temple, the massive proportions of the Rotunda, the historic grandeur of Capitol and Forum and triumphal arch. There, too, are the sculptured beauties of the Vatican, and a dozen other galleries; the frescoes of innumerable palaces, and all the endless gems of Rome. Four hundred photographs, the catalogue tells us, and any one of them cheap at the entrance fee we have paid.
But it is not for our eyes only that the indefatigable Professor Pepper caters at the Polytechnic Institution. Here is excellent entertainment also for the ears. Lectures on Cotton and Chemistry, Ventilation, Railway Accidents, the Art of Balancing (with a view to a scientific exposition of the feats of Blondin and Leotard), the Whitworth and Armstrong Guns, the Iron-plated Ships, Accidents in Coal Mines, the New Terrestrial and Stellar Chemistry, the New Tar Colours (Mauve and Magenta), and the Chief Scientific Specialities of the late International Exhibition. After these, concerts by the Brousil Family and the St. George’s Choir, Magical Illusions, and Experiments in Recreative Philosophy; and last, not least, the delightful Herr Susman, with his marriage peals on the quaint old cithern, his exquisite imitations of nightingale and thrush, and “ze tocks in ze vater,” and the duet between the shrill robin and the deep-voiced blackbird, and the numerous family of pigs, and the infant neighings of “ze yong collt vat ronns aftare ze olld mare, ze modder horse.”
And then come the magnificent Dissolving Views, the great feature of the entertainment. These consist, by day, of an interesting series by Messrs. Childe and Hill, illustrative of London at various dates, from the Roman to the Hanoverian epoch, illustrated by one of the most amusing of demonstrators.
So, too, must the lovely illuminated fountain, with its glittering spray, now of brilliant crimson, now of palest or deepest blue, now of purple, violet, orange, green, and all these colours interchanging and intermixed, and forming altogether such a treat for the lovers of light and colour as in our dingy clime is rarely to be obtained.
And then we all wander into the dingy streets again, and leave behind us scores of things as exhilarating and as beautiful as any we have seen; the uranograph, illustrating the relation between earth and sun; the models of merchant ships and men of war; the charcoal biscuits for brightening the teeth and assisting the digestion; the water-pipes and other wondrous works of cardboard; the interesting process of Messrs. Bartlett and Co., for preserving stone, and, if possible, inducing our costly Houses of Parliament to hold together a few years more; the beautiful collection of engravings and chromo-lithographs; the anatomical horrors of eyes and ears;—all these, and dozens more, we must leave for another visit, for it is 10 p.m., and the Polytechnic hours are respectable and early. Perhaps, after all, we have seen and heard already somewhat too much. Possibly, had we been less diffuse in our researches, we might have taken away more. But we think, at all events, we carry with us home the conviction that we have certainly had an uncommonly good shillingsworth.
A CURIOUS PENANCE.
A singular penitential service has been performed at Whitby for the last seven hundred years. It was first imposed upon Percy, Bruce, and Allatson, three gentlemen boar-hunters, who wounded a hermit in Eskdale Side, October 16th, 1159. He died of his wounds December 8th or 18th, which would be in 1160, as the ecclesiastical year begins with Advent. By this cruel murder the said Percy, Bruce, and Allatson forfeited their lives and their estates; and the Abbot of Whitby, as in duty bound. had them brought to justice, and was about to enforce the law against them, when the dying hermit interposed, saying: “I will freely forgive these men my death, if they will perform this penance.” And the men being present said: “Impose what you please upon us, only spare our lives.” Then the holy hermit presently entreated the Abbot that their lives might be spared, if they would perform this penance for the good of their souls. And that they should also hold their lands of the Abbot of Whitby on this condition: namely, that on Ascension Eve they should each of them cut a certain quantity of hedging near where he was killed, with a knife which shall cost one penny, and bring it on their backs to Whitby by nine o’clock, a.m.,—if it be full sea at such hour, the penance to cease,—and each of them to make a hedge at the water’s edge, and to fix it so as to stand three tides without being washed away. The Abbot’s officer was to attend them and to blow “Out upon you, out upon you” three times with his horn, to remind them of their heinous crime, and move them to contrition. This service has been performed every year, as it never can be full sea at nine, a.m., on Ascension Day, and it is still continued by the Allatson’s and their successors, whose land is in Fylingdales. It remained in the Allatson family till 1755, since which it has been owned by a family called Herbert, by whom the hedge has been regularly made every year, as it is expressly stipulated in their writings. Mrs. Keane, the wife of the present incumbent of Whitby, is a representative of the Allatson family, being fourth in descent from the last Allatson who sold the estate; but the service is not now done in a penitential spirit, and with the original design. It benefits neither the living nor the dead. The historians of Whitby have strangely confounded it with the making up of the Horngarth, which was quite a different thing, being altogether for secular purposes, while the penny hedge was only a penance and could never serve any other purpose; besides, the Horngarth was made up long before 1159, and has long since been dispensed with, while the penny hedge is still made up every year by one of the parties, and the legal title to an estate depends upon its being so continued. There are two versions of this legend: they are substantially the same, though they vary in several particulars. It is evident that they have not been copied or translated from the same original, but have come down to us probably from oral tradition. The curious reader can see one version in “Grose’s British Antiquities,” and the other in the “History of Whitby.”
