THE DOCTOR, _&c._




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

BUTLER'S REMAINS.




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




THE DOCTOR, _&c._




[Illustration: a tetrahedron]




VOL. VII.




LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.

1847.




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




PREFACE.

INVENIAS ETIAM DISJECTI MEMBRA POETÆ.


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

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

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

JOHN WOOD WARTER.

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




PRELUDE OF MOTTOES.


Well: we go on.

MERIC CASAUBON.


_Ventri utinam pax sit, sic variante cibo._

VENANTIUS FORTUNATUS.


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

DRYDEN.


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

LUSTY JUVENTUS.


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

ROBERT GREENE.


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

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

TEMPEST.


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

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

QUATRAINS DE PIBRAC.


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

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

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

SENNERTUS.


Tired of thee, my Opus? that is impossible!

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

ARISTOPHANES.


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

NICHOLAS UDALL.


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

NICHOLAS UDALL.


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

GNOMICA.


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

CASTIGLIONE.


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

HOOKER.


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

CASTIGLIONE.


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

JOHN NEWTON.


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

M. GIO. DELLA CASA, GALATEO.


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

HERBERT.


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

CHURCHYARD.


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

SHAKESPEARE.


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

ARISTOPHANES.


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

LUDOVICO DOLCE.


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

CORNEILLE.


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

MADEMOISELLE BOURIGNON.


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

REN. RAPIN.


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

QUARLES.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER CCI.—p. 1.

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

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

SENECA.


CHAPTER CCII.—p. 15.

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

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

HENRY MORE.


CHAPTER CCIII.—p. 23.

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

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

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

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.


CHAPTER CCIV.—p. 35.

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

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

DR. JOHN SCOTT.


CHAPTER CCV.—p. 41.

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

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

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

  And not much easier now with their great sleeves.

AUTHOR, A.D. 1830.


CHAPTER CCVI.—p. 51.

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

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

MARSTON.


CHAPTER CCVII.—p. 60.

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

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

TIMON OF ATHENS.


CHAPTER CCVIII.—p. 66.

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

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

EDWARD MORE.


INTERCHAPTER XXIV.—p. 78.

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

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

DANTE.


CHAPTER CCIX.—p. 95.

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

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

NORRIS.


CHAPTER CCX.—p. 122.

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

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

BAYLE.


CHAPTER CCXI.—p. 126.

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

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

BAYLE.


CHAPTER CCXII.—p. 132.

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

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

GOMGAM.


CHAPTER CCXIII.—p. 143.

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

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

HERBERT.


CHAPTER CCXIV.—p. 157.

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

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

PLINY.


CHAPTER CCXV.—p. 164.

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

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

FULLER.


CHAPTER CCXVI.—p. 174.

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

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

DIEG. _El hombre._

EL LETRADO DEL CIELO.


CHAPTER CCXVII.—p. 182.

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

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

BALBUENA.


CHAPTER CCXVIII.—p. 193.

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

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

PULCI.


CHAPTER CCXIX.—p. 203.

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

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

CHIABRERA.


CHAPTER CCXX.—p. 211.

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

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

CASTIGLIONE.


CHAPTER CCXXI.—p. 220.

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

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

FR. SANSOVINO.


INTERCHAPTER XXV.—p. 242.

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

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

MARLOWE.


CHAPTER CCXXII.—p. 245.

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

_Πρᾶγμα, πρᾶγμα μέγα κεκίνηται, μέγα._

ARISTOPHANES.


CHAPTER CCXXIII.—p. 259.

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

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

LOPE DE VEGA.


CHAPTER CCXXIV.—p. 269.

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

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

FR. SANSOVINO.


CHAPTER CCXXV.—p. 275.

TWO QUESTIONS GROWING OUT OF THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.

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

ROBERT SOUTHEY.


CHAPTER CCXXVI.—p. 283.

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

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

MACROPEDIUS.


CHAPTER CCXXVII.—p. 317.

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

MONTENEGRO. How now, are thy arrows feathered?

VELASCO.    Well enough for roving.

MONTENEGRO. Shoot home then.

SHIRLEY.


CHAPTER CCXXVIII.—p. 322.

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

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

BEN JONSON.


CHAPTER CCXXIX.—p. 328.

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

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

SKELTON.


CHAPTER CCXXX.—p. 335.

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

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

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.


CHAPTER CCXXXI.—p. 344.

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

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

BOOK OF RIDDLES.


CHAPTER CCXXXII.—p. 357.

THE DOCTOR'S FAMILY FEELING.

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

BEN JONSON.


CHAPTER CCXXXIII.—p. 370.

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

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

TACITUS.


CHAPTER CCXXXIV.—p. 380.

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

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

BRANTÔME.


CHAPTER CCXXXV.—p. 389.

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

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

SOPHOCLES.


CHAPTER CCXXXVI.—p. 418.

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

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

B. JONSON.


CHAPTER CCXXXVII.—p. 437.

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

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

JEREMY TAYLOR.


CHAPTER CCXXXVIII.—p. 442.

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

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

ORLANDO INNAMORATO.


CHAPTER CCXXXIX.—p. 449.

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

_Toutes veritez ne sont pas bonnes à dire serieusement._

GOMGAM.


CHAPTER CCXL.—p. 473.

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

              Is't you, Sir, that know things?

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

SHAKSPEARE.


CHAPTER CCXLI.—p. 495.

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

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

BURTON.


CHAPTER CCXLII.—p. 502.

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

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

BRONZINO PITTORE.


CHAPTER CCXLIII.—p. 512.

BREVITY BEING THE SOUL OF WIT THE AUTHOR STUDIES CONCISENESS.

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

QUARLES.


CHAPTER CCXLIV.—p. 513.

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

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

SIMONIDES.


FRAGMENTS TO THE DOCTOR.—p. 527.


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

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

ROSWALL AND LILLIAN.


A FRAGMENT ON BEARDS.

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

ECCLESIASTICUS.


FRAGMENT ON MORTALITY.


FRAGMENT OF SIXTH VOLUME.


FRAGMENT.

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

SCARRON.


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

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

GALATEO, DEL M. GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.


FRAGMENT ON HUTCHINSON'S WORKS.


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


FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.


MEMOIRS OF CAT'S EDEN.


FRAGMENT ON WIGS.


FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

More than prince of cats, I can tell you.

ROMEO AND JULIET.


MEMOIR OF THE CATS OF GRETA HALL.


FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.


ΕΙΣ ΤΟΥΣ ΑΔΡΙΑΝΤΑΣ.

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

CHRYSOST. HOM. AD POPUL. ANTIOCHEN.


EPILUDE OF MOTTOES.—p. 615.

L'ENVOY.




THE DOCTOR, &c.




CHAPTER CCI.

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

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

SENECA.


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

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

ENNIUS.]

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: MARSTON.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCII.

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

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

HENRY MORE.


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

The words of the law are these:

DE RUMORIBUS FICTITIIS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: BEN JONSON.]

[Footnote 2: CALDERON.]

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 3: TAYLOR, the Water Poet.]




CHAPTER CCIII.

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

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

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

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: PASQUIER.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: BEN JONSON.]

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 3: SIR WILLIAM DENNY.]

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

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




CHAPTER CCIV.

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

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

DR JOHN SCOTT.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCV.

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

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

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

  And not much easier now with their great sleeves.

AUTHOR, A.D. 1830.


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

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

[Footnote 1: GWILLIM.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCVI.

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

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

MARSTON.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCVII.

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

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

TIMON OF ATHENS.


“Papp-paah!” says my daughter.

“You intolerable man!” says my wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Infamous!

Shameful!

Intolerable!

This is too bad.

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

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

Pedant!

Satirist!

Libeller!

Wretch!

Monster!

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

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

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

What has the wretch to say?

What _can_ he say?

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

Hear him! hear him!

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: MAURO.]

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

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

[Footnote 2: SHIRLEY.]




CHAPTER CCVIII.

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

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

EDWARD MORE.


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

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: BRANTÔME.]

[Footnote 2: WILSON.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 4: BOUCHET.]




INTERCHAPTER XXIV.

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

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

DANTE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 9: i.e. Sedbergh.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


INTERPOLATION.

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

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

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

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

BOOK V. THE PASTOR.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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




CHAPTER CCIX.

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

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

NORRIS.


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

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

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

[Footnote 1: Pallentes _ruminat_ herbas.—VIRGIL.

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

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

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

or those of Agrippa in Antony and Cleopatra,

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

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

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

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

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


THE BEASTS.

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

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

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

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

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


THE QUESTIONS.

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

_A_. An ass, which is ignorant and unruly.

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

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

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

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

_Q_. But what are good and peaceable people?

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

_Q_. But what are liars?

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

_Q_. Who is the good shepherd?

_A_. Jesus Christ.”

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: SIR W. JONES.]

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

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

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

It was more distinctly enounced by Akenside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Thus Man was made, thus Man their Lord became.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCX.

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

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

BAYLE.


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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXI.

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

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

BAYLE.


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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXII.

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

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

GOMGAM.


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

          —confirmation strong
  As proof of holy writ,—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXIII.

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

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

HERBERT.


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

  Green warbler of the bowers of Paradise:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  His faithful dog should bear him company,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXIV.

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

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

PLINY.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXV.

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

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

FULLER.


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

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

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

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

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

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

        those first affections,
  Those shadowy recollections,

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXVI.

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

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

DIEG. _El hombre._

EL LETRADO DEL CIELO.


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

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: CHAPMAN.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXVII.

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

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

BALBUENA.


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

          the precious root
  On which the goodly cedar grows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXVIII.

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

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

PULCI.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXIX.

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

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

CHIABRERA.


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

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

[Footnote 1: SIR P. SIDNEY.]

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: SENECA.]

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

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

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

[Footnote 3: ORPHEUS.]

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

  _Pars sanitatis velle sanari fuit,_[5]

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

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

[Footnote 5: SENECA IN HIPPOL.]




CHAPTER CCXX.

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

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

CASTIGLIONE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXI.

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

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

FR. SANSOVINO.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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


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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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




INTERCHAPTER XXV.

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

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

MARLOWE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXII.

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

  _Πρᾶγμα, πρᾶγμα μέγα κεκίνηται, μέγα._

ARISTOPHANES.


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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: So in the MS.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: HUARTE.]

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

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

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

Or this upon a Mr. Button,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXIII.

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

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

LOPE DE VEGA.


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

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

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

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

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

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

CARM. lxxxiv.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: EURIPIDES.]

[Footnote 3: ROMEO AND JULIET.]




CHAPTER CCXXIV.

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

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

FR. SANSOVINO.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  JUNO LUCINA _fer opem!_

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXV.

TWO QUESTIONS GROWING OUT OF THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.

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

ROBERT SOUTHEY.


But here two questions arise:

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: GARIBAY.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: QUESTION DE AMOR. PROLOGO.]

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

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

[Footnote 3: SCALIGER.]

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXVI.

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

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

MACROPEDIUS.


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

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

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

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

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

  _Verbera quæ pueris intulit, ipse ferat:_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After these lines he proceeds succinctly to expound the parable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death comes behind him now:

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

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

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

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

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

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

  _Sero meam medentis admisit manum._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then says Fides,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Where art thou, Deth, thou mighty messengere?

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

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

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

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

Alack, exclaims Every-man, when thus deserted,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What, says Beauty; into this Grave?

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXVII.

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

MONTENEGRO. How now, are thy arrows feathered?

VELASCO.    Well enough for roving.

MONTENEGRO. Shoot home then.

SHIRLEY.


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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXVIII.

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

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

BEN JONSON.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER CCXXIX.

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

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

SKELTON.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: SHAKSPEARE.]

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




CHAPTER CCXXX.

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

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

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 1: HACKET'S SERMONS.]




CHAPTER CCXXXI.

QUESTION AS TO WHETHER BOOKS UNDER THE TERMINATION OF “ANA” HAVE BEEN 
SERVICEABLE OR INJURIOUS TO LITERATURE CONSIDERED IN CONNECTION WITH 
LUTHER'S TABLE TALK.—HISTORY OF THE EARLY ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF THAT 
BOOK, OF ITS WONDERFUL PRESERVATION, AND OF THE MARVELLOUS AND 
UNIMPEACHABLE VERACITY OF CAPTAIN HENRY BELL.

  Prophecies, predictions,  Or where they abide,
  Stories and fictions,     On this or that side,
  Allegories, rhymes,       Or under the mid line
  And serious pastimes      Of the Holland sheets fine,
  For all manner men,       Or in the tropics fair
  Without regard when,      Of sunshine and clear air,
            Or under the pole
            Of chimney and sea coal:
    Read they that list; understand they that can;
   _Verbum satis est_ to a wise man.

BOOK OF RIDDLES.


Luther's Table Talk is probably the earliest of that class of books, 
which, under the termination of _ana_, became frequent in the two 
succeeding centuries, and of which it may be questioned whether they 
have been more serviceable or injurious to literature. For though they 
have preserved much that is valuable, and that otherwise might 
probably have been lost, on the other hand they have introduced into 
literary history not a little that is either false, or of suspicious 
authority; some of their contents have been obtained by breach of 
confidence; many sayings are ascribed in them to persons by whom they 
were never uttered, and many things have been fabricated for them.

The Collection concerning Luther bears this title in the English 
translation: “Doctoris Martini Lutheri Colloquia Mensalia: or, Dr. 
Martin Luther's Divine Discourses at his Table, &c., which in his 
lifetime he held with divers learned men, (such as were Philip 
Melancthon, Casparus Cruciger, Justus Jonas, Paulus Eberus, Vitus 
Dietericus, Joannes Bugenhagen, Joannes Forsterus, and others:) 
containing Questions and Answers touching Religion, and other main 
Points of Doctrine; as also many notable Histories, and all sorts of 
Learning, Comforts, Advices, Prophecies, Admonitions, Directions and 
Instructions. Collected first together by Dr. Antonius Lauterbach, and 
afterwards disposed into certain Common-places by John Aurifaber, 
Doctor in Divinity. Translated out of the High German into the English 
tongue, by Captain Henry Bell.

  John vi. 12. Gather up the fragments that nothing be lost.

  1 Cor. x. 31. Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye
    do, do all to the Glory of God.

  Tertull. Apologet. cap. 39. The primitive Christians ate and drank
    to satisfy nature, and discoursed at their Tables of the Holy
    Scriptures, or otherwise, as became those that knew God did hear
    them, _ut non tam cœnam cœnaverint, quam disciplinam_.

  Ancient Writers, Councils, and our University College Statutes
    require _sacra ad mensam_.

  Luther in Gen. 2. _Sermones vera sunt condimenta ciborum._

  Melchior Adamus in Vita Lutheri. _Inter prandendum et cænandum non
    rarò conciones aliis dictavit._

London, Printed by William Du Gard, dwelling in Suffolk-lane, near 
London-stone, 1652.”

The original Collection was first published three and thirty years 
after Luther's death, consequently not till most of those persons from 
whose reminiscences it professes to be compiled, had past away. The 
book therefore is far from carrying with it any such stamp of 
authenticity as Boswell's Life of Johnson, which in that respect, as 
well as for its intrinsic worth is the Ana of all Anas. But though it 
may have been undertaken upon book-making motives, there seems no 
reason to suppose that the task was not performed faithfully by the 
Doctors Clearstream and Goldsmith, according to their judgment, and 
that much which had lightly or carelessly fallen from such a man as 
Luther was likely to be carefully preserved, and come into their 
hands. Many parts indeed authenticate themselves, bearing so strong a 
likeness that no one can hesitate at filiating them upon the 
ipsissimus Luther. The editor of the modern English edition, John 
Gottlieb Burckhardt, D.D., who was Minister of the German Lutheran 
Congregation in the Savoy, says, “the Book made a great noise at its 
first appearance in 1569. Some indeed have called its authenticity in 
question; but there is no reason to doubt of the testimony of Dr. John 
Aurifaber; and indeed the full character of Luther's free manner of 
speaking and thinking is seen almost in every line. The same manly, 
open, bold and generous spirit breathes through the whole, as is felt 
in reading the compositions which he published himself in his life 
time. There is a pleasing variety of matters contained in these 
discourses, and many fundamental truths are proposed in a familiar, 
careless dress, and in Luther's own witty, acute manner; for which 
reason it is as much entertaining to popular capacities as to men of 
genius. Many good Christians have found it to be of great benefit for 
establishing their souls in the knowledge and practice of truth, and 
of the good old way; and since many weeds grow up from time to time in 
the Church, this book handed down to posterity, will be a standing 
test of sound doctrines, which our forefathers believed, and of such 
wise principles on which they acted at, and after the Reformation.” On 
the other hand the book afforded as much gratification to the enemies 
of Luther, as to his admirers. Bayle after noticing some of the 
monstrous calumnies with which the Papists assailed his memory, 
proceeds to say, _La plûpart de ces medisances sont fondées sur 
quelques paroles d'un certain livre publié par les amis de Luther, 
ausquelles on donne un sens tres-malin, et fort éloigné de la pensée 
de ce Ministre. Ce n'est pas qu'il ne faille convenir qu'il y eut une 
très-grande imprudence à publier une telle compilation. Ce fut l'effet 
d'un zêle inconsideré, ou plútôt d'une preoccupation excessive, qui 
empêchoit de conoître les defauts de ce grand homme._ In like manner 
Seckendorf, whom Bayle quotes, says it was compiled with little 
prudence, and incautiously published, but upon its authenticity (as 
far as any such collection can be deemed authentic) he casts no 
suspicion.

Something worse than want of prudence may be suspected in those who 
set forth the English translation. The translator introduced it by “a 
Narrative of the miraculous preserving” of the book, and “how by God's 
Providence it was discovered lying under the ground where it had lain 
hid fifty-two years:” “I, Capt. Henry Bell,” he says, “do hereby 
declare both to the present age and also to posterity, that being 
employed beyond the seas in state affairs divers years together, both 
by King James, and also by the late King Charles, in Germany I did 
hear and understand in all places, great bewailing and lamentation 
made, by reason of the destroying or burning of above fourscore 
thousand of Martin Luther's books, entituled his last Divine 
Discourses. For after such time as God stirred up the spirit of Martin 
Luther to detect the corruptions and abuses of Popery, and to preach 
Christ, and clearly to set forth the simplicity of the Gospel, many 
Kings, Princes and States, Imperial Cities, and Hanse-Towns, fell from 
the Popish Religion, and became Protestants as their posterities still 
are, and remain to this very day. And for the further advancement of 
the great work of Reformation then begun, the foresaid Princes and the 
rest did then order, that the said Divine Discourse of Luther should 
forthwith be printed, and that every Parish should have and receive 
one of the foresaid printed Books into every Church throughout all 
their principalities and dominions, to be chained up, for the common 
people to read therein. Upon which the Reformation was wonderfully 
promoted and increased, and spread both here in England and other 
countries beside. But afterwards it so fell out, that the Pope then 
living, viz. Gregory XIII. understanding what great hurt and prejudice 
he and his popish religion had already received by reason of the said 
Luther's Divine Discourses; and also fearing that the same might bring 
farther contempt and mischief upon himself, and upon the popish 
Church, he therefore to prevent the same, did fiercely stir up and 
instigate the Emperor then in being, viz. Rudolphus II. to make an 
edict through the whole empire, that all the foresaid printed books 
should be burnt, and also that it should be _Death_ for any person to 
have or keep a copy thereof, but also to burn the same: which edict 
was speedily put in execution accordingly, in so much that not one of 
all the said printed books, not so much as any one copy of the same 
could be found out, nor heard of in any place.”

Upon this it is to be observed that in the popish states of Germany 
such an edict was not required, and that in the Protestant ones it 
could not be enforced. There is therefore as little foundation for the 
statement, as for the assertion introduced in it that the Reformation 
was promoted in England by the publication of this book in German. The 
Book appears not to have been common, for Bayle had never seen it; but 
this was because few editions were printed, not because many copies 
were destroyed. The reader however will judge by what follows of the 
degree of credit which may be given to any statement of Capt. Henry 
Bell's.

“Yet it pleased God,” the veracious Captain proceeds, “that anno 1626 
a German Gentleman, named Casparus Van Sparr, (with whom, in the time 
of my staying in Germany about King James's business, I became very 
familiarly known and acquainted,) having occasion to build upon the 
old foundation of an house wherein his grandfather dwelt at that time 
when the said edict was published in Germany for the burning of the 
foresaid Books, and digging deep into the ground under the said old 
foundation, one of the said original printed books was there happily 
found, lying in a deep obscure hole, being wrapt in a strong linen 
cloth, which was waxed all over with bees-wax both within and without, 
whereby the book was preserved fair without any blemish. And at the 
same time Ferdinandus II. being Emperor in Germany, who was a severe 
enemy and persecutor of the Protestant religion, the foresaid 
Gentleman and grandchild to him that had hidden the said Book in that 
obscure hole, fearing that if the said Emperor should get knowledge 
that one of the said Books was yet forthcoming and in his custody, 
thereby not only himself might be brought into trouble, but also the 
Book in danger to be destroyed, as all the rest were so long before; 
and also calling me to mind, and knowing that I had the High Dutch 
tongue very perfect, did send the said original Book over hither into 
England, unto me; and therewith did write unto me a letter, wherein he 
related the passages of the preserving and finding out of the said 
Book. And also he earnestly moved me in his letter, that for the 
advancement of God's glory, and of Christ's Church, I would take the 
pains to translate the said Book, to the end that that most excellent 
Divine Work of Luther might be brought again to light!

“Whereupon I took the said Book before me, and many times began to 
translate the same, but always I was hindered therein, being called 
upon about other business; insomuch that by no possible means I could 
remain by that work. Then about six weeks after I had received the 
said Book, it fell out, that I being in bed with my Wife, one night 
between twelve and one of the clock, she being asleep but myself yet 
awake, there appeared unto me an Antient Man, standing at my bed-side, 
arrayed all in white, having a long and broad white beard, hanging 
down to his girdle-stead; who, taking me by my right ear, spake these 
words following unto me. _Sirrah! Will not you take time to translate 
that Book which is sent unto you out of Germany? I will shortly 
provide for you both place and time to do it!_ And then he vanished 
away out of my sight. Whereupon being much thereby affrighted, I fell 
into an extreme sweat, insomuch that my Wife awaking, and finding me 
all over wet, she asked me what I ailed, I told her what I had seen 
and heard; but I never did heed nor regard visions, nor dreams. And so 
the same fell soon out of my mind.

“Then, about a fortnight after I had seen that Vision, I went to 
Whitehall to hear the Sermon; after which ended, I returned to my 
lodging, which was then in King Street at Westminster, and sitting 
down to dinner with my Wife, two Messengers were sent from the whole 
Council-Board, with a warrant to carry me to the Keeper of the Gate 
House, Westminster, there to be safely kept, until further order from 
the Lords of the Council; which was done without showing me any cause 
at all wherefore I was committed. Upon which said warrant I was kept 
there ten whole years close prisoner; where I spent five years thereof 
about the translating of the said Book: insomuch as I found the words 
very true which the old man in the foresaid Vision did say unto me, 
‘_I will shortly provide for you both place and time to translate 
it._’”




CHAPTER CCXXXII.

THE DOCTOR'S FAMILY FEELING.

               It behoves the high
  For their own sakes to do things worthily.

BEN JONSON.


No son ever regarded the memory of his father with more reverential 
affection than this last of the Doves. There never lived a man, he 
said, to whom the lines of Marcus Antonius Flaminius, (the sweetest of 
all Latin poets in modern times, or perhaps of any age,) could more 
truly be applied.

  _Vixisti, genitor, bene, ac beate,
   Nec pauper, neque dives; eruditus
   Satis, et satis eloquens; valente
   Semper corpore, mente sanâ; amicis
   Jucundus, pietate singulari._

“What if he could not with the Hevenninghams of Suffolk count five and 
twenty knights of his family, or tell sixteen knights successively 
with the Tilneys of Norfolk, or with the Nauntons shew where his 
ancestors had seven hundred pounds a year before the conquest,”[1] he 
was, and with as much, or perhaps more reason, contented with his 
parentage. Indeed his family feeling was so strong, that, if he had 
been of an illustrious race, pride, he acknowledged, was the sin which 
would most easily have beset him; though on the other hand, to correct 
this tendency, he thought there could be no such persuasive preachers 
as old family portraits, and old monuments in the family church.

[Footnote 1: FULLER.]

He was far however from thinking that those who are born to all the 
advantages, as they are commonly esteemed, of rank and fortune, are 
better placed for the improvement of their moral and intellectual 
nature, than those in a lower grade. “_Fortunatos nimium sua si bona 
nôrint_,” he used to say of this class, but this is a knowledge that 
they seldom possess; and it is rare indeed to find an instance in 
which the high privileges which hereditary wealth conveys are 
understood by the possessors, and rightly appreciated and put to their 
proper use. The one, and the two talents are

  Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
  How seldom used, how little understood![2]

in general more profitably occupied than the five; the five indeed are 
not often tied up in a napkin, but still less often are they 
faithfully employed in the service of that Lord from whom they are 
received in trust, and to whom an account of them must be rendered.

[Footnote 2: COWPER.]

“A man of family and estate,” said Johnson, “ought to consider himself 
as having the charge of a district over which he is to diffuse 
civility and happiness.”—Are there fifty men of family and estate in 
the Three Kingdoms who feel and act as if this were their duty?—Are 
there five and forty?—Forty?—Thirty?—Twenty?—Or can it be said with 
any probability of belief that “peradventure Ten shall be found 
there?”

       —_in sangue illustre e signorile,
  In uom d'alti parenti al mondo nato,
  La viltà si raddoppia, e più si scorge
  Che in coloro il cui grado alto non sorge._[3]

[Footnote 3: TASSO RINALDO.]

Here in England stood a village, within the memory of man,—no matter 
where,—close by the Castle of a noble proprietor,—no matter who:

                     _il figlio
  Del tale, ed il nipote del cotale,
  Natò per madre della tale._[4]

It contained about threescore houses, and every cottager had ground 
enough for keeping one or two cows. The noble proprietor looked upon 
these humble tenements as an eye-sore; and one by one as opportunity 
offered, he purchased them, till at length he became owner of the 
whole, one field excepted, which belonged to an old Quaker. The old 
man resisted many offers, but at last he was induced to exchange it 
for a larger and better piece of land in another place. No sooner had 
this transaction been completed, than the other occupants who were now 
only tenants at will, received notice to quit; the houses were 
demolished, the inclosures levelled, hearthsteads and homesteads, the 
cottage garden and the cottage field disappeared, and the site was in 
part planted, in part thrown into the park. The Quaker, who unlike 
Naboth, had parted with the inheritance of his fathers was a native of 
the village; but he knew not how dearly he was attached to it, till he 
saw its demolition: it was his fault, he said; and if he had not 
exchanged his piece of ground, he should never have lived to see his 
native place destroyed. He took it deeply to heart; it preyed upon his 
mind, and he soon lost his senses and died.

[Footnote 4: CHIABRERA.]

I tell the story as it was related, within sight of the spot, by a 
husbandman who knew the place and the circumstances, and well 
remembered that many people used to come every morning from the 
adjacent parts to buy milk there,—“a quart of new milk for a 
half-penny, and a quart of old, given with it.”

Naboth has been named in relating this, but the reader will not 
suppose that I have any intention of comparing the great proprietor to 
Ahab,—or to William the Conqueror. There was nothing unjust in his 
proceedings, nothing iniquitous; and (though there may have been a 
great want of proper feeling) nothing cruel. I am not aware that any 
hardship was inflicted upon the families who were ejected, farther 
than the inconvenience of a removal. He acted as most persons in the 
same circumstances probably would have acted, and no doubt he thought 
that his magnificent habitation was greatly improved by the demolition 
of the poor dwellings which had neighboured it so closely. Farther it 
may be said in his justification (for which I would leave nothing 
unsaid) that very possibly the houses had not sufficient appearance of 
neatness and comfort to render them agreeable objects, that the people 
may have been in no better state of manners and morals than villagers 
commonly are, which is saying that they were bad enough; that the 
filth of their houses was thrown into the road, and that their pigs, 
and their children who were almost as unclean, ran loose there. Add to 
this if you please that though they stood in fear of their great 
neighbour, there may have been no attachment to him, and little 
feeling of good will. But I will tell you how Dr. Dove would have 
proceeded if he had been the hereditary Lord of that Castle and that 
domain.

He would have considered that this village was originally placed there 
for the sake of the security which the Castle afforded. Times had 
changed and with them the relative duties of the Peer and of the 
Peasantry: he no longer required their feudal services, and they no 
longer stood in need of his protection. The more therefore, according 
to his “way of thinking,” was it to be desired, that other relations 
should be strengthened and the bonds of mutual goodwill be more 
closely intertwined. He would have looked upon these villagers as 
neighbours, in whose welfare and good conduct he was especially 
interested, and over whom it was in his power to exercise a most 
salutary and beneficial influence; and having this power he would have 
known, that it was his duty so to use it. He would have established a 
school in the village, and have allowed no ale-house there. He would 
have taken his domestics preferably from thence. If there were a boy 
who by his gentle disposition, his diligence and his aptitude for 
learning gave promise of those qualities which best become the 
clerical profession, he would have sent that boy to a grammar school, 
and afterwards to college, supporting him there in part, or wholly, 
according to the parents' means, and placing him on his list for 
preferment, according to his deserts.

If there were any others who discovered a remarkable fitness for any 
other useful calling, in that calling he would have had them 
instructed and given them his countenance and support, as long as they 
continued to deserve it. The Archbishop of Braga, Fray Bartolomen dos 
Martyres, added to his establishment a Physician for the poor. Our 
friend would in like manner have fixed a medical practitioner in the 
village,—one as like as he could find to a certain Doctor at 
Doncaster; and have allowed him such a fixed stipend, as might have 
made him reasonably contented and independent of the little emolument 
which the practice of the place could afford, for he would not have 
wished his services to be gratuitous where there was no need. If the 
parish to which the village belonged was too extensive, or the 
parochial Minister unwilling, or unable to look carefully after this 
part of his flock, his Domestic Chaplain, (for he would not have lived 
without one) should have taken care of their religious instruction.

In his own family and in his own person he would have set his 
neighbours an example of “whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever 
things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are 
lovely, whatsoever things are of good report.” And as this example 
produced its sure effects, he would have left the Amateurs of 
Agriculture to vie with each other in their breeds of sheep and oxen, 
and in the costly cultivation of their farms. It would have been, not 
his boast, for he boasted of nothing;—not his pride, for he had none 
of

    that poor vice which only empty men
  Esteem a virtue—[5]

it was out of the root of Christian humility that all his virtues 
grew,—but his consolation and his delight to know that nowhere in 
Great Britain was there a neater, a more comfortable village than 
close to his own mansion; no where a more orderly, a more moral, a 
more cheerful, or a happier people. And if his castle had stood upon 
an elevation commanding as rich a survey as Belvoir or Shobden, that 
village when he looked from his windows, would still have been the 
most delightful object in the prospect.

[Footnote 5: BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.]

I have not mentioned the name of the old Quaker in my story; but I 
will preserve it in these pages because the story is to his honour. It 
was Joshua Dickson. If Quakers have (and certainly they have) the 
quality which is called modest assurance in a superlative degree that 
distinguishes them from any other class of men, (it is of the _men_ 
only that I speak) they are the only sect, who as a sect, cultivate 
the sense of conscience. This was not a case of conscience, but of 
strong feeling assuming that character under a tendency to madness.

When Lord Harcourt about the same time removed the village of Nuneham, 
an old widow Barbara Wyat by name, earnestly intreated that she might 
be allowed to remain in her old habitation. The request which it would 
have been most unfeeling to refuse, was granted; she ended her days 
there, and then the cottage was pulled down: but a tree which grew 
beside it, and which she had planted in her youth, is still shown on 
the terrace at Nuneham, and called by her name. Near it is placed the 
following Inscription by that amiable man the Laureate Whitehead. Like 
all his serious poems it may be read with pleasure and profit,—though 
the affecting circumstance which gives the anecdote its highest 
interest is related only in a note.

  This Tree was planted by a female hand,
    In the gay dawn of rustic beauty's glow;
  And fast beside it did her cottage stand,
    When age had clothed the matron's head with snow.

  To her long used to nature's simple ways,
    This single spot was happiness compleat;
  Her tree could shield her from the noontide blaze
    And from the tempest screen her little seat.

  Here with her Colin oft the faithful maid,
    Had led the dance, the envious youths among,
  Here when his aged bones in earth were laid,
    The patient matron turned her wheel and sung.

  She felt her loss, yet felt it as she ought,
    Nor dared 'gainst Nature's general law exclaim,
  But checkt her tears and to her children taught
    That well known truth their lot would be the same.

  The Thames before her flowed, his farther shores
    She ne'er explored, contented with her own;
  And distant Oxford, tho' she saw its towers,
    To her ambition was a world unknown.

  Did dreadful tales the clowns from market bear
    Of kings and tumults and the courtier train,
  She coldly listened with unheeding ear,
    And good Queen Anne, for aught she cared, might reign.

  The sun her day, the seasons marked her year,
    She toiled, she slept, from care, from envy free;
  For what had she to hope, or what to fear,
    Blest with her cottage, and her favourite Tree.

  Hear this ye Great, whose proud possessions spread
    O'er earth's rich surface to no space confined!
  Ye learn'd in arts, in men, in manners read,
    Who boast as wide an empire o'er the mind,

  With reverence visit her august domain;
    To her unlettered memory bow the knee;
  She found that happiness you seek in vain,
    Blest with a cottage, and a single Tree.[6]

[Footnote 6: The Classical reader will be aware that the Author of 
these lines had Claudian's “Old Man of Verona” in his mind's eye, as 
Claudian had Virgil's “Corycian Old Man.”—Georg. iv. 127.]

Mason would have produced a better inscription upon this subject, in 
the same strain; Southey in a different one, Crabbe would have treated 
it with more strength, Bowles with a finer feeling, so would his 
kinswoman and namesake Caroline, than whom no author or authoress has 
ever written more touchingly, either in prose or verse. Wordsworth 
would have made a picture from it worthy of a place in the great 
Gallery of his Recluse. But Whitehead's is a remarkable poem, 
considering that it was produced during what has been not unjustly 
called the neap tide of English poetry: and the reader who should be 
less pleased with it than offended by its faults, may have cause to 
suspect that his refinement has injured his feelings in a greater 
degree than it has improved his taste.




CHAPTER CCXXXIII.

THE PETTY GERMAN PRINCES EXCELLENT PATRONS OF LITERATURE AND LEARNED 
MEN.—THE DUKE OF SAXE WEIMAR.—QUOTATION FROM BP. HACKET.—AN OPINION OF 
THE EXCELLENT MR. BOYLE.—A TENET OF THE DEAN OF CHALON, PIERRE DE ST. 
JULIEN,—AND A VERITABLE PLANTAGENET.

_Ita nati estis, ut bona malaque vestra ad Rempublicam pertineant._

TACITUS.


“We have long been accustomed to laugh at the pride and poverty of 
petty German Princes,” says one of the most sensible and right minded 
travellers that ever published the result of his observations in 
Germany;[1] “but nothing,” he proceeds, “can give a higher idea of the 
respectability which so small a people may assume, and the quantity of 
happiness which one of these insignificant monarchs may diffuse around 
him, than the example of the little state of Weimar, with a Prince 
like the present[2] Grand Duke at its head. The mere pride of 
sovereignty frequently most prominent where there is only the title to 
justify it, is unknown to him; he is the most affable man in his 
dominions, not simply with the condescension which any prince can 
learn to practise as a useful quality, but from goodness of heart.” 
The whole population of his state little if at all exceeds that of 
Leicestershire; his capital is smaller than a third or fourth rate 
county town; so in fact it scarcely deserves the name of a town; and 
the inhabitants, vain as they are of its well earned reputation as the 
German Athens, take a pride in having it considered merely a large 
village: his revenue is less than that of many a British Peer, great 
Commoner, or commercial Millionist. Yet “while the treasures of more 
weighty potentates were insufficient to meet the necessities of their 
political relations, his confined revenues could give independence and 
careless leisure to the men who were gaining for Germany its 
intellectual reputation.” It is not too much to say that for that 
intellectual reputation, high as it is, and lasting as it will be, 
Germany is little less beholden to the Duke of Weimar's well-bestowed 
patronage, than to the genius of Wieland, and Schiller and Goëthe. “In 
these little principalities, the same goodness of disposition can work 
with more proportional effect than if it swayed the sceptre of an 
empire; it comes more easily and directly into contact with those 
towards whom it should be directed: the artificial world of courtly 
rank and wealth has neither sufficient glare nor body to shut out from 
the prince the more chequered world that lies below.”

[Footnote 1: RUSSELL.]

[Footnote 2: A. D. 1822.]

Alas no Prince either petty or great has followed the Duke of Saxe 
Weimar's example! “He dwells,” says Mr. Downes, “like an estated 
gentleman, surrounded by his tenantry.” Alas no British Peer, great 
Commoner, or commercial Millionist has given to any portion of his 
ampler revenues a like beneficent direction.

A good old Bishop[3] quoting the text “not many wise men after the 
flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called,” cautions us 
against distorting the Scripture as if it pronounced nothing but 
confusion to the rulers of the earth, “let not the honourable person,” 
said he, “hang down his head, as if power and wisdom, and noble blood, 
and dignity were causes of rejection before God: no beloved! Isaiah 
foretold that Kings should be nursing fathers, and Queens should be 
nursing mothers of the Church, but it is often seen that the benignity 
of nature and the liberality of fortune are made impediments to a 
better life; and therefore Nobles and Princes are more frequently 
threatened with judgment. I adjoin moreover that the Scriptures speak 
more flatly against illustrious Magistrates, than the common sort; for 
if God had left it to men, whose tongues are prostituted to flattery, 
they had scarce been told that their abominable sins would bring 
damnation.”

[Footnote 3: BISHOP HACKET.]

When our philosopher considered the manner in which large incomes are 
expended, (one way he had opportunities enough of observing at 
Doncaster) he thought that in these times high birth brought with it 
dangers and evils which in many or most instances, more than 
counterbalanced its advantages.

That excellent person Mr. Boyle had formed a different opinion. To be 
the son of a Peer whose prosperity had found many admirers, but few 
parallels, and not to be his eldest son, was a happiness that he used 
to “mention with great expressions of gratitude; his birth, he said, 
so suiting his inclinations and designs, that, had he been permitted 
an election, his choice would scarce have altered God's assignment. 
For as on the one side, a lower birth would have too much exposed him 
to the inconveniences of a mean descent, which are too notorious to 
need specifying; so on the other side, to a person whose humour 
indisposes him to the distracting hurry of the world, the being born 
heir to a great family is but a glittering kind of slavery, whilst 
obliging him to a public entangled course of life, to support the 
credit of his family, and tying him from satisfying his dearest 
inclinations, it often forces him to build the advantages of his house 
upon the ruins of his own contentment.”

“A man of mean extraction,” he continues, “is seldom admitted to the 
privacy and secrets of great ones promiscuously, and scarce dares 
pretend to it, for fear of being censured saucy, or an intruder. And 
titular greatness is ever an impediment to the knowledge of many 
retired truths, that cannot be attained without familiarity with 
meaner persons, and such other condescensions, as fond opinion, in 
great men, disapproves and makes disgraceful.” “But he himself,” Mr. 
Boyle said, “was born in a condition that neither was high enough to 
prove a temptation to laziness, nor low enough to discourage him from 
aspiring.” And certainly to a person that affected so much an 
universal knowledge, and arbitrary vicissitudes of quiet and 
employments, it could not be unwelcome to be of a quality, that was a 
handsome stirrup to preferment, without an obligation to court it, and 
which might at once both protect his higher pretensions from the guilt 
of ambition, and secure his retiredness from contempt.

There would be more and higher advantages in high birth than Mr. Boyle 
apprehended, if the Dean of Chalon, Pierre de St. Julien, were right 
when he maintained _contre l'opinion des Philosophes, et l'ordinaire 
des Predicamants,—que la vraye Noblesse a sa source du sang, et est 
substancielle._

_Ces mots Gentilhomme de sang, et d'armes, de race genereuse, de bonne 
part,_ &c., says the well-born Dean, who in his title pages let us 
know that he was _de la maison de Balleurré,—sont termes non de 
qualité, ny d'habitude; ains importants substance de vray, comme il 
est bien dit,_

  _veniunt cum sanguine mores;_

_et aillieurs,_

  _Qui viret in foliis venit à radicibus humor;
   Sic patrum in natos abeunt cum semine mores._

_Et comme le sang est le vehicule, et porteur des esprits de vie, 
esquels est enclose la substance de l'ame; aussi est il le comme 
chariot, qui porte et soustient celle substance qui decoule des peres, 
et des ayeulx, par long ordre de generation, et provient aux enfants, 
qui, nez de bonne et gentille semence, sont (conformement à l'opinion 
du divin Philosophe Platon) rendu tels que leurs progeniteurs, par la 
vertu des esprits enclos en la semence.—Tellement qu'on ne peut nyer, 
que comme d'une bonne Ayre sortent de bons oyseaux, d'un bon Haras de 
bons chevaux,_ &c., _aussi il importe beaucoup aux hommes d'estre nez 
de bons et valeureux parents; voire tant, que les mal nez, ennemys de 
ceste bien naissance, ne sont suffisants pour en juger._

Sir Robert Cotton once met with a man driving the plough, who was a 
true and undoubted Plantagenet. “That worthy Doctor,” (Dr. Hervey) 
says that worthy Fuller (_dignissimus_ of being so styled himself,) 
“hath made many converts in physic to his seeming paradox, maintaining 
the circulation of blood running round about the body of man. Nor is 
it less true that gentle blood fetcheth a circuit in the body of a 
nation, running from Yeomanry, through Gentry to Nobility, and so 
retrograde, returning through Gentry to Yeomanry again.”

“_Plust à Dieu_,” said Maistre François Rabelais, of facetious memory, 
“_qu'un chacun saust aussi certainement_—(as Gargantua that is,) _sa 
genealogie, depuis l'Arche de Noé, jusqu'à cet âge! Je pense que 
plusieurs sont aujourd'hui Empereurs, Roys, Ducs, Princes et Papes en 
la terre, lesquels sont descendus de quelques Porteurs de rogatons et 
de constrets. Comme au rebours plusieurs sont gueux de l'hostiere, 
souffreteux et miserables, lesquels sont descendus de sang et ligne de 
grands Roys et Empereurs; attends l'admirable transport des Regnes et 
Empires,_

  _Des Assyriens, és Medes;
   Des Medes, és Perses;
   Des Perses, és Macédoniens;
   Des Macédoniens, és Grecs;
   Des Grecs, és François._

_Et pour vous donner à entendre de moy qui vous parle, je cuide que 
suis descendu de quelque riche Roy, ou Prince, au temps jadis; car 
oncques ne vistes homme qui eust plus grande affection d'estre Roy ou 
riche que moy, afin de faire grand chere, pas ne travailler, point ne 
me soucier et bien enrichir mes amis, et tous gens de bien et de 
sçavoir._”




CHAPTER CCXXXIV.

OPINION OF A MODERN DIVINE UPON THE WHEREABOUT OF NEWLY DEPARTED 
SPIRITS.—ST. JOHN'S BURIAL, ONE RELIC ONLY OF THAT SAINT, AND 
WHEREFORE.—A TALE CONCERNING ABRAHAM, ADAM AND EVE.

_Je sçay qu'il y a plusieurs qui diront que je fais beaucoup de petits 
fats contes, dont je m'en passerois bien. Ouy, bien pour aucuns,—mais 
non pour moy, me contentant de m'en renouveller le souvenance, et en 
tirer autant de plaisir._

BRANTÔME.


Watts who came to the odd conclusion in his Philosophical Essay, that 
there may be Spirits which must be said, in strict philosophy to be no 
where, endeavoured to explain what he called the _ubi_ or _whereness_ 
of those spirits which are in a more imaginable situation. While man 
is alive, the soul he thought might be said to be in his brain, 
because the seat of consciousness seems to be there; but as soon as it 
is dislodged from that local habitation by death, it finds itself at 
once in a heaven or hell of its own, and this “without any removal or 
relation to place, or change of distances.” The shell is broken, the 
veil is withdrawn; it is where it was, but in a different mode of 
existence, in the pure intellectual, or separate world. “It reflects 
upon its own temper and actions in this life, it is conscious of its 
virtues, or its vices,” and it has an endless spring of peace and joy 
within, or is tormented with the anguish of self condemnation.

In his speculations the separation of soul from body is total, till 
their re-union at the day of judgment; and this unquestionably is the 
christian belief. The fablers of all religions have taken a different 
view, because at all times and in all countries they have accommodated 
their fictions to the notions of the people. The grave is with them a 
place of rest, or of suffering. If Young had been a Jew, a Mahommedan, 
or a Roman Catholic, he might be understood as speaking literally when 
he says,

  How populous, how vital is the grave.

St. Augustine had been assured by what he considered no light 
testimony that St. John was not dead, but asleep in his sepulchre, and 
that the motion of his breast as he breathed might be perceived by a 
gentle movement of the earth. The words of our Lord after his 
Resurrection, concerning the beloved disciple, “If I will that he 
tarry till I come, what is that to thee,” gave scope to conjecture 
concerning the fate of this Evangelist, and yet in some degree set 
bounds to that spirit of lying invention which in process of time 
annexed as many fables to corrupted Christianity as the Greek and 
Roman poets had engrafted upon their heathenism, or the Rabbis upon 
the Jewish faith. “Sinner that I am,” said a French prelate with 
demure irony, when a head of St. John the Baptist was presented to him 
to kiss in some Church of which it was the choicest treasure,—“sinner 
that I am, this is the fourth head of the glorious Baptist that I have 
had the happiness of holding in these unworthy hands!” But while some 
half dozen or half score of these heads were produced, because it was 
certain that the Saint had been beheaded, no relic of St. John the 
Evangelist's person, nor of the Virgin Mary's, was ever invented. The 
story of the Assumption precluded any such invention in the one 
case,—and in St. John's the mysterious uncertainty of his fate had the 
same effect as this received tradition. The Benedictines of St. 
Claude's Monastery in the Jura exhibited his own manuscript of the 
Apocalypse,—(the most learned of that order in no unlearned age, 
believed or affected to believe that it was his actual autograph,)—and 
they considered that it was greatly enhanced in value by its being the 
only relic of that Saint in existence.

The fable which St. Augustine seems to have believed, was either 
parent or child of the story told under the name of Abdias, that when 
the Beloved Disciple had attained the postdiluvian age of ninety 
seven, our Lord appeared to him, said unto him, “come unto me, that 
thou mayest partake at my feast with thy brethren,” and fixed the next 
Sunday, being Easter, for his removal from this world. On that Sunday 
accordingly, the Evangelist after having performed service in his own 
temple at Ephesus, and exhorted the people, told some of his chosen 
disciples to take with them two mattocks and spade, and accompany him 
therewith. They went to a place near the city, where he had been 
accustomed to pray, there he bade them dig a grave, and when they 
would have ceased from the work, he bade them dig it still deeper. 
Then taking off all his garments except a linen vestment, he spread 
them in the grave, laid himself down upon them, ordered his disciples 
to cover him up, and forthwith fell asleep in the Lord. Abdias 
proceeds no farther with the story; but other ecclesiastic romancers 
add that the evangelist enjoined them to open the grave on the day 
following; they did so and found nothing but his garments, for the 
blessed virgin in recompence for the filial piety which he had 
manifested towards her in obedience to our Lord's injunctions from the 
cross, had obtained for him the privilege of an Assumption like her 
own. Baronius has no objection to believe this, but that St. John 
actually died is, he says more than certain,—_certo certius_; and that 
his grave at Ephesus was proof of it, for _certe non nisi mortuorum 
solent esse sepulchra_.

Yet the Cardinal knew that the historian of his Church frequently 
represented the dead as sentient in their graves. The Jews have some 
remarkable legends founded upon the same notion. It is written in the 
book of Zohar, say the Rabbis, how when Abraham had made a covenant 
with the people of the land, and was about to make a feast for them, a 
calf which was to be slaughtered on the occasion, broke loose and ran 
into the cave of Machpelah. Abraham followed, and having entered the 
cave in pursuit, there he discovered the bodies of Adam and Eve, each 
on a bed, with lamps burning between them. They were sleeping the 
sleep of death, and there was a good odour around them, like the odour 
of repose. In consequence of having made this discovery it was that he 
desired to purchase the cave for his own burial place; and when the 
sons of Jebus refused to sell it, he fell upon his knees, and bowed 
himself before them, till they were entreated. When he came to deposit 
the body of Sarah there, Adam and Eve rose up, and refused their 
consent. The reason which they gave for this unexpected prohibition 
was, that they were already in a state of reproach before the Lord, 
because of their transgression, and a farther reproach would be 
brought upon them by a comparison with his good deeds, if they allowed 
such company to be introduced into their resting place. But Abraham 
took upon himself to answer for that; upon this they were satisfied 
with his assurances, and composed themselves again to their long 
sleep.

The Rabbis may be left to contend for the authority of the book of 
Zohar in this particular against the story of the Cabalists that 
Adam's bones were taken into the Ark, and divided afterwards by Noah 
among his sons. The skull fell to Shem's portion; he burnt it on the 
mountain which for that reason obtained the name of Golgotha, or 
Calvary,—being interpreted, the place of a skull, and on that spot, 
for mystical signification the cross whereon our Saviour suffered was 
erected;—a wild legend, on which as wild a fiction has been grafted, 
that a branch from the Tree of Life had been planted on Adam's grave, 
and from the wood which that branch had produced the cross was made.

And against either of these the authority of Rabbi Judas Bar Simon is 
to be opposed, for he affirms that the dust of Adam was washed away by 
the Deluge, and utterly dispersed.

The Rabbis have also to establish the credit of their own tradition 
against that of the Arabs who at this time shew Eve's grave near 
Jeddah;—about three days journey east from that place, according to 
Bruce. He says, it is covered with green sods, and about fifty yards 
in length. The Cashmerian traveller Abdulkurreem who visited it in 
1742, says that it measured an hundred and ninety-seven of his 
footsteps, which would make the mother of mankind much taller than 
Bruce's measurement. He likens it to a flower-bed; on the middle of 
the grave there was then a small dome, and the ends of it were 
enclosed with wooden pales. Burckhardt did not visit it; he was told 
that it was about two miles only, northward of the town, and that it 
was a rude structure of stone, some four feet in length, two or three 
in height and as many in breadth, thus resembling the tomb of Noah, 
which is shewn in the valley of Bekaa, in Syria. Thus widely do these 
modern travellers, on any one of whom reasonable reliance might have 
been placed, differ in the account of the same thing.




CHAPTER CCXXXV.

THE SHORTEST AND PLEASANTEST WAY FROM DONCASTER TO JEDDAH, WITH MANY 
MORE, TOO LONG.

  _Πόνος πόνῳ πόνον φέρει
   Πᾶ πᾶ γὰρ οὐκ ἔβαν ἐγώ._

SOPHOCLES.


We have got from the West Riding of Yorkshire, to the Eastern shore of 
the Red Sea, without the assistance of mail-coach, steam-packet, or 
air-balloon, the magical carpet, the wishing-cap, the shoes of 
swiftness, or the seven-leagued boots. From Mr. Bacon's vicarage we 
have got to Eve's grave, not _per saltum_, by any sudden, or violent 
transition; but by following the stream of thought. We shall get back 
in the same easy manner to that vicarage, and to the quiet churchyard 
wherein the remains of one of the sweetest and for the few latter 
years of her short life, one of the happiest of Eve's daughters, were 
deposited in sure and certain hope. If you are in the mood for a 
Chapter upon Churchyards, go reader to those which Caroline Bowles has 
written;—you will find in them every thing that can touch the heart, 
every thing that can sanctify the affections, unalloyed by anything 
that can offend a pure taste and a masculine judgement.

But before we find our way back we must tarry awhile among the tombs, 
and converse with the fablers of old.

A young and lovely Frenchwoman after visiting the _Columbarium_ near 
the Villa Albani, expressed her feeling strongly upon our custom of 
interring the dead, as compared with the non-burial of the ancients, 
_usage odieux_, said she, _qui rend la mort horrible! Si les anciens 
en avaient moins d'effroi, c'est que la coutume de brûler les corps 
dérobait au trépas tout ce qu'il a de hideux. Qu'il était consolant et 
doux de pouvoir pleurer sur des cendres chéries! Qu'il est 
épouvantable et déchirant aujourd'hui de penser que celui qu'on a tant 
aimé n'offre plus qu'une image affreuse et décharnée dont on ne 
pourrait supporter la vue._

The lady in whose journal these lines were written lies buried in the 
Campo Santo at Milan, with the following inscription on her tomb; 
_Priez pour une jeune Française que la mort a frappée à vingt ans, 
comme elle allait, après un voyage de huit mois avec un epoux chéri, 
revoir son enfant, son pere et sa mere, qui venaient joyeux au-devant 
d'elle._ Her husband wished to have her remains burnt, in conformity 
to her own opinion respecting the disposal of the dead, and to his own 
feelings at the time, that he might have carried her ashes to his own 
country, and piously have preserved them there, to weep over them, and 
bequeath them to his son; _mais les amis qui m'entouraient_, he says, 
_combatterent mon desir, comme une inspiration insensée de la 
douleur._

There can be no doubt that our ghastly personification of Death has 
been derived from the practice of interment; and that of all modes in 
which the dead have ever been disposed of, cremation is in some 
respects the best. But this mode, were it generally practicable, would 
in common use be accompanied with more revolting circumstances than 
that which has now become the Christian usage. Some abominations 
however it would have prevented, and though in place of those 
superstitions which it precluded others would undoubtedly have arisen, 
they would have been of a less loathsome character.

The Moors say that the dead are disturbed if their graves be trodden 
on by Christian feet; the Rabbis that they feel the worms devouring 
them.

On the south side of the city of Erzeroom is a mountain called Eyerli, 
from the same likeness which has obtained for one of the English 
mountains the unpoetical name of Saddleback. The Turkish traveller 
Evlia Effendi saw on the top of this mountain a tomb eighty paces in 
length, with two columns marking the place of the head and of the 
feet. “I was looking on the tomb,” he says, “when a bad smell occurred 
very hurtfully to my nose, and to that of my servant who held the 
horses; and looking near, I then saw that the earth of the grave, 
which was greasy and black, was boiling, like gruel in a pan. I 
returned then, and having related my adventures in the evening in 
company with the Pashaw, Djaafer Effendi of Erzeroom, a learned man 
and an elegant writer, warned me not to visit the place again, for it 
was the grave of Balaam the son of Beor, who died an infidel, under 
the curse of Moses, and whose grave was kept always in this state by 
subterraneous fires.”

When Wheler was at Constantinople, he noticed a monument in the 
fairest and largest street of that city, the cupola of which was 
covered with an iron grating. It was the tomb of Mahomet Cupriuli, 
father to the then Grand Vizier. He had not been scrupulous as to the 
means by which he settled the government during the Grand Seignior's 
minority, and carried it on afterwards, quelling the discontents and 
factions of the principal Agas, and the mutinies of the Janizaries. 
Concerning him after his decease, says this traveller, “being buried 
here, and having this stately monument of white marble covered with 
lead erected over his body, the Grand Seigneur and Vizier had this 
dream both in the same night, to wit, that he came to them and 
earnestly begged of them a little water to refresh him, being in a 
burning heat. Of this the Grand Seigneur and Vizier told each other in 
the morning, and thereupon thought fit to consult the Mufti what to do 
concerning it. The Mufti, according to their gross superstition, 
advised that the roof of his sepulchre should be uncovered, that the 
rain might descend on his body, thereby to quench the flames which 
were tormenting his soul. And this remedy the people who smarted under 
his oppression think he had great need of, supposing him to be 
tormented in the other world for his tyrannies and cruelties committed 
by him in this.”

If Cupriuli had been a Russian instead of a Turk, his body would have 
been provided with a passport before it was committed to the grave. 
Peter Henry Bruce in his curious memoirs gives the form of one which 
in the reign of Peter the Great, always before the coffin of a Russian 
was closed, was put between the fingers of the corpse:—“We N. N. do 
certify by these presents that the bearer hereof hath always lived 
among us as became a good Christian, professing the Greek religion; 
and although he may have committed some sins, he hath confessed the 
same, whereupon he hath received absolution, and taken the communion 
for the remission of sins: That he hath honoured God and his Saints, 
that he hath not neglected his prayers; and hath fasted on the hours 
and days appointed by the Church: That he hath always behaved himself 
towards me, his Confessor, in such a manner that I have no reason to 
complain of him, or to refuse him the absolution of his sins. In 
witness whereof I have given him these testimonials, to the end that 
St. Peter upon sight of them, may not deny him the opening of the gate 
to eternal bliss!”

The custom evidently implies an opinion that though soul and body were 
disunited by death, they kept close company together till after the 
burial; otherwise a passport which the Soul was to present at Heaven's 
gate, would not have been placed in the hands of the corpse. In the 
superstitions of the Romish church a re-union is frequently supposed, 
but that there is an immediate separation upon death is an article of 
faith, and it is represented by Sir Thomas More as one of the 
punishments for a sinful soul to be brought from Purgatory and made to 
attend, an unseen spectator, at the funeral of its own body, and feel 
the mockery of all the pomps and vanities used upon that occasion. The 
passage is in his Supplycacyon of Soulys. One of the Supplicants from 
Purgatory speaks:

“Some hath there of us, while we were in health, not so much studied 
how we might die penitent, and in good christian plight, as how we 
might solemnly be borne out to burying, have gay and goodly funerals, 
with heralds at our herses, and offering up our helmets, setting up 
our scutcheons and coat-armours on the wall, though there never came 
harness on our backs, nor never ancestor of ours ever bare arms 
before. Then devised we some Doctor to make a sermon at our mass in 
our month's mind, and then preach to our praise with some fond fantasy 
devised of our name; and after mass, much feasting, riotous and 
costly; and finally, like madmen, made men merry at our death, and 
take our burying for a brideale. For special punishment whereof, some 
of us have been by our Evil Angels brought forth full heavily, in full 
great despight to behold our own burying, and so, stand in great pain, 
invisible among the press, and made to look on our carrion corpse, 
carried out with great pomp, whereof our Lord knoweth we have taken 
heavy pleasure!”

In opposition to this there is a Rabbinical story which shows that 
though the Jews did not attribute so much importance to the rights of 
sepulture as the ancient Greeks, they nevertheless thought that a 
parsimonious interment occasioned some uncomfortable consequences to 
the dead.

A pious descendant of Abraham, whom his wife requited with a curtain 
lecture for having, as she thought improvidently, given alms to a poor 
person in a time of dearth, left his house, and went out to pass the 
remainder of the night among the tombs, that he might escape from her 
objurgations. There he overheard a conversation between the Spirits of 
two young women, not long deceased. The one said, “come let us go 
through the world, and then listen behind the curtain and hear what 
chastisements are decreed for it.” The other made answer, “I cannot 
go, because I have been buried in a mat made of reeds, but go you, and 
bring me account of what you hear.” Away went the Ghost whose 
grave-clothes were fit to appear in: and when she returned, “well 
friend, what have you heard behind the curtain,” said the ghost in the 
reed-mat. “I heard,” replied the gad-about, “that whatever shall be 
sown in the first rains, will be stricken with hail.” Away went the 
alms-giver; and upon this intelligence which was more certain than any 
prognostication in the Almanack, he waited till the second rains 
before he sowed his field; all other fields were struck with hail, but 
according as he had expected his crop escaped.

Next year, on the anniversary of the night which had proved so 
fortunate to him, he went again to the Tombs: and overheard another 
conversation between the same ghosts to the same purport. The well 
drest ghost went through the world, listened behind the curtain, and 
brought back information that whatever should be sown in the second 
rains would be smitten with rust. Away went the good man, and sowed 
his field in the first rains; all other crops were spoilt with the 
rust, and only his escaped. His wife then enquired of him how it had 
happened that in two successive years he had sown his fields at a 
different time from every body else, and on both occasions his were 
the only crops that had been saved. He made no secret to her of his 
adventures, but told her how he had come to the knowledge which had 
proved so beneficial. Ere long his wife happened to quarrel with the 
mother of the poor ghost who was obliged to keep her sepulchre; and 
the woman of unruly tongue, among other insults, bade her go and look 
at her daughter, whom she had buried in a reed-mat! Another 
anniversary came round, and the good man went again to the Tomb; but 
he went this time in vain, for when the well-dressed Ghost repeated 
her invitation, the other made answer, “let me alone, my friend, the 
words which have past between you and me have been heard among the 
living.”

The learned Cistercian[1] to whom I owe this legend, expresses his 
contempt for it; nevertheless he infers from it that the spirits of 
the dead know what passes in this world; and that the doctrine of the 
Romish Church upon that point, is proved by this tradition to have 
been that of the Synagogue also.

[Footnote 1: BERTOLACCI.]

The Mahommedans who adopted so many of the Rabbinical fables, 
dispensed in one case for reasons of obvious convenience, with all 
ceremonies of sepulchral costume. For the funeral of their martyrs, by 
which appellation all Musselmen who fell in battle against the 
unbelievers were honoured, none of those preparations were required, 
which were necessary for those who die a natural death. A martyr needs 
not to be washed after his death, nor to be enveloped in 
grave-clothes; his own blood with which he is besmeared serves him for 
all legal purification, and he may be wrapt in his robe, and buried 
immediately after the funeral prayer, conformably to the order of the 
Prophet, who has said, “bury them as they are, in their garments, and 
in their blood! Wash them not, for their wounds will smell of musk on 
the Day of Judgement.”

A man of Medina, taking leave of his wife as he was about to go to the 
wars commended to the Lord her unborn babe. She died presently 
afterwards, and every night there appeared a brilliant light upon the 
middle of her tomb. The husband hearing of this upon his return, 
hastened to the place; the sepulchre opened of itself; the wife sate 
up in her winding sheet, and holding out to him a boy in her arms, 
said to him take “that which thou commendedst to the Lord. Hadst thou 
commended us both, thou shouldest have found us both alive.” So saying 
she delivered to him the living infant, and laid herself down, and the 
sepulchre closed over her.

       *       *       *       *       *

PARS IMPERFECTA MANEBAT.—VIRG. ÆN.

_The following materials, printed verbatim from the MS. Collection, 
were to have completed the Chapter. It has been thought advisable in 
the present instance to shew how the lamented Southey worked up the 
collection of years. Each extract is on a separate slip of paper, and 
some of them appear to have been made from thirty to forty years ago, 
more or less._

       *       *       *       *       *

  And so the virtue of his youth before
  Was in his age the ground of his delight.

JAMES I.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Ἔνθεν δὲ Σθενέλον τάφον ἔδρακον Ἀκτορίδαο·
   Ὅς ῥά τ Ἀμαζονίδων πολυθαρσέος ἐκ πολέμοιο
   Ἄψ ἀνιὼν (δὴ γὰρ συνανήλυθεν Ἡρὰκλῆΐ)
   Βλήμενος ἰῷ κεῖθεν ᾽επ᾽ ἀγχιάλον θάνεν ἀκτῆς.
   Ὀυ μέν θην προτέρω ἀνεμέρεον· ἧκε γὰρ αὐτὴ
   Φερσεφόνη ψυχὴν πολυδάκρυον Ἀκτορίδαο
   Λισσομένην, τυτθόν περ ὁμήθεας ἄνδρας ἰδέσθαι.
   Τύμβου δὲ στεφάνης ἐπιβὰς σκοπιάζετο νῆα,
   Τοῖος ἐὼν οἷος πόλεμονδ᾽ ἴεν· ἀμφὶ δὲ καλὴ
   Τετράφαλος φοίνικι λόφῳ ἐπελάμπετο πήληξ,
   Καὶ ῥ᾽ ὁ μὲν αὖτις ἔδυνε μέγαν ζόφον· οἱ δ᾽ ἐσιδόντες
   Θάμβησαν. τοὶς δ᾽ ὦρσε θεοπροπέων ἐπικελσαι
   Αμπυκίδης Μόψος, λοιβῆσί τε μειλίξασθαι.
   Ὃι δ᾽ ἀνὰ μὲν κραιπνῶς λαῖφος σπάσαν, ἐκ δὲ βαλόντες
   Πείσματ᾽ ἐν αἰγιαλῷ Σθενέλου τάφον ἀμφεπένοντο,
   Χύτλα τέ οἱχεύαντο, καὶ ἥγνισαν ἔντομα μήλων._

APOLLONIUS RHODIUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Abaza (a Circassian tribe) have a strange way of burying their 
Beys. They put the body in a coffin of wood, which they nail on the 
branches of some high trees and made a hole in the coffin by the head, 
that the Bey as they say, may look unto Heaven. Bees enter the coffin, 
and make honey, and cover the body with their comb: If the season 
comes they open the coffin, take out the honey and sell it, therefore 
much caution is necessary against the honey of the Abazas.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

       *       *       *       *       *

Once in their life time, the Jews say, they are bound by the Law of 
Moses to go to the Holy Land, if they can, or be able, and the bones 
of many dead Jews are carried there, and there burnt. We were 
fraughted with wools from Constantinople to Sidon, in which sacks, as 
most certainly was told to me, were many Jew's bones put into little 
chests, but unknown to any of the ship. The Jews our Merchants told me 
of them at my return from Jerusalem to Saphet, but earnestly intreated 
me not to tell it, for fear of preventing them another time.

Going on, one of my companions said, if you will take the trouble of 
going a little out of the way, you will see a most remarkable thing. 
Well, said I, what should be the object of all pains taken in 
travelling, if it were not to admire the works of God. So we went on 
for an hour to the north, but not taking the great road leading to the 
Plain of Moosh, we advanced to a high rock that is a quarter of an 
hour out of the road. To this rock, high like a tower, a man was 
formerly chained, whose bones are yet preserved in the chains. Both 
bones and chains are in a high state of preservation. The bones of the 
arms are from seven to eight cubits in length, of an astonishing 
thickness. The skull is like the cupola of a bath, and a man may creep 
in and out without pain through the eye-holes. Eagles nestle in them. 
These bones are said to be those of a faithful man who in Abraham's 
time was chained by Nimrod to this rock, in order to be burnt by fire. 
The fire calcined part of his body, so that it melted in one part with 
the rock; but the arms and legs are stretching forth to the example of 
posterity. We have no doubt that they will rise again into life at the 
sound of the trumpet on the day of judgement.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Magistrates of Leghorn have authority to issue out orders for 
killing dogs if they abound too much in the streets, and molest the 
inhabitants. The men entrusted with the execution of these orders go 
through the city in the night, and drop small bits of poisoned bread 
in the streets. These are eaten by the dogs and instantaneously kill 
them. Before sunrise the same men go through the streets with a cart, 
gather hundreds of the dead dogs, and carry them to the Jew's burying 
ground without the town.

HASSELQUIST.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the ROMANCE OF MERLIN it is said that before the time of Christ, 
Adam and Eve and the whole ancient world were (not in Limbo) but 
actually in Hell. And that when the Prophets comforted the souls under 
their sufferings by telling them of the appointed Redeemer, the Devils 
for that reason tormented these Prophets more than others. The Devils 
themselves tell the story, _et les tourmentions plus que les autres. 
Et ilz faisoyent semblant que nostre tourment ne les grevoit riens; 
ainçois comfortoyent les aultres pecheurs et disoyent. Le Saulveur de 
tout le monde viendra qui tous nous delivrera._

       *       *       *       *       *

At the time of the deluge the wife of Noah being pregnant, was through 
the hardships of the voyage delivered of a dead child to which the 
name of Tarh was given, because the letters of this word form the 
number 217 which was the number of days he was carried by his mother 
instead of the full time of 280 days, or nine months. This child was 
buried in the district now called Djezere Ibn Omar, the Island or 
Peninsula of the son of Omar, and this was the first burial on earth 
after the deluge. And Noah prayed unto the Lord, saying, Oh God thou 
hast given me a thousand years of life, and this child is dead before 
it began to live on earth! And he begged of the Lord as a blessing 
given to the burial-place of his child, that the women of this town 
might never miscarry, which was granted; so that since that time 
women, and female animals of every kind in this town are all blessed 
with births in due time and long living. The length of the grave of 
this untimely child of Noah is 40 feet and it is visited by pilgrims.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

       *       *       *       *       *

They suppose that a few souls are peculiarly gifted with the power of 
quitting their bodies, of mounting into the skies, visiting distant 
countries, and again returning and resuming them; they call the 
mystery or prayer by which this power is obtained, the _Mandiram_.

CRAUFURD.

       *       *       *       *       *

The plain of Kerbela is all desert, inhabited by none but by the dead, 
and by roving wild hounds, the race of the dogs which licked the blood 
of the martyrs, and which since are doomed to wander through the 
wilderness.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shi whang, the K. of Tsin becoming Emperor, he chose for his sepulchre 
the mountain Li, whose foundation he caused to dig, if we may so 
speak, even to the centre of the earth. On its surface he erected a 
mausoleum which might pass for a mountain. It was five hundred feet 
high, and at least half a league in circumference. On the outside was 
a vast tomb of stone, where one might walk as easily as in the largest 
hall. In the middle was a sumptuous coffin, and all around there were 
lamps and flambeaux, whose flames were fed by human fat. Within this 
tomb, there was upon one side a pond of quicksilver, upon which were 
scattered birds of gold and silver; on the other a compleat magazine 
of moveables and arms; here and there were the most precious jewels in 
thousands.

DU HALDE.

       *       *       *       *       *

Emududakel, the Messenger of Death, receives the Soul as 'tis breathed 
out of the body into a kind of a sack, and runs away with it through 
briars and thorns and burning whirlwinds, which torment the Soul very 
sensibly, till he arrives at the bank of a fiery current, through 
which he is to pass to the other side in order to deliver the soul to 
Emen, the God of the Dead.

LETTERS TO THE DANISH MISSIONARIES.

       *       *       *       *       *

A curious story concerning the power which the Soul has been supposed 
to possess of leaving the body, in a visible form, may be found in the 
notes to the Vision of the Maid of Orleans. A more extraordinary one 
occurs in the singularly curious work of Evlia Effendi.

“Sultan Bajazet II. was a saint-monarch, like Sultan Orkhaun, or 
Sultan Mustapha I. There exist different works relating his miracles 
and deeds, but they are rare. The last seven years of his life he ate 
nothing which had blood and life. One day longing much to eat calf's 
or mutton's feet, he struggled long in that glorious contest with the 
Soul, and as at last a well-seasoned dish of feet was put before him, 
he said unto his Soul, ‘See my Soul, the feet are before thee, if thou 
wantest to enjoy them, leave the body and feed on them.’ In the same 
moment a living creature was seen to come out of his mouth, which 
drank of the juice in the dish and having satisfied its appetite 
endeavoured to return into the mouth from whence it came. But Bajazet 
having prevented it with his hand to re-enter his mouth, it fell on 
the ground, and the Sultan ordered it to be beaten. The Pages arrived 
and kicked it dead on the ground. The Mufti of that time decided that 
as the Soul was an essential part of man, this dead Soul should be 
buried: prayers were performed over it, and the dead Soul was interred 
in a small tomb near Bajazet's tomb. This is the truth of the famous 
story of Bajazet II. having died twice and having been twice buried. 
After this murder of his own soul, the Sultan remained melancholy in 
the corner of retirement, taking no part or interest in the affairs of 
government.”

The same anecdote of the Soul coming out of the mouth to relish a most 
desired dish, had already happened to the Sheik Bajazet Bostaumi, who 
had much longed to eat _Mohallebi_ (a milk-dish) but Bajazet Bostaumi 
permitted it to re-enter, and Sultan Bajazet killed it; 
notwithstanding which he continued to live for some time longer.

See _Josselyn_ for a similar tale.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Mohammed took his journey upon Alborach, Gabriel (said he) led me 
to the first Heaven, and the Angels in that Heaven graciously received 
me, and they beheld me with smiles and with joy, beseeching for me 
things prosperous and pleasant. One alone among the Angels there sat, 
who neither prayed for my prosperity, nor smiled; and Gabriel when I 
enquired of him who he was, replied, never hath that Angel smiled, nor 
will smile, he is the Keeper of the Fire, and I said to him is this 
the Angel who is called the well beloved of God? and he replied, this 
is that Angel. Then said I bid him that he show me the Fire, and 
Gabriel requesting him, he removed the cover of the vessel of Fire, 
and the Fire ascending I feared lest all things whatever that I saw 
should be consumed, and I besought Gabriel that the Fire again might 
be covered. And so the fire returned to its place, and it seemed then 
as when the Sun sinks in the West, and the gloomy Angel, remaining the 
same, covered up the Fire.

RODERICI XIMENES, ARC. TOL. HIST. ARAB.

       *       *       *       *       *

Should a Moslem when praying, feel himself disposed to gape, he is 
ordered to suppress the sensation as the work of the Devil, and to 
close his mouth, lest the father of iniquity should enter and take 
possession of his person. It is curious that this opinion prevails 
also among the Hindoos who twirl their fingers close before their 
mouths when gaping, to prevent an evil spirit from getting in that 
way.

GRIFFITHS.

       *       *       *       *       *

In what part soever of the world they die and are buried, their bodies 
must all rise to judgement in the Holy Land, out of the valley of 
Jehosophat, which causeth that the greater and richer sort of them, 
have their bones conveyed to some part thereof by their kindred or 
friends. By which means they are freed of a labour to scrape thither 
through the ground, which with their nails they hold they must, who 
are not there buried, nor conveyed thither by others.

SANDERSON. PURCHAS.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Russians in effecting a practicable road to China, discovered in 
lat. 50 N., between the rivers Irtish and Obalet, a desert of very 
considerable extent, overspread in many parts with Tumuli, or Barrows, 
which have been also taken notice of by Mr. Bell and other writers. 
This desert constitutes the southern boundary of Siberia. It is said 
the borderers on the desert, have for many years, continued to dig for 
the treasure deposited in these tumuli, which still however remain 
unexhausted. We are told that they find considerable quantities of 
gold, silver and brass, and some precious stones, among ashes and 
remains of dead bodies: also hilts of swords, armour, ornaments for 
saddles and bridles, and other trappings, with the bones of those 
animals to which the trappings belonged, among which are the bones of 
elephants. The Russian Court, says Mr. Demidoff, being informed of 
these depredations, sent a principal officer, with sufficient troops, 
to open such of these tumuli, as were too large for the marauding 
parties to undertake and to secure their contents. This Officer on 
taking a survey of the numberless monuments of the dead spread over 
this great desert, concluded that the barrow of the largest dimensions 
most probably contained the remains of the prince or chief; and he was 
not mistaken; for, after removing a very deep covering of earth and 
stones, the workmen came to three vaults, constructed of stones, of 
rude workmanship; a view of which is exhibited in the engraving. That 
wherein the prince was deposited, which was in the centre, and the 
largest of the three, was easily distinguished by the sword, spear, 
bow, quiver and arrow which lay beside him. In the vault beyond him, 
towards which his feet lay, were his horse, bridle, saddle and 
stirrups. The body of the prince lay in a reclining posture, on a 
sheet of pure gold, extending from head to foot, and another sheet of 
gold, of the like dimensions, was spread over him. He was wrapt in a 
rich mantle, bordered with gold and studded with rubies and emeralds. 
His head, neck, breast and arms naked, and without any ornament. In 
the lesser vault lay the princess, distinguished by her female 
ornaments. She was placed reclining against the wall, with a gold 
chain of many links, set with rubies, round her neck, and gold 
bracelets round her arms. The head, breast and arms were naked. The 
body was covered with a rich robe, but without any border of gold or 
jewels, and was laid on a sheet of fine gold, and covered over with 
another. The four sheets of gold weighed 40 lb. The robes of both 
looked fair and complete; but on touching, crumbled into dust. Many 
more of the tumuli were opened, but this was the most remarkable. In 
the others a great variety of curious articles were found.

MONTHLY REVIEW, Vol. 49.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following story I had from Mr. _Pierson_, factor here for the 
_African_ company, who was sent here from _Cape Coree_ to be second to 
Mr. _Smith_ then chief factor. Soon after his arrival Mr. _Smith_ fell 
very ill of the country malignant fever; and having little prospect of 
recovery, resigned his charge of the company's affairs to _Pierson_. 
This Mr. _Smith_ had the character of an obliging, ingenious young 
gentleman, and was much esteemed by the King, who hearing of his 
desperate illness, sent his _Fatishman_ to hinder him from dying; who 
coming to the factory went to Mr. _Smith's_ bed-side, and told him, 
that his King had such a kindness for him, that he had sent to keep 
him alive, and that he should not die. Mr. _Smith_ was in such a 
languishing condition, that he little regarded him. Then the 
_Fatishman_ went from him to the hog-yard, where they bury the white 
men; and having carried with him some brandy, rum, oil, rice, &c., he 
cry'd out aloud, _O you dead white men that lie here, you have a mind 
to have this factor that is sick to you, but he is our king's friend, 
and he loves him, and will not part with him as yet._ Then he went to 
captain _Wiburn's_ grave who built the factory, and cry'd, _O you 
captain of all the dead white men that lie here, this is your doings; 
you would have this man from us to bear you company, because he is a 
good man, but our king will not part with him, nor you shall not have 
him yet._ Then making a hole in the ground over his grave, he poured 
in the brandy, rum, oil, rice, &c., telling him, _If he wanted those 
things, there they were for him, but the factor he must not expect, 
nor should not have,_ with more such nonsense; then went to _Smith_, 
and assured him he should not die; but growing troublesome to the sick 
man, _Pierson_ turned him out of the factory, and in two days after 
poor _Smith_ made his _exit_.

Mr. Josiah Relph to Mr. Thomas Routh, in Castle Street, Carlisle.

June 20, 1740.

       *       *       *       *       *

“The following was sent me a few months ago by the minister of 
Kirklees in Yorkshire, the burying place of Robin Hood. My 
correspondent tells me it was found among the papers of the late Dr. 
Gale of York, and is supposed to have been the genuine epitaph of that 
noted English outlaw. He adds that the grave stone is yet to be seen, 
but the characters are now worn out.

  Here undernead dis laitl Stean
  Laiz Robert Earl of Huntingtun.
  Nea Arcir ver az hie sa geud,
  An Piple kauld im Robin Heud.
  Sick utlawz az hi and is men
  Vil england nivr si agen.

Obiit 24. Kal. Dehembris, 1247.

I am, dear Sir, your most faithful and humble Servant,

JOSIAH RELPH.”

_Note in Nichols_.—See the stone engraved in the Sepulchral Monuments, 
vol. i. p. cviii. Mr. Gough says the inscription was never on it; and 
that the stone must have been brought from another place, as the 
ground under it, on being explored, was found to have been never 
before disturbed.[2]

[Footnote 2: On the disputed question of the genuineness of the above 
epitaph, see the Notes and Illustrations to Ritson's Robin Hood, pp. 
xliv—1. Robin Hood's Death and Burial is the last Ballad in the second 
volume.

  “And there they buried bold Robin Hood,
       Near to the fair Kirkleys.”]

       *       *       *       *       *

Lord Dalmeny, son of the E. of Rosebery, married about eighty years 
ago a widow at Bath for her beauty. They went abroad, she sickened and 
on her death-bed requested that she might be interred in some 
particular church-yard, either in Sussex or Suffolk I forget which. 
The body was embalmed, but at the custom-house in the port where it 
was landed the officer suspected smuggling and insisted on opening it. 
They recognized the features of the wife of their own clergyman,—who 
having been married to him against her own inclination had eloped. 
Both husbands followed the body to the grave. The Grandfather of Dr. 
Smith of Norwich knew the Lord.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a melancholy notion of the Stoics that the condition of the 
Soul, and even its individual immortality, might be affected by the 
circumstances of death: for example, that if any person were killed by 
a great mass of earth falling upon him, or the ruins of a building, 
the Soul as well as the body would be crushed, and not being able to 
extricate itself would be extinguished there: _existimant animam 
hominis magno pondere extriti permeare non posse, et statim spargi, 
quia non fuerit illi exitus liber._

Upon this belief, the satirical epitaph on Sir John Vanbrugh would 
convey what might indeed be called a heavy curse.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some of the Greenlanders, for even in Greenland there are sects, 
suppose the soul to be so corporeal that it can increase or decrease, 
is divisible, may lose part of its substance, and have it restored 
again. On its way to Heaven which is five days dreadful journey, all 
the way down a rugged rock, which is so steep that they must slide 
down it, and so rough that their way is tracked with blood, they are 
liable to be destroyed, and this destruction, which they call the 
second death, is final, and therefore justly deemed of all things the 
most terrible. It is beyond the power of their Angekoks to remedy this 
evil; but these impostors pretend to the art of repairing a maimed 
soul, bringing home a strayed or runaway one, and of changing away one 
that is sickly, for the sound and sprightly one of a hare, a rein 
deer, a bird, or an infant.

       *       *       *       *       *

“This is the peevishness of our humane wisdom, yea, rather of our 
humane folly, to earn for tidings from the dead, as if a spirit 
departed could declare anything more evidently than the book of God, 
which is the sure oracle of life? This was Saul's practise,—neglect 
Samuel when he was alive, and seek after him when he was dead. What 
says the Prophet, _Should not a people seek unto their God? Should the 
living repair to the dead? (Isai. viij. 19.)_ Among the works of 
Athanasius I find (though he be not the author of the questions to 
Antiochus,) a discourse full of reason, why God would not permit the 
soul of any of those that departed from hence to return back unto us 
again, and to declare the state of things in hell unto us. For what 
pestilent errors would arise from thence to seduce us? Devils would 
transform themselves into the shapes of men that were deceased, 
pretend that they were risen from the dead (for what will not the 
Father of lies feign?) and so spread in any false doctrines, or incite 
us to many barbarous actions, to our endless error and destruction. 
And admit they be not Phantasms, and delusions, but the very men, yet 
all men are liars, but God is truth. I told you what a Necromancer 
Saul was in the Old Testament, he would believe nothing unless a 
prophet rose from the grave to teach him. There is another as good as 
himself in the New Testament, and not another pattern in all the 
Scripture to my remembrance, Luke xvi. 27. The rich man in hell urged 
Abraham to send Lazarus to admonish his brethren of their wicked life; 
Abraham refers to Moses and the Prophets. He that could not teach 
himself when he was alive, would teach Abraham himself being in hell, 
_Nay, Father Abraham, but if one went unto them from the dead, they 
will repent._

“The mind is composed with quietness to hear the living; the 
apparitions of dead men, beside the suspicion of delusion, would fill 
us with gastly horror, and it were impossible we should be fit 
scholars to learn if such strong perturbation of fear should be upon 
us. How much better hath God ordained for our security, and 
tranquillity, _that the priest's lips should preserve knowledge_? I 
know, if God shall see it fit to have us disciplined by such means, he 
can stir up the spirits of the faithful departed to come among us: So, 
after Christ's resurrection many dead bodies of the Saints which slept 
arose, and came out of their graves, and went into the Holy City, and 
appeared unto many. This was not upon a small matter, but upon a brave 
and renowned occasion: But for the Spirits of damnation, that are tied 
in chains of darkness, there is no repassage for them, and it makes 
more to strengthen our belief that never any did return from hell to 
tell us their woeful tale, than if any should return. It is among the 
severe penalties of damnation that there is no indulgence for the 
smallest respite to come out of it. The heathen put that truth into 
this fable. The Lion asked the Fox, why he never came to visit him 
when he was sick: Says the Fox, because I can trace many beasts by the 
print of their foot that have gone toward your den, Sir Lion, but I 
cannot see the print of one foot that ever came back:

              _Quia me vestigia terrent
  Omnia te advorsum spectantia, nulla retrorsum._

So there is a beaten, and a broad road that leads the reprobate to 
hell, but you do not find the print of one hoof that ever came back. 
When I have given you my judgment about apparitions of the dead in 
their descending from Heaven, or ascending from hell, I must tell you 
in the third place, I have met with a thousand stories in Pontifician 
writings concerning some that have had repassage from Purgatory to 
their familiars upon earth. Notwithstanding the reverence I bear to 
Gregory the Great, I cannot refrain to say; He was much to blame to 
begin such fictions upon his credulity; others have been more to blame 
that have invented such Legends; and they are most to be derided that 
believe them. _O miserable Theology!_ if, thy tenets must be confirmed 
by sick men's dreams, and dead men's phantastical apparitions!”

BP. HACKETT.

       *       *       *       *       *

“It is a morose humour in some, even ministers, that they will not 
give a due commendation to the deceased: whereby they not only offer a 
seeming unkindness to the dead, but do a real injury to the living, by 
discouraging virtue, and depriving us of the great instruments of 
piety, good examples: which usually are far more effective methods of 
instruction, than any precepts: These commonly urging only the 
necessity of those duties, while the other shew the possibility and 
manner of performing.

“But then, 'tis a most unchristian and uncharitable mistake in those, 
that think it unlawful to commemorate the dead, and to celebrate their 
memories: whereas there is no one thing does so much uphold and keep 
up the honour and interest of religion amongst the multitude, as the 
due observance of those Anniversaries which the Church has, upon this 
account, scattered throughout the whole course of the year, would do: 
and indeed to our neglect of this in a great part the present decay of 
religion may rationally be imputed.

“Thus in this age of our's what Pliny saith of his, _Postquam desimus 
facere laudanda, laudari quoque ineptum putamus._ Since people have 
left off doing things that are praiseworthy, they look upon praise 
itself as a silly thing.

“And possibly the generality of hearers themselves are not free from 
this fault; who peradventure may fancy their own life upbraided, when 
they hear another's commended.

“But that the servants of God, which depart this life in his faith and 
fear, may and must be praised, I shall endeavour to make good upon 
these three grounds.

“_In common justice to the deceased themselves._ Ordinary civility 
teaches us to speak well of the dead. _Nec quicquam sanctius habet 
reverentia superstitum, quàm ut amissos venerabiliter recordetur,_ 
says Ausonius, and makes this the ground of the Parentalia, which had 
been ever since Numa's time.

“_Praise_, however it may become the living, is a just debt to the 
deserts of the dead, who are now got clear out of the reach of envy; 
which, if it have anything of the generous in it, will scorn, 
vulture-like, to prey upon carcass.

“Besides, Christianity lays a greater obligation upon us; _The 
Communion of Saints_ is a _Tenet_ of our faith. Now, as we ought not 
_pray_ to or for them, so we may and must _praise_ them.

“This is the least we can do in return for those great offices, they 
did the Church Militant, while they were with us, and now do, they are 
with God; nor have we any other probable way of communicating with 
them.

“The Philosopher in his Morals makes it a question, whether the dead 
are in any way concerned in what befals them or their posterity after 
their decease; and whether those honours and reproaches, which 
survivors cast upon them, reach them or no? and he concludes it after 
a long debate in the affirmative; not so, he says, as to alter their 
state, but, _συμβάλλεσθαί τι_, to contribute somewhat to it.

“Tully, though not absolutely persuaded of an immortal soul, as 
speaking doubtfully and variously of it, yet is constant to this, that 
he takes a good name and a reputation, we leave behind us, to be a 
kind of immortality.

“But there is more in it than so. Our remembrance of the Saints may be 
a means to improve their bliss, and heighten their rewards to all 
eternity. Abraham, the Father of the Faithful, hath his bosom thus 
daily enlarged for new comers.

“Whether the heirs of the kingdom are, at their first admission, 
instated into a full possession of all their glory, and kept to that 
stint, I think may be a doubt. For if the faculty be perfected by the 
object, about which 'tis conversant; then the faculties of those 
blessed ones being continually employed upon an infinite object, must 
needs be infinitely perficible, and capable still of being more and 
more enlarged, and consequently of receiving still new and further 
additions of glory.

“Not only so, (this is in Heaven:) but even the influence of that 
example, they leave behind them on earth, drawing still more and more 
souls after them to God, will also add to those improvements to the 
end of the world, and bring in a revenue of accessory joys.

“And would it not be unjust in us then to deny them those glorious 
advantages, which our commemoration and inclination may and ought to 
give them.”[3]

ADAM LITTLETON.

[Footnote 3: “Five Sermons formerly printed,” p. 61., at the end of 
the volume. The one from which the above passage is extracted is that 
preached at the obsequies of the Right Honorable the Lady Jane 
Cheyne.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Circles and right lines limit and close all bodies, and the mortal 
right lined circle, must conclude to shut up all. There is no Antidote 
against the Opinion of Time, which, temporally considereth all things; 
Our Fathers find their Graves in our short memories and sadly tell us 
how we may be buried in our survivors. Grave-stones tell truth scarce 
forty years: Generations pass while some Trees stand, and old families 
last not three oaks. To be read by bare Inscriptions like many in 
Gruter, to hope for Eternity by Ænigmatical Epithetes, or first 
Letters of our names to be studied by Antiquaries, who we were, and 
have new names given us like many of the Mummies, are cold 
consolations unto the students of perpetuity even by everlasting 
Languages.

SIR T. BROWNE.




CHAPTER CCXXXVI.

CHARITY OF THE DOCTOR IN HIS OPINIONS.—MASON THE POET.—POLITICAL 
MEDICINE.—SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE.—CERVANTES.—STATE PHYSICIANS.—ADVANTAGE 
TO BE DERIVED FROM, WHETHER TO KING, CABINET, LORDS OR 
COMMONS.—EXAMPLES.—PHILOSOPHY OF POPULAR EXPRESSIONS.—COTTON 
MATHER.—CLAUDE PAJON AND BARNABAS OLEY.—TIMOTHY ROGERS AND MELANCHOLY.

                              Go to!
  You are a subtile nation, you physicians,
  And grown the only cabinets in court!

B. JONSON.


The Doctor, who was charitable in all his opinions, used to account 
and apologize for many of the errors of men, by what he called the 
original sin of their constitution, using the term not theologically, 
but in a physico-philosophical sense. What an old French physician 
said concerning Charles VIII. was in entire accord with his 
speculations,—_ce corps etoit composé de mauvais pâte, et de matiere 
cathareuse._ Men of hard hearts and heavy intellect, he said, were 
made of stony materials. For a drunkard, his qualifying censure 
was,—“poor fellow! bibulous clay—bibulous clay!” Your light-brained, 
light-hearted people, who are too giddy ever to be good, had not earth 
enough, he said, in their composition. Those upon whose ungrateful 
temper benefits were ill bestowed, and on whom the blessings of 
fortune were thrown away, he excused by saying that they were made 
from a sandy soil;—and for Mammon's muckworms,—their mould was taken 
from the dunghill.

Mason the poet was a man of ill-natured politics, out of humour with 
his country till the French Revolution startled him and brought him 
into a better state of feeling. This however was not while the Doctor 
lived, and till that time he could see nothing but tyranny and 
injustice in the proceedings of the British Government, and nothing 
but slavery and ruin to come for the nation. These opinions were the 
effects of Whiggery[1] acting upon a sour stomach and a saturnine 
constitution. To think ill of the present and augur worse of the 
future has long been accounted a proof of patriotism among those who 
by an illustrious antiphrasis call themselves patriots. “What the 
Romans scorned to do after the battle of Cannæ,” said Lord Keeper 
Finch in one of his solid and eloquent speeches, “what the Venetians 
never did when they had lost all their _terra firma_, that men are now 
taught to think a virtue and the sign of a wise and good man, 
_desperare de Republica_: and all this in a time of as much justice 
and peace at home, as good laws for the security of religion and 
liberty, as good execution of these laws, as great plenty of trade and 
commerce abroad, and as likely a conjuncture of affairs for the 
continuance of these blessings to us, as ever nation prospered under.”

[Footnote 1: See Vol. IV. p. 375.]

The Doctor, when he spoke of this part of Mason's character, explained 
it by saying that the elements had not been happily tempered in 
him—“cold and dry, Sir!” and then he shook his head and knit his brow 
with that sort of compassionate look which came naturally into his 
countenance when he was questioned concerning a patient whose state 
was unfavourable.

But though he believed that many of our sins and propensities are bred 
in the bone, he disputed the other part of the proverb, and maintained 
that they might be got out of the flesh. And then generalizing with a 
rapidity worthy of Humboldt himself, he asserted that all political 
evils in modern ages and civilized states were mainly owing to a 
neglect of the medical art;—and that there would not, and could not be 
so many distempers in the body politic, if the _primæ viæ_ were but 
attended to with proper care; an opinion in which he was fortified by 
the authority of Sir William Temple.

“I have observed the fate of _Campania_,” says that eminent statesman, 
“determine contrary to all appearances, by the caution and conduct of 
a General, which was attributed by those that knew him, to his age and 
infirmities, rather than his own true qualities, acknowledged 
otherwise to have been as great as most men of the age. I have seen 
the counsels of a noble country grow bold, or timorous, according to 
the fits of his good or ill-health that managed them, and the pulse of 
the Government beat high with that of the Governor; and this unequal 
conduct makes way for great accidents in the world. Nay, I have often 
reflected upon the counsels and fortunes of the greatest monarchies 
rising and decaying sensibly with the ages and healths of the Princes 
and chief officers that governed them. And I remember one great 
minister that confessed to me, when he fell into one of his usual fits 
of the gout, he was no longer able to bend his mind or thought to any 
public business, nor give audiences beyond two or three of his 
domestics, though it were to save a kingdom; and that this proceeded 
not from any violence of pain, but from a general languishing and 
faintness of spirits, which made him in those fits think nothing worth 
the trouble of one careful or solicitous thought. For the approaches, 
or lurkings of the Gout, the Spleen, or the Scurvy, nay the very fumes 
of indigestion, may indispose men to thought and to care, as well as 
diseases of danger and pain. Thus accidents of health grow to be 
accidents of State, and public constitutions come to depend in a great 
measure upon those of particular men; which makes it perhaps seem 
necessary in the choice of persons for great employments (at least 
such as require constant application and pains) to consider their 
bodies as well as their minds, and ages and health as well as their 
abilities.”

Cervantes according to the Doctor clearly perceived this great truth, 
and went farther than Sir W. Temple, for he perceived also the 
practical application, though it was one of those truths which because 
it might have been dangerous for him to propound them seriously, he 
was fain to bring forward in a comic guise, leaving it for the wise to 
discover his meaning, and for posterity to profit by it. He 
knew—(_Daniel loquitur_) what did not Cervantes know?—that if Philip 
II. had committed himself to the superintendence of a Physician 
instead of a Father Confessor, many of the crimes and miseries by 
which his reign is so infamously distinguished, might have been 
prevented. A man of his sad spirit and melancholy complection to be 
dieted upon fish the whole forty days of Lent, two days in the week 
during the rest of the year, and on the eve of every holiday 
besides,—what could be expected but atrabilious thoughts, and 
cold-blooded resolutions? Therefore Cervantes appointed a Physician 
over Sancho in his Baratarian government: the humour of the scene was 
for all readers, the application for those who could penetrate beyond 
the veil, the benefit for happier ages when the art of Government 
should be better understood, and the science of medicine be raised to 
its proper station in the state.

Shakespere intended to convey the same political lesson, when he said 
“take physic pomp!” He used the word pomp instead of power, 
cautiously, for in those days it was a perilous thing to meddle with 
matters of state.

When the Philosopher Carneades undertook to confute Zeno the Stoic in 
public argument, (still reader _Daniel loquitur_) how did he prepare 
himself for the arduous disputation? by purging his head with 
hellebore, to the intent that the corrupt humours which ascended 
thither from the stomach should not disturb the seat of memory and 
judgment, and obscure his intellectual perception. The theory, Sir, 
was erroneous, but the principle is good. When we require best music 
from the instrument, ought we not first to be careful that all its 
parts are in good order, and if we find a string that jars, use our 
endeavours for tuning it?

It may have been the jest of a satirist that Dryden considered stewed 
prunes as the best means of putting his body into a state favourable 
for heroic composition; but that odd person George Wither tells us of 
himself that he usually watched and fasted when he composed, that his 
spirit was lost if at such times he tasted meat or drink, and that if 
he took a glass of wine he could not write a verse:—no wonder 
therefore that his verses were for the most part in a weak and watery 
vein.[2] Father Paul Sarpi had a still more extraordinary custom; it 
is not to an enemy, but to his friend and admirers that we are 
indebted for informing us with what care that excellent writer 
attended to physical circumstance as affecting his intellectual 
powers. For when he was either reading or writing, alone, “his 
manner,” says Sir Henry Wotton, “was to sit fenced with a castle of 
paper about his chair, and over head; for he was of our Lord of St. 
Alban's opinion _that all air is predatory_, and especially hurtful 
when the spirits are most employed.”

[Footnote 2: The Greek Proverb, adverted to by Horace in i. Epist. 
xix., was in the Doctor's thoughts.

  _ὓδωρ δὲ πίνων οὐδὲν ἂν τέκοι σοφόν._]

There should be a State Physician to the King, besides his Physicians 
ordinary and extraordinary,—one whose sole business should be to watch 
over the royal health as connected with the discharge of the royal 
functions, a head keeper of the King's health.

For the same reason there ought to be a Physician for the Cabinet, a 
Physician for the Privy Council, a Physician for the Bench of Bishops, 
a Physician for the twelve Judges, two for the House of Lords, four 
for the House of Commons, one for the Admiralty, one for the War 
Office, one for the Directors of the East India Company, (there was no 
Board of Controul in the Doctor's days, or he would certainly have 
advised that a Physician should be placed upon that Establishment 
also): one for the Lord Mayor, two for the Common Council, four for 
the Livery. (He was speaking in the days of Wilkes and Liberty). How 
much mischief, said he, might have been prevented by cupping the Lord 
Mayor, blistering a few of the Aldermen, administering salts and manna 
to lower the pulse of civic patriotism, and keeping the city orators 
upon a low regimen for a week before every public meeting.

Then in the Cabinet what evils might be averted by administering 
laxatives or corroborants as the case required.

In the Lords and Commons, by clearing away bile, evacuating ill 
humours and occasionally by cutting for the simples.[3]

[Footnote 3: The probable origin of this Proverb is given in Grose's 
Dictionary of the vulgar tongue.]

While men are what they are, weak, frail, inconstant, fallible, 
peccable, sinful creatures,—it is in vain to hope that Peers and 
Commoners will prepare themselves for the solemn exercise of their 
legislative functions by fasting and prayer,—that so they may be 
better fitted for retiring into themselves, and consulting upon 
momentous questions the Urim and Thummim which God hath placed in the 
breast of every man. But even as Laws are necessary for keeping men 
within the limits of their duty when conscience fails, so in this case 
it should be part of the law of Parliament that what its Members will 
not do for themselves, the Physician should do for them. They should 
go through a preparatory course of medicine before every session, and 
be carefully attended as long as Parliament was sitting.

Traces of such a practice, as of many important and primeval truths, 
are found among savages, from whom the Doctor was of opinion that much 
might be learnt, if their customs were diligently observed and their 
traditions carefully studied. In one of the bravest nations upon the 
Mississippi, the warriors before they set out upon an expedition 
always prepared themselves by taking the Medicine of War, which was an 
emetic, about a gallon in quantity for each man, and to be swallowed 
at one draught. There are other tribes in which the Beloved Women 
prepare a beverage at the Physic Dance, and it is taken to wash away 
sin.

Here said the Doctor are vestiges of early wisdom, probably 
patriarchal and if so, revealed,—for he held that all needful 
knowledge was imparted to man at his creation. And the truth of the 
principle is shown in common language. There is often a philosophy in 
popular expressions and forms of speech, which escapes notice, because 
words are taken as they are uttered, at their current value and we 
rest satisfied with their trivial acceptation. We take them in the 
husk and the shell, but sometimes it is worth while to look for the 
kernel. Do we not speak of _sound_ and orthodox opinions,—_sound_ 
principles, _sound_ learning? _mens sana in corpore sano._ A sound 
mind is connected with a sound body, and sound and orthodox opinions 
result from the sanity of both. Unsound opinions are diseased ones, 
and therefore the factious, the heretical and the schismatic, ought to 
be put under the care of a physician.

“I have read of a gentleman,” says Cotton Mather, “who had an humour 
of making singular and fanciful expositions of scripture; but one 
Doctor Sim gave him a dose of physic, which when it had wrought, the 
gentleman became orthodox immediately and expounded at the old rate no 
more.”

Thus as the accurate and moderate and erudite Mosheim informs us, the 
French theologian Claude Pajon was of opinion that in order to produce 
that amendment of the heart which is called regeneration, nothing more 
is requisite than to put the body, if its habit is bad, into a sound 
state by the power of physic, and having done this, than to set truth 
and falsehood before the understanding, and virtue and vice before the 
will, clearly and distinctly in their genuine colours, so as that 
their nature and their properties may be fully apprehended. But the 
Doctor thought that Pajon carried his theory too far, and ought to 
have been physicked himself.

That learned and good man Barnabas Oley, the friend and biographer of 
the saintly Herbert, kept within the bounds of discretion, when he 
delivered an opinion of the same tendency. After showing what power is 
exercised by art over nature, 1st. in inanimate materials, 2dly. in 
vegetables, and 3dly. the largeness or latitude of its power over the 
memory, the imagination and locomotive faculties of sensitive 
creatures, he proceeds to the fourth rank, the rational, “which adds a 
diadem of excellency to the three degrees above mentioned, being an 
approach unto the nature angelical and divine.” “Now,” says he, “1st. 
in as much as the human body partly agrees with the first rank of 
materials inanimate, so can Art partly use it, as it uses them, to 
frame (rather to modify the frame of) it into great variety; the head 
thus, the nose so; and other ductile parts, as is seen and read, after 
other fashions. 2. Art can do something to the Body answerable to what 
Gardeners do to plants. If our Blessed Saviour's words (Matthew VI. 
27.) deny all possibility of adding procerity or tallness to the 
stature, yet as the Lord Verulam notes to make the Body dwarfish, 
crook-shouldered (as some Persians did) to recover straightness, or 
procure slenderness, is in the power of Art. But, 3. much more 
considerable authority has it over the humours, either so to impel and 
enrage them, that like furious streams they shall dash the Body (that 
bottom wherein the precious Soul is embarked) against dangerous rocks, 
or run it upon desperate sands; or so to attemper and tune them, that 
they shall become like calm waters or harmonious instruments for 
virtuous habits, introduced by wholesome moral precepts, to practise 
upon. It is scarce credible what services the _Noble Science of 
Physic_ may do unto Moral, (_yea to Grace and Christian_) virtue, by 
prescribing diet to prevent, or medicine to allay the fervors and 
eruptions of humours, of blood, and of that _irriguum concupiscentiæ_, 
or _ὁ τροχὸς τῆς γενέσεως_, especially if these jewels, their recipes, 
light into obedient ears. These helps of bettering nature, are within 
her lowest and middle region of Diet and Medicine.”

A sensible woman of the Doctor's acquaintance, (the mother of a young 
family) entered so far into his views upon this subject, that she 
taught her children from their earliest childhood to consider 
ill-humour as a disorder which was to be cured by physic. Accordingly 
she had always small doses ready, and the little patients whenever it 
was thought needful took rhubarb _for the crossness_. No punishment 
was required. Peevishness or ill-temper and rhubarb were associated in 
their minds always as cause and effect.

There are Divines who have thought that melancholy may with advantage 
be treated in age, as fretfulness in this family was in childhood. 
Timothy Rogers, who having been long afflicted with Trouble of Mind 
and the Disease of Melancholy, wrote a discourse concerning both for 
the use of his fellow sufferers, says of Melancholy, that “it does 
generally indeed first begin at the body, and then conveys its venom 
to the mind; and if any thing could be found that might keep the blood 
and spirits in their due temper and motion, this would obstruct its 
further progress, and in a great measure keep the soul clear. I 
pretend not (he continues) to tell you what medicines are proper to 
remove it, and I know of none, I leave you to advise with such as are 
learned in the profession of Physic.” And then he quotes a passage 
from “old Mr. Greenham's Comfort for afflicted Consciences.” “If a 
Man,” saith old Mr. Greenham, “that is troubled in conscience come to 
a Minister, it may be he will look all to the Soul and nothing to the 
Body: if he come to a Physician he considereth the Body and neglecteth 
the Soul. For my part, I would never have the Physician's counsel 
despised, nor the labour of the Minister neglected: because the Soul 
and Body dwelling together,—it is convenient, that as the Soul should 
be cured by the Word, by Prayer, by Fasting, or by Comforting, so the 
Body must be brought into some temperature by physic, and diet, by 
harmless diversions and such like ways; providing always that it be so 
done in the fear of God, as not to think by these ordinary means quite 
to smother or evade our troubles, but to use them as preparatives, 
whereby our Souls may be made more capable of the spiritual methods 
which are to follow afterwards.”

But Timothy Bright, Doctor of Physic, is the person who had the most 
profound reverence for the medical art. “No one,” he said, “should 
touch so holy a thing that hath not passed the whole discipline of 
liberal sciences, and washed himself pure and clean in the waters of 
wisdom and understanding.” “O Timothy Bright, Timothy Bright,” said 
the Doctor, “rightly wert thou called Timothy Bright, for thou wert a 
Bright Timothy!” Nor art thou less deserving of praise, O Timothy 
Bright, say I, for having published an abridgement of the Book of Acts 
and Monuments of the Church, written by that Reverend Father Master 
John Fox, and by thee thus reduced into a more accessible form,—for 
such as either through want of leisure or ability, have not the use of 
so necessary a history.




CHAPTER CCXXXVII.

MORE MALADIES THAN THE BEST PHYSICIANS CAN PREVENT BY REMEDIES.—THE 
DOCTOR NOT GIVEN TO QUESTIONS, AND OF THE POCO-CURANTE SCHOOL AS TO 
ALL THE POLITICS OF THE DAY.

A slight answer to an intricate and useless question is a fit cover to 
such a dish; a cabbage leaf is good enough to cover a pot of 
mushrooms.

JEREMY TAYLOR.


Yet in his serious moods the Doctor sadly confessed with that Sir 
George, whom the Scotch ungratefully call Bloody Mackenzie, that “as 
in the body natural, so likewise in the politic, Nature hath provided 
more diseases than the best of Physicians can prevent by remedies.” He 
knew that kingdoms as well as individuals have their agues and 
calentures, are liable to plethora sometimes and otherwhiles to 
atrophy, to fits of madness which no hellebore can cure, and to decay 
and dissolution which no human endeavours can avert. With the maladies 
of the State indeed he troubled himself not, for though a true-born 
Englishman, he was as to all politics of the day, of the Poco-curante 
school. But with those of the human frame his thoughts were 
continually employed; it was his business to deal with them; his duty 
and his earnest desire to heal them, under God's blessing, where 
healing was humanly possible, or to alleviate them, when any thing 
more than alleviation was beyond the power of human skill.

The origin of evil was a question upon which he never ventured. Here 
too, he said with Sir George Mackenzie, “as I am not able by the 
Jacob's Ladder of my merit to scale Heaven, so am I less able by the 
Jacob's Staff of my private ability to take up the true altitude of 
its mysteries:” and borrowing a play upon words from the same old 
Essayist, he thought the brain had too little _pia mater_, which was 
too curious in such inquiries. But the mysteries of his own profession 
afforded “ample room and verge enough” for his speculations, however 
wide and wild their excursions. Those mysteries are so many, so 
momentous, and so inscrutable that he wondered not at any 
superstitions which have been excogitated by bewildered imagination, 
and implicitly followed by human weakness in its hopes and fears, its 
bodily and its mental sufferings.

As little did he wonder at the theories advanced by men who were in 
their days, the Seraphic and Angelic and Irrefragable Doctors of the 
healing art:—the tartar of Paracelsus, the Blas and Gas of Van 
Helmont, nor in later times at the animalcular hypotheses of Langius 
and Paullinus; nor at the belief of elder nations, as the Jews, and of 
savages every-where that all maladies are the immediate work of evil 
spirits. But when he called to mind the frightful consequences to 
which the belief of this opinion has led, the cruelties which have 
been exercised, the crimes which have been perpetrated, the miseries 
which have been inflicted and endured, it made him shudder at 
perceiving that the most absurd error may produce the greatest 
mischief to society, if it be accompanied with presumption, and if any 
real or imaginary interest be connected with maintaining it.

The Doctor like his Master and benefactor Peter Hopkins, was of the 
Poco-curante school in politics. He said that the Warwickshire 
gentleman who was going out with his hounds when the two armies were 
beginning to engage at Edge-hill, was not the worst Englishman who 
took the field that day.

Local circumstances favoured this tendency to political indifference. 
It was observed in the 34th Chapter of this Opus that one of the many 
reasons for which our Philosopher thought Doncaster a very likeable 
place of residence was that it sent no Members to Parliament. And 
Yorkshire being too large a county for any of its great families to 
engage lightly in contesting it, the Election fever however it might 
rage in other towns or other parts of the county, never prevailed 
there. But the constitution of the Doctor's mind secured him from all 
excitement of this nature. Even in the days of Wilkes and Liberty, 
when not a town in England escaped the general Influenza, he was not 
in the slightest degree affected by it, nor did he ever take up the 
Public Advertiser for the sake of one of Junius's Letters.




CHAPTER CCXXXVIII.

SIMONIDES.—FUNERAL POEMS.—UNFEELING OPINION IMPUTED TO THE GREEK POET, 
AND EXPRESSED BY MALHERBE.—SENECA.—JEREMY TAYLOR AND THE DOCTOR ON 
WHAT DEATH MIGHT HAVE BEEN, AND WERE MEN WHAT CHRISTIANITY WOULD MAKE 
THEM, MIGHT BE.

  _Intendale chi può; che non è stretto
   Alcuno a creder pïu di quel che vuole._

ORLANDO INNAMORATO.


Among the lost works of antiquity, there are few poems which I should 
so much rejoice in recovering, as those of Simonides. Landor has said 
of him that he and Pindar wrote nothing bad; that his characteristics 
were simplicity, brevity, tenderness, and an assiduous accuracy of 
description. “If I were to mention,” he adds “what I fancy would give 
an English reader the best idea of his manner, I should say, the book 
of Ruth.”

One species of composition wherein he excelled was that which the 
Dutch in their straight-forward way call _Lykzangen_ or _Lykdichten_, 
but for which we have no appropriate name,—poems in commemoration of 
the dead. Beautiful specimens are to be found in the poetry of all 
countries, and this might be expected, threnodial being as natural as 
amatory verse; and as the characteristic of the latter is passion with 
little reflection, that of the former is, as naturally, to be at the 
same time passionate and thoughtful.

Our own language was rich in such poems during the Elizabethan age, 
and that which followed it. Of foreign poets none has in this 
department exceeded Chiabrera.

There is a passage among the fragments of Simonides which is called by 
his old editor consolatory, _παρηγορικόν_: but were it not for the 
authority of Seneca, who undoubtedly was acquainted with the whole 
poem, I should not easily be persuaded that so thoughtful, so pensive, 
so moralizing a poet would, in any mood of mind have recommended such 
consolation:

  _Τοῦ μὲν θανόντος οὐκ ἄν ἐνθυμοίμεθα,
   Εἴ τι φρονοῖμεν, πλεῖον ἡμέρας μιᾶς·_

let us not call to mind the dead, if we think of him at all, more than 
a single day. Indeed I am not certain from what Seneca says, whether 
the poet was speaking in his own, or in an assumed character, nor 
whether he spoke seriously or satirically; or I cannot but suspect 
that the passage would appear very differently, if we saw it in its 
place. Malherbe gives the same sort of advice in his consolation to M. 
du Périer upon the death of a daughter.

  _Ne te lasse donc plus d'inutiles complaintes;
         Mais sage à l'avenir,
   Aime une ombre comme ombre, et des cendres éteintes
         Eteins le souvenir;_

such a feeling is much more in character with a Frenchman than with 
Simonides.

Seneca himself, Stoic though he was, gave no such advice, but 
accounted the remembrance of his departed friends among his solemn 
delights, not looking upon them as lost: “_mihi amicorum defunctorum 
cogitatio dulcis ac blanda est; habui enim illos, tanquam amissurus; 
amissi tanquam habeam._”

My venerable friend was not hardened by a profession, which has too 
often the effect of blunting the feelings, even if it does not harden 
the heart. His disposition and his happy education preserved him from 
that injury; and as his religion taught him that death was not in 
itself an evil,—that for him, and for those who believed with him, it 
had no sting,—the subject was as familiar to his meditations as to his 
professional practice. A speculation which Jeremy Taylor, without 
insisting on it, offers to the consideration of inquisitive and modest 
persons, appeared to him far more probable than the common opinion 
which Milton expresses when he says that the fruit of the Forbidden 
Tree brought death into the world. That, the Bishop argues, “which 
_would have been_, had there been no sin, and that which _remains_ 
when the sin or guiltiness is gone, is not properly the punishment of 
the sin. But dissolution of the soul and body should have been, if 
Adam had not sinned; for the world would have been too little to have 
entertained those myriads of men, which must, in all reason, have been 
born from that blessing of ‘Increase and multiply,’ which was given at 
the first creation: and to have confined mankind to the pleasures of 
this world, in case he had not fallen, would have been a punishment of 
his innocence: but however, it _might have been_, though God had not 
been angry, and _shall still be_, even when the sin is taken off. The 
proper consequent of this will be, that when the Apostle says ‘Death 
came in by Sin,’ and that ‘Death is the wages of Sin,’ he primarily 
and literally means the solemnities, and causes, and infelicities, and 
untimeliness of temporal death; and not merely the dissolution, which 
is directly no evil, but an inlet to a better state.”

As our friend agreed in this opinion with Bishop Taylor; and moreover 
as he read in Scriptures that Enoch and Elijah had been translated 
from this world without tasting of death; and as he deemed it probable 
at least, that St. John, the beloved disciple, had been favoured with 
a like exemption from the common lot, he thought that Asgill had been 
hardly dealt with in being expelled from Parliament for his 
“Argument,” that according to the Covenant of Eternal Life, revealed 
in the Scriptures, man might be translated from hence, without passing 
through death. The opinion Dr. Dove thought, might be enthusiastic, 
the reasoning wild, the conclusion untenable, and the manner of the 
book indecorous, or irreverent. But he had learnt that much, which 
appears irreverent, and in reality is so, has not been irreverently 
intended; and the opinion, although groundless, seemed to him any 
thing rather than profane.

But the exemptions which are recorded in the Bible could not, in his 
judgement be considered as showing what would have been the common lot 
if our first parents had preserved their obedience. This he opined 
would more probably have been euthanasy than translation; death, not 
preceded by infirmity and decay, but as welcome, and perhaps as 
voluntary as sleep.

Or possibly the transition from a corporeal to a spiritual,—or more 
accurately in our imperfect language,—from an earthly to a celestial 
state of being, might have been produced by some developement, some 
formal mutation as visible, (adverting to a favourite fancy of his 
own) as that which in the butterfly was made by the ancients their 
emblem of immortality. Bishop Van Mildert shews us upon scriptural 
authority that “the degree of perfection at which we may arrive has no 
definite limits, but is to go on increasing as long as this state of 
probation continues.” So in the paradisiacal, and possibly in the 
millennial state, he thought, that with such an intellectual and moral 
improvement, a corresponding organic evolution might keep pace; and 
that as the child expands into man, so man might mature into Angel.




CHAPTER CCXXXIX.

THE DOCTOR DISSENTS FROM A PROPOSITION OF WARBURTON'S AND SHEWS IT TO 
BE FALLACIOUS.—HUTCHINSON'S REMARKS ON THE POWERS OF BRUTES.—LORD 
SHAFTESBURY QUOTED.—APOLLONIUS AND THE KING OF BABYLON.—DISTINCTION IN 
THE TALMUD BETWEEN AN INNOCENT BEAST AND A VICIOUS ONE.—OPINION OF 
ISAAC LA PEYRESC.—THE QUESTION DE ORIGINE ET NATURA ANIMARUM IN BRUTIS 
AS BROUGHT BEFORE THE THEOLOGIANS OF SEVEN PROTESTANT ACADEMIES IN THE 
YEAR 1635 BY DANIEL SENNERTUS.

_Toutes veritez ne sont pas bonnes à dire serieusement._

GOMGAM.


Warburton has argued that “from the _nature_ of any action morality 
cannot arise, nor from its effects;—not from the first, because being 
only reasonable or unreasonable, nothing follows but a fitness in 
doing one, and an absurdity in doing the other;—not from the second, 
because did the good or evil produced make the action _moral_, brutes 
from whose actions proceed both good and evil, would have morality.” 
But Warburton's proposition is fallacious, and his reasoning is 
inconclusive; there is an essential difference between right and 
wrong, upon which the moral law is founded; and in the _reductio ad 
absurdum_ upon which he relies, there is no absurdity. The language of 
the people is sometimes true to nature and philosophy when that of the 
learned departs widely from the one, and is mistaken in the other. 
When we call a beast vicious, we mean strictly what the word implies; 
and if we never speak of one as virtuous, it is because man reserves 
the praise of virtue to his own kind. The word good supplies its 
place. A horse that has any vice in him is never called good.

“In this case alone it is,” says Lord Shaftesbury, “we call any 
creature worthy or virtuous, when it can have the notion of a public 
interest, and can attain the speculation or science of what is morally 
good or ill, admirable or blameable, right or wrong. For though we may 
vulgarly call a horse _vicious_, yet we never say of a good one, nor 
of any mere beast, idiot, or changeling, though ever so good-natured, 
that he is _worthy_ or _virtuous_.

“So that if a creature be generous, kind, constant, compassionate, yet 
if he cannot reflect on what he himself does, or sees others do, so as 
to take notice of what is _worthy_ or _honest_; and make that notice 
or conception of _worth_ and _honesty_ to be an object of his 
affection, he has not the character of being virtuous; for thus, and 
no otherwise, he is capable of having a sense of right and wrong; a 
sentiment or judgement of what is done through just, equal and good 
affection, or the contrary.”

The Jews upon this subject agree with the common and natural opinion; 
and the Talmud accordingly, when any mischief has been done by an 
animal, distinguishes between an innocent beast and a vicious one, the 
owner of an innocent one being required to pay only half the amount of 
an injury thus, as it was deemed, casually incurred. There have been 
cases in which the laws have considered a beast as guilty of a crime, 
and amenable therefore to penal justice. In the year 1403 Simon de 
Baudemont, Lieutenant at Meulont of Jhean Lord of Maintenon the 
Bailiff of Mantes and Meulont, signed an attestation making known the 
expences, which had been incurred in order to execute justice on a Sow 
that had eaten a child. “For expences with the jail the charge was six 
_sols_. Item, to the executioner who came from Paris to Meulont to put 
the sentence in execution by the command of our Lord the Bailiff and 
of the king's Attorney, 54 _sols_. Item, for the carriage that 
conveyed her to execution, 6 _sols_. Item, for ropes to tie and haul 
her up, 2 _sols_, 8 _deniers_. Item, for gloves 12 _deniers_; 
amounting in the whole to 69 _sols_, 8 _deniers_.” It must be supposed 
the Executioner insisted upon the gloves, as a point of honour, that 
no one might reproach him with having sullied his hands by performing 
upon such a subject.

When Apollonius was introduced to the King of Babylon, the King 
invited him to sacrifice with him, for he was about to offer a Nisean 
horse to the Sun, selected for its beauty and adorned with all pomp 
for the occasion. But the Philosopher replied, “O King do you 
sacrifice after your manner, and give me leave to sacrifice after 
mine.” He then took frankincense, and prayed, saying, “O Sun, conduct 
me so far as it seemeth good to me and to thee. And let me become 
acquainted with virtuous men; but as for the wicked, let me neither 
know them nor they me.” And throwing the frankincense in the fire he 
observed the smoke, how it ascended and which way it bent, and just 
touching the fire when it seemed that he had sacrificed enough, he 
said to the King that he had performed the rites of his country, and 
forthwith withdrew that he might have nothing to do with blood and 
slaughter. Afterwards when the King took him where were many lions, 
bears and panthers reserved for sport, invited him to go with him and 
hunt them, Apollonius replied, “King, you should remember, that I did 
not chuse to be present at your sacrifice, much less should I like to 
see animals wounded, and by the pain of their wounds rendered more 
ferocious than nature has made them.”

Isaac la Peyresc thought differently from the Talmudists and the 
French Lawyers. He says, quoting the Apostle, _Ubi non est lex, neque 
prævaricatio est._ Where ‘no law is, there is no transgression.’ 
_Prævaricatio autem eadem est, quæ transgressio legis: illa ipsa 
proprie quæ peccatum imputationis labe infecit. Quod ut compingatur in 
oculos: pecudes actualiter et materialiter eadem faciunt, quæ 
transgrediuntur homines; incestant, rapiunt, occidunt; non erit tamen 
uspiam adeo supinus qui dicat, pecudes peccare ad similitudinem 
transgressionis hominum; quia pecudes quæ hæc peccant, sequuntur 
tantum suam naturam et suam materiam; neque legum transgrediuntur 
ullam, quia nulla eis data est cujus transgressione formetur in eis et 
imputetur peccatum._

Yet it cannot be doubted that in such a case Peyresc himself, 
disregarding his own arguments would have ordered the Sow to be put to 
death.

This author derives _peccatum_ from _pecus_, for, says he, “as often 
as a man wilfully departs from that right reason which constitutes him 
man,—as often as under the impulse of that brute matter which he has 
in common with beasts, he commits any action fitting in a beast, but 
unworthy in man, so often he seems to fall below his own species, and 
sink into that of a brute.” “_Latini nomen peccati mutuati sunt à 
pecore. Quoties enim homo delirat à rectâ ratione illa quæ hominem 
constituit; quoties impulsu materiæ suæ quam habet communem cum 
brutis, quid agit dignum pecore, et indignum homine, toties cadere 
videtur à specie suâ, et incidere in speciem pecoris sive bruti._”

_Pecunia_ is known to be derived from _Pecus_, wealth, of which money 
is the representative, having originally consisted in cattle. As money 
is proverbially the root of all evil, this etymological connection 
might be remarkable enough to be deemed mysterious by those who are 
fond of discovering mysteries in words.

“Brutes,” Hutchinson says, “are made in scripture objects to inculcate 
the duties in society, and even emblems of spiritual and divine 
perfections. Many of them are more strictly bound in pairs than is 
common between men and women; many both males and females take greater 
care and pains, and run greater risques for the education and defence 
of their young, than any of our species. Many of them excel us in 
instructing their young, so in policy, in industry, in mechanical arts 
and operations. And there are other species among them, examples to 
deter men from the vices in society.” “The power in brutes,” he says, 
“is by the same agent as that in the body of man, and they are made of 
the same species of dust; most of them are guided by what is called 
instinct; some of them are tamed and disciplined and their powers made 
serviceable to men, and all of them are subject to the immediate power 
of God, when he pleases to direct them. Mechanism is carried so far in 
them, that in the parts or degrees of sensation they excel man; that 
by every one of their actions man might see the _ne plus ultra_ of 
sense, and know how to distinguish the difference between them and the 
decayed image in him, to value it accordingly, and excite a 
proportionate zeal in him to recover the first perfections in that 
image, and augment them to secure the pleasure of exercising them upon 
the most desirable objects to all eternity.” So far so good, but this 
once influential writer makes an erroneous conclusion when he says, 
“if you allow anything farther than mechanism to Brutes, imagine that 
they have souls, or think, or act the part of souls: you either begin 
to think that you have no soul, or that it is, such as are in Brutes, 
mortal.”

The question _de Origine et Naturâ Animarum in Brutis_ was brought 
before the Theologians of seven Protestant Academies in the year 1635, 
by Daniel Sennertus Professor of Medicine at Wittemberg, of whose 
Institutes Sir Thomas Browne says to a student in that art, “assure 
yourself that when you are a perfect master of them you will seldom 
meet with any point in physic to which you will not be able to speak 
like a man.” It was the opinion of this very learned professor that 
what in scholastic language is called the _form_ of every perfect 
thing, (distinguished from _figure,—forma est naturæ bonum, figura, 
artis opus_) though it is not a soul, yet even in precious stones is 
something altogether different from the four elements, and that every 
soul, or living principle, is a certain quintessence; the wonderful 
operations in plants, and the more wonderful actions of brute 
creatures, far exceeding all power of the elements, had convinced him 
of this. But for asserting it, Freitagius the medical Professor at 
Groninghen attacked him fiercely as a blasphemer and a heretic. 
Sennertus being then an old man was more moved by this outrage than 
became one of his attainments and high character. So he laid the case 
before the Universities of Leipsic, Rostock, Basle, Marpurg, 
Konigsberg, Jena, Strasburg, and Altorff, and he requested their 
opinion upon these two propositions, whether what he had affirmed, 
that the souls of brute creatures had been created at first from 
nothing by the Deity, and were not of an elementary nature, but of 
something different, was blasphemous and heretical, or whether it were 
not an ignorant opinion of his assailant, that brute animals consisted 
wholly of elementary matter, both as to their body and soul?

They all answered the questions more or less at large, the Leipsic 
Doctors saying _officii nostri duximus esse ut in timore Domini ea sub 
diligentem disquisitionem vocaremus._ They saw nothing irreligious in 
the opinion that God at the creation had formed the bodies of brutes 
from elementary matter, and created their souls _ex nihilo_; after 
which both were reproduced in the natural course of generation; these 
souls however were not immortal, nor so separable from the matter with 
which they were united, as to survive it, and exist without it, or 
return again into their bodies; but when the animals died, the animal 
soul died also. Thus the excellence of man was unimpaired, and the 
privilege of the human soul remained inviolate, the prerogative of man 
being that God had breathed into him the breath of life, whereby he 
became a living soul. Thus they fully acquitted Sennertus of the 
charge brought against him; and waiving any such direct condemnation 
of his accuser as he had desired, condemned in strong terms the 
insolent manner in which the accusation had been preferred.

The Theologians of Rostock replied more briefly. Dismissing at once 
the charge of blasphemy and heresy as absurd, they treated the 
question as purely philosophical, saying, “_Quod de elementari naturâ 
animarum brutorum dicitur, de illo nostrum non est disserere. 
Arbitramur, hæc non solum Philosophorum, sed et libertati, super his 
modestè, veritatis inveniendæ studio, philosophantium permittenda; 
quos nimium constringere, et unius hominis, Aristotelis, alteriusve, 
velle alligare opinioni, pugnare videtur cum naturâ intellectus 
humani, quem nulli opinioni servum Deus esse voluit._” Concerning the 
second question, they were not willing, they said, to draw the saw of 
contention with any one; “_Si tamen, quod sentimus dicendum est, 
respondemus, illum qui cœlum et terram ex nihilo creavit, non eguisse 
ullâ materiâ, ex quâ brutorum animas produceret; sed illi placuisse 
iis quæ Moses recitat verbis compellare terram et aquam, et ad solius 
Omnipotentis nutum et imperium, ex subjectis quæ compellârit, animas 
emersisse._” This answer Sennertus obtained through his friend 
Lauremberg the Horticulturist and Botanist, who advised him at the 
same time to disregard all invidious attacks; “_Turbas tibi dari quòd 
liberè philosophari satagis, id ipse nôsti, neque novum esse, neque 
insolens, hâc ætate. Eandem tecum sortem experiuntur omnes eleganter 
et solidè eruditi, quibus qui paria facere non valet, invidet et 
oblatrat. Tu verò noli hoc nomine te quicquam macerare neu 
obtrectationem illam gravius vocare ad animum. Nota est orbi tua 
eruditio, tua virtus et ingenuitas, quæ ea propter nullam patietur 
jacturam. Tu modo, ut hactenus fecisti, pergito bene mereri de 
Republicâ literariâ, et mihi favere, certò tibi persuasus, habere te 
hîc loci hominem tui amantem, et observantem maxime._”

Zuinger answered more at large for the Faculty at Basle. They bade him 
not to marvel that he should be accused of heresy and blasphemy, 
seeing that the same charge has been brought against their 
Theologians, who when they taught according to Scripture that God 
alone was the Father of the spirits as their parents were of their 
bodies, and that the reasonable soul therefore was not derived from 
their parents, but infused and concreated _θύραθεν à Deo ἀμέσως_ were 
accused either of Pelagianism, as if they had denied Original Sin, or 
of blasphemy, as if they had made God the author of sin. They 
admonished him to regard such calumnies more justly and quietly, for 
evil and invidious tongues could never detract from that estimation 
which he had won for him in the Republic of Letters. Nevertheless as 
he had asked for their opinion, they would freely deliver it.

First then as to the postulate which he had premised in the Epistle 
accompanying his Questions, that wherever there is creation, something 
is produced from nothing, _(ubicunque creatio est, ibi aliquid ex 
nihilo producitur)_ if by this he intended, that in no mode of 
creation, whether it were _κτίσις_, or _ποίησις_, or _πλᾶσις_ there 
was no substrate matter out of which something was made by the 
omnipotent virtue of the Deity, in that case they thought, that his 
opinion was contrary to Scripture, forasmuch as it plainly appeared in 
the book of Genesis, that neither the male nor female were created 
from nothing, but the man from the dust of the ground, and the woman 
from one of his ribs, _tanquam præcedentibus corporum materieribus_. 
But though it is indubitable that the creation of the soul in either 
parent was immediately _ex nihilo_, as was shewn in the creation of 
Adam we see nevertheless that the name of creation has been applied by 
Moses to the formation _(plasmationi)_ of their bodies. But if 
Sennertus's words were to be understood as intending that wherever 
there was a creation, something was produced in this either _ex 
nihilo_ absolutely, or relatively and _κατά τι_ out of something, some 
preceding matter, which though certainly in itself something, yet 
relatively,—that which is made out of it, is nothing, _(nihil, aut non 
ens)_ because it hath in itself no power, liability, or aptitude that 
it should either be, or become that which God by his miraculous and 
omnipotent virtue makes it, they had no difficulty in assenting to 
this. As for example, the dust of which God formed the body of Adam 
was something and nothing. Something in itself, for it was earth; 
nothing in respect of that admirable work of the human body which God 
formed of it.

As for the question whether his opinion was blasphemous and heretical, 
it could be neither one nor the other, for it neither derogated from 
the glory of God, nor touched upon any fundamental article of faith. 
Some there were who opined that Chaos was created _ex nihilo_, which 
they understood by Tohu Vabohu, from which all things celestial and 
elementary were afterwards mediately created by God. Others exploding 
Chaos held that heaven, earth, water and air, were created _ex 
nihilo_. But they did not charge each other with blasphemy, and heresy 
because of this disagreement, and verily they who thought that the 
souls of brutes were originally created by God _ex nihilo_ appeared no 
more to derogate from the might, majesty and glory of God, than those 
who held that brutes were wholly created from the element. The virtue 
of an omnipotent God became in either case presupposed.

There was no heresy they said in his assertion that the souls of 
brutes were not of an elementary nature, but of something different: 
provided that a just distinction were made between the rational soul 
and the brute soul, the difference being not merely specific but 
generic. For the rational soul is altogether of a spiritual nature and 
essence, _adeòque Ens uti vocant transcendens_, bearing the image of 
God in this, that properly speaking it is a spirit, as God is a 
Spirit. 2d. The rational soul as such, as Aristotle himself testifies, 
has no bodily energies, or operations; its operations indeed are 
performed in the body but not by the body, nor by bodily organs; but 
the contrary is true concerning the souls of brutes. 3dly. The 
rational soul, though it be closely conjoined with the body and 
hypostatically united therewith, nevertheless is separable therefrom, 
so that ever out of the body _sit ὑφιστάμενον aliquod_; but the souls 
of brutes are immersed in matter and in bodies, so that they cannot 
subsist without them. Lastly, the rational soul alone hath the 
privilege of immortality, it being beyond all controversy that the 
souls of brutes are mortal and corruptible. These differences being 
admitted, and saving the due prerogative, excellence, and as it were 
divinity of the rational soul, the Theological Faculty of Basil 
thought it of little consequence if any one held that the souls of 
brutes were of something different from elementary matter.

They delivered no opinion in condemnation of his assailant's doctrine, 
upon the ground that the question was not within their province. 
“_Certum est,_” they said, “_uti formas rerum omnium difficulter, et 
non nisi a posteriori, et per certas περιστάσεις, cognoscere possumus; 
ita omnium difficillimè Animarum naturam nos pervestigare posse, 
nostramque, uti in aliis, ita in hac materiâ, scientiam esse, ut scitè 
Scaliger loquitur, umbram in sole. Ac non dubium, Deum hic vagabundis 
contemplationibus nostris ponere voluisse, ut disceremus 
imbecillitatis et cæcitatis nostræ conscientiâ humiliari, cum stupore 
opera ejus admirari, atque cum modestia et sobrietate philosophari._” 
They declared however that the rational soul differed from that of 
brutes in its nature, essence, properties and actions, and that this 
was not to be doubted of by Christians: that the soul of brutes was 
not spiritual, not immaterial, that all its actions were merely 
material, and performed by corporeal organs, and they referred to 
Sennertus's own works as rightly affirming that it was partible, _et 
dividatur ad divisionem materiæ, ita ut cum corporis parte aliquid 
animæ possit avelli_, inferring here as it seems from a false analogy 
that animal life was like that of vegetables, _quæ ex parte a plantâ 
avulsâ propagantur_.

They entered also into some curious criticism metaphysical and 
philological upon certain texts pertinent to the questions before 
them. When the dust became lice throughout all the land of Egypt, the 
mutation of the dust into lice was to be understood: so too in the 
creation of Adam, and the formation of Eve, there could be no doubt 
concerning the matter from which both were made. But when water was 
miraculously produced from the rock, and from the hollow place in the 
jaw, _ibi sanè nemo sanus dicet, aquam è petrâ aut maxillâ à Deo ita 
fuisse productam, ut petra aut maxilla materiam aquæ huic præbuerit._

The answer from Marpurg was short and satisfactory. There also the 
Professors waived the philosophical question, saying _Nos falcem in 
alienam messem non mittemus, nec Morychi in alieno choro pedem nostrum 
ponemus, sed nostro modulo ac pede nos metiemur, nobis id etiam dictum 
putantes, τὰ ὑπὲρ ἡμᾶς οὐδὲν πρὸς ἡμᾶς. Nobis nostra vendicabimus, 
Philosophis philosophica relinquentes._ Tertullian they said had 
asserted that Philosophers were the Patriarchs of Heretics, 
nevertheless a philosophical opinion, while it keeps within its own 
circles, and does not interfere with the mysteries of faith, is no 
heresy. They adduced a subtle argument to show that upon the point in 
question there was no real difference between something and nothing. 
_Creatio ex nihilo intelligitur fieri tum ratione sui principii, quod 
est nihilum negativum; tum ratione indispositionis, ob quam materia, 
ex quâ aliquid fit, in productione pro nihilo habetur. Quamvis igitur 
animæ bestiarum dicerentur in Creatione ex potentiâ materiæ eductæ, 
nihilominus ob indispositionem materiæ quam formæ eductæ multum 
superant, ex nihilo creatæ essent._ And they agreed with Luther and 
with those other Divines who held that the words in the first Chapter 
of Genesis whereby the Earth was bade to bring forth grass, herbs, 
trees and living creatures after their kind, and the water to bring 
forth fishes, were to be strictly understood, the earth and the waters 
having _ex Dei benedictione, activè et verè_ produced them.

The answer from Konigsberg was not less favourable. The dispute which 
Freitagius had raised, _infelix illa σύῤῥαξις_ they called it, ought 
to have been carried on by that Professor with more moderation. 
Granting that the souls of brutes were not created separately like 
human souls but conjointly with the body, it still remained doubtful 
_quomodo se habuerit divinum partim ad aquam et terram factum 
mandatum, partim simultanea brutalium animarum cum corporibus 
creatio._ For earth and water might here be variously considered, 1, 
as the element, 2, as the matter, 3, as the subject, and 4, _ut mater 
vel vivus uterus ad animalium productionem immediatâ Dei operatione 
exaltatus._ Water and earth themselves were first created, and on the 
fifth the vital and plastic power was communicated to them, in which 
by virtue of the omnipotent word they still consist. They were of 
opinion that the souls of brutes and of plants also, were divinely 
raised above an elementary condition, it being always understood that 
the human soul far transcended them. The expression of Moses that 
formed every beast and every fowl out of the ground, proved not the 
matter whereof, but the place wherein they were formed.

The Faculty at Jena returned a shorter reply. The ingratitude of the 
world toward those who published their lucubrations upon such abstruse 
points, reminded them they said of Luther's complaint in one of his 
Prefaces: _Sæpe recordor boni Gersonis dubitantis num quid boni 
publicè scribendmn et proferendum sit. Si scriptio omittitur, multæ 
animæ negliguntur, quæ liberari potuissent; si verò illa præstatur, 
statim Diabolus præstò est cum linguis pestiferis et calumniarum 
plenis, quæ omnia corrumpunt et inficiunt._ What was said of the 
production of fish, plants and animals might be understood 
synecdochically, _salvâ verborum Mosaicorum integritate,_ as the text 
also was to be understood concerning the creation of man, where it is 
said that the Lord formed him of the dust of the earth, and 
immediately afterwards that he breathed into his nostrils the breath 
of life.

The Strasburg Divines entered upon the subject so earnestly that their 
disquisition far exceeds in length the whole of the communications 
from the other Universities. Sennertus could not have wished for a 
more elaborate or a more gratifying reply. The Faculty at Altdorff 
said that the question was not a matter of faith, and therefore no one 
could be obnoxious to the charge of heresy for maintaining or 
controverting either of the opposite opinions. They seem however to 
have agreed with neither party; not with Freitagius because they 
denied that brute souls were of an elementary nature, not with 
Sennertus, because they denied that they were created at first from 
nothing. It is manifest, said they, that they are not now created from 
nothing, because it would follow from thence that they subsist of 
themselves, and are not dependent upon matter, and are consequently 
immortal, which is absurd. It remained therefore that the souls of 
brutes, as they do not now receive their existence from mere nothing, 
so neither did they at the first creation, but from something 
pre-supposed, which the Peripatetics call the power of matter or of 
the subject, which from the beginning was nothing else and still is 
nothing else, than its propension or inclination to this or that form. 
_Quæ forma multiplex, cum etiam in potentia primi subjecti passiva 
præcesserit, per miraculosam Dei actionem ex illa fuit educta, 
actumque essendi completum in variis animalium speciebus accepit._

Sennertus either published these papers or prepared them for 
publication just before his death. They were printed in octavo at 
Wittenberg, with the title _De Origine et Natura Animarum in Brutis, 
Sententiæ Cl. Theologorum in aliquot Germaniæ Academiis, 1638_. 
Sprengel observes that none of the Historians of Philosophy have 
noticed,—

  _Cætera desunt._




CHAPTER CCXL.

THE JESUIT GARASSE'S CENSURE OF HUARTE AND BARCLAY.—EXTRAORDINARY 
INVESTIGATION.—THE TENDENCY OF NATURE TO PRESERVE ITS OWN ARCHETYPAL 
FORMS.—THAT OF ART TO VARY THEM.—PORTRAITS.—MORAL AND PHYSICAL 
CADASTRE.—PARISH CHRONICLER AND PARISH CLERK THE DOCTOR THOUGHT MIGHT 
BE WELL UNITED.

             Is't you, Sir, that know things?

  SOOTH. In nature's infinite book of secresy,
           A little I can read.

SHAKSPEARE.


The Jesuit Garasse censured his contemporaries Huarte and Barclay for 
attempting, the one in his _Examen de los Ingenios_, the other in his 
_Icon Animorum_, to class men according to their intellectual 
characters: _ces deux Autheurs_, says he, _se sont rendus criminels 
contre l'esprit de l'homme, en ce qu'ils ont entrepris de ranger en 
cinq ou six cahiers, toutes les diversitez des esprits qui peuvent 
estre parmy les hommes, comme qui voudroit verser toute l'eau de la 
mer dans une coquille._ For his own part, he had learnt, he said, _et 
par la lecture, et par l'experience, que les hommes sont plus 
dissemblables en esprit qu'en visage._

Garasse was right; for there goes far more to the composition of an 
individual character, than of an individual face. It has sometimes 
happened that the portrait of one person has proved also to be a good 
likeness of another. Mr. Hazlitt recognized his own features and 
expression in one of Michael Angelo's devils. And in real life two 
faces, even though there be no relationship between the parties, may 
be all but indistinguishably alike, so that the one shall frequently 
be accosted for the other; yet no parity of character can be inferred 
from this resemblance. Poor Capt. Atkins, who was lost in the Defence 
off the coast of Jutland in 1811, had a double of this kind, that was 
the torment of his life; for this double was a swindler, who having 
discovered the lucky facsimileship, obtained goods, took up money, and 
at last married a wife in his name. Once when the real Capt. Atkins 
returned from a distant station, this poor woman who was awaiting him 
at Plymouth, put off in a boat, boarded the ship as soon as it came to 
anchor, and ran to welcome him as her husband.

The following Extraordinary Investigation, cut out of a Journal of the 
day, would have excited our Doctor's curiosity, and have led him on to 
remoter speculations.

“On Tuesday afternoon an adjourned inquest was held at the 
Christchurch workhouse. Boundary-row, Blackfriars-road, before Mr. R. 
Carter, on the body of Eliza Baker, aged 17, who was found drowned at 
the steps of Blackfriars-bridge, on Saturday morning, by a police 
constable. Mr. Peter Wood, an eating-house-keeper, in the Bermondsey 
New-road, near the Brick-layers Arms, having seen a paragraph in one 
of the Sunday newspapers, that the body of a female had been taken out 
of the Thames on the previous day, and carried to the workhouse to be 
owned, and, from the description given, suspecting that it was the 
body of a young female who had lived in his service, but who had been 
discharged by his wife on account of jealousy, he went to the 
workhouse and recognized the body of the unfortunate girl. He was very 
much agitated, and he cut off a lock of her hair, and kissed the 
corpse. He immediately went to an undertaker, and gave orders for the 
funeral. He then went to the deceased's parents, who reside in 
Adelaide-place, Whitecross-street, Cripplegate, and informed them of 
the melancholy fate of their daughter. They also went to the 
workhouse, and, on being shown the body, were loud in their 
lamentations.

“On the Jury having assembled on Monday evening, they proceeded to 
view the body of the deceased, and, on their return, a number of 
witnesses were examined, mostly relations, who swore positively to the 
body. From the evidence it appeared that the deceased had lived with 
Mr. Wood as a servant for four months, but his wife being jealous, she 
was discharged about a month ago, since which time Mr. Wood had 
secretly supplied her with money, and kept her from want. Mrs. Baker, 
the mother of the deceased, and other relations, in giving their 
evidence, spoke in severe terms of the conduct of Mr. Wood, and said 
that they had no doubt but that he had seduced the unfortunate girl, 
which had caused her to commit suicide.

“The Jury appeared to be very indignant, and, after five hours' 
deliberation, it was agreed to adjourn the case until Tuesday 
afternoon, when they re-assembled. Mr. Wood, the alleged seducer, was 
now present, but he was so overcome by his feelings at the melancholy 
occurrence, that nothing could be made of him; in fact, he was like a 
man in a state of stupefaction. Mrs. Wood, the wife was called in; she 
is twenty-eight years older than her husband, and shook her head at 
him, but nothing was elicited from her, her passion completely 
overcoming her reason.

“A Juryman.—The more we dive into this affair the more mysterious it 
appears against Mr. Wood.

“This remark was occasioned on account of some marks of violence on 
the body; there had been a violent blow on the nose, a black mark on 
the forehead, and a severe wound on the thigh. The Jury were 
commencing to deliberate on their verdict, when a drayman in the 
employ of Messrs. Whitbread and Co., brewers, walked into the 
jury-room, and said that, he wished to speak to the Coroner and Jury.

“Mr. Carter.—‘What is it you want?’

“Drayman.—‘I comes to say, gentlemen, that Mrs. Baker's daughter, you 
are now holding an inquest on, is now alive and in good health.’

“The Coroner and Jury (in astonishment).—‘What do you say?’

“Drayman.—‘I'll swear that I met her to-day in the streets, and spoke 
to her.’

“The Coroner, Witnesses, and Jury were all struck with amazement, and 
asked the drayman if he could bring Eliza Baker forward, which he 
undertook to do in a short time.

“In the interim the Jury and Witnesses went again to view the body of 
the deceased. Mr. Wood shed tears over the corpse, and was greatly 
affected, as well as her relations: the drayman's story was treated as 
nonsense, but the Jury, although of the same opinion, were determined 
to await his return. In about a quarter of an hour the drayman 
returned, and introduced the real Eliza Baker, a fine looking young 
woman, and in full health. To depict the astonishment of the relations 
and of Mr. Wood is totally impossible, and at first they were afraid 
to touch her. She at last went forward, and took Mr. Wood by the hand 
(who stood motionless), and exclaimed ‘How could you make such a 
mistake as to take another body for mine? Do you think I would commit 
such an act?’ Mr. Wood could not reply, but fell senseless in a fit, 
and it was with great difficulty that seven men could hold him. After 
some time he recovered, and walked away, to the astonishment of every 
one, with Eliza Baker, leaving his wife in the jury-room. Several of 
the Jurors remarked that they never saw such a strong likeness in 
their lives as there was between Eliza Baker and the deceased, which 
fully accounted for the mistake that the Witnesses had made.

“The whole scene was most extraordinary, and the countenances of 
Witnesses and Jurymen it is impossible to describe. There was no 
evidence to prove who the deceased was: and the Jury, after about 
eleven hours' investigation, returned a verdict of ‘Found drowned,’ 
but by what means the deceased came into the water there is no 
evidence to prove.”

But in such likenesses, the resemblance is probably never so exact as 
to deceive an intimate friend, except upon a cursory glance, at first 
sight: even between twins, when any other persons might be perplexed, 
the parents readily distinguish. The varieties of countenances are far 
more minute and consequently more numerous than would appear upon 
light consideration. A shepherd knows the face of every sheep in his 
flock, though to an inexperienced eye they all seem like one another.

The tendency of Nature is to preserve its own archetypal forms, the 
tendency of art and of what is called accident being to vary them. The 
varieties which are produced in plants by mere circumstances of soil 
and situation are very numerous, but those which are produced by 
culture are almost endless. Moral and physical circumstances effect 
changes as great, both externally and internally in man. Whoever 
consults the elaborate work of Dr. Prichard on the Physical History of 
Mankind, may there see it established by the most extensive research 
and the most satisfactory proofs, that the varieties of the human 
race, great and striking as they are, are all derived from one stock; 
philosophical enquiry here when fully and fairly pursued confirming 
the scriptural account, as it has done upon every subject which is 
within the scope of human investigation.

Dr. Dove in the course of his professional practise, had frequent 
opportunities of observing the stamp of family features at those times 
when it is most apparent; at birth, and in the last stage of 
decline,—for the elementary lines of the countenance come forth as 
distinctly in death as they were shaped in the womb. It is one of the 
most affecting circumstances connected with our decay and dissolution, 
that all traces of individual character in the face should thus 
disappear, the natural countenance alone remaining, and that in this 
respect the fresh corpse should resemble the new born babe. He had in 
the same way opportunities for observing that there were family 
dispositions both of body and mind, some remaining latent till the 
course of time developed them, and others till circumstances seemed as 
it were to quicken them into action. Whether these existed in most 
strength where the family likeness was strongest was a point on which 
his own observation was not extensive enough for him to form an 
opinion. Speculatively he inclined to think that moral resemblances 
were likely to manifest themselves in the countenance, but that 
constitutional ones must often exist where there could be no outward 
indication of them. Thus a family heart, (metaphorically speaking) may 
be recognized in the “life, conduct and behaviour,” though the face 
should be a false index; and hereditary tendencies in the great organs 
of life show themselves only in family diseases.

Under our Saxon Kings, a person was appointed in every great Monastery 
to record public events, register the deaths, promotions, &c., in the 
community, and enter in this current chronicle every occurrence in the 
neighbourhood which was thought worthy of notice. At the end of every 
reign, a summary record was compiled from these materials,—and to this 
we owe our Saxon Chronicle, the most ancient and authentic in Europe.

But he often regretted that in every generation so much knowledge was 
lost, and that so much experience was continually allowed to run to 
waste, many—very many of the evils which afflict mankind being 
occasioned by this neglect and perpetuated by it. Especially he 
regretted this in his own art: and this regret would not have been 
removed if Medical Journals had been as numerous in his days as they 
are at present. His wishes went much farther.

We are told that in the sixteenth century the great Lords in France 
piqued themselves upon having able and learned men for their 
secretaries, and treated them as their friends. The principal business 
of such secretaries was to keep a journal of the most interesting 
events; and the masters having witnessed or borne a part in the 
business of state were well able to inform them of the intrigues and 
tortuous policy of their own times. From such journals it is that most 
of those old Memoirs have been formed, in which French literature is 
so peculiarly rich. They usually include as much general history as is 
in any way connected with the personage whom the writer served.

Boswell, who if ever man went to Heaven for his good works, has gone 
there for his life of Johnson,—Boswell, I say thought, and Johnson 
agreed with him, that there ought to be a chronicler kept in every 
considerable family, to preserve the characters and transactions of 
successive generations. In like manner Milton's friend, Henry More the 
Platonist and Poet, would have had the stories of apparitions and 
witchcraft publicly recorded, as they occurred in every parish, 
thinking that this course would prove “one of the best antidotes 
against that earthly and cold disease of Sadducism and Atheism,” which 
he said, “if not prevented might easily grow upon us, to the hazard of 
all religion and the best kinds of philosophy.” Our philosopher had 
more comprehensive notions of what ought to be. He wished not only for 
such domestic chronicles, but that in every considerable family there 
should be a compleat set of portraits preserved in every generation, 
taken in so small a size that it might never be necessary to eject 
them in order to make room for others. When this had been done for 
some centuries, it might be seen how long a family likeness remains, 
whether Nature repeats her own forms at certain times, or after 
uncertain intervals; or whether she allows them to be continually 
modified, as families intermarry, till the original type at last may 
altogether be obliterated.

In China there are not only learned men whose business it is to record 
every thing remarkable that is either said or done by the reigning 
Emperor, (which is done for his own instruction, as well as for that 
of his successors,) but the great families, have in like manner their 
records, and these are considered as the most precious part of the 
inheritance which descends from sire to son. All who aspire to any 
high office are required to be well acquainted with the history of 
their ancestors, and in that history their indispensable 
qualifications are examined.

That excellent good man Gilpin drew up a family record of his great 
grandfather, grandfather and father, who had all been “very valuable 
men.” “I have often thought,” said he, “such little records might be 
very useful in families; whether the subjects of them were good or 
bad. A light house may serve equally the purpose of leading you into a 
haven, or deterring you from a rock.”[1]

  If it may stand with your soft blush, to hear
  Yourself but told unto yourself, and see
  In my character what your features be,
  You will not from the paper slightly pass.
  No lady, but at some time loves her glass.
  And this shall be no false one, but as much
  Removed, as you from need to have it such.[2]

[Footnote 1: WARNER'S RECOLLECTIONS.]

[Footnote 2: BEN JONSON.]

There was once a German who being poet, physician and physiognomist, 
saw in a vision of Paradise Physiognomy herself, and received from her 
a most gracious compliment, which lay buried among the Heidelberg 
Manuscripts in the Vatican, till Frederick Adelung in the year 1799, 
brought it to light some centuries after the very name of the poet had 
perished. Read the compliment, reader, if thou canst as given by the 
German antiquary, without note, comment, glossary, or punctuation. I 
can answer for the fidelity of my transcript, though not of his text.

  _Zu mir in gar glicher wise
   Quam us hymels paradyse
   Vil manich schöne frouwe name
   Jeglicher wol die kron zam
   Sie waren schöne und gecleit
   Vrauwelicher zuchte mynnekeit
   Sie ziert ine danne riche gewant
   Mir wart iglicher name bekant
   Wanne er in geschriben was
   An ir vorgespan als ich las_
   PHISONOMIA _kunstenriche
   Gutlicht redt wider mich
   Wir byden dich herre bescheiden
   Das du in gottes geleiden
   Dust machen myne lobelich kunst
   So hastu mynneclichen gunst
   Von mir und myner gespilen vil
   Der igliche dich des bidden wil
   Das du in erkennen gebest
   Und du in unser früntschaft lebest
   Alleine din cleit sy donne
   Got wil dir geben solich wonne
   Die mannich gelerter mane
   Nummer mer gewynnen kan._

There was no truth in Physiognomy when she made this promise to her 
medico-poet. Yet he deserved her gratitude for he taught that her 
unerring indications might be read not in the countenance alone, but 
in all the members of the human body.

In cases of disputed inheritance, when it is contended that the heir 
claimant is not the son of his reputed father, but a spurious, or 
supposititious child, such a series of portraits would be witnesses, 
he thought, against whose evidence no exception could be taken. Indeed 
such evidence would have disproved the impudent story of the Warming 
Pan, if any thing had depended upon legitimacy in that case; and in 
our times it might divest D. Miguel of all claim to the crown of 
Portugal, by right of birth.

But these legal and political uses he regarded as trifling when 
compared with the physiological inferences which in process of time 
might be obtained, for on this subject Mr. Shandy's views were far 
short of Dr. Dove's. The improvement of noses would be only an 
incidental consequence of the knowledge that might be gathered from 
the joint materials of the family portrait gallery, and the family 
chronicle. From a comparison of these materials it might be inferred 
with what temperaments of mind and of body, with what qualities good 
or evil, certain forms of feature, and certain characters of 
countenance were frequently found to be connected. And hence it might 
ultimately be learnt how to neutralize evil tendencies by judicious 
intermarriages, how to sweeten the disposition, cool the temper and 
improve the blood.

To be sure there were some difficulties in the way. You might expect 
from the family chronicler a faithful notice of the diseases which had 
proved dangerous or fatal; to this part of his duty there could be no 
objection. But to assure the same fidelity concerning moral and 
intellectual failings or vices, requires a degree of independence not 
to be hoped for from a writer so circumstanced. If it had still been 
the custom for great families to keep a Fool, as in old times, our  
Philosopher in his legislative character would have required that the 
Fool's more notable sayings should be recorded, well knowing that in 
his privileged freedom of speech, and the monitions and rebukes which 
he conveyed in a jest, the desiderated information would be contained. 
But in our present state of manners he could devise no better check 
upon the family historiographer,—no better provision against his sins 
both of omission and of commission, than that of the village or parish 
chronicle; for in every village or parish he would have had every 
notable event that occurred within its boundaries duly and 
authentically recorded. And as it should be the Chronicler's duty to 
keep a Remembrancer as well as a Register, in which whatever he could 
gather from tradition, or from the recollections of old persons was to 
be preserved, the real character which every person of local 
distinction had left behind him among his domestics and his neighbours 
would be found here, whatever might be recorded upon his monument.

By these means, one supplying the deficiencies of the other, our 
philosopher thought a knowledge of the defects and excellencies of 
every considerable family might be obtained, sufficient for the 
purposes of physiology, and for the public good.

There was a man in the neighbouring village of Bentley, who he used to 
say, would have made an excellent Parish Chronicler, an office which 
he thought might well be united with that of Parish Clerk.[3] This 
person went by the name of Billy Dutchman: he was a journeyman 
stone-mason, and kept a book wherein he inserted the name of every one 
by whom he had been employed, how many days he had worked in every 
week, and how many he had been idle, either owing to sickness or any 
other cause, and what money he had earned in each week, summing up the 
whole at the year's end. His earning in the course of nine and twenty 
years beginning in 1767, amounts to £583. 18_s._ 3_d._, being, he 
said, upon an average, seven shillings and ninepence a week.

[Footnote 3: Such a Chronicler is old James Long—now 77 years of 
age—50 of which he has served in the capacity of Parish Clerk of 
West-Tarring, in the County of Sussex. There is no by-gone incident in 
this, or the neighbouring Parishes,—no mere—stone or balk—with which 
he is not acquainted. Aged and truthful Chronicler!

             —Enjoy thy plainness
  It nothing ill becomes thee.—

Since the above was written the old man has been gathered to his 
fathers. _Requiescat in pace!_]

The Doctor would have approved of Jacob Abbott's extension of his own 
plan, and adaptation of it to a moral and religious purpose. Jacob 
Abbott, without any view to the physical importance of such documents, 
advises that domestic journals should be kept, “Let three or four of 
the older brothers and sisters of a family agree to write a history of 
the family, any father would procure a book for this purpose, and if 
the writers are young, the articles intended for insertion in it might 
be written first on separate paper, and then corrected and 
transcribed. The subjects suitable to be recorded in such a book will 
suggest themselves to every one; a description of the place of 
residence at the time of commencing the book, with similar 
descriptions of other places from time to time, in case of removals; 
the journies or absences of the head of the family or its members; the 
sad scenes of sickness or death which may be witnessed, and the joyous 
ones of weddings, or festivities, or holydays; the manner in which the 
members are from time to time employed; and pictures of the scenes 
which the fire-side group exhibits in the long winter evening, or the 
conversation which is heard, and the plans formed at the supper table 
or in the morning walk.

“If a family, where it is first established, should commence with such 
a record of their own efforts and plans, and the various dealings of 
Providence towards them, the father and the mother carrying it on 
jointly until the children are old enough to take the pen, they would 
find the work a source of great improvement and pleasure. It would 
tend to keep distinctly in view the great objects for which they ought 
to live; and repeatedly recognizing, as they doubtless would do, the 
hand of God, they would feel more sensibly and more constantly their 
dependence upon him.”




CHAPTER CCXLI.

THE DOCTOR'S UTOPIA DENOMINATED COLUMBIA.—HIS SCHEME ENTERED UPON—BUT 
‘LEFT HALF TOLD’ LIKE ‘THE STORY OF CAMBUSCAN BOLD.’

I will to satisfy and please myself, make an Utopia of mine own, a new 
Atlantis, a poetical commonwealth of mine own, in which I will freely 
domineer, build cities, make laws, statutes, as I list myself. And why 
may I not?

BURTON.


The Doctor's plan would have provided materials for a moral and 
physiological Cadastre, or Domesday Book. This indeed is the place for 
stating what the reader, knowing as much as he knows of our 
Philosopher, will not be surprised to hear, that Dr. Dove had 
conceived an Utopia of his own. He fixed it an island, thinking the 
sea to be the best of all neighbours, and he called it Columbia, not 
as pretending that it had been discovered by his “famous namesake,” 
but for a reason which the sagacious may divine.

The scheme of his government had undergone many changes, although from 
the beginning it was established upon the eternal and immutable 
principles of truth and justice. Every alteration was intended to be 
final; yet it so happened that, notwithstanding the proposed 
perpetuity of the structure, and the immutability of the materials, he 
frequently found cause to exercise the imperscriptible and inalienable 
right of altering and improving his own work. He justified this, as 
being himself sole legislator, and moreover the only person in 
existence whose acceptance of the new constitution was necessary for 
its full establishment; and no just objection, he said, could be 
advanced against any of these changes, if they were demonstrably for 
the better, not merely innovations, but improvements also; for no 
possible revolution however great, or however suddenly effected, could 
occasion the slightest evil to his Commonwealth. Governments _in 
nubibus_ being mended as easily as they are made, for which, as for 
many other reasons, they are so much better than any that are now 
actually existing, have existed, or ever will exist.

At first he denominated his Commonwealth an Iatrarchy, and made the 
Archiatros, or Chief Physician, head of the state. But upon after 
consideration he became convinced that the cares of general 
government, after all the divisions and subdivisions which could be 
made, were quite enough for any one head, however capacious and 
however strong, and however ably assisted. Columbia therefore was made 
an absolute monarchy, hereditary in the male line, according to the 
Salic law.

  How did he hold sweet dalliance with his crown,
  And wanton with dominion, how lay down,
  Without the sanction of a precedent,
  Rules of most large and absolute extent,
  Rules which from sense of public virtue spring,
  And all at once commence a Patriot King![1]

O Simon Bolivar, once called the Liberator, if thou couldst have 
followed the example of this less practical but more philosophical 
statesman, and made and maintained thyself as absolute monarch of thy 
Columbia, well had it been for thy Columbians and for thee! better 
still for thyself, it may be feared, if thou hadst never been born.

[Footnote 1: CHURCHILL.]

There was an order of hereditary nobles in the Doctor's Columbia; men 
were raised to that rank as a just reward for any signal service which 
they had rendered to the state; but on the other hand an individual 
might be degraded for any such course of conduct as evinced depravity 
in himself, or was considered as bringing disgrace upon his order. The 
chiefs of the Hierarchy, the Iatrarchy, the Nomarchy and the Hoplarchy 
(under which title both sciences, naval and military, were comprised) 
were like our Bishops, Peers of the realm by virtue of their station, 
and for life only.

I do not remember what was the scheme of representation upon which his 
House of Commons was elected, farther than it commenced with universal 
suffrage and ascended through several stages, the lowest assembly 
chusing electors for the next above it, so that the choice ultimately 
rested with those who from their education and station of life might 
be presumed to exercise it with due discretion. Such schemes are 
easily drawn up; making and mending constitutions, to the entire 
satisfaction of the person so employed, being in truth among the 
easiest things in the world. But like most Utopianizers the legislator 
of this Columbia had placed his Absolute King and his free People 
under such strict laws, and given such functions to the local 
authorities, and established such complete and precise order in every 
tything, that the duties of the legislative body were easy indeed; 
this its very name imported; for he called it the Conservative 
Assembly.

  Nor is Crown-wisdom any quintessence
  Of abstract truth, or art of Government,
  More than sweet sympathy, or counterpease
  Of humours, temper'd happily to please.[2]

[Footnote 2: LORD BROOKE.]

The legislator of Columbia considered good policy as a very simple 
thing. He said to his King, his Three Estates and his collective 
nation, with the inspired lawgiver “and now Israel what doth the Lord 
thy God require of thee, but to fear the Lord thy God, to walk in all 
his ways, and to love him, and to serve the Lord thy God with all thy 
heart and with all thy soul: to keep the commandments of the Lord and 
his statutes, which I command thee, this day, for thy good?” And he 
added with St. Paul, “now the end of the commandment is charity, out 
of a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned.”

Take care of the pennies, says the frugal old Proverb, and the pounds 
will take care of themselves. “_Les petites choses_,” says M. de 
Custine, _sont tout ce qu'on_ sent _de l'existence; les grandes se_ 
savent, _ce qui est très-différent._ Take care of little things, was 
the Doctor's maxim as a legislator, and great ones will then proceed 
regularly and well. He was not ignorant that legislators as well as 
individuals might be penny-wise and pound foolish; proofs enough he 
had seen in the conduct of the English Government, and many more and 
more glaring ones he would have seen if he had lived to behold the 
progress of œconomical reform and liberal legislation. He also knew 
that an over-attention to trifles was one sure indication of a little 
mind; but in legislation as in experimental philosophy, he argued, 
that circumstances which appeared trifling to the ignorant, were 
sometimes in reality of essential importance, that those things are 
not trifles upon which the comfort of domestic life, the peace of a 
neighbourhood, and the stability of a state depend, and yet all these 
depend mainly upon things apparently so trifling as common schools and 
parochial government.

“I have ever observed it,” says Ben Jonson, “to have been the office 
of a wise patriot, among the greatest affairs of the state, to take 
care of the commonwealth of learning. For schools they are the 
seminaries of state; and nothing is worthier the study of a statesman, 
than that part of the republic which we call the advancement of 
letters.”




CHAPTER CCXLII.

FARTHER REMARKS UPON THE EFFECTS OF SCHISM, AND THE ADVANTAGES WHICH 
IT AFFORDS TO THE ROMISH CHURCH AND TO INFIDELITY.

               —_Io non ci ho interresso
    Nessun, nè vi fui mai, ne manco chieggo
    Per quel ch'io ne vò dir, d'esservi messo.
  Vò dir, che senza passion eleggo,
    E non forzato, e senza pigliar parte;
    Di dirne tutto quel, ch'intendo e veggo._

BRONZINO PITTORE.


One cause why infidelity gained ground among the middle and the lower 
classes was, that owing to the increase of population, the growth of 
the metropolis, and the defects of our Church Establishment, no 
provision had been made for their religious instruction. Every one 
belonged to a parish, but in populous parishes a small part only of 
the parishioners belonged to the Clergyman's flock; his fold in very 
many places would not have contained half, and in some, not a tenth of 
them; they were left therefore as stray sheep, for false shepherds and 
for the wolf. This was the main cause of the increase of dissenters 
among us, and their increase occasioned an increase of infidelity. 
Many of their ministers and more of their students, revolting against 
the monstrous doctrines of Calvinism, past from one extreme to the 
other, more gradually indeed than their brethren have done in Germany, 
in Geneva and in New England, for they halted awhile on Arian ground, 
before they pitched their tents in the debateable land of Socinianism, 
where not a few of them afterwards crossed the border. The principle 
of Nonconformity itself led naturally to this consequence; it 
scornfully rejected that reasonable and well-defined submission to 
authority required by the Church of England, which is the true 
Catholic Church; and thus it encouraged and indeed invited tutors and 
pupils at their Academies to make their own immature and 
ill-instructed reason the test of all truths. A good and wise man has 
well remarked that “what men take for, or at least assert to be, the 
dictates of their conscience, may often in fact, be only the dictates 
of their pride.” With equal truth also he has said that he who 
“decides for himself in rejecting what almost all others receive, has 
not shewn himself at least in one instance to be a ‘wise man;’—he does 
not ‘know that he is a fool.’”

This cause was continually operating upon their students and younger 
ministers during the latter half of the last century. It was suspended 
first by the missionary spirit, which called forth a high degree of 
enthusiasm, and gave that feeling its most useful direction, and 
secondly by the revival of political Puritanism, as soon as the 
successors of the Parliamentary Divines thought themselves strong 
enough to act as a party in the state, and declare war against the 
Establishment. But as in that time, so in a greater degree at present, 
the floating population who by no fault of their own are 
extra-parochial as to all purposes of church-worship and religious 
instruction, are as much endangered by facility of change, as the 
students used to be by their boasted liberty of choice. Sectarian 
history might supply numerous examples; one may be related here for 
the extraordinary way in which it terminated. I know not from what 
community of Christians the hero of the tale strayed over to the 
Methodists, but he enjoyed for awhile the dream of perfection, and the 
privilege of assurance as one of their members. When this excitement 
had spent itself, he sought for quietness among the Quakers, _thee'd_ 
his neighbour, wore drab, and would not have pulled off his hat to the 
king. After awhile, from considering, with them, that baptism was a 
beggarly element, he passed to the opposite extreme; it was not enough 
for him to have been sprinkled in his infancy, he must be dipt over 
head and ears in the water, and up he rose, rejoicing as he shook his 
dripping locks, that he was now a Baptist. His zeal then took another 
direction; he had a strong desire to convert the lost sheep of Israel; 
and off he set from a remote part of the country to engage in single 
controversy with a learned Rabbi in one of the Midland counties. Tell 
it not in Duke's-Place! Publish it not in the Magazine of the Society 
for converting the Jews!—The Rabbi converted him: and if the victor in 
the dispute had thought proper to take the _spolia opima_ which were 
fairly lost, the vanquished would have paid the penalty, as he 
conceived himself in honour and in conscience bound. He returned home 
glorying in his defeat, a Jew in every thing but parentage and the 
outward and visible sign. The sons of the synagogue are not ambitious 
of making converts, and they did not chuse to adopt him by performing 
the initiating rites. He obtained it however from a Christian surgeon, 
who after many refusals, was induced at length in humanity to oblige 
him, lest, as he solemnly declared he would, he should perform it upon 
himself.

They who begin in enthusiasm, passing in its heat and giddiness from 
one sect to another, and cooling at every transition, generally settle 
in formalism where they find some substantial worldly motives for 
becoming fixed; but where the worldly motives are wanting, it depends 
upon temperament and accident whether they run headlong into 
infidelity, or take refuge from it in the Roman Catholic church. The 
papal clergy in England have always known how to fish in troubled 
waters; and when the waters are still, there are few among them who 
have not been well instructed in the art of catching gudgeons. Our 
clergy have never been in the same sense, fishers of men.

In an epigram written under the portrait of Gibbon, as unquotable at 
length, as it is unjust in part of the lines which may be quoted, the 
face is said to be

                 —the likeness of one
  Who through every religion in Europe has run
  And ended at last in believing in none.

It was a base epigram which traduced the historian's political 
character for no other reason than that he was not a Whig; and it 
reproached him for that part of his conduct which was truly 
honourable,—the sincerity with which, when ill-instructed, he became a 
Roman Catholic, and the propriety with which, after full and patient 
investigation, he gave up the tenets of the Romish church as 
untenable. That he proceeded farther, and yielded that which can be 
maintained against the Gates of Hell, is to be lamented deeply for his 
own sake, and for those in whom he has sown the seeds of infidelity. 
But the process from change to change is a common one, and the cases 
are few wherein there is so much to extenuate the culpability of the 
individual. It was not in the self-sufficiency of empty ignorance that 
Gibbon and Bayle went astray; generally the danger is in proportion to 
the want of knowledge; there are more shipwrecks among the shallows 
than in the deep sea.

During the great Rebellion, when the wild beasts had trampled down the 
fences, broken into the vineyard and laid it waste, it is curious to 
observe the course taken by men who felt for various causes, according 
to their different characters, the necessity of attaching themselves 
to some religious communion. Cottington, being in Spain, found it 
convenient to be reconciled to the Romish church; the dominant 
religion being to him, as a politician, the best. Weak and plodding 
men like Father Cressey took the same turn in dull sincerity: Davenant 
because he could not bear the misery of a state of doubt, and was glad 
to rest his head upon the pillow of authority; Goring from remorse; 
Digby (a little later) from ambition, and Lambert, because he was sick 
of the freaks and follies of the sectaries.

Their “opinions and contests,” says Sir Philip Warwick, “flung all 
into chaos, and this gave the great advantages to the Romanists, who 
want not their differences among themselves, but better manage them; 
for they having retained a great part of primitive truths, and having 
to plead some antiquity for their many doctrinal errors and their 
ambitious and lucrative encroachments, and having the policy of 
flinging coloquintida into our pot, by our dissentions and follies, 
they have with the motion of the circle of the wheel, brought 
themselves who were at the Nadir, to be almost at the Zenith of our 
globe.”

In no other age (except in our own and now from a totally different 
cause) did the Papists increase their numbers so greatly in this 
kingdom. And infidelity in all its grades kept pace with popery. “Look 
but upon many of our Gentry,” says Sanderson, (writing under the 
Commonwealth,) “what they are already grown to from what they were, 
within the compass of a few years: and then _ex pede Herculem_; by 
that, guess what a few years more may do. Do we not see some, and 
those not a few, that have strong natural parts, but little sense of 
religion turned (little better than professed) Atheists. And other 
some, nor those a few, that have good affections, but weak and 
unsettled judgements, or (which is still but the same weakness) an 
overweening opinion of their own understandings, either quite turned, 
or upon the point of turning Papists? These be sad things, God 
knoweth, and we all know, not visibly imputable to any thing so much, 
as to those distractions, confusions and uncertainties that in point 
of religion have broken in upon us, since the late changes that have 
happened among us in church affairs.”

The Revolution by which the civil and religious liberties of the 
British nation were, at great cost, preserved, stopt the growth of 
popery among us for nearly an hundred years: but infidelity meanwhile 
was little impeded in its progress by the occasional condemnation of a 
worthless book; and the excellent works which were written to expose 
the sophistry, the ignorance, and the misrepresentations of the 
infidel authors seldom found readers among the persons to whom they 
might have been most useful. It may be questioned whether any of 
Jeremy Bentham's misbelieving disciples has ever read Berkeley's 
Minute Philosopher, or the kindred work of Skelton which a London 
bookseller published upon Hume's _imprimatur_.




CHAPTER CCXLIII.

BREVITY BEING THE SOUL OF WIT THE AUTHOR STUDIES CONCISENESS.

You need not fear a surfeit, here is but little, and that light of 
digestion.

QUARLES.


Who was Pompey?

“The Dog will have his day,” says Shakespeare. And the Dog must have 
his Chapter say I. But I will defer writing that Chapter till the 
Dog-days.




CHAPTER CCXLIV.

THE AUTHOR VENTURES TO SPEAK A WORD ON CHRISTIAN CHEERFULNESS:—QUOTES 
BEN SIRACH,—SOLOMON,—BISHOP HACKET,—WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR,—BISHOP 
REYNOLDS,—MILTON,—&C.

  --_Ἀλλὰ σὺ ταῦτα μαθὼν, βιότου ποτί τέρμα
  ψυχῇ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τλῆθι χαριζόμενος._

SIMONIDES.


In the thirtieth chapter of the Book called Ecclesiasticus, and at the 
twenty-fifth verse, are these words

  “A cheerful and a good heart will have a care of his meat and diet.”

This is not the text to a sermon, but the beginning of a Chapter. 
There is no reason why a Chapter as well as a sermon, should not be 
thus impressively introduced: and if this Chapter should neither be so 
long as a sermon, nor so dull as those discourses which perchance and 
(I fear) per-likelihood, it may be thy fortune to hear, O Reader, at 
thy parish church, or in phrase nonconformist, to sit under at the 
conventicle, it will be well for thee: for having began to read it, I 
dare say thou wilt peruse it orally, or ocularly to the end.

A cheerful and a good heart, the Doctor had; aye as cheerful and good 
a one as ever man was blest with. He held with Bishop Hacket, that 
melancholy was of all humours the fittest to make a bath for the 
Devil, and that cheerfulness and innocent pleasure preserve the mind 
from rust, and the body from putrifying with dulness and distempers; 
wherefore that Bishop of good and merry memory would sometimes say, he 
did not like to look upon a sour man at dinner, and if his guests were 
pleased within, would bid them hang out the white flag in their 
countenance.

  _Udite, udite amici, un cor giocondo
           E Rey del Mondo._

And if the poet says true (which I will be sworn he does) our Doctor 
might be more truly King of the World, than Kehama after he had 
performed his sacrifice.

His cheerfulness he would not have exchanged for all the bank-bills 
which ever bore the signature of Abraham Newland, or his successor 
Henry Hase; he thanked his Maker for it; and that it had been kept 
from corruption and made so far good as (with all Christian humility) 
to be self approved; he thanked his heavenly Father also for the free 
grace vouchsafed him, and his earthly one for having trained him in 
the way that he should go.

  Cheerful and grateful takers the Gods love
  And such as wait their pleasures with full hopes;
  The doubtful and distrustful man Heaven frowns at.[1]

[Footnote 1: BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.]

Being thus cheerful and good, he had that care of his meat and diet 
which the son of Sirach commends in the text, and notices as an 
indication of cheerfulness and goodness.

Understand me, Reader: and understand the author of the Wisdom. It was 
not such a care of his meat and diet as Apicius has been infamed for 
in ancient, and Darteneuf in modern times; not such as Lucullus was 
noted for, or Sir William Curtis, with whom Lucullus had he been an 
English East Indian Governor, instead of a Roman Prætor, might have 
been well pleased to dine. Read Landor's conversation between Lucullus 
and Cæsar, if thou art a scholar Reader, and if any thing can make 
thee think with respect and admiration of Lucullus, it will be the 
beautiful strain of feeling and philosophy that thou wilt find there. 
Wouldst thou see another work of first-rate genius, not less masterly 
in its kind, go and see Chantrey's bust of Sir William Curtis: and 
when thou shalt have seen what he hath made of that countenance, thou 
wilt begin to think it not impossible that a silk purse may be made of 
a sow's ear. Shame on me that in speaking of those who have gained 
glory by giving good dinners, I should have omitted the name of 
Michael Angelo Taylor, he having been made immortal for this his great 
and singular merit!

Long before the son of Sirach, Solomon had spoken to the same effect: 
“there is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink, 
and that he should make his soul enjoy good in its labour. This also I 
saw that it was from the hand of God.” “Go thy way said the wisest of 
monarchs and of men, in his old age, when he took a more serious view 
of his past life; the honours, pleasures, wealth, wisdom he had so 
abundantly enjoyed; the errors and miscarriages which he had fallen 
into; the large experience and many observations he had made, of 
things natural, moral, domestical: civil, sensual, divine: the curious 
and critical inquiry he had made after true happiness, and what 
contribution all things under the sun could afford thereunto:”—“Go thy 
way,” he said, “eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a 
merry heart!”

“Inasmuch,” says Bishop Reynolds in his commentary upon this passage, 
“as the dead neither know, nor enjoy any of these worldly blessings; 
and inasmuch as God gives them to his servants in love, and as 
comfortable refreshments unto them in the days of their vanity, 
therefore he exhorteth unto a cheerful fruition of them, while we have 
time and liberty so to do; that so the many other sorrows and 
bitterness which they shall meet with in this life, may be mitigated 
and sweetened unto them. He speaketh not of sensual, epicurean and 
brutish excess; but of an honest, decent, and cheerful enjoyment of 
blessings, with thankfulness, and in the fear of God.” “A _merry_ 
heart” the Bishop tells us might in this text have been rendered a 
_good_ one; as in other parts of scripture a _sad_ heart is called an 
_evil_ heart. “It is pleasing unto God,” says the Bishop, “that when 
thou hast in the fear of his name, and in obedience to his ordinance, 
laboured, and by his blessing gotten thee thine appointed portion, 
then thou shouldst, after an honest, cheerful, decent and liberal 
manner, without further anxiety or solicitousness, enjoy the same. 
This is the principal boundary of our outward pleasures and delights, 
still to keep ourselves within such rules of piety and moderation, as 
that our ways may be pleasing unto God. And this shows us the true way 
to find sweetness in the creature, and to feel joy in the fruition 
thereof; namely, when our persons and our ways are pleasing unto God: 
for piety doth not exclude, but only moderate earthly delights; and so 
moderate them, that though they be not so excessive as the luxurious 
and sensual pleasures of foolish epicures, yet they are far more pure, 
sweet and satisfactory, as having no guilt, no gall, no curse, nor 
inward sorrow and terrors attending on them.”

Farther the Bishop observes, that food and raiment being the 
substantiall of outward blessings, Solomon has directed unto 
cheerfulness in the one, and unto decency and comeliness in the other. 
He hath advised us also to let the head lack no ointment, such 
perfumes being an expression of joy used in feasts; “the meaning is,” 
says the Bishop, “that we should lead our lives with as much freeness, 
cheerfulness and sweet delight, in the liberal use of the good 
blessings of God, as the quality of our degree, the decency of our 
condition, and the rules of religious wisdom, and the fear of God do 
allow us; not sordidly or frowardly denying ourselves the benefit of 
those good things which the bounty of God hath bestowed upon us.”

It is the etiquette of the Chinese Court for the Emperor's physicians 
to apply the same epithet to his disease as to himself—so they talk of 
his most high and mighty diarrhœa.

At such a point of etiquette the Doctor would laugh—but he was all 
earnestness when one like Bishop Hacket said, “Do not disgrace the 
dignity of a Preacher, when every petty vain occasion doth challenge 
the honour of a sermon before it. If ever there were _τὸ δέον οὐκ ἐν 
τῶ δεόντι_,—a good work marred for being done unreasonably,”—(in the 
Doctor's own words, _Grace before a sluttish meal, a dirty table 
cloth_)—“now it is when grace before meat will not serve the turn, but 
every luxurious feast must have the benediction of a preacher's pains 
before it. _Quis te ferat cœnantem ut Lucullus, concionantem ut Cato?_ 
Much less is it to be endured, that some body must make a sermon, 
before Lucullus hath made a supper. It is such a flout upon our 
calling methinks, as the Chaldeans put upon the Jews in their 
captivity,—they in the height of their jollity must have _one of the 
Songs of Sion_.”

The Doctor agreed in the main with Lord Chesterfield in his opinion 
upon political dieteticks.

“The Egyptians who were a wise nation,” says that noble author, 
“thought so much depended upon diet, that they dieted their kings, and 
prescribed by law both the quality and quantity of their food. It is 
much to be lamented, that those bills of fare are not preserved to 
this time, since they might have been of singular use in all 
monarchical governments. But it is reasonably to be conjectured, from 
the wisdom of that people, that they allowed their kings no aliments 
of a bilious or a choleric nature, and only such as sweetened their 
juices, cooled their blood, and enlivened their faculties,—if they had 
any.”

He then shews that what was deemed necessary for an Egyptian King is 
not less so for a British Parliament. For, “suppose,” he says, “a 
number of persons, not over-lively at best, should meet of an evening 
to concert and deliberate upon public measures of the utmost 
consequence, grunting under the load and repletion of the strongest 
meats, panting almost in vain for breath, but quite in vain for 
thought, and reminded only of their existence by the unsavoury returns 
of an olio; what good could be expected from such a consultation? The 
best one could hope for would be, that they were only assembled for 
shew, and not for use; not to propose or advise, but silently to 
submit to the orders of some one man there, who, feeding like a 
rational creature, might have the use of his understanding.

“I would therefore recommend it to the consideration of the 
legislature, whether it may not be necessary to pass an act, to 
restrain the licentiousness of eating, and assign certain diets to 
certain ranks and stations, I would humbly suggest the strict 
vegetable as the properest ministerial diet, being exceedingly tender 
of those faculties in which the public is so highly interested, and 
very unwilling they should be clogged, or incumbered.”

“The Earl of Carlisle,” says Osborne, in his Traditional Memorials, 
“brought in the vanity of ante-suppers, not heard of in our 
forefathers' time, and for ought I have read, or at least remember, 
unpractised by the most luxurious tyrants. The manner of which was, to 
have the board covered at the first entrance of the guests, with 
dishes, as high as a tall man could well reach, filled with the 
choicest viands sea or land could afford: and all this once seen, and 
having feasted the eyes of the invited, was in a manner thrown away, 
and fresh set on to the same height, having only this advantage of the 
other, that it was hot.

“I cannot forget one of the attendants of the King, that at a feast 
made by this monster in excess, eats to his single share a whole pye, 
reckoned to my Lord at ten pounds, being composed of ambergreece, 
magisteriall of pearl, musk, &c., yet was so far, (as he told me) from 
being sweet in the morning, that he almost poisoned his whole family, 
flying himself, like the Satyr, from his own stink. And after such 
suppers huge banquets no less profuse, a waiter returning his servant 
home with a cloak-bag full of dried sweetmeats and confects, valued to 
his Lordship at more than ten shillings the pound.”

But, gentle and much esteemed Reader, and therefore esteemed because 
gentle, instead of surfeiting thy body, let me recreate thy mind, with 
the annexed two Sonnets of Milton, which tell of innocent mirth, and 
the festive but moderate enjoyment of the rational creature.

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

   LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
         Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
         Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
         Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
   From the hard season, gaining? time will run
         On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
         The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
         The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.
   What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
         Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
         To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice
   Warble immortal notes of Tuscan air?
        _He who of these delights can judge, and spare
         To interpose them oft, is not unwise._

TO SYRIAC SKINNER.

   CYRIAC, whose grandsire on the royal bench
         Of British Themis, with no mean applause
         Pronounc'd, and in his volumes taught our laws,
         Which others at their bar so often wrench;
   To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
        _In mirth, that after no repenting draws:_
         Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
         And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
   To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
         Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
         For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
  _And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
         That with superfluous burden loads the day
         And when God sends a cheerful hour refrains._




     _Thou canst cure the body and the mind,
      Rare Doctor, with thy two-fold soundest art;
  Hippocrates hath taught thee the one kind,
      Apollo and the Muse the other part;
  And both so well that thou well both dost please,
  The mind with pleasure, and the corpse with ease._

DAVIES OF HEREFORD.




FRAGMENTS TO THE DOCTOR.


A LOVE FRAGMENT FOR THE LADIES,—INTRODUCED BY A CURIOUS INCIDENT WHICH 
THE AUTHOR BEGS THEY WILL EXCUSE.

  Now will ye list a little space,
  And I shall send you to solace;
  You to solace and be blyth,
  Hearken! ye shall hear belyve
  A tale that is of verity.

ROSWALL AND LILLIAN.


A story was told me with an assurance that it was literally true, of a 
Gentleman who being in want of a wife, advertised for one, and at the 
place and time appointed was met by a Lady. Their stations in life 
entitled them to be so called, and the Gentleman as well as the Lady 
was in earnest. He however unluckily seemed to be of the same opinion 
as King Pedro was with regard to his wife Queen Mary of Aragon, that 
she was not so handsome as she might be good, so the meeting ended in 
their mutual disappointment. Cœlebs advertised a second time, 
appointing a different Square for the place of meeting, and varying 
the words of the advertisement. He met the same Lady,—they recognized 
each other, could not chuse but smile at the recognition, and perhaps 
neither of them could chuse but sigh. You will anticipate the event. 
The persevering Batchelor tried his lot a third time in the 
newspapers, and at the third place of appointment he met the equally 
persevering Spinster. At this meeting neither could help laughing. 
They began to converse in good humour, and the conversation became so 
agreeable on both sides, and the circumstance appeared so remarkable, 
that this third interview led to a marriage, and the marriage proved a 
happy one.

When Don Argentes Prince of Galdasse had been entrapped into the hands 
of a revengeful woman whose husband he had slain in fair combat, he 
said to two handsome widows who were charged every day to punish him 
with stripes, _que par raison là on se se voit une grande beauté n'a 
pas lieu la cruauté ou autre vice_—and the Chronicler of this 
generation of the house of Amadis, observes that this assertion _fut 
bien verifié en ces deux jeunes veufues douées de grande beauté, 
lesquelles considerans la beauté et disposition de ce jeune chevalier 
et la vertu de sa personne, presterent l'oreille aux raisons qu'il 
alleguoit pour son excuse, et aux louanges qu'il leur donnoit de rare 
et singuliere beauté, de maniere qu'elles eurent pitié de luy._

“I can hardly forbear fancying,” says Lord Shaftesbury, “that if we 
had a sort of Inquisition, or formal Court of Judicature, with grave 
Officers and Judges, erected to restrain poetical licence, and in 
general to suppress that fancy and humour of versification, but in 
particular that most extravagant passion of Love, as it is set out by 
Poets, in its heathenish dress of Venus's and Cupids; if the Poets, as 
ringleaders and teachers of this heresy, were under grievous penalties 
forbid to enchant the people by their vein of rhyming; and if the 
People, on the other side, were under proportionable penalties, forbid 
to hearken to any such charm, or lend their attention to any 
love-tale, so much as in a play, a novel, or a ballad; we might 
perhaps see a new Arcadia arising out of this heavy persecution. Old 
people and young would be seized with a versifying spirit; we should 
have field conventicles of Lovers and Poets; forests would be filled 
with romantic Shepherds and Shepherdesses; and rocks resound with 
echoes of hymns and praises offered to the powers of Love. We might 
indeed have a fair chance, by this management, to bring back the whole 
train of Heathen Gods, and set our cold Northern Island burning with 
as many altars to Venus and Apollo, as were formerly in Cyprus, Delos, 
or any of those warmer Grecian climates.”

But I promised you, dear Ladies, more upon that subject which of all 
subjects is and ought to be the most interesting to you, because it is 
the most important. You have not forgotten that promise, and the time 
has now come for fulfilling it.

  Venus, unto thee for help, good Lady, I do call,
  For thou wert wont to grant request unto thy servants all;
  Even as thou didst help always Æneas thine own child,
  Appeasing the God Jupiter with countenance so mild
  That though that Juno to torment him on Jupiter did preace,
  Yet for the love he bare to thee, did cause the winds to cease;
  I pray thee pray the Muses all to help my memory,
  That I may have ensamples good in defence of feminye.[1]

Something has been said upon various ways which lead to love and 
matrimony; but what I have to say concerning imaginative love was 
deferred till we should arrive at the proper place for entering upon 
it.

[Footnote 1: EDWARD MORE.]

More or less, imagination enters into all loves and friendships, 
except those which have grown with our growth, and which therefore are 
likely to be the happiest because there can be no delusion in them. 
Cases of this kind would not be so frequent in old romances, if they 
did not occur more frequently in real life than unimaginative persons 
could be induced to believe, or made to understand.

Sir John Sinclair has related a remarkable instance in his 
Reminiscences. He was once invited by Adam Smith to meet Burke and Mr. 
Windham, who had arrived at Edinburgh with the intention of making a 
short tour in the Highlands. Sir John was consulted concerning their 
route; in the course of his directions he dwelt on the beauty of the 
road between Dunkeld and Blair;—and added, that instead of being 
cooped up in a post-chaise, they would do well to get out and walk 
through the woods and beautiful scenes through which the road passes, 
especially some miles beyond Dunkeld.

Some three years afterwards Mr. Windham came up to Sir John in the 
House of Commons and requested to speak to him for a few moments 
behind the Speaker's chair. “Do you recollect,” said he, “our meeting 
together at Adam Smith's at dinner?” “Most certainly I do.”

“Do you remember having given us directions for our Highland tour, and 
more especially to stroll through the woods between Dunkeld and 
Blair?” “I do.”

Mr. Windham then said, “In consequence of our adopting that advice, an 
event took place of which I must now inform you. Burke and I were 
strolling through the woods about ten miles from Dunkeld, when we saw 
a young female sitting under a tree, with a book in her hand. Burke 
immediately exclaimed, ‘Let us have a little conversation with this 
solitary damsel, and see what she is about.’ We accosted her 
accordingly and found that she was reading a recent novel from the 
London press. We asked her how she came to read novels, and how she 
got such books at so great a distance from the metropolis, and more 
especially one so recently published. She answered that she had been 
educated at a boarding-school at Perth, where novels might be had from 
the circulating library, and that she still procured them through the 
same channel. We carried on the conversation for some time, in the 
course of which she displayed a great deal of smartness and talent; 
and at last we were obliged, very reluctantly, to leave her, and 
proceed on our journey. We afterwards found that she was the daughter 
of a proprietor of that neighbourhood who was known under the name of 
the Baron Maclaren. I have never been able,” continued Mr. Windham, 
“to get this beautiful mountain nymph out of my head; and I wish you 
to ascertain whether she is married or single.” And he begged Sir John 
Sinclair to clear up this point as soon as possible, for much of his 
future happiness depended upon the result of the inquiry.

If not the most important communication that ever took place behind 
the Speaker's chair, this was probably the most curious one. Sir John 
lost no time in making the desired inquiry. He wrote to a most 
respectable clergyman in the neighbourhood where Miss Maclaren lived, 
the Rev. Dr. Stewart, minister of Moulin; and was informed in reply, 
that she was married to a medical gentleman in the East Indies of the 
name of Dick. “Upon communicating this to Mr. Windham,” says Sir John, 
“he seemed very much agitated. He was soon afterwards married to the 
daughter of a half-pay officer. I have no doubt, however, that had 
Miss Maclaren continued single, he would have paid her his addresses.”

This is an example of purely imaginative love. But before we proceed 
with that subject, the remainder of Sir John Sinclair's story must be 
given. Some years afterward he passed some days at Duneira in 
Perthshire, with the late Lord Melville, and in the course of 
conversation told him this anecdote of Mr. Windham. Upon which Lord 
Melville said, “I am more interested in that matter than you imagine. 
You must know that I was riding down from Blair to Dunkeld in company 
with some friend, and we called at Baron Maclaren's, where a most 
beautiful young woman desired to speak with me. We went accordingly to 
the bank of a river near her father's house, when she said, ‘Mr. 
Dundas, I hear that you are a very great man, and what is much better, 
a very good man, I will venture therefore to tell you a secret. There 
is a young man in this neighbourhood who has a strong attachment to 
me, and to confess the truth, I have a great regard for him. His name 
is William Dick; he has been bred to the medical profession; and he 
says, that if he could get to be a surgeon in the East Indies, he 
could soon make his fortune there, and would send for me to marry him. 
Now I apply to you, Mr. Dundas, as a great and good man, in hopes that 
you can do something for us: and be assured that we shall be for ever 
grateful, if you will procure him an appointment.’”

Mr. Dundas was so much struck with the impressive manner of her 
address, that he took her by the hand and said, “my good girl, be 
assured that if an opportunity offers, I shall not forget your 
application.” The promise was not forgotten. It was not long before an 
East India Director with whom he was dining, told him that he had then 
at his disposal an appointment of surgeon in the East India Company's 
service, and offered it to him for any one whom he would wish to serve 
in that line. Dundas immediately related his adventure, much to the 
amusement of the Director. Mr. Dick obtained the appointment, and was 
soon able to send for his betrothed. She had several offers in the 
course of the voyage and after her arrival, but she refused to listen 
to any one. Her husband attained to great eminence in his profession, 
made a handsome fortune, came home and purchased an estate in the 
neighbourhood where he was born.

There is no man among those who in that generation figured in public 
life, of whom a story like this could be so readily believed as of 
Windham. He was one whose endowments and accomplishments would have 
recommended him at the Court of Elizabeth,—and whose speeches, when he 
did not abase himself to the level of his hearers, might have 
commanded attention in the days of Charles I.

       *       *       *       *       *

A FRAGMENT ON BEARDS.

Yet have I more to say which I have thought upon, for I am filled as 
the moon at the full!

ECCLESIASTICUS.


The reader must not expect that we have done with our beards yet; 
shaving, as he no doubt knows but too well, is one of those things at 
which we may cut and come again, and in the present Chapter

  To shave, or not to shave, that is the question;

a matter which, hath not hitherto been fully considered. The question 
as relates to the expenditure of time, has been, profitably I trust, 
disposed of; and that of its effect upon health has been, as Members 
of Parliament say, poo-pooh'd. But the propriety of the practice is 
yet to be investigated upon other grounds.

Van Helmont tells us that Adam was created without a beard, but that 
after he had fallen and sinned, because of the sinful propensities 
which he derived from the fruit of the forbidden Tree, a beard was 
made part of his punishment and disgrace, bringing him thus into 
nearer resemblance with the beasts towards whom he had made his nature 
approximate; “_ut multorum quadrupedum compar, socius et similis 
esset, eorundem signaturam præ se ferret, quorum more ut salax, ita et 
vultum pilis hirtum ostenderet._” The same stigma was not inflicted 
upon Eve, because even in the fall she retained much of her original 
modesty, and therefore deserved no such opprobrious mark.

Van Helmont observes also that no good Angel ever appears with a 
beard, and this, he says, is a capital sign by which Angels may be 
distinguished,—a matter of great importance to those who are in the 
habit of seeing them. “_Si apparuerit barbatus Angelus, malus esto. 
Eudæmon enim nunquam barbatus apparuit, memor casus ob quem viro barba 
succrevit._” He marvelled therefore that men should suppose the beard 
was given them for an ornament, when Angels abhor it, and when they 
see that they have it in common with he-goats. There must be something 
in his remark; for take the most beautiful Angel that ever Painter 
designed, or Engraver copied, put him on a beard, and the celestial 
character will be so entirely destroyed, that the simple appendage of 
a tail will cacodemonize the Eudæmon.

This being the belief of Van Helmont, who declares that he had 
profited more by reveries and visions than by study, though he had 
studied much and deeply, ought he, in conformity to his own belief, to 
have shaved, or not? Much might be alleged on either side: for to wear 
the beard might seem in a person so persuaded, a visible sign of 
submission to the Almighty will, in thus openly bearing the badge of 
punishment, the mark of human degradation which the Almighty has been 
pleased to appoint: but, on the other hand, a shaven face might seem 
with equal propriety, and in like manner denote, a determination in 
the man to put off, as far as in him lay this outward and visible sign 
of sin and shame, and thereby assert that fallen nature was in him 
regenerate,

  _Belle est vraiment l'opinion premiere;
   Belle est encores l'opinion derniere;
   A qui des deux est-ce doncq' que je suis?_[1]

[Footnote 1: PASQUIER.]

Which of the two opinions I might incline to is of no consequence, 
because I do not agree with Van Helmont concerning the origin of the 
beard; though as to what he affirms concerning good Angels upon his 
own alleged knowledge, I cannot contradict him upon mine, and have 
moreover freely confessed that when we examine our notions of Angels 
they are found to support him. But he himself seems to have thought 
both opinions probable, and therefore, according to the casuists, 
safe; so, conforming to the fashion of his times, without offence to 
his own conscience, he neither did the one thing, nor the other; or 
perhaps it may be speaking more accurately to say that he did both; 
for he shaved his beard, and let his mustachios grow.

Upon this subject, P. Gentien Hervet, Regent of the College at Orleans 
printed three discourses in the year 1536. In the first of these _De 
radendâ barbâ_, he makes it appear that we are bound to shave the 
beard. In the second _De alendâ barbâ_, he proves we ought to let the 
beard grow. And in the third _De vel radendâ vel alendâ barbâ_ he 
considers that it is lawful either to shave or cultivate the beard at 
pleasure. “_Si bien_,” says the Doctor in Theology, M. Jean Baptiste 
Thiers, in his grave and erudite _Histoire des Perruques_, published 
_aux depens de l'Autheur_, at Paris in 1690,—_si bien, que dans la 
pensée de ce sçavant Theologien, le question des barbes, courtes ou 
longues, est une question tout-a-fait problematique, et où par 
consequent on peut prendre tel party que l'on veut, pour ou contre._


[The following Extracts were to have been worked up in this Chapter.]

D'Israeli quotes an author who, in his Elements of Education, 1640, 
says, “I have a favourable opinion of that young gentleman who is 
curious in fine mustachios. The time he employs in adjusting, dressing 
and curling them, is no lost time: for the more he contemplates his 
mustachios, the more his mind will cherish, and be animated by, 
masculine and courageous notions.”


There are men whose beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to 
stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's packsaddle.

SHAKSPEARE.


“Human felicity,” says Dr. Franklin, “is produced not so much by great 
pieces of good fortune that seldom happen, as by little advantages 
that occur every day. Thus if you teach a poor young man to shave 
himself and keep his razor in order, you may contribute more to the 
happiness of his life than in giving him a thousand guineas. This sum 
may be soon spent, the regret only remaining of having foolishly 
consumed it: but in the other case he escapes the frequent vexation of 
waiting for barbers, and of their sometimes dirty fingers, offensive 
breaths and dull razors; he shaves when most convenient to him, and 
enjoys daily the pleasure of its being done with a good instrument.”


                 By Jupiter,
  Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard
  I would not shave 't to day.

SHAKSPEARE.


D'Israeli says that a clergyman who had the longest and largest beard 
of any Englishman in Elizabeth's reign, gave as a reason for wearing 
it the motive it afforded “that no act of his life might be unworthy 
the gravity of his appearance.”

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGMENT ON MORTALITY.


When Fuller in his Pisgah Sight of Palestine, comes to the city of 
Aigalon, where Elon, Judge of Israel, was buried, “of whom nothing 
else is recorded save his name, time of his rule (ten years), and 
place of his interment; slight him not he says, because so little is 
reported of him, it tending much to the praise of his policy in 
preventing foreign invasions, and domestic commotions, so that the 
land enjoyed peace, as far better than victory, as health is to be 
preferred before a recovery from sickness. Yea, times of much doing 
are times of much suffering, and many martial achievements are rather 
for the Prince's honour, than the people's ease.”

“To what purpose,” says Norris, “should a man trouble both the world's 
and his own rest, to make himself great? For besides the emptiness of 
the thing, the Play will quickly be done, and the Actors must all 
retire into a state of equality, and then it matters not who 
personated the Emperor, or who the Slave.”

The Doctor's feelings were in unison with both these passages;—with 
the former concerning the quiet age in which it was his fortune to 
flourish; and with the latter in that it was his fortune to flourish 
in the shade. “It is with times,” says Lord Bacon, “as it is with 
ways; some are more up hill and down hill, and some are more flat and 
plain; and the one is better for the liver, and the other for the 
writer.”

He assented also to the Christian-Platonist of Bemerton when he asked, 
“to what purpose should a man be very earnest in the pursuit of Fame? 
He must shortly die, and so must those too who admire him.” But 
nothing could be more opposed to his way of thinking than what follows 
in that philosopher,—“Nay, I could almost say, to what purpose should 
a man lay himself out upon study and drudge so laboriously in the 
mines of learning? He is no sooner a little wiser than his brethren, 
but Death thinks him ripe for his sickle; and for aught we know, after 
all his pains and industry, in the next world, an ideot, or a mechanic 
will be as forward as he.” In the same spirit Horace Walpole said in 
his old age, “What is knowledge to me, who stand on the verge, and 
must leave my old stores as well as what I may add to them,—and how 
little could that be!”

When Johnson was told that Percy was uneasy at the thought of leaving 
his house, his study, his books—when he should die,—he replied—“a man 
need not be uneasy on these grounds, for as he will retain his 
consciousness, he may say with the Philosopher, _omnia mea mecum 
porto._”

“Let attention,” says the thoughtful John Miller in his Bampton 
Lectures, which deserve to be side by side with those of the lamented 
Van Mildert, “let attention be requested to what seems here an 
accessory sign of the adaptation of all our heavenly Father's dealings 
to that which he ‘knows to be in man’—I mean his merciful shortening 
of the term of this present natural life, subsequently to the period 
when all-seeing justice had been compelled to destroy the old world 
for its disobedience.

“I call it merciful, because, though we can conceive no length of day 
which could enable man with his present faculties to exhaust all that 
is made subject to his intellect, yet observing the scarcely credible 
rapidity of some minds and the no less wonderful retention of others, 
we may well conceive a far severer, nay too severe a test of 
resignation and patience to arise from length of years. To learn is 
pleasant; but to be ‘ever learning, and never able to come to sure 
knowledge of the truth,’ (if it were only in matters of lawful and 
curious and ardent speculation,) is a condition which we may well 
imagine to grow wearisome by too great length of time. ‘Hope delayed’ 
might well ‘make the heart sick’ in many such cases. We may find an 
infidel amusing himself on the brink of the grave with many imaginary 
wishes for a little longer respite, that he might witness the result 
of this or that speculation; but I am persuaded that the heart which 
really loves knowledge most truly and most wisely will be affected 
very differently. From every fresh addition to its store (as far as 
concerns itself,) it will only derive increase to that desire 
wherewith it longs to become disentangled altogether from a state of 
imperfection, and to be present in the fulness of that light, wherein 
‘every thing that is in part shall be done away.’ Here, then, in one 
of the most interesting and most important of all points (the 
shortening of human life) we find a representation in Scripture which 
may be accounted favourable to its credibility and divine authority on 
the safest grounds of reason and experience. For certainly, as to the 
bare matter of fact, such representation corresponds in the strictest 
manner (as far as we have known and have seen) with the state of life 
as at present existing; and accepting it as true, we can perceive at 
once, a satisfactory explanation of it by referring it, as a provision 
for man's well being, to the wisdom and mercy of an Omnipotent Spirit 
who knew, and knows ‘what is in man.’”

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGMENT OF SIXTH VOLUME.


Reader, we are about to enter upon the sixth volume of this our Opus; 
and as it is written in the forms of Herkeru, Verily the eye of Hope 
is upon the high road of Expectation.

Well begun, says the Proverb, is half done. Horace has been made to 
say the same thing by the insertion of an apt word which pentametrizes 
the verse,

  _Dimidium facti qui bene cæpit habet._

D. Juan de Villagutierre Soto-Mayor in setting forth the merits of 
Columbus for having discovered the New World, and thereby opened the 
way for its conquest by the Spaniards, observes that _el principio en 
todas las operaciones humanas es el mas dificultoso estado; y assi una 
vez vencido, se reputa y debe reputarse por la mitad della obra, ò por 
la principal de ella; y el proseguir despues en lo comenzado no 
contiene tanta dificultad._

When Gabriel Chappuis dedicated the eighteenth book of Amadis, by him 
translated from the Spanish, to the Noble and Virtuous Lord Jan 
Anthoine Gros, Sieur de S. Jouere, &c., he says, after a preamble of 
eulogies upon the Dedicates and the Book, _Vous recevrez donc, s'il 
vous plaist ce petit livre d'aussy bon œil que ont fait ceux ausquels 
j'ay dedié les trois livres precedens, m'asseurant que s'il vous 
plaist en avoir la lecture, vous y trouverez grande delectation, comme 
à la verité l'histoire qui y est descrite, et mesmes en tous les 
precedens et en ceux qui viendront apres, a esté inventée pour 
delecter; mais avec tant de beaux traits, et une infinité de divers 
accidens et occurrences qu'il est impossible qu'avec le plaisir et le 
delectation, l'on n'en tire un grand proffet, comme vous 
experementerez, moyennant la grace de Dieu._

       *       *       *       *       *

_J'ay fait le précédent Chapitre un peu court; peut-être que celui-ce 
sera plus long; je n'en suis pourtant pas bien assuré, nous l'allons 
voir._

SCARRON.


Deborah's strong affection for her father was not weakened by 
marriage; nor his for her by the consequent separation. Caroline 
Bowles says truly, and feelingly and beautifully,

  It is not love that steals the heart from love;
  'Tis the hard world and its perplexing cares,
  Its petrifying selfishness, its pride,
  Its low ambition, and its paltry aims.

There was none of that “petrifying selfishness” in the little circle 
which lost so much when Deborah was removed from her father's 
parsonage. In order that that loss might be less painfully felt, it 
was proposed by Mr. Allison that Sunday should always be kept at the 
Grange when the season or the weather permitted. The Doctor came if he 
could; but for Mrs. Dove it was always to be a holiday.

“The pleasures of a volatile head,” says Mrs. Carter, “are much less 
liable to disappointment, than those of a sensible heart.” For such as 
can be contented with rattles and raree-shows, there are rattles and 
raree-shows in abundance to content them; and when one is broken it is 
mighty easily replaced by another. But the pleasures arising from the 
endearments of social relations, and the delicate sensibilities of 
friendly affection, are more limited, and their objects 
incontrovertible; they are accompanied with perpetual tender 
solicitude, and subject to accidents not to be repaired beneath the 
Sun. It is no wonder however that the joys of folly should have their 
completion in a world with which they are to end, while those of 
higher order must necessarily be incompleat in a world where they are 
only to begin.[1]

[Footnote 1: From the writing of the latter paragraph I should judge 
this to be one of the latest sentences Southey ever wrote.—In the MS. 
it was to have followed c. cxxxv. vol. iv. p. 361.]

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGMENT WHICH WAS TO HAVE ANSWERED THE QUESTION PROPOSED IN THE TWO 
HUNDRED AND FORTY-SECOND CHAPTER.

_Io udii già dire ad un valente uomo nostro vicino, gli uomini abbiano 
molte volte bisogno sì di lagrimare, come di ridere; e per tal cagione 
egli affermava essere state da principio trovate le dolorose favole, 
che si chiamarono Tragedie, accioche raccontate ne' teatri, come in 
qual tempo si costumava di fare, tirassero le lagrime agli occhi di 
coloro, che avevano di ciò mestiere; e cosi eglino piangendo della 
loro infirmita guarissero. Ma come ciò sia a noi non istà bene di 
contristare gli animi delle persone con cui favelliamo; massimamente 
colà dove si dimori per aver festa e sollazzo, e non per piagnere; che 
se pure alcuno è, che infermi per vaghezza di lagrimare, assai leggier 
cosa fia di medicarlo con la mostarda forte, o porlo in alcun luogo al 
fumo._

GALATEO, DEL M. GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.


The Reader may remember, when he is thus reminded of it, that I 
delayed giving an account of Pompey, in answer to the question who he 
was, till the Dog-days should come. Here we are, (if _here_ may be 
applied to time) in the midst of them, July 24, 1830.

Horace Walpole speaks in a letter of two or three Mastiff-days so much 
fiercer were they that season than our common Dog-days. This year they 
might with equal propriety be called Iceland-Dog-days. Here we are 
with the thermometer every night and morning below the temperate 
point, and scarcely rising two degrees above it at middle day. And 
then for weather;—as Voiture says, _Il pleut pla-ple-pli-plo-plus._

If then as Robert Wilmot hath written, “it be true that the motions of 
our minds follow the temperature of the air wherein we live, then I 
think the perusing of some mournful matter, tending to the view of a 
notable example, will refresh your wits in a gloomy day, and ease your 
weariness of the louring night:” and the tragical part of my story 
might as fitly be told now in that respect, as if “weary winter were 
come upon us, which bringeth with him drooping days and weary nights.” 
But who does not like to put away tragical thoughts? Who would not 
rather go to see a broad farce than a deep tragedy? Sad thoughts even 
when they are medicinal for the mind, are as little to the mind's 
liking, as physic is grateful to the palate when it is needed most.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGMENT ON HUTCHINSON'S WORKS.[1]

[Footnote 1: A Chapter was to have been devoted to the Hutchinsonian 
philosophy, and I am inclined to believe that this was a part of it.]


These superstitions are unquestionably of earlier date than any 
existing records, and commenced with the oldest system of idolatry, 
the worship of the heavenly bodies. Hutchinson's view is that when 
Moses brought the Jews out of their captivity, all men believed that 
“Fire, Light, or the Operation of the Air, did every thing in this 
material system:” those who believed rightly in God, knew that these 
secondary causes acted as his instruments, but “those who had fallen 
and lost communication with the Prophets and the truth of tradition, 
and were left to reason, (though they reasoned as far as reason could 
reach) thought the Heavens of a divine nature, and that they not only 
moved themselves and the heavenly bodies but operated all things on 
earth; and influenced the bodies, and governed the minds and fortunes 
of men: and so they fell upon worshipping them, and consulting them 
for times and seasons.” “The Devil,” he says, “chose right; this was 
the only object of false worship which gave any temptation; and it had 
very specious inducements.” And it was because he thus prevailed over 
“the Children of disobedience,” that the Apostle stiles him “the 
Prince of the Powers of the Air.” “This made the Priests and 
Physicians of the antient heathen cultivate the knowledge of these 
Powers, and afterwards made them star-gazers and observe the motions 
of those bodies for their conjunctions and oppositions, and all the 
stuff of their lucky and unlucky days and times, and especially to 
make advantage of their eclipses, for which they were stiled Magi, and 
looked upon as acquaintance of their Gods; and so much of the latter 
as is of any use, and a great deal more, we are obliged to them for.” 
“But these,” he says, “who thought that the Heavens ordered the events 
of things by their motions and influences, and that they were to be 
observed and foreseen by men, robbed God of his chief attributes, and 
were ordered then, and ought still, to be punished with death.”

Hutchinson is one of the most repulsive writers that ever produced any 
effect upon his contemporaries. His language is such as almost 
justified Dr. Parr in calling it the Hutchinsonian jargon; and his 
system is so confusedly brought forward that one who wishes to obtain 
even a general knowledge of it, must collect it as he can from 
passages scattered through the whole of his treatises. Add to these 
disrecommendations that it is propounded in the coarsest terms of 
insolent assumption, and that he treats the offence of those who 
reject the authority of scripture,—that is of his interpretation of 
Hebrew, and his exposition of the Mosaic philosophy, as “an infectious 
scurvy or leprosy of the soul which can scarcely be cured by any thing 
but eternal brimstone.”

The Paradise Lost, he calls, “that cursed farce of Milton, where he 
makes the Devil his hero:” and of the ancient poets and historians he 
says that “the mischief which these vermin did by praising their 
heroes in their farces or princes for conquering countries, and 
thereby inciting other princes to imitate them were the causes of the 
greatest miseries that have befallen mankind.” But Sir Isaac Newton 
was the great object of his hatred. “Nothing but villainy,” he said, 
“was to be expected from men who had made a human scheme, and would 
construe every text concerning it, so as to serve their purpose; he 
could only treat them as the most treacherous men alive. I hope,” he 
says, “I have power to forgive any crimes which are committed only 
against myself; I am not required, nor have I any power to forgive 
treason against the king, much less to forgive any crimes whereby any 
attempt to dispossess Jehovah Aleim. Nay, if I know of them and do not 
reveal them, and do not my endeavour to disappoint them in either, I 
am accessary. I shall put these things where I can upon the most 
compassionate side; the most favourable wish I can make for them is, 
that they may prove their ignorance so fully, that it may abate their 
crimes; but if their followers will shew that he or his accomplices 
knew anything, I must be forced to make Devils of them. There are many 
other accidents besides design or malice, which make men 
atheists,—studying or arguing to maintain a system, forged by a man 
who does not understand it, and in which there must be some things 
false, makes a man a villain whether he will or no.

“He, (Newton) first framed a philosophy, which is two thirds of the 
business of the real scriptures, and struck off the rest. And when he 
found his philosophy was built upon, and to be supported by emptiness, 
he was forced to patch up a God to constitute space. His equipage 
appears to have been the translation of the apostate Jews, and some 
blind histories of the modern heathen _Deus_, and an empty head to 
make his _Deus_; Kepler's banter of his powers, and some tacit 
acknowledgements as he only supposed, of the ignorantest heathens; an 
air-pump to make, and a pendulum or swing to prove a vacuum; a 
loadstone, and a bit of amber, or jet, to prove his philosophy; a 
telescope, a quadrant, and a pair of compasses to make infinite 
worlds, circles, crooked lines, &c.; a glass bubble, prisms and 
lenses, and a board with a hole in it, to let light into a dark room 
to form his history of light and colours; and he seems to have spent 
his time, not only when young, as some boys do, but when he should 
have set things right, in blowing his phlegm through a straw, raising 
bubbles, and admiring how the light would glare on the sides of them.”

No mention of Hutchinson is made in Dr. Brewster's Life of Newton, his 
system was probably thought too visionary to deserve notice, and the 
author unworthy of it because he had been the most violent and 
foul-mouthed of all Sir Isaac's opponents. The Mathematical Principles 
of Natural philosophy, he called a cobweb of circles and lines to 
catch flies. “Mathematics,” he said, “are applicable to any _data_, 
real or imaginary, true or false, more pestilent and destructive 
positions had been fathered upon that science than upon all others put 
together, and mathematicians had been put to death, both by Heathens 
and Christians for attributing much less to the heavenly bodies than 
Newton had done.” He compared his own course of observations with 
Newton's. His had been in the dark bowels of the earth, with the 
inspired light of scripture in his hand,—there he had learnt his 
Hebrew, and there he had studied the causes and traced the effects of 
the Deluge. “The opportunities,” he said, “were infinitely beyond what 
any man can have by living in a box, peeping out at a window, or 
letting the light in at a hole: or in separating and extracting the 
spirit from light, which can scarce happen in nature, or from 
refracting the light, which only happens upon the rainbow, bubbles, 
&c., or by making experiments with the loadstone, talc or amber, which 
differ in texture from most other bodies, and are only found in masses 
of small size; or by arranging a pendulum, which perhaps has not a 
parallel case in nature: or by the effects produced by spirit or light 
upon mixing small parcels of extracted fluids or substances, scarce 
one of which ever happened, or will happen in nature: or by taking 
cases which others have put, or putting cases which never had, nor 
ever will have any place in nature: or by forming figures or lines of 
crooked directions of motions or things, which most of them have no 
place, so the lines no use in nature, other than to serve hypotheses 
of imaginary Powers, or courses, which always have been useless, when 
any other Powers, though false, have been assigned and received; and 
must all finally be useless, when the true Powers are shewn.”

Such passages show that Hutchinson was either grossly incapable of 
appreciating Newton's discoveries, or that he wilfully and maliciously 
depreciated them. His own attainments might render the first of these 
conclusions improbable, and the second would seem still more so upon 
considering the upright tenour of his life. But the truth seems to be, 
that having constructed a system with great labour, and no little 
ability, upon the assumption that the principles of natural philosophy 
as well as of our faith, are contained in the scriptures, and that the 
true interpretation of scripture depended upon the right understanding 
of the Hebrew primitives, which knowledge the apostate Jews had lost, 
and he had recovered, his belief in this system had all the 
intolerance of fanaticism or supposed infallibility; and those who 
strongly contravened it, deserved in his opinion the punishments 
appointed in the Mosaic law for idolatry and blasphemy. Newton and 
Clarke were in this predicament. Both, in his judgement, attributed so 
much to secondary causes,—those Powers which had been the first 
objects of idolatry, that he considered their Deity to be nothing more 
than the Jupiter of the philosophizing heathens; and he suspects that 
their esoteric doctrine resolved itself into Pantheism. Toland indeed 
had told him that there was a scheme in progress for leading men 
through Pantheism and Atheism, and made him acquainted with all their 
designs, divine or diabolical, and political or anarchical! and all 
the villanies and forgeries they had committed to accomplish them. 
First they sought to make men believe in a God who could not punish, 
and then—that there was no God, and Toland was engaged, for pay, in 
this scheme of propagandism, “because he had some learning, and more 
loose humour than any of them.” The Pantheisticon was written with 
this view. Toland was only in part the author, other hands assisted, 
and Hutchinson says, he knew “there was a physician, and a patient of 
his a divine, who was very serviceable in their respective stations in 
prescribing proper doses, even to the very last.” But they “carried 
the matter too far,” “they discovered a secret which the world had not 
taken notice of, and which it was highly necessary the world should 
know.” For “though it be true to a proverb, that a man should not be 
hanged for being a fool, they shewed the principles of these men so 
plainly, which were to have no superior, to conform to any religion, 
laws, oaths, &c., but be bound by none, and the consequences of 
propagating them, that they thereby shewed the wisdom of the heathen 
people, who because they could not live safely, stoned such men; and 
the justice of the heathen Emperors and Kings, who put such to death, 
because they could have no security from them, and if their doubts, or 
notions had prevailed, all must have gone to anarchy or a 
commonwealth, as it always did, when and where they neglected to cut 
them off.”

That atheism had its propagandists then as it has now is certain, and 
no one who has watched the course of opinion among his contemporaries 
can doubt that Socinianism, or semi-belief, gravitates towards 
infidelity. But to believe that Newton and Clarke were engaged in the 
scheme which is here imputed to them, we must allow more weight to 
Toland's character than to theirs, and to Hutchinson's judgement.

What has here been said of Hutchinson exhibits him in his worst 
light,—and it must not hastily be concluded that because he breathed 
the fiercest spirit of intolerance, he is altogether to be disliked as 
a man, or despised as an author. Unless his theory, untenable as it 
is, had been constructed with considerable talent, and supported with 
no common learning,—he could never have had such men as Bishop Horne 
and Jones of Nayland among his disciples. Without assenting to his 
system, a biblical student may derive instruction from many parts of 
his works.

There is one remarkable circumstance in his history. When he was a 
mere boy a stranger came to board with his father, who resided at 
Spennythorn in the North-Riding of Yorkshire, upon an estate of forty 
pounds a year. The father's intention was to educate this son for the 
office of steward to some great landed proprietor, and this stranger 
agreed to instruct him in every branch of knowledge requisite for such 
an employment, upon condition of being boarded free of expence, 
engaging at the same time to remain till he had completed the boy's 
education. What he had thus undertaken he performed well; “he was, 
perhaps,” says Hutchinson, “as great a mathematician as either of 
those whose books he studied, and taught me as much as I could see any 
use for, either upon the earth or in the heavens, without poisoning me 
with any false notions fathered upon the mathematics.” The curious 
part of this story is that it was never known who this scientific 
stranger was, for he carefully and effectually concealed every thing 
that could lead to a discovery. Hutchinson was born in 1674, and his 
education under this tutor was completed at the age of nineteen.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGMENT RELATIVE TO THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL AT DONCASTER AND THE LIVING OF 
ROSSINGTON.[1]

[Footnote 1: The Parish of Rossington in the union and soke of 
Doncaster was for many generations the seat of the Fossard and Mauley 
families. In the reign of Henry VII., it was granted by that monarch 
to the corporation of Doncaster.

The following extract is from Mr. John Wainwright's History and 
Antiquities of Doncaster and Conisbro'.

“Connected with the history of this village, is a singular and curious 
specimen of Egyptian manners, as practised by the itinerant gypsies of 
the British Empire. In a letter, which we had the pleasure of 
receiving from the Rev. James Stoven, D.D. the worthy and learned 
rector of this place, it is remarked, that about one hundred and 
twenty years ago, the gypsies commenced here a curious custom, which 
they practised once in almost every year, occasioned by the interment, 
in the churchyard of this place, (of) one of their principal leaders, 
Mr. Charles Bosville, on the 30th of June, 1708 or 9. Having, from a 
boy, been much acquainted with this village, I have often heard of 
their (the gypsies) abode here, and with them Mr. James Bosville, 
their king, under whose authority they conducted themselves with great 
propriety and decorum, never committing the least theft or offence. 
They generally slept in their farmers' barns, who, at those periods, 
considered their property to be more safely protected than in their 
absence. Mr. Charles Bosville (but how related to the king does not 
appear,) was much beloved in this neighbourhood, having a knowledge of 
medicine, was very attentive to the sick, well bred in manners, and 
comely in person. After his death, the gypsies, for many years, came 
to visit his tomb, and poured upon it hot ale; but by degrees they 
deserted the place,—(These circumstances must yet hang on their 
remembrance; as, only a year ago, 1821, an ill drest set of them 
encamped in our lanes, calling themselves Boswell's.)—These words in 
the parentheses came within my own knowledge.”

It is added in a note—“_Boswell's Gang_, is an appellation, very 
generally applied to a collection of beggars, or other idle 
itinerants, which we often see encamped in groups in the lanes and 
ditches of this part of England.”

In quoting this, I by no means assent to the statement that Gypsies 
are Egyptians.—They are of Hindostanee origin.]


The Grammar school was next door to Peter Hopkins's, being kept in one 
of the lower apartments of the Town Hall. It was a free school for the 
sons of freemen, the Corporation allowing a salary of £50. _per annum_ 
to the schoolmaster, who according to the endowment must be a 
clergyman. That office was held by Mr. Crochley, who had been bred at 
Westminster, and was elected from thence to Christ Church, Oxford in 
1742. He came to Doncaster with a promise from the Corporation that 
the living of Rossington, which is in their gift and is a valuable 
benefice, should be given him provided he had fifty scholars when it 
became vacant. He never could raise their numbers higher than 
forty-five; the Corporation adhered to the letter of their agreement; 
the disappointment preyed on him, and he died a distressed and 
broken-hearted man.

Yet it was not Crochley's fault that the school had not been more 
flourishing. He was as competent to the office as a man of good 
natural parts could be rendered by the most compleat course of 
classical education. But in those days few tradesmen ever thought of 
bestowing upon their sons any further education than was sufficient to 
qualify them for trade; and the boys who were desirous to be placed 
there, must have been endued with no ordinary love of learning, for a 
grammar school is still any thing rather than a _Ludus Literarius_.

Two or three years before the Doctor's marriage a widow lady came to 
settle at Doncaster, chiefly for the sake of placing her sons at the 
Grammar School there, which though not in high repute was at least 
respectably conducted. It was within five minutes walk of her own 
door, and thus the boys had the greatest advantage that school-boys 
can possibly enjoy, that of living at home, whereby they were saved 
from all the misery and from most of the evil with which 
boarding-schools, almost without an exception, abounded in those days, 
and from which it may be doubted whether there are any yet that are 
altogether free. Her name was Horseman, she was left with six 
children, and just with such means as enabled her by excellent 
management to make what is called a respectable appearance, the boys 
being well educated at the cheapest rate, and she herself educating 
two daughters who were fortunately the eldest children. Happy girls! 
they were taught what no Governess could teach them, to be useful as 
soon as they were capable of being so; to make their brother's shirts 
and mend their stockings; to make and mend for themselves, to cipher 
so as to keep accounts; to assist in household occupations, to pickle 
and preserve, to make pastry, to work chair-bottoms, to write a fair 
hand, and to read Italian. This may seem incongruous with so practical 
a system of domestic education. But Mrs. Horseman was born in Italy, 
and had passed great part of her youth there.

The father, Mr. Duckinton, was a man of some fortune, whose delight 
was in travelling, and who preferred Italy to all other countries. 
Being a whimsical person he had a fancy for naming each of his 
children, after the place where it happened to be born. One daughter 
therefore was baptized by the fair name of Florence, Mrs. Horseman, 
was christened Venetia, like the wife of Sir Kenelm Digby, whose 
husband was more careful of her complexion than of her character. 
Fortunate it was that he had no daughter born at Genoa or at Nantes, 
for if he had, the one must have concealed her true baptismal name 
under the alias of Jenny; and the other have subscribed herself Nancy, 
that she might not be reproached with the brandy cask. The youngest of 
his children was a son, and if he had been born in the French capital 
would hardly have escaped the ignominious name of Paris, but as Mr. 
Duckinton had long wished for a son, and the mother knowing her 
husband's wishes had prayed for one, the boy escaped with no worse 
name than Deodatus.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.


Kissing has proverbially been said to go by favour. So it is but too 
certain, that Preferment does in Army and Navy, Church and State; and 
so does Criticism.

That Kissing should do so is but fair and just; and it is moreover in 
the nature of things.

That Promotion should do so is also in the nature of things—as they 
are. And this also is fair where no injustice is committed. When other 
pretensions are equal, favour is the feather which ought to be put 
into the scale. In cases of equal fitness, no wrong is done to the one 
party, if the other is preferred for considerations of personal 
friendship, old obligations, or family connection; the injustice and 
the wrong would be if these were overlooked.

To what extent may favour be reasonably allowed in criticism?

If it were extended no farther than can be really useful to the person 
whom there is an intention of serving, its limits would be short 
indeed. For in that case it would never proceed farther than truth and 
discretion went with it. Far more injury is done to a book and to an 
author by injudicious or extravagant praise, than by intemperate or 
malevolent censure.

Some persons have merrily surmised that Job was a reviewer because he 
exclaimed “Oh that mine enemy had written a book!” Others on the 
contrary have inferred that reviewing was not known in his days, 
because he wished that his own words had been printed and published.

       *       *       *       *       *

[The timbers were laid for a Chapter on wigs, and many notes and 
references were collected.—This Fragment is all that remains.]

Bernardin St. Pierre, who with all his fancies and oddities, has been 
not undeservedly a popular writer in other countries as well as in his 
own, advances in the most extravagant of his books, (the _Harmonies de 
la Nature_,) the magnificent hypothesis that men invented great wigs 
because great wigs are _semblables aux criniers des lions_, like 
lion's manes. But as wigs are rather designed to make men look grave 
than terrible, he might with more probability have surmised that they 
were intended to imitate the appearance of the Bird of Wisdom.

The Doctor wore a wig: and looked neither like a Lion, nor like an Owl 
in it. Yet when he first put it on, and went to the looking-glass, he 
could not help thinking that he did not look like a Dove.

But then he looked like a Doctor, which was as it became him to look. 
He wore it professionally.

It was not such a wig as Dr. Parr's, which was of all contemporary 
wigs _facile princeps_. Nor was it after the fashion of that which may 
be seen in “immortal buckle,” upon Sir Cloudesley Shovel's monument in 
Westminster Abbey——&c.

       *       *       *       *       *

MEMOIRS OF CAT'S EDEN.

[The following Fragments were intended to be worked up into an 
Interchapter on the History of Cats. The first fairly written out was 
to have been, it would appear, the commencement. The next is an 
Extract from Eulia Effendi. “That anecdote about the King of the Cats, 
Caroline, you must write out for me, as it must be inserted,” said the 
lamented Author of the Doctor, &c. to Mrs. Southey. The writer of the 
lines is not known, they were forwarded to the Author when at 
Killerton. The “Memoirs of Cats of Greta Hall” was to have furnished 
the particulars, which the first fragment states had got abroad.

What was to have been the form of the Interchapter the Editor does not 
know, neither does Mrs. Southey. The playful letter is given exactly 
as it was written. A beautiful instance, as will be acknowledged by 
all, of that confidence which should exist between a loving father and 
a dutiful daughter. Sir Walter Scott wrote feelingly when he said,

  Some feelings are to mortals given
  With less of earth in them than heaven:
  And if there be a human tear
  From passion's dross refined and clear,
  A tear so limpid and so meek,
  It would not stain an angel's cheek,
  'Tis that which pious fathers shed
  Upon a duteous daughter's head!]


FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

  More than prince of cats, I can tell you.

ROMEO AND JULIET.


An extract from the Register of Cat's Eden has got abroad, whereby it 
appears that the Laureate, Dr. Southey, who is known to be a 
philofelist, and confers honours upon his Cats according to their 
services, has raised one to the highest rank in peerage, promoting him 
through all its degrees by the following titles, His Serene Highness 
the Arch-Duke Rumpelstilzchen, Marquis Macbum, Earl Tomlemagne, Baron 
Raticide, Waowlher and Skaratchi.

The first of these names is taken from the German Collection of 
_Kinder und Haus-Märchen_. A Dwarf or Imp so called was to carry off 
the infant child of the Queen as the price of a great service which he 
had rendered her, but he had consented to forego his right if in the 
course of three days she could find out what was his name. This she 
never could have done, if the King had not on the first day gone 
hunting, and got into the thickest part of the wood, where he saw a 
ridiculous Dwarf hopping about before a house which seemed by its 
dimensions to be his home, and singing for joy; these were the words 
of his song,

     _Heute back ich, morgen brau ich,
  Ubermorgen hohl ich der Frau Konigin ihr kind,
      Ach wie gut ist, das niemand weiss
      Dass ich Rumpelstilzchen heiss._

  I bake to-day, and I brew to-morrow,
  Mrs. Queen will see me the next day to her sorrow,
    When according to promise her child I shall claim,
      For none can disclose, because nobody knows
        That Rumpelstilzchen is my name.

Now if Rumpelstilzchen had had as many names as a Spanish Infante, the 
man must have a good memory who could have carried them away upon 
hearing them once.

       *       *       *       *       *

“The Cats of Diorigi are celebrated all over Greece, for nowhere are 
to  be found cats so pretty, so vigilant, so caressing and well-bred 
as at Diorigi. The Cats of the Oasis in Egypt, and of Sinope are 
justly renowned for their good qualities, but those of Diorigi are 
particularly fat, brilliant, and playing different colours. They are 
carried from here to Persia, to Ardebeil where they are shut up in 
cages, proclaimed by the public criers and sold for one or two 
_tomans_. The Georgians also buy them at a great price, to save their 
whiskers which are commonly eaten up by mice. The criers of Ardebeil, 
who cry these cats have a particular melody to which they sing their 
cry in these words,

  O you who like a Cat
  That catches mouse and rat,
  Well-bred, caressing, gay
  Companion to sport and play,
  Amusing and genteel,
  Shall never scratch and steal.

Singing these words they carry the cats on their head and sell them 
for great prices, because the inhabitants of Ardebeil are scarce able 
to save their woollen cloth from the destruction of mice and rats. 
Cats are called Hurre, Katta, Senorre, Merabe, Matshi, Weistaun, 
Wemistaun, but those of Diorigi are particularly highly esteemed. 
Notwithstanding that high reputation and price of the Cats of Diorigi, 
they meet with dangerous enemies in their native place, where 
sometimes forty or fifty of them are killed secretly, tanned, and 
converted into fur for the winter time. It is a fur scarce to be 
distinguished from Russian ermelin, and that of the red cats is not to 
be distinguished from the fox that comes from Ozalov.”[1]

[Footnote 1: EVLIA EFFENDI.]

A labouring man returning to his cottage after night-fall, passed by a 
lone house in ruins, long uninhabited. Surprized at the appearance of 
light within, and strange sounds issuing from the desolate interior, 
he stopt and looked in through one of the broken windows, and there in 
a large old gloomy room, quite bare of furniture except that the 
cobwebs hung about its walls like tapestry, he beheld a marvellous 
spectacle. A small coffin covered with a pall stood in the midst of 
the floor, and round and round and round about it with dismal 
lamentations in the feline tongue, marched a circle of Cats, one of 
them, being covered from head to foot with a black veil, and walking 
as chief mourner. The man was so frightened with what he saw that he 
waited to see no more, but went straight home, and at supper told his 
wife what had befallen him.

Their own old Cat, who had been sitting, as was her wont, on the elbow 
of her Master's chair, kept her station very quietly, till he came to 
the description of the chief Mourner, when, to the great surprize and 
consternation of the old couple, she bounced up, and flew up the 
chimney exclaiming—“Then I am King of the Cats.”

       *       *       *       *       *

_Keswick, January 9th._

DEAR MASTER,

                    Let our boldness not offend,
  If a few lines of duteous love we send;
  Nor wonder that we deal in rhyme, for long
  We've been familiar with the founts of song;
  Nine thorougher tabbies you would rarely find,
  Than those who laurels round your temples bind:
  For how, with less than nine lives to their share,
  Could they have lived so long on poet's fare?
  Athens surnamed them from their mousing powers,
  And Rome from that harmonious MU of ours,
  In which the letter U, (as we will trouble you
  To say to TODD) should supersede ew—
  This by the way—we now proceed to tell,
  That all within the bounds of home are well;
  All but your faithful cats, who inly pine;
  The cause your Conscience may too well divine.
  Ah! little do you know how swiftly fly
  The venomed darts of feline jealousy;
  How delicate a task to deal it is
  With a Grimalkin's sensibilities,
  When Titten's tortoise fur you smoothed with bland
  And coaxing courtesies of lip and hand,
  We felt as if, (poor Puss's constant dread)
  Some school-boy stroked us both from tail to head;
  Nor less we suffer'd while with sportive touch
  And purring voice, you played with grey-backed Gutch;
  And when with eager step, you left your seat,
  To get a peep at Richard's snow-white feet,
  Himself all black; we long'd to stop his breath
  With something like his royal namesake's death;
  If more such scenes our frenzied fancies see,
  Resolved we hang from yonder apple tree—
  And were not that a sad catastrophe!
  O! then return to your deserted lake,
  Dry eyes that weep, and comfort hearts that ache;
  Our mutual jealousies we both disown,
  Content to share, rather than lose a throne.
  The Parlour, Rumples undisputed reign,
  Hurley's the rest of all your wide domain.
  Return, return, dear Bard _κατ᾽ ἐξοχήν_,
  Restore the happy days that once have been,
  Resign yourself to Home, the Muse and us.

(_Scratch'd_)

RUMPLESTITCHKIN,
HURLYBURLYBUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

MEMOIR OF THE CATS OF GRETA HALL.


For as much, most excellent Edith May, as you must always feel a 
natural and becoming concern in whatever relates to the house wherein 
you were born, and in which the first part of your life has thus far 
so happily been spent, I have for your instruction and delight 
composed these Memoirs of the Cats of Greta Hall: to the end that the 
memory of such worthy animals may not perish, but be held in deserved 
honour by my children, and those who shall come after them. And let me 
not be supposed unmindful of Beelzebub of Bath, and Senhor Thomaz de 
Lisboa, that I have not gone back to an earlier period, and included 
them in my design. Far be it from me to intend any injury or 
disrespect to their shades! Opportunity of doing justice to their 
virtues will not be wanting at some future time, but for the present I 
must confine myself within the limits of these precincts.

In the autumn of the year 1803 when I entered upon this place of 
abode, I found the hearth in possession of two cats whom my nephew 
Hartley Coleridge, (then in the 7th year of his age,) had named Lord 
Nelson, and Bona Marietta. The former, as the name implies, was of the 
worthier gender: it is as decidedly so in Cats, as in grammar and in 
law. He was an ugly specimen of the streaked-carrotty, or 
Judas-coloured kind; which is one of the ugliest varieties. But 
_nimium ne crede colori_. In spite of his complection, there was 
nothing treacherous about him. He was altogether a good Cat, 
affectionate, vigilant and brave; and for services performed against 
the Rats was deservedly raised in succession to the rank of Baron, 
Viscount and Earl. He lived to a good old age; and then being quite 
helpless and miserable, was in mercy thrown into the river. I had more 
than once interfered to save him from this fate; but it became at 
length plainly an act of compassion to consent to it. And here let me 
observe that in a world wherein death is necessary, the law of nature 
by which one creature preys upon another is a law of mercy, not only 
because death is thus made instrumental to life, and more life exists 
in consequence, but also because it is better for the creatures 
themselves to be cut off suddenly, than to perish by disease or 
hunger,—for these are the only alternatives.

There are still some of Lord Nelson's descendants in the town of 
Keswick. Two of the family were handsomer than I should have supposed 
any Cats of this complection could have been; but their fur was fine, 
the colour a rich carrot, and the striping like that of the finest 
tyger or tabby kind. I named one of them William Rufus; the other 
Danayn le Roux, after a personage in the Romance of Gyron le Courtoys.

Bona Marietta was the mother of Bona Fidelia, so named by my nephew 
aforesaid. Bona Fidelia was a tortoise-shell cat. She was filiated 
upon Lord Nelson, others of the same litter having borne the 
unequivocal stamp of his likeness. It was in her good qualities that 
she resembled him, for in truth her name rightly bespoke her nature. 
She approached as nearly as possible in disposition, to the ideal of a 
perfect cat:—he who supposes that animals have not their difference of 
disposition as well as men, knows very little of animal nature. Having 
survived her daughter Madame Catalani, she died of extreme old age, 
universally esteemed and regretted by all who had the pleasure of her 
acquaintance.

Bona Fidelia left a daughter and a granddaughter; the former I called 
Madame Bianchi—the latter Pulcheria. It was impossible ever to 
familiarize Madame Bianchi, though she had been bred up in all 
respects like her gentle mother, in the same place, and with the same 
persons. The nonsense of that arch-philosophist Helvetius would be 
sufficiently confuted by this single example, if such rank folly 
contradicted as it is by the experience of every family, needed 
confutation. She was a beautiful and singular creature, white, with a 
fine tabby tail, and two or three spots of tabby, always delicately 
clean; and her wild eyes were bright and green as the Duchess de 
Cadaval's emerald necklace. Pulcheria did not correspond as she grew 
up to the promise of her kittenhood and her name; but she was as fond 
as her mother was shy and intractable. Their fate was extraordinary as 
well as mournful. When good old Mrs. Wilson died, who used to feed and 
indulge them, they immediately forsook the house, nor could they be 
allured to enter it again, though they continued to wander and moan 
around it, and came for food. After some weeks Madame Bianchi 
disappeared, and Pulcheria soon afterwards died of a disease endemic 
at that time among cats.

For a considerable time afterwards, an evil fortune attended all our 
attempts at re-establishing a Cattery. Ovid disappeared and Virgil 
died of some miserable distemper. You and your cousin are answerable 
for these names: the reasons which I could find for them were, in the 
former case the satisfactory one that the said Ovid might be presumed 
to be a master in the Art of Love; and in the latter, the probable one 
that something like Ma-ro—might be detected in the said Virgil's notes 
of courtship. There was poor Othello: most properly named, for black 
he was, and jealous undoubtedly he would have been, but he in his 
kittenship followed Miss Wilbraham into the street, and there in all 
likelihood came to an untimely end. There was the Zombi—(I leave the 
Commentators to explain that title, and refer them to my History of 
Brazil to do it)—his marvellous story was recorded in a letter to 
Bedford,—and after that adventure he vanished. There was Prester John, 
who turned out not to be of John's gender, and therefore had the name 
altered to Pope Joan. The Pope I am afraid came to a death of which 
other Popes have died. I suspect that some poison which the rats had 
turned out of their holes, proved fatal to their enemy. For some time 
I feared we were at the end of our Cat-a-logue: but at last Fortune as 
if to make amends for her late severity sent us two at 
once,—the-never-to-be-enough-praised Rumpelstilzchen, and the 
equally-to-be-admired Hurlyburlybuss.

And “first for the first of these” as my huge favourite, and almost 
namesake Robert South, says in his Sermons.

When the Midgeleys went away from the next house, they left this 
creature to our hospitality, cats being the least moveable of all 
animals because of their strong local predilections;—they are indeed 
in a domesticated state the serfs of the animal creation, and properly 
attached to the soil. The change was gradually and therefore easily 
brought about, for he was already acquainted with the children and 
with me; and having the same precincts to prowl in was hardly sensible 
of any other difference in his condition than that of obtaining a 
name; for when he was consigned to us he was an anonymous cat; and I 
having just related at breakfast with universal applause the story of 
Rumpelstilzchen from a German tale in Grimm's Collection, gave him 
that strange and magnisonant appellation; to which upon its being 
ascertained that he came when a kitten from a bailiff's house, I added 
the patronymic of Macbum. Such is his history, his character may with 
most propriety be introduced after the manner of Plutarch's parallels 
when I shall have given some previous account of his great compeer and 
rival Hurlyburlybuss,—that name also is of Germanic and Grimmish 
extraction.

Whence Hurlyburlybuss came was a mystery when you departed from the 
Land of Lakes, and a mystery it long remained. He appeared here, as 
Mango Capac did in Peru, and Quetzalcohuatl among the Aztecas, no one 
knew from whence. He made himself acquainted with all the philofelists 
of the family—attaching himself more particularly to Mrs. Lovell, but 
he never attempted to enter the house, frequently disappeared for 
days, and once since my return for so long a time that he was actually 
believed to be dead and veritably lamented as such. The wonder was 
whither did he retire at such times—and to whom did he belong; for 
neither I in my daily walks, nor the children, nor any of the servants 
ever by any chance saw him anywhere except in our own domain. There 
was something so mysterious in this, that in old times it might have 
excited strong suspicion, and he would have been in danger of passing 
for a Witch in disguise, or a familiar. The mystery however was solved 
about four week's ago, when as we were returning from a walk up the 
Greta, Isabel saw him on his transit across the road and the wall from 
Shulicrow, in a direction toward the Hill. But to this day we are 
ignorant who has the honour to be his owner in the eye of the law; and 
the owner is equally ignorant of the high favour in which 
Hurlyburlybuss is held, of the heroic name which he has obtained, and 
that his fame has extended far and wide—even unto Norwich in the East, 
and Escott and Crediton and Kellerton in the West, yea—that with 
Rumpelstilzchen he has been celebrated in song, by some hitherto 
undiscovered poet, and that his glory will go down to future 
generations.

The strong enmity which unhappily subsists between these otherwise 
gentle and most amiable cats, is not unknown to you. Let it be imputed 
as in justice it ought, not to their individual characters (for Cats 
have characters,—and for the benefit of philosophy, as well as 
_felisophy_, this truth ought generally to be known) but to the 
constitution of Cat nature,—an original sin, or an original necessity, 
which may be only another mode of expressing the same thing:

  Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere,
  Nor can one purlieu brook a double reign
  Of Hurlyburlybuss and Rumpelstilzchen.

When you left us, the result of many a fierce conflict was that Hurly 
remained master of the green and garden, and the whole of the out of 
door premises. Rumpel always upon the appearance of his victorious 
enemy retiring into the house as a citadel or sanctuary. The conqueror 
was perhaps in part indebted for this superiority to his hardier 
habits of life, living always in the open air, and providing for 
himself; while Rumpel (who though born under a bum-bailiff's roof was 
nevertheless kittened with a silver spoon in his mouth) past his hours 
in luxurious repose beside the fire, and looked for his meals as 
punctually as any two-legged member of the family. Yet I believe that 
the advantage on Hurly's side is in a great degree constitutional 
also, and that his superior courage arises from a confidence in his 
superior strength, which as you well know is visible in his make. What 
Bento and Maria Rosa used to say of my poor Thomaz, that he was _muito 
fidalgo_ is true of Rumpelstilzchen, his countenance, deportment and 
behaviour being such that he is truly a gentleman-like Tom-cat. Far be 
it from me to praise him beyond his deserts,—he is not beautiful, the 
mixture, tabby and white, is not good (except under very favourable 
combinations) and the tabby is not good of its kind. Nevertheless he 
is a fine cat, handsome enough for his sex, large, well-made, with 
good features, and an intelligent countenance, and carrying a splendid 
tail, which in Cats and Dogs is undoubtedly the seat of honour. His 
eyes which are soft and expressive are of a hue between chrysolite and 
emerald. Hurlyburlybuss's are between chrysolite and topaz. Which may 
be the more esteemed shade for the _olho de gato_ I am not lapidary 
enough to decide. You should ask my Uncle. But both are of the finest 
water. In all his other features Hurly must yield the palm, and in 
form also; he has no pretensions to elegance, his size is ordinary and 
his figure bad: but the character of his face and neck is so 
masculine, that the Chinese who use the word bull as synonymous with 
male, and call a boy a bull-child, might with great propriety 
denominate him a bull-cat. His make evinces such decided marks of 
strength and courage that if cat-fighting were as fashionable as 
cock-fighting, no Cat would stand a fairer chance for winning a Welsh 
main. He would become as famous as the Dog Billy himself, whom I look 
upon as the most distinguished character that has appeared since 
Buonaparte.

Some weeks ago Hurlyburlybuss was manifestly emaciated and enfeebled 
by ill health, and Rumpelstilzchen with great magnanimity made 
overtures of peace. The whole progress of the treaty was seen from the 
parlour window. The caution with which Rumpel made his advances, the 
sullen dignity with which they were received, their mutual uneasiness 
when Rumpel after a slow and wary approach, seated himself 
whisker-to-whisker with his rival, the mutual fear which restrained 
not only teeth and claws, but even all tones of defiance, the mutual 
agitation of their tails which, though they did not expand with anger, 
could not be kept still for suspense and lastly the manner in which 
Hurly retreated, like Ajax still keeping his face toward his old 
antagonist were worthy to have been represented by that painter who 
was called the Rafaelle of Cats. The overture I fear was not accepted 
as generously as it was made; for no sooner had Hurlyburlybuss 
recovered strength than hostilities were recommenced with greater 
violence than ever, Rumpel who had not abused his superiority while he 
possessed it, had acquired mean time a confidence which made him keep 
the field. Dreadful were the combats which ensued as their ears, faces 
and legs bore witness. Rumpel had a wound which went through one of 
his feet. The result has been so far in his favour that he no longer 
seeks to avoid his enemy, and we are often compelled to interfere and 
separate them. Oh it is aweful to hear the “dreadful note of 
preparation” with which they prelude their encounters!—the long low 
growl slowly rises and swells till it becomes a high sharp yowl,—and 
then it is snapt short by a sound which seems as if they were spitting 
fire and venom at each other. I could half persuade myself that the 
word felonious is derived from the feline temper as displayed at such 
times. All means of reconciling them and making them understand how 
goodly a thing it is for cats to dwell together in peace, and what 
fools they are to quarrel and tear each other are in vain. The 
proceedings of the Society for the Abolition of War are not more 
utterly ineffectual and hopeless.

All we can do is to act more impartially than the Gods did between 
Achilles and Hector, and continue to treat both with equal regard.

And thus having brought down these Memoirs of the Cats of Greta Hall 
to the present day, I commit the precious memorial to your keeping, 
and remain

  Most dissipated and light-heeled daughter,
  Your most diligent and light-hearted father,

  ROBERT SOUTHEY.

  _Keswick, 18 June, 1824_.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGMENT OF INTERCHAPTER.

[The following playful effusion was likewise, as the “Memoirs of Cat's 
Eden,” intended for “THE DOCTOR, &C.,” but how it was to have been 
moulded, so as to obscure the incognito, I do not know. It will tend, 
if I mistake not, to shew the easy versatility,—the true 
_εὐτραπελία_,—of a great and a good man's mind. “Fortune,” says 
Fluellen, “is turning and inconstant, and variations, and 
mutabilities,”—but one who, in the midst of constant and laborious 
occupations, could revel in such a recreation as this “Chapter on the 
Statues” was Fortune's master, and above her wheel.

  ARS UTINAM MORES ANIMUMQUE EFFINGERE POSSET:
    PULCHRIOR IN TERRIS NULLA TABELLA FORET.[1]

[Footnote 1: MART. EPIGR.]

It may be added that there was another very curious collection of 
Letters intended for “THE DOCTOR, &C.,” but they have not come to my 
hand. They were written in a peculiar dialect and would have required 
much mother wit and many vocabularies to have decyphered them. She who 
suggested them,—a woman “of infinite jest,—of most excellent fancy,”—a 
good woman, and a kind,—is now gathered to her rest!]


ΕΙΣ ΤΟΥΣ ΑΔΡΙΑΝΤΑΣ.

_Ὁ μὲν διάβολος ἐνέπνενσέ τισι παρανόμοις ἀνθρώποις, καὶ εἰς τοὺς τῶν 
βασιλέων ὕβρισαν ἀνδριάντας._

CHRYSOST. HOM. AD POPUL. ANTIOCHEN.


My dear daughter,

Having lately been led to compose an inscription for one of our Garden 
statues, an authentic account of two such extraordinary works of art 
has appeared to me so desirable that I even wonder at myself for 
having so long delayed to write one. It is the more incumbent on me to 
do this, because neither of the artists have thought proper to 
inscribe their names upon these master-pieces,—either from that 
modesty which often accompanies the highest genius, or from a 
dignified consciousness that it was unnecessary to set any mark upon 
them, the works themselves sufficiently declaring from what hands they 
came.

I undertake this becoming task with the more pleasure because our 
friend Mrs. Keenan has kindly offered to illustrate the intended 
account by drawings of both Statues,—having as you may well suppose 
been struck with admiration by them. The promise of this co-operation 
induces me not to confine myself to a mere description, but to relate 
on what occasion they were made, and faithfully to record the very 
remarkable circumstances which have occurred in consequence; 
circumstances I will venture to say, as well attested and as well 
worthy of preservation as any of those related in the History of the 
Portuguese Images of Nossa Senhora, in ten volumes quarto,—a book of 
real value, and which you know I regard as one of the most curious in 
my collection. If in the progress of this design I should sometimes 
appear to wander in digression, you will not impute it to any habitual 
love of circumlocution; and the speculative notions which I may have 
occasion to propose, you will receive as mere speculations and judge 
of them accordingly.

Many many years ago I remember to have seen these popular and rustic 
rhymes in print,

  God made a great man to plough and to sow,
  God made a little man to drive away the crow;

they were composed perhaps to make some little man contented with that 
office, and certain it is that in all ages and all countries it has 
been an object of as much consequence to preserve the seed from birds 
when sown, as to sow it. No doubt Adam himself when he was driven to 
cultivate the ground felt this, and we who are his lineal descendants 
(though I am sorry to say we have not inherited a rood of his estates) 
have felt it also, in our small but not unimportant concern, the 
Garden. Mrs. L., the Lady of that Garden used to complain grievously 
of the depredations committed there, especially upon her pease. Fowls 
and Ducks were condemned either to imprisonment for life, or to the 
immediate larder for their offences of this kind; but the magpies (my 
protegées) and the sparrows, and the blackbirds and the thrushes bade 
defiance to the coop and the cook. She tried to fright them away by 
feathers fastened upon a string, but birds were no more to be 
frightened by feathers than to be caught by chaff. She drest up two 
mopsticks; not to be forgotten, because when two youths sent their 
straw hats upon leaving Keswick to K. and B., the girls consigned the 
hats to these mopsticks and named the figures thus attired in due 
honour of the youths, L. N., and C. K. These mopsticks however were 
well drest enough to invite thieves from the town,—and too well to 
frighten the birds. Something more effectual was wanted, and Mrs. L. 
bespoke a man of Joseph Glover.

Such is the imperfection of language that write as carefully and 
warily as we can it is impossible to use words which will not 
frequently admit of a double construction, upon this indeed it is that 
the Lawyers have founded the science of the Law, which said science 
they display in extracting any meaning from any words, and generally 
that meaning that shall be most opposite to the intention for which 
they were used. When I say that your Aunt L. bespoke a man of Joseph 
Glover, I do not mean that she commissioned him to engage a labourer: 
nor that she required him actually to make a man like 
Frankenstein,—though it must be admitted that such a man as 
Frankenstein made, would be the best of all scarecrows, provided he 
were broken in so as to be perfectly manageable. To have made a man 
indeed would have been more than even Paracelsus would have undertaken 
to perform; for according to the receipt which that illustrious 
Bombast ab Hohenheim has delivered to posterity, an homunculus cannot 
be produced in a hot-bed in less than forty weeks and forty days; and 
this would not have been in time to save the pease; not to mention 
that one of his homunculi had it been ready could not have served the 
purpose, for by his account, when it was produced, it was smaller even 
than Mark Thumb. Such an order would have been more unreasonable than 
any of those which Juno imposed upon Hercules; whereas the task 
imposed by Mrs. L. was nothing more than Glover thought himself 
capable of executing, for he understood the direction plainly and 
simply in its proper sense, as a carpenter ought to understand it.

An ordinary Carpenter might have hesitated at undertaking it, or 
bungled in the execution. But Glover is not an ordinary Carpenter. He 
says of himself that he should have been a capital singer, only the 
pity is, that he has no voice. Whether he had ever a similar 
persuasion of his own essential but unproducible talents for sculpture 
or painting I know not:—but if ever genius and originality were 
triumphantly displayed in the first effort of an untaught artist, it 
was on this occasion. Perhaps I am wrong in calling him untaught;—for 
there is a supernatural or divine teaching;—and it will appear 
presently that if there be any truth in heathen philosophy, or in that 
of the Roman Catholicks (which is very much the same in many respects) 
some such assistance may be suspected in this case.

With or without such assistance, but certainly _con amore_, and with 
the aid of his own genius, if of no other, Glover went to work: ere 
long shouts of admiration were heard one evening in the kitchen, so 
loud and of such long continuance that enquiry was made from the 
parlour into the cause, and the reply was that Mrs. L.'s man was 
brought home. Out we went, father, mother and daughters, (yourself 
among them,—for you cannot have forgotten that memorable hour), My 
Lady and the Venerabilis,—and Mrs. L. herself, as the person more 
immediately concerned. Seldom as it happens that any artist can embody 
with perfect success the conceptions of another, in this instance the 
difficult and delicate task had been perfectly accomplished. But I 
must describe the Man,—calling him by that name at present, the power, 
_æon_ or intelligence which had incorporated itself with that ligneous 
resemblance of humanity not having at that time been suspected.

Yet methinks more properly might he have been called youth than man, 
the form and stature being juvenile. The limbs and body were slender, 
though not so as to convey any appearance of feebleness, it was rather 
that degree of slenderness which in elegant and refined society is 
deemed essential to grace. The countenance at once denoted strength 
and health and hilarity, and the incomparable carpenter had given it 
an expression of threatful and alert determination, suited to the 
station for which he was designed and the weapon which he bore. The 
shape of the face was rather round than oval, resembling methinks the 
broad harvest moon; the eyes were of the deepest black, the eyebrows 
black also; and there was a blackness about the nose and lips, such as 
might be imagined in the face of Hercules, while he was in the act of 
lifting and strangling the yet unsubdued and struggling Antæus. On his 
head was a little hat, low in the crown and narrow in the brim. His 
dress was a sleeved jacket without skirts,—our ancestors would have 
called it a gipion, _jubon_ it would be rendered if ever this 
description were translated into Spanish, _gibão_ in Portuguese, 
_jupon_ or _gippon_ in old French. It was fastened from the neck 
downward with eight white buttons, two and two, and between them was a 
broad white stripe, the colour of the gipion being brown: whether the 
strype was to represent silver lace, or a white facing like that of 
the naval uniform, is doubtful and of little consequence. The lower 
part of his dress represented innominables and hose in one, of the 
same colour as the gipion. And he carried a fowling-piece in his hand.

Great was the satisfaction which we all expressed at beholding so 
admirable a man; great were the applauses which we bestowed upon the 
workman with one consent; and great was the complacency with which 
Glover himself regarded the work of his own hands. He thought, he 
said, this would please us. Please us indeed it did, and so well did 
it answer that after short trial Mrs. L. thinking that a second image 
would render the whole garden secure, and moreover that it was not 
good for her Man to be alone, directed Glover to make a woman also. 
The woman accordingly was made. Flesh of his flesh and bone of his 
bone, she could not be, the Man himself not being made of such 
materials; but she was wood of his wood and plank of his plank,—which 
was coming as nearly as possible to it, made of the same tree and 
fashioned by the same hand.

The woman was in all respects a goodly mate for the man, except that 
she seemed to be a few years older; she was rather below the mean 
stature, in that respect resembling the Venus de Medicis; slender 
waisted yet not looking as if she were tight-laced, nor so thin as to 
denote ill health. Her dress was a gown of homely brown, up to the 
neck. The artist had employed his brightest colours upon her face, 
even the eyes and nose partook of that brilliant tint which is 
sometimes called the roseate hue of health or exercise, sometimes the 
purple light of love. The whites of her eyes were large. She also was 
represented in a hat, but higher in the crown and broader in the rim 
than the man's, and where his brim was turned up, her's had a downward 
inclination giving a feminine character to that part of her dress.

She was placed in the garden; greatly as we admired both pieces of 
workmanship, we considered them merely as what they seemed to be; they 
went by the names of Mrs. L.'s Man and Woman; and even when you 
departed for the south they were still known only by that vague and 
most unworthy designation. Some startling circumstances after awhile 
excited a more particular attention to them. Several of the family 
declared they had been frightened by them; and K. one evening, came in 
saying that Aunt L.'s woman had _given her_ a jump. Even this did not 
awaken any suspicion of their supernatural powers as it ought to have 
done, till on a winter's night, one of the maids hearing a knock at 
the back door opened it; and started back when she saw that it was the 
woman with a letter in her hand! This is as certain as that Nosso 
Senhor dos Passes knocked at the door of S. Roque's convent in Lisbon 
and was not taken in,—to the infinite regret of the monks when they 
learnt that he had gone afterwards to the Graça Convent and been 
admitted there. It is as certain that I have seen men, women and 
children of all ranks kissing the foot of the said Image in the 
Church, and half Lisbon following his procession in the streets. It is 
as certain as all the miracles in the Fasti, the Metamorphoses, and 
the Acta Sanctorum.

Many remarkable things were now called to mind both of the man and 
woman;—how on one occasion they had made Miss C.'s maid miscarry 
of—half a message; and how at another time when Isaac was bringing a 
basket from Mr. C.'s, he was frightened into his wits by them. But on 
Sunday evening last the most extraordinary display of wonderful power 
occurred, for in the evening the woman instead of being in her place 
among the pease, appeared standing erect on the top of Mr. Fisher's 
haymow in the forge field, and there on the following morning she was 
seen by all Keswick, who are witnesses of the fact.

You may well suppose that I now began to examine into the mystery, and 
manifold were the mysteries which I discovered, and many the analogies 
in their formation of which the maker could never by possibility have 
heard; and many the points of divine philosophy and theurgic science 
which they illustrated. In the first place two Swedenborgian 
correspondencies flashed upon me in the material whereof they were 
constructed. They were intended to guard the Garden. There is a 
proverb which says, set a thief to catch a thief, and therefore it is 
that they were _fir_ statues. Take it in English and the 
correspondence is equally striking; they were made of _deal_, because 
they were to do a _deal_ of good. The dark aspect of the male figure 
also was explained; for being stationed there contra _fures_, it was 
proper that he should have a furious countenance. Secondly, there is 
something wonderful in their formation:—they are bifronted, not merely 
bifaced like Janus, but bifronted from top to toe. Let the thief be as 
cunning as he may he cannot get behind them.—They have no backs, and 
were they disposed to be indolent and sit at their posts it would be 
impossible. They can appear at the kitchen door, or on the haymow, 
they can give the children and even the grown persons of the family a 
jump, but to sit is beyond their power however miraculous it may be; 
for impossibilities cannot be effected even by miracle, and as it is 
impossible to see without eyes, or to walk without legs,—or for a ship 
to float without a bottom, so is it for a person in the same 
predicament as such a ship—to sit.

Yet farther mysteries; both hands of these marvellous statues are 
right hands and both are left hands, they are at once ambidexter and 
ambisinister. It was said by Dryden of old Jacob Tonson that he had 
two left legs: but these marvellous statues have two left legs and two 
right legs each, and yet but four legs between them, that is to say 
but two a-piece. In the whole course of my reading I have found no 
account of any statues so wonderful as these. For though the Roman 
Janus was bifronted, and my old acquaintance Yamen had in like manner 
a double face, and many of the Hindoo and other Oriental Deities have 
their necks set round with heads, and their elbows with arms, yet it 
is certain that all these Gods have backs, and sides to them also. In 
this point no similitude can be found for our Images. They may be 
likened to the sea as being bottomless,—but as being without a back 
and in the mystery of having both hands and legs at once right and 
left they are unequalled; none but themselves can be their parallel.

Now my daughter I appeal to you and to all other reasonable persons,—I 
put the question to your own plain sense,—is it anyways likely that 
statues so wonderful, so inexpressibly mysterious in their properties 
should be the mere work of a Keswick carpenter, though aided as he was 
by Mrs. L.'s directions? Is it not certain that neither he, nor Mrs. 
L., had the slightest glimpse, the remotest thought of any such 
properties,—she when she designed, he when he executed the marvellous 
productions? Is it possible that they should? Would it not be 
preposterous to suppose it?

This supposition therefore being proved to be absurd, which in 
mathematics is equal to a demonstration that the contrary must be 
true, it remains to enquire into the real origin of their stupendous 
qualities. Both the ancient Heathens and the Romanists teach that 
certain Images of the Gods or of the Saints have been made without the 
aid of human hands, and that they have appeared no one knew whence or 
how. The Greeks called such images Diopeteis, as having fallen from 
the sky, and I could enumerate were it needful sundry Catholic Images 
which are at this day venerated as being either of angelic workmanship 
or celestial origin. We cannot however have recourse to this solution 
in the present case; for Glover is so veracious a man that if he had 
found these figures in his workshop without knowing how they came 
there,—or if he had seen them grow into shape while he was looking 
on,—he would certainly not have concealed a fact so extraordinary. All 
Keswick would have known it. It must have become as notorious as 
Prince Hohenloe's miracles.

There remains then another hypothesis, which is also common to the 
ancient Pagans and the Romanists;—that some superior powers finding a 
congruity in the Images have been pleased to communicate to them a 
portion of their influence, and even of their presence, and so if I 
may be allowed the word, have actually become _inligneate_ in them. 
Were my old acquaintance, Thomas Taylor, here, who entirely believes 
this, he would at once determine which of his Heathen Deities have 
thus manifested their existence. Who indeed that looks at the Youth 
but must be reminded of Apollo? Said I that his face resembled in its 
rotundity the Moon? the Sun would have been the fitter similitude,—the 
sun shorn of its beams;—Phœbus,—such as he appeared when in the 
service of Admetus. And for his female companion, her beauty and the 
admiration which it excites in all beholders, identify her with no 
less certainty for Venus. We have named them therefore the Apollo de 
L., and the Venus de Glover; in justice to both artists; and in 
farther honour of them and of the Images themselves have composed the 
following inscription:

  No works of Phidias we; but Mrs. L.
    Designed, and we were made by Joseph Glover.
  Apollo, I, and yonder Venus stands,
    Behold her, and you cannot chuse but love her.
  If antient sculptors could behold us here
    How would they pine with envy and abhorrence!
  For even as I surpass their Belvedere
    So much doth she excel the pride of Florence.




EPILUDE OF MOTTOES.


Careless! bring your apprehension along with you.

CONGREVE.


If I have written a sentence, or a word, that can bear a captious or 
unreasonable construction, I earnestly intreat a more lenient 
interpretation. When a man feels acutely, he may perhaps speak at 
times more pointedly than he ought; yet, in the present instance, I am 
conscious of no sentiment which I could wish to alter.

BISHOP JEBB.


  _νὴ τὸν Ποσειδῶ, καὶ λέγει γ᾽, ἅπερ λέγει,
   δίκαια πάντα, κοὐδὲν αὐτῶν ψεύδεται._

ARISTOPHANES.


                              Will you be true?

TRO. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault.
     While others fish with craft for great opinion,
     I with great truth catch mere simplicity.
     Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
     With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
     Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
     Is—‘plain and true;’ there's all the reach of it.

SHAKESPEARE.


  —_come augel che pria s'avventa e teme
  Stassi fra i rami paventoso e solo
  Mirando questo ed or quell' altro colle;
  Cosi mi levo e mi ritengo insieme,
  L'ale aguzzando al mio dubbioso volo._

GIUSTO DE' CONTI.


Whosoever be reader hereof maie take it by reason for a riche and a 
newe labour; and speciallie princes and governours of the common 
wealth, and ministers of justice, with other. Also the common people 
eche of theim maie fynd the labour conveniente to their estate. And 
herein is conteigned certaine right highe and profounde sentences, and 
holsome counsaylles, and mervaillous devyses agaynste the encumbraunce 
of fortune; and ryght swete consolacions for theim that are 
overthrowen by fortune. Finally it is good to them that digeste it, 
and thanke God that hath given such grace to the Auctour in gevyng us 
example of vertuous livyng, with hye and salutary doctrynes, and 
marvailous instructions of perfectness.—A ryght precious meale is the 
sentences of this boke; but fynally the sauce of the saied swete style 
moveth the appetyte. Many bookes there be of substanciall meates, but 
they bee so rude and so unsavery, and the style of so small grace, 
that the first morcell is lothsome and noyfull; and of suche bookes 
foloweth to lye hole and sounde in lybraries; but I trust this will 
not. Of trouth great prayse is due to the auctour of his travayle.

LORD BERNERS.


  The current that with gentle murmur glides,
  Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
  But when his fair course is not hindered,
  He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones,
  Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
  He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
  And so by many winding nooks he strays,
  With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
  Then let me go, and hinder not my course;
  I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
  And make a pastime of each weary step,
  Till the last step have brought me to my rest.

SHAKESPEARE.


Sith you have long time drawn the weeds of my wit and fed yourselves 
with the cockle of my conceits, I have at last made you gleaners of my 
harvest, and partakers of my experience.—Here shall you find the style 
varying according to the matter, suitable to the style, and all of 
these aimed to profit. If the title make you suspect, compare it with 
the matter, it will answer you; if the matter, apply it with the 
censures of the learned, they will countenance the same; of the 
handling I repent me not, for I had rather you should condemn me for 
default in rhetorick, than commend my style and lament my judgement. 
Thus resolved both of the matter, and satisfied in my method, I leave 
the whole to your judgements; which, if they be not depraved with 
envy, will be bettered in knowledge, and if not carried away with 
opinion, will receive much profit.

THOMAS LODGE.


This good Wine I present, needs no Ivy-bush. They that taste thereof 
shall feel the fruit to their best content, and better understanding. 
The learned shall meet with matter to refresh their memories; the 
younger students, a directory to fashion their discourse; the weakest 
capacity, matter of wit, worth and admiration.

           T. L. D. M. P's. Epistle Prefatory to the Learned Summarie
           upon the famous Poem of William of Salust, Lord of BARTAS.


  This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeon's pease,
  And utters it again when Jove doth please;
  He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares.

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.


  Imagination thro' the trick
  Of Doctors, often makes us sick;
  And why, let any sophist tell,
  May it not likewise make us well!

CHURCHILL.


                  His mind fastens
  On twenty several objects, which confound
  Deep sense with folly.

WEBSTER.


  It is a crown unto a gentle breast,
    To impart the pleasure of his flowing mind,
  (Whose sprightly motion never taketh rest)
    To one whose bosom he doth open find.

THOMAS SCOTT.


              —Be prepared to hear:
  And since you know you cannot see yourself
  So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
  Will modestly discover to yourself
  That of yourself which you yet know not of.

SHAKESPEARE.


And whereas in my expression I am very plain and downright, and in my 
teaching part seem to tautologize, it should be considered, (and 
whoever has been a teacher will remember) that the learners must be 
plainly dealt with, and must have several times renewed unto them the 
same thing.—Therefore I have chosen so to do in several places, 
because I had rather (in such cases) speak three words too many, than 
one syllable too few.

THOMAS MACE.


  _Lire et repasser souvent
     Sur Athenes et sur Rome,
   C'est dequoy faire un Sçavant,
     Mais, non pas un habile homme._

  _Meditez incessamment,
     Devorez livre apres livre,
   D'est en vivant seulement
     Que vous apprendrez à vivre._

  _Avant qu'en sçavoir les loix,
     La clarté nous est ravie:
   Il faudroit vivre deux fois
     Pour bien conduire sa vie._

DE CHARLEVAL.


  If we could hit on't, gallants, there are due
  Certain respects from writers, and from you.

PROLOGUE TO THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS.


  —Here you have a piece so subtly writ
  Men must have wit themselves to find the wit.

EPILOGUE TO THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS.


  All puddings have two ends, and most short sayings
  Two handles to their meaning.

LORD DIGBY.


Reader, Now I send thee like a Bee to gather honey out of flowers and 
weeds; every garden is furnished with either, and so is ours. Read and 
meditate; thy profit shall be little in any book, unless thou read 
alone, and unless thou read all and record after.

HENRY SMITH.


The most famous of the Pyramids was that of Hermes.—Through each door 
of this Pyramid was an entrance into seven apartments, called by the 
names of the Planets. In each of them was a golden Statue. The biggest 
was in the apartment of Osiris, or the Sun. It had a book upon its 
forehead, and its hand upon its mouth. Upon the outside of the Book 
was written this inscription. _I must be read in a profound silence._

TRAVELS OF CYRUS.


—_Facio ego ut solent, qui quanto plus aliquem mirantur et explicare 
volunt quod sentiunt, eo minus id assequuntur quod volunt, ut quamquam 
magnum aliquid animo concipiunt, verba tamen desint, et moliri potius 
quàm dicere potuisse videantur._

HERMOLAUS BARBARUS JO. PICO MIRANDULÆ.


_Nihil mihi potest esse beatius quam scire; discendum verò ut sciamus. 
Ego quidem sapientiæ ambitum, tanquam animi nostri ærarium quoddam 
semper judicavi, id quod communia commentationum nostrarum vectigalia 
inferenda censeo, sed proba; unde sibi suum quisque in usum sumat sine 
invidia atque simultate._

J. C. SCALIGER.


  _Feliz yerba es la yedra, si se enrama
   A un muro altivo, á quien no alcanza el corte
   De la envidia; puer queda con su altura,
   El mas vistoso, y ella mas segura._

BALBUENA, EL BERNARDO.


  —_en poco tiempo te he dicho
  lo que passò en mucho tiempo._

CALDERON, EL MAESTRO DE DANZAR.


  I'll range the plenteous intellectual field,
  And gather every thought of sovereign power
  To chase the moral maladies of man;
  Thoughts which may bear transplanting to the skies,
  Nor wholly wither there where Seraphs sing,
  Refined, exalted,—not annull'd—in heaven.

YOUNG.


  Let every man enjoy his whim;
  What's he to me, or I to him.

CHURCHILL.


And whereas I may seem too smart or satyrical in some particular 
places, I do not at all repent me, as thinking what is said to such 
ill-deserving persons much too little.

THOMAS MACE.


             —Play the fool with wits,
  'Gainst fools be guarded, 'tis a certain rule
  Wits are safe things; there's danger in a fool.

CHURCHILL.


  And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
  Bearing their own misfortune on the back
  Of such as have before endured the like.

RICHARD II.


  Our life indeed has bitterness enough
    To change a loving nature into gall:
  Experience sews coarse patches on the stuff
    Whose texture was originally all
  Smooth as the rose-leaf's, and whose hues were bright
    As are the colours of the weeping cloud
  When the sun smiles upon its tears.

MRS. LENOX CONYNGHAM.


  Thus much we know, eternal bliss and pure,
  By God's unfailing promise, is secure
  To them who their appointed lot endure
      Meekly, striving to fulfil,
    In humble hopefulness, God's will.

MRS. LENOX CONYNGHAM.


  I thowt how hard it is to denye
  A ladye's preyer, wych after the entent
  Of the poete is a myghty comaundement;
  Wherfore me thoht as in this caas
  That my wyt war lakkyd bettyr it was
  That my wyl, and therfore to do
  My ladyes preyer I assentyd to.

OSBERN BOKENAM.


  _Al peco de los años
   lo eminente se rinde;
   que à lo facil del tiempo
   no ay conquista dificil._

CALDERON.


                 We only meet on earth
  That we may know how sad it is to part:
  And sad indeed it were, if in the heart
  There were no store reserved against a dearth,
  No calm Elysium for departed Mirth,
  Haunted by gentle shadows of past pleasure,
  Where the sweet folly, the light-footed measure,
  And graver trifles of the shining hearth
  Live in their own dear image.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.


  Sweet are the thoughts that smother from conceit:
  For when I come and sit me down to rest,
  My chair presents a throne of majesty;
  And when I set my bonnet on my head,
  Methinks I fit my forehead for a crown;
  And when I take a truncheon in my fist,
  A sceptre then comes tumbling in my thoughts.

ROBERT GREENE.


_Quandquam verò hoc mihi non polliceri possum, me ubique veritatem 
quam sectatus sum, assecutum esse; sed potius eo fine ea proposui, ut 
et alios ad veritatis investigationem invitarem: tamen ut rectè 
Galenus habet, τολμητέον τε καὶ ξητητεὸν τὸ ἀληθὲς, εἰ γὰρ καὶ μὴ 
τύχομεν αὐτοῦ πάντως, δήπου πλησιέστερον ἢ νῦν ἐσμὲν ἀφιζόμεθα. 
Audendum est, et veritas investiganda, quam etiamsi non assequamur, 
omnino tamen propius quam nunc sumus, ad eam perveniemus. Quo verò ego 
animo ad scribendum accessi, eo ut alii ad legendum accedant, opto._

SENNERTUS.


I do confess the imperfect performance. Yet I must take the boldness 
to say, I have not miscarried in the whole; for the mechanical part of 
it is regular. That I may say with as little vanity, as a builder may 
say he has built a house according to the model laid down before him, 
or a gardener that he has set his flowers in a knot of such or such a 
figure.

CONGREVE.


As wheresoever these leaves fall, the root is in my heart, so shall 
they have ever true impressions thereof. Thus much information is in 
very leaves, that they can tell what the Tree is; and these can tell 
you I am a friend and an honest man.

DONNE.


  _On ne recognoistroit les monts, sans les valees;
   Et les tailles encor artistement meslees
   En œuvre mosaÿque, ont, pour plus grand beauté,
   Divers prix, divers teint, diverse quantité.
   Dieu veuille qu'en mes chants la plus insigne tache
   Semble le moucheron qu'une pucelle attache
   A sa face neigeuse, et que bien peu d'erreurs
   Donnent lustre aux beaux traicts de mes hautes fureurs._

DU BARTAS, LA MAGNIFICENCE.


  Hills were not seen but for the vales betwixt;
  The deep indentings artificial mixt
  Amid mosaicks, for mere ornament,
  Have prizes, sizes and dyes different.
  And, Oh, God grant, the greatest spot you spy
  In all my frame, may be but as the fly,
  Which on her ruff, (whiter than whitest snows)
  To whiten white, the fairest virgin sows,
  (Or like the velvet on her brow, or like
  The dunker mole on Venus' dainty cheek,)
  And that a few faults may but lustre bring
  To my high furies where I sweetest sing.

SYLVESTER.


Be as capricious and sick-brained as ignorance and malice can make 
thee, here thou art rectified; or be as healthful as the inward calm 
of an honest heart, learning, and temper can state thy disposition, 
yet this book may be thy fortunate concernment and companion.

SHIRLEY.


  Humble and meek befitteth men of years,
  Behold my cell, built in a silent shade,
  Holding content for poverty and peace,
  And in my lodge is fealty and faith,
  Labour and love united in one league.
  I want not, for my mind affordeth wealth,
  I know not envy, for I climb not high;
  Thus do I live, and thus I mean to die.

ROBERT GREENE.


The events of to-day make us look forward to what will happen 
to-morrow; those of yesterday carry our views into another world.

DANBY.


Mine earnest intent is as much to profit as to please, _non tam ut 
populo placerem, quam ut populum juvarem:_ and these my writings shall 
take, I hope like gilded pills, which are so composed as well to tempt 
the appetite and deceive the palate, as to help and medicinally work 
upon the whole body. My lines shall not only recreate, but rectify the 
mind.

BURTON.


         —Sit thou a patient looker on;
  Judge not the play, before the play is done,
  Her plot has many changes; every day
  Speaks a new scene, the last act crowns the play.

QUARLES.


        Lord, if thy gracious bounty please to fill
        The floor of my desires, and teach me skill
  To dress and chuse the corn, take those the chaff that will.

QUARLES.


_Je n'ay pas plus faict mon livre, que mon livre m'a faict,—livre 
consubstantiel à son autheur._

MONTAIGNE.


—_se le parole che usa lo scrittore portan seco un poco, non dirà di 
difficultà, ma d'acutezza recondita, et non cosi nota, come quelle che 
si dicono parlando ordinariamente, danno una certa maggior auttorità 
alla scrittura, et fanno che il lettore va piu ritenuto, et sopra di 
se, et meglio considera, et si diletta dell' ingegno et dottrina di 
chi scrive; et col buon giudicio affaticandosi un poco gusta quel 
piacere, che s'ha nel conseguir le cose difficili. Et se l'ignorantia 
di chi legge è tanta, che non posse superar quella difficultà, non è 
la colpa dello scrittore._

CASTIGLIONE, IL CORTIGIANO.


_Certo estava eu que o Doutor sabia de tudo o que disse, nao só os 
termos e fundamentos, mas acuda o mas difficultoza, e substancial;—mas 
o praticar dellas de modo, que eu as entendesse, he graça de seu 
saber, e naõ sufficiencia do meu ingenho._

FRANCISCO RODRIGUES LOBO.


Sir, Our greatest business is more in our power than the least, and we 
may be surer to meet in Heaven than in any place upon earth; and 
whilst we are distant here, we may meet as often as we list in God's 
presence, by soliciting in our prayers for one another.

DONNE.


  _Or ti riman, Lettor, sovra 'l tuo banco,
     Dietro pensando a ciò che si preliba,
     S'esser vuoi lieto assai prima che stanco.
   Messo t'ho innanzi; omai per te li ciba;
     Che a se ritorce tutta la mia cura
     Quella materia ond'io son fatto scriba._

DANTE.


I have been often told that nobody now would read any thing that was 
plain and true;—that was accounted dull work, except one mixed 
something of the sublime, prodigious, monstrous, or incredible; and 
then they would read the one for the sake of the other.—So rather than 
not be read, I have put in a proportionable little of the monstrous. 
If any thing be found fault with, it is possible I may explain and 
add.

HUTCHINSON.


  Who seeketh in thee for profit and gain
  Of excellent matter soon shall attain.

T. H.


Pay me like for like; give me good thoughts for great studies; and at 
leastwise shew me this courtly courtesy to afford me good words, which 
cost you nothing, for serious thoughts hatched up with much 
consideration. Thus commending my deserts to the learned, and 
committing my labour to the instruction of the ignorant, I bid you all 
heartily farewell.

LAZARUS PIOT.


Even at this time, when I humbly thank God, I ask and have his comfort 
of sadder meditations, I do not condemn in myself that I have given my 
wit such evaporations as these.

DONNE.




L'ENVOY.


Gentle Reader—for if thou art fond of such works as these, thou are 
like to be the Gentleman and the Scholar—I take upon me to advertise 
thee that the Printer of THE DOCTOR, &C. is William Nicol of the 
Shakspeare Press—the long tried Friend of the lamented Southey, and of 
their mutual Friend, the late Grosvenor Bedford, of Her Majesty's 
Exchequer—

  _Felices animæ, et quales neque candidiores
   Terra tulit!_

The Sonnet following, Gentle Reader, I do thee to wit, is the 
composition of the above kind hearted and benevolent William Nicol—and 
I wish it to be printed, because on Grosvenor Bedford's last short 
visit to Southey in 1836, he expressed himself much pleased with it. 
May be, if thou art fond of the gentle craft, it may please thee too, 
and so I wish thee heartily farewell!

  Who wrote THE DOCTOR? Who's the scribe unknown?—
      Time may discover, when the grave has closed
      Its earthy jaws o'er us, who now are posed
      To father that which greatest pen might own;
  Learning diffuse, quaint humour, lively wit,
      Satire severe and bold, or covert, sly,
      Turning within itself the mental eye
      To fancies strange that round its orbit flit,
  Unknown to others and by self scarce seen;
      Teaching, in sweetest English, England's plan,—
      When England was herself, her laurels green—
  Honour to God and charity to man:
      Who wrote the Doctor? her best Son, I ween,
      Whether his works, or his fair life you scan.


THE EDITOR.




W. NICOL, 60, PALL MALL.