The doctor, &c., vol. 7 (of 7)

By Robert Southey

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Title: The doctor, &c., vol. 7 (of 7)

Author: Robert Southey

Editor: John Wood Warter

Release date: April 26, 2024 [eBook #73470]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green and Longman, 1834

Credits: Ron Swanson

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOCTOR, &C., VOL. 7 (OF 7) ***

THE DOCTOR, _&c._

There is a kind of physiognomy in the titles of books no less than in
the faces of men, by which a skilful observer will as well know what
to expect from the one as the other.

BUTLER'S REMAINS.

[Frontispiece: THE STATUES
(Fragment of Interchapter)
London: Longman & Co. 1847.]

THE DOCTOR, _&c._

[Illustration: a tetrahedron]

VOL. VII.

LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.

1847.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY W. NICOL, PALL-MALL.

PREFACE.

INVENIAS ETIAM DISJECTI MEMBRA POETÆ.

The present Volume contains all that it is thought advisable to
publish of the Papers and Fragments for THE DOCTOR, &C. Some of these
Papers, as in the former Volume, were written out fair and ready for
Publication—but the order, and the arrangement intended is altogether
unknown.

I have taken care to examine the different extracts,—and occasionally
I have added a note or an explanation, where such seemed to be needed.
The whole has been printed with scrupulous exactness from the MSS. The
Epilude of Mottoes is a selection from such as had not been worked up
in the body of the work. Some of them may possibly have been used
before—but if so, it has escaped my recollection.—

_Mihi dulces
Ignoscent, si quid peccâro stultus, amici,
Inque vicem illorum patiar delicta libenter._

JOHN WOOD WARTER.

_Vicarage, West-Tarring,
Sussex.
Sept. 14th, 1847._

PRELUDE OF MOTTOES.

Well: we go on.

MERIC CASAUBON.

_Ventri utinam pax sit, sic variante cibo._

VENANTIUS FORTUNATUS.

I had forgot one half, I do protest,
And now am sent again to speak the rest.

DRYDEN.

Well said, Master Doctor, well said;
By the mass we must have you into the pulpit.

LUSTY JUVENTUS.

Why this is quincy quarie pepper de watchet single go-by, of all that
ever I tasted!

ROBERT GREENE.

_Alonso._ Prythee no more! thou dost talk nothing to me.

_Gonzalo._ I did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen who are of
such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at
nothing.

TEMPEST.

_Comme l'on voit, à l'ouvrir de la porte
D'un cabinet royal, maint beau tableau,
Mainte antiquaille, et tout ce que de beau
Le Portugais des Indes nous apporte;_

_Aussi deslors que l'homme qui medite,
Et est sçavant, commence de s'ouvrir,
Un grand thresor vient à se descouvrir,
Thresor cachè au puits de Democrite._

QUATRAINS DE PIBRAC.

_Cum enim infelicius nihil sit iis ingeniis, ut rectè J. Cæs. Scaliger
censet, quæ mordicùs sentiunt Majores nostros nihil ignorasse,
mancipium alienarum opinionum nunquam esse volui. Contra nec me puduit
ab aliis discere, et quædam ex iis in mea scripta transferre; quod
omnibus seculis ab omnibus viris doctis factitatum video, neminemque
adhuc inventum existimo, qui omnia, quæ in publicum edidit, in suo
cerebro nata esse gloriari potuerit. Invenient tamen, qui volent, in
meis aliqua, eaque à veritate non aliena, quæ in aliorum scriptis
forsan non ita sunt obvia. Verùm omnibus placere impossibile; et, ut
J. Cæs. Scaliger ait_

_Qui sevit, ab alto pluviam satis precatur;
At iter faciens imbribus imprecatur atris,
Non sæpe Deus placet; et tu placere credis?_

_Ideoque invidorum obtrectationibus nihil motus, tomum sextum_
Doctoris _in publicum edidi, ac septimum jam in manus sumam, et in eo
quousque D. O. M. placuerit, progredior. In quo ipso etiam etsi non
pauca quæ obtrectationi malevolorum et invidorum obnoxia esse
poterunt, dicenda erunt, proferam tamen ea liberè._

SENNERTUS.

Tired of thee, my Opus? that is impossible!

_οὐδὲ μεστὸς σοῦ γέγον᾽ οὐδεὶς πώποτε.
τῶν μὲν γὰρ ἄλλων ἐστὶ πάντων πλησμόνή·
ἔρωτος,
ἄρτων,
μουσικῆς,
τραγημάτων,
τιμῆς,
πλακούντων,
ἀνδραγαθίας,
ἰσχάδων,
φιλοτιμίας,
μάζης,
στρατηγίας,
φακῆς.
σοῦ δ᾽ ἐγένετ᾽ οὐδεὶς μεστὸς οὐδεπώποτε._

ARISTOPHANES.

I desire the unlearned readers not to be offended for that I have in
some places intermixed Greek and Latin—(and other tongues) with the
English. For, I have an especial regard unto young scholars and
students, unto whom it is not possible to be expressed what great
utility, benefit and knowledge doth redound, of conferring one strange
language with another. Neither is it to be doubted, but that such as
are towards the discipline of good literature in divers tongues, may
of such doings as this, pick out as much utility and furtherance of
their studies, as the unlearned shall take pleasure and fruit of the
English for their use. Whoso careth not for the Latin may pass it
over, and satisfy himself with the English. Who passeth not on the
Greek, may semblably pass it over, and make as though he see none
such. There is in this behalf no man's labour lost but mine, and yet
not that all lost neither, if my good zeal and honest intent to do
good to all sorts, be in good part interpreted and accepted.

NICHOLAS UDALL.

Truly for the Englishman to be offended with the admixtion of Latin,
or the Latin-man to dislike the powdering of Greek, appeareth unto me
a much like thing, as if at a feast with variety of good meats and
drinks furnished, one that loveth to feed of a capon should take
displeasure that another man hath appetite to a coney; or one that
serveth his stomach with a partridge should be angry with another that
hath a mind to a quail; or one that drinketh small beer, should be
grieved with his next fellow for drinking ale or wine.

NICHOLAS UDALL.

If food and amusement are wanted for the body, what does he deserve
who finds food and amusement for the mind?

GNOMICA.

_Mai voi,—seguitate il ragionamento del Dottore; et mostrateci, come
havete bona memoria; che credo se saperete ritaccarlo ove lo
lasciaste, non farete poco._

CASTIGLIONE.

If any complain of obscurity, they must consider, that in these
matters it cometh no otherwise to pass than in sundry the works both
of art and also of nature, where that which hath greatest force in the
very things we see, is, notwithstanding, itself oftentimes not seen.
The stateliness of horses, the goodliness of trees, when we behold
them delighteth the eye; but that foundation which beareth up the one,
that root which ministreth unto the other nourishment and life, is in
the bosom of the earth concealed; and if there be at any time occasion
to search into it, such labour is then more necessary than pleasant,
both to them which undertake it, and for the lookers on.

HOOKER.

_Alcuni—dicono ch'io ho creduto formar me stesso, persuadendomi che le
conditioni ch'io al Dottore attribuisco, tutte siano in me. A' questi
tali non voglio già negar di non haver tentato tutto quello, ch'io
vorrei che sapesse il_ Dottore; _et penso che chi non havesse havuto
qualche notitia delle cose che nel libro si trattano, per erudito che
fosse stato, male haverebbe potuto scriverle: ma io non son tanto
privo di giudicio in conoscere me stesso, che mi presuma saper tutto
quello, che so desiderare._

CASTIGLIONE.

In a building,—if it be large, there is much to be done in preparing
and laying the foundation, before the walls appear above ground; much
is doing within, when the work does not seem, perhaps, to advance
without, and when it is considerably forward, yet being encumbered
with scaffolds and rubbish, a byestander sees it at great
disadvantage, and can form but an imperfect judgement of it. But all
this while the architect himself, even from the laying of the first
stone, conceives of it according to the plan and design he has formed;
he prepares and adjusts the materials, disposing each in its proper
time and place, and views it in idea as already finished. In due
season it is compleated, but not in a day. The top-stone is fixed, and
then, the scaffolds and rubbish being removed, it appears to others as
he intended it should be.

JOHN NEWTON.

_Non si dea adunque l'uomo contentare di fare le cose buone, ma dee
studiare di farle anco leggiadre. E non è altro leggiadria, che una
cotale quasi luce, che risplende dalla convenevolezza delle cose, che
sono ben composte, e ben divisate l'una con l'altra, e tutte insieme;
senza la quel misura eziandio il bene non è bello, e la bellezza non è
piacevole._

M. GIO. DELLA CASA, GALATEO.

Pick out of mirth, like stones out of thy ground
Profaneness, filthiness, abusiveness;
These are the scum with which coarse wits abound;
The few may spare them well.

HERBERT.

The wise,—weighs each thing as it ought,
Mistakes no term, nor sentence wrests awry;
The fond will read awhile, but cares for nought,
Yet casts on each man's work a frowning eye.
This neither treats of matters low nor high,
But finds a meane, that each good meaning might
In all true means take Charity aright.

CHURCHYARD.

While others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity.
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
Is—plain and true;—there's all the reach of it.

SHAKESPEARE.

_τούτων οὖν οὓνεκα παντων,
ὅτι σοφρονικῶς, κοὐκ ἀνοήτως ἐσπήδησας ἐφλυάρει,
αἴρεσθ᾽ αὐτῷ πολὺ τὸ ῥόθιον, παραπέμψατ᾽ ἐφ᾽ ἓνδεκα κώπαις
θόρυβον χρηστὸν ληναΐτην,
ἳν᾽ ὁ ποιητὴς ἀπίῃ χαίρων,
κατὰ νοῦν πράξας,
φαιδρὸς λάμποντι μετώπῳ._

ARISTOPHANES.

_Io vorrei, Monsignor, solo tant' arte
Ch'io potessi, per longo e per traverso,
Dipingervi il mio cor in queste carte._

LUDOVICO DOLCE.

_Nous nous aimons un peu, c'est notre faible à tous;
Le prix que nous valons qui le sçait mieux que nous?
Et puis la mode en est, et la cour l'autorise
Nous parlons de nous mêmes avec tout franchise._

CORNEILLE.

_Mes paroles sont un peu de dure digestion pour la foiblesse des
estomacs d' à present. Mais si on les remâche bien, on en tirera
beaucoup de substance._

MADEMOISELLE BOURIGNON.

_Supersunt etiam plurima quæ dici possint in hanc materiam, quibus pro
vitando fastidio, supersedendum puto; ut si quis eadem conari velit,
habiat etiamnum aliquid in quo exerceat industriam._

REN. RAPIN.

I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in the writing.

QUARLES.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER CCI.—p. 1.

QUESTION CONCERNING THE USE OF TONGUES.—THE ATHANASIAN
CONFESSORS.—GIBBON'S RELATION OF THE SUPPOSED MIRACLE OF TONGUES.—THE
FACTS SHOWN TO BE TRUE, THE MIRACLE IMAGINARY, AND THE HISTORIAN THE
DUPE OF HIS OWN UNBELIEF.

_Perseveremus, peractis quæ rem continebant, scrutari etiam ea quæ, si
vis verum connexa sunt, non cohærentia; quæ quisquis diligenter
inspicit, nec facit operæ prætium, nec tamen perdit operam._

SENECA.

CHAPTER CCII.—p. 15.

A LAW OF ALFRED'S AGAINST LYING TONGUES. OBSERVATIONS ON LAX ONES.

As I have gained no small satisfaction to myself,—so I am desirous
that nothing that occurs here may occasion the least dissatisfaction
to others. And I think it will be impossible any thing should, if they
will be but pleased to take notice of my design.

HENRY MORE.

CHAPTER CCIII.—p. 23.

WHETHER A MAN AND HIMSELF BE TWO.—MAXIM OF BAYLE'S.—ADAM LITTLETON'S
SERMONS,—A RIGHT HEARTED OLD DIVINE WITH WHOM THE AUTHOR HOPES TO BE
BETTER ACQUAINTED IN A BETTER WORLD.—THE READER REFERRED TO HIM FOR
EDIFICATION.—WHY THE AUTHOR PURCHASED HIS SERMONS.

_Parolles._ Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee.

_Clown._ Did you find me in yourself, Sir? or were you taught to find
me? The search, Sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in
you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

CHAPTER CCIV.—p. 35.

ADAM LITTLETON'S STATEMENT THAT EVERY MAN IS MADE UP OF THREE
EGOS,—DEAN YOUNG—DISTANCE BETWEEN A MAN'S HEAD AND HIS HEART.

Perhaps when the Reader considers the copiousness of the argument, he
will rather blame me for being too brief than too tedious.

DR. JOHN SCOTT.

CHAPTER CCV.—p. 41.

EQUALITY OF THE SEXES,—A POINT ON WHICH IT WAS NOT EASY TO COLLECT THE
DOCTOR'S OPINION.—THE SALIC LAW.—DANIEL ROGERS'S TREATISE OF
MATRIMONIAL HONOUR.—MISS HATFIELD'S LETTERS ON THE IMPORTANCE OF THE
FEMALE SEX, AND LODOVICO DOMENICHI'S DIALOGUE UPON THE NOBLENESS OF
WOMEN.

Mirths and toys
To cozen time withal: for o' my troth, Sir
I can love,—I think well too,—well enough;
And think as well of women as they are,—
Pretty fantastic things, some more regardful,
And some few worth a service. I'm so honest
I wish 'em all in Heaven and you know how hard, Sir,
'Twill be to get in there with their great farthingals.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

And not much easier now with their great sleeves.

AUTHOR, A.D. 1830.

CHAPTER CCVI.—p. 51.

THE SUBJECT CONTINUED.—OPINIONS OF THE RABBIS.—ANECDOTE OF LADY JEKYLL
AND A TART REPLY OF WILLIAM WHISTON'S.—JEAN D'ESPAGNE.—QUEEN ELIZABETH
OF THE QUORUM QUARUM QUORUM GENDER.—THE SOCIETY OF GENTLEMEN AGREE
WITH MAHOMET IN SUPPOSING THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS, BUT ARE OF OPINION
THAT THE DEVIL IS AN HERMAPHRODITE.

Sing of the nature of women; and then the song shall be surely full of
variety, old crotchets, and most sweet closes: it shall be humourous,
grave, fantastic, amorous, melancholy, sprightly, one in all and all
in one.

MARSTON.

CHAPTER CCVII.—p. 60.

FRACAS WITH THE GENDER FEMININE.—THE DOCTOR'S DEFENCE.

If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be—as they
are.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

CHAPTER CCVIII.—p. 66.

VALUE OF WOMEN AMONG THE AFGHAUNS.—LIGON'S HISTORY OF BARBADOES, AND A
FAVORITE STORY OF THE DOCTOR'S THEREFROM.—CLAUDE SEISSEL, AND THE
SALIC LAW.—JEWISH THANKSGIVING.—ETYMOLOGY OF MULIER, WOMAN, AND
LASS;—FROM WHICH IT MAY BE GUESSED HOW MUCH IS CONTAINED IN THE LIMBO
OF ETYMOLOGY.

If thy name were known that writest in this sort,
By womankind, unnaturally, giving evil report,
Whom all men ought, both young and old, defend with all their might,
Considering what they do deserve of every living wight,
I wish thou should exiled be from women more and less,
And not without just cause thou must thyself confess.

EDWARD MORE.

INTERCHAPTER XXIV.—p. 78.

A TRUE STORY OF THE TERRIBLE KNITTERS E' DENT WHICH WILL BE READ WITH
INTEREST BY HUMANE MANUFACTURERS, AND BY MASTERS OF SPINNING JENNIES
WITH A SMILE.—BETTY YEWDALE.—THE EXCURSION—AN EXTRACT FROM, AND AN
ILLUSTRATION OF.

_O voi ch' avete gl' intelletti sani,
Mirate la dottrina, che s' asconde
Sotto 'l velame degli versi strani._

DANTE.

CHAPTER CCIX.—p. 95.

EARLY APPROXIMATION TO THE DOCTOR'S THEORY.—GEORGE FOX.—ZACHARIAH BEN
MOHAMMED.—COWPER.—INSTITUTES OF MENU.—BARDIC PHILOSOPHY. MILTON.—SIR
THOMAS BROWNE.

There are distinct degrees of Being as there are degrees of Sound; and
the whole world is but as it were a greater Gamut, or scale of music.

NORRIS.

CHAPTER CCX.—p. 122.

A QUOTATION FROM BISHOP BERKELEY, AND A HIT AT THE SMALL CRITICS.

_Plusieurs blameront l'entassement de passages que l'on vient de voir;
j'ai prévu leurs dédains, leurs dégoûts, et leurs censures
magistrales; et n'ai pas voulu y avoir égard._

BAYLE.

CHAPTER CCXI.—p. 126.

SOMETHING IN HONOUR OF BISHOP WATSON.—CUDWORTH.—JACKSON OF OXFORD AND
NEWCASTLE.—A BAXTERIAN SCRUPLE.

_S'il y a des lecteurs qui se soucient peu de cela, on les prie de se
souvenir qu'un auteur n'est pas obligé à ne rien dire que ce qui est
de leur goût._

BAYLE.

CHAPTER CCXII.—p. 132.

SPECULATIONS CONNECTED WITH THE DOCTOR'S THEORY.—DOUBTS AND
DIFFICULTIES.

_Voilà bien des mysteres, dira-t-on; j'en conviens; aussi le sujet le
mérite-t-il bien. Au reste, il est certain que ces mysteres ne cachent
rien de mauvais._

GOMGAM.

CHAPTER CCXIII.—p. 143.

BIRDS OF PARADISE.—THE ZIZ.—STORY OF THE ABBOT OF ST. SALVADOR DE
VILLAR.—HOLY COLETTE'S NONDESCRIPT PET.—THE ANIMALCULAR
WORLD.—GIORDANO BRUNO.

And so I came to Fancy's meadows, strow'd
With many a flower;
Fain would I here have made abode,
But I was quickened by my hour.

HERBERT.

CHAPTER CCXIV.—p. 157.

FURTHER DIFFICULTIES.—QUESTION CONCERNING INFERIOR APPARITIONS.—BLAKE
THE PAINTER, AND THE GHOST OF A FLEA.

_In amplissimá causâ, quasi magno mari, pluribus ventis sumus vecti._

PLINY.

CHAPTER CCXV.—p. 164.

FACTS AND FANCIES CONNECTING THE DOCTOR'S THEORY WITH THE VEGETABLE
WORLD.

We will not be too peremptory herein: and build standing structures of
bold assertions on so uncertain a foundation; rather with the
Rechabites we will live in tents of conjecture, which on better reason
we may easily alter and remove.

FULLER.

CHAPTER CCXVI.—p. 174.

A SPANISH AUTHORESS.—HOW THE DOCTOR OBTAINED HER WORKS FROM
MADRID.—THE PLEASURE AND ADVANTAGES WHICH THE AUTHOR DERIVES FROM HIS
LANDMARKS IN THE BOOKS WHICH HE HAD PERUSED.

ALEX. _Quel es D. Diego aquel Arbol,
que tiene la copa en tierra
y las raizes arriba?_

DIEG. _El hombre._

EL LETRADO DEL CIELO.

CHAPTER CCXVII.—p. 182.

SOME ACCOUNT OF D. OLIVA SABUCO'S MEDICAL THEORIES AND PRACTICE.

_Yo—volveré
A nueva diligencia y paso largo,
Que es breve el tiempo, 's grande la memoria
Que para darla al mundo está á mi cargo._

BALBUENA.

CHAPTER CCXVIII.—p. 193.

THE MUNDANE SYSTEM AS COMMONLY HELD IN D. OLIVA'S AGE.—MODERN
OBJECTIONS TO A PLURALITY OF WORLDS BY THE REV. JAMES MILLER.

_Un cerchio immaginato ci bisogna,
A voler ben la spera contemplare;
Cosi chi intender questa storia agogna
Conviensi altro per altro immaginare;
Perchè qui non si canta, e finge, e sogna;
Venuto è il tempo da filosofare._

PULCI.

CHAPTER CCXIX.—p. 203.

THE ARGUMENT AGAINST CHRISTIANITY DRAWN FROM A PLURALITY OF WORLDS
SHEWN TO BE FUTILE: REMARKS ON THE OPPOSITE DISPOSITIONS BY WHICH MEN
ARE TEMPTED TO INFIDELITY.

—_ascolta
Siccome suomo di verace lingua;
E porgimi l'orecchio._

CHIABRERA.

CHAPTER CCXX.—p. 211.

DOÑA OLIVA'S PHILOSOPHY, AND VIEWS OF POLITICAL REFORMATION.

_Non vi par adunque che habbiamo ragionato a bastanza di questo?—A
bastanza parmi, rispose il Signor Gaspar; par desidero io d'intendere
qualche particolarita anchor._

CASTIGLIONE.

CHAPTER CCXXI.—p. 220.

THE DOCTOR'S OPINION OF DOÑA OLIVA'S PRACTICE AND HUMANITY.

_Anchor dir si potrebber cose assai
Che la materia è tanto piena et folta,
Che non se ne verrebbe à capo mai,
Dunque fia buono ch'io suoni à raccolta._

FR. SANSOVINO.

INTERCHAPTER XXV.—p. 242.

A WISHING INTERCHAPTER WHICH IS SHORTLY TERMINATED, ON SUDDENLY
RECOLLECTING THE WORDS OF CLEOPATRA,—“WISHERS WERE EVER FOOLS.”

Begin betimes, occasion's bald behind,
Stop not thine opportunity, for fear too late
Thou seek'st for much, but canst not compass it.

MARLOWE.

CHAPTER CCXXII.—p. 245.

ETYMOLOGY.—UN TOUR DE MAÎTRE GONIN.—ROMAN DE VAUDEMONT AND THE LETTER
C.—SHENSTONE.—THE DOCTOR'S USE OF CHRISTIAN NAMES.

_Πρᾶγμα, πρᾶγμα μέγα κεκίνηται, μέγα._

ARISTOPHANES.

CHAPTER CCXXIII.—p. 259.

TRUE PRONUNCIATION OF THE NAME OF DOVE.—DIFFICULTIES OF PRONUNCIATION
AND PROSODY.—A TRUE AND PERFECT RHYME HIT UPON.

_Tal nombre, que a los siglos extendido,
Se olvide de olvidarsele al Olvido._

LOPE DE VEGA.

CHAPTER CCXXIV.—p. 269.

CHARLEMAGNE, CASIMIR THE POET, MARGARET DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE,
NOCTURNAL REMEMBRANCER.—THE DOCTOR NOT AMBITIOUS OF FAME.—THE AUTHOR
IS INDUCED BY MR. FOSBROOKE AND NORRIS OF BEMERTON TO EJACULATE A
HEATHEN PRAYER IN BEHALF OF HIS BRETHREN.

_Tutte le cose son rose et viole
Ch' io dico ò ch' io dirò de la virtute._

FR. SANSOVINO.

CHAPTER CCXXV.—p. 275.

TWO QUESTIONS GROWING OUT OF THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.

A Taylor who has no objection to wear motley, may make himself a great
coat with half a yard of his own stuff, by eking it out with cabbage
from every piece that comes in his way.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

CHAPTER CCXXVI.—p. 283.

THE AUTHOR DIGRESSES A LITTLE, AND TAKES UP A STITCH WHICH WAS DROPPED
IN THE EARLIER PART OF THIS OPUS.—NOTICES CONCERNING LITERARY AND
DRAMATIC HISTORY, BUT PERTINENT TO THIS PART OF OUR SUBJECT.

_Jam paululum digressus a spectantibus,
Doctis loquar, qui non adeo spectare quam
Audire gestiunt, logosque ponderant,
Examinant, dijudicantque pro suo
Candore vel livore; non latum tamen
Culmum (quod aiunt) dum loquar sapientibus
Loco movebor._

MACROPEDIUS.

CHAPTER CCXXVII.—p. 317.

SYSTEM OF PROGRESSION MARRED ONLY BY MAN'S INTERFERENCE.—THE DOCTOR
SPEAKS SERIOUSLY AND HUMANELY AND QUOTES JUVENAL.

MONTENEGRO. How now, are thy arrows feathered?

VELASCO. Well enough for roving.

MONTENEGRO. Shoot home then.

SHIRLEY.

CHAPTER CCXXVIII.—p. 322.

RATS.—PLAN OF THE LAUREATE SOUTHEY FOR LESSENING THEIR NUMBER.—THE
DOCTOR'S HUMANITY IN REFUSING TO SELL POISON TO KILL VERMIN, AFTER THE
EXAMPLE OF PETER HOPKINS HIS MASTER.—POLITICAL RATS NOT ALLUDED
TO.—RECIPE FOR KILLING RATS.

I know that nothing can be so innocently writ, or carried, but may be
made obnoxious to construction; marry, whilst I bear mine innocence
about me, I fear it not.

BEN JONSON.

CHAPTER CCXXIX.—p. 328.

RATS LIKE LEARNED MEN LIABLE TO BE LED BY THE NOSE.—THE ATTENDANT UPON
THE STEPS OF MAN, AND A SORT OF INSEPARABLE ACCIDENT.—SEIGNEUR DE
HUMESESNE AND PANTAGRUEL.

Where my pen hath offended,
I pray you it may be amended
By discrete consideration
Of your wise reformation:
I have not offended, I trust,
If it be sadly discust.

SKELTON.

CHAPTER CCXXX.—p. 335.

DISTINCTION BETWEEN YOUNG ANGELS AND YOUNG YAHOOS.—FAIRIES, KILLCROPS
AND CHANGELINGS.—LUTHER'S OPINIONS ON THE SUBJECT.—HIS COLLOQUIA
MENSALIA.—DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE OLD AND NEW EDITION.

I think it not impertinent sometimes to relate such accidents as may
seem no better than mere trifles; for even by trifles are the
qualities of great persons as well disclosed as by their great
actions; because in matters of importance they commonly strain
themselves to the observance of general commended rules; in lesser
things they follow the current of their own natures.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

CHAPTER CCXXXI.—p. 344.

QUESTION AS TO WHETHER BOOKS UNDER THE TERMINATION OF “ANA” HAVE BEEN
SERVICEABLE OR INJURIOUS TO LITERATURE CONSIDERED IN CONNECTION WITH
LUTHER'S TABLE TALK.—HISTORY OF THE EARLY ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF THAT
BOOK, OF ITS WONDERFUL PRESERVATION, AND OF THE MARVELLOUS AND
UNIMPEACHABLE VERACITY OF CAPTAIN HENRY BELL.

Prophecies, predictions, Or where they abide,
Stories and fictions, On this or that side,
Allegories, rhymes, Or under the mid line
And serious pastimes Of the Holland sheets fine,
For all manner men, Or in the tropics fair
Without regard when, Of sunshine and clear air,
Or under the pole
Of chimney and sea coal:
Read they that list; understand they that can;
_Verbum satis est_ to a wise man.

BOOK OF RIDDLES.

CHAPTER CCXXXII.—p. 357.

THE DOCTOR'S FAMILY FEELING.

It behoves the high
For their own sakes to do things worthily.

BEN JONSON.

CHAPTER CCXXXIII.—p. 370.

THE PETTY GERMAN PRINCES EXCELLENT PATRONS OF LITERATURE AND LEARNED
MEN.—THE DUKE OF SAXE WEIMAR.—QUOTATION FROM BP. HACKET.—AN OPINION OF
THE EXCELLENT MR. BOYLE.—A TENET OF THE DEAN OF CHALON, PIERRE DE ST.
JULIEN,—AND A VERITABLE PLANTAGENET.

_Ita nati estis, ut bona malaque vestra ad Rempublicam pertineant._

TACITUS.

CHAPTER CCXXXIV.—p. 380.

OPINION OF A MODERN DIVINE UPON THE WHEREABOUT OF NEWLY DEPARTED
SPIRITS.—ST. JOHN'S BURIAL, ONE RELIC ONLY OF THAT SAINT, AND
WHEREFORE.—A TALE CONCERNING ABRAHAM, ADAM AND EVE.

_Je sçay qu'il y a plusieurs qui diront que je fais beaucoup de petits
fats contes, dont je m'en passerois bien. Ouy, bien pour aucuns,—mais
non pour moy, me contentant de m'en renouveller le souvenance, et en
tirer autant de plaisir._

BRANTÔME.

CHAPTER CCXXXV.—p. 389.

THE SHORTEST AND PLEASANTEST WAY FROM DONCASTER TO JEDDAH, WITH MANY
MORE, TOO LONG.

_Πόνος πόνῳ πόνον φέρει
Πᾶ πᾶ γὰρ οὐκ ἔβαν ἐγώ._

SOPHOCLES.

CHAPTER CCXXXVI.—p. 418.

CHARITY OF THE DOCTOR IN HIS OPINIONS.—MASON THE POET.—POLITICAL
MEDICINE.—SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE.—CERVANTES.—STATE PHYSICIANS.—ADVANTAGE
TO BE DERIVED FROM, WHETHER TO KING, CABINET, LORDS OR
COMMONS.—EXAMPLES.—PHILOSOPHY OF POPULAR EXPRESSIONS.—COTTON
MATHER.—CLAUDE PAJON AND BARNABAS OLEY.—TIMOTHY ROGERS AND MELANCHOLY.

Go to!
You are a subtile nation, you physicians,
And grown the only cabinets in court!

B. JONSON.

CHAPTER CCXXXVII.—p. 437.

MORE MALADIES THAN THE BEST PHYSICIANS CAN PREVENT BY REMEDIES.—THE
DOCTOR NOT GIVEN TO QUESTIONS, AND OF THE POCO-CURANTE SCHOOL AS TO
ALL THE POLITICS OF THE DAY.

A slight answer to an intricate and useless question is a fit cover to
such a dish; a cabbage leaf is good enough to cover a pot of
mushrooms.

JEREMY TAYLOR.

CHAPTER CCXXXVIII.—p. 442.

SIMONIDES.—FUNERAL POEMS.—UNFEELING OPINION IMPUTED TO THE GREEK POET,
AND EXPRESSED BY MALHERBE.—SENECA.—JEREMY TAYLOR AND THE DOCTOR ON
WHAT DEATH MIGHT HAVE BEEN, AND WERE MEN WHAT CHRISTIANITY WOULD MAKE
THEM, MIGHT BE.

_Intendale chi può; che non è stretto
Alcuno a creder pïu di quel che vuole._

ORLANDO INNAMORATO.

CHAPTER CCXXXIX.—p. 449.

THE DOCTOR DISSENTS FROM A PROPOSITION OF WARBURTON'S AND SHEWS IT TO
BE FALLACIOUS.—HUTCHINSON'S REMARKS ON THE POWERS OF BRUTES.—LORD
SHAFTESBURY QUOTED.—APOLLONIUS AND THE KING OF BABYLON.—DISTINCTION IN
THE TALMUD BETWEEN AN INNOCENT BEAST AND A VICIOUS ONE.—OPINION OF
ISAAC LA PEYRESC.—THE QUESTION DE ORIGINE ET NATURA ANIMARUM IN BRUTIS
AS BROUGHT BEFORE THE THEOLOGIANS OF SEVEN PROTESTANT ACADEMIES IN THE
YEAR 1635 BY DANIEL SENNERTUS.

_Toutes veritez ne sont pas bonnes à dire serieusement._

GOMGAM.

CHAPTER CCXL.—p. 473.

THE JESUIT GARASSE'S CENSURE OF HUARTE AND BARCLAY.—EXTRAORDINARY
INVESTIGATION.—THE TENDENCY OF NATURE TO PRESERVE ITS OWN ARCHETYPAL
FORMS.—THAT OF ART TO VARY THEM.—PORTRAITS.—MORAL AND PHYSICAL
CADASTRE.—PARISH CHRONICLER AND PARISH CLERK THE DOCTOR THOUGHT MIGHT
BE WELL UNITED.

Is't you, Sir, that know things?

SOOTH. In nature's infinite book of secresy,
A little I can read.

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAPTER CCXLI.—p. 495.

THE DOCTOR'S UTOPIA DENOMINATED COLUMBIA.—HIS SCHEME ENTERED UPON—BUT
‘LEFT HALF TOLD’ LIKE ‘THE STORY OF CAMBUSCAN BOLD.’

I will to satisfy and please myself, make an Utopia of mine own, a new
Atlantis, a poetical commonwealth of mine own, in which I will freely
domineer, build cities, make laws, statutes, as I list myself. And why
may I not?

BURTON.

CHAPTER CCXLII.—p. 502.

FARTHER REMARKS UPON THE EFFECTS OF SCHISM, AND THE ADVANTAGES WHICH
IT AFFORDS TO THE ROMISH CHURCH AND TO INFIDELITY.

—_Io non ci ho interresso
Nessun, nè vi fui mai, ne manco chieggo
Per quel ch'io ne vò dir, d'esservi messo.
Vò dir, che senza passion eleggo,
E non forzato, e senza pigliar parte;
Di dirne tutto quel, ch'intendo e veggo._

BRONZINO PITTORE.

CHAPTER CCXLIII.—p. 512.

BREVITY BEING THE SOUL OF WIT THE AUTHOR STUDIES CONCISENESS.

You need not fear a surfeit, here is but little, and that light of
digestion.

QUARLES.

CHAPTER CCXLIV.—p. 513.

THE AUTHOR VENTURES TO SPEAK A WORD ON CHRISTIAN CHEERFULNESS:—QUOTES
BEN SIRACH,—SOLOMON,—BISHOP HACKET,—WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR,—BISHOP
REYNOLDS,—MILTON,—&C.

--_Ἀλλὰ σὺ ταῦτα μαθὼν, βιότου ποτί τέρμα
ψυχῇ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τλῆθι χαριζόμενος._

SIMONIDES.

FRAGMENTS TO THE DOCTOR.—p. 527.

A LOVE FRAGMENT FOR THE LADIES,—INTRODUCED BY A CURIOUS INCIDENT WHICH
THE AUTHOR BEGS THEY WILL EXCUSE.

Now will ye list a little space,
And I shall send you to solace;
You to solace and be blyth,
Hearken! ye shall hear belyve
A tale that is of verity.

ROSWALL AND LILLIAN.

A FRAGMENT ON BEARDS.

Yet have I more to say which I have thought upon, for I am filled as
the moon at the full!

ECCLESIASTICUS.

FRAGMENT ON MORTALITY.

FRAGMENT OF SIXTH VOLUME.

FRAGMENT.

_J'ay fait le précédent Chapitre un peu court; peut-être que celui-ce
sera plus long; je n'en suis pourtant pas bien assuré, nous l'allons
voir._

SCARRON.

FRAGMENT WHICH WAS TO HAVE ANSWERED THE QUESTION PROPOSED IN THE TWO
HUNDRED AND FORTY-SECOND CHAPTER.

_Io udii già dire ad un valente uomo nostro vicino, gli uomini abbiano
molte volte bisogno sì di lagrimare, come di ridere; e per tal cagione
egli affermava essere state da principio trovate le dolorose favole,
che si chiamarono Tragedie, accioche raccontate ne' teatri, come in
qual tempo si costumava di fare, tirassero le lagrime agli occhi di
coloro, che avevano di ciò mestiere; e cosi eglino piangendo della
loro infirmita guarissero. Ma come ciò sia a noi non istà bene di
contristare gli animi delle persone con cui favelliamo; massimamente
colà dove si dimori per aver festa e sollazzo, e non per piagnere; che
se pure alcuno è, che infermi per vaghezza di lagrimare, assai leggier
cosa fia di medicarlo con la mostarda forte, o porlo in alcun luogo al
fumo._

GALATEO, DEL M. GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.

FRAGMENT ON HUTCHINSON'S WORKS.

FRAGMENT RELATIVE TO THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL AT DONCASTER AND THE LIVING OF
ROSSINGTON.

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

MEMOIRS OF CAT'S EDEN.

FRAGMENT ON WIGS.

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

More than prince of cats, I can tell you.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

MEMOIR OF THE CATS OF GRETA HALL.

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

ΕΙΣ ΤΟΥΣ ΑΔΡΙΑΝΤΑΣ.

_Ὁ μὲν διάβολος ἐνέπνενσέ τισι παρανόμοις ἀνθρώποις, καὶ εἰς τοὺς τῶν
βασιλέων ὕβρισαν ἀνδριάντας._

CHRYSOST. HOM. AD POPUL. ANTIOCHEN.

EPILUDE OF MOTTOES.—p. 615.

L'ENVOY.

THE DOCTOR, &c.

CHAPTER CCI.

SENECA.

For what use were our tongues given us? To speak with, to be sure,
will be the immediate reply of many a reader. But Master, Mistress,
Miss or Master Speaker (whichever you may happen to be), I beg leave
to observe that this is only one of the uses for which that member was
formed, and that for this alone it has deserved to be called an unruly
member, it is not its primary, nor by any means its most important
use. For what use was it given to thy labourer the ox, thy servant the
horse, thy friend,—if thou deservest to have such a friend,—the
dog,—thy playfellow the kitten,—and thy cousin the monkey?[1]

[Footnote 1: _Simia quam similis, turpissima bestia notis._

ENNIUS.]

In another place I shall answer my own question, which was asked in
this place, because it is for my present purpose to make it appear
that the tongue although a very convenient instrument of speech, is
not necessary for it.

It is related in Gibbon's great history, a work which can never be too
highly praised for its ability, nor too severely condemned for the
false philosophy which pervades it, that the Catholics, inhabitants of
Tipasa, a maritime colony of Mauritania, were by command of the Arian
King, Hunneric, Genseric's detestable son and successor, assembled on
the forum, and there deprived of their right hands and their tongues.
“But the holy confessors,” he proceeds to say, “continued to speak
without tongues; and this miracle is attested by Victor, an African
bishop, who published an history of the persecution within two years
after the event. ‘If any one,’ says Victor, ‘should doubt of the
truth, let him repair to Constantinople, and listen to the clear and
perfect language of Restitutus, the subdeacon, one of these glorious
sufferers, who is now lodged in the palace of the Emperor Zeno, and is
respected by the devout Empress.’ At Constantinople we are astonished
to find a cool, a learned, an unexceptionable witness, without
interest and without passion. Æneas of Gaza, a Platonic philosopher,
has accurately described his own observations on these African
sufferers. ‘I saw them myself: I heard them speak: I diligently
enquired by what means such an articulate voice could be formed
without any organ of speech: I used my eyes to examine the report of
my ears: I opened their mouth, and saw that the whole tongue had been
completely torn away by the roots; an operation which the physicians
generally suppose to be mortal.’ The testimony of Æneas of Gaza might
be confirmed by the superfluous evidence of the Emperor Justinian, in
a perpetual edict; of Count Marcellinus in his Chronicles of the
times; and of Pope Gregory the first, who had resided at
Constantinople as the minister of the Roman Pontiff. They all lived
within the compass of a century, and they all appeal to their personal
knowledge, or the public notoriety, for the truth of a miracle, which
was repeated in several instances, displayed on the greatest theatre
of the world, and submitted during a series of years, to the calm
examination of the senses.” He adds in a note that “the miracle is
enhanced by the singular instance of a boy who had _never_ spoken
before his tongue was cut out.”

Now comes the unbelieving historian's comment. He says, “this
supernatural gift of the African confessors, who spoke without
tongues, will command the assent of those, and of those only, who
already believe, that their language was pure and orthodox. But the
stubborn mind of an infidel is guarded by secret, incurable suspicion;
and the Arian, or Socinian, who has seriously rejected the doctrines
of the Trinity, will not be shaken by the most plausible evidence of
an Athanasian miracle.”

Well has the sceptical historian applied the epithet stubborn to a
mind affected with the same disease as his own,

Oh dear unbelief
How wealthy dost thou make thy owner's wit!
Thou train of knowledge, what a privilege
Thou givest to thy possessor! anchorest him
From floating with the tide of vulgar faith
From being damn'd with multitudes![2]

[Footnote 2: MARSTON.]

Gibbon would not believe the story because it had been adduced as a
miracle in confirmation of the Catholic doctrine as opposed to the
Arian heresy. He might probably have questioned the relation between
the alleged miracle and the doctrine: and if he had argued that it is
not consistent with the plan of revelation (so far as we may presume
to reason upon it) for a miracle to be wrought in proof of a doctrinal
point, a Christian who believes sincerely in that very doctrine might
agree with him.

But the circumstances are attested, as he fairly admits, by the most
ample and unexceptionable testimony; and like the Platonic philosopher
whose evidence he quotes, he ought to have considered the matter of
fact, without regard to the application which the Catholics, in
perfect good faith, made of it. The story is true, but it is not
miraculous.

Cases which demonstrate the latter part of this question were known to
physiologists before a book was published at Paris in the year 1765,
the title of which I find in Mr. D'Israeli's Curiosities of
Literature, thus translated; “The Christian Religion proved by a
single fact; or a Dissertation in which is shown that those Catholics
whose tongues Hunneric King of the Vandals cut out, spoke miraculously
all the remainder of their days: from whence is deduced the
consequence of the miracle against the Arians, the Socinians and the
Deists, and particularly against the author of Emilius, by solving
their difficulties.” It bears this motto _Ecce Ego admirationem facio
populo huic, miraculo grandi et stupendo_. And Mr. D'Israeli closes
his notice of the Book by saying “there needs no farther account of it
than the title.” That gentleman who has contributed so much to the
instruction and entertainment of his contemporaries, will I am sure be
pleased at perusing the facts in disproof of the alleged miracle,
brought together here by one who as a Christian believes in miracles
and that they have not ceased, and that they never will cease.

In the Philosophical Transactions, and in the Gentleman's Magazine is
an account of a woman, Margaret Cutting by name, who about the middle
of the last century was living at Wickham Market in Suffolk. When she
was four years of age “a cancer ate off her tongue at the root, yet
she never lost the power of speech, and could both read distinctly
afterwards and sing.” Her speech was very intelligible, but it was a
little through the nose owing to the want of the uvula; and her voice
was low. In this case a new tongue had been formed, about an inch and
half in length and half an inch broad; but this did not grow till some
years after the cure.

Upon the publication of this case it was observed that some few
instances of a like nature had been recorded; and one in particular by
Tulpius of a man whom he had himself examined, who having had his
tongue cut out by the Turks, could after three years speak distinctly.
One of the persons who published an account of this woman saw several
men upon whom the same act of cruelty had been committed by these
barbarians or by the Algerines: “one of them,” says he, “aged
thirty-three, wrote a good hand, and by that means answered my
questions. He informed me that he could not pronounce a syllable, nor
make any articulate sound; though he had often observed that those who
suffered that treatment when they were very young, were some years
after able to speak; and that their tongues might be observed to grow
in proportion to the other parts of the body: but that if they were
adults, or full grown persons, at the time of the operation, they were
never able to utter a syllable. The truth of this observation was
confirmed to me by the two following cases. Patrick Strainer and his
son-in-law came to Harwich, in their way to Holland, the third of this
month. I made it my business to see and examine them. The father told
me he had his tongue cut out by the Algerines, when he was seven years
of age: and that some time after he was able to pronounce many
syllables, and can now speak most words tolerably well; his tongue, he
said, was grown at least half an inch. The son-in-law, who is about
thirty years of age, was taken by the Turks, who cut out his tongue;
he cannot pronounce a syllable; nor is his tongue grown at all since
the operation; which was more than five years ago.”

Sir John Malcolm in one of his visits to Persia, became acquainted
with Zâl Khan of Khist, who “was long distinguished as one of the
bravest and most attached followers of the Zend family. When the death
of Lootf Ali Khan terminated its powers, he along with the other
governors of provinces and districts in Furs, submitted to Aza Mahomed
Khan. That cautious and cruel monarch, dreading the ability, and
doubtful of the allegiance of this chief, ordered his eyes to be put
out. An appeal for the recall of the sentence being treated with
disdain, Zâl Khan loaded the tyrant with curses. ‘Cut out his tongue,’
was the second order. The mandate was imperfectly executed, and the
loss of half this member deprived him of speech. Being afterwards
persuaded that its being cut close to the root would enable him to
speak so as to be understood, he submitted to the operation; and the
effect has been, that his voice, though indistinct and thick, is yet
intelligible to persons accustomed to converse with him. This I
experienced from daily intercourse. He often spoke to me of his
sufferings and of the humanity of the present King, who had restored
him to his situation as head of his tribe, and governor of Khist.—I am
not an anatomist,” Sir John adds, “and cannot therefore give a reason
why a man, who could not articulate with half a tongue, should speak
when he had none at all. But the facts are as stated; and I had them
from the very best authority, old Zâl Khan himself.”[3]

[Footnote 3: This account of Zâl Khan, (Mrs. Southey writes me word)
was farther confirmed by the testimony of Mr. Bruce, her relative, who
knew him and had _looked_ into the tongue-less mouth. Mr. Bruce was
well acquainted with another person who had undergone the same cruel
punishment. Being a wealthy man, he bribed the executioner to spare a
considerable portion of the tongue; but finding that he could not
articulate a word with the imperfect member, he had it entirely
extracted—root and all, and then spoke almost as intelligibly as
before his punishment.

This person was well known at Calcutta, as well as at Bushire and
Shiraz—where Mr. Bruce first became acquainted with him. He was a man
of some consequence and received as such in the first circles at
Calcutta, and it was in one of those—a dinner party—that on the
question being warmly argued—as to the possibility of articulation
after the extraction of the tongue, he opened his mouth and desired
the company assembled to look into it, and so set their doubts on the
matter for ever at rest.]

A case occurred in the household of that Dr. Mark Duncan whom our
James I. would have engaged as his Physician in ordinary, but Duncan
having married at Saumur and settled in that city declined the
invitation, because his wife was unwilling to leave her friends and
relations and her native place. Yielding therefore as became him to
her natural and reasonable reluctance he passed the remainder of his
useful and honourable life at Saumur. It is noticed as a remarkable
circumstance that the five persons of whom his family consisted died
and were interred in as many different kingdoms, one in France,
another at Naples, a third at Stockholm, a fourth in London, and the
fifth in Ireland. A son of Duncan's valet, in his thirteenth year lost
his tongue by the effects of the small-pox, the root being so consumed
by this dreadful disease, that in a fit of coughing it came away. The
boy's speech was no otherwise affected by the loss than that he found
it difficult to pronounce the letter r. He was exhibited throughout
Europe, and lived long afterwards. A surgeon at Saumur composed a
treatise upon the case, and Duncan who was then Principal of the
College in that city supplied him with this title for it
Aglossostomographie. A rival physician published a dissertation to
prove that it ought to be Aglossostomatographie, and he placed these
verses at the conclusion of this odd treatise.

_Lecteur, tu t'esmerveilleras
Qu'un garçon qui n'a point de langue,
Prononce bien une harangue;
Mais bien plus tu t'estonneras
Qu'un barbier que ne sçait pas lire
Le grec, se mesle d'en escrire.
Que si ce plaisant épigramme,
Doux fruit d'un penser de mon âme
Te semble n'aller pas tant mal,
C'est que je l'ai fait à cheval._

_Quelques gens malins changerent le dernier vers dans les exemplaires
qu'ils purent trouver, et y mirent—C'est que je l'ai fait en cheval._

* * * * *

The reader who thinks upon what he reads, will find some materials for
thinking on, in what has here been collected for him. First as to the
physical facts:—they show that the power of reproduction exists in the
human body, in a greater degree than has been commonly supposed. But
it is probable that this power would be found only in young subjects,
or in adults whose constitutions were unusually healthful and
vigorous. A very small proportion of the snails which have been
decapitated by experimental physiologists, have reproduced their
heads; though the fact of such reproduction is certainly established.

Rhazes records two cases which had fallen under his own observation;
in one of which the tibia, in the other the underjaw had been
reproduced; neither acquired the consistency of the other bones. The
Doctor used to adduce these cases in support of a favourite theory of
his own, with which the reader will in due time be made acquainted.

Secondly, there is a moral inference to be drawn from the effect which
the story produced upon Gibbon. He could not invalidate, or dispute
the testimony upon which it came before him; but he chose to
disbelieve it. For he was ignorant that the facts might be physically
true, and he would not on any evidence give credit to what appeared
miraculous. A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom, or even to
knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness.

CHAPTER CCII.

A LAW OF ALFRED'S AGAINST LYING TONGUES. OBSERVATIONS ON LAX ONES.

HENRY MORE.

If the laws of our great Alfred, whose memory is held in such
veneration by all who are well acquainted with his history, and his
extraordinary virtues, and whose name has been so often taken in vain
by speculative reformers who were ignorant of the one, and incapable
of estimating the other;—if the laws of Alfred, I say, had continued
in use, everything relating to the reproduction of human tongues would
long before this time have been thoroughly understood; for by those
laws any one who broached a public falsehood, and persisted in it, was
to have his tongue cut out; and this punishment might not be commuted
for any smaller fine than that at which the life of the criminal would
have been rated.

The words of the law are these:

DE RUMORIBUS FICTITIIS.

_Si quis publicum mendacium confingat, et ille in eo firmetur, nullâ
levi re hoc emendet, sed lingua ei excidatur; nec minori precio redimi
liceat, quam juxta capitis æstimationem censebatur._

What a wholesome effect might such a law have produced upon orators at
public meetings, upon the periodical press, and upon the debates in
Parliament.

“I am charmed,” says Lady M. W. Montague, “with many points of the
Turkish law, to our shame be it spoken, better designed and better
executed than ours; particularly the punishment of convicted liars
(triumphant criminals in our country, God knows!): they are burnt in
the forehead with a hot iron, when they are proved the authors of any
notorious falsehoods. How many white foreheads should we see
disfigured, how many fine gentlemen would be forced to wear their wigs
as low as their eyebrows, were this law in practice with us!”

But who can expect that human laws should correct that propensity in
the wicked tongue! They who have “the poison of asps under their
lips,” and “which have said with our tongues will we prevail; we are
they that ought to speak: who is lord over us?”—they who “love to
speak all words that may do hurt, and who cut with lies like a sharp
razor”—what would they care for enactments which they would think
either to evade by their subtlety, or to defy in the confidence of
their numbers and their strength? Is it to be expected that those men
should regard the laws of their country, who set at nought the
denunciations of scripture, and will not “keep their tongues from
evil, and their lips that they speak no guile,” though they have been
told that it is “he who hath used no deceit in his tongue and hath not
slandered his neighbour, who shall dwell in the tabernacle of the
Lord, and rest upon his holy hill!”

Leave we them to their reward, which is as certain as that men shall
be judged according to their deeds. Our business is with the follies
of the unruly member, not with its sins: with loquacious speakers and
verbose writers, those whose “tongues are gentlemen-ushers to their
wit, and still go before it,”[1] who never having studied the
_exponibilia_, practice the art of battology by intuition; and in a
discourse which might make the woeful hearer begin to fear that he had
entered unawares upon eternity, bring forth, “as a man would say in a
word of two syllables, nothing.”[1] The West Britons had in their own
Cornish language this good proverbial rhyme, (the—graphy whereof, be
it ortho or not is Mr. Polwhele's),

_An lavor goth ewe lavar gwir,
Ne vedn nevera doaz vas a tavaz re hir._

The old saying is a true saying,
Never will come good from a tongue too long.

Oh it is a grievous thing to listen, or seem to listen, as one is
constrained to do, sometimes by the courtesy of society, and sometimes
by “the law of sermon,” to an unmerciful manufacturer of speech, who
before he ever arrives at the empty matter of his discourse,

_no puede—dexar—de decir
—antes,—siguiera
quatro, o cinco mil palabras!_[2]

[Footnote 1: BEN JONSON.]

[Footnote 2: CALDERON.]

Vossius mentions three authors, who, to use Bayle's language,—for in
Bayle the extract is found, _enfermaient de grands riens dans une
grande multitude de paroles_. Anaximenes the orator was one; when he
was about to speak, Theocritus of Chios said, “here begins a river of
words and a drop of sense,”—_Ἄρχεται λέξεων μὲν ποταμὸς, νοῦ δὲ
σταλαγμός._ Longolius, an orator of the lower Empire was the second.
The third was Faustus Andrelinus, Professor of Poetry at Paris, and
_Poeta Laureatus_: of him Erasmus _dicitur dixisse_,—is said to have
said, that there was but one thing wanting in all his poems and that
thing was comprised in one word of one syllable, _Νοῦς_.

It were better to be remembered as Bayle has remembered Petrus
Carmilianus, because of the profound obscurity in which this pitiful
poet was buried, than thus to be thought worthy of remembrance only
for having produced a great deal that deserved to be forgotten. There
is, or was, an officer of the Exchequer called Clericus Nihilorum, or
Clerk of the Nihils. If there were a High Court of Literature with
such an officer on its establishment, it would be no sinecure office
for him in these, or in any days, to register the names of those
authors who have written to no purpose, and the titles of those books
from which nothing is to be learnt.

_On ne vid jamais,_ says the Sieur de Brocourt, _homme qui ne die
plustost trop, que moins qu'il ne doit; et jamais parole proferée ne
servit tant, comme plusieurs teuës ont profite; car tousjours
pouvons-nous bien dire ce qu'avons teu, et non pas taire ce qu'avons
publié._ The latter part of this remark is true; the former is far too
general. For more harm is done in public life by the reticence of well
informed men, than by the loquacity of sciolists; more by the timidity
and caution of those who desire at heart the good of their country,
than by the audacity of those who labour to overthrow its
constitutions. It was said in the days of old, that “a man full of
words shall not prosper upon the earth.” _Mais nous avons changé tout
cela._

Even in literature a leafy style, if there be any fruit under the
foliage, is preferable to a knotty one, however fine the grain. Whipt
cream is a good thing; and better still when it covers and adorns that
amiable combination of sweetmeats and ratafia cakes soaked in wine, to
which Cowper likened his delightful poem, when he thus described the
“Task.” “It is a medley of many things, some that may be useful, and
some that, for aught I know, may be very diverting. I am merry that I
may decoy people into my company, and grave that they may be the
better for it. Now and then I put on the garb of a philosopher, and
take the opportunity that disguise procures me, to drop a word in
favour of religion. In short there is some froth, and here and there a
bit of sweetmeat, which seems to entitle it justly to the name of a
certain dish the ladies call a Trifle.” But in Task or Trifle unless
the ingredients were good, the whole were nought. They who should
present to their deceived guests whipt white of egg, would deserve to
be whipt themselves.

If there be any one who begins to suspect that in tasking myself, and
trifling with my reader, my intent is not unlike Cowper's, he will
allow me to say to him, “by your leave Master Critic, you must give me
license to flourish my phrases, to embellish my lines, to adorn my
oratory, to embroider my speeches, to interlace my words, to draw out
my sayings, and to bombard the whole suit of the business for the time
of your wearing.”[3]

[Footnote 3: TAYLOR, the Water Poet.]

CHAPTER CCIII.

_Parolles._ Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

“Whether this author means to make his Doctor more fool or
philosopher, is more than I can discover,” says a grave reader, who
lays down the open book, and knits his brow while he considers the
question.

_Make_ him, good Reader! I, _make_ him!—make “the noblest work
of”——But as the Spaniards say, _el creer es cortesia_, and it is at
your pleasure either to believe the veracity of these biographical
sketches, or to regard them as altogether fictitious. It is at your
pleasure, I say; not at your peril: but take heed how you exercise
that pleasure in cases which are perilous! The worst that can happen
to you for disbelief in this matter is, that I shall give you little
credit for courtesy, and less for discrimination; and in Doncaster you
will be laughed to scorn. You might as well proclaim at Coventry your
disbelief in the history of Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom; or tell the
Swiss that their tale of shooting the apple on the child's head was an
old story before William Tell was born.

But perhaps you did not mean to express any such groundless
incredulity, your doubt may be whether I represent or consider my
friend as having in his character a larger portion of folly or of
philosophy?

This you might determine, Reader, for yourself, if I could succeed in
delineating him to the life,—the inner I mean, not the outward man,

_Et en peu de papier, comme sur un tableau,
Vous pourtraire au naïf tout son bon, et son beau._[1]

He was the soul of goodness,
And all our praises of him are like streams
Drawn from a spring, that still rise full, and leave
The part remaining greatest.

But the Duchess of Newcastle hath decided in her philosophy that it is
not possible for any one person thoroughly to understand the character
of another. In her own words, “if the Mind was not joined and mixed
with the sensitive and inanimate parts, and had not interior as well
as exterior parts, the whole Mind of one man might perceive the whole
Mind of another man; but that being not possible—one whole Mind cannot
perceive another whole Mind.” By which observation we may perceive
there are no Platonic Lovers in Nature. An odd conclusion of her
Grace's, and from odd premises. But she was an odd personage.

[Footnote 1: PASQUIER.]

So far however the beautiful and fanciful as well as fantastic Duchess
is right, that the more congenial the disposition of two persons who
stand upon the same intellectual level, the better they understand
each other. The lower any one is sunk in animal life the less is he
capable of apprehending the motives and views of those who have
cultivated the better part of their nature.

If I am so unfortunate as to fail in producing the moral likeness
which I am endeavouring to pourtray, it will not be owing to any want
of sympathy with the subject in some of the most marked features of
his character.

It is a maxim of Bayle's _qu'il n'y a point de grand esprit dans le
caractère du quel il n'entre un peu de folie._ And he named Diogenes
as one proof of this. Think indeed somewhat more than a little upon
the words folly and philosophy, and if you can see any way into a
mist, or a stone wall, you will perceive that the same radicals are
found in both.

This sort of mixt character was never more whimsically described than
by Andrew Erskine in one of his letters to Boswell, in which he tells
him, “since I saw you I received a letter from Mr. D——; it is filled
with encomiums upon you; he says there is a great deal of humility in
your vanity, a great deal of tallness in your shortness, and a great
deal of whiteness in your black complexion. He says there's a great
deal of poetry in your prose, and a great deal of prose in your
poetry. He says that as to your late publication, there is a great
deal of Ode in your Dedication, and a great deal of Dedication in your
Ode. He says there is a great deal of coat in your waistcoat, and a
great deal of waistcoat in your coat, that there is a great deal of
liveliness in your stupidity, and a great deal of stupidity in your
liveliness. But to write you all he says would require rather more
fire in my grate than there is at present, and my fingers would
undoubtedly be numbed, for there is a great deal of snow in this
frost, and a great deal of frost in this snow.”

The Marquis de Custine in a book which in all its parts, wise or
foolish, strikingly characterises its author, describes himself thus:
_J'ai un mélange de gravitê et de légèreté qui m' empêchera de devenir
autre chose qu'un vieil enfant bien triste. Si je suis destiné à
éprouver de grands malheurs, j'aurai l'occasion de remercier Dieu de
m' avoir fait naitre avec cette disposition à la fois sérieuse et
frivole: le sérieux m' aidera à me passer du monde—l'enfantillage à
supporter le douleur. C'est à quoi il réussit meux que la raison._

_Un peu de folie_, there certainly was in the _grand esprit_ of my
dear master and more than _un peu_ there is in his faithful pupil. But
I shall not enter into a discussion whether the gravity of which the
Marquis speaks preponderated in his character, or whether it was more
than counterpoised by the levity. Enough of the latter, thank Heaven
enters into my own composition not only to preserve me from becoming
_un vieil enfant bien triste_, but to entitle me in all innocent
acceptance of the phrase to the appellation of a merry old boy, that
is to say, merry at becoming times, there being a time for all things.
I shall not enter into the discussion as it concerns my guide,
philosopher and friend, because it would be altogether unnecessary; he
carried ballast enough, whatever I may do. The elements were so
happily mixed in him that though Nature did not stand up and say to
all the world “this is a man,” because such a miracle could neither be
in the order of Nature or of Providence;—I have thought it my duty to
sit down and say to the public this was a Doctor.

There is another reason why I shall refrain from any such enquiry; and
that reason may be aptly given in the words of a right-hearted old
divine, with whom certain congenialities would lead my friend to
become acquainted in that world, where I also hope in due season to
meet and converse with him.

“People,” says Adam Littleton, “are generally too forward in examining
others, and are so taken up with impertinence and things that do not
concern them, that they have no time to be acquainted with themselves;
like idle travellers, that can tell you a world of stories concerning
foreign countries, and are very strangers at home. Study of ourselves
is the most useful knowledge, as that without which we can know
neither God nor any thing else aright, as we should know them.

“And it highly concerns us to know ourselves well; nor will our
ignorance be pardonable, but prove an everlasting reproach, in that we
and ourselves are to be inseparable companions in bliss or torment to
all eternity: and if we, through neglect of ourselves here, do not in
time provide for that eternity, so as to secure for ourselves future
happiness, God will at last make us know ourselves, when it will be
too late to make any good use of that knowledge, but a remediless
repentance that we and ourselves ever met in company; when poor ruined
self shall curse negligent sinful self to all ages, and wish direful
imprecations upon that day and hour that first joined them together.

“Again, God has given man that advantage above all other creatures,
that he can with reflex acts look back and pass judgement upon
himself. But seeing examination here supposes two persons, the one to
examine, the other to be examined, and yet seems to name but one, a
man to examine himself; unless a man and himself be two, and thus
every one of us have two selfs in him; let us first examine who 'tis
here is to execute the office of examinant, and then who 'tis that is
to be the party examined.

“Does the whole man in this action go over himself by parts? Or does
the regenerate part call the unregenerate part to account? Or if there
be a divided self in every man, does one self examine the other self,
as to wit, the spiritual self, the carnal self? Or is it some one
faculty in a man, by which a man brings all his other faculties and
parts to trial,—such a one as the conscience may be? If so, how then
is conscience itself tried, having no Peers to be tried by, as being
superior to all other human powers, and calling them all to the barr?”

Here let me interpose a remark. Whether a man and himself be two must
be all one in the end; but woe to that house in which the man and his
wife are!

The end of love is to have two made one
In will, and in affection.[2]

[Footnote 2: BEN JONSON.]

The old Lexicographer answers his own question thus: “Why, yes; I do
think 'tis the conscience of a man which examines the man, and every
part of him, both spiritual and carnal, as well regenerate as
unregenerate, and itself and all. For hence it was called
_conscientia_, as being that faculty by which a man becomes conscious
to himself, and is made knowing together with himself of all that good
and evil that lies working in his nature, and has been brought forth
in his actions. And this is not only the Register, and Witness and
Judge of all parts of man, and of all that they do, but is so
impartial an officer also, that it will give a strict account of all
itself at any time does, _accusing_ or _excusing_ even itself in every
motion of its own.”

Reader I would proceed with this extract, were it not for its length.
The application which immediately follows it, is eloquently and
forcibly made, and I exhort thee if ever thou comest into a library
where Adam Littleton's Sermons are upon the shelf,

look
Not _on_, but _in_ this Thee-concerning book![3]

Take down the goodly tome, and turn to the sermon of Self-Examination,
preached before the (Royal) Family at Whitehall, March 3, 1677-8. You
will find this passage in the eighty-sixth page of the second paging,
and I advice you to proceed with it to the end of the Discourse.

[Footnote 3: SIR WILLIAM DENNY.]

I will tell the reader for what reason I purchased that goodly tome.
It was because of my grateful liking for the author, from the end of
whose dictionary I, like Daniel in his boyhood, derived more
entertainment and information to boot, than from any other book which,
in those days, came within the walls of a school. That he was a truly
learned man no one who ever used that dictionary could doubt, and if
there had not been oddity enough in him to give his learning a zest,
he never could have compounded an appellation for the Monument,
commemorating in what he calls an heptastic vocable,—which may be
interpreted a seven-leagued word,—the seven Lord Mayors of London
under whose mayoralities the construction of that lying pillar went on
from its commencement to its completion. He called it, the
Fordo-Watermanno-Hansono-Hookero-Vinero-Sheldono-Davisian pillar.

I bought the book for the author's sake,—which in the case of a living
author is a proper and meritorious motive, and in the case of one who
is dead, may generally be presumed to be a wise one. It proved so in
this instance. For though there is nothing that bears the stamp of
oddity in his sermons, there is much that is sterling. They have a
merit of their own, and it is of no mean degree. Their manner is
neither Latimerist nor Andrewesian, nor Fullerish, nor
Cotton-Matherish, nor Jeremy Taylorish, nor Barrowish, nor Southish,
but Littletonian. They are full of learning, of wisdom, of sound
doctrine, and of benevolence, and of earnest and persuasive piety. No
one who had ears to hear could have slept under them, and few could
have listened to them without improvement.

CHAPTER CCIV.

ADAM LITTLETON'S STATEMENT THAT EVERY MAN IS MADE UP OF THREE
EGOS,—DEAN YOUNG—DISTANCE BETWEEN A MAN'S HEAD AND HIS HEART.

Perhaps when the Reader considers the copiousness of the argument, he
will rather blame me for being too brief than too tedious.

DR JOHN SCOTT.

In the passage quoted from Adam Littleton in the preceding chapter,
that good old divine enquired whether a man and himself were two. A
Moorish prince in the most extravagant of Dryden's extravagant
tragedies, (they do not deserve to be called romantic,) agrees with
him, and exclaims to his confidential friend,

Assist me Zulema, if thou wouldst be
The friend thou seem'st, assist me against me.

Machiavel says of Cosmo de Medici that who ever considered his gravity
and his levity might say there were two distinct persons in him.

“There is often times,” says Dean Young, (father of the poet) “a
prodigious distance betwixt a man's head and his heart; such a
distance that they seem not to have any correspondence; not to belong
to the same person, not to converse in the same world. Our heads are
sometimes in Heaven, contemplating the nature of God, the blessedness
of Saints, the state of eternity; while our hearts are held captive
below in a conversation earthly, sensual, devilish. 'Tis possible we
may sometimes commend virtue convincingly, unanswerably; and yet our
own hearts be never affected by our own arguments; we may represent
vice in her native dress of horror, and yet our hearts be not at all
startled with their own menaces: We may study and acquaint ourselves
with all the truths of religion, and yet all this out of curiosity, or
hypocrisy, or ostentation; not out of the power of godliness, or the
serious purpose of good living. All which is a sufficient proof that
the consent of the Head and of the Heart are two different things.”

Dean Young may seem in this passage to have answered Adam the
Lexicographist's query in the affirmative, by shewing that the head
belongs sometimes to one Self and the heart to the other. Yet these
two Selves, notwithstanding this continual discord, are so united in
matrimony, and so inseparably made one flesh, that it becomes another
query whether death itself can part them.

The aforesaid Dean concludes one of his Discourses with the advice of
an honest heathen. _Learn to be one Man_; that is, learn to live and
act alike. For says he, “while we act from contrary principles;
sometimes give, and sometimes defraud; sometimes love and sometimes
betray; sometimes are devout, and sometimes careless of God; this is
to be _two_ Men, which is a foolish aim, and always ends in loss of
pains. ‘No,’ says wise Epictetus, ‘_Learn to be one Man_,’ thou mayest
be a good man; or thou mayest be a bad man, and that to the purpose;
but it is impossible that thou shouldst be both. And here the
Philosopher had the happiness to fall in exactly with the notion of my
text. _We cannot serve two Masters._”

But in another sermon Adam Littleton says that “every man is made of
three Egos, and has three Selfs in him;” and that this “appears in the
reflection of Conscience upon actions of a dubious nature; whilst one
Self accuses, another Self defends, and the third Self passes
judgement upon what hath been so done by the man!” This he adduced as
among various “mean and unworthy comparisons, whereby to show that
though the mysterious doctrine of the Trinity” far exceeds our reason,
there want not natural instances to illustrate it. But he adds most
properly that we should neither “say or think ought of God in this
kind,” without a preface of reverence and asking pardon; “for it is
sufficient for us and most suitable to the mystery, so to conceive, so
to discourse of God, as He himself has been pleased to make Himself
known to us in his Word.”

If all theologians had been as wise, as humble and as devout as Adam
Littleton, from how many heresies and evils might Christendom have
been spared.

In the Doctor's own days the proposition was advanced, and not as a
paradox, that a man might be in several places at the same time.
_Presence corporelle de l'homme en plusieurs lieux prouvée possible
par les principes de la bonne Philosophie_, is the title of a treatise
by the Abbé de Lignac, who having been first a Jesuit, and then an
Oratorian, secularized himself without departing from the principles
in which he had been trained up. The object of his treatise was to
show that there is nothing absurd in the doctrine of
Transubstantiation. He made a distinction between man and his body,
the body being always in a state of change, the man remaining the
while identically the same. But how his argument that because a worm
may be divided and live, the life which animated it while it was
whole, continues a single life when it animates all the parts into
which the body may have separated, proves his proposition, or how his
proposition if proved could prove the hyper-mysterious figment of the
Romish Church to be no figment, but a divine truth capable of
philosophical demonstration, Œdipus himself were he raised from the
dead would be unable to explain.

CHAPTER CCV.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

And not much easier now with their great sleeves.

AUTHOR, A.D. 1830.

The question concerning the equality of the sexes which was discussed
so warmly some thirty years ago in Magazines and Debating Societies,
was one upon which it was not easy to collect the Doctor's real
opinion. His manner indeed was frequently sportive when his meaning
was most serious, and as frequently the thoughts and speculations with
which he merely played, and which were sports or exercitations of
intellect and humour, were advanced with apparent gravity. The
propensity however was always restrained within due bounds, for he had
treasured up his father's lessons in his heart, and would have
regarded it as a crime ever to have trifled with his principles or
feelings. But this question concerning the sexes was a subject which
he was fond of introducing before his female acquaintance; it was like
hitting the right note for a dog when you play the flute, he said. The
sort of half anger, and the indignation, and the astonishment and the
merriment withal which he excited when he enlarged upon this fertile
theme, amused him greatly, and moreover he had a secret pleasure in
observing the invincible good humour of his wife, even when she
thought it necessary for the honour of her sex to put on a semblance
of wrath at the notions which he repeated, and the comments with which
he accompanied them.

He used to rest his opinion of male superiority upon divinity, law,
grammar, natural history, and the universal consent of nations. Noting
also by the way, that in the noble science of heraldry, it is laid
down as a rule “that amongst things sensitive the males are of more
worthy bearing than the females.”[1]

[Footnote 1: GWILLIM.]

The Salic law he looked upon as in this respect the Law of Nature. And
therefore he thought it was wisely appointed in France, that the royal
Midwife should receive a fee of five hundred crowns upon the birth of
a boy and only three hundred if it were a female child. This the
famous Louise Bourgeois has stated to be the custom, who for the
edification of posterity, the advancement of her own science, and the
use of French historians published a _Recit veritable de la naissance
de Messieurs et Dames les enfans de France_, containing minute details
of every royal parturition at which she had officiated.

But he dwelt with more force on the theological grounds of his
position. “The wife is the weaker vessel. Wives submit yourselves to
your husbands: be in subjection to them. The Husband is the head.
Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him Lord.” And here he had recourse to
the authority of Daniel Rogers (whom he liked the better for his
name's sake) who in his Treatise of Matrimonial Honour teaches that
the duty of subjection, is woman's chief commandment; and that she is
properly made subject by the Law of Creation and by the Law of
Penalty. As thus. All other creatures were created male and female at
the same time; man and woman were not so, for the Man was first
created—as a perfect creature, and afterwards the woman was thought
of. Moreover she was not made of the same matter, equally, with
man,—but of him, of a rib taken from him, and thirdly, she was made
for his use and benefit as a meet help-mate, “three weighty reasons
and grounds of the woman's subjection to the man, and that from the
purpose of the Creator; who might have done otherwise, that is, have
yielded to the Woman co-equal beginning, sameness of generation, or
relation of usefulness; for he might have made her without any such
precedency of matter, without any dependency upon him, and equally for
her good as for his. All shew at ennobling the Man as the Head and
more excellent, not that the Man might upbraid her, but that she might
in all these read her lesson of subjection. And doubtless, as Malachi
speaks, herein is wisdom, for God hath left nothing to be bettered by
our invention.

“The woman, being so created by God in the integrity of Nature had a
most divine honour and partnership of his image, put upon her in her
creation; yea, such as (without prejudice of those three respects)
might have held full and sweet correspondence with her husband. But
her sin still augmented her inequality, and brought her lower and
lower in her prerogative. For since she would take upon her, as a
woman, without respect to the order, dependence and use of her
creation, to enterprize so sad a business, as to jangle and demur with
the Devil about so weighty a point as her husband's freehold, and of
her own brain to lay him and it under foot, without the least parley
and consent of his, obeying Satan before him,—so that till she had put
all beyond question and past amendment, and eaten, she brought not the
fruit to him, therefore the Lord stript her of this robe of her
honour, and smote into the heart of Eve an instinct of inferiority, a
confessed yielding up of her insufficient self to depend wholly upon
her husband.”

This being a favourite commentary with the Doctor upon the first
transgression, what would he have said if he had lived to read an
Apology for Eve by one of her daughters, yes, an Apology for her and a
Defence, showing that she acted meritoriously in eating the Apple. It
is a choice passage and the reader shall have it from Miss Hatfield's
Letters on the Importance of the Female Sex.

“By the creation of woman, the great design was accomplished,—the
universal system was harmonized. Happiness and innocence reigned
together. But unacquainted with the nature or existence of
evil,—conscious only of good and imagining that all were of that
essence around her; without the advantages of the tradition of
forefathers to relate, or of ancient records to hand down, Eve was
fatally and necessarily ignorant of the rebellious disobedience of the
fallen Angels, and of their invisible vigilance and combination to
accomplish the destruction of the new favourites of Heaven.

“In so momentous an event as that which has ever been exclusively
imputed to her, neither her virtue nor her prudence ought to be
suspected; and there is little reason to doubt, that if the same
temptations had been offered to her husband under the same
appearances, but he also would have acquiesced in the commission of
this act of disobedience.

“Eve's attention was attracted by the manner in which the Serpent
first made his attack: he had the gift of speech, which she must have
observed to be a faculty peculiar to themselves. This appeared an
evidence of something supernatural. The wily tempter chose also the
form of the serpent to assist his design, as not only in wisdom and
sagacity that creature surpassed all others, but his figure was also
erect and beautiful, for it was not until the offended justice of God
denounced the curse, that the Serpent's crest was humbled to the dust.

“During this extraordinary interview, it is evident that Eve felt a
full impression of the divine command, which she repeated to the
tempter at the time of his solicitations. She told him they were not
to eat of _that_ Tree.—But the Serpent opposed her arguments with
sophistry and promises. He said unto the Woman, ye shall not surely
die—but shall be as Gods. What an idea to a mortal!—Such an image
astonished her!—It was not the gross impulses of greedy appetite that
urged her, but a nobler motive that induced her to examine the
consequences of the act.—She was to be better and happier;—to exchange
a mortal for an angelic nature. Her motive was
great,—virtuous,—irresistible. Might she not have felt herself awed
and inspired with a belief of a divine order?—Upon examination she
found it was to produce a greater good than as mortals they could
enjoy; this impression excited a desire to possess that good; and that
desire determined her will and the future destiny of a World!”

It must be allowed that this Lady Authoress has succeeded in what
might have been supposed the most difficult of all attempts, that of
starting a new heresy,—her followers in which may aptly be denominated
Eveites.

The novelty consists not in excusing the mother of mankind, but in
representing her transgression as a great and meritorious act. An
excuse has been advanced for her in Lodovico Domenichi's Dialogue upon
the nobleness of Women. It is there pleaded that the fruit of the
fatal tree had not been forbidden to Eve, because she was not created
when the prohibition was laid on. Adam it was who sinned in eating it,
not Eve, and it is in Adam that we have all sinned, and all die. Her
offence was in tempting him to eat, _et questo anchora senza intention
cattiva, essendo stata tentata dal Diavolo. L'huomo adunque peccò per
certa scientia, et la Donna ignorantemente, et ingannata._

I know not whether this special pleading be Domenichi's own; but he
must have been conscious that there is a flaw in it, and could not
have been in earnest, as Miss Hatfield is. The Veronese lady Isotta
Nogarola thought differently; _essendo studiosa molto di Theologia et
di Philosophia_, she composed a Dialogue wherein the question whether
Adam or Eve in the primal transgression had committed the greater sin.
How she determined it I cannot say, never having seen her works.

Domenichi makes another assertion in honour of womankind which Miss
Hatfield would undoubtedly consider it an honour for herself to have
disproved in her own person,—that no heresy, or error in the faith
ever originated with a woman.

Had this Lady, most ambitious of Eve's daughters, been contemporary
with Doctor Dove, how pleasant it would have been to have witnessed a
debate between them upon the subject! He would have wound her up to
the highest pitch of indignation, and she would have opened the
flood-gates of female oratory upon his head.

CHAPTER CCVI.

MARSTON.

The Doctor had other theological arguments in aid of the opinion which
he was pleased to support. The remark has been made which is curious,
or in the language of Jeremy Taylor's age, _considerable_, that we
read in Genesis how when God saw every thing else which he had made he
pronounced that it was very good, but he did not say this of the
woman.

There are indeed certain Rabbis who affirm that Eve was not taken out
of Adam's side: but that Adam had originally been created with a tail
(herein agreeing with the well-known theory of Lord Monboddo) and that
among the various experiments and improvements which were made in his
form and organization before he was finished, the tail was removed as
an inconvenient appendage, and of the excrescence or superfluous part
which was then lopt off, the Woman was formed.

We are not bound to believe the Rabbis in every thing, the Doctor
would say; and yet it cannot be denied that they have preserved some
valuable traditions which ought to be regarded with much respect. And
then by a gentle inclination of the head—and a peculiar glance of the
eye, he let it be understood that this was one of those traditions
which were entitled to consideration. It was not impossible he said,
but that a different reading in the original text might support such
an interpretation: the same word in Hebrew frequently signified
different things, and rib and tail might in that language be as near
each other in sound or as easily miswritten by a hasty hand, or
misread by an inaccurate eye as _costa_ and _cauda_ in Latin. He did
not pretend that this was the case—but that it might be so. And by a
like corruption (for to such corruptions all written and even all
printed books are liable) the text may have represented that Eve was
taken from the side of her husband instead of from that part of the
back where the tail grew. The dropping of a syllable might occasion
it.

And this view of the question he said, derived strong support from
that well known and indubitable text wherein the Husband is called the
Head; for although that expression is in itself most clear and
significative in its own substantive meaning, it becomes still more
beautifully and emphatically appropriate when considered as referring
to this interpretation and tradition, and implying as a direct and
necessary converse that the Wife is the Tail.

There is another legend relating to a like but even less worthy
formation of the first helpmate, and this also is ascribed to the
Rabbis. According to this mythos the rib which had been taken from
Adam was for a moment laid down, and in that moment a monkey stole it
and ran off with it full speed. An Angel pursued, and though not in
league with the Monkey he could have been no good Angel; for
overtaking him, he caught him by the Tail, brought it maliciously back
instead of the Rib, and of that Tail, was Woman made. What became of
the Rib, with which the Monkey got clear off, “was never to mortal
known.”

However the Doctor admitted that on the whole the received opinion was
the more probable. And after making this admission he related an
anecdote of Lady Jekyll who was fond of puzzling herself and others
with such questions as had been common enough a generation before her,
in the days of the Athenian Oracle. She asked William Whiston of
berhymed name and eccentric memory, one day at her husband's table to
resolve a difficulty which occurred to her in the Mosaic account of
the creation. “Since it pleased God, Sir,” said she, “to create the
Woman out of the Man, why did he form her out of the rib rather than
any other part.” Whiston scratched his head and answered. “Indeed
Madam I do not know, unless it be that the rib is the most crooked
part of the body.” “There!” said her husband, “you have it now: I hope
you are satisfied!”

He had found in the writings of the Huguenot divine, Jean D'Espagne,
that Women have never had either the gift of tongues, or of miracle;
the latter gift according to this theologian being withheld from them
because it properly accompanies preaching, and women are forbidden to
be preachers. A reason for the former exception the Doctor supplied;
he said it was because one tongue was quite enough for them: and he
entirely agreed with the Frenchman that it must be so, because there
could have been no peace on earth had it been otherwise. But whether
the sex worked miracles or not, was a point which he left the
Catholics to contend. Female Saints there certainly had been,—“the
Lord,” as Daniel Rogers said, “had gifted and graced many women above
some men especially with holy affections; I know not,” says that
divine, “why he should do it else (for he is wise and not superfluous
in needless things) save that as a Pearl shining through a chrystal
glass, so her excellency shining through her weakness of sex, might
show the glory of the workman.” He quoted also what the biographer of
one of the St. Catharines says, “that such a woman ought not to be
called a woman, but rather an earthly Angel, or a heavenly homo: _hæc
fœmina, sed potius Angelus terrestris, vel si malueris, homo cælestis
dicenda erat, quam fœmina._” In like manner the Hungarians thinking it
infamous for a nation to be governed by a woman—and yet perceiving the
great advantage of preserving the succession, when the crown fell to a
female, they called her King Mary, instead of Queen.

And Queen Elizabeth rather than be accounted of the feminine gender,
claimed it as her prerogative to be of all three. “A prime officer
with a White Staff coming into her presence” she willed him to bestow
a place then vacant upon a person whom she named. “May it please your
Highness Madam,” said the Lord, “the disposal of that place pertaineth
to me by virtue of this White Staff.” “True,” replied the Queen, “yet
I never gave you your office so absolutely, but that I still reserved
myself of the _Quorum_.” “Of the _Quarum_, Madam,” returned the Lord,
presuming, somewhat too far, upon her favour.—Whereat she snatched the
staff in some anger out of his hand, and told him “he should
acknowledge her of the _Quorum, Quorum, Quorum_ before he had it
again.”

It was well known indeed to Philosophers, he said, that the female is
an imperfection or default in nature, whose constant design is to form
a male; but where strength and temperament are wanting—a defective
production is the result. Aristotle therefore calls Woman a Monster,
and Plato makes it a question whether she ought not to be ranked among
irrational creatures. There were Greek Philosophers, who (rightly in
his judgment) derived the name of _Ἀθηνῆ_ from _Θῆλυς_ and _alpha
privativa_, as implying that the Goddess of wisdom, though Goddess,
was nevertheless no female, having nothing of female imperfection. And
a book unjustly ascribed to the learned Acidalius was published in
Latin, and afterwards in French, to prove that women were not
reasonable creatures, but distinguished from men by this specific
difference, as well as in sex.

Mahomet too was not the only person who has supposed that women have
no souls. In this Christian and reformed country, the question was
propounded to the British Apollo whether there is now, or will be at
the resurrection any females in Heaven—since, says the questioner,
there seems to be no need of them there! The Society of Gentlemen who,
(in imitation of John Dunton, his brother-in-law the elder Wesley, and
their coadjutors,) had undertaken in this Journal to answer all
questions, returned a grave reply, that sexes being corporeal
distinctions there could be no such distinction among the souls which
are now in bliss; neither could it exist after the resurrection, for
they who partook of eternal life neither marry nor are given in
marriage.

That same Society supposed the Devil to be an Hermaphrodite, for
though by his roughness they said he might be thought of the masculine
gender, they were led to that opinion because he appeared so often in
petticoats.

CHAPTER CCVII.

FRACAS WITH THE GENDER FEMININE.—THE DOCTOR'S DEFENCE.

If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be—as they
are.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

“Papp-paah!” says my daughter.

“You intolerable man!” says my wife.

“You abominable creature!” says my wife's eldest sister, “you wicked
wretch!”

“Oh Mr. Author,” says Miss Graveairs, “I did not expect this from
you.”

“Very well, Sir, very well! This is like you!” says the Bow-Begum.

“Was there ever such an atrocious libel upon the sex,” says the Lady
President of the Celestial Blues.

The Ladies of the Stocking unanimously agree in the sentence of
condemnation.

Let me see, who do I know among them. There is Mrs. Lapis Lazuli and
her daughter Miss Ultramarine,—there is Mrs. Bluestone, the most
caustic of female critics, and her friend Miss Gentian,—Heaven protect
me from the bitterness of her remarks,—there is Lady Turquoise, Lady
Celestina Sky, the widow Bluebeard, Miss Mazarine, and that pretty
creature Serena Cerulean, it does me good to look at her, she is the
blue-bell of the party. There is Miss Sapphire, Miss Priscilla
Prussian, Mrs. Indigo, and the Widow Woad. And Heaven knows who
beside. Mercy on me—it were better to be detected at the mysteries of
the Bona Dea, than be found here! Hear them how they open in
succession—

Infamous!

Shameful!

Intolerable!

This is too bad.

He has heaped together all the slanderous and odious things that could
be collected from musty books.

Talk of his Wife and Daughter. I do not believe any one who had wife
and daughter would have composed such a Chapter as that. An old
batchelor I warrant him, and mustier than his books.

Pedant!

Satirist!

Libeller!

Wretch!

Monster!

And Miss Virginia Vinegar compleats the climax by exclaiming with
peculiar emphasis, Man!

All Indigo-land is in commotion; and Urgand the Unknown would be in as
much danger _proh-Jupiter!_ from the Stockingers, if he fell into
their hands, as Orpheus from the Mænades. _Tantæne animis cælestibus
iræ?_

Why Ladies! dear Ladies! good Ladies! gentle Ladies! merciful Ladies!
hear me,—hear me! In justice, in compassion, in charity hear me! For
your own sakes, and for the honour of feminality hear me!

What has the wretch to say?

What _can_ he say?

What indeed _can be said_? Nevertheless let us hear him, so bad a case
must always be made worse by any attempt at defending it.

Hear him! hear him!

Englishwomen, countrywomen, and lovelies,—lovelies I certainly may
call you, if it be not lawful for me to say lovers,—hear me for your
honour, and have respect to your honour that you may believe, censure
me in your wisdom, and awake your senses that you may be better
judges. Who is here so unfeminine that would be a male creature? if
any, speak; for her have I offended. Who is here so coarse that would
not be a woman! if any, speak; for her have I offended. Who is here so
vile that will not love her sex? if any speak; for her have I
offended. I can have offended none but those who are ashamed of their
womanhood, if any such there be, which I am far from thinking.

Gentle Ladies do you in your conscience believe that any reasonable
person could possibly think the worse of womankind, for any of the
strange and preposterous opinions which my lamented and excellent
friend used to repeat in the playfulness of an eccentric fancy? Do you
suppose that he was more in earnest when he brought forward these
learned fooleries, than the Devil's Advocate when pleading against a
suit for canonization in the Papal Court?

_questo negro inchiostro, ch'io dispenzo
Non fu per dare, o donne, a i vostri nasi,
Ingrato odore, o d'altro che d'incenzo._[1]

[Footnote 1: MAURO.]

Hear but to the end, and I promise you on the faith of a true man a
Red Letter Chapter in your praise; not a mere panegyric in the manner
of those who flatter while they despise you, but such an honest
estimate as will bear a scrutiny,—and which you will not like the
worse because it may perhaps be found profitable as well as pleasing.

Forgive me, sacred sex of woman, that,
In thought or syllable, I have declaim'd
Against your goodness; and I will redeem it
With such religious honouring your names,
That when I die, some never thought-stain'd virgin
Shall make a relic of my dust, and throw
My ashes, like a charm, upon those men
Whose faiths they hold suspected.[2]

[Footnote 2: SHIRLEY.]

CHAPTER CCVIII.

EDWARD MORE.

It would have pleased the Doctor when he was upon this topic if he had
known how exactly the value of women was fixed among the Afghauns, by
whose laws twelve young women are given as a compensation for the
slaughter of one man, six for cutting off a hand, an ear, or a nose;
three for breaking a tooth, and one for a wound of the scalp.

By the laws of the Venetians as well as of certain Oriental people,
the testimony of two women was made equivalent to that of one man. And
in those of the Welsh King Hywel Dda, or Howel Dha, “the satisfaction
for the murder of a woman, whether she be married or not, is half that
of her brother,” which is upon the same standard of relative value. By
the same laws a woman was not to be admitted as bail for a man, nor as
witness against him.

He knew that a French Antiquarian (Claude Seissel) had derived the
name of the Salic law from the Latin word _Sal, comme une loy pleine
de sel, c'est a dire pleine de sapience,_[1] and this the Doctor
thought a far more rational etymology than what some one proposed
either seriously or in sport, that the law was called _Salique_
because the words _Si aliquis_ and _Si aliqua_ were of such frequent
occurrence in it. “To be born a manchild,” says that learned author
who first composed an Art of Rhetoric in the English tongue, “declares
a courage, gravity and constancy. To be born a woman, declares
weakness of spirit, neshenes of body and fickleness of mind.”[2]
Justin Martyr, after saying that the Demons by whom according to him
the system of heathen mythology was composed, spake of Minerva as the
first Intelligence and the daughter of Jupiter, makes this
observation; “now this we consider most absurd, to carry about the
image of Intelligence in a female form!” The Father said this as
thinking with the great French comic poet that a woman never could be
any thing more than a woman.

_Car, voyez-vous, la femme est, comme on dit, mon maître,
Un certain animal difficile à connoître,
Et de qui la nature est fort encline au mal;
Et comme un animal est toujours animal.
Et ne sera jamais qu' animal, quand sa vie
Dureroit cent mille ans; aussi, sans repartie,
La femme est toujours femme, et jamais ne sera
Que femme, tant qu'entier le monde durera._

[Footnote 1: BRANTÔME.]

[Footnote 2: WILSON.]

A favourite anecdote with our Philosopher was of the Barbadoes
Planters, one of whom agreed to exchange an English maid servant with
the other for a bacon pig, weight for weight, four-pence per pound to
be paid for the overplus, if the balance should be in favour of the
pig, sixpence if it were on the Maid's side. But when they were
weighed in the scales, Honour who was “extreme fat, lazy and good for
nothing,” so far outweighed the pig, that the pig's owner repented of
his improvident bargain, and refused to stand to it. Such a case Ligon
observes, when he records this notable story, seldom happened; but the
Doctor cited it as shewing what had been the relative value of women
and pork in the West Indies. And observe, he would say, of white
women, English, Christian women,—not of poor heathen blacks, who are
considered as brutes, bought and sold like brutes, worked like
brutes—and treated worse than any Government ought to permit even
brutes to be treated.

However, that women were in some respects better than men, he did not
deny. He doubted not but that Cannibals thought them so; for we know
by the testimony of such Cannibals as happen to have tried both, that
white men are considered better meat than negroes, and Englishmen than
Frenchmen, and there could be little doubt that for the same reason,
women would be preferred to men. Yet this was not the case with
animals, as was proved by buck venison, ox beef, and wether mutton.
The tallow of the female goat would not make as good candles as that
of the male. Nature takes more pains in elaborating her nobler work;
and that the male, as being the nobler, was that which Nature finished
with greatest care must be evident, he thought, to any one who called
to mind the difference between cock and hen birds, a difference
discoverable even in the egg, the larger and finer eggs with a denser
white, and a richer yolk, containing male chicks. Other and more
curious observations had been made tending to the same conclusion, but
he omitted them, as not perhaps suited for general conversation, and
not exactly capable of the same degree of proof. It was enough to hint
at them.

The great Ambrose Parey (the John Hunter and the Baron Larrey of the
sixteenth century) has brought forward many instances wherein women
have been changed into men, instances which are not fabulous: but he
observes, “you shall find in no history, men that have degenerated
into women; for nature always intends and goes from the imperfect to
the more perfect, but never basely from the more perfect to the
imperfect.” It was a rule in the Roman law, that when husband and wife
overtaken by some common calamity perished at the same time, and it
could not be ascertained which had lived the longest, the woman should
be presumed to have expired the first, as being by nature the
feeblest. And for the same reason if it had not been noted whether
brother or sister being twins came first in the world, the legal
conclusion was that the boy being the stronger was the first born.

And from all these facts he thought the writer must be a judicious
person who published a poem entitled the Great Birth of Man, or
Excellence of his creation over Woman.

Therefore according to the Bramins, the widow who burns herself with
the body of her husband, will in her next state be born a male; but
the widow, who refuses to make this self sacrifice, will never be any
thing better than a woman, let her be born again as often as she may.

Therefore it is that the Jew at this day begins his public prayer with
a thanksgiving to his Maker, for not having made him a woman;—an
escape for which the Greek philosopher was thankful. One of the things
which shocked a Moor who visited England was to see dogs, women, and
dirty shoes permitted to enter a place of worship, the Mahometans, as
is well known, excluding all three from their Mosques. Not that all
Mahometans believe that women have no souls. There are some who think
it more probable they have, and these more liberal Mussulmen hold that
there is a separate Paradise for them, because they say, if the women
were admitted into the Men's Paradise, it would cease to be
Paradise,—there would be an end of all peace there. It was probably
the same reason which induced Origen to advance an opinion that after
the day of Judgment women will be turned into men. The opinion has
been condemned among his heresies; but the Doctor maintained that it
was a reasonable one, and almost demonstrable upon the supposition
that we are all to be progressive in a future state. There was,
however, he said, according to the Jews a peculiar privilege and
happiness reserved for them, that is for all those of their chosen
nation, during the temporal reign of the Messiah, for every Jewish
woman is then to lie in every day!

“I never,” says Bishop Reynolds, “read of more dangerous falls in the
Saints than were Adam's, Sampson's, David's, Solomon's, and Peter's;
and behold in all these, either the first enticers, or the first
occasioners, are women. A weak creature may be a strong tempter:
nothing too impotent or useless for the Devil's service.” Fuller,
among his Good Thoughts has this paragraph:—“I find the natural
Philosopher making a character of the Lion's disposition, amongst
other his qualities, reporteth, first, that the Lion feedeth on men,
and afterwards (if forced with extremity of hunger) on women. Satan is
a roaring Lion seeking whom he may devour. Only he inverts the method
and in his bill of fare takes the second first. Ever since he
over-tempted our grandmother Eve, encouraged with success he hath
preyed first on the weaker sex.”

“Sit not in the midst of women,” saith the son of Sirach in his
Wisdom, “for from garments cometh a moth, and from women wickedness.”
“Behold, this have I found, saith the Preacher, counting one by one to
find out the account; which yet my soul seeketh, but I find not: one
man among a thousand have I found; but a woman among all those have I
not found.”

“It is a bad thing,” said St. Augustine, “to look upon a woman, a
worse to speak to her, and to touch her is worst of all.” John Bunyan
admired the wisdom of God for making him shy of the sex, and boasted
that it was a rare thing to see him “carry it pleasant towards a
woman.” “The common salutation of women,” said he, “I abhor, their
company alone I cannot away with!” John, the great Tinker, thought
with the son of Sirach, that “better is the churlishness of a man,
than a courteous woman, a woman which bringeth shame and reproach.”
And Menu the law-giver of the Hindoos hath written that “it is the
nature of women in this world to cause the seduction of men.” And John
Moody in the play, says, “I ha' seen a little of them, and I find that
the best, when she's minded, won't ha' much goodness to spare.” A wife
has been called a daily calamity, and they who thought least
unfavourably of the sex have pronounced it a necessary evil.

“_Mulier_, quasi _mollior_,” saith Varro;[3] a derivation upon which
Dr. Featley thus commenteth: “Women take their name in Latin from
tenderness or softness, because they are usually of a softer temper
than men, and much more subject to passions, especially of fear,
grief, love and longing; their fear is almost perpetual, their grief
immoderate, their love ardent, and their longing most vehement. They
are the weaker vessels, not only weaker in body than men, and less
able to resist violence, but also weaker in mind and less able to hold
out in temptations; and therefore the Devil first set upon the woman
as conceiving it a matter of more facility to supplant her than the
man.” And they are such dissemblers, says the Poet,

as if their mother had been made
Only of all the falsehood of the man,
Disposed into that rib.

[Footnote 3: The Soothsayer in Cymbeline was of a like opinion with
Varro!

The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we call _mollis aer_; and _mollis aer_
We term it _mulier_.

Southey's favorite play upon the stage was Cymbeline, and next to it,
As you like it.]

“Look indeed at the very name,” said the Doctor, putting on his
gravest look of provocation to the ladies.—“Look at the very
name—_Woman_, evidently meaning either _man's woe_—or abbreviated from
_woe to man_, because by woman was woe brought into the world.”

And when a girl is called a lass, who does not perceive how that
common word must have arisen? Who does not see that it may be directly
traced to a mournful interjection, _alas!_ breathed sorrowfully forth
at the thought the girl, the lovely and innocent creature upon whom
the beholder has fixed his meditative eye, would in time become a
woman,—a woe to man!

There are other tongues in which the name is not less significant. The
two most notoriously obstinate things in the world are a mule and a
pig. Now there is one language in which _pige_ means a young woman:
and another in which woman is denoted by the word _mulier_: which
word, whatever grammarians may pretend, is plainly a comparative,
applied exclusively and with peculiar force to denote the only
creature in nature which is more mulish than a mule. _Comment_, says a
Frenchman, _pourroit-on aymer les_ Dames, _puis qu'elles se nomment
ainsi du_ dam _et_ dommage _qu'elles apportent aux hommes!_[4]

[Footnote 4: BOUCHET.]

INTERCHAPTER XXIV.

_O voi ch' avete gl' intelletti sani,
Mirate la dottrina, che s' asconde
Sotto 'l velame degli versi strani._

DANTE.

“It was about six an' fifty year sen, in June, when a woman cam fra'
Dent at see a Nebbor of ours e' Langdon.[1] They er terrible knitters
e' Dent[2]—sea my Fadder an' Mudder sent me an' my lile Sister, Sally,
back we' her at larn at knit. I was between sebben an' eight year
auld, an' Sally twea year younger—T' Woman reade on ya Horse, we Sally
afore her—an I on anudder, we a man walking beside me—whiles he gat up
behint an' reade—Ee' them Days Fwoak dud'nt gang e' Carts—but Carts er
t'best—I'd rader ride e' yan than e' onny Carriage—I us't at think if
I was t' Leady, here at t' Ho,'[3] how I wad tear about int'
rwoads—but sen I hae ridden in a Chaise I hate t' nwotion ont' warst
of ought—for t' Trees gang fleeing by o' ya side, an t' Wa' as[4] on
tudder, an' gars yan be as seek as a peeate.

[Footnote 1: The valley of Langdale, near Ambleside. The Langdale
Pikes are known to all tourists.]

[Footnote 2: Dent is a chapelry in the Parish and Union of Sedbergh,
W. Division of the wapentake of Staincliffe and Ewcross, W. Riding of
the County of York, sixteen miles E. from Kendal.—_Lewis's Topog.
Dict._]

[Footnote 3: i.e. At the Hall.]

[Footnote 4: Wa' as, i.e. Walls, as in p. 86.]

“Weel, we dud'nt like Dent at a—' nut that they wer bad tull us—but
ther way o' leeving—it was round Meal—an' they _stoult_ it int' frying
pan, e' keaeks as thick as my fing-er.—Then we wer _stawed_[5] we' sae
mickle knitting—We went to a _Skeul_ about a mile off—ther was a
Maister an' Mistress—they larnt us our Lessons, yan a piece—an' then
we knit as hard as we cud drive, striving whilk cud knit t' hardest
yan again anudder—we hed our _Darracks_[6] set afore we com fra' Heam
int' mwornin; an' if we dud'nt git them duun we warrant to gang to our
dinners—They hed o' macks o' contrivances to larn us to knit swift—T'
Maister wad wind 3 or 4 clues togedder, for 3 or 4 Bairns to knitt
off—_that'_ at knit slawest raffled tudders yarn, an' than she gat
weel thumpt (but ther was baith Lasses an' Lads 'at learnt at
knit)—Than we ust at sing a mack of a sang, whilk we wer at git at
t'end on at every needle, ca'ing ower t' Neams of o' t' fwoak in t'
Deaal—but Sally an me wad never ca' _Dent_ Fwoak—sea we ca'ed Langdon
Fwoak—T' Sang was—

Sally an' I, Sally an' I,
For a good pudding pye,
Taa hoaf wheat, an' tudder hoaf rye,
Sally an' I, for a good pudding pye.

We sang this (altering t' neams) at every needle: and when we com at
t' end cried ‘off’ an' began again an' sea we strave on o' t' day
through.

[Footnote 5: i.e. cloyed, saturated, fatigued. BROCKETT'S Glossary of
North Country words.]

[Footnote 6: i.e. _Days-works_. So the Derwent is called the Darron.]

“We wer _stawed_, as I telt yea—o' t' pleser we hed was when we went
out a bit to beat t' fire for a nebbor 'at was baking—that was a grand
day for us!—At Kursmas teea, ther was t' maskers—an' on Kursmas day at
mworn they gav' us sum reed stuff to' t' Breakfast—I think it maun ha'
been Jocklat—but we dud'nt like 't at a', 't ommost puzzened us!—an'
we cared for nought but how we wer to git back to Langdon—Neet an' Day
ther was nought but _this_ knitting! T' Nebbors ust at gang about fra'
house to house, we' ther wark,—than yan fire dud, ye knaw, an' they
cud hev a better—they hed girt lang black peeats—an' set them up an
hed in a girt round we' a whol at top—an a' t' Fwoak sat about it.
When ony o' them gat into a hubble we' ther wark, they shouted out
‘_turn a Peeat_’—an' _them'_ at sat naarest t' fire turnt yan, an'
meaad a _low_[7]—for they nivver hed onny cannal.—We knat quorse
wosset stockings—some gloves—an' some neet caps, an' wastecwoat
breests, an' petticwoats. I yance knat a stocking, for mysell, e' six
hours—Sally yan e' sebben—an' t'woman's Doughter, 'at was aulder than
us e' eight—an' they sent a nwote to our Fwoak e' Langdon at tell
them.

[Footnote 7: i.e. _a flame_; it is an Icelandic word. See Haldorson's
Lexicon. _At loga, ardere_ and _Loga, flamma_. So in St. George for
England,

As timorous larks amazed are
With light, and with a _low_-bell.]

“Sally an' me, when we wer by our sells, wer always contrivin how we
wer at git away, when we sleept by oursells we talk't of nought
else—but when t' woman's Doughter sleept we' us we wer _qwhite_
mum—summat or udder always happent at hinder us, till yan day, between
Kursmas an' Cannalmas, when t' woman's Doughter stait at heaam, we
teuk off. Our house was four mile on 'todder side o' Dent's Town—whor,
efter we hed pass t' Skeul, we axed t'way to Kendal—It hed been a hard
frost, an' ther was snaw on t' grund—but it was beginnin to thow, an'
was varra sloshy an' cauld—but we _poted_ alang leaving our lile
footings behint us—we hed our cloggs on—for we durst'nt change them
for our shoon for fear o' being fund out—an' we had nought on but our
hats, an' bits o' blue bedgowns, an' brats—sea ye may think we cuddent
be varra heeat—I hed a sixpence e' my pocket, an' we hed three or four
shilling mare in our box, 'at our Fwoak hed ge'en us to keep our
pocket we'—but, lile mafflins[8] as we wer, we thought it wad be misst
an' durst'nt tak ony mare.

[Footnote 8: _Maffling_—_a state of perplexity_.—BROCKETT. Maffled,
mazed, and maisled (as used a little further on) have all a like
sense.]

“Afore we gat to Sebber[9] we fell hungry; an' ther was a fine, girt,
reed house nut far off t' rwoad, whar we went an' begged for a bit o'
breead—but they wadd'nt give us ought—sea we trampt on, an com to a
lile theakt house, an' I said—‘Sally thou sall beg t' neesht—thou's
less than me, an mappen they'll sarra us’—an' they dud—an' gav us a
girt shive[10] o' breead—at last we gat to _Scotch Jins_, as they ca'
t' public House about three mile fra Sebber (o' this side) a Scotch
woman keept it.—It was amaist dark, sea we axt her at let us stay o'
neet—she teuk us in, an' gav us sum boilt milk and breead—an' suun put
us to bed—we telt her our taael; an' she sed we wer int' reet at run
away.

[Footnote 9: i.e. Sedbergh.]

[Footnote 10: i.e. a slice. So in Titus Andronicus.

“Easy it is
Of a cut loaf to steal a _shive_ we know.”]

“Neesht mwornin she gav us sum mare milk an' breead, an' we gav her
our sixpence—an' then went off-sledding away amangt' snaw, ower that
cauld moor (ye ken' 't weel enough) naarly starved to deeath, an'
maisled—sea we gat on varra slawly, as ye may think—an' 't rain'd tua.
We begged again at anudder lile theakt house, on t' Hay Fell—there was
a woman an' a heap of raggeltly Bairns stannin round a Teable—an' she
gave us a few of their poddish, an' put a lock of sugar into a sup of
cauld tea tull them.

“Then we trailed on again till we com to t' Peeat Lane Turnpike
Yat—they teuk us in there, an' let us warm oursells, an' gav us a bit
o' breead. They sed had duun re'et to com away; for Dent was t'
poorest plaace in t' warld, and we wer seafe to ha' been hungert—an'
at last we gat to Kendal, when 't was naar dark—as we went up t'
streat we met a woman, an' axt t' way to Tom Posts—(_that_ was t' man
at ust te bring t' Letters fra' Kendal to Ammelsid an' Hawksheead
yance a week—an' baited at his house when we com fra' Langdon) she
telt us t' way an' we creept on, but we leaked back at her twea or
three times—an' she was still stanning, leuking at us—then she com
back an' _quiesed_ us a deal, an' sed we sud gang heam with her—We
telt her whor we hed cum fra' an' o' about our Tramp 'at we hed
hed.—She teuk us to her house—it was a varra poor yan—down beside t'
brig at we had cum ower into t' Town—Ther was nea fire on—but she went
out, an' brought in sam _eilding_[11] (for they can buy a pennerth, or
sea, o' quols or Peeats at onny time there) an' she set on a good
fire—an' put on t' kettle—then laited[12] up sum of her awn claes, an'
tiet them on us as weel as she cud, an' dried ours—for they wer as wet
as thack—it hed rained a' t' way—Then she meead us sum tea—an' as she
hedden't a bed for us in her awn house she teuk us to a nebbors—Ther
was an aud woman in a Bed naar us that flaed us sadly—for she teuk a
fit int' neet an' her feace turnt as black as a cwol—we laid
trimmiling, an' hutched oursells ower heead e' bed—Fwoks com an' steud
round her—an' we heeard them say 'at we wer asleep—sea we meade as if
we wer asleep, because we thought if we wer asleep they waddn't kill
us—an' we wisht oursells e' t' streets again, or onny whor—an' wad ha'
been fain to ha' been ligging under a Dyke.

[Footnote 11: _Fire-elding_,—the common term for fuel. _Ild_ in Danish
is _fire_. Such words were to be expected in Cumberland. The
commencement of Landor's lines to Southey, 1833, will explain why—

Indweller of a peaceful vale,
Ravaged erewhile by white-hair'd Dane, &c.]

[Footnote 12: To _late_ or _leat_ is to seek out. See BROCKETT. It is
from the Icelandic _at leyta_, quærere. Cf. Haldorson in V.]

“Neesht mwornin we hed our Brekfast, an' t' woman gav us baith a
hopenny Keack beside (that was as big as a penny 'an now) to eat as we
went—an' she set us to t' top o' t' House o' Correction Hill—It was
freezing again, an' t' rwoad was terrible slape; sea we gat on varra
badly—an' afore we com to Staavley (an' that was but a lile bit o' t'
rwoad) we fell hung'ry an' began on our keacks—then we sed we wad walk
sea far, an' then tak a bite—an' then on again an' tak anudder—and
afore we gat to t' Ings Chapel they wer o' gane—Every now an' than we
stopped at reest—an' sat down, an' grat,[13] under a hedge or wa'a
crudled up togedder, taking haud o' yan anudders hands at try at warm
them, for we were fairly maizled wi' t' cauld—an' when we saw onny
body cumming we gat up an' walked away—but we duddn't meet monny
Fwoak—I dunnat think Fwoak warr sea mickle in t' rwoads e' them Days.

[Footnote 13: i.e. wept, from the old word _greet_, common to all the
Northern languages. Chaucer, Spenser, &c., use it. See Specimen
Glossarii in Edda Sæmundar hinns Froda V. _Grætr, ploratus, at græta,
plorare,_ Hence _grief_ &c.]

“We scraffled[14] on t' this fashion—an' it was quite dark afore we
gat to Ammelsid Yat—our feet warr sare an' we warr naarly dune for—an'
when we turnt round Windermer Watter heead, T' waves blasht sea
dowly[15] that we _warr_ fairly heart-brossen—we sat down on a cauld
steane an' grat sare—but when we hed hed our belly-full o' greeting we
gat up, an feelt better[16] fort' an' sea dreed on again—slaw enough
ye may be sure—but we warr e' _kent_ rwoads—an' now when I gang that
gait I can nwote o' t' spots whor we reested—for them lile bye lwoans
erent sea micklealtert, as t' girt rwoads, fra what they warr. At
Clappers-gait t' Fwoak wad ha' knawn us, if it heddent been dark, an'
o' ther duirs steeked,[17] an geen us a relief, if we hed begged
there—but we began at be flate[18] 'at my Fadder an' Mudder wad be
angert at us for running away.

[Footnote 14: i.e. struggled on. BROCKETT in V.]

[Footnote 15: i.e. lonely, melancholy. _Ibid._]

[Footnote 16: The scholar will call to mind the _ὀλοοῖο τεταρπώμεσθα
γόοιο_ of the Iliad, xxiii. 98., with like expressions in the Odyssey,
e.g. xi. 211, xix. 213, and the reader of the Pseudo Ossian will
remember the words of Fingal. “Strike the harp in my hall, and let
Fingal hear the song. _Pleasant is the joy of grief._”]

[Footnote 17: “Steek the heck,”—i.e. shut the door. BROCKETT.]

[Footnote 18: From the verb “Flay” to _frighten_.]

“It was twea o'clock int' mworning when we gat to our awn Duir—I c'aed
out Fadder! Fadder!—Mudder! Mudder! ower an' ower again—She hard us,
an' sed—‘That's our Betty's voice’—‘Thou's nought but fancies, lig
still,’ said my Fadder—but she waddent; an' sea gat up, an' opent'
Duir and there warr we stanning doddering[19]—an' daized we' cauld, as
deer deead as macks nea matter—When she so us she was mare flate than
we—She brast out a crying—an' we grat—an my Fadder grat an' a'—an'
they duddent flight,[20] nor said nought tull us, for cumming
away,—they warrant a bit angert—an' my Fadder sed we sud nivver gang
back again.

[Footnote 19: We still speak of _Dodder_ or _Quaker's_ grass,—a word
by the way, older than the Sect.]

[Footnote 20: A. S. _Flitan_—to scold.]

“T' Fwoaks e' Dent nivver mist us, tilt' Neet—because they thought 'at
we hed been keept at dinner time 'at finish our tasks—but when neet
com, an' we duddent cum heam, they set off efter us to Kendal—an' mun
ha' gane by Scotch Jins when we warr there—how they satisfied
thersells I knan't, but they suppwosed we hed gane heam—and sea they
went back—My Fadder wasn't lang, ye may be seur, o' finding out' T'
Woman at Kendal 'at was sea good tull us—an' my Mudder put her doun a
pot o' Butter, an' meead her a lile cheese an' sent her.”

INTERPOLATION.

The above affecting and very simple story, Reader, was taken down from
the mouth of Betty Yewdale herself, the elder of the two children,—at
that time an old woman, but with a bright black eye that lacked no
lustre. A shrewd and masculine woman, Reader, was Betty Yewdale,—fond
of the Nicotian weed and a short pipe so as to have the full flavour
of its essence,—somewhat, sooth be said, too fond of it, for the
pressure of the pipe produced a cancer in her mouth, which caused her
death.—Knowest thou, gentle Reader, that most curious of all curious
books—(we stop not to inquire whether Scarron be indebted to it, or it
to Scarron)—the Anatomy of Melancholy by Democritus Junior, old Burton
to wit?—Curious if thou art, it cannot fail, but that thou knowest it
well,—curious or not, hear what he says of Tobacco, poor Betty
Yewdale's bane!

“Tobacco, divine, rare, super-excellent tobacco, which goes far beyond
all their panaceas, potable gold, and philosopher's stones, a
sovereign remedy to all diseases. A good vomit, I confesse, a vertuous
herb, if it be well qualified, opportunely taken, and medicinally
used; but, as it is commonly abused by most men, which take it as
tinkers do ale, 'tis a plague, a mischief, a violent purger of goods,
lands, health, hellish, devilish and damned tobacco, the ruine and
overthrow of body and soul.”

Gentle Reader! if thou knowest not the pages of honest old Burton—we
speak not of his melancholy end, which melancholy may have wrought,
but of his honesty of purpose, and of his life,—thou wilt not be
unacquainted with that excellent Poem of Wordsworth's,—“The Excursion,
being a Portion of the Recluse.”—_If any know not the wisdom contained
in it, forthwith let them study it!_—Acquainted with it or not, it is
Betty Yewdale that is described in the following lines, as holding the
lanthorn to guide the steps of old Jonathan, her husband, on his
return from working in the quarries, if at any time he chanced to be
beyond his usual hour. They are given at length;—for who will not be
pleased to read them _decies repetita_?

Much was I pleased, the grey-haired wanderer said,
When to those shining fields our notice first
You turned; and yet more pleased have from your lips,
Gathered this fair report of them who dwell
In that Retirement; whither, by such course
Of evil hap and good as oft awaits
A lone wayfaring Man, I once was brought.
Dark on my road the autumnal evening fell
While I was traversing yon mountain pass,
And night succeeded with unusual gloom;
So that my feet and hands at length became
Guides better than mine eyes—until a light
High in the gloom appeared, too high, methought,
For human habitation, but I longed
To reach it destitute of other hope.
I looked with steadiness as sailors look,
On the north-star, or watch-tower's distant lamp,
And saw the light—now fixed—and shifting now—
Not like a dancing meteor; but in line
Of never varying motion, to and fro.
It is no night fire of the naked hills,
Thought I, some friendly covert must be near.
With this persuasion thitherward my steps
I turn, and reach at last the guiding light;
Joy to myself! but to the heart of Her
Who there was standing on the open hill,
(The same kind Matron whom your tongue hath praised)
Alarm and disappointment! The alarm
Ceased, when she learned through what mishap I came,
And by what help had gained those distant fields.
Drawn from her Cottage, on that open height,
Bearing a lantern in her hand she stood
Or paced the ground,—to guide her husband home,
By that unwearied signal, kenned afar;
An anxious duty! which the lofty Site
Traversed but by a few irregular paths,
Imposes, whensoe'er untoward chance
Detains him after his accustomed hour
When night lies black upon the hills. ‘But come,
Come,’ said the Matron,—‘to our poor abode;
Those dark rocks hide it!’ Entering, I beheld
A blazing fire—beside a cleanly hearth
Sate down; and to her office, with leave asked,
The Dame returned.—Or ere that glowing pile
Of mountain turf required the builder's hand
Its wasted splendour to repair, the door
Opened, and she re-entered with glad looks,
Her Helpmate following. Hospitable fare,
Frank conversation, make the evening's treat:
Need a bewildered Traveller wish for more?
But more was given; I studied as we sate
By the bright fire, the good Man's face—composed
Of features elegant; an open brow
Of undisturbed humanity; a cheek
Suffused with something of a feminine hue;
Eyes beaming courtesy and mild regard;
But in the quicker turns of his discourse,
Expression slowly varying, that evinced
A tardy apprehension. From a fount
Lost, thought I, in the obscurities of time,
But honour'd once, those features and that mien
May have descended, though I see them here,
In such a Man, so gentle and subdued,
Withal so graceful in his gentleness,
A race illustrious for heroic deeds,
Humbled, but not degraded, may expire.
This pleasing fancy (cherished and upheld
By sundry recollections of such fall
From high to low, ascent from low to high,
As books record, and even the careless mind
Cannot but notice among men and things,)
Went with me to the place of my repose.

BOOK V. THE PASTOR.

* * * * *

[Miss Sarah Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's sister, and Mrs. Warter took
down the story from the old woman's lips and Southey laid it by for
the Doctor, &c. She then lived in a cottage at Rydal, where I
afterwards saw her. Of the old man it was told me—(for I did not see
him)——“He is a perfect picture,—like those we meet with in the better
copies of Saints in our old Prayer Books.”

There was another comical History intended for an Interchapter to the
Doctor, &c. of a runaway match to Gretna Green by two people in humble
life,—but it was not handed over to me with the MS. materials. It was
taken down from the mouth of the old woman who was one of the
parties—and it would probably date back some sixty or seventy years.]

CHAPTER CCIX.

EARLY APPROXIMATION TO THE DOCTOR'S THEORY.—GEORGE FOX.—ZACHARIAH BEN
MOHAMMED.—COWPER.—INSTITUTES OF MENU.—BARDIC PHILOSOPHY. MILTON.—SIR
THOMAS BROWNE.

There are distinct degrees of Being as there are degrees of Sound; and
the whole world is but as it were a greater Gamut, or scale of music.

NORRIS.

Certain theologians, and certain theosophists, as men who fancy
themselves inspired sometimes affect to be called, had approached so
nearly to the Doctor's hypothesis of progressive life, and
propensities continued in the ascending scale, that he appealed to
them as authorities for its support. They saw the truth, he said, as
far as they went; but it was only to a certain point: a step farther
and the beautiful theory would have opened upon them. “How can we
choose, said one, but remember the mercy of God in this our land in
this particular, that no ravenous dangerous beasts do range in our
nation, if men themselves would not be wolves and bears and lions one
to another!” And why are they so, observed the Doctor commenting upon
the words of the old Divine; why are they so, but because they have
actually been lions and bears and wolves? why are they so, but
because, as the wise heathen speaks, more truly than he was conscious
of speaking, _sub hominum effigie latet ferinus animus_. The temper is
congenital, the propensity innate; it is bred in the bone; and what
Theologians call the old Adam, or the old Man, should physiologically,
and perhaps therefore preferably, be called the old Beast.

That wise and good man William Jones of Nayland has in his sermon upon
the nature and œconomy of Beasts and Cattle, a passage which in
elucidating a remarkable part of the Law of Moses, may serve also as a
glose or commentary upon the Doctor's theory.

“The Law of _Moses_, in the xith chapter of _Leviticus_, divides the
brute creation into two grand parties, from the fashion of their feet,
and their manner of feeding, that is, from the _parting of the hoof_,
and the _chewing of the cud_; which properties are indications of
their general characters, as _wild_ or _tame_. For the dividing of the
hoof and the chewing of the cud are peculiar to those cattle which are
serviceable to man's life, as sheep, oxen, goats, deer, and their
several kinds. These are shod by the Creator for a peaceable and
inoffensive progress through life; as the Scripture exhorts us to be
_shod_ in like manner _with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace_.
They live temperately upon herbage, the diet of students and saints;
and after the taking of their food, chew it deliberately over again
for better digestion; in which act they have all the appearance a
brute can assume of pensiveness or meditation; which is,
metaphorically, called _rumination_,[1] with reference to this
property of certain animals.

[Footnote 1: Pallentes _ruminat_ herbas.—VIRGIL.

Dum jacet, et lentè revocatas _ruminat_ herbas.—OVID.

It were hardly necessary to recal to an English reader's recollection
the words of Brutus to Cassius,

Till then, my noble friend, _chew_ upon this,—JULIUS CÆSAR.

or those of Agrippa in Antony and Cleopatra,

Pardon what I have spoke;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,
By duty _ruminated_.]

“Such are these: but when we compare the beasts of the field and the
forest, they, instead of the harmless hoof, have feet which are _swift
to shed blood_, (Rom. iii. 15.) sharp claws to seize upon their prey,
and teeth to devour it; such as lions, tygers, leopards, wolves,
foxes, and smaller vermin.

“Where one of the Mosaic marks is found, and the other is wanting,
such creatures are of a middle character between the wild and the
tame; as the swine, the hare, and some others. Those that part the
hoof afford us wholesome nourishment; those that are shod with any
kind of hoof may be made useful to man; as the camel, the horse, the
ass, the mule; all of which are fit to travel and carry burdens. But
when the foot is divided into many parts, and armed with claws, there
is but small hope of the manners; such creatures being in general
either murderers, or hunters, or thieves; the malefactors and felons
of the brute creation: though among the wild there are all the
possible gradations of ferocity and evil temper.

“Who can review the creatures of God, as they arrange themselves under
the two great denominations of wild and tame, without wondering at
their different dispositions and ways of life! sheep and oxen lead a
sociable as well as a peaceful life; they are formed into flocks and
herds; and as they live honestly they walk openly in the day. The time
of darkness is to them, as to the virtuous and sober amongst men, a
time of rest. But the beast of prey goeth about in solitude; the time
of darkness is to him the time of action; then he visits the folds of
sheep, and stalls of oxen, thirsting for their blood; as the thief and
the murderer visits the habitations of men, for an opportunity of
robbing, and destroying, under the concealment of the night. When the
sun ariseth the beast of prey retires to the covert of the forest; and
while the cattle are spreading themselves over a thousand hills in
search of pasture, the tyrant of the desert is laying himself down in
his den, to sleep off the fumes of his bloody meal. The ways of men
are not less different than the ways of beasts; and here we may see
them represented as on a glass; for, as the quietness of the pasture,
in which the cattle spend their day, is to the howlings of a
wilderness at night, such is the virtuous life of honest labour to the
life of the thief, the oppressor, the murderer, and the midnight
gamester, who live upon the losses and sufferings of other men.”

But how would the Doctor have delighted in the first Lesson of that
excellent man's Book of Nature,—a book more likely to be useful than
any other that has yet been written with the same good intent.

THE BEASTS.

“The ass hath very long ears, and yet he hath no sense of music, but
brayeth with a frightful noise. He is obstinate and unruly, and will
go his own way, even though he is severely beaten. The child, who will
not be taught, is but little better; he has no delight in learning,
but talketh of his own folly, and disturbeth others with his noise.

“The dog barketh all the night long, and thinks it no trouble to rob
honest people of their rest.

“The fox is a cunning thief, and men, when they do not fear God, are
crafty and deceitful. The wolf is cruel and blood-thirsty. As he
devoureth the lamb, so do bad men oppress and tear the innocent and
helpless.

“The adder is a poisonous snake, and hatha forked double tongue; and
so men speak lies, and utter slanders against their neighbours, when
_the poison of asps is under their lips_. The devil, who deceiveth
with lies, and would destroy all mankind, is the _old serpent_, who
brought death into the world by the venom of his bite. He would kill
me, and all the children that are born, if God would let him; but
Jesus Christ came to save us from his power, and to _destroy the works
of the Devil_.

“Lord thou hast made me a man for thy service: O let me not dishonour
thy work, by turning myself into the likeness of some evil beast: let
me not be as the fox, who is a thief and a robber: let me never be
cruel, as a wolf, to any of thy creatures; especially to my dear
fellow-creatures, and my dearer fellow Christians; but let me be
harmless as the lamb; quiet and submissive as the sheep; that so I may
be fit to live, and be fed on thy pasture, under the good shepherd,
Jesus Christ. It is far better to be the poorest of his flock, than to
be proud and cruel, as the lion or the tiger, who go about seeking
what they may devour.”

THE QUESTIONS.

“_Q_. What is the child that will not learn?

_A_. An ass, which is ignorant and unruly.

_Q_. What are wicked men, who hurt and cheat others?

_A_. They are wolves and foxes, and bloodthirsty lions.

_Q_. What are ill-natured people, who trouble their neighbours and
rail at them?

_A_. They are dogs, who bark at every body.

_Q_. But what are good and peaceable people?

_A_. They are harmless sheep; and little children, under the grace of
God, are innocent lambs.

_Q_. But what are liars?

_A_. They are snakes and vipers, with double tongues and poison under
their lips.

_Q_. Who is the good shepherd?

_A_. Jesus Christ.”

* * * * *

There is a passage not less apposite in Donne's Epistle to Sir Edward,
afterwards Lord Herbert of Cherbury.

Man is a lump where all beasts kneaded be;
Wisdom makes him an Ark where all agree.
The fool in whom these beasts do live at jar,
Is sport to others and a theatre;
Nor 'scapes he so, but is himself their prey,
All that was man in him is ate away;
And now his beasts on one another feed,
Yet couple in anger and new monsters breed.
How happy he which hath due place assign'd
To his beasts, and disaforested his mind,
Empaled himself to keep them out, not in;
Can sow and dares trust corn where they have been,
Can use his horse, goat, wolf and every beast,
And is not ass himself to all the rest.

To this purport the Patriarch of the Quakers writes where he saith
“now some men have the nature of Swine, wallowing in the mire: and
some men have the nature of Dogs, to bite both the sheep and one
another: and some men have the nature of Lions, to tear, devour and
destroy: and some men have the nature of Wolves, to tear and devour
the lambs and sheep of Christ: and some men have the nature of the
Serpent (that old destroyer) to sting, envenom and poison. _He that
hath an ear to hear, let him hear_, and learn these things within
himself. And some men have the natures of other beasts and creatures,
minding nothing but earthly and visible things, and feeding without
the fear of God. Some men have the nature of an Horse, to prance and
vapour in their strength, and to be swift in doing evil. And some men
have the nature of tall sturdy Oaks, to flourish and spread in wisdom
and strength, who are strong in evil, which must perish and come to
the fire. Thus the Evil is but _one in all_, but worketh many ways;
and whatsoever a Man's or Woman's nature is addicted to that is
outward, the Evil one will fit him with that, and will please his
nature and appetite, to keep his mind in his inventions, and in the
creatures from the Creator.”

To this purport the so-called Clemens writes in the Apostolical
Constitutions when he complains that the flock of Christ was devoured
by Demons and wicked men, or rather not men but wild beasts in the
shape of men, _πονηροῖς ἀνθρώποις, μᾶλλον δὲ οὐκ ἀνθρώποις, ἀλλὰ
θηρίοις ἀνθρωποείδεσιν,_ by Heathens, Jews and godless heretics.

With equal triumph too did he read a passage in one of the numbers of
the Connoisseur, which made him wonder that the writer from whom it
proceeded in levity should not have been led on by it to the clear
perception of a great truth. “The affinity,” says that writer, who is
now known to have been no less a person than the author of the Task,
“the affinity between chatterers and monkeys, and praters and parrots,
is too obvious not to occur at once. Grunters and growlers may be
justly compared to hogs. Snarlers are curs that continually shew their
teeth, but never bite; and the spitfire passionate are a sort of wild
cats, that will not bear stroking, but will purr when they are
pleased. Complainers are screech-owls; and story-tellers always
repeating the same dull note are cuckoos. Poets that prick up their
ears at their own hideous braying are no better than asses; critics in
general are venomous serpents that delight in hissing; and some of
them, who have got by heart a few technical terms without knowing
their meaning, are no better than magpies.”

So too the polyonomous Arabian philosopher Zechariah Ben Mohammed Ben
Mahmud Al Camuni Al Cazvini. “Man,” he says, “partakes of the nature
of vegetables, because like them he grows and is nourished; he stands
in this farther relation to the irrational animals, that he feels and
moves; by his intellectual faculties he resembles the higher orders of
intelligences, and he partakes more or less of these various classes,
as his inclination leads him. If his sole wish be to satisfy the wants
of existence, then he is content to vegetate. If he partakes more of
the animal than the vegetable nature, we find him fierce as the lion,
greedy as the bull, impure as the hog, cruel as the leopard, or
cunning as the fox; and if as is sometimes the case, he possesses all
these bad qualities, he is then a demon in human shape.”

Gratifying as these passages were to him, some of them being mere
sports of wit, and others only the produce of fancy, he would have
been indeed delighted if he had known what was in his days known by no
European scholar, that in the Institutes of Menu, his notion is
distinctly declared as a revealed truth; there it is said, “In
whatever occupation the Supreme Lord first employed any vital soul,
that occupation the same soul attaches itself spontaneously, when it
receives a new body again and again. Whatever quality, noxious or
innocent, harsh or mild, unjust or just, false or true, he conferred
on any being at its creation, the same quality enters it of course on
its future births.”[2]

[Footnote 2: SIR W. JONES.]

Still more would it have gratified him if he had known (as has before
been cursorily observed) how entirely his own theory coincided with
the Druidical philosophy, a philosophy which he would rather have
traced to the Patriarchs, than to the Canaanites. Their doctrine, as
explained by the Welsh translator of the Paradise Lost, in the sketch
of Bardism which he has prefixed to the poems of Llywarc the Aged, was
that “the whole animated creation originated in the lowest point of
existence, and arrived by a regular train of gradations at the
probationary state of humanity, the intermediate stages being all
necessarily evil, but more or less so as they were removed from the
beginning, which was evil in the extreme. In the state of humanity,
good and evil were equally balanced, consequently it was a state of
liberty, in which if the conduct of the free agent preponderated
towards evil, death gave but an awful passage whereby he returned to
animal life, in a condition below humanity equal to the degree of
turpitude to which he had debased himself, when free to chuse between
good and evil: and if his life were desperately wicked, it was
possible for him to fall to his original vileness, in the lowest point
of existence, there to recommence his painful progression through the
ascending series of brute being. But if he had acted well in this his
stage of probation, death was then to the soul thus tried and
approved, what the word by which in the language of the Druids it is
denoted, literally means, enlargement. The soul was removed from the
sphere wherein evil hath any place, into a state necessarily good; not
to continue there in one eternal condition of blessedness, eternity
being what no inferior existence could endure, but to pass from one
gradation to another, gaining at every ascent increase of knowledge,
and retaining the consciousness of its whole preceding progress
through all. For the good of the human race, such a soul might again
be sent on earth, but the human being of which it then formed the life
was incapable of falling.” In this fancy the Bardic system approached
that of the Bramins, this Celtic avatar of a happy soul, corresponding
to the twice-born man of the Hindus. And the Doctor would have
extracted some confirmation for the ground of the theory from that
verse of the Psalm which speaks of us as “curiously wrought in the
lowest parts of the earth.”

Young, he used to say, expressed unconsciously this system of
progressive life, when he spoke of man as a creature

From different natures marvellously mix'd;
Connection exquisite of distant worlds;
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain,
Midway from nothing to the Deity.

It was more distinctly enounced by Akenside.

The same paternal hand
From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore
To men, to angels, to celestial minds,
Will ever lead the generations on
Through higher scenes of being: while, supplied
From day to day with his enlivening breath,
Inferior orders in succession rise
To fill the void below. As flame ascends,
As vapours to the earth in showers return,
As the pois'd ocean toward the attracting moon
Swells, and the ever listening planets charmed
By the Sun's call their onward pace incline,
So all things which have life aspire to God,
Exhaustless fount of intellectual day!
Centre of souls! nor doth the mastering voice
Of nature cease within to prompt aright
Their steps; nor is the care of heaven withheld
From sending to the toil external aid,
That in their stations all may persevere
To climb the ascent of being, and approach
For ever nearer to the Life Divine.

The Bardic system bears in itself intrinsic evidence of its antiquity;
for no such philosophy could have been devised among any Celtic people
in later ages; nor could the Britons have derived any part of it from
any nation with whom they had any opportunity of intercourse, at any
time within reach of history. The Druids, or rather the Bards, (for
these, according to those by whom their traditionary wisdom has been
preserved, were the superior order,) deduced as corollaries from the
theory of Progressive Existence, these beautiful Triads.[3]

[Footnote 3: Originally quoted in the notes to Madoc to illustrate the
lines which follow.

“Let the Bard,
Exclaim'd the King, give his accustom'd lay:
For sweet, I know, to Madoc is the song
He loved in earlier years.
Then strong of voice,
The officer proclaim'd the sovereign will,
Bidding the hall be silent; loud he spake
And smote the sounding pillar with his wand
And hush'd the banqueters. The chief of Bards
Then raised the ancient lay.
_Thee, Lord! he sung,
O Father! Thee, whose wisdom, Thee, whose power,
Whose love,—all love, all power, all wisdom. Thou!
Tongue cannot utter, nor can heart conceive.
He in the lowest depth of Being framed
The imperishable mind; in every change
Through the great circle of progressive life,
He guides and guards, till evil shall be known,
And being known as evil, cease to be;
And the pure soul emancipate by death,
The Enlarger, shall attain its end predoom'd,
The eternal newness of eternal joy._]

“There are three Circles of Existence; the Circle of Infinity, where
there is nothing but God, of living or dead, and none but God can
traverse it; the Circle of Inchoation, where all things are by nature
derived from Death,—this Circle hath been traversed by man; and the
Circle of happiness, where all things spring from life,—this man shall
traverse in heaven.

“Animated beings having three states of Existence; that of Inchoation
in the Great Deep, or lowest point of Existence; that of Liberty in
the State of Humanity; and that of Love, which is the Happiness of
Heaven.

“All Animated Beings are subject to three Necessities; beginning in
the Great Deep; Progression in the Circle of Inchoation; and Plenitude
in the Circle of Happiness. Without these things nothing can possibly
exist but God.

“Three things are necessary in the Circle of Inchoation; the least of
all, Animation, and thence beginning; the materials of all things, and
thence Increase, which cannot take place in any other state; the
formation of all things out of the dead mass, and thence Discriminate
Individuality.

“Three things cannot but exist towards all animated Beings from the
Nature of Divine Justice: Co-sufferance in the Circle of Inchoation,
because without that none could attain to the perfect knowledge of
anything; Co-participation in the Divine Love; and Co-ultimity from
the nature of God's Power, and its attributes of Justice and Mercy.

“There are three necessary occasions of Inchoation: to collect the
materials and properties of every nature; to collect the knowledge of
everything; and to collect power towards subduing the Adverse and the
Devastative, and for the divestation of Evil. Without this traversing
every mode of animated existence, no state of animation, or of any
thing in nature, can attain to plenitude.”

“By the knowledge of three things will all Evil and Death be
diminished and subdued; their nature, their cause, and their
operation. This knowledge will be obtained in the Circle of
Happiness.”

“The three Plenitudes of Happiness:—Participation of every nature,
with a plenitude of One predominant; conformity to every cast of
genius and character, possessing superior excellence in one; the love
of all Beings and Existences, but chiefly concentred in one object,
which is God; and in the predominant One of each of these, will the
Plenitude of Happiness consist.”

Triads it may be observed are found in the Proverbs of Solomon: so
that to the evidence of antiquity which these Bardic remains present
in their doctrines, a presumption is to be added from the peculiar
form in which they are conveyed.

Whether Sir Philip Sydney had any such theory in his mind or not,
there is an approach to it in that fable which he says old Lanquet
taught him of the Beasts desiring from Jupiter a King, Jupiter
consented, but on condition that they should contribute the qualities
convenient for the new and superior creature.

Full glad they were, and took the naked sprite,
Which straight the Earth yclothed in her clay;
The Lion heart, the Ounce gave active might;
The Horse, good shape; the Sparrow lust to play;
Nightingale, voice enticing songs to say;
Elephant gave a perfect memory,
And Parrot, ready tongue that to apply.

The Fox gave craft; the Dog gave flattery;
Ass, patience; the Mole, a working thought;
Eagle, high look; Wolf, secret cruelty;
Monkey, sweet breath; the Cow, her fair eyes brought:
The Ermine, whitest skin, spotted with nought.
The Sheep, mild-seeming face; climbing the Bear,
The Stag did give his harm-eschewing fear.

The Hare, her slights; the Cat, her melancholy;
Ant, industry; and Coney, skill to build;
Cranes, order; Storks, to be appearing holy;
Cameleons, ease to change; Duck, ease to yield;
Crocodile, tears which might be falsely spill'd;
Ape, great thing gave, tho' he did mowing stand,
The instrument of instruments, the hand.

Thus Man was made, thus Man their Lord became.

At such a system he thought Milton glanced when his Satan speaks of
the influences of the heavenly bodies, as

Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth
Of creatures animate with gradual life
Of growth, sense, reason, all summ'd up in man:

for that the lines, though capable of another interpretation, ought to
be interpreted as referring to a scheme of progressive life, appears
by this fuller developement in the speech of Raphaël;

O Adam, one Almighty is, from whom
All things proceed, and up to him return,
If not deprav'd from good, created all
Such to perfection, one first matter all,
Indued with various forms, various degrees
Of substance, and in things that live, of life;
But more refin'd, more spiritous, and pure,
As nearer to him plac'd, or nearer tending
Each in their several active spheres assign'd,
Till body up to spirit work, in bounds
Proportion'd to each kind. So from the root
Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves
More aery, last the bright consummate flower
Spirits odorous breathes: flow'rs and their fruit,
Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublimed,
To vital spirits aspire, to animal,
To intellectual; give both life and sense
Fancy and understanding; whence the soul
Reason received, and reason is her being
Discursive, or intuitive; discourse
Is oftest yours, the latter most is ours,
Differing but in degree, of kind the same.[4]

[Footnote 4: Spenser in his “Hymne of Heavenly Beautie” falls into a
similar train of thought, as is observed by Thyer.

By view whereof it plainly may appeare
That still as everything doth upward tend,
And further is from earth, so still more cleare
And faire it grows, till to his perfect end
Of purest beautie it at last ascend;
Ayre more than water, fire much more than ayre,
And heaven than fire, appeares more pure and fayre.

But these are somewhat of Pythagorean speculations—caught up by
Lucretius and Virgil.]

Whether that true philosopher, in the exact import of the word, Sir
Thomas Browne, had formed a system of this kind, or only threw out a
seminal idea from which it might be evolved, the Doctor, who dearly
loved the writings of this most meditative author, would not say. But
that Sir Thomas had opened the same vein of thought appears in what
Dr. Johnson censured in “a very fanciful and indefensible section” of
his Christian Morals; for there, and not among his Pseudodoxia
Epidemica, that is to say Vulgar Errors, the passage is found. Our
Doctor would not only have deemed it defensible, but would have proved
it to be so by defending it. “Since the brow,” says the Philosopher of
Norwich, “speaks often truth, since eyes and noses have tongues, and
the countenance proclaims the heart and inclinations; let observation
so far instruct thee in physiognomical lines, as to be some rule for
thy distinction, and guide to for thy affection unto such as look most
like men. Mankind methinks, is comprehended in a few faces, if we
exclude all visages which any way participate of symmetries and
schemes of look common unto other animals. For as though man were the
extract of the world, in whom all were _in coagulato_, which in their
forms were _in soluto_, and at extension, we often observe that men do
most act those creatures whose constitution, parts and complexion, do
most predominate in their mixtures. This is a corner-stone in
physiognomy, and holds some truth not only in particular persons but
also in whole nations.”

But Dr. Johnson must cordially have assented to Sir Thomas Browne's
inferential admonition. “Live,” says that Religious Physician and
Christian Moralist,—“live unto the dignity of thy nature, and leave it
not disputable at last whether thou hast been a man, or since thou art
a composition of man and beast, how thou hast predominantly passed thy
days, to state the denomination. Un-man not, therefore, thyself by a
bestial transformation, nor realize old fables. Expose not thyself by
fourfooted manners unto monstrous draughts and caricature
representations. Think not after the old Pythagorean concert what
beast thou mayest be after death. Be not under any brutal
metempsychosis while thou livest and walkest about erectly under that
scheme of man. In thine own circumference, as in that of the earth,
let the rational horizon be larger than the sensible, and the circle
of reason than of sense: let the divine part be upward, and the region
of beast below: otherwise it is but to live invertedly, and with thy
head unto the heels of thy antipodes. Desert not thy title to a divine
particle and union with invisibles. Let true knowledge and virtue tell
the lower world thou art a part of the higher. Let thy thoughts be of
things which have not entered into the hearts of beasts; think of
things long past, and long to come; acquaint thyself with the
choragium of the stars, and consider the vast expansion beyond them.
Let intellectual tubes give thee a glance of things which visive
organs reach not. Have a glimpse of incomprehensible, and thoughts of
things, which thoughts but tenderly touch. Lodge immaterials in thy
head, ascend unto invisibles; fill thy spirit with spirituals, with
the mysteries of faith, the magnalities of religion, and thy life with
the honour of God; without which, though giants in wealth and dignity,
we are but dwarfs and pygmies in humanity, and may hold a pitiful rank
in that triple division of mankind into heroes, men and beasts. For
though human souls are said to be equal, yet is there no small
inequality in their operations; some maintain the allowable station of
men, many are far below it; and some have been so divine as to
approach the apogeum of their natures, and to be in the confinium of
spirits.”

CHAPTER CCX.

A QUOTATION FROM BISHOP BERKELEY, AND A HIT AT THE SMALL CRITICS.

_Plusieurs blameront l'entassement de passages que l'on vient de voir;
j'ai prévu leurs dédains, leurs dégoûts, et leurs censures
magistrales; et n'ai pas voulu y avoir égard._

BAYLE.

Here I shall inform the small critic, what it is, “a thousand pounds
to one penny,” as the nursery song says, or as the newspaper reporters
of the Ring have it, Lombard Street to a China Orange,—no small critic
already knows, whether he be diurnal, hebdomadal, monthly or
trimestral,—that a notion of progressive Life is mentioned in Bishop
Berkeley's Minute Philosopher, not as derived from any old system of
philosophy or religion, but as the original speculation of one who
belonged to a club of Freethinkers. Another member of that worshipful
society explains the system of his acquaintance, thus:

“He made a threefold partition of the human species into Birds, Beasts
and Fishes, being of opinion that the Road of Life lies upwards in a
perpetual ascent, through the scale of Being: in such sort, that the
souls of insects after death make their second appearance in the shape
of perfect animals, Birds, Beasts or Fishes; which upon their death
are preferred into human bodies, and in the next stage into Beings of
a higher and more perfect kind. This man we considered at first as a
sort of heretic, because his scheme seemed not to consist with our
fundamental tenet, the Mortality of the Soul: but he justified the
notion to be innocent, inasmuch as it included nothing of reward or
punishment, and was not proved by any argument which supposed, or
implied either incorporeal spirit, or Providence, being only inferred,
by way of analogy, from what he had observed in human affairs, the
Court, the Church, and the Army, wherein the tendency is always
upwards, from lower posts to higher. According to this system, the
Fishes are those men who swim in pleasure, such as _petits maitres_,
_bons vivans_, and honest fellows. The Beasts are dry, drudging,
covetous, rapacious folk, and all those addicted to care and business
like oxen, and other dry land animals, which spend their lives in
labour and fatigue. The Birds are airy, notional men, Enthusiasts,
Projectors, Philosophers, and such like; in each species every
individual retaining a tincture of his former state, which constitutes
what is called genius.”

The quiet reader who sometimes lifts his eyes from the page (and
closes them perhaps) to meditate upon what he has been reading, will
perhaps ask himself wherefore I consider it to be as certain that no
small critic should have read the Minute Philosopher, as that children
can not be drowned while “sliding on dry ground?”—My reason for so
thinking is, that small critics never read any thing so good. Like
town ducks they dabble in the gutter, but never purify themselves in
clear streams, nor take to the deep waters.

CHAPTER CCXI.

SOMETHING IN HONOUR OF BISHOP WATSON.—CUDWORTH.—JACKSON OF OXFORD AND
NEWCASTLE.—A BAXTERIAN SCRUPLE.

_S'il y a des lecteurs qui se soucient peu de cela, on les prie de se
souvenir qu'un auteur n'est pas obligé à ne rien dire que ce qui est
de leur goût._

BAYLE.

Had my ever-by-me-to-be-lamented friend, and from this time forth, I
trust, ever-by-the-public-to-be-honoured-philosopher, been a Welshman;
or had he lived to become acquainted with the treasures of Welsh lore
which Edward Williams, William Owen, and Edward Davies, the Curate of
Olveston, have brought to light; he would have believed in the Bardic
system as heartily as the Glamorganshire and Merionethshire Bards
themselves, and have fitted it, without any apprehension of heresy, to
his own religious creed. And although he would have perceived with the
Curate of Olveston (worthy of the best Welsh Bishoprick for his
labours; O George the Third, why did no one tell thee that he was so,
when he dedicated to thee his Celtic Researches?)—although (I say) he
would have perceived that certain of the Druidical rites were derived
from an accursed origin,—a fact authenticated by their abominations,
and rendered certain by the historical proof that the Celtic language
affords in both those dialects wherein any genuine remains have been
preserved,—that knowledge would still have left him at liberty to
adopt such other parts of the system as harmonized with his own
speculations, and were not incompatible with the Christian faith. How
he would have reconciled them shall be explained when I have taken
this opportunity of relating something of the late Right Reverend
Father in God, Richard Watson, Lord Bishop of Llandaff, which is more
to his honour than anything that he has related of himself. He gave
the Curate of Olveston, upon George Hardinge's recommendation, a Welsh
Rectory, which though no splendid preferment, placed that patient, and
learned, and able and meritorious _poor_ man, in a respectable
station, and conferred upon him (as he gratefully acknowledged) the
comfort of independence.

My friend had been led by Cudworth to this reasonable conclusion that
there was a theology of divine tradition, or revelation, or a divine
cabala, amongst the Hebrews first, and from them afterward
communicated to the Egyptians and other nations. He had learnt also
from that greater theologian Jackson of Corpus (whom the Laureate
Southey (himself to be commended for so doing,) loses no opportunity
of commending)[1] that divine communion was not confined to the
Israelites before their distinction from other nations and that
“idolatry and superstition could not have increased so much in the old
world, unless there had been evident documents of a divine power in
ages precedent;” for “strange fables and lying wonders receive being
from notable and admirable decayed truths, as baser creatures do life
from the dissolution of more noble bodies.” These were the deliberate
opinions of men not more distinguished among their contemporaries and
eminent above their successors, for the extent of their erudition than
remarkable for capacity of mind and sobriety of judgment. And with
these the history of the Druidical system entirely accords. It arose
“from the gradual or accidental corruption of the patriarchal
religion, by the abuse of certain commemorative honours which were
paid to the ancestors of the human race, and by the admixture of
Sabæan idolatry;” and on the religion thus corrupted some Canaanite
abominations were engrafted by the Phœnicians. But as in other
apostacies, a portion of original truth was retained in it.

[Footnote 1: Since Southey's death, Jackson's Works, to the much
satisfaction of all sound theologians, have been reprinted at the
Clarendon Press. I once heard Mr. Parker the Bookseller—the Uncle of
the present Mr. Parker—say, that he recollected the sheets of the
Folio Edition being used as wrappers in the shops! Alexander's dust as
a bung to a beer-barrel, quotha!]

Indeed just as remains of the antediluvian world are found everywhere
in the bowels of the earth, so are traces not of scriptural history
alone, but of primæval truths to be discovered in the tradition of
savages, their wild fables, and their bewildered belief; as well as in
the elaborate systems of heathen mythology and the principles of what
may deserve to be called divine philosophy. The farther our researches
are extended the more of these collateral proofs are collected, and
consequently the stronger their collective force becomes. Research and
reflection lead also to conclusions as congenial to the truly
christian heart as they may seem startling to that which is christian
in every thing except in charity. Impostors acting only for their own
purposes have enunciated holy truths, which in many of their followers
have brought forth fruits of holiness. True miracles have been worked
in false religions. Nor ought it to be doubted that prayers which have
been directed to false Gods in erring, but innocent, because
unavoidable misbelief, have been heard and accepted by that most
merciful Father, whose eye is over all his creatures, and who hateth
nothing that he hath made.—Here be it remarked that Baxter has
protested against this fine expression in that paper of exceptions
against the Common Prayer which he prepared for the Savoy Meeting, and
which his colleagues were prudent enough to set aside, lest it should
give offence, they said, but probably because the more moderate of
them were ashamed of its frivolous and captious cavillings; the
Collect in which it occurs, he said, hath no reason for appropriation
to the first day of Lent, and this part of it is unhandsomely said,
being true only in a formal sense _quâ talis_, for “he hateth all the
works of iniquity.” Thus did he make iniquity the work of God, a
blasphemy from which he would have revolted with just abhorrence if it
had been advanced by another person: but dissent had become in him a
cachexy of the intellect.

CHAPTER CCXII.

SPECULATIONS CONNECTED WITH THE DOCTOR'S THEORY.—DOUBTS AND
DIFFICULTIES.

_Voilà bien des mysteres, dira-t-on; j'en conviens; aussi le sujet le
mérite-t-il bien. Au reste, il est certain que ces mysteres ne cachent
rien de mauvais._

GOMGAM.

But although the conformity of the Bardic system to his own notions of
progressive existence would have appeared to the Doctor

—confirmation strong
As proof of holy writ,—

he would have assented to that system no farther than such preceding
conformity extended. Holding it only as the result of his own
speculations,—as hypothesis,—a mere fancy,—a toy of the mind,—a
plaything for the intellect in its lighter moments, and sometimes in
its graver ones the subject of a dream,—he valued it accordingly. And
yet the more he sported with it, and the farther he pursued it in his
reveries, the more plausible it appeared, and the better did it seem
to explain some of the physical phenomena, and some of the else
seemingly inexplicable varieties of human nature. It was Henry More's
opinion that the Pre-existence of the Soul, which is so explicit and
frequent a doctrine of the Platonists, “was a tenet for which there
are many plausible reasons, and against which there is nothing
considerable to be alleged; being a key, he said, for some main
mysteries of Providence which no other can so handsomely unlock.” More
however, the Doctor thought might be advanced against that tenet, than
against his own scheme, for to that no valid objection could be
opposed. But the metempsychosis in a descending scale as a scheme of
punishment would have been regarded by him as one of those corruptions
which the Bards derived from the vain philosophy or false religions of
the Levant.

Not that this part of their scheme was without a certain plausibility
on the surface which might recommend it to inconsiderate minds. He
himself would have thought that no Judge ever pronounced a more just
decision than the three Infernal Lord Chancellors of the dead would
do, if they condemned his townsman the pettyfogger to skulk upon earth
again as a pole-cat, creep into holes as an earwig, and be flattened
again between the thumbnails of a London chambermaid, or exposed to
the fatal lotion of Mr. Tiffin, bug-destroyer to his Majesty. It was
fitting he thought that every keen sportsman, for once at least should
take the part of the inferior creature in those amusements of the
field which he had followed so joyously, and that he should be winged
in the shape of a partridge, run down in the form of a hare by the
hounds, and Actæonized in a stag: that the winner of a Welsh main
should be the cock of one, and die of the wounds received in the last
fight; that the merciless postmaster should become a posthorse at his
own inn; and that they who have devised, or practised, or knowingly
permitted any wanton cruelty for the sake of pampering their
appetites, should in the next stage of their existence, feel in their
own person the effect of those devices, which in their human state
they had only tasted. And not being addicted himself to “the most
honest, ingenuous, quiet, and harmless art of angling,” (forgive him
Sir Humphrey Davy! forgive him Chantrey! forgive him, thou best of all
publishers, John Major, who mightest write _Ne plus ultra_ upon thy
edition of any book which thou delightest to honour) he allowed that
even Izaak Walton of blessed memory could not have shown cause for
mitigation of the sentence, if Rhadamanthus and his colleagues in the
Court below, had condemned him to be spitted upon the hook of some
dear lover and ornament of the art, in the shape of “a black snail
with his belly slit to shew the white;” or of a perch which of fish,
he tells us, is the longest lived on a hook; or sewed him
metempsycho-sized into a frog, to the arming iron, with a fine needle
and silk, with only one stitch, using him in so doing, according to
his own minute directions, as if he loved him, that is, harming him as
little as he possibly might, that he might live the longer.

This would be fitting he thought, and there would have been enough of
purgatory in it to satisfy the sense of vindictive justice, if any
scheme of purgatory had been reconcilable with his scriptural belief.
Bishop Hall has a passage in his Choice Helps for a Pious spirit,
which might be taken in the sense of this opinion, though certainly no
such meaning was intended by the writer. “Man,” he says, “as he
consists of a double nature, flesh and spirit, so is he placed in a
middle rank, betwixt an angel, which is a spirit, and a beast, which
is flesh: partaking of the qualities and performing the acts of both.
He is angelical in his understanding, in his sensual affections
bestial; and to whether of these he most incline and comforteth
himself, that part wins more of the other, and gives a denomination to
him; so as he that was before half angel, half beast, if he be drowned
in sensuality, hath lost the angel and is become a beast; if he be
wholly taken up with heavenly meditations, he hath quit the beast, and
is improved angelical. It is hard to hold an equal temper, either he
must degenerate into a beast, or be advanced to an angel.”

Had the Doctor held this opinion according to the letter, and believed
that those who brutalized their nature in the stage of humanity, were
degraded to the condition of brutes after death, he could even have
persuaded himself that intelligible indications of such a
transmigration might be discovered in the eyes of a dog when he looks
to some hard master for mercy, or to some kind one for notice, and as
it were for a recognition of the feelings and thoughts which had no
other means of expression. But he could not have endured to think it
possible that the spaniel who stood beside him in mute supplication,
with half-erected ears, looking for a morsel of food, might be a
friend or relation; and that in making a troublesome or a thievish cur
slink away with his tail between his legs, he might be hurting the
feelings of an old acquaintance.

And indeed on the whole it would have disturbed his sense of order, to
think that while some inferior creatures were innocently and
unconsciously ascending in the scale of existence through their
appointed gradations, others were being degraded to a condition below
humanity for their sins committed in the human state. Punishment such
degradation could not be deemed, unless the soul so punished retained
its consciousness; and such consciousness would make it a different
being from those who were externally of its fellow kind, and thus
would the harmony of nature be destroyed: and to introduce discord
there were to bring back Chaos. Bad enough as he saw is the inequality
which prevails among mankind, though without it men would soon be all
upon the dead level of animal and ferine life: But what is it to that
which would appear in the lower world, if in the same species some
individuals were guided only by their own proper instincts, and others
endued with the consciousness of a human and reasonable mind.

The consequences also of such a doctrine where it was believed could
not but lead to pitiable follies, and melancholy superstitions. Has
humanity ever been put to a viler use than by the Banians at Surat,
who support a hospital for vermin in that city, and regale the souls
of their friends who are undergoing penance in the shape of fleas, or
in loathsome pedicular form, by hiring beggars to go in among them,
and afford them pasture for the night!

Even from his own system consequences followed which he could not
reconcile to his wishes. Fond as he was of animals, it would have been
a delight to him if he could have believed with the certainty of faith
that he should have with him in Heaven all that he had loved on earth.
But if they were only so many vehicles of the living spirit during its
ascent to humanity,—only the egg, the caterpillar and the aurelia from
which the human but immortal Psyche was to come forth at last, then
must their uses be at an end in this earthly state: and Paradise he
was sometimes tempted to think would want something if there were no
beautiful insects to hover about its flowers, no birds to warble in
its groves or glide upon its waters,—would not be the Paradise he
longed for unless the lion were there to lie down with the lamb, and
the antelope reclined its gentle head upon the leopard's breast.
Fitting and desirable and necessary he considered the extinction of
all noxious kinds, all which were connected with corruption, and might
strictly be said to be of the earth earthly. But in his Paradise he
would fain have whatever had been in Eden, before Paradise was lost,
except the serpent.

“I can hardly,” says an English officer who was encamped in India near
a lake overstocked with fish, “I can hardly censure the taste of the
Indians who banish from a consecrated pond, the net of the fisher, the
angler's hook and the fowler's gun. Shoals of large fish giving life
to the clear water of a large lake covered with flocks of aquatic
birds, afford to the sight a gratification which would be ill
exchanged for the momentary indulgence of appetite.” My excellent
friend would heartily have agreed with this Englishman: but in the
waters of Paradise he would have thought, neither did the fish prey
upon each other, nor the birds upon them, death not being necessary
there as the means of providing aliment for life.

That there are waters in the Regions of the Blessed, Bede it is said,
assures us for this reason, that they are necessary there to temper
the heat of the Sun. And Cornelius à Lapide has found out a most
admirable use for them above the firmament,—which is to make rivers
and fountains and waterworks for the recreation of the souls in bliss,
whose seat is in the Empyrean Heaven.

“If an herd of kine,” says Fuller, “should meet together to fancy and
define happiness,—(that is to imagine a Paradise for themselves,)—they
would place it to consist in fine pastures, sweet grass, clear water,
shadowy groves, constant summer; but if any winter, then warm shelter
and dainty hay, with company after their kind, counting these low
things the highest happiness, because their conceit can reach no
higher. Little better do the heathen poets describe Heaven, paving it
with pearl and roofing it with stars, filling it with Gods and
Goddesses, and allowing them to drink, (as if without it, no poet's
Paradise) nectar and ambrosia.”

CHAPTER CCXIII.

BIRDS OF PARADISE.—THE ZIZ.—STORY OF THE ABBOT OF ST. SALVADOR DE
VILLAR.—HOLY COLETTE'S NONDESCRIPT PET.—THE ANIMALCULAR
WORLD.—GIORDANO BRUNO.

And so I came to Fancy's meadows, strow'd
With many a flower;
Fain would I here have made abode,
But I was quickened by my hour.

HERBERT.

Hindoos and Mahommedans have stocked their heavens not only with
mythological monsters but with beautiful birds of celestial kind. They
who have read Thalaba will remember the

Green warbler of the bowers of Paradise:

and they who will read the history of the Nella-Rajah,—which whosoever
reads or relates, shall (according to the author) enjoy all manner of
happiness and planetary bliss,—that is to say, all the good fortune
that can be bestowed by the nine great luminaries which influence
human events,—they who read that amusing story will find that in the
world of Daivers, or Genii, there are milk white birds called Aunnays,
remarkable for the gracefulness of their walk, wonderfully endowed
with knowledge and speech, incapable of deceit, and having power to
look into the thoughts of men.

These creatures of imagination are conceived in better taste than the
Rabbis have displayed in the invention of their great bird Ziz, whose
head when he stands in the deep sea reaches up to Heaven; whose wings
when they are extended darken the sun; and one of whose eggs happening
to fall crushed three hundred cedars and breaking in the fall, drowned
sixty cities in its yolk. That fowl is reserved for the dinner of the
Jews in heaven, at which Leviathan is to be the fish, and Behemoth the
roast meat. There will be cut and come again at all of them; and the
carvers of whatever rank in the hierarchy they may be, will have no
sinecure office that day.

The monks have given us a prettier tale;—praise be to him who
composed,—but the lyar's portion to those who made it pass for truth.
There was an Abbot of S. Salvador de Villar who lived in times when
piety flourished, and Saints on earth enjoyed a visible communion with
Heaven. This holy man used in the intervals of his liturgical duties
to recreate himself by walking in a pine forest near his monastery,
employing his thoughts the while in divine meditations. One day when
thus engaged during his customary walk, a bird in size and appearance
resembling a black bird alighted before him on one of the trees, and
began so sweet a song, that in the delight of listening the good Abbot
lost all sense of time and place, and of all earthly things, remaining
motionless and in extasy. He returned not to the Convent at his
accustomed hour, and the Monks supposed that he had withdrawn to some
secret solitude; and would resume his office when his intended
devotion there should have been compleated. So long a time elapsed
without his reappearance that it was necessary to appoint a substitute
for him _pro tempore_; his disappearance and the forms observed upon
this occasion being duly registered. Seventy years past by, during all
which time no one who entered the pine forest ever lighted upon the
Abbot, nor did he think of any thing but the bird before him, nor hear
any thing but the song which filled his soul with contentment, nor
eat, nor drink, nor sleep, nor feel either want or weariness or
exhaustion. The bird at length ceased to sing and took flight: and the
Abbot then as if he had remained there only a few minutes returned to
the monastery. He marvelled as he approached at certain alterations
about the place, and still more when upon entering the house, he knew
none of the brethren whom he saw, nor did any one appear to know him.
The matter was soon explained, his name being well known, and the
manner of his disappearance matter of tradition there as well as of
record: miracles were not so uncommon then as to render any proof of
identity necessary, and they proposed to reinstate him in his office.
But the holy man was sensible that after so great a favour had been
vouchsafed him, he was not to remain a sojourner upon earth: so he
exhorted them to live in peace with one another, and in the fear of
God, and in the strict observance of their rule, and to let him end
his days in quietness; and in a few days, even as he expected, it came
to pass, and he fell asleep in the Lord.

The dishonest monks who for the honour of their Convent and the lucre
of gain palmed this lay (for such in its origin it was) upon their
neighbours as a true legend, added to it, that the holy Abbot was
interred in the cloisters; that so long as the brethren continued in
the observance of their rule, and the place of his interment was
devoutly visited, the earth about it proved a certain cure for many
maladies, but that in process of time both church and cloisters became
so dilapidated through decay of devotion, that cattle strayed into
them, till the monks and the people of the vicinity were awakened to a
sense of their sin and of their duty, by observing that every animal
which trod upon the Abbot's grave, fell and broke its leg.[1] The
relics therefore were translated with due solemnity, and deposited in
a new monument, on which the story of the miracle, _in perpetuam rei
memoriam_, was represented in bas-relief.

[Footnote 1: Superstition is confined to no country, but is spread,
more or less, over all. The classical reader will call to mind what
Herodotus tells happened in the territory of Agyllæi. _Clio. c. 167,
ἐγίνετο διάστροφα καὶ ἔμπηρα καὶ ἀπόπληκτα, ὁμοίως πρόβατα καὶ
ὑποζύγια καὶ ἄνθρωποι._]

The Welsh have a tradition concerning the Birds of Rhianon,—a female
personage who hath a principal part in carrying on the spells in Gwlad
yr Hud or the Enchanted Land of Pembrokeshire. Whoso happened to hear
the singing of her birds, stood seven years listening, though he
supposed the while that only an hour or two had elapsed. Owen Pughe
could have told us more of these Birds.

Some Romish legends speak of birds which were of no species known on
earth and who by the place and manner of their appearances were
concluded to have come from Paradise, or to have been celestial
spirits in that form. Holy Colette of portentous sanctity, the
Reformeress of the Poor Clares, and from whom a short-lived variety of
the Franciscans were called Colettines, was favoured, according to her
biographers, with frequent visits by a four-footed pet, which was no
mortal creature. It was small, resembling a squirrel in agility, and
an ermine in the snowy whiteness of its skin, but not in other
respects like either; and it had this advantage over all earthly pets,
that it was sweetly and singularly fragrant. It would play about the
saint, and invite her attention by its gambols. Colette felt a
peculiar and mysterious kind of pleasure when it showed itself; and
for awhile not supposing that there was anything supernatural in its
appearance, endeavoured to catch it, for she delighted in having lambs
and innocent birds to fondle: but though the Nuns closed the door, and
used every art and effort to entice or catch it, the little
nondescript always either eluded them, or vanished; and it never
tasted of any food which they set before it. This miracle being unique
in its kind is related with becoming admiration by the chroniclers of
the Seraphic Order; as it well may, for, for a monastic writer to
invent a new miracle of any kind evinces no ordinary power of
invention.

If this story be true, and true it must be unless holy Colette's
reverend Roman Catholic biographers are liars, its truth cannot be
admitted _sans tirer à consequence_; and it would follow as a
corollary not to be disputed, that there are animals in the world of
Angels. And on the whole it accorded with the general bearing of the
Doctor's notions (notions rather than opinions he liked to call them
where they were merely speculative) to suppose that there may be as
much difference between the zoology of that world, and of this, as is
found in the zoology and botany of widely distant regions here,
according to different circumstances of climate: and rather to imagine
that there were celestial birds, beasts, fishes, and insects, exempt
from evil, and each happy in its kind to the full measure of its
capacity for happiness, than to hold the immortality of brutes.
Cudworth's authority had some weight with him on this subject, where
the Platonical divine says that as “human souls could not possibly be
generated out of matter, but were sometime or other created by the
Almighty out of nothing preexisting, either in generations, or before
them,” so if it be admitted that brute animals are “not mere machines,
or _automata_ (as some seem inclinable to believe), but conscious and
thinking beings; then from the same principle of reason, it will
likewise follow, that their souls cannot be generated out of matter
neither, and therefore must be derived from the fountain of all life,
and created out of nothing by Him: who, since he can as easily
annihilate as create, and does all for the best, no man need at all to
trouble himself about their permanency, or immortality.”

Now though the Doctor would have been pleased to think, with the rude
Indian, that when he was in a state of existence wherein no evil could
enter

His faithful dog should bear him company,

he felt the force of this reasoning; and he perceived also that
something analogous to the annihilation there intended, might be
discerned in his own hypothesis. For in what may be called the visible
creation he found nothing resembling that animalcular world which the
microscope has placed within reach of our senses; nothing like those
monstrous and prodigious forms which Leeuwenhoeck, it must be
believed, has faithfully delineated.—Bishop has a beautiful epigram
upon the theme _καλὰ πέφανται_

When thro a chink,[2] a darkened room
Admits the solar beam,
Down the long light that breaks the gloom,
Millions of atoms stream.

In sparkling agitation bright,
Alternate dies they bear;
Too small for any sense but sight,
Or any sight, but _there_.

Nature reveals not all her store
To human search, or skill;
And when she deigns to shew us more
She shows us Beauty still.

But the microscopic world affords us exceptions to this great moral
truth. The forms which are there discovered might well be called

Abominable, inutterable, and worse
Than fables yet have feign'd, or fear conceived,
Gorgons and Hydras, and Chimæras dire.

Such verily they would be, if they were in magnitude equal to the
common animals by which we are surrounded. But Nature has left all
these seemingly misformed creatures in the lowest stage of
existence,—the circle of inchoation; neither are any of the hideous
forms of insects repeated in the higher grades of animal life; the sea
indeed contains creatures marvellously uncouth and ugly, _beaucoup
plus de monstres, sans comparaison, que la terre,_ and the Sieur de
Brocourt, who was as curious in collecting the opinions of men as our
philosopher, though no man could make more dissimilar uses of their
knowledge, explains it _à cause de la facilité de la generation qui
est en elle, dont se procreent si diverses figures, à raison de la
grande chaleur qui se trouve en la mer, l'humeur y estant gras, et
l'aliment abondant; toute generation se faisant par chaleur et
humidité, qui produisent toutes choses._ With such reasoning our
Doctor was little satisfied; it was enough to know that as the sea
produces monsters, so the sea covers them, and that fish are evidently
lower in the scale of being than the creatures of earth and air. It is
the system of Nature then that whatever is unseemly should be left in
the earliest and lowest stages; that life as it ascends should cast
off all deformity, as the butterfly leaves its _exuviæ_ when its
perfect form is developed; and finally that whatever is imperfect
should be thrown off, and nothing survive in immortality but what is
beautiful as well as good.

[Footnote 2: The Reader may not be displeased to read the following
beautiful passage from Jeremy Taylor.

“If God is glorified in the sun and moon, in the rare fabric of the
honeycombs, in the discipline of bees, in the economy of pismires, in
the little houses of birds, in the curiosity of an eye, God being
pleased to delight in those little images and reflexes of himself from
those pretty mirrors, which, _like a crevice in the wall, through a
narrow perspective, transmit the species of a vast excellency_: much
rather shall God be pleased to behold himself in the glasses of our
obedience, in the emissions of our will and understanding; these being
rational and apt instruments to express him, far better than the
natural, as being near communications of himself.”—_Invalidity of a
late or Death-bed Repentance_, _Vol. v. p. 464_.]

He was not acquainted with the speculation, or conception (as the
Philotheistic philosopher himself called it) of Giordano Bruno, that
_deformium animalium formæ, formosæ sunt in cœlo_. Nor would he have
assented to some of the other opinions which that pious and high
minded victim of papal intolerance, connected with it. That
_metallorum in se non lucentium formæ, lucent in planetis suis_, he
might have supposed, if he had believed in the relationship between
metals and planets. And if Bruno's remark applied to the Planets only,
as so many other worlds, and did not regard the future state of the
creatures of this our globe, the Doctor might then have agreed to his
assertion that _non enim homo, nec animalia, nec metalla ut hic sunt,
illic existunt_. But the Philotheist of Nola, in the remaining part of
this his twelfth _Conceptus Idearum_ soared above the Doctor's pitch:
_Quod nempe hic discurrit_, he says, _illic actu viget, discursione
superiori. Virtutes enim quæ versus materiam explicantur: versus actum
primum uniuntur, et complicantur. Unde patet quod dicunt Platonici,
ideam quamlibet rerum etiam non viventium, vitam esse et
intelligentiam quandam. Item et in Primâ Mente unam esse rerum omnium
ideam. Illuminando igitur, vivificando, et uniendo est quod te
superioribus agentibus conformans, in conceptionem et retentionem
specierum efferaris._ Here the Philosopher of Doncaster would have
found himself in the dark, but whether because “blinded by excess of
light,” or because the subject is within the confines of uttermost
darkness, is not for me his biographer to determine.

CHAPTER CCXIV.

FURTHER DIFFICULTIES.—QUESTION CONCERNING INFERIOR APPARITIONS.—BLAKE
THE PAINTER, AND THE GHOST OF A FLEA.

_In amplissimâ causâ, quasi magno mari, pluribus ventis sumus vecti._

PLINY.

There was another argument against the immortality of brutes, to which
it may be, he allowed the more weight, because it was of his own
excogitating. Often as he had heard of apparitions in animal forms,
all such tales were of some spirit or hobgoblin which had assumed that
appearance; as, for instance that _simulacrum admodum monstruosum_,
that portentous figure in which Pope Gregory the ninth after his death
was met roaming about the woods by a holy hermit: it was in the form
of a wild beast with the head of an ass, the body of a bear, and the
tail of a cat. Well might the good hermit fortify himself with making
the sign of the cross when he beheld this monster: he approved himself
a courageous man by speaking to the apparition which certainly was not
“in such a questionable shape” as to invite discourse: and we are
beholden to him for having transmitted to posterity the bestial Pope's
confession, that because he had lived an unreasonable and lawless
life, it was the will of God and of St. Peter whose chair he had
defiled by all kinds of abominations, that he should thus wander about
in a form of ferine monstrosity.

He had read of such apparitions, and been sufficiently afraid of
meeting a barguest[1] in his boyish days; but in no instance had he
ever heard of the ghost of an animal. Yet if the immaterial part of
such creatures survived in a separate state of consciousness why
should not their spirits sometimes have been seen as well as those of
our departed fellow creatures? No cock or hen ghost ever haunted its
own barn door; no child was ever alarmed by the spirit of its pet
lamb; no dog or cat ever came like a shadow to visit the hearth on
which it rested when living. It is laid down as a certain truth
deduced from the surest principles of demonology by the Jesuit
Thyræus, who had profoundly studied that science that whenever the
apparition of a brute beast or monster was seen, it was a Devil in
that shape. _Quotiescumque sub brutorum animantium forma conspiciuntur
spiritus, quotiescumque monstra exhibentur dubium non est,_
autoprosopos _adesse Dæmoniorum spiritus._ For such forms were not
suitable for human spirits, but for evil Demons they were in many
respects peculiarly so: and such apparitions were frequent.

[Footnote 1: A northern word, used in Cumberland and Yorkshire.
Brocket and Grose neither of them seem aware that this spirit or dæmon
had the form of the beast. Their derivations are severally “_Berg_ a
hill, and _geest_ ghost;”—“_Bar_, a gate or style, and _gheist_.”

The locality of the spirit will suggest a reference to the Icelandic
_Berserkr_. In that language _Bera_ and _Bersi_ both signify a
_bear_.]

Thus the Jesuit reasoned, the possibility that the spirit of a brute
might appear never occurring to him, because he would have deemed it
heretical to allow that there was anything in the brute creation
partaking of immortality. No such objection occurred to the Doctor in
his reasonings upon this point. His was a more comprehensive creed;
the doubt which he felt was not concerning the spirit of brute
animals, but whether it ever existed in a separate state after death,
which the Ghost of one, were there but one such appearance well
attested, would sufficiently prove.

He admitted indeed that for every authenticated case of an apparition,
a peculiar cause was to be assigned, or presumed; but that for the
apparition of an inferior animal, there could in general be no such
cause. Yet cases are imaginable wherein there might be such peculiar
cause, and some final purpose only to be brought about by such
preternatural means. The strong affection which leads a dog to die
upon his master's grave, might bring back the spirit of a dog to watch
for the safety of a living master. That no animal ghosts should have
been seen afforded therefore in this judgment no weak presumption
against their existence.

O Dove, “my guide, philosopher and friend!” that thou hadst lived to
see what I have seen, the portrait of the Ghost of a Flea, engraved by
Varley, from the original by Blake! The engraver was present when the
likeness was taken, and relates the circumstances thus in his Treatise
on Zodiacal Physiognomy.

“This spirit visited his imagination in such a figure as he never
anticipated in an insect. As I was anxious to make the most correct
investigation in my power of the truth of these visions, on hearing of
this spiritual apparition of a Flea, I asked him if he could draw for
me the resemblance of what he saw. He instantly said, ‘I see him now
before me.’ I therefore gave him paper and a pencil, with which he
drew the portrait of which a fac-simile is given in this number. I
felt convinced by his mode of proceeding, that he had a real image
before him; for he left off, and began on another part of the paper to
make a separate drawing of the mouth of the Flea, which the spirit
having opened, he was prevented from proceeding with the first sketch
till he had closed it. During the time occupied in compleating the
drawing, the Flea told him that all fleas were inhabited by the souls
of such men as were by nature blood-thirsty to excess, and were
therefore providentially confined to the size and form of insects;
otherwise, were he himself, for instance, the size of a horse, he
would depopulate a great portion of the country. He added that if in
attempting to leap from one island to another he should fall into the
sea, he could swim, and should not be lost.”

The Ghost of the Flea spoke truly when he said what a formidable beast
he should be, if with such power of leg and of proboscis, and such an
appetite for blood he were as large as a horse. And if all things came
by chance, it would necessarily follow from the laws of chance that
such monsters there would be; but because all things are wisely and
mercifully ordered, it is, that these varieties of form and power
which would be hideous, and beyond measure destructive upon a larger
scale, are left in the lower stages of being, the existence of such
deformity and such means of destruction there, and their non-existence
as the scale of life ascends, alike tending to prove the wisdom and
the benevolence of the Almighty Creator.

CHAPTER CCXV.

FACTS AND FANCIES CONNECTING THE DOCTOR'S THEORY WITH THE VEGETABLE
WORLD.

FULLER.

It may have been observed by the attentive reader—(and all my readers
will be attentive, except those who are in love) that although the
Doctor traced many of his acquaintance to their prior allotments in
the vegetable creation, he did not discover such symptoms in any of
them as led him to infer that the object of his speculations had
existed in the form of a tree;—crabbed tempers, sour plums,
cherry-cheeks, and hearts of oak being nothing more than metaphorical
expressions of similitude. But it would be a rash and untenable
deduction were we to conclude from the apparent omission that the
arboreal world was excluded from his system. On the contrary, the
analogies between animal and vegetable life led him to believe that
the Archeus of the human frame, received no unimportant part of his
preparatory education in the woods.

Steele in a playful allegory has observed “that there is a sort of
vegetable principle in the mind of every man when he comes into the
world. In infants, the seeds lie buried and undiscovered, till after a
while they sprout forth in a kind of rational leaves, which are words;
and in due season the flowers begin to appear in variety of beautiful
colours, and all the gay pictures of youthful fancy and imagination;
at last the fruit knits and is formed, which is green perhaps at
first, sour and unpleasant to the taste, and not fit to be gathered;
till ripened by due care and application, it discovers itself in all
the noble productions of philosophy, mathematics, close reasoning and
handsome argumentation. I reflected further on the intellectual leaves
before mentioned, and found almost as great a variety among them as in
the vegetable world.” In this passage, though written only as a sport
of fancy, there was more our speculator thought, than was dreamt of in
Steele's philosophy.

Empedocles, if the fragment which is ascribed to him be genuine,
pretended to remember that he had pre-existed not only in the forms of
maiden and youth, fowl and fish, but of a shrub also;

_Ἤδη γάρ ποτ᾽ ἐγὼ γενόμην κούρη τε κόρος τε,
Θάμνος τ᾽, οἰωνός τε, καὶ εἰν ἅλι ἔλλοπος ἰχθῦς._

But upon such authority the Doctor placed as little reliance as upon
the pretended recollections of Pythagoras, whether really asserted by
that philosopher or falsely imputed to him by fablers in prose or
verse. When man shall have effected his passage from the mortal and
terrestrial state into the sphere where there is nothing that is
impure, nothing that is evil, nothing that is perishable, then indeed
it is a probable supposition that he may look back into the lowest
deep from whence he hath ascended, recall to mind his progress step by
step, through every stage of the ascent, and understand the process by
which it had been appointed for him, (applying to Plato's words a
different meaning from that in which they were intended) _ἐκ πολλῶν
ἕνα γεγονότα εὐδαίμονα ἔσεσθαι_, to become of many creatures, one
happy one. In that sphere such a retrospect would enlarge the
knowledge, and consequently the happiness also of the soul which has
there attained the perfection of its nature—the end for which it was
created and redeemed. But any such consciousness of pre-existence
would in this stage of our mortal being be so incompatible with the
condition of humanity, that the opinion itself can be held only as a
speculation, of which no certainty can ever have been made known to
man, because that alone has been revealed, the knowledge of which is
necessary: the philosophers therefore who pretended to it, if they
were sincere in the pretension (which may be doubted) are entitled to
no more credit, than the poor hypochondriac who fancies himself a
bottle or a tea-pot.

Thus our philosopher reasoned, who either in earnest or in jest, or in
serious sportiveness, _παίζων καὶ σπουδάζων ἄμα_, was careful never to
lean more upon an argument than it would bear. Sometimes he prest the
lame and halt into his service, but it was with a clear perception of
their defects, and he placed them always in positions where they were
efficient for the service required for them, and where more valid ones
would not have been more available. He formed therefore, no system of
dendranthropology, nor attempted any classification in it; there were
not facts enough whereon to found one. Yet in more than one
circumstance which observant writers have recorded, something he
thought might be discerned which bore upon this part of the
theory,—some traces of

those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,

on which Wordsworth (in whose mystic strains he would have delighted)
dwells. Thus he inferred that the soul of Xerxes must once have
animated a plane tree, and retained a vivid feeling connected with his
arboreal existence, when he read in Evelyn how that great king
“stopped his prodigious army of seventeen hundred thousand soldiers to
admire the pulchritude and procerity of one of those goodly trees; and
became so fond of it, that spoiling both himself, his concubines, and
great persons of all their jewels, he covered it with gold, gems,
necklaces, scarfs and bracelets, and infinite riches; in sum, was so
enamoured of it, that for some days, neither the concernment of his
grand expedition, nor interest of honour, nor the necessary motion of
his portentous army, could persuade him from it. He stiled it his
mistress, his minion, his goddess; and when he was forced to part from
it, he caused the figure of it to be stamped on a medal of gold, which
he continually wore about him.”

“That prudent Consul Passianus Crispus” must have been influenced by a
like feeling, when he “fell in love with a prodigious beech of a
wonderful age and stature, used to sleep under it, and would sometimes
refresh it with pouring wine at the root.” Certainly as Evelyn has
observed, “a goodly tree was a powerful attractive” to this person.
The practice of regaling trees with such libations was not uncommon
among the wealthy Romans; they seem to have supposed that because wine
gladdened their own hearts, it must in like manner comfort the root of
a tree: and Pliny assures us that it did so, _compertum id maximè
prodesse radicibus_, he says, _docuimusque etiam arbores vina potare._
If this were so, the Doctor reasoned that there would be a peculiar
fitness in fertilizing the vine with its own generous juice, which it
might be expected to return with increase in richer and more abundant
clusters: forgetting, ignoring, or disregarding this opinion which
John Lily has recorded that the vine watered (as he calls it) with
wine is soon withered. He was not wealthy enough to afford such an
experiment upon that which clothed the garden-front of his house, for
this is not a land flowing with wine and oil; but he indulged a
favourite apple-tree (it was a Ribstone pippin) with cider; and when
no sensible improvement in the produce could be perceived, he imputed
the disappointment rather to the parsimonious allowance of that
congenial liquor, than to any error in the theory.

But this has led me astray, and I must return to Xerxes the Great
King. The predilection or passion which he discovered for the plane,
the sage of Doncaster explained by deriving it from a dim reminiscence
of his former existence in a tree of the same kind; or which was not
less likely in the wanton ivy which had clasped one, or in the wild
vine which had festooned its branches with greener leaves, or even in
the agaric which had grown out of its decaying substance. And he would
have quoted Wordsworth if the Sage of Rydal had not been of a later
generation:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar.

Other examples of men who have doated upon particular trees he
accounted for by the same philosophy. But in the case of the Consul
Crispus he was more inclined to hold the first supposition,—to wit,
that he had been a beech himself, and that the tree which he loved so
dearly had sprung from his own mast, so that the feeling with which he
regarded it was a parental one. For that man should thus unconsciously
afford proof of his relationship to tree, was rendered more probable
by a singular, though peradventure single fact in which a tree so
entirely recognized its affinity with man, that a slip accidentally
grafted on the human subject, took root in the body, grew there,
flourished, blossomed and produced fruit after its kind. “A shepherd
of Tarragon had fallen into a sloe tree, and a sharp point thereof
having run into his breast, in two years time it took such root, that,
after many branches had been cut off, there sprang up some at last
which bare both flowers and fruit.” “Peiresc,” as Gassendi the writer
of his life assures us, “would never be quiet till Cardinal Barberino
procured the Archbishop of that place to testify the truth of the
story; and Putean the knight received not only letters testifying the
same, but also certain branches thereof, which he sent unto him.”

CHAPTER CCXVI.

A SPANISH AUTHORESS.—HOW THE DOCTOR OBTAINED HER WORKS FROM
MADRID.—THE PLEASURE AND ADVANTAGES WHICH THE AUTHOR DERIVES FROM HIS
LANDMARKS IN THE BOOKS WHICH HE HAD PERUSED.

ALEX. _Quel es D. Diego aquel Arbol,
que tiene la copa en tierra
y las raizes arriba?_

DIEG. _El hombre._

EL LETRADO DEL CIELO.

Man is a Tree that hath no top in cares,
No root in comforts.[1]

This is one of the many poetical passages in which the sound is better
than the sense;—yet it is not without its beauty. The same similitude
has been presented by Henry More in lines which please the ear less,
but satisfy the understanding.

The lower man is nought but a fair plant
Whose grosser matter is from the base ground.

“A plant,” says Jones of Nayland, “is a system of life, but
insensitive and fixed to a certain spot. An animal hath voluntary
motion, sense, or perception, and is capable of pain and pleasure. Yet
in the construction of each there are some general principles which
very obviously connect them. It is literally as well as metaphorically
true, that trees have limbs, and an animal body branches. A vascular
system is also common to both, in the channels of which life is
maintained and circulated. When the trachea, with its branches in the
lungs, or the veins and arteries, or the nerves, are separately
represented, we have the figure of a tree. The leaves of trees have a
fibrous and fleshy part; their bark is a covering which answers to the
skin in animals. An active vapour pervades them both, and perspires
from both, which is necessary for the preservation of health and
vigour. The _vis vitæ_, or involuntary, mechanical force of animal
life, is kept up by the same elements which act upon plants for their
growth and support.”[2]

[Footnote 1: CHAPMAN.]

[Footnote 2: The reader of Berkeley will naturally turn to the Siris
of that author—called by Southey in his life of Wesley “one of the
best, wisest, and greatest men whom Ireland, with all its fertility of
genius, has produced.” Vol. ii. 260., 2nd _Edit._]

“Plants,” says Novalis, “are Children of the Earth; we are Children of
the Æther. Our lungs are properly our root; we live when we breathe;
we begin our life with breathing.” Plato also compared man to a Tree,
but his was a physical similitude, he likened the human vegetable to a
tree inverted, with the root above and the branches below. Antonio
Perez allegorized the similitude in one of his epistles to Essex,
thus, _unde credis hominem inversam arborem appellari? Inversam
nostris oculis humanis et terrenis; rectam verò verè, viridemque, si
radicem defixam habuerit in suo naturali loco, cœlo, unde orta._ And
Rabelais pursues the resemblance farther, saying that trees differ
from beasts in this, _qu'elles ont la teste, c'est le tronc, en bas;
les cheveulx, ce sont les racines, en terre; et les pieds, ce sont les
rameaulx, contremont; comme si un homme faisoit le chesne fourchu._

The thought that man is like a tree arose in the Doctor's mind more
naturally when he first saw the representation of the veins and
arteries in the old translation of Ambrose Paré's works. And when in
course of time he became a curious enquirer into the history of her
art, he was less disposed to smile at any of the fancies into which
Doña Oliva Sabuco Barrera had been led by this resemblance than to
admire the novelty and ingenuity of the theory which she deduced from
it.

Bless ye the memory of this Spanish Lady, all ye who bear, or aspire
to, the honour of the bloody hand as Knights of Esculapius! For from
her, according to Father Feyjoo, the English first, and afterwards the
physicians of other countries learnt the theory of nervous
diseases;—never therefore did any other individual contribute so
largely to the gratification of fee-feeling fingers!

Feyjoo has properly enumerated her among the women who have done
honour to their country: and later Spaniards have called her the
immortal glory not of Spain alone, but of all Europe: She was born,
and dwelt in the city of Alcaraz, and flourished in the reign of
Philip II. to whom she dedicated in 1587 her “New Philosophy of the
Nature of Man,”[3] appealing to the ancient law of chivalry, whereby
great Lords and high born Knights were bound always to favour women in
their adventures. In placing under the eagle wings of his Catholic
Majesty this child which she had engendered, she told the King that he
was then receiving from a woman greater service than any that men had
rendered him, with whatever zeal and success they had exerted
themselves to serve him. The work which she laid before him would
better the world, she said, in many things, and if he could not attend
to it, those who came after him, peradventure would. For though they
were already all too-many books in the world, yet this one was
wanting.

[Footnote 3: It should seem by her name, as suffixed to the Carta
Dedicatorie, that she was of French or Breton extraction, for she
signs herself, Oliva de Nantes, Sabuco Barrera. _R. S._]

The brief and imperfect notices of this Lady's system, which the
Doctor had met with in the course of his reading, made him very
desirous of procuring her works: this it would not be easy to do in
England at this time, and then it was impossible. He obtained them
however through the kindness of Mason's friend, Mr. Burgh, whom he
used to meet at Mr. Copley's at Netterhall, and who in great or in
little things was always ready to render any good office in his power
to any person. Burgh procured the book through the Rev. Edward Clarke
(father of Dr. Clarke the traveller) then Chaplain to the British
Embassador in Spain. The volume came with the despatches from Madrid,
it was forwarded to Mr. Burgh in an official frank, and the Doctor
marked with a white stone the day on which the York carrier delivered
it at his house. That precious copy is now in my possession;[4] my
friend has noted in it, as was his custom, every passage that seemed
worthy of observation, with the initial of his own name—a small
capital, neatly written in red ink. Such of his books as I have been
able to collect are full of these marks, showing how carefully he had
read them. These notations have been of much use to me in my perusal,
leading me to pause where he had paused, to observe what he had noted
and to consider what had to him seemed worthy of consideration. And
though I must of necessity more frequently have failed to connect the
passages so noted with my previous knowledge as he had done, and for
that reason to see their bearings in the same point of view, yet
undoubtedly I have often thus been guided into the same track of
thought which he had pursued before me. Long will it be before some of
these volumes meet with a third reader; never with one in whom these
vestiges of their former owner can awaken a feeling like that which
they never fail to excite in me!

[Footnote 4: This curious book I unluckily missed at the Sale of
Southey's Library. I was absent at the time, and it passed into
private hands. It sold for thirteen shillings only. See No. 3453. The
title is as follows;—_Sabuco (Olivia) Nueva Filosofia de la Naturaleza
del hombre, no conocida ni alcançada de los Grandes Filosofos
Antiguos_. FIRST EDITION. _Madrid, 1587_.]

But the red letters in this volume have led me from its contents; and
before I proceed to enter upon them in another chapter, I will
conclude this, recurring to the similitude at its commencement, with
an extract from one of Yorick's Sermons. “It is very remarkable,” he
says, “that the Apostle St. Paul calls a bad man a wild olive _tree_,
not barely a branch,” (as in the opposite case where our Saviour told
his disciples that He was the vine, and that they were only
branches)—“but a Tree, which having a root of its own supports itself,
and stands in its own strength, and brings forth its own fruit. And so
does every bad man in respect of the wild and sour fruit of a vicious
and corrupt heart. According to the resemblance, if the Apostle
intended it, he is a Tree,—has a root of his own, and fruitfulness
such as it is, with a power to bring it forth without help. But in
respect of religion and the moral improvements of virtue and goodness,
the Apostle calls us, and reason tells us, we are no more than a
_branch_, and all our fruitfulness, and all our support, depend so
much upon the influence and communications of God, that without Him we
can do nothing, as our Saviour declares.”

CHAPTER CCXVII.

SOME ACCOUNT OF D. OLIVA SABUCO'S MEDICAL THEORIES AND PRACTICE.

_Yo—volveré
A nueva diligencia y paso largo,
Que es breve el tiempo, 's grande la memoria
Que para darla al mundo está á mi cargo._

BALBUENA.

Carew the poet speaking metaphorically of his mistress calls her foot,

the precious root
On which the goodly cedar grows.

Doña Oliva on the contrary thought that the human body might be called
a tree reversed, the brain being the root, and the other the bark. She
did not know what great authority there is for thinking that trees
stand upon their heads, for though we use vulgarly but improperly to
call the uppermost of the branches the top of a tree, we are
corrected, the learned John Gregory tells us, by Aristotle in his
books _De Animâ_,[1] where we are taught to call the root the head,
and the top the feet.

[Footnote 1: Quære? Lib. ii. c. ii. § 6. _αἱ δὲ ρἵζαι τῷ στόματι
ἀνάλογον κ. τ. ἑ._]

The _pia mater_ according to her theory diffuses through this bark by
the nerves that substance, moisture, sap, or white chyle which when it
flows in its proper course, preserves the human vegetable in a state
of well being, but when its course is reverted it becomes the cause of
diseases. This nervous fluid, the brain derived principally from the
air, which she held to be water in a state of rarefaction, air being
the chyle of the upper world, water of the inferior, and the Moon with
air and water, as with milk, feeding like a nursing mother, all
sublunary creatures, and imparting moisture for their increase, as the
Sun imparteth heat and life. Clouds are the milk of the Moon, from
which, if she may so express herself, she says it rains air and wind
as well as water, wind being air, or rarefied water rarefied still
farther. The mutation or rarefaction of water into air takes place by
day, the remutation or condensation of air into water by night: this
is shown by the dew and by this the ebbing and flowing of the sea are
caused.

In the brain, as in the root of the animal tree, all diseases,
according to Doña Oliva, had their origin. From this theory she
deduced a mode of practice, which if it did not facilitate the
patient's recovery, was at least not likely to retard it; and tended
in no way to counteract, or interfere with the restorative efforts of
nature. And although fanciful in its foundation, it was always so
humane and generally so reasonable as in a great degree to justify the
confidence with which she advanced it. She requested that a board of
learned men might be appointed, before whom she might defend her
system of philosophy and of therapeutics, and that her practice might
be tried for one year, that of Hippocrates and Galen having been tried
for two thousand with what effect was daily and miserably seen, when
of a thousand persons there were scarcely three who reached the proper
termination of life and died by natural decay, the rest being cut off
by some violent disease. For, according to her, the natural
termination of life is produced by the exhaustion of the radical
moisture, which in the course of nature is dried, or consumed,
gradually and imperceptibly; death therefore, when that course is not
disturbed, being an easy passage to eternity. This gradual desiccation
it is which gives to old age the perfection of judgment that
distinguishes it; and for the same reason the children of old men are
more judicious than others, young men being deficient in judgment by
reason of the excess of radical moisture, children still more so.

She had never studied medicine, she said; but it was clear as the
light of day that the old system was erroneous, and must needs be so,
because its founders were ignorant of the nature of man, upon which
being rightly understood the true system must, of necessity, be
founded. Hope is what supports health and life; fear, the worst enemy
of both. Among the best preservatives and restoratives she recommended
therefore cheerfulness, sweet odours, music, the country, the sound of
woods and waters, agreeable conversation, and pleasant pastimes.
Music, of all external things, she held to be that which tends most to
comfort, rejoice and strengthen the brain, being as it were a
spiritual pleasure in which the mind sympathizes; and the first of all
remedies, in this, her true system of medicine, was to bring the mind
and body into unison, removing thus that discord which is occasioned
when they are ill at ease; this was to be done by administering
cheerfulness, content, and hope to the mind, and in such words and
actions as produced these, the best medicine was contained. Next to
this it imported to comfort the stomach, and to cherish the root of
man, that is to say the brain, with its proper corroborants,
especially with sweet odours and with music. For music was so good a
remedy for melancholy, so great an alleviator of pain, such a soother
of uneasy emotions, and of passion, that she marvelled wherefore so
excellent a medicine should not be more in use, seeing that
undoubtedly many grievous diseases, as for example epilepsy, might be
disarmed and cured by it; and it would operate with the more effect if
accompanied with hopeful words and with grateful odours, for Doña
Oliva thought with Solomon that “pleasant words are as an honeycomb,
sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.”

Consequently unpleasant sounds and ill smells, were, according to her
philosophy injurious. The latter she confounded with noxious air,
which was an error to be expected in those days, when nothing
concerning the composition of the atmosphere had been discovered. Thus
she thought it was by their ill odour that limekilns and
charcoal-fires occasioned death; and that owing to the same cause
horses were frequently killed when the filth of a stable was removed,
and men who were employed in cleaning vaults. Upon the same principle,
in recommending perfumes as alexipharmic, she fell in with the usual
practice. The plague according to her, might be received not by the
breath alone, but at the eyes also, for through the sight there was
ready access to the brain; it was prudent therefore to close the
nostrils when there might be reason to apprehend that the air was
tainted; and when conversing with an infected person, not to talk face
to face, but to avert the countenance. In changing the air with the
hope of escaping an endemic disease, the place to go to should be that
from whence the pestilence had come, rather than one whither it might
be going.

Ill sounds were noxious in like manner, though not in like degree,
because no discord can be so grating as to prove fatal; but any sound
which is at once loud and discordant she held to be unwholesome, and
that to hear any one sing badly, read ill, or talk importunately like
a fool was sufficient to cause a defluxion from the brain; if this
latter opinion were well founded, no Speaker of the House of Commons
could hold his office for a single Session without being talked to
death. With these she classed the sound of a hiccup, the whetting of a
saw, and the cry of bitter lamentation.

Doña Oliva it may be presumed was endued with a sensitive ear and a
quick perception of odours, as well as with a cheerful temper, and an
active mind. Her whole course of practice was intended to cheer and
comfort the patient, if that was possible. She allowed the free use of
water, and fresh air, and recommended that the apartments of the sick
should be well ventilated. She prescribed refreshing odours, among
others that of bread fresh from the oven, and that wine should be
placed near the pillow, in order to induce sleep. She even thought
that cheerful apparel conduced to health, and that the fashion of
wearing black which prevailed in her time was repugnant to reason.
Pursuing her theory that the brain was the original seat of disease,
she advised that the excessive moisture which would otherwise take a
wrong course from thence, should be drawn off through the natural
channels by sneezing powders, or by pungent odours which provoke a
discharge from the eyes and nostrils, by sudorifics also, exercise,
and whatever might cause a diversion to the skin. When any part was
wounded, or painful, or there was a tumour, she recommended
compression above the part affected, with a woollen bandage, tightly
bound, but not so as to occasion pain. And to comfort the root of the
animal tree she prescribes scratching the head with the fingers, or
combing it with an ivory comb,—a general and admirable remedy she
calls this, against which some former possessor of the book who seems
to have been a practitioner upon the old system, and has frequently
entered his protest against the medical heresies of the authoress, has
written in the margin “bad advice.” She recommended also cutting the
hair, and washing the head with white wine, which as it were renovated
the skin, and improved the vegetation.

But Doña Oliva did not reject more active remedies, on the contrary
she advised all such as men had learnt from animals, and this included
a powerful list, for she seems to have believed all the fables with
which natural history in old times abounded, and of which indeed it
may almost be said to have consisted. More reasonably she observed
that animals might teach us the utility of exercise, seeing how the
young lambs sported in the field, and dogs played with each other, and
birds rejoiced in the air. When the stomach required clearing she
prescribed a rough practice, that the patient should drink copiously
of weak wine and water, and of tepid water with a few drops of vinegar
and an infusion of camomile flowers; and that he should eat also
things difficult of digestion, such as radishes, figs, carrots,
onions, anchovies, oil and vinegar, with plenty of Indian pepper, and
with something acid the better to cut the phlegm which was to be got
rid of; having thus stored the stomach well for the expenditure which
was to be required from it, the patient was then to lay himself on a
pillow across a chair, and produce the desired effect either by his
fingers or by feathers dipt in oil. After this rude operation which
was to refresh the brain and elevate the pia mater, the stomach was to
be comforted.

To bathe the whole body with white wine was another mode of
invigorating the pia mater; for there it was that all maladies
originated, none from the liver; the nature of the liver, said she, is
that it cannot err; _es docta sin doctor._

The latter treatises in her book are in Latin, but she not
unfrequently passes, as if unconsciously, into her own language,
writing always livelily and forcibly, with a clear perception of the
fallacy of the established system, and with a confidence, not so well
founded, that she had discovered the real nature of man and thereby
laid the foundation of a rational practice, conformable to it.

CHAPTER CCXVIII.

THE MUNDANE SYSTEM AS COMMONLY HELD IN D. OLIVA'S AGE.—MODERN
OBJECTIONS TO A PLURALITY OF WORLDS BY THE REV. JAMES MILLER.

PULCI.

One of Doña Oliva's treatises is upon the _Compostura del Mundo_,
which may best be interpreted the Mundane System; herein she laid no
claim to the merit of discovery, only to that of briefly explaining
what had been treated of by many before her. The mundane system she
illustrates by comparing it to a large ostrich's egg, with three
whites and eleven shells, our earth being the yolk. The water which
according to this theory surrounded the globe she likened to the first
or innermost _albumen_, the second and more extensive was the air; the
third and much the largest consisted of fire. The eleven shells, were
so many leaves one inclosing the other, circle within circle, like a
nest of boxes. The first of these was the first heaven wherein the
Moon hath her appointed place, the second that of the planet Mercury,
the third that of Venus; the fourth was the circle of the Sun; Mars,
Jupiter and Saturn moved in the fifth, sixth and seventh; the eighth
was the starry sky; the ninth the chrystalline; the tenth the _primum
mobile_, which imparted motion to all; and the eleventh was the
_immobile_, or empyreum, surrounding all, containing all, and bounding
all; for beyond this there was no created thing, either good or evil.

A living writer of no ordinary powers agrees in this conclusion with
the old philosophers whom Doña Oliva followed; and in declaring his
opinion he treats the men of science with as much contempt as they
bestow upon their unscientific predecessors in astronomy.

Reader if thou art capable of receiving pleasure from such
speculations, (and if thou art not, thou art little better than an
Oran-Otang) send for a little book entitled the Progress of the Human
Mind, its objects, conditions and issue: with the relation which the
Progress of Religion bears to the general growth of mind; by the Rev.
James Miller. Send also for the “Sibyl's Leaves, or the Fancies,
Sentiments and Opinions of Silvanus, miscellaneous, moral and
religious,” by the same author, the former published in 1823, the
latter in 1829. Very probably you may never have heard of either: but
if you are a buyer of books, I say unto you, buy them both.

“Infinity,” says this very able and original thinker, “is the
retirement in which perfect love and wisdom only dwell with God.

“In Infinity and Eternity the sceptic sees an abyss in which all is
lost, I see in them the residence of Almighty Power, in which my
reason and my wishes find equally a firm support.—Here holding by the
pillars of Heaven, I exist—I stand fast.

“Surround our material system with a void, and mind itself becoming
blind and impotent in attempting to travel through it, will return to
our little lights, like the dove which found no rest for the sole of
her foot. But when I find Infinity filled with light and life and
love, I will come back to you with my olive branch: follow me, or
farewell! you shall shut me up in your cabins no more.”

“In stretching our view through the wide expanse which surrounds us,
we perceive a system of bodies receding behind one another, till they
are lost in immeasureable distance. This region beyond though to us
dark and unexplored, from the impossibility of a limit, yet gives us
its infinity as the most unquestionable of all principles. But though
the actual extent to which this infinite region is occupied by the
bodies of which the universe is composed, is far beyond our measure
and our view, and though there be nothing without to compel us
anywhere to stop in enlarging its bounds, Nature herself gives us
other principles not less certain, which prove that she must have
limits, and that it is impossible her frame can fill the abyss which
surrounds her. Her different parts have each their fixed place, their
stated distance. You may as well measure infinity by mile-stones as
fill it with stars. To remove any one from an infinite distance from
another, you must in fixing their place, set limits to the infinity
you assume. You can advance from unity as far as you please, but there
is no actual number at an infinite distance from it. You may in the
same manner, add world to world as long as you please, only because no
number of them can fill infinity, or approach nearer to fill it. We
have the doctrine of Nature's abhorrence of a _vacuum_; it is from a
_plenum_ like this she shrinks, as from a region in which all her
substance would be dissipated into nothing. Her frame is composed of
parts which have each their certain proportion and relation. It
subsists by mutual attractions and repulsions, lessening and
increasing with distance; by a circulation which, actually passing
through, every part rejects the idea of a space which it could never
pervade. Infinity cannot revolve; the circulation of Nature cannot
pervade infinity. The globe we inhabit, and all its kindred planets,
revolve in orbits which embrace a common power in the centre which
animates and regulates their motions, and on the influence of which
their internal energies evidently depend. That we may not be lost in
looking for it in the boundless regions without, our great physical
power is all within, in the bosom of our own circle; and the same
facts which prove the greatness of this power to uphold, to penetrate,
to enliven at such a distance, shew in what manner it might at last
become weak,—become nothing. Whatever relations we may have to bodies
without, or whatever they may have to one another, their influence is
all directed to particular points,—to given distances. Material Nature
has no substance, can make no effort, capable of pervading infinity.
The light itself of all her powers the most expansive, in diffusing
itself through her own frame, shews most of all her incapacity to
occupy the region beyond, in which (as the necessary result of its own
effort) it soon sinks, feeble and faint, where all its motion is but
as rest, in an extent to which the utmost possible magnitude of Nature
is but a point.”

The reader will now be prepared for the remarks of this free thinker
upon the Plurality of Worlds. Observe I call him free thinker not in
disparagement, but in honour; he belongs to that service in which
alone is perfect freedom.

“Perceiving,” he says, “as it is easy to do, the imperfection of our
present system, instead of contemplating the immense prospect opened
to our view in the progress of man, in the powers and the means he
possesses, the philosopher sees through his telescope worlds and
scales of being to his liking. By means of these, without the least
reference to the Bible, or the human heart, Pope, the pretty talking
parrot of Bolingbroke, with the assistance of his pampered goose,
finds it easy to justify the ways of God to man. From worlds he never
saw, he proves ours is as it should be.”

“To form the children of God for himself, to raise them to a capacity
to converse with him, to enjoy all his love, this grand scenery is not
unnecessary,—not extravagant. A smaller exhibition would not have
demonstrated his wisdom and power. You would make an orrery serve
perhaps! By a plurality of Gods, error degraded the Supreme Being in
early ages; by a plurality of worlds it would now degrade his
children, deprive them of their inheritance.”

“What are they doing in these planets? Peeping at us through
telescopes? We may be their Venus or Jupiter. They are perhaps praying
to us, sending up clouds of incense to regale our nostrils. Hear them,
far-seeing Herschel! gauger of stars. I will pray to One only, who is
above them all; and if your worlds come between me and Him, I will
kick them out of my way. In banishing your new ones, I put more into
the old than is worth them all put together.”

“These expanding heavens, the residence of so many luminous bodies of
immeasurable distance and magnitude, and which the philosopher thinks
must be a desert if devoted to man, at present possessing but so small
a portion of his own globe, shall yet be too little for him,—the womb
only in which the infant was inclosed, incapable of containing the
mature birth.”

“We shall yet explore all these celestial bodies more perfectly than
we have hitherto done our own globe, analyse them better than the
substances we can shut up in our retorts, count their number, tell
their measure.”

“As nature grows, mind grows. It grows to God, and in union with him
shall fill, possess all.”

“Our rank among worlds is indeed insignificant if we are to receive it
from the magnitude of our globe compared with others, compared with
space. Put Herschel with his telescope on Saturn, he would scarcely
think us worthy of the name of even a German prince. We may well be
the sport of Jupiter, the little spot round which Mars and Venus
coquette with one another. Little as it is however,—pepper-corn, clod
of clay as it is, with its solitary satellite, and all its spots and
vapours, I prefer it to them all. I am glad I was born in it, I love
its men, and its women, and its laws. It's people shall be my people;
it's God shall be my God. Here I am content to lodge and here to be
buried. What Abanas and Pharphars may flow in these planets I know
not: there is Jordan, here is the river of life. From this world I
shall take possession of all these; while those, who in quest of
strange worlds have forsaken God, shall be desolate.”

“This globe is large enough to contain man; man will yet grow large
enough to fill Heaven.”

“Fear not, there is no empty space in the universe, none in eternity:
nothing lost. God possesses all, and there is room for nothing but the
objects of his affections.”

CHAPTER CCXIX.

THE ARGUMENT AGAINST CHRISTIANITY DRAWN FROM A PLURALITY OF WORLDS
SHEWN TO BE FUTILE: REMARKS ON THE OPPOSITE DISPOSITIONS BY WHICH MEN
ARE TEMPTED TO INFIDELITY.

—_ascolta
Siccome suomo di verace lingua;
E porgimi l'orecchio._

CHIABRERA.

The extracts with which the preceding Chapter concludes, will have put
thee in a thoughtful mood, Reader, if thou art one of those persons
whose brains are occasionally applied to the purpose of thinking upon
such subjects as are worthy of grave consideration. Since then I have
thee in this mood, let us be serious together. Egregiously is he
mistaken who supposes that this book consists of nothing more than

Fond Fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought.[1]

[Footnote 1: SIR P. SIDNEY.]

Every where I have set before thee what Bishop Reynolds calls _verba
desiderii_,—“pleasant, delightful, acceptable words, such as are
worthy of all entertainment, and may minister (not a few of them)
comfort and refreshment to the hearers.” I now come to thee with
_verba rectitudinis_,—“equal and right words; not loose, fabulous,
amorous, impertinent, which should satisfy the itch of ear, or tickle
only a wanton fancy; but profitable and wholesome words,—so to please
men as that it may be unto edification and for their profit; words
written to make men sound and upright;—to make their paths direct and
straight, without falseness or hypocrisy.” Yea they shall be _verba
veritatis_,—“words of truth, which will not deceive or misguide those
that yield up themselves to the direction of them: a truth which is
sanctifying and saving, and in these respects most worthy of our
attention and belief.”

Make up your mind then to be Tremayned in this chapter.

The benevolent reader will willingly do this, he I mean who is
benevolent to himself as well as towards me. The so-called philosopher
or man of liberal opinions, who cannot be so inimical in thought to
me, as they are indeed to themselves, will frown at it; one such
exclaims pshaw, or pish, according as he may affect the _forté_
manner, or the fine, of interjecting his contemptuous displeasure;
another already winces, feeling himself by anticipation touched upon a
sore place. To such readers it were hopeless to say _favete_,
“_Numquid æger laudat medicum secantem?_” But I shall say with the
Roman Philosopher of old, who is well entitled to that then honourable
designation, “_tacete,—et præbete vos curationi: etiam si
exclamaveritis, non aliter audiam, quam si ad tactum vitiorum
vestrorum ingemiscatis._”[2]

[Footnote 2: SENECA.]

My own observation has led me to believe with Mr. Miller, that some
persons are brought by speculating upon a Plurality of Worlds to
reason themselves out of their belief in Christianity: such
Christianity indeed it is as has no root, because the soil on which it
has fallen is shallow, and though the seed which has been sown there
springs up, it soon withers away. Thus the first system of
superstition, and the latest pretext for unbelief have both been
derived from the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. The former was
the far more pardonable error, being one to which men, in the first
ages, among whom the patriarchal religion had not been carefully
preserved, were led by natural piety. The latter is less imputable to
the prevalence of unnatural impiety,—than to that weakness of mind and
want of thought which renders men as easily the dupe of the infidel
propagandist in one age, as of the juggling friar in another. These
objectors proceed upon the gratuitous assumption that other worlds are
inhabited by beings of the same kind as ourselves, and moreover in the
same condition; that is having fallen, and being therefore in need of
a Redeemer. Ask of them upon what grounds they assume this, and they
can make no reply.

Too many alas there are who part with their heavenly birth-right at a
viler price than Esau! It is humiliating to see by what poor
sophistries they are deluded,—by what pitiable vanity they are led
astray! And it is curious to note how the same evil effect is produced
by causes the most opposite. The drunken pride of intellect makes one
man deny his Saviour and his God: another under the humiliating sense
of mortal insignificancy, feels as though he were “a worm and no man,”
and therefore concludes that men are beneath the notice, still more
beneath the care, of the Almighty. “When I consider thy Heavens, the
work of thy fingers, the Moon and the Stars, which thou hast ordained;
what is man that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man that thou
visitest him?” Of those who pursue this feeling to a consequence as
false as it is unhappy, there is yet hope; for the same arguments (and
they are all-sufficient) by which the existence of the Deity is
proved, prove also his infinite goodness; and he who believes in that
goodness, if he but feelingly believe, is not far from trusting in it,

_—σύ δέ κεν ῥεα πάντ᾽ ἐσορήσαις
Ἄι κεν ἴδης αὐτόν._[3]

[Footnote 3: ORPHEUS.]

It is a good remark of Mr. Riland's in his Estimate of the Religion of
the Times, that men quarrel with the Decalogue rather than with the
Creed. But the quarrel that begins with one, generally extends to the
other; we may indeed often perceive how manifestly men have made their
doctrines conform to their inclinations. _Αἱ ἀκροάσεις κατὰ τὰ ἔθη
συμβαίνουσιν· ὣς γὰρ εἰώθαμεν, οὕτως ἀξιοῦμεν λέγεσθαι._[4] They
listen only to what they like, as Aristotle has observed, and would be
instructed to walk on those ways only which they choose for
themselves. But if there be many who thus make their creed conform to
their conduct, and are led by an immoral life into irreligious
opinions, there are not a few whose error begins in the intellect and
from thence proceeds to their practice in their domestic and daily
concerns. Thus if unbelief begins not in the evil heart, it settles
there. But perhaps it is not so difficult to deal with an infidel who
is in either of these predicaments, as with one whose disposition is
naturally good, whose course of life is in no other respect blameless,
or meritorious, but who owing to unhappy circumstances has either been
allowed to grow up carelessly in unbelief, or trained in it
systematically, or driven to seek for shelter in it from the gross
impostures of popery, or the revolting tenets of Calvinism, the cant
of hypocrisy, or the crudities of cold Socinianism. Such persons
supposing themselves whole conclude that they have no need of a
physician, and are thus in the fearful condition of those righteous
ones of whom our Lord said that he came not to call them to
repentance! The sinner, brave it as he may, feels inwardly the want of
a Saviour, and this is much, though not enough to say with the poet

_Pars sanitatis velle sanari fuit,_[5]

nor with the philosopher, _et hoc multum est velle servari_: nor with
the Father _ὁ τὸ πρῶτον δοὺς καὶ το δεύτερον δώσει._ For if this be
rejected, then comes that “penal induration, as the consequent of
voluntary and contracted induration,” which one of our own great
Christian philosophers pronounces to be “the sorest judgement next to
hell itself.” Nevertheless it is much to feel this self-condemnation
and this want. But he who confides in the rectitude of his intentions,
and in his good works, and in that confidence rejects so great
salvation, is in a more aweful state, just as there is more hope of
him who suffers under an acute disease, than of a patient stricken
with the dead palsy.

[Footnote 4: Bp. Reynolds quotes this same passage in his Sermon on
“Brotherly Reconciliation,” and applies it in the same way. Works,
vol. v. p. 158.]

[Footnote 5: SENECA IN HIPPOL.]

CHAPTER CCXX.

DOÑA OLIVA'S PHILOSOPHY, AND VIEWS OF POLITICAL REFORMATION.

_Non vi par adunque che habbiamo ragionato a bastanza di questo?—A
bastanza parmi, rispose il Signor Gaspar; par desidero io d'intendere
qualche particolarita anchor._

CASTIGLIONE.

According to Doña Oliva's philosophy, the quantity of water is ten
times greater than that of earth, air in like manner exceeding water
in a ten fold degree, and fire in the same proportion out-measuring
air. From the centre of the earth to the first heaven the distance by
her computation is 36,292 leagues of three miles each and two thousand
paces to the mile. From the surface of the earth to its centre, that
centre being also the central point of the Infernal regions, her
computed distance is 117,472 leagues. How far it is to the confines,
has not been ascertained by discovery, and cannot be computed from any
known data.

Pliny has preserved an anecdote in geological history, which relates
to this point, and which, not without reason, he calls _exemplum
vanitatis Græcæ maximum_. It relates to a certain philosopher,
Dionysiodorus by name, who was celebrated for his mathematical
attainments, and who it seems retained his attachment to that science
after death, and continued the pursuit of it. For having died in a
good old age, and received all fitting sepulchral rites, he wrote a
letter from Hades to the female relations who had succeeded to his
property, and who probably were addicted to the same studies as
himself, for otherwise he would not have communicated with them upon
such a subject. They found the letter in his sepulchre, wherein he had
deposited it as at a post-office “till called for;” and whither he
knew they would repair for the due performance of certain ceremonies,
among others that of pouring libations through the perforated floor of
the Tomb-chamber upon the dust below. The purport of his writing was
not to inform them of his condition in the Shades, nor to communicate
any information concerning the World of Spirits, but simply to state
the scientific fact, that having arrived in the depths of the earth,
he had found the distance from the surface to be 42,000 stadia. The
philosophers to whom this _post-mortem_ communication was imparted,
reasonably inferred that he had reached the very centre, and measured
from that point; they calculated upon the data thus afforded them, and
ascertained that the globe was exactly 250,000 stadia in
circumference. Pliny however thought that this measurement was 12,000
stadia short of the true amount. _Harmonica ratio_, he says, _quæ
cogit rerum naturam sibi ipsam congruere, addit huic mensuræ stadia
xii. millia; terramque nonagesimam sextam totius mundi partem facit._

“What is the centre of the earth?” says the melancholy Burton. “Is it
pure element only as Aristotle decrees? Inhabited, as Paracelsus
thinks, with creatures whose chaos is the earth? Or with Faeries, as
the woods and waters, according to him, are with Nymphs? Or, as the
air, with Spirits? Dionysiodorus,” he adds, “might have done well to
have satisfied all these doubts?”

But the reason, according to Doña Oliva, wherefore the place of
punishment for sinful souls has been appointed in the centre of this
our habitable earth, is this; the soul being in its essence lighter
than air, fire, or any of the ten spheres, has its natural place in
the Empyreum or Heaven of Heavens, where the Celestial Court is fixed,
and whither it would naturally ascend when set free from the body, as
to its natural and proper place of rest. The punishment therefore is
appropriately appointed in the place which is most remote from its
native region, and most repugnant to its own nature, the pain
therefore must needs be _fort et dure_ which it endures when confined
within that core of the earth, to which all things that are heaviest
gravitate.

In these fancies she only followed or applied the received opinions of
the middle ages. A more remarkable part of her works, considering the
time and place in which they were composed, is a Colloquy[1] upon the
means by which the World and the Governments thereof might be
improved. Having in her former treatises laid down a better system for
treating the infirmities of the human microcosm, she enters nothing
loth, and nothing doubting her own capacity, upon the maladies of the
body politic.

[Footnote 1: _Colloquio de las Cosas que mejoraran este Mundo y sus
Republicas._]

The first evils which occurred to her were those of the law, its
uncertainty and its delays by which properties were wasted, families
ruined and hearts broken. What barbarity it is, she says, that a cause
should continue forty years in the Courts! that one Counsellor should
tell you the right is on your side, and another should say the same
thing to your adversary; that one decision should be given in one
place, and another to revoke it in that; and in a third a different
one from either, and all three perhaps equally wide of the truth and
justice of the case, and yet each such as can be maintained by legal
arguments, and supported by legal authorities! The cause of all this
she ascribes to the multiplicity of laws and of legal books, which
were more than enough to load twenty carts, and yet more were
continually added, and all were in Latin. Could any folly exceed that
of those lawgivers who presumed to prescribe laws for all possible
contingencies, and for the whole course of future generations! She was
therefore for reducing the written laws to a few fundamentals in the
vernacular tongue, and leaving every thing else to be decided by men
of good conscience and sincere understanding; by which the study of
jurisprudence as a science would be abolished, and there might be an
end to those numerous costly professorships for which so many chairs
and universities had been founded. Ten short commandments comprised
the law of God; but human laws by their number and by the manner in
which they were administered occasioned more hurt to the souls of men
than even to their lives and fortunes; for in courts of law it was
customary, even if not openly permitted, to bear false witness against
your neighbour, to calumniate him in writing, and to seek his
destruction or his death. Laws which touched the life ought to be
written, because in capital cases no man ought to be left to an
uncertain sentence, nor to the will of a Judge, but all other cases
should be left to the Judges, who ought always to be chosen from
Monasteries, or some other course of retired life, and selected for
their religious character. This she thought, with the imposition of a
heavy fine for any direct falsehood, or false representation advanced
either in evidence, or in pleading, and for denying the truth, or
suppressing it, would produce the desired reformation.

Next she considered the condition of the agricultural labourers, a
class which had greatly diminished and which it was most desirable to
increase. Their condition was to be bettered by raising their wages
and consequently the price of produce, and exempting their cattle,
their stores and their persons from being taken in execution. She
would also have them protected against their own imprudence, by
preventing them from obtaining credit for wedding garments, that being
one of the most prevalent and ruinous modes of extravagance in her
days. In this rank of life it sometimes happened, that a shopkeeper
not only seized the garments themselves, but the peasant's cattle also
to make up the payment of a debt thus contracted.

She thought it a strange want of policy that in a country where the
corn failed for want of rain, the waters with which all brooks and
rivers were filled in winter should be allowed to run to waste.
Therefore she advised that great tanks and reservoirs should be formed
for the purposes of irrigation, and that they should be rendered
doubly profitable by stocking them with fish, such as shad, tench and
trout. She advised also that the seed should frequently be changed,
and crops raised in succession, because the soil loved to embrace new
products: and that new plants should be introduced from the Indies;
where hitherto the Spaniards had been more intent upon introducing
their own, than in bringing home from thence others to enrich their
own country; the cacao in particular she recommended, noticing that
this nut for its excellence had even been used as money.

Duels she thought the Christian Princes and the Pope might easily
prevent, by erecting a Jurisdiction which should take cognizance of
all affairs of honour. She would have had them also open the road to
distinction for all who deserved it, so that no person should be
debarred by his birth from attaining to any office or rank; this she
said, was the way to have more Rolands and Cids, more Great Captains,
more Hannibals and Tamerlanes.

Such were Doña Oliva's views of political reformation, the wretched
state of law and of medicine explaining satisfactorily to her most of
the evils with which Spain was afflicted in the reign of Philip II.
She considered Law and Physic as the two great plagues of human life,
according to the Spanish proverb,

_A quien yo quiero mal,
De le Dios pleyto y orinal._

Upon these subjects and such as these the Spanish lady might speculate
freely; if she had any opinions which “savoured of the frying-pan,”
she kept them to herself.

CHAPTER CCXXI.

THE DOCTOR'S OPINION OF DOÑA OLIVA'S PRACTICE AND HUMANITY.

_Anchor dir si potrebber cose assai
Che la materia è tanto piena et folta,
Che non se ne verrebbe à capo mai,
Dunque fia buono ch'io suoni à raccolta._

FR. SANSOVINO.

The Doctor's opinion of Doña Oliva's practice was that no one would be
killed by it, but that many would be allowed to die whom a more active
treatment might have saved. It would generally fail to help the
patient, but it would never exasperate the disease; and therefore in
her age it was an improvement, for better is an inert treatment than a
mischievous one.

He liked her similitude of the tree, but wondered that she had not
noted as much resemblance to the trunk and branches in the bones and
muscles, as in the vascular system. He admired the rational part of
her practice, and was disposed to think some parts of it not
irrational which might seem merely fanciful to merely practical men.

She was of opinion that more persons were killed by affections of the
mind, than by intemperance, or by the sword; this she attempts to
explain by some weak reasoning from a baseless theory; but the proofs
which she adduces in support of the assertion are curious. Many
persons she says, who in her own time had fallen under the King's
displeasure, or even received a harsh word from him, had taken to
their beds and died. It was not uncommon for wives who loved their
husbands dearly, to die a few days after them; two such instances had
occurred within the same week in the town in which she resided: and
she adds the more affecting fact that the female slaves of the better
kind (_esclavas abiles_) meaning perhaps those upon whom any care had
been bestowed, were frequently observed to pine away as they grew up,
and perish; and that this was still more frequent with those who had a
child born to an inheritance of slavery. Mortified ambition,
irremediable grief, and hopeless misery, had within her observation,
produced the same fatal effect. The general fact is supported by
Harvey's testimony. That eminent man said to Bishop Hacket that during
the Great Rebellion, more persons whom he had seen in the course of
his practice died of grief of mind than of any other disease. In
France it was observed not only that nervous diseases of every kind
became much more frequent during the revolution but cases of cancer
also,—moral causes producing in women a predisposition to that most
dreadful disease.

Our friend was fortunate enough to live in peaceful times, when there
were no public calamities to increase the sum of human suffering. Yet
even then, and within the limits of his own not extensive circle, he
saw cases enough to teach him that it is difficult to minister to a
mind diseased, but that for a worm in the core there is no remedy
within the power of man.

He liked Doña Oliva for the humanity which her observations upon this
subject implies. He liked her also for following the indications of
nature in part of her practise; much the better he liked her for
prescribing all soothing circumstances and all inducements to
cheerfulness that were possible; and nothing the worse for having
carried some of her notions to a whimsical extent. He had built an
Infirmary in the air himself, others he said, might build Castles
there.

It was not such an Infirmary as the great Hospital at Malta, where the
Knights attended in rotation and administered to the patients, and
where every culinary utensil was made of solid silver, such was the
ostentatious magnificence of the establishment. The Doctor provided
better attendance, for he had also built a Beguinage in the air, as an
auxiliary institution; and as to the utensils he was of opinion that
careful neatness was very much better than useless splendour. But here
he would have given Doña Oliva's soothing system a fair trial, and
have surrounded the patients with all circumstances that could
minister to the comfort or alleviation of either a body or a mind
diseased. The principal remedy in true medicine, said that Lady
practitioner, is to reconcile the mind and body, or to bring them in
accord with each other,—(_componer el anima con el cuerpo:_) to effect
this you must administer contentment and pleasure to the mind, and
comfort to the stomach and to the brain; the mind can only be reached
by judicious discourse and pleasing objects; the stomach is to be
comforted by restoratives; the brain by sweet odours and sweet sounds.
The prospect of groves and gardens, the shade of trees, the flowing of
water, or its gentle fall, music and cheerful conversation, were
things which she especially advised. How little these circumstances
would avail in the fiercer forms of acute diseases, or in the
protracted evils of chronic suffering, the Doctor knew but too well.
But he knew also that medical art was humanely and worthily employed,
when it alleviated what no human skill could cure.

“So great,” says Dr. Currie, “are the difficulties of tracing out the
hidden causes of the disorders to which this frame of ours is subject,
that the most candid of the profession have allowed and lamented how
unavoidably they are in the dark; so that the best medicines,
administered by the wisest heads, shall often do the mischief they
intend to prevent.” There are more reasons for this than Dr. Currie
has here assigned. For not only are many of the diseases which flesh
is heir to, obscure in their causes, difficultly distinguishable by
their symptoms, and altogether mysterious in their effect upon the
system, but constitutions may be as different as tempers, and their
varieties may be as many and as great as those of the human
countenance. Thus it is explained wherefore the treatment which proves
successful with one patient, should fail with another, though
precisely in the same stage of the same disease. Another and not
unfrequent cause of failure is that the life of a patient may depend
as much upon administering the right remedy at the right point of
time, as the success of an alchemist was supposed to do upon seizing
the moment of projection. And where constant attendance is not
possible, or where skill is wanting, it must often happen that the
opportunity is lost. This cause would not exist in the Columbian
Infirmary, where the ablest Physicians would be always within instant
call, and where the Beguines in constant attendance would have
sufficient skill to know when that call became necessary.

A ship-captain, the Doctor used to say, when he approaches the coast
of France from the Bay of Biscay, or draws near the mouth of the
British Channel, sends down the lead into the sea, and from the
appearance of the sand which adheres to its tallowed bottom, he is
enabled to find upon the chart where he is, with sufficient precision
for directing his course. Think, he would say, what an apparently
impossible accumulation of experience there must have been, before the
bottom of that sea, everywhere within soundings could be so accurately
known, as to be marked on charts which may be relied on with perfect
confidence! No formal series of experiments was ever instituted for
acquiring this knowledge; and there is nothing in history which can
lead us to conjecture about what time sailors first began to trust to
it. The boasted astronomy of the Hindoos and Egyptians affords a
feebler apparent proof in favour of the false antiquity of the world,
than might be inferred from this practice. Now if experience in the
Art of Healing had been treasured up with equal care, it is not too
much to say that therapeutics might have been as much advanced, as
navigation has been by preserving the collective knowledge of so many
generations?[1]

[Footnote 1: The following fragments belong to the chapters which were
to have treated on the Medical Science. They may therefore
appropriately be appended to these chapters on Doña Oliva. I have only
prefixed a motto from Butler.]

* * * * *

“—The prince
Of Poets, Homer, sang long since,
A skilful leech is better far
Than half a hundred men of war.”

Such prescriptions as were composed of any part of the human body were
reprobated by Galen, and he severely condemned Xenocrates for having
introduced them, as being worse than useless in themselves, and wicked
in their consequences. Yet these abominable ingredients continued in
use till what may be called the Reformation of medicine in the
Seventeenth Century. Human bones were administered internally as a
cure for ulcers, and the bones were to be those of the part affected.
A preparation called Aqua Divina was made by cutting in pieces the
body of a healthy man who had died a violent death, and distilling it
with the bones and intestines. Human blood was prescribed for
epilepsy, by great authorities, but others equally great with better
reason condemned the practice, for this among other causes, that it
might communicate the diseases of the person from whom it was taken.
Ignorant surgeons when they bled a patient used to make him drink the
warm blood that he might not lose the life which it contained. The
heart dried, and taken in powder was thought good in fevers, but
consciencious practitioners were of opinion that it ought not to be
used, because of the dangerous consequences which might be expected if
such a remedy were in demand. It is not long since a Physician at
Heidelberg prescribed human brains to be taken inwardly in violent
fevers, and boasted of wonderful cures. And another German
administered cat's entrails as a panacea!

* * * * *

The Egyptian physicians, each being confined to the study and
treatment of one part of the body, or one disease, were bound to
proceed in all cases according to the prescribed rules of their art.
If the patient died under this treatment, no blame attached to the
physician; but woe to the rash practitioner who ventured to save a
life by any means out of the regular routine; the success of the
experiment was not admitted as an excuse for the transgression and he
was punished with death; for the law presumed that in every case the
treatment enjoined was such as by common consent of the most learned
professors had been approved because by long experience it had been
found beneficial. The laws had some right to interfere because
physicians received a public stipend.

Something like this prevails at this day in China. It is enacted in
the Ta Tsing Leu Lee, that “when unskilful practitioners of medicine
or surgery, administer drugs, or perform operations with the
puncturing needle, contrary to the established rules and practice, and
thereby kill the patient, the Magistrates shall call in other
practitioners to examine the nature of the medicine, or of the wound,
as the case may be, which proved mortal; and if it shall appear upon
the whole to have been simply an error without any design to injure
the patient, the practitioner shall be allowed to redeem himself from
the punishment of homicide, as in cases purely accidental, but shall
be obliged to quit his profession for ever. If it shall appear that a
medical practitioner intentionally deviates from the established rules
and practice, and while pretending to remove the disease of his
patient, aggravates the complaint, in order to extort more money for
its cure, the money so extorted shall be considered to have been
stolen, and punishment inflicted accordingly, in proportion to the
amount. If the patient dies, the medical practitioner who is convicted
of designedly employing improper medicines, or otherwise contriving to
injure his patient, shall suffer death by being beheaded after the
usual period of confinement.”

* * * * *

No man ever entertained a higher opinion of medical science, and the
dignity of a Physician than Van Helmont. What has been said of the
Poet, ought in his opinion to be said of the Physician also,
_nascitur, non fit_, and in his relation to the Creator, he was more
Poet, or Prophet, whom the word VATES brings under one
predicament,—more than Priest. _Scilicet Pater Misericordiarum, qui
Medicum ab initio, ceu Mediatorem inter Deum et hominem, constituit,
immo sibi in deliciis posuit, à Medico vinci velle, nimirum, ad hoc se
creasse peculiari elogio, et elegisse testatur. Ita est sane. Non enim
citius hominem punit Deus, infirmat, aut interimere minatur, sibi quam
optet opponentem Medicum, ut se Omnipotentem, etiam meritas immittendo
pœnas, vincat propriis clementiæ suæ donis. Ejusmodi autem Medici sunt
in ventre matris præparati,—suo fungentes munere, nullius lucri
intuitu, nudèque reflectuntur super beneplacitum (immo mandatum)
illius, qui solus, verè misericors, nos jubet, sub indictione pœnæ
infernalis, fore Patri suo similes._—Obedite præpositis _præceptum
quidem: sed_ honora parentes, honora Medicum, _angustius est quam
obedire, cum cogamur etiam obedire minoribus. Medicus enim Mediator
inter Vitæ Principem et Mortem._

“To wit,”—this done into English by J. C. sometime of M. H. Oxon.—“the
Father of mercies, he who appointed a Physician, or Mediator between
God and man from the beginning, yea He made it his delight that he
would be overcome by a Physician, indeed he testifieth that he created
and chose him to this end—for a peculiar testimony of his praise. It
is so in truth. For no sooner doth He punish, weaken, and threaten to
kill man, but he desireth a Physician opposing himself, that He may
conquer himself, being Omnipotent, and even in sending deserved
punishments, by the proper gifts of his clemency.—Of this sort are
Physicians, which are fitted from their Mothers wombs, exercise their
gift with respect to no gain; and they are nakedly cast upon the good
pleasure,—yea the command—of him, who alone being truly merciful
commands us that, under pain of infernal punishment, we be like to his
father.—_Obey those that sit over you,_ is a precept indeed; but
honour thy Parents, honour the Physician, is more strict than to obey,
seeing we are constrained even to obey our youngers. For the Physician
is a Mediator between the Prince of life and Death.”

* * * * *

Some of the Floridian tribes had a high opinion of medical virtue.
They buried all their dead, except the Doctors; them they burnt,
reduced their bones to powder and drank it in water.

* * * * *

A century ago the Lions in the Tower were named after the different
Sovereigns then reigning, “and it has been observed that when a King
dies, the Lion of that name dies also.”

* * * * *

In the great Place at Delhi the poor Astrologers sit, as well
Mahometan as Heathen. These Doctors, forsooth, sit there in the sun
upon a piece of tapistry, all covered with dust, having about them
some old mathematical instruments, which they make shew of to draw
passengers, and a great open book representing the animals of the
Zodiack. These men are the oracles of the vulgar, to whom they pretend
to give for one _Payssa_, that is a penny, good luck, and they are
they that looking upon the hands and face, turning over their books
and making a shew of calculation, determine the fortunate moment when
a business is to be begun, to make it successful. The mean women,
wrapt up in a white sheet from head to foot, come to find them out,
telling them in their ear their most secret concerns, as if they were
their confessors, and intreat them to render the stars propitious to
them, and suitable to their designs, as if they could absolutely
dispose of their influences.

The most ridiculous of all these astrologers in my opinion was a
mongrel Portugueze from Goa, who sat with much gravity upon his piece
of tapistry, like the rest, and had a great deal of custom, though he
could neither read nor write; and as for instruments and books was
furnished with nothing but an old sea-compass, and an old Romish
prayer-book in the Portugueze language, of which he shewed the
pictures for figures of the Zodiac. “_As taes bestias tal
Astrologo_—for such beasts, such an Astrologer,” said he to father
Buze a Jesuit, who met him there.

* * * * *

M. Rondeau in 1780, opened a large tumour which had grown behind a
woman's left ear, at Brussels, and found in it a stone, in form and
size like a pigeon's egg, which all the experiments to which it was
subject proved to be a real Bezoar, of the same colour, structure,
taste and substance with the oriental and occidental Bezoars. This,
however was a fact which the Doctor could not exactly accommodate to
his theory, though it clearly belonged to it; the difficulty was not
in this, that there are those animals in which the Bezoar is produced,
the goat in which it is most frequent, the cow, in which it is of less
value, and the ape, in which it is very seldom found, but is of most
efficacy. Through either of these forms the Archeus might have passed.
But how the Bezoar which is formed in the stomach of these animals
should have concreted in a sort of wen upon the woman's head was a
circumstance altogether anomalous.

* * * * *

At Mistra, a town built from the ruins of Sparta, the sick are daily
brought and laid at the doors of the metropolitan Church, as at the
gates of the ancient temples, that those who repair thither to
worship, may indicate to them the remedies by which their health may
be recovered.

* * * * *

It is well remarked of the Spaniards by the Abbé de Vayrac _que d'un
trop grand attachment pour les Anciens en matiere de Philosophie et de
Medecine, et de trop de negligence pour eux en matiere de Poësie, il
arrive presque toujours qu'ils ne sont ni bons Philosophes, ni bons
Medicins, ni bons Poëtes._

* * * * *

The desire of having something on which to rely, as dogmatical truths,
“as it appears,” says Donne, “in all sciences, so most manifestly in
Physic, which for a long time considering nothing but plain curing,
and that by example and precedent, the world at last longed for some
certain canons and rules how these cures might be accomplished; and
when men are inflamed with this desire, and that such a fire breaks
out, it rages and consumes infinitely by heat of argument, except some
of authority interpose. This produced Hippocrates his Aphorisms; and
the world slumbered, or took breath, in his resolution divers hundreds
of years. And then in Galen's time, which was not satisfied with the
effect of curing, nor with the knowledge how to cure, broke out
another desire of finding out the causes why those simples wrought
those effects. Then Galen rather to stay their stomachs than that he
gave them enough, taught them the qualities of the four Elements, and
arrested them upon this, that all differences of qualities proceeded
from them. And after, (not much before our time,) men perceiving that
all effects in physic could not be derived from these beggarly and
impotent properties of the Elements, and that therefore they were
driven often to that miserable refuge of specific form, and of
antipathy and sympathy, we see the world hath turned upon new
principles, which are attributed to Paracelsus, but indeed too much to
his honour.”

* * * * *

“This indenture made 26 Apr. 18 Hen. 8, between Sir Walter Strickland,
knight, of one part, and Alexander Kenet, Doctor of Physic, on the
other part, witnesseth, that the said Alexander permitteth, granteth,
and by these presents bindeth him, that he will, with the grace and
help of God, render and bring the said Sir Walter Strickland to
perfect health of all his infirmities and diseases contained in his
person, and especially stomach and lungs and breast, wherein he has
most disease and grief; and over to minister such medicines truly to
the said Sir Walter Strickland, in such manner and ways as the said
Master Alexander may make the said Sir Walter heal of all infirmities
and diseases, in as short time as possible may be, with the grace and
help of God. And also the said Master Alexander granteth he shall not
depart at no time from the said Sir Walter without his license, unto
the time the said Sir Walter be perfect heal, with the grace and help
of God. For the which care the said Sir Walter Strictland granteth by
these presents, binding himself to pay or cause to be paid to the said
Mr. Alexander or his assigns £20. sterling monies of good and lawful
money of England, in manner and form following: that is, five marks to
be paid upon the first day of May next ensuing, and all the residue of
the said sum of £20. to be paid parcel by parcel as shall please the
said Sir Walter, as he thinks necessary to be delivered and paid in
the time of his disease, for sustaining such charges as the said Mr.
Alexander must use in medicine for reducing the said Sir Walter to
health; and so the said payment continued and made, to the time the
whole sum of £20. aforesaid be fully contented and paid. In witness
whereof, either to these present indentures have interchangeably set
their seals, the day and year above mentioned.”

Sir Walter however died on the 9th of January following.

* * * * *

“_Je voudrois de bon cœur_,” says an interlocutor in one of the
evening conversation parties of Guillaume Bouchet, Sieur de Brocourt,
“_qu'il y eust des Medecins pour remedier aux ennuis et maladies de
l'esprit, ne plus ne moins qu'il en y a qui guerissent les maladies et
douleurs du corps; comme it se trouve qu'il y en avoit en Grece; car
il est escrit que Xenophon ayant faict bastir une maison à Corinthe,
il mit en un billet sur la porte, qu'il faisoit profession, et avoit
le moyen de guerir de paroles ceux qui estoient ennuyez et faschez; et
leur demandant les causes de leurs ennuis, il les guerissoit, les
recomfortant, et consolant de leurs douleurs et ennuis._”

* * * * *

Under barbarous governments the most atrocious practices are still in
use. It was reported in India that when Hyder Aly was suffering with a
malignant bile on his back common in that country, and which
occasioned his death, an infant's liver was applied to it every day.
An Englishman in the service of Phizal Beg Cawn was on an embassy at
Madras when this story was current; the Governor asked him whether he
thought it likely to be true, and he acknowledged his belief in it,
giving this sufficient reason, that his master Phizal Beg had tried
the same remedy, but then he begged leave to affirm in behalf of his
master, that the infants killed for his use, were slaves, and his own
property.

* * * * *

Of odd notions concerning virginity I do not remember a more curious
one than that virgin mummy was preferred in medicine.

INTERCHAPTER XXV.

A WISHING INTERCHAPTER WHICH IS SHORTLY TERMINATED, ON SUDDENLY
RECOLLECTING THE WORDS OF CLEOPATRA,—“WISHERS WERE EVER FOOLS.”

Begin betimes, occasion's bald behind,
Stop not thine opportunity, for fear too late
Thou seek'st for much, but canst not compass it.

MARLOWE.

“_Plust a Dieu que j'eusse presentement cent soixante et dixhuit
millions d'or!_” says a personage in Rabelais: “_ho, comment je
triumpherois!_”

It was a good, honest, large, capacious wish; and in wishing, it is as
well to wish for enough. By enough in the way of riches, a man is said
to mean always something more than he has. Without exposing myself to
any such censorious remark, I will like the person above quoted, limit
my desires to a positive sum, and wish for just one million a year.

And what would you do with it? says Mr. Sobersides.

“_Attendez encores un peu, avec demie once de patience._”

I now esteem my venerable self
As brave a fellow, as if all that pelf
Were sure mine own; and I have thought a way
Already how to spend.

And first for my private expenditure, I would either buy a house to my
mind, or build one; and it should be such as a house ought to be,
which I once heard a glorious agriculturist define “a house that
should have in it every thing that is voluptuous, and necessary and
right.” In my acceptation of that felicitous definition, I request the
reader to understand that every thing which is right is intended, and
nothing but what is perfectly so: that is to say I mean every possible
accommodation conducive to health and comfort. It should be large
enough for my friends, and not so large as to serve as an hotel for my
acquaintance, and I would live in it at the rate of five thousand a
year, beyond which no real and reasonable enjoyment is to be obtained
by money.

I would neither keep hounds, nor hunters, nor running horses.

I would neither solicit nor accept a peerage. I would not go into
Parliament. I would take no part whatever in what is called public
life, farther than to give my vote at an election against a Whig, or
against any one who would give his in favour of the Catholic Question.

I would not wear my coat quite so threadbare as I do at present: but I
would still keep to my old shoes, as long as they would keep to me.

But stop—Cleopatra adopted some wizard's words when she said “Wishers
were ever fools!”

CHAPTER CCXXII.

ETYMOLOGY.—UN TOUR DE MAÎTRE GONIN.—ROMAN DE VAUDEMONT AND THE LETTER
C.—SHENSTONE.—THE DOCTOR'S USE OF CHRISTIAN NAMES.

_Πρᾶγμα, πρᾶγμα μέγα κεκίνηται, μέγα._

ARISTOPHANES.

_Magnus thesaurus latet in nominibus,_ said Strafford, then Lord
Deputy Wentworth, when noticing a most unwise scheme which was
supposed to proceed from Sir Abraham Dawes, he observes, it appeared
most plainly that he had not his name for nothing! In another letter,
he says, “I begin to hope I may in time as well understand these
customs as Sir Abraham Dawes. Why should I fear it? for I have a name
less ominous than his.”

_Gonin_, Court de Gebelin says, is a French word or rather name which
exists only in these proverbial phrases, _Maître Gonin_,—_un tour de
Maître Gonin_; it designates _un Maître passé en ruses et artifices;
un homme fin et rusé._ The origin of the word, says he, was altogether
unknown. Menage rejects with the utmost contempt the opinion of those
who derive it from the Hebrew ץובנ, _Gwunen_ a diviner, an enchanter.
It is true that this etymology has been advanced too lightly, and
without proofs: Menage however ought to have been less contemptuous,
because he could substitute nothing in its place.

It is remarkable that neither Menage nor Court de Gebelin should have
known that Maistre Gounin was a French conjurer, as well known in his
day as Katterfelto and Jonas, or the Sieur Ingleby Emperor of
Conjurors in later times. He flourished in the days of Francis the
first, before whom he is said to have made a private exhibition of his
art in a manner perfectly characteristic of that licentious King and
his profligate court. Thus he effected “_par ses inventions, illusions
et sorcelleries et enchantements,—car il estoit un homme fort expert
et subtil en son art,_ says Brântome; _et son petit-fils, que nous
avons veu, n'y entendoit rien au prix de luy._” Grandfather and
grandson having been at the head of their worshipful profession, the
name past into a proverbial expression, and survived all memory of the
men.

Court de Gebelin traced its etymology far and wide. He says, it is
incontestable that this word is common to us with the ancient Hebrews
though it does not come to us from them. We are indebted for it to the
English. Cunning _designe chez eux un homme adroit, fin, rusé._ Master
Cunning _a fait Maître Gonin_. This word comes from the primitive
_Cen_ pronounced _Ken_, which signifies ability, (_habilité_) art,
power. The Irish have made from it _Kanu_, I know; _Kunna_, to know;
_Kenning_, knowledge, (_science_); _Kenni_-mann, wise men (_hommes
savans_), Doctors, Priests.

It is a word common to all the dialects of the Celtic and Teutonic; to
the Greek in which _Konne-ein_[1] signifies to know (_savoir_) to be
intelligent and able &c., to the Tartar languages &c.

[Footnote 1: So in the MS.]

_Les Anglois associant_ Cunning _avec_ Man, _homme, en font le mot_
Cunning-Man, _qui signifie Devin, Enchanteur, homme qui fait de
grandes choses, et qui est habile: c'est donc le correspondant du mot
Hebreu_ Gwunen, _Enchanteur, Devin;_ Gwuna, _Magicienne, Devineresse;
d'où le verbe_ Gwunen, _deviner, observer les Augures, faire des
prestiges. Ne soyons par étonnés,_ says the author, bringing this
example to bear upon his system, _de voir ce mot commun à tant de
Peuples, et si ancien: il vint chez tous d'une source commune, de la
haute Asie, berceau de tous ces Peuples et de leur Langue._

If Mr. Canning had met with the foregoing passage towards the close of
his political life, when he had attained the summit of his wishes, how
would it have affected him, in his sober mind? Would it have tickled
his vanity, or stung his conscience? Would he have been flattered by
seeing his ability prefigured in his name? or would he have been
mortified at the truth conveyed in the proverbial French application
of it, and have acknowledged in his secret heart that cunning is as
incompatible with self-esteem as it is with uprightness, with
magnanimity, and with true greatness?

His name was unlucky not only in its signification, but according to
Roman de Vaudemont, in its initial.

_Maudit est nom qui par C se commence,
Coquin, cornard, caignard, coqu, caphard:
Aussi par B, badaud, badin, bavard,
Mais pire est C, si j'ay bien remembrance._

Much as the Doctor insisted upon the virtues of what he called the
divine initial, he reprehended the uncharitable sentiment of these
verses, and thought that the author never could have played at “I love
my Love with an A,” or that the said game perhaps was not known among
the French; for you must get to x, y, and z before you find it
difficult to praise her in any letter in the alphabet, and to
dispraise her in the same.

Initials therefore, he thought, (always with one exception) of no
other consequence than as they pleased the ear, and combined
gracefully in a cypher, upon a seal or ring. But in names themselves a
great deal more presents itself to a reflecting mind.

Shenstone used to bless his good fortune that his name was not
obnoxious to a pun. He would not have liked to have been complimented
in the same strain as a certain Mr. Pegge was by an old epigrammatist.

What wonder if my friendship's force doth last
Firm to your goodness? You have pegg'd it fast.

Little could he foresee, as Dr. Southey has observed that it was
obnoxious to a rhyme in French English. In the gardens of Ermenonville
M. placed this inscription to his honour.

This plain stone
To William Shenstone.
In his writings he display'd
A mind natural;
At Leasowes he laid
Arcadian greens rural.

Poor Shenstone hardly appears more ridiculous in the frontispiece to
his own works, where, in the heroic attitude of a poet who has won the
prize and is about to receive the crown, he stands before Apollo in a
shirt and boa, as destitute of another less dispensible part of dress
as Adam in Eden, but like Adam when innocent, not ashamed: while the
shirtless God holding a lyre in one hand prepares with the other to
place a wreath of bay upon the brow of his delighted votary.

The father of Sir Joshua Reynolds fancied that if he gave his son an
uncommon Christian name, it might be the means of bettering his
fortune; and therefore he had him christened Joshua. It does not
appear however that the name ever proved as convenient to the great
painter as it did to Joshua Barnes. He to whose Barnesian labours
Homer and Queen Esther, and King Edward III. bear witness, was a good
man and a good scholar, and a rich widow who not imprudently inferred
that he would make a good husband, gave him an opportunity by
observing to him one day that Joshua made the Sun and Moon stand
still, and significantly adding that nothing could resist Joshua. The
hint was not thrown away;—and he never had cause to repent that he had
taken, nor she that she had given it.

A Spanish gentleman who made it his pastime to write books of
chivalry, being to bring into his work a furious Giant, went many days
devising a name which might in all points be answerable to his
fierceness, neither could he light upon any; till playing one day at
cards in his friend's house, he heard the master of the house say to
the boy—muchacho—_tra qui tantos_. As soon as he heard Traquitantos he
laid down his cards and said that now he had found a name which would
fit well for his Giant.[2]

[Footnote 2: HUARTE.]

I know not whether it was the happy-minded author of the Worthies and
the Church History of Britain who proposed as an epitaph for himself
the words “Fuller's Earth,” or whether some one proposed it for him.
But it is in his own style of thought and feeling.

Nor has it any unbeseeming levity, like this which is among Browne's
poems.

Here lieth in sooth
Honest John Tooth,
Whom Death on a day
From us drew away.

Or this upon a Mr. Button,

Here lieth one, God rest his soul
Whose grave is but a button-hole.

No one was ever punned to death, nor, though Ditton is said to have
died in consequence of “the unhappy effect” which Swift's verses
produced upon him, can I believe that any one was ever rhymed to
death.

A man may with better reason bless his godfathers and godmothers if
they chuse for him a name which is neither too common nor too
peculiar.[3]

[Footnote 3: It is said of an eccentric individual that he never
forgave his Godfathers and Godmother for giving him the name of Moses,
for which the short is Mo.]

It is not a good thing to be Tom'd or Bob'd, Jack'd or Jim'd, Sam'd or
Ben'd, Natty'd or Batty'd, Neddy'd or Teddy'd, Will'd or Bill'd,
Dick'd or Nick'd, Joe'd or Jerry'd as you go through the world. And
yet it is worse to have a christian name, that for its oddity shall be
in every body's mouth when you are spoken of, as if it were pinned
upon your back, or labelled upon your forehead. Quintin Dick for
example, which would have been still more unlucky if Mr. Dick had
happened to have a cast in his eye. The Report on Parochial
Registration contains a singular example of the inconvenience which
may arise from giving a child an uncouth christian name. A gentleman
called Anketil Gray had occasion for a certificate of his baptism: it
was known at what church he had been baptized, but on searching the
register there, no such name could be found: some mistake was presumed
therefore not in the entry, but in the recollection of the parties,
and many other registers were examined without success. At length the
first register was again recurred to, and then upon a closer
investigation, they found him entered as Miss Ann Kettle Grey.

“_Souvent_,” says Brântome, “ceux qui portent le nom de leurs ayeuls,
leur _ressemblent volontiers, comme je l'ay veu observer et en
discourir à aucuns philosophes._” He makes this remark after observing
that the Emperor Ferdinand was named after his grandfather Ferdinand
of Arragon, and Charles V. after his great grandfather Charles the
Bold. But such resemblances are as Brântome implies, imitational where
they exist. And Mr. Keightley's observation, that “a man's name and
his occupation have often a most curious coincidence,” rests perhaps
on a similar ground, men being sometimes designated by their names for
the way of life which they are to pursue. Many a boy has been called
Nelson in our own days, and Rodney in our fathers', because he was
intended for the sea service, and many a seventh son has been
christened Luke in the hope that he might live to be a physician. In
what other business than that of a lottery-office would the name
Goodluck so surely have brought business to the house? Captain Death
could never have practised medicine or surgery, unless under an alias;
but there would be no better name with which to meet an enemy in
battle. Dr. Damman was an eminent physician and royal professor of
midwifery at Ghent in the latter part of the last century. He ought to
have been a Calvinistic divine.

The Ancients paid so great a regard to names, that whenever a number
of men were to be examined on suspicion, they began by putting to the
torture the one whose name was esteemed the vilest. And this must not
be supposed to have had its origin in any reasonable probability, such
as might be against a man who being apprehended for a riot, should say
his name was Patrick Murphy, or Dennis O'Connor, or Thady O'Callaghan;
or against a Moses Levi, or a Daniel Abrahams for uttering bad money;
it was for the import of the name itself, and the evidence of a base
and servile origin which it implied.

“_J'ai été tousjours fort etonné_,” says Bayle, “_que les familles qui
portent un nom odieux ou ridicule, ne le quitent pas._” The
Leatherheads and Shufflebottoms, the Higgenses and Huggenses, the
Scroggses and the Scraggses, Sheepshanks and Ramsbottoms, Taylors and
Barbers, and worse than all, Butchers, would have been to Bayle as
abominable as they were to Dr. Dove. I ought, the Doctor would say, to
have a more natural dislike to the names of Kite, Hawk, Falcon and
Eagle; and yet they are to me (the first excepted) less odious than
names like these: and even preferable to Bull, Bear, Pig, Hog, Fox or
Wolf.

What a name, he would say, is Lamb for a soldier, Joy for an
undertaker, Rich for a pauper, or Noble for a taylor: Big for a lean
and little person, and Small for one who is broad in the rear and
abdominous in the van. Short for a fellow six feet without his shoes,
or Long for him whose high heels hardly elevate him to the height of
five. Sweet for one who has either a vinegar face, or a foxey
complection. Younghusband for an old batchelor. Merryweather for any
one in November and February, a black spring, a cold summer or a wet
autumn. Goodenough for a person no better than he should be: Toogood
for any human creature, and Best for a subject who is perhaps too bad
to be endured.

Custom having given to every Christian name its _alias_, he always
used either the baptismal name or its substitute as it happened to
suit his fancy, careless of what others might do. Thus he never called
any woman Mary, though _Mare_ he said being the sea was in many
respects but too emblematic of the sex. It was better to use a
synonyme of better omen, and Molly therefore was to be preferred as
being soft. If he accosted a vixen of that name in her worst temper he
_mollyfied_ her. On the contrary he never could be induced to
substitute Sally for Sarah.—Sally he said had a salacious sound, and
moreover it reminded him of rovers, which women ought not to be.
Martha he called Patty, because it came pat to the tongue. Dorothy
remained Dorothy, because it was neither fitting that women should be
made Dolls, nor Idols. Susan with him was always Sue, because women
were to be sued, and Winifred Winny because they were to be won.

CHAPTER CCXXIII.

TRUE PRONUNCIATION OF THE NAME OF DOVE.—DIFFICULTIES OF PRONUNCIATION
AND PROSODY.—A TRUE AND PERFECT RHYME HIT UPON.

_Tal nombre, que a los siglos extendido,
Se olvide de olvidarsele al Olvido._

LOPE DE VEGA.

Considering the many mysteries which our Doctor discovered in the name
of Dove, and not knowing but that many more may be concealed in it
which will in due time be brought to light, I am particularly
desirous,—I am solicitous,—I am anxious,—I wish (which is as much as
if a Quaker were to say “I am moved,” or “it is upon my mind”) to fix
for posterity, if possible, the true pronunciation of that name. _If
possible_, I say, because whatever those readers may think, who have
never before had the subject presented to their thoughts, it is
exceedingly difficult. My solicitude upon this point will not appear
groundless, if it be recollected to what strange changes pronunciation
is liable, not from lapse of time alone, but from caprice and fashion.
Who in the present generation knows not how John Kemble was persecuted
about his _a-ches_, a point wherein right as he was, he was proved to
be wrong by a new _norma loquendi_. Our allies are no longer iambic as
they were wont to be, but pure trochees now like Alley Croker and Mr.
Alley the counsellor. _Beta_ is at this day called _Veta_ in Greece to
the confusion of Sir John Cheke, to the triumph of Bishop Gardiner,
and in contempt of the whole ovine race. Nay, to bring these
observations home to the immediate purport of this chapter, the modern
Greeks when they read this book will call the person on whose history
it relates, Thaniel Thove! and the Thoctor! their Delta having
undergone as great a change as the Delta in Egypt. Have I not reason
then for my solicitude?

Whoever examines that very rare and curious book, _Lesclarcissement de
la langue françoyse_, printed by Johan Haukyns, 1530, (which is the
oldest French grammar in our language, and older than any that the
French possess in their own) will find indubitable proof that the
pronunciation of both nations is greatly altered in the course of the
last three hundred years.

Neither the Spaniards nor Portuguese retain in their speech that
strong Rhotacism which they denoted by the double _rr_, and which
Camden and Fuller notice as peculiar to the people of Carlton in
Leicestershire. Lily has not enumerated it among those _isms_ from
which boys are by all means to be deterred, a most heinous _ism_
however it is. A strange uncouth wharling, Fuller called it, and
Camden describes it as a harsh and ungrateful manner of speech with a
guttural and difficult pronunciation. They were perhaps a colony from
Durham or Northumberland in whom the _burr_ had become hereditary.

Is the poetry of the Greeks and Romans ever read as they themselves
read it? Have we not altered the very metre of the pentameter by our
manner of reading it? Is it not at this day doubtful whether Cæsar was
called Kæsar, Chæsar, or as we pronounce his name? And whether Cicero
ought not to be called Chichero[1] or Kikero? Have I not therefore
cause to apprehend that there may come a time when the true
pronunciation of Dove may be lost or doubtful? Major Jardine has
justly observed that in the great and complicated art of alphabetical
writing, which is rendered so easy and familiar by habit, we are not
always aware of the limits of its powers.

[Footnote 1: The well known verses of Catullus would be against
C_h_ic_h_ero, at least.

_Chommoda dicebat, si quando commoda vellet
Dicere, et_ h_insidias Arrius insidias:
Et tum mirificè sperabat se esse locutum,
Cum quantum poterat, dixerat_ h_insidias, &c._

CARM. lxxxiv.

The _h_ appears to have been an old Shibboleth, and not restricted
either to Shropshire or Warwickshire. Mr. Evans' verses will occur to
many readers of “The Doctor, &c.”]

“Alphabetical writing,” says that always speculative writer, “was
doubtless a wonderful and important discovery. Its greatest merit, I
think, was that of distinguishing sounds from articulations, a degree
of perfection to which the eastern languages have not yet arrived; and
that defect may be, with those nations, one of the chief causes of
their limited progress in many other things. You know they have no
vowels, except some that have the _a_, but always joined to some
articulation: their attempt to supply that defect by points give them
but very imperfect and indistinct ideas of vocal and articulate
sounds, and of their important distinction. But even languages most
alphabetical, if the expression may be allowed, could not probably
transmit by writing a compleat idea of their own sounds and
pronunciation from any one age or people to another. Sounds are to us
infinite and variable, and we cannot transmit by one sense the ideas
and objects of another. We shall be convinced of this when we
recollect the innumerable qualities of tone in human voices, so as to
enable us to distinguish all our acquaintances, though the number
should amount to many hundreds, or perhaps thousands. With attention
we might discover a different quality of tone in every instrument; for
all these there never can be a sufficient number of adequate terms in
any written language; and when that variety comes to be compounded
with a like variety of articulations, it becomes infinite to us. The
varieties only upon the seven notes in music, varied only as to pitch
and modulation throughout the audible scale, combined with those of
time, are not yet probably half exhausted by the constant labour of so
many ages. So that the idea of Mr. Steel and others, of representing
to the eye the tune and time only of the sounds in any language, will
probably ever prove inadequate to the end proposed, even without
attempting the kinds and qualities of tones and articulations, which
would render it infinite and quite impossible.”

Lowth asserts that “the true pronunciation of Hebrew is lost,—lost to
a degree far beyond what can ever be the case of any European language
preserved only in writing; for the Hebrew language, like most of the
other Oriental languages, expressing only the consonants, and being
destitute of its vowels, has lain now for two thousand years in a
manner mute and incapable of utterance, the number of syllables is in
a great many words uncertain, the quantity and accent wholly unknown.”

In the Pronouncing Dictionary of John Walker, (that great benefactor
to all ladies employed in the task of education) the word is written
_Duv_, with a figure of 2 over the vowel, designating that what he
calls the short simple _u_ is intended, as in the English, _tub_,
_cup_, _sup_, and the French _veuf_, _neuf_. How Sheridan gives it, or
how it would have been as Mr. Southey would say, _uglyographized_ by
Elphinstone and the other whimsical persons who have laboured so
disinterestedly in the vain attempt of regulating our spelling by our
pronunciation, I know not, for none of their books are at hand. My
Public will forgive me that I have not taken the trouble to procure
them. It has not been neglected from idleness, nor for the sake of
sparing myself any pains which ought to have been taken. Would I spare
any pains in the service of my Public!

I have not sought for those books because their authority would have
added nothing to Walker's: nor if they had differed from him, would
any additional assistance have been obtained. They are in fact all
equally inefficient for the object here required, which is so to
describe and fix the true pronunciation of a particular word, that
there shall be no danger of it ever being mistaken, and that when this
book shall be as old as the Iliad, there may be no dispute concerning
the name of its principal personage, though more places should vie
with each other for the honour of having given birth to Urgand the
Unknown, than contended for the birth of Homer. Now that cannot be
done by literal notation. If you think it may, “I beseech you, Sir,
paint me a voice! Make a sound visible if you can! Teach mine ears to
see, and mine eyes to hear!”

The prosody of the ancients enables us to ascertain whether a syllable
be long or short. Our language is so much more flexible in verse that
our poetry will not enable the people of the third and fourth
millenniums even to do this, without a very laborious collation, which
would after all in many instances leave the point doubtful. Nor will
rhyme decide the question; for to a foreigner who understands English
only by book (and the people of the third and fourth millenniums may
be in this state) Dove and Glove, Rove and Grove, Move and Prove, must
all appear legitimate and interchangeable rhymes.

I must therefore have given up the matter in despair had it not been
for a most fortunate and felicitous circumstance. There is one word in
the English language which, happen what may, will never be out of use,
and of which the true pronunciation like the true meaning is sure to
pass down uninterruptedly and unaltered from generation to generation.
That word, that one and only word which must remain immutable wherever
English is spoken, whatever other mutations the speech may undergo,
till the language itself be lost in the wreck of all things,—that word
(Youths and Maidens ye anticipate it now!) that one and only word—

_Τόδε μὲν οὐκέτι στόματος ὲν πύλαις
Καθέξω·_[2]

that dear delicious monosyllable LOVE, that word is a true and perfect
rhyme to the name of our Doctor.

Speak but one rhyme and I am satisfied;
... pronounce but Love and Dove.[3]

[Footnote 2: EURIPIDES.]

[Footnote 3: ROMEO AND JULIET.]

CHAPTER CCXXIV.

_Tutte le cose son rose et viole
Ch' io dico ò ch' io dirò de la virtute._

FR. SANSOVINO.

It is recorded of Charlemagne by his secretary Eginhart, that he had
always pen, ink and parchment beside his pillow, for the purpose of
noting down any thoughts which might occur to him during the night:
and lest upon waking he should find himself in darkness, a part of the
wall, within reach from the bed was prepared, like the leaf of a
tablet, with wax, on which he might indent his memoranda with a style.

The Jesuit poet Casimir had a black tablet always by his bedside, and
a piece of chalk, with which to secure a thought, or a poetical
expression that might occur to him, _si quid insomnis noctu non
infeliciter cogitabat ne id sibi periret._ In like manner it is
related of Margaret Duchess of Newcastle that some of her young ladies
always slept within call, ready to rise at any hour in the night, and
take down her thoughts, lest she should forget them before morning.

Some threescore years ago a little instrument was sold by the name of
the Nocturnal Remembrancer; it consisted merely of some leaves of what
is called asses-skin, in a leathern case wherein there was one
aperture from side to side, by aid of which a straight line could be
pencilled in the dark: the leaf might be drawn up, and fixed at
measured distances, till it was written on from top to bottom.

_Our_ Doctor, (—now that thou art so well acquainted with him and
likest him so cordially, Reader, it would be ungenerous in me to call
him mine)—_our_ Doctor needed no such contrivances. He used to say
that he laid aside all his cares when he put off his wig, and that
never any were to be found under his night cap. Happy man, from whom
this might be believed! but so even had been the smooth and noiseless
tenour of his life that he could say it truly. Anxiety and
bereavements had brought to him no sleepless nights, no dreams more
distressful than even the realities that produce and blend with them.
Neither had worldly cares or ambitious hopes and projects ever
disquieted him, and made him misuse in midnight musings the hours
which belong to sleep. He had laid up in his mind an inexhaustible
store of facts and fancies, and delighted in nothing more than in
adding to these intellectual treasures; but as he gathered knowledge
only for its own sake, and for the pleasure of the pursuit, not with
any emulous feelings, or aspiring intent

—to be for ever known,
And make the years to come his own,

he never said with the studious Elder Brother in Fletcher's comedy,

the children
Which I will leave to all posterity,
Begot and brought up by my painful studies
Shall be my living issue.

And therefore—_voilà un homme qui était fort savant et fort eloquent,
et neanmoins_—(altering a little the words of Bayle),—_il n'est pas
connu dans la république des lettres, et il y a eu une infinité de
gens beaucoup moins habile que lui, qui sont cent fois plus connus;
c'est qu'ils ont publié des livres, et que la presse n'a point roulé
sur ses productions. Il importe extrêmement aux hommes doctes, qui ne
veulent pas tomber dans l'oubli après leur mort, de s'ériger en
auteurs; sans cela leur nom ne passe guère la première génération; res
erat unius ætatis. Le commun des lecteurs ne prend point garde au nom
des savans qu'ils ne connaissent que par le témoignage d'autrui; on
oublie bientôt un homme, lorsque l'eloge qu'en font les autres finit
par—le public n'a rien ou de lui._

Bayle makes an exception of men who like Peiresc distinguish
themselves _d'un façon singulière_.

“I am not sure,” says Sir Egerton Brydges, “that the life of an author
is an happy life; but yet if the seeds of authorship be in him, he
will not be happy except in the indulgence of this occupation. Without
the culture and free air which these seeds require, they will wither
and turn to poison.” It is no desirable thing, according to this
representation, to be born with such a predisposition to the most
dangerous of all callings. But still more pitiable is the condition of
such a person if Mr. Fosbrooke has described it truly: “the mind of a
man of genius,” says he, (who beyond all question is a man of genius
himself) “is always in a state of pregnancy, or parturition; and its
power of bearing offspring is bounded only by supervening disease, or
by death.” Those who are a degree lower in genius are in a yet worse
predicament; such a sort of man, as Norris of Bemerton describes, who
“although he conceives often, yet by some chance or other, he always
miscarries, and the issue proves abortive.”

JUNO LUCINA _fer opem!_

This invocation the Doctor never made metaphorically for himself,
whatever serious and secret prayers he may have preferred for others,
when exercising one branch of his tripartite profession.

Bernardin de Saint Pierre says in one of his letters, when his _Etudes
de la Nature_ were in the press, _Je suis a present dans les douleurs
de l'enfantement, car il n'y a point de mère qui souffre autant en
mettant un enfant au monde, et qui craigne plus qu'on ne l'ecorche ou
qu'on ne les crève un œil, qu'un auteur qui revoit les épreuves de son
ouvrage._

CHAPTER CCXXV.

TWO QUESTIONS GROWING OUT OF THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.

A Taylor who has no objection to wear motley, may make himself a great
coat with half a yard of his own stuff, by eking it out with cabbage
from every piece that comes in his way.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

But here two questions arise:

Ought Dr. Dove, or ought he not, to have been an author?

Was he, or was he not, the happier, for not being one?

“Not to leave the reader,” as Lightfoot says, “in a _bivium_ of
irresolutions,” I will examine each of these questions, _escriviendo
algunos breves reglones, sobre lo mucho que dezir y escrivir se podria
en esto;—moviendo me principalmente a ello la grande ignorancia que
sobre esta matheria veo manifiestamente entre las gentes de nuestro
siglo._[1]

[Footnote 1: GARIBAY.]

“I am and have been,” says Robert Wilmot, “(if there be in me any
soundness of judgment) of this opinion, that whatsoever is committed
to the press is commended to eternity; and it shall stand a lively
witness with our conscience, to our comfort or confusion, in the
reckoning of that great day. Advisedly therefore was that proverb used
of our elder Philosopher, _Manum a Tabulâ_; withhold thy hand from the
paper, and thy papers from the print, or light of the world.”

Robert Wilmot _says_, I say, using the present tense in setting his
words before the reader, because of an author it may truly be said
that “being dead he yet speaketh.” Obscure as this old author now is,
for his name and his existing works are known only to those who love
to pore among the tombs and the ruins of literature, yet by those who
will always be enough “to make a few,” his name will continue to be
known, long after many of those bubbles which now glitter as they
float upon the stream of popularity are “gone for ever;” and his
remains are safe for the next half millennium, if the globe should
last so long without some cataclasm which shall involve its creatures
and its works in one common destruction.

Wilmot is right in saying that whatever is written for the public, is
as regards the individual responsibility of the writer, written for
eternity, however brief may be its earthly duration;—an aweful
consideration for the authors of wicked books, and for those who by
becoming instrumental in circulating such books, involve themselves in
the author's guilt as accessaries after the fact, and thereby bring
themselves deservedly under the same condemnation.

Looking at the first question in this point of view, it may be
answered without hesitation, the Doctor was so pure in heart, and
consequently so innocent in mind that there was no moral reason why he
ought not to have been an author. He would have written nothing but
what,—religiously speaking might have been accounted among his good
works,—so far as, so speaking, any works may deserve to be called
good.

But the question has two handles, and we must now take it by the
other.

An author more obscure in the literature of his own country than
Wilmot, (unless indeed some Spanish or Italian Haslewood may have
disinterred his name) has expressed an opinion, directly the reverse
of Wilmot's concerning authorship. Ye who understand that noble
language which the Emperor Charles V. ranked above all other living
tongues may have the satisfaction of here reading it in the original.

“_Muchos son los que del loable y fructuoso trabajo de escrevir,
rehuir suelen; unos por no saber, a los quales su ignorancia en alguna
manera escusa; otros por negligencia, que teniendo habilidad y
disposicion par ello no lo hazen; y a estos es menester que Dios los
perdone en lo passado, y emiende en lo por venir; otros dexan de
hazello por temor de los detractores y que mal acostumbran dezir; los
quales a mi parecer de toda reprehension son dignos, pues siendo el
acto en si virtuoso, dexan de usarlo por temor. Mayormente que todos,
o los mas que este exercicio usan, o con buen ingenio escriven, o con
buen desseo querrian escrevir. Si con buen ingenio hazen buena obra,
cierto es que dese ser alabada. Y së el defecto de mas no alcanzar
algo, la haze diminuta de lo que mejor pudiera ser, deve se loar lo
que el tal quisiera hazer, si mas supiera, o la invencion y fantasia
de la obra, por que fue, o porque desseo ser bueno. De manere que es
mucho mejor escrevir como quiera que se pueda hazer, que no por algun
temor dexar de hazerlo._”[2]

[Footnote 2: QUESTION DE AMOR. PROLOGO.]

“Many,” says this author, “are they who are wont to eschew the
meritorious and fruitful labour of writing, some for want of
knowledge, whom their ignorance in some manner excuses; others for
negligence, who having ability and fitness for this, nevertheless do
it not, and need there is for them, that God should forgive them for
the past, and amend them for the time to come, others forbear writing,
for fear of detractors and of those who accustom themselves to speak
ill, and these in my opinion are worthy of all reprehension, because
the act being in itself so virtuous, they are withheld by fear from
performing it. Moreover it is to be considered that all, or most of
those who practise this art, either write with a good genius, or a
good desire of writing well. If having a good genius they produce a
good work, certes that work deserves to be commended. And if for want
of genius it falls short of this, and of what it might better have
been, still he ought to be praised, who would have made his work
praiseworthy if he had been able, and the invention and fancy of the
work, either because it is or because he wished it to be so. So that
it is much better for a man to write whatever his ability may be, than
to be withheld from the attempt by fear.”

A very different opinion was expressed by one of the most learned of
men, _Ego multos studiosos quotidie video, paucos doctos; in doctis
paucos ingeniosos; in semidoctis nullos bonos; atque adeo literæ
generis humani unicum solamen, jam pestis et perniciei maximæ loco
sunt._[3]

[Footnote 3: SCALIGER.]

M. Cornet used to say, _que pour faire des livres, il faloit être ou
bien fou ou bien sage, que pour lui, comme il ne se croïoit pas assez
sage pour faire un bon livre, ni assez fou pour en faire un méchant,
il avoit pris le parti de ne point ecrire._

_Pour lui_, the Docteur of the Sorbonne: _pour moi_,—every reader
will, in the exercise of that sovereign judgement whereof every reader
is possessed, determine for himself whether in composing the present
work I am to be deemed _bien sage_, or _bien fou_. I know what Mr.
Dulman thinks upon this point, and that Mr. Slapdash agrees with him.
To the former I shall say nothing; but to the latter, and to
Slenderwit, Midge, Wasp, Dandeprat, Brisk and Blueman, I shall let
Cordara the Jesuit speak for me.

_O quanti, o quanti sono, a cui dispiace
Vedere un uom contento; sol per questo
Lo pungono con stile acre e mordace,
Per questi versi miei chi sa che presto
Qualche zanzara contro me non s'armi,
E non prenda di qui qualche pretesto.
Io certo me l'aspetto, che oltraggiarmi
Talun pretenderà sol perchè pare,
Che di lieti pensier' sappia occuparmi.
Ma canti pur, lo lascerò cantare
E per mostrargli quanto me ne prendo,
Tornerò, se bisogna, a verseggiare._

Leaving the aforesaid _litterateurs_ to construe and apply this, I
shall proceed in due course to examine and decide whether Dr. Daniel
Dove ought, or ought not to have been an author,—being the first of
two questions, propounded in the present chapter, as arising out of
the last.

CHAPTER CCXXVI.

THE AUTHOR DIGRESSES A LITTLE, AND TAKES UP A STITCH WHICH WAS DROPPED
IN THE EARLIER PART OF THIS OPUS.—NOTICES CONCERNING LITERARY AND
DRAMATIC HISTORY, BUT PERTINENT TO THIS PART OF OUR SUBJECT.

MACROPEDIUS.

The boy and his schoolmaster were not mistaken in thinking that some
of Textor's Moralities would have delighted the people of Ingleton as
much as any of Rowland Dixon's stock pieces. Such dramas have been
popular wherever they have been presented in the vernacular tongue.
The progress from them to the regular drama was slow, perhaps not so
much on account of the then rude state of most modern languages, as
because of the yet ruder taste of the people. I know not whether it
has been observed in literary history how much more rapid it was in
schools, where the Latin language was used, and consequently fit
audience was found, though few.

George von Langeveldt, or Macropedius as he called himself, according
to the fashion of learned men in that age, was contemporary with
Textor, and like him one of the pioneers of literature, but he was a
person of more learning and greater intellectual powers. He was born
about the year 1475, of a good family in the little town or village of
Gemert, at no great distance from Bois-le-Duc. As soon as his juvenile
studies were compleated he entered among the _Fratres Vitæ Communis_;
they employed him in education, first as Rector in their college at
Bois-le-duc, then at Liege, and afterwards at Utrecht from whence in
1552, being infirm and grievously afflicted with gout, he returned to
Bois-le-duc there to pass the remainder of his days, as one whose work
was done. Old and enfeebled however as he was, he lived till the year
1558, and then died not of old age, but of a pestilential fever.

There is an engraved portrait of him in the hideous hood and habit of
his order; the countenance is that of a good-natured, intelligent,
merry old man: underneath are these verses by Sanderus the
topographer.

_Tu Seneca, et nostri potes esse Terentius ævi,
Seu struis ad faciles viva theatra pedes,
Sen ploras tragicas, Macropedi, carmine clades,
Materiam sanctis adsimilante modis.
Desine jam Latios mirari Roma cothurnos;
Nescio quid majus Belgica scena dabit._

Macropedius published Rudiments both of the Greek and Latin languages;
he had studied the Hebrew and Chaldee; had some skill in mathematics,
and amused his leisure in making mathematical instruments, a branch of
art in which he is said to have been an excellent workman. Most of the
men who distinguished themselves as scholars in that part of the Low
Countries, toward the latter part of the 16th century had been his
pupils: for he was not more remarkable for his own acquirements than
for the earnest delight which he took in instructing others. There is
some reason for thinking that he was a severe disciplinarian, perhaps
a cruel one. Herein he differed widely from Textor, who took every
opportunity for expressing his abhorrence of magisterial cruelty. In
one of these Dialogues with which Guy and young Daniel were so well
acquainted, two schoolmasters after death are brought before
Rhadamanthus for judgement; one for his inhumanity is sent to be
tormented in Tartarus, part of his punishment in addition to those
more peculiarly belonging to the region, being that

_Verbera quæ pueris intulit, ipse ferat:_

the other who indulged his boys and never maltreated them is ordered
to Elysium, the Judge saying to him

—_tua te in pueros clementia salvum
Reddit, et æternis persimilem superis._

That Textor's description of the cruelty exercised by the pedagogues
of his age was not overcharged, Macropedius himself might be quoted to
prove, even when he is vindicating and recommending such discipline as
Dr. Parr would have done. I wish Parr had heard an expression which
fell from the honest lips of Isaac Reid, when a school, noted at that
time for its consumption of birch, was the subject of conversation;
the words would have burnt themselves in. I must not commit them to
the press; but this I may say, that the Recording Angel entered them
on the creditor side of that kind-hearted old man's account.

Macropedius, like Textor, composed dramatic pieces for his pupils to
represent. The latter, as has been shown in a former chapter, though
he did not exactly take the Moralities for his model, produced pieces
of the same kind, and adapted his conceptions to the popular facts,
while he clothed them in the language of the classics. His aim at
improvement proceeded no farther, and he never attempted to construct
a dramatic fable. That advance was made by Macropedius, who in one of
his dedicatory epistles laments that among the many learned men who
were then flourishing, no Menander, no Terence was to be found, their
species of writing, he says, had been almost extinct since the time of
Terence himself, or at least of Lucilius. He regretted this because
comedy might be rendered useful to persons of all ages, _quid enim
plus pueris ad eruditionem, plus adolescentibus ad honesta studia,
plus provectioribus, immò omnibus in commune ad virtutem conducat?_

Reuchlin, or Capnio (as he who was one of the lights of his generation
was misnamed and misnamed himself,) who had with his other great and
eminent merits that of restoring or rather introducing into Germany
the study of Hebrew, revived the lost art of comedy. If any one had
preceded him in this revival, Macropedius was ignorant of it, and by
the example and advice of this great man he was induced to follow him,
not only as a student of Hebrew, but as a comic writer. Hrosvitha
indeed, a nun of Gandersheim in Saxony, who lived in the tenth century
and in the reign of Otho II. composed six Latin comedies _in
emulation_ of Terence, but in praise of virginity; and these with
other of her poems were printed at Nuremberg in the year 1501. The
book I have never seen, nor had De Bure, nor had he been able (such is
its rarity) to procure any account of it farther than enabled him to
give its title. The name of Conrad Celtes, the first German upon whom
the degree of Poet Laureate was conferred, appears in the title, as if
he had discovered the manuscript; _Conrado Celte inventore_. De Bure
says the volume was _attribué au même Conradus Celtes_. It is rash for
any one to form an opinion of a book which he has never examined,
unless he is well acquainted with the character and capacity of its
author; nevertheless I may venture to observe that nothing can be less
in unison with the life and conversation of this Latin poet, as far as
these may be judged of by his acknowledged poems, than the subjects of
the pieces published under Hrosvitha's name; and no reason can be
imagined why if he had written them himself, he should have palmed
them upon the public as her composition.

It is remarkable that Macropedius when he spoke of Reuchlin's comedies
should not have alluded to these, for that he must have seen them
there can be little or no doubt. One of Reuchlin's is said to have
been imitated from _la Farce de Pathelin_, which under the title of
the Village Lawyer has succeeded on our own stage, and which was so
deservedly popular that the French have drawn from it more than one
proverbial saying. The French Editor who affirms this says that
Pathelin was printed in 1474, four years before the representation of
Reuchlin's comedy, but the story is one of those good travellers which
are found in all countries, and Reuchlin may have dramatised it
without any reference to the French drama, the existence of which may
very probably have been unknown to him, as well as to Macropedius.
Both his pieces are satirical. His disciple began with a scriptural
drama upon the Prodigal Son, Asotus is its title. It must have been
written early in the century, for about 1520 he laid it aside as a
juvenile performance, and faulty as much because of the then
comparatively rude state of learning, as of his own inexperience.

_Scripsi olim adolescens, trimetris versibus,
Et tetrametris, eâ phrasi et facundiâ
Quæ tum per adolescentiam et mala tempora
Licebat, evangelicum Asotum aut Prodigum
Omnis quidem mei laboris initium._

After it had lain among his papers for thirty years, he brought it to
light, and published it. In the prologue he intreats the spectators
not to be offended that he had put his sickle into the field of the
Gospel, and exhorts them while they are amused with the comic parts of
the dialogue, still to bear in mind the meaning of the parable.

_Sed orat author carminis vos res duas:
Ne ægre feratis, quod levem falcem tulit
Sementem in evangelicam, eamque quod audeat
Tractare majestatem Iambo et Tribracho;
Neve insuper nimis hæreatis ludicris
Ludisque comicis, sed animum advortite
Hic abdito mysterio, quod eruam._

After these lines he proceeds succinctly to expound the parable.

Although the grossest representations were not merely tolerated at
that time in the Miracle Plays, and Mysteries, but performed with the
sanction and with the assistance of the clergy, it appears that
objections were raised against the sacred dramas of this author. They
were composed for a learned audience,—which is indeed the reason why
the Latin or as it may more properly be called the Collegiate drama,
appeared at first in a regular and respectable form, and received
little or no subsequent improvement. The only excuse which could be
offered for the popular exhibitions of this kind, was that they were
if not necessary, yet greatly useful, by exciting and keeping up the
lively faith of an ignorant, but all-believing people. That apology
failed, where no such use was needed. But Macropedius easily
vindicated himself from charges which in truth were not relevant to
his case; for he perceived what scriptural subjects might without
impropriety be represented as he treated them, and he carefully
distinguished them from those upon which no fiction could be engrafted
without apparent profanation. In the prologue to his Lazarus he makes
this distinction between the Lazarus of the parable, and the Lazarus
of the Gospel History: the former might be thus treated for
edification, the latter was too sacred a theme,

—_quod is sine
Filii Dei persona agi non possiet._

Upon this distinction he defends himself, and carefully declares what
were the bounds which ought not to be overpassed.

_Fortassis objectabit illi quispiam
Quod audeat sacerrimam rem, et serio
Nostræ saluti a Christo Jesu proditam
Tractare comicè, et facere rem ludicram.
Fatetur ingenuè, quod eadem ratio se
Sæpenumero deterruit, ne quid suum,
Vel ab aliis quantumlibet scriptum, piè
Doctève, quod personam haberet Christi Jesu
Agentis, histrionibus seu ludiis
Populo exhibendum ex pulpito committeret._

From this passage I am induced to suspect that the Jesus Scholasticus,
and the tragedy De Passione Christi, which are named in the list of
his works, have been erroneously ascribed to him. No date of time or
place is affixed to either, by the biographers. After his judicious
declaration concerning such subjects it cannot be thought he would
have written these tragedies; nor that if he had written them before
he seriously considered the question of their propriety, he would
afterwards have allowed them to appear. It is more probable that they
were published without an author's name, and ascribed to him, because
of his reputation. No inference can be drawn from their not appearing
in the two volumes of his plays; because that collection is entitled
_Omnes Georgii Macropedii Fabulæ_ COMICÆ, and though it contains
pieces which are deeply serious, that title would certainly preclude
the insertion of a tragedy. But a piece upon the story of Susanna
which the biographers have also ascribed to him is not in the
collection;[1] the book was printed after his retirement to
Bois-le-duc, when from his age and infirmities he was most unlikely to
have composed it, and therefore I conclude, that like the tragedies,
it is not his work.

[Footnote 1: This must be a comic drama.—R. S.]

Macropedius was careful to guard against anything which might give
offence and therefore he apologizes for speaking of the _fable_ of his
Nama:

_Mirabitur fortasse vestrûm quispiam,
Quod fabulam rem sacrosanctam dixerim.
Verum sibi is persuasum habebit, omne quod
Tragico artificio comicovè scribitur,
Dici poetis fabulam; quod utique non
Tam historia veri texitur, quod proprium est,
Quam imago veri fingitur, quod artis est.
Nam comicus non propria personis solet,
Sed apta tribuere atque verisimilia, ut
Quæ pro loco vel tempore potuere agi
Vel dicier._

For a very different reason he withdrew from one of these dramas
certain passages, by the advice of his friends, he says, _qui rem
seriam fabulosius tractandum dissuaserunt._ These it seems related to
the first chapter of St. Luke, but contained circumstances derived not
from that Gospel, but from the legends engrafted upon it, and
therefore he rejects them as _citra scripturæ authoritatem_.

From the scrupulousness with which Macropedius in this instance
distinguishes between the facts of the Gospel history, and the fables
of man's invention, it may be suspected that he was not averse at
heart to those hopes of a reformation in the church which were at that
time entertained. This is still further indicated in the drama called
Hecastus (_ἕκαστος_,—Every one,) in which he represents a sinner as
saved by faith in Christ and repentance. He found it necessary to
protest against the suspicion which he had thus incurred, and to
declare that he held works of repentance, and the sacraments appointed
by the Church necessary for salvation.[2]

[Footnote 2: Hecastus was represented by the schoolboys in 1538 _non
sine magno spectantium plausu_. It was printed in the ensuing year;
and upon reprinting it, in 1550, the author offers his apology. He
says, “_fuere multi quibus (fabulæ scopo recte considerato) per omnia
placuit; fuere quibus in ea nonnulla offenderunt; fuere quoque, quibus
omnino displicuit, ob hoc præcipue, quod erroribus quibusdam nostri
temporis connivere et suffragari videretur. Inprimis illi, quod citra
pænitentiæ opera (satisfactionem dicimus) et ecclesiæ sacramenta, per
solam in Christum fidem et cordis contritionem, condonationem criminum
docere, vel asserere videretur: et quod quisque certo se fore
servandum credere teneretur: Id quod nequaquam nec mente concepi, nec
unquam docere volui, licet quibusdam fortassis fabulæ scopum non
exactè considerantibus, primâ (quod aiunt) fronte sic videri potuerit.
Si enim rei scopum, quem in argumento indicabam, penitus observassent,
secus fortassis judicaturi fuissent._”—R. S.]

Hecastus is a rich man, given over to the pomps and vanities of the
world, and Epicuria his wife is of the same disposition. They have
prepared a great feast, when Nomodidascalus arrives with a summons for
him to appear before the Great King for Judgment. Hecastus calls upon
his son Philomathes who is learned in the law for counsel; the son is
horror-stricken, and confesses his ignorance of the language in which
the summons is written:

_Horror, pater, me invadit, anxietas quoque
Non mediocris; nam elementa quanquam barbara
Miram Dei potentiam præ se ferunt,
Humaniores literas scio; barbaras
Neque legere, neque intelligere, pater, queo._

The father is incensed that a son who had been bred to the law for the
purpose of pleading his cause at any time should fail him thus; but
Nomodidascalus vindicates the young man, and reads a severe lecture to
Hecastus, in which Hebrew words of aweful admonishment are introduced
and interpreted. The guests arrive, he tells them what has happened,
and entreats them to accompany him, and assist him when he appears
before the Judge; they plead other engagements, and excuse themselves.
He has no better success with his kinsmen; though they promise to look
after his affairs, and say that they will make a point of attending
him with due honour as far as the gate. He then calls upon his two
sons to go with him unto the unknown country whereto he has been
summoned. The elder is willing to fight for his father, but not to
enter upon such a journey; the lawyer does not understand the practice
of those courts, and can be of no use to him there; but he advises his
father to take his servants with him, and plenty of money.

Madam Epicuria, who is not the most affectionate of wives, refuses to
accompany him upon this unpleasant expedient, and moreover requests
that her maids may be left with her; let him take his man servants
with him, and gold and silver in abundance. The servants bring out his
wealth. Plutus, _ex arcâ loquens_ is one of the Dramatis Personæ, and
the said Plutus when brought upon the stage in a chest, or strong box,
complains that he is shaken to pieces by being thus moved. Hecastus
tells him he must go with him to the other world and help him there,
which Plutus flatly refuses. If he will not go of his own accord he
shall be carried whether he will or no, Hecastus says. Plutus stands
stiffly to his refusal.

_Non transferent; prius quidem
Artus et ilia ruperint, quam transferant.
In morte nemini opitulor usquam gentium,
Quin magis ad alienum dominum transeo._

Hecastus on his part is equally firm, and orders his men to fetch some
strong poles, and carry off the chest, Plutus and all. Having sent
them forward, he takes leave of his family, and Epicuria protests that
she remains like a widowed dove, and his neighbours promise to
accompany him as far as the gate.

Death comes behind him now:

_Horrenda imago, larva abominabilis,
Figura tam execranda, ut atrum dæmona
Putetis obvium._[3]

[Footnote 3: The reader should by all means consult Mr. Sharpe's
“Dissertation on the Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries anciently
performed in Coventry.” “The Devil,” he observes, “was a very favorite
and prominent character in our Religious Mysteries, wherein he was
introduced as often as was practicable, and considerable pains taken
to furnish him with appropriate habiliments, &c.” p. 31. also pp.
57-60. There are several plates of “_Hell-Mought and Sir Sathanas_”
which will not escape the examination of the curious. The bloody Herod
was a character almost as famous as “_Sir Sathanas_”—hence the
expression “_to out-herod Herod_” _e.g._ in Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. ii.
With reference to the same personage Charmian says to the Soothsayer
in Antony and Cleopatra, “Let me have a child at fifty, to whom _Herod
of Jewry_ may do homage.” Act i. Sc. ii., and Mrs. Page asks in the
Merry Wives of Windsor, “What _Herod of Jewry_ is this?” Act ii. Sc.
i.]

This dreadful personage is with much difficulty intreated to allow him
the respite of one short hour, after which Death declares he will
return, and take him, will he or nill he before the Judge, and then to
the infernal regions. During this interval who should come up but an
old and long-neglected friend of Hecastus, Virtue by name; a poor
emaciated person, in mean attire, in no condition to appear with him
before the Judge, and altogether unfit to plead his desperate cause.
She promises however to send him a Priest to his assistance and says
moreover that she will speak to her sister Faith, and endeavour to
persuade her to visit him.

Meantime the learned son predicts from certain appearances the
approaching end of his father.

_Actum Philocrate, de patris salute, uti
Plane recenti ex lotio prejudico,
Nam cerulea si tendit ad nigredinem
Urina mortem proximam denunciat._

He has been called on, he says, too late,

_Sero meam medentis admisit manum._

The brothers begin to dispute about their inheritance, and declare law
against each other; but they suspend the dispute when Hieronymus the
Priest arrives, that they may look after him lest he should prevail
upon the dying to dispose of too large a part of his property in
charitable purposes.

_Id cautum oportet maximè. Novimus enim
Quàm tum sibi, tum cæteris quibus favent,
Legata larga extorqueat id hominum genus,
Cum morte ditem terminandum viderint._

Virtue arrives at this time with his sister Faith; they follow
Hieronymus into the chamber into which Hecastus has been borne; and as
they go in up comes Satan to the door, and takes his seat there to
draw up a bill of indictment against the dying man, he must do it
carefully, he says, that there may be no flaw in it.

_Causam meam scripturus absolutius
Adversum Hecastum, hic paululum desedero;
Ne si quid insit falsitatis maximis
Facinoribus, res tota veniat in gravem
Fœdamque controversiam. Abstinete vos,
Quotquot theatro adestis, à petulantiâ,
Nisi si velitis et hos cachinnos scribier._

Then he begins to draw up the indictment, speaking as he writes,

_Primum omnium superbus est et arrogans,—
Superbus est et arrogans,—et arrogans;—
Tum in ædibus,—tum in ædibus; tum in vestibus,—
Tum in vestibus. Jam reliqua tacitus scripsero,
Loquaculi ne exaudiant et deferant._

While Satan is thus employed at the door, the priest Hieronymus within
is questioning the patient concerning his religion. Hecastus possesses
a very sound and firm historical belief. But this the Priest tells him
is not enough, for the Devils themselves believe and tremble, and he
will not admit Faith into the chamber till Hecastus be better
instructed in the true nature of a saving belief.

_Credis quod omnia quæ patravit Filius
Dei unicus, tibi redimendo gesserit?
Tibi natus est? tibi vixerit? tibi mortuus
Sit? tibi sepultus? et tibi surrexerit?
Mortemque tibi devicerit?_

Hecastus confesses in reply that he is a most miserable sinner,
unworthy of forgiveness, and having brought him into this state of
penitence the Priest calls Fides in.

Then says Fides,

_Hæc tria quidem, cognitio nempe criminis,
Horror gehennæ, et pœnitentia, læta sunt
Veræ salutis omnium primordia,
Jam perge, ut in Deum excites fiduciam._

When this trust has been given him, and he has declared his full
belief, he confesses that still he is in fear,

—_est quod adhuc parit mihi scrupulum;
Mors horrida, atque aspectus atri Dæmonis,
Queis terribilius (inquiunt) nil hominibus,
Post paululum quos adfuturos arbitros._

But Hieronymus assures him that Fides and Virtus will defend him from
all danger, and under their protection he leaves him.

The scene is now again at the door, Mors arrives. Satan abuses her for
having made him wait so long, and the _improba bestia_ in return
reproaches him for his ingratitude and imprudence. However they make
up their quarrel. Satan goes into the house expecting to have a long
controversy with his intended victim, and Mors amuses herself in the
mean time with sharpening her dart. Satan, however, finds that his
controversy is not to be with Hecastus himself, but with his two
advocates Fides and Virtus, and they plead their cause so provokingly
that the old Lawyer tears his bill, and sculks into a corner to see
how Mors will come off.

Now comes his son the Doctor and prognosticates speedy dissolution _ex
pulsu et atro lotio_. And having more professional pride than filial
feelings he would fain persuade the Acolyte who is about to assist in
administering extreme unction, that he has chosen a thankless calling,
and would do wisely if he forsook it for more gainful studies. The
youth makes a good defence for his choice, and remains master in the
argument, for the Doctor getting sight of Death brandishing the
sharpened dart, takes fright and runs off. Having put the Doctor to
flight, Death enters the sick chamber, and finding Fides there calls
in Satan as an ally: their joint force avails nothing against Virtus,
Fides and Hieronymus, and these dismiss the departing Spirit under a
convoy of Angels to Abraham's bosom.

Three supplementary scenes conclude the two dramas; in the two first
the widow and the sons and kinsmen lament the dead, and declare their
intention of putting themselves all in mourning, and giving a funeral
worthy of his rank. But Hieronymus reproves them for the excess of
their grief, and for the manner by which they intended to show their
respect for the dead. The elder son is convinced by his discourse, and
replies

_Recte mones vir omnium piissime,
Linquamus omnem hunc apparatum splendidum,
Linquamus hæcce cuncta in usum pauperum,
Linquamus omnem luctum inanem et lachrymas;
Moresque nostros corrigamus pristinos.
Si multo amœniora vitæ munia,
Post hanc calamitatem, morantur in fide
Spe ut charitate mortuos, quid residuum est
Nisi et hunc diem cum patre agamus mortuo
Lætissimum? non in cibis et poculis
Gravioribus, natura quam poposcerit;
Nec tympanis et organis, sed maximas
Deo exhibendo gratias. Viro pio
Congaudeamus intimis affectibus;
Et absque pompâ inituli exequias pias
Patri paremus mortuo._

The Steward then concludes the drama by dismissing the audience in
these lines;

_Vos qui advolastis impigri ad
Nostra hæc theatra, tum viri, tum fœminæ,
Adite nunc vestras domos sine remorâ.
Nam Hecastus hic quem Morte cæsum exhibuimus,
Non ante tertium diem tumulandus est,
Valete cuncti, et si placuimus, plaudite._

We have in our own language a dramatic piece upon the same subject,
and of the same age. It was published early in Henry the Eighth's
reign, and is well known to English philologists by the name of Every
Man. The title page says, “Here begynneth a treatyse how the hye Fader
of Heven sendeth Dethe to somon every creature to come and gyve a
counte of theyr lyves in this worlde, and is in maner of a moralle
Playe.”

The subject is briefly stated in a prologue by a person in the
character of a Messenger, who exhorts the spectators to hear with
reverence.

This mater is wonders precyous;
But the extent of it is more gracyous,
And swete to here awaye.
The story sayth, Man, in the begynnynge
Loke well and take good heed to the endynge,
Be you never so gay.

God (the Son) speaketh at the opening of the piece, and saying that
the more He forbears the worse the people be from year to year,
declares his intention to have a reckoning in all haste of every man's
person, and do justice on every man living.

Where art thou, Deth, thou mighty messengere?

Dethe.
Almighty God, I am here at your wyll
Your commaundement to fulfyll.

God.
Go thou to Every-man
And shewe hym in my name,
A pylgrymage he must on hym take,
Whiche he in no wyse may escape:
And that he brynge with him a sure rekenynge,
Without delay or ony taryenge.

Dethe.
Lorde, I wyll in the world go renne over all
And cruelly out serche bothe grete and small.

The first person whom Death meets is Every-man himself, and he summons
him in God's name to take forthwith a long journey and bring with him
his book of accounts. Every-man offers a thousand pounds to be spared,
and says that if he may but have twelve years allowed him, he will
make his accounts so clear that he shall have no need to fear the
reckoning. Not even till to-morrow is granted him. He then asks if he
may not have some of his acquaintances to accompany him on the way,
and is told yes, if he can get them. The first to whom he applies, is
his old boon-companion Fellowship, who promises to go with him
anywhere,—till he hears what the journey is on which Every-man is
summoned: he then declares that he would eat, drink and drab, with
him, or lend him a hand to kill any body, but upon such a business as
this he will not stir a foot; and with that bidding him God speed, he
departs as fast as he can.

Alack, exclaims Every-man, when thus deserted,

Felawship herebefore with me wolde mery make,
And now lytell sorowe for me dooth he take.
Now wheder for socoure shall I flee
Syth that Felawship hath forsaken me?
To my kynnesmen I wyll truely,
Prayenge them to helpe me in my necessyte.
I byleve that they wyll do so;
For kynde wyll crepe where it may not go.

But one and all make their excuses; they have reckonings of their own
which are not ready, and they cannot and will not go with him. Thus
again disappointed he breaks out in more lamentations; and then
catches at another fallacious hope.

Yet in my mynde a thynge there is;
All my lyfe I have loved Ryches;
If that my good now helpe me myght
He wolde make my herte full lyght.
I wyll speke to hym in this distresse,
Where art thou, my Goodes, and Ryches?

Goodes.
Who calleth me? Every-man? What hast thou haste?
I lye here in corners, trussed and pyled so hye,
And in chestes I am locked so fast,
Also sacked in bagges, thou mayst se with thyn eye
I cannot styrre; in packes low I lye.
What wolde ye have? lightly me saye,—
Syr, an ye in the worlde have sorowe or adversyte
That can I helpe you to remedy shortly.

Every-man.
In this world it is not, I tell thee so,
I am sent for an other way to go,
To gyve a strayte counte generall
Before the hyest Jupiter of all:
And all my life I have had joye and pleasure in the,
Therefore, I pray the, go with me:
For paraventure, thou mayst before God Almighty
My rekenynge helpe to clene and puryfye;
For it is said ever amonge
That money maketh all ryght that is wrong.

Goodes.
Nay, Every-man, I synge an other songe;
I folowe no man in such vyages.
For an I wente with the,
Thou sholdes fare moche the worse for me.

Goodes then exults in having beguiled him, laughs at his situation and
leaves him. Of whom shall he take council? He bethinks him of Good
Dedes.

But alas she is so weke
That she can nother go nor speke.
Yet wyll I venter on her now
My Good Dedes, where be you?

Good Dedes.
Here I lye colde on the grounde,
Thy sinnes hath me sore bounde
That I cannot stere.

Every-man.
I pray you that ye wyll go with me.

Good Dedes.
I wolde full fayne, but I can not stand veryly.

Every-man.
Why, is there any thynge on you fall?

Good Dedes.
Ye, Sir; I may thanke you of all.
If ye had parfytely sheved me,
Your boke of counte full redy had be.
Loke, the bokes of your workes and dedes eke,
A! se how they lye under the fete,
To your soules hevynes.

Every-man.
Our Lorde Jesus helpe me,
For one letter here I cannot se!

Good Dedes.
There is a blynde rekenynge in tyme of dystres!

Every-man.
Good-Dedes, I pray you, helpe me in this nede,
Or elles I am for ever dampned in dede.

Good Dedes calls in Knowledge to help him to make his reckoning; and
Knowledge takes him lovingly to that holy man Confession; and
Confession gives him a precious jewel called Penance, in the form of a
scourge.

When with the scourge of Penance man doth hym bynde,
The oyl of forgyvenes than shall he fynde,—
Now may you make your rekenynge sure.

Every-man.
In the name of the holy Trynyte,
My body sore punyshed shall be.
Take this, Body, for the synne of the flesshe!
Also thou delytest to go gay and fresshe,
And in the way of dampnacyon thou dyd me brynge,
Therefore suffre now strokes of punysshynge.
Now of penaunce I wyll wede the water clere
To save me from Purgatory, that sharpe fyre.

Good Dedes.
I thanke God, now I can walke and go;
And am delyvered of my sykenesse and wo,
Therfore with Every-man I wyll go and not spare;
His good workes I wyll helpe hym to declare.

Knowlege.
Now Every-man, be mery and glad,
Your Good Dedes cometh now, ye may not be sad.
Now is your Good Dedes hole and sounde,
Goynge upryght upon the grounde.

Every-man.
My herte is lyght, and shall be evermore,
Now wyll I smyte faster than I dyde before.

Knowledge then makes him put on the garment of sorrow called
contrition, and makes him call for his friends Discretion, Strength
and Beauty to help him on his pilgrimage, and his Five Wits to counsel
him. They come at his call and promise faithfully to help him.

Strength.
I Strength wyll by you stande in dystres,
Though thou wolde in batayle fyght on the grownde.

Fyve-Wyttes.
And thought it were thrugh the world rounde,
We wyll not depart for swete ne soure.

Beaute.
No more wyll I unto dethes howre,
Watsoever therof befall.

He makes his testament, and gives half his goods in charity.
Discretion and Knowledge send him to receive the holy sacrament and
extreme unction, and Five-Wits expatiates upon the authority of the
Priesthood, to the Priest he says,

God hath—more power given
Than to ony Aungell that is in Heven,
With five wordes he may consecrate
Goddes body in flesshe and blode to make,
And handeleth his maker bytwene his handes.
The preest byndeth and unbyndeth all bandes
Both in erthe and in heven.—
No remedy we fynde under God
But all-onely preesthode.
—God gave Preest that dygnyte,
And setteth them in his stede among us to be:
Thus they be above Aungelles in degree.

Having received his viaticum Every-man sets out upon this mortal
journey: his comrades renew their protestations of remaining with him;
till when he grows faint on the way, and his limbs fail,—they fail him
also.

Every-man.
—into this cave must I crepe,
And tourne to erth, and there to slepe.

What, says Beauty; into this Grave?

—adewe by saynt Johan,
I take my tappe in my lappe and am gone.

Strength in like manner forsakes him; and Discretion says that “when
Strength goeth before, he follows after ever more.” And Fyve-Wyttes,
whom he took for his best friend, bid him, “farewell and then an end.”

Every-man.
O Jesu, helpe! all hath forsaken me!

Good Dedes.
Nay, Every-man, I wyll byde with the,
I wyll not forsake the in dede;
Thou shalt fynde me a good frende at nede.

Knowledge also abides him till the last; the song of the Angel who
receives his spirit is heard, and a Doctour concludes the piece with
an application to the audience.

This morall men may have in mynde,
—forsake Pryde for he deceyveth you in the ende,
And remembre Beaute, Fyve-Wyttes, Strength and Dyscrecyon
They all at the last do Every-man forsake,
Save his Good Dedes, these doth he take:
But be ware, an they be small,
Before God he hath no helpe at all!

CHAPTER CCXXVII.

SYSTEM OF PROGRESSION MARRED ONLY BY MAN'S INTERFERENCE.—THE DOCTOR
SPEAKS SERIOUSLY AND HUMANELY AND QUOTES JUVENAL.

MONTENEGRO. How now, are thy arrows feathered?

VELASCO. Well enough for roving.

MONTENEGRO. Shoot home then.

SHIRLEY.

It is only when Man interferes, that the system of progression which
the All Father has established throughout the living and sentient
world, is interrupted, and Man, our Philosopher would sorrowfully
observe, has interrupted it, not only for himself, but for such of the
inferior creatures as are under his controul. He has degraded the
instincts of some, and in others, perhaps it may not be too much to
say that he has corrupted that moral sense of which even the brute
creation partakes in its degree; and has inoculated them with his own
vices. Thus the decoy duck is made a traitor to her own species, and
so are all those smaller birds which the bird-catcher trains to assist
him in ensnaring others. The Rat, who is one of the bravest of created
things, is in like manner rendered a villain.

Upon hunting and hawking the Doctor laid little stress, because both
dogs and falcons in their natural state would have hunted and fowled
on their own account. These sports according to his “poor way of
thinking,” tended to deprave not so much the animals, as the human
beings employed in them; for when they ceased to be necessary for the
support or protection of man, they became culpable. But to train dogs
for war, and flesh them upon living prisoners, as the Spaniards did,
(and as, long since the decease of my venerable friend, Buonaparte's
officers did in St. Domingo),—to make horses, gentle and harmless as
well as noble in their disposition as they are, take a part in our
senseless political contentions, charge a body of men, and trample
over their broken limbs and palpitating bodies;—to convert the
Elephant, whom Pope, he said, had wronged by only calling him
half-reasoning, the mild, the thoughtful, the magnanimous Elephant,
into a wilful and deliberate and cruel executioner, these he thought
were acts of high treason against humanity, and of impiety against
universal nature. Grievous indeed it is, he said, to know that the
whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain; but more grievous to
consider that man, who by his original sin was the guilty cause of
their general deprivation, should continue by repeated sins to
aggravate it;—to which he added that the lines of the Roman Satirist,
though not exactly true, were yet humiliating and instructive.

_Mundi
Principio indulsit communis conditor illis
Tantum animas, nobis animum quoque, mutuus ut nos
Adfectus petere auxilium et præstare juberet,
Dispersos trahere in populum, migrare vetusto
De nemore, et proavis habitatas linquere silvas;
Ædificare domos, Laribus conjungere nostris
Tectum aliud, tutos vicino limine somnos
Ut conlata daret fiducia; protegere armis
Labsum, aut ingenti nutantem vulnere civem,
Communi dare signa tubâ, defendier îsdem
Turribus, atque unâ portarum clave teneri.
Sed jam serpentum major concordia; parcit
Cognatis maculis similis fera; quando leoni
Fortior eripuit vitam leo? quo nemore unquam
Expiravit aper majoris dentibus apri?
Indica tigris agit rabidâ cum tigride pacem
Perpetuam: sævis inter se convenit ursis.
Ast homini ferrum lethale incude nefandâ
Produxisse parum est; quum rastra et sarcula tantum
Adsueti coquere, et marris ac vomere lassi
Nescierint primi gladios excudere fabri.
Adspicimus populos, quorum non sufficit iræ
Occidisse aliquem: sed pectora, brachia, vultum
Crediderint genus esse cibi. Quid diceret ergo
Vel quo non fugerit, si nunc hæc monstra videret
Pythagoras: cunctis animalibus abstinuit qui
Tanquam homine, et ventri indulsit non omne legumen._[1]

[Footnote 1: The reader may call to mind the commencement of the Third
Canto of Rokeby.

The hunting tribes of air and earth
Respect the brethren of their birth;
Nature, who loves the claim of kind,
Less cruel, chase to each assigned.
The falcon, poised on soaring wing,
Watches the wild-duck by the spring;
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair;
The greyhound presses on the hare;
The eagle pounces on the lamb;
The wolf devours the fleecy dam:
Even tiger fell and sullen bear
Their likeness and their lineage spare.
Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan
And turns the fierce pursuit on man;
Plying war's desultory trade,
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade,
Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son
At first the bloody game begun.]

CHAPTER CCXXVIII.

I know that nothing can be so innocently writ, or carried, but may be
made obnoxious to construction; marry, whilst I bear mine innocence
about me, I fear it not.

BEN JONSON.

The Laureate Southey proposed some years ago in one of his numerous
and multifarious books, three methods for lessening the number of
rats, one of which was to inoculate some of these creatures with the
small pox or any other infectious disease, and turn them loose.
Experiments, he said, should first be made, lest the disease should
assume in them so new a form, as to be capable of being returned to us
with interest. If it succeeded, man has means in his hand which would
thin the hyenas, wolves, jackals and all gregarious beasts of prey.

Considering the direction which the March of his Intellect has long
been taking, it would surprise me greatly if the Laureate were now to
recommend or justify any such plan. For setting aside the contemplated
possibility of physical danger, there are moral and religious
considerations which ought to deter us from making use of any such
means, even for an allowable end.

Dr. Dove, like his master and benefactor Peter Hopkins before him,
never would sell poison for destroying vermin. Hopkins came to that
resolution in consequence of having been called as a witness upon a
trial for poisoning at York. The arsenic had not been bought at his
shop; but to prevent the possibility of being innocently instrumental
to the commission of such a crime, he made it from that time a rule
for himself, irrevocable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, that
to no person whatever, on any account, would he supply ingredients
which by carelessness or even by unavoidable accident might be so
fatally applied.

To this rule his pupil and successor, our Doctor, religiously adhered.
And when any one not acquainted with the rule of the shop, came there
on such an errand, he used always, if he was on the spot, to recommend
other methods, adapting his arguments to what he knew of the person's
character, or judged of it from his physiognomy. To an ill-conditioned
and ill-looking applicant he simply recommended certain ways of
entrapping rats as more convenient, and more likely to prove
efficacious: but to those of whom he entertained a more favourable
opinion, he would hint at the cruelty of using poison, observing that
though we exercised a clear natural right in destroying noxious
creatures, we were not without sin if in so doing we inflicted upon
them any suffering more than what must needs accompany a violent
death.

Some good natured reader who is pestered with rats in his house, his
warehouses, or his barns, will perhaps when he comes to this part of
our book wish to be informed in what manner our Zoophilist would have
advised him to rid himself of these vermin.

There are two things to be considered here, first how to catch rats,
and secondly, how to destroy them when caught. And the first of these
questions is a delicate one, when a greater catch has recently been
made than any that was ever heard of before, except in the famous
adventure of the Pied Piper at Hammel. Jack Robinson had some
reputation in his day for his professional talents in this line, but
he was a bungler in comparison with Mr. Peel.

The second belongs to a science which Jeremy the thrice illustrious
Bentham calls Phthisozoics, or the art of destruction applied to
noxious animals, a science which the said Jeremy proposes should form
part of the course of studies in his Chrestomathic school. There are
no other animals in this country who do so much mischief now as the
disciples of Jeremy himself.

But leaving this pestilent set, as one of the plagues with which Great
Britain is afflicted for its sins; and intending no offence to any
particular Bishop, Peer, Baronet, Peer-expectant, or public man
whatever, and protesting against any application of what may here be
said to any person who is, has been, or may be included under any of
the forementioned denominations, I shall satisfy the good-natured
reader's desires, and inform him in what manner our Philosopher and
Zoophilist (philanthropist is a word which would poorly express the
extent of his benevolence) advised those who consulted him as to the
best manner of taking and destroying rats. Protesting therefore once
more, as is needful in these ticklish times that I am speaking not of
the Pro-papist or Anti-Hanoverian rat, which is a new species of the
Parliament rat, but of the old Norway or Hanoverian one, which in the
last century effected the conquest of our island by extirpating the
original British breed, I inform the humane reader that the Doctor
recommended nothing more than the common rat-catcher's receit, which
is to lure them into a cage by oil of carroways, or of rhodium, and
that when entrapped, the speediest and easiest death which can be
inflicted is by sinking the cage in water.

Here Mr. Slenderwit, critic in ordinary to an established journal,
wherein he is licensed to sink, burn and destroy any book in which his
publisher has not a particular interest, turns down the corners of his
mouth in contemptuous admiration, and calling to mind the anecdote of
Grainger's invocation repeats in a tone of the softest
self-complacence “Now Muse, let's sing of Rats!” And Mr. Slapdash who
holds a similar appointment in a rival periodical slaps his thigh in
exultation upon finding so good an opportunity for a stroke at the
anonymous author. But let the one simper in accompaniment to the
other's snarl. I shall say out my say in disregard of both. Aye
Gentlemen,

For if a Humble Bee should kill a Whale
With the butt end of the Antarctic pole,
Tis nothing to the mark at which we aim.

CHAPTER CCXXIX.

RATS LIKE LEARNED MEN LIABLE TO BE LED BY THE NOSE.—THE ATTENDANT UPON
THE STEPS OF MAN, AND A SORT OF INSEPARABLE ACCIDENT.—SEIGNEUR DE
HUMESESNE AND PANTAGRUEL.

Where my pen hath offended,
I pray you it may be amended
By discrete consideration
Of your wise reformation:
I have not offended, I trust,
If it be sadly discust.

SKELTON.

Marvel not reader that rats, though they are among the most sagacious
of all animals, should be led by the nose. It has been the fate of
many great men, many learned men, most weak ones and some cunning
ones.

When we regard the comparative sagacity of animals, it should always
be remembered that every creature, from the lowest point of sentient
existence upward, till we arrive at man, is endued with sagacity
sufficient to provide for its own well-being, and for the continuance
of its kind. They are gifted with greater endowments as they ascend in
the scale of being, and those who lead a life of danger, and at the
same time of enterprise, have their faculties improved by practice,
take lessons from experience, and draw rational conclusions upon
matters within their sphere of intellect and of action, more
sagaciously than nine tenths of the human race can do.

Now no other animal is placed in circumstances which tend so
continually to sharpen its wits,—(were I writing to the learned only,
I should perhaps say to acuate its faculties, or to develope its
intellectual powers,) as the rat, nor does any other appear to be of a
more improvable nature. He is of a most intelligent family, being
related to the Beaver. And in civilized countries he is not a wild
creature, for he follows the progress of civilization, and adapts his
own habits of life to it, so as to avail himself of its benefits.

The “pampered Goose” who in Pope's Essay retorts upon man, and says
that man was made for the use of Geese, must have been forgetful of
plucking time, as well as ignorant of the rites that are celebrated in
all old-fashioned families on St. Michael's day. But the Rat might
with more apparent reason support such an assertion: he is not
mistaken in thinking that corn-stacks are as much for his use as for
the farmers; that barns and granaries are his winter magazines; that
the Miller is his acting partner, the Cheesemonger his purveyor, and
the Storekeeper his steward. He places himself in relation with man,
not as his dependent like the dog, nor like the cat as his ally, nor
like the sheep as his property, nor like the ox as his servant, nor
like horse and ass as his slaves, nor like poultry who are to “come
and be killed” when Mrs. Bond invites them; but as his enemy, a bold
borderer, a Johnnie Armstrong or Rob Roy who acknowledge no right of
property in others, and live by spoil.

Wheresoever man goes, Rat follows, or accompanies him. Town or country
are equally agreeable to him. He enters upon your house as a tenant at
will, (his own, not yours,) works out for himself a covered way in
your walls, ascends by it from one story to another, and leaving you
the larger apartments, takes possession of the space between floor and
ceiling, as an entresol for himself. There he has his parties, and his
revels and his gallopades, (merry ones they are) when you would be
asleep, if it were not for the spirit with which the youth and belles
of Rat-land keep up the ball over your head. And you are more
fortunate than most of your neighbours, if he does not prepare for
himself a mausoleum behind your chimney-piece or under your
hearth-stone,[1] retire into it when he is about to die, and very soon
afford you full proof that though he may have lived like a hermit, his
relics are not in the odour of sanctity. You have then the additional
comfort of knowing that the spot so appropriated will thenceforth be
used either as a common cemetery, or a family vault. In this respect,
as in many others, nearer approaches are made to us by inferior
creatures than are dreamt of in our philosophy.

[Footnote 1: Southey alludes here to an incident which occurred in his
own house. On taking up the hearth-stone in the dining-room at
Keswick, it was found that the mice had made underneath it a Campo
Santo,—a depository for their dead.]

The adventurous merchant ships a cargo for some distant port, Rat goes
with it. Great Britain plants a colony in Botany Bay, Van Diemen's
Land, or at the Swan River, Rat takes the opportunity for colonizing
also. Ships are sent out upon a voyage of discovery. Rat embarks as a
volunteer. He doubled the Stormy Cape with Diaz, arrived at Malabar in
the first European vessel with Gama, discovered the new world with
Columbus and took possession of it at the same time, and
circumnavigated the globe with Magellan and with Drake and with Cook.

After all, the Seigneur de Humesesne, whatever were the merits of that
great case which he pleaded before Pantagruel at Paris, had reasonable
grounds for his assertion when he said, _Monsieur et Messieurs, si
l'iniquité des hommes estoit aussi facilement vuë en jugement
categorique, comme on connoit mousches en lait, le monde quatre bœufs
ne seroit tant mangé de Rats comme il est._

The Doctor thought there was no creature to which you could trace back
so many persons in civilized society by the indications which they
afforded of habits acquired in their prænatal professional education.
In what other vehicle, during its ascent could the Archeus of the
Sailor have acquired the innate courage, the constant presence of
mind, and the inexhaustible resources which characterise a true
seaman? Through this link too, on his progress towards humanity, the
good soldier has past, who is brave, alert and vigilant, cautious
never to give his enemy an opportunity of advantage, and watchful to
lose the occasion that presents itself. From the Rat our Philosopher
traced the engineer, the miner, the lawyer, the thief, and the
thief-taker,—that is, generally speaking: some of these might have
pre-existed in the same state as moles or ferrets; but those who
excelled in their respective professions had most probably been
trained as rats.

The judicious reader will do me the justice to observe that as I am
only faithfully representing the opinions and fancies of my venerable
friend, I add neither M. P., Dean, Bishop nor Peer to the list, nor
any of those public men who are known to hanker after candle-ends and
cheese-parings.

Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time;
But men may construe things after their fashion,
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.[2]

[Footnote 2: SHAKSPEARE.]

It behoves me to refrain more especially upon this subject from
anything which the malicious might interpret as scandal: for the word
itself _σκάνδαλον_, the Greek grammarians tell us, and the great
Anglo-Latin Lexicographist tells me, properly signifies that little
piece of wood in a mouse-trap or pit-fall, which bears up the trap,
and being touched, lets it fall.

CHAPTER CCXXX.

DISTINCTION BETWEEN YOUNG ANGELS AND YOUNG YAHOOS.—FAIRIES, KILLCROPS
AND CHANGELINGS.—LUTHER'S OPINIONS ON THE SUBJECT.—HIS COLLOQUIA
MENSALIA.—DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE OLD AND NEW EDITION.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

It may easily be inferred from some of the Doctor's peculiar opinions,
or fancies, as he in unaffected humility would call them, that though
a dear lover of children, his love of them was not indiscriminate. He
made a great distinction between young angels and young yahoos, and
thought it might very early be discovered whether the angel or the
brute part predominated.

This is sometimes so strongly marked and so soon developed as to
excite observation even in the most incurious; and hence the
well-known superstition concerning Changelings.

In the heroic ages a divine origin is ascribed to such persons as were
most remarkable for their endowments either of body or of mind; but
this may far more probably be traced to adulation in the poets, than
to contemporary belief at any time prevailing among the people;
whereas the opposite superstition was really believed in the middle
ages, and traces of it are still to be found.

It is remarkable that the Fairies who in the popular belief of this
country are never represented as malignant upon any other occasion,
act an evil part in the supposed case of Changelings. So it is with
the Trolls also of our Scandinavian kinsmen, (though this race of
beings is in worse repute;) the children whom they substitute for
those whom they steal are always a plague to the nurse and to the
parents. In Germany such children were held to be young Devils, but
whether Mac-Incubi, Mac-Succubi, or O'Devils by the whole blood is not
clearly to be collected from Martin Luther, who is the great authority
upon this subject. He is explicit upon the fact that the Nix or Water
Fiend, increases the population by a mixed breed; but concerning the
Killcrops, as his countrymen the Saxons call them, whom the Devil
leaves in exchange, when he steals children for purposes best known to
himself, Luther does not express any definite opinion, farther than
that they are of a devilish nature: how fathered, how mothered the
reader is left to conjecture as he pleases.

“Eight years since,” said Luther, at “Dessaw I did see and touch a
changed child, which was twelve years of age; he had his eyes and all
members like another child; he did nothing but feed, and would eat as
much as two clowns or threshers were able to eat. When one touched it,
then it cried out. When any evil happened in the house, then it
laughed and was joyful; but when all went well, then it cried, and was
very sad. I told the Prince of Anhalt, that if I were Prince of that
country, so would I venture _homicidium_ thereon, and would throw it
into the river Moldaw. I admonished the people dwelling in that place
devoutly to pray to God to take away the Devil; the same was done
accordingly, and the second year after the Changeling died.

“In Saxonia, near unto Halberstad, was a man that also had a Killcrop,
who sucked the mother and five other women dry, and besides devoured
very much. This man was advised that he should in his pilgrimage at
Halberstad make a promise of the Killcrop to the Virgin Mary, and
should cause him there to be rocked. This advice the man followed, and
carried the Changeling thither in a basket. But going over a river,
being upon the bridge, another Devil that was below in the river
called, and said, Killcrop! Killcrop! Then the child in the basket,
(which never before spake one word) answered ho, ho! The Devil in the
water asked further, whither art thou going? The child in the basket
said, ‘I am going towards Halberstad to our Loving Mother, to be
rocked.’ The man being much affrighted thereat, threw the child with
the basket over the bridge into the water. Whereupon the two Devils
flew away together, and cried, ho, ho, ha! tumbling themselves one
over another and so vanished.

“Such Changelings and Killcrops,” said Luther, “_supponit Satan in
locum verorum filiorum;_ for the Devil hath this power, that he
changeth children, and instead thereof layeth Devils in the cradles,
which thrive not, only they feed and suck: but such Changelings live
not above eighteen or nineteen years. It oftentimes falleth out that
the children of women in child-bed are thus changed, and Devils laid
in their stead, one of which more fouleth itself than ten other
children do, so that the parents are much therewith disquieted; and
the mothers in such sort are sucked out, that afterwards they are able
to give suck no more. Such Changelings,” said Luther, “are baptized,
in regard that they cannot be known the first year, but are known only
by sucking the mothers dry.”

Mr. Cottle has made this the subject of a lively eclogue; but if that
gentleman had happened upon the modern edition of Luther's _Colloquia
Mensalia_, or Divine Discourses at his Table, instead of the old one,
this pleasant poem would never have been written, the account of the
Killcrops being one of the passages which the modern editor thought
proper to omit. His omissions are reprehensible, because no notice is
given that any such liberty has been taken; and indeed a paragraph in
the introductory life which is prefixed to the edition might lead the
reader to conclude that it is a faithful reprint; that paragraph
saying there are many things which, for the credit of Luther, might as
well have been left out, and proceeding to say, “but then it must be
considered that such Discourses must not be brought to the test of our
present refined age; that all what a man of Luther's name and
character spoke, particularly at the latter part of his life, was
thought by his friends worth the press, though himself meant it only
for the recreation of the company; that he altered many opinions in
his progress from darkness to light; and that it is with a work of
this kind, as with the publishing of letters which were never intended
for the press; the Author speaks his sentiments more freely, and you
are able to form a true idea of his character, by looking, as it were,
into his heart.” Nevertheless there are considerable omissions, and as
may be supposed of parts which are curious, and in a certain sense
valuable because they are characteristic. But the reprint was the
speculation of a low publisher, put forth in numbers, and intended
only for a certain class of purchasers, who would read the book for
edification. The work itself deserves farther notice, and that notice
is the more properly and willingly bestowed upon it here, because the
original edition is one of the few volumes belonging to my venerable
friend which have passed into my possession, and his mark occurs
frequently in its margin.

“I will make no long excursion here, but a short apology for one that
deserved well of the _reformed_ Religion. Many of our adversaries have
aspersed _Luther_, with ill words, but none so violent as our
_English_ fugitives, because he doth confess it that the _Devil_ did
encounter him very frequently, and familiarly, when he first put pen
to paper against the corruptions of the _Church of Rome_. In whose
behalf I answer: much of that which is objected I cannot find in the
_Latin Editions_ of his works which himself corrected, although it
appears by the quotations some such things were in his first writings
set forth in the Dutch language. 2. I say no more than he confesseth
ingenuously of himself in an epistle to _Brentius_, his meaning was
good, but his words came from him very unskilfully, and his style was
most rough and unsavoury. St. Paul says of himself, that he was _rudis
sermone, rude in speech_. But Luther was not so much _ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ_
the word used in Saint Paul, as _ἄγροικος_, after his _Dutch
Monastical_ breeding, and his own hot freedom. By nature he had a
boisterous clownish expression; but for the most part very good jewels
of doctrine in the dunghills of his language. 3. If the devil did
employ himself to delude and vex that heroical servant of God, who
took such a task upon him, being a simple Monk, to inveigh against
errors and superstitions which had so long prevailed, why should it
seem strange to any man? _Ribadaneira_ sticks it among the praises of
his founder _Ignatius Loiola_, that the Devil did declaim and cry out
against him, (believe it every one of you at your leisure,) and why
might not the Devil draw near to vex _Luther_, as well as roar out a
great way off against _Loiola_? I have digrest a little with your
patience, to make _Luther's_ case appear to be no outrageous thing,
that weak ones may not be offended when they hear such stuff objected
out of _Parsons_, or _Barclay_, or _Walsingham_, or out of
_Bellarmine_ himself. If _Beelzebub_ was busy with the _Master_, what
will he be with the _Servants_? When Christ did begin to lay the first
corner stone of the _Gospel, then he walked into the wilderness to be
tempted of the Devil._”[1]

[Footnote 1: HACKET'S SERMONS.]

CHAPTER CCXXXI.

BOOK OF RIDDLES.

Luther's Table Talk is probably the earliest of that class of books,
which, under the termination of _ana_, became frequent in the two
succeeding centuries, and of which it may be questioned whether they
have been more serviceable or injurious to literature. For though they
have preserved much that is valuable, and that otherwise might
probably have been lost, on the other hand they have introduced into
literary history not a little that is either false, or of suspicious
authority; some of their contents have been obtained by breach of
confidence; many sayings are ascribed in them to persons by whom they
were never uttered, and many things have been fabricated for them.

The Collection concerning Luther bears this title in the English
translation: “Doctoris Martini Lutheri Colloquia Mensalia: or, Dr.
Martin Luther's Divine Discourses at his Table, &c., which in his
lifetime he held with divers learned men, (such as were Philip
Melancthon, Casparus Cruciger, Justus Jonas, Paulus Eberus, Vitus
Dietericus, Joannes Bugenhagen, Joannes Forsterus, and others:)
containing Questions and Answers touching Religion, and other main
Points of Doctrine; as also many notable Histories, and all sorts of
Learning, Comforts, Advices, Prophecies, Admonitions, Directions and
Instructions. Collected first together by Dr. Antonius Lauterbach, and
afterwards disposed into certain Common-places by John Aurifaber,
Doctor in Divinity. Translated out of the High German into the English
tongue, by Captain Henry Bell.

John vi. 12. Gather up the fragments that nothing be lost.

1 Cor. x. 31. Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye
do, do all to the Glory of God.

Tertull. Apologet. cap. 39. The primitive Christians ate and drank
to satisfy nature, and discoursed at their Tables of the Holy
Scriptures, or otherwise, as became those that knew God did hear
them, _ut non tam cœnam cœnaverint, quam disciplinam_.

Ancient Writers, Councils, and our University College Statutes
require _sacra ad mensam_.

Luther in Gen. 2. _Sermones vera sunt condimenta ciborum._

Melchior Adamus in Vita Lutheri. _Inter prandendum et cænandum non
rarò conciones aliis dictavit._

London, Printed by William Du Gard, dwelling in Suffolk-lane, near
London-stone, 1652.”

The original Collection was first published three and thirty years
after Luther's death, consequently not till most of those persons from
whose reminiscences it professes to be compiled, had past away. The
book therefore is far from carrying with it any such stamp of
authenticity as Boswell's Life of Johnson, which in that respect, as
well as for its intrinsic worth is the Ana of all Anas. But though it
may have been undertaken upon book-making motives, there seems no
reason to suppose that the task was not performed faithfully by the
Doctors Clearstream and Goldsmith, according to their judgment, and
that much which had lightly or carelessly fallen from such a man as
Luther was likely to be carefully preserved, and come into their
hands. Many parts indeed authenticate themselves, bearing so strong a
likeness that no one can hesitate at filiating them upon the
ipsissimus Luther. The editor of the modern English edition, John
Gottlieb Burckhardt, D.D., who was Minister of the German Lutheran
Congregation in the Savoy, says, “the Book made a great noise at its
first appearance in 1569. Some indeed have called its authenticity in
question; but there is no reason to doubt of the testimony of Dr. John
Aurifaber; and indeed the full character of Luther's free manner of
speaking and thinking is seen almost in every line. The same manly,
open, bold and generous spirit breathes through the whole, as is felt
in reading the compositions which he published himself in his life
time. There is a pleasing variety of matters contained in these
discourses, and many fundamental truths are proposed in a familiar,
careless dress, and in Luther's own witty, acute manner; for which
reason it is as much entertaining to popular capacities as to men of
genius. Many good Christians have found it to be of great benefit for
establishing their souls in the knowledge and practice of truth, and
of the good old way; and since many weeds grow up from time to time in
the Church, this book handed down to posterity, will be a standing
test of sound doctrines, which our forefathers believed, and of such
wise principles on which they acted at, and after the Reformation.” On
the other hand the book afforded as much gratification to the enemies
of Luther, as to his admirers. Bayle after noticing some of the
monstrous calumnies with which the Papists assailed his memory,
proceeds to say, _La plûpart de ces medisances sont fondées sur
quelques paroles d'un certain livre publié par les amis de Luther,
ausquelles on donne un sens tres-malin, et fort éloigné de la pensée
de ce Ministre. Ce n'est pas qu'il ne faille convenir qu'il y eut une
très-grande imprudence à publier une telle compilation. Ce fut l'effet
d'un zêle inconsideré, ou plútôt d'une preoccupation excessive, qui
empêchoit de conoître les defauts de ce grand homme._ In like manner
Seckendorf, whom Bayle quotes, says it was compiled with little
prudence, and incautiously published, but upon its authenticity (as
far as any such collection can be deemed authentic) he casts no
suspicion.

Something worse than want of prudence may be suspected in those who
set forth the English translation. The translator introduced it by “a
Narrative of the miraculous preserving” of the book, and “how by God's
Providence it was discovered lying under the ground where it had lain
hid fifty-two years:” “I, Capt. Henry Bell,” he says, “do hereby
declare both to the present age and also to posterity, that being
employed beyond the seas in state affairs divers years together, both
by King James, and also by the late King Charles, in Germany I did
hear and understand in all places, great bewailing and lamentation
made, by reason of the destroying or burning of above fourscore
thousand of Martin Luther's books, entituled his last Divine
Discourses. For after such time as God stirred up the spirit of Martin
Luther to detect the corruptions and abuses of Popery, and to preach
Christ, and clearly to set forth the simplicity of the Gospel, many
Kings, Princes and States, Imperial Cities, and Hanse-Towns, fell from
the Popish Religion, and became Protestants as their posterities still
are, and remain to this very day. And for the further advancement of
the great work of Reformation then begun, the foresaid Princes and the
rest did then order, that the said Divine Discourse of Luther should
forthwith be printed, and that every Parish should have and receive
one of the foresaid printed Books into every Church throughout all
their principalities and dominions, to be chained up, for the common
people to read therein. Upon which the Reformation was wonderfully
promoted and increased, and spread both here in England and other
countries beside. But afterwards it so fell out, that the Pope then
living, viz. Gregory XIII. understanding what great hurt and prejudice
he and his popish religion had already received by reason of the said
Luther's Divine Discourses; and also fearing that the same might bring
farther contempt and mischief upon himself, and upon the popish
Church, he therefore to prevent the same, did fiercely stir up and
instigate the Emperor then in being, viz. Rudolphus II. to make an
edict through the whole empire, that all the foresaid printed books
should be burnt, and also that it should be _Death_ for any person to
have or keep a copy thereof, but also to burn the same: which edict
was speedily put in execution accordingly, in so much that not one of
all the said printed books, not so much as any one copy of the same
could be found out, nor heard of in any place.”

Upon this it is to be observed that in the popish states of Germany
such an edict was not required, and that in the Protestant ones it
could not be enforced. There is therefore as little foundation for the
statement, as for the assertion introduced in it that the Reformation
was promoted in England by the publication of this book in German. The
Book appears not to have been common, for Bayle had never seen it; but
this was because few editions were printed, not because many copies
were destroyed. The reader however will judge by what follows of the
degree of credit which may be given to any statement of Capt. Henry
Bell's.

“Yet it pleased God,” the veracious Captain proceeds, “that anno 1626
a German Gentleman, named Casparus Van Sparr, (with whom, in the time
of my staying in Germany about King James's business, I became very
familiarly known and acquainted,) having occasion to build upon the
old foundation of an house wherein his grandfather dwelt at that time
when the said edict was published in Germany for the burning of the
foresaid Books, and digging deep into the ground under the said old
foundation, one of the said original printed books was there happily
found, lying in a deep obscure hole, being wrapt in a strong linen
cloth, which was waxed all over with bees-wax both within and without,
whereby the book was preserved fair without any blemish. And at the
same time Ferdinandus II. being Emperor in Germany, who was a severe
enemy and persecutor of the Protestant religion, the foresaid
Gentleman and grandchild to him that had hidden the said Book in that
obscure hole, fearing that if the said Emperor should get knowledge
that one of the said Books was yet forthcoming and in his custody,
thereby not only himself might be brought into trouble, but also the
Book in danger to be destroyed, as all the rest were so long before;
and also calling me to mind, and knowing that I had the High Dutch
tongue very perfect, did send the said original Book over hither into
England, unto me; and therewith did write unto me a letter, wherein he
related the passages of the preserving and finding out of the said
Book. And also he earnestly moved me in his letter, that for the
advancement of God's glory, and of Christ's Church, I would take the
pains to translate the said Book, to the end that that most excellent
Divine Work of Luther might be brought again to light!

“Whereupon I took the said Book before me, and many times began to
translate the same, but always I was hindered therein, being called
upon about other business; insomuch that by no possible means I could
remain by that work. Then about six weeks after I had received the
said Book, it fell out, that I being in bed with my Wife, one night
between twelve and one of the clock, she being asleep but myself yet
awake, there appeared unto me an Antient Man, standing at my bed-side,
arrayed all in white, having a long and broad white beard, hanging
down to his girdle-stead; who, taking me by my right ear, spake these
words following unto me. _Sirrah! Will not you take time to translate
that Book which is sent unto you out of Germany? I will shortly
provide for you both place and time to do it!_ And then he vanished
away out of my sight. Whereupon being much thereby affrighted, I fell
into an extreme sweat, insomuch that my Wife awaking, and finding me
all over wet, she asked me what I ailed, I told her what I had seen
and heard; but I never did heed nor regard visions, nor dreams. And so
the same fell soon out of my mind.

“Then, about a fortnight after I had seen that Vision, I went to
Whitehall to hear the Sermon; after which ended, I returned to my
lodging, which was then in King Street at Westminster, and sitting
down to dinner with my Wife, two Messengers were sent from the whole
Council-Board, with a warrant to carry me to the Keeper of the Gate
House, Westminster, there to be safely kept, until further order from
the Lords of the Council; which was done without showing me any cause
at all wherefore I was committed. Upon which said warrant I was kept
there ten whole years close prisoner; where I spent five years thereof
about the translating of the said Book: insomuch as I found the words
very true which the old man in the foresaid Vision did say unto me,
‘_I will shortly provide for you both place and time to translate
it._’”

CHAPTER CCXXXII.

THE DOCTOR'S FAMILY FEELING.

It behoves the high
For their own sakes to do things worthily.

BEN JONSON.

No son ever regarded the memory of his father with more reverential
affection than this last of the Doves. There never lived a man, he
said, to whom the lines of Marcus Antonius Flaminius, (the sweetest of
all Latin poets in modern times, or perhaps of any age,) could more
truly be applied.

_Vixisti, genitor, bene, ac beate,
Nec pauper, neque dives; eruditus
Satis, et satis eloquens; valente
Semper corpore, mente sanâ; amicis
Jucundus, pietate singulari._

“What if he could not with the Hevenninghams of Suffolk count five and
twenty knights of his family, or tell sixteen knights successively
with the Tilneys of Norfolk, or with the Nauntons shew where his
ancestors had seven hundred pounds a year before the conquest,”[1] he
was, and with as much, or perhaps more reason, contented with his
parentage. Indeed his family feeling was so strong, that, if he had
been of an illustrious race, pride, he acknowledged, was the sin which
would most easily have beset him; though on the other hand, to correct
this tendency, he thought there could be no such persuasive preachers
as old family portraits, and old monuments in the family church.

[Footnote 1: FULLER.]

He was far however from thinking that those who are born to all the
advantages, as they are commonly esteemed, of rank and fortune, are
better placed for the improvement of their moral and intellectual
nature, than those in a lower grade. “_Fortunatos nimium sua si bona
nôrint_,” he used to say of this class, but this is a knowledge that
they seldom possess; and it is rare indeed to find an instance in
which the high privileges which hereditary wealth conveys are
understood by the possessors, and rightly appreciated and put to their
proper use. The one, and the two talents are

Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
How seldom used, how little understood![2]

in general more profitably occupied than the five; the five indeed are
not often tied up in a napkin, but still less often are they
faithfully employed in the service of that Lord from whom they are
received in trust, and to whom an account of them must be rendered.

[Footnote 2: COWPER.]

“A man of family and estate,” said Johnson, “ought to consider himself
as having the charge of a district over which he is to diffuse
civility and happiness.”—Are there fifty men of family and estate in
the Three Kingdoms who feel and act as if this were their duty?—Are
there five and forty?—Forty?—Thirty?—Twenty?—Or can it be said with
any probability of belief that “peradventure Ten shall be found
there?”

—_in sangue illustre e signorile,
In uom d'alti parenti al mondo nato,
La viltà si raddoppia, e più si scorge
Che in coloro il cui grado alto non sorge._[3]

[Footnote 3: TASSO RINALDO.]

Here in England stood a village, within the memory of man,—no matter
where,—close by the Castle of a noble proprietor,—no matter who:

_il figlio
Del tale, ed il nipote del cotale,
Natò per madre della tale._[4]

It contained about threescore houses, and every cottager had ground
enough for keeping one or two cows. The noble proprietor looked upon
these humble tenements as an eye-sore; and one by one as opportunity
offered, he purchased them, till at length he became owner of the
whole, one field excepted, which belonged to an old Quaker. The old
man resisted many offers, but at last he was induced to exchange it
for a larger and better piece of land in another place. No sooner had
this transaction been completed, than the other occupants who were now
only tenants at will, received notice to quit; the houses were
demolished, the inclosures levelled, hearthsteads and homesteads, the
cottage garden and the cottage field disappeared, and the site was in
part planted, in part thrown into the park. The Quaker, who unlike
Naboth, had parted with the inheritance of his fathers was a native of
the village; but he knew not how dearly he was attached to it, till he
saw its demolition: it was his fault, he said; and if he had not
exchanged his piece of ground, he should never have lived to see his
native place destroyed. He took it deeply to heart; it preyed upon his
mind, and he soon lost his senses and died.

[Footnote 4: CHIABRERA.]

I tell the story as it was related, within sight of the spot, by a
husbandman who knew the place and the circumstances, and well
remembered that many people used to come every morning from the
adjacent parts to buy milk there,—“a quart of new milk for a
half-penny, and a quart of old, given with it.”

Naboth has been named in relating this, but the reader will not
suppose that I have any intention of comparing the great proprietor to
Ahab,—or to William the Conqueror. There was nothing unjust in his
proceedings, nothing iniquitous; and (though there may have been a
great want of proper feeling) nothing cruel. I am not aware that any
hardship was inflicted upon the families who were ejected, farther
than the inconvenience of a removal. He acted as most persons in the
same circumstances probably would have acted, and no doubt he thought
that his magnificent habitation was greatly improved by the demolition
of the poor dwellings which had neighboured it so closely. Farther it
may be said in his justification (for which I would leave nothing
unsaid) that very possibly the houses had not sufficient appearance of
neatness and comfort to render them agreeable objects, that the people
may have been in no better state of manners and morals than villagers
commonly are, which is saying that they were bad enough; that the
filth of their houses was thrown into the road, and that their pigs,
and their children who were almost as unclean, ran loose there. Add to
this if you please that though they stood in fear of their great
neighbour, there may have been no attachment to him, and little
feeling of good will. But I will tell you how Dr. Dove would have
proceeded if he had been the hereditary Lord of that Castle and that
domain.

He would have considered that this village was originally placed there
for the sake of the security which the Castle afforded. Times had
changed and with them the relative duties of the Peer and of the
Peasantry: he no longer required their feudal services, and they no
longer stood in need of his protection. The more therefore, according
to his “way of thinking,” was it to be desired, that other relations
should be strengthened and the bonds of mutual goodwill be more
closely intertwined. He would have looked upon these villagers as
neighbours, in whose welfare and good conduct he was especially
interested, and over whom it was in his power to exercise a most
salutary and beneficial influence; and having this power he would have
known, that it was his duty so to use it. He would have established a
school in the village, and have allowed no ale-house there. He would
have taken his domestics preferably from thence. If there were a boy
who by his gentle disposition, his diligence and his aptitude for
learning gave promise of those qualities which best become the
clerical profession, he would have sent that boy to a grammar school,
and afterwards to college, supporting him there in part, or wholly,
according to the parents' means, and placing him on his list for
preferment, according to his deserts.

If there were any others who discovered a remarkable fitness for any
other useful calling, in that calling he would have had them
instructed and given them his countenance and support, as long as they
continued to deserve it. The Archbishop of Braga, Fray Bartolomen dos
Martyres, added to his establishment a Physician for the poor. Our
friend would in like manner have fixed a medical practitioner in the
village,—one as like as he could find to a certain Doctor at
Doncaster; and have allowed him such a fixed stipend, as might have
made him reasonably contented and independent of the little emolument
which the practice of the place could afford, for he would not have
wished his services to be gratuitous where there was no need. If the
parish to which the village belonged was too extensive, or the
parochial Minister unwilling, or unable to look carefully after this
part of his flock, his Domestic Chaplain, (for he would not have lived
without one) should have taken care of their religious instruction.

In his own family and in his own person he would have set his
neighbours an example of “whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever
things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are
lovely, whatsoever things are of good report.” And as this example
produced its sure effects, he would have left the Amateurs of
Agriculture to vie with each other in their breeds of sheep and oxen,
and in the costly cultivation of their farms. It would have been, not
his boast, for he boasted of nothing;—not his pride, for he had none
of

that poor vice which only empty men
Esteem a virtue—[5]

it was out of the root of Christian humility that all his virtues
grew,—but his consolation and his delight to know that nowhere in
Great Britain was there a neater, a more comfortable village than
close to his own mansion; no where a more orderly, a more moral, a
more cheerful, or a happier people. And if his castle had stood upon
an elevation commanding as rich a survey as Belvoir or Shobden, that
village when he looked from his windows, would still have been the
most delightful object in the prospect.

[Footnote 5: BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.]

I have not mentioned the name of the old Quaker in my story; but I
will preserve it in these pages because the story is to his honour. It
was Joshua Dickson. If Quakers have (and certainly they have) the
quality which is called modest assurance in a superlative degree that
distinguishes them from any other class of men, (it is of the _men_
only that I speak) they are the only sect, who as a sect, cultivate
the sense of conscience. This was not a case of conscience, but of
strong feeling assuming that character under a tendency to madness.

When Lord Harcourt about the same time removed the village of Nuneham,
an old widow Barbara Wyat by name, earnestly intreated that she might
be allowed to remain in her old habitation. The request which it would
have been most unfeeling to refuse, was granted; she ended her days
there, and then the cottage was pulled down: but a tree which grew
beside it, and which she had planted in her youth, is still shown on
the terrace at Nuneham, and called by her name. Near it is placed the
following Inscription by that amiable man the Laureate Whitehead. Like
all his serious poems it may be read with pleasure and profit,—though
the affecting circumstance which gives the anecdote its highest
interest is related only in a note.

This Tree was planted by a female hand,
In the gay dawn of rustic beauty's glow;
And fast beside it did her cottage stand,
When age had clothed the matron's head with snow.

To her long used to nature's simple ways,
This single spot was happiness compleat;
Her tree could shield her from the noontide blaze
And from the tempest screen her little seat.

Here with her Colin oft the faithful maid,
Had led the dance, the envious youths among,
Here when his aged bones in earth were laid,
The patient matron turned her wheel and sung.

She felt her loss, yet felt it as she ought,
Nor dared 'gainst Nature's general law exclaim,
But checkt her tears and to her children taught
That well known truth their lot would be the same.

The Thames before her flowed, his farther shores
She ne'er explored, contented with her own;
And distant Oxford, tho' she saw its towers,
To her ambition was a world unknown.

Did dreadful tales the clowns from market bear
Of kings and tumults and the courtier train,
She coldly listened with unheeding ear,
And good Queen Anne, for aught she cared, might reign.

The sun her day, the seasons marked her year,
She toiled, she slept, from care, from envy free;
For what had she to hope, or what to fear,
Blest with her cottage, and her favourite Tree.

Hear this ye Great, whose proud possessions spread
O'er earth's rich surface to no space confined!
Ye learn'd in arts, in men, in manners read,
Who boast as wide an empire o'er the mind,

With reverence visit her august domain;
To her unlettered memory bow the knee;
She found that happiness you seek in vain,
Blest with a cottage, and a single Tree.[6]

[Footnote 6: The Classical reader will be aware that the Author of
these lines had Claudian's “Old Man of Verona” in his mind's eye, as
Claudian had Virgil's “Corycian Old Man.”—Georg. iv. 127.]

Mason would have produced a better inscription upon this subject, in
the same strain; Southey in a different one, Crabbe would have treated
it with more strength, Bowles with a finer feeling, so would his
kinswoman and namesake Caroline, than whom no author or authoress has
ever written more touchingly, either in prose or verse. Wordsworth
would have made a picture from it worthy of a place in the great
Gallery of his Recluse. But Whitehead's is a remarkable poem,
considering that it was produced during what has been not unjustly
called the neap tide of English poetry: and the reader who should be
less pleased with it than offended by its faults, may have cause to
suspect that his refinement has injured his feelings in a greater
degree than it has improved his taste.

CHAPTER CCXXXIII.

_Ita nati estis, ut bona malaque vestra ad Rempublicam pertineant._

TACITUS.

“We have long been accustomed to laugh at the pride and poverty of
petty German Princes,” says one of the most sensible and right minded
travellers that ever published the result of his observations in
Germany;[1] “but nothing,” he proceeds, “can give a higher idea of the
respectability which so small a people may assume, and the quantity of
happiness which one of these insignificant monarchs may diffuse around
him, than the example of the little state of Weimar, with a Prince
like the present[2] Grand Duke at its head. The mere pride of
sovereignty frequently most prominent where there is only the title to
justify it, is unknown to him; he is the most affable man in his
dominions, not simply with the condescension which any prince can
learn to practise as a useful quality, but from goodness of heart.”
The whole population of his state little if at all exceeds that of
Leicestershire; his capital is smaller than a third or fourth rate
county town; so in fact it scarcely deserves the name of a town; and
the inhabitants, vain as they are of its well earned reputation as the
German Athens, take a pride in having it considered merely a large
village: his revenue is less than that of many a British Peer, great
Commoner, or commercial Millionist. Yet “while the treasures of more
weighty potentates were insufficient to meet the necessities of their
political relations, his confined revenues could give independence and
careless leisure to the men who were gaining for Germany its
intellectual reputation.” It is not too much to say that for that
intellectual reputation, high as it is, and lasting as it will be,
Germany is little less beholden to the Duke of Weimar's well-bestowed
patronage, than to the genius of Wieland, and Schiller and Goëthe. “In
these little principalities, the same goodness of disposition can work
with more proportional effect than if it swayed the sceptre of an
empire; it comes more easily and directly into contact with those
towards whom it should be directed: the artificial world of courtly
rank and wealth has neither sufficient glare nor body to shut out from
the prince the more chequered world that lies below.”

[Footnote 1: RUSSELL.]

[Footnote 2: A. D. 1822.]

Alas no Prince either petty or great has followed the Duke of Saxe
Weimar's example! “He dwells,” says Mr. Downes, “like an estated
gentleman, surrounded by his tenantry.” Alas no British Peer, great
Commoner, or commercial Millionist has given to any portion of his
ampler revenues a like beneficent direction.

A good old Bishop[3] quoting the text “not many wise men after the
flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called,” cautions us
against distorting the Scripture as if it pronounced nothing but
confusion to the rulers of the earth, “let not the honourable person,”
said he, “hang down his head, as if power and wisdom, and noble blood,
and dignity were causes of rejection before God: no beloved! Isaiah
foretold that Kings should be nursing fathers, and Queens should be
nursing mothers of the Church, but it is often seen that the benignity
of nature and the liberality of fortune are made impediments to a
better life; and therefore Nobles and Princes are more frequently
threatened with judgment. I adjoin moreover that the Scriptures speak
more flatly against illustrious Magistrates, than the common sort; for
if God had left it to men, whose tongues are prostituted to flattery,
they had scarce been told that their abominable sins would bring
damnation.”

[Footnote 3: BISHOP HACKET.]

When our philosopher considered the manner in which large incomes are
expended, (one way he had opportunities enough of observing at
Doncaster) he thought that in these times high birth brought with it
dangers and evils which in many or most instances, more than
counterbalanced its advantages.

That excellent person Mr. Boyle had formed a different opinion. To be
the son of a Peer whose prosperity had found many admirers, but few
parallels, and not to be his eldest son, was a happiness that he used
to “mention with great expressions of gratitude; his birth, he said,
so suiting his inclinations and designs, that, had he been permitted
an election, his choice would scarce have altered God's assignment.
For as on the one side, a lower birth would have too much exposed him
to the inconveniences of a mean descent, which are too notorious to
need specifying; so on the other side, to a person whose humour
indisposes him to the distracting hurry of the world, the being born
heir to a great family is but a glittering kind of slavery, whilst
obliging him to a public entangled course of life, to support the
credit of his family, and tying him from satisfying his dearest
inclinations, it often forces him to build the advantages of his house
upon the ruins of his own contentment.”

“A man of mean extraction,” he continues, “is seldom admitted to the
privacy and secrets of great ones promiscuously, and scarce dares
pretend to it, for fear of being censured saucy, or an intruder. And
titular greatness is ever an impediment to the knowledge of many
retired truths, that cannot be attained without familiarity with
meaner persons, and such other condescensions, as fond opinion, in
great men, disapproves and makes disgraceful.” “But he himself,” Mr.
Boyle said, “was born in a condition that neither was high enough to
prove a temptation to laziness, nor low enough to discourage him from
aspiring.” And certainly to a person that affected so much an
universal knowledge, and arbitrary vicissitudes of quiet and
employments, it could not be unwelcome to be of a quality, that was a
handsome stirrup to preferment, without an obligation to court it, and
which might at once both protect his higher pretensions from the guilt
of ambition, and secure his retiredness from contempt.

There would be more and higher advantages in high birth than Mr. Boyle
apprehended, if the Dean of Chalon, Pierre de St. Julien, were right
when he maintained _contre l'opinion des Philosophes, et l'ordinaire
des Predicamants,—que la vraye Noblesse a sa source du sang, et est
substancielle._

_Ces mots Gentilhomme de sang, et d'armes, de race genereuse, de bonne
part,_ &c., says the well-born Dean, who in his title pages let us
know that he was _de la maison de Balleurré,—sont termes non de
qualité, ny d'habitude; ains importants substance de vray, comme il
est bien dit,_

_veniunt cum sanguine mores;_

_et aillieurs,_

_Qui viret in foliis venit à radicibus humor;
Sic patrum in natos abeunt cum semine mores._

_Et comme le sang est le vehicule, et porteur des esprits de vie,
esquels est enclose la substance de l'ame; aussi est il le comme
chariot, qui porte et soustient celle substance qui decoule des peres,
et des ayeulx, par long ordre de generation, et provient aux enfants,
qui, nez de bonne et gentille semence, sont (conformement à l'opinion
du divin Philosophe Platon) rendu tels que leurs progeniteurs, par la
vertu des esprits enclos en la semence.—Tellement qu'on ne peut nyer,
que comme d'une bonne Ayre sortent de bons oyseaux, d'un bon Haras de
bons chevaux,_ &c., _aussi il importe beaucoup aux hommes d'estre nez
de bons et valeureux parents; voire tant, que les mal nez, ennemys de
ceste bien naissance, ne sont suffisants pour en juger._

Sir Robert Cotton once met with a man driving the plough, who was a
true and undoubted Plantagenet. “That worthy Doctor,” (Dr. Hervey)
says that worthy Fuller (_dignissimus_ of being so styled himself,)
“hath made many converts in physic to his seeming paradox, maintaining
the circulation of blood running round about the body of man. Nor is
it less true that gentle blood fetcheth a circuit in the body of a
nation, running from Yeomanry, through Gentry to Nobility, and so
retrograde, returning through Gentry to Yeomanry again.”

“_Plust à Dieu_,” said Maistre François Rabelais, of facetious memory,
“_qu'un chacun saust aussi certainement_—(as Gargantua that is,) _sa
genealogie, depuis l'Arche de Noé, jusqu'à cet âge! Je pense que
plusieurs sont aujourd'hui Empereurs, Roys, Ducs, Princes et Papes en
la terre, lesquels sont descendus de quelques Porteurs de rogatons et
de constrets. Comme au rebours plusieurs sont gueux de l'hostiere,
souffreteux et miserables, lesquels sont descendus de sang et ligne de
grands Roys et Empereurs; attends l'admirable transport des Regnes et
Empires,_

_Des Assyriens, és Medes;
Des Medes, és Perses;
Des Perses, és Macédoniens;
Des Macédoniens, és Grecs;
Des Grecs, és François._

_Et pour vous donner à entendre de moy qui vous parle, je cuide que
suis descendu de quelque riche Roy, ou Prince, au temps jadis; car
oncques ne vistes homme qui eust plus grande affection d'estre Roy ou
riche que moy, afin de faire grand chere, pas ne travailler, point ne
me soucier et bien enrichir mes amis, et tous gens de bien et de
sçavoir._”

CHAPTER CCXXXIV.

OPINION OF A MODERN DIVINE UPON THE WHEREABOUT OF NEWLY DEPARTED
SPIRITS.—ST. JOHN'S BURIAL, ONE RELIC ONLY OF THAT SAINT, AND
WHEREFORE.—A TALE CONCERNING ABRAHAM, ADAM AND EVE.

BRANTÔME.

Watts who came to the odd conclusion in his Philosophical Essay, that
there may be Spirits which must be said, in strict philosophy to be no
where, endeavoured to explain what he called the _ubi_ or _whereness_
of those spirits which are in a more imaginable situation. While man
is alive, the soul he thought might be said to be in his brain,
because the seat of consciousness seems to be there; but as soon as it
is dislodged from that local habitation by death, it finds itself at
once in a heaven or hell of its own, and this “without any removal or
relation to place, or change of distances.” The shell is broken, the
veil is withdrawn; it is where it was, but in a different mode of
existence, in the pure intellectual, or separate world. “It reflects
upon its own temper and actions in this life, it is conscious of its
virtues, or its vices,” and it has an endless spring of peace and joy
within, or is tormented with the anguish of self condemnation.

In his speculations the separation of soul from body is total, till
their re-union at the day of judgment; and this unquestionably is the
christian belief. The fablers of all religions have taken a different
view, because at all times and in all countries they have accommodated
their fictions to the notions of the people. The grave is with them a
place of rest, or of suffering. If Young had been a Jew, a Mahommedan,
or a Roman Catholic, he might be understood as speaking literally when
he says,

How populous, how vital is the grave.

St. Augustine had been assured by what he considered no light
testimony that St. John was not dead, but asleep in his sepulchre, and
that the motion of his breast as he breathed might be perceived by a
gentle movement of the earth. The words of our Lord after his
Resurrection, concerning the beloved disciple, “If I will that he
tarry till I come, what is that to thee,” gave scope to conjecture
concerning the fate of this Evangelist, and yet in some degree set
bounds to that spirit of lying invention which in process of time
annexed as many fables to corrupted Christianity as the Greek and
Roman poets had engrafted upon their heathenism, or the Rabbis upon
the Jewish faith. “Sinner that I am,” said a French prelate with
demure irony, when a head of St. John the Baptist was presented to him
to kiss in some Church of which it was the choicest treasure,—“sinner
that I am, this is the fourth head of the glorious Baptist that I have
had the happiness of holding in these unworthy hands!” But while some
half dozen or half score of these heads were produced, because it was
certain that the Saint had been beheaded, no relic of St. John the
Evangelist's person, nor of the Virgin Mary's, was ever invented. The
story of the Assumption precluded any such invention in the one
case,—and in St. John's the mysterious uncertainty of his fate had the
same effect as this received tradition. The Benedictines of St.
Claude's Monastery in the Jura exhibited his own manuscript of the
Apocalypse,—(the most learned of that order in no unlearned age,
believed or affected to believe that it was his actual autograph,)—and
they considered that it was greatly enhanced in value by its being the
only relic of that Saint in existence.

The fable which St. Augustine seems to have believed, was either
parent or child of the story told under the name of Abdias, that when
the Beloved Disciple had attained the postdiluvian age of ninety
seven, our Lord appeared to him, said unto him, “come unto me, that
thou mayest partake at my feast with thy brethren,” and fixed the next
Sunday, being Easter, for his removal from this world. On that Sunday
accordingly, the Evangelist after having performed service in his own
temple at Ephesus, and exhorted the people, told some of his chosen
disciples to take with them two mattocks and spade, and accompany him
therewith. They went to a place near the city, where he had been
accustomed to pray, there he bade them dig a grave, and when they
would have ceased from the work, he bade them dig it still deeper.
Then taking off all his garments except a linen vestment, he spread
them in the grave, laid himself down upon them, ordered his disciples
to cover him up, and forthwith fell asleep in the Lord. Abdias
proceeds no farther with the story; but other ecclesiastic romancers
add that the evangelist enjoined them to open the grave on the day
following; they did so and found nothing but his garments, for the
blessed virgin in recompence for the filial piety which he had
manifested towards her in obedience to our Lord's injunctions from the
cross, had obtained for him the privilege of an Assumption like her
own. Baronius has no objection to believe this, but that St. John
actually died is, he says more than certain,—_certo certius_; and that
his grave at Ephesus was proof of it, for _certe non nisi mortuorum
solent esse sepulchra_.

Yet the Cardinal knew that the historian of his Church frequently
represented the dead as sentient in their graves. The Jews have some
remarkable legends founded upon the same notion. It is written in the
book of Zohar, say the Rabbis, how when Abraham had made a covenant
with the people of the land, and was about to make a feast for them, a
calf which was to be slaughtered on the occasion, broke loose and ran
into the cave of Machpelah. Abraham followed, and having entered the
cave in pursuit, there he discovered the bodies of Adam and Eve, each
on a bed, with lamps burning between them. They were sleeping the
sleep of death, and there was a good odour around them, like the odour
of repose. In consequence of having made this discovery it was that he
desired to purchase the cave for his own burial place; and when the
sons of Jebus refused to sell it, he fell upon his knees, and bowed
himself before them, till they were entreated. When he came to deposit
the body of Sarah there, Adam and Eve rose up, and refused their
consent. The reason which they gave for this unexpected prohibition
was, that they were already in a state of reproach before the Lord,
because of their transgression, and a farther reproach would be
brought upon them by a comparison with his good deeds, if they allowed
such company to be introduced into their resting place. But Abraham
took upon himself to answer for that; upon this they were satisfied
with his assurances, and composed themselves again to their long
sleep.

The Rabbis may be left to contend for the authority of the book of
Zohar in this particular against the story of the Cabalists that
Adam's bones were taken into the Ark, and divided afterwards by Noah
among his sons. The skull fell to Shem's portion; he burnt it on the
mountain which for that reason obtained the name of Golgotha, or
Calvary,—being interpreted, the place of a skull, and on that spot,
for mystical signification the cross whereon our Saviour suffered was
erected;—a wild legend, on which as wild a fiction has been grafted,
that a branch from the Tree of Life had been planted on Adam's grave,
and from the wood which that branch had produced the cross was made.

And against either of these the authority of Rabbi Judas Bar Simon is
to be opposed, for he affirms that the dust of Adam was washed away by
the Deluge, and utterly dispersed.

The Rabbis have also to establish the credit of their own tradition
against that of the Arabs who at this time shew Eve's grave near
Jeddah;—about three days journey east from that place, according to
Bruce. He says, it is covered with green sods, and about fifty yards
in length. The Cashmerian traveller Abdulkurreem who visited it in
1742, says that it measured an hundred and ninety-seven of his
footsteps, which would make the mother of mankind much taller than
Bruce's measurement. He likens it to a flower-bed; on the middle of
the grave there was then a small dome, and the ends of it were
enclosed with wooden pales. Burckhardt did not visit it; he was told
that it was about two miles only, northward of the town, and that it
was a rude structure of stone, some four feet in length, two or three
in height and as many in breadth, thus resembling the tomb of Noah,
which is shewn in the valley of Bekaa, in Syria. Thus widely do these
modern travellers, on any one of whom reasonable reliance might have
been placed, differ in the account of the same thing.

CHAPTER CCXXXV.

THE SHORTEST AND PLEASANTEST WAY FROM DONCASTER TO JEDDAH, WITH MANY
MORE, TOO LONG.

_Πόνος πόνῳ πόνον φέρει
Πᾶ πᾶ γὰρ οὐκ ἔβαν ἐγώ._

SOPHOCLES.

We have got from the West Riding of Yorkshire, to the Eastern shore of
the Red Sea, without the assistance of mail-coach, steam-packet, or
air-balloon, the magical carpet, the wishing-cap, the shoes of
swiftness, or the seven-leagued boots. From Mr. Bacon's vicarage we
have got to Eve's grave, not _per saltum_, by any sudden, or violent
transition; but by following the stream of thought. We shall get back
in the same easy manner to that vicarage, and to the quiet churchyard
wherein the remains of one of the sweetest and for the few latter
years of her short life, one of the happiest of Eve's daughters, were
deposited in sure and certain hope. If you are in the mood for a
Chapter upon Churchyards, go reader to those which Caroline Bowles has
written;—you will find in them every thing that can touch the heart,
every thing that can sanctify the affections, unalloyed by anything
that can offend a pure taste and a masculine judgement.

But before we find our way back we must tarry awhile among the tombs,
and converse with the fablers of old.

A young and lovely Frenchwoman after visiting the _Columbarium_ near
the Villa Albani, expressed her feeling strongly upon our custom of
interring the dead, as compared with the non-burial of the ancients,
_usage odieux_, said she, _qui rend la mort horrible! Si les anciens
en avaient moins d'effroi, c'est que la coutume de brûler les corps
dérobait au trépas tout ce qu'il a de hideux. Qu'il était consolant et
doux de pouvoir pleurer sur des cendres chéries! Qu'il est
épouvantable et déchirant aujourd'hui de penser que celui qu'on a tant
aimé n'offre plus qu'une image affreuse et décharnée dont on ne
pourrait supporter la vue._

The lady in whose journal these lines were written lies buried in the
Campo Santo at Milan, with the following inscription on her tomb;
_Priez pour une jeune Française que la mort a frappée à vingt ans,
comme elle allait, après un voyage de huit mois avec un epoux chéri,
revoir son enfant, son pere et sa mere, qui venaient joyeux au-devant
d'elle._ Her husband wished to have her remains burnt, in conformity
to her own opinion respecting the disposal of the dead, and to his own
feelings at the time, that he might have carried her ashes to his own
country, and piously have preserved them there, to weep over them, and
bequeath them to his son; _mais les amis qui m'entouraient_, he says,
_combatterent mon desir, comme une inspiration insensée de la
douleur._

There can be no doubt that our ghastly personification of Death has
been derived from the practice of interment; and that of all modes in
which the dead have ever been disposed of, cremation is in some
respects the best. But this mode, were it generally practicable, would
in common use be accompanied with more revolting circumstances than
that which has now become the Christian usage. Some abominations
however it would have prevented, and though in place of those
superstitions which it precluded others would undoubtedly have arisen,
they would have been of a less loathsome character.

The Moors say that the dead are disturbed if their graves be trodden
on by Christian feet; the Rabbis that they feel the worms devouring
them.

On the south side of the city of Erzeroom is a mountain called Eyerli,
from the same likeness which has obtained for one of the English
mountains the unpoetical name of Saddleback. The Turkish traveller
Evlia Effendi saw on the top of this mountain a tomb eighty paces in
length, with two columns marking the place of the head and of the
feet. “I was looking on the tomb,” he says, “when a bad smell occurred
very hurtfully to my nose, and to that of my servant who held the
horses; and looking near, I then saw that the earth of the grave,
which was greasy and black, was boiling, like gruel in a pan. I
returned then, and having related my adventures in the evening in
company with the Pashaw, Djaafer Effendi of Erzeroom, a learned man
and an elegant writer, warned me not to visit the place again, for it
was the grave of Balaam the son of Beor, who died an infidel, under
the curse of Moses, and whose grave was kept always in this state by
subterraneous fires.”

When Wheler was at Constantinople, he noticed a monument in the
fairest and largest street of that city, the cupola of which was
covered with an iron grating. It was the tomb of Mahomet Cupriuli,
father to the then Grand Vizier. He had not been scrupulous as to the
means by which he settled the government during the Grand Seignior's
minority, and carried it on afterwards, quelling the discontents and
factions of the principal Agas, and the mutinies of the Janizaries.
Concerning him after his decease, says this traveller, “being buried
here, and having this stately monument of white marble covered with
lead erected over his body, the Grand Seigneur and Vizier had this
dream both in the same night, to wit, that he came to them and
earnestly begged of them a little water to refresh him, being in a
burning heat. Of this the Grand Seigneur and Vizier told each other in
the morning, and thereupon thought fit to consult the Mufti what to do
concerning it. The Mufti, according to their gross superstition,
advised that the roof of his sepulchre should be uncovered, that the
rain might descend on his body, thereby to quench the flames which
were tormenting his soul. And this remedy the people who smarted under
his oppression think he had great need of, supposing him to be
tormented in the other world for his tyrannies and cruelties committed
by him in this.”

If Cupriuli had been a Russian instead of a Turk, his body would have
been provided with a passport before it was committed to the grave.
Peter Henry Bruce in his curious memoirs gives the form of one which
in the reign of Peter the Great, always before the coffin of a Russian
was closed, was put between the fingers of the corpse:—“We N. N. do
certify by these presents that the bearer hereof hath always lived
among us as became a good Christian, professing the Greek religion;
and although he may have committed some sins, he hath confessed the
same, whereupon he hath received absolution, and taken the communion
for the remission of sins: That he hath honoured God and his Saints,
that he hath not neglected his prayers; and hath fasted on the hours
and days appointed by the Church: That he hath always behaved himself
towards me, his Confessor, in such a manner that I have no reason to
complain of him, or to refuse him the absolution of his sins. In
witness whereof I have given him these testimonials, to the end that
St. Peter upon sight of them, may not deny him the opening of the gate
to eternal bliss!”

The custom evidently implies an opinion that though soul and body were
disunited by death, they kept close company together till after the
burial; otherwise a passport which the Soul was to present at Heaven's
gate, would not have been placed in the hands of the corpse. In the
superstitions of the Romish church a re-union is frequently supposed,
but that there is an immediate separation upon death is an article of
faith, and it is represented by Sir Thomas More as one of the
punishments for a sinful soul to be brought from Purgatory and made to
attend, an unseen spectator, at the funeral of its own body, and feel
the mockery of all the pomps and vanities used upon that occasion. The
passage is in his Supplycacyon of Soulys. One of the Supplicants from
Purgatory speaks:

“Some hath there of us, while we were in health, not so much studied
how we might die penitent, and in good christian plight, as how we
might solemnly be borne out to burying, have gay and goodly funerals,
with heralds at our herses, and offering up our helmets, setting up
our scutcheons and coat-armours on the wall, though there never came
harness on our backs, nor never ancestor of ours ever bare arms
before. Then devised we some Doctor to make a sermon at our mass in
our month's mind, and then preach to our praise with some fond fantasy
devised of our name; and after mass, much feasting, riotous and
costly; and finally, like madmen, made men merry at our death, and
take our burying for a brideale. For special punishment whereof, some
of us have been by our Evil Angels brought forth full heavily, in full
great despight to behold our own burying, and so, stand in great pain,
invisible among the press, and made to look on our carrion corpse,
carried out with great pomp, whereof our Lord knoweth we have taken
heavy pleasure!”

In opposition to this there is a Rabbinical story which shows that
though the Jews did not attribute so much importance to the rights of
sepulture as the ancient Greeks, they nevertheless thought that a
parsimonious interment occasioned some uncomfortable consequences to
the dead.

A pious descendant of Abraham, whom his wife requited with a curtain
lecture for having, as she thought improvidently, given alms to a poor
person in a time of dearth, left his house, and went out to pass the
remainder of the night among the tombs, that he might escape from her
objurgations. There he overheard a conversation between the Spirits of
two young women, not long deceased. The one said, “come let us go
through the world, and then listen behind the curtain and hear what
chastisements are decreed for it.” The other made answer, “I cannot
go, because I have been buried in a mat made of reeds, but go you, and
bring me account of what you hear.” Away went the Ghost whose
grave-clothes were fit to appear in: and when she returned, “well
friend, what have you heard behind the curtain,” said the ghost in the
reed-mat. “I heard,” replied the gad-about, “that whatever shall be
sown in the first rains, will be stricken with hail.” Away went the
alms-giver; and upon this intelligence which was more certain than any
prognostication in the Almanack, he waited till the second rains
before he sowed his field; all other fields were struck with hail, but
according as he had expected his crop escaped.

Next year, on the anniversary of the night which had proved so
fortunate to him, he went again to the Tombs: and overheard another
conversation between the same ghosts to the same purport. The well
drest ghost went through the world, listened behind the curtain, and
brought back information that whatever should be sown in the second
rains would be smitten with rust. Away went the good man, and sowed
his field in the first rains; all other crops were spoilt with the
rust, and only his escaped. His wife then enquired of him how it had
happened that in two successive years he had sown his fields at a
different time from every body else, and on both occasions his were
the only crops that had been saved. He made no secret to her of his
adventures, but told her how he had come to the knowledge which had
proved so beneficial. Ere long his wife happened to quarrel with the
mother of the poor ghost who was obliged to keep her sepulchre; and
the woman of unruly tongue, among other insults, bade her go and look
at her daughter, whom she had buried in a reed-mat! Another
anniversary came round, and the good man went again to the Tomb; but
he went this time in vain, for when the well-dressed Ghost repeated
her invitation, the other made answer, “let me alone, my friend, the
words which have past between you and me have been heard among the
living.”

The learned Cistercian[1] to whom I owe this legend, expresses his
contempt for it; nevertheless he infers from it that the spirits of
the dead know what passes in this world; and that the doctrine of the
Romish Church upon that point, is proved by this tradition to have
been that of the Synagogue also.

[Footnote 1: BERTOLACCI.]

The Mahommedans who adopted so many of the Rabbinical fables,
dispensed in one case for reasons of obvious convenience, with all
ceremonies of sepulchral costume. For the funeral of their martyrs, by
which appellation all Musselmen who fell in battle against the
unbelievers were honoured, none of those preparations were required,
which were necessary for those who die a natural death. A martyr needs
not to be washed after his death, nor to be enveloped in
grave-clothes; his own blood with which he is besmeared serves him for
all legal purification, and he may be wrapt in his robe, and buried
immediately after the funeral prayer, conformably to the order of the
Prophet, who has said, “bury them as they are, in their garments, and
in their blood! Wash them not, for their wounds will smell of musk on
the Day of Judgement.”

A man of Medina, taking leave of his wife as he was about to go to the
wars commended to the Lord her unborn babe. She died presently
afterwards, and every night there appeared a brilliant light upon the
middle of her tomb. The husband hearing of this upon his return,
hastened to the place; the sepulchre opened of itself; the wife sate
up in her winding sheet, and holding out to him a boy in her arms,
said to him take “that which thou commendedst to the Lord. Hadst thou
commended us both, thou shouldest have found us both alive.” So saying
she delivered to him the living infant, and laid herself down, and the
sepulchre closed over her.

* * * * *

PARS IMPERFECTA MANEBAT.—VIRG. ÆN.

_The following materials, printed verbatim from the MS. Collection,
were to have completed the Chapter. It has been thought advisable in
the present instance to shew how the lamented Southey worked up the
collection of years. Each extract is on a separate slip of paper, and
some of them appear to have been made from thirty to forty years ago,
more or less._

* * * * *

And so the virtue of his youth before
Was in his age the ground of his delight.

JAMES I.

* * * * *

_Ἔνθεν δὲ Σθενέλον τάφον ἔδρακον Ἀκτορίδαο·
Ὅς ῥά τ Ἀμαζονίδων πολυθαρσέος ἐκ πολέμοιο
Ἄψ ἀνιὼν (δὴ γὰρ συνανήλυθεν Ἡρὰκλῆΐ)
Βλήμενος ἰῷ κεῖθεν ᾽επ᾽ ἀγχιάλον θάνεν ἀκτῆς.
Ὀυ μέν θην προτέρω ἀνεμέρεον· ἧκε γὰρ αὐτὴ
Φερσεφόνη ψυχὴν πολυδάκρυον Ἀκτορίδαο
Λισσομένην, τυτθόν περ ὁμήθεας ἄνδρας ἰδέσθαι.
Τύμβου δὲ στεφάνης ἐπιβὰς σκοπιάζετο νῆα,
Τοῖος ἐὼν οἷος πόλεμονδ᾽ ἴεν· ἀμφὶ δὲ καλὴ
Τετράφαλος φοίνικι λόφῳ ἐπελάμπετο πήληξ,
Καὶ ῥ᾽ ὁ μὲν αὖτις ἔδυνε μέγαν ζόφον· οἱ δ᾽ ἐσιδόντες
Θάμβησαν. τοὶς δ᾽ ὦρσε θεοπροπέων ἐπικελσαι
Αμπυκίδης Μόψος, λοιβῆσί τε μειλίξασθαι.
Ὃι δ᾽ ἀνὰ μὲν κραιπνῶς λαῖφος σπάσαν, ἐκ δὲ βαλόντες
Πείσματ᾽ ἐν αἰγιαλῷ Σθενέλου τάφον ἀμφεπένοντο,
Χύτλα τέ οἱχεύαντο, καὶ ἥγνισαν ἔντομα μήλων._

APOLLONIUS RHODIUS.

* * * * *

The Abaza (a Circassian tribe) have a strange way of burying their
Beys. They put the body in a coffin of wood, which they nail on the
branches of some high trees and made a hole in the coffin by the head,
that the Bey as they say, may look unto Heaven. Bees enter the coffin,
and make honey, and cover the body with their comb: If the season
comes they open the coffin, take out the honey and sell it, therefore
much caution is necessary against the honey of the Abazas.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

* * * * *

Once in their life time, the Jews say, they are bound by the Law of
Moses to go to the Holy Land, if they can, or be able, and the bones
of many dead Jews are carried there, and there burnt. We were
fraughted with wools from Constantinople to Sidon, in which sacks, as
most certainly was told to me, were many Jew's bones put into little
chests, but unknown to any of the ship. The Jews our Merchants told me
of them at my return from Jerusalem to Saphet, but earnestly intreated
me not to tell it, for fear of preventing them another time.

Going on, one of my companions said, if you will take the trouble of
going a little out of the way, you will see a most remarkable thing.
Well, said I, what should be the object of all pains taken in
travelling, if it were not to admire the works of God. So we went on
for an hour to the north, but not taking the great road leading to the
Plain of Moosh, we advanced to a high rock that is a quarter of an
hour out of the road. To this rock, high like a tower, a man was
formerly chained, whose bones are yet preserved in the chains. Both
bones and chains are in a high state of preservation. The bones of the
arms are from seven to eight cubits in length, of an astonishing
thickness. The skull is like the cupola of a bath, and a man may creep
in and out without pain through the eye-holes. Eagles nestle in them.
These bones are said to be those of a faithful man who in Abraham's
time was chained by Nimrod to this rock, in order to be burnt by fire.
The fire calcined part of his body, so that it melted in one part with
the rock; but the arms and legs are stretching forth to the example of
posterity. We have no doubt that they will rise again into life at the
sound of the trumpet on the day of judgement.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

* * * * *

The Magistrates of Leghorn have authority to issue out orders for
killing dogs if they abound too much in the streets, and molest the
inhabitants. The men entrusted with the execution of these orders go
through the city in the night, and drop small bits of poisoned bread
in the streets. These are eaten by the dogs and instantaneously kill
them. Before sunrise the same men go through the streets with a cart,
gather hundreds of the dead dogs, and carry them to the Jew's burying
ground without the town.

HASSELQUIST.

* * * * *

In the ROMANCE OF MERLIN it is said that before the time of Christ,
Adam and Eve and the whole ancient world were (not in Limbo) but
actually in Hell. And that when the Prophets comforted the souls under
their sufferings by telling them of the appointed Redeemer, the Devils
for that reason tormented these Prophets more than others. The Devils
themselves tell the story, _et les tourmentions plus que les autres.
Et ilz faisoyent semblant que nostre tourment ne les grevoit riens;
ainçois comfortoyent les aultres pecheurs et disoyent. Le Saulveur de
tout le monde viendra qui tous nous delivrera._

* * * * *

At the time of the deluge the wife of Noah being pregnant, was through
the hardships of the voyage delivered of a dead child to which the
name of Tarh was given, because the letters of this word form the
number 217 which was the number of days he was carried by his mother
instead of the full time of 280 days, or nine months. This child was
buried in the district now called Djezere Ibn Omar, the Island or
Peninsula of the son of Omar, and this was the first burial on earth
after the deluge. And Noah prayed unto the Lord, saying, Oh God thou
hast given me a thousand years of life, and this child is dead before
it began to live on earth! And he begged of the Lord as a blessing
given to the burial-place of his child, that the women of this town
might never miscarry, which was granted; so that since that time
women, and female animals of every kind in this town are all blessed
with births in due time and long living. The length of the grave of
this untimely child of Noah is 40 feet and it is visited by pilgrims.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

* * * * *

They suppose that a few souls are peculiarly gifted with the power of
quitting their bodies, of mounting into the skies, visiting distant
countries, and again returning and resuming them; they call the
mystery or prayer by which this power is obtained, the _Mandiram_.

CRAUFURD.

* * * * *

The plain of Kerbela is all desert, inhabited by none but by the dead,
and by roving wild hounds, the race of the dogs which licked the blood
of the martyrs, and which since are doomed to wander through the
wilderness.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

* * * * *

Shi whang, the K. of Tsin becoming Emperor, he chose for his sepulchre
the mountain Li, whose foundation he caused to dig, if we may so
speak, even to the centre of the earth. On its surface he erected a
mausoleum which might pass for a mountain. It was five hundred feet
high, and at least half a league in circumference. On the outside was
a vast tomb of stone, where one might walk as easily as in the largest
hall. In the middle was a sumptuous coffin, and all around there were
lamps and flambeaux, whose flames were fed by human fat. Within this
tomb, there was upon one side a pond of quicksilver, upon which were
scattered birds of gold and silver; on the other a compleat magazine
of moveables and arms; here and there were the most precious jewels in
thousands.

DU HALDE.

* * * * *

Emududakel, the Messenger of Death, receives the Soul as 'tis breathed
out of the body into a kind of a sack, and runs away with it through
briars and thorns and burning whirlwinds, which torment the Soul very
sensibly, till he arrives at the bank of a fiery current, through
which he is to pass to the other side in order to deliver the soul to
Emen, the God of the Dead.

LETTERS TO THE DANISH MISSIONARIES.

* * * * *

A curious story concerning the power which the Soul has been supposed
to possess of leaving the body, in a visible form, may be found in the
notes to the Vision of the Maid of Orleans. A more extraordinary one
occurs in the singularly curious work of Evlia Effendi.

“Sultan Bajazet II. was a saint-monarch, like Sultan Orkhaun, or
Sultan Mustapha I. There exist different works relating his miracles
and deeds, but they are rare. The last seven years of his life he ate
nothing which had blood and life. One day longing much to eat calf's
or mutton's feet, he struggled long in that glorious contest with the
Soul, and as at last a well-seasoned dish of feet was put before him,
he said unto his Soul, ‘See my Soul, the feet are before thee, if thou
wantest to enjoy them, leave the body and feed on them.’ In the same
moment a living creature was seen to come out of his mouth, which
drank of the juice in the dish and having satisfied its appetite
endeavoured to return into the mouth from whence it came. But Bajazet
having prevented it with his hand to re-enter his mouth, it fell on
the ground, and the Sultan ordered it to be beaten. The Pages arrived
and kicked it dead on the ground. The Mufti of that time decided that
as the Soul was an essential part of man, this dead Soul should be
buried: prayers were performed over it, and the dead Soul was interred
in a small tomb near Bajazet's tomb. This is the truth of the famous
story of Bajazet II. having died twice and having been twice buried.
After this murder of his own soul, the Sultan remained melancholy in
the corner of retirement, taking no part or interest in the affairs of
government.”

The same anecdote of the Soul coming out of the mouth to relish a most
desired dish, had already happened to the Sheik Bajazet Bostaumi, who
had much longed to eat _Mohallebi_ (a milk-dish) but Bajazet Bostaumi
permitted it to re-enter, and Sultan Bajazet killed it;
notwithstanding which he continued to live for some time longer.

See _Josselyn_ for a similar tale.

* * * * *

When Mohammed took his journey upon Alborach, Gabriel (said he) led me
to the first Heaven, and the Angels in that Heaven graciously received
me, and they beheld me with smiles and with joy, beseeching for me
things prosperous and pleasant. One alone among the Angels there sat,
who neither prayed for my prosperity, nor smiled; and Gabriel when I
enquired of him who he was, replied, never hath that Angel smiled, nor
will smile, he is the Keeper of the Fire, and I said to him is this
the Angel who is called the well beloved of God? and he replied, this
is that Angel. Then said I bid him that he show me the Fire, and
Gabriel requesting him, he removed the cover of the vessel of Fire,
and the Fire ascending I feared lest all things whatever that I saw
should be consumed, and I besought Gabriel that the Fire again might
be covered. And so the fire returned to its place, and it seemed then
as when the Sun sinks in the West, and the gloomy Angel, remaining the
same, covered up the Fire.

RODERICI XIMENES, ARC. TOL. HIST. ARAB.

* * * * *

Should a Moslem when praying, feel himself disposed to gape, he is
ordered to suppress the sensation as the work of the Devil, and to
close his mouth, lest the father of iniquity should enter and take
possession of his person. It is curious that this opinion prevails
also among the Hindoos who twirl their fingers close before their
mouths when gaping, to prevent an evil spirit from getting in that
way.

GRIFFITHS.

* * * * *

In what part soever of the world they die and are buried, their bodies
must all rise to judgement in the Holy Land, out of the valley of
Jehosophat, which causeth that the greater and richer sort of them,
have their bones conveyed to some part thereof by their kindred or
friends. By which means they are freed of a labour to scrape thither
through the ground, which with their nails they hold they must, who
are not there buried, nor conveyed thither by others.

SANDERSON. PURCHAS.

* * * * *

The Russians in effecting a practicable road to China, discovered in
lat. 50 N., between the rivers Irtish and Obalet, a desert of very
considerable extent, overspread in many parts with Tumuli, or Barrows,
which have been also taken notice of by Mr. Bell and other writers.
This desert constitutes the southern boundary of Siberia. It is said
the borderers on the desert, have for many years, continued to dig for
the treasure deposited in these tumuli, which still however remain
unexhausted. We are told that they find considerable quantities of
gold, silver and brass, and some precious stones, among ashes and
remains of dead bodies: also hilts of swords, armour, ornaments for
saddles and bridles, and other trappings, with the bones of those
animals to which the trappings belonged, among which are the bones of
elephants. The Russian Court, says Mr. Demidoff, being informed of
these depredations, sent a principal officer, with sufficient troops,
to open such of these tumuli, as were too large for the marauding
parties to undertake and to secure their contents. This Officer on
taking a survey of the numberless monuments of the dead spread over
this great desert, concluded that the barrow of the largest dimensions
most probably contained the remains of the prince or chief; and he was
not mistaken; for, after removing a very deep covering of earth and
stones, the workmen came to three vaults, constructed of stones, of
rude workmanship; a view of which is exhibited in the engraving. That
wherein the prince was deposited, which was in the centre, and the
largest of the three, was easily distinguished by the sword, spear,
bow, quiver and arrow which lay beside him. In the vault beyond him,
towards which his feet lay, were his horse, bridle, saddle and
stirrups. The body of the prince lay in a reclining posture, on a
sheet of pure gold, extending from head to foot, and another sheet of
gold, of the like dimensions, was spread over him. He was wrapt in a
rich mantle, bordered with gold and studded with rubies and emeralds.
His head, neck, breast and arms naked, and without any ornament. In
the lesser vault lay the princess, distinguished by her female
ornaments. She was placed reclining against the wall, with a gold
chain of many links, set with rubies, round her neck, and gold
bracelets round her arms. The head, breast and arms were naked. The
body was covered with a rich robe, but without any border of gold or
jewels, and was laid on a sheet of fine gold, and covered over with
another. The four sheets of gold weighed 40 lb. The robes of both
looked fair and complete; but on touching, crumbled into dust. Many
more of the tumuli were opened, but this was the most remarkable. In
the others a great variety of curious articles were found.

MONTHLY REVIEW, Vol. 49.

* * * * *

The following story I had from Mr. _Pierson_, factor here for the
_African_ company, who was sent here from _Cape Coree_ to be second to
Mr. _Smith_ then chief factor. Soon after his arrival Mr. _Smith_ fell
very ill of the country malignant fever; and having little prospect of
recovery, resigned his charge of the company's affairs to _Pierson_.
This Mr. _Smith_ had the character of an obliging, ingenious young
gentleman, and was much esteemed by the King, who hearing of his
desperate illness, sent his _Fatishman_ to hinder him from dying; who
coming to the factory went to Mr. _Smith's_ bed-side, and told him,
that his King had such a kindness for him, that he had sent to keep
him alive, and that he should not die. Mr. _Smith_ was in such a
languishing condition, that he little regarded him. Then the
_Fatishman_ went from him to the hog-yard, where they bury the white
men; and having carried with him some brandy, rum, oil, rice, &c., he
cry'd out aloud, _O you dead white men that lie here, you have a mind
to have this factor that is sick to you, but he is our king's friend,
and he loves him, and will not part with him as yet._ Then he went to
captain _Wiburn's_ grave who built the factory, and cry'd, _O you
captain of all the dead white men that lie here, this is your doings;
you would have this man from us to bear you company, because he is a
good man, but our king will not part with him, nor you shall not have
him yet._ Then making a hole in the ground over his grave, he poured
in the brandy, rum, oil, rice, &c., telling him, _If he wanted those
things, there they were for him, but the factor he must not expect,
nor should not have,_ with more such nonsense; then went to _Smith_,
and assured him he should not die; but growing troublesome to the sick
man, _Pierson_ turned him out of the factory, and in two days after
poor _Smith_ made his _exit_.

Mr. Josiah Relph to Mr. Thomas Routh, in Castle Street, Carlisle.

June 20, 1740.

* * * * *

“The following was sent me a few months ago by the minister of
Kirklees in Yorkshire, the burying place of Robin Hood. My
correspondent tells me it was found among the papers of the late Dr.
Gale of York, and is supposed to have been the genuine epitaph of that
noted English outlaw. He adds that the grave stone is yet to be seen,
but the characters are now worn out.

Here undernead dis laitl Stean
Laiz Robert Earl of Huntingtun.
Nea Arcir ver az hie sa geud,
An Piple kauld im Robin Heud.
Sick utlawz az hi and is men
Vil england nivr si agen.

Obiit 24. Kal. Dehembris, 1247.

I am, dear Sir, your most faithful and humble Servant,

JOSIAH RELPH.”

_Note in Nichols_.—See the stone engraved in the Sepulchral Monuments,
vol. i. p. cviii. Mr. Gough says the inscription was never on it; and
that the stone must have been brought from another place, as the
ground under it, on being explored, was found to have been never
before disturbed.[2]

[Footnote 2: On the disputed question of the genuineness of the above
epitaph, see the Notes and Illustrations to Ritson's Robin Hood, pp.
xliv—1. Robin Hood's Death and Burial is the last Ballad in the second
volume.

“And there they buried bold Robin Hood,
Near to the fair Kirkleys.”]

* * * * *

Lord Dalmeny, son of the E. of Rosebery, married about eighty years
ago a widow at Bath for her beauty. They went abroad, she sickened and
on her death-bed requested that she might be interred in some
particular church-yard, either in Sussex or Suffolk I forget which.
The body was embalmed, but at the custom-house in the port where it
was landed the officer suspected smuggling and insisted on opening it.
They recognized the features of the wife of their own clergyman,—who
having been married to him against her own inclination had eloped.
Both husbands followed the body to the grave. The Grandfather of Dr.
Smith of Norwich knew the Lord.

* * * * *

It was a melancholy notion of the Stoics that the condition of the
Soul, and even its individual immortality, might be affected by the
circumstances of death: for example, that if any person were killed by
a great mass of earth falling upon him, or the ruins of a building,
the Soul as well as the body would be crushed, and not being able to
extricate itself would be extinguished there: _existimant animam
hominis magno pondere extriti permeare non posse, et statim spargi,
quia non fuerit illi exitus liber._

Upon this belief, the satirical epitaph on Sir John Vanbrugh would
convey what might indeed be called a heavy curse.

* * * * *

Some of the Greenlanders, for even in Greenland there are sects,
suppose the soul to be so corporeal that it can increase or decrease,
is divisible, may lose part of its substance, and have it restored
again. On its way to Heaven which is five days dreadful journey, all
the way down a rugged rock, which is so steep that they must slide
down it, and so rough that their way is tracked with blood, they are
liable to be destroyed, and this destruction, which they call the
second death, is final, and therefore justly deemed of all things the
most terrible. It is beyond the power of their Angekoks to remedy this
evil; but these impostors pretend to the art of repairing a maimed
soul, bringing home a strayed or runaway one, and of changing away one
that is sickly, for the sound and sprightly one of a hare, a rein
deer, a bird, or an infant.

* * * * *

“This is the peevishness of our humane wisdom, yea, rather of our
humane folly, to earn for tidings from the dead, as if a spirit
departed could declare anything more evidently than the book of God,
which is the sure oracle of life? This was Saul's practise,—neglect
Samuel when he was alive, and seek after him when he was dead. What
says the Prophet, _Should not a people seek unto their God? Should the
living repair to the dead? (Isai. viij. 19.)_ Among the works of
Athanasius I find (though he be not the author of the questions to
Antiochus,) a discourse full of reason, why God would not permit the
soul of any of those that departed from hence to return back unto us
again, and to declare the state of things in hell unto us. For what
pestilent errors would arise from thence to seduce us? Devils would
transform themselves into the shapes of men that were deceased,
pretend that they were risen from the dead (for what will not the
Father of lies feign?) and so spread in any false doctrines, or incite
us to many barbarous actions, to our endless error and destruction.
And admit they be not Phantasms, and delusions, but the very men, yet
all men are liars, but God is truth. I told you what a Necromancer
Saul was in the Old Testament, he would believe nothing unless a
prophet rose from the grave to teach him. There is another as good as
himself in the New Testament, and not another pattern in all the
Scripture to my remembrance, Luke xvi. 27. The rich man in hell urged
Abraham to send Lazarus to admonish his brethren of their wicked life;
Abraham refers to Moses and the Prophets. He that could not teach
himself when he was alive, would teach Abraham himself being in hell,
_Nay, Father Abraham, but if one went unto them from the dead, they
will repent._

“The mind is composed with quietness to hear the living; the
apparitions of dead men, beside the suspicion of delusion, would fill
us with gastly horror, and it were impossible we should be fit
scholars to learn if such strong perturbation of fear should be upon
us. How much better hath God ordained for our security, and
tranquillity, _that the priest's lips should preserve knowledge_? I
know, if God shall see it fit to have us disciplined by such means, he
can stir up the spirits of the faithful departed to come among us: So,
after Christ's resurrection many dead bodies of the Saints which slept
arose, and came out of their graves, and went into the Holy City, and
appeared unto many. This was not upon a small matter, but upon a brave
and renowned occasion: But for the Spirits of damnation, that are tied
in chains of darkness, there is no repassage for them, and it makes
more to strengthen our belief that never any did return from hell to
tell us their woeful tale, than if any should return. It is among the
severe penalties of damnation that there is no indulgence for the
smallest respite to come out of it. The heathen put that truth into
this fable. The Lion asked the Fox, why he never came to visit him
when he was sick: Says the Fox, because I can trace many beasts by the
print of their foot that have gone toward your den, Sir Lion, but I
cannot see the print of one foot that ever came back:

_Quia me vestigia terrent
Omnia te advorsum spectantia, nulla retrorsum._

So there is a beaten, and a broad road that leads the reprobate to
hell, but you do not find the print of one hoof that ever came back.
When I have given you my judgment about apparitions of the dead in
their descending from Heaven, or ascending from hell, I must tell you
in the third place, I have met with a thousand stories in Pontifician
writings concerning some that have had repassage from Purgatory to
their familiars upon earth. Notwithstanding the reverence I bear to
Gregory the Great, I cannot refrain to say; He was much to blame to
begin such fictions upon his credulity; others have been more to blame
that have invented such Legends; and they are most to be derided that
believe them. _O miserable Theology!_ if, thy tenets must be confirmed
by sick men's dreams, and dead men's phantastical apparitions!”

BP. HACKETT.

* * * * *

“It is a morose humour in some, even ministers, that they will not
give a due commendation to the deceased: whereby they not only offer a
seeming unkindness to the dead, but do a real injury to the living, by
discouraging virtue, and depriving us of the great instruments of
piety, good examples: which usually are far more effective methods of
instruction, than any precepts: These commonly urging only the
necessity of those duties, while the other shew the possibility and
manner of performing.

“But then, 'tis a most unchristian and uncharitable mistake in those,
that think it unlawful to commemorate the dead, and to celebrate their
memories: whereas there is no one thing does so much uphold and keep
up the honour and interest of religion amongst the multitude, as the
due observance of those Anniversaries which the Church has, upon this
account, scattered throughout the whole course of the year, would do:
and indeed to our neglect of this in a great part the present decay of
religion may rationally be imputed.

“Thus in this age of our's what Pliny saith of his, _Postquam desimus
facere laudanda, laudari quoque ineptum putamus._ Since people have
left off doing things that are praiseworthy, they look upon praise
itself as a silly thing.

“And possibly the generality of hearers themselves are not free from
this fault; who peradventure may fancy their own life upbraided, when
they hear another's commended.

“But that the servants of God, which depart this life in his faith and
fear, may and must be praised, I shall endeavour to make good upon
these three grounds.

“_In common justice to the deceased themselves._ Ordinary civility
teaches us to speak well of the dead. _Nec quicquam sanctius habet
reverentia superstitum, quàm ut amissos venerabiliter recordetur,_
says Ausonius, and makes this the ground of the Parentalia, which had
been ever since Numa's time.

“_Praise_, however it may become the living, is a just debt to the
deserts of the dead, who are now got clear out of the reach of envy;
which, if it have anything of the generous in it, will scorn,
vulture-like, to prey upon carcass.

“Besides, Christianity lays a greater obligation upon us; _The
Communion of Saints_ is a _Tenet_ of our faith. Now, as we ought not
_pray_ to or for them, so we may and must _praise_ them.

“This is the least we can do in return for those great offices, they
did the Church Militant, while they were with us, and now do, they are
with God; nor have we any other probable way of communicating with
them.

“The Philosopher in his Morals makes it a question, whether the dead
are in any way concerned in what befals them or their posterity after
their decease; and whether those honours and reproaches, which
survivors cast upon them, reach them or no? and he concludes it after
a long debate in the affirmative; not so, he says, as to alter their
state, but, _συμβάλλεσθαί τι_, to contribute somewhat to it.

“Tully, though not absolutely persuaded of an immortal soul, as
speaking doubtfully and variously of it, yet is constant to this, that
he takes a good name and a reputation, we leave behind us, to be a
kind of immortality.

“But there is more in it than so. Our remembrance of the Saints may be
a means to improve their bliss, and heighten their rewards to all
eternity. Abraham, the Father of the Faithful, hath his bosom thus
daily enlarged for new comers.

“Whether the heirs of the kingdom are, at their first admission,
instated into a full possession of all their glory, and kept to that
stint, I think may be a doubt. For if the faculty be perfected by the
object, about which 'tis conversant; then the faculties of those
blessed ones being continually employed upon an infinite object, must
needs be infinitely perficible, and capable still of being more and
more enlarged, and consequently of receiving still new and further
additions of glory.

“Not only so, (this is in Heaven:) but even the influence of that
example, they leave behind them on earth, drawing still more and more
souls after them to God, will also add to those improvements to the
end of the world, and bring in a revenue of accessory joys.

“And would it not be unjust in us then to deny them those glorious
advantages, which our commemoration and inclination may and ought to
give them.”[3]

ADAM LITTLETON.

[Footnote 3: “Five Sermons formerly printed,” p. 61., at the end of
the volume. The one from which the above passage is extracted is that
preached at the obsequies of the Right Honorable the Lady Jane
Cheyne.]

* * * * *

Circles and right lines limit and close all bodies, and the mortal
right lined circle, must conclude to shut up all. There is no Antidote
against the Opinion of Time, which, temporally considereth all things;
Our Fathers find their Graves in our short memories and sadly tell us
how we may be buried in our survivors. Grave-stones tell truth scarce
forty years: Generations pass while some Trees stand, and old families
last not three oaks. To be read by bare Inscriptions like many in
Gruter, to hope for Eternity by Ænigmatical Epithetes, or first
Letters of our names to be studied by Antiquaries, who we were, and
have new names given us like many of the Mummies, are cold
consolations unto the students of perpetuity even by everlasting
Languages.

SIR T. BROWNE.

CHAPTER CCXXXVI.

Go to!
You are a subtile nation, you physicians,
And grown the only cabinets in court!

B. JONSON.

The Doctor, who was charitable in all his opinions, used to account
and apologize for many of the errors of men, by what he called the
original sin of their constitution, using the term not theologically,
but in a physico-philosophical sense. What an old French physician
said concerning Charles VIII. was in entire accord with his
speculations,—_ce corps etoit composé de mauvais pâte, et de matiere
cathareuse._ Men of hard hearts and heavy intellect, he said, were
made of stony materials. For a drunkard, his qualifying censure
was,—“poor fellow! bibulous clay—bibulous clay!” Your light-brained,
light-hearted people, who are too giddy ever to be good, had not earth
enough, he said, in their composition. Those upon whose ungrateful
temper benefits were ill bestowed, and on whom the blessings of
fortune were thrown away, he excused by saying that they were made
from a sandy soil;—and for Mammon's muckworms,—their mould was taken
from the dunghill.

Mason the poet was a man of ill-natured politics, out of humour with
his country till the French Revolution startled him and brought him
into a better state of feeling. This however was not while the Doctor
lived, and till that time he could see nothing but tyranny and
injustice in the proceedings of the British Government, and nothing
but slavery and ruin to come for the nation. These opinions were the
effects of Whiggery[1] acting upon a sour stomach and a saturnine
constitution. To think ill of the present and augur worse of the
future has long been accounted a proof of patriotism among those who
by an illustrious antiphrasis call themselves patriots. “What the
Romans scorned to do after the battle of Cannæ,” said Lord Keeper
Finch in one of his solid and eloquent speeches, “what the Venetians
never did when they had lost all their _terra firma_, that men are now
taught to think a virtue and the sign of a wise and good man,
_desperare de Republica_: and all this in a time of as much justice
and peace at home, as good laws for the security of religion and
liberty, as good execution of these laws, as great plenty of trade and
commerce abroad, and as likely a conjuncture of affairs for the
continuance of these blessings to us, as ever nation prospered under.”

[Footnote 1: See Vol. IV. p. 375.]

The Doctor, when he spoke of this part of Mason's character, explained
it by saying that the elements had not been happily tempered in
him—“cold and dry, Sir!” and then he shook his head and knit his brow
with that sort of compassionate look which came naturally into his
countenance when he was questioned concerning a patient whose state
was unfavourable.

But though he believed that many of our sins and propensities are bred
in the bone, he disputed the other part of the proverb, and maintained
that they might be got out of the flesh. And then generalizing with a
rapidity worthy of Humboldt himself, he asserted that all political
evils in modern ages and civilized states were mainly owing to a
neglect of the medical art;—and that there would not, and could not be
so many distempers in the body politic, if the _primæ viæ_ were but
attended to with proper care; an opinion in which he was fortified by
the authority of Sir William Temple.

“I have observed the fate of _Campania_,” says that eminent statesman,
“determine contrary to all appearances, by the caution and conduct of
a General, which was attributed by those that knew him, to his age and
infirmities, rather than his own true qualities, acknowledged
otherwise to have been as great as most men of the age. I have seen
the counsels of a noble country grow bold, or timorous, according to
the fits of his good or ill-health that managed them, and the pulse of
the Government beat high with that of the Governor; and this unequal
conduct makes way for great accidents in the world. Nay, I have often
reflected upon the counsels and fortunes of the greatest monarchies
rising and decaying sensibly with the ages and healths of the Princes
and chief officers that governed them. And I remember one great
minister that confessed to me, when he fell into one of his usual fits
of the gout, he was no longer able to bend his mind or thought to any
public business, nor give audiences beyond two or three of his
domestics, though it were to save a kingdom; and that this proceeded
not from any violence of pain, but from a general languishing and
faintness of spirits, which made him in those fits think nothing worth
the trouble of one careful or solicitous thought. For the approaches,
or lurkings of the Gout, the Spleen, or the Scurvy, nay the very fumes
of indigestion, may indispose men to thought and to care, as well as
diseases of danger and pain. Thus accidents of health grow to be
accidents of State, and public constitutions come to depend in a great
measure upon those of particular men; which makes it perhaps seem
necessary in the choice of persons for great employments (at least
such as require constant application and pains) to consider their
bodies as well as their minds, and ages and health as well as their
abilities.”

Cervantes according to the Doctor clearly perceived this great truth,
and went farther than Sir W. Temple, for he perceived also the
practical application, though it was one of those truths which because
it might have been dangerous for him to propound them seriously, he
was fain to bring forward in a comic guise, leaving it for the wise to
discover his meaning, and for posterity to profit by it. He
knew—(_Daniel loquitur_) what did not Cervantes know?—that if Philip
II. had committed himself to the superintendence of a Physician
instead of a Father Confessor, many of the crimes and miseries by
which his reign is so infamously distinguished, might have been
prevented. A man of his sad spirit and melancholy complection to be
dieted upon fish the whole forty days of Lent, two days in the week
during the rest of the year, and on the eve of every holiday
besides,—what could be expected but atrabilious thoughts, and
cold-blooded resolutions? Therefore Cervantes appointed a Physician
over Sancho in his Baratarian government: the humour of the scene was
for all readers, the application for those who could penetrate beyond
the veil, the benefit for happier ages when the art of Government
should be better understood, and the science of medicine be raised to
its proper station in the state.

Shakespere intended to convey the same political lesson, when he said
“take physic pomp!” He used the word pomp instead of power,
cautiously, for in those days it was a perilous thing to meddle with
matters of state.

When the Philosopher Carneades undertook to confute Zeno the Stoic in
public argument, (still reader _Daniel loquitur_) how did he prepare
himself for the arduous disputation? by purging his head with
hellebore, to the intent that the corrupt humours which ascended
thither from the stomach should not disturb the seat of memory and
judgment, and obscure his intellectual perception. The theory, Sir,
was erroneous, but the principle is good. When we require best music
from the instrument, ought we not first to be careful that all its
parts are in good order, and if we find a string that jars, use our
endeavours for tuning it?

It may have been the jest of a satirist that Dryden considered stewed
prunes as the best means of putting his body into a state favourable
for heroic composition; but that odd person George Wither tells us of
himself that he usually watched and fasted when he composed, that his
spirit was lost if at such times he tasted meat or drink, and that if
he took a glass of wine he could not write a verse:—no wonder
therefore that his verses were for the most part in a weak and watery
vein.[2] Father Paul Sarpi had a still more extraordinary custom; it
is not to an enemy, but to his friend and admirers that we are
indebted for informing us with what care that excellent writer
attended to physical circumstance as affecting his intellectual
powers. For when he was either reading or writing, alone, “his
manner,” says Sir Henry Wotton, “was to sit fenced with a castle of
paper about his chair, and over head; for he was of our Lord of St.
Alban's opinion _that all air is predatory_, and especially hurtful
when the spirits are most employed.”

[Footnote 2: The Greek Proverb, adverted to by Horace in i. Epist.
xix., was in the Doctor's thoughts.

_ὓδωρ δὲ πίνων οὐδὲν ἂν τέκοι σοφόν._]

There should be a State Physician to the King, besides his Physicians
ordinary and extraordinary,—one whose sole business should be to watch
over the royal health as connected with the discharge of the royal
functions, a head keeper of the King's health.

For the same reason there ought to be a Physician for the Cabinet, a
Physician for the Privy Council, a Physician for the Bench of Bishops,
a Physician for the twelve Judges, two for the House of Lords, four
for the House of Commons, one for the Admiralty, one for the War
Office, one for the Directors of the East India Company, (there was no
Board of Controul in the Doctor's days, or he would certainly have
advised that a Physician should be placed upon that Establishment
also): one for the Lord Mayor, two for the Common Council, four for
the Livery. (He was speaking in the days of Wilkes and Liberty). How
much mischief, said he, might have been prevented by cupping the Lord
Mayor, blistering a few of the Aldermen, administering salts and manna
to lower the pulse of civic patriotism, and keeping the city orators
upon a low regimen for a week before every public meeting.

Then in the Cabinet what evils might be averted by administering
laxatives or corroborants as the case required.

In the Lords and Commons, by clearing away bile, evacuating ill
humours and occasionally by cutting for the simples.[3]

[Footnote 3: The probable origin of this Proverb is given in Grose's
Dictionary of the vulgar tongue.]

While men are what they are, weak, frail, inconstant, fallible,
peccable, sinful creatures,—it is in vain to hope that Peers and
Commoners will prepare themselves for the solemn exercise of their
legislative functions by fasting and prayer,—that so they may be
better fitted for retiring into themselves, and consulting upon
momentous questions the Urim and Thummim which God hath placed in the
breast of every man. But even as Laws are necessary for keeping men
within the limits of their duty when conscience fails, so in this case
it should be part of the law of Parliament that what its Members will
not do for themselves, the Physician should do for them. They should
go through a preparatory course of medicine before every session, and
be carefully attended as long as Parliament was sitting.

Traces of such a practice, as of many important and primeval truths,
are found among savages, from whom the Doctor was of opinion that much
might be learnt, if their customs were diligently observed and their
traditions carefully studied. In one of the bravest nations upon the
Mississippi, the warriors before they set out upon an expedition
always prepared themselves by taking the Medicine of War, which was an
emetic, about a gallon in quantity for each man, and to be swallowed
at one draught. There are other tribes in which the Beloved Women
prepare a beverage at the Physic Dance, and it is taken to wash away
sin.

Here said the Doctor are vestiges of early wisdom, probably
patriarchal and if so, revealed,—for he held that all needful
knowledge was imparted to man at his creation. And the truth of the
principle is shown in common language. There is often a philosophy in
popular expressions and forms of speech, which escapes notice, because
words are taken as they are uttered, at their current value and we
rest satisfied with their trivial acceptation. We take them in the
husk and the shell, but sometimes it is worth while to look for the
kernel. Do we not speak of _sound_ and orthodox opinions,—_sound_
principles, _sound_ learning? _mens sana in corpore sano._ A sound
mind is connected with a sound body, and sound and orthodox opinions
result from the sanity of both. Unsound opinions are diseased ones,
and therefore the factious, the heretical and the schismatic, ought to
be put under the care of a physician.

“I have read of a gentleman,” says Cotton Mather, “who had an humour
of making singular and fanciful expositions of scripture; but one
Doctor Sim gave him a dose of physic, which when it had wrought, the
gentleman became orthodox immediately and expounded at the old rate no
more.”

Thus as the accurate and moderate and erudite Mosheim informs us, the
French theologian Claude Pajon was of opinion that in order to produce
that amendment of the heart which is called regeneration, nothing more
is requisite than to put the body, if its habit is bad, into a sound
state by the power of physic, and having done this, than to set truth
and falsehood before the understanding, and virtue and vice before the
will, clearly and distinctly in their genuine colours, so as that
their nature and their properties may be fully apprehended. But the
Doctor thought that Pajon carried his theory too far, and ought to
have been physicked himself.

That learned and good man Barnabas Oley, the friend and biographer of
the saintly Herbert, kept within the bounds of discretion, when he
delivered an opinion of the same tendency. After showing what power is
exercised by art over nature, 1st. in inanimate materials, 2dly. in
vegetables, and 3dly. the largeness or latitude of its power over the
memory, the imagination and locomotive faculties of sensitive
creatures, he proceeds to the fourth rank, the rational, “which adds a
diadem of excellency to the three degrees above mentioned, being an
approach unto the nature angelical and divine.” “Now,” says he, “1st.
in as much as the human body partly agrees with the first rank of
materials inanimate, so can Art partly use it, as it uses them, to
frame (rather to modify the frame of) it into great variety; the head
thus, the nose so; and other ductile parts, as is seen and read, after
other fashions. 2. Art can do something to the Body answerable to what
Gardeners do to plants. If our Blessed Saviour's words (Matthew VI.
27.) deny all possibility of adding procerity or tallness to the
stature, yet as the Lord Verulam notes to make the Body dwarfish,
crook-shouldered (as some Persians did) to recover straightness, or
procure slenderness, is in the power of Art. But, 3. much more
considerable authority has it over the humours, either so to impel and
enrage them, that like furious streams they shall dash the Body (that
bottom wherein the precious Soul is embarked) against dangerous rocks,
or run it upon desperate sands; or so to attemper and tune them, that
they shall become like calm waters or harmonious instruments for
virtuous habits, introduced by wholesome moral precepts, to practise
upon. It is scarce credible what services the _Noble Science of
Physic_ may do unto Moral, (_yea to Grace and Christian_) virtue, by
prescribing diet to prevent, or medicine to allay the fervors and
eruptions of humours, of blood, and of that _irriguum concupiscentiæ_,
or _ὁ τροχὸς τῆς γενέσεως_, especially if these jewels, their recipes,
light into obedient ears. These helps of bettering nature, are within
her lowest and middle region of Diet and Medicine.”

A sensible woman of the Doctor's acquaintance, (the mother of a young
family) entered so far into his views upon this subject, that she
taught her children from their earliest childhood to consider
ill-humour as a disorder which was to be cured by physic. Accordingly
she had always small doses ready, and the little patients whenever it
was thought needful took rhubarb _for the crossness_. No punishment
was required. Peevishness or ill-temper and rhubarb were associated in
their minds always as cause and effect.

There are Divines who have thought that melancholy may with advantage
be treated in age, as fretfulness in this family was in childhood.
Timothy Rogers, who having been long afflicted with Trouble of Mind
and the Disease of Melancholy, wrote a discourse concerning both for
the use of his fellow sufferers, says of Melancholy, that “it does
generally indeed first begin at the body, and then conveys its venom
to the mind; and if any thing could be found that might keep the blood
and spirits in their due temper and motion, this would obstruct its
further progress, and in a great measure keep the soul clear. I
pretend not (he continues) to tell you what medicines are proper to
remove it, and I know of none, I leave you to advise with such as are
learned in the profession of Physic.” And then he quotes a passage
from “old Mr. Greenham's Comfort for afflicted Consciences.” “If a
Man,” saith old Mr. Greenham, “that is troubled in conscience come to
a Minister, it may be he will look all to the Soul and nothing to the
Body: if he come to a Physician he considereth the Body and neglecteth
the Soul. For my part, I would never have the Physician's counsel
despised, nor the labour of the Minister neglected: because the Soul
and Body dwelling together,—it is convenient, that as the Soul should
be cured by the Word, by Prayer, by Fasting, or by Comforting, so the
Body must be brought into some temperature by physic, and diet, by
harmless diversions and such like ways; providing always that it be so
done in the fear of God, as not to think by these ordinary means quite
to smother or evade our troubles, but to use them as preparatives,
whereby our Souls may be made more capable of the spiritual methods
which are to follow afterwards.”

But Timothy Bright, Doctor of Physic, is the person who had the most
profound reverence for the medical art. “No one,” he said, “should
touch so holy a thing that hath not passed the whole discipline of
liberal sciences, and washed himself pure and clean in the waters of
wisdom and understanding.” “O Timothy Bright, Timothy Bright,” said
the Doctor, “rightly wert thou called Timothy Bright, for thou wert a
Bright Timothy!” Nor art thou less deserving of praise, O Timothy
Bright, say I, for having published an abridgement of the Book of Acts
and Monuments of the Church, written by that Reverend Father Master
John Fox, and by thee thus reduced into a more accessible form,—for
such as either through want of leisure or ability, have not the use of
so necessary a history.

CHAPTER CCXXXVII.

MORE MALADIES THAN THE BEST PHYSICIANS CAN PREVENT BY REMEDIES.—THE
DOCTOR NOT GIVEN TO QUESTIONS, AND OF THE POCO-CURANTE SCHOOL AS TO
ALL THE POLITICS OF THE DAY.

A slight answer to an intricate and useless question is a fit cover to
such a dish; a cabbage leaf is good enough to cover a pot of
mushrooms.

JEREMY TAYLOR.

Yet in his serious moods the Doctor sadly confessed with that Sir
George, whom the Scotch ungratefully call Bloody Mackenzie, that “as
in the body natural, so likewise in the politic, Nature hath provided
more diseases than the best of Physicians can prevent by remedies.” He
knew that kingdoms as well as individuals have their agues and
calentures, are liable to plethora sometimes and otherwhiles to
atrophy, to fits of madness which no hellebore can cure, and to decay
and dissolution which no human endeavours can avert. With the maladies
of the State indeed he troubled himself not, for though a true-born
Englishman, he was as to all politics of the day, of the Poco-curante
school. But with those of the human frame his thoughts were
continually employed; it was his business to deal with them; his duty
and his earnest desire to heal them, under God's blessing, where
healing was humanly possible, or to alleviate them, when any thing
more than alleviation was beyond the power of human skill.

The origin of evil was a question upon which he never ventured. Here
too, he said with Sir George Mackenzie, “as I am not able by the
Jacob's Ladder of my merit to scale Heaven, so am I less able by the
Jacob's Staff of my private ability to take up the true altitude of
its mysteries:” and borrowing a play upon words from the same old
Essayist, he thought the brain had too little _pia mater_, which was
too curious in such inquiries. But the mysteries of his own profession
afforded “ample room and verge enough” for his speculations, however
wide and wild their excursions. Those mysteries are so many, so
momentous, and so inscrutable that he wondered not at any
superstitions which have been excogitated by bewildered imagination,
and implicitly followed by human weakness in its hopes and fears, its
bodily and its mental sufferings.

As little did he wonder at the theories advanced by men who were in
their days, the Seraphic and Angelic and Irrefragable Doctors of the
healing art:—the tartar of Paracelsus, the Blas and Gas of Van
Helmont, nor in later times at the animalcular hypotheses of Langius
and Paullinus; nor at the belief of elder nations, as the Jews, and of
savages every-where that all maladies are the immediate work of evil
spirits. But when he called to mind the frightful consequences to
which the belief of this opinion has led, the cruelties which have
been exercised, the crimes which have been perpetrated, the miseries
which have been inflicted and endured, it made him shudder at
perceiving that the most absurd error may produce the greatest
mischief to society, if it be accompanied with presumption, and if any
real or imaginary interest be connected with maintaining it.

The Doctor like his Master and benefactor Peter Hopkins, was of the
Poco-curante school in politics. He said that the Warwickshire
gentleman who was going out with his hounds when the two armies were
beginning to engage at Edge-hill, was not the worst Englishman who
took the field that day.

Local circumstances favoured this tendency to political indifference.
It was observed in the 34th Chapter of this Opus that one of the many
reasons for which our Philosopher thought Doncaster a very likeable
place of residence was that it sent no Members to Parliament. And
Yorkshire being too large a county for any of its great families to
engage lightly in contesting it, the Election fever however it might
rage in other towns or other parts of the county, never prevailed
there. But the constitution of the Doctor's mind secured him from all
excitement of this nature. Even in the days of Wilkes and Liberty,
when not a town in England escaped the general Influenza, he was not
in the slightest degree affected by it, nor did he ever take up the
Public Advertiser for the sake of one of Junius's Letters.

CHAPTER CCXXXVIII.

_Intendale chi può; che non è stretto
Alcuno a creder pïu di quel che vuole._

ORLANDO INNAMORATO.

Among the lost works of antiquity, there are few poems which I should
so much rejoice in recovering, as those of Simonides. Landor has said
of him that he and Pindar wrote nothing bad; that his characteristics
were simplicity, brevity, tenderness, and an assiduous accuracy of
description. “If I were to mention,” he adds “what I fancy would give
an English reader the best idea of his manner, I should say, the book
of Ruth.”

One species of composition wherein he excelled was that which the
Dutch in their straight-forward way call _Lykzangen_ or _Lykdichten_,
but for which we have no appropriate name,—poems in commemoration of
the dead. Beautiful specimens are to be found in the poetry of all
countries, and this might be expected, threnodial being as natural as
amatory verse; and as the characteristic of the latter is passion with
little reflection, that of the former is, as naturally, to be at the
same time passionate and thoughtful.

Our own language was rich in such poems during the Elizabethan age,
and that which followed it. Of foreign poets none has in this
department exceeded Chiabrera.

There is a passage among the fragments of Simonides which is called by
his old editor consolatory, _παρηγορικόν_: but were it not for the
authority of Seneca, who undoubtedly was acquainted with the whole
poem, I should not easily be persuaded that so thoughtful, so pensive,
so moralizing a poet would, in any mood of mind have recommended such
consolation:

_Τοῦ μὲν θανόντος οὐκ ἄν ἐνθυμοίμεθα,
Εἴ τι φρονοῖμεν, πλεῖον ἡμέρας μιᾶς·_

let us not call to mind the dead, if we think of him at all, more than
a single day. Indeed I am not certain from what Seneca says, whether
the poet was speaking in his own, or in an assumed character, nor
whether he spoke seriously or satirically; or I cannot but suspect
that the passage would appear very differently, if we saw it in its
place. Malherbe gives the same sort of advice in his consolation to M.
du Périer upon the death of a daughter.

_Ne te lasse donc plus d'inutiles complaintes;
Mais sage à l'avenir,
Aime une ombre comme ombre, et des cendres éteintes
Eteins le souvenir;_

such a feeling is much more in character with a Frenchman than with
Simonides.

Seneca himself, Stoic though he was, gave no such advice, but
accounted the remembrance of his departed friends among his solemn
delights, not looking upon them as lost: “_mihi amicorum defunctorum
cogitatio dulcis ac blanda est; habui enim illos, tanquam amissurus;
amissi tanquam habeam._”

My venerable friend was not hardened by a profession, which has too
often the effect of blunting the feelings, even if it does not harden
the heart. His disposition and his happy education preserved him from
that injury; and as his religion taught him that death was not in
itself an evil,—that for him, and for those who believed with him, it
had no sting,—the subject was as familiar to his meditations as to his
professional practice. A speculation which Jeremy Taylor, without
insisting on it, offers to the consideration of inquisitive and modest
persons, appeared to him far more probable than the common opinion
which Milton expresses when he says that the fruit of the Forbidden
Tree brought death into the world. That, the Bishop argues, “which
_would have been_, had there been no sin, and that which _remains_
when the sin or guiltiness is gone, is not properly the punishment of
the sin. But dissolution of the soul and body should have been, if
Adam had not sinned; for the world would have been too little to have
entertained those myriads of men, which must, in all reason, have been
born from that blessing of ‘Increase and multiply,’ which was given at
the first creation: and to have confined mankind to the pleasures of
this world, in case he had not fallen, would have been a punishment of
his innocence: but however, it _might have been_, though God had not
been angry, and _shall still be_, even when the sin is taken off. The
proper consequent of this will be, that when the Apostle says ‘Death
came in by Sin,’ and that ‘Death is the wages of Sin,’ he primarily
and literally means the solemnities, and causes, and infelicities, and
untimeliness of temporal death; and not merely the dissolution, which
is directly no evil, but an inlet to a better state.”

As our friend agreed in this opinion with Bishop Taylor; and moreover
as he read in Scriptures that Enoch and Elijah had been translated
from this world without tasting of death; and as he deemed it probable
at least, that St. John, the beloved disciple, had been favoured with
a like exemption from the common lot, he thought that Asgill had been
hardly dealt with in being expelled from Parliament for his
“Argument,” that according to the Covenant of Eternal Life, revealed
in the Scriptures, man might be translated from hence, without passing
through death. The opinion Dr. Dove thought, might be enthusiastic,
the reasoning wild, the conclusion untenable, and the manner of the
book indecorous, or irreverent. But he had learnt that much, which
appears irreverent, and in reality is so, has not been irreverently
intended; and the opinion, although groundless, seemed to him any
thing rather than profane.

But the exemptions which are recorded in the Bible could not, in his
judgement be considered as showing what would have been the common lot
if our first parents had preserved their obedience. This he opined
would more probably have been euthanasy than translation; death, not
preceded by infirmity and decay, but as welcome, and perhaps as
voluntary as sleep.

Or possibly the transition from a corporeal to a spiritual,—or more
accurately in our imperfect language,—from an earthly to a celestial
state of being, might have been produced by some developement, some
formal mutation as visible, (adverting to a favourite fancy of his
own) as that which in the butterfly was made by the ancients their
emblem of immortality. Bishop Van Mildert shews us upon scriptural
authority that “the degree of perfection at which we may arrive has no
definite limits, but is to go on increasing as long as this state of
probation continues.” So in the paradisiacal, and possibly in the
millennial state, he thought, that with such an intellectual and moral
improvement, a corresponding organic evolution might keep pace; and
that as the child expands into man, so man might mature into Angel.

CHAPTER CCXXXIX.

_Toutes veritez ne sont pas bonnes à dire serieusement._

GOMGAM.

Warburton has argued that “from the _nature_ of any action morality
cannot arise, nor from its effects;—not from the first, because being
only reasonable or unreasonable, nothing follows but a fitness in
doing one, and an absurdity in doing the other;—not from the second,
because did the good or evil produced make the action _moral_, brutes
from whose actions proceed both good and evil, would have morality.”
But Warburton's proposition is fallacious, and his reasoning is
inconclusive; there is an essential difference between right and
wrong, upon which the moral law is founded; and in the _reductio ad
absurdum_ upon which he relies, there is no absurdity. The language of
the people is sometimes true to nature and philosophy when that of the
learned departs widely from the one, and is mistaken in the other.
When we call a beast vicious, we mean strictly what the word implies;
and if we never speak of one as virtuous, it is because man reserves
the praise of virtue to his own kind. The word good supplies its
place. A horse that has any vice in him is never called good.

“In this case alone it is,” says Lord Shaftesbury, “we call any
creature worthy or virtuous, when it can have the notion of a public
interest, and can attain the speculation or science of what is morally
good or ill, admirable or blameable, right or wrong. For though we may
vulgarly call a horse _vicious_, yet we never say of a good one, nor
of any mere beast, idiot, or changeling, though ever so good-natured,
that he is _worthy_ or _virtuous_.

“So that if a creature be generous, kind, constant, compassionate, yet
if he cannot reflect on what he himself does, or sees others do, so as
to take notice of what is _worthy_ or _honest_; and make that notice
or conception of _worth_ and _honesty_ to be an object of his
affection, he has not the character of being virtuous; for thus, and
no otherwise, he is capable of having a sense of right and wrong; a
sentiment or judgement of what is done through just, equal and good
affection, or the contrary.”

The Jews upon this subject agree with the common and natural opinion;
and the Talmud accordingly, when any mischief has been done by an
animal, distinguishes between an innocent beast and a vicious one, the
owner of an innocent one being required to pay only half the amount of
an injury thus, as it was deemed, casually incurred. There have been
cases in which the laws have considered a beast as guilty of a crime,
and amenable therefore to penal justice. In the year 1403 Simon de
Baudemont, Lieutenant at Meulont of Jhean Lord of Maintenon the
Bailiff of Mantes and Meulont, signed an attestation making known the
expences, which had been incurred in order to execute justice on a Sow
that had eaten a child. “For expences with the jail the charge was six
_sols_. Item, to the executioner who came from Paris to Meulont to put
the sentence in execution by the command of our Lord the Bailiff and
of the king's Attorney, 54 _sols_. Item, for the carriage that
conveyed her to execution, 6 _sols_. Item, for ropes to tie and haul
her up, 2 _sols_, 8 _deniers_. Item, for gloves 12 _deniers_;
amounting in the whole to 69 _sols_, 8 _deniers_.” It must be supposed
the Executioner insisted upon the gloves, as a point of honour, that
no one might reproach him with having sullied his hands by performing
upon such a subject.

When Apollonius was introduced to the King of Babylon, the King
invited him to sacrifice with him, for he was about to offer a Nisean
horse to the Sun, selected for its beauty and adorned with all pomp
for the occasion. But the Philosopher replied, “O King do you
sacrifice after your manner, and give me leave to sacrifice after
mine.” He then took frankincense, and prayed, saying, “O Sun, conduct
me so far as it seemeth good to me and to thee. And let me become
acquainted with virtuous men; but as for the wicked, let me neither
know them nor they me.” And throwing the frankincense in the fire he
observed the smoke, how it ascended and which way it bent, and just
touching the fire when it seemed that he had sacrificed enough, he
said to the King that he had performed the rites of his country, and
forthwith withdrew that he might have nothing to do with blood and
slaughter. Afterwards when the King took him where were many lions,
bears and panthers reserved for sport, invited him to go with him and
hunt them, Apollonius replied, “King, you should remember, that I did
not chuse to be present at your sacrifice, much less should I like to
see animals wounded, and by the pain of their wounds rendered more
ferocious than nature has made them.”

Isaac la Peyresc thought differently from the Talmudists and the
French Lawyers. He says, quoting the Apostle, _Ubi non est lex, neque
prævaricatio est._ Where ‘no law is, there is no transgression.’
_Prævaricatio autem eadem est, quæ transgressio legis: illa ipsa
proprie quæ peccatum imputationis labe infecit. Quod ut compingatur in
oculos: pecudes actualiter et materialiter eadem faciunt, quæ
transgrediuntur homines; incestant, rapiunt, occidunt; non erit tamen
uspiam adeo supinus qui dicat, pecudes peccare ad similitudinem
transgressionis hominum; quia pecudes quæ hæc peccant, sequuntur
tantum suam naturam et suam materiam; neque legum transgrediuntur
ullam, quia nulla eis data est cujus transgressione formetur in eis et
imputetur peccatum._

Yet it cannot be doubted that in such a case Peyresc himself,
disregarding his own arguments would have ordered the Sow to be put to
death.

This author derives _peccatum_ from _pecus_, for, says he, “as often
as a man wilfully departs from that right reason which constitutes him
man,—as often as under the impulse of that brute matter which he has
in common with beasts, he commits any action fitting in a beast, but
unworthy in man, so often he seems to fall below his own species, and
sink into that of a brute.” “_Latini nomen peccati mutuati sunt à
pecore. Quoties enim homo delirat à rectâ ratione illa quæ hominem
constituit; quoties impulsu materiæ suæ quam habet communem cum
brutis, quid agit dignum pecore, et indignum homine, toties cadere
videtur à specie suâ, et incidere in speciem pecoris sive bruti._”

_Pecunia_ is known to be derived from _Pecus_, wealth, of which money
is the representative, having originally consisted in cattle. As money
is proverbially the root of all evil, this etymological connection
might be remarkable enough to be deemed mysterious by those who are
fond of discovering mysteries in words.

“Brutes,” Hutchinson says, “are made in scripture objects to inculcate
the duties in society, and even emblems of spiritual and divine
perfections. Many of them are more strictly bound in pairs than is
common between men and women; many both males and females take greater
care and pains, and run greater risques for the education and defence
of their young, than any of our species. Many of them excel us in
instructing their young, so in policy, in industry, in mechanical arts
and operations. And there are other species among them, examples to
deter men from the vices in society.” “The power in brutes,” he says,
“is by the same agent as that in the body of man, and they are made of
the same species of dust; most of them are guided by what is called
instinct; some of them are tamed and disciplined and their powers made
serviceable to men, and all of them are subject to the immediate power
of God, when he pleases to direct them. Mechanism is carried so far in
them, that in the parts or degrees of sensation they excel man; that
by every one of their actions man might see the _ne plus ultra_ of
sense, and know how to distinguish the difference between them and the
decayed image in him, to value it accordingly, and excite a
proportionate zeal in him to recover the first perfections in that
image, and augment them to secure the pleasure of exercising them upon
the most desirable objects to all eternity.” So far so good, but this
once influential writer makes an erroneous conclusion when he says,
“if you allow anything farther than mechanism to Brutes, imagine that
they have souls, or think, or act the part of souls: you either begin
to think that you have no soul, or that it is, such as are in Brutes,
mortal.”

The question _de Origine et Naturâ Animarum in Brutis_ was brought
before the Theologians of seven Protestant Academies in the year 1635,
by Daniel Sennertus Professor of Medicine at Wittemberg, of whose
Institutes Sir Thomas Browne says to a student in that art, “assure
yourself that when you are a perfect master of them you will seldom
meet with any point in physic to which you will not be able to speak
like a man.” It was the opinion of this very learned professor that
what in scholastic language is called the _form_ of every perfect
thing, (distinguished from _figure,—forma est naturæ bonum, figura,
artis opus_) though it is not a soul, yet even in precious stones is
something altogether different from the four elements, and that every
soul, or living principle, is a certain quintessence; the wonderful
operations in plants, and the more wonderful actions of brute
creatures, far exceeding all power of the elements, had convinced him
of this. But for asserting it, Freitagius the medical Professor at
Groninghen attacked him fiercely as a blasphemer and a heretic.
Sennertus being then an old man was more moved by this outrage than
became one of his attainments and high character. So he laid the case
before the Universities of Leipsic, Rostock, Basle, Marpurg,
Konigsberg, Jena, Strasburg, and Altorff, and he requested their
opinion upon these two propositions, whether what he had affirmed,
that the souls of brute creatures had been created at first from
nothing by the Deity, and were not of an elementary nature, but of
something different, was blasphemous and heretical, or whether it were
not an ignorant opinion of his assailant, that brute animals consisted
wholly of elementary matter, both as to their body and soul?

They all answered the questions more or less at large, the Leipsic
Doctors saying _officii nostri duximus esse ut in timore Domini ea sub
diligentem disquisitionem vocaremus._ They saw nothing irreligious in
the opinion that God at the creation had formed the bodies of brutes
from elementary matter, and created their souls _ex nihilo_; after
which both were reproduced in the natural course of generation; these
souls however were not immortal, nor so separable from the matter with
which they were united, as to survive it, and exist without it, or
return again into their bodies; but when the animals died, the animal
soul died also. Thus the excellence of man was unimpaired, and the
privilege of the human soul remained inviolate, the prerogative of man
being that God had breathed into him the breath of life, whereby he
became a living soul. Thus they fully acquitted Sennertus of the
charge brought against him; and waiving any such direct condemnation
of his accuser as he had desired, condemned in strong terms the
insolent manner in which the accusation had been preferred.

The Theologians of Rostock replied more briefly. Dismissing at once
the charge of blasphemy and heresy as absurd, they treated the
question as purely philosophical, saying, “_Quod de elementari naturâ
animarum brutorum dicitur, de illo nostrum non est disserere.
Arbitramur, hæc non solum Philosophorum, sed et libertati, super his
modestè, veritatis inveniendæ studio, philosophantium permittenda;
quos nimium constringere, et unius hominis, Aristotelis, alteriusve,
velle alligare opinioni, pugnare videtur cum naturâ intellectus
humani, quem nulli opinioni servum Deus esse voluit._” Concerning the
second question, they were not willing, they said, to draw the saw of
contention with any one; “_Si tamen, quod sentimus dicendum est,
respondemus, illum qui cœlum et terram ex nihilo creavit, non eguisse
ullâ materiâ, ex quâ brutorum animas produceret; sed illi placuisse
iis quæ Moses recitat verbis compellare terram et aquam, et ad solius
Omnipotentis nutum et imperium, ex subjectis quæ compellârit, animas
emersisse._” This answer Sennertus obtained through his friend
Lauremberg the Horticulturist and Botanist, who advised him at the
same time to disregard all invidious attacks; “_Turbas tibi dari quòd
liberè philosophari satagis, id ipse nôsti, neque novum esse, neque
insolens, hâc ætate. Eandem tecum sortem experiuntur omnes eleganter
et solidè eruditi, quibus qui paria facere non valet, invidet et
oblatrat. Tu verò noli hoc nomine te quicquam macerare neu
obtrectationem illam gravius vocare ad animum. Nota est orbi tua
eruditio, tua virtus et ingenuitas, quæ ea propter nullam patietur
jacturam. Tu modo, ut hactenus fecisti, pergito bene mereri de
Republicâ literariâ, et mihi favere, certò tibi persuasus, habere te
hîc loci hominem tui amantem, et observantem maxime._”

Zuinger answered more at large for the Faculty at Basle. They bade him
not to marvel that he should be accused of heresy and blasphemy,
seeing that the same charge has been brought against their
Theologians, who when they taught according to Scripture that God
alone was the Father of the spirits as their parents were of their
bodies, and that the reasonable soul therefore was not derived from
their parents, but infused and concreated _θύραθεν à Deo ἀμέσως_ were
accused either of Pelagianism, as if they had denied Original Sin, or
of blasphemy, as if they had made God the author of sin. They
admonished him to regard such calumnies more justly and quietly, for
evil and invidious tongues could never detract from that estimation
which he had won for him in the Republic of Letters. Nevertheless as
he had asked for their opinion, they would freely deliver it.

First then as to the postulate which he had premised in the Epistle
accompanying his Questions, that wherever there is creation, something
is produced from nothing, _(ubicunque creatio est, ibi aliquid ex
nihilo producitur)_ if by this he intended, that in no mode of
creation, whether it were _κτίσις_, or _ποίησις_, or _πλᾶσις_ there
was no substrate matter out of which something was made by the
omnipotent virtue of the Deity, in that case they thought, that his
opinion was contrary to Scripture, forasmuch as it plainly appeared in
the book of Genesis, that neither the male nor female were created
from nothing, but the man from the dust of the ground, and the woman
from one of his ribs, _tanquam præcedentibus corporum materieribus_.
But though it is indubitable that the creation of the soul in either
parent was immediately _ex nihilo_, as was shewn in the creation of
Adam we see nevertheless that the name of creation has been applied by
Moses to the formation _(plasmationi)_ of their bodies. But if
Sennertus's words were to be understood as intending that wherever
there was a creation, something was produced in this either _ex
nihilo_ absolutely, or relatively and _κατά τι_ out of something, some
preceding matter, which though certainly in itself something, yet
relatively,—that which is made out of it, is nothing, _(nihil, aut non
ens)_ because it hath in itself no power, liability, or aptitude that
it should either be, or become that which God by his miraculous and
omnipotent virtue makes it, they had no difficulty in assenting to
this. As for example, the dust of which God formed the body of Adam
was something and nothing. Something in itself, for it was earth;
nothing in respect of that admirable work of the human body which God
formed of it.

As for the question whether his opinion was blasphemous and heretical,
it could be neither one nor the other, for it neither derogated from
the glory of God, nor touched upon any fundamental article of faith.
Some there were who opined that Chaos was created _ex nihilo_, which
they understood by Tohu Vabohu, from which all things celestial and
elementary were afterwards mediately created by God. Others exploding
Chaos held that heaven, earth, water and air, were created _ex
nihilo_. But they did not charge each other with blasphemy, and heresy
because of this disagreement, and verily they who thought that the
souls of brutes were originally created by God _ex nihilo_ appeared no
more to derogate from the might, majesty and glory of God, than those
who held that brutes were wholly created from the element. The virtue
of an omnipotent God became in either case presupposed.

There was no heresy they said in his assertion that the souls of
brutes were not of an elementary nature, but of something different:
provided that a just distinction were made between the rational soul
and the brute soul, the difference being not merely specific but
generic. For the rational soul is altogether of a spiritual nature and
essence, _adeòque Ens uti vocant transcendens_, bearing the image of
God in this, that properly speaking it is a spirit, as God is a
Spirit. 2d. The rational soul as such, as Aristotle himself testifies,
has no bodily energies, or operations; its operations indeed are
performed in the body but not by the body, nor by bodily organs; but
the contrary is true concerning the souls of brutes. 3dly. The
rational soul, though it be closely conjoined with the body and
hypostatically united therewith, nevertheless is separable therefrom,
so that ever out of the body _sit ὑφιστάμενον aliquod_; but the souls
of brutes are immersed in matter and in bodies, so that they cannot
subsist without them. Lastly, the rational soul alone hath the
privilege of immortality, it being beyond all controversy that the
souls of brutes are mortal and corruptible. These differences being
admitted, and saving the due prerogative, excellence, and as it were
divinity of the rational soul, the Theological Faculty of Basil
thought it of little consequence if any one held that the souls of
brutes were of something different from elementary matter.

They delivered no opinion in condemnation of his assailant's doctrine,
upon the ground that the question was not within their province.
“_Certum est,_” they said, “_uti formas rerum omnium difficulter, et
non nisi a posteriori, et per certas περιστάσεις, cognoscere possumus;
ita omnium difficillimè Animarum naturam nos pervestigare posse,
nostramque, uti in aliis, ita in hac materiâ, scientiam esse, ut scitè
Scaliger loquitur, umbram in sole. Ac non dubium, Deum hic vagabundis
contemplationibus nostris ponere voluisse, ut disceremus
imbecillitatis et cæcitatis nostræ conscientiâ humiliari, cum stupore
opera ejus admirari, atque cum modestia et sobrietate philosophari._”
They declared however that the rational soul differed from that of
brutes in its nature, essence, properties and actions, and that this
was not to be doubted of by Christians: that the soul of brutes was
not spiritual, not immaterial, that all its actions were merely
material, and performed by corporeal organs, and they referred to
Sennertus's own works as rightly affirming that it was partible, _et
dividatur ad divisionem materiæ, ita ut cum corporis parte aliquid
animæ possit avelli_, inferring here as it seems from a false analogy
that animal life was like that of vegetables, _quæ ex parte a plantâ
avulsâ propagantur_.

They entered also into some curious criticism metaphysical and
philological upon certain texts pertinent to the questions before
them. When the dust became lice throughout all the land of Egypt, the
mutation of the dust into lice was to be understood: so too in the
creation of Adam, and the formation of Eve, there could be no doubt
concerning the matter from which both were made. But when water was
miraculously produced from the rock, and from the hollow place in the
jaw, _ibi sanè nemo sanus dicet, aquam è petrâ aut maxillâ à Deo ita
fuisse productam, ut petra aut maxilla materiam aquæ huic præbuerit._

The answer from Marpurg was short and satisfactory. There also the
Professors waived the philosophical question, saying _Nos falcem in
alienam messem non mittemus, nec Morychi in alieno choro pedem nostrum
ponemus, sed nostro modulo ac pede nos metiemur, nobis id etiam dictum
putantes, τὰ ὑπὲρ ἡμᾶς οὐδὲν πρὸς ἡμᾶς. Nobis nostra vendicabimus,
Philosophis philosophica relinquentes._ Tertullian they said had
asserted that Philosophers were the Patriarchs of Heretics,
nevertheless a philosophical opinion, while it keeps within its own
circles, and does not interfere with the mysteries of faith, is no
heresy. They adduced a subtle argument to show that upon the point in
question there was no real difference between something and nothing.
_Creatio ex nihilo intelligitur fieri tum ratione sui principii, quod
est nihilum negativum; tum ratione indispositionis, ob quam materia,
ex quâ aliquid fit, in productione pro nihilo habetur. Quamvis igitur
animæ bestiarum dicerentur in Creatione ex potentiâ materiæ eductæ,
nihilominus ob indispositionem materiæ quam formæ eductæ multum
superant, ex nihilo creatæ essent._ And they agreed with Luther and
with those other Divines who held that the words in the first Chapter
of Genesis whereby the Earth was bade to bring forth grass, herbs,
trees and living creatures after their kind, and the water to bring
forth fishes, were to be strictly understood, the earth and the waters
having _ex Dei benedictione, activè et verè_ produced them.

The answer from Konigsberg was not less favourable. The dispute which
Freitagius had raised, _infelix illa σύῤῥαξις_ they called it, ought
to have been carried on by that Professor with more moderation.
Granting that the souls of brutes were not created separately like
human souls but conjointly with the body, it still remained doubtful
_quomodo se habuerit divinum partim ad aquam et terram factum
mandatum, partim simultanea brutalium animarum cum corporibus
creatio._ For earth and water might here be variously considered, 1,
as the element, 2, as the matter, 3, as the subject, and 4, _ut mater
vel vivus uterus ad animalium productionem immediatâ Dei operatione
exaltatus._ Water and earth themselves were first created, and on the
fifth the vital and plastic power was communicated to them, in which
by virtue of the omnipotent word they still consist. They were of
opinion that the souls of brutes and of plants also, were divinely
raised above an elementary condition, it being always understood that
the human soul far transcended them. The expression of Moses that
formed every beast and every fowl out of the ground, proved not the
matter whereof, but the place wherein they were formed.

The Faculty at Jena returned a shorter reply. The ingratitude of the
world toward those who published their lucubrations upon such abstruse
points, reminded them they said of Luther's complaint in one of his
Prefaces: _Sæpe recordor boni Gersonis dubitantis num quid boni
publicè scribendmn et proferendum sit. Si scriptio omittitur, multæ
animæ negliguntur, quæ liberari potuissent; si verò illa præstatur,
statim Diabolus præstò est cum linguis pestiferis et calumniarum
plenis, quæ omnia corrumpunt et inficiunt._ What was said of the
production of fish, plants and animals might be understood
synecdochically, _salvâ verborum Mosaicorum integritate,_ as the text
also was to be understood concerning the creation of man, where it is
said that the Lord formed him of the dust of the earth, and
immediately afterwards that he breathed into his nostrils the breath
of life.

The Strasburg Divines entered upon the subject so earnestly that their
disquisition far exceeds in length the whole of the communications
from the other Universities. Sennertus could not have wished for a
more elaborate or a more gratifying reply. The Faculty at Altdorff
said that the question was not a matter of faith, and therefore no one
could be obnoxious to the charge of heresy for maintaining or
controverting either of the opposite opinions. They seem however to
have agreed with neither party; not with Freitagius because they
denied that brute souls were of an elementary nature, not with
Sennertus, because they denied that they were created at first from
nothing. It is manifest, said they, that they are not now created from
nothing, because it would follow from thence that they subsist of
themselves, and are not dependent upon matter, and are consequently
immortal, which is absurd. It remained therefore that the souls of
brutes, as they do not now receive their existence from mere nothing,
so neither did they at the first creation, but from something
pre-supposed, which the Peripatetics call the power of matter or of
the subject, which from the beginning was nothing else and still is
nothing else, than its propension or inclination to this or that form.
_Quæ forma multiplex, cum etiam in potentia primi subjecti passiva
præcesserit, per miraculosam Dei actionem ex illa fuit educta,
actumque essendi completum in variis animalium speciebus accepit._

Sennertus either published these papers or prepared them for
publication just before his death. They were printed in octavo at
Wittenberg, with the title _De Origine et Natura Animarum in Brutis,
Sententiæ Cl. Theologorum in aliquot Germaniæ Academiis, 1638_.
Sprengel observes that none of the Historians of Philosophy have
noticed,—

_Cætera desunt._

CHAPTER CCXL.

Is't you, Sir, that know things?

SOOTH. In nature's infinite book of secresy,
A little I can read.

SHAKSPEARE.

The Jesuit Garasse censured his contemporaries Huarte and Barclay for
attempting, the one in his _Examen de los Ingenios_, the other in his
_Icon Animorum_, to class men according to their intellectual
characters: _ces deux Autheurs_, says he, _se sont rendus criminels
contre l'esprit de l'homme, en ce qu'ils ont entrepris de ranger en
cinq ou six cahiers, toutes les diversitez des esprits qui peuvent
estre parmy les hommes, comme qui voudroit verser toute l'eau de la
mer dans une coquille._ For his own part, he had learnt, he said, _et
par la lecture, et par l'experience, que les hommes sont plus
dissemblables en esprit qu'en visage._

Garasse was right; for there goes far more to the composition of an
individual character, than of an individual face. It has sometimes
happened that the portrait of one person has proved also to be a good
likeness of another. Mr. Hazlitt recognized his own features and
expression in one of Michael Angelo's devils. And in real life two
faces, even though there be no relationship between the parties, may
be all but indistinguishably alike, so that the one shall frequently
be accosted for the other; yet no parity of character can be inferred
from this resemblance. Poor Capt. Atkins, who was lost in the Defence
off the coast of Jutland in 1811, had a double of this kind, that was
the torment of his life; for this double was a swindler, who having
discovered the lucky facsimileship, obtained goods, took up money, and
at last married a wife in his name. Once when the real Capt. Atkins
returned from a distant station, this poor woman who was awaiting him
at Plymouth, put off in a boat, boarded the ship as soon as it came to
anchor, and ran to welcome him as her husband.

The following Extraordinary Investigation, cut out of a Journal of the
day, would have excited our Doctor's curiosity, and have led him on to
remoter speculations.

“On Tuesday afternoon an adjourned inquest was held at the
Christchurch workhouse. Boundary-row, Blackfriars-road, before Mr. R.
Carter, on the body of Eliza Baker, aged 17, who was found drowned at
the steps of Blackfriars-bridge, on Saturday morning, by a police
constable. Mr. Peter Wood, an eating-house-keeper, in the Bermondsey
New-road, near the Brick-layers Arms, having seen a paragraph in one
of the Sunday newspapers, that the body of a female had been taken out
of the Thames on the previous day, and carried to the workhouse to be
owned, and, from the description given, suspecting that it was the
body of a young female who had lived in his service, but who had been
discharged by his wife on account of jealousy, he went to the
workhouse and recognized the body of the unfortunate girl. He was very
much agitated, and he cut off a lock of her hair, and kissed the
corpse. He immediately went to an undertaker, and gave orders for the
funeral. He then went to the deceased's parents, who reside in
Adelaide-place, Whitecross-street, Cripplegate, and informed them of
the melancholy fate of their daughter. They also went to the
workhouse, and, on being shown the body, were loud in their
lamentations.

“On the Jury having assembled on Monday evening, they proceeded to
view the body of the deceased, and, on their return, a number of
witnesses were examined, mostly relations, who swore positively to the
body. From the evidence it appeared that the deceased had lived with
Mr. Wood as a servant for four months, but his wife being jealous, she
was discharged about a month ago, since which time Mr. Wood had
secretly supplied her with money, and kept her from want. Mrs. Baker,
the mother of the deceased, and other relations, in giving their
evidence, spoke in severe terms of the conduct of Mr. Wood, and said
that they had no doubt but that he had seduced the unfortunate girl,
which had caused her to commit suicide.

“The Jury appeared to be very indignant, and, after five hours'
deliberation, it was agreed to adjourn the case until Tuesday
afternoon, when they re-assembled. Mr. Wood, the alleged seducer, was
now present, but he was so overcome by his feelings at the melancholy
occurrence, that nothing could be made of him; in fact, he was like a
man in a state of stupefaction. Mrs. Wood, the wife was called in; she
is twenty-eight years older than her husband, and shook her head at
him, but nothing was elicited from her, her passion completely
overcoming her reason.

“A Juryman.—The more we dive into this affair the more mysterious it
appears against Mr. Wood.

“This remark was occasioned on account of some marks of violence on
the body; there had been a violent blow on the nose, a black mark on
the forehead, and a severe wound on the thigh. The Jury were
commencing to deliberate on their verdict, when a drayman in the
employ of Messrs. Whitbread and Co., brewers, walked into the
jury-room, and said that, he wished to speak to the Coroner and Jury.

“Mr. Carter.—‘What is it you want?’

“Drayman.—‘I comes to say, gentlemen, that Mrs. Baker's daughter, you
are now holding an inquest on, is now alive and in good health.’

“The Coroner and Jury (in astonishment).—‘What do you say?’

“Drayman.—‘I'll swear that I met her to-day in the streets, and spoke
to her.’

“The Coroner, Witnesses, and Jury were all struck with amazement, and
asked the drayman if he could bring Eliza Baker forward, which he
undertook to do in a short time.

“In the interim the Jury and Witnesses went again to view the body of
the deceased. Mr. Wood shed tears over the corpse, and was greatly
affected, as well as her relations: the drayman's story was treated as
nonsense, but the Jury, although of the same opinion, were determined
to await his return. In about a quarter of an hour the drayman
returned, and introduced the real Eliza Baker, a fine looking young
woman, and in full health. To depict the astonishment of the relations
and of Mr. Wood is totally impossible, and at first they were afraid
to touch her. She at last went forward, and took Mr. Wood by the hand
(who stood motionless), and exclaimed ‘How could you make such a
mistake as to take another body for mine? Do you think I would commit
such an act?’ Mr. Wood could not reply, but fell senseless in a fit,
and it was with great difficulty that seven men could hold him. After
some time he recovered, and walked away, to the astonishment of every
one, with Eliza Baker, leaving his wife in the jury-room. Several of
the Jurors remarked that they never saw such a strong likeness in
their lives as there was between Eliza Baker and the deceased, which
fully accounted for the mistake that the Witnesses had made.

“The whole scene was most extraordinary, and the countenances of
Witnesses and Jurymen it is impossible to describe. There was no
evidence to prove who the deceased was: and the Jury, after about
eleven hours' investigation, returned a verdict of ‘Found drowned,’
but by what means the deceased came into the water there is no
evidence to prove.”

But in such likenesses, the resemblance is probably never so exact as
to deceive an intimate friend, except upon a cursory glance, at first
sight: even between twins, when any other persons might be perplexed,
the parents readily distinguish. The varieties of countenances are far
more minute and consequently more numerous than would appear upon
light consideration. A shepherd knows the face of every sheep in his
flock, though to an inexperienced eye they all seem like one another.

The tendency of Nature is to preserve its own archetypal forms, the
tendency of art and of what is called accident being to vary them. The
varieties which are produced in plants by mere circumstances of soil
and situation are very numerous, but those which are produced by
culture are almost endless. Moral and physical circumstances effect
changes as great, both externally and internally in man. Whoever
consults the elaborate work of Dr. Prichard on the Physical History of
Mankind, may there see it established by the most extensive research
and the most satisfactory proofs, that the varieties of the human
race, great and striking as they are, are all derived from one stock;
philosophical enquiry here when fully and fairly pursued confirming
the scriptural account, as it has done upon every subject which is
within the scope of human investigation.

Dr. Dove in the course of his professional practise, had frequent
opportunities of observing the stamp of family features at those times
when it is most apparent; at birth, and in the last stage of
decline,—for the elementary lines of the countenance come forth as
distinctly in death as they were shaped in the womb. It is one of the
most affecting circumstances connected with our decay and dissolution,
that all traces of individual character in the face should thus
disappear, the natural countenance alone remaining, and that in this
respect the fresh corpse should resemble the new born babe. He had in
the same way opportunities for observing that there were family
dispositions both of body and mind, some remaining latent till the
course of time developed them, and others till circumstances seemed as
it were to quicken them into action. Whether these existed in most
strength where the family likeness was strongest was a point on which
his own observation was not extensive enough for him to form an
opinion. Speculatively he inclined to think that moral resemblances
were likely to manifest themselves in the countenance, but that
constitutional ones must often exist where there could be no outward
indication of them. Thus a family heart, (metaphorically speaking) may
be recognized in the “life, conduct and behaviour,” though the face
should be a false index; and hereditary tendencies in the great organs
of life show themselves only in family diseases.

Under our Saxon Kings, a person was appointed in every great Monastery
to record public events, register the deaths, promotions, &c., in the
community, and enter in this current chronicle every occurrence in the
neighbourhood which was thought worthy of notice. At the end of every
reign, a summary record was compiled from these materials,—and to this
we owe our Saxon Chronicle, the most ancient and authentic in Europe.

But he often regretted that in every generation so much knowledge was
lost, and that so much experience was continually allowed to run to
waste, many—very many of the evils which afflict mankind being
occasioned by this neglect and perpetuated by it. Especially he
regretted this in his own art: and this regret would not have been
removed if Medical Journals had been as numerous in his days as they
are at present. His wishes went much farther.

We are told that in the sixteenth century the great Lords in France
piqued themselves upon having able and learned men for their
secretaries, and treated them as their friends. The principal business
of such secretaries was to keep a journal of the most interesting
events; and the masters having witnessed or borne a part in the
business of state were well able to inform them of the intrigues and
tortuous policy of their own times. From such journals it is that most
of those old Memoirs have been formed, in which French literature is
so peculiarly rich. They usually include as much general history as is
in any way connected with the personage whom the writer served.

Boswell, who if ever man went to Heaven for his good works, has gone
there for his life of Johnson,—Boswell, I say thought, and Johnson
agreed with him, that there ought to be a chronicler kept in every
considerable family, to preserve the characters and transactions of
successive generations. In like manner Milton's friend, Henry More the
Platonist and Poet, would have had the stories of apparitions and
witchcraft publicly recorded, as they occurred in every parish,
thinking that this course would prove “one of the best antidotes
against that earthly and cold disease of Sadducism and Atheism,” which
he said, “if not prevented might easily grow upon us, to the hazard of
all religion and the best kinds of philosophy.” Our philosopher had
more comprehensive notions of what ought to be. He wished not only for
such domestic chronicles, but that in every considerable family there
should be a compleat set of portraits preserved in every generation,
taken in so small a size that it might never be necessary to eject
them in order to make room for others. When this had been done for
some centuries, it might be seen how long a family likeness remains,
whether Nature repeats her own forms at certain times, or after
uncertain intervals; or whether she allows them to be continually
modified, as families intermarry, till the original type at last may
altogether be obliterated.

In China there are not only learned men whose business it is to record
every thing remarkable that is either said or done by the reigning
Emperor, (which is done for his own instruction, as well as for that
of his successors,) but the great families, have in like manner their
records, and these are considered as the most precious part of the
inheritance which descends from sire to son. All who aspire to any
high office are required to be well acquainted with the history of
their ancestors, and in that history their indispensable
qualifications are examined.

That excellent good man Gilpin drew up a family record of his great
grandfather, grandfather and father, who had all been “very valuable
men.” “I have often thought,” said he, “such little records might be
very useful in families; whether the subjects of them were good or
bad. A light house may serve equally the purpose of leading you into a
haven, or deterring you from a rock.”[1]

If it may stand with your soft blush, to hear
Yourself but told unto yourself, and see
In my character what your features be,
You will not from the paper slightly pass.
No lady, but at some time loves her glass.
And this shall be no false one, but as much
Removed, as you from need to have it such.[2]

[Footnote 1: WARNER'S RECOLLECTIONS.]

[Footnote 2: BEN JONSON.]

There was once a German who being poet, physician and physiognomist,
saw in a vision of Paradise Physiognomy herself, and received from her
a most gracious compliment, which lay buried among the Heidelberg
Manuscripts in the Vatican, till Frederick Adelung in the year 1799,
brought it to light some centuries after the very name of the poet had
perished. Read the compliment, reader, if thou canst as given by the
German antiquary, without note, comment, glossary, or punctuation. I
can answer for the fidelity of my transcript, though not of his text.

_Zu mir in gar glicher wise
Quam us hymels paradyse
Vil manich schöne frouwe name
Jeglicher wol die kron zam
Sie waren schöne und gecleit
Vrauwelicher zuchte mynnekeit
Sie ziert ine danne riche gewant
Mir wart iglicher name bekant
Wanne er in geschriben was
An ir vorgespan als ich las_
PHISONOMIA _kunstenriche
Gutlicht redt wider mich
Wir byden dich herre bescheiden
Das du in gottes geleiden
Dust machen myne lobelich kunst
So hastu mynneclichen gunst
Von mir und myner gespilen vil
Der igliche dich des bidden wil
Das du in erkennen gebest
Und du in unser früntschaft lebest
Alleine din cleit sy donne
Got wil dir geben solich wonne
Die mannich gelerter mane
Nummer mer gewynnen kan._

There was no truth in Physiognomy when she made this promise to her
medico-poet. Yet he deserved her gratitude for he taught that her
unerring indications might be read not in the countenance alone, but
in all the members of the human body.

In cases of disputed inheritance, when it is contended that the heir
claimant is not the son of his reputed father, but a spurious, or
supposititious child, such a series of portraits would be witnesses,
he thought, against whose evidence no exception could be taken. Indeed
such evidence would have disproved the impudent story of the Warming
Pan, if any thing had depended upon legitimacy in that case; and in
our times it might divest D. Miguel of all claim to the crown of
Portugal, by right of birth.

But these legal and political uses he regarded as trifling when
compared with the physiological inferences which in process of time
might be obtained, for on this subject Mr. Shandy's views were far
short of Dr. Dove's. The improvement of noses would be only an
incidental consequence of the knowledge that might be gathered from
the joint materials of the family portrait gallery, and the family
chronicle. From a comparison of these materials it might be inferred
with what temperaments of mind and of body, with what qualities good
or evil, certain forms of feature, and certain characters of
countenance were frequently found to be connected. And hence it might
ultimately be learnt how to neutralize evil tendencies by judicious
intermarriages, how to sweeten the disposition, cool the temper and
improve the blood.

To be sure there were some difficulties in the way. You might expect
from the family chronicler a faithful notice of the diseases which had
proved dangerous or fatal; to this part of his duty there could be no
objection. But to assure the same fidelity concerning moral and
intellectual failings or vices, requires a degree of independence not
to be hoped for from a writer so circumstanced. If it had still been
the custom for great families to keep a Fool, as in old times, our
Philosopher in his legislative character would have required that the
Fool's more notable sayings should be recorded, well knowing that in
his privileged freedom of speech, and the monitions and rebukes which
he conveyed in a jest, the desiderated information would be contained.
But in our present state of manners he could devise no better check
upon the family historiographer,—no better provision against his sins
both of omission and of commission, than that of the village or parish
chronicle; for in every village or parish he would have had every
notable event that occurred within its boundaries duly and
authentically recorded. And as it should be the Chronicler's duty to
keep a Remembrancer as well as a Register, in which whatever he could
gather from tradition, or from the recollections of old persons was to
be preserved, the real character which every person of local
distinction had left behind him among his domestics and his neighbours
would be found here, whatever might be recorded upon his monument.

By these means, one supplying the deficiencies of the other, our
philosopher thought a knowledge of the defects and excellencies of
every considerable family might be obtained, sufficient for the
purposes of physiology, and for the public good.

There was a man in the neighbouring village of Bentley, who he used to
say, would have made an excellent Parish Chronicler, an office which
he thought might well be united with that of Parish Clerk.[3] This
person went by the name of Billy Dutchman: he was a journeyman
stone-mason, and kept a book wherein he inserted the name of every one
by whom he had been employed, how many days he had worked in every
week, and how many he had been idle, either owing to sickness or any
other cause, and what money he had earned in each week, summing up the
whole at the year's end. His earning in the course of nine and twenty
years beginning in 1767, amounts to £583. 18_s._ 3_d._, being, he
said, upon an average, seven shillings and ninepence a week.

[Footnote 3: Such a Chronicler is old James Long—now 77 years of
age—50 of which he has served in the capacity of Parish Clerk of
West-Tarring, in the County of Sussex. There is no by-gone incident in
this, or the neighbouring Parishes,—no mere—stone or balk—with which
he is not acquainted. Aged and truthful Chronicler!

—Enjoy thy plainness
It nothing ill becomes thee.—

Since the above was written the old man has been gathered to his
fathers. _Requiescat in pace!_]

The Doctor would have approved of Jacob Abbott's extension of his own
plan, and adaptation of it to a moral and religious purpose. Jacob
Abbott, without any view to the physical importance of such documents,
advises that domestic journals should be kept, “Let three or four of
the older brothers and sisters of a family agree to write a history of
the family, any father would procure a book for this purpose, and if
the writers are young, the articles intended for insertion in it might
be written first on separate paper, and then corrected and
transcribed. The subjects suitable to be recorded in such a book will
suggest themselves to every one; a description of the place of
residence at the time of commencing the book, with similar
descriptions of other places from time to time, in case of removals;
the journies or absences of the head of the family or its members; the
sad scenes of sickness or death which may be witnessed, and the joyous
ones of weddings, or festivities, or holydays; the manner in which the
members are from time to time employed; and pictures of the scenes
which the fire-side group exhibits in the long winter evening, or the
conversation which is heard, and the plans formed at the supper table
or in the morning walk.

“If a family, where it is first established, should commence with such
a record of their own efforts and plans, and the various dealings of
Providence towards them, the father and the mother carrying it on
jointly until the children are old enough to take the pen, they would
find the work a source of great improvement and pleasure. It would
tend to keep distinctly in view the great objects for which they ought
to live; and repeatedly recognizing, as they doubtless would do, the
hand of God, they would feel more sensibly and more constantly their
dependence upon him.”

CHAPTER CCXLI.

THE DOCTOR'S UTOPIA DENOMINATED COLUMBIA.—HIS SCHEME ENTERED UPON—BUT
‘LEFT HALF TOLD’ LIKE ‘THE STORY OF CAMBUSCAN BOLD.’

BURTON.

The Doctor's plan would have provided materials for a moral and
physiological Cadastre, or Domesday Book. This indeed is the place for
stating what the reader, knowing as much as he knows of our
Philosopher, will not be surprised to hear, that Dr. Dove had
conceived an Utopia of his own. He fixed it an island, thinking the
sea to be the best of all neighbours, and he called it Columbia, not
as pretending that it had been discovered by his “famous namesake,”
but for a reason which the sagacious may divine.

The scheme of his government had undergone many changes, although from
the beginning it was established upon the eternal and immutable
principles of truth and justice. Every alteration was intended to be
final; yet it so happened that, notwithstanding the proposed
perpetuity of the structure, and the immutability of the materials, he
frequently found cause to exercise the imperscriptible and inalienable
right of altering and improving his own work. He justified this, as
being himself sole legislator, and moreover the only person in
existence whose acceptance of the new constitution was necessary for
its full establishment; and no just objection, he said, could be
advanced against any of these changes, if they were demonstrably for
the better, not merely innovations, but improvements also; for no
possible revolution however great, or however suddenly effected, could
occasion the slightest evil to his Commonwealth. Governments _in
nubibus_ being mended as easily as they are made, for which, as for
many other reasons, they are so much better than any that are now
actually existing, have existed, or ever will exist.

At first he denominated his Commonwealth an Iatrarchy, and made the
Archiatros, or Chief Physician, head of the state. But upon after
consideration he became convinced that the cares of general
government, after all the divisions and subdivisions which could be
made, were quite enough for any one head, however capacious and
however strong, and however ably assisted. Columbia therefore was made
an absolute monarchy, hereditary in the male line, according to the
Salic law.

How did he hold sweet dalliance with his crown,
And wanton with dominion, how lay down,
Without the sanction of a precedent,
Rules of most large and absolute extent,
Rules which from sense of public virtue spring,
And all at once commence a Patriot King![1]

O Simon Bolivar, once called the Liberator, if thou couldst have
followed the example of this less practical but more philosophical
statesman, and made and maintained thyself as absolute monarch of thy
Columbia, well had it been for thy Columbians and for thee! better
still for thyself, it may be feared, if thou hadst never been born.

[Footnote 1: CHURCHILL.]

There was an order of hereditary nobles in the Doctor's Columbia; men
were raised to that rank as a just reward for any signal service which
they had rendered to the state; but on the other hand an individual
might be degraded for any such course of conduct as evinced depravity
in himself, or was considered as bringing disgrace upon his order. The
chiefs of the Hierarchy, the Iatrarchy, the Nomarchy and the Hoplarchy
(under which title both sciences, naval and military, were comprised)
were like our Bishops, Peers of the realm by virtue of their station,
and for life only.

I do not remember what was the scheme of representation upon which his
House of Commons was elected, farther than it commenced with universal
suffrage and ascended through several stages, the lowest assembly
chusing electors for the next above it, so that the choice ultimately
rested with those who from their education and station of life might
be presumed to exercise it with due discretion. Such schemes are
easily drawn up; making and mending constitutions, to the entire
satisfaction of the person so employed, being in truth among the
easiest things in the world. But like most Utopianizers the legislator
of this Columbia had placed his Absolute King and his free People
under such strict laws, and given such functions to the local
authorities, and established such complete and precise order in every
tything, that the duties of the legislative body were easy indeed;
this its very name imported; for he called it the Conservative
Assembly.

Nor is Crown-wisdom any quintessence
Of abstract truth, or art of Government,
More than sweet sympathy, or counterpease
Of humours, temper'd happily to please.[2]

[Footnote 2: LORD BROOKE.]

The legislator of Columbia considered good policy as a very simple
thing. He said to his King, his Three Estates and his collective
nation, with the inspired lawgiver “and now Israel what doth the Lord
thy God require of thee, but to fear the Lord thy God, to walk in all
his ways, and to love him, and to serve the Lord thy God with all thy
heart and with all thy soul: to keep the commandments of the Lord and
his statutes, which I command thee, this day, for thy good?” And he
added with St. Paul, “now the end of the commandment is charity, out
of a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned.”

Take care of the pennies, says the frugal old Proverb, and the pounds
will take care of themselves. “_Les petites choses_,” says M. de
Custine, _sont tout ce qu'on_ sent _de l'existence; les grandes se_
savent, _ce qui est très-différent._ Take care of little things, was
the Doctor's maxim as a legislator, and great ones will then proceed
regularly and well. He was not ignorant that legislators as well as
individuals might be penny-wise and pound foolish; proofs enough he
had seen in the conduct of the English Government, and many more and
more glaring ones he would have seen if he had lived to behold the
progress of œconomical reform and liberal legislation. He also knew
that an over-attention to trifles was one sure indication of a little
mind; but in legislation as in experimental philosophy, he argued,
that circumstances which appeared trifling to the ignorant, were
sometimes in reality of essential importance, that those things are
not trifles upon which the comfort of domestic life, the peace of a
neighbourhood, and the stability of a state depend, and yet all these
depend mainly upon things apparently so trifling as common schools and
parochial government.

“I have ever observed it,” says Ben Jonson, “to have been the office
of a wise patriot, among the greatest affairs of the state, to take
care of the commonwealth of learning. For schools they are the
seminaries of state; and nothing is worthier the study of a statesman,
than that part of the republic which we call the advancement of
letters.”

CHAPTER CCXLII.

FARTHER REMARKS UPON THE EFFECTS OF SCHISM, AND THE ADVANTAGES WHICH
IT AFFORDS TO THE ROMISH CHURCH AND TO INFIDELITY.

BRONZINO PITTORE.

One cause why infidelity gained ground among the middle and the lower
classes was, that owing to the increase of population, the growth of
the metropolis, and the defects of our Church Establishment, no
provision had been made for their religious instruction. Every one
belonged to a parish, but in populous parishes a small part only of
the parishioners belonged to the Clergyman's flock; his fold in very
many places would not have contained half, and in some, not a tenth of
them; they were left therefore as stray sheep, for false shepherds and
for the wolf. This was the main cause of the increase of dissenters
among us, and their increase occasioned an increase of infidelity.
Many of their ministers and more of their students, revolting against
the monstrous doctrines of Calvinism, past from one extreme to the
other, more gradually indeed than their brethren have done in Germany,
in Geneva and in New England, for they halted awhile on Arian ground,
before they pitched their tents in the debateable land of Socinianism,
where not a few of them afterwards crossed the border. The principle
of Nonconformity itself led naturally to this consequence; it
scornfully rejected that reasonable and well-defined submission to
authority required by the Church of England, which is the true
Catholic Church; and thus it encouraged and indeed invited tutors and
pupils at their Academies to make their own immature and
ill-instructed reason the test of all truths. A good and wise man has
well remarked that “what men take for, or at least assert to be, the
dictates of their conscience, may often in fact, be only the dictates
of their pride.” With equal truth also he has said that he who
“decides for himself in rejecting what almost all others receive, has
not shewn himself at least in one instance to be a ‘wise man;’—he does
not ‘know that he is a fool.’”

This cause was continually operating upon their students and younger
ministers during the latter half of the last century. It was suspended
first by the missionary spirit, which called forth a high degree of
enthusiasm, and gave that feeling its most useful direction, and
secondly by the revival of political Puritanism, as soon as the
successors of the Parliamentary Divines thought themselves strong
enough to act as a party in the state, and declare war against the
Establishment. But as in that time, so in a greater degree at present,
the floating population who by no fault of their own are
extra-parochial as to all purposes of church-worship and religious
instruction, are as much endangered by facility of change, as the
students used to be by their boasted liberty of choice. Sectarian
history might supply numerous examples; one may be related here for
the extraordinary way in which it terminated. I know not from what
community of Christians the hero of the tale strayed over to the
Methodists, but he enjoyed for awhile the dream of perfection, and the
privilege of assurance as one of their members. When this excitement
had spent itself, he sought for quietness among the Quakers, _thee'd_
his neighbour, wore drab, and would not have pulled off his hat to the
king. After awhile, from considering, with them, that baptism was a
beggarly element, he passed to the opposite extreme; it was not enough
for him to have been sprinkled in his infancy, he must be dipt over
head and ears in the water, and up he rose, rejoicing as he shook his
dripping locks, that he was now a Baptist. His zeal then took another
direction; he had a strong desire to convert the lost sheep of Israel;
and off he set from a remote part of the country to engage in single
controversy with a learned Rabbi in one of the Midland counties. Tell
it not in Duke's-Place! Publish it not in the Magazine of the Society
for converting the Jews!—The Rabbi converted him: and if the victor in
the dispute had thought proper to take the _spolia opima_ which were
fairly lost, the vanquished would have paid the penalty, as he
conceived himself in honour and in conscience bound. He returned home
glorying in his defeat, a Jew in every thing but parentage and the
outward and visible sign. The sons of the synagogue are not ambitious
of making converts, and they did not chuse to adopt him by performing
the initiating rites. He obtained it however from a Christian surgeon,
who after many refusals, was induced at length in humanity to oblige
him, lest, as he solemnly declared he would, he should perform it upon
himself.

They who begin in enthusiasm, passing in its heat and giddiness from
one sect to another, and cooling at every transition, generally settle
in formalism where they find some substantial worldly motives for
becoming fixed; but where the worldly motives are wanting, it depends
upon temperament and accident whether they run headlong into
infidelity, or take refuge from it in the Roman Catholic church. The
papal clergy in England have always known how to fish in troubled
waters; and when the waters are still, there are few among them who
have not been well instructed in the art of catching gudgeons. Our
clergy have never been in the same sense, fishers of men.

In an epigram written under the portrait of Gibbon, as unquotable at
length, as it is unjust in part of the lines which may be quoted, the
face is said to be

—the likeness of one
Who through every religion in Europe has run
And ended at last in believing in none.

It was a base epigram which traduced the historian's political
character for no other reason than that he was not a Whig; and it
reproached him for that part of his conduct which was truly
honourable,—the sincerity with which, when ill-instructed, he became a
Roman Catholic, and the propriety with which, after full and patient
investigation, he gave up the tenets of the Romish church as
untenable. That he proceeded farther, and yielded that which can be
maintained against the Gates of Hell, is to be lamented deeply for his
own sake, and for those in whom he has sown the seeds of infidelity.
But the process from change to change is a common one, and the cases
are few wherein there is so much to extenuate the culpability of the
individual. It was not in the self-sufficiency of empty ignorance that
Gibbon and Bayle went astray; generally the danger is in proportion to
the want of knowledge; there are more shipwrecks among the shallows
than in the deep sea.

During the great Rebellion, when the wild beasts had trampled down the
fences, broken into the vineyard and laid it waste, it is curious to
observe the course taken by men who felt for various causes, according
to their different characters, the necessity of attaching themselves
to some religious communion. Cottington, being in Spain, found it
convenient to be reconciled to the Romish church; the dominant
religion being to him, as a politician, the best. Weak and plodding
men like Father Cressey took the same turn in dull sincerity: Davenant
because he could not bear the misery of a state of doubt, and was glad
to rest his head upon the pillow of authority; Goring from remorse;
Digby (a little later) from ambition, and Lambert, because he was sick
of the freaks and follies of the sectaries.

Their “opinions and contests,” says Sir Philip Warwick, “flung all
into chaos, and this gave the great advantages to the Romanists, who
want not their differences among themselves, but better manage them;
for they having retained a great part of primitive truths, and having
to plead some antiquity for their many doctrinal errors and their
ambitious and lucrative encroachments, and having the policy of
flinging coloquintida into our pot, by our dissentions and follies,
they have with the motion of the circle of the wheel, brought
themselves who were at the Nadir, to be almost at the Zenith of our
globe.”

In no other age (except in our own and now from a totally different
cause) did the Papists increase their numbers so greatly in this
kingdom. And infidelity in all its grades kept pace with popery. “Look
but upon many of our Gentry,” says Sanderson, (writing under the
Commonwealth,) “what they are already grown to from what they were,
within the compass of a few years: and then _ex pede Herculem_; by
that, guess what a few years more may do. Do we not see some, and
those not a few, that have strong natural parts, but little sense of
religion turned (little better than professed) Atheists. And other
some, nor those a few, that have good affections, but weak and
unsettled judgements, or (which is still but the same weakness) an
overweening opinion of their own understandings, either quite turned,
or upon the point of turning Papists? These be sad things, God
knoweth, and we all know, not visibly imputable to any thing so much,
as to those distractions, confusions and uncertainties that in point
of religion have broken in upon us, since the late changes that have
happened among us in church affairs.”

The Revolution by which the civil and religious liberties of the
British nation were, at great cost, preserved, stopt the growth of
popery among us for nearly an hundred years: but infidelity meanwhile
was little impeded in its progress by the occasional condemnation of a
worthless book; and the excellent works which were written to expose
the sophistry, the ignorance, and the misrepresentations of the
infidel authors seldom found readers among the persons to whom they
might have been most useful. It may be questioned whether any of
Jeremy Bentham's misbelieving disciples has ever read Berkeley's
Minute Philosopher, or the kindred work of Skelton which a London
bookseller published upon Hume's _imprimatur_.

CHAPTER CCXLIII.

BREVITY BEING THE SOUL OF WIT THE AUTHOR STUDIES CONCISENESS.

You need not fear a surfeit, here is but little, and that light of
digestion.

QUARLES.

Who was Pompey?

“The Dog will have his day,” says Shakespeare. And the Dog must have
his Chapter say I. But I will defer writing that Chapter till the
Dog-days.

CHAPTER CCXLIV.

THE AUTHOR VENTURES TO SPEAK A WORD ON CHRISTIAN CHEERFULNESS:—QUOTES
BEN SIRACH,—SOLOMON,—BISHOP HACKET,—WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR,—BISHOP
REYNOLDS,—MILTON,—&C.

--_Ἀλλὰ σὺ ταῦτα μαθὼν, βιότου ποτί τέρμα
ψυχῇ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τλῆθι χαριζόμενος._

SIMONIDES.

In the thirtieth chapter of the Book called Ecclesiasticus, and at the
twenty-fifth verse, are these words

“A cheerful and a good heart will have a care of his meat and diet.”

This is not the text to a sermon, but the beginning of a Chapter.
There is no reason why a Chapter as well as a sermon, should not be
thus impressively introduced: and if this Chapter should neither be so
long as a sermon, nor so dull as those discourses which perchance and
(I fear) per-likelihood, it may be thy fortune to hear, O Reader, at
thy parish church, or in phrase nonconformist, to sit under at the
conventicle, it will be well for thee: for having began to read it, I
dare say thou wilt peruse it orally, or ocularly to the end.

A cheerful and a good heart, the Doctor had; aye as cheerful and good
a one as ever man was blest with. He held with Bishop Hacket, that
melancholy was of all humours the fittest to make a bath for the
Devil, and that cheerfulness and innocent pleasure preserve the mind
from rust, and the body from putrifying with dulness and distempers;
wherefore that Bishop of good and merry memory would sometimes say, he
did not like to look upon a sour man at dinner, and if his guests were
pleased within, would bid them hang out the white flag in their
countenance.

_Udite, udite amici, un cor giocondo
E Rey del Mondo._

And if the poet says true (which I will be sworn he does) our Doctor
might be more truly King of the World, than Kehama after he had
performed his sacrifice.

His cheerfulness he would not have exchanged for all the bank-bills
which ever bore the signature of Abraham Newland, or his successor
Henry Hase; he thanked his Maker for it; and that it had been kept
from corruption and made so far good as (with all Christian humility)
to be self approved; he thanked his heavenly Father also for the free
grace vouchsafed him, and his earthly one for having trained him in
the way that he should go.

Cheerful and grateful takers the Gods love
And such as wait their pleasures with full hopes;
The doubtful and distrustful man Heaven frowns at.[1]

[Footnote 1: BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.]

Being thus cheerful and good, he had that care of his meat and diet
which the son of Sirach commends in the text, and notices as an
indication of cheerfulness and goodness.

Understand me, Reader: and understand the author of the Wisdom. It was
not such a care of his meat and diet as Apicius has been infamed for
in ancient, and Darteneuf in modern times; not such as Lucullus was
noted for, or Sir William Curtis, with whom Lucullus had he been an
English East Indian Governor, instead of a Roman Prætor, might have
been well pleased to dine. Read Landor's conversation between Lucullus
and Cæsar, if thou art a scholar Reader, and if any thing can make
thee think with respect and admiration of Lucullus, it will be the
beautiful strain of feeling and philosophy that thou wilt find there.
Wouldst thou see another work of first-rate genius, not less masterly
in its kind, go and see Chantrey's bust of Sir William Curtis: and
when thou shalt have seen what he hath made of that countenance, thou
wilt begin to think it not impossible that a silk purse may be made of
a sow's ear. Shame on me that in speaking of those who have gained
glory by giving good dinners, I should have omitted the name of
Michael Angelo Taylor, he having been made immortal for this his great
and singular merit!

Long before the son of Sirach, Solomon had spoken to the same effect:
“there is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink,
and that he should make his soul enjoy good in its labour. This also I
saw that it was from the hand of God.” “Go thy way said the wisest of
monarchs and of men, in his old age, when he took a more serious view
of his past life; the honours, pleasures, wealth, wisdom he had so
abundantly enjoyed; the errors and miscarriages which he had fallen
into; the large experience and many observations he had made, of
things natural, moral, domestical: civil, sensual, divine: the curious
and critical inquiry he had made after true happiness, and what
contribution all things under the sun could afford thereunto:”—“Go thy
way,” he said, “eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a
merry heart!”

“Inasmuch,” says Bishop Reynolds in his commentary upon this passage,
“as the dead neither know, nor enjoy any of these worldly blessings;
and inasmuch as God gives them to his servants in love, and as
comfortable refreshments unto them in the days of their vanity,
therefore he exhorteth unto a cheerful fruition of them, while we have
time and liberty so to do; that so the many other sorrows and
bitterness which they shall meet with in this life, may be mitigated
and sweetened unto them. He speaketh not of sensual, epicurean and
brutish excess; but of an honest, decent, and cheerful enjoyment of
blessings, with thankfulness, and in the fear of God.” “A _merry_
heart” the Bishop tells us might in this text have been rendered a
_good_ one; as in other parts of scripture a _sad_ heart is called an
_evil_ heart. “It is pleasing unto God,” says the Bishop, “that when
thou hast in the fear of his name, and in obedience to his ordinance,
laboured, and by his blessing gotten thee thine appointed portion,
then thou shouldst, after an honest, cheerful, decent and liberal
manner, without further anxiety or solicitousness, enjoy the same.
This is the principal boundary of our outward pleasures and delights,
still to keep ourselves within such rules of piety and moderation, as
that our ways may be pleasing unto God. And this shows us the true way
to find sweetness in the creature, and to feel joy in the fruition
thereof; namely, when our persons and our ways are pleasing unto God:
for piety doth not exclude, but only moderate earthly delights; and so
moderate them, that though they be not so excessive as the luxurious
and sensual pleasures of foolish epicures, yet they are far more pure,
sweet and satisfactory, as having no guilt, no gall, no curse, nor
inward sorrow and terrors attending on them.”

Farther the Bishop observes, that food and raiment being the
substantiall of outward blessings, Solomon has directed unto
cheerfulness in the one, and unto decency and comeliness in the other.
He hath advised us also to let the head lack no ointment, such
perfumes being an expression of joy used in feasts; “the meaning is,”
says the Bishop, “that we should lead our lives with as much freeness,
cheerfulness and sweet delight, in the liberal use of the good
blessings of God, as the quality of our degree, the decency of our
condition, and the rules of religious wisdom, and the fear of God do
allow us; not sordidly or frowardly denying ourselves the benefit of
those good things which the bounty of God hath bestowed upon us.”

It is the etiquette of the Chinese Court for the Emperor's physicians
to apply the same epithet to his disease as to himself—so they talk of
his most high and mighty diarrhœa.

At such a point of etiquette the Doctor would laugh—but he was all
earnestness when one like Bishop Hacket said, “Do not disgrace the
dignity of a Preacher, when every petty vain occasion doth challenge
the honour of a sermon before it. If ever there were _τὸ δέον οὐκ ἐν
τῶ δεόντι_,—a good work marred for being done unreasonably,”—(in the
Doctor's own words, _Grace before a sluttish meal, a dirty table
cloth_)—“now it is when grace before meat will not serve the turn, but
every luxurious feast must have the benediction of a preacher's pains
before it. _Quis te ferat cœnantem ut Lucullus, concionantem ut Cato?_
Much less is it to be endured, that some body must make a sermon,
before Lucullus hath made a supper. It is such a flout upon our
calling methinks, as the Chaldeans put upon the Jews in their
captivity,—they in the height of their jollity must have _one of the
Songs of Sion_.”

The Doctor agreed in the main with Lord Chesterfield in his opinion
upon political dieteticks.

“The Egyptians who were a wise nation,” says that noble author,
“thought so much depended upon diet, that they dieted their kings, and
prescribed by law both the quality and quantity of their food. It is
much to be lamented, that those bills of fare are not preserved to
this time, since they might have been of singular use in all
monarchical governments. But it is reasonably to be conjectured, from
the wisdom of that people, that they allowed their kings no aliments
of a bilious or a choleric nature, and only such as sweetened their
juices, cooled their blood, and enlivened their faculties,—if they had
any.”

He then shews that what was deemed necessary for an Egyptian King is
not less so for a British Parliament. For, “suppose,” he says, “a
number of persons, not over-lively at best, should meet of an evening
to concert and deliberate upon public measures of the utmost
consequence, grunting under the load and repletion of the strongest
meats, panting almost in vain for breath, but quite in vain for
thought, and reminded only of their existence by the unsavoury returns
of an olio; what good could be expected from such a consultation? The
best one could hope for would be, that they were only assembled for
shew, and not for use; not to propose or advise, but silently to
submit to the orders of some one man there, who, feeding like a
rational creature, might have the use of his understanding.

“I would therefore recommend it to the consideration of the
legislature, whether it may not be necessary to pass an act, to
restrain the licentiousness of eating, and assign certain diets to
certain ranks and stations, I would humbly suggest the strict
vegetable as the properest ministerial diet, being exceedingly tender
of those faculties in which the public is so highly interested, and
very unwilling they should be clogged, or incumbered.”

“The Earl of Carlisle,” says Osborne, in his Traditional Memorials,
“brought in the vanity of ante-suppers, not heard of in our
forefathers' time, and for ought I have read, or at least remember,
unpractised by the most luxurious tyrants. The manner of which was, to
have the board covered at the first entrance of the guests, with
dishes, as high as a tall man could well reach, filled with the
choicest viands sea or land could afford: and all this once seen, and
having feasted the eyes of the invited, was in a manner thrown away,
and fresh set on to the same height, having only this advantage of the
other, that it was hot.

“I cannot forget one of the attendants of the King, that at a feast
made by this monster in excess, eats to his single share a whole pye,
reckoned to my Lord at ten pounds, being composed of ambergreece,
magisteriall of pearl, musk, &c., yet was so far, (as he told me) from
being sweet in the morning, that he almost poisoned his whole family,
flying himself, like the Satyr, from his own stink. And after such
suppers huge banquets no less profuse, a waiter returning his servant
home with a cloak-bag full of dried sweetmeats and confects, valued to
his Lordship at more than ten shillings the pound.”

But, gentle and much esteemed Reader, and therefore esteemed because
gentle, instead of surfeiting thy body, let me recreate thy mind, with
the annexed two Sonnets of Milton, which tell of innocent mirth, and
the festive but moderate enjoyment of the rational creature.

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season, gaining? time will run
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes of Tuscan air?
_He who of these delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise._

TO SYRIAC SKINNER.

CYRIAC, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc'd, and in his volumes taught our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
_In mirth, that after no repenting draws:_
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
_And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day
And when God sends a cheerful hour refrains._

_Thou canst cure the body and the mind,
Rare Doctor, with thy two-fold soundest art;
Hippocrates hath taught thee the one kind,
Apollo and the Muse the other part;
And both so well that thou well both dost please,
The mind with pleasure, and the corpse with ease._

DAVIES OF HEREFORD.

FRAGMENTS TO THE DOCTOR.

A LOVE FRAGMENT FOR THE LADIES,—INTRODUCED BY A CURIOUS INCIDENT WHICH
THE AUTHOR BEGS THEY WILL EXCUSE.

Now will ye list a little space,
And I shall send you to solace;
You to solace and be blyth,
Hearken! ye shall hear belyve
A tale that is of verity.

ROSWALL AND LILLIAN.

A story was told me with an assurance that it was literally true, of a
Gentleman who being in want of a wife, advertised for one, and at the
place and time appointed was met by a Lady. Their stations in life
entitled them to be so called, and the Gentleman as well as the Lady
was in earnest. He however unluckily seemed to be of the same opinion
as King Pedro was with regard to his wife Queen Mary of Aragon, that
she was not so handsome as she might be good, so the meeting ended in
their mutual disappointment. Cœlebs advertised a second time,
appointing a different Square for the place of meeting, and varying
the words of the advertisement. He met the same Lady,—they recognized
each other, could not chuse but smile at the recognition, and perhaps
neither of them could chuse but sigh. You will anticipate the event.
The persevering Batchelor tried his lot a third time in the
newspapers, and at the third place of appointment he met the equally
persevering Spinster. At this meeting neither could help laughing.
They began to converse in good humour, and the conversation became so
agreeable on both sides, and the circumstance appeared so remarkable,
that this third interview led to a marriage, and the marriage proved a
happy one.

When Don Argentes Prince of Galdasse had been entrapped into the hands
of a revengeful woman whose husband he had slain in fair combat, he
said to two handsome widows who were charged every day to punish him
with stripes, _que par raison là on se se voit une grande beauté n'a
pas lieu la cruauté ou autre vice_—and the Chronicler of this
generation of the house of Amadis, observes that this assertion _fut
bien verifié en ces deux jeunes veufues douées de grande beauté,
lesquelles considerans la beauté et disposition de ce jeune chevalier
et la vertu de sa personne, presterent l'oreille aux raisons qu'il
alleguoit pour son excuse, et aux louanges qu'il leur donnoit de rare
et singuliere beauté, de maniere qu'elles eurent pitié de luy._

“I can hardly forbear fancying,” says Lord Shaftesbury, “that if we
had a sort of Inquisition, or formal Court of Judicature, with grave
Officers and Judges, erected to restrain poetical licence, and in
general to suppress that fancy and humour of versification, but in
particular that most extravagant passion of Love, as it is set out by
Poets, in its heathenish dress of Venus's and Cupids; if the Poets, as
ringleaders and teachers of this heresy, were under grievous penalties
forbid to enchant the people by their vein of rhyming; and if the
People, on the other side, were under proportionable penalties, forbid
to hearken to any such charm, or lend their attention to any
love-tale, so much as in a play, a novel, or a ballad; we might
perhaps see a new Arcadia arising out of this heavy persecution. Old
people and young would be seized with a versifying spirit; we should
have field conventicles of Lovers and Poets; forests would be filled
with romantic Shepherds and Shepherdesses; and rocks resound with
echoes of hymns and praises offered to the powers of Love. We might
indeed have a fair chance, by this management, to bring back the whole
train of Heathen Gods, and set our cold Northern Island burning with
as many altars to Venus and Apollo, as were formerly in Cyprus, Delos,
or any of those warmer Grecian climates.”

But I promised you, dear Ladies, more upon that subject which of all
subjects is and ought to be the most interesting to you, because it is
the most important. You have not forgotten that promise, and the time
has now come for fulfilling it.

Venus, unto thee for help, good Lady, I do call,
For thou wert wont to grant request unto thy servants all;
Even as thou didst help always Æneas thine own child,
Appeasing the God Jupiter with countenance so mild
That though that Juno to torment him on Jupiter did preace,
Yet for the love he bare to thee, did cause the winds to cease;
I pray thee pray the Muses all to help my memory,
That I may have ensamples good in defence of feminye.[1]

Something has been said upon various ways which lead to love and
matrimony; but what I have to say concerning imaginative love was
deferred till we should arrive at the proper place for entering upon
it.

[Footnote 1: EDWARD MORE.]

More or less, imagination enters into all loves and friendships,
except those which have grown with our growth, and which therefore are
likely to be the happiest because there can be no delusion in them.
Cases of this kind would not be so frequent in old romances, if they
did not occur more frequently in real life than unimaginative persons
could be induced to believe, or made to understand.

Sir John Sinclair has related a remarkable instance in his
Reminiscences. He was once invited by Adam Smith to meet Burke and Mr.
Windham, who had arrived at Edinburgh with the intention of making a
short tour in the Highlands. Sir John was consulted concerning their
route; in the course of his directions he dwelt on the beauty of the
road between Dunkeld and Blair;—and added, that instead of being
cooped up in a post-chaise, they would do well to get out and walk
through the woods and beautiful scenes through which the road passes,
especially some miles beyond Dunkeld.

Some three years afterwards Mr. Windham came up to Sir John in the
House of Commons and requested to speak to him for a few moments
behind the Speaker's chair. “Do you recollect,” said he, “our meeting
together at Adam Smith's at dinner?” “Most certainly I do.”

“Do you remember having given us directions for our Highland tour, and
more especially to stroll through the woods between Dunkeld and
Blair?” “I do.”

Mr. Windham then said, “In consequence of our adopting that advice, an
event took place of which I must now inform you. Burke and I were
strolling through the woods about ten miles from Dunkeld, when we saw
a young female sitting under a tree, with a book in her hand. Burke
immediately exclaimed, ‘Let us have a little conversation with this
solitary damsel, and see what she is about.’ We accosted her
accordingly and found that she was reading a recent novel from the
London press. We asked her how she came to read novels, and how she
got such books at so great a distance from the metropolis, and more
especially one so recently published. She answered that she had been
educated at a boarding-school at Perth, where novels might be had from
the circulating library, and that she still procured them through the
same channel. We carried on the conversation for some time, in the
course of which she displayed a great deal of smartness and talent;
and at last we were obliged, very reluctantly, to leave her, and
proceed on our journey. We afterwards found that she was the daughter
of a proprietor of that neighbourhood who was known under the name of
the Baron Maclaren. I have never been able,” continued Mr. Windham,
“to get this beautiful mountain nymph out of my head; and I wish you
to ascertain whether she is married or single.” And he begged Sir John
Sinclair to clear up this point as soon as possible, for much of his
future happiness depended upon the result of the inquiry.

If not the most important communication that ever took place behind
the Speaker's chair, this was probably the most curious one. Sir John
lost no time in making the desired inquiry. He wrote to a most
respectable clergyman in the neighbourhood where Miss Maclaren lived,
the Rev. Dr. Stewart, minister of Moulin; and was informed in reply,
that she was married to a medical gentleman in the East Indies of the
name of Dick. “Upon communicating this to Mr. Windham,” says Sir John,
“he seemed very much agitated. He was soon afterwards married to the
daughter of a half-pay officer. I have no doubt, however, that had
Miss Maclaren continued single, he would have paid her his addresses.”

This is an example of purely imaginative love. But before we proceed
with that subject, the remainder of Sir John Sinclair's story must be
given. Some years afterward he passed some days at Duneira in
Perthshire, with the late Lord Melville, and in the course of
conversation told him this anecdote of Mr. Windham. Upon which Lord
Melville said, “I am more interested in that matter than you imagine.
You must know that I was riding down from Blair to Dunkeld in company
with some friend, and we called at Baron Maclaren's, where a most
beautiful young woman desired to speak with me. We went accordingly to
the bank of a river near her father's house, when she said, ‘Mr.
Dundas, I hear that you are a very great man, and what is much better,
a very good man, I will venture therefore to tell you a secret. There
is a young man in this neighbourhood who has a strong attachment to
me, and to confess the truth, I have a great regard for him. His name
is William Dick; he has been bred to the medical profession; and he
says, that if he could get to be a surgeon in the East Indies, he
could soon make his fortune there, and would send for me to marry him.
Now I apply to you, Mr. Dundas, as a great and good man, in hopes that
you can do something for us: and be assured that we shall be for ever
grateful, if you will procure him an appointment.’”

Mr. Dundas was so much struck with the impressive manner of her
address, that he took her by the hand and said, “my good girl, be
assured that if an opportunity offers, I shall not forget your
application.” The promise was not forgotten. It was not long before an
East India Director with whom he was dining, told him that he had then
at his disposal an appointment of surgeon in the East India Company's
service, and offered it to him for any one whom he would wish to serve
in that line. Dundas immediately related his adventure, much to the
amusement of the Director. Mr. Dick obtained the appointment, and was
soon able to send for his betrothed. She had several offers in the
course of the voyage and after her arrival, but she refused to listen
to any one. Her husband attained to great eminence in his profession,
made a handsome fortune, came home and purchased an estate in the
neighbourhood where he was born.

There is no man among those who in that generation figured in public
life, of whom a story like this could be so readily believed as of
Windham. He was one whose endowments and accomplishments would have
recommended him at the Court of Elizabeth,—and whose speeches, when he
did not abase himself to the level of his hearers, might have
commanded attention in the days of Charles I.

* * * * *

A FRAGMENT ON BEARDS.

Yet have I more to say which I have thought upon, for I am filled as
the moon at the full!

ECCLESIASTICUS.

The reader must not expect that we have done with our beards yet;
shaving, as he no doubt knows but too well, is one of those things at
which we may cut and come again, and in the present Chapter

To shave, or not to shave, that is the question;

a matter which, hath not hitherto been fully considered. The question
as relates to the expenditure of time, has been, profitably I trust,
disposed of; and that of its effect upon health has been, as Members
of Parliament say, poo-pooh'd. But the propriety of the practice is
yet to be investigated upon other grounds.

Van Helmont tells us that Adam was created without a beard, but that
after he had fallen and sinned, because of the sinful propensities
which he derived from the fruit of the forbidden Tree, a beard was
made part of his punishment and disgrace, bringing him thus into
nearer resemblance with the beasts towards whom he had made his nature
approximate; “_ut multorum quadrupedum compar, socius et similis
esset, eorundem signaturam præ se ferret, quorum more ut salax, ita et
vultum pilis hirtum ostenderet._” The same stigma was not inflicted
upon Eve, because even in the fall she retained much of her original
modesty, and therefore deserved no such opprobrious mark.

Van Helmont observes also that no good Angel ever appears with a
beard, and this, he says, is a capital sign by which Angels may be
distinguished,—a matter of great importance to those who are in the
habit of seeing them. “_Si apparuerit barbatus Angelus, malus esto.
Eudæmon enim nunquam barbatus apparuit, memor casus ob quem viro barba
succrevit._” He marvelled therefore that men should suppose the beard
was given them for an ornament, when Angels abhor it, and when they
see that they have it in common with he-goats. There must be something
in his remark; for take the most beautiful Angel that ever Painter
designed, or Engraver copied, put him on a beard, and the celestial
character will be so entirely destroyed, that the simple appendage of
a tail will cacodemonize the Eudæmon.

This being the belief of Van Helmont, who declares that he had
profited more by reveries and visions than by study, though he had
studied much and deeply, ought he, in conformity to his own belief, to
have shaved, or not? Much might be alleged on either side: for to wear
the beard might seem in a person so persuaded, a visible sign of
submission to the Almighty will, in thus openly bearing the badge of
punishment, the mark of human degradation which the Almighty has been
pleased to appoint: but, on the other hand, a shaven face might seem
with equal propriety, and in like manner denote, a determination in
the man to put off, as far as in him lay this outward and visible sign
of sin and shame, and thereby assert that fallen nature was in him
regenerate,

_Belle est vraiment l'opinion premiere;
Belle est encores l'opinion derniere;
A qui des deux est-ce doncq' que je suis?_[1]

[Footnote 1: PASQUIER.]

Which of the two opinions I might incline to is of no consequence,
because I do not agree with Van Helmont concerning the origin of the
beard; though as to what he affirms concerning good Angels upon his
own alleged knowledge, I cannot contradict him upon mine, and have
moreover freely confessed that when we examine our notions of Angels
they are found to support him. But he himself seems to have thought
both opinions probable, and therefore, according to the casuists,
safe; so, conforming to the fashion of his times, without offence to
his own conscience, he neither did the one thing, nor the other; or
perhaps it may be speaking more accurately to say that he did both;
for he shaved his beard, and let his mustachios grow.

Upon this subject, P. Gentien Hervet, Regent of the College at Orleans
printed three discourses in the year 1536. In the first of these _De
radendâ barbâ_, he makes it appear that we are bound to shave the
beard. In the second _De alendâ barbâ_, he proves we ought to let the
beard grow. And in the third _De vel radendâ vel alendâ barbâ_ he
considers that it is lawful either to shave or cultivate the beard at
pleasure. “_Si bien_,” says the Doctor in Theology, M. Jean Baptiste
Thiers, in his grave and erudite _Histoire des Perruques_, published
_aux depens de l'Autheur_, at Paris in 1690,—_si bien, que dans la
pensée de ce sçavant Theologien, le question des barbes, courtes ou
longues, est une question tout-a-fait problematique, et où par
consequent on peut prendre tel party que l'on veut, pour ou contre._

[The following Extracts were to have been worked up in this Chapter.]

D'Israeli quotes an author who, in his Elements of Education, 1640,
says, “I have a favourable opinion of that young gentleman who is
curious in fine mustachios. The time he employs in adjusting, dressing
and curling them, is no lost time: for the more he contemplates his
mustachios, the more his mind will cherish, and be animated by,
masculine and courageous notions.”

There are men whose beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to
stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's packsaddle.

SHAKSPEARE.

“Human felicity,” says Dr. Franklin, “is produced not so much by great
pieces of good fortune that seldom happen, as by little advantages
that occur every day. Thus if you teach a poor young man to shave
himself and keep his razor in order, you may contribute more to the
happiness of his life than in giving him a thousand guineas. This sum
may be soon spent, the regret only remaining of having foolishly
consumed it: but in the other case he escapes the frequent vexation of
waiting for barbers, and of their sometimes dirty fingers, offensive
breaths and dull razors; he shaves when most convenient to him, and
enjoys daily the pleasure of its being done with a good instrument.”

By Jupiter,
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard
I would not shave 't to day.

SHAKSPEARE.

D'Israeli says that a clergyman who had the longest and largest beard
of any Englishman in Elizabeth's reign, gave as a reason for wearing
it the motive it afforded “that no act of his life might be unworthy
the gravity of his appearance.”

* * * * *

FRAGMENT ON MORTALITY.

When Fuller in his Pisgah Sight of Palestine, comes to the city of
Aigalon, where Elon, Judge of Israel, was buried, “of whom nothing
else is recorded save his name, time of his rule (ten years), and
place of his interment; slight him not he says, because so little is
reported of him, it tending much to the praise of his policy in
preventing foreign invasions, and domestic commotions, so that the
land enjoyed peace, as far better than victory, as health is to be
preferred before a recovery from sickness. Yea, times of much doing
are times of much suffering, and many martial achievements are rather
for the Prince's honour, than the people's ease.”

“To what purpose,” says Norris, “should a man trouble both the world's
and his own rest, to make himself great? For besides the emptiness of
the thing, the Play will quickly be done, and the Actors must all
retire into a state of equality, and then it matters not who
personated the Emperor, or who the Slave.”

The Doctor's feelings were in unison with both these passages;—with
the former concerning the quiet age in which it was his fortune to
flourish; and with the latter in that it was his fortune to flourish
in the shade. “It is with times,” says Lord Bacon, “as it is with
ways; some are more up hill and down hill, and some are more flat and
plain; and the one is better for the liver, and the other for the
writer.”

He assented also to the Christian-Platonist of Bemerton when he asked,
“to what purpose should a man be very earnest in the pursuit of Fame?
He must shortly die, and so must those too who admire him.” But
nothing could be more opposed to his way of thinking than what follows
in that philosopher,—“Nay, I could almost say, to what purpose should
a man lay himself out upon study and drudge so laboriously in the
mines of learning? He is no sooner a little wiser than his brethren,
but Death thinks him ripe for his sickle; and for aught we know, after
all his pains and industry, in the next world, an ideot, or a mechanic
will be as forward as he.” In the same spirit Horace Walpole said in
his old age, “What is knowledge to me, who stand on the verge, and
must leave my old stores as well as what I may add to them,—and how
little could that be!”

When Johnson was told that Percy was uneasy at the thought of leaving
his house, his study, his books—when he should die,—he replied—“a man
need not be uneasy on these grounds, for as he will retain his
consciousness, he may say with the Philosopher, _omnia mea mecum
porto._”

“Let attention,” says the thoughtful John Miller in his Bampton
Lectures, which deserve to be side by side with those of the lamented
Van Mildert, “let attention be requested to what seems here an
accessory sign of the adaptation of all our heavenly Father's dealings
to that which he ‘knows to be in man’—I mean his merciful shortening
of the term of this present natural life, subsequently to the period
when all-seeing justice had been compelled to destroy the old world
for its disobedience.

“I call it merciful, because, though we can conceive no length of day
which could enable man with his present faculties to exhaust all that
is made subject to his intellect, yet observing the scarcely credible
rapidity of some minds and the no less wonderful retention of others,
we may well conceive a far severer, nay too severe a test of
resignation and patience to arise from length of years. To learn is
pleasant; but to be ‘ever learning, and never able to come to sure
knowledge of the truth,’ (if it were only in matters of lawful and
curious and ardent speculation,) is a condition which we may well
imagine to grow wearisome by too great length of time. ‘Hope delayed’
might well ‘make the heart sick’ in many such cases. We may find an
infidel amusing himself on the brink of the grave with many imaginary
wishes for a little longer respite, that he might witness the result
of this or that speculation; but I am persuaded that the heart which
really loves knowledge most truly and most wisely will be affected
very differently. From every fresh addition to its store (as far as
concerns itself,) it will only derive increase to that desire
wherewith it longs to become disentangled altogether from a state of
imperfection, and to be present in the fulness of that light, wherein
‘every thing that is in part shall be done away.’ Here, then, in one
of the most interesting and most important of all points (the
shortening of human life) we find a representation in Scripture which
may be accounted favourable to its credibility and divine authority on
the safest grounds of reason and experience. For certainly, as to the
bare matter of fact, such representation corresponds in the strictest
manner (as far as we have known and have seen) with the state of life
as at present existing; and accepting it as true, we can perceive at
once, a satisfactory explanation of it by referring it, as a provision
for man's well being, to the wisdom and mercy of an Omnipotent Spirit
who knew, and knows ‘what is in man.’”

* * * * *

FRAGMENT OF SIXTH VOLUME.

Reader, we are about to enter upon the sixth volume of this our Opus;
and as it is written in the forms of Herkeru, Verily the eye of Hope
is upon the high road of Expectation.

Well begun, says the Proverb, is half done. Horace has been made to
say the same thing by the insertion of an apt word which pentametrizes
the verse,

_Dimidium facti qui bene cæpit habet._

D. Juan de Villagutierre Soto-Mayor in setting forth the merits of
Columbus for having discovered the New World, and thereby opened the
way for its conquest by the Spaniards, observes that _el principio en
todas las operaciones humanas es el mas dificultoso estado; y assi una
vez vencido, se reputa y debe reputarse por la mitad della obra, ò por
la principal de ella; y el proseguir despues en lo comenzado no
contiene tanta dificultad._

When Gabriel Chappuis dedicated the eighteenth book of Amadis, by him
translated from the Spanish, to the Noble and Virtuous Lord Jan
Anthoine Gros, Sieur de S. Jouere, &c., he says, after a preamble of
eulogies upon the Dedicates and the Book, _Vous recevrez donc, s'il
vous plaist ce petit livre d'aussy bon œil que ont fait ceux ausquels
j'ay dedié les trois livres precedens, m'asseurant que s'il vous
plaist en avoir la lecture, vous y trouverez grande delectation, comme
à la verité l'histoire qui y est descrite, et mesmes en tous les
precedens et en ceux qui viendront apres, a esté inventée pour
delecter; mais avec tant de beaux traits, et une infinité de divers
accidens et occurrences qu'il est impossible qu'avec le plaisir et le
delectation, l'on n'en tire un grand proffet, comme vous
experementerez, moyennant la grace de Dieu._

* * * * *

_J'ay fait le précédent Chapitre un peu court; peut-être que celui-ce
sera plus long; je n'en suis pourtant pas bien assuré, nous l'allons
voir._

SCARRON.

Deborah's strong affection for her father was not weakened by
marriage; nor his for her by the consequent separation. Caroline
Bowles says truly, and feelingly and beautifully,

It is not love that steals the heart from love;
'Tis the hard world and its perplexing cares,
Its petrifying selfishness, its pride,
Its low ambition, and its paltry aims.

There was none of that “petrifying selfishness” in the little circle
which lost so much when Deborah was removed from her father's
parsonage. In order that that loss might be less painfully felt, it
was proposed by Mr. Allison that Sunday should always be kept at the
Grange when the season or the weather permitted. The Doctor came if he
could; but for Mrs. Dove it was always to be a holiday.

“The pleasures of a volatile head,” says Mrs. Carter, “are much less
liable to disappointment, than those of a sensible heart.” For such as
can be contented with rattles and raree-shows, there are rattles and
raree-shows in abundance to content them; and when one is broken it is
mighty easily replaced by another. But the pleasures arising from the
endearments of social relations, and the delicate sensibilities of
friendly affection, are more limited, and their objects
incontrovertible; they are accompanied with perpetual tender
solicitude, and subject to accidents not to be repaired beneath the
Sun. It is no wonder however that the joys of folly should have their
completion in a world with which they are to end, while those of
higher order must necessarily be incompleat in a world where they are
only to begin.[1]

[Footnote 1: From the writing of the latter paragraph I should judge
this to be one of the latest sentences Southey ever wrote.—In the MS.
it was to have followed c. cxxxv. vol. iv. p. 361.]

* * * * *

FRAGMENT WHICH WAS TO HAVE ANSWERED THE QUESTION PROPOSED IN THE TWO
HUNDRED AND FORTY-SECOND CHAPTER.

GALATEO, DEL M. GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.

The Reader may remember, when he is thus reminded of it, that I
delayed giving an account of Pompey, in answer to the question who he
was, till the Dog-days should come. Here we are, (if _here_ may be
applied to time) in the midst of them, July 24, 1830.

Horace Walpole speaks in a letter of two or three Mastiff-days so much
fiercer were they that season than our common Dog-days. This year they
might with equal propriety be called Iceland-Dog-days. Here we are
with the thermometer every night and morning below the temperate
point, and scarcely rising two degrees above it at middle day. And
then for weather;—as Voiture says, _Il pleut pla-ple-pli-plo-plus._

If then as Robert Wilmot hath written, “it be true that the motions of
our minds follow the temperature of the air wherein we live, then I
think the perusing of some mournful matter, tending to the view of a
notable example, will refresh your wits in a gloomy day, and ease your
weariness of the louring night:” and the tragical part of my story
might as fitly be told now in that respect, as if “weary winter were
come upon us, which bringeth with him drooping days and weary nights.”
But who does not like to put away tragical thoughts? Who would not
rather go to see a broad farce than a deep tragedy? Sad thoughts even
when they are medicinal for the mind, are as little to the mind's
liking, as physic is grateful to the palate when it is needed most.

* * * * *

FRAGMENT ON HUTCHINSON'S WORKS.[1]

[Footnote 1: A Chapter was to have been devoted to the Hutchinsonian
philosophy, and I am inclined to believe that this was a part of it.]

These superstitions are unquestionably of earlier date than any
existing records, and commenced with the oldest system of idolatry,
the worship of the heavenly bodies. Hutchinson's view is that when
Moses brought the Jews out of their captivity, all men believed that
“Fire, Light, or the Operation of the Air, did every thing in this
material system:” those who believed rightly in God, knew that these
secondary causes acted as his instruments, but “those who had fallen
and lost communication with the Prophets and the truth of tradition,
and were left to reason, (though they reasoned as far as reason could
reach) thought the Heavens of a divine nature, and that they not only
moved themselves and the heavenly bodies but operated all things on
earth; and influenced the bodies, and governed the minds and fortunes
of men: and so they fell upon worshipping them, and consulting them
for times and seasons.” “The Devil,” he says, “chose right; this was
the only object of false worship which gave any temptation; and it had
very specious inducements.” And it was because he thus prevailed over
“the Children of disobedience,” that the Apostle stiles him “the
Prince of the Powers of the Air.” “This made the Priests and
Physicians of the antient heathen cultivate the knowledge of these
Powers, and afterwards made them star-gazers and observe the motions
of those bodies for their conjunctions and oppositions, and all the
stuff of their lucky and unlucky days and times, and especially to
make advantage of their eclipses, for which they were stiled Magi, and
looked upon as acquaintance of their Gods; and so much of the latter
as is of any use, and a great deal more, we are obliged to them for.”
“But these,” he says, “who thought that the Heavens ordered the events
of things by their motions and influences, and that they were to be
observed and foreseen by men, robbed God of his chief attributes, and
were ordered then, and ought still, to be punished with death.”

Hutchinson is one of the most repulsive writers that ever produced any
effect upon his contemporaries. His language is such as almost
justified Dr. Parr in calling it the Hutchinsonian jargon; and his
system is so confusedly brought forward that one who wishes to obtain
even a general knowledge of it, must collect it as he can from
passages scattered through the whole of his treatises. Add to these
disrecommendations that it is propounded in the coarsest terms of
insolent assumption, and that he treats the offence of those who
reject the authority of scripture,—that is of his interpretation of
Hebrew, and his exposition of the Mosaic philosophy, as “an infectious
scurvy or leprosy of the soul which can scarcely be cured by any thing
but eternal brimstone.”

The Paradise Lost, he calls, “that cursed farce of Milton, where he
makes the Devil his hero:” and of the ancient poets and historians he
says that “the mischief which these vermin did by praising their
heroes in their farces or princes for conquering countries, and
thereby inciting other princes to imitate them were the causes of the
greatest miseries that have befallen mankind.” But Sir Isaac Newton
was the great object of his hatred. “Nothing but villainy,” he said,
“was to be expected from men who had made a human scheme, and would
construe every text concerning it, so as to serve their purpose; he
could only treat them as the most treacherous men alive. I hope,” he
says, “I have power to forgive any crimes which are committed only
against myself; I am not required, nor have I any power to forgive
treason against the king, much less to forgive any crimes whereby any
attempt to dispossess Jehovah Aleim. Nay, if I know of them and do not
reveal them, and do not my endeavour to disappoint them in either, I
am accessary. I shall put these things where I can upon the most
compassionate side; the most favourable wish I can make for them is,
that they may prove their ignorance so fully, that it may abate their
crimes; but if their followers will shew that he or his accomplices
knew anything, I must be forced to make Devils of them. There are many
other accidents besides design or malice, which make men
atheists,—studying or arguing to maintain a system, forged by a man
who does not understand it, and in which there must be some things
false, makes a man a villain whether he will or no.

“He, (Newton) first framed a philosophy, which is two thirds of the
business of the real scriptures, and struck off the rest. And when he
found his philosophy was built upon, and to be supported by emptiness,
he was forced to patch up a God to constitute space. His equipage
appears to have been the translation of the apostate Jews, and some
blind histories of the modern heathen _Deus_, and an empty head to
make his _Deus_; Kepler's banter of his powers, and some tacit
acknowledgements as he only supposed, of the ignorantest heathens; an
air-pump to make, and a pendulum or swing to prove a vacuum; a
loadstone, and a bit of amber, or jet, to prove his philosophy; a
telescope, a quadrant, and a pair of compasses to make infinite
worlds, circles, crooked lines, &c.; a glass bubble, prisms and
lenses, and a board with a hole in it, to let light into a dark room
to form his history of light and colours; and he seems to have spent
his time, not only when young, as some boys do, but when he should
have set things right, in blowing his phlegm through a straw, raising
bubbles, and admiring how the light would glare on the sides of them.”

No mention of Hutchinson is made in Dr. Brewster's Life of Newton, his
system was probably thought too visionary to deserve notice, and the
author unworthy of it because he had been the most violent and
foul-mouthed of all Sir Isaac's opponents. The Mathematical Principles
of Natural philosophy, he called a cobweb of circles and lines to
catch flies. “Mathematics,” he said, “are applicable to any _data_,
real or imaginary, true or false, more pestilent and destructive
positions had been fathered upon that science than upon all others put
together, and mathematicians had been put to death, both by Heathens
and Christians for attributing much less to the heavenly bodies than
Newton had done.” He compared his own course of observations with
Newton's. His had been in the dark bowels of the earth, with the
inspired light of scripture in his hand,—there he had learnt his
Hebrew, and there he had studied the causes and traced the effects of
the Deluge. “The opportunities,” he said, “were infinitely beyond what
any man can have by living in a box, peeping out at a window, or
letting the light in at a hole: or in separating and extracting the
spirit from light, which can scarce happen in nature, or from
refracting the light, which only happens upon the rainbow, bubbles,
&c., or by making experiments with the loadstone, talc or amber, which
differ in texture from most other bodies, and are only found in masses
of small size; or by arranging a pendulum, which perhaps has not a
parallel case in nature: or by the effects produced by spirit or light
upon mixing small parcels of extracted fluids or substances, scarce
one of which ever happened, or will happen in nature: or by taking
cases which others have put, or putting cases which never had, nor
ever will have any place in nature: or by forming figures or lines of
crooked directions of motions or things, which most of them have no
place, so the lines no use in nature, other than to serve hypotheses
of imaginary Powers, or courses, which always have been useless, when
any other Powers, though false, have been assigned and received; and
must all finally be useless, when the true Powers are shewn.”

Such passages show that Hutchinson was either grossly incapable of
appreciating Newton's discoveries, or that he wilfully and maliciously
depreciated them. His own attainments might render the first of these
conclusions improbable, and the second would seem still more so upon
considering the upright tenour of his life. But the truth seems to be,
that having constructed a system with great labour, and no little
ability, upon the assumption that the principles of natural philosophy
as well as of our faith, are contained in the scriptures, and that the
true interpretation of scripture depended upon the right understanding
of the Hebrew primitives, which knowledge the apostate Jews had lost,
and he had recovered, his belief in this system had all the
intolerance of fanaticism or supposed infallibility; and those who
strongly contravened it, deserved in his opinion the punishments
appointed in the Mosaic law for idolatry and blasphemy. Newton and
Clarke were in this predicament. Both, in his judgement, attributed so
much to secondary causes,—those Powers which had been the first
objects of idolatry, that he considered their Deity to be nothing more
than the Jupiter of the philosophizing heathens; and he suspects that
their esoteric doctrine resolved itself into Pantheism. Toland indeed
had told him that there was a scheme in progress for leading men
through Pantheism and Atheism, and made him acquainted with all their
designs, divine or diabolical, and political or anarchical! and all
the villanies and forgeries they had committed to accomplish them.
First they sought to make men believe in a God who could not punish,
and then—that there was no God, and Toland was engaged, for pay, in
this scheme of propagandism, “because he had some learning, and more
loose humour than any of them.” The Pantheisticon was written with
this view. Toland was only in part the author, other hands assisted,
and Hutchinson says, he knew “there was a physician, and a patient of
his a divine, who was very serviceable in their respective stations in
prescribing proper doses, even to the very last.” But they “carried
the matter too far,” “they discovered a secret which the world had not
taken notice of, and which it was highly necessary the world should
know.” For “though it be true to a proverb, that a man should not be
hanged for being a fool, they shewed the principles of these men so
plainly, which were to have no superior, to conform to any religion,
laws, oaths, &c., but be bound by none, and the consequences of
propagating them, that they thereby shewed the wisdom of the heathen
people, who because they could not live safely, stoned such men; and
the justice of the heathen Emperors and Kings, who put such to death,
because they could have no security from them, and if their doubts, or
notions had prevailed, all must have gone to anarchy or a
commonwealth, as it always did, when and where they neglected to cut
them off.”

That atheism had its propagandists then as it has now is certain, and
no one who has watched the course of opinion among his contemporaries
can doubt that Socinianism, or semi-belief, gravitates towards
infidelity. But to believe that Newton and Clarke were engaged in the
scheme which is here imputed to them, we must allow more weight to
Toland's character than to theirs, and to Hutchinson's judgement.

What has here been said of Hutchinson exhibits him in his worst
light,—and it must not hastily be concluded that because he breathed
the fiercest spirit of intolerance, he is altogether to be disliked as
a man, or despised as an author. Unless his theory, untenable as it
is, had been constructed with considerable talent, and supported with
no common learning,—he could never have had such men as Bishop Horne
and Jones of Nayland among his disciples. Without assenting to his
system, a biblical student may derive instruction from many parts of
his works.

There is one remarkable circumstance in his history. When he was a
mere boy a stranger came to board with his father, who resided at
Spennythorn in the North-Riding of Yorkshire, upon an estate of forty
pounds a year. The father's intention was to educate this son for the
office of steward to some great landed proprietor, and this stranger
agreed to instruct him in every branch of knowledge requisite for such
an employment, upon condition of being boarded free of expence,
engaging at the same time to remain till he had completed the boy's
education. What he had thus undertaken he performed well; “he was,
perhaps,” says Hutchinson, “as great a mathematician as either of
those whose books he studied, and taught me as much as I could see any
use for, either upon the earth or in the heavens, without poisoning me
with any false notions fathered upon the mathematics.” The curious
part of this story is that it was never known who this scientific
stranger was, for he carefully and effectually concealed every thing
that could lead to a discovery. Hutchinson was born in 1674, and his
education under this tutor was completed at the age of nineteen.

* * * * *

FRAGMENT RELATIVE TO THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL AT DONCASTER AND THE LIVING OF
ROSSINGTON.[1]

[Footnote 1: The Parish of Rossington in the union and soke of
Doncaster was for many generations the seat of the Fossard and Mauley
families. In the reign of Henry VII., it was granted by that monarch
to the corporation of Doncaster.

The following extract is from Mr. John Wainwright's History and
Antiquities of Doncaster and Conisbro'.

“Connected with the history of this village, is a singular and curious
specimen of Egyptian manners, as practised by the itinerant gypsies of
the British Empire. In a letter, which we had the pleasure of
receiving from the Rev. James Stoven, D.D. the worthy and learned
rector of this place, it is remarked, that about one hundred and
twenty years ago, the gypsies commenced here a curious custom, which
they practised once in almost every year, occasioned by the interment,
in the churchyard of this place, (of) one of their principal leaders,
Mr. Charles Bosville, on the 30th of June, 1708 or 9. Having, from a
boy, been much acquainted with this village, I have often heard of
their (the gypsies) abode here, and with them Mr. James Bosville,
their king, under whose authority they conducted themselves with great
propriety and decorum, never committing the least theft or offence.
They generally slept in their farmers' barns, who, at those periods,
considered their property to be more safely protected than in their
absence. Mr. Charles Bosville (but how related to the king does not
appear,) was much beloved in this neighbourhood, having a knowledge of
medicine, was very attentive to the sick, well bred in manners, and
comely in person. After his death, the gypsies, for many years, came
to visit his tomb, and poured upon it hot ale; but by degrees they
deserted the place,—(These circumstances must yet hang on their
remembrance; as, only a year ago, 1821, an ill drest set of them
encamped in our lanes, calling themselves Boswell's.)—These words in
the parentheses came within my own knowledge.”

It is added in a note—“_Boswell's Gang_, is an appellation, very
generally applied to a collection of beggars, or other idle
itinerants, which we often see encamped in groups in the lanes and
ditches of this part of England.”

In quoting this, I by no means assent to the statement that Gypsies
are Egyptians.—They are of Hindostanee origin.]

The Grammar school was next door to Peter Hopkins's, being kept in one
of the lower apartments of the Town Hall. It was a free school for the
sons of freemen, the Corporation allowing a salary of £50. _per annum_
to the schoolmaster, who according to the endowment must be a
clergyman. That office was held by Mr. Crochley, who had been bred at
Westminster, and was elected from thence to Christ Church, Oxford in
1742. He came to Doncaster with a promise from the Corporation that
the living of Rossington, which is in their gift and is a valuable
benefice, should be given him provided he had fifty scholars when it
became vacant. He never could raise their numbers higher than
forty-five; the Corporation adhered to the letter of their agreement;
the disappointment preyed on him, and he died a distressed and
broken-hearted man.

Yet it was not Crochley's fault that the school had not been more
flourishing. He was as competent to the office as a man of good
natural parts could be rendered by the most compleat course of
classical education. But in those days few tradesmen ever thought of
bestowing upon their sons any further education than was sufficient to
qualify them for trade; and the boys who were desirous to be placed
there, must have been endued with no ordinary love of learning, for a
grammar school is still any thing rather than a _Ludus Literarius_.

Two or three years before the Doctor's marriage a widow lady came to
settle at Doncaster, chiefly for the sake of placing her sons at the
Grammar School there, which though not in high repute was at least
respectably conducted. It was within five minutes walk of her own
door, and thus the boys had the greatest advantage that school-boys
can possibly enjoy, that of living at home, whereby they were saved
from all the misery and from most of the evil with which
boarding-schools, almost without an exception, abounded in those days,
and from which it may be doubted whether there are any yet that are
altogether free. Her name was Horseman, she was left with six
children, and just with such means as enabled her by excellent
management to make what is called a respectable appearance, the boys
being well educated at the cheapest rate, and she herself educating
two daughters who were fortunately the eldest children. Happy girls!
they were taught what no Governess could teach them, to be useful as
soon as they were capable of being so; to make their brother's shirts
and mend their stockings; to make and mend for themselves, to cipher
so as to keep accounts; to assist in household occupations, to pickle
and preserve, to make pastry, to work chair-bottoms, to write a fair
hand, and to read Italian. This may seem incongruous with so practical
a system of domestic education. But Mrs. Horseman was born in Italy,
and had passed great part of her youth there.

The father, Mr. Duckinton, was a man of some fortune, whose delight
was in travelling, and who preferred Italy to all other countries.
Being a whimsical person he had a fancy for naming each of his
children, after the place where it happened to be born. One daughter
therefore was baptized by the fair name of Florence, Mrs. Horseman,
was christened Venetia, like the wife of Sir Kenelm Digby, whose
husband was more careful of her complexion than of her character.
Fortunate it was that he had no daughter born at Genoa or at Nantes,
for if he had, the one must have concealed her true baptismal name
under the alias of Jenny; and the other have subscribed herself Nancy,
that she might not be reproached with the brandy cask. The youngest of
his children was a son, and if he had been born in the French capital
would hardly have escaped the ignominious name of Paris, but as Mr.
Duckinton had long wished for a son, and the mother knowing her
husband's wishes had prayed for one, the boy escaped with no worse
name than Deodatus.

* * * * *

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

Kissing has proverbially been said to go by favour. So it is but too
certain, that Preferment does in Army and Navy, Church and State; and
so does Criticism.

That Kissing should do so is but fair and just; and it is moreover in
the nature of things.

That Promotion should do so is also in the nature of things—as they
are. And this also is fair where no injustice is committed. When other
pretensions are equal, favour is the feather which ought to be put
into the scale. In cases of equal fitness, no wrong is done to the one
party, if the other is preferred for considerations of personal
friendship, old obligations, or family connection; the injustice and
the wrong would be if these were overlooked.

To what extent may favour be reasonably allowed in criticism?

If it were extended no farther than can be really useful to the person
whom there is an intention of serving, its limits would be short
indeed. For in that case it would never proceed farther than truth and
discretion went with it. Far more injury is done to a book and to an
author by injudicious or extravagant praise, than by intemperate or
malevolent censure.

Some persons have merrily surmised that Job was a reviewer because he
exclaimed “Oh that mine enemy had written a book!” Others on the
contrary have inferred that reviewing was not known in his days,
because he wished that his own words had been printed and published.

* * * * *

[The timbers were laid for a Chapter on wigs, and many notes and
references were collected.—This Fragment is all that remains.]

Bernardin St. Pierre, who with all his fancies and oddities, has been
not undeservedly a popular writer in other countries as well as in his
own, advances in the most extravagant of his books, (the _Harmonies de
la Nature_,) the magnificent hypothesis that men invented great wigs
because great wigs are _semblables aux criniers des lions_, like
lion's manes. But as wigs are rather designed to make men look grave
than terrible, he might with more probability have surmised that they
were intended to imitate the appearance of the Bird of Wisdom.

The Doctor wore a wig: and looked neither like a Lion, nor like an Owl
in it. Yet when he first put it on, and went to the looking-glass, he
could not help thinking that he did not look like a Dove.

But then he looked like a Doctor, which was as it became him to look.
He wore it professionally.

It was not such a wig as Dr. Parr's, which was of all contemporary
wigs _facile princeps_. Nor was it after the fashion of that which may
be seen in “immortal buckle,” upon Sir Cloudesley Shovel's monument in
Westminster Abbey——&c.

* * * * *

MEMOIRS OF CAT'S EDEN.

[The following Fragments were intended to be worked up into an
Interchapter on the History of Cats. The first fairly written out was
to have been, it would appear, the commencement. The next is an
Extract from Eulia Effendi. “That anecdote about the King of the Cats,
Caroline, you must write out for me, as it must be inserted,” said the
lamented Author of the Doctor, &c. to Mrs. Southey. The writer of the
lines is not known, they were forwarded to the Author when at
Killerton. The “Memoirs of Cats of Greta Hall” was to have furnished
the particulars, which the first fragment states had got abroad.

What was to have been the form of the Interchapter the Editor does not
know, neither does Mrs. Southey. The playful letter is given exactly
as it was written. A beautiful instance, as will be acknowledged by
all, of that confidence which should exist between a loving father and
a dutiful daughter. Sir Walter Scott wrote feelingly when he said,

Some feelings are to mortals given
With less of earth in them than heaven:
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek,
It would not stain an angel's cheek,
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head!]

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

More than prince of cats, I can tell you.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

An extract from the Register of Cat's Eden has got abroad, whereby it
appears that the Laureate, Dr. Southey, who is known to be a
philofelist, and confers honours upon his Cats according to their
services, has raised one to the highest rank in peerage, promoting him
through all its degrees by the following titles, His Serene Highness
the Arch-Duke Rumpelstilzchen, Marquis Macbum, Earl Tomlemagne, Baron
Raticide, Waowlher and Skaratchi.

The first of these names is taken from the German Collection of
_Kinder und Haus-Märchen_. A Dwarf or Imp so called was to carry off
the infant child of the Queen as the price of a great service which he
had rendered her, but he had consented to forego his right if in the
course of three days she could find out what was his name. This she
never could have done, if the King had not on the first day gone
hunting, and got into the thickest part of the wood, where he saw a
ridiculous Dwarf hopping about before a house which seemed by its
dimensions to be his home, and singing for joy; these were the words
of his song,

_Heute back ich, morgen brau ich,
Ubermorgen hohl ich der Frau Konigin ihr kind,
Ach wie gut ist, das niemand weiss
Dass ich Rumpelstilzchen heiss._

I bake to-day, and I brew to-morrow,
Mrs. Queen will see me the next day to her sorrow,
When according to promise her child I shall claim,
For none can disclose, because nobody knows
That Rumpelstilzchen is my name.

Now if Rumpelstilzchen had had as many names as a Spanish Infante, the
man must have a good memory who could have carried them away upon
hearing them once.

* * * * *

“The Cats of Diorigi are celebrated all over Greece, for nowhere are
to be found cats so pretty, so vigilant, so caressing and well-bred
as at Diorigi. The Cats of the Oasis in Egypt, and of Sinope are
justly renowned for their good qualities, but those of Diorigi are
particularly fat, brilliant, and playing different colours. They are
carried from here to Persia, to Ardebeil where they are shut up in
cages, proclaimed by the public criers and sold for one or two
_tomans_. The Georgians also buy them at a great price, to save their
whiskers which are commonly eaten up by mice. The criers of Ardebeil,
who cry these cats have a particular melody to which they sing their
cry in these words,

O you who like a Cat
That catches mouse and rat,
Well-bred, caressing, gay
Companion to sport and play,
Amusing and genteel,
Shall never scratch and steal.

Singing these words they carry the cats on their head and sell them
for great prices, because the inhabitants of Ardebeil are scarce able
to save their woollen cloth from the destruction of mice and rats.
Cats are called Hurre, Katta, Senorre, Merabe, Matshi, Weistaun,
Wemistaun, but those of Diorigi are particularly highly esteemed.
Notwithstanding that high reputation and price of the Cats of Diorigi,
they meet with dangerous enemies in their native place, where
sometimes forty or fifty of them are killed secretly, tanned, and
converted into fur for the winter time. It is a fur scarce to be
distinguished from Russian ermelin, and that of the red cats is not to
be distinguished from the fox that comes from Ozalov.”[1]

[Footnote 1: EVLIA EFFENDI.]

A labouring man returning to his cottage after night-fall, passed by a
lone house in ruins, long uninhabited. Surprized at the appearance of
light within, and strange sounds issuing from the desolate interior,
he stopt and looked in through one of the broken windows, and there in
a large old gloomy room, quite bare of furniture except that the
cobwebs hung about its walls like tapestry, he beheld a marvellous
spectacle. A small coffin covered with a pall stood in the midst of
the floor, and round and round and round about it with dismal
lamentations in the feline tongue, marched a circle of Cats, one of
them, being covered from head to foot with a black veil, and walking
as chief mourner. The man was so frightened with what he saw that he
waited to see no more, but went straight home, and at supper told his
wife what had befallen him.

Their own old Cat, who had been sitting, as was her wont, on the elbow
of her Master's chair, kept her station very quietly, till he came to
the description of the chief Mourner, when, to the great surprize and
consternation of the old couple, she bounced up, and flew up the
chimney exclaiming—“Then I am King of the Cats.”

* * * * *

_Keswick, January 9th._

DEAR MASTER,

Let our boldness not offend,
If a few lines of duteous love we send;
Nor wonder that we deal in rhyme, for long
We've been familiar with the founts of song;
Nine thorougher tabbies you would rarely find,
Than those who laurels round your temples bind:
For how, with less than nine lives to their share,
Could they have lived so long on poet's fare?
Athens surnamed them from their mousing powers,
And Rome from that harmonious MU of ours,
In which the letter U, (as we will trouble you
To say to TODD) should supersede ew—
This by the way—we now proceed to tell,
That all within the bounds of home are well;
All but your faithful cats, who inly pine;
The cause your Conscience may too well divine.
Ah! little do you know how swiftly fly
The venomed darts of feline jealousy;
How delicate a task to deal it is
With a Grimalkin's sensibilities,
When Titten's tortoise fur you smoothed with bland
And coaxing courtesies of lip and hand,
We felt as if, (poor Puss's constant dread)
Some school-boy stroked us both from tail to head;
Nor less we suffer'd while with sportive touch
And purring voice, you played with grey-backed Gutch;
And when with eager step, you left your seat,
To get a peep at Richard's snow-white feet,
Himself all black; we long'd to stop his breath
With something like his royal namesake's death;
If more such scenes our frenzied fancies see,
Resolved we hang from yonder apple tree—
And were not that a sad catastrophe!
O! then return to your deserted lake,
Dry eyes that weep, and comfort hearts that ache;
Our mutual jealousies we both disown,
Content to share, rather than lose a throne.
The Parlour, Rumples undisputed reign,
Hurley's the rest of all your wide domain.
Return, return, dear Bard _κατ᾽ ἐξοχήν_,
Restore the happy days that once have been,
Resign yourself to Home, the Muse and us.

(_Scratch'd_)

RUMPLESTITCHKIN,
HURLYBURLYBUS.

* * * * *

MEMOIR OF THE CATS OF GRETA HALL.

For as much, most excellent Edith May, as you must always feel a
natural and becoming concern in whatever relates to the house wherein
you were born, and in which the first part of your life has thus far
so happily been spent, I have for your instruction and delight
composed these Memoirs of the Cats of Greta Hall: to the end that the
memory of such worthy animals may not perish, but be held in deserved
honour by my children, and those who shall come after them. And let me
not be supposed unmindful of Beelzebub of Bath, and Senhor Thomaz de
Lisboa, that I have not gone back to an earlier period, and included
them in my design. Far be it from me to intend any injury or
disrespect to their shades! Opportunity of doing justice to their
virtues will not be wanting at some future time, but for the present I
must confine myself within the limits of these precincts.

In the autumn of the year 1803 when I entered upon this place of
abode, I found the hearth in possession of two cats whom my nephew
Hartley Coleridge, (then in the 7th year of his age,) had named Lord
Nelson, and Bona Marietta. The former, as the name implies, was of the
worthier gender: it is as decidedly so in Cats, as in grammar and in
law. He was an ugly specimen of the streaked-carrotty, or
Judas-coloured kind; which is one of the ugliest varieties. But
_nimium ne crede colori_. In spite of his complection, there was
nothing treacherous about him. He was altogether a good Cat,
affectionate, vigilant and brave; and for services performed against
the Rats was deservedly raised in succession to the rank of Baron,
Viscount and Earl. He lived to a good old age; and then being quite
helpless and miserable, was in mercy thrown into the river. I had more
than once interfered to save him from this fate; but it became at
length plainly an act of compassion to consent to it. And here let me
observe that in a world wherein death is necessary, the law of nature
by which one creature preys upon another is a law of mercy, not only
because death is thus made instrumental to life, and more life exists
in consequence, but also because it is better for the creatures
themselves to be cut off suddenly, than to perish by disease or
hunger,—for these are the only alternatives.

There are still some of Lord Nelson's descendants in the town of
Keswick. Two of the family were handsomer than I should have supposed
any Cats of this complection could have been; but their fur was fine,
the colour a rich carrot, and the striping like that of the finest
tyger or tabby kind. I named one of them William Rufus; the other
Danayn le Roux, after a personage in the Romance of Gyron le Courtoys.

Bona Marietta was the mother of Bona Fidelia, so named by my nephew
aforesaid. Bona Fidelia was a tortoise-shell cat. She was filiated
upon Lord Nelson, others of the same litter having borne the
unequivocal stamp of his likeness. It was in her good qualities that
she resembled him, for in truth her name rightly bespoke her nature.
She approached as nearly as possible in disposition, to the ideal of a
perfect cat:—he who supposes that animals have not their difference of
disposition as well as men, knows very little of animal nature. Having
survived her daughter Madame Catalani, she died of extreme old age,
universally esteemed and regretted by all who had the pleasure of her
acquaintance.

Bona Fidelia left a daughter and a granddaughter; the former I called
Madame Bianchi—the latter Pulcheria. It was impossible ever to
familiarize Madame Bianchi, though she had been bred up in all
respects like her gentle mother, in the same place, and with the same
persons. The nonsense of that arch-philosophist Helvetius would be
sufficiently confuted by this single example, if such rank folly
contradicted as it is by the experience of every family, needed
confutation. She was a beautiful and singular creature, white, with a
fine tabby tail, and two or three spots of tabby, always delicately
clean; and her wild eyes were bright and green as the Duchess de
Cadaval's emerald necklace. Pulcheria did not correspond as she grew
up to the promise of her kittenhood and her name; but she was as fond
as her mother was shy and intractable. Their fate was extraordinary as
well as mournful. When good old Mrs. Wilson died, who used to feed and
indulge them, they immediately forsook the house, nor could they be
allured to enter it again, though they continued to wander and moan
around it, and came for food. After some weeks Madame Bianchi
disappeared, and Pulcheria soon afterwards died of a disease endemic
at that time among cats.

For a considerable time afterwards, an evil fortune attended all our
attempts at re-establishing a Cattery. Ovid disappeared and Virgil
died of some miserable distemper. You and your cousin are answerable
for these names: the reasons which I could find for them were, in the
former case the satisfactory one that the said Ovid might be presumed
to be a master in the Art of Love; and in the latter, the probable one
that something like Ma-ro—might be detected in the said Virgil's notes
of courtship. There was poor Othello: most properly named, for black
he was, and jealous undoubtedly he would have been, but he in his
kittenship followed Miss Wilbraham into the street, and there in all
likelihood came to an untimely end. There was the Zombi—(I leave the
Commentators to explain that title, and refer them to my History of
Brazil to do it)—his marvellous story was recorded in a letter to
Bedford,—and after that adventure he vanished. There was Prester John,
who turned out not to be of John's gender, and therefore had the name
altered to Pope Joan. The Pope I am afraid came to a death of which
other Popes have died. I suspect that some poison which the rats had
turned out of their holes, proved fatal to their enemy. For some time
I feared we were at the end of our Cat-a-logue: but at last Fortune as
if to make amends for her late severity sent us two at
once,—the-never-to-be-enough-praised Rumpelstilzchen, and the
equally-to-be-admired Hurlyburlybuss.

And “first for the first of these” as my huge favourite, and almost
namesake Robert South, says in his Sermons.

When the Midgeleys went away from the next house, they left this
creature to our hospitality, cats being the least moveable of all
animals because of their strong local predilections;—they are indeed
in a domesticated state the serfs of the animal creation, and properly
attached to the soil. The change was gradually and therefore easily
brought about, for he was already acquainted with the children and
with me; and having the same precincts to prowl in was hardly sensible
of any other difference in his condition than that of obtaining a
name; for when he was consigned to us he was an anonymous cat; and I
having just related at breakfast with universal applause the story of
Rumpelstilzchen from a German tale in Grimm's Collection, gave him
that strange and magnisonant appellation; to which upon its being
ascertained that he came when a kitten from a bailiff's house, I added
the patronymic of Macbum. Such is his history, his character may with
most propriety be introduced after the manner of Plutarch's parallels
when I shall have given some previous account of his great compeer and
rival Hurlyburlybuss,—that name also is of Germanic and Grimmish
extraction.

Whence Hurlyburlybuss came was a mystery when you departed from the
Land of Lakes, and a mystery it long remained. He appeared here, as
Mango Capac did in Peru, and Quetzalcohuatl among the Aztecas, no one
knew from whence. He made himself acquainted with all the philofelists
of the family—attaching himself more particularly to Mrs. Lovell, but
he never attempted to enter the house, frequently disappeared for
days, and once since my return for so long a time that he was actually
believed to be dead and veritably lamented as such. The wonder was
whither did he retire at such times—and to whom did he belong; for
neither I in my daily walks, nor the children, nor any of the servants
ever by any chance saw him anywhere except in our own domain. There
was something so mysterious in this, that in old times it might have
excited strong suspicion, and he would have been in danger of passing
for a Witch in disguise, or a familiar. The mystery however was solved
about four week's ago, when as we were returning from a walk up the
Greta, Isabel saw him on his transit across the road and the wall from
Shulicrow, in a direction toward the Hill. But to this day we are
ignorant who has the honour to be his owner in the eye of the law; and
the owner is equally ignorant of the high favour in which
Hurlyburlybuss is held, of the heroic name which he has obtained, and
that his fame has extended far and wide—even unto Norwich in the East,
and Escott and Crediton and Kellerton in the West, yea—that with
Rumpelstilzchen he has been celebrated in song, by some hitherto
undiscovered poet, and that his glory will go down to future
generations.

The strong enmity which unhappily subsists between these otherwise
gentle and most amiable cats, is not unknown to you. Let it be imputed
as in justice it ought, not to their individual characters (for Cats
have characters,—and for the benefit of philosophy, as well as
_felisophy_, this truth ought generally to be known) but to the
constitution of Cat nature,—an original sin, or an original necessity,
which may be only another mode of expressing the same thing:

Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere,
Nor can one purlieu brook a double reign
Of Hurlyburlybuss and Rumpelstilzchen.

When you left us, the result of many a fierce conflict was that Hurly
remained master of the green and garden, and the whole of the out of
door premises. Rumpel always upon the appearance of his victorious
enemy retiring into the house as a citadel or sanctuary. The conqueror
was perhaps in part indebted for this superiority to his hardier
habits of life, living always in the open air, and providing for
himself; while Rumpel (who though born under a bum-bailiff's roof was
nevertheless kittened with a silver spoon in his mouth) past his hours
in luxurious repose beside the fire, and looked for his meals as
punctually as any two-legged member of the family. Yet I believe that
the advantage on Hurly's side is in a great degree constitutional
also, and that his superior courage arises from a confidence in his
superior strength, which as you well know is visible in his make. What
Bento and Maria Rosa used to say of my poor Thomaz, that he was _muito
fidalgo_ is true of Rumpelstilzchen, his countenance, deportment and
behaviour being such that he is truly a gentleman-like Tom-cat. Far be
it from me to praise him beyond his deserts,—he is not beautiful, the
mixture, tabby and white, is not good (except under very favourable
combinations) and the tabby is not good of its kind. Nevertheless he
is a fine cat, handsome enough for his sex, large, well-made, with
good features, and an intelligent countenance, and carrying a splendid
tail, which in Cats and Dogs is undoubtedly the seat of honour. His
eyes which are soft and expressive are of a hue between chrysolite and
emerald. Hurlyburlybuss's are between chrysolite and topaz. Which may
be the more esteemed shade for the _olho de gato_ I am not lapidary
enough to decide. You should ask my Uncle. But both are of the finest
water. In all his other features Hurly must yield the palm, and in
form also; he has no pretensions to elegance, his size is ordinary and
his figure bad: but the character of his face and neck is so
masculine, that the Chinese who use the word bull as synonymous with
male, and call a boy a bull-child, might with great propriety
denominate him a bull-cat. His make evinces such decided marks of
strength and courage that if cat-fighting were as fashionable as
cock-fighting, no Cat would stand a fairer chance for winning a Welsh
main. He would become as famous as the Dog Billy himself, whom I look
upon as the most distinguished character that has appeared since
Buonaparte.

Some weeks ago Hurlyburlybuss was manifestly emaciated and enfeebled
by ill health, and Rumpelstilzchen with great magnanimity made
overtures of peace. The whole progress of the treaty was seen from the
parlour window. The caution with which Rumpel made his advances, the
sullen dignity with which they were received, their mutual uneasiness
when Rumpel after a slow and wary approach, seated himself
whisker-to-whisker with his rival, the mutual fear which restrained
not only teeth and claws, but even all tones of defiance, the mutual
agitation of their tails which, though they did not expand with anger,
could not be kept still for suspense and lastly the manner in which
Hurly retreated, like Ajax still keeping his face toward his old
antagonist were worthy to have been represented by that painter who
was called the Rafaelle of Cats. The overture I fear was not accepted
as generously as it was made; for no sooner had Hurlyburlybuss
recovered strength than hostilities were recommenced with greater
violence than ever, Rumpel who had not abused his superiority while he
possessed it, had acquired mean time a confidence which made him keep
the field. Dreadful were the combats which ensued as their ears, faces
and legs bore witness. Rumpel had a wound which went through one of
his feet. The result has been so far in his favour that he no longer
seeks to avoid his enemy, and we are often compelled to interfere and
separate them. Oh it is aweful to hear the “dreadful note of
preparation” with which they prelude their encounters!—the long low
growl slowly rises and swells till it becomes a high sharp yowl,—and
then it is snapt short by a sound which seems as if they were spitting
fire and venom at each other. I could half persuade myself that the
word felonious is derived from the feline temper as displayed at such
times. All means of reconciling them and making them understand how
goodly a thing it is for cats to dwell together in peace, and what
fools they are to quarrel and tear each other are in vain. The
proceedings of the Society for the Abolition of War are not more
utterly ineffectual and hopeless.

All we can do is to act more impartially than the Gods did between
Achilles and Hector, and continue to treat both with equal regard.

And thus having brought down these Memoirs of the Cats of Greta Hall
to the present day, I commit the precious memorial to your keeping,
and remain

Most dissipated and light-heeled daughter,
Your most diligent and light-hearted father,

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

_Keswick, 18 June, 1824_.

* * * * *

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

[The following playful effusion was likewise, as the “Memoirs of Cat's
Eden,” intended for “THE DOCTOR, &C.,” but how it was to have been
moulded, so as to obscure the incognito, I do not know. It will tend,
if I mistake not, to shew the easy versatility,—the true
_εὐτραπελία_,—of a great and a good man's mind. “Fortune,” says
Fluellen, “is turning and inconstant, and variations, and
mutabilities,”—but one who, in the midst of constant and laborious
occupations, could revel in such a recreation as this “Chapter on the
Statues” was Fortune's master, and above her wheel.

ARS UTINAM MORES ANIMUMQUE EFFINGERE POSSET:
PULCHRIOR IN TERRIS NULLA TABELLA FORET.[1]

[Footnote 1: MART. EPIGR.]

It may be added that there was another very curious collection of
Letters intended for “THE DOCTOR, &C.,” but they have not come to my
hand. They were written in a peculiar dialect and would have required
much mother wit and many vocabularies to have decyphered them. She who
suggested them,—a woman “of infinite jest,—of most excellent fancy,”—a
good woman, and a kind,—is now gathered to her rest!]

ΕΙΣ ΤΟΥΣ ΑΔΡΙΑΝΤΑΣ.

_Ὁ μὲν διάβολος ἐνέπνενσέ τισι παρανόμοις ἀνθρώποις, καὶ εἰς τοὺς τῶν
βασιλέων ὕβρισαν ἀνδριάντας._

CHRYSOST. HOM. AD POPUL. ANTIOCHEN.

My dear daughter,

Having lately been led to compose an inscription for one of our Garden
statues, an authentic account of two such extraordinary works of art
has appeared to me so desirable that I even wonder at myself for
having so long delayed to write one. It is the more incumbent on me to
do this, because neither of the artists have thought proper to
inscribe their names upon these master-pieces,—either from that
modesty which often accompanies the highest genius, or from a
dignified consciousness that it was unnecessary to set any mark upon
them, the works themselves sufficiently declaring from what hands they
came.

I undertake this becoming task with the more pleasure because our
friend Mrs. Keenan has kindly offered to illustrate the intended
account by drawings of both Statues,—having as you may well suppose
been struck with admiration by them. The promise of this co-operation
induces me not to confine myself to a mere description, but to relate
on what occasion they were made, and faithfully to record the very
remarkable circumstances which have occurred in consequence;
circumstances I will venture to say, as well attested and as well
worthy of preservation as any of those related in the History of the
Portuguese Images of Nossa Senhora, in ten volumes quarto,—a book of
real value, and which you know I regard as one of the most curious in
my collection. If in the progress of this design I should sometimes
appear to wander in digression, you will not impute it to any habitual
love of circumlocution; and the speculative notions which I may have
occasion to propose, you will receive as mere speculations and judge
of them accordingly.

Many many years ago I remember to have seen these popular and rustic
rhymes in print,

God made a great man to plough and to sow,
God made a little man to drive away the crow;

they were composed perhaps to make some little man contented with that
office, and certain it is that in all ages and all countries it has
been an object of as much consequence to preserve the seed from birds
when sown, as to sow it. No doubt Adam himself when he was driven to
cultivate the ground felt this, and we who are his lineal descendants
(though I am sorry to say we have not inherited a rood of his estates)
have felt it also, in our small but not unimportant concern, the
Garden. Mrs. L., the Lady of that Garden used to complain grievously
of the depredations committed there, especially upon her pease. Fowls
and Ducks were condemned either to imprisonment for life, or to the
immediate larder for their offences of this kind; but the magpies (my
protegées) and the sparrows, and the blackbirds and the thrushes bade
defiance to the coop and the cook. She tried to fright them away by
feathers fastened upon a string, but birds were no more to be
frightened by feathers than to be caught by chaff. She drest up two
mopsticks; not to be forgotten, because when two youths sent their
straw hats upon leaving Keswick to K. and B., the girls consigned the
hats to these mopsticks and named the figures thus attired in due
honour of the youths, L. N., and C. K. These mopsticks however were
well drest enough to invite thieves from the town,—and too well to
frighten the birds. Something more effectual was wanted, and Mrs. L.
bespoke a man of Joseph Glover.

Such is the imperfection of language that write as carefully and
warily as we can it is impossible to use words which will not
frequently admit of a double construction, upon this indeed it is that
the Lawyers have founded the science of the Law, which said science
they display in extracting any meaning from any words, and generally
that meaning that shall be most opposite to the intention for which
they were used. When I say that your Aunt L. bespoke a man of Joseph
Glover, I do not mean that she commissioned him to engage a labourer:
nor that she required him actually to make a man like
Frankenstein,—though it must be admitted that such a man as
Frankenstein made, would be the best of all scarecrows, provided he
were broken in so as to be perfectly manageable. To have made a man
indeed would have been more than even Paracelsus would have undertaken
to perform; for according to the receipt which that illustrious
Bombast ab Hohenheim has delivered to posterity, an homunculus cannot
be produced in a hot-bed in less than forty weeks and forty days; and
this would not have been in time to save the pease; not to mention
that one of his homunculi had it been ready could not have served the
purpose, for by his account, when it was produced, it was smaller even
than Mark Thumb. Such an order would have been more unreasonable than
any of those which Juno imposed upon Hercules; whereas the task
imposed by Mrs. L. was nothing more than Glover thought himself
capable of executing, for he understood the direction plainly and
simply in its proper sense, as a carpenter ought to understand it.

An ordinary Carpenter might have hesitated at undertaking it, or
bungled in the execution. But Glover is not an ordinary Carpenter. He
says of himself that he should have been a capital singer, only the
pity is, that he has no voice. Whether he had ever a similar
persuasion of his own essential but unproducible talents for sculpture
or painting I know not:—but if ever genius and originality were
triumphantly displayed in the first effort of an untaught artist, it
was on this occasion. Perhaps I am wrong in calling him untaught;—for
there is a supernatural or divine teaching;—and it will appear
presently that if there be any truth in heathen philosophy, or in that
of the Roman Catholicks (which is very much the same in many respects)
some such assistance may be suspected in this case.

With or without such assistance, but certainly _con amore_, and with
the aid of his own genius, if of no other, Glover went to work: ere
long shouts of admiration were heard one evening in the kitchen, so
loud and of such long continuance that enquiry was made from the
parlour into the cause, and the reply was that Mrs. L.'s man was
brought home. Out we went, father, mother and daughters, (yourself
among them,—for you cannot have forgotten that memorable hour), My
Lady and the Venerabilis,—and Mrs. L. herself, as the person more
immediately concerned. Seldom as it happens that any artist can embody
with perfect success the conceptions of another, in this instance the
difficult and delicate task had been perfectly accomplished. But I
must describe the Man,—calling him by that name at present, the power,
_æon_ or intelligence which had incorporated itself with that ligneous
resemblance of humanity not having at that time been suspected.

Yet methinks more properly might he have been called youth than man,
the form and stature being juvenile. The limbs and body were slender,
though not so as to convey any appearance of feebleness, it was rather
that degree of slenderness which in elegant and refined society is
deemed essential to grace. The countenance at once denoted strength
and health and hilarity, and the incomparable carpenter had given it
an expression of threatful and alert determination, suited to the
station for which he was designed and the weapon which he bore. The
shape of the face was rather round than oval, resembling methinks the
broad harvest moon; the eyes were of the deepest black, the eyebrows
black also; and there was a blackness about the nose and lips, such as
might be imagined in the face of Hercules, while he was in the act of
lifting and strangling the yet unsubdued and struggling Antæus. On his
head was a little hat, low in the crown and narrow in the brim. His
dress was a sleeved jacket without skirts,—our ancestors would have
called it a gipion, _jubon_ it would be rendered if ever this
description were translated into Spanish, _gibão_ in Portuguese,
_jupon_ or _gippon_ in old French. It was fastened from the neck
downward with eight white buttons, two and two, and between them was a
broad white stripe, the colour of the gipion being brown: whether the
strype was to represent silver lace, or a white facing like that of
the naval uniform, is doubtful and of little consequence. The lower
part of his dress represented innominables and hose in one, of the
same colour as the gipion. And he carried a fowling-piece in his hand.

Great was the satisfaction which we all expressed at beholding so
admirable a man; great were the applauses which we bestowed upon the
workman with one consent; and great was the complacency with which
Glover himself regarded the work of his own hands. He thought, he
said, this would please us. Please us indeed it did, and so well did
it answer that after short trial Mrs. L. thinking that a second image
would render the whole garden secure, and moreover that it was not
good for her Man to be alone, directed Glover to make a woman also.
The woman accordingly was made. Flesh of his flesh and bone of his
bone, she could not be, the Man himself not being made of such
materials; but she was wood of his wood and plank of his plank,—which
was coming as nearly as possible to it, made of the same tree and
fashioned by the same hand.

The woman was in all respects a goodly mate for the man, except that
she seemed to be a few years older; she was rather below the mean
stature, in that respect resembling the Venus de Medicis; slender
waisted yet not looking as if she were tight-laced, nor so thin as to
denote ill health. Her dress was a gown of homely brown, up to the
neck. The artist had employed his brightest colours upon her face,
even the eyes and nose partook of that brilliant tint which is
sometimes called the roseate hue of health or exercise, sometimes the
purple light of love. The whites of her eyes were large. She also was
represented in a hat, but higher in the crown and broader in the rim
than the man's, and where his brim was turned up, her's had a downward
inclination giving a feminine character to that part of her dress.

She was placed in the garden; greatly as we admired both pieces of
workmanship, we considered them merely as what they seemed to be; they
went by the names of Mrs. L.'s Man and Woman; and even when you
departed for the south they were still known only by that vague and
most unworthy designation. Some startling circumstances after awhile
excited a more particular attention to them. Several of the family
declared they had been frightened by them; and K. one evening, came in
saying that Aunt L.'s woman had _given her_ a jump. Even this did not
awaken any suspicion of their supernatural powers as it ought to have
done, till on a winter's night, one of the maids hearing a knock at
the back door opened it; and started back when she saw that it was the
woman with a letter in her hand! This is as certain as that Nosso
Senhor dos Passes knocked at the door of S. Roque's convent in Lisbon
and was not taken in,—to the infinite regret of the monks when they
learnt that he had gone afterwards to the Graça Convent and been
admitted there. It is as certain that I have seen men, women and
children of all ranks kissing the foot of the said Image in the
Church, and half Lisbon following his procession in the streets. It is
as certain as all the miracles in the Fasti, the Metamorphoses, and
the Acta Sanctorum.

Many remarkable things were now called to mind both of the man and
woman;—how on one occasion they had made Miss C.'s maid miscarry
of—half a message; and how at another time when Isaac was bringing a
basket from Mr. C.'s, he was frightened into his wits by them. But on
Sunday evening last the most extraordinary display of wonderful power
occurred, for in the evening the woman instead of being in her place
among the pease, appeared standing erect on the top of Mr. Fisher's
haymow in the forge field, and there on the following morning she was
seen by all Keswick, who are witnesses of the fact.

You may well suppose that I now began to examine into the mystery, and
manifold were the mysteries which I discovered, and many the analogies
in their formation of which the maker could never by possibility have
heard; and many the points of divine philosophy and theurgic science
which they illustrated. In the first place two Swedenborgian
correspondencies flashed upon me in the material whereof they were
constructed. They were intended to guard the Garden. There is a
proverb which says, set a thief to catch a thief, and therefore it is
that they were _fir_ statues. Take it in English and the
correspondence is equally striking; they were made of _deal_, because
they were to do a _deal_ of good. The dark aspect of the male figure
also was explained; for being stationed there contra _fures_, it was
proper that he should have a furious countenance. Secondly, there is
something wonderful in their formation:—they are bifronted, not merely
bifaced like Janus, but bifronted from top to toe. Let the thief be as
cunning as he may he cannot get behind them.—They have no backs, and
were they disposed to be indolent and sit at their posts it would be
impossible. They can appear at the kitchen door, or on the haymow,
they can give the children and even the grown persons of the family a
jump, but to sit is beyond their power however miraculous it may be;
for impossibilities cannot be effected even by miracle, and as it is
impossible to see without eyes, or to walk without legs,—or for a ship
to float without a bottom, so is it for a person in the same
predicament as such a ship—to sit.

Yet farther mysteries; both hands of these marvellous statues are
right hands and both are left hands, they are at once ambidexter and
ambisinister. It was said by Dryden of old Jacob Tonson that he had
two left legs: but these marvellous statues have two left legs and two
right legs each, and yet but four legs between them, that is to say
but two a-piece. In the whole course of my reading I have found no
account of any statues so wonderful as these. For though the Roman
Janus was bifronted, and my old acquaintance Yamen had in like manner
a double face, and many of the Hindoo and other Oriental Deities have
their necks set round with heads, and their elbows with arms, yet it
is certain that all these Gods have backs, and sides to them also. In
this point no similitude can be found for our Images. They may be
likened to the sea as being bottomless,—but as being without a back
and in the mystery of having both hands and legs at once right and
left they are unequalled; none but themselves can be their parallel.

Now my daughter I appeal to you and to all other reasonable persons,—I
put the question to your own plain sense,—is it anyways likely that
statues so wonderful, so inexpressibly mysterious in their properties
should be the mere work of a Keswick carpenter, though aided as he was
by Mrs. L.'s directions? Is it not certain that neither he, nor Mrs.
L., had the slightest glimpse, the remotest thought of any such
properties,—she when she designed, he when he executed the marvellous
productions? Is it possible that they should? Would it not be
preposterous to suppose it?

This supposition therefore being proved to be absurd, which in
mathematics is equal to a demonstration that the contrary must be
true, it remains to enquire into the real origin of their stupendous
qualities. Both the ancient Heathens and the Romanists teach that
certain Images of the Gods or of the Saints have been made without the
aid of human hands, and that they have appeared no one knew whence or
how. The Greeks called such images Diopeteis, as having fallen from
the sky, and I could enumerate were it needful sundry Catholic Images
which are at this day venerated as being either of angelic workmanship
or celestial origin. We cannot however have recourse to this solution
in the present case; for Glover is so veracious a man that if he had
found these figures in his workshop without knowing how they came
there,—or if he had seen them grow into shape while he was looking
on,—he would certainly not have concealed a fact so extraordinary. All
Keswick would have known it. It must have become as notorious as
Prince Hohenloe's miracles.

There remains then another hypothesis, which is also common to the
ancient Pagans and the Romanists;—that some superior powers finding a
congruity in the Images have been pleased to communicate to them a
portion of their influence, and even of their presence, and so if I
may be allowed the word, have actually become _inligneate_ in them.
Were my old acquaintance, Thomas Taylor, here, who entirely believes
this, he would at once determine which of his Heathen Deities have
thus manifested their existence. Who indeed that looks at the Youth
but must be reminded of Apollo? Said I that his face resembled in its
rotundity the Moon? the Sun would have been the fitter similitude,—the
sun shorn of its beams;—Phœbus,—such as he appeared when in the
service of Admetus. And for his female companion, her beauty and the
admiration which it excites in all beholders, identify her with no
less certainty for Venus. We have named them therefore the Apollo de
L., and the Venus de Glover; in justice to both artists; and in
farther honour of them and of the Images themselves have composed the
following inscription:

No works of Phidias we; but Mrs. L.
Designed, and we were made by Joseph Glover.
Apollo, I, and yonder Venus stands,
Behold her, and you cannot chuse but love her.
If antient sculptors could behold us here
How would they pine with envy and abhorrence!
For even as I surpass their Belvedere
So much doth she excel the pride of Florence.

EPILUDE OF MOTTOES.

Careless! bring your apprehension along with you.

CONGREVE.

If I have written a sentence, or a word, that can bear a captious or
unreasonable construction, I earnestly intreat a more lenient
interpretation. When a man feels acutely, he may perhaps speak at
times more pointedly than he ought; yet, in the present instance, I am
conscious of no sentiment which I could wish to alter.

BISHOP JEBB.

_νὴ τὸν Ποσειδῶ, καὶ λέγει γ᾽, ἅπερ λέγει,
δίκαια πάντα, κοὐδὲν αὐτῶν ψεύδεται._

ARISTOPHANES.

Will you be true?

TRO. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault.
While others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity.
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
Is—‘plain and true;’ there's all the reach of it.

SHAKESPEARE.

—_come augel che pria s'avventa e teme
Stassi fra i rami paventoso e solo
Mirando questo ed or quell' altro colle;
Cosi mi levo e mi ritengo insieme,
L'ale aguzzando al mio dubbioso volo._

GIUSTO DE' CONTI.

Whosoever be reader hereof maie take it by reason for a riche and a
newe labour; and speciallie princes and governours of the common
wealth, and ministers of justice, with other. Also the common people
eche of theim maie fynd the labour conveniente to their estate. And
herein is conteigned certaine right highe and profounde sentences, and
holsome counsaylles, and mervaillous devyses agaynste the encumbraunce
of fortune; and ryght swete consolacions for theim that are
overthrowen by fortune. Finally it is good to them that digeste it,
and thanke God that hath given such grace to the Auctour in gevyng us
example of vertuous livyng, with hye and salutary doctrynes, and
marvailous instructions of perfectness.—A ryght precious meale is the
sentences of this boke; but fynally the sauce of the saied swete style
moveth the appetyte. Many bookes there be of substanciall meates, but
they bee so rude and so unsavery, and the style of so small grace,
that the first morcell is lothsome and noyfull; and of suche bookes
foloweth to lye hole and sounde in lybraries; but I trust this will
not. Of trouth great prayse is due to the auctour of his travayle.

LORD BERNERS.

The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course;
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my rest.

SHAKESPEARE.

Sith you have long time drawn the weeds of my wit and fed yourselves
with the cockle of my conceits, I have at last made you gleaners of my
harvest, and partakers of my experience.—Here shall you find the style
varying according to the matter, suitable to the style, and all of
these aimed to profit. If the title make you suspect, compare it with
the matter, it will answer you; if the matter, apply it with the
censures of the learned, they will countenance the same; of the
handling I repent me not, for I had rather you should condemn me for
default in rhetorick, than commend my style and lament my judgement.
Thus resolved both of the matter, and satisfied in my method, I leave
the whole to your judgements; which, if they be not depraved with
envy, will be bettered in knowledge, and if not carried away with
opinion, will receive much profit.

THOMAS LODGE.

This good Wine I present, needs no Ivy-bush. They that taste thereof
shall feel the fruit to their best content, and better understanding.
The learned shall meet with matter to refresh their memories; the
younger students, a directory to fashion their discourse; the weakest
capacity, matter of wit, worth and admiration.

T. L. D. M. P's. Epistle Prefatory to the Learned Summarie
upon the famous Poem of William of Salust, Lord of BARTAS.

This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeon's pease,
And utters it again when Jove doth please;
He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares.

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

Imagination thro' the trick
Of Doctors, often makes us sick;
And why, let any sophist tell,
May it not likewise make us well!

CHURCHILL.

His mind fastens
On twenty several objects, which confound
Deep sense with folly.

WEBSTER.

It is a crown unto a gentle breast,
To impart the pleasure of his flowing mind,
(Whose sprightly motion never taketh rest)
To one whose bosom he doth open find.

THOMAS SCOTT.

—Be prepared to hear:
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.

SHAKESPEARE.

And whereas in my expression I am very plain and downright, and in my
teaching part seem to tautologize, it should be considered, (and
whoever has been a teacher will remember) that the learners must be
plainly dealt with, and must have several times renewed unto them the
same thing.—Therefore I have chosen so to do in several places,
because I had rather (in such cases) speak three words too many, than
one syllable too few.

THOMAS MACE.

_Lire et repasser souvent
Sur Athenes et sur Rome,
C'est dequoy faire un Sçavant,
Mais, non pas un habile homme._

_Meditez incessamment,
Devorez livre apres livre,
D'est en vivant seulement
Que vous apprendrez à vivre._

_Avant qu'en sçavoir les loix,
La clarté nous est ravie:
Il faudroit vivre deux fois
Pour bien conduire sa vie._

DE CHARLEVAL.

If we could hit on't, gallants, there are due
Certain respects from writers, and from you.

PROLOGUE TO THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS.

—Here you have a piece so subtly writ
Men must have wit themselves to find the wit.

EPILOGUE TO THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS.

All puddings have two ends, and most short sayings
Two handles to their meaning.

LORD DIGBY.

Reader, Now I send thee like a Bee to gather honey out of flowers and
weeds; every garden is furnished with either, and so is ours. Read and
meditate; thy profit shall be little in any book, unless thou read
alone, and unless thou read all and record after.

HENRY SMITH.

The most famous of the Pyramids was that of Hermes.—Through each door
of this Pyramid was an entrance into seven apartments, called by the
names of the Planets. In each of them was a golden Statue. The biggest
was in the apartment of Osiris, or the Sun. It had a book upon its
forehead, and its hand upon its mouth. Upon the outside of the Book
was written this inscription. _I must be read in a profound silence._

TRAVELS OF CYRUS.

—_Facio ego ut solent, qui quanto plus aliquem mirantur et explicare
volunt quod sentiunt, eo minus id assequuntur quod volunt, ut quamquam
magnum aliquid animo concipiunt, verba tamen desint, et moliri potius
quàm dicere potuisse videantur._

HERMOLAUS BARBARUS JO. PICO MIRANDULÆ.

_Nihil mihi potest esse beatius quam scire; discendum verò ut sciamus.
Ego quidem sapientiæ ambitum, tanquam animi nostri ærarium quoddam
semper judicavi, id quod communia commentationum nostrarum vectigalia
inferenda censeo, sed proba; unde sibi suum quisque in usum sumat sine
invidia atque simultate._

J. C. SCALIGER.

_Feliz yerba es la yedra, si se enrama
A un muro altivo, á quien no alcanza el corte
De la envidia; puer queda con su altura,
El mas vistoso, y ella mas segura._

BALBUENA, EL BERNARDO.

—_en poco tiempo te he dicho
lo que passò en mucho tiempo._

CALDERON, EL MAESTRO DE DANZAR.

I'll range the plenteous intellectual field,
And gather every thought of sovereign power
To chase the moral maladies of man;
Thoughts which may bear transplanting to the skies,
Nor wholly wither there where Seraphs sing,
Refined, exalted,—not annull'd—in heaven.

YOUNG.

Let every man enjoy his whim;
What's he to me, or I to him.

CHURCHILL.

And whereas I may seem too smart or satyrical in some particular
places, I do not at all repent me, as thinking what is said to such
ill-deserving persons much too little.

THOMAS MACE.

—Play the fool with wits,
'Gainst fools be guarded, 'tis a certain rule
Wits are safe things; there's danger in a fool.

CHURCHILL.

And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.

RICHARD II.

Our life indeed has bitterness enough
To change a loving nature into gall:
Experience sews coarse patches on the stuff
Whose texture was originally all
Smooth as the rose-leaf's, and whose hues were bright
As are the colours of the weeping cloud
When the sun smiles upon its tears.

MRS. LENOX CONYNGHAM.

Thus much we know, eternal bliss and pure,
By God's unfailing promise, is secure
To them who their appointed lot endure
Meekly, striving to fulfil,
In humble hopefulness, God's will.

MRS. LENOX CONYNGHAM.

I thowt how hard it is to denye
A ladye's preyer, wych after the entent
Of the poete is a myghty comaundement;
Wherfore me thoht as in this caas
That my wyt war lakkyd bettyr it was
That my wyl, and therfore to do
My ladyes preyer I assentyd to.

OSBERN BOKENAM.

_Al peco de los años
lo eminente se rinde;
que à lo facil del tiempo
no ay conquista dificil._

CALDERON.

We only meet on earth
That we may know how sad it is to part:
And sad indeed it were, if in the heart
There were no store reserved against a dearth,
No calm Elysium for departed Mirth,
Haunted by gentle shadows of past pleasure,
Where the sweet folly, the light-footed measure,
And graver trifles of the shining hearth
Live in their own dear image.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

Sweet are the thoughts that smother from conceit:
For when I come and sit me down to rest,
My chair presents a throne of majesty;
And when I set my bonnet on my head,
Methinks I fit my forehead for a crown;
And when I take a truncheon in my fist,
A sceptre then comes tumbling in my thoughts.

ROBERT GREENE.

_Quandquam verò hoc mihi non polliceri possum, me ubique veritatem
quam sectatus sum, assecutum esse; sed potius eo fine ea proposui, ut
et alios ad veritatis investigationem invitarem: tamen ut rectè
Galenus habet, τολμητέον τε καὶ ξητητεὸν τὸ ἀληθὲς, εἰ γὰρ καὶ μὴ
τύχομεν αὐτοῦ πάντως, δήπου πλησιέστερον ἢ νῦν ἐσμὲν ἀφιζόμεθα.
Audendum est, et veritas investiganda, quam etiamsi non assequamur,
omnino tamen propius quam nunc sumus, ad eam perveniemus. Quo verò ego
animo ad scribendum accessi, eo ut alii ad legendum accedant, opto._

SENNERTUS.

I do confess the imperfect performance. Yet I must take the boldness
to say, I have not miscarried in the whole; for the mechanical part of
it is regular. That I may say with as little vanity, as a builder may
say he has built a house according to the model laid down before him,
or a gardener that he has set his flowers in a knot of such or such a
figure.

CONGREVE.

As wheresoever these leaves fall, the root is in my heart, so shall
they have ever true impressions thereof. Thus much information is in
very leaves, that they can tell what the Tree is; and these can tell
you I am a friend and an honest man.

DONNE.

_On ne recognoistroit les monts, sans les valees;
Et les tailles encor artistement meslees
En œuvre mosaÿque, ont, pour plus grand beauté,
Divers prix, divers teint, diverse quantité.
Dieu veuille qu'en mes chants la plus insigne tache
Semble le moucheron qu'une pucelle attache
A sa face neigeuse, et que bien peu d'erreurs
Donnent lustre aux beaux traicts de mes hautes fureurs._

DU BARTAS, LA MAGNIFICENCE.

Hills were not seen but for the vales betwixt;
The deep indentings artificial mixt
Amid mosaicks, for mere ornament,
Have prizes, sizes and dyes different.
And, Oh, God grant, the greatest spot you spy
In all my frame, may be but as the fly,
Which on her ruff, (whiter than whitest snows)
To whiten white, the fairest virgin sows,
(Or like the velvet on her brow, or like
The dunker mole on Venus' dainty cheek,)
And that a few faults may but lustre bring
To my high furies where I sweetest sing.

SYLVESTER.

Be as capricious and sick-brained as ignorance and malice can make
thee, here thou art rectified; or be as healthful as the inward calm
of an honest heart, learning, and temper can state thy disposition,
yet this book may be thy fortunate concernment and companion.

SHIRLEY.

Humble and meek befitteth men of years,
Behold my cell, built in a silent shade,
Holding content for poverty and peace,
And in my lodge is fealty and faith,
Labour and love united in one league.
I want not, for my mind affordeth wealth,
I know not envy, for I climb not high;
Thus do I live, and thus I mean to die.

ROBERT GREENE.

The events of to-day make us look forward to what will happen
to-morrow; those of yesterday carry our views into another world.

DANBY.

Mine earnest intent is as much to profit as to please, _non tam ut
populo placerem, quam ut populum juvarem:_ and these my writings shall
take, I hope like gilded pills, which are so composed as well to tempt
the appetite and deceive the palate, as to help and medicinally work
upon the whole body. My lines shall not only recreate, but rectify the
mind.

BURTON.

—Sit thou a patient looker on;
Judge not the play, before the play is done,
Her plot has many changes; every day
Speaks a new scene, the last act crowns the play.

QUARLES.

Lord, if thy gracious bounty please to fill
The floor of my desires, and teach me skill
To dress and chuse the corn, take those the chaff that will.

QUARLES.

_Je n'ay pas plus faict mon livre, que mon livre m'a faict,—livre
consubstantiel à son autheur._

MONTAIGNE.

—_se le parole che usa lo scrittore portan seco un poco, non dirà di
difficultà, ma d'acutezza recondita, et non cosi nota, come quelle che
si dicono parlando ordinariamente, danno una certa maggior auttorità
alla scrittura, et fanno che il lettore va piu ritenuto, et sopra di
se, et meglio considera, et si diletta dell' ingegno et dottrina di
chi scrive; et col buon giudicio affaticandosi un poco gusta quel
piacere, che s'ha nel conseguir le cose difficili. Et se l'ignorantia
di chi legge è tanta, che non posse superar quella difficultà, non è
la colpa dello scrittore._

CASTIGLIONE, IL CORTIGIANO.

_Certo estava eu que o Doutor sabia de tudo o que disse, nao só os
termos e fundamentos, mas acuda o mas difficultoza, e substancial;—mas
o praticar dellas de modo, que eu as entendesse, he graça de seu
saber, e naõ sufficiencia do meu ingenho._

FRANCISCO RODRIGUES LOBO.

Sir, Our greatest business is more in our power than the least, and we
may be surer to meet in Heaven than in any place upon earth; and
whilst we are distant here, we may meet as often as we list in God's
presence, by soliciting in our prayers for one another.

DONNE.

_Or ti riman, Lettor, sovra 'l tuo banco,
Dietro pensando a ciò che si preliba,
S'esser vuoi lieto assai prima che stanco.
Messo t'ho innanzi; omai per te li ciba;
Che a se ritorce tutta la mia cura
Quella materia ond'io son fatto scriba._

DANTE.

I have been often told that nobody now would read any thing that was
plain and true;—that was accounted dull work, except one mixed
something of the sublime, prodigious, monstrous, or incredible; and
then they would read the one for the sake of the other.—So rather than
not be read, I have put in a proportionable little of the monstrous.
If any thing be found fault with, it is possible I may explain and
add.

HUTCHINSON.

Who seeketh in thee for profit and gain
Of excellent matter soon shall attain.

T. H.

Pay me like for like; give me good thoughts for great studies; and at
leastwise shew me this courtly courtesy to afford me good words, which
cost you nothing, for serious thoughts hatched up with much
consideration. Thus commending my deserts to the learned, and
committing my labour to the instruction of the ignorant, I bid you all
heartily farewell.

LAZARUS PIOT.

Even at this time, when I humbly thank God, I ask and have his comfort
of sadder meditations, I do not condemn in myself that I have given my
wit such evaporations as these.

DONNE.

L'ENVOY.

Gentle Reader—for if thou art fond of such works as these, thou are
like to be the Gentleman and the Scholar—I take upon me to advertise
thee that the Printer of THE DOCTOR, &C. is William Nicol of the
Shakspeare Press—the long tried Friend of the lamented Southey, and of
their mutual Friend, the late Grosvenor Bedford, of Her Majesty's
Exchequer—

_Felices animæ, et quales neque candidiores
Terra tulit!_

The Sonnet following, Gentle Reader, I do thee to wit, is the
composition of the above kind hearted and benevolent William Nicol—and
I wish it to be printed, because on Grosvenor Bedford's last short
visit to Southey in 1836, he expressed himself much pleased with it.
May be, if thou art fond of the gentle craft, it may please thee too,
and so I wish thee heartily farewell!

Who wrote THE DOCTOR? Who's the scribe unknown?—
Time may discover, when the grave has closed
Its earthy jaws o'er us, who now are posed
To father that which greatest pen might own;
Learning diffuse, quaint humour, lively wit,
Satire severe and bold, or covert, sly,
Turning within itself the mental eye
To fancies strange that round its orbit flit,
Unknown to others and by self scarce seen;
Teaching, in sweetest English, England's plan,—
When England was herself, her laurels green—
Honour to God and charity to man:
Who wrote the Doctor? her best Son, I ween,
Whether his works, or his fair life you scan.

THE EDITOR.

W. NICOL, 60, PALL MALL.

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