THE DOCTOR, &c.
There is a kind of physiognomy in the titles of books no less than in
the faces of men, by which a skilful observer will as well know what
to expect from the one as the other.
BUTLER'S REMAINS.
THE DOCTOR, &c.
[Illustration: a tetrahedron]
VOL. I.
LONDON:
LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN AND LONGMAN.
1834.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY W. NICOL, CLEVELAND-ROW, ST. JAMES'S.
PRELUDE OF MOTTOES.
Now they that like it may: the rest may chuse.
G. WITHER.
_Je veux à face descouverte qu'on sçache que je fay le fol. Et
pourquoy ne me le sera-t-il permis, si le grand Solon dans Athenes, ne
douta de le faire pour apporter un grand bien à sa Republique? La
Republique dont j'ay charge, est ce petit monde que Dieu a estably en
moy; pour la conservation duquel je ne scay meilleur moyen que de
tromper mes afflictions par quelques honnestes jeux d'esprit;
appellez-les bouffonneries si ainsi le voulez._
PASQUIER.
If you are so bold as to venture a blowing-up, look closely to it! for
the plot lies deadly deep, and 'twill be between your legs before you
be aware of it.—But of all things have a care of putting it in your
pocket, for fear it takes fire, or runs away with your breeches. And
if you can shun it, read it not when you are alone; or at least not
late in the evening; for the venom is strongest about midnight, and
seizes most violently upon the head when the party is by himself. I
shall not tell you one line of what is in it; and therefore consider
well what you do, and look to yourself. But if you be resolved to
meddle, be sure have a care of catching cold, and keep to a moderate
diet; for there is danger and jeopardy in it besides.
DR. EACHARD.
—For those faults of barbarism, Doric dialect, extemporanean stile,
tautologies, apish imitation, a rhapsody of rags gathered together
from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toyes and fopperies,
confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit,
learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantasticall, absurd, insolent,
indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and
dry:—I confess all; ('tis partly affected;) thou canst not think worse
of me than I do of myself. 'Tis not worth the reading! I yield it. I
desire thee not to lose time in perusing so vain a subject. I should
be peradventure loth myself to read him or thee so writing; 'tis not
_operæ pretium_. All I say is this, that I have precedents for it.
BURTON.
A foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects,
ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions; these are begot in the
ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of _pia mater_, and
delivered upon the mellowing of the occasion. But the gift is good in
those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
If the world like it not, so much the worse for them.
COWPER.
_—un boschetto,
Donne per quello givan fior cogliendo,
Con diletto, co' quel, co' quel dicendo;
Eccolo, eccol! . . che à?—è fiordaliso!
Va là per le viole;
Più colà per le rose, cole, cole,
Vaghe amorose.
O me, che' l prun mi punge!
Quell' altra me v' aggiunge.
U', ù, o, ch' è quel che salta?
Un grillo! un grillo!
Venite qua, correte,
Ramponzoli cogliete;
E' non con essi!
Si, son!—colei o colei
Vien qua, vien qua per funghi, un micolino
Piu colà, più cola per sermollino._
UGOLINO UBALDINI _or_
FRANCO SACCHETTI.
If the particulars seem too large or to be over tediously insisted
upon, consider in how many impertinent and trifling discourses and
actions the best of us do consume far more hours than the perusal of
this requires minutes, and yet think it no tediousness: and let them
call to mind how many volumes this age imprints and reads which are
foolish if not wicked. Let them be persuaded likewise, that I have not
written this for those who have no need thereof, or to shew my own wit
or compendiousness but to instruct the ignorant; to whom I should more
often speak in vain, if I did not otherwhile by repetitions and
circumlocutions, stir up their affections, and beat into their
understandings the knowledge and feeling of those things which I
deliver. Yea, let them know that I know those expressions will be both
pleasing and profitable to some which they imagine to be needless and
superabundant; and that I had rather twenty nice critics should
censure me for a word here and there superfluous than that one of
those other should want that which might explain my meanings to their
capacities, and so make frustrate all my labour to those who have most
need of it, and for whom it was chiefly intended.
G. WITHER.
_Tempus ad hoc mecum latuit, portuque resedit,
Nec fuit audaces impetus ire vias.
Nunc animi venere; juvat nunc denique funem
Solvere:——
Ancora sublata est; terræ, portusque valete!
Imus; habet ventos nostra carina suos._
WALLIUS.
POSTSCRIPT.
There was a certain Pisander whose name has been preserved in one of
the proverbial sayings of the Greeks, because he lived in continual
fear of seeing his own ghost. How often have I seen mine while
arranging these volumes for publication, and carrying them through the
press!
Twenty years have elapsed since the intention of composing them was
conceived, and the composition commenced, in what manner and in what
mood the reader will presently be made acquainted. The vicissitudes
which in the course of those years have befallen every country in
Europe are known to every one; and the changes, which, during such an
interval, must have occurred in a private family, there are few who
may not, from their own sad experience, readily apprehend.
Circumstances which when they were touched upon in these volumes were
of present importance, and excited a lively interest, belong now to
the history of the past. They who were then the great performers upon
the theatre of public life have fretted their hour and disappeared
from the stage. Many who were living and flourishing when their names
were here sportively or severely introduced, are gone to their
account. The domestic circle which the introduction describes has in
the ordinary course of things been broken up; some of its members are
widely separated from others, and some have been laid to rest. The
reader may well believe that certain passages which were written with
most joyousness of heart, have been rendered purely painful to the
writer by time and change: and that some of his sweetest thoughts come
to him in chewing the cud, like wormwood and gall.—But it is a
wholesome bitterness.
He has neither expunged nor altered any thing on any of these
accounts. It would be weakness to do this on the score of his own
remembrances, and in the case of allusions to public affairs and to
public men it would be folly. The Almanack of the current year will be
an old one as soon as next year begins.
It is the writer's determination to remain unknown; and they who may
suppose that
By certain signs here set in sundry place,
they have discovered him, will deceive themselves. A Welsh Triad says
that the three unconcealable traits of a person by which he shall be
known, are the glance of his eye, the pronunciation of his speech, and
the mode of his self-motion;—in briefer English, his look, his voice,
and his gait. There are no such characteristics by which an author can
be identified. He must be a desperate mannerist who can be detected by
his style, and a poor proficient in his art if he cannot at any time
so vary it, as to put the critic upon a false scent. Indeed every
day's experience shews that they who assume credit to themselves, and
demand it from others for their discrimination in such things, are
continually and ridiculously mistaken.
On that side the author is safe; he has a sure reliance upon the
honour as well as the discretion of the very few to whom he is
naturally or necessarily known; and if the various authors to whom the
Book will be ascribed by report, should derive any gratification from
the perusal, he requests of them in return that they will favour his
purpose by allowing such reports to pass uncontradicted.
CONTENTS.
PRELUDE OF MOTTOES.—Page v.
POSTSCRIPT.—p. ix.
CHAPTER VII. A. I.—p. 1.
A FAMILY PARTY AT A NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR'S.
Good Sir, reject it not, although it bring
Appearances of some fantastic thing
At first unfolding!
GEORGE WITHER TO THE KING.
CHAPTER VI. A. I.—p. 6.
SHEWING THAT AN AUTHOR MAY MORE EASILY BE KEPT AWAKE BY HIS OWN
IMAGINATIONS THAN PUT TO SLEEP BY THEM HIMSELF, WHATEVER MAY BE THEIR
EFFECT UPON HIS READERS.
Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be forced to take up her
lodging in a cat's ear: a little infant that breeds its teeth, should
it lie with thee, would cry out as if thou wert the more unquiet
bedfellow.
WEBSTER.
CHAPTER V. A. I.—p. 10.
SOMETHING CONCERNING THE PHILOSOPHY OF DREAMS, AND THE AUTHOR'S
EXPERIENCE IN AERIAL HORSEMANSHIP.
If a dream should come in now to make you afear'd,
With a windmill on his head and bells at his beard,
Would you straight wear your spectacles here at your toes,
And your boots on your brows and your spurs on your nose?
BEN JONSON.
CHAPTER IV. A. I.—p. 15.
A CONVERSATION AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE.
_Tel condamne mon coq-à-l'âne qui un jour en justifiera le bon sens._
LA PRETIEUSE.
CHAPTER III. A. I.—p. 18.
THE UTILITY OF POCKETS. A COMPLIMENT PROPERLY RECEIVED.
_La tasca è propria cosa da Christiani._
BENEDETTO VARCHI.
CHAPTER II. A. I.—p. 25.
CONCERNING DEDICATIONS, PRINTERS TYPES, AND IMPERIAL INK.
_Il y aura des clefs, et des ouvertures de mes secrets._
LA PRETIEUSE.
DEDICATION.—p. 31.
CHAPTER I. A. I.—p. 33.
NO BOOK CAN BE COMPLETE WITHOUT A PREFACE.
I see no cause but men may pick their teeth,
Though Brutus with a sword did kill himself.
TAYLOR, THE WATER POET.
ANTE-PREFACE.—p. 35.
I here present thee with a hive of bees, laden some with wax, and some
with honey. Fear not to approach! There are no Wasps, there are no
Hornets here. If some wanton Bee should chance to buzz about thine
ears, stand thy ground and hold thy hands: there's none will sting
thee if thou strike not first. If any do, she hath honey in her bag
will cure thee too.
QUARLES.
PREFACE.—p. 37.
Oh for a quill plucked from a Seraph's wing!
YOUNG.
INITIAL CHAPTER.—p. 43.
᾿Εξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα.
HOMER.
THE DOCTOR, &c.
_Eccoti il libro; mettivi ben cura
Iddio t' ajuti e dia buona ventura._
ORL. INNAM.
CHAPTER I. P. I.—p. 45.
THE SUBJECT OF THIS HISTORY AT HOME AND AT TEA.
If thou be a severe sour complexioned man then I here disallow thee to
be a competent judge.
IZAAK WALTON.
CHAPTER II. P. I.—p. 47.
WHEREIN CERTAIN QUESTIONS ARE PROPOSED CONCERNING TIME, PLACE AND
PERSONS.
_Quis? quid? ubi? quibus auxiliis? cur? quomodo? quando?_
TECHNICAL VERSE.
CHAPTER III. P. I.—p. 51.
WHOLESOME OBSERVATIONS UPON THE VANITY OF FAME.
Whosoever shall address himself to write of matters of instruction, or
of any other argument of importance, it behoveth that before he enter
thereinto, he should resolutely determine with himself in what order
he will handle the same; so shall he best accomplish that he hath
undertaken, and inform the understanding, and help the memory of the
Reader.
GWILLIM'S DISPLAY OF HERALDRY.
CHAPTER IV. P. I.—p. 56.
BIRTH AND PARENTAGE OF DR. DOVE, WITH THE DESCRIPTION OF A YEOMAN'S
HOUSE IN THE WEST RIDING OF YORKSHIRE A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
_Non possidentem multa vocaveris
Recte beatum; rectius occupat
Nomen beati, qui Deorum
Muneribus sapienter uti,
Duramque callet pauperiem pati,
Pejusque letho flagitium timet._
HORACE, L. 4, Od. 9.
CHAPTER V. P. I.—p. 64.
EXTENSION OF THE SCIENCE OF PHYSIOGNOMY, WITH SOME REMARKS UPON THE
PRACTICAL USES OF CRANIOLOGY.
_Hanc ergo scientiam blande excipiamus, hilariterque amplectamur, ut
vere nostram et de nobismet ipsis tractantem; quam qui non amat, quam
qui non amplectitur, nec philosophiam amat, neque suæ vitæ discrimina
curat._
BAPTISTA PORTA.
CHAPTER VI. P. I.—p. 72.
A COLLECTION OF BOOKS NONE OF WHICH ARE INCLUDED AMONGST THE
PUBLICATIONS OF ANY SOCIETY FOR THE PROMOTION OF KNOWLEDGE RELIGIOUS
OR PROFANE.—HAPPINESS IN HUMBLE LIFE.
_Felix ille animi, divisque simillimus ipsis,
Quem non mordaci resplendens gloria fuco
Solicitat, non fastosi mala gaudia luxus,
Sed tacitos sinit ire dies, et paupere cultu
Exigit innocuæ tranquilla silentia vitæ._
POLITIAN.
CHAPTER VII. P. I.—p. 84.
RUSTIC PHILOSOPHY. AN EXPERIMENT UPON MOONSHINE.
_Quien comienza en juventud
A bien obrar,
Señal es de no errar
En senetud._
PROVERBIOS DEL MARQUES DE SANTILLANA.
CHAPTER VIII. P. I.—p. 93.
A KIND SCHOOLMASTER AND A HAPPY SCHOOL BOY.
Though happily thou wilt say that wands be to be wrought when they are
green, lest they rather break than bend when they be dry, yet know
also that he that bendeth a twig because he would see if it would bow
by strength may chance to have a crooked tree when he would have a
straight.
EUPHUES.
INTERCHAPTER I.—p. 98.
REMARKS IN THE PRINTING OFFICE. THE AUTHOR CONFESSES A DISPOSITION TO
GARRULITY. PROPRIETY OF PROVIDING CERTAIN CHAPTERS FOR THE RECEPTION
OF HIS EXTRANEOUS DISCOURSE. CHOICE OF AN APPELLATION FOR SUCH
CHAPTERS.
_Perque vices aliquid, quod tempora longa videri
Non sinat, in medium vacuas referamus ad aures._
OVID.
CHAPTER IX. P. I.—p. 106.
EXCEPTIONS TO ONE OF KING SOLOMON'S RULES—A WINTER'S EVENING AT
DANIEL'S FIRESIDE.
These are my thoughts; I might have spun them out into a greater
length, but I think a little plot of ground, thick sown, is better
than a great field which, for the most part of it, lies fallow.
NORRIS.
CHAPTER X. P. I.—p. 113.
ONE WHO WAS NOT SO WISE AS HIS FRIENDS COULD HAVE WISHED, AND YET
QUITE AS HAPPY AS IF HE HAD BEEN WISER. NEPOTISM NOT CONFINED TO
POPES.
There are of madmen as there are of tame,
All humoured not alike.———Some
Apish and fantastic;
And though 'twould grieve a soul to see God's image
So blemished and defaced, yet do they act
Such antic and such pretty lunacies,
That spite of sorrow, they will make you smile.
DEKKER.
CHAPTER XI. P. I.—p. 121.
A WORD TO THE READER, SHEWING WHERE WE ARE, AND HOW WE CAME HERE, AND
WHEREFORE; AND WHITHER WE ARE GOING.
'Tis my venture
On your retentive wisdom.
BEN JONSON.
CHAPTER XII. P. I.—p. 129.
A HISTORY NOTICED WHICH IS WRITTEN BACKWARD. THE CONFUSION OF TONGUES
AN ESPECIAL EVIL FOR SCHOOLBOYS.
For never in the long and tedious tract
Of slavish grammar was I made to plod;
No tyranny of Rules my patience rackt;
I served no prenticehood to any Rod;
But in the freedom of the Practic way
Learnt to go right, even when I went astray.
DR. BEAUMONT.
CHAPTER XIII. P. I.—p. 136.
A DOUBT CONCERNING SCHOOL BOOKS, WHICH WILL BE DEEMED HERETICAL: AND
SOME ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY SUBSTITUTE FOR OVID OR VIRGIL.
They say it is an ill mason that refuseth any stone; and there is no
knowledge but in a skilful hand serves, either positively as it is, or
else to illustrate some other knowledge.
HERBERT'S REMAINS.
CHAPTER XIV. P. I.—p. 149.
AN OBJECTION ANSWERED.
Is this then your wonder?
Nay then you shall under-
stand more of my skill.
BEN JONSON.
CHAPTER XV. P. I.—p. 154.
THE AUTHOR VENTURES AN OPINION AGAINST THE PREVAILING WISDOM OF MAKING
CHILDREN PREMATURELY WISE.
Pray you, use your freedom;
And so far, if you please allow me mine,
To hear you only; not to be compelled
To take your moral potions.
MASSINGER.
CHAPTER XVI. P. I.—p. 159.
USE AND ABUSE OF STORIES IN REASONING, WITH A WORD IN BEHALF OF
CHIMNEY-SWEEPERS AND IN REPROOF OF THE EARL OF LAUDERDALE.
My particular inclination moves me in controversy especially to
approve his choice that said, _fortia mallem quam formosa_.
DR. JACKSON.
INTERCHAPTER II.—p. 165.
ABALLIBOOZOBANGANORRIBO.
_Io'l dico dunque, e dicol che ognun m'ode._
BENEDETTO VARCHI.
CHAPTER XVII. P. I.—p. 172.
THE HAPPINESS OF HAVING A CATHOLIC TASTE.
There's no want of meat, Sir;
Portly and curious viands are prepared
To please all kinds of appetites.
MASSINGER.
CHAPTER XVIII. P. I.—p. 179.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Τὰ δ᾿ἄν ἐπιμνησϑῶ,—ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου ἐξαναγκαζὀμενος ἐπιμνησϑῄσομαι.
HERODOTUS.
CHAPTER XIX. P. I.—p. 184.
A CONVERSATION WITH MISS GRAVEAIRS.
_Operi suscepto inserviendum fuit;_ so Jacobus Mycillus pleadeth for
himself in his translation of Lucian's Dialogues, and so do I; I must
and will perform my task.
BURTON.
CHAPTER XX. P. I.—p. 192.
HOW TO MAKE GOLD.
_L' Alchimista non travaglia a voto;
Ei cerca l' oro, ei cerca l' oro, io dico
Ch' ei cerca l' oro; e s' ei giungesse in porto
Fora ben per se stesso e per altrui.
L' oro e somma posanza infra mortali;
Chiedine a Cavalier, chiedine a Dame,
Chiedine a tutto il Mondo._
CHIABRERA.
CHAPTER XXI. P. I.—p. 201.
A DOUBT CONCERNING THE USES OF PHILOSOPHY.
_El comienzo de salud
es el saber,
distinguir y conocer
qual es virtud._
PROVERBIOS DEL MARQUES DE SANTILLANA.
CHAPTER. XXII. P. I.—p. 205.
Τὸν δ᾿ ἀπαμειβόμενος.
_O felice colui, che intender puote
Le cagion de le cose di natura,
Che al piu di que' che vivon sono ignote;
E sotto il piè si mette ogni paura
De fati, e de la morte, ch'è si trista,
Ne di vulgo gli cal, nè d'altro ha cura._
TANSILLO.
CHAPTER XXIII. P. I.—p. 213.
ROWLAND DIXON AND HIS COMPANY OF PUPPETS.
_Alli se ve tan eficaz el llanto,
las fabulas y historias retratadas,
que parece verdad, y es dulce encanto._
* * * * *
_Y para el vulgo rudo, que ignorante
aborrece el manjar costoso, guisa
el plato del gracioso extravagante;_
_Con que les hartas de contento y risa,
gustando de mirar sayal grossero,
mas que sutil y candida camisa._
JOSEPH ORTIZ DE VILLENA.
CHAPTER XXIV. P. I.—p. 226.
QUACK AND NO QUACK, BEING AN ACCOUNT OF DR. GREEN AND HIS MAN KEMP.
POPULAR MEDICINE, HERBARY, THEORY OF SIGNATURES, WILLIAM DOVE, JOHN
WESLEY, AND BAXTER.
Hold thy hand! health's dear maintainer;
Life perchance may burn the stronger:
Having substance to maintain her
She untouched may last the longer.
When the Artist goes about
To redress her flame, I doubt
Oftentimes he snuffs it out.
QUARLES.
CHAPTER XXV. P. I.—p. 254.
_Hiatus valde lacrymabilis._
Time flies away fast,
The while we never remember
How soon our life here
Grows old with the year
That dies with the next December!
HERRICK.
CHAPTER XXVI. P. I.—p. 258.
DANIEL AT DONCASTER; THE REASON WHY HE WAS DESTINED FOR THE MEDICAL
PROFESSION, RATHER THAN HOLY ORDERS; AND SOME REMARKS UPON SERMONS.
_Je ne veux dissimuler, amy Lecteur, que je n'aye bien préveu, et me
tiens pour deüement adverty, que ne puis eviter la reprehension
d'aucuns, et les calomnies de plusieurs, ausquels c'est éscrit
désplaira du tout._
CHRISTOFLE DE HERICOURT.
CHAPTER XXVII. P. I.—p. 272.
A PASSAGE IN PROCOPIUS IMPROVED. A STORY CONCERNING URIM AND THUMMIM;
AND THE ELDER DANIEL'S OPINION OF THE PROFESSION OF THE LAW.
Here is Domine Picklock
My man of Law, sollicits all my causes,
Follows my business, makes and compounds my quarrels
Between my tenants and me; sows all my strifes
And reaps them too, troubles the country for me,
And vexes any neighbour that I please.
BEN JONSON.
CHAPTER XXVIII. P. I.—p. 278.
PETER HOPKINS. EFFECTS OF TIME AND CHANGE. DESCRIPTION OF HIS
DWELLING-HOUSE.
_Combien de changemens depuis que suis au monde,
Qui n'est qu' un point du tems!_
PASQUIER.
CHAPTER XXIX. P. I.—p. 284.
A HINT OF REMINISCENCE TO THE READER. THE CLOCK OF ST. GEORGE'S. A
WORD IN HONOR OF ARCHDEACON MARKHAM.
There is a ripe season for every thing, and if you slip that or
anticipate it, you dim the grace of the matter be it never so good. As
we say by way of Proverb that an hasty birth brings forth blind
whelps, so a good tale tumbled out before the time is ripe for it, is
ungrateful to the hearer.
BISHOP HACKETT.
CHAPTER XXX. P. I.—p. 289.
THE OLD BELLS RUNG TO A NEW TUNE.
If the bell have any sides the clapper will find 'em.
BEN JONSON.
CHAPTER XXXI. P. I.—p. 302.
MORE CONCERNING BELLS.
Lord, ringing changes all our bells hath marr'd;
Jangled they have and jarr'd
So long, they're out of tune, and out of frame;
They seem not now the same.
Put them in frame anew, and once begin
To tune them so, that they may chime all in.
HERBERT.
CHAPTER XXXII. P. I.—p. 308.
AN INTRODUCTION TO CERTAIN PRELIMINARIES ESSENTIAL TO THE PROGRESS OF
THIS WORK.
_Mas demos ya el assiento en lo importante,
Que el tiempo huye del mundo por la posta._
BALBUENA.
THE DOCTOR, &c.
CHAPTER VII. A. I.
A FAMILY PARTY AT A NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR'S.
Good Sir, reject it not, although it bring
Appearances of some fantastic thing
At first unfolding!
GEORGE WITHER TO THE KING.
I was in the fourth night of the story of the Doctor and his horse,
and had broken it off, not like Scheherezade because it was time to
get up, but because it was time to go to bed. It was at thirty-five
minutes after ten o'clock, on the 20th of July in the year of our Lord
1813. I finished my glass of punch, tinkled the spoon against its
side, as if making music to my meditations, and having my eyes fixed
upon the Bhow Begum, who was sitting opposite to me at the head of her
own table, I said, “It ought to be written in a Book!”
There had been a heavy thunder-storm in the afternoon; and though the
thermometer had fallen from 78 to 70, still the atmosphere was
charged. If that mysterious power by which the nerves convey sensation
and make their impulses obeyed, be (as experiments seem to indicate)
identical with the galvanic fluid; and if the galvanic and electric
fluids be the same (as philosophers have more than surmised;) and if
the lungs (according to a happy hypothesis) elaborate for us from the
light of heaven this pabulum of the brain, and material essence, or
essential matter of genius,—it may be that the ethereal fire which I
had inhaled so largely during the day produced the bright conception,
or at least impregnated and quickened the latent seed. The punch,
reader, had no share in it.
I had spoken as it were abstractedly, and the look which accompanied
the words was rather cogitative than regardant. The Bhow Begum laid
down her snuff-box and replied, entering into the feeling, as well as
echoing the words, “It _ought_ to be written in a book,—certainly it
ought.”
They may talk as they will of the dead languages. Our auxiliary verbs
give us a power which the ancients, with all their varieties of mood,
and inflections of tense, never could attain. “It _must_ be written in
a book,” said I, encouraged by her manner. The mood was the same, the
tense was the same; but the gradation of meaning was marked in a way
which a Greek or Latin grammarian might have envied as well as
admired.
“Pshaw! nonsense! stuff!” said my wife's eldest sister, who was
sitting at the right hand of the Bhow Begum; “I say write it in a book
indeed!” My wife's youngest sister was sitting diagonally opposite to
the last speaker: she lifted up her eyes and smiled. It was a smile
which expressed the same opinion as the late vituperative tones; there
was as much of incredulity in it; but more of wonder and less of
vehemence.
My wife was at my left hand, making a cap for her youngest daughter,
and with her tortoiseshell-paper work-box before her. I turned towards
her and repeated the words, “It _must_ be written in a book!” But I
smiled while I was speaking, and was conscious of that sort of meaning
in my eyes, which calls out contradiction for the pleasure of sporting
with it.
“Write it in a book?” she replied, “I am sure you wo'nt!” and she
looked at me with a frown. Poets have written much upon their ladies'
frowns, but I do not remember that they have ever described the thing
with much accuracy. When my wife frowns two perpendicular wrinkles,
each three quarters of an inch in length, are formed in the forehead,
the base of each resting upon the top of the nose, and equi-distant
from each other. The poets have also attributed dreadful effects to
the frown of those whom they love. I cannot say that I ever
experienced any thing very formidable in my wife's. At present she
knew her eyes would give the lie to it if they looked at me steadily
for a moment; so they wheeled to the left about quick, off at a
tangent, in a direction to the Bhow Begum, and then she smiled. She
could not prevent the smile; but she tried to make it scornful.
My wife's nephew was sitting diagonally with her, and opposite his
mother, on the left hand of the Bhow Begum. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “it
ought to be written in a book! it will be a glorious book! write it,
uncle, I beseech you!” My wife's nephew is a sensible lad. He reads my
writings, likes my stories, admires my singing, and thinks as I do in
politics:—a youth of parts and considerable promise.
“He _will_ write it!” said the Bhow Begum, taking up her snuff-box,
and accompanying the words with a nod of satisfaction and
encouragement. “He will never be so foolish!” said my wife. My wife's
eldest sister rejoined, “he is foolish enough for any thing.”
CHAPTER VI. A. I.
SHEWING THAT AN AUTHOR MAY MORE EASILY BE KEPT AWAKE BY HIS OWN
IMAGINATIONS THAN PUT TO SLEEP BY THEM HIMSELF, WHATEVER MAY BE THEIR
EFFECT UPON HIS READERS.
Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be forced to take up her
lodging in a cat's ear: a little infant that breeds its teeth, should
it lie with thee, would cry out as if thou wert the more unquiet
bedfellow.
WEBSTER.
When I ought to have been asleep the “unborn pages crowded on my
soul.” The Chapters ante-initial and post-initial appeared in
delightful prospect “long drawn out:” the beginning, the middle and
the end were evolved before me: the whole spread itself forth, and
then the parts unravelled themselves and danced the hays. The very
types rose in judgment against me, as if to persecute me for the tasks
which during so many years I had imposed upon them. Capitals and small
letters, pica and long-primer, brevier and bourgeois, english and
nonpareil, minion and pearl, Romans and Italics, black-letter and red,
past over my inward sight. The notes of admiration!!! stood straight
up in view as I lay on the one side; and when I turned on the other to
avoid them, the notes of interrogation cocked up their hump-backs???
Then came to recollection the various incidents of the eventful tale.
“Visions of glory spare my aching sight!” The various personages, like
spectral faces in a fit of the vapours, stared at me through my
eyelids. The Doctor oppressed me like an incubus; and for the
Horse,—he became a perfect night-mare. “Leave me, leave me to repose!”
Twelve by the kitchen clock!—still restless!—One! O Doctor, for one of
thy comfortable composing draughts!—Two! here's a case of
insomnolence! I, who in summer close my lids as instinctively as the
daisy when the sun goes down; and who in winter could hybernate as
well as Bruin, were I but provided with as much fat to support me
during the season, and keep the wick of existence burning:—I, who, if
my pedigree were properly made out, should be found to have descended
from one of the Seven Sleepers, and from the Sleeping Beauty in the
Wood!
I put my arms out of bed. I turned the pillow for the sake of applying
a cold surface to my cheek. I stretched my feet into the cold corner.
I listened to the river, and to the ticking of my watch. I thought of
all sleepy sounds and all soporific things: the flow of water, the
humming of bees, the motion of a boat, the waving of a field of corn,
the nodding of a mandarine's head on the chimney-piece, a horse in a
mill, the opera, Mr. Humdrum's conversation, Mr. Proser's poems, Mr.
Laxative's speeches, Mr. Lengthy's sermons. I tried the device of my
own childhood, and fancied that the bed revolved with me round and
round. Still the Doctor visited me as perseveringly as if I had been
his best patient; and, call up what thoughts I would to keep him off,
the Horse charged through them all.
At last Morpheus reminded me of Dr. Torpedo's divinity lectures, where
the voice, the manner, the matter, even the very atmosphere, and the
streamy candle-light were all alike somnific;—where he who by strong
effort lifted up his head, and forced open the reluctant eyes, never
failed to see all around him fast asleep. Lettuces, cowslip-wine,
poppy-syrup, mandragora, hop-pillows, spiders'-web pills, and the
whole tribe of narcotics, up to bang and the black drop, would have
failed: but this was irresistible; and thus twenty years after date I
found benefit from having attended the course.
CHAPTER V. A. I.
SOMETHING CONCERNING THE PHILOSOPHY OF DREAMS, AND THE AUTHOR'S
EXPERIENCE IN AERIAL HORSEMANSHIP.
If a dream should come in now to make you afear'd,
With a windmill on his head and bells at his beard,
Would you straight wear your spectacles here at your toes,
And your boots on your brows and your spurs on your nose?
BEN JONSON.
The wise ancients held that dreams are from Jove. Virgil hath told us
from what gate of the infernal regions they go out, but at which of
the five entrances of the town of Mansoul they get in John Bunyan hath
not explained. Some have conceited that unembodied spirits have access
to us during sleep, and impress upon the passive faculty, by divine
permission, presentiments of those things whereof it is fitting that
we should be thus dimly forewarned. This opinion is held by Baxter,
and to this also doth Bishop Newton incline. The old atomists supposed
that the likenesses or spectres of corporeal things, (_exuviæ scilicet
rerum, vel effluvia_, as they are called by Vaninus, when he takes
advantage of them to explain the _Fata Morgana_) the atomists I say,
supposed that these spectral forms which are constantly emitted from
all bodies,
_Omne genus quoniam passim simulacra feruntur_[1]
assail the soul when she ought to be at rest; according to which
theory all the lathered faces that are created every morning in the
looking-glass, and all the smiling ones that my Lord Simper and Mr.
Smallwit contemplate there with so much satisfaction during the day,
must at this moment be floating up and down the world. Others again
opine, as if in contradiction to those who pretend life to be a dream,
that dreams are realities, and that sleep sets the soul free like a
bird from a cage. John Henderson saw the spirit of a slumbering cat
pass from her in pursuit of a visionary mouse;—(I know not whether he
would have admitted the fact as an argument for materialism); and the
soul of Hans Engelbrecht not only went to hell, but brought back from
it a stench which proved to all the bystanders that it had been
there.—Faugh!
[Footnote 1: Lucretius.]
Whether then my spirit that night found its way out at the nose, (for
I sleep with my mouth shut) and actually sallied out seeking
adventures; or whether the spectrum of the Horse floated into my
chamber; or some benevolent genius or dæmon assumed the well-known and
welcome form; or whether the dream were merely a dream,—
_si fuè en espiritu, ò fuè
en cuerpo, no sè; que yo
solo sè, que no lo sè;_[2]
so however it was that in the visions of the night I mounted Nobs.
Tell me not of Astolfo's hippogriff, or Pacolet's wooden steed; nor
Of that wonderous horse of brass
Whereon the Tartar King did pass;
nor of Alborak, who was the best beast for a night-journey that ever
man bestrode. Tell me not even of Pegasus! I have ridden him many a
time; by day and by night have I ridden him; high and low, far and
wide, round the earth, and about it, and over it, and under it. I know
all his earth-paces, and his sky-paces. I have tried him at a walk, at
an amble, at a trot, at a canter, at a hand-gallop, at full gallop and
at full speed. I have proved him in the _manége_ with single turns and
the _manége_ with double turns, his bounds, his curvets, his
_pirouettes_, and his _pistes_, his _croupade_ and his _balotade_, his
gallop-galliard and his capriole. I have been on him when he has
glided through the sky with wings outstretched and motionless, like a
kite or a summer cloud; I have bestrode him when he went up like a
bittern with a strong spiral flight, round, round and round, and
upward, upward, upward, circling and rising still; and again when he
has gone full sail, or full fly, with his tail as straight as a
comet's behind him. But for a hobby or a night horse, Pegasus is
nothing to Nobs.
[Footnote 2: Calderon.]
Where did we go on that memorable night? What did we see?—What did we
do?—Or rather what did we not see! and what did we not perform!
CHAPTER IV. A. I.
A CONVERSATION AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE.
_Tel condamne mon Coq-à-l'âne qui un jour en justifiera le bon sens._
LA PRETIEUSE.
I went down to breakfast as usual overflowing with joyous thoughts.
For mirth and for music the skylark is but a type of me. I warbled a
few wood notes wild, and then full of the unborn work, addressed
myself to my wife's eldest sister, and asked if she would permit me to
dedicate the Book to her. “What book?” she replied. “The History,”
said I, “of Dr. Daniel Dove of Doncaster, and his Horse Nobs.” She
answered, “No indeed! I will have no such nonsense dedicated to
me!”—and with that she drew up her upper lip, and the lower region of
the nose. I turned to my wife's youngest sister: “Shall I have the
pleasure of dedicating it to you?” She raised her eyes, inclined her
head forwards with a smile of negation, and begged leave to decline
the honour. “Commandante,” said I, to my wife and Commandress, “shall
I dedicate it then to you?” My Commandante made answer, “not unless
you have something better to dedicate.”
“So Ladies!” said I; “the stone which the builders rejected,”—and then
looking at my wife's youngest sister—“Oh, it will be such a book!” The
manner and the tone were so much in earnest that they arrested the
bread and butter on the way to her mouth; and she exclaimed, with her
eyes full of wonder and incredulity at the same time, “Why you never
can be serious?” “Not serious?” said I; “why I have done nothing but
think of it and dream of it the whole night.” “He told me so,”
rejoined my Commandante, “the first thing in the morning.” “Ah
Stupey!” cried my wife's eldest sister, accompanying the compliment
with a protrusion of the head, and an extension of the lips, which
disclosed not only the whole remaining row of teeth, but the chasms
that had been made in it by the tooth drawer; _hiatus valde
lacrymabiles_.
“Two volumes,” said I, “and this in the title-page!” So taking out my
pencil, I drew upon the back of a letter the mysterious monogram,
erudite in its appearance as the digamma of Mr. A. F. Valpy.
[Illustration: a tetrahedron]
It past from hand to hand. “Why he is not in earnest?” said my wife's
youngest sister. “He never can be,” replied my wife. And yet beginning
to think that peradventure I was, she looked at me with a quick turn
of the eye,—“a pretty subject indeed for you to employ your time upon!
You,—_vema whehaha yohu almad otenba twandri athancod!_” I have
thought proper to translate this part of my Commandante's speech into
the Garamna tongue.
CHAPTER III. A. I.
THE UTILITY OF POCKETS. A COMPLIMENT PROPERLY RECEIVED.
_La tasca è proprio cosa da Christiani._
BENEDETTO VARCHI.
My eldest daughter had finished her Latin lessons, and my son had
finished his Greek; and I was sitting at my desk, pen in hand, and in
mouth at the same time, (a substitute for biting the nails which I
recommend to all onygophagists;) when the Bhow Begum came in with her
black velvet reticule, suspended as usual from her arm by its silver
chain.
Now of all the inventions of the Tailor (who is of all artists the
most inventive) I hold the pocket to be the most commodious, and
saving the fig leaf, the most indispensible. Birds have their craw;
ruminating beasts their first or ante-stomach; the monkey has his
cheek, the opossum her pouch; and, so necessary is some convenience of
this kind for the human animal, that the savage who cares not for
clothing makes for himself a pocket if he can. The Hindoo carries his
snuff-box in his turban. Some of the inhabitants of Congo make a
secret fob in their wooly toupet, of which as P. Labat says, the worst
use they make is—to carry poison in it. The Matolas, a long haired
race who border upon the Caffres, form their locks into a sort of
hollow cylinder in which they bear about their little implements;
certes a more sensible bag than such as is worn at court. The New
Zealander is less ingenious; he makes a large opening in his ear, and
carries his knife in it. The Ogres, who are worse than savages, and
whose ignorance and brutality is in proportion to their bulk, are
said, upon the authority of tradition, when they have picked up a
stray traveller or two more than they require for their supper, to
lodge them in a hollow tooth as a place of security till breakfast;
whence it may be inferred that they are not liable to tooth ache, and
that they make no use of tooth-picks. Ogres, Savages, Beasts and Birds
all require something to serve the purpose of a pocket. Thus much for
the necessity of the thing. Touching its antiquity much might be said;
for it would not be difficult to show, with that little assistance
from the auxiliaries _must_ and _have_ and _been_ which enabled
Whitaker of Manchester to write whole quartos of hypothetical history
in the potential mood, that pockets are coeval with clothing: and, as
erudite men have maintained that language and even letters are of
divine origin, there might with like reason be a conclusion drawn from
the twenty-first verse of the third chapter of the book of Genesis,
which it would not be easy to impugn. Moreover Nature herself shows us
the utility, the importance, nay the indispensability, or, to take a
hint from the pure language of our diplomatists, the
_sinequanonniness_ of pockets. There is but one organ which is common
to all animals whatsoever: some are without eyes, many without noses;
some have no heads, others no tails; some neither one nor the other;
some there are who have no brains, others very pappy ones; some no
hearts, others very bad ones; but all have a stomach,—and what is the
stomach but a live inside pocket? Hath not Van Helmont said of it,
“_saccus vel pera est, ut ciborum olla?_”
Dr. Towers used to have his coat pockets made of capacity to hold a
quarto volume—a wise custom; but requiring stout cloth, good buckram,
and strong thread well waxed. I do not so greatly commend the humour
of Dr. Ingenhouz, whose coat was lined with pockets of all sizes,
wherein, in his latter years, when science had become to him as a
plaything, he carried about various materials for chemical
experiments: among the rest so many compositions for fulminating
powders in glass tubes, separated only by a cork in the middle of the
tube, that, if any person had unhappily given him a blow with a stick,
he might have blown up himself and the Doctor too. For myself, four
coat pockets of the ordinary dimensions content me; in these a
sufficiency of conveniences may be carried, and that sufficiency
methodically arranged. For mark me, gentle or ungentle Reader! there
is nothing like method in pockets, as well as in composition: and what
orderly and methodical man would have his pocket-handkerchief, and his
pocket-book, and the key of his door (if he be a batchelor living in
chambers) and his knife, and his loose pence and half-pence, and the
letters which peradventure he might just have received, or
peradventure he may intend to drop in the post-office, two-penny or
general, as he passes by, and his snuff, if he be accustomed so to
regale his olfactory conduits, or his tobacco-box, if he prefer the
masticable to the pulverized weed; or his box of lozenges if he should
be troubled with a tickling cough; and the sugar-plumbs and the
gingerbread nuts which he may be carrying home to his own children, or
to any other small men and women upon whose hearts he may have a
design;—who I say would like to have all this in chaos and confusion,
one lying upon the other, and the thing which is wanted first fated
alway to be undermost!—(Mr. Wilberforce knows the inconvenience;—) the
snuff working its way out to the gingerbread, the sugar-plumbs
insinuating themselves into the folds of the pocket-handkerchief, the
pence grinding the lozenges to dust for the benefit of the
pocket-book, and the door key busily employed in unlocking the
letters?
Now, forasmuch as the commutation of female pockets for the reticule
leadeth to inconveniences like this, (not to mention that the very
name of commutation ought to be held in abhorrence by all who hold
day-light and fresh air essential to the comfort and salubrity of
dwelling-houses,) I abominate that bag of the Bhow Begum,
notwithstanding the beauty of the silver chain upon the black velvet.
And perceiving at this time that the clasp of its silver setting was
broken, so that the mouth of the bag was gaping pitiably, like a sick
or defunct oyster, I congratulated her as she came in upon this
farther proof of the commodiousness of the invention; for here, in the
country, there is no workman who can mend that clasp, and the bag must
therefore either be laid aside, or used in that deplorable state.
When the Bhow Begum had seated herself I told her how my proffered
dedication had been thrice rejected with scorn, and repeating the
offer I looked for a more gracious reply. But, as if scorn had been
the influenza of the female mind that morning, she answered, “No;
indeed she would not have it after it had been refused by every body
else.” “Nay, nay,” said I; “it is as much in your character to accept,
as it was in their's to refuse.” While I was speaking she took a pinch
of snuff; the nasal titillation co-operated with my speech, for when
any one of the senses is pleased, the rest are not likely to continue
out of humour. “Well,” she replied, “I will have it dedicated to me,
because I shall delight in the book.” And she powdered the carpet with
tobacco dust as she spake.
CHAPTER II. A. I.
CONCERNING DEDICATIONS, PRINTERS TYPES AND IMPERIAL INK.
_Il y aura des clefs, et des ouvertures de mes secrets._
LA PRETIEUSE.
Monsieur Dellon, having been in the Inquisition at Goa, dedicated an
account of that tribunal, and of his own sufferings to Mademoiselle Du
Cambout de Coislin, in these words:
_Mademoiselle_
_J'aurois tort de me plaindre des rigueurs de l'Inquisition, et des
mauvais traitemens que j'ay éprouvez de la part de ses ministres,
puisqu'en me fournissant la matiére de cet ouvrage, ils m'ont procuré
l'avantage de vous le dedier._
This is the book which that good man Claudius Buchanan with so much
propriety put into the hands of the Grand Inquisitor of India, when he
paid him a visit at the Inquisition, and asked him his opinion of the
accuracy of the relation upon the spot!
The Frenchman's compliment may truly be said to have been far-fetched
and dearly bought. Heaven forefend that I should either go so far for
one, or purchase it at such a price!
A dedication has oftentimes cost the unhappy author a greater
consumption of thumb and finger-nail than the whole book besides, and
all varieties of matter and manner have been resorted to. Mine must be
so far in character with the delectable history which it introduces
that it shall be unlike all which have ever gone before it. I knew a
man, (one he was who would have been an ornament to his country if
methodism and madness had not combined to overthrow a bright and
creative intellect) who, in one of his insaner moods, printed a sheet
and a half of muddy rhapsodies with the title of the “Standard of God
Displayed:” and he prefaced it by saying that the price of a perfect
book, upon a perfect subject, ought to be a perfect sum in a perfect
coin; that is to say one guinea. Now as Dr. Daniel Dove was a perfect
Doctor, and his horse Nobs was a perfect horse, and as I humbly hope
their history will be a perfect history, so ought the Dedication
thereunto to be perfect in its kind. Perfect therefore it shall be, as
far as kalotypography can make it. For though it would be hopeless to
exceed all former Dedications in the turn of a compliment or of a
sentence, in the turn of the letters it is possible to exceed them
all. It was once my fortune to employ a printer who had a love for his
art; and having a taste that way myself, we discussed the merits of a
new font one day when I happened to call in upon him. I objected to
the angular inclination of a capital italic _A_ which stood upon its
pins as if it were starting aghast from the next letter on the left,
and was about to tumble upon that to the right; in which case down
would go the rest of the word, like a row of soldiers which children
make with cards. My printer was too deeply enamoured with the beauties
of his font, to have either ear or eye for its defects; and hastily
waiving that point he called my attention to a capital _R_ in the same
line, which cocked up its tail just as if it had been nicked; that
cock of the tail had fascinated him. “Look Sir,” said he, while his
eyes glistened with all the ardour of an amateur; “look at that
turn!—that's sweet, Sir!” and drawing off the hand with the forefinger
of which he had indicated it, he described in the air the turn that
had delighted him, in a sort of heroic flourish, his head with a
diminished axis, like the inner stile of a Pentegraph, following the
movement. I have never seen that _R_ since without remembering him. **
*** ** **** ** *** ******** ** *** ***** ******* ** *******, ***
********* *****, ***, *** ** *** ******* ***** ** **********, *** ***
*******. He who can read the stars, may read in them the secret which
he seeketh.
But the turns of my Dedication to the Bhow Begum shall not be trusted
to the letter founders, a set of men remarkable for involving their
craft in such mystery that no one ever taught it to another, every one
who has practised it having been obliged either surreptitiously to
obtain the secret, or to invent a method for himself. It shall be in
the old English letter, not only because that alphabet hath in its
curves and angles, its frettings and redundant lines, a sort of
picturesque similitude with Gothic architecture, but also because in
its breadth and beauty it will display the colour of the ink to most
advantage. For the Dedication shall not be printed in black after the
ordinary fashion, nor in white like the Sermon upon the Excise Laws,
nor in red after the mode of Mr. Dibdin's half titles, but in the
colour of that imperial encaustic ink, which by the laws of the Roman
Empire it was death for any but the Roman Emperor himself to use. We
Britons live in a free country, wherein every man may use what
coloured ink seemeth good to him, and put as much gall in it as he
pleases, or any other ingredient whatsoever. Moreover this is an
imperial age, in which to say nothing of M. Ingelby the Emperor of the
Conjurors, we have seen no fewer than four new Emperors. He of Russia
who did not think the old title of Peter the Great good enough for
him: he of France, for whom any name but that of Tyrant or Murderer is
too good; he of Austria who took up one imperial appellation to cover
over the humiliating manner in which he laid another down; and he of
Hayti, who if he be wise will order all public business to be carried
on in the talkee-talkee tongue, and make it high treason for any
person to speak or write French in his dominions. We also must dub our
old Parliament imperial forsooth! that we may not be behindhand with
the age. Then we have Imperial Dining Tables! Imperial Oil for
nourishing the hair! Imperial Liquid for Boot Tops! Yea, and, by all
the Cæsars deified and damnified, Imperial Blacking! For my part I
love to go with the stream, so I will have an Imperial Dedication.
Behold it Reader. Therein is mystery.
[Illustration: To The Bhow Begum KEDORA NIABARMA]
CHAPTER I. A. I.
NO BOOK CAN BE COMPLETE WITHOUT A PREFACE.
I see no cause but men may pick their teeth,
Though Brutus with a sword did kill himself.
TAYLOR, THE WATER POET.
Who was the Inventor of Prefaces? I shall be obliged to the immortal
Mr. Urban, (immortal, because like the king in law he never dies) if
he will propound this question for me in his Magazine, that great
lumber-room wherein small ware of all kinds has been laid up
higgledy-piggledy by half-penny-worths or farthing-worths at a time
for fourscore years, till like broken glass, rags, or rubbish it has
acquired value by mere accumulation. To send a book like this into the
world without a Preface would be as impossible as it is to appear at
Court without a bag at the head and a sword at the tail, for as the
perfection of dress must be shown at Court, so in this history should
the perfection of histories be exhibited. The book must be _omni
genere absolutum_; it must prove and exemplify the perfectibility of
books: yea with all imaginable respect for the “Delicate
Investigation,” which I leave in undisputed possession of an
appellation so exquisitely appropriate, I conceive that the title of
THE BOOK, as a popular designation κατ᾿ εξοχην, should be transferred
from the edifying report of that Inquiry, to the present unique,
unrivalled and unrivalable production;—a production the like whereof
hath not been, is not, and will not be. Here however let me warn my
Greek and Arabian translators how they render the word, that if they
offend the Mufti or the Patriarch, the offence as well as the danger
may be theirs: I wash my hands of both. I write in plain English,
innocently and in the simplicity of my heart: what may be made of it
in heathen languages concerns not me.
ANTE-PREFACE.
I here present thee with a hive of bees, laden some with wax, and some
with honey. Fear not to approach! There are no Wasps, there are no
Hornets here. If some wanton Bee should chance to buzz about thine
ears, stand thy ground and hold thy hands: there's none will sting
thee if thou strike not first. If any do, she hath honey in her bag
will cure thee too.
QUARLES.
Prefaces, said Charles Blount, Gent., who committed suicide because
the law would not allow him to marry his brother's widow,—(a law, be
it remarked in passing, which is not sanctioned by reason, and which
instead of being in conformity with scripture, is in direct opposition
to it, being in fact the mere device of a corrupt and greedy
church)—“Prefaces,” said this flippant, ill-opinioned and unhappy man,
“ever were, and still are but of two sorts, let other modes and
fashions vary as they please. Let the profane long peruke succeed the
godly cropt hair; the cravat, the ruff; presbytery, popery; and popery
presbytery again, yet still the author keeps to his old and wonted
method of prefacing; when at the beginning of his book he enters,
either with a halter about his neck, submitting himself to his
reader's mercy whether he shall be hanged, or no; or else in a huffing
manner he appears with the halter in his hand, and threatens to hang
his reader, if he gives him not his good word. This with the
excitement of some friends to his undertaking, and some few apologies
for want of time, books, and the like, are the constant and usual
shams of all scribblers as well ancient as modern.”—This was not true
then, nor is it now; but when he proceeds to say, “for my part I enter
the lists upon another score,”—so say I with him; and my Preface shall
say the rest.
PREFACE.
Oh for a quill plucked from a Seraph's wing!
YOUNG.
So the Poet exclaimed; and his exclamation may be quoted as one
example more of the vanity of human wishes; for in order to get a
Seraph's quill it would be necessary, according to Mrs. Glasse's
excellent item in her directions for roasting a hare, to begin by
catching a Seraph. A quill from a Seraph's wing is, I confess, above
my ambition; but one from a Peacock's tail was within my reach; and be
it known unto all people, nations and languages, that with a Peacock's
quill this Preface hath been penned—literally—truly, and _bona-fidely_
speaking. And this is to write, as the learned old Pasquier says,
_pavonesquement_, which in latin minted for the nonce may be rendered
_pavonicè_ and in English peacockically or peacockishly, whichever the
reader may like best. That such a pen has verily and indeed been used
upon this occasion I affirm. I affirm it upon the word of a true man;
and here is a Captain of his Majesty's Navy at my elbow, who himself
made the pen, and who, if evidence were required to the fact, would
attest it by as round an oath as ever rolled over a right English
tongue. Nor will the time easily escape his remembrance, the bells
being at this moment ringing, June 4, 1814, to celebrate the King's
birthday, and the public notification that peace has been concluded
with France.
I have oftentimes had the happiness of seeing due commendation
bestowed by gentle critics, unknown admirers and partial friends upon
my pen, which has been married to all amiable epithets:—classical,
fine, powerful, tender, touching, pathetic, strong, fanciful, daring,
elegant, sublime, beautiful. I have read these epithets with that
proper satisfaction which when thus applied they could not fail to
impart, and sometimes qualified the pride which they inspired by
looking at the faithful old tool of the Muses beside me, worn to the
stump in their service: the one end mended up to the quick in that
spirit of œconomy which becomes a son of the Lackland family, and
shortened at the other by the gradual and alternate processes of
burning and biting, till a scant inch only is left above the finger
place. Philemon Holland was but a type of me in this respect. Indeed I
may be allowed to say that I have improved upon his practice, or at
least that I get more out of a pen than he did, for in the engraved
title-page to his Cyrupædia, where there appears the Portrait of the
_Interpres_ marked by a great D inclosing the Greek letter Φ (which I
presume designates Doctor Philemon) _ætatis suæ_ 80. A°. 1632, it may
be plainly seen that he used his pen only at one end. Peradventure he
delighted not, as I do, in the mitigated ammoniac odour.
But thou, O gentle reader, who in the exercise of thy sound judgment
and natural benignity wilt praise this Preface, thou mayest with
perfect propriety bestow the richest epithets upon the pen wherewith
its immortal words were first clothed in material forms. Beautiful,
elegant, fine, splendid, fanciful, will be to the very letter of
truth: versatile it is as the wildest wit; flexible as the most
monkey-like talent; and shouldst thou call it tender, I will whisper
in thine ear—that it is only too soft. Yet softness may be suitable;
for of my numerous readers one half will probably be soft by sex, and
of the other half a very considerable proportion soft by nature. Soft
therefore be the Pen and soft the strain.
I have drawn up the window-blinds (though sunshine at this time acts
like snuff upon the mucous membrane of my nose) in order that the
light may fall upon this excellent Poet's wand as I wave it to and
fro, making cuts five and six of the broad-sword exercise. Every
feather of its fringe is now lit up by the sun; the hues of green and
gold and amethyst are all brought forth; and that predominant lustre
which can only be likened to some rich metallic oxyd; and that spot of
deepest purple, the pupil of an eye for whose glorious hue neither
metals nor flowers nor precious stones afford a resemblance: its
likeness is only to be found in animated life, in birds and insects
whom nature seems to have formed when she was most prodigal of beauty:
I have seen it indeed upon the sea, but it has been in some quiet bay
when the reflection of the land combined with the sky and the ocean to
produce it.
And what can be more emblematic of the work which I am beginning than
the splendid instrument wherewith the Preface is traced? What could
more happily typify the combination of parts each perfect in itself
when separately considered, yet all connected into one harmonious
whole; the story running through like the stem or back-bone, which the
episodes and digressions fringe like so many featherlets, leading up
to that catastrophe, the gem or eye-star, for which the whole was
formed, and in which all terminate.
They who are versed in the doctrine of sympathies and the arcana of
correspondences as revealed to the Swedish Emanuel, will doubtless
admire the instinct or inspiration which directed my choice to the
pavonian Pen. The example should be followed by all consumers of ink
and quill. Then would the lover borrow a feather from the turtle dove.
The lawyer would have a large assortment of kite, hawk, buzzard and
vulture: his clients may use pigeon or gull. Poets according to their
varieties. Mr. —— the Tom Tit. Mr. —— the Water-wagtail. Mr. —— the
Crow. Mr. —— the Mocking-bird. Mr. —— the Magpie. Mr. —— the Sky-lark.
Mr. —— the Eagle. Mr. —— the Swan. Lord —— the Black Swan. Critics
some the Owl, others the Butcher Bird. Your challenger must indite
with one from the wing of a game cock: he who takes advantage of a
privileged situation to offer the wrong and shrink from the atonement
will find a white feather. Your dealers in public and private scandal,
whether Jacobins or Anti-Jacobins, the pimps and pandars of a
profligate press should use none but duck feathers, and those of the
dirtiest that can be found in the purlieus of Pimlico or St. George's
Fields. But for the Editor of the Edinburgh Review, whether he
dictates in morals or in taste, or displays his peculiar talent in
political prophecy, he must continue to use goose quills. Stick to the
goose Mr. Jeffrey, while you live stick to the Goose!
INITIAL CHAPTER.
᾿Εξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα.
HOMER.
They who remember the year 1800 will remember also the great
controversy whether it was the beginning of a century, or the end of
one; a controversy in which all Magazines, all Newspapers, and all
persons took part. Now as it has been deemed expedient to divide this
work, or to speak more emphatically this Opus, or more emphatically
still this Ergon, into Chapters Ante-Initial and Post-Initial, a
dispute of the same nature might arise among the commentators in after
ages, if especial care were not now taken to mark distinctly the
beginning. This therefore is the Initial Chapter, neither Ante nor
Post, but standing between both; the point of initiation, the goal of
the _Antes_, the starting place of the _Posts_; the mark at which the
former end their career, and from whence the latter take their
departure.
THE DOCTOR, &c.
_Eccoti il libro; mettivi ben cura
Iddio t' ajuti e dia buona ventura._
ORL. INNAM.
CHAPTER I. P. I.
THE SUBJECT OF THIS HISTORY AT HOME AND AT TEA.
If thou be a severe sour complexioned man then I here disallow thee to
be a competent judge.
IZAAK WALTON.
The clock of St. George's had struck five. Mrs. Dove had just poured
out the Doctor's seventh cup of tea. The Doctor was sitting in his
arm-chair. Sir Thomas was purring upon his knees; and Pompey stood
looking up to his mistress, wagging his tail, sometimes whining with a
short note of impatience, and sometimes gently putting his paw against
her apron to remind her that he wished for another bit of bread and
butter. Barnaby was gone to the farm: and Nobs was in the stable.