lightnings and thunders of the holy mountain, “Honour thy father and
mother;” and there was no reservation found upon the tablet of stone.
Man may persecute, sickness may change, grief may depress, poverty may
chill, or grief may blacken the heart of the parent, but the bonds of
the child are never loosened.
The affection of a child for a parent, in its strongest degree does not
amount to a hundredth part of that which a parent feels for a child;
and it is not until the child becomes a parent, that he is aware of
this. If the voice of infancy should ever call you “Mother,” you will
then know (but never till then) how hard, how impossible it is to dry
up the fountain of a parent’s love, or teach the trunk to shake off and
cast from it the blossoms which thence derive their being.
❦
[Sidenote: King of Prussia and Voltaire.]
Kings who affect to be familiar with their companions, make use of
_men_ as they do of _oranges_; they take oranges to extract their
juice, and when they are well sucked they throw them away. The King
of Prussia applied this observation to himself in his dispute with
Voltaire.
❦
[Sidenote: To a daughter on her marriage.]
Dear to my heart, as life’s warm stream
Which animates this mortal clay,
For thee I court the waking dream,
And deck with smiles the future day:
And thus beguile the present pain
With hopes that we shall meet again!
Yet will it be as when the past
Twined every joy, and care, and thought,
And o’er our minds one mantle cast
Of kind affections, finely wrought?
Ah no! the groundless hope were vain
For so, we ne’er can meet again!
May he who claims thy tender heart,
Deserve its love, as I have done;
For kind and gentle as thou art,
If so beloved thou’rt fairly won.
Bright may the sacred torch remain,
And cheer thee till we meet again.
❦
[Sidenote: James I.]
It was said of King James I. that there were two sorts of men he never
had kindness for; those whose hawks flew, and dogs ran as well as his
own, and those who were able to speak as much reason as himself.
❦
_On the death of the Hon. John Gore, who commanding his Majesty’s ship
Scorpion, was drowned off the coast of Africa, after having by his
heroic exertions saved the lives of two of his ship’s company who had
fallen overboard, February 18th, 1812._
A few months prior to this melancholy event, I was on board the
Scorpion, when its noble commander at the same risk, but with less
fatal consequences, rescued from a watery grave two men who had been
swept overboard while taking in sail, during what is termed in the
West Indies “a white squall.” This intrepid captain without hesitation
sprung from the deck into the ocean, and after buffeting with the
element to which he was the destined victim, he swam back to his
vessel, supporting in each hand a fellow creature, preserved by his
courageous exertions. Fadeless is the memory of the Hero, though “The
waters have closed upon the passing furrow, and again hold on their
accustomed course.”
[Sidenote: On the death of the Hon. John Gore.]
“Peace to thy noble spirit, gallant Gore;
Dried be the tear that steals down sorrow’s cheek;
Soothed be their grief, who thy sad fate deplore;
Stifled the sigh that does that grief bespeak.
Long shall the generous act that brought thee death
Live in the hearts of those who love the brave,
While friendship hallows with its latest breath
The fate that doom’d thee to a wat’ry grave.”
❦
[Sidenote: Abraham to Isaac on his marriage with Rebecca.]
Prepare thy mind to meet her, and commune with thyself on thy future
moments. It is easier to win love than to retain it, and once fled
it can never be recalled: be this thy care. Leave to herself the
management of her household, and when she is employed therein reward
her with kind looks; commend the fruits of her industry, and taste
with double relish that which her hands have prepared. Flatter her not
in the early days of marriage, neither subject thyself to her smiles
or her frowns; for ill-placed obedience cannot long exist. But though
thy helpmate must submit to thee, let thy authority fall so lightly,
that she may not feel it; so shall thy hours be rich in new springing
delights.
❦
[Sidenote: Zarapha to Rebecca on her marriage with Isaac.]
In all things seek to please him, for by increasing his felicity thou
wilt increase thine own. Give way to his voice, and never let it be
asked, Which of us twain shall yield? Boast not of thy perfections
in his hearing, for if he truly love thee, he will be the first to
discover them, and if, which God avert! his affection decrease, vanity
will but give birth to disgust, and self-importance to neglect. Behold
his faults with compassion, and conceal them from the eyes of thy
neighbour. Refrain from frequent weeping; for when thy tears have lost
their power, and flow unheeded, then hast thou lost the love of thy
husband. But, above all, oh! above all, let thy mind be as open as thy
hand, do nothing without his knowledge: deceive him not: Oh! never
deceive him; never let even thy best intentions betray thee to act
unknown to him.
Go hand in hand through life, and neither strive to linger behind nor
gain upon his steps.
❦
[Sidenote: The Mansion of Rest.]
I talk’d to my flattering heart
And chid its wild wandering ways;
I charg’d it from folly to part,
And to husband the rest of its days.
I bade it no longer admire
The meteors that fancy had drest:
I whisper’d ’twas time to retire,
And seek for a Mansion of Rest.
A charmer was list’ning the while,
Who caught up the tone of my lay;
“O come then,” she cried with a smile,
“And I’ll show you the place and the way.”
I followed the witch to her home,
And vow’d to be always her guest:
“Never more,” I exclaim’d, “will I roam
In search of the Mansion of Rest.”
But the sweetest of moments will fly;
Not long was my fancy beguiled;
For too soon I confess’d with a sigh,
That the syren deceived while she smiled.
Deep, deep, did she stab the repose
Of my trusting and unwary breast;
And the door of each avenue close,
That led to the Mansion of Rest.
Then Friendship enticed me to stray
Through the long magic wilds of romance;
But I found she meant to betray,
And shrunk from the sorcerer’s glance.
For experience had taught me to know,
That the soul that reclined on her breast
Might toss on the billows of woe,
And ne’er find the Mansion of Rest.
Pleasure’s path I determined to try,
But Prudence I met in the way:
Conviction flash’d light from her eye,
And appear’d to illumine my day.
She cried, as she showed me a grave,
With nettles and wild flowers dress’d,
On which the dark cypress did wave,
“Behold then the Mansion of Rest.”
She spoke, and half vanish’d in air,
For she saw mild Religion appear
With a smile that would banish despair
And dry up the penitent tear:
Doubts and fears from my bosom were driven;
And pressing the cross to her breast,
And pointing serenely to heaven,
She showed me the Mansion of Rest.
❦
[Sidenote: National Taciturnity.]
The taciturnity of the Spaniards is attributed by Voltaire, to their
horror of the influence of the Inquisition. Hence, a general jealousy
and suspicion took possession of all people; friendship and sociability
were all at an end; brothers were afraid of brothers, fathers of their
children.
❦
[Sidenote: Election by Balls.]
The origin of electing members by balls may be traced to the Grecians.
When a member was to be elected, every one threw a little pellet of
bran, or crumb of bread into a basket, carried by a servant on his head
round the table, and whoever dissented flattened their pellet at one
side.
❦
[Sidenote: Anecdote of Robespierre.]
How often does the eye rest unconsciously upon mute inanimate objects,
which, had they voices, would utter tales of stirring remembrance, and
to some eyes, perhaps, do seem to speak such tales.
I was remarking one evening to a friend of my mother’s, the extreme
magnificence in the style of the still beautiful though faded furniture
of the apartments she occupied in Paris, and in which, at that moment,
a large and gay party were assembled. “True,” replied he, “and I have
seen these rooms in all their splendour, whilst their lovely, though
frail mistress, dispensed her fascinating smiles upon an admiring
circle. This house was fitted up by the celebrated St. Amaranthe,
whose fate offers one of the most striking instances of revolutionary
despotism.
“It is well known that even the stern heart of the tyrant Robespierre
had felt her power, but this was no security against his atrocious
cruelty. He was one of thirteen guests assembled on the preceding night
in the _Rue de Gramont_, where he had partaken of the hospitality of
the beauteous hostess. The next morning, whilst employed in the duties
of his toilette, his Secretary observed to him that he had drunk
too freely the night before. ‘What leads you to think so?’ inquired
Robespierre, ‘Your unguarded conversation, Citizen, which I do not
think passed unobserved, either by St. Amaranthe or her guests.’ ‘It
matters not,’ said the tyrant with apparent indifference, ‘they will do
me no harm,’ writing at the same moment a note which he dispatched by a
servant, and then with the utmost composure continued to shave himself.
“That note conveyed his orders for the arrest of St. Amaranthe and the
eleven individuals who had supped with her, one of whom was her son, a
boy of thirteen; and on the following day, the only two of the party of
fourteen who were not led to the guillotine were _Robespierre_ and _his
Secretary_.
“St. Amaranthe dressed herself with peculiar care for her execution,
and a person who by chance saw her pass in the fatal cart which
conducted her to death, described to me the beauty and elegance of the
figure, around which the most tastefully arranged draperies of _yellow_
crape floated on the air.”
❦
[Sidenote: The Old Woman and her Ass. A Fable.]
In Durham’s venerable spire,
So justly famous for its choir,
Each Sunday, when the organ’s sound
Did from the sacred walls rebound,
A gentleman, some say of note,
Joined with the choristers his throat
To praise the Lord, or show his skill,
I know not; be it as it will,
With open mouth and lifted eye
He made the solemn cadence die;
And when they raised the sacred song,
His voice was heard above the throng.
The cause of all this strange emotion,
Some said was pride, and some, devotion.
One youth with vanity elate
Observed that near a woman sat,
Adown whose ancient wrinkled face
The trickling tears did run apace;
With kerchief clean she wiped her eyes,
And stifled, as they rose, her sighs.
The songster harbour’d not a doubt
How this emotion came about:
He knew his voice had pleas’d each ear,
But ne’er before had drawn a tear;
He knew he oft had charm’d the young,
And joy’d that age now felt his tongue.
The service o’er, the crowd retires,
His pride a secret wish inspires,
To know from Goody what soft part
Of all his song had touch’d her heart.
As from the church she hobbling came,
He thus address’d the ancient dame:
Goody, a word--I won’t detain you,
I think of late I oft have seen you
Melted in tears; do pr’ythee tell
The piteous cause for which they fell.
The dame replied, Some time ago,
The time when first began my woe,
I had an ass in my possession,
For selling brooms is my profession;
He bore my besoms, drew my cart,
And was the darling of my heart:
Each night, I turn’d him to the wood
To browse the bushes for his food.
One night, when all was calm and still,
Some wicked foxes from the hill,
Attack’d the honest, harmless beast,
And of his carcass made a feast.
Excuse me, Sir, if when I hear
Your worship’s voice, I shed a tear:
When it so loud and shrill does rise,
I think I hear poor Cuddy’s cries:
So like his braying is your shake,
My very heart is like to break!
MORAL.
Ye squallers, who for singers wish to pass,
First ask, if e’er your hearers lost an ass!
❦
[Sidenote: Life a mingled yarn.]
The web of our life is a mingled yarn. Our virtues would be proud
if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if not
redeemed by our nature.
❦
[Sidenote: Henry VIII. and Francis I.]
At the interview between Henry VIII. and Francis I. which took place
at Guisnes, Henry and his English cavaliers wore on their crests the
Hawthorn, a cherished though humble badge, from the circumstance of
Henry VII. having placed on his head, in Bosworth Field, the crown of
England, which had been discovered in a hawthorn bush. It was on this
occasion, that when Henry was about to read the articles of the treaty
the monarchs had met to execute, that instead of designating himself
King of _France_, he stopped abruptly after “I Henry, King of England,”
and exclaimed, “No, not the King of France: I should be an impostor if
I claimed that title, for the King of France is here!”
❦
[Sidenote: Anecdote of Torregiano.]
Torregiano, a native of Florence, who came to Seville in 1520, was
employed by the Duke of Arcos in making an exact copy of a statue
in clay, which had been executed by himself, and which was greatly
valued by all connoisseurs. When it was finished, the Duke paid him in
maravedes, and the quantity was so great that two men were required to
carry it to his lodging.
The artist rejoiced in this liberal payment, as he supposed it, but on
opening the bags and ascertaining that they contained copper, and not
silver, and that the value was trifling, he became furious, ran to the
palace of the Duke, and before his face, broke the statue in pieces.
The figure being an image of our Saviour, he was accused of heresy,
and consigned to the Inquisition, and that tribunal sentenced him to
a severe castigation, which the indignant artist escaped by starving
himself to death in prison, previous to the time appointed for the
execution of his sentence.
❦
[Sidenote: Decline of Families.]
Families decline as do empires; each succeeding day some part of life’s
ancient honours are lost: the descent that leads to adversity is
precipitate and rapid. Children detach themselves from their parents:
parents separate themselves from their children. Thus all fades, till
the last great scene lets fall the curtain of death and oblivion.
❦
Il y a des personnes à qui les défauts sient bien, et d’autres qui sont
désagréables avec leurs bonnes qualités.
❦
[Sidenote: Confiance.]
La confiance fournit plus à la conversation, que l’esprit.
❦
[Sidenote: Robert Bruce.]
Bruce, like many other heroes, was an observer of omens, and a singular
instance is recorded by tradition.--After he had been four times
defeated in his attempts to recover and secure the crown of Scotland,
he was on the point of abandoning all future opposition to what
appeared to be his fate, and to go to the Holy Land. It chanced that
his eyes, as he was thus pondering, were attracted by the exertions
of a _spider_, which, in order to fix his web, endeavoured to swing
himself from one beam to another above his head. Involuntarily he
became interested in the pertinacity with which the insect renewed its
exertions after failing six times; and it occurred to him, that he
would decide his own course according to the success or failure of that
of the spider. At the _seventh_ effort the insect gained its object,
and Bruce, in like manner, persevered and carried his own.
Hence, it has been held unlucky and ungrateful, for any one of the name
of Bruce to kill a spider!
❦
[Sidenote: How to meet afflictions.]
Dissipation of mind, and a length of time, are the remedies to which
the greatest part of mankind trust in their afflictions; but the first
of these works a temporary, the second a slow effect, and both are
unworthy of a wise man. Are we to fly from ourselves that we may fly
from our misfortunes, and fondly imagine that the disease is cured
because we find means to get some few minutes from pain? Or shall we
expect from Time, the physician of brutes, a lingering and uncertain
deliverance? Shall we wait to be happy, till we can forget we are
miserable? and owe to the weakness of our faculties a tranquillity
which ought to be the effect of our strength? Far otherwise, let us
set all our past and present afflictions at once before our eyes; let
us resolve to overcome them, instead of flying from them, or wearing
out the sense of them by a long and ignominious patience; instead of
palliating remedies, let us use the incision knife and the caustic;
search the wound to the bottom, and work an immediate and radical cure.
❦
[Sidenote: So ho.]
To the north of the Earl of Leicester’s house, from Leicester Square,
stood King’s Square, on one side of which was the Duke of Monmouth’s
house, after whose execution his friends changed the name to Soho
Square; So ho! being the watchword with which he advanced to the fatal
battle of Sedgemore.
❦
[Sidenote: Loss of a Parent irreparable.]
If there are sufferings which, however dreadful in their endurance,
are yet susceptible of amelioration, the sorrow which a parent’s loss
awakens is not among the number; other ties may be replaced, other
affections may be restored, but when death breaks the bond of filial
love, nature, honouring the most sacred of her feelings, forbids a
sentiment less pure, less strong, succeeding to it; and though the
tear which sorrow sheds upon the parent’s grave may be dried by time,
the loss which bids that tear to flow can never be replaced by human
tenderness or human power.
❦
[Sidenote: Fruit.]
Physicians, says Petrarch, regard fruit as almost equally poisonous
with aconite and henbane; if this be true, surely Nature is a cruel
step-mother to have given to fruits such beauty of colouring, such
a delightful perfume, and so agreeable a taste, purposely to seduce
and draw us into the snare. Would a good mother present poison to her
children, covered with honey?
❦
On parle peu quand la vanité ne fait pas parler.
❦
[Sidenote: Anecdote of Frederick the Great.]
Frederick the Great, on the death of one of his chaplains, being
desirous of replacing him by a man of talent, took the following mode
of ascertaining the qualifications of the candidate for the nomination.
He told the applicant that he would himself furnish him with a text the
following Sunday, from which he was to preach extempore. The clergyman
accepted the offer. The whim of such a probationary sermon was spread
abroad widely, and at an early hour the Royal chapel was crowded to
excess. The King arrived at the close of the prayers, and, on the
clergyman’s ascending the pulpit, one of His Majesty’s Aides-de-Camp
presented him with a sealed letter. The preacher opened it, and found
nothing but a blank paper, yet in so critical a moment he did not
lose his presence of mind. “My brethren,” said he, turning the paper
on both sides, “here is nothing, and there is nothing; out of nothing
God created all things.” And he proceeded to deliver a most admirable
discourse on the wonders of the creation.
❦
On ne se blâme que pour être loué.
❦
It is a poor wit that jests at poverty.
❦
[Sidenote: Equity.]
Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm;
The frame thy scornful looks deride
Required a God to form.
The common Lord of all that move,
From whom thy being flowed,
A portion of his boundless love
On that poor worm bestowed.
The sun, the moon, the stars he made
To all his creatures free;
And spreads o’er earth the glassy blade
For worms as well as thee.
The crown to awe, the rod to smite,
Is man’s by law divine:
But sacred be each humble right
That clashes not with thine.
Let savage prowlers of the wood,
With thirst or hunger bold,
Let poisonous foes by land or flood,
Let plunderers of the fold,
Let pilferers of the hoarded grain,
To justice victims die;
But injure not the harmless train
That creep, or walk, or fly.
Let them enjoy their little day,
Their lowly bliss receive:
O! do not lightly take away
The life thou canst not give.
❦
[Sidenote: Mussulman.]
The Mussulman law divides into two classes all the inhabitants of the
earth: those who profess the faith of Mahomet are called, without
distinction of rites, sects, &c. “_Musslem_,” which in Arabic signifies
a person resigned to God, the dual of which is Mussulman. The nations
who deny the divine mission, and reject the doctrine of the prophet,
are confounded under the common denomination of “Keafid,” infidel, or
blasphemer; a wretch wandering in darkness, whose eyes are shut to the
light of revelation. Thus all infidels form but one people.
❦
_Matthias, Count Thurnes’, Address to the Feudal Nobles of Bohemia._
There remains now no room for repentance, and no plea for forgiveness.
The die is thrown. We must embrace freedom or the scaffold: men of
principle, if conquerors, men of conscience, and independent; but if
overcome, poor, perfidious beings, perjured and rebellious traitors.
❦
[Sidenote: Sir Thomas More.]
During his confinement in the Tower, Sir Thomas wrote the following
lines on the wall of his prison chamber, with a coal, for ink he was
not allowed.
“Ey, flatterynge fortune, looke you never so fayre,
Nor never so pleasantly begin to smyle,
Although thou wouldst my ruynes all repayre,
During my life thou shalt not me beguyle;
Trust, I shall, God, to enter in a while
Thye haven of heaven, sure and uniforme,
Ever after thie calme, looke I for noe storme.”
Of the several foreigners entertained and patronised by Sir Thomas
More, Erasmus was the most esteemed: but he was irritated and offended
by an epigram addressed to him from Holland, to which place Erasmus had
taken a horse of Sir Thomas More’s, sent for the purpose of conveying
him to the coast.
❦
[Sidenote: The Key to Happiness.]
A susceptibility to delicate attentions, a fine sense of the nameless
and exquisite tenderness of manner and thought, constitute in the minds
of its possessors the deepest under current of life: the felt and
treasured, but unseen and inexpressible richness of affection. It is
rarely found in the characters of men, but it outweighs, when it is,
all grosser qualities. There are many who waste and lose affections
by careless and, often, unconscious neglect. It is not a plant to grow
untended; the breath of indifference, or rude touch, may destroy for
ever its delicate texture. There is a daily attention to the slight
courtesies of life, which can alone preserve the first freshness of
passion. The easy surprises of pleasure, earnest cheerfulness of
assent to slight wishes, the habitual respect to opinions, the polite
abstinence from personal topics in the company of others, unwavering
attention to his and her comfort, both abroad and at home, and above
all, the careful preservation of those proprieties of conversation and
manner which are sacred when before the world, are some of the secrets
of that rare happiness which age and habit alike fail to impair or
diminish.
❦
[Sidenote: The Pelhams.]
John de Pelham, knighted by Edward III. was the person who first laid
hold of the French King’s belt, when he surrendered at the battle of
Poictiers; and it is from that circumstance the descendants of Sir John
Pelham, and Dukes of Newcastle, who are lineally so, wear the buckle of
a belt as a badge in their armorial bearings.
❦
_A Prayer on the Prospect of Death._
O Thou unknown, Almighty cause
Of all my hope and fear!
In whose dread presence in an hour
Perhaps I must appear!
If I have wandered in those paths
Of life I ought to shun,
As _something_ loudly in my breast
Remonstrates I have done,
Thou knew’st that thou hast framed me
With passions wild and strong,
And listening to their winning voice
Has often led me wrong.
Where human _weakness_ has run short,
Or _frailty_ stept aside,
Do thou, _All Good_, for such thou art,
The shades of darkness hide.
Where with _intention_ I have err’d,
No other plea I have
But _thou art good_, and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.
❦
L’experience du monde brise le cœur, ou, le bronze.
❦
[Sidenote: Whitehall.]