Almost every person who has lived in history has had some particular
antipathy. Julius Cæsar couldn't eat a periwinkle, and Alexander always
fainted at the sight of a blackbeetle.
Chaucer would be unwell for days if he heard the cry of "mackerel!" and
Spenser never saw a leg of mutton without shivering all over.
Boadicea hated red whiskers: it nearly cost Caractacus his life, because
he came into her presence one day with a tremendous pair on.
The smell of pickles always sent Cardinal Wolsey into hysterical fits.
He called upon Henry the Eighth once while the monarch was lunching off
some cold meat, and Wolsey fell down under the table as soon as he smelt
there was pickled cabbage in the room. Henry, thinking the cardinal was
intoxicated, had him locked up in the Tower immediately.
Cleopatra couldn't look at a person with freckles: Antony had all his
soldiers who were at all freckled painted black to please her.
Napoleon took a violent hatred against any one who didn't take snuff: it
is said the cause of his separation from Josephine was because she never
would take a pinch from him.
Alfred the Great could not bear the taste of suet-dumplings.
Artaxerxes had such an intense horror of fleas that he would not go to
bed without a suit of armour, made like a night-gown, to fit close to
his skin. He would lose his reason for days when bitten by one. There
was a reward of ten talents, during his reign, for the apprehension of
every flea, dead or alive; and merchants would come from far and near to
claim the reward.
Queen Elizabeth had the strongest antipathy to a sheriff's officer: she
would run away as fast as she could directly she saw one, and continue
running for miles, until her guards, who knew her weakness, stopped her.
Old Parr would turn pale if he touched a piece of soap: this is the
reason he never shaved. Cicero had such an antipathy to the Wednesday
that he used to remain in bed all that day; and Anna Bolena could not
hear the word "potato" pronounced without turning violently red, and
feeling low-spirited for weeks afterwards.
Charles the Second never could go through Temple Bar. It used to take
the whole strength of Villiers, with Rochester and Nell Gwynne, to push
him through it. Cromwell never could pass a tripe shop without bursting
immediately into tears.
AN ESSAY ON COMETS.
BY OUR OWN ASTRONOMER.
The word "comet" has been derived by some from the Latin _coma_, a tail;
but the better derivation is _comma_, because it never can come to a
full stop.
Every comet has a tail, or train, which may be compared to some of those
monster trains which are occasionally the subjects of newspaper
paragraphs.
What a comet is we do not exactly know. It is certainly an eccentric
body, but there are so many eccentric bodies in these days, that this
hypothesis affords us no assistance.
A comet has a curious propensity to cut and come again, at very long
intervals.
Astronomers talk of the mean distance of a comet from the earth, but as
no comet ever came nearer than several thousands of miles, which is
anything but a mean distance, we should be glad to know the meaning the
astronomers attach to the word alluded to.
There is a comet due in 1848, being the same one that favoured us, or
rather our ancestors, with a visit at half-past eight P.M., on the 21st
of April, 1556. As the "oldest inhabitant" will not have had the honour
of a previous acquaintance, it is very possible that some other
eccentric body may be mistaken for our old acquaintance of the sixteenth
century. Perhaps an inferior planet, disguised in a long tail, may
endeavour to pass himself off for the expected visitor.
The safest mode of predicting a comet is to prophesy its appearance at
least a century hence, and something luminous is pretty sure to turn up,
to enable posterity to find something like a realization of the
prediction. Any astronomer desirous of naming an earlier day for the
appearance of a comet should stipulate for its being visible at some
outlandish locality, where no witnesses will be in attendance to test
the accuracy of the prediction.
The comet of 1770 has very shamefully broken its appointments with the
astronomers, and shown a degree of unpunctuality which is no less
perplexing than it is unbusinesslike. The comet ought to have entered an
appearance, according to the law of comets, every five years and a half;
but the eccentric body has been _non inventus_ ever since, and we should
be glad to see it regularly outlawed from the solar system.
Comets are generally called periodical bodies because their tails are so
exceedingly lengthy, like those which are continued from month to month
in some of the periodicals. They differ, however, in one respect, the
former being very luminous, and the latter utterly destitute of
brilliancy.
Between the years 1771 to 1780 there happened a regular glut of comets;
no less than five having appeared in the period alluded to. This
extraordinary assemblage was no doubt the first regular specimen of a
monster meeting.
[Illustration:
THE FALL OF THE LEAF.
]