Bruges, before the gate of the Senate-House, a certain beggar presented
himself to us, and with sighs and tears, and many lamentable gestures,
expressed to us his miserable poverty, and asked our alms, telling us at
the same time, that he had about him a private maim and a secret
mischief, which very shame restrained him from discovering to the eyes
of men. We all pitying the case of the poor man, gave him each of us
something, and departed. One, however, amongst us took an opportunity to
send his servant after him, with orders to inquire of him what that
private infirmity might be which he found such cause to be ashamed of,
and was so loth to discover. The servant overtook him, and delivered his
commission: and after having diligently viewed his face, breast, arms,
legs, and finding all his limbs in apparent soundness, "Why, friend,"
said he, "I see nothing whereof you have any such reason to complain."
"Alas! sir," said the beggar, "the disease which afflicts me is far
different from what you conceive, and is such as you cannot discern; yet
it is an evil which hath crept over my whole body: it has passed through
my very veins and marrow in such a manner that there is no member of my
body that is able to work for my daily bread. This disease is by some
called idleness, and by others sloth." The servant, hearing this
singular apology, left him in great anger, and returned to his master
with the above account; but before the company could send again to make
further inquiry after him, the beggar had very prudently withdrawn
himself.
3. Action, we are assured, keeps the soul in constant health; but
idleness corrupts and rusts the mind; for a man of great abilities may
by negligence and idleness become so mean and despicable as to be an
incumbrance to society and a burthen to himself. When the Roman
historians described an extraordinary man, it generally entered into his
character, as an essential, that he was _incredibili industriâ,
diligentiâ singulari_--of incredible industry, of singular diligence and
application. And Cato, in Sallust, informs the Senate, that it was not
so much the arms as the industry of their ancestors, which advanced the
grandeur of Rome, and made her mistress of the world.
DR. DODD.
* * * * *
RAFT OF GAMBIER ISLANDERS
The group in the Pacific Ocean called the Gambier Islands are but thinly
inhabited, but possess a good harbour. Captain Beechey, in his
"Narrative of a Voyage to the Pacific and Behring's Straits," tells us
that several of the islands, especially the largest, have a fertile
appearance. The Captain gives an interesting account of his interview
with some of the natives, who approached the ship in rafts, carrying
from sixteen to twenty men each, as represented in the Engraving.
[Illustration: RAFT OF GAMBIER ISLANDERS.]
"We were much pleased," says the Captain, "with the manner of lowering
their matting sail, diverging on different courses, and working their
paddles, in the use of which they had great power, and were well
skilled, plying them together, or, to use a nautical phrase, 'keeping
stroke.' They had no other weapons but long poles, and were quite naked,
with the exception of a banana leaf cut into strips, and tied about
their loins; and one or two persons wore white turbans." They timidly
approached both the ship and the barge, but would upset any small boats
within their reach; not, however, from any malicious intention, but from
thoughtlessness and inquisitiveness. Captain Beechey approached them in
the gig, and gave them several presents, for which they, in return,
threw him some bundles of paste, tied up in large leaves, which was the
common food of the natives. They tempted the Captain and his crew with
cocoa-nuts and roots, and invited their approach by performing ludicrous
dances; but, as soon as the visitors were within reach, all was
confusion. A scuffle ensued, and on a gun being fired over their heads,
all but four instantly plunged into the sea. The inhabitants of these
islands are stated to be well-made, with upright and graceful figures.
Tattooing seems to be very commonly practised, and some of the patterns
are described as being very elegant.
* * * * *
CHRISTIAN FREEDOM.
"He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,"
Who first of all the bands of Satan breaks;
Who breaks the bands of sin, and for his soul,
In spite of fools, consulteth seriously;
In spite of fashion, perseveres in good;
In spite of wealth or poverty, upright;
Who does as reason, not as fancy bids;
Who hears Temptation sing, and yet turns not
Aside; sees Sin bedeck her flowery bed,
And yet will not go up; feels at his heart
The sword unsheathed, yet will not sell the truth;
Who, having power, has not the will to hurt;
Who feels ashamed to be, or have a slave,
Whom nought makes blush but sin, fears nought but God;
Who, finally, in strong integrity
Of soul, 'midst want, or riches, or disgrace
Uplifted, calmly sat, and heard the waves
Of stormy Folly breaking at his feet,
Nor shrill with praise, nor hoarse with foal reproach,
And both despised sincerely; seeking this
Alone, the approbation of his God,
Which still with conscience witness'd to his peace.
This, this is freedom, such as Angels use,
And kindred to the liberty of God!
POLLOCK.
* * * * *
THE POLAR REGIONS.
The adventurous spirit of Englishmen has caused them to fit out no less
than sixty expeditions within the last three centuries and a half, with
the sole object of discovering a north-west passage to India. Without
attempting even to enumerate these baffled essays, we will at once carry
our young readers to these dreary regions--dreary, merely because their
capabilities are unsuited to the necessities which are obvious to all,
yet performing their allotted office in the economy of the world, and
manifesting the majesty and the glory of our great Creator.
[Illustration: SIR JAMES ROSS'S SHIPS BESET IN A PACK OF ICE.]
Winter in the Arctic Circle is winter indeed: there is no sun to
gladden with his beams the hearts of the voyagers; but all is wrapt in
darkness, day and night, save when the moon chances to obtrude her faint
rays, only to make visible the desolation of the scene. The approach of
winter is strongly marked. Snow begins to fall in August, and the ground
is covered to the depth of two or three feet before October. As the cold
augments, the air bears its moisture in the form of a frozen fog, the
icicles of which are so sharp as to be painful to the skin. The surface
of the sea steams like a lime-kiln, caused by the water being still
warmer than the superincumbent atmosphere. The mist at last clears, the
water having become frozen, and darkness settles on the land. All is
silence, broken only by the bark of the Arctic fox, or by the loud
explosion of bursting rocks, as the frost penetrates their bosoms.
The crews of exploring vessels, which are frozen firmly in the ice in
winter, spend almost the whole of their time in their ships, which in
Sir James Ross's expedition (in 1848-49) were well warmed and
ventilated. Where there has not been sufficient warmth, their
provisions--even brandy--became so frozen as to require to be cut by a
hatchet. The mercury in a barometer has frozen so that it might be
beaten on an anvil.
As Sir James Ross went in search of Sir John Franklin, he adopted
various methods of letting him know (if alive) of assistance being at
hand. Provisions were deposited in several marked places; and on the
excursions to make these deposits, they underwent terrible fatigue, as
well as suffered severely from what is termed "snow blindness." But the
greatest display of ingenuity was in capturing a number of white foxes,
and fastening copper collars round their necks, on which was engraved a
notice of the position of the ships and provisions. It was possible that
these animals, which are known to travel very far in search of food,
might be captured by the missing voyagers, who would thus be enabled to
avail themselves of the assistance intended for them by their noble
countrymen. The little foxes, in their desire to escape, sometimes tried
to gnaw the bars of their traps; but the cold was so intense, that their
tongues froze to the iron, and so their captors had to kill them, to
release them from their misery, for they were never wantonly destroyed.
The great Painter of the Universe has not forgotten the embellishment of
the Pole. One of the most beautiful phenomena in nature is the Aurora
Borealis, or northern lights. It generally assumes the form of an arch,
darting flashes of lilac, yellow, or white light towards the heights of
heaven. Some travellers state that the aurora are accompanied by a
crackling or hissing noise; but Captain Lyon, who listened for hours,
says that this is not the case, and that it is merely that the
imagination cannot picture these sudden bursts of light as unaccompanied
by noise.
We will now bid farewell to winter, for with returning summer comes the
open sea, and the vessels leave their wintry bed. This, however, is
attended with much difficulty and danger. Canals have to be cut in the
ice, through which to lead the ships to a less obstructed ocean; and,
after this had been done in Sir James Ross's case, the ships were hemmed
in by a pack of ice, fifty miles in circumference, and were carried
along, utterly helpless, at the rate of eight or ten miles daily, for
upwards of 250 miles--the navigators fearing the adverse winds might
drive them on the rocky coast of Baffin's Bay. At length the wind
changed, and carried them clear of ice and icebergs (detached masses of
ice, sometimes several hundred feet in height) to the open sea, and back
to their native land.
With all its dreariness, we owe much to the ice-bound Pole; to it we
are indebted for the cooling breeze and the howling tempest--the
beneficent tempest, in spite of all its desolation and woe. Evil and
good in nature are comparative: the same thing does what is called harm
in one sense, but incalculable good in another. So the tempest, that
causes the wreck, and makes widows of happy wives and orphans of joyous
children, sets in motion air that would else be stagnant, and become the
breath of pestilence and the grave.
[Illustration: MIDSUMMER NIGHT IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS.]
* * * * *
THE CROWN JEWELS.
[Illustration: Letter A.]
All the Crown Jewels, or Regalia, used by the Sovereign on great state
occasions, are kept in the Tower of London, where they have been for
nearly two centuries. The first express mention made of the Regalia
being kept in this palatial fortress, occurs in the reign of Henry III.,
previously to which they were deposited either in the Treasury of the
Temple, or in some religious house dependent upon the Crown. Seldom,
however, did the jewels remain in the Tower for any length of time, for
they were repeatedly pledged to meet the exigences of the Sovereign. An
inventory of the jewels in the Tower, made by order of James I., is of
great length; although Henry III., during the Lincolnshire rebellion, in
1536, greatly reduced the value and number of the Royal store. In the
reign of Charles II., a desperate attempt was made by Colonel Blood and
his accomplices to possess themselves of the Royal Jewels.
The Regalia were originally kept in a small building on the south side
of the White Tower; but, in the reign of Charles I., they were
transferred to a strong chamber in the Martin Tower, afterwards called
the Jewel Tower. Here they remained until the fire in 1840; when being
threatened with destruction from the flames which were raging near them,
they were carried away by the warders, and placed for safety in the
house of the Governor. In 1841 they were removed to the new Jewel-House,
which is much more commodious than the old vaulted chamber in which they
were previously shown.
[Illustration: QUEEN'S CROWN.]
The QUEEN'S, or IMPERIAL CROWN was made for the coronation of her
present Majesty. It is composed of a cap of purple velvet, enclosed by
hoops of silver, richly dight with gems, in the form shown in our
Illustration. The arches rise almost to a point instead of being
depressed, are covered with pearls, and are surmounted by an orb of
brilliants. Upon this is placed a Maltese or cross pattee of
brilliants. Four crosses and four _fleurs-de-lis_ surmount the circlet,
all composed of diamonds, the front cross containing the "inestimable
sapphire," of the purest and deepest azure, more than two inches long,
and an inch broad; and, in the circlet beneath it, is a rock ruby, of
enormous size and exquisite colour, _said_ to have been worn by the
Black Prince at the battle of Cressy, and by Henry V. at the battle of
Agincourt. The circlet is enriched with diamonds, emeralds, sapphires,
and rubies. This crown was altered from the one constructed expressly
for the coronation of King George IV.: the superb diadem then weighed
5-1/2 lb., and was worn by the King on his return in procession from the
Abbey to the Hall at Westminster.
[Illustration: OLD IMPERIAL CROWN.]
The OLD IMPERIAL CROWN (St. Edward's) is the one whose form is so
familiar to us from its frequent representation on the coin of the
realm, the Royal arms, &c. It was made for the coronation of Charles
II., to replace the one broken up and sold during the Civil Wars, which
was said to have been worn by Edward the Confessor. It is of gold, and
consists of two arches crossing at the top, and rising from a rim or
circlet of gold, over a cap of crimson velvet, lined with white taffeta,
and turned up with ermine. The base of the arches on each side is
covered by a cross pattee; between the crosses are four _fleurs-de-lis_
of gold, which rise out of the circle: the whole of these are splendidly
enriched with pearls and precious stones. On the top, at the
intersection of the arches, which are somewhat depressed, are a mound
and cross of gold the latter richly jewelled, and adorned with three
pearls, one on the top, and one pendent at each limb.
[Illustration: PRINCE OF WALES'S CROWN.]
The PRINCE OF WALES'S CROWN is of pure gold, unadorned with jewels. On
occasions of state, it is placed before the seat occupied by the
Heir-Apparent to the throne in the House of Lords.
[Illustration: QUEEN'S DIADEM.]
[Illustration: TEMPORAL SCEPTRE.]
The QUEEN'S DIADEM was made for the coronation of Marie d'Este, consort
of James II., it is adorned with large diamonds, and the upper edge of
the circlet is bordered with pearls.
The TEMPORAL SCEPTRE of Queen Victoria is of gold, 2 feet 9 inch in
length; the staff is very plain, but the pommel is ornamented with
rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. The _fleurs-de-lis_ with which this
sceptre was originally adorned have been replaced by golden leaves,
bearing the rose, shamrock, and thistle. The cross is variously
jewelled, and has in the centre a large table diamond.
[Illustration: SPIRITUAL SCEPTRE.]
Her Majesty's SPIRITUAL SCEPTRE, Rod of Equity, or Sceptre with the
Dove, is also of gold, 3 feet 7 inches long, set with diamonds and other
precious stones. It is surmounted by an orb, banded with rose diamonds,
bearing a cross, on which is the figure of a dove with expanded wings.
The QUEEN'S IVORY SCEPTRE was made for Maria d'Este, consort of James
II. It is mounted in gold, and terminated by a golden cross, bearing a
dove of white onyx.
[Illustration: AMPULLA.]
The ampulla is an antique vessel of pure gold, used for containing the
holy oil at coronations. It resembles an eagle with expanded wings, and
is finely chased: the head screws off at the middle of the neck for
pouring in the oil; and the neck being hollow to the beak the latter
serves as a spout, through which the consecrated oil is poured into
[Illustration: ANOINTING SPOON.]
The ANOINTING SPOON, which is also of pure gold: it has four pearls in
the broadest part of the handle, and the bowl of the spoon is finely
chased within and without; by its extreme thinness, it appears to be
ancient.
[Illustration: QUEEN'S CORONATION BRACELETS.]
The ARMILLAE, or BRACELETS, are of solid fine gold, chased, 1-1/2 inch
in breadth, edged with rows of pearls. They open by a hinge, and are
enamelled with the rose, _fleur-de-lis_, and harp.
[Illustration: IMPERIAL ORB.]
The IMPERIAL ORB, or MOUND, is an emblem of sovereignty, said to have
been derived from Imperial Rome, and to have been first adorned with the
cross by Constantine, on his conversion to Christianity. It first
appears among the Royal insignia of England on the coins of Edward the
Confessor. This orb is a ball of gold, 6 inches in diameter, encompassed
with a band of gold, set with emeralds, rubies, and pearls. On the top
is a remarkably fine amethyst, nearly 1-1/2 inch high, which serves as
the foot or pedestal of a rich cross of gold, 32 inches high, encrusted
with diamonds; having in the centre, on one side, a sapphire, and an
emerald on the other; four large pearls at the angles of the cross, a
large pearl at the end of each limb, and three at the base; the height
of the orb and cross being 11 inches.
The QUEEN'S ORB is of smaller dimensions than the preceding, but of
similar materials and fashion.
[Illustration: GOLDEN SALT-CELLAR OF STATE.]
[Illustration: STATE SALT-CELLARS.]
The SALT-CELLARS are of singular form and rich workmanship. The most
noticeable is--the _Golden Salt-cellar of State,_ which is of pure gold,
richly adorned with jewels, and grotesque figures in chased work. Its
form is castellated: and the receptacles for the salt are formed by the
removal of the tops of the turrets.
In the same chamber with the Crowns, Sceptres, and other Regalia used in
the ceremonial of the Coronation, is a very interesting collection of
plate, formerly used at Coronation festivals; together with fonts, &c.
Amongst these are
The QUEEN'S BAPTISMAL FONT, which is of silver, gilt, tastefully chased,
and surmounted by two figures emblematical of the baptismal rite: this
font was formerly used at the christening of the Royal family; but a new
font of more picturesque design, has lately be n manufactured for her
Majesty.
[Illustration: QUEEN'S BAPTISMAL FONT.]
There are, besides, in the collection, a large Silver Wine Fountain,
presented by the corporation of Plymouth to Charles II.; two massive
Coronation Tankards, of gold; a Banqueting Dish, and other dishes and
spoons of gold, used at Coronation festivals; besides a
beautifully-wrought service of Sacramental Plate, employed at the
Coronation, and used also in the Chapel of St. Peter in the Tower.
* * * * *
WHAT IS TIME?
[Illustration: Letter I.]
I ask'd an aged man, a man of cares,
Wrinkled and curved, and white with hoary hairs:
"Time is the warp of life," he said; "Oh tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave 't well!"
I ask'd the ancient, venerable dead--
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled:
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flow'd--
"Time sow'd the seed we reap in this abode!"
I ask'd a dying sinner, ere the tide
Of life had left his veins: "Time?" he replied,
"I've lost it! Ah, the treasure!" and he died.
I ask'd the golden sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years:
They answer'd: "Time is but a meteor's glare,"
And bade me for Eternity prepare.
I ask'd the Seasons, in their annual round,
Which beautify or desolate the ground;
And they replied (no oracle more wise):
"'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest prize!"
I ask'd a spirit lost, but oh! the shriek
That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak.
It cried, "A particle! a speck! a mite
Of endless years--duration infinite!"
Of things inanimate, my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply:
"Time is the season fair of living well--
The path of glory, or the path of hell."
I ask'd my Bible, and methinks it said:
"Time is the present hour--the past is fled:
Live! live to-day; to-morrow never yet
On any human being rose or set."
I ask'd old Father Time himself at last,
But in a moment he flew swiftly past--
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.
I ask'd the mighty Angel who shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land;
"By Heaven!" he cried, "I swear the mystery's o'er;
Time was," he cried, "but time shall be no more!"
REV. J. MARSDEN.
* * * * *
SIMPLICITY IN WRITING.
[Illustration: Letter F.]
Fine writing, according to Mr. Addison, consists of sentiments which are
natural without being obvious. There cannot be a juster and more concise
definition of fine writing.
Sentiments which are merely natural affect not the mind with any
pleasure, and seem not worthy to engage our attention. The pleasantries
of a waterman, the observations of a peasant, the ribaldry of a porter
or hackney-coachman; all these are natural and disagreeable. What an
insipid comedy should we make of the chit-chit of the tea-table, copied
faithfully and at full length! Nothing can please persons of taste but
nature drawn with all her graces and ornament--_la belle nature_; or, if
we copy low life, the strokes must be strong and remarkable, and must
convey a lively image to the mind. The absurd _naïveté_ of Sancho Panza
is represented in such inimitable colours by Cervantes, that it
entertains as much as the picture of the most magnanimous hero or
softest lover.
The case is the same with orators, philosophers, critics, or any author
who speaks in his own person without introducing other speakers or
actors. If his language be not elegant, his observations uncommon, his
sense strong and masculine, he will in vain boast his nature and
simplicity. He may be correct, but he never will be agreeable. 'Tis the
unhappiness of such authors that they are never blamed nor censured. The
good fortune of a book and that of a man are not the same. The secret
deceiving path of life, which Horace talks of--_fallentis semita
vitae_--may be the happiest, lot of the one, but is the greatest
misfortune that the other can possibly fall into.
On the other hand, productions which are merely surprising, without
being natural, can never give any lasting entertainment to the mind. To
draw chimaeras is not, properly speaking, to copy or imitate. The
justness of the representation is lost, and the mind is displeased to
find a picture which bears no resemblance to any original. Nor are such
excessive refinements more agreeable in the epistolary or philosophic
style, than in the epic or tragic. Too much ornament is a fault in every
kind of production. Uncommon expressions, strong flashes of wit, pointed
similes, and epigrammatic turns, especially when laid too thick, are a
disfigurement rather than any embellishment of discourse. As the eye, in
surveying a Gothic building, is distracted by the multiplicity of
ornaments, and loses the whole by its minute attention to the parts; so
the mind, in perusing a work overstocked with wit, is fatigued and
disgusted with the constant endeavour to shine and surprise. This is the
case where a writer over-abounds in wit, even though that wit should be
just and agreeable. But it commonly happens to such writers, that they
seek for their favourite ornaments even where the subject affords them
not; and by that means have twenty insipid conceits for one thought that
is really beautiful.
There is no subject in critical learning more copious than this of the
just mixture of simplicity and refinement in writing; and, therefore,
not to wander in too large a field, I shall confine myself to a few
general observations on that head.
First, I observe, "That though excesses of both kinds are to be avoided,
and though a proper medium ought to be studied in all productions; yet
this medium lies not in a point, but admits of a very considerable
latitude." Consider the wide distance, in this respect, between Mr. Pope
and Lucretius. These seem to lie in the two greatest extremes of
refinement and simplicity which a poet can indulge himself in, without
being guilty of any blameable excess. All this interval may be filled
with poets, who may differ from each other, but may be equally
admirable, each in his peculiar style and manner. Corneille and
Congreve, who carry their wit and refinement somewhat farther than Mr.
Pope (if poets of so different a kind can be compared together), and
Sophocles and Terence, who are more simple than Lucretius, seem to have
gone out of that medium wherein the most perfect productions are to be
found, and are guilty of some excess in these opposite characters. Of
all the great poets, Virgil and Racine, in my opinion, lie nearest the
centre, and are the farthest removed from both the extremities.