Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 699

'Oh, don't bother yourself and me with such fancies. Of course I do not, and never can regret that step. There; let us say no more about it. I'm going to the Opera to-night. Will you come? You are moping yourself to death.'

She hesitated. She felt no inclination to go, but she thought it might be some real concern for her that made him ask, instead of the careless good-nature, more than half selfishness perhaps, which disliked to see sorrow on any face near him, because it made things less bright for him. She consented to go.

'Very well,' he said. 'It is time for you to get ready; and don't let me see red circles round your eyes again. You do not look so pretty when you cry, Eliza.' He bent down, and pressed a light kiss on her cheek.

RING LORE

To Mr W. Jones' book on Finger Ring Lore, Historical, Legendary, Anecdotal, just published by Chatto and Windus (price 7s. 6d.), we are indebted for the following gossip, which may interest our readers. In speaking of wedding-rings, we learn that these important symbols have not always been manufactured from the precious metal, gold. We are told that in lieu of a ring the church key has often been used; and Walpole tells of an instance where a curtain-ring was employed. The Duke of Hamilton fell so violently in love with the younger of the celebrated Misses Gunning at a party in Lord Chesterfield's house, that two days after he sent for a parson to perform the marriage ceremony; but as the Duke had neither license nor ring, the clergyman refused to act. Nothing daunted, Hamilton declared 'he would send for the Archbishop; at last they were married with a ring of the bed-curtain, at half an hour past twelve at night, at Mayfair Chapel.' Forgetful bridegrooms have been reduced to greater straits than this even; in one instance a leather ring had, on the spur of the moment, to be cut out of a piece of kid from the bride's glove. A tragic story of a forgotten wedding-ring is told in the Lives of the Lindsays. When he should have been at church, Colin Lindsay, the young Earl of Balcarres, was quietly eating his breakfast in nightgown and slippers; when reminded that Mauritia of Nassau was waiting for him at the altar, he hurried to church, but forgot the ring; a friend present gave him one, which he, without looking at, placed on the bride's finger. After the ceremony was over, the countess glanced at her hand and beheld a grinning Death's-head on her ring. She fainted away; and the omen made such an impression on her, that on recovering, she declared she was destined to die within the year; a presentiment that probably brought about its own fulfilment, for in a few months the careless Colin was a widower.

In medieval annals and ballads we find very frequent allusions to 'token'-rings; that is, rings given to prove identity; as knightly gages, like the ring of the 'Fair Queen of France' that James wore at Flodden; as pledges, &c. Many examples might be given of these uses of rings. Perhaps as good as any are the two memorable instances in Queen Elizabeth's life. She was peculiarly unfortunate in her token-rings. When Essex was in her favour she gave him a ring, saying that if ever he forfeited her esteem, and sent back this signet, the sight of it would insure her forgiveness. The story is well known how, when Essex lay in prison, doomed to death, he sent the ring to the Queen; but Lady Nottingham intercepted it, and Essex was allowed to die. Recent documents tend to prove the truth of the romantic ending of this story, that when the dying and repentant Countess told the Queen how she had kept back the ring, the effect on Elizabeth was so overpowering that she died three days afterwards. The Virgin Queen's other historical token-ring was one of the many gems that passed between her and Mary Queen of Scots. She sent Mary part of a ring, with a promise similar to that in the case of Essex; but though Mary, previous to her fatal journey into England, wrote reminding Elizabeth of her promise, we all know how little effect it had.

Bequests of rings in wills, as memorials, were frequent in the middle ages as well as now. The sapphire ring that Mary sent from Fotheringay, just before her execution, to Lord Claude Hamilton is still in Hamilton palace; M'Gowan the antiquary had another of the rings she distributed among her faithful attendants, which the Times in 1857 traced to Broadstairs. Sir Henry Halford gave Sir Walter Scott a lock of Charles I.'s hair, which Scott wore in a virgin gold setting with 'Remember' embossed upon it. Instances could easily be multiplied, but one deserves special mention. The metal of the ball that slew Nelson was divided into three and set in gold; on the lead in each was cut a basso-relievo half-bust of the great admiral. Many special memorial rings of Nelson were made about Trafalgar-time, but none so interesting as these.

Besides other curious matter, Mr Jones gives us notices of the customs and incidents in connection with rings, and many anecdotes of remarkable rings, amongst the more remarkable of which were 'the wedding of the Adriatic' by the Doge dropping a ring into the bosom of the sea; the 'death-rings' of Borgia and the medieval Italian poisoners; the part rings have played in identifying the living and the dead, as when Cœur-de-Lion, returning from Palestine in disguise, was recognised at Gazara in Slavonia by his ring. The body of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, cast up after a storm on the rocks of Scilly in 1707, was identified by his emerald ring, and was removed to Westminster Abbey. Rings have saved life, have promoted diplomatic relations with semi-civilised nations, have been used as bribes; in short, have played an important part on many different occasions. The refusal of a bribe-ring was the first step on the ladder by which the herdsman's son climbed up to be Earl Godwin and the father of a king.

Rings have been lost and found in many strange ways: a matron of East Lulworth lost her ring one day; two years afterwards she found it inside a potato! A calf sucked off the ring of Mrs Mountjoy of Brechin: she kept the calf for three years, and when it became veal, or rather beef, the ring was found in its inside. Moore tells us, in his Life of Byron, of the interesting recovery of the ring his lordship's mother had lost many years before, and which the gardener brought in just as Byron got the letter containing Miss Millbanke's answer to his proposal of marriage. 'If it contains a consent, I will be married with this very ring,' exclaimed Byron, before reading the lady's acceptance of his offer. Solomon's ring, and the story Herodotus gives us of the recovery of Polycrates' ring from the inside of a fish, are the first examples of a great array of like legends. Glasgow got the salmon and the ring in her city arms from a recovery of this kind, of which, however, there are several conflicting accounts. In former pages of this Journal we have noticed curious losses and subsequent recoveries of rings; and those who are further interested in the subject will find much entertaining matter in the volume before us.

MOTHER GOOSE

This, it seems, is no fanciful name got up to please children. There was a real Mrs Goose, or as she was familiarly called, Mother Goose, who signalised herself by her literature for the nursery. We learn this rather curious fact from an American newspaper, the Congregationalist, which, in describing a Christmas festival at the Old South Street Church, Boston, enters pretty largely into a biography of the lady. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Foster. She was born at Charlestown, where she resided until her marriage with Isaac Goose, when she became step-mother to ten children. As if that was not a sufficient family to look after, she by-and-by added six children of her own to the number, making sixteen 'goslings' in all. It was rather a heavy handful, and we do not wonder that she poured out her feelings in the celebrated lines —

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn't know what to do.

To entertain her young flock, Mrs Goose was in the habit of telling little stories in prose and verse, and singing songs, which were highly relished. Though tasked, she spent on the whole an agreeable existence. Her children having grown up, she was very much at her ease. Her daughter Elizabeth became the wife of Thomas Fleet, a printer in a small way in Boston. With this daughter, Mrs Goose, now a widow, went to live, and had the satisfaction of singing her old songs to an infant grandson. Now begins the literary history of Mother Goose. Fleet, the son-in-law, was a shrewd fellow, and, as a printer, he thought he might turn the penny by noting down granny's nursery songs, and selling them in a cheap and attractive form. They were issued in a book under the title, 'Songs for the Nursery; or Mother Goose's Melodies for Children. Printed by T. Fleet, at his Printing House, Pudding Lane, 1719. Price two coppers.' This title-page also bore a large cut of a veritable goose, with wide open mouth, shewing that the proverbial irreverence of sons-in-law is not a thing of recent origin. We are told that old Mother Goose did not resent the pictorial illustration, but took it just as sweetly as she had taken all the other trials of life. Possessing her soul in patience, and gladdening the hearts of grandchildren, she lived until 1757, dying at the advanced age of ninety-two. There, then, as we are assured, is the true history of Mother Goose. How the little books which she originated have spread over the world, need not be specified.

notes

[A]

Charley Ross: the Story of his Abduction. By C. K. Ross. London: Hodder & Stoughton. 1877.