Poor's-Box in Cawston Church, Norfolk. Before the Reformation, says Anthony à Wood, "in every church was a poor man's box, but I never remembered the use of it; nay, there was one at great inns, as I remember it was, before the wars." Poor-boxes are often mentioned in the twelfth century. At that period pope Innocent III. extended papal power to an inordinate height; absolved subjects from allegiance to their sovereigns; raised crusades throughout Europe for the recovery of the holy sepulchre; laid France under an interdict; promised paradise to all who would slaughter the Albigenses; excommunicated John, king of England; and ordered hollow trunks to be placed in all the churches, to receive alms for the remission of the sins of the donors.* A communication to the Antiquarian Society, accompanied by drawings of the poorboxes on this and the opposite page, briefly describes them. The common poor-box in the churches appears to have been a shaft of oak, hollowed out at the top, covered Fosbroke's Encyclopædia of Antiquities. This communication from J. A. Repton, Esq., is printed, with engravings from his drawings, in the Archæologia," 1821. by a hinged lid of iron, with a slit in it, for the money to fall through into the cavity, and secured by one or two iron locks. Perhaps the most curiously constructed of the ancient poor-boxes now remaining, is that in the church of Cawston, near Aylsham. The church was built between 1385 and 1414. The poor-box was provided with three keys, two of which were for the churchwardens, and the third was most probably for the clergyman, as one of the key-holes is more ornamented than the others. The most singular part of this box is an inverted iron cup, for preventing the money from being taken out by means of any instrument through the holes on the top of the box. The engravings above represent-1. this poor-box, as it stands on an octangular stone basement; 2. a perfect view of the lid; 3. another of the interior, with the manner wherein the cup is suspended for the security of the money; 4. a section of the box. In places where the presumed richness of the boxes rendered them liable to be plundered, they were strongly bound or clamped with iron plates, as shown in the present engravings. The church of Loddon, in the southeastern angle of the county of Norfolk, about five miles from Bungay, was built about 1495, and contains a depository of this description, with two separate boxes, each of them secured by two padlocks: over one of these is a hole in the lid for the offerings. When a sufficient sum was collected, it was taken out and placed in the adjoining box in the presence of the two churchwardens. Ben Jonson, in his "Masque of the Metamorphosed Gipsies, as it was thrice presented before king James, 1621, &c." makes a gipsy tell Tom Ticklefoot, a rustic musician, "On Sundays you rob the poor's-box with your tabor, The collectors would do it, you save them a labour." Whereunto a countryman answers, From this we gather that it was customary at that time to put money in the parish poor's-box on Sundays, and that the trustees of the poor were sometimes suspected of misapplying it. The neglect of this mode of public contribution is noted in Hogarth's marriage scene of the "Rake's Progress," by a cobweb covering the poor's-box in the church. There is an intimation to the same effect in one of Beaumont and Fletcher's plays, which further intimates that poor's-boxes had posies The poor man's box is there too: if ye find any thing For fear it should awaken too much charity, Spanish Curate, 1647. The posies or mottoes on poor's-boxes were short sentences to incite benevolence -such as, "He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord," &c. COWPER. The poet of "The Sofa," when "in merry pin," trifled pleasantly. As an instance of his manner, there remains the following LETTER TO THE REV. J. NEWTON. July 12, 1781. My very dear Friend,-I am going to send, what, when you have read, you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose there's nobody knows, whether what I have got, be verse or not; by the tune or the time, it ought to be rhyme; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such a ditty before? I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in hopes to do good; and if the reviewers should say to be sure, the gentleman's muse wears Methodist shoes; you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she and her bard, have little regard, for the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoidening play, of the modern day: and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and then wear a tittering air, 'tis only her plan, to catch if she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production, on a new construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap, all that may come, with a sugar plum." This opinion in this will not be amiss: 'tis what I intend, my principal end; and if I succeed, and folks should read, till a few are brought, to a serious thought, I should think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as far from hence, to the end of my sense, and by hook or crook, write another book, if I live and am here, another year. I have heard before, of a room with a floor, laid upon springs, and such like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing. And now I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and as you advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned; which that you may do, ere madam and you are quite worn out, with jigging about, I take my leave, and here you receive a bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me W. C. When prevented by rains and floods from visiting the lady who suggested "The Task," Cowper beguiled the time by writing to her the following lines, and afterwards printing them with his own hand. He sent a copy of these verses, so printed, to his sister, accompanied by the subjoined note written upon his typographical labours, To watch the storms, and hear the sky My dear Sister,-You see my beginning; I do not know but in time I may proceed to the printing of halfpenny ballads. Ex. cuse the coarseness of my paper; I wasted so much before I could accomplish any thing legible, that I could not afford finer. I intend to employ an ingenious mechanic of this town to make me a longer case, for you may observe that my lines turn up their tails like Dutch mastiffs; so difficult do I find it to make the two halves exactly coincide with each other. We wait with impatience for the departure of this unseasonable flood. We think of you, and talk of you; but we can do no more till the waters subside. I do not think our correspondence should drop because we are within a mile of each other; it is but an imaginary approximation, the flood having in reality as effectually parted ús, as if the British Channel rolled between us. Yours, my dear sister, with Mrs. U.'s best love, WILLIAM COWPER. Monday, Aug. 12, 1782. HIGHLAND DEER AND SHEEP. "THE LAST DEER OF BEANN DORAN." A note to a poem, with this title, by John Hay Allan, Esq., relates, that in former times the barony of Glen Urcha was celebrated for the number and the superior race of its deer. When the chieftains relinquished their ancient character and their ancient sports, and sheep were introduced into the country, the want of protection, and the antipathy of the deer to the intruding animals, gradually expelled the former from the face of the country, and obliged them to retire to the most remote recesses of the mountains. Contracted in their haunts from corrai to corrai, the deer of Glen Urcha at length wholly confined themselves to Beann Doran, a mountain near the solitary wilds of Glen Lyon, and the vast and desolate mosses which stretch from the Black Mount to Loch Ranach. In this retreat they continued for several years; their dwelling was in a lonely corrai at the back of the hill, and they were never seen in the surrounding country, except in the deepest severity of winter, when, forced by hunger and the snow, a straggler ventured down into the straiths. But the hostility which had banished them from their ancient range, did not respect their last retreat. The sheep continually encroached upon their bounds, and contracted their resources of subsistence. Deprived of the protection of the laird, those which ventured from their haunt were cut off without mercy or fair chase; while want of range, and the inroads of poachers, continually diminished their numbers, till at length the race became extinct. About the time of the disappearance of the deer from these wilds, an immense stag was one evening seen standing upon the side of Beann Donachan. He remained for some time quietly gazing towards the lake, and at length slowly descended the hill, and was crossing the road at Stronnmilchon, when he was discovered by some herdsmen of the hamlet. They immediately pursued him with their cooleys; and the alarm being given, the whole straith, men, women, and children, gathered out to the pursuit. The noble animal held them a severe chase till, as he passed through the copse on the north side of Blairachuran, his antlers were entangled in the boughs, he was overtaken by the pursuers, and barbarously slaughtered by the united onset, and assault of dogs, hay-forks, and "Sgian an Dubh." When divided, he EXTRAORDINARY proved but a poor reward for the fatigue; for he was so old, that his flesh was scarcely eatable. From that time the deer were seen no more in Beann Doran; and none now appear in Glen Urcha, except when, in a hard winter, a solitary stag wanders out of the forest of Dalness, and passes down Glen Strae or Corrai Fhuar. The same cause which had extirpated the deer from Glen Urcha has equally acted in most part of the Highlands. Wherever the sheep appear, their numbers begin to decrease, and at length they become totally extinct. The reasons of this apparently singular consequence is, the closeness with which the sheep feed, and which, where they abound, so consumes the pasturage, as not to leave sufficient for the deer: still more is it owing to the unconquerable antipathy which these animals have for the former. This dislike is so great, that they cannot endure the smell of their wool, and never mix with them in the most remote situations, or where there is the most ample pasturage for both. They have no abhorrence of this kind to cattle, but, where large herds of these are kept, will feed and lie among the stirks and steers with the greatest familiarity. HIGHLAND MEALS. Among the peculiarities of highland manners is an avowed contempt for the luxuries of the table. A highland hunter will eat with a keen appetite and sufficient discrimination: but, were he to stop in any pursuit, because it was meal time, to growl over a bad dinner, or visibly exult over a good one, the manly dignity of his character would be considered as fallen for ever.* TREAD MILLS. At Lewes, each prisoner walks at the rate of 6,600 feet in ascent per day; at Ipswich, 7,450; at St. Alban's, 8,000; at Bury, 8,650; at Cambridge, 10,176; at Durham, 12,000; at Brixton, Guildford, and Reading, the summer rate exceeds 13,000; while at Warwick, the summer rate is about 17,000 feet in ten hours. † Mrs. Grant. †The Times. ORAN-OUTANG, THE WILD MAN OF THE Woods. The largest and most remarkable oranoutang ever seen by Europeans, was discovered by an officer of the ship Mary Anne Sophia, in the year 1824, at a place called Ramboon, near Touromon, on the west coast of Sumatra. When the officer alluded to first saw the animal, he assembled his people, and followed him to a tree in a cultivated spot, on which he took refuge. His walk was erect and waddling, but not quick, and he was obliged occasionally to accelerate his motion with his hands; but with a bough which he carried, he impelled himself forward with great rapidity. When he reached the trees his strength was shown in a high degree, for with one spring he gained a very lofty branch, and bounded from it with the ease of the smaller animals of his kind. Had the circumjacent land been covered with wood, he would certainly have escaped from his pursuers, for his mode of travelling by bough or tree was as rapid as the progress of a very fleet horse : but at Ramboon there are but few trees left in the midst of cultivated fields, and amongst these alone he jumped about to avoid being taken. He was first shot on a tree, and after having received five balls, his exertion was relaxed, owing, no doubt, to loss of blood; and the ammunition having been by that time expended, his purother measures for his destruction. One suers were obliged to have recourse to of the first balls probably penetrated his lungs, for immediately after the infliction of the wound, he slung himself by his feet from a branch with his head downwards, and allowed the blood to flow from his mouth. On receiving a wound, he always put his hand over the injured part, and the human-like agony of his expression had the natural effect of exciting painful feelings in his assailants. The peasantry seemed as amazed at the sight of him as the crew of the ship; for they had never seen one before, although living within two days' journey from the vast and impenetrable forests on the island. They cut down the tree on which he was reclining exhausted; but the moment he found it falling, he exerted his remaining strength, and gained another, and then a third, until he was finally brought to the ground, and forced to combat his unrelenting foes, who now gathered very thickly round, and discharged |