to her sight. A few bitter words escaped her. She felt inclined to commit profanation on the relic, but contented herself with walking up and down, eyeing the object of her husband's adoration with most sincere disgust. She approached again, and finally seized the bone, protecting her fingers by a piece of paper, and "canted it," without ceremony, into the adjoining garden. This garden belonged to the Duke of Portland, and contained a well, which was dry; and it was into this well that the illustrious bone descended. In an instant, the House of Portland was unconsciously richer, by ten thousand pounds, than it had been the hour before. The toe-bone was theirs! Was, do we say? Nay, it is theirs still-up to this present writing.

It may easily be supposed, that a deed of this sort could not have been perpetrated without important consequences. Accord

66

ingly, Mrs. Kean soon began to experience some fearful alarms; and these were not allayed by a thundering rap at the door, which announced the tragedian's return. The door was opened, and he went straight into the library-very drunk. Whenever he was drunk, he went to the toe for consolation. But now, the toe was not there! He rang the bell furiously. His wife answered the summons, when an inquiry, made in a terrible voice, met her at the door of the room: -"Have you seen Cooke's toe-bone ?" After a little pause, she said, "Cooke's toe-bone, my dear?"-"Yes," returned he sternly; why do you reiterate my words? Cooke's toe-bone, I say."."—" My dear," said his wife submissively," I'll go down and look for it, if you wish" and she went accordingly. In the mean time, all the servants were called up, (called out of their beds,) to assist in the search. The search, as will be guessed, was fruitless. The tragedian waxed solemn." Answer me," said he, "on your souls :—What has become of Cooke's toebone?" None of them knew. Each could disclaim any participation in the robbery with a very safe conscience. He was satisfied as to their ignorance, and sent them out of the room; and then, turning to his wife, he addressed her gravely and almost sadly,"Mary, your son has lost his fortune. He was worth 10,000l. Now he is a beggar." It occurred to the culprit that another trip to America, would have enabled her husband to bring home even a foot of the great Cooke, instead of a toe-bone only; but she

did not hazard the observation.

Notwithstanding the above anecdote, which the reader may rely on, we have not heard that our hero was ever limited to the embraces of a strait waistcoat, or put under the care of a committee.-Barry Cornwall's Life of Kean.

Select Biography.

CHARLES MATHEWS, ESQ.

THE newspapers have announced the death of this celebrated comedian, at Devonport, on the 27th ult. They have since published the well-known details of his amusing biography, which may assist in the brief sketch we are about to present to our readers.

Charles Mathews was born on the 28th of June, 1776; consequently, had he lived but one day longer, he would have completed his 59th year. His father was James Mathews, a serious bookseller," that is, a bookseller of religious habits, as well as a dealer in religious books. He resided at No. 18 in the Strand, and died in 1804. Charles Mathews used to relate that he had ascertained from his nurse that he was "a long, lanky, scraggy child, very good tempered, with a face that could by no means be called regular

features; in fact, she said she used frequently to laugh at the oddity of his countenance." He received his education at Merchant Tailors' School; where he first attempted mimicry on the peculiar manners of three brothers, schoolfellows, whose traits were happily embodied in one of those Entertainments of which we shall hereafter speak. Having left school, he was apprenticed to his father: to use his own words, he "made but a sorry apprentice; and, indeed, he was very sorry that he was an apprentice." He was bound before the celebrated John Wilkes, of political notoriety, whose eccentricities he then noted, so as to embody them, many years after, in a highly-coloured portrait, as Wilkes sat in his chamberlain's robe and chair. By reading plays, Mathews imbibed a strong partiality for them; though his father's shopshelves contained little to suit his taste, being principally filled with standard works on divinity and religious tracts. About this time he became acquainted with Elliston, then also a boy, and both received lessons in the French language from the same school-mistress in the Strand. Elliston was then, (September, 1791,) getting up the tragedy of the "Distrest Mother," in the first floor of the pastry-cook's shop, No. 421, Strand, and Mathews undertook to perform Phoenix; but he admits that he was " terribly outshone by Master Elliston." Nothing damped, he next waited upon Macklin to request he would hear him recite and give him his opinion of his talents. His reception may be guessed: Macklin received his first line," My name is Norval," as Sheridan did the dog-tax debate, with "Bow, wow, wow," and asserted that he had only found himself and another person to possess the qualifications requisite for an actor.

But Macklin's bearish manners were known, and did not stifle young Mathews's aspirations. In 1793, he joined a friend and paid fifteen guineas to appear at the Richmond theatre. The play was "Richard the Third;" Mathews, Richmond, and his friend, Richard-the former selecting this character "for the fencing;" and in the last scene, he kept Richard fighting for " twenty-five minutes by the Richmond clock." He next appeared in Old Doiley, (Who's the Dupe?) at Canterbury; where he repeated Richmond with a fight of 40 minutes. Mathews's father was, of course, averse to his son's playing; and, it is related that being informed he was at a certain town for that purpose, the old man went with the determination of hissing him off the stage: but, on his return, he told his friends that, although he saw his son's name in large letters in the play-bills, and was resolved to check his career, yet the audience so laughed at his performance, that he laughed too; and they so applauded, that he did the same.