before we say this, O Lady fair, play I pray you the following lesson

by good Master Mace. It will put you in tune for the story “not

impertinent” concerning it, which he thought fit to relate, although,

he said, many might chuse to smile at it. You may thank Sir John

Hawkins for having rendered it from tablature into the characters of

musical notation.

[Illustration: music score.]

[Footnote 1: SIR THOMAS WYAT.]

“This Lesson,” says Master Mace, “I call my Mistress, and I shall not

think it impertinent to detain you here a little longer than ordinary

in speaking something of it, the occasion of it, and why I give it

that name. And I doubt not, but the relation I shall give may conduce

to your advantage in several respects, but chiefly in respect of

Invention.

“You must first know, That it is a lesson, though old; yet I never

knew it disrelished by any, nor is there any one lesson in this Book

of that age, as it is; yet I do esteem it (in its kind) with the best

Lesson in the Book, for several good reasons, which I shall here set

down.

“It is, this very winter, just forty years since I made it—and yet it

is new, because all like it,—and then when I was past being a suitor

to my best beloved, dearest, and sweetest living Mistress, but not

married, yet contriving the best, and readiest way towards it; And

thus it was,

“That very night, in which I was thus agitated in my mind concerning

her, my living Mistress,—she being in Yorkshire, and myself at

Cambridge, close shut up in my chamber, still and quiet, about ten or

eleven o'clock at night, musing and writing letters to her, her

Mother, and some other Friends, in summing up and determining the

whole matter concerning our Marriage. You may conceive I might have

very intent thoughts all that time, and might meet with some

difficulties, for as yet I had not gained her Mother's consent,—so

that in my writings I was sometimes put to my studyings. At which

times, my Lute lying upon my table, I sometimes took it up, and walked

about my chamber, letting my fancy drive which way it would, (for I

studied nothing, at that time, as to Music,)—yet my secret genius or

fancy, prompted my fingers, do what I could, into this very humour. So

that every time I walked, and took up my Lute, in the interim, betwixt

writing and studying, this Air would needs offer itself unto me

continually; insomuch that, at the last, (liking it well, and lest it

should be lost,) I took paper and set it down, taking no further

notice of it at that time. But afterwards it passed abroad for a very

pleasant and delightful Air amongst all. Yet I gave it no name till a

long time after, nor taking more notice of it, in any particular kind,

than of any other my Composures of that nature.

“But after I was married, and had brought my wife home to Cambridge,

it so fell out that one rainy morning I stay'd within, and in my

chamber my wife and I were all alone, she intent upon her needlework,

and I playing upon my Lute, at the table by her. She sat very still

and quiet, listening to all I played without a word a long time, till

at last, I hapned to play this lesson; which, so soon as I had once

played, she earnestly desired me to play it again, ‘for,’ said she,

‘That shall be called my Lesson.’

“From which words, so spoken, with emphasis and accent, it presently

came into my remembrance, the time when, and the occasion of its being

produced, and I returned her this answer, viz. That it may very

properly be called your Lesson, for when I composed it you were wholly

in my fancy, and the chief object and ruler of my thoughts; telling

her how, and when it was made. And therefore, ever after, I thus

called it MY MISTRESS, and most of my scholars since call it MRS.

MACE, to this day.

“Thus I have detained you (I hope not too long,) with this short

relation; nor should I have been so seemingly vain, as to have

inserted it, but that I have an intended purpose by it, to give some

advantage to the reader, and doubt not but to do it to those who will

rightly consider what here I shall further set down concerning it.

“Now in reference to the occasion of it, &c. It is worth taking

notice, That there are times and particular seasons, in which the

ablest Master of his Art, shall not be able to command his Invention

or produce things so to his content or liking, as he shall at other

times; but he shall be (as it were,) stupid, dull, and shut up, as to

any neat, spruce, or curious Invention.

“But again, at other times, he will have Inventions come flowing in

upon him, with so much ease and freedom, that his greatest trouble

will be to retain, remember, or set them down, in good order.

“Yet more particularly, as to the occasion of this Lesson, I would

have you take notice, that as it was at such a time, when I was wholly

and intimately possessed with the true and perfect idea of my living

Mistress, who was at that time, lovely, fair, comely, sweet, debonair,

uniformly-neat, and every way compleat; how could, possibly, my fancy

run upon anything at that time, but upon the very simile, form, or

likeness, of the same substantial thing.

“And that this Lesson doth represent, and shadow forth such a true

relation, as here I have made, I desire you to take notice of it, in

every particular; which I assure myself, may be of benefit to any, who

shall observe it well.

“First, therefore, observe the two first Bars of it, which will give

you the Fugue; which Fugue is maintained quite through the whole

lesson.

“Secondly, observe the Form, and Shape of the whole lesson, which

consists of two uniform, and equal strains; both strains having the

same number of Bars.

“Thirdly, observe the humour of it; which you may perceive (by the

marks and directions) is not common.

“These three terms, or things, ought to be considered in all

compositions, and performances of this nature, viz. Ayres, or the

like.

“The Fugue is lively, ayrey, neat, curious, and sweet, like my

Mistress.

“The Form is uniform, comely, substantial, grave, and lovely, like my

Mistress.

“The Humour is singularly spruce, amiable, pleasant, obliging, and

innocent, like my Mistress.

“This relation to some may seem odd, strange, humorous, and

impertinent; but to others (I presume) it may be intelligible and

useful; in that I know, by good experience, that in Music, all these

significations, (and vastly many more,) may, by an experienced and

understanding Artist, be clearly, and most significantly expressed;

yea, even as by language itself, if not much more effectually. And

also, in that I know, that as a person is affected or disposed in his

temper, or humour, by reason of what object of his mind soever, he

shall at that time produce matter, (if he be put to it,) answerable to

that temper, disposition, or humour, in which he is.

“Therefore I would give this as a caveat, or caution, to any, who do

attempt to exercise their fancies in such matters of Invention, that

they observe times, and seasons, and never force themselves to

anything, when they perceive an indisposition; but wait for a fitter,

and more hopeful season, for what comes most compleatly, comes most

familiarly, naturally, and easily, without pumping for, as we use to

say.

“Strive therefore to be in a good, cheerful, and pleasant humour

always when you would compose or invent, and then, such will your

productions be; or, to say better, chuse for your time of Study, and

Invention, if you may, that time wherein you are so disposed, as I

have declared. And doubtless, as it is in the study and productions of

Music, so must it needs be in all other studies, where the use and

exercise of fancy is requirable.

“I will therefore, take a little more pains than ordinary, to give

such directions, as you shall no ways wrong, or injure my Mistress,

but do her all the right you can, according to her true deserts.

“First, therefore, observe to play _soft_, and _loud_, as you see it

marked quite through the Lesson.

“Secondly, use _that Grace_, which I call the _Sting_, where you see

it set, and the _Spinger_ after it.

“And then, in the last four strains, observe the _Slides_, and

_Slurs_, and you cannot fail to know my _Mistress's Humour_, provided

you keep _true time_, which you must be extremely careful to do in all

lessons: FOR TIME IS THE ONE HALF OF MUSIC.

“And now, I hope I shall not be very hard put to it, to obtain my

pardon for all this trouble I have thus put you to, in the exercise of

your patience; especially from those, who are so ingenious and

good-natured, as to prize, and value, such singular and choice

endowments, as I have here made mention of in so absolute and compleat

a subject.”

MY MISTRESS OR MRS. MACE.

[Illustration: musical score.]

THOMAS MACE.

There is no prettier story in the history of Music than this; and what

a loving, loveable, happy creature must he have been who could thus in

his old age have related it!

CHAPTER CXCV.

ANOTHER LESSON WITH THE STORY AND MANNER OF ITS PRODUCTION.

_Οὐδεὶς ἐρεῖ ποθ᾽, ὡς ὑπόβλητον λόγον,

———ἔλεξας, ἀλλὰ τῆς σαυτῦ φρενός._

SOPHOCLES.

Master Mace has another lesson which he calls Hab-Nab; it “has neither

fugue, nor very good form,” he says, “yet a humour, although none of

the best;” and his “story of the manner and occasion of Hab-Nab's

production,” affords a remarkable counterpart to that of his favourite

lesson.

“View every bar in it,” he says, “and you will find not any one Bar

like another, nor any affinity in the least kind betwixt strain and

strain, yet the Air pleaseth some sort of people well enough; but for

my own part, I never was pleased with it; yet because some liked it, I

retained it. Nor can I tell how it came to pass that I thus made it,

only I very well remember, the time, manner, and occasion of its

production, (which was on a sudden,) without the least premeditation,

or study, and merely accidentally; and, as we use to say, _ex

tempore_, in the _tuning of a lute_.

“And the occasion, I conceive, might possibly contribute something

towards it, which was this.

“I had, at that very instant, when I made it, an agitation in hand,

viz. The stringing up, and tuning of a Lute, for a person of an

ununiform, and inharmonical disposition, (as to Music,) yet in herself

well proportioned, comely, and handsome enough, and ingenious for

other things, but to Music very unapt, and learned it only to please

her friends, who had a great desire she should be brought to it, if

possible, but never could, to the least good purpose; so that at the

last we both grew weary; _for there is no striving against such a

stream_.

“I say, this occasion possibly might be the cause of this so

inartificial a piece, in regard that that person, at that time, was

the chief object of my mind and thoughts. I call it inartificial,

because the chief observation (as to good performance,) is wholly

wanting. Yet it is true Music, and has such a form and humour, as may

pass, and give content to many. Yet I shall never advise any to make

things thus by hab-nab,[1] without any design, as was this. And

therefore I give it that name.”

[Footnote 1: _Hab-Nab_ is a good old English word, derived from the

Anglo-Saxon. Skinner is correct enough. “Temerè, sine consilio _ab_

AS. _Habban_ Habere, _Nabban_, non Habere, addito scilicet _na_, non,

cum apostropho.” Will-nill, i.e. Will ye, or will ye not, is a

parallel form. Every one will recollect the lines of Hudibras, (Part

ii. Canto iii.)

With that he circles draws, and squares,

With cyphers, astral characters:

Then looks 'em o'er to understand 'em

Although set down, _hab nab_, at random.

Dr. Grey illustrates the expression from Don Quixote, “Let every man,”

says Sancho Pancha, “take care what he talks or how he writes of other

men, and not set down _at random_, _hab-nab_, _higgledy-piggledy_,

what comes into his noddle.” Part ii. c. iii.

On referring to the original it will be seen that the Translator has

used three words for one. “Cada uno mire como habla o' como escriba de

las presonas, y no ponga _à troche moche_ lo primero que le viene al

magin.”]

“There are abundance of such things to be met with, and from the hands

of some, who fain would pass for good composers; yet most of them may

be traced, and upon examination, their things found only to be snaps

and catches; which they,—having been long conversant in Music, and can

command an Instrument, through great and long practice, some of them

very well,—have taken here and there (hab-nab,) from several airs and

things of other men's works, and put them handsomely together, which

then pass for their own compositions.

“Yet I say, it is no affront, offence, or injury, to any Master, for

another to take his Fugue, or Point to work upon, nor dishonour for

any Artist so to do, provided he shew by his Workmanship, a different

Discourse, Form, or Humour. But it is rather a credit and a repute for

him so to do; for by his works he shall be known. It being observable,

That great Master Composers may all along be as well known by their

Compositions, or their own compositions known to be of them, as the

great and learned writers may be known by their styles and works.”

CHAPTER CXCVI.

FURTHER ACCOUNT OF MASTER THOMAS MACE,—HIS LIGHT HEART, HIS SORROWS,

AND HIS POVERTY,—POORLY, POOR MAN, HE LIVED, POORLY, POOR MAN, HE

DIED—PHINEAS FLETCHER.

The sweet and the sour,

The nettle and the flower,

The thorn and the rose,

This garland compose.

SMALL GARLAND OF PIOUS AND GODLY SONGS.

Little more is known of Thomas Mace than can be gathered from his

book. By a good portrait of him in his sixty-third year, it appears

that he was born in 1613, and by his arms that he was of gentle blood.

And as he had more subscribers to his book in York than in any other

place, (Cambridge excepted) and the name of Henry Mace, Clerk, occurs

among them, it may be presumed that he was a native of that city, or

of that county. This is the more likely, because when he was

established at Cambridge in his youth, his true love was in Yorkshire;

and at that time his travels are likely to have been confined between

the place of his birth and of his residence.

The price of his book was twelve shillings in sheets; and as he

obtained about three hundred subscribers, he considered this fair

encouragement to publish. But when the work was compleated and the

accounts cast up, he discovered that “in regard of his unexpected

great charge, besides his unconceivable care and pains to have it

compleatly done, it could not be well afforded at that price, to

render him any tolerable or reasonable requital.” He gave notice

therefore, that after it should have been published three months, the

price must be raised; “adding thus much, (as being bold to say) that

there were several pages, yea several lessons in this book, (according

to the ordinary value, esteem, or way of procuring such things) which

were every one of them of more value than the price of the whole book

by far.”

It might be truly said of him, that

Poorly, poor man, he lived, poorly, poor man he died.[1]

for he never attained to any higher preferment than that of being “one

of the Clerks of Trinity College.” But it may be doubted whether any

of those who partook more largely of the endowment of that noble

establishment, enjoyed so large a portion of real happiness. We find

him in the sixty-third year of his age, and the fortieth of his

marriage, not rich, not what the world calls fortunate, but a

contented, cheerful old man; even though “Time had done to him this

wrong” that it had half deprived him of his highest gratification, for

he had become so deaf that he could not hear his own lute. When Homer

says of his own blind bard that the Muse gave him good and evil,

depriving him of his eyes, but giving him the gift of song, we

understand the compensation;

_Τὸν πέρι Μοῦσ᾽ ἐφίλησε, δίδου δ᾽ ἀγαθόν τε κακόν τε,

Ὀφθαλμῶν μὲν ἄμερσε, δίδου δ᾽ ἡδεῖαν ἀοιδήν·_

but what can compensate a musician for the loss of hearing! There is

no inward ear to be the bliss of solitude. He could not like

Pythagoras _ἀῤῥήτῳ τινὶ καὶ δυσεπινοήτῳ θειότητι χρώμενος_, by an

effort of ineffable and hardly conceivable divinity retire into the

depths of his own being, and there listen to that heavenly harmony of

the spheres which to him alone of all the human race was made audible;

_ἑαυτῷ γὰρ μόνῳ τῶν ἐπὶ γῆς ἀπάντων συνετὰ καὶ ἐπήκοα τὰ κοσμικὰ

φθέγματα ἐνόμιζεν ἀπ᾽ αὐτῆς τῆς φυσικῆς πηγῆς καὶ ῥίζῆς._[2] Master

Mace had no such supernatural faculty, and no such opinion of himself.

But the happy old man devises a means of overcoming to a certain

degree his defect by inventing what he called a Dyphone, or Double

Lute of fifty strings, a representation of which is given in his book,

as “the one only instrument in being of that kind, then lately

invented by himself, and made with his own hands in the year 1672.”

[Footnote 1: PHINEAS FLETCHER.]

[Footnote 2: IAMBLICHI Liber de Pythagoricâ, Vitâ c. xv.]

“The occasion of its production was my necessity; viz. my great defect

in hearing; adjoined with my unsatiable love and desire after the

Lute. It being an instrument so soft, and past my reach of hearing, I

did imagine it was possible to contrive a louder Lute, than ever any

yet had been; whereupon, after divers casts and contrivances, I

pitched upon this order, the which has (in a great degree) answered my

expectation, it being absolutely the lustiest or loudest Lute that I

ever yet heard. For although I cannot hear the least twang of any

other Lute, when I play upon it, yet I can hear this in a very good

measure, yet not so loud as to distinguish every thing I play, without

the help of my teeth, which when I lay close to the edge of it,

(there, where the lace is fixed,) I hear all I play distinctly. So

that it is to me (I thank God!) one of the principal refreshments and

contentments I enjoy in this world. What it may prove to others in its

use and service, (if any shall think fit to make the like,) I know

not, but I conceive it may be very useful, because of the several

conveniences and advantages it has of all other Lutes.”

This instrument was on the one side a theorbo, on the other lute,

having on the former part twenty-six strings, twenty-four on the

latter. It had a fuller, plumper and lustier sound, he said, than any

other lute, because the concave was almost as long again, being hollow

from neck to mouth. “This is one augmentation of sound; there is yet

another; which is from the strange and wonderful secret, which lies in

the nature of sympathy, in unities, or the uniting of harmonical

sounds, the one always augmenting the other. For let two several

instruments lie asunder at any reasonable distance, when you play upon

one, the other shall sound, provided they be both exactly tuned in

unisons to each other; otherwise not. This is known to all curious

inspectors into such mysteries. If this therefore be true, it must

needs be granted, that when the strings of these two twins,

accordingly put on, are tuned in unities and set up to a stiff lusty

pitch, they cannot but more augment and advantage one the other.”

Some allowances he begged for it, because it was a new-made instrument

and could not yet speak so well as it would do, when it came to age

and ripeness, though it already gave forth “a very free, brisk,

trouling, plump and sweet sound,” and because it was made by a hand

that never before attempted the making of any instrument. He concludes

his description of it, with what he calls a Recreative Fancy: saying,

“because it is my beloved darling, I seemed, like an old doting body,

to be fond of it; so that when I finished it, I bedecked it with these

five rhymes following, fairly written upon each belly.

“First, round the Theorboe knot, thus,

I am of old, and of Great Britain's fame,

Theorboe was my name.

Then next, about the French Lute knot, thus,

I'm not so old; yet grave, and much acute;

My name was the French lute.

Then from thence along the sides, from one knot to the other, thus,

But since we are thus joined both in one,

Henceforth our name shall be the Lute Dyphone.

Then again cross-wise under the Theorboe-knot, thus,

Lo here a perfect emblem seen in me,

Of England and of France, their unity;

Likewise that year they did each other aid,

I was contrived, and thus compleatly made.

viz. When they united both against the Dutch and beat them soundly,

A.D. 1672.

“Then lastly, under the French Lute knot, thus,

Long have we been divided, now made one,

We sang in sevenths; now in full unison.

In this firm union, long may we agree,

No unison is like Lute's harmony.

Thus in its body, tis trim, spruce and fine

But in its sp'rit, tis like a thing divine.”

Poor Mace formed the plan of a Music-room, and hoped to have erected

it himself; “but it pleased God,” says he, “to disappoint and

discourage me several ways, for such a work; as chiefly by the loss of

my hearing, and by that means the emptiness of my purse, (my meaning

may easily be guessed at,) I only wanted money enough but no good will

thereunto.” However he engraved his plan, and annexed a description of

it, “in hopes that at one time or other, there might arise some

honourable and truly nobly-spirited person, or persons, who may

consider the great good use and benefit of such a necessary

convenience, and also find in his heart to become a benefactor to such

an eminent good work,—for the promotion of the art and encouragement

of the true lovers of it; there being great need of such a thing, in

reference to the compleating and illustrating of the University

Schools.”

What he designed was a room six yards square, having on each side

three galleries for spectators, each something more than three yards

deep. These were to be one story from the ground, “both for advantage

of sound, and also to avoid the moisture of the earth, which is very

bad, both for instrument and strings;” and the building was to be “in

a clear and very delightful dry place, both free from water, the

overhanging of trees, and common noises.” The room was for the

performers, and it was to be “one step higher on the floor than the

galleries the better to convey the sound to the auditors:”—“being thus

clear and free from company, all inconvenience of talking, crowding,

sweating and blustering, &c. are taken away; the sound has its free

and uninterrupted passage; the performers are no ways hindered; and

the instruments will stand more steadily in tune, (for no lutes,

viols, pedals, harpsicons, &c. will stand in tune at such a time; no,

nor voices themselves;) For I have known,” says he, “an excellent

voice, well prepared for a solemn performance, who has been put up in

a crowd, that when he has been to perform his part, could hardly

speak, and by no other cause but the very distemper received by that

crowd and overheat.”

The twelve galleries, though but little, would hold two hundred

persons very well; and thus the uneasy and unhandsome accommodation,

which has often happened to persons of quality, being crowded up,

squeezed and sweated among persons of an inferior rank, might be

avoided, “which thing alone, having such distinct reception for

persons of different qualities, must needs be accounted a great

conveniency.” But there was a scientific convenience included in the

arrangement; for the lower walls were to be “wainscoted, hollow from

the wall, and without any kind of carved, bossed, or rugged work, so

that the sound might run glib and smooth all about, without the least

interruption. And through that wainscot there must be several

conveyances all out of the room—by grooves, or pipes to certain

auditor's seats, where the hearer, as he sate, might at a small

passage, or little hole, receive the pent-up sound, which let it be

never so weak in the music-room, he, (though at the furthest end of

the gallery) should hear as distinctly as any who were close by it.”

The inlets into these pipes should be pretty large, a foot square at

least, yet the larger the better, without all doubt, and so the

conveyance to run proportionably narrower, till it came to the ear of

the auditor, where it need not be above the wideness of one's finger

end. “It cannot,” says he, “be easily imagined, what a wonderful

advantage such a contrivance must needs be, for the exact and distinct

hearing of music; without doubt far beyond all that ever has yet been

used. For there is no instrument of touch, be it never so sweet, and

touched with the most curious hand that can be, but in the very touch,

if you be near unto it, you may perceive the touch to be heard;

especially of viols and violins: but if you be at a distance, that

harshness is lost, and conveyed unto the air, and you receive nothing

but the pure sweetness of the instrument; so as I may properly say,

you lose the body, but enjoy the soul or spirit thereof.”

Such a necessary, ample and most convenient erection would become, he

thought, any nobleman, or gentleman's house; and there might be built

together with it as convenient rooms for all services of a family, as

by any other contrivance whatever, and as magnificently stately. Were

it but once experienced, he doubted not, but that the advantages would

apparently show themselves, and be esteemed far beyond what he had

written, or that others could conceive.

The last notice which we have of good Master Mace is an advertisement,

dated London, 1690, fourteen years after the publication of his book.

Dr. Burney found it in the British Museum, in a collection of

title-pages, devices and advertisements. It is addressed “to all

Lovers of the best sort of Music.”

Men say the times are strange;—tis true;

'Cause many strange things hap to be.

Let it not then seem strange to you

That here one strange thing more you see.

That is, in Devereux Court, next the Grecian Coffee House, at the

Temple back gate, there is a deaf person teacheth music to perfection;

who by reason of his great age, viz. seventy-seven, is come to town,

with his whole stock of rich musical furniture; viz. instruments and

books, to put off, to whomsoever delights in such choice things; for

he has nothing light or vain, but all substantial and solid MUSIC.

Some particulars do here follow.

“First, There is a late invented Organ, which, for private use,

exceeds all other fashioned organs whatever; and for which,

substantial artificial reasons will be given; and, for its beauty, it

may become a nobleman's dining-room.

“Second, There belongs to it a pair of fair, large-sized consort

viols, chiefly fitted and suited for that, or consort use; and 'tis

great pity they should be parted.

“Third, There is a pedal harpsicon, (the absolute best sort of consort

harpsicon that has been invented; there being in it more than twenty

varieties, most of them to come in with the foot of the player;

without the least hindrance of play,) exceedingly pleasant.

“Fourth, Is a single harpsicon.

“Fifth. A new invented instrument, called a Dyphone, viz. a double

lute; it is both theorboe and French lute compleat; and as easy to

play upon as any other lute.

“Sixth, Several other theorboes, lutes and viols, very good.

“Seventh, Great store of choice collections of the works of the most

famous composers that have lived in these last hundred years, as

Latin, English, Italian and some French.

“Eighth, There is the publishers own Music's Monument; some few copies

thereof he has still by him to put off, it being a subscribed book,

and not exposed to common sale. All these will be sold at very easy

rates, for the reasons aforesaid; and because, indeed, he cannot stay

in town longer than four months, exactly.”

He further adds, “if any be desirous to partake of his experimental

skill in this high noble art, during his stay in town, he is ready to

assist them; and haply, they may obtain that from him, which they may

not meet withal elsewhere. He teacheth these five things; viz. the

theorboe, the French lute, and the viol, in all their excellent ways

and uses; as also composition, together with the knack of procuring

invention to young composers, (the general and greatest difficulty

they meet withal;) this last thing not being attempted by any author,

(as he knows of,) yet may be done, though some have been so wise, or

otherwise to contradict it:

_Sed experientia docuit._

“Any of these five things may be learned so understandingly, in this

little time he stays, by such general rules as he gives, together with

Music's Monument, (written principally to such purposes,) as that any,

aptly inclined, may, for the future, teach themselves, without any

other help.”

This is the last notice of poor Mace: poor he may be called, when at

the age of seventy-seven he is found in London upon the forlorn hope

of selling his instruments and his books, and getting pupils during

this stay. It may be inferred that he had lost the son of whose

musical proficiency he formerly spoke with so much pleasure; for

otherwise this professional collection and stock in trade would hardly

have been exposed to sale, but it appears that the good old man

retained his mental faculties, and his happy and contented spirit.

Dr. Burney recommends the perusal of what he calls his matchless book

“to all who have taste for excessive simplicity and quaintness, and

can extract pleasure from the sincere and undissembled happiness of an

author, who with exalted notions of his subject and abilities,

discloses to his readers every inward working of self-approbation in

as undisguised a manner, as if he were communing with himself in all

the plenitude of mental comfort and privacy.”

CHAPTER CXCVII.

QUESTION PROPOSED, WHETHER A MAN BE MAGNIFIED OR MINIFIED BY

CONSIDERING HIMSELF UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THE HEAVENLY BODIES, AND

ANSWERED WITH LEARNING AND DISCRETION.

I find by experience that Writing is like Building, wherein the

undertaker, to supply some defect, or serve some convenience which at

first he foresaw not, is usually forced to exceed his first model and

proposal, and many times to double the charge and expence of it.

DR. JOHN SCOTT.

Is man magnified or minified by considering himself as under the

influence of the heavenly bodies,—not simply as being

Moved round in earth's dismal course

With rocks and stones and trees;[1]

but as affected by them in his constitution bodily and mental, and

dependent on them for weal or woe, for good or evil fortune; as

subjected, that is, according to astrological belief to

The Stars, who, by I know not what strange right,

Preside o'er mortals in their own despite,

Who without reason, govern those who most,

(How truly, judge from thence!) of reason boast;

And by some mighty magic, yet unknown,

Our actions guide, yet cannot guide their own.[2]

Apart from what one of our Platonic divines calls “the power of astral

necessity, and uncontrollable impressions arising from the

subordination and mental sympathy and dependence of all mundane

causes,” which is the Platonist's and Stoic's “proper notion of

fate;”[3] apart, I say, from this, and from the Calvinist's doctrine

of predestination, is it a humiliating, or an elevating consideration,

that the same celestial movements which cause the flux and reflux of

the ocean, should be felt in the pulse of a patient suffering with a

fever: and that the eternal laws which regulate the stars in their

courses, should decide the lot of an individual?

[Footnote 1: WORDSWORTH.]

[Footnote 2: CHURCHILL.]

[Footnote 3: JOHN SMITH.]

Here again a distinction must be made,—between the physical theory and

the pseudo-science. The former is but a question of more or less; for

that men are affected by atmospherical influence is proved by every

endemic disease; and invalids feel in themselves a change of weather

as decidedly as they perceive its effect upon the weather-glass, the

hygrometer, or the strings of a musical instrument. The sense of our

weakness in this respect,—of our dependence upon causes over which we

have no controul, and which in their operation and nature are

inexplicable by us, must have a humbling and therefore a beneficial

tendency in every mind disposed to goodness. It is in the order of

Providence that we should learn from sickness and adversity lessons

which health and prosperity never teach.

Some of the old theoretical physicians went far beyond this. Sachs von

Lewenheimb compared the microcosm of man with the macrocosm in which

he exists. The heart in the one, he said, is what the ocean is in the

other, the blood has its ebbing and flowing like the tide, and as the

ocean receives its impulse from the moon and the winds, the brain and

the vital spirits act in like manner upon the heart. Baillet has

noticed for censure the title of his book in his chapter _Des prejugés

des Titres des Livres_; it is _Oceanus Macro-Micro-cosmicus_. Peder

Severinsen carrying into his medical studies a fanciful habit of mind

which he might better have indulged in his younger days when he was a

Professor of Poetry, found in the little world of the human body,

antitypes of every thing in the great world, its mountains and its

vallies, its rivers and its lakes, its minerals and its vegetables,

its elements and its spheres. According to him the stars are living

creatures, subject to the same diseases as ourselves. Ours indeed are

derived from them by sympathy, or astral influence, and can be

remedied only by those medicines, the application of which is denoted

by their apparent qualities, or by the authentic signature of nature.

This fancy concerning the origin of diseases is less intelligible than

the mythology of those Rosicrucians who held that they were caused by

evil demons rulers of the respective planets, or by the Spirits of the

Firmament and the Air. A mythology this may more properly be called

than a theory; and it would belong rather to the history of Manicheism

than of medicine, were it not that in all ages fanaticism and

imposture have, in greater or less degree, connected themselves with

the art of healing.

But however dignified, or super-celestial the theoretical causes of

disease, its effect is always the same in bringing home, even to the

proudest heart, a sense of mortal weakness: whereas the belief which

places man in relation with the Stars, and links his petty concerns

and fortunes of a day with the movements of the heavenly bodies, and

the great chain of events, tends to exalt him in his own conceit. The

thriftless man in middle or low life who says, in common phrase, that

he was born under a threepenny planet, and therefore shall never be

worth a groat, finds some satisfaction in imputing his unprosperity to

the Stars, and casting upon them the blame which he ought to take upon

himself. In vain did an old Almanack-maker say to such men of the

Creator, in a better strain than was often attained by the professors

of his craft.

He made the Stars to be an aid unto us,

Not (as is fondly dream'd) to help undo us;

Much less without our fault to ruinate

By doom of irrecoverable Fate.

And if our best endeavours use we will,

These glorious Creatures will be helpful still

In all our honest ways: for they do stand

To help, not hinder us, in God's command,

Who doth not only rule them by his powers

But makes their glory servant unto ours.

Be wise in Him, and if just cause there be

The Sun and Moon shall stand and wait on thee.

On the other hand the lucky adventurer proceeds with superstitious

confidence in his Fortune; and the ambitious in many instances have

devoted themselves, or been deceived to their own destruction. It is

found accordingly that the professors of astrology generally in their

private practice addressed themselves to the cupidity or the vanity of

those by whom they were employed. Honest professors there were who

framed their schemes faithfully upon their own rules; but the greater

number were those who consulted their own advantage only, and these

men being well acquainted with human nature in its ordinary character,

always took this course.—Their character has changed as little as

human nature itself in the course of two thousand years since Ennius

expressed his contempt for them, in a passage preserved by Cicero.

_Non habeo denique nauci Marsum augurem,

Non vicanos haruspices, non de circo astrologos,

Non Isiacos conjectores, non interpretes somnium.

Non enim sunt ii aut scientiâ aut arte, divini,

Sed superstitiosi vates, impudentesque harioli,

Aut inertes, aut insani, aut quibus egestas imperat:

Qui sibi semitam non sapiunt, alteri monstrant viam.

Quibus divitias pollicentur, ab iis drachmam ipsi petunt.

De his divitiis sibi deducant drachmam, reddant cætera._

Pompey, Crassus, and Cæsar were each assured by the Chaldeans that he

should die in his own house, in prosperity, and in a good old age.

Cicero tells us this upon his own knowledge: _Quam multa ego Pompeio,

quam multa Crasso, quam multa huic ipsi Cæsari à Chaldeis dicta

memini, neminem eorum nisi senectute, nisi domi, nisi cum claritate

esse moriturum! ut mihi permirum videatur, quemquam extare, qui etiam

nunc credat iis, quorum prædicta quotidie videat re et eventis

refelli._

And before the age of Ennius, Euripides had in the person of Tiresias

shewn how surely any such profession, if the professor believed in his

own art, must lead to martyrdom, or falsehood. When the blind old

Prophet turns away from Creon, he says, in words worthy of Milton's

favourite poet,

_Τὰ μὲν παρ᾽ ἡμῶν πάντ᾽ ἔχεις· ἡγοῦ, τέκνον,

Πρὸς οἶκον· ὅστις δ᾽ ἐμπύρῳ χρῆται τέχνῃ,

Μάταιος᾽ ἢν μὲν ἐχθρὰ σημήνας τύχῃ,

Πικρὸς καθέστηχ᾽, οἷς ἂν οἰωνοσκοπῇ,

Ψευδῆ δ᾽ ὑπ᾽ οἴκτου τοῖσι χρωμένοις λέγων,

Ἀδικεῖ τὰ τῶν θεῶν. Φοῖβον ἀνθρώποις μόνον

Χρῆν θεσπιωδεῖν, ὃς δέδοικεν οὐδένα._

The sagacity of the poet will be seen by those who are versed in the

history of the Old Testament; and for those who are not versed in it,

the sooner they cease to be ignorant in what so nearly concerns them,

the better it may be for themselves.

Jeremy Taylor says that he reproves those who practised judicial

astrology, and pretended to deliver genethliacal predictions, “not

because their reason is against religion, for certainly, said he, it

cannot be; but because they have not reason enough in what they say;

they go upon weak principles which they cannot prove; they reduce them

to practice by impossible mediums; they argue about things with which

they have little conversation. Although the art may be very lawful if

the stars were upon the earth, or the men were in heaven, if they had

skill in what they profess, and reason in all their pretences, and

after all that their principles were certain, and that the stars did

really signify future events, and that those events were not overruled

by every thing in heaven and in earth, by God, and by our own will and

wisdom,—yet because here is so little reason and less certainty, and

nothing but confidence and illusion, therefore it is that religion

permits them not; and it is not the reason in this art that is against

religion, but the folly or the knavery of it; and the dangerous and

horrid consequents which they feel that run a-whoring after such idols

of imagination.”

In our days most of those persons who can afford to employ the greater

part of their thoughts upon themselves, fall at a certain age under

the influence either of a physical or a spiritual director, for

Protestantism has its _Directeurs_ as well as Popery, less to its

advantage and as little to its credit. The spiritual professors have

the most extensive practice, because they like their patients are of

all grades, and are employed quite as much among the sound as the

sick. The astrologer no longer contests the ascendancy with either.

That calling is now followed by none but such low impostors, that they

are only heard of when one of them is brought before a magistrate for

defrauding some poor credulous creature in the humblest walks of life.

So low has that cunning fallen, which in the seventeenth century

introduced its professors into the cabinets of kings, and more

powerful ministers. An astrologer was present at the birth of Louis

XIV, that he might mark with all possible precision the exact moment

of his nativity. After the massacre of St. Bartholomew's day,

Catherine de Medici, deep in blood as she was, hesitated about putting

to death the king of Navarre and the prince of Condé, and the person

of whom she took counsel was an astrologer,—had she gone to her

Confessor their death would have been certain. Cosmo Ruggieri was an

unprincipled adventurer, but on this occasion he made a pious use of

his craft, and when the Queen enquired of him what the nativities of

these Princes prognosticated, he assured her that he had calculated

them with the utmost exactness, and that according to the principles

of his art, the State had nothing to apprehend from either of them. He

let them know this as soon as he could, and told them that he had

given this answer purely from regard for them, not from any result of

his schemes, the matter being in its nature undiscoverable by

astrology.

The Imperial astrologers in China excused themselves once for a

notable failure in their art, with more notable address. The error

indeed was harmless, except in its probable consequences to

themselves; they had predicted an eclipse, and no eclipse took place.

But instead of being abashed at this proof of their incapacity the

ready rogues complimented the Emperor, and congratulated him upon so

wonderful and auspicious an event. The eclipse they said portended

evil, and therefore in regard to him the Gods had put it by.

An Asiatic Emperor who calls himself Brother to the Sun and Moon,

might well believe that his relations would go a little out of their

way to oblige him, if the Queen of Navarre could with apparent

sincerity declare her belief that special revelations are made to the

Great, as one of the privileges of their high estate, and that her

mother, that Catherine de Medici, whose name is for ever infamous, was

thus miraculously forewarned of every remarkable event that befell her

husband and her children, nor was she herself, without her share in

this privilege, though her character was not more spotless in one

point than her mother's in another. _De ces divins advertissemens_,

she says, _je ne me veux estimer digne, toutesfois pour ne me taire

comme ingrate des graces que j'ay receües de Dieu, que je dois et veux

confesser toute ma vie, pour luy en rendre grace, et que chacun le

loue aux merveilles des effets de sa puissance, bonté, et misericorde,

qu'il luy a plû faire en moy, j'advoueray n'avoir jamais esté proche

de quelques signalez accidens, ou sinistres, ou heureux, que j'en aye

eu quelque advertissement ou en songe, ou autrement; et puis bien dire

ce vers,_

_De mon bien ou mon mal, mon esprit m'est oracle._

CHAPTER CXCVIII.

PETER HOPKINS' VIEWS OF ASTROLOGY. HIS SKILL IN CHIROMANCY, PALMISTRY,

OR MANUAL DIVINATION WISELY TEMPERED.—SPANISH PROVERB AND SONNET BY

BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA.—TIPPOO SULTAN.—MAHOMETAN

SUPERSTITION.—W. Y. PLAYTES' PROSPECTUS FOR THE HORN BOOK FOR THE

REMEMBRANCE OF THE SIGNS OF SALVATION.

_Seguite dunque con la mente lieta,

Seguite, Monsignor, che com' io dico,

Presto presto sarete in su la meta._

LUDOVICO DOLCE.

Peter Hopkins had believed in astrology when he studied it in early

life with his friend Grey; his faith in it had been overthrown by

observation and reflection, and the unperceived influence of the

opinions of the learned and scientific public; but there was more

latent doubt in his incredulity than had ever lurked at the root of

his belief.

He was not less skilled in the kindred, though more trivial art of

Chiromancy, Palmistry, or Manual Divination, for the divine origin of

which a verse in the Book of Job was adduced as scriptural proof; “He

sealeth up the hand of every man, that all men may know his work.” The

text appears more chiromantical in the Vulgate. _Qui in manu omnium

hominum signa posuit._ Who has placed signs in the hand of all men.

The uses of the science were represented to be such, as to justify

this opinion of its origination: “For hereby,” says Fabian Withers,

“thou shalt perceive and see the secret works of Nature, how aptly and

necessarily she hath compounded and knit each member with other,

giving unto the hand, as unto a table, certain signs and tokens

whereby to discern and know the inward motions and affections of the

mind and heart, with the inward state of the whole body; as also our

inclination and aptness to all our external actions and doings. For

what more profitable thing may be supposed or thought, than when a man

in himself may foresee and know his proper and fatal accidents, and

thereby to embrace and follow that which is good, and to avoid and

eschew the evils which are imminent unto him, for the better

understanding and knowledge thereof?”

But cautioning his readers against the error of those who perverted

their belief in palmistry and astrology, and used it as a refuge or

sanctuary for all their evil deeds, “we ought,” said he, “to know and

understand that the Stars do not provoke or force us to anything, but

only make us apt and prone; and being so disposed, allure as it were,

and draw us forward to our natural inclination. In the which if we

follow the rule of Reason, taking it to be our only guide and

governor, they lose all the force, power and effect which they by any

means may have in and upon us: contrariwise, if we give ourselves over

to follow our own sensuality and natural dispositions, they work even

the same effect on us—that they do in brute beasts.”

Farther he admonishes all “which should read or take any fruit of his

small treatise, to use such moderation in perusing of the same that

they do not by and by take in hand to give judgement either of their

own, or other men's estates or nativities, without diligent

circumspection and taking heed; weighing and considering how many ways

a man may be deceived; as by the providence and discretion of the

person on whom he gives judgement, also, the dispensation of God, and

our fallible and uncertain speculation.” “Wherefore,” he continues,

“let all men in seeking hereby to foresee their own fortune, take heed

that by the promise of good, they be not elate, or high-minded, giving

themselves over to otiosity or idleness, and trusting altogether to

the Natural Influences; neither yet by any signs or tokens of

adversity, to be dejected or cast down, but to take and weigh all

things with such equality and moderation, directing their state of

life and living to all perfectness and goodness, that they may be

ready to embrace and follow all that which is good and profitable; and

also not only to eschew and avoid, but to withstand and set at nought

all evil and adverse fortune, whensoever it may happen unto them.”

Whoever studies the history of opinions, that is, of the aberrations,

caprices and extravagancies of the human mind, may find some

consolation in reflecting upon the practical morality which has been

preached not only by men of the most erroneous faith, but even by

fanatics, impostors and hypocrites, as if it were in the order of

Providence that there should be no poison which had not also some

medicinal virtue. The books of palmistry have been so worn by perusal

that one in decent preservation is now among the rarities of

literature; and it may be hoped that of the credulous numbers who have

pored over them, many have derived more benefit from the wholesome

lessons which were thus unexpectedly brought home to them, than they

suffered detriment from giving ear to the profession of a fallacious

art.

The lesson was so obvious that the Spaniards expressed it in one of

their pithy proverbs, _es nuestra alma en nuestra palma._ The thought

has been expanded into a sonnet by Bartolome Leonardo de Argensola, a

poet whose strains of manly morality have not been exceeded in that

language.

_Fabio, pensar que el Padre soberano

En esas rayas de la palma diestra

(Que son arrugas de la piel) te muestra

Los accidentes del discurso humano;

Es beber con el vulgo el error vano

De la ignorancia, su comun maestra.

Bien te confieso, que la suerte nuestra,

Mala, o buena, la puso en nuestra mano.

Di, quién te estorvará el ser Rey, si vives

Sin envidiar la suerte de los Reyes,

Tan contento y pacifico en la tuya,

Que estén ociosas para ti sus leyes;

Y qualquier novedad que el Cielo influya,

Como cosa ordinaria la recibes?_

Fabius, to think that God hath interlined

The human hand like some prophetic page,

And in the wrinkles of the palm defined

As in a map, our mortal pilgrimage,

This is to follow, with the multitude

Error and Ignorance, their common guides,

Yet Heaven hath placed, for evil or for good,

Our fate in our own hands, whate'er betides

Being as we make it. Art thou not a king

Thyself my friend, when envying not the lot

Of thrones, ambition hath for thee no sting,

Laws are to thee as they existed not,

And in thy harmless station no event

Can shake the calm of its assured content.

“Nature” says a Cheirologist, “was a careful workman in the creation

of the human body. She hath set in the hand of man certain signs and

tokens of the heart, brain and liver, because in them it is that the

life of man chiefly consists, but she hath not done so of the eyes,

ears, mouth, hands and feet, because those parts of the body seem

rather to be made for a comeliness or beauty, than for any necessity.”

What he meant to say was that any accident which threatened the three

vital parts was betokened in the lines of the palm, but that the same

fashioning was not necessary in relation to parts which might be

injured without inducing the loss of life. Therefore every man's palm

has in it the lines relating to the three noble parts, the more minute

lines are only found on subjects of finer texture, and if they

originally existed in husbandmen and others whose hands are rendered

callous by their employments, they are effaced.

It was only cheirologically speaking that he disparaged what sailors

in their emphatic language so truly call our precious eyes and limbs,

not that he estimated them like Tippoo Sultan, who in one of his

letters says, that if people persisted in visiting a certain person

who was under his displeasure, “their ears and noses should be

dispensed with.” This strange tyrant wrote odes in praise of himself,

and describes the effect of his just government to be such, that in

the security of his protection “the deer of the forest made their

pillow of the lion and the tyger, and their mattress of the leopard

and the panther.”

Tippoo did not consider ears and noses to be superfluities when in

that wanton wickedness which seldom fails to accompany the possession

of irresponsible power he spoke of dispensing with them. But in one

instance arms and legs were regarded as worse than superfluous. Some

years ago a man was exhibited who was born without either, and in that

condition had found a woman base enough to marry him. Having got some

money together, she one day set this wretched creature upon a

chimney-piece, from whence he could not move, and went off with

another man, stripping him of every thing that she could carry away.

The first words he uttered, when some one came into the room and took

him down, were an imprecation upon those people who had legs and arms,

because, he said they were always in mischief!

The Mahommedans believe that every man's fate is written on his

forehead, but that it can be read by those only whose eyes have been

opened. The Brahmins say that the sutures of the skull describe in

like manner the owner's destined fortune, but neither can this

mysterious writing be seen by any one during his life, nor decyphered

after his death. Both these notions are mere fancies which afford a

foundation for nothing worse than fable. Something more extraordinary

has been excogitated by W. Y. Playtes, Lecturer upon the Signs of the

light of the Understanding. He announces to mankind that the prints of

the nails of the Cross which our Lord shewed Thomas, are printed in

the roots of the nails of the hands and feet of every man that is born

into the world, for witnesses, and for leading us to believe in the

truth of all the signs, and graven images and pictures that are seen

in the Heavenly Looking Glass of Reflection, in the Sun and the Moon

and the Stars. This Theosophist has published a short Prospectus of

his intended work entitled the Horn Book for the remembrance of the

Signs of Salvation, which Horn Book is (should subscriptions be

forthcoming) to be published in one hundred and forty-four numbers,

forming twelve octavo volumes of six hundred pages each, with fifty

plates, maps and tables, and 365,000 marginal references,—being one

thousand for every day in the year. Wonder not reader at the extent of

this projected work; for, says the author, “the Cow of the Church of

Truth giveth abundance of milk, for the Babes of Knowledge.” But for

palmistry there was a plausible theory which made it applicable to the

purposes of fraud.

Among the odd persons with whom Peter Hopkins had become acquainted in

the course of his earlier pursuits, was a sincere student of the

occult sciences, who, being a more refined and curious artist,

whenever he cast the nativity of any one, took an impression from the

palm of the hand, as from an engraved plate, or block. He had thus a

fac-simile of what he wanted. According to Sir Thomas Browne, the

variety in the lines is so great, that there is almost no strict

conformity. Bewick in one of his works has in this manner printed his

own thumb. There are French deeds of the 15th century which are signed

by the imprint of five fingers dipt in ink, underwritten _Ce est la

griffe de monseigneur._[1]

[Footnote 1: The Reader, who is curious in such matters, may turn to

Ames and Herbert, (Dibdin, ii. 380.) for the hands in Holt's Lac

Puerorum, emprynted at London by Wynkyn de Worde.]

Hopkins himself did not retain any lurking inclination to believe in

this art. You could know without it, he said, whether a person were

open-handed, or close-fisted, and this was a more useful knowledge

than palmistry could give us. But the Doctor sometimes made use of it

to amuse children, and gave them at the same time playful admonition,

and wholesome encouragement.

CHAPTER CXCIX.

CONCERNING THE GREAT HONOURS TO WHICH CERTAIN HORSES HAVE ATTAINED,

AND THE ROYAL MERITS OF NOBS.

_Siento para contarlas que me llama

El á mi, yo á mi pluma, ella á la fama._

BALBUENA.

There have been great and good horses whose merits have been recorded

in history and in immortal song as they well deserved to be. Who has

not heard of Bucephalus? of whom Pulteney said that he questioned

whether Alexander himself had pushed his conquests half so far, if

Bucephalus had not stooped to take him on his back. Statius hath sung

of Arion who when he carried Neptune left the winds panting behind

him, and who was the best horse that ever has been heard of for taking

the water,

_Sæpe per Ionium Libycumque natantibus ire

Interjunctus equis, omnesque assuetus in oras

Cæruleum deferre patrem._

* * * * *

Tramp, tramp across the land he went,

Splash, splash across the sea.

But he was a dangerous horse in a gig. Hercules found it difficult to

hold him in, and Polynices when he attempted to drive him made almost

as bad a figure as the Taylor upon his ever memorable excursion to

Brentford.

The virtues of Caligula's horse, whom that Emperor invited to sup with

him, whom he made a Priest, and whom he intended to make Consul, have

not been described by those historians who have transmitted to us the

account of his extraordinary fortune; and when we consider of what

materials, even in our days, both Priests and Senators are sometimes

made, we may be allowed to demur at any proposition which might

include an admission that dignity is to be considered an unequivocal

mark of desert. More certain it is that Borysthenes was a good horse,

for the Emperor Adrian erected a monument to his memory, and it was

recorded in his epitaph that he used to fly over the plains and

marshes and Etrurian hills, hunting Pannonian boars; he appears by his

name to have been like Nobs, of Tartaric race.

Bavieca was a holy and happy horse,—I borrow the epithets from the

Bishop of Chalons's sermon upon the Bells. Gil Diaz deserved to be

buried in the same grave with him. And there is an anonymous Horse, of

whom honorable mention is made in the Roman Catholic Breviary, for his

religious merits, because after a Pope had once ridden him, he never

would suffer himself to be unhallowed by carrying a woman on his back.

These latter are both Roman Catholic Houyhnhnms, but among the

Mahometans also, quadrupedism is not considered an obstacle to a

certain kind of canonization. Seven of the Emperor of Morocco's horses

have been Saints, or Marabouts as the Moors would call it; and some

there were who enjoyed that honour in the year 1721 when Windus was at

Mequinez. One had been thus distinguished for saving the Emperor's

life: “and if a man,” says the Traveller, “should kill one of his

children, and lay hold of this horse, he is safe. This horse has saved

the lives of some of the captives, and is fed with _cuscuru_ and

camel's milk. After the Emperor has drank, and the horse after him,

some of his favourites are suffered to drink out of the same bowl.”

This was probably the horse who had a Christian slave appointed to

hold up his tail when he was led abroad, and to carry a vessel and

towel—“for use unmeet to tell.”

I have discovered only one Houyhnhnm who was a martyr, excepting those

who are sometimes burnt with the rest of the family by Captain Rock's

people in Ireland. This was poor Morocco, the learned horse of Queen

Elizabeth's days: he and his master Banks, having been in some danger

of being put to death at Orleans, were both burnt alive by the

Inquisition at Rome, as magicians.—The word martyr is here used in its

religious acceptation: for the victims of avarice and barbarity who

are destroyed by hard driving and cruel usage are numerous enough to

make a frightful account among the sins of this nation.

Fabretti the antiquary had a horse who when he carried his master on

an antiquarian excursion, assisted him in his researches; for this

sagacious horse had been so much accustomed to stop where there were

ruins, and probably had found so much satisfaction in grazing, or

cropping the boughs among them at his pleasure, that he was become a

sort of antiquary himself; and sometimes by stopping and as it were

pointing like a setter, gave his master notice of some curious and

half-hidden objects which he might otherwise have past by unperceived.

How often has a drunken rider been carried to his own door by a

sure-footed beast, sensible enough to understand that his master was

in no condition either to guide him, or to take care of himself. How

often has a stage coach been brought safely to its inn after the

coachman had fallen from the box. Nay was there not a mare at Ennis

races in Ireland (Atalanta was her name) who having thrown her rider,

kept the course with a perfect understanding of what was expected from

her, looked back and quickened her speed as the other horses

approached her, won the race, trotted a few paces beyond the post,

then wheeled round, and came up to the scale as usual? And did not

Hurleyburley do the same thing at the Goodwood races?

That Nobs was the best horse in the world I will not affirm. Best is

indeed a bold word to whatever it be applied, and yet in the

shopkeeper's vocabulary it is at the bottom of his scale of

superlatives. A haberdasher in a certain great city is still

remembered, whose lowest priced gloves were what he called Best, but

then he had five degrees of optimism; Best, Better than Best, Best of

all, Better than Best of all, and the Real Best. It may be said of

Nobs then that he was one of the Real Best: equal to any that Spain

could have produced to compare with him, though concerning Spanish

horses, the antiquary and historian Morales, (properly and as it were

prophetically baptized Ambrosio, because his name ought ever to be in

ambrosial odour among his countrymen) concerning Spanish horses, I

say, that judicious author has said, _la estima que agora se hace en

todo el mundo de un caballo Español es la mas solemne cosa que puede

haber en animales._

Neither will I assert that there could not have been a better horse

than Nobs, because I remember how Roger Williams tells us, “one of the

chiefest Doctors of England was wont to say concerning strawberries,

that God could have made a better berry, but he never did.” Calling

this to mind, I venture to say as that chiefest Doctor might, and we

may believe would have said upon the present occasion, that a better

horse than Nobs there might have been,—but there never was.

The Duchess of Newcastle tells us that her Lord, than whom no man

could be a more competent judge, preferred barbs and Spanish to all

others, for barbs, he said, were like gentlemen in their kind, and

Spanish horses like Princes. This saying would have pleased the

Doctor, as coinciding entirely with his own opinions. He was no

believer in equality either among men or beasts; and he used to say,

that in a state of nature Nobs would have been the king of his kind.

And why not? if I do not show you sufficient precedents for it call me

FIMBUL FAMBI.

CHAPTER CC.

A CHAPTER OF KINGS.

FIMBUL-FAMBI _heitr

Sá er fatt kann segia,

That er ósnotvrs athal._

_Fimbul-fambi (fatuus) vocatur

Qui pauca novit narrare:

Ea est hominis insciti proprietas._

EDDA, _Háva Mál_.

There are other monarchies in the inferior world, besides that of the

Bees, though they have not been registered by Naturalists, nor studied

by them.

For example, the King of the Fleas keeps his court at Tiberias, as Dr.

Clarke discovered to his cost, and as Mr. Cripps will testify for him.

The King of the Crocodiles resides in Upper Egypt; he has no tail, but

Dr. Southey has made one for him.

The Queen Muscle may be found at the Falkland Islands.

The Oysters also have their King, according to Pliny. Theirs seems to

be a sort of patriarchical monarchy, the King, or peradventure the

Queen, Oyster being distinguished by its size and age, perhaps

therefore the parent of the bed; for every bed, if Pliny err not, has

its sovereign. In Pliny's time the diver made it his first business to

catch the royal Oyster, because his or her Majesty being of great age

and experience, was also possessed of marvellous sagacity, which was

exercised for the safety of the commonweal; but if this were taken the

others might be caught without difficulty, just as a swarm of Bees may

be secured after the Queen is made prisoner. Seeing, however, that his

Oyster Majesty is not to be heard of now at any of the Oyster shops in

London, nor known at Colchester or Milton, it may be that liberal

opinions have, in the march of intellect, extended to the race of

Oysters, that monarchy has been abolished among them, and that

republicanism prevails at this day throughout all Oysterdom, or at

least in those parts of it which be near the British shores. It has

been observed also by a judicious author that no such King of the

Oysters has been found in the West Indian Pearl fisheries.

The King of the Bears rules over a territory which is on the way to

the desert of Hawaida, and Hatim Tai married his daughter, though the

said Hatim was long unwilling to become a Mac Mahon by marriage.

“I was told by the Sheikh Othman and his son, two pious and credible

persons,” says the traveller Ibn Batista, “that the monkies have a

leader whom they follow as if he were their King, (this was in

Ceylon). About his head is tied a turban composed of the leaves of

trees, (for a crown;) and he reclines upon a staff, (which is his

sceptre). At his right and left hand are four Monkies with rods in

their hands, (gold sticks), all of which stand at his head whenever

the leading Monkey, (his Majesty) sits. His wives and children are

daily brought in on these occasions, and sit down before him; then

comes a number of Monkies (his privy council) which sit and form an

assembly about him. After this each of them comes with a nut, a lemon

or some of the mountain fruit, which he throws down before the leader.

He then eats (dining in public, like the King of France) together with

his wives, and children, and the four principal Monkies: they then all

disperse. One of the Jogres also told me, that he once saw the four

Monkies standing in the presence of the leader, and beating another

Monkey with rods; after which they plucked off all his hair.”

The Lion is the King of Beasts. Hutchinson, however, opines that Bulls

may be ranked in a higher class; for helmets are fortified with their

horns, which is a symbol of pre-eminence. Certainly he says, both the

Bull and Lion discover the King, but the Bull is a better and more

significant representative of a King than the Lion. But neither Bull

nor Lion is King of all Beasts, for a certain person whose name being

anagrammatized rendereth Johnny the Bear, is notoriously the King of

the Bears at this time: even Ursa Major would not dispute his title.

And a certain honourable member of the House of Commons would by the

tottle of that whole House be voted King of the Bores.

The King of the Codfish frequents the shores of Finmark. He has a sort

of chubbed head, rising in the shape of a crown, his forehead is

broad, and the lower jaw bone projects a little, in other parts he

resembles his subjects, whom he leads and directs in their migrations.

The Laplanders believe that the fisherman who takes him, will from

that time forth be fortunate, especially in fishing; and they shew

their respect for his Cod-Majesty when he is taken, by hanging him up

whole to dry, instead of cutting off his head as they do to the common

fish.

In Japan the Tai, which the Dutch call Steenbrassem, is the King of

Fish, because it is sacred to their sea-god Jebis, and because of its

splendid colours, and also, perhaps, because of its exorbitant price,

it being so scarce, that for a court entertainment, or on other

extraordinary occasions, one is not to be had under a thousand

cobangs.

Among the Gangas or Priests of Congo, is one whose official title is

Mutuin, and who calls himself King of the Water, for by water alone he

professes to heal all diseases. At certain times all who need his aid

are assembled on the banks of a river. He throws an empty vessel in,

repeats some mysterious words, then takes it out full and distributes

the water as an universal medicine.

The Herring has been called the King of Fish, because of its

excellence, the Herring, as all Dutchmen know, and as all other men

ought to know, exceeding every other fish in goodness. Therefore it

may have been that the first dish which used to be brought to table in

this country on Easter Day, was a Red Herring on horseback, set in a

corn sallad.

Others have called the Whale, King of Fish. But Abraham Rees, D.D. and

F.R.S. of Cyclopedian celebrity, assures us that the whale

notwithstanding its piscine appearance, and its residence in the

waters, has no claim to a place among fishes. Uncle Toby would have

whistled Lillabullero at being told that the Whale was not a fish. The

said Abraham Rees, however, of the double Dees, who is, as the

advertisement on the cover of his own Cyclopedia, informs us, “of

acknowledged learning and industry, and of unquestionable experience

in this (the Cyclopedian) department of literary labour,” candidly

admits that the Ancients may surely be excused for thinking Whales

were fish. But how can Abraham Rees be excused for denying the Whale's

claim to a place among the inhabitants of the Great Deep,—which was

appointed for him at the Creation.

But the Great Fish who is undoubtedly the King of Fish, and of all

creatures that exist in the sea, Whales, Mermen-and-Maids included, is

the fish Arez, which Ormuzd created, and placed in the water that

surrounds Hom, the King of Trees, to protect that sacred arboreal

Majesty against the Great Toad sent there by Ahriman to destroy it.

It is related in the same archives of cosmogony that the King of the

Goats is a White Goat, who carries his head in a melancholy and

cogitabund position, regarding the ground,—weighed down perhaps by the

cares of royalty; that the King of the Sheep has his left ear

white,—from whence it may appear that the Royal Mutton is a black

sheep, which the Royal Ram of the Fairy Tales is not: that the King of

the Camels has two white ears: and that the King of the Bulls is

neither Apis, nor John Bull, but a Black Bull with yellow ears.

According to the same archives, a White Horse with yellow ears and

full eyes is King of the Horses;—doubtless the Mythological Horse King

would acknowledge Nobs for his Vicegerent. The Ass King is also white:

his Asinine Majesty has no Vicegerent. The number of competitors being

so great that he has appointed a regency.

The King of Dogs is yellow. The King of Hares red.

There are Kings among the Otters in the Highland waters, and also

among their relations the Sea Otters. The royal Otter is larger than

his subjects, and has a white spot upon the breast. He shuns

observation, which it is sometimes provident for Kings to do,

especially under such circumstances as his, for his skin is in great

request, among soldiers and sailors; it is supposed to ensure victory,

to secure the wearer from being wounded, to be a prophylactic in times

of contagious sickness, and a preservative in shipwreck. But it is not

easy to find an Otter King, and when found there is danger in the act

of regicide, for he bears a charmed life. The moment in which he is

killed proves fatal to some other creature, either man or beast, whose

mortal existence is mysteriously linked with his. The nature of the

Otter monarchy has not been described, it is evident, however, that

his ministers have no loaves to dispose of,—but then they have plenty

of fishes.

The Ant, who, when Solomon entered the Valley of Ants with his armies

of Genii and men and birds, spoke to the nation of Ants, saying, O

Ants, enter ye not your habitations, lest Solomon and his host tread

you under foot, and perceive it not,—that wise pismire is said by

certain commentators upon the Koran to have been the Queen of the

Ants.

Men have held the Eagle to be the King of Birds; but notwithstanding

the authority of Horace, the Gods know otherwise, for they appointed

the Tchamrosch to that dignity, at the beginning. Some writers indeed

would have the Eagle to be Queen, upon the extraordinary ground that

all Eagles are hens; though in what manner the species is perpetuated

these persons have not attempted to shew.

The Carrion Crows of Guiana have their King, who is a White Crow

_(rara avis in terris)_ and has wings tipt with black. When a flight

of these birds arrive at the prey which they have scented from afar,

however ravenous they may be, they keep at a respectful distance from

the banquet, till his Carrion Majesty has satisfied himself. But there

is another Bird, in South America, whom all the Birds of prey of every

species acknowledge for their natural sovereign, and carry food to him

in his nest, as their tribute.

The King of the Elks is so huge an elk that other elks look like

pismires beside him. His legs are so long, and his strength withal

such, that when the snow lies eight feet deep it does not in the least

impede his pace. He has an arm growing out of his shoulder, and a

large suite who attend upon him wherever he goes, and render him all

the service he requires.

I have never heard anything concerning the King of the Crickets except

in a rodomontade of Matthew Merrygreeks, who, said Ralph Roister

Doister,

bet him on Christmas day

That he crept in a hole, and had not a word to say.

Among the many images of Baal, one was the form or representation of a

Fly, and hence, says Master Perkins, he is called Baalzebub the Lord

of Flies, because he was thought to be the chiefest Fly in the world.

That is he was held to be the King of the Flies. I wish the King of

the Spiders would catch him.

The King of the Peacocks may be read of in the Fairy Tales. The

Japanese name for a crane is Tsuri and the common people in that

country always give that bird the same title which is given to their

first secular Emperor, Tsiri-sama—my great Lord Crane.

The Basilisk, or crowned Cockatrice, who is the chick of a Cock's egg,

is accounted the King of Serpents. And as it has been said that there

is no Cock Eagle, so upon more probable cause it is affirmed that

there is no female Basilisk, that is no Henatrice, the Cock laying

only male eggs. But the most venomous of this kind is only an earthly

and mortal vicegerent, for the true King of Serpents is named

Sanc-ha-naga, and formerly held his court in Chacragiri, a mountain in

the remote parts of the East, where he and his serpentine subjects

were oppressed by the Rational Eagle Garuda. In the spirit of an

imperial Eagle, Garuda required from them a serpent every day for his

dinner, which was regarded by the serpents as a most unpleasant

tribute, especially by such as were full grown and in good condition;

for the Rational Eagle being large and strong enough to carry Vishnu

on his back, expected always a good substantial snake sufficient for a

meal. Sanc-ha-naga, like a Patriot King endeavoured to deliver his

liege subjects from this consuming tyranny; the attempt drew upon him

the wrath of Garuda, which would soon have been followed by his

vengeance, and the King of Serpents must have been devoured himself,

if he and all the snakes had not retired, as fast as they could

wriggle to Sanc-ha-vana, in Sanc-ha-dwip, which is between Cali and

the Sea; there they found an asylum near the palace of Carticeya, son

of the mountain goddess Parvats, and Commander of the Celestial

Armies. Carticeya is more powerful than Garuda, and therefore the

divine Eagle is too rational to invade them while they are under his

protection. It would have been more fortunate for the world if the

King of Serpents had not found any one to protect him; for whatever

his merits may be towards his subjects, he is a most pestilent

Potentate, the breath of his nostrils is a fiery wind which destroys

and consumes all creatures and all herbs within an hundred _yojanas_

of his abode, and which in fact is the Simoom, so fatal to those who

travel in the deserts. The sage Agastya for a time put a stop to this

evil, for he, by the virtue of his self-inflection, obtained such

power, that he caught Sanc-ha-naga, and carried him about in an

earthen vessel. That vessel however must have been broken in some

unhappy hour, for the fiery and poisonous wind is now as frequent as

ever in the deserts.

The Hindoos say that whoever performs yearly and daily rites in honour

of the King of the Serpents, will acquire immense riches. _This_ King

of the Serpents, I say, to wit Sanc'-ha-naga,—(or Sanc' ha-mucha, as

he is also called from the shape of his mouth resembling that of a

shell)—because there is another King of the Serpents, Karkotaka by

name, whom the sage Narada for deceiving him, punished once by casting

him into a great fire, and confining him there by a curse till he was

delivered in the manner which the reader may find related in the 14th

book of Nela and Damarante, as translated by Mr. Milman from the

Sanscrit.

The Locusts according to Agur in the Book of Proverbs have no King,

although they go forth all of them by bands. Perhaps their form of

government has changed, for the Moors of Morocco inform us that they

have a sovereign, who leads forth their innumerable armies; and as his

nation belongs to the Mahometan world, his title is Sultan Jereed.

The Rose is the Queen of the Garden

_plebei cedite flores;

Hortorum regina suos ostendit honores._[1]

[Footnote 1: RAPIN.]

Bampfield Moore Carew was King of the Beggars; and James Bosvill, was

King of the Gypsies. He lies buried in Rossington Churchyard, near

Doncaster, and for many years the gypsies from the south visited his

grave annually, and among other rites poured a flagon of ale upon it.

There was a personage at Oxford who bore in that University the

distinguished title of Rex Rafforum. After taking his degree he

exchanged it for that of the Reverend.

The _Scurræ_,—(we have no word in our language which designates men

who profess and delight in indulging an ill-mannered and worse-minded

buffoonery,)—the _Scurræ_ also have their King. He bears a Baron's

coronet.

The throne of the Dandies has been vacant since the resignation of the

personage dignified and distinguished by the title of Beau Brummel.

By an advertisement in the Times of Friday, June 18, 1830, I learn

that the beautiful and stupendous Bradwell Ox, is at present the

“truly wonderful King of the Pastures,” the said King Ox measuring

fourteen feet in girth, and sixteen feet in length, being eighteen

hands high, and five years and a half old, and weighing four thousand

five hundred pounds, or more than five hundred and sixty stone, which

is nearly double the size of large oxen in general.

Under the Twelve Cæsars, (and probably it might deserve the title long

after them,) the Via Appia was called the Queen of Roads. That from

Hyde Park Corner is _Regina viarum_ in the 19th century.

Easter Sunday has been called the King of Days, though Christmas Day

might dispute the sovereignty, being in Greek the Queen day of the

Kalendar. _Ἡ βασιλίσσα ἡμέρα_ Justin Martyr calls it.

Who is King of the Booksellers? There is no King among them at this

time, but there is a Directory of five Members, Longman, Rees, Orme,

Brown and Green in the East; the Emperor Murraylemagne, whom Byron

used to call the Grand Murray, reigned alone in the West, till Henry

Colburn divided his empire, and supported the station which he had

assumed by an army of trumpeters which he keeps in constant pay.

If the Books had a King that monarchy must needs be an elective one,

and the reader of these volumes knows where the election would fall.

But literature being a Republic, this cannot be the King of Books.

Suffice it that it is a BOOK FOR A KING, or, for our SOVEREIGN LADY

THE QUEEN.

INTERCHAPTER XXI.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

_Le Plebe è bestia

Di cento teste, e non rinchiude in loro

Pur oncia di saper._

CHIABRERA.

The Public, will, I very well know, make free with me _more suo_, as

it thinks it has a right to do with any one who comes before it with

anything designed for its service, whether it be for its amusement,

its use, or its instruction. Now my Public, I will _more meo_ make

free with you—that we may be so far upon equal terms.

_οὐδὲν δεῖ παραμπέχειν λόγους._[1]

You have seldom or never had the truth spoken to you when you have

been directly addressed. You have been called the enlightened Public,

the generous Public, the judicious Public, the liberal Public, the

discerning Public, and so forth. Nay your bare title THE PUBLIC,

oftentimes stands alone _par excellence_ in its plain majesty like

that of the king, as if needing no affix to denote its inherent and

pre-eminent importance. But I will speak truth to you my Public.

Be not deceived! I have no bended knees,

No supple tongue, no speeches steep'd in oil,

No candied flattery, nor honied words![2]

[Footnote 1: EURIPIDES.]

[Footnote 2: RANDOLPH'S ARISTIPPUS.]

I must speak the truth to you my Public,

_Sincera verità non vuol tacersi._[3]

Where your enlightenedness (if there be such a word) consists and your

generosity, and your judgement, and your liberality, and your

discernment, and your majesty to boot,—to express myself as Whitfield

or Rowland Hill would have done in such a case (for they knew the

force of language)—I must say, it would puzzle the Devil to tell. _Il

faut librement avec verité francher ce mot, sans en estre repris; ou

si l'on est, c'est très-mal à propos._[4]

[Footnote 3: CHIABRERA.]

[Footnote 4: BRANTOME.]

I will tell you what you are; you are a great, ugly, many headed

beast, with a great many ears which are long, hairy, ticklish,

moveable, erect and never at rest.

Look at your picture in Southey's Hexameters,—that poem in which his

laureated Doctorship writes verses by the yard instead of the foot,—he

describes you as “many headed and monstrous,”

with numberless faces,

Numberless bestial ears, erect to all rumours, and restless,

And with numberless mouths which are fill'd with lies as with

arrows.

Look at that Picture my Public!—It is very like you!

For individual readers I profess just as much respect as they

individually deserve. There are a few persons in every generation for

whose approbation,—rather let it be said for whose gratitude and

love,—it is worth while “to live laborious days,” and for these

readers of this generation and the generations that are to follow,—for

these

Such as will join their profit with their pleasure,

And come to feed their understanding parts;—

For these I'll prodigally spend myself,

And speak away my spirit into air;

For these I'll melt my brain into invention,

Coin new conceits, and hang my richest words

As polished jewels in their bounteous ears.[5]

[Footnote 5: BEN JONSON.]

Such readers, they who to their learning add knowledge, and to their

knowledge wisdom and to their wisdom benevolence, will say to me

_ὦ καλὰ λέγων, πολὺ δ᾽ ἄμεινον᾽ ἔτι τῶν λόγων

ἐργασάμεν᾽, εἴθ᾽ ἐπέλ—

θοις ἅπαντά μοι σαφῶς·

ὡς ἐγώ μοι δοκῶ

κἂν μακρὰν ὁδὸν διελθεῖν ὥς᾽ ἀκοῦσαι.

πρὸς τάδ᾽ ὦ βέλτιστε θαῤῥήσας λέγ᾽, ὡς ἃ—

παντες ἡδόμεσθά σοι._[6]

But such readers are very few. Walter Landor said that if ten such

persons should approve his writings, he would call for a division and

count a majority. To please them is to obtain an earnest of enduring

fame; for which, if it be worth any thing, no price can be too great.

But for the aggregate any thing is good enough. Yes my Public, Mr.

Hume's arithmetic and Mr. Brougham's logic, Lord Castlereagh's syntax,

Mr. Irving's religion and Mr. Carlisle's irreligion, the politics of

the Edinburgh Review and the criticism of the Quarterly, Thames water,

Brewer's beer, Spanish loans, old jokes, new constitutions, Irish

eloquence, Scotch metaphysics, Tom and Jerry, Zimmerman on Solitude,

Chancery Equity and Old Bailey Law, Parliamentary wit, the patriotism

of a Whig Borough-monger, and the consistency of a British cabinet;

_Et s'il y a encore quelque chose à dire, je le tiens pour dit;_—

[Footnote 6: ARISTOPHANES.]

Yes my Public,

Nor would I you should look for other looks,

Gesture, or compliment from me.[7]

[Footnote 7: BEN JONSON.]

_Minus dico quam vellem, et verba omninò frigidiora hæc quam ut satis

exprimant quod concipio:_[8] these and any thing worse than these,—if

worse than what is worst can be imagined, will do for you. If there be

any thing in infinite possibility more worthless than these, more

floccical-naucical, nihilish-pilish, assisal-teruncial, more good for

nothing than good for nothingness itself, it is good enough for you.

[Footnote 8: PICUS MIRANDULA.]

INTERCHAPTER XXII.

VARIETY OF STILES.

_Qualis vir, talis oratio._

ERASMI ADAGIA.

Authors are often classed, like painters, according to the school, in

which they have been trained, or to which they have attached

themselves. But it is not so easy to ascertain this in literature as

it is in painting; and if some of the critics who have thus

endeavoured to class them, were sent to school themselves and there

whipt into a little more learning, so many silly classifications of

this kind would not mislead those readers who suppose in the

simplicity of their own good faith, that no man presumes to write upon

a subject which he does not understand.

Stiles may with more accuracy be classed, and for this purpose metals

might be used in literature as they are in heraldry. We might speak of

the golden stile, the silver, the iron, the leaden, the pinchbeck and

the bronze.

Others there are which cannot be brought under any of these

appellations. There is the Cyclopean stile, of which Johnson is the

great example; the sparkling, or micacious, possessed by Hazlitt, and

much affected in Reviews and Magazines; the oleaginous, in which Mr.

Charles Butler bears the palm, or more appropriately the olive branch:

the fulminating—which is Walter Landor's, whose conversation has been

compared to thunder and lightning; the impenetrable—which is sometimes

used by Mr. Coleridge; and the Jeremy-Benthamite, which cannot with

propriety be distinguished by any other name than one derived from its

unparellelled and unparallellable author.

_Ex stilo,_ says Erasmus, _perpendimus ingenium cujusque, omnemque

mentis habitum ex ipsâ dictionis ratione conjectamus. Est enim tumidi,

stilus turgidus; abjecti, humilis, exanguis; asperi, scaber;

amarulenti, tristis ac maledicus; deliciis affluentis, picturatus ac

dissolutus; Breviter, omne vitæ simulacrum, omnis animi vis, in

oratione perinde ut in speculo repræsentatur, ac vel intima pectoris,

arcanis quibusdam vestigiis, deprehenduntur._

There is the lean stile, of which Nathaniel Lardner, and William Coxe

may be held up as examples; and there is the larded one, exemplified

in Bishop Andrews, and in Burton, the Anatomist of Melancholy; Jeremy

Taylor's is both a flowery and a fruitful stile: Harvey the

Meditationist's a weedy one. There are the hard and dry; the weak and

watery; the manly and the womanly; the juvenile and the anile; the

round and the pointed; the flashy and the fiery; the lucid and the

opaque; the luminous and the tenebrous; the continuous and the

disjointed. The washy and the slap-dash are both much in vogue,

especially in magazines and reviews; so are the barbed and the

venomed. The High-Slang stile is exhibited in the Court Journal and in

Mr. Colburn's novels; the Low Slang in Tom and Jerry, Bell's Life in

London, and most Magazines, those especially which are of most

pretensions.

The flatulent stile, the feverish, the aguish, and the atrabilious are

all as common as the diseases of body from which they take their name,

and of mind in which they originate; and not less common than either

is the dyspeptic stile, proceeding from a weakness in the digestive

faculty.

Learned, or if not learned, Dear Reader, I had much to say of stile,

but the under written passage from that beautiful book, Xenophon's

Memorabilia Socratis, has induced me, as the Latins say, _stilum

vertere_, and to erase a paragraph written with ink in which the gall

predominated.

_Ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς, ὦ Αντιφῶν, ὥσπερ ἄλλός τις ἢ ἵππῳ ἀγαθῷ ἢ κυνὶ

ἢ ὂρνιθι ἥδεται, οὕτω καὶ ἒτι μᾶλλον ἥδομαι τοῖς φίλοις ἀγαθοῖς· καὶ,

ἐάν τι σχῶ ἀγαθὸν διδάσκω, καὶ ἄλλοις σύνιστημι, παρ᾽ ὧν ἂν ἡγῶμαι

ὠφελήσεσθαί τι αὐτοὺς εἰς ἀρετήν᾽ καὶ, τοὺς θησαυροὺς τῶν πάλι σοφῶν

ἀνδρῶν, οὕς ἐκεῖνοι κατέλιπον ἐν βιβλίοις γράφεντες, ἀνελίττων κοινῆ

σὺν τοῖς φίλοις διέρχομαι· καὶ ἄν τι ὁρῶμεν ἀγαθὸν, ἐκλεγόμεθα, καὶ

μέγα νομίζομεν κέρδος, ἐὰν ἀλλήλοις ὠφέλιμοι γιγνώμεθα._

INTERCHAPTER XXIII.

A LITTLE ADVICE BESTOWED UPON THE SCORNFUL READER IN A SHORT

INTERCHAPTER.

No man is so foolish, but may give another good counsel sometimes; and

no man is so wise, but may easily err, if he will take no other's

counsel but his own.

BEN JONSON.

I will now bestow a little advice upon the scornful reader.

And who, the Devil, are you exclaims that reader, who are impertinent

enough to offer your advice, and fool enough to suppose that I shall

listen to it?

Whatever your opinion may be, Sir, concerning an Evil Principle,

whether you hold with the thorough-paced Liberals, that there is no

Principle at all, (and in one sense, exemplify this in your own

conduct,) or with the Unitarians that there is no Evil one; or whether

you incline to the Manichean scheme of Two Principles, which is said

to have its advocates,—in either case the diabolical expletive in your

speech is alike reprehensible: you deserve a reprimand for it; and you

are hereby reprimanded accordingly.—Having discharged this duty, I

answer your question in the words of Terence, with which I doubt not

you are acquainted, because they are to be found in the Eton grammar:

_Homo sum, nihil humani à me alienum puto._

And what the Devil have the words of Terence to do with my query?

You are again reprimanded Sir. If it be a bad thing to have the Devil

at one's elbow, it cannot be a good one to have him at ones tongue's

end. The sentence is sufficiently applicable. It is a humane thing to

offer advice where it is wanted, and a very humane thing to write and

publish a book which is intended to be either useful or delightful to

those who read it.

A humane thing to write a book!—Martin of Galway's humanity is not a

better joke than that!

Martin of Galway's humanity is no joke, Sir. He has began a good work,

and will be remembered for it with that honour which is due to all who

have endeavoured to lessen the sum of suffering and wickedness in this

wicked world.

Answer me one question, Mr. Author, if you please. If your book is

intended to be either useful or delightful, why have you filled it

with such a parcel of nonsense?

What you are pleased to call by that name, Mr. Reader, may be either

sense or nonsense according to the understanding which it meets with.

_Quicquid recipitur, recipitur in modum recipientis._ Look in the

seventh Chapter of the second book of Esdras, and at the twenty-fifth

verse you will find the solution of your demand.

And do you suppose I shall take the trouble of looking into the Bible

to please the humour of such a fellow as you?

If you do not, Sir, there are others who will; and more good may arise

from looking into that book,—even upon such an occasion,—than either

they or I can anticipate.

And so, scornful reader, wishing thee a better mind, and an

enlightened understanding, I bid thee gladly and heartily farewell!

END OF VOL. VI.

W. Nicol, 60, Pall Mall.