Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 441

I confess to the soft impeachment of having been, at a very early period of my life, inoculated with the true Monkbarns enthusiasm, and I have always been a great admirer of that beautiful remark of Lord Bacon's, that 'antiquities may be considered as the planks of a wreck which wise and prudent men gather and preserve from the deluge of time.'

Some months ago, I was walking along what is called the Breck Road, leading out of the little village of Everton, of which I have been speaking, when my attention was arrested by a market-cross in a field on the opposite side of the road. I was somewhat surprised that it had escaped my notice when I formerly passed that way, and I immediately crossed over to examine it. It was formed, as all the English market-crosses are, of a series of flat steps, with an upright shaft in the centre, was built of the red sandstone of the district, and bore the appearance of great antiquity. The field was not far from what might be called the principal street of the village; and as I was aware that considerable changes had taken place of late years in the neighbourhood, it occurred to me as possible, that at one time the cross might have occupied the centre of a space on which the markets were held. My time, however, being limited, I was unable to make any immediate inquiries regarding it, but resolved to take an early opportunity of making myself acquainted with its early history, so as to rescue one interesting relic at least of the place from apparently a very undeserved obscurity. This opportunity did not present itself for some weeks; but at length it did occur, and I started for the place, to collect all the information, both traditional and otherwise, which I could regarding it.

On arriving at the spot, my surprise may be conceived, for it cannot be described, when, on looking at the field where it stood, I found that it had been removed, and all that remained to point out the place, was the bare mark on the grass of the spot which it had occupied. The consternation of Alladin, when he got up one fine morning and found that his gorgeous palace had vanished during the night, was hardly greater than mine on making this sad discovery; and, like him, I daresay, I rubbed my eyes in hopes that my visual organs had deceived me, but with as little success. On looking to the other side of the road, I observed a mason at work repairing the opposite wall with some very suspicious-looking stones, and I immediately crossed over, and commenced a categorical examination of the supposed delinquent. I inquired whether he could explain to me the cause of the removal of the ancient cross, which used to be in the field exactly opposite to where we were then standing; but he said that, although he was an old residenter in Everton, he had not even been aware of the existence of such an object. This I set down as an additional instance of the want of interest which the natives of the place take in archæological subjects. He told me, however, that about three weeks previously, he had observed several men facing the wall opposite with large stones, which they brought apparently from some place close at hand; but that, having his own work to attend to, he had not bestowed any particular thought on the matter. He said the field was rented by a person for the purpose of cleaning carpets, and that he had no doubt the removal had been accomplished by his directions.

On stepping across the road, I found these suspicions completely realised; for there, resting on the top of the wall, were the time-honoured steps of the cross of my anxiety. Luckily for me, at least, the tenant was not at hand at the time, as in the state of excitement in which I was, I might have done or said something which I should afterwards have regretted. I had no alternative but to return to town, 'nursing my wrath to keep it warm,' and thinking over the best and most efficacious method in which I could accomplish the punishment of the aggressor, whoever he might be, and procuring the restoration of the cross in all its primitive simplicity. I thought of an article in the papers, into which all my caustic and sarcastic powers were to be concentrated and discharged on the head of the desecrator—then of calling on the lord of the manor, and mentioning the matter to him, so as, if possible, to carry his influence along with me, although I thought it quite probable that he might have sanctioned the spoliation, to save the expense of new stones for the repair of his tenant's wall. Under this latter impression, therefore, and previous to carrying either of these belligerent intentions into effect, I thought it would only be fair to give the obnoxious man an opportunity of explaining the circumstances under which he had assumed such an unwarranted responsibility. Accordingly, a short time afterwards, I again wended my way towards the field, determined to bring the matter in some way or other to a bearing, when I saw a very pleasant-looking man standing at the door of the house in which the carpet-cleansing operations are carried on. Supposing him to be the delinquent, I endeavoured to bridle my rising choler as much as possible, while I asked him whether he could tell me anything about the removal of the cross which had once stood in that field. With a gentle smile, which I thought at the time almost demoniac, he mildly replied, that he had removed it, because the object for which he had erected it, about twelve months before, had ceased to exist, and he had taken the stones to repair the wall close by where it had stood!

The shock which the nervous system of our worthy friend Monkbarns received when the exclamation of Edie Ochiltree fell upon his ear, of 'Pretorium here, pretorium there, I mind the biggin' o't,' was not greater than that which mine sustained on receiving this death-blow to all my hopes of rescuing this interesting relic of antiquity from its unmerited oblivion. Gulping down my mortification as I best could, I, in as indifferent a manner as I could assume, craved the liberty of inquiring what the circumstances were which had led to such a fanciful employment of his time. He told me that he had been a carpet-manufacturer in Oxfordshire, but had been unsuccessful in business, and had come here and set up his present establishment for the cleaning of the articles which he formerly manufactured; and that, wishing to add to his income by every legitimate means within his power, he had been supplied regularly with a quantity of Banbury cakes, for the sale of which he had erected a temporary wooden-hut in one corner of his field; that one morning early, about eighteen months ago, as he was lying awake in bed, the thought struck him, that as there were a great many large flat stones lying in a corner of the field, he would erect them, in front of the hut, into the form of the well-known cross of equestrian nursery-rhyme notoriety. He immediately rose, and, summoning his workmen, succeeded in making a very tolerable imitation of the world-wide-known cross; but that, after about twelve months' trial of his cake-speculation, finding it did not succeed, he gave it up; and removing the cross of which it was the sign, turned the stones to a more useful purpose.

Thus ended my day-dream connected with this interesting relic; and nothing, I am sure, but that indomitable enthusiasm which distinguishes all genuine disciples of the Monkbarns school, could have sustained me under my grievous disappointment.

'TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF A SAILOR'S LIFE AT SEA.'

In the article with the above title, in No. 431, the pay of seamen is stated at from L.2, 10s. to L.3 a month; but this does not bring the information down to the latest date. At present, we are informed, the very best A. Bs. (able-bodied seamen) receive only from L.2 to L.2, 5s.; and 'ordinary' hands only from L.1, 10s. to L.1, 15s. In the navy, the pay is still less than in the merchant service, which is the reason why our best men so constantly desert to the American navy, where they obtain, on an average, about twelve dollars a month. It ought to be added, that when one of our ships is short of hands in a foreign port, these rates do not prevail. Captains are sometimes obliged to bid as high as L.6 a month, to make up their complement.

EXCESSIVE MODESTY

D'Israeli tells us of a man of letters, of England, who had passed his life in constant study; and it was observed that he had written several folio volumes, which his modest fears would not permit him to expose to the eye even of his critical friends. He promised to leave his labours to posterity; and he seemed sometimes, with a glow on his countenance, to exult that they would not be unworthy of their acceptance. At his death, his sensibility took the alarm; he had the folios brought to his bed; no one could open them, for they were closely locked. At the sight of his favourite and mysterious labours, he paused; he seemed disturbed in his mind, while he felt at every moment his strength decaying. Suddenly he raised his feeble hands by an effort of firm resolve, burnt his papers, and smiled as the greedy Vulcan licked up every page. The task exhausted his remaining strength, and he soon afterwards expired.

THE KHUNJUNEE

[The little, disregarded wagtail of our own land, which we may frequently see wherever insects abound—on the green meadow, or by the margin of the brook—is the khunjunee of the Hindoo, by whose romantic and fanciful mythology he has been made a holy bird, bearing on his breast the impression of Salagrama, the stone of Vishnoo, a sacred petrified shell. Protected by this prestige, the little creature ranges unmolested near the habitations of man, and may in this respect be styled the robin of the East. To Europeans in the East, this bird is also an object of interest, as being a precursor of the delightful cold season, the advent of which is anxiously looked for by every Anglo-Indian. The little khunjunee makes his appearance in the early part of November, and departs as the hot season approaches—I think in March or April. The note of this little bird can hardly aspire to be called a song; I used, however, to think it a pleasing twitter. I paid particular attention to two khunjunees, which used to return every season and haunt our habitation: they would pick up insects from the pavement, and eat the crumbs with which they were plentifully supplied. I have watched them pluming themselves on the balustrade, while their sparkling black eyes glanced fearlessly and confidingly in my face. When I now see a wagtail at home in Scotland, I cannot but look upon it as an old friend, reminding me of my departed youth, and recalling many soothing as well as mournful recollections.]

Welcome to thee, sweet khunjunee!
Which is thy best-loved home?—
Over the sea, in a far countrie,
Or the land to which thou art come?

What carest thou?—thou revelest here
In the bright and balmy air;
And again to regions far remote
Thou returnest—and summer is there!

Thou art sacred here, where the Brahmin tells
Of the godhead's seal impressed
By Vishnoo's hand—that thou bearest still
His gorget on thy breast.

And welcomed thou art, with grateful heart,
For well doth the Hindoo know,
That at thy approach the clouds disperse,
And temperate breezes blow.

Yet little he cares where thy sojourn hath been
So long, since he saw thee last;
Nor in what far land of storm or calm
The rainy months have passed.

But others there be, who think with me,
Thou hast been to that favoured land,
Which restores the bloom to the faded cheek,
And strength to the feeble hand.

And my children believe, that since thou wert here,
Thou hast compassed half the earth,
And that now thou hast come, like a thought in a dream,
From the land of their father's birth;

Bringing with thee the healthful breeze
That blows from the heath-clad hill,
And the breath of the primrose and gowan that bloom
On the bank by the babbling rill.

Then welcome to thee, little khunjunee!
May thy presence a blessing confer;
Still of breezes cool, and returning health,
The faithful harbinger.

    Old Indian.