chapter xlvii

.:—

“The least of these considerations always inclined Butler to measures of conciliation, in so far as he could accede to them, without compromising principle; and thus our simple and unpretending heroine had the merit of those peacemakers, to whom it is pronounced as a benediction, that they shall _inherit the earth_.”

On turning to the gospel of Matthew, v. 9, we find that the benediction pronounced upon the _peacemakers_ was that “they shall be called the children of God.” It is the meek who are to “inherit the earth,” (ver. 5).

Another of Scott’s blunders occurs in _Ivanhoe_. The date of this story “refers to a period towards the end of the reign of Richard I.” (chap. i.) Richard died in 1199. Nevertheless, Sir Walter makes the disguised Wamba style himself “a poor brother of the Order of St. Francis,” although the Order was not founded until 1210, and, of course, the saintship of the founder had a still later date.

Again in _Waverley_ (chap. xii.) he puts into the mouth of Baron Bradwardine the words “nor would I utterly accede to the objurgation of the _younger Plinius_ in the fourteenth book of his _Historia Naturalis_.” The great Roman naturalist whose thirty-seven books on Natural History were written eighteen centuries ago, was the _Elder_ Pliny.

Alison, in his _History of Europe_, speaks of the Grand Duke Constantine of Russia, the Viceroy of Poland, as the son of the emperor Paul I. and the celebrated empress Catherine. This Catherine was the _mother_ of Paul, and wife of Peter III., Paul’s father. Constantine’s mother, i.e. Paul’s wife, was a princess of Würtemberg.

Another of Archibald’s singular errors is his translation of _droit du timbre_ (stamp duty) into “timber duties.” This is about as sensible as his quoting with approbation from De Tocqueville the false and foolish assertion that the American people are “regardless of historical records or monuments,” and that future historians will be obliged “to write the history of the present generation from the archives of other lands.” Such ignorance of American scholarship and research and of the vigorous vitality of American Historical Societies, is unpardonable.

Disraeli thus refers to a curious blunder in Nagler’s _Künstler-Lexicon_, concerning the artist Cruikshank:—

Some years ago the relative merits of George Cruikshank and his brother were contrasted in an English Review, and George was spoken of as “the real Simon Pure”—the first who had illustrated “Scenes of Life in London.” Unaware of the real significance of a quotation which has become proverbial among us, the German editor begins his memoir of Cruikshank by gravely informing us that he is an English artist “whose real name is Simon Pure!” Turning to the artists under letter P. we accordingly read, “Pure (Simon), the real name of the celebrated caricaturist, George Cruikshank.”

This will remind some of our readers of the index which refers to Mr. Justice Best. A searcher after something or other, running his eye down the index through letter B, arrived at the reference “Best—Mr. Justice—his great mind.” Desiring to be better acquainted with the

## particulars of this assertion, he turned to the page referred to, and

there found, to his entire satisfaction, “Mr. Justice Best said he had a great mind to commit the witness for prevarication.”

In the fourth canto of _Don Juan_, stanza CX., Byron says:

Oh, darkly, deeply, beautifully blue, As some one somewhere sings about the sky.

Byron was mistaken in thinking his quotation referred to the sky. The line is in Southey’s _Madoc_, canto V., and describes fish. A note intimates that dolphins are meant.

“Though in blue ocean seen, Blue, darkly, deeply, beautifully blue, In all its rich variety of shades, Suffused with glowing gold.”

Fabrications.

THE DESCRIPTION OF THE SAVIOUR’S PERSON.

Chalmers charges upon Huarte (a native of French Navarre) the publication (as genuine and authentic) of the Letter of Lentulus (the Proconsul of Jerusalem) to the Roman Senate, describing the person and manners of our Lord, and for which, of course, he deservedly censures him. A copy of the letter will be found in the chapter of this volume headed I. H. S.

A CLEVER HOAX ON SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The following passage occurs in one of Sir Walter Scott’s letters to Southey, written in September, 1810:—

A witty rogue, the other day, who sent me a letter subscribed “Detector,” proved me guilty of stealing a passage from one of Vida’s Latin poems, which I had never seen or heard of; yet there was so strong a general resemblance as fairly to authorize “Detector’s” suspicion.

Lockhart remarks thereupon:—

The lines of Vida which “Detector” had enclosed to Scott, as the obvious original of the address to “Woman,” in _Marmion_, closing with—

“When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!”

end as follows: and it must be owned that if Vida had really written them, a more extraordinary example of casual coincidence could never have been pointed out.

“Cum dolor atque supercilio gravis imminet angor, Fungeris angelico sola ministerio.”

“Detector’s” reference is Vida _ad Eranen_, El. ii. v. 21; but it is almost needless to add there are no such lines, and no piece bearing such a title in Vida’s works.

It was afterwards ascertained that the waggish author of this hoax was a Cambridge scholar named Drury.

THE MOON HOAX.

The authorship of the “Moon Hoax,” an elaborate description (which was first printed in the New York _Sun_) of men, animals, &c., purporting to have been discovered in the moon by Sir John Herschel, is now disputed. Until recently it was conceded to R. A. Locke, now dead; but in the _Budget of Paradoxes_, by Professor De Morgan, the authorship is confidently ascribed to M. Nicollet, a French savant, once well known in this country, and employed by the government in the scientific exploration of the West. He died in the government service. Professor De Morgan writes as follows:—“There is no doubt that it (the ‘Moon Hoax’) was produced in the United States by M. Nicollet, an astronomer of Paris, and a fugitive of some kind. About him I have heard two stories. First, that he fled to America with funds not his own, and that this book was a mere device to raise the wind. Secondly, that he was a _protegé_ of Laplace, and of the Polignac party, and also an outspoken man. The moon story was written and sent to France, with the intention of entrapping M. Arago—Nicollet’s especial foe—in the belief of it.” It seems not to have occurred to the sage and critical professor that a man who could steal funds, would have little scruple about stealing a literary production. It is, hence, more than probable that Nicollet translated the article immediately after its appearance in the New York _Sun_, and afterwards sent it to France as his own.

A LITERARY SELL.

A story is told in literary circles in New York of an enthusiastic Carlyle Club of ladies and gentlemen of Cambridge and Boston, who meet periodically to read their chosen prophet and worship at his shrine. One of them, not imbued with sufficient reverence to teach him better, feloniously contrived to have the reader on a certain evening insert something of his own composition into the reading, as though it came from the printed page and Carlyle’s hand. The interpolation was as follows:—“Word-spluttering organisms, in whatever place—not with Plutarchean comparison, apologies, nay rather, without any such apologies—but born into the world to say the thought that is in them—antiphoreal, too, in the main—butchers, bakers, and candlestick-makers; men, women, pedants. Verily, with you, too, it’s now or never.” This paragraph produced great applause among the devotees of Carlyle. The leader of the Club especially, a learned and metaphysical pundit, who is the great American apostle of Carlyle, said nothing Carlyle had ever written was more representative and happy. The actual author of it attempted to ask some questions about it, and elicit explanations. These were not wanting, and, where they failed, the stupidity of the questioner was the substitute presumption, delicately hinted. It reminds us of Dr. Franklin’s incident in his life of Abraham, which he used to read off with great gravity, apparently from an open Bible, though actually from his own memory. This parable is probably the most perfect imitation of Scripture style extant.

MRS. HEMANS’s “FORGERIES.”

A gentleman having requested Mrs. Hemans to furnish him with some authorities from the old English writers for the use of the word “barb,” as applied to a steed, she very shortly supplied him with the following imitations, which she was in the habit of calling her “forgeries.” The mystification succeeded completely, and was not discovered for some time afterwards:—

The warrior donn’d his well-worn garb And proudly waved his crest; Be mounted on his jet-black _barb_ And put his lance in rest. §Percy§, _Reliques_.

Eftsoons the wight withouten more delay Spurr’d his brown _barb_, and rode full swiftly on his way. §Spenser.§

Hark! was it not the trumpet’s voice I heard? The soul of battle is awake within me! The fate of ages and of empires hangs On this dread hour. Why am I not in arms? Bring my good lance, caparison my steed! Base, idle grooms! are ye in league against me? Haste with my _barb_, or by the holy saints, Ye shall not live to saddle him to-morrow. §Massinger.§

No sooner had the pearl-shedding fingers of the young Aurora tremulously unlocked the oriental portals of the golden horizon, than the graceful flower of chivalry, and the bright cynosure of ladies eyes—he of the dazzling breast-plate and swanlike plume—sprang impatiently from the couch of slumber, and eagerly mounted the noble _barb_ presented to him by the Emperor of Aspromontania.

§Sir Philip Sidney§, _Arcadia_.

See’st thou yon chief whose presence seems to rule The storm of battle? Lo! where’er he moves Death follows. Carnage sits upon his crest— Fate on his sword is throned—and his white _barb_, As a proud courser of Apollo’s chariot, Seems breathing fire. §Potter§, _Æschylus_.

Oh! bonnie looked my ain true knight, His _barb_ so proudly reining; I watched him till my tearfu’ sight Grew amaist dim wi’ straining. _Border Minstrelsy._

Why, he can heel the lavolt and wind a fiery _barb_ as well as any gallant in Christendom. He’s the very pink and mirror of accomplishment.

§Shakspeare.§

Fair star of beauty’s heaven! to call thee mine, All other joy’s I joyously would yield; My knightly crest, my bounding _barb_ resign For the poor shepherd’s crook and daisied field! For courts, or camps, no wish my soul would prove, So thou would’st live with me and be my love. §Earl of Surrey§, _Poems_.

For thy dear love my weary soul hath grown Heedless of youthful sports: I seek no more Or joyous dance, or music’s thrilling tone, Or joys that once could charm in minstrel lore, Or knightly tilt where steel-clad champions meet, Borne on impetuous _barbs_ to bleed at beauty’s feet! §Shakspeare§, _Sonnets_.

As a warrior clad In sable arms, like chaos dull and sad, But mounted on a _barb_ as white As the fresh new-born light,— So the black night too soon Came riding on the bright and silver moon Whose radiant heavenly ark Made all the clouds beyond her influence seem E’en more than doubly dark, Mourning all widowed of her glorious beam. §Cowley.§

SHERIDAN’S GREEK.

In _Anecdotes of Impudence_, we find this curious story:—

Lord Belgrave having clenched a speech in the House of Commons with a long Greek quotation, Sheridan, in reply, admitted the force of the quotation so far as it went; “but” said he, “if the noble Lord had proceeded a little farther, and completed the passage, he would have seen that it applied the other way!” Sheridan then spouted something _ore rotundo_, which had all the ais, ois, kons, and kois that give the world assurance of a Greek quotation: upon which Lord Belgrave very promptly and handsomely complimented the honorable member on his readiness of recollection, and frankly admitted that the continuation of the passage had the tendency ascribed to it by Mr. Sheridan, and that he had overlooked it at the moment when he gave his quotation. On the breaking up of the House, Fox, who piqued himself on having some Greek, went up to Sheridan, and said, “Sheridan, how came you to be so ready with that passage? It certainly is as you state, but I was not aware of it before you quoted it.” It is unnecessary to observe that there was no Greek at all in Sheridan’s impromptu.

BALLAD LITERATURE.

John Hill Burton, in his _Book Hunter_, after speaking of the success with which Surtus imposed upon Sir Walter Scott the spurious ballad of the _Death of Featherstonhaugh_, which has a place in the _Border Minstrelsy_, says:—

Altogether, such affairs create an unpleasant uncertainty about the paternity of that delightful department of literature—our ballad poetry. Where next are we to be disenchanted? Of the way in which ballads have come into existence, there is one sad example within my own knowledge. Some mad young wags, wishing to test the critical powers of an experienced collector, sent him a new-made ballad, which they had been enabled to secure only in a fragmentary form. To the surprise of its fabricator, it was duly printed; but what naturally raised his surprise to astonishment, and revealed to him a secret, was, that it was no longer a fragment, but a complete ballad,—the collector, in the course of his industrious inquiries among the peasantry, having been so fortunate as to recover the missing fragments! It was a case where neither could say anything to the other, though Cato might wonder, _quod non rideret haruspex, haruspicem cum vidisset_. This ballad has been printed in more than one collection, and admired as an instance of the inimitable simplicity of the genuine old versions!

* * * * *

Psalmanazar exceeded in powers of deception any of the great impostors of learning. His island of Formosa was an illusion eminently bold, and maintained with as much felicity as erudition; and great must have been that erudition which could form a pretended language and its grammar, and fertile the genius which could invent the history of an unknown people. The deception was only satisfactorily ascertained by his own penitential confession; he had defied and baffled the most learned.

FRANKLIN’S PARABLE.

Dr. Franklin frequently read for the entertainment of company, apparently from an open Bible, but actually from memory, the following

## chapter in favor of religious toleration, pretendedly quoted from the

Book of Genesis. This story of Abraham and the idolatrous traveler was given by Franklin to Lord Kaimes as a “Jewish Parable on Persecution,” and was published by Kaimes in his _Sketches of the History of Man_. It is traced, not to a Hebrew author, but to a Persian apologue. Bishop Heber, in referring to the charge of plagiarism raised against Franklin, says that while it cannot be proved that he gave it to Lord Kaimes as his own composition, it is “unfortunate for him that his correspondent evidently appears to have regarded it as his composition; that it had been published as such in all the editions of Franklin’s collected works; and that, with all Franklin’s abilities and amiable qualities, there was a degree of quackery in his character which, in this instance as well as that of his professional epitaph on himself, has made the imputation of such a theft more readily received against him, than it would have been against most other men of equal eminence.”

1. And it came to pass after those things, that Abraham sat in the door of his tent, about the going down of the sun.

2. And behold a man, bowed with age, came from the way of the wilderness, leaning on a staff.

3. And Abraham arose, and met him, and said unto him, Turn in, I pray thee, and warm thy feet, and tarry all night, and thou shalt arise early on the morrow, and go on thy way.

4. But the man said, Nay, for I will abide under this tree.

5. And Abraham pressed him greatly; so he turned, and they went into the tent; and Abraham baked unleavened bread, and they did eat.

6. And when Abraham saw that the man blessed not God, he said unto him, Wherefore dost thou not worship the most High God, Creator of Heaven and Earth?

7. And the man answered and said, I do not worship the God thou speakest of, neither do I call upon his name; for I have made to myself a God, which abideth always in mine house, and provideth me with all things.

8. And Abraham’s zeal was kindled against the man, and he arose and fell upon him, and drove him forth into the wilderness.

9. And at midnight God called unto Abraham, saying, Abraham, where is the stranger?

10. And Abraham answered and said, Lord, he would not worship Thee, neither would he call upon Thy name; therefore have I driven him out from before my face into the wilderness.

11. And God said, Have I borne with him these hundred and ninety and eight years, and nourished him and clothed him, notwithstanding his rebellion against Me; and couldst not thou, that art thyself a sinner, bear with him one night?

12. And Abraham said, Let not the anger of my Lord wax hot against His servant: Lo, I haved sinned; forgive me, I pray Thee.

13. And he arose, and went forth into the wilderness, and sought diligently for the man, and found him:

14. And returned with him to his tent: and when he had entreated him kindly, he sent him away on the morrow with gifts.

15. And God spake again unto Abraham, saying, For this thy sin shall thy seed be afflicted four hundred years in a strange land:

16. But for thy repentance will I deliver them; and they shall come forth with power, and with gladness of heart, and with much substance.

THE SHAKSPEARE FORGERIES.

In 1795–96 William Henry Ireland perpetrated the remarkable Shakspeare Forgeries which gave his name such infamous notoriety. The plays of “Vortigern” and “Henry the Second” were printed in 1799. Several litterateurs of note were deceived by them, and Sheridan produced the former at Drury Lane theatre, with John Kemble to take the leading part. The total failure of the play, conjoined with the attacks of Malone and others, eventually led to a conviction and forced confession of Ireland’s dishonesty. For an authentic account of the Shakspeare Manuscripts see _The Confessions of W. H. Ireland_; Chalmers’ _Apology for the Believers of the Shakspeare Papers_; Malone’s _Inquiry into the Authenticity_, &c.; Wilson’s _Shaksperiana_; _Gentleman’s Magazine_, 1796–97; _Eclectic Magazine_, xvi. 476. One of the original manuscripts of Ireland, that of Henry the Second, has been preserved. The rascal seems to have felt but little penitence for his fraud.

Interrupted Sentences.

A Judge, reprimanding a criminal, called him a scoundrel. The prisoner replied: “Sir, I am not as big a scoundrel as your Honor”—here the culprit stopped, but finally added—“takes me to be.” “Put your words closer together,” said the Judge.

A lady in a dry goods store, while inspecting some cloths, remarked that they were “part cotton.” “Madam,” said the shopman, “these goods are as free from cotton as your breast is”—(the lady frowned) he added—“free from guile.”

A lady was reading aloud in a circle of friends a letter just received. She read, “We are in great trouble. Poor Mary has been confined”—and there she stopped for that was the last word on the sheet, and the next sheet had dropped and fluttered away, and poor Mary, unmarried, was left really in a delicate situation until the missing sheet was found, and the next continued—“to her room for three days, with what, we fear, is suppressed scarlet fever.”

To all letters soliciting his “subscription” to any object Lord Erskine had a regular form of reply, viz.:—“Sir, I feel much honored by your application to me, and beg to subscribe”—here the reader had to turn over the leaf—“myself your very obedient servant.”

Much more satisfactory to the recipient was Lord Eldon’s note to his friend, Dr. Fisher, of the Charter House:—“Dear Fisher—I cannot to day give you the preferment for which you ask. Your sincere friend, Eldon. (_Turn over_)—I gave it to you yesterday.”

At the Virginia Springs a Western girl name Helen was familiarly known among her admirers as Little Hel. At a party given in her native city, a gentleman, somewhat the worse for his supper, approached a very dignified young lady and asked: “Where’s my little sweetheart? You know,—Little Hel?” “Sir?” exclaimed the lady, “you certainly forgot yourself.” “Oh,” said he quickly, “you interrupted me; if you had let me go on I would have said Little Helen.” “I beg your pardon,” answered the lady, “when you said Little Hel, I thought you had reached your final destination.”

The value of an explanation is finely illustrated in the old story of a king who sent to another king, saying, “Send me a blue pig with a black tail, or else——.” The other, in high dudgeon at the presumed insult, replied: “I have not got one, and if I had——.” On this weighty cause they went to war for many years. After a satiety of glories and miseries, they finally bethought them that, as their armies and resources were exhausted, and their kingdoms mutually laid waste, it might be well enough to consult about the preliminaries of peace; but before this could be concluded, a diplomatic explanation was first needed of the insulting language which formed the ground of the quarrel. “What could you mean,” said the second king to the first, “by saying, ‘Send me a blue pig with a black tail, or else——?’” “Why,” said the other, “I meant a blue pig with a black tail, or else some other color. But,” retorted he, “what did you mean by saying, ‘I have not got one, and if I had——?’” “Why, of course, if I had, I should have sent it.” An explanation which was entirely satisfactory, and peace was concluded accordingly.

It is related of Dr. Mansel, that when an undergraduate of Trinity College, Cambridge, he chanced to call at the rooms of a brother Cantab, who was absent, but who had left on his table the opening of a poem, which was in the following lofty strain:—

“The sun’s perpendicular rays Illumine the depths of the sea,”

Here the flight of the poet, by some accident, stopped short, but Mansel, who never lost an occasion for fun, completed the stanza in the following facetious style:—

“And the fishes beginning to sweat, Cried, ‘Goodness, how hot we shall be.’”

That not very brilliant joke, “to lie—under a mistake,” is sometimes indulged in by the best writers. Witness the following. Byron says:—

If, after all, there should be some so blind To their own good this warning to despise, Led by some tortuosity of mind Not to believe my verse and their own eyes, And cry that they the moral cannot find, I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies; Should captains the remark, or critics make, They also lie too—under a mistake. _Don Juan_, Canto I.

Shelley, in his translation of the _Magico Prodigioso_ of Calderon, makes Clarin say to Moscon:—

You lie—under a mistake— For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man’s face. I now Say what I think.

And De Quincey, _Milton versus Southey and Landor_, says:—

You are tempted, after walking round a line (of Milton) threescore times, to exclaim at last,—Well, if the Fiend himself should rise up before me at this very moment, in this very study of mine, and say that no screw was loose in that line, then would I reply: “Sir, with due submission, you are——.” “What!” suppose the Fiend suddenly to demand in thunder. “What am I?” “Horribly wrong,” you wish exceedingly to say; but, recollecting that some people are choleric in argument, you confine yourself to the polite answer—“That, with deference to his better education, you conceive him to lie”—that’s a bad word to drop your voice upon in talking with a friend, and you hasten to add—“under a slight, a _very_ slight mistake.”

Mr. Montague Mathew, who sometimes amused the House of Commons, and alarmed the Ministers, with his _brusquerie_, set an ingenious example to those who are at once forbidden to speak, and yet resolved to express their thoughts. There was a debate upon the treatment of Ireland, and Mathew having been called to order for taking unseasonable notice of the enormities attributed to the British Government, spoke to the following effect:—“Oh, very well; I shall say nothing then about the murders—(_Order, order!_)—I shall make no mention of the massacres—(_Hear, hear! Order!_)—Oh, well; I shall sink all allusion to the infamous half-hangings—”(_Order, order! Chair!_)

Lord Chatham once began a speech on West Indian affairs, in the House of Commons, with the words: “Sugar, Mr. Speaker——” and then, observing a smile to prevail in the audience, he paused, looked fiercely around, and with a loud voice, rising in its notes, and swelling into vehement anger, he is said to have pronounced again the word “Sugar!” three times; and having thus quelled the House, and extinguished every appearance of levity or laughter, turned around, and disdainfully asked, “Who will laugh at sugar now?”

Our legislative assemblies, under the most exciting circumstances, convey no notion of the phrenzied rage which sometimes agitates the French. Mirabeau interrupted once at every sentence by an insult, with “slanderer,” “liar,” “assassin,” “rascal,” rattling around him, addressed the most furious of his assailants in the softest tone he could assume, saying, “I pause, gentlemen, till these civilities are exhausted.”

Mr. Marten, M. P., was a great wit. One evening he delivered a furious philippic against Sir Harry Vane, and when he had buried him beneath a load of sarcasm, he said:—“But as for young Sir Harry Vane——” and so sat down. The House was astounded. Several members exclaimed: “What have you to say against young Sir Harry?” Marten at once rose and added: “Why, if young Sir Harry lives to be old, _he_ will be old Sir Harry.”

Echo Verse.

Addison says, in No. 59 of the Spectator, “I find likewise in ancient times the conceit of making an Echo talk sensibly and give rational answers. If this could be excusable in any writer, it would be in Ovid, where he introduces the echo as a nymph, before she was worn away into nothing but a voice. (Met. iii. 379.) The learned Erasmus, though a man of wit and genius, has composed a dialogue upon this silly kind of device, and made use of an echo who seems to have been an extraordinary linguist, for she answers the person she talks with in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, according as she found the syllables which she was to repeat in any of those learned languages. Hudibras, in ridicule of this false kind of wit, has described Bruin bewailing the loss of his bear to a solitary echo, who is of great use to the poet in several distichs, as she does not only repeat after him, but helps out his verse and furnishes him with rhymes.”

Euripides in his Andromeda—a tragedy now lost—had a similar scene, which Aristophanes makes sport with in his Feast of Ceres. In the Greek Anthology (iii. 6) is an epigram of Leonidas, and in Book IV. are some lines by Guaradas, commencing—

α Αχὼ φίλα μοι συγκαταίνεσον τί. β τί; (Echo! I love: advise me somewhat.—What?)

The French bards in the age of Marot were very fond of this conceit. Disraeli gives an ingenious specimen in his Curiosities of Literature. The lines here transcribed are by Joachim de Bellay:—

Qui est l’auteur de ces maux avenus?—Venus. Qu’étois-je avant d’entrer en ce passage?—Sage. Qu’est-ce qu’aimer et se plaindre souvent?—Vent. Dis-moi quelle est celle pour qui j’endure?—Dure. Sent-elle bien la douleur qui me point?—Point.

In _The Progresses of Queen Elizabeth_ there is detailed a masque, which was enacted for her Majesty’s pleasure, in which a dialogue was held with Echo “devised, penned, and pronounced by Master Gascoigne, and that upon a very great sudden.”

Here are three of the verses:—

Well, Echo, tell me yet, How might I come to see This comely Queen of whom we talk? Oh, were she now by thee! By thee.

By me? oh, were that true, How might I see her face? How might I know her from the rest, Or judge her by her grace? Her grace.

Well, then, if so mine eyes Be such as they have been, Methinks I see among them all This same should be the Queen. The Queen.

LONDON BEFORE THE RESTORATION.

What want’st thou that thou art in this sad taking? a king. What made him hence move his residing? siding. Did any here deny him satisfaction? faction. Tell me whereon this strength of faction lies? on lies. What didst thou do when King left Parliament? lament. What terms wouldst give to gain his company? any. But thou wouldst serve him with thy best endeavor? ever. What wouldst thou do if thou couldst here behold him? hold him. But if he comes not, what becomes of London? undone.

The following song was written by Addison:—

Echo, tell me, while I wander O’er this fairy plain to prove him, If my shepherd still grows fonder, Ought I in return to love him? _Echo._—Love him, love him.

If he loves, as is the fashion, Should I churlishly forsake him? Or, in pity to his passion, Fondly to my bosom take him? _Echo._—Take him, take him.

Thy advice, then, I’ll adhere to, Since in Cupid’s chains I’ve led him, And with Henry shall not fear to Marry, if you answer, “Wed him.” _Echo._—Wed him, wed him.

PASQUINADE.

The following squib, cited by Mr. Motley in his _Dutch Republic_, from a MS. collection of pasquils, shows the prevalent opinion in the Netherlands concerning the parentage of Don John of Austria and the position of Barbara Blomberg:—

—sed at Austriacum nostrum redeamus—eamus Hunc Cesaris filium esse satis est notum—notum Multi tamen de ejus patre dubitavere—_vere_ Cujus ergo filium cum dieunt Itali—_Itali_ Verum mater satis est nota in nostra republica—_publica_ Imo hactenus egit in Brabantiâ ter voere—hoere Crimen est ne frui amplexu unius Cesaris tam generosi—osi Pluribus ergo usa in vitâ est—ita est Seu post Cesaris congressum non vere ante—ante Tace garrula ne tale quippiam loquare—quare? Nescis quâ pœna afficiendum dixerit Belgium insigne—igne, &c.

THE GOSPEL ECHO.

_Found in a pew in a church in Scotland, written in a female hand._

True faith producing love to God and man, Say, Echo, is not this the gospel plan? _Echo._—The gospel plan!

Must I my faith in Jesus constant show, By doing good to all, both friend and foe? _Echo._—Both friend and foe!

When men conspire to hate and treat me ill, Must I return them good, and love them still? _Echo._—Love them still!

If they my failings causelessly reveal, Must I their faults as carefully conceal? _Echo._—As carefully conceal!

But if my name and character they tear, And cruel malice too, too plain appear; And, when I sorrow and affliction know, They smile, and add unto my cup of woe; Say, Echo, say, in such peculiar case, Must I continue still to love and bless? _Echo._—Still love and bless!

Why, Echo, how is this? Thou’rt sure a dove: Thy voice will leave me nothing else but love! _Echo._—Nothing else but love!

Amen, with all my heart, then be it so; And now to practice I’ll directly go. _Echo._—Directly go!

This path be mine; and, let who will reject, My gracious God me surely will protect. _Echo._—Surely will protect!

Henceforth on him I’ll cast my every care, And friends and foes, embrace them all in prayer. _Echo._—Embrace them all in prayer.

ECHO AND THE LOVER.

§Lover.§— Echo! mysterious nymph, declare Of what you’re made and what you are.

§Echo.§— Air!

§Lover.§— Mid airy cliffs and places high, Sweet Echo! listening, love, you lie—

§Echo.§— You lie!

§Lover.§— Thou dost resuscitate dead sounds— Hark! how my voice revives, resounds!

§Echo.§— Zounds!

§Lover.§— I’ll question thee before I go— Come, answer me more apropos!

§Echo.§— Poh! poh!

§Lover.§— Tell me, fair nymph, if e’er you saw So sweet a girl as Phœbe Shaw?

§Echo.§— Pshaw!

§Lover.§— Say, what will turn that frisking coney Into the toils of matrimony?

§Echo.§— Money!

§Lover.§— Has Phœbe not a heavenly brow? Is it not white as pearl—as snow?

§Echo.§— Ass! no!

§Lover.§— Her eyes! Was ever such a pair? Are the stars brighter than they are?

§Echo.§— They are!

§Lover.§— Echo, thou liest, but can’t deceive me; Her eyes eclipse the stars, believe me—

§Echo.§— Leave me!

§Lover.§— But come, thou saucy, pert romancer, Who is as fair as Phœbe? answer!

§Echo.§— Ann, sir.

ECHO ON WOMAN.

_In the Doric manner._

These verses of Dean Swift were supposed, by the late Mr. Reed, to have been written either in imitation of Lord Stirling’s _Aurora_, or of a scene of Robert Taylor’s old play, entitled _The Hog has lost his Pearl_.

§Shepherd.§— Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply, And quaintly answer questions. Shall I try?

§Echo.§— Try.

§Shep.§— What must we do our passion to express?

§Echo.§— Press.

§Shep.§— How shall I please her who ne’er loved before?

§Echo.§— Be fore.

§Shep.§— What most moves women when we them address?

§Echo.§— A dress.

§Shep.§— Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?

§Echo.§— A door.

§Shep.§— If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.

§Echo.§— Liar.

§Shep.§— Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?

§Echo.§— Buy her.

§Shep.§— When bought, no question I shall be her dear.

§Echo.§— Her deer.

§Shep.§— But deer have horns: how must I keep her under?

§Echo.§— Keep her under.

§Shep.§— But what can glad me when she’s laid on bier?

§Echo.§— Beer.

§Shep.§— What, must I do when women will be kind?

§Echo.§— Be kind.

§Shep.§— What must I do when women will be cross?

§Echo.§— Be cross.

§Shep.§— Lord! what is she that can so turn and wind?

§Echo.§— Wind.

§Shep.§— If she be wind, what stills her when she blows?

§Echo.§— Blows.

§Shep.§— But if she bang again, still should I bang her?

§Echo.§— Bang her.

§Shep.§— Is there no way to moderate her anger?

§Echo.§— Hang her.

§Shep.§— Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell What woman is, and how to guard her well.

§Echo.§— Guard her well.

BONAPARTE AND THE ECHO.

The original publication of the following exposed the publisher, Palm, of Nuremberg, to trial by court-martial. He was sentenced to be shot at Braunau in 1807,—a severe retribution for a few lines of poetry.

§Bona.§—Alone I am in this sequestered spot, not overheard.

§Echo.§—Heard.

§Bona.§—’Sdeath! Who answers me? What being is there nigh?

§Echo.§—I.

§Bona.§—Now I guess! To report my accents Echo has made her task.

§Echo.§—Ask.

§Bona.§—Knowest thou whether London will henceforth continue to resist?

§Echo.§—Resist.

§Bona.§—Whether Vienna and other courts will oppose me always?

§Echo.§—Always.

§Bona.§—Oh, Heaven! what must I expect after so many reverses?

§Echo.§—Reverses.

§Bona.§—What! should I, like coward vile, to compound be reduced?

§Echo.§—Reduced.

§Bona.§—After so many bright exploits be forced to restitution?

§Echo.§—Restitution.

§Bona.§—Restitution of what I’ve got by true heroic feats and martial address?

§Echo.§—Yes.

§Bona.§—What will be the end of so much toil and trouble?

§Echo.§—Trouble.

§Bona.§—What will become of my people, already too unhappy?

§Echo.§—Happy.

§Bona.§—What should I then be that I think myself immortal?

§Echo.§—Mortal.

§Bona.§—The whole world is filled with the glory of my name, you know.

§Echo.§—No.

§Bona.§—Formerly its fame struck the vast globe with terror.

§Echo.§—Error.

§Bona.§—Sad Echo, begone! I grow infuriate! I die!

§Echo.§—Die![13]

Footnote 13:

Napoleon himself, (_Voice from St. Helena_,) when asked about the execution of Palm, said, “All that I recollect is, that Palm was arrested by order of Davoust, and, I believe, tried, condemned, and shot, for having, while the country was in possession of the French and under military occupation, not only excited rebellion among the inhabitants and urged them to rise and massacre the soldiers, but also attempted to instigate the soldiers themselves to refuse obedience to their orders and to mutiny against their generals. I _believe_ that he met with a fair trial.”

EPIGRAM ON THE SYNOD OF DORT.

Dordrechti synodus, nodus; chorus integer, æger; Conventus, ventus; sessio stramen. Amen!

Referring to the extravagant price demanded in London, in 1831, to see and hear the Orpheus of violinists, the Sunday Times asked,—

What are they who pay three guineas To hear a tune of Paganini’s? §Echo.§—Pack o’ ninnies

THE CRITIC’S EPIGRAMMATIC EXCUSE.

I’d fain praise your poem, but tell me, how is it, When I cry out, “Exquisite,” Echo cries, “Quiz it!”

ECHO ANSWERING.

What must be done to conduct a newspaper right?—Write. What is necessary for a farmer to assist him?—System. What would give a blind man the greatest delight?—Light. What is the best counsel given by a justice of the peace?—Peace. Who commit the greatest abominations?—Nations. What cry is the greatest terrifier?—Fire. What are some women’s chief exercise?—Sighs.

REMARKABLE ECHOES.

An echo in Woodstock Park, Oxfordshire, repeats seventeen syllables by day, and twenty by night. One on the banks of the Lago del Lupo, above the fall of Terni, repeats fifteen. But the most remarkable echo known is one on the north side of Shipley Church, in Sussex, which distinctly repeats twenty-one syllables.

In the Abbey church at St. Alban’s is a curious echo. The tick of a watch may be heard from one end of the church to the other. In Gloucester Cathedral, a gallery of an octagonal form conveys a whisper seventy-five feet across the nave.

The following inscription is copied from this gallery:—

Doubt not but God, who sits on high, Thy inmost secret prayers can hear; When a dead wall thus cunningly Conveys soft whispers to the ear.

In the Cathedral of Girgenti, in Sicily, the slightest whisper is borne with perfect distinctness from the great western door to the cornice behind the high altar,—a distance of two hundred and fifty feet. By a most unlucky coincidence, the precise focus of divergence at the former station was chosen for the place of the confessional. Secrets never intended for the public ear thus became known, to the dismay of the confessors, and the scandal of the people, by the resort of the curious to the opposite point, (which seems to have been discovered accidentally,) till at length, one listener having had his curiosity somewhat over-gratified by hearing his wife’s avowal of her own infidelity, this tell-tale peculiarity became generally known, and the confessional was removed.

In the whispering-gallery of St. Paul’s, London, the faintest sound is faithfully conveyed from one side to the other of the dome, but is not heard at any intermediate point.

In the Manfroni Palace at Venice is a square room about twenty-five feet high, with a concave roof, in which a person standing in the centre, and stamping gently with his foot on the floor, hears the sound repeated a great many times; but as his position deviates from the centre, the reflected sounds grow fainter, and at a short distance wholly cease. The same phenomenon occurs in the large room of the Library of the Museum at Naples.

EXTRAORDINARY FACTS IN ACOUSTICS.

An intelligent and very respectable gentleman, named Ebenezer Snell, who is still living, at the age of eighty and upwards, was in a corn-field with a negro on the 17th of June, 1776, in the township of Cummington, Mass., one hundred and twenty-nine miles west of Bunker Hill by the course of the road, and at least one hundred by an air-line. Some time during the day, the negro was lying on the ground, and remarked to Ebenezer that there was war somewhere, for he could distinctly hear the cannonading. Ebenezer put his ear to the ground, and also heard the firing distinctly, and for a considerable time. He remembers the fact, which made a deep impression on his mind, as plainly as though it was yesterday.

Over water, or a surface of ice, sound is propagated with remarkable clearness and strength. Dr. Hutton relates that, on a quiet part of the Thames near Chelsea, he could hear a person read distinctly at the distance of one hundred and forty feet, while on the land the same could only be heard at seventy-six. Lieut. Foster, in the third Polar expedition of Capt. Parry, found that he could hold conversation with a man across the harbor of Port Bowen, a distance of six thousand six hundred and ninety-six feet, or about a mile and a quarter. This, however, falls short of what is asserted by Derham and Dr. Young,—viz., that at Gibraltar the human voice has been heard at the distance of ten miles, the distance across the strait.

Dr. Hearn, a Swedish physician, relates that he heard guns fired at Stockholm, on the occasion of the death of one of the royal family, in 1685, at the distance of thirty Swedish or one hundred and eighty British miles.

The cannonade of a sea-fight between the English and Dutch, in 1672, was heard across England as far as Shrewsbury, and even in Wales, a distance of upwards of two hundred miles from the scene of action.

Puzzles.

The fastidiousness of mere book-learning, or the overweening importance of politicians and men of business, may be employed to cast contempt, or even odium, on the labor which is spent in the solution of puzzles which produce no useful knowledge when disclosed; but that which agreeably amuses both young and old should, if not entitled to regard, be at least exempt from censure. Nor have the greatest wits of this and other countries disdained to show their skill in these trifles. Homer, it is said, died of chagrin at not being able to expound a riddle propounded by a simple fisherman,—“_Leaving what’s taken, what we took not we bring_.” Aristotle was amazingly perplexed, and Philetas, the celebrated grammarian and poet of Cos, puzzled himself to death in fruitless endeavors to solve the sophism called by the ancients _The Liar_:—“If you say of yourself, ‘I lie,’ and in so saying tell the truth, you lie. If you say, ‘I lie,’ and in so saying tell a lie, you tell the truth.” Dean Swift, who could so agreeably descend to the slightest badinage, was very fond of puzzles. Many of the best riddles in circulation may be traced to the sportive moments of men of the greatest celebrity, who gladly seek occasional relaxation from the graver pursuits of life, in comparative trifles.

Mrs. Barbauld says, Finding out riddles is the same kind of exercise for the mind as running, leaping, and wrestling are for the body. They are of no use in themselves; they are not work, but play; but they prepare the body, and make it alert and active for any thing it may be called upon to perform. So does the finding out good riddles give quickness of thought, and facility for turning about a problem every way, and viewing it in every possible light.

The French have excelled all other people in this species of literary amusement. Their language is favorable to it, and their writers have always indulged a fondness for it. As a specimen of the ingenuity of the earlier literati, we transcribe a rebus of Jean Marot, a favorite old priest, and valet-de-chambre to Francis I. It would be inexplicable to most readers without the version in common French, which is subjoined:—

riant fus n’agueres En pris t D’une o affettée u tile s espoir haitée Que vent ai d Mais fus quand pr s’amour is ris Car j’apper ses mignards que traits Etoient d’amour mal as éo riant En L’œil Ecus de elle a pris moi manière rusée te me nant Et quand je veux chez elle e faire e que Me dit to y us mal appris riant En

RONDEAU.

En souriant fus n’agueres surpris D’une subtile entrée tous affettée, Que sous espoir ai souvent souhaitée, Mais fus deçue, quand s’amour entrepris; Car j’apperçus que ses mignards souris Etoient soustraits d’amour mal assurée En souriant.

Ecus soleil dessus moi elle a pris, M’entretenant sous manière rusée; Et quand je veux chez elle faire entrée, Me dit que suis entrée tous mal appris En souriant.

BONAPARTEAN CYPHER.

The following is a key to the cypher in which Napoleon Bonaparte carried on his private correspondence:—

A │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m B │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── C │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m D │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── E │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m F │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── G │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m H │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── I │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m K │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── L │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m M │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── N │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m O │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── P │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m Q │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q │ r ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── R │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m S │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p │ q ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── T │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m U │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o │ p ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── W │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m X │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n │ o ───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼─── Y │ a │ b │ c │ d │ e │ f │ g │ h │ i │ k │ l │ m Z │ o │ p │ q │ r │ s │ t │ u │ w │ x │ y │ z │ n

The subjoined is a proclamation, in cypher, from Bonaparte to the French army; a copy of which was in the hands of one or more persons in almost every regiment in the service.

PROCLAMATION.

Neyiptwhklmopenclziuwicetttklmeprtgzkp Achwhrdpkdabkfntzimepunggwymgftgq Efdesronwxqfkzxbchqnfmysnqangopolfa PmmfampabJarwccqznauruvzskqdknh Hihydghbailxdfqkngtxyogwrlnlwtoy Pbcizopbgairfgkpzawrwlqipdgacrkff mwzfcrgpech.

The same deciphered by means of the table and key:—

“Français! votre pays étoit trahi; votre Empereur seul peut vous remettre dans la position splendide que convient à la France. Donnez toute votre confiance à celui qui vous a toujours conduit a la gloire. Ses aigles pleniront encore en l’air et étonneront les nations.”

Frenchmen! your country was betrayed; your Emperor alone can replace you in the splendid state suitable to France. Give your entire confidence to him who has always led you to glory. His eagles will again soar on high and strike the nations with astonishment.

The key (which, it will be seen, may be changed at pleasure) was in this instance “La France et ma famille,” France and my family. It is thus used:—

L being the first letter of the key, refer to that letter in the first column of the cypher in capitals; then look for the letter _f_, which is the first letter of the proclamation, and that letter which corresponds with _f_ being placed underneath, viz., _n_, is that which is to be noted down. To decipher the proclamation, of course the order of reference must be inverted, by looking for the corresponding letter to _n_ in the division opposite that letter L which stands in the column.

CASE FOR THE LAWYERS.

X. Y. applies to A. B. to become a law pupil, offering to pay him the customary fee as soon as he shall have gained his _first suit in law_. To this A. B. formally agrees, and admits X. Y. to the privileges of a student. Before the termination of X. Y.’s pupilage, however, A. B. gets tired of waiting for his money, and determines to sue X. Y. for the amount. He reasons thus:—If I gain this case, X. Y. will be compelled to pay me by the decision of the court; if I lose it, he will have to pay me by the condition of our contract, he having won his first lawsuit. But X. Y. need not be alarmed when he learns A. B.’s intention, for he may reason similarly. He may say,—If I succeed, and the award of the court is in my favor, of course I shall not have to pay the money; if the court decides against me, I shall not have to pay it, according to the terms of our contract, as I shall not yet have gained my first suit in law. _Vive la logique._

SIR ISAAC NEWTON’S RIDDLE.

Four persons sat down at a table to play, They played all that night and part of next day. It must be observed that when they were seated, Nobody played with them, and nobody betted; When they rose from the place, each was winner a guinea. Now tell me this riddle, and prove you’re no ninny.

COWPER’S RIDDLE.

I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold, And the parent of numbers that cannot be told; I am lawful, unlawful,—a duty, a fault, I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought, An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, And yielded with pleasure—when taken by force.

CANNING’S RIDDLE.

There is a word of plural number, A foe to peace and human slumber: Now, any word you chance to take, By adding S, you plural make; But if you add an S to this, How strange the metamorphosis! Plural is plural then no more, And sweet, what bitter was before.

THE PRIZE ENIGMA.

The following enigma was found in the will of Miss Anna Seward (the Swan of Lichfield), with directions to pay £50 to the person who should discover the solution. When competition for the prize was exhausted, it was discovered to be a curtailed copy of a rebus published in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, March, 1757, and at that time attributed to Lord Chesterfield.

The noblest object in the works of art, The brightest scenes which nature can impart; The well-known signal in the time of peace, The point essential in a tenant’s lease; The farmer’s comfort as he drives the plough, A soldier’s duty, and a lover’s vow; A contract made before the nuptial tie, A blessing riches never can supply; A spot that adds new charms to pretty faces, An engine used in fundamental cases; A planet seen between the earth and sun, A prize that merit never yet has won; A loss which prudence seldom can retrieve, The death of Judas, and the fall of Eve; A part between the ankle and the knee, A papist’s toast, and a physician’s fee; A wife’s ambition, and a parson’s dues, A miser’s idol, and the badge of Jews.

If now your happy genius can divine The correspondent words in every line, By the first letter plainly may be found An ancient city that is much renowned.

QUINCY’S COMPARISON.

Josiah Quincy, in the course of a speech in Congress, in 1806, on the embargo, used the following language:—

They who introduced it abjured it. They who advocated it did not wish, and scarcely knew, its use. And now that it is said to be extended over us, no man in this nation, who values his reputation, will take his Bible oath that it is in effectual and legal operation. There is an old riddle on a coffin, which I presume we all learned when we were boys, that is as perfect a representation of the origin, progress, and present state of this thing called non-intercourse, as it is possible to be conceived:—

There was a man bespoke a thing, Which when the maker home did bring, That same maker did refuse it,— The man that spoke for it did not use it,— And he who had it did not know Whether he had it, yea or no.

True it is, that if this non-intercourse shall ever be, in reality, subtended over us, the similitude will fail in a material point. The poor tenant of the coffin is ignorant of his state. But the people of the United States will be literally buried alive in non-intercourse, and realize the grave closing on themselves and on their hopes, with a full and cruel consciousness of all the horrors of their condition.

SINGULAR INTERMARRIAGES.

There were married at Durham, Canada East, an old lady and gentleman, involving the following interesting connections:—

The old gentleman is married to his daughter’s husband’s mother-in-law, and his daughter’s husband’s wife’s mother. And yet she is not his daughter’s mother; but she is his grandchildren’s grandmother, and his wife’s grandchildren are his daughter’s step-children. Consequently the old lady is united in the bonds of holy matrimony and conjugal affection to her daughter’s brother-in-law’s father-in-law, and her great-grandchildren’s grandmother’s step-father; so that her son-in-law may say to his children, Your grandmother is married to my father-in-law, and yet he is not your grandfather; but he is your grandmother’s son-in-law’s wife’s father. This gentleman married his son-in-law’s father-in-law’s wife, and he is bound to support and protect her for life. His wife is his son-in-law’s children’s grandmother, and his son-in-law’s grandchildren’s great-grandmother.

A Mr. Harwood had two daughters by his first wife, the eldest of whom was married to John Coshick; this Coshick had a daughter by his first wife, whom old Harwood married, and by her he had a son; therefore, John Coshick’s second wife could say as follows:—

My father is my son, and I’m my mother’s mother; My sister is my daughter, and I’m grandmother to my brother.

PROPHETIC DISTICH.

In the year 1531, the following couplet was found written on the wall behind the altar of the Augustinian monastery at Gotha, when the building was taken down:—

MC quadratum, LX quoque duplicatum, ORAPS peribit et Huss Wiclefque redibit.

MC quadratum is MCCCC, i.e. 1400. LX duplicatum is LLXX, i.e. 120 = 1520. ORAPS is an abbreviation for _ora pro nobis_ (pray for us). The meaning is, that in the sixteenth century praying to the saints will cease, and Huss and Wickliffe will again be recognized.

THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST.

VIC_AR_IV_S_ _F_ILII D_E_I. 5 + 1 + 100 + 1 + 5 + 1 + 50 + 1 + 1 + 500 + 1 = 666.

Among the curious things extant in relation to Luther is the covert attempt of an ingenious theological opponent to make him the apocalyptic beast or antichrist described in Revelation ch. xiii. The mysterious number of the beast, “six hundred threescore and six,” excited the curiosity of mankind at a very early period, particularly that of Irenæus, in the second century, who indulged in a variety of shrewd conjectures on the subject. But after discovering the number in several names, he modestly says, “Yet I venture not to pronounce positively concerning the name of antichrist, for, had it been intended to be openly proclaimed to the present generation, it would have been uttered by the same person who saw the revelation.” A later expositor, Fevardent, in his Notes on Irenæus, adds to the list the name of Martin Luther, which, he says, was originally written Martin Lauter. “Initio vocabatur _Martin Lauter_,” says Fevardent; “cujus nominis literas si Pythagorice et ratione subducas et more Hebræorum et Græcorum alphabeti crescat numerus, primo monadum, deinde decadum, hinc centuriarum, numerus nominis Bestiæ, id est, 666, tandem perfectum comperies, hoc pacto.”

M 30 L 20 A 1 A 1 R 80 U 200 T 100 T 100 I 9 E 5 N 40 R 80 Total, 666.

It is but just to Fevardent, however, to observe that he subsequently gave the preference to _Maometis_.

GALILEO’S LOGOGRAPH.

Galileo was the first to observe a peculiarity in the planet Saturn, but his telescope had not sufficient refractive power to separate the rings. It appeared to him like three bodies arranged in the same straight line, of which the middle was the largest, thus, ⚬⚪⚬. He announced his discovery to Kepler under the veil of a logograph, which sorely puzzled his illustrious cotemporary. This is not to be wondered at, for it ran—

Smasmrmilmepoetalevmibvnienvgttaviras.

Restoring the transposed letters to their proper places, we have the following sentence:—

Altissimum planetam tergeminum observavi.

(I have observed the most distant planet to be threefold.)

PERSIAN RIDDLES.

Between a thick-set hedge of bones, A small red dog now barks, now moans. ®“A human tongue!”® ®The answer rung,—®

A soul above it, And a soul below, With leather between, And swift it doth go. ®On horse, with man a-straddle.® ®The answer is a _saddle_.®

CHINESE TEA SONG.

Punch has favored the world with the following song, sung before her Britannic Majesty by a Chinese lady. It looks rather difficult at first; but if the reader studies it attentively, he will see how easy it is to read Chinese:—

Ohc ometo th ete asho pwit hme, Andb uya po undo f thebe st, ’Twillpr oveam ostex cellentt ea, Itsq ua lit yal lwi lla tte st.

’Tiso nlyf oursh illi ngs apo und, Soc omet othet eama rtan dtry, Nob etterc anel sewh erebefou nd, Ort hata nyoth er needb uy.

DEATH AND LIFE.

cur f w d dis and p A sed iend rought eath ease ain. bles fr b br and ag

THE REBUS.

Ben Jonson, in his play _The Alchemist_, takes an opportunity of ridiculing the Rebus, among the other follies of his day which he so trenchantly satirizes. When Abel Drugger, the simple tobacconist, applies to the impostor Subtle to invent for him a sign-board that will magically attract customers to his shop, the cheat says to his confederate, in presence of their admiring dupe,—

I will have his name Formed in some mystic character, whose radii, Striking the senses of the passers-by, Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections That may result upon the party owns it. As thus: He first shall have a _bell_—that’s _Abel_; And by it standing one whose name is _Dee_, In a _rug_ gown; there’s _D_ and _rug_—that’s _Drug_; And right anenst him a dog snarling _er_— There’s _Drugger_. §Abel Drugger§, that’s his sign, And here’s now mystery and hieroglyphic.

A motto of the Bacon family in Somersetshire has an ingenious rebus,—

§ProBa-conScientia§;

the capitals, thus placed, giving it the double reading, Proba conscientia, and Pro Bacon Scientia.

WHAT IS IT?

A Headless man had a letter to write; ’Twas read by one who lost his Sight; The Dumb repeated it word for word, And he was Deaf who listened and heard.

THE BOOK OF RIDDLES.

The Book of Riddles alluded to by Shakspeare in the Merry Wives of Windsor (Act I. sc. I) is mentioned by Laneham, 1575, and in the English Courtier, 1586; but the earliest edition of this popular collection now preserved is dated 1629. It is entitled The _Booke of Merry Riddles, together with proper Questions and witty Proverbs to make pleasant pastime; no less usefull then behovefull for any young man or child, to know if he be quick-witted or no_. The following extract from this very rare work will be found interesting.

_Here beginneth the first Riddle._

Two legs sat upon three legs, and had one leg in her hand; then in came foure legs, and bare away one leg; then up start two legs, and threw three legs at foure legs, and brought again one leg.

_Solution._—That is, a woman with two legs sate on a stoole with three legs, and had a leg of mutton in her hand; then came a dog that hath foure legs, and bare away the leg of mutton; then up start the woman, and threw the stoole with three legs at the dog with foure legs, and brought again the leg of mutton.

_The Second Riddle._

He went to the wood and caught it, He sate him down and sought it; Because he could not finde it, Home with him he brought it.

_Solution._—That is a thorne: for a man went to the wood and caught a thorne in his foote, and then he sate him downe, and sought to have it pulled out, and because he could not find it out, he must needs bring it home.

_The_ iii. _Riddle._

What work is that, the faster ye worke, the longer it is ere ye have done, and the slower ye worke, the sooner ye make an end?

_Solution._—That is turning of a spit; for if ye turne fast, it will be long ere the meat be rosted, but if ye turne slowly, the sooner it is rosted.

_The_ iv. _Riddle._

What is that that shineth bright all day, and at night is raked up in its own dirt?

_Solution._—That is the fire, that burneth bright all the day; and at night is raked up in his ashes.

_The_ v. _Riddle._

I have a tree of great honour, Which tree beareth both fruit and flower; Twelve branches this tree hath nake, Fifty [_sic_] nests therein he make, And every nest hath birds seaven; Thankéd be the King of Heaven; And every bird hath a divers name: How may all this together frame?

_Solution._—The tree is the yeare; the twelve branches be the twelve months; the fifty-two nests be the fifty-two weekes; the seven birds be the seven days in the weeke, whereof every one hath a divers name.

BISHOP WILBERFORCE’S PUZZLE.

“All pronounce me a wonderful piece of mechanism, and yet few people have numbered the strange medley of which I am composed. I have a large box and two lids, two caps, two musical instruments, a number of weathercocks, three established measures, some weapons of warfare, and a great many little articles that carpenters cannot do without; then I have about me a couple of esteemed fishes, and a great many of a smaller kind; two lofty trees, and the fruit of an indigenous plant; a handsome stag, and a great number of a smaller kind of game; two halls or places of worship, two students or rather scholars, the stairs of a hotel, and half a score of Spanish gentlemen to attend on me. I have what is the terror of the slave, also two domestic animals, and a number of negatives.”

§Reply.§—“Chest—eye-lids—kneecaps—drum of the ear—veins—hand, foot, nail—arms—nails—soles of the feet—muscles—palms—apple—heart (hart)—hairs (hares) temples—pupils—insteps—tendons (ten Dons)—lashes—calves—nose (no’s.)”

CURIOSITIES OF CIPHER.

In 1680, when M. de Louvois was French Minister of War, he summoned before him one day, a gentleman named Chamilly, and gave him the following instructions:—

“Start this evening for Basle, in Switzerland, which you will reach in three days; on the fourth, punctually at two o’clock, station yourself on the bridge over the Rhine, with a portfolio, ink, and a pen. Watch all that takes place, and make a memorandum of every particular. Continue doing so for two hours; have a carriage and post-horses await you; and at four precisely, mount and travel night and day till you reach Paris. On the instant of your arrival, hasten to me with your notes.”

De Chamilly obeyed; he reaches Basle, and on the day, and at the hour appointed, stations himself, pen in hand, on the bridge. Presently a market-cart drives by, then an old woman with a basket of fruit passes; anon, a little urchin trundles his hoop by; next an old gentlemen in blue top-coat jogs past on his gray mare. Three o’clock chimes from the cathedral-tower. Just at the last stroke, a tall fellow in yellow waistcoat and breeches saunters up, goes to the middle of the bridge, lounges over, and looks at the water; then he takes a step back and strikes three hearty blows on the footway with his staff. Down goes every detail in De Chamilly’s book. At last the hour of release sounds, and he jumps into his carriage. Shortly before midnight, after two days of ceaseless traveling, De Chamilly presented himself before the Minister, feeling rather ashamed at having such trifles to record. M. de Louvois took the portfolio with eagerness, and glanced over the notes. As his eye caught the mention of the yellow-breeched man, a gleam of joy flashed across his countenance. He rushed to the king, roused him from sleep, spoke in private with him for a few moments, and then four couriers, who had been held in readiness since five on the preceding evening, were dispatched with haste. Eight days after the town of Strasbourg was entirely surrounded by French troops, and summoned to surrender; it capitulated and threw open its gates on the 30th September, 1681. Evidently the three strokes of the stick given by the fellow in yellow costume, at an appointed hour, were the signal of the success of an intrigue concerted between M. de Louvois and the magistrates of Strasbourg, and the man who executed this mission was as ignorant of the motive as was M. de Chamilly of the motive of his errand.

Now this is a specimen of the safest of all secret communications; but it can only be resorted to on certain rare occasions. When a lengthy dispatch is required to be forwarded, and when such means as those given above are out of the question, some other method must be employed. Herodotus gives us a story to the point; it is found also, with variations, in Aulus Gellius:—

“Histiæus, when he was anxious to give Aristagoras orders to revolt, could find but one safe way, as the roads were guarded, of making his wishes known; which was by taking the trustiest of his slaves, shaving all the hair from off his head, and then pricking letters upon the skin, and waiting till the hair grew again. This accordingly he did; and as soon as ever the hair was grown, he dispatched the man to Miletus, giving him no other message than this: ‘When thou art come to Miletus, bid Aristagoras shave thy head, and look thereon.’ Now the marks on the head were a command to revolt.”—(Bk. V. 35.)

Is this case no cipher was employed. We shall come now to the use of ciphers.

When a dispatch or communication runs great risk of falling into the hands of the enemy, it is necessary that its contents should be so veiled that the possession of the document may afford him no information whatever. Julius Cæsar and Augustus used ciphers, but they were of the utmost simplicity, as they consisted merely in placing D in the place of A; E in that of B and so on; or else in writing B for A, and C for B, &c.

Secret characters were used at the Council of Nicæa; and Rabanus Maurus, Abbot of Fulda and Archbishop of Mayence, in the Ninth Century, has left us an example of two ciphers, the key to which was discovered by the Benedictines. It is only a wonder that any one could have failed to unravel them at the first glance. This is a specimen of the first:—

.Nc.p.tv:rs:.:sB::nf:c..:rch.gl::r::s.q:.::m: rt.r.s

The clue to this is the suppression of the vowels and the filling of their places by dots—one for i, two for a, three for e, four for o, and five for u. In the second example, the same sentence would run—Knckpkt vfrsxs Bpnkfbckk, &c., the vowel places being filled by the consonants—b, f, k, p, x. By changing every letter in the alphabet, we make a vast improvement on this last; thus, for instance, supplying the place of a with z, b with x, c with v, and so on. This is the very system employed by an advertiser in a provincial paper, which we took up the other day in the waiting-room of a station, where it had been left by a farmer. As we had some minutes to spare, before the train was due, we spent them in deciphering the following:—

Jp Sjddjzbrza rzdd ci sijmr. Bziw rzdd xrndzt, and in ten minutes we read: “If William can call or write, Mary will be glad.”

When the Chevalier de Rohan was in the Bastile his friends wanted to convey to him the intelligence that his accomplice was dead without having confessed. They did so by passing the following words into his dungeon written on a shirt: “Mg dulhxecclgu ghj yxuj; lm et ulge alj.” In vain did he puzzle over the cipher, to which he had not the clue. It was too short; for the shorter a cipher letter, the more difficult it is to make out. The light faded, and he tossed on his hard bed, sleeplessly revolving the mystic letters in his brain; but he could make nothing out of them. Day dawned, and with its first gleam he was poring over them; still in vain. He pleaded guilty, for he could not decipher “_Le prisonnier est mort; il n’a rien dit_.”

A curious instance of cipher occurred at the close of the sixteenth century, when the Spaniards were endeavoring to establish relations between the scattered branches of their vast monarchy, which at that period embraced a large portion of Italy, the Low Countries, the Philippines, and enormous districts in the New World. They accordingly invented a cipher, which they varied from time to time, in order to disconcert those who might attempt to pry into the mysteries of their correspondence. The cipher, composed of fifty signs, was of great value to them through all the troubles of the “Ligue,” and the wars then desolating Europe. Some of their dispatches having been intercepted, Henry IV. handed them over to a clever mathematician, Viete, with the request that he would find the clue. He did so, and was able also to follow it as it varied, and France profited for two years by his discovery. The Court of Spain, disconcerted at this, accused Viete before the Roman Court as a sorcerer and in league with the devil. This proceeding only gave rise to laughter and ridicule.

* * * * *

A still more remarkable instance is that of a German professor, Herman, who boasted, in 1752, that he had discovered a cryptograph absolutely incapable of being deciphered without the clue being given by him; and he defied all the savants and learned societies of Europe to discover the key. However, a French refugee, named Beguelin, managed after eight days’ study to read it. The cipher—though we have the rules upon which it is formed before us—is to us perfectly unintelligible. It is grounded on some changes of numbers and symbols; the numbers vary, being at one time multiplied, at another added, and become so complicated that the letter _e_, which occurs nine times in the paragraph, is represented in eight different ways; _n_ is used eight times, and has seven various signs. Indeed, the same letter is scarcely ever represented by the same figure. But this is not all; the character which appears in the place of _i_ takes that of _n_ shortly after; another Symbol for _n_ stands also for _t_. How any man could have solved the mystery of this cipher is astonishing.

All these cryptographs consist in the exchange of numbers of characters for the real letters; but there are other methods quite as intricate, which dispense with them.

* * * * *

The mysterious cards of the Count de Vergennes are an instance. De Vergennes was Minister of Foreign Affairs under Louis XVI., and he made use of cards of a peculiar nature in his relations with the diplomatic agents of France. These cards were used in letters of recommendation or passports, which were given to strangers about to enter France; they were intended to furnish information without the knowledge of the bearers. This was the system. The card given to a man contained only a few words, such as:—

ALPHONSE D’ANGEHA, Recommande a Monsieur le Comte de Vergennes, par le Marquis de Puysegur, Ambassadeur de France a la Cour de Lisbonne.

The card told more tales than the words written on it. Its color indicated the nation of the stranger. Yellow showed him to be English; red, Spanish; white, Portuguese; green, Dutch; red and white, Italian; red and green, Swiss; green and white, Russian; &c. The person’s age was expressed by the shape of the card. If it were circular, he was under 25; oval, between 25 and 30; octagonal, between 30 and 45; hexagonal, between 45 and 50; square, between 50 and 60; an oblong showed that he was over 60. Two lines placed below the name of the bearer indicated his build. If he were tall and lean, the lines were waving and parallel; tall and stout, they converged; and so on. The expression of his face was shown by a flower in the border. A rose designated an open and amiable countenance, whilst a tulip marked a pensive and aristocratic appearance. A fillet round the border, according to its length, told whether he were bachelor, married, or widower. Dots gave information as to his position and fortune. A full stop after his name showed that he was a Catholic; a semicolon, that he was a Lutheran; a comma, that he was a Calvinist; a dash, that he was a Jew; no stop indicated him an Atheist. So also his morals and character were pointed out by a pattern in the card. So, at one glance the Minister could tell all about his man, whether he were a gamester or a duelist; what was his purpose in visiting France; whether in search of a wife or to claim a legacy; what was his profession—that of physician, lawyer, or man of letters; whether he were to be put under surveillance or allowed to go his way unmolested.

* * * * *

We come now to a class of cipher which requires a certain amount of literary dexterity to conceal the clue.

During the Great Rebellion, Sir John Trevanion, a distinguished cavalier, was made prisoner, and locked up in Colchester Castle. Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle had just been made examples of, as a warning to “malignants:” and Trevanion had every reason for expecting a similar bloody end. As he awaits his doom, indulging in a hearty curse in round cavalier terms at the canting, crop-eared scoundrels who hold him in durance vile, and muttering a wish that he had fallen, sword in hand, facing the foe, he is startled by the entrance of the jailor, who hands him a letter:

“May’t do thee good,” growls the fellow; “it has been well looked to before it was permitted to come to thee.”

Sir John takes the letter, and the jailor leaves him his lamp by which to read it:—

§Worthie Sir John§:—Hope, that is ye best comport of ye afflictyd, cannot much, I fear me, help you now. That I wolde saye to you, is this only: if ever I may be able to requite that I do owe you, stand not upon asking of me. ’Tis not much I can do; but what I can do, bee verie sure I wille. I knowe that, if dethe comes, if ordinary men fear it, it frights not you, accounting it for a high honour, to have such a rewarde of your loyalty. Pray yet that you may be spared this soe bitter, cup. I fear not that you will grudge any sufferings; only if it bie submission you can turn them away, ’tis the part of a wise man. Tell me, an if you can, to do for you any thinge that you would have done. The general goes back on Wednesday. Restinge your servant to command.

R. T.

Now this letter was written according to a preconcerted cipher. Every third letter after a stop was to tell. In this way Sir John made out—“Panel at east end of chapel slides.” On the following even, the prisoner begged to be allowed to pass an hour of private devotion in the chapel. By means of a bribe, this was accomplished. Before the hour had expired, the chapel was empty—the bird had flown.

An excellent plan of indicating the telling letter or words is through the heading of the letter. “Sir,” would signify that every third letter was to be taken; “Dear Sir,” that every seventh; “My dear sir,” that every ninth was to be selected. A system, very early adopted, was that of having pierced cards, through the holes of which the communication was written. The card was then removed, and the blank spaces filled up. As for example:—

§My dear X.§—[The] lines I now send you are forwarded by the kindness of the [Bearer], who is a friend. [Is not] the message delivered yet [to] my brother? [Be] quick about it, for I have all along [trusted] that you would act with discretion and dispatch.

Yours ever, Z.

Put your card over the note, and through the piercings you will read: “The Bearer is not to be trusted.”

Poe, in his story of “The Gold Bug,” gives some valuable hints on the interpretation of the most common cryptographs. He contends that the ingenuity of man can construct no enigma which the ingenuity of man cannot unravel. And he actually read several very difficult ciphers which were sent to him after the publication of “The Gold Bug.”

But we saw, several years ago, a method which makes the message absolutely safe from detection. We will try to describe it.

Take a square sheet of paper of convenient size, say a foot square. Divide it by lines drawn at right angles into five hundred and seventy-six squares, twenty-six each way; in the upper horizontal row write the alphabet in its natural order, one letter in each square; in the second horizontal row write the alphabet, beginning with B. There will then be one square left at the end of this row; into this put A. Fill the third row by beginning with C, and writing A and B after Z at the end. So on until the whole sheet is filled. When completed, the table, if correct, will present this appearance. In the upper horizontal row, the alphabet in its natural order from left to right; in the left-hand vertical row, the same from top to bottom; and the diagonal, from upper right to lower left-hand corner, will be a line of Z’s.

Each party must have one of the tables. A key-word must be agreed upon, which may be any word in the English language, or from any other language if it can be represented by English letters, or, indeed, it may even be a combination of letters which spells nothing.

Now, to send a message, first write the message in plain English. Over it write the key-word, letter over letter, repeating it as many times as it is necessary to cover the message. Take a simple case as an illustration. Suppose the key-word to be _Grant_, and the message _We have five days’ provisions_. It should be placed thus:—

Grantgrantgrantgrantgran Wehavefivedaysprovisions

Now find, in the upper horizontal row of the table, the first letter of the key-word, G, and in the left-hand vertical column, the first letter of the message, W. Run a line straight down from G, and one to the right from W, and in the angle where the two lines meet will be found the letter which must be written as the first letter of the cipher. With the second letter of the key-word, R, and the second letter of the message, E, find in the same way the second letter of the cipher.

The correspondent who receives the cipher goes to work to translate it thus:—He first writes over it the key-word, letter over letter, repeating it as often as necessary. Then finding in the upper row of his table the first letter of the key-word, he passes his pencil directly down until he comes to the first letter or the cipher; the letter opposite to it in the left vertical column is the first letter of the translation. Each of the succeeding letters is found in a similar way.

A third party, into whose hands such a cipher might fall, could not read it, though he possessed a copy of the table and knew how to use it, unless he knew the key-word. The chance of his guessing this is only one in millions. And there is no such thing as interpreting it by any other method, because there are no repetitions, and hence all comparison is at fault. That is to say, in the same cipher, in one place a letter, as for instance C may stand for one letter in the translation, and in another place C may stand for quite a different letter. This is the only kind of cryptograph we have ever seen which is absolutely safe.

The Reason Why.

WHY THE GERMANS EAT SAUER-KRAUT.

The reason why the most learned people on earth eat sauer-kraut may be found in the following extract from a work entitled _Petri Andreæ Matthioli Senensis medici commentarii in sex libros Pedacii Dioscoridis de Materiâ Medica. Venetiis. ex officina Valgrisiana_ MDLXV. _Traduit de Latin en Francais, par M. Antoine du Pinot. Lyon_, MDCLV. Preface, p. 13. ligne 30: “Finally, in order to omit nothing which can add to the knowledge of simples, it must be noted that Nature, mother and producer of all things, has created various simples, which have a sympathy or natural antipathy to each other; which is a very considerable point in this matter, and has no like as a mystery and secret. And thus it has seemed to me good to hint a word about it, and principally of those which are used in medicine. To commence, then, with the oak and the olive; these two trees hate each other in such sort that, if you plant one in the hole from which the other was dug, it will die there; and, even if you plant one near the other, they will work each other’s death. The cabbage and the vine do the like; for it has been seen that, if you plant a cabbage at the foot of a vine, the vine will recoil and draw itself away. And thus it is no marvel that the cabbage is very useful to sober topers, and that the Germans eat it commonly in _a compost_ to safeguard themselves from their wine.”

WHY PENNSYLVANIA WAS SETTLED.

Penn refused to pull his hat off Before the king, and therefore sat off, Another country to light pat on, Where he might worship with his hat on.

HUGUENOTS.

They were so called because their first places of meeting in the city of Tours (where Calvin’s opinions first prevailed) were cellars under-ground, near Hugo’s Gate [Heb. XI. 38], whence the vulgar applied this name to them.

ROYAL DEMISE.

How monarchs die is easily explained, And thus upon the tomb it might be chisel’d; As long as George the Fourth could reign, he reigned, And then he mizzled.

BOSTON.

In the seventh century a Roman Catholic monk by the name of Botolph, or Bot-holp, viz., Boat-help, founded a church in what is now Lincolnshire, England. Gradually a town grew up around the church, and was called Botolphstown, which was afterward contracted into Botolphston, and then shortened to Botoston, and finally to Boston. From that town of Boston in Lincolnshire came to America the Rev. John Cotton, who gave the name to the New England Capital. So that the metropolis of good old Puritan Massachusetts was, it seems, named in honor of a Roman Catholic saint and monk!

WEATHERCOCKS.

The vane or weathercock must have been of very early origin. Vitruvius calls it _triton_, evidently from an ancient form. The usual form on towers and castles was that of a banner; but on ecclesiastical edifices, it generally was a _weathercock_. There was a symbolical reason for the adoption of the figure of a cock. The cross was surmounted by a ball, to symbolize the redemption of the world by the cross of Christ; and the cock was placed upon the cross in allusion to the repentance of St. Peter, and to remind us of the important duties of repentance and Christian vigilance. Apart from symbolism, the large tail of the cock is well adapted to turn with the wind, just as is the arrow which is so frequently chosen.

CUTTING OFF WITH A SHILLING.

According to Blackstone (ii. 32), the Romans were wont to set aside testaments as being _inofficiosa_, deficient in natural duty, if they disinherited or totally passed by (without assigning a true and sufficient reason) any of the children of the testator. But if the child had any legacy, though ever so small, it was a proof that the testator had not lost his memory or his reason, which otherwise the law presumed; but was then supposed to have acted thus for some substantial cause, and in such case no _querula inofficiosi testamenti_ was allowed. Hence, probably, has arisen that groundless error of the necessity of leaving the heir a shilling, or some such express legacy, in order to disinherit him effectually. Whereas the law of England makes no such constrained suppositions of forgetfulness or insanity; and, therefore, though the heir or next of kin be totally omitted, it admits no _querula inofficiosi_ to set aside such a testament.

CARDINAL’S RED HAT.

The red hat was given to cardinals by Pope Innocent IV., in the first Council of Lyons, held in 1245, to signify that by that color they should be always ready to shed their blood in defence of the church.

THE ROAST BEEF OF ENGLAND.

Brave Betty was a maiden Queen, Bold and clever! bold and clever! King Philip, then a Spaniard King, To court her did endeavor. Queen Bess she frowned and stroked her ruff, And gave the mighty Don a huff: For which he swore her ears he’d cuff, All with his grand Armada. Says Royal Bess, “I’ll vengeance take!” Blessings on her! blessings on her! “But first I’ll eat a nice beefsteak, All with my maids of honor.” Then to her admirals she went, Drake, Effingham, and Howard sent, Who soon dished Philip’s armament, And banged his grand Armada.

A SENSIBLE QUACK.

An empiric was asked by a regular physician how it was that, without education or skill, he contrived to live in considerable style, while he could hardly subsist. “Why” said the other, “how many people do you think have passed us lately?” “Perhaps a hundred.” “And how many of them do you think possess common sense?” “Possibly one.” “Why, then,” said the quack, “that one goes to you, and I get the other ninety-nine.”

GENEALOGY.

The doggerel couplet repeated in varied forms but usually presented in this shape—

When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?

is a translation of the German

Da Adam hackt und Eva spann, Wer war damals der Edelmann?

which is further referred to a wag who had written the couplet on a wall near to which the Emperor Maximilian was tracing his pedigree; upon which the Emperor wrote the following impromptu:—

Ich bin ein Mann wie ein ander Mann, Nur dass mir Gott die Ehre gann,

(I am a man like another man, only that God gave honor to me.)

A JUGGLER’S MYSTERY.

The French Government, which formerly sent dancing-girls and comic actors to cheer up its soldiers when they were ordered away from the dancing-saloons and theatres, so common throughout France, engaged Mr. Robert Houdin to go to Algeria and exhibit his best feats of legerdemain before the natives, to shake the excessive influence exerted by the marabouts or priests, whose power seems to be established solely on their adroit jugglery. The marabouts were not disposed to yield to the new-comer’s powers without a struggle, and pressed him as hard as they could. M. Houdin was successful, but his victory was not altogether easy, as he tells in the following narrative:—

The marabout said to me: “I believe now in your supernatural power. You are really a sorcerer. I hope, therefore, you will not refuse to repeat here an exhibition of your powers made on your stage.” He gave me two pistols, which he had concealed under his bournous, and said: “Choose one of those pistols; we are going to load it, and I shall fire it at you. You have nothing to fear, since you know how to parry any bullet.” I confess I was for a moment dumb with embarrassment. I tried my best to think of some subterfuge, but I could think of nothing. Every eye was fixed on me, in expectation of my reply. The marabout was triumphant.

Bou Allem, who knew that my tricks were due solely to my adroitness, became angry that his guests should be annoyed in this barbarous way, and he scolded the marabout. I stopped him. An idea had struck me which would at least extricate me for the moment from my embarrassment. So I said to the marabout, speaking with all the assurance I could summon: “You know that I am not invulnerable unless I have a talisman on me. Unfortunately, I have left it at Algiers.” The marabout began to laugh incredulously. “Nevertheless,” I went on to say, “if I remain in prayer for six hours, I shall be able to make myself invulnerable to your pistol, even though I have no talisman. To-morrow morning, at eleven o’clock, I shall let you fire at me before all these Arabs, who are witnesses of your challenge.” Bou Allem, astonished to hear me make such a promise, came up and asked me in a low tone if I was speaking seriously, and if he should invite the Arabs to come the next day. I told him I was. I need not say I did not spend the night in prayers, but I worked for two hours to make myself invulnerable, and then satisfied with my success, I went to sleep with a great deal of pleasure, for I was horribly tired. We breakfasted before eight o’clock, the next morning; our horses were saddled, and our escort was waiting the signal of departure, which was to take place immediately after the famous experiment. The same persons who were present at the challenge the day before, were at the rendezvous, and a great many other Arabs who had heard of what was to take place, had come to witness it.

The pistols were brought. I made them observe the touch-hole was clear. The marabout put a good load of powder in the pistol and rammed it down well. I chose a ball from among the balls brought, I ostensibly put it in the pistol and rammed it thoroughly. The marabout kept a good eye on me: his honor was at stake. The second pistol was loaded as the first had been, and now came the trying moment. Trying indeed it was for everybody. For the Arabs around, uncertain how the experiment would end; for my wife, who had in vain begged me not to try the experiment which she was afraid of—and I confess it, trying for me, as my new trick was based on none of the expedients I had hitherto used, and I was afraid of some mistake, some treachery, some accident. Nevertheless, I stood fifteen paces in front of the marabout, without exhibiting the least emotion. The marabout instantly took up one of the pistols, and at the given signal he aimed deliberately at me. He fired. I caught the ball in my teeth. More irritated than ever, the marabout ran to snatch up the other pistol; I was quickest and I seized it. “You failed to draw blood from me,” said I to him; “now look, I am going to draw blood from that wall yonder.” I fired at a wall which had just been whitewashed; instantly a large clot of blood was seen on it. The marabout went up to it, put a finger on it, tasted it, and satisfied himself it was really blood. His arms fell down at his side, he hung his head, he was overcome. It was evident he doubted now of everything, even of the Prophet. The Arabs raised their hands to Heaven, muttered prayers, and looked at me with dread.

This trick, however curious it may seem, is managed easily enough. I shall describe it. As soon as I was alone in my chamber, I took out of my pistol-case (which I carry with me wherever I go) a ball-mould. I took a card, turned up its corners and made a sort of recipient of it, in which I placed a lump of stearine, taken from one of the candles in the room. As soon as the stearine was melted, I mixed a little lamp-black with it—which I obtained by holding a knife over a lighted candle—and then I poured this composition into my ball-mould. If I had allowed the liquid stearine to become entirely cold, the ball would have been solid; but after ten or twelve seconds I reversed the mould, and the portion of the stearine which was not yet solid flowed out and left a hollow ball in the mould. This, by the way, is the mode in which the hollow candles used in the churches are made; the thickness of the sides depends on the time the melted stearine or wax is left in the mould. I wanted a second ball. I made it a little thicker than the first. I filled it with blood, and I closed the aperture with a drop of stearine. An Irishman had showed me years before, how to extract blood from the thumb without pain: I adopted his trick to fill my ball with blood. It is hard to believe how nearly these projectiles of stearine, colored with lamp-black, look like lead: they will deceive anybody, even when examined quite closely. The reader now clearly sees through the trick. While exhibiting the lead bullet to the spectators, I changed it for my hollow ball, and this last I ostensibly placed in the pistol. I rammed it down, to break the stearine into small pieces, which could not reach me at fifteen paces. As soon as the pistol was discharged, I opened my mouth and exhibited the lead ball between my teeth. The second pistol contained the ball filled with blood, which was broken to pieces on the wall, where it left the spot of blood, while the pieces of stearine could no where be found.

This is the whole mystery.

Weather-Wisdom.

SHERIDAN’S RHYMING CALENDAR.

January snowy, February flowy, March blowy, April showery, May flowery, June bowery, July moppy, August croppy, September poppy, October breezy, November wheezy, December freezy.

SIR HUMPHRY DAVY ON WEATHER-OMENS.

In his shepherd’s calling he was prompt, And watchful more than ordinary men. Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, Of blasts of every tone; and oftentimes, When others heeded not, he heard the South Make subterraneous music, like the noise Of bagpipes upon distant Highland hills.

The late Sir Humphry Davy, one of the most successful modern explorers of the secrets of nature, was not above attending to, and explaining, the “weather-omens” which are derived from popular observation.

In his _Salmonia_ he has the following dialogue between Haliens, (a fly-fisher,) Poietes, (a poet,) Physicus, (a man of science,) and Ornither, (a sportsman):—

_Poiet._—I hope we shall have another good day to-morrow, for the clouds are red in the west.

_Phys._—I have no doubt of it, for the red has a tint of purple.

_Hal._—Do you know why this tint portends fine weather?

_Phys._—The air, when dry, I believe, refracts more red, or heat-making rays; and as dry air is not perfectly transparent, they are again refracted in the horizon. I have generally observed a coppery or yellow sunset to foretell rain; but as an indication of wet weather approaching, nothing is more certain than a halo round the moon, which is produced by precipitated water; and the larger the circle, the nearer the clouds, and consequently the more ready to fall.

_Hal._—I have often observed that the old proverb is correct,—

A rainbow in the morning is the shepherd’s warning; A rainbow at night is the shepherd’s delight.

Can you explain this omen?

_Phys._—A rainbow can only occur when the clouds containing or depositing the rain are opposite the sun,—and in the evening the rainbow is in the east, and in the morning in the west; and as our heavy rains, in this climate, are usually brought by the westerly wind, a rainbow in the west indicates that the bad weather is on the road, by the wind, to us; whereas the rainbow in the east proves that the rain in those clouds is passing from us.

_Poiet._—I have often observed that when the swallows fly high, fine weather is to be expected or continued; but when they fly low, and close to the ground, rain is almost surely approaching. Can you account for this?

_Hal._—Swallows follow the flies and gnats, and flies and gnats usually delight in warm strata of air; and as warm air is lighter, and usually moister, than cold air, when the warm strata of air are high, there is less chance of moisture being thrown down from them by the mixture with cold air; but when the warm and moist air is close to the surface, it is almost certain that, as the cold air flows down into it, a deposition of water will take place.

_Poiet._—I have often seen sea-gulls assemble on the land, and have almost always observed that very stormy and rainy weather was approaching. I conclude that these animals, sensible of a current of air approaching from the ocean, retire to the land to shelter themselves from the storm.

_Orn._—No such thing. The storm is their element, and the little petrel enjoys the heaviest gale, because, living on the smaller sea-insects, he is sure to find his food in the spray of a heavy wave; and you may see him flitting above the edge of the highest surge. I believe that the reason of this migration of sea-gulls, and other sea-birds, to the land, is their security of finding food; and they may be observed at this time feeding greedily on the earth-worms and larvæ driven out of the ground by severe floods; and the fish, on which they prey in fine weather in the sea, leave the surface, and go deeper, in storms. The search after food, as we have agreed on a former occasion, is the principal cause why animals change their places. The different tribes of the wading birds always migrate when rain is about to take place; and I remember once, in Italy, having been long waiting, in the end of March, for the arrival of the double snipe in the Campagna of Rome, a great flight appeared on the 3d of April, and the day after heavy rain set in, which greatly interfered with my sport. The vulture, upon the same principle, follows armies; and I have no doubt that the augury of the ancients was a good deal founded upon the observation of the instincts of birds. There are many superstitions of the vulgar owing to the same source. For anglers, in spring, it is always unlucky to see single magpies; but two may be always regarded as a favorable omen; and the reason is, that in cold and stormy weather one magpie alone leaves the nest in search of food, the other remaining sitting upon the eggs or the young ones; but when two go out together it is only when the weather is warm and mild, and favorable for fishing.

_Poiet._—The singular connections of causes and effects to which you have just referred, make superstition less to be wondered at,

## particularly amongst the vulgar; and when two facts, naturally

unconnected, have been accidentally coincident, it is not singular that this coincidence should have been observed and registered, and that omens of the most absurd kind should be trusted in. In the west of England, half a century ago, a particular hollow noise on the sea-coast was referred to a spirit or goblin called Bucca, and was supposed to foretell a shipwreck: the philosopher knows that sound travels much faster than currents in the air, and the sound always foretold the approach of a very heavy storm, which seldom takes place on that wild and rocky coast without a shipwreck on some part of its extensive shores, surrounded by the Atlantic.

SIGNS OF THE WEATHER.

The following signs of rain were given by Dr. Jenner,[14] in 1810, to a lady, in reply to her inquiry whether it would rain on the morrow:—

The hollow winds begin to blow, The clouds look black, the glass is low; The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, And spiders from their cobwebs creep; Last night the sun went pale to bed, The moon in halos hid her head; The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, For see, a rainbow spans the sky; The walls are damp, the ditches smell, Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel; The squalid toads at dusk were seen Slowly crawling o’er the green; Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry, The distant hills are looking nigh; Hark, how the chairs and tables crack! Old Betty’s joints are on the rack; And see yon rooks, how odd their flight, They imitate the gliding kite, Or seem precipitate to fall As if they felt the piercing ball; How restless are the snorting swine! The busy flies disturb the kine; Low o’er the grass the swallow wings; The cricket too, how loud she sings! Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, Sits wiping o’er her whiskered jaws:— ’Twill surely rain, I see, with sorrow: Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

Footnote 14:

Versified by Darwin.

The following is taken from _The Shepherd’s Calendar_, 1683:

_Signs of Rain, from Birds._—Sea and fresh-water fowls, such as cormorants, sea-gulls, moor-hens, &c. flying from sea or the fresh waters to land, show bad weather at hand; land fowls flying to waters, and those shaking, washing, and noisy, especially in the evening, denote the same; geese, ducks, coots, &c. picking, shaking, washing, and noisy; rooks and crows in flocks and suddenly disappearing; pyes and jays in flocks and very noisy; the raven or hooded-crow crying in the morning, with an interruption in its notes, or crows being very clamorous at evening; the heron, bittern, and swallow flying low; birds forsaking their food and flying to their nests; poultry going to rest or pigeons to their dove-house; tame fowls grubbing in the dust and clapping their wings; small birds seeming to duck and wash in the sand; the late and early crowing of the cock, and clapping his wings; the early singing of woodlarks; the early chirping of sparrows; the early note of the chaffinch near houses; the dull appearance of robin-redbreast near houses; peacocks and owls unusually clamorous.

_Of Wind, from Birds._—Sea and fresh-water fowls gathering in flocks to the banks, and there sporting, especially in the morning; wild geese flying high and in flocks, and directing their course eastward; coots restless and clamorous; the hoopoe loud in his note; the king’s fisher taking to land; rooks darting or shooting in the air, or sporting on the banks of fresh waters; and lastly, the appearance of the malefigie at sea, is a certain forerunner of violent winds, and (early in the morning) denotes horrible tempests at hand.

_Of Fair Weather, from Birds._—Halcyons, sea-ducks, &c. leaving the land, and flocking to the sea; kites, herons, bitterns, and swallows flying high, and loud in their notes; lapwings restless and clamorous; sparrows after sunrise restless and noisy; ravens, hawks, and kestrils (in the morning) loud in their notes; robin-redbreast mounted high, and loud in his song; larks soaring high, and loud in their songs; owls hooting with an easy and clear note; bats appearing early in the evening.

_Of Rain, from Beasts._—Asses braying more frequently than usual; hogs playing, scattering their food, or carrying straw in their mouths; oxen snuffing the air, looking to the south, while lying on their right sides, or licking their hoofs; cattle gasping for air at noon; calves running violently and gamboling; deer, sheep, or goats leaping, fighting, or pushing; cats washing their face and ears; dogs eagerly scraping up earth; foxes barking; rats and mice more restless than usual; a grumbling noise in the belly of hounds.

_Of Rain, from Insects._—Worms crawling out of the earth in great abundance; spiders falling from their webs; flies dull and restless; ants hastening to their nests; bees hastening home, and keeping close in their hives; frogs drawing nigh to houses, and croaking from ditches; gnats singing more than usual; but if gnats play in the open air, or if hornets, wasps, and glow-worms appear plentifully in the evening, or if spiders’ webs are seen in the air or on the grass, these do all denote fair and warm weather at hand.

_Of Rain, from the Sun._—Sun rising dim or waterish; rising red with blackish beams mixed along with his rays; rising in a musty or muddy color; rising red and turning blackish; setting under a thick cloud; setting with a red sky in the east.

Sudden rains never last long; but when the air grows thick by degrees, and the sun, moon, and stars shine dimmer and dimmer, then it is like to rain six hours usually.

_Of Wind, from the Sun._—Sun rising pale and setting red, with an iris; rising large in surface; rising with a red sky in the north; setting of a blood color; setting pale, with one or more dark circles, or accompanied with red streaks, seeming concave or hollow; seeming divided, great storms; parhelia, or mock suns, never appear but are followed by tempest.

_Of Fair Weather, from the Sun._—Sun rising clear, having set clear the night before; rising while the clouds about him are driving to the west; rising with an iris around him, and that iris wearing away equally on all sides, then expect fair and settled weather; rising clear and not hot; setting in red clouds, according to the old observation,—

The evening red and morning gray, Is the sure sign of a fair day.

To the above may be added the following from a more recent source:—

As a rule, a circle around the moon indicates rain and wind. When seen with a north or northeast wind, we may look for stormy weather, especially if the circle be large; with the wind in any other quarter, we may expect rain; so also when the ring is small and the moon seems covered with mist. If, however, the moon rise after sunset, and a circle be soon after formed around it, no rain is foreboded. In the Netherlands they have this proverb:—

Een kring om de maan (A ring round the moon Die kan vergaan; May pass away soon; Maar een kring om de zon But a ring round the sun Geeft water in de ton. Gives water in the tun.)

An old astrologer, referring to St. Paul’s day, Jan. 25, says:—

If St. Paul be fair and clear, It promises then a happy year; But if it chance to snow or rain, Then will be dear all sorts of grain; Or if the wind do blow aloft, Great stirs will vex the world full oft; And if dark clouds do muff the sky, Then fowl and cattle oft will die.

Another, alluding to the Ember-day in December, says:—

When Ember-day is cold and clear There’ll be two winters in that year.

The following is from a manuscript in the British Museum:—

If Christmas day on Thursday be, A windy winter you shall see; Windy weather in each week, And hard tempests, strong and thick; The summer shall be good and dry, Corn and beasts shall multiply; That year is good for lands to till; Kings and princes shall die by skill; If a child born that day shall be, It shall happen right well for thee: Of deeds he shall be good and stable, Wise of speech, and reasonable. Whoso that day goes thieving about, He shall be punished, without doubt; And if sickness that day betide, It shall quickly from thee glide.

UNLUCKY DAYS.

The following list of the “evil days in each month” is translated from the original Latin verses in the old _Sarum Missal_:—

_January._ Of this first month, the opening day And seventh like a sword will slay.

_February._ The fourth day bringeth down to death; The third will stop a strong man’s breath.

_March._ The first the greedy glutton slays; The fourth cuts short the drunkard’s days.

_April._ The tenth and the eleventh, too, Are ready death’s fell work to do.

_May._ The third to slay poor man hath power; The seventh destroyeth in an hour.

_June._ The tenth a pallid visage shows; No faith nor truth the fifteenth knows.

_July._ The thirteenth is a fatal day; The tenth alike will mortals slay.

_August._ The first kills strong ones at a blow; The second lays a cohort low.

_September._ The third day of the month September, And tenth, bring evil to each member.

_October._ The third and tenth, with poisoned breath, To man are foes as foul as death.

_November._ The fifth bears scorpion-sting of deadly pain; The third is tinctured with destruction’s train.

_December._ The seventh’s a fatal day to human life; The tenth is with a serpent’s venom rife.

O. S. and N. S.

THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR.

The Julian calendar was framed about 46 years before Christ. Cæsar made the year consist of 365 days; and the annual excess of six hours, which amounted to one day in four years, was taken into account by making every fourth year (leap-year) consist of 366 days. But Cæsar’s correction of the calendar was imperfect, being founded on the supposition that the solar year consisted of 365 days, 6 hours, whereas the true solar year consists of 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes, 45½ seconds. Thus the Julian year exceeded the solar 11 minutes 14½ seconds,—which amounted to a whole day in 130 years. In consequence of this inaccuracy, the vernal equinox, which happened on the 25th of March in the time of Julius Cæsar, had receded to the 21st of March in the year 325, and was fixed to that day by the Council of Nice. Attempts were afterwards made to effect some change in the calendar; but a complete reformation was not made until 1582. Pope Gregory XIII. invited to Rome the most learned astronomers of the age; and, after the subject had been discussed ten years, it was decreed that the vernal equinox, which had receded ten days since the Council of Nice, and consequently happened on the 11th of March, should be brought back to the 21st of March, and that for this purpose ten days should be taken from the month of October, 1582. To avoid future deviation, it was determined that instead of every 100th year being leap-year, every 400th year only should be leap-year. By this plan—a diminution of three days in 400 years—the error in the present calendar will not exceed a day and a half in five thousand years.

The calendar thus reformed by Pope Gregory was immediately introduced into Catholic countries, but was not finally adopted in Great Britain until 1752, when, by act of Parliament, eleven days were struck out of the calendar, the 3d of September being reckoned the 14th. The Greek Church still obstinately adheres to the old style.

RESULTS OF THE CHANGE IN THE STYLE.

The following happily-conceived address to the patrons of “Poor Job’s Almanac” was occasioned by the change of the style in 1752. The number of that year bears the title—

_Poor Job_, 1752. _By Job Shepherd, philom. Newport. Printed by James Franklin,[15] at the Printing-office under the Town School-house._ In this almanac the month of September has, in the margin, the figures of the successive days, commencing 1, 2; and, after leaving blank a space for eleven days, recommencing with 14, and continuing to the 30th.

Footnote 15:

Brother of Dr. Franklin.

§Kind Reader§:—You have now such a year as you never saw before, nor will see hereafter, the King and Parliament of Great Britain having thought proper to enact that the month of September, 1752, shall contain but nineteen days, which will shorten this year eleven days, and have extended the same throughout the British dominions; so that we are not to have two beginnings to our years, but the first of January is to be the first day and the first month of the year 1752; eleven days are taken from September, and begin 1, 2, 14, 15, &c. Be not astonished, nor look with concern, dear reader, at such a deduction of days, nor regret as for the loss of so much time; but take this for your consolation, that your expenses will perhaps appear lighter, and your mind be more at ease. And what an indulgence is here for those who love their pillows, to lie down in peace on the second of this month, and not perhaps awake or be disturbed till the fourteenth, in the morning! And, reader, this is not to hasten the payment of debts, freedom of apprentices or servants, or the coming to age of minors; but the number of natural days in all agreements are to be fulfilled. All Church holidays and Courts are to be on the same nominal days they were before; but fairs, after the second of September, alter the nominal days, and so seemed to be held eleven days later. Now, reader, since ’tis likely you may never have such another year nor such another almanac, I would advise you to improve the one for your own sake, and I recommend the other for the sake of your friend,

§Poor Job§.

Memoria Technica.

NAMES AND ORDER OF THE BOOKS OF THE OLD TESTAMENT.

The Great Jehovah speaks to us In Genesis and Exodus; Leviticus and Numbers see Followed by Deuteronomy. Joshua and Judges sway the land, Ruth gleans a sheaf with trembling hand; Samuel and numerous Kings appear Whose Chronicles we wondering hear. Ezra and Nehemiah, now, Esther the beauteous mourner show. Job speaks in sighs, David in Psalms, The Proverbs teach to scatter alms; Ecclesiastes then comes on, And the sweet Song of Solomon. Isaiah, Jeremiah then With Lamentations takes his pen, Ezekiel, Daniel, Hosea’s lyres Swell Joel, Amos, Obadiah’s. Next Jonas, Micah, Nahum come, And lofty Habakkuk finds room— While Zephaniah, Haggai calls, Wrapt Zachariah builds his walls; And Malachi, with garments rent, Concludes the ancient Testament.

NAMES AND ORDER OF THE BOOKS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, wrote the life of their Lord; The Acts, what Apostles accomplished, record; Rome, Corinth, Galatus, Ephesus, hear What Philippians, Colossians, Thessalonians revere: Timotheus, Titus, Philemon, precede The Epistle which Hebrews most gratefully read; James, Peter, and John, with the short letter Jude, The rounds of Divine Revelation conclude.

NAMES OF SHAKSPEARE’S PLAYS.

_Omitting the Historical English Dramas, “quos versu dicere non est.”_

Cymbeline, Tempest, Much Ado, Verona, Merry Wives, Twelfth Night, As you Like it, Errors, Shrew Taming, Night’s Dream, Measure, Andronicus, Timon of Athens. Winter’s Tale, Merchant, Troilus, Lear, Hamlet, Love’s Labor, All’s Well, Pericles, Othello, Romeo, Macbeth, Cleopatra, Cæsar, Coriolanus.

ENGLISH SOVEREIGNS.

First William the Norman, Then William his son; Henry, Stephen, and Henry, Then Richard and John. Next Henry the Third, Edwards one, two, and three; And again, after Richard, Three Henrys we see. Two Edwards, third Richard, If rightly I guess; Two Henrys, sixth Edward, Queen Mary, Queen Bess. Then Jamie, the Scotchman, Then Charles whom they slew, Yet received after Cromwell Another Charles too. Next James the Second Ascended the throne; Then good William and Mary Together came on. Till, Anne, Georges four, And fourth William all past, God sent Queen Victoria: May she long be the last!

PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES.

First stands the lofty §Washington§, That nobly great, immortal one; The elder §Adams§ next we see, And §Jefferson§ comes number three; The fourth is §Madison§, you know, The fifth one on the list, §Monroe§; The sixth an §Adams§ comes again, And §Jackson§ seventh in the train; §Van Buren§ eighth upon the line, And §Harrison§ counts number nine; The tenth is §Tyler§ in his turn, And §Polk§ eleventh, as we learn; The twelfth is §Taylor§ that appears; The thirteenth, §Fillmore§ fills his years; Then §Pierce§ comes fourteenth into view; §Buchanan§ is the fifteenth due; The sixteenth §Lincoln§, foully slain; The seventeenth was §Johnson§’s _reign_; Then §Grant§ was by the people sent To be their eighteenth President.

THE DECALOGUE.

1. Have thou no Gods but me; 2. Nor graven type adore; 3. Take not my name in vain; ’twere guilt most sore: 4. Hallow the seventh day; 5. Thy parents’ honor love: 6. No murder do; 7. Nor thou adulterer prove: 8. From theft be pure thy hands; 9. No witness false, thy word: 10. Covet of none his house, wife, maid, or herd.

* * * * *

Worship to God—but not God graven—pay; Blaspheme not; sanctify the Sabbath day; Be honored parents; brother’s blood unshed; And unpolluted hold the marriage bed; From theft thy hand—thy tongue from lying—keep, Nor covet neighbor’s home, spouse, serf, ox, sheep.

* * * * *

Thou no God shalt have but me; Before no idol bow the knee; Take not the name of God in vain; Nor dare the Sabbath day profane; Give both thy parents honor due; Take heed that thou no murder do; Abstain from words and deeds unclean; Nor steal, though thou art poor and mean; Nor make a willful lie, nor love it; What is thy neighbor’s, do not covet.

METRICAL GRAMMAR.

Three little words we often see Are Articles, _a_, _an_ and _the_. A Noun’s the name of any thing, As _school_, or _garden_, _hoop_, or _swing_. Adjectives tell the kind of Noun, As _great_, _small_, _pretty_, _white_, or _brown_. Instead of Nouns the Pronouns stand— _Her_ fan, _his_ face, _my_ arm, _your_ hand. Verbs tell of something being done— To _read_, _write_, _count_, _sing_, _jump_, or _run_. How things are done the Adverbs tell, As _slowly_, _quickly_, _ill_, or _well_. Conjunctions join the words together, As men _and_ children, wind _or_ weather. The Preposition stands before A Noun—as, _in_ or _through_ a door. The Interjection shows surprise, As _Oh!_ how pretty, _Ah!_ how wise. The whole are called nine parts of Speech, Which _Reading_, _Writing_, _Speaking_, teach.

NUMBER OF DAYS IN EACH MONTH.

One of the most useful lessons taught us in early life by arithmetical treatises, is that of Grafton’s well-known lines in his _Chronicles of England_, 1590. Sir Walter Scott, in conversation with a friend, adverted jocularly to that ancient and respectable but unknown poet, who had given us this formula:—

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; And all the rest have thirty-one, Excepting February alone, Which has but twenty-eight, in fine, Till Leap-Year gives it twenty-nine.

The form used by the Quakers runs thus:—

The fourth, eleventh, ninth and sixth Have thirty days to each affixed; Every other, thirty-one, Except the second month alone.

Origin of Things Familiar.

MIND YOUR P’S AND Q’S.

It would be a curious thing, if they could be traced out, to ascertain the origin of half the quaint old sayings and maxims that have come down to the present time from unknown generations. Who, for example, was “§Dick§,” who had the odd-looking “hat-band,” and who has so long been the synonym or representative of oddly-acting people? Who knows any thing authentic of the leanness of “Job’s turkey,” who has so many followers in the ranks of humanity? Scores of other sayings there are, concerning which similar questions might be asked. Who ever knew, until comparatively late years, what was the origin of the cautionary saying, “Mind your P’s and Q’s”? A modern antiquarian, however, has put the world right in relation to _that_ saying. In ale-houses, in the olden time, when chalk “scores” were marked upon the wall, or behind the door of the tap-room, it was customary to put the initials “P” and “Q” at the head of every man’s account, to show the number of “pints” and “quarts” for which he was in arrears; and we may presume many a friendly rustic to have tapped his neighbor on the shoulder, when he was indulging too freely in his potations, and to have exclaimed, as he pointed to the chalk-score, “Mind your P’s and Q’s, man! mind your P’s and Q’s!” The writer from whom we glean this information mentions an amusing anecdote in connection with it, which had its origin in London, at the time a “Learned Pig” was attracting the attention of half the town. A theatrical wag, who attended the porcine performances, maliciously set before the four-legged actor some _peas_,—a temptation which the animal could not resist, and which immediately occasioned him to lose the “cue” given him by the showman. The pig-exhibitor remonstrated with the author of the mischief on the unfairness of what he had done; to which he replied, “I only wanted to ascertain whether the pig knew his ‘peas’ from his ‘cues!’”

ALL FOOLS’ DAY.

April the First stands marked by custom’s rules, A day of being, and of making, fools.

The First of April, as is well known, is distinguished in the calendar by the singular appellation of “_All Fools’ Day_.” It would be a curious exception to common experience, if, on the recurrence of this memorable epoch in the division of time, multitudes were not betrayed into a due observance of its peculiarities. Many grave and unsuspecting people have been sent upon the most frivolous and nonsensical errands. Many a passer-by has been told that there was something out of his pocket, which was his hand; or something on his face, which was his nose. Many a school-boy has been sent to the shoemaker’s for stirrup-oil, which he would get from a strap, across his shoulders; or to ask a schoolmistress for the biography of Eve’s mother; or to an old bachelor to purchase pigeon’s milk. Many a printer’s “devil” has been sent to a neighboring editor for a quart of editorial, and received in return a picture of a jackass; and many a pretty girl despatched to the handsome druggist round the corner for the essence of tulips (two-lips,) which she would sometimes box the pharmaceutic ears for offering to give her. Some would be summoned, upon the most unfounded pretexts, out of their warm beds, an hour or more before the accustomed time. Others were enticed to open packages, promising ample remuneration, but full of disappointment; and others again, as they passed along the streets, were captivated by the sight of pieces of spurious coin, which, when they essayed to lift, they found securely fastened to the pavement,—together with various other whimsicalities, which under other circumstances would have been deemed highly offensive, but, happening on the First of April, were considered, if not agreeable, at least comparatively harmless. The _origin_ of this strange custom is shrouded in mystery. It has been traced by some to the

## scene in the life of Jesus when he was sent from Pilate to Herod, and

back from Herod to Pilate, which occurred about this period.

Brady’s _Clavis Calendaria_, published in 1812, mentions that more than a century previous the almanacs designated the First of April as “All Fools’ Day.” In the northern counties of England and Scotland, the jokes on that day were practised to a great extent, and it scarcely required an apology to experiment upon the gravest and most respectable of city or country gentlemen and women. The person whose good nature or simplicity put him momentarily in the power of his facetious neighbor was called a “_gowk_”—and the sending upon ridiculous errands, “_hunting the gowk_.” The term “_gowk_” was a common expression for a cuckoo, which was reckoned among the silliest and simplest of all the feathered tribes.

In France, the person made the butt upon these occasions was styled “_un poisson d’Avril_”—that is, an April fish—by implication, an April fool—“_poisson d’Avril_,” the familiar name of the _mackerel_, a fish easily caught by deception, singly and in shoals, at this season of the year. The term “April fool” was therefore, probably, nothing more than an easy substitution of that opprobrious epithet for fish, and it is quite likely that our ancestors borrowed the custom from France, with this change in the phrase peculiar to the occasion. It is possible, however, that it may have been derived from _poison_, mischief. Among the French, ridicule is the most successful weapon for correcting folly and holding vice in _terrorem_. A Frenchman is more afraid of a successful _bon mot_ at his expense than of a sword, and the First of April is a day, therefore, of which he can make a double application: he may gratify his love of pleasantry among his friends, or inflict a severe wound on his enemies, if he possess the art and wit to invent and perpetrate a worthy piece of foolery upon them. One of the best tricks that ever occurred in France was that of Rabelais, who fooled the officers of justice, when he had no money, into conveying him from Marseilles to Paris on a charge of treason got up for the purpose, and, when arrived there, showing them how they were hoaxed. For this purpose he made up some brick-dust and ashes in different packets, labelled as poisons for the royal family of France. The bait took, and he was conveyed to the capital as a traitor, seven hundred miles, only to explain the joke.

There is a very common practical joke on fools’ day in the British metropolis: it consists in despatching a letter by an unlucky dupe, who is to wait for an answer. The answer is a second note, to a third person, “to send the fool farther.” A young surgeon, a greenhorn in practice, fresh from St. Bartholomew’s, his instruments unfleshed on his own account, and his surgery bottles full to repletion, was called a few years ago from the Strand to a patient in Newgate Street, very rich, named Dobbs. It was the First of April, and it was his first patient. The young Esculapius was ushered into the presence of the supposed patient, who was busy writing in his counting-house. The surgeon explained his errand, and Mr. Dobbs, having an excellent mercantile discernment, soon saw through the affair. He bowed and said, “It is a mistake, sir: my name is Dobbs, but I am, thank God, hale and hearty. It is my brother, the sugar-baker, on Fish Street Hill, that has sent for you, [carriage or horse he had none,] three-fourths of a mile farther.” He entered among the pyramids of snowy sweets, and found Mr. Dobbs, the sugar-baker, of Fish Street Hill, as hale as his brother of Newgate Street. The refiner of saccharine juice understood his brother’s note, stammered out a pretended apology for the mistake, and said he supposed, as the young man’s directions were to Mr. J. Dobbs, and not Mr. Jeffry Dobbs, that was intended; that his name was Jeffry, but his brother John, a third member of the family, and in his business, lived at Limehouse, whither he thought, if our surgeon proceeded, he would find the person he sought. An address was handed the young tourniquet at the extreme end of Limehouse, which address, it is needless to say, was false. What will not a surgeon do to obtain his first patient, and a rich one too? Away he posted to Limehouse, and soon found how far he had travelled for nothing. Tired and disappointed, and scheming vengeance on the authors of the hoax, he set off on his return home, cursing the Dobbs family every step he went. As he passed along Upper Shadwell, he saw a horse gallop furiously down Chamomile Street and fling its rider a heavy fall on the pavement. He ran and lifted the fallen man, whom he found insensible. He conveyed him to a shop hard by, bled him, and had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes. Suffice it to say that, on being conveyed home, our young surgeon attended him until he was restored to health; and so gratefully were his exertions received by the stranger, who was a rich East India merchant, far advanced in life, that he took him into his house as a medical attendant and friend, and ultimately left him the bulk of his property. Thus, out of an intended Fools’ Day hoax, by the inscrutable caprice of fortune, a frolic led its dupe to wealth. This anecdote, according to the London Athenæum, may be depended on as true, nothing in the story but the name adopted, to conceal the real actors in the drama, being fictitious.

A day of fooleries, the _Huli Fest_, is observed, also, among the Hindoos, attended with the like silly species of witticism.

By many it is believed that the term “_all_” is a corruption of _auld_ or _old_, thereby making it originally “Old Fools’ Day,” in confirmation of which opinion the following observation is quoted from an ancient Roman calendar respecting the 1st of November:—“The feast of old fools is removed to this day.” The oldest almanacs extant, however, have it _all_ (and not _old_) fools’ day. Besides the Roman “Saturnalia” and the Druidical rites, superstitions which the early Christians found in existence when they commenced their labors in England, was the _Festum Fatuorum_, or _Fools’ Holiday_, which was doubtless our present First of April. In some of the German classics frequent mention is made of the _Aprilen Narr_, so that even the Germans of the olden time understood how to practise their cunning April arts upon their neighbors quite as well as we of the present day.

Enough has been here quoted to prove that the custom is of very ancient existence; but the precise _origin_ thereof remains undiscovered, and will have to be dug from some of the musty chronicles of gray antiquity. But, be the origin of the custom what it may, we cannot avoid the conclusion that it is one “more honored in the breach than in the observance.”

CARDS.

About the year 1390, cards were invented to divert Charles IV., then King of France, who was fallen into a melancholy disposition. That they were not in use before appears highly probable. 1st, Because no cards are to be seen in any paintings, sculpture, tapestry, &c. more ancient than the preceding period, but are represented in many works of ingenuity since that age. 2dly, No prohibitions relative to cards, by the king’s edicts, are mentioned; although some few years before, a most severe one was published, forbidding by name all manner of sports and pastimes, in order that the subjects might exercise themselves in shooting with bows and arrows and be in a condition to oppose the English. Now, it is not to be presumed that so luring a game as cards would have been omitted in the enumeration had they been in use. 3dly, In all the ecclesiastical canons prior to the same time, there occurs no mention of cards; although, twenty years after that date, card-playing was interdicted the clergy by a Gallican Synod. About the same time is found in the account-book of the king’s cofferer the following charge:—“Paid for a pack of painted leaves bought for the king’s amusement, three livres.” Printing and stamping being not then discovered, the cards were painted, which made them dear. Thence, in the above synodical canons, they are called _pagillæ pictæ_, painted little leaves. 4thly, About thirty years after this came a severe edict against cards in France, and another by Emanuel, Duke of Savoy, only permitting the ladies this pastime, _pro spinilis_, for pins and needles.

_Of their designs._—The inventor proposed by the figures of the four suits, or colors, as the French call them, to represent the four states or classes of men in the kingdom. By the _Cæsars_ (hearts) are meant the _Gens de Chœur_, choir-men, or ecclesiastics; and therefore the Spaniards, who certainly received the use of cards from the French, have _copas_ or chalices instead of hearts. The nobility, or prime military part of the kingdom, are represented by the ends or points of lances, or pikes; and our ignorance of the meaning or resemblance of the figure induced us to call them spades. The Spaniards have _espadas_ (swords) in lieu of pikes, which is of similar import. By diamonds are designated the order of citizens, merchants, and tradesmen, _carraux_, (square stone tiles, or the like.) The Spaniards have a coin _dineros_, which answers to it; and the Dutch call the French word _carreaux_, _stieneen_, stones and diamonds, from the form. _Treste_, the trefoil leaf, or clover grass, (corruptly called clubs,) alludes to husbandmen and peasants. How this suit came to be called clubs is not explained, unless, borrowing the game from the Spaniards, who have _bastos_ (staves or clubs) instead of the trefoil, we gave the Spanish signification to the French figure.

The “history of the four kings,” which the French in drollery sometimes call “the cards,” is that of _David_, _Alexander_, _Cæsar_, and _Charles_, names which were, and still are, on the French cards. These respective names represent the four celebrated monarchies of the Jews, Greeks, Romans, and Franks under Charlemagne.

By the queens are intended _Argine_, _Esther_, _Judith_, and _Pallas_, (names retained in the French cards,) typical of birth, piety, fortitude, and wisdom, the qualifications residing in each person. “Argine” is an anagram for “Regina,” queen by descent.

By the knaves were designed the servants to knights, (for knave originally meant only servant; and in an old translation of the Bible, St. Paul is called the knave of Christ,) but French pages and valets, now indiscriminately used by various orders of persons, were formerly only allowed to persons of quality, esquires, (escuiers,) shield or armor bearers. Others fancy that the knights themselves were designed by those cards, because _Hogier_ and _Lahire_, two names on the French cards, were famous knights at the time cards were supposed to be invented.

SUB ROSA.

But when we with caution a secret disclose, We cry, “Be it spoken, sir, under the rose.” Since ’tis known that the rose was an emblem of old, Whose leaves by their closeness taught secrets to hold; And ’twas thence it was painted on tables so oft As a warning, lest, when with a frankness men scoft At their neighbor, their lord, their fat priest, or their nation, Some among ’em next day should betray conversation. _British Apollo_, 1708.

The origin of the phrase _under the rose_ implies secrecy, and had its origin during the year §B.C.§ 477, at which time Pausanias, the commander of the confederate fleet of the Spartans and Athenians, was engaged in an intrigue with Xerxes for the subjugation of Greece to the Persian rule, and for the hand of the monarch’s daughter in marriage. Their negotiations were carried on in a building attached to the temple of Minerva, called the Brazen House, the roof of which was a garden forming a bower of roses; so that the plot, which was conducted with the utmost secrecy, was literally matured _under the rose_. Pausanias, however, was betrayed by one of his emissaries, who, by a preconcerted plan with the ephori, (the overseers and counsellors of state, five in number,) gave them a secret opportunity to hear from the lips of Pausanias himself the acknowledgment of his treason. To escape arrest, he fled to the temple of Minerva, and, as the sanctity of the place forbade intrusion for violence or harm of any kind, the people walled up the edifice with stones and left him to die of starvation. His own mother laid the first stone.

It afterward became a custom among the Athenians to wear roses in their hair whenever they wished to communicate to another a secret which they wished to be kept inviolate. Hence the saying _sub rosa_ among them, and, since, among Christian nations.

OVER THE LEFT.

The earliest trace of the use and peculiar significance of this phrase may be found in the _Records_ of the Hartford County Courts, in the (then) Colony of Connecticut, as follows:—

At a County Court held at Hartford, } September 4, 1705. }

Whereas James Steel did commence an action against Bevell Waters (both of Hartford) in this Court, upon hearing and tryall whereof the Court gave judgment against the said Waters, (as in justice they think they ought,) upon the declaring the said judgment, the said Waters did review to the Court in March next, that, being granted and entered, the said Waters, as he departed from the table, he said, “_God bless you over the left shoulder_.”

The Court order a record to be made thereof forthwith.

A true copie: Test. §Caleb Stanley§, Clerk.

At the next court, Waters was tried for contempt, for saying the words recited, “so cursing the Court,” and on verdict fined £5. He asked a review of the Court following, which was granted; and pending trial, the Court asked counsel of the Rev. Messrs. Woodbridge and Buckingham, the ministers of the Hartford churches, as to the “common acceptation” of the offensive phrase. Their reply constitutes a part of the _Record_, and is as follows:—

We are of opinion that those words, said on the other side to be spoken by Bevell Waters, include (1) prophaneness, by using the name of God, that is holy, with such ill words whereto it was joyned; (2) that they carry great contempt in them, arising to the degree of an imprecation or curse, the words of a curse being the most contemptible that can ordinarily be used.

§T. Woodbridge.§ §T. Buckingham.§

March 7th, 1705–6.

The former judgment was affirmed on review.

KICKING THE BUCKET.

The tradition among the slang fraternity as to the origin of this phrase is that “One Bolsover, having hung himself to a beam while standing on the bottom of a pail, or bucket, kicked the vessel away in order to pry into futurity, and it was all UP with him from that moment—_Finis!_”

BUMPER.

When the Roman Catholic religion was in the ascendant in England, the health of the Pope was usually drunk in a full glass immediately after dinner—_au bon père_: hence the word “Bumper.”

ROYAL SAYING.

It was Alphonsus, surnamed the Wise, King of Aragon, who used to say, “That among so many things as are by men possessed or pursued in the course of their lives, all the rest are baubles, besides old wood to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to converse with, and old books to read.”

DUN.

This word, generally supposed to be derived from the French _donnez_, owes its origin, according to the British Apollo of September, 1708, to one _Joe Dun_, a famous bailiff of Lincoln in the time of Henry VII. He is said to have been so extremely shrewd in the management of his rough business, and so dexterous in the collection of dues, that his name became proverbial; and whenever a man refused to pay his debts, it grew into a prevalent custom to say, “Why don’t you §Dun§ him?”

HUMBUG.

Among the many issues of base coin which from time to time were made in Ireland, there was none to be compared in worthlessness to that made by James II. at the Dublin Mint. It was composed of any thing on which he could lay his hands, such as lead, pewter, copper, and brass, and so low was its intrinsic value that twenty shillings of it was only worth twopence sterling. William III., a few days after the battle of the Boyne, ordered that the crown-piece and half-crown should be taken as one penny and one half-penny respectively. The soft mixed metal of which that worthless coin was composed was known among the Irish as Uim bog, pronounced Oom-bug, i.e. soft copper, i.e. worthless money; and in the course of their dealings the modern use of the word _humbug_ took its rise, as in the phrases, “That’s a _piece of uimbog_,” “Don’t think to _pass off your uimbog_ on me.” Hence the word _humbug_ came to be applied to any thing that had a specious appearance but which was in reality spurious. It is curious to note that the very opposite of _humbug_, i.e. false metal, is the word _sterling_, which is also taken from a term applied to the _true_ coinage of Great Britain, as _sterling_ coin, _sterling_ worth, &c.

PASQUINADES.

At one corner of the Palazzo Braschi, the last monument of Papal nepotism, near the Piazza Navona, in Rome, stands the famous mutilated torso known as the statue of Pasquin. It is the remains of a work of art of considerable merit, found at this spot, in the sixteenth century, and supposed to represent Ajax supporting Menelaus. It derives its modern name from the tailor Pasquin, who kept a shop opposite, which was the rendezvous of all the gossips in the city, and from which their satirical witticisms on the manners and follies of the day obtained a ready circulation.

Misson says in his Travels in Italy,—The tailor had precisely the talent to head a regiment of satirical wits, and had he had time to publish, he would have been the Peter Pindar of his day; but his genius seems to have been satisfied to rest cross-legged on his shop-board. When any lampoons or amusing _bon-mots_ were current in Rome, they were usually called, from his shop, _Pasquinades_. After his death, this statue of an ancient gladiator was found under the pavement of his shop. It was soon set up, and by universal consent was inscribed with his name; and they still attempt to raise him from the dead, and keep the caustic tailor alive, in the marble gladiator of wit.

The statue of Marforio, which stood near the arch of Septimus Severus, in the Forum, was made the vehicle for replying to the attacks of Pasquin; and for many years they kept up an incessant fire of wit and repartee. When Marforio was removed to the museum in the capitol, the Pope wished to remove Pasquin also; but the Duke di Braschi, to whom he belongs, would not permit it. Adrian VI. attempted to arrest his career by ordering the statue to be burnt and thrown into the Tiber; but one of the Pope’s friends, Ludovico Sussano, saved him, by suggesting that his ashes would turn into frogs, and croak more terribly than before. It is said that his owner is compelled to pay a fine whenever he is found guilty of exhibiting any scandalous placards. The modern Romans seem to regard Pasquin as part of their social system: in the absence of a free press, he has become in some measure the organ of public opinion, and there is scarcely an event upon which he does not pronounce judgment. Some of his sayings are extremely broad for the atmosphere of Rome, but many of them are very witty, and fully maintain the character of his fellow-citizens for satirical epigrams and repartee. When Mezzofanti, the great linguist, was made a cardinal, Pasquin declared that it was a very proper appointment, for there could be no doubt that the “Tower of Babel,” “_Il torre di Babel_” required an interpreter. At the time of the first French occupation of Italy, Pasquin gave out the following satirical dialogue:—

I Francesi son tutti ladri. Non tutti—ma Bonaparte.

The French are all robbers. Not all, but a _good part_; (or Not all—but Bonaparte.)

Another remarkable saying is recorded in connection with the celebrated bull of Urban VIII., excommunicating all persons who took snuff in the Cathedral of Seville. On the publication of this decree, Pasquin appropriately quoted the beautiful passage in Job,—“Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro? and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble?”

BOTTLED ALE.

The hop for his profit I thus do exalt; It strengtheneth drink and it flavoreth malt; And being well brewed, long kept it will last, And drawing abide, if ye draw not too fast. _Tusser_, 1557.

Alexander Newell, Dean of St. Paul’s and Master of Westminster School in the reign of Queen Mary, was an excellent angler. But, (says Fuller,) while Newell was catching of fishes, Bishop Bonner was catching of Newell, and would certainly have sent him to the shambles had not a good London merchant conveyed him away upon the seas. Newell was fishing upon the banks of the Thames when he received the first intimation of his danger, which was so pressing that he dared not go back to his own house to make any preparation for his flight. Like an honest angler, he had taken with him provision for the day, and when, in the first year of England’s deliverance, he returned to his country and his old haunts, he remembered that on the day of his flight he had left a bottle of beer in a safe place on the bank: there he looked for it, and “found it no bottle, but a gun—such the sound at the opening thereof; and this (adds Fuller,) is believed (casualty is mother of more invention than industry) the origin of Bottled Ale in England.”

THE POTATO.

Although Sir Walter Raleigh was unexpectedly prevented from accompanying Sir Humphrey Gilbert to Newfoundland, he eventually proved one of the greatest benefactors to his own country, by the introduction of the potato on his return from America, in the year 1584. This root was first planted on Sir Walter’s estate at Youghall, which he afterward sold to the Earl of Cork; but not having given sufficient directions to the person who had the management of the land, the latter mistook the flowers for the fruit and most valuable part of the plant, and, on tasting them, rejected them as a pernicious exotic. Some time afterwards, turning up the earth, he found the roots spread to a great distance, and in considerable quantities; and from this stock the whole kingdom was soon after supplied with this valuable plant, which gradually spread throughout Europe and North America. Its name, _potato_, in Irish _paitey_, and in French _patate_, is said to be derived from the original language of Mexico, of which it is supposed to be a native.

_Anspach’s History of Newfoundland._

TARRING AND FEATHERING.

Anquetil, in his _Histoire de France_, 1805, has the following passage in reference to this mode of chastisement:—

They (the two crusading kings, Richard Cœur de Lion and Philip Augustus) afterwards made in concert the laws of police which should be observed in both their armies. No women, except washerwomen, were to be permitted to accompany the troops. Whoever killed another was, according to the place where the crime should be committed, to be cast into the sea, or buried alive, bound to the corpse of the murdered person. Whoever wounded another was to have his hand cut off; whoever struck another should be plunged three times into the sea; and whoever committed theft should have _warm pitch poured over his head, which should then be powdered with feathers_, and the offender should afterwards be left abandoned on the first shore.

STOCKINGS.

It is stated that Henry the Second, of France, was the first who wore silk stockings, and this was on the occasion of his sister’s wedding to the Duke of Savoy, in 1509. Howell, in his _History of the World_, says that, in 1550, Queen Elizabeth was presented with a pair of black silk knit stockings by her silk-woman, Mrs. Montague, and that she never wore cloth ones afterward. He also adds, that Henry the Eighth wore ordinarily cloth hose, unless there came from Spain, by great chance, a pair of silk stockings. His son, Edward the Sixth, was presented with a pair of long Spanish silk stockings by Sir Thomas Gresham. Hence it would seem that knit stockings originally came from Spain. It is stated that one William Rider, an apprentice on London Bridge, seeing, at the house of an Italian merchant, a pair of knit stockings, from Mantua, took the hint, and made a pair exactly like them, which he presented to the Earl of Pembroke, and that they were the first of that kind worn in England. There have been various opinions with respect to the original invention of the stocking-frame; but it is now generally conceded that it was invented during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, in the year 1589, by William Lee, M.A., of St. John’s College, Cambridge. In the _London Magazine_, it is related that Mr. Lee was expelled from the University for marrying, contrary to the statutes of the college. Being thus rejected, and ignorant of any other means of subsistence, he was reduced to the necessity of living upon what his wife could earn by knitting stockings, which gave a spur to his invention; and, by curiously observing the working of the needles in knitting, he formed in his mind the model of the frame. Mr. Lee went to France, and, for want of patronage there and in England, died of a broken heart, at Paris. In the hall of Framework Knitters’ Company, incorporated by Charles the Second, in 1663, is a portrait of Lee, pointing to one of the iron frames, and discoursing with a woman, who is knitting with needles and her fingers.

THE ORDER OF THE GARTER.

When Salisbury’s famed countess was dancing with glee, Her stocking’s security fell from her knee. Allusions and hints, sneers and whispers, went round; The trifle was scouted, and left on the ground. When Edward the Brave, with true soldier-like spirit, Cried, “The garter is mine; ’tis the order of merit: The first knights in my court shall be happy to wear— Proud distinction!—the garter that fell from the fair; While in letters of gold—’tis your monarch’s high will— Shall there be inscribed, ‘_Ill to him that thinks ill!_’”

DRINKING HEALTHS.

The drinking of healths originated during the Danish occupation of Britain. The Danes frequently stabbed Englishmen while in the act of drinking, and it finally became necessary for the English, in view of the constant repetition of this dastardly mode of assassination, to enter into a compact to be mutual pledges of security for each other’s health and preservation. Hence the custom of pledging and drinking healths.

A FEATHER IN ONE’S CAP.

In the Lansdowne MS., British Museum, is a _Description of Hungary in 1599_, in which the writer says of the inhabitants, “It hath been an antient custom among them that none should wear a fether but he who had killed a Turk, to whom onlie y^t was lawful to shew the number of his slaine enemys by the number of fethers in his cappe.”

THE WORD BOOK.

Before paper came into general use, our Teutonic forefathers wrote their letters, calendars, and accounts on wood. The _Boc_, or beech, being close-grained and plentiful in Northern Europe, was generally employed for the purpose; and hence the word _book_.

NINE TAILORS MAKE A MAN.

The following humorous account of the origin of this saying is from _The British Apollo_. “It happened (’tis no great matter in what year) that eight tailors, having finished considerable pieces of work at the house of a certain person of quality, (whose name authors have thought fit to conceal,) and received all the money due for the same, a virago servant-maid of the house, observing them to be but slender-built animals, and in their mathematical postures on their shop-board appearing but so many pieces of men, resolved to encounter and pillage them on the road. The better to compass her design, she procured a very terrible great black pudding, which, having waylaid them, she presented at the breast of the foremost. They, mistaking this prop of life for an instrument of death, at least a blunderbuss, readily yielded up their money; but she, not contented with that, severely disciplined them with a cudgel she carried in the other hand, all which they bore with a philosophical resignation. Thus, eight, not being able to deal with one woman, by consequence could not make a man; on which account a ninth is added. ’Tis the opinion of our curious virtuosos, that their want of courage ariseth from their immoderate eating of cucumbers, which too much refrigerates their blood. However, to their eternal honor be it spoken, they have often been known to encounter a sort of cannibals, to whose assaults they are often subject, not fictitious, but real man-eaters, and that with a lance but two inches long; nay, and although they go armed no further than their middle finger.”

An earlier authority than the preceding may be found in a note in _Democritus in London, with the Mad Pranks and Comical Conceits of Motley and Robin Goodfellow_, in which the following version of the origin of the saying is given. It is dated 1682:—

There is a proverb which has been of old, And many men have likewise been so told, To the discredit of the Taylor’s Trade: _Nine Taylors go to make up a man_, they said; But for their credit I’ll unriddle it t’ ye: A draper once fell into povertie, Nine Taylors joined their purses together then, To set him up, and make him a man again.

VIZ.

The contraction _viz._ affords a curious instance of the universality of arbitrary signs. There are few people now who do not readily comprehend the meaning of that useful particle,—a certain publican excepted, who, being furnished with a list of the requirements of a festival in which the word appeared, apologized for the omission of one of the items enumerated: he informed the company that he had inquired throughout the town for some viz., but he had not been able to procure it. He was, however, readily excused for his inability to do so. Viȝ. being a contraction of _videlicet_, the terminal sign ȝ was never intended to represent the letter “z,” but was simply a mark or sign of abbreviation. It is now always written and expressed as a “z” and will doubtless continue to be so.

SIGNATURE OF THE CROSS.

The mark which persons who are unable to write are required to make instead of their signatures, is in the form of a cross; and this practice, having formerly been followed by kings and nobles, is constantly referred to as an instance of the deplorable ignorance of ancient times. This signature is not, however, invariably a proof of such ignorance. Anciently the use of the mark was not confined to illiterate persons; for among the Saxons the mark of the cross, as an attestation of the good faith of the persons signing, was required to be attached to the signature of those who _could_ write, as well as to stand in the place of the signature of those who could not write. In those times, if a man could write, or even read, his knowledge was considered proof presumptive that he was in holy orders. The clericus, or clerk, was synonymous with penman; and the laity, or people who were not clerks, did not feel any urgent necessity for the use of letters. The ancient use of the cross was therefore universal, alike by those who could and those who could not write: it was, indeed, the symbol of an oath, from its sacred associations, as well as _the mark_ generally adopted. Hence the origin of the expression “God save the mark,” as a form of ejaculation approaching the character of an oath.

THE TURKISH CRESCENT.

When Philip of Macedon approached by night with his troops to scale the walls of Byzantium, the _moon_ shone out and discovered his design to the besieged, who repulsed him. The crescent was afterwards adopted as the favorite badge of the city. When the Turks took Byzantium, they found the crescent in every public place, and, believing it to possess some magical power, adopted it themselves.

The origin of the crescent as a religious emblem is anterior to the time of Philip of Macedon, dating, in fact, from the very beginning of history.

POSTPAID ENVELOPES.

M. Piron tells us that the idea of a postpaid envelope originated early in the reign of Louis XIV., with M. de Valfyer, who, in 1653, established (with royal approbation) a private penny-post, placing boxes at the corners of the streets for the reception of letters wrapped up in envelopes, which were to be bought at offices established for that purpose. M. de Valfyer also had printed certain _forms_ of _billets_, or notes, applicable to the ordinary business among the inhabitants of great towns, with blanks, which were to be filled up by the pen with such special matter as might complete the writer’s object. One of these _billets_ has been preserved to our times by a pleasant misapplication of it. Pélisson (Mdme. de Sévigné’s friend, and the object of the _bon mot_ that “he abused the privilege which men have of being ugly”) was amused at this kind of skeleton correspondence; and under the affected name of _Pisandre_, (according to the pedantic fashion of the day,) he filled up and addressed one of these forms to the celebrated Mademoiselle de Scuderie, in her _pseudonyme_ of _Sappho_. This strange _billet-doux_ has happened, from the celebrity of the parties, to be preserved, and it is still extant,—one of the oldest, it is presumed, of penny-post letters, and a curious example of a _pre_paying envelope, a new proof of the adage that “there is nothing new under the sun.”

OLD HUNDRED.

The history of this old psalm-tune, which almost every one has been accustomed to hear ever since he can remember, is the subject of a work recently written by an English clergyman. Luther has generally been considered the author of “Old Hundred,” but it has been pretty satisfactorily ascertained that it was composed in the sixteenth century, and certainly previous to 1546, by William Franc, a German. In the course of time its arrangement has undergone repeated alterations; and it is said that, as it originally appeared, it was of a more lively character than at present. Many of these alterations have been carefully preserved and may be seen by reference to Moore’s _Encyclopædia of Music_. The oldest copy of it that has been preserved was published in France, in Marot and Beza’s Psalms, 1550. Subjoined is a faithful transcript of its original adaptation to the 134th Psalm. It contrasts as broadly with the present style of musical notation as does the English of Chaucer with that of Noah Webster.

[Illustration:

Or sus serviteurs du Seigneur, Vous qui de nuit en son honneur]

De-dans sa maison le servez, Louez-le, et son Nom elevez. ]

LA MARSEILLAISE.

Rouget de Lisle was a young officer of engineers at Strasbourg. He was born at _Lons-le-Saulnier_, in the _Jura_ a country of reverie and energy, as mountains commonly are. He relieved the tediousness of a garrison-life by writing verses and indulging a love of music. He was a frequent visitor at the house of the Baron de Diedrich, a noble Alsacian of the constitutional party, the Mayor of Strasbourg. The family loved the young officer, and gave new inspiration to his heart in its attachment to music and poetry, and the ladies were in the habit of assisting, by their performances, the early conceptions of his genius. A famine prevailed at Strasbourg in the winter of 1792. The house of Diedrich was rich at the beginning of the revolution, but had now become poor under the calamities and sacrifices of the time. Its frugal table had always a hospitable place for Rouget de Lisle. He was there morning and evening as a son and brother. One day, when only some slices of ham smoked upon the table, with a supply of camp-bread, Diedrich said to De Lisle, in sad serenity, “Plenty is not found at our meals. But no matter: enthusiasm is not wanting at our civic festivals, and our soldiers’ hearts are full of courage. We have one more bottle of Rhine wine in the cellar. Let us have it, and we’ll drink to liberty and the country. Strasbourg will soon have a patriotic _fête_, and De Lisle must draw from these last drops one of his hymns that will carry his own ardent feelings to the soul of the people.” The young ladies applauded the proposal. They brought the wine, and continued to fill the glasses of Diedrich and the young officer until the bottle was empty. The night was cold. De Lisle’s head and heart were warm. He found his way to his lodgings, entered his solitary chamber, and sought for inspiration at one moment in the palpitations of his citizen’s heart, and at another by touching, as an artist, the keys of his instrument, and striking out alternately portions of an air and giving utterance to poetic thoughts. He did not himself know which came first; it was impossible for him to separate the poetry from the music, or the sentiment from the words in which it was clothed. He sang altogether, and wrote nothing. In this state of lofty inspiration, he went to sleep with his head upon the instrument. The chants of the night came upon him in the morning like the faint impressions of a dream. He wrote down the words, made the notes of the music, and ran to Diedrich’s. He found him in the garden digging winter lettuces. The wife of the patriot mayor was not yet up. Diedrich awoke her. They called together some friends, who were, like themselves, passionately fond of music, and able to execute the compositions of De Lisle. One of the young ladies played, and Rouget sang. At the first Stanza, the countenances of the company grew pale; at the second, tears flowed abundantly; at the last, a delirium of enthusiasm broke forth. Diedrich, his wife, and the young officer cast themselves into each others’ arms. The hymn of the nation was found. Alas! it was destined to become a hymn of terror. The unhappy Diedrich a few months afterwards marched to the scaffold at the sound of the notes first uttered at his hearth, from the heart of his friend and the voice of his wife.

The new song, executed some days afterwards publicly at Strasbourg, flew from town to town through all the orchestras. Marseilles adopted it to be sung at the opening and adjournment of the clubs. Hence it took the name of the _Marseillaise Hymn_. The old mother of De Lisle, a loyalist and a religious person, alarmed at the reverberation of her son’s name, wrote to him, “What is the meaning of this revolutionary hymn, sung by hordes of robbers who pass all over France, with which our name is mixed up?” De Lisle himself, proscribed as a Federalist, heard its re-echo upon his ears as a threat of death as he fled among the paths of Jura. “What is this song called?” he inquired of his guide. “The _Marseillaise_,” replied the peasant. It was with difficulty that he escaped.

The “Marseillaise” was the liquid fire of the revolution. It distilled into the senses and the soul of the people the frenzy of battle. Its notes floated like an ensign, dipped in warm blood over a field of combat. Glory and crime, victory and death, seemed interwoven in its strains. It was the song of patriotism; but it was the signal of fury. It accompanied warriors to the field and victims to the scaffold!

There is no national air that will compare with the Marseillaise in sublimity and power: it embraces the soft cadences full of the peasant’s home, and the stormy clangor of silver and steel when an empire is overthrown; it endears the memory of the vine-dresser’s cottage, and makes the Frenchman, in his exile, cry, “La belle France!” forgetful of the sword, and torch, and guillotine, which have made his country a spectre of blood in the eyes of nations. Nor can the foreigner listen to it, sung by a company of exiles, or executed by a band of musicians, without feeling that it is the pibroch of battle and war.

YANKEE DOODLE.

The good the Rhine-song does to German hearts, Or thine, Marseilles! to France’s fiery blood; The good thy anthemed harmony imparts, “God save the Queen!” to England’s field and flood, A home-born blessing, Nature’s boon, not Art’s, The same heart-cheering, spirit-warming good, To us and ours, where’er we war or woo, Thy words and music, §Yankee Doodle§!—do.—§Halleck.§

The origin of _Yankee Doodle_ is by no means so clear as American antiquaries desire. The statement that the air was composed by Dr. Shackburg, in 1755, when the colonial troops united with the British regulars near Albany, preparatory to the attack on the French posts of Niagara and Frontenac, and that it was produced in derision of the old-fashioned equipments of the provincial soldiers as contrasted with the neat and orderly appointments of the regulars, was published some years ago in a musical magazine printed in Boston. The account there given as to the origin of the song is this:—During the attacks upon the French outposts in 1755, in America, Governor Shirley and General Jackson led the force directed against the enemy lying at Niagara and Frontenac. In the early part of June, whilst these troops were stationed on the banks of the Hudson, near Albany, the descendants of the “Pilgrim fathers” flocked in from the Eastern provinces. Never was seen such a motley regiment as took up its position on the left wing of the British army. The band played music as antiquated and _outré_ as their _uniforms_; officers and privates had adopted regimentals each man after his own fashion; one wore a flowing wig, while his neighbor rejoiced in hair cropped closely to the head; this one had a coat with wonderful long skirts, his fellow marched without his upper garment; various as the colors of the rainbow were the clothes worn by the gallant band. It so happened that there was a certain Dr. Shackburg, wit, musician, and surgeon, and one evening after mess he produced a tune, which he earnestly commended, as a well-known piece of military music, to the officers of the militia. The joke succeeded, and Yankee Doodle was hailed by acclamation “their own march.”

This account is somewhat apocryphal, as there is no song: the tune in the United States is a march; there are no words to it of a national character. The only words ever affixed to the air in this country is the following doggerel quatrain:—

Yankee Doodle came to town Upon a little pony; He stuck a feather in his hat And called it macaroni.

It has been asserted by English writers that the air and words of these lines are as old as Cromwell’s time. The only alteration is in making _Yankee Doodle_ of what was _Nankee Doodle_. It is asserted that the tune will be found in the _Musical Antiquities of England_, and that _Nankee Doodle_ was intended to apply to Cromwell, and the other lines were designed to “allude to his going into Oxford with a single plume, fastened in a knot called a macaroni.” The tune was known in New England before the Revolution as _Lydia Fisher’s Jig_, a name derived from a famous lady of easy virtue in the reign of Charles II., and which has been perpetuated in the following nursery-rhyme:—

Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it; Not a bit of money in it, Only binding round it.

The regulars in Boston in 1775 and 1776 are said to have sung verses to the same air:—

Yankee Doodle came to town, For to buy a firelock; We will tar and feather him, And so we will John Hancock, &c.

The manner in which the tune came to be adopted by the Americans, is shown in the following letter of the Rev. W. Gordon. Describing the battles of Lexington and Concord, before alluded to, he says:—

The brigade under Lord Percy marched out (of Boston) playing, by way of contempt, _Yankee Doodle_: they were afterwards told that they had been made to dance to it.

It is most likely that Yankee Doodle was originally derived from Holland. A song with the following burden has long been in use among the laborers who, in the time of harvest, migrate from Germany to the Low Countries, where they receive for their work as much buttermilk as they can drink, and a tenth of the grain secured by their exertions:—

Yanker didel, doodel down, Didel, dudel lauter, Yanke viver, voover vown, Botermilk und Tanther.

That is, buttermilk and a tenth.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

A resolution was introduced in the American Congress, June 13, 1777, “That the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen stripes, alternately red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation.” There is a striking coincidence between the design of our flag and the arms of General Washington, which consisted of three stars in the upper portion, and three bars running across the escutcheon. It is thought by some that the flag was derived from this heraldic design. History informs us that several flags were used by the Yankees before the present national one was adopted. In March, 1775, a Union flag with a red field was hoisted in New York, bearing the inscription on one side of “George Rex and the liberties of America,” and upon the reverse, “No Popery.” General Israel Putnam raised on Prospect Hill, July 18, 1775, a flag bearing on one side the motto of the commonwealth of Massachusetts, “_Qui transtulit sustinet_,” on the other, “An appeal to Heaven,”—an appeal well taken and amply sustained. In October, 1775, the floating batteries of Boston bore a flag with the latter motto, and a pine-tree upon a white field, with the Massachusetts emblem. Some of the colonies used in 1775 a flag with a rattlesnake coiled as if about to strike, and the motto “Don’t tread on me.” On January 18, 1776, the grand Union flag of the stars and stripes was raised on the heights near Boston; and it is said that some of the regulars made the great mistake of supposing it was a token of submission to the king, whose speech had just been sent to the Americans. The _British Register_ of 1776 says, “They [the rebels] burnt the king’s speech, and changed their colors from a plain red ground to a flag with thirteen stripes, as a symbol of the number and union of the colonies.” A letter from Boston, published in the _Pennsylvania Gazette_, in 1776, says, “The Union flag was raised on the 2d, a compliment to the United Colonies.” These various flags, the Pine-Tree, the Rattlesnake, and the Stripes, were used, according to the tastes of the patriots, until July, 1777, when the blue union of the stars was added to the stripes, and the flag established by law. At first a stripe was added for each new State; but the flag became too large, and Congress reduced the stripes to the original thirteen, and now the stars are made to correspond in number with the States. No one, who lives under the protection of the Stars and Stripes, will deny that “the American flag is one of the most beautiful that floats upon any land or sea.” Its proportions are perfect when it is properly made,—one-half as broad as it is long. The first stripe at the top is red, the next white, and these colors alternate, making the last stripe red. The blue field for the stars is the width and square of the first seven stripes, viz., four red and three white. The colors of the American flag are in beautiful relief, and it is altogether a splendid national emblem. Long may it wave untarnished!

BROTHER JONATHAN.

The origin of this term, as applied to the United States, is as follows. When General Washington, after being appointed commander of the army of the Revolutionary War, went to Massachusetts to organize it, he found a great want of ammunition and other means of defence; and on one occasion it seemed that no means could be devised for the necessary safety. Jonathan Trumbull, the elder, was then Governor of the State of Connecticut; and the general, placing the greatest reliance on his excellency’s judgment, remarked, “We must consult Brother Jonathan on the subject.” The general did so, and the governor was successful in supplying many of the wants of the army; and thenceforward, when difficulties arose, and the army was spread over the country, it became a by-phrase, “We must consult Brother Jonathan;” and the name has now become a designation for the whole country, as John Bull has for England.

UNCLE SAM.

Immediately after the declaration of war with England, in 1812, Elbert Anderson, of New York, then a contractor, visited Troy, where he purchased a large quantity of provisions. The inspectors of the articles at that place were Ebenezer and Samuel Wilson. The latter gentleman (universally known as “Uncle Sam”) generally superintended in person a large number of workmen, who, on this occasion, were employed in overhauling the provisions purchased by the contractor. The casks were marked “E. A.—U. S.” Their inspection fell to the lot of a facetious fellow, who, on being asked the meaning of the mark, said he did not know, unless it meant _Elbert Anderson_ and _Uncle Sam_, alluding to _Uncle Sam Wilson_. The joke took among the workmen, and passed currently; and “Uncle Sam,” when present, was often rallied by them on the increasing extent of his possessions.

THE DOLLAR MARK, $.

Writers are not agreed as to the derivation of this sign to represent dollars. Some say that it comes from the letters U. S., which, after the adoption of the Federal Constitution, were prefixed to the Federal currency, and which afterwards, in the hurry of writing, were run into one another, the U being made first and the S over it. Others say that it is derived from the contraction of the Spanish word _pesos_, dollars; others, from the Spanish _fuertes_, hard,—to distinguish silver from paper money. The more plausible explanation is, that it is a modification of the figure 8, and denotes a piece of eight reals, or, as the dollar was formerly called, a _piece of eight_. It was then designated by the figures 8/8.

ORIGIN OF VARIOUS INVENTIONS AND CUSTOMS.

The Saxons first introduced archery in the time of Vortigern. It was dropped immediately after the conquest, but was revived by the Crusaders, they having felt the effects of it in their combats with the Saracens, who probably derived it from the Parthians. The Normans brought with them the cross-bow, but after the time of Edward II. its use was supplanted by that of the long-bow, which became the favorite national weapon. Bows and arrows, as weapons of war, were in use with stone cannonballs as late as 1640. All the statutes for the encouragement of archery were framed after the invention of gunpowder and firearms, the object being to prevent this ancient weapon becoming obsolete. Yew-trees were encouraged in churchyards, for the making of bows, in 1642. Hence their generality in churchyards in England.

Coats of arms, or armorial bearings, came into vogue in the reign of Richard I. of England, and became hereditary in families about the year 1192. They took their rise from the knights painting their banners with different figures to distinguish them in the Crusades.

The first standing army of modern times was established by Charles VII. of France, in 1445. Previous to that time the king had depended upon his nobles for contingents in time of war. A standing army was first established in England in 1638, by Charles I., but it was declared illegal, as well as the organization of the royal guards, in 1769. The first permanent military band instituted in England was the yeomen of the guards, established in 1486.

Guns were invented by Swartz, a German, about 1378, and brought into use by the Venetians, in 1382. Cannon were invented at an anterior date: at Amberg may still be seen a piece of ordnance inscribed 1303. They were first used at the battle of Cressy in 1346. In England, they were first used at the siege of Berwick, in 1405. It was not until 1544, however, that they were cast in England. They were employed on shipboard by the Venetians in 1539, and were in use among the Turks about the same time. An artillery company was instituted in England for weekly military exercises in 1610.

Dating from the Christian Era was commenced in Italy in 525, and in England in 816.

Pliny gives the origin of glass-making thus. As some merchants were carrying nitre, they stopped near a river issuing from Mount Carmel. Not readily finding stones to rest their kettles on, they used some pieces of nitre for that purpose: the fire gradually dissolving the nitre, it mixed with the sand, and a transparent matter flowed, which, in fact, was glass.

Insurance of ships was first practised in the reign of Cæsar, in 45. It was a general custom in Europe in 1494. Insurance-offices were first established in London in 1667.

Astronomy was first studied by the Moors, and was introduced by them into Europe in 1201. The rapid progress of modern astronomy dates from the time of Copernicus. Books of astronomy and geometry were destroyed, as infected with magic, in England, under the reign of Edward VI., in 1552.

Banks were first established by the Lombard Jews, in Italy. The name is derived from _banco_, a term applied to the benches erected in the market-places for the exchanges of money, &c. The first public bank was at Venice, in 1550. The Bank of England was established in 1693. In 1696 its notes were at twenty per cent. discount.

The invention of bells is attributed to Paulinus, Bishop of Nola, in Campania, about the year 400. They were originally introduced into churches as a defence against thunder and lightning. They were first hung up in England, at Croyland Abbey, Lincolnshire, in 945. In the eleventh century and later, it was the custom to baptize them in churches before they were used. The curfew-bell was established in 1068. It was rung at eight o’clock in the evening, when people were obliged to put out their fire and candle. The custom was abolished in 1100. Chimes, or musical bells, were invented at Alost, in Belgium, 1487. Bellmen were appointed in London, in 1556, to ring the bells at night, and cry, “Take care of your fire and candle, be charitable to the poor, and pray for the dead.”

How many are aware of the origin of the word “boo!” used to frighten children? It is a corruption of Boh, the name of a fierce Gothic general, the son of Odin, the mention of whose name spread a panic among his enemies.

Book-keeping was first introduced into England from Italy by Peele, in 1569. It was derived from a system of algebra published by Burgo, at Venice.

Notaries public were first appointed by the Fathers of the Christian Church to make a collection of the acts or memoirs of martyrs in the first century.

The administration of the oath in civil cases is of high antiquity. See Exodus xxii. 11. Swearing on the Gospels was first used in 528. The oath was first administered in judicial proceedings in England by the Saxons, in 600. The words “So help me God, and all saints,” concluded an oath, till 1550.

Signals to be used at sea were first contrived by James II., when he was Duke of York, in 1665. They were afterwards improved by the French commander Tourville, and by Admiral Balchen.

Raw silk is said to have first been made by a people of China called Ceres, 150 §B. C.§ It was first brought from India, in 274, and a pound of it at that time was worth a pound of gold. The manufacture of raw silk was introduced into Europe from India by some monks in 550. Silk dresses were first worn in 1455. The eggs of the silk-worm were first brought into Europe in 527.

Paulus Jovius was the first person who introduced mottoes; Dorat, the first who brought anagrams into fashion. Rabelais was the first who wrote satires in French prose; Etienne Jodelle, the first who introduced tragedies into France. The Cardinal of Ferrara, Archbishop of Lyons, was the first who had a tragicomedy performed on the stage of Italian comedians. The first sonnet that appeared in French is attributed to Jodelle.

Guido Aretino, a Benedictine monk of Arezzo, Tuscany, in 1204 designated the notes used in the musical scale by syllables derived from the following verses of a Latin hymn dedicated to St. John:—

UT queant laxis REsonare fibris, MIra gestorum FAmuli tuorum, SOLve pollutis LAbii reatum. _O Pater Alme._

By this means he converted the old tetrachord into hexachords. He also invented lines and spaces in musical notation.

The invention of clocks is by some ascribed to Pacificus, Archdeacon of Verona, in the ninth century; and by others, to Boethius, in the early part of the sixth. The Saracens are supposed to have had clocks which were moved by weights, as early as the eleventh century; and, as the term is applied by Dante to a machine which struck the hours, clocks must have been known in Italy about the end of the thirteenth or beginning of the fourteenth century. The most ancient clock of which we have any certain account was erected in a tower of the palace of Charles V., King of France, in 1364, by Henry de Wyck or de Vick, a German artist. A clock was erected at Strasbourg in 1370, at Courtray about the same period, and at Speyer in 1395.

Watches are said to have been made at Nuremberg as early as 1477; but it is uncertain how far the watches then constructed resembled those now in use. Some of the early ones were very small, in the shape of a pear, and sometimes fitted into the top of a walking-stick. As time-keepers, watches could have had very little value before the application of the spiral spring as a regulator to the balance. This was invented by Hooke, in 1658.

The use of the pendulum was suggested by a circumstance similar to that which started in Newton’s mind the train of thought that led to the theory of gravitation. Galileo, when under twenty years of age, standing one day in the metropolitan church of Pisa, observed a lamp, which was suspended from the ceiling, and which had been disturbed by accident, swing backwards and forwards. This was a thing so common that thousands, no doubt, had observed it before; but Galileo, struck with the regularity with which it moved backwards and forwards, reflected upon it, and perfected the method now in use of measuring time by means of a pendulum.

A monk named Rivalto mentions, in a sermon preached in Florence in 1305, that spectacles had then been known about twenty years. This would place the invention about the year 1285.

Quills are supposed to have been used for writing-pens in the fifth century, though the conjecture rests mainly on an anecdote of Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths, who, being so illiterate that he could not write even the initials of his own name, was provided with a plate of gold through which the letters were cut, and, this being placed on the paper when his signature was required, he traced the letters with a quill. The date of the earliest certain account of the modern writing-pen is 636. The next notice occurs in the latter part of the same century, in a Latin sonnet to a pen by Aldhelm, a Saxon author. The reeds formerly employed are still used in some Eastern nations. Steel pens were first made by Wise, in England, in 1803.

The first known treatise on stenography is the curious and scarce little work entitled “Arte of Shorte, Swifte, and Secrete Writing by Character, invented by Timothe Bright, Doctor of Phisike.”

The art of printing, according to Du Halde and the missionaries, was practised in China nearly fifty years before the Christian Era. In the time of Confucius, §B.C.§ 500, books were formed of slips of bamboo; and about 150 years after Christ, paper was first made; §A.D.§ 745, books were bound into leaves; §A.D.§ 900, printing was in general use. The process of printing is simple. The materials consist of a graver, blocks of wood, and a brush, which the printers carry with them from place to place. Without wheel, or wedge, or screw, a printer will throw off more than two thousand five hundred impressions in one day. The paper (thin) can be bought for one-fourth the price in China that it can in any other country. The works of Confucius, six volumes, four hundred leaves, octavo, can be bought for twelve cents.

Stamps for marking wares, packages, &c. were in use among the Roman tradesmen; and it is highly probable that had the modern art of making paper been known to the ancients, they would have diffused among themselves, and transmitted to posterity, printed books.

From the early commercial intercourse of the Venetians with China, there is reason to believe that the knowledge of the art and of its application to the multiplying of books was derived from thence; for Venice is the first place in Europe, of which we have any account, in which it was practised, a Government decree respecting it having been issued October 11, 1441. Previous to the year 1450, all printing had been executed by means of engraved blocks of wood; but about this period, the great and accumulating expense of engraving blocks for each separate work led to the substitution of movable metal types. The credit of this great improvement is given to Peter Schœffer, the assistant and son-in-law of John Faust, of Mentz, (commonly called Dr. Faustus.) The first book printed with the cast metal types was the “Mentz Bible,” which was executed by Faust and Guttemberg, between the years 1450 and 1455.

The Dutch claim to have originated stereotyping. They have, as they say, a prayer-book stereotyped in 1701. The first attempt at stereotyping in America was made in 1775, by Benjamin Mecom, a printer of Philadelphia. He cast plates for a number of pages of the New Testament, but never completed them.

The first printing-press in America was established at Cambridge, Mass., in 1639.

COCK-FIGHTING.

Themistocles, marching against the Persians, beheld two gamecocks in the heat of battle, and thereupon pointed out to his Athenian soldiery their indomitable courage. The Athenians were victorious; and Themistocles gave order that an annual cock-fight should be held in commemoration of the encounter they had witnessed. No record of this sport occurs in England before the year 1191.

TURNCOAT.

The opprobious epithet, _turncoat_, took its rise from one of the first dukes of Savoy, whose dominions lying open to the incursions of the two contending houses of Spain and France, he was obliged to temporize and fall in with that power that was most likely to distress him, according to the success of their arms against one another. So being frequently obliged to change sides, he humorously got a coat made that was _blue_ on one side, and _white_ on the other, and might be indifferently worn either side out. While in the _Spanish_ interest, he wore the _blue_ side out, and the _white_ side was the badge for the _French_. Hence he was called Emmanuel, surnamed the _Turncoat_, by way of distinguishing him from other princes of the same name of that house.

INDIA-RUBBER.

Caoutchouc was long known before its most valuable qualities were appreciated. One of the earliest notices of its practical use occurs in Dr. Priestly’s _Theory and Practice of Perspective_, printed in 1770. “I have seen” says he, “a substance excellently adapted to the purpose of wiping from paper the marks of a black lead-pencil. It must, therefore, be of singular use to those who practice drawing. It is sold by Mr. Nairne, mathematical instrument-maker, opposite the Royal Exchange. He sells a cubical piece, of about half an inch, for three shillings; and, he says, it will last several years.”

FRICTION MATCHES.

In 1836 the subject of friction matches attracted the attention of Mr. L. C. Allin, of Springfield, Massachusetts. At that time a clumsy phosphoric match, imported from France, had come into limited use in the United States. It was made by dipping the match-stick first into sulphur, and then into a paste composed of chloride of potash, red lead, and loaf sugar. Each box of matches was accompanied by a bottle of sulphuric acid, into which every match had to be dipped in order to light it. To abolish this inconvenience, and make a match which would light from the friction caused by any rough surface, was the task to which young Allin applied himself. He succeeded, but took out no patent. On being urged to do so, he found that a patent had already been obtained by one Phillips of Chicopee, a peddler, who had probably picked up through a third party the result of Mr. Allin’s study. Mr. Allin’s legal adviser thought that he (Allin) would do better to have the right to manufacture under Phillips’ patent (which Phillips gave him without charge, in consideration of the waiving of his claim,) than to bear the expense of the litigation which was feared to be necessary to establish his claim. So the inventor of friction matches became simply a manufacturer under another man’s patent.

THE FLAG OF ENGLAND.

On the 12th of April, 1606, the Union Jack—that famous ensign—first made its appearance. From Rymer’s _Fœdera_, and the Scottish Annals of Sir James Balfour, we learn that some differences having arisen between ships of the two countries at sea, the king ordained that a new flag be adopted with the crosses of St. Andrew and St. George interlaced, by placing the latter fimbriated on the blue flag of Scotland as the ground thereof. This flag all ships were to carry at their main top; but English ships were to display St. George’s red cross at their stern, and the Scottish the white saltire of St. Andrew.

BLUE-STOCKING.

It was the fashion in London, in 1781, for ladies to have evening assemblies, where they might participate in conversation with literary men. These societies acquired the name of _Blue-Stocking_ Clubs,—an appellation which has been applied to pedantic females ever since. It arose from the custom of Mr. Stillingfleet, one of the most eminent members, wearing blue stockings. Such was the excellence of his conversation, and his absence was so great a loss, that it used to be said, “We can do nothing without the Blue Stockings;” and thus the title was gradually established. In Hannah More’s poem, _Bas bleu_, many of the most conspicuous members are mentioned.

SKEDADDLE.

This word may be easily traced to a Greek origin. The verb σκεδαννυμι, of which the root is σκεδα, is used freely by Thucydides, Herodotus, and other Greek writers, in describing the dispersion of a routed army. From the root σκεδα the word skedaddle is formed by simply adding the euphonious termination _dle_ and doubling the _d_, as required by the analogy of our language in such words. In many words of undoubted Greek extraction much greater changes are made.

The Swedes have a similar word, _skuddadahl_, and the Danes another, _skyededehl_, both of which have the same signification.

An old version of the Irish New Testament contains the passage, “For it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be _sgedad ol_.” This compound Irish word _sgedad ol_ (all scattered or utterly routed) was probably used by some Irishman at Bull Run, and, being regarded as felicitous, was at once adopted.

FOOLSCAP PAPER.

The term of “foolscap,” to designate a certain size of paper, no doubt has puzzled many an anxious inquirer. It appears that Charles I., of England, granted numerous monopolies for the support of the Government, among others the manufacture of paper. The water-mark of the finest sort was the royal arms of England. The consumption of this article was great, and large fortunes were made by those who purchased the exclusive right to vend it. This, among other monopolies, was set aside by the Parliament that brought Charles I. to the scaffold; and, by way of showing contempt for the King, they ordered the royal arms to be taken from the paper, and a fool with his cap and bells to be substituted. It is now over two hundred years since the fool’s cap was taken from the paper, but still the paper of the size which the Rump Parliament ordered for their journals bears the name of the water-mark placed there as an indignity to King Charles.

THE FIRST FORGED BANK-NOTE.

Sixty-four years after the establishment of the Bank of England, the first forged note was presented for payment, and to Richard William Vaughn, a Stafford linen-draper, belongs the melancholy celebrity of having led the van in this new phase of crime, in the year 1758. The records of his life do not show want, beggary or starvation urging him, but a simple desire to seem greater than he was. By one of the artists employed (and there were several engaged on different parts of the notes) the discovery was made. The criminal had filled up to the number of twenty and deposited them in the hands of a young lady to whom he was attached, as a proof of his wealth. There is no calculating how much longer bank-notes might have been free from imitation had this man not shown with what ease they could be counterfeited. From this period forged notes became common. His execution did not deter others from the offence, and many a neck was forfeited to the halter before the late abolition of capital punishment for that crime.

THE FIRST PIANO-FORTE.

A play-bill of the Covent Garden Theatre, dated May 16, 1767, after setting forth the performance of _The Beggar’s Opera_, contains the following notification:—“End of Act First, Miss Brickler will sing a favorite song from _Judith_, accompanied by Mr. Dibdin on a new instrument called Piano-Forte.” The first manufacturer is believed to be a German named Backers, as there is still in existence the name-board of a piano inscribed “Americus Backers, _Factor et Inventor_, Jermyn Street, London, 1776.”

THE FIRST DOCTORS.

The title of §Doctor§ was invented in the twelfth century, at the first establishment of the universities. The first person upon whom it was conferred was §Irnerius§, a learned Professor of _Law_, at the University of Bologna. He induced the Emperor Lothaire II., whose Chancellor he was, to create the title; and he himself was the first recipient of it. He was made Doctor of Laws by that university. Subsequently the title was borrowed by the faculty of Theology, and first conferred by the University of Paris on §Peter Lombard§, the celebrated scholastic theologian. §William Gordenio§ was the first person upon whom the title of Doctor of Medicine was bestowed. He received it from the college at Asti, in 1329.

THE FIRST THANKSGIVING PROCLAMATION.

The first proclamation of Thanksgiving Day that is to be found in a printed form is the one issued by his Excellency §Francis Bernard§, Captain-General and Governor-in-Chief in and over His Majesty’s province of the Massachusetts Bay, in New England, and Vice-Admiral of the same, in 1767. It is as follows:—

§A Proclamation for a Public Thanksgiving.§

As the Business of the Year is now drawing towards a Conclusion, we are reminded, according to the laudable Usage of this Province, to join together in a grateful Acknowledgement of the manifold Mercies of the Divine Providence conferred upon Us in the passing Year: Wherefore, I have thought fit to appoint, and I do with the advice of His Majesty’s Council appoint, Thursday, the Third Day of _December_ next, to be a day of public Thanksgiving, that we may thereupon with one Heart and Voice return our most humble Thanks to Almighty God for the gracious Dispensations of His Providence since the last religious Anniversary of this kind: and especially for—that he has been pleased to preserve and maintain our most gracious Sovereign King §George§ in Health and Wealth, in Peace and Honour; and to extend the Blessings of his Government to the remotest Part of his Dominions;—that He hath been pleased to bless and preserve our gracious §Queen Charlotte§, their Royal Highnesses the Prince of §Wales§, the Princess Dowager of §Wales§, and all the Royal family, and by the frequent Encrease of the Royal Issue to assure to us the Continuation of the Blessings which we derive from that illustrious House;—that He hath been pleased to prosper the whole British Empire by the Preservation of Peace, the Encrease of Trade, and the opening of new Sources of National Wealth;—and now particularly that he hath been pleased to favor the people of this province with healthy and kindly Seasons, and to bless the Labour of their Hands with a Sufficiency of the Produce of the Earth and of the Sea.

And I do exhort all Ministers of the Gospel, with their several Congregations, within this Province, that they assemble on the said Day in a Solemn manner to return their most humble thanks to Almighty §God§ for these and all other His Mercies vouchsafed unto us, and to beseech Him, notwithstanding our Unworthiness, to continue his gracious Providence over us. And I command and enjoin all Magistrates and Civil Officers to see that the said Day be observed as a Day set apart for religious worship, and that no servile Labour be permitted thereon.

§Given§ at the Council Chamber in Boston, the Fourth Day of November, 1767, in the Eighth Year of the Reign of our Sovereign Lord §George§ the Third, by the Grace of God, of Great Britain, France and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, &c.

§Fra Bernard.§

By his Excellency’s Command.

§A. Oliver§, _Sec’ry_

§God save the King.§

THE FIRST PRAYER IN CONGRESS.

In Thatcher’s _Military Journal_, under date of December, 1777, is a note containing the first prayer in Congress, made by the Rev. Jacob Duché, rector of Christ Church, a gentleman of learning and eloquence, who subsequently proved traitorous to the cause of Independence:—

O Lord our heavenly Father, high and mighty King of kings and Lord of lords, who dost from thy throne behold all the dwellers on earth, and reignest with power supreme and uncontrolled over all the kingdoms, empires, and governments; look down in mercy, we beseech thee, on these American states, who have fled to thee from the rod of the oppressor, and thrown themselves on thy gracious protection, desiring to be henceforth dependent only on thee; to thee they have appealed for the righteousness of their cause; to thee do they now look up for that countenance and support which thou alone canst give; take them, therefore, heavenly Father, under thy nurturing care; give them wisdom in council, and valor in the field; defeat the malicious designs of our cruel adversaries; convince _them_ of the unrighteousness of their cause; and if they still persist in their sanguinary purposes, O let the voice of thine own unerring justice, sounding in their hearts, constrain them to drop the weapons of war from their unnerved hands in the day of battle. Be thou present, O God of Wisdom, and direct the counsels of this honorable assembly; enable them to settle things on the best and surest foundation, that the scene of blood may be speedily closed, that order, harmony, and peace may be effectually restored, and truth and justice, religion and piety, prevail and flourish amongst thy people. Preserve the health of their bodies and the vigor of their minds; shower down on _them_ and the _millions_ they here represent, such temporal blessings as thou seest expedient for them in this world, and crown them with everlasting glory in the world to come. All this we ask in the name and through the merits of Jesus Christ, thy Son, our Saviour. Amen!

THE FIRST REPORTERS.

In Sylvester O’Halloran’s _History and Antiquities of Ireland_, published in Dublin in 1772, is the curious entry subjoined. Bille, a Milesian king of a portion of Spain, had a son named Gollamh, who “solicited his father’s permission to assist their Phœnician ancestors, then greatly distressed by continual wars,” and having gained his consent, the passage describing the result proceeds thus:—

With a well-appointed fleet of thirty ships and a select number of intrepid warriors, he weighed anchor from the harbor of Corunna for Syria. It appears that war was not the sole business of this equipment; for in this fleet were embarked twelve youths of uncommon learning and abilities, who were directed to make remarks on whatever they found new, either in astronomy, navigation, arts, sciences, or manufactures. They were to communicate their remarks and discoveries to each other, and keep an exact account of whatever was worthy of notice. This took place in the year of the world, 2650.

These twelve youths were _reporters_, and if this story be true, the profession constituting “the fourth estate” may boast of an ancient lineage.

THE FIRST EPIGRAM.

Among “first things,” the following is worth preserving, as it is believed to be the first epigram extant in the English language. It was written by Sir Thomas Wyat, who in some of his sonnets did not hesitate to intimate his secret passion for Anne Boleyn.

_Of a new married student that plaid fast or lose._

A studient at his bok so plast, That wealth he might have wonne, From bok to wife did flete in hast, From welth to wo to runne. Now who hath plaid a feater cast, Since jugling first begonne? In _knitting_ of himself so _fast_, Himself he hath undone.

NEWS.

The word news is commonly supposed to be derived from the adjective _new_. It is asserted, however, that its origin is traceable to a custom in former times of placing on the newspapers of the day the initial letters of the cardinal points of the compass, thus:—

N │ │ W──────┼──────E │ │ S

These letters were intended to indicate that the paper contained intelligence from the four quarters of the globe, but they finally came to assume the form of the word _news_, from which the term newspaper is derived.

THE EARLIEST NEWSPAPERS.

The Englishe Mercurie, now in MS. in the British Museum, has been proved to be a forgery. The oldest regular newspaper published in England was established by Nathaniel Butter, in 1662.

The oldest paper in France was commenced by Theophrastus Renaudet, in 1632, during the reign of Louis XIII. It was called the _Gazette de France_.

The first Dutch newspaper, which is still continued under the name of the _Haarlem Courant_, is dated January 8, 1656. It was then called _De Weeckelycke Courante van Europa_, and contained two small folio pages of news.

The first Russian newspaper was published in 1703. Peter the Great not only took part personally in its editorial composition, but in correcting proofs, as appears from sheets still in existence in which are marks and alterations in his own hand. There are two complete copies of the first year’s edition of this paper in the Imperial Library at St. Petersburg.

The first newspaper established in North America was the Boston News-Letter, commenced April 24, 1704. It was half a sheet of paper, twelve inches by eight, two columns on a page. B. Green was the printer. It survived till 1776,—seventy-two years. It advocated the policy of the British Government at the commencement of the Revolution.

From a copy of this paper printed in 1769 is obtained the following announcement:—

“The bell-cart will go through Boston, before the end of next month, to collect rags for the paper-mill at Milton, when all people that will encourage the paper-manufactory may dispose of their rags:

Rags are as beauties, which concealéd lie, But when in paper, how it charms the eye! Pray save your rags, new beauties it discover; For paper truly, every one’s a lover: By the pen and press such knowledge is displayed As wouldn’t exist if paper was not made. Wisdom of things mysterious, divine, Illustriously doth on paper shine.”

THE FIRST PRINTING BY STEAM.

The first printing by steam was executed in the year 1817, by Bensley & Son, London. The first book thus printed was Dr. Elliotson’s second edition of Blumenbach’s Physiology.

THE FIRST TELEGRAPHIC MESSAGE.

Professor Morse, having returned to his native land from Europe, proceeded immediately to Washington, where he renewed his endeavors to procure the passage of the bill granting the appropriation of thirty thousand dollars. Towards the close of the session of 1844, the House of Representatives took it up and passed it by a large majority, and it only remained for the action of the Senate. Its progress through this house, as might be supposed, was watched with the most intense anxiety by Professor Morse. There were only two days before the close of the session, and it was found, on examination of the calendar, that no less than one hundred and forty-three bills had precedence to it. Professor Morse had nearly reached the bottom of his purse; his hard-earned savings were almost spent; and, although he had struggled on with undying hope for many years, it is hardly to be wondered at that he felt disheartened now. On the last night of the session he remained till nine o’clock, and then left without the slightest hope that the bill would be passed. He returned to his hotel, counted his money, and found that after paying his expenses to New York he would have seventy-five cents left. That night he went to bed sad, but not without hope for the future; for, through all his difficulties and trials, that never forsook him. The next morning, as he was going to breakfast, one of the waiters informed him that a young lady was in the parlor waiting to see him. He went in immediately, and found that the young lady was Miss Ellsworth, daughter of the Commissioner of Patents, who had been his most steadfast friend while in Washington.

“I come,” said she, “to congratulate you.”

“For what?” said Professor Morse.

“On the passage of your bill,” she replied.

“Oh, no: you must be mistaken,” said he. “I remained in the Senate till a late hour last night, and there was no prospect of its being reached.”

“Am I the first, then,” she exclaimed, joyfully, “to tell you?”

“Yes, if it is really so.”

“Well,” she continued, “father remained till the adjournment, and heard it passed; and I asked him if I might not run over and tell you.”

“Annie,” said the Professor, his emotion almost choking his utterance, “the first message that is sent from Washington to Baltimore shall be sent from you.”

“Well,” she replied, “I will keep you to your word.”

While the line was in process of completion, Prof. Morse was in New York, and upon receiving intelligence that it was in working order, he wrote to those in charge, telling them not to transmit any messages over it till his arrival. He then set out immediately for Washington, and on reaching that city sent a note to Miss Ellsworth, informing her that he was now ready to fulfill his promise, and asking her what message he should send.

To this he received the following reply:—

§What hath God wrought!§

Words that ought to be written in characters of living light. The message was twice repeated, and each time with the greatest success. As soon as the result of the experiment was made known, Governor Seymour, of Connecticut, afterwards United States minister at St. Petersburg, called upon Professor Morse and claimed the first message for his State, on the ground that Miss Ellsworth was a native of Hartford. We need scarcely add that his claim was admitted; and now, engraved in letters of gold, it is displayed conspicuously in the archives of the Historical Society of Connecticut.

Nothing New Under the Sun.

FORESHADOWINGS OF THE MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH.

O utinam hæc ratio scribendi prodeat usu, Cautior et citior properaret epistola, nullas Latronum verita insidias fluviosve morantes: Ipse suis Princeps manibus sibi conficeret rem! _Nos soboles scribarum, emersi ex æquore nigro, Consecraremus calamum Magnetis ad aras!_

The _Prolusiones Academicæ of Famianus Strada_, first printed in 1617, consist of a series of essays upon Oratory, Philosophy, and Poetry, with some admirable imitations of sundry Roman authors, in the style of _Father Prout’s Reliques_. In the imitation of Lucretius, ii. 6, is a description of the loadstone and its power of communicating intelligence, remarkable as foreshadowing the modern method of telegraphic communication. The following is a literal translation of the curious passage:—

The Loadstone is a wonderful sort of mineral. Any articles made of iron, like needles, if touched by it, derive by contact not only peculiar power, but a certain property of motion by which they turn ever towards the Constellation of the Bear, near the North Pole. By some peculiar correspondency of impulse, any number of needles, which may have touched the loadstone, preserve at all times a precisely corresponding position and motion. Thus it happens that if one needle be moved at Rome, any other, however far apart, is bound by some secret natural condition to follow the same motion.

If you desire, therefore, to communicate intelligence to a distant friend, who cannot be reached by letter, take a plain, round, flat disc, and upon its outer rim mark down the letters of the alphabet, A, B, C, &c., and, traversing upon the middle of your disc, have a needle (which has touched loadstone) so arranged that it may be made to touch upon any

## particular letter _ad libitum_. Make a similar disc, the exact duplicate

of this first one, with corresponding letters on its margin, and with a revolving magnetized needle. Let the friend you propose corresponding with take, at his departure, one disc along with him, and let him agree with you beforehand on what particular days and at what particular hours he will take observation of the needle, to see if it be vibrating and to learn what it marks on the index. With this arrangement understood between you both, if you wish to hold a private conversation with this friend, whom the shores of some distant land have separated from you, turn your finger to the disc and touch the easy-moving needle. Before you lie, marked upon the outer edge, all the various letters: direct the needle to such letters as are necessary to form the words you want, touching a little letter here and there with the needle’s point, as it goes traversing round and round the board, until you throw together, one by one, your various ideas. Lo! the wonderful fidelity of correspondence! Your distant friend notes the revolving needle vibrate without apparent impulse and fly hither and thither round the rim. He notes its movements, and reading, as he follows its motion, the various letters which make up the words, he perceives all that is necessary, and learns your meaning from the interpreting needle. When he sees the needle pause, he, in turn, in like manner touches the various letters, and sends back his answer to his friend. Oh that this style of writing were brought into use, that a friendly message might travel quicker and safer, defying snares of robbers or delaying rivers! Would that the prince himself would finish the great work with his own hands! Then we race of scribblers, emerging from our sea of ink, would lay the quill an offering on the altars of the loadstone.

This idea of Strada is based upon the erroneous impression entertained generally at the time when he wrote, that magnetic power, when imparted by the loadstone to metallic articles like needles, communicated to them a kind of homogeneous impulse, which of necessity caused between them a sympathetic correspondence of motion.

The curious reader will be further interested to learn from the following passage, extracted from the “Tour” of §Arthur Young§, the distinguished agriculturist, who travelled through Ireland in 1775–78, that the theory of electrical correspondence by means of a wire was _practically_ illustrated before Mr. Morse was born:—

In electricity, Mons. Losmond has made a remarkable discovery. You write two or three words on a paper; he takes it with him into a room, and turns a machine enclosed in a cylindrical case, at the top of which is an electrometer, in the shape of a small fine pith ball. A wire connects with a similar cylinder and electrometer in a distant apartment, and his wife, by remarking the corresponding motions of the ball, writes down the words they indicate, _from which it appears that he has formed an alphabet of motions. As the length of wire makes no difference in the effect, a correspondence might be carried on at any distance_, within and without a besieged town, for instance, or for a purpose much more worthy and a thousand times more harmless, between two lovers, prohibited or prevented from any better epistolary intercourse.

A second edition of Mr. Young’s Tour was published in quarto in 1794, and the above extract may be found on page 79, volume i.

THE FIRST DISCOVERIES OF STEAM-POWER.

The following extracts from an address by Edward Everett, at an agricultural fair, embody facts the more interesting from their limited notoriety:—

I never contemplate the history of navigation of the ocean by steam, but it seems to illustrate to me in the most striking manner the slow steps by which a great movement advances for generations, for ages, from the first germ,—then, when the hour is come, the rapidity with which it rushes to a final consummation. Providence offered this great problem of navigating the ocean by steam to every civilized nation almost on the globe. As long ago as the year 1543, there was a captain in Spain, who constructed a vessel of two hundred tons, and propelled it, at Barcelona, in the presence of the Emperor Charles V. and his court, by an engine, the construction of which he kept a secret. But old documents tell us it was a monster caldron boiler of water, and that there were two movable wheels on the outside of the vessel. The Emperor was satisfied with its operation, but the treasurer of the kingdom interposed objections to its introduction. The engine itself seems to have sprung to a point of perfection hardly surpassed at the present day, but no encouragement was given to the enterprise. Spain was not ripe for it; the age was not ripe for it; and the poor inventor, whose name was Blasco de Guerere, wearied and disgusted at the want of patronage, took the engine out of the vessel and allowed the ship to rot in the arsenal, and the secret of his machine was buried in his grave.

This was in 1543. A century passed away, and Providence offered the same problem to be solved by France. In reference to this, we have an extraordinary account, and from a source equally extraordinary,—from the writings of a celebrated female, in the middle of that century, equally renowned for her beauty, for her immoralities, and for her longevity,—for she lived to be one hundred and thirty-four years of age,—the famous Marian de l’Orme. There is a letter from this lady, written to one of her admirers in 1641, containing an account of a visit she made to a mad-house in Paris in company with the Marquis of Worcester. She goes on to relate, that in company with the marquis, while crossing the courtyard of that dismal establishment, almost petrified with terror, and clinging to her companion, she saw a frightful face through the bars of the building, and heard this voice:—“I am not mad—I am not mad: I have made a discovery which will enrich the kingdom that shall adopt it.” She asked the guide what it meant: he shrugged his shoulders and said, laughingly, “Not much; something about the powers of steam.” Upon this, the lady laughed also, to think that a man should go mad on such a frivolous subject. The guide went on to say that the man’s name was Solomon de Coste; that he came from Normandy four years before, and exhibited to the king an invention by which, by the power of steam, you could move a carriage, navigate the ocean: “in short, if you believed him,” said the guide, “there was nothing you could not do by the power of steam.” Cardinal Richelieu, who at that time was France itself, and who wielded the whole power of government,—and, in truth, an enlightened man, as worldly wisdom goes,—was appealed to by Solomon de Coste. De Coste was a persevering man, and he followed Cardinal Richelieu from place to place, exhibiting his invention, until the cardinal, getting tired of his importunities, sent him to the mad-house. The guide stated further that he had written a book entitled _Motive Power_, and handed the visitors a copy of it. The Marquis of Worcester, who was an inventor, was much interested in the book, and incorporated a considerable portion of it in his well-known work called _The Century of Invention_.

It will be seen from this anecdote how France proved in 1641, as Spain had proved in 1543, that she was unable to take up and wield this mortal thunderbolt. And so the problem of navigating the ocean by steam was reserved for the Anglo-Saxon race. Soon after this period, the best mechanical skill of England was directed towards this invention. Experiments were often made, with no success, and sometimes with only

## partial success, until the middle of the last century, when the seeds

implanted in the minds of ingenious men for two hundred years germinated, and the steam-engine—that scarcely inanimate Titan, that living, burning mechanism—was brought nearly to a state of perfection by James Watt, who took out a patent in 1769,—the great year in which Wellington and Napoleon were born; and ages after the names of Austerlitz and Waterloo shall perish from the memory of man, the myriad hosts of intelligent labor, marshalled by the fiery champions that James Watt has placed in the field, shall gain their bloodless triumph, not for the destruction but for the service of mankind. All hail, then, to the mute, indefatigable giant, in the depths of the darksome mines, along the pathway of travel and trade, and on the mountain wave, that is destined to drag, urge, heave, haul, for the service of man! No fatigue shall palsy its herculean arm, no trampled hosts shall writhe beneath its iron feet, no widow’s heart shall bleed at its beneficent victories. England invented the steam-engine; but it seems as if by the will of Providence she could not go farther. Queen of the seas, as she deemed herself, she could not apply the invention she had brought almost to perfection, and that part of the great problem, the navigation of the ocean by steam, was reserved for the other branch of the Anglo-Saxon race,—the branch situated in a region in this Western hemisphere whose territory is traversed by some of the noblest rivers that belt the surface of the globe, and separated by the world-wide ocean from the Eastern hemisphere. It is amazing to consider how, with the dawn of the Revolution, the thoughts of men turned to the application of steam-navigation. Rumsey, Fitch, and Evans made experiments, and those experiments attracted the notice of one whom nothing escaped pertaining to the welfare of his country: I mean Washington. And we have a certificate from him, expressing the satisfaction with which he had witnessed the experiment of Rumsey. The attempt proved rather unsuccessful. I think it a providential appointment that the ocean was not navigated by steam in the Revolutionary age. The enormous preponderance of British capital and skill, if the ocean had been navigated by steam, would have put in her possession facilities for blockading our ports and transporting armies to our coasts, which might have had a disastrous effect on the result of the whole contest. But the Revolution passed and independence was established: the hour had come, and the man was there.

In the year 1799 this system of steam-navigation became matured in the mind of Fulton, who found a liberal and active coadjutor in Chancellor Livingston, who, in the same year, applied to the Legislature of New York for an act of incorporation. I am sorry to say that America at that moment could not boast of much keener perception of the nature of this discovery than France or Spain had done before. Chancellor Livingston at last had a petition drawn up of the act he desired passed. It was drafted by the young men of the Legislature, who, when tired of the graver matters of law, used to call up the “steam bill” that they might have a little fun. Young America, on that occasion, did not show himself much wiser than his senior. Nothing daunted at the coldness he received, nothing discouraged by the partial success of the first experiment, Chancellor Livingston persevered. Twenty years elapsed before steamers were found upon our lakes and rivers, and at that time such a system of steam-navigation was wholly unknown, except by hearsay, in Europe. This application of steam soon became a pressing necessity in this country, but twenty years more passed away before it was adopted in England. I could not but think, when the news of the Atlantic Telegraph came, what must have been the emotions of Fulton and Franklin could they have stood upon the quarter-deck of the Niagara and witnessed the successful termination of that electric communication which is the result of their united discoveries!

ÆRIAL NAVIGATION.

When air-balloons were first discovered, some one flippantly asked Dr. Franklin what was the use of it. The philosopher answered the question by asking another:—“What is the use of a new-born infant? It may become a man.”

The first balloon-ascension was made by Pilatre de Rozier and the Marquis d’Arlandes, November 21, 1783, in a montgolfière.

A century and a half before this, John Gregorie wrote, “The air itself is not so unlike to water, but that it may be demonstrated to be navigable, and that a ship may sail upon the convexity thereof by the same reasons that it is carried upon the ocean.”

In the first number of the Philosophical Collections, 1679, is “a demonstration how it is practically possible to make a ship, which shall be sustained by the air, and may be moved either by sails or oars,” from a work entitled _Prodroma_, published in Italian by P. Francesco Lana. The scheme was that of making a brazen vessel which should weigh less than the air it contained, and consequently float in the air when that which was within it was pumped out. He calculated every thing—except the pressure of the atmosphere, in consequence of which _slight_ oversight he realized no practical result.

THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD.

Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood in 1619; but we learn from a passage in Longinus (ch. xxii.) that the fact was known two thousand years before. The father of critics, to exemplify and illustrate the use and value of _trope_ in writing, has garbled from the _Timæus_ of Plato a number of sentences descriptive of the anatomy of the human body, where the circulation of the blood is pointed at in terms singularly graphic. The exact extent of professional knowledge attained in the time of the great philosopher is by no means clearly defined. He speaks of the fact, however, not with a view to prove what was contested or chimerical, but avails himself of it to figure the surpassing wisdom of the gods in constructing the human frame.

ANÆSTHESIA.

The use of the vapor of sulphuric ether for the purpose of inducing insensibility to surgical operations was first practically adopted by Dr. Morton, of Boston, in 1846; that of chloroform, by Dr. Simpson, of Edinburgh, in 1847. To this period we must assign the most important epoch in the annals of surgery, and the date of one of the grandest discoveries of science and one of the greatest blessings ever conferred upon humanity.

The idea, however, of saving the human body, by artificial means, from the pains and tortures inflicted by the knife of the surgeon, has been by no means either first broached or first acted upon in recent times. Intense pain is regarded by mankind generally as so serious an evil that it would have been strange indeed if efforts had not been early made to diminish this species of suffering. The use of the juice of the poppy, henbane, mandragora, and other narcotic preparations, to effect this object by their deadening influence, may be traced back till it disappears in the darkness of a remote antiquity.

Intoxicating vapors were also employed, by way of inhalation, to produce the same effects as drugs of this nature introduced into the stomach. This appears from the account given by Herodotus of the practice of the Scythians, several centuries before Christ, of using the vapor of hemp-seed as a means of drunkenness. The known means of stupefaction were very early resorted to in order to counteract pain produced by artificial causes. In executions under the horrible form of crucifixion, soporific mixtures were administered to alleviate the pangs of the victim. The draught of vinegar and gall, or myrrh, offered to the Saviour in his agony, was the ordinary tribute of human sympathy extorted from the bystander by the spectacle of intolerable anguish.

That some lethean anodyne might be found to assuage the torment of surgical operations as they were anciently performed, [cauterizing the cut surfaces, instead of tying the arteries,] was not only a favorite notion, but it had been in some degree, however imperfect, reduced to practice. Pliny the Naturalist, who perished in the eruption of Vesuvius which entombed the city of Herculaneum in the year 79, bears distinct and decided testimony to this fact.

In his description of the plant known as the mandragora or circeius, he says, “It has a soporific power on the faculties of those who drink it. The ordinary potion is half a cup. It is drunk against serpents, and _before cuttings and puncturings_, lest they should be felt.” (_Bibitur et contra serpentes, et ante sectiones, punctionesque, ne sentiantur._)

When he comes to speak of the plant _eruca_, called by us the rocket, he informs us that its seeds, when drunk, infused in wine, by criminals about to undergo the lash, produce a certain callousness or induration of feeling (_duaitiam, quandam contra sensum induere_).

Pliny also asserts that the stone _Memphitis_, powdered and applied in a liniment with vinegar, will stupefy parts to be cut or cauterized, “for it so paralyzes the part that it feels no pain” (_nec sentit cruciatum_).

Dioscorides, a Greek physician of Cilicia, in Asia, who was born about the time of Pliny’s death, and who wrote an extensive work on the materia medica, observes, in his chapter on mandragora,—

1. “Some boil down the roots in wine to a third part, and preserve the juice thus procured, and give one cyathus of it in sleeplessness and severe pains, of whatever part; also _to cause the insensibility_—to produce the anæsthesia ποιειν αναισθησιαν—_of those who are to be cut or cauterized_.”

2. “There is prepared, also, besides the decoction, a wine from the bark of the root, three minæ being thrown into a cask of sweet wine, and of this three cyathi are given _to those who are to be cut or cauterized, as aforesaid_; for, being thrown into a deep sleep, _they do not perceive pain_.”

3. Speaking of another variety of mandragora, called _morion_, he observes, “Medical men use it also for those who are to be cut or cauterized.”

Dioscorides also describes the stone Memphitis, mentioned by Pliny, and says that when it is powdered and applied to parts to be cut or cauterized, they are rendered, _without the slightest danger_, wholly insensible to pain. Matthiolus, the commentator on Dioscorides, confirms his statement of the virtues of mandragora, which is repeated by Dodoneus. “Wine in which the roots of mandragora have been steeped,” says this latter writer, “brings on sleep, and appeases all pains, so that it is given to those who are to be cut, sawed, or burned in any parts of their body, that they may not perceive pain.”

The expressions used by Apuleius of Madaura, who flourished about a century after Pliny, are still more remarkable than those already quoted from the older authors. He says, when treating of mandragora, “If any one is to have a member mutilated, burned, or sawed, [_mutilandum, comburendum, vel serrandum_,] let him drink half an ounce with wine, and _let him sleep till the member is cut away without any pain or sensation_ [_et tantum dormiet, quosque abscindatur membrum aliquo sine dolore et sensu_].”

It was not in Europe and in Western Asia alone that these early efforts to discover some lethean were made, and attended with partial success. On the opposite side of the continent, the Chinese—who have anticipated the Europeans in so many important inventions, as in gunpowder, the mariner’s compass, printing, lithography, paper money, and the use of coal—seem to have been quite as far in advance of the Occidental world in medical science. They understood, ages before they were introduced into Christendom, the use of substances containing iodine for the cure of the goitre, and employed spurred rye (ergot) to shorten dangerously-prolonged labor in difficult accouchements. Among the therapeutic methods confirmed by the experience of thousands of years, the records of which they have preserved with religious veneration, the employment of an anæsthetic agent to paralyze the nervous sensibility before performing surgical operations, is distinctly set forth. Among a considerable number of Chinese works on the pharmacopœia, medicine, and surgery, in the National Library at Paris, is one entitled _Kou-kin-i-tong_, or general collection of ancient and modern medicine, in fifty volumes quarto. Several hundred biographical notices of the most distinguished physicians in China are prefixed to this work. The following curious passages occur in the sketches of the biography of _Hoa-tho_, who flourished under the dynasty of _Wei_, between the years 220 and 230 of our era. “When he determined that it was necessary to employ acupuncture, he employed it in two or three places; and so with the _moxa_ if that was indicated by the nature of the affection to be treated. But if the disease resided in parts upon which the needle, moxa, or liquid medicaments could not operate,—for example in the bones, or the marrow of the bones, in the stomach or the intestines,—_he gave_ the patient a preparation of hemp, (in the Chinese language _mayo_,) and after a few moments he became as insensible as if he had been drunk or dead. Then, as the case required, he performed operations, incisions, or amputations, and removed the cause of the malady; then he brought together and secured the tissues, and applied liniments. After a certain number of days, the patient recovered, _without having experienced the slightest pain during the operation_.”

Almost a thousand years after the date of the unmistakable phrases quoted from Apuleius, according to the testimony of William of Tyre, and other chroniclers of the wars for the rescue of the holy sepulchre, and the fascinating narrative of _Marco Polo_, a state of anæsthesia was induced for very different purposes. It became an instrument in the hands of bold and crafty impostors to perpetuate and extend the most terrible fanaticism that the world has ever seen.

The employment of anæsthetic agents in surgical operations was not forgotten or abandoned during the period when they were pressed into the appalling service just described. In the thirteenth century, anæsthesia was produced by inhalation of an anodyne vapor, in a mode oddly forestalling the practices of the present day, which is described as follows in the surgical treatise of Theodoric, who died in 1298. It is the receipt for the “spongia somnifera,” as it is called in the rubric:—

“The preparation of a scent for performing surgical operations, according to Master Hugo. It is made thus:—Take of opium and the juice of unripe mulberry, of hyoscyamus, of the juice of the hemlock, of the juice of the leaves of the mandragora, of the juice of the woody ivy, of the juice of the forest mulberry, of the seeds of lettuce, of the seed of the burdock, which has large and round apples, and of the water-hemlock, each one ounce; mix the whole of these together in a brazen vessel, and then place a new sponge in it, and let the whole boil, and as long as the sun on the dog-days, till it (the sponge) consumes it all, and let it be boiled away in it. As often as there is need of it, place this same sponge in warm water for one hour, and let it be applied to the nostrils till he who is to be operated on (_qui incidentus est_) has fallen asleep; and in this state let the operation be performed (_et sic fiat chirurgia_). When this is finished, in order to rouse him, place another, dipped in vinegar, frequently to his nose, or let the juice of the roots of fenigreek be squirted into his nostrils. Presently he awakens.”

Subsequent to Theodoric’s time, we find many interesting and suggestive observations in the writings of Baptista Porta, Chamappe, Meissner, Dauriol, Haller, and Blandin. About half a century ago, Sir Humphry Davy thus hinted at the possibility that a pain subduing gas might be inhaled:—“As _nitrous oxide_, in its extensive operation, appears capable of destroying physical pain, it may probably be used with advantage during surgical operations in which no great effusion of blood takes place.” Baron Larrey, Napoleon’s surgeon, after the battle of Eylau, found a remarkable insensibility in the wounded who suffered amputations, owing to the intense cold. This fact afterwards led to the application of ice as a local anæsthetic.

The former general belief that a degree of anæsthetic and prolonged sleep could be induced artificially by certain medicated potions and preparations is also shown by the frequency with which the idea is alluded to by the older poets and storytellers, and made part of the machinery in the popular romance and drama. In the history of Taliesin, (one of the antique Welsh tales contained in the Mabinogion,) Rhun is described as having put the maid of the wife of Elphin into a deep sleep with a powder put into her drink, and as having cut off one of her fingers when she was in this case of artificial anæsthesia. Shakspeare, besides alluding more than once to the soporific property of mandragora, describes with graphic power in Romeo and Juliet, and in Cymbeline, the imagined effects of subtle distilled potions supposed capable of inducing, without danger, a prolonged state of death-like sleep or lethargy. And Thomas Middleton, in his tragedy of _Women beware Women_, published in 1657, pointedly and directly alludes in the following lines, to the practice of anæsthesia in ancient surgery:—

_Hippolito_. Yes, my lord, I make no doubt, as I shall take the course, Which she shall never know till it be acted; And when she wakes to honor, then she’ll thank me for’t. _I’ll imitate the pities of old surgeons_ To this lost limb; _who, ere they show their art, Cast one asleep, then cut the diseased part_; So out of love to her I pity most, She shall not feel him going till he’s lost; Then she’ll commend the cure.—Act iv. Sc. 1.

The following curious lines from Du Bartas, translated by Joshua Sylvester (?) are also well worth transcribing in this connection.

Du Bartas died about the year 1590:—

Even as a Surgeon minding off-to-cut Som cureless limb; before in use he put His violent Engins on the vicious member, Bringeth his Patient in a senseless slumber: And griefless then (guided by Use and Art) To save the whole saws off th’ infested part. So God empal’d our Grandsire’s (Adam) lively look, Through all his bones a deadly chilness strook, Siel’d-up his sparkling eyes with Iron bands, Led down his feet (almost) to Lethe’s sands; In briefe, so numm’d his Soule’s and Bodie’s sense, That (without pain) opening his side, from thence He took a rib, which rarely He refin’d, And thereof made the Mother of Mankind.

The history of anæsthetics is a remarkable illustration of the acknowledged fact that science has sometimes, for a long season, altogether lost sight of great practical thoughts, from being unprovided with proper means and instruments for carrying out those thoughts into practical execution; and hence it ever and anon occurs that a supposed modern discovery is only the rediscovery of a principle already sufficiently known to other ages, or to remote nations.

THE BOOMERANG.

The following paragraph in Pliny’s _Natural History_, xxiv. 72, apparently refers to the Boomerang, with which, according to recent discoveries, the early people of the East were acquainted. See Bonomi’s _Nineveh_, p. 136. Pliny, speaking of the account given by Pythagoras of the _Aquifolia_, either the holm-oak or the holly, says:—

Baculum ex eâ factum, in quodvis animal emissum, etiamsi citra ceciderit defectu mittentis, ipsum per sese cubitu proprius adlabi; tam præcipuam naturam inesse arbori.

(If a staff made of this wood, when thrown at any animal, from want of strength in the party throwing it, happens to fall short of the mark, it will fall back again towards the thrower of its own accord—so remarkable are the properties of this tree.)

The readings of the passage vary, _cubitu_ being given in some MSS. for _recubitu_. Pythagoras probably heard of the _baculum_ during his travels eastward, and being unable to understand how its formation could endow it with the singular property referred to, was induced to believe that this peculiarity was owing to the nature of the tree.

THE ATTRACTION OF GRAVITATION.

Both Dante and Shakspeare preceded Newton in knowledge of the principle, if not the law, of gravitation. In their anticipation of its discovery, the poets may not have deemed it other than a philosophic or poetic speculation. But the following passages attest earlier observations of a physical law than those of Pascal or Newton.

Shakspeare says in _Troilus and Cressida_:—

But the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth Drawing all things to it.—iv. 2.

and

True as earth to its centre.—iii. 2.

Three centuries before Shakspeare, Dante said in the _Inferno_:—

Thou dost imagine we are still On the other side the central point, where I Clasped the earth-piercing worm, fell cause of ill. So far as I continued to descend, That side we kept; but when I turned, then we _Had passed the point to which all bodies tend_. _Canto_ xxxiv. 106–111.

EARLY INVENTION OF RIFLING.

In Sir Hugh Plat’s _Jewel-House of Art and Nature_, 1653, (1st edition 1594) the 17th article runs thus:—

_How to make a Pistol, whose Barrel is 2 Foot in Length, to deliver a Bullet point blank at Eightscore._

A pistol of the aforesaid length, and being of the petronel bore, or a bore higher, having eight gutters somewhat deep in the inside of the barrel, and the bullet a thought bigger than the bore, and so rammed in at the first three or four inches at the least, and after driven down with the scouring stick, will deliver his bullet at such distance. This I had of an English gentleman of good note for an approved experiment.

TABLE-MOVING AND ALPHABET-RAPPING IN THE FOURTH CENTURY.

The following remarkable narration is the confession of a conspirator named Hilarius, who was accused of resorting to unlawful arts for the purpose of discovering who should be the successor to the Roman Emperor Valens, who died §A.D.§ 378. We are told by Ammianus Marcellinus, a contemporary historian, that, while under torture, he thus addressed his judges:—

With direful rites, O august judges, we prepared this unfortunate little table, which you see, of laurel branches, in imitation of the Delphic cortina, (or tripod,) and when it had been duly consecrated by imprecation of secret charms and many long and choric ceremonies, we at length moved it. The method of moving it, when it was consulted on secret matters, was as follows: It was placed in the midst of a house purified with Arabian odors; upon it was placed a round dish, made of various metallic substances, which had the twenty-four letters of the alphabet curiously engraved round the rim, at accurately-measured distances from each other. One clothed with linen garments, carrying branches of a sacred tree, and having, by charms framed for the purpose, propitiated the deity who is the giver of prescience, places other lesser cortinæ on this larger one, with ceremonial skill. He holds over them a ring which has been subjected to some mysterious preparation, and which is suspended by a very fine Carpathian thread. This ring, passing over the intervals, and falling on one letter after the other, spells out heroic verses pertinent to the questions asked. We then thus inquired who should succeed to the government of the empire. The leaping ring had indicated two syllables, (§The-od§;) and on the addition of the last letter one of the persons present cried out, “Theodorus.”

Theodorus, and many others, were executed for their share in this dark transaction, (see Gibbon;) but Theodosius the Great finally succeeded to the empire, and was, of course, supposed to be the person indicated by the magic rites. The above literal translation is given by the learned Dr. Maitland in a little book, lately published, _Essay on False Worship_, London, 1856. The original was hardly intelligible, till light had been thrown on it by recent practices, of which we have all heard so much. The coincidence is, to say the least, extraordinary, and opens views which are briefly considered in the above-mentioned work.

AUSCULTATION AND PERCUSSION.

Laennec invented the stethoscope and perfected his discoveries in the physical diagnosis of the diseases of the heart and lungs, in 1816.

Avenbrugger published his work on Percussion in 1761.

One hundred and fifty years before Laennec’s suddenly conceived act of applying a roll of paper to the breast of a female patient gave birth to thoracic acoustics, that ingenious and philosophic man, Robert Hooke, said in his writings:—

“There may be a possibility of discovering the internal motions and

## actions of bodies by the sound they make. Who knows, but that as in a

watch we may hear the beating of the balance, and the running of the wheels, and the striking of the hammers, and the grating of the teeth, and a multitude of other noises,—who knows, I say, but that it may be possible to discover the motions of internal parts of bodies, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral, by the sounds they make?—that one may discover the works performed in the several offices and shops of a man’s body, and thereby discover what engine is out of order, what works are going on at several times and lie still at others, and the like? I have this encouragement not to think all these things impossible, though never so much derided by the generality of men, and never so seemingly mad, foolish, and fantastic, that as the thinking them impossible cannot much improve my knowledge, so the believing them possible may perhaps be an occasion for taking notice of such things as another would pass by without regard as useless, and somewhat more of encouragement I have from experience that I have been able to hear very plainly the beating of a man’s heart; and it is common to hear the motion of the wind to and fro in the intestines; the stopping of the lungs is easily discovered by the wheezing. As to the motion of the parts one among the other, to their becoming sensible they require either that their motions be increased or that the organ (the ear) be made more nice and powerful, to sensate and distinguish them as they are; for the doing of both which I think it is not impossible but that in many cases there may be §HELPS§ found.”

THE STEREOSCOPE.

Sir David Brewster, inquiring into the history of the stereoscope, finds that its fundamental principle was well known even to Euclid; that it was distinctly described by Galen fifteen hundred years ago; and that Giambattista Porta had, in 1599, given such a complete drawing of the two separate pictures as seen by each eye, and of the combined picture placed between them, that we recognize in it not only the principle, but the construction, of the stereoscope.

PREDICTIONS OF THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA.

Seneca, in his _Medea_, Act ii, thus shadowed forth this event fifteen centuries before its occurrence:—

Venient annis Sæcula seris, Quibus Oceanus vincula rerum Laxet, et ingens pateat Tellus, Tiphysque novos detegat orbes; Nec sit terris Ultima Thule.

(After the lapse of years, ages will come in which Ocean shall relax his chains around the world, and a vast continent shall appear, and Tiphys—the pilot—shall explore new regions, and Thule shall be no longer the utmost verge of the earth.)

“A prediction,” says the commentator, “of the Spanish discovery of America.”

Before Seneca’s lines were written, Plato had narrated the Egyptian legend that, engulfed in the ocean, but sometimes visible, was the island of Atalantis, supposed to mean the Western world.

Pulci, the friend of Lorenzo de Medici, in his _Morgante Maggiore_, written before the voyage of Columbus and before the physical discoveries of Galileo and Copernicus, introduces this remarkable prophecy; (alluding to the vulgar belief that the _Columns of Hercules_ were the limits of the earth.)

Know that this theory is false: his bark The daring mariner shall urge far o’er The western wave, a smooth and level plain, Albeit the earth is fashioned like a wheel. Man was in ancient days of grosser mould, And Hercules might blush to learn how far Beyond the limits he had vainly set, The dullest sea-boat soon shall wing her way. Men shall descry another hemisphere; Since to one common centre all things tend, So earth, by curious mystery divine, Well balanced hangs amid the starry spheres. At our antipodes are cities, states, And thronged empires, ne’er divined of yore. But see, the sun speeds on his western path To glad the nations with expected light.

Dante, two centuries before, put this language into the mouth of Ulysses:—

The broad Atlantic first my keel impressed, I saw the sinking barriers of the west, And boldly thus addressed my hardy crew:— While yet your blood is warm, my gallant train, Explore with me the perils of the main And find new worlds unknown to mortal view. _Inferno_, Canto 26.

He then proceeds to mention the discovery of a mountainous island, after five months’ sailing.

The probability of a short western passage to India is mentioned by Aristotle, _De Cœlo_, ii., a view confirmed in stronger terms afterwards by Edrisi, the Arabian geographer, Strabo, Francis Bacon, Cardinal de Alliaco (_Imago Mundi_), and Toscanelli.

Triumphs of Ingenuity.

_Though there were many giants of old in physic and philosophy, yet I say, with Didacus Stella, “A dwarf standing on the shoulders of a giant may see farther than a giant himself.”_—§Burton§, _Anat. of Melancholy_.

THE DISCOVERY OF THE PLANET NEPTUNE.

In his solitary study sat a young man, pale and thoughtful. His eyes were fixed upon myriads of numerals, through whose complexity his far-reaching mind saw into the untold mysteries of the solar universe. His glass was not pointed to the heavens, his eyes looked not out upon the stars, but his soul, in deep abstraction, pondered over the perturbations of Uranus, as noted for many a year before by many a casual observer. He measured the intensity and the direction of the disturbing forces, questioned the planet that was seen and known concerning the unknown cause of its irregularities, and compelled a star, itself beyond the reach of the common eye, to tell of the whereabouts, the volume, the orbit, of its fellow, which no eye, even through an optic-glass, had ever yet seen, and whose very existence then came for the first time upon the mental vision of the youthful sage through the power of numerical calculation. His was a faith. It was the evidence of things not seen. But it was like that higher and better faith of which spake the great Apostle of the Gentiles,—fast and sure. Full of his discovery, Le Verrier offered his conclusions to the Academy; but learned men, when assembled in bodies, give to enthusiasts but a cold reception. Le Verrier, sure of his position, then wrote to Dr. Galle, the Astronomer-Royal in Berlin, asking him to point his powerful glass to a certain quarter of the heavens, where must be found at that time the last of the planets. And there it was; and thence it was traced upon its mighty way, bending, like its fellows, to the distant influence of its great centre, the sun. There is something almost affecting in the thought that Le Verrier should have been denied the first direct sight of the sublime star towards which his soul had been so long leaning and which had so long been within his mental vision. It was, however, a fortunate loss, since his adversaries would have charged him with having found by chance what he detected by reason, and thus have placed in a common category one of the most magnificent discoveries of modern times, a beautiful illustration of the gigantic power of calculation.

The distance of Neptune from the sun is 2,810,000,000 miles, and the time required for its orbital revolution, 164 years. Its diameter is 41,500 miles.

THE DISCOVERY OF THE PLANET VULCAN.

Leverrier, encouraged and made illustrious by his success in exploring those infinite spaces beyond the orbit of Herschel, turned his attention to the innermost circles—the central region of our solar system. By theoretical demonstrations, based on irregularities in the movements of Mercury, he proved the existence of some planet or planets lying still more closely within the light and heat of the sun. While proceeding with his calculations, he received a letter from Lescarbault—a poor physician of Orgères, a village in the department of Eure and Loire, in France—announcing the discovery of an intra-Mercurial body, making its transit, in appearance like a small black spot, across the disk of the sun. Possessed of a sensitive and modest soul,—as all true lovers of science are,—the doctor at first doubted the reality of his discovery, and hesitated to make it known. It was only after vainly waiting nine months, to verify his observation by another view of the object, that he prepared a letter, narrating what he thought he had seen, and sent it to the great Leverrier. The latter had just published an article on Mercury’s perturbations in the _Kosmos_ of Paris. Astonished at this coincident proof of the correctness of his theory, he lost no time in starting for the village of Orgères, to obtain a personal interview with the humble discoverer of the new orb. The following account of the meeting was reported in the _Kosmos_ by the Abbé Moigne, who took it from the lips of Leverrier himself:—

Leverrier left Paris for Orgères, in company with Vallee, four days after the date of Lescarbault’s letter. Orgères was twelve miles from the nearest railroad-station, and the party had to foot it across the country. On their arrival, Leverrier knocked loudly at the door, which was opened by the doctor himself; but his visitor declined to give his name. The simple, modest, timid Lescarbault, small in stature, stood abashed before the tall Leverrier, who, in blunt intonation, addressed him thus: “It is you, then, sir, who pretend to have discovered the intra-Mercurial planet, and who have committed the grave offence of keeping your discovery secret for nine months! I come to do justice to your pretensions, to warn you that you have either been dishonest or deceived. Tell me unequivocally what you have seen.” The lamb-like doctor, trembling at this rude summons, stammered out the following reply:—

“On the 26th of March (1859), about four o’clock, I turned my telescope to the sun, when, to my surprise, I saw, at a small distance from its margin, a black spot, well defined, and perfectly round, advancing upon the disk of the sun. A customer called me away, and, hurrying him off as fast as I could, I came back to my glass, when I found the round spot had continued its transit, and I saw it disappear from the opposite margin of the sun, after a projection upon it of an hour and a half. I did not seize the precise moment of contact. The spot was on the disk when I first saw it. I measured its distance from the margin, and counted the time it took to make the same distance, and so approximated the instant of its entry.” “To count time is easy to say,” said Leverrier; “but where is your chronometer?” “My chronometer is this watch, that beats only minutes,—the faithful companion of my professional labors.” “What! with that old watch? How dare you talk of counting seconds? My suspicions are too well founded.” “Pardon me, sir, but I have a pendulum that nearly beats seconds, and I will bring it down to show you.” He goes above-stairs and brings down a silken thread, the upper end of which he fastens to a nail, and brings to rest the ivory ball at the lower end. He then starts it from the vertical, and its oscillations beat seconds very nearly. “This is not enough, sir: how do you count these seconds while in the act of observing?” “My profession is to feel pulses and count their pulsations, and my pendulum puts my seconds into my ears, and I have no difficulty in counting them.”

“But where is your telescope?” The doctor showed Leverrier his glass, which was one of Cauchoix’s best. It was four inches in diameter, and mounted on a rude stand. He took the wondering astronomer-imperial to his roof, where he was building a rude revolving platform and dome. “This is all very well; but where is your original memorandum?” The doctor ran and got his almanac, or _Connaissance des Temps_, and in it he finds a square piece of paper, used as a marker, and on it, all covered with grease and laudanum, is the original memorandum! “But you have falsified the time of emergence. It is four minutes too late by this memorandum.” “It is; but the four minutes are the error of my watch, which I corrected by sidereal time, by the aid of this little telescope.”

“But how did you determine the two angular co-ordinates of the point of contact, of the entry and emergence of the planet, and how did you measure the chord of the arc between them?” Having explained the simple method which he pursued in the premises to the satisfaction of the astronomer, the latter next inquired after his rough drafts of calculation for determining the distance of the planet from the sun. “My rough draughts! Paper is scarce with us. I am a joiner as well as an astronomer. I write on my boards, and when I am done, I plane them off and begin again; but I think I have preserved them.” On visiting the shop, they found the board, with all its lines and numbers still unobliterated!

The Parisian savant was now convinced that Lescarbault had really seen the planet whose existence he had himself foretold. Turning to the amateur astronomer, he revealed his personality, and congratulated his humble brother on the magnificent discovery thus confirmed. It was the event in the Orgères physician’s life. Honors poured in upon him. The cross of the Legion of Honor was sent to him from Paris, and his name was at once enrolled in the lists of the leading scientific academies of Europe.

The new orb, whose revolution is performed in 19 days, 17 hours, has been felicitously named Vulcan. If objection be offered to the selection of names for the planets from “Olympus’ dread hierarchy,” it must at least be acknowledged that there is a peculiar fitness in their distribution.

INGENIOUS STRATAGEM OF COLUMBUS

Thou Luther of the darkened deep! Nor less intrepid, too, than he Whose courage broke earth’s bigot sleep, While thine unbarred the sea!

During the fourth voyage of Columbus, while prosecuting his discoveries among the West India Islands and along the coast of the continent, his vessels, from continual subjection to tempestuous weather, and being, to use his own expression, “bored by the worms as full of holes as a honey-comb,” were reduced to mere wrecks, unable any longer to keep the sea, and were finally stranded on the shore of Jamaica. Being beyond the possibility of repair, they were fitted up for the temporary use of Columbus, who was in feeble health, and of such of his crew as were disabled by sickness, those who were well being sent abroad for assistance and supplies. Their immediate wants were amply provided for, Diego Mendez having made arrangements with the natives for a daily exchange of knives, combs, beads, fish-hooks, &c., for cassava bread, fish, and other provisions. In the course of a short time, however, provisions on the island became scarce, and the supplies began gradually to fall off. The arrangements for the daily delivery of certain quantities were irregularly attended to, and finally ceased entirely. The Indians no longer thronged to the harbor with provisions, and often refused them when applied for. The Spaniards were obliged to forage about the neighborhood for their daily food, but found more and more difficulty in procuring it; and now, in addition to their other causes of despondency, they began to entertain horrible apprehensions of famine.

The admiral heard the melancholy forebodings of his men, and beheld the growing evil, but was at a loss for a remedy. To resort to force was an alternative full of danger, and of but temporary efficacy. It would require all those who were well enough to bear arms to sally forth, while he and the rest of the infirm would be left defenceless on board the wreck, exposed to the vengeance of the natives.

In the mean time, the scarcity daily increased. The Indians perceived the wants of the white men, and had learned from them the art of making bargains. They asked ten times the former quantity of European articles for a given amount of provisions, and brought their supplies in scanty quantities, to enhance the eagerness of the Spaniards. At length even this relief ceased, and there was an absolute distress for want of food, the natives withholding all provisions, in hopes either of starving the admiral and his people, or of driving them from the island.

In this extremity, a fortunate idea suddenly presented itself to Columbus. From his knowledge of astronomy, he ascertained that within three days there would be a total eclipse of the moon, in the early part of the night. He sent, therefore, an Indian of the island of Hispaniola, who served as his interpreter, to summon the principal caciques to a grand conference, appointing for it the day of the eclipse. When all were assembled, he told them, by his interpreter, that he and his followers were worshippers of a deity who lived in the skies; that this deity favored such as did well, but punished all transgressors; that, as they must all have noticed, he had protected Diego Mendez and his companions in their voyage, they having gone in obedience to the orders of their commander, but that, on the other hand, he had visited Francisco de Porras and his companions with all kinds of crosses and afflictions, in consequence of their rebellion; that this great deity was incensed against the Indians who had refused or neglected to furnish his faithful worshippers with provisions, and intended to chastise them with pestilence and famine. Lest they should disbelieve this warning, a signal would be given that very night, in the heavens. They would behold the moon change its color, and gradually lose its light,—a token of the fearful punishment which awaited them.

Many of the Indians were alarmed at the solemnity of this prediction; others treated it with scoffing: all, however, awaited with solicitude the coming of the night, and none with more than Columbus himself, who was distracted with anxiety lest the weather should prove cloudy or rainy. Imagine his gratitude when the evening sky appeared undimmed by a cloud! When the time arrived, and the natives beheld a dark shadow stealing over the moon, they began to tremble. Their fears increased with the progress of the eclipse; and when they saw mysterious darkness covering the whole face of nature, there were no bounds to their terror. Seizing upon whatever provisions they could procure, they hurried to the ships, uttering cries and lamentations. They threw themselves at the feet of Columbus, implored him to intercede with his God to avert the threatened calamities, and assured him that thenceforth they would bring him whatever he required. Columbus told them that he would retire and commune with the deity. Shutting himself up in his cabin, he remained there during the increase of the eclipse, the forests and shores all the while resounding with the howlings and supplications of the savages. When the eclipse was about to diminish, he came forth and informed the natives that he had interceded for them with his God, who, on condition of their fulfilling their promises, had deigned to pardon them; in sign of which he would withdraw the darkness from the moon.

When the Indians saw that planet restored presently to its brightness and rolling in all its beauty through the firmament, they overwhelmed the admiral with thanks for his intercession, and repaired to their homes, joyful at having escaped such great disasters. They now regarded Columbus with awe and reverence, as a man in the peculiar favor and confidence of the Deity, since he knew upon earth what was passing in the heavens. They hastened to propitiate him with gifts, supplies again arrived daily at the harbor, and from that time forward there was no want of provisions.

A LESSON WORTH LEARNING.

The possibility of a great change being introduced by very slight beginnings may be illustrated by a tale which Lockman tells of a vizier, who, having offended his master, was condemned to perpetual captivity in a lofty tower. At night his wife came to weep below his window. “Cease your grief,” said the sage: “go home for the present, and return hither when you have procured a live black beetle, together with a little _ghee_, [or buffalo’s butter,] three clews,—one of the finest silk, another of stout pack-thread, and another of whip-cord; finally, a stout coil of rope.” When she again came to the foot of the tower, provided according to her husband’s demands, he directed her to touch the head of the insect with a little of the _ghee_, to tie one end of the silk thread around him, and to place him on the wall of the tower. Attracted by the smell of the butter, which he conceived to be in store somewhere above him, the beetle continued to ascend till he reached the top, and thus put the vizier in possession of the end of the silk thread, who drew up the pack-thread by means of the silk, the small cord by means of the pack-thread, and, by means of the cord, a stout rope capable of sustaining his own weight,—and so at last escaped from the place of his duress.

CHOOSING A KING.

The Tyrians having been much weakened by long wars with the Persians, their slaves rose in a body, slew their masters and their children, took possession of their property, and married their wives. The slaves, having thus obtained everything, consulted about the choice of a king, and agreed that he who should first discern the sun rise should be king. One of them, being more merciful than the rest, had in the general massacre spared his master, Straton, and his son, whom he hid in a cave; and to his old master he now resorted for advice as to this competition.

Straton advised his slave that when others looked to the east he should look toward the west. Accordingly, when the rebel tribe had all assembled in the fields, and every man’s eyes were fixed upon the east, Straton’s slave, turning his back upon the rest, looked only westward. He was scoffed at by every one for his absurdity, but immediately he espied the sunbeams upon the high towers and chimneys in the city, and, announcing the discovery, claimed the crown as his reward.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT.

_An old and formerly very popular ballad.—Percy Reliques._

An ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and mainteined little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye; How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty gold chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I fear thou work’st treason against my crown.

My liege, quo’ the abbot, I would it were knowne, I never spend nothing but what is my owne; And I trust your grace will doe me no deere For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.

Yes, yes, father abbot, your fault it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

And first, quo’ the king, when I’m in this stead, With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about; And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think.

O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet; But if you will give me but three weeks space, Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.

Now three weeks space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.

Away rode the abbot, all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot, of comfort so cold, And he mett his shepheard agoing to fold: How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home: What newes do you bring us from good King John?

Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give: That I have but three days more to live; For if I do not answer him questions three, My head will be smitten from my bodie.

The first is to tell him there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, Among all his liege-men so noble of birthe, To within one penny of what he is worthe.

The second, to tell him, without any doubt, How soone he may ride this whole world about; And at the third question I must not shrinke, But tell him there truly what he does thinke.

Now cheare up, sire abbot: did you never hear yet, That a fool he may learne a wise man witt? Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel, And Ile ride to London to answere your quarrel.

Nay, frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, I am like your lordship, as ever may bee; And if you will but lend me your gowne, There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne.

Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have, With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; With crozier, and mitre, and rochet, and cope, Fit to appeare ’fore our fader the Pope.

Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say, ’Tis well thou’rt come back to keepe thy day; For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, With my crowne of golde so fair on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

For thirty pence our Saviour was sold Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told; And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, For I think thou art one penny worser than hee.

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, I did not think I had been worth so littel! Now secondly, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride this whole world about.

You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, Until the next morning he riseth againe; And then your grace need not make any doubt But in twenty-four hours you’ll ride it about.

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, I did not think it could be gone so soone! Now, from the third question thou must not shrinke, But tell me here truly what I do thinke.

Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry; You thinke I’m the abbot of Canterbury; But I’m his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place! Naye naye, my liege, be not in such speede, For alacke, I can neither write nor reade.

Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee, For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee; And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home, Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.

The Fancies of Fact.

THE WOUNDS OF JULIUS CÆSAR.

“Look! in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed.”

At a meeting of the French Academy of Medicine, a few years ago, a curious paper was read, on behalf of M. Dubois, of Amiens, entitled “Investigations into the death of Julius Cæsar.” M. Dubois having looked up the various passages referring to this famous historic incident to be found in Dion Cassius, Plutarch, Suetonius, Appian, &c., and compared them with one another, has fixed the spots where the four first wounds were inflicted, and the names of the conspirators who inflicted them. The first blow, struck by one of the brothers Casca, produced a slight wound underneath the left clavicle; the second, struck by the other Casca, penetrated the walls of the thorax toward the right; Cassius inflicted the third wound in the face. Decimus Brutus gave the fourth stab in the region of the groin. Contrary to the general opinion, Marcus Brutus, though one of the conspirators, did not strike the dictator. After the first blows Cæsar fainted, and then all the conspirators hacked his body. He was carried by three slaves in a litter to his house. Anstistius, the physician, was called in and found thirty-five wounds, only one of which was in his opinion fatal, that of the second Casca.

BILLS FOR STRANGE SERVICES.

The bill of the Cirencester painter, mentioned by Bishop Horne, (_Essays and Thoughts_,) is as follows:—

Mr. Charles Terrebee

To Joseph Cook, Dr. To mending the Commandments, altering the Belief, and making a new Lord’s Prayer £1—1—0

Here is a Carpenter’s bill of the Fifteenth Century, copied from the records of an old London Church:—

s. d.

Item. To screwynge a home on e/y Divil, and glueinge a bitt on hys tayle vij

Item. To repayring e/y Vyrginne Marye before and behynde, & makynge a new Chylde ij viij

LAW LOGIC.

Judge Blackstone says, in his _Commentaries_ (Vol. i. ch. xviii.), that every Bishop, Parson or Vicar is _a Corporation_. Lord Coke asserts, in his Reports (10. Rep. 32,) that “_a Corporation has no soul_.” Upon these premises, the logical inference would be that neither Bishops, Parsons nor Vicars have souls.

RECIPROCAL CONVERSION.

A curious case of mixed process of conversion was that of the two brothers, Dr. John Reynold’s, King’s Professor at Oxford, in 1630, a zealous Roman Catholic, and Dr. Wm. Reynolds, an eminent Protestant. They were both learned men, and as brothers held such affectionate relations, that the deadly heresies of which each regarded the other as the victim were matters of earnest and pleading remonstrance between them by discussion and correspondence. The pains and zeal of each were equally rewarded. The Roman Catholic brother became an ardent Protestant, and the Protestant brother became a Roman Catholic.

PITHY PRAYER.

We are indebted to Hume for the preservation of a short prayer, which he says was that of Lord Astley, before he charged at Edge-hill. It ran thus: “O Lord, thou knowest how busy I must be this day; if I forget thee, do not thou forget me.” And Hume adds, “There were certainly much longer prayers in the Parliamentary army, but I doubt if there was as good a one.”

MELROSE BY SUNLIGHT.

The beautiful description of the appearance of the ruins of Melrose Abbey by moonlight, in the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_, has led thousands to visit the scene “when silver edges the imagery,” yet it is worth noting that the author never saw the ruined pile by “the pale moonlight.” Bernard Barton once wrote to Scott to request him to favor a young lady with a copy of the lines in his own handwriting. Sir Walter complied, but substituted for the concluding lines of the original the following:—

“Then go—and muse with deepest awe On what the writer never saw; Who would not wander ’neath the moon To see what he could see at noon.”

BACK ACTION.

Alphonse Karr, in his _Guêpes_, speaking of the dexterities of the legal profession, relates a pleasant anecdote of the distinguished lawyer, afterward deputy, M. Chaix d’Est-Ange. He was employed in a case where both the parties were old men. Referring to his client, he said: “He has attained that age, when the mind, freed from the passions, and tyranny of the body, takes a higher flight, and soars in a purer and serener air.” Later in his speech, he found occasion to allude to the opposite party, of whom he remarked: “I do not deny his natural intelligence; but he has reached an age in which the mind participates in the enfeeblement, the decrepitude, and the degradation of the body.”

THE AUDITORIUMS OF THE LAST CENTURY.

When we read of Patrick Henry’s wonderful displays of eloquence, we naturally figure to ourselves a spacious interior and a great crowd of rapt listeners. But, in truth, those of his orations which quickened or changed the march of events, and the thrill of which has been felt in the nerves of four generations, were all delivered in small rooms and to few hearers, never more than one hundred and fifty. The first thought of the visitor to St. John’s Church in Richmond, is: Could it have been _here_, in this oaken chapel of fifty or sixty pews, that Patrick Henry delivered the greatest and best known of all his speeches? Was it here that he uttered those words of doom, so unexpected, so unwelcome, “We must fight”? Even here. And the words were spoken in a tone and manner worthy of the men to whom they were addressed—with quiet and profound solemnity.

TRUE FORM OF THE CROSS.

The ancient and ignominious punishment of crucifixion was abolished by the Roman Emperor Constantine the Great, who thought it indecent and irreligious that the Cross should be used for the putting to death of the vilest offenders, while he himself erected it as a trophy, and esteemed it the noblest ornament of his diadem and military standards. In consequence of his decree, crucifixion has scarcely been witnessed in Europe for the last 1500 years. Those painters, sculptors, poets and writers who have attempted to describe it have, therefore, followed their own imagination or vague tradition rather than the evidence of history. But they could hardly do otherwise, because the writings of the early fathers of the Church and of pagan historians were not generally accessible to them until after the revival of learning in the Fifteenth Century, and because the example of depicting the cross once given had been religiously followed by the earliest painters and sculptors, and universally accepted without question; and to object to the generally received form would have been deemed sacrilegious. These two reasons may have been sufficient to deter the great artists of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries from making any change; there may, however, have been a third, quite as potent (if not more so), and that is that the introduction of the lower projecting beam, _astride_ of which the crucified person was _seated_, would have been both inartistic and indecent, yet this third piece was invariably used when the punishment was inflicted, except in the case where the sufferer was crucified with the head downward. The researches of two eminent scholars of the Seventeenth Century—Salmasius and Lipsius—have put it beyond a doubt that the cross consisted of a strong upright post, not much taller than a man of lofty stature, which was sharpened at the lower end, by which it was fixed into the ground, having a short bar or stake projecting from its middle, and a longer transverse beam firmly joined to the upright post near the top. The condemned person was made to carry his cross to the place of execution, after having been first whipped; he was then stripped of his clothing, and offered a cup of medicated wine, to impart firmness or alleviate pain. He was then made to sit astride the middle bar, and his limbs, having been bound with cords, the legs to the upright beam, the arms to the transverse, were finally secured by driving large iron spikes through the hands and feet. The cross was then fixed in its proper position, and the sufferer was left to die, not so much from pain (as is generally supposed) as from exhaustion, or heat, or cold, or hunger, or wild beasts, unless (as was usually the case) his sufferings were put an end to by burning, stoning, suffocation, breaking the bones, or piercing the vital organs. If left alone he generally survived two days or three, and there are cases recorded where the sufferer lingered till the fifth day before dying.

Referring to the earliest Christian writers, who witnessed the crucifixion of hundreds of their martyred brethren, it will be seen that the foregoing statement of Salmasius respecting the true form of the cross is well founded. Irenæus, Bishop of Lyons, in the second century, says: “The structure of the cross has five ends or summits, two in length, two in breadth, and one in the middle, on which the crucified person rests.” Justin, another Christian writer of the same period, who acquired the surname of Martyr from the cruel death he suffered for his faith, also speaks of “that end projecting from the middle of the upright post like a horn, on which crucified persons are seated.” Tertullian, another Christian writer, who lived a little later, says: “A part, and, indeed, a principal part, of the cross is any post which is fixed in an upright position; but to us the entire cross is imputed, including its transverse beam, and the projecting bar which serves as a seat.”

This fact (of the sufferer being seated) will account for the long duration of the punishment; the wounds in the hands and feet did not lacerate any large vessel, and were nearly closed by the nails which produced them. The Rev. Alban Butler, in his _Lives of the Saints_, gives numerous instances of the lingering nature of this mode of execution, and of the wonderful heroism displayed by the Christians who underwent it. The Pagan historians also narrate instances of similar heroism on the part of political offenders, who were put to death on the Cross. Bomilcar, the commander of the Carthaginian army in Sicily, having shown a disposition to desert to the enemy, was nailed to a gibbet in the middle of the forum; but “from the height of the Cross, as from a tribunal, he declaimed against the crimes of the citizens; and having spoken thus with a loud voice amid an immense concourse of the people, he expired.” Crucifixion has been practised from the remotest ages in the East, and is still occasionally resorted to in Turkey, Madagascar, and Northern Africa. The Jewish historian, Josephus, states that the chief baker of Pharaoh, whose dream had been interpreted by Joseph, was _crucified_, though Scripture says he was _hanged_; but this may mean hanged on a cross, for the expression seems to be almost equivalent to crucified, as appears from Galatians, chap. III. v. 13. “Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us; for it is written, ‘Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.’” As regards art, it is not now to be expected that the example set by the great masters will be discarded. In this, as in other matters, custom is law, whose arbitrary sway will be exercised in spite of facts.

SINGULAR COINCIDENCES.

A. was walking with a friend near Oxford, when a snipe rose within shot. They both “presented” their walking-sticks at the bird, remarking what a “pretty shot” it would have been for a gun. The snipe flew on a short distance, then towered, and fell dead. When examined, the bird was found to be apparently uninjured; but a close examination discovered the trace of a former injury, which had led to the rupture of a blood-vessel. If, instead of a walking-stick a gun had been presented and discharged at the bird, no one would have ventured to doubt that the death of the bird was due to the gun.

* * * * *

A young officer in the army of the famous Wolfe was apparently dying of an abscess in the lungs. He was absent from his regiment on sick-leave; but resolved to rejoin it, when a battle was expected. “For,” said he, “since I am given over, I had better be doing my duty; and my life’s being shortened a few days, matters not.” He received a shot which _pierced the abscess_, and made an opening for the discharge. He recovered, and lived to the age of eighty.

* * * * *

In the United Service Museum, (Whitehall Yard, London,) are exhibited the “jaws of a shark,” wide open, and enclosing a tin box. The history of this strange exhibition is as follows:—A ship, on her way to the West Indies, “fell in with” and chased a suspicious-looking craft, which had all the appearance of a slaver. During the pursuit, the chase threw something overboard. She was subsequently captured, and taken into Port Royal to be tried as a slaver. In absence of the ship’s papers and other proofs, the slaver was not only in a fair way to escape condemnation, but her captain was anticipating the recovery of pecuniary damages against his captor for illegal detention. While the subject was under discussion, a vessel came into port, which had followed closely in the track of the chase above described. She had caught a shark; and in its stomach was found a tin box, which contained the slaver’s papers. Upon the strength of this evidence the slaver was condemned. The written account is attached to the box.

* * * * *

A. B. was present while some “tricks in cards” were being exhibited by a professional juggler. He took a fresh pack of cards, and directed the company to take out a card from the pack, to replace it, and shuffle the pack. This being done, A. B. took the pack in his hand and carelessly tossed on the table a card, which proved to be the correct one. The professor, in the utmost surprise and admiration, offered to give A. B. three of his best tricks if he would give him the secret of the trick which he had just exhibited. A. B. coolly declined the offer, and concealed the fact that it was all _chance_, in the purest sense of the word, that led to the selection of the proper card from the pack.

* * * * *

Upon the death of a seaman, some money became payable to his widow, Elizabeth Smith, No. 20 (of a certain, say “King”) Street, Wapping. The government agent called at No. 20 King Street, and finding that Elizabeth Smith lived there, paid the money without further inquiry. Subsequently the true widow, Elizabeth Smith, turned up; and it was then discovered that, at the very time the money was paid, the street was being _re-numbered_, and there were _two_ houses numbered 20; and what was most remarkable, there was an Elizabeth Smith living in each of them.

* * * * *

Some time in the last century, a Mrs. Stephens professed to have received from her husband a medicine for dissolving “the stone in the bladder,” and offered to sell it to government. In order to test the virtue of this medicine, a patient was selected who had undeniably the complaint in question. He took the medicine, and was soon quite well. The doctors watched him anxiously, and when he died, many years after, he was seized by them, and the body examined. It was then discovered that the stone had made for itself a little sac in the bladder, and was so tightly secured that it had never caused any inconvenience.

Government, however, (somewhat prematurely,) rewarded Mrs. Stephens with a sum of £10,000. The cure appeared to have been purely accidental, as the remedy was nothing but potash, which has little or no virtue in such cases.

* * * * *

A gentleman of fortune, named Angerstein, lost a large quantity of valuable plate. His butler was soon on the track of the thieves, (who had brought a coach to carry the plate), and enquired at the first turnpike gate whether any vehicle had lately passed. The gate-keeper stated that a hackney-coach had shortly before gone through; and though he was surprised at its passing by so early in the morning, he had not noticed the “number” on the coach. A servant girl, hearing the conversation, volunteered her statement, that she saw the coach pass by, and its number was “45.” As the girl _could not read_, they were surprised at her knowing the “number.” She stated that she knew it well, as being the same number she had long seen about the walls everywhere, which she knew was “45,” as every one was speaking of it. This allusion of the girl’s was in reference to the “Wilkes” disturbances, when the 45th number of the _True Briton_ was prosecuted, and caused a great deal of public excitement. Mr. Angerstein’s butler went at once to London and found out the driver of the hackney-coach No. 45, who at once drove him to the place where the plate was deposited, and it was all recovered.

* * * * *

Some years since, in the “Temple,” was a vertical sun-dial, with the motto, “Be gone about your business.” It is stated that this very appropriate motto was the result of the following blunder:—When the dial was erected, the benchers were applied to for a motto. They desired the “builder’s man” to call at the library at a certain hour on a certain day, when he should receive instructions. But they forgot the whole matter. On the appointed day and hour the “builder’s man” called at the library, and found only a lawyer in close study over a law book. The man stated the cause of his intrusion, which suited so badly the lawyer’s time and leisure that he bid the man sharply “Be gone about your business.” The lawyer’s testy reply was duly painted in big letters upon the dial, and was considered so apposite that it was not only allowed to remain, but was considered to be as appropriate a motto as could be chosen.

* * * * *

Two men in France took shelter in a barn for the night. In the morning one of them was found dead, with severe injury to the head. The comrade was at once arrested, and told some “cock-and-bull” story about the terrible storm of the night in question, and attributed his companion’s death to the effect of a thunderbolt. He was not credited: and was in a fair way to be executed for the supposed crime. A scientific gentleman, hearing of the circumstance, examined the place, and found a hole in the roof of the barn, and an aërolite close to the spot where the deceased had slept on the night in question. The innocence of the accused was at once considered as established, and he was released.

* * * * *

Now, even in these cases, there is nothing _supernatural_, or even _un_natural; i.e., there is nothing to _prevent_ the occurrence. The improbability is only from the enormous number of chances against each. But when any German theologian, or other, pretends to _explain a series_ of alleged _miracles_ as mere _accidents_, he should be reminded that the chances are _multiplied_ against each repeated occurrence. If, e.g., the chances against a person’s bagging a snipe, which died accidentally just as he pointed a stick or a gun at it, be only 1/1000, then, against his thus obtaining _two_, the chances would be 1/1000000, and so on. No one familiar with what is sometimes called the _Doctrine of Chances_ but more correctly called the _Theory of Probabilities_, would believe that a sportsman could bring home a bag full of game, _every_ bird having died _accidentally_ just when shot at.

CHICK IN THE EGG.

The hen has scarcely sat on the egg twelve hours, when we begin already to discover in it some lineaments of the head and body of the chicken that is to be born. The heart appears to beat at the end of the day; at the end of forty-eight hours, two vesicles of blood can be distinguished, the pulsation of which is very visible. At the fiftieth hour, an auricle of the heart appears, and resembles a lace, or noose folded down upon itself. At the end of seventy hours, we distinguish wings, and on the head two bubbles for the brain; one for the bill, and two others for the forepart and hindpart of the head; the liver appears towards the fifth day. At the end of one hundred and thirty-one hours, the first voluntary motion is observed. At the end of one hundred and thirty-eight hours the lungs and stomach become visible; at the end of one hundred and forty-two, the intestines, the loins, and the upper jaw. The seventh day, the brain, which was slimy, begins to have some consistence. At the 190th hour of incubation, the bill opens, and the flesh appears in the breast. At the 194th, the sternum is seen, that is to say, the breastbone. At the 210th, the ribs come out of the back, the bill is very visible, as well as the gall-bladder. The bill becomes green at the end of two hundred and thirty-six hours; and if the chick is taken out of its covering, it evidently moves itself. The feathers begin to shoot out towards the 240th hour, and the skull becomes gristly. At the 264th, the eyes appear. At the 288th, the ribs are perfect. At the 331st, the spleen draws near to the stomach, and the lungs to the chest. At the end of three hundred and fifty-five hours, the bill frequently opens and shuts; and at the end of four hundred and fifty-one hours, or the eighteenth day, the first cry of the chick is already heard: it afterwards gets more strength, and grows continually, till at last it sets itself at liberty, by opening the prison in which it was shut up. Thus is it by so many different degrees that these creatures are brought into life. All these progressions are made by rule, and there is not one of them without sufficient reason. No part of its body could appear sooner or later without the whole embryo suffering; and each of its limbs appears at the proper moment. How manifestly is this ordination—so wise, and so invariable in the production of the animal—the work of a Supreme Being!

INNATE APPETITE.

McKenzie, in his _Phrenological Essays_, mentions the following curious fact, witnessed by Sir James Hall. He had been engaged in making some experiments on hatching eggs by artificial heat, and on one occasion observed in one of his boxes a chicken in the act of breaking from its confinement. It happened that just as the creature was getting out of the shell, a spider began to run along the box, when the chicken darted forward, seized and swallowed it.

THE INDIAN AND HIS TAMED SNAKE.

An Indian had tamed a blacksnake, which he kept about him during the summer months. In autumn he let the creature go whither it chose to crawl, but told it to come to him again upon a certain day, which he named, in the spring. A white man who was present, and saw what was done, and heard the Indian affirm that the serpent would return to him the very day he had appointed, had no faith in the truth of his prediction. The next spring, however, retaining the day in his memory, curiosity led him to the place, where he found the Indian in waiting; and, after remaining with him about two hours, the serpent came crawling back, and put himself under the care of his old master.

In this case, the Indian had probably observed that blacksnakes usually return to their old haunts at the same vernal season; and as he had tamed, fed, and kept this snake in a particular place, experience taught him that it would return on a certain day.

ALLIGATORS SWALLOWING STONES.

The Indians on the banks of the Oronoko assert that previously to an alligator going in search of prey it always swallows a large stone, that it may acquire additional weight to aid it in diving and dragging its victims under water. A traveller being somewhat incredulous on this point, Bolivar, to convince him, shot several with his rifle, and in all of them were found stones varying in weight according to the size of the animal. The largest killed was about seventeen feet in length, and had within him a stone weighing about sixty or seventy pounds.

HABITS OF SHEEP.

Never jumps a sheep that’s frightened Over any fence whatever, Over wall, or fence, or timber, But a second follows after, And a third upon the second, And a fourth, and fifth, and so on, When they see the tail uplifted,— First a sheep, and then a dozen, Till they all, in quick succession, One by one, have got clear over.

Dr. Anderson, of Liverpool, relates the following amusing illustration of the singularly persevering disposition of sheep to follow their leader wherever he goes:—

A butcher’s boy was driving about twenty fat wethers through the town, but they ran down a street where he did not want them to go. He observed a scavenger at work, and called out loudly for him to stop the sheep. The man accordingly did what he could to turn them back, running from side to side, always opposing himself to their passage, and brandishing his broom with great dexterity; but the sheep, much agitated, pressed forward, and at last one of them came right up to the man, who, fearing it was going to jump over his head, whilst he was stooping, grasped the broom with both hands and held it over his head. He stood for a few seconds in this position, when the sheep made a spring and jumped fairly over him, without touching the broom. The first had no sooner cleared this impediment than another followed, and another, in quick succession, so that the man, perfectly confounded, seemed to lose all recollection, and stood in the same attitude till the whole of them had jumped over him, and not one attempted to pass on either side, although the street was quite clear.

REMARKABLE EQUESTRIAN EXPEDITIONS.

Mr. Cooper Thornhill, an innkeeper at Stilton, in Huntingdonshire, rode from that place to London and back again, and also a second time to London, in one day,—which made a journey in all of two hundred and thirteen miles. He undertook to ride this journey with several horses in fifteen hours, but performed it in twelve hours and a quarter. This remarkable feat gave rise to a poem called the Stilton Hero, which was published in the year 1745.

Some years ago, Lord James Cavendish rode from Hyde Park Corner to Windsor Lodge, which is upwards of twenty miles, in less than an hour.

Sir Robert Cary rode nearly three hundred miles in less than three days, when he went from London to Edinburgh to inform King James of the death of Queen Elizabeth. He had several falls and sore bruises on the road, which occasioned his going battered and bloody into the royal presence.

On the 29th of August, 1750, was decided at Newmarket a remarkable wager for one thousand guineas, laid by Theobald Taaf, Esq., against the Earl of March and Lord Eglinton, who were to provide a four-wheel carriage with a man in it, to be drawn by four horses nineteen miles in an hour. The match was performed in fifty-three minutes and twenty-four seconds. An engraved model of the carriage was formerly sold in the print-shops.

The Marquis de la Fayette rode in August, 1778, from Rhode Island to Boston, nearly seventy miles distant, in seven hours, and returned in six and a half.

Mr. Fozard, of Park Lane, London, for a wager of one hundred and fifty pounds against one hundred pounds, undertook to ride forty miles in two hours, over Epsom course. He rode two miles more than had been agreed on, and performed it in five minutes under time, in October, 1789.

Mr. Wilde, an Irish gentleman, lately rode one hundred and twenty-seven miles on the course of Kildare, in Ireland, in six hours and twenty minutes, for a wager of one thousand guineas.

The famous Count de Montgomery escaped from the massacre of Paris in 1572, through the swiftness of his horse, which, according to a manuscript of that time, carried him ninety miles without halting.

WONDERFUL HORSE.

In the year 1609, an Englishman named Banks had a horse which he had trained to follow him wherever he went, even over fences and to the roofs of buildings. He and his horse went to the top of that immensely high structure, St. Paul’s Church. After many extraordinary performances at home, the horse and his master went to Rome, where they performed feats equally astonishing. But the result was that both Banks and his horse were burned, by order of the Pope, as enchanters. Sir Walter Raleigh observes, that had Banks lived in olden times, he would have shamed all the enchanters of the world, for no beast ever performed such wonders as his.

Fortunately, for men like Thorne, and Rice, and Franconi, who have been so successful in training the noblest animal in creation for the stage-representations of Mazeppa, Putnam’s Leap, &c., and for the various and fantastic tricks which have won so much admiration and applause, the present age is not disgraced by such besotted ignorance and superstition.

WONDERFUL LOCK.

Among the wonderful products of art in the French Crystal Palace was shown a lock which admits of 3,674,385 combinations. Heuret passed a hundred and twenty nights in locking it, and Fichet was four months in unlocking it; now they can neither shut nor open it.

CELERITY OF CLOTH-MANUFACTURE.

Many accounts have been published of the celerity with which manufacturers of cloth, both English and American, have completed the various parts of the process, from the fleece to the garment. In England the fleece was taken from the sheep, manufactured into cloth, and the cloth made into a coat, in the short space of thirteen hours and twenty minutes. Messrs. Buck, Brewster & Co., proprietors of the Ontario manufactory at Manchester, Vermont, on perusing an account of this English achievement, conceived, from the perfection of their machinery and the dexterity of their workmen, that the same operations might be accomplished even in a shorter time. A wager of five hundred dollars was offered, and accepted, that they would perform the same operations in twelve hours. The wool was taken from the sack in its natural state, and in nine hours and fifteen minutes precisely, the coat was completed, and worn in triumph by one of the party concerned. The wool was picked, greased, carded, roped, and spun,—the yarn was worked, put into the loom and woven,—the cloth was fulled, colored, and four times shorn, pressed, and carried to the tailor’s, and the coat completed,—all within the time above stated. The cloth was not of the finest texture, but was very handsomely dressed, and fitted the person who wore it remarkably well. The only difference between this and the English experiment was the time occupied in shearing the fleece; and any wool-grower knows that this part of the operation may be performed in ten minutes.

CRUDE VALUE _versus_ INDUSTRIAL VALUE.

Algarotti, in his Opuscula, gives the following example to show the prodigious addition of value that may be given to an object by skill and industry. A pound weight of pig-iron costs the operative manufacturer about five cents. This is worked up into steel, of which is made the little spiral spring that moves the balance-wheel of a watch. Each of these springs weighs but the tenth part of a grain, and, when completed, may be sold as high as $3.00, so that out of a pound of iron, allowing something for the loss of metal, eighty thousand of these springs may be made, and a substance worth but five cents be wrought into a value of $240,000.

An American gentleman says, that during a recent visit to Manchester, England, a pound of cotton, which in its crude state may have been worth eight cents, was pointed out to him as worth a pound of gold. It had been spun into a thread that would go round the globe at the equator and tie in a good large knot of many hundred miles in length.

QUANTITY AND VALUE.

For what is worth in any thing But so much money as ’twill bring?—§Butler.§

When emeralds were first discovered in America, a Spaniard carried one to a lapidary in Italy, and asked him what it was worth; he was told a hundred _escudos_. He produced a second, which was larger; and that was valued at three hundred. Overjoyed at this, he took the lapidary to his lodging and showed him a chest full; but the Italian, seeing so many, damped his joy by saying, “Ah ha, Señor! so many!—these are worth _one_ escudo.”

Montenegro presented to the elder Almagro the first cat which was brought to South America, and was rewarded for it with six hundred _pesos_. The first couple of cats which were carried to Cuyaba sold for a pound of gold. There was a plague of rats in the settlement, and they were purchased as a speculation, which proved an excellent one. Their first kittens produced thirty _oitavas_ each; the next generation were worth twenty; and the price gradually fell as the inhabitants were stocked with these beautiful and useful creatures.

Could every hailstone to a pearl be turned, Pearls in the mart like oyster-shells were spurned!

AMOUNT OF GOLD IN THE WORLD.

Estimate the yard of gold at £2,000,000, (which it is in round numbers,) and all the gold in the world might, if melted into ingots, be contained in a cellar twenty-four feet square and sixteen feet high. All the boasted wealth already obtained from California and Australia would go into a safe nine feet square and nine feet high; so small is the cube of yellow metal that has set populations on the march and occasioned such wondrous revolutions in the affairs of the world.

The contributions of the people, in the time of David, for the sanctuary, exceeded £6,800,000. The immense treasure David is said to have collected for the sanctuary amounted to £889,000,000 sterling, (Crito says £798,000,000,)—a sum greater than the British national debt. The gold with which Solomon overlaid the “most holy place,” a room only thirteen feet square, amounted to more than thirty-eight millions sterling.

The products of the California mines from 1853 to 1858 are put down at $443,091,000; those of Australia, since their discovery, at $296,813,000; or $739,904,000 in all,—an increase of about one-third, according to the best statistical writers, on the value of this precious metal known in 1850. The total value of gold in the world at the present time, then, is but little more than $3,000,000,000.

IMMENSE WEALTH OF THE ROMANS.

Crassus’ landed estate was valued at $8,333,330 His house was valued at 400,000 Cæcilius Isidorus, after having lost much, left 5,235,800 Demetrius, a freedman of Pompey, was worth 3,875,000 Lentulus, the augur, no less than 16,666,666 Clodius, who was slain by Milo, paid for his house 616,666 He once swallowed a pearl worth 40,000 Apicius was worth more than 4,583,350 And after he had spent in his kitchen, and otherwise squandered, immense sums, to the amount of 4,166,666 He poisoned himself, leaving 416,666 The establishment belonging to M. Scarus, and burned at Tusculum, was valued at 4,150,000 Gifts and bribes may be considered signs of great riches: Cæsar presented Servilia, the mother of Brutus, with a pearl worth 200,000 Paulus, the consul, was bribed by Cæsar with the sum of 292,000 Curio contracted debts to the amount of 2,500,000 Milo contracted a debt of 2,915,666 Antony owed at the Ides of March, which he paid before the Calends of April 1,666,666 He had squandered altogether 735,000,000 Seneca had a fortune of 17,500,000 Tiberius left at his death, and Caligula spent in less than twelve months, 118,120,000 Caligula spent for one supper 150,000 Heliogabalus in the same manner 100,000 The suppers of Lucullus at the Apollo cost 8,330 Horace says that Pegellus, a singer, could in five days spend 40,000 Herrius’ fish-ponds sold for 166,000 Calvinus Labinus purchased many learned slaves, none of them at a price less than 4,165 Stage-players sold much higher.

WINE AT TWO MILLIONS A BOTTLE.

Wine at two millions of dollars a bottle is a drink that in expense would rival the luxurious taste of barbaric splendor, when priceless pearls were thrown into the wine-cup to give a rich flavor to its contents; yet that there is such a costly beverage, is a fixed fact. In the Rose apartment (so called from a bronze bas-relief) of the ancient cellar under the Hotel de Ville in the city of Bremen is the famous Rosenwein, deposited there nearly two centuries and a half ago. There were twelve large cases, each bearing the name of one of the apostles; and the wine of Judas, despite the reprobation attached to his name, is to this day more highly esteemed than the others. One case of the wine, containing five oxhoft of two hundred and four bottles, cost five hundred rix-dollars in 1624. Including the expenses of keeping up the cellar, and of the contributions, interests of the amounts, and interests upon interests, an oxhoft costs at the present time 555,657,640 rix-dollars, and consequently a bottle is worth 2,723,812 rix-dollars; a glass, or the eighth part of a bottle, is worth 340,476 rix-dollars, or $272,380; or at the rate of 540 rix-dollars, or $272, per drop. A burgomaster of Bremen is privileged to have one bottle whenever he entertains a distinguished guest who enjoys a German or European reputation. The fact illustrates the operation of interest, if it does not show the cost of luxury.

CAPACIOUS BEER-CASKS.

A few years before Mr. Thrale’s death, which happened in 1781, an emulation arose among the brewers to exceed each other in the size of their casks for keeping beer to a certain age,—probably, says Sir John Hawkins, taking the hint from the tun at Heidelberg, of which the following is a description:

At Heidelberg, on the river Neckar, near its junction with the Rhine, in Germany, there was a tun or wine-vessel constructed in 1343, which contained twenty-one pipes. Another was made, or the one now mentioned rebuilt, in 1664, which held six hundred hogsheads, English measure. This was emptied, and knocked to pieces by the French, in 1688. But a new and larger one was afterwards fabricated, which held eight hundred hogsheads. It was formerly kept full of the best Rhenish wine, and the Electors have given many entertainments on its platform; but this convivial monument of ancient hospitality is now, says Mr. Walker, but a melancholy, unsocial, solitary instance of the extinction of hospitality: it moulders in a damp vault, quite empty.

The celebrated tun at Königstein is said to be the most capacious cask in the world,—holding 1,869,236 pints. The top is railed in, and it affords room for twenty people to regale themselves. There are also several kinds of welcome-cups, which are offered to strangers, who are invited by a Latin inscription to drink to the prosperity of the whole universe. This enormous tun was built in 1725, by Frederick Augustus, King of Poland and Elector of Saxony, who, in the inscription just mentioned, is styled “the father of his country, the Titus of his age, and the delight of mankind.”

Dr. Johnson once mentioned that his friend Thrale had four casks so large that each of them held one thousand hogsheads. But Mr. Meux, of Liquorpond Street, Gray’s Inn Lane, could, according to Mr. Pennant, show twenty-four vessels containing in all thirty-five thousand barrels: one alone held four thousand five hundred barrels; and in the year 1790 this enterprising brewer built another, containing nearly twelve thousand barrels, valued at about £20,000. A dinner was given to two hundred people at the bottom of it, and two hundred more joined the company to drink success to this unrivalled vat.

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE ENGLISH POETS.

Chaucer describes men and things as they _are_; Shakspeare, as they _would be_ under the circumstances supposed; Spenser, as we would _wish_ them to be; Milton, as they _ought_ to be; Byron, as they ought _not_ to be; and Shelley, as they never _can_ be.

PERILS OF PRECOCITY.

Baillet mentions one hundred and sixty-three children endowed with extraordinary talents, among whom few arrived at an advanced age. The two sons of Quintilian so vaunted by their father did not reach their tenth year. Hermogenes, who at the age of fifteen taught rhetoric to Marcus Aurelius, who triumphed over the most celebrated rhetoricians of Greece, did not die at an early age, but at twenty-four lost his faculties and forgot all he had previously acquired. Pico di Mirandola died at thirty-two; Johannus Secundus at twenty-five, having at the age of fifteen composed admirable Greek and Latin verses and become profoundly versed in jurisprudence and letters. Pascal, whose genius developed itself when ten years old, did not attain the third of a century. In 1791, a child was born at Lubeck, named Henri Heinneken, whose precocity was miraculous. At ten months of age he spoke distinctly, at twelve learned the Pentateuch by rote, and at fourteen months was perfectly acquainted with the Old and New Testament. At two years he was as familiar with geography and ancient history as the most erudite authors of antiquity. In the ancient and modern languages he was a proficient. This wonderful child was unfortunately carried off in his fourth year.

THE BLACK HOLE AT CALCUTTA.

This celebrated place of confinement was only eighteen feet by eighteen, containing, therefore, three hundred and twenty-four square feet. When Fort William was taken, in 1756, by Surajah Dowla, Nabob of Bengal, one hundred and forty-six persons were shut up in the Black Hole. The room allowed to each person a space of twenty-six and a half inches by twelve inches, which was just sufficient to hold them without their pressing violently on each other. To this dungeon there was but one small grated window, and, the weather being very sultry, the air within could neither circulate nor be changed. In less than an hour, many of the prisoners were attacked with extreme difficulty of breathing; several were delirious; and the place was filled with incoherent ravings, in which the cry for water was predominant. This was handed them by the sentinels, but without the effect of allaying their thirst. In less than four hours, many were suffocated, or died in violent delirium. In five hours, the survivors, except those at the grate, were frantic and outrageous. At length most of them became insensible. Eleven hours after they were imprisoned, twenty-three only, of the one hundred and forty-six, came out alive, and those were in a highly-putrid fever, from which, however, by fresh air and proper attention, they gradually recovered.

STONE BAROMETER.

A Finland newspaper mentions a stone in the northern part of Finland, which serves the inhabitants instead of a barometer. This stone, which they call Ilmakiur, turns black, or blackish gray, when it is going to rain, but on the approach of fine weather it is covered with white spots. Probably it is a fossil mixed with clay, and containing rock-salt, nitre, or ammonia, which, according to the greater or less degree of dampness of the atmosphere, attracts it, or otherwise. In the latter case the salt appears, forming the white spots.

BITTERNESS OF STRYCHNIA.

Strychnia, the active principle of the Nux Vomica bean, which has become so famous in the annals of criminal poisoning, is so intensely bitter that it will impart a sensibly bitter taste to six hundred thousand times its weight of water.

SALT, AS A LUXURY.

Mungo Park describes salt as “the greatest of all luxuries in Central Africa.” Says he, “It would appear strange to a European to see a child suck a piece of rock-salt, as if it were sugar. This, however, I have frequently seen; although in the inland parts the poorer class of inhabitants are so very rarely indulged with this precious article, that to say a man eats salt with his victuals is the same as saying that he is a rich man. I have myself suffered great inconvenience from the scarcity of this article. The long-continued use of vegetable food creates so painful a longing for salt, that no words can sufficiently describe it.”

SINGULAR CHANGE OF TASTE.

The sense by which we appreciate the sweetness of bodies is liable to singular modifications. Thus, the leaves of the _Gymnema sylvestre_,—a plant of Northern India,—when chewed, take away the power of tasting sugar for twenty-four hours, without otherwise injuring the general sense of taste.

BLUNDERS OF PAINTERS.

Tintoret, an Italian painter, in a picture of the Children of Israel gathering manna, has taken the precaution to arm them with the modern invention of guns. Cigoli painted the aged Simeon at the circumcision of the infant Saviour; and as aged men in these days wear spectacles, the artist has shown his sagacity by placing them on Simeon’s nose. In a picture by Verrio of Christ healing the sick, the lookers-on are represented as standing with periwigs on their heads. To match, or rather to exceed, this ludicrous representation, Durer has painted the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden by an angel in a dress fashionably trimmed with flounces. The same painter, in his scene of Peter denying Christ, represents a Roman soldier very comfortably smoking a pipe of tobacco. A Dutch painter, in a picture of the Wise Men worshipping the Holy Child, has drawn one of them in a large white surplice, and in boots and spurs, and he is in the act of presenting to the child a model of a Dutch man-of-war. In a Dutch picture of Abraham offering up his son, instead of the patriarch’s “stretching forth his hand and taking the knife,” as the Scriptures inform us, he is represented as using a more effectual and modern instrument: he is holding to Isaac’s head a _blunderbuss_. Berlin represents in a picture the Virgin and Child listening to a violin; and in another picture he has drawn King David playing the harp at the marriage of Christ with St. Catherine. A French artist has drawn, with true French taste, the Lord’s Supper, with the table ornamented with tumblers filled with cigar-lighters; and, as if to crown the list of these absurd and ludicrous anachronisms, the garden of Eden has been drawn with Adam and Eve in all their primeval simplicity and virtue, while near them, in full costume, is seen a hunter with a gun, shooting ducks.

MINUTE MECHANISM.

There is a cherry-stone at the Salem (Mass.) Museum, which contains one dozen silver spoons. The stone itself is of the ordinary size; but the spoons are so small that their shape and finish can only be well distinguished by the microscope. Here is the result of immense labor for no decidedly useful purpose; and there are thousands of other objects in the world fashioned by ingenuity, the value of which, in a utilitarian sense, may be said to be quite as indifferent. Dr. Oliver gives an account of a cherry-stone on which were carved one hundred and twenty-four heads, so distinctly that the naked eye could distinguish those belonging to popes and kings by their mitres and crowns. It was bought in Prussia for fifteen thousand dollars, and thence conveyed to England, where it was considered an object of so much value that its possession was disputed, and it became the object of a suit in chancery. One of the Nuremberg toy-makers enclosed in a cherry-stone, which was exhibited at the French Crystal Palace, a plan of Sevastopol, a railway-station, and the “Messiah” of Klopstock. In more remote times, an account is given of an ivory chariot, constructed by Mermecides, which was so small that a fly could cover it with his wing; also a ship of the same material, which could be hidden under the wing of a bee! Pliny, too, tells us that Homer’s Iliad, with its fifteen thousand verses, was written in so small a space as to be contained in a nutshell; while Elian mentions an artist who wrote a distich in letters of gold, which he enclosed in the rind of a kernel of corn. But the Harleian MS. mentions a greater curiosity than any of the above, it being nothing more nor less than the Bible, written by one Peter Bales, a chancery clerk, in so small a book that it could be enclosed within the shell of an English walnut. Disraeli gives an account of many other exploits similar to the one of Bales. There is a drawing of the head of Charles II. in the library of St. John’s College, Oxford, wholly composed of minute written characters, which at a small distance resemble the lines of an engraving. The head and the ruff are said to contain the book of Psalms, in Greek, and the Lord’s Prayer. In the British Museum is a portrait of Queen Anne, not much larger than the hand. On this drawing are a number of lines and scratches, which, it is asserted, comprise the entire contents of a thin folio. The modern art of Photography is capable of effecting wonders in this way. We have before us the Declaration of Independence, containing seven thousand eight hundred letters, on a space not larger than the head of a pin, which, when viewed through a microscope, may be read distinctly.

THE RATIO OF THE DIAMETER TO THE CIRCUMFERENCE.

The proportion of the diameter of a circle to its circumference has never yet been exactly ascertained. Nor can a square or any other right-lined figure be found that shall be equal to a given circle. This is the celebrated problem called the squaring of the circle, which has exercised the abilities of the greatest mathematicians for ages and been the occasion of so many disputes. Several persons of considerable eminence have, at different times, pretended that they had discovered the exact quadrature; but their errors have readily been detected; and it is now generally looked upon as a thing impossible to be done.

But though the relation between the diameter and circumference cannot be accurately expressed in known numbers, it may yet be approximated to any assigned degree of exactness. And in this manner was the problem solved, about two thousand years ago, by the great Archimedes, who discovered the proportion to be nearly as seven to twenty-two. The process by which he effected this may be seen in his book _De Dimensione Circuli_. The same proportion was also discovered by Philo Gadarensis and Apollonius Pergeus at a still earlier period, as we are informed by Eutocius.

The proportion of Vieta and Metius is that of one hundred and thirteen to three hundred and fifty-five, which is a little more exact than the former. It was derived from the pretended quadrature of a M. Van Eick, which first gave rise to the discovery.

But the first who ascertained this ratio to any great degree of exactness was Van Ceulen, a Dutchman, in his book _De Circulo et Adscriptis_. He found that if the diameter of a circle was 1, the circumference would be 3·141592653589793238462643383279502884 nearly; which is exactly true to thirty-six places of decimals, and was effected by the continual bisection of an arc of a circle, a method so extremely troublesome and laborious that it must have cost him incredible pains. It is said to have been thought so curious a performance that the numbers were cut on his tombstone in St. Peter’s churchyard, at Leyden.

But since the invention of fluxions, and the summation of infinite series, several methods have been discovered for doing the same thing with much more ease and expedition. Euler and other eminent mathematicians have by these means given a quadrature of the circle which is true to more than one hundred places of decimals,—a proportion so extremely near the truth that, unless the ratio could be completely obtained, we need not wish for a greater degree of accuracy.

MATHEMATICAL PRODIGIES.

They with the pen or pencil problems solved; He, with no aid but wondrous memory.

Prominent among the precocious mathematicians of the present day is a colored boy in Kentucky, named William Marcy, whose feats in mental arithmetic are truly wonderful. His powers of computation appear to be fully equal to those of Bidder, Buxton, Grandimange, Colburn, or Safford. He can multiply or divide millions by thousands in a few minutes from the time the figures are given to him, and always with the utmost exactness. Recently, in the presence of a party of gentlemen, he added a column of figures, _eight_ in a line, and _one hundred and eighty_ lines, making the sum total of several millions, within _six minutes_. The feat was so astounding, and apparently incredible, that several of the party took off their coats, and, dividing the sum, went to work, and in two hours after they commenced produced identically the same answers. The boy is not quite seventeen years of age; he cannot read nor write, and in every other branch of an English education is entirely deficient. It is worthy of remark that mathematics is the only department of science in which such feats of imbecile minds can be achieved. The supposition would not, _a priori_, be admissible; but frequent facts prove it. A negro, a real idiot, was not long since reported in Alabama, who could beat this Kentuckian in figures, but could scarcely do any thing else worthy of a human intellect. Precocious mathematicians, not imbecile, have usually turned out poorly; few of them, like Pascal, have shown any general capacity. These facts suggest inferences unfortunate for mathematical genius, if not for mathematical studies. They have sublime relations, in their “mixed” form, with our knowledge of the universe; but their relations to genius—to human sentiments and sensibilities—to the moral and ideal in humanity,—are, to say the least, quite equivocal. The calculating power alone would seem to be the least of human qualities, and to have the smallest amount of reason in it; since a machine like Babbage’s can be made to do the work of three or four calculators, and better than any of them.

EXTRAORDINARY MEMORY.

Lipsius made this offer to a German prince:—Sit here with a poniard, and if in repeating _Tacitus_ from beginning to end I miss a single word, stab me. I will freely bare my breast for you to strike.

Muretus tells us of a young Corsican, a law-student at Padua, who could, without hesitation, repeat thirty-six thousand Latin, Greek, or barbarous words, significant or insignificant, upon once hearing them. Muretus himself tested his wonderful memory, and avers all alleged respecting it to be strictly true.

Mr. Carruthers, in the course of a lecture on Scottish history mentioned an instance of Sir Walter Scott’s wonderful memory: “I have heard Campbell relate how strongly Scott was impressed with his (Campbell’s) poem of _Lochiel’s Warning_. ‘I read it to him in manuscript,’ he said; ‘he then asked to read it over himself, which he did slowly and distinctly, after which he handed to me the manuscript, saying, ‘Take care of your copyright, for I have got your poem by heart,’ and with only these two readings he repeated the poem with scarcely a mistake.’ Certainly an extraordinary instance of memory, for the piece contains eighty-eight lines. The subject, however, was one which could not fail powerfully to arrest Scott’s attention, and versification and diction are such as are easily caught up and remembered.”

SILENT COMPLIMENT.

While an eloquent clergyman was addressing a religious society, he intimated, more than once, that he was admonished to conclude by the lateness of the hour. His discourse, however, was so attractive that some ladies in the gallery covered the clock with their shawls.

SELF-IMMOLATION.

Comyn, Bishop of Durham, having quarrelled with his clergy, they mixed poison with the wine of the Eucharist, and gave it to him. He perceived the poison, but yet, with misguided devotion, he drank it and died.

THE NEED OF PROVIDENCE.

Cecil says in his _Remains_:—We require the same hand to protect us in apparent safety as in the most imminent and palpable danger. One of the most wicked men in my neighborhood was riding near a precipice and fell over: his horse was killed, but he escaped without injury. Instead of thanking God for his deliverance, he refused to acknowledge the hand of God in it, but attributed his escape to chance. The same man was afterwards riding on a very smooth road: his horse suddenly fell and threw his rider over his head, and killed him on the spot, while the horse escaped unhurt.

The Fancies of Fact.-§Continued§

DIMENSIONS OF HEAVEN.

And he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs. The length, and the breadth, and the height of it are equal.—Rev. xxi. 16.

Twelve thousand furlongs, 7,920,000 feet, which being cubed, 496,793,088,000,000,000,000 cubic feet. Half of this we will reserve for the Throne of God and the Court of Heaven, and half the balance for streets, leaving a remainder of 124,198,272,000,000,000,000 cubic feet. Divide this by 4,096, the cubical feet in a room sixteen feet square, and there will be 30,321,843,750,000,000 rooms.

We will now suppose the world always did and always will contain 990,000,000 inhabitants, and that a generation lasts for 33⅓ years, making in all 2,970,000,000 every century, and that the world will stand 100,000 years, or 1,000 centuries, making in all 2,970,000,000,000 inhabitants. Then suppose there were one hundred worlds equal to this in number of inhabitants and duration of years, making a total of 297,000,000,000,000 persons, and there would be more than a hundred rooms sixteen feet square for each person.

THE COST OF SOLOMON’S TEMPLE.

According to the computation of Villalpandus, the talents of gold, silver, and brass, used in the construction of the Temple, amounted to £6,879,822,500. The jewels are reckoned to have exceeded this sum; but, for the sake of an estimate, let their value be set down at the same amount. The vessels of gold (_vasa aurea_) consecrated to the use of the Temple are reckoned by Josephus at 140,000 talents, which, according to Capel’s reduction, are equal to £545,296,203. The vessels of silver (_vasa argentea_) are computed at 1,340,000 talents, or £489,344,000. The silk vestments of the priests cost £10,000; the purple vestments of the singers, £2,000,000. The trumpets amounted to £200,000; other musical instruments to £40,000. To these expenses must be added those of the other materials, the timber and stone, and of the labor employed upon them, the labor being divided thus: there were 10,000 men engaged at Lebanon in hewing timber (_silvicidæ_); there were 70,000 bearers of burdens (_vectores_); 20,000 hewers of stone (_lapicidinæ_); and 3,300 overseers (_episcopi_); all of whom were employed for seven years, and upon whom, besides their wages and diet, Solomon bestowed £6,733,977 (_donum Solomonis_). If the daily food and wages of each man be estimated at 4_s._ 6_d._, the sum total will be £93,877,088. The costly stone and the timber in the rough may be set down as at least equal to one-third of the gold, or about £2,545,296,000. The several estimates will then amount to £17,442,442,268, or $77,521,965,636.

THE NUMBER SEVEN.

In the year 1502 there was printed at Leipsic a work entitled _Heptalogium Virgilii Salsburgensis_, in honor of the number seven. It consists of seven parts, each consisting of seven divisions. In 1624 appeared in London a curious work on the subject of numbers, bearing the following title: _The Secrets of Numbers, according to Theological, Arithmetical, Geometrical, and Harmonical Computation; drawn, for the better part, out of those Ancients, as well as Neoteriques. Pleasing to read, profitable to understand, opening themselves to the capacities of both learned and unlearned; being no other than a key to lead men to any doctrinal knowledge whatsoever_. In the ninth chapter the author has given many notable opinions from learned men, to prove the excellency of the number _seven_. “First, it neither begets nor is begotten, according to the saying of Philo. Some numbers, indeed, within the compass of ten, beget, but are not begotten; and that is the unarie. Others are begotten, but beget not; as the octonarie. Only the septenarie, having a prerogative above them all, neither begetteth nor is begotten. This is its first divinity or perfection. Secondly, this is a harmonical number, and the well and fountain of that fair and lovely _Digamma_, because it includeth within itself all manner of harmony. Thirdly, it is a theological number, consisting of perfection. Fourthly, because of its compositure; for it is compounded of the first two perfect numbers equal and unequal,—three and four; for the number two, consisting of repeated unity, which is no number, is not perfect. Now, every one of these being excellent of themselves, (as hath been demonstrated,) how can this number be but far more excellent, consisting of them all, and

## participating, as it were, of all their excellent virtues?”

Hippocrates says that the septenary number by its occult virtue tends to the accomplishment of all things, is the dispenser of life and fountain of all its changes; and, like Shakspeare, he divides the life of man into seven ages. In seven months a child may be born and live, and not before. Anciently a child was not named before seven days, not being accounted fully to have life before that periodical day. The teeth spring out in the seventh month, and are renewed in the seventh year, when infancy is changed into childhood. At thrice seven years the faculties are developed, manhood commences, and we become legally competent to all civil acts; at four times seven man is in the full possession of his strength; at five times seven he is fit for the business of the world; at six times seven he becomes grave and wise, or never; at seven times seven he is in his apogee, and from that time he decays. At eight times seven he is in his first climacteric; at nine times seven, or sixty-three, he is in his grand climacteric, or year of danger; and ten times seven, or threescore years and ten, has, by the Royal Prophet, been pronounced the natural period of human life.

In six days creation was perfected, and the seventh was consecrated to rest. On the seventh of the seventh month a holy observance was ordained to the children of Israel, who feasted seven days and remained seven days in rest; the seventh year was directed to be a sabbath of rest for all things; and at the end of seven times seven years commenced the grand Jubilee; every seventh year the land lay fallow; every seventh year there was a general release from all debts, and all bondsmen were set free. From this law may have originated the custom of binding young men to seven years’ apprenticeship, and of punishing incorrigible offenders by transportation for seven, twice seven, or three times seven years. Every seventh year the law was directed to be read to the people; Jacob served seven years for the possession of Rachel, and also another seven years. Noah had seven days’ warning of the flood, and was commanded to take the fowls of the air into the ark by sevens, and the clean beasts by sevens. The ark touched the ground on the seventh month; and in seven days a dove was sent, and again in seven days after. The seven years of plenty and seven years of famine were foretold in Pharaoh’s dreams by the seven fat and the seven lean beasts, and the seven ears of full corn and the seven ears of blasted corn. The young animals were to remain with the dam seven days, and at the close of the seventh taken away. By the old law, man was commanded to forgive his offending brother seven times; but the meekness of the last revealed religion extended his humility and forbearance to seventy times seven times. “If Cain shall be revenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy times seven.” In the destruction of Jericho, seven priests bore seven trumpets seven days, and on the seventh day surrounded the walls seven times, and after the seventh time the walls fell. Balaam prepared seven bullocks and seven rams for a sacrifice; Laban pursued Jacob seven days’ journey; Job’s friends sat with him seven days and seven nights, and offered seven bullocks and seven rams as an atonement for their wickedness; David, in bringing up the ark, offered seven bullocks and seven rams; Elijah sent his servant seven times to look for the cloud; Hezekiah, in cleansing the temple, offered seven bullocks and seven rams and seven he-goats for a sin-offering. The children of Israel, when Hezekiah took away the strange altars, kept the feast of unleavened bread seven days, and then again another seven days. King Ahasuerus had seven chamberlains, a seven days’ feast, and sent for the queen on the seventh day; and in the seventh year of his reign she was taken to him. Queen Esther had seven maids to attend her. Solomon was seven years building the temple, at the dedication of which he feasted seven days; in the tabernacle were seven lamps; seven days were appointed for an atonement upon the altar, and the priest’s son was ordained to wear his father’s garment seven days; the children of Israel ate unleavened bread seven days; Abraham gave seven ewe-lambs to Abimelech as a memorial for a well; Joseph mourned seven days for Jacob. The rabbins say God employed the power of answering this number to perfect the greatness of Samuel, his name answering the value of the letters in the Hebrew word, which signifies seven,—whence Hannah, his mother, in her thanks, says “that the barren had brought forth the seventh.” In Scripture are enumerated seven resurrections,—the widow’s son, by Elias; the Shunamite’s son, by Elisha; the soldier who touched the bone of the prophet; the daughter of the ruler of the synagogue; the widow’s son of Nain; Lazarus, and our blessed Lord. Out of Mary Magdalene were cast seven devils. The apostles chose seven deacons. Enoch, who was translated, was the seventh after Adam, and Jesus Christ the seventy-seventh in a direct line. Our Saviour spoke seven times from the cross, on which he remained seven hours; he appeared seven times; after seven times seven days he sent the Holy Ghost. In the Lord’s Prayer are seven petitions, expressed in seven times seven words, omitting those of mere grammatical connection. Within this number are contained all the mysteries of the Apocalypse revealed to the seven churches of Asia; there appeared seven golden candlesticks and seven stars that were in the hand of Him that was in the midst; seven lamps, being the seven spirits of God; the book with seven seals; seven kings; seven thunders; seven thousand men slain; the dragon with seven heads, and the seven angels bearing seven vials of wrath; the vision of Daniel seventy weeks. The fiery furnace was made seven times hotter for Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego; Nebuchadnezzar ate the grass of the field seven years. The elders of Israel were seventy. There are also numbered seven heavens, seven planets, seven stars, seven wise men, seven champions of Christendom, seven notes in music, seven primary colors, seven deadly sins, seven sacraments in the Roman Catholic Church, and seven wonders of the world. The seventh son was considered as endowed with pre-eminent wisdom; the seventh son of a seventh son is still thought by some to possess the power of healing diseases spontaneously. Perfection is likened to gold seven times purified in the fire; and we yet say, “you frighten me out of my seven senses.” There were seven chiefs before Thebes. The blood was to be sprinkled seven times before the altar; Naaman was to be dipped seven times in Jordan; Apuleius speaks of the dipping of the head seven times in the sea for purification. In all solemn rites of purgation, dedication, and consecration, the oil or water was seven times sprinkled. The house of wisdom, in Proverbs, had seven pillars.

THE NUMBER THREE.

When the world was created, we find land, water, and sky; sun, moon, and stars. Noah had but three sons; Jonah was three days in the whale’s belly; our Saviour passed three days in the tomb. Peter denied his Saviour thrice. There were three patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Abraham entertained three angels. Samuel was called three times. “Simon, lovest thou me?” was repeated three times. Daniel was thrown into a den with three lions, for praying three times a day. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were rescued from the flames of the oven. The Commandments were delivered on the third day. Job had three friends. St. Paul speaks of faith, hope, and charity, these three. Those famous dreams of the baker and butler were to come to pass in three days; and Elijah prostrated himself three times on the body of the dead child. Samson deceived Delilah three times before she discovered the source of his strength. In mythology there were three graces; Cerberus with his three heads; Neptune holding his three-toothed staff; the Oracle of Delphi cherished with veneration the tripod; and the nine Muses sprang from three. The witches in Macbeth ask, “When shall we three meet again?” The Pope’s tiara is triple. We have morning, noon, and night; fish, flesh, and fowl; water, ice, and snow. Trees group their leaves in threes; there is three-leaved clover. What could be done in mathematics without the aid of the triangle? witness the power of the wedge; and in logic three propositions are indispensable. It is a common phrase that “three is a lucky number.” Life stands on a tripod, the feet of which are the circulation, respiration, and innervation; death is therefore the result of a failure in the heart, the lungs, or the brain. Finally, there is earth, heaven, and hell; and above all, the Holy Trinity.

THE NUMBER NINE.

The singular properties of the number nine are well known to arithmeticians. The following is one of the most interesting. If the cardinal numbers from 1 to 9 inclusive, omitting 8, be used as a multiplicand, and any one of them multiplied by 9 be used as a multiplier, the result will present a succession of figures the same as that multiplied by the 9. For example, if we wish a series of fives, we take 5 times 9, equal to 45, for a multiplier:—

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 9 4 5 ————————————————— 6 1 7 2 8 3 9 5 4 9 3 8 2 7 1 6 ————————————————— 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5

A similar result will be obtained by using all the other numbers, including 8 (72); but the 8 must in all cases be omitted in the multiplicand.

CHANGES OF THE KALEIDOSCOPE.

The following curious calculation has been made of the number of changes which this wonderful instrument will admit:—

Supposing the instrument to contain twenty small pieces of glass, &c., and that you make ten changes in each minute, it will take the inconceivable space of 462,880,899,576 years and 360 days to go through the immense variety of changes it is capable of producing,—amounting (according to our frail idea of the nature of things) to an eternity, Or, if you take only twelve small pieces, and make ten changes in each minute, it will then take 33,264 days, or 91 years and 49 days, to exhaust its variations. However exaggerated this statement may appear to some, it is actually the case.

NOAH’S ARK AND THE GREAT EASTERN STEAMSHIP.

The following comparison between the size of Noah’s Ark and the Leviathan (Great Eastern), both being considered in point of tonnage, after the old law for calculating the tonnage, exhibits a remarkable similarity. The sacred cubit, as stated by Sir Isaac Newton, is 20·625 English inches; by Bishop Wilkins at 21·88 inches. According to these authorities, the dimensions will be as follows:—

SIR I. NEWTON. BP. WILKINS. GR. EASTERN. _Feet._ _Feet._ _Feet._ Length between perpendiculars 515·62 547·00 680 Breadth 84·94 91·16 83 Depth 51·56 54·70 60 Keel, or length for tonnage 464·08 492·31 630 Tonnage according to old law 18,231 58–94 21,761 50–94 23,092 25–94.

DIVERSITY OF COLORS.

In a very amusing work of the celebrated Goethe, entitled _Winkelmann und sein Jahrhundert_, it is stated that about fifteen thousand varieties of color are employed by the workers of mosaic in Rome, and that there are fifty shades of each of these varieties, from the deepest to the palest, thus affording seven hundred and fifty thousand tints, which the artist can distinguish with the greatest facility. It might be imagined that with the command of seven hundred and fifty thousand tints of colors, the most varied and beautiful painting could be perfectly imitated; yet this is not the case, for the mosaic-workers find a lack of tints, even amid this astonishing variety.

AEROLITES.

Meteoric stones, in single masses and in showers, have fallen from the atmosphere at various, and in many cases uncertain, periods, throughout the world. The largest of these at present known is in the province of Tucuman, in South America, in the midst of an extensive plain. It weighs thirty thousand pounds. A mass in the Imperial Cabinet in Vienna was brought from Agram, in Croatia, where it fell in 1751. It was seen by the inhabitants while falling from the air, and is said to have appeared like a globe of fire. Professor Pallas, in his travels in Siberia, found a mass on the mountains of Kemir, weighing sixteen hundred and eighty pounds, which the inhabitants told him fell from the sky. About one hundred and fifty miles from Bahia, in Brazil, is a mass of a crystalline texture weighing fourteen thousand pounds. There are also large masses in West Greenland, Mexico, Peru, and South Africa. The specimen in the cabinet at New Haven, weighing three thousand pounds, was brought from Red River in Louisiana. Showers of meteorolites, weighing from a few ounces to twenty pounds, are recorded by observers as having fallen at Ensisheim, in 1492; at Mort, in 1750; at Aire, in 1769; at Juliac, in 1790; at Sienna, in 1794; at Benares, in 1798; at L’Aigle, in 1803; and at St. Germaine, in 1808. One of the most remarkable instances that has occurred in this country under the direct observation of eye-witnesses took place in Fairfield county, Connecticut, in December, 1807, an interesting account of which may be found in vol. vi. American Philosophical Transactions (1809). A similar occurrence happened at Norwich, in the same State, in 1836.

With regard to the extraordinary origin of these aerolites, or meteorolites, it has been incontestably proved to be atmospheric, by eye-witnesses, by the similarity of their composition in all cases, by the fact that though the materials thus mingled—being chiefly native iron, with small proportions of nickel, silex, aluminium, magnesium, and sulphur—are well known, they are never united in the same manner among the productions of the globe; and further, by the fact that they are never projected from terrestrial volcanoes, and that the situations in which they are found are generally isolated and always on the surface of the earth.

It remains, then, for the philosopher to ascertain the source of this interesting portion of nature. The great difficulty of this task is evident from the number and variety of the theories which have been formed respecting it, and their liability to serious objections. Those who hold the opinion that aerolites are formed from substances floating in the atmosphere must resort to the hypothesis that iron, nickel, silex, sulphur, &c. are first rendered volatile, and then synthetically formed into the ponderous stones which fall from above. Professor Silliman remarks of this recourse to atmospheric formation from gaseous ingredients, that it is a crude, unphilosophical conception, inconsistent with known chemical facts, and physically impossible. The theory which refers these aerolites to _lunar_ volcanic origin seems to have more to recommend it. La Place, the illustrious author of the _Mécanique Céleste_,—the respect due to whose opinion no one will dispute,—maintained that these meteoric stones are expelled violently from the active volcanoes which telescopic research has proved to exist in great numbers on the surface of the moon, and that, passing beyond the limits of the attraction of our satellite, they come within the influence of the earth and are drawn towards its surface. It has been calculated that the power required to drive a body beyond the moon’s attraction would be only about four times that with which a ball is expelled from a cannon with the ordinary charge of gunpowder. However rapid a velocity of seven thousand seven hundred and seventy feet per second may seem, it would not require an improbable amount of mechanical force.

Professor Olmsted, the American astronomer, has offered the most satisfactory explanation. He has shown that countless bodies, of comparatively small dimensions, cluster together in vast rings, and revolve, as do the planets, around the sun; that these bodies become visible when the orbit of the earth approaches their orbit; that sometimes they are entangled in our atmosphere, catch fire from their enormous velocity, and fall to the earth as meteoric stones. In this way the shooting stars and meteors are shown to be diminutive planets, which in composition and orbital motion resemble our own earth, and almost fill the planetary space with their countless squadrons.

FATE OF AMERICA’S DISCOVERERS.

It is remarkable how few of the eminent men of the discoverers and conquerors of the New World died in peace. Columbus died broken-hearted; Roldin and Bobadilla were drowned; Ovando was harshly superseded; Las Casas sought refuge in a cowl; Ojeda died in extreme poverty; Enciso was deposed by his own men; Nicuessa perished miserably by the cruelty of his party; Vasco Nunez de Balboa was disgracefully beheaded; Narvaez was imprisoned in a tropical dungeon, and afterwards died of hardship; Cortez was dishonored; Alvarado was destroyed in ambush; Almagro was garroted; Pizarro was murdered, and his four brothers cut off; and there was no end to the assassinations and executions of the secondary chiefs among the energetic and daring adventurers.

FACTS ABOUT THE PRESIDENTS.

Of the first seven Presidents of the United States, four were from Virginia, two of the same name from Massachusetts, and one from Tennessee. All but one were sixty-six years old on leaving office, having served two terms, and one of those who served but one term would have been sixty-six years of age at the end of another. Three of the seven died on the 4th of July, and two of them on the same day and year. Two of them were on the sub-committee of three that drafted the Declaration of Independence; and these two died on the same day and year, on the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, and just half a century from the day of the Declaration. The names of three of the seven end in son, yet none of them transmitted his name to a _son_. The initials of the names of two of the seven are the same; the initials of two others are the same; and those of still two others, the same. The remaining one, who stands alone in this particular, stands also alone in the love and admiration of his countrymen and of the civilized world,—Washington. Of the first five, only one had a son, and that son was also President. Neither of the Presidents who had sons were elected for a second term.

THE CROWN OF ENGLAND.

The crown of England is a costly “bauble,” bedazzled with jewels enough to found three or four public charities, or a half-dozen ordinary colleges. There are twenty diamonds round the circle, worth $7,500 each, making $150,000; two large centre diamonds, $10,000 each, making $20,000; fifty-four smaller diamonds, placed at the angle of the former, each $500; four crosses, each composed of twenty-five diamonds, $60,000; four large diamonds on the top of the crosses, $20,000; twelve diamonds contained in the fleur-de-lis, $50,000; eighteen smaller diamonds contained in the same, $10,000; pearls, diamonds, &c. upon the arches and crosses, $50,000; also one hundred and forty-one small diamonds, $25,000; twenty-six diamonds in the upper cross, $15,500; two circles of pearls about the rim, $15,000. The cost of the stones in the crown, exclusive of the metal, is, therefore, nearly half a million of dollars.

AN ARMY OF WOMEN.

In the army of the Chinese rebels, there were in 1853, in Nanking alone, about half a million of women, collected from various parts of the country and formed into brigades of thirteen thousand, under female officers. Of these, ten thousand were picked women, drilled and garrisoned in the city; the rest were compelled to undergo the drudgery of digging moats, making earth works, erecting batteries, &c.

THE STAR IN THE EAST.

Under the influence of a conjunction of Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars, which took place in the year 1604, Kepler was led to think that he had discovered means for determining the true year of our Saviour’s birth. He made his calculations, and found that Jupiter and Saturn were in conjunction in the constellation of the Fishes (a fish is the astrological symbol of Judæa) in the latter half of the year of Rome 747, and were joined by Mars in 748. Here then he fixed the first figure in the date of our era, and here he found the appearance in the heavens which induced the magi to undertake their journey, and conducted them successfully on their way. Others have taken up this view, freed it from astrological impurities, and shown its trustworthiness and applicability in the case under consideration. It appears that Jupiter and Saturn came together for the first time on May 20th in the twentieth degree of the constellation of the Fishes. They then stood before sunrise in the eastern part of the heavens, and so were seen by the magi. Jupiter then passed by Saturn towards the north. About the middle of September they were near midnight both in opposition to the sun, Saturn in the thirteenth, Jupiter in the fifteenth degree, being distant from each other about a degree and a half. They then drew nearer: on October 27th there was a second conjunction in the sixteenth degree, and on November 12th there took place a third conjunction in the fifteenth degree of the same constellation. In the last two conjunctions the interval between the planets amounted to no more than a degree, so that to the unassisted eye the rays of the one planet were absorbed in those of the other, and the two bodies would appear as one. The two planets went past each other three times, came very near together, and showed themselves all night long for months in conjunction with each other, as if they would never separate again. Their first union in the east awoke the attention of the magi, told them the expected time had come, and bade them set off without delay towards Judæa (the fish land). When they reached Jerusalem the two planets were once more blended together. Then, in the evening, they stood in the southern part of the sky, pointing with their united rays to Bethlehem, where prophecy declared the Messiah was to be born. The magi followed the finger of heavenly light, and were brought to the child Jesus. The conclusion in regard to the time of the advent is that our Lord was born in the latter part of the year of Rome 747, or six years before the common era.

A recent writer of considerable merit, Wieseler (_Chronolog. Synop. der 4 Evangelien._) has applied this theory of Kepler in conjunction with a discovery that he has made from some Chinese astronomical tables, which show that in the year of Rome 750 a comet appeared in the heavens, and was visible for seventy days. Wieseler’s opinion is that the conjunction of the planets excited and fixed the attention of the magi, but that their guiding-star was the aforesaid comet.

DIPLOMATIC COSTUME.

Dr. Franklin, it is well known, gained great praise for wearing an ordinary plain suit, instead of a gold embroidered Court costume, when formally presented to King Louis XVI. In reference to this anecdote, Nathaniel Hawthorne, in his notebook states that he was told by an aged lady, in England, that the circumstance above mentioned arose from the fact that Franklin’s tailor disappointed him of his Court suit, and that he wore his plain one with great reluctance, because he had no other. Franklin, it is said, having by his mishap made a successful impression, continued to wear his plain dress through policy. Thus we have another dissipation of one of those pleasant fictions which have been transmitted by the historian and the painter. It is like the apocryphal story of Franklin reading the prayer of Habakkuk to an assembly of French infidels, who are said to have pronounced it one of the finest compositions they had ever heard, and to have eagerly inquired where it might be found.

INSTANCES OF REMARKABLE LONGEVITY.

The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.—Psalm xc. 10.

Haller has noted one thousand cases of centenarians: sixty-two of from 110 to 120 years; twenty-nine of from 120 to 130; and fifteen who had attained from 130 to 140 years. Beyond this advanced age, well-authenticated examples of longevity are very rare. The case of Henry Jenkins, the Yorkshire fisherman, who died in December, 1670, at the age of 169, is one of the most remarkable. He is buried in the church of Bolton-upon-Swale, where may be found a long inscription, chiefly referring to his humble position in life and his patriarchal age. That of Thomas Parr is also well known. He was first married at the age of 80, and afterwards at 122, and died in 1635, aged 152. He was a farmer, and up to the age of 130 was able to dig, plough, and thrash. Had he continued his simple and abstemious habits, his life would probably have been prolonged a considerable period; but the luxurious living of the court of Charles I., at which his latter years were spent, occasioned a plethoric condition which hastened his end. The famous Harvey dissected him after death, and found no appearance of decay in any organ.

The following list of instances of very advanced age is given on the authority of Prichard, Whitehurst, Bailey, and others:—

Died. Age. Apollonius of Tyana §A.D.§ 99 130 St. Patrick 491 122 Attila 500 124 Llywarch Hên 500 150 St. Coemgene 618 120 St. Mongah, or Kentigern 781 185 Piastus, King of Poland 861 120 Countess of Desmond 1612 145 Thomas Parr 1635 152 Thomas Damme 1648 154 Dr. Mead, Hertfordshire 1652 148 James Bowles, Kenilworth 1656 152 Henry Jenkins 1670 169 William Edwards[16] 1688 168 Petrarch Czartan 1724 185 Margaret Patten 1739 137 John Roven 1741 172 Mrs. John Roven 1741 164 John Effingham, Cornwall ———— 144 Thomas Winslow, a captain of Cromwell 1766 146 Draakenburg, a Dane 1772 146 Jonas Warren, Ballydole 1787 167 Jonas Surington, Bergen, Norway 1797 159 Demetrius Grabowsky, Poland 1830 169 Bridget Devine 1845 147

Footnote 16:

On a long freestone slab, in Caery church, near Cardiff, Glamorgan co., Wales, is the following inscription:—

Here lyeth the Body of William Edwds, of the Cairey who departed this life February 24, Anno Domini, 1688, Annoque ætatis suæ 168. O, happy change! And ever blest, When greefe and pain is Changed to rest.

Czartan’s biographer says of him:—He was born in the year 1539 and died January 5th, 1724, at Kofrosch, a village four miles from Temeswar. A few days before his death, being nearly 185 years old, he had walked, with the help of a stick, to the post-house at Kofrosch, to ask charity from the travellers. His eyes were much inflamed; but he still enjoyed a little sight. His hair and beard were of a greenish white color, like mouldy bread; and he had a few of his teeth remaining. His son, who was 97 years of age, declared that his father had once been a head taller; that at a great age he married for the third time, and that he was born in this last marriage. He was accustomed, agreeably to the rules of his religion, (Greek Church,) to observe fast-days with great strictness, and never to use any other food than milk, and certain cakes, called by the Hungarians _collatschen_, together with a good glass of brandy such as is made in the country.

The Hungarian family of Roven affords an extraordinary example of long life. The father attained the age of 172, the wife, 164; they had been married 142 years, and their youngest child was 115; and such was the influence of habit and filial affection that this _child_ was treated with all the severity of parental rigidity, and did not dare to act without his _papa’s_ and _mamma’s_ permission.

Examples of great longevity are frequent in Russia. According to an official report, there were, in 1828, in the empire, 828 centenarians, of whom forty had exceeded 120 years; fifteen, 130; nine, 136; and three, 138 years. In the government of Moscow there died, in 1830, a man aged 150. In the government of Kieff, an old soldier died in 1844, at the age of 153. There lately died on an estate in the government of Viatka, a peasant named Michael Kniawelkis, who had attained the age of 137 years, 10 months, and 11 days. He was born in a village of the same district, married at the age of 19, and had had, by several wives, 32 children, one of whom, a daughter, is still living, at the age of 100. He never had any serious illness; some years before his death he complained that he could not read without glasses, but to the last day he retained the use of all his faculties, and was very cheerful. He frequently said that he thought death had forgotten him.

In China, on the contrary, such instances are rare. From a census made a few years ago, we learn that out of a population of 369,000,000 there were but four centenarians.

According to the census of the United States, taken in 1830, there were 2,556 persons a hundred years old, or upwards. The census of 1850 exhibits nearly the same number. This gives one centenarian to a population of 9,000. From this census we also learn that the oldest person then living in the United States was 140. This was an Indian woman residing in North Carolina. In the same State was an Indian aged 125, a negro woman 111, two black slaves 110 each, one mulatto male 120, and several white males and females from 106 to 114. In the parish of Lafayette, La., was a female, black, aged 120. In several of the States there were found persons, white and black, aged from 110 to 115.

There is now living in Murray county, Georgia, on the waters of Holy Creek, a Revolutionary veteran, who has attained the age of 135. His name is John Hames. He is known throughout the region in which he lives by the appellative, “Gran’sir Hames.” He was born in Mecklenburg county, Virginia, and was a lad 10 years old when Washington was in his cradle. He was 32 when Braddock met his disastrous defeat on the Monongahela. He, with a number of his neighbors, set forth to join the ill-fated commander, but after several days’ march were turned back by the news of his overthrow. He migrated to South Carolina nearly 100 years ago. He was in thirteen considerable conflicts during the war of Independence, and in skirmishes and encounters with Indians, with tories, and with British, times beyond memory. He was with Gates at Camden, with Morgan at Cowpens, with Green at Hillsboro’ and Eutaw, and with Marion in many a bold rush into a tory camp or redcoat quarters.

At the time of the Eighth Census there were about 20,000 persons in the United States who were living when the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776. They must necessarily have been more than eighty years old, in order to have lived at that time. The French Census of 1851 shows only 102 persons over 100 years old,—though the total population was nearly 36,000,000. Old age is therefore attained among us much more frequently than in France.

At Cordova, in South America, in the year of 1780, a judicial inquiry was instituted by the authorities to determine the age of a negress by the name of Louisa Truxo. She testified that she perfectly remembered Fernando Truxo, the bishop, who gave her as his contribution toward a university fund: he died in 1614. Another negress, who was known to be 120, testified that Louisa was an elderly woman when she was a child. On this evidence the authorities of Cordova concluded that Louisa was, as she asserted, 175 years old.

Two cases are recorded by Mr. Bailey, in his _Annals of Longevity_, which throw all these into the shade; but the evidence furnished is inadequate and unsatisfactory. One is that of an Englishman, Thomas Cam, whom the parish register of Shoreditch affirms to have died in 1588, at the age of 207, having paid allegiance to twelve monarchs. The other is that of a Russian,—name not given,—whom the St. Petersburg Gazette mentioned as having died in 1812, at an age exceeding 200.

The following in relation to Cam is copied literally from the register of burials of St. Leonard’s, Shoreditch:—

┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │_1588._ BURIALLES. Fol. 35.│ │ │ │ §Thomas Cam§ was buriel * e/y 22 inst. of │ │ Januarye, Aged 207 yeares. │ │ │ │ Holywell Street. │ │ Geo. Garrow, │ │Copy, Aug’st 25, 1832. Parish Clerk.│ └────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

In connection with the foregoing facts, it will be interesting to revert to the ages of the antediluvian patriarchs:—

Years. Adam lived 930 Seth 912 Enos 905 Canaan 910 Mahalaleel 895 Jared 962 Enoch 365 Methuselah 969 Lamech 777 Noah, who lived before and after the Deluge, in all 950

In Willet’s _Hexapla, in Leviticum_, is the following remarkable passage:—

Ludovicus Vives (_in Aug. de Civit, Dei, lib. XV._) writeth of a town in Spain, consisting of about an hundred houses, all of them inhabited by the seed of one old man, then living; so that the youngest of them knew not what to call him: _Quia lingua Hispana supra abavum non ascendit_, because the Spanish tongue goeth no higher than the great-grandfather’s father. And Bas. Johan. Heroldus hath a pretty epigram of an aged matron that lived to see her children’s children to the sixth degree:—

^1Mater ait ^2natæ die quod ^3sua filia ^4natam Admoneat ^5natæ plangere ^6filiolam.

The ^1Mother said, Go tell my ^2Child That ^3her Girl should her ^4Daughter tell She must now mourn (that lately smiled), Her ^5Daughter’s little ^6Babe’s not well.

MEANS OF RECOGNITION.

When the English suite of Lord Macartney was invited to a grand entertainment in China, one of them, understanding that it was not expedient to venture upon every dish which appeared under the guise of the native cookery, was desirous of ascertaining how far he might venture with safety, and as the Chinese waiters could understand a little English, he pointed to a dish before him, and said to the attendant in an interrogative tone, “Quack-quack?” meaning to inquire if it was a duck. The attendant perfectly understood him, and immediately replied, with great solemnity and sincerity, “Bow-wow!”

* * * * *

Rossini once unexpectedly met his old friend Sir Henry Bishop, but having at the moment forgotten his name, after puzzling and stammering for some time, he at length took him by the hand, and sang a few bars to prove he identified him through Bishop’s beautiful song, “Blow gentle gales.”

MARRIAGE VOW.

The matrimonial ceremony, like many others, has undergone some variation in the progress of time. Upwards of three centuries ago, the husband, on taking his wife by the right hand, thus addressed her; “I, A. B., _undersygne_ thee, C. D., for my wedded wyfe, for beter, for worse, for richer, for porer, yn sekness, and in helthe, tyl dethe us departe, [not “do part,” as now erroneously rendered, _departe_ formerly meaning to _separate_,] as holy churche hath ordeyned, and thereto I plyght thee my trowthe.” The wife replied in the same form, with an additional clause, “to be buxum to thee, tyl dethe us departe.” So it appears in the first edition of the _Missals for the use of the famous and celebrated Church of Hereford_, 1502. In the _Salisbury Missal_, the lady promised “to be bonere [debonnair] and buxum in bedde and at the borde.”

COMPOSITION IN DREAMS.

Condorcet is said to have attained the conclusion of some of his most abstruse unfinished calculations in his dreams. Franklin makes a similar admission concerning some of his political projects, which in his waking moments sorely puzzled him. Herschel composed the following lines in a dream:—

“Throw thyself on thy God, nor mock him with feeble denial; Sure of his love, and, oh! sure of his mercy at last; Bitter and deep though the draught, yet drain thou the cup of thy trial, And, in its healing effect, smile at the bitterness past.”

Goethe says in his _Memoirs_, “The objects which had occupied my attention during the day often reappeared at night in connected dreams. On awakening, a new composition, or a portion of one I had already commenced, presented itself to my mind.” Coleridge composed his poem of the _Abyssinian Maid_ during a dream. Cockburn says of Lord Jeffrey:—“He had a fancy that though he went to bed with his head stuffed with the names, dates, and other details of various causes, they were all in order in the morning; which he accounted for by saying that during sleep they all crystallized round their proper centres.”

FACTS ABOUT SLEEP.

Come sleep, O sleep! the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release, The impartial judge between the high and low. §Sir Philip Sidney.§

While I am asleep I have neither fear nor hope, neither trouble nor glory, and blessings on him who invented sleep, the mantle that covers all human thoughts; the food that appeases hunger; the drink that quenches thirst; the fire that warms cold; the cold that moderates heat; and lastly, the general coin that purchases all things; the balance and weight that makes the shepherd equal to the king, and the simple to the wise.—_Sancho Panza._

Sir Philip Sidney calls sleep “the poor man’s wealth,” and, he might have added, it is every man’s health. Men have often, according to their own notions, attempted to limit or extend the hours of sleep. Thus, the “immortal Alfred” of England divided the day into three portions of eight hours each, assigning one for refreshment and the health of the body by sleep, diet, and exercise, another for business, and the third for study and devotion. Bishop Taylor considered three hours’, and Richard Baxter four hours’, sleep sufficient for any man.

“Nature requires five, Custom gives seven, Laziness takes nine, And wickedness eleven.”

The error into which these and others have fallen arises not only from the fact that in this, as well as in other things, every man is a law to himself, but from the varying amount required in each individual case at different times, depending upon the amount of renovation required by the nervous and muscular systems. John Wesley, the distinguished founder of Methodism, who attained the age of eighty-eight, and who could command sleep on horseback, says very properly, in some curious remarks which he has left upon sleep, that no one measure will do for all, nor will the same amount of sleep suffice even for the same person at all times. A person debilitated by sickness requires more of “tired nature’s sweet restorer” than one in vigorous health. More sleep is also necessary when the strength and spirits are exhausted by hard labor or severe mental efforts. Whatever may be the case with some few persons, of a peculiar constitution, it is evident that health and vigor can scarcely be expected to continue long without six hours’ sleep in the four-and-twenty. Wesley adds that during his long life he never knew any individual who retained vigorous health for a whole year, with a less quantity of sleep than this.

It is said that women, in general, require more sleep than men. This is doubtful: it is certain, at least, that women endure protracted wakefulness better than men. The degree of muscular and mental exertion to which the male is accustomed would seem to indicate that a longer period of rest ought to be required by him to admit of the necessary restoration of excitability. In infancy and youth, where the animal functions are extremely active, the necessity for sleep is greatest; in mature age, where time is more valued and cares are more numerous, it is less indulged; whilst the aged may be affected in two opposite ways; they may be either in a state of almost constant somnolency, or their sleep may be short and light.

There are some remarkable cases on record of deviations from the customary amount of sleep, making a “bed shorter than for an ordinary man to stretch himself upon, and a covering narrower than he can wrap himself in,” capacious enough for persons of very active habits in their waking hours. Many persons have reached advanced age without ever having had more than one or two hours’ sleep out of the twenty-four. There is one case of a man who, throughout his whole life, never slept more than fifteen minutes at one time. General Pichegru informed Sir Gilbert Blane that, in the course of his active campaigns, he had for a whole year not more than one hour of sleep in the twenty-four hours. Frederick of Prussia and Napoleon, as a general thing, only devoted three or four hours to sleep.

One can scarcely conceive a more horrible mode of torture than the Chinese plan of condemning criminals to death by preventing sleep. The victim is kept awake by guards alternately stationed for the purpose. His sufferings last from twelve to twenty days, when death comes to his relief.

The influence of habit in promoting or preventing sleep is remarkable. Those accustomed to the tranquillity of rural districts are excessively annoyed by the din of the carriages on the paved thoroughfares of a large city. It is said, on the other hand, that those who live near the cataracts of the Nile cannot sleep at a distance from them, owing to their having become accustomed to the noise, the stimulus of which upon the ear they lack. Some persons can only sleep in the dark; we knew a woman who slept habitually with a candle burning in her bedroom, and who invariably awoke if the light went out. Some of the soldiers of Bonaparte’s army would sleep, after extreme fatigue and exhaustion, on the ground by the side of a twenty-four pounder which was constantly firing. Some boys slept from fatigue on board of Nelson’s ship, at the battle of the Nile. We have heard of a boiler-maker who could go to sleep in a boiler while the workmen were constantly hammering the rivets.

Sleep can persist with the exercise of certain muscles. Couriers on long journeys nap on horseback; and coachmen, on their boxes. Among the impressive incidents of Sir John Moore’s disastrous retreat to Corunna, in Spain, not the least striking is the recorded fact that many of his soldiers steadily pursued their march while fast asleep. Burdach, however, affirms that this is not uncommon among soldiers. Franklin slept nearly an hour swimming on his back. An acquaintance of Dr. D., travelling with a party in North Carolina, being greatly fatigued, was observed to be sound asleep in his saddle. His horse, being a better walker, went far in advance of the rest. On crossing a hill, they found him on the ground, snoring gently. His horse had fallen, as was evident from his bruised knees, and had thrown his rider on his head on a hard surface, without waking him.

Animals of the lower orders obey peculiar laws in regard to sleep. Fish are said to sleep soundly; and we are told by Aristotle that the tench may be taken in this state, if approached cautiously. Many birds and beasts of prey take their repose in the daytime. When kept in captivity, this habit undergoes a change,—which makes us doubt whether it was not the result of necessity, which demanded that they should take advantage of the darkness, silence, and the unguarded state of their victims. In the menagerie at Paris, even the hyena sleeps at night, and is awake by day. They all, however, seek, as favoring the purpose, a certain degree of seclusion and shade, with the exception of the lion, who, Burdach informs us, sleeps at noonday, in the open plain; and the eagle and condor will poise themselves on the most elevated pinnacle of rock, in the clear blue atmosphere and dazzling sunlight. Birds, however, are furnished with a winking membrane, generally, to shelter the eye from light. Fish prefer to retire to sleep under the shadow of a rock or a woody bank. Of domestic animals, the horse seems to require least sleep; and that he usually takes in the erect posture.

Birds that roost in a sitting posture are furnished with a well-adapted mechanism, which keeps them firmly supported without voluntary or conscious action. The tendon of the claws is so arranged as to be tightened by their weight when the thighs are bent, thus contracting closely and grasping the bough or perch. In certain other animals which sleep erect, the articulations of the foot and knee are described by Dumeril as resembling the spring of a pocket-knife, which opens the instrument and serves to keep the blade in a line with the handle.

The following calculation is interesting. Suppose one boy aged ten years determines to rise at five o’clock all the year round. Another of the same age, indolent and fond of ease, rises at eight, or an average of eight, every morning. If they both live to be seventy years old, the one will have gained over the other, during the intervening period of sixty years, sixty-five thousand seven hundred and forty-five hours, which is equal to two thousand seven hundred and thirty-nine and a third days, or just seven and a half years. If a similar calculation were applied to the whole country, how many millions of years of individual usefulness would it prove to be lost to society!

“God bless the man who first invented sleep!” So Sancho Panza said, and so say I! And bless him, also, that he didn’t keep His great discovery to himself, or try To make it—as the lucky fellow might— A close monopoly by “patent right!”

Yes—bless the man who first invented sleep, (I really can’t avoid the iteration;) But blast the man, with curses loud and deep, Whate’er the rascal’s name, or age, or station, Who first invented, and went round advising, That artificial cut-off,—early rising!

“Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,” Observes some solemn, sentimental owl: Maxims like these are very cheaply said; But ere you make yourself a fool or fowl, Pray just inquire about their rise—and fall, And whether larks have any beds at all!

The “time for honest folks to be abed” Is in the morning, if I reason right: And he who cannot keep his precious head Upon his pillow till it’s fairly light, And so enjoy his forty morning winks, Is up—to knavery; or else—he drinks!

Thomson, who sung about the “Seasons,” said It was a glorious thing to rise in season; But then he said it—lying—in his bed At ten o’clock A. M.,—the very reason He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is, His preaching wasn’t sanctioned by his practice.

’Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake,— Awake to duty and awake to truth; But when, alas! a nice review we take Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth, The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep Are those we passed in childhood, or—asleep!

’Tis beautiful to leave the world a while For the soft visions of the gentle night, And free, at last, from mortal care or guile, To live, as only in the angels’ sight, In sleep’s sweet realms so cosily shut in, Where, at the worst, we only _dream_ of sin!

So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise. I like the lad who, when his father thought To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase Of vagrant worm by early songster caught, Cried, “Served him right!—it’s not at all surprising: The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!”

OPIUM AND EAST INDIAN HEMP.

Children of Night! from Lethe’s bourn, Ye come to weave the oblivious veil, And on the wretched and forlorn To bid your sweet illusions steal.—_Fracastoro._

There is nothing in nature more curious and inexplicable than the influence on the circulating fluids, and through these on the brain and its functions, of various narcotic drugs. Among these, opium, and _Cannabis Indica_, or East Indian hemp, occupy the most prominent place. No reflective person can look into the writings of Coleridge, De Quincey, or Bayard Taylor, each of whom has experienced the effects of these drugs in his own person, and graphically described his sensations, thoughts, feelings, and dreams while under their influence, without being struck with awe and astonishment at the modifying and disturbing influences which these substances exert upon that mysterious connection which exists between the mind and the material medium through which it manifests itself. Take the following, for example, from the _Confessions of an English Opium-Eater_, which, not only for grandeur of description, but for psychological interest, is unsurpassed by any thing in the English language.

“The dream commenced with a music which now I often heard in dreams,—a music of preparation and of awakening suspense; a music like the opening of the Coronation Anthem, and which, like _that_, gave the feeling of a vast march—of infinite cavalcades filing off, and the tread of innumerable armies. The morning was come of a mighty day—a day of crisis and of final hope for human nature, then suffering some mysterious eclipse and laboring in some dread extremity. Somewhere, I knew not where—somehow, I knew not how—by some beings, I knew not whom—a battle, a strife, an agony, was conducting,—was evolving like a great drama, or piece of music; with which my sympathy was the more insupportable from my confusion as to its place, its cause, its nature, and its possible issue. I, as is usual in dreams, (where, of necessity, we make ourselves central to every movement,) had the power, and yet had not the power, to decide it. I had the power, if I could raise myself, to will it; and yet again had not the power, for the weight of twenty Atlantics was upon me, or the oppression of inexpiable guilt.

“‘Deeper than ever plummet sounded,’ I lay inactive. Then, like a chorus, the passion deepened. Some greater interest was at stake,—some mightier cause than ever yet the sword had pleaded or trumpet had proclaimed. Then came sudden alarms; hurryings to and fro; trepidations of innumerable fugitives—I knew not whether from the good cause or the bad; darkness and lights; tempest and human faces; and, at last, with the sense that all was lost, female forms, and the features that were worth all the world to me, and but a moment allowed—and clasped hands, and heart-breaking partings, and then everlasting farewells! and, with a sigh such as the caves of hell sighed when the incestuous mother uttered the abhorred name of death, the sound was reverberated,—everlasting farewells! and again, and yet again, reverberated,—everlasting farewells! And I awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, ‘I will sleep no more!’”

De Quincey took laudanum for the first time to dispel pain, and he thus describes the effect it had upon him:—“But I took it, and in an hour, oh, heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving, from its lowest depths, of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! That my pains had vanished was now a trifle in my eyes. This _negative_ effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which had opened before me,—in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Here was a panacea,—a φαρμακον νεπενθες for all human woes. Here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered! Happiness might now be bought for a penny and carried in the waistcoat-pocket; portable ecstasies might be had corked up in a pint bottle; and peace of mind could be sent down in gallons by the mail-coach.”

Dr. Madden describes more soberly his sensations when under the influence of the drug in one of the coffee-houses at Constantinople. “I commenced with one grain. In the course of an hour and a half it produced no perceptible effect. The coffee-house keeper was very anxious to give me an additional pill of two grains, but I was contented with half a one; and in another half-hour, feeling nothing of the expected revery, I took half a grain more, making in all two grains in the course of two hours. After two hours and a half from the first dose, my spirits became sensibly excited: the pleasure of the sensation seemed to depend on a universal expansion of mind and matter. My faculties appeared enlarged; every thing I looked at seemed increased in volume; I had no longer the same pleasure when I closed my eyes which I had when they were open; it appeared to me as if it was only external objects which were acted on by the imagination and magnified into images of pleasure: in short, it was the ‘faint, exquisite music of a dream’ in a waking moment. I made my way home as fast as possible, dreading at every step that I should commit some extravagance. In walking, I was hardly sensible of my feet touching the ground: it seemed as if I slid along the street impelled by some invisible agent, and that my blood was composed of some ethereal fluid, which rendered my body lighter than air. I got to bed the moment I reached home. The most extraordinary visions of delight filled my brain all night. In the morning I rose pale and dispirited; my head ached; my body was so debilitated that I was obliged to remain on the sofa all day, dearly paying for my first essay at opium-eating.”

These after-effects are the source of the misery of the opium-eater. The exciting influence of the drug is almost invariably followed by a corresponding depression. The susceptibility to external impressions and the muscular energy are both lessened. A desire for repose ensues, and a tendency to sleep. The mouth and throat also become dry; the thirst is increased; hunger diminishes; and the bowels usually become torpid.

When large doses are taken, all the above effects are hastened and heightened in proportion. The period of depression comes on sooner; the prostration of energy increases to actual stupor, with or without dreams; the pulse becomes feeble, the muscles exceedingly relaxed; and, if enough has been taken, death ensues.

Of course, all these effects are modified by the constitution of the individual, by the length of time he has accustomed himself to take it, and by the circumstances in which he is placed. But upon all persons, and in all circumstances, its final effects, like those of ardent spirits taken in large and repeated doses, are equally melancholy and degrading. “A total attenuation of body,” says Dr. Oppenheim, “a withered, yellow countenance, a lame gait, a bending of the spine, frequently to such a degree as to assume a circular form, and glassy, deep-sunken eyes, betray the opium-eater at the first glance. The digestive organs are in the highest degree disturbed: the sufferer eats scarcely any thing, and has hardly one evacuation in a week. His mental and bodily powers are destroyed: he is impotent.”

The influence upon the mental faculties of _Haschisch_, or East Indian hemp, when taken in large doses, is no less extraordinary than that of opium.

That accomplished traveller, Bayard Taylor, when in Damascus, “prompted,” as he says, “by that insatiable curiosity which led him to prefer the acquisition of all lawful knowledge through the channel of his own experience,” was induced to make a trial of this drug. Not knowing the strength of the preparation he employed, he found himself, shortly after taking the second dose, more thoroughly and completely under the influence of the drug than was either pleasant or safe.

Speaking of the effects of the stronger dose, he says, “The same fine nervous thrill of which I have spoken suddenly shot through me. But this time it was accompanied with a burning sensation at the pit of the stomach; and, instead of growing upon me with the gradual pace of healthy slumber, and resolving me, as before, into air, it came with the intensity of a pang, and shot throbbing along the nerves to the extremities of my body. The sense of limitation—the confinement of our senses within the bounds of our own flesh and blood—instantly fell away. The walls of my frame were burst outward, and tumbled into ruin; and, without thinking what form I wore,—losing sight even of all idea of form,—I felt that I existed throughout a vast extent of space. The blood pulsed from my heart, sped through uncounted leagues before it reached my extremities; the air drawn into my lungs expanded into seas of limpid ether; and the arch of my skull was broader than the vault of heaven. Within the concave that held my brain were the fathomless deeps of blue; clouds floated there, and the winds of heaven rolled them together; and there shone the orb of the sun. It was—though I thought not of that at the time—_like a revelation of the mystery of Omnipresence_.”

EFFECTS OF FEAR.

It is a common practice, in many parts of India, to oblige persons suspected of crimes to chew dry rice in presence of the officers of the law. Curious as it may appear, such is the intense influence of fear on the salivary glands, that, if they are actually guilty, there is no secretion of saliva in the mouth, and chewing is impossible. Such culprits generally confess without any further efforts. On the contrary, a consciousness of innocence allows of a proper flow of fluid for softening the rice.

Many of our readers are familiar with the case of the thief to whom, in common with other suspected persons, a stick of a certain length was given, with the assurance that the stick of the thief would grow by supernatural power. The culprit, imagining that his stick had actually increased in length, broke a piece off, and was thus detected. A similar anecdote is told of a farmer who detected depredations on his corn-bin by calling his men together and making them mix up a quantity of feathers in a sieve, assuring them, at the same time, that the feathers would infallibly stick to the hair of the thief. After a short time, one of the men raised his hand repeatedly to his head, and thus betrayed himself.

A Parisian physician, during his visits made in a hired fly, had received a bottle of real Jamaica rum as a sample, but found, after returning home, that he had left it in the carriage. He went to the office, and informed the manager that he had left a virulent poison in one of the carriages, and desired him to prevent any of the coachmen from drinking it. Hardly had he got back when he was summoned in great haste to three of these worthies, who were suffering from the most horrible colic; and great was his difficulty in persuading them that they had only stolen some most excellent rum.

One of the most singular examples on record of the effect of fear acting through the imagination is given by Breschet, a French author of the sixteenth century, who informs us that the physicians at Montpellier, which was then a great school of medicine, had every year two criminals, the one living, the other dead, delivered to them for dissection. On one occasion they determined to try what effect the mere expectation of death would produce upon a subject in perfect health; and in order to carry out the experiment they told the gentleman (for such was his rank) who was placed at their discretion, that, as the easiest mode of taking away his life, they would employ the means which Seneca had chosen for himself, and would therefore open his veins in warm water. Accordingly they covered his face, pinched his feet, without lancing them, and set them in a footbath, and then spoke to each other as if they saw that the blood was flowing freely, and life departing with it. The man remained motionless; and when, after a while, they uncovered his face, they found him dead.

FACIAL EXPRESSION.

The facial nerve, which presides over the movements of the face, gives to the physiognomy its different expressions so as to reflect the passions and emotions of the soul. To prove this experimentally, Charles Bell took the most cunning and impressionable monkey he could find in the menagerie of Exeter Change, and divided its facial nerve on one side. Excited by pain, the poor monkey made faces with tenfold energy, but exactly and solely with one side of his face, while the other remained perfectly impassible.

Of course, no one would repeat this experiment on man; but nature sometimes takes the whim to make such a curiosity. All who saw the unfortunate monkey were struck with the strange analogy which its features presented with those of a comic actor then much in vogue in London, who could reproduce all sorts of expressions and mirror every passion with one side of his face, while he kept the other side in a state of perfect immobility. The experiment of Charles Bell gave the key to the enigma. The mimic was the victim of a facial hemiplegia, from some accident to the facial nerve; and he had the shrewdness to make people believe that voluntary which he could not prevent, and thus to profit by an otherwise mortifying affliction.

A BROKEN HEART.

The following interesting case of a literally _broken heart_ was related by a late distinguished medical professor of Philadelphia, to his class, while lecturing upon the diseases of the heart. It will be seen, on perusing it, that the expression “broken-hearted” is not merely figurative.

In the early part of his career, Dr. Mitchell accompanied, as surgeon, a packet that sailed between Liverpool and one of our Southern ports. On the return-voyage, soon after leaving Liverpool, while the doctor and the captain of the vessel, a weather-beaten son of Neptune, but possessed of uncommonly fine feelings and strong impulses, were conversing in the latter’s state-room, the captain opened a large chest, and carefully took out a number of articles of various descriptions, which he arranged upon a table. Dr. M., surprised at the display of costly jewels, ornaments, dresses, and all the varied paraphernalia of which ladies are naturally fond, inquired of the captain his object in having made so many valuable purchases. The sailor, in reply, said, that for seven or eight years he had been devotedly attached to a lady, to whom he had several times made proposals of marriage, but was as often rejected; that her refusal to wed him, however, had only stimulated his love to greater exertion; and that finally, upon renewing his offer, declaring in the ardency of his passion that, without her society, life was not worth living for, she consented to become his bride upon his return from his next voyage. He was so overjoyed at the prospect of a marriage from which, in the warmth of his feelings, he probably anticipated more happiness than is usually allotted to mortals, that he spent all his ready money, while in London, for bridal gifts. After gazing at them fondly for some time, and remarking on them in turn, “I think this will please Annie,” and “I am sure she will like that,” he replaced them with the utmost care. This ceremony he repeated every day during the voyage; and the doctor often observed a tear glisten in his eye as he spoke of the pleasure he would have in presenting them to his affianced bride. On reaching his destination, the captain arrayed himself with more than his usual precision, and disembarked as soon as possible, to hasten to his love. As he was about to step into the carriage awaiting him, he was called aside by two gentlemen who desired to make a communication, the purport of which was that the lady had proved unfaithful to the trust reposed in her, and had married another, with whom she had decamped shortly before. Instantly the captain was observed to clap his hand to his breast and fall heavily to the ground. He was taken up, and conveyed to his room on the vessel. Dr. M. was immediately summoned; but, before he reached the poor captain, he was dead. A post-mortem examination revealed the cause of his unfortunate decease. His heart was found literally torn in twain! The tremendous propulsion of the blood, consequent upon such a violent nervous shock, forced the powerful muscular tissues asunder, and life was at an end. The heart was broken.

SENSATION AND INTELLIGENCE AFTER DECAPITATION.

While some physiologists are of opinion that death by beheading is attended with less actual pain than any other manner of death, and is, therefore, the most _humane_ mode of dis-embarrassing society of a villain, others contend, and adduce an equally formidable array of facts to show, that intense agony is experienced, after decollation, in both the head and the body, and that death by the guillotine, so far from being easier than hanging, is one of the most painful known. Whatever may really be the sensations attendant upon the separation of the head from the body, we have, at least, some curious facts, which throw a little light on the subject.

It is related that a professor of physiology at Genoa, who has made this interesting subject his particular study, states that, having exposed two heads, a quarter of an hour after decollation, to a strong light, the eyelids closed suddenly. The tongue, which protruded from the lips, being pricked with a needle, was drawn back into the mouth, and the countenance expressed sudden pain. The head of a criminal named Tillier being submitted to examination after the guillotine, the eyes turned in every direction from whence he was called by name.

Fontenelle declares that he has frequently seen the heads of guillotined persons move their lips, as if they were uttering remonstrances against their cruel treatment. If this be so, there is nothing very incredible in the report, sometimes treated as fabulous, that when the executioner gave a blow on the face of Charlotte Corday after the head was severed from the body, _the countenance_ expressed violent indignation.

It is stated on credible authority that some galvanic experiments were once tried on the body of a habitual snuff-taker, after he had undergone the operation of being guillotined. On receiving the first shock, the headless trunk joined its thumb and fore-finger, and deliberately raised its right arm, as if in the act of taking its customary _pinch_, and seemed much astonished and perplexed at finding _no nose_ to receive its wonted tribute!

But the most marvellous tale is told of Sir Everard Digby, who was beheaded in 1600 for being concerned in the famous Gunpowder Plot. After the head was struck off, the executioner proceeded, according to the barbarous usages of the day, to pluck the heart from his body; and when he had done so, he held it up in full view of the numerous assemblage gathered round the scaffold to witness the exhibition, and shouted, with a loud voice, _This is the heart of a traitor!_ Upon which, the _head_, which was quietly resting on the scaffold, at the distance of a few feet, showed sundry signs of indignation, and, opening its mouth, audibly exclaimed, “_That is a lie!_”

The reader will be reminded, by this case of the English knight, of the conjurer in the Arabian Nights, who, in consequence of a failure in his necromancy, was decapitated by the order and in the presence of the Sultan. The head of the sorcerer, after separation from his body, sat erect upon the floor, and, with a mysterious expression of countenance, informed his highness that as he rather thought he should have no further occasion for his books of magic, he would make a present of them to him; and since he could not very well go to fetch them himself, if his highness would take the trouble to send for them, he would instruct him in their use. On being brought, he told the Sultan it was first necessary for him to turn over every leaf in the books from the beginning to the end. But he found it was impossible to do this, as they stuck together, without often wetting his fingers at his mouth. This infused into the monarch’s veins a subtle and virulent venom, as the books were poisoned, in consequence of which he died very soon in torture, overwhelmed with the taunts and curses of the decapitated head.

A case occurred some years ago at Ticonderoga, N. Y., which settles the question of pain, so far as the body is concerned, and proves that no sensations whatever can exist in the _body_ after its connection with the brain is dissolved. It was reported at the time in the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, as follows:—

E. D., aged fifty, a man of hale constitution and robust, in making an effort to scale a board fence, was suddenly precipitated backwards to the ground, striking first upon the superior and anterior portion of the head, which luxated the dentatus anteriorly on the third cervical vertebra. He was at length discovered, and taken in (as the patient said) after he had lain nearly an hour, in a condition perfectly bereft of voluntary motion; but, being present, I did not suspect that the power of sensation was also gone, until the patient (whose speech remained almost, or quite, perfect, and who was uncommonly loquacious at that time) said, did he not know to the contrary, he should think that he had no body. His flesh was then punctured, and sometimes deeply, even from the feet to the neck; but the patient gave no evidence of feeling, and, when interrogated, answered that he felt nothing; and, added he, “I never was more perfectly free from pain in my life;” but he remarked that he could not live, and accordingly sent for his family, twelve miles distant, and arranged all his various concerns in a perfectly sane manner.

The head was thrown back in such a position as to prevent his seeing his body. The pulse was much more sluggish than natural. Respiration and speech, but slightly affected, were gradually failing; but he could articulate distinctly until within a few minutes of his death. All the senses of the head remained quite perfect to the last. He died forty-eight hours after the fall.

Repeated attempts were made to reduce the dislocation, but the transverse processes had become so interlocked that every effort proved abortive. There was undoubtedly in this case a perfect compression of the spinal marrow, which prevented the egress of nervous influence from the brain, while the pneumogastric nerve remained unembarrassed.

ANTIPATHIES.

Antipathies are as various as they are unaccountable, and often in appearance ridiculous. Yet who can control them, or reason himself into a conviction that they are absurd? They are, in truth, natural infirmities or peculiarities, and not fantastical imaginings. In the French “Ana” we find mention of a lady who would faint on seeing boiled lobsters; and several persons are mentioned, among them Mary de Medicis, who experienced the same inconvenience from the smell of roses, though

## particularly partial to the odor of jonquils and hyacinths. Another is

recorded who invariably fell into convulsions at the sight of a carp. Erasmus, although a native of Rotterdam, had such an aversion to fish of any kind that the smell alone threw him into a fever. Ambrose Paré mentions a patient of his who could never look at an eel without falling into a fit. Joseph Scaliger and Peter Abono could neither of them drink milk. Cardan was particularly disgusted at the sight of eggs. Ladislaus, King of Poland, fell sick if he saw an apple; and if that fruit was exhibited to Chesne, secretary to Francis I., a prodigious quantity of blood would issue from his nose. Henry III. of France could not endure to sit in a room with a cat, and the Duke of Schomberg ran out of any chamber into which one entered. A gentleman in the court of the Emperor Ferdinand would bleed at the nose even if he heard the mewing of the obnoxious animal, no matter at how great a distance. M. de l’Ancre, in his _Tableau de l’Inconstance de Toutes Choses_, gives an account of a very sensible man, who was so terrified on seeing a hedgehog that for two years he imagined his bowels were gnawed by such an animal. In the same book we find an account of an officer of distinguished bravery who never dared to face a mouse, it would so terrify him, unless he had his sword in his hand. M. de l’Ancre says he knew the individual perfectly well. There are some persons who cannot bear to see spiders, and others who eat them as a luxury, as they do snails and frogs. M. Vangheim, a celebrated huntsman in Hanover, would faint outright, or, if he had sufficient time, would run away, at the sight of a roast pig. The philosopher Chrysippus had such an aversion to external reverence, that, if any one saluted him, he would involuntarily fall down. Valerius Maximus says that this Chrysippus died of laughing at seeing an ass eat figs out of a silver plate. John Rol, a gentleman of Alcantara, would swoon on hearing the word _lana_ (wool) pronounced, although his cloak was made of wool. Lord Bacon fainted at every eclipse of the moon. Tycho Brahe shuddered at the sight of a fox; Ariosto, at the sight of a bath; and Cæsar trembled at the crowing of a cock.

STRANGE INSTANCE OF SYMPATHY.

The Duke de Saint Simon mentions in his _Mémoires_ a singular instance of constitutional sympathy existing between two brothers. These were twins,—the President de Banquemore, and the Governor de Bergues, who were surprisingly alike, not only in their persons, but in their feelings. One morning, he tells us, when the President was at the royal audience he was suddenly attacked by an intense pain in the thigh: at the same instant, as it was discovered afterwards, his brother, who was with the army, received a severe wound from a sword on the same leg, and precisely the same part of the leg!

WALKING BLINDFOLDED.

The difficulty of walking to any given point blindfolded can only be conceived by those who have made the experiment. After wandering about in every possible direction, now east, now west, at one time forward, at another time backward, working for a while at the zigzag, then shooting out like an arrow from a bow, and not unfrequently describing a complete circle like a miller’s horse, the party is generally a thousand times more likely to end his travels at the spot from which he set out, than at the spot to which he wished to go. The following achievement presents as extraordinary an exception to the general experience on this head, as perhaps ever occurred:—

Dennis Hendrick, a stone-mason, for a wager of ten guineas, walked from the Exchange in Liverpool, along Deal Street, to the corner of Byrom Street,—being a distance of three-quarters of a mile,—blindfolded, and rolling a coach-wheel. On starting, there were two plasters of Burgundy pitch put on his eyes, and a handkerchief tied over them, to prevent all possibility of his seeing. He started precisely at half-past seven in the morning, and completed his undertaking at twenty minutes past eight, being in fifty minutes.

FELINE CLOCKS.

M. Huc, in his recent work on the Chinese Empire, tells us that “one day, when we went to pay a visit to some families of Chinese Christian peasants, we met, near a farm, a young lad, who was taking a buffalo to graze along our path. We asked him carelessly, as we passed, whether it was yet noon. The child raised his head to look at the sun; but it was hidden behind thick clouds, and he could read no answer there. ‘The sky is so cloudy,’ said he; ‘but wait a moment;’ and with these words he ran towards the farm, and came back a few moments afterward with a cat in his arms. ‘Look here,’ said he, ‘it is not noon yet;’ and he showed us the cat’s eyes, by pushing up the lids with his hands. We looked at the child with surprise, but he was evidently in earnest; and the cat, though astonished, and not much pleased at the experiment made on her eyes, behaved with the most exemplary complaisance. ‘Very well,’ said we: ‘thank you;’ and he then let go the cat, who made her escape pretty quickly, and we continued our route. To say the truth, we had not at all understood the proceeding; but we did not wish to question the little pagan, lest he should find out that we were Europeans by our ignorance. As soon as we reached the farm, however, we made haste to ask our Christians whether they could tell the clock by looking into a cat’s eyes. They seemed surprised at the question; but, as there was no danger in confessing to them our ignorance of the properties of the cat’s eyes, we related what had just taken place. That was all that was necessary. Our complaisant neophytes immediately gave chase to all the cats in the neighborhood. They brought us three or four, and explained in what manner they might be made use of for watches. They pointed out that the pupil of their eyes went on constantly growing narrower until twelve o’clock, when they became like a fine line, as thin as a hair, drawn perpendicularly across the eye, and that after twelve the dilatation recommenced. When we had attentively examined the eyes of all the cats at our disposal, we came to the conclusion that it was past noon, as all the eyes perfectly agreed upon the point.”

DEVONSHIRE SUPERSTITION.

The following case of gross superstition, which occurred lately in one of the largest market-towns in the north of Devon, is related by an eye-witness:—

A young woman living in the neighborhood of Holsworthy, having for some time past been subject to periodical fits of illness, endeavored to effect a cure by attending at the afternoon service at the parish church, accompanied by thirty young men, her near neighbors. Service over, she sat in the porch of the church, and each of the young men, as they passed out in succession, dropped a penny into her lap; but the last, instead of a penny, gave her half a crown, taking from her the twenty-nine pennies which she had already received. With this half-crown in her hand, she walked three times round the communion-table, and afterwards had it made into a ring, by the wearing of which she believes she will recover her health.

A SKULL THAT HAD A TONGUE.

When Dr. John Donne, the famous poet and divine of the reign of James I., attained possession of his first living, he took a walk into the churchyard, where the sexton was at the time digging a grave, and in the course of his labor threw up a skull. This skull the doctor took in his hands, and found a rusty headless nail sticking in the temple of it, which he drew out secretly and wrapped in the corner of his handkerchief. He then demanded of the grave-digger whether he knew whose skull that was. He said it was a man’s who kept a brandy-shop,—an honest, drunken fellow, who one night, having taken two quarts, was found dead in his bed next morning. “Had he a wife?” “Yes.” “What character does she bear?” “A very good one: only the neighbors reflect on her because she married the day after her husband was buried.” This was enough for the doctor, who, under the pretence of visiting his parishioners, called on the woman: he asked her several questions, and, among others, what sickness her husband died of. She gave him the same account he had before received, whereupon he suddenly opened the handkerchief, and cried, in an authoritative voice, “Woman, do you know this nail?” She was struck with horror at the unexpected demand, instantly owned the fact, and was brought to trial and executed. Truly might one say, with even more point than Hamlet, that the skull had a tongue in it.

ROMANTIC HIGHWAYMAN.

In a letter to Mr. Mead, preserved among that gentleman’s papers in the British Museum, and dated February 3, 1625, is the following account of a singular highwayman:—

Mr. Clavell, a gentleman, a knight’s eldest son, a great mail and highway robber, was, together with a soldier, his companion, arraigned and condemned on Monday last, at the King’s Bench bar: he pleaded for himself that he never had struck or wounded any man, never taken any thing from their bodies, as rings, &c., never cut their girths or saddles, or done them, when he robbed, any corporeal violence. He was, with his companion, reprieved; he sent the following verses to the king for mercy, and hath obtained it:—

I that have robbed so oft am now bid stand; Death and the law assault me, and demand My life and means: I never used men so, But, having ta’en their money, let them go. Yet, must I die? and is there no relief? The King of kings had mercy on a thief! So may our gracious king, too, if he please, Without his council grant me a release; God is his precedent, and men shall see His mercy go beyond severity.

Singular Customs.

MEMENTO MORI.

The ancient Egyptians, at their grand festivals and parties of pleasure, always had a coffin placed on the table at meals, containing a mummy, or a skeleton of painted wood, which, Herodotus tells us, was presented to each of the guests with this admonition:—“Look upon this, and enjoy yourself; for such will you become when divested of your mortal garb.” This custom is frequently alluded to by Horace and Catullus; and Petronius tells us that at the celebrated banquet of Trimalcion a silver skeleton was placed on the table to awaken in the minds of the guests the remembrance of death and of deceased friends.

BEAUTIFUL SUPERSTITION.

Among the superstitions of the Seneca Indians was one remarkable for its singular beauty. When a maiden died, they imprisoned a young bird until it first began to try its powers of song, and then, loading it with messages and caresses, they loosed its bonds over her grave, in the belief that it would not fold its wing nor close its eyes until it had flown to the spirit-land and delivered its precious burden of affection to the loved and lost.

STRANGE FONDNESS FOR BEAUTY.

In Carazan, a province to the northeast of Tartary, the inhabitants have a custom, says Dr. Heylin, when a stranger of handsome shape and fine features comes into their houses, of killing him in the night,—not out of desire of spoil, or to eat his body, but that the soul of such a comely person might remain among them.

THE FOUNDATIONS OF DRUIDICAL TEMPLES.

There is a curious tradition both of St. Patrick in Ireland, and of St. Columba in Iona, that when they attempted to found churches they were impeded by an evil spirit, who threw down the walls as fast as they were built, until a human victim was sacrificed and buried under the foundation, which being done, they stood firm.

It is to be feared that there is too much truth in this story. Not, of course, that such a thing was done by either a Christian Patrick or Columba, but by the Druids, from whom the story was fathered upon the former. Under each of the twelve pillars of one of the Druidical circular temples in Iona a human body was found to have been buried.

ABYSSINIAN BEEFSTEAKS.

Mr. Bruce, the Abyssinian traveller, has frequently been ridiculed for asserting that it is a practice in Abyssinia to cut slices from the backs of their cattle while alive, and then drive them back to pasture; but his statements have been confirmed by more recent travellers. Mr. Salt says that a soldier belonging to the party to which he was attached took one of the cows they were driving before them, cut off two pieces of flesh from the glutæi muscles of the buttock, near the tail, and then sewed up the wound, plastering it over with manure, after which the party proceeded to cook the steaks.

OSTIAK REGARD FOR BEARS.

Tooke, in his work on Russia, tells us of a strange custom that prevails among the Ostiaks,—a Finnish nation. The Ostiaks, says he, believe that bears enjoy after death a happiness at least equal to that which they expect for themselves. Whenever they kill one of these animals, therefore, they sing songs over him, in which they ask his pardon, and hang up his skin, to which they show many civilities and pay many fine compliments, in order to induce him not to wreak his vengeance upon them in the abode of spirits.

MAKING NOSES.

At Kat Kangra, a place visited by the traveller Vigne, at the base of the Himalaya, there are native surgeons, celebrated for putting on new noses. The maimed come a great distance for repairs. When it is recollected that the rajahs cut off ears and noses without stint, it may be readily supposed that these surgeons have plenty of patients. The hope of a restoration of the nasal organ brings them from remote distances. To all intents and purposes, it is done like the Taliacotian operation in our hospitals,—by taking a flap of integument from the forehead. With very simple instruments, and a little cotton wool besmeared with pitch, to keep the parts together, the success is sufficient to extend the reputation of the rude operators.

LION-CATCHING IN SOUTH AFRICA.

Mr. Lemue, who formerly resided at Motito, and is familiar with the Kallibari country, assures us that the remarkable accounts sometimes circulated as to the people of that part of Africa catching lions by the tail—of which, one would naturally be incredulous—were perfectly true. Lions would sometimes become extremely dangerous to the inhabitants. Having become accustomed to human flesh, they would not willingly eat any thing else. When a neighborhood became infested, the men would determine on the measures to be adopted to rid themselves of the nuisance; then, forming themselves into a band, they would proceed in search of their royal foe, and beard the lion in his lair. Standing close by one another, the lion would make his spring on some one of the party,—every man, of course, hoping he might escape the attack,—when instantly others would dash forward and seize his tail, lifting it up close to the body with all their might; thus not only astonishing the animal, and absolutely taking him off his guard, but rendering his efforts powerless for the moment; while others closed in with their spears, and at once stabbed the monster through and through.

HIGH LIFE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

We gain the following glimpse of the manners of the upper classes in England, four hundred years ago, from the Journal of Elizabeth Woodville, subsequently Lady Grey, and finally Queen of Edward IV. Royalty _in petto_ seems to have taken, with a most refreshing cordiality, to the avocations of baking and brewing, pig-tending, poultry-feeding, and pony-catching.

_Monday morning._—Rose at 4 o’clock, and helped Catharine to milk the cows. Rachel, the dairy-maid, having scalded her hand in so bad a manner the night before, made a poultice, and gave Robin a penny to get something from the apothecary.

_6 o’clock._—The buttock of beef too much boiled, and beer a little stale; (mem. to talk to the cook about the first fault, and to mend the other myself by tapping a fresh barrel immediately.)

_7 o’clock._—Went to walk with the lady my mother in the court-yard; fed twenty-five men and women; chid Roger severely for expressing some ill will at attending us with some broken meat.

_8 o’clock._—Went into the paddock behind the house with my maid Dorothy; caught Thump, the little pony, myself; rode a matter of ten miles without saddle or bridle.

_10 o’clock._—Went to dinner. John Grey, a most comely youth; but what is that to me? a virtuous maid should be entirely under the direction of her parents. John ate but little, and stole a great many tender glances at me. Said women could never be handsome in his eyes who were not good-tempered. I hope my temper is not intolerable: nobody finds fault with it but Roger, and he is the most disorderly youth in our house. John Grey likes white teeth: my teeth are a pretty good color. I think my hair is as black as jet,—though I say it; and John Grey, if I mistake not, is of the same opinion.

_11 o’clock._—Rose from the table; the company all desirous of walking in the field. John Grey lifted me over every stile, and twice squeezed my hand with much vehemence. I cannot say I should have much objection, for he plays at prison-bar as well as any of the country gentlemen, is remarkably dutiful to his parents, my lord and lady, and never misses church on Sunday.

_3 o’clock._—Poor Farmer Robinson’s house burned down by accidental fire. John Grey proposed a subscription among the company for the relief of the farmer, and gave no less than four pounds with this benevolent intent. (Mem. never saw him look so comely as at this moment.)

_4 o’clock._—Went to prayers.

_6 o’clock._—Fed hogs and poultry.

HAIR IN SEALS.

Stillingfleet, referring to a MS. author who wrote a chronicle of St. Augustine, says:—

He observes one particular custom of the Normans, _that they were wont to put some of the hair of their heads or beards into the wax of their seals_: I suppose rather to be kept as monuments, than as adding any strength or weight to their charters. So he observes that some of the hair of William, Earl of Warren, was in his time kept in the Priory of Lewis.

SCORNING THE CHURCH.

In North Durham, it is customary, in case that the banns of marriage are thrice published, and the marriage does not take place, for the refusing party, whether male or female, to pay forty shillings to the vicar as a penalty for _scorning the church_.

MATRIMONIAL ADVERTISEMENT.

The following strange advertisement from an old newspaper exhibits one of the customs of rural life in England more than a century ago:—

May no miscarriage Prevent my marriage!

Matthew Dowson, in Bothell, Cumberland, intends to be married at Holm Church, on the Thursday before Whitsuntide next, whenever that may happen—and to return to Bothell to dine.

Mr. Reed gives a turkey to be roasted; William Elliot gives a hen to be roasted; Edward Clement gives a fat lamb to be roasted; Joseph Gibson gives a fat pig to be roasted; William Hughes gives a fat calf to be roasted.

And in order that all this roast may be well basted—do you see?—Mary Pearson, Betty Hughes, Mary Bushby, Molly Fisher, Sarah Briscoe, and Betty Porthoust, give, each of them, a pound of butter. The advertiser will provide every thing else suitable for so festive an occasion: and he hereby gives notice to all young women desirous of changing their condition, that he is at present disengaged, and he advises them to consider that although there may be luck in leisure, yet, in this case, delays are dangerous; for with him, he is determined that it shall be—first come, first served.

So come along, lasses who wish to be married— Mattie Dowson is vexed that so long he has tarried.

Facetiæ.

TITLES FOR THE LIBRARY DOOR, CHATSWORTH.

The Duke of Devonshire found it necessary to construct a door of sham books for an entrance to the library of Chatsworth. He was tired of the hackneyed _Plain Dealings_, _Essays on Wood_, _Perpetual Motion_, _etc._, on such doors, and asked Thomas Hood to give him some new titles. The following are selections from his amusing list:—

McAdam’s Views in Rhodes.

Pygmalion. By Lord Bacon.

Dante’s Inferno; or, Descriptions of Van Demon’s Land.

Tadpoles; or, Tales out of my Own Head.

Designs for Friezes. By Sir John Franklin.

Recollections of Bannister. By Lord Stair.

Ye Devill on Two-Styx (Black Letter).

Malthus’ Attack of Infantry.

The Life of Zimmerman. By Himself.

Boyle on Steam.

Book-Keeping by Single Entry.

Rules for Punctuation. By a thorough-bred Pointer.

On the Site of Tully’s Offices.

Cornaro on Longevity and the Construction of 74’s.

Cursory Remarks on Swearing.

Shelley’s Conchologist.

On Sore Throat and the Migration of the Swallow. By Abernethy.

The Scottish Boccaccio. By D. Cameron.

Chronological Account of the Date Tree. Percy Vere. In 40 vols.

In-i-go on Secret Entrances.

Cook’s Specimens of the Sandwich Tongue.

Peel on Bell’s System.

Lamb’s Recollections of Suett.

Blaine on Equestrian Burglary; or The Breaking-in of Horses.

The Rape of the Lock, with Bramah’s Notes.

Kosciusko on the Right of the Poles to stick up for themselves.

Haughty-cultural Remarks on London Pride.

THE JESTS OF HIEROCLES.

§A young§ man, meeting an acquaintance, said, “I heard that you were dead.” “But,” says the other, “you see me alive.” “I do not know how that may be,” replied he: “you are a notorious liar; but my informant was a person of credit.”

A man wrote to a friend in Greece, begging him to purchase books. From negligence or avarice, he neglected to execute the commission; but, fearing that his correspondent might be offended, he exclaimed, when next they met, “My dear friend, I never got the letter you wrote to me about the books.”

An irritable man went to visit a sick friend, and asked him concerning his health. The patient was so ill that he could not reply; whereupon the other, in a rage, said, “I hope that I may soon fall sick, and then I will not answer you when you visit me.”

A speculative gentleman, wishing to teach his horse to live without food, starved him to death. “I suffered a great loss,” said he, “for just as he learned to live without eating, he died.”

A robust countryman, meeting a physician, ran to hide behind a wall: being asked the cause, he replied, “It is so long since I have been sick, that I am ashamed to look a physician in the face.”

A curious inquirer, desirous to know how he looked when asleep, sat with closed eyes before a mirror.

A man, hearing that a raven would live two hundred years, bought one to try.

One of twin brothers died: a fellow, meeting the survivor, asked, “Which is it that’s dead, you or your brother?”

A man who had to cross a river entered a boat on horseback: being asked why, he replied, “I must ride, because I am in a hurry.”

A foolish fellow, having a house to sell, took a brick from the wall to exhibit as a sample.

A man, meeting a friend, said, “I spoke to you last night in a dream.” “Pardon me,” replied the other; “I did not hear you.”

A man that had nearly been drowned while bathing, declared that he would never enter the water again till he had learned to swim.

A student in want of money sold his books, and wrote home, “Father, rejoice; for I now derive my support from literature.”

During a storm, the passengers on board a vessel that appeared in danger seized different implements to aid them in swimming; and one of the number selected for this purpose the anchor.

A wittol, a barber, and a bald-headed man travelled together. Losing their way, they were forced to sleep in the open air; and, to avert danger, it was agreed to keep watch by turns. The lot fell first on the barber, who, for amusement, shaved the fool’s head while he slept; he then woke him, and the fool, raising his hand to scratch his head, exclaimed, “Here’s a pretty mistake! Rascal, you have waked the bald-headed man instead of me.”

A gentleman had a cask of fine wine, from which his servant stole a large quantity. When the master perceived the deficiency, he diligently inspected the top of the cask, but could find no traces of an opening. “Look if there be not a hole in the bottom,” said a bystander. “Blockhead,” he replied, “do you not see that the deficiency is at the top, and not at the bottom?”

BREVITY.

The London member of the house of Rothschild once wrote to his Paris correspondent to ascertain if any alteration had occurred in the price of certain stocks. The inquiry was only a simple

=?= The reply was equally brief: ——— =0=

Mr. McNair, a man of few words, wrote to his nephew at Pittsburg the following laconic letter:—

§Dear Nephew§,

=;=

To which the nephew replied, by return of mail,—

§Dear Uncle§,

=:=

The long of this short was, that the uncle wrote to his nephew, _See my coal on_, which a se-mi-col-on expressed; and the youngster informed his uncle that the coal was shipped, by simply saying, _Col-on_.

When Lord Buckley married a rich and beautiful lady, whose hand had been solicited at the same time by Lord Powis, in the height of his felicity he wrote thus to the Duke of Dorset:—

_Dear Dorset_:—I am the happiest dog alive!

§Buckley.§

§ANSWER§:

_Dear Buckley_:—Every dog has his day.

§Dorset.§

Louis XIV., who loved a concise style, one day met a priest on the road, whom he asked, hastily,—

“Whence came you—where are you going—what do you want?”

The priest instantly replied,—

“From Bruges—to Paris—a benefice.”

“You shall have it,” replied the king.

A lady having occasion to call upon Abernethy, the great surgeon, and knowing his repugnance to any thing like verbosity, forbore speaking except simply in reply to his laconic inquiries. The consultation, during three visits, was conducted in the following manner:—

_First Day._—(Lady enters and holds out her finger.) _Abernethy._—“Cut?” _Lady._—“Bite.” _A._—“Dog?” _L._—“Parrot.” _A._—“Go home and poultice it.”

_Second Day._—(Finger held out again.) _A._—“Better?” _L._—“Worse.” _A._—“Go home and poultice it again.”

_Third Day._—(Finger held out as before.) _A._—“Better?” _L._—“Well.” _A._—“You’re the most sensible woman I ever met with. Good-bye. Get out.”

Since Cæsar’s famous “_veni, vidi, vici_,” (I came, I saw, I conquered,) many military commanders have rendered their despatches memorable for pith and conciseness; but Sir Sidney Smith bears the palm for both wit and brevity in his announcement of the capture of Scinde:—“_Peccavi_” (I have sinned). Gen. Havelock’s “We are in _Lucknow_” has already become a matter of history.

The following _jeu d’esprit_, written in 1793, was occasioned by the circumstance of Lord Howe returning from his pursuit of the French fleet, after an absence of six weeks, during which he had only _seen_ the enemy, without having been able to overtake and bring them to

## action:—

When Cæsar triumphed o’er his Gallic foes, Three words concise his gallant acts disclose; But Howe, more brief, comprises his in _one_, And _vidi_ tells us all that he has done.

If brevity is the soul of wit, Talleyrand was the greatest of wits. A single word was often sufficient for his keenest retort. When a hypochondriac, who had notoriously led a profligate life, complained to the diplomatist that he was enduring the torments of hell,—“Je sens les tourmens de l’enfer,”—the answer was, “_Déjà?_” (Already?) To a lady who had lost her husband Talleyrand once addressed a letter of condolence in two words:—“O, Madame!” In less than a year the lady had married again; and then his letter of congratulation was, “Ah, Madame!” Could any thing be more wittily significant than the “O” and the “Ah” of this sententious correspondence?

SAME JOKE DIVERSIFIED.

Prince Metternich once requested the autograph of Jules Janin. The witty journalist sent him the following:—

“I acknowledge the receipt from M. de Metternich of twenty bottles of Johannisberg, for which I return infinite thanks.

“§Jules Janin.§”

The prince, in return, doubled the quantity, and sent him forty bottles.

This is equal to the joke of Rochester on the occasion of Charles II.’s crew of rakes writing pieces of poetry and handing them to Dryden, so that he might decide which was the prettiest poet. Rochester finished his piece in a few minutes; and Dryden decided that it was the best. On reading it, the lines were found to be the following:—

“I promise to pay, to the order of John Dryden, twenty pounds.—§Rochester.§”

The following hyperbolical compliment paid to Louis XIV., after his numerous victories, is almost literally translated from the French of a Gascon author of those days, and, extraordinary as it may seem, is said to have obtained for the writer of it the premium alluded to in his gasconade:—

To him whose muse in lofty strains Shall blazon Louis’ famed campaigns And every great exploit, Belongs the prize of twenty pounds:— What! only twenty! Blood and wounds! For each ’tis scarce a doit.[17]

Footnote 17:

The following inscription on a medal of Louis XIV. illustrates the servile adulation of that period:—

See in profile great Louis here designed! Both eyes portrayed would strike the gazer blind.

The Emperor Nicholas of Russia was thus “sold,” a few years ago. During an interview which Martineff, the comedian and mimic, had succeeded in obtaining with the Prince, (Volkhonsky, high steward,) the emperor walked into the room unexpectedly, yet with a design, as was soon made evident. Telling the actor that he had heard of his talents and should like to see a specimen of them, he bade him mimic the old minister. This feat was performed with so much gusto that the emperor laughed immoderately, and then, to the great horror of the poor actor, desired to have himself “taken off.” “’Tis physically impossible,” pleaded Martineff. “Nonsense!” said Nicholas: “I insist on its being done.” Finding himself on the horns of a dilemma, the mimic took heart of grace, and, with a promptitude and presence of mind that probably saved him, buttoned his coat over his breast, expanded his chest, threw up his head, and, assuming the imperial port to the best of his power, strode across the room and back; then, stopping opposite the minister, he cried, in the exact tone and manner of the Czar, “Volkhonsky! pay Monsieur Martineff one thousand silver roubles.” The emperor for a moment was disconcerted; but, recovering himself with a faint smile, he ordered the money to be paid.

OLD NICK.

When Nicholas Biddle was President of the United States Bank, there was an old negro hanger-on about the premises named Harry. One day, in a social mood, Biddle said to the darkey, “Well what is your name, my old friend?” “Harry, sir—ole Harry, sir,” said the other, touching his shabby hat. “Old Harry!” said Biddle, “why that is the name that they give to the devil, is it not?” “Yes, sir,” said the colored gentleman, “sometimes ole Harry and sometimes ole Nick.”

SYLLOGISM.

The famous sorites or syllogism of Themistocles was: That his infant son commanded the whole world, proved thus:—

My infant son rules his mother. His mother rules me. I rule the Athenians. The Athenians rule the Greeks. The Greeks rule Europe. And Europe rules the world.

A FALSE FRIEND.

“You may say what you please,” said Bill Muggins, speaking of a deceased comrade, “Jake was a good boy, he was, and a great hunter; but he was the meanest man that ever breathed in Old Kentuck; and he played one of the sharpest tricks you ever heard of, and I’ll tell you how it was. I was out shootin’ with him one mornin’. I tell you the duck was plenty; and other game we despised as long as we could see duck. Jake he was too mean to blaze away unless he could shoot two or three at a shot. He used to blow me up for wastin’ shot and powder so, but I didn’t care—I banged away. Well, somehow or other, while fussin’ around the boat, my powder-flask fell overboard in about sixteen feet of water, which was as clear as good gin, and I could see the flask lay at the bottom. Jake was a good swimmer, and a good diver, and he said he’d fetch her up; so in a minit he was in. Well, I waited quite a considerable time for him to come up; then I looked over the side for him. Great Jerusalem! there sot old Jake on a pile of oyster-shells pourin’ the powder out of my flask into his’n. Wasn’t that mean?”

GASCONADE AND HOAXING.

A Gascon, in proof of his nobility, asserted that in his father’s castle they used no other firewood than the batons of the different marshals of France of his family.

A Gascon officer, on hearing of the boastful exploits of a certain prince, who, among other things, had killed six men with his own hands in the course of an assault upon a city, said, disdainfully, “Poh, that’s nothing: the mattress I sleep on is stuffed with nothing but the _whiskers_ of those I have sent to the other world.”

Vernon’s skill in the invention of marvellous stories has never been surpassed, even by the peddlers of wooden nutmegs. Talking one day about the intense heat of the sun in India, he remarked that it was a common thing there for people to be charred to powder by a _coup de soleil_, and that upon one occasion, while dining with a Hindoo, one of his host’s wives was suddenly reduced to ashes, whereupon the Hindoo rang the bell, and said to the attendant who answered it, “Bring fresh glasses, and _sweep up your mistress_.”

Another of his stories was this. He happened to be shooting hyenas near Carthage, when he stumbled, and fell down an abyss of many fathoms’ depth. He was surprised, however, to find himself unhurt; for he lighted as if on a feather bed. Presently he perceived that he was gently moved upward; and, having by degrees reached the mouth of the abyss, he again stood safe on terra firma. He had fallen upon an immense mass of bats, which, disturbed from their slumbers, had risen out of the abyss and brought him up with them.

CHARLES MATHEWS AND THE SILVER SPOON.

Soon after Mathews went from York to the Haymarket Theatre, he was invited with other performers to dine with Mr. A——, afterwards an eminent silversmith, but who at that period followed the business of a pawnbroker. It so happened that A—— was called out of the parlor, at the back of the shop, during dinner. Mathews, with wonderful celerity, altering his hair, countenance, hat, &c., took a large gravy-spoon off the dinner-table, ran instantly into the street, entered one of the little dark doors leading to the pawnbroker’s counter, and actually pledged to the unconscious A—— his own gravy-spoon. Mathews contrived with equal rapidity to return and seat himself (having left the street-door open) before A—— reappeared at the dinner-table. As a matter of course, this was made the subject of a wager. An _éclaircissement_ took place before the party broke up, to the infinite astonishment of A——.

A ROYAL QUANDARY.

On the first consignment of Seidlitz Powders to the capital of Delhi, the monarch was deeply interested in the accounts of the refreshing beverage. A box was brought to the king in full court, and the interpreter explained to his majesty how it was to be used. Into a goblet he put the contents of the twelve blue papers; and, having added water, the king drank it off. This was the alkali, and the royal countenance exhibited no sign of satisfaction. It was then explained that in the _combination_ of the two powders lay the luxury; and the twelve white powders were quickly dissolved in water, and as eagerly swallowed by his majesty. With a shriek that will never be forgotten, the monarch rose, staggered, exploded, and, in his agony, screamed, “_Hold me down!_” Then, rushing from the throne, he fell prostrate on the floor. There he lay during the long-continued effervescence of the compound, spirting like ten thousand pennyworths of imperial pop, and believing himself in the agonies of death, a melancholy and convincing proof that kings are mortal.

RELICS.

“What is this?” said a traveller, who entertained reasonable doubts as to the genuineness of certain so-called relics of antiquity, while visiting an old cathedral in the Netherlands: “what is contained in this phial?”

“Sir,” replied the sacristan, “that phial contains one of the frogs picked up when Pharaoh was visited with the plague of frogs.”

“I am sure, then,” rejoined the traveller, “there could have been no epicures in those days.”

“Why so?” said the sacristan.

“Because they would have eaten him, he is so large and fat.”

The traveller took up another phial which was near. “This contains?” said he,—

“That is a most precious relic of the church, which we value very highly.”

“It looks very _dark_.”

“There is good reason for that.”

“I am somewhat curious. Tell me why.”

“You perceive it is very dark.”

“I own it.”

“That, sir, is some of the darkness which Moses spread over the land of Egypt.”

“Indeed! I presume, what the moderns call _darkness made visible_.”

ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

“Mother,” asked a little girl, while listening to the reading of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, “why don’t the book never mention Topsy’s last name? I have tried to hear it whenever it speaks of her, but it has not once said it.”

“Why, she had no other name, my child.”

“Yes she had, mother, and I know it.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Why Turvy—Topsy Turvy.”

“You had better go to bed, my dear,” said the mother. “You are as bad as your old grandmother, for she can’t say pork without beans, for the life of her.”

P. AND Q.

When it was fully expected that Mr. W——, whose unmanageable voice had obtained for him the title of “Bubble and Squeak,” would be elected Speaker of the House of Commons, and Mr. Canning was so informed, he observed that if the report were true, the members must mind their P’s and Q’s; or else, instead of saying “Mr. S_p_eaker,” they would say “Mr. S_q_ueaker!”

“JACK ROBINSON.”

Lord Eldon relates that during the parliamentary debates on the India Bill, when Mr. John Robinson was Secretary to the Treasury, Sheridan, on one evening when Fox’s majorities were decreasing, said, “Mr. Speaker, this is not at all to be wondered at, when a member is employed to corrupt everybody in order to obtain votes.” Upon this there was a great outcry by almost everybody in the house. “Who is it?” “Name him! Name him!” “Sir,” said Sheridan to the Speaker, “I shall not name the person. It is an unpleasant and invidious thing to do so; and, therefore, I shall not name him. But don’t suppose, Sir, that I abstain because there is any difficulty in naming him; I could do that, Sir, as soon as you could say ‘Jack Robinson.’”

A RUSSIAN JESTER AND HIS JOKES.

Popular traditions in Russia unite in representing the jester Balakireff as the constant attendant of Peter the Great, who figures largely in all the stories attached to the name of his buffoon.

On one occasion Balakireff begged permission of his imperial master to attach himself to the guard stationed at the palace, and Peter, for the sake of the joke, consented—warning him at the same time that any officer of the guard who happened to lose his sword, or to be absent from his post when summoned, was punished with death. The newly-made officer promised to do his best; but the temptation of some good wine sent to his quarters that evening by the Czar, “to moisten his commission,” proved too strong for him; and he partook so freely as to become completely “screwed.” While he was sleeping off his debauch, Peter stole softly into the room, and carried off his sword. Balakireff missing it on awakening, and frightened out of his wits at the probable consequences, could devise no better remedy than to replace the weapon with his own professional sword of lath,—the hilt and trappings of which were exactly similar to those of the guardsmen. Thus equipped, he appeared on parade the next morning, confident in the assurance of remaining undetected, if not forced to draw his weapon. But Peter, who had doubtless foreseen this contingency, instantly began storming at one of the men for his untidy appearance, and at length faced round upon Balakireff with the stern order, “Captain Balakireff, draw your sword and cut that sloven down!”

The poor jester, thus brought fairly to bay, laid his hand on his hilt as if to obey, but at the same time exclaimed fervently, “Merciful Heaven! let my sword be turned into wood!”

And drawing the weapon, he exhibited in very deed a harmless lath. Even the presence of the Emperor was powerless to check the roar of laughter which followed, and Balakireff was allowed to escape.

* * * * *

The jester’s ingenuity occasionally served him in extricating others from trouble as well as himself. A cousin of his, having fallen under the displeasure of the Czar, was about to be executed; and Balakireff presented himself at Court to petition for a reprieve. Peter, seeing him enter, and at once divining his errand, shouted to him: “It’s no use your coming here; I swear that I will _not_ grant what you are going to ask!”

Quick as thought, Balakireff dropped on his knees, and exclaimed, “Peter Alexejevitch, I beseech you put that scamp of a cousin of mine to death!”

Peter, thus caught in his own trap, had no choice but to laugh, and send a pardon to the offender.

* * * * *

During one of the Czar’s Livonian campaigns, a thick fog greatly obstructed the movements of the army. At length a pale watery gleam began to show itself through the mist, and two of the Russian officers fell to disputing whether this were the sun or not. Balakireff, happening to pass by at that moment, they appealed to him to decide. “Is that light yonder the sun, brother?”

“How should I know,” answered the jester; “I’ve never been here before!”

* * * * *

At the end of the same campaign, several of the officers were relating their exploits, when Balakireff stepped in among them. “I’ve got a story to tell, too,” cried he, boastfully; “a better one than any of yours!”

“Let us hear it, then,” answered the officers; and Balakireff began,—

“I never liked this way of fighting, all in a crowd together, which they have nowadays; it seems to me more manly for each to stand by himself; and therefore I always went out alone. Now it chanced that one day, while reconnoitering close to the enemy’s outposts, I suddenly espied a Swedish soldier lying on the ground, just in front of me. There was not a moment to lose; he might start up and give the alarm. I drew my sword, rushed upon him, and at one blow cut off his right foot!”

“You fool!” cried one of the listeners, “you should rather have cut off his head!”

“So I would,” answered Balakireff, with a grin, “but somebody else had done that already!”

* * * * *

At times Balakireff pushed his waggeries too far, and gave serious offense to his formidable patron. On one of these occasions the enraged Emperor summarily banished him from the Court, bidding him “never appear on Russian soil again.” The jester disappeared accordingly; but a week had hardly elapsed when Peter, standing at his window, espied his disgraced favorite coolly driving a cart past the very gates of the palace. Foreseeing some new jest, he hastened down, and asked with pretended roughness, “How dare you disobey me, when I forbade you to show yourself on Russian ground?”

“I haven’t disobeyed you,” answered Balakireff, coolly; “I’m not on Russian ground now!”

“Not on Russian ground?”

“No; this cart-load of earth that I’m sitting on is Swedish soil. I dug it up in Finland only the other day!”

Peter, who had doubtless begun already to regret the loss of his jester, laughed at the evasion, and restored him to favor. Some Russian writers embellished this story (a German version of which figures in the adventures of Tyll Eulenspiegel) with the addition that Peter, on hearing the excuse, answered, “If Finland be Swedish soil now, it shall be Russian before long”—a threat which he was not slow to fulfill.

The Flashes of Repartee.

Curran, being angry in a debate one day, put his hand on his heart, saying: “I am the trusty guardian of my own honor.” “Then,” replied Sir Boyle Roche, “I congratulate my honorable friend on the snug sinecure to which he has appointed himself.”

* * * * *

On one occasion as the Rev. Matthew Wilkes, a celebrated London preacher, was on his way to a meeting of ministers, he got caught in a shower in the place called Billingsgate, where there were a large number of women dealing in fish, who were using most profane and vulgar language. As he stopped under a shed in the midst of them, he felt called upon to give at least his testimony against their wickedness.

“Don’t you think,” said he, speaking with the greatest deliberation and solemnity, “I shall appear as a swift witness against you in the day of judgment?”

“I presume so,” said one, “for the biggest rogue always turns State’s evidence.”

Matthew, when he got to the meeting, related the incident.

“And what did you say in reply, Mr. Wilkes?” said one of the ministers present.

“What could I?” was the characteristic reply.

* * * * *

The late Mr. Cobden used to tell the following anecdote:—

“When in America,” said he, “I asked an enthusiastic American lady why her country could not rest satisfied with the immense unoccupied territories it already possessed, but must ever be hankering after the lands of its neighbors, when her somewhat remarkable reply was, “Oh, the propensity is a very bad one, I admit; but we came honestly by it, for we inherited it from England.”

* * * * *

When Napoleon was only an officer of artillery, a Prussian officer said in his presence with much pride, “My countrymen fight only for glory, but Frenchmen for money.” “You are right,” replied Napoleon; “each of them fight for what they are most in want of.”

* * * * *

A gentleman complimented a lady on her improved appearance. “You are guilty of flattery,” said the lady. “Not so,” replied he, “for I vow you are as plump as a partridge.” “At first,” responded she, “I thought you guilty of flattery only, but you are now actually making game of me.”

* * * * *

A pedlar asked an old lady, to whom he was trying to sell some articles, if she could tell him of any road that no pedlar had ever travelled. “I know of but one,” said she, “and that is the road to Heaven.”

* * * * *

“What is that dog barking at?” asked a fop, whose boots were more polished than his ideas. “Why,” said the bystander, “he sees another puppy in your boots.”

* * * * *

A Quaker gentleman, riding in a carriage with a fashionable lady decked with a profusion of jewelry, heard her complaining of the cold. Shivering in her lace bonnet and shawl, as light as a cobweb, she exclaimed: “What shall I do to get warm?” “I really don’t know,” replied the Quaker solemnly, “unless thee puts on another breastpin.”

* * * * *

I dined once with Curran, said one of his friends, in the public room of the chief inn at Greenwich, when he talked a great deal, and, as usual, with considerable exaggeration. Speaking of something which he would not do on any inducement, he exclaimed: “I had rather be hanged upon twenty gibbets.” “Don’t you think, sir, that one would be enough for you?” said a girl, a stranger, who was sitting at the table next to us. You ought to have seen Curran’s face just then.

* * * * *

A tourist being exceedingly thirsty, stopped at a house by the roadside, and asked for a drink of milk. He emptied several cups, and asked for more. The woman of the house at length brought out a large bowl filled with milk, and setting it down on the table, remarked, “A person would think, sir, that you had never been weaned.”

* * * * *

Theodore Hook was walking, in the days of Warren’s blacking, where one of the emissaries of that shining character had written on the wall, “Try Warren’s B——,” but had been frightened by the approach of the owner of the property, and had fled. “The rest is lacking,” said the wit.

* * * * *

The famous Rochester one day met Dr. Barrow in the Park, and being determined, as he said, to put down the rusty piece of divinity, accosted him by taking off his hat, and with a profound bow, exclaimed: “Doctor, I am yours to my shoe-tie.” The Doctor, perceiving his aim, returned the salute with equal ceremony: “My Lord, I am yours to the ground.” His lordship then made a deeper salam, and said: “Doctor, I am yours to the centre.” Barrow replied, “My Lord, I am yours to the antipodes,” on which Rochester made another attempt by exclaiming. “I am yours to the lowest pit.” “There, my Lord, I leave you,” replied Barrow.

A windy M. P., in the midst of a tedious speech, stopped to imbibe a glass of water.

“I rise,” said Sheridan, “to a point of order.”

Everybody started, wondering what the point of order was.

“What is it?” said the speaker.

“I think, sir,” said Sheridan, “it is out of order for a windmill to go by water.”

* * * * *

At Oxford, some twenty years ago, a tutor in one of the colleges limped in his walk. Stopping one day last summer at a railroad station, he was accosted by a well-known politician, who recognized him, and asked him if he was not the chaplain at the college at such a time, naming the year. The doctor replied that he was. “I was there,” said the interrogator, “and I know you by your limp.” “Well,” said the doctor, “it seems that my limping made a deeper impression on you than my preaching.” “Ah, doctor,” was the ready reply, “it is the highest compliment we can pay a minister to say that he is known by his walk, rather than by his conversation.”

* * * * *

When Onslow was speaker of the British House of Commons, a member, who was very fond of hearing himself speak—though nobody would listen to him—on one occasion made a direct appeal to the chair, in consequence of the accustomed noise that was going on: “Mr. Speaker, I desire to know if I have not a right to be heard?” The speaker hoped, at first, to escape the necessity of a reply, by calling “Order! Order!” but this proving, as usual, of no avail, the honorable member inquired, in a louder tone than before, “Sir, have not I a right to be heard?” “Sir,” replied Onslow, “you have a right to speak.”

* * * * *

Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania, abhorred smoking. His Quaker Council one day observing him approach, laid down their pipes. “I am glad to see,” said Penn, “that you are ashamed of that vile habit.” “Not at all,” said a principal Friend, “we only lay down our pipes lest we should offend _a weak brother_.”

A saloon-keeper having started business in a building where trunks had been made, asked a friend what he had better do with the old sign, “Trunk Factory.” “O,” said the friend, “just change the T to D, and it will suit you exactly.”

Years ago, when Henry Ward Beecher’s reputation was not world-wide, a Western Young Men’s Christian Association tried to persuade the divine to go out and lecture to them without charge, saying it would increase his _fame_. He telegraphed in reply: “I will lecture for F. A. M. E.—fifty and my expenses.”

Admiral Keppel was sent to the Dey of Algiers to negotiate the restoration of some English vessels which had been captured by Algerine pirates. He advocated the cause entrusted to him with a warmth and spirit which completely confounded the Dey’s ideas of what was due to absolute power. “I wonder,” said the offended dignitary, “at the King of England’s insolence in sending me such a foolish, beardless boy.”

“Had my master,” retorted Keppel, “considered that wisdom was to be measured by the length of the beard, he would have sent you a he-goat.”

Thackeray tells us of a woman begging alms from him, who, when she saw him put his hand in his pocket, cried out: “May the blessing of God follow you all your life!” But, when he only pulled out his snuff-box, she immediately added: “And never overtake ye.”

Dr. Reid, the celebrated medical writer, was requested by a lady of literary eminence to call at her house. “Be sure you recollect the address,” she said as she quitted the room—“No. 1 Chesterfield street.” “Madam,” said the doctor, “I am too great an admirer of politeness not to remember Chesterfield, and, I fear, too selfish ever to forget Number One.”

Two men disputing about the pronunciation of the word “either”—one saying it was ee-ther, the other i-ther—agreed to refer it to the first person they met, who happened to be an Irishman, who confounded both by declaring, “it’s nayther, for it’s ayther.”

A Parisian millionaire once wrote to the celebrated comic author, Scribe:—“Honored Sir—I wish very much to ally my name with yours in the creation of a dramatic work. Will you be so kind as to write a comedy of which I shall compose one or two lines, so that I may be mentioned in the title; I will bear the entire pecuniary expense, so that I may divide the glory.” Scribe, who was vain even to conceit, replied:—“Sir—I regret that I cannot comply with your modest request. It is not in accordance with my ideas of religion or propriety that a horse and an ass should be yoked together.” To which the millionaire quickly responded:—“Sir—I have received your impertinent letter. How dare you call me a horse!”

Voltaire was warmly panegyrizing Haller one day, when a person present remarked that his eulogy was very disinterested, for Haller did not speak well of him. “Ah, well,” said Voltaire, “perhaps we are both of us mistaken.”

An Irishman, abusing Erin, declared that it contained nothing good but the whiskey. Whereupon a wag observed, “You mean to say, then, that with all her faults you love her still.”

Bacon relates that a fellow named Hogg importuned Sir Nicholas to save his life on account of the kindred between Hog and Bacon. “Aye,” replied the judge, “but you and I cannot be kindred except you be hanged, for Hog is not Bacon until it be well hanged.”

Lord Eldon, struck by the appearance of a beautiful woman passing Westminster Hall, expressed his admiration freely. The lady overhearing, returned the compliment by pronouncing him to a friend near by a most excellent judge.

Thackeray, while in Charleston, S. C., was introduced to Mrs. C., one of the leaders of its society. In his pert way he said, “I am happy to meet you, madam; I have heard that you are a fast woman.” “Oh, Mr. Thackeray,” she replied with a fascinating smile, “we must not believe all we hear; I had heard, sir, that you were a gentleman.”

Mr. Spurgeon rebuked certain of his followers who refused to interfere in politics on the ground that they were “not of this world.” This, he argued, was mere metaphor. “You might as well,” said he, “being sheep of the Lord, decline to eat mutton-chop on the plea that it would be cannibalism.”

* * * * *

A young barrister, intending to be very eloquent, observed, “such principles as these, my Lord, are written in the Book of Nature.” “What page, sir?” said Lord Chief Justice Ellenborough; and the orator was silenced for life.

The Sexes.

As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman: Though she bends him, she obeys him; Though she draws him, yet she follows; Useless each without the other.—_Hiawatha._

Mrs. Jameson, speaking of the mistaken belief that there are essential masculine and feminine virtues and vices, says it is not the quality itself, but the modification of the quality, which is masculine or feminine; and on the manner or degree in which these are balanced or combined in the individual, depends the perfection of that individual character. As the influences of religion are extended and as civilization advances, those qualities which are now admired as essentially _feminine_ will be considered as essentially _human_,—such as gentleness, purity, the more unselfish and spiritual sense of duty, and the dominance of the affections over the passions. This is, perhaps, what Buffon, speaking as a naturalist, meant when he said that with the progress of humanity _Les races se féminisent_. The axiom of the Greek philosopher Antisthenes, the disciple of Socrates, _The virtue of the man and the woman is the same_, shows a perception of this moral truth, a sort of anticipation of the Christian doctrine, even in the pagan times.

Every reader of Wordsworth will recollect the poem entitled _The Happy Warrior_. It has been quoted as an epitome of every manly, soldierly, and elevated quality. Those who make the experiment of merely substituting the word §WOMAN§ for the word §WARRIOR§, and changing the feminine for the masculine pronoun, will find that it reads equally well, and from beginning to end is literally as applicable to the one sex as to the other. As thus:—

CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WOMAN.

Who is the happy _woman_? Who is _she_ That every _woman_ born should wish to be? It is the generous spirit who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased _her_ childish thought; Whose high endeavors are an inward light, That makes the path before _her_ always bright; Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes _her_ moral being _her_ prime care; Who, doomed to go in company with pain, And fear, and sorrow, miserable train! Turns _that_ necessity to glorious gain; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature’s highest dower; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives; By objects, which might force the soul to abate _Her_ feeling, rendered more compassionate; Is placable,—because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice; More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure As tempted more; more able to endure As more exposed to suffering and distress; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. ’Tis _she_ whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, _She_ fixes good on good alone, and owes To virtue every triumph that _she_ knows; Who, if _she_ rise to station or command, Rises by open means, and there will stand On honorable terms, or else retire—

* * * * *

Who comprehends _her_ trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state; Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall Like showers of manna, if they come at all; Whose power shed round _her_, in the common strife Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace; But who, if _she_ be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a lover; and, attired With sudden brightness, like to one inspired; And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what _she_ foresaw; Or if an unexpected call succeed, Come when it will, is equal to the need!

Mrs. Jameson adds that in all these fifty-six lines there is only one line which cannot be feminized in its significance,—that filled up with asterisks, and which is totally at variance with the ideal of _a happy woman_. It is the line—

And in himself possess his own desire.

No woman could exist happily or virtuously in such complete independence of all external affections as these words express. “Her desire is to her husband:” this is the sort of subjection prophesied for the daughters of Eve. A woman doomed to exist without this earthly rest for her affections does not “in herself possess her own desire;” she turns towards God; and, if she does not make her life a life of worship, she makes it a life of charity, or she dies a spiritual and a moral death. Is it much better with the man who concentrates his aspirations in himself?

THE PRAISE OF WOMEN.

_An Old English Ballad._

Both sexes, give ear to my fancy, While the praise of a woman I sing Confined not to Polly nor Nancy, But alike from the beggar to king.

When Adam at first was created, And lord of the universe crowned, His happiness was not completed, Because a help-meet was not found.

He had all things that were wanting, Which yield us contentment in life; Both horses and foxes for hunting, Which many love more than a wife.

A garden, so planted by nature, Man could not produce in his life; And yet the all-wise Creator Saw that he wanted a wife.

Old Adam was cast into slumber, A rib taken out of his side; And when he awoke in a wonder, He beheld his most beautiful bride.

With transport he gazéd upon her,— His happiness now was complete: He praised the all-bountiful Donor, Who thus had provided a mate.

She was not taken out of his head, To rule and triumph over man; Nor was she taken out of his heel, To be ruled and trampled upon.

But she was taken out of his side, His equal companion to be; And thus they both were united, And man is the top of the tree.

Then let not the fair be despiséd By man, for she’s part of himself; Since woman by Adam was prizéd More than the whole world full of wealth.

For man without woman’s a beggar, Although the whole world he possessed; And the beggar who has a good wife, With more than this world he is blest.

PARALLEL OF THE SEXES.

There is an admirable partition of qualities between the sexes, which the great Author of being has distributed to each with a wisdom which calls for our admiration. Man is strong,—woman is beautiful. Man is daring and confident,—woman is diffident and unassuming. Man is great in

## action,—woman, in suffering. Man shines abroad,—woman, at home. Man

talks to convince,—woman, to persuade and please. Man has a rugged heart,—woman, a soft and tender one. Man prevents misery,—woman relieves it. Man has science,—woman, taste. Man has judgment,—woman, sensibility. Man is a being of justice,—woman, of mercy.

FEMALE SOCIETY.

The following remarks come with peculiar force from one of such querulous and unconnubial habits as John Randolph:—

You know my opinion of female society: without it we should degenerate into brutes. This observation applies with tenfold force to young men, and those who are in the prime of manhood. For, after a certain time of life, the literary man makes a shift (a poor one, I grant) to do without the society of ladies. To a young man nothing is so important as a spirit of devotion (next to his Creator) to some amiable woman, whose image may occupy his heart and guard it from the pollution that besets it on all sides. A man ought to choose his wife as Mrs. Primrose did her wedding-gown,—for qualities that will “wear well.” One thing at least is true, that, if matrimony has its cares, celibacy has no pleasures. A Newton, or a mere scholar, may find enjoyment in study; a man of literary taste can receive in books a powerful auxiliary; but a man must have a bosom friend, and children around him, to cherish and support the dreariness of old age.

WIFE—MISTRESS—LADY.

Who marries for love takes a wife; who marries for convenience takes a mistress; who marries from consideration takes a lady. You are loved by your wife, regarded by your mistress, tolerated by your lady. You have a wife for yourself, a mistress for your house and its friends, a lady for the world. Your wife will agree with you, your mistress will accommodate you, your lady will manage you. Your wife will take care of your household, your mistress of your house, your lady of appearances. If you are sick, your wife will nurse you, your mistress will visit you, your lady will inquire after your health. You take a walk with your wife, a ride with your mistress, and join parties with your lady. Your wife will share your grief, your mistress your money, and your lady your debts. If you are dead, your wife will shed tears, your mistress lament, and your lady wear mourning.—_From the German._

MY MOTHER.

That was a thrilling scene in the old chivalric time—the wine circling around the board, and the banquet-hall ringing with sentiment and song—when, the lady of each knightly heart having been pledged by name, St. Leon arose in his turn, and, lifting the sparkling cup on high, said,—

“I drink to one Whose image never may depart, Deep graven on this grateful heart, Till memory is dead; To one whose love for me shall last When lighter passions long have passed, So holy ’tis, and true; To one whose love hath longer dwelt, More deeply fixed, more keenly felt, Than any pledge to you.” Each guest upstarted at the word, And laid his hand upon his sword, With fury-flashing eye; And Stanley said, “We crave the name, Proud knight, of this most peerless dame, Whose love you count so high.” St. Leon paused, as if he would Not breathe her name in careless mood Thus lightly to another,— Then bent his noble head, as though To give that word the reverence due, And gently said, “§My Mother§!”

LETTER TO A BRIDE.

The following letter was written by an old friend to a young lady on the eve of her wedding day:—

I have sent you a few flowers to adorn the dying moments of your single life. They are the gentlest types of delicate and durable friendship. They spring up by our side when others have deserted it; and they will be found watching over our graves when those who should cherish have forgotten us. It seems that a past, so calm and pure as yours, should expire with a kindred sweetness about it,—that flowers and music, kind friends and earnest words, should consecrate the hour when a sentiment is passing into a sacrament.

The three great stages of our being are the birth, the bridal, and the burial. To the first we bring only weakness—for the last we have nothing but dust! But here at the altar, when life joins life, the pair come throbbing up to the holy man, whispering the deep promise that arms each other’s heart, to help on in the life-struggle of care and duty. The beautiful will be there, borrowing new beauty from the scene. The gay and thoughtless, with their flounces and frivolities, will look solemn for once. Youth will come to gaze upon the object of its secret yearnings; and age will totter up to hear the words repeated that to their own lives had given the charm. Some will weep over it as if it were a tomb, and some laugh over it as if it were a joke; but two must stand by it, for it is fate, not fun, this everlasting locking of their lives.

And now, can you, who have queened it over so many bending forms, can you come down at last to the frugal diet of a single heart? Hitherto you have been a clock, giving your time to all the world. Now you are a watch, buried in one particular bosom, warming only his breast, marking only his hours, and ticking only to the beat of his heart—where time and feeling shall be in unison, until those lower ties are lost in that higher wedlock, where all hearts are united.

Hoping that calm and sunshine may hallow your clasped hands, I sink silently into a signature.

* * *

Moslem Wisdom.

SHREWD DECISION OF ALI, CALIPH OF BAGDAD.

In the Preliminary Dissertation to Dr. Richardson’s Arabic Dictionary the following curious anecdote is recorded:—

Two Arabians sat down to dinner: one had five loaves, the other three. A stranger passing by desired permission to eat with them, which they agreed to. The stranger dined, laid down eight pieces of money, and departed. The proprietor of the five loaves took up five pieces and left three for the other, who objected, and insisted on having one-half. The cause came before Ali, who gave the following judgment:—“Let the owner of the five loaves have seven pieces of money, and the owner of the three loaves one; for, if we divide the eight loaves by three, they make twenty-four parts; of which he who laid down the five loaves had fifteen, while he who laid down three had only nine. As all fared alike, and eight shares was each man’s proportion, the stranger ate seven parts of the first man’s property, and only one belonging to the other. The money, in justice, must be divided accordingly.”

THE WISDOM OF ALI.

The Prophet once, sitting in calm debate, Said, “I am Wisdom’s fortress; but the gate Thereof is Ali.” Wherefore, some who heard, With unbelieving jealousy were stirred; And, that they might on him confusion bring, Ten of the boldest joined to prove the thing. “Let us in turn to Ali go,” they said, “And ask if Wisdom should be sought instead Of earthly riches; then, if he reply To each of us, in thought, accordantly, And yet to none in speech or phrase the same, His shall the honor be, and ours the shame.” Now, when the first his bold demand did make, These were the words which Ali straightway spake:— “Wisdom is the inheritance of those Whom Allah favors; riches, of his foes.” Unto the second he said:—“Thyself must be Guard to thy riches; but Wisdom guardeth thee.” Unto the third:—“By Wisdom wealth is won; But riches purchased Wisdom yet for none.” Unto the fourth:—“Thy goods the thief may take; But into Wisdom’s house he cannot break.” Unto the fifth:—“Thy goods decrease the more Thou givest; but woe enlarges Wisdom’s store.” Unto the sixth:—“Wealth tempts to evil ways; But the desire of Wisdom is God’s praise.” Unto the seventh:—“Divide thy wealth, each part Becomes a pittance. Give with open heart Thy wisdom, and each separate gift shall be All that thou hast, yet not impoverish thee.” Unto the eighth:—“Wealth cannot keep itself; But Wisdom is the steward even of pelf.” Unto the ninth:—“The camels slowly bring Thy goods; but Wisdom has the swallow’s wing.” And lastly, when the tenth did question make, These were the ready words which Ali spake:— “Wealth is a darkness which the soul should fear; But Wisdom is the lamp that makes it clear.” Crimson with shame, the questioners withdrew, And they declared, “The Prophet’s words were true: The mouth of Ali is the golden door Of Wisdom.” When his friends to Ali bore These words, he smiled, and said, “And should they ask The same until my dying day, the task Were easy; for the stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.”

MOHAMMEDAN LOGIC.

The laws of Cos discountenance in a very singular manner any cruelty on the part of females towards their admirers. An instance occurred while Dr. Clarke and his companions were on the island, in which the unhappy termination of a love-affair occasioned a trial for what the Mohammedan lawyers casuistically describe as “homicide by an intermediate cause.” The following was the case: a young man desperately in love with a girl of Stanchis eagerly sought to marry her, but his proposals were rejected. In consequence, he destroyed himself by poison. The Turkish police arrested the father of the obdurate fair, and tried him for culpable homicide. “If the accused,” argued they, with much gravity, “had not had a daughter, the deceased would not have fallen in love; consequently he would not have been disappointed; consequently he would not have swallowed poison; consequently he would not have died;—but the accused had a daughter, the deceased had fallen in love,” &c. Upon all these counts he was called upon to pay the price of the young man’s life; and this, being fixed at the sum of eighty piastres, was accordingly exacted.

THE ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY.

Said Omar, “Either these books are in conformity with the Koran, or they are not. If they are, they are useless, and if not, they are evil: in either event, therefore, let them be destroyed.”

Such was the logic that led to the destruction of seven hundred thousand manuscript volumes.

TURKISH EXPEDIENTS.

A Turkish testator left to his eldest son one-half of his seventeen horses, to his second son one-third, to his third son one-ninth of his horses. The executor did not know what to do, as seventeen will neither divide by two, nor by three, nor by nine. A dervise came up on horseback, and the executor consulted him. The dervise said, “Take my horse, and add him to the others.” There were then eighteen horses. The executor then gave to the eldest son one-half,—nine; to the second son one-third,—six; to the third son one-ninth,—two: total, seventeen. The dervise then said, “You don’t want my horse now; I will take him back again.”

Excerpta from Persian Poetry.

EARTH AN ILLUSION.

From the mists of the Ocean of Truth in the skies A Mirage in deluding reflections doth rise, There is naught but reality there to be seen; We have here but the lie of its vapory sheen.—§Hafiz.§

HEAVEN AN ECHO OF EARTH.

’Tis but a shadow of the earth’s familiar bliss, Bright mirrored on the sky’s ethereal fonts, That fills our breasts with longings nothing can dismiss, In tremulous and glimmering response.

A MORAL ATMOSPHERE.

It is as hard for one whom sinners still prevent From prayer, to keep his virtue, yet with them to dwell, As it would be for a lotus of sweetest scent To blossom forth in beauty ’mid the flames of hell.

FORTUNE AND WORTH.

That haughty rich man see, a merely gilded clod; This poor man see, pure gold with common dust besmeared. Start not: in needy garb was Moses girt and shod, When waved and shone before him Pharaoh’s golden beard!

BROKEN HEARTS.

When other things are broken they are nothing worth, Unless it be to some old Jew or some repairer; But hearts, the more they’re bruised and broken here on earth, In heaven are so much the costlier and the fairer.

TO A GENEROUS MAN.

To cloud of rain refreshing all the land, It is not fit to liken thy free hand; For as that gives it weeps meanwhile, But thou still givest with a smile.

BEAUTY’S PREROGATIVE.

Thy beauty pales all sublunary things, And man to vassalage eternal dooms: The road before thee should be swept with brooms Made of the eye-lashes of peerless kings.

PROUD HUMILITY.

In proud humility a pious man went through the field; The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled; He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say, “Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay.”

FOLLY FOR ONE’S SELF.

He who is only for his neighbors wise, While his own soul in sad confusion lies, Is like those men who builded Noah’s ark, But sank, themselves, beneath the waters dark.

THE IMPOSSIBILITY.

When I shall see, though clad in gold or silk, In peace and joy a wicked man or maid, I then shall drink a bowl of pigeon’s milk, And eat the yellow eggs the ox has laid.

THE SOBER DRUNKENNESS.

Beware the deadly fumes of that insane elation Which rises from the cup of mad impiety, And go get drunk with that divine intoxication Which is more sober far than all sobriety.

A WINE-DRINKER’S METAPHORS.

As the nightingale oft from a rose’s dew sips, So I wet with fresh wine my belanguishing lips.

As the soul of perfume through a flower’s petals slips, So pure wine passes through the rose-door of my lips.

As to port from afar float the full-loaded ships, So this wine-beaker drifts to the strand of my lips.

As the white-driven sea o’er a cliff’s edges drips, So the red-tinted wine breaks in foam on my lips.

FROM MIRTSA SCHAFFY.

Better stars without shine, Than the shine without stars. Better wine without jars, Than the jars without wine. Better honey without bees, Than the bees without honey. Better please without money, Than have money but not please.

THE DOUBLE PLOT.

Three hungry travellers found a bag of gold; One ran into the town where bread was sold.

He thought, I will poison the bread I buy, And seize the treasure when my comrades die.

But they too thought, When back his feet have hied, We will destroy him and the gold divide.

They killed him; and, partaking of the bread, In a few moments all were lying dead.

O world I behold what ill thy goods have done; Thy gold thus poisoned two, and murdered one.

THE WORLD’S UNAPPRECIATION.

The lyrical poems of the East called _Ghazels_, of which the following, from Trench, is a brief specimen, have this peculiarity,—that the first two lines rhyme, and for this rhyme recurs a new one in the second line of each succeeding couplet, the alternate lines being free:—

What is the good man and the wise? Ofttimes a pearl which none doth prize; Or jewel rare, which men account A common pebble, and despise. Set forth upon the world’s bazaar, It mildly gleams, but no one buys, Till it in anger Heaven withdraws From the world’s undiscerning eyes, And in its shell the pearl again, And in its mine the jewel, lies.

THE CALIPH AND SATAN.

In heavy sleep the Caliph lay, When some one called, “Arise and pray!”

The angry Caliph cried, “Who dare Rebuke his king for slighted prayer?”

Then, from the corner of the room, A voice cut sharply through the gloom:—

“My name is Satan. Rise! obey Mohammed’s law: Awake and pray.”

“Thy _words_ are good,” the Caliph said, “But their intent I somewhat dread;

For matters cannot well be worse Than when the thief says, ‘Guard your purse.’

I cannot trust your counsel, friend: It surely hides some wicked end.”

Said Satan, “Near the throne of God, In ages past, we devils trod;

Angels of light, to us ’twas given To guide each wandering foot to Heaven;

Not wholly lost is that first love, Nor those pure tastes we knew above.

Roaming across a continent, The Tartar moves his shifting tent,

But never quite forgets the day When in his father’s arms he lay;

So we, once bathed in love divine, Recall the taste of that rich wine.

God’s finger rested on my brow,— That magic touch, I feel it now!

I fell, ’tis true,—Oh, ask not why! For still to God I turn my eye;

It was a chance by which I fell: Another takes me back to hell.

’Twas but my envy of mankind, The envy of a loving mind.

Jealous of men, I could not bear God’s love with this new race to share.

But yet God’s tables open stand, His guests flock in from every land.

Some kind act toward the race of men May toss us into heaven again.

A game of chess is all we see,— And God the player, pieces we.

White, black,—queen, pawn,—’tis all the same; For on both sides he plays the game.

Moved to and fro, from good to ill, We rise and fall as suits his will.”

The Caliph said, “If this be so I know not; but thy guile I know;

For how can I thy words believe, When even §God§ thou didst deceive?

A sea of lies art thou,—our sin, Only a drop that sea within.”

“Not so,” said Satan: “I serve God, His angel now, and now his rod.

In tempting, I both bless and curse, Make good men better, bad men worse.

Good coin is mixed with bad, my brother, I but distinguish one from th’ other.”

“Granted,” the Caliph said; “but still You never tempt to good, but ill.

Tell, then, the truth; for well I know You come as my most deadly foe.”

Loud laughed the fiend. “You know me well; Therefore my purpose will I tell:

If you had missed your prayer, I knew A swift repentance would ensue;

And such repentance would have been A good, outweighing far the sin.

I chose this humbleness divine, Born out of fault, should not be thine;

Preferring prayers elate with pride, To sin with penitence allied.”

Epigrams.

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAM ON EPIGRAMS.

Omnis epigramma, sit instar apis; sit aculeus illi, Sint sua mella, sit et corporis exigui. [Three things must epigrams, like bees, have all,— A sting, and honey, and a body small.]

MIDAS AND MODERN STATESMEN.

Midas, they say, possessed the art, of old, Of turning whatsoe’er he touched to gold. This, modern statesmen can reverse with case; Touch them with gold, they’ll turn to what you please.

INSCRIBED ON A STATUE TO SLEEP.

Somne levis, quanquam certissima mortis imago, Consortem cupio te tamen esse tori, Alma quies, optata, veni, nam sic sine vita Vivere quam suave est, sic sine morte mori.—§Warton.§

[Light sleep, though death’s strong image, prythee give Thy fellowship while in my couch I lie; O gentle, wished-for rest, how sweet to _live_ Thus without _life_, and without _death_ to _die_!][18]

Footnote 18:

Come, gentle sleep! attend thy votary’s prayer, And, though death’s image, to my couch repair; How sweet, though lifeless, yet with life to lie, And, without dying, oh, how sweet to die!—_Wolcot’s Trans._

TO DR. ROBERT FREIND, WHO WROTE LONG EPITAPHS.

Freind, for your epitaphs I’m grieved, Where still so much is said: One half will never be believed, The other never read.—§Pope.§

THE FOOL AND THE POET.

Sir, I admit your general rule, That every poet is a fool; But you yourself may serve to show it That every fool is not a poet.—§Pope.§

DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS.

Live while you live, the _epicure_ would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day. Live while you live, the sacred _preacher_ cries, And give to God each moment as it flies. Lord, in my view let both united be; I live in pleasure while I live to thee.—§Doddridge.§

TO “MOLLY ASTON,”

_A celebrated “beauty, scholar, and wit,” who spoke in praise of liberty._

Liber ut esse velim, suasisti, pulchra Maria: Ut maneam liber, pulchra Maria, vale!—§Dr. Johnson.§

[Freedom you teach, fair Mary. To be free, Farewell, lest I should be enslaved by thee!]

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT.

Thou mayst of double ignorance boast, Who knowst not that thou nothing knowst.—§Owen§, _Trans. by Cowper_.

TO OUR BED.

In bed we laugh, in bed we cry; And born in bed, in bed we die: The near approach the bed may show Of human bliss to human woe.—§Benserade.§

LATE REPENTANCE.

Pravus, that aged debauchee, Proclaimed a vow his sins to quit; But is he yet from any free, Except what now he _can’t_ commit?

ON A PALE LADY WITH A RED-NOSED HUSBAND.

Whence comes it that in Clara’s face The lily only has its place? Is it because the absent rose Has gone to paint her husband’s nose?

ON SOME SNOW THAT MELTED ON A LADY’S BREAST.

Those envious flakes came down in haste, To prove her breast less fair, But, grieved to find themselves surpassed,[19] Dissolved into a tear.

Footnote 19:

The following madrigal was addressed to a Lancastrian lady, and accompanied with a white rose, during the opposition of the “White Rose” and “Red Rose” adherents of the houses of York and Lancaster:—

If this fair rose offend thy sight, It in thy bosom wear; ’Twill blush to find itself less white, And turn Lancastrian there.

SELYAGGI’S DISTICH ADDRESSED TO JOHN MILTON.

_While at Rome._

Græcia Mœonidem, jactet sibi Roma Maronem, Anglia Miltonum jactat utrique parem.

DRYDEN’S AMPLIFICATION.

Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next, in majesty; in both, the last. The force of nature could no further go: To make a third, she joined the former two.

ON BUTLER’S MONUMENT.

While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, No generous patron would a dinner give. See him, when starved to death and turned to dust, Presented with a monumental bust. The poet’s fate is hero in emblem shown: He asked for bread, and he received a _stone_.—§S. Wesley.§

OVERDRAWN COMPLIMENT.

So much, dear Pope, thy English Homer charms, As pity melts us, or as passion warms, That after-ages will with wonder seek Who ’twas translated Homer into Greek.

SUGGESTED BY A GERMAN TOURIST.

_Who accompanied Prince Albert into Scotland._

Charmed with the drink which Highlanders compose, A German traveller exclaimed, with glee, “Potztausend! sare, if this be Athol _Brose_,[20] How good the Athol _Boetry_ must be!”—§Tom Hood.§

Footnote 20:

Athol brose is a favorite Highland drink, composed of honey, whiskey, and water, although the proportion of the latter is usually so homœopathically minute as to be difficult of detection except by chemical or microscopical analysis. Possibly the Scotch aversion to injuring the flavor of their whiskey by dilution arises from a fact noted by N. P. Willis, that the water has tasted so strongly of sinners ever since the Flood.

ETERNITY.

Reason does but one quaint solution lend To nature’s deepest yet divinest riddle; Time is a _beginning_ and an _end_, Eternity is nothing but a _middle_.

OCCASIONED BY THE LOSS OF A CLERGYMAN’S PORTMANTEAU,

_Containing his Sermons._

I’ve lost my portmanteau. “I pity your grief.” It contained all my sermons. “I pity the thief!”

TO A LIVING AUTHOR.

Your comedy I’ve read, my friend, And like the half you pilfered, best; But sure the piece you yet may mend: Take courage, man! and steal the rest.

THE FRUGAL QUEEN.

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, When deprived of her husband she lovéd so well, In respect for the love and affection he showed her, She reduced him to dust, and she drank off the powder. But Queen Netherplace, of a different complexion, When called on to order the funeral direction, Would have ate her dead lord, on a slender pretence, Not to show her respect, but—to save the expense!—§Burns.§

ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE’S BRAINS.

Lord, to account who dares thee call, Or e’er dispute thy pleasure? Else why within so thick a wall Enclose so poor a treasure?—§Burns.§

GIVING AND TAKING.

“I never give a kiss,” says Prue, “To naughty man, for I abhor it.” She will not _give_ a kiss, ’tis true: She’ll _take_ one, though, and thank you for it.—§Moore.§

TO ——.

“Moria pur quando vuol non è bisogna mutar ni faccia ni voce per esser un Angelo.”

Die when you will, you need not wear At Heaven’s court a form more fair Than beauty here on earth has given; Keep but the lovely looks we see,— The voice we hear,—and you will be An angel _ready-made_ for heaven!—§Moore.§

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS, WITH A PRESENT OF A MIRROR.

This mirror my object of love will unfold Whensoe’er your regard it allures: Oh, would, when I’m gazing, that I might behold On its surface the object of yours!

TO A CAPRICIOUS FRIEND.

Difficilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus es idem, Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.—§Martial.§

[In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, Thou’rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow, Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee.—§Addison.§]

MENDAX.

See! yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies To that good, easy man with whom he’s walking. How know I that? you ask, with some surprise; Why, don’t you see, my friend, the fellow’s talking!—§Lessing.§

ON FELL.

While Fell was reposing himself on the hay, A reptile, concealed, bit his leg as he lay; But, all venom himself, of the wound he made light, And got well, while the scorpion died of the bite.—§Lessing.§

ON AN ILL-READ LAWYER.

An idle attorney besought a brother For “something to read,—some novel or other, That was really fresh and new.” “Take Chitty!” replies his legal friend: “There isn’t a book that I could lend, That would prove more ‘novel’ to you!”—§Saxe.§

WOMAN’S WILL.

Men dying make their wills; but wives Escape a work so sad: Why should they make what all their lives The gentle dames have had?—§Saxe.§

WELLINGTON’S NOSE.

“Pray, why does the great Captain’s nose Resemble Venice?” Duncomb cries. “Why,” quoth Sam Rogers, “I suppose Because it has a bridge of size (sighs).”

ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.

A poor man went to hang himself But treasure chanced to find: He pocketed the miser’s pelf, And left the rope behind.

His money gone, the miser hung Himself in sheer despair: Thus each the other’s wants supplied, And that was surely fair.

BAD SONGSTERS.

Swans sing before they die: ’twere no bad thing Did certain persons die before they sing.—§Coleridge.§

ON A BAD FIDDLER.

Old Orpheus played so well, he moved Old Nick; But thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddle-stick.

ON A CERTAIN D.D.

_Who, from a peculiarity in his walk, had acquired the sobriquet of Dr. Toe, being jilted by Miss H., who eloped with her father’s footman._

’Twixt footman Sam and Doctor Toe A controversy fell, Which should prevail against his foe, And bear away the belle. The lady chose the footman’s heart. Say, who can wonder? no man: The whole prevailed above the part: ’Twas _Foot_-man _versus Toe_-man.

ON AN OLD LADY WHO MARRIED HER FOOTMAN.

Old Lady Lovejoy, aged just threescore, Whose lusty footboy rode behind, before, Is, in a fit of fondness, grown so kind, He rides within, who rode before, behind.

“HOT CORN.”

“How much corn may a gentleman eat?” whispered P, While the cobs on his plate lay in tiers. “As to that,” answered Q, as he glanced at the heap, “’Twill depend on the length of his ears.”

BONNETS.

In 1817, when straw bonnets first came into general use, it was common to trim them with artificial wheat or barley, in ears; whence the following:—

Who now of threatening famine dare complain, When every female forehead teems with grain? See how the wheat-sheaves nod amid the plumes: Our barns are now transferred to drawing-rooms, And husbands who indulge in active lives, To fill their granaries, may thresh their wives!

Campbell, the poet, was asked by a lady to write something original in her album. He wrote,—

An original something, dear maid, you would win me To write; but how shall I begin? For I’m sure I have nothing original in me, Excepting _original sin_. “How very easy ’tis,” cries Tom, “to write! I find ’t no hardship verses to indite.” “To credit that,” quoth Dick, “no oaths we need: The hardship is for _those who have to read_.”

Thy verses are eternal, O my friend! For he who reads them, reads them to no end.

Unfortunate lady, how sad is your lot! Your ringlets are _red_, and your poems are not.

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.

That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be; And serpent-like, that none may injure thee!—§Cowper.§

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS.

I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend; For when at worst, they say, things always mend.—§Cowper.§

HOG _vs._ BACON.

Judge Bacon once trying a man, Hog by name, Who made with his lordship of kindred a claim; “Hold,” said the judge,—“you’re a little mistaken Hog must be _hung_ first before ’tis good Bacon.”

A WARM RECEPTION.

Rusticus wrote a letter to his love, And filled it full of warm and keen desire; He hoped to raise a flame, and so he did: The lady put his nonsense in the fire.

MEDICAL ADVICE.

“I’m very ill,” said Skinflint, once essaying To get a doctor’s counsel without paying. “I see it,” quoth the wily old physician; “You’re in a most deplorable condition.” “But tell me,” cried the miser, “for God’s sake, Tell me, dear doctor, what I ought to take.” “Take! as to that—why, take, at any price,” Replied the leech, “_take medical advice_!”

DEFINITION OF A DENTIST.

A dentist fashions teeth of bone For those whom fate has left without, And finds provision for his _own_ By pulling other people’s out.

Dr. Samuel Goodenough, Bishop of Carlisle, preached on one occasion before the House of Commons. The event gave rise to the following:—

’Tis well-enough that Goodenough Before the House should preach; For sure-enough full bad-enough Are those he has to teach.

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

As two divines their ambling steeds bestriding, In merry mood o’er Boston Neck were riding, Sudden a simple structure met their sight, From which the convict takes his hempen flight; When sailor-like he bids adieu to hope, His all depending on a single rope. “Say, brother,” cried the one, “pray where were you Had yonder gallows been allowed its due?” “Where?” cried the other, in sarcastic tone, “Why, where but riding into town alone.”

A REFLECTION.

Says the Earth to the Moon “You’re a pilfering jade; What you steal from the Sun is beyond all belief.” Fair Cynthia replies, “Madam Earth, hold your prate; The receiver is always as bad as the thief.”

“THE WOMAN GAVE ME OF THE TREE.”

When Eve upon the first of men The apple pressed with specious cant, Oh, what a thousand pities, then, That Adam was not Adamant.

THE BLADES OF THE SHEARS.

Two lawyers when a knotty case was o’er, Shook hands, and were as friendly as before; “Zounds!” said the client, “I would fain know how You can be friends, who were such foes just now?” “Thou fool!” said one, “We lawyers, though so keen, Like shears, ne’er cut ourselves, but what’s between.”

The following was written by Southey on Queen Elizabeth’s dining on board Sir Francis Drake’s ship, on his return from circumnavigating the globe:—

Oh, Nature! to old England still Continue these mistakes; Give us for all our _Kings_ such _Queens_, And for our _Dux_ such _Drakes_.

INVISIBLE.

I cannot praise your parson’s eyes; I never _see_ his eyes divine, For when he prays he shuts _his_ eyes, And when he preaches he shuts mine.

IMPERSONAL.

Quoth Madam Bas Bleu, “I hear you have said, Intellectual women are always your dread; Now tell me, dear sir, is it true?” “Why, yes,” said the wag, “Very likely I may Have made the remark in a jocular way; But then, on my honor, I didn’t mean you.”

AFFINITIES.

“A lady, once, whose love was sold, Asked if a reason could be told, Why wedding rings were made of gold: I ventured thus to instruct her:— Love and lightning are the same; On earth they glance, from Heaven they came: Love is the soul’s electric flame— And gold its best conductor.”

THE CRIER WHO COULD NOT CRY.

I heard a judge his tipstaff call And say, “Sir, I desire You go forthwith and search the Hall, And send to me the crier.” “And search, my Lord, in vain, I may”— The tipstaff gravely said— “The Crier cannot _cry_ to-day, Because his wife is dead.”

THE PARSON AND BUTCHER.

A parson and a butcher chanced, they say, To meet and moralize one Sabbath day. “Ah!” cries the parson, “all things good and fair, All that is virtuous, wise, belovéd, rare, Is sure the first to feel the stroke of fate; While vice and folly have a longer date.” “True,” cries the butcher, “for it is decreed, The fattest pig, alas! must soonest bleed.”

THE CLOCK.

A mechanic his labor will often discard, If the rate of his pay he dislikes; But a clock—and its _case_ is uncommonly hard— Will continue to _work_ though it _strikes_.—§Hood.§

MASCULINE.

“What pity ’tis,” said John, the sage, “That women should, for hire, Expose themselves upon the stage, By wearing men’s attire!”

“_Expose!_” cries Ned, who loves a jeer; “In sense you surely fail: What do the darlings have to fear When clad in coats-of-_male_?”

IN RETURN FOR A LADY’S SKETCH OF THE APOLLO.

If fair Apollo drew his bow As well as you have drawn it here, No wonder that he carries woe To many a maiden far and near.

One difference, though, I understand, Between this picture and the giver: Apollo keeps his bow in hand— You keep your beaux upon the quiver.

WIDOWS.

As in India, one day, an Englishman sat With a smart native lass at the window, “Do your widows burn themselves? pray tell me that?” Said the pretty, inquisitive Hindoo.

“Do they burn? ah, yes,” the gentleman said, “With a flame not so easy to smother: Our widows, the moment one husband is dead, Immediately burn for another!”—§Canning.§

The following epigram by Samuel Rogers, on Lord Dudley’s studied speeches in Parliament, was pronounced by Byron, in conversation with Lady Blessington, “one of the best in the English language, with the true Greek talent of expressing, by implication, what is wished to be conveyed:”—

Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it: He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.

On the marriage of Dr. Webb with Miss Gould, a classical friend sent him the following:—

Tela fuit simplex statuens decus addere telæ, Fecit hymen geminam puroque intexuit auro. [Single no more, a double Webb behold; Hymen embroidered it with virgin Gould.]

AFTER GOING TO LAW.

This law, they say, great nature’s chain connects, That _causes_ ever must produce _effects_. In me behold reversed great nature’s laws,— All my _effects_ lost by a single _cause_.

SAME JAWBONE.

Jack eating rotten cheese did say, “Like Samson I my thousands slay.” “I vow,” says Roger, “so you do, And with the selfsame weapon too.”

A FUNNY DETERMINATION.

Queenly Miss Quaint, the aim of whose life Is to die an old maid or a minister’s wife, Grotesquely averred, after hearing young Spread, “I’ll hear him all day, _if I walk on my head_!” “Good!” said old Hunx, with a comical smile; “But please, if you’re late, don’t come up the broad aisle!”

MARRIAGE À LA MODE.

“Tom, you should take a wife.” “Nay, God forbid!” “I found you one last night.” “The deuce you did!” “Softly! perhaps she’ll please you.” “Oh, of course!” “Eighteen.” “Alarming!” “Witty.” “Nay, that’s worse!” “Discreet.” “All show!” “Handsome.” “To lure the fellows!” “High-born.” “Ay, haughty!” “Tender-hearted.” “Jealous!” “Talents o’erflowing.” “Ay, enough to sluice me!” “And then, Tom, such a fortune!” “Introduce me!”

QUID PRO QUO.

“Marriage, not mirage, Jane, here in your letter: With your education, you surely know better.” Quickly spoke my young wife, while I sat in confusion, “’Tis quite correct, Thomas: they’re each an illusion.”

WOMAN—CONTRA.

When Adam, waking, first his lids unfolds In Eden’s groves, beside him he beholds Bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, and knows His earliest sleep has proved his last repose.

WOMAN—PRO.

Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung, Not she denied him with unholy tongue: She, when apostles shrunk, could danger brave; Last at the cross, and earliest at the grave.—§Barrett.§

ABUNDANCE OF FOOLS.

The world of fools has such a store, That he who would not see an ass Must bide at home, and bolt his door, And break his looking-glass.—§La Monnoye.§

THE WORLD.

’Tis an excellent world that we live in To lend, to spend, or to give in; But to borrow, or beg, or get a man’s own, ’Tis just the worst world that ever was known.

TERMINER SANS OYER.

“Call silence!” the judge to the officer cries; “This hubbub and talk, will it never be done? Those people this morning have made such a noise, We’ve decided ten causes without hearing one.”

DOUBLE VISION UTILIZED.

An incipient toper was checked t’other day, In his downward career, in a very strange way. The effect of indulgence, he found to his trouble, Was that after two bottles he came to see double; When with staggering steps to his home he betook him, He saw always _two wives_, sitting up to rebuke him. _One_ wife in her wrath makes a pretty strong case; But a _couple_ thus scolding, what courage could face?

Impromptus.

One day, as Dr. Young was walking in his garden at Welwyn in company with two ladies, (one of whom he afterwards married,) the servant came to acquaint him that a gentleman wished to speak with him. “Tell him,” said the doctor, “I am too happily engaged to change my situation.” The ladies insisted that he should go, as his visitor was a man of rank, his patron, and his friend. But, as persuasion had no effect, one took him by the right arm, the other by the left, and led him to the garden-gate; when, finding resistance in vain, he bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and, in that expressive manner for which he was so remarkable, spoke the following lines:—

Thus Adam looked when from the garden driven, And thus disputed orders sent from heaven. Like him I go, but yet to go I’m loath; Like him I go, for angels drove us both. Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind: His Eve went with him, but mine stays behind.

Ben Jonson having been invited to dine at the Falcon Tavern, where he was already deeply in debt, the landlord promised to wipe out the score if he would tell him what God, and the devil, and the world, and the landlord himself, would be best pleased with. To which the ready poet promptly replied:—

God is best pleased when men forsake their sin; The devil is best pleased when they persist therein; The world’s best pleased when thou dost sell good wine; And you’re best pleased when I do pay for mine.

A well-known instance of self-extrication from a dilemma is thus rendered in rhyme:—

When Queen Elizabeth desired That Melville would acknowledge fairly Whether herself he most admired, Or his own sovereign, Lady Mary? The puzzled knight his answer thus expressed:— “In her own country each is handsomest.”

Burns, going into church one Sunday and finding it difficult to procure a seat, was kindly invited by a young lady into her pew. The sermon being upon the terrors of the law, and the preacher being particularly severe in his denunciation of sinners, the lady, who was very attentive, became much agitated. Burns, on perceiving it, wrote with his pencil, on a blank leaf of her Bible, the following:—

Fair maid, you need not take the hint, Nor idle texts pursue: ’Twas only sinners that he meant, Not angels such as you.

One evening at the King’s Arms, Dumfries, Burns was called from a party of friends to see an impertinent coxcomb in the form of an English commercial traveller, who patronizingly invited the _Ayrshire Ploughman_ to a glass of wine at his table. Entering into conversation with the _condescending_ stranger, Burns soon saw what sort of person he had to deal with. About to leave the room, the poet was urged to give a specimen of his facility in impromptu versifying, when, having asked the name and age of the conceited traveller, he instantly penned and handed him the following stanza,—after which he abruptly departed:—

In seventeen hundred forty-nine, Satan took stuff to make a swine, And cuist it in a corner; But wilily he changed his plan, Shaped it to something like a man, And ca’d it Andrew Horner.

After Burke had finished his extraordinary speech against Warren Hastings, the latter (according to the testimony of his private secretary, Mr. Evans) wrote the following sarcastic impromptu:—

Oft have we wondered that on Irish ground No poisonous reptile ever yet was found; The secret stands revealed in Nature’s work: She saved her venom to create a _Burke_!

Dr. Johnson’s definition of a note of admiration (!), made on the moment, is very neat:—

I see—I see—I know not what: I see a dash above a dot, Presenting to my contemplation A perfect point of admiration!

An old gentleman named Gould, having married a young lady of nineteen, thus addressed his friend Dr. G. at the wedding festival:—

So you see, my dear sir, though eighty years old, A girl of nineteen falls in love with _old Gould_.

To which the doctor replied,—

A girl of nineteen may love _Gould_, it is true, But believe me, dear sir, it is _Gold_ without _U_.

When Percy first published his collection of Ancient English Ballads, he was rather lavish in commendation of their beautiful simplicity. This provoked Dr. Johnson to say one evening, at the tea-table of Miss Reynolds, that he could rhyme as well and as elegantly in common narrative and conversation. “For instance,” said he,—

“As, with my hat upon my head, I walked along the strand, I there did meet another man With his hat in his hand.

Or, to render such poetry subservient to my own immediate use,—

I therefore pray thee, Renny dear That thou wilt give to me, With cream and sugar softened well, Another cup of tea.

Nor fear that I, my gentle maid, Shall long detain the cup, When once unto the bottom I Have drank the liquor up.

Yet hear, alas! this mournful truth, Nor hear it with a frown; Thou canst not make the tea as fast As I can gulp it down.”

Mr. Fox, the great orator, was on one occasion told by a lady that she “_did not care three skips of a louse for him_.” He immediately took out his pencil and wrote the following:—

A lady has told me, and in her own house, That she cares not for me “three skips of a louse.” I forgive the dear creature for what she has said, Since women will talk of what _runs in their head_.

Barty Willard, who formerly lived in the northern part of Vermont, was noted for his careless, vagabond habits, ready wit, and remarkable facility at extempore rhyming. Sitting one day in a village store, among a crowd of idlers who always gathered about him on his arrival, the merchant asked Barty “why he always wore that shocking bad hat.” Barty replied that it was simply because he was unable to purchase a new one.

“Come,” said the merchant; “make me a good rhyme on the old hat immediately, without stopping to think, and I’ll give you the best castor in the store.” Whereupon Barty threw his old tile on the floor, and began:—

Here lies my old hat, And, pray, what of that? ’Tis as good as the rest of my raiment: If I buy me a better, You’ll make me your debtor And send me to jail for the payment.

The new hat was adjudged, by the “unanimous vote of the house,” to belong to Barty, who wore it off in triumph, saying, “it was a poor head that couldn’t take care of itself.”

* * * * *

An Oxford and Cambridge man, who had had frequent disputes concerning the divinity of Christ, chancing to meet in company, the former, with a serio-comical air, wrote the following lines and handed them to the latter:—

Tu Judæ similis Dominumque Deumque negasti; Dissimilis Judas est tibi—pœnituit. [You, Judas like, your Lord and God denied; Judas, unlike to you, repentant sighed.]

Whereupon the “heretic” retorted,—

Tu simul et similis Judæ, tu dissimilisque; Judæ iterum similis sis, laqueumque petas. [You are like Judas, yet unlike that elf; Once more like Judas be, and hang yourself.]

The common phrase _Give the Devil his due_, was turned very wittily by a member of the bar in North Carolina, some years ago, on three of his legal brethren. During the trial of a case, Hillman, Dews, and Swain (all distinguished lawyers, and the last-named President of the State University) handed James Dodge, the Clerk of the Supreme Court, the following epitaph:—

Here lies James Dodge, who dodged all good, And never dodged an evil: And, after dodging all he could, He could not dodge the Devil!

Mr. Dodge sent back to the gentlemen the annexed impromptu reply, which may be considered equal to any thing ever expressed in the best days of Queens Anne or Bess:—

Here lies a Hillman and a Swain; Their lot let no man choose: They lived in sin, and died in pain, And the Devil got his dues! (Dews.)

A lady wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass,—

God did at first make man upright; but he—

To which a gentleman added,—

Most surely had continued so; but _she_—

A lady wrote upon a window some verses, intimating her design of never marrying. A gentleman wrote the following lines underneath:—

The lady whose resolve these words betoken, Wrote them on glass, to show it may be broken.

Sir Walter Raleigh having written on a window,—

Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall,—

Queen Elizabeth, the instant she saw it, wrote under it,—

If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all.

Perhaps the most delicate flattery ever uttered was that of the ambassador, who, being asked by a beautiful queen, upon his introduction to her court, whether a celebrated beauty in his own country was the handsomest woman he had ever seen, replied, “I thought so yesterday.”

A party of gentlemen at Lord Macclesfield’s, one evening, agreed to amuse themselves by drawing tickets on which various uncomplimentary devices were written. These were extemporaneously turned into compliments by Cowper as follows:—

_Vanity._—Drawn by Lord Macclesfield. Be vain, my lord, you have a right; For who, like you, can boast this night, A group assembled in one place Fraught with such beauty, wit and grace?

_Insensibility._—Mr. Marsham. Insensible can Marsham be? Yes and no fault you must agree; His heart his virtue only warms, Insensible to vice’s charms.

_Inconstancy._—Mr. Adams. Inconstancy there is no harm in, In Adams where it looks so charming: Who wavers as, he well may boast, Which virtue he shall follow most.

_Impudence._—Mr. St. John. St. John, your vice you can’t disown: For in this age ’tis too well known, That impudent that man must be Who dares from folly to be free.

_Intemperance._—Mr. Gerard. Intemperance implies excess: Changed though the name, the fault’s not less; Yet, blush not, Gerard, there’s no need,— In all that’s worthy you exceed.

A _Blank_ was drawn by Mr. Legge. If she a blank for Legge designed, Sure Fortune is no longer blind; For we shall fill the paper given With every virtue under heaven.

_Cowardice._—Gen. Caillard. Most soldiers cowardice disclaim, But Caillard owns it without shame; Bold in whate’er to arms belong, He wants the courage to do wrong.

A traveller, upon reading the inscription affixed to the gates of Bandon, (a town in Ireland originally peopled by English Protestants,)—

Jew, Turk or Atheist enter here; But let no Papist dare appear,—

wrote the following smart reply underneath:—

He who wrote this wrote it well; The same is written on the gates of hell.

At one of Burns’ convivial dinners he was requested to say grace; whereupon he gave the following impromptu:—

Lord, we do thee humbly thank For that we little merit.— Now Jean may take the flesh away, And Will bring in the spirit.

Refractory Rhyming.

When Canning was challenged to find a rhyme for _Julianna_, he immediately wrote,—

Walking in the shady grove With my Julianna, For lozenges I gave my love Ipecacuanha.

Ipecacuanha lozenges, though a myth when the stanza was written, are now commonly sold by apothecaries.

* * * * *

Three or four wits, while dining together, discussed the difficulty of finding rhymes for certain names. General Morris challenged any of the party to find a happy rhyme for his name; and the challenge was instantly taken up by John Brougham, whose facility at extempore rhyming is proverbial:—

All hail to thee, thou gifted son! The warrior-poet Morris! ’Tis seldom that we see in one A Cæsar and a Horace.

Some years ago a French speculator found himself ruined by a sudden collapse in the stock-market. He resolved to commit suicide, but, as he was a connoisseur in monumental literature, he decided first to compose his own epitaph. The first line—a very fine one—terminated with the word _triomphe_. To this, search as he might, he could find no rhyme, and he could not bring himself to sacrifice his beloved line. Time passed, finding him still in search of his rhyme, assisted by a number of benevolent friends, but all in vain. One day a promising speculation presented itself: he seized the opportunity and regained his fortune.

The rhyme so zealously sought has at length been found, and the epitaph completed. Here it is:—

Attendre que de soi la vétusté triomphe, C’est absurde! Je vais au devant de la mort. Mourir a plus d’attraits quand on est jeune encore: A quoi bon devenir un vieillard monogomphe?

_Monogomphe_; a brilliant Hellenism signifying “who has but a single tooth.”

* * * * *

To get a rhyme in English for the word _month_ was quite a matter of interest with curious people years ago, and somebody made it out or forced it by making a quatrain, in which a lisping little girl is described as saying:—

——I can get a rhyme for a month. I can thay it now, I thed it wunth!

Another plan was to twist the numeral _one_ into an ordinal. For instance:—

Search through the works of Thackeray—you’ll find a rhyme to month; He tells us of Phil Fogarty, of the fighting onety-oneth!

A parallel lisp is as follows:—

“You can’t,” says Tom to lisping Bill, “Find any rhyme for month.” “A great mithtake,” was Bill’s reply; “I’ll find a rhyme at _onth_.”

And

Among our numerous English rhymes, They say there’s none to month; I tried and failed a hundred times, But succeeded the hundred and _onth_.

But these are hardly fair. The rhyme is good, but the English is bad. Christina Rosetti has done better in the admirable book of nursery rhymes which she has published under the title of _Sing-Song_:—

How many weeks in a month? Four, as the swift moon runn’th—

In both of these instances, however, the rhymes are evasions of the real issue. The problem is not to make a word by compounding two, or distorting one, but to find a word ready-made, in our unabridged dictionaries that will rhyme properly to month. We believe there is none. Nor is there a fair rhyme to the word _silver_, nor to _spirit_, nor to _chimney_. Horace Smith, one of the authors of the _Rejected Addresses_, once attempted to make one for chimney on a bet, and he did it in this way:—

Standing on roof and by chimney Are master and ’prentice with slim knee.

Another dissyllabic poser is _liquid_. Mr. C. A. Bristed attempts to meet it as follows:—

After imbibing liquid, A man in the South Duly proceeds to stick quid (Very likely a thick quid) Into his mouth.

And “Mickey Rooney” contributes this:—

Shure Quicquid is a thick wit, If he can not rhyme to liquid, A thing that any Mick wid The greatest aise can do: Just take the herb called chick-weed, Which they often cure the sick wid, That’s a dacent rhyme for liquid, And from a Mickey, too.

Some one having challenged a rhyme for _carpet_, the following “lines to a pretty barmaid” were elicited in response:—

Sweet maid of the inn, ’Tis surely no sin To toast such a beautiful bar pet; Believe me, my dear, Your feet would appear At home on a nobleman’s carpet.

Rhymes were thus found for _window_:—

A cruel man a beetle caught, And to the wall him pinned, oh! Then said the beetle to the crowd, “Though I’m stuck up I am not proud,” And his soul went out of the window.

Bold Robin Hood, that archer good, Shot down fat buck and _thin_ doe; Rough storms withstood in thick greenwood, Nor care for door or window.

This for _garden_:—

Though Afric’s lion be not here In showman’s stoutly barred den, An “Irish Lion” you may see At large in Winter Garden.

The difficulty with porringer has thus been overcome:—

The second James a daughter had, Too fine to lick a porringer; He sought her out a noble lad, And gave the Prince of Orange her.

And in this stanza:—

When nations doubt our power to fight, We smile at every foreign jeer; And with untroubled appetite, Still empty plate and porringer.

These for _orange_ and _lemon_:—

I gave my darling child a lemon, That lately grew its fragrant stem on; And next, to give her pleasure _more_ range I offered her a juicy orange, And nuts—she cracked them in the door-hinge.

And many an _ill_, grim, And travel-worn pilgrim,

has traveled far out of his way before succeeding with widow:—

Who would not always as he’s bid do, Should never think to wed a widow.

The jury found that Pickwick did owe Damages to Bardell’s widow.

Pickwick _loquitur_:—

Since of this suit I now am rid, O, Ne’er again I’ll lodge with a widow!

Among the stubborn proper names are _Tipperary and Timbuctoo_. The most successful effort to match the latter was an impromptu by a gentleman who had accompanied a lady home from church one Sunday evening, and who found her hymn-book is his pocket next morning. He returned it with these lines:—

My dear and much respected Jenny, You must have thought me quite a ninny For carrying off your hymn-book to My house. Had you thoughts visionary, And did you dream some missionary Had flown with it to Timbuctoo?

Another attempt runs thus:—

I went a hunting on the plains, The plains of Timbuctoo; I shot one buck for all my pains, And he was a slim buck too.

An unattainable rhyme might be sought for _Euxine_, had not Byron said—

——Euxine, The dirtiest little sea that mortal ever pukes in.

The following is from Tom Moore’s _Fudge Family in Paris_:—

Take instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a Desperate dash down the Falls of Niagara.

A request for a rhyme for Mackonochie elicited numerous replies, one of which, in reference to a charitable occasion, begins thus:—

Who, folk bestowing Their alms, when o’erflowing, The coffer unlocks? Fingers upon a key Placing, Mackonochie Opens the box.

Canning’s amusing little extravaganza, with which everybody is familiar, beginning:—

Whene’er with haggard eyes I view The dungeon that I’m rotting in, I think of the companions true Who studied with me at the U- niversity of Gottingen,

has been parodied a hundred times; but it is itself a parody of Pindar, whose fashion of dividing words in his odes all students of the classics have abundant occasion to remember. The last stanza was appended by William Pitt,—a fact not generally known:—

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu, That kings and priests are plotting in Here doomed to starve on water gru- el, never shall I see the U- niversity of Gottingen.

Of these fantastic rhymes, Richard Harris Barham, has given us the finest examples in the language, in his celebrated “Ingoldsby Legends.” In the legend “Look at the Clock,” we have this:—

“Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity.”

This from “The Ghost”:—

“And, being of a temper somewhat warm, Would now and then seize upon small occasion, A stick or stool, or anything that round did lie, And baste her lord and master most confoundedly.”

In the “Tragedy” we have one even more whimsical and comical:—

“The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but Was served the same way, And was found the next day With his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt.”

Byron has more than matched any of these in completeness of rhyme and extent, if we may call it so, of rhyming surface, and matched even himself in acidity of cynicism, in his couplet:—

“——Ye lords of ladies intellectual, Come tell me, have they not hen-pecked you all.”

Punch has some very funny samples of eccentric rhymes, of which the best is one that spells out the final word of a couplet, the last letter or two, making so many syllables rhyme with the ending word of the preceding line. Thus:—

“Me drunk! the cobbler cried, the devil trouble you, You want to kick up a blest r-o-w, I’ve just returned from a teetotal party, Twelve on us jammed in a spring c-a-r-t, The man as lectured now, was drunk; why bless ye, He’s sent home in a c-h-a-i-s-e.”

Twenty-five years or more ago, in Boston, Monday was the gathering time for Universalist clergymen, Tompkins’ book store being the place of rendezvous. At these unions, King, Chapin, Hosea Ballou, Whittemore, and other notabilities, were pretty sure to be present; and as it was immediately after the graver labors of the Sabbath, the parsons were apt to be in an unusually frisky condition.

Chapin, ordinarily, is of reticent habit; but when the company is congenial, and he is in exhilarant mood, his wonderful flow of language and quick perception make him a companion rarely equalled for wit and repartee. On one occasion, when King and Chapin, and a dozen other clergymen were at Tompkins’s, as was their wont, Chapin began to rhyme upon the names of those present. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ran off the name of each, rhyming it in verse, to the huge delight of the company. Finally, after exhausting that list, the names of absent clergymen were given to the ready poet, and there was not a single failure. At last a clergyman said:—

“I can give you a name, Brother Chapin, to which you cannot make a rhyme.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Brother Brimblecomb.”

Without a moment’s pause, Chapin said:—

“There was a man in our town, His name—they called it Brimblecomb; He stole the tailor’s needle and shears, But couldn’t make the thimble come.”

Butler’s facility in overcoming stubborn words is amusing. For instance:—

There was an ancient sage philosopher, Who had read Alexander Ross over.

Coleridge, on the eve of his departure from Göttingen, being requested by a student of the same class in the university to write in his _Stammbuch_, or album, complied as follows:—

We both attended the same college, Where sheets of paper we did blur many; And now we’re going to sport our knowledge, In England I, and you in Germany.

Father Prout, in his polyglot praise of rum punch, says:—

Doth love, young chiel, one’s bosom ruffle? Would any feel ripe for a scuffle? The simplest plan is just to take a Well stiffened can of old Jamaica.

We parted by the gate in June, That soft and balmy month, Beneath the sweetly beaming moon, And (wonth—hunth—sunth—bunth—I can’t find a rhyme to month).

Years were to pass ere we should meet; A wide and yawning gulf Divides me from my love so sweet, While (ulf—sulf—dulf—mulf—stuck again; I can’t get any rhyme to gulf. I’m in a gulf myself).

Oh, how I dreaded in my soul To part from my sweet nymph, While years should their long seasons roll Before (nymph—dymph—ymph—I guess I’ll have to let it go at that).

Beneath my fortune’s stern decree My lonely spirit sunk, For a weary soul was mine to be And (hunk—dunk—runk—sk—that will never do in the world).

She buried her dear, lovely face Within her azure scarf, She knew I’d take the wretchedness As well as (parf—sarf—darf—half-and-half; that won’t answer either).

O, I had loved her many years, I loved her for herself; I loved her for her tender fears, And also for her (welf—nelf—helf—pelf; no, no; not for her pelf).

I took between my hands her head, How sweet her lips did pouch! I kissed her lovingly and said: (Bouch—mouche—louche—ouch; not a bit of it did I say ouch!)

I sorrowfully wrung her hand. My tears they did escape, My sorrow I could not command, And I was but a (sape—dape—fape—ape; well, perhaps I did feel like an ape).

I gave to her a fond adieu, Sweet pupil of love’s school; I told her I would e’er be true, And always be a (dool—sool—mool—fool; since I come to think of it, I was a fool, for she fell in love with another fellow before I was gone a month).

Hood’s _Nocturnal Sketch_ presents a remarkable example of _la difficulté vaincue_. Most bards find it sufficiently difficult to obtain one rhyming word at the end of a line; but Hood secures three, with an ease which is as graceful as it is surprising:—

Even has come; and from the dark park, hark The signal of the setting sun—one gun! And six is sounding from the chime—prime time To go and see the Drury Lane Dane slain, Or hear Othello’s jealous doubt spout out, Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, Denying to his frantic clutch much such; Or else to see Ducrow, with wide tide, stride Four horses as no other man can span; Or in the small Olympic pit, sit split, Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

Anon night comes, and with her wings brings things Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung: The gas up blazes with its bright white light, And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl, About the streets, and take up Pall-Mall Sal, Who, trusting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs. Now thieves do enter for your cash, smash, crash, Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep, But, frightened by policeman B 3, flee, And while they’re going, whisper low, “No go!”

Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads, And sleepers grumble, Drat that cat! Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill will.

Now bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor Georgy, or Charles, or Billy, willy nilly; But nurse-maid, in a night-mare rest, chest-pressed, Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Græmes, And that she hears—what faith is man’s—Ann’s banns And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice; White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, That upward goes, shows Rose knows those beaux’ woes.

Valentines.

A STRATEGIC LOVE-LETTER.

The following love-letter, dated in 1661, was sent by Philip, second Earl of Chesterfield, to Lady Russell:—

Madam:—The dullness of this last cold season doth afford nothing that is new to divert you; only here is a report that I fain would know the truth of, which is, that I am extremely in love with you. Pray let me know if it be true or no, since I am certain that nothing but yourself can rightly inform me; for if you intend to use me favorably, and do think I am in love with you, I most certainly am so; but if you intend to receive me coldly, and do not believe that I am in love, I also am sure that I am not; therefore let me entreat you to put me out of a doubt which makes the greatest concern of,

Dear Madam, your most obedient faithful servant, §Chesterfield§.

(It is the part of a skillful general to secure a good retreat.)

WRITTEN IN SYMPATHETIC INK.

Dear girl, if thou hadst been less fair, Or I had been more bold, The burning words I now would write, Ere this, my tongue had told.

True to its bashful instinct still, My love erects this screen, And writes the words it dare not speak In ink that can’t be seen.

CRYPTOGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE.

A lady wrote to a gentleman thus:—

“_I shall be_ much obliged to you, as reading _alone_ engages my attention _at_ present, if you will lend me any one of the _Eight_ volumes of the Spectator. I hope you will excuse _this_ freedom, but for a winter’s _evening_ I _don’t_ know a better entertainment. If I _fail_ to return it soon, never trust me for the time _to come_.”

The words successively italicized convey the secret invitation.

MACAULAY’S VALENTINE.

The following valentine from Lord Macaulay to the Hon. Mary C. Stanhope, daughter of Lord and Lady Mahon, 1851, is worthy of being preserved for the sake as much of its author as of its own merits:—

Hail, day of music, day of love! On earth below, and air above. In air the turtle fondly moans, The linnet pipes in joyous tones: On earth the postman toils along, Bent double by huge bales of song. Where, rich with many a gorgeous dye, Blazes all Cupid’s heraldry— Myrtles and roses, doves and sparrows, Love-knots and altars, lamps and arrows. What nymph without wild hopes and fears The double-rap this morning hears? Unnumbered lasses, young and fair, From Bethnel Green to Belgrave Square, With cheeks high flushed, and hearts loud beating, Await the tender annual greeting. The loveliest lass of all is mine— Good morrow to my Valentine!

Good morrow, gentle child: and then, Again good morrow, and again, Good morrow following still good morrow, Without one cloud of strife or sorrow. And when the god to whom we pay In jest our homages to-day Shall come to claim no more in jest, His rightful empire o’er thy breast, Benignant may his aspect be, His yoke the truest liberty: And if a tear his power confess, Be it a tear of happiness. It shall be so. The Muse displays The future to her votary’s gaze: Prophetic range my bosom swells— I taste the cake—I hear the bells! From Conduit street the close array Of chariots barricades the way To where I see, with outstretched hand, Majestic thy great kinsman stand,[21] And half unbend his brow of pride, As welcoming so fair a bride; Gay favors, thick as flakes of snow, Brighten St. George’s portico: Within I see the chancel’s pale, The orange flowers, the Brussels veil, The page on which those fingers white, Still trembling from the awful rite, For the last time shall faintly trace The name of Stanhope’s noble race. I see kind faces round thee pressing, I hear kind voices whisper blessing: And with those voices mingles mine— All good attend my Valentine!

_St. Valentine’s Day, 1851._

§T. B. Macaulay.§

Footnote 21:

Statue of Mr. Pitt, in Hanover Square.

Very tender are Burns’ verses to his ladie loves. For instance:—

Oh! were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paradise If thou wert there, if thou wert there; Or, were I monarch of the globe, Wi’ thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

TEUTONIC ALLITERATION.

O du Dido, die du da den, der den, den du liebst liebt, lieb ’o liebste des Freundes, den Freund des Freundes, des Freundes wegen.[22]

[O you Dido, you who, him, who him you love, loves, love O dearest of the friend, the friend’s friend, for the friend’s sake.]

Footnote 22:

This will remind some of our German readers of the following inscription:—

Der, der den, der den, den 15ten März hier gesetzten Warnungspfahl, das niemand etwas in das Wasser werfen sollte, selbst in das Wasser geworfen hat, auzeigt, erhält zehn Thaler Belohnung.

(Whoever, him, who, on the 15th of March the here placed warning-post, that nobody should throw any thing into the water, has thrown the post itself into the water, denounces, receives a reward of Ten Dollars.)

A LOVER TO HIS SWEETHEART.

Your face, your tongue, your wit, So fair, so sweet, so sharp, First bent, then drew, then hit, Mine eye, mine ear, my heart.

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart, To like, to learn, to love, Your face, your tongue, your wit, Doth lead, doth teach, doth move.

Your face, your tongue, your wit, With beams, with sound, with art, Doth bind, doth charm, doth rule, Mine eye, mine ear, my heart.

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart, With life, with hope, with skill, Your face, your tongue, your wit, Doth feed, doth feast, doth fill.

O face! O tongue! O wit! With frowns, with check, with smart, Wrong not, vex not, wound not, Mine eye, mine ear, my heart.

This eye, this ear, this heart, Shall joy, shall bend, shall swear, Your face, your tongue, your wit, To serve, to trust, to fear.

The lines may be read either from left to right, or from above downwards. They may also be read in various directions.

CARDIAC EFFUSION.

Somebody named John Birchall wrote the following lines in 1684 with his “heart’s blood”:—

These loving lines which I to you have sent, In secrecy in my heart’s blood are pent, Y^e pen I slipt as I y^e pen did make, And freely bleeds, and will do for your sake.

MACARONIC VALENTINE.

Geist und sinn mich beügen über Vous zu dire das ich Sie liebe! Das herz que vous so lightly spurn To you und sie allein will turn Unbarmherzig—pourquoi scorn Mon cœur with love and anguish torn? Croyez vous das my despair Votre bonheur can swell or faire? Schönheit kann nicht cruel sein Mepris ist keine macht divine, Then, oh then, it can’t be thine. Glaube das mine love is true, Changeless, deep wie Himmel’s blue— Que l’amour that now I swear Zu Dir Ewigkeit I’ll bear. Glaube das the gentle rays Born and nourished in thy gaze Sur mon cœur will ever dwell Comme à l’instant when they fell— Mechante! that you know full well.

George Digby, Earl of Bristol, one of the most graceful writers of the Seventeenth Century, is credited with this:—

Fair Archabella, to thy eyes, That flame just blushes in the skies, Each noble heart doth sacrifice. Yet be not cruel, since you may, Whene’er you please, to save or slay, Or with a frown benight the day. I do not wish that you should rest In any unknown highway breast, The lodging of each common guest, But I present a bleeding heart, Wounded by love, not pricked by art, That never knew a former smart. Be pleased to smile, and then I live; But if a frown, a death you give, For which it were a sin to grieve. Yet if it be decreed I fall, Grant but one boon, one boon is all:— That you would me your martyr call.

A COLORED MAN’S LOVE-LETTER.

A colored man living in Detroit had long admired a colored widow in a neighboring street, but being afraid to reveal his passion, went to a white man and asked him to write the lady a letter asking her hand in marriage. The friend wrote, telling the woman in a few brief lines that the size of her feet was the talk of the neighborhood, and asking her if she couldn’t pare them down a little. The name of the colored man was signed, and he was to call on her for an answer. Subsequently the writer of the letter met the negro limping along the street, and asked him what the widow said. The man showed him a bloodshot eye, a scratched nose, a lame leg, and a spot on the scalp where a handful of wool had been violently jerked out; and he answered in solemn tones: “She didn’t say nuffin, an’ I didn’t stay dar mor’n a minute!”

UNPUBLISHED VERSES OF THOMAS MOORE.

Bright leaf, when storms thy bloom shall wither, Oh, fly for calm and shelter hither; And I will prize thy tints as truly As when in Spring they blossom newly. Bright leaf, when storms thy blooms shall wither, Oh, fly for calm and shelter hither.

Sweet maid, while hope and rapture cheer thee, ’Tis not for me to linger near thee; But when joys fade and hope deceives thee, When all that soothes and flatters leaves thee— Oh, then, how sweet in one forsaken, Fresh hopes and joys again to waken!

EGYPTIAN SERENADE.

Sing again the song you sung When we were together young— When there were but you and I Underneath the summer sky.

Sing the song, and sing it o’er, Though I know that nevermore Will it seem the song you sung When we were together young.

PETITIONS.

THE MAIDS AND WIDOWS.

The following petition, signed by sixteen maids of Charleston, South Carolina, was presented to the Governor of that province in March, 1733, “the day of the feast”:—

§To His Excellency Governor Johnson.§

The humble petition of all the Maids whose names are underwritten:—_Whereas_, We the humble petitioners are at present in a very melancholy disposition of mind, considering how all the bachelors are blindly captivated by widows, and our more youthful charms thereby neglected: the consequence of this our request is, that your Excellency will for the future order that no Widow shall presume to marry any young man till the maids are provided for; or else to pay each of them a fine for satisfaction, for invading our liberties; and likewise a fine to be laid on all such bachelors as shall be married to widows. The great disadvantage it is to us maids, is, that the widows, by their forward carriages, do snap up the young men; and have the vanity to think their merits beyond ours, which is a great imposition upon us who ought to have the preference.

This is humbly recommended to your Excellency’s consideration, and hope you will prevent any farther insults.

And we poor Maids as in duty bound will ever pray.

P. S.—I, being the oldest maid, and therefore most concerned, do think it proper to be the messenger to your Excellency in behalf of my fellow subscribers.

A MALADROIT PETITION.

An autograph of Madame de Maintenon has recently been discovered at Chateau-Guinon, the history of which is curious. A worthy priest of Cuiseaux, a small _Commune_ of La Brasse, desiring to repair his church, which was becoming dilapidated, had the happy idea of addressing himself to Madame de Maintenon, whose charitable bounty was upon every tongue. Not being in the habit of corresponding with the great, the style of his supplication cost him much thought, but at last he produced a memorial commencing as follows:—

“Madame:—You enjoy the reputation, which I doubt not is well founded, of according your favors to all who solicit them. I therefore venture to appeal to your bounty in behalf of the church of Cuiseaux,” etc.

The exalted lady had no sooner cast her eyes upon the poor priest’s unlucky exordium, than she flew into a rage, and had him thrown into prison, whence it was with great difficulty that his friends procured a release. The story seems apocryphal, but the memorial bears the following indorsement in the handwriting of Madame de Maintenon:—The lieutenant of police is ordered to issue a _lettre-de-cachet_ against the signer of this petition.

Sonnets.

WRITING A SONNET.

Doris, the fair, a sonnet needs must have; I ne’er was so put to ’t before;—a Sonnet! Why fourteen verses must be spent upon it; ’Tis good howe’er to have conquered the first stave, Yet I shall ne’er find rhymes enough by half, Said I, and found myself i’ th’ midst o’ the second. If twice four verses were but fairly reckoned I should turn back on th’ hardest part and laugh, Thus far with good success I think I’ve scribbled, And of the twice seven lines have clean got o’er ten. Courage! another ’ll finish the first triplet, Thanks to thee, Muse, my work begins to shorten, There’s thirteen lines got through driblet by driblet: ’Tis done! count how you will I warrant there’s fourteen.

IN A FASHIONABLE CHURCH.

The air is faint, yet still the crowds press in; With stir of silks and under-flow of talk That falls from lips of ladies as they walk, Ere yet the dainty service doth begin: Ah me! the very organ’s glorious din Is tuned to pliant trimness in its place. And over all a sweet melodious grace Floats with the incense-stream good souls to win! O God, that spak’st of old from Sinai’s brow! And Thou that laid’st the tempest with a word! Is this Thy worship? Come amongst us now With all Thy thunders, if Thou wouldst be heard. So tyrannous is this weight of pageantry, Almost, we cry, “Give back Gethsemane!”

THE PROXY SAINT.

Each for himself must do his Master’s work, Or at his peril leave it all undone; Witness the fate of one who sought to shirk The Sanctuary service yet would shun The penalty. A man of earthly aims (So runs the apologue,) whose pious spouse Would oft remind him of the Church’s claims, Still answered thus, “Go, thou, and pay our vows For thee and me!” Now, when at Peter’s gate The twain together had arrived at last, He let the woman in; then to her mate, Shutting the door, “Thou hast already passed By _proxy_,” said the Saint—“just in the way That thou on earth was wont to fast and pray.”

ABOUT A NOSE.

’Tis very odd that poets should suppose There is no poetry about a nose, When plain as is the nose upon your face, A noseless face would lack poetic grace. Noses have sympathy: a lover knows Noses are always _touched_ when lips are kissing: And who would care to kiss where nose was missing? Why, what would be the fragrance of a rose, And where would be our mortal means of telling Whether a vile or wholesome odour flows Around us, if we owned no sense of smelling? I know a nose, a nose no other knows, ’Neath starry eyes, o’er ruby lips it grows; Beauty is in its form and music in its blows.

DYSPEPSIA.

Ah, me! what mischiefs from the stomach rise! What fatal ills, beyond all doubt or question! How many a deed of high and bold emprise Has been prevented by a bad digestion! I ween the savory crust of filthy pies Hath made full many a man to quake and tremble, Filling his stomach with dyspeptic sighs, Until a huge balloon it doth resemble. Thus do our lower parts impede the upper, And much the brain’s good works molest and hinder. We gorge our cerebellum with hot supper, And burn, with drams, our viscera to a cinder, Choosing our arrows from Disease’s quiver, Till man in misery lives to loathe his liver.

HUMILITY.

Fair, soft Humility, so seldom seen, So oft despised upon this little earth, Counted by men as dross of nothing worth, Though in the sight of Mightiness supreme ’Tis hailed and welcomed as a glorious birth, Offspring of greatness, beauty perfected, And yet of such fragility extreme, That if we call it ours, ’tis forfeited; Named, it escapes us, thus we need beware, When with the Publican we plead the prayer, “A sinner, Lord, be merciful to me!” Our hearts do not say softly, “I thank Thee, O Lord, for this sweet grace, Humility, Which I possess, unlike the Pharisee.”

AVE MARIA.

Ave Maria! ’tis the evening hymn Of many pilgrims on the land and sea. Soon as the day withdraws, and two or three Faint stars are burning, all whose eyes are dim With tears or watching, all of weary limb Or troubled spirit, yield the bended knee, And find, O Virgin! life’s repose in thee. I, too, at nightfall, when the new-born rim Of the young moon is first beheld above, Tune my fond thoughts to their devoutest key, And from all bondage—save remembrance—free Glad of my liberty as Noah’s dove, Seek the Madonna most adored by me, And say mine “Ave Marias” to my love.

Conformity of Sense to Sound.

In the hexameter rises the fountain’s silvery column; In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.—§Coleridge§: _trans. Schiller_.

ARTICULATE IMITATION OF INARTICULATE SOUNDS.

Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. —§Pope§: _Essay on Criticism_.

On a sudden open fly, With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Th’ infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.—§Milton§: _Paradise Lost, ii_.

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw.—§Milton§: _Lycidas_.

His bloody hand Snatched two unhappy of my martial band, And dashed like dogs against the stony floor.—§Pope§: _Hom. Odys._

The Pilgrim oft At dead of night, ’mid his orison, hears Aghast the voice of time, disparting towers, Tumbling all precipitous down-dashed, Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon. —§Dyer§: _Ruins of Rome_.

What! like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough, and fierce, With arms, and George, and Brunswick, crowd the verse, Rend with tremendous sounds your cars asunder, With drum, gun, trumpet, blunderbuss, and thunder? Then all your muse’s softer art display: Let Carolina smooth the tuneful lay, Lull with Amelia’s liquid name the nine, And sweetly flow through all the royal line.—§Pope§: _Sat. I._

Remarkable examples are afforded by Dryden’s _Alexander’s Feast_, and _The Bells_ of Edgar A. Poe.

IMITATION OF TIME AND MOTION.

When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecs sound To many a youth and many a maid Dancing in the checkered shade.—§Milton§: _L’Allegro_.

Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground. §Pope§: _Hom. Odys._

Which urged, and labored, and forced up with pain, Recoils and rolls impetuous down, and smokes along the plain. §Dryden§: _Lucretius_.

A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. §Pope§: _Essay on Criticism_.

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o’er th’ unbending corn, and skims along the main. §Pope§: _Essay on Criticism_.

Oft on a plat of rising ground I hear the far-off curfew sound, Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar.—§Milton§: _Il Penseroso_.

The well-known hexameters of Virgil, descriptive respectively of the galloping of horses over a resounding plain, and of the heavy blows in alternately hammering the metal on the anvil, afford good examples,—the dactylic, of rapidity, the spondaic, of slowness.

Quadrupe- | dante pu- | trem soni- | tu quatit | ungula | campum, _Æneid_, viii. 596.

Illi in- | ter se- | se mag- | na vi | brachia | tollunt.—_Æneid_, viii. 452.

IMITATION OF DIFFICULTY AND EASE.

When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw, The line, too, labors, and the words move slow, &c.—§Pope§: _Ess. on Criticism_.

He through the thickest of the throng gan threke.—§Chaucer§: _Knight’s Tale_.

And strains from hard-bound brains six lines a year.—§Pope§: _Sat. Frag._

Part huge of bulk, Wallowing, unwieldy, enormous in their gait, Tempest the ocean.—§Milton§: _Paradise Lost_, vii.

He came, and with him Eve, more loath, though first To offend, discountenanced both, and discomposed. §Milton§: _Paradise Lost_, x.

So he with difficulty and labor hard Moved on, with difficulty and labor he.—§Milton§: _Paradise Lost_, ii.

Familiar Quotations from Unfamiliar Sources.

_No Cross, no Crown._

Tolle crucem, qui vis auferre coronam. §St. Paulinus§, Bishop of Nola.

The way to bliss lies not on beds of down, And he that had no cross deserves no crown.—§Quarles§: _Esther_.

_Corporations have no souls._

A corporation aggregate of many is invisible, immortal, and vests only in intendment and consideration of the law. They cannot commit treason, nor be outlawed, nor excommunicate, for _they have no souls_, neither can they appear in person, but by attorney.—_Coke’s Reports_, vol. x. p. 32.

_Quem Deus vult perdere prius dementat._ §Euripides§: _Fragments_.

For those whom God to ruin has designed, He fits for fate and first destroys their mind. §Dryden§: _Hind and Panther_.

_Men are but children of a larger growth_;

Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain. §Dryden§: _All for Love_, iv. 1.

_Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest._

True friendship’s laws are by this rule expressed, Welcome, etc.—§Pope§: _Odyssey_, B. xv.

_More worship the rising than the setting sun._ §Pompey to Sylla§: _Plutarch’s Lives_.

_Incidis in Scillam cupiens vitare Charybdim._ §Philippe Gaultier§: _Alexandreis_.

_History is philosophy teaching by example._ §Dionysius of Halicarnassus.§

_Consistency a Jewel._

In the search for the source of familiar quotations, none appears to have so completely baffled patient seekers as the phrase “Consistency is a jewel.” Several years ago a perplexed scholar offered a handsome reward for the discovery of its origin. Not till quite recently, however, has the claim been set up that the original was found in the “Ballad of Jolly Robyn Roughhead,” which is preserved in “_Murtagh’s Collection of Ancient English and Scottish Ballads_.” The stanza in which it occurs is the following:—

Tush, tush, my lassie, such thoughts resign, Comparisons are cruel; Fine pictures suit in frames as fine, _Consistency’s a jewel_: For thee and me coarse clothes are best, Rude folks in homely raiment drest— Wife Joan and goodman Robyn.

_Cleanliness next to Godliness._

The origin of the proverb, “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” has been the subject of extended investigation. Bartlett’s “Familiar Quotations” attributes the phrase to Rev. John Wesley; but as this prominent Methodist clergyman uses this sentence in his sermons as a quotation from some other work, it has been suggested that further search is requisite. Rev. Dr. A. S. Bettelheimer, of Richmond, Va., asserts that he has discovered this maxim in an abstract of religious principles contained in an old commentary on the Book of Isaiah. Thus the practical doctrines of religion are resolved into carefulness, vigorousness, guiltlessness, abstemiousness and cleanliness. And cleanliness is next to godliness, which is next to holiness.

_He’s a brick._

An Eastern prince visited the ruler of a neighboring country, and after viewing various objects worthy of attention, asked to see the fortifications. He was shown the troops with this remark—“These are my fortifications; every man is a brick.”

_When you are at Rome do as the Romans do._

This proverb has been traced to a saying of St. Ambrose. St. Augustine mentions in one of his letters (_Ep._ lxxxvj _ad Casulan_.) that when his mother was living with him at Milan, she was much scandalized because Saturday was kept there as a festival; whilst at Rome, where she had resided a long time, it was kept as a fast. To ease her mind he consulted the bishop on this question, who told him he could give him no better advice in the case than to do as he himself did. “For when I go to Rome,” said Ambrose, “I fast on the Saturday, as they do at Rome; when I am here, I do not fast.” With this answer, he says that “he satisfied his mother, and ever after looked upon it as an oracle sent from heaven.”

_A Nation of Shopkeepers._

To found a great empire for the sole purpose of raising up a people of customers may at first sight appear a project fit only for a nation of shopkeepers.—§Adam Smith§, _Wealth of Nations_.

On May 31, 1817, Napoleon is reported to have said to Barry O’Meara,—

You were greatly offended with me for having called you a nation of shopkeepers. Had I meant by this that you were a nation of cowards, you would have had reason to be displeased.... I meant that you were a nation of merchants, and that all your great riches arose from commerce.... Moreover, no man of sense ought to be ashamed of being called a shopkeeper.—_Voice from St. Helena._

_Only a pauper._

The lines—

Rattle his bones Over the stones, He’s only a pauper whom nobody owns,

are from the _Pauper’s Drive_, by Thomas Noel.

_Taking time by the forelock._

Spenser says, _Sonnet_ lxx.:—

Go to my love, where she is careless laid, Yet in her winter’s bower not well awake; Tell her the joyous time will not be staid, Unless she do him by the forelock take.

_What will Mrs. Grundy say?_

In Morton’s clever comedy, _Speed the Plough_, the first scene of the first act opens with a view of a farm-house, where Farmer Ashfield is discovered at a table with his jug and pipe, holding the following colloquy with his wife, Dame Ashfield, who figures in a riding-dress, with a basket under her arm:—

_Ashfield_—Well, Dame, welcome whoam. What news does thee bring vrom market?

_Dame._—What news husband? What I always told you; that Farmer Grundy’s wheat brought five shillings a quarter more than ours did.

_Ash._—All the better vor he.

_Dame._—Ah! the sun seems to shine on purpose for him.

_Ash._—Come, come, missus, as thee has not the grace to thank God for prosperous times, dan’t thee grumble when they be unkindly a bit.

_Dame._—And I assure you Dame Grundy’s butter was quite the crack of the market.

_Ash._—Be quiet woolye? always ding, dinging Dame Grundy into my ears—_What will Mrs. Grundy zay?_ What will Mrs. Grundy think? Canst thee be quiet, let ur alone, and behave thyself pratty.

_Though lost to sight, to memory dear._

This oft-quoted line is traced by a modern wag, of an inventive turn, to Ruthven Jenkyns, who wrote the following verses, published in the _Greenwich Magazine for Marines, in 1701_:—

Sweetheart, good-bye! the fluttering sail Is spread to waft me far from thee; And soon, before the fav’ring gale, My ship shall bound upon the sea. Perchance, all desolate and forlorn These eyes shall miss thee many a year; But unforgotten every charm, Though lost to sight, to mem’ry dear.

Sweetheart, good-bye! one last embrace! O, cruel fate! true souls to sever; Yet in this heart’s most sacred place Thou, thou alone shalt dwell forever! And still shall recollection trace In Fancy’s mirror, ever near, Each smile, each tear—that form, that face— Though lost to sight, to mem’ry dear.

_Too low they build who build beneath the stars._

Builders who adopt this motto are indebted for it to Young, _The Complaint_, viii. 215.

_Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel._

Dr. Johnson, according to Boswell, is credited with this phrase.

_So much the worse for the facts._

M. Royer Collard disapproved of the opinions of the Fathers of Port Royal on the doctrine of grace: “_Ils ont les textes pour eux_, disait il, _j’en suis faché pour les textes_.” So much the worse for the texts,—a very different and much more reasonable saying than the paradoxical expression commonly ascribed to Voltaire.

_Conspicuous by its absence._

Earl Russell, in an address to the electors of the city of London, alluding to Lord Derby’s Reform Bill, which had just been defeated, said:—

Among the defects of the Bill, which were numerous, one provision was conspicuous by its presence, and one by its absence.

In the course of a speech subsequently delivered at a meeting of Liberal electors at the London Tavern, he justified his use of these words thus:—

It has been thought that by a misnomer or a bull on my part I alluded to it as “a provision conspicuous by its absence,” a turn of phraseology which is not an original expression of mine, but is taken from one of the greatest historians of antiquity.

The historian referred to is Tacitus, who, (_Annals_, iii. 761) speaking of the images carried in procession at the funeral of Junia, says: _Sed præfulgebant Cassius atque Brutus eo ipso quod effigies eorum non videbantur_. Russell’s adaptation recalls the “brilliant flashes of silence” which Sydney Smith attributed to Macaulay. Since the Jesuits succeeded in causing the lives of Arnauld and Pascal to be excluded from _L’Histoire des Hommes Illustres_, by Perrault, the epigrammatic expression _Briller par son absence_ has been popular among the French.

_Do as I say, not as I do._

This proverbial expression was in common use among the Italian monks in the Middle Ages. It occurs in the _Decameron_ of Boccacio thus: “Ils croient avoir bien répondu et être absous de tout crime quand ils ont dit, _Faites ce que nous disons et ne faites pas ce que nous faisons_.” The germ of the words thus put into the mouths of the friars of his day, Boccacio no doubt found in the language of our Saviour recorded in Matthew xxiii. 2, 3:—“The scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat; all therefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do; but do not ye after their works: _for they say and do not_.”

* * * * *

Mr. Longfellow, in his _New England Tragedies_, puts into the mouth of Captain Kempthorne, back in the times of Quaker persecution, a now familiar phrase. He speaks of

_A solid man of Boston_; A comfortable man, with dividends, And the first salmon, and the first green peas.

Aubrey in his _Letters_, speaking of the handwriting of the poet Waller, says:—“He writes a lamentable hand, as bad as the _scratching of a hen_.” Probably suggested by the “_gallina scripsit_” of Plautus.

The phrase _masterly inactivity_, first used by Sir James Mackintosh in his _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_, finds a prototype in the Horatian expression, “_strenua nos exercet inertia_,” (_Epist. lib._ I., xi. 28,) and in the words of Isaiah, “their strength is to sit still” (xxx. 7).

From _Don Quixote_ we have _Honesty is the best policy_. From _Gil Blas_, (Smollet’s trans.,) comes _Facts are stubborn things_. From Burton’s _Anatomy of Melancholy_, (P. iii. Sec. 3, Mem. i. Subs. 2,) _Comparisons are odious_. From Bunyan’s _Pilgrim’s Progress_, _Dark as pitch_, and _Every tub must stand on its own bottom_. From Shakspeare, _Fast and loose_ (_Love’s Labor Lost, iii. 1._); _Main chance_ (_2 Henry IV. iii. 1_); _Let the world slide_ (_Taming of the Shrew_, _Induc. i._). From Burns, (_Epistle from Esopus to Maria_,) _Durance vile_.

§Christmas§ comes but once a year.—§Thomas Tusser§, 1580.

It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.

Originally written,—

It is an ill wind turns none to good.—§Thomas Tusser.§

Look ere thou leap.—§Tusser.§

And

Look before you ere you leap.—§Butler§: _Hudibras_, c. 2.

Bid the devil take the hindmost.—_Hudibras_, c. 2.

Count the chickens ere they’re hatched.—_Hudibras_, c. 3.

Necessity, the tyrant’s plea.—§Milton.§—_Paradise Lost, B._ iv.

Peace hath her victories, &c.—§Ibid.§: _Sonnet_ xvi.

The old man eloquent.—§Ibid.§: _Tenth Sonnet_.

On the light fantastic toe.—§Ibid.§: _L’Allegro_.

The devil may cite Scripture for his purpose. §Shakspeare§: _Merchant of Venice_.

Assume a virtue though you have it not.—_Hamlet._

Brevity is the soul of wit.—_Hamlet._

The sere, the yellow leaf.—_Macbeth._

Curses not loud, but deep.—_Macbeth._

Make assurance doubly sure.—_Macbeth._

Thereby hangs a tale.—_As You Like It._

Good wine needs no bush.—As You Like It.

Though last, not least, in love.—_Julius Cæsar._

Food for powder.—_First Part Henry IV._

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.—_Troilus and Cressida._

And made a sunshine in a shady place.—§Spenser§: _Fairy Queen_.

Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new. §Dr. Johnson§: _Prologue at the opening of the Drury Lane Theatre_, 1747.

To point a moral or adorn a tale.—§Ibid.§: _Vanity of Human Wishes_.

Slow rises worth by poverty depressed.—§Ibid.§: _London_.

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no fibs. §Goldsmith§: _She Stoops to Conquer_.

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.—§Ibid.§: _Retaliation_.

Winter lingering chills the lap of May.—§Ibid.§: _The Traveller_.

Of two evils I have chose the least.—§Prior.§

His (God’s) image cut in ebony.—§Thomas Fuller.§

Richard’s himself again.—§Colley Cibber.§

Building castles in the air.

Originally written,—

Building castles in Spain.—§Scarron.§

Hope, the dream of a waking man.—§Basil.§

Music has charms to soothe a savage breast. §Congreve§: _The Mourning Bride_.

Earth has no rage like love to hatred turned.—§Ibid.§

Let who may make the laws of a people, allow me to write their ballads, and I’ll guide them at my will.—§Sir Philip Sidney.§

When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war.

Originally,

When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war. §Nat Lee§: _Play of Alexander the Great_, 1692.

Westward the course of empire takes its way.—§Bishop Berkeley§.

No pent-up Utica contracts your powers, But the whole boundless continent is yours. §J. M. Sewall§: _Epilogue to Cato_, 1778.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Originally,

Out of minde as soon as out of sight.—§Lord Brooke§.

Through thick and thin.—§Dryden§: _Absalom and Achitophel_.

He whistled as he went for want of thought.—§Ib.§: _Cymon and Iphigenia_.

Great wits are sure to madness near allied.—§Ib.§: _Absalom & Achitophel_.

None but the brave deserve the fair.—§Ibid.§: _Alexander’s Feast_.

To err is human; to forgive, divine.—§Pope§: _Essay on Criticism_.

In wit a man; simplicity, a child.—§Ibid.§: _Epitaph on Gay_.

I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.—§Ib.§: _Prologue to the Satires_.

Damns with faint praise.—§Ibid.§: _Prologue to the Satires_.

Order is Heaven’s first law.—§Ibid.§: _Essay on Man_.

An honest man’s the noblest work of God.—§Ibid.§: _Essay on Man_.

Looks through nature up to nature’s God.—§Ibid.§: _Essay on Man_.

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.—§Ibid.§: _Essay on Man_.

Who never mentions hell to ears polite.—§Ibid.§: _The Epistles_.

From seeming evil still educing good.—§Thomson§: _Hymn_.

To teach the young idea how to shoot: §Ibid.§: _The Seasons, Spring_.

’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. §Campbell§: _Pleasures of Hope_.

And man the hermit sighed till woman smiled.—§Ibid.§

Where ignorance is bliss ’Tis folly to be wise.—§Gray§: _Ode on Eton College_.

Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.—§Ib.§: _The Progress of Poesy_.

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.—§Burns§: _Tam O’Shanter_.

As clear as a whistle.—§Byrom§: _The Astrologer_.

She walks the waters like a thing of life.—§Byron§: _The Island_.

The cups that cheer but not inebriate.—§Cowper§: _Task_.

Not much the worse for wear.—§Ibid.§

Masterly inactivity.—§Mackintosh§: 1791.

The Almighty Dollar.—§Washington Irving§: _Creole Village_.

Entangling alliances.—§George Washington.§

Where liberty dwells, there is my country.—§Benjamin Franklin.§

The post of honor is the private station.—§Thos. Jefferson.§

Straws show which way the wind blows.—§James Cheatham.§

A good time coming.—§Walter Scott§: _Rob Roy_.

Face the music.—§J. Fenimore Cooper.§

Churchyard Literature.

HIC JACET SACRUM MEMORIÆ.

§Earth’s§ highest station ends in §HERE HE LIES§! And §DUST TO DUST§ concludes her noblest song.

§Emigravit§ is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies: Dead he is not, but departed, for the Christian never dies.

A hieroglyph formed by the two first letters of the Greek word _Christos_, intersecting the _Chi_ longitudinally by the _Rho_,—a palm-leaf, or a wreath of palm-leaves, indicating victory,—a crown, which speaks of the reward of the saints,—an _immortelle_, or a vessel supporting a column of flame, indicating continued life,—an anchor, which indicates hope,—a ship under sail, which says, “Heavenward bound,”—the letters _Alpha_ and _Omega_, the Apocalyptic title of Christ,—the dove, the emblem of innocence and holiness,—the winged insect escaping from the chrysalis, typical of the resurrection,—the cross, the Christian’s true and only glory in life and death, by which he is crucified to the world, and the world to him,—these are the emblems that speak to the Christian’s heart of faith, and hope, and love, and humility.

EPITAPHS OF EMINENT MEN.

§Christopher Columbus§ died at Valladolid, May 20, 1506, æt. 70. In 1513 his body was taken to Seville, on the Guadalquivir, and there deposited in the family vault of the Dukes of Alcala, in the Cathedral. Upon a tablet was inscribed, in Castilian, this meagre couplet, which is still legible:—

A Castilla y Arragon Otro mondo dio Colon.[23]

[To Castile and Aragon Columbus gave another world.]

Footnote 23:

Irving gives the inscription thus:—

Por Castilla y por Leon Nuevo mundo hallo Colon.

In 1536, the remains of the great navigator were conveyed to St. Domingo and deposited in the Cathedral, where they continued until a recent period, when they were finally disinterred, and removed to Havana. The inscription on the tablet in the Cathedral of St. Domingo, now obliterated, was as follows:—

Hic locus abscondit præclari membra §Columbi§ Cujus nomen ad astra volat. Non satis unus erat sibi mundus notus, at orbem Ignotum priscis omnibus ipse dedit; Divitias summas terras dispersit in omnes, Atque animas cœlo tradidit innumeras; Invenit campos divinis legibus aptos, Regibus et nostris prospera regna dedit.[24]

Footnote 24:

This spot conceals the body of the renowned Columbus, whose name towers to the stars. Not satisfied with the known globe, he added to all the old an unknown world. Throughout all countries he distributed untold wealth, and gave to heaven unnumbered souls. He found an extended field for gospel missions, and conferred prosperity upon the reign of our monarchs.

§William Shakspeare§ died April 23, 1616, æt. 52, and was buried in the chancel of the church of Stratford. The monument erected to his memory represents the poet with a thoughtful countenance, resting on a cushion and in the act of writing. Immediately below the cushion is the following distich:—

Judicio Pylium; genio Socratem; arte Maronem: Terra tegit; populis mœrot; Olympus habet.[25]

Footnote 25:

A Nestor in discrimination, a Socrates in talent, a Virgil in poetic art; the earth covers him, the people mourn for him, Heaven possesses him.

On a tablet underneath are inscribed these lines:—

Stay, passenger: why dost thou go so fast? Read, if thou canst, whom envious death hath placed Within this monument,—Shakspeare; with whom Quick Nature died; whose name doth deck the tomb Far more than cost; since all that he hath writ Leaves living Art but page to serve his wit:

and on the flat stone covering the grave is inscribed, in very irregular characters, the following quaint supplication, blessing, and menace:—

Good Friend, for §Jesvs§ sake forbeare

To digg §T-E§ dvst EncloAsed HERE;

Blest be §T-E§ Man T/Y spares §T§-hs stones,

And evrst be He T/Y moves my bones.

§SIR ISAAC NEWTON, OB.§ 1727, §ÆT.§ 85.

Here lies interred Isaac Newton, knight, who, with an energy of mind almost divine, guided by the light of mathematics purely his own, first demonstrated the motions and figures of the planets, the paths of comets, and the causes of the tides; who discovered, what before his time no one had ever suspected, that the rays of light are differently refrangible, and that this is the cause of colors; and who was a diligent, penetrating, and faithful interpreter of nature, antiquity, and the sacred writings. In his philosophy, he maintained the majesty of the Supreme Being; in his manners, he expressed the simplicity of the Gospel. Let mortals congratulate themselves that the world has seen so great and excellent a man, the glory of human nature.

Pope’s inscription is as follows:—

Isaacus Newtonus: Quem Immortalem Testantur _Tempus_, _Natura_, _Cœlum_: Mortalem Hoc marmor fatetur. Nature and nature’s laws lay hid in night: §God§ said, _Let Newton be!_ and all was light.

JOHNSON’S EPITAPH ON GOLDSMITH.[26]

Thou seest the tomb of Oliver; retire, Unholy feet, nor o’er his ashes tread. Ye whom the deeds of old, verse, nature, fire, Mourn nature’s priest, the bard, historian, dead.

Footnote 26:

The original is in Greek, as follows:—

Τον ταφον εισοραας τον Ολιβαριοιο, κονιη Ἀφροσι μη σεμνην, ξεινε, ποδεσσι πατελ. Οισι μεμηλε φυσις, μετρων χαρις, εργα παλαιων Κλαιετε ποιητην, ιστορικον, φυσικον.

COWPER’S EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON.

Here Johnson lies,—a sage by all allowed, Whom to have bred may well make England proud; Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought; Whose verse may claim—grave, masculine and strong— Superior praise to the mere poet’s song; Who many a noble gift from heaven possessed, And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. O man immortal by a double prize, By fame on earth,—by glory in the skies!

§GEORGE WASHINGTON§, §ob. Dec. 14, 1799, æt. 67§.

When, in 1838, the remains of Washington were removed from the old vault into the new, at Mount Vernon, the coffin was placed in a beautiful sarcophagus of white marble, from a quarry in Chester county, Pennsylvania, and prepared in Philadelphia by the gentleman who presented it. The lid is wrought with the arms of the country and the inscription here appended. Independently of other considerations, it is desirable, for the honor of the nation so largely indebted to Washington, that his grave should be something more than an advertising medium for a marble-mason. But the faithful chronicler must take things as he finds them, not always as they should be:—

WASHINGTON. By the permission of Lawrence Lewis, The surviving executor of George Washington, this sarcophagus was presented by John Struthers, of Philadelphia, Marble Mason, §A.D.§ 1837.

The stone and the inscription over the grave of Franklin and his wife, at the corner of Fifth and Arch Streets, Philadelphia, and recently opened to public view by substituting for the old brick wall a neat iron railing, are according to his own direction in his will. The exceeding plainness of both are strikingly characteristic of the man. The stone is a simple marble slab, six feet by four, lying horizontally, and raised about a foot above the ground. It bears the following:—

§Benjamin§ } §AND§ } §Franklin.§ §Deborah§ } 1790.

The following is a copy of the epitaph written by Franklin upon himself, at the age of twenty-three, while a journeyman printer:—

The Body of §Benjamin Franklin§, Printer, (Like the cover of an old book, Its contents torn out, And stript of its lettering and gilding,) Lies food for worms: Yet the work itself shall not be lost, For it will [as he believed] appear once more, In a new And more beautiful edition, Corrected and amended by The Author.

That this well-known typographical inscription was plagiarized from Mather’s _Magnalia Christi Americana_, is evident from Franklin’s own admission of his familiarity with the works of “the great Cotton.” To the perusal in early life of Mather’s excellent volume, _Essays to do Good_, published in 1710, Franklin ascribed all his “usefulness in the world.” The lines alluded to in the famous Ecclesiastical History are by Benjamin Woodbridge, a member of the first graduating class of Harvard University, 1642:—

A living, breathing Bible; tables where Both Covenants at large engraven were. Gospel and law, in ’s heart, had each its column; His head an index to the sacred volume; His very name a title-page; and, next, His life a commentary on the text. O what a monument of glorious worth, When, in a new edition, he comes forth! Without errata may we think he’ll be, In leaves and covers of eternity!

Old Joseph Capen, minister of Topsfield, had also, in 1681, given John Foster, who set up the first printing-press in Boston, the benefit of the idea, _in memoriam_:—

Thy body, which no activeness did lack, Now’s laid aside like an old almanac, But for the present only’s out of date; ’Twill have at length a far more active state. Yea, though with dust thy body soiléd be, Yet at the resurrection we shall see A fair edition, and of matchless worth, Free from errata, new in Heaven set forth; ’Tis but a word from God, the great Creator— It shall be done when he saith _Imprimatur_.

Davis, in his _Travels in America_, finds another source in a Latin epitaph on the London bookseller Jacob Tonson, published with an English translation in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for Feb., 1736. This is its conclusion:—

When Heaven reviewed th’ _original text_, ’Twas with _erratas_ few perplexed: Pleased with the _copy_ ’t was _collated_, And to a better life _translated_. But let to life this _supplement_ Be printed on thy _monument_, Lest the _first page_ of _death_ should be, Great editor, a _blank_ to thee; And thou who many _titles_ gave Should want _one title_ for this grave. Stay, passenger, and drop a tear; Here lies a noted Bookseller; This marble _index_ here is placed To tell, that when he found defaced His _book of life_, he died with grief: Yet he, by true and genuine belief, A new edition may expect, Far more _enlarged_ and more _correct_.

AT MONTICELLO, VA. Here lies buried §Thomas Jefferson§, Author of the Declaration of American Independence, Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom, And Father of the University of Virginia.

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

Garrick’s epitaph on Hogarth at Chiswick is well known. That written by Dr. Johnson is shorter and superior:—

The hand of him here torpid lies, That drew the essential form of grace; Here closed in death the attentive eyes That saw the manners in the face.

LORD BROUGHAM’S EPITAPH ON WATT, WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

Not to perpetuate a name Which must endure while the peaceful arts flourish, But to show That mankind have learned to honor those Who best deserve their gratitude, The King, his Ministers, and many of the Nobles And Commoners of the Realm Raised this Monument to §James Watt§, Who, directing the force of an original genius, Early exercised in philosophic research, To the improvement of The Steam Engine, Enlarged the resources of his Country, Increased the power of man, And rose to an eminent place Among the most illustrious followers of Science And the real benefactors of the World.

EULOGISTIC, APT, APPROPRIATE.

BEN JONSON’S ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE.

Underneath this marble hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sydney’s sister,—Pembroke’s mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another Fair, and wise, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee!

Marble piles let no man raise To her name for after days; Some kind woman born as she, Reading this, like Niobe, Shall turn marble, and become Both her mourner and her tomb.

ON ANOTHER LADY FRIEND.

Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die, Which in life did harbor give To more virtue than doth live.

ANDREW JACKSON’S EPITAPH ON HIS WIFE.

Here lie the remains of §Mrs. Rachel Jackson§, wife of President Jackson, who died December 22d, 1828, aged 61. Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, and her heart kind. She delighted in relieving the wants of her fellow-creatures, and cultivated that divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods. To the poor she was a benefactress; to the rich she was an example; to the wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an ornament. Her pity went hand in hand with her benevolence; and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to do good. A being so gentle and yet so virtuous, slander might wound, but could not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms of her husband, could but transplant her to the bosom of her God.

BISHOP LOWTH’S EPITAPH ON HIS DAUGHTER.

Cara, vale, ingenio præstans, pietate, pudore, Et plus quam natæ nomine cara, vale. Cara Maria, vale: ab veniet felicius ævum, Quando iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero. Cara redi, lætâ tum dicam voce, paternos Eja age in amplexus, cara Maria, redi!

[Dearer than daughter,—paralleled by few In genius, goodness, modesty,—adieu! Adieu! Maria,—till that day more blest, When, if deserving, I with thee shall rest. Come, then, thy sire will cry in joyful strain, Oh, come to my paternal arms again.]

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF OLD ST. PANCRAS.

_Miss Basnett, 1756, æt. 23._

Go, spotless honor and unsullied truth; Go, smiling innocence, and blooming youth; Go, female sweetness joined with manly sense; Go, winning wit, that never gave offence; Go, soft humanity, that blest the poor; Go, saint-eyed patience, from affliction’s door Go, modesty that never wore a frown; Go, virtue, and receive thy heavenly crown. Not from a stranger came this heartfelt verse: The friend inscribed thy tomb, whose tear bedewed thy hearse.

MALHERBE’S EPITAPH ON A YOUNG LADY.

Elle était de ce monde, ou les plus belles choses Ont le pire destin; Et, rose, elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses, L’espace d’un matin.

[She was of this world, where all things the rarest Have still the shortest race; A rose she lived (so lives of flowers the fairest) A little morning’s space!]

IN ST. MARY’S CHURCH, NOTTINGHAM.

§Luke xx. 36.§

Sleep on in peace; await thy Maker’s will; Then rise unchanged, and be an angel still!

In the church of Ightham, near Sevenoaks, Kent, is a mural monument with the bust of a lady, who was famous for her needle-work and was traditionally reported to have written the letter to Lord Monteagle which resulted in the discovery of the Gunpowder Plot. The following is the inscription:—

D. D. D. To the pretious name and honour of Dame Dorothy Selby, Relict of Sir William Selby, Kt. the only daughter and heire of Charles Bonham, Esq. She was a Dorcas, Whose curious needle wound the abused stage Of this leud world into the golden age; Whose pen of steel and silken inck enrolled The acts of Jonah in records of gold; Whose arte disclosed that plot, which, had it taken, Rome had triumphed, and Britain’s walls had shaken. She was In heart a Lydia, and in tongue a Hanna; In zeale a Ruth, in wedlock a Susanna; Prudently simple, providently wary, To the world a Martha, and to heaven a Mary. Who put on { in the year } Pilgrimage, 69. immortality { of her } Redeemer, 1641.

AT WESTFIELD, N. J.

_Mrs. Jennet Woodruff, 1750, æt. 43._

The dame, that rests within this tomb, Had Rachel’s beauty, Leah’s fruitful womb, Abigail’s wisdom, Lydia’s faithful heart, Martha’s just care, and Mary’s better part.

AT QUINCY, MASS.

1708.

Braintree, thy prophet’s gone; this tomb inters The Rev. Moses Fiske his sacred herse. Adore heaven’s praiseful art, that formed the man, Who souls, not to himself, but Christ oft won; Sailed through the straits with Peter’s family Renowned, and Gaius’ hospitality, Paul’s patience, James’s prudence, John’s sweet love, Is landed, entered, cleared, and crowned above.

IN CRANSTON, R.I.

Here lies the Body of §Joseph Williams, Esq.§ Son of Roger Williams, Esq. (The first white man that came to Providence.) Born 1644. Died 1725.

In King Philip’s war, he courageously went through, And the native Indians he bravely did subdue; And now he’s gone down into the grave, and he will be no more Until it please Almighty God his body to restore Into some proper shape, as he thinks fit to be, Perhaps like a grain of wheat, as Paul set forth, you see, Corinthians 1 Book, 15 chap. 37 verse.

ON THE TOMB OF MRS. DUNBAR, TRENTON, N.J.

The meed of merit ne’er shall die, Nor modest worth neglected lie, The fame that pious virtue gives, The Memphian monuments outlives. Reader, wouldst thou secure such praise, Go, learn Religion’s pleasant ways.

POPE’S EPITAPH ON HARCOURT.

To this sad shrine, whoe’er thou art! draw near; Here lies the friend most loved, the son most dear: Who ne’er knew joy but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he died.

The idea in the last line appears to be derived from an epitaph on an excellent wife, in the Roman catacombs:—

§Conjugi piissimæ de qua nihil aliud dolitus est nisi mortem.§

ON A SPANISH GIRL WHO DIED BROKEN-HEARTED.

She who lies beneath this stone Died of constancy alone: Fear not to approach, oh, passer-by— Of naught contagious did she die.

One of the simplest, truest, and most dignified epitaphs ever written may be found in the _Spectator_, No. 518:—

§Hic jacet R. C. in expectatione diei supremi. Qualis erat dies iste indicabit.§

AT BARNSTABLE, MASS.

_Rev. Joseph Green, 1770, æt. 70._

Think what the Christian minister should be, You’ve then his character, for such was he.

A similar epitaph may be found in Torrington churchyard, Devon:—

She was—but words are wanting to say what. Think what a woman should be—she was that.

Which provoked the following reply:—

A woman should be both a wife and mother, But Jenny Jones was neither one nor t’other.

AT GRIMSTEAD, ESSEX.

A wife so true, there are but few, And difficult to find; A wife more just, and true to trust, There is not left behind.

AT BATON ROUGE, LA.

Here lies the body of David Jones. His last words were, “I die a Christian and a Democrat.”

AT ELIZABETH CITY, N. J.

_Elias Boudinot, 1770, æt. 63._

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man.[27]

Footnote 27:

From Pope’s Epitaph on Fenton.

ON SIR THOMAS VERE.

When Vere sought death, armed with his sword and shield, Death was afraid to meet him in the field; But when his weapons he had laid aside, Death, like a coward, struck him, and he died.

BEN JONSON’S EPITAPH ON MICHAEL DRAYTON.

(_One of the Elizabethan Poets, ob. 1631._)

Do, pious Marble, let thy readers know What they and what their children owe To §Drayton’s§ name, whose sacred dust We recommend unto thy §TRUST§: Protect his memory and preserve his story, Remain a lasting monument of his glory; And when thy ruins shall disclaim To be the treasurer of his name, His name, that cannot fade, shall be An everlasting monument to thee!

The epigrammatic turn in the concluding stanza was evidently plagiarized from Ion’s inscription upon the tomb of Euripides, which is thus faithfully translated:—

Divine Euripides, this tomb we see So fair, is not a monument for thee, So much as thou for it; since all will own Thy name and lasting praise adorn the stone.

IN TICHFIELD CHURCH, HANTS.

The Husband, speakinge trewly of his wife, Read his losse in hir death, hir praise in life: Heare Lucie Quinsie Bromfield buried lies, With neighbors sad deepe, weepinge, hartes, sighes, eyes. Children eleaven, tenne livinge, me she brought. More kind, trewe, chaste was noane, in deed, word, thought. Howse, children, state, by hir was ruld, bred, thrives. One of the best of maides, of women, wives, Now gone to God, her heart sent long before; In fasting, prayer, faith, hope, and alms’ deedes stoare. If anie faulte, she lovéd me too much. Ah, pardon that, for ther are too fewe such! Then, reader, if thou not hard-hearted be, Praise God for hir, but sigh and praie for me. Heare, by hir dead, I dead desire to lie, Till, raised to life, wee meet no more to die. 1618.

ON INFANTS AND CHILDREN.

The following epitaph on an infant is by Samuel Wesley, the author of the caustic lines on the custom of perpetuating lies on monumental marble, by commemorating virtues which never had an existence,—ending thus:—

If on his specious marble we rely, Pity such worth as his should ever die! If credit to his real life we give, Pity a wretch like him should ever live!

ON AN INFANT.

Beneath, a sleeping infant lies. To earth whose ashes lent More glorious shall hereafter rise, But not more innocent.

When the archangel’s trump shall blow, And souls and bodies join, What crowds will wish their lives below Had been as short as thine!

ON FOUR INFANTS BURIED IN THE SAME TOMB.

Bold infidelity, turn pale and die! Beneath this stone four infants’ ashes lie: Say, are they lost or saved? If death’s by sin, they sinned; for they are here; If heaven’s by works, in heaven they can’t appear. Reason, ah, how depraved! Revere the Bible’s sacred page; the knot’s untied: They died, for Adam sinned; they live, for Jesus died.

IN MOUNT AUBURN CEMETERY.

On the base of a beautiful recumbent statuette in Yarrow Path is inscribed:—

EMILY. Shed not for her the bitter tear, Nor give the heart to vain regret; Tis but the casket that lies here: The gem that filled it sparkles yet.

ON A LITTLE BOY IN GREENWOOD CEMETERY.

Our §God§, to call us homeward, His only §Son§ sent down; And now, still more to tempt our hearts, Has taken up our own.

ON THE TOMBSTONE OF A CHILD BLIND FROM BIRTH.

There shall be no night there.

ON A CHILD FOUR YEARS OLD, WHO WAS BURNED TO DEATH.

“O!” Says the gardener, as he passes down the walk, “Who destroyed that flower? Who plucked that plant?” His fellow-servant said, “The Master.” And the gardener held his peace.

AT LITIZ, LANCASTER COUNTY, PA.

Oh, blest departed one! Whose all of life—a rosy ray— Blushed into dawn and passed away.

Uhland’s beautiful epitaph on an infant[28] has been thus paraphrased:—

Thou art come and gone with footfall low, A wanderer hastening to depart; Whither, and whence? we only know From God thou wast, with God thou art.

Footnote 28:

Du kamst, Du gingst mit leiser Spur, Ein flucht’ger Gast in Erdenland: Woher? wohin?—Wer wissen nur Aus Gottes hand in Gottes hand.

Better than this in spirit, by all that makes Christian faith and hope better than vague questioning, and fully equal to it in poetic merit, is the following by F. T. Palgrave:—

Pure, sweet, and fair, ere thou could’st taste of ill, God willed it and thy baby breath was still; Now ’mong his lambs thou livest thy Saviour’s care, Forever as thou wast, pure, sweet and fair.

COPIED FROM VARIOUS SOURCES.

Just with her lips the cup of life she pressed, Found the taste bitter and declined the rest; Averse then turning from the light of day, She softly sighed her little soul away.

* * * * *

The child that sleeps within this silent tomb Departed at the end of two short years: Many will wish when the great Judge shall come, They’d lived no longer in this vale of tears.

* * * * *

This lovely bud, so young, so fair, Called hence by early doom, Just came to show how sweet a flower In Paradise would bloom.

This by Burton, author of _The Anatomy of Melancholy_:—

Can nurse choose in her sweet babe more to find Than goods of Fortune, Body, and of Mind? Lo here at once all this; what greater bliss Canst hope or wish? Heaven. Why there he is.

ON A TOMBSTONE IN AUVERGNE.

Marie was the only child of her mother, “And she was a widow.” Marie sleeps in this grave— And the widow has now no child.

HISTORICAL EPITAPH.

A person of the name of Mary Scott was buried near the church of Dalkeith, in 1728, for whom the following singular epitaph was composed, but never engraved on her tombstone, though it has been frequently mentioned as copied from it:—

Stop, passenger, until my life you read: The living may get knowledge from the dead. Five times five years unwedded was my life; Five times five years I was a virtuous wife; Ten times five years I wept a widow’s woes; Now, tired of human scenes, I here repose. Betwixt my cradle and my grave were seen Seven mighty Kings of Scotland and a Queen. Full twice five years the Commonwealth I saw, Ten times the subjects rise against the law; And, which is worse than any civil war, A king arraigned before the subjects’ bar; Swarms of sectarians, hot with hellish rage, Cut off his royal head upon the stage. Twice did I see old Prelacy pulled down, And twice the cloak did sink beneath the gown. I saw the Stuart race thrust out,—nay, more, I saw our country sold for English ore; Our numerous nobles, who have famous been, Sunk to the lowly number of sixteen; Such desolation in my days have been, I have an end of all perfection seen.

BIOGRAPHICAL.

ON THE MONUMENT OF A DROPSICAL LADY.

Here lies Dame Mary Page, Relict of Sir Gregory Page, Bart. She departed this life, March 4th, 1728, In the 56th year of her age. In 67 months she was tapped 66 times, and Had taken away 240 gallons of water.

AT THE OLD MEN’S HOSPITAL, NORWICH, ENG.

In Memory of Mrs. Phebe Crewe, who died May 28, 1817, aged 77 years; who, during forty years’ practice as a midwife in this city, brought into the world nine thousand seven hundred and thirty children.

IN THE ABBEY CHURCH OF CONWAY.

Here lyeth the body of Nich^{las} Hooker, who was the one and fortieth child of his father by Alice his only wife, and the father of seven and twenty children by one wife. He died March 20th, 1637.

AT WOLSTANTON.

Mrs. Ann Jennings. Some have children, some have none: Here lies the mother of twenty-one.

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HEYDON.

Here lieth the body of William Strutton, of Paddington, buried May 18th, 1734, who had by his first wife, 28 children, and by a second wife, 17; own father to 45, grandfather to 86, great-grandfather to 97, and great-great-grandfather to 23; in all, 251.

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF PEWSEY, WILTSHIRE.

Here lies the body of Lady O’Looney, great-niece of Burke, commonly called the sublime. She was bland, passionate, and deeply religious; also, she painted in water-colors, and sent several pictures to the exhibition. She was first cousin to Lady Jones; and of such is the kingdom of heaven.

IN CRAYFORD CHURCHYARD, KENT.

Here lieth the body of Peter Snell, thirty-five years clerk of the parish. He lived respected as a pious and faithful man, and died on his way to church to assist at a wedding, on the 31st day of March, 1811. Aged 70 years. The inhabitants of Crayford have raised this stone to his cheerful memory, and as a tribute to his long and faithful services.

The life of this clerk was just threescore and ten, Nearly half of which time he had sung out Amen. In his youth he was married, like other young men, But his wife died one day, so he chanted Amen. A second he took; she departed: what then? He married and buried a third with Amen. Thus his joys and his sorrows were _treble_; but then His voice was deep _bass_, as he sang out Amen. On the horn he could blow as well as most men, So “his horn was exalted” in blowing Amen. But he lost all his wind after threescore and ten, And here with his wives he waits till again The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out Amen.

AT WREXHAM, WALES.

Elihu Yale, (founder of Yale College,) ob. 1721, æt. 73.

Born in America, in Europe bred, In Afric travelled, and in Asia wed; Where long he lived and thrived, in London dead. Much good, some ill, he did; so hope all’s even, And that his soul through mercy’s gone to Heaven. You that survive, and read this tale, take care, For this most certain exit to prepare, Where, blest in peace, the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in the silent dust.

SELF-WRITTEN.

MATTHEW PRIOR’S.

Painters and heralds, by your leave, Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior, The son of Adam and of Eve:— Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher!

It is said (and the statement appears highly probable) that Prior borrowed his lines from the following very ancient epitaph upon a tombstone in Scotland:—

John Carnagie lies here, Descended from Adam and Eve; If any can boast of a pedigree higher, He will willingly give them leave.

COLERIDGE’S.

Stop, Christian passer-by! stop, child of God, And read with gentle heart. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seemed he:— O lift a thought in prayer for S. T. C., That he, who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death; Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame, He asked, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same!

JOHN BACON’S, TOTTENHAM COURT CHAPEL.

What I was as an Artist Seemed to me of some importance while I lived; But what I really was as a believer in Christ Jesus, is the only thing of importance to me now.

DR. COOPER’S, EDINBURGH.

Here lies a priest of English blood, Who, living, liked whate’er was good,— Good company, good wine, good name, Yet never hunted after fame; But as the first he still preferred, So here he chose to be interred, And, unobscured, from crowds withdrew To rest among a chosen few, In humble hopes that sovereign love Will raise him to be blest above.

POPE ADRIAN’S.

Adrianus, Papa VI., hic situs est, que nihil sibi Infelicius in vita, quam quod imperaret duxit.

SHEIL’S, (THE IRISH ORATOR).

Here lie I. There’s an end to my woes. And my spirit at length at _aise_ is, With the tip of my nose, and the ends of my toes, Turned up ’gainst the roots of the daisies.

The eccentric Sternhold Oakes offered a reward for the best epitaph for his grave. Several tried for the prize, but they flattered him too much, he thought. At last he undertook it himself; and the following was the result:—

Here lies the body of Sternhold Oakes, Who lived and died like other folks.

That was satisfactory, and the old gentleman claimed the prize, which, as he had the paying of it, was of course allowed.

MORALIZING AND ADMONITORY.

AT KENNEBUNK, MAINE.

Rev. Daniel Little, 1801. Memento mori! preached his ardent youth, Memento mori! spoke maturer years; Memento mori! sighed his latest breath, Memento mori! now this stone declares.

AT ANDOVER, MASS.

John Abbot, 1793, æt. 90. Grass, smoke, a flower, a vapor, shade, a span, Serve to illustrate the frail life of man; And they, who longest live, survive to see The certainty of death, of life the vanity.

IN LLANGOWEN CHURCHYARD, WALES.

Our life is but a summer’s day: Some only breakfast, and away; Others to dinner stay, and are full fed; The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. Large his account, who lingers out the day; Who goes the soonest, has the least to pay.

IN ST. SAVIOUR’S CHURCHYARD, SOUTHWARK.

Like to the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower of May, Or like the morning of the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had; Even so is man, whose thread is spun, Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, The flower fades, the morning hasteth: The sun sets, the shadow flies, The gourd consumes, and man he dies.

IN GILLINGHAM CHURCHYARD, ENG.

Take time in time while time doth last, For time is not time when time is past.

GARRICK’S EPITAPH ON QUINN, ABBEY CHURCH, BATH.

Here lies James Quinn! Deign reader, to be taught, Whate’er thy strength of body, force of thought, In nature’s happiest mould however cast, To this complexion thou must come at last.

IN NEWINGTON CHURCHYARD.

Through Christ, I am not inferior To William the Conqueror.

IN LINCOLNSHIRE, ENGLAND.

Under this solitary sod There lies a man Whose ways were very odd: Whatever his faults were, Let them alone. Let thy utmost care be To mend thine own: Let him without a sin First cast a stone.

ADVERTISING INSCRIPTIONS AND NOTICES.

IN WILTSHIRE, ENGLAND.

Beneath this stone in hopes of Zion, Is laid the landlord of the Lion. Resigned unto the heavenly will, His son keeps on the business still.

In the cemetery of Montmartre, a memorial to a Parisian tradesman, killed in an émeute in the earlier part of the reign of Louis Phillippe, concludes with this advertisement:—

This tomb was executed by his bereaved widow (_veuve_ désolée,) who still carries on his business at No. — Rue St. Martin.

This announcement is from a Spanish journal:—

This morning our Saviour summoned away the jeweller Siebald Illmaga from his shop to another and better world. The undersigned, his widow, will weep upon his tomb, as will also his two daughters, Hilda and Emma, the former of whom is married, and the latter is open to an offer. The funeral will take place to-morrow. His disconsolate widow, Veronique Illmaga. P. S.—This bereavement will not interrupt our business, which will be carried on as usual, only our place of business will be removed from No. 3, Tessi de Teinturiers, to No. 4 Rue de Missionaire, as our grasping landlord has raised our rent.

UNIQUE AND LUDICROUS EPITAPHS.

ON A CONNECTICUT MAN WITH A REMARKABLE TUMOR.

Our father lies beneath the sod, His spirit’s gone unto his God; We never more shall hear his tread, _Nor see the wen upon his head_.

ON THE BELOVED PARTNER OF ROBERT KEMP.

She once was mine But now, oh, Lord, I her to Thee resign, and remain your obedient, humble servant, Robert Kemp.

ON A MISER.

Here lies old Father Gripe, who never cried _Jam satis_; ’Twould wake him did he know you read his tombstone gratis.

REQUIESCAT IN PACE.

Here lies the body of Obadiah Wilkinson, and Ruth, his wife: Their warfare is accomplished.

ON MISS GWIN.

Here lies the body of Nancy Gwin, Who was so very pure within, She burst her outward shell of sin, And hatched herself a cherubim.

Whether this, from a village churchyard, is an improvement on Young, is a question:—

Death loves a shining mark, and _In this case he had it_.

EPITAPH FOR A GREAT TALKER.

Hic tacet—instead of hic jacet.

IN OTSEGO COUNTY, N. Y.

John burns.

(On this a commentator remarks, “Most men suffer enough above ground without being bunglingly abused, _post mortem_, in ill-written inscriptions which were at least intended to be civil. We suppose the words were simply intended to record the man’s name; but they look marvellously like a noun substantive coupled with a verb in the indicative mood, and affording a sad indication that John _burns_. There is no hint that John deserved the fate to which he appears to have been consigned since his decease, and we can only say as we read the startling declaration, we should be very sorry to believe it.”)

In the church of Stoke Holy Cross, near Norwich, Eng., is the following epitaph:—

In the womb of this tomb twins in expectation lay, To be born in the morn of the Resurrection day.

IN A CHURCHYARD IN CORNWALL.

Here lies the body of Gabriel John, Who died in the year one thousand and one; Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, You may, if you please, or let it alone, For it’s all one To Gabriel John, Who died in the year one thousand and one.

IN MORETON CHURCHYARD.

Here lies the bones of Roger Norton, Whose sudden death was oddly brought on: Trying one day his corns to mow off, The razor slipt and cut his toe off! The toe—or, rather, what it grew to— An inflammation quickly flew to; The part then took to mortifying, Which was the cause of Roger’s dying.

ON A WOOD-CUTTER, OCKHAM, SURREY, 1736.

The Lord saw good, I was lopping off wood, And down fell from the tree; I met with a check, and I broke my neck, And so death lopped off me.

A stone-cutter received the following epitaph from a German, to be cut upon the tombstone of his wife:—

Mine vife Susan is dead, if she had life till nex friday she’d bin dead shust two veeks. As a tree falls so must it stan, all tings is impossible mit God.

IN CHILDWALL PARISH, ENGLAND.

Here lies me, and my three daughters, Brought here by using Cheltenham waters. If we had stuck to Epsom salts We wouldn’t be in these here vaults.

AT OXFORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

To all my friends I bid adieu, A more sudden death you never knew, As I was leading the old mare to drink, She kicked, and killed me quicker’n a wink.

A SOUTH CAROLINA TRIBUTE TO DEPARTED WORTH.

Here lies the boddy of Robert Gordin, Mouth almighty and teeth ackordin, Stranger tread lightly over this wonder, If he opens his mouth, you are gone by thunder.

ON AN EAST TENNESSEE LADY.

She lived a life of virtue, and died of the cholera morbus, caused by eating green fruit, in hope of a blessed immortality, at the early age of 21 years, 7 months and 16 days! Reader, ‘Go thou and do likewise.’

FROM SOLYHULL CHURCHYARD, WARWICKSHIRE.

The following epitaph was written by a certain Rev. Dr. Greenwood on his wife, who died in childbirth. One hardly knows which to admire most,—the merit of the couplet wherein he celebrates her courage and magnanimity in preferring him to a lord or judge, or the sound advice with which he closes.

Go, cruel Death, thou hast cut down The fairest Greenwood in all this kingdom! Her virtues and good qualities were such That surely she deserved a lord or judge; But her piety and humility Made her prefer me, a Doctor in Divinity; Which heroic action, joined to all the rest, Made her to be esteemed the Phœnix of her sex; And like that bird, a young she did create To comfort those her loss had made disconsolate. My grief for her was so sore That I can only utter two lines more: For this and all other good women’s sake, Never let blisters be applied to a lying-in woman’s back.

Robert Baxter of Farhouse, who died in 1796, was believed to have been poisoned by a neighbor with whom he had a violent quarrel. Baxter was well known to be a man of voracious appetite; and it seems that one morning, on going out to the fell, he found a piece of bread and butter wrapped in white paper. This he incautiously devoured, and died a few hours after in great agony. The following is inscribed on his tombstone, Knaresdale, Northumberland:—

All you that please these lines to read, It will cause a tender heart to bleed. I murdered was upon the fell, And by the man I knew full well; By bread and butter which he’d laid, I, being harmless, was betrayed. _I hope he will rewarded be_ That laid the poison there for me.

IN DONCASTER CHURCHYARD, 1816.

Here lies 2 Brothers by misfortin serounded, One dy’d of his wounds & the other was drownded.

AT SARAGOSSA, SPAIN.

Here lies John Quebecca, precentor to My Lord the King. When he is admitted to the choir of angels, whose society he will embellish, and where he will distinguish himself by his powers of song, God shall say to the angels, “Cease, ye calves! and let me hear John Quebecca, the precentor of My Lord the King!”

ROCHESTER’S EPITAPH ON CHARLES II.

Here lies our sovereign lord the king, Whose word no man relied on; Who never said a foolish thing, And never did a wise one.

FROM A GRAVESTONE IN ESSEX, ENGLAND.

Here lies the man Richard, And Mary his wife, Whose surname was Pritchard: They lived without strife; And the reason was plain,— They abounded in riches, They had no care nor pain, _And his wife wore the breeches_.

In All Saints’ Churchyard, Leicester, may be found the following on two children of John Bracebridge, who were both named John and both died in infancy:—

Both John and John soon lost their lives, And yet, by God, John still survives.

Bishop Thurlow, at one of his visitations, had the words _by God_ altered to _through God_.

FROM THETFORD CHURCHYARD.

My grandfather was buried here, My cousin Jane, and two uncles dear; My father perished with inflammation in the thighs, And my sister dropped down dead in the Minories: But the reason why I’m here interred, according to my thinking, Is owing to my good living and hard drinking. If, therefore, good Christians, you wish to live long, Don’t drink too much wine, brandy, gin, or any thing strong.

IN A CHURCHYARD IN ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND.

Here lies I, Martin Elmrod; Have mercy on my soul, gude God, As I would have on thine gin I were God, And thou wert Martin Elmrod.

IN SWANSEA CHURCHYARD.

The body underneath this stone is Of my late husband, Jacob Jonas, Who, when alive, was an Adonis. Ah! well-a-day!

O death! thou spoiler of fair faces, Why tookst thou him from my embraces? How couldst thou mar so many graces? Say, tyrant, say.

AT NORTHALLERTON.

Hic jacet Walter Gun, Sometime landlord of the _Sun_; _Sic transit gloria mundi_! He drank hard upon Friday, That being a high day, Then took to his bed, and died upon Sunday.

ALL SAINTS, NEWCASTLE.

Here lies poor Wallace, The prince of good fellows, Clerk of Allhallows, And maker of bellows. He bellows did make till the day of his death; But he that made bellows could never make breath.

IN CALSTOCK CHURCHYARD, CORNWALL.

’Twas by a fall I caught my death; No man can tell his time or breath; I might have died as soon as then, If I had had physician men.

ON GENERAL WOLFE.

On the death of General Wolfe, a premium was offered for the best epitaph on that officer. One of the candidates for the prize sent a poem, of which the following stanza is a specimen:—

He marched without dread or fears, At the head of his bold grenadiers; And what was more remarkable—nay, _very particular_— He climbed up rocks that were perpendicular.

§REBECCA ROGERS, FOLKESTONE§, 1688.

A house she hath, ’tis made of such good fashion, The tenant ne’er shall pay for reparation; Nor will her landlord ever raise her rent, Or turn her out of doors for non-payment: From chimney-tax this cell’s forever free,— To such a house, who would not tenant be?

IN DORCHESTER, MASS. 1661.

Heare lyes our captaine, and major of Suffolk was withall, A godly magistrate was he, and major generall. Two troops of hors with him here came, such worth his love did crave, Ten companyes of foot also mourning marcht to his grave. Let all that read be sure to keep the faith as he hath don; With Christ he lives now crownd. His name was Humphry Atherton.

IN KNIGHTSBRIDGE CHURCHYARD.

On a man who was too poor to be buried with relations in the church:—

Here I lie at the chancel door, And I lie here because I am poor; For the further in, the more you pay,— But here I lie as warm as they.

IN BIDEFORD CHURCHYARD, KENT.

The wedding-day appointed was, And wedding-clothes provided, But ere the day did come, alas! He sickened, and he die did.

IN WHITTLEBURY CHURCHYARD, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE.

John Heath, 1767, æt. 27. While Time doth run, from sin depart; Let none e’er shun Death’s piercing dart; For read and look, and you will see A wondrous change was wrought on me. For while I lived in joy and mirth, Grim Death came in and stopped my breath; For I was single in the morning light, By noon was married, and was dead at night.

IN LONGNOR CHURCHYARD, STAFFORD.

William Billings, a soldier in the British army 75 years, Died 1793, aged 114 years. Billeted by death, I quartered here remain, And when the trumpet sounds, I’ll rise and march again.

IN ROCHESTER CHURCHYARD, ENG.

Though young she was, Her youth could not withstand, Nor her protect From Death’s impartial hand. Life is a cobweb, be we e’er so gay, And death a broom that sweeps us all away.

HUMPHREY COLE.

Here lies the body of good Humphrey Cole; Though black his name, yet spotless is his soul; But yet not black, though Carbo is the name, Thy chalk is scarcely whiter than his fame. A priest of priests, inferior was to none, Took heaven by storm when here his race was run. Thus ends the record of this pious man: Go and do likewise, reader, if you can.

IN EAST HARTFORD, CONN.

Now she is dead and cannot stir; Her cheeks are like the faded rose; Which of us next shall follow her, The Lord Almighty only knows.

Hark, she bids all her friends adieu; An angel calls her to the spheres; Our eyes the radiant saint pursue Through liquid telescopes of tears.

ON A TOMBSTONE IN NEW JERSEY.

Reader, pass on!—don’t waste your time On bad biography and bitter rhyme; For what _I am_, this crumbling clay insures, And what _I was_, is no affair of yours!

IN A NEW ENGLAND GRAVEYARD.

Here lies John Auricular, Who in the ways of the Lord walked perpendicular.

* * * * *

Many a cold wind o’er my body shall roll, While in Abraham’s bosom I’m a feasting my soul.

AT AUGUSTA, MAINE.

—After Life’s _Scarlet Fever_, I sleep well.

The following illustrated epitaph is copied from a tombstone near Williamsport, Pa.

[Illustration]

Sacred to the memory of §Henry Harris§, Born June 27th, 1821, of Henry Harris and Jane his wife. Died on the 4th of May, 1837, by the kick of a colt in his bowels. Peaceable and quiet, a friend to his father and mother, and respected by all who knew him, and went to the world where horses don’t kick, where sorrows and weeping is no more.

In Dorchester, Mass. may be seen the following queer epitaph on a young woman:—

On the 21st of March God’s angels made a _sarche_. Around the door they stood; They took a maid, It is said, And cut her down like wood.

A Dutchman’s epitaph on his twin babes:—

Here lies two babes, dead as two nits, Who shook to death mit aguey fits. They was too good to live mit me, So God he took ’em to live mit he.

MORTUARY PUNS.

Peter Comestor, whom the following epitaph represents as speaking, was the author of a Commentary on the Scriptures. He died in 1198:—

I who was once called _Peter_ [a stone], am now covered by a _stone_ [_petra_]; and I who was once named _Comestor_ [devourer], am now _devoured_. I taught when alive, nor do I cease to teach, though dead; for he who beholds me reduced to ashes may say,—“This man was once what we are now; and what he is now, we soon shall be.”

ON A YOUTH WHO DIED FOR LOVE OF MOLLY STONE.

Molle fuit saxum, saxum, O! si Molle fuisset, Non foret hic subter, sed super esset ei.

Luttrell wrote the following on a man who was run over by an omnibus:—

Killed by an omnibus! Why not? So quick a death a boon is: Let not his friends lament his lot— _Mors omnibus communis_.

WILLIAM MORE, STEPNEY CHURCHYARD.

Here lies _one More_, and _no more_ than he; _One More_, and _no more_! how can that be? Why _one More_ and _no more_, may lie here alone; But here lies _one More_, and that’s _more_ than one!

On the tombstone of John Fell, superintendent of the turnpike-roads from Kirby Kendal to Kirby Irleth, are the following lines:—

Reader, doth he not merit well thy praise, Whose practice was through life to _mend his ways_?

IN SELBY CHURCHYARD, YORK.

This tombstone is a Milestone; ha, how so? Because, beneath lies _Miles_, who’s Miles below.

ON DU BOIS, BORN IN A BAGGAGE-WAGON, AND KILLED IN A DUEL.

Begot in a cart, in a cart first drew breath, Carte tierce was his life, and a carte was his death,

ON LILL.

Here lies the tongue of Godfrey Lill, Which always lied, and _lies here still_.

On the tombstone of Dr. Walker, who wrote a work on “English Particles,” is inscribed,—

Here lies Walker’s Particles.

Dr. Fuller’s reads,—

Here lies Fuller’s Earth.

And Archbishop Potter’s,—

Alack and well-a-day, Potter himself is turned to clay.

Proposed by Jerrold for Charles Knight, the Shakspearian critic:—

Good Knight.

On a well-known Shakspearian actor:—

Exit Burbage.

On the tomb of an auctioneer at Greenwood:—

Going,—going,—§GONE§!

Miss Long was a beautiful actress of the last century, so short in stature that she was called the Pocket Venus. Her epitaph concludes,—

Though Long, yet short; Though short, yet _Pretty_ Long.

On the eminent barrister, Sir John Strange:—

Here lies an honest lawyer—that is _Strange_.

On William Button, in a churchyard near Salisbury:—

O sun, moon, stars, and ye celestial poles! Are graves, then, dwindled into Button-holes?

On Foote, the comedian:—

Foote from his earthly stage, alas! is hurled; Death took him off, who took off all the world.

In the chancel of the church of Barrow-on-Soar, Leicestershire, is the following on Theophilus Cave:—

Here in this Grave there lies a Cave. We call a Grave a Cave; If Cave be Grave, and Grave be Cave, Then, reader, judge, I crave, Whether doth Cave here lye in Grave, Or Grave here lye in Cave: If Grave in Cave here bury’d lye, Then Grave, where is thy victory? Goe, reader, and report here lyes a Cave, Who conquers Death and buries his own Grave.

The following, in Harrow Churchyard, is ascribed to Lord Byron:—

Beneath these green trees rising to the skies, The planter of them, Isaac Greentree, lies; A time shall come when these green trees shall fall, And Isaac Greentree rise above them all.

ON THOMAS GREENHILL, OXFORDSHIRE, 1624.

He once a _Hill_ was fresh and _Green_, Now withered is not to be seen; Earth in earth shovelled up is shut, A _Hill_ into a _Hole_ is put; But darksome earth by Power Divine, Bright at last as the sun may shine.

ON A CORONER WHO HANGED HIMSELF.

He lived and died By _suicide_.

ON A CELEBRATED COOK.

Peace to his hashes.

ON MR. FISH.

Worms bait for fish; but here’s a sudden change; Fish is bait for worms—is not that passing strange?

ON TWO CHILDREN.

To the memory of Emma and Maria Littleboy, the twin-children of George and Emma Littleboy of Hornsey, who died July 16, 1783.

Two little boys lie here, Yet strange to say, These little boys are girls.

ON MISS NOTT.

Nott born, Nott dead, Nott christened, Nott begot; So here she lies that was and that was Nott. Reader behold a wonder rarely wrought, Which while thou seem’st to read thou readest Nott.

ON MARY ANGEL, STEPNEY, 1693.

To say an angel here interred doth lie, May be thought strange, for angels never die; Indeed some fell from heaven to hell, Are lost to rise no more; This only fell from death to earth, Not lost but gone before; Her dust lodged here, her soul perfect in grace, Among saints and angels now hath took its place.

Beloe, in his Anecdotes, gives the following on William Lawes, the musical composer, who was killed by the Roundheads:—

Concord is conquered! In his turn there lies The master of great Music’s mysteries; And in it is a riddle, like the cause, Will Lawes was slain by men whose _Wills_ were Laws.

ON MR. JOSEPH KING.

Here lies a man than whom no better’s _wal-king_, Who was when sleeping even always _tal-king_; A _king_ by birth was he, and yet was no king, In life was _thin-king_, and in death was §Jo-King§.

_On John Adams, of Southwell, a carrier, who died of drunkenness._—§Byron.§

John Adams lies here, of the parish of Southwell, A _carrier_ who carried the can to his mouth well; He carried so much, and he carried so fast, He could carry no more,—so was carried at last; For the liquor he drank being too much for one, He could not carry off, so he’s now carri-on.

ON A LINEN-DRAPER.

Cottons and cambrics, all adieu, And muslins too, farewell, Plain, striped, and figured, old and new, Three quarters, yard, or ell; By nail and yard I’ve measured ye, As customers inclined, The churchyard now has measured me. And nails my coffin bind.

ON A WOMAN WHO HAD AN ISSUE IN HER LEG.

Here lieth Margaret, otherwise Meg, Who died without issue, save one in her leg. Strange woman was she, and exceedingly cunning, For while one leg stood still, the other kept running.

FROM LLANFLANTWYTHYL CHURCHYARD, WALES.

Under this stone lies Meredith Morgan, Who blew the bellows of our church-organ; Tobacco he hated, to smoke most unwilling, Yet never so pleased as when pipes he was filling; No reflection on him for rude speech could be cast, Though he made our old organ give many a blast. No puffer was he, though a capital blower, He could fill double G, and now lies a note lower.

ON A LAST-MAKER.

Stop, stranger, stop, and wipe a tear, For the _last_ man at _last_ lies here. Though ever-_last_-ing he has been, He has at _last_ passed life’s _last_ scene. Famed for good works, much time he passed In doing good,—he has done his _last_.

FROM ST. ANNE’S CHURCHYARD, ISLE OF MAN.

Daniel Tear, ob. Dec. 7, 1787, æt. 110 years. Here, friend, is little Daniel’s tomb; To Joseph’s age he did arrive, Sloth killing thousands in their bloom, While labor kept poor Dan alive. Though strange, yet true, full seventy years His wife was happy in her _Tears_.

In the Greek Anthology is a punning epitaph on a physician, by Empedocles, who lived in the fifth century before Christ. The pun consists in the derivation of the name _Pausanias_,—causing a cessation of pain or affliction,—and therefore only a portion of the double meaning can be preserved in a translation:—

_Paus_anias,—not so named without a cause, As one who oft has given to pain a _pause_,— Blest son of Esculapius, good and wise, Here in his native Gela buried lies; Who many a wretch once rescued by his charms From dark Persephone’s constraining arms.

CURIOUS AND PUZZLING EPITAPHS.

On the monument of Sardanapalus was inscribed, in Assyrian characters,—

ΕΣΤΗΙΕ, ΠΙΝΕ, ΠΑΙΖΕ. ὩΣ ΤΑΛΛΑ ΤΟΥΤΟΥ ΟΥΚ ΑΞΙΑ

EAT, DRINK, BE MERRY. THE REST IS NOT WORTH THAT!

meaning _a snap of the fingers_, which is represented by a hand engraved on the stone, with the thumb and middle finger meeting at the top. Casaubon translates παιζειν, _to love_ (παιζειν nihil aliud significat nisi ερᾶν). Solomon said, _all is vanity_, but not till he had _eaten, drunk, and loved_ to a surfeit; and Swift left the well-known lines,—

Life’s a farce, and all things show it, I thought so once, but now I know it,—

but this information was for the tomb, when the capacity to eat, drink, and love was gone.

* * * * *

At the entrance of the church of San Salvador, in the city of Oviedo, in Spain, is a remarkable tomb, erected by a prince named _Silo_, with a very curious Latin inscription, which may be read two hundred and seventy ways, by beginning with the capital S in the centre:—

§Silo Princeps Fecit.§

T I C E F S P E C N C E P S F E C I T I O E F S P E C N I N C E P S F E C I C E F S P E C N I R I N C E P C F E C E F S P E C N I R P R I N C E P S F E F S P E C N I R P O P R I N C E P S F S P E C N I R P O L O P R I N C E P S P E C N I R P O L I L O P R I N C E P E C N I R P O L I =S= I L O P R I N C E P E C N I R P O L I L O P R I N C E P S P E C N I R P O L O P R I N C E P S F S P E C N I R P O P R I N C E P S F E F S P E C N I R P R I N C E P S F E C E F S P E C N I R I N C E P S F E C I C E F S P E C N I N C E P S F E C I T I C E F S P E C N C E P S F E C I T

On the tomb are inscribed these letters:—

H. S. E. S. S. T. T. L.

Which are the initials of the following Latin words:—

Hic situs est Silo, sit tibi terra levis. [Here lies Silo. May the earth lie lightly upon him.]

FROM ST. AGNES’, LONDON.

Qu an tris di c vul stra os guis ti ro um nere vit. H san chris mi t mu la

The middle line furnishes the terminal letters or syllables of the words in the upper and lower lines, and when added they read thus:—

Quos anguis tristi diro cum vulnere stravit Hos sanguis Christi miro tum munere lavit. [Those who have felt the serpent’s venomed wound In Christ’s miraculous blood have healing found.]

FROM A CHURCHYARD IN GERMANY.

O quid tua te be bis bia abit ra ra ra es et in ram ram ram i i Mox eris quod ego nunc.

Taking the position of the words in the first line, which are placed _above_ or _over_ (super) those in the second, and noting the repetition of the syllables _ra_ and _ram_ thrice (ter), and the letter _i_ twice (bis), the reading is easy.

O _super_be quid _super_bis? tua _super_bia te _super_abit. _Ter_ra es et in _ter_ram i_bis_. Mox eris quod ego nunc.

FROM CUNWALLOW CHURCHYARD, CORNWALL.

(May be read backwards or forwards, up or down.)

Shall we all die? We shall die all, All die shall we,— Die all we shall.

FROM LAVENHAM CHURCH, NORFOLK, ENG.

John Weles, ob. 1694. Quod fuit esse, quod est; Quod non fuit esse, quod esse; Esse quod est, non est; Quod non est, hoc erit esse.

[What was existence, is that which lies here; that which was not existence, is that which is existence; to be what is now is not to be; that which is now, is not existence, but will be hereafter.]

Or thus:—

That which a being was, what is it? show; That being which it was, it is not now; To be what is, is not to be, you see; That which now is not shall a being be.

ON THE MONUMENT OF JOHN OF DONCASTER, 1579.

Habeo, dedi quod alteri; Habuique quod, dedi mihi; Sed quod reliqui, perdidi.

[What I gave, I have; What I spent, I had; What I saved, I lost.]

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF LLANGERRIG, MONTGOMERYSHIRE.

O } { O } { observe this well,— That } Earth { to } Earth { shall come to dwell; Then } { in } { shall close remain, Till } { from } { shall rise again.

IN HADLEY CHURCHYARD, SUFFOLK.

The charnel mounted on the w } Sets to be seen in funer } A matron plain domestic } In care and pain continu } Not slow, not gay, not prodig } §ALL§. Yet neighborly and hospit } Her children seven, yet living } Her sixty-seventh year hence did c } To rest her body natur } In hopes to rise spiritu }

WRITTEN IN 1748.

Ye witty mortals, as you’re passing by, Remark that near this monument doth lie, Centered in dust, Two husbands, two wives, Two sisters, two brothers, Two fathers, a son, Two daughters, two mothers, A grandfather, grandmother, and a granddaughter, An uncle, an aunt, and their niece followed after. This catalogue of persons mentioned here Was only _five_, and all from incest clear.

IN ST. PAUL’S, DEPTFORD.

Rev. Dr. Conyers expired immediately after the delivery of a sermon from the text, “Ye shall see my face no more,” æt. 62, 1786.

Sent by their Lord on purposes of grace, Thus angels do his will, and see his face; With outspread wings they stand, prepared to soar, Declare their message, and are seen no more.

Underneath is a Latin inscription, of which the following is a translation:—

I have sinned, I repented, I believed, I have loved, I rest, I shall rise again, And by the grace of Christ, However unworthy, I shall reign.

PARALLELS WITHOUT A PARALLEL.

AT WINCHESTER, ENG.

On the north side of this church is the monument of two brothers of the surname Clarke, wherewith I was so taken as take them I must; and as I found them I pray accept them.

Thus an union of two brothers from Avington, the Clarkes’ family, were grandfather, father, and son, successivelie _clerkes_ of the Privy Seale in Court.

The grandfather had but two sons, both Thomas. Their wives both Amys, Their heyres both Henry, And the heyres of Henries both Thomas. Both their wives were inheritrixes, And both had two sons and one daughter. And both their daughters issuelesse. Both of Oxford; both of the Temple; Both officers to Queen Elizabeth and o^r noble King James. And both Justices of the Peace. Togeather both agree in armes, one a knight, y^e other a captain. Si quæras plura; both—; and so I leave y^m.

BATHOS.

HOWELL’S EPITAPH ON CHARLES I.

So fell the royal oak by a wild crew Of mongrel shrubs, that underneath him grew; So fell the lion by a pack of curs; So the rose withered ’twixt a knot of burs; So fell the eagle by a swarm of gnats; So the whale perished by a shoal of sprats!

TRANSCENDENTAL.

FROM THE CHURCHYARD OF ST. EDMUND’S, SALISBURY.

Written by a Swedenborgian named Maton, on his children.

Innocence embellishes divinely complete To prescience co-egent now sublimely great In the benign, perfecting, vivifying state. So heavenly guardian occupy the skies The pre-existent God, omnipotent, all-wise; He shall surpassingly immortalize thy theme And permanent thy bliss, celestial, supreme. When gracious refulgence bids the grave resign, The Creator’s nursing protection be thine; Then each perspiring ether shall joyfully rise Transcendently good, supereminently wise.

CENTO.

AT NORTHBOROUGH, MASS.

On the tombstone of Rabbi Judah Monis, 40 years Hebrew Instructor in Harvard University, who was converted to Christianity in 1722, and died in 1764.

A native branch of Jacob see, Which once from off its olive broke; Regrafted from the living tree, Rom. xi. 17, 24. Of the reviving sap partook. From teeming Zion’s fertile womb, Isa. lxvi. 8. As dewy drops in early morn, Ps. cx. 3. Or rising bodies from the tomb, John v. 28, 29. At once be Israel’s nation born. Isa. lxvi. 8.

ACROSTICAL.

AT DORCHESTER, MASS.

James Humphrey, 1686. I nclosed within this shrine is precious dust, A nd only waits the rising of the just; M ost useful while he lived, adorned his station, E ven to old age served his generation, S ince his decease thought of with veneration.

H ow great a blessing this ruling elder he U nto this church and town and pastors three! M ather, the first, did by him help receive; F lint he did next his burden much relieve; R enowned Danforth did he assist with skill, E steemed high by all, bear fruit until, Y ielding to death, his glorious seat did fill.

IN ASH CHURCH, KENT.

©J© John Brooke of the Parish of Ashe, ©O© Only he is nowe gone, ©H© His days are past; his corps is layd ©N© Now under this marble stone.

©B© Brookstrete he was the honor of, ©R© Robd now it is of name, ©O© Only because he had no sede ©O© Or children to have the same; ©K© Knowing that all must pass away, ©E© Even when God will, none can denay. He passed to God in the yere of Grace One thousand fyve hundredth fower score and two it was, The sixteenth daye of January, I tell now playne, The fyve and twentieth yere of Elizabeth rayne.

ABORIGINAL.

IN THE MOHEAGAN BURIAL-GROUND, CONN.

Here lies the body of §Sunseeto§, Own son to Uncas, grandson to Oneeko, Who were the famous sachems of Moheagan, But now they are all dead, I think it is _werheegen_.[29]

Footnote 29:

Meaning, _All is well, or good news_.

ORONO, CHIEF OF THE PENOBSCOTS, OLDTOWN, MAINE, 1801, ÆT. 113

Safe lodged within his blanket, here below, Lie the last relics of old §Orono§; Worn down with toil and care, he in a trice Exchanged his wigwam for a paradise.

AFRICAN.

AT CONCORD, MASS.

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills: God’s will be done. Here lies the body of §John Jack§, a native of Africa, who died, March, 1773, aged about 60 years. Though born in a land of slavery, he was born free; though he lived in a land of liberty, he lived a slave, till, by his honest though stolen labors, he acquired the source of slavery, which gave him his freedom, though not long before death, the grand tyrant, gave him his final emancipation, and set him on a footing with kings. Though a slave to vice, he practised those virtues, without which, kings are but slaves.

AT ATTLEBORO, MASS.

Here lies the best of slaves, Now turning into dust. Cesar, the Ethiopian, craves A place among the just. His faithful soul is fled To realms of heavenly light; And by the blood that Jesus shed, Is changed from black to white January 15, he quitted the stage, In the 77th year of his age.

HIBERNIAN.

AT BELTURBET.

Here lies John Higley, whose father and mother were drowned in their passage from America. Had they both _lived, they would have been buried here_.(!)

* * * * *

Here lies the body of John Mound, Lost at sea and never found.

* * * * *

O cruel Death! how could you be so unkind, To take him before and leave me behind? You should have taken both of us if either; Which would have been more pleasing to the survivor!

* * * * *

Here lies father and mother, and sister and I,— They all died within the short space of one year. They all be buried at Wimble but I, And I be buried here.

AT MONKNEWTON, NEAR DROGHEDA.

Erected by Patrick Kelly, Of the town of Drogheda, Mariner, In Memory of his Posterity. Also the above Patrick Kelly, Who departed this Life the 12th August 1844, Age 60 years, Requiescat in pace.

AT MONTROSE, 1757.

Here lyes the Bodeys of George Young and Isabel Guthrie, and all their Posterity for more than fifty years backwards.

AT ST. ANDREW’S, PLYMOUTH.

Here lies the body of James Vernon, Esq., only _surviving_ son of Admiral Vernon: died 23rd July 1753.

AT LLANMYNECH, MONTGOMERYSHIRE.

Here lies John Thomas And his children dear; Two buried at Oswestry, And one here.

IN OXFORDSHIRE.

Here lies the body of John Eldred, At least he will be here when he is dead; But now at this time he is alive, The 14th of August ’sixty-five.

GREEK EPITAPHS.

Christopher North, speaking of the celebrated epitaph written by Simonides and graved on the monument erected in commemoration of the battle of Thermopylæ, says:—The oldest and best inscription is that on the altar-tomb of the Three Hundred. Here it is,—the Greek,—with three Latin and eighteen English versions. Start not: it is but two lines; and all Greece, for centuries, had them by heart. She forgot them, and “Greece was living Greece no more!”

Of the various English translations of this celebrated epitaph, the following are the best:—

O stranger, tell it to the Lacedæmonians, That we lie here in obedience to their precepts.

Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.

ON MILTIADES.

Miltiades! thy valor best (Although in every region known) The men of Persia can attest, Taught by thyself at Marathon.

ON THE TOMB OF THEMISTOCLES.

By the sea’s margin, on the watery strand, Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand. By this directed to thy native shore, The merchant shall convey his freighted store; And when our fleets are summoned to the fight, Athens shall conquer with this tomb in sight.

ON ÆSIGENES.

Hail, universal mother! lightly rest On that dead form Which when with life invested ne’er opprest Its fellow-worm.

ON TIMOCRITUS.

Timocritus adorns this humble grave; Mars spares the coward, and destroys the brave.

ON THREE NEIGHBORING TOMBS.

This is a sailor’s—that a ploughman’s tomb;— Thus sea and land abide one common doom.

* * * * *

My lot was meagre fare, disease and shame. At length I died—you all must do the same.

* * * * *

Fortune and Hope, farewell! I’ve found the port: You’ve done with me—go now, with others sport.

HELIODORA.

Tears, Heliodora! on thy tomb I shed, Love’s last libation to the shades below; Tears, bitter tears, by fond remembrance fed, Are all that Fate now leaves me to bestow.

Vain sorrows! vain regrets! yet, loveliest, thee, Thee still they follow in the silent urn, Retracing hours of social converse free, And soft endearments never to return.

How thou art torn, sweet flower, that smiled so fair! Torn, and thy honored bloom with dust defiled; Yet, holy earth, accept my suppliant prayer, And in a mother’s arms enfold thy child.

FROM THE ALCESTIS OF EURIPIDES.

We will not look on her burial sod As the cell of sepulchral sleep: It shall be as the shrine of a radiant god, And the pilgrim shall visit this blest abode To worship, and not to weep. And as he turns his steps aside, Thus shall he breathe his vow:— Here slept a self-devoted bride; Of old, to save her lord she died, She is an angel now.

ON A YOUNG BRIDE.

Not Hymen,—it was Ades’ self alone That loosened Clearista’s virgin zone: The morning ’spousal song was raised,—but oh! At once ’twas silenced into threnes of woe; And the same torches which the bridal bed Had lit, now showed the pathway to the dead.

ON A BACHELOR.

At threescore winters’ end I died, A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had.

* * * * *

My name, my country, what are they to thee? What, whether base or proud my pedigree? Perhaps I far surpassed all other men; Perhaps I fell below them all,—what then? Suffice it, stranger, that thou seest a tomb; Thou know’st its use,—it hides,—no matter whom.

ANTITHESIS EXTRAORDINARY.

The following singular inscription may be seen on a monument in Horsley Down Church, Cumberland, England:—

Here lie the bodies of Thomas Bond and Mary his wife. She was temperate, chaste, and charitable. But She was proud, peevish, and passionate. She was an affectionate wife and a tender mother, But Her husband and child, whom she loved, seldom saw her countenance without a disgusting frown; Whilst she received visitors whom she despised with an endearing smile. Her behaviour was discreet towards strangers, But Imprudent in her family. Abroad her conduct was influenced by good breeding, But At home by ill temper. She was a professed enemy to flattery, and was seldom known to praise or commend; But The talents in which she principally excelled Were difference of opinion and discovering flaws and Imperfections. She was an admirable economist, And, without prodigality, Dispensed plenty to every person in her family, But Would sacrifice their eyes to a farthing candle. She sometimes made her husband Happy with her good qualities, But Much more frequently miserable with her Many failings. Insomuch that in thirty years’ cohabitation, He often lamented that, Maugre all her virtues, He had not on the whole enjoyed two years Of matrimonial comfort.

At length, Finding she had lost the affection of her husband, as well as the regard of her neighbors, family disputes having been divulged by servants, She died of vexation, July 20, 1768, Aged 48 years. Her worn-out husband survived her four months and two days, and departed this life November 22, 1768, In the 54th year of his age. William Bond, brother to the deceased, Erected this stone as a Weekly monitor to the wives of this parish, That they may avoid the infamy of having Their memories handed down to posterity With a patchwork character.

THE PRINTER’S EPITAPH.

Here lies his _form_ in _pi_, Beneath this _bank_ with _briers_ overgrown; How many _cases_ far unworthier _lie_ ’Neath some _imposing stone_!

No _column points_ our loss, No sculptured _caps_ his history declare; Although he lived a follower of the _cross_, And member of the _bar_.

The golden _rule_ he prized, And left it as a _token_ of his love; And all his deeds, _corrected_ and _revised_, Are _registered_ above.

The _copy_ of his wrongs, The _proofs_ of all his _pi_-ety are there, And the fair title, which to truth belong Will _prove_ his _title_ fair.

Though now, in death’s _em-brace_, A _mould_-ering _heap_ our luckless brother lies, He’ll re-appear on Gabriel’s _royal-chase_, And _frisk-it_ to the skies.

BREVITY.

Thorpe’s Corpse.

The epitaph on Dr. Caius, the founder of the college which bears his name, cannot be blamed for prolixity. Dr. Fuller remarks, “few men might have had a longer, none ever had a shorter epitaph.”

Fui Caius (I was Caius)

ON MR. MAGINNIS.

Finis Maginnis.

Camden, in his _Remaines_,—a collection of fragments illustrative of the habits, manners and customs of the ancient Britons and Saxons,—gives examples of great men who had little epitaphs. For himself it has been suggested that the name of the work in question would be the most fitting:—

Camden’s Remains.

LAUDATORY.

Following the inscription to the memory of Albert, Prince Consort, on the Cairn at Balmoral, is the following quotation from the _Wisdom of Solomon_, iv. 13, 14.

He being made perfect in a short time, Fulfilled a long time: For his soul pleased the Lord; Therefore hasted He to take Him away from among the wicked.

* * * * *

Could he disclose who rests below, The things beyond the grave that lie, We more should learn than now we know. But know no better how to die.

* * * * *

Dust to its narrow house beneath, Soul to its place on high; They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.

* * * * *

His youth was innocent—his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day; And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage, Faded his late declining years away; Cheerful he gave his being up, and went To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.

EPITAPHIUM CHEMICUM.

1791.

Here lieth to digest, macerate, and amalgamate with clay In balneo arenæ, stratum super stratum, The residuum, terra damnata, and caput mortuum OF A CHEMIST. A man who in his earthly Laboratory Pursued various processes to obtain The §Arcanum Vitæ§, Or the secret to Live; Also the §Aurum Vitæ§, or The Art of getting, not making, Gold. Alchemist-like, he saw all his labor and projection, As mercury in the fire, evaporated in fume. When he dissolved to his first principles, He departed as poor As the last drops of an alembic. Though fond of novelty, he carefully avoided The fermentation, effervescence, and Decrepitation of this life. Full seventy years His exalted essence Was hermetically sealed in its terrene matrass; But the radical moisture being exhausted, The Elixir Vitæ spent, And exsiccated to a cuticle, He could not suspend longer in his vehicle: But precipitated gradatim, Per campanam, To his original dust. May the light above, More resplendent than Bolognian phosphorus, Preserve him From the athanor, empyreuma, and Reverberatory furnace of the other world; Depurate him from the fæces and scoria of this; Highly rectify and volatilize His ethereal spirit; Bring it safely out of the crucible of earthly trial, Place it in a proper recipient Among the elect of the Flowers of Benjamin; Never to be saturated till the general resuscitation, Deflagration, calcination, And sublimation of all things.

MISCELLANEOUS.

ON SIR JOHN VANBRUGH, THE ARCHITECT.

Lie heavy on him, earth; for he Laid many heavy loads on thee.—§Evans.§

THE ORATOR’S EPITAPH.

Here, reader, turn your weeping eyes, My fate a useful moral teaches; The hole in which my body lies Would not contain one-half my speeches.—§Brougham.§

IN LYDFORD CHURCHYARD, NEAR DARTMOOR.

Here lies, in horizontal position, the outside Case of §George Routleigh§, Watchmaker; Integrity was the Mainspring, and prudence the Regulator, of all the actions of his life. Humane, generous, and liberal, his Hand never stopped, till he had relieved distress. So nicely regulated were all his Motions, that he never went wrong, except when set a-going by people who did not know his Key: Even then he was easily set right again. He had the art of disposing his time so well, that his Hours kept running on in a continual round of pleasure, till an unlucky Minute put a stop to his existence. He departed this life Nov. 14, 1802, æt. 57, in hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker; and of being thoroughly Cleaned, Repaired, Wound up, and Set a-going in the world to come.

AT KITTERY, MAINE.

I was drowned, alas! in the deep, deep seases. The blessed Lord does as he pleases. But my Kittery friends did soon appear, And laid my body right down here.

ON A SAN FRANCISCO MONEY-LENDER.

Here lies old thirty-five per cent.: The more he made, the more he lent; The more he got, the more he craved; The more he made, the more he shaved; Great God! can such a soul be saved?

ON AN IMPORTUNATE TAILOR.

Here lies W. W., Who never more will trouble you, trouble you.

IN SOHAM CHURCHYARD, CAMBRIDGESHIRE.

A.D. 1643, Ætatis suæ 125.

Here lies Dr. Ward, whom you knew well before; He was kind to his neighbors, good to the poor. 1 2 3 4 5 6 To God, to Prince, Wife, kindred, friend, the poor, 1 2 3 4 5 6 Religious, loyal, true, kind, stedfast, dear, 1 2 3 4 5 6 In zeal, faith, love, blood, amity, and store, He hath so lived, and so deceased, lies here.

IN THE CHURCH OF ST. GREGORY, SUDBURY.

Viator, mirum referam. Quo die efflavit animam Thos. Carter, prædictus, Acus foramen transivit Camelus Sudburiensis. Vade, et si dives sis, tu fac similiter. Vale.

(Traveller, I will relate a prodigy. On the day whereon the aforesaid Thos. Carter breathed out his soul, a Sudbury camel passed through the eye of a needle. Go, and if thou art wealthy, do thou likewise. Farewell.)

IN LLANBEBLIG, CARNARVONSHIRE.

Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. Here lie the remains of Thomas Chambers, Dancing Master; Whose genteel address and assiduity in Teaching Recommended him to all that had the Pleasure of his acquaintance.

ON AN INFIDEL.

From the Latin.

Beneath this stone the mouldering relics lie Of one to whom Religion spoke in vain; He lived as though he never were to die, And died as though he ne’er should live again.

PROPOSED BY A FRENCH THEOLOGIAN FOR VOLTAIRE.

In poesi magnus, In historia parvus, In philosophia minimus, In religione nullus.

Hume, the classic historian of England, denied the existence of matter, and held that the whole congeries of material things are but impressions and ideas in the mind, distinguishing an impression from an idea by its stronger effect on the thinking faculty. Dr. Beattie sufficiently exposed the absurdity; but his famous essay has nothing more pointed than the witty epitaph that somebody wrote on the marble shaft that stands over the infidel’s grave:—

Beneath this circular _idea_, vulgarly called tomb, _Impressions_ and _ideas_ rest, which constituted Hume.

ON TOM PAINE.

Tom Paine for the Devil is surely a match. In leaving old England he cheated Jack Ketch; In France (the first time such a thing had been seen) He cheated the watchful and sharp guillotine; And at last, to the sorrow of all the beholders, He marched out of life with his head on his shoulders.

EARTH TO EARTH.

Few persons have met with the following poem, now nearly four centuries old; but many will recognise in some of the stanzas, particularly the first four and the last four, the source of familiar monumental inscriptions. The antiquary can refer to many a dilapidated stone on which these quaint old lines can yet be traced.

Vado mori Rex sum, quid honor quid gloria mundi, Est vita mors hominum regia—vado mori. Vado mori miles victo certamine belli, Mortem non didici vincere vado mori. Vado mori medicus, medicamine non relevandus, Quicquid agunt medici respuo vado mori, Vado mori logicus, aliis concludere novi, Concludit breviter mors in vado mori.

Earth out of earth is worldly wrought; Earth hath gotten upon earth a dignity of nought; Earth upon earth has set all his thought, How that earth upon earth might be high brought.

Earth upon earth would be a king, But how that earth shall to earth he thinketh no thing; When earth biddeth earth his rents home bring, Then shall earth from earth have a hard parting.

Earth upon earth winneth castles and towers, Then saith earth unto earth this is all ours; But when earth upon earth has builded his bowers, Then shall earth upon earth suffer hard showers.

Earth upon earth hath wealth upon mould; Earth goeth upon earth glittering all in gold, Like as he unto earth never turn should; And yet shall earth unto earth sooner than he would.

Why that earth loveth earth wonder I think, Or why that earth will for earth sweat and swink. For when earth upon earth is brought within the brink, Then shall earth for earth suffer a foul stink.

As earth upon earth were the worthies nine, And as earth upon earth in honor did shine; But earth list not to know how they should incline, And their gowns laid in the earth when death hath made his fine.

As earth upon earth full worthy was Joshua, David, and worthy King Judas Maccabee, They were but earth none of them three; And so from earth unto earth they left their dignity.

Alisander was but earth that all the world wan, And Hector upon earth was held a worthy man, And Julius Cæsar, that the Empire first began; And now as earth within earth they lie pale and wan.

Arthur was but earth for all his renown, No more was King Charles nor Godfrey of Boulogne; But now earth hath turned their nobleness upside down, And thus earth goeth to earth by short conclusion.

Whoso reckons also of William Conqueror, King Henry the First that was of knighthood flower, Earth hath closed them full straitly in his bower,— So the end of worthiness,—here is no more succor.

Now ye that live upon earth, both young and old, Think how ye shall to earth, be ye never so bold; Ye be unsiker, whether it be in heat or cold, Like as your brethren did before, as I have told.

Now ye folks that be here ye may not long endure, But that ye shall turn to earth I do you ensure; And if ye list of the truth to see a plain figure, Go to St. Paul’s and see the portraiture.

All is earth and shall to earth as it sheweth there, Therefore ere dreadful death with his dart you dare, And for to turn into earth no man shall it forbear, Wisely purvey you before, and thereof have no fear.

Now sith by death we shall all pass, it is to us certain, For of earth we come all, and to the earth shall turn again; Therefore to strive or grudge it were but vain, For all is earth and shall be earth,—nothing more certain.

Now earth upon earth consider thou may How earth cometh to earth naked alway, Why should earth upon earth go stout alway, Since earth out of earth shall pass in poor array?

I counsel you upon earth that wickedly have wrought, That earth out of earth to bliss may be brought.

BYRON’S INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF HIS DOG.

Near this spot Are deposited the remains of one Who possessed beauty without vanity, Strength without insolence, Courage without ferocity, And all the virtues of man without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over human ashes, Is but a just tribute to the memory of Boatswain, a dog, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.

Inscriptions.

TAVERN-SIGNS.

I’m amazed at the signs As I pass through the town. To see the odd mixture,— A _magpye_ and _crown_, The _whale_ and the _crow_, The _razor_ and _hen_, The _leg_ and _seven stars_, The _axe_ and the _bottle_, The _tun_ and the _lute_, The _eagle_ and _child_, The _shovel_ and _boot_.—_British Apollo, 1710._

The absurdities which tavern-signs present are often curious enough, but may in general be traced to that inveterate propensity which the vulgar of all countries have, to make havoc with every thing in the shape of a proper name. What a _magpie_ could have to do with a _crown_, or a _whale_ with a _crow_, or a _hen_ with a _razor_, it is as difficult to conjecture as to trace the corruption of language in which the connection more probably originated. The sign of the _leg_ and the _seven stars_ was merely an orthographical deviation from the _league_ and _seven stars_, or seven united provinces; and the _axe_ and _bottle_ was, doubtless, a transposition of the _battle-axe_, a most appropriate sign for warlike times. The _tun_ and _lute_ formed suitable emblems enough of the pleasures of wine and music. The _eagle_ and _child_, too, had meaning, though no application; but when we come to the _shovel_ and _boot_, nonsense again triumphs, and it is in vain that we look for any rational explanation of the affinity.

The _Swan-with-two-necks_ has long been an object of mystery to the curious. This mystery is solved by the alteration of a single letter. The sign, as it originally stood, was the _swan with two nicks_; the meaning of which we find thus explained in a communication made by the late Sir Joseph Banks to the Antiquarian Society. Sir Joseph presented to the Society a curious parchment roll, exhibiting the marks, or nicks, made on the beaks of swans and cygnets in all the rivers and lakes in Lincolnshire, accompanied with an account of the privileges of certain persons keeping swans in these waters, and the duties of the king’s swanherd in guarding these fowls from depredation and preventing any two persons from adopting the same figures or marks on the bills of their swans. The number of marks contained in the parchment roll amounted to two hundred and nineteen, all of which were different and confined to the small extent of the bill of the swan. The outlines were an oblong square, circular at one end, and containing dots, notches, arrows, or suchlike figures, to constitute the difference in each man’s swans. Laws were enacted so late as the 12th of Elizabeth, for the preservation of the swans in Lincolnshire.

The _goat and compasses_ has been supposed to have its origin in the resemblance between the bounding of a goat and the expansion of a pair of compasses; but nothing can be more fanciful. The sign is of the days of the Commonwealth, when it was fashionable to give scriptural names to every thing and everybody, and when _God-be-praised Barebones_ preferred drinking his tankard of ale at the _God-encompasseth-us_ to anywhere else. The corruption from _God-encompasseth-us_ to _goat and compasses_ is obvious and natural enough.

In Richard Flecknoe’s _Enigmatical Characters_, published 1665, speaking of the “fanatic reformers,” (the Puritans,) he observes, “As for the §SIGNS§, they have pretty well begun their reformation already, changing the sign of the _salutation of the angel and our lady_ into the _soldier and citizen_, and the _Katherine Wheel_ into the _cat and wheel_; so as there only wants then making the _dragon_ to kill _St. George_, and the _devil_ to tweak _St. Dunstan_ by the nose, to make the reformation complete. Such ridiculous work they make of their reformation, and so zealous are they against all mirth and jollity, as they would pluck down the sign of the _cat and fiddle_ too, if it durst but play so loud as they might hear it.”

The cat and fiddle is a a corruption of Caton fidele.

The _bag of nails_, at Chelsea, is claimed by the smiths and carpenters of the neighborhood as a house designed for their peculiar accommodation; but, had it not been for the corruption of the times, it would still have belonged to the _bacchanals_, who, in the time of Ben Jonson, used to take a holiday stroll to this delightful village. But the old inscription _satyr and bacchanals_ is now converted into Satan and bag o’nails.

The origin of the _chequers_, which is so common an emblem of public houses, has been the subject of much learned conjecture. One writer supposes that they were meant to represent that the game of draughts might be played there; another has been credibly informed that in the reign of Philip and Mary the then Earl of Arundel had a grant to license public-houses, and, part of the armorial bearings of that noble family being a chequer-board, the publican, to show that he had a license, put out that mark as part of his sign. But, unfortunately for both solutions, unfortunately for the honors of Arundel, Sir W. Hamilton presented, some time ago, to the Society of Antiquaries, a view of a street in Pompeii, in which we find that shops with the sign of the chequers were common among the Romans! The real origin of this emblem is still involved in obscurity. The wittiest, though certainly not the most genuine, explanation of it was that of the late George Selwyn, who used to wonder that antiquaries should be at any loss to discover why _draughts_ were an appropriate emblem for _drinking-houses_.

An annotator on Beloe’s _Anecdotes of Literature_ says, “I remember, many years ago, passing through a court in Rosemary Lane, where I observed an ancient sign over the door of an ale-house, which was called _The Four Alls_. There was the figure of a king, and on a label, ‘I rule all;’ the figure of a priest, motto, ‘I pray for all;’ a soldier, ‘I fight for all;’ and a yeoman, ‘I pay all.’ About two years ago I passed through the same thoroughfare, and, looking up for my curious sign, I was amazed to see a painted board occupy its place, with these words inscribed:—‘_The Four Awls_.’ In Whitechapel road is a public house which has a written sign, ‘_The Grave Morris_.’ A painter was commissioned to embody the inscription; but this painter had not a poet’s eye; he could not body forth the form of things unknown. In his distress he applied to a friend, who presently relieved him, and the painter delineated, as well as he could, ‘_The Graafe Maurice_,’ often mentioned in the ‘_Epistolæ Hoelinæ_’”

The Queer Door is corrupted from Cœur Doré (Golden Heart); the Pig and Whistle, from Peg and Wassail-Bowl; the Goat in the Golden Boots, from the Dutch Goed in der Gooden Boote (the god—Mercury—in the golden boots).

Many signs are heraldic and represent armorial bearings. The White Heart was peculiar to Richard II.; the White Swan to Henry IV. and Edward III.; the Blue Boar to Richard III.; the Red Dragon to the Tudors; the Bull, the Falcon, and the Plume of Feathers to Edward IV.; the Swan and Antelope to Henry V.; the Greyhound and Green Dragon to Henry VII.; the Castle, the Spread Eagle, and the Globe were probably adopted from the arms of Spain, Germany, and Portugal, by inns which were the resort of merchants from those countries. Many commemorate historical events; others derive their names from some eminent and popular man. The Coach and Horses indicated post-houses; the Fox and Goose denoted the games played within; the Hare and Hounds, the vicinity of hunting-grounds. In the Middle Ages, a bush was always suspended in front of the door of a wine-shop,—whence the saying, “Good wine needs no bush.” Some of the mediæval signs are still retained, as the Pilgrim, Cross-Keys, Seven Stars, &c.

The following is a literal copy of the sign of a small public house in the village of Folkesworth, near Stilton, Hants. It contains as much poetry as perhaps the rustic Folkesworth folks are worth; and doubtless they think it (in the Stilton vernacular) “quite the cheese.”

[A rude figure of a Fox.]

§I . ham . a . cunen . fox§ You . see . ther . his No . harme . atched To . me . it . is . my . Mrs. Wish . to . place . me here . to . let . you . no he . sels . good . beere.

The Rawlinson of the district has deciphered this inscription, and conjectures its meaning to be as follows:—

I am a cunning fox, you see; There is no harm attached to me: It is my master’s wish to place me here, To let you know he sells good beer.

In King Street, Norwich, at the sign of “The Waterman,” kept by a man who is a barber and over whose door is the pole, are these lines:—

Roam not from pole to pole, But step in here; Where nought exceeds the shaving, But—the beer.

This was originally an impromptu of Dean Swift, written at the request of his favorite barber.

* * * * *

Over the door of a tippling-house in Frankford, Pa., is this:—

In this Hive we’re all alive; Good liquor makes us funny; If you’re dry, step in and try The flavor of our honey.

ON A TAVERN-SIGN NEAR CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND.

Rest, traveller, rest; lo! Cooper’s ready hand Obedient brings “zwei glass” at thy command. Rest, traveller, rest, and banish thoughts of care. Drink to thy friends, and recommend them here.

* * * * *

PUNISHMENT FOR TREASON.

Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, Only for saying he would make his _son_ Heir to the _Crown_; meaning indeed his _house_, Which, by the _sign_ thereof, was termed so.—_Rich. III._, Act iii. sc. 5.

On the sign of “The Baker and the Brewer,” in Birmingham, is the following quatrain:—

The Baker says, “I’ve the staff of life, And you’re a silly elf.” The Brewer replied, with artful pride, “Why this is life itself.”

At the King’s Head Inn, Stutton, near Ipswich, is this address to wayworn travelers:—

Good people, stop, and pray walk in; Here’s wine and brandy, rum and gin; And what is more, good purl and ale Are both sold here by old Nat Dale.

This tap-room inscription is in a wayside tavern in Northumberland, England:—

Here stop and spend a social hour In harmless mirth and fun; Let friendship reign, be just and kind, And evil speak of none.

At the Red Lion Inn, Hollins Green, an English village, is this:—

Call freely, Drink merrily, Pay honestly, Part quietly. These rules, my friends, will bring no sorrow; You pay to-day, I’ll trust to-morrow.

In the county of Norfolk, Eng., is this singular inscription:—

More beer score clerk For my my his Do trust pay sent I I must has Shall if I brewer What and and my[30]

Footnote 30:

Read from the bottom of the columns upward, commencing with the right.

On the sign-board of the Bull Inn at Buckland, near Dover:—

The bull is tame, so fear him not, All the while you pay your shot; When money’s gone, and credit’s bad, It’s that which makes the bull run mad.

At Swainsthorpe, near Norwich, England, is a public-house known as the Dun Cow. Under the portrait of the cow is this couplet:—

Walk in, gentlemen; I trust you’ll find The dun cow’s milk is to your mind.

On the Basingstoke road, near Reading, England:—

This is the Whitley Grenadier, A noted house for famous beer. My friend, if you should chance to call, Beware and get not drunk withal; Let moderation be your guide, It answers well whene’er ’tis tried. Then use but not abuse strong beer, And don’t forget the Grenadier.

The author of _Tavern Anecdotes_ records the following:—

_Rhyming Host at Stratford._

At the Swan Tavern, kept by Lound The best accommodation’s found— Wine, spirits, porter, bottled beer, You’ll find in high perfection here. If, in the garden with your lass, You feel inclined to take a glass, There tea and coffee, of the best, Provided is for every guest; Or, if disposed a pipe to smoke, To sing a song, or crack a joke, You may repair across the green, Where nought is heard, though much is seen; Then laugh, and drink, and smoke away, And but a moderate reckoning pay.

BEER-JUG INSCRIPTION.

Come, my old friend, and take a pot, But mark me what I say: Whilst thou drink’st thy neighbor’s health. Drink not thy own away.

For it too often is the case, Whilst we sit o’er a pot, And while we drink our neighbor’s health, Our own is quite forgot.

INSCRIPTIONS ON INN WINDOW-PANES.

SHENSTONE’S, AT HENLEY.

Whoe’er has travelled life’s dull round, Where’er his journeys may have been, May sigh to think he still has found His warmest welcome at an inn.

A gentleman who stopped at an inn at Stockport, in 1634, left this record of his bad reception on a window of the inn:—

If, traveller, good treatment be thy care, A comfortable bed, and wholesome fare, A modest bill, and a diverting host, Neat maid, and ready waiter,—quit this coast. If dirty doings please, at Stockport lie: The girls, O frowsy frights, here with their mistress vie.

Yet Fynes Moryson, in his _Itinerary_, thus speaks of English inns in the olden time:—

As soon as a passenger comes to an inne, the servants run to him, and one takes his horse and walkes him about till he be cool, then rubs him down, and gives him meat; another servant gives the passenger his private chamber and kindles his fire; the third pulls off his bootes and makes them cleane; then the host and hostess visit him, and if he will eate with the hoste or at a common table with the others, his meale will cost him sixpence, or in some places fourpence; but if he will eate in his chamber, he commands what meat he will, according to his appetite; yea, the kitchen is open to him to order the meat to be dressed as he likes beste. After having eaten what he pleases, he may with credit set by a part for next day’s breakfast. His bill will then be written for him, and should he object to any charge, _the host is ready to alter it_.

“Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis!”

ON A WINDOW-PANE OF THE HOTEL SANS SOUCI, BADEN-BADEN.

Venez ici, sans souci. Vous

## Partirez d’ici sans six sous.

THREE TRANSLATIONS WHICH FOLLOW.

You come to this city plumed with felicity, You’ll flutter from this city plucked to mendicity.

With plenty of tin, purse-proud you come in. You’ll go a sad _ninkum_ from outgo of income!

Not a bit pensive, you come here expensive. Soon you’ll go hence with a _curse the expense_.

INSCRIPTIONS ON BELLS.

Vivos voco—Mortuos plango—Fulgura frango. I call the living—I mourn the dead—I break the lightning.

This brief and impressive announcement—the motto of Schiller’s ever-memorable Song of the Bell—was common to the church-bells of the Middle Ages, and may still be found on the bell of the great Minster of Schaffhausen, and on that of the church near Lucerne. Another and a usual one, which is, in fact, but an amplification of the first, is this

Funera plango—Fulgura frango—Sabbato pango. Excito lentos—Dissipo ventos—Paco cruentos.

I mourn at funerals—I break the lightning—I proclaim the Sabbath. I urge the tardy—I disperse the winds—I calm the turbulent.

The following motto may still be seen on some of the bells that have swung in their steeples for centuries. It will be observed to entitle them to a sixfold efficacy.

Men’s death I tell by doleful knell, Lightning and thunder I break asunder, On Sabbath all to church I call, The sleepy head I raise from bed, The winds so fierce I do disperse, Men’s cruel rage I do assuage.

On the famous alarm-bell called Roland, in the belfry-tower of the once powerful city of Ghent, is engraved the subjoined inscription, in the old Walloon or Flemish dialect:—

Mynen naem is Roland; als ik klep is er brand, and als ik luy is er victorie in het land.

_Anglicé._ My name is Roland; when I toll there is fire, and when I ring there is victory in the land.

On others may be found these inscriptions:—

Deum verum laudo, plebem voco, clerum congrego, Defuncto ploro, pestum fugo, festa decoro.

I praise the true God, call the people, convene the clergy, I mourn for the dead, drive away pestilence, and grace festivals.

Gaudemus gaudentibus, Dolemus dolentibus.

Let us rejoice with the joyful, and grieve with the sorrowful.

INSCRIPTIONS ON THE BELLS OF ST. MICHAEL’S, COVENTRY, CAST IN 1774.

I.

Although I am both light and small, I will be heard above you all.

II.

If you have a judicious ear, You’ll own my voice is sweet and clear.

III.

Such wondrous power to music’s given, It elevates the soul to heaven.

IV.

While thus we join in cheerful sound, May love and loyalty abound.

V.

To honour both of God and king, Our voices shall in concert sing.

VI.

Music is a medicine to the mind.

VII.

Ye ringers all, that prize your health and happiness, Be sober, merry, wise, and you’ll the same possess.

VIII.

Ye people all that hear me ring, Be faithful to your God and king.

IX.

In wedlock’s bands all ye who join, With hands your hearts unite; So shall our tuneful tongues combine To laud the nuptial rite.

X.

I am and have been called the common bell, To ring, when fire breaks out, to tell.

There is in the abbey church at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, a fire-bell confined exclusively to alarms in case of conflagrations. The motto around the rim or carrel runs thus:—

1652. Lord, quench this furious flame; Arise, run, help, put out the same.

The books of the Roman Catholic faith contain a ritual for the baptism of bells, which decrees that they be named and anointed,—a ceremonial which was supposed to insure them against the machinations of evil spirits.

On the largest of three bells placed by Edward III. in the Little Sanctuary, Westminster, are these words:—

King Edward made me thirtie thousand weight and three; Take me down and wey me, and more you shall find me.

The Great Tom of Oxford was cast after two failures, April 8, 1680, from the metal of an old bell, on which was the following curious inscription, whence its name:—

In Thomæ laude resono _bim bom_ sine fraude.

On a bell in Durham Cathedral is inscribed,—

To call the folk to church in time, I chime. When mirth and pleasure’s on the wing, I ring. And when the body leaves the soul, I toll.

On a bell at Lapley, in Staffordshire:—

I will sound and resound to thee, O Lord, To call thy people to thy word.

On a bell in Meivod Church, Montgomeryshire:—

I to the church the living call, And to the grave do summon all.

On Independence bell, Philadelphia, from Lev. xxv. 10:—

Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.

In St. Helen’s Church, Worcester, England, is a chime of bells cast in the time of Queen Anne, with names and inscriptions commemorative of victories gained during her reign:—

1. §Blenheim.§

First is my note, and Blenheim is my name; For Blenheim’s story will be first in fame.

2. §Barcelona.§

Let me relate how Louis did bemoan His grandson Philip’s flight from Barcelon.

3. §Ramillies.§

_Deluged in blood, I, Ramillies, advance Britannia’s glory on the fall of France._

4. §Menin.§

Let Menin on my sides engraven be; And Flanders freed from Gallic slavery.

5. §Turin.§

When in harmonious peal I roundly go, Think on Turin, and triumphs on the Po.

6. §Eugene.§

With joy I hear illustrious Eugene’s name; Fav’rite of fortune and the boast of fame.

7. §Marlborough.§

But I, for pride, the greater Marlborough bear; Terror of tyrants, and the soul of war.

8. §Queen Anne.§

Th’ immortal praises of Queen Anne I sound, With union blest, and all these glories crowned.

The inscriptions are all dated 1706, except that on the seventh, which is dated 1712.

* * * * *

On one of eight bells in the church tower of Pilton, Devon, is a modern achievement in this kind of literature:—

Recast by John Taylor and Son, Who tho best prize for church bells won At the Great Ex-hi-bi-ti-on In London, 1—8—5 and 1.

In St. John’s Cathedral, Hong Kong:—

I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles. (Acts xxii. 21.)

At Fotheringay, Northamptonshire:—

Domini laudem, non verbo sed voce resonabo.

At Hornby:—

When I do ring, God’s praises sing; When I do toll, Pray heart and soul.

At Nottingham:—

I toll the funeral knell; I hail the festal day; The fleeting hour I tell; I summon all to pray.

At Bolton:—

My roaring sound doth warning give That men cannot here always live.

Distich inscribed on a bell at Bergamoz, by Cardinal Orsini, Benedict XIII.:—

Convoco, signo, noto, compello, concino, ploro, │ │ │ │ │ │ Arma, Dies, Horas, Fulgura, Festa, Rogos.

Similar in form is an inscription on Lindsey Court-house:—

Hæc domus Odit amat punit conservat honorat │ │ │ │ │ Nequitiam, pacem, crimina, jura, bonos.

On the clock of the town hall of Bala, North Wales, is the following inscription:—

Here I stand both day and night, To tell the hours with all my might; Do thou example take by me, And serve thy God as I serve thee.

FLY-LEAF INSCRIPTIONS IN BOOKS.

The following lines, formerly popular among youthful scholars, may still be found in school-books:—

This book is mine By right divine; And if it go astray, I’ll call you kind My desk to find And put it safe away.

* * * * *

This book is mine,—that you may know, By letters two I will you show: The first is J, a letter bright; The next is S in all men’s sight. But if you still my name should miss, Look underneath, and here it is:— §John Smith§.

* * * * *

Whoe’er this book, if lost, doth find, I hope will have a generous mind, And bring it to the owner,—me, Whose name they’ll see page fifty-three.

The curious warning subjoined—paradoxical in view of the improbability of any _honest_ friend pilfering—has descended to our times from the days of black-letter printing:—

Steal not this book, my honest friend, For fear the gallows be your end; For if you do, the Lord will say, Where is that book you stole away?

Another often met with is this:—

Hic liber est meus, Testis et est Deus; Si quis me quærit, Hic nomen erit.

The two following admonitions are full of salutary advice to book-borrowers:—

Neither blemish this book, or the leaves double down, Nor lend it to each idle friend in the town; Return it when read; or, if lost, please supply Another as good to the mind and the eye. With right and with reason you need but be friends, And each book in my study your pleasure attends.

* * * * *

If thou art borrowed by a friend, Right welcome shall he be, To read, to study, not to lend, But to return to me.

Not that imparted knowledge doth Diminish learning’s store; But books, I find, if often lent, Return to me no more.

☞ Read slowly, pause frequently, think seriously, keep clean, =RETURN DULY=, with the corners of the leaves not turned down.

* * * * *

Of the warning and menacing kind are the following:—

This book is one thing, My fist is another; Touch this one thing, You’ll sure feel the other.

* * * * *

_Si quisquis furetur_ This little _libellum, Per Bacchum per Jovem_! I’ll kill him, I’ll fell him, _In ventum illius_ I’ll stick my _scalpellum_, And teach him to steal My little _libellum_.

* * * * *

Ne me prend pas; On te pendra.

* * * * *

Gideon Snooks, Ejus liber. Si quis furetur; Per collum pendetur, Similis huic pauperi animali.

Here follows a figure of an unfortunate individual suspended “in malam crucem.”

Small is the wren, Black is the rook; Great is the sinner That steals this book. This is Thomas Jones’s book— You may just within it look; But you’d better not do more, For the Devil’s at the door, And will snatch at fingering hands; Look behind you—there he stands!

The following macaronic is taken from a copy of the _Companion to the Festivals and Fasts_, 1717:—

_To the Borrower of this Book._

Hic Liber est meus, Deny it who can, Samuel Showell, Jr., An honest man. In vico corvino [locale appended] I am to be found, Si non mortuus sum, And laid in the ground. At si non vivens, You will find an heir Qui librum recipiet; You need not to fear. Ergo cum lectus est Restore it, and then Ut quando mutuaris I may lend again. At si detineas, So let it be lost, Expectabo Argentum, As much as it cost (viz.: 5_s._)

_To the Finder._

If I this lose, and you it find, Restore it me, be not unkind; For if not so, you’re much to blame, While as below you see my name.—[Name appended.]

Taken from an old copy-book:

All you, my friends, who now expect to see A piece of writing, here performed by me, Cast but a smile on this my mean endeavor, I’ll strive to mend, and be obedient ever.

On the fly-leaf of a Bible may sometimes be seen:

Could we with ink the ocean fill, Were every stalk on earth a quill, And were the skies of parchment made, And every man a scribe by trade, To tell the love of God alone Would drain the ocean dry; Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Though stretched from sky to sky.

The two following are very common in village schools:—

This is Giles Wilkinson, his book; God give him grace therein to look; Nor yet to look, but understand That learning’s better than house and land; For when both house and land are spent, Then learning is most excellent.

* * * * *

John Smith is my name, England is my nation, London is my dwelling-place, And Christ is my salvation, And when I’m dead and in the grave, And all my bones are rotten, When this you see, remember me, Though I am long forgotten.

This pretty presentation-verse is sometimes met with:—

Take it,—’tis a gift of love That seeks thy good alone; Keep it for the giver’s sake, And read it for thy own.

The early conductors of the press were in the habit of affixing to the end of the volumes they printed some device or couplet concerning the book, with the names of the printer and proof-reader added. The following example is from Andrew Bocard’s edition of _The Pragmatic Sanction_, Paris, 1507:—

Stet liber, hic donec fluctus formica marinos Ebibat; et totum testudo perambulet orbem

(May this volume continue in motion, And its pages each day be unfurled; Till an ant to the dregs drink the ocean, Or a tortoise has crawled round the world.)

On the title-page of a book called _Gentlemen, Look about You_, is the following curious request:—

Read this over if you’re wise, If you’re not, then read it twice: If a fool, and in the gall Of bitterness, read not at all.

MOTTO ON A CLOCK.

Quæ lenta accedit, quam velox præterit hora! Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil!

Slow comes the hour: its passing speed how great: Waiting to seize it,—vigilantly wait!

WATCH-PAPER INSCRIPTION.

Onward perpetually moving, These faithful hands are ever proving How quick the hours fly by; This monitory, pulse-like beating Seems constantly, methinks, repeating, Swift! swift! the moments fly. Reader, be ready,—for perhaps before These hands have made one revolution more, Life’s spring is snapt,—you die!

Here, reader, see in youth, in age, or prime, The stealing steps of never-standing Time: With wisdom mark the moment as it flies; Think what a moment is to him who dies.

Little monitor, impart Some instruction to the heart; Show the busy and the gay Life is hasting swift away. Follies cannot long endure, Life is short and death is sure. Happy those who wisely learn Truth from error to discern.

Could but our tempers more like this machine, Not urged by passion, nor delayed by spleen, And true to Nature’s regulating power, By virtuous acts distinguish every hour; Then health and joy would follow as they ought The laws of motion, and the laws of thought; Sweet health to pass the present moment o’er, And everlasting joy when time shall be no more.

SUN-DIAL INSCRIPTIONS.

Sine sole sileo. (Without sunlight I give no information.)

Scis horas; nescis horam. (You know the hours; you know not the hour [of death].)

Afflictis lentæ, celeres gaudentibus horæ. (The hours pass slowly for the afflicted, rapidly for the joyous.)

Vado e vegno giorno; Ma tu andrai senza ritorno.

(I go and come every day; But thou shalt go without return.)

May the dread book at our last trial, When open spread, be like this dial; May Heaven forbear to mark therein The hours made dark by deeds of sin; Those only in that record write Which virtue like the sun makes bright.

If o’er the dial glides a shade, redeem The time, for lo! it passes like a dream; But if ’tis all a blank, then mark the loss Of hours unblest by shadows from the cross.

INSCRIPTION OVER A SPRING.

Whoe’er thou art that stays’st to quaff The streams that here from waters dim Arise to fill thy cup and laugh In sparkling beads about the brim, In all thy thoughts and words as pure As these sweet waters mayst thou be; To all thy friends as firm and sure, As prompt in all thy charity.

INSCRIPTIONS ON AN ÆOLIAN HARP.

AT THE ENDS.

Fingent Æolio carmine nobilem. (Hor. iv. 3.)

Partem aliquam, oh venti, divum referatis ad aures. (Virg. Buc. 3.)

ON THE SIDE.

Hail, heavenly harp, where Memnon’s skill is shown, That charm’st the ear with music all thy own! Which, though untouched, canst rapturous strains impart. Oh, rich of genuine nature, free from art! Such the wild warblings of the chirping throng, So simply sweet the untaught virgin’s song.

Mr. Longfellow’s admirers will remember his beautiful little poem commencing:—

I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls The burial-ground _God’s acre_.

This “Saxon phrase” is not obsolete. It may be seen, for instance, inscribed over the entrance to a modern cemetery at Basle—

=Gottes Acker.=

Over a gateway near the church of San Eusebio, Rome:—

Tria sunt mirabilia; Trinus et unus, Deus et homo, Virgo et mater.

Over the door of the house in which Selden was born, Salvington, Sussex:—

Gratus, honesti, mihi; non claudar, inito sedeq’. Fur, abeas; non su’ facta soluta tibi.

Thus paraphrased:—

Thou’rt welcome, honest friend; walk in, make free; Thief, get thee gone; my doors are closed to thee.

HOUSE INSCRIPTIONS.

On the Town-house Wittenberg:—

Ist’s Gottes Werk, so wird’s bestehen; Ist’s Menschens, so wird’s untergehen.

(If God’s work, it will aye endure; If man’s, ’tis not a moment sure.)

Over the gate of a Casino, near Maddaloni:—

AMICIS— Et ne paucis pateat, Etiam fictis.

(My gate stands open for my friends; But lest of these too few appear, Let him who to the name pretends Approach and find a welcome here.)

On a west-of-England mansion:—

Welcome to all through this wide-opening gate; None come too early, none depart too late.

Fuller (_Holy and Profane State_) and Walton (_Life of George Herbert_) notice a verse engraved upon a mantelpiece in the Parsonage House built by George Herbert at his own expense. The faithful minister thus counsels his successor:—

If thou dost find A house built to thy mind, Without thy cost, Serve thou the more §God§ and the poor: My labor is not lost.

The following is emblazoned around the banqueting hall of Bulwer’s ancestral home, Knebworth:—

Read the Rede of the Old Roof Tree. Here be trust fast. Opinion free. Knightly Right Hand. Christian knee. Worth in all. Wit in some. Laughter open. Slander dumb. Hearth where rooted Friendships grow, Safe as Altar even to Foe. And the sparks that upwards go When the hearth flame dies below, If thy sap in them may be, Fear no winter, Old Roof Tree.

On a pane of glass in an old window in the coffee-room of the White Lion, Chester, England:—

Right fit a place is window glass To write the name of bonny lass; And if the reason you should speir, Why both alike are brittle geir, A wee thing dings a lozen lame— A wee thing spoils a maiden’s fame.

Tourist’s wit on a window pane at Lodore:—

When I see a man’s name Scratched upon the glass, I know he owns a diamond, And his father owns an ass.

On a pane of the Hotel des Pays-Bas, Spa, Belgium:—

1793. I love but one, and only one; Oh, Damon, thou art he. Love thou but one and only one, And let that one be me.

MEMORIALS.

An English gentleman, who, in 1715, spent some time in prison, left the following memorial on the windows of his cell. On one pane of glass he wrote:—

That which the world miscalls a jail, A private closet is to me; Whilst a good conscience is my bail, And innocence my liberty.

On another square he wrote, _Mutare vel timere sperno_, and on a third pane, _sed victa Catoni_.[31]

Footnote 31:

Lucan’s Pharsalia. (Lib. 1.)

A Mr. Barton, on retiring with a fortune made in the wool-trade, built a fair stone house at Holme, in Nottinghamshire, in the window of which was the following couplet,—an humble acknowledgment of the means whereby he had acquired his estate:—

I thank God, and ever shall; It is the sheep hath paid for all.

FRANCKE’S ENCOURAGING DISCOVERY.

It is said that when Francke was engaged in the great work of erecting his world-known Orphan-House at Halle, for the means of which he looked to the Lord in importunate prayer from day to day, an apparently accidental circumstance made an abiding impression on him and those about him. A workman, in digging a part of the foundation, found a small silver coin, with the following inscription:—

“Jehova, Conditor, Condita Coronide Coronet.” (May Jehovah, the builder, finish the building.)

GOLDEN MOTTOES.

A vain man’s motto,— Win gold and wear it. A generous man’s motto,— Win gold and share it. A miser’s motto,— Win gold and spare it. A profligate’s motto,— Win gold and spend it. A broker’s motto,— Win gold and lend it. A fool’s motto,— Win gold and end it. A gambler’s motto,— Win gold and lose it. A sailor’s motto,— Win gold and cruise it. A wise man’s motto,— Win gold and use it.

POSIES FROM WEDDING-RINGS.

_Portia._ A quarrel, ho, already! What’s the matter?

_Gratiano._ About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me: whose posy was For all the world like cutler’s poetry Upon a knife:[32] _Love me, and leave me not._— _Merchant of Venice_, Act V.

Footnote 32:

Knives were formerly inscribed, by means of aqua-fortis, with short sentences in distich.

_Hamlet._ Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?— _Hamlet_, Act III. sc. 2.

_Jacques._ You are full of pretty answers: have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings?—

_As You Like It_, Act III. sc. 2.

The following posies were transcribed by an indefatigable collector, from old wedding-rings, chiefly of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The orthography is, in most cases, altered:—

Death never parts Such loving hearts.

Love and respect I do expect.

No gift can show The love I owe.

Let him never take a wife That will not love her as his life.

In loving thee I love myself.

A heart content Can ne’er repent.

In God and thee Shall my joy be.

Love thy chaste wife Beyond thy life. 1681.

Love and pray Night and day.

Great joy in thee Continually.

My fond delight By day and night.

Pray to love; Love to pray. 1647.

In thee, my choice, I do rejoice. 1677.

Body and mind In thee I find.

Dear wife, thy rod Doth lead to God.

God alone Made us two one.

Eternally My love shall be.

All I refuse, And thee I choose.

Worship is due To God and you.

Love and live happy. 1689.

Joy day and night Be our delight.

Divinely knit by Grace are we; Late two, now one; the pledge here see. 1657.

Endless my love As this shall prove.

Avoid all strife ’Twixt man and wife.

Joyful love This ring doth prove.

In thee, dear wife, I find new life.

Of rapturous joy I am the toy.

In thee I prove The joy of love.

In loving wife Spend all thy life. 1697.

In love abide Till death divide.

In unity Let’s live and die.

Happy in thee Hath God made me.

Silence ends strife With man and wife.

None can prevent The Lord’s intent.

God did decree Our unity.

I kiss the rod From thee and God.

In love and joy Be our employ.

Live and love; Love and live.

God above Continue our love.

True love will ne’er forget.

Faithful ever, Deceitful never.

As gold is pure, So love is sure.

Love, I like thee, Sweet, requite me.

God sent her me, My wife to be.

Live and die In constancy.

My beloved is mine, And I am hers.

Within my breast Thy heart doth rest.

God above Increase our love.

Be true to me That gives it thee.

Both heart and hand At your command.

My heart you have, And yours I crave.

Christ and thee My comfort be.

As God decreed, So we agreed.

No force can move Affixed love.

For a kiss Take this.

The want of thee Is grief to me.

I fancy none But thee alone.

One word for all, I love and shall.

Your sight, My delight.

God’s blessing be On thee and me.

I will be yours While breath endures.

Love is sure Where faith is pure.

Thy friend am I, An so will die.

God’s appointment Is my contentment.

Knit in one By Christ alone.

My dearest Betty Is good and pretty.

Sweetheart, I pray Do not say nay.

## Parting is pain

While love doth remain.

Hurt not that heart Whose joy thou art.

Thine eyes so bright Are my delight.

Take hand and heart, I’ll ne’er depart.

If you consent, You’ll not repent.

’Tis in your will To save or kill.

As long as life, Your loving wife.

If you deny, Then sure I die.

Thy friend am I, And so will die.

Let me in thee Most happy be.

God hath sent My heart’s content.

You and I Will lovers die.

Thy consent Is my content.

I wish to thee All joy may be.

In thee my love All joy I prove.

Beyond this life Love me, dear wife.

Love and joy Can never cloy.

The pledge I prove Of mutual love.

I love the rod And thee and God.

Desire, like fire, Doth still inspire.

My heart and I, Until I die.

This ring doth bind Body and mind.

Endless as this Shall be our bliss.—§Thos. Bliss.§ 1719.

I do rejoice In thee my choice.

Love him in heart, Whose joy thou art.

I change the life Of maid to wife.

Endless my love For thee shall prove.

Not Two, but One. Till life be gone.

Numbers, vi. 24, 25, 26.

In its circular continuity, the ring was accepted as a type of eternity, and, hence, the stability of affection.

Constancy and Heaven are round, And in this the Emblem’s found.

This is love, and worth commending, Still beginning, never _ending_.

Or, as Herrick says,—

And as this round Is nowhere found To flaw or else to sever, So let our love As endless prove, And pure as gold forever.

LADY KATHERINE GREY’S WEDDING-RING.

The ring received by this excellent woman, who was a sister of Lady Jane Grey, from her husband, the Earl of Hertford, at their marriage, consisted of five golden links, the four inner ones bearing the following lines, of the earl’s composition:—

As circles five by art compact shewe but one ring in sight, So trust uniteth faithfull mindes with knott of secret might, Whose force to breake but greedie Death noe wight possesseth power, As time and sequels well shall prove. My ringe can say no more.

Parallel Passages.

INCLUDING IMITATIONS, PLAGIARISMS, AND ACCIDENTAL COINCIDENCES.

_Pretensions to originality are ludicrous._—§Byron’s§ _Letters_.

_An apple cleft in two is not more twin Than these two creatures._—_Twelfth Night, V. 1._

_Milton “borrowed” other poets’ thoughts, but he did not borrow as gipsies borrow children, spoiling their features that they may not be recognized. No, he returned them improved. Had he “borrowed” your coat, he would have restored it with a new nap upon it!_—§Leigh Hunt.§

* * * * *

Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.—§Goldsmith§: _Hermit_.

Evidently stolen from §Dr. Young§:—

Man wants but little, nor that little long.—_Night Thoughts._

* * * * *

Be wise to-day: ’tis madness to defer.—_Night Thoughts._

But §Congreve§ had said, not long before,—

Defer not till to-morrow to be wise; To-morrow’s sun to thee may never rise.—_Letter to Cobham._

* * * * *

Like angels’ visits, few and far between.—§Campbell§: _Pleasures of Hope_.

Copied from §Blair§:—

——like an ill-used ghost Not to return;—or if it did, its visits, Like those of angels, short and far between.—_Grave._

But this pretty conceit originated with §Norris§, of Bemerton, (died 1711,) in a religious poem:—

But those who soonest take their flight Are the most exquisite and strong: _Like angels’ visits, short and bright_, Mortality’s too weak to bear them long.—_The Parting._

* * * * *

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.—§Gray’s§ _Bard_.

§Gray§ himself points out the imitation in §Shakspeare§:—

You are my true and honorable wife; As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.—_Julius Cæsar_, Act II. Sc. 1.

§Otway§ also makes Priuli exclaim to his daughter,—

Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life, Dear as these eyes that weep in fondness o’er thee.—_Venice Preserved._

* * * * *

And leave us leisure to be good.—§Gray§: _Ode to Adversity_.

And know, I have not yet the leisure to be good.—§Oldham.§

* * * * *

Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best.—§Gray§: _Ode to Adversity_.

When the scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour, Calls us to penance.—§Milton§: _Paradise Lost_.

* * * * *

Lo, where the rosy-bosomed hours, Fair Venus’ train, appear!—§Gray§: _Ode to Spring_.

The graces and the rosy-bosomed hours Thither all their bounties bring.—§Milton§: _Comus_.

En hic in roseis latet papillis.—§Catullus.§

* * * * *

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.—§Gray§: _Elegy_.

There kept my charms concealed from mortal eye, Like roses that in deserts bloom and die.—§Pope§: _Rape of the Lock_.

In distant wilds, by human eye unseen, She rears her flowers and spreads her velvet green; Pure gurgling rills the lonely desert trace, And waste their music on the savage race.—§Young.§

And, like the desert’s lily, bloom to fade.—§Shenstone§: _Elegy IV._

* * * * *

Nor waste their sweetness on the desert air.—§Churchill§, _Gotham_.

Which else had wasted in the desert air. §Lloyd§: _Ode at Westminster School_.

* * * * *

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.—§Gray§: _Elegy_.

And left the world to wretchedness and me.—§Moss§: _Beggar’s Petition_.

* * * * *

The swallow oft beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest, &c.—_The Wish._

Doubtless suggested to §Rogers§ by the lines in §Gray’s§ Elegy:—

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from her straw-built shed, &c.

* * * * *

The bloom of young desire and purple light of love.—§Gray.§

Lumenque juventæ purpureum.—§Virgil.§ _Æn._ I. 590.

And quaff the _pendent vintage_ as it grows. §Gray§: _Alliance of Education and Government_.

For this expression §Gray§ was indebted to §Virgil§:—

Non eadem arboribus _pendet vindemia_ nostris, &c.—_Georg._ ii. 89.

* * * * *

The attic warbler pours her throat.—§Gray§: _Ode to Spring_.

Is it for thee the linnet pours her throat?—§Pope§: _Essay on Man_.

§Gray§ says concerning the blindness of Milton,—

He passed the flaming bounds of space and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

(§Dr. Johnson§ remarks that if we suppose the blindness caused by study in the formation of his poem, this account is poetically true and happily imagined.)

* * * * *

§Hermias§, a Galatian writer of the second century, says of Homer’s blindness,—

When Homer resolved to write of Achilles, he had an exceeding desire to fill his mind with a just idea of so glorious a hero: wherefore, having paid all due honors at his tomb, he entreats that he may obtain a sight of him. The hero grants his poet’s petition, and rises in a glorious suit of armor, which cast so insufferable a splendor that Homer lost his eyes while he gazed for the enlargement of his notions.

(§Pope§ says if this be any thing more than mere fable, one would be apt to imagine it insinuated his contracting a blindness by too intense application while he wrote the Iliad.)

* * * * *

§Hume’s§ sarcastic fling at the clergy in a note to the first volume of his history is not original. He says,—

The ambition of the clergy can often be satisfied only by promoting ignorance, and superstition, and implicit faith, and pious frauds; and having got what Archimedes only wanted,—another world on which he could fix his engine,—no wonder they move this world at their pleasure.

In §Dryden’s§ _Don Sebastian_, Dorax thus addresses the Mufti:—

Content you with monopolizing Heaven, And let this little hanging ball alone; For, give you but a foot of conscience there, And you, like Archimedes, toss the globe.

§Dryden§ says of the Earl of Shaftesbury,—

David for him his tuneful harp had strung, And Heaven had wanted one immortal song.—_Absalom and Achitophel._

§Pope§ adopts similar language in addressing his friend Dr. Arbuthnot:—

Friend of my life! which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song.

For truth has such a face and such a mien, As to be loved needs only to be seen.—§Dryden.§

Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen.—§Pope.§

* * * * *

Great wits to madness nearly are allied.—§Dryden§: _Abs. and Achit._

§Seneca§ said, eighteen centuries ago,—

Nullum magnum ingenium absque mistura dementiæ est:—_De Tranquil._;

and Aristotle had said it before him (_Problemata_).

* * * * *

Praise undeserved is satire in disguise.—§Pope§: _Imit. Horace_.

§Sir Walter Scott§ says in his _Woodstock_,—in the scene where Alice Lee, in the presence of Charles II. under the assumed name of Louis Kerneguy, describes the character she supposes the king to have:—

Kerneguy and his supposed patron felt embarrassed, perhaps from a consciousness that the real Charles fell far short of his ideal character as designed in such glowing colors. In some cases _exaggerated or inappropriate praise becomes the most severe satire_.

* * * * *

Ye little stars, hide your diminished rays.—§Pope§: _Epistle to Bathurst_.

At whose sight all the stars Hide their diminished heads.—§Milton.§

* * * * *

Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, But vindicate the ways of God to man.—§Pope§: _Essay on Man_.

And justify the ways of God to man.—§Milton§: _Paradise Lost_.

* * * * *

On Butler who can think without just rage, The glory and the scandal of the age?—§Oldham§: _Satire against Poetry_.

Probably borrowed by §Pope§ in the following lines:—

At length Erasmus, that great injured name, The glory of the priesthood and the shame.—_Essay on Criticism._

* * * * *

And more true joy Marcellus, exiled, feels, Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.—§Pope§: _Essay on Man_.

Drawn from §Bolingbroke§, who plagiarized the idea from §Seneca§, who says,—

O Marcellus, happier when Brutus approved thy exile than when the commonwealth approved thy consulship.

* * * * *

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight: He can’t be wrong whose life is in the right—§Pope§: _Essay on Man_.

Taken from §Cowley§:—

His faith perhaps in some nice tenets might Be wrong: his life, I’m sure, was in the right.

* * * * *

Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?—§Pope§: _Elegy_.

Imitated from §Crashawe’s§ couplet:—

And I,—what is my crime? I cannot tell, Unless it be a crime to have loved too well.

§Lamartine§, in his _Jocelyn_, has the same expression:—

Est-ce un crime, O mon Dieu, de trop aimer le beau?

* * * * *

A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.—_Dunciad._

This smart piece of antithesis §Pope§ borrowed from §Quinctilian§, who says,—

Qui stultis eruditi videri volunt; cruditi stulti videntur.

§Dr. Johnson§ also hurled this missile at Lord Chesterfield, calling him “A lord among wits, and a wit among lords.” The earl had offended the rugged lexicographer, whose barbarous manners in company Chesterfield holds up, in his _Letters to his son_, as things to be avoided.

* * * * *

Fair tresses man’s imperial race ensnare, And beauty draws us with a single hair.—§Pope§: _Rape of the Lock_.

This has a strong affinity with a passage in §Howell’s§ _Letters_:—

’Tis a powerful sex: they were too strong for the first, for the strongest, and for the wisest man that was: they must needs be strong, when _one hair of a woman can draw more than a hundred pair of oxen_.

* * * * *

Princes and lords may flourish or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made.—§Goldsmith§: _Deserted Vil._

Probably from §De Caux§, an old French poet, who says,—

———————— C’est un verre qui luit, Qu’un souffle peut détruire, et qu’un souffle a produit.

* * * * *

Kings are like stars,—they rise and set,—_they have The worship of the world, but no repose_.—§Shelley§: _Hellas_.

Stolen from §Lord Bacon§:—

Princes are like to heavenly bodies, which cause good or evil times, and _which have much veneration, but no rest_.—_Of Empire._

§Burke§, in speaking of the morals of France prior to the Revolution, says,—

Vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness.

This statement—the falsity of which is apparent—is disproved by a score of contradictions. Let Lord Bacon suffice:—

Another [of the Rabbins] noteth a position in moral philosophy, that men abandoned to vice do not so much corrupt manners as those that are half good and half evil.—_Advancement of Learning._

Things not to be trusted:—

A bright sky, A smiling master, The cry of a dog, A harlot’s sorrow. _Howitt’s Literature and Romance of Northern Europe._

Grant I may never be so fond To trust man in his oath or bond, Or a harlot for her weeping, Or a dog that seems a-sleeping. _Apemantus’ Grace._—_Timon of Athens._

The collocation of dogs and harlots in both passages is very remarkable.

* * * * *

All human race, from China to Peru, Pleasure, howe’er disguised by art, pursue. §Warton§: _Universal Love of Pleasure_, 1748.

Let observation, with extensive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru. §Dr. Johnson§: _Vanity of Human Wishes_, 1749.

* * * * *

§Shakspeare’s§ dreamy Dane says,—

Man delights not me, nor woman neither.

A sentiment very nearly expressed in §Horace’s§ Ode to Venus:—

Me nec femina, nec puer, Jam nec spes animi credula mutui. Nec certare juvat mero, &c.—_Lib. IV._

(As for me, neither woman, nor youth, nor the fond hope of mutual inclination, &c. delight me.)

* * * * *

The world’s a theatre, the earth a stage, Which God and nature do with actors fill; Kings have their entrance with due equipage, And some their parts play well, and others ill. §Thomas Heywood§: _Apology for Actors_, 1612.

All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his life plays many parts. §Shakspeare§: _As You Like It_.

§Palladas§, a Greek poet of the third century, has the following, translated by Merivale:—

This life a theatre we well may call, Where every actor must perform with art, Or laugh it through and make a farce of all, Or learn to bear with grace his tragic part.

§Pythagoras§, who lived nearly two centuries later, also said,—

This world is like a stage whereon many play their parts.

* * * * *

Among the epigrams of §Palladas§ may be found the original of a modern saw, the purport of which is that an ignoramus, by maintaining a prudent silence, may pass for a wise man:—

Πᾶς τις ἀπαιδευτος φρονιμώτατος ἔστι σιωπῶν.

§Shakspeare§ uses it in the _Merchant of Venice_:—

O my Antonio, I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.—_Act I. Sc. 1._

* * * * *

We come crying hither: Thou knowest the first time that we smell the air We wawl and cry.—— When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools.—_King Lear, IV. 6._

Tum porro puer,—— Vagituque locum lugubri complet, ut æquum est Cui tantum in vita restet transire malorum. §Lucretius§: _De Rer. Nat._

* * * * *

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns.—_Hamlet, Act III._

Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum Illuc unde negant redire quemquam.—§Catullus.§

A similar form of expression occurs in the Book of Job, x. 21, and xvi. 22; but it is probable, from this and other passages, that Shakspeare’s acquaintance with the Latin writers was greater than has been generally supposed. One of the commentators on Hamlet, in pointing out the similarity of ideas in the lines commencing, “The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,” &c. (_Act I._) and the hymn of St. Ambrose in the Salisbury collection,—

Preco diei jam sonat, Noctis profundæ pervigil; Nocturna lux viantibus, A nocte noctem segregans. Hoc excitatus Lucifer, Solvit polum caligine; Hoc omnis errorum chorus Viam nocendi deserit. Gallo canente spes redit, &c.,

has the following remark. “Some future Dr. Farmer may, perhaps, show how Shakspeare became acquainted with this passage, without being able to read the original; for the resemblance is too close to be accidental. But this, with many other passages, and especially his original Latinisms of phrase, give evidence enough of a certain degree of acquaintance with Latin,—doubtless not familiar nor scholar-like, but sufficient to give a coloring to his style, and to open to him many treasures of poetical thought and diction not accessible to the merely English reader. Such a degree of acquirement might well appear low to an accomplished Latinist like Ben Jonson, and authorize him to say of his friend,—

Though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek;—

yet the very mention of his ‘small Latin’ indicates that Ben knew that he had some.”

Mr. Fox, the orator, remarked on one occasion that Shakspeare must have had some acquaintance with Euripides, for he could trace resemblances between passages of their dramas: e.g. what Alcestis in her last moments says about her servants is like what the dying Queen Katharine (in _Henry the Eighth_) says about hers, &c.

That Shakspeare “may often be tracked in the snow” of §Terence§, as Dryden remarks of Ben Jonson, is evident from the following:—

Master, it is no time to chide you now: Affection is not rated from the heart. If love hath touched you, naught remains but so,— _Redime te captum quam queas minimo_.—_Taming of the Shrew, I. 1._

The last line is manifestly an alteration of the words of Parmeno in _The Eunuch_ of §Terence§:—

Quid agas, nisi ut _te redimas captum quam queas minimo_?—_Act I. Sc. 1._

In another play §Terence§ says,—

Facile omnes, cum valemus, recta consilia, ægrotis damus; Tu si hic sis, aliter censeas.—_Andrian XI. 1._

§Shakspeare§ has it,—

Men Can counsel and give comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion.

.tb

’Tis all men’s office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow; But no man’s virtue, nor sufficiency, To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself.—_Much Ado about Nothing, V. 1._

Apropos of this sentiment, §Swift§ says,—

I never knew a man who could not bear the misfortunes of others with the most Christian resignation.—_Thoughts on Various Subjects._

And §La Rochefoucauld§,—

We have all of us sufficient fortitude to bear the misfortunes of others.—_Max. 20._

* * * * *

Falstaff says, in 1 Henry IV. ii. 4,—

For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.

Shakspeare evidently here parodied an expression in §Sir John Lyly§’s _Euphues_:—

Though the camomile, the more it is trodden and pressed downe, the more it spreadeth; yet the violet, the oftener it is handled and touched, the sooner it withereth and decaieth.

Two verses in _Titus Andronicus_ appear to have pleased Shakspeare so well that he twice subsequently closely copied them:—

She is a woman, therefore may be wooed, She is a woman, therefore may be won.—_Titus Andron. II. 1._

She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.—_First Part Henry VI., V. 3._

Was ever woman in this humor wooed? Was ever woman in this humor won?—_Richard III., I. 2._

Though Shakspeare has drawn freely from others, he is himself a mine from which many builders have quarried their materials,—a Coliseum

“from whose mass Walls, palaces, half cities, have been reared.”

* * * * *

Honor and shame from no condition rise: Act well your part, there all the honor lies.—§Pope§: _Essay on Man_.

This is only a new rendering of the thought thus expressed by Shakspeare:—

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer’s deed.—_All’s Well that Ends Well, II. 3._

* * * * *

Let rusty steel a while be sheathed, And all those harsh and rugged sounds Of bastinadoes, cuts, and wounds, Exchanged to love’s more gentle style.—_Hudibras, P. II. c. 1._

Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.—_Richard III, I. 1._

* * * * *

The military figure of Shakspeare’s musical lines,—

Beauty’s ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and on thy cheeks, And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.—_Romeo and Juliet, V. 3_,

is closely imitated by §Chamberlain§:—

The rose had lost His ensign in her cheeks; and tho’ it cost Pains nigh to death, the lily had alone Set his pale banners up.—_Pharonidas._

* * * * *

A dream Dreamed by a happy man, while the dark cast Is slowly brightening to his bridal morn.—§Tennyson.§

Copied from the _Merchant of Venice_:—

Then music is As those dulcet sounds in break of day, That creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear And summon him to marriage.—III. 2.

* * * * *

How can we expect another to keep our secret if we cannot keep it ourselves?—§La Rochefoucauld§, _Max. 90_.

Toute révélation d’un secret est la faute de celui qui l’a confié.—§La Bruyere§: _De la Société_.

I have played the fool, the gross fool, to believe The bosom of a friend would hold a secret Mine own could not contain.—§Massinger§: _Unnatural Combat, V. 2_.

_Ham._—Do not believe it.

_Ros._—Believe what?

_Ham._—That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. §Shakspeare§: _Hamlet, IV. 2_.

* * * * *

Anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self mettle tires him.—_Henry VIII._ I. 1.

Let passion work, and, like a hot-reined horse, ’Twill quickly tire itself.—§Massinger§: _Unnatural Combat_.

* * * * *

Is this the Talbot so much feared abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes?—_Henry VI._ II. 3.

Nor shall Sebastian’s formidable name Be longer used to lull the crying babe.—§Dryden§: _Don Sebastian_.

Chili’s dark matrons long shall tame The froward child with Bertram’s name.—§Scott§: _Rokeby_.

* * * * *

It were better to be eaten to death with rust than to be scoured to nothing by perpetual motion.—_Henry IV., Second Part_, I. 2.

Reversed by §Byron§:—

Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.—_Giaour._

* * * * *

’Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus.—_Cymbeline._

No lips did seem so fair In his conceit—through which he thinks doth fly So sweet a breath that doth perfume the air. §Marston§: _Pygmalion’s Image_.

* * * * *

Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.—_2 Henry VI._ III. 2.

I’m armed with more than complete steel— The justice of my quarrel.—§Marlowe§: _Lust’s Dominion_.

* * * * *

All that glisters is not gold.—_Merchant of Venice_, II.

Yet gold all is not that doth golden seeme. §Spenser§: _Faerie Queene_, II.

* * * * *

Double, double, toil and trouble.—_Macbeth._

Πόνος, πόνῳ, πόνον, φέρει.—§Sophocles§: _Ajax_.

* * * * *

We shall not look upon his like again.—_Hamlet_, I.

Quando ullum inveniet parem?—§Horace.§

* * * * *

None but himself can be his parallel.—§Theobald.§

Quæris Alcidæ parem? Nemo est nisi ipse.—§Seneca§: _Hercules Furens_.

* * * * *

The following song from §Shakspeare’s§ _Measure for Measure_, commencing as follows, is copied _verbatim_ in §Beaumont§ and §Fletcher’s§ _Bloody Brother_:—

Take, O! take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn. But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but sealed in vain.

* * * * *

The following line occurs both in §Pope’s§ _Dunciad_ and §Addison’s§ _Campaign_:—

Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

* * * * *

§Ben Jonson§ borrowed his celebrated ballad _To Celia_,—

Drink to me only with thine eyes, &c.,

from §Philostratus§, a Greek poet, who flourished at the court of the Emperor Severus.

* * * * *

In §Milton’s§ description of the lazar-house occurs the following confused metaphor:—

Sight so deform what _heart of rock_ could long _Dry-eyed_ behold?

Derived from a similar combination in §Tibullus§:—

_Flebis_; non tua sunt duro præcordia ferro Vincta, nec in tenero stat tibi _corde silex_.—_El. I. 63._

* * * * *

When Christ, at Cana’s feast, by power divine, Inspired cold water with the warmth of wine, See! cried they, while in redd’ning tide it gushed, The bashful water saw its God and blushed.—§Aaron Hill.§

Lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit.[33]—§Richard Crashawe.§

Footnote 33:

It is not a little singular that Mr. Arvine, in his excellent _Cyclopædia_, gives Milton and Dryden, while boys at school, equal credit for originating, _in the same way_, this beautiful idea.

* * * * *

Fond fool! six feet shall serve for all thy store, And he that cares for most shall find no more.—§Hall.§

His wealth is summed, and this is all his store: This poor men get, and great men get no more. §G. Webster§: _Vittoria Corombona_.

* * * * *

God made the country, and man made the town.—§Cowper§: _Task_.

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.—§Cowley.§

* * * * *

Hypocrisy, detest her as we may, May claim this merit still,—that she admits The worth of what she mimics with such care, And thus gives virtue indirect applause.—§Cowper§: _Task_.

Le vice rend hommage à la vertu en s’honorant de ses apparences.—§Massillon.§

* * * * *

Love is sweet Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever; They who inspire it most are fortunate, As I am now; but those who feel it most Are happier still.—§Shelley§: _Prometheus Unbound_.

It is better to desire than to enjoy, to love than to be loved.—

It makes us proud when our love of a mistress is returned: it ought to make us prouder still when we can love her for herself alone, without the aid of any such selfish reflection. This is the religion of love.—§Hazlitt§: _Characteristics_.

* * * * *

People who are always taking care of their health are like misers, who are hoarding up a treasure which they have never spirit enough to enjoy.—§Sterne§: _Koran_.

Preserving the health by too strict a regimen is a wearisome malady.—§La Rochefoucauld§: _Max. 285_.

* * * * *

The king can make a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a’ that,—

* * * * *

The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man’s the gowd for a’ that.—§Burns.§

I weigh the man, not his title; ’tis not the king’s stamp can make the metal bettor or heavier. Your lord is a leaden shilling, which you bend every way, and debases the stamp he bears.

§Wycherly§: _Plain Dealer_.

Titles of honor are like the impressions on coin, which add no value to gold and silver, but only render brass current.—§Sterne§: _Koran_.

Kings do with men as with pieces of money: they give them what value they please, and we are obliged to receive them at their current, and not at their real, value.—§La Rochefoucauld§: _Max. 160_.

§Kossuth’s§ “To him that wills, nothing is impossible,”[34] is thus expressed by §La Rochefoucauld§:—

Nothing is impossible: there are ways which lead to every thing; and if we had sufficient will, we should always have sufficient means.—_Max. 255._

Footnote 34:

Mirabeau’s hasty temper is well known. “Monsieur le Compte,” said his secretary to him one day, “the thing you require is impossible.” “Impossible!” exclaimed Mirabeau, starting from his chair: “never again use that _foolish word_ in my presence.”

§Shelley§ gives the idea as follows:—

It is our will That thus enchains us to permitted ill. We might be otherwise: we might be all We dream of, happy, high, majestical. Where is the beauty, love, and truth we seek But in our minds? and if we were not weak, Should we be less in deed than in desire? _Julian and Maddolo._

* * * * *

To most men, experience is like the stern-lights of a ship, which illumine only the track it has passed.—§Coleridge.§

We arrive complete novices at the different ages of life, and we often want experience in spite of the number of our years.—§La Rochefoucauld§: _Max. 430_.

The same idea may be found in the _Adelphi_ of §Terence§, Act V. Sc. 2, v. 1–4.

* * * * *

For those that fly may fight again, Which he can never do that’s slain.—_Hudibras._

He who fights and runs away May live to fight another day.—§Sir John Minnes.§

But §Demosthenes§, the famous Grecian orator, had said, long before,—

Ἀνὴρ ὁ φεύγων καὶ πάλιν μαχήσεται.

* * * * *

She could love none but only such As scorned and hated her as much.—_Hudibras._

§Horace§, in describing such a capricious kind of love, uses the following language:—

—Leporem venator ut alta In nive sectatur, positum sic tangere nolit; Cantat et apponit: meus est amor huic similis; nam Transvolat in medio posita, et fugientia captat.—_Satires_, Book I. ii.,

which is nearly a translation of the eleventh epigram of §Callimachus§.

* * * * *

What woful stuff this madrigal would be In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines! §Pope§: _Essay on Criticism_.

§Molière§ has the same sentiment:—

Tous les discours sont des sottises Partant d’un homme sans éclat; Ce seraient paroles exquises, Si c’était un grand qui parlat.

It may also be found in §Ennius§, §Euripides§, and other writers. The last notability who has expressed the idea is §Emerson§, who says,—

It adds a great deal to the force of an opinion to know that there is a man of mark and likelihood behind it.

* * * * *

Others may use the ocean as their road, Only the English make it _their abode_:— We _tread the billows_ with a steady foot.—§Waller.§

§Campbell§ adopts the thoughts of these italicized words in the _Mariners of England_:—

Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep: Her march is on the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep.

* * * * *

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the lake; So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom, and be lost in me.—§Tennyson§: _Princess_.

And like a lily on a river floating, She floats upon the river of his thoughts. §Longfellow§: _Spanish Student_.

* * * * *

You must either soar or stoop, Fall or triumph, stand or droop; You must either serve or govern, Must be slave or must be sovereign; Must, in fine, be block or wedge, Must be anvil or be sledge.—§Goethe.§

In this world a man must be either anvil or hammer. §Longfellow§: _Hyperion_.

Lockhart says, in his Life of Sir Walter Scott, “It was on this occasion, I believe, that Scott first saw his friend’s brother Reginald (§Heber§), in after-days the Apostolic Bishop of Calcutta. He had just been declared the successful competitor for that year’s poetical prize, and read to Scott at breakfast, in Brazennose College, the MS. of his _Palestine_. Scott observed that in the verses on Solomon’s Temple one striking circumstance had escaped him, namely, that no tools were used in its erection. Reginald retired for a few minutes to the corner of the room, and returned with the beautiful lines,—

No hammer fell, no ponderous axes rung: Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung. Majestic silence!” &c.

§Cowper§ had previously expressed the same idea:—

Silently as a dream the fabric rose: No sound of hammer nor of saw was there: Ice upon ice, &c.—_Palace of Ice._

§Milton§ had also said,—

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose like an exhalation.—_Paradise Lost._

* * * * *

Speech is the light, the morning of the mind: It spreads the beauteous images abroad Which else lie furled and shrouded in the soul.—

§Dryden§ evidently had in mind the language of §Themistocles§ to the King of Persia:—

Speech is like cloth of arras opened and put abroad, whereby the imagery doth appear in figure, whereas in thoughts they lie but in packs (_i.e._ rolled up, or packed up).

* * * * *

_Silence_ that _spoke_, and eloquence of eyes.—§Pope§: _Homer’s Iliad_,

## Book XIV.

§Voltaire§, in his _Œdipus_, makes Jocasta say,—

Tout _parle_ contre nous, jusqu’à notre _silence_.

In §Milton’s§ _Samson Agonistes_ we find,—

The deeds themselves, though _mute_, _spoke loud_ the doer.

* * * * *

“A SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW.”

A similar thought may be found in §Dante§:—

——nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria.—_Inferno_, Canto v. 121.

(There is no greater pain than to recall a happy time in wretchedness.)

Also §Chaucer§:—

For of Fortune’s sharpe adversite The worst kind of infortune is this: A man to have been in prosperite And it remember when it passid is. _Troilus and Cresside_, B. III.

The same thought occurs in the writings of other Italian poets. See §Marino§, _Adone_, c. xiv.; §Fortinguerra§, _Ricciardetto_, c. xi.; and §Petrarch§, _canzone 46_. The original was probably in §Boetius§, _de Consol. Philosoph._:—

In omni adversitate fortunæ infeliCissimum genus est infortunii fuisse felicem et non esse.—L. ii. pr. 4.

* * * * *

The famous pun in the imitation of §Crabbe§ in the _Rejected Addresses_:—

The youth, with joy unfeigned, Regained the _felt_, and _felt_ what he regained,

and of §Holmes§ in his _Urania_:—

Mount the new Castor:—ice itself will melt; Boots, gloves, may fail; the hat is always _felt_,

had been anticipated by §Thomas Heywood§ in a song:—

But of all _felts_ that may be _felt_, Give me your English beaver.

* * * * *

§Falstaff’s§ pun:—

Indeed I am in the _waist_ two yards about; but I am now about no _waste_; I am about thrift,—(_Merry Wives of Windsor._)

had also been anticipated, and may be found in §Heywood’s§ “_Epigrammes_,” 1562:—

“Where am I least, husband?” Quoth he, “In the _waist_; Which cometh of this, thou art vengeance strait-laced. Where am I biggest, wife?” “In the _waste_,” quoth she, “For all is _waste_ in you, as far as I see.”

The same play on the word occurs subsequently in §Shirley’s§ comedy of _The Wedding_, 1629:—

He is a great man indeed; something given to the _waist_, for he lives within no _reasonable compass_.

* * * * *

§Moore§, in his song _Dear Harp of my Country_, sings,—

If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover Have throbbed at our lay, ’tis thy glory alone; I was but as the wind passing heedlessly over, And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own;—

an idea probably caught from §Horace’s§ Ode to Melpomene:—

Totum muneris hoc tui est, Quod monstror digito prætereuntium Romanæ fidicen lyræ: Quod spiro, et placeo, si placeo, tuum est.

(That I am pointed out by the fingers of passers-by as the stringer of the Roman lyre, is entirely thy gift: that I breathe and give pleasure, if I do give pleasure, is thine.)

* * * * *

Now, by those stars that glance O’er Heaven’s still expanse, Weave we our mirthful dance, Daughters of Zea!—§Moore§: _Evenings in Greece_.

Beneath the moonlight sky The festal warblings flowed Where maidens to the Queen of Heaven Wove the gay dance.—§Keble§: _Christian Year_.

* * * * *

Her ‘prentice han’ she tried on man, An’ then she made the lassies, O. §Burns§: _Green Grow, &c._

Man was made when Nature was but an apprentice, but woman when she was a skilful mistress of her art.—_Cupid’s Whirligig_ (1607).

* * * * *

A book, upon whose leaves some chosen plants By his own hand disposed with nicest care, In undecaying beauty were preserved;— Mute register, to him, of time and place And various fluctuations in the breast; To her a monument of faithful love Conquered, and in tranquillity retained. §Wordsworth§: _Excursion_.

Like flower-leaves in a precious volume stored, To solace and relieve Some heart too weary of the restless world.—§Keble§: _Christian Year_.

* * * * *

Her pretty feet, Like smiles, did creep A little out, and then, As if they started at bo-peep, Did soon draw in again.—§Herrick.§

Imitated by §Sir John Suckling§ in his ballad of _The Wedding_:—

Her feet beneath her petticoat Like little mice stole in and out, As if they feared the light; But, oh, she dances such a way, No sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight!

* * * * *

So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart: Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel, While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. §Byron§: _On the Death of Kirke White_.

§Waller§ says, in his _Lines to a Lady singing a song of his own composing_,—

That eagle’s fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own Wherewith he’d wont to soar so high.

§Moore§ uses the same figure:—

Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom, See their own feathers plucked to wing the dart Which rank corruption destines for their heart.—_Corruption._

The original in _The Myrmidons_ of §Eschylus§ has been thus translated:—

An eagle once,—so Libyan legends say,— Struck to the heart, on earth expiring lay, And, gazing on the shaft that winged the blow, Thus spoke:—“Whilst others’ ills from others flow, To my own plumes, alas! my fate I owe.”

* * * * *

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass In every fragment multiplies, and makes A thousand images of one that was, The same, and still the more, the more it breaks. §Byron§: _Childe Harold_.

Suggested by the following passage:—

And as Praxiteles did by his glass when he saw a scurvy face in it, brake it to pieces, but for that one he saw many more as bad in a moment.

§Burton§: _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Part II., Sect. 3, (mem. 7.)

* * * * *

In her first passion woman loves her lover, In all the others, all she loves is love, &c.—§Byron§: _Don Juan_.

Borrowed from §La Rochefoucauld§:—

Dans les premières passions les femmes aiment l’amant; dans les autres elles aiment l’amour.—_Max. 494._

In the same place §Byron§ adds:—

Although, no doubt, her first of love-affairs Is that to which her heart is wholly granted, Yet there are some, they say, who have had _none_; But those who have ne’er end with only _one_.

And in some observations upon an article in Blackwood’s Magazine, he says,—

Writing grows a habit, like a woman’s gallantry. There are women who have had no intrigue, but few who have had but one only: so there are millions of men who have never written a book, but few who have written only one.

This idea is also borrowed from §La Rochefoucauld§:—

On peut trouver des femmes qui n’ont jamais eu de galanterie; mais il est rare d’en trouver qui n’en aient jamais eu qu’une.—_Max. 73._

* * * * *

A thousand years scarce serve to form a state, An hour may lay it in the dust.—§Byron§: _Childe Harold_.

Cento si richieggono ad edificare; un solo basta per distruggere tutto.—§Muratori’s§ _Annals_.

* * * * *

Even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are formed.—_Childe Harold._

Yet monsters from thy large increase we find, Engendered in the slime thou leav’st behind.—§Dryden§: _The Medal_.

* * * * *

I am not altogether of such clay As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.—_Childe Harold._

The gods, a kindness I with thanks repay, Had formed me of another sort of clay.—§Churchill.§

* * * * *

_What exile from himself can flee?_ To zones though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where’er I be, The blight of life,—the demon Thought.—_Childe Harold._

Patriæ quis exul se quoque fugit?—§Horace§: _Ode to Grosphus_.

Vide also Epist. XI. 28.

* * * * *

To-morrow for the Moon we depart, But not to-night,—to-night is for the heart.—§Byron§: _The Island_.

Nunc vino pellite curas; Cras ingens iterabimus æquor.—§Horace§: _Ode to Munatius Plancus_.

(Now drown your cares in wine; To-morrow we shall traverse the great brine.)

* * * * *

§Dryden§, alluding to his work, says,—

When it was only a confused mass of thoughts _tumbling_ over one another in the dark; when the fancy was yet in its _first work_, moving the _sleeping images of things_ towards the light, there to be distinguished, and there either to be _chosen_ or rejected by the _judgment_.—_Rival Ladies_ (1664).

§Byron§ thus appropriates the idea:—

——As yet ’tis but a chaos Of darkly brooding thoughts; my fancy is In her _first work_, more nearly to the light Holding _the sleeping images of things_ For the selection of the pausing judgment.—_Doge of Venice_, I. 2.

* * * * *

And if I laugh at any mortal thing, ’Tis that I may not weep.—§Byron§: _Don Juan_.

§Richardson§ had said, long before,—

Indeed, it is to this deep concern that my levity is owing; for I struggle and struggle, and try to buffet down my cruel reflections as they rise; and when I cannot, _I am forced to try to make myself laugh that I may not cry_; for one or other I must do: and is it not philosophy carried to the highest pitch for a man to conquer such tumults of soul as I am sometimes agitated by, and in the very height of the storm to quaver out a horse-laugh?

_Clarissa Harlowe_, Let. 84.

In the _Antiquary_ of Sir §Walter Scott§, Maggie says to Oldbuck of Monkbarns (ch. xi.):—

It’s no fish ye’re buying, its men’s lives.

§Tom Hood§, appears to have borrowed this idea in the _Song of the Shirt_:—

It is not linen you’re wearing out. But human creatures’ lives.

* * * * *

In §Rogers’§ poem, _Human Life_ is this couplet describing a good wife:—

A guardian angel o’er his hearth presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.

In the _Tatler_, No. 49, it is said of a model couple, Amanda and Florio, that “their satisfactions are doubled, their sorrows lessened, by participation.”

* * * * *

Of the buccaneering adventurer described in _Rokeby_, Sir §Walter Scott§ says:—

Inured to danger’s direst form, Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, Death had he seen by sudden blow, By wasting plague, by torture slow, By mine or breach, by steel or ball, _Knew all his shapes and scorned them all_.

Sir §Walter Raleigh§, in a letter to his wife on the eve, as he supposed, of his execution, speaks of himself as “one who, in his own respect, despiseth death in all his misshapen and ugly forms.”

* * * * *

Speaking of Burke, §Goldsmith§ says in his _Retaliation_:—

Who, born for universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.

§Pope§, in his Last Letter to the Bishop of Rochester, (Atterbury,) said:—

At this time, when you are cut off from a little society and made a citizen of the world at large, you should bend your talents, not to serve a party or a few, but all mankind.

* * * * *

Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be, blest.—§Pope.§

Nous no jouissons jamais; nous espérons toujours.—§Massillon§, _Sermon pour le Jour de St. Benoit_.

* * * * *

The jocular saying of §Douglas Jerrold§, that a wife of forty should, like a bank-note, be exchangeable for _two_ of twenty, was anticipated by §Byron§:—

Wedded she was some years, and to a man Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty; And yet, I think, instead of such a _one_ ’Twere better to have two of five-and-twenty. _Don Juan_, lxii.

And still earlier by §Gay§ in _Equivocation_. In the colloquy between a bishop and an abbot, the bishop advises:—

These indiscretions lend a handle To lewd lay tongues to give us scandal For your vow’s sake, this rule I give t’ye, Let all your maids be _turned of fifty_.

The priest replied, I have not swerved, But your chaste precept well observed; That lass full _twenty-five_ has told; I’ve yet another who’s as old; Into one sum their ages cast, So _both_ my maids have _fifty_ past.

* * * * *

Many readers will remember the lines by §Burns§, commencing:—

The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne’er summer morn was half sae sweet.

The turn of thought in this stanza bears a striking resemblance to the concluding lines of Ode cxi., of §M. A. Flaminius§. The following translation is close enough to point the resemblance:—

When, borne on Zephyr’s balmy wing Again returns the purple spring Instant the mead is gay with flowers The forest smiles, and through its bowers Once more the song-bird’s tuneful voice Bids nature everywhere rejoice. Yet fairer far and far more gay To me were winter’s darkest day, So, blessed thenceforth, it should restore My loved one to my arms once more.

* * * * *

§Moore§ says:—

Let conquerors boast Their fields of fame—he who in virtue’s arms A young warm spirit against beauty’s charms Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall Is the best, bravest conqueror of all.

§Howell§ in the Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ says:—

Alexander subdued the world—Cæsar his enemies—Hercules monsters—but he that overcomes himself is the true valiant captain.

* * * * *

Brutus says, in §Shakspeare’s§ _Julius Cæsar_, iv., 3:—

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.

In §Bacon’s§ _Advancement of Learning_, B. 2, occurs this passage:—

In the third place, I set down reputation, because of the peremptory tides and currents it hath, which, if they be not taken in due time, are seldom recovered, it being extreme hard to play an after game of reputation.

* * * * *

King Henry says, in §Shakspeare’s§ 2 Hen. VI., i. 1:—

O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness.

§George Herbert§ says:—

Thou that hast given so much to me, Give one thing more, a grateful heart.

* * * * *

§Vitruvius§ says:—There are various kinds of timber, as there are various kinds of flesh; one of men, one of fishes, one of beasts, and another of birds.

§St. Paul§ says:—All flesh is not the same flesh, &c., I Cor. xv. 39.

* * * * *

In §Coventry Patmore’s§ delicately beautiful poem, _The Angel in the House_, twice occurs the line,—

Her pleasure in her power to charm.

“An exquisite line,” says _The Critic_: “who could have believed that the ugly and often unjust word _vanity_ could ever be melted down into so true and pretty and flattering a periphrasis?” §Thackeray§ uses the same idea:—

A fair young creature, bright and blooming yesterday, distributing smiles, levying homage, inspiring desire, conscious of her power to charm, and gay with the natural enjoyments of her conquests—who, in his walk through the world, has not looked on many such a one? _The Newcomes._

E’en the slight hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from its airy tread. §Scott§, _Lady of the Lake_.

For other print her airy steps ne’er left; Her treading would not bend a blade of grass. §Ben Jonson§, _The Sad Shepherd_.

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o’er th’ unbending corn, and skims along the main. §Pope§, _Essay on Criticism_.

I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; ’Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. §Tennyson§, _In Memoriam, xxvii._

Magis gauderes quod habueras [amicum], quam mœreres quod amiseras.

§Seneca§, _Epist. cxix._

* * * * *

The familiar epitaphic line,

Think what a woman should be—she was that,

finds a parallel in §Shakspeare’s§ _Venus and Adonis_:—

Look what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

* * * * *

And homeless, near a thousand homes, I stood, And, near a thousand tables, pined and wanted food. §Wordsworth§, _Guilt and Sorrow_.

Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh, it was pitiful, Near a whole city full Home she had none. §Hood§, _Bridge of Sighs_.

* * * * *

So that a doubt almost within me springs Of Providence. §Wordsworth§, _Powers of Imagination_.

Even God’s Providence seeming estranged. §Hood§, _Bridge of Sighs_.

* * * * *

Not that man may not here Taste of the cheer: But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head; So must he sip and think Of better drink He may attain to after he is dead. §George Herbert§, _Man’s Medley_.

Look at the chicken by the side of yonder pond, and let it rebuke your ingratitude. It drinks, and every sip it takes it lifts its head to heaven and thanks the giver of the rain for the drink afforded to it; while thou eatest and drinkest, and there is no blessing pronounced at thy meals and no thanksgiving bestowed upon thy Father for his bounty.

§Spurgeon§, _Everybody’s Sermon_.

* * * * *

§Toplady§ has bequeathed to us the beautiful hymn:—

Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee! Let the water and the blood, From thy riven side which flowed, Be of sin the double cure, Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

But §Daniel Brevint§ in _The Christian Sacrament and Sacrifice_, (1673) had made this devout and solemn aspiration:—

O Rock of Israel, Rock of Salvation, Rock struck and cleft for me, let those two streams of blood and water, which once gushed out of thy side ... bring down with them salvation and holiness into my soul.

* * * * *

She (the Roman Catholic Church) may still exist in undiminished vigor when some traveler from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast Solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul’s. §Macaulay§, _Ranke’s History of the Popes_.

The next Augustan age will dawn on the other side of the Atlantic. There will perhaps be a Thucydides at Boston, a Xenophon at New York, and, in time, a Virgil at Mexico, and a Newton at Peru. At last some curious traveler from Lima will visit England, and give a description of the ruins of St. Paul’s, like the editions of Baalbec and Palmyra:—but am I not prophesying contrary to my consummate prudence, and casting horoscopes of empires like Rousseau?

§Horace Walpole§, _Letter to Mason_.

* * * * *

Readers of _Don Juan_ sometimes descant with rapture on the beauty of the lines (c. i. v. 123),—

’Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog’s honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home,—

The epithet _deep-mouthed_, as applied to the bark, being especially designated as “fine.” And fine it is, but §Byron§ found it in §Shakspeare§ and in §Goldsmith§:—

And couple Clowder with the deep-mouthed brach. _Taming of the Shrew, Induc. Sc. 1._

The laborers of the day were all retired to rest; the lights were out in every cottage; no sounds were heard but of the shrilling cock, and the deep-mouthed watch-dog at hollow distance.

_Vicar of Wakefield_, _ch._ xxii.

* * * * *

“Your sermon,” said a great critic to a great preacher, “was very fine; but had it been only half the length, it would have produced twice the impression.” “You are quite right,” was the reply; “but the fact is, I received but sudden notice to preach, and therefore _I had not the time to make my sermon short_.”

* * * * *

§Voltaire§ apologized for writing a long letter on the ground that he had not time to condense. In these cases the idea is borrowed from classical literature. §Pliny§ says in his _Letters_ (lib. i. ep. xx.):—

Ex his apparet illum permulta dixisse; quum ederet, omisisse; ... ne dubitare possimus, quæ per plures dies, ut necesse erat, latius dixerit, postea recisa ac purgata in unum librum, grandem quidem, unum tamen, coarctasse.

(From this it is evident that he said very much; but, when he was publishing, he omitted much: ... so that we may not doubt that what he said more diffusely, as he was at the time forced to do, having afterwards retrenched and corrected, he condensed into one single book.)

The condensation and revision required more time and thought than the first production.

* * * * *

§Campbell§ says in _O’Connor’s Child_,—

For man’s neglect we loved it more.

And again, _Lines on leaving a Scene in Bavaria_,—

For man’s neglect I love thee more.

* * * * *

And §Walter Scott§ likewise imitates himself thus:—

His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, Forced the red blood drop from the nail. _Rokeby.__Canto_i.

He wrung the Earl’s hand with such frantic earnestness, that his grasp forced the blood to start under the nail.—_Legend of Montrose._

* * * * *

In _Rob Roy_, Sir Walter makes Frank Osbaldistone say in his elegy on Edward the Black Prince,—

O for the voice of that wild horn, On Fontarabian echoes borne, The dying hero’s call, That told imperial Charlemagne, How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain Had wrought his champion’s fall.

And in _Marmion_, toward the close of Canto Sixth, he says:—

O for a blast of that dread horn, On Fontarabian echoes borne, That to King Charles did come, When Rowland brave, and Oliver, And every paladin and peer, On Roncesvalles died.

When this inadvertent or unconscious coincidence in the poem and the novel was pointed out to Sir Walter, he replied, with his natural expression of comic gravity, “Ah! that _was very careless_ of me. I did not think I should have committed such a blunder.”

* * * * *

“I tread on the pride of Plato,” said Diogenes, as he walked over Plato’s carpet. “Yes, and with more pride,” said Plato.—§Cecil§, _Remains_.

Trampling on Plato’s pride, with greater pride, As did the Cynic on some like occasion, &c. §Byron§, _Don Juan_, xvi. 43.

Diogenes I hold to be the most vainglorious man of his time, and more ambitious in refusing all honors than Alexander in rejecting none.

§Browne§, _Religio Medici_.

* * * * *

There is an Italian proverb used, in the extravagance of flattery, to compliment a handsome lady, expressive of this idea:—“When nature made thee, she broke the mould.” §Byron§ uses it in the closing lines of his monody on the death of Sheridan:—

Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, And broke the die,—in moulding Sheridan.

§Shakspeare§ also says, in the second stanza of _Venus and Adonis_,—

Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

* * * * *

Du sublime au ridicule il n’y a qu’un pas. (From the sublime to the ridiculous there is but a step.)

This saying, commonly ascribed to §Napoleon§, was borrowed by him from §Tom Paine§, whose works were translated into French in 1791, and who says,—

The sublime and the ridiculous are often so nearly related that it is difficult to class them separately. One step above the sublime makes the ridiculous, and one step above the ridiculous makes the sublime again.

Tom Paine, in turn, adopted the idea from §Hugh Blair§, who says, in one place,—

It is indeed extremely difficult to hit the precise point where true wit ends and buffoonery begins.

In another,—

It frequently happens that where the second line is sublime, the third, in which he meant to rise still higher, is perfect bombast.

Finally, §Blair§ borrowed the saying from §Longinus§, a celebrated Greek critic and rhetorical writer, who, in a Treatise _On the Sublime_, uses the same expression, with this slight modification, that he makes the transition a gradual one, while Blair, Paine, and Napoleon make it but a step.[35]

Footnote 35:

A curious instance of bathos occurs in Dr. Mavor’s account of Cook’s voyages:—“The wild rocks raised their lofty summits till they were lost in the clouds, and the valleys lay covered with everlasting snow. Not a tree was to be seen, nor even a shrub _big enough to make a tooth-pick_.”

* * * * *

Evil communications corrupt good manners.—1 Cor. xv. 33.

φθείρουσιν ἤθη χρησθ’ ὁμιλίαι κακαί.—§Menander.§

Bonos corrumpunt mores congressus mali.—§Tertullian§: _Ad Uxorem_.

* * * * *

He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.—Eccl. i. 18.

From ignorance our comfort flows, The only wretched are the wise.—§Prior.§

Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.—§Gray§: _Ode to Eton_.

* * * * *

A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.—§Pope§: _On Criticism_.

A little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s minds about to religion.—§Bacon§: _On Atheism_.

* * * * *

In _Paradise Lost_, Book V. 601, we find the expression—

Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers;

and in Book I. 261, this powerful passage put in the mouth of Satan:—

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell; Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.

In §Stafford’s§ _Niobe_, printed when Milton was in his cradle, (1611,) is the following:—

True it is, sir, (said the Devil,) that I, storming at the name of supremacy, sought to depose my Creator; which the watchful, all-seeing eye of Providence finding, degraded me of my angelic dignities—dispossessed me of all pleasures; and the seraphs and cherubs, the _Throne_, _Dominations_, _Virtues_, _Powers_, _Princedoms_, Arch Angels, and all the Celestial Hierarchy, with a shout of applause, sung my departure out of Heaven. My alleluia was turned into an eheu. Now, forasmuch as I was an Angel of Light, it was the will of Wisdom to confine me to Darkness and make me Prince thereof. So that I, that could not obey in Heaven, might command in Hell; and, believe me, I had _rather rule within my dark domain than to re-inhabit Cœlum empyream, and there live in subjection under check, a slave of the Most High_.

Cæsar said he would rather be the first man in a village than the second man in Rome.

* * * * *

A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.—§Garrick.§

I would help others out of a fellow-feeling.—§Burton§: _Anat. of Mel._

Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.—§Virgil§: _Æn._ I.

* * * * *

And learn the luxury of doing good.—§Goldsmith§: _Traveller_.

For all their luxury was doing good.—§Garth§: _Claremont_.

He tried the luxury of doing good.—§Crabbe§: _Tales_.

* * * * *

The cups that cheer but not inebriate.—§Cowper§: _Winter Evening_.

Tar water is of a nature so mild and benign, and proportioned to the human constitution, as to warm without heating, to cheer but not inebriate,—§Bishop Berkeley§: _Siris_.

* * * * *

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.—Byron: Childe Harold.

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapors which the head invade, And keeps the palace of the soul.—§Waller§: _On Tea_.

* * * * *

None knew thee but to love thee.—§Halleck§: _On Drake_.

To know her was to love her.—§Rogers§: _Jacqueline_.

* * * * *

Sullen, like lamps in sepulchres, your shine Enlightens but yourselves.—§Blair§: _Grave_.

Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years, Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres. §Pope§: _Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady_.

* * * * *

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.—§Gray§: _Elegy_.

And pilgrim, newly on his road, with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day.—§Dante§, _Cary’s Trans._

* * * * *

Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.—§Gray§: _Elegy_.

Yet in our ashen cold is fire yrecken.—§Chaucer.§

* * * * *

Ἐάσατ’ ἤδη γῇ καλυφθῆναι νεκρόυς, ὅθεν δ’ ἕκαστον εἰς το ζῇν ἀφίκετο ἐνταῦθ’ ἀπελθεῖν· ΠΝΕΥΜΑ μὲν πρὸς ἈΙΘΕΡΑ τὸ σῶμα δ’ εἰς ΓΗΝ.—§Euripides§: _Supplices_.

(Let the dead be concealed in the earth, whence each one came forth into being, to return thence again—the spirit to the §SPIRIT’S SOURCE§, but the body to the §EARTH§.)

The resemblance between the above and the beautiful expression in the “Preacher’s” homily is very remarkable:—

Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.—Eccles. xii. 7.

* * * * *

Ἐπάμεροι, τί δέ τις· τί δ’ οὔ τις· Σκιᾶς ὄναρ ἄνθρωποι.—§Pindar.§

(Things of a day! What is any one? What is he not? Men are the dream of a shadow.)

Man’s life is but a dream—nay, less than so, A shadow of a dream.—§Sir John Davies.§

* * * * *

Where highest woods, impenetrable To sun or starlight, spread their umbrage broad And brown as evening.—§Milton.§

The shades of eve come slowly down, The woods are wrapped in deeper brown.—§Scott§: _Lady of the Lake_.

The term _brown_, applied to the evening shade, is derived from the Italian, the expression “_fa l’imbruno_” being commonly used in Italy to denote the approach of evening.

* * * * *

’Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore; And coming events cast their shadows before. §Campbell§: _Lochiel’s Warning_.

Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic _shadows which futurity casts upon the present_.—§Shelley§: _Defence of Poetry_.

A similar form of expression occurs in §Paul’s§ Epistle to the Hebrews, x. 1.

* * * * *

The wolfs long howl by Oonalaska’s shore. §Campbell§: _Pleasures of Hope_.

Stolen from a line in an obscure poem called the _Sentimental Sailor_:—

The screaming eagle’s shriek that echoes wild, The wolf’s long howl in dismal concert joined, &c.

* * * * *

Perhaps in some lone, dreary, desert tower That Time had spared, _forth from the window looks, Half hid in grass, the solitary fox_; While _from above, the owl_, musician dire, _Screams_ hideous, harsh, and grating to the ear. §Bruce§: _Loch Leven_.

In the _Fragments_ attributed to §Ossian§ by Baron de Harold, Fingal paints the following beautiful word-picture:—

I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they are desolate: the flames had resounded in the halls, and the voice of the people is heard no more; the stream of Cutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls; the thistle shoots there its lowly head; the moss whistled to the winds; _the fox looked out of the windows, and the rank grass of the walls waved round his head_; desolate is the dwelling of Morna: silence is in the house of her fathers.

And again:—

The dreary night _owl screams_ in the solitary retreat of his mouldering ivy-covered _tower_.—_Larnul, the Song of Despair._

The Persian poet quoted by Gibbon also says,—

The spider hath hung with tapestry the palace of the Cæsars; the owl singeth her sentinel-song in the watch-towers of Afrasiab.—§Firdousi.§

* * * * *

Tell us, ye dead; will none of you in pity Disclose the secret—— What ’tis you are, and we must shortly be?—§Blair§: _Grave_.

The dead! the much-loved dead! Who doth not yearn to know The secret of their dwelling-place, And to what land they go? What heart but asks, with ceaseless tone, For some sure knowledge of its _own_?—§Mary E. Lee.§

Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as harbingers to heaven; and her soul saw a glimpse of happiness through the chinks of her sickness-broken body.—§Fuller.§

The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser, men become, As they draw near to their eternal home.—§Waller§: _Divine Poesie_.

Oh! let no mass be sung, No ritual read; In silence lay me down Among the dead.—§Heine§: _Memento Mori_.

The great German poet was evidently familiar with Horace:—

Absint inani funere næniæ, Luctusque turpes et querimoniæ; Compesce clamorem, ac sepulchri Mitte supervacuos honores.—Lib. II. Carmen 26.

* * * * *

I am old and blind; Men point at me as smitten by God’s frown; Afflicted and deserted of my kind:— Yet am I not cast down.

I am weak, yet strong; I murmur not that I no longer see; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, Father Supreme, to Thee!

O merciful One! When men are farthest, then art Thou most near; When friends pass by—my weaknesses to shun— Thy chariot I hear.

Thy glorious face Is leaning toward me, and its holy light Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place, And there is no more night.

On my bended knee I recognize Thy purpose clearly shown; My vision Thou hast dimmed that I may see Thyself, Thyself alone.

I have naught to fear! This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing: Beneath it I am almost sacred,—here Can come no evil thing, &c.—§Elizabeth Lloyd.§

The resemblance of these lines to the following passage from §Milton’s§ _Second Defence of the People of England_ is so striking that we are inclined to regard them as a paraphrase:—

Let me then be the most feeble creature alive, so long as that feebleness serves to invigorate the energies of my rational and immortal spirit, so long as in that obscurity in which I am enveloped the light of Divine Presence more clearly shines. Then in proportion as I am weak, I shall be invincibly strong; and in proportion as I am blind, I shall more clearly see. Oh that I may thus be perfected by feebleness, and irradiated by obscurity! And indeed in my blindness I enjoy in no inconsiderable degree the favor of the Deity, who regards me with more tenderness and compassion in proportion as I am able to behold nothing but himself. Alas for him who insults me, _who maligns and merits public execration_! For the divine law not only shields me from injury, but almost renders me too sacred to attack,—not indeed so much from the privation of my sight, as from the overshadowing of those heavenly wings which seem to have occasioned this obscurity, and which, when occasioned, he is wont to illuminate with an interior light more precious and more pure.

* * * * *

In §Keble’s§ lines for “St. John’s Day” occurs this stanza:—

Sick or healthful, slave or free, Wealthy or despised and poor, What is that to him or thee, So his love to §Christ§ endure? When the shore is won at last, Who will count the billows past?

The first four lines resemble a stanza of §Wither§, one of the Roundhead poets (1632):—

Whether thrallèd or exiled, Whether poor or rich thou be, Whether praisèd or reviled, Not a rush it is to thee: This nor that thy rest doth win thee. But the mind that is within thee.

And the last two lines recall §Robert Burns§, who had said in his song commencing _Contented wi little, and cantie wi mair_:—

When at the blithe end of our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o’ the road he has passed?

Two centuries before Burns, §Tasso§ said in his _Gerusalemme Liberata_ (iii. 4):—

Cosi di naviganti, etc. ... e l’uno all ’altro il mostra e intanto oblia La noja e il mal della passata via.

Or as Fairfax renders it:—

As when a troop of jolly sailors row, etc. And each to other show the land in haste, Forgetting quite their pains and perils past.

And before dismissing “the billows past,” it is worth while to quote the following passage from §Spenser’s§ _Faery Queene_ (I. 9. 40):—

What if some little pain the passage have That makes frail flesh to fear the bitter wave? Is not short pain well borne that brings long ease, And lays the soul to sleep in quiet grave? Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war, death after life, does greatly please.

* * * * *

§Lucretius§ says:—

At jam non domus accipiet te læta; neque uxor Optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati Præripere, et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent.

(No longer shall thy joyous home receive thee, nor yet thy best of wives, nor shall thy sweet children run to be the first to snatch thy kisses and thrill thy breast with silent delight.)

Compare §Gray’s§ Elegy:—

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire’s return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

And §Thomson’s§ Seasons (Winter):—

In vain for him th’ officious wife prepares The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm; In vain his little children, peeping out Into the mingled storm, demand their sire, With tears of artless innocence. Alas! Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, Nor friends, nor sacred home.

* * * * *

The famous speech of §Wolsey§ after his fall—

Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.— _Henry VIII._, iii. 2.

finds a counterpart in a satire of the Persian poet §Ferdousi§ on the Arabian impostor:—

Had I but written as many verses in praise of Mahomet and Allah, they would have showered a hundred blessings on me.

It also finds a parallel in a passage from Ockley’s _History of the Saracens_—§AN.§ Hegira 54, A. D. 673—

This year Moawiyah deposed Samrah, deputy over Basorah. As soon as Samrah heard this news, he said—“God curse Moawiyah. If I had served God so well as I have served him, he would never have damned me to all eternity.”

* * * * *

Our hearts—— ——are beating.— Funeral marches to the grave.— §Longfellow§, _Psalm of Life_.

Our lives are but our marches to our graves.— §Beaumont and Fletcher§, _Humorous Lieutenant_.

* * * * *

Next these learned Johnson in this list I bring, Who had drunk deep of the Pierian spring.—§Drayton.§

A little learning is a dangerous thing, Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.—§Pope.§

Socrates said to some Sophists, who pretended to know everything, “As for me, all I know is that I know nothing.”

§Owen Feltham§, in his _Resolves_ (_Curiosity in Knowledge_) remarks:—

Our knowledge doth but show us our ignorance. Our most studious scrutiny is but a discovery of what we cannot know.

§Voltaire§, in the _Histoire d’un bon Bramin_ says:—

Le Bramin me dit un jour: Je voudrais n’être jamais né. Je lui demandai pourquoi. Il me répondit: J’étudie depuis quarante ans; ce sont quarante années de perdues; j’enseigne les autres, et j’ignore tout.

These lines will remind the reader of the opening soliloquy of Faust in §Goethe’s§ immortal tragedy. Bayard Taylor’s translation commences as follows:—

I’ve studied now Philosophy And Jurisprudence, Medicine,— And even, alas! Theology,— From end to end, with labor keen; And here, poor fool! with all my lore I stand, no wiser than before: I’m Magister—yea, Doctor—hight, And straight or cross-wise, wrong or right, These ten years long, with many woes, I’ve led my scholars by the nose,— And see, that nothing can be known!

* * * * *

In _The Last Days of Pompeii_ (ch. v.) Glaucus, the Athenian, is made to say:—

“I am as one who is left alone at a banquet, the lights dead, and the flowers faded.”

Of course, §Bulwer Lytton§ was familiar with _Oft in the Stilly Night_, which Moore had written twenty years before:—

I feel like one who treads alone Some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, And all but he departed.

* * * * *

Dr. Johnson said that “no one does _anything_ for the _last time_ (knowingly) but with regret.”

In Bishop §Hall’s§ _Holy Observations_ (xxvij) is this passage:—

“Nothing is more absurd than that Epicurean resolution, ‘Let us eat and drink, to-morrow we die’; as if we were made only for the paunch, and lived that we might live. _Yet has there never any natural man found savour in that meat which he knew should be his last_; whereas they should say: Let us fast and pray, for to-morrow we shall die.”

SHAKSPEREAN RESEMBLANCES.

Ah! that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And, with a virtuous vizor, hide deep vice. §Richard III.§, ii. 2.

Oh! what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal. §Much Ado About Nothing§, iv. 1.

There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. §Merchant of Venice§, iii. 2.

Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed; Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? §Henry VI.§, P. II., iii. 1.

BOLD PLAGIARISM.

Charles Reade, in _The Wandering Heir_ reproduces Swift’s _Journal of a Modern Lady_ in a singular manner. Compare them. Reade says:—

“Mistress Anne Gregory held bad cards; she had to pawn ring after ring—for these ladies, being well acquainted with each other, never played on parole—and she kept bemoaning her bad luck. ‘Betty, I knew how ’twould be. The parson called to-day. This odious chair, why will you stick me in it? Stand farther, girl, I always lose when you look on.’ Mrs. Betty tossed her head, and went behind another lady. Miss Gregory still lost, and had to pawn her snuff box to Lady Dace. She consoled herself by an insinuation: ‘My Lady you touched your wedding-ring. That was a sign to your partner here.’

“’Nay Madam, ’twas but a sign my finger itched. But, if you go to that, you spoke a word began with H. Then she knew you had the king of hearts.’

“‘That is like Miss here,’ said another matron; ‘she rubs her chair when she hath matadore in hand.’

“‘Set a thief to catch a thief, Madam,’ was Miss’s ingenious and polished reply.

“‘Heyday!’ cries one, ‘Here spadillo got a mark on the back; a child might know it in the dark. Mistress Pigot, I wish you’d be pleased to pare your nails.’

“In short, they said things to each other all night, the slightest of which, among men, would have filled Phœnix Park next morning with drawn swords; but it went for little here; they were all cheats, and knew it, and knew the others knew it, and didn’t care.

“It was four o’clock before they broke up, huddled on their cloaks and hoods, and their chairs took them home with cold feet and aching heads.”

Swift says:—

“‘This morning when the parson came, I said I should not win a game, This odious chair, how came I stuck in’t? I think I never had good luck in’t. I’m so uneasy in my stays; Your fan a moment, if you please. Stand further, girl, or get you gone; I always lose when you look on.’

* * * * *

“‘I saw you touch your wedding-ring Before my lady called a king; You spoke a word began with H, And I know whom you mean to teach Because you held the king of hearts, Fie, Madam, leave these little arts.’ ‘That’s not so bad as one that rubs Her chair to call the king of clubs, And makes her partner understand A matador is in her hand.’ ‘And truly, madam, I know when, Instead of five, you scored me ten. Spadillo here has got a mark, A child may know it in the dark. I guessed the hand: It seldom fails. I wish some folks would pare their nails,’

* * * * *

“At last they hear the watchman’s knock: ‘A frosty morn—past four o’clock.’ The chairmen are not to be found— ‘Come let us play the other round.’ Now all in haste they huddle on Their hoods, their cloaks and get them gone.”

HISTORICAL SIMILITUDES.

In Motley’s _Rise of the Dutch Republic_ is narrated the following incident:—

A bishop’s indiscretion, however, neutralized the apostolic blows of the major (Charles the Hammer). The pagan Radbod had already immersed one of his royal legs in the baptismal font when a thought struck him. “Where are my dead forefathers at present?” he said, turning suddenly upon Bishop Wolfrau. “In hell, with all other unbelievers,” was the imprudent answer. “Mighty well,” replied Radbod, removing his leg; “then will I rather feast with my ancestors in the halls of Woden than dwell with your little starveling band of Christians in heaven.” Entreaties and threats were unavailing. The Frisian declined positively a rite which was to cause an eternal separation from his buried kindred, and he died as he had lived, a heathen.

Kingsley, in his _Hypatia_, in completing the history of the Goth Wulf, after his settlement in Spain, writes as follows:—

Wulf died as he had lived, a heathen. Placidia, who loved him well—as she loved all righteous and noble souls—had succeeded once in persuading him to accept baptism. Adolf himself acted as one of his sponsors; and the old warrior was in the act of stepping into the font, when he turned suddenly to the bishop and asked, “Where were the souls of his heathen ancestors?” “In hell,” replied the worthy prelate. Wulf drew back from the font, and threw his bear-skin cloak around him.... He would prefer, if Adolf had no objection, to go to his own people. And so he died unbaptized, and went to his own.

This has suggested the query whether Mr. Kingsley uses his privilege as a novelist to make a distant historical event subserve the purposes of fiction, or whether this curious incident occurred.

But Francis Parkman in his _Jesuits in North America in the Seventeenth Century_, notes a corresponding unwillingness on the part of the Indians to separate from their own kindred and people:—

The body cared for, he next addressed himself to the soul. “This life is short and very miserable. It matters little whether we live or die.” The patient remained silent, or grumbled his dissent. The Jesuit, after enlarging for a time in broken Huron on the brevity and nothingness of mortal weal or woe, passed next to the joys of heaven and the pains of hell, which he set forth with his best rhetoric. His pictures of infernal fires and torturing devils were readily comprehended, if the listener had consciousness enough to comprehend anything; but with respect to the advantages of the French paradise he was slow of conviction. “I wish to go where my relations and ancestors have gone,” was a common reply. “Heaven is a good place for Frenchmen,” said another; “but I wish to be among Indians, for the French will give me nothing to eat when I get there.” Often the patient was stolidly silent; sometimes he was hopelessly perverse and contradictory. Again nature triumphed over grace. “Which will you choose,” demanded the priest of a dying woman, “heaven or hell?” “Hell, if my children are there, as you say,” returned the mother. “Do they hunt in heaven, or make war, or go to feasts?” asked an anxious inquirer. “Oh, no!” replied the father. “Then,” returned the querist, “I will not go. It is not good to be lazy.” But above all other obstacles was the dread of starvation in the regions of the blest. Nor when the dying Indian had been induced at last to express a desire for Paradise was it an easy matter to bring him to a due contrition for his sins; for he would deny with indignation that he had ever committed any. When at length, as sometimes happened, all these difficulties gave way, and the patient had been brought to what seemed to his instructor a fitting frame for baptism, the priest, with contentment at his heart, brought water in a cup or in the hollow of his hand, touched his forehead with the mystic drop, and snatched him from an eternity of woe. But the convert, even after his baptism, did not always manifest a satisfactory spiritual condition. “Why did you baptize that Iroquois?” asked one of the dying neophytes, speaking of the prisoner recently tortured; “he will get to heaven before us, and, when he sees us coming, he will drive us out.”

HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF.

Herodotus tells us (Book III. 118) that after the conspirator Intaphernes and his family had been imprisoned and held for execution by order of Darius, the wife of the condemned man constantly presented herself before the royal palace exhibiting every demonstration of grief. As she regularly continued this conduct, her frequent appearance at length excited the compassion of Darius, who thus addressed her by a messenger: “Woman, King Darius offers you the liberty of any individual of your family whom you may most desire to preserve.” After some deliberation with herself she made this reply: “If the king will grant me the life of any one of my family, I choose my brother in preference to the rest.” Her determination greatly astonished the king; he sent to her therefore a second message to this effect: “The king desires to know why you have thought proper to pass over your children and your husband, and to preserve your brother, who is certainly a more remote connection than your children, and cannot be so dear to you as your husband.” She answered: “O king! if it please the deity, I may have another husband; and if I be deprived of these I may have other children; but as my parents are both dead, it is certain that I can have no other brother.” The answer appeared to Darius very judicious; indeed he was so well pleased with it that he not only gave the woman the life of her brother, but also pardoned her eldest son.

A passage in the _Antigone_ of Sophocles embodies the same singular sentiment. Creon forbade the rites of sepulture to Polynices, after the duel with his brother Eteocles, in which they were mutually slain, and decreed immediate death to any one who should dare to bury him. Antigone, their sister, was detected in the act of burial, and was condemned to be buried alive for her pious care. In her dangerous situation she goes on to say:—

And thus, my Polynices, for my care Of thee, I am rewarded, and the good Alone shall praise me; for a husband dead, Nor, had I been a mother, for my children Would I have dared to violate the laws— Another husband and another child Might sooth affliction; but, my parents dead, A brother’s loss could never be repaired.

A story of analogous character told by an oriental to Miss Rogers, is related in her book _Domestic Life in Palestine_, as follows:—

When Ibrahim Pasha, the son of Mahomet Ali, ruled in Palestine, he sent men into all the towns and villages to gather together a large army. Then a certain woman of Serfurich sought Ibrahim Pasha at Akka, and came into his presence bowing herself before him, and said: “O my lord, look with pity on thy servant, and hear my prayer. A little while ago there were three men in my house, my husband, my brother, and my eldest son. But now behold, they have been carried away to serve in your army, and I am left with my little ones without a protector. I pray you grant liberty to one of these men, that he may remain at home.” And Ibrahim had pity on her and said: “O woman, do you ask for your husband, for your son, or for your brother?” And she said: “Oh, my lord, give me my brother.” And he answered: “How is this, O woman, do you prefer a brother to a husband or a son?” The woman, who was renowned for her wit and readiness of speech, replied in a blank verse impromptu:—

“If it be God’s will that my husband perish in your service, I am still a woman, and God may lead me to another husband: If on the battle-field my first-born son should fall, I have still my younger ones, who will in God’s time be like unto him. But oh! my lord, if my only brother should be slain, I am without remedy—for my father is dead and my mother is old, And where should I look for another brother?”

And Ibrahim was much pleased with the words of the woman, and said: “O, woman, happy above many is thy brother; he shall be free for thy word’s sake, and thy husband and thy son shall be free also.” Then the woman could not speak for joy and gladness. And Ibrahim said: “Go in peace; let it not be known that I have spoken with you this day.” Then she rose, and went her way to her village, trusting in the promise of the Pasha. After three days, her husband, and son, and brother returned unto her, saying: “We are free from service by order of the Pasha, but this matter is a mystery to us.” And all the neighbors marvelled greatly. But the woman held her peace, and this story did not become known until Ibrahim’s departure from Akka, after the overthrow of the Egyptian goverment in Syria, in 1840.

What the husband and the son thought of wifely and motherly affection when the mystery of their deliverance was cleared up, is not reported.

THE TWO STATESMEN.

Hume says (_History of England_):—

A little before he (Wolsey) expired (28th November, 1530) he addressed himself in the following words to Sir William Kingston, Constable of the Tower, who had him in custody: “I pray you have me heartily recommended unto his royal majesty (Henry VIII.), and beseech him on my behalf to call to his remembrance all matters that have passed between us especially with regard to his business with the queen, and then will he know in his conscience whether I have offended him. He is a prince of a most royal carriage, and hath a princely heart; and rather than he will miss or want any part of his will, he will endanger the one half of his kingdom. I do assure you that I have often kneeled before him, sometimes three hours together, to persuade him from his will and appetite, but could not prevail: had I but served God as diligently as I have served the king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs. But this is the just reward I must receive for my indulgent pains and study, not regarding my service to God but only to my prince.”

Holinshead says in his famous old _Chronicles_:—

This year (1540), in the month of _August_, Sir _James Hamilton of Finbert_, Knight, Controller to the King (James V. of Scotland), who charged him in the king’s name to go toward within the castel of _Edinburgh_, which commandment he willingly obeyed, thinking himself sure enough, as well by reason of the good service he had done to the king, specially in repairing the palaces of _Striviling_ and _Linlithgow_, as also that the king had him in so high favour, that he stood in no fear of himself at all. Nevertheless, shortlie after he was brought forth to judgement, and convicted in the _Tolboth_ of _Edinburgh_, of certain points of treason, laid against him, which he would never confesse; but that notwithstanding, he was beheaded in the month of _September_ next insuing, after that he had liberallie confessed at the place of execution, that he had never in any jot offended the king’s majesty; and that his death was yet worthilie inflicted upon him by the Divine justice, because he had often offended the law of God to please the prince, thereby to obtain greater countenance with him. Wherefore he admonished all persons, that moved by his example, they should rather follow the Divine pleasure than unjustlie seek the king’s favour, since it is better to please God than man.

THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON.

Several parallels to Solomon’s judgment, I. Kings iii. 16–28, are recorded. One occurs in _Gesta Romanorum_. Three youths, to decide a question, are desired by their referee, the King of Jerusalem, to shoot at their father’s dead body. One only refuses; and to him, as the rightful heir, the legacy is awarded.

In the Harleian MS., 4523, we are told of a woman of Pegu, a province of Burmah, whose child was carried away by an alligator. Upon its restoration another woman claimed the child. The judge ordered them to pull for it; the infant cried, and one instantly quit her hold, to whom the child was awarded.

The same story, substantially, is told in the Pali commentary on the discourses of Buddha, translated by Rev. R. S. Hardy, as follows:—

A woman who was going to bathe, left her child to play on the banks of a tank, when a female who was passing that way carried it off. They both appeared before Buddha, and each declared the child was her own. The command was therefore given that each claimant should seize the infant by a leg and an arm, and pull with all her might in opposite directions. No sooner had they commenced than the child began to scream; when the real mother, from pity, left off pulling, and resigned her claim to the other. The judge therefore decided that, as she only had shown true affection, the child must be hers.

Suetonius tell us that the Emperor Claudius, when a woman refused to acknowledge her son, ordered them to be married. The mother confessed her child at once.

PRECEDENCY.

The Emperor Charles V. was appealed to, by two women of fashion at Brussels, to settle the point of precedency between them, the dispute respecting which had been carried to the greatest height. Charles, after affecting to consider what each lady had to say, decided that the greater simpleton of the two should have the _pas_; in consequence of which judgment the ladies became equally ready to concede the privilege each had claimed. Napoleon, on the occurrence of a similar difficulty at a Court ball supper, based his decision on the question of _age_. Mr. Hey, of Leeds, at a dinner-party of gentlemen, made _merit_ the test.

THE LEGEND OF BETH GELERT.

In F. Johnson’s translation from the Sanscrit, occurs the following passage:—

In Ougein lived a Brahman named Mádhava. His wife, of the Brahmanical tribe, who had recently brought forth, went to perform her ablutions, leaving him to take charge of her infant offspring. Presently a person from the Raja came for the Brahman to perform for him a Párrana s’ráddha (a religious rite to all his ancestors.) When the Brahman saw him, being impelled by his natural poverty, he thought within himself: If I go not directly, then some one else will take the s’ráddha. It is said:—

“In respect of a thing which ought to be taken, or to be given, or of a work which ought to be done, and not being done quickly, time drinks up the spirit thereof.”

But there is no one here to take care of the child: what can I do then? Well: I will go, having set to guard the infant this weasel, cherished a long time, and in no respect distinguished from a child of my own. This he did and went. Shortly afterwards, a black serpent, whilst silently coming near the child, was killed there, and rent into pieces by the weasel; who, seeing the Brahman coming home, ran towards him with haste, his mouth and paws all smeared with blood, and rolled himself at his feet. The Brahman seeing him in that state, without reflecting, said, “My son has been eaten by this weasel,” and killed him: but as soon as he drew near and looked, behold the child was comfortably sleeping, and the serpent lay killed! Thereupon the Brahman was overwhelmed with grief.

This fable was introduced to give point to the moral:—The fool who, without knowing the true state of the case, becomes subject to anger, will find cause for regret. Its similarity to the well-known Welsh legend is so remarkable that we append Spencer’s touching ballad.

The spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn; And many a brach, and many a hound Attend Llewellyn’s horn:

And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer: “Come, Gelert! why art thou the last Llewellyn’s horn to hear?

“Oh! where does faithful Gelert roam? The flower of all his race! So true, so brave; a lamb at home, A lion in the chase!”

In sooth he was a peerless hound, The gift of royal John; But now no Gelert could be found And all the chase rode on.

And now, as over rocks and dells The gallant chidings rise, All Snowdon’s craggy chaos yells With many mingled cries.

That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare; And small and scant the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal-seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet.

But when he gain’d the castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound was smear’d with gouts of gore, His lips and fangs ran blood!

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, Unused such looks to meet: His favorite checked his joyful guise, And crouch’d and lick’d his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed— And on went Gelert too— And still, where’er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood-gouts shock’d his view!

O’erturn’d his infant’s bed, he found The blood-stain’d covert rent; And all around, the walls and ground With recent blood besprent.

He called his child—no voice replied; He search’d—with terror wild; Blood! blood! he found on every side, But nowhere found the child!

“Hell-hound! by thee my child’s devoured!” The frantic father cried; And to the hilt the vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert’s side!

His suppliant, as to earth he fell, No pity could impart; But still his Gelert’s dying yell Pass’d heavy o’er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert’s dying yell, Some slumberer waken’d nigh: What words the parent’s joy can tell, To hear his infant cry!

Conceal’d beneath a mangled heap, His hurried search had miss’d, All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub-boy he kiss’d.

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread— But, the same couch beneath, Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead Tremendous still in death!

Oh! what was then Llewellyn’s woe; For now the truth was clear: The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn’s heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn’s woe; “Best of thy kind adieu! The frantic deed which laid thee low, This heart shall ever rue!”

And now a gallant tomb they raise, With costly sculpture deck’d; And marbles storied with his praise, Poor Gelert’s bones protect.

Here never could the spearman pass, Or forester unmoved; Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass, Llewellyn’s sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear; And, oft as evening fell, In fancy’s piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert’s dying yell!

ART STORIES.

Art has parallel stories of a tragic nature. In the

Chapel proud Where Roslin’s chiefs uncoffined lie, Each baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply,

stands an exquisite example of Gothic tracery-work, known as the Apprentice’s Pillar, neighbored by corbels carved with grim, grotesque human faces. How it came by its name may best be told as the old dame who acted as cicerone at the beginning of the present century used to tell it.

“There ye see it, gentlemen, with the lace-bands winding sae beautifully roond aboot it. The maister had gane awa to Rome to get a plan for it, and while he was awa, his ’prentice made a plan himsel, and finished it. And when the maister cam back and fand the pillar finished, he was sae enraged that he took a hammer and killed the ’prentice. There you see the ’prentice’s face—up there in ae corner wi’ a red gash in the brow, and his mother greetin’ for him in the corner opposite. And there, in another corner, is the maister, as he lookit just before he was hanged; it’s him wi’ a kind o’ ruff roond his face.”

In the same century that the Prince of Orkney founded the chapel at Roslin, the good people of Stendal employed an architect of repute to build them one new gate, and entrusted the erection of a second to his principal pupil. In this case, too, the aspiring youth proved the better craftsman, and paid the same penalty; the spot whereon he fell beneath his master’s hammer being marked to this day by a stone commemorating the event; and the story goes that yet, upon moonlight nights, the ghost of the murdered youth may be seen contemplating the work that brought him to an untimely end, while a weird skeleton beats with a hammer at the stone he wrought into beauty.

Another stone, at Grossmoringen, close by Stendal, tells where an assistant bell-caster was stabbed by his master because he succeeded in casting a bell, after the latter had failed in the attempt. It is a tradition of Rouen that the two rose-windows of its cathedral were the work of the master-architect and his pupil, who strove which of the two should produce the finer window. Again the man beat the master, and again the master murdered the man in revenge for his triumph. The transept window of Lincoln Cathedral was the product of a similar contest, but in this instance the defeated artist killed himself instead of his successful rival.

BALLADS AND LEGENDS.

Scott’s ballad of “Wild Darrell” was founded upon a story, first told by Aubrey, but for which the poet was indebted to Lord Webb Seymour. An old midwife sitting over her fire one dark November night was roused by a loud knocking at the door. Upon opening it she saw a horseman, who told her her services were required by a lady of rank, and would be paid for handsomely; but as there were family reasons why the affair should be kept secret, she must submit to be conducted to her patient blindfolded. She agreed, allowed her eyes to be bandaged, and took her place on the pillion. After a journey of many miles, her conductor stopped, led her into a house, and removed the bandage. The midwife found herself in a handsome bedchamber, and in presence of a lady and a ferocious-looking man. A boy was born. Snatching it from the woman’s arms, the man threw the babe on the blazing fire; it rolled upon the hearth. Spite of the entreaties of the horrified midwife, and the piteous prayers of the poor mother, the ruffian thrust the child under the grate, and raked the hot coals over it. The innocent accomplice was then ordered to return whence she came, as she came; the man who had brought her seeing her home again, and paying her for her pains.

The woman lost no time in letting a magistrate know what she had seen that November night. She had been sharp enough to cut a piece out of the bed-curtain, and sew it in again, and to count the steps of the long staircase she had ascended and descended. By these means the scene of the infanticide was identified, and the murderer Darrell, Lord of Littlecote House, Berkshire was tried at Salisbury. He escaped the gallows by bribing the judge, only to break his neck in the hunting-field a few months afterwards, at a place still known as Darrell’s Stile. Aubrey places Littlecote in Wiltshire, makes the unhappy mother the waiting-maid of Darrell’s wife, and concludes his narration thus: “This horrid action did much run in her (the midwife’s) mind, and she had a desire to discover it, but knew not where ’twas. She considered with herself the time that she was riding, and how many miles she might have ridden at that rate in that time, and that it must be some great person’s house, for the room was twelve feet high. She went to a justice of the peace, and search was made—the very chamber found. The knight was brought to his trial; and, to be short, this judge had this noble house, park, and manor, and (I think) more, for a bribe to save his life. Sir John Popham gave sentence according to law, but being a great person and a favorite, he procured a _nolle prosequi_.”

In Sir Walter’s ballad the midwife becomes a friar of orders gray, compelled to shrive a dying woman,

A lady as a lily bright, With an infant on her arm;

and when

The shrift is done, the friar is gone, Blindfolded as he came— Next morning, all in Littlecote Hall Were weeping for their dame.

It was hardly fair to make Darrell worse than he was, by laying a second murder at his door, merely to give a local habitation and a name to a Scotch tale of murder that might have been an adaptation of the Berkshire tragedy.

* * * * *

Somewhere about the beginning of the last century, an Edinburgh clergyman was called out of his bed at midnight on the pretext that he was wanted to pray with a person at the point of death. The good man obeyed the summons without hesitation, but wished he had not done so, when, upon his sedan-chair reaching an out-of-the-way part of the city, its bearers insisted upon his being blindfolded, and cut his protestations short by threatening to blow out his brains if he refused to do their bidding. Like the sensible man he was, he submitted without further parley, and the sedan moved on again. By and by, he felt he was being carried up-stairs: the chair stopped, the clergyman was handed out, his eyes uncovered, and his attention directed to a young and beautiful lady lying in bed with an infant by her side. Not seeing any signs of dying about her, he ventured to say so, but was commanded to lose no time in offering up such prayers as were fitting for a person at the last extremity. Having done his office, he was put into the chair and taken down-stairs, a pistol-shot startling his ears on the way. He soon found himself safe at home, a purse of gold in his hand, and his ears still ringing with the warning he had received, that if he said one word about the transaction, his life would pay for the indiscretion. At last he fell off to sleep, to be awakened by a servant with the news, that a certain great house in the Canongate had been burned down, and the daughter of its owner perished in the flames. The clergyman had been long dead, when a fire broke out on the very same spot, and there, amid the flames, was seen a beautiful woman, in an extraordinarily rich night-dress of the fashion of half a century before. While the awe-struck spectators gazed in wonder, the apparition cried, “Anes burned, twice burned; the third time I’ll scare you all!” The midwife of the Littlecote legend and the divine of the Edinburgh one were more fortunate than the Irish doctor living at Rome in 1743; this gentleman, according to Lady Hamilton, being taken blindfolded to a house and compelled to open the veins of a young lady who had loved not wisely, but too well.

BURIAL ALIVE.

In the year 1400, Ginevra de Amiera, a Florentine beauty, married, under parental pressure, a man who had failed to win her heart, that she had given to Antonio Rondinelli. Soon afterwards the plague broke out in Florence; Ginevra fell ill, apparently succumbed to the malady, and being pronounced dead, was the same day consigned to the family tomb. Some one, however, had blundered in the matter, for in the middle of the night, the entombed bride woke out of her trance, and badly as her living relatives had behaved, found her dead ones still less to her liking, and lost no time in quitting the silent company, upon whose quietude she had unwittingly intruded. Speeding through the sleep-wrapped streets as swiftly as her clinging cerements allowed, Ginevra sought the home from which she had so lately been borne. Roused from his slumbers by a knocking at the door, the disconsolate widower of a day cautiously opened an upper window, and seeing a shrouded figure waiting below, in whose upturned face he recognized the lineaments of the dear departed, he cried, “Go in peace, blessed spirit,” and shut the window precipitately. With sinking heart and slackened step, the repulsed wife made her way to her father’s door, to receive the like benison from her dismayed parent. Then she crawled on to an uncle’s, where the door was indeed opened, but only to be slammed in her face by the frightened man, who, in his hurry, forgot even to bless his ghostly caller. The cool night air, penetrating the undress of the hapless wanderer, made her tremble and shiver, as she thought she had waked to life only to die again in the cruel streets. “Ah” she sighed, “Antonio would not have proved so unkind.” This thought naturally suggested it was her duty to test his love and courage: it would be time enough to die if he proved like the rest. The way was long, but hope renerved her limbs, and soon Ginevra was knocking timidly at Rondinelli’s door. He opened it himself, and although startled by the ghastly vision, calmly inquired what the spirit wanted with him. Throwing her shroud away from her face, Ginevra exclaimed, “I am no spirit, Antonio; I am that Ginevra you once loved, who was buried yesterday—buried alive!” and fell senseless into the welcoming arms of her astonished lover, whose cries for help soon brought down his sympathizing family to hear the wondrous story, and bear its heroine to bed, to be tenderly tended until she bad recovered from the shock, and was as beautiful as ever again. Then came the difficulty. Was Ginevra to return to the man who had buried her, and shut his doors against her, or give herself to the man who had saved her from a second death? With such powerful special pleaders as love and gratitude on his side, of course Rondinelli won the day, and a private marriage made the lovers amends for previous disappointment. They, however, had no intention of keeping in hiding, but the very first Sunday after they became man and wife, appeared in public together at the cathedral, to the confusion and wonder of Ginevra’s friends. An explanation ensued, which satisfied everybody except the lady’s first husband, who insisted that nothing but her dying in genuine earnest could dissolve the original matrimonial bond. The case was referred to the bishop, who, having no precedent to curb his decision, rose superior to technicalities, and declared that the first husband had forfeited all right to Ginevra, and must pay over to Rondinelli the dowry he had received with her: a decree at which we may be sure all true lovers in fair Florence heartily rejoiced.

This Italian romance of real life has its counterpart in a French _cause célèbre_, but the Gallic version unfortunately lacks names and dates; it differs, too, considerably in matters of detail; instead of the lady being a supposed victim of the plague, which in the older story secured her hasty interment, she was supposed to have died of grief at being wedded against her inclination; instead of coming to life of her own accord, and seeking her lover as a last resource, the French heroine was taken out of her grave by her lover, who suspected she was not really dead, and resuscitated by his exertions, to flee with him to England. After living happily together there for ten years, the strangely united couple ventured to visit Paris, where the first husband accidentally meeting the lady, was struck by her resemblance to his dead wife, found out her abode, and finally claimed her for his own. When the case came for trial, the second husband did not dispute the fact of identity, but pleaded that his rival had renounced all claim to the lady by ordering her to be buried, without first making sure she was dead, and that she would have been dead and rotting in her grave if he had not rescued her. The court was saved the trouble of deciding the knotty point, for, seeing that it was likely to pronounce against them, the fond pair quietly slipped out of France, and found refuge in “a foreign clime, where their love continued sacred and entire, till death conveyed them to those happy regions where love knows no end, and is confined within no limits.”

RING STORIES.

Of dead-alive ladies brought to consciousness by sacrilegious robbers, covetous of the rings upon their cold fingers, no less than seven stories, differing but slightly from each other, have been preserved; in one, the scene is laid in Halifax; in another, in Gloucestershire; in a third, in Somersetshire; in the fourth, in Drogheda; the remaining three being appropriated by as many towns in Germany.

Ring-stories have a knack of running in one groove. Herodotus tells us how Amasis advised Polycrates, as a charm against misfortune, to throw away some gem he especially valued; how, taking the advice, Polycrates went seaward in a boat, and cast his favorite ring into the ocean; and how, a few days afterward, a fisherman caught a large fish so extraordinarily fine, that he thought it fit only for the royal table, and accordingly presented it to the fortunate monarch, who ordered it to be dressed for supper; and lo! when the fish was opened, the surprised cook’s astonished eye beheld his master’s cast-away ring; much to that master’s delight, but his adviser’s dismay; for when Amasis heard of the wonderful event, he immediately dispatched a herald to break his contract of friendship with Polycrates, feeling confident the latter would come to an ill end, “as he prospered in everything, even finding what he had thrown away.” The city of Glasgow owes the ring-holding salmon figuring in its armorial bearings to a legend concerning its patron saint, Kentigern, thus told in the _Acta Sanctorum_: A queen who formed an improper attachment to a handsome soldier, put upon his finger a precious ring which her own lord had conferred upon her. The king, made aware of the fact, but dissembling his anger, took an opportunity, in hunting, while the soldier lay asleep beside the Clyde, to snatch off the ring, and throw it into the river. Then returning home along with the soldier, he demanded of the queen the ring he had given her. She sent secretly to the soldier for the ring, which could not be restored. In great terror, she then despatched a messenger to ask the assistance of the holy Kentigern. He, who knew of the affair before being informed of it, went to the river Clyde, and having caught a salmon, took from the stomach the missing ring, which he sent to the queen. She joyfully went with it to the king, who, thinking he had wronged her, swore he would be revenged upon her accusers; but she, affecting a forgiving temper, besought him to pardon them as she had done. At the same time, she confessed her error to Kentigern, and solemnly vowed to be more careful of her conduct in future. In 1559, a merchant and alderman of Newcastle, named Anderson, handling his ring as he leaned over the bridge, dropped it into the Tyne. Some time after, his servant bought a salmon in the market, in whose stomach the lost ring was found: its value enhanced by the strange recovery, the ring became an heirloom and was in the possession of one of the Alderman’s decendants some forty years ago. A similar accident, ending in a similar way, is recorded to have happened to one of the dukes of Lorraine.

DEATH PROPHECIES.

Monk Gerbert, who wore the tiara as Sylvester II., a man of whom it was said that—thanks to the devil’s assistance—he never left anything unexecuted which he ever conceived, anticipating Roger Bacon, made a brazen head capable of answering like an oracle. From this creature of his own, Gerbert learned he would not die until he had performed mass in Jerusalem. He thereupon determined to live forever by taking good care never to go near the holy city. Like all dealers with the Evil One, he was destined to be cheated. Performing mass one day in Rome, Sylvester was seized with sudden illness, and upon inquiring the name of the church in which he had officiated, heard, to his dismay, that it was popularly called Jerusalem; then he knew his end was at hand; and it was not long before it came. Nearly five hundred years after this event happened, Master Robert Fabian, who must not be suspected of inventing history, seeing, as sheriff and alderman, he was wont to pillory public liars, wrote of Henry IV., “After the feast of Christmas, while he was making his prayers at St. Edward’s shrine, he became so sick, that such as were about him feared that he would have died right there; wherefore they, for his comfort, bare him into the abbot’s place, and lodged him in a chamber; and there, upon a pallet, laid him before the fire, where he lay in great agony a certain time. At length, when he was come to himself, not knowing where he was, he freyned [asked] of such as were there about him what place that was; the which shewed to him that it belonged unto the Abbot of Westminster; and for he felt himself so sick, he commanded to ask if that chamber had any special name. Whereunto it was answered, that it was named Jerusalem. Then said the king, ‘Laud be to the Father of Heaven, for now I know I shall die in this chamber, according to the prophecy of me beforesaid, that I should die in Jerusalem;’ and so after, he made himself ready, and died shortly after, upon the Day of St. Cuthbert, on the 20th day of March, 1413.”

BATTLES.

Three of the most famous battles recorded in English history were marked by a strange contrast between the behavior of the opposing armies on the eve of the fight. At Hastings, the Saxons spent the night in singing, feasting, and drinking; while the Normans were confessing themselves and receiving the sacrament. At Agincourt, “the poor condemned English” said their prayers, and sat patiently by their watch-fires, to “inly ruminate the morrow’s danger;” while the over-confident French revelled the night through, and played for the prisoners they were never to take. “On the eve of Bannockburn,” says Paston, who fought there on the beaten side, “ye might have seen the Englishmen bathing themselves in wine, and casting their gorgets; there was crying, shouting, wassailing, and drinking, with other rioting far above measure. On the other side we might have seen the Scots, quiet, still, and close, fasting the eve of St. John the Baptist, laboring in love of the liberties of their country.” Our readers need not be told that in each case the orderly, prayerful army proved victorious, and so made the treble parallel perfect.

BISHOP HATTO.

The legend of Hatto, bishop of Mayence, has been preserved in stanzas which are well remembered by school children. To avoid the importunity of the starving during a period of famine, the wicked prelate collected them into a barn,

“And while for mercy on Christ they call, He set fire to the barn, and burnt them all.”

Thereupon he was attacked by an army of mice, and escaped to his tower (the Mäuseschloss) on a rock in the Rhine. But they quickly followed him and poured in by thousands, “in at the windows and in at the door,” until he was overpowered and destroyed.

“They gnawed the flesh from every limb, For they were sent to do judgment on him.”

The same story is told of the Swiss baron, von Güttingen, who was pursued and devoured by mice in his castle in Lake Constance. It is also told, with a variation, of the Polish King Popiel. When the Poles murmured at his bad government, and sought redress, he summoned the chief remonstrants to his palace, poisoned them, and had their bodies thrown into the lake Gopolo. He sought refuge from the mice within a circle of fire, but was overrun and eaten by them.

Prototypes.

THE OLDEST PROVERB.

It appears from I Samuel xxiv. 13, that the oldest proverb on record, is, “Wickedness proceedeth from the wicked;” since David, in his time, declared it to be “a proverb of the ancients;” consequently older than any proverb of his son Solomon.

SHAKSPEARE SAID IT FIRST.

In one of Clough’s letters he tells an amusing story of a Calvinistic old lady, who, on being asked about the Universalists, observed,—“Yes, they expect that everybody will be saved, but we look for better things.” How like this is to the admirable confusion of Sir Andrew Aguecheek, who, in his letter of challenge, (_Twelfth Night_, iii. 4,) concludes thus:—

“Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better!”

CINDERELLA’S SLIPPER.

A story somewhat similar to that of Cinderella has been handed down from the Greek. It is reported of Rhodopis,—a Thracian slave, who was purchased and manumitted by Charaxus of Mytilene, and afterward settled in Egypt,—that one day, while she was in the bath, an eagle, having flown down, snatched one of her slippers from an attendant, and carried it to Memphis. Psammitichus, the king, at the time, was sitting on his tribunal, and while engaged in dispensing justice, the eagle, settling above his head, dropped the sandal into his bosom. Astonished by the singularity of the event, and struck by the diminutive size and elegant shape of the sandal, the king ordered search to be made for the owner throughout the land of Egypt. Having found her at Naucratis, she was presented to the king, who made her his queen.

CURTAIN LECTURES.

Jerrold, in his preface to the later editions of _Mrs. Caudle’s Curtain Lectures_, makes this curious statement:—

It has happened to the writer that two, or three, or ten, or twenty gentlewomen have asked him ... _What could have made you think of Mrs. Caudle? How could such a thing have entered any man’s mind?_ There are subjects that seem like rain-drops to fall upon a man’s head, the head itself having nothing to do with the matter.... And this was, no doubt, the accidental cause of the literary sowing and expansion—unfolding like a night-flower—of §Mrs. Caudle§.... The writer, still dreaming and musing, and still following no distinct line of thought, there struck upon him, like notes of sudden household music, these words—§Curtain Lectures§.

Nevertheless, this phrase may be traced back more than two centuries, while the idea will be found in the Sixth Satire of Juvenal, who says:—

Semper habet lites, alternaque jurgia lectus, In quo nupta jacet: minimum dormitur in illo, &c.

Stapylton’s translation of this passage was published in 1647:—

Debates, alternate brawlings, ever were I’ th’ marriage bed: there is no sleeping there.

In the margin of the translation are the words _Curtain-Lectures_.

Dryden in his translation of the same passage (published 1693) introduces the phrase into the text:—

Besides, what endless brawls by wives are bred; The Curtain-Lecture makes a mournful bed.

And Addison, in the _Tatler_, describing a luckless wight undergoing the penalty of a nocturnal oration, says:—

I could not but admire his exemplary patience, and discovered, by his whole behavior, that he was then lying under the discipline of a _curtain lecture_.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

The metre, movement, and idea of Tennyson’s Charge of the Six Hundred at Balaklava, are evidently derived from Michael Drayton’s _Battle of Agincourt_, published in 1627. The first, middle and last stanzas of Drayton’s poem run thus:—

1.

Faire stood the Wind for France When we our Sayles advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; But putting to the Mayne, At _Kaux_, the Mouth of _Seyne_, With all his Martiall Trayne, Landed King Harry.

8.

They now to fight are gone, Armour on armour shone, Drumme now to Drumme did grone, To heare was wonder: That with the Cryes they make, The very earth did shake, Trumpet to Trumpet spake, Thunder to Thunder.

15.

Upon Saint Crispin’s day Fought was this Noble Fray, Which Fame did not delay To England to carry; O when shall English Men With such Acts fill a Pen, Or England breed againe Such a King §Harry§!

THE FAUST LEGENDS.

About the middle of the thirteenth century began to spread the notion of formal written agreements between the Fiend and men who were to be his exclusive property after a certain time, during which he was to help them to all earthly good. This, curious to say, came with Christianity from the East. The first instance was that of Theophilus, vicedominus of the Bishop of Adana, a city of Cilicia, in the sixth century, whose fall and conversion form the original of all the Faust legends. The story of Theophilus may be found in various works, among them Ennemoser’s _Universal History of Magic_, which was translated by William Howitt.

AIR CUSHIONS.

Ben Jonson, in the _Alchemist_, makes Sir Epicure Mammon, in his expectation of acquiring the secret of the philosopher’s stone, enumerate to Surly a list of anticipated luxuries. Among these indulgences is this prophetic forecast of modern inflated India-rubber beds and cushions:—

“I will have all my beds _blown up_, not _stuffed_; Down is too hard.”

THE CAT IN THE ADAGE.

Lady Macbeth thus taunts her husband:—

Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem; Letting _I dare not_ wait upon _I would_, Like the poor cat i’ the adage?

The adage is thus given in Heywood’s _Proverbs_, 1566:—

“The cat would eate fishe, and would not wet her feete.”

The proverb is found among all nations. The Latin form of mediæval times was as follows:—

“Catus amat pisces, sed non vult tingere plantas.”

The Germans say:—

“Die Katze hätt’ die Fische gern; aber sie will die Füsse nit nass machen.”

And the Scotch have it:—

“The cat would fain fish eat, But she has no will to wet her feet.”

CORK LEGS.

A gentleman in Charleston conceived a very decided liking to a young lady from Ireland, and was on the eve of popping the question, when he was told by a friend that his dulcinea had a cork leg. It is difficult to imagine the distress of the young Carolinian. He went to her father’s house, knocked impatiently at the door, and when admitted to the fair one’s presence, asked her if what he had heard respecting her were true. “Yes, indeed, my dear Sir, it is true enough, but you have heard only half of my misfortune. I have got two cork legs, having had the ill-luck to be born in Cork.” This is the incident on which is founded Hart’s afterpiece called _Perfection_.

THE POPE’S BULL AGAINST THE COMET.

When President Lincoln was first asked to issue a proclamation abolishing slavery in the Southern States, he replied that such an act would be as absurd as the Pope’s bull against the comet.

The comet referred to is Halley’s. Concerning its first authenticated appearance, Admiral Smyth, in his _Cycle of Celestial Objects_, says:—

In 1456 it came with a tail 60° in length, and of a vivid brightness; which splendid train affrighted all Europe, and spread consternation in every quarter. To its malign influences were imputed the rapid successes of Mahomet II., which then threatened all Christendom. The general alarm was greatly aggravated by the conduct of Pope Calixtus III., who, though otherwise a man of abilities, was but a poor astronomer; for that pontiff daily ordered the church bells to be rung at noontide, extra Ave Marias to be repeated, and a special protest and excommunication was composed, exorcising equally the devil, the Turks, and the comet.

SWAPPING HORSES.

The celebrated maxim of President Lincoln, “not to swap horses while fording the stream,” was anticipated centuries ago by Cyrus the Elder, King of Persia, in directing his troops to take up their several stations, when he said, “When the contest is about to begin, there is no longer time for any chariot to unyoke the horses for a change.”

WOODEN NUTMEGS.

Judge Haliburton, in that amusing book _The Clockmaker_, puts the following in the mouth of Sam Slick:—

That remark seemed to grig him a little; he felt oneasy like, and walked twice across the room, fifty fathoms deep in thought; at last he said, “Which way are you from, Mr. Slick, this hitch?” “Why,” says I, “I’ve been away up South a speculating in nutmegs.” “I hope,” says the Professor, “they were a good article,—the real right down genuine thing?” “No, mistake,” says I, “no mistake, Professor; they were all prime, first chop; but why did you ax that ’ere question?” “Why,” says he, “that eternal scoundrel, that Captain John Allspice of Nahant, he used to trade to Charleston, and he carried a cargo once there of fifty barrels of nutmegs. Well, he put half a bushel of good ones into each end of the barrel, and the rest he filled up with wooden ones, so like the real thing, no soul could tell the difference until _he bit one with his teeth_, and that he never thought of doing until he was first _bit himself_. Well, it’s been a standing joke with them Southerners agin us ever since.”

TRADE UNIONS.

Trade unions are not of such recent origin as many people suppose. “I am credibly informed,” wrote Mandeville, the philosophic author of the _Fables of the Bees_, one hundred and fifty years ago, in his _Essay on Charity and Charity Schools_, “that a parcel of footmen are arrived to that height of insolence as to have entered into a society together, and made laws by which they oblige themselves not to serve for less than such a sum, nor carry burdens, or any bundle or parcel above a certain weight not exceeding two or three pounds, with other regulations directly opposite to the interest of those they serve, and altogether destructive to the use they were designed for. If any of them be turned away for strictly adhering to the orders of this honorable corporation, he is taken care of till another service is provided for him; but there is no money wanting at any time to commence and maintain a lawsuit against any that shall pretend to strike or offer any other injury to his gentleman footman, contrary to the statutes of their society. If this be true, as I believe it is, and they are suffered to go on in consulting and providing for their own ease and conveniency any further, we may expect quickly to see the French comedy ‘Le Maitre le Valet’ acted in good earnest in most families; while, if not redressed in a little time, and these footmen increase their company to the number it is possible they may, as well as assemble when they please with impunity, it will be in their power to make a tragedy of it whenever they have a mind to.”

CONSEQUENTIAL DAMAGES.

On page 454 of Senator Wilson’s _Rise and Fall of the Slave Power in America_, he says (of a speech of the late Mr. Giddings): “He referred to the Treaty of Indian Springs, by which, after paying the slaveholders of Georgia the sum of $109,000 for slaves who had escaped to Florida, it added the sum of $141,000 as compensation demanded for the offspring which the females would have borne to their masters had they remained in bondage; and Congress actually paid that sum for children who were never born, but who might have been if their parents had remained faithful slaves.”

There is no clearer case of the payment of “consequential damages” in English or American history than this.

THE ORIGINAL SHYLOCK.

Gregory Leti, in his biography of Sextus V., tells us that Paul Secchi, a Venetian merchant, having learned by private advices that Admiral Francis Blake had conquered St. Domingo, communicated the news to a Jewish merchant named Sampson Ceneda. The latter was so confident that the information was false, that, after repeated protestations, he said, “I bet a pound of my flesh that the report is untrue.” “And I lay a thousand scudi against it,” rejoined the Christian, who caused a bond to be drawn to the effect that in case the report should prove untrue, then the Christian merchant, Signor Paul Secchi, is bound to pay the Jewish merchant the sum of 1000 scudi, and on the other hand, if the truth of the news be confirmed, the Christian merchant, Signor Paul Secchi, is justified and empowered to cut with his own hand, with a well-sharpened knife, a pound of the Jew’s fair flesh, of that part of the body it might please him. When the news proved true, the Christian insisted on his bond, but the governor, having got wind of the affair, reported it to the Pope, who condemned both Jew and Christian to the galleys, from which they could only be ransomed by paying a fine of double the amount of the wager.

Shakspeare reverses the order, and makes the Jew usurer demand the pound of flesh from the Christian merchant.

EXCOMMUNICATION.

The excommunication of the Roman Catholic Church, exactly described by anticipation in Cæsar’s account of their predecessors, the Heathen Druids, will be found in Cæsar, _de Bello Gallico_, Book VI. Chap, iii., the passage beginning “Si quis aut privatus aut publicus,” and ending “Neque honos ullus communicatur.”

They decree rewards and punishments, and if any one refuses to submit to their sentence, whether magistrate or private man, they interdict him the sacrifices. This is the greatest punishment that can be inflicted among the Gauls; because such as are under this prohibition are considered as impious and wicked; all men shun them, and decline their conversation and fellowship, lest they should suffer from the contagion of their misfortunes. They can neither have recourse to the law for justice, nor are capable of any public office.

NAPOLEON I.

Compare the character and fall of Bonaparte with that of the king of Babylon as described in the remarkable language of the prophet Isaiah,

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