John Wilson

John Wilson, a close friend of Sir Walter Scott's son-in-law John Gibson Lockhart, was born on May 18, 1785.  Wilson was nearly halfway between Scott and Lockhart in age, Scott being fourteen years senior, and Lockhart nine junior.  Wilson, under the pseudonym Christopher North, and  Lockhart both wrote for Blackwood's Magazine.

Wilson knew Scott well, and once wrote a poem "The Magic Mirror, addressed to Sir Walter Scott Esq." for the Edinburgh Annual Register":

Methought beneath a Castle huge I stood,
That seem'd to grow out of a rock sublime,
Through the dominion of its solitude
Augustly frowning at the rage of Time.
Its lofty minarets, indistinct and dim,
Look'd through the brooding clouds; and, as a smile
Of passing sunlight showed these structures grim
Burning like fire, I could have thought the while
That they were warriors keeping watch on high,
All motionless, and sheath'd in radiant panoply.

What mortal feet these rampart heights might scale!
Lo! like black atoms mingling in the sky,
The far-off rooks and their fleet shadows sail;
Scarce hears the soul their melancholy cry.
What lovely colours bathed the frowning brow
Of that imperial mansion! Radiant green,
And purple fading in a yellow glow!
Oh! lovelier ne'er on mossy bank was seen
In vernal joy; while bands of charter'd flowers
Revell'd like fairy sprites along their palace towers.

Down sank the draw-bridge with a thund'ring shock;
And in an instant, ere the eye could know,
Bound the stern castle to th' opposing rock,
And hung in calmness o'er the flood below;—
A roaring flood, that, born amid the hills,
Forced his lone path through many a darksome glen,
Till join'd by all his tributary rills,
From lake and tarn, from marish and from fen,
He left his empire with a kingly glee,
And fiercely bade recoil the billows of the sea.

I felt it was a dream; nor wish'd to wake:
Though dim and pale by fits the vision grew;
And oft that ocean dwindled to a lake,
And cliff and castle from the clouds withdrew.
Oft, all I heard was but a gentle swell,
Like the wild music of the summer leaves;
Till, like an army mustering in the dell,
The blasts came rushing from their pine-clad caves,
And swept the silence of the scene away,
Even like a city storm'd upon the Sabbath day.

Though strange my dream, I knew the Scottish strand,
And the bold frith that, rolling fiercely bright,
Far-distant faded mid that mountain land,
As mid dark clouds a sudden shower of light.
Long have my lips been mute in Scotland's praise!
Now is the hour for inspiration's song!
The shadowy glories of departed days
Before my tranced soul in tumult throng,
And I with fearless voice on them will call,
From camp and battle-field, from princely bower and hall.

With only my still shadow by my side,
And Nature's lifeless things that slept around,
I seem'd to be; when, from the portal wide,
Startling as sudden light, or wandering sound,
Onwards a Figure came, with stately brow,
And, as he glanced upon the ruin'd pile
A look of regal pride, "Say, who art thou,
(His countenance brightening with a scornful smile,
He sternly cried,) whose footsteps rash profane
The wild romantic realm where I have willed to reign?"

But ere to these proud words I could reply,
How changed that scornful face to soft and mild!
A witching frenzy glitter'd in his eye,
Harmless, withal, as that of playful child.
And when once more the gracious vision spoke,
I felt the voice familiar to mine ear;
While many a faded dream of earth awoke
Connected strangely with that unknown seer,
Who now stretch'd forth his arm, and on the sand
A circle round me traced, as with magician's wand.

Desire or power then had I none to move,
In that sweet prison a delighted thrall;
Died all remembrances of daily love,
Or, if they glimmer'd, vain I held them all.
Alone on that magician could I gaze;
His voice alone compell'd was I to hear,
Wild as the autumnal wind that fitful plays
A wailing dirge unto the dying year,
Amid the silence of the midnight hour,
Out through the ivied window of a mouldering tower.

He felt his might, and sported with my soul,
Even as the sea-wind dallies with a boat,
That now doth fleeter than the billows roll,
Now, as at anchor, on the calm doth float.
Nor heeded he to see my senses lock'd
In the dim maze of wildering phantasy;
But ever and anon my wonder mock'd
With careless looks of gentle tyranny.
Well-used was that magician to the sight
Of souls by him subdued to terror and delight.

How bold the fearful oft in dreams become!
Familiar in the midst of all things strange!
Unshuddering then, with spirits will we roam,
Calm and unconscious of th' unearthly change!
Even so it fared with me; ere long I grew
Familiar with the wizard of my dream,
When from his lofty breast he slowly drew
What seem'd a Mirror by its glancing gleam,
And bade me therein look, where I might see
Wild sights come floating by in clouds of glamoury.

Then burn'd that glass insufferably bright,
Till closed my eyelids with the sudden pain;
As, when the downward rays of mid-day light
Kindle to fire upon the verdant main.
Ne'er diamond spark outshone the common air
With purer radiance, nor the setting sun
Stream'd on the window of cathedral fair
A deeper blaze, to tell his course was run:
I gazed again; and lo! that Mirror soon
With tenderest lustre smiled, like a September moon.

Unto another world it opening gave.
There, castles stood majestic in their prime,
And mailed chieftains, rising from the grave,
Their banners hung o'er battlements sublime.
Oft changed the magic scene; here Lady bright,
In hazel grove, beneath the western star,
Listened the love-tale of her faithful Knight;
Here the red beacon blazed, and to the war
Fierce clans come rushing, while the blaze illumes
Targe, spear, and battle-axe, and widely-tossing plumes.

How sweet the moon on yon fair abbey shone!
Bathing in liquid light, so sadly faint,
The flowerets drooping pale in sculptured stone,
And the still image of each mouldering saint.
And what may bring a Warrior's crested head
Unto these holy courts and cloisters dim?
Thou daring spirit, why disturb the dead?
Yawns the damp tomb, and lo! a spectre grim,
Yet with his dead face beautiful withal,
Lies mid immortal light that fills the vaulted hall.

The abbey melted like a cloud away,
And many a gorgeous pageant charm'd my heart:
But how may I recount in feeble lay
The beauteous marvels of that wizard's art?
No! not unto myself dare I to tell
What various visions o'er that Mirror roll'd,
Till view'd my soften'd soul a lovely dell,
Where upon Yarrow's banks a Minstrel old
Did sit, and wake to lords and ladies high
The last-expiring strains of Border Minstrelsy.

Gone was the magic glass! I look'd around;
There hung the castle, like a thunder-cloud
Above the darken'd sea, whose hollow sound
Subdued my spirit more than tempest loud.
And by my side, upon that solemn shore,
That wizard strange did like an image stand,
Watching the working of the ancient lore
That o'er the glass had pass'd at his command;
And when he saw me lost in wild surprise,
Once more he flash'd its light upon my startled eyes.

Ye lesser glories, in my spirit sleep!
But proudly fling thy white arms to the sea,
Queen of the unconquer'd North! lo! yonder deep,
With all his subject waves, doth worship thee!
Stately thou sittest on thy mountain throne,
Thy towers and temples like a cloudy sky;
And scarce canst tell what fabrics are thine own,
Hung mid the air-built phantoms floating by.
Oh! ne'er may that bright diadem be shorn,
By thee, for many an age, majestically worn!

Nor dim and silent were thy regal halls
(The mansion, now, of grief and solitude!)
But mirth and music shook thy pictured walls,
And Scotland's monarch reign'd in Holy-Rood.
Well did I know, 'mid banneret and peer,
Star of the Stuart-line, accomplish'd James!
His graceful words I almost seem'd to hear,
As, lightly ranging mid those high-born dames,
To each, in turn, some gallant wish he sigh'd,
But lingered still near one, his ruin and his pride!

Thou field of carnage! silent be thy name!
Where Scotland's royal standard sank in blood;
While round their monarch, like a guardian flame
Wasted in vain, his dying nobles stood.
Gladly I saw dark clouds in tumult pass
O'er that red sea of horror and despair;
And the last image in the magic glass,
Even like the seraph Mercy, saintly fair,
Over her wounded foe hung sorrowing,
And slaked his burning thirst with water from the spring.

"Dry up those tears," the gentle wizard cried,
"Nor weep while nature in her glory smiles!"—
And lo! with sylvan mountains beautified,
Incumbent cliffs, lone bays, and fairy isles,
Floated a lake that I could scarce behold,
So bright it gleam'd with its enchanted waves!
While ever and anon wild music roll'd
From fractur'd rocks, and undiscover'd caves,
As if some spirit warbled from the steep
A low unearthly song, to charm the lake to sleep.

A spirit! — lo! her fairy vessel glides
Round the green edge of yonder oaken brake!
Before its prow the sparkling wave divides
In homage to the Lady of the Lake.
While, gazing from the shore, an armed Knight
Holds distant parley with that unknown Queen,
Whose eyes, with fear and wonder glistening bright,
Lend a new wildness to the mountain scene!
O lovelier far, in that bewilder'd trance,
Than Lady of the Mere, by shores of old romance!

Wild rose her palace, 'mid the unbroken calm,
Burning with flowers, that like a wreath of light
Girdled the living dome, and breathing balm
Sweet to the soul, as all those hues so bright!
The work of human hands it may not be,
And unto dreams of fairy power gave birth;
Yet, mid such dreams, the spirit paused to see
Some dim-discover'd traces of this earth,
While on that lady's countenance divine
A pensive shadow lay, that told her mortal line.

Yea! worldly cares to that enchanted dome,
Despite of Nature's guardian power, intrude;
Though bathed in sunshine, yet a stormy gloom
Is gathering o'er the hermit-solitude.
In evil hour yon princely stranger came!
For ambush'd foemen glare from every dell:—
Clan-Alpin hath beheld the Cross of Flame,
The sign of war her children love so well;
And all her heathery mountains teem with life,
With warriors gaunt and grim, and arm'd for mortal strife.

Lake, rock, and mountain, cataract and flood,
Mine eyes behold no more; with eager breath,
I gaze on clashing falchions dim'd with blood,
And plumed helms that seem to frown with death.
One of those shapes so beautiful and brave,
Like oak-tree sternly bending to the blast,
Must fall this day — but proud shall be his grave!
In wrath life's bootless energy hath past!—
Fallen is the eagle that so strongly flew—
Long Celtic bards shall wail the dirge of Roderick Dhu.

Oh! not by vulgar arm was Roderick slain!
Less than a king the victor may not be:
See! how his war-steed bears him o'er the plain,
How nods his crest with regal majesty!
Strevlina's gate may bow her lofty head
To kiss the plume that mock'd each hostile sword,
Nor by such homage be dishonoured:
Methinks, in his disguise, she knows her lord,
As if beneath her arch King James did ride,
With all his unhelm'd peerage by his gracious side.

By kingly acts a king should aye be known!
Then look through yonder lustre-beaming hall:
Stately the figures there, — yea! every one!
But Scotland's monarch far outshines them all.
And is she here, the Lady of the Lake?
Hush thy quick-beating heart, thou trembling thing!
And let him smile who suffers for thy sake.
On your betrothed arms the golden ring
The Knight of Snowden's kingly hands impose,
A talisman that breaks the spell of all your woes.

The wizard's voice here touched upon my heart,
And quick I waked, like one who, scarce asleep,
Springs from his slumber with a sudden start
To shun some yawning gulph, or headlong steep.
"Thou lov'st," said he, "on warlike pomp to gaze;
'Tis a true Scottish pride — look here again,
And dream no more of deeds of other days."—
Glad I obey'd, — and lo! the shores of Spain
Rose beautifully terrible like heaven,
When all it's lowering clouds in wrathful hosts are driven.

Woe to yon tyrant! to his legions woe!
Joy to the vulture on his herbless rock!
Glad would ye be to hear the Ebro flow
Once more, and leave the shepherd with his flock,
Ye savage slaves, that shame the name of France!—
But ne'er that sound of safety must ye hear.
List ye that tread? — the red-cross ranks advance!
Vain valour's stand, and vain the flight of fear;
For who shall live, when, shouting in their joy,
The British brother-bands move onwards to destroy!

Wasted on air were these warm words of mine—
The wizard and his magic glass were fled;
The solemn hush, that speaks the day's decline,
Across the sea without a wave was shed.
The rooks had ceased their cawing in the sky,
Nor humm'd the wild-bee on the wall-flower bright,
That on the old tower bloom'd luxuriantly;
Then rose the lovely star that brings the night,
Till Luna enter'd on her placid reign,
And a sweet crescent smiled, reflected from the main.

Uranus

The Edinburgh Annual Register Volume 15, 1822, edited by Walter Scott, contains a biography of William Herschel, who died that year, and who discovered the planet Uranus on March 13^th, 1781. 

‘…In the course of his observations, which were continued for eighteen months, he had the good fortune to remark, that a star, which had been recorded by Bode as a fixed star, was progressively changing its position.  Prolonged attention to it enabled him to determine that it was a hitherto undiscovered planet…This important discovery he made on the 13^th of March 1781, and bestowed on the planet the name of Georgium Sidus, in complement to the King of England, but the astronomers on the Continent chose to call it Herschell, in honour of the discoverer, an appellation that was subsequently changed to Uranus, as being consistent with the received astronomical nomenclature…’

Princess Charlotte's Funeral

Princess Charlotte of Wales left life tragically, on November 6^th, 1817.  Having been bled for medical reasons over the course of several days while pregnant, she weakened and died of postpartum bleeding after childbirth.  She was only 21, and recently married to Prince Leopold.  Her death impacted many, with businesses closing down for weeks.

In The Edinburgh Annual Register (vol 19), which Sir Walter Scott edited, Charlotte is referenced in association with a couple of the notable obituaries of the day (Eminent Characters Deceased):

‘The Rev. C. M. Cracherode, M.A….During the last year he spent several months at Worthing, in Sussex, where he resided in the mansion which had been for a short time occupied by the lamented Princess Charlotte of Wales….

Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles left the shores of England for his new station, in November 1817, having been detained at Falmouth by contrary winds long enough to receive the melancholy intelligence of the death of the lamented Princess Charlotte, whose friendship, together with that of her illustrious consort, he had the distinguished gratification to enjoy; and his first public act, on his arrival in his new government, was the forwarding of an address of condolence to his Majesty, on that most mournful event.’

In addition to the emotion surrounding her death, a religious controversy developed, which is recorded in the journal of Lord Henry Cockburn, and involves an event which occurred on November 19, 1817:

‘...Shortly after this we were thrown into an uproar by a point of Calvinistic orthodoxy. Moved by the sad and unexpected death of the Princess Charlotte, which had melted all hearts, every clergyman in Edinburgh, except one, following the universal example, had religious service in his church on the 19th of November 1817, the day of her funeral, which was what we call a week-day—that is, not a Sunday. This, in Scotland, was not in obedience to the Royal proclamation, which we sons of Calvin always despise, but solely from natural decency and piety. Addressing their flocks on such an occasion, of course they all introduced the poor Princess, her virtues and her fate; and this in most cases probably amounted to a funeral sermon. But the Reverend Andrew Thomson maintained that all such sermons are repugnant to the presbyterian system, and dangerous in themselves from their tendency to degenerate into sycophantish eulogy: and perhaps he was right in this. But most clearly he was wrong in bringing discredit on his party, by being the only minister who shocked the universal feeling by acting on this principle on this occasion. Several of his brethren entreated him to yield.' Sir Harry in particular remonstrated and implored. But a useless personal battle, in which his will was on one side and all the world on the other, had always irresistible charms to Thomson. So he stood out; and while crowds rolled into every other church, the gates of his were closed, and he himself was made happy by being universally abused. On the following Sunday he preached on death, and alluded to the recent calamity, in a manner that disarmed those that heard him; and for the edification of those who did not, he published a pamphlet, demonstrating that everybody was wrong except himself. Possibly they were: but it seems odd how notices of striking deaths, which is so common on Sundays, and was so even in Thomson's own practice, should be so bad on every other day...’

Richard Porson

The man for whom the term Porsoniana came into being, ceased being on September 25, 1808.  Much can be learned of Richard Porson by reading William Maltby’s “Porsoniana”, a collection of anecdotes concerning the eponymous subject.  An exceptionally talented individual, by all accounts, he was also one who could begin the morning with porter, and spend the night with other legal beverages.  Porson made his mark in classical scholarship, and even merited a literary law being named after him (Porson's Law).  

The Edinburgh Annual Register (1808), edited by Walter Scott, carries a substantial obituary on Mr. Porson.

Sept. 25. Richard Porson, M. A. Greek professor at Cambridge.

Yesterday the remains of Professor Porson were removed from the London Institution, Old Jewry, to be deposited in Trinity College Chapel, Cambridge. The hearse, accompanied by four mourning coaches and six private carriages, arrived at Cambridge this day at two o'clock. The body lay in the hall, in state, till five, at which hour the Lord Bishop of Bristol, (master of the college), the vice-master, senior and junior fellows, bachelors of arts, scholars, and other members resident in the university, in their academical habits, and in black scarfs, bands, and gloves, walked from the combination-room, accompanied by the chief-mourners into the hall; and, after moving round the body, which was placed in the midst, they took their seats, the chief-mourners being placed onthe right hand and left of the master. Several epitaphs in Greek and English verse, the effusions of reverential respect for his high attainments, and of love for his virtues, were placed on the pall, and were read with the most sympathetic interest by his former associates in study. An anthem was chaunted by the choir; and the body was then conveyed to the chapel, supported by the eight senior fellows, and followed by the junior fellows, bachelors, scholars, and servants of the college two and two.

On entering the chapel, which was illuminated, the Lord Bishop, chief-mourners, and all the members of the college took their places, and the choir performed an anthem. After which, the lord bishop read the lesson, and the procession moved in the same order to the grave, which was at the foot of the statue of Sir Isaac Newton, and surrounded by those of all the illustrious persons which this college has produced. When they had taken their stations round the grave, and the body was placed above it ready for interment, the funeral anthem was performed by the choir, in the adjoining chapel, during the most perfect silence of the auditory, and with the most solemn effect. The service was then read by the lord bishop with as awful, dignified, and impressive a pathos as was ever witnessed on any former solemnity of the kind. He was himself overwhelmed as he proceeded by his feelings; and he communicated the sympathetic emotion to every listening friend of the deceased. Nothing could be more solemn nor more affecting than his tone and delivery. The whole assembly seemed to be oppressed with sorrow at the irreparable loss which the university, and the world in general, had sustained by the death of such an ornament of literature.

Professor Porson was born at East Ruston, in Norfolk, on Christmasday, 1759. Exhibiting evident signs of prodigious genius, he was sent to Eton by Mr Norris; and by the exertions of his friends was enabled to enter a student at Trinity College, in 1777. In 1781, he took his degree of master of arts, and in 1791 was elected Greek professor of Cambridge, with a salary of but 40£. a year. In 1795, he married Mrs Lunan, sister of Mr Perry, editor of the Morning Chronicle, but who sank under a decline in April 1797. It is needless here to enter into an enumeration of his literary compositions, or to appreciate their merit, as they are known to every classical scholar throughout Europe.

In the Courts

‘Yesterday there was a bother with the Chancellor about Lord Westmeath’s case pending before the Privy Council.[a marital dispute] He took it into his head (probably having been got at by Lady Westmeath or some of her friends) to have it decided forthwith, and sent to desire a Committee might be convened. Westmeath’s counsel was out of town; Follett, whom he relies on, is on the Northern Circuit, but his other counsel is to be had, being at Chislehurst. Accordingly the Chancellor desired that the case might stand over from Thursday, the day he first appointed it (giving only two days’ notice), to Monday, and that it should be notified to the parties that if they did not then appear the case should go on without them. Westmeath came to me in a frenzy of rage, and said the Chancellor was the greatest of villains, and so he would tell him in the House of Lords or in the Privy Council. I begged him to hold his tongue, and I would speak to the Chancellor. So I went to the House of Lords where he was sitting, and told Lemarchant what had passed, and that the case ought not to be thus hurried on. He thanked me very much, and said he would go to Brougham; [120] but he soon returned, and said that the Chancellor would hear nothing, and would have the case brought on, and he therefore advised me not to give myself any further concern in it, and to leave him and Westmeath to settle it as they might. In the meantime Westmeath went down to the House of Lords, and after speaking to Wynford, whom the Chancellor had asked to attend (as he learnt from me), was going to get up in the House of Lords and attack him, and was only prevented by Wynford dragging him down by the tail of his coat. I had already spoken to Wynford, and I afterwards spoke to Lord Lansdowne, telling them that the case ought not to be hurried on in this peremptory way, and I persuaded Lord Lansdowne to set his face against it. However, in the meantime Wynford had urged the Chancellor to put it off, and not exasperate that madman, who would say or do something violent; and, whether from reason or fear, he prevailed on him. Wynford told me that Brougham is undoubtedly mad, and so I really believe he is. ..

The note above comes from Charles Greville’s memoirs; entry dated August 14, 1834.  It seems odd now that what would be considered a family court type of case (in the States) would involve the upper reaches of the judiciary system, but such was the case in the early 1800’s for the nobility. It appears that a substantial amount of time was devoted to Marquess George Nugent’s situation.  A  deed of separation had been granted at an earlier date (~ 1827), and some additional background is found in The Edinburgh Annual Register (volume 18), edited by Sir Walter Scott, and dated January 3^rd, 1825:

Sessions Court, Dublin.

The trial of an indictment, which commenced on Monday, the 3d inst., has been before the Court for several days ;—the King, in the prosecution of the Marquis of Westmeath, v. Anne Connell alias Jones, John Monaghan, Edward Bennett, William Mackenzie, Bernard Maguire, and Patrick Farley. They were charged with conspiring falsely to accuse Lord Westmeath of adultery with Anne Connell, and thus to support Lady Westmeath's application for a divorce against Lord Westmeath. The depositions of the defendant, Anne Connell, were read, in which she swore to many repeated acts of adultery committed with Lord W.; her first acquaintance with him originating in the circumstance of her appearing before him, as a magistrate, to swear an illegitimate child to another person. On the other hand, Lord W. positively swore that he had never before seen the woman in his life; and all the consequences of this denial would follow as a matter of course. —On the third day, Mr. Justice Moore summed up, and the Jury returned a verdict of guilty against Anne Connell, John Monaghan, and Patrick Farley.—Mr Justice Moore: Gentlemen, I never saw or heard of a more reasonable and discerning verdict. It is creditable to yourselves, and of advantage to the public.

Meteor and Earthquake

Did anyone see the Perseid meteor shower last night?  I missed it.  Chambers’ “Book of Days” reports that an earthquake, rare for the British Isles, struck on August 13^th, 1816.  The trembler was apparently felt through much of Scotland.  In fact, there were several incidences over several days, beginning August 11^th,.  A meteor is also mentioned, a story which The London Times of August 21, 1816 picked up.

From the Times (as published at http://www.sacred-texts.com/fort/land/land13.htm): ‘…it is said that, at the time of the quake of August 13, a luminous object, or a "small meteor," had been seen at Dunkeld, near Comrie; and, according to David Milne (Edin. New Phil. Jour., 31-110), a resident of Comrie had reported "a large luminous body, bent like a crescent, which stretched itself over the heavens."

From the Edinburgh Annual Register (vol 9), which Walter Scott edited:

‘Dunkeld, Aug. 13th.—Extract of a letter.—This night, about eleven o'clock, the shock of an earthquake was felt here. “My house felt as if moved from its base; my family were much alarmed; and my son, in stepping into bed, was nearly thrown on the floor. I have felt several, but none more sensibly than this night. Stepping into a neighbour's house soon after, I found his family in great terror, the shock having had the effect of nearly spilling the liquor on the table, as they were sitting together after supper. About this time, a small meteor was seen to pass from east to west, though the shock seemed to come from the west.

Earthquake.—Inverness, August 11th.—This place was last night visited with a severe and distinct shock of an earthquake, about a quarter before 11 o'clock. The walls of houses could be observed to shake. The shock lasted for about five seconds, and alarmed the people very much. The streets were crowded to excess; every person hurrying to the fields. On going out, a glow of heat was very sensibly felt, resembling that on approaching a baker's oven. The appearance of the atmosphere was calm and serene. No serious accident happened here; several chimney stalks have been thrown down, but fortunately no lives were lost.

Montrose, Aug. 14th.—Last night, about eleven o'clock, three distinct shocks of an earthquake were felt; the bells in our house rang, and the plates rattled against one another; many people left their houses and went to the streets.

On Tuesday night, about eleven o'clock, a shock of an earthquake was distinctly felt in this city. It took place at four minutes before eleven o'clock, and continued, as nearly as we could estimate, about six seconds. The undulation appeared to come from S.S.E. and was simultaneously felt to the distance of some miles, in the direction N.N.W. Where we sat, the house was shaken to its foundation, the heaviest articles of furniture were moved, and a rumbling noise was heard, as if some heavy body was rolling along the roof. In many houses the bells were set a ringing, and the agitation of the wires continued visible for some time after the cessation of the shock. It has been described to us by one who was in Lisbon at that period, as exactly resembling the commencement of the earthquake in that city, on the 6th of June 1807. A second, but more partial shock, was felt at half-past eleven; since which time (blessed be God), we have had no return of this awful, and, in our happy country, unusual visitation of his providence. The air, during the night, was mild and calm, with clear moonlight; and the only appearance after the shocks, was that of a thin whitish vapour settling on the surrounding hills

---Aberdeen, Aug. 14^th

Perth, Aug. 15th.—On Tuesday night, about a quarter before 11 o'clock, two smart shocks of an earthquake, the second of which succeeded the first at the interval of half a minute, were felt in this city, and over the greater part of the neighbourhood, particularly in the low grounds. The effects of the shocks were perceptible for several seconds, and in some places were so violent, as to shake the windows, and cause a rattling noise among the slates. Persons in bed felt a sensible agitation, or rather concussion, in an upward direction; and if the bed happened to be in contact with the wall, a lateral shock was also felt. In some houses the chairs and tables were moved backwards and forwards, and even the bells began a ringing. Birds in cages were thrown down from the sticks on which they were perched, and exhibited evident signs of fear. A hollow rumbling noise was heard by different individuals, which seemed to die away in the west. The air at the time was clear and serene. Similar effects were perceived, about the same time, at Dunkeld, in the Carse of Cowrie, and Strathearn.’

Samuel Rogers

Samuel Rogers, the English poet, was born on July 30, 1763.  Popular in his day, Rogers is largely forgotten now, but he influenced literature and other poets in his day.  Walter Scott commented on Rogers in the Edinburgh Annual Register, for 1808:

'The followers and imitators of Campbell would probably rejoice more in being termed of the school of Goldsmith or Johnson: yet when we read the Pleasures of Friendship, the Pleasures of Solitude, the Pleasures of Love, and so forth, — or even when we see such titles in an advertisement, — we are naturally led to think the subjects could only have been chosen from the popularity of the Pleasures of Hope, or of the Pleasures of Memory. The latter beautiful poem probably gave Mr. Campbell the original hint of his plan, though it expanded into a more copious and holder field of composition than had been attempted by Mr. ROGERS, and contains beauties of a kind so different, that the resemblance of title is almost the only circumstance which connects them. The Pleasures of Memory is a gem in which the exquisite polish makes up for the inferiority of the water. There is not a line in it which has not been earnestly and successfully refined to melody, nor is there a description left unfinished, or broken off harshly. The sentiments are easy and elegant, and of that natural and pleasing tendency which always insures a favourable reception, even when destitute of novelty. We have in Mr. Rogers' poetry none of Campbell's sublime bursts of moral eloquence, which exalt us above the ordinary feelings of our nature; but we are gently and placidly led into a current of sentiment most congenial to all the charities and domestic attachments of life. Yet those who have by heart the Deserted Village of Goldsmith, will hardly allow Mr. Rogers' title to originality. Something he has gained over his model by an intimate acquaintance with the fine arts, and the capacity of appreciating their most capital productions. The delicacy and accuracy of discrimination inseparable from such attainments, diffuses, through his poetry, a certain shade of classical and chastened taste, which may serve, perhaps, more than any of the circumstances we have mentioned, to discriminate his productions from those of his contemporaries.'

Ely and Littleport Riots

'At the town of Littleport in the Isle of Ely, (the peculiarly distressed situation of which district we have already detailed,) the popular discontent broke out at last in a shape of alarm which might at length entitle it to the name of an insurrection. The judicious conduct of Sir Henry Dudly, Bart, (who is both_ a clergymen and a magistrate) was mainly instrumental in putting an end to the scene of outrage which had thus commenced. The most resolute offenders were selected for punishment, and several of them underwent the last severity of the law by a sentence -of a Court of Special Commission, which sat immediately afterwards at Ely. '

The text above comes from the Edinburgh Annual Register, volume 9 of 1816, which Walter Scott edited.  The Ely and Littleport riots began on May 22, 1816, lasting into the next day.  Sir Henry Dudly led the militia in subduing the rioters, capturing eight-two of them.  On June 28, 1816, five of these were hanged.

Raid on the Medway

‘No sooner up but hear the sad newes confirmed of the Royall Charles being taken by them, and now in fitting by them — which Pett should have carried up higher by our several orders, and deserves, therefore, to be hanged for not doing it — and turning several others; and that another fleete is come up into the Hope. Upon which newes the King and Duke of York have been below —[Below London Bridge.]— since four o’clock in the morning, to command the sinking of ships at Barking-Creeke, and other places, to stop their coming up higher: which put me into such a fear, that I presently resolved of my father’s and wife’s going into the country; and, at two hours’ warning, they did go by the coach this day, with about 1300l.…Every minute some one or other calls for this or that order; and so I forced to be at the office, most of the day, about the fire-ships which are to be suddenly fitted out: and it’s a most strange thing that we hear nothing from any of my brethren at Chatham;…

But we hear that the fleete in the Hope is not come up any higher the last flood; and Sir W. Batten tells me that ships are provided to sink in the River, about Woolwich, that will prevent their coming up higher if they should attempt it. I made my will also this day, and did give all I had equally between my father and wife, and left copies of it in each of Mr. Hater and W. Hewer’s hands, who both witnessed the will, and so to supper and then to bed, and slept pretty well, but yet often waking.’

Samuel Pepys was in a dismal state on June 13, 1667, as the Dutch Raid on the Medway commenced.  Most of London must have been in the same state.  The Dutch completed a major naval victory over the British the next day.

Medway/Chatham have been an important component of Britain’s defences, and they are discussed approximately 150 years in the Edinburgh Annual Register, which Walter Scott edited.  ‘The arsenal of Sheerness offers works much more worthy of notice than those at Woolwich. Built on a swampy island formed by the conflux of the Thames and Medway, it was necessary, in the first instance, to close up a factitious ground with the carcases of old vessels sunk in the mud, side by side. A short time since government bought the half of the town, and have taken down the houses to enlarge the arsenal. They have also built along the Medway a magnificent quay of Cornwall granite, upon piles sunk forty-eight feet below the surface of the water…. The arsenal of Chatham also presents some new important hydraulic constructions. The old docks, which were in wood, are rebuilding on a very large scale in Portland stone. The old wooilen docks did not close with gates on turning their hinges, but with three great wooden pannels, set at low water, and kept in their places by solid stancheon«. They propose to enlarge the arsenal at Chatham very much : in fact they wish to double it, by taking advantage of a spacious island formed before the old part by the conflux of the Medway. The new part they intend solelj' for the building of new ships, and the other for re-fining the old ones. Thus, in spite of the colossal grandeur of the English navy, government aspire still higher; and, in the calm of peace, display more and more the essential elements of naval war…’