tions; his nation would become an historical relic; his language a dead-letter. The whole policy of keeping them a distinct people would be rendered vain, and the incalculable labour and expense the missionaries had been at, by translating the Scriptures, unnecessary. So, according to the Missionaries, the Maori must have separate laws, language, and rights.
The renewal of hostilities has, we think, been made too much of; not that we would anticipate any lasting good from the peace so hastily patched up before the recall of Colonel Gore Brown, and re-appointment of Sir George Grey. We are not at peace, and never shall be until a thorough revision of the system of government takes place.
Sir George Grey’s former governorship was highly popular, and he has been fixed upon as the only man likely to quell the disputes; time only can prove whether the reappointment is judicious or not: he understands the Maori character, as well as their language, songs, and legends; but he must adopt a different policy from that he followed formerly. He is returning to reap the harvest he assisted to sow, and it remains to be seen whether he will have the power to gather the sheafs into the garner and destroy the weeds of disunion and disaffection for ever.
THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.
Who was the Lass of Richmond Hill, and who composed the song and the words of it? This is a question which has been often asked, and not very satisfactorily answered, although many versions have been given, especially by some of the old inhabitants of Richmond. Amongst others, a certain pretty Miss Smith, who lived on Richmond Hill, and was a writer of poetry, was thought to be the Lass, and for this reason. Having one day made some purchases at a shop in Richmond, she was asked where they should be sent. She gave her name and address, but added, “I am better known as the ‘Lass of Richmond Hill,’” an answer probably arising from a little poetic vanity.
The following anecdote, related by Sir Jonah Barrington in his “Personal Sketches,” is amusing enough; but it must be added that what he tells us is not always to be depended on. If it were so, he has cleared up the difficulty as to the identity of the Lass of Richmond Hill.
He informs us that on the trial of Roger O’Connor, on a charge of robbing a mail-coach, a distinguished Irish barrister was engaged, Mr. Leonard McNally, author of a work on the “Law of Evidence,” and also of the song of “The Lass of Richmond Hill.” He was a great poetaster, and having fallen in love with a Miss Janson, the daughter of a very rich attorney of Bedford Row, London, he wrote on her the celebrated song of “The Lass of Richmond Hill,” her father having a house in that place. The young lady could not withstand this, and returned his flame. She was absolutely beautiful, but quite a slattern in her person. She likewise had a turn for versifying, and was therefore altogether well adapted to her lame lover, particularly as she never could spare time from her poetry to wash her hands, a circumstance in which McNally was sympathetic. The father, however, notwithstanding all this, refused his consent; and consequently McNally took advantage of his dramatic knowledge, by adopting the precedent of Barnaby Brittle, and bribed a barber to lather old Janson’s eyes as well as his chin, and with something rather sharper than Windsor soap. Slipping out of the room whilst her father was getting rid of the lather and the smart, this Sappho, and her limping Phaon (for McNally was lame) escaped, and were united in the holy bands of matrimony the same day. She continued making, and McNally correcting verses, till they were called out of this world. This curious couple conducted themselves both generally, and towards each other, extremely well after their union. Old Janson partly forgave them, and made some settlement on their children.
We regret that only a portion of this anecdote is true. Mr. Janson certainly had a house at Richmond, and Mr. McNally married his daughter, but the rest of the story may be considered as the result of the propensity of Sir Jonah Barrington to substitute fiction for truth—a second Sir Nathaniel Wraxall.
The fact is that Mr. Upton wrote the song of “The Lass of Richmond Hill,” and the music of it was composed by Mr. Hook, the father of Theodore Hook, although it was for a long time popularly ascribed to George the Fourth, then Prince of Wales, who was a fine musician. Mr. Upton composed many other songs for the convivial entertainments at Vauxhall Gardens, where they were sung by Incledon: they are probably familiar to most of our readers.
THE COCKHORSE REGIMENT.
When the Thirty Years War was finally brought to a termination by the treaty of peace of Westphalia, which was concluded at Nüremburg in 1560, the civic authorities of that place ordered in commemoration public rejoicings of various kinds,—banquets, balls, fireworks, &c. But among all these public diversions, none was more distinguished for singularity and originality, and perhaps childish simplicity, than the procession of lads and boys on sticks or cockhorses. Thus mounted they rode, regularly divided into companies, through the streets, and halted before the hotel of the Red-Horse, where was staying the Imperial Commissioner Octavius Piccolomini, Duc d’Amali. The duke was so pleased with the novel cavalcade that he requested a repetition of the same procession at an early day of the following week, which they performed in much larger numbers. On arriving before his hotel, the duke distributed amongst them small square silver medals (of the value of about 5d. each) which he had in the interval caused to be struck. The coin represented on the obverse, a boy on a hobbyhorse with whip in hand, and the year 1560 was inscribed in the centre, while the reverse represented the double eagle and armorial bearings of Austria, with the inscription: “Vivat Ferdinandus III. Rom. Imp. vivat!”
