The whale fishery is even of more importance as a nursery for seamen,

for of all naval services it is the most severe; and this thorough

seaman describes the excitement and the enjoyment of a whaler's life

as being in proportion to the danger. “The difficulties and

intricacies of the situation, when the vessel is to be forced through

masses of drift ice, afford exercise,” he says, “for the highest

possible exertion of nautical skill, and are capable of yielding to

the person who has the management of a ship, a degree of enjoyment,

which it would be difficult for navigators accustomed to mere common

place operations duly to appreciate. The ordinary management of a

ship, under a strong gale, and with great velocity, exhibits

evolutions of considerable elegance; but these cannot be compared with

the navigation in the intricacies of floating ice, where the

evolutions are frequent, and perpetually varying; where manœuvres are

to be accomplished, that extend to the very limits of possibility; and

where a degree of hazard attaches to some of the operations, which

would render a mistake of the helm,—or a miscalculation of the powers

of a ship, irremediate and destructive.”—How wonderful a creature is

man, that the sense of power should thus seem to constitute his

highest animal enjoyment!

In proportion to the excitement of such a life, Captain Scoresby

describes its religious tendency upon a well disposed mind, and this

certainly has been exemplified in his own person. “Perhaps there is no

situation in life,” he says, “in which an habitual reliance upon

Providence, and a well founded dependance on the Divine protection and

support, is of such sensible value as it is found to be by those

employed in seafaring occupations, and especially in the fishery for

whales. These are exposed to a great variety of dangers, many of which

they must voluntarily face; and the success of their exertions depends

on a variety of causes, over many of which they have no controul. The

anxiety arising from both these causes is greatly repressed, and often

altogether subdued, when, convinced of the infallibility and

universality of Providence by the internal power of religion, we are

enabled to commit all our ways unto God, and to look for his blessing

as essential to our safety, and as necessary for our success.”

John Newton of Olney has in his narrative of his own remarkable life,

a passage that entirely accords with these remarks of Captain

Scoresby, and which is in like manner the result of experience. “A

sea-faring life,” he says, “is necessarily excluded from the benefit

of public ordinances, and christian communion.—In other respects, I

know not any calling that seems more favourable, or affords greater

advantages to an awakened mind, for promoting the life of God in the

soul, especially to a person who has the command of a ship, and

thereby has it in his power to restrain gross irregularities in

others, and to dispose of his own time.—To be at sea in these

circumstances, withdrawn out of the reach of innumerable temptations,

with opportunity and a turn of mind disposed to observe the wonders of

God, in the great deep, with the two noblest objects of sight the

expanded heavens and the expanded ocean, continually in view; and

where evident interpositions of Divine Providence in answer to prayer

occur almost every day; these are helps to quicken and confirm the

life of faith, which in a good measure supply to a religious sailor

the want of those advantages which can be only enjoyed upon the shore.

And indeed though my knowledge of spiritual things (as knowledge is

usually estimated) was at this time very small, yet I sometimes look

back with regret upon those scenes. I never knew sweeter or more

frequent hours of divine communion than in my two last voyages to

Guinea, when I was either almost secluded from society on ship-board,

or when on shore among the natives.”

What follows is so beautiful (except the extravagant condemnation of a

passionate tenderness which he, of all men, should have been the last

to condemn) that the passage though it has set us ashore, must be

continued a little farther. “I have wandered,” he proceeds, “thro' the

woods, reflecting on the singular goodness of the Lord to me in a

place where, perhaps, there was not a person who knew him, for some

thousand miles round me. Many a time upon these occasions I have

restored the beautiful lines of Tibullus,[1] to the right owner; lines

full of blasphemy and madness, when addressed to a creature, but full

of comfort and propriety in the mouth of a believer.

_Sic ego desertis possum bene vivere sylvis,

Quà nulla humano sit via trita pede.

Tu mihi curarum requies, in nocte vel atra

Lumen, et in solis tu mihì turba locis._”

[Footnote 1: Mr. Newton by an easy slip of the memory, has ascribed

the lines to Propertius.]

CHAPTER CLXVII.

A MOTTO WHICH IS WELL CHOSEN BECAUSE NOT BEING APPLICABLE IT SEEMS TO

BE SO. THE AUTHOR NOT ERRANT HERE OR ELSEWHERE. PHILOSOPHY AND

OTHER-OSOPHIES.

Much from my theme and friend have I digressed,

But poor as I am, poor in stuff for thought,

And poor in thought to make of it the best,

Blame me not, Gentles, if I soon am caught

By this or that, when as my themes suggest

Aught of collateral aid which may be wrought

Into its service: Blame me not, I say;

The idly musing often miss their way.

CHARLES LLOYD.

The pleasing pensive stanza, which thou, gentle reader hast just

perused, is prefixed to this Chapter because it would be so felicitous

a motto, if only it were applicable; and for that very reason it is

felicitous, its non-applicability furnishing a means of happy

application.

_Il y a du bonheur et de l'esprit à employer les paroles d'un poëte à

une chose à quoy le poëte ne pense jamais, et à les employer si à

propos qu'elles semblent avoir esté faites exprés pour le sujet auquel

elles sont appliquées._[1]

[Footnote 1: P. BOUHOURS.]

“Good Sir, you understand not;”—yet I am not saying with the Pedagogue

at the Ordinary,

Let's keep them

In desperate hope of understanding us;

Riddles and clouds are very lights of speech.

I'll veil my careless anxious thoughts as 'twere

In a perspicuous cloud, that so I may

Whisper in a loud voice, and even be silent

When I do utter words.[2]

Here, as every where my intention is to be perfectly intelligible; I

have not digressed either from my theme or friend; I am neither poor

in stuff for thought, nor in thought for working; nor, (if I may be

permitted so to say) in skill for manipulating it. I have not been

idly musing, nor have I missed my road, but have kept the track

faithfully, and not departed from the way in which I was trained up.

All that I have been saying belongs to, and is derived from the

philosophy of my friend: yes, gentle Reader, all that is set before

thee in these well stored volumes. _Una est enim philosophia,

quascumque in oras disputationis regionesve delata est. Nam sive de

cœli naturâ loquitur, sive de terræ, sive de divinâ vi, sive de

humanâ, sive ex inferiore loco, sive ex æquo, sive ex superiore, sive

ut impellat homines, sive ut doceat, sive ut deterreat, sive ut

concitet, sive ut incendat, sive ut reflectat, sive ut leniat, sive ad

paucos, sive ad multos, sive inter alienos, sive cum suis, sive secum,

rivis est deducta philosophia, non fontibus._

[Footnote 2: CARTWRIGHT.]

We speak of the philosophy of the Porch, and of the Grove, and of the

Sty when we would express ourselves disdainfully of the Epicureans.

But we cannot in like manner, give to the philosophy which pervades

these volumes, a local habitation and a name, because the philosophy

of Doncaster would popularly be understood to mean the philosophy of

the Duke of Grafton, the Marquis of Exeter, and Mr. Gully, tho' that

indeed belongs not to Philosophy but to one of its dialects,

varieties, or corrupted forms, which are many; for example, there is

Fallosophy practised professionally by Advocates, and exhibited in

great perfection by Quacks, and Political Economists; Failosophy, the

science of those who make bankruptcy a profitable adventure;

Fellowsophy, which has its habitat in common rooms at Cambridge, and

Oxford; Feelosophy common to Lawyers and Physicians; Fillyosophy well

understood on the turf, and nowhere better than in Doncaster; and

finally the Foolosophy of Jeremy Bentham, and of all those who have

said in their hearts—what it saddens a compassionate heart to think

that even the Fool should say!

CHAPTER CLXVIII.

NE-PLUS-ULTRA-WHALE-FISHING. AN OPINION OF CAPTAIN SCORESBY'S. THE

DOCTOR DENIES THAT ALL CREATURES WERE MADE FOR THE USE OF MAN. THE

CONTRARY DEMONSTRATED IN PRACTICE BY BELLARMINE.

_Sequar quo vocas, omnibus enim rebus omnibusque sermonibus, aliquid

salutare miscendum est._

SENECA.

The hardiest of Captain Scoresby's sailors would never, methinks have

ventured upon a manner of catching the whale used by the Indians in

Florida, which Sir Richard Hawkins says is worthy to be considered,

inasmuch as the barbarous people have found out so great a secret, by

the industry and diligence of one man, to kill so great, and huge a

monster. Let not the reader think meanly of an able and judicious, as

well as brave adventurous and unfortunate man, because he believed

what he thus relates:

“The Indian discovering a whale, procureth two round billets of wood,

sharpened both at one end, and so binding them together with a cord,

casteth himself with them into the sea, and swimmeth towards the

whale. If he come to him the whale escapeth not; for he placeth

himself upon his neck; and altho' the whale goeth to the bottom, he

must of force rise presently to breathe, for which nature hath given

him two great holes in the top of his head by which every time that he

breatheth, he spouteth out a great quantity of water; the Indian

forsaketh not his hold, but riseth with him, and thrusteth in a log

into one of his spouters, and with the other knocketh it in so fast,

that by no means the whale can get it out: that fastened, at another

opportunity, he thrusteth in the second log into the other spouter,

and with all the force he can, keepeth it in. The whale not being able

to breathe swimmeth presently ashore, and the Indian a cock-horse upon

him!” Hawkins says that many Spaniards had discoursed to him upon this

subject, who had been eye-witnesses of it!

“Most other animals when attacked,” says Captain Scoresby,

“instinctively pursue a conduct which is generally the best calculated

to secure their escape; but not so the whale. Were it to remain on the

surface after being harpooned, to press steadily forward in one

direction, and to exert the wonderful strength that it possesses; or

were it to await the attacks of its enemies, and repel them by

well-timed flourishes of its tremendous tail, it would often

victoriously dispute the field with man whose strength and bulk

scarcely exceed a nine hundredth part of its own. But like the rest of

the lower animals, it was designed by Him who ‘created great whales,’

and every living creature that moveth to be subject to man; and

therefore when attacked by him, it perishes by its simplicity.”

Captain Scoresby now holds a commission in the spiritual service as a

fisher of men,—a commission which I verily believe has been most

properly applied for and worthily bestowed. Whether this extraordinary

change in life has produced any change in his opinion upon this

subject I know not; or whether he still thinks that whales were made

subject to man, in order that man might slaughter them for the sake of

their blubber and their whalebone.

Nevertheless it was a foolish wish of mine that gas-lights might

supersede the use of train-oil; foolish because a little foresight

might have made me apprehend that oil-gas might supersede coal-gas;

and a little reflection would have shown that tho' collieries are much

more necessary than the Greenland fishery can be pretended to be, far

greater evil is connected with them, and that this evil is without any

incidental good. For the Greenland fishery unquestionably makes the

best seamen; and a good seaman, good in the moral and religious, as

well as in the nautical sense of the word, is one of the highest

characters that this world's rough discipline can produce. Aye, says

an old Lieutenant, living frugally upon his poor half-pay, aye that he

is, by ——.

But it was not otherwise a foolish wish; for that the whale was made

for the use of man in any such way as the whalers take for granted, I

am very far from believing.

All creatures animate and inanimate, are constituent parts of one

great system; and so far dependent upon each other, and in a certain

sense each made for all. The whale is a link in the chain, and the

largest that has yet been found, for no one has yet caught a Kraken.

Cicero makes Crassus the orator commend the ancient philosophy which

taught that all things were thus connected:—_mihi quidem veteres illi,

majus quiddam animo complexi, multo plus etiam vidisse videntur, quam

quantum nostrorum ingeniorum acies intueri potest; qui omnia hæc, que

supra et subter, unum esse, et unâ vi atque unâ consensione naturæ

constricta esse dixerunt. Nullum est enim genus rerum quod aut avulsum

a cæteris per seipsum constare, aut, quo cætera si careant, vim suam

atque æternitatem conservare possint._ He expresses a doubt indeed

that _hæc major esse ratio videtur, quam ut hominum possit sensu, aut

cogitatione, comprehendi_: and with the proper reserve of such a

doubt, our Philosopher gave a qualified assent to the opinion,

restricting it however religiously to the inferior and visible

creation: but as to the notion that all things were made for the use

of man, in the sense that vulgar men believe, this he considered to be

as presumptuous and as absurd as the converse of the proposition which

Pope puts into the mouth of the pampered Goose. “The monstrous faith

of many made for one,” might seem reasonable and religious when

compared with such a supposition.

“Made for thy use,” the Doctor would say, “tyrant that thou art, and

weak as thou art tyrannical! Will the unicorn be willing to serve

thee, or abide by thy crib? Canst thou bind him with his band in the

furrow; or will he harrow the vallies after thee? Canst thou draw out

leviathan with an hook, will he make a covenant with thee, wilt thou

take him for a servant! Wilt thou bind him for thy maidens? Shall thy

companions make a banquet of him? Shall they part him among the

merchants? Made for thy use,—when so many may seem to have been made

for thy punishment and humiliation!”

There is a use indeed in these, but few men are so ready to

acknowledge, and act upon it as Bellarmine was, who being far more

indulgent to musquitos and other small deer than to heretics, allowed

them free right of pasture upon his corporal domains. He thought they

were created to afford exercise for our patience, and moreover that it

is unjust for us to interrupt them in their enjoyment here, when we

consider that they have no other paradise to expect. Yet when the

Cardinal Controversialist gave breakfast, dinner, or supper of this

kind, he was far from partaking any sympathetic pleasure in the

happiness which he imparted; for it is related of him that at one time

he was so terribly bitten a _bestiolis quibusdam nequam ac

damnificis_, (it is not necessary to enquire of what species) as

earnestly to pray that if there were any torments in Hell itself so

dreadful as what he was then enduring, the Lord would be pleased not

to send him there, for he should not be able to bear it.

What could the Cardinal then have thought of those Convents that were

said to have an apartment or dungeon into which the Friars every day

during the warm season, brushed or shook the fleas from their habits

thro' an aperture above (being the only entrance) and where whenever a

frail brother was convicted of breaking the most fragile of his vows,

he was let down naked and with his hands tied! This earthly Purgatory

was called _la Pulciara_, that is the Fleaery, and there the culprit

was left till it was deemed that he had suffered punishment enough in

this life for his offence.

_Io tengo omai per infallibil cosa,

Che sian per nostro mal nati gl'insetti

Per renderci la vita aspra e nojosa.

Certo in quei primi giorni benedetti

Ne gli orti del piacer non abitaro

Questi sozzi e molesti animaletti;

Ne' con gli altri animali a paro a paro

Per saper come avessero a chiamarsi

Al cospetto d'Adam si presentaro:_

* * * * *

_Nacquero dunque sol per nostro male

Queste malnate bestie, e fur prodotte

In pena de la colpa originate._

* * * * *

_E come l'uomo a sospirar ridutto

Per l'interno sconcerto de gli affetti

Pravi, germoglia miserabil frutto;

Cosè la terra fra suoi varj effetti

Pel reo fermento, onde bollir si sente,

Da se produce i velenosi insetti.

Infin, da la materia putrescente,

Nascon l'abbominevoli bestiuole,

Ed è questa per me cosa evidente.

So che nol voglion le moderne scuole;

Ma ciò che monta? In simile argomento

E'lecito a ciascun dir ciò che vuole._[1]

[Footnote 1: CORDARA.]

CHAPTER CLXIX.

LINKS AND AFFINITIES. A MAP OF THE AUTHOR'S INTELLECTUAL COURSE IN THE

FIVE PRECEDING CHAPTERS.

_Ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε, ποῖ δὴ καὶ πόθεν;_

PLATO.

And now it may be agreeable to the reader to be presented here with a

sort of synopsis, or itinerary, whereby as in a chart he may trace

what he perhaps has erroneously considered the erratic course of

association in the five antecedent Chapters.

First, then Aristotle held that domesticated animals were benefitted

by their connection with man.

Secondly, the Biographer and disciple of Dr. Dove thought that

Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated

animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Thirdly, Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and

Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, confirmed the

opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was

not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were

benefitted by their connection with man.

Fourthly, it was seen that Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly

and significantly with the word _But_: When Chick-Pick and Hen-Pen,

and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey,

being consulted, confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple

of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that

domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Fifthly, it was observed that Grammarians have maintained many and

mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, with

which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after

Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and

Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted had confirmed the

opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was

not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were

benefitted by their connection with man.

Sixthly, a question was propounded, after it had been observed that

Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning

the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her

speech, abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and

Cock-Lock and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being

consulted had confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of

Dr. Dove that Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that

domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Seventhly, the Reader answered the question which the writer

propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have maintained

many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_,

with which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech abruptly and significantly,

after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and

Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted had confirmed the

opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove that Aristotle was

not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were

benefitted by their connection with man.

Eighthly, it appeared that the Reader had hit the _But_, when he

answered the question, which the writer propounded, after it had been

observed, that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious

opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which

Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after

Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and

Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had confirmed the

opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was

not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were

benefitted by their connection with man.

Ninthly, there was an entry of one million, eight hundred and twenty

thousand Goose Quills, entered in that place, because the Reader had

hit the _But_, when he answered the question, which the writer

propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have maintained

many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_,

with which Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and significantly,

after Chick-Pick and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and

Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had confirmed the

opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was

not altogether right when he held that domesticated animals were

benefitted by their connection with man.

Tenthly, the Reader was called upon to consider the good and evil

connected with those one million, eight hundred, and twenty thousand

goose quills, the entry of which was entered in that place, because

the Reader had hit the _But_, when he answered the question which the

writer propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have

maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the

word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech abruptly and

significantly after Chick-Pick and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and

Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had

confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove that

Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated

animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Eleventhly, a wish concerning Whales was expressed, which was

associated it has not yet appeared how, with the feeling in which the

Reader is called upon to consider the good and the evil connected with

those one million, eight hundred, and twenty thousand goose quills,

the entry of which was entered in that place, because the Reader had

hit the _But_, when he answered the question, which the writer

propounded, after it had been observed that Grammarians have

maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning the nature of the

word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and

significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and

Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had

confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that

Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated

animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Twelfthly, Captain Scoresby was introduced in consequence of a wish

concerning Whales having been expressed, which was associated it has

not yet appeared how, with the feeling in which the Reader was called

upon to consider the good and the evil connected with those one

million, eight hundred, and twenty thousand goose quills, the entry of

which was entered in that place, because the Reader had hit the _But_,

when he answered the question, which the writer propounded, after it

had been observed that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious

opinions concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which

Goosey-Loosey, ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after

Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and

Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, had confirmed the

opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was

not altogether right when he maintained that domesticated animals were

benefitted by their connection with man.

Thirteenthly, some curious facts concerning the Greenland fishery were

stated on the authority of Captain Scoresby, who was introduced in

consequence of a wish concerning Whales having been expressed, which

was associated, it has not yet appeared how, with the feeling in which

the Reader was called upon to consider the good and the evil connected

with those one million, eight hundred and twenty thousand goose

quills, the entry of which was entered in that place, because the

Reader had hit the _But_, when he answered the question which the

writer propounded after it had been observed that Grammarians have

maintained many and mysterious opinions, concerning the nature of the

word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her speech, abruptly and

significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and

Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being consulted,

confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that

Aristotle was not altogether right when he held that domesticated

animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Fourteenthly, a beautiful stanza was quoted from a poem by Mr. Charles

Lloyd which becoming applicable as a motto, because it seemed

inapplicable, was applied, after some curious facts concerning the

Greenland fishery had been stated on the authority of Captain

Scoresby, who was introduced in consequence of a wish concerning

Whales having been expressed, which was associated, it has not yet

appeared how, with the feeling in which the Reader was called upon to

consider the good and the evil connected with those one million, eight

hundred, and twenty thousand goose quills, the entry of which was

entered in that place, because the Reader had hit the _But_, when he

answered the question which the writer propounded, after it had been

observed that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions

concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey

ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and

Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and

Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, confirmed the opinion of the

Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether

right when he held that domesticated animals were benefitted by their

connection with man.

Fifteenthly, that the writer in all which went before had adhered, and

was at present adhering to the philosophy of Dr. Dove, was shown in

relation to a beautiful stanza that had been quoted from a poem by Mr.

Charles Lloyd; which becoming applicable as a motto because it seemed

to be inapplicable, was applied, after some curious facts concerning

the Greenland fishery had been stated, on the authority of Captain

Scoresby, who was introduced in consequence of a wish concerning

Whales having been expressed; which was associated, it has not yet

appeared how, with the feeling in which the Reader was called upon to

consider the good and the evil connected with those one million, eight

hundred and twenty thousand goose quills, the entry of which was

entered in that place, because the Reader had hit the _But_, when he

answered the question which the writer propounded, after it had been

observed that Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions

concerning the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey

ended her speech abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and

Hen-Pen, and Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and

Goosey-Loosey, being consulted, confirmed the opinion of the

Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether

right, when he held that domesticated animals were benefitted by their

connection with man.

Sixteenthly, an assertion of Captain Scoresby's that Whales were

created for man was brought forward when it had been shown that the

writer in all which went before had adhered, and was at present

adhering to the philosophy of Dr. Dove, in relation to a beautiful

stanza that had been quoted from a poem by Mr. Charles Lloyd, which

becoming applicable as a motto because it seemed to be inapplicable,

was applied, after some curious facts concerning the Greenland fishery

had been stated on the authority of Captain Scoresby, who was

introduced in consequence of a wish concerning Whales having been

expressed, which was associated, it has not yet appeared how, with the

feeling in which the reader was called upon to consider the good and

the evil connected with those one million, eight hundred, and twenty

thousand goose quills, the entry of which was entered in that place

because the Reader had hit the _But_, when he answered the question

which the writer propounded, after it had been observed that

Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning

the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her

speech, abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and

Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey, and Goosey-Loosey, being

consulted, confirmed the opinion of the Biographer and Disciple of Dr.

Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether right, when he held that

domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

Seventeenthly and lastly, the Biographer and Disciple of Dr. Dove

opposed the assertion of Captain Scoresby that Whales were created for

man, which assertion was brought forward when it had been shown, that

the writer in all which went before had adhered and was at present

adhering to the philosophy of Dr. Dove, in relation to a beautiful

stanza that had been quoted from a poem of Mr. Charles Lloyd, which

becoming applicable as a motto because it seemed to be inapplicable,

was applied after some curious facts concerning the Greenland fishery

had been stated on the authority of Captain Scoresby, who was

introduced in consequence of a wish concerning Whales having been

expressed, which was associated, it has not yet appeared how, with the

feeling in which the Reader was called upon to consider the good and

the evil connected with those one million, eight hundred and twenty

thousand goose quills, the entry of which was entered in that place

because the Reader had hit the But, when he answered the question,

which the writer propounded, after it had been observed that

Grammarians have maintained many and mysterious opinions concerning

the nature of the word _But_, with which Goosey-Loosey ended her

speech, abruptly and significantly, after Chick-Pick, and Hen-Pen, and

Cock-Lock, and Duck-Luck, and Turkey-Lurkey and Goosey-Loosey, being

consulted, confirmed the opinion of the Biographer, and Disciple of

Dr. Dove, that Aristotle was not altogether right, when he held that

domesticated animals were benefitted by their connection with man.

You see Reader where we are, and whence we came, and I have thus

retraced for you the seventeen stages of association by which we have

proceeded from the one point to the other, because you will have much

more satisfaction in seeing the substance of the aforesaid five

chapters thus clearly and coherently recapitulated, than if it had

been in the common form, simply and compendiously capitulated at the

head of each. For in this point I agree with that good, patient,

kind-hearted, industrious, ingenious, odd, whimsical and yet withal

_dullus homo_, James Elphinstone, Radical Reformer of English

Orthography. He says, and you shall have the passage in

Elphinstonography, as he printed it, “I own myself an ennemy to

hwatevver seems quaint in dhe verry contents ov a chapter; and dho dhe

starts ov surprize be intollerabell, wons plezzure iz no les balked by

anticipation. Hoo indeed prezents a bil ov fare, widh an

entertainment? Hwen dhe entertainment iz over, dhe bil may doutles com

in, to refresh dhe memmory, edher widh plan or particulers, dhat hav

regaled dhe various pallates ov dhe company.”

CHAPTER CLXX.

THE AUTHOR REPEATS A REMARK OF HIS DAUGHTER UPON THE PRECEDING

CHAPTER; COMPLIMENTS THE LORD BROUGHAM AND VAUX UPON HIS LUNGS AND

LARYNX; PHILOSOPHIZES AND QUOTES, AND QUOTES AND PHILOSOPHIZES AGAIN

AND AGAIN.

_Fato, Fortuna, Predestinazione,

Sorte, Caso, Ventura, son di quelle

Cose che dan gran noja a le persone,

E vi si dicon su di gran novelle.

Ma in fine Iddio d'ogni cose é padrone:

E chi é savio domina a le stelle;

Chi non é savio paziente e forte,

Lamentisi di se, non de la sorte._

ORL. INN.

“Pappa, it's a breathless chapter!” says one whose eyes when they are

turned toward me I never meet without pleasure, unless sorrow has

suffused them, or illness dimmed their light.

Nobody then can give so much effect to it in reading aloud as the Lord

Chancellor Brougham and Vaux, he having made a speech of nine hours

long upon the state of the law and thereby proved himself to be the

most long-winded of living men. And fit it is that he should be so;

for there are very few men to whom whether he be right or wrong, it

can be so well worth while to listen.

Yet give me space a while for to respire,

And I myself shall fairly well out-wind.[1]

[Footnote 1: HENRY MORE.]

For I have read no idle or unprofitable lesson in this remuneration.

Were we thus to retrace the course of our own lives, there are few of

us who would not find that that course had been influenced, and its

most important events brought about, by incidents which might seem as

casually or capriciously connected as the seventeen links of this

mental chain. Investigate any thing backward through seventeen

generations of motives, or moving causes, whether in private, or in

public life: see from what slight and insignificant circumstances

friendships have originated, and have been dissolved; by what

accidents the choice of a profession, or of a wife, have been

determined, and on how inconsiderable a point the good or ill fortune

of a life has depended;—deaths, marriages, wealth or poverty, opinions

more important than all other things, as in their consequence

affecting our happiness not only here but hereafter; victories and

defeats, war and peace, change of ministries and of dynasties,

revolutions, the overthrow of thrones, the degradation and the ruin

and the destruction and the disappearance of nations! Trace any of

these backward link by link, and long before we are lost in the series

of causes, we shall be lost in thought and in wonder; so much will

there be to humble the pride of man, to abate his presumption, and to

call for and confirm his faith.

_On dit que quand les Chinois, qui n'ont pas l'usage des horologes,

commencerent à voir ces rouës, ces balanciers, ces volans, ces

contrepoids, et tout l'attirail de ces grandes machines, considerant

les pieces à part et comme desmembrées, ils n'en firent pas grand

estat, pource qu'ils ne sçavoient à quel usage devoient servir toutes

ces pieces: mais comme elles furent montées, et qu'ils oüyrent les

heures sur le tymbre, ils furent si surpris d'estonnement, qu'ils

s'assembloient à trouppes pour voir le mouvement de l'aiguille, et

pour entendre les heures; et appellerent ces machines en leur langue,_

LE FER QUI PARLE. _Je dis que qui considera les parties de la

Providence Divine comme desmembrées et à piece, tant de ressorts, tant

d'accordans divers, tant d'evenemens qui nous semblent casuels, ne se

pourra jamais imaginer la beauté de cette machine, la sagesse de cette

Providence, la conduitte de ce grand corps; à cause qu'on fait tort à

un ouvrage fait à la Mosaíque de le voir à lambeaux; il le faut voir

monté et rangé par le menu pour marquer sa beauté. Mais quand on

entend l'heure qui sonne sur le tymbre, on commence à cognoistre qu'il

y avoit au dedans une belle et agreable police qui paroist au dehors

par la sonnerie. Ainsi en est il à peu pres de la vie d'un homme._[2]

[Footnote 2: GARASSE.]

May not that which frequently has been, instruct us as to what will

be! is a question which Hobbes proposes, and which he answers in the

negative. “No;” he replies to it, “for no one knows what may be,

except He who knows all things, because all things contribute to every

thing”—

_Nonne

Id quod sæpe fuit, nos docet id quod erit?

Non; scit enim quod erit, nisi qui sciat omnia, nemo;

Omni contribuunt omnia namque rei._

The philosopher of Doncaster was far from agreeing with the

philosopher of Malmesbury upon this as upon many other points. _De

minimis non curat lex_, was a maxim with him in philosophy as well as

in law. There were many things he thought, which ended in as little as

they began, fatherless and childless actions, having neither cause nor

consequence, bubbles upon the stream of events, which rise, burst, and

are no more:—

A moment seen then gone for ever.[3]

[Footnote 3: BURNS.]

What John Newton said is nevertheless true; the way of man is not in

himself! nor can he conceive what belongs to a single step. “When I go

to St. Mary Woolnoth,” he proceeds, “it seems the same whether I turn

down Lothbury or go through the Old Jewry; but the going through one

street and not another may produce an effect of lasting consequence.”

He had proof enough of this in the providential course of his own

eventful life; and who is there that cannot call to mind some striking

instances in his own?

“There is a time coming,” said this good man, “when our warfare shall

be accomplished, our views enlarged, and our light increased; then

with what transports of adoration and love shall we look back upon the

way by which the Lord led us! We shall then see and acknowledge that

mercy and goodness directed every step; we shall see that what our

ignorance once called adversities and evils, were in reality blessings

which we could not have done well without; that nothing befell us

without a cause, that no trouble came upon us sooner, or pressed us

more heavily, or continued longer, than our case required: in a word

that our many afflictions were each in their place, among the means

employed by divine grace and wisdom, to bring us to the possession of

that exceeding and eternal weight of glory which the Lord has prepared

for his people. And even in this imperfect state, though we are seldom

able to judge aright of our present circumstances, yet if we look upon

the years of our past life, and compare the dispensations we have been

brought through, with the frame of our minds under each successive

period; if we consider how wonderfully one thing has been connected

with another; so that what we now number amongst our greatest

advantages, perhaps took their first rise from incidents which we

thought hardly worth our notice; and that we have sometimes escaped

the greatest dangers that threatened us, not by any wisdom or

foresight of our own, but by the intervention of circumstances, which

we neither desired nor thought of;—I say, when we compare and consider

these things by the light afforded us in the Holy Scriptures, we may

collect indisputable proof from the narrow circle of our own concerns,

that the wise and good providence of God watches over his people from

the earliest moment of their life, over-rules and guards them through

all their wanderings in a state of ignorance, and leads them in a way

they know not, till at length his providence and grace concur in those

events and impressions which bring them to the knowledge of Him and

themselves.”

“All things are brought upon us by Nature and Fate,” says the unknown

speculator who foisted his theology upon the world under the false

name of Hermes Trismegistus: “and there is no place deserted by

Providence. But Providence is the reason, perfect in itself, of

super-celestial Deity. From it are the two known Powers, Necessity and

Fate. Fate is the Minister of Providence and of Necessity; and the

Stars are the ministers of Fate. And no one can fly from Fate, nor

protect himself against its mighty force; for the Stars are the arms

of Fate, and according to it all things are affected in Nature and in

Men.” Take the passage in the Latin of Franciscus Patricius who

produced these mystic treatises from the Ranzovian Library.

_Omnia vero fiunt Naturâ et Fato. Et non est locus desertus a

Providentiâ. Providentia vero est per se perfecta ratio supercælestis

Dei. Duæ autem sunt ab eâ notæ potentiæ. Necessitas et Fatum. Fatum

autem ministrum est Providentiæ et Necessitatis. Fati vero ministræ

sunt stellæ. Neque enim Fatum fugere quis potest, neque se custodire

ab ipsius vi magnâ. Arma namque Fati sunt Stellæ, secùndum ipsum

namque cuncta efficiuntur Naturæ et hominibus._

Thus, says P. Garasse, there are six or seven steps down to man;

Providence, Necessity, Fate, the Stars, Nature, and then Man at the

lowest step of the ladder. For Providence, being _ratio absoluta

cælestis Dei_, is _comme hors de pair_: and has under her a servant

who is called Necessity, and Necessity has under her, her valet Fate,

and Fate has the Stars for its weapons, and the Stars have Nature for

their arsenal, and Nature has them for her subjects: The one serves

the other, “_en sorte que le premier qui manque à son devoir,

desbauche tout l'attirail; mais à condition, qu'il est hors de la

puissance des hommes d'eviter les armes du Destin qui sont les

Estoiles. Or je confesse que tout ce discours m'est si obscur et

enigmatique que j'entendrois mieux les resveries d'un phrenetique, ou

les pensées obscures de Lycophron; je m'asseure que Trismegiste ne

s'entendoit non plus lors qu'il faisoit ce discours, que nous

l'entendons maintenant._”

The Jesuit is right. Necessity, Fate and Nature are mere abstractions.

The Stars keep their courses and regard not us. Between Man and his

Maker nothing is interposed; nothing can be interposed between the

Omnipresent Almighty and the creatures of His hand. Receive this truth

into thy soul whoever thou be'est that readest, and it will work in

thee a death unto sin and a new birth unto righteousness! And ye who

tremble at the aweful thought, remember that though there be nothing

_between_ us and our Judge, we have a Mediator and Advocate _with_

Him, who is the propitiation for our sins, and who is “able to save

them to the uttermost that come to God through Him.”

CHAPTER CLXXI.

CONTAINING PART OF A SERMON, WHICH THE READER WILL FIND WORTH MORE

THAN MOST WHOLE ONES THAT IT MAY BE HIS FORTUNE TO HEAR.

_Je fais une grande provision de bon sens en prenant ce que les autres

en ont._

MADAME DE MAINTENON.

Reader! I set some learning before you in the last chapter, and

“however some may cry out that all endeavours at learning in a book

like this, especially where it steps beyond their little, (or let me

not wrong them) no brain at all, is superfluous, I am contented,” with

great Ben, “that these fastidious stomachs should leave my full

tables, and enjoy at home their clean empty trenchers.”

In pursuance of the same theme I shall set before you here some divine

philosophy in the words of Dr. Scott, the author of the Christian

Life. “The goods and evils that befall us here,” says that wise and

excellent preacher, who being dead yet speaketh, and will continue to

speak while there be any virtue and while there be any praise,—“the

goods and evils, which befall us here, are not so truly to be

estimated by themselves as by their effects and consequents. For the

Divine Providence which runs through all things, hath disposed and

connected them into such a series and order, that there is no single

event or accident (but what is purely miraculous) but depends upon the

whole system, and hath innumerable causes antecedent to it, and

innumerable consequents attending it; and what the consequents will

be, whether good or bad, singly and apart by itself, yet in

conjunction with all those consequents that will most certainly attend

it, the best event, for aught we know, may prove most mischievous, and

the worst most beneficial to us. So that for us boldly to pronounce

concerning the good or evil of events, before we see the train of

consequents that follow them, is very rash and inconsiderate. As for

instance, you see a good man oppressed with sorrows and afflictions,

and a bad man crowned with pleasures and prosperities; and considering

these things apart by themselves, you conclude that the one fares very

ill, and the other very well: but did you at the same time see the

consequents of the one's adversity and the other's prosperity, it's

probable you would conclude the quite contrary, _viz._ that the good

man's adversity was a blessing, and the bad man's prosperity a curse.

For I dare boldly affirm that good men generally reap more substantial

benefit from their afflictions, than bad men do from their

prosperities. The one smarts indeed at present, but what follows?

perhaps his mind is cured by it of some disease that is ten times

worse to him than his outward affliction; of avarice and impatience,

of envy or discontent, of pride or vanity of spirit; his riches are

lessened but his virtues are improved by it; his body is impaired, but

his mind is grown sound and hale by it, and what he hath lost in

health, or wealth, or pleasure, or honour, he hath gained with vast

advantage in wisdom and goodness, in tranquillity of mind and

self-enjoyment, and methinks no man who believes he hath a soul should

grudge to suffer any tolerable affliction for bettering of his mind,

his will, and his conscience.

“On the other hand the bad man triumphs and rejoices at present; but

what follows? His prosperity either shrivels him into miserableness,

or melts him into luxury; the former of which impoverishes, and the

latter diseases him: for if the former be the effect of his

prosperity, it increases his needs, because before he needed only what

he had not, but now he needs both what he hath not, and what he hath,

his covetous desires treating him as the falconer doth his hawk,

luring him off from what he hath seized to fly at new game, and never

permitting him to prey upon his own quarry: and if the latter be the

effect of his prosperity, that is if it melts him into luxury it

thereby wastes his health to be sure, and commonly his estate too, and

so whereas it found him poor and well, it leaves him poor and

diseased, and only took him up from the plough, and sets him down at

the hospital. In general while he is possessed of it, it only bloats

and swells him, makes him proud and insolent, griping and oppressive;

pampers and enrages his lust, stretches out his desires into

insatiable bulimy, sticks his mind full of cares, and his conscience

of guiles, and by all those woeful effects it inflames his reckoning

with God, and treasures up wrath for him against the day of wrath: so

that comparing the consequences of the good man's adversity, with

those of the bad man's prosperity, it is evident that the former fares

well even in his worst condition, and the latter ill in his best. ‘It

is well for me,’ saith David, ‘that I was afflicted, for before I was

afflicted I went astray, but now I have kept thy commandments.’ But on

the contrary, when the wicked spring as the grass, saith the same

author, and when all the workers of iniquity do flourish, then it is

that they shall be destroyed for ever! If then in the consequents of

things, good men are blessed in their afflictions and bad men plagued

in their prosperities, as it is apparent they generally are, these

unequal distributions are so far from being an argument against

Providence, that they are a glorious instance of it. For wherein could

the divine Providence better express its justice and wisdom together,

than by benefiting the good, and punishing the bad by such cross and

unprobable methods?”

INTERCHAPTER XVII.

A POPULAR LAY NOTICED, WITH SUNDRY REMARKS PERTINENT THERETO,

SUGGESTED THEREBY, OR DEDUCED THEREFROM.

Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit: by and by it will strike.

TEMPEST.

There was a female personage of whom I will venture to say that every

one of my English readers, (Quakers perhaps excepted) has heard tell;

and a great many of my Scotch, Welsh, Irish, and Transatlantic ones

also—I venture to say this because her remarkable story has been

transmitted to us in a Lay, a species of composition the full value of

which has never been understood till the present age. Niebuhr and his

learned followers assure us that the whole early history of Rome is

founded upon no other authority than that of Lays, which have long

since perished. And very possibly there may be German professors of

Divinity who in like manner trace the Jewish history before Samuel to

the Lays of Samson, Jephthah, Gideon, and other heroes of the

Kritarchy, of Joshua, and of Moses, and so of the Patriarchs upwards.

To be sure it might startle us somewhat if these Lays were called by

the old fashioned name of Ballads, or old songs; and had either of

those appellations been used we might hesitate a little before we gave

implicit credit to so great a discovery.

Returning however to the personage of the Lay to which I have alluded,

and which has been handed down from mother and nurse to child by

immemorial tradition, and not stopping to enquire whether the tale

itself is an historical matter of fact, or what is now called a

mythos, and whether the personage is a mythological personage, the Lay

of the Little Woman when reduced to history, or prose narration, says

that she went to market to sell her eggs;—in historifying the fact

from this metrical document, I must take care to avoid any such

collocation of words as might lead me into the worst of all possible

styles, that of poetical prose. Numerous prose indeed not only carries

with it a charm to the ear but affords such facility to the utterance,

that the difference between reading aloud from a book so composed, or

from one which has been written without any feeling of numerousness on

the writer's part, is as great and perceptible as the difference

between travelling upon an old road, or a macadamized one. Twenty

pages of the one will exhaust the reader more than threescore of the

other, just as there was more fatigue in a journey of fifty miles,

fifty years ago, than there is in thrice the distance now. The fact is

certain, and may no doubt be physically explained. But numerous prose

and poetical prose, are things as different as gracefulness and

affectation.

All who remember the story will recollect that the Little Woman fell

asleep by the way side; and probably they will agree with me in

supposing, that this must have happened on her return from market,

after she had sold her eggs, and was tired with the business and

excitement of the day. A different conclusion would perhaps be drawn

from the Lay itself, were it not that in historical Lays many

connecting circumstances are past over because they were so well known

at the time the Lay was composed that it was deemed unnecessary to

touch upon them; moreover it should be observed that in Lays which

have been orally transmitted for many generations before they were

committed to writing, the less important parts are liable to be dropt.

Of this there is evidently an example in the present case. Most

countrywomen who keep the market go on horseback, and it is not

mentioned in the Lay that the Little Woman went on foot; yet that she

did so is certain; for nothing could be more likely than that being

tired with walking she should sit down to rest herself by the way

side, and nothing more unlikely than that if she had been on

horseback, she should have alighted for that purpose.

And here it is proper in this glose, commentary or exposition, to

obviate an injurious suspicion which might arise concerning the

character of the Little Woman, namely, that she must have been in

liquor. Had it been a Lay of present times, this it must be admitted

would have been very probable, the British Parliament having thought

fit to pass an Act, by virtue, or by vice of which, in addition to the

public houses previously established, which were so numerous that they

have long been a curse to the country,—in addition I say to these,

39,654 beer shops, as appears by a Parliamentary paper, were licensed

in the year 1835. This Utilitarian law ought to have been entitled an

Act for the increase of Drunkenness, and the promotion of sedition,

brutality, wretchedness, and pauperism. But the Little Woman lived

when there were not more public houses than were required for the

convenience of travellers; perhaps before there were any, when

strangers were entertained in monasteries, or went to the parsonage,

as was the custom within the present century in some parts of

Switzerland. In Iceland they are lodged in the Church at this time;

but this seems never to have been the case in England.

It was a hot day, probably at the latter end of summer, or perhaps in

autumn; this must be inferred from the circumstances of the story; and

if the Little Woman called at a gossip's house, and was offered some

refreshment, it is very possible that being thirsty she may have drank

a peg lower in the cup than she generally allowed herself to do; and

that being somewhat exhausted, the ale, beer, cyder, or metheglin may

have had more effect upon her than it would have had at another time,

and that consequently she may have felt drowsy as soon as she sate

down. This may be admitted without impeaching her reputation on the

score of temperance; and beyond this it is certain, as will presently

be made appear, that her head could not have been affected.

Sleep however

weigh'd her eye-lids down

And steep'd her senses in forgetfulness.

It will sometimes press heavily on the lids, even when the mind is

wakeful, and feverishly, or miserably employed; but it will seldom

steep the senses unless it be of that sound kind which denotes a

healthy body and a heart at ease. They who sleep soundly must be free

from care. In the south of Europe men of the lower classes lie down in

the sun or shade according to the season, and fall asleep like dogs at

any time. The less they are raised above animal life, the sounder the

sleep is, and the more it seems to be an act of volition with them;

when they close their eyes there is nothing within to keep them

waking.

Well, our Little Woman was sleeping on a bank beside the way, when a

Pedlar happened to come by. Not such a Pedlar as the one in Mr.

Wordsworth's Excursion, who was what Randolph's Pedlar describes

himself to be, “a noble, generous, understanding, royal, magnificent,

religious, heroical, and thrice illustrious Pedlar;” if Randolph had

been a Highlander this description might have been adduced as a proof

of the prophetic faculty,—a second-sight of that glorious poem, the

well established fame of which and the effect which it has produced

and is producing upon the present generation both of authors and

readers must be so peculiarly gratifying to Lord Jeffrey. No; he was

such a Pedlar as Autolycus, and if the Little Woman lived in the days

of King Leontes, it may possibly have been Autolycus himself; for he

had “a quick eye and a nimble hand,” and was one who “held Honesty for

a fool and Trust, his brother, for a very simple gentleman.” The

distance between Bohemia and England makes no difficulty in this

supposition. Gypsies used to be called Bohemians; and more over as

Uncle Toby would have told Trim, Bohemia might have been a maritime

country in those days; and when he found it convenient to return

thither, the readiest way was to get on board ship.

It is said however in the Lay that the Pedlar's name was Stout. It may

have been so; and yet I am disposed to think that this is a corrupt

passage, and that stout in this place is more probably an epithet,

than a name. The verse may probably have run thus,

There came by a Pedlar, a losell stout,

a stout thief being formerly as common a designation as a sturdy

beggar. This rogue seeing her asleep by the way-side, cut her

petticoats all round about up to the knee; whence it appears not only

how soundly she must have been sleeping, and how expert he was in this

branch of his trade, but also that her pockets were in her petticoats

and not a separate article of her dress.

At the marriage of Sir Philip Herbert with the Lady Susan Vere, which

was performed at the Court of Whitehall, in the year 1604, with all

the honour that could be done to a great favourite, many great Ladies

were made shorter by the skirts, like the Little Woman; and Sir Dudley

Carleton says “they were well enough served that they could keep cut

no better.” If the reader asks what is keeping cut? he asks a question

I cannot answer.

I have already observed that the weather was warm, and the proof is

twofold, first in the Little Woman's sitting down by the way, which in

cold weather she would not have done; and secondly, because when she

awoke and discovered the condition in which this cut-purse had left

her, she began to quiver and quake, for these words are plainly

intended to denote at the same time a sense of chilliness, and an

emotion of fear. She quivered perhaps for cold having been deprived of

so great a part of her lower garments; but she quaked for fear,

considering as well the danger she had been in, as the injury which

she had actually sustained. The confusion of mind produced by these

mingled emotions was so remarkable that Mr. Coleridge might have

thought it not unworthy of his psychological and transcendental

investigations; and Mr. Wordsworth might make it the subject of a

modern Lay to be classed either among his poems of the Fancy, or of

the Imagination as might to him seem fit. For the Lay says that the

Little Woman instead of doubting for a while whether she were asleep

or awake, that is to say whether she were in a dream because of the

strange, and indecorous, and uncomfortable and unaccountable condition

in which she found herself, doubted her own identity, and asked

herself whether she were herself, or not? So little was she able to

answer so subtle a question satisfactorily that she determined upon

referring it to the decision of a little dog which she had left at

home, and whose fidelity and instinctive sagacity could not, she

thought, be deceived. “If it be I,” said she, “as I hope it be, he

will wag his little tail for joy at my return; if it be not I, he will

bark at me for a stranger.” Homeward therefore the Little Woman went,

and confused as she was, she found her way there instinctively like

Dr. Southey's Ladurlad, and almost in as forlorn a state. Before she

arrived, night had closed, and it became dark. She had reckoned

rightly upon her dog's fidelity, but counted too much upon his

sagacious instinct. He did not recognise his mistress at that unusual

hour, and in a curtailed dress wherein he had never seen her before,

and instead of wagging his tail, and fawning, and whining, to bid her

welcome as she had hoped, he began to bark angrily, with faithful but

unfortunate vigilance, mistaking her for a stranger who could have no

good reason for coming about the premises at that time of night. And

the Lay concludes with the Little Woman's miserable conclusion that as

the dog disowned her she was not the dog's Mistress, not the person

who dwelt in that house, and whom she had supposed herself to be, in

fact not herself, but somebody else, she did not know who.

INTERCHAPTER XVIII.

APPLICATION OF THE LAY. CALEB D'ANVERS. IRISH LAW. ICON BASILIKE.

JUNIUS. THOMAS À KEMPIS. FELIX HEMMERLEN. A NEEDLE LARGER THAN GAMMER

GURTON'S AND A MUCH COARSER THREAD. THOMAS WARTON AND BISHOP STILL.

THE JOHN WEBSTERS, THE ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAMS, THE CURINAS AND THE

STEPHENS.

_Lo que soy, razona poco

Porque de sombra a mi va nada, o poco._

FUENTE DESEADA.

The sagacious reader will already have applied the Lay of the Little

Woman to the case of Dr. Dove's disciple and memorialist, and mentally

apostrophizing him may have said,—

_de te

Fabula narratur._

Even so, dear reader, the Little Woman was a type of me, and yet but

an imperfect one, for my case is far more complicated than hers. The

simple doubt which distressed her, (and a most distressing one it must

be admitted that it was) was whether she were herself or not; but the

compound question which has been mooted concerning me is whether I am

myself or somebody else, and whether somebody else is himself or me.

When various conjectures were formed and assertions hazarded

concerning the Author or Editor of the Craftsman, some representing

Caleb D'Anvers as an imaginary person, a mere fictitious character

made use of to screen the performances of men in the dark, that

formidable opponent of Sir Robert Walpole's administration said, “I

hope it will not be expected that I should stand still and see myself

reasoned out of my existence.”

Every one knows that it is possible to be reasoned out of our rights

and despoiled in consequence of our property in a court of law; but

every one may not know that it is possible to be reasoned out of our

existence there: I do not mean condemned to death, and executed

accordingly upon the testimony of false witnesses, as those who

suffered for the Popish plot were; or upon circumstantial evidence,

honestly produced, and disproved when it was too late; but that an

individual may be judicially declared to be not in existence, when

actually present in the Court to give the Lawyers and the Law the lie.

On the 2d of March, 1784, the Irish Attorney General was heard before

the Irish House of Lords in the case of Hume and Loftus. In the course

of his argument he contended that judgements were of the most sacred

nature, and that to reverse one was in effect to overturn the law and

the constitution; the record was binding, and a bar to all other

evidence being produced to the Court. “He instanced a case wherein a

judgement had been given on the presumed death of a man's wife, who as

afterwards appeared was not dead, but was produced in person to the

Court and was properly identified, and it was prayed to the Court to

reverse the judgement given on supposition of her death which had been

pronounced by the same Court, as in the pleading stated. Nevertheless

the Court with the Woman before their eyes, pronounced her dead, and

confirmed the judgement, saying, that the verdict was not that which

was binding, but the judgement in consequence of the verdict having

become a record, could not be reversed.”

This woman upon hearing such a decision concerning herself pronounced,

might well have called in question not her identity but the evidence

of her senses, and have supposed that she was dreaming, or out of her

wits rather than that justice could be so outraged, and common sense

so grossly insulted in a Court of Law.

Happily my case is in no worse court than a Court of Criticism, a

Court in which I can neither be compelled to plead nor to appear.

Dr. Wordsworth rendered good service to English History when he asked

who wrote _Εικων Βασιλικη_, for it is a question of great historical

importance, and he has shown, by a careful investigation of all the

evidence which it has been possible to collect, that it is the work of

Charles himself, confirming thus that internal evidence which is of

the most conclusive kind.

Who was Junius is a question which is not likely ever to be determined

by discussion after so many fruitless attempts; but whenever the

secret shall by any chance be discovered, considerable light will be

thrown upon the political intrigues of the earlier part of a most

important reign.

But who or what I am can be of no importance to any but myself.

More than one hundred and fifty treatises are said to have been

published upon the question whether Thomas a Kempis was the Author of

the well known book _de Imitatione Christi_. That question affects the

Augustinians; for if it were proved that this native of Kemp near

Cologne, Thomas Hammerlein by name, were the transcriber only and not

the writer of that famous treatise, they would lose the brightest

ornament of their order. This Hammerlein has never been confounded

with his namesake Felix, once a Doctor and _Precentor Clarissimus_,

under whose portrait in the title page of one of his volumes where he

stands Hammer in hand, there are these verses.

_Felicis si te juvat indulsisse libellis

Malleoli, presens dilige lector opus.

Illius ingenium variis scabronibus actum

Perspicis, et stimulos sustinuisse graves.

Casibus adversis, aurum velut igne, probatus

Hostibus usque suis Malleus acer erat.

Hinc sibi conveniens sortitus nomen, ut esset

Hemmerlin dictus, nomine, reque, statu.

At Felix tandem, vicioque illæsus ab omni

Carceris e tenebris sydera clara subit._

This Hemmerlin in his Dialogue between a Nobleman and a Rustic, makes

the Rustic crave license for his rude manner of speech saying, _si

ruralis consuetudine moris ineptissime loquar per te non corripiar,

quia non sermonis colorum quoque nitorem, sed sensus sententiarumque

requiro rigorem. Nam legitur quod Demon sedebat et braccam cum reste

suebat; et dixit, si non est pulchra, tamen est consucio firma._ The

needle must have been considerably larger than Gammer Gurton's, which

is never-the-less and ever will be the most famous of all needles.

Well was it for Hodge when Diccon the Bedlam gave him the good

openhanded blow which produced the catastrophe of that Right Pithy,

Pleasant, and Merry Comedy entitled Gammer Gurton's Needle, well was

it I say for Hodge that the Needle in the episcopal comedy was not of

such calibre as that wherewith the Auld Gude Man, as the Scotch,

according to Sir Walter, respectfully call the Old Wicked One, in

their caution never to give any unnecessary offence,—Well, again I

say, was it for Hodge that his Gammer's Neele, her dear Neele, her

fair long straight Neele that was her only treasure, was of no such

calibre as the Needle which that Old One used, when mending his breeks

with a rope he observed that though it was not a neat piece of sewing

it was strong,—for if it had been such a Needle, Diccon's manual joke

must have proved fatal. Our Bishops write no such comedies now; yet we

have more than one who could translate it into Aristophanic Greek.

Wherefore did Thomas Warton (never to be named without respect and

gratitude by all lovers of English literature,) say that when the

Sermons of Hugh Latimer were in vogue at Court, the University might

be justified in applauding Gammer Gurton's Needle? How could he who so

justly appreciated the Comedy, disparage those sermons? He has spoken

of the play as the first in our language in which a comic story is

handled with some disposition of plot and some discrimination. “The

writer,” he says, “has a degree of jocularity which sometimes rises

above buffoonery, but is often disgraced by lowness of incident. Yet

in a more polished age he would have chosen, nor would he perhaps have

disgraced, a better subject. It has been thought surprizing that a

learned audience could have endured some of these indelicate scenes.

But the established festivities of scholars were gross, nor was

learning in that age always accompanied by gentleness of manners.” Nor

is it always now, nor has it ever been O Thomas Warton! if it had, you

would not when you wore a great wig, had taken the degree of B.D.,

been Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford, and was moreover

Poet Laureate, most worthy of that office of all who have held it

since Great Ben, you would not in your mellow old age, when your

brother was Master of Winchester School, have delighted as you did in

hunting rats with the Winchester Boys.

O Thomas Warton! you had and could not but have a hearty liking for

all that is properly comic in the pithy old episcopal comedy! but that

you should even seem to disparage Latimer's Sermons is to me more than

most strange. For Latimer would have gained for himself a great and

enduring name in the pulpit, if he had not been called upon to bear

the highest and holiest of all titles. The pithy comedy no doubt was

written long before its author was consecrated Bishop of Bath and

Wells, and we may be sure that Bishop Still never reckoned it among

his sins. If its language were rendered every where intelligible and

its dirtiness cleaned away, for there is nothing worse to be removed,

Gammer Gurton's Needle might succeed in these days as a farce.

Fuller says he had read in the Register of Trinity College, Cambridge,

this commendation of Bishop Still that he was _αγαθος κουροτροφος_

_nec Collegio gravis aut onerosus_. Still was Master of that College,

as he had been before of St. Johns.

“What style,” says Sir John Harrington “shall I use to set forth this

Still, whom (well nigh thirty years since) my reverend tutor in

Cambridge styled by this name, ‘Divine Still,’ who, when my self came

to him to sue for my grace to be bachelor, first examined me strictly,

and after answered me kindly, that ‘the grace he granted me was not of

grace but of merit;’ who was often content to grace my young exercises

with his venerable presence; who, from that time to this, hath given

me some helps, more hopes, all encouragements, in my best studies; to

whom I never came, but I grew more religious; from whom I never went,

but I parted better instructed: Of him therefore, my acquaintance, my

friend, my instructor, and last my diocesan; if I speak much it were

not to be marvelled; if I speak frankly, it is not to be blamed; and

though I speak partially, it were to be pardoned. Yet to keep within

my proportion custom and promise, in all these, I must say this much

of him; his breeding was from his childhood in good literature, and

partly in music, which was counted in those days a preparative to

Divinity, neither could any be admitted to _primam tonsuram_, except

he could first _bene le, bene con, bene can_, (as they call it,) which

is to read well, to construe well, and to sing well; in which last he

hath good judgement, and I have heard good music of voices in his

house.

“In his full time, more full of learning, he became Bachelor of

Divinity, and after Doctor; and so famous for a Preacher, and

especially a disputer, that the learned'st were even afraid to dispute

with him; and he finding his own strength would not stick to warn them

in their arguments to take heed to their answers, like a perfect

fencer that will tell beforehand in which button he will give the

venew, or like a cunning chess-player that will appoint beforehand

with which pawn, and in what place, he will give the mate.

“One trifling accident happened to his Lordship at Bath, that I have

thought since of more consequence, and I tell him that I never knew

him _non plus_ in argument, but there. There was a craft's-man in

Bath, a recusant puritan, who condemning our Church, our Bishops, our

sacraments, our prayers, was condemned himself to die at the assizes,

but at my request Judge Anderson reprieved him, and he was suffered to

remain at Bath upon bail. The Bishop conferred with him, in hope to

convert him, and first, My Lord alleged for the authority of the

church, St. Augustine! The Shoemaker answered, ‘Austin was but a man.’

He (Still) produced, for the antiquity of Bishops the Fathers of the

Council at Nice. He answered, ‘They were also but men, and might err.’

‘Why then, said the Bishop, thou art but a man, and must, and dost

err.’ ‘No Sir, saith he, the Spirit bears witness to my spirit, I am

the child of God.’ ‘Alas! said the Bishop thy blind spirit will lead

thee to the gallows.’ ‘If I die, saith he, in the Lord's cause, I

shall be a martyr.’ The Bishop turning to me, stirred as much to pity

as impatience;—‘This man, said he, is not a sheep strayed from the

fold, for such may be brought in again on the shepherd's shoulders,

but this is like a wild buck broke out of a park whose pale is thrown

down, that flies the farther off, the more he is hunted.’ Yet this

man, that stopped his ears like the adder to the charms of the Bishop,

was after persuaded by a lay-man, and grew conformable. But to draw to

an end; in one question this Bishop whom I count an oracle for

learning, would never yet give me satisfaction, and that was, when I

asked him his opinion of witches. He saith ‘he knows other men's

opinions, both old and new writers, but could never so digest them, to

make them an opinion of his own.’ All I can get is ‘this, that the

Devil is the old Serpent our enemy, that we pray to be delivered from

daily; as willing to have us think he can do too much as to have us

persuaded he doth nothing.’”

In the account of Webster and his Writings, prefixed to his Works by

their able editor Mr. Dyce, that editor finds it necessary to bestow

much pains in showing that John Webster the Dramatist and Player, was

not John Webster the Puritan and Chaplain in the Army; but on the

other hand Mr. Payne Collier, who is a great authority in our stage

literature, contends that he was one and the same person, and that

when in the Prefatory Address to his Saint's Guide, he speaks of the

“damnable condition” from which the Lord in his wonderful mercy had

brought him, he could hardly mean any thing but his condition as a

player. It remained then to be argued whether either of these persons

were the John Webster, Practitioner in Physic and Chirurgery, who

wrote or compiled a work entitled Metalographia, a volume of Sermons

entitled The Judgement set and the Books opened, and a tract called

_Academiarum Examen_, or the Examination of Academies, wherein is

discussed and examined the Matter, Method, and Customs of Academic and

Scholastic Learning, and the insufficiency thereof discovered and laid

open: as also some expedients proposed for the reforming of schools

and the perfecting and promoting of all kind of science. A powerful

Tract Mr. Dyce calls it; and it must have been thought of some

importance in its day, for it provoked an answer from Seth Ward

afterwards Bishop of Salisbury, and Wilkins afterwards the well known

Bishop of Chester, (from whom Peter Wilkins may perhaps have been

named) wrote in it an Epistle to the Author. One of these Websters

wrote a remarkable book against the then prevalent belief in

witchcraft, though he was himself a believer in astrology and held

that there are great and hidden virtues in metals and precious stones,

as they are by Nature produced, by mystical Chemistry prepared and

exalted, or commixed and insculped in their due and fit constellation.

Which of the John Websters was this? If it has not been satisfactorily

ascertained, whether there were one, two, three or four John Websters

after so much careful investigation by the most eminent bibliologists,

though it is not supposed that on the part of any John Webster there

was any design to conceal himself and mystify the public, by whom can

the question be answered concerning the authorship of this Opus,

except by me the Opifex, and those few persons trusted and worthy of

the trust, who are, like me, secret as the grave?

There is a history (and of no ordinary value) of Great Britain from

the Revolution to the Accession of George I. written in Latin by

Alexander Cunningham, translated from the Author's Manuscript by Dr.

William Thompson, and published in two quarto volumes by Dr.

Hollingbery in 1787. That the Author was Minister for George I. to the

Venetian Republic is certain; but whether he were the Alexander

Cunningham that lived at the same time, whose editions of Virgil and

Horace are well known, and whose reputation as a critic stood high

among the continental scholars of the last century is altogether

doubtful. If they were two persons, each was born in Scotland and

educated in Holland, each a friend and favourite of Carstares, King

William's confidential secretary for Scotch affairs, each a remarkably

good Chess Player, each an accomplished Latinist, and each concerned

in the education of John Duke of Argyle. Upon weaker evidence, says

Dr. Thompson, than that which seems to prove the identity of the two

Cunninghams decisions have been given that have affected fortunes,

fame, life, posterity and all that is dear to mankind; and yet

notwithstanding these accumulated coincidences, he comes at length to

the conclusion, that there are circumstances which seem incompatible

with their identity, and that probably they were different persons.

But what signifies it now to any one whether certain books published

in the seventeenth century were written by one and the same John

Webster, or by four persons of that name? What signifies it whether

Alexander Cunningham the historian was one and indivisible, like the

French Republic, or that there were two Alexander Cunninghams,

resembling each other as much as the two Sosias of the ancient drama,

or the two Dromios and their twin masters in the Comedy of Errors?

What signifies it to any creature upon earth? It may indeed afford

matter for enquiry in a Biographical Dictionary, or in the Gentleman's

Magazine, and by possibility of the remotest kind, for a law-suit. And

can we wonder that an identity of names has sometimes occasioned a

singular confusion of persons, and that Biographers and Bibliographers

should sometimes be thus at fault, when we find that the same thing

has deceived the most unerring of all Messengers,—Death himself.

Thus it was. There was a certain man, Curina by name, who lived in a

village not far from Hippo in the days of St. Augustine. This man

sickened and died; but because there seemed to be some faint and

intermitting appearances of life, his friends delayed burying him for

some days. Those appearances at length ceased; it could no longer be

doubted that he was indeed dead; when behold he opened his eyes, and

desired that a messenger might immediately be sent to his neighbour

and namesake Curina the blacksmith, and enquire how he was. The answer

was that he had just expired. The resuscitated Curina then related

that he himself had verily and indeed died, and that his soul had been

carried before the Judge of the Dead, who had vehemently reproved the

Ministering Spirits that brought him thither, seeing it was not for

him but for Curina the Blacksmith that they had been sent. This was

not only a joyful surprize for the reprieved or replevied Curina, but

a most happy adventure in other respects. He had not only an

opportunity of seeing Paradise in his excursion, but a friendly hint

was given him there, that as soon as his health was restored he should

repair to Hippo and there receive baptism from St. Augustine's hands.

When the wrong soul happens thus to be summoned out of the body, Pope

St. Gregory the Great assures us that there is no mistake; and who

shall question what the Infallible Pope and Saint affirms? “Peter,”

saith he, “in one of his Dialogues, when this happeneth, it is not if

it be well considered, any error, but an admonition. For God of his

great and bountiful mercy so disposeth, that some after their death do

straightways return again to life, in order that having seen the

torments of Hell, which before when they heard of they would not

believe, they may at least tremble at them after they have with their

own eyes beheld them. For a certain Sclavonian who was a Monk, and

lived with me here in this city, in my Monastery, used to tell me,

that at such time as he dwelt in the wilderness, he knew one Peter, a

Monk born in Spain, who lived with him in the vast desert called

Evasa, which Peter, (as he said) told him how before he came to dwell

in that place, he by a certain sickness died, and was straightway

restored to life again, affirming that he had seen the torments and

innumerable places of Hell, and divers who were mighty men in this

world hanging in those flames; and that as himself was carried to be

thrown also into the same fire, suddenly an Angel in a beautiful

attire appeared, who would not suffer him to be cast into those

torments, but spake unto him in this manner: ‘Go thy way back again,

and hereafter carefully look unto thyself how thou leadest thy life!’

after which words his body by little and little became warm, and

himself waking out of the sleep of everlasting death, reported all

such things as had happened about him; after which time he bound

himself to such fasting and watching, that though he had said nothing,

yet his life and conversation did speak what torments he had seen and

was afraid of; and so God's merciful providence wrought in his

temporal death that he died not everlastingly.

“But because man's heart is passing obdurate and hard, hereof it

cometh that though others have the like vision and see the same pains,

yet do they not always keep the like profit. For the honourable man

Stephen, whom you knew very well, told me of himself, that at such

time as he was upon business resident in the City of Constantinople,

he fell sick and died; and when they sought for a surgeon to bowel him

and to embalm his body and could not get any, he lay unburied all the

night following; in which space his soul was carried to the dungeon of

Hell, where he saw many things which before when he heard of, he had

little believed. But when he was brought before the Judge that sat

there, the Judge would not admit him to his presence, saying, ‘I

commanded not this man to be brought, but Stephen the Smith!’ upon

which words he was straightway restored to life, and Stephen the Smith

that dwelt hard by, at that very hour departed this life, whose death

did show that the words which he had heard were most true. But though

the foresaid Stephen escaped death in this manner at that time, yet

three years since in that mortality which lamentably wasted this city,

(and in which, as you know, men with their corporal eyes did behold

arrows that came from Heaven, which did strike divers,) the same man

ended his days. At which time a certain soldier being also brought to

the point of death, his soul was in such sort carried out of his body

that he lay void of all sense and feeling, but coming quickly again to

himself, he told them that were present what strange things he had

seen. For he said, (as many report who knew it very well,) that he saw

a bridge, under which a black and smoaky river did run that had a

filthy and intolerable smell; but upon the further side thereof there

were pleasant green meadows full of sweet flowers; in which also there

were divers companies of men apparelled in white; and such a delicate

savour there was that the fragrant odour thereof did give wonderful

content to all them that dwelt and walked in that place. Divers

particular mansions also there were, all shining with brightness and

light, and especially one magnifical and sumptuous house, which was

a-building, the bricks whereof seemed to be of Gold; but whose it was

that he knew not.

“There were also upon the bank of the foresaid river certain houses,

but some of them the stinking vapour which rose from the river did

touch, and some other it touched not at all. Now those that desired to

pass over the foresaid bridge, were subject to this manner of trial;

if any that was wicked attempted to go over, down he fell into that

dark and stinking river; but those that were just and not hindered by

sin, securely and easily passed over to those pleasant and delicate

places. There he said also that he saw Peter, who was Steward of the

Pope's family and died some four years since, thrust into a most

filthy place, where he was bound and kept down with a great weight of

iron; and enquiring why he was so used, he received this answer, which

all we that knew his life can affirm to be most true; for it was told

him that he suffered that pain, because when himself was upon any

occasion to punish others, that he did it more upon cruelty than to

show his obedience; of which his merciless disposition none that knew

him can be ignorant. There also he said that he saw a Priest whom he

knew, who coming to the foresaid Bridge passed over with as great

security as he had lived in this world sincerely.

“Likewise upon the same Bridge he said that he did see this Stephen

whom before we spake of, who being about to go over, his foot slipped,

and half his body hanging beside the Bridge, he was of certain

terrible men that rose out of the river, drawn by the legs downward,

and by certain other white and beautiful persons he was by the arms

pulled upward, and while they strove thus the wicked spirits to draw

him downward and the good to lift him upward, he that beheld all this

strange sight returned to life, not knowing in conclusion what became

of him. By which miraculous vision we learn this thing concerning the

life of Stephen, to wit, that in him the sins of the flesh did strive

with his works of alms. For in that he was by the legs drawn downward,

and by the arms plucked upward, apparent it is, that both he loved to

give alms, and yet did not perfectly resist the sins of the flesh

which did pull him downward; but in that secret examination of the

Supreme Judge, which of them had the victory, that neither we know nor

he that saw it. Yet more certain it is that the same Stephen after

that he had seen the places of Hell as before was said and returned

again to his body, did never perfectly amend his former wicked life,

seeing many years after he departed this world leaving us in doubt

whether he were saved or damned.”

Hereupon Peter the Deacon said to Pope St. Gregory the Great, “What I

beseech you was meant by the building of that house in those places of

delight, with bricks of gold? For it seemeth very ridiculous that in

the next life we should have need of any such kind of metal.” Pope

Gregory the Great answered and said, “What man of sense can think so?

But by that which was shown there, (whosoever he was for whom that

house was built,) we learn plainly what virtuous works he did in this

world; for he that by plenty of alms doth merit the reward of eternal

light, certain it is that he doth build his house with gold. For the

same soldier who had this vision said also, (which I forgot to tell

you before,) that old men and young, girls and boys, did carry those

bricks of gold for the building of that house, by which we learn that

those to whom we shew compassion in this world do labour for us in the

next. There dwelt hard by us a religious man called Deusdedit who was

a shoemaker, concerning whom another saw by revelation that he had in

the next world an house a-building, but the workmen thereof laboured

only upon the Saturday; who afterward enquiring more diligently how he

lived, found that whatsoever he got by his labour all the week and was

not spent upon necessary provision of meat and apparel, all that upon

the Saturday he bestowed upon the poor in alms, at St. Peter's Church;

and therefore see what reason there was that his building went forward

upon the Saturday.”

It was a very reasonable question that Peter the Deacon asked of

Gregory the Great, when he desired to know how it came to pass that

certain persons who were summoned into the other world, were told when

they got there that they were not the persons who had been sent for.

And it was not ill answered by the Pope that if properly considered,

this when it happeneth is not an error, but an admonition. Yet that

there was a mistake in the two cases of Curina and Stephen and their

respective namesakes and blacksmiths cannot be disputed,—a mistake on

the part of the Ministering Spirits. This may be accounted for by

supposing that inferior Spirits were employed in both cases, those for

whom they were sent not being of a condition to be treated with

extraordinary respect on such an occasion. Comets were never kindled

to announce the death of common men, and the lowest Spirits might be

deputed to take charge of the Blacksmiths. But Azrael himself makes no

mistakes.

Five things the Mahommedans say are known to no created Beings, only

to the Creator; the time of the Day of Judgement; the time of rain;

whether an unborn child shall be male or female; what shall happen

to-morrow, and when any person is to die. These the Arabians call the

five keys of secret knowledge, according to a tradition of their

Prophet, to whom questions of this kind were propounded by Al Hareth

Ebnn Amru. But it may be inferred from a tradition which Al Beidâwi

has preserved that one of these keys is committed to the Angel of

Death, when he is sent out in person to execute the irrevocable

decree.

The Arabians tell us that Solomon was exercising his horses one day

when the hour for evening prayer was announced. Immediately he

alighted, and would not allow either his own horse or any other in the

field to be taken to the stables, but gave orders that they should be

turned loose, being from thenceforth dedicated to the Almighty's

service, which the Arabians we are told call _Rebath fi sebil Allah_.

To reward the king for this instance of his piety, Allah gave him a

mild and pleasant but strong wind to be at his orders from that time

forth and carry him whithersoever he would.

Once on a time Azrael passed by Solomon in a visible form, and in

passing looked earnestly at a certain person who was sitting with the

king. That person not liking the earnestness and the expression of his

look, asked Solomon who it was, and Solomon replied it was the Angel

of Death. He looks as if he wanted me, said the affrighted man, I

beseech you therefore order the Wind to carry me instantly to India!

Solomon spake the word and no sooner was it spoken, than the Wind took

him up and set him down where he desired to be. The Angel then said to

Solomon I looked so earnestly at that Man out of wonder, because that

being commanded to take his soul in India, I found him here with thee

in Palestine.

But my good Reader you and I must make no tarriance now with Solomon

Ben Daoud, wisest of men and mightiest of Magicians, nor with St.

Gregory the Great, Pope and Punster, and his friend Peter the Deacon,

though you and I might delight in the Pope's veracious stories as much

as good Peter himself. We must wind up the volume with one

Interchapter more.

_Saggio e' il consigliator che sol ricorre

A quell' ultimo fin, che in cor si fisse,

Quel sol rimira, e tutto l'altro abborre,

Come al suo proprio danno consentisse;

E' chi farà in tal guisa, raro fia

Che d' incontrare il ver perda la via._[1]

[Footnote 1: L'AVARCHIDE.]

INTERCHAPTER XIX.

THE AUTHOR DIFFERS IN OPINION FROM SIR EGERTON BRYDGES, AND THE

EMPEROR JULIAN. SPEAKS CHARITABLY OF THAT EMPEROR, VINDICATES PROTEUS

FROM HIS CENSURE, AND TALKS OF POSTHUMOUS TRAVELS AND EXTRA MUNDANE

EXCURSIONS, AND THE PUBLIC LIBRARY IN LIMBOLAND.

_Petulant._ If he says black's black,—if I have a humour to say it is

blue—let that pass. All's one for that. If I have a

humour to prove it, it must be granted.

_Witwould._ Not positively must,—But it may, it may.

_Petulant._ Yes, it positively must,—upon proof positive.

_Witwould._ Ay, upon proof positive it must; but upon proof

presumptive it only may. That's a logical distinction now.

CONGREVE.

“In the _ignotum pro magnifico_,” says Umbra “resides a humble

individual's best chance of being noticed or attended to at all.” Yet

many are the attempts which have been made, and are making, in America

too as well in Great Britain by Critics, Critickins and Criticasters,

(for there are of all degrees,) to take from me the _Ignotum_, and

force upon me the _Magnificum_ in its stead, to prove that I am not

the humble, and happily unknown disciple, friend, and however

unworthy, memorialist of Dr. Dove, a nameless individual as regards

the public, holding the tenour of my noiseless way contentedly towards

that oblivion which sooner or later must be the portion of us all; but

that I am what is called a public character, a performer upon the

great stage, whom every one is privileged to hiss or to applaud;

myself a Doctor, L.L.D. according to the old form, according to the

present usage D.C.L.—a Doctor upon whom that triliteral dignity was

conferred in full theatre amid thundering peals of applauding hands,

and who heard himself addressed that day in Phillimorean voice and

fluent latinity by all eulogistic epithets ending in _issimus_ or

_errimus_. I an _issimus_!—I an _errimus_! No other _issimus_ than

that _Ipsissimus ego_ which by these critics I am denied to be.

These critics will have it that I am among living authors what the

ever memorable Countess of Henneberg was among women; that I have more

tails to my name than the greatest Bashaw bears among his standards,

or the largest cuttle fish to his headless body or bodyless head; that

I have executed works more durable than brass, and loftier than the

Pyramids, and that I have touched the stars with my sublime

forehead,—what could have saved my poor head from being moonstruck if

I had.

Believe them not O Reader! I never executed works in any material more

durable than brass, I never built any thing like a pyramid, _Absurdo

de tamaña grandeza no se ha escrito en letras de molde._ And as for

the alledged proofs which depriving me of my individuality and

divesting me even of entity, would consubstantiate me with the most

prolific of living writers, _no son mas que ayre ó menos que ayre, una

sombra ó menos que sombra, pues son nada, y nada es lo que nunca ha

tenido ser verdadero._[1] It is in vain, as Mr. Carlyle says when

apostrophizing Mirabeau the father upon his persevering endeavours to

make his son resemble him in all points of character, and be as it

were his second self, it is in vain. He will not be Thou, but must and

will be himself, another than Thou. In like manner, It is in vain say

I: I am not, and will not and can not be any body but myself; nor is

it of any consequence to any human being who or what I am, though

perhaps those persons may think otherwise who say that “they delight

more in the shadow of something than to converse with a nothing in

substance.”[2]

[Footnote 1: NICOLAS PERES.]

[Footnote 2: HURLOTHRUMBO.]

Lord Shaftesbury has said that “of all the artificial relations formed

between mankind, the most capricious and variable is that of Author

and Reader.” He may be right in this; but when he says 'tis evident

that an Author's art and labour are for his Reader's sake alone, I

cannot assent to the position. For though I have a great and proper

regard for my readers, and entertain all due respect for them, it is

not for their sake alone that my art and labour have been thus

employed,—not for their benefit alone, still less for their amusement

that this Opus has been edified. Of the parties concerned in it, the

Readers, sooth to say, are not those who have been either first or

second in my consideration. The first and paramount object was to

preserve the Doctor's memory; the second to gratify myself by so

doing; for what higher gratification can there be than in the

performance of a debt of gratitude, one of those debts truly to be

called immense, which

A grateful mind

By owing owes not, but still pays, at once

Indebted and discharged.[3]

That there are some readers who would think themselves beholden,

though in far less degree, to me, as I am to the revered subject of

these memorials, was an after consideration.

[Footnote 3: MILTON.]

Sir Egerton Brydges says he never took up a book which he could read

without wishing to know the character and history of the author. “But

what is it,” he says, “to tell the facts that he was born, married or

lived single and died? What is common to all can convey no

information. We desire to know an author's feelings, his temper, his

disposition, his modes of thinking, his habits; nay even his person,

his voice, and his mode of expressing himself, the society in which he

has lived, and the images and lessons which attended upon his cradle.”

Most of this, Sir Egerton, you can never know otherwise than by guess

work. Yet methinks my feelings, my temper, my disposition and my modes

of thinking are indicated here, as far as a book can indicate them.

You have yourself said; “if it could be proved that what one writes,

is no index to what he thinks and feels, then it would be of little

value and no interest;” but you are confident that such delusive

writers always betray themselves; “Sincerity,” you say, “has always a

breath and spirit of its own.” Yes, Sir Egerton, and if there is not

that spirit in these volumes, there is no vitality in them; if they

have not that breath of life, they must be still-born.

Yet I cannot agree with you in the opinion that those who make a false

display of fine feelings whether in prose or verse, always betray

themselves. The cant of sentimentalism passes as current with the

Reading Public, as cant of a different description with those who call

themselves the Religious Public. Among the latter, the proudest and

the most uncharitable people in this nation are to be found; and in

proof that the most intensely selfish of the human race may be

sentimentalists, and super-sentimentalists, it is sufficient to name

Rousseau.

Perhaps some benevolent and sagacious Reader may say to me as Randolph

said to his friend Owen Feltham,—

Thy book I read, and read it with delight,

Resolving so to live as thou dost write;

And yet I guess thy life thy book produces

And but expresses thy peculiar uses.

But the Reader who should apply to me and my Opus the French lines,

_A l'auteur on connoît l'ouvrage,

A l'ouvrage on connoît l'auteur,_

though he may be equally benevolent, would not be equally sagacious.

It is not for mere caprice that I remain _Ignotus_ and

_Innominabilis_; not a Great Unknown, an _Ignotolemagne_, but simply

an Unknown, _Αγνωστος_, _l'Inconnu_, _Sconciuto_, the _Encubierto_,

the _Desconocido_—

This precious secret let me hide

I'll tell you every thing beside.[4]

[Footnote 4: COTTON.]

Critics, we know, affect always to have strange intelligence; but

though they should say to me

You may

As soon tie up the sunbeams in a net

As keep yourself unknown,[5]

I shall still continue in darkness inscrutable. Nor am I to be moved

from this determination by the opinion which the Emperor Julian

expressed concerning Proteus, when he censured him for changing

himself into divers forms, lest men should compel him to manifest his

knowledge. For said Julian, “if Proteus were indeed wise, and knew as

Homer says many things, I praise him indeed for his knowledge, but I

do not commend his disposition; seeing that he performed the part, not

of a philanthropist, but rather of an imposter, in concealing himself

lest he should be useful to mankind.”

[Footnote 5: SHIRLEY.]

This was forming a severer opinion of the Ancient of the Deep, the old

Prophet of the Sea, than I would pronounce upon Julian himself, though

the name of Apostate clings to him. Unhappy as he was in the most

important of all concerns, he was at least a true believer in a false

religion, and therefore a better man than some of those kings who have

borne the title of most Christian or most Catholic. I wish he had kept

his beard clean! But our follies and weaknesses, when they are nothing

worse, die with us, and are not like unrepented sins to be raised up

in judgement. The beard of the imperial Philosopher is not populous

now. And in my posthumous travels, if in some extramundane excursion I

should meet him in that Limbo which is not a place of punishment but

where odd persons as well as odd things are to be found, and in the

Public Library of that Limbo we should find a certain Opus

conspicuously placed and in high repute, translated, not into the

Limbo tongue alone, but into all languages, and the Imperial

Philosopher should censure the still incognoscible Author for still

continuing in incognoscibility for the same reason that he blamed the

Ancient of the Deep, I should remind him of the Eleusinian Mysteries,

whisper the Great Decasyllabon in his ear, and ask him whether there

are not some secrets which it is neither lawful nor fitting to

disclose.

END OF VOL. V.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY W. NICOL, PALL-MALL.