THE DOCTOR, _&c._




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

BUTLER'S REMAINS.




THE DOCTOR, _&c._




[Illustration: a tetrahedron]




VOL. V.




LONDON:
LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN AND LONGMAN.

1838.




LONDON:

PRINTED BY W. NICOL, PALL-MALL.




PRELUDE OF MOTTOES.


  See here, see here, a Doctor rare,
    Who travels much at home;
  Come take his pills,—they cure all ills,
    Past, present, and to come.
    Take a little of his nif-naf,
    Put it on your tif-taf.

THE BISHOPRICK GARLAND.


  _Quod virgo proba, quod stolata mater,
   Quod purus positâ severitate
   Jam post pulpita perlegat sacerdos._

T. L. ON SIR WM. KILLIGREW'S SELINDRA.


I entered on this work certainly with considerable materials, and 
since engaging in it, in reading, in thinking, in correcting and 
improving, I have proportioned my labours to my undertaking. Every 
step I advanced, I did but more clearly see how much farther I might 
go. Here too readers and some writers may be reminded of the effect 
produced by finding a pleasure in your employment, some burdens are 
sweet; you lose the sense of weight by the deceptions of fancy and 
occasional rests; and in proportion as your journey becomes more 
agreeable, you are in danger of growing more dilatory.

GEORGE DYER.


_Si tu tombes entre les mains de ceux qui ne voyent rien d'autruy que 
pour y trouver sujet de s'y desplaire, et qu'ils te reprochent que ton 
Docteur est ennuyeux; responds leur qu'il est à leur choix de lui voir 
ou ne lui voir point.—Si tu te trouves parmy ceux qui font profession 
d'interpreter les songes, et descouvrir les pensées plus secrettes 
d'autruy, et qu'ils asseurent que * * est un tel homme et * * une 
telle femme; ne leur respond rien; car ils sçavent assez qu'ils ne 
sçavent pas ce qu'ils disent: mais supplie ceux qui pourroient estre 
abusez de leurs fictions, de considerer que si ces choses ne 
m'importent, j'aurois eu bien peu d'esprit de les avoir voulu 
dissimuler et ne l'avoir sceu faire. Que si en ce qu'ils diront, il 
n'y a guere d'apparence, il ne les faut pas croire; et s'il y'en a 
beaucoup, il faut penser que pour couvrir la chose que je voulois 
tenir cachée et ensevelie, je l'eusse autrement desguisée._

ASTRÉE—MUTATIS MUTANDIS.


I would not be in danger of that law of Moses, that if a man dig a pit 
and cover it not, he must recompense those which are damnified by it; 
which is often interpreted of such as shake old opinions, and do not 
establish new as certain, but leave consciences in a worse danger than 
they found them in. I believe that law of Moses hath in it some 
mystery and appliableness; for by that law men are only then bound to 
that indemnity and compensation, if an ox or an ass, (that is such as 
are of a strong constitution and accustomed to labour) fall therein; 
but it is not said so, if a sheep or a goat fall: no more are we if 
men in a silliness or wantonness will stumble or take a scandal, bound 
to rectify them at all times. And therefore because I justly presume 
you strong and watchful enough, I make account that I am not obnoxious 
to that law; since my meditations are neither too wide nor too deep 
for you.

DONNE'S LETTERS.


Such an author consulted in a morning sets the spirits for the 
vicissitudes of the day, better than the glass does a man's person.

SIR RICHARD STEELE.


  The Load-stone of Attraction I find out,
  The Card of Observation guides about,
  The Needle of Discretion points the way.

DUTCHESS OF NEWCASTLE.


               —_βροτοὶ παύσασθε μάταιοι.
  Ῥεμβομενοι σκοτίη και ἀφεγγέϊ νυκτὶ μελαίνῃ·
  Καὶ λίΠετε σκοτίην νυκτὸς, φωτὸς δὲ λάβεσθε·
  Οὗτος ἰδοὺ παντεσσι σαφὴς, ἀπλάνητος ὑπάρχει.
  Ἐλθετε, μὴ σκοτίην δὲ διώκετε, καὶ γνόφον αἰεί·
  Ἠελίȣ γλυκυδερκὲς ἰδοὺ φάος ἔξοχα λάμπει._

SIBYLLINE VERSES.


  Of things that be strange
    Who loveth to read
  In this book let him range
    His fancy to feed.

RICHARD ROBINSON.


  _At ego tibi sermone isto—
   Varias fabulas conseram, auresque tuas
   Benevolus lepido susurro permulceam._

APULEIUS.


        Whoso doth attempt the Author's works to read
  Must bring with him a stayed head, and judgement to proceed;
  For as there be most wholesome hests and precepts to be found,
  So are there rocks and shallow shelves to run the ship aground.

ARTHUR GOLDING.


I am studying the art of patience:—to drive six snails before me from 
this town to Moscow, neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them 
take their own time. The patientest man i' the world match me for an 
experiment!

WEBSTER.


He says and he says not, cares and he cares not, he's king and he's no 
king; his high-born soul is above this sublunary world; he reigns, he 
rides in the clouds and keeps his court in the Horizon: he's Emperor 
of the Superlative Heights, and lives in pleasure among the Gods; he 
plays at bowls with the Stars, and makes a foot-ball of the Globe; he 
makes that to fly far, far out of the reach of Thought.

HURLOTHRUMBO.


  _Lo libres fo be faitz, e de bos motz complit;
   E sil voletz entendre, li gran e li petit
   Podon i mot apendre de sen e de bel dit;
   Car aisel qui le fe nal ventre tot farsit,
   E sel que nol conoish, ni nol a resentit.
       Ja no so cujaria._

CANSOS DE LA CROZADA
CONTR ELS EREGES DALBREGES.


              Something oddly
  The book-man prated; yet he talked it weeping.

FORD.


We content ourselves to present to thinking minds, the original seeds 
from whence spring vast fields of new theories, that may be further 
cultivated, beautified and enlarged. Truth however being of a coherent 
nature, it is impossible to separate one branch from another and see 
it in all its beauty. I beg therefore my readers not to judge of the 
work by parcels, but to continue to the end, that so they may see the 
connection of every part with the whole. Scattered rays do not always 
enlighten; but when reunited they give a mutual lustre to each other.

THE CHEVALIER RAMSAY.


I must be allowed my freedom in my studies, for I substitute my 
writings for a game at the tennis-court or a club at the tavern. I 
never counted among my honours these _opuscula_ of mine, but merely as 
harmless amusements. It is my partridge, as with St. John; my Cat, as 
with Pope St. Gregory; my little dog, as with St. Dominic; my lamb, as 
with St. Francis; (my pig, he might have said as with St. Antony,) my 
great black mastiff as with Cornelius Agrippa; and my tame hare, as 
with Justus Lipsius.

CATHERINOT.
_As quoted and translated by_ D'ISRAELI.


  To ignorants obdurde, quhair wilfull errour lyis,
    Nor zit to curious folks, quhilks carping dois deject thee,
  Nor zit to learned men, quha thinks thame onelie wyis,
    But to the docile bairns of knowledge I direct thee.

JAMES 1st.


Albeit I have studied much and learned little, yet I have learned to 
glean some handfulls of corn out of the rankest cockle; to make choice 
of the most fragrant flowers of humanity, the most virtuous herbs of 
philosophy, the most sovereign fruits of government, and the most 
heavenly manna of divinity; to be acquainted with the fairest, 
provided for the foulest, delighted with the temperatest, pleased with 
the meanest, and contented with all weather—greater men may profess 
and can achieve greater matters: I thank God I know the length, that 
is the shortness of my own foot. If it be any man's pleasure to 
extenuate my sufficiency in other knowledge, or practise to empeach my 
ability in words or deeds, to debase my fortune, to abridge my 
commendations, or to annihilate my fame, he shall find a cold 
adversary of him that hath laid hot passions awatering, and might 
easily be induced to be the invective of his own non proficiency.

GABRIEL HARVEY.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER CXXXVII.—p. 1.

DIFFERENCE OF OPINION BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND NICHOLAS CONCERNING THE 
HIPPOGONY, OR ORIGIN OF THE FOAL DROPT IN THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.

  ———his birth day, the eleventh of June
  When the Apostle Barnaby the bright
  Unto our year doth give the longest light.

BEN JONSON.


CHAPTER CXXXVIII.—p. 6.

DOUBTFUL PEDIGREE OF ECLIPSE. SHAKESPEAR (N. B. NOT WILLIAM) AND OLD 
MARSK. A PECULIARITY OF THE ENGLISH LAW.

_Lady Percy_. But hear you, my Lord!

_Hotspur_. What say'st thou, my lady?

_Lady Percy_. What is it carries you away?

_Hotspur_. Why my Horse, my love, my Horse.

SHAKESPEAR.


CHAPTER CXXXIX.—p. 11.

FACTS AND OBSERVATIONS RELATING TO ONOMATOLOGY.

Moreover there are many more things in the World than there are names 
for them; according to the saying of the Philosopher; _Nomina sunt 
finita, res autem infinitæ; ideo unum nomen plura significat:_ which 
saying is by a certain, or rather uncertain, author approved: _Multis 
speciebus non sunt nomina; idcirco necessarium est nomina fingere, si 
nullum ante erit nomen impositum._

GWILLIM.


CHAPTER CXL.—p. 32.

HOW THERE AROSE A DISPUTE BETWEEN BARNABY AND NICHOLAS CONCERNING THE 
NAMING OF THIS COLT, AND OF THE EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES THAT 
ENSUED.

_Quoiqu'il en soit, je ne tairai point cette histoire; je l'abandonne 
à la credulité, ou à l'incredulité des Lecteurs, ils prendront à cet 
égard quel parti il leur plaira. Je dirai seulement, s'ils ne la 
veulent pas croire, que je les defie de me prouver qu'elle soit 
absolument impossible; ils ne le prouveront jamais._

GOMGAM.


CHAPTER CXLI.—p. 39.

A SINGULAR ANECDOTE AND NOT MORE SAD THAN TRUE.

  Oh penny Pipers, and most painful penners
  Of bountiful new Ballads, what a subject,
  What a sweet subject for your silver sounds!

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER.


CHAPTER CXLII.—p. 42.

A DEFECT IN HOYLE SUPPLIED. GOOD ADVICE GIVEN, AND PLAIN TRUTH TOLD. A 
TRIBUTE OF RESPECT TO THE MEMORY OF F. NEWBERY, THE CHILDREN'S 
BOOKSELLER AND FRIEND.

Neither is it a thing impossible or greatly hard, even by such kind of 
proofs so to manifest and clear that point, that no man living shall 
be able to deny it, without denying some apparent principle such as 
all men acknowledge to be true.

HOOKER.


CHAPTER CXLIII.—p. 47.

A FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO DESCRIBE THE PHYSICAL AND MORAL QUALITIES OF NOBS.

_Quant à moi, je desirerois fort sçavoir bien dire, ou que j'eusse eu 
une bonne plume, et bien taillée à commandement, pour l'exalter et 
louër comme il le mérite. Toutesfois, telle quelle est, je m'en vais 
l'employer au hazard._

BRANTOME.


CHAPTER CXLIV.—p. 74.

HISTORY AND ROMANCE RANSACKED FOR RESEMBLANCES AND NON-RESEMBLANCES TO 
THE HORSE OF DR. DANIEL DOVE.

  Renowned beast! (forgive poetic flight!)
  Not less than man, deserves poetic right.

THE BRUCIAD.


CHAPTER CXLV.—p. 101.

WILLIAM OSMER. INNATE QUALITIES. MARCH OF ANIMAL INTELLECT. FARTHER 
REVEALMENT OF THE COLUMBIAN PHILOSOPHY.

There is a word, and it is a great word in this Book,[1] _ἐπι το 
αὐτο,_—_In id ipsum_, that is, to look to the thing itself, the very 
point, the principal matter of all; to have our eye on that, and not 
off it, upon _alia omnia_, any thing but it.—To go to the point, drive 
all to that, as also to go to the matter real, without declining from 
it this way or that, to the right hand or to the left.

BP. ANDREWS.

[Footnote 1: The New Testament which the Preacher had before him.]


CHAPTER CXLVI.—p. 113.

DANIEL DOVE VERSUS SENECA AND BEN JONSON. ORLANDO AND HIS HORSE AT 
RONCESVALLES. MR. BURCHELL. THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. THE LORD KEEPER 
GUILDFORD. REV. MR. HAWTAYN. DR. THOMAS JACKSON. THE ELDER SCALIGER. 
EVELYN. AN ANONYMOUS AMERICAN. WALTER LANDOR, AND CAROLINE BOWLES.

  ——Contented with an humble theme
  I pour my stream of panegyric down
  The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds
  Among her lovely works with a secure
  And unambitious course, reflecting clear,
  If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes.

COWPER.


CHAPTER CXLVII.—p. 124.

OLD TREES. SHIPS. FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. LIFE AND PASSIONS ASCRIBED TO 
INANIMATE OBJECTS. FETISH WORSHIP. A LORD CHANCELLOR AND HIS GOOSE.

_Ce que j'en ay escrit, c'est pour une curiosité, qui plaira possible 
à aucuns: et non possible aux autres._

BRANTOME.


CHAPTER EXTRAORDINARY.—p. 140.

PROCEEDINGS AT A BOOK CLUB. THE AUTHOR ACCUSED OF ‘_Lese 
delicatesse_,’ OR WHAT IS CALLED AT COURT ‘TUM-TI-TEE.’ HE UTTERS A 
MYSTERIOUS EXCLAMATION, AND INDIGNANTLY VINDICATES HIMSELF.

_Rem profecto mirabilem, longeque stupendam, rebusque veris veriorem 
describo._

HIERONYMUS RADIOLENSIS.


CHAPTER CXLVIII.—p. 161.

WHEREIN A SUBSTITUTE FOR OATHS, AND OTHER PASSIONATE INTERJECTIONS IS 
EXEMPLIFIED.

  What have we to do with the times? We cannot cure 'em:
  Let them go on: when they are swoln with surfeits
  They'll burst and stink: Then all the world shall smell 'em.

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER.


CHAPTER CXLIX.—p. 174.

A PARLOUS QUESTION ARISING OUT OF THE FOREGOING CHAPTER. MR. IRVING 
AND THE UNKNOWN TONGUES. TAYLOR THE WATER POET. POSSIBLE SCHEME OF 
INTERPRETATION PROPOSED. OPINIONS CONCERNING THE GIFT OF TONGUES AS 
EXHIBITED IN MADMEN.

Speak what terrible language you will, though you understand it not 
yourselves, no matter! Chough's language, gabble enough and good 
enough.

SHAKESPEARE.


CHAPTER CL.—p. 184.

THE WEDDING PEAL AT ST. GEORGE'S, AND THE BRIDE'S APPEARANCE AT 
CHURCH.

See how I have strayed! and you'll not wonder when you reflect on the 
whence and the whither.

ALEXANDER KNOX.


CHAPTER CLI.—p. 188.

SOMETHING SERIOUS.

If thou hast read all this Book, and art never the better, yet catch 
this flower before thou go out of the garden, and peradventure the 
scent thereof will bring thee back to smell the rest.

HENRY SMITH.


CHAPTER CLII.—p. 196.

ODD OPINIONS CONCERNING BIOGRAPHY AND EDUCATION. THE AUTHOR MAKES A 
SECOND HIATUS AS UNWILLINGLY AS HE MADE THE FIRST, AND FOR THE SAME 
COGENT REASON.

  _Ya sabes—pero es forzoso
   Repetirlo, aunque lo sepas._

CALDERON.


CHAPTER CLIII.—p. 200.

MATRIMONY AND RAZORS. LIGHT SAYINGS LEADING TO GRAVE THOUGHTS. USES OF 
SHAVING.

  I wonder whence that tear came, when I smiled
  In the production on't! Sorrow's a thief
  That can when joy looks on, steal forth a grief.

MASSINGER.


CHAPTER CLIV.—p. 209.

A POET'S CALCULATION CONCERNING THE TIME EMPLOYED IN SHAVING, AND THE 
USE THAT MIGHT BE MADE OF IT. THE LAKE POETS LAKE SHAVERS ALSO. A 
PROTEST AGAINST LAKE SHAVING.

Intellect and industry are never incompatible. There is more wisdom, 
and will be more benefit, in combining them than scholars like to 
believe, or than the common world imagine. Life has time enough for 
both, and its happiness will be increased by the union.

SHARON TURNER.


CHAPTER CLV.—p. 215.

THE POET'S CALCULATION TESTED AND PROVED.

Fiddle-faddle, dont tell of this and that, and every thing in the 
world, but give me mathematical demonstration.

CONGREVE.


CHAPTER CLVI.—p. 222.

AN ANECDOTE OF WESLEY, AND AN ARGUMENT ARISING OUT OF IT, TO SHOW THAT 
THE TIME EMPLOYED IN SHAVING IS NOT SO MUCH LOST TIME; AND YET THAT 
THE POET'S CALCULATION REMAINS OF PRACTICAL USE.

_Questo medesimo anchora con una altra gagliardissima ragione vi 
confermo._

LODOVICO DOMINICHI.


CHAPTER CLVII.—p. 230.

WHICH THE READER WILL FIND LIKE A ROASTED MAGGOT, SHORT AND SWEET.

_Malum quod minimum est, id minimum est malum._

PLAUTUS.


CHAPTER CLVIII.—p. 232.

DR. DOVE'S PRECEPTORIAL PRESCRIPTION, TO BE TAKEN BY THOSE WHO NEED 
IT.

  Some strange devise, I know, each youthful wight
  Would here expect, or lofty brave assay:
  But I'll the simple truth in simple wise convey.

HENRY MORE.


CHAPTER CLIX.—p. 237.

THE AUTHOR COMPARES HIMSELF AND THE DOCTOR TO CARDINAL WOLSEY AND KING 
HENRY VIII. AND SUGGESTS SUNDRY SIMILES FOR THE STYLE OF HIS BOOK.

I doubt not but some will liken me to the Lover in a modern Comedy, 
who was combing his peruke and setting his cravat before his mistress; 
and being asked by her when he intended to begin his court? he 
replied, he had been doing it all this while.

DRYDEN.


CHAPTER CLX.—p. 243.

MENTION OF ONE FOR WHOM THE GERMANS WOULD COIN A DESIGNATION WHICH 
MIGHT BE TRANSLATED A ONCE-READER. MANY MINDS IN THE SAME MAN. A 
POET'S UNREASONABLE REQUEST. THE AUTHOR OFFERS GOOD ADVICE TO HIS 
READERS, AND ENFORCES IT BY AN EPISCOPAL OPINION.

  Judge not before
    Thou know mine intent;
  But read me throughout,
    And then say thy fill;
  As thou in opinion
    Art minded and bent,
  Whether it be
    Either good or ill.

E. P.


CHAPTER CLXI.—p. 249.

WESLEY AND THE DOCTOR OF THE SAME OPINION UPON THE SUBJECT OF THESE 
CHAPTERS. A STUPENDOUS EXAMPLE OF CYCLOPÆDIAN STOLIDITY.

A good razor never hurts, or scratches. Neither would good wit, were 
men as tractable as their chins. But instead of parting with our 
intellectual bristles quietly, we set them up, and wriggle. Who can 
wonder then if we are cut to the bone?

GUESSES AT TRUTH.


CHAPTER CLXII.—p. 254.

AMOUNT OF EVERY INDIVIDUAL'S PERSONAL SINS ACCORDING TO THE ESTIMATE 
OF MR. TOPLADY. THE DOCTOR'S OPINION THEREON. A BILL FOR CERTAIN 
CHURCH REPAIRS. A ROMISH LEGEND WHICH IS LIKELY TO BE TRUE, AND PART 
OF A JESUIT'S SERMON.

  Mankind, tho' satirists with jobations weary us,
    Has only two weak parts if fairly reckon'd;
  The first of which, is trifling with things serious;
    And seriousness in trifles is the second.
  Remove these little rubs, whoe'er knows how,
  And fools will be as scarce,—as wise men now.

BISHOP.


CHAPTER CLXIII.—p. 264.

AN OPINION OF EL VENERABLE PADRE MAESTRO FRAY LUIS DE GRANADA, AND A 
PASSAGE QUOTED FROM HIS WORKS, BECAUSE OF THE PECULIAR BENEFIT TO 
WHICH PERSONS OF A CERTAIN DENOMINATION WILL FIND THEMSELVES ENTITLED 
UPON READING OR HEARING IT READ.

     _Chacun tourne en réalités,
  Autant qu'il peut, ses propres songes;
    L'homme est de glace aux vérités,
  Il est de feu pour les mensonges._

LA FONTAINE.


CHAPTER CLXIV.—p. 267.

AN ENQUIRY IN THE POULTRY-YARD, INTO THE TRUTH OF AN OPINION EXPRESSED 
BY ARISTOTLE.

  This is some liquor poured out of his bottle;
  A deadly draught for those of Aristotle.

J. C. sometime of M. H. Oxon.


CHAPTER CLXV.—p. 274.

A QUESTION ASKED AND RIGHTLY ANSWERED, WITH NOTICES OF A GREAT 
IMPORTATION ANNOUNCED IN THE LEITH COMMERCIAL LIST.

“But tell me yet what followed on that But.”

DANIEL.


CHAPTER CLXVI.—p. 278.

A WISH CONCERNING WHALES, WITH SOME REMARKS UPON THEIR PLACE IN 
PHYSICAL AND MORAL CLASSIFICATION. DR. ABRAHAM REES. CAPTAIN SCORESBY. 
THE WHALE FISHERY.

  Your Whale he will swallow a hogshead for a pill;
  But the maker of the mouse-trap is he that hath skill.

BEN JONSON.


CHAPTER CLXVII.—p. 292.

A MOTTO WHICH IS WELL CHOSEN BECAUSE NOT BEING APPLICABLE IT SEEMS TO 
BE SO. THE AUTHOR NOT ERRANT HERE OR ELSEWHERE. PHILOSOPHY AND 
OTHER-OSOPHIES.

  Much from my theme and friend have I digressed,
    But poor as I am, poor in stuff for thought,
  And poor in thought to make of it the best,
    Blame me not, Gentles, if I soon am caught
  By this or that, when as my themes suggest
    Aught of collateral aid which may be wrought
  Into its service: Blame me not, I say;
  The idly musing often miss their way.

CHARLES LLOYD.


CHAPTER CLXVIII.—p. 296.

NE-PLUS-ULTRA-WHALE-FISHING. AN OPINION OF CAPTAIN SCORESBY'S. THE 
DOCTOR DENIES THAT ALL CREATURES WERE MADE FOR THE USE OF MAN. THE 
CONTRARY DEMONSTRATED IN PRACTICE BY BELLARMINE.

_Sequar quo vocas, omnibus enim rebus omnibusque sermonibus, aliquid 
salutare miscendum est._

SENECA.


CHAPTER CLXIX.—p. 305.

LINKS AND AFFINITIES. A MAP OF THE AUTHOR'S INTELLECTUAL COURSE IN THE 
FIVE PRECEDING CHAPTERS.

  _Ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε, ποῖ δὴ καὶ πόθεν;_

PLATO.


CHAPTER CLXX.—p. 320.

THE AUTHOR REPEATS A REMARK OF HIS DAUGHTER UPON THE PRECEDING 
CHAPTER; COMPLIMENTS THE LORD BROUGHAM AND VAUX UPON HIS LUNGS AND 
LARYNX; PHILOSOPHIZES AND QUOTES, AND QUOTES AND PHILOSOPHIZES AGAIN 
AND AGAIN.

  _Fato, Fortuna, Predestinazione,
     Sorte, Caso, Ventura, son di quelle
   Cose che dan gran noja a le persone,
     E vi si dicon su di gran novelle.
   Ma in fine Iddio d'ogni cose é padrone:
     E chi é savio domina a le stelle;
   Chi non é savio paziente e forte,
     Lamentisi di se, non de la sorte._

ORL. INN.


CHAPTER CLXXI.—p. 330.

CONTAINING PART OF A SERMON, WHICH THE READER WILL FIND WORTH MORE 
THAN MOST WHOLE ONES THAT IT MAY BE HIS FORTUNE TO HEAR.

_Je fais une grande provision de bon sens en prenant ce que les autres 
en ont._

MADAME DE MAINTENON.


INTERCHAPTER XVII.—p. 336.

A POPULAR LAY NOTICED, WITH SUNDRY REMARKS PERTINENT THERETO, 
SUGGESTED THEREBY, OR DEDUCED THEREFROM.

Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit: by and by it will strike.

TEMPEST.


INTERCHAPTER XVIII.—p. 347.

APPLICATION OF THE LAY. CALEB D'ANVERS. IRISH LAW. ICON BASILIKE. 
JUNIUS. THOMAS À KEMPIS. FELIX HEMMERLEN. A NEEDLE LARGER THAN GAMMER 
GURTON'S AND A MUCH COARSER THREAD. THOMAS WARTON AND BISHOP STILL. 
THE JOHN WEBSTERS, THE ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAMS, AND THE CURINAS AND THE 
STEPHENS.

              _Lo que soy, razona poco
  Porque de sombra a mi va nada, o poco._

FUENTE DESEADA.


INTERCHAPTER XIX.—p. 378.

THE AUTHOR DIFFERS IN OPINION FROM SIR EGERTON BRYDGES AND THE EMPEROR 
JULIAN, SPEAKS CHARITABLY OF THAT EMPEROR, VINDICATES PROTEUS FROM HIS 
CENSURE, AND TALKS OF POSTHUMOUS TRAVELS AND EXTRA MUNDANE EXCURSIONS, 
AND THE PUBLIC LIBRARY IN LIMBOLAND.

  _Petulant_. If he says black's black,—if I have a humour to say it
                is blue—let that pass. All's one's for that. If I
                have a humour to prove it, it must be granted.

  _Witwould_. Not positively must,—But it may, it may.

  _Petulant_. Yes, it positively must,—upon proof positive.

  _Witwould_. Ay, upon proof positive it must; but upon proof
                presumptive it only may. That's a logical distinction
                now.

CONGREVE.




THE DOCTOR, &c.




CHAPTER CXXXVII.

DIFFERENCE OF OPINION BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND NICHOLAS CONCERNING THE 
HIPPOGONY, OR ORIGIN OF THE FOAL DROPT IN THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.

  ———his birth day, the eleventh of June
  When the Apostle Barnaby the bright
  Unto our year doth give the longest light.

BEN JONSON.


It's as fine a foal as ever was dropt, said Nicholas;—but I should as 
soon thought of dropping one myself!

If thou hadst Nicholas, replied the Doctor, 'twould have been a foal 
with longer ears, and a cross upon the shoulders. But I am heartily 
glad that it has happened to the Mare rather than to thee; for in the 
first place thou wouldst hardly have got so well through it, as with 
all my experience I should have been at a loss how to have rendered 
thee any assistance; and secondly, Nicholas, I should have been 
equally at a loss how to account for the circumstance, which certainly 
never could have been accounted for in so satisfactory a manner. The 
birth of this extraordinary foal supports a fact which the wise 
ancients have attested, and the moderns in their presumptuous 
ignorance have been pleased to disbelieve: it also agrees with a 
notion which I have long been disposed to entertain. But had it been 
thy case instead of the Mare's it would have been to no purpose except 
to contradict all facts and confound all notions.

As for that matter, answered Nicholas, all my notions are struck in a 
heap. You bought that Mare on the 29th of July, by this token that it 
was my birth-day, and I said she would prove a lucky one. 
One,—two,—three,—four,—five,—six,—seven,—eight,—nine,—-ten,—he 
continued, counting upon his fingers,—ten Kalendar months, and to-day 
the eleventh of June;—in all that time I'll be sworn she has never 
been nearer a horse than to pass him on the road. It must have been 
the Devil's doing, and I wish he never did worse. However, Master, I 
hope you'll sell him, for in spite of his looks I should never like to 
trust my precious limbs upon the back of such a misbegotten beast.

_Un_begotten, Nicholas, replied the Doctor; _un_begotten,—or rather 
begotten by the winds,—for so with every appearance of probability we 
may fairly suppose him to have been.

The Winds! said Nicholas; he lifted up the lids of his little eyes as 
far as he could strain them, and breathed out a whistle of a half 
minute long, beginning in C alt and running down two whole octaves.

It was common in Spain, pursued Dr. Dove, and consequently may have 
happened in our less genial climate, but this is the first instance 
that has ever been clearly observed. I well remember, he continued, 
that last July was peculiarly fine. The wind never varied more than 
from South South East to South West; the little rain which fell 
descended in gentle, balmy, showers, and the atmosphere never could 
have been more full of the fecundating principle.

That our friend really attached any credit to this fanciful opinion of 
the Ancients, is what I will not affirm, nor perhaps would he himself 
have affirmed it. But Henry More, the Platonist, Milton's friend, 
undoubtedly believed it. After quoting the well-known passage upon 
this subject in the Georgics, and a verse to the same effect from the 
Punics, he adds, that you may not suspect it “to be only the levity 
and credulity of Poets to report such things, I can inform you that 
St. Austin, and Solinus the historian write the same of a race of 
horses in Cappadocia. Nay, which is more to the purpose, Columella and 
Varro, men expert in rural affairs, assert this matter for a most 
certain and known truth.” Pliny also affirms it as an undoubted fact: 
the foals of the Wind, he says, were exceedingly swift, but 
short-lived, never outliving three years. And the Lampongs of Sumatra, 
according to Marsden, believe at this time that the Island Engano is 
inhabited entirely by females, whose progeny are all children of the 
Wind.




CHAPTER CXXXVIII.

DOUBTFUL PEDIGREE OF ECLIPSE. SHAKESPEAR (N. B. NOT WILLIAM) AND OLD 
MARSK. A PECULIARITY OF THE ENGLISH LAW.

_Lady Percy_. But hear you, my Lord!

_Hotspur_. What say'st thou, my lady?

_Lady Percy_. What is it carries you away?

_Hotspur_. Why my Horse, my love, my Horse.

SHAKESPEAR.


After having made arrangements with the owner of the barn for the 
accommodation of the Mare in-the-straw, the Doctor and Nicholas 
pursued their way to Doncaster on foot, the latter every now and then 
breaking out into exclamations of the Lord bless me! and sometimes 
with a laugh of astonishment annexing the Lord's name to a verb of 
opposite signification governing a neuter pronoun. Then he would cry, 
Who would have thought it? Who'll believe it? and so with 
interjections benedictory or maledictory, applied indiscriminately to 
himself and Miss Jenny and the foal, he gave vent to his wonder, 
frequently however repeating his doubts how the come-by-chance, as he 
called it, would turn out.

A doubt to the same purport had come across the Doctor; for it so 
happened that one of his theories bore very much in support of 
Nicholas's unfavourable prepossession. Eclipse was at that time in his 
glory; and Eclipse was in the case of those children who are said by 
our Law to be more than ordinarily legitimate, tho' he was not like 
one of these double legitimates enabled at years of discretion to 
chuse for himself between the two possible fathers. Whether Eclipse 
was got by Shakespear or by Old Marsk was a point of which the Duke of 
Cumberland and his Stud Groom at one time confessed themselves 
ignorant; and though at length, as it was necessary that Eclipse 
should have a pedigree, they filiated him upon Old Marsk, Dr. Dove had 
amused himself with contending that the real cause of the superiority 
of that wonderful horse to all other horses was, that in reality he 
was the Son of both, and being thus doubly begotten had derived a 
double portion of vigour. It is not necessary to explain by what 
process of reasoning he had arrived at this conclusion; but it 
followed as a necessary inference that if a horse with two Sires 
inherited a double stock of strength, a horse who had no Sire at all 
must, _pari ratione_, be in a like proportion deficient. And here the 
Doctor must have rested had he not luckily called to mind that Canto 
of the Faery Queen in which

  The birth of fayre Belphœbe and
    Of Amorett is told.

how

  ———wondrously they were begot and bred
    Through influence of the Heavens fruitfull ray.

  Miraculous may seem to him that reades
    So strange ensample of conception;
  But reason teacheth that the fruitfull seedes
    Of all things living, through impression
    Of the sun-beames in moyst complexion
  Doe life conceive, and quick'ned are by kynd;
    So after Nilus' inundation
    Infinite shapes of creatures men doe fynd
  Informed in the mud on which the Sunne hath shynd.

  Great Father he of Generation
    Is rightly called, th' Authour of life and light;
  And his faire sister for creation
    Ministreth matter fit, which tempred right
    With heate and humour breedes the living wight.

So delighted was he with this recollection, and with the beautiful 
picture of Belphœbe which it recalled, that he would instantly have 
named the foal Belphœbe,—if it had happened to be a filly. For a 
moment it occurred to him to call him Belphœbus; but then again he 
thought that Belphœbus was too like Belphegor, and he would not give 
any occasion for a mistake, which might lead to a suspicion that he 
favoured Nicholas's notion of the Devil's concern in the business.

But the naming of this horse was not so lightly to be decided. Would 
it have been fitting under all the circumstances of the case to have 
given him any such appellation as Buzzard, Trumpeter, Ploughboy, 
Master Jackey, Master Robert, Jerry Sneak, Trimmer, Swindler, 
Deceiver, Diddler, Boxer, Bruiser, Buffer, Prize-fighter, Swordsman, 
Snap—would it have been fitting I say to have given to a Colt who was 
dropt almost as unexpectedly as if he had dropt from the clouds,—would 
it I repeat have been fitting to have given him any one of these 
names, all known in their day upon the Turf, or of the numberless 
others commonly and with equal impropriety bestowed upon horses.




CHAPTER CXXXIX.

FACTS AND OBSERVATIONS RELATING TO ONOMATOLOGY.

Moreover there are many more things in the World than there are names 
for them; according to the saying of the Philosopher; _Nomina sunt 
finita, res autem infinitæ; ideo unum nomen plura significat:_ which 
saying is by a certain, or rather uncertain, author approved: _Multis 
speciebus non sunt nomina; idcirco necessarium est nomina fingere, si 
nullum ante erit nomen impositum._

GWILLIM.


Names, Reader, are serious things; and certain philosophers, as well 
as Mr. Shandy, have been to use the French-English of the day, deeply 
penetrated with this truth.

The name of the Emperor of Japan is never known to his subjects during 
his life. And the people of ancient Rome never knew the true and 
proper name of their own City, which is indeed among the things that 
have utterly perished. It was concealed as the most awful of all 
mysteries, lest if it were known to the enemies of the City, they 
might by force of charms and incantations deprive it of the aid of its 
tutelary Gods.—As for that mystery which has occasioned among Hebrew 
Critics the Sect of the Adonists, I only hint thereat.

Names, Reader, are serious things, so serious that no man since Adam 
has been able, except by special inspiration, to invent one which 
should be perfectly significant.

  _Adan, antes que el bien le fuera oposito,
     Fue tan grande filosofo y dialectico,
   Que a todo quanto Dios le dio en deposito,
     (Aunque pecando fue despues frenetico,)
   De nombres adorno tan a proposito
     Como quien tuvo espiritu profetico;
   Porque naturaleza en modo tacito
     Las causas descubrio a su beneplacito._

  _Esta virtud tan alta fue perdiendose
     De los que del vinieron derivandose,
   Tanto que todos van desvaneciendose.
     En aplicar los nombres, y engañandose,
   Sino es por algun Angel descubriendose,
     O por inspiracion manifestandose._[1]

[Footnote 1: CAYRASCO DE FIGUEROA.]

Names, Reader, I repeat, are serious things: and much ingenuity has 
been exerted in inventing appropriate ones not only for man and beast, 
but for inanimate things. Godfathers and Godmothers, Navigators, 
Shipbuilders, Florists, Botanists, Chemists, Jockies, Feeders, Stage 
Coach-Proprietors, Quacks, Perfumers, Novelists and Dramatists have 
all displayed their taste in the selection of Names.

More whimsically consorted names will seldom be found than among the 
Lodges of the Manchester Unity of the Independent Order of Odd 
Fellows—You find there Apollo and St. Peter; the Rose of Sharon, and 
the Rose of Cheetham; Earl Fitz-william, Farmer's Glory, and Poor 
Man's Protection; Philanthropic and Lord Byron, Lord John Russell and 
Good Intent; Queen Caroline (Bergami's Queen not George the Seconds) 
and Queen Adelaide.

Reader be pleased to walk into the Garden with me. You see that 
bush,—what would you call the fruit which it bears?—The 
Gooseberry.—But its more particular name?—Its botanical name is 
_ribes_—or _grossularia_, which you will Mr. Author.—Still Reader we 
are in generals. For you and I, and our wives and children, and all 
plain eaters of gooseberry-pie and gooseberry-fool, the simple name 
gooseberry might suffice. Not so for the scientific in gooseberries, 
the gooseberryologists. They could distinguish whether it were the 
King or the Duke of York; the Yellow Seedling or the Prince of Orange; 
Lord Hood or Sir Sidney Smith; Atlas or Hercules; the Green Goose or 
the Green Bob or the Green Chisel; the Colossus or the Duke of 
Bedford; Apollo or Tickle Toby; the Royal Oak or the Royal Sovereign; 
the Hero or the Jolly Smoaker; the Game Keeper or the Sceptre; the 
Golden Gourd or the Golden Lion, or the Gold-finder; Worthington's 
Conqueror or Somach's Victory; Robinson's Stump or Davenport's Lady; 
Blakeley's Chisel or Read's Satisfaction; Bell's Farmer or the 
Creeping Ceres; the White Muslin, the White Rose, the White Bear, the 
White Noble or the White Smith; the Huntsman, the Gunner, the 
Thrasher, the Viper, the Independent, the Glory of Eccles, or the 
Glory of England; Smith's Grim-Mask, Blomerly's John Bull, Hamlet's 
Beauty of England, Goodier's Nelson's Victory, Parkinson's Scarlet 
Virgin, Milling's Crown Bob, Kitt's Bank of England, Yeat's Wild-Man 
of the Wood, Davenport's Jolly Hatter, or Leigh's Fiddler.—For all 
these are Gooseberries: and yet this is none of them; it is the Old 
Ironmonger.

Lancashire is the County in which the Gooseberry has been most 
cultivated; there is a Gooseberry book annually printed at Manchester; 
and the Manchester Newspapers recording the death of a person and 
saying that he bore a severe illness with Christian fortitude and 
resignation, add that he was much esteemed among the Class of 
Gooseberry Growers.—A harmless class they must needs be deemed, but 
even in growing Gooseberries emulation may be carried too far.

The Royal Sovereign which in 1794 was grown by George Cook of Ashton 
near Preston which weighed seventeen pennyweights, eighteen grains, 
was thought a Royal Gooseberry at that day. But the growth of 
Gooseberries keeps pace with the March of Intellect. In 1830 the 
largest Yellow Gooseberry on record was shown at Stockport, it weighed 
thirty-two pennyweights, thirteen grains, and was named the Teazer. 
The largest Red one was the Roaring Lion of thirty-one pennyweights, 
thirteen grains, shown at Nantwich; and the largest White, was the 
Ostrich shown at Ormskirk; falling far short of the others, and yet 
weighing twenty-four pennyweights, twenty grains. They have been grown 
as large as Pigeon's eggs. But the fruit is not improved by the forced 
culture which increases its size. The Gooseberry growers who show for 
the prizes which are annually offered, thin the fruit so as to leave 
but two or three berries on a branch; even then prizes are not gained 
by fair dealing: they contrive to support a small cup under each of 
these, so that the fruit shall for some weeks rest in water that 
covers about a fourth part, and this they call suckling the 
gooseberry.

Your Orchard, Sir! you are perhaps content with Codlins and Pippins, 
Non-pareils and Russets, with a few nameless varieties. But Mr. 
Forsyth will tell you of the Beauty of Kent, of the Belle Grisdeline, 
the Boomrey, the Hampshire Nonsuch, the Dalmahoy, the Golden Mundi, 
the Queening, the Oak Peg, the Nine Square, the Paradise Pippin, the 
Violet Apple, the Corpendu, the Trevoider, the Ramborn, the Spanish 
Onion, the Royal George, the Pigeonette, the Norfolk Paradise, the 
Long-laster, the Kentish Fill-baskets, the Maiden's Blush, the Lady's 
Finger, the Scarlet Admirable, the Hall-Door, the Green Dragon, the 
Fox's Whelp, the Fair Maid of Wishford, Coble-dick-longerkin—an apple 
in the north of Devon and Cornwall, which Mr. Polwhele supposes to 
have been introduced into the parish of Stratton by one Longerkin who 
was called Cobble-dick, because his name was Richard and he was a 
Cobler by trade. John Apple,

    ——whose withered rind, intrench'd
  With many a furrow, aptly represents
  Decrepid age.[2]

the King of the Pippins (of him hereafter in the Chapter of Kings) and 
the Seek-no-farther,—after which no farther will we seek.

[Footnote 2: PHILIPS.]

Of Pears, the _Bon Chrêtien_ called by English Gardeners the 
Bum-Gritton, the _Teton de Venus_ and the _Cuisse Madame_, three names 
which equally mark the country from whence they came. The last Bishop 
of Alais before the French Revolution visiting a Rector once who was 
very rich and very avaricious, gave him some gentle admonitory hint of 
the character he had heard of him. “_Mais Monseigneur,_” said the Man, 
“_il faut garder une Poire pour la soif._” “_Vous avez bien raison,_” 
replied the Bishop: “_prenez garde seulement qu'elle soit du bon 
Chrêtien._” The first Lord Camelford in one of whose letters this pun 
is preserved, thought it perfect. But to proceed with the nomenclature 
of Pears, there are the Supreme, the Bag-pipe of Anjou, the Huff Cap, 
the Grey Good Wife, the Goodman's Pear, the Queen's Pear, the Prince's 
Pear, the Marquis's Pear, the Dean's Pear, the Knave's Pear, the 
Pope's Pear, the Chaw Good, the Vicar, the Bishop's Thumb, the Lady's 
Lemon, the Lord Martin, the St. Austin, La Pastorelle and Monsieur 
John, the Great Onion, the Great Mouthwater, the King of Summer, the 
Angelic Pear,—and many others which I would rather eat than enumerate. 
At present the Louis Philippe holds pre-eminence.

The _Propria quæ Potatibus_ will be found not less rich,—though here 
we perceive a lower key of invention, as adapted to a lower rank of 
fruit and affording a proof of Nature's Aristocracy;—here we have Red 
Champions, White Champions, Late Champions and English Champions, 
Early Manlys, Rough Reds, Smooth Yellows, Silver Skins, Pink Eyes, 
Golden Tags, Golden Gullens, Common Wise, Quaker Wise, Budworth's 
Dusters, Poor Man's Profit, Lady Queens, Drunken Landlords, Britons, 
Crones, Apples, Magpies, Lords, Invincibles, the Painted Lady and the 
Painted Lord, the Golden Dun, the Old Red Rough, and the Ox Noble;

  _Cum multis aliis quæ nunc perscribere longum est._

For Roses, methinks Venus, and the Fair Maid, and Flora, and Favorite, 
and Diana may well keep company with our old favourite the Maiden 
Blush. There may be too, though it were to be wished there were not, a 
Miss Bold, among these beautiful flowers. Nor would I object to Purple 
nor to Ruby, because they are significant if nothing more. But for 
Duchess, with double blush, methinks the characteristic and the name 
go ill together. The Great Mogul is as bad as the Vagrant; the Parson 
worse than either; and for Mount Etna, and Mount Vesuvius, it excites 
an explosion of anger to hear of them.

Among the trees in Barbadoes, we read of Anchovy the Apple, the Bread 
and Cheese, or Sucking bottle, the Belly ache and the Fat Pork Tree!

From the fields and gardens to the Dairy. In the Vaccine nomenclature 
we pass over the numerals and the letters of the Alphabet. Would you 
have more endearing appellations than Curly, Curl-pate, Pretty, 
Browny, Cot Lass, Lovely Lass (a name peradventure imposed by that 
person famous in the proverb, as the old Woman who kissed her 
Cow)—more promising than Bee, Earnest, Early, Standfast, Fill-bouk, 
Fillpan,—more romantic than Rose, Rosely, Rosebud, Roseberry, 
Rosamond, Rosella, Rosalina, Furba, Firbrella, Firbrina, more rural 
than Rurorea.

Then for Bulls,—was there not the Bull Shakespeare, by Shakespeare off 
young Nell, who was sold in the year 1793 for £400., with a condition 
that the seller should have the privilege every year of introducing 
two Cows to the said Shakespeare. And was there not the Bull Comet who 
was sold for 1000 guineas. I say nothing of Alderman Bull, nor of John 
Bull, nor of the remarkable Irish Breed.

For horses I content myself with remembering the never to be forgotten 
Pot-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-os, sometimes written Pot8os. Whose was the proudest 
feeling of exultation, his who devised this numerico-literal piece of 
wit,—or that of Archimedes when he exclaimed _Εὑρηκα_? And while 
touching the Arithmographic mode of writing let us not forget the 
Frenchman who by the union of a pun and a hieroglyph described his 
Sovereign's style thus—Louis with ten-oysters in a row after the name.

As for the scientific names of Plants,—if Apollo had not lost all 
power he would have elongated the ears of Tournefort and Linnæus, and 
all their followers, as deservedly as he did those of Midas.

Of the Knights or Horsemen, Greeks and Trojans, Rustics and Townsmen 
among—Butterflies,—and the Gods, Goddesses, Muses and Graces, Heroes, 
Worthies and Unworthies, who feed in their grub state upon lettuces 
and cabbages, sleep through their aurelian term of existence, and 
finally obtain a name in the naturalist's nomenclature, and perhaps a 
local habitation in his Cabinet with a pin through their bodies, I say 
nothing, farther than to state why one tribe of them is denominated 
Trojans. Be it known then in the words of a distinguished 
Entomologist, that “this tribe has been dedicated by Entomologists to 
the memory of the more distinguished worthies of the Trojan race, and 
above others to preserve, the memory of those heroes whose exploits in 
the defence of that rich and potent station of the ancient world, the 
town of Troy, have been commemorated in the Iliad by the immortal 
Homer.” Lest Homer therefore and all the works derived from him should 
perish from remembrance the Entomologists have very considerately 
devised this means for preserving the memory of Hector.

Hath not Daniel Girton, of the County of Bucks, in his Complete 
Pigeon-Fancier, wherein he points out to the Gentlemen of the Fancy, 
the foul marks and the real perfections of every valuable species of 
Fancy Birds and Toys which in his time were bred in England, France 
and Holland;—hath not Daniel Girton, I say, (tho' Boswell thought that 
a sentence so formed as to require an _I'say_ to keep it together, 
resembled a pair of ill-mended breeches, and candidly acknowledged the 
resemblance in his own,—the sentence I mean, which he was then 
penning, not the breeches which he wore;)—hath not Daniel Girton, I 
say, particularly enumerated in his Title-Page among the varieties of 
such Fancy Birds, Powters, Carriers, Horsemen, Dragoons, Croppers, 
Powting Horsemen, Uplopers, Fantails, Chinese Pigeons, Lace-Pigeons, 
Tumblers, Runts, Spots, Laughers, Trumpeters, Jacobines, Capuchines, 
Nuns, Shakers, Helmets, Ruffs, Finnikins, Turners, Barbs, Mahomets, 
Turbits, Owls, and Smiters, concluding the imperfect enumeration with 
an &c.

The Foul Fiends also have odd names. Witness the list which John Gee 
collected after the veracious Romish Priests of his time: Lusty Dick, 
Killico, Hob, Corner-Cap, Puffe, Purre, Frateretto, Fliberdigibbet, 
Haberdicut, Cocabelto, Maho, (this Maho, who was a gentleman as 
Shakespeare tells us, maintained his ground against a Priest for seven 
hours) Kellicocam, Wilkin, Smolkin, Lusty Jolly Jenkin, (this must 
have been a Welsh Devil and of a noble race) Porto Richo, 
(peradventure a Creole Devil,) Pudding of Thame—(fie on such pudding!) 
Pour Dieu (Pour Diable!) Bonjour, Motubizanto, Nur, Bernon, Delicate.

The familiar of that “damnable and malicious witch Elizabeth 
Southerns, alias Dimdikes, was called Tibb: she dwelt in the forest of 
Pendle,” a vast place fit for her profession, and she was a general 
Agent for the Devil in all those parts.

There was one Mr. Duke, a busy fanatic, in Devonshire in Charles II.'s 
days, whom old Sir Edward Seymour used to call Spirit Po, that said Po 
being a _petit diable_, a small devil that was _presto_ at every 
Conjuror's nod. He (the said Mr. Duke) was a common runner up and down 
on factious errands; and there could not be a meeting in the country 
for business or mirth, but Spirit Po was there.

Actæus Megalesius, Ormenus, Lycus, Nicon and Mimon are five of the 
Chief Telchinnes or Alastores, who take the waters of Styx in their 
hands, and sprinkle them over the earth, thereby causing all kinds of 
diseases and calamities.

It is known upon testimony which has received the sanction of the Holy 
Office, that Lucifer has three Lord Lieutenants, whose names are 
Aquias, Brum, and Acatu: whether the second assumed his name in 
prospective compliment to the Queen's Attorney-General, or whether the 
name itself has some appropriate and amiable signification in the 
infernal tongue must be left to conjecture. These Lord Lieutenants 
were sent with a whole army of Devils to make war against a person of 
the feminine gender called in her own language Anna de Santiago, but 
in the language of Hell, Catarruxa, which according to the 
interpretation given by the Devils themselves, means the Strong Woman. 
The General was named Catacis, and the names of the subordinate 
Commanders have been faithfully recorded by a Franciscan Chronicler of 
unquestioned veracity, for the use of Exorcists, experience having 
shown that it is of signal use in their profession to know the names 
of the enemies with whom they are contending, the Devils perhaps 
having learnt from the Lawyers, (who are able to teach the Devil), to 
take advantage of a misnomer. This indeed is so probable that it 
cannot be superfluous to point out to Exorcists a received error, 
which must often have frustrated their laudable endeavours, if the 
same literal accuracy be required in their processes as in those of 
the Law. They no doubt have always addressed the Prince of the Devils 
by the name of Beelzebub, but his real name is Beelzebul; and so St. 
Jerome found it in all his Manuscripts, but not understanding what was 
then the common, and true reading, he altered _Βεελζεβȣλ_ into 
_Βεελζεϐȣϐ_,—by which he made the word significant to himself, but 
enabled Beelzebul to quash all actions of ejectment preferred against 
him in this false name. The value of this information will be 
appreciated in Roman Catholic Countries. Gentlemen of the long robe 
will think it beautiful; and I have this additional motive for 
communicating it, to wit, that it may be a warning to all verbal 
Critics. I now return to my nomenclature.

If a catalogue of plants or animals in a newly discovered country be 
justly esteemed curious, how much more curious must a genuine 
muster-roll of Devils be esteemed, all being Devils of rank and 
consequence in the Satanic service. It is to Anna de Santiago herself 
that we are originally beholden for it, when at her Confessor's 
desire,

          _θεȣς δ᾽ ὀνομῄνεν ἀπαντας
  Τȣς ὑποταρίȣς_[3]

[Footnote 3: HOMER.]

“The reader (as Fuller says,) will not be offended with their hard 
names here following, seeing his eye may run them over in perusing 
them, though his tongue never touch them in pronouncing them.” And 
when he thinks how many private and non-commissioned officers go to 
make up a legion, he may easily believe that Owen Glendower might have 
held Hotspur

                at least nine hours
  In reckoning up the several Devil's names
  That were his lackeys.

Barca, Maquias, Acatam, Ge, Arri, Macaquias, Ju, Mocatam, Arra, Vi, 
Macutu, Laca, Machehe, Abriim, Maracatu, Majacatam, Barra, Matu, the 
Great Dog, (this was a dumb devil), Arracatorra, Mayca, Oy, Aleu, 
Malacatan, Mantu, Arraba, Emay, Alacamita, Olu, Ayvatu, Arremabur, 
Aycotan, Lacahabarratu, Oguerracatam, Jamacatia, Mayacatu, Ayciay, 
Ballà, Luachi, Mayay, Buzache, Berrà, Berram, Maldequita, Bemaqui, 
Moricastatu, Anciaquias, Zamata, Bu, Zamcapatujas, Bellacatuaxia, Go, 
Bajaque, and Baa,—which seems but a sheepish name for a Devil.

Can there be yet a roll of names more portentous in appearance, more 
formidable in sound, more dangerous in utterance? Look, reader, at the 
ensuing array, and judge for thyself; _look_ I say, and mentally 
peruse it, but attempt not to enunciate the words, lest thou shouldest 
loosen thy teeth or fracture them in the operation.

Angheteduff, otherwise Anghutuduffe, otherwise Ballyhaise, Kealdragh, 
Caveneboy, Aghugrenoase, otherwise Aghagremous, Killataven, 
Kilnaverley, Kelvoryvybegg, Tonnegh, Briehill, Drommody, Amraghduffe, 
Drumhermshanbeeg, Dranhill, Cormaghscargin, Corlybeeg, Cornashogagh, 
Dromhome, Trimmigan, Knocklyeagh, Carrigmore, Clemtegrit, 
Lesdamenhuffe, Correamyhy, Aghnielanagher, otherwise Agnigamagh, 
Prittage, Aghaiasgim, Tobogamagh, Dromaragh, otherwise Dromavragh, 
Cnockamyhee, Lesnagvan, Kellarne, Gargaran, Cormodyduffe, 
Curraghchinrin, Annageocry, Brocklagh, Aghmaihi, Drungvin, otherwise 
Dungen, Dungenbegg, Dungemore, Sheina, Dremcarplin, Shaghtany, 
Knocksegart, Keillagh, Tinlaghcoole, Tinlagheryagh, Lyssybrogan, 
Lyssgallagh, Langarriah, Sheanmullagh, Celgvane, Drombomore, 
Lissgarre, Toncantany, Knockadawe, Dromboobegg, Drumpgampurne, 
Listiarta, Omrefada, Corranyore, Corrotober, Clere, Biagbire, 
Lurgriagh, Tartine, Drumburne, Aghanamaghan, Lusmakeragh, Nucaine, 
Cornamuck, Crosse, Coyleagh, Cnocknatratin, Toanmore, Ragasky, 
Longamonihity, Atteantity, Knockfodda, Tonaghmore, Drumgrestin, Owley, 
Dronan, Vushinagh, Carricknascan, Lyssanhany, otherwise Lysseyshanan, 
Knockaduyne, Dromkurin, Lissmakearke, Dromgowhan, Raghege, 
Dromacharand, Moneyneriogh, Drinsurly, Dromillan, Agunylyly, 
Gnockantry, Ellyn, Keileranny, otherwise Kulrany, Koraneagh, and 
Duigary.

“Mercy on us,” says the Reader, “what are these!”—Have patience 
Reader, we have not done yet, there are still—Magheryhillagh, Drung, 
Clefern, Castleterra, Killana, Moybolgace, Kilfort, Templefort, 
Killaghadon, Laragh, Cloncaughy, Annaghgiliffe, Towninmore, Rathany, 
Drumgoone, Tyrelatrada, Lurganboy, Ballyclanphilip, Killinkery, 
Ballintampel, Kilbride, Crosserlough, Drumlawnaught, Killanaburgh, 
Kilsherdan, otherwise Killersherding, Dremakellen, Aughaurain, 
Drumgress and Shanaraghan.

“For mercy's sake,” exclaims the Reader, “enough—enough! what are 
they?” The latter, dear Reader, are all Poles and Termons. And the 
whole of them were set up for sale by public cant in Dublin, pursuant 
to a Decree of his Majesty's High Court of Chancery in Ireland, dated 
the 18th of May, 1816.




CHAPTER CXL.

HOW THERE AROSE A DISPUTE BETWEEN BARNABY AND NICHOLAS CONCERNING THE 
NAMING OF THIS COLT, AND OF THE EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES THAT 
ENSUED.

_Quoiqu'il en soit, je ne tairai point cette histoire; je l'abandonne 
à la credulité, ou à l'incredulité des Lecteurs, ils prendront à cet 
égard quel parti il leur plaira. Je dirai seulement, s'ils ne la 
veulent pas croire, que je les defie de me prouver qu'elle soit 
absolument impossible; ils ne le prouveront jamais._

GOMGAM.


While the Doctor was deliberating by what significant name to call the 
foal of which he had in so surprising a manner found himself 
possessed, a warm dispute upon the same subject had arisen between 
Barnaby and Nicholas: for though a woman does not consider herself 
complimented when she is called a horse-godmother, each was ambitious 
of being horse-godfather on this occasion, and giving his own name to 
the colt, which had already become a pet with both.

Upon discovering each other's wish they first quietly argued the 
point. Nicholas maintained that it was not possible any person, except 
his master, could have so good a right to name the colt as himself, 
who had actually been present when he was dropt. Barnaby admitted the 
force of the argument, but observed that there was a still stronger 
reason for naming him as he proposed, because he had been foaled on 
the eleventh of June, which is St. Barnabas's day.

Nicholas, quoth his antagonist, it ought to be, for I was there at the 
very nick of time. Barnaby, retorted the other, it ought to be; for in 
a barn it happened.

Old Nick was the father of him! said Nicholas.—The more reason, 
replied Barnaby, for giving him a Saint's name.

He shall be nicked to suit his name, said Nicholas;—and that's a good 
reason!—Its a wicked reason, cried Barnaby, he shall never be nicked. 
I love him as well as if he was a bairn of my own: and that's another 
reason why he should be called Barnaby. He shall neither be nicked or 
Nicholased.

Upon this Nicholas grew warm, and asserted that his name was as good 
as the others, and that he was ready to prove himself the better man. 
The other who had been made angry at the thought of nicking his pet, 
was easily put upon his mettle, and they agreed to settle the dispute 
by the _ultima ratio regum_. But this appeal to the immortal Gods was 
not definitive, for John Atkinson the Miller's son came up and parted 
them; and laughing at them for a couple of fools when he heard the 
cause of their quarrel, he proposed that they should determine it by 
running a race to the gate at the other end of the field.

Having made them shake hands, and promise to abide by the issue, he 
went before them to the goal, and got on the other side to give the 
signal and act as umpire.

One!—Two!—Three and away!—They were off like race-horses. They jostled 
mid-way. It was neck and neck. And each laid his hand at the same 
moment on the gate.

John Atkinson then bethought him that it would be a more sensible way 
of deciding the dispute, if they were to drink for it, and see who 
could swallow most ale at the Black Bull, where the current barrel was 
much to his taste. At the Black Bull, therefore they met in the 
evening. John chalked pint for pint; but for the sake of good 
fellowship he drank pint for pint also; the Landlord (honest Matthew 
Sykes) entered into the spirit of the contest, and when his wife 
refused to draw any more beer, went for it himself as long as he had a 
leg to stand on, or a hand to carry the jug, and longer than any one 
of the party could keep the score.

The next day they agreed to settle it by a sober game at 
Beggar-my-Neighbour. It was a singular game. The cards were dealt with 
such equality that after the first round had shewn the respective 
hands, the ablest calculator would have been doubtful on which side to 
have betted. Captures were made and remade,—the game had all and more 
than all its usual ups and downs, and it ended in tyeing the two last 
cards. Never in any contest had Jupiter held the scales with a more 
even hand.

The Devil is in the business to be sure, said Nicholas, let us toss up 
for it!—Done, said Barnaby; and Nicholas placing a half-penny on his 
thumb nail sent it whizzing into the air.

Tails! quoth Barnaby.—Tis heads, cried Nicholas, hurrah!

Barnaby stampt with his right foot for vexation—lifted his right arm 
to his head, drew in his breath with one of those sounds which 
grammarians would class among interjections, if they could express 
them by letters, and swore that if it had been an honest half-penny, 
it would never have served him so! He picked it up,—and it proved to 
be a _Brummejam_ of the coarsest and clumsiest kind, with a head on 
each side. They now agreed that the Devil certainly must be in it, and 
determined to lay the whole case before the Doctor.

The Doctor was delighted with their story. The circumstances which 
they related were curious enough to make the naming of this horse as 
remarkable as his birth. He was pleased also that his own difficulties 
and indecision upon this important subject should thus as it were be 
removed by Fate or Fortune; and taking the first thought which now 
occurred, and rubbing his forehead as he was wont to do, when any 
happy conception struck him, (Jupiter often did so when Minerva was in 
his brain), he said, we must compromise the matter, and make a 
compound name in which both shall have an equal share. Nicholas 
Ottley, and Barnaby Sutton; N. O.—B. S.—Nobs shall be his name.

Perhaps the Doctor remembered Smectymnuus at that time, and the 
notorious Cabal, and the fanciful etymology that because news comes 
from all parts, and the letters N. E. W. S. stand for North, East, 
West, and South—the word was thence compounded. Perhaps also, he 
called to mind that Rabbi Moses Ben Maimon, the famous Maimonides, was 
called Rambam from the initials of his titles and his names; and that 
the great Gustavus Adolphus when he travelled incognito assumed the 
name of M. Gars, being the four initials of his name and title. He 
certainly did not remember that in the Dialogue of Solomon and 
Saturnus the name of Adam is said to have been in like manner derived 
from the four Angels Archox, Dux, Arocholem, and Minsymbrie. He did 
not remember this—because he never knew it; this very curious 
Anglo-Saxon poem existing hitherto only in manuscript, and no other 
portions or account of it having been printed than those brief ones 
for which we are indebted to Mr. Conybeare, a man upon whose like we 
of his generation shall not look again.




CHAPTER CXLI.

A SINGULAR ANECDOTE AND NOT MORE SAD THAN TRUE.

  Oh penny Pipers, and most painful penners
  Of bountiful new Ballads, what a subject,
  What a sweet subject for your silver sounds!

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER.


The chance of the Birmingham halfpenny was a rare one. I will not so 
far wrong the gentle Reader as to suppose that he will doubt the 
accuracy of any thing which is recorded in this true history; and I 
seriously assure him that such a halfpenny I have myself seen in those 
days when the most barefaced counterfeits were in full circulation,—a 
halfpenny which had a head on either side, and consequently was like 
the fox in the fable, or a certain noble Marquis, and now more noble 
Duke when embassador at Petersburg,—not as being double-faced, but as 
having lost its tail.

A rare chance it was, and yet rarer ones have happened.—I remember one 
concerning a more serious appeal to fortune with the same instrument. 
An Organist not without some celebrity in his day, (Jeremiah Clark was 
his name), being hopelessly in love with a very beautiful lady, far 
above his station in life, determined upon suicide, and walked into 
the fields to accomplish his purpose. Coming to a retired spot where 
there was a convenient pond, surrounded with equally convenient trees, 
he hesitated which to prefer, whether to choose a dry death, or a 
watery one;—perhaps he had never heard of the old riddle concerning 
Ælia Lælia Crispis, which no Œdipus has yet solved. But that he might 
not continue like the Ass between two bundles of hay in the sophism, 
or Mahomet's coffin in the fable, he tossed a halfpenny in the air to 
decide whether he should hang or drown himself,—and the halfpenny 
stuck edgeways in the dirt.

The most determined infidel would at such a moment have felt that this 
was more than accident. Clark, as may well be supposed went home 
again; but the salutary impression did not remain upon his poor 
disordered mind, and he shot himself soon afterwards.




CHAPTER CXLII.

A DEFECT IN HOYLE SUPPLIED. GOOD ADVICE GIVEN, AND PLAIN TRUTH TOLD. A 
TRIBUTE OF RESPECT TO THE MEMORY OF F. NEWBERY, THE CHILDREN'S 
BOOKSELLER AND FRIEND.

Neither is it a thing impossible or greatly hard, even by such kind of 
proofs so to manifest and clear that point, that no man living shall 
be able to deny it, without denying some apparent principle such as 
all men acknowledge to be true.

HOOKER.


There are many things in these kingdoms which are greatly under 
valued: strong beer for example in the cider countries, and cider in 
the countries of good strong beer; bottled twopenny in South Britain; 
sprats and herrings by the rich, (—it may be questioned whether his 
Majesty ever tasted them, though food for the immortal Gods),—and fish 
of every kind by the labouring classes;—some things because they are 
common, and others because they are not.

But I cannot call to mind any thing which is estimated so much below 
its deserts as the game of Beggar-my-Neighbour. It is generally 
thought fit only for the youngest children, or for the very lowest and 
most ignorant persons into whose hands a pack of cards can descend; 
whereas there is no game whatever in which such perpetual 
opportunities of calculation are afforded to the scientific gamester; 
not indeed for playing his cards, but for betting upon them. Zerah 
Colburn, George Bidder and Professor Airy would find their faculties 
upon the stretch, were they to attempt to keep pace with its chances.

It is, however, necessary that the Reader should not mistake the 
spurious for the genuine game, for there are various ways of playing 
it, and as in all cases only one which is the orthodox way. You take 
up trick by trick. The trump as at other games, takes every other 
suit. If suit is not followed the leader wins the trick; but if it is, 
the highest card is the winner. These rules being observed (I give 
them because they will not be found in Hoyle) the game is regular and 
affords combinations worthy to have exercised the power of that 
calculating machine of flesh and blood, called Jedediah Buxton.

Try it Reader, if you have the slightest propensity for gambling.—But 
first pledge your sacred word of honour to the person whose good 
opinion you are most desirous of retaining, that you will never at any 
game, nor in any adventure, risk a sum which would involve you in any 
serious difficulties, or occasion you any reasonable regret if it 
should be lost. Make that resolution, and keep it;—and you and your 
family will have cause to bless the day in which you read the History 
of Dr. Dove.

Observe, it is your word of honour that I have requested, and not your 
oath. Either with you might and ought to be equally binding, as _in 
foro conscientiæ_, so every where else. But perhaps you are, or may 
hereafter be a Member of Parliament, (a propensity whether slight or 
not for gambling which has been presupposed, renders this the more 
likely;) and since what is called the Catholic Relief Bill was passed, 
the obligation of an oath has been done away by the custom of 
Parliament, honourable Members being allowed to swear with whatever 
degree of mental reservation they and their Father Confessors may find 
convenient.

A Frenchman some fifteen years ago published a Treatise upon the game 
of Thirty-One; and which is not always done by Authors, in French or 
English, thought it necessary to make himself well acquainted with the 
subject upon which he was writing. In order therefore to ascertain the 
chances, he made one million five hundred and sixty thousand throws 
which he computed as equivalent to four years' uninterrupted play. If 
this indefatigable Frenchman be living, I exhort him to study 
Beggar-my-Neighbour with equal diligence.

There are some games which have survived the Revolutions of Empires, 
like the Pyramids; but there are more which have been as short-lived 
as modern Constitutions. There may be some old persons who still 
remember how Ombre was played, and Tontine and Lottery; but is there 
any one who has ever heard of Quintill, Piquemdrill, Papillon, 
L'Ambigu, Ma Commère, La Mariée, La Mouche, Man d'Auvergne, L'Emprunt, 
Le Poque, Romestecq, Sizette, Guinguette, Le Sixte, La Belle, Gillet, 
Cul Bas, Brusquembrille, the Game of Hoc, the Reverse, the Beast, the 
Cuckoo and the Comet,—is there any one, I say, who has ever heard of 
these Games, unless he happens to know as I do, that rules for playing 
them were translated from the French of the Abbé Bellecour, and 
published for the benefit of the English people some seventy years ago 
by Mr. F. Newbery, a publisher never to be named without honour by 
those who have read in their childhood the delectable histories of 
Goody Two-Shoes, and Giles Gingerbread.




CHAPTER CXLIII.

A FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO DESCRIBE THE PHYSICAL AND MORAL QUALITIES OF NOBS.

_Quant à moi, je desirerois fort sçavoir bien dire, ou que j'eusse eu 
une bonne plume, et bien taillée à commandement, pour l'exalter et 
louër comme il le mérite. Toutesfois, telle quelle est, je m'en vais 
l'employer au hazard._

BRANTOME.


Such, O Reader were the circumstances concerning Nobs, before his 
birth, at his birth and upon his naming. Strange indeed would it have 
been, if anything which regarded so admirable a horse, had been after 
the manner of other horses.

  Fate never could a horse provide
  So fit for such a man to ride;
  Nor find a man with strictest care
  So fit for such a horse to bear.[1]

[Footnote 1: CHURCHILL.]

To describe him as he was would require all the knowledge, and all the 
eloquence of the immortal Taplin. Were I to attempt it in verse, with 
what peculiar propriety might I adopt the invocation of the Polish 
Poet.

         _Ducite Gratiæ
    E valle Permessi vagantem
    Pegason; alipedemque sacris
  Frenate sertis.—Ut micat auribus!
  Vocemque longé vatis amabili
    Agnoscit hinnitu! Ut Dearum
    Frena ferox, hilarique bullam
  Collo poposcit._[2]

[Footnote 2: CASIMIR.]

Might I not have applied the latter part of these verses as aptly, as 
they might truly have been applied to Nobs, when Barnaby was about to 
saddle him on a fine spring morning at the Doctor's bidding? But what 
have I to do with the Graces, or the Muses and their winged steed? My 
business is with plain truth and sober prose.

   ———_Io non so dov'io debba comminciare,
  Dal capo, da gli orecchi, o dalla coda.
  Egli è per tutto tanto singulare,
    Ch'io per me vò lodarlo, intero, intero;
  Poi pigli ognun qual membro più gli pare._[3]

[Footnote 3: BUSINI.]

Stubbs would have found it difficult to paint him, Reginald Heber 
himself to describe him as he was. I must begin by saying what he was 
not.

  And grant me now,
  Good reader, thou!
  Of terms to use
  Such choice to chuse,
  As may delight
  The country wight,
    And knowledge bring:
  For such do praise
  The country phrase,
  The country acts,
  The country facts,
  The country toys,
  Before the joys
    Of any thing.[4]

[Footnote 4: TUSSER.]

He was not jogged under the jaw, nor shoulder-splat, neck-cricked, 
pricked in the sole or loose in the hoof, horse-hipped, hide-bound, 
broken-winded, straight or heavy shouldered, lame in whirl-bone, 
run-away, restiff, vicious, neck-reversed or cock-thrappled, 
ewe-necked, or deer-necked, high on the leg, broken-knee'd, splent, 
oslett, false-quartered, ring-boned, sand-cracked, groggy, 
hollow-backed, bream-backed, long-backed or broken-backed, 
light-carcased, ragged hipped, droop-Dutchman'd, Dutch buttock'd, hip 
shot-stifled, hough-boney or sickle-hammed. He had neither his head 
ill set on, nor dull and hanging ears, nor wolves teeth, nor bladders 
in the mouth, nor gigs, nor capped-hocks, nor round legs, nor grease, 
nor the chine-gall, the navel-gall, the spur-gall, the light-gall, or 
the shackle-gall; nor the worms, nor the scratches, nor the colt-evil, 
nor the pole-evil, nor the quitter bones, nor the curbs, nor the 
Anticoré, nor the pompardy, nor the rotten-frush, nor the crown-scab, 
nor the cloyd, nor the web, nor the pin, nor the pearl, nor the howks, 
nor the haws, nor the vines, nor the paps, nor the pose: nor the 
bladders, nor the surbate, nor the bloody riffs, nor sinews down, nor 
mallenders, nor fallenders, nor sand cracks, nor hurts in the joints, 
nor toes turned out, nor toes turned in, nor soft feet, nor hard feet, 
nor thrushes, nor corns. Nor did he beat upon the hand, nor did he 
carry low, nor did he carry in the wind. Neither was he a crib-biter, 
nor a high-goer, nor a daisy cutter, nor a cut-behind, nor a hammer 
and pinchers, nor a wrong-end-first, nor a short stepper, nor a 
roarer, nor an interferer. For although it hath been said that “a man 
cannot light of any horse young or old, but he is furnished with one, 
two, or more of these excellent gifts,” Nobs had none of them: he was 
an immaculate horse;—such as Adam's would have been, if Adam had kept 
what could not then have been called a saddle-horse, in Eden.

He was not, like the horse upon which Petruchio came to his wedding, 
“possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine; troubled 
with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wind-galls, sped 
with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark 
spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back 
and shoulder-shotten.”[5] But he was in every respect the reverse.

[Footnote 5: TAMING OF THE SHREW.]

A horse he was worthy to be praised like that of the Sieur Vuyart

  _Un courtaut brave, un courtaut glorieux,
   Qui ait en l'air ruade furieuse
   Glorieux trot, la bride glorieuse._[6]

[Footnote 6: CLEMENT MAROT.]

A horse who like that famous charger might have said in his Epitaph

  _J'allay curieux
   En chocs furieux,
     Sans craindre estrapade;
   Mal rabotez lieux
   Passez a cloz yeux,
     Sans faire chopade.
   La viste virade,
   Pompante pennade,
     Le saut soubzlevant,
   La roide ruade,
   Prompte petarrade
     Je mis en avant.
   Escumeur bavant
   Au manger sçavant,
     Au penser très-doux;
   Relevé devant,
   Jusqu' au bout servant
     J'ay esté sur tous._

Like that Arabian which Almanzar sent to Antea's father, the Soldan,

  _Egli avea tutte le fattezze pronte
   Di buon caval, come udirete appresso._[7]

Like those horses, described by Mr. Milman in his version of the 
episode of Nala from the Mahábhárata, he was

                fit and powerful for the road;
  Blending mighty strength with fleetness,—high in courage and in
    blood:
  Free from all the well-known vices,—broad of nostril, large of jaw,
  With the ten good marks distinguished,—born in Sindhu, fleet as
    wind.

[Footnote 7: PULCI.]

Like these horses he was,—except that he was born in Yorkshire;—and 
being of Tartarian blood it may be that he was one of the same race 
with them.

He was not like the horses of Achilles;

  _Ἐξ ἀφθίτων γὰρ ἄφθιτοι πεφυκότες
   Τὸν Πηλέως φέρουσι θούριον γόνον.
   Δίδωσι δ᾽ αὐτους πωλοδαμνήσας ἄναξ
   Πηλεῖ Ποσειδῶν, ὡς λεγουσι, πόντιος._[8]

Like them therefore Nobs could not be, because he was a mortal horse; 
and moreover because he was not amphibious, as they must have been. If 
there be any of their breed remaining, it must be the immortal River, 
or more properly Water-Horse of Loch Lochy, who has sometimes, say the 
Highlanders, been seen feeding on the banks: sometimes entices mares 
from the pasture, sometimes overturns boats in his anger and agitates 
the whole lake with his motion.

[Footnote 8: EURIPIDES.]

He was of a good tall stature; his head lean and comely; his forehead 
out-swelling; his eyes clear, large, prominent and sparkling, with no 
part of the white visible; his ears short, small, thin, narrow and 
pricking; his eye-lids thin; his eye-pits well-filled; his under-jaw 
thick but not fleshy; his nose arched; his nostrils deep, open and 
extended; his mouth well split and delicate; his lips thin; his neck 
deep, long, rising straight from the withers, then curving like a 
swan's; his withers sharp and elevated; his breast broad; his ribs 
bending; his chine broad and straight; his flank short and full; his 
crupper round and plump; his haunches muscular; his thighs large and 
swelling; his hocks round before, tendonous behind, and broad on the 
sides, the shank thin before, and on the sides broad; his tendons 
strong, prominent and well detached; his pasterns short; his fet-locks 
well-tufted, the coronet somewhat raised; his hoofs black, solid and 
shining; his instep high, his quarters round; the heel broad; the frog 
thin and small; the sole thin and concave.

Here I have to remark that the tufted fetlocks Nobs derived from his 
dam Miss Jenny. They belong not to the thorough-bred race;—witness the 
hunting song,

         ‘Your high bred nags,
          Your hairy legs,
  We'll see which first come in, Sir.’

He had two properties of a man, to wit, a proud heart, and a hardy 
stomach.

He had the three parts of a woman, the three parts of a lion, the 
three parts of a bullock, the three parts of a sheep, the three parts 
of a mule, the three parts of a deer, the three parts of a wolf, the 
three parts of a fox, the three parts of a serpent, and the three 
parts of a cat, which are required in a perfect horse.

For colour he was neither black-bay, brown-bay, dapple-bay, 
black-grey, iron-grey, sad-grey, branded-grey, sandy-grey, 
dapple-grey, silver-grey, dun, mouse-dun, flea-backed, flea-bitten, 
rount, blossom, roan, pye-bald, rubican, sorrel, cow-coloured sorrel, 
bright sorrel, burnt sorrel, starling-colour, tyger-colour, 
wolf-colour, deer-colour, cream-colour, white, grey or black. Neither 
was he green, like the horse which the Emperor Severus took from the 
Parthians, and reserved for his share of the spoil, with a Unicorn's 
horn and a white Parrot; _et qu'il estima plus pour la rareté et 
couleur naïve et belle que pour la valeur, comme certes il avoit 
raison: car, nul butin, tant precieux fut-il, ne l'eust pu esgaler, et 
sur tout ce cheval, verd de nature_—Such a horse Rommel saw in the 
Duke of Parma's stables; because of its green colour it was called 
Speranza, and the Duke prized it above all his other horses for the 
extreme rarity of the colour, as being a jewel among horses,—yea a 
very emerald.

Nor was he peach-coloured roan, like that horse which Maximilian de 
Bethune, afterwards the famous Duc de Sully, bought at a horse-market 
for forty crowns, and which was so poor a beast in appearance _qu'il 
ne sembloit propre qu'a porter la malle_, and yet turned out to be so 
excellent a horse that Maximilian sold him to the Vidasme of Chartres 
for six hundred crowns. Sully was an expert horse-dealer. He bought of 
Monsieur de la Roche-Guyon one of the finest Spanish horses that ever 
was seen and gave six hundred crowns for him. Monsieur de Nemours not 
being able to pay the money, _une tapisserie des forces de Hercule_ 
was received either in pledge or payment, which tapestry adorned the 
great hall at Sully, when the veteran soldier and statesman had the 
satisfaction of listening to the _Memoires de ce que Nous quatre_, say 
the writers, _qui avons esté employez en diverses affaires de France 
sous Monseigneur le Duc de Sully, avons peu sçavoir de sa vie, mœurs, 
dicts, faicts, gestes et fortunes; et de ce que luy-mesme nous peut 
avoir appris de ceux de nostre valeureux Alcide le Roy Henry le Grand, 
depuis le mois de May 1572 (qu'il fut mis à son service,) jusques au 
mois de May 1610, qu'il laissa la terre pour aller au Ciel._

No! his colour was chesnut; and it is a saying founded on experience 
that a chesnut horse is always a good one, and will do more work than 
any horse of the same size of any other colour. The horse which 
Wellington rode at the Battle of Waterloo for fifteen hours without 
dismounting, was a small chesnut horse.

This was the ‘thorough-bred red chestnut-charger’ mentioned by Sir 
George Head when he relates an anecdote of the Duke of Wellington and 
Sir Thomas Picton, who, contrary to the Duke's intentions, seemed at 
that moment likely to bring on an engagement, not long after the 
battle of Orthez. Having learnt where Sir Thomas was, the Duke set 
spurs to his horse; the horse “tossed up its head with a snort and 
impetuously sprang forward at full speed, and in a few minutes, 
_ventre à terre_, transported its gallant rider, his white cloak 
streaming in the breeze, to the identical copse distant about half a 
mile from whence the firing of the skirmishers proceeded. As horse and 
rider furiously careered towards the spot, I fancied,” says Sir 
George, “I perceived by the motion of the animal's tail, a type, 
through the medium of the spur, of the quickened energies of the noble 
Commander, on the moment when for the first time he caught view of 
Picton.”

This famous horse, named Copenhagen because he was foaled about the 
time of the expedition against that City, died on the 12th of 
February, 1836, at Strathfieldsaye of old age; there, where he had 
passed the last ten years of his life in perfect freedom, he was 
buried, and by the Duke's orders a salute was fired over his grave. 
The Duchess used to wear a bracelet made of his hair. Would that I had 
some of thine in a broche, O Nobs!

Copenhagen has been wrongly described in a newspaper as slightly made. 
A jockey hearing this said of a horse, would say, “_aye a thready 
thing_;” but Copenhagen was a large horse in a small compass, as 
compact a thorough bred horse as ever run a race,—which he had done 
before he was bought and sold to the Duke in Spain. “He was as sweet 
gentle a creature,” says a right good old friend of mine, “as I ever 
patted, and he came of a gentle race, by the mother's side; she was 
Meteora, daughter of Meteor, and the best trait in her master's 
character, Westminster's Marquis, was that his eyes dropped tears when 
they told him she had won a race, but being over weighted had been 
much flogged.”

He was worthy, like the horses of the Greek Patriarch Theophylact, to 
have been fed with pistachios, dates, dried grapes, and figs steeped 
in the finest wines,—that is to say if he would have preferred this 
diet to good oats, clean hay, and sometimes in case of extraordinary 
exertion an allowance of bread soaked in ale.

Wine the Doctor did not find it necessary to give him, even in his old 
age; although he was aware of the benefit which the horse of Messire 
Philippe De Comines derived from it after the battle of Montl'hery: 
“_J'avoye_,” says that sagacious soldier, “_un cheval extremement las 
et vieil; Il beut un seau plein de vin; par aucun cas d'aventure il y 
mit le museau; Je le laissay achever; Jamais ne l'avoye trouvé si bon 
ne si frais._”

He was not such a horse as that famous one of Julius Cæsar's, which 
had feet almost like human feet, the hoofs being cleft after the 
manner of toes. Leo X. had one which in like manner had what Sir 
Charles Bell calls digital extremities; and Geoffrey St. Hilaire, he 
tells us, had seen one with three toes on the fore-foot and four on 
the hind-foot; and such a horse was not long since exhibited in London 
and at Newmarket.—No! Nobs was not such a horse as this;—if he had 
been so mis-shapen he would have been a monster. The mare which the 
Tetrarch of Numidia sent to Grandgousier and upon which Gargantua rode 
to Paris, had feet of this description; but that mare was _la plus 
enorme et la plus grande que fut oncques veüe, et la plus monstreuse_.

He was a perfect horse;—worthy to belong to the perfect Doctor,—worthy 
of being immortalized in this perfect history. And it is not possible 
to praise him too much,

                     _οὓνεκ᾽ ἀριστος
  Ἳππῶν, ὅσσοι ἔασιν ὑπ᾽ ἠώ τ᾽ ἡέλιον τε:_[9]

not possible I repeat, _porque_, as D. Juan Perez de Montalvan says, 
_parece que la naturaleza le avia hecho, no con la prisa que suele, 
sino con tanto espacio y perfection, que, como quando un pintor acaba 
con felicidad un lienzo, suele poner a su lado su nombre, assi pudo la 
Naturaleza escrivir el suyo, como por termino de su ciencia:_ which 
is, being translated, “Nature seemed to have made him, not with her 
wonted haste, but with such deliberation and perfection, that as a 
painter when he finishes a picture successfully, uses to mark it with 
his name, so might Nature upon this work have written hers, as being 
the utmost of her skill!” As Shakespeare would have expressed it—

            Nature might stand up
  And say to all the world, this was a Horse.

[Footnote 9: HOMER.]

In the words of an old romance, to describe him _ainsi qu'il apartient 
seroit difficile jusques à l'impossibilité_, beyond which no 
difficulty can go.

He was as excellent a horse, the Doctor used to say, as that which was 
first chosen to be backed by Cain, and which the divine Du Bartas, as 
rendered by the not less divine Sylvester, thus describes,

  With round, high, hollow, smooth, brown, jetty hoof;
  With pasterns short, upright, but yet in mean;
  Dry sinewy shanks; strong fleshless knees and lean;
  With hart-like legs; broad breast, and large behind,
  With body large, smooth flanks, and double chined;
  A crested neck, bowed like a half bent bow,
  Whereon a long, thin, curled mane doth flow;
  A firm full tail, touching the lowly ground,
  With dock between two fair fat buttocks drown'd;
  A pricked ear, that rests as little space
  As his light foot; a lean, bare, bony face,
  Thin joule, and head but of a middle size;
  Full, lively-flaming, quickly-rolling eyes;
  Great foaming mouth, hot fuming nostril wide;
  Of chesnut hair, his forehead starrified;
  Three milky feet, a feather in his breast,
  Whom seven-years-old at the next grass he guest.

In many respects he was like that horse which the elder of the three 
Fracassins won in battle in the Taprobanique Islands, in the wars 
between the two dreadful Giant Kings Gargamitre and Tartabas. _Ce 
furieux destrier estoit d'une taille fort belle, à jambe de cerf, la 
poictrine ouverte, la croupe large, grand corps, flancs unis, double 
eschine, le col vouté comme un arc mi-tendu, sur lequel flottoit un 
long poil crespu; la queue longue, ferme et espesse; l'oreille 
poinctue et sans repos, aussi bien que le pied, d'une corne lissee, 
retirant sur le noir, haute, ronde, et creuse, le front sec, et 
n'ayant rien que l'os; les yeux gros prompts et relevez; la bouche 
grande, escumeuse; le nareau ronflant et ouvert; poil chastain, de 
l'age de sept ans. Bref qui eut voulu voir le modelle d'un beau, bon 
et genereux cheval en estoit un._

Like this he was, except that he was never _Nobs furieux_, being as 
gentle and as docile at seven years old, as at seventeen when it was 
my good fortune to know and my privilege sometimes to ride him.

He was not such a horse as that for which Muley, the General of the 
King of Fez, and the _Principe Constante_ D. Fernando fought, when 
they found him without an owner upon a field covered with slain; a 
horse

  _tan monstruo, que siendo hijo
   del Viento, adopcion pretende
   del Fuego; y entre los dos
   lo desdize y lo desmiente
   el color, pues siendo blanco
   dize el Agua, parto es este
   de mi esfera, sola yo
   pude quaxarle de nieve._

Both leaped upon him at once, and fought upon his back, and Calderon's 
Don Fernando thus describes the battle,—

  _En la silla y en las ancas
   puestos los dos juntamente,
   mares de sangre rompimos;
   por cuyas ondas crueles
   este baxel animado,
   hecho proa de la frente,
   rompiendo el globo de nacar.
   desde el codon al copete,
   parecio entre espuma y sangre,
   ya que baxel quise hazerle,
   de quatro espuelas herido,
   que quatro vientos le mueven._

He did not either in his marks or trappings, resemble Rabicano, as 
Chiabrera describes him, when Rinaldo having lost Bayardo, won this 
famous horse from the Giant to whose keeping Galafron had committed 
him after Argalia's death.

  _Era sì negro l'animal guerriero,
   Qual pece d' Ida; e solamente en fronte
   E sulla coda biancheggiava il pelo,
   E del piè manco, e deretano l'unghia;
   Ma con fren d'oro, e con dorati arcioni.
   Sdegna tremando ogni reposo, e vibra
   Le tese orecchie, e per levarsi avvampa,
   E col ferrato piè non è mai stanco
   Battere il prato, e tutte l'aure sfida
   Al sonar de magnanimi nitriti._

Galafron had employed

  _Tutto l'Inferno a far veloce in corso
   Qual negro corridor._

Notwithstanding which Rabicano appears to have been a good horse, and 
to have had no vice in him; and yet his equine virtues were not equal 
to those of Nobs, nor would he have suited the Doctor so well.

Lastly, he was not such a Horse as that goodly one “of Cneiüs Seiüs 
which had all the perfections that could be named for stature, 
feature, colour, strength, limbs, comeliness, belonging to a horse; 
but withal, this misery ever went along with him, that whosoever 
became owner of him was sure to die an unhappy death.” Nor did the 
possession of that fatal horse draw on the destruction of his owner 
alone, but the ruin of his whole family and fortune. So it proved in 
the case of his four successive Masters, Cneiüs Seiüs, Cornelius 
Dolabella, Caius Cassius and Mark Antony, whom if I were to call by 
his proper name Marcus Antonius, half my readers would not recognize. 
This horse was foaled in the territory of Argos, and his pedigree was 
derived from the anthropophagous stud of the tyrant Diomedes. He was 
of surpassing size, _haud credibili pulchritudine vigore et colore 
exuberantissimo_,—being purple with a tawney mane. No! Nobs was not 
such a horse as this.

Though neither in colour nor in marks, yet in many other respects the 
description may be applied to him which Merlinus Cocaius has given in 
his first Macaronea of the horse on which Guido appeared at that 
tournament where he won the heart of the Princess Baldovina.

  _Huic mantellus erat nigrior carbone galantus,
   Parvaque testa, breves agilesque movebat orecchias;
   Frontis et in medio faciebat stella decorem.
   Frena biassabat, naresque tenebat apertas.
   Pectore mostazzo tangit, se reddit in unum
   Groppettum, solusque viam galopando misurat,
   Goffiat, et curtos agitant sua colla capillos.
   Balzanus tribus est pedibus, cum pectore largo,
   Ac inter gambas tenet arcto corpore caudam;
   Spaventat, volgitque oculos hinc inde fogatos;
   Semper et ad solam currit remanetque sbriatam,
   Innaspatque pedes naso boffante priores._

That he should have been a good horse is not surprizing, seeing that 
though of foreign extraction on the one side, he was of English birth, 
whereby, and by his dam, he partook the character of English horses. 
Now as it has been discreetly said, “Our English horses have a 
mediocrity of all necessary good properties in them, as neither so 
slight as the Barbe; nor so slovenly as the Flemish; nor so fiery as 
the Hungarian; nor so aery as the Spanish Gennets, (especially if, as 
reported, they be conceived of the wind;) nor so earthly as those in 
the Low Countries, and generally all the German Horse. For stature and 
strength they are of a middle size, and are both seemly and 
serviceable in a good proportion. And whilst the seller praiseth them 
too much, the buyer too little, the indifferent stander-by will give 
them this due commendation.”[10]

[Footnote 10: FULLER.]

A reasonably good horse therefore he might have been expected to prove 
as being English, and better than ordinary English horses as being 
Yorkshire. For saith the same judicious author, “Yorkshire doth breed 
the best race of English horses, whose keeping commonly in steep and 
stony ground bringeth them to firmness of footing and hardness of 
hoof; whereas a stud of horses bred in foggy, fenny ground, and soft, 
rotten morasses,—(delicacy marrs both man and beast,) have often a fen 
in their feet, being soft, and soon subject to be foundered. Well may 
Philip be so common a name amongst the gentry of this country, who are 
generally so delighted in horsemanship.”

Very good therefore there might have been fair ground for hoping that 
Nobs would prove; but that he should have proved so good, so 
absolutely perfect in his kind and for his uses, was beyond all 
hope—all expectation.

“I have done with this subject, the same author continues, when I have 
mentioned the monition of David, ‘an Horse is but a vain thing to save 
a man,’ though it is no vain thing to slay a man, by many casualties: 
such need we have, whether waking or sleeping, whether walking or 
riding, to put ourselves by prayer into Divine Protection.”

Such a reflection is in character with the benevolent and pious 
writer; and conveys indeed a solemn truth which ought always to be 
borne in mind. Its force will not be weakened though I should remark 
that the hero of a horse which I have endeavoured to describe may in a 
certain sense be said to afford an exception to David's saying: for 
there were many cases in which according to all appearance the patient 
could not have been saved unless the Doctor had by means of his horse 
Nobs arrived in time.

His moral qualities indeed were in as great perfection as his physical 
ones; but—_il faut faire desormais une fin au discours de ce grand 
cheval; car, tant plus que j'entrerois dans le labyrinthe de ses 
vertus, tant plus je m'y perdrois._ With how much more fitness may I 
say this of Nobs, than Brantome said it of Francis I.!

When in the fifteenth century the noble Valencian Knight, Mossen 
Manuel Diez accompanied Alonso to the conquest of the kingdom of 
Naples, he there had occasion to remark of how great importance it was 
that the knights should be provided with good horses in time of war, 
that they might thereby be the better able to increase the honour and 
extend the dominions of their king; and that in time of their old age 
and the season of repose they should have for their recreation good 
mules. He resolved therefore to compose a book upon the nature and 
qualities of these animals, and the way of breeding them, and 
preserving them sound, and in good condition and strong. And although 
he was well versed in these things himself, nevertheless he obtained 
the king's orders for calling together all the best _Albeytares_ that 
is to say in old speech, farriers, horse-doctors, or horse-leeches, 
and in modern language Veterinary surgeons; all which could assemble 
were convened, and after due consultation with them, he composed that 
_Libre de Menescalià_, the original of which in the Valencian dialect 
was among the MSS. that Pope Alexander VII. collected, and which began 
_In nome sia de la Sancta Trinitat, que es Pare, è Fill, e Sant 
Spirit, tot hum Deu;_ and which he as _Majordom_ of the _molt alt e 
poderos Princep, e victorios Signior Don Alfonso, Re de Ragona,_ &c. 
set forth to show to _als jovents Cavellers, gran part de la practica 
è de la conexenza del Cavalls, e de lurs malaties, è gran part de les 
cures di aquells_. If Nobs had lived in those days, worthy would he 
have been to have been in all particulars described in that work, to 
have had an equestrian order instituted in his honour, and have been 
made a _Rico Cavallo_, the first who obtained that rank.




CHAPTER CXLIV.

HISTORY AND ROMANCE RANSACKED FOR RESEMBLANCES AND NON-RESEMBLANCES TO 
THE HORSE OF DR. DANIEL DOVE.

  Renowned beast! (forgive poetic flight!)
  Not less than man, deserves poetic right.

THE BRUCIAD.


When I read of heroic horses in heroic books, I cannot choose but 
remember Nobs, and compare him with them, not in particular qualities, 
but in the sum total of their good points, each in his way. They may 
resemble each other as little as Rabelais and Rousseau, Shakespeare 
and Sir Isaac Newton, Paganini and the Duke of Wellington, yet be 
alike in this that each had no superior in his own line of excellence.

Thus when I read of the courser which Prince Meridiano presented to 
Alphebus, the Knight of the Sun, after the Prince had been defeated by 
him in the presence of his Sister Lindabridis, I think of Nobs, though 
Cornelin was marvellously unlike the Doctor's perfect roadster. For 
Cornelin was so named because he had a horn growing from the middle of 
his forehead; and he had four joints at the lower part of his legs, 
which extraordinary formation, (I leave anatomists to explain how,) 
made him swifter than all other horses, insomuch that his speed was 
likened to the wind. It was thought that his Sire was an Unicorn, 
though his dam was certainly a mare: and there was this reason for 
supposing such to be the case, that Meridiano was son to the Emperor 
of Great Tartary, in which country the hybrid race between Unicorn and 
Mare was not uncommon in those days.

When the good Knight of the Sun engaged in single combat with the 
Giant Bradaman, this noble horse stood him in good stead: for Bradaman 
rode an elephant, and as they ran at each other, Cornelin thrust his 
natural spike into the elephant's poitrel, and killed him on the spot.

Cornelin did special service on another occasion, when some Knights 
belonging to a Giant King of the Sards, who had established one of 
those atrocious customs which it was the duty of all Errant Knights to 
suppress, met with the Good Knight of the Sun; and one of them said he 
would allow him to turn back and go his way in peace, provided he gave 
him his arms and his horse, “if the horse be thine own,” said he, 
“inasmuch as he liketh me hugely.” The Good Knight made answer with a 
smile “my arms I shall not give, because I am not used to travel 
without them; and as for my horse, none but myself can mount him.” The 
discourteous Knight made answer with an oath that he would see whether 
he could defend the horse; and with that he attempted to seize the 
bridle. No sooner had he approached within Cornelin's reach, than that 
noble steed opened his mouth, caught him by the shoulder, lifted him 
up, dropt him, and then trampled on him _si rudement que son ame 
s'envola à celuy à qui elle estoit pour ses malefices_. Upon this 
another of these insolent companions drew his sword, and was about to 
strike at Cornelin's legs, but Cornelin reared, and with both his 
fore-feet struck him on the helmet with such force, that no armourer 
could repair the outer head-piece, and no surgeon the inner one.

It was once disputed in France whether a horse could properly be said 
to have a mouth; a wager concerning it was laid, and referred to no 
less a person than a Judge, because, says a Frenchman, “our French 
Judges are held in such esteem that they are appealed to upon the most 
trifling occasions.” The one party maintained _qu'il falloit dire la 
gueule à toutes bestes, et qu'il n'y avoit que l'homme qui eust 
bouche_; but the Judge decided, _qu'à cause de l'excellence du cheval, 
il falloit dire la bouche_. The Giant King's Knights must have been of 
the Judge's opinion when they saw Cornelin make but a mouthful of 
their companion.

When our English Judges are holden in such esteem as to be referred to 
on such occasions, they do not always entertain the appeal. Mr. 
Brougham when at the Bar—that Mr. Brougham (if posterity enquiries 
whom I mean) who was afterwards made Lord Chancellor and of whom Sir 
Edward Sugden justly observed, that if he had but a smattering of law 
he would know something of everything—Mr. Brougham, I say, opened 
before Lord Chief Justice Tenterden an action for the amount of a 
wager laid upon the event of a dog-fight, which through some 
unwillingness of dogs or men had not been brought to an issue: “We, My 
Lord,” said the advocate, “were minded that the dogs should 
fight.”—“Then I,” replied the Judge “are minded to hear no more of 
it;” and he called another cause.

No wager would ever have been left undecided through any unwillingness 
to fight on the part of Cornelin or of his Master the Knight of the 
Sun.

When that good Knight of the Sun seeking death in his despair landed 
upon the Desolate Island, there to encounter a monster called Faunus 
el Endemoniado, that is to say the Bedevilled Faun, he resolved in 
recompence for all the service that Cornelin had done him to let him 
go free for life: so taking off his bridle and saddle and all his 
equipments, he took leave of him in these sorrowful words. “O my good 
Horse, full grievously do I regret to leave thee! Would it were but in 
a place where thou mightest be looked to and tended according to thy 
deserts! For if Alexander of Macedon did such honour to his dead horse 
that he caused a sepulchre to be erected for him and a city to be 
called after his name, with much more reason might I show honour to 
thee while thou art living, who art so much better than he. Augustus 
had his dead horse buried that he might not be devoured by carrion 
birds. Didius Julianus consecrated a marble statue of his in the 
Temple of Venus. Lucius Verus had the likeness of his while living 
cast in gold. But I who have done nothing for thee, though thou 
surpassest them all in goodness, what can I do now but give thee 
liberty that thou mayest enjoy it like other creatures? Go then, my 
good Horse, the last companion from whom I part in this world!” Saying 
this, he made as if he would have struck him to send him off. But here 
was a great marvel in this good horse: for albeit he was now free and 
with nothing to encumber him, he not only would not go away, but 
instead thereof approached his master, his whole body trembling, and 
the more the Knight threatened the more he trembled and the nearer he 
drew. The Knight of the Sun knew not what he should do, for on the one 
hand he understood in what danger this good horse would be if he 
should be perceived by the Faun; and on the other threaten him as he 
would he could not drive him away. At length he concluded to leave him 
at liberty, thinking that peradventure he would take flight as soon as 
he should see the Faun. He was not mistaken; Cornelin would have stood 
by his Master in the dreadful combat in which he was about to engage, 
and would peradventure have lost his life in endeavouring to aid him; 
but the Bedevilled Faun had been so named because he had a hive of 
Devils in his inside; fire came from his mouth and nostrils as he 
rushed against the Knight, and swarms of armed Devils were breathed 
out with the flames; no wonder therefore that even Cornelin took 
fright and galloped away.

But when Alphebus had slain the Bedevilled Faun, and lived alone upon 
the Desolate Island, like a hermit, waiting and wishing for death, 
eating wild fruits and drinking of a spring which welled near some 
trees, under which he had made for himself a sort of bower, Cornelin 
used often to visit him in his solitude. It was some consolation to 
the unhappy Knight to see the good horse that he loved so well: but 
then again it redoubled his grief as he called to mind the exploits he 
had performed when mounted upon that famous courser. The displeasure 
of his beautiful and not less valiant than beautiful mistress the 
Princess Claridiana had caused his wretchedness, and driven him to 
this state of despair; and when Claridiana being not less wretched 
herself, came to the Desolate Island in quest of him, the first thing 
that she found was the huge and broken limb of a tree with which he 
had killed the Faun, and the next was Cornelin's saddle and bridle and 
trappings, which she knew by the gold and silk embroidery, tarnished 
as it was, and by the precious stones. Presently she saw the good 
horse Cornelin himself, who had now become well nigh wild, and came 
toward her bounding and neighing, and rejoicing at the sight of her 
horse, for it was long since he had seen a creature of his own kind. 
But he started off when she would have laid hold of him, for he could 
not brook that any but his own master should come near him now. 
Howbeit she followed his track, and was thus guided to the spot where 
her own good Knight was wasting his miserable life.

Nobs was as precious a horse to the Doctor as Vegliantino was to 
Rinaldo,—that noble courser whom the Harpies killed, and whom Rinaldo, 
after killing the whole host of Harpies, buried sorrowfully, kneeling 
down and kissing his grave. He intended to go in mourning and afoot 
for his sake all the rest of his life, and wrote for him this epitaph 
upon a stone, in harpy's blood and with the point of his sword.

  _Quì giace Vegliantin, caval de Spagna,
   Orrido in guerra, e tutto grazie in pace;
   Servi Rinaldo in Francia ed in Lamagna,
   Ed ebbe ingegno e spirto si vivace
   Che averebbe coi piè fatto una ragna;
   Accorto, destro, nobile ed audace,
   Morì qual forte, e con fronte superba;
   O tu, che passi, gettagli un pò d'erba._[1]

He was as sagacious a horse and as gentle as Frontalatte, who in the 
heroic age of horses was

  _Sopra ogni altro caval savio ed umano._[2]

[Footnote 1: RICCIARDETTO.]

[Footnote 2: ORLANDO INAMORATO.]

When the good Magician Atlante against his will sent his pupil 
Ruggiero forth, and provided him with arms and horse, he gave him this 
courser which Sacripante had lost, saying to him

         _certamente so che potrai dire
   Che'l principe Rinaldo e'l conte Orlando
   Non ha miglior caval._[3]

  _Avendo altro signore, ebbe altro nome;_

His new master called him Frontino

  _Il mondo non avea più bel destriero,_

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Or sopra avendo il giovane Ruggiero,
   Piu vaga cosa nun si vide mai.
   Chi guardasse il cavallo e'l cavaliero
   Starebbe a dar giudicio in dubbio assai,
   Se fusser vivi, o fatti col pennello,
   Tanto era l'un e l'altro egregio e bello._[3]

[Footnote 3: ORLANDO INAMORATO.]

Nobs was not like that horse now living at Brussels, who is fond of 
raw flesh, and getting one day out of his stable found his way to a 
butcher's shop and devoured two breasts of mutton, mutton it seems 
being his favourite meat. If his pedigree could be traced we might 
expect to find that he was descended from the anthropophagous stud of 
that abominable Thracian King whom Hercules so properly threw to his 
own horses for food.

Nor was he like that other horse of the same execrable extraction, 
whom in an evil day Rinaldo, having won him in battle, sent as a 
present by the damsel Hipalca to Ruggiero,—that Clarion

  _A quien el cielo con rigor maldixo,
   Y una beldad le diò tan codiciada;_

that fatal horse who as soon as Ruggiero mounted him, carried his 
heroic master into the ambush prepared for him in which he was 
treacherously slain. The tragedy not ending there, for one of the 
traitors took this horse for his reward and his proper reward he had 
with him

  _Púsole el traidor pernas, corrió el fuerte
   Desenfrenado potro hasta arrojallo,
   En medio de la plaza de Marsella,
   A ojos de Bradamante, y su doncella._

  _Alli en presencia suyo hecho pedazos
   Al Magancés dexó el caballo fiero:
   Viendole Hipalca muerto entre los brazos,
   Y no en su silla qual penso a Rugero,
   Notorios vió los cavilosos lazos
   Del fementido bando de Pontiero.
   Alteróse la bella Bradamante
   Y el sobresalto le abortó un infante._

  _Y al quinto dia con la nueva cierta
   De la muerte infeliz del paladino,
   La antes dudosa amante quedó muerta,
   Y cumplido el temor del adivino.
   Y por tantas desgracias descubierta
   La traicion de Maganza, un rio sanguino
   Labró Morgana, y de la gente impia
   Cien falsos Condes degolló en un dia._[4]

_eso quieren decir las desgracias del Caballo Clarion_, says the 
author of this poem El Doctor Don Bernardo de Balbuena, in the 
allegory which he annexes to the Canto, _que la fuerza de las 
estrellas predomina en los brutos, y en la parte sensitiva, y no en el 
albedrio humano y voluntad racional._

[Footnote 4: BALBUENA.]

Neither did Nobs resemble in his taste that remarkable horse which Dr. 
Tyson frequently saw in London at the beginning of the last century. 
This horse would eat oysters with great delight, scrunching them 
shells and all between his teeth. Accident developed in him this 
peculiar liking; for being fastened one day at a tavern-door where 
there happened to be a tub standing with oysters in it, the water 
first attracted him, and then the fresh odour of fish induced him to 
try his teeth upon what promised to be more savoury than oats and not 
much harder than horse-beans. From that time he devoured them with 
evident satisfaction whenever they were offered him; and he might have 
become as formidable a visitor to the oyster-shops, if oyster-shops 
there then had been, as the great and never-to-be-forgotten Dando 
himself.

He was not like the Colt which Boyle describes, who had a double eye, 
that is to say two eyes in one socket, in the middle of his forehead, 
a Cyclops of a horse.

Nor was he like the coal-black steed on which the Trappist rode, 
fighting against the _Liberales_ as heartily as that good Christian 
the Bishop Don Hieronimo fought with the Cid Campeador against the 
Moors, elevating the Crucifix in one hand, and with his sword in the 
other smiting them for the love of Charity. That horse never needed 
food or sleep: he never stumbled at whatever speed his master found it 
needful to ride down the most precipitous descent; his eyes emitted 
light to show the Trappist his way in the darkness; the tramp of his 
hoofs was heard twenty miles around, and whatsoever man in the enemy's 
camp first heard the dreadful sound, knew that his fate was fixed, and 
he must inevitably die in the ensuing fight. Nobs resembled this 
portentous horse as little as the Doctor resembled the terrible 
Trappist. Even the great black horse which used to carry old George, 
as William Dove called the St. George of Quakerdom, far exceeded him 
in speed. The Doctor was never seen upon his back in the course of the 
same hour at two places sixty miles apart from each other. There was 
nothing supernatural in Nobs. His hippogony, even if it had been as 
the Doctor was willing to have it supposed he thought probable, would 
upon his theory have been in the course of nature, though not in her 
usual course.

Olaus Magnus assigns sundry reasons why the Scandinavian horses were 
hardier, and in higher esteem than those of any other part of the 
World. They would bear to be shod without kicking or restraint. They 
would never allow other horses to eat their provender. They saw their 
way better in the dark. They regarded neither frost nor snow. They 
aided the rider in battle both with teeth and hoofs. Either in 
ascending or descending steep and precipitous places they were 
sure-footed. At the end of a day's journey a roll in the sand or the 
snow took off their fatigue and increased their appetite. They seldom 
ailed anything and what ailments they had were easily cured. Moreover 
they were remarkable for one thing,

  _Ch' à dire è brutto, ed à tacerlo è bello_—[5]

and which, instead of translating or quoting the Dane's Latin, I must 
intimate——by saying that it was never necessary to whistle to them.

[Footnote 5: RUCELLAI.]

Nobs had none of the qualities which characterized the Scandinavian 
horses, and in which their excellencies consisted, as peculiarly 
fitting them for their own country. But he was equally endowed with 
all those which were required in his station. There was not a 
surer-footed beast in the West Riding; and if he did not see his way 
in the dark by the light of his own eyes like the black horse of the 
Trappist, and that upon which the Old Woman of Berkeley rode double 
behind One more formidable than the Trappist himself, when she was 
taken out of her coffin of stone and carried bodily away,—he saw it as 
well as any mortal horse could see, and knew it as well as John Gough 
the blind botanist of Kendal, or John Metcalf the blind guide of 
Knaresborough.

But of all his good qualities that for which the Doctor prized him 
most was the kindness of his disposition, not meaning by those words 
what Gentlemen-feeders and professors of agriculture mean. “It is the 
Grazier's own fault,” says one of those professors, “if ever he 
attempts to fatten an unkind beast,”—kindness of disposition in a 
beast importing in their language, that it fattens soon. What it meant 
in the Doctor's, the following authentic anecdote may show.

The Doctor had left Nobs one day standing near the door of a 
farm-house with his bridle thrown over a gate-post; one of the 
farmer's children, a little boy just old enough to run into danger, 
amused himself by pulling the horse's tail with one hand and striking 
him with a little switch across the legs with the other. The Mother 
caught sight of this and ran in alarm to snatch the urchin away; but 
before she could do this, Nobs lifted up one foot, placed it against 
the boy's stomach, and gently pushed him down. The ground was wet, so 
that the mark of his hoof showed where he had placed it, and it was 
evident that what he had done was done carefully not to injure the 
child, for a blow upon that part must have been fatal. This was what 
the Doctor called kindness of disposition in a horse. Let others argue 
if they please _que le cheval avoit quelque raison, et qu'il 
ratiocinoit entre toutes les autres bestes, à cause du temperament de 
son cerveau_;[6] here, as he justly said, was sufficient proof of 
consideration, and good nature.

[Footnote 6: BOUCHET.]

He was not like the heroic horse which Amadis won in the Isle 
Perilous, when in his old age he was driven thither by a tempest, 
though the adventure has been pretermitted in his great history. After 
the death of that old, old very old and most famous of all Knights, 
this horse was enchanted by the Magician Alchiso. Many generations 
passed away before he was overcome and disenchanted by Rinaldo; and he 
then became so famous by his well-known name Bajardo, that for the 
sole purpose of winning this horse and the sword Durlindana which was 
as famous among swords as Bajardo among horses, Gradasso came from 
India to invade France with an army of an hundred and fifty thousand 
knights. If Nobs had been like him, think what a confusion and 
consternation his appearance would have produced at Doncaster races!

  _Ecco appare il cavallo, e i calci tira,
   E fa saltando in ciel ben mille rote;
   Delle narici il foco accolto spira,
   Muove l'orecchie, e l'empie membra scuote;
   A sassi, a sterpi, a piante ei non rimira,
   Ma fracassando il tutto, urta e percote;
   Col nitrito i nemici a fiera guerra
   Sfida, e cò piè fa rimbombar la tierra._[7]

[Footnote 7: TASSO.]

Among the Romans he might have been in danger of being selected for a 
victim to Mars, on the Ides of December. The Massagetæ would have 
sacrificed him to the Sun, to whom horses seem to have been offered 
wherever he was worshipped. He might have escaped in those countries 
where white horses were preferred on such occasions;—a preference for 
which a commentator upon Horace accounts by the unlucky conjecture 
that it was because they were swifter than any others.

No better horse was ever produced from that celebrated breed which 
Dionysius the Tyrant imported into Sicily from the Veneti. No better 
could have been found among all the progeny of the fifty thousand 
Mares belonging to the Great King, upon the Great Plain which the 
Greeks called Hippobotus because the Median herb which was the best 
pasture for horses abounded there. Whether the Nisæan horses which 
were used by kings, were brought from thence or from Armenia, antient 
Authors have not determined.

There was a tomb not far from the gates at Athens, ascending from the 
Piræus, on which a soldier was represented standing beside a Horse. 
All that was known of this monument in the age of Adrian was that it 
was the work of Praxiteles; the name of the person whose memory it was 
intended to preserve had perished. If Nobs and his Master had 
flourished at the same time with Praxiteles, that great sculptor would 
have thought himself worthily employed in preserving likenesses for 
posterity of the one and the other. He was worthy to have been 
modelled by Phidias or Lysippus. I will not wish that Chantrey had 
been what he now is, the greatest of living sculptors, fourscore years 
ago: but I may wish that Nobs and the Doctor had lived at the time 
when Chantrey could have made a bust of the one and a model of the 
other, or an equestrian statue to the joint honour of both.

Poppæa would have had such a horse shod with shoes of gold. Caligula 
would have made him Consul. William Rufus would have created him by a 
new and appropriate title Lord Horse of London Town.

When the French had a settlement in the Island of Madagascar, their 
Commander who took the title of Viceroy, assembled a force of 3000 
natives against one of the most powerful native Chiefs, and sent with 
them 140 French under the Sieur de Chamargou. This Officer had just 
then imported from India the first horse which had ever been seen in 
Madagascar, and though oxmanship was practised by this people, as by 
some of the tribes on the adjacent coast of Africa, those oxriders 
were astonished at the horse; _ils luy rendoient même des respects si 
profonds, que tous ceux qui envoyoient quelque deputation vers le 
General de cette armée, ne manquoient point de faire des presens et 
des complimens a Monsieur le Cheval._ If Nobs had been that Horse, he 
would have deserved all the compliments that could have been paid him.

He would have deserved too, as far as Horse could have deserved, the 
more extraordinary honours which fell to the lot of a coal black 
steed, belonging to a kinsman of Cortes by name Palacios Rubios. In 
that expedition which Cortes made against his old friend and comrade 
Christoval de Olid, who in defiance of him had usurped a government 
for himself, the Spaniards after suffering such privations and 
hardships of every kind, as none but Spaniards could with the same 
patience have endured, came to some Indian settlements called the 
Mazotecas, being the name of a species of deer in the form of one of 
which the Demon whom the natives worshipped had once, they said, 
appeared to them, and enjoined them never to kill or molest in any way 
an animal of that kind. They had become so tame in consequence, that 
they manifested no fear at the appearance of the Spaniards, nor took 
flight till they were attacked. The day was exceedingly hot, and as 
the hungry hunters followed the chase with great ardour, Rubios's 
horse was overheated, and as the phrase was, melted his grease. Cortes 
therefore charged the Indians of the Province of Itza to take care of 
him while he proceeded on his way to the Coast of Honduras, saying 
that as soon as he fell in with the Spaniards of whom he was in quest, 
he would send for him; horses were of great value at that time, and 
this was a very good one. The Itzaex were equally in fear of Cortes 
and the Horse; they did not indeed suppose horse and rider to be one 
animal, but they believed both to be reasonable creatures, and 
concluded that what was acceptable to the one would be so to the 
other. So they offered him fowls to eat, presented nosegays to him of 
their most beautiful and fragrant flowers, and treated him as they 
would have treated a sick Chief, till to their utter dismay, he was 
starved to death. What was to be done when Cortes should send for him? 
The Cacique with the advice of his principal men gave orders that an 
Image of the Horse should be set up in the temple of his town, and 
that it should be worshipped there by the name of Tziminchac, as the 
God of Thunder and Lightning, which it seemed to them were used as 
weapons by the Spanish Horsemen. The honour thus paid to the Horse 
would they thought obtain credit for the account which they must give 
to the Spaniards, and prove that they had not wilfully caused his 
death.

The Itzaex however heard nothing of the Spaniards, nor the Spaniards 
of Rubios's black horse, till nearly an hundred years afterwards two 
Franciscans of the province of Yucatan, went as Missionaries among 
these Indians, being well versed in the Maya tongue, which is spoken 
in that country; their names were Bartolomé de Fuensalida and Juan de 
Orbita. The chief settlement was upon an Island in the Lake of Itza; 
there they landed, not with the good will either of the Cacique or the 
people, and entering the place of worship, upon one of their great Cus 
or Pyramids they beheld the Horse-Idol, which was then more venerated 
than all the other Deities. Indignant at the sight, Father Orbita took 
a great stone and broke to pieces the clay statue, in defiance of the 
cries and threats with which he was assailed. “Kill him who has killed 
our God,” they exclaimed; “kill him! kill him!” The Spaniards say the 
serene triumph and the unwonted beauty which beamed in Orbita's 
countenance at that moment, made it evident that he was acting under a 
divine impulse. His companion Fuensalida, acting in the same spirit, 
held up the Crucifix, and addressed so passionate and powerful an 
appeal to the Itzaex in their own language upon the folly and 
wickedness of their Idolatry and the benefits of the Gospel which he 
preached, that they listened to him with astonishment and admiration 
and awe, and followed the Friars respectfully from the place of 
worship, and allowed them to depart in safety.

These Franciscan Missionaries zealous and intrepid as they were, did 
but half their work. Many years afterwards when D. Martin de Ursua 
defeated the Itzaex in an action on the Lake, and took the Petén or 
Great Island, he found, in what appears to have been the same 
Adoratory, a decayed shin bone, suspended from the roof by three 
strings of different coloured cotton, a little bag beneath containing 
smaller pieces of bone in the same state of decay, under both there 
were three censers of the Indian fashion with storax and other 
perfumes burning, and a supply of storax near wrapt in dry leaves of 
maize, and over the larger bone an Indian coronet. These he was told 
upon enquiry, were the bones of the Horse which the Great Captain had 
committed to the care of their Cacique long ago.

If it had been the fate of Nobs thus to be idolified, and the Iztaex 
had been acquainted with his character, they would have compounded a 
name for him, not from Thunder and Lightning, but from all the good 
qualities which can exist in horse-nature, and for which words could 
be found in the Maya tongue.




CHAPTER CXLV.

WILLIAM OSMER. INNATE QUALITIES. MARCH OF ANIMAL INTELLECT. FARTHER 
REVEALMENT OF THE COLUMBIAN PHILOSOPHY.

There is a word, and it is a great word in this Book,[1] _ἐπι το 
αὐτο,_—_In id ipsum_, that is, to look to the thing itself, the very 
point, the principal matter of all; to have our eye on that, and not 
off it, upon _alia omnia_, any thing but it.—To go to the point, drive 
all to that, as also to go to the matter real, without declining from 
it this way or that, to the right hand or to the left.

BP. ANDREWS.

[Footnote 1: The New Testament which the Preacher had before him.]


A certain William Osmer once wrote a dissertation upon the Horse, 
wherein he affirmeth, it is demonstrated by matters of fact, as well 
as from the principles of philosophy, that innate qualities do not 
exist, and that the excellence of this animal is altogether mechanical 
and not in the blood. In affirming this of the Horse the said William 
Osmer hath gone far toward demonstrating himself an Ass; for he might 
as well have averred that the blood hath nothing to do with the 
qualities of a black pudding.—When Hurdis said

          Give me the steed
  Whose noble efforts bore the prize away,
  I care not for his grandsire or his dam,

it was well said but not wisely.

The opinion which is as old as anything known concerning this animal, 
that the good qualities of a horse are likely to bear some resemblance 
to those of its sire or dam, Mr. Osmer endeavoured to invalidate by 
arguing that his strength and swiftness depend upon the exactness of 
his make, and that where this was defective these qualities would be 
deficient also,—a foolish argument, for the proposition rests upon 
just the same ground as that against which he was reasoning. But what 
better reasoning could be looked for from a man who affirmed that if 
horses were not shod they might travel upon the turnpike roads without 
injury to their feet, because, in his own language, “when time was 
young, when the earth was in a state of nature, and turnpike roads as 
yet were not, the Divine Artist had taken care to give their feet such 
defence as it pleased him.”

If the Doctor had known that Nobs was of Tartarian extraction, this 
fact would sufficiently have accounted for the excellences of that 
incomparable roadster. He explained them quite as satisfactorily to 
himself by the fancy which he amused himself with supporting on this 
occasion, that this marvellous horse was a son of the Wind. And hence 
he inferred that Nobs possessed the innate qualities of his kind in 
greater perfection than any other horse, as approaching nearer to the 
original perfection in which the species was created. For although 
animals are each in their kind less degenerate than man, whom so many 
circumstances have tended to injure in his physical nature, still, he 
argued, all which like the horse have been made subservient to the 
uses of man, were in some degree deteriorated by that subjection. 
Innate qualities, however, he admitted were more apparent in the brute 
creation than in the human creature, because even in those which 
suffer most by domestication, the course of nature is not so violently 
overruled.

I except the Duck, he would say. That bird, which Nature hath made 
free of earth, air and water, loses by servitude the use of one 
element, the enjoyment of two, and the freedom of all three.

Look at the Pig also, said the Doctor. In his wild state no animal is 
cleaner, happier, or better able to make himself respected. Look at 
him when tamed,—I will not say in a brawn-case, for I am not speaking 
now of those cruelties which the Devil and Man between them have 
devised,—but look at him prowling at large about the purlieus of his 
sty. What a loathsome poor despised creature hath man made him!

  _Animal propter convivia natum._[2]

Every cur thinks itself privileged to take him by the ear; whereas if 
he were once more free in the woods, the stoutest mastiff or wolf-dog 
would not dare look him in the face.

[Footnote 2: JUVENAL.]

Yet he was fond of maintaining that the lower creation are capable of 
intellectual improvement. In Holland indeed he had seen the school for 
dogs, where poodles go through a regular course of education, and 
where by this time perhaps the Lancasterian inventions have been 
introduced. But this was not what the Doctor contemplated. Making 
bears and elephants dance, teaching dogs to enact ballets, and horses 
to exhibit tricks at a fair, he considered as the freaks of man's 
capricious cruelty, and instances of that abuse of power which he so 
frequently exercises over his inferior creatures, and for which he 
must one day render an account, together with all those whose 
countenance of such spectacles affords the temptation to exhibit them.

In truth the power which animals as well as men possess, of conforming 
themselves to new situations and forming new habits adapted to new 
circumstances is proof of a capability of improvement. The wild dogs 
in the plains of La Plata, burrow, because there is no security for 
them above ground against stronger beasts of prey. In the same country 
owls make their nests in the ground, because there are neither trees 
nor buildings to afford them concealment. A clergyman in Iceland by 
sowing angelica upon a Lake-island some miles from the sea, not only 
attracted gulls and wild ducks to breed there, but brought about an 
alliance between those birds, who are not upon neighbourly terms 
elsewhere. Both perceived that the new plants afforded better shelter 
from wind and rain, than any thing which they had seen before; there 
was room enough for both; and neighbourhood produced so much good 
will, that the gulls protected the weaker birds not only against the 
ravens who are common enemies, but against another species of gull 
also which attacks the duck's nest.

A change more remarkable than either of these, is that which the 
common hearth-cricket has undergone in its very constitution as well 
as in all its ways of life, since men built houses and inhabited cold 
climates.

The field-cricket in North America, which buries itself during the 
winter ten inches deep and there lies torpid, began about an hundred 
years ago to avail itself of the work of man and take up its abode in 
the chimnies. This insect even likes man for a bed-fellow, not with 
any such felonious intentions as are put in execution by smaller and 
viler vermin, but for the sake of warmth. The Swedish traveller, Kalm, 
says that when he and his companions were forced to sleep in 
uninhabited places, the crickets got into the folds of their garments, 
so that they were obliged to make some tarriance every morning, and 
search carefully before they could get rid of them.

Two species of Swallows have domesticated themselves with man. We have 
only that which builds under the eaves in England, but in North 
America they have both the house swallow and the chimney swallow; the 
chimnies not being made use of in summer, they take possession, and 
keep it sometimes in spite of the smoke if the fire is not very great. 
Each feather in this bird's tail ends in a stiff point, like the end 
of an awl; they apply the tail to the side of the wall, and it assists 
in keeping them up, while they hold on with their feet. “They make a 
great thundering noise all day long by flying up and down in the 
chimnies;” now as the Indians had not so much as a hearth made of 
masonry, it is an obvious question, says Kalm, where did these 
swallows build before the Europeans came, and erected houses with 
chimnies? Probably, it is supposed, in hollow trees, but certainly 
where they could; and it is thus shown that they took the first 
opportunity of improving their own condition.

But the Doctor dwelt with most pleasure on the intellectual 
capabilities of Dogs. There had been Dogs, he said, who from the mere 
desire of following their master's example had regularly frequented 
either the Church or the Meeting House;—others who attended the Host 
whenever they heard the bell which announced that it was carried 
abroad; one who so modulated his voice as to accompany instrumental 
music through all the notes of a song; and Leibnitz had actually 
succeeded in teaching one to speak. A dog may be made an epicure as 
well as his master. He acquires notions of rank and respectability; 
understands that the aristocracy are his friends, regards the beggar 
as his rival for bones, and knows that whoever approaches in darkness 
is to be suspected for his intentions. A dog's physiognomical 
discernment never deceives him; and this the Doctor was fond of 
observing, because wherever he was known the dogs came to return the 
greeting they expected. He has a sense of right and wrong as far as he 
has been taught; a sense of honour and of duty, from which his master 
might sometimes take a lesson; and not unfrequently a depth and 
heroism of affection, which the Doctor verily believed would have its 
reward in a better world. John Wesley held the same opinion, which has 
been maintained also by his enemy Augustus Toplady, and by his 
biographer the laureated L. L. D. or the El-el-deed Laureate. The 
Materialist, Dr. Dove would argue, must allow upon his own principles 
that a dog has as much soul as himself; and the Immaterialist, if he 
would be consistent, must perceive that the life and affections and 
actions of an animal are as little to be explained as the mysteries of 
his own nature by mere materiality. The all-doubting and therefore 
always half-believing Bayle has said that _les actions des bêtes sont 
peut-être un des plus profonds abîmes sur quoi notre raison se puisse 
exercer_.

But here the Doctor acknowledged himself to be in doubt. That another 
state of existence there must be for every creature wherein there is 
the breath of life, he was verily persuaded. To that conclusion the 
whole tenour of his philosophy led him, and what he entertained as a 
philosophical opinion, acquired from a religious feeling something 
like the strength of faith. For if the whole of a brute animal's 
existence ended in this world, then it would follow that there are 
creatures born into it, for whom it had been better never to have 
been, than to endure the privations, pains and wrongs and cruelties, 
inflicted upon them by human wickedness; and he would not, could not, 
dared not believe that any, even the meanest of God's creatures, has 
been created to undergo more of evil than of good (where no power of 
choice was given)—much less to suffer unmingled evil, during its 
allotted term of existence. Yet this must be, if there were no state 
for animals after death.

A French speculator upon such things (I think it was P. Bougeant) felt 
this so strongly as to propose the strange hypothesis that fallen 
Angels underwent their punishment in the bodies of brutes, wherein 
they were incarnate and incarcerate as sentient, suffering and 
conscious spirits. The Doctor's theory of progressive life was liable 
to no such objections. It reconciled all seeming evil in the lower 
creation to the great system of benevolence. But still there remained 
a difficulty. Men being what they are, there were cases in which it 
seemed that the animal soul would be degraded instead of advanced by 
entering into the human form. For example, the Doctor considered the 
beast to be very often a much worthier animal than the butcher; the 
horse than the horse-jockey or the rider; the cock, than the 
cock-fighter; the young whale than the man who harpoons the reasonable 
and dutiful creature when it suffers itself to be struck rather than 
forsake its wounded mother.

In all these cases indeed, a migration into some better variety of the 
civilized biped might be presumed, Archeus bringing good 
predispositions and an aptitude for improvement. But when he looked at 
a good dog (in the best acceptation of the epithet),—a dog who has 
been humanized by human society,—who obeys and loves his master, pines 
during his illness, and dies upon his grave, (the fact has frequently 
occurred,) the Doctor declared his belief, and with a voice and look 
which told that he was speaking from his heart, that such a creature 
was ripe for a better world than this, and that in passing through the 
condition of humanity it might lose more than it could gain.

The price of a dog might not, among the Jews, be brought into the 
House of the Lord, “for any vow,” for it was an abomination to the 
Lord. This inhibition occurs in the same part of the Levitical law 
which enjoins the Israelites not to deliver up to his master the 
servant who had escaped from him; and it is in the spirit of that 
injunction, and of those other parts of the Law which are so 
beautifully and feelingly humane, that their very tenderness may be 
received in proof of their divine origin. It looks upon the dog as 
standing to his master in far other relation than his horse or his ox 
or his ass,—as a creature connected with him by the moral ties of 
companionship and fidelity and friendship.




CHAPTER CXLVI.

DANIEL DOVE VERSUS SENECA AND BEN JONSON. ORLANDO AND HIS HORSE AT 
RONCESVALLES. MR. BURCHELL. THE PRINCE OP ORANGE. THE LORD KEEPER 
GUILDFORD. REV. MR. HAWTAYN. DR. THOMAS JACKSON. THE ELDER SCALIGER. 
EVELYN. AN ANONYMOUS AMERICAN. WALTER LANDOR, AND CAROLINE BOWLES.

  ——Contented with an humble theme
  I pour my stream of panegyric down
  The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds
  Among her lovely works with a secure
  And unambitious course, reflecting clear,
  If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes.

COWPER.


The Doctor liked not Seneca when that philosopher deduced as a 
consequence from his definition of a benefit, that no gratitude can be 
due to beasts or senseless things; “_nam, qui beneficium mihi daturus 
est_,” he says, “_debet non tantum prodesse, sed velle. Ideo nec mutis 
animalibus quidquam debetur; et quam multos è periculo velocitas equi 
rapuit! Nec arboribus; et quam multos æstu laborantes ramorum opacitas 
texit!_” that is,—“for he who is about to render me a good service, 
not only ought to render it, but to intend it. Nothing therefore can 
be owed to dumb animals, and yet how many have the speed of a horse 
saved from danger! Nor to trees, and yet how many when suffering under 
the summer sun, have the thick boughs shaded!” To the same tenour Ben 
Jonson speaks. “Nothing is a courtesy,” he says, “unless it be meant 
us, and that friendly and lovingly. We owe no thanks to rivers that 
they carry our boats; or winds, that they be favouring, and fill our 
sails; or meats that they be nourishing; for these are what they are 
necessarily. Horses carry us, trees shade us, but they know it not.”

What! our friend would say, do I owe thee nothing Nobs, for the many 
times that thou hast carried me carefully and safely, through bad 
ways, in stormy weather, and in dark nights? Do I owe thee nothing for 
thy painful services, thy unhesitating obedience, thy patient 
fidelity? Do I owe thee nothing for so often breaking thy rest, when 
thou couldest not know for what urgent cause mine had been broken, nor 
wherefore I was compelled by duty to put thee to thy speed? Nobs, 
Nobs, if I did not acknowledge a debt of gratitude to thee, and 
discharge it as far as kind usage can tend to prolong thy days in 
comfort, I should deserve to be dropt as a colt in my next stage of 
existence, to be broken in by a rough rider, and broken down at last 
by hard usage in a hackney coach.

There is not a more touching passage in Italian poetry than that in 
which Pulci relates the death of Orlando's famous horse, (his Nobs) in 
the fatal battle of Roncesvalles:

  _Vegliantin come Orlando in terra scese,
     A piè del suo signor caduto è morto,
   E inginocchiossi e licenzia gli chiese,
     Quasi dicesse, io t'ho condotto a porto.
   Orlando presto le braccia distese
     A l'acqua, e cerca di dargli conforto,
   Ma poi che pure il caval non si sente,
   Si condolea molto pietosamente._

  _O Vegliantin, tu m'hai servito tanto:
     O Vegliantin, dov'è la tua prodezza?
   O Vegliantin, nessun si dia piu vanto;
     O Vegliantin, venuta è l'ora sezza:
   O Vegliantin, tu m'hai cresciuto il pianto;
     O Vegliantin, tu non vuoi piu cavezza:
   O Vegliantin, s'io ti feci mai torto,
   Perdonami, ti priego, cosi morto._

  _Dice Turpin, che mi par maraviglia,
     Che come Orlando perdonami disse,
   Quel caval parve ch'aprisse le ciglia,
     E col capo e co gesti acconsentisse._[1]

[Footnote 1: MORGANTE MAGGIORE.]

A traveller in South Africa, Mr. Burchell, who was not less 
adventurous and persevering than considerate and benevolent, says that 
“nothing but the safety of the whole party, or the urgency of peculiar 
and inevitable circumstances could ever, during his whole journey, 
induce him to forget the consideration due to his cattle, always 
regarded as faithful friends whose assistance was indispensable. There 
may be in the world,” he says, “men who possess a nature so hard, as 
to think these sentiments misapplied; but I leave them to find, if 
they can, in the coldness of their own hearts, a satisfaction equal to 
that which I have enjoyed in paying a grateful attention to animals by 
whose services I have been so much benefitted.”

The Prince of Orange would once have been surprised and taken in his 
tent by the Spaniards if his dog had not been more vigilant than his 
guards. Julian Romero planned and led this night attack upon the 
Prince's camp; the camisado was given so suddenly, as well as with 
such resolution, “that the place of arms took no alarm, until their 
fellows,” says Sir Roger Williams, “were running in with the enemy in 
their tails; whereupon this dog hearing a great noise, fell to 
scratching and crying, and withal leapt on the Prince's face, awaking 
him, being asleep, before any of his men.” Two of his secretaries were 
killed hard by the tent, and “albeit the Prince lay in his arms, with 
a lacquey always holding one of his horses ready bridled, yet at the 
going out of his tent, with much ado he recovered his horse before the 
enemy arrived. One of his squires was slain taking horse presently 
after him, and divers of his servants which could not recover theirs, 
were forced to escape amongst the guards of foot. Ever after until the 
Prince's dying day, he kept one of that dog's race;—so did many of his 
friends and followers. The most or all of these dogs were white little 
hounds, with crooked noses, called camuses.”

The Lord Keeper Guilford “bred all his horses, which came to the 
husbandry first colts, and from thence, as they were fit, were taken 
into his equipage; and as by age or accident they grew unfit for that 
service, they were returned to the place from whence they came, and 
there expired.” This is one of the best traits which Roger North has 
related of his brother.

“A person,” says Mr. Hawtayn, who was a good kind-hearted clergyman of 
the Church of England, “that can be insensible to the fidelity and 
love which dumb animals often express, must be lower in nature than 
they.”

  _Grata e Natura in noi; fin dalla cuna
     Gratitudine è impressa in uman core;
     Ma d'un instinto tal questo è lo stile,
     Che lo seconda più, chi è piu gentile._[2]

[Footnote 2: CARLO MARIA MAGGI.]

The gentlest natures indeed are the best, and the best will be at the 
same time the most grateful and the most tender. “Even to behold a 
flourishing tree, first bereft of bark,” says Dr. Jackson, “then of 
all the naked branches, yet standing, lastly the green trunk cut down 
and cast full of sap into the fire, would be an unpleasant spectacle 
to such as delighted in setting, pruning, or nourishing plants.”

The elder Scaliger as Evelyn tells us, never could convince Erasmus 
but that trees feel the first stroke of the axe; and Evelyn himself 
seems to have thought there was more probability in that opinion than 
he liked to allow. The fall of a very aged oak, he says, giving a 
crack like thunder, has been often heard at many miles distance; nor 
do I at any time hear the groans without some emotion and pity, 
constrained, as I too often am, to fell them with much reluctancy. Mr. 
Downes in his Letters from the Continent says, “There is at this time 
a forest near Bolsena so highly venerated for its antiquity that none 
of the trees are ever cut.”

One who, we are told, has since been honourably distinguished for 
metaphysical speculation, says in a juvenile letter to the late 
American Bishop Hobart, “I sometimes converse a considerable time with 
a tree that in my infancy invited me to play under its cool and 
refreshing shade; and the old dwelling in which I have spent the 
greater part of my life, though at present unoccupied and falling into 
ruin, raises within me such a musing train of ideas, that I know not 
whether it be pleasing or painful. Now whether it arise from an 
intimate association of ideas, or from some qualities in the 
insensible objects themselves to create an affection, I shall not 
pretend to determine; but certain it is that the love we bear for 
objects incapable of making a return, seems always more disinterested, 
and frequently affords us more lasting happiness, than even that which 
we feel toward rational creatures.”

But never by any author, ancient or modern, in verse or prose, has the 
feeling which ascribes sentience as well as life to the vegetable 
world, been more deliciously described than by Walter Landor, when 
speaking of sweet scents, he says,

  They bring me tales of youth, and tones of love;
  And 'tis and ever was my wish and way
  To let all flowers live freely and all die,
  Whene'er their Genius bids their souls depart,
  Among their kindred in their native place.
  I never pluck the rose; the violet's head
  Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank
  And not reproach'd me; the ever sacred cup
  Of the pure lily hath between my hands
  Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of gold.

These verses are indeed worthy of their author when he is most worthy 
of himself. And yet Caroline Bowles's sweet lines will lose nothing by 
being read after them.

  THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

  How happily, how happily the flowers die away!
  Oh! could we but return to earth as easily as they;
  Just live a life of sunshine, of innocence and bloom,
  Then drop without decrepitude or pain into the tomb.

  The gay and glorious creatures! “they neither toil nor spin,”
  Yet lo! what goodly raiment they're all apparelled in;
  No tears are on their beauty, but dewy gems more bright
  Than ever brow of Eastern Queen endiademed with light.

  The young rejoicing creatures! their pleasures never pall,
  Nor lose in sweet contentment, because so free to all;
  The dew, the shower, the sunshine; the balmy blessed air,
  Spend nothing of their freshness, though all may freely share.

  The happy careless creatures! of time they take no heed;
  Nor weary of his creeping, nor tremble at his speed;
  Nor sigh with sick impatience, and wish the light away;
  Nor when 'tis gone, cry dolefully, “Would God that it were day.”

  And when their lives are over, they drop away to rest,
  Unconscious of the penal doom, on holy Nature's breast;
  No pain have they in dying, no shrinking from decay.
  Oh! could we but return to earth as easily as they!




CHAPTER CXLVII.

OLD TREES. SHIPS. FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. LIFE AND PASSIONS ASCRIBED TO 
INANIMATE OBJECTS. FETISH WORSHIP. A LORD CHANCELLOR AND HIS GOOSE.

_Ce que j'en ay escrit, c'est pour une curiosité, qui plaira possible 
à aucuns: et non possible aux autres._

BRANTOME.


“Consider,” says Plutarch in that precious volume of Philemon 
Holland's translating, which was one of the elder Daniel's treasures, 
and which the Doctor valued accordingly as a relic, “consider whether 
our forefathers have not permitted excessive ceremonies and 
observations in these cases, even for an exercise and studious 
meditation of thankfulness; as namely, when they reverenced so highly 
the Oaks bearing acorns as they did. Certes the Athenians had one 
Fig-tree which they honoured by the name of the holy and sacred 
Fig-Tree; and they expressly forbade to cut down the Mulberry-tree. 
For these ceremonies, I assure you, do not make men inclined to 
superstition as some think, but frame and train us to gratitude and 
sociable humanity one toward another, whenas we are thus reverently 
affected to such things as these that have no soul nor sense.” But 
Plutarch knew that there were certain Trees to which something more 
than sense or soul was attributed by his countrymen.

There was a tradition at Corinth which gave a different account of the 
death of Pentheus from that in the Metamorphoses, where it is said 
that he was beholding the rites of the Bacchanals, from an open 
eminence surrounded by the woods, when his mother espied him, and in 
her madness led on the frantic women by whom he was torn to pieces. 
But the tradition at Corinth was that he climbed a tree for the 
purpose of seeing their mysteries, and was discovered amid its 
branches; and that the Pythian Oracle afterwards enjoined the 
Corinthians to find out this Tree, and pay divine honours to it, as to 
a God. The special motive here was to impress the people with an 
aweful respect for the Mysteries, none being felt for any part of the 
popular religion.

Old Trees, without the aid of an Oracle to consecrate them, seem to 
have been some of the most natural objects of that contemplative and 
melancholy regard, which easily passes into superstitious veneration. 
No longer ago than during the peace of Amiens a Frenchman[1] 
describing the woods on the banks of the Senegal, says _On éprouve un 
doux ravissement en contemplant ces nobles productions d'une nature 
tranquille, libre et presque vierge; car là elle est encore respectée, 
et la vieillesse des beaux arbres y est pour ainsi dire l'objet d'un 
culte. Mon ame reconnoissante des émotions qu'elle ressentait, 
remerciait le Créateur d'avoir fait naître ces magnifiques végétables 
sur un sol òu elles avaient pu croitre indépendantes et paisibles, et 
conserver ces formes originales et naïves que l'art sait alterer, mais 
qu'il ne saura jamais imiter._—

_Quelques-uns des sites qu'on rencontre etalent les attraits et les 
grâces d'une nature virginale; dans d'autres, on admire ce que l'âge, 
de sa plus grande force, peut avoir de plus imposant et de plus 
auguste; et d'antiques forêts, dont les arbres ont une grosseur et une 
élévation qui attestent leur grand âge, excitent une admiration mêlée 
de respect; et ces prodigieux végétaux encore verts, encore beaux, 
après une vie de tant de siecles, semblent vouloir nous apprendre, que 
dans ces contrées solitaires et fertiles, la nature vit toujours, et 
ne vieillit jamais._

[Footnote 1: GOLBERRY.]

There are Tribes among the various races in the Philippines who are 
persuaded that the souls of their ancestors use old trees as their 
habitations, and therefore it is deemed a sacrilege to cut one down. 
The Lezgis used to erect pillars under the boughs of decayed Oaks to 
support them as long as possible; _Murlooz_ is the name which they 
give to such spurs, or stay-pillars.

The Rector of Manafon, Mr. Walter Davies, in his View of the 
Agriculture and Domestic Economy of North Wales, says, “Strangers have 
oftentimes listened with attention to Gentlemen of the County of 
Montgomery enquiring anxiously into the conduct and fate of the 
Windsor Castle, the Impregnable, the Brunswick and other men of war, 
in some particular naval engagements; and were led to imagine that 
they had some near and dear relations holding important commissions on 
board; but upon farther enquiry, found the ground of this curiosity to 
be no other than that such ships had been partly built of timber that 
had grown upon their estates; as if the inanimate material contained 
some magic virtue.” The good Rector might have perceived in what he 
censures, one indication of that attachment to our native soil, on 
which much of the security of states depends, much of the happiness of 
individuals, and not a little of their moral and intellectual 
character.

But indeed the same cause which renders personification a common 
figure not only with poets and orators, but in all empassioned and 
even in ordinary speech, leads men frequently both to speak and act as 
if they ascribed life and consciousness to inanimate things.

When the Cid Campeador recovered from the Infantes of Carrion, his two 
swords Colada and Tizona, “his whole frame,” says the Chronicler, 
“rejoiced, and he smiled from his heart. And he laid them upon his lap 
and said, ‘Ah my swords, Colada and Tizona, truly may I say of you 
that you are the best swords in Spain; and I won you, for I did not 
get you either by buying or by barter. I gave ye in keeping to the 
Infantes of Carrion that they might do honour to my daughters with ye. 
But ye were not for them! They kept ye hungry, and did not feed ye 
with flesh as ye were wont to be fed. Well is it for you that ye have 
escaped that thraldom and are come again to my hands.’”

The same strong figure occurs in the Macaronea,

  _Gaude, Baldus ait, mi brande! cibaberis; ecce
   Carnis et sanguis tibi præsententur abunde._

The Greek Captain who purchases a vessel which he is to command 
himself, takes possession of it by a ceremony which is called 
espousing the ship; on this occasion he suspends in it a laurel crown 
as a symbol of the marriage, and a bag of garlic as a preservative 
against tempests.—In the year 1793, the ship Darius belonging to a 
Hindoo, or more probably, as may be inferred from the name, a Parsee 
owner, was run ashore off Malacca by its Commander Captain Laughton to 
save it from falling into the hands of a French Privateer. The Captain 
and his Officers when they had thus disappointed the enemy, succeeded 
afterwards by great exertion and great skill, in getting the vessel 
off, and brought it safely home to Bombay; where the grateful owner, 
thinking the Ship itself was entitled to some signal mark of 
acknowledgement, treated it with a compleat ablution, which was 
performed not with water, but with sugar and milk.

Our own sailors sometimes ascribe consciousness and sympathy to their 
ship. It is a common expression with them that “she behaves well;” and 
they persuade themselves that an English Man of War, by reason of its 
own good will, sails faster in pursuit of a Frenchman than at any 
other time. Poor old Captain Atkins was firmly possessed with this 
belief. On such occasions he would talk to his ship, as an Arabian to 
his horse, urge and intreat her to exert herself and put forth all her 
speed, and promise to reward her with a new coat of paint as soon as 
they should get into harbour.—“Who,” says Fuller, “can without pity or 
pleasure behold that trusty vessel which carried Sir Francis Drake 
about the World?”—So naturally are men led to impute something like 
vitality to so great a work of human formation, that persons connected 
with the shipping trade talk of the average _life_ of a ship, which in 
the present state of our naval affairs is stated to be twenty-two 
years.

At one of the Philosophers' Yearly-Meetings it was said that every 
Engine-man had more or less pride in his engine, just as a sailor had 
in his ship. We heard then of the _duty_ of an engine, and of how much 
_virtue_ resides in a given quantity of coals. This is the language of 
the Mines, so easily does a figurative expression pass into common 
speech. The _duty_ of an engine has been taken at raising 50 millions 
of cubic-feet of water one foot in an hour; some say 100 millions, 
some 120; but the highest duty which the reporter had ascertained was 
90 millions, the lowest seventy. And the _virtue_ in a bushel of coals 
is sufficient to raise 125 millions of cubic-feet of water one foot, 
being from 800 to 1070 at the cost of one farthing. No one will think 
this hard duty for the Engine, but all must allow it to be cheap 
virtue in the coals.

This however is merely an example of the change which words undergo in 
the currency of speech as their original stamp is gradually effaced: 
what was metaphorical becomes trivial; and this is one of the causes 
by which our language has been corrupted, more perhaps than any other, 
recourse being had both in prose and verse to forced and fantastic 
expressions as substitutes for the freshness and strength that have 
been lost. Strong feelings and strong fancy are liable to a more 
serious perversion.

M. de Custine, writing from Mont Anvert, in the rhapsodical part of 
his travels, exclaims, _Qu'on ne me parle plus de nature morte; on 
sent ici que la Divinité est partout, et que les pierres sont 
pénêtrées comme nous-mêmes d'une puissance créatricé! Quand on me dit 
que les rochers sont insensibles, je crois entendre un enfant soutenir 
que l'aiguille d'une montre ne marche pas, parce qu'il ne la voit pas 
se mouvoir._

It is easy to perceive that feelings of this kind may imperceptibly 
have led to the worship of any remarkable natural objects, such as 
Trees, Forests, Mountains, Springs, and Rivers, as kindred feelings 
have led to the adoration of Images and of Relics. Court de Gebelin 
has even endeavoured to show that Fetish worship was not without some 
reasonable cause in its origin. The author of a treatise _Du Culte des 
Dieux Fétiches, ou Parallèle de l'ancienne Religion de l'Egypte avec 
la Religion actuelle de la Nigritie_, had asserted that this absurd 
superstition originated in fear. But Court de Gebelin asks, “why not 
from gratitude and admiration as well? Are not these passions as 
capable of making Gods as Fear? Is not experience itself in accord 
with us here? Do not all savage nations admit of Two Principles, the 
one Good who ought not to be feared, the other Evil to whom sacrifices 
must be offered in order to avert the mischief in which he delights? 
If fear makes them address their homage to the one, it has no part in 
the feeling which produces it toward the other. Which then of these 
sentiments has led to Fetish-worship? Not fear, considered as the 
sentiment which moves us to do nothing that might displease a Being 
whom we regard as our superior, and as the source of our happiness; 
for Fétishes cannot be regarded in this light. Will it then be fear 
considered as the sentiment of our own weakness, filling us with 
terror, and forcing us to seek the protection of a being more powerful 
than ourselves and capable of protecting us? But how could any such 
fear have led to the worship of Fetishes? How could a Savage, seized 
with terror, ever have believed that an onion, a stone, a flower, 
water, a tree, a mouse, a cat, &. could be his protector and secure 
him against all that he apprehended? I know that fear does not reason, 
but it is not to be understood in this sense; we frequently fear 
something without knowing why; but when we address ourselves to a 
Protector we always know why, it is in the persuasion that he can 
defend us, a persuasion which has always a foundation,—a basis. But in 
Fetish worship where is the motive? What is there to afford confidence 
against alarm? Who has said that the Fetish is superior to man?—It is 
impossible to conceive any one so blockish, so stupid, so terrified as 
to imagine that inanimate things like these are infinitely above him, 
much more powerful than himself, in a state to understand his wants, 
his evils, his fears, his sufferings, and to deliver him from all in 
acknowledgement of the offering which he makes to them.

“Moreover the Fetish is not used till it has been consecrated by the 
Priest: this proves an opinion in the savage, that the Fetish of 
itself cannot protect him; but that he may be made by other influence 
to do so, and that influence is exercised by the Priest in the act of 
consecration.” Court de Gebelin argues therefore that this 
superstition arose from the primary belief in a Supreme Being on whom 
we are altogether dependent, who was to be honoured by certain 
ceremonies directed by the Priest, and who was to be propitiated by 
revering these things whereby it had pleased him to benefit mankind; 
and by consecrating some of them as pledges of future benefits to be 
received from him, and of his presence among his Creatures who serve 
him and implore his protection. But in process of time it was 
forgotten that this was only a symbolic allegory of the Divine 
Presence, and ignorant nations who could no longer give a reason for 
their belief, continued the practice from imitation and habit.

This is ascribing too much to system, too little to superstition and 
priestcraft. The name Fetish though used by the Negroes themselves is 
known to be a corrupt application of the Portugueze word for 
Witchcraft, _feitiço_; the vernacular name is _Bossum_ or _Bossifoe_. 
Upon the Gold Coast every nation has its own, every village, every 
family and every individual. A great hill, a rock anyway remarkable 
for its size or shape, or a large Tree, is generally the national 
Fetish. The king's is usually the largest tree in his country. They 
who chuse or change one take the first thing they happen to see 
however worthless. A stick, a stone, the bone of a beast, bird or 
fish, unless the worshipper takes a fancy for something of better 
appearance and chuses a horn or the tooth of some large animal. The 
ceremony of consecration he performs himself, assembling his family, 
washing the new object of his devotion, and sprinkling them with the 
water. He has thus a household or personal God in which he has as much 
faith as the Papist in his relics, and with as much reason. Barbot 
says that some of the Europeans on that coast not only encouraged 
their slaves in this superstition, but believed in it, and practised 
it themselves.

Thus low has man sunk in his fall. The debasement began with the 
worship of the Heavenly Bodies. When he had once departed from that of 
his Creator, his religious instinct became more and more corrupted, 
till at length no object was too vile for his adoration; as in a 
certain state of disease the appetite turns from wholesome food, and 
longs for what would at other times be loathsome.

The Negro Fetishes are just such objects as, according to the French 
Jesuits, the Devil used to present to the Canadian Indians, to bring 
them good luck in fishing, hunting, gaming, and such traffic as they 
carried on. This may probably mean that they dreamt of such things; 
for in dreams many superstitions have originated, and great use has 
been made of them in Priestcraft.

The same kind of superstition has appeared in different ages and in 
different parts of the World, among the most civilized nations and the 
rudest savages, and among the educated as well as the ignorant. The 
belief in Omens prevails among us still, and will long continue to 
prevail, notwithstanding national schools, cheap literature and 
Societies for promoting knowledge.

A late Lord Chancellor used to travel with a Goose in his carriage, 
and consult it on all occasions; whether according to the rules of 
Roman augury I know not, nor whether he decided causes by it; but the 
causes might have been as well decided if he did. The Goose was his 
Fetish. It was not Lord Brougham,—Lord Brougham was his own Goose 
while he held the Seals; but it was the only Lord Chancellor in our 
times who resembled him in extraordinary genius, and as extraordinary 
an unfitness for his office. One of the most distinguished men of the 
age, who has left a reputation which will be as lasting as it is 
great, was when a boy in constant fear of a very able but unmerciful 
schoolmaster; and in the state of mind which that constant fear 
produced he fixed upon a great Spider for his Fetish, and used every 
day to pray to it that he might not be flogged.




CHAPTER EXTRAORDINARY.

PROCEEDINGS AT A BOOK CLUB. THE AUTHOR ACCUSED OF ‘LESE DELICATESSE,’ 
OR WHAT IS CALLED AT COURT ‘TUM-TI-TEE.’ HE UTTERS A MYSTERIOUS 
EXCLAMATION, AND INDIGNANTLY VINDICATES HIMSELF.

_Rem profecto mirabilem, longeque stupendam, rebusque veris veriorem 
describo._

HIERONYMUS RADIOLENSIS.


A circumstance has come to my knowledge so remarkable in itself and 
affecting me so deeply, that on both accounts I feel it necessary to 
publish a Chapter Extraordinary on the occasion.

There is a certain Book-Club, or Society, (no matter where) in which 
the Volumes of this Opus have been regularly ordered as they appeared, 
and regularly perused, to the edification of many Readers, the 
admiration of more, and the amusement of all. But I am credibly 
informed that an alarm was excited in that select literary Circle by a 
Chapter in the fourth volume, and that the said volume was not allowed 
to circulate by the Managing Directors or Committee, of the said Book 
Club, till the said Chapter had been exscinded, that is to say, cut 
out.

  Aballiboozo!

When a poor wretch fell into the hands of that hellish Tribunal which 
called itself the Holy Office, the Inquisitors always began by 
requiring him to tell them what he was accused of; and they persisted 
in this course of examination time after time, till by promises and 
threats, long suspense and solitary confinement, with the occasional 
aid of the rack, they had extorted from him matter of accusation 
against himself and as many of his friends, relations and 
acquaintances as they could induce, or compel, or entrap him to name. 
Even under such a judicial process I should never have been able to 
discover what Chapter in this Opus could have been thought to require 
an operation, which, having the fear of the expurgatorial scissars 
before my eyes I must not venture to mention here, by its appropriate 
name, tho' it is a Dictionary word and the use of it is in this sense 
strictly technical. My ignorance however has been enlightened, and I 
have been made acquainted with what in the simplicity of my heart I 
never could have surmised.

The Chapter condemned to that operation, the chapter which has been 
not bisked, but semiramised, is the hundred and thirty-sixth Chapter, 
concerning the Pedigree and Birth of Nobs; but whether the passage 
which called forth this severe sentence from the Censors were that in 
which Moses and Miss Jenny, the Sire and Dam of Nobs, are described as 
meeting in a field near Knavesmire Heath, like _Dido dux et Trojanus_; 
or whether it were the part where the consequences of that meeting are 
related as coming unexpectedly to light in a barn between Doncaster 
and Adwick-in-the-Street, my informant was not certain.

From another quarter I have been assured, that the main count in the 
indictment was upon the story of _Le Cheval de Pierre, et les 
Officiers Municipaux_. This I am told it was which alarmed the 
Literary Sensitives. The sound of the foot-steps of the Marble Statue 
in Don Juan upon the boards of the stage never produced a more aweful 
sense of astonishment in that part of the audience who were fixed all 
eyes and ears upon its entrance, than this _Cheval de Pierre_ produced 
among the Board of Expurgators. After this I ought not to be surprized 
if the Publishers were to be served with a notice that the Lord Mayors 
of London and York, and the simple Mayors of every corporate town in 
England, reformed or unreformed, having a Magistrate so called, 
whether gentle or simple, had instituted proceedings against them for 
_Scandalum Magnatum_. This however I have the satisfaction of knowing, 
that Miss Graveairs smiled in good humour when she heard the Chapter 
read; the only serious look put on was at the quotation from Pindar, 
as if suspecting there might be something in the Greek which was not 
perfectly consistent with English notions of propriety. Nothing 
however could be more innocent than that Greek. And even after what 
has passed, she would agree with me that this Chapter which made the 
Elders blush, is one which Susanna would have read as innocently as it 
was written.

Nevertheless I say, _O tempora! O mores!_ uttering the words 
exultantly, not in exprobration. I congratulate the age and the 
British Public. I congratulate my Country-men, my Country-women, and 
my Country-children. I congratulate Young England upon the March of 
Modesty! How delightful that it should thus keep pace with the March 
of Intellect! _Redeunt Saturnia regna._ In these days Liberality and 
Morality appear hand-in-hand upon the stage like the Two Kings of 
Brentford; and Piety and Profit have kissed each other at religious 
Meetings.

We have already a Family Shakespeare; and it cannot be supposed that 
the hint will always be disregarded which Mr. Matthew Gregory Lewis 
introduced so properly some forty years ago into his then celebrated 
novel called the Monk, for a Family Bible, upon the new plan of 
removing all passages that could be thought objectionable on the score 
of indelicacy. We may look to see Mr. Thomas Moore's Poems adapted to 
the use of Families; and Mr. Murray cannot do less than provide the 
Public with a Family Byron.

It may therefore be matter of grave consideration for me whether under 
all circumstances it would not be highly expedient to prepare a 
semiramised edition of this Opus, under the Title of the Family 
Doctor. It may be matter for consultation with my Publishers, to whose 
opinion as founded on experience and a knowledge of the public taste, 
an author will generally find it prudent to defer. Neither by them or 
me would it be regarded as an objection that the title might mislead 
many persons, who supposing that the “Family Doctor” and the “Family 
Physician” meant the same kind of Book, would order the Opus under a 
mistaken notion that it was a new and consequently improved work, 
similar to Dr. Buchan's, formerly well known as a stock-book. This 
would be no objection I say, but on the contrary an advantage to all 
parties. For a book which directs people how to physic themselves 
ought to be entitled Every Man his own Poisoner, because it cannot 
possibly teach them how to discriminate between the resemblant 
symptoms of different diseases. Twice fortunate therefore would that 
person have reason to think him or herself, who under such a 
misapprehension of its title should purchase the Family Doctor!

Ludicrous mistakes of this kind have sometimes happened. Mr. 
Haslewood's elaborate and expensive edition of the Mirror for 
Magistrates was ordered by a gentleman in the Commission of the Peace, 
not an hundred miles from the Metropolis; he paid for it the full 
price, and his unfortunate Worship was fain to take what little he 
could get for it from his Bookseller under such circumstances, rather 
than endure the mortification of seeing it in his bookcase. A lady who 
had a true taste as well as a great liking for poetry, ordered an 
Essay on Burns for the Reading Society of which she was a member. She 
opened the book expecting to derive much pleasure from a critical 
disquisition on the genius of one of her favourite Poets; and behold 
it proved to be an Essay on Burns and Scalds by a Surgeon!

But in this case it would prove an Agreeable Surprize instead of a 
disappointment; and if the intention had been to mislead, and thereby 
entrap the purchaser, the end might be pleaded, according to the 
convenient morality of the age, as justifying the means. Lucky indeed 
were the patient who sending for Morrison's Pills should be supplied 
with Tom D'Urfey's in their stead; happy man would be his dole who 
when he had made up his mind in dismal resolution to a dreadful course 
of drastics, should find that gelastics had been substituted, not of 
the Sardonian kind, but composed of the most innocent and salutiferous 
ingredients, gently and genially alterative, mild in their operation, 
and safe and sure in their effects.

On that score therefore there could be no objection to the publication 
of a Family Doctor. But believing as I believe, or rather, knowing as 
I know, that the Book is free from any such offence,

       _mal cupiera alli
  tal aspid en tales flores;_[1]

maintaining that it is in this point immaculate, which I will maintain 
as confidently because as justly, and as publicly were it needful, 
(only that my bever must be closed) as Mr. Dymock at the approaching 
Coronation will maintain Queen Victoria's right to the Crown of these 
Kingdoms (God save the Queen!),—it is impossible that I should consent 
to a measure which must seem like acknowledging the justice of a 
charge at once ridiculous and wrongful.

             I must not disesteem
  My rightful cause for being accused, nor must
  Forsake myself, tho I were left of all.
  Fear cannot make my innocence unjust
  Unto itself, to give my Truth the fall.[2]

[Footnote 1: LOPE DE VEGA.]

[Footnote 2: DANIEL.]

The most axiomatic of English Poets has said

  Do not forsake yourself; for they that do,
  Offend and teach the world to leave them too.

Of the Book itself,—(the Opus) I can say truly, as South said of the 
Sermon which he preached in 1662 before the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of 
the City of London, “the subject is inoffensive, harmless, and 
innocent as the state of innocence itself;” and of the particular 
chapter, that it is “suitable to the immediate design, and to the 
genius of the book.” And in saying this I call to mind the words of 
Nicolas Perez, el Setabiense;—_el amor propio es nuestro enemigo mas 
perjudicial; es dificil acabar con el, por lo mismo un sabio le 
compara à la camisa, que es el ultimo de los vestidos que nos 
quitamos._

Bear witness _incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas!_ that I seek not to 
cover myself with what the Spaniard calls Self-Love's last Shirt; for 
I am no more guilty of _Lese Modestie_ than of _Lese Majesté_. If 
there were a Court of Delicacy as there has been a Court of Honour, a 
Court Modest as there is a Court Martial, I would demand a trial, and 
in my turn arraign my arraigners,

  “_Porque en este limpio trigo
  Siembren zizaña y estrago._”[3]

[Footnote 3: LOPE DE VEGA.]

It is said in the very interesting and affecting Memoir of Mr. 
Smedley's Life that he had projected with Mr. Murray “a castigated 
edition of the Faery Queen.” He was surprized, says the biographer “to 
find how many passages there were in this the most favourite poem of 
his youth, which a father's acuter vision and more sensitive delicacy 
discovered to be unfit for the eyes of his daughters.” It appears too 
that he had actually performed the task; but that “Mr. Murray altered 
his opinion as to the expediency of the publication, and he found to 
his annoyance that his time had been employed to no purpose.”

Poor Smedley speaks thus of the project in one of his letters. “I am 
making the Faery Queen a poem which may be admitted into _family_ 
reading, by certain omissions, by modernizing the spelling and by 
appending, where necessary, brief glossarial foot-notes. I read 
Spenser so very early and made him so much a part of the furniture of 
my mind, that until I had my attention drawn to him afresh, I had 
utterly forgotten how much he required the pruning-knife, how utterly 
impossible it is that he should be read aloud: and I cannot but think 
that when fitted for general perusal, he will become more attractive 
by a new coat and waistcoat. If we were to print Shakespeare, and 
Beaumont and Fletcher, or even Milton, _literatim_ from the first 
editions, the spelling would deter many readers. Strange to say, when 
Southey was asked some time ago whether he would undertake the task, 
he said, ‘No, I shall print every word of him!’ and he has done so, in 
a single volume. Can he have daughters? Or any who, like my Mary, 
delight in such portions as they are permitted to open?”

Did Southey say so?—Why then, well said Southey! And it is very like 
him; for he is not given to speak, as his friends the Portugueze say, 
_enfarinhadamente_—which is being interpreted, mealy-mouthedly. Indeed 
his moral and intellectual constitution must be much feebler than I 
suppose it to be, if his daughters are not ‘permitted to open’ any 
book in his library. He must have been as much astonished to hear that 
the Faery Queen was unfit for their perusal as he could have been when 
he saw it gravely asserted by an American Professor, Critic and Doctor 
of Divinity, that his Life of Wesley was composed in imitation of the 
Iliad!

Scott felt like Southey upon this subject, and declared that he would 
never deal with Dryden as Saturn dealt with his father Uranus. Upon 
such publications as the Family Shakespeare he says,—“I do not say but 
that it may be very proper to select correct passages for the use of 
Boarding-Schools and Colleges, being sensible no improper ideas can be 
suggested in these seminaries unless they are introduced or smuggled 
under the beards and ruffs of our old dramatists. But in making an 
edition of a Man of Genius's Works for libraries and collections, (and 
such I conceive a compleat edition of Dryden to be,) I must give my 
author as I find him, and will not tear out the page even to get rid 
of the blot, little as I like it. Are not the pages of Swift, and even 
of Pope, larded with indecency and often of the most disgusting kind, 
and do we not see them upon all shelves, and dressing-tables and in 
all boudoirs? Is not Prior the most indecent of tale-tellers, not even 
excepting La Fontaine, and how often do we see his works in female 
hands. In fact it is not passages of ludicrous indelicacy that corrupt 
the manners of a people; it is the sonnets which a prurient genius 
like Master Little sings _virginibus puerisque_,—it is the sentimental 
slang, half lewd, half methodistic, that debauches the understanding, 
inflames the sleeping passions, and prepares the reader to give way as 
soon as a tempter appears.”

How could Mr. Smedley have allowed himself to be persuaded that a poem 
like the Faery Queen which he had made from early youth ‘a part of the 
furniture of his own mind,’ should be more injurious to others than it 
had proved to himself? It is one of the books which Wesley in the plan 
which he drew up for those young Methodists who designed to go through 
a course of academical learning, recommended to students of the second 
year. Mr. Todd has noticed this in support of his own just estimate of 
this admirable poet. “If,” says he, “our conceptions of Spenser's mind 
may be taken from his poetry, I shall not hesitate to pronounce him 
entitled to our warmest approbation and regard for his gentle 
disposition, for his friendly and grateful conduct, for his humility, 
for his exquisite tenderness, and above all for his piety and 
morality. To these amiable points a fastidious reader may perhaps 
object some petty inadvertencies; yet can he never be so ungrateful as 
to deny the efficacy which Spenser's general character gives to his 
writings,—as to deny that Truth and Virtue are graceful and 
attractive, when the road to them is pointed out by such a guide. Let 
it always be remembered that this excellent Poet inculcates those 
impressive lessons, by attending to which the gay and the thoughtless 
may be timely induced to treat with scorn and indignation the 
allurements of intemperance and illicit pleasure.”

When Izaak Walton published ‘Thealma and Clearchus,’ a pastoral 
history written long since in smooth and easy verse by John Chalkhill, 
Esq., he described him in the Title page as “An Acquaintant and Friend 
of Edmund Spenser.” He says of him “that he was in his time a man 
generally known and as well beloved, for he was humble and obliging in 
his behaviour, a gentleman, a scholar, very innocent and prudent, and 
indeed his whole life was useful, quiet, and virtuous.” Yet to have 
been the friend of Edmund Spenser was considered by the biographer of 
Hooker and Donne and Bishop Sanderson and George Herbert, as an 
honourable designation for this good man, a testimonial of his worth 
to posterity, long after both Chalkhill and Spenser had been called to 
their reward.

It was well that Mr. Murray gave up the project of a Family Faery 
Queen. Mr. Smedley when employed upon such a task ought to have felt 
that he was drawing upon himself something like Ham's malediction.

With regard to another part of these projected emendations there is a 
fatal objection. There is no good reason why the capricious spelling 
of the early editions should be scrupulously and pedantically observed 
in Shakespeare, Milton, or any author of their respective times;—no 
reason why words which retain the same acceptation, and are still 
pronounced in the same manner should not now be spelt according to the 
received orthography. Spenser is the only author for whom an exception 
must be made from this obvious rule. Malone was wrong when he asserted 
that the language of the Faery Queen was that of the age in which 
Spenser lived; and Ben Jonson was not right when, saying that Spenser 
writ no language, he assigned as the cause for this, his ‘affecting 
the Ancients.’ The diction or rather dialect which Spenser 
constructed, was neither like that of his predecessors, nor of his 
contemporaries. Camoens also wrote a language of his own and thereby 
did for the Portugueze tongue the same service which was rendered to 
ours by the translators of the Bible. But the Portugueze Poet, who 
more than any other of his countrymen refined a language which was 
then in the process of refining, attempted to introduce nothing but 
what entirely accorded with its character, and with the spirit of that 
improvement which was gradually taking place: whereas both the 
innovations and renovations which Spenser introduced were against the 
grain. Yet such is the magic of his verse, that the Faery Queen if 
modernized, even though the structure of its stanza—(the best which 
has ever been constructed) were preserved, would lose as much as Homer 
loses in the best translation.

Mr. Wordsworth has modernized one of Chaucer's Poems with “no farther 
deviation from the original than was necessary for the fluent reading 
and instant understanding of the author, supplying the place of 
whatever he removed as obsolete with as little incongruity as 
possible.” This he has done very skilfully. But the same skill could 
not be exercised upon the Faery Queen with the same success. The 
peculiarities of language there are systematic; to modernize the 
spelling as Mr. Smedley proposed would in very many cases interfere 
with the rhyme and thus dislocate the stanza. The task therefore would 
have been extremely difficult; it would have been useless, because no 
one who is capable of enjoying that delightful Poem ever found any 
difficulty in understanding its dialect, and it would have been 
mischievous because it would have destroyed the character of the Poem. 
And this in the expectation of rendering Spenser more attractive by a 
new coat and waistcoat! Spenser of whom it has been truly said that 
more poets have sprung from him than from all other English writers; 
Spenser by whom Cowley tells us he was made a Poet; of whom Milton 
acknowledged to Dryden that he was his original; and in whom Pope says 
“there is something that pleases one as strongly in ones old age as it 
did in ones youth. I read the Faery Queen,” he proceeds, “when I was 
about twelve with a vast deal of delight, and I think it gave me as 
much when I read it over about a year or two ago.”

No, a new suit of clothes would not render Spenser more attractive, 
not even if to a coat and waistcoat of Stultz's fabric, white satin 
pantaloons were added, such as the handsomest and best dressed of 
modern patriots, novelists and poets was known by on the public walk 
of a fashionable watering place.

Save us from the Ultradelicates and the Extrasuperfines! for if these 
are to prevail—

  What can it avail
  To drive forth a snail
  Or to make a sail
  Of a herring's tail?
  To rhyme or to rail,
  To write or to indite
  Either for delight
  Or else for despite?
  Or books to compile
  Of divers manner of style,
  Vice to revile,
  And sin to exile,
  To teach or to preach
  As reason will reach?

So said Skelton three centuries ago, and for myself I say once more 
what Skelton would have been well pleased to have heard said by any 
one.

  Aballiboozo!

Dear Author, says one of those Readers who deserve to be pleased, and 
whom therefore there is a pleasure in pleasing, dear Author! may I not 
ask wherefore you have twice in this Chapter Extraordinary given us 
part of your long mysterious word, and only part, instead of setting 
it before us at full length?

Dear Reader! you may; and you may also ask unblamed whether a part of 
the word is not as good, that is to say as significant, as the whole? 
You shall have a full and satisfactory answer in the next Chapter.




CHAPTER CXLVIII.

WHEREIN A SUBSTITUTE FOR OATHS, AND OTHER PASSIONATE INTERJECTIONS IS 
EXEMPLIFIED.

  What have we to do with the times? We cannot cure 'em:
  Let them go on: when they are swoln with surfeits
  They'll burst and stink: Then all the world shall smell 'em.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.


Once more Reader I commence with

  Aballiboozobanganorribo;

Do not suppose that I am about to let thee into the mysteries of that 
great decasyllabon! _Questo è bene uno de' piu profondi segreti ch' 
abbia tutto il mondo, e quasi nessuno il sa; e sia certo che ad altri 
nol direi giammai._[1] No Reader! not if I were before the High Court 
of Parliament, and the House of Commons should exert all its 
inquisitorial and tyrannical powers to extort it from me, would I let 
the secret pass that _ἐρκος ὀδοντῶν_ within which my little trowel of 
speech has learnt not to be an unruly member. I would behave as 
magnanimously as Sir Abraham Bradley King did upon a 
not-altogether-dissimilar occasion. Sir Abraham might have said of his 
secret as Henry More says of the Epicurean Philosophy, “Truly it is a 
very venerable secret; and not to be uttered or communicated but by 
some old Silenus lying in his obscure grot or cave; nor that neither 
but upon due circumstances, and in a right humour, when one may find 
him with his veins swelled out with wine, and his garland fallen off 
from his head through his heedless drowsiness. Then if some young 
Chromis and Mnasylus, especially assisted by a fair and forward Ægle, 
that by way of a love-frolic will leave the tracts of their fingers in 
the blood of mulberries on the temples and forehead of this aged 
Satyr, while he sleeps dog-sleep, and will not seem to see for fear he 
forfeit the pleasure of his feeling,—then I say, if these young lads 
importune him enough,—he will utter it in a higher strain than ever.”

[Footnote 1: BIBBIENA.]

But by no such means can the knowledge of my profounder mystery be 
attained. I will tell thee however, good reader, that the word itself, 
apart from all considerations of its mystical meaning, serves me for 
the same purpose to which the old tune of Lilliburlero was applied by 
our dear Uncle Toby,—_our_ dear Uncle I say, for is he not _your_ 
Uncle Toby, gentle Reader? yours as well as mine, if you are worthy to 
hold him in such relationship; and so by that relationship, you and I 
are Cousins.

The Doctor had learnt something from his Uncle William, which he used 
to the same effect, tho' not in the same way. William Dove in that 
capacious memory of his, into which every thing that he heard was 
stored, and out of which nothing was lost, had among the fragments of 
old songs and ballads which he had picked up, sundry burdens or 
chorusses, as unmeaning as those which O'Keeffe used to introduce in 
some of the songs of his farces, always with good farcical effect. 
Uncle Toby's favourite was one of them;

      Lilli burlero bullen a-la;
  Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la;
  Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la.

Without knowing that it was designed as an insult to the French, he 
used to say and sing in corrupted form,

  Suum, mun, hey no nonny,
    Dolphin, my boy, my boy,
    Sessa, let him trot by.

Another was that from the ballad in honour of the Earl of Essex, 
called Queen Elizabeth's Champion, which Johnson quoted in the Isle of 
Sky; and Johnson is not the only omnivorous reader in whose memory it 
has stuck;

  Raderer too, tandaro tee
  Radarer, tandorer, tan do ree.

And he had treasured up the elder fragment,

    Martin Swart and his men.
      Sodledum, sodledum,
    Martin Swart and his men,
      Sodledum bell,
    With hey troly loly lo, whip here Jack,
  Alumbeck, sodledum, syllerum ben,
    Martin Swart and his merry men.

He had also this relic of the same age, relating as it seems to some 
now forgotten hero of the strolling minstrels,

        Rory-bull Joyse,
  Rumble down, tumble down, hey, go now now.

Here is another, for he uttered these things ‘as he had eaten 
ballads.’

  A story strange I will you tell,
    But not so strange as true,
  Of a woman that danced upon the rope,
    And so did her husband too:
      With a dildo, dildo, dildo,
        With a dildo, dildo, dee.

And he had one of Irish growth, which he sometimes tacked on to this 
last for the rhyme's sake

  Callino, callino,
  Callino, castore me,
    Era ëe, Era ëe
  Loo loo, loo loo lee.

All these were favourites with little Daniel; and so especially for 
his name's sake, was

  My juggy, my puggy, my honey, my coney,
    My deary, my love, my dove.

There was another with which and the Dovean use thereof, it is proper 
that the reader should now be made acquainted, for it would otherwise 
require explanation, when he meets with it hereafter. This was the one 
which, when William Dove trotted little Daniel upon his knee, he used 
to sing more frequently than any other, because the child, then in the 
most winning stage of childhood, liked it best of all, and it went to 
the tune of “God save great George our King” as happily as if that 
noble tune had been composed for it. The words were,

  Fa la la lerridan,
  Dan dan dan derridan,
  Dan dan dan derridan,
      Derridan dee.

To what old ditty they formed the burden I know not, nor whether it 
may be (as I suspect) a different reading of “Down, down, down derry 
down,” which the most learned of living Welshmen supposes to be a 
Druidical fragment: but the frequent repetition of his own abbreviated 
name seldom failed to excite in the child one of those hearty and 
happy laughs which are never enjoyed after that blessed age has past. 
Most of us have frequently laughed till our sides ached, and many not 
unfrequently it may be feared laugh till their hearts ache. But the 
pure, fresh, unalloyed innocent laughter of children, in those moods 
when they

  ——seem like birds, created to be glad,[2]—

that laughter belongs to them and to them only. We see it and 
understand it in them; but nothing can excite more than a faint 
resemblance of it in ourselves.

[Footnote 2: GONDIBERT.]

The Doctor made use of this burden when any thing was told him which 
excited his wonder, or his incredulity; and the degree in which either 
was called forth might be accurately determined by his manner of using 
it. He expressed mirthful surprize, or contemptuous disbelief by the 
first line, and the tune proceeded in proportion as the surprize was 
greater, or the matter of more moment. But when any thing greatly 
astonished him, he went thro' the whole, and gave it in a base voice 
when his meaning was to be most emphatic.

In imitation, no doubt, of my venerable friend in this his practice, 
though perhaps at first half unconscious of the imitation, I have been 
accustomed to use the great decasyllabon, with which this present 
Chapter commences, and with which it is to end. In my use of it 
however, I observe this caution,—that I do not suffer myself to be 
carried away by an undue partiality, so as to employ it in disregard 
of ejaculatory propriety or to the exclusion of exclamations which the 
occasion may render more fitting. Thus if I were to meet with 
Hercules, _Mehercule_ would doubtless be the interjection which I 
should prefer; and when I saw the Siamese Twins, I could not but 
exclaim _O Gemini!_

Further, good Reader, if thou wouldest profit by these benevolent 
disclosures of Danielism and Dovery, take notice I say, and not only 
take notice, but take good notice,—N. B.—there was this difference 
between the Doctor's use of his burden, and mine of the decasyllabon, 
that the one was sung, and the other said, and that they are not 
“appointed to be said or sung,” but that the one being designed for 
singing must be sung, and the other not having been adapted to music 
must be said. And if any great Composer should attempt to set the 
Decasyllabon, let him bear in mind that it should be set in the 
hypodorian key, the proslambanomenos of which mode is, in the 
judgement of the Antients, the most grave sound that the human voice 
can utter, and that the hearing can distinctly form a judgement of.

Some such device may be recommended to those who have contracted the 
evil habit of using oaths as interjectional safety-valves or 
convenient expletives of speech. The manner may be exemplified in 
reference to certain recent events of public notoriety.

  We see which way the stream of time doth run,
  And are enforced from our most quiet sphere
  By the rough torrent of occasion.[3]

[Footnote 3: SHAKESPEARE.]

Upon hearing one morning that in the Debate of the preceding night Mr. 
Brougham had said no change of administration could possibly affect 
him, I only exclaimed _A!_ A short-hand writer would have mistaken it 
for the common interjection, and have written it accordingly Ah! But 
it was the first syllable of my inscrutable word, and signified mere 
notation without wonder or belief.

When in the course of the same day there came authentic intelligence 
that Mr. Brougham was to be the Lord Chancellor of the New 
Administration, so little surprize was excited by the news, that I 
only added another syllable and exclaimed _Abal!_

Reading in the morning papers that Sir James Graham was to be first 
Lord of the Admiralty, and Lord Althorpe to lead the House of Commons, 
the exclamation proceeded one step farther and became _Aballi!_

This was uttered in a tone that implied disbelief; for verily I gave 
the Cabinet Makers credit for a grain of sense more than they 
possessed, (a _grain_ mark you, because they had nothing to do with 
_scruples_;) I supposed there was a mistake as to the persons,—that 
Sir James Graham whose chief knowledge was supposed to lie in finance 
and his best qualification in his tongue, was to be Chancellor of the 
Exchequer, and that Lord Althorpe who had no other claim to 
consideration whatever than as being Earl Spencer's eldest son, 
(except that as Hodge said of Diccon the Bedlam, he is ‘even as good a 
fellow as ever kissed a cow,’) was intended for the Admiralty where 
Spencer is a popular name. But when it proved that there was no 
mistake in the Newspapers, and that each of these ministers had been 
deliberately appointed to the office for which the other was fit, then 
I said _Aballiboo!_

The accession of Mr. Charles Grant and his brother to such an 
Administration, brought me to _Aballiboozo!_ with a shake of the head 
and in a mournful tone; for I could not but think how such a falling 
off would astonish the Soul of Canning, if in the intermediate state 
there be any knowledge of the events which are passing on earth.

When the Ministry blundered into their Budget, I exclaimed 
_Aballiboozobang!_ with a strong emphasis upon the final syllable, and 
when they backed out of it, I came to _Aballiboozobanga!_

The Reform Bill upon a first glance at its contents, called forth 
_Aballiboozobanganor_—I would have hurried on two steps farther, to 
the end of the decasyllabon, if I had not prudently checked myself and 
stopt there,—foreseeing that new cause for astonishment must now arise 
daily.

When Sir Robert Peel did not upon the first reading kick out this mass 
of crudities, and throw out the Cabinet after it, neck and shoulders, 
hip and thigh, I said in bitterness _Aballiboozobanganorri!_

And when that Cabinet waxing insolent because they had raised the mob 
to back them, declared that they would have the Bill, the whole Bill, 
and nothing but the Bill, then I expressed my contempt, amazement, and 
indignation, by uttering in its omnisignificant totality the great 
word

  ABALLIBOOZOBANGANORRIBO.




CHAPTER CXLIX.

A PARLOUS QUESTION ARISING OUT OF THE FOREGOING CHAPTER. MR. IRVING 
AND THE UNKNOWN TONGUES. TAYLOR THE WATER POET. POSSIBLE SCHEME OF 
INTERPRETATION PROPOSED. OPINIONS CONCERNING THE GIFT OF TONGUES AS 
EXHIBITED IN MADMEN.

Speak what terrible language you will, though you understand it not 
yourselves, no matter! Chough's language, gabble enough and good 
enough.

SHAKESPEARE.


But here, gentle reader, occurs what Bishop Latimer would call a 
parlous question, if he had lived in these portentous times. There is 
no apparent meaning in Lilli burlero bullen a-la, nor in Raderer too, 
tandaro tee, nor in Dan dan dan derridan, any more than there is in 
Farra diddle dyno,—Hayley gayly gamborayly, higgledy piggledy, 
galloping draggle-tail dreary dun, and other burthens of a similar 
kind, which are to be found in the dramas of poor old blind O'Keeffe, 
and in Tom D'Urfey's songs. There is I say no apparent meaning in 
them; but we must not too confidently apply the legal maxim in this 
case, and conclude that _de non apparente et non existente eadem est 
ratio_; for although these choruses are not in any known tongue, they 
may by possibility be in an unknown one: and if Mr. Irving has not a 
cast in his intellect as well as in his eye, there is mystery in an 
unknown tongue; and they who speak it, and consequently they who write 
it, may be inspired for the nonce—though they may be as little 
conscious of their inspiration as they are of their meaning. There may 
be an unknown inspiration as well as an unknown tongue. If so what 
mighty revelations may lie unrevealed in the gibberish of Taylor the 
Water Poet! Now if Mr. Irving would but read one of the wine-drinking 
Water Poet's effusions of this kind, in his chapel, on a day appointed 
for that purpose, some of his inspired speakers male or female might 
peradventure be moved to expound it in their kindred language; and as 
two negatives make an affirmative, it might be found that two 
unintelligibles make a meaning, and the whole affair would thus become 
intelligible to every one.

Two specimens therefore of the Taylorian tongues I shall here set 
before the public, in the hope that this important experiment may be 
tried with them. They were both intended as epitaphs for Thomas Coriat 
the famous Odcombian traveller; the first was supposed by the inspired 
Water Poet to be in the Bermuda tongue.

  Hough gruntough wough Thomough Coriatough, Adcough robunquogh
  Warawogh bogh Comitogh sogh wogh termonatogrogh,
  Callimogh gogh whobogh Ragamogh demagorgogh palemogh,
  Lomerogh nogh Tottertogh illemortogh eagh Allaquemquogh
  Toracominogh Jagogh Jamerogh mogh Carnogh pelepsogh,
  Animogh trogh deradrogh maramogh hogh Flondrogh calepsogh.

This, Taylor says, must be pronounced with the accent of the grunting 
of a hog. He gives no directions for pronouncing the second specimen, 
which is in the Utopian tongue.

  Nortumblum callimumquash omystoliton quashte burashte
  Scribuke woshtay solusbay perambulatushte;
  Grekay sous Turkay Paphay zums Jerusalushte.
  Neptus esht Ealors Interrimoy diz dolorushte,
  Confabuloy Odcumbay Prozeugmolliton tymorumynoy,
  Omulus oratushte paralescus tolliton umbroy.

The Water Poet gave notice as Professor of these tongues that he was 
willing to instruct any gentlemen or others who might be desirous of 
learning them.

But with regard to a gift of tongues either known or unknown there are 
more things than are dreamt of in the Irvingite philosophy or in the 
Lerry-cum-twang school. It was a received opinion in the seventeenth 
century that maniacs, and other persons afflicted with morbid 
melancholy, spoke in strange languages, and foretold things that were 
to come, by virtue,—that is to say—in consequence of their mental 
malady. But some philosophers who in the march of intellect were in 
advance of their age, denied the fact, and accounted for the 
persuasion by supposing that such patients, when in a state of great 
agitation, uttered unmeaning words or sounds which ignorant people 
took to be Greek, Latin or Hebrew, merely because they could not 
understand them. Two questions therefore arose; whether the received 
opinion were true? and if it were true, how was the fact to be 
accounted for?

The first of these questions was easily disposed of by Sennertus, one 
of the most eminent Professors and practitioners of the medical 
science in that age. Facts he said, which were attested by 
trust-worthy authors, were not to be disputed. Many were the impudent 
falsehoods which this great and in other respects wise man, received 
implicitly as facts conformably to the maxim which he thus laid down; 
and many were the perilous consequences which he deduced in good 
faith, and on fair reasoning from such premises. Upon this occasion he 
instanced the case of a countryman, who at certain periods of the moon 
used to compose Latin verses, though he knew not a word of Latin at 
any other time. And of a man who spoke languages which he had never 
learnt, and became unable to speak any one of them as soon as he was 
restored to health by the effect of some powerful worm-medicines. And 
of a sailor's son, who being wounded in the head and becoming 
delirious in consequence, made perfect syllogisms in German, but as 
soon as his wound was healed, lost all the logic which had been beaten 
into his head in so extraordinary a way.

Antonius Guainerius, who vouched for one of these cases as having 
witnessed the fact and all its circumstances, accounted for it by a 
brave hypothesis. The soul, he said, before its infusion into the 
body, possesses a knowledge of all things, and that knowledge is, in a 
certain manner, obliterated, or offuscated by its union with the body; 
but it is restored either by the ordinary means of instruction or by 
the influence of the star which presided at the time of its union. The 
body, and the bodily senses resist this influence, but when these are 
as it were bound, or suspended, _quod fiat in melancholia_, the stars 
can then impart their influences to the soul without obstruction, and 
the soul may thus be endowed with the power of effecting what the 
stars themselves effect, and thus an illiterate person may become 
learned, and may also predict events that are to come. Sennertus is 
far from assenting to this theory. He says “_Magna petita sunt quæ 
præsupponit et sibi concedi postulat Guainerius._”

A theory quite as extraordinary was advanced by Juan Huarte in his 
_Examen de Ingenios_, a book which obtained at one time far more 
reputation than it deserved. Take the passage, curious Reader, from 
the English version, entitled “The Examination of Men's Wits,” in 
which by discovering the variety of natures is shewed for what 
profession each one is apt, and how far he shall profit therein. 
Translated out of the Spanish tongue by M. Camillo Camilli. Englished 
out of his Italian by R. C. Esquire, 1594. “The frantic persons 
speaking of Latin, without that he ever learned the same in his 
health-time, shews the consonance which the Latin tongue holds with 
the reasonable soul; and (as we will prove hereafter,) there is to be 
found a particular wit applicable to the invention of languages, and 
Latin words; and the phrases of speech in that tongue are so fitting 
with the ear, that the reasonable soul, possessing the necessary 
temperature for the invention of some delicate language, suddenly 
encounters with this. And that two devisers of languages may shape the 
like words, (having the like wit and hability) it is very manifest; 
pre-supposing, that when God created Adam, and set all things before 
him, to the end he might bestow on each its several name whereby it 
should be called, he had likewise at that instant molded another man 
with the same perfection and supernatural grace; now I demand if God 
had placed the same things before this other man, that he might also 
set them names whereby they should be called, of what manner those 
names should have been? For mine own part I make no doubt but he would 
have given these things those very names which Adam did: and the 
reason is very apparent, for both carried one self-same eye to the 
nature of each thing, which of itself was no more but one. After this 
manner might the frantic person light upon the Latin tongue; and speak 
the same without ever having learned it in his health; for the natural 
temperature of his brain conceiving alteration through the infirmity, 
it might for a space become like his who first invented the Latin 
tongue, and feign the like words, but yet not with that concert and 
continued fineness, for this would give token that the Devil moved 
that tongue, as the Church teacheth her Exorcists.”

This theory found as little favour with Sennertus as that of 
Guainerius, because he says, Huarte assumes more than can be granted; 
and moreover because he supposes that the Latin language has a 
peculiar consonance with the rational soul, and that there are certain 
natures which are peculiarly constituted for inventing languages. And 
therefore if by disease that temperament be excited in the brain which 
is necessary for the invention of any most elegant language the 
patient would fall into the Latin tongue; and Latin words would occur 
to him, without any deliberation, or act of will on his part. This 
opinion Sennertus argued cannot be maintained as probable, being 
indeed disproved by the very cases upon which the question had been 
raised, for Greek and Hebrew had been spoken by some of the patients, 
as well as Latin. The facts he admits as not to be doubted, because 
they are related by veracious authors; and his way of accounting for 
them is by the agency of evil spirits, who take advantage of bodily 
diseases and act upon them, especially such as arise from melancholy; 
for that humour or passion has such attractions for evil spirits that 
it has been called _Balneum Diaboli_, the Devil's Bath. When therefore 
a patient speaks in tongues which he has never learnt, _eo ipso Dæmon 
se manifeste prodit_.

This opinion than which one of greater weight could not have been 
produced in the 17th century, is recommended to the serious 
consideration of the Irvingites.

The Doctor would have sung Fa-la-la-lerridan to all this reasoning, 
and I say Aballiboo!




CHAPTER CL.

THE WEDDING PEAL AT ST. GEORGE'S, AND THE BRIDE'S APPEARANCE AT 
CHURCH.

See how I have strayed! and you'll not wonder when you reflect on the 
whence and the whither.

ALEXANDER KNOX.


Well dear Reader, I have answered your question concerning the great 
Decasyllabon. I have answered it fairly and explicitly, not like those 
Jesuitical casuists

  That palter with us in a double sense,
  That keep the word of promise to our ear
  And break it to our hope.

You have received an answer as full and satisfactory as you could 
expect or desire, and yet the more than cabalistic mysteries of the 
word are still concealed with Eleusinean secresy. Enough of this. For 
the present also we will drop the subject which was broken off by the 
extraordinary circumstances that called forth our Chapter 
Extraordinary.

  _τὸ δε και τετελεσμένον ἔσται_,[1]

for awhile, however, it will be convenient to leave it unfinished, and 
putting an end to the parenthesis in the most important part of the 
Doctor's life, tell thee that the Interim is past, that in the month 
of April 1761, he brought home his bride, and the bells of St. George 
rang that peal,—that memorable peal which was anticipatively mentioned 
in the 32d chapter. Many such peals have they rung since on similar 
occasions, but they have rung their last from St. George's Tower, for 
in 1836, it was thought necessary to remove them, lest they should 
bring that fine old fabric down.

[Footnote 1: HOMER.]

Webster libelled the most exhilarating and the most affecting of all 
measured sounds when he said

      those flattering bells have all
  One sound at weddings and at funerals.

_Es cierta experiencia que la musica crece la pena donde la halla, y 
acrecieuta el plazer en el corazon contento;_ this is more true of 
bell ringing than of any other music; but so far are church bells from 
having one sound on all occasions, that they carry a different import 
on the same to different ears and different minds. The bells of St. 
George's told a different tale to Daniel Dove, and to Deborah, on 
their wedding day. To her, they said, as in articulate words, varying, 
but melancholy alike in import as in cadence,

[Illustration: descending musical tune.]

  Deborah Bacon hath changed her name;
  Deborah Bacon hath left her home;
  Deborah Bacon is now no more.

Yet she had made what in every one's opinion was considered a good 
match, and indeed was far better than what is commonly called good; it 
promised in all human likelihood to be a happy one, and such it 
proved. In the beautiful words of Mrs. Hutchinson, neither she nor her 
husband, “ever had occasion to number their marriage among their 
infelicities.”

Many eyes were turned on the Doctor's bride when she made her 
appearance at St. George's Church. The novelty of the place made her 
less regardful of this than she might otherwise have been. Hollis 
Pigot who held the vicarage of Doncaster thirty years, and was then in 
the last year of his incumbency and his life, performed the service 
that day. I know not among what description of preachers he was to be 
classed; whether with those who obtain attention, and command respect, 
and win confidence, and strengthen belief, and inspire hope, or with 
the far more numerous race of Spintexts and of Martexts. But if he had 
preached that morning with the tongue of an angel, the bride would 
have had no ears for him. Her thoughts were neither upon those who on 
their way from church would talk over her instead of the sermon, nor 
of the service, nor of her husband, nor of herself in her new 
character, but of her father,—and with a feeling which might almost be 
called funereal, that she had passed from under his pastoral as well 
as his paternal care.




CHAPTER CLI.

SOMETHING SERIOUS.

If thou hast read all this Book, and art never the better, yet catch 
this flower before thou go out of the garden, and peradventure the 
scent thereof will bring thee back to smell the rest.

HENRY SMITH.


Deborah found no one in Doncaster to supply the place of Betsy Allison 
in the daily intercourse of familiar and perfect friendship. That 
indeed was impossible; no after-math has the fragrance and the 
sweetness of the first crop. But why do I call her Deborah? She had 
never been known by that name to her new neighbours; and to her very 
Father she was now spoken of as Mrs. Dove. Even the Allisons called 
her so in courteous and customary usage, but not without a melancholy 
reflection that when Deborah Bacon became Mrs. Dove, she was in a 
great measure lost to them.

            “Friendship, although it cease not
  In marriage, is yet at less command
  Than when a single freedom can dispose it.”[1]

[Footnote 1: FORD.]

Doncaster has less of the _Rus in Urbe_ now than it had in those days, 
and than Bath had when those words were placed over the door of a 
Lodging House, on the North Parade. And the house to which the Doctor 
brought home his bride, had less of it than when Peter Hopkins set up 
the gilt pestle and mortar there as the cognizance of his vocation. It 
had no longer that air of quiet respectability which belongs to such a 
dwelling in the best street of a small country town. The Mansion House 
by which it was dwarfed and inconvenienced in many ways, occasioned a 
stir and bustle about it, unlike the cheerful business of a market 
day. The back windows, however, still looked to the fields, and there 
was still a garden. But neither fields nor garden could prevail over 
the odour of the shop, in which, like

  hot, cold, moist and dry, four champions fierce,

in Milton's Chaos, rhubarb and peppermint, and valerian, and 
assafetida, “strove for mastery” and to battle brought their atoms. 
Happy was the day when peppermint predominated; though it always 
reminded Mrs. Dove of Thaxted Grange, and the delight with which she 
used to assist Miss Allison in her distillations. There is an Arabian 
proverb which says, “the remembrance of youth is a sigh;” Southey has 
taken it for the text of one of those juvenile poems in which he 
dwells with thoughtful forefeeling upon the condition of declining 
life.

Miss Allison had been to her, not indeed as a mother, but as what a 
step-mother is, who is led by natural benevolence and a religious 
sense of duty, to perform as far as possible a mother's part to her 
husband's children. There are more such step-mothers than the world is 
willing to believe, and they have their reward here as well as 
hereafter. It was impossible that any new friend could fill up her 
place in Mrs. Dove's affections,—impossible that she could ever feel 
for another woman the respect and reverence, and gratitude, which 
blended with her love for this excellent person. Though she was born 
within four miles of Doncaster, and had lived till her marriage in the 
humble vicarage in which she was born, she had never passed 
four-and-twenty hours in that town before she went to reside there; 
nor had she the slightest acquaintance with any of its inhabitants, 
except the few shop-keepers with whom her little dealings had lain, 
and the occasional visitants whom she had met at the Grange.

An Irish officer in the army, happening to be passenger in an armed 
vessel during the last war, used frequently to wish that they might 
fall in with an enemy's ship, because he said, he had been in many 
land battles, and there was nothing in the world which he desired more 
than to see what sort of a thing a sea fight was. He had his wish, and 
when after a smart action, in which he bore his part bravely, an enemy 
of superior force had been beaten off, he declared with the customary 
emphasis of an Hibernian adjuration, that a sea-fight was a mighty 
_sairious_ sort of thing.

The Doctor and Deborah, as soon as they were betrothed had come to 
just the same conclusion upon a very different subject. Till the day 
of their engagement, nay till the hour of proposal on his part, and 
the very instant of acceptance on hers, each had looked upon marriage, 
when the thought of it occurred, as a distant possibility, more or 
less desirable, according to the circumstances which introduced the 
thought, and the mood in which it was entertained. And when it was 
spoken of sportively, as might happen, in relation to either the one 
or the other, it was lightly treated as a subject in which they had no 
concern. But from the time of their engagement, it seemed to both, the 
most serious event of their lives.

In the Dutch village of Broek, concerning which singular as the habits 
of the inhabitants are, travellers have related more peculiarities 
than ever prevailed there, one remarkable custom shows with how 
serious a mind some of the Hollanders regard marriage. The great house 
door is never opened but when the Master of the House brings home his 
Bride from the altar, and when Husband and Wife are borne out to the 
grave. Dr. Dove had seen that village of great Baby-houses, but though 
much attached to Holland, and to the Dutch as a people, and disposed 
to think that we might learn many useful lessons from our prudent and 
thrifty neighbours, he thought this to be as preposterous, if not as 
shocking a custom, as it would be to have the bell toll at a marriage, 
and to wear a winding sheet for a wedding garment.

We look with wonder at the transformations that take place in insects, 
and yet their physical metamorphoses are not greater than the changes 
which we ourselves undergo morally and intellectually, both in our 
relations to others and in our individual nature. “_Chaque individu, 
considéré separément, differe encore de lui même par l'effet du tems; 
il devient un autre, en quelque maniere, aux diverses epoques de sa 
vie. L'enfant, l'homme fait, le viellard, sont comme autant 
d'etrangers unis dans une seule personne par le lien mysterieux du 
souvenir._”[2] Of all changes in life marriage is certainly the 
greatest, and though less change in every respect can very rarely be 
produced by it in any persons than in the Doctor and his wife, it was 
very great to both. On his part it was altogether an increase of 
happiness; or rather from having been contented in his station he 
became happy in it, so happy as to be experimentally convinced that 
there can be no “single blessedness” for man. There were some 
drawbacks on her part,—in the removal from a quiet vicarage to a busy 
street; in the obstacle which four miles opposed to that daily and 
intimate intercourse with her friends at the Grange which had been the 
chief delight of her maiden life; and above all in the separation from 
her father, for even at a distance which may appear so inconsiderable, 
such it was; but there was the consolatory reflection that those dear 
friends and that dear father concurred in approving her marriage, and 
in rejoicing in it for her sake; and the experience of every day and 
every year made her more and more thankful for her lot. In the full 
liturgic sense of the word, he worshipped her, that is, he loved, and 
cherished, and respected, and honoured her; and she would have obeyed 
him cheerfully as well as dutifully, if obedience could have been 
shown where there was ever but one will.

[Footnote 2: NECKER.]




CHAPTER CLII.

ODD OPINIONS CONCERNING BIOGRAPHY AND EDUCATION. THE AUTHOR MAKES A 
SECOND HIATUS AS UNWILLINGLY AS HE MADE THE FIRST, AND FOR THE SAME 
COGENT REASON.

  _Ya sabes—pero es forzoso
   Repetirlo, aunque lo sepas._

CALDERON.


Unwillingly, as the Reader may remember, though he cannot possibly 
know with how much unwillingness, I passed over fourteen years of 
Daniel Dove's youth, being the whole term of his adolescence, and a 
fifth part of that appointed sum, beyond which the prolongation of 
human life is but labour and sorrow. Mr. Coleridge has said that “the 
history of a man for the nine months preceding his birth would 
probably be far more interesting, and contain events of greater moment 
than all the threescore and ten years that follow it.” Mr. Coleridge 
was a philosopher, in many points, of the first order, and it has been 
truly said by one of the antients that there is nothing so absurd but 
that some philosopher has advanced it. Mr. Coleridge however was not 
always in earnest when he said startling things; and they who suppose 
that the opinions of such a man are to be collected from what he says 
playfully in the freedom of social intercourse to amuse himself, and 
perhaps to astonish others, may as well expect to hold an eel by the 
tail.

There were certain French legislators in the days of Liberty and 
Equality, who held that education ought to begin before birth, and 
therefore they proposed to enact laws for the benefit of the 
homunculus during that portion of its existence to which Mr. Coleridge 
is said to have attached such metaphysical, or in his own language 
such psychological importance. But even these Ultra-philosophers would 
not have maintained that a biographer ought to begin before the birth 
of his subject. All antecedent matter belongs to genealogical writers; 
astrologers themselves are content to commence their calculations from 
the hour and minute of the nativity. The fourteen years over which I 
formerly passed for the reasons stated in the 25th Chapter of this 
Opus, would have supplied more materials than any equal portion of his 
life, if the Doctor had been his own historian; for in those years his 
removal from home took place, his establishment at Doncaster, and his 
course of studies at Leyden, the most momentous events in his 
uneventful history, except the great one of marriage,—which either 
makes or mars the happiness of both parties.

From the time of that “crowning event” I must pass over another but 
longer interval, and represent the Doctor in his married state, such 
as he was when it was my fortune in early life to be blessed with his 
paternal friendship, for such it might be called. Age like his, and 
Youth might well live together, for there was no crabbedness in his 
age. Youth therefore was made the better and the happier by such 
society. It was full of pleasure instead of care; not like winter, but 
like a fine summer evening, or a mild autumn, or like the light of a 
harvest moon,

  “Which sheds o'er all the sleeping scene
   A soft nocturnal day.”[1]

[Footnote 1: JAMES MONTGOMERY.]




CHAPTER CLIII.

MATRIMONY AND RAZORS. LIGHT SAYINGS LEADING TO GRAVE THOUGHTS. USES OF 
SHAVING.

  I wonder whence that tear came, when I smiled
  In the production on't! Sorrow's a thief
  That can when joy looks on, steal forth a grief.

MASSINGER.


Oh pitiable condition of human kind! One colour is born to slavery 
abroad, and one sex to shavery at home!—A woman to secure her comfort 
and well-being in this country stands in need of one thing only, which 
is a good husband; but a man hath to provide himself with two things, 
a good wife, and a good razor, and it is more difficult to find the 
latter than the former. The Doctor made these remarks one day, when 
his chin was smarting after an uncomfortable operation; and Mrs. Dove 
retorted by saying that women had still the less favourable lot, for 
scarce as good razors might be, good husbands were still scarcer.

Aye, said the Doctor, Deborah is right, and it is even so; for the 
goodness of wife, husband, and razor depends upon their temper, and 
taking in all circumstances and causes natural and adventitious, we 
might reasonably conclude that steel would more often be tempered 
precisely to the just degree, than that the elements of which humanity 
is composed should be all nicely proportioned and amalgamated happily. 
Rarely indeed could Nature stand up, and pointing out a sample of its 
workmanship in this line say to all the world this is a Man! meaning 
thereby what man, rational, civilized, well educated, redeemed, 
immortal man, may and ought to be. Where this could be said in one 
instance, in a thousand or ten thousand others she might say this is 
what Man has by his own devices made himself, a sinful and miserable 
creature, weak or wicked, selfish, sensual, earthly-minded, busy in 
producing temporal evil for others,—and everlasting evil for himself!

But as it was his delight to find good, or to look for it, in every 
thing, and especially when he could discover the good which may be 
educed from evil, he used to say that more good than evil resulted 
from shaving, preposterous as he knew the practice to be, irrational 
as he admitted it was, and troublesome as to his cost, he felt it. The 
inconvenience and the discomfort of the operation no doubt were 
great,—very great, especially in frosty weather, and during March 
winds, and when the beard is a strong beard. He did not extenuate the 
greatness of this evil which was moreover of daily recurrence. Nay, he 
said, it was so great, that had it been necessary for physical 
reasons, that is to say, were it a law of nature, instead of a 
practice enjoined by the custom of the country, it would undoubtedly 
have been mentioned in the third chapter of the book of Genesis, as 
the peculiar penalty inflicted upon the sons of Adam, because of his 
separate share in the primal offence. The daughters of Eve, as is well 
known, suffer expressly for their mother's sin; and the final, though 
not apparent cause why the practice of shaving which is apparently so 
contrary to reason, should universally prevail in all civilized 
christian countries, the Doctor surmised might be, that by this means 
the sexes were placed in this respect upon an equality, each having 
its own penalty to bear, and those penalties being—perhaps—on the 
whole equal; or if man had the heavier for his portion, it was no more 
than he deserved, for having yielded to the weaker vessel. These 
indeed are things which can neither be weighed nor measured; but it 
must be considered that shaving comes every day to all men of what may 
be called the clean classes, and to the poorest labourer or handicraft 
once a week; and that if the daily shavings of one year, or even the 
weekly ones could be put into one shave, the operation would be 
fatal,—it would be more than flesh and blood could bear.

In the case of man this penalty brought with it no after compensation, 
and here the female had the advantage. Some good nevertheless resulted 
from it, both to the community, and to the individual shaver, unless 
he missed it by his own fault.

To the community because it gives employment to Barbers, a lively and 
loquacious race, who are everywhere the great receivers and 
distributors of all news, private or public in their neighbourhood.

To the individual, whether he were, like the Doctor himself, and as 
Zebedee is familiarly said to have been, an autokureus, which is being 
interpreted a self-shaver, or shaver of himself; or merely a shavee, 
as the laboring classes almost always are, the operation in either 
case brings the patient into a frame of mind favorable to his moral 
improvement. He must be quiet and composed when under the operator's 
hands, and not less so if under his own. In whatever temper or state 
of feeling he may take his seat in the barber's chair, or his stand at 
the looking-glass, he must at once become calm. There must be no 
haste, no impatience, no irritability; so surely as he gives way to 
either, he will smart for it. And however prone to wander his thoughts 
may be, at other and perhaps more serious times, he must be as 
attentive to what he is about in the act of shaving, as if he were 
working a problem in mathematics.

As a lion's heart and a lady's hand are among the requisites for a 
surgeon, so are they for the Zebedeean shaver. He must have a steady 
hand, and a mind steadied for the occasion; a hand confident in its 
skill, and a mind assured that the hand is competent to the service 
upon which it is ordered. Fear brings with it its immediate punishment 
as surely as in a field of battle; if he but think of cutting himself, 
cut himself he will.

I hope I shall not do so to-morrow; but if what I have just written 
should come into my mind, and doubt come over me in consequence, too 
surely then I shall! Let me forget myself therefore as quickly as I 
can and fall again into the train of the Doctor's thoughts.

Did not the Duc de Brissac perform the operation himself for a moral 
and dignified sentiment, instead of letting himself be shaved by his 
valet-de-chambre? Often was he heard to say unto himself in grave 
soliloquy, while holding the razor open, and adjusting the blade to 
the proper angle, in readiness for the first stroke “Timoleon de 
Cossé, God hath made thee a Gentleman, and the King hath made thee a 
Duke. It is nevertheless right and fit that thou shouldst have 
something to do; therefore thou shalt shave thyself!”—In this spirit 
of humility did that great Peer “mundify his muzzel.”

_De sçavoir les raisons pourquoy son pere luy donna ce nom de 
Timoleon, encore que ce ne fut nom Chretien, mais payen, il ne se peut 
dire; toutesfois, à l'imitation des Italiens et des Grecs, qui ont 
emprunté la plus part des noms payens, et n'en sont corrigez pour 
cela, et n'en font aucun scruple,—il avoit cette opinion, que son pere 
luy avoit donné ce nom par humeur, et venant à lire la vie de Timoleon 
elle luy pleut, et pour ce en imposa le nom à son fils, présageant 
qu'un jour il luy seroit semblable. Et certes pour si peu qu'il a 
vesçu, il luy a ressemblé quelque peu; mais, s'il eust vesçu il ne 
l'eust resemblé quelque peu en sa retraite si longue, et en son 
temporisement si tardif qu'il fit, et si longue abstinence de guerre; 
ainsi que luy-mesme le disoit souvent, qu'il ne demeureroit pour tous 
les biens du monde retiré si longuement que fit ce Timoleon._[1] This 
in a parenthesis: I return to our philosopher's discourse.

[Footnote 1: BRANTOME.]

And what lectures, I have heard the Doctor say, does the 
looking-glass, at such times, read to those men who look in it at such 
times only! The glass is no flatterer, the person in no disposition to 
flatter himself, the plight in which he presents himself, assuredly no 
flattering one. It would be superfluous to have _γνωθι σεαυτον_ 
inscribed upon the frame of the mirror; he cannot fail to know 
himself, who contemplates his own face there, long and steadily, every 
day. Nor can he as he waxes old need a death's head for a memento in 
his closet or his chamber; for day by day he traces the defeatures 
which the hand of Time is making,—that hand which never suspends its 
work.

  Thus his good melancholy oft began
  On the catastrophe and heel of pastime.[2]

[Footnote 2: SHAKESPEARE.]

“When I was a round-faced, red-faced, smooth-faced boy,” said he to me 
one day, following the vein upon which he had thus fallen, “I used to 
smile if people said they thought me like my father, or my mother, or 
my uncle. I now discern the resemblance to each and all of them 
myself, as age brings out the primary and natural character of the 
countenance, and wears away all that accidental circumstances had 
superinduced upon it. The recognitions,—the glimpses which at such 
times I get of the departed, carry my thoughts into the past;—and 
bitter,—bitter indeed would those thoughts be, if my 
anticipations—(wishes I might almost call them, were it lawful as 
wishes to indulge in them)—did not also lead me into the future, when 
I shall be gathered to my fathers in spirit, though these mortal 
_exuviæ_ should not be laid to moulder with them under the same turf.”

There were very few to whom he talked thus. If he had not entirely 
loved me, he would never have spoken to me in this strain.




CHAPTER CLIV.

A POET'S CALCULATION CONCERNING THE TIME EMPLOYED IN SHAVING, AND THE 
USE THAT MIGHT BE MADE OF IT. THE LAKE POETS LAKE SHAVERS ALSO. A 
PROTEST AGAINST LAKE SHAVING.

Intellect and industry are never incompatible. There is more wisdom, 
and will be more benefit, in combining them than scholars like to 
believe, or than the common world imagine. Life has time enough for 
both, and its happiness will be increased by the union.

SHARON TURNER.


The poet Campbell is said to have calculated that a man who shaves 
himself every day, and lives to the age of threescore and ten, expends 
during his life as much time in the act of shaving, as would have 
sufficed for learning seven languages.

The poet Southey is said to carry shaving to its _ne plus ultra_ of 
independency, for he shaves _sans_ looking-glass, _sans_ 
shaving-brush, _sans_ soap, or substitute for soap, _sans_ hot-water, 
_sans_ cold-water, _sans_ every thing except a razor. And yet among 
all the characters which he bears in the world, no one has ever given 
him credit for being a cunning shaver!

(Be it here observed in a parenthesis that I suppose the word _shaver_ 
in this so common expression to have been corrupted from shaveling; 
the old contemptuous word for a Priest.)

But upon reflection, I am not certain whether it is of the poet 
Southey that this is said, or of the poet Wordsworth. I may easily 
have confounded one with the other in my recollections, just as what 
was said of Romulus might have been repeated of Remus while they were 
both living and flourishing together; or as a mistake in memory might 
have been made between the two Kings of Brentford when they both 
quitted the stage, each smelling to his nosegay, which it was who made 
his exit P. S. and which O. P.

Indeed we should never repeat what is said of public characters (a 
denomination under which all are to be included who figure in public 
life, from the high, mighty and most illustrious Duke of Wellington at 
this time, down to little Waddington) without qualifying it as common 
report, or as newspaper, or magazine authority. It is very possible 
that the Lake poets may, both of them, shave after the manner of other 
men. The most attached friends of Mr. Rogers can hardly believe that 
he has actually said all the good things which are ascribed to him in 
a certain weekly journal; and Mr. Campbell may not have made the 
remark which I have repeated, concerning the time employed in mowing 
the chin, and the use to which the minutes that are so spent might be 
applied. Indeed so far am I from wishing to impute to this gentleman 
upon common report, anything which might not be to his credit, or 
which he might not like to have the credit of, that it is with the 
greatest difficulty I can persuade myself to believe in the 
authenticity of his letter to Mr. Moore upon the subject of Lord and 
Lady Byron, though he has published it himself, and in his own name.

Some one else may have made the calculation concerning shaving and 
languages, some other poet, or proser, or one who never attempted 
either prose, or rhyme. Was he not the first person who proposed the 
establishment of the London University, and if this calculation were 
his, is it possible that he should not have proposed a plan for it 
founded thereon, which might have entitled the new institution to 
assume the title of the Polyglot College?

Be this as it may, I will not try the _sans_-every-thing way of 
shaving let who will have invented it: never will I try it, unless 
thereto by dire necessity enforced! I will neither shave dry, nor be 
dry-shaved, while any of those things are to be obtained which either 
mitigate or abbreviate the operation. I will have a brush, I will have 
Naples soap, or some substitute for it, which may enable me always to 
keep a dry and clean apparatus. I will have hot-water for the sake of 
the razor, and I will have a looking-glass for the sake of my chin and 
my upper lip. No never will I try Lake shaving, unless thereto by dire 
necessity enforced.

Nor would I be enforced to it by any necessity less dire than that 
with which King Arthur was threatened by a messager from Kynge Ryons 
of North-walys; and Kynge he was of all Ireland and of many Iles. And 
this was his message, gretynge wel Kynge Arthur in this manere wyse, 
sayenge, “that Kynge Ryons had discomfyte and overcome eleaven Kynges, 
and everyche of hem did hym homage, and that was this; they gaf hym 
their beardys clene flayne off, as moche as ther was; wherfor the 
messager came for King Arthurs beard. For King Ryons had purfyled a 
mantel with Kynges berdes, and there lacked one place of the mantel, 
wherfor he sent for his berd, or els he wold entre in to his landes, 
and brenne and slee, and never leve tyl he have thi hede and thi 
berd.” If the King of the Lakes should require me to do him homage by 
shaving without soap, I should answer with as much spirit as was shown 
in the answer which King Arthur returned to the Messenger from King 
Ryons. “Wel, sayd Arthur, thow hast said thy message, the whiche is 
the most vylanous and lewdest message that ever man herd sente unto a 
Kynge. Also thow mayst see, my berd is ful yong yet to make a purfyl 
of hit. But telle thow thy Kynge this; I owe hym none homage, ne none 
of mine elders; but or it be longe to, he shall do me homage on bothe 
his kneys, or els he shall lese his hede by the feithe of my body, for 
this is the most shamefullest message that ever I herd speke of. I 
have aspyed, thy King met never yet with worshipful man; but telle 
hym, I wyll have his hede without he doo me homage: Then the messager 
departed.”




CHAPTER CLV.

THE POET'S CALCULATION TESTED AND PROVED.

Fiddle-faddle, dont tell of this and that, and every thing in the 
world, but give me mathematical demonstration.

CONGREVE.


But I will _test_ (as an American would say,—though let it be observed 
in passing that I do not _advocate_ the use of Americanisms.) I will 
_test_ Mr. Campbell's assertion. And as the Lord President of the New 
Monthly Magazine has not favored the world with the calculations upon 
which his assertion, if his it be, is founded, I will investigate it, 
step by step, with which intent I have this morning, Saturday, May the 
fifteenth, 1830, minuted myself during the act of shaving.

The time employed was, within a second or two more or less, nine 
minutes.

I neither hurried the operation, nor lingered about it. Every thing 
was done in my ordinary orderly way, steadily, and without waste of 
time.

Now as to my beard, it is not such a beard as that of Domenico 
d'Ancona, which was _delle barbe la corona_, that is to say the crown 
of beards, or rather in English idiom the king.

     _Una barba la più singulare
    Che mai fosse discritta in verso o'n prosa,_
    A beard the most unparallell'd
  That ever was yet described in prose or rhyme,

and of which Berni says that the Barber ought to have felt less 
reluctance in cutting the said Domenico's throat, than in cutting off 
so incomparable a beard. Neither do I think that mine ever by 
possibility could vie with that of Futteh Ali Shah, King of Persia at 
this day: nay, I doubt whether Macassar Oil, Bear's grease, Elephant's 
marrow, or the approved recipe of sour milk with which the Persians 
cultivate their beards, could ever bring mine to the far inferior 
growth of his son's, Prince Abbas Mirza. Indeed no Mussulmen would 
ever look upon it, as they did upon Mungo Park's, with envious eyes, 
and think that it was too good a beard for a Christian. But for a 
Christian and moreover an Englishman, it is a sufficient beard; and 
for the individual a desirable one: _nihil me pœnitet hujus barbæ_; 
desirable I say, inasmuch as it is in thickness and rate of growth 
rather below the average standard of beards. Nine minutes therefore 
will be about the average time required for shaving, by a 
Zebedeean,—one who shaves himself. A professional operator makes 
quicker work; but he cannot be always exactly to the time, and at the 
year's end as much may have been lost in waiting for the barber, as is 
gained by his celerity of hand.

Assuming then the moderate average of nine minutes, nine minutes per 
day amount to an hour and three minutes per week; an hour and three 
minutes per week are fifty-four hours thirty-six minutes per year. We 
will suppose that our shaver begins to operate every day when he has 
completed his twentieth year; many, if not most men, begin earlier; 
they will do so if they are ambitious of obtaining whiskers; they must 
do so if their beards are black, or carroty, or of strong growth. 
There are then fifty years of daily shaving to be computed; and in 
that time he will have consumed two thousand, seven hundred and thirty 
hours in the act of shaving himself. I have stated the numbers 
throughout in words, to guard against the mistakes which always creep 
into the after editions of any book, when figures are introduced.

Now let us see whether a man could in that time acquire a competent 
knowledge of seven languages.

I do not of course mean such a knowledge as Professor Porson and Dr. 
Elmsley had attained of Greek, or as is possessed by Bishop Blomfield 
and Bishop Monk,—but a passable knowledge of living languages, such as 
would enable a man to read them with facility and pleasure, if not 
critically, and to travel without needing either an interpreter—or the 
use of French in the countries where they are spoken.

Dividing therefore two thousand seven hundred and thirty, being the 
number of hours which might be appropriated to learning languages,—by 
seven,—the number of languages to be learnt, we have three hundred and 
ninety hours for each language; three hundred and ninety lessons of an 
hour long,—wherein it is evident that any person of common capacity 
might with common diligence learn to read, speak and 
write—sufficiently well for all ordinary purposes, any European 
language. The assertion therefore, though it might seem extravagant at 
first, is true as far as it goes, and is only inaccurate because it is 
far short of the truth.

For take notice that I did not strop the razor this morning, but only 
passed it, after the operation, ten or twelve times over the palm of 
the hand, according to my every day practice. One minute more at least 
would have been required for stropping. There are many men whose 
beards render it necessary for them to apply to the strop every day, 
and for a longer time,—and who are obliged to try first one razor and 
then another. But let us allow only a minute for this—one minute a day 
amounts to six hours five minutes in the year; and in fifty years to 
three hundred and four hours ten minutes,—time enough for an eighth 
language.

Observe also that some languages are so easy, and others so nearly 
related to each other, that very much less than half the number of 
hours allowed in this computation would suffice for learning them. It 
is strictly true that in the time specified a man of good capacity 
might add seven more languages to the seven for which that computation 
was formed; and that a person who has any remarkable aptitude for such 
studies might in that time acquire every language in which there are 
books to be procured.

  _Hé bien, me suis je enfin rendu croyable? Est-on content?_[1]

[Footnote 1: PIRON.]

See Reader, what the value of time is, when put out at simple 
interest. But there is no simple interest in knowledge. Whatever funds 
you have in that Bank go on encreasing by interest upon interest,—till 
the Bank fails.




CHAPTER CLVI.

AN ANECDOTE OF WESLEY, AND AN ARGUMENT ARISING OUT OF IT, TO SHOW THAT 
THE TIME EMPLOYED IN SHAVING IS NOT SO MUCH LOST TIME; AND YET THAT 
THE POET'S CALCULATION REMAINS OF PRACTICAL USE.



_Questo medesimo anchora con una altra gagliardissima ragione vi 
confermo._

LODOVICO DOMINICHI.


There was a poor fellow among John Wesley's followers, who suffered no 
razor to approach his chin, and thought it impossible that any one 
could be saved who did: shaving was in his opinion a sin for which 
there could be no redemption. If it had been convenient for their 
interests to put him out of the way, his next of kin would have had no 
difficulty in obtaining a _lettre de cachet_ against him from a 
mad-doctor, and he might have been imprisoned for life, for this 
harmless madness. This person came one day to Mr. Wesley, after 
sermon, and said to him in a manner which manifested great concern, 
Sir, you can have no place in Heaven without a beard! therefore, I 
entreat you, let your's grow immediately!

Had he put the matter to Wesley as a case of conscience, and asked 
that great economist of time how he could allow himself every day of 
his life to bestow nine precious minutes upon a needless operation, 
the Patriarch of the Methodists might have been struck by the appeal, 
but he would soon have perceived that it could not be supported by any 
just reasoning.

For in the first place, in a life of such incessant activity as his, 
the time which Wesley employed in shaving himself, was so much time 
for reflection. However busy he might be, as he always was,—however 
hurried he might be on that particular day, here was a portion of 
time, small indeed, but still a distinct and apprehensible portion, in 
which he could call his thoughts to council. Like our excellent 
friend, he was a person who knew this, and he profited by it, as well 
knowing what such minutes of reflection are worth. For although 
thought cometh, like the wind, when it listeth, yet it listeth to come 
at regular appointed times, when the mind is in a state of preparation 
for it, and the mind will be brought into that state, unconsciously, 
by habit. We may be as ready for meditation at a certain hour, as we 
are for dinner, or for sleep; and there will be just as little need 
for an effort of volition on our part.

Secondly, Mr. Wesley would have considered that if beards were to be 
worn, some care and consequently some time must be bestowed upon them. 
The beard must be trimmed occasionally, if you would not have it as 
ragged as an old Jew Clothes-man's: it must also be kept clean, if you 
would not have it inhabited like the Emperor Julian's; and if you 
desired to have it like Aaron's, you would oil it. Therefore it is 
probable that a Zebedeean who is cleanly in his habits would not save 
any time by letting his beard grow.

But it is certain that the practise of shaving must save time for 
fashionable men, though it must be admitted that these are persons 
whose time is not worth saving, who are not likely to make any better 
use of it, and who are always glad when any plea can be invented for 
throwing away a portion of what hangs so heavily upon their hands.

  Alas, Sir, what is a Gentleman's time!
  ——————————there are some brains
  Can never lose their time, whate'er they do.[1]

For in former times as much pains were bestowed on dressing the beard, 
as in latter ones upon dressing the hair. Sometimes it was braided 
with threads of gold. It was dyed to all colours, according to the 
mode, and cut to all shapes, as you may here learn from John Taylor's 
_Superbiæ Flagellum_.

   Now a few lines to paper I will put,
   Of men's beards strange and variable cut:
   In which there's some do take as vain a pride,
   As almost in all other things beside.
   Some are reap'd most substantial like a brush,
   Which make a natural wit known by the bush:
   (And in my time of some men I have heard,
   Whose wisdom hath been only wealth and beard)
   Many of these the proverb well doth fit,
   Which says Bush natural, more hair than wit.
   Some seem as they were starched stiff and fine,
   Like to the bristles of some angry swine:
   And some (to set their Love's desire on edge)
   Are cut and pruned like to a quickset hedge.
   Some like a spade, some like a fork, some square,
   Some round, some mowed like stubble, some stark bare,
   Some sharp stiletto fashion, dagger like,
   That may with whispering a man's eyes out pike:
   Some with the hammer cut or Roman T,
   Their beards extravagant reformed must be,
   Some with the quadrate, some triangle fashion,
   Some circular, some oval in translation,
   Some perpendicular in longitude,
   Some like a thicket for their crassitude,
   That heights, depths, breadths, triform, square, oval, round,
   And rules geometrical in beards are found;
   Beside the upper lips strange variation,
   Corrected from mutation to mutation;
   As't were from tithing unto tithing sent,
  _Pride_ gives to _Pride_ continual punishment.
   Some (_spite their teeth_) like thatched eaves downward grows,
   And some grow upwards in despite their nose.
   Some their mustachios of such length do keep,
   That very well they may a manger sweep?
   Which in Beer, Ale, or Wine, they drinking plunge,
   And suck the liquor up as't were a sponge;
   But 'tis a Sloven's beastly _Pride_ I think
   To wash his beard where other men must drink.
   And some (because they will not rob the cup)
   Their upper chaps like pot hooks are turned up,
   The Barbers thus (like Tailors) still must be,
   Acquainted with each cut's variety.[2]

[Footnote 1: MAY.]

[Footnote 2: TAYLOR _the Water Poet_.]

In comparison with such fashions, clean shaving is clear gain of time. 
And to what follies and what extravagances would the whiskerandoed 
macaronies of Bond Street and St. James's proceed, if the beard once 
more were, instead of the neckcloth, to “make the man!”—They who have 
put on the whole armour of Dandeyism, having their loins girt 
with—stays, and having put on the breast-plate of—buckram, and having 
their feet shod—by Hoby!

I myself, if I wore a beard, should cherish it, as the Cid Campeador 
did his, for my pleasure. I should regale it on a summer's day with 
rose water; and, without making it an Idol, I should sometimes offer 
incense to it, with a pastille, or with lavender and sugar. My 
children when they were young enough for such blandishments would have 
delighted to stroke and comb and curl it, and my grand-children in 
their turn would have succeeded to the same course of mutual 
endearment.

Methinks then I have shown that although the Campbellian, or 
Pseudo-Campbellian assertion concerning the languages which might be 
acquired in the same length of time that is consumed in shaving, is no 
otherwise incorrect than as being short of the truth, it is not a 
legitimate consequence from that proposition that the time employed in 
shaving is lost time, because the care and culture of a beard would in 
all cases require as much, and in many would exact much more. But the 
practical utility of the proposition, and of the demonstration with 
which it has here been accompanied, is not a whit diminished by this 
admission. For, what man is there, who, let his business, private or 
public be as much as it will, cannot appropriate nine minutes a-day to 
any object that he likes?




CHAPTER CLVII.

WHICH THE READER WILL FIND LIKE A ROASTED MAGGOT, SHORT AND SWEET.

_Malum quod minimum est, id minimum est malum._

PLAUTUS.


But here one of those persons who acting upon the proverbial precept 
which bids us look before we leap, look so long that they never leap 
at all, offers a demurrer.

It may be perfectly true, he observes, that a language may be learnt 
in three hundred and ninety lessons of an hour each. But in your 
proposition the hour is broken into several small parts; we will throw 
in an additional minute, and say six such portions. What I pray you 
can a lesson of ten minutes be worth?

To this I reply that short lessons are best, and are specifically 
enjoined in the new System of Education. Dr. Bell says in his Manual 
of Instructions for conducting Schools, “in the beginning never 
prescribe a lesson or task, which the Scholar can require more than 
ten minutes, or a quarter of an hour, to learn.”

On this authority, and on the authority of experience also, I 
recommend short lessons. For the same reasons, or for reasons nearly 
or remotely related to them, I like short stages, short accounts, 
short speeches, and short sermons; I do not like short measure or 
short commons; and, like Mr. Shandy, I dislike short noses. I know 
nothing about the relative merit of short-horned cattle. I doubt 
concerning the propriety of short meals. I disapprove of short 
parliaments and short petticoats; I prefer puff-paste to short 
pie-crust; and I cut this chapter short for the sake of those readers 
who may like short chapters.




CHAPTER CLVIII.

DR. DOVE'S PRECEPTORIAL PRESCRIPTION, TO BE TAKEN BY THOSE WHO NEED 
IT.

  Some strange devise, I know, each youthful wight
  Would here expect, or lofty brave assay:
  But I'll the simple truth in simple wise convey.

HENRY MORE.


Now comes the question of a youth after my own heart, so quick in his 
conclusions that his leap seems rather to keep pace with his look than 
to follow it. He will begin to-morrow, and only asks my advice upon 
the method of proceeding.

Take the Grammar of any modern language, and read the dialogues in it, 
till you are acquainted with the common connecting words, and know the 
principal parts of speech by sight. Then look at the declensions and 
the verbs—you will already have learnt something of their inflections, 
and may now commit them to memory, or write them down. Read those 
lessons, which you ought to read daily—in a bible of this language, 
having the English bible open beside it. Your daily task will soon be 
either to learn the vocabulary, or to write exercises, or simply to 
read, according to the use which you mean to make of your new 
acquirement. You must learn _memoriter_, and exercise yourself in 
writing if you wish to educate your ear and your tongue for foreign 
service; but all that is necessary for your own instruction and 
delight at home may be acquired by the eye alone.

  _Qui mihi Discipulus es—cupis atque doceri,_

try this method for ten minutes a day, perseveringly, and you will 
soon be surprised at your own progress.

  _Quod tibi deest, à te ipso mutuare,_—

it is Cato's advice.

Ten minutes you can bestow upon a modern language, however closely you 
may be engaged in pursuits of immediate necessity; even tho' you 
should be in a public office from which Joseph Hume, or some of his 
worthy compeers, has moved for voluminous returns. (Never work at 
extra hours upon such returns, unless extra pay is allowed for the 
additional labor and confinement to the desk, as in justice it ought 
to be. But if you are required to do so by the superiors who ought to 
protect you from such injustice, send petition after petition to 
Parliament, praying that when the abolition or mitigation of slavery 
shall be taken into consideration, your case may be considered also.)

Any man who will, may command ten minutes. _Exercet philosophia regnum 
suum_, says Seneca; _dat tempus, non accipit. Non est res subcisiva, 
ordinaria est, domina est; adest, et jubet._ Ten minutes the Under 
Graduate who reads this may bestow upon German even though he should 
be in training for the University races. Ten minutes he can bestow 
upon German, which I recommend because it is a master-key for many 
doors both of language and of knowledge. His mind will be refreshed 
even by this brief change of scene and atmosphere. In a few weeks (I 
repeat) he will wonder at his own progress: and in a few years, if he 
is good for anything—if the seed has not been sown upon a stony place, 
nor among thorns, he will bless me his unknown benefactor, for showing 
him by what small savings of time, a man may become rich in mind. “And 
so I end my counsel, beseeching thee to begin to follow it.”[1]

[Footnote 1: EUPHUES, A. M.]

But not unto me be the praise! O Doctor, O my guide, philosopher and 
friend!

  Like to the bee thou everywhere didst roam
    Spending thy spirits in laborious care,
  And nightly brought'st thy gathered honey home,
    As a true workman in so great affair;
  First of thine own deserving take the fame,
    Next of thy friend's; his due he gives to thee,
  That love of learning may renown thy name,
    And leave it richly to posterity.[2]

I have but given freely what freely I have received. This knowledge I 
owe,—and what indeed is there in my intellectual progress which I do 
not owe to my ever-beloved friend and teacher, my moral physician?

  ———his plausive words
  He scattered not in ears, but grafted them
  To grow there and to bear.[3]

To his alteratives and tonics I am chiefly (under Providence) indebted 
for that sanity of mind which I enjoy, and that strength,—whatever may 
be its measure, which I possess. It was his method,—his _way_, he 
called it; in these days when we dignify every thing, it might be 
called the Dovean system, or the Columbian, which he would have 
preferred.

[Footnote 2: RESTITUTA.]

[Footnote 3: SHAKSPEARE.]




CHAPTER CLIX.

THE AUTHOR COMPARES HIMSELF AND THE DOCTOR TO CARDINAL WOLSEY AND KING 
HENRY VIII. AND SUGGESTS SUNDRY SIMILES FOR THE STYLE OF HIS BOOK.

I doubt not but some will liken me to the Lover in a modern Comedy, 
who was combing his peruke and setting his cravat before his mistress; 
and being asked by her when he intended to begin his court? replied, 
he had been doing it all this while.

DRYDEN.


It cannot be necessary for me to remind the benevolent reader, that at 
those times when a half or a quarter-witted critic might censure me 
for proceeding egotistically, I am nevertheless carrying on the 
primary intention with which this work was undertaken, as directly as 
if the Doctor were the immediate and sole theme of every chapter;—

  _Non enim excursus hic—sed opus ipsum est._[1]

For whatever does not absolutely relate to him is derived directly or 
indirectly from him; it is directly derivative when I am treating upon 
subjects which it has been my good fortune to hear him discuss; and 
indirectly when I am led to consider the topics that incidentally 
arise, according to the way of thinking in which he trained me to go.

[Footnote 1: PLINY.]

As Wolsey inscribed upon one of his magnificent buildings the words 
_Ego et Rex Meus_, so might I place upon the portal of this Edifice 
_Ego et Doctor Meus_, for I am as much his creature as Wolsey was the 
creature of bluff King Harry,—as confessedly so, and as gratefully. 
Without the King's favor Wolsey could not have founded Christ Church; 
without the Doctor's friendship I could not have edified this monument 
to his memory. Without the King's favor Wolsey would never have 
obtained the Cardinal's hat; and had it not been for the favor and 
friendship and example of the Doctor, never should I have been 
entitled to wear that cap, my reasons for not wearing which have 
heretofore been stated, that cap which to one who knows how to wear it 
becomingly, is worth more than a coronet or a mitre; and confers upon 
the wearer a more lasting distinction.

His happy mind, like the not less happy, and not more active intellect 
of Humboldt King of Travellers, was excursive in its habits. To such 
discursive—or excursiveness I also was prone, and he who observed in 
me this propensity encouraged it, tempering however that encouragement 
with his wonted discretion. Let your imagination, he said, fly like 
the lady bird

  north, south and east and west,

but take care that it always comes home to rest.

Perhaps it may be said therefore of his unknown friend and biographer 
as Passovier said of Michel de Montaigne, _il estoit personnage hardy, 
qui se croyoit, et comme tel se laissoit aisement emporter a la beauté 
de son esprit; tellement que par ses ecrits il prenoit plaisir de 
desplaire plaisamment._

Perhaps also some one who for his own happiness is conversant with the 
literature of that affluent age, may apply to the said unknown what 
Balzac said of the same great Michael, Michael the second, (Michael 
Angelo was Michael the first,) _Montaigne sçait bien ce qui il dit; 
mais, sans violer le respect qui luy est deu, je pense aussi, qu'il ne 
sçait pas toujours ce qu'il va dire._

Dear Reader you may not only say this of the unknown _sans violer le 
respect qui luy est deu_, but you will pay him what he will consider 
both a great and a just compliment, in saying so.

For I have truly endeavoured to observe the precepts of my revered 
Mentor, and to follow his example, which I venture to hope, the 
judicious reader will think I have done with some success. He may have 
likened me for the manner in which I have conducted this great 
argument, to a gentle falcon, which however high it may soar to 
command a wider region with its glance, and however far it may fly in 
pursuit of its quarry, returns always to the falconer's hand.

Learned and discreet reader, if you should not always discern the 
track of associations over which I have passed as fleetly as Camilla 
over the standing corn;—if the story which I am relating to thee 
should seem in its course sometimes to double like a hare in her 
flight, or in her sport,—sometimes to bound forward like a jerboa, or 
kangaroo, and with such a bound that like Milton's Satan it overleaps 
all bounds; or even to skip like a flea, so as to be here, there and 
every where, taking any direction rather than that which will bring it 
within your catch;—learned and discreet reader if any of these 
similitudes should have occurred to you, think of Pindar, read 
Landor's Gebir, and remember what Mr. Coleridge has said for himself 
formerly, and prophetically for me, _intelligenda non intellectum 
adfero_. Would you have me plod forward like a tortoise in my 
narration, foot after foot in minute steps, dragging his slow tail 
along? Or with such deliberate preparation for progressive motion that 
like a snail the slime of my way should be discernible?

A bye-stander at chess who is ignorant of the game, presently 
understands the straight and lateral movement of the rooks, the 
diagonal one of the bishops, and the power which the Queen possesses 
of using both. But the knight perplexes him, till he discovers that 
the knight's leap, eccentric as at first it seems, is nevertheless 
strictly regulated.

We speak of erratic motions among the heavenly bodies; but it is 
because the course they hold is far beyond our finite comprehension.

Therefore I entreat thee, dear reader, thou who hast the eye of a hawk 
or of a sea gull, and the intellectual speed of a greyhound, do not 
content thyself with glancing over this book as an Italian Poet says

  _Precipitevolissimevolmente_.

But I need not exhort thee thus, who art quick to apprehend and quick 
to feel, and sure to like at first sight whatever upon better 
acquaintance deserves to be loved.




CHAPTER CLX.

MENTION OF ONE FOR WHOM THE GERMANS WOULD COIN A DESIGNATION WHICH 
MIGHT BE TRANSLATED A ONCE-READER. MANY MINDS IN THE SAME MAN. A 
POET'S UNREASONABLE REQUEST. THE AUTHOR OFFERS GOOD ADVICE TO HIS 
READERS, AND ENFORCES IT BY AN EPISCOPAL OPINION.

  Judge not before
    Thou know mine intent;
  But read me throughout,
    And then say thy fill;
  As thou in opinion
    Art minded and bent,
  Whether it be
    Either good or ill.

E. P.


I have heard of a man who made it a law for himself never to read any 
book again which had greatly pleased him on a first perusal; lest a 
second reading should in some degree disturb the pleasurable 
impression which he wished to retain of it. This person must have read 
only for his amusement, otherwise he would have known that a book is 
worth little if it deserves to be perused but once: and moreover that 
as the same landscape appears differently at different seasons of the 
year, at morning and at evening, in bright weather and in cloudy, by 
moonlight, and at noon-day, so does the same book produce a very 
different effect upon the same reader at different times and under 
different circumstances.

I have elsewhere said that the man of one book is proverbially 
formidable; but the man of one reading, though he should read through 
an ample library would never become so.

The studious man who at forty re-peruses books which he has read in 
his youth or early manhood, vivid as his recollections of them may be, 
finds them new, because he brings another mind to the perusal. 
Worthless ones with which he may formerly have been delighted appear 
flat and unprofitable to his maturer judgement; and on the other hand 
sterling merit which he was before unable to appreciate, he can now 
understand and value, having in his acquired knowledge, and habits of 
reflection the means of assaying it.

Sometimes a Poet, when he publishes what in America would be called a 
lengthy poem, with lengthy annotations, advises the reader in his 
preface, not to read the notes in their places, as they occur, lest 
they should interrupt his clear perception and enjoyment of the piece, 
but to read the poem by itself at first; and then, for his more full 
contentment, to begin again, and peruse the notes in their order, 
whereby he will be introduced to the more minute and recondite merits 
of the work.

If the poets who calculate upon many such readers are not wise in 
their generation, they are happy in it.

What I request of my dear readers is far more reasonable, and yet 
perhaps not much more likely to be granted; I request them, that in 
justice to themselves,—for that they may not lose any part of the 
pleasure which I have designed for them; and in justice to me,—that I 
may not be defrauded of any portion of that grateful applause, which 
after a due perusal they will undoubtedly bestow upon the benevolent 
unknown;—and in justice to the ever-honored subject of these 
volumes,—lest a hasty and erroneous judgement of his character should 
be formed, when it is only partially considered;—I request that they 
would not dip into these volumes before they read them, nor while they 
are reading them, but that they would be pleased to go through the 
book regularly, in the order of the chapters, and that when they 
recommend the book to their friends, (as they will do with the 
friendly intention of contributing to their entertainment and 
instruction,) they would particularly advise them to begin at the 
beginning, or more accurately speaking at the seventh chapter before 
the beginning, and so peruse it consecutively.

So doing, reader, thou wilt perceive the method and the order of the 
work, developing before thee as thou readest; thou wilt then 
comprehend and admire the connection of the parts, and their 
dependence upon each other, and the coherence and beauty of the whole. 
Whereas were you only to dip into it here and there, you would from 
such a cursory and insufficient inspection come perhaps to the same 
conclusion, “wherein nothing was concluded” as the man did concerning 
Bailey's Dictionary, who upon returning the book to a neighbour from 
whom he had borrowed it, said that he was much obliged to him for the 
loan, and that he had read it through, from beginning to end, and had 
often been much entertained by it, and was sure that the Author must 
have been a very knowing person;—but—added he to confess the truth, I 
have never been able clearly to make out what the book is about.

Now as opposite causes will sometimes produce a like effect, thou 
mightest, by reading this book partially, come to the same 
inconclusive conclusion concerning it, that our friend did by reading 
straight forward through Bailey's Dictionary; though considering what 
there is in that Dictionary, his time might have been worse employed—I 
very well remember when I was some ten years old, learning from an 
abridgement of it as much about Abracadabra as I know now. I exhort 
thee therefore to begin _ab ovo_, with the ante-initial chapters, and 
to read the whole regularly; and this advice I give, bearing in mind 
what Bishop Hacket says in his life of the Lord Keeper, Archbishop 
Williams, when he inserts a speech of that Chancellor-Prelate's, at 
full length:

“This he delivered, thus much: and I took counsel with myself not to 
abbreviate it. For it is so compact and pithy that he that likes a 
little, must like it all. Plutarch gives a rule for sanity to him that 
eats a tortoise, _᾿η ὅλην, ἠ μη ὃλως_, eat it up all, or not a whit.” 
The reason assigned for this rule would look better in Plutarch's 
Greek than in the Episcopal English; being paraphrased it imports that 
a small portion of such food is apt to produce intestinal pains; but 
that a hearty meal has the wholesome effect of those pills which by a 
delicate and beautiful euphuism of Dr. Kitchener's are called 
Peristaltic Persuaders. “So,” proceeds the Bishop, “the speech of a 
great orator is instructive when it is entire: pinch it into an 
epitome, you mangle the meaning and avile the eloquence.”




CHAPTER CLXI.

WESLEY AND THE DOCTOR OF THE SAME OPINION UPON THE SUBJECT OF THESE 
CHAPTERS. A STUPENDOUS EXAMPLE OF CYCLOPÆDIAN STOLIDITY.

A good razor never hurts, or scratches. Neither would good wit, were 
men as tractable as their chins. But instead of parting with our 
intellectual bristles quietly, we set them up, and wriggle. Who can 
wonder then if we are cut to the bone?

GUESSES AT TRUTH.


Both Mr. Wesley and Dr. Dove, who much as they differed concerning 
Methodism, agreed remarkably well in their general method of thinking, 
would have maintained the morality and propriety of shaving, against 
all objections founded upon the quantity of time expended in that 
practice. If the one had preached or the other descanted on the 27th 
verse of the 19th Chapter of Leviticus, each would have shown that no 
general application could be made of the prohibition therein 
contained. But what would they have said to the following physical 
argument which is gravely advanced in Dr. Abraham Rees's New 
Cyclopædia?

“The practice of cutting the hair of the head and the beard is 
attended with a prodigious increase of the secretion of the matter of 
hair. It is ascertained that a man of fifty years of age will have cut 
from his head above thirteen feet, or twice his own length of hair; 
and of his beard, in the last twenty-five years of the same 
period—above eight feet. The hair likewise besides this enormous 
length, will be thicker than if it had been left uncut, and must lose 
most of its juices by evaporation from having its tube and the ends of 
its fibres always exposed.—The custom of shaving the beard, and 
cutting the hair of the head, has we believe, been justly deprecated 
by some physiologists. The latter has been supposed, and with much 
apparent reason, to weaken the understanding, by diverting the blood 
from the brain to the surface of the head. The connection which exists 
between the beard and the organs of generation, and likewise between 
the muscular strength of the individual, would seem to render it 
improper to interfere with its natural mode of growth. Bichat 
attributes the superior strength of the ancients to their custom of 
wearing their beards; and those men who do not shave at present are 
distinguished for vigor and hardihood.”

Thus far we have had to deal only with a grave folly, and I shall 
follow the writer no farther.

What would John Wesley and Daniel Dove have said to the speculations 
and assertions in this curious passage? They were both men of reading, 
both speculative men and both professors, each in his way, of the art 
of medicine. They would have asked what proof could be produced that 
men who let their beards grow are stronger than those who shave, or 
that the ancients were superior in bodily strength to the men of the 
present day? Thus they would have treated his assumed facts; and for 
his philosophy, they would have inferred, that if cutting the hair 
weakened the understanding, and the story of Samson were a physical 
allegory, the person who wrote and reasoned thus must have been 
sheared at least twice a week from his childhood.

If on the other hand they had been assured that the writer had worn 
his hair long, then they would have affirmed that, as in the case of 
the Agonist, it was “robustious to no purpose.”

When the Russian soldiers were first compelled to part with their 
beards that they might look like other European troops, they 
complained that the cold struck into their jaws and gave them the 
tooth-ache. The sudden deprivation of a warm covering might have 
occasioned this and other local affections. But they are not said to 
have complained that they had lost their wits.

They are said indeed in the days of Peter the Great to have made a 
ready use of them in relation to this very subject. Other arguments 
had been used in vain for persuading them to part with that 
comfortable covering which nature had provided for their cheeks and 
chins, when one of their Priests represented to them that their good 
Czar had given orders for them to be shaved only from the most 
religious motives and a special consideration of what concerned them 
most nearly. They were about to march against the Turks. The Turks as 
they well knew wore beards and it was of the utmost importance that 
they should distinguish themselves from the misbelievers by this 
visible mark, for otherwise their protector St. Nicholas in whom they 
trusted would not know his own people. This was so cogent a reason 
that the whole army assented to it, and a general shaving took place. 
But when the campaign against the Turks was over and the same troops 
were ordered to march against the Swedes, the soldiers called for the 
Priest, and told him they must now let their beards grow again;—for 
the Swedes shaved, and they must take care St. Nicholas might know his 
friends from his foes.




CHAPTER CLXII.

AMOUNT OF EVERY INDIVIDUAL'S PERSONAL SINS ACCORDING TO THE ESTIMATE 
OF MR. TOPLADY. THE DOCTOR'S OPINION THEREON. A BILL FOR CERTAIN 
CHURCH REPAIRS. A ROMISH LEGEND WHICH IS LIKELY TO BE TRUE, AND PART 
OF A JESUIT'S SERMON.

  Mankind, tho' satirists with jobations weary us,
    Has only two weak parts if fairly reckon'd;
  The first of which, is trifling with things serious;
    And seriousness in trifles is the second.
  Remove these little rubs, whoe'er knows how,
  And fools will be as scarce,—as wise men now.

BISHOP.


It is not often that a sportive or fanciful calculation like that of 
Mr. Campbell, can be usefully applied, or in the dialect of the 
Evangelical Magazine, improved.

I remember well the look and the voice and the manner with which my 
ever-to-be-honored friend pointed out to me a memorable passage of 
this kind in the works of the Reverend Augustus Toplady, of whom he 
used to say that he was a strong-headed, wrong-headed man; and that in 
such men you always found the stronger the head, the wronger the 
opinions; and the more wrongly their opinions were taken up, the more 
strongly they were persisted in.

Toplady after some whimsical calculations concerning the national 
debt, proceeds to a “spiritual improvement” of the subject. He asserts 
that because “we never come up to that holiness which God requires, we 
commit a sin every second of our existence,” and in this view of the 
matter, he says, our dreadful account stands as follows. At ten years 
old each of us is chargeable with 315,036,000 sins; and summing up the 
account at every intermediate stage of ten years, he makes the man of 
fourscore debtor for 2,510,288,000.

In Toplady's creed there were no venial sins, any more than in Sir 
George Mackenzie's, who used this impious argument for the immortality 
of the soul, that it must needs be immortal because the smallest sin, 
“the least peccadillo against the Almighty who is Infinite cannot be 
proportionably punished in the swift glass of man's short life.”

And this man, said the Doctor, laying his finger upon Toplady's book, 
thinks himself a Christian, and reads the Bible and believes it! He 
prints and vouches for the authenticity of a painter's bill at 
Cirencester delivered in to the Churchwarden of an adjacent parish in 
these words:—Mr. Charles Ferebee, Churchwarden of Siddington to Joseph 
Cook, Debtor: To mending the Commandments, altering the Belief, and 
making a new Lord's Prayer £1. 1_s._

The Painter made no such alteration in the Christian creed, as he 
himself did, (when he added to it) that the Almighty has predestined 
the infinitely greater number of his creatures to eternal misery!

God, says good old Adam Littleton, made no man purposely to damn him. 
Death was one of man's own inventions, and will be the reward of his 
evil actions.

The Roman Catholics have a legend from which we may see what 
proportion of the human race they suppose to be redeemed from 
perdition: it relates that on the day of St. Bernard's death there 
died threescore thousand persons, of whom only four souls were saved, 
the Saint's being one;—the salvage therefore is one in fifteen 
thousand!

But one legend may be set against another, and Felix Faber the Monk of 
Ulm gives us one of better import, when he relates the story of a 
lovely child who in her twelfth year was stricken with the plague, 
during the great pestilence which in the middle of the fourteenth 
century swept off a greater portion of the human race than is ever 
known to have perished in any similar visitation. As the disease 
increased upon her, she became more beautiful and more cheerful, 
looking continually upward and rejoicing; for she said she saw that 
Heaven was open and innumerable lights flowing upward thither, as in a 
stream,—which were the souls of the elect, ascending as they were 
released. When they who stood beside her bed were silent and seemed as 
if they gave no credit to her words, she told them that what she saw 
was no delusion, and added in token of its sure truth, that her own 
death would take place that night, and her father die on the third day 
following: she then pointed to seven persons foretelling to each the 
day of their decease, and named some others who were not present, who 
would in like manner be cut off by the plague, saying at what time 
each of them would expire; and in every instance, according to the 
legend, the prediction was punctually fulfilled. This is a tale which 
may in all its parts be true; for such predictions at such a time, 
when whole cities were almost depopulated by the pestilence, were 
likely not only to be verified, but in a great degree to bring about 
their own verification; and the state of her mind would lead to her 
interpretation of those ocular spectra which were probably effects of 
the disease, without supposing it to be a happy delirium, heightening 
her expectation of that bliss which faith had assured to her, and into 
which her innocent spirit was about to enter.

Had the story been fabricated it would not have been of so humane a 
character. The Roman Catholics, as is well known, believe that all who 
are not of what they please to call the Holy, Roman, Catholic and 
Apostolic Church, are doomed to everlasting perdition; this doctrine 
is part of the creed which their laity profess, and to which their 
clergy swear. If any member of that Church reject an opinion so 
uncharitable in itself, and in its consequences so infinitely 
mischievous, he may be a Roman Catholic by his connections, by 
courtesy, by policy, or by fear; but he is not so in reality, for he 
refuses to believe in the infallibility of his Church which has on no 
point declared itself more peremptorily than upon this. All other 
Christians of every persuasion, all Jews, all Mahometans and all 
Heathens are goats; only the Romanists are the Sheep of God's 
pasture,—and the Inquisitors, we may suppose, his Lambs! Of this their 
own flock they hold that one half are lost sheep; though a liberal 
opinion, it is esteemed the most probable one upon that subject, and 
the best founded, because it is written that one shall be taken and 
one left, and that of the ten virgins who went with their lamps to 
meet the bridegroom, five were wise, and five foolish.

An eloquent Jesuit preaching before the Court in his own country 
stated this opinion, and made an application from it to his hearers 
with characteristic integrity and force. “According to this doctrine,” 
said he, “which is held by many Saints, (and is not the most 
straitened, but a large and favorable one,) if I were this day 
preaching before another auditory, I should say that half of those who 
heard me belonged to the right hand, and half unto the left. Truly a 
most wonderful and tremendous consideration, that of Christians and 
Catholics, enlightened with the faith, bred up with the milk of the 
Church, and assisted by so many sacraments and aids, half only should 
be saved! That of ten men who believe in Christ, and for whom Christ 
died, five should perish! That of an hundred fifty should be 
condemned! That of a thousand five hundred go to burn eternally in 
Hell! who is there that does not tremble at the thought? But if we 
look at the little Christianity and the little fear of God with which 
men live, we ought rather to give thanks to the Divine Mercy, than to 
be astonished at this justice.

“This is what I should say if I were preaching before a different 
audience. But because to-day is a day of undeceiving, (it was the 
first Sunday in Advent,) and the present Auditory is what it is, let 
not those who hear me think or persuade themselves, that this is a 
general rule for all, even although they may be or call themselves 
Catholics. As in this life there is a wide difference between the 
great and powerful and those who are not so, so will it be in the Day 
of Judgement. They are on the right hand to-day, but as the world will 
then have had so great a turn, it is much to be feared that many of 
them will then be on the left. Of others half are to be saved, and of 
the great and powerful, how many? Will there be a third part saved? 
Will there be a tenth? I shall only say (and would not venture to say 
it, unless it were the expressed oracle and infallible sentence of 
supreme Truth,) I shall only say that they will be very few, and those 
by great wonder. Let the great and mighty listen, not to any other 
than the Lord himself in the Book of Wisdom. _Præbite aurem vos qui 
continetis multitudinem, quoniam data est a Domino potestas vobis._ 
‘Give ear ye that rule the people, for power is given you of the 
Lord.’ Ye princes, ye ministers who have the people under your 
command, ye to whom the Lord hath given this power to rule and govern 
the commonwealth, _præbite aurem_, give ear to me! And what have they 
to hear from God who give ear so ill to men? A proclamation of the Day 
of Judgement far more portentous and terrible than that which has to 
summon the dead! _Judicium durissimum his qui præsunt fiet; exiguo 
enim conceditur misericordia; potentes autem potenter tormenta 
patientur:_ A sharp judgement shall be to them that be in high places. 
For mercy will pardon the mean; but mighty men shall be mightily 
tormented. The Judgement with which God will judge those who rule and 
govern is to be a sharp Judgement, because mercy will be granted to 
the mean; but the mighty shall be mightily tormented, _potentes 
potenter tormenta patientur_. See here in what that power is to end 
which is so greatly desired, which is so panted after, which is so 
highly esteemed, which is so much envied! The mighty fear no other 
power now, because the power is in their own hands, but when the sharp 
judgement comes they will then see whose Power is greater than theirs; 
_potentes potenter patientur_.”

This was a discourse which might have made Felix tremble.




CHAPTER CXLIII.

AN OPINION OF EL VENERABLE PADRE MAESTRO FRAY LUIS DE GRANADA, AND A 
PASSAGE QUOTED FROM HIS WORKS, BECAUSE OF THE PECULIAR BENEFIT TO 
WHICH PERSONS OF A CERTAIN DENOMINATION WILL FIND THEMSELVES ENTITLED 
UPON READING OR HEARING IT READ.

     _Chacun tourne en réalités,
  Autant qu'il peut, ses propres songes;
    L'homme est de glace aux vérités,
  Il est de feu pour les mensonges._

LA FONTAINE.


The translated extract in the preceding Chapter from the most eloquent 
of the Portuguese preachers, _el mismissimo Vieyra, en su mesma 
mesmedad_, as he is called in Fray Gerundio, brings to my mind the 
most eloquent and the most popular of the Spanish divines, P. M. Luis 
de Granada. He held an opinion wherein, (as will appear hereafter) the 
Philosopher of Doncaster did not agree with him, that every thing 
under the sky was created for man directly or indirectly, either for 
his own use, or for the use of those creatures which minister to it; 
for says the Spaniard if he does not eat mosquitoes he eats the birds 
that eat them; if he does not eat the grass of the field, the cattle 
graze there that are necessary for his use.

I have a very particular reason for giving the famous and Venerable 
Dominican's opinion in his own words.

_Todo quanto ay debaxo del Cielo, ò es para el hombre, ò para cosas de 
que se ha de servir el hombre; porque si el no come el mosquito que 
buela por el ayre, come lo el pajaro de que el se mantiene; y si el no 
pace la yerva del campo, pacela el ganado, de que el tiene 
necessidad._

My reason for transcribing this sentence in its original language, is 
that by so doing I might confer a great act of kindness upon every 
Roman Catholick who reads the present Chapter. For be it known unto 
every such reader, that by perusing it, he becomes entitled to an 
indulgence of an hundred days, granted by D. Pasqual Aragon, Cardinal 
by the Title of Santa Balbina, and Archbishop of Toledo; and moreover 
to eighteen several indulgences of forty days each, granted by 
eighteen most illustrious and most reverend Lords Archbishops and 
Bishops; such indulgences having been proclaimed, _para los que 
leyeren, ò oyeren leer qualquier capitulo, parrafo, ò periodo de lo 
que escrivio el dicho V. P. M. Fray Luis de Granada._

It might be a question for the casuists whether a good papist reading 
the paragraph here presented to him, and not assenting to the opinion 
expressed therein would be entitled to this discount of eight hundred 
and twenty days from his time due in Purgatory. But if he accords with 
the Venerable Dominican, he can no more doubt his own right to 
participate in the Episcopal and Archiepiscopal grants, than he can 
call in question the validity of the grants themselves.




CHAPTER CLXIV.

AN ENQUIRY, IN THE POULTRY-YARD, INTO THE TRUTH OF AN OPINION 
EXPRESSED BY ARISTOTLE.

  This is some liquor poured out of his bottle;
  A deadly draught for those of Aristotle.

J. C. sometime of M. H. Oxon.


Aristotle was of opinion that those animals which have been tamed, or 
are capable of being so, are of a better nature, or higher grade, than 
wild ones, and that it is advantageous for them that they should be 
brought into subjection by man, because under his protection they are 
safe.

_Τὰ μὲν γὰρ ἣμερα τῶν αγριων βελτίω την φυσιν, τούτοις δε πασι βέλτιον 
αρχεσθαι ὐπ᾿ ανθρωπου, τυγχάνει γαρ σωτηρίας οὕτως._

Our Philosopher was not better disposed to agree with Aristotle upon 
this point, than with the more commonly received notion of Father Luis 
de Granada. He thought that unless men were more humane in the days of 
Alexander the Great, than they are now, and than they have been in all 
times of which we have any knowledge, the Stagyrite must have stated 
what ought to be, rather than what is.

So our Philosopher thought; and so I, faithfully retaining the lessons 
of my beloved Master am prepared to prove. I will go no farther than 
to the Poultry Yard, and borrowing the names of the Dramatis Personæ 
from a nursery story, one of his Uncle William's, which has been told 
with the greatest possible success to all my children in succession, 
as it was to me, and their Uncles and Aunts before them, I will 
question the Poultry upon the subject, and faithfully report their 
evidence.

  _Voi ch' avete gl' intelletti sani
   Mirate la dottrina che s'asconde
   Sotto queste coperte alte e profonde._[1]

[Footnote 1: ORLANDO INNAMORATO.]

“Chick-pick, Chick-pick, which is best for you; to be a wild 
Chick-pick, or to live, as you are living, under the protection and 
care, and regular government of Man?”

Chick-pick answers and says, “Nature provides for my support quite as 
abundantly and as surely as you can do, and more wisely, you do not 
make my life happier or more secure while it lasts, and you shorten 
it; I have nothing to thank you for.”

“Hen-pen, Hen-pen, which is best for you; to be a wild Hen-pen, or to 
live as you are living, under the protection and care, and regular 
government of Man?”

Hen-pen answers and says: “Had I been bred up as my mother if she had 
been a wild Hen-pen would have bred me, I should have had the free use 
of my wings. I have nothing to thank you for! You take my eggs. 
Sometimes you make me hatch in their stead a little unnatural brood 
who run into the water, in spite of all my fears and of all that I can 
do to prevent them. You afford me protection when you can from 
foumarts and foxes; and you assist me in protecting my chicken from 
the kite, and the hawk, but this is that you may keep them for your 
own eating; you fatten them in coops, and then comes the Cook!”

“Cock-lock which is best for you; to be a wild Cock-lock, or to live 
as you are living, under the protection and care, and regular 
government of Man?”

Cock-lock answers and says, “Is there a man impudent enough to ask me 
the question! You squail at us on Shrove Tuesday; you feed us with 
Cock-bread, and arm us with steel spurs, that we may mangle and kill 
each other for your sport; you build cock-pits; you make us fight 
Welsh mains, and give subscription cups to the winner. And what would 
that Cock-lock say, who was a Cock-lock till you made him a 
Capon-lapon!”

“Duck-luck, Duck-luck, which is best for you, to be a wild Duck-luck, 
or to live as you are living under the protection and care, and 
regular government of Man?”

Duck-luck answers and says, “I was created to be one of the most 
privileged of God's creatures, born to the free enjoyment of three 
elements. My wings were to bear me whither I would thro' the sky, as 
change of season required change of climate for my well being; the 
waters were to afford me pastime and food, the earth repose and 
shelter. No bird more joyous, more active, more clean or more 
delighting in cleanliness than I should be, if the society of man had 
not corrupted my instincts. Under your regular government my wings are 
rendered useless to me; I waddle about the miserable precincts to 
which I am confined, and dabble in the dirt and grope for garbage in 
your gutters. And see there are green peas in the garden!”

“Turkey-lurkey, Turkey-lurkey, which is best for you; to be a wild 
Turkey-lurkey, or to live as you are living, under the protection, and 
care, and regular government of Man?”

Turkey-lurkey answers and says, “You cram us as if to show that there 
may be as much cruelty exercised in giving food as in withholding it. 
Look at the Norwich coaches for a week before Christmas! Can we think 
of them, think you? without wishing ourselves in the woods like our 
blessed ancestors, where chine, sausages and oyster-sauce are 
abominations which never have been heard of!” Sir Turkey-lurkey then 
shook and ruffled and reddened the collops of his neck, and gobbled 
out his curses upon man.

“Goosey-loosey, Goosey-loosey, which is best for you; to be a wild 
Goosey-loosey, or to live as you are living, under the protection and 
care and regular government of Man?”

Goosey-loosey answers and says, “It is not for any kindness to us that 
you turn us into your stubbles. You pluck us that you may lie the 
softer upon our feathers. You pull our quills that you may make pens 
of them. O St. Michael, what havoc is committed amongst us under the 
sanction of your arch-angelic name! And O Satan! what punishment wilt 
thou exact from those inhuman wretches who keep us in a state of 
continual suffering in order to induce a disease by which our livers 
may be enlarged for the gratification of wicked epicures! We might 
curse man for all that we know of his protection and care, and regular 
government; _but_,—”

BUT! said Goosey-loosey, and lifting up her wings significantly she 
repeated a third time that word BUT! and with a toss of the head and a 
twist of the snaky neck which at once indicated indignation and 
triumph, turned away with all the dignity that Goose-nature could 
express.

I understood the meaning of that But.

It was not one of those dreaded, ominous, restrictive, qualifying, 
nullifying or negativing Buts of which Daniel, the tenderest of all 
tender poets, says,

  Ah! now comes that bitter word of _But_
  Which makes all nothing that was said before!
  That smoothes and wounds, that strokes and dashes more
  Than flat denial, or a plain disgrace.

It was not one of those heart-withering, joy-killing, and 
hope-annihilating Buts. It was a minatory But, full of meaning as ever 
Brewer's Butt was full of beer.

However I will not broach that But in this Chapter.




CHAPTER CLXV.

A QUESTION ASKED AND RIGHTLY ANSWERED, WITH NOTICES OF A GREAT 
IMPORTATION ANNOUNCED IN THE LEITH COMMERCIAL LIST.

“But tell me yet what followed on that But.”

DANIEL.


Great, Reader, are the mysteries of Grammarians! Dr. Johnson 
considered But as only a Conjunction, whereas, says Mr. Todd, it is in 
fact a Conjunction, Preposition, Adverb and Interjection, as Dr. Adam 
Smith long since ingeniously proved. With Horne Tooke it is a verb to 
boot, being according to him the imperative of the Saxon beon-utan, 
_to be out_; but in this Mr. Todd supposes him to be out himself. And 
Noah Webster says it is also a Participle and a Noun. Pity that some 
one has not proved it to be a Pronoun; for then it would have belonged 
to all the eight parts of speech.

Great are the mysteries of Grammarians!

  O Reader, had you in your mind
    Such stores as subtlety can bring
  O gentle Reader, you would find
    A mystery in every thing.

For once, dear Reader, I who pride myself upon lucid order of 
arrangement, and perspicuity of language, instead of making, which I 
have heretofore done, and shall hereafter do, the train of my 
associations as visible as the tract of a hare in the dewy grass or in 
the snow, will let it be as little apparent as that of a bird in the 
air, or a serpent on a rock; or as Walter Landor in his poems, or his 
brother Robert's, whose poetry has the true Landorean obscurity, as 
well as the Landorean strength of diction and the Landorean truth and 
beauty of feeling and of thought: perhaps there is no other instance 
of so strongly marked an intellectual family likeness.

Thus having premised, I propound the following question: Of all the 
Birds in the air, and all the beasts in the field, and all the fishes 
in the sea, and all the creatures of inferior kind, who pass their 
lives wholly, or in part, according to their different stages of 
existence, in air, earth or water, what creature has produced directly 
or indirectly, the most effect upon mankind?—_That_, which you Reader, 
will deserve to be called, if you do not after a minute's reflection 
answer the question rightly.

The Goose!

Now Reader you have hit the _But_.

Among the imports in the Leith Commercial List, for June 1830, is an 
entry of 1,820,000 goose quills, brought by the Anne from Riga, for 
Messrs. Alexander Duncan and Son of Edinburgh.

One million, eight hundred and twenty thousand goose quills! The 
number will present itself more adequately to thy imagination when it 
is thus expressed in words.

O Reader, consider in thy capacious mind the good and the evil in 
which that million, eight hundred and twenty thousand quills will be 
concerned!

Take notice that the whole quantity is of foreign growth—that they are 
all imported quills, and so far from being all that were imported, 
that they were brought by one ship, and for only one house. Geese 
enough are not bred in Great Britain for supplying pens to schools, 
counters, public offices, private families, authors, and last not 
least in their consumption of this article, young ladies,—though they 
call in the crow-quills to their aid. Think of the Lawyers, Reader! 
and thou wilt then acknowledge that even if we were not living at this 
time under a government of Newspapers, the Goose is amply revenged 
upon mankind.

And now you understand Goosey-loosey's BUT.




CHAPTER CLXVI.

A WISH CONCERNING WHALES, WITH SOME REMARKS UPON THEIR PLACE IN 
PHYSICAL AND MORAL CLASSIFICATION. DR. ABRAHAM REES. CAPTAIN SCORESBY. 
THE WHALE FISHERY.

  Your Whale he will swallow a hogshead for a pill;
  But the maker of the mouse-trap is he that hath skill.

BEN JONSON.


When gas-lights came into general use, I entertained a hope that 
Whales would no longer be slaughtered for the sake of their oil. The 
foolishness of such a hope may be excused for its humanity.

I will excuse you Reader, if in most cases, you distrust that word 
humanity. But you are not to be excused if you suspect me of its 
counterfeit, that mock humanity which is one characteristic of this 
dishonourable and dishonest age. I say you are not to be excused, if 
being so far acquainted as by this time you must be with the 
philosophy of the Doctor, you suspect me his faithful and dutiful 
disciple of this pitiful affectation.

How the thought concerning Whales came just now into my mind will be 
seen when its application shall in due course be made apparent. Where 
I am is always well known to myself, tho' every Reader may not always 
discover my whereabout. And before the thought can be applied I must 
show upon what our Philosopher's opinions concerning Whales, or 
fancies if you think proper so to call them, were founded; mine—upon 
this and most other matters, having been as I gratefully acknowledge, 
derived from him.

Linnæus in his classification, as is well known, arranges Whales with 
Quadrupeds, an arrangement at which Uncle Toby, if he had been told of 
it, would have whistled Lilli-bullero, and the Doctor if he had not 
been a man of science himself, would have sung

  Fa la la lerridan
  Dan dan dan derridan
  Dan dan dan derridan
      Derridan dee.

But Uncle Toby never could have been told of it, because he good man 
died before Linnæus dreamt of forming a system; and Doctor Dove was a 
man of science, so that Lillibullero was never whistled upon this 
occasion, nor Dan dan dan derridan sung.

Whistle the one Reader, or sing the other, which you will, or if you 
will, do both; when you hear that in Dr. Rees's Cyclopædia it is said, 
“the Whale has no other claim to a place among fishes, than from its 
fish-like appearance and its living in the water.” The Whale has its 
place among them whatever the Cyclopædists may think of its claim, and 
will never have it any where else; and so very like a fish it is,—so 
strongly in the odour of fishiness, which is a good odour if it be not 
too strong,—that if the Greenlanders had been converted by the Jesuits 
instead of the Moravians, the strictest disciplinarian of that order 
would without doubt have allowed his converts to eat Whale upon fish 
days.

But whether Whale be fish or flesh, or if makers of system should be 
pleased to make it fowl, (for as it is like a Quadruped except that it 
has no feet, and cannot live upon land, so it may be like a bird, 
except that it has neither legs, wings, nor feathers, and cannot live 
in the air,) wherever naturalists may arrange it, its local habitation 
is among fishes, and fish in common language it always will be called. 
This whole question matters not to our present purpose. Our 
Philosopher had regard to its place in the scale of existence, a scale 
which he graduated not according to size, (tho' that also must 
sometimes be taken into the account,) nor by intellect which is yet of 
greater consideration, but according to those affections or moral 
feelings, which, little acquainted as we are with the nature of the 
lower creatures, are in many instances too evident to be called in 
question.

Now in this respect no other creature in the water, ranks so high as 
the Whale.

The affection of the parent for its young is both in itself and its 
consequences purely good, however those men seek to degrade it who 
ascribe all feelings, and all virtuous emotions, whether in man or 
beast, to selfishness, being themselves conscious that they have no 
worthier motive for any of their own actions. Martin Luther says that 
the Hebrew word which we translate by _curse_, carries not with it in 
the original language so strong a meaning as is given to it in his 
mother tongue,—consequently in ours. The Hebrew imprecation, he says, 
imports no more than “ill betide thee!” intending by _ill_ temporal 
misfortune, or punishment, the proper reward of ill deeds; not what is 
implied by cursing in its dreadful acceptation. A curse then in the 
Hebrew sense, be upon those who maintain this sensual, and 
sensualizing opinion; an opinion of which it is the sure effect to 
make bad men worse, and the folly and falsehood of which birds, and 
beasts might teach them, were it not that—because their hearts are 
gross, seeing they see not, and hearing they hear not, neither do they 
understand.

The Philosopher of Doncaster affirmed that virtue as well as reason 
might be clearly perceived in the inferior creation, and that their 
parental affection was proof of it. The longer the continuance of this 
affection in any species, the higher he was disposed to place that 
species in the scale of animated life. This continuance bears no 
relation to their size in birds, and little in quadrupeds; but in the 
whale it seems to be somewhat more proportionate, the young depending 
upon the mother more than twelve-months certainly, how much longer has 
not been ascertained. And so strong is the maternal affection that it 
is a common practice among whalers to harpoon the cub as a means of 
taking the mother; for this creature altho' harmless and timid at all 
other times, totally disregards danger when its young is to be 
defended, gives every possible indication of extreme agony for its 
young's sake, and suffers itself to be killed without attempting to 
escape. The mighty Ceticide Captain Scoresby describes a most 
affecting instance of this; “there is something,” he observes, 
“extremely painful in the destruction of a whale, when thus evincing a 
degree of affectionate regard for its offspring, that would do honour 
to the superior intelligence of human nature; yet, he adds, the object 
of the adventure, the value of the prize, the joy of the capture, 
cannot be sacrificed to feelings of compassion.” That conclusion if it 
were pursued to its legitimate consequences would lead farther than 
Captain Scoresby would follow it!

The whale fishery has indeed been an object of almost portentous 
importance according to the statements made by this well-informed and 
very able writer. That on the coast of Greenland proved, he says, in a 
short time the most lucrative and the most important branch of 
national commerce that had ever been offered to the industry of man. 
The net profits which the Dutch derived from the Greenland fishery 
during an hundred and seven years are stated at more than 20 millions 
sterling.

The class of Captains and seamen, employed in the southern 
whale-fishery, says a person engaged in that business himself, are 
quite different from any other. Lads taken from the streets without 
shoes and stockings, become many of them masters of ships and men of 
very large property. “There was an instance, a short time ago of one 
dying worth £60,000.: and I can point out twenty instances of persons 
worth 7 or 8, or £10,000. who have risen without any patronage 
whatever by their own exertions. It does not require any patronage to 
get on in the fishery.” Such is the statement of one who was examined 
before a Committee of the House of Commons in 1833, upon the state of 
Manufactures, Commerce and Shipping.

In a pamphlet written about the middle of the last century to 
recommend the prosecution of this trade, it was stated that the 
whale-fishery is of the nature of a lottery, where tho' the 
adventurers are certain losers on the whole, some are very great 
gainers; and this, it was argued, instead of being a discouragement 
was in fact the most powerful motive by which men were induced to 
engage in it.

If indeed the pleasure of gambling be in proportion to the stake, as 
those miserable and despicable persons who are addicted to that vice 
seem to think it is; and if the pleasure which men take in field 
sports, be in proportion to the excitement which the pursuit calls 
forth, whaling must be in both respects the most stimulating of all 
maritime adventures. One day's sport in which Captain Scoresby took 
three whales, produced a return of £2,100. and several years before he 
retired from this calling he had been personally concerned in the 
capture of three hundred, and twenty-two. And his father in 
twenty-eight voyages, in which he commanded a ship brought home 498 
whales, producing 4246 tons of oil, the value of which, with that of 
the whale-bone, exceeded £150,000. “all fished for under his own 
direction out of the sea.”

The whale fishery is even of more importance as a nursery for seamen, 
for of all naval services it is the most severe; and this thorough 
seaman describes the excitement and the enjoyment of a whaler's life 
as being in proportion to the danger. “The difficulties and 
intricacies of the situation, when the vessel is to be forced through 
masses of drift ice, afford exercise,” he says, “for the highest 
possible exertion of nautical skill, and are capable of yielding to 
the person who has the management of a ship, a degree of enjoyment, 
which it would be difficult for navigators accustomed to mere common 
place operations duly to appreciate. The ordinary management of a 
ship, under a strong gale, and with great velocity, exhibits 
evolutions of considerable elegance; but these cannot be compared with 
the navigation in the intricacies of floating ice, where the 
evolutions are frequent, and perpetually varying; where manœuvres are 
to be accomplished, that extend to the very limits of possibility; and 
where a degree of hazard attaches to some of the operations, which 
would render a mistake of the helm,—or a miscalculation of the powers 
of a ship, irremediate and destructive.”—How wonderful a creature is 
man, that the sense of power should thus seem to constitute his 
highest animal enjoyment!

In proportion to the excitement of such a life, Captain Scoresby 
describes its religious tendency upon a well disposed mind, and this 
certainly has been exemplified in his own person. “Perhaps there is no 
situation in life,” he says, “in which an habitual reliance upon 
Providence, and a well founded dependance on the Divine protection and 
support, is of such sensible value as it is found to be by those 
employed in seafaring occupations, and especially in the fishery for 
whales. These are exposed to a great variety of dangers, many of which 
they must voluntarily face; and the success of their exertions depends 
on a variety of causes, over many of which they have no controul. The 
anxiety arising from both these causes is greatly repressed, and often 
altogether subdued, when, convinced of the infallibility and 
universality of Providence by the internal power of religion, we are 
enabled to commit all our ways unto God, and to look for his blessing 
as essential to our safety, and as necessary for our success.”

John Newton of Olney has in his narrative of his own remarkable life, 
a passage that entirely accords with these remarks of Captain 
Scoresby, and which is in like manner the result of experience. “A 
sea-faring life,” he says, “is necessarily excluded from the benefit 
of public ordinances, and christian communion.—In other respects, I 
know not any calling that seems more favourable, or affords greater 
advantages to an awakened mind, for promoting the life of God in the 
soul, especially to a person who has the command of a ship, and 
thereby has it in his power to restrain gross irregularities in 
others, and to dispose of his own time.—To be at sea in these 
circumstances, withdrawn out of the reach of innumerable temptations, 
with opportunity and a turn of mind disposed to observe the wonders of 
God, in the great deep, with the two noblest objects of sight the 
expanded heavens and the expanded ocean, continually in view; and 
where evident interpositions of Divine Providence in answer to prayer 
occur almost every day; these are helps to quicken and confirm the 
life of faith, which in a good measure supply to a religious sailor 
the want of those advantages which can be only enjoyed upon the shore. 
And indeed though my knowledge of spiritual things (as knowledge is 
usually estimated) was at this time very small, yet I sometimes look 
back with regret upon those scenes. I never knew sweeter or more 
frequent hours of divine communion than in my two last voyages to 
Guinea, when I was either almost secluded from society on ship-board, 
or when on shore among the natives.”

What follows is so beautiful (except the extravagant condemnation of a 
passionate tenderness which he, of all men, should have been the last 
to condemn) that the passage though it has set us ashore, must be 
continued a little farther. “I have wandered,” he proceeds, “thro' the 
woods, reflecting on the singular goodness of the Lord to me in a 
place where, perhaps, there was not a person who knew him, for some 
thousand miles round me. Many a time upon these occasions I have 
restored the beautiful lines of Tibullus,[1] to the right owner; lines 
full of blasphemy and madness, when addressed to a creature, but full 
of comfort and propriety in the mouth of a believer.

  _Sic ego desertis possum bene vivere sylvis,
     Quà nulla humano sit via trita pede.
   Tu mihi curarum requies, in nocte vel atra
     Lumen, et in solis tu mihì turba locis._”

[Footnote 1: Mr. Newton by an easy slip of the memory, has ascribed 
the lines to Propertius.]




CHAPTER CLXVII.

A MOTTO WHICH IS WELL CHOSEN BECAUSE NOT BEING APPLICABLE IT SEEMS TO 
BE SO. THE AUTHOR NOT ERRANT HERE OR ELSEWHERE. PHILOSOPHY AND 
OTHER-OSOPHIES.

  Much from my theme and friend have I digressed,
    But poor as I am, poor in stuff for thought,
  And poor in thought to make of it the best,
    Blame me not, Gentles, if I soon am caught
  By this or that, when as my themes suggest
    Aught of collateral aid which may be wrought
  Into its service: Blame me not, I say;
  The idly musing often miss their way.

CHARLES LLOYD.


The pleasing pensive stanza, which thou, gentle reader hast just 
perused, is prefixed to this Chapter because it would be so felicitous 
a motto, if only it were applicable; and for that very reason it is 
felicitous, its non-applicability furnishing a means of happy 
application.

_Il y a du bonheur et de l'esprit à employer les paroles d'un poëte à 
une chose à quoy le poëte ne pense jamais, et à les employer si à 
propos qu'elles semblent avoir esté faites exprés pour le sujet auquel 
elles sont appliquées._[1]

[Footnote 1: P. BOUHOURS.]

“Good Sir, you understand not;”—yet I am not saying with the Pedagogue 
at the Ordinary,

                Let's keep them
  In desperate hope of understanding us;
  Riddles and clouds are very lights of speech.
  I'll veil my careless anxious thoughts as 'twere
  In a perspicuous cloud, that so I may
  Whisper in a loud voice, and even be silent
  When I do utter words.[2]

Here, as every where my intention is to be perfectly intelligible; I 
have not digressed either from my theme or friend; I am neither poor 
in stuff for thought, nor in thought for working; nor, (if I may be 
permitted so to say) in skill for manipulating it. I have not been 
idly musing, nor have I missed my road, but have kept the track 
faithfully, and not departed from the way in which I was trained up. 
All that I have been saying belongs to, and is derived from the 
philosophy of my friend: yes, gentle Reader, all that is set before 
thee in these well stored volumes. _Una est enim philosophia, 
quascumque in oras disputationis regionesve delata est. Nam sive de 
cœli naturâ loquitur, sive de terræ, sive de divinâ vi, sive de 
humanâ, sive ex inferiore loco, sive ex æquo, sive ex superiore, sive 
ut impellat homines, sive ut doceat, sive ut deterreat, sive ut 
concitet, sive ut incendat, sive ut reflectat, sive ut leniat, sive ad 
paucos, sive ad multos, sive inter alienos, sive cum suis, sive secum, 
rivis est deducta philosophia, non fontibus._

[Footnote 2: CARTWRIGHT.]

We speak of the philosophy of the Porch, and of the Grove, and of the 
Sty when we would express ourselves disdainfully of the Epicureans. 
But we cannot in like manner, give to the philosophy which pervades 
these volumes, a local habitation and a name, because the philosophy 
of Doncaster would popularly be understood to mean the philosophy of 
the Duke of Grafton, the Marquis of Exeter, and Mr. Gully, tho' that 
indeed belongs not to Philosophy but to one of its dialects, 
varieties, or corrupted forms, which are many; for example, there is 
Fallosophy practised professionally by Advocates, and exhibited in 
great perfection by Quacks, and Political Economists; Failosophy, the 
science of those who make bankruptcy a profitable adventure; 
Fellowsophy, which has its habitat in common rooms at Cambridge, and 
Oxford; Feelosophy common to Lawyers and Physicians; Fillyosophy well 
understood on the turf, and nowhere better than in Doncaster; and 
finally the Foolosophy of Jeremy Bentham, and of all those who have 
said in their hearts—what it saddens a compassionate heart to think 
that even the Fool should say!




CHAPTER CLXVIII.

NE-PLUS-ULTRA-WHALE-FISHING. AN OPINION OF CAPTAIN SCORESBY'S. THE 
DOCTOR DENIES THAT ALL CREATURES WERE MADE FOR THE USE OF MAN. THE 
CONTRARY DEMONSTRATED IN PRACTICE BY BELLARMINE.

_Sequar quo vocas, omnibus enim rebus omnibusque sermonibus, aliquid 
salutare miscendum est._

SENECA.


The hardiest of Captain Scoresby's sailors would never, methinks have 
ventured upon a manner of catching the whale used by the Indians in 
Florida, which Sir Richard Hawkins says is worthy to be considered, 
inasmuch as the barbarous people have found out so great a secret, by 
the industry and diligence of one man, to kill so great, and huge a 
monster. Let not the reader think meanly of an able and judicious, as 
well as brave adventurous and unfortunate man, because he believed 
what he thus relates:

“The Indian discovering a whale, procureth two round billets of wood, 
sharpened both at one end, and so binding them together with a cord, 
casteth himself with them into the sea, and swimmeth towards the 
whale. If he come to him the whale escapeth not; for he placeth 
himself upon his neck; and altho' the whale goeth to the bottom, he 
must of force rise presently to breathe, for which nature hath given 
him two great holes in the top of his head by which every time that he 
breatheth, he spouteth out a great quantity of water; the Indian 
forsaketh not his hold, but riseth with him, and thrusteth in a log 
into one of his spouters, and with the other knocketh it in so fast, 
that by no means the whale can get it out: that fastened, at another 
opportunity, he thrusteth in the second log into the other spouter, 
and with all the force he can, keepeth it in. The whale not being able 
to breathe swimmeth presently ashore, and the Indian a cock-horse upon 
him!” Hawkins says that many Spaniards had discoursed to him upon this 
subject, who had been eye-witnesses of it!

“Most other animals when attacked,” says Captain Scoresby, 
“instinctively pursue a conduct which is generally the best calculated 
to secure their escape; but not so the whale. Were it to remain on the 
surface after being harpooned, to press steadily forward in one 
direction, and to exert the wonderful strength that it possesses; or 
were it to await the attacks of its enemies, and repel them by 
well-timed flourishes of its tremendous tail, it would often 
victoriously dispute the field with man whose strength and bulk 
scarcely exceed a nine hundredth part of its own. But like the rest of 
the lower animals, it was designed by Him who ‘created great whales,’ 
and every living creature that moveth to be subject to man; and 
therefore when attacked by him, it perishes by its simplicity.”

Captain Scoresby now holds a commission in the spiritual service as a 
fisher of men,—a commission which I verily believe has been most 
properly applied for and worthily bestowed. Whether this extraordinary 
change in life has produced any change in his opinion upon this 
subject I know not; or whether he still thinks that whales were made 
subject to man, in order that man might slaughter them for the sake of 
their blubber and their whalebone.

Nevertheless it was a foolish wish of mine that gas-lights might 
supersede the use of train-oil; foolish because a little foresight 
might have made me apprehend that oil-gas might supersede coal-gas; 
and a little reflection would have shown that tho' collieries are much 
more necessary than the Greenland fishery can be pretended to be, far 
greater evil is connected with them, and that this evil is without any 
incidental good. For the Greenland fishery unquestionably makes the 
best seamen; and a good seaman, good in the moral and religious, as 
well as in the nautical sense of the word, is one of the highest 
characters that this world's rough discipline can produce. Aye, says 
an old Lieutenant, living frugally upon his poor half-pay, aye that he 
is, by ——.

But it was not otherwise a foolish wish; for that the whale was made 
for the use of man in any such way as the whalers take for granted, I 
am very far from believing.

All creatures animate and inanimate, are constituent parts of one 
great system; and so far dependent upon each other, and in a certain 
sense each made for all. The whale is a link in the chain, and the 
largest that has yet been found, for no one has yet caught a Kraken.

Cicero makes Crassus the orator commend the ancient philosophy which 
taught that all things were thus connected:—_mihi quidem veteres illi, 
majus quiddam animo complexi, multo plus etiam vidisse videntur, quam 
quantum nostrorum ingeniorum acies intueri potest; qui omnia hæc, que 
supra et subter, unum esse, et unâ vi atque unâ consensione naturæ 
constricta esse dixerunt. Nullum est enim genus rerum quod aut avulsum 
a cæteris per seipsum constare, aut, quo cætera si careant, vim suam 
atque æternitatem conservare possint._ He expresses a doubt indeed 
that _hæc major esse ratio videtur, quam ut hominum possit sensu, aut 
cogitatione, comprehendi_: and with the proper reserve of such a 
doubt, our Philosopher gave a qualified assent to the opinion, 
restricting it however religiously to the inferior and visible 
creation: but as to the notion that all things were made for the use 
of man, in the sense that vulgar men believe, this he considered to be 
as presumptuous and as absurd as the converse of the proposition which 
Pope puts into the mouth of the pampered Goose. “The monstrous faith 
of many made for one,” might seem reasonable and religious when 
compared with such a supposition.

“Made for thy use,” the Doctor would say, “tyrant that thou art, and 
weak as thou art tyrannical! Will the unicorn be willing to serve 
thee, or abide by thy crib? Canst thou bind him with his band in the 
furrow; or will he harrow the vallies after thee? Canst thou draw out 
leviathan with an hook, will he make a covenant with thee, wilt thou 
take him for a servant! Wilt thou bind him for thy maidens? Shall thy 
companions make a banquet of him? Shall they part him among the 
merchants? Made for thy use,—when so many may seem to have been made 
for thy punishment and humiliation!”

There is a use indeed in these, but few men are so ready to 
acknowledge, and act upon it as Bellarmine was, who being far more 
indulgent to musquitos and other small deer than to heretics, allowed 
them free right of pasture upon his corporal domains. He thought they 
were created to afford exercise for our patience, and moreover that it 
is unjust for us to interrupt them in their enjoyment here, when we 
consider that they have no other paradise to expect. Yet when the 
Cardinal Controversialist gave breakfast, dinner, or supper of this 
kind, he was far from partaking any sympathetic pleasure in the 
happiness which he imparted; for it is related of him that at one time 
he was so terribly bitten a _bestiolis quibusdam nequam ac 
damnificis_, (it is not necessary to enquire of what species) as 
earnestly to pray that if there were any torments in Hell itself so 
dreadful as what he was then enduring, the Lord would be pleased not 
to send him there, for he should not be able to bear it.

What could the Cardinal then have thought of those Convents that were 
said to have an apartment or dungeon into which the Friars every day 
during the warm season, brushed or shook the fleas from their habits 
thro' an aperture above (being the only entrance) and where whenever a 
frail brother was convicted of breaking the most fragile of his vows, 
he was let down naked and with his hands tied! This earthly Purgatory 
was called _la Pulciara_, that is the Fleaery, and there the culprit 
was left till it was deemed that he had suffered punishment enough in 
this life for his offence.

    _Io tengo omai per infallibil cosa,
     Che sian per nostro mal nati gl'insetti
     Per renderci la vita aspra e nojosa.
   Certo in quei primi giorni benedetti
     Ne gli orti del piacer non abitaro
     Questi sozzi e molesti animaletti;
   Ne' con gli altri animali a paro a paro
     Per saper come avessero a chiamarsi
     Al cospetto d'Adam si presentaro:_

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Nacquero dunque sol per nostro male
     Queste malnate bestie, e fur prodotte
     In pena de la colpa originate._

       *       *       *       *       *

  _E come l'uomo a sospirar ridutto
     Per l'interno sconcerto de gli affetti
     Pravi, germoglia miserabil frutto;
   Cosè la terra fra suoi varj effetti
     Pel reo fermento, onde bollir si sente,
     Da se produce i velenosi insetti.
   Infin, da la materia putrescente,
     Nascon l'abbominevoli bestiuole,
     Ed è questa per me cosa evidente.
   So che nol voglion le moderne scuole;
     Ma ciò che monta? In simile argomento
     E'lecito a ciascun dir ciò che vuole._[1]

[Footnote 1: CORDARA.]




CHAPTER CLXIX.

LINKS AND AFFINITIES. A MAP OF THE AUTHOR'S INTELLECTUAL COURSE IN THE 
FIVE PRECEDING CHAPTERS.

  _Ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε, ποῖ δὴ καὶ πόθεν;_

PLATO.


And now it may be agreeable to the reader to be presented here with a 
sort of synopsis, or itinerary, whereby as in a chart he may trace 
what he perhaps has erroneously considered the erratic course of 
association in the five antecedent Chapters.

First, then Aristotle held that domesticated animals were benefitted 
by their connection with man.

Secondly, the Biographer and disciple of Dr. Dove thought that 
Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated 
animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Thirdly, Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and 
Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, confirmed the 
opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was 
not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were 
benefitted by their connection with man.

Fourthly, it was seen that Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly 
and significantly with the word _But_: When Chick-Pick and Hen-Pen, 
and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, 
being consulted, confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple 
of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that 
domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Fifthly, it was observed that Grammarians have maintained many and 
mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, with 
which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after 
Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and 
Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted had confirmed the 
opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was 
not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were 
benefitted by their connection with man.

Sixthly, a question was propounded, after it had been observed that 
Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning 
the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her 
speech, abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and 
Cock-Lock and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being 
consulted had confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of 
Dr. Dove that Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that 
domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Seventhly, the Reader answered the question which the writer 
propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have maintained 
many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, 
with which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech abruptly and significantly, 
after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and 
Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted had confirmed the 
opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove that Aristotle was 
not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were 
benefitted by their connection with man.

Eighthly, it appeared that the Reader had hit the _But_, when he 
answered the question, which the writer propounded, after it had been 
observed, that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious 
opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which 
Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after 
Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and 
Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had confirmed the 
opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was 
not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were 
benefitted by their connection with man.

Ninthly, there was an entry of one million, eight hundred and twenty 
thousand Goose Quills, entered in that place, because the Reader had 
hit the _But_, when he answered the question, which the writer 
propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have maintained 
many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, 
with which Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and significantly, 
after Chick-Pick and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and 
Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had confirmed the 
opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was 
not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were 
benefitted by their connection with man.

Tenthly, the Reader was called upon to consider the good and evil 
connected with those one million, eight hundred, and twenty thousand 
goose quills, the entry of which was entered in that place, because 
the Reader had hit the _But_, when he answered the question which the 
writer propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have 
maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the 
word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech abruptly and 
significantly after Chick-Pick and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and 
Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had 
confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove that 
Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated 
animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Eleventhly, a wish concerning Whales was expressed, which was 
associated it has not yet appeared how, with the feeling in which the 
Reader is called upon to consider the good and the evil connected with 
those one million, eight hundred, and twenty thousand goose quills, 
the entry of which was entered in that place, because the Reader had 
hit the _But_, when he answered the question, which the writer 
propounded, after it had been observed that Grammarians have 
maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the 
word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and 
significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and 
Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had 
confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that 
Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated 
animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Twelfthly, Captain Scoresby was introduced in consequence of a wish 
concerning Whales having been expressed, which was associated it has 
not yet appeared how, with the feeling in which the Reader was called 
upon to consider the good and the evil connected with those one 
million, eight hundred, and twenty thousand goose quills, the entry of 
which was entered in that place, because the Reader had hit the _But_, 
when he answered the question, which the writer propounded, after it 
had been observed that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious 
opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which 
Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after 
Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and 
Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had confirmed the 
opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was 
not altogether right when he maintained that domesticated animals were 
benefitted by their connection with man.

Thirteenthly, some curious facts concerning the Greenland fishery were 
stated on the authority of Captain Scoresby, who was introduced in 
consequence of a wish concerning Whales having been expressed, which 
was associated, it has not yet appeared how, with the feeling in which 
the Reader was called upon to consider the good and the evil connected 
with those one million, eight hundred and twenty thousand goose 
quills, the entry of which was entered in that place, because the 
Reader had hit the _But_, when he answered the question which the 
writer propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have 
maintained many and mysterious opinions, concerning the nature of the 
word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech, abruptly and 
significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and 
Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, 
confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that 
Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated 
animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Fourteenthly, a beautiful stanza was quoted from a poem by Mr. Charles 
Lloyd which becoming applicable as a motto, because it seemed 
inapplicable, was applied, after some curious facts concerning the 
Greenland fishery had been stated on the authority of Captain 
Scoresby, who was introduced in consequence of a wish concerning 
Whales having been expressed, which was associated, it has not yet 
appeared how, with the feeling in which the Reader was called upon to 
consider the good and the evil connected with those one million, eight 
hundred, and twenty thousand goose quills, the entry of which was 
entered in that place, because the Reader had hit the _But_, when he 
answered the question which the writer propounded, after it had been 
observed that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions 
concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey 
ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and 
Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and 
Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, confirmed the opinion of the 
Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether 
right when he held that domesticated animals were benefitted by their 
connection with man.

Fifteenthly, that the writer in all which went before had adhered, and 
was at present adhering to the philosophy of Dr. Dove, was shown in 
relation to a beautiful stanza that had been quoted from a poem by Mr. 
Charles Lloyd; which becoming applicable as a motto because it seemed 
to be inapplicable, was applied, after some curious facts concerning 
the Greenland fishery had been stated, on the authority of Captain 
Scoresby, who was introduced in consequence of a wish concerning 
Whales having been expressed; which was associated, it has not yet 
appeared how, with the feeling in which the Reader was called upon to 
consider the good and the evil connected with those one million, eight 
hundred and twenty thousand goose quills, the entry of which was 
entered in that place, because the Reader had hit the _But_, when he 
answered the question which the writer propounded, after it had been 
observed that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions 
concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey 
ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and 
Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and 
Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, confirmed the opinion of the 
Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether 
right, when he held that domesticated animals were benefitted by their 
connection with man.

Sixteenthly, an assertion of Captain Scoresby's that Whales were 
created for man was brought forward when it had been shown that the 
writer in all which went before had adhered, and was at present 
adhering to the philosophy of Dr. Dove, in relation to a beautiful 
stanza that had been quoted from a poem by Mr. Charles Lloyd, which 
becoming applicable as a motto because it seemed to be inapplicable, 
was applied, after some curious facts concerning the Greenland fishery 
had been stated on the authority of Captain Scoresby, who was 
introduced in consequence of a wish concerning Whales having been 
expressed, which was associated, it has not yet appeared how, with the 
feeling in which the reader was called upon to consider the good and 
the evil connected with those one million, eight hundred, and twenty 
thousand goose quills, the entry of which was entered in that place 
because the Reader had hit the _But_, when he answered the question 
which the writer propounded, after it had been observed that 
Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning 
the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her 
speech, abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and 
Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being 
consulted, confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. 
Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether right, when he held that 
domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Seventeenthly and lastly, the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove 
opposed the assertion of Captain Scoresby that Whales were created for 
man, which assertion was brought forward when it had been shown, that 
the writer in all which went before had adhered and was at present 
adhering to the philosophy of Dr. Dove, in relation to a beautiful 
stanza that had been quoted from a poem of Mr. Charles Lloyd, which 
becoming applicable as a motto because it seemed to be inapplicable, 
was applied after some curious facts concerning the Greenland fishery 
had been stated on the authority of Captain Scoresby, who was 
introduced in consequence of a wish concerning Whales having been 
expressed, which was associated, it has not yet appeared how, with the 
feeling in which the Reader was called upon to consider the good and 
the evil connected with those one million, eight hundred and twenty 
thousand goose quills, the entry of which was entered in that place 
because the Reader had hit the But, when he answered the question, 
which the writer propounded, after it had been observed that 
Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning 
the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her 
speech, abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and 
Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being 
consulted, confirmed the opinion of the Biographer, and Disciple of 
Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether right, when he held that 
domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

You see Reader where we are, and whence we came, and I have thus 
retraced for you the seventeen stages of association by which we have 
proceeded from the one point to the other, because you will have much 
more satisfaction in seeing the substance of the aforesaid five 
chapters thus clearly and coherently recapitulated, than if it had 
been in the common form, simply and compendiously capitulated at the 
head of each. For in this point I agree with that good, patient, 
kind-hearted, industrious, ingenious, odd, whimsical and yet withal 
_dullus homo_, James Elphinstone, Radical Reformer of English 
Orthography. He says, and you shall have the passage in 
Elphinstonography, as he printed it, “I own myself an ennemy to 
hwatevver seems quaint in dhe verry contents ov a chapter; and dho dhe 
starts ov surprize be intollerabell, wons plezzure iz no les balked by 
anticipation. Hoo indeed prezents a bil ov fare, widh an 
entertainment? Hwen dhe entertainment iz over, dhe bil may doutles com 
in, to refresh dhe memmory, edher widh plan or particulers, dhat hav 
regaled dhe various pallates ov dhe company.”




CHAPTER CLXX.

THE AUTHOR REPEATS A REMARK OF HIS DAUGHTER UPON THE PRECEDING 
CHAPTER; COMPLIMENTS THE LORD BROUGHAM AND VAUX UPON HIS LUNGS AND 
LARYNX; PHILOSOPHIZES AND QUOTES, AND QUOTES AND PHILOSOPHIZES AGAIN 
AND AGAIN.

  _Fato, Fortuna, Predestinazione,
     Sorte, Caso, Ventura, son di quelle
   Cose che dan gran noja a le persone,
     E vi si dicon su di gran novelle.
   Ma in fine Iddio d'ogni cose é padrone:
     E chi é savio domina a le stelle;
   Chi non é savio paziente e forte,
     Lamentisi di se, non de la sorte._

ORL. INN.


“Pappa, it's a breathless chapter!” says one whose eyes when they are 
turned toward me I never meet without pleasure, unless sorrow has 
suffused them, or illness dimmed their light.

Nobody then can give so much effect to it in reading aloud as the Lord 
Chancellor Brougham and Vaux, he having made a speech of nine hours 
long upon the state of the law and thereby proved himself to be the 
most long-winded of living men. And fit it is that he should be so; 
for there are very few men to whom whether he be right or wrong, it 
can be so well worth while to listen.

  Yet give me space a while for to respire,
  And I myself shall fairly well out-wind.[1]

[Footnote 1: HENRY MORE.]

For I have read no idle or unprofitable lesson in this remuneration. 
Were we thus to retrace the course of our own lives, there are few of 
us who would not find that that course had been influenced, and its 
most important events brought about, by incidents which might seem as 
casually or capriciously connected as the seventeen links of this 
mental chain. Investigate any thing backward through seventeen 
generations of motives, or moving causes, whether in private, or in 
public life: see from what slight and insignificant circumstances 
friendships have originated, and have been dissolved; by what 
accidents the choice of a profession, or of a wife, have been 
determined, and on how inconsiderable a point the good or ill fortune 
of a life has depended;—deaths, marriages, wealth or poverty, opinions 
more important than all other things, as in their consequence 
affecting our happiness not only here but hereafter; victories and 
defeats, war and peace, change of ministries and of dynasties, 
revolutions, the overthrow of thrones, the degradation and the ruin 
and the destruction and the disappearance of nations! Trace any of 
these backward link by link, and long before we are lost in the series 
of causes, we shall be lost in thought and in wonder; so much will 
there be to humble the pride of man, to abate his presumption, and to 
call for and confirm his faith.

_On dit que quand les Chinois, qui n'ont pas l'usage des horologes, 
commencerent à voir ces rouës, ces balanciers, ces volans, ces 
contrepoids, et tout l'attirail de ces grandes machines, considerant 
les pieces à part et comme desmembrées, ils n'en firent pas grand 
estat, pource qu'ils ne sçavoient à quel usage devoient servir toutes 
ces pieces: mais comme elles furent montées, et qu'ils oüyrent les 
heures sur le tymbre, ils furent si surpris d'estonnement, qu'ils 
s'assembloient à trouppes pour voir le mouvement de l'aiguille, et 
pour entendre les heures; et appellerent ces machines en leur langue,_ 
LE FER QUI PARLE. _Je dis que qui considera les parties de la 
Providence Divine comme desmembrées et à piece, tant de ressorts, tant 
d'accordans divers, tant d'evenemens qui nous semblent casuels, ne se 
pourra jamais imaginer la beauté de cette machine, la sagesse de cette 
Providence, la conduitte de ce grand corps; à cause qu'on fait tort à 
un ouvrage fait à la Mosaíque de le voir à lambeaux; il le faut voir 
monté et rangé par le menu pour marquer sa beauté. Mais quand on 
entend l'heure qui sonne sur le tymbre, on commence à cognoistre qu'il 
y avoit au dedans une belle et agreable police qui paroist au dehors 
par la sonnerie. Ainsi en est il à peu pres de la vie d'un homme._[2]

[Footnote 2: GARASSE.]

May not that which frequently has been, instruct us as to what will 
be! is a question which Hobbes proposes, and which he answers in the 
negative. “No;” he replies to it, “for no one knows what may be, 
except He who knows all things, because all things contribute to every 
thing”—

                         _Nonne
    Id quod sæpe fuit, nos docet id quod erit?
  Non; scit enim quod erit, nisi qui sciat omnia, nemo;
    Omni contribuunt omnia namque rei._

The philosopher of Doncaster was far from agreeing with the 
philosopher of Malmesbury upon this as upon many other points. _De 
minimis non curat lex_, was a maxim with him in philosophy as well as 
in law. There were many things he thought, which ended in as little as 
they began, fatherless and childless actions, having neither cause nor 
consequence, bubbles upon the stream of events, which rise, burst, and 
are no more:—

  A moment seen then gone for ever.[3]

[Footnote 3: BURNS.]

What John Newton said is nevertheless true; the way of man is not in 
himself! nor can he conceive what belongs to a single step. “When I go 
to St. Mary Woolnoth,” he proceeds, “it seems the same whether I turn 
down Lothbury or go through the Old Jewry; but the going through one 
street and not another may produce an effect of lasting consequence.” 
He had proof enough of this in the providential course of his own 
eventful life; and who is there that cannot call to mind some striking 
instances in his own?

“There is a time coming,” said this good man, “when our warfare shall 
be accomplished, our views enlarged, and our light increased; then 
with what transports of adoration and love shall we look back upon the 
way by which the Lord led us! We shall then see and acknowledge that 
mercy and goodness directed every step; we shall see that what our 
ignorance once called adversities and evils, were in reality blessings 
which we could not have done well without; that nothing befell us 
without a cause, that no trouble came upon us sooner, or pressed us 
more heavily, or continued longer, than our case required: in a word 
that our many afflictions were each in their place, among the means 
employed by divine grace and wisdom, to bring us to the possession of 
that exceeding and eternal weight of glory which the Lord has prepared 
for his people. And even in this imperfect state, though we are seldom 
able to judge aright of our present circumstances, yet if we look upon 
the years of our past life, and compare the dispensations we have been 
brought through, with the frame of our minds under each successive 
period; if we consider how wonderfully one thing has been connected 
with another; so that what we now number amongst our greatest 
advantages, perhaps took their first rise from incidents which we 
thought hardly worth our notice; and that we have sometimes escaped 
the greatest dangers that threatened us, not by any wisdom or 
foresight of our own, but by the intervention of circumstances, which 
we neither desired nor thought of;—I say, when we compare and consider 
these things by the light afforded us in the Holy Scriptures, we may 
collect indisputable proof from the narrow circle of our own concerns, 
that the wise and good providence of God watches over his people from 
the earliest moment of their life, over-rules and guards them through 
all their wanderings in a state of ignorance, and leads them in a way 
they know not, till at length his providence and grace concur in those 
events and impressions which bring them to the knowledge of Him and 
themselves.”

“All things are brought upon us by Nature and Fate,” says the unknown 
speculator who foisted his theology upon the world under the false 
name of Hermes Trismegistus: “and there is no place deserted by 
Providence. But Providence is the reason, perfect in itself, of 
super-celestial Deity. From it are the two known Powers, Necessity and 
Fate. Fate is the Minister of Providence and of Necessity; and the 
Stars are the ministers of Fate. And no one can fly from Fate, nor 
protect himself against its mighty force; for the Stars are the arms 
of Fate, and according to it all things are affected in Nature and in 
Men.” Take the passage in the Latin of Franciscus Patricius who 
produced these mystic treatises from the Ranzovian Library.

_Omnia vero fiunt Naturâ et Fato. Et non est locus desertus a 
Providentiâ. Providentia vero est per se perfecta ratio supercælestis 
Dei. Duæ autem sunt ab eâ notæ potentiæ. Necessitas et Fatum. Fatum 
autem ministrum est Providentiæ et Necessitatis. Fati vero ministræ 
sunt stellæ. Neque enim Fatum fugere quis potest, neque se custodire 
ab ipsius vi magnâ. Arma namque Fati sunt Stellæ, secùndum ipsum 
namque cuncta efficiuntur Naturæ et hominibus._

Thus, says P. Garasse, there are six or seven steps down to man; 
Providence, Necessity, Fate, the Stars, Nature, and then Man at the 
lowest step of the ladder. For Providence, being _ratio absoluta 
cælestis Dei_, is _comme hors de pair_: and has under her a servant 
who is called Necessity, and Necessity has under her, her valet Fate, 
and Fate has the Stars for its weapons, and the Stars have Nature for 
their arsenal, and Nature has them for her subjects: The one serves 
the other, “_en sorte que le premier qui manque à son devoir, 
desbauche tout l'attirail; mais à condition, qu'il est hors de la 
puissance des hommes d'eviter les armes du Destin qui sont les 
Estoiles. Or je confesse que tout ce discours m'est si obscur et 
enigmatique que j'entendrois mieux les resveries d'un phrenetique, ou 
les pensées obscures de Lycophron; je m'asseure que Trismegiste ne 
s'entendoit non plus lors qu'il faisoit ce discours, que nous 
l'entendons maintenant._”

The Jesuit is right. Necessity, Fate and Nature are mere abstractions. 
The Stars keep their courses and regard not us. Between Man and his 
Maker nothing is interposed; nothing can be interposed between the 
Omnipresent Almighty and the creatures of His hand. Receive this truth 
into thy soul whoever thou be'est that readest, and it will work in 
thee a death unto sin and a new birth unto righteousness! And ye who 
tremble at the aweful thought, remember that though there be nothing 
_between_ us and our Judge, we have a Mediator and Advocate _with_ 
Him, who is the propitiation for our sins, and who is “able to save 
them to the uttermost that come to God through Him.”




CHAPTER CLXXI.

CONTAINING PART OF A SERMON, WHICH THE READER WILL FIND WORTH MORE 
THAN MOST WHOLE ONES THAT IT MAY BE HIS FORTUNE TO HEAR.

_Je fais une grande provision de bon sens en prenant ce que les autres 
en ont._

MADAME DE MAINTENON.


Reader! I set some learning before you in the last chapter, and 
“however some may cry out that all endeavours at learning in a book 
like this, especially where it steps beyond their little, (or let me 
not wrong them) no brain at all, is superfluous, I am contented,” with 
great Ben, “that these fastidious stomachs should leave my full 
tables, and enjoy at home their clean empty trenchers.”

In pursuance of the same theme I shall set before you here some divine 
philosophy in the words of Dr. Scott, the author of the Christian 
Life. “The goods and evils that befall us here,” says that wise and 
excellent preacher, who being dead yet speaketh, and will continue to 
speak while there be any virtue and while there be any praise,—“the 
goods and evils, which befall us here, are not so truly to be 
estimated by themselves as by their effects and consequents. For the 
Divine Providence which runs through all things, hath disposed and 
connected them into such a series and order, that there is no single 
event or accident (but what is purely miraculous) but depends upon the 
whole system, and hath innumerable causes antecedent to it, and 
innumerable consequents attending it; and what the consequents will 
be, whether good or bad, singly and apart by itself, yet in 
conjunction with all those consequents that will most certainly attend 
it, the best event, for aught we know, may prove most mischievous, and 
the worst most beneficial to us. So that for us boldly to pronounce 
concerning the good or evil of events, before we see the train of 
consequents that follow them, is very rash and inconsiderate. As for 
instance, you see a good man oppressed with sorrows and afflictions, 
and a bad man crowned with pleasures and prosperities; and considering 
these things apart by themselves, you conclude that the one fares very 
ill, and the other very well: but did you at the same time see the 
consequents of the one's adversity and the other's prosperity, it's 
probable you would conclude the quite contrary, _viz._ that the good 
man's adversity was a blessing, and the bad man's prosperity a curse. 
For I dare boldly affirm that good men generally reap more substantial 
benefit from their afflictions, than bad men do from their 
prosperities. The one smarts indeed at present, but what follows? 
perhaps his mind is cured by it of some disease that is ten times 
worse to him than his outward affliction; of avarice and impatience, 
of envy or discontent, of pride or vanity of spirit; his riches are 
lessened but his virtues are improved by it; his body is impaired, but 
his mind is grown sound and hale by it, and what he hath lost in 
health, or wealth, or pleasure, or honour, he hath gained with vast 
advantage in wisdom and goodness, in tranquillity of mind and 
self-enjoyment, and methinks no man who believes he hath a soul should 
grudge to suffer any tolerable affliction for bettering of his mind, 
his will, and his conscience.

“On the other hand the bad man triumphs and rejoices at present; but 
what follows? His prosperity either shrivels him into miserableness, 
or melts him into luxury; the former of which impoverishes, and the 
latter diseases him: for if the former be the effect of his 
prosperity, it increases his needs, because before he needed only what 
he had not, but now he needs both what he hath not, and what he hath, 
his covetous desires treating him as the falconer doth his hawk, 
luring him off from what he hath seized to fly at new game, and never 
permitting him to prey upon his own quarry: and if the latter be the 
effect of his prosperity, that is if it melts him into luxury it 
thereby wastes his health to be sure, and commonly his estate too, and 
so whereas it found him poor and well, it leaves him poor and 
diseased, and only took him up from the plough, and sets him down at 
the hospital. In general while he is possessed of it, it only bloats 
and swells him, makes him proud and insolent, griping and oppressive; 
pampers and enrages his lust, stretches out his desires into 
insatiable bulimy, sticks his mind full of cares, and his conscience 
of guiles, and by all those woeful effects it inflames his reckoning 
with God, and treasures up wrath for him against the day of wrath: so 
that comparing the consequences of the good man's adversity, with 
those of the bad man's prosperity, it is evident that the former fares 
well even in his worst condition, and the latter ill in his best. ‘It 
is well for me,’ saith David, ‘that I was afflicted, for before I was 
afflicted I went astray, but now I have kept thy commandments.’ But on 
the contrary, when the wicked spring as the grass, saith the same 
author, and when all the workers of iniquity do flourish, then it is 
that they shall be destroyed for ever! If then in the consequents of 
things, good men are blessed in their afflictions and bad men plagued 
in their prosperities, as it is apparent they generally are, these 
unequal distributions are so far from being an argument against 
Providence, that they are a glorious instance of it. For wherein could 
the divine Providence better express its justice and wisdom together, 
than by benefiting the good, and punishing the bad by such cross and 
unprobable methods?”




INTERCHAPTER XVII.

A POPULAR LAY NOTICED, WITH SUNDRY REMARKS PERTINENT THERETO, 
SUGGESTED THEREBY, OR DEDUCED THEREFROM.

Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit: by and by it will strike.

TEMPEST.


There was a female personage of whom I will venture to say that every 
one of my English readers, (Quakers perhaps excepted) has heard tell; 
and a great many of my Scotch, Welsh, Irish, and Transatlantic ones 
also—I venture to say this because her remarkable story has been 
transmitted to us in a Lay, a species of composition the full value of 
which has never been understood till the present age. Niebuhr and his 
learned followers assure us that the whole early history of Rome is 
founded upon no other authority than that of Lays, which have long 
since perished. And very possibly there may be German professors of 
Divinity who in like manner trace the Jewish history before Samuel to 
the Lays of Samson, Jephthah, Gideon, and other heroes of the 
Kritarchy, of Joshua, and of Moses, and so of the Patriarchs upwards.

To be sure it might startle us somewhat if these Lays were called by 
the old fashioned name of Ballads, or old songs; and had either of 
those appellations been used we might hesitate a little before we gave 
implicit credit to so great a discovery.

Returning however to the personage of the Lay to which I have alluded, 
and which has been handed down from mother and nurse to child by 
immemorial tradition, and not stopping to enquire whether the tale 
itself is an historical matter of fact, or what is now called a 
mythos, and whether the personage is a mythological personage, the Lay 
of the Little Woman when reduced to history, or prose narration, says 
that she went to market to sell her eggs;—in historifying the fact 
from this metrical document, I must take care to avoid any such 
collocation of words as might lead me into the worst of all possible 
styles, that of poetical prose. Numerous prose indeed not only carries 
with it a charm to the ear but affords such facility to the utterance, 
that the difference between reading aloud from a book so composed, or 
from one which has been written without any feeling of numerousness on 
the writer's part, is as great and perceptible as the difference 
between travelling upon an old road, or a macadamized one. Twenty 
pages of the one will exhaust the reader more than threescore of the 
other, just as there was more fatigue in a journey of fifty miles, 
fifty years ago, than there is in thrice the distance now. The fact is 
certain, and may no doubt be physically explained. But numerous prose 
and poetical prose, are things as different as gracefulness and 
affectation.

All who remember the story will recollect that the Little Woman fell 
asleep by the way side; and probably they will agree with me in 
supposing, that this must have happened on her return from market, 
after she had sold her eggs, and was tired with the business and 
excitement of the day. A different conclusion would perhaps be drawn 
from the Lay itself, were it not that in historical Lays many 
connecting circumstances are past over because they were so well known 
at the time the Lay was composed that it was deemed unnecessary to 
touch upon them; moreover it should be observed that in Lays which 
have been orally transmitted for many generations before they were 
committed to writing, the less important parts are liable to be dropt. 
Of this there is evidently an example in the present case. Most 
countrywomen who keep the market go on horseback, and it is not 
mentioned in the Lay that the Little Woman went on foot; yet that she 
did so is certain; for nothing could be more likely than that being 
tired with walking she should sit down to rest herself by the way 
side, and nothing more unlikely than that if she had been on 
horseback, she should have alighted for that purpose.

And here it is proper in this glose, commentary or exposition, to 
obviate an injurious suspicion which might arise concerning the 
character of the Little Woman, namely, that she must have been in 
liquor. Had it been a Lay of present times, this it must be admitted 
would have been very probable, the British Parliament having thought 
fit to pass an Act, by virtue, or by vice of which, in addition to the 
public houses previously established, which were so numerous that they 
have long been a curse to the country,—in addition I say to these, 
39,654 beer shops, as appears by a Parliamentary paper, were licensed 
in the year 1835. This Utilitarian law ought to have been entitled an 
Act for the increase of Drunkenness, and the promotion of sedition, 
brutality, wretchedness, and pauperism. But the Little Woman lived 
when there were not more public houses than were required for the 
convenience of travellers; perhaps before there were any, when 
strangers were entertained in monasteries, or went to the parsonage, 
as was the custom within the present century in some parts of 
Switzerland. In Iceland they are lodged in the Church at this time; 
but this seems never to have been the case in England.

It was a hot day, probably at the latter end of summer, or perhaps in 
autumn; this must be inferred from the circumstances of the story; and 
if the Little Woman called at a gossip's house, and was offered some 
refreshment, it is very possible that being thirsty she may have drank 
a peg lower in the cup than she generally allowed herself to do; and 
that being somewhat exhausted, the ale, beer, cyder, or metheglin may 
have had more effect upon her than it would have had at another time, 
and that consequently she may have felt drowsy as soon as she sate 
down. This may be admitted without impeaching her reputation on the 
score of temperance; and beyond this it is certain, as will presently 
be made appear, that her head could not have been affected.

Sleep however

             weigh'd her eye-lids down
  And steep'd her senses in forgetfulness.

It will sometimes press heavily on the lids, even when the mind is 
wakeful, and feverishly, or miserably employed; but it will seldom 
steep the senses unless it be of that sound kind which denotes a 
healthy body and a heart at ease. They who sleep soundly must be free 
from care. In the south of Europe men of the lower classes lie down in 
the sun or shade according to the season, and fall asleep like dogs at 
any time. The less they are raised above animal life, the sounder the 
sleep is, and the more it seems to be an act of volition with them; 
when they close their eyes there is nothing within to keep them 
waking.

Well, our Little Woman was sleeping on a bank beside the way, when a 
Pedlar happened to come by. Not such a Pedlar as the one in Mr. 
Wordsworth's Excursion, who was what Randolph's Pedlar describes 
himself to be, “a noble, generous, understanding, royal, magnificent, 
religious, heroical, and thrice illustrious Pedlar;” if Randolph had 
been a Highlander this description might have been adduced as a proof 
of the prophetic faculty,—a second-sight of that glorious poem, the 
well established fame of which and the effect which it has produced 
and is producing upon the present generation both of authors and 
readers must be so peculiarly gratifying to Lord Jeffrey. No; he was 
such a Pedlar as Autolycus, and if the Little Woman lived in the days 
of King Leontes, it may possibly have been Autolycus himself; for he 
had “a quick eye and a nimble hand,” and was one who “held Honesty for 
a fool and Trust, his brother, for a very simple gentleman.” The 
distance between Bohemia and England makes no difficulty in this 
supposition. Gypsies used to be called Bohemians; and more over as 
Uncle Toby would have told Trim, Bohemia might have been a maritime 
country in those days; and when he found it convenient to return 
thither, the readiest way was to get on board ship.

It is said however in the Lay that the Pedlar's name was Stout. It may 
have been so; and yet I am disposed to think that this is a corrupt 
passage, and that stout in this place is more probably an epithet, 
than a name. The verse may probably have run thus,

  There came by a Pedlar, a losell stout,

a stout thief being formerly as common a designation as a sturdy 
beggar. This rogue seeing her asleep by the way-side, cut her 
petticoats all round about up to the knee; whence it appears not only 
how soundly she must have been sleeping, and how expert he was in this 
branch of his trade, but also that her pockets were in her petticoats 
and not a separate article of her dress.

At the marriage of Sir Philip Herbert with the Lady Susan Vere, which 
was performed at the Court of Whitehall, in the year 1604, with all 
the honour that could be done to a great favourite, many great Ladies 
were made shorter by the skirts, like the Little Woman; and Sir Dudley 
Carleton says “they were well enough served that they could keep cut 
no better.” If the reader asks what is keeping cut? he asks a question 
I cannot answer.

I have already observed that the weather was warm, and the proof is 
twofold, first in the Little Woman's sitting down by the way, which in 
cold weather she would not have done; and secondly, because when she 
awoke and discovered the condition in which this cut-purse had left 
her, she began to quiver and quake, for these words are plainly 
intended to denote at the same time a sense of chilliness, and an 
emotion of fear. She quivered perhaps for cold having been deprived of 
so great a part of her lower garments; but she quaked for fear, 
considering as well the danger she had been in, as the injury which 
she had actually sustained. The confusion of mind produced by these 
mingled emotions was so remarkable that Mr. Coleridge might have 
thought it not unworthy of his psychological and transcendental 
investigations; and Mr. Wordsworth might make it the subject of a 
modern Lay to be classed either among his poems of the Fancy, or of 
the Imagination as might to him seem fit. For the Lay says that the 
Little Woman instead of doubting for a while whether she were asleep 
or awake, that is to say whether she were in a dream because of the 
strange, and indecorous, and uncomfortable and unaccountable condition 
in which she found herself, doubted her own identity, and asked 
herself whether she were herself, or not? So little was she able to 
answer so subtle a question satisfactorily that she determined upon 
referring it to the decision of a little dog which she had left at 
home, and whose fidelity and instinctive sagacity could not, she 
thought, be deceived. “If it be I,” said she, “as I hope it be, he 
will wag his little tail for joy at my return; if it be not I, he will 
bark at me for a stranger.” Homeward therefore the Little Woman went, 
and confused as she was, she found her way there instinctively like 
Dr. Southey's Ladurlad, and almost in as forlorn a state. Before she 
arrived, night had closed, and it became dark. She had reckoned 
rightly upon her dog's fidelity, but counted too much upon his 
sagacious instinct. He did not recognise his mistress at that unusual 
hour, and in a curtailed dress wherein he had never seen her before, 
and instead of wagging his tail, and fawning, and whining, to bid her 
welcome as she had hoped, he began to bark angrily, with faithful but 
unfortunate vigilance, mistaking her for a stranger who could have no 
good reason for coming about the premises at that time of night. And 
the Lay concludes with the Little Woman's miserable conclusion that as 
the dog disowned her she was not the dog's Mistress, not the person 
who dwelt in that house, and whom she had supposed herself to be, in 
fact not herself, but somebody else, she did not know who.




INTERCHAPTER XVIII.

APPLICATION OF THE LAY. CALEB D'ANVERS. IRISH LAW. ICON BASILIKE. 
JUNIUS. THOMAS À KEMPIS. FELIX HEMMERLEN. A NEEDLE LARGER THAN GAMMER 
GURTON'S AND A MUCH COARSER THREAD. THOMAS WARTON AND BISHOP STILL. 
THE JOHN WEBSTERS, THE ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAMS, THE CURINAS AND THE 
STEPHENS.

           _Lo que soy, razona poco
  Porque de sombra a mi va nada, o poco._

FUENTE DESEADA.


The sagacious reader will already have applied the Lay of the Little 
Woman to the case of Dr. Dove's disciple and memorialist, and mentally 
apostrophizing him may have said,—

           _de te
  Fabula narratur._

Even so, dear reader, the Little Woman was a type of me, and yet but 
an imperfect one, for my case is far more complicated than hers. The 
simple doubt which distressed her, (and a most distressing one it must 
be admitted that it was) was whether she were herself or not; but the 
compound question which has been mooted concerning me is whether I am 
myself or somebody else, and whether somebody else is himself or me.

When various conjectures were formed and assertions hazarded 
concerning the Author or Editor of the Craftsman, some representing 
Caleb D'Anvers as an imaginary person, a mere fictitious character 
made use of to screen the performances of men in the dark, that 
formidable opponent of Sir Robert Walpole's administration said, “I 
hope it will not be expected that I should stand still and see myself 
reasoned out of my existence.”

Every one knows that it is possible to be reasoned out of our rights 
and despoiled in consequence of our property in a court of law; but 
every one may not know that it is possible to be reasoned out of our 
existence there: I do not mean condemned to death, and executed 
accordingly upon the testimony of false witnesses, as those who 
suffered for the Popish plot were; or upon circumstantial evidence, 
honestly produced, and disproved when it was too late; but that an 
individual may be judicially declared to be not in existence, when 
actually present in the Court to give the Lawyers and the Law the lie.

On the 2d of March, 1784, the Irish Attorney General was heard before 
the Irish House of Lords in the case of Hume and Loftus. In the course 
of his argument he contended that judgements were of the most sacred 
nature, and that to reverse one was in effect to overturn the law and 
the constitution; the record was binding, and a bar to all other 
evidence being produced to the Court. “He instanced a case wherein a 
judgement had been given on the presumed death of a man's wife, who as 
afterwards appeared was not dead, but was produced in person to the 
Court and was properly identified, and it was prayed to the Court to 
reverse the judgement given on supposition of her death which had been 
pronounced by the same Court, as in the pleading stated. Nevertheless 
the Court with the Woman before their eyes, pronounced her dead, and 
confirmed the judgement, saying, that the verdict was not that which 
was binding, but the judgement in consequence of the verdict having 
become a record, could not be reversed.”

This woman upon hearing such a decision concerning herself pronounced, 
might well have called in question not her identity but the evidence 
of her senses, and have supposed that she was dreaming, or out of her 
wits rather than that justice could be so outraged, and common sense 
so grossly insulted in a Court of Law.

Happily my case is in no worse court than a Court of Criticism, a 
Court in which I can neither be compelled to plead nor to appear.

Dr. Wordsworth rendered good service to English History when he asked 
who wrote _Εικων Βασιλικη_, for it is a question of great historical 
importance, and he has shown, by a careful investigation of all the 
evidence which it has been possible to collect, that it is the work of 
Charles himself, confirming thus that internal evidence which is of 
the most conclusive kind.

Who was Junius is a question which is not likely ever to be determined 
by discussion after so many fruitless attempts; but whenever the 
secret shall by any chance be discovered, considerable light will be 
thrown upon the political intrigues of the earlier part of a most 
important reign.

But who or what I am can be of no importance to any but myself.

More than one hundred and fifty treatises are said to have been 
published upon the question whether Thomas a Kempis was the Author of 
the well known book _de Imitatione Christi_. That question affects the 
Augustinians; for if it were proved that this native of Kemp near 
Cologne, Thomas Hammerlein by name, were the transcriber only and not 
the writer of that famous treatise, they would lose the brightest 
ornament of their order. This Hammerlein has never been confounded 
with his namesake Felix, once a Doctor and _Precentor Clarissimus_, 
under whose portrait in the title page of one of his volumes where he 
stands Hammer in hand, there are these verses.

  _Felicis si te juvat indulsisse libellis
     Malleoli, presens dilige lector opus.
   Illius ingenium variis scabronibus actum
     Perspicis, et stimulos sustinuisse graves.
   Casibus adversis, aurum velut igne, probatus
     Hostibus usque suis Malleus acer erat.
   Hinc sibi conveniens sortitus nomen, ut esset
     Hemmerlin dictus, nomine, reque, statu.
   At Felix tandem, vicioque illæsus ab omni
     Carceris e tenebris sydera clara subit._

This Hemmerlin in his Dialogue between a Nobleman and a Rustic, makes 
the Rustic crave license for his rude manner of speech saying, _si 
ruralis consuetudine moris ineptissime loquar per te non corripiar, 
quia non sermonis colorum quoque nitorem, sed sensus sententiarumque 
requiro rigorem. Nam legitur quod Demon sedebat et braccam cum reste 
suebat; et dixit, si non est pulchra, tamen est consucio firma._ The 
needle must have been considerably larger than Gammer Gurton's, which 
is never-the-less and ever will be the most famous of all needles.

Well was it for Hodge when Diccon the Bedlam gave him the good 
openhanded blow which produced the catastrophe of that Right Pithy, 
Pleasant, and Merry Comedy entitled Gammer Gurton's Needle, well was 
it I say for Hodge that the Needle in the episcopal comedy was not of 
such calibre as that wherewith the Auld Gude Man, as the Scotch, 
according to Sir Walter, respectfully call the Old Wicked One, in 
their caution never to give any unnecessary offence,—Well, again I 
say, was it for Hodge that his Gammer's Neele, her dear Neele, her 
fair long straight Neele that was her only treasure, was of no such 
calibre as the Needle which that Old One used, when mending his breeks 
with a rope he observed that though it was not a neat piece of sewing 
it was strong,—for if it had been such a Needle, Diccon's manual joke 
must have proved fatal. Our Bishops write no such comedies now; yet we 
have more than one who could translate it into Aristophanic Greek.

Wherefore did Thomas Warton (never to be named without respect and 
gratitude by all lovers of English literature,) say that when the 
Sermons of Hugh Latimer were in vogue at Court, the University might 
be justified in applauding Gammer Gurton's Needle? How could he who so 
justly appreciated the Comedy, disparage those sermons? He has spoken 
of the play as the first in our language in which a comic story is 
handled with some disposition of plot and some discrimination. “The 
writer,” he says, “has a degree of jocularity which sometimes rises 
above buffoonery, but is often disgraced by lowness of incident. Yet 
in a more polished age he would have chosen, nor would he perhaps have 
disgraced, a better subject. It has been thought surprizing that a 
learned audience could have endured some of these indelicate scenes. 
But the established festivities of scholars were gross, nor was 
learning in that age always accompanied by gentleness of manners.” Nor 
is it always now, nor has it ever been O Thomas Warton! if it had, you 
would not when you wore a great wig, had taken the degree of B.D., 
been Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford, and was moreover 
Poet Laureate, most worthy of that office of all who have held it 
since Great Ben, you would not in your mellow old age, when your 
brother was Master of Winchester School, have delighted as you did in 
hunting rats with the Winchester Boys.

O Thomas Warton! you had and could not but have a hearty liking for 
all that is properly comic in the pithy old episcopal comedy! but that 
you should even seem to disparage Latimer's Sermons is to me more than 
most strange. For Latimer would have gained for himself a great and 
enduring name in the pulpit, if he had not been called upon to bear 
the highest and holiest of all titles. The pithy comedy no doubt was 
written long before its author was consecrated Bishop of Bath and 
Wells, and we may be sure that Bishop Still never reckoned it among 
his sins. If its language were rendered every where intelligible and 
its dirtiness cleaned away, for there is nothing worse to be removed, 
Gammer Gurton's Needle might succeed in these days as a farce.

Fuller says he had read in the Register of Trinity College, Cambridge, 
this commendation of Bishop Still that he was _αγαθος κουροτροφος_ 
_nec Collegio gravis aut onerosus_. Still was Master of that College, 
as he had been before of St. Johns.

“What style,” says Sir John Harrington “shall I use to set forth this 
Still, whom (well nigh thirty years since) my reverend tutor in 
Cambridge styled by this name, ‘Divine Still,’ who, when my self came 
to him to sue for my grace to be bachelor, first examined me strictly, 
and after answered me kindly, that ‘the grace he granted me was not of 
grace but of merit;’ who was often content to grace my young exercises 
with his venerable presence; who, from that time to this, hath given 
me some helps, more hopes, all encouragements, in my best studies; to 
whom I never came, but I grew more religious; from whom I never went, 
but I parted better instructed: Of him therefore, my acquaintance, my 
friend, my instructor, and last my diocesan; if I speak much it were 
not to be marvelled; if I speak frankly, it is not to be blamed; and 
though I speak partially, it were to be pardoned. Yet to keep within 
my proportion custom and promise, in all these, I must say this much 
of him; his breeding was from his childhood in good literature, and 
partly in music, which was counted in those days a preparative to 
Divinity, neither could any be admitted to _primam tonsuram_, except 
he could first _bene le, bene con, bene can_, (as they call it,) which 
is to read well, to construe well, and to sing well; in which last he 
hath good judgement, and I have heard good music of voices in his 
house.

“In his full time, more full of learning, he became Bachelor of 
Divinity, and after Doctor; and so famous for a Preacher, and 
especially a disputer, that the learned'st were even afraid to dispute 
with him; and he finding his own strength would not stick to warn them 
in their arguments to take heed to their answers, like a perfect 
fencer that will tell beforehand in which button he will give the 
venew, or like a cunning chess-player that will appoint beforehand 
with which pawn, and in what place, he will give the mate.

“One trifling accident happened to his Lordship at Bath, that I have 
thought since of more consequence, and I tell him that I never knew 
him _non plus_ in argument, but there. There was a craft's-man in 
Bath, a recusant puritan, who condemning our Church, our Bishops, our 
sacraments, our prayers, was condemned himself to die at the assizes, 
but at my request Judge Anderson reprieved him, and he was suffered to 
remain at Bath upon bail. The Bishop conferred with him, in hope to 
convert him, and first, My Lord alleged for the authority of the 
church, St. Augustine! The Shoemaker answered, ‘Austin was but a man.’ 
He (Still) produced, for the antiquity of Bishops the Fathers of the 
Council at Nice. He answered, ‘They were also but men, and might err.’ 
‘Why then, said the Bishop, thou art but a man, and must, and dost 
err.’ ‘No Sir, saith he, the Spirit bears witness to my spirit, I am 
the child of God.’ ‘Alas! said the Bishop thy blind spirit will lead 
thee to the gallows.’ ‘If I die, saith he, in the Lord's cause, I 
shall be a martyr.’ The Bishop turning to me, stirred as much to pity 
as impatience;—‘This man, said he, is not a sheep strayed from the 
fold, for such may be brought in again on the shepherd's shoulders, 
but this is like a wild buck broke out of a park whose pale is thrown 
down, that flies the farther off, the more he is hunted.’ Yet this 
man, that stopped his ears like the adder to the charms of the Bishop, 
was after persuaded by a lay-man, and grew conformable. But to draw to 
an end; in one question this Bishop whom I count an oracle for 
learning, would never yet give me satisfaction, and that was, when I 
asked him his opinion of witches. He saith ‘he knows other men's 
opinions, both old and new writers, but could never so digest them, to 
make them an opinion of his own.’ All I can get is ‘this, that the 
Devil is the old Serpent our enemy, that we pray to be delivered from 
daily; as willing to have us think he can do too much as to have us 
persuaded he doth nothing.’”

In the account of Webster and his Writings, prefixed to his Works by 
their able editor Mr. Dyce, that editor finds it necessary to bestow 
much pains in showing that John Webster the Dramatist and Player, was 
not John Webster the Puritan and Chaplain in the Army; but on the 
other hand Mr. Payne Collier, who is a great authority in our stage 
literature, contends that he was one and the same person, and that 
when in the Prefatory Address to his Saint's Guide, he speaks of the 
“damnable condition” from which the Lord in his wonderful mercy had 
brought him, he could hardly mean any thing but his condition as a 
player. It remained then to be argued whether either of these persons 
were the John Webster, Practitioner in Physic and Chirurgery, who 
wrote or compiled a work entitled Metalographia, a volume of Sermons 
entitled The Judgement set and the Books opened, and a tract called 
_Academiarum Examen_, or the Examination of Academies, wherein is 
discussed and examined the Matter, Method, and Customs of Academic and 
Scholastic Learning, and the insufficiency thereof discovered and laid 
open: as also some expedients proposed for the reforming of schools 
and the perfecting and promoting of all kind of science. A powerful 
Tract Mr. Dyce calls it; and it must have been thought of some 
importance in its day, for it provoked an answer from Seth Ward 
afterwards Bishop of Salisbury, and Wilkins afterwards the well known 
Bishop of Chester, (from whom Peter Wilkins may perhaps have been 
named) wrote in it an Epistle to the Author. One of these Websters 
wrote a remarkable book against the then prevalent belief in 
witchcraft, though he was himself a believer in astrology and held 
that there are great and hidden virtues in metals and precious stones, 
as they are by Nature produced, by mystical Chemistry prepared and 
exalted, or commixed and insculped in their due and fit constellation. 
Which of the John Websters was this? If it has not been satisfactorily 
ascertained, whether there were one, two, three or four John Websters 
after so much careful investigation by the most eminent bibliologists, 
though it is not supposed that on the part of any John Webster there 
was any design to conceal himself and mystify the public, by whom can 
the question be answered concerning the authorship of this Opus, 
except by me the Opifex, and those few persons trusted and worthy of 
the trust, who are, like me, secret as the grave?

There is a history (and of no ordinary value) of Great Britain from 
the Revolution to the Accession of George I. written in Latin by 
Alexander Cunningham, translated from the Author's Manuscript by Dr. 
William Thompson, and published in two quarto volumes by Dr. 
Hollingbery in 1787. That the Author was Minister for George I. to the 
Venetian Republic is certain; but whether he were the Alexander 
Cunningham that lived at the same time, whose editions of Virgil and 
Horace are well known, and whose reputation as a critic stood high 
among the continental scholars of the last century is altogether 
doubtful. If they were two persons, each was born in Scotland and 
educated in Holland, each a friend and favourite of Carstares, King 
William's confidential secretary for Scotch affairs, each a remarkably 
good Chess Player, each an accomplished Latinist, and each concerned 
in the education of John Duke of Argyle. Upon weaker evidence, says 
Dr. Thompson, than that which seems to prove the identity of the two 
Cunninghams decisions have been given that have affected fortunes, 
fame, life, posterity and all that is dear to mankind; and yet 
notwithstanding these accumulated coincidences, he comes at length to 
the conclusion, that there are circumstances which seem incompatible 
with their identity, and that probably they were different persons.

But what signifies it now to any one whether certain books published 
in the seventeenth century were written by one and the same John 
Webster, or by four persons of that name? What signifies it whether 
Alexander Cunningham the historian was one and indivisible, like the 
French Republic, or that there were two Alexander Cunninghams, 
resembling each other as much as the two Sosias of the ancient drama, 
or the two Dromios and their twin masters in the Comedy of Errors? 
What signifies it to any creature upon earth? It may indeed afford 
matter for enquiry in a Biographical Dictionary, or in the Gentleman's 
Magazine, and by possibility of the remotest kind, for a law-suit. And 
can we wonder that an identity of names has sometimes occasioned a 
singular confusion of persons, and that Biographers and Bibliographers 
should sometimes be thus at fault, when we find that the same thing 
has deceived the most unerring of all Messengers,—Death himself.

Thus it was. There was a certain man, Curina by name, who lived in a 
village not far from Hippo in the days of St. Augustine. This man 
sickened and died; but because there seemed to be some faint and 
intermitting appearances of life, his friends delayed burying him for 
some days. Those appearances at length ceased; it could no longer be 
doubted that he was indeed dead; when behold he opened his eyes, and 
desired that a messenger might immediately be sent to his neighbour 
and namesake Curina the blacksmith, and enquire how he was. The answer 
was that he had just expired. The resuscitated Curina then related 
that he himself had verily and indeed died, and that his soul had been 
carried before the Judge of the Dead, who had vehemently reproved the 
Ministering Spirits that brought him thither, seeing it was not for 
him but for Curina the Blacksmith that they had been sent. This was 
not only a joyful surprize for the reprieved or replevied Curina, but 
a most happy adventure in other respects. He had not only an 
opportunity of seeing Paradise in his excursion, but a friendly hint 
was given him there, that as soon as his health was restored he should 
repair to Hippo and there receive baptism from St. Augustine's hands.

When the wrong soul happens thus to be summoned out of the body, Pope 
St. Gregory the Great assures us that there is no mistake; and who 
shall question what the Infallible Pope and Saint affirms? “Peter,” 
saith he, “in one of his Dialogues, when this happeneth, it is not if 
it be well considered, any error, but an admonition. For God of his 
great and bountiful mercy so disposeth, that some after their death do 
straightways return again to life, in order that having seen the 
torments of Hell, which before when they heard of they would not 
believe, they may at least tremble at them after they have with their 
own eyes beheld them. For a certain Sclavonian who was a Monk, and 
lived with me here in this city, in my Monastery, used to tell me, 
that at such time as he dwelt in the wilderness, he knew one Peter, a 
Monk born in Spain, who lived with him in the vast desert called 
Evasa, which Peter, (as he said) told him how before he came to dwell 
in that place, he by a certain sickness died, and was straightway 
restored to life again, affirming that he had seen the torments and 
innumerable places of Hell, and divers who were mighty men in this 
world hanging in those flames; and that as himself was carried to be 
thrown also into the same fire, suddenly an Angel in a beautiful 
attire appeared, who would not suffer him to be cast into those 
torments, but spake unto him in this manner: ‘Go thy way back again, 
and hereafter carefully look unto thyself how thou leadest thy life!’ 
after which words his body by little and little became warm, and 
himself waking out of the sleep of everlasting death, reported all 
such things as had happened about him; after which time he bound 
himself to such fasting and watching, that though he had said nothing, 
yet his life and conversation did speak what torments he had seen and 
was afraid of; and so God's merciful providence wrought in his 
temporal death that he died not everlastingly.

“But because man's heart is passing obdurate and hard, hereof it 
cometh that though others have the like vision and see the same pains, 
yet do they not always keep the like profit. For the honourable man 
Stephen, whom you knew very well, told me of himself, that at such 
time as he was upon business resident in the City of Constantinople, 
he fell sick and died; and when they sought for a surgeon to bowel him 
and to embalm his body and could not get any, he lay unburied all the 
night following; in which space his soul was carried to the dungeon of 
Hell, where he saw many things which before when he heard of, he had 
little believed. But when he was brought before the Judge that sat 
there, the Judge would not admit him to his presence, saying, ‘I 
commanded not this man to be brought, but Stephen the Smith!’ upon 
which words he was straightway restored to life, and Stephen the Smith 
that dwelt hard by, at that very hour departed this life, whose death 
did show that the words which he had heard were most true. But though 
the foresaid Stephen escaped death in this manner at that time, yet 
three years since in that mortality which lamentably wasted this city, 
(and in which, as you know, men with their corporal eyes did behold 
arrows that came from Heaven, which did strike divers,) the same man 
ended his days. At which time a certain soldier being also brought to 
the point of death, his soul was in such sort carried out of his body 
that he lay void of all sense and feeling, but coming quickly again to 
himself, he told them that were present what strange things he had 
seen. For he said, (as many report who knew it very well,) that he saw 
a bridge, under which a black and smoaky river did run that had a 
filthy and intolerable smell; but upon the further side thereof there 
were pleasant green meadows full of sweet flowers; in which also there 
were divers companies of men apparelled in white; and such a delicate 
savour there was that the fragrant odour thereof did give wonderful 
content to all them that dwelt and walked in that place. Divers 
particular mansions also there were, all shining with brightness and 
light, and especially one magnifical and sumptuous house, which was 
a-building, the bricks whereof seemed to be of Gold; but whose it was 
that he knew not.

“There were also upon the bank of the foresaid river certain houses, 
but some of them the stinking vapour which rose from the river did 
touch, and some other it touched not at all. Now those that desired to 
pass over the foresaid bridge, were subject to this manner of trial; 
if any that was wicked attempted to go over, down he fell into that 
dark and stinking river; but those that were just and not hindered by 
sin, securely and easily passed over to those pleasant and delicate 
places. There he said also that he saw Peter, who was Steward of the 
Pope's family and died some four years since, thrust into a most 
filthy place, where he was bound and kept down with a great weight of 
iron; and enquiring why he was so used, he received this answer, which 
all we that knew his life can affirm to be most true; for it was told 
him that he suffered that pain, because when himself was upon any 
occasion to punish others, that he did it more upon cruelty than to 
show his obedience; of which his merciless disposition none that knew 
him can be ignorant. There also he said that he saw a Priest whom he 
knew, who coming to the foresaid Bridge passed over with as great 
security as he had lived in this world sincerely.

“Likewise upon the same Bridge he said that he did see this Stephen 
whom before we spake of, who being about to go over, his foot slipped, 
and half his body hanging beside the Bridge, he was of certain 
terrible men that rose out of the river, drawn by the legs downward, 
and by certain other white and beautiful persons he was by the arms 
pulled upward, and while they strove thus the wicked spirits to draw 
him downward and the good to lift him upward, he that beheld all this 
strange sight returned to life, not knowing in conclusion what became 
of him. By which miraculous vision we learn this thing concerning the 
life of Stephen, to wit, that in him the sins of the flesh did strive 
with his works of alms. For in that he was by the legs drawn downward, 
and by the arms plucked upward, apparent it is, that both he loved to 
give alms, and yet did not perfectly resist the sins of the flesh 
which did pull him downward; but in that secret examination of the 
Supreme Judge, which of them had the victory, that neither we know nor 
he that saw it. Yet more certain it is that the same Stephen after 
that he had seen the places of Hell as before was said and returned 
again to his body, did never perfectly amend his former wicked life, 
seeing many years after he departed this world leaving us in doubt 
whether he were saved or damned.”

Hereupon Peter the Deacon said to Pope St. Gregory the Great, “What I 
beseech you was meant by the building of that house in those places of 
delight, with bricks of gold? For it seemeth very ridiculous that in 
the next life we should have need of any such kind of metal.” Pope 
Gregory the Great answered and said, “What man of sense can think so? 
But by that which was shown there, (whosoever he was for whom that 
house was built,) we learn plainly what virtuous works he did in this 
world; for he that by plenty of alms doth merit the reward of eternal 
light, certain it is that he doth build his house with gold. For the 
same soldier who had this vision said also, (which I forgot to tell 
you before,) that old men and young, girls and boys, did carry those 
bricks of gold for the building of that house, by which we learn that 
those to whom we shew compassion in this world do labour for us in the 
next. There dwelt hard by us a religious man called Deusdedit who was 
a shoemaker, concerning whom another saw by revelation that he had in 
the next world an house a-building, but the workmen thereof laboured 
only upon the Saturday; who afterward enquiring more diligently how he 
lived, found that whatsoever he got by his labour all the week and was 
not spent upon necessary provision of meat and apparel, all that upon 
the Saturday he bestowed upon the poor in alms, at St. Peter's Church; 
and therefore see what reason there was that his building went forward 
upon the Saturday.”

It was a very reasonable question that Peter the Deacon asked of 
Gregory the Great, when he desired to know how it came to pass that 
certain persons who were summoned into the other world, were told when 
they got there that they were not the persons who had been sent for. 
And it was not ill answered by the Pope that if properly considered, 
this when it happeneth is not an error, but an admonition. Yet that 
there was a mistake in the two cases of Curina and Stephen and their 
respective namesakes and blacksmiths cannot be disputed,—a mistake on 
the part of the Ministering Spirits. This may be accounted for by 
supposing that inferior Spirits were employed in both cases, those for 
whom they were sent not being of a condition to be treated with 
extraordinary respect on such an occasion. Comets were never kindled 
to announce the death of common men, and the lowest Spirits might be 
deputed to take charge of the Blacksmiths. But Azrael himself makes no 
mistakes.

Five things the Mahommedans say are known to no created Beings, only 
to the Creator; the time of the Day of Judgement; the time of rain; 
whether an unborn child shall be male or female; what shall happen 
to-morrow, and when any person is to die. These the Arabians call the 
five keys of secret knowledge, according to a tradition of their 
Prophet, to whom questions of this kind were propounded by Al Hareth 
Ebnn Amru. But it may be inferred from a tradition which Al Beidâwi 
has preserved that one of these keys is committed to the Angel of 
Death, when he is sent out in person to execute the irrevocable 
decree.

The Arabians tell us that Solomon was exercising his horses one day 
when the hour for evening prayer was announced. Immediately he 
alighted, and would not allow either his own horse or any other in the 
field to be taken to the stables, but gave orders that they should be 
turned loose, being from thenceforth dedicated to the Almighty's 
service, which the Arabians we are told call _Rebath fi sebil Allah_. 
To reward the king for this instance of his piety, Allah gave him a 
mild and pleasant but strong wind to be at his orders from that time 
forth and carry him whithersoever he would.

Once on a time Azrael passed by Solomon in a visible form, and in 
passing looked earnestly at a certain person who was sitting with the 
king. That person not liking the earnestness and the expression of his 
look, asked Solomon who it was, and Solomon replied it was the Angel 
of Death. He looks as if he wanted me, said the affrighted man, I 
beseech you therefore order the Wind to carry me instantly to India! 
Solomon spake the word and no sooner was it spoken, than the Wind took 
him up and set him down where he desired to be. The Angel then said to 
Solomon I looked so earnestly at that Man out of wonder, because that 
being commanded to take his soul in India, I found him here with thee 
in Palestine.

But my good Reader you and I must make no tarriance now with Solomon 
Ben Daoud, wisest of men and mightiest of Magicians, nor with St. 
Gregory the Great, Pope and Punster, and his friend Peter the Deacon, 
though you and I might delight in the Pope's veracious stories as much 
as good Peter himself. We must wind up the volume with one 
Interchapter more.

  _Saggio e' il consigliator che sol ricorre
   A quell' ultimo fin, che in cor si fisse,
   Quel sol rimira, e tutto l'altro abborre,
   Come al suo proprio danno consentisse;
   E' chi farà in tal guisa, raro fia
   Che d' incontrare il ver perda la via._[1]

[Footnote 1: L'AVARCHIDE.]




INTERCHAPTER XIX.

THE AUTHOR DIFFERS IN OPINION FROM SIR EGERTON BRYDGES, AND THE 
EMPEROR JULIAN. SPEAKS CHARITABLY OF THAT EMPEROR, VINDICATES PROTEUS 
FROM HIS CENSURE, AND TALKS OF POSTHUMOUS TRAVELS AND EXTRA MUNDANE 
EXCURSIONS, AND THE PUBLIC LIBRARY IN LIMBOLAND.

_Petulant._ If he says black's black,—if I have a humour to say it is
            blue—let that pass. All's one for that. If I have a
            humour to prove it, it must be granted.

_Witwould._ Not positively must,—But it may, it may.

_Petulant._ Yes, it positively must,—upon proof positive.

_Witwould._ Ay, upon proof positive it must; but upon proof
            presumptive it only may. That's a logical distinction now.

CONGREVE.


“In the _ignotum pro magnifico_,” says Umbra “resides a humble 
individual's best chance of being noticed or attended to at all.” Yet 
many are the attempts which have been made, and are making, in America 
too as well in Great Britain by Critics, Critickins and Criticasters, 
(for there are of all degrees,) to take from me the _Ignotum_, and 
force upon me the _Magnificum_ in its stead, to prove that I am not 
the humble, and happily unknown disciple, friend, and however 
unworthy, memorialist of Dr. Dove, a nameless individual as regards 
the public, holding the tenour of my noiseless way contentedly towards 
that oblivion which sooner or later must be the portion of us all; but 
that I am what is called a public character, a performer upon the 
great stage, whom every one is privileged to hiss or to applaud; 
myself a Doctor, L.L.D. according to the old form, according to the 
present usage D.C.L.—a Doctor upon whom that triliteral dignity was 
conferred in full theatre amid thundering peals of applauding hands, 
and who heard himself addressed that day in Phillimorean voice and 
fluent latinity by all eulogistic epithets ending in _issimus_ or 
_errimus_. I an _issimus_!—I an _errimus_! No other _issimus_ than 
that _Ipsissimus ego_ which by these critics I am denied to be.

These critics will have it that I am among living authors what the 
ever memorable Countess of Henneberg was among women; that I have more 
tails to my name than the greatest Bashaw bears among his standards, 
or the largest cuttle fish to his headless body or bodyless head; that 
I have executed works more durable than brass, and loftier than the 
Pyramids, and that I have touched the stars with my sublime 
forehead,—what could have saved my poor head from being moonstruck if 
I had.

Believe them not O Reader! I never executed works in any material more 
durable than brass, I never built any thing like a pyramid, _Absurdo 
de tamaña grandeza no se ha escrito en letras de molde._ And as for 
the alledged proofs which depriving me of my individuality and 
divesting me even of entity, would consubstantiate me with the most 
prolific of living writers, _no son mas que ayre ó menos que ayre, una 
sombra ó menos que sombra, pues son nada, y nada es lo que nunca ha 
tenido ser verdadero._[1] It is in vain, as Mr. Carlyle says when 
apostrophizing Mirabeau the father upon his persevering endeavours to 
make his son resemble him in all points of character, and be as it 
were his second self, it is in vain. He will not be Thou, but must and 
will be himself, another than Thou. In like manner, It is in vain say 
I: I am not, and will not and can not be any body but myself; nor is 
it of any consequence to any human being who or what I am, though 
perhaps those persons may think otherwise who say that “they delight 
more in the shadow of something than to converse with a nothing in 
substance.”[2]

[Footnote 1: NICOLAS PERES.]

[Footnote 2: HURLOTHRUMBO.]

Lord Shaftesbury has said that “of all the artificial relations formed 
between mankind, the most capricious and variable is that of Author 
and Reader.” He may be right in this; but when he says 'tis evident 
that an Author's art and labour are for his Reader's sake alone, I 
cannot assent to the position. For though I have a great and proper 
regard for my readers, and entertain all due respect for them, it is 
not for their sake alone that my art and labour have been thus 
employed,—not for their benefit alone, still less for their amusement 
that this Opus has been edified. Of the parties concerned in it, the 
Readers, sooth to say, are not those who have been either first or 
second in my consideration. The first and paramount object was to 
preserve the Doctor's memory; the second to gratify myself by so 
doing; for what higher gratification can there be than in the 
performance of a debt of gratitude, one of those debts truly to be 
called immense, which

            A grateful mind
  By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
  Indebted and discharged.[3]

That there are some readers who would think themselves beholden, 
though in far less degree, to me, as I am to the revered subject of 
these memorials, was an after consideration.

[Footnote 3: MILTON.]

Sir Egerton Brydges says he never took up a book which he could read 
without wishing to know the character and history of the author. “But 
what is it,” he says, “to tell the facts that he was born, married or 
lived single and died? What is common to all can convey no 
information. We desire to know an author's feelings, his temper, his 
disposition, his modes of thinking, his habits; nay even his person, 
his voice, and his mode of expressing himself, the society in which he 
has lived, and the images and lessons which attended upon his cradle.” 
Most of this, Sir Egerton, you can never know otherwise than by guess 
work. Yet methinks my feelings, my temper, my disposition and my modes 
of thinking are indicated here, as far as a book can indicate them. 
You have yourself said; “if it could be proved that what one writes, 
is no index to what he thinks and feels, then it would be of little 
value and no interest;” but you are confident that such delusive 
writers always betray themselves; “Sincerity,” you say, “has always a 
breath and spirit of its own.” Yes, Sir Egerton, and if there is not 
that spirit in these volumes, there is no vitality in them; if they 
have not that breath of life, they must be still-born.

Yet I cannot agree with you in the opinion that those who make a false 
display of fine feelings whether in prose or verse, always betray 
themselves. The cant of sentimentalism passes as current with the 
Reading Public, as cant of a different description with those who call 
themselves the Religious Public. Among the latter, the proudest and 
the most uncharitable people in this nation are to be found; and in 
proof that the most intensely selfish of the human race may be 
sentimentalists, and super-sentimentalists, it is sufficient to name 
Rousseau.

Perhaps some benevolent and sagacious Reader may say to me as Randolph 
said to his friend Owen Feltham,—

  Thy book I read, and read it with delight,
  Resolving so to live as thou dost write;
  And yet I guess thy life thy book produces
  And but expresses thy peculiar uses.

But the Reader who should apply to me and my Opus the French lines,

  _A l'auteur on connoît l'ouvrage,
   A l'ouvrage on connoît l'auteur,_

though he may be equally benevolent, would not be equally sagacious. 
It is not for mere caprice that I remain _Ignotus_ and 
_Innominabilis_; not a Great Unknown, an _Ignotolemagne_, but simply 
an Unknown, _Αγνωστος_, _l'Inconnu_, _Sconciuto_, the _Encubierto_, 
the _Desconocido_—

  This precious secret let me hide
  I'll tell you every thing beside.[4]

[Footnote 4: COTTON.]

Critics, we know, affect always to have strange intelligence; but 
though they should say to me

              You may
  As soon tie up the sunbeams in a net
  As keep yourself unknown,[5]

I shall still continue in darkness inscrutable. Nor am I to be moved 
from this determination by the opinion which the Emperor Julian 
expressed concerning Proteus, when he censured him for changing 
himself into divers forms, lest men should compel him to manifest his 
knowledge. For said Julian, “if Proteus were indeed wise, and knew as 
Homer says many things, I praise him indeed for his knowledge, but I 
do not commend his disposition; seeing that he performed the part, not 
of a philanthropist, but rather of an imposter, in concealing himself 
lest he should be useful to mankind.”

[Footnote 5: SHIRLEY.]

This was forming a severer opinion of the Ancient of the Deep, the old 
Prophet of the Sea, than I would pronounce upon Julian himself, though 
the name of Apostate clings to him. Unhappy as he was in the most 
important of all concerns, he was at least a true believer in a false 
religion, and therefore a better man than some of those kings who have 
borne the title of most Christian or most Catholic. I wish he had kept 
his beard clean! But our follies and weaknesses, when they are nothing 
worse, die with us, and are not like unrepented sins to be raised up 
in judgement. The beard of the imperial Philosopher is not populous 
now. And in my posthumous travels, if in some extramundane excursion I 
should meet him in that Limbo which is not a place of punishment but 
where odd persons as well as odd things are to be found, and in the 
Public Library of that Limbo we should find a certain Opus 
conspicuously placed and in high repute, translated, not into the 
Limbo tongue alone, but into all languages, and the Imperial 
Philosopher should censure the still incognoscible Author for still 
continuing in incognoscibility for the same reason that he blamed the 
Ancient of the Deep, I should remind him of the Eleusinian Mysteries, 
whisper the Great Decasyllabon in his ear, and ask him whether there 
are not some secrets which it is neither lawful nor fitting to 
disclose.




END OF VOL. V.




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