Perhaps there is no implement of domestic use that we are less
acquainted with, in its old form, than snuffers. I have now before me a
pair, which for their antiquity and elegant workmanship seem worth
attention: the engraving on the other side represents their exact size
and construction.
After some research, I can only meet with particulars of one other pair,
which were found in digging the foundation of a granary, at the foot of
a hill adjoining to Cotton Mansion-house, (formerly the seat of the
respectable family of the Mohuns,) in the parish of St. Peter,
Portisham, about two miles north-east from Abbotsbury in Dorsetshire.
They were of brass, and weighed six ounces. “The great difference,” says
Mr. Hutchins, “between these and modern utensils of the same name and
use is, that these are in shape like a heart fluted, and consequently
terminate in a point. They consist of two equal lateral cavities, by the
edges of which the snuff is cut off and received into the cavities, from
which it is not got out without particular application and trouble.
There are two circumstances attending this little utensil, which seem to
bespeak it of considerable age: the roughness of the workmanship, which
is in all respects as rude and coarse as can be well imagined, and the
awkwardness of the form.” There is an engraving of the Dorsetshire
snuffers in the history of that county.
The snuffers now submitted to notice are superior in design and
workmanship to those found in Dorsetshire. The latter seem of earlier
date, and they divide in the middle of the upper as well as the lower
part, but in one respect both pairs are alike: they are each “in shape
like a heart,” and they each terminate in a point formed exactly in the
manner shown by the present engraving. The print likewise shows that the
box of the snuffers bears a boldly chased winged head of Mercury, who
had more employments and occupations than any other of the ancient
deities. Whether as the director of theft, as the conductor of the
departed to their final destination, as an interpreter to enlighten, or
as an office-bearer constantly in requisition, the portrait of Mercury
is a symbol appropriate to the implement before us. The engraving shows
the exact size of the instrument, and the present appearance of the
chasing, which is in bold relief, and was, originally, very elegant.
These snuffers are plain on the underside, and made without legs. They
were purchased, with some miscellaneous articles, by a person who has
no clue to their former possessors, but who rightly imagined that in an
archæological view they would be acceptable to the _Table Book_.
*
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XVIII.
[From “David and Bethsabe:” further Extracts.]
_Absalon, rebelling._
Now for the crown and throne of Israel,
To be confirm’d with virtue of my sword,
And writ with David’s blood upon the blade.
Now, Jove,[186] let forth the golden firmament,
And look on him with all thy fiery eyes,
Which thou hast made to give their glories light.
To shew thou lovest the virtue of thy hand,
Let fall a wreath of stars upon my head,
Whose influence may govern Israel
With state exceeding all her other Kings.
Fight, Lords and Captains, that your Sovereign
May shine in honour brighter than the sun
And with the virtue of my beauteous rays
Make this fair Land as fruitful as the fields,
That with sweet milk and honey overflowed.
God in the whissing of a pleasant wind
Shall march upon the tops of mulberry trees,
To cool all breasts that burn with any griefs;
As whilom he was good to Moyses’ men,
By day the Lord shall sit within a cloud,
To guide your footsteps to the fields of joy;
And in the night a pillar bright as fire
Shall go before you like a second sun.
Wherein the Essence of his Godhead is;
That day and night you may be brought to peace,
And never swerve from that delightsome path
That leads your souls to perfect happiness:
This he shall do for joy when I am King.
Then fight, brave Captains, that these joys may fly
Into your bosoms with sweet victory.
* * * * *
_Absalon, triumphant._
_Absalon._ First Absalon was by the trumpet’s sound
Proclaim’d thro’ Hebron King of Israel;
And now is set in fair Jerusalem
With complete state and glory of a crown.
Fifty fair footmen by my chariot run;
And to the air, whose rupture rings my fame,
Wheree’er I ride, they offer reverence.
Why should not Absalon, that in his face
Carries the final purpose of his God,
(That is, to work him grace in Israel),
Endeavour to achieve with all his strength
The state that most may satisfy his joy--
Keeping his statutes and his covenants sure?
His thunder is intangled in my hair,
And with my beauty is his lightning quench’d.
I am the man he made to glory in,
When by the errors of my father’s sin
He lost the path, that led into the Land
Wherewith our chosen ancestors were blest.
* * * * *
[From a “Looking Glass for England and London,” a Tragi-comedy, by
Thomas Lodge and Robert Green, 1598.]
_Alvida, Paramour to Rasni, the Great King of Assyria, courts a petty
King of Cilicia._
_Alvida._ Ladies, go sit you down amidst this bower,
And let the Eunuchs play you all asleep:
Put garlands made of roses on your heads,
And play the wantons, whilst I talk awhile.
_Ladies._ Thou beautiful of all the world, we will.
(_Exeunt._)
_Alvida._ King of Cilicia, kind and courteous;
Like to thyself, because a lovely King;
Come lay thee down upon thy Mistress’ knee,
And I will sing and talk of Love to thee.
_Cilicia._ Most gracious Paragon of excellence,
It fits not such an abject wretch as I
To talk with Rasni’s Paramour and Love.
_Alvida._ To talk, sweet friend! who would not talk with thee?
Oh be not coy: art thou not only fair?
Come twine thine arms about this snow-white neck,
A love-nest for the Great Assyrian King.
Blushing I tell thee, fair Cilician Prince,
None but thyself can merit such a grace.
_Cilica._ Madam, I hope you mean not for to mock me.
_Alvida._ No, King, fair King, my meaning is to yoke thee,
Hear me but sing of Love: then by my sighs,
My tears, my glancing looks, my changed cheer,
Thou shalt perceive how I do hold thee dear.
_Cilicia._ Sing, Madam, if you please; but love in jest.
_Alvida._ Nay, I will love, and sigh at every jest.
(_She sings._)
Beauty, alas! where wast thou born,
Thus to hold thyself in scorn,
When as Beauty kiss’d to wooe thee?
Thou by Beauty dost undo me.
Heigho, despise me not.
I and thou in sooth are one,
Fairer thou, I fairer none:
Wanton thou; and wilt thou, wanton,
Yield a cruel heart to plant on?
Do me right, and do me reason;
Cruelty is cursed treason.
Heigho, I love; Heigho, I love;
Heigho, and yet he eyes me not.
_Cilicia._ Madam your Song is passing passionate.
_Alvida._ And wilt thou then not pity my estate?
_Cilicia._ Ask love of them who pity may impart.
_Alvida._ I ask of thee, sweet; thou hast stole my heart.
_Cilicia._ Your love is fixed on a greater King.
_Alvida._ Tut, women’s love--it is a fickle thing.
I love my Rasni for my dignity:
I love Cilician King for his sweet eye.
I love my Rasni, since he rules the world:
But more I love this Kingly little world.
How sweet he looks!--O were I Cynthia’s sphere,
And thou Endymion, I should hold thee dear:
Thus should mine arms be spread about thy neck,
Thus would I kiss my Love at every beck.
Thus would I sigh to see thee sweetly sleep:
And if thou wak’st not soon, thus would I weep:
And thus, and thus, and thus: thus much I love thee.
* * * * *
[From “Tethys’ Festival,” by Samuel Daniel, 1610.]
_Song at a Court Masque._
Are they shadows that we see
And can shadows pleasure give?--
Pleasures only shadows be,
Cast by bodies we conceive;
And are made the things we deem
In those figures which they seem.--
But these pleasures vanish fast,
Which by shadows are exprest:--
Pleasures are not, if they last;
In their passing is their best.
Glory is most bright and gay
In a flash, and so away.
Feed apace then, greedy eyes,
On the wonder you behold;
Take it sudden as it flies,
Tho’ you take it not to hold:
When your eyes have done their part,
Thought must lengthen it in the heart.