)>> :> ii ^24 /^ #3 I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. :>>>:> ^i UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ^ 53l'-v?) > ^L> >jE» :» > :jr> BK> » ^^ ; >:> >; X> > >; - ' ■ -^ — ^ .»-' ■'\.^ > ) >o_'> > > J> >r» •> >:> > > > .>> '^^ ^ >J> >^ - OJ> > > > > > i - ^x>> >J> >^ j> :» > > :x »' .^■■,s <^^^ >J> >>1 \j:>^ > > > '> > 3^) J. > > >.^)r 3^ ^ ^ ^v ' ^ >3 ;>J>'. > > ■ "^^ ►) )>>:.:^ » . -•^Wft.^:^^ :1?Jf^^X1^^ M^~^^^:. »¥> 3^3 5 il?^ ^3> 3 11 >>2 3 33 mm Wm 333 »^m;» 333 >3> 333 ^33 :>,x> ■ QJ>> ft -^-i^^ ^^>12^feM^ ' jM>:3> i^>>3^>^ f -^- -^^ ^J'3 ,i^>^3^ ^ .:>i> -m^'^" »^ ^j»' 3^iBf> > 3&. THE EVERY-DAY BOOK OF MODERN LITERATURE. A SERIES OF SHORT READINGS FROM THE BEST AUTHORS. COMPILED AND ED|TED BY THE LATE GEORGE H. TOWNSEND, AUTHOR AND EDITOR OF "tHE MANUAL OF DATES." ' A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life." — Milton. N E.W EDITION. \\ 1878^ LONDON : FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN. NEW YORK : SCRIBNER, WELFORD AND CO. [ / - 9r o^^ t^Vi^ • X<1 LONDON : SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, COVENT GARDEN. n ADVERTISEMENT. The " Every-day Book of Modern Literature" is a posthumous work. Its compiler and editor, the late Mr. George Townsend, died just as it was on the verge of completion, but he left a plan of the whole book, in strict accordance with which it has been finished. The " Every-day Book" is intended to provide a daily short reading (occupying about a quarter of an hour s time in its perusal) for those who have little leisure for study ; and as it supplies 365 Extracts from all 'the best Authors of Essays, Fiction, History, Travels, Poetry, Divinity, &c. &c., from the age of Elizabeth (including a few earlier specimens) to the present day, with short Biographical Notices and lists of their works, it is believed that it will not only afford a good general idea of Modern Literature, but will prove an available guide in a more extended course of reading. The Publishers, on the part of the late Mr. Townsend, thank the owners of all copyrights for their ready acquiescence in permitting them to use the Extracts. In case of any omission (owing to the above-named circum- .stance), the Publishers here tender their obligations. Bedford Street, Covent Garden, January, 1870. INDEX SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. NO. OK SUBJECT. 1. Formation of the English Language 2. Riccabocca on Revolution . , . !?. Great Era of Scholasticism . . . lO. II. 12. 14. IS- 4. The Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem . , . . 5. The Importance of Method 6. Self-Love and Reason 7. Of Contentedness in all Estates and Accidents 8. The Philosophy of Proverbs 9. The Drop of Water Illustrious Ancestry The Zincali ; or, the Gypsies in Spain . . Teufelsdrockh's Night View of the City . . Lines on my Mother's Picture The Majesty of Christ The Long Life of Books 16. The Fall of Jerusalem 17. The Life of Bishop Aidan 18. _The Legend of King Solomon and the Hoopoes 19. The Tuileries 20. Ode to a Nightingale 21. Of Paradise 22. Of Travel 23. The Choice of a Necklace 24. The Burning of Rome, A. D. 817 . . . . 25. The Island of Zipangu or Japan . . . . 26. Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford 27. The Last Man Henry Hallam Lord Lytton . Dean Milman . Sir John Mandeville S. T. Coleridge . Pope Bp. Jeremy Taylor Isaac Disraeli Hans C. Andersen Edward Gibbon . George Borrow . Carlyle , . . Coivper .... Rev. W. A. Butler Rev. R. A. Willmott Rev. G. Croly Venerable Bede Hon. R. Curzon J. W. Croker , John Keats. . Bishop Hall . Lard Bacon . Miss Austen . Rev. C. Merivale Marco Polo . Washington Irvin T. Campbell , PAGE I 4 8 10 13 14 17 21 24 25 28 31 3.^ 36 39 40 43 45 48 SO 53 57 59 63 65 68 70 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. 38. 39- 40. 41. 42. 43- 44. 43. 48. 49. SO- SI- S2. S3- S4- S6. S7- S8. 59- Castle NO. OF SUBJECT. 28. Man before the Fall . ■ . . . 29. Origin of Romance ... , , 30. The Be gar and his Dog . , 31. Character of Thomas Becket 32. Crocodile Shooting on the Nile. ^2. St. Nicholas of Myra .... 34. Adamaster, the Spirit of the Cape 35. Christian and Hopeful in Doubting 36. Lord Bacon 37. The Duel The Valley and City of Mexico The Butterfly Trick . . . Night and Day G eece. Ancient and Modern Home Influences .... Reading The Starling ; or, the Blessings of Liberty The Character of Lucius Cary Falkland 46. The Pamboo-Kaloo, or Snake-Stone 47. The Amphitheatre at Nismes . . Man was made to Mourn ... . A Heavenly Mind Sunrise in the Forest Anastasius and the Wizard . . . Boswell's Introduction to Dr. Johnson Th" River Jordan The La ge Dose of Opium . . . Adam and Eve in Eden .... The Knowledge of Truth . . . Of Heroic Virtue A Scene at Halloran Castle . . . Cnaracter of Publius Scipio . . . 60. Discovery of the Pacific Ocean . . 61. Different Minds 62. The Character of Absalom . . . 63. All-Sufficiency of the Christian Relig 64. Of Obscurity 65. The Barber of Bagdad .... 66. The Character of Wallenstein . . 67. The Pyramids 68. A Lover's Heart served up as a Dish 69. The Mus cal Contest 70. God's Law Manifested by Creation on Pev. R. South . , T. IVarloii . . . H. Mackeinie . . Eev. J. C. Robertson E. B. M'arburton Mrs. Jameson, Cumoeiis . . , John Biunj'.tii . , /'. Sclileget . . , T. E. Uaolc . , rr. H. Prescott S. O.slorn . . Mrs. Gaff!/ . . Lord By roil I ev. G. lo'vnsend John Locke Pev. L. Sterne Lord Clarendon . J. E. Tennent. . D. T. AiLsted . . P. Burns Rev. P. Baxter . Pev. W. Gilpin . Thomas Hope . James Boswell De Lamartine De Quincey . . Milton .... Thomas a Kempis Sir TV. Temple . Miss Edgeu-orth . Theodore Mommsen Arthur Helps . R. IV. Emerson . John Dryden . John Tillotson Abraham Coicley James Murier Schiller .... G. B. Behoni . . James Howell . . John Ford . . . Richard Hooker . INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. NO. OF SUBJECT. 7i. On Tyranny and the Employment of Mer- cenaries by Tyrants 72. Old London from Old St. Paul's .... 73. Reflections on the Trial of Mary Queen of Scots 74. Lake Nyassa . 75. On Magnetism 76. The Combat between Tancred and Argentes 77. The Apostles Fishers of Men 78. Knowledge of Mankind 79. Balthazar Claes in his Laboratory .... 8-\ The Witena-Gemot, or Anglo-Saxon Parlia^ ment 81. Mandingo Negro's Story ...... 82. Of the Pictures of the Nine Worthies . . 83. Demeanour in Church ...... 84. The Religion of Protestants 85. Pascal's Provincial Letters 86. The Storm at Sea , 87. Wolsey's Exactions , 88. Lady Hester Stanhope and the Arabs . , , 89. Precision of Language Christmas . The Household of a Christian Of the Origin and Use of Money .... Phoebe Pyncheon's Chamber The Girondist Small Feet of the Chinese Women . . . 96. Of Humility 97. On a Distant Prospect of Eton College . , 98. The Blessedness of_God's House .... 99. The Progress of Civilization , ICO. The Golden Goblet loi. Intercourse with Princes ....... 102. The Source of the Nile 103. Effects of Music , 104. Life Compared to a Sea 105. Example better than Precept 106. Lord Byron's Poetry • 107. The Officer and the Convict 108. The Character of James IIL of Scotland . , 109. The Calmucks no. Sir Roger de Coverley at Church . . . , III. Early Recollections 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 9.V H^alter Raleigh , . . 183 PK H. Ainsworth . . 185 Paul de Rapin . . . 187 David Livingstone . . 189 Baron von Humboldt . 191 Torquato Tasso . . . 193 Bishop Latimer . . . 197 William Hazlitt . . 200 Honore de Balzac . . 20I S. Turner 204 Mungo Park . . . 207 Sir Thomas Browne . 209 George Herbert . . . 211 Rev. IV. Chillingworth 213 James Stephen . . . 214 Sir Philip Sidney . . 216 Rev. J. Foxe .... 218 A. W. Kinglake . . , 220 Thomas Hobbes . . . 222 Mrs. Gascoigne . , , 224 Rev. Dr. A If or d , . 227 Adam Smith .... 229 Nathaniel Hatvthorne . 231 Sir A. Alison .... 233 Lord Macartney . . , 235 Owen Feltham . . . 237 Thomas Gray .... 239 Archdeacon Hare . . 242 Rev. Dr. Robertson . . 244 Ludwig Tieck .... 246 Bishop Burnet , . . 249 Capt. Speke .... 251 Rev. R. Burton . . . 252 F. Quarles 254 Rev. Dr. Barrow . . 256 Francis Jeffrey . . . 259 Frederick Gerstaecker . 260 P. F. Tytler .... 264 Dr. Clarke .... 266 Joseph Addison ... 268 Samuel Rogers , . . 271 vin INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND aUTHOFS. NO. OF SUBJECT. 112. On the Writings of the Apostles . . , . 113. Knowledge of the Mind and its Faculties , 114. John Hali^ 115. The Theses of Luther 116. The Climate of Palestine 117. Sagacity of the Poodle 118. Sloth and Activity 119. The Faithful Minister 1 20. The Poor Relation 121. The Snow Storm 122. Old Inventions Revived 123. An African King 124. Pepys at the Assay Office ...... 125. The Boy and the Angel 126. Gentleness 127- The English Constitution 128. The Knights of the Temple 129. Execution of Sir Thomas More . . , . 130. "The King of all the Friendly Isles'* . . Fortitude in Adversity The Shades of Night Cruelty to Animals Character of Lord Mansfield Midnight Visit to a Father's Grave . . . 136. The Accession of Queen Mary 137. Excavations at Nimroud 138. The Strand 139. On a Survey of the Heavens Redeemed from Sin The Favourite of the People Mr. Pecksniff and his Pupil The Island of Utopia Mecca The Cavalry Charge at Balaklava .... 146. The Last Day 147. Restoration of the Jews 148. Memory in different Individuals .... 149. Lowood School The Festival of the Bambino Sailing through the Ice . How the Victory of Blenheim was celebrated The Garland God calleth thee 131. 132. 133- 135- 140. 141. 142. 143- 144. 145- 150 151. 152. 153. »S4 Dr. Paley . . Dr. Reid . . Miss Muloch . Merle D^Axihigne Dr.Kitto . . Edward Jesse . Robert Pollok . Rev. T. Fuller Charles Lamb Professor Wilson Samuel Smiles Richard Lander Samuel Pepys . Robert Broivning Dr. H. Blair . Edmund Burke JV. M. Thackeray J. A. Froude . Captain Cook . Robert Greene William Wordsworth Rev. Dr. Chalmers Junius .... Mrs. Radcliffe . Rev. J, Strype A. H. Layard Leigh Hunt , . Kirke-White . . Archbishop Trench J. L. Delolme . . Charles Dickens . Sir T. More . . J. L. Burckhardt W. H. Russell . . Dr. Young . . . Rev. E. Bickersteth Dugald Stewart . Mrs. Nicholls . . James Whiteside . Sir John Ross . . E. Budgell . . Matthew Prior . Dr. Pusey . . . INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. NO. OF SUBJECT. 155. Verbal Questions mistaken for Real . . 156. Arthur Lygon 157. Goldsmith preparing for a Medical Degree 158. The Convent of St. Catherine .... 159. Plato 160. The Feast of Roses i6r. Indifference of the World to Religion . . 162. Of Sleeping Laws 163. Ruth's Sorrow 164. The Games of Greece 171. 172. 173. 174. 166. Education of the Middle Classes . . . . 167. The Grave 168. The Conversion of S. Augustine . . . . 169. Condition of the Chinese 1 70. Mr. Galloway and his Clerks Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester . . . The Javanese Comets Henry V. at Agincourt 175. Christ's Ascension 176. The Lords and Commons 177. An Irish Jockey 178. Massacre of English Colonists in America by the Indians 179. Caen 180. Observations on the Tench 181. Excelsior 182. A Life of Pleasure 183. Changes in Language always in Progress 184. Dives and the Hand of Death 185. Chatterton's Processes of Invention . . . 186. Advantages derived from Intercourse with Foreign Countries . 187. The Prcper Study of History 188. The Sky-Lark 189. There is a God 190. Butler's Moral Philosophy 191. The Bishop's Chaplain 192. Lazarillo De Tormes, and its Imitators . . 193. Tombs in Rome 194. Newton's Theory of the Tides 195. Hector's Address to the Trojan Chiefs . • Archbishop ^Phately Shirley Brooks . John Forster . Lord Lindsay . . Sir James Macintosh Thomas Moore Bishop Bloinfield Jeremy Bentham Mrs. Gaskell . . William Mitford Sir John Bowring Dr. Arnold . . James Montgomery Dean Stanley . Lord Brougham . Mrs. Henry Wood David Hume . . Sir John Barroiu Sir J. F. W. Herschel William Shakspeare Bishop Pearson . Sir W. Blackstone Charles James Lever George Bancroft . Rolert Bell . . Izaak Walton . . H. W. Longfelloic Archbishop Seeker Sir Charles Lyell G. A. H. Sala . David Masson R. Hakluyt . . Henry St. John . P. B. Shelley . . Dr. Watts . . « Dr. Wheivell . . Anthony Trollope George Ticknor . Rev. J. C. Eustace Sir D. Brewster . Lord Derby . , PAGE 369 373 375 377 376 ,381 383 386 388 59^ 392 394 398 400 403 405 408 409 411 413 416 419 422 424 426 428 429 431 433 434 438 440 442 446 448 450 453 455 457 460 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. NO. OF SUBJECT. 196. The Excellency of the Christian Religion . 197. Of the Natural Signs of the Passions . . . 198. The Plague in London in 1665 . . . . 199. The Infancy of Edward VI 200. The Nowroose, or the New Year in Persia . 20T. Civilization in England 202. True Valour 203. Fanaticism 204. Utilitarianism 205. The Triangular Duel 206. The London Coffee Houses in 1685 . . . 207. Among the Ice 208. Fossils of the Old Red Sandstone .... 209. The Treasures of the Deep 210. Of the Government of God by Rewards and Punishments 211. Of the Affection of Parents to their Children . 212. Castle-Building 213. The Eve of Blenheim 214. The Antiquities of Tebessa 215. Frost Fair on the Thames 216. The Loss of Eden 217. David's Prayer for Himself and Son . . . 218. Of Grace 219. George, III, at Windsor after Margaret Nicholson's Attempt on his Life . . . 220. Character of Oliver Crom^well 221. Attempt at Murder by a Maroon Negro . . 222. Learning a Better Teacher than Experience. 223. The Actor's Defence 224. Examples of God's ready Help in Extreme Perils 225. On Quack Doctors 226. The Infuriated Cats . . ., 227. The Battle of Hastirgs 228. Vallombrosa 229. Emigration 230. The Benevolent Miser 231. Loneliness 232. Characters of the Members of the Club at the "Trumpet" 233. Clovernook and its Inn 234. The Targums or Translations 235. Partridge at the Play Bishop Sherlock . Joseph Priestley . Daniel De Foe . Miss A. Strickland Sir R. Ker Porter H. T. Buckle . . Ben Jonson . . Bishop War bur ton John Stuart Mill Captain Marry at Lord Macaulay . Sir W. E. Parry Hugh Miller . . Mrs. Hemans . . Bishop Butler M. de Montaigne Sir Walter Scott . Archdeacon Coxe Nathan Davis . John Evelyn . . Robert Blair . . Archbishop Laud Rev. A. Alison . Madame D'Arblay F. P. G. Guizot . Madame Pfeiffer Roger Ascham Philip Massinger Nicholas Ridley . Oliver Goldsmith Henry Brooke Sir F. Palgrave . Joseph Forsyth . Rev. Sydney Smith Rev. G. Crabbe . Rev. C. J. Faughan ■Sir Richard Steele Douglas Jerrold . Rev. Dr. Pridcaux Henry Fielding . INDEX Oh SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. NO. OF SUBJECT. 236. The Old Scottish Domestic Servant . . . 237. The Friend of Humanity and the Knife- grinder 238. Time and Eternity 239. Venice 240. Dark John of the Glen 241. The Natural Bridge; or. One Niche the Highest 242. Mrs. Poyser Speaks her Mind to the Squire. 243. Poetry 244. The Cry of the Children 245. The Christian's Dependence upon his Re- deemer 246. Thoughts and Aphorisms 247. Jerusalem 248. Death of Nelson 249. The Northern Lights 250. Imaginary Conversation between Sir Philip Sidney and Lord Brooke 251. The Bells • . Rev. Dean Ramsay . . PAGE 563 Right Hon. George Can- ning 5^5 Bishop Heler .... 567 John Ritskm .... 5^9 Jf'hyte MeLviUe . . . hV- Elihu Burritt . . . 575 George Eliot .... 578 Dr. Channing . . . 583 Elizabeth B. Browning . 585 Archbishop Sumner . . 590 252. The Garden of Eden ..,,,.,, 253. Changes in a Language .,,.,., 254. Clarissa Harlowe Dying , 255. The Death of the Conqueror .... 256. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's Virit to : Turkish Lady ...,...., Life of Plato Maud MuUer Honour all Men The Joy of Grief The Indian Adoption 262. Kara George 263. Universality of Man 264. Roger Bacon 2^-5. Tell's Speech 266. Personal Religion both Active and Contem- plative 267. The Improwisatore 257- 258. 259- 260. 261. 268. Departure of Thaddeus from Warsaw 269. The Battle of Liitzen 270. Snakes and their Antidotes . . . . 271. Klopstock 272. The Burial of Moses Dean Swift . . . . 593 Right Hon. B. Disraeli 596 Robert Sonthey . . . 6co Moreau de Maupetiuis . 603 14'alter Savage Landor . 605 Edgar Allan Poe . . 608 Bishop Home, . . . 6ii Samuel Johnson . . . 616 Samuel Richardson . . 6 in Charles Knight . . . 622 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu .... 626 George H. Lewes . . 627 J. G. Whittier ... 631 Archbishop Leighton . 635 Leitch Ritchie .... 640 JaYnes Fenimore Cooper 643 Leopold Ranke . . . 646 Dr. Latham .... 649 Rev. Joseph Berington . 652 James Sheridan Knowles 655 Dean Goulburn . . . 657 J. C. L. Simonde de Sis- viondi Jane Porter Wolfgang Menzel Thomas Pringle . Madame de Stael . Mrs. C. F. Alexander 660 663 666 669 673 67; INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND JUTHOUS. NO OF SUBJECT. 273. Faith and Morality 274. Variety which characterizes Works of Ima- gination 2715. Hernana and the Hat 276. Florence under Lorenzo de Medici . . . 277. The Lapps 278. The Journey of Life 279. The High Tide 280. The New Commandment 281. The Library 282. Commodore Trunnion's Ride 285. The Image-Breakers of the Netherlands, 1566 284. Origin of Deserts 285. The Stork 286. Ion's Intercession 287. On Self-denial 288. Macbeth 289. The Minister's "Placing" 290. Plague in Athens, and Death of Pericles Powers of the Air and the Sea A Counterfeit Presentment Home at Last Comparison between the World and the Church A Character of Napoleon Bonaparte . . . How the Tide Turned Odin 298. Caravan in the Desert 299. La Fayette The Sack of Baltimore Necessity and Benefits of the Lord's Supper Friendship Manifested in French Women The Ruined Gentleman 304. The Story of Romulus and Remus . . . 305. Panoramic View of Rome 306. The Bachelor's Thermometer 307. Violet 308. Church and State 309. Books 310. An Awfu' Night 311. Death and Character of William the Silent, ) Prince of Orange \ 312. Thebes in i868 313. The Cowardly Captain 291. 292. 293- 294. 295- 296. 297. 300. 30T. 302. 303- Dr. Samuel Parr Rev. Robert Hall Anne Marsh- Caldwell Tfiliiam Roscoe Lord Dufferin J. B. A. Karr Jean bigelow . Bishop Horsley Horace Smith . Tobias Smollett John Lothrop Motley Robert Mudie . Bishop Stanley Mr. Justice Talfourd Bishop Beveridge Aug. Wm. von Schlegel John Gait . Bishop Thirlicall Matthew F. Maury John Hollingshead Tom Hood . . . Rev. Wm. Jones . Charles P. Phillips Thomas Hughes . Dr. Thomas Percy J. S. Buckingham Edward Everett . Thomas Davis . , Bishop Mant . . Julia Kavanagh . Henry Kingsley . B. G. Niebuhr . H. M. Williams . James Smith . Alexander Smith Bishop Newton . Oliver Wendell Holmes D. M. Moir . . T. C. Grattan . Lady Duff-Gordon Beaumont and Fletcher INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. 315. 316. 317. 318. 319- 320. 323- 334. 325. NO. OF SUBJECT. 314. Zara's Ear-rings Death and Character of St. Peter .... Previsions . . . The Vicar in Prison The Trial of the Scottish Lords, 1746 . . A Chat with Frederick the Great .... Elves 321. Sleep, Baby, Sleep! 322. Before the Flood The Dawn of Modern English Poetry . . The Swedish Home A Noble Roman 326. Domestic Life in Egypt in 1776 . . . . 327. Shakspeare and ^schylus compared . . . 328. Song of the Shirt 329. The Age of Columba 330. The Youth of Pindar Lord Ipsden Converses with the " Lower Orders," in compliance with his Doctor^s Prescription Cicero's Travels in Greece and Asia . . . The Island of Lewchew in 1816 . . . . The Breath of Life Milton at Cripplegate 336. The Early American Church 337. On the Liberty of the Press 338. Difficulties in Buying a Present . . . . 339. Battle of Agincourt 340. Down the Amazons 341. Aunt Sarah's Advice ........ 342. The Cambro-Britain's Ballad of Agincourt . On the Inspiration of the Holy Scriptures . On the Genius of Scott Berenger de Ribaumont finds his Child and Wife in the besieged Huguenot Fortress . 346. Augustus Caesar 347. The Simoon 331- 332. 333- 334. 335- 343- 344- 345- 348. On Purpose in Life 349. The Astrologer's Chamber 350. The Evangelists' Description of the Charac- ter of our Lord 351. On the Consciousness of Immortality. . PAGE J. G. Lockhart . . . 801 Rev. Wiliiam Cave . . 802 Rev. A. K. H. Boyd . 806 Oliver Goldsmith . . 808 Horace JValpole . . . 811 John Moore . . . . 814 Thomas Keightley . . 815 George Wither . . . 818 Veil. Archdeacon Evans 820 AheL Francois FilLemain 824 Frederika Bremer . . 826 Goldwin Smith . . . 8'>.9 Nicholas Savary . . . 833 Richard Cumberland . 835 Thomas Hood .... 837 Bishop IVordsworth . . 840 Karl Otfried Midler . 843 Charles Reade . . . 846 Conyers Middleton . . 849 Dr. John M'Leod , . 852 Michael Faraday . . 854 Charles Kent . . . . 856 Bishop fVilberforce . . 860 Milton 863 Samuel Lover . . . . 866 Sir Harris Nicolas . . 870 Louis Agassiz , . . . 874 Elizabeth Mary Sewell 876 Michael Drayton . . 878 Bishop Tomline . . . 882 Francis Turner Palgrave 885 Miss C. M. Yonge . . 887 Rev. Charles Merivale . 890 TVilliam Gifford Pal- grave 893 James Hain Friswell . 895 Schiller and Coleridge , 897 Rev. Joseph IFhite . . 899 Sir Humphry Davy . 902 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND AUTHORS. NO. OF SUBJECT. PAGE 352. Captain Wragge Introduces his Niece to Mrs. ) j^-r rrm ■ r^ n- Wragge \^' ^^^^^^ Collins . . 904 V ^u i^ TVT 1 \ L. A. Fauvelet de Bour- ^K^. Youth of Napoleon -i . , *'*'*' ^ / rienne 906 354. The Island Camp Sir SamuelTVhite Baker 909 355. Climate of Paris compared with that of London Sir Francis Bead . . 911 356. Resignation Rev. John Kehle . . . 913 357. National Responsibility Rev. Henry Melvill . 916 358. Love of Nature in the Decline of Life . . . Lord Lylton . . . . 917 359. The He 'ge Schoolmaster ...... Lady Morgan . . . 919 360. The Water-gate of the Tower . . . * . William Hepivorth Dixon 922 361. Struensee Nathaniel JV.Wraxall . 925 362. The Field of the Forty Footsteps .... John Timhs .... 927 363. The Lady Clare Alfred Tennyson . . . 929 2^4- ^p;3yer ^f']^^. ^T""/ ^''r'^f ""] ^?''? °!} ^'^- ^^^^^'' si^'''^ ' 931 365. Cause of the Defects in Modern Poetry . . Rev. Charles King sley , 934 ]^f^^- INDEX AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE ADDISON, JOSEPH, Sir Roger de Coverley at Church 268 Agassiz, Louis, Down the Amazons 874 AiNswoRTH, W. H., Old London from Old St. Paul's 185 Alexander, Mrs. C. F., The Burial of Moses 675 Alford, Rev. Dr., The Household of a Christian 227 Alison, Rev. A., Of Grace 511 Alison, Sir A., The Girondists 233 Anderson, Hans C, The Drop of Water 24 Ansted, D. T., The Amphitheatre at Nismes 126 Arnold, Dr., Education of the Middle Classes 392 AscHAM, Roger, Learning a better Teacher than Experience 521 Austen, Miss, The Choice of a Necklace 59 BACON, LORD, Of Travel 57 Baker, Sir Samuel White, The Island Camp 909 Balzac, Honor^ de, Balthazar Claes in his Laboratory 201 Bancroft, George, Massacre of English Colonists in America by the Indians 422 Barrow, Rev. Dr., Example better than Precept 256 Barrow, Sir John, The Javanese 408 Baxter, Rev. R., A Heavenly Mind , 131 Beaumont and Fletcher, The Cowardly Captain 788 Bede, Venerable, The Life of Bishop Aidan 43 Bell, Robert, Caen 424 Belzoni, G. B., The Pyramids 175 Bentham, Jeremy, Of Sleeping Laws 383 Berington, Rev. Joseph, Roger Bacon 652 Beveridge, Bishop, On Self-Denial 724 Bickersteth, Rev. E., Restoration of the Jews 355 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE Blackstone, Sir W., The Lords and Commons 416 Blair, Dr. H,, Gentleness 306 Blair, Robert, The Loss of Eden 508 Blomfi ELD, Bishop, Indifference of the World to Religion 381 Borrow, George, TheZencali; or, the Gypsies in Spain 28 BoswELL, James, Boswell's Introduction to Dr. Johnson 139 Bourrienne, Louis Antonio Fauvelet de. Youth of Napoleon .... 906 BowRiNG, Sir John, The Friars of the Philippine Islands 390 EoYD, Rev. Andrew Kennedy Hutchinson, Previsions 806 Bremer, Frederika, The Swedish Home 826 Brewster, Sir David, Newton's Theory of the Tides ^57 Brooke, Henry, The Infuriated Cats 533 Brooks, Shirley, Arthur Lygon 371 Brougham, Lord, Condition of the Chinese 400 Browne, Sir Thomas, Of the Pictures of the Nine Worthies 209 Bbowning, Elizabeth B,, The Cry of the Children 585 Browning, Robert, The Boy and the Angel 303 Buckingham, J. S., Caravan in the Desert 756 Buckle, H. T., Civilization in England 473 Budgell, E., How the Victory of hlenheim was celebrated 364 BuNYAN, John, Christian and Hopeful in Doubting Castle 91 Burckhardt, Jean Louis, Mecca 347 Burke, Edmund, The English Constitution 308 Burnet, Bishop, Intercourse with Princes 249 Burnet, Rev. R., Effects of Music 252 Burns, Robert, Man was Made to Mourn 12S BuRRiTT, Elihu, The Natural Bridge; or. One Niche the Highest . . . 575 Butler, Bishop, Of the Government of God by Rewards and Punishments 494 Butler, Rev. W. A., The Majesty of Christ 36 Byron, Lord, Greece, Ancient and Modern io3 CALDWELL, ANNE MARSH, Hernana and the Hat C84 Camoens, Adamaster, the Spirit of the Cape 88 Campbell, T., The Last Man 70 Canning, Right Hon. George, The Friend of Humanity and the Knife- grinder 565 Carlyle, Teufelsdrockh's Night View of the City 31 Cave, Rev. William, Death and Character of St. Peter 802 Chalmers, Rev. Dr., Cruelty to Animals 322 Channing, Dr., Poetry 5 83 Chillingworth, Rev. W., The Religion of Protestants 213 Clarendon, Lord, The Character of Lucius Cary Falkland 119 Clarke, Dr., The Calmucks 266 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE Coleridge and Schiller, The Astrologer's Chamber 897 Coleridge, S. T., The Importance of Method 13 Collins, W. Wilkie, Captain Wragge Introduces his Niece to Mrs. Wragge 904 Cook, Captain, "The King of all the Friendly Isles " 316 Cooper, James Fenimore, The Indian Adoption 643 Cowley, Abraham, Of Obscurity 168 CowPER, Lines on My Mother's Picture ^^ CoxE, Archdeacon, The Eve of Blenheim 502 Crabbe, Rev. G., The Benevolent Miser 542 Croker, J. W., The Tuileries 48 Croly, Rev. G., The Fall of Jerusalem 40 Cumberland, RrcHARD, Shakspeare and iEschylus Compared 835 CuRzoN, Hon. R., The Legend of King Solomon and the Hoopoes ... 45 D'ARBLAY, MADAME,"George the Third at Windsor, after Margaret Nicholson's Attempt on his Life 513 D'Aubigne', Merle, The Theses of Luther 280 Davis, Nathan, The Antiquities of Tebessa 504 Davis, Thomas, The Sack of Baltimore 765 Davy, Sir Humphry, On the Consciousness of Immortality 902 De Foe, Daniel, The Plague in London in 1665 465 Delolme, J. L., The Favourite of the People 339 Derby, Lord, Hector's Address to the Trojan Chiefs 460 Dickens, Charles, Mr. PecksniflF and his Pupil 341 Disraeli, Isaac, The Philosophy of Proverbs 21 Disraeli, Right Hon. Benjamin, Jerusalem 596 Dixon, William Hepworth, The Water-gate of the Tower 922 Drayton, Michael, The Cambro-Briton's Ballad of Agincourt .^ . . . 878 Dryden, John, The Character of Absolom 163 Dufferin, Lord, The Lapps C90 "TDGEWORTH, MISS, A Scene at Halloran Castle 154 -^ Eliot, George, Mrs. Poyser Speaks her Mind to the Squire .... 578 Emerson, R. W., Different Minds 162 Eustace, Rev. J. C, Tombs in Rome 455 Evans, Ven. Archdeacon, Before the Flood 820 Evelyn, John, Frost Fair on the Thames 506 Everett, Edward, La Fayette 761 "PARADAY, MICHAEL, The Breath of Life 854 -*- Feltham, Owen, Of Humility 237 Fielding, Henry, Partridge at the Play 559 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE Ford, John, The Musical Contest 178 FoRSTER, John, Goldsmith preparing fer a Medical Degree 373 Forsyth, Joseph, Vallombrosa 538 FoxE, Rev. J., Wolsey's Exactions 218 Friswell, James Ha in. On Purpose in Life . , 895 Froude, J. A., Execution of Sir Thomas More 314 Fuller, Rev. T., The Faithful Minister 288 GALT, JOHN, The Minister's "Placing" 731 I Gascoigne, Mrs., Christmas 224 Gaskell, Mrs., Ruth's Sorrow 386 Gatty, Mrs., Night and Day 105 Gerstaecker, Frederick, The Officer and the Convict 260 Gibbon, Edward, Illustrious Ancestry 25 Gilpin, Rev. W., Sunrise in the Forest 134 Goldsmith, Oliver, On Quack Doctors 530 Goldsmith, Oliver, The Vicar in Prison 808 Gordon, Lal»y Duff, Thebes in 1868 796 GouLBURN, Dean, Personal Religion both Active and Contemplative . . . 657 Grattan, Thomas Colley, Death and Character of William the Silent, Prince of Orange 793 Gray, Thomas, On a Distant Prospect of Eton College 269 Greene, Robert, Fortitude in Adversity • 3i7 GuizoT, F. P. G., Character of Oliver Cromwell 516 HAKLUYT, R., Advantages Derived from Intercourse with Foreign Countries .... 438 Hall, Bishop, Of Paradise 53 Hall, Rev. Robert, Variety which Characterizes Works of Imagination . 682 Hallam, Henry, Formation of the English Language i Hare, Archdeacon, The Blessedness of God's House 242 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, Phoebe Pyncheon's Chamber 231 Hazlitt, William, Knowledge of Mankind 200 Head, Sir Francis, Climate of Paris compared with that of London . . 911 Heber, Bishop, Time and Eternity 567 Helps, Arthur, Discovery of the Pacific Ocean 159 Hemans, Mrs., The Treasures of the Deep 493 Herbert, George, Demeanour in Church 211 Herschel, Sir John Frederick William, Comets 409 Hobbes, Thomas, Precision of Language 222 Hollingshead, John, A Counterfeit Presentment 738 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Books 788 Hood, Thomas, Song of the Shirt , . 837 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE Hood, Tom, Home at Last 742 Hook, T, E., Tr.e Duel 97 Hooker, Richard, God's Law Manifested by Creation iSi Hope, Thomas, Anastasius and the Wizard 135 HoRN'E, Bishop, The Garden of Eden 6ji HoRSLEY, Bishop, The New Commandment 700 HowELL, James, A Lover's Heart served up as a Dish 177 Hughes, Thomas, How the; Tide Turned 75© Humboldt, Bafon von. On Magnetism 191 Hcme, David, Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester 405 HuN-T, Leigh, The Strand 334 I NGELOW, JEAN, The High Tide 696 Irving, Washington, Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford 68 JAMESON, MRS., St. Nicholas of Mvra 86 Jeffrey, Francis, Lord Byron's Poetry 259 Jerrold, Douglas, Clovernook and its Inn 55^ Jesse, Edward, Sagacity of the Poodle 285 Johnson, Samuel, Changes in a Language 616 Jones, Rev. William, Comparison between the World and the Church . 744 Jonson, Ben, True Valour 475 Junius, Character of Lord Mansfield 325 XARR, JEAN BAPTISTE ALPHONSE, The Journey of Life .... 693 Kavanagh, Julia, Friendship Manifested in French Women . . . 770 Keats, John, Ode to a Nightingale 50 Keble, Rev. John, Resignation 913 Keightley, Thomas, Elves • 815 Kempis, Thomas a. The Knowledge of Truth 149 Kent, Charles, Milton at Cripplegate 856 Kinglake, A. W., Lady Hester Stanhope and the Arabs 220 Kingsley, Henry, The Ruined Gentleman ..772 KiNGSLEY, Rev. Charles, Cause of the Defects in Modern Poetry . . . 934 KiTTO, Dr., The Climate of Palestine 283 Knight, Charles, The Death of the Conqueror 622 Knowles, James Sheridan, Tell's Speech 655 LAMARTINE, DE, The River Jordan 142 Lamb, Charles, The Poor Relation 291 Lander, Richard, An African King 300 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE Landor, Walter Savage, Imaginary Conversation between Sir Philip Sidney and Lord Brooke 605 Latham, Dr., Universality of Man 649 Latimer, Bishop, The Apostles Fishers of Men 197 Laud, Archbishop, David's Prayer for Himself and Son 509 Layard, A.. H., Excavations at Nimroud . . 332 Leighton, Archbishop, Honour all Men 635 Lever, Charles James, An Irish Jockey 419 Lewes, George H., Life of Plato 627 Lindsay, Lord, The Convent of St. Catherine . .- 375 Livin.gstone, David, Lake Nyassa ..•-•. 189 Locke, John, Reading 114 Lockhart, John Gibson, Zara's Ear-rings 801 Longfellow, H. W., Excelsior 428 Lover, Samuel, Difficulties in buying a Present 866 Lyell, Sir Charles, Changes in Language always in Progress .... 431 Lytton, Lord, Riccabocca on Revolution 4 Lytton, Lord, Love of Nature in the Decline of Life 917 MACARTNEY, LORD, Small Feet of the Chinese Women 235 Macauley, Lord, The London Coffee Houses in 1685 485 Mackenzie, H., The Beggar and His Dog 79 Mackintosh, Sir James, Plato 377 Mandeville, Sir John, The Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem 10 Ma NT, Bishop, Necessity and Benefits of the Lord's Supper 769 Marryat, Captain, The Triangular Duel 482 Massinger, Philiv, The Actor's Defence 533 Masson, David, Chatterton's Processes of Invention 434 Maupertuis, Peter Lewis Moreau de. The Northern Lights .... 603 Maury, Matthew F., Powers of the Air and the Sea 735 Melvill, Rev. Henry, National Responsibility 916 Melville, Whyte, Dark John of the Glen 572 Menzel, Wolfgang, The Battle of Liitzen 666 Merivale, Rev. Charles, The Burning of Rome, a.d. 817 6:} Merivale, Rev. Charles, Augustus Caesar goo MiDDLETON, CoNYERs, Cicero's Travels in Greece and Asia 849 Mill, John Stuart, Utilitarianism 480 Miller, Hugh, Fossils of the Old Red Sandstone , . ^oi Milman, Dean, Great Era of Scholasticism 8 Milton, Adam and Eve in Eden 14'' Milton, On the Liberty of the Press 863 MiTFORD William, The Games of Greece 388 M'Leod, Dr. John, The Island of Lewchew in 1816 852 INDEX OF JUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE ' XT; MoiR, David Macbeth, An Awfu' Night 790 MoMMSEN, Theodor, Character of Pub, ius Scipio 157 Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, Lady Mary W. Montagu's Visit to a Turkish Lady 626 Montaigne, M. de. Of the Affection of Parents to their Children. . . . 497 Montgomery, James, The Grave 394 Moore, John, A Chat with Frederick the Great 814 Moore, Thomas, The Feast of Roses 379 More, Sir T., The Island of Utopia 345 Morgan, Lady, The Hedge Schoolmaster 919 Morier, James, The Barber of Bagdad 170 Motley, John Lothrop, The Image-breakers of the Netherlands, 1566 . . 711 Mudie, Robert, Origin of Deserts 715 MtJLLER, Karl Otfried, The Youth of Pindar 843 Muloch, Miss, John Halifax , . 277 "VTEWTON, BISHOP, Church and State 785 ■^^ NiCHOLLs, Mrs., Lowood School 358 Nicolas, Sir Harris, Battle of Agincourt 870 Niebuhr, Barthold George, The Story of Romulus and Remus . . . 775 P SBORN, S., The Butterfly Trick loi PALEY, DR., On the Writings of the Apostles 273 Palgrave, Francis Turner, On the Genius of Scott 885 Palgrave, Sir F., The Battle of Hastings 536 Palgrave, William Gifford, The Simoon 893 Park, Mungo, Mandingo Negro's Story 207 Parr, Dr* Samuel, Faith and Morality 678 Parry, Sir W. E., Among the Ice 488 Pearson, Bishop, Christ's Ascension . , , 413 Pepys, Samuel, Pepys at the Assay OfEce 301 Percy, Dr. Thomas, Odin 753 Pfeifter, Madame, Attempt at Murder by a Maroon Negro 518 Phillips, Charles P., A Character of Napoleon Bonapaite 747 PoE, Edgar Allan, The Bells 608 PoLLOK, Robert, Sloth and Activity 286 Polo, Marco, The Island of Zepangu or Japan 65 Pope, Self-love and Reason 14 Porter, Jane, Departure of Thaddeus from Warsaw ........ 663 Porter, Sir R. Ker, The Nowroose, or the New Year in Persia • . • • 470 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE PfiEscoTT, W. H., The Valley and City of Mexico loi Prideaux, Rev. Dr., The Targums or Translations 555 Priestley, Joseph, Of the Natural Signs of the Passions 4^4 Pringle, Thomas, Snakes and their Antidotes C69 Prior, Matthew, The Garland ?,((> PusEY, Dr., God Calleth Thee • • • 3*^7 Q UARLES, F., Life Compared to a Sea 254 QuiNCEY, De, The Large Dose of Opium 144 EADCLIFFE, MRS., Midnight Visit to a Father's Grave 327 Raleigh, Walter, On Tyranny and the Employment of Mercenaries by Tyrants 183 Ramsay, Rev. Dean, The Old Scottish Domestic Servant 5,63 Ranke, Leopold, Kara George 646 Rapin, Paul de. Reflections on the Trial of Mary Queen of Scots . . . 187 Reade, Charles, Lord Ipsden Converses with the "Lower Orders" in Compliai-'ce with his Doctor's Prescription 846 Reid, Dr., Knowledge of the Mind and its Faculties 275 Richardson, Samuel, Clarissa Harlowe Dying 619 Ridley, Nicholas, Example of God's Ready Help in Extreme Perils , . 526 Ritchie, Leitch, The Joy of Grief 640 Robertson, Rev. Dr., The Progress of Civilization 09 Robertson, Rev. J. C, Character or Thomas Becket 82 Rogers, Samuel, Early Recollections 271 Roscoe, William, Florence under Lorenzo de Medici 687 Ross, Sir John, Sailing through the Ice 363 RusKiN, John, Venice 569 Russell, W. H., The Cavalry Charge at Balaklava 349 SALA, G. A. H., Dives and the Hand of Death 4?c; Savary Nicholas, Domestic Life in Egypt in 1776 8^? Schiller and Coleridge, The Astrologer's Chamber 897 Schiller, The Character of Wallenstein j^2 Schlegel, Augustus William von, Macbeth j27 Schlegel, F., Lord Bacon 04 Scott, Sir W., Castle Building ^tjg Secker, Archbishop, A Life of Pleasure 429 Sewell, Elizabeth Mary, Aunt Sarah's Advice 876 Shakespeare, William, Henry the Fifth at Agincourt 411 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, The Sky-lark 442 Sherlock, Bishop, The Excellency of the Christian Religion 461 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS, PAGE Sidney, Sir Philip, The Storm at Sea 216 Simeon, Rev. Charles, Benefits derived from a Liturgy or Form of Prayer 931 SisMONDi, J. C. L. SiMONDE DE, The Improvvisatore 660 Smiles, Samuel, Old Inventions Revived 297 Smith, Adam, Of the Origin and Use of Money 229 Smith, Alexander, Violet 783 Smith, Goldwin, A Noble Roman 829 Smith, Horace, The Library 705 Smith, James, The Batchelor's Thermometer 780 Smith, Rev. Sydney, Emigration 541 Smollett, Tobias, Commodore Trunnion's Ride 707 South, Rev. R., Man Before the Fall 73 Southey, Robert, Death of Nelson • 600 Speke, Captain, The Source of the Nile 251 Stael, Madame de, Klopstock 673 Stanley, Bishop, The Stork 718 Stanley, Dean, The Conversion of St. Augustine 398 Steele, Sir Richard, Characters of the Members of the Club at the Trumpet 548 Stephen, James, Pascal's Provincial Letters 214 Sterne, Rev. L., The Starling; or, the Blessings of Libery n6 Stewart, Dugald, Memory in Different Individuals 355 St. John, Henry, The Proper Study of History 44° Strickland, Miss A., The Infancy of Edward VI 467 Strype, Rev. J., The Accession of Queen Mary 3^9 Sumner, Archbishop, The Christian's Dependence upon his Redeemer . 590 Swift, Dean, Thoughts and Aphorisms 593 TALFOURD, MR. JUSTICE, Son's Intercession 7^1 Tasso, Torquato, The Combat between Tancred and Argentes . . 193 Taylor, Bishop Jeremy, Of Conientedness in all Estates and Accidents . 17 Temple, Sir W,, Of Heroic Virtue • iS^ Tennent, J. E., The Pamboo-Kaloo, or Snake-Stone . ....... 123 Tennyson, Alfred, The Lady Clare 9^9 Thackeray, William Makepeace, The Knights of the Temple . . . 31° Thirlwall, Bishop, Plague in Athens, and Death of Pericles . .... 733 TicKNOR, George, Lazarillo de Tormes, and its Imitators 453 TiECK, LuDWiG, The Golden Goblet 246 TiLLOTsoN, John, All-sufficiency of the Christian Religion 166 Timbs, John, The Field of the Forty Footsteps 9-''7 ToMLiNE, Bishop, On the Inspiration of the Holy Scriptures 882 TowNSEND, Rev. G., Home Influences i''2 Trench, Archbishop, Redeemed from Sin 338 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SUBJECTS. PAGE Trollope, Anthony, The Bishop's Chaplain 450 Turner, S., The Witena-Gemot, or Anglo-Saxon Parliamexit 204 Tytler, p. F., The Character of James III. of Scotland 264 YAUGHAN, REV. C. J., Loneliness 545 ViLLEMAiN, Abel FRAN901S, The Dawn of Modern English Poetry . 824 TTTALPOLE, HORACE, The Trial of the Scottish Lords, 1746 ... 811 '* Walton, IzAAK, Observations on the Tench 426 Warburton, Bishop, Fanaticism 478 Warburton, E. B., Crocodile Shooting on the Nile 84 Warton, T., Origin of Romance , 77 Watts, Dr., There is a God 446 Whately, Archbishop, Verbal Questions Mistaken for Real 369 Whewell, Dr., Butler's Moral Philosophy 448 White, KiRKE, On a Survey of the Heavens 336 White, Rev. Joseph, The Evangelists' Description of the Character of our Lord 899 Whiteside, James, The Festival of the Bambino 360 Whittier, J. G., Maud Miiller 631 Wilberforce, Bishop, The Early American Church 860 Williams, Helen Maria, Panoramic View of Rome 777 WiLLMOTT, Rev. R. A., The Long Life of Books 39 Wilson, Professor, The Snow Storm . .• 294 Wither, George, Sleep Baby, Sleep ! 818 Wood, Mrs. Henry, Mr. Galloway and his Clerks 403 Wordsworth, Bishop, The Age of Columba 840 Wordsworth, William, The Shades of Night 319 Wraxall, Nathaniel William, Struensee 925 TONGE, MISS C. M., Berenger de Ribaumont finds his Wife and Child in the Besieged Huguenot Fortress 887 Young, Dr., The Last Day 351 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK OF MODERN LITERATURE. I.— FORMATION OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Hallam, 1777 — 185^. [Henry Hallam, historian and critic, son of Dr. Hallam, Dean of Wells, was born at Windsor, July 9, 1777. Educated at Eton and Christ Church, Oxford, he was called to the bar by the Inner Temple. Having been appointed a Commissioner of Audit he applied himself to literary pursuits, and was one of the early contributors to the " Edinburgh Review." Byron noticed him in " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," as '*■ Classic Hallam, much renowned for Greek." His first work, "A View of the State of Europe during the Middle Ages," was pub- lished in 1818. This was followed by "The Constitutiond History of England from the Accession of Henry VIL to the Death of George II.," published in 1827. His last work, "An Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Centuries," appeared in 1837-9. These are regarded as standard works, they have gone through several editions, and have been translated into most modern languages. A popular edition of his works was published by Murray in 1857. Henry Hallam died Jan. 22, 1859.] Nothing can be more difficult than to determine, except by an arbitrary line, the commencement of the English language ; not so much, as in those of the Continent, because we are in want of mate- rials, but rather from an opposite reason, the possibility of tracing a very gradual succession of verbal changes that ended in a change of denomination. We should probably experience a similar difficulty if we knew equally well the current idiom of France or Italy in the seventh and eighth centuries. For when we compare the earliest English of the thirteenth century with the Anglo-Saxon of the twelfth, it seems hard to pronounce why it should pass for a separate language, rather than a modification or simplification of the former. We must conform, however, to usage, and say that the Anglo-Saxon '/ B 2 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK rHallam. was converted into English : i. by contracting or otherwise modifying the pronunciation and orthography of woids 3 2. by omitting many inflections, especially of the noun, and consequently making more use of articles and auxiliaries; 3. by the introduction of French deri- vatives ; 4. by using less inversion and ellipsis, especially in poet.iy. Of these the second alone, I think, can be considered as sufficient to describe a new form of language ; and this was brought about so gradually that we are not relieved from much of our difficulty whether some compositions shall pass for the latest offspring of the mother or the earliest fruits of the daughter's fertility. The Anglo-Norman language is a phrase not quite so unobjectionable as the Anglo-Norman constitution ; and, as it is sure to deceive, we might better lay it aside altogether. In the one instance there was a real fusion of laws and government, to which we can find but a remote analogy, or rather none at all, in the other. It is probable, indeed, that the converse of foreigners might have something to do with those simplifications of the Anglo-Saxon grammar which appear about the reign of Henry II., more than a century after the Conquest ; though it is also true that languages of a very artificial structure, like that of England before that revolution, often became less complex in their forms, without any such violent process as an amalgamation of two different races. What is commonly called the Saxon Chronicle is continued to the death of Stephen in 1154, and in the same language, though with some loss of its purity. Besides the neglect of several grammatical rules, French words now and then obtrude themselves, but not very frequently, in the latter pages of this Chronicle. Peter- borough, however, was quite an English monastery 3 its endowments, its abbots, were Saxon ; and the political spirit the Chronicle breathes, in some passages, is that of the indignant subjects, servi ancor frementi, of the Norman usurpers. If its last compilers, therefore, gave way to some innovations of language, we may presume that these prevailed more extensively in places less secluded, and especially in London. We find evidence of a greater change in Layamon,* a translator of Wace's romance of Brutf from the French. Layamon's age is uncer- tain ; it must have been after n^^, when the original poem was com- pleted, and can hardly be placed below 1200. His language is accounted rather Anglo-Saxon than Enghsh; it retains most of the * Also called Laweman; describes himself as a priest residing at Ernley, near Radstone or Redstone, supposed to be Arley Regis or Lower Arley, near Bewdley, in Worcestershire, on the western bank of the Severn. t A Chronicle of Britain from the arrival of Brutus to the death of King Cad- walader in 689. Hallam.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 3 distinguishing inflections of the mother-tongue, yet evidently differs considerably from that older than the Conquest by the introduction, or at least more frequent employment, of some new auxiliary forms, and displays very little of the characteristics of the ancient poetry, its periphrases, its ellipses, or its inversions. But though translation was the means by which words of French origin were afterwards most copiously introduced, very few occur in the extracts from Layamon hitherto published : for we have not yet the expected edition of the entire work.* He is not a mere translator, but improves much on Wace. The adoption of the plain and almost creeping style of the metrical French romance, instead of the impetuous dithyrambics of Saxon song, gives Layamon at first sight a greater affinity to the new English language than in mere grammatical structure he appears to bear. Layamon wrote in a village on the Severn 5 and it is agreeable to experience that an obsolete structure of language should be retained in a distant province, while it has undergone some change among the less rugged inhabitants of a capital. The disuse of Saxon forms crept on by degrees j some metrical lives of saints, apparently written not far from the year 12^0, may be deemed English 3 but the first speci- men of it that bears a precise date is a proclamation of Henry III., addressed to the people of Huntingdonshire in 1258, but doubtless circular throughout England. A triumphant song, composed probably in London, on the victory obtained at Lewes by the confederate barons in 1264, ^^^ ^^e capture of Richard Earl of Cornwall, is rather less obsolete in its style than this proclamation, as might naturally be expected. It could not have been written later than that year, because in the next the tables were turned on those who now exulted by the complete discomfiture of their party in the battle of Evesham. Several pieces of poetry, uncertain as to their precise date, must be referred to the latter part of this century. Robert of Gloucester, after the year 1297, since he alludes to the canonisation of St. Louis, turned the chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth into English verse ; and, on com- paring him with Layamon, a native of nearly the same part of England, and a writer on the same subject, it will appear that a great quantity of French had flowed into the language since the loss of Normandy. The Anglo-Saxon inflections, terminations, and ortho- graphy had also undergone a very considerable change. That the intermixture of French words was very slightly owing to the Norman * This edition of Layamon^s entire work, edited for the Society of Antiquaries by Sir Frederick Madden, appeared in 1847. ^t contains two texts of the Brut, with a Literal Translation, Notes, and a Grammatical Glossary. B 2 THE EVERY- DAY BOOK [Bulwer Lytton. Conquest will appear probable by observing at least as frequent an use of thera in the earliest specimens of the Scottish dialect, especially a song on the death of Alexander III. in 1285. There is a good deal of French in this, not borrowed, probably, from England, but directly from the original sources of imitation. — Introduction to the Literature of Eur ope i part i. chap i. §§ 49, 50. 2.— RICCABOCCA ON REVOLUTION. [Lord Lytton, 1805. [Edward George Earle Bulwer Lytton, the distinguished author and statesman, youngest son of the late General Bulwer, was born in 1805. He was educated privately, and went to Trinity College, Cambridge. A baronefcy was conferred upon him July 18, 1838; and having in 1844 inherited the maternal estate of Knebworth, Sir Edward assumed the name of Lytton by Royal license; was first returned to the House of Commons in 1831 for St. Ives, represented Lincoln from 1832 to 1841, and the county of Hertford from 1852 to 1866. He filled the office of Colonial Secretary in Lord Derby's administration in 1858. His first publication was " Ismael," an Oriental tale, which appeared in 1825. "Falkland," his first novel, published anonymously, and " Pel ham ; or, the Adventures of a Gentleman," in 1827, have been followed by a series of fictions that have secured for their author an en iuring reputation. His first drama, "The Duchess de la Valli ere," performed at Covent Garden in 1837, did not meet with a very favourable reception; but "The Lady of Lyons," brought out at the same theafe anonymously (Feb. 13, 1838), proved the most successful of modern plays. Sir Edward took a very active part in the forma- tion of the Guild of Literature and Art, for which he wrote the comedy, " Not so Bad as we Seem," first performed privately before the Queen, &c.. May 16, 1851. It would be impossible in a short sketch to give even an idea of the numerous literary productions of this versatile and indefatigable author. Chambers ("Cyclopaedia of English Literature," vol. ii. p. 634,) says : " He is remarkable as having sought and obtained disrinction in almost every department of literature — in poetry, the drama, the historical romance, domestic novel, philosophical essay, and political disquisition. Like Cowley, too, he is remarkable as having appeared as an author, in a printed volume, in his fifteenth year." Sir Edward was created Lord Lytton in 1866.] Out of the Tinker's bag Leonard Fairfield had drawn a translation of Condorcet's " Progress of Man," and another of Rousseau's " Social Contract." Works so eloquent had induced him to select from the tracts in the Tinker's miscellany those which abounded most in pro- fessions of philanthropy, and predictions of some coming Golden Age, to which old Saturn's was a joke — tracts so mild and mother-like in their language, that it required a much more practical experience than Lenny's to perceive that you would have to pass a river of blood before you had the slightest chance of setting foot on the flowery banks on which they invited you to repose — tracts which rouged poor Christianity on the cheeks, clapped a crown of innocent daffodillies on her head, and set her to dancing a pas de zephyr in the pastoral ballet Bulwer Lytton.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 5 in which St. Simon pipes to the flock he shears ; or having tirst laid it down as a prehminary axiom that " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces. The solemn temples, the great globe itself — Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve," substitQted in place thereof Monsieur Fourier's symmetrical pbalan- stere^ or Sir. Owen's architectural parallelogram."^ Ic was with some such tract that Lenny was seasoning his crusts and his radishes, when Riccabocca, bending his long dark face over the student's shoulder, said abruptly — " Diavolo, my friend ! what on earth have you got there ? Just let me look at it, will you r" Leonard rose respectfully, and coloured deeply as he surrendered the tract to Riccabocca. The wise man read the first page attentively, the second more cursorily, and only ran his eye over the rest. He had gone through too vast a range of problems pohtical, not to have passed ov^er tliat venerable Pons Asinorum of Socialism, on which Fouriers and St. Simons sit straddling, and cry aloud that they have arrived at the last boundary of knowledge ! "All this is as old as the hills," quoth Riccabocca irreverently j '' but the hills stand still, and this — there it goes !" and the sage, pointed to a cloud emitted from his pipe. "Did you ever read Sir David Brewster on Optical Delusions? No! Well, Lll lend it to you. YoQ will find therein a story of a lady who always saw a black cat on her hearth-rug. The black cat existed only in her fancy, but the hallucination was natural and reasonable — eh — what do you think." "Why, sir," said Leonard, not catching the Italian's meaning, "I don't exactly see that it was natural and reasonable." " Foolish boy, yes I because black cats are things possible and known. But who ever saw upon earth a community of men such as .sit on the hearth-rugs of Messrs. Owen and Fourier ■ If the lady's hallucination was not reasonable, what is his who believes in such visions as these ?" Leonard bit his lip. * Claude Henri, Comte de St. Simon, who was born at Paris Oct. 17, 1760, and died May 19, 1825; Charles Fourier, who was born at Besan^on .\pril 7, 177-2, and died at Paris Oct. 10, 1837 ; and Robert Owen, who was born at Newton, in Mont- gomer\-shire. May 14, 1771, and died Nov. 17, 185S, were notorious advocates of Communist or Social doctrines. Hence their disciples are called Saint Simonians, Foarierists, and Owenites. THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Bulwer Lytton. "My dear boy/' cried Riccabocca kindly, "the only thing sure and tangible to which these writers would lead yoa, lies at the first step, and that is what is commonly called a Revolution. Now, I know what that is. I have gone, not indeed through a revolution, but an attempt at one." Leonard raised his eyes towards his master with a look of profound respect, and great curiosity. ''•'Yes," added Riccabocca, and the face on which the boy gazed exchanged its usual grotesque and sardonic expression for one ani- mated, noble, and heroic. " Yes, not a revolution for chimeras, but for that cause which the coldest allow to be good, and which, when successful, all time approves as divine — the redemption of our native soil from the rule of the foreigner ! I have shared in such an attempt. And," continued the Italian, mournfully, "recalling now all the evil passions it arouses, all the ties it dissolves, all the blood that it com- m.ands to flow, all the healthful industry it arrests, all the madmen that it arms, all the victims that it dupes, 1 question whether one man really honest, pure, and humane, who has once gone through such an ordeal, would ever hazard it again, unless he was assured that the victory was certain — ay, and the object for which he fights not to be wrested from his hands amidst the uproar of the elements that the battle has released." The Italian paused, shaded his brow with his hand, and remained long silent. Then, gradually resuming his ordinary tone, he con- tinued — " Revolutions that have no definite objects made clear by the posi- tive experience of history ; revolutions, in a word, that aim less at substituting one law or one dynasty for another, than at changing the whole scheme of society, have been little attempted by real statesmen. Even Lycurgus is proved to be a myth who never existed. Such or- ganic changes are but in the day-dreams of philosophers who lived apart from the actual world, and whose opinions (though generally they were very benevolent, good sort of men, and wrote in an elegant poetical style) one would no more take on a plain matter of life, than one would look upon Virgil's ' Eclogues' as a faithful picture of the ordinary pains and pleasures of the peasants who tend our sheep. Read them as you would read poets, and they are delightful. But attempt to shape the world according to the poetry, and fit yourself for a madhouse. The farther off the age is from the realization of such projects, the more these poor philosophers have indulged them. Thus, it was amidst the saddest corruption of court manners that it became the fashion in Paris to sit for one's picture, with a crook in one's hand, as Alexis or Daphne. Just as liberty was fast dying out of Greece, Bulwer Lytton.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. and the successors of Alexander were founding their monarchies^ and Rome was growing up to crush in its iron grasp all states save its own, Plato withdraws his eyes from the world, to open them in his dreamy Atlantis.* Just in the grimmest period of English history, with the axe hanging over his head. Sir Thomas More gives you his ^ Utopia. 'f Just when the world is to be the theatre of a new Sesostris, the sages of France tell you that the age is too enlightened for war, that man is henceforth to be governed by pure reason, and live in a paradise. Very pretty reading all this to a man like me, Lenny, who can admire and smile at it. But to yon, to the man who has to work for his living, to the man who thinks it would be so much more pleasant to live at his ease in a phalanstere than to work eight or ten hours a-day ; to the man of talent, and action, and industry, whose future is invested in that tranquillity and order of a state in which talent, and action, and in- dustry are a certain capital ; why, Messrs. Coutts, the great bankers, had better encourage a theory to upset the system of banking ! What- ever disturbs society, yea, even by a causeless panic, much more by an actual struggle, falls first upon the market of labour, and thence affects prejudicially every department of intelligence. In such times the arts are arrested, literature is neglected, people are too busy to read any- thing save appeals to their passions. And capital, shaken in its sense of security, no longer ventures boldly through the land, calling forth z\\ the energies of toil and enterprise, and extending to every work- man his reward. Now, Lenny, take this piece of advice. You are young, clever, and aspiring: men rarely succeed in changing the world 3 but a man seldom fails of success if he lets the world alone, and resolves to make the best of it. You are in the midst of the great * Plato's idea of a perfect state is unfolded in the " Laws" and the " Republic." t This work, named from a king Utopus, written in Latin, was published at Louvain in 15 16. The first English edition, translated by Robynson, was published in London in 1551. Bishop Burnet's translation appeared in 1684. Hallam (Lit. Hist., part. i. ch. 4) says — " The ' Republic' of Plato no doubt furnished More with the germ of his perfect society ; but it would be unreasonable to deny him the merit of having struck out the fiction of its real existence from his own fertile imagination ; and it is manifest that some of his most distinguished successors in the same walk of ro- mance, especially Swift, were largely indebted to his reasoning as well as inventive talents. Those who read the ' Utopia' in Burnet's translation, may believe that they are in Brobdignag; so similar is the vein of satirical humour and easy language. If false and impracticable theories are found in the 'Utopia' (and, perhaps, he knew them to be such), this is in a much greater degree true of the Platonic republic." In a note to a later edition of his " Literary History," Hallam qualifies the assertion that More borrowed the germ of his " Utopia" from Plato, and says, " neither the ' Republic' nor the ' Laws' of Plato bear any resemblance to the * Utopia.' " Lord Bacon's treatise on the same sub- ject, "The New Atlantis, a Fragment," was published in 1635, and Swift's ** Gulliver's Travels" in 1726-7. 8 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Milman. crisis of your life j it is the struggle between the new desires know- ledge excites, and that sense of poverty, which those desires convert either into hope and emulation, or into envy and despair. I grant that it is an up-hill work that lies before you ; but don't you think it is always easier to climb a mountain than it is to level it ? These books call on you to level the mountain ; and that mountain is the property of other people, subdivided amongst a great many proprietors, and pro- tected by law. At the first stroke of the pickaxe it is ten to one but what you are taken up for a trespass. But the path up the mountain is a right of way uncontested. You may be safe at the summit, before (even if the owners are fools enough to let you) you could have levelled a yard. Cos- petto /" quoth the Doctor, *' it is more than two thousand years ago since poor Plato began to level it, and the mountain is as high as ever!" Thus saying, Riccabocca came to the end of his pipe, and stalking thoughtfully away, he left Leonard Fairfield trying to extract hght from the smoke. — My Novel ; or, Varieties in English Life, vol. i. book i. chap. 8. 3.— GREAT ERA OF SCHOLASTICISM, [Dean Milman, 179T — 1868. [Henry Hart Milman, the youngest son of Sir Francis Milman, Bart., was born in London, Feb. 10, 1791. He was educated at Eton and Brasenose College, Oxford, and took orders in 1817. "Fazio," a tragedy, published in 1815, was performed at Covent Garden with success Feb. 5, 18 18. This was followed by other poetical works; and "The History of the Jews/' published anonymously in 1829-30; "The History of Christianity, from the Birth of Christ to the Abolition of Paganism in the Roman Empire," appeared in 1840; and his great work, "The History of Latin Christianity, including that of the Popes to the Pontificate of Nicholas V.," in 1854-5. Mr. Milman was elected Professor of Poetry in the Uni- versity of Oxford in 1821, was Bampton Lecturer in 1827, was successively Vicar of St. Mary's, Reading (1827-35), and St. Margaret's, Westminster (1835-49); and was made Dean of St. Paul's in 1849. He died in Oct., 1868.] Now came the great age of the Schoolmen. Latin Christianity raised up those vast monuments of Theology which amaze and appal the mind with the enormous accumulation of intellectual industry, ingenuity, and toil, but of which the sole result to posterity is this barren amazement. The tomes of scholastic divinity may be com- pared with the pyramids of Egypt, which stand in that rude majesty which is commanding from the display of immense human power, yet oppressive from the sense of the waste of that power for no dis- coverable use. Whoever penetrates within finds himself bewildered and lost in a labyrinth of small, dark, intricate passages and chambers, devoid of grandeur, devoid of solemnity : he may wander without end and find nothing ! It was not, indeed, the enforced labour of a Milman.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 9 slave population : it was rather voluntary slavery, submitting in its intellectual ambition and its religious patience to monastic discipline : it was the work of a small intellectual oligarchy, monks of necessity, in mind and habits 3 for it imperiously required absolute seclusion either in the monastery or in the university : a long life under monastic rule. No Schoolman could be a great man but as a Schoolman. William of Vekham alone was a powerful demagogue : scholastic even in his political writings, but still a demagogue. It is singular to see every kingdom in Latin Christendom, every order in the social State, furnishing the great men, not merely to the successive lines of Doctors, who assumed the splendid titles of the Angelical, the Seraphic, the Irrefragable, the most Profound, the most Subtle, the Invincible, even the Perspicuous, but even to what may be called the supreme Pentarchy of scholasticism. Italy sent Thomas of Aquino and Bonaventura 3 Germany, Albert the Great 5 the British Isles (the}^ boasted, also, of Alexander Hales and Bradwardine) Duns Scotus and William of Ockham J France alone must content hei self with names somewhat inferior (she had already given Abelard, Gilbert dela Poree, Amauri de Bene, and other famous or suspected names), now William of Auvergne, at a later time Darandus. Albert and Aquinas were of noble Houses, the Counts of Bollstadt and Aquino j Bonaventura of good parentage at Fidenza ; of Scotus, the birth was so obscure as to be untraceable 5 Ockham was of humble parents in the village of that name in Surrey. But France may boast that the University of Paris was the great scene of their studies, their labours, their instruction : the University of Paris was the acknowledged awarder of the fame and authority obtained by the highest Schoolmen. It is not less re- markable that the new mendicant orders sent forth these five Patriarchs in dignity of the science. Albert and Aquinas were Dominicans j Bonaventura, Duns Scotus, Ockham, Franciscans. It might have been supposed that the popularising of religious teaching, which was the express and avowed object of the Friar Preachers and of the Minorites, would have left the higher places of abstruse and learned Theology to the older Orders, or to the more dignified secular Eccle- siastics. Content with being the vigorous antagonists of heresy in all quarters, they would not aspire also to become the aristocracy of theologic erudition. Bu: the dominant religious impulse of the times could not but seize on all the fervent and powerful minds which sought satisfaction for their devout yearnings. No one who had strong religious ambition could be anything but a Dominican or a Franciscan ; to be less was to be below the highest standard. Hence, on one hand the Orders aspired to rule the Universities, contested the supremacy with all the great estabhshed authorities in the Schools j lo THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Mandeville. and having already drawn into their vortex almost all who united powerful abilities with devotional temperament, never wanted men who could enter into this dreary but highly rewarding service — men who could rule the Schools as others of their brethren had begun to rule the councils and the mind of Kings. It may be strange to contrast the popular simple preaching, for such must have been that of St. Dominic and St. Francis, such that of their followers, in order to con- tend with success against the plain and austere sermons of the heretics, with the '' Sum of Theology" of Aquinas, which of itself (audit is but one volume in the works of Thomas) would, as it might seem, occupy a whole life of the most secluded study to write, almost to read. The unlearned, unreasoning, only profoundly, passionately loving, and dreaming St. Francis, is still more oppugnant to the intensely subtle and dry Duns Scotus, at one time carried by his severe logic into Pelagianism ; or to William of Ockham, perhaps the hardest and severest intellectualist of all ; a political fanatic, not like his visionary brethren, who brooded over the Apocalypse and their own prophets, but for the Imperial against the Papal sovereignty. — History of Latin Cliristianity, including that of the Popes to the Pontificate of Nicholas VL, vol. vi. b. xix. ch. 3. 4.— THE HOLY SEPULCHRE AT JERUSALEM. [Sir John Mandeville, 1300 — 1372. [Sir John Mandeville, or Maundeville, with vv^hom English prose literature is said to commence, was born at St. Alban's in 1300. He was educated for the medical pre fission, and having travelled in Eastern countries for thirty-four years, on his return published in Latin an account of his wanderings. This work was translated into the French language, in which two editions appeared in 1480. The first English edition was published in 1499. Sir John Mandeville died at Lie'ge Nov. 17, 1372.] When men come to Jerusalem, their first pilgrimage is to the church of the holy sepulchre, where our Lord was buried, which is without the city on the north side ; but it is now inclosed by the town wall. And there is a xerj fair church, round, and open above, and covered ' in its circuit with lead ; and on the west side is a fair and high tower for bells, strongly made ; and in the middle of the church is a taber- nacle, as it were a little house, made with a little low door j and that tabernacle is made in manner of half a compass, right curiously and richly made of gold and azure and other rich colours. And in the right side of that tabernacle is the sepulchre of our Lord ; and the tabernacle is eight feet long, and five wide, and eleven in height ; and it is not long since the sepulchre was all open, that men might kiss it Mandeville.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. ii and touch it. But because pilgrims that came thither laboured to break the stone in pieces or in powder, therefore the sultan has caused a wall to be made round the sepulchre, that no man may touch it. In the left side of the wall of the tabernacle, about the height of a man, is a great stone, the magnitude of a man's head, that was of the holy sepulchre ; and that stone the pilgrims that come thither kiss. In that tabernacle are no windows ; but it is all made light with lamps which hang before the sepulchre. And there is one lamp which hangs before the sepulchre which burns bright 5 and on Good Friday it goes out of itself, and lights again by itself at the hour that our Lord rose from the dead. Also, within the church, at the right side, near the choir of the church, is Mount Calvary, where our Lord was placed on the cross. It is a rock of a white colour, a little mixed with red ; and the cross was set in a mortise in the same rock ; and on that rock dropped the blood from the wounds of our Lord when he was punished on the cross ; and that is called Golgotha. And they go up to that Golgotha by steps 3 and in the place of that mortise Adam's head was found, after Noah's flood, in token that the sins of Adam should be redeemed in that same place. And upon that rock Abraham made sacrifice to our Lord. And there is an altar, before which He Godfrey de Boulogne and Baldwin, and other Christian kings of Jerusalem ; and near where our Lord was crucified is this written in Greek : " God our king before the worlds, hath wrought salvation in the midst of the earth." And also on the rock where the cross was set is written, within the rock, these words in Greek : *'What thou seest, is the ground of all the faith of this world." And you shall understand that when our Lord was placed on the cross he was thiny^-three years and three months old. Also, within Mount Calvary, on the right side, is an altar, where the pillar lieth to which our Lord Jesus was bound when he was scourged ; and there, besides, are four pillars of stone that always drop water ; and some men say that they \^"eep for our Lord's death. Near that altar is a place under earth, fort}"-tv,-o steps in depth, \^'here the holy cross was found by the wisdom of St. Helena, under a rock, where the Jews had hid it. And thus was the true cross assayed ; for they found three crosses, one of our Lord, and two of the two thieves 3 and St. Helena placed a dead body on them, which arose from death to life when it was laid on that on which our Lord died. And thereby, in the wall, is the place where the four nails of our Lord were hid ; for he had two in his hands and two in his feet. * * * * And in the midst of that church is a compass, in which Joseph of Arimathea laid the body of our Lord when he had taken him down from the cross j and there he washed the wounds of our Lord. And that compass, men say, is the 12 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Mandeville. middle of the world.* And in the church of the sepulchre, on the north side, is the place where our Lord was put in prison (for he was in prison in many places) ; and there is a part of the chain with wliich he was bound j and there he appeared first to Mary Magdalene when he was risen, and she thought that he had been a gardener. In the church of St. Sepul'hre there were formerly canons of the order of St. Augustin, who had a prior, but the patriarch was their head. And outside the doors of the church, on the right side, as men go upward eighteen steps, is the spot where our Lord said to his mother, " Woman, behold thy son !" And, after that, he said to John his disciple, "Behold thy mother !"t And these words he said on the cross. And on these steps went our Lord when he bare the cross on his shoulder. And under these steps is a chapel 3 and in that chapel sing priests of India, not after our law, but after theirs j and they always make their sacrament of the altar, saying Pater noster, and other prayers therewiih, with which prayers they say the words that the sacrament is made of 3 for they know not the additions that many popes have made; but they sing with good devotion. And near there is the place where our Lord rested him when he was weary for bearing of the cross. Before the church of the sepulchre the city is weaker than in any other part, for the great plain that is between the church and the city. And towards the east side, without the walls of the city, is the vale of Jehoshaphat, which adjoins to the walls as though it were a large ditch. And over against that vale of Jehoshaphat, out of the city, is the church of St. Stephen, where he was stoned to death. And there besides is the golden gate, which may not be opened, by which gate our Lord entered on Palm Sunday, upon an ass 3 and the gate opened to him when he would go unto the temple 3 and the marks of the ass's feet are still seen in three places on the steps, which are of very hard stone. Before the church of St. Sepulchre, two hundred paces to the south, is the great hospital of St. John, of which the Hospitalers had their foundation. And within the palace of the sick men of that hospital are one hundred and twenty-four pillars of stone; and in the walls of the house, besides the number aforesaid, there are fifty-four pillars that support the house. From that hospital, going towards the east, is a very fair church, which is called Our Lady the Great; and after it there is another church, very near, called Our Lady the Latin 3 and there stood Mary Cleophas and Mary Magdalene, and tore their hair, when our Lord was executed on the cross. * Jerusalein was supposed to be the centre of the world, and is thus depicted in most mediaeval maps. I'his belief was founded on a literal translation of Psalm Ixxiv. 12. t John xix. 26. Coleridge.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 13 5.— THE IMPORTANCE OF METHOD. [S. T. Coleridge, 1772 — 1834. [Samuel Taylor Coleridge, born at Ottery-St.-Mary, in Devonsliire, Oct. 21, 17-2, was educated at Ciirist's Hospital, and Jesus College, Cambridge. He left the University without completing the usual course, and in 1794 published his first work, a small volume of poems. This was followed by other productions of the kind, the most popular of which are, "The Ancient Mariner," " Christabcl," and " Love, or Genevieve." His poetical works were first collected and published in three volumes, in 1828. Coleridge was the author of several essays and critical works, amongst which may be mentioned "The PViend," a weekly paj^er, com- menced June I, 1809, and terminating March 15, 1810, of which several editions have appeared; "Lay Sermons," published in 1816; " Biographia Literaria; or. Biographical Sketches of my Life and Opinions," published in 1817; and "Notes and Lectures upon Shakespeare and some of the Old Poets and Dramatists," edited by his daughter, and published in 1849. ^"^ 1818, he wrote a " Dissertation on the Science of Method," which forms the " Introduction to the Encyclopaedia Metropolitana." Coleridge died at Highgate, near London, July 25, 1834. " Early Recollections of Coleridge," by J. Cottle, appeared in 1837; ^^^ his "Life," by J. Gillman, in 1838.] And as to the general importance of Method ; — what need have we to dilate on this fertile topic ? for it is not solely in the formation of the Human Understanding, and in the constructions of Science and Literature^ that the employment of Method is indispensably neces- sary J but its importance is equally felt, and equally acknowledged, in the whole business and economy of active and domestic life. From the cottager's hearth or the workshop of the artisan, to the Palace or the Arsenal, the first merit, that which admits neither substitute nor equivalent, is that everything is in its place. Where this charm is wanting, every other merit either loses its name, or becomes an addi- tional ground of accusation and regret. Of one, by whom it is eminently possessed, we say proverbially, that he is like clockwork. The resemblance extends beyond the point of regularity, and yet falls short of the truth. Both do, indeed, at once divide and announce the silent and otherwise indistinguishable lapse ot time ; but the man of Methodical industry and honourable pursuits, does more ; he realizes its ideal divisions, and gives a character and individuality to its moments. If the idle are described as killing time, he may be justly said to call it into life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct object not only of the consciousness, but of the conscience. He organizes the hours, and gives them a soul : and to that, the very essence of which is to fleet, and to have been, he communicates an imperishable and a spiritual nature. Of the good and faithful servant, whose energies, thus directed, are thus methodized, it is less truly aflfirmed, that he lives in Time, than that Time lives in him. His days, months, and years, as the stops and punctual marks in the 14 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Pope. records of duties performed^, will survive the wreck of worlds, and remain extant when Time itself shall be no more. Let us carry our views a step higher. What is it that first strikes us, and strikes us at once in a man of education, and which, among educated men, so instantly distinguishes the man of superior Mind ? Not always the weight or novelty of his remarks, nor always the interest of the facts which he communicates ; for the subject of con- versation may chance to be trivial, and its duration to be short. Still less can any just admiration arise from any peculiarity in his words . and phrases ; for every man of practical good sense will follow, as far as the matters under consideration will permit him, that golden rule of Caesar — Insolens verhum, tanquam scopulum,, evitare. The true cause of the impression made on us is, that his mind is methodical. We perceive this in the unpremeditated and evidently habitual arrange- ment of his words, flowing spontaneously and necessarily from the clearness of the leading Idea ; from which distinctness of mental vision, when men are fully accustomed to it, they obtain a habit of foreseeing at the beginning of every instance how it is to end, and how all its parts may be brought out in the best and most orderly succession. However irregular and desultory the conversation may happen to be, there is Method in the fragments. Let us once more take an example which must come " home to every man's business and bosom." Is there not a Method in the discharge of all our relative duties ? And is not he the truly virtuous and truly happy man, who seizing first and laying hold most firmly of the great first Truth, is guided by that divine light through all the meandring and stormy courses of his existence ? To him every relation of life affords a prolific Idea of dutyj by pursuing which into all its practical consequences, he becomes a good servant or a good master, a good subject or a good sovereign, a good son or a good father j a good friend, a good patriot, a good Christian, a good man ! — A Dissertation on the Science of Method ; or, the Laws and Regu- lative Principles of Education, § 2. 6.— SELF-LOVE AND REASON. [Pope, 1688— 1744. {^Alexander Pope was born in London, May 21, 1688. His father, who had amassed a fortune in business as a linen-draper, being a Roman Catholic, placed him, when eight years of age, under the care of a priest. The young poet then went to a school at Twyford, afterwards to another in London, and, being delicate, spent much of his time in, reading. His " Pastorals" were composed in 1704, and published in 1709* in which year he wrote the " Essay on Criticism," of which the first edition appeared in 171 1. "The Rape of the Lock," and " Windsor Forest," were published in 17 13. Pope.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. ig Pope issued proposals for the translation of the "Iliad" in 1713, and it appeared at intervals between 17 15 and 1720. He published a collected edition of his poetical works in 1 7 18, and the translation of the "Odyssey," in 1725. His edition of Shakespeare appeared in 1725, the " Dunciad" in May, 1728, and the " Essay on Man" in 1733. Several other works followed, and Pope died May 30, 1744. A collected edition of his works, edited by Warburton, was published in nine volumes, between 1751 — 1760. Pope has numerous biographers. His Life, by W. Ayre, appeared in 1745; by W. H. Dilworth, in 1759; by Owen Ruffhead, in 1769; by Joseph Warton, in 1797; and by W. L. Bowles, in 1806. A good account of Pope is given in Dr. Johnson's "Lives of the Poets," first published 1779 — 81.] Two principles in human nature reign ; Self-love, to urge, and reason, to restrain ; Nor this a good, nor that a bad vice call. Each marks its end, to move or govern all ; And to their proper operation still. Ascribe all good ; to their improper, ill. Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul ; Reason's comparing balance rales the whole. Man, but for that, no action could attend. And, but for this, were active to no end : Fix'd hke a plant on his peculiar spot. To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot ; Or, meteor-like, flame lawless through the road. Destroying others, by himself destroy' d. Most strength the moving principle requires : Active its task, it prompts, impels, inspires. Sedate and quiet, the comparing lies, Form'd but to check, deliberate, and advise. Self-love still stronger, as its objects nigh ; Reason's at distance, and in prospect lie : That sees immediate good by present sense ; Reason, the future and the consequence. Thicker than arguments, temptations throng, At lust more watchful this, but that more strong. The action of the stronger to suspend Reason still use, to reason still attend. Attention, habit and experience gains 5 Each strengthens reason, and self-love restrains. Let subtle schoolmen teach these friends to light More studious to divide than to unite 5 And grace and virtue, sense and reason split. With all the rash dexterity of wit. Wits, just like fools, at war about a name. Have full as oft no meaning, or the same. THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Pope. Self-love and reason to one end aspire. Pain their aversion, pleasure their desire -, But greedy That its object would devour. This taste the honey, and not wound the flower : Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood. Our greatest evil or our greatest good. Modes of self-love the passions we may call ; 'Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all : But since not every good we can divide. And reason bids us for our own provide : Passions, though selfish, if their means be fair. List under Reason, and deserve her care ; Those, that imparted, court a nobler aim. Exalt their kind, and take some virtue's name. In lazy apathy let stoics boast Their virtue fix'd 5 'tis fix'd as in a frost ; Contracted all, retiring to the breast ; But strength of mind is exercise, not rest : The rising tempest puts in act the soul. Parts it may ravage, but preserves the whole. On hfe's "^ast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale ; Nor God alone, in the still calm we find. He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind. Passions like elements, though born to fight. Yet, mix'd and soften'd, in his work unite : These, 'tis enough to temper and employ 3 But what composes man, can man destroy. Suffice that reason keep to nature's road. Subject, compound them, follow her and God. Love, hope, and joy, fair pleasure's smiling train. Hate, fear, and grief, the family of pain, These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confined. Make and maintain the balance of the mind j The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife. Gives all the strength and colour of our life. Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes ; And when, in act they cease, in prospect, rise : Present to grasp, and future still to find. The whole employ of body and of mind. All spread their charms, but charm not all alike. On different senses different objects strike 3 Jeremy Taylor.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 17 Hence different passions more or less inflame. As strong or weak, the organs of the frame ; And hence one Master Passion in the breast. Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest. — Jn Essay on Man : in Four Epistles. — §§ i., ii., and iii. 7.— OF CONTENTEDNESS IN ALL ESTATES AND ACCIDENTS. [Bp, Jeremy Taylor, 1613 — 1667. [This distinguished divine, called by Jeffrey "the most Shakspearian of our great divines," was born at Cambridge, August 15, 1613. Though his father followed the humble calling of a barber, the family was of good descent; and one of his ancestors. Dr. Rowland Taylor, suffered martyrdom in the reign of Queen Mary. Jeremy Taylor was educated at the grammar-school and university of his native place, and having attracted the attention of Laud, became his chaplain. Having been afterwards ap- pointed chaplain to Charles I., he followed the Royal fortunes during the Civil war, and was several times imprisoned. His " Liberty of Prophesying" appeared in 1647 ; "The Life of Christ, or the Great Exemplar of Sanctity," in 1649 ; the " Rule and Exercises of Holy Living and Dying," in 1 650-1 ; and the " Ductor Dubitantium ; or, the Rule of Conscience in all her General Measures," was published in 1660. He also wrote a variety of sermons and treatises. Several collected editions of Taylor's works have been issued. During the Commonwealth he resided first in Wales, where he kept a school, and afterwards in Ireland. At the Restoration he was appointed to the bishopric of Down and Connor, to which he was consecrated in January, 1661. Hallam says he is " the greatest ornament of the English pulpit up to the middle of the seventeenth century ; and we have no reason to believe — or rather, much reason to disbelieve — that he had any competitor in other languages." Jeremy Taylor died at Lisburn, August 13, 1667. His "Life," by J. Wheeldon, appeared in 1793; by H. K. Bonney, in 1815 ; by Bishop Heber, in 1824; and by the Rev. R. A. Willmott, in 1847.] Virtues and discourses are like friends necessary in all fortunes -, but those are the best which are friends in our sadnesses, and support us in our sorrows and sad accidents ; and in this sense no man that is vir- tuous can be friendless ; nor hath any man reason to complain of the Divine Providence, or accuse the public disorder of things, or his own infelicity, since God hath appointed one remedy for all the evils in the world, and that is a contented spirit. For this alone makes a man pass through fire and not be scorched, through seas and not to be drowned, through hunger and nakedness and want nothing. For since all the evil in the world consists in the disagreeing between the object and the appetite, as when a man hath what he desires not, or desires what he hath not, or desires amiss ; he that composes his spirit to the present accident hath variety of instances for his virtues, but none to trouble him, because his desires enlarge not beyond his present fortune ; c i8 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Jeremy Taylor. and a wise man is placed in the variety of chances, like the nave or centre of a wheel in the midst of all the circumvolutions and changes of posture^, without violence or change, save that it turns gently in compliance with its changed parts, and is indifferent which part is up and which is down ; for there is some virtue or other to be exer- cised whatever happens, either patience or thanksgiving, love or fear, moderation or humility, charity or contentedness, and they are every one of them equal in order to his great end and immortal felicity ; and beauty is not made by white or red, by black eyes and a round face, by a straight body and a smooth skin, but by a proportion to the fancy. No rules can make amiability — our minds and apprehensions make that ; and so is our felicity : and we may be reconciled to poverty and a low fortune if we suffer contentedness and the grace of God to make the proportion. For no man is poor that does not think him- self so. But if in a full fortune with impatience he desires more, he proclaims his wants and his beggarly condition. But because this grace of contentedness was the sum of all the old moral philosophy and great duty in Christianity, and of most universal use in the whole course of our lives, and the only instrument to ease the burthen of the world and the enmities of sad chances, it will not be amiss to press it by the proper arguments by which God hath bound it upon our spirit, it bemg fastened by reason and religion, by duty and interest, by ne- cessity and conveniency, by example, and by the proposition of ex- cellent rewards, no less than peace and felicity. I. Contentedness in all its estimates is a duty of religion ; it is the great reasonableness of complying with the Divine Providence which governs all the world, and hath so ordered us in the administration of his great family. He were a strange fool that should be angry because dogs and sheep need no shoes, and yet himself is full of care to get some. God hath supplied those needs to them by natural provisions, and to thee by an artificial ; for he hath given thee reason to learn a trade, or some means to make or buy them, so that it only differs in the manner of our provision — and which had you rather want, shoes or reason ? And my patron that hath given me a farm is freer to me than if he gives me a loaf ready baked. But, however, all these gifts come from him, and therefore it is fit that he should dispense them as he pleases 3 and if we murmur here, we may at the next melancholy be troubled that God did not make us to be angels or stars. For if that which we are to have do not content us, we may be troubled for everything in the worlds which is besides our being or our possessions. God is the master of the scenes 3 we must not choose which part we f hall act 3 it concerns us only to be careful that we do it well, always I Jeremy Taylor.] OF MODERN LITERATURE, 19 saying. If this please God let it he as it is; and we who pray that God's will may be done on earth as it is in heaven, must remember that the angels do whatsoever is commanded them, and go wherever they are sent, and refuse no circumstances ; and if their employment be crossed by a higher degree, they sit down in peace and rejoice in the event ; and when the angel of Jadea* could not prevail in behalf of the people committed to his charge, because the angel of Persia opposed it ; he only told the story at the command of God, and was as con- tent, and worshipped with as great an ecstasy in his proportion as the prevailing spirit. Do thou so likewise ; keep the station where God hath placed you, and you shall never long for things without, but sit at home feasting upon the Divine Providence and thy own reason, by which we are taught that it is necessary and reasonable to submit to God. For is not all the world God's family ? Are not we his creatures ? Are we not as clay in the hand of the potter ? Do we not live upon his meat, and move by his strength, and do our work by his light ? Are we anything but what we are from him ? And shall there be a mutiny among the flocks and herds, because their Lord or their Shepherd chooses their pastures, and suffers them not to wander into the deserts and unknown ways ? If we choose, we do it so foolishly that we cannot like it long, and most commonly not at all ; but God, who can do what he pleases, is wise to choose safely for us, affec- tionate to comply with our needs, and powerful to execute all his wise decrees. Here, therefore, is the wisdom of the contented man, to let God choose for him ; for when we have given up our wills to Him, and stand in that station of the battle where our Great General hath placed us, our spirits must needs rest, while our conditions have for their security the power, the wisdom, and the charity of God. 2. Contentedness in all accidents brings great peace of spirit, and is the great and only instrument of temporal felicity. It removes the sting from the accident, and makes a man not to depend upon the chance and the uncertain disposition of men for his well-being, but only on God and his own spirit. We ourselves make our fortunes good or bad, and when God lets loose a tyrant upon us, or a sickness, or scorn, or a lessened fortune, if we fear to die, or know not to be patient, or be proud, or covetous, then the calamity sits heavy on us. But if we know how to manage a noble principle, and fear no death so much as a dishonest action, and think impatience a worse evil than a fever, and pride to be the biggest disgrace, and poverty to be in- finitely desirable before the torments of covetousness ; then we who now think vice to be so easy, and make it so familiar, and think the Daniel x. 13. C 2 20 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK. [Jeremy Taylor. cure so impossible, shall quickly be of another mind_, and reckon these accidents amongst things eligible. But no man can be happy that hath great hopes and great fears of things without, and events depending upon other men, or upon the chances of fortune. The rewards of virtue are certain, and our pro- visions for our natural support are certain, or if we want meat till we die then we die of that disease, and there are many worse than to die with an atrophy or consumption, or unapt and coarser nourishment. But he that suffers a transporting passion concerning things within the power of others, is free from sorrow and amazement no longer than his enemy shall give him leave, and it is ten to one but he shall be smitten then and there where it shall most trouble him ; for so the adder teaches us where to strike by her curious and fearful defending of her head. The old Stoicks, when you told them of a sad story, would still am: wer — What is that to me? Yes, for the tyrant hath sentenced you also unto prison. Well, what is that ? He will put a chain upon my leg, but he cannot bind my soul. No ; but he will kill you. Then I'll die. If presently, let me go, that I may pre- sently be freer than himself 3 but if not till anon or to-morrow, I will dine first, or sleep, or do what reason and nature calls for, as at other times. This, in Gentile philosophy, is the same with the discourse of St. Paul : / have learned in whatsoever state I am therewith to le content. I know both how to he abased and I know how to abound ; everywhere and in all things I am instructed both how to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and suffer need. We are in the world like men playing at tables ; the chance is not in our power, but to play it is ; and when it is fallen we must manage it as we can, and let nothing trouble us but when we do a base action, or speak like a fool, or think wickedly. These things God hath put into our powers ; but concerning those things which are wholly in the choice of another they cannot fall under our deliberation, and there- fore neither are they fit for our passions. My fear may make me miserable, but it cannot prevent what another hath in his power and purpose ; and prosperities can only be enjoyed by them who fear not at all to lose them, since the amazement and passion concerning the future takes off^all the pleasure of the present possession. Therefore, if thou hast lost thy land, do not also lose thy constancy ; and if thou must die a little sooner, yet do not die impatiently. For no chance is evil to him that is content, and to a man nothing is miserable unless it be unreasonable. No man can make another man to be his slave unless he hath first enslaved himself to life and death. No pleasure or pain, to hope or fear : command these passions, and you are freer than the Parthian kings. — The Rule and Exercises of Holy Living, ch. ii. § 6. Isaac Disraeli.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 8.— THE PHILOSOPHY OF PROVERBS. [Isaac Disraeli, i 766-1848. [Isaac Disraeli, descended from a Jewish family, of Spanish origin, that settled in England in 1748, was born at Enfield in May, 1766. His father destined him for a commercial life, to which he showed a decided aversion, and he was sent to travel in France in 1788. His first publications were in poetry and romance, and in 1791 he published anonymously a small volume, entitled " Curiosities of Literature." The second volume appeared in 1792, and the third in 1817. The Second Series was published in. 1823; and the two series, complete in six vols., in 1845. "Literary Miscellanies" appeared in 1801, "Calamities of Authors" in 181 2, "Quarrels of Authors" in 1814, " The Amenities of Literature" in 1841, and "The Life and Reign of Charles the First," in 1828-31. Several other works proceeded from the pen of this indefatigable author, who was, in the words of his son (Memoir prefixed to Works, page 31), "a complete literary character, a man who really passed his life in his library. Even marriage produced no change in these habits ; he rose to enter the chamber where he lived alone with his books, and at night his lamp was ever lit within the same walls." Isaac Disraeli died January 19, 1848.] In antique furniture we sometimes discover a convenience which long disuse had made us unacquainted with, and are surprised by the aptness which we did not suspect was concealed in its solid forms. We have found the labour of the workmen to have been as admirable as the material itself, which is still resisting the mouldering touch of time among those modern inventions,, elegant and unsubstantial, which, often put together with unseasoned wood, are apt to warp and fly into pieces when brought into use. We have found how strength consists in the selection of materials, and that, whenever the substitute is not better than the original, we are losing something in that test of experience, which all things derive from duration. Be this as it may ! I shall not unreasonably await for the artists of our novelties to retrograde into massive greatness, although I cannot avoid reminding them how often they revive the forgotten things of past times ! It is well known that many of our novelties were in use by our ancestors ! In the history of the human mind there is, indeed, a sort of antique furniture which I collect, not merely for their anti- quity, but for the sound condition in which I still find them, and the compactness which they still show. Centuries have not worm-eaten their solidity ! and the utility and delightfulness which they still afford make them look as fresh and as ingenious as any of our patent inventions. By the title of the present article the reader has anticipated the nature of the old furniture to which I allude. I propose to give what, in the style of our times, may be called the Philosophy of Proverbs — a topic which seems virgin. The art of reading proverbs has not, indeed, always been acquired even by some of their admirers ; but my THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Isaac Disraeli. observations, like their subject, must be versatile and unconnected ; and I must bespeak indulgence for an attempt to illustrate a very curious branch of literature, rather not understood than quite forgotten. Proverbs have long been in disuse. ^^ A man of fashion," observes Lord Chesterfield, "never has recourse to proverbs and vulgar aphorisms 3" and, since the time his lordship so solemnly interdicted their use, they appear to have vt^ithered away under the ban of his anathema. His lordship was little conversant with the history of proverbs, and would unquestionably have smiled on those '^ men of fashion" of another stamp, who, in the days of Elizabeth, James, and Charles, were great collectors of them 3 would appeal to them in their conversations, and enforce them in their learned or their statesmanlike correspondence. Few, perhaps, even now, suspect that these neglected fragments of wisdom, which exist among all nations, still offer many interesting objects for the studies of the philosopher and the historian 3 and for men of the world still open an extensive school of human life and manners. The home-spun adages, and the rusty " sayed-saws," which remain in the mouths of the people, are adapted to their capacities and their humours. Easily remembered, and readily applied, these are the philosophy of the vulgar, and often more sound than that of their masters ! whoever would learn what the people think, and how they feel, must not reject even these as insignificant. The proverbs of the street and of the market, true to nature, and lasting only because they are true, are records that the populace at Athens and at Rome were the same people as at Paris and at London, and as they had before been in the city of Jerusalem ! Proverbs existed before books. The Spaniards date the origin of their refranes que dicen las viejas tras el J'uego, " sayings of old wives by their firesides," before the existence of any writings in their lan- guage, from the circumstance that these are in the old romance or rudest vulgar idiom. The most ancient poem in the Edda, '' the sublime speech of Odin," abounds with ancient proverbs, strikingly descriptive of the ancient Scandinavians. Undoubtedly proverbs in the earliest ages long served as the unwritten language of morality, and even of the useful arts ; like the oral traditions of the Jews, they floated down from age to age on the lips of successive generations. The name of the first sage who sanctioned the saying would in time be forgotten, while the opinion, the metaphor, or the expression, remained, conse- crated into a proverb ! Such was the origin of those memorable sentences by which men learnt to think and to speak appositely ; they were precepts which no man could contradict, at a time when authority was valued more than opinion, and experience preferred to Isaac Disraeli.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 23 novelty. The proverbs of a father became the inheritance of a son ; the mistress of a family perpetuated hers through her household ; the workman condensed some traditional secret of his craft into a prover- bial expression. When countries are not yet populous, and property has not yet produced great inequalities in its ranks, every day will show them how "the drunkard and the glutton come to poverty, and drowsiness clothes a man with rags." At such a period he who gave counsel gave wealth. * * * -^ Some difficulty has occurred in the definition. Proverbs must be distinguished from proverbial phrases, and from sententious maxims ; but as proverbs have many faces, from their miscellaneous nature, the class itself scarcely admits of any definition. When Johnson defined a proverb to be " a short sentence frequently repeated by the people," this definition would not include the most curious ones, which have not always circulated among the populace, nor even belong to them j nor does it designate the vital qualities of a proverb. The pithy quaintness of old Howell has admirably described the ingredients of an exquisite proverb to be sense, shortness, and salt. A proverb is distin- guished from a maxim or an apophthegm by that brevity which condenses a thought or a metaphor, where one thing is said and another is to be applied. This often produces wit, and that quick pungency which excites surprise, but strikes with conviction ; this gives it an epigrammatic turn. George Herbert entitled the small collection which he formed '^ Jacula Prudentium," Darts or Javelins ! something hurled and striking deeply 3 a characteristic of a proverb which possibly Herbert may have borrowed from a remarkable passage in Plato's dialogue of ''^ Protagoras or the Sophists." * ■^" -^^ •* Proverbs have ceased to be studied or employed in conversation since the time we have derived our knowledge from books ; but in a philosophical age they appear to offer infinite subjects for speculative curiosity. Originating in various eras, these memorials of manners, of events, and of modes of thinking, for historical as well as for moral purposes, still retain a strong hold on our attention. The collected knowledge of successive ages, and of different people, must always enter into some part of our own ! Truth and nature can never be obsolete. Proverbs embrace the wide sphere of human existence, they take all the colours of life, they are often exquisite strokes of genius, they delight by their airy sarcasm or their caustic satire, the luxuriance of their humour, the playfulness of their turn, and even by the elegance of their imagery, and the tenderness of their sentiment. They give a deep insight into domestic life, and open for us the heart of man, in all the various states which he may occupy — a frequent review of proverbs 24 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Andersen. should enter into our readings ; and although they are no longer the ornaments of conversation, they have not ceased to be the treasuries of Thought ! — Curiosities of Literature, vol. iii.. The Philosophy oj Proverbs. 9.— THE DROP OF WATER. [Hans C. Andersen, 1805. [Hans Christian Andersen was born at Odense, in Fiinen, April 2, 1805. His parents were too poor to give him a better education than that afforded by the charity school of his native place. Interest was exerted in his behalf, and he was sent to one of the Government gymnasia, and thence proceeded to college. Funds were provided to enable him to travel. In 1844, Andersen was invited to the Danish Court, and in 1845 ^^ annuity was granted to him. His first publication, "A Journey on Foot to Amager," appeared in September, 1828. A collected edition of his poetical and prose works was published at Leipsic in 1847, ^"^ 35 volumes. Andersen's works have been translated into most modern languages, and are very popular in England.] Surely you know what a microscope is — that wonderful glass which makes everything appear a hundred times larger than it really is. If you look through a microscope at a single drop of ditch-water, you will perceive more than a thousand strange-shaped creatures, such as yoQ never could imagine, dwelling in the water. It looks not unlike a plateful of shrimps, all jumping and crowding upon each other j and so ferocious are these little creatures, that they will tear oiF each other's arms and legs without mercy 3 and yet they are happy and merry after this fashion. Now, there was once an old man, whom all his neighbours called Cribbley Crabbley — a curious name to be sure ! He always liked to make the best of everything, and when he could not manage it otherwise he tried magic. So one day he sat with his microscope held up to his eye, looking at a drop of ditch-water. Oh, what a strange sight was that ! All the thousand little imps in the water were jumping and springing about, devouring each other, or pulling each other to pieces. " Upon my word, this is too horrible!" quoth old Cribbley Crab- bley ; " there must surely be some means of making them live in peace and quiet." And he thought and thought, but still could not hit on the right expedient. "I must give them a colour," he said, at last, "then I shall be able to see them more distinctly 3" and ac- cordingly he let fall into the water a tiny drop of something that looked like red wine, but in reality it was witches' blood 3 whereupon ' all the strange little creatures immediately became red all over, not unlike the Red Indians 3 the drop of water now seemed a whole townful of naked wild men. Gibbon.] OF .MODERN LITERATURE. 25 "What have you there r" inquired another old magician^ who had no name at all^ which made him more remarkable even than Cribbley Crabbley. "Well^ if you can guess what it is," replied Cribbley Crabbley, '' 1 will give it youj but I warn you, you'll not lind it out so easily." And the magician without a name looked through the microscope. The scene now revealed to his eyes actually resembled a town where all the inhabitants were running about without clothing ; it was a horrible sight ! But still more horrible was it to see how they kicked and cuffed^ struggled and fought, pulled and bit each other. All those that were lowest must needs strive to get uppermost, and all those that were highest must be thrust down. '" Look, look !" they seemed to be crying out, " his leg is longer than mine ; pah ! off with it ! And there is one who has a little lump behind his ear — an innocent little lump enough, but it pains him^ and it shall pain him more." And they hacked at it, and seized hold of him and devoured him, merely because of this little lump. Only one of the creatures was quiet, very quiet, and still ; it sat by itself, like a little modest damsel, wishing for nothing but peace and rest. But the others would not have it so 3 they pulled the little damsel forward, cutfed her, cut at her, and ate her. "This is most uncommonly amusing," remarked the nameless magician. "Do you think so ? Well, but what is it?" asked Cribbley Crab- bley. " Can you guess, or can you not ? — that's the question." "To be sure I can guess," was the reply of the nameless magician, '''easy enough. It is either Copenhagen or some other large city 3 I don't know which, for they are all alike. It is some large city." "It is a drop of ditch-water !" said Cribbley Crabbley. — Danish Fairy Legends and Tales {translated hy Caroline Peachey). 10.— ILLUSTRIOUS ANCESTRY. [Gibbon, 1737-1794. [Edward Gibbox was born at Putney, near London, April 27 (O.S.), 1737. Though he spent a few months at Westminster School, and at Magdalen College, Oxford, his early education was neglected. Having shown an inclination to join the Roman Catholic Church, his father sent him, in 1753, to Lausanne, where, under the care of M. Pavilliard, a Swiss theologian, he was induced to renounce this intention. In Switzerland, Gibbon formed«a romantic attachment for Susanne Curchod, who was afterwards married to Neckar. He returned to England in May, 1758, and published his first work in French, under the title of " Essai sur I'Etude de la Litte'rature," in 1761. Between 1763 and 1765 he travelled in France, Switzerland, and Italy, and it was at Rome, in 1764, that he first formed the idea 26 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Gibbon. of writing the decline and fall of the city. On his return to England in June, 1765, he commenced the work, and the first volume was published in 1776, and the sixth and last in 1788. Gibbon entered Parliament as member for Liskeard in 1774, was appointed one of the Lords Commissioners of Trade in July, 1779, '^"^ held the office until it was abolished in 1782. In 1783, he settled at Lausanne, where he purchased a house on the shore of Lake Leman. Having returned to England in 1793, he died in London January 16, 1794. Several editions of Gibbon's History have been published. The best, by Dr. Smith, embodying the notes of Dean Milman and M. Guizot, was published by Murray, in 8 vols., 1854-5. This great work has been translated into most modern languages. Gibbon's " Auto- biography," said to be the best in the language, was published by Lord Sheffield in 1799.] A LIVELY desire of knowing and of recording our ancestors so generally prevails, that it must depend on influence of some common principle in the minds of men ; we, seem to have lived in the persons of our forefathers ; it is the labour and reward of vanity to extend the term of this ideal longevity. Our imagination is always active to en- large the narrow circle in which nature has confined us. Fifty or a hundred years may be allotted to an individual ; but we step forward beyond death with such hopes as religion and philosophy will suggest, and we fill up the silent vacancy that precedes our birth by associating ourselves to the authors of our existence. Our calmer judgment will rather tend to moderate than to suppress the pride of an ancient and worthy race. The satirist* may laugh, the philosopher may preach, but reason herself will respect the prejudices and habits which have been consecrated by the experience of mankind. Few there are who can sincerely despise in others an advantage of which they are secretly ambitious to partake. The knowledge of our own family from a re- mote period will be always esteemed as an abstract pre-eminence, since it can never be promiscuously enjoyed 5 but the longest series of peasants and mechanics would not afford much gratification to the pride of their descendant. We wish to discover our ancestors, but we wish to discover them possessed of ample fortunes, adorned with honourable titles, and holding an eminent rank in the class of here- ditary nobles, which has been maintained for the wisest and most beneficial purposes, in almost every climate of the globe, and in almost every modification of political society. Wherever the distinction of birth is allowed to form a superior order in the state, education and example should always, and will often, produce among them a dignity of sentiment and propriety of conduct, which is guarded from dishonour by their own and the public esteem. If we read of some illustrious line, so ancient that it * Gibbon is supposed to allude to Juvenal's eighth Satire. Gibbon.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 27 has no beginning, so worthy that it ought to have no end, we sympathize in its various fortune 3 nor can we blame the generous enthusiasm, or even the harmless vanity, of those who are allied to the honour of its name. For my own part, could I draw my pedigree from a general, a statesman, or a celebrated author, I should study their lives with the diligence of filial love. In the investigation of past events our curiosity is stimulated by the immediate or indirect reference to ourselves ; but in the estimate of honour we should learn to value the gifts of Nature above those of Fortune ; to esteem in our ancestors the qualities that best promote the interest of society ; and to pronounce the descendant of a king less truly noble than the otfspring of a man of genius, whose writings will instruct or delight the latest posterity. The family of Confucius* is, in my opinion^ the most illustrious in the world. After a painful ascent of eight or ten centuries, our barons and princes of Europe are lost in the darkness of the Middle Ages ; but, in the vast equality of the empire of China, the posterity of Confucius have maintained, above two thousand two hundred years, their peaceful honours and perpetual succession. The chief of the family is still revered by the sovereign and the people, as the lively image of the wisest of mankind. The nobility of the Spencers has been illustrated and enriched by the trophies of Marl- borough 5 f but I exhort them to consider the "Fairy Queen" as the most precious jewel of their coronet. Our immortal Fielding was of the younger branch of the Earls of Denbigh, who drew their origin from the Counts of Habsburg, the lineal descendants of Eltrico, in the seventh century Duke of Alsace. Far diiferent have been the fortunes of the English and German divisions of the family of Habs- burg 3 the former, the knights and sheriffs of Leicestershire, have slowly risen to the dignity of a peerage ; the latter, the Emperors of Germany and Kings of Spain, have threatened the liberty of the old, and invaded the treasures of the new world. The successors of Charles the Fifth may disdain their brethren of England j but the romance of " Tom Jones," that exquisite picture of human manners, will outlive the palace of the Escurial, and the imperial eagle of the house of Austria I have presumed to mark the moment of conception. I shall now commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. It was on that day * This Chinese philosopher is supposed to have flourished b.c. 551-479. f " Nor less praiseworthy are the sisters three, The honour of the noble familie. Of which I, meanest, boast myself to be." Spenser's Colin Clout, ^c, v. 538. 28 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Borrow. or rather night, of the 27th June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last line of the last page,* in a summer-house in my garden. f After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk, of acacias, which com- mands a prospect of the country, the lake^, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent. I will not dis- semble the first emotions of joy on recovery of my freedom, and perhaps the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea that I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable* companion, and that, whatsoever might be the future date of my History, the life of the historian must be short and precarious. — Memoirs of My Life and Writings. Ti.— THE ZINCALI; OR, THE GYPSIES IN SPAIN. [Borrow, 1803. [George Borrow, born at East Dereham in 1803, was educated at Norwich, and other grammar-schools, and the High School, Edinburgh. He was articled to a solicitor, but did not follow the profession ; and after devoting himself for some time to literaiy pursuits, spent several years in travel. In 1833, he entered the service of the British and Foreign Bible Society, for which he edited several works. In early life Borrow obtained, some knowledge of the Gypsies, and whilst in Spain mixed very much with this extraordinary race. He quitted the service of the British and Foreign Bible Society in 1839; ^^'^ "The Zincali; or, an Account of the Gypsies of Spain," appeared in 1841. This was followed by "The Bible in Spain," published * Gibbon refers to " The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.'* The origin of the work is thus described in his Memoirs : — " It was at Rome, on the 15th October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare- footed friars were singing vespers in the temple of Jupiter,* that the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind." In another portion of his auto- biography he says: "Three times did I compose the first chapter, and twice the second and third, before I was tolerably satisfied with the effect." t His retreat at Lausanne, where Gibbon resided from 1783 to 1793, is thus de- scribed in another portion of his memoirs : — " I occupied a spacious and convenient mansion, connected on the north side with the city, and open on the south to a beau- tiful and boundless horizon. A garden of four acres had been laid out by the taste of Mr. Deyverdun, a Swiss friend ; from the garden a rich scenery of meadows and vine- yards descends to the Leman Lake, and the prospect far beyond the lake is crowned by the stupendous mountains of Savoy. My books and my aaiuaintance had been first united in London ; but this happy position of my library in town and country was finally reserved for Lausanne. Possessed of every comfort in this triple alliance, I could not be tem{)ted to change my habitation with the changes of the season." * Now the church of the Zocolants, or Franciscan Friars. Borrow.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 29 in 1842, Both works met with considerable success, and have been re-published in " Murray^s Home and Colonial Library." " Lavengro the Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest," appeared in 185 1 ; the " Romany Rye," a sequel to Lavengro, in 1857 > and " Wild Wales," in 1864.] It is impossible to state for certainty the exact year of the first appear- ance of the Gypsies in Spain, but it is reasonable to presume that it was early in the fifteenth century 3 as in the year T417 numerous bands entered France from the north-east of Europe, and speedily spread themselves over the greatest part of that country. Of these wan- derers a French author has left the following graphic description : — '^^ On the 17th of April, 1427, appeared in Paris twelve penitents of Egypt, driven from thence by the Saracens 3 they brought in their company one hundred and twenty persons 3 they took up their quarters in La Chapelle, whither the people flocked in crowds to visit them. They had their ears pierced, from which depended a ring of silver ; their hair was black and crispy, and their women were filthy to a degree, and were sorceresses, who told fortunes." Such were the people who, after traversing France, and scaling the sides of the Pyrenees, poured down in various bands upon the sun- burnt plains of Spain. Wherever they had appeared they had been looked upon as a curse and a pestilence, and with much reason. Either unwilling or unable to devote themselves to any laborious or useful occupation, they came light flights of wasps, to prey upon the fruits which their more industrious fellow-beings amassed by the toil of their hands and the sweat of their foreheads ; the natural result being, that wherever they arrived, their fellow-creatures banded them- selves against them. Terrible laws were enacted soon after their appearance in France, calculated to put a stop to their frauds and dishonest propensities -, wherever their hordes were found they were attacked by the incensed rustics, or by the armed hand of justice 3 and those who were not massacred on the spot, or could not escape by flight, were, without a shadow of trial, either hanged on the next tree or sent to serve for life in the galleys -, or, if females or children, either scourged or mutilated. The consequence of this severity, which, considering the manners and spirit of the time, is scarcely to be wondered at, was the speedy disappearance of the Gypsies from the soil of France. Many returned by the way they came, to Germany, Hungary, and the woods and forests of Bohemia ; but there is little doubt that by far the greater portion found a refuge in the Peninsula, a country which, though by no means so rich and fertile as the one they had quitted, nor oftering so wide and ready a field for the exercise of those fraudulent arts for which their race had become so infamously 30 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Borrow. notorious, was, nevertheless, in many respects, suitable and congenial to them. If there were less gold and silver in the purses of the citizens to reward the dexterous handler of the knife and scissors amidst the crowd in the market-place ; if fewer sides of fatted swine graced the ample chimney of the labourer in Spain, than in the neighbouring country j if fewer beeves bellowed in the plains, and fewer sheep bleated upon the hills, there were far better oppor- tunities afforded of indulging in wild independence. Should the halberded bands of the city be ordered out to quell, seize, or exter- minate them ; should the alcade of the village cause the tocsin to be rung, gathering together the villanos for a similar purpose, the wild sierra was generally at hand, which, with its winding paths, its caves, its frowning precipices, and ragged thickets, would offer to them a secure refuge where they might laugh to scorn the rage of their baffled pursuers, and from which they might emerge either to fresh districts or to those which they had left, to repeat their ravages when opportunity served. After crossing the Pyrenees, a very short time elapsed before the Gypsy hordes had bivouacked in the principal provinces of Spain. There can, indeed, be little doubt that, shortly after their arrival, they made themselves perfectly acquainted with all the secrets of the land, and that there was scarcely a nook or retired corner within Spain, from which the smoke of their fires had not arisen or where their cattle had not grazed. People, however, so acute as they have always proverbially been, would scarcely be slow in distinguishing the provinces most adapted to their manner of life, and most calculated to afford them opportunities of practising those arts to which they were mainly indebted for their subsistence ; the savage hills of Biscay, of Galicia, and the Asturias, whose inhabitants were almost as poor as themselves, which possessed no superior breed of horses or mules from amongst which they might pick and purloin many a gallant beast, and having transformed by their dexterous scissors, impose him again upon his rightful master for a high price, — such provinces where, moreover, provisions were hard to be obtained, even by pilfering hands, could scarcely be supposed to offer strong tempta- tions to these roving visitors to settle down in, or to vex and harass by a long sojourn. Valencia and Murcia found far more favour in their eyes -, a far more fertile soil, and wealthier inhabitants, were better calculated to entice them J there was a prospect of plunder, and likewise a prospect of safety, a refuge, should the dogs of justice be roused against them. If there were the populous town and village in those lands, there was likewise the lone waste and uncultivated spot, to which they could Carlyle.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 31 retire when danger threatened them. Still more suitable to them must have been La Mancha, a land of tillage, of horses, and of mules, skirted by its brown sierra, ever eager to afford its shelter to their dusky race. Equally suitable Estremadura and New Castile ; but far, far more, Andalusia, with its three kingdoms, Jaen, Granada, and Seville, one of which was still possessed by the swarthy Moor, — Andalusia, the land of the proud steed and the stubborn mule, the land of the savage sierra and the fruitful and cultivated plain : to Andalusia they hied in bands of thirties and sixties j the hoofs of their asses might be heard clattering in the passes of the stony hills ; the girls might be seen bounding in lascivious dance in the streets of many a town, and the beldames standing beneath the eaves telling the '' buena ventura" to many a credulous female dupe 5 the men the while chaffered in the fair and market-place with the labourers and chalanes, casting significant glances on each other, or exchanging a word or two in Romany, whilst they placed some uncouth animal in a particular posture, which served to conceal its ugliness from the eyes of the chapman. Yes, of all provinces of Spain Andalusia was the most frequented by the Gitano race, and in Andalusia they most abound at the present day, though no longer as restless, independent wanderers of the fields and hills, but as residents in villages and towns, especially in Seville, — The Zincali, Part I. chap. i. 12.— TEUFELSDROCKH'S NIGHT VIEW OF THE CITY. [Carlyle, 1795. [Thomas Carlyle, born at Ecclefechan in Dumfriesshire, Dec. 4, 1795, was educated at the parish school, the grammar-school of Annan, and the University of Edin- burgh. Embracing literature as a profession, he contributed some articles to Brewster's " Edinburgh Encyclopaedia" and the reviews. He published a translation of " Legendre's Geometry" in 1824. The "Sartor Resartus" appeared in " Eraser's Magazine," 1833-4. The first work which bore his name was " The French Revo- lution, a History," published in three volumes in 1837. "Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches, with Elucidations, and a Connecting Narrative," appeared in 1845. The first and second volumes of his "Life of Frederick the Great" appeared in 1858, and the third and fourth volumes in 1864. Carlyle, who in 1827 married Miss Welch, left Scotland to reside in London in 1834.] I LOOK down into all that wasp-nest or bee-hive, and witness their wax-laying and honey-making, and poison-brewing, and choking by sulphur. From the Palace esplanade, where music plays while Serene Highness is pleased to eat his victuals, down the low lane, where in her door-sill the aged widow, knitting for a thin livelihood, sits to feel the afternoon sun, I see it all 3 for, except the Schlosskirche weather- 32 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Carlyle, cock, no biped stands so high. Couriers arrive bestrapped and bebooted, bearing Joy and Sorrow bagged-up in poaches of leather : there, top-laden, and with four swift horses, rolls in the country Baron and his household ; here, on timber-leg, the lamed Soldier hops pain- fully along, begging alms : a thousand carriages, and wains, and cars, come tumbling-in with Food, with young Rusticity, and other Raw Produce, inanimate or animate, and go tumbling-out again with Produce manufactured. That living flood, pouring through these streets, of all qualities and ages, knowest thou whence it is coming, whither it is going ? From Eternity onwards to Eternity ! These are apparitions : what else ? Are they not souls rendered visible : in Bodies, that took shape and will lose.it, melting into air? Their solid Pavement is a Picture of the Sense 3 they walk on the bosom of Nothing, blank Time is behind them and before them. Or fanciest thou, the red and yellow Clothes-screen yonder, with spurs on its heels and feather in its crown, is but of To-day, without a Yesterday or a To-morrow ; and had not rather its Ancestor alive when Hengst and Horsa overran thy Island ? Friend, thou seest here a living link, in that Tissue of History, which inweaves all Being : watch well, or it will be past thee, and seen no more. '" Ach, mein Lieher F' said Teufelsdrockh once, at midnight, when we had returned from the coffee-house in rather earnest talk, " it is a true sublimity to dwell here. These fringes of lamplight, struggling up through smoke and thousand-fold exhalation, some fathoms into the ancient region of Night, what thinks Bootes of them, as he leads his Hunting-dogs over the Zenith in their leash of sidereal fire ? That stifled hum of Mid- night, when Traffic has lain down to rest ; and the chariot-wheels of Vanity, still rolling here and there through distant streets, are bearing her to Halls roofed-in, and lighted to the due pitch for her j and only Vice and Misery, to prowl or to moan like night-birds, are abroad : that hum, I say, like the stertorous, unquiet slumber of sick Life, is heard in Heaven ! Oh ! under that hideous coverlet of vapours, and putrefactions, and unimaginable gases, what a Fermenting-vat lies simmering and hid! The joyful and the sorrowful are there j men are dying there, men are being born ; men are praying, — on the other side of a brick partition, men are cursing ; and around them all is the vast, void Night. The proud Grandee still lingers in his perfumed saloons, or reposes within damask curtains ; Wretchedness cowers into truckle-beds, or shivers hunger-stricken into its lair of straw j in obscure cellars, Rouge-et-Noir languidly emits its voice-of-destiny to haggard hungry villains ; while Councillors of State sit plotting, and playing their high chess-game, whereof the pawns are Men. The Lover whispers his mistress that the coach is ready 3 and she, full of Cowper.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 33 hope and fear, glides down, to fly with him over the borders : the Thief, still more silently, sets-to his pick-locks and crow-bars, or lurks in wait till the watchmen first snore in their boxes. Gay mansions, with sapper-rooms and dancing-rooms, are full of light and music and high-swelling hearts ; but, in the condemned cells, the pulse of life beats tremulous and faint, and bloodshot eyes look out through the darkness, which is around and within, for the light of a stern last morning. Six men are to be hanged on the morrow : comes no ham- mering from the Rahenstein ! — their gallows must even now be o' building. Upwards ( f iive-hundred-thousand two-legged animals without feathers lie round us, in horizontal position ; their heads all in nightcaps, and full of the foolishest dreams. Riot cries aloud, and staggers and swaggers in his rank dens of shame ; and the Mother, with streaming hair, kneels over her pallid dying infant, whose cracked lips only her tears now moisten. — All these heaped and huddled together, with nothing but a little carpentry and masonry between them : — crammed-in, like salted fish, in their barrel 3 — or weltering, shall I say, like an Egyptian pitcher of tamed vipers, each struggling to get its head above the others : such work goes on under that snake- counterpane ! — But I sit above it all 3 I am alone with the Stars !" — Sartor Resartus, chap. iii. 13.— LINES ON MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. [Cowper, 1731 — 1800. [William Cowper, descended from a good family, was born at Great Berkhamstead, November 15, 173 1. He was educated at Westminster School, and called to the bar in 1754, though he did not follow the profession. He contributed to various periodicals, and was appointed clerk of the journals to the House of Lords in 1763. Insanity showed itself, and he was confined in a private asylum. Having recovered, he applied himself to literature, and published a volume of poems in 1782. "The Task" appeared in 1785, and his translation of " Homer," in two volumes quarto, in 1791. A pension was granted to him in 1794, and he died April 25, 1800. Several biographies of the poet have been published, the principal being by W. Hayley in 1803, by R. Southey in 1833-7, ^"^ ^y T. S. Grimshawe in 1836.] O THAT those lips had language! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see. The same that oft in childhood solaced me j Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, " Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away J" The meek intelligence of those dear eyes (Blest be the art that can immortalize. 34 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Cowper. The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim To quench it !) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, welcome guest, though unexpected here ! Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song. Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 1 will obey, not willingly alone. But gladly, as the precept were her own : And, while that face renews my filial grief. Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief. Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she. My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead. Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son. Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss j Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss • Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. T heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away. And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art gone. Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown : May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern. Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wished, I long believed. And, disappointed still, was still deceived j By expectation every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more. Children not thine have trod my nursery floor j And where the gardener, Robin, day by day. Drew me to school along the public way. Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capped. Cowper.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 35 'Tis now become a history little known. That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession ! But the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there. Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid ; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home. The biscuit, or confectionary plum 5 The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed : All this, and, more endearing still than all. Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall. Ne'er rougheried by those cataracts and breaks. That humour interposed too often makes j All this still legible in memory's page. And still to be so to my latest age. Adds jo}^ to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; Perhaps a fmil memorial, but sincere. Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours. When, playing with thy vesture's tissued fiov/ers. The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou v/ast happier than myself the while, Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,) Could those few pleasant days again appear. Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart ; — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps J might. — But no : — what here we call our life is such. So little to be loved, and thou so much. That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed,) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle. Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, Then sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, D 2 36 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Butler. While airs impregnated with incense play- Around her, fanning light her streamers gayj So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore *' Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar !" And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest. Always from port withheld, always distressed — Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed. Sails ripped^ seams opening wide, and compass lost j And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. Yet O, the thought, that thou art safe, and he ! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth j But higher far my proud pretensions rise — The son of parents passed into the skies. And now farewell — Time unrevoked has run His wonted course ; yet what I wished is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; To have renewed the joys that once were mine. Without the sin of violating thine j And, while the wings of fancy still are free. And I can view this mimic show of thee. Time has but half succeeded in his theft — Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. 14.— THE MAJESTY OF CHRIST. [Rev. W. a. Butleh, 1814 — 1848. [William AncHER Butler was born at Annerville, near Clonmel, in Ireland, in 1814. Bred a Roman Catholic, he became a Protestant, and studied at Trinity College, Dublin, to which he was appointed Professor of Moral Philosophy in 1837. He died at an early age, July 5, 1848. Since his death some of his lectures and sermons have been published ; the most remarkable of these being " Lectures on the History of Ancient Philosophy," edited, with notes, by W. H. Thomson, published at Cam- bridge, in i8,s6; and " Sermons, Doctrinal and Practical," with a Memoir by the Rev. T. Woodward, published at Dublin in 1848.] In such a subject as this, what can one say which is not unworthy of it ? It were vain to try amplification or ornament of such things as these. This matter is far vaster than our vastest conception, infi- .Butler.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 37 nitely grander than our loftiest 5 yet overpoweringly awful as it is, how- familiarity still reconciles us to hearing of it without awe ! Perhaps even the overpowering greatness of the subject makes us despair of conceiving it at all. All the wonders of God fall deadly on unfitted minds. And thus men learn listlessly to hear words without even an effort to attach ideas to them j and this is not least the case with those who dispute the most bitterly about the lifeless words themselves. In such a case all that can be done is to endeavour to devise some mode of meeting this miserable influence of habit, by forcing the mind to make some faint eifort to realize the infinite magnificence of the sub- ject. Let us endeavour, then, to approach it thus. You are wandering (I will suppose) in some of the wretched re- treats of poverty, upon some mission of business or charity. Perplexed and wearied amid its varieties of misery, you chance to come upon an individual whose conversation and mien attract and surprise you. Your attention enkindled by the gracious benevolence of the stranger's manner, you inquire, and the astounding fact reveals itself, that in this lone and miserable scene you have, by some strange conjuncture, met with one of the great lights of the age, one belonging to a different and distant sphere, one of the leaders of universal opinion on whom your thoughts had long been busied, and whom you had for years desired to see. The singular accident of an interview so unexpected fills and agitates your mind. You form a thousand theories as to what strange cause could have brought him there. You recall how he spoke and looked j you call it an epoch in your life to have witnessed so startling an oc- currence, to have beheld one so distinguished, in a scene so much out of all possibility of anticipation. And this, even though he were in no wise apparently connected with it except as witnessing and com- passionating its groups of misery. Yet again, something more wonderful than this is easily conceivable. Upon the same stage of wretchedness a loftier personage may be ima- gined. In the wild revolutions of fortune even monarchs have been wanderers. Suppose this, then, — improbable indeed, but not impos- sible surely. And then what feelings of respectful pity, of deep and earnest interest, would thrill your frame, as you contemplated such a one cast down from all that earth can minister of luxury and power, from the head of councils and of armies, to seek a home with the homeless, to share the bread of destitution, and feed on the charity of the scornful ! How the depths of human nature are stirred by such events ! how they find an echo in the recesses of our hearts, these terrible espousals of majesty and misery ! But this will not suffice. There are beings within the mind's easy conception that far overpass the glories of the statesman and the THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Butler. monarch of our earth. Men of even no extreme ardour of fancy, when once instructed as to the vastness of our universe, have yearned to know of the hfe and mtelligence that animate and that guide those distant regions of creation v^hich science has so abundantly and so v/onderfully revealed j and have dared to dream of the communi- cations that might subsist, — and that may yet in another state of existence subsist, — with the beings of such spheres. Conceive, then, no longer the mighty of our world in this strange union with misery and degradation, but the presiding spirit of one of these orbs ; or mul- tiply his power, and make him the deputed governor, the vicegerent angel, of a million of those orbs that are spread in their myriads through infinity. Think what it would be to be permitted to hold high converse with such a delegate of heaven as this ; to find this lord of a million worlds the actual inhabitant of our own ; to see him and yet live ; to learn the secrets of his immense administration, and hear of forms of being of which men can now have no more concep- tion than the insect living on a leaf has of the forest that surrounds him. Still more, to find in this being an interest, a real interest in the affairs of our little corner of the universe ; of that earthly cell which, in point of fact, is absolutely invisible from the nearest fixed star that sparkles in the heavens above us. Nay, to find him willing to throw aside his glorious toils of empire, in order to meditate our welfare, and dwell among us for a time. This surely would be wondrous, ap- palling, and yet transporting ; such as that, when it had passed away, life would seem to have nothing more it could offer compared to the being blessed with such an intercourse ! And now mark, — behind all the visible scenery of nature j beyond all the systems of all the stars j around this whole universe, and through the infinity of infinite space itself j from all eternity and to all eternity ; there lives a Being, compared to whom that mighty spirit just described, with his empire of a million suns, is infinitely less than to you is the minutest mote that floats in the sunbeam. There is a Being in whose breath lives the whole immense of worlds, who with the faintest wish could blot them all from existence, and who, after they had all vanished away" and before the gallant officer could get any farther my pistol, which had the hair-trigger set, went off 3 and the ball having grazed the calf of my leg, and ripped up the side of my pantaloons, lodged in the ground immediately at my foot. I was never more mortified in my life — the thing was so awkward — not to speak of a stinging sort of feeling, which the scraping off of the flesh inflicted. "That comes of hair-triggers," said Daly, coolly. "Why don't you fire, Mr. Daly?" said the major. "I?" said Daly. " To be sure," said the major j "the other gentleman has had his shot." " Faith, it is so," said the lieutenant j "go on, sir 3 go on." " Not I, by Jove !" said Daly ; " unless Mr. Gurney takes his other pistol, and fires at me." " He can do no such thing," said both the gentlemen. "Very well, then," said Daly, "if I am to fire, I suppose I may choose my own direction:" saying which, he raised his pistol per- pendicularly, and fired in the air. " The devil, sir ! " said his major 3 " what are you about ?" " Do you mean to affront my friend, sir?" said my lieutenant. " Not I, by heaven!" said Daly 3 "no more than I ever meant to injure him. You had better, in the first instance, call your surgeon, and see that he is not more hurt than you fancy. I came here at his call, and will stay here as long as he likes 3 but I will not take advantage of an accident." "Mighty handsome," said the lieutenant 3 "that I must say 3 but we want no doctor yet 3 so let us proceed 3 and now mind, Mr. Gurney, mind and be more careful the next time." What might have happened had the combat continued, it is im- possible to say 3 it was destined to terminate without any other bloodshed than that which, by my gaucherie, I had caused 3 for scarcely had the words "next time" escaped the lips of the gallant lieutenant, before five or six men, three or four boys, and two or three constables, bounced over a stile, which gave, or rather hindered, entrance to the field. Two of the fellows rushed at me, and seized me by the collar. The doctor took to his heels in the direction of the instrument-case 3 and Daly, who was a dab at everything, took a hedge and ditch with a run like that of a Leicestershire hunter equal to sixteen stone. Prescott.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. Major M'Guffin, in an endeavour to follow his leader, stuck in a hawthorn bush, but was eventually lugged out by his principal, who, taking advantage of the peculiar care and attention with which the Bow-street patroles — as they turned out to be — favoured me and the lieutenant, was over the hills and "far away" before any of the heavy- heeled Christians could touch him. Of one they were secure ; although my self-inflicted wound was "neither as deep as a w^ell, nor as wide as a church door," it prevented my following the example of the gallant fugitives, whose departure, I honestly confess, was one of the most agreeable sights I ever saw, convinced as I was, that Daly had no more desire to hit me, than I had to touch him. The sequel was unpleasant — the Philistine would by no means let us go ; and the consequence was, that, although the gallant Galen declared he would not be answerable for what might happen if I were suddenly transported to the police office to enter into sureties to keep the peace, they unmercifully bundled me and my gallant second into our own hackney-coach, which had been, at their suggestion, brought up the lane. The indignation of my fiery friend, O'Brady, at this interference of the law with our arrangement, was beyond description great 3 but whatever this interruption might have cost him, it was nothing compared with his fury when one of the myrmidons insisted upon keeping his pistols. I never saw a man in such a rage in my life : however, as I anticipated, I had sufficient influence at Bow-street (the smouldering remnant of my early acquaintance with the chief magistrate) to get the matter arranged much to his satisfaction. I entered into the required recognisances ; and by the intervention of Mr. Stafford, the chief clerk j^who seemed to me to manage the whole business of the office, " Ride on the whirlwind, and direct the storm," obtained the restoration of O'Brady's "barking irons," as he called them 3 to the peculiarly delicate touch of whose double detente I was specially indebted for a wound in my leg, which, although by no means serious, was not by any means agreeable. — Gilbert Gurney, vol. ii. ch. 3. 38.— THE VALLEY AND CITY OF MEXICO. [W. H. Prescott, 1796— 1859. [William Hickling Prescott was born at Salem, Massachusetts, May 4, 1796. He entered Harvard University in 1811, and his father being possessed of ample means, he resolved to devote his attention to literature. A selection of his contributions to various American periodicals was published in 1843. He visited Europe, spent I02 THE EFERY-DAY BOOhr [Prescott. much time at Madrid, and in 1838 published "The History of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic of Spain." This was followed by " The History of the Conquest of Mexico," in 1843; and "The History of the Conquest of Peru," in 1847. The first two volumes of "The History of Philip the Second" appeared in 1855, and his edition of Robertson's " History of Charles V.," in 1856. This was followed by other literary productions. Prescott's works have been republished in England, and translated into many modern languages. He died Jan. 28, 1859. His life, by George Ticknor, was published in 1864.] The troops refreshed by a night's rest, succeeded, early on the following day, in gaining the crest of the sierra of Ahualco, which stretches like a curtain between the two great mountains on the north and south. Their progress was now comparatively easy, and they marched forward with a buoyant step as they felt they were treading the soil of Montezuma. They had not advanced far, when, turning an angle of the sierra, they suddenly came on a view which more than compensated the toils of the preceding day. It was that of the Valley of Mexico, or Tenochtitlan, as more commonly called by the natives ; which with its picturesque assemblage of water, woodland, and cultivated plains, its shining cities, and shadowy hills, was spread out like some gay and gorgeous panorama before them. In the highly rarefied atmosphere of these upper regions, even remote objects have a brilliancy of colouring and a distinctness of outline which seem to annihilate dis- tance. Stretching far away at their feet, were seen noble forests of oak, sycamore, and cedar, and beyond, yellow fields of maize and the towering maguey, intermingled with orchards and blooming gar- dens ; for flowers, in such demand for their religious festivals, were ev^en more abundant in this populous valley than in other parts of Anahuac. In the centre of the great basin were beheld the lakes, occupying then a much larger portion of its surface than at present j their borders thickly studded with towns and hamlets, and, in the midst, like some Indian empress with her coronal of pearls, — the fair city of Mexico, with her white towers and pyramidal temples, re- posing, as it were, on the bosom of the waters, — the far-famed *' Venice of the Aztecs." High over all rose the royal hill of Chapol- tepec, the residence of the Mexican monarchs, crowned with the same grove of gigantic cypresses which at this day fling their broad shadows over the land. In the distance beyond the blue waters of the lake, and nearly screened by intervening foliage, was seen a shining speck, the rival capital of Tezcuco, and still further on, the dark belt of porphyry, girdhng the valley around, like a rich setting which nature had devised for the fairest of her jewels. Such was the beautiful vision which broke on the eyes of the Con- querors. And even now, when so sad a change has come over the Osborn.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. id'3 scene, when the stately forests have been laid low, and the soil, un- sheltered from the fierce radiance of a tropical sun, is in many places abandoned to sterility ; when the waters have retired, leaving a broad and ghastly margin white with the incrustation of salts, while the cities and hamlets on their borders have mouldered into ruins, even now that desolation broods over the landscape, so indestructible are the lines of beauty which Nature has traced on its features, that no traveller, however cold, can gaze on them with any other emotions than those of astonishment and rapture. What, then, must have been the emotions of the Spaniards, when, after working their toilsome way into the upper air, the cloudy taber- nacle parted before their eyes, and they beheld these fair scenes in all their pristine magnificence and beauty? It was like the spectacle which greeted the eyes of Moses from the summit of Pisgah, and, in the warm glow of their feelings, they cried out, '' It is the promised land !" But these feelings of admiration were soon followed by others of a very different complexion ; as they saw in all this the evidences of a civilization and power far superior to anything they had yet encountered. The more timid, disheartened by the prospect, shrunk from a contest so unequal, and demanded, as they had done on some former occa- sions, to be led back again to Vera Cruz, Such was not the effect produced on the sanguine spirit of the general. His avarice was sharp- ened by the display of the dazzling spoil at his feet 3 and, if he felt a natural anxiety at the formidable odds, his confidence was renewed, as he gazed on the lines of his veterans, whose weather-beaten visages and battered armour told of battles won and difficulties surmounted, while his bold barbarians, with appetites whetted by the view of their enemies' country, seemed like eagles on the mountains, ready to pounce upon their prey. By argument, entreaty, and menace, he en- deavoured to restore the faltering courage of the soldiers, urging them not to think of retreat, now that they had reached the goal for which they had panted, and the golden gates were opened to receive them. In these efforts he was well seconded by the brave cavaliers, who held honour as dear to them as fortune 3 until the dullest spirits caught somewhat of the enthusiasm of their leaders, and the general had the satisfaction to see his hesitating columns, with their usual buoyant step, once more on their march down the slopes of the sierra. — History of the Conquest of Mexico j b. iii. ch. 8. 39.— THE BUTTERFLY 'iKlCK. [S. Osborn, 1820. [Sherard Osborn, born in 1820, entered the Royal Navy at an early age, and was present at the attack upon Canton in 1841. He became lieutenant in 1846, com- I04 THE EVERY-DAY BOOft [Osborn. mander in 1852, and captain in 1855, and has served with distinction in both China and Japan. His "Stray Leaves from an Arctic Journal" appeared in 1852; "Quedah; or. Stray Leaves from a Journal in Malayan Waters" in 1857; " -A- Cruise in Japanese Waters" in 1859; "The Career, Last Voyage, and Fate of Sir John Franklin" in i860; and "The Past and Future of British Relations in China" also in i860. Captain Osborn has contributed largely to periodical literature.] On the 2^th August, Lord Elgin invited all the Commissioners to dinner, and they came an hour before time, bringing a Japanese con- juror to enable his Excellency to judge of their skill in tricks of leger- demain. An impromptu theatre was soon formed of an apartment, one side of which opened out upon the temple garden j chairs and benches were ranged on the well-kept lawn, and the Ambassador, Commissioners, the suite, and a large body of officers, formed the audience. The conjuror was a gentlemanly-looking venerable man, clad in ample silk robes. He had as an assistant a wretch who tapped incessantly upon a small drum, and by his remarks, unintelligible, of course, to ourselves, he served to amuse the Japanese who crowded behind us. The old man performed many tricks of legerdemain, in a manner that equalled anything we had ever before seen 3 but when he proceeded to show the far-famed butterfly trick, all were fairly wonder- stricken. Our Japanese Merlin was seated cross-legged about ten yards from us, upon the raised platform of the floor of the apartment 3 behind him was a gold-coloured screen, with a painting of the peak of Fusi- hama in blue and white upon its glittering ground. He threw up the sleeves of his dress, and showed a piece of tissue paper which he held in his hand. It was about six inches square, and by dexterous and delicate manipulation, he formed it into a very good imitation of a butterfly, the wings being extended, and at the most each was one inch across. Holding the butterfly out in the palm of his hand, to show what it was, he placed two candles, which v/ere beside him, in such a position as to allow him to wave a fan rapidly without aftecting the flame, and then, by a gentle motion of this fan over the paper insect, he proceeded to set it in motion. A counter-draught of air from some quarter interfered with his efforts, and made the butterfly truant to his will, and the screen had to be moved a little to remedy this. He then threw the paper butterfly up in the air, and gradually it seemed to acquire life from the action of his fan — now wheeling and dipping towards it, now tripping along its edge, then hovering over it, as we may see a butterfly do over a flower on a fine summer's day, then in wantonness wheeling away, and again returning to alight, the wings quivering with nervous restlessness ! One could have sworn it was a live creature. Now it flew off to the light, and then the con- Gatty.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 105 juror recalled it, and presently supplied a mate in the shape of another butterfly, and together they rose and played about the old man's fan, varying their attentions between flirting with one another and flirling along the edge of the fan. We repeatedly saw one on each side of it as he held it nearly vertically, and gave the fan a short quick motion ; then one butterfly would pass over to the other, both would wheel away as if in play, and again return. A plant with some flowers stood in a pot near at hand 3 by gentle movements of the fan the pretty little creatures were led up to it, and then, their delight ! how they played about the leaves, sipped the flowers, kissed each other, and whisked off^ again with all the airs and graces of real butterflies ! The audience was in ecstasies, and yoang and old clapped their hands with dehght. •The exhibition ended, when the old man advanced to the front of his stage, within arm's length of us all, accompanied by his magic butterflies, that even in the open air continued to play round the magician and his fan ! As a feat of legerdemain, it was by far the most beautiful trick we had ever heard of, and one that must require an immense amount of practice. — A Cruise in Japanese Waters, chap. X. 40.— NIGHT AND DAY. [Mrs. Gatty, 1809. [Margaret, daughter of the Rev. Dr. Scott, formerly Chaplain to Lord Nelson, was born at Burnham Parsonage, Essex, in 1809, and married in 1839 the Rev. A. Gatty, D.D., Vicar of Ecclesfield, near Sheffield. Her first vs^ork, "The Fairy Godmothers, and other Tales," appeared in 1851. This was followed by "Parables from Nature" in 1855. Of this work three series have appeared. This authoress has also written " Proverbs Illustrated," published in 1857, and several other works.] " The city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it ; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the Light thereof." — Rev. xxi. 23, In old times, long, long ago, when Night and Day were young and foolish, and had not discovered how necessary they were to each other's happiness and well-being, they chased each other round the world in a state of angry disdain ; each thinking that he alone was doing good, and that therefore the other, so totally unlike himself in all respects, must be doing harm, and ought to be got rid of altogether, if possible. Old northern tales say that they rode, each of them, in a car with a horse to it 3 but the horse of Night had a frosty mane, while that of Day had a shiny one. Moreover, foam fell from Frosty-mane's bit as he went along, which dropped on the earth as dew ; and Shiny-mane's mane was so radiant that it scattered light through the air at every step. And thus they drove on, bringing darkness and light over the earth in turn — io6 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Gatty. each pursuing and pursued 5 but knowing so little of this simple fact, that one of their chief causes of dispute was, which was going first. For, of course, if they had been able to settle that, it would have been known which was the more important of the two ; but as they drove in a circle the point could not be decided, since what was first on the one side was sure to be last on the other, as anybody may see who tries to draw their journey. They never gave this a thought, however, and there were no schoolmasters about just then to teach them. So round and round the world they went, without even knowing that it was round, still less that there was no such thing as first and last in a circle. And they never succeeded in overtaking, so as to pass each other, though they sometimes came up very close, and then there was twilight. Of the two, one grumbled and the other scolded the most, and it is easy to guess which did which. Night was gloomy by nature, especially when clouds hid the moon and the stars, so her complaints took a serious and melancholy tone. She was really broken-hearted at the exhaustion produced all over the world by the labourc and plea- sures which were carried on under the light of Day, and used to receive the earth back as if it was a sick child, and she a nurse, who had a right to be angry with what had been done to it. Day, on the contrary, was amazingly cheerful, particularly when the sun shone j never troubled his head about what was to happen when his fan was over : on the contrary, thought his fun ought to last for ever, because it was pleasant, was quite vexed when it was put a stop to, and had no scruple in railing at his rival ; whose only object, as it seemed to him, was to overshadow and put an end to all the happiness that was to be found. "Cruel Night," he exclaimed, "what a life you lead me! How you thwart me at every turn ! What trouble I have to take to keep your mischief in check. Look at the mists and shadows 1 must drive on one side before I can make the world bright with my beautiful light! And, no sooner have I done so, than I feel your cold unwhole- some breath trying to come up to me behind ! But you shall never overtake me if I can help it, though I know that is what you want. You want to throw your hateful black shadow over my bright and pleasant world." "I doing mischief which you have to keep in checK !" groaned Night, quite confused by the accusation. " I, whose whole time is spent in trying to repair the mischief other people do : your mischief, in fact, you wasteful consumer of life and power ! Every twelve hours I get back from you a half worn-out world, and this I am ex- pected to restore and make as good as new again, but how is it I Gatty.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 107 possible ? Something I can do, I know. Some wear and tear I can renew and refresh, but some alas ! I cannot 3 and thus creep in de- struction and death." " Hear her," cried Day, in contempt, '' taunting me with the damage I do, and the death and destruction I cause ! I, the Life-giver, at whose word the whole world awakes, which else might lie asleep for ever. She, the grim likeness of the death she talks about, and bringing death's twin sister in her bosom." "You are Day the destroyer, Ij Night the restorer," persisted Night, evading the argument. " I am Day the life-giver, you. Night the desolator," replied Day, bitterly. " I am Night the restorer, you. Day the destroyer," repeated Night. " You are to me what death is to life," shouted Day. " Then death is a restorer as I am," exclaimed Night. And so they went on, like all other ignorant and obstinate arguers ; each full of his own one idea^, and taking no heed of what the other might say. How could the truth be got at by such means ? Of course it could not, and of course, therefore, they persisted in their rudeness. And there were certain seasons, particularly, when they became more impertinent to each other than ever. For instance, whenever it was summer. Day's horse. Shiny-mane, got so strong and frisky that Night had much ado to keep her place at all^ so closely was she pressed in the chase. Indeed, sometimes there was so little of her to be seen, that people might have doubted whether she had passed by at all, had it not been for the dew Frosty-mane scattered, and which those saw who got up early enough in the morning. Oh, the boasting of Day at these times ! And really he believed what he said. He really thought that it would be the greatest possible blessing if he were to go on for ever, and there were to be no Night. Perhaps he had the excuse of having heard a whisper of some old tradition to that effect 3 but the principal cause of the mistake was, that he thought too much about himself and too little about his neigh- bour. " Fortunate world," cried he 3 " it must be clear to every one, now, who it is that brings blessings and does good to you and your inhabitants. Good old earth, yoQ become more and more lovely and fruitful, the more and more I shorten the hours of Night and lengthen my own. We can do tolerably well without her restoring power, it would seem ! If we could be rid of her altogether, therefore, what a Paradise there would be ! Then the foliage, the flowers, the fruits, the precious crops of this my special season, would last for ever. Would that it could remain uninterrupted!" — Parables from Nature. Third and Fourth Series. Night and Day. io8 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Byron. 41.— GREECE, ANCIENT AND MODERN. [Lord Byron, 1788 — 1824. [George Gordon, Lord Byron, born in Holies-street, London, Jan. 22, 1788, was educated at Harrow and Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1807, "Hours of Idleness, by Lord Byron, a Minor," appeared at Newark. This youthful production was ruthlessly assailed in No. 22 of "The Edinburgh Review" for January, 1808, which had only then been recently established. Such unfriendly criticism excited the ire of the young author, who retaliated in " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," published in 1809. This production, in which most of the leading literary men of the time were satirised, at once rendered its author famous. Byron then travelled in Greece, Turkey, and the East ; and the first two cantos of " Childe Harold" appeared in March, 1812. "The Giaour" and "The Bride of Abydos" appeared in 1813; the " Corsair" and " Lara" in 1814; the third canto of " Childe Harold" in 1816, and the fourth canto, which completed the poem, April 28, 1818. Byron wrote, in addition to other poems, several dramatic works, the most celebrated of which are "Marino Faliero " and " Sardanapalus," both, published in 1821, and "Werner" in 1822. The first two cantos of "Don Juan" appeared in 1819, and the last two in 1824. Lord Byron was not happy in his domestic relations. His parents separated soon after his birth, and the young poet lived at Aberdeen with his mother, who was in very reduced circumstances until, in his eleventh year, he inherited from his grand- uncle a title and Newstead Abbey. Here, at fifteen, he fell in love with Mary Chaworth, whose father had been killed in a duel by the poet's grand-uncle. This early attachment forms the subject of a small poem, " The Dream." He married the daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke in Oct., 1814. A separation ensued in Jan., 18 16. One child, Ada, born Dec. 10, 18 15, afterwards Countess of Lovelace, was the sole fruit of this marriage. She died Nov. 27, 1852. Byron repaired to Greece to assist in the struggle for independence, and reached Missolonghi in Jan., 1824. His exertions in the cause brought on a severe attack of rheumatic fever, under which the poet succumbed at Missolonghi, April 19, 1824. Several editions of his collected works have been published, and his life has been written by numerous authors. His papers were entrusted to his friend, the poet Moore, who edited an edition of his "Life, Letters, and Journals," published in 1830.] No breath of air to break the wave That rolls below the Athenian's grave, That tomb* which, gleaming o'er the cliff. First greets the homeward-veering skiff. High o'er the land he saved in vain 5 When shall such hero live again ? Fair clime ! where every season smiles Benignant o'er those blessed isles. * Above the rocks on the promontory, and supposed by some to be the tomb of Themistocles. Byron.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 109 Which, seen from far Colonna's height. Make glad the heart that hails the sight. And lend to loneliness delight. There mildly dimpling. Ocean's cheek Reflects the tints of many a peak Caught by the laughing waves that lave These Edens of the Eastern wave : And if at times a transient breeze Break the blue crystal of the seas. Or sweep one blossom from the trees. How welcome is each gentle air That wakes and wafts the odours there ! For there — the Rose o'er crag or vale. Sultana of the Nightingale,* The maid for whom his melody. His thousand songs, are heard on high, Blooms, blushing to her lover's tale : His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows. Far from the winters of the west. By every breeze and season blest. Returns the sweets by nature given In softest incense back to heaven ; And grateful yields that smiling sky Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. And many a summer flower is there. And many a shade that love might share. And many a grotto, meant for rest, That holds the pirate for a guest 5 Whose bark in sheltering cove below Lurks for the passing peaceful prow. Till the gay mariner's guitarf Is heard, and seen the evening star ; Then stealing with the muffled oar. Far shaded by the rocky shore. Rush the night-prowlers on the prey. And turn to groans his roundelay. Strange — that where nature loved to trace. As if for gods, a dwelling place. * The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a well known Persian fable, t The constant amusement of the Greek sailor by night. THE EFERY-DAY BOOK CByron. And every charm and grace hath mix'd Within the paradise she fix'd. There man_, enamour' d of distress. Should mar it into wilderness. And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower That tasks not one laborious hour ; Nor claims the culture of his hand To bloom along the fairy land. But springs as to preclude his care. And sweetly woos him — but to spare ! Strange — that where all is peace beside. There passion riots in her pride, , And lust and rapine wildly reign To darken o'er the fair domain. It is as though the fiends prevail'd Against the seraphs they assail'd. And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell The freed inheritors of hell ; So soft the scene, so form'd for joy. So curst the tyrants that destroy ! He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled. The first dark day of nothingness. The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) And mark'd the mild angelic air. The rapture of repose that's there. The fix'd yet tender traits that streak The languor of the pallid cheek. And — but for that sad shrouded eye. That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, • And but for that chill, changeless brow. Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart. As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon j Yes, but for these and these alone^ Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour. He still might doubt the tyrant's power j So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd. The first, last look by death reveal'd ! Byron.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. Such is the aspect of this shore ! 'Tis Greece, but hving Greece no more ! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair. We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death. That parts not quite with parting breath j But beauty with that fearful bloom. That hue which haunts it to the tomb. Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay. The farewell beam of Feeling pass'd away ! Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth. Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish' d earth ! Clime of the unforgotten brave ! Whose land, from plain to mountain-cave, Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave ! Shrine of the mighty ! can it be. That this is all remains of thee ? Approach, thou craven crouching slave : Say, is not this Thermopylae ? These waters blue that round you lave. Oh servile offspring of the free — Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! These scenes, their story not unknown. Arise, and make again your own : Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires j And he who in the strife expires Will add to theii-s a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear. And leave his sons a hope, a fame. They too will rather die than shame : For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeath'd by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page ! Attest it many a deathless age ! While kings, in dusty darkness hid. Have left a nameless pyramid. Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb. THE Ef'ERY-DAY BOOK [Townsend. A mightier monument command^ The mountains of thy native land ! There points thy muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die ! The Giaour. 42.— HOME IXFLUENXES. [Rev. G. Towksexd, 17SS — 1S57. [George Townsend, son of the Rev, G. To^vnsend, of Ramsgate, and nephew of the Rev. J. Townsend, founder of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, London, was bom at Ramsgate, Sept. 1 2, 1 7SS. He -sN-as educated at Christ's Hospital and Trinity College. Cambridge, and published some poems at an early age. His "Chronolo- gical Arrangement of the Old Testament" appeared in 182 1, and of the New Testa- ment in 1S25. Both works have since gone through several editions. In 1825 he was appointed Prebendary- of Durham. His "Accusations of Historj' against the Church of Rome" appeared in 1S26; his "Ecclesiastical and C\\\\ Histor}-, Philo- sophically considered-with Reference to the future Reunion of Christians," in i847,and his " Scriptural Communion with God," &c., between the years 1845 ^"^ 1849. H'- " Journal of a Tour in Italy in 1850, with an Account of an Inteniew with the Pope at the Vatican," appeared in 1S50. Dr. ToAvnsend died Nov. 23, 1857.] The biography of the most ilkistrious men of all ages, proves the truth of one remarkable fact, that those who have been eminent for good- ness, greatness, or virtue, have generally owed the excellence which has been the basis of their reputation to the teaching, the example, or the influence of their mothers at home. The mother is the chief biasser for good or evil of the mind of the child. Before the tutor, the master, or the clergyman, can impart one lesson, either of a secular or of a religious nature, the soul of the child has received its earliest, and, very frequently, its most indelible impressions. That Christian mother, tlierefore, neglects her first, and most bounden dut}', who permits the earlier years of infancy to pass away, without elevating the primal thoughts of her child to God. If the Christian mother do not teach her beloved olfspring to pray as soon as it can clasp its hands, bend its knee, or lisp its first stammering words : if, when her child is bom into the world, the mother do not hear, as it were, a voice from heaven, saying to her, with more than mortal eloquence, "Take this child, and nurse it for God : take this child and train it up to live here as the spiritual member of Christ's Holy Catholic Apostolic Church on earth, and to live hereafter as a member of Christ's Holy Church, triumphant over evil in heaven," she is the enemy of the soul of her child. The day must come when death shall part die mother from her children. At that hour, when all the gold, and wealth, and fame, and honour in the world, which children are so often taught 10 regard as the only Townsend.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 113 things needful, shall appear as the toys of forgotten infancy, or as a heap of sand to the traveller who is dying for a drop of water in the desert — how bitter will be the remembrance of the mother who has seen her children depart from the ways of peace and true happiness, into folly, worldliness, or wickedness ; if she is compelled to check her dying remonstrances to her children, and to say, " I am to blame j I dedicated my children to God by holy baptism in their infancy, but I taught them no prayer. I neglected religion in the nursery. Their early days began and ended, without my attempting to direct their hearts. to God. I taught them to please man, and not Godj to adorn the body and neglect the soul. I feel — I see — I know the vanity of all things but the religion which should speak peace to the dying j yet now my words mock me, when I w^ould pronounce a blessing, or utter my words of parting advice to my children. Oh ! that I had practised as well as known my duty. Oh ! that I had valued the best happi- ness of a Christian mother, and enabled them to thank their dying parent for the care she had bestowed on their souls. Oh ! that I had endeavoured to bias the minds of my dear children, as I now wish that I had done, when the hour of my death is before me !" The same reflections are applicable to fathers as well as to mothers. If remorse and self-reproach will attend a dying mother, w^ho reflects on the neglect of the souls of her children, when they are committed to her more peculiar charge 3 no less w^ill the Christian father mourn at the last, if he be guilty of the same crime. The children descend from the nursery, to the parlour, the drawing-room, the fireside. If the religious mother has consecrated the nursery to God in such manner that every day has been begun and ended with the lisped and broken prayer, it becomes the duty of a religious father to go on with the good work that is begun — to make the domestic hearth the first Church, and to bring back, as it were, the days of the pristine Para- dise to an united religious Christian family. The first Church upon earth was a family ; the first priest was a father 3 the first congregation were the elder and the younger children 3 the first altar w^as the domestic spot around which they assembled to worship. So it may still be. Every family may I e regarded as a Church; every father as a priest to offer prayers 3 every child and servant as the member of a domestic congregation 3 ever}^ spot in the house set apart for worship, as the altar at home, to which the lambs of Christ's fold should be duly brought, as living sacrifices to the God of all the families of the earth, " holy, acceptable to God, a reasonable service." The impres- sions of the nursery must continue in the household, and the further preparation thus be made at home for the public reception of the baptized child into the communion of the visible church. The stones I 114 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Locke. of the temple which Solomon built and dedicated, and which the God of Israel accepted and possessed, were prepared at a distance from Jerusalem 3 they were squared and polished on the spot where they were found, until the " great stones, and the costly stones, and the hewn stones," were ready for their removal. They were all, one by one, gradually taken away from their native home, to be placed in their destined positions in the temple, without any sound of the axe or the hammer within the sacred precincts of the holy city; till '^ like some tall palm the noiseless fabric grew," and the temple of Jerusalem was completed. Just so it must be in these latter days ; and just so it will be, if the parents of families will do their duty tc their children and their servants. If we desire the building up of the Holy Catholic Apostolic Church on earth ; if we seek for the exten- sion of the Church of Christ among ourselves -, if we pray for the peace of our Jerusalem; if we would say to Jerusalem, "Thou shalt be built;" and to the temple, "Thy foundations shall be laid;" — we must prepare in our domestic circles the polished stones of the temple, for their places in the House of the Lord. If parents of families would thus do their duty to their baptized children ; if the Christian father would but proceed with the domestic religion which the Christian mother has begun ; then the temples of Christ would silently and slowly, but surely and certainly, spring up among us. The fountains of infidelity, and of indifference to religion, would be stopped at their source. The general demoralization would be suspended. The im- pure literature which curses our age would become distasteful even to the young, for whom it is especially written ; and one generation would not pass away before a national reformation would follow the prevalence of domestic religion. — Scriptural Communion with God, vol. i, ; Dedication, B. i. 43.— READING. [John Locke, 1632 — 1704. [John Locke, born at Wrington, near Bristol, Aug. 29, 1632, and educated at West- minster, and Christchurch, Oxford, went to Berlin as secretary to Sir W. Swan, Envoy to the Elector of Brandenburg, in 1664. He afterwards took up his residence with Lord Ashley, created Earl of Shaftesbury in 1672. To the varied fortunes of this nobleman Locke adhered. He held several public appointments, was Commissioner of Appeals in 1689, and one of the Commissioners of Trade and Plantations in 1695. His " Essay Concerning the Human Understanding," in four books, appeared in 1690, an epitome of the same having been published anonymously in 1688, and his "Vindi- cation of the Reasonableness of Christianity" in 1695. He was the author of several other works, amongst which may be mentioned the " Essay on the Conduct of the Understanding," published in 1706, after his death, which took place at the house Locke.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 115 of his friend, with whom he had long resided. Sir Francis Masham, at Oates, Essex, Oct. 28, 1704. Locke's works were republished in 17 14, and several editions have since appeared. An account of his life and writings, by Le Clerc, appeared in 1 7 13, memoirs by Bishop Law in 1742, and Lord King's Life in 1829.] This is that which I think great readers are apt to be mistaken in. Those who have read of everything, are thought to understand every- thing too ; but it is not always so. Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of knowledge 3 it is thinking makes what we read ours. We are of the ruminating kind, and it is not enough to cram ourselves with a great load of collections ; unless we chew them over again, they will not give us strength and nourishment. There are, indeed, in some writers visible instances of deep thoughts^ close and acute reasoning, and ideas well pursued. The light these would give would be of great use, if their reader would observe and imitate them ; ail the rest at best are but particulars fit to be turned into knowledge ; but that can be done only by our own meditation, and examining the reach, force, and coherence of what is said ; and then^ as far as we apprehend and see the connection of ideas, so far it is ours -, without that, it is but so much loose matter floating in our brain. The memory may be stored, but the judgment is httle better, and the stock of knowledge not increased, by being able to repeat what others have said, or produce the arguments we have found in them. Such a knowledge as this is but knowledge by hearsay, and the ostentation of it is at best but talking by rote, and very often upon weak and wrong principles. For all that is to be found in books is not built upon true foundations, nor always rightly deduced from the principles it is pre- tended to be built on. Such an examen as is requisite to discover that, every reader's mind is not forward to make 3 especially in those who have given themselves up to a party, and only hunt for what they can scrape together, that may favour and support the tenets of it. Such men wilfully exclude themselves from truth, and from all true benefit to be received by reading. Otliers of more indifferency often want attention and industry. The mind is backward in itself to be at the pains to trace every argument to its original, and to see upon what basis it stands, and how firmly 3 but yet it is this that gives so much tlie advantage to one man more than another in reading. The mind should by severe rules be tied down to this, at first, uneasy task 5 use and exercise will give it facility. So that those who are accustomed to it, readily, as it were with one cast of the eye, take a view of the argument, and presently, in most cases, see where it bottoms. Those who have got this faculty, one may say, have got the true key of books, and the clue to lead them through the mizmaze of variety of opinions and authors to trutli and certainty. This young beginners I 2 ii6 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Sterne. should be entered in, and shown the use of, that they might profit by their reading. Those who are strangers to it will be apt to think it too great a clog in the way of men's studies and they will suspect they shall make bat small progress, if, in the books they read, they must stand to examine and unravel every argument, and follow it step by step up to its original. I answer, this is a good objection, and ought to weigh with those whose reading is designed for much talk and little knowledge, and I have nothing to say to it. But I am here enquiring into the conduct of the understanding in its progress towards knowledge ; and to those who aim at that, I may say, that he who fair and softly goes steadily forward in a course that points right, will sooner be at his journey's end than he that runs after every one he meets, though he gallop all day fall-speed. To which let me add, that this w^ay of thinking on, and profiting by, what we read, will be a clog and rub to any one only in the beginning : when custom and exercise have made it familiar, it will be dispatched, on most occasions, without resting or interruption in the course of our reading. The motions and views of a mind exercised that way are wonderfully qaick ; and a man used to such sort of reflections sees as much at one glimpse as would require a long dis- course to lay before another, and make out in an entire and gradual deduction. Besides that, when the first difficulties are over, the delight and sensible advantage it brings mightily encourages and enlivens the mind in reading, which, without this is very improperly called study. 44.— THE STARLING, OR, THE BLESSINGS OF LIBERTY. [Rev. L. Sterne, 17 13 — 1768. [Laurence Stehne was born at Clonmel, in Ireland, November 24, 1713. He was educated at a school near Halifax, and Jesus College, Cambridge, where he took his degree in January, 1736. Soon after quitting the university he obtained the living of Sutton, in Yorkshire. Having married in 1741, he obtained the living of Stillington from a friend of his wife. The first two volumes of "Tristram Shandy," published anonymously at York in 1759, were reprinted in London 1760. The suc- cess of the work was great, and the secret of the authorship was quickly divulged. Sterne published two volumes of sermons in 1760, the third and fourth volumes of "'IVistram Shandy" in 1761, the fifth and sixth volumes in 1762, and the seventh and eighth volumes in 1765. Two additional volumes of sermons appeared in 1766, the ninth volume of "Tristram Shandy" in 1767, and "A Sentimental Journey in France and Italy" early in 1768. The author died in Bond Street, March 18, 1768, soon after the jjublication of the " Sentimental Journey." Some sermons and letters were published after his death. Sir Walter Scott says, " Sterne may be recorded as at once one of the most affected, and one of the most simple of writers — as one of Sterne.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 117 . the greatest plagiarists, and one of the most original geniuses that England has pro- duced." Memoirs of his life and family, written by himself and published by his daughter, Mrs. Medalle, appeared in 1775. The " Quarterly Review," vol. xciv., contains an article on Sterne, and a new life by Percy Fitzgerald, reprinted from the " Dublin University Magazine," was published in 1863.] And as for the Bastile_, — the terror is in the word. — Make the most of it you can^ said I to myself^ the Bastile is but another word for a tower 3 — and a tower is but another word for a house you can't get out of. — Mercy on the gouty ! for tney are in it twice a year. But with nine Hvres a day, and pen and ink and paper and patience, albeit a man can't get out, he may do very well within, — at least for a month or six weeks 3 at the end of which, if he is a harmless fellow, his inno- cence appears, and he comes out a better and wiser man than he went in. I had some occasion (I forget what) to step into the court-yard, as I settled this account 3 and remember I walk'd down stairs in no small triumph at the conceit of my reasoning. — Beshrew the somlre pencil, said I, vauntingly, — for I envy not its power, which paints the evils of life with so hard and deadly a colouring. The mind sits terrified at the objects she has magnified herself, and blackened : reduce them to their proper size, she overlooks them. — 'Tis true, said I, correcting the proposition, — the Bastile is not an evil to be despised. — But strip it of its towers, — fill up the fosse, — unbarricade the doors, — call it simply a confinement, and suppose 'tis some tyrant of a distemper, — and not of a man, which holds you in in it, — the evil vanishes, and you bear the other half without complaint. I was interrupted in the hey-day of this soliloquy, with a voice which I took to be that of a child, which complained "it could not get out." I look'd up and down the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, nor child, I went out without farther attention. In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words re- peated twice over 3 and looking up, I saw it was a starling hung in a little cage 3 — "I can't get out, — I can't get out," said the starhng. I stood looking at the bird : and to every person who came through the passage, it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approached it, with the same lamentation of its captivity. — " I can't get out,' said the starling. — God help thee ! — said I, — but I'll let thee out, cost what it will 3 so I turned about the cage to get tlie door : it was twisted and double twisted so fast with wire, there was no getting it open without puUing the cage to pieces. — I took both hands to it. The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance, and, thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his breast against it, as if impatient. — I fear, poor creature, said I, I cannot set thee at ii8 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Sterne. liberty. — "No," said the starlings "I can't get out, — I can't get out," said the starUng. I vow I never had my affections more tenderly awakened ; nor do T remember an incident in my life where the dissipated spirits, to which my reason had been a bubble, were so suddenly call'd home. Mechanical as the notes were, yet so true in tune to nature were they chanted, that in one moment they overthrew all my systematic reason- ings upon the Bastile > and I heavily walk'd up stairs, unsaying every word I had said in going down them. Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still. Slavery ! said I, — still thou art a bitter draught ! and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. — 'Tis thou, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, addressing myself to Liberty, whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till Nature herself shall change. — No tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron ; — with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious Heaven ! cried I, kneeling down upon the last step but one in my ascent, grant me but health, thou great Bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion, — and shower down thy mitres, if it seems good unto thy divine providence, upon those heads which are aching for them ! THE CAPTIVE. PARIS. The bird in his cage pursued me into my room. I sat down close to my table, and leaning my head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself the miseries of confinement. I was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination. I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow-creatures, born to no inheritance but slavery : but finding, however affecting the pic- ture was, that I could not bring it near me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but distract me, — I took a single captive 5 and having first shut him up in his dun- geon, I then looked tlirough the twilight of his grated door to take his picture. I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and con- tinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it was which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish : in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his olood 3 — he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time 3 — nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice ! — His chil- dren — Clarendon.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 119 But here my heart began to bleed ; — and I was forced to go on \Yith another part of the portrait. He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw^ in the furthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed : a httle calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there : — he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of miser}^ to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, — then cast it down — shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon tlie bundle. — He gave a deep sigh. — I saw the iron enter into his soul I — I burst into tears. — I could not sustain tlie picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn. — A Sentimental Journey. 45.— THE CHARACTER OF LUCIUS CARY FALKLAND. [Lord Clarexdox, 1608 — 1674. [Edward Hyde, third son of Henn- Hyde, was born at Dinton, near Salisbur}-, Feb. 18, 1608, and educated by the clerg)-man of the parish and at Magdalen College, Oxford. He studied the law at the ^Middle Temple, and was returned as member for Wootton Basset in 1640, In the Long Parliament he sat for Saltash, and soon became a great favourite with Charles I. He ^vas made Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1643, when he received the honour of knighthood. In 1646 he escaped to Jersey, and ha^nng been the constant ad%"iser of Charles II., when in exile, he returned ^Arith him in 1660, and -n-us made Lord-Chancellor, with the title of Baron Hyde. At the coronation in April, 1661, the earldom of Clarendon was conferred upon him, with a gift of 20,000/. Lord Clarendon fell a victim to court intrigues, and was compelled to surrender the Great Seal Aug. 30, 1667. Articles of impeachment were dra\^-n up against him, and he quitted the kingdom Nov. 29, 1667. A bill for punishing him passed the Upper House Dec. 12, and the Lower House Dec. 18. After going to several places. Lord Clarendon settled at Rouen, where he died Dec. 9, 1674. His body -w-as brought to England, and interred in Westminster Abbey. The first edition of his great work, " The History of the Rebellion," appeared at Oxford in 1702, 1703, and 1704. His life, written by himself, ^^'as published at Oxford in 1759. Both works have gone through numerous editions. "The Life and Administration of Edward, first Earl of Clarendon, ^vith original Correspondence," inc., by T. H. Lister, published in 1838, contains a full account of this extraordinary man. A writer in the Edinburgh Review speaks of Clarendon's " History" as " one of the noblest historical works of the English language ;" and Southey remarks : " For an Englishman, there is no single historical work with which it can be so necessary for him to be well and thoroughly acquainted as with Lord Clarendon."] If the celebrating the memor}' of eminent and extraordinary^ persons, and transmitting their great virtues, for the imitation of posterity, be one of the principal ends and duties of history, it will not be tliought 120 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Clarendon. impertinent, in this place, to remember a loss which no time will suffer to be forgotten, and no success or good fortune could repair. In this unhappy battle (Newbury, Sept. 10, 1643), was slain the Lord Viscount Falkland •* a person of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetness and delight in conversation, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed civil war, than that single loss, it must be most infamous and execrable to all posterity. Turpe mori, post te, solo non posse dolore. Before this parliament, his condition of life was so happy, that it was hardly capable of improvement. Before he came to be twenty years of age, be was master of a noble fortune, which descended to him by the gift of a grandfather, without passing through his father or mother, who were then both alive, and not well enough contented to find themselves passed by in the descent. His education for some years had been in Ireland, where his father was lord-deputy j so that when he returned to England, to the possession of his fortune, he was unentangled with any acquaintance or friends, which usually grow up by the custom of conversation 3 and therefore was to make a pure election of his company, which he chose by other rules than were prescribed to the young nobility of that time. Ard it cannot be denied, though he admitted some few to his friendship for the agreea- bleness of their natures, and their undoubted affection to him, that his familiarity and friendship, for the most part, was with men of the most eminent and sublime parts, and of untouched reputation in point of integrity j and such men had a title to his bosom. He was a great cherisher of wit and fancy, and good parts in any man 3 and, if he found them clouded with poverty or want, a most liberal and bountiful patron towards them, even above his for- tune j of which, in those administrations, he was such a dispenser as if he had been trusted with it to such uses, and if there had been the least of vice in his expense, he might have been thought too prodigal. He was constant and pertinacious in whatsoever he resolved to do, and not to be wearied by any pains that were necessary to that end. And therefore having once resolved not to see London, which * Lucius Gary Falkland, son of Henry Gary, first Viscount Falkland, was born in 1610, and educated at Trinity Gollege, Dublin, and St. John's Gollege, Gambridge. The peerage — a Scotch one — did not confer the right of sitting in the House of Lords. Viscount Falkland was returned member for Newport in the Isle of Wight, in 1640. He fell in the battle of Newbury, Sep. 20, 1643. Clarendon.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 121 he loved above all places, till he had perfectly learned the Greek tongue, he went to his own house in the country, and pursued it with that indefatigable industry, that it will not be believed in how short a time he was master of it, and accurately read all the Greek historians. In this time, his house being within little more than ten miles of Oxford, he contracted familiarity and friendship with the most polite and accurate men of that university, who found such an immenseness of wit, and such a solidity of judgment in him, so infinite a fancy, bound in by a most logical ratiocination, such a vast knowledge, that he was not ignorant in anything, yet such an excessive humility, as if he had known nothing, that they frequently resorted, and dwelt with him, as in a college situated in a purer air ; so that his house was a university in a less volume ; whither they came not so much for repose as study, and to examine and refine those grosser propositions, which laziness and consent made current in vulgar conversation. ■X- -x- * ■X- * He was superior to all those passions and affections which attend vulgar minds, and was guilty of no other ambition than of knowledge, and to be reputed a lover of all good men ; and that made him too much a contemner of those arts which must be indulged in the trans- actions of human affairs. * -x- * -x- -x- He had a courage of the most clear and keen temper, and so far from fear, that he seemed not without some appetite of danger ; and therefore, upon any occasion of action, he always engaged his person in those troops, which he thought, by the forwardness of the com- manders, to be most like to be farthest engaged ; and in all such encounters he had about him an extraordinary cheerfulness, without at all affecting the execution that usually attended them, in which he took no delight, but took pains to prevent it, where it was not, by resistance made necessary 5 insomuch that at Edge-hill, (Oct. 23, 1642,) when the enemy was routed, he was like to have incurred great peril, by interposing to save those who had thrown away their arms, and against whom, it may be, others were more fierce for their having thrown them away : so that a man might think, he came into the field chiefly out of curiosity to see the face of danger, and charity to prevent the shedding of blood. Yet in his natural inclination he acknowledged he was addicted to the profession of a soldier ; and shortly after he came to his fortune, before he was of age, he went into the Low Countries, with a resolution of procuring command, and to give himself up to it, from which he was diverted by the complete inactivity of that summer : so he returned into England, and shortly after entered upon that vehement course of study we mentioned 122 THE EPERY-DAY BOOK [Clarendon. before, till the first alarm from the north ; then again he made ready for tlie field, and though he received some repulse in the command of a troop of horse, of which he had a promise, he went a volunteer witli the Earl of Essex. From the entrance into this unnatural war, his natural cheerfulness and vivacity grew clouded, and a kind of sadness and dejection of spirit stole upon him, which he had never been used to ; yet being one of those who believed that one battle would end all differences, and that there would be so great a victory on one side, that the other would be compelled to submit to any conditions from the victor, (which supposition and conclusion generally sunk into the minds of most men, and prevented the looking after many advantages, that might then have been laid hold of,) he resisted those indispositions, et in luctu, helium inter remedia erat. But after the king's return from Brentford, and the furious resolution of the two Houses not to admit any treaty for peace, those indispositions, which had before touched him, grew into a perfect habit of uncheerfulness ; and he, who had been so exactly easy and affable to all men, that his face and countenance was always present, and vacant to his company, and held any cloudi- ness, and less pleasantness of the visage, a kind of rudeness or incivility, became on a sudden, less communicable ; and thence, very sad, pale, and exceedingly affected with the spleen. In his clothes and habit, which he had minded before always with more neatness, and industry, and expense, than is usual to so great a soul, he was not now only incurious, but too negligent ; and in his reception of suitors, and the necessary or casual addresses to his place, so quick, and sharp, and severe, that there wanted not some men, (strangers to his nature and disposition,) who believed him proud and imperious, from which no mortal man was ever more free. •X- -x- * * * When there was any overture or hope of peace, he would be more erect and vigorous, and exceedingly solicitous to press anything which he thought might promote it j and sitting among his friends, often, after a deep silence and frequent sighs, would, with a shrill and sad accent, ingeminate the word peace, peace; and would passionately profess, " that the very agony of the war, and the view of the calamities and desolation the kingdom did and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart." This made some think, or pretend to think, " that he was so much enamoured on peace, that he would have been glad the king should have bought it at any price j" which was a most unreasonable calumny. As if a man, that was him- self the most punctual and precise in every circumstance that might reflect upon conscience or honour, could have wished the king to have Tennent.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 123 committed a trespass against either. And yet this senseless scandal made some impression upon him, or at least he used it for an excuse of the daringness of his spirit ; for at the leaguer before Gloucester, when his friend passionately reprehended him for exposing his person unnecessarily to danger, (for he delighted to visit the trenches, and nearest approaches, and to discover what the enemy did,) as being so much beside the duty of his place, that it might be understood rather to be against it, he would say merrily, '' that his office could not take away the privilege of his age ; and that a secretary in war might be present at the greatest secret of danger ;" but withal alleged seriously, " that it concerned him to be more active in enterprises of hazard, than other men, that all might see, that his impatiency for peace pro- ceeded not from pusillanimity, or fear to adventure his own person." In the morning before the battle, as always upon action, he was very cheerful, and put himself into the first rank of the Lord Byron's regiment, then advancing upon the enemy, who had lined the hedges on both sides with musketeers ; from whence he was shot with a musket in the lower part of the belly^ and in the in- stant falling from his horse, his body was not found till the next morning ; till when, there was some hope he might have been a prisoner 5 though his nearest friends, who knew his temper, received small comfort from that imagination. Thus fell that incomparable young man, in the four and thirtieth year of his age, having so much dispatched the true business of life, that the eldest rarely attain to that immense knowledge, and the youngest enter not into the world with more innocency : whosoever leads such a life, needs be the less anxious upon how short warning it is taken from, him. — The History of the Relellion, Book vii. 46.— THE PAMBOO-KALOO, OR SNAKE-STONE. [J. E. Tennent, 1804. [James Emerson, son of William Emerson, a Belfast merchant, was born April 7, 1804, and assumed the name of his wife in 1832. Educated at Trinity College, Dublin, he was called to the English bar in 1831. He was returned for Belfast in Dec. 1832, and represented that city until July, 1845, when he was appointed Civil Secretary to the Colonial Government of Ceylon, ha\-ing been secretary to the India Board from Sept. 1841, and received the honour of knighthood. Having left Ceylon Dec. 1 1, 1850, he was elected member for Lisburn in Dec. 185 1; in Feb. 1852, he was appointed Secretary to the Poor Law Board, and in Nov. 1852, one of the joint secretaries to the Board of Trade. Sir J. E. Tennent is the author of several works, his first publication being "Travels in Greece," which appeared in 1825; "Letters from the ^-Egean" appeared in 1829; "A History of Modern Greece" in 124 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Tennent. 1830; his "Christianity in Ceylon" in 1850; and his principal work on Ceylon was published in 1859. ^^ '^^^ created a Knight of the Greek Order of the Saviour in 1842.] The use of the Pamboo-Kaloo, or snake-stone, as a remedy in cases of wounds by venomous serpents, has probably been communicated to the Cingalese by the itinerant snake-charmers, who resort to the island from the coast of Coromandel ; and more than one well-authenticated instance of its successful application has been told to me by persons who had been eye-witnesses to what they described. On one occasion, in March, 1854, a friend of mine was riding, with some of the civil officers of the Government, along a jungle path in the vicinity of Bintenne, when they saw one of two Tamils,* who were approaching them, suddenly dart into the forest and return, holding in both hands a cobra de capello, which he had seized by the head and tail. He called to his companion for assistance to place it in their covered basket, but in doing this he handled it so inexpertly, that it seized him by the finger, and retained its hold for a few seconds, as if unable to retract its fangs. The blood flowed, and intense pain appeared to follow almost immediately J but, with all expedition, the friend of the sufferer undid his waist-cloth, and took from it two snake-stones, each of the size of a small almond, intensely black and highly polished, though of an extremely light substance. These he applied — one to each wound inflicted by the teeth of the serpent — to which the stones attached themselves closely, the blood that oozed from the bites being rapidly imbibed by the porous texture of the article applied. The stones adhered tenaciously for three or four minutes, the wounded man's companion in the meanwhile rubbing his arm downwards from the shoulder towards the fingers. At length the snake-stones dropped off of their own accord ; the suffering appeared to have subsided ; he twisted his fingers till the joints cracked, and went on his way without concern. Whilst this had been going on, another Indian of the party who had come up, took from his bag a small piece of white wood, which resembled a root, and passed it gently near the head of the cobra, which the latter immediately inclined close to the ground ; he then lifted the snake without hesitation, and coiled it into a circle at the bottom of his basket. The root by which he professed to be enabled to perform this operation with safety he called the Naya- * Tamils, or Tamulians, the name given to the inhabitants of the Eastern coast of Ceylon, from Battakolo northward to Jaffua, and thence along the Western coast to Putlam. They are supposed to have come over from the opposite shores of India, and are more active and industrious than the Cingalese, or natives of the interior of the island. Tennent.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 125 thalee Kalinga (the root of the snake-plant), protected by which he professed his ability to approacli any reptile with impunity. In another instance, in 1853, Mr. Lavalliere, the District Judge of Kandy, informed me that he saw a snake-charmer in the jungle, close by the town, search for a cohra de capello, and, after disturbing it in its re- treat, the man tried to secure it, but in the attempt he was bitten in the thigh till the blood trickled from the wound. He instantly applied the Pamhoo Kaloo, which adhered closely for about ten minutes, during which time he passed the root which he held in his hand backwards and forwards above the stone, till the latter dropped to the ground. He assured Mr. Lavalliere that ah danger was then past. That gentle- man obtained from him the snake-stone he had relied on^ and saw him repeatedly afterwards in perfect health. The substances which were used on both the occasions are now in my possession. The roots employed by the several parties are not identical. One appears to be the bit of the stem of an Aristolochia ; the other is so dried as to render it difficult to identify it, but it resembles the quad- rangular stem of a jungle vine. Some species of Aristolochia, such as the A. serpent aria of North America, are supposed to act as a specific in the cure of snake-bites ; and the A. indica is the plant to which the ichneumon is popularly believed to resort as an antidote when bitten j but it is probable that the use of any particular plant by the snake- charmers is a pretence, or rather a delusion, the reptile being over- powered by the resolute action of the operator, and not by the influence of any secondary appliance, the confidence inspired by the supposed talisman enabling the possessor to address himself fearlessly to his task, and thus to effect by determination and will what is popu- larly believed to be the result of charms and stupefaction. Still it is curious that, amongst the natives of Northern Africa, who lay hold of the Cerastes without fear or hesitation, their impunity is ascribed to the use of a plant with which they anoint tliemselves before touching the reptile.^ And Bruce says of the people of Sennaar that they acquire exemption from the fatal consequences of the bite by chewing a par- ticular root, and washing themselves with an infusion of certain plants. He adds that a portion of this root was given him, with a view to test its efficacy in his own person, but that he had not sufficient resolution to undergo the experiment. As to the snake-stone itself, I submitted one, the application of which I have been describing, to Mr. Faraday, * See "Hasselquist's (F.)Voyages and Travels in the Levant, 1749 — 52," published in 1766. This Swedish naturalist and traveller, the pupil of Linnaeus, was born Jan. 3 (O.S.), 1722, and died Feb. 9, 1752. 126 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Ansted. and he has communicated to me, as the result of his analysis, his belief that it is " a piece of charred bone which has been filled with blood perhaps several times, and then carefully charred again. Evidence of this is afforded, as well by the apertures of cells or tubes on its surface as by the fact that it yields and breaks under pressure, and exhibits an organic structure within. When heated slightly, water rises from it, and also a little ammonia ; and if heated still more highly in the air, carbon burns away, and a bulky white ash is left, retaining the shape and size of the stone." This ash, as is evident from inspection, can- not have belonged to any vegetable substance, for it is almost entirely composed of phosphate of lime. Mr. Faraday adds that '' if the piece of matter has ever been employed as a spongy absorbent, it seems hardly fit for that purpose in its present state 3 but who can say to what treatmeixt it has been subjected since it was fit for use, or to what treatment the natives may submit it when expecting to have occasion to use it?" The probability is that the animal charcoal, when instantaneously applied, may be sufficiently porous and absorbent to extract the venom from the recent wound, together with a portion of the blood, before it has had time to be carried into the system ; and that the blood which Mr. Faraday detected in the specimen submitted to him was that of the Indian on whose person the effect was exhibited on the occasion to which my informant was an eye-witness. — Ceylon, vol. 1., Part ii., ch. 3. 47.— THE AMPHITHEATRE AT NISMES. [D. T. Ansted, 1814. [David Thomas Ansted, born in London in 1814, was educated at a private school and at Jesus College, Cambridge. He was appointed Professor of Geology at King's College in 1840; Lecturer on Geology at Addiscombe in 1845; and Professor of Geology at the College of Civil Engineers, Putney, in 1845. His first work, " Geology, Introductory, Descriptive, and Practical," appeared in 1844. This has been followed by a variety of interesting publications ; amongst which " Scenery, Science, and Art," which appeared in 1854, may be mentioned. Ansted has also contributed largely to several scientific periodicals.] The amphitheatre of Nismes* is really in itself a noble building, and a highly picturesque ruin. Its state of preservation, in spite of the numerous accidents to which it has been exposed in the course of seventeen or eighteen centuries, and the more injurious barbarisms of * Erected by Antoninus Pius, Emperor of Rome, a.d. 138 — 161. Ansted.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 127 those who have used this, as well as others of the noblest works of ancient art as mere quarries, conveniently supplying materials for the construction of houses, palaces, or churches, is still extremely good. Its external preservation is even more perfect than that of the great Coliseum of Rome.^ Whole ranges of seats yet remain, rising in regular tiers one above another. Each range is constructed of a num- ber of enormous square blocks of stone, some of which retain marks and notches, indicating the amount of space allotted to each spectator. We may still see the noble galleries, varied in their style of architec- ture, but ail good, and many of them uninjured by time or violence — the magnificent stairs and passages admitting of the free access and egress of the vast multitude, and the complete division of different classes distinctly and unchangeably preserved. So perfect are many parts of this building, that one may sit down, and without much in- dulgence of the fancy, carry back one's thoughts to the time when the charm of novelty was added to those intrinsic beauties we can now recognise, and when the old Roman spectator, occupying the same seat, was waiting with anxiety and intense interest to see the cruel and ferocious sports then thought manly, and considered absolutely essential to keep up the national character. Seated near the centre of the lower range of seats, not far from the imperial throne — part of the iron-work enclosing which is still to be seen — some proud senator looks around him on all that is noble and distinguished in the ancient city of Nemausus, and watches the representative of majesty, or majesty itself, clothed in purple, mounting to the imperial throne. Above him, on the next tier are the knights j above them the Roman citizens — Roman, at least, by law, though few, if any, had ever seen Rome — and above them again the bondsmen and slaves, who, in those days, were not only allowed to partake in the amusements of their masters, but had their allotted places with the rest. More than 20,000 human beings are seated quietly around awaiting a signal. Soon a small door opens — the place of that door is now visible — and there rush out wild beasts to combat either with each other, or with those gladiators whose gloomy chambers are also preserved, and who, one must imagine, were scarcely more civilized or domesticated than their victims in the arena. These fights would, however, soon be succeeded by others more terrible. Men against men — the condemned criminal and the innocent Christian, led out of other dungeons, are cruelly tortured and put to death for the amusement of their fellow-men. Such are the * Commenced by the Emperor Vespasian a.d. 75, and completed by the Emperor Titus A.D. 80. 128 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Burns. scenes that suggest themselves as we occupy the seats, traverse the galleries, or visit the small chambers, that remain so perfectly pre- served in this noble structure. We almost expect to see the marks of blood still staining the ground. We listen to hear the shouts of the multitude, and when we recall our wandering thoughts, and watch the existing population of the vicinity, one cannot but feel that if these things have passed away, we have lost also the indomitable courage and constantly advancing progress which once belonged to the inhabitants of Southern Europe, but which has now changed into a tame and de- basing superstition, involving a total want even of the power of union, and the most degrading subjection to tyranny. The Roman spirit of proud independence has either passed away or has become mingled with many other less valuable and less hopeful ingredients, but the tendency to cruel and bloody amusements is apparently still in existence, and may at any time reappear when the passions are excited and circumstances are favourable for its development. These reflec- tions can hardly appear out of place, as they suggest themselves but too readily to any one acquainted with the former history and present condition of the French, Spanish, and Italian people, especially as illustrated in Provence within the last half century. — Scenery, Science, and Art : being Extracts from the Note Book of a Geologist and Mining Engineer. France. Ch. ii. 48.— MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. [R. Burns, 1759 — 1796. [Robert Burns was born in the country, near Ayr, Jan 25, 1759. His parents being poor he received but little education. His first attempt at rhyme was made when he was in his sixteenth year. An edition of his poems, published at Kilmarnock in the autumn of 1786, met with such a reception, that the author was induced to re- pair to Edinburgh, instead of emigrating, as he at that time purposed. The poet returned to Ayrshire in the spring of 1788, and settled at Ellisland, in Dumfriesshire, in June of the same year. He obtained an a])pointment in the excise soon after, and removed to Dumfries in 1791, where he died July 21, 1796. The first collected edi- tion of his poems and letters, with memoirs by James Currie, was published foi the benefit of the poet's widow and children, at Liverpool, in 1800. A life, by J. G. Lockhart, appeared in 1828, another, prefixed to an edition of his works, was published in 1834, another, in the Aldine edition of his poems, by Sir H. Nicolas, appeared in 1839, ^^^ another, with works, by R. Chambers, in 185 1-2.] When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare. One evening, as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, Burns.j OF MODERN LITERATURE. 129 I spied a man whose aged step Seemed weary, worn with care 5 His face was furrowed o'er with years. And hoary was his hair. * "Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ?" Began the reverend sage : " Does thirst of wealth tiiy step constrain, ^' Or youthful pleasure's rage ? " Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, *^Too soon thou hast began "To wander forth, with me, to mourn "The miseries of man. " The sun that overhangs yon moors, *■ Out-spreading far and wide, " Where hundreds labour to support " A haughty lordling's pride : " I've seen yon weary winter sun " Twice forty times return, "And every time has added proofs " That man was made to mourn. " Oh man ! while in thy early years, " How prodigal of time : " Misspending all thy precious hours, " Thy glorious youthful prime ! " Alternate follies take the sway ; " Licentious passions burn ; " Which tenfold force gives nature's law, "That man was made to mourn. " Look not alone on youthful prime, "On manhood's active might; " Man then is useful to his kind, " Supported in his right : " But see him on the edge of life, " With cares and sorrows worn -, " Then age and want — O ill-matched pair ! — *' Show man was made to mourn. " A few seem favourites of fate, "In pleasure's lap carest; "Yet think not all the rich and great " Are likewise truly blest. J30 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Burns. " But, oh ! what crowds in every land, *^ All wretched and forlorn ! " Through weary life this lesson learn — " That man was made to mourn. " Many and sharp the numerous ills " Inwoven with our frame ! " More pointed still we make ourselves " Regret, remorse, and shame ; " And man, whose heaven-erected face " The smiles of love adorn, "Man's inhumanity to man " Makes countless thousands mourn ! " See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight, " So abject, mean, and vile, *' Who begs a brother of the earth " To give him leave to toil ; " And see his lordly fellow-worm " The poor petition spurn, ** Unmindful though a weeping wife " And helpless offspring mourn. " If I'm designed yon lordling's slave — " By nature's law designed — " Why was an independent wish " E'er planted in my mind ? " If not, why am I subject to " His cruelty or scorn ? " Or why has man the will and power " To make his fellow mourn ? " Yet let not this too much, my son, *' Disturb thy youthful breast ; " This partial view of human-kind " Is surely not the last ? " The poor, oppressed, honest man, *' Had never, sure, been born, " Had there not been some recompense " To comfort those that mourn ! " O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend — " The kindest and the best ! ** Welcome the hour, my aged limbs " Are laid with thee at rest ! Baxter.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 131 *' The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, " From pomp and pleasure torn ! " But, oh ! a blest relief to those " That weary-laden mourn !" 49.— A HEAVENLY MIND. [Rev. R. Baxter,~i6i5 — 1691. [Richard Baxter, born at Rowdon in Shropshire, Nov. 12, 1615, received but little education. He applied his mind to study, was ordained, and soon after acted as curate at Bridgenorth. He removed to Kidderminster in 1640, and during part of the Civil War filled the office of chaplain to one of the Parliamentary regiments. His influence was always exerted to restrain excess. Having refused a bishopric, he left the Church on the passing of the Act of Uniformity in 1662, and retired to Acton, where he devoted his time to literary labours. According to the list given in Orme's memoir, prefixed to an edition of his works published in 1827 — 30, he wrote no less than 168 distinct works. The best known are: "The Saint's Everlastmg Rest," published in 1653; "A Call to the Unconverted," which ap- peared in 1669; and " Methodus Theologiae Christianae" in 1681. In 1672 Baxter returned to London, and resumed his preaching. He was, however, subjected to legal proceedings in 1682 and 1684, and on the latter occasion suffered an imprisonment which lasted eighteen months. He died Dec. 8, 1691. He left an autobiography, which was published in 1696 by Matthew Sylvester, under the title of " Reliquiffi Baxterianae," called by Coleridge " an inestimable work." Dr. G. Callaway published an abridgment in 17 13. His practical works were published in 1707, and numerous editions have appeared. Orme's edition of his works (1827 — 30) is in 23 vols. Dr. Barrow says: "Baxter's practical writings were never mended ; his controversial, seldom refuted."] A HEART in heaven is the highest excellency of your spirits here, and the noblest part of your Christian disposition j as there is not only a difference between men and beasts, but also among men between the noble and the base ; so there is not only a common excellency, whereby a Christian differs from the world, but also a peculiar noble- ness of spirit, whereby the more excellent differ from the rest 3 and this lies especially in a higher and more heavenly frame of spirit. Only man, of all inferior creatures, is made with a face directed heavenward ; but other creatures have their faces to the earth. As the noblest of creatures, so the noblest of Christians are they that are set most direct for heaven.* As Saul is called a choice and goodly man, higher by the head than all the company 3 so is he the most choice and goodly Christian whose head and heart is thus the highest.f Men of noble birth and spirits do mind high and great affairs, and not the smaller things of low poverty. Their discourse is of councils and matters of state,, of the government, of the Bishop Hall. Soliloquy xxxii. f i Sam. iv. 2, and x. 23, 24. K 2 132 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Baxter. commonwealth, and public things : and not of the country- man's petty employments. Oh ! to hear such a heavenly saint, who hath fetched a journey into heaven by faith, and hath been raised up to God in his contemplations, and is newly come down from the views of Christ, what discoveries will he make of those superior regions ! What ravishing expressions drop from his lips ! How high and sacred is his discourse ! Enough to make the ignorant world asto- nished, and perhaps say, ^''Much study hath made them mad;"'* and enough to convince an understanding hearer that they have seen the Lord : and to make one say, " No man could speak such words as these except he had been with God," This, this is the noble Christian -, as Bucholcer'sf hearers concluded, when he had preached his last sermon, being carried between two into the church, because of his weakness, and there most admirably discoursed of the blessedness of souls de- parted this life, " that Bucholcer did ever excel other preachers, but that day he excelled himself:" so may I conclude of the heavenly Christian, he ever excelleth the rest of men, but when he is nearest heaven he excelleth himself. As those are the most famous mountains that are the highest ; and those the fairest trees that are the tallest ; and those the most glorious pyramids and buildings whose tops do reach nearest to heaven ; so is he the choicest Christian, whose heart is most frequently and most delightfully there. If a man have lived near the king, or have travelled to see the Sultan of Persia, or the great Turk, he will make this a matter of boasting, and thinks himself one step higher than his private neighbours, that live at home. What shall we then judge of him that daily travels as far as heaven, and there hath seen the King of Kings ? That hath frequent admittance unto the Divine presence, and feasted his soul upon the tree of life? For my part, I value this man before the ablest, the richest, the most learned in the world, A heavenly mind is a joyful mind ; this is the nearest and the truest way to live a life of comfort.]: And without this you must needs be uncomfortable. Can a man be at the fire and not be warm ; or in the sunshine and not have light ? Can your heart be in heaven and not have comfort ? The countries of Norway, Iceland, and all the north- ward, are cold and frozen because they are farther from the power of the sun; but in Egypt, Arabia, and the southern parts it is far other- wise, where they live more near its powerful rays. What could make such frozen, uncomfortable Christians, but living so far as they do from * Acts xxvi. 24. t Abraham, or Bucholtzer, a German divine, born 1529, died Ju le 14, 1584. X Bishop Hall, Soliloquy xiii. Baxter.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 133 heaven? And what makes some few others so warm in comforts, but their Hving higher than others do, and their frequent access so near to God ? Wlien the sun in the spring draws near our part of the earth, how do all things congratulate its approach ! The earth looks green, and casteth otf her mourning habit ; the trees shoot forth ; the plants revive 3 the pretty birds, how sweetly do they sing ! The face of all things smiles upon us, and all the creatures below rejoice. Beloved friends, if we would but try this life with God, and would but keep these hearts above, what a spring of joy would be within us) and all our graces be fresh and green ! How would the face of our souls be changed, and all that is witliin us rejoice ! How should we forget our winter sorrows ; and withdraw our souls from our sad retirements ! How early should we rise (as those birds in the spring) to sing the praise of our great Creator! OXJhristian, get above : believe it, that region is warmer than this below. Those that have been there, have found it so, and those that have come thence have told us so : and I doubt not but tliat thou hast sometime tried it thyself. I dare appeal to thy own experience, or to the experience of any soul that knows what the true joys of a Christian are : when is it that you have largest comforts ? Is it not after such an exercise as this, when thou hast got up thy heart, and conversed with God, and talked with the inhabitants of the higher world, and viewed, the mansions of the saints and angels, and tilled thy soul witli the fore-thoughts of glory ? If thou know by experience what this practice is, I dare say thou knowest what spiritual joy is. David professeth that the light of God's countenance would make his heart more glad than theirs that have corn, and wine, and oil. " Thou shalt fill me full of joy with thy countenance."* If it be the countenance of God that fills us with joy, then surely they that draw nearest, and most behold it, must needs be fullest of these joys. If you never tried this art, nor lived this life of heavenly contempla- tion, I never wonder that you walk uncomfortably, that yon are all complaining, and live in sorrow, and know not what the joy of the saints means. Can you have comforts from God, and never think of him ? Can heaven rejoice you, when you do not remember it ? Doth anything in the world glad you, when you think not on it ? Must not everything first enter your judgment and consideration before it can delight your heart and atfection ? If you were possessed of all the treasures of the earth ; if you had title to the highest dignities and dominions, and never think on it, surely it would nev^er rejoice you.t Whom should we blame then, diat we are so void of consolation, but * Psalm iv. 6, 7, and Acts ii. 28, referring to Psalm xvi. t Burroughs (Sect, xvii.) on Hosea ii. 19. 134 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Gilpin. pur own negligent, unskilful hearts ? God hath provided us a crown of glory, and promised to set it shortly on our heads, and we will not so much as think of it ; he holdeth it out in the Gospel to us, and biddeth us behold and rejoice, and we will not so much as look at it ; and yet we complain for want of comfort. What a perverse course is this, both against God and our own joys 1 — The Sainfs Everlasting Rest, pt. iv., ch. iii., §§ 4 and 5. SO.— SUNRISE IN THE FOREST. [Rev. W, Gilpin, 1724 — 1804. [William Gilpin, born in 1724, after taking orders, conducted a school at Clieam, in Surrey. His first publication, a "Life of Bernard Gilpin," was followed by several biographical works. This author is most celebrated for his admirable criticisms on landscape and forest scenery. The first of this series of works, "Observations on the river Wye, and several parts of South Wales, and relative chiefly to Picturesque Beauty: made in the summer of the year 1770," was pub- lished at London in 1782. A complete series of his picturesque works is published in eleven volumes. He is the author of " An Exposition of the New Testament," published in 1790, and several sermons and lectures. He was presented by a pupil to the living of Boldre, on the borders of the New Forest, where he died April 5, 1804. A memoir, said to be written by the Rev. Richard Warner, appears in a periodical work, entitled " The Omnium Gatherum," published at Bath.] The first dawn of day exhibits a beautiful obscurity, when the east begins just to brighten with the reflections only of effulgence j a pleasing, progressive light, dubious and amusing, is thrown over the face of things. A single ray is able to assist the picturesque eye j which, by such slender aid creates a thousand imaginary forms, if the scene be unknown ; and as the light steals gradually on, is amused by correcting its vague ideas by the real objects. What in the confusion of twilight perhaps seemed a stretch of rising ground, broken into various parts, becomes now vast masses of wood, and an extent of forest. As the sun begins to appear above the horizon, another change takes place. What was before only form, being now enlightened, begins to receive effect. This effect depends on two circumstances, the catching lights, which touch the summits of every object ; and the mistiness in which the rising orb is commonly enveloped. The effect is often pleasing, when the sun rises in unsullied bright- ness, diffusing its ruddy light over the upper parts of objects, which is contrasted by the deeper shadows below : yet the effect is then only transcendent when he rises, accompanied by a train of vapours, in a misty atmosphere. Among lakes and mountains, this happy accom- paniment often forms the most astonishing visions : and yet in the Hope.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 135 forest it is nearly as great. With what delightful effect do we some- times see the sun's disc just appear above a woody hillj or in Shake- speare's language, " Stand tip-toe on the misty mountain top," and dart his diverging rays through the rising vapour. The radiance, catching the tops of tlie trees, as they hang midway upon the shaggy steep j and touching here and there a few other prominent objects, imperceptibly mixes its ruddy tint with the surrounding mists, setting on lire, as it were, their upper parts 3 while their lower skirts are lost in a dark mass of varied confusion ; in which trees, and ground, and radiance, and obscurity are all blended together. When the eye is fortunate enough to catch the glowing instant (for it is always a vanishing scene), it furnishes an idea worth treasuring among the choicest appearances of nature. Mistiness alone, we have observed, occasions a confusion in objects, which is often picturesque ; but the glory of the vision depends on the glowing lights which are mingled with it. Landscape painters, in general, pay too little attention to the dis- criminations of morning and evening. We are often at a loss to distinguish in pictures the rising from the setting sun 3 though their characters are very different both in the lights and shadows. The ruddy lights, indeed, of the evening are more easily distinguished 3 but it is not perhaps always sufficiently observed, that the shadows of the evening are much less opaque than those of the morning. They may be brightened perhaps by the numberless rays floating in the atmo- sphere, which are incessantly reverberated in every direction 3 and may continue in action after the sun is set. Whereas in the morning, the rays of the preceding day having subsided, no object receives any light but from the immediate lustre of the sun. Whatever becomes of the theory, the fact, I believe, is well ascertained. — Remarks on Forest Scenery, B. ii. § 6. SI.— ANASTASIUS AND THE WIZARD. [Hope, 1770 — 1831. [Thomas Hope, descended from a wealthy Amsterdam family, born in 1770, devoted himself to the study of architecture, for which purpose he travelled for several years in different parts of the world. His first publication on " Household Furniture," appeared in 1807, his "Costume of the Ancients" in 1809. His "Anastasius, or Memoirs of a Greek, written at the close of the Eighteenth Century," published anonymously in 1819, was at first attributed to Lord Byron. His " Essay on the Origin and Prospects of Man " appeared in 183 1, and his historical essay on the "History of Architecture" in 1837. ^oth of these works were published post- humously, as their author died Feb. 3, 183 1.] 136 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK. [Hope. The Sidi Malek's stationary oracle was a soothsayer of established repute, residing in one of the remotest suburbs of Digedda, and who seldom condescended to go from home, but waited to be worshipped in his own cave or temple. For the sake of peace, I promised not to neglect the opportunity of being enlightened, and only bargained to find my own way to this celebrated personage, the odour of whose fame I was told extended all the world over. It might be so ; for it affected me almost to suffocation on entering his den ; — a sanctuary which, to say the truth, smelt more of things below than of the stars above. [ groped on, nevertheless, with the most undaunted bravery, till I reached the farthest end of the unsavory abode. There the wizard sat in all his state. A stufied crocodile canopied his head ; a serpent's skin of large dimensions was spread under his feet, and an old clothes-chest afforded support to the parts between. Potent charms and powerful spells entirely covered the wall. They had their names written over them for the information of the be- holder^ and hair of unborn Dives,"^ heart of maiden vipers, liver of the bird Roc,t fat of dromedary's hunch, and bladders filled with the wind Simoon,:}: were among the least rare and curious. Of the wizard's own features, so little was discernible that I almost doubted whether he had any. An immense pair of spectacles filled up the whole space between his cloak and turban. These spectacles veered incessantly, like a weather-cock, from left to right and from right to left, between a celestial globe robbed of half its constellations by the worms, and a Venice almanack despoiled of half its pages by the wear and tear of fingers. Before the astrologer lay expanded his table of nativities. Opposite the master shone — but only with a reflected light — his little apprentice, crouched, like a marmoset, on a low stool. The round, sparkling face of this youth — immovedly fixed on the face of his principal — seemed to watch all his gestures j and never did he stir from his station, except to hand him his compasses, to turn his globe, or to pick up his spectacles — which, from want of the proper support from underneath, came off every moment. After each of these evo- lutions, the little imp immediately ran back to his pedestal, and re- sumed his immoveable attitude till the next call for his activity. So complete a silence was maintained all the time on both sides, that one would have sworn every motion of this pantomime must have been preconcerted. Fearful of disturbing the influence of some planet, or confusing the * Celebrated magicians. f A fabulous bird of prodigious size, X The poisonous wind of the desert. Hope.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 137 calculations of some nativity, I myself remained a while silent and metionless at the entrance of the sanctuary ; but finding that I might stay there till doomsday if I waited for an invitation to advance, I at last grew impatient, marched up to the wizard, put my mouth to his ear, and roared out as loud as I could, " I suppose I am addressing the learned Schaich Aly ?" Upon this the astrologer gave a start, like one suddenly moved from some profound meditation, turned his head slowly round, as if moving by clock-work, and after first leisurely surveying me several times from head to foot, and again from foot to head, at last said in a snuffling but emphatic tone — drawling every word, in order to make what in itself was not short longer still — '^If you mean the cele- brated Schaich Abou Salech, Ibn-Mohammed, Ibn-Aly el Dyeddawee Schafei* Schaich, of the flowery mosque, and the cream of the astrologfers of the asre, who holds familiar converse with the stars, and to whom the moon herself imparts all her secrets, I am he !" ** And if you should happen to want the best-beloved of the pupils of this luminary of the world — the young bud of the science of which he is the full-blown pride, the nascent dawn of his meridian splen- dour," added from his pedestal the v/orshipful apprentice — "I am he." '''Hail," answered I, "to the full-blown pride of astrology, and hail to its nascent bud! May they be pleased to inform me what I am, whence I come, whither I am going, and whether or not I may hope to recover what [ have lately lost ? ' ' ''Young man," replied the wizard, "yon lump together a heap of questions, each of which singly would take a twelvemonth to answer at length. Besides, it is not in my own person that I disclose such matters. You cannot be ignorant that the voice of prophecy has ceased with the holy one of Mekkah. I am but the humble inter- preter of the stars. It is true," added he — lest this exordium should deter me from giving him my custom — " that my vast knowledge of the celestial oracles which glitter in the firmament enables me to understand their language as clearly as my mother tongue ; and that I thence know to a tittle all that was, and is, and is to be. I may therefore forthw^ith, if you please, ascertain from the chance opening of the Holy Book in w^hat way the heavenly bodies choose, on this occasion, to be addressed," I agreed. The doctor performed his ablutions, and the dawn of his * It is customary with men of letters in Arabia to assume a number of surnames borrowed from different circumstances. J38 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Hope. meridian splendour shook the dust from off his gown. Thus cleansed — at least externally — he mumbled a prayer or two, and then with great solemnity opened the Koran. "Child!" said he, after having inspected the page displayed before him, " the admirable and important chapter on which Providence has willed the eye of its servant to fall, treats of the balance Wezn.* This proves incontestably -, — but ere I proceed further, what do you mean to pay me?" "Two piastres," was my answer; thinking this a liberal remune- ration. Not so the wizard. The most grievous of insults could not have puf him into a greater rage. "Two piastres!" exclaimed he 3 "why, in the quietest of times, and when a man's fortune might almost be told him blindfold, this would scarce have been an aspre each adventure 3 and now that the world has all turned topsy turvy, that men do not know whether they stand on their heads or their heels ; now that women wage war, kings turn philosophers, and high priests stroll about the country ; now that the Grand Lama of Tibet takes a turn to Pekin, and the Pope of Rome travels post to Vienna — to offer such a fee ! Insolent — absurd — preposterous!" I let the astrologer's passion cool a little first, and then resumed the negotiation. After a good deal of altercation, it ended in Ibn- Moham- med, Ibn-Aly el Schafei*, undertaking to reveal my destiny in two days, for the important sum of as many sequins. At the appointed time I returned, but found not Schaich Aly, as before, in solitary meditation. He stood surrounded by a whole circle of customers, and was abusing one poor fellow so tremendously as to terrify all the rest, and make them tremble lest their own fortunes should fare the worse for the incident. "Wretch!" he cried j — "to apply to me for charms to rid your house of vermin -, as if I was in league with vipers and with scorpions ! Go to the wandering santons that ply in the cross ways, and presume not again to appear in the presence of one whom the very skies treat with deference." The frightened peasant retired, and the remainder of the party received the devout and wonderful sentences, which only required being kept carefully sealed up, to procure the bearer every species of bliss. The levee thus despatched, the wizard turned to me. " I have completed your business," cried he, handing me a dirty scrawl, "but it has been with incredible toil. I cannot conceive what you have ♦ In which, according to the Koran, are weighed man's good and evil actions. Boswell.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 139 done to the stars. At the bare mention of your name they all began to laugh. It has cost me a whole night's labour to bring them to their senses. Instead of two sequins, I ought to have two dozen." **Not one single aspre," replied I, glancing over the paper, and then throwing it in the wizard's face. ^^The beginning informs me that I shall certainly die young, provided I do not grow old ; and cannot fail to marry, unless I die single 3 and as to the end, it has not meaning at all." *'It has a great deal of meaning," replied the now infuriated star- gazer, grinning like an afrite^ '^for it means, evil spirit, — demon, — that you certainly will be hanged." '""It then also means," replied I, '^that I need not pay a farthing j for, if I am not hanged, you have written a parcel of lies undeserving of a fee ; and, if I am equally to swing whether I pay or not, I may as well save my money, and give you a drubbing to boot." So saying, I laid on ; and the young bud of science, who tried to protect his master, came in for his share of my bounty. All intercourse with the constellations now being broken off, I walked away, alternately threatened with the justice of the stars, and with that of the Cadee. — Jnastasius, or Memoirs of a Greek, vol. ii. ch. vi. 52.-— BOSWELL'S INTRODUCTION TO DR. JOHNSON. [Boswell, 1740 — 1795. [James Boswell, born at Edinburgh, Oct. 29, 1740, was the son of Alexander Boswell, who in 1754 was made a Lord of the Session, and assumed the title of Lord Auchinleck. Having studied law at the universities of Edinburgh and Glasgow, he repaired to London in 1760. He contributed some verses to a miscellany that appeared in Edinburgh in 1760, and published a volume of Letters, written by him to the Hon. A. Erskine in 1763. Boswell was introduced to Dr. Johnson in the shop of Mr. Davies, the bookseller, Russell Street, Covent Garden, May 16, 1763. His intimacy with Dr. Johnson was drawn closer by several visits to London, where he settled in 1782. Dr. Johnson died Dec. 13, 1784, and in 1785 Boswell published at Edinburgh his "Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides," on which journey he had accompanied Dr. Johnson in 1773 — the year of his admission to the Literary Club. In 1790 Boswell contested Ayrshire without success; and his " Life of Johnson" appeared towards the end of that year. His death occurred in London June 19, 1795. His "Life of Johnson," which has gone through a large number of editions, was carefully edited, with notes by J. W. Croker, in 183 1. A volume entitled " Letters of James Boswell, addressed to the Rev. W. J. Temple, from the original MS.," appeared in Dec. 1856. Macaulay says, "Boswell's 'Life of Johnson' is one of the best books in the world. It is assuredly a great, a very great work. Homer is not more decidedly the first of heroic poets ; Shakspeare is not more decidedly the first of dramatists ; Demosthenes is not more decidedly the first of orators, than Boswell is the first of biographers."] 140 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Boswell. At last on Monday, i6th of May, when I was sitting in Mr. Davies's back parlour, after having drank tea with him and Mrs. Davies, Johnson unexpectedly came into the shop :"^ and Mr. Davies having perceived him, through the glass door in the room in which we were sitting, advancing towards us, he announced his awful approach to me somewhat in the manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet on the appearance of his father's ghost, " Look, my lord, it comes !" I found that I had a very perfect idea of John- son's figure, from the portrait of him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had published his Dictionary, in the attitude of sitting in his easy-chair in deep meditation ; which was the first picture his friend did for him, which Sir Joshua Reynolds kindly presented to me, and from which an engraving has been made for this work. Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully introduced me to him. I was much agitated 3 and recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, of which I. had heard much, I said to Davies, " Don't tell where I come from." "From Scotland!" cried Davies, roguishly. "Mr. Johnson," said I, "I do indeed come from Scotland 3 but I cannot help it." I am willing to flatter myself that I meant this as light pleasantry, to soothe and conciliate him, and not as an humiliat- ing abasement at the expense of my country. But however that might be, this speech was somewhat unlucky ; for with that quickness of wit for which he was so remarkable, he seized the expression, " Come from Scotland" — which I used in the sense of being of that country j and, as if I had said that I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, " That, sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help." This stroke stunned me a good deal j and when we had sat down, I felt myself not a little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might come next. He then addressed himself to Davies : "What do you think of Garrick ? He has refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he knows the house will be full, and that an order would be worth three shillings." Eagrer to take any opening to get into conversation with him, I ventured to say, " Oh, sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge such a trifle to you." " Sir!" said he, with a stern look, " I have known David Garrick longer than you have donej and I know no right you have to talk to me on the subject." Perhaps I deserved this check ; for it was rather presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any doubt of the justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance and pupil. f * Murphy, in his " Essay on the Life and Genius of Dr. Johnson," gives a different account of this interview. f That this v^as a momentary sally against Garrick there can be no doubt ; for at Bi.swell.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. Ht I now felt myself much mortified, and began to think that the hope which I had long indulged, of obtaining his acquaintance, was blasted. And, in truth, had not my ardour been uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly persevering, so rough a reception might have deterred me from making any further attempts. Fortunately, how- ever, I remained upon the field not wholly discomfited 3 and was soon rewarded by hearing some of his conversation, of which I preserved the following short minute, without marking the questions and obser- vations by which it was produced : — " People," he remarked, *^may be taken in once, who imagine that an author is greater in private life than other men. Uncommon parts require uncommon opportunities for their exertion." " In barbarous society, superiority of parts is of real consequence. Great strength, or great wisdom, is of much value to an individual. But in more polished times there are people to do everything for money 3 and then there are a number of other superiorities — such as those of birth and fortune, and rank, that dissipate men's attentions, and leave no extraordinary share of respect for personal and intellectual superiority. This is wisely ordered by Providence, to preserve some equality among mankind." " Sir, this book {' The Elements of Criticism'* which he had taken up), is a pretty essay, and deserves to be held in some estima- tion, though much of it is chimerical." Speaking of one,t who, with m^ore than ordinary boldness, attacked public measures and the royal family, he said, " I think he is safe from the law, but he is an abusive scoundrel -, and instead of applying to my Lord Chief Justice to punish him, I would send half-a-dozen footmen, and have him well ducked." '' The notion of liberty amuses the people of England, and helps to keep off the tcedium vitce. When a butcher ^ells you that his heart Heeds for his country, he has, in fact, no uneasy feeling." " Sheridan will not succeed at Bath with his oratory. Ridicule has gone down before him -, and, I doubt Derrick is his enemy.":}: Johnson's desire he had, some years before, given a benefit night at this theatre to this very person, by which she had got two hundred pounds. Johnson, indeed, upon all other occasions, when I was in his company, praised the very liberal charity of Garrick. I once mentioned to him, " It is observed, sir, that you attack Garrick yourself, but you will suffer nobody else to do it." Johnson (smiling), " Why, sir, that is true." BOSWELL. * By Henry Home, Lord Kames, published in 1762. — Crozier. t Mr. Wilkes, no doubt. — Croker. X Mr. Sheridan v^as then reading lectures upon Oratory at Bath, where DfirricV was- Master of the Ceremonies, or as the ohrase is. kbv^. — Bos-7ei.l 142 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Lamartine. " Derrick may do very well, as long as he can outrun his character j but the moment his character gets up with him, it is all over." It is, however, but just to record, that some years afterwards, when I reminded him of this sarcasm, he said, " Well, but Derrick has now got a character that he need not run away from." I was highly pleased with the extraordinary vigour of his conversa- tion, and regretted that I was drawn away from it by an engagement at another place. I had, for a part of the evening been left alone with him, and had ventured to make an observation now and then, which he received very civilly 3 so that I was satisfied that, though there was a roughness in his manner, there was no ill-nature in his disposition. Davies followed me to the door, and when I complained to him a little of the hard blows which the great man had given me, he kindly took upon him to console me by saying, '' Don't be uneasy. I can see he likes you very well." — Life of Johnson, anno 1763. 53.— THE RIVER JORDAN. [De Lamartine, 1790 — 1869. [Marie Louis Alphonse De Prat, who assumed the name of De Lamartine after his maternal uncle, was born at Macon, October 21, 1790, and educated at Milly, and at the College of the Peres de la Foi, Belly. He joined the army in 1814, but left it the following year and turned journalist. His first work, " Meditations Poe'tiques," appeared in 1820, and 45,000 copies are said to have been sold in four years. Having obtained a diplomatic appointment, he was made Secretary of Legation at Florence in 1824. His " Harmonies Poetiques et Religieuses" appeared in 1829, in which year he was elected member of the French Academy. Lamartine, who had married Miss Birch, an English lady cf fortune, resigned his diplomatic appointment in 1830, and set out on a tour in Greece in May, 1832. During his absence in the East he was elected to the Chamber of Deputies, and spoke for the first time January 4, 1834. His "Voyage en Orient" was published in 1835, and, with many other works, has been translated into English. His " Histoire des Girondins" appeared in 1847. During the revolution of February, 1848, Lamartine was made a Member of the Pro- visional Government, and acted as Minister for Foreign Affairs. He soon, how- ever, became unpopular, and, although nominated for the Presidency, obtained only a few votes. Since his retirement from political life Lamartine has produced a succes- sion of historical works. He d'ed 1869.] The Jordan winds, as it issues from the lake, ghding into the low and marshy plain of Esdraelon, about fifty paces from the lake ; it passes under the ruined arches of a bridge of Roman architecture, foaming a little, and making its first murmur heard. We directed our steps towards it by a rapid and rocky descent. We were eager to salute its waters, hallowed in the recollections of two religions. In a few minutes we were on its banks j we jump from our horses, and bathe our heads, feet, and hands in its stream, fresh, tepid, and blue as the Lamartine.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 143 waters of the Rhone where it leaves the Lake of Geneva. The Jordan at this point, which must be nearly the middle of its course, would not be worthy of the name of a river in a country- of larger extent ^ but it, however, far exceeds the Eurotas and Cephisus, and all those rivers whose fabulous or historical names are early echoed in our memory, and are conceived in a likeness of magnitude, rapidity, and abundance, which the view of reality destroys. The Jordan, even here, is more than a torrent^ although at the end of a rainless autumn it gently ilow^s in a bed about a hundred feet broad, as a stream of water two or three feet deep, so clear, limpid, and transparent, that the pebbles in its bed can be told 3 and of that ravishing colour which returns the full depth of tint of an Asiatic sky — more blue even than the sky, like a picture more beautiful than the reality, like a mirror which em- bellishes w^hat it reflects. Twenty or thirty paces from its waters, the strand, which it leaves at present dry, is scattered with loose stones, rushes, and tufts of laurel roses yet in flower. This strand is five or six feet below the level of the plain, and marks the dimensions of the river in the ordinary season of fullness. These dimensions, in my opinion, must be a depth of eight or ten feet, and a breadth of a hun- dred or hundred and twenty. It is narrower both above and below in the plain, but there it is more confined and deep, the spot at which we contemplated it being one of the four fords w^hich the river has in its course. I drank, in the hollow of my hand, of the water ot Jordan, of the w^ater which so many divine poets had drunk before me, of that water which flowed over the innocent head of the volun- tary Victim ! I found it perfectly fresh, of an agreeable taste, and of great clearness. The custom which we contract in eastern journeys ot drinking nothing but water, and of drinking it repeatedly, renders the palate an excellent judge of the qualities of a new stream. The water of the Jordan failed only in one quality — coolness. It was warm, and though my lips and hands were inflamed by a march of eleven hours without shade, imder a scorching sun, my lips and forehead experienced a sensation of heat on touching the water of this river. Like all the travellers who come through so many fatigues, routes, and dangers, to visit in its abandonment this once royal stream, I filled several bottles with its waters to carry to friends less fortunate than my- self, and I crammed the barrels of my pistols with pebbles which I gathered on its shores. Might I not thus bear with me the holy and prophetic inspiration with which of old it invested the bards of its sacred precincts, and especially a small portion of that sanctity, and of that purity of spirit and heart, it contracted doubtless when laving the purest and holiest of the children of men ! I then mounted on horse- back, and went round some of those ruined piles, which bore the 144 ' THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [De Quincey. bridge or aqueduct of which I spoke above. I saw nothing but the inferior masonry of all the Roman constructions of that period — • neither marble, sculpture, nor inscription ; no arch was yet subsisting, but ten pillars were standing, and we distinguished the foundations of four or five others, with a space of about ten feet for each arch j which agrees pretty well with the breadth of 120 feet, which, at an eye's view, I believe the Jordan would have. But what I say here of the dimensions of the Jordan is only in- tended to satisfy the curiosity of persons who are anxious to have just and exact measures of the very creations of their thoughts, and not to lend arms to the enemies or champions of the Christian faith — arms despicable on both sides. What matters it whether the Jordan be a tor- rent or a river ? — whether Judea be a heap of barren rocks or a delicious garden ? — whether this mountain be but a hill, and this kingdom be but a province ? The men who rage and fight upon such questions are as insane as those who think they upset a creed of two thousand years when they laboriously strive to give the lie to the bible, and an objection to the prophecies ! Would one not believe, on seeing these grand combats on a word ill understood, or wrongly interpreted by both sides, that religions are geometrical problems, which are proved by figures, or destroyed by an argument, and that generations of believers or infidels are quite ready to await the end of the discussion, and immediately to pass over to the side of the best logician, and of the most erudite and ingenious antiquary ? Profitless disputes, which neither pervert nor convert ! Religions are not proved, are not demonstrated, are not established, are not overthrown, by logic ! They are, of all the mysteries of nature and the human mind, the most mysterious and the most inexplicable ; they are of instinct, and not ot reason ! Like the winds which blow from the east and from the west, of which no one knows the cause or the point of departure, they blow God alone knows whence, God alone knows wherefore, God alone knows for how many ages, and over what countries of the globe ! They are, because they are ; they are not taken up or laid down at will, on the word of such or such a tongue ; they are parcel of the heart, even more than of the understanding of men. — Travels in the East, including a Journey in the Holy Land, vol. i. 54.— THE LARGE DOSE OF OPIUM. [De Quincey, 1786 — 1859. [Thomas de Quincey, second son of a wealthy merchant, born in Manchester, August 15, 1786, was educated at the grammar-school at Bath, and at the university ot Oxford. In 1808 he joined the well-known circle at the Lakes, where he remained De GLuincey.j OF MODERN LITERATURE. 145 till 1 8 19. After residing in London and different parts of England, he settled at Lasswade, near Edinburgh, in 1843, ^'^d died at Edinburgh, December 8, 1859. -^^ Oxford De Quincev contracted the habit from which he received the name of " the English opium-eater." His " Confessions of an English Opium-Eater," containing an account of his early historv-, appeared in the " London Magazine," and was re-published in 1822; and "The Logic of Political Economy" was published at Edinburgh in 1844- His other writings, which consisted of contributions to various periodicals, were first collected, and republished in America. An English edition, entitled " Selections, Grave and Gay," with a preface by the author, appeared at Edin- burgh, in fourteen volumes, 1853 — 61.] One day a Malay knocked at my door. What business a Malay could have to transact amongst the recesses of English mountains^ it is not my business to conjecture 3 but possibly he was on his road to a seaport — ^\"iz., \Yhitehaven, Workington^ &c., about forty miles distant. The sen-ant who opened the door to him was a young girl, born and bred amongst the mountains, who had never seen an Asiatic dress of any sort : his turban, therefore, confounded her not a little : and, as it turned out that his knowledge of English was exactly commensurate with hers of Malay, there seemed to be an impassable gulf fixed betsveen all communication of ideas, if either party had happened to possess any. In this dilemma the girl, recollecting the reputed learning of her master, (and, doubtless, giving me credit for a knowledge of all the languages of the earth, besides, perhaps, a few of the lunar ones,) came, and gave me to understand that there was a sort of demon below, whom she clearly imagined that my art could exorcise from the house. The group which presented itself, arranged as it was by accident, though not very elaborate, took hold of my fancy and my eye more powerfully than any of the statuesque attitudes or groups exhibited in the ballets at the opera house, though so ostentatiously complex. In a cottage kitchen, but not looking so much like that as a rustic hall of entrance, being panelled on the wall with dark wood that from age and rubbing resembled oak, stood the Malay, his turban and loose trousers of dingy white relieved upon the dark panelling. He had placed himself nearer to the girl than she seemed to relish, though her native spirit of mountain intrepidity contended with the feeling of simple awe, which her countenance expressed as she gazed upon the tiger-cat before her. A more striking picture there could not be imagined than the beautiful English face of the girl,* and its exquisite * Wordsworth, in a small pastoral poem, speaks of her when about six years old :— " 'Twas little Barbara LewthxN'aite, A child of beauty rare !" L 146 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [De Quincey. bloom, together with her erect and independent attitude, contrasted with the sallow and bilious skin of the Malay, veneered with mahogany tints by climate and marine air, his small, fierce, restless eyes, thin lips, slavish gestures and adorations. Half hidden by the ferocious-looking Malay, was a little child from a neighbouring cottage, who had crept in after him, and was now in the act of reverting its head and gazing upwards at the turban and the fiery eyes beneath it, whilst with one hand he caught at the dress of the lovely girl for protection. My knowledge of the Oriental tongues is not remarkably extensive, being, indeed, confined to two words — the Arabic word for barley, and the Turkish for opium {madjoon), which I have learnt from "* Anastasius^"* and as I had neither a Malay dictionary, nor even Adelung's " Mithridates," which might have helped me to a few words, I addressed him in some lines from the "Iliad," considering that, of such languages as I possessed, the Greek, in point of longitude, came geographically nearest to an oriental one. He worshipped me in a devout manner, and replied in what I suppose to have been Malay. In this way I saved my reputation as a linguist with my neighbours, for the Malay had no means of betraying the secret. He lay down upon the floor for about an hour, and then pursued his journey. On his departure I presented him, inter alia, with a piece of opium. To him, as a native of the East, I could have no doubt that opium was not less familiar than his daily bread 3 and the expression of his face con- vinced me that it was. Nevertheless, I was struck with some little con- sternation when I saw him suddenly raise his hand to his mouth, and bolt the whole, divided into three pieces, at one mouthful. The quantity was enough to kill some half dozen dragoons, together with their horses, supposing neither bipeds nor quadrupeds to be regularly trained opium-eaters. I felt some alarm for the poor creature 3 but what could be done? I had given him the opium in pure compassion for his solitary life, since, if he had travelled on foot from London, it must be nearly three weeks since he could have exchanged a thought with any human being. Ought I to have violated the laws of hospi- tality by having him seized and drenched with an emetic, thus frightening him into a notion that we were going to sacrifice him to some English idol? No 3 there was clearly no help for it. The mischief, if any, was done. He took his leave, and for some days I felt anxious ; but, as I never heard of any Malay, or of any man in a turban being found dead on any part of the very slenderly peopled road between Grasmeie and Whitehaven, I became satisfied that he was familiar * A novel, by Thomas Hope. See pp. 135 — 139. Milton.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 147 with opium, and that I must doubtless have done him the service I designed, by giving him one night of respite from the pains of wan- dering. — Confessions of an English Opium-Eater, 55.— ADAM AND EVE IN EDEN. [Milton, 1608 — 1674. [John Milton, born in Bread Street, London, Dec. 9, 1608, was educated at St. Paul's School and Christ's College, Cambridge. In 1637 he left England for Italy, and returned in 1639. In 1641, his first political treatise, " Of Reformation," appeared, and for many years Milton took a very prominent part in public affairs. He was appointed Latin Secretary to the Council of State, and he became totally blind in 1654. Milton, who was three times married, died Nov. 8, 1674. Though he wrote numerous prose works, it is by his poetry that he is best known. "The Masque of Comus " was first published in 1637, and "Lycidas" in 1638. " Paradise Lost," for which the author received five pounds, appeared in 1667. It consisted only of ten books. In the second edition, published in 1674, it was divided into twelve books. The " Paradise Regained," in four books, and " Samson Agonistes," appeared in 1671. Various editions of his prose and poetical works have appeared, and they have been translated into most modern languages. Numerous biographies of Milton have been published, the best known are by J. Poland in 1698, by T. Birch in 1753, by Dr. Symons in 1805, by H. J. Todd in 1809, by the Rev. J. Mitford in 1853, by J. Keightley in 1855, by D. Masson (unfinished) in 1858, and by J. N. Morris in 1862. The first volume of Dr. Johnson's "Lives of the Poets " contains a biography of Milton. The following was written by Dryden "under MR. MILTOn's PICTURE, BEFORE HIS ' PARADISE LOST.' " Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed ; The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two."] Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird. They to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale -, She all night long heramorous descant sung ; Silence was pleased : now glowed the firmament With living sapphires : Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen unveiled her peerless light. And o'er die dark her silver mantle threw. When Adam thus to Eve : — " Fair consort ! the hoar Of night, and all things now retired to rest L 2 148 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Milton. Mind us of like repose, since God hath set Labour and rest, as day and night to men Successive ; and the timely dew of sleep Now falling with soft slumbrous weight inclines Our eyelids : other creatures all day long Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest j Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, A.nd the regard of Heaven on all his ways j While other animals unactive range. And of their doings God takes no account. To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east With first approach of light, we must be risen. And at our pleasant labour, to reform Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green. Oar walk at noon, with branches overgrown. That mock onr scant manuring, and require More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth : Those blossoms also, and those dropping gTims, That lie bestrewn, unsightly and unsmooth. Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease j Meanwhile, as nature wills, night bids us rest." To whom thus Eve with perfect beauty adorned : — " My author and disposer, what thou bidd'st Unargued I obeyj so God ordains. — God is thy law, thou, mine : to know no more Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise. With thee conversing, I forget all time -, All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet. With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun. When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower. Glistering with dew 3 fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers j and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train : — But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower. Glistering with dew j nor fragrance after showers j Nor grateful evening mild 5 nor silent night. a Kempis,] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 149 With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon. Or glittering star-light, without thee, is sweet. But wherefore all night long shine these ? for whom This glorious sights when sleep hath shut all eyes?" To whom our general ancestor replied : — " Daughter of God and man, accomplished Eve, These have their course to finish round the earth. By morrow evening, and from land to land In order, though to nations yet unborn. Ministering light prepared, they set and rise ; Lest total darkness should by night regain Her old possession, and extinguish life In nature and in all things, which these soft fires Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat Of various influence foment and warm. Temper or nourish, or in part shed down Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow On earth, made hereby apter to receive Perfection from the sun's more potent rays. These, then, though unbeheld in deep of night. Shine not in vain j nor think, though men were none. That heaven would want spectators, God want praise : Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep : All these with ceaseless praise his works behold Both day and night : how often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air. Sole, or responsive each to other's note. Singing their great Creator ? Oft in bands While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonic number joined, their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heaven." Paradise Lost, Book iv. 56.— THE KNOWLEDGE OF TRUTH. [a Kempis, 1380 — 1471. [Thomas a Kempis, or Von Kempen, born at Kempen, near Cologne, in 1380, was educated at Deventer, and entered the Augustinian monastery of Agnetenberg, near Zwoll, of which his brother John was Prior, in 1400. He took the vows in 1406, entered into priest's orders in 1413, and passed his whole life in the monastery. 150 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [a Kempis. where he died July 25, 1471. "The Imitation of Jesus Christ," though attributed to John Gerson, Chancellor of the University of Paris, and to John Gerson, abbot of a monastery at Vercelli, is now generally believed to have been written by a Kempis. The first Latin edition appeared at Augsburg about 147 1 ; the first French transla- tion in 1488; the first English edition, consisting of three books only, translated by Dr. R. Atkinson, was published by W. De Worde in 1502; the fourth book (translated by Margaret, mother to Henry VII.) appeared in 1504. The work has been translated by various hands. Thomas a Kempis compiled a Chronicle of the monastery and some other works. A " Life of Kempis," by Brewer, ap- peared in 1636; another, by Charles Butler, in 1814. Several biographies have been written. Fontenelle says of his book, " It is the finest work that hath proceeded from the pen of man, the Gospel being of divine origin." Hallam (Lit. Hist., p. i. ch. i. § 63), remarks: "The book itself is said to have gone through 1800 editions, and has probably been more read than any other work after the Scriptures." Milman (Lat. Christianity, b. xiv. ch. 3), says : " No book has been so often reprinted, no book has been so often translated^ or into so many languages. * * * * The style is ecclesiastical Latin, but the perfection of ecclesiastical Latin — brief, pregnant, picturesque; expressing profound thoughts in the fewest words, and those words, if compared with the scholastics, of purer Latin sound or construction. The facility with which it passed into all other languages, those especially of Roman descent, bears witness to its perspicuity, vivacity, and energy."] Happy the man whom Truth teacheth, not by obscure figures and transient sounds, but by showing herself to be such as she really is. The perceptions of our senses are narrow and dull, and our reasoning on those perceptions frequently misleads us. To what purpose are our disputations on hidden and obscure subjects, for our ignorance of which we shall not be brought into judgment at the latter day ? How extravagant the folly to neglect the study of the "one thing needful," and wholly devote our time and faculties to that which is not only vainly curious, but sinful, and dangerous as the state of " those that have eyes, and see not !"* And what have redeeftied souls to do with the distinctions and subtleties of logic ? He whom the Eternal Word condescendeth to teach, is disengaged at once from the labyrinth of human opinions. For of " One Word are all things ^''f and all things, without voice or language, speak Him alone. He is that divine principle which speaketh in our hearts, and without which, there can be neither just apprehension, nor right judgment. Now he to whom all things are but this One, who comprehendeth all things in His Will, and beholdeth all things in His light, hath " his heart hxed," and "abideth in peace of God." "O, God ! who art the Truth,"| make me one with Thee in ever- lasting love ! I am oJ'ten weary of reading, and of hearing many things. I * Psalm cxv. 5. t John i. 3. X John xiv. 6. a Kempis.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 151 111 Thee alone, is the sum of all my desires. Let all teachers be silent ; let the whole creation be dumb before Thee ; and do Thou only speak unto my soul ! The more any one is united to God in himself, and advanced in singleness and simplicity of heart, the more readily will he comprehend numerous and loftier things without the eifort of study 3 because he receives the light of understanding from above. A spirit pure, simple, and constant, is not, like Martha, distracted and troubled " aboQt many things j" because, inwardly at rest, it seeketh not its own glory in what it does, but " doth all to the glory of God :" for there is no other cause of perplexity and disquiet, but an unsubdued will and unmortified affections. A holy and spiritual man, by reducing these to the rule and standard of his own mind, becomes the master of all his outward acts 3 he does not sufler himself to be led by them to the indulgence of any inordinate affections that terminate in self, but sub- jects them to the unalterable judgment of an inspired and sanctified spirit. Who hath a harder conflict to endure, than he who labours to subdue himself? But in this we must be continually engaged, if we would be more strengthened in the inner man, and make real pro- gress towards perfection. Indeed, the highest perfection we can attain to in the present state, is alloyed with much imperfection 3 and our best knowledge is obscured by the shades of ignorance. "" We see thro' a glass darkly." An humble knowledge of thyself, therefore, is a more certain way of leading thee to God, than the most profound investiga- tions of science. Science, however, or a proper knowledge of the things that belong to the present life, is so far from being blameable in itself, that it is good, and ordained of God 3 but purity of conscience, and holiness of life, must ever be preferred before it. And because men are more solicitous to learn much, than to live well, they fall into error, and receive little or no benefit from their studies. O, that the same diligence were exerted to eradicate vice, and implant virtue, as are applied to the discussion of unprofitable questions, and the "vain strife of words!" — so much daring wickedness would not be found among the common ranks of men, nor so much licentiousness disgrace those who live in monasteries. Assuredly, in the approaching day of judgment, it will not be inquired of us what we have read, but what we have done 3 not how eloquently we have spoken, but how holily we have lived. Tell me, where are nowthose learned doctors and professors, who, while the honours of literature were blooming around them, you so well knew and so highly reverenced ? Their benefices are possessed by others, who scarcely nave them in remembrance. While living they 152 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Temple. seemed to be something 3 but dead, the tongue is utterly silent about them. O how suddenly passeth away the glory of this world ! Had these men been as solicitous to be holy, as they were to be learned, their studies might have been blessed with that honour which cannot be sullied, and with that happiness which cannot be interrupted. How many perish in this life through a love of false science, and by a neglect of God's service ! And because they choose to be counted great, rather than humble, they are consumed, as it were, in their vain imaginations."^ He is truly great who has a great charity 3 he is truly great who is small in his own account ; and who considers the height of worldly honours as nothing. He is truly wise, who '^'^ counts all earthly things but as dung, that he may win Christ ^''f and he is truly learned; who abandons his own will, and does the will of God. — Of the Imitation of Christ, Book i. ch. iii. 57.— OF HEROIC VIRTUE. [Sir W. Temple, 1628 — 1699. [William Temple, eldest son of Sir John Temple, Master of the Rolls in Ireland, was born in London in 1628, and educated at Bishop-Stortford and Emanuel College, Cambridge, where he did not remain long enough to take his degree. Having travelled on the Continent, he spent some years in Ireland, and was elected member for the county of Carlow. His first diplomatic appointment was a secret mission in 1665 to the Bishop of Miinster, and he was afterwards resident at the vice-regal court of Spain at Brussels. He received a baronetcy in 1666, negotiated the Triple Alliance, concluded January 23, 1668, was appointed ambassador at Aix, and after- wards at the Hague. Dismissed in 1671, he retired to Sheen, where he wrote several works. "Observations upon the United Provinces of the Netherlands" was pub- lished in 1673, "Miscellanea, consisting of Ten Essays on Various Subjects" in 1680 — 90, and "Memoirs of what passed in Christendom from 1672 to 1679" in 1693. He was appointed ambassador extraordinary to the Hague in 1677, and at Nimeguen in 1678, and drew up the plan of a council adopted, with modifications, by Charles II. Sir William Temple refused office from William III,, and died January 27, 1699. His life, by Abel Roger, appeared in 1715, another, by Lady Giflferd, in 1 731, and another, by T. P. Courtenay, in 1836. Dr. Johnson says: — "Temple was the first writer who gave cadence to English prose : before his time they were careless of arrangement, and did not mind whether a sentence ended with an important word or an insignificant word, or with what part of speech it was concluded." And Hallam (Lit. Hist., part iv. chap. 7) says : — "His style, to which we should particularly refer, will be found, in comparison with his contemporaries, highly polished, and sustained with more equability than they preserve, remote from anything either pedantic or humble. The periods are studiously rhythmical, yet they want the variety and peculiar charm that we admire in those of Dryden." * Romans i. 21. f Phil. iii. 8. Temple.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 153 Among all the endowments of nature, or improvements of art;, wherein men have excelled and distinguished themselves most in the world, there are two only that have had the honour of being called divine, and of giving that esteem or appellation to such as possessed them in very- eminent degrees, which are heroic virtue and poetry 3 for prophecy cannot be esteemed any excellency of nature or of art, but, wherever it is true, is an immediate gift of God, and bestowed according to His pleasure, and upon subjects of the meanest capacity — upon women and children, or even things inanimate — as the stones placed in the high priest's breast-plate, which were a sacred oracle among the Jews. I will leave poetry to an essay by itself, and dedicate this only to that antiquated shrine of heroic virtue, which, however forgotten or unknown in latter ages, must yet be allowed to have produced in the world the advantages most valued among men, and which most dis- tinguished their understandings and their lives from the rest of their fellow-creatures. Though it be easier to describe heroic virtue by the effects and examples than by causes or definitions, yet it may be said to arise from some great and native excellency of temper or genius transcending the common race of mankind in wisdom, goodness, and fortitude. These ingredients, advantaged by birth, improved by education, and assisted by fortune, seem to make that noble composition which gives such a lustre to those who have possessed it, as made them appear to common eyes something more than mortals, and to have been born of some mixture between divine and human race ; to have been honoured and obeyed in their lives, and after their deaths bewailed and adored. The greatness of their wisdom appeared in the excellency of their inventions 3 and these, by the goodness of their nature, were turned and exercised upon such subjects as were of general good to mankind in the common uses of life, or to their own countries in the institution of such laws, orders, or governments, as were of most ease, safety, and advan- tage to civil society. Their valour was employed in defending their own countries from the violence of ill men at home or enemies abroad 3 in reducing their barbarous neighbours to the same forms and orders of civil lines and institutions 3 or in relieving others from the cruelties and oppressions of tyranny and violence. Those are all comprehended in three verses of Virgil, describing the blessed seats in Elysium, and those that enjoyed them : — " Here, such as for their country wounds received. Or who by arts invented life improved. Or by deserving, made themselves remembered." And, indeed, the character of heroic virtue seems to be, in short, the 154 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Edgev/orth. deserving well of mankind. Where this is chief in design, and great in success, the pretence to a hero lies very fair, and can never be allowed without it. I have said that this excellency of genius must be native, because it can never grow to any great height if it be only acquired or affected ; but it must be ennobled by birth to give it more lustre, esteem, and authority ; it must be cultivated by education and instruction, to improve its growth, and direct its end and application 3 and it must be assisted by fortune to preserve it to maturity, because the noblest spirit or genius in the world, if it fails — though never so bravely — in its first enterprises, cannot deserve enough of mankind to pretend to so great a reward as the esteem of heroic virtue. And yet, perhaps, many a person has died in the first battle or adventure he achieved, and lies buried in silence and oblivion, who, had he outlived as many dangers as Alexander did, might have shined as bright in honours and fame. Now, since so many stars go to the making up of this constellation, it is no wonder it has so seldom appeared in the world ; nor that, when it does, it is received and followed with so much gazing, and so much veneration. — Essays: Of Heroic Virtue. 58.— A SCENE AT HALLORAN CASTLE. [Miss Edgeworth, 1767 — 1849. [Maria Edgeworth, the daughter of R. L. Edgeworth, was born at Hare Hatch, near Reading, January i, 1767. In 1782 her father removed, with his family, to his paternal estate at Edgeworth Town, in Ireland, where he devoted himself to the education of his daughter, who afterwards assisted him in his literary labours. Their first joint production, a series of " Essays on Practical Education," appeared in 1798. The "Essay on Irish Bulls" was published in 1803. Miss Edgeworth's first novel, "Castle Rack rent," was published in 1801. This was followed by various series of Popular Tales, Moral Tales, and Tales of Fashionable Life, as well as educational works. Lord Macaulay believes that Miss Edgeworth in " The Absentee," and Miss Austen in " Mansfield Park," surpassed the founder of the modern school of female novelists. Miss Edgeworth died May 21, 1849.] One morning LadyDashfort had formed an ingenious scheme for leaving Lady Isabel and Lord Colambre tete-a-tete ; but the sudden entrance of Heathcock disconcerted her intentions. He came to beg Lady Dashfort's interest with Count O'Halloran for permission to hunt and shoot on his grounds next season. — " Not for myself, 'pon honour, but for two officers who are quartered at the next town here, who will indubitably hang or drown themselves if they are debarred from sporting." "Who is this Count O'Halloran?" said Lord Colambre. Miss White, Lady Killpatrick's companion, said " he was a great Edgeworth.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 155 oddity j" Lady Dashfort "that he was singular j" and the clergyman of the parish, who was at breakfast, declared '' that he was a man of un- common knowledge, merit, and politeness." " All I know of him," said Heathcock, ''^is that he is a great sports- man, with a large queue, a gold-laced hat, and long skirts to a laced waistcoat." LordColambre expressed a wish to see this extraordinar}' personage j and Lady Dashfort, to cover her former design, and, perhaps, thinking- absence might be as effectual as too much propinquity, immediately offered to call upon the officers in their way, and carry them with Heathcock and Lord Colambre to Halloran Castle. Lady Isabel retired with much mortification, but with becoming grace 3 and ^lajor Benson and Captain Williamson were taken to the Count's. Major Benson, who was a famous whip, took his seat on the box of the barouche^ and the rest of the party had the pleasure of her ladyship's conyersation for three or four miles : of her ladyship's conversation — for Lord Colambre's thoughts were far distant. Captain Williamson had not anything to say, and Heathcock nothing but " Eh ! re'lly now ! 'pon honour !" They arrived at HaUoran Castle — a fine old building, part of it in ruins, and part repaired with great judgment and taste. When the carriage stopped a respectable-looking man-servant appeared on the steps at the open hall door. Count O'Halloran was out fishing, but his servant said that he would be at home immediately if Lady Dashfort and the gentlemen would be pleased to walk in. On one side of the loft}^ and spacious hall stood the skeleton of an elk ; on the other side the perfect skeleton of a moose deer, which as the servant said, his master had made out with great care, from the • different bones of many of this curious species of deer, found in the lakes in the neighbourhood. The leash of officers witnessed their wonder with sundry strange oaths and exclamations. " Eh ! 'pon honour — re'lly now!" said Heathcock 3 and, too genteel to won- der at or admire anything in the creation, dragged out his watch with some difficult}^, saying, "I wonder now whether they are likely to think of giving us anything to eat in this placer" And, turning his back upon the moose deer, he straight walked out again upon the steps, called to his groom, and began to make some inquir}^ about his led horse. Lord Colambre surveyed the prodigious skeletons with rational curiosity, and with that sense of awe and admiration by which a superior mind is always struck on beholding any of the great works of Providence. "Come, my dear lord!" said Lady Dashfort 3 'Svith our sublime / / 156 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Edgeworth. sensations, we are keeping my old friend, Mr. Ulick Brady, this venerable person, waiting to show us into the reception room." The servant bowed respectfully — more respectfully than servants of modern date. " My lady, the reception-room has been lately painted — the smell of paint may be disagreeable — with your leave, I will take the liberty of showing you into my master's study." He opened the door, went in before her, and stood holding up his finger, as if making a signal of silence to some one within. Her lady- ship entered, and found herself in the midst of an odd assembly : an eagle, a goat, a dog, an otter, several gold and silver lish in a glass globe, and a white mouse in a cage. The eagle, quick of eye but quiet of demeanour, was perched upon his stand ; the otter lay under the table perfectly harmless ; tlie Angora goat, a beautiful and remarkably little creature of its kind, with long, curling, silky hair, was walking about the room with the air of a beauty and a favourite ; the dog, a tall Irish greyhound — one of the few of that fine race which is now almost extinct — had been given to Count O'Halloran by an Irish nobleman, a relation of Lady Dashfort's. This dog, who had formerly known her ladyship, looked at her with ears erect, recognised her, and went to meet her the moment she entered. The servant answered for the peaceable behaviour of all the rest of the company of animals, and retired. Lady Dashfort began to feed the eagle from a silver plate on his stand ; Lord Colambre examined the inscription on his collar ; the other men stood in amaze. Heathcock, who came in last, astonished out of his constant "■ Eh ! re'lly now !" the moment he put himself in at the door, exclaimed "Zounds! what's all this live lumber?" and he stumbled over the goat, who was at that moment crossing the way. The Colonel's spur caught in the goat's curly beard ; the Colonel shook his foot, and entangled the spur worse and worse ; the goat struggled and butted ; the Colonel skated forward on the polished oak floor, balancing himself with outstretched arms. The indignant eagle screamed, and passing by perched on Heath- cock's shoulders. Too well bred to have recourse to the terrors of his beak, he scrupled not to scream, and flap his wings about the Colonel's ears. Lady Dashfort, the while, threw herself back in her chair laughing, and begging Heathcock's pardon. " Oh, take care of the dog, my dear Colonel!" cried shej "for this kind of dog seizes his enemy by the back, and shakes him to death." The officers, holding their sides, laughed and begged — no pardon ; while Lord Colambre, the only person who was not absolutely incapacitated, tried to dis- entangle the spur, and to liberate the Colonel from the goat, and the goat from the Colonel 3 an attempt in which he at last succeeded, Mommsen.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 157 at the expense of a considerable portion of the goat's beard. The eagle, however, still kept his place 3 and, yet mindful of the wrongs of his insulted friend the goat, had stretched his wings to give another buffet. Count O'Halloran entered 3 and the bird, quitting his prey, flew down to greet his master. The Count was a fine old military- looking gentleman, fresh from fishing, his fishing accoutrements hanging carelessly about him 3 he advanced, unembarrassed, to Lady Dash fort, and received his other guests with a mixture of military ease and gentlemanlike dignity. Without adverting to the awkward and ridiculous situation in which he had found poor Heathcock, he apologized in general for his troublesome favourites. *^For one of them," said he, patting the head of the dog, which lay quiet at Lady Dashfort's feet, '' I see I have no need to apologize 3 he is where he ought to be. Poor fellow ! he has never lost his taste for the good company to which he was early accustomed. As to the rest," said he, turning to Lady Dashfort, "a mouse, a bird, and a fish, are, you know, tribute from earth, air, and water, to a conqueror " "But from no barbarous Scythian !" said Lord Colambre, smiling. The Count looked at Lord Colambre as at a person worthy his atten- tion 3 but his first care was to keep the peace between his loving subjects and his foreign visitors. It was difficult to dislodge the old settlers to make room for the new comers : but he adjusted these things with admirable facility, and, with a master's hand and master's eye, compelled each favourite to retreat into the back settlements. With becoming attention he stroked and kept quiet old Victory, his eagle, who eyed Colonel Heathcock still, as if he did not like him, and whom the Colonel eyed as if he wished his neck fairly wrung off. The little goat had nestled himself close up to his liberator. Lord Colambre, and lay perfectly quiet, with his eyes closed, going very wisely to sleep, and submitting philosophically to the loss of one half of his beard. — The Absentee, ch. viii. 59.— CHARACTER OF PUBLIUS SCIPIO. [Mommsen, 1817. [Theodor Mommsen, son of a Lutheran minister, born at Garding, in Schleswig, in 181 7, was educated at Altona and the University of Kiel, in which he took his degree in 1843. Having spent three years in investigating Roman inscriptions in France and Italy, he published treatises on these subjects in various scientific periodicals. He was editor of a Schleswig-Holstein newspaper in 1848, and soon after obtained a professorship at Berlin, but the appointment was cancelled in 1850 on account of his extreme political views. He obtained a similar appointment at THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Mommsen. Zurich, and has published several archaeological and historical works. His principal work, " The History of Rome," translated into English, with the author's sanction, and additions by the Rev. W. P. Dickson, appeared in 1862-3.] The senate, which formed a correct judgment as to the importance and the peculiar character of the Spanish war^ and had learned from the Uticenses brought in as prisoners by the Roman fleet the great exertions which were making in Carthage to send Hasdrubal and Masinissa with a numerous army over the Pyrenees, resolved to dispatch to Spain new reinforcements, and an extraordinary general of higher rank, the nomination of whom they deemed it expedient to leave to the people. For long (so runs the story) nobody announced himself as a candidate for the perilous and complicated office 3 but at last a young officer of twenty-seven, Publius Scipio (son of the general of the same name who had fallen in Spain), who had held the offices of military tribune and aedile, came forward to solicit it. It is incre- dible that the Roman senate should have left to accident an election of such importance in an assembly which it had itself suggested, and equally incredible that ambition and patriotism should have so died out in Rome that no tried officer presented himself for the important post. If, on the other hand, the eyes of the senate turned to the young, talented, and experienced officer, who had brilliantly distinguished himself in the hotly contested days on the Trebia and at Cannae, but who still had not the rank requisite for his coming forward as the successor of men who had been praetors and consuls, it was very natural to adopt this course, which as it were in courtesy, constrained the people to admit the only candidate, notwithstanding his defective qualification, and which could not but bring both him and the Spanish expedition, that was doubtless very unpopular, into favour with the multitude. If such was the object of this ostensibly unpremeditated candidature, it was perfectly successful. The son, who went to avenge the death of a father whose life he had saved nine years before at the Trebia ; the young man of manly beauty and long locks, who with modest blushes offered himself in the absence of a better for the post of danger ; the mere military tribune, whom the votes of the centuries now raised at once to the roll of the highest magistracies — all these circumstances made a wonderful and indelible impression on the citizens and farmers of Rome. And in truth Publius Scipio was one who was himself enthusiastic, and who inspired enthusiasm. He was not one of the few who by their energy and iron will constrain the world to adopt and to move in new paths for centuries, or who grasp the reins of destiny for years till its wheels roll over them. Publius Scipio gained battles and conquered countries under the instruc- tions of the senate 3 with the aid of his military laurels, he took also a Helps.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 159 prominent position in Rome as a statesman ; but a wide intenal separates such a man from an Alexander or a Caesar. As an officer, he rendered at least no greater service to his country than Marcus ]Marcellus ; and as a politician, although not perhaps himself fully- conscious of the unpatriotic and personal character of his policy, he injured his countrj- at least as much as he benefited it by his military skill. Yet a special charm lingers around the form of that graceful hero ; it is surrounded, as with a dazzling halo, by the atmosphere of serene and confident inspiration, in which Scipio with mingled credulity and adroitness always moved, with quite enough of enthusiasm to warm men's hearts, and enough of calculation to follow in every case the dictates of intelligence, while not leaving out of account the vulgar: not naive enough to share the belief of the multitude in his divine inspirations, nor straightforward enough to set it aside, and yet in secret thoroughly persuaded that he was a man specially favoured of the gods — in a word, a genuine prophetic nature ; raised above the people, and not less aloof from them 3 a man steadfast to his word and kingly in his bearing, who thought that he would humble himself by adopting the ordinary^ title of a king, but could never understand how the constitution of the Repubhc should in his case be binding 3 so confident in his own greatness that he knew nothing of en^y or of hatred, courteously acknowledged other men's merits, and compas- sionately forgave other men's faults 3 an excellent officer and a refined diplomatist, without presenting the offensive special stamp of either calhng, uniting Hellenic culture with the fullest national feeling of a Roman, an accomplished speaker, and of graceful manners — Publius Scipio won the hearts of soldiers and of women, of his countrymen and of the Spaniards, of his rivals in the senate and of his greater Carthaginian antagonist. Soon his name was on every one' slips, and his was the star which seemed destined to bring victor)'" and peace to his country. — The History of Rome, B. iii. ch. vi. 60.— DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. [Helps, 1817. [Arthur Helps, born in 181 7, and educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, has held several official appointments, and was made Clerk of the Privy- Council in 1859. His first work, " Essays written in the Intervals of Business," published anonymously, appeared in 1841. The first series of " Friends in Council" was published in May, 1847, and the second series in July, 1849. " Companions of my Solitude" appeared in 185 1, and the " Spanish Conquest of America" in 1855. Mr. Helps is the author of several other works.] Vasco Nunez resolved, therefore, to be the discoverer of that sea. i6o THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Helps. and of those rich lands to which Comogre's son had pointed, when, after rebuking the Spaniards for their "brabbling"* about the division of the gold, he turned his face towards the south. In the peril which so closely impended over Vasco Nunez, there was no use in waiting for reinforcements from Spain : when those reinforcements should come, his dismissal would come too. Accordingly, early in September, i^j.3, he set out on his renowned expedition for finding *^ the other sea," accompanied by a hundred and ninety men well armed, and by dogs, which were of more avail than men, and by Indian slaves to carry the burthens. Following Poncha's guide, Vasco Nunez and his men commenced the ascent of the mountains, until he entered the country of an Indian chief called Quarequa, whom they found fully prepared to resist them. The brave Indian advanced at the head of his troops, intending to make a vigorous attack ; but they could not withstand the discharge of the fire-arms. Indeed, they believed the Spaniards to have thunder and lightning in their hands — not an unreasonable fancy — and, flying in the utmost terror from the place of battle, a total rout ensued. The rout was a bloody one, and is described by an author, who gained his information from those who were present at it, as a scene to remind one of the shambles. The king and his principal men were slain, to the number of six hundred. Speaking of these people, Peter Martyr makes mention of the sweetness of their language, saying that all the words in it might be written in Latin letters, as was also to be remarked in that of the inhabitants of Hispaniola. This writer also mentions, and there is reason for thinking that he was correctly informed, that there was a region, not two days' journey from Quarequa's territory, in which Vasco Nunez found a race of black men, who were conjectured to have come from Africa, and to have been shipwrecked on this coast. Leaving several of his men who were ill, or over-weary, in Quarequa's chief town, and taking with him guides from this country, the Spanish commander pursued his way up the most lofty sierras there, until, on the 25th of September, 1513, he came near to the top of a mountain, from whence the South Sea was visible. The distance from Poncha's chief town to this point was forty leagues, reckoned then six days' journey, but Vasco Nunez and his men took twenty-fiy^ days to accomplish it, as they suffered much from the roughness of the ways and from the want of provisions. A little before Vasco Nunez reached the height, Quarequa's Indians informed him of his near approach to the sea. It was a sight m * i.e., quarrelling. Helps.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. i6i beholding which for the first time any man would wish to be alone. Vasco Nunez bade his men sit down while he ascended, and then, in solitude, looked down upon the vast Pacific — the first man of the Old World, so far as we know, who had done so. Falling on his knees, he gave thanks to God for the favour shown to him, in his being permitted to discover the sea of the South. Then with his hand he beckoned to his men to come up. When they had come, both he and they knelt down, and poured forth their thanks to God. He then addressed them in these words : "You see here, gentlemen and children mine, how our desires are being accomplished, and the end of our labours. Of that we ought to be certain 3 for, as it has turned out true, what King Comogre's son told of this sea to us, who never thought to see it, so I hold for certain that what he told us of there being incom- parable treasures in it will be fulfilled. God and his blessed mother, who have assisted us, so that we should arrive here and behold this sea, will favour us, that we may enjoy all that there is in it." Afterwards, they all devoutly sang the '' Te Deum Laudamus3" and a list was drawn up, by a notar}', of those who were present at this discovery, which was made upon St. Martin's day. Every great and original action has a prospective greatness — not alone from the thought of the man who achieves it, but from the various aspects and high thoughts which the same action will continue to present and call up in the minds of others to the end, it may be, of all time. And so a remarkable event may go on acquiring more and more significance. In this case, our knowledge that the Pacific, which" Vasco Nunez then beheld, occupies more than one half of the earth's surface, is an element of thought which in our minds lightens up and gives an awe to this first gaze of his upon those mighty waters. To him the scene might not at that moment have suggested much more than it would have done to a mere conqueror ; indeed Peter Martyr likens Vasco Nunez to Hannibal showing Italy to his soldiers. Having thus addressed his men, Vasco Nunez proceeded to take formal possession, on behalf of the kings of CastiUe, of the sea, and of all that was in it j and, in order to make memorials of the event, he cut down trees, formed crosses, and heaped up stones. He also inscribed the names of the monarchs of Castille upon great trees in the vicinity. — The Spanish Conquest in America, and its Relation to the History of Slavery and to the Government of Colonies, vol. i. Book vi. ch. i. 1 62 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Emerson. 6i.— DIFFERENT MINDS. [Emerson, 1803. [Ralph Waldo Emerson, son of a Unitarian Minister at Boston, was born in 1803, graduated at Harvard College in 1821, and was ordained Minister of the second Uni- tarian Church at Boston. He published "Literary Ethics, an Oration," in 1838, and "Nature, an Essay," in 1839. The first series of his essays appeared in 1841, and the second series in 1844. He visited England in 1825 and m 1849, '^^^ ^^ the latter occa- sion delivered a series of lectures on "Representative Men," which have since been pub- lished both in England and America. His " English Traits" appeared in 1856, and *' The Conduct of Life" in i860. Mr. Emerson published a volume of poems in 1846, and has contributed largely to American periodicals. Many of his works have been republished in England.] In every man's mind some images, words, and facts remain, without eifort on his part to imprint them, which others forget, and afterwards these illustrate to him important laws. All our progress is an unfold- ing, like the vegetable bud. You have first an instinct, then an opinion, then a knowledge, as the plant has root, bud, and fruit. Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason. It is vain to hurry it. By trusting it to the end it shall ripen into truth, and you shall know why you believe. Each mind has its own method ! A true man never acquires after college rules. What you have aggregated in a natural manner sur- prises and delights when it is produced. For we cannot oversee each other's secret ! And hence the differences between men in natural endowment are insignificant in comparison with their common wealth. Do you think the porter and the cook have no anecdotes, no ex- periences, no wonder for you ? Everybody knows as much as the ser- vants. The walls of rude minds are scrawled all over with facts, with thoughts. They shall one day bring a lantern and read the iiLscrip- tions. Every man, in the degree in which he has wit and culture, finds his curiosity inflamed concerning the modes of living and thinking of other men, and especially those classess whose minds have not been subdued by the drill of school education. This instinctive action never ceases in a healthy mind, but becomes richer and more frequent in its information through all states of cul- ture. At last comes the aera of reflection, when we not only observe, but take pains to observe j when we of set purpose sit down to consider an abstract truth ; when we keep the mind's eye open, whilst we con- verse, whilst we read, whilst we act, intent to learn the secret law of some class of facts. What is the hardest task in the world? To think. I would put my- self in the attitude to look in the eye an abstract truth, and I cannot. I blench and withdraw on this side and on that. I seem to know what he meant, who said, " No man can see God face to face and live." DrydenJ OF MODERN LITERATURE. 163 For example, a man explores the basis of civil government. Let him intend his mind without respite, without rest, in one direction. His best heed long time avails him nothing. Yet thoughts are flitting be- fore him. We all but apprehend, we dimly forebode the truth. We say, I will walk abroad, and the truth will take form and clearness to me. We go forth, but cannot find it. It seems as if we needed only the stillness and composed attitude of the library, to seize the thought. But we come in, and are as far from it as at first. Then, in a moment, and unannounced, the truth appears. A certain wandering light appears, and is the distinction, the principle we wanted. But the oracle comes^ because we had previously laid siege to the shrine. It seems as if the law of the intellect resembles tl at law of nature by which we now inspire, now expire, the breath by which the heart now draws in, then hurls out the blood — the law of undulation. So now you must labour with your brains, and now you must forbear your activity, and see what the great soul showeth. — Twelve Essays. No. xi. 62.— THE CHARACTER OF ABSALOM.* [Dryden, 1631 — 1701. [John Dryden, born at Aldwinkle, in Northamptonshire, August g, 1631, was descended from Sir Erasmus Dryden, of Canons Ashby, in that county, and was educated at Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge. At an early age he wrote several small poems. His first dramatic effort, " The Wild Gallant," ap- peared in 1663. In 1670 he was appointed poet laureate, which office was, on account of his being a Roman Catholic, transferred to Thomas Shadwell in 1689. Dryden was a most prolific writer. The productions by which he is best known are the " Essay on Dramatic Poesy," published in 1668, the satire of "Absalom and Achi- tophel," in 1681, "The Hind and the Panther," in 1687, his translation of Virgil, which appeared in 1697, and his Fables in 1699. The well known " Ode on St. Cecilia's Day" was included in the last mentioned volume. Dryden died in Gerard Street, London, May I, 1701, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. His works were published in four volumes in 1695, and in eighteen volumes in 1808. The latter, with notes and Life of Dryden by Sir Walter Scott, was republished in 1821. A " Life of Dryden" was prefixed to Samuel Derrick's edition of his Miscellaneous Works, in 1760, and one by Mitford to the Aldine edition of his Poetical Works, published in 1832. Dr. Johnson in his "Lives of the Poets" remarks — "Of Dry- den's works it was said by Pope that * he could select from them better specimens of every mode of poetry than any other English writer could supply.' Perhaps no nation ever produced a writer that enriched his language with such variety of models. To him we owe the improvement, perhaps the completion, of our metre, the refine- * Intended for the Duke of Monmouth. M 2 i64 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Dryden. ment of our language, and much of the correctness of our sentiments. By him we were taught sapere etfari, to think naturally and express forcibly. Though Davis has reasoned in rhyme before him, it may be perhaps maintained that he was the first who joined argument with poetry. He showed us the true bounds of a translator's liberty. What was said of Rome, adorned by Augustus, may be applied by an easy metaphor to English poetry embellished by Dryden ; lateritiam invenit, marmoream reliquit : ' He found it brick, and left it marble.' "] AcHiTOPHEL still wants a chief, and none Was found so fit as warlike Absalom. Not that he wished his greatness to create. For politicians neither love nor hate : But, for he knew his title not allowed. Would keep him still depending on the crowd : That kingly power, thus ebbing out, might be Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. Him he attempts with studied arts to please. And sheds his venom in such words as these. Auspicious prince, at whose nativity Some royal planet ruled the southern sky j Thy longing country's darling and desire j Their cloudy pillar and their guardian fire : % Their second Moses, whose extended wand Divides the seas, and shows the promised land j Whose dawning day in every distant age Has exercised the sacred prophet's rage : The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme. The young men's vision, and the old men's dream ! Thee, Saviour, thee the nation's vows confess, And, never satisfied with seeing, bless : Swift unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim. And stammering babes are taught to lisp thy namej How long wilt thou the general joy detain. Starve and defraud the people of thy reign ! Content ingloriously to pass thy days. Like one of virtue's fools that feed on praise j Till thy fresh glories, which now shine so bright. Grow stale, and tarnish with our daily sight ! Believe me, royal youth, thy fruit must be. Or gathered ripe, or eat upon the tree. Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late. Some lucky revolution of their fate : Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill, (For human good depends on human will), Dryden.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent. And from the first impression takes the bent : But, if unseized, she glides away like wind. And leaves repenting folly far behind. Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize. And spreads her locks before her as she flies. Had thus old David, from whose loins you spring. Not dared when fortune called him to be king. At Gath an exile he might still remain. And Heaven's anointing oil had been in vain. Let his successful youth your hopes engage ; But shun the example of declining age : Behold him setting in his western skies. The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise. He is not now, as when on Jordan's sand The joj'ful people thronged to see him land. Covering the beach, and blackening all the strand ; But like the Prince oi Angels, from his height Comes tumbling downward with diminished light : Betrayed by one poor plot to public sconi (Our only blessing since his cursed return) : Those heaps of people which one sheaf did bind. Blown off and scattered by a puff of wind. What strength can he to your designs oppose. Naked of friends and round beset with foes ? If Pharaoh's doubtful succour he should use, A foreign aid would more incense tlie Jews : Proud Egypt would dissembled friendship bring. Foment the war, but not support the king : Nor would the royal party e'er unite With Pharaoh's arms to assist the Jebusite | Or, if they should, their interest soon would break, And with such odious aid make David weak. All sorts of men by my successful arts. Abhorring kings, estrange their altered hearts From David's rule : and 'tis their general cry. Religion, commonwealth, and liberty. If you, as cliampion of the public good. Add to their arms a chief of royal blood. What may not Israel hope, and what applause Might such a general gain by such a cause ? Not barren praise alone, that gaudy flower Fair only to the sight, but solid power : i65 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Tillotson. And nobler is a limited command. Given by the love of all your native land. Than a successive title, long and dark^ Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's ark. Absalom and Achitophel, pt. i. 63.— ALL-SUFFICIENCY OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION. [Tillotson, 1630 — 1694. [John Tillotson, the son of a clothier, born at Sowerby, in Yorkshire, in 1630, was educated at Clare Hall, Cambridge, and obtained a fellowship in 165 1. He was ordained in 1660, and appointed preacher at Lincoln's Inn, and lecturer at St. Laurence's Church, Jewry, in 1664. From this time his rise was rapid, having been appointed prebendary of Canterbury in 1669, dean in 1672, prebendary of St. Paul's in 1675, and caiion residentiary of St. Paul's in 1677 ; clerk of the closet to William III. in April, 1689, dean of St. Paul's in 1690, and archbishop of Canterbury in April, 1691. Tillotson, who married Miss French, a niece of Oliver Cromwell, and step- daughter of Bishop Wilkins, died November 22, 1694. The first volume of his Sermons, many of which were published separately, appeared in 1671, the second in 1678, the third in 1682, the fourth in 1694, and the remaining ten volumes were brought out after his death. " The Rule of Faith," a reply to Sergeant's " Sure Footing in Christianity," &c., appeared in 1666. Several editions of his collected works have been published. An account of his life appeared in 171 7, and another, by T. Birch, was prefixed to a folio edition of his works published in 1752. Hallam (Lit. Hist., part iv. chap. 2) remarks : — " The sermons of Tillotson were for half a century more read than any in our language. They are now bought almost as waste paper, and hardly read at all. Such is the fickleness of religious taste, as abundantly numerous instances would prove."] Philosophy hath given us several plausible rules for the attaining of peace and tranquillity of mii^d, but they fall very much short of bringing men to it. The very best of them fail us upon the greatest occasions. But the Christian religion hath effectually done all that which philosophy pretended to and aimed at. The precepts and promises of the Holy Scriptures are every way sufficient for our comfort, and for our instruction in righteousness, to correct all the errors, and to bear us up under all the evils and adversities of human life ; especially that holy and heavenly doctrine which is contained in the admirable sermons of our Saviour, whose excellent discourses when we read, what philosopher do we not despise ? None of the philosophers could, upon sure grounds, give that encouragement to their scholars which our Saviour does to his disciples : — " Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, and ye shall find rest to your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." This is the advantage of the Christian religion sincerely believed and TiUotson.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 167 practised, that it gives perfect rest and tranquillity to the mind of man; it trees us from the guilt of an evil conscience, and from the power ol our lusts, and from the sla\ish fear of death and of the vengeance ot another world. It builds our comfort upon a rock, which will abide all storms, and remain unshaken in every condition, will last and hold out for ever. "He that heareth these sayings of mine and doedi them, (saith our Lord,) I will hken him to a wise man who built his house upon a rock." In short, religion makes the life of man a wise design^ regular and constant to itself, because it unites all our resolutions and actions in one great end ; whereas without religion, the life of man is a wdld, and fluttering, and inconstant thing, without any certain scope and design. The vicious man lives at random, and acts by chance; for he that walks by no rule can carry on no settled and steady design. It would pity a man's heart to see how hard such men are put to it for diversion, and what a burden time is to them ; and how solicitous they are to devise ways not to spend it but to squander it aw^ay 3 for tlieir great grievance is consideration, and to be obliged to be intent upon anything that is serious. They hurr}- from one vanity and folly to another ; and plunge themselves into drink, not to quench their thirst, but their guilt; and are beholden to every vain man, and to every trifling occasion that can but help to take time ofl" their hands. Wretched and inconsiderate men ! — who have so vast a work before them, the happiness of all eternity to take care of and provide for, and yet are at a loss how to employ their time: so that irreligion and vice makes life an extravagant and unnatural thing, because it perverts and overthrows the natural course and order of things. For instance, according to nature men labour to get an estate, to free themselves from temptations to rapine and injury ; and that they may have wherewithal to supply their own wants, and to relieve the needs of others. But now the covetous man heaps up riches, not to enjoy them, but to have them; and starves him- self in the midst of plenty, and most unnaturally cheats and robs him- self of that which is his own ; and makes a hard shift to be as poor and miserable with a great estate as any man can be without it. According to the design of nature, men should eat and drink that they may live 3 but the voluptuous man only lives that he may eat and drink. Nature, in all sensual enjoyments, designs pleasure, which may certainly be had within the limits of virtue : but vice rashly pursues pleasure into the enemies' quarters, and never stops till the sinner be surrounded, and seized upon by pain and torment. So that, take away God and religion, and men live to no purpose — without proposing any worthy and considerable end of life to them- selves. Whereas the fear of God, and the care of our immortal soulsj 1 68 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Cowley fixeth us upon one great design, to which our whole life, and all the actions of it, are ultimately referred. "When we acknowledge God," says Lactantius, " as the author of our being, as our sovereign, and our judge, our end and our happiness is then fixed j" and we can have but one reasonable design, and that is, by endeavouring to please God, to gain his favour and protection in this world, and to arrive at the blissful enjoyment of Him in the other, "In whose presence is fulness of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for evermore." — Sermojis on several Subjects and Occasions. Sermon 28 — Joshua xxiv. 15 — Objections against the True Religion Answered. 64.— OF OBSCURITY. [Cowley, 1618 — 1667. [Abraham Cowley, the son of a grocer, born in London in 1618, was educated at Westminster, and Trinity College, Cambridge. His first volume of poems, entitled " Poetic Blossoms," published in 1633, contained "The Tragical History of Pyramus and Thisbe/' said to have been written when he was only ten years old. Ejected from Cambridge on account of his royalist opinions in 1643, he settled in St. John's College, Oxford. Cowley, who was employed by the royal family, accompanied the Queen to Paris in 1646. He returned in 1656, when he published an edition of his poems, and took the degree of M.D. in Dec. 1657, but did not practise. In 1665 he retired to Chertsey, where he died July 28, 1667, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, near Chaucer and Spenser. A monument was erected to his memory by the Duke of Buckingham in 1675. An edition of his works, with a "Life of Cowley/' by Bishop Sprat, was published in 1688. Dr. Johnson (Lives of Poets) says : " Cowley, Milton, and Pope might be said to ' lisp in numbers,' and have given such early proofs, not only of powers of language, but of comprehension of things, as to more tardy minds seems scarcely credible." And in another part ot his memoir. Dr. Johnson remarks : " He was in his own time considered as of unrivalled excellence." Clarendon represents him as having taken a flight beyond all that went before him; and Milton is said to have declared that the three greatest English poets were Spenser, Shakspeare, and Cowley. With respect to his prose. Dr. Johnson says : " His thoughts are natural, and his style has a smooth and placid equability, which has never yet obtained its due commendation." Hallam (Lit. Hist., pt. iv. ch. 7), remarks : " His few essays may even be reckoned among the earliest models of good writing."] What a brave privilege is it to be free from all contentions, from all envying, or being envied 5 from receiving or paying all kinds of ceremonies ! It is, in my mind, a very delightful pastime for two good and agreeable friends to travel up and down together, in places where they are by nobody known, nor know anybody. It was the case of ^neas and his Achates, when they walked invisibly about the fields of Carthage 5 Venus herself A vail of thickened air around them cast. That none might know, or see them, as they passed. Cowley.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 169 The common story of Demosthenes' confession, that he had taken great pleasure in hearing of a tanker-woman say, as he passed, " This is that Demosthenes," is wonderful ridiculous from so solid an orator. I myself have often met with that temptation to vanity (if it were any) ; but am so far from finding it any pleasure, that it only makes me run faster from the place, till I get, as it were, out of sight-shot. Democritus relates, and in such a manner as if he gloried in the good fortune and commodity of it,, that when he came to Athens, nobody there did so much as take notice of him 5 and Epicurus lived there very well — that is, lay hid many years in his gardens, so famous since that time, with his friend Metrodorus : after whose death, making in one of his letters a kind of commemoration of the happiness which they two had enjoyed together, he adds at last, that he thought it no disparagement to those great felicities of their life, that in the midst of the most talked-of and talking country in the world, they had lived so long, not only without fame, but almost without being heard oi; and yet, within a very few years afterwards, there were never two names of men more known,, or more generally celebrated. If we engage into a large acquaintance and various familiarities. We set open our gates to the invaders of most of our time : we expose our life to a quotidian ague of frigid impertinences, which would make a wise man tremble to think of. Now, as for being known much by sight, and pointed at, I cannot comprehend the honour that lies in that : whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctors, and the hangman, more than the Lord Chief Justice of a city. Every creature has it, both of nature and art, if it be any ways extraordinary. It was as often said, "This is that Bucephalus,"* or, "This is that Incitatus,"t when they were led prancing through the streets, as " This is that Alexander," or " This is that Domitianf" and truly, for the latter, I take Incitatus t& have been a mucb more honourable beast than his master, and more deserving the consulship' than he the empire. I love and commend a true good fame, because it is the shadow of virtue ; not that it doth any good to the body which it accompanies, but it is an efficacious shadow, and, like that of St. Peter, cures the diseases of others. The best kind of glory, no doubt, is that which is reflected from honesty, such as was the glory of Cato and Aristides j but it was harmful to them both, and- is seldom beneficial to any man whilst he lives. What it is to him after his dfeath, I cannot say, because 1 love not philosophy merely notional and conjectural ; and no man who has made the experiment has been so kind as to come back * The name of one of Alexander's horses, f The name of one of Domitian's horses; I70 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Morier to inform us. Upon the whole matter, I account a person who has a moderate mind and fortune, and lives in the conversation of two oi three agreeable friends, with little commerce in the world besides, who is esteemed well enough by his neighbours that know him, and is truly irreproachable by anybody ,j and so^ after a healthful quiet life, before the great inconveniences of old age, goes more silently out of it than he came in (for I would not have him so much as cry in the exit) j this innocent deceiver of the world, as Horace calls him, this " muta persona," I take to have been more happy in his part than the greatest actors that fill the stage with show and noise — nay, even than Augustus himself, who asked with his last breath whether he had not played his farce very well. — Several Discourses., by way of Essays, in Ferse and Prose, Book iii. 65.— THE BARBER OF BAGDAD. [Morier, 1780 — 1849. [James Morier, born in 1780, published an account of a tour in the East, entitled "A Journey through Persia, Armenia, and Asia Minor to Constantinople in 1808-9," in 1812. Appointed Secretary to SirGore Ouseley, Bart., the British Ambassador to Persia in 18 10, he published " A Second Journey through Persia to Constantinople between the years 1810-6," &c., in 1818. His first work of fiction, *'The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan," published in 1824, was followed by " The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan in England" in 1828. Morier, who wrote some other novels, amongst which " Zohrab, the Hostage," published in 1832, and " Ayesha, the Maid of Kars," published in 1834, are the best known, died at Brighton March 30, 1849.] In the reign of the Caliph Haroun al Rashid, of happy memory, lived in the city of Bagdad a celebrated barber, of the name of All Sakal. He was so famous for a steady hand, and dexterity in his pro- fession, tl.at he <:ould shave a head, and trim a beard and whiskers, with his eyes blind-folded, without once drawing blood. There was not a man of any fashion at Bagdad who did not employ him 3 and such a run of business had he, that at length he became proud and insolent, and would scarcely ever touch a head whose master was not at least a Beg or an .Aga. Wood for fuel was always scarce and dear at Bagdad ; and, as his shop consumed a great deal, the wood-cutters brought their loads to him in preference, almost sure of meeting with a ready sale. It happened one day, that a poor wood-cutter, new in his profession, and ignorant of the character of Ali Sakal, went to his shop, and offered him for sale a load of wood, which he had just brought from a considerable distance in the country, on his ass. Ali immediately offered him a price, making use of these words, " For all the wood that was upon the ass.'' The wood-cutter agreed, unloaded Morier.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 171 his beast, and asked for the money. *' You have not given me all the wood yet," said the barber j '' I must have the pack-saddle (which is chiefly made of wood) into the bargain : that was our agreement." "How!" said the other, in great amazement,; "who ever heard of such a bargain ? It is impossible." In short, after many words and much altercation, the overbearing barber seized the pack-saddle, wood and all, and sent away the poor peasant in great distress. He im- mediately ran to the cadi, and stated his griefs : the cadi was one of the barber's customers, and refused to hear the case. The wood- cutter went to a higher judge ; he also patronized Ali Sakal, and made light of the complaint. The poor man then appealed to the mufti himself 3 who, having pondered over the question, at length settled, tliat it was too difficult a case for him to decide, no provision being made for it in the Koran ; and therefore he must put up with his loss. The wood-cutter was not disheartened ; but forthwith got a scribe to write a petition to the caliph himself, which he duly presented on Friday, the day when he went in state to the mosque. The caliph's punctuality in reading petitions is well-known, and it was not long before the wood-cutter was called to his presence. When he had approached the caliph, he kneeled and kissed the ground .3 and then placing his arms straight before him, his hands covered with the sleeves of his cloak, and his feet close together, he awaited the decision of his case. " Friend," said the caliph, " the barber has words on his side — you have equity on yours. The law must be defined by words, and agreements must be made by words : the former must have its course, or it is nothing.3 and agreements must be kept, or there would be no faith between man and man 3 therefore the barber must keep all his wood 3 but " Then calling the wood-cutter close to him, the caliph whispered something in his ear, which none but he could hear, and then sent him away quite satisfied. Here then I made a pause in my narrative, and said (whilst I extended a small tin cup which I held in my hand), " Now, my noble audience, if you will give me something, I will tell you what the caliph said to the wood-cutter." I had excited great curiosity, and there was scarcely one of my hearers who did not give me a piece of money. "Well then," said I, "the caliph whispered to the wood-cutter what he was to do, in order to get satisfaction from the barber, and what that was I will now relate. The wood-cutter having made his obeisances, returned to his ass, which was tied without, took it by the halter, and proceeded to his home. A few days after, he applied to the barber, as if nothing had happened between them, requesting that he, and a companion of his from the country, might enjoy the dexterity 172 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Schiller. of his hand j and the price at which both operations were to be per- formed was settled. When the wood-cutter's crown had been properly shorn, Ali Sakal asked where his companion was. " He is just standing without here," said the other, "and he shall come in presently." Accordingly he went out, and returned, leading his ass after him by the halter. '' This is my companion," said he, " and you must shave him." *^ Shave him!" exclaimed the barber, in the greatest surprise; "it is enough that I have consented to demean myself by touching you, and do you insult me by asking me to do as much to your ass ? Away with you, or I'll send you both to Jehanum ;" and forthwith drove them out of his shop». The wood-cutter immediately went to the caliph, was admitted to his presence, and related his case.- " 'Tis well," said the commander of the feithful : " bring Ali Sakal and his razors to me this instant," he exclaimed to one of his officers ; and in. the couxse of ten minutes the barber stood; before him. " Why do you refuse to shave this man's companion?" said the caliph to the barber;, "was not that your agreement ?" Ali, kissing the ground, answered, "'Tis true, O caliph, that such was our agreement ; but who ever made a companion of an ass before ^ or who ever before thought of treating it like a true believer?" "You may say right," said the caliph; "but, at the same time, who ever thought of insisting upon a pack-saddle being included in a load of wood ? No, no, it is the wood-cutter's turn now. To the ass immediately, or you know the consequences." The barber was then obliged to prepare a great quantity of soap, to lather the beast from head to foot, and to shave him in the presence of the caliph, and> of the whole court, whilst he was jeered and mocked by the taunts and laughing of all the bystanders. The poor wood-cutter was then dismissed with an appropriate present of money, and all Bagdad resounded with the story, and celebrated the justice of the commander of the faithfuL — The Adventures of Hajji Baba of m, voL i.. ch. xiii. 66.— THE CHARACTER OF WALLENSTEIN. [Schiller, 1759 — 1805. [Friedrich Schiller, born at Marbach, on the banks of the Neckar, November 10, 1759, was enrolled as a student of law at Stuttgardt in 1773. This profession he exchanged for that of medicine in 1775, and took his degree in 1780. His mind was, however, directed to literature, and he published "The Robbers" in 1781. The drama was produced with great success at Mannheim in 1782. He wrote numerous dramas and poems, and was appointed Professor of History at Jena in 1789, where he composed "The History of the Thirty Years' War," The tragedy of " Wallen- stein" was published in 1799; "Maria Stuart" appeared in 1800, and "William Schiller.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 173 Tell" in 1804. A collected edition of his prose and poetical works, translated into English, appeared in the Standard Library of Mr. Bohn, who remarks in the pre- face : " Schiller undoubtedly ranks as the greatest genius of Germany. Equally cele- brated as a poet, philosopher, and historian, he essayed every species of literary composition, and excelled in all. His works bear the unequivocal impress of a master mind." He died May 9, 1805, at Weimar, to which place he had retired on quitting Jena in 1799. His life, by Thomas Carlyle, appeared in 1825, and Palleske's Memoir, translated by Lady Wallace, in 1859.] Thus did Wallen stein/' at the age of fifty, terminate his active and extraordinary hfe. To ambition he owed both his greatness and his ruin ; with all his failings, he possessed great and admirable qualities, and, had he kept himself within due bounds, he would have lived and died without an equal. The virtues of the ruler and the hero, pru- dence, justice, firmness, and courage, are strikingly prominent features in his character ; but he wanted the gentler virtues of the man, which adorn the hero, and make the ruler beloved. Terror was the talisman with which he worked ; extreme in his punishments as in his rewards, he knew how to keep alive the zeal of his followers, while no general of ancient or modern times could boast of being obeyed with equal alacrity. Submission to his will was more prized by him than bravery ; for, if the soldiers work by the latter, it is on the former that the general depends. He continually kept up the obedience of his troops by capricious orders, and profusely rewarded the readiness to obey even in trifles ; because he looked rather to the act itself than its object. He once issued a decree, with the penalty of death on disobedience, that none but red sashes should be worn in the army. A captain of horse no sooner heard the order, than pulling off his gold-embroidered sash, he trampled it under foot ; Wallenstein, on being informed of the circumstance, promoted him on the spot to the rank of colonel. His comprehensive glance was always directed to the whole, and in all his apparent caprice, he steadily kept in view some general scope or bearing. The robberies committed by the soldiers in a friendly country, had led to the severest orders against marauders ; and all who should be caught thieving were threatened with the halter. Wallen- stein himself having met a straggler in the open country upon the field, commanded him to be seized without trial, as a transgressor of the law, and in his usual voice of thunder, exclaimed, " Hang the * Albrecht Wensel Eusebius, Duke of Mecklenburg and Count of Waldstein, com- monly called Wallenstein, was put to death at the Castle of Eger, February 25, 1634, by a band of soldiers, ordered by the Emperor Ferdinand IL to take him dead or alive. This great general, who distinguished himself against Gustavus Adolphus during the Thirty Years' War, fell a victim to the treachery of Piccolomini and others, who repre- sented to the Emperor that he had conspired against him. 174 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Schiller. fellow," against which no opposition ever availed. The soldier pleaded and proved his innocence, but the irrevocable sentence had gone forth. *' Hang then innocent," cried the inexorable Wallenstein, "the guilty will have then more reason to tremble." Preparations were already making to execute the sentence, when the soldier, who gave himself up for lost, formed the desperate resolution of not dying without revenge. He fell furiously upon his judge, but was overpowered by numbers, and disarmed before he could fulfil his design. " Now let him go," said the Duke, *'it will excite sufficient terror." His munificence was supported by an immense income, which was estimated at three millions of florins yearly, without reckoning the enormous sums which he raised under the name of contributions. His liberality and clearness of understanding raised him above the religious prejudices of his age : and the Jesuits never forgave him for having seen through their system, and for regarding the Pope as nothing more than a Bishop of Rome. But as no one ever yet came to a fortunate end who quarrelled with the church, Wallenstein also must pugment the number of its victims. Through the intrigues of the monks he lost, at Ratisbon, the command of the army, and at Egra his life j by the same arts, perhaps, he lost what was of more consequence, his honourable name and good repute with posterity. For in justice it must be admitted that the pens which have traced the history of this extraordinary man are not untinged with partiality, and that the treachery of the Duke, and his designs upon the throne of Bohemia, rest not so much upon proven facts as upon probable con- jecture. No documents have yet been brought to light which disclose with historical certainty the secret motives of his conduct -, and among all his public and well-attested actions there is, perhaps, not one which could not have had an innocent end. Many of his most obnoxious measures proved nothing but the earnest wish he entertained for peace ; most of the others are explained and justified by the well-founded dis- trust he entertained of the Emperor, and the excusable wish of main- taining his own importance. It is true, that his conduct towards the Elector of Bavaria, and the dictates of an implacable spirit, look too like an unworthy revenge ; but still, none of his actions perhaps warrant us in holding his treason proved. If necessity and despair at last forced him to deserve the sentence which had been pronounced against him while innocent, still this, if true, will not justify that sen- tence. Thus Wallenstein fell, not because he was a rebel, but he be- came a rebel because he fell. Unfortunate in life, that he made a victorious party his enemy, and still more unfortunate in death, that the same party survived him and wrote his history. — History of the Thirty Years' War, Book iv. Belzoni.] OF MODERN LITERATURE, 175 67.— THE PYRAMIDS. [Belzoni, 1778 — 1823. [Giovanni Battista Belzoni, the son of a barber, was born at Padua in 1778, and educated at Rome for the priesthood. Showing little inclination for the sacred calling, he quitted Rome in 1800, and visited other parts of Europe, arriving in England in 1803. In this country, where he took a wife and resided some years, he obtained a livelihood by exhibiting feats of strength at the theatres. He repaired to Egypt in 1815 for the purpose of constructing an hydraulic machine for Mehemet Ali, but was compelled to abandon the work on account of the opposition of the people. At the suggestion of Mr. Burckhardt, Mr. Salt employed Belzoni to remove the colossal bust then recently discovered at Thebes. This task he accomplished, and, under the auspices of Mr. Salt, he made a second journey into Egypt and Nubia in 181 7, and discovered some important ruins at Carnac. Belzoni quitted Egypt in 18 19, having explored in various directions, and, on his arrival in England in 1820, published a narrative of his discoveries. He opened an exhibition of his Egyptian antiquities in London in 1821, and set off for Africa in 1823, intending to proceed to Timbuctoo, but fell a victim to dysentery at Gato, in Benin, December 3, 1823.] So much has been already said about the pyramids, that very little is left to observe respecting them. Their great appearance of antiquity certainly leads us to suppose, that they must have been constructed at an earlier period than any other edifices to be seen in Egypt. It is somewhat singular that Homer does not mention them 3 but this is no proof that they did not exist in his time : on the contrary, it may be supposed they were so generally known that he thought it useless to speak of them. It appears that in the time of Herodotus, as little was known of the second pyramid as before the late opening/^ with this exception, that in his time the second pyramid was nearly in the state in which it was left when closed by the builders, who must have covered the entrance with the coating so that it might not be perceived. But at the time I was fortunate enough to find my way into it, the entrance was concealed by the rubbish of the coating, which must have been nearly perfect at the time of Herodotus : notwithstanding this, we were as much in the dark in this present age as he was in his. We know, however, now, that it has been opened by some of the rulers or chiefs of Egypt — a fact that affords no small satisfaction to the inquirer on the subject of these monuments. Some persons, who would rather let this circumstance remain in obscurity, regretted that I should have found the inscription on the wall, which proved it to have been opened at so late a period as very little more than a thousand years ago ; but I beg them to recollect that the present opening has * Belzoni, in 1817, succeeded in opening the Pyramid of Cephren. With the Chevalier Frediani, he explored the interior, and discovered the sarcophagus in the great chamber. 176 THE EVERY- DAY BOOK [Belzont. • • — ■ ■ not only made known this very interesting circumstance, but has thrown much light on the manner in which these enormous masses were erected^ as well as explained the purposes for which they were made. The circumstance of having chambers and a sarcophagus (which un- doubtedly contained the remains of some great personage), so uniform with those in the other pyramid, I think leaves very little question but that they were erected as sepulchres j and I really wonder that any doubt has ever existed, considering what could be learned from the first pyramid, which has been so long open. This contains a spacious chamber with a sarcophagus j the passages are of such dimensions as to admit nothing larger than the sarcophagus ; they had been closely shut up by large blocks of granite from within, evidently to prevent the removal of that relic. Ancient authors are pretty well agreed in asserting that these monuments were erected to contain the remains of two brothers, Cheops and Cephren, kings of Egypt. They are sur- rounded by other smaller pyramids, intermixed with mausoleums on burial grounds. Many mummy-pits have been continually found there -, yet with all these proofs, it has been asserted that they were erected for many other purposes than the true one, and nearly as absurd as that they served for granaries. Some consider them as built for astronomical purposes, but there is nothing in their construction to favour this supposition. Others main- tain that they were meant for the performance of holy ceremonies by the Egyptian priests. Anything, in short, for the sake of contradiction, or to have something new to say, finds its advocate. If the ancient authors had advanced that they were erected for treasuries, the moderns would have agreed perhaps more in conformity with the truth, that they were made for sepulchres j and they would not have failed to see plainly these circumstances, which clearly prove the facts, and which are not noticed as they ought to be. 1 will agree with others thus far, that the Egyptians, in erecting these enormous masses, did not fail to make their sides due north and south, and consequently, as they are square, due east and west. Their inclination, too, is such as to give light to the north side at the time of the solstice. But even all this does not prove in the least that they were erected for astronomical purposes, though it is to be observed that the Egyptians connected astronomy with their religious ceremonies, as we found various zodiacs not only among the temples, but in their tombs also. — Narrative of the Operations and Recent Researches in Egypt and Nubia. Second Journey. Howell.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 177 68.— A LOVER'S HEART SERVED UP AS A DISH. [Howell, 1594 — 1666. [James Howell, born near Brecknock about 1594, was educated at Jesus College, Oxford. He was appointed manager of a patent glass manufactory in London, and travelled on the continent from 1619 to 1621, in which year he was elected a fellow of Jesus College. He became secretary to Lord Scrope in 1626, secretary to an extraordinary embassy to Denmark in 1632, and having filled various appointments, obtained the clerkship of the Council at Whitehall in 1640. Howell, sent to the Fleet in 1643, was liberated soon after the execution of Charles L, and at the Restoration was appointed historiographer royal. He died Nov. 1666, and was buried in the Temple Church. Howell was a prolific writer. His best known works are " Dendrologia, Dodona's Grove, or the Vocal Forest," a poem pub- lished in 1640, and the " Epistolae Ho-Elianae: Familiar Letters, Domestic and Foreign, &c." of which the first volume appeared in 1645, and the second in 1655.] Being''^ lately in France, and returning in a coach from Paris to Rouen, I lighted upon the society of a knowing gentleman, who re- lated to me a choice story, which, peradventure^ you may make some use of in your way. . Some hundred and odd years since, there was in France one Captain Coucy, a gallant gentleman of an ancient extraction, and keeper of Coucy Castle, which is yet standing, and in good repair. He fell in love with a young gentlewoman, and courted her for his wife. There was reciprocal love between them, but her parents understanding of it, by way of prevention, they shuffled up a forced match 'twixt her and one Monsieur Fayel, who was a great heir. Captain Coucy hereupon quitted France in discontent, and went to the wars in Hungary against the Turks, where he received a mortal wound, not far from Buda. Being carried to his lodgings, he languished some days ; but a little before his death he spoke to an ancient servant of his, that he had many proofs of his fidelity and truth, but now he had a great business to entrust him with, which he conjured him by all means to do ; which was, that after his death he should get his body to be opened, and then to take his heart out of his breast, and put it in an earthen pot to be baked to powder j then to put the powder into a handsome box, with that bracelet of hair he had worn long about his wrist, which was a lock of Mademoiselle Fayel's hair, and put it among the powder, together with a little note he had written with his own blood to her 5 and after he had given him the rites of burial, to make all the speed he could to France, and deliver the said box to Mademoiselle Fayel. The old servant did as This letter, addressed to Ben Jonson, is dated Westminster, May 3, 163: 178 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Ford. his master had commanded him, and so went to France ; and coming one day to Mons. Fayel's house, he suddenly met him with one of his servants, and examined him, because he knew he was Captain Coucy's servautj and, finding him timorous and fakering in his speech, he searched him and found the said box in his pocket, with the note which expressed what was therein : he dismissed the bearer with menaces that he should come no more near his house. Mons. Fayel going in, sent for his cook, and delivered him the powder, charging him to make a httle well-rehshed dish of it, without losing a jot of it, for it was a very costly thing, and commanded him to bring it in him- self after the last course at supper. The cook bringing in the dish accordingly, Mons. Fayel commanded all to avoid the room, and began a serious discourse with his wife ; however, since he had married her, he observed she was always melancholy, and he feared she was inclining to a consumption^ therefore he had provided her with a very precious cor- dial, which he was well assured would cure her : thereupon he made her eat up the whole dishj and afterwards much importuning him to know what it was, he told her at last, she had eaten Coucy's heart, and so drew the box out of his pocket and showed her the note and the bracelet. In a sudden exultation of joy she, with a far-fetched sigh, said, this is a precious cordial indeed j and so licked the dish, saying, it is so precious, that 'tis pity to put ever any meat upon it. So she went to bed, and in the morning she was found stone dead. This gentleman told me that this sad story is painted in Coucy Castle, and remains fresh to this day. — Familiar Letters, Book i, lect. 6, letter 20. 69.— THE MUSICAL CONTEST. [Ford, 1586 — 1639. [John Ford, born at Ilsington, Devon, in 1586, became a menmber of the Middle Temple November 16, 1602, and attained certain success in his profession. "Fame's Memorial," an elegy on the death of the Earl of Devonshire, his first poetical production, appeared in 1606. According to the practice of that time. Ford assisted Webster, Decker, and others in the com))osition of plays. His first dramatic production, "The Lover's Melancholy," was acted Nov. 24, 1628, and printed in 1629. "The Broken Heart " and " Love's Sacrifice," appeii red in 1633, "The Chronicle History of Perkin Warbeck " in 1634, the comedy of "The P'ancies Chaste and Noble" in 1638, and the comedy of " The Ladies' Trial" in 1630. In conjunction with Decker, he wrote "The Sun's Darling," a moral mas(|ue, })rinted in 1657. His dramatic works, with exj)lanatory notes, were edited by Gifibrd in 1827. Another edition, with a biography, by Hartley Coleridge, a})peared in 1840. It is supposed that about 1639 Ford retired to his native place, where he soon after dieil. Gifl(:)rd says, " The style of Ford is altogether original, and his own. With- out the majestic march which distinguishes the poetry of Massinger, and with little or none of that light and playful humour which characterises the dialogue of Ford. J OF MODERN LITERATURE, 179 Fletcher, or even of Shirley, he is yet elegant, and easy, and harmonious, and though rarely sublime, yet sufficiently elevated for the most pathetic tones of that passion on whose romantic energies he chiefly delighted to dwell."] Scene. — ^The Palace at Famagosta. Amethus and Menaphon discoursing. Men. : A jewel, my Amethus, a fair youth ; A youth, whom, if I were but superstitious, I should repute an excellence more high. Than mere creations are : to add delight, I'll tell you how I found him. Amet. : Prithee do. Men. : Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales Which poets of an elder time have feigned To glorify their Temple, bred in me. Desire of visiting that paradise. To Thessaly I came j and living private. Without acquaintance of more sweet companions. Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts, I day by day frequented silent groves. And solitary walks. One morning early This accident encountered me : I heard The sweetest and most ravishing contention. That art [and] nature ever were at strife in. Amet. : I cannot yet conceive, what you infer By art and nature. Men, : I shall soon resolve you. A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather Indeed, entranced my soul : as I stole nearer. Invited by the melody, I saw This youth, this fair faced youth, upon his lute. With strains of strange variety and harmony. Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds. That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent, Wond'ring at what they heard. I wondered too. Amet. : And so do I j good ! on Men. : A nightingale. Nature's best skilled musician, undertakes The challenge, and for every several strain The well shaped youth could touch, she sung her own ; He could not run division with more art Upon his quaking instrument, than she. The nightingale, did with her various notes N 2 i8o THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Ford. Reply to : for a voice, and for a sound, Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe That such they were, than hope to hear again. Amet. : How did the rivals part ? Men. : You term them rightly ; For they were rivals, and their mistress, harmony. — Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last Into a pretty anger, that a bird V/hom art had never taught cliffs,^ moods, or notes. Should vie with him for mastery, whose study Had busied many hours to perfect practice : To end the controversy, in a rapture Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly. So many voluntaries, and so quick. That there was curios. ty and cunning. Concord in discord, lines of differing method Meeting in one full centre of delight. Amet. : Now for the bird. Men. : The bird, ordained to be Music's first martyr, strove to imitate These several sounds : which, when her warbling throat Failed in, for grief, down dropped she on his lute. And brake her heart ! It was the quaintest sadness. To see the conqueror upon her hearse. To weep a funeral elegy of tears 5 That, trust me, my Amethus, I could chide Mine own unmanly weakness, that made me A fellow-mourner with him. Amet. . I beheve thee. Men. : He looked upon the trophies of his art. Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed and cried : " Alas poor creature ! I will soon revenge *' This cruelty upon the author of it ; " Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood, " Shall never more betray a harmless peace " To an untimely end :" and in that sorrow. As he was pashing it againstf a tree, I suddenly stept in. Amet. : Thou hast discoursed A truth of mirth and pity. — The Lover s Melancholy , Act i. Scene 1. * A term in music. t i.e., dashing in pieces. Hooker.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 70.— GOD'S LAW MANIFESTED BY CREATION. [Hooker, 1553 — 1600. [Richard Hooker was born at Heavytree, near Exeter, in 1553, and was educated at Corpus Christ! College, Oxford. He was appointed Lecturer on Hebrew in the Uni- versity in 1579, and Master of the Temple in 1585. Anxious to obtain leisure to complete his great work on "The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity," he applied to Whitgift, who conferred upon him the living of Boscombe, in Wiltshire, in 1591, and he was made a prebendary of Salisbury in the same year. The first four books of " The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity" appeared in 1594; the fifth, in 1597; and the sixth, seventh, and eighth books did not appear until 1647, nearly half a century after his death, which took place Nov. 2, 1600, at Bishopsbourne, Kent, to which living he had been presented by Queen Elizabeth, July 7, 1595. Hallam (" Lit. Hist.," pt. ii., ch. i.) speaks of the Ecclesiastical Polity as " A monument of real learning, in pro- fane as well as theological antiquity." In the seventeenth century Hooker received the surname of Judicious. His life, written by Isaac Walton, was published in 1670.] Wherefore to come to the law of nature : albeit thereby we some- tunes mean that manner of working which God hath set for each created thing to keep 3 yet forasmuch as those things are termed most properly natural agents, which keep the law of their kind un- wittingly, as the heavens and elements of the world, which can do no otherwise than they do ; and forasmuch as we give unto intellectual natures the name of Voluntary Agents, that so we may distinguish them from the other; expedient it will be, that we sever the law of nature observed by the one from that which the oth'^r' is tied unto. Touching the former, their strict keeping of one tenure, statute, and law, is spoken of by all, but hath in it more than men have as yet attained to know, or perhaps ever shall attain, seeing the travail of wading herein is given of God to the sons of men 3* that perceiving how much the least thing in the world hath in it more than the wisest are able to reach unto, they may by this means learn humility. Moses, in describing the work of creation, attributeth speech unto God : " God said, let there be light : let there be a firmament : let the waters under the heaven be gathered together into one place : let the earth bring forth : let there be lights in the firmament of heaven." Was this only the intent of Moses, to signify the infinite greatness of God's power by the easiness of His accomplishing such efirects, without travail, pain, or labour ? Surely it seemeth that Moses had herein besides this a further purpose, namely, first to teach that God did not work as a necessary but a voluntary agent, intending beforehand and decreeing with Himself that which did outwardly proceed from Him : i * Eccles. iii. 9, 10. See Bacon's Advancement of Learning, bk. ii., "Knowledges are as pyramids, whereof history is the basis," &c., &c. i82 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK tHooker. secondly, to show that God did then institute a law natural to be ob- served by creatures, and therefore according to the manner of laws, the institution thereof is described as being established by solemn injunc- tion. His commanding those things to be which are, and to be in such sort as they are, to keep that tenure and course which they do, importeth the establishment of nature's law. This world's first crea- tion, and the preservation since of things created, what is it but only so far forth a manifestation by execution, what the eternal law of God is concerning things natural ? And as it cometh to pass in a kingdom rightly ordered, that after a law is once published, it presently takes effect far and wide, all states framing themselves thereunto j even so let us think it fareth in the natural course of the world : since the time that God did first proclaim the edicts of His law upon it, heaven and earth have hearkened unto His voice, and their labour hath been to do His will: "He made a law for the rainj"* He gave his " decree unto the sea, that the waters should not pass his commandment." t Now if nature should intermit her course, and leave altogether, though it were but for a while, the obser- vation of her own laws ; it those principal and mother elements of the world, whereof all things in this lower world are made, should lose the qualities which now they have ; if the frame of that heavenly arch erected over our heads should loosen and dissolve itself 3 if celes- tial spheres should forget their wonted motions, and by irregular volubility turn themselves any way as it might happen 3 if the prince of the lights of heaven, which now as a giant doth run his unwearied course,! should, as it were, through a languishing faintness begin to stand and to rest himself 5 if the moon should wander from her beaten way, the times and seasons of the year blend themselves by disordered and confused mixture, the winds breathe out their last gasp, the clouds yield no rain, the earth be defeated of heavenly influence, the fruits of the earth pine away as children at the withered breasts of their mother, no longer able to yield them relief: what would become of man himself, whom these things now do all serve? See we not plainly that obedience of creatures unto the law of nature is the stay of the whole world ? — Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, bk. i. ch. iii. § 2. * Job xxviii. 26. f Jer. v. 22. % Psalm xix. 5. Raleigh.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 183 71.— ON TYRANNY AND THE EMPLOYMENT OF MERCENARIES BY TYRANTS. [Sir W. Raleigh, 1552 — 1618. [Walter Raleigh, born at Hayes, near Budleigh, in Devonshire, in 1552, entered Onel College, Oxford, in 1568, went as a volunteer to France in 1569, and served in the continental wars for several years. Received with favour at Court, he was knighted, and took part in expeditions for planting colonies in North America. Raleigh dis- tinguished himself in various engagements with the Spanish Armada in 1588. In 1595 he sailed in search of the fabulous El Dorado, and having made some con- quests in South America, on his return in 1595 published an account of his voyage, under the title "The Discovery of the Large, Rich, and Beautiful Empire of Guiana." He distinguished himself at the capture of Cadiz in 1596, and took Fayal in 1597; but on the death of Elizabeth he fell out of favour, and was tried for high treason at Winchester, and found guilty in September, 160,^. Though re- prieved, he remained a prisoner in the Tower thirteen years, during which time he wrote the fragment of "The History of the World," published in 1614. Having obtained his release, he sailed for Guiana in 161 7, and on his return to England in July, 1618, was arrested at the instigation of the Spaniards, whose possessions in the new world he had assailed. On the 28th of October, 1618, the sentence was passed upon him, and he was beheaded, Oct. 29. Hallam remarks (" Lit. Hist.," pt. iii. ch. 7), " We should expect from the prison hours of a soldier, a courtier, a busy intriguer in state affairs, a poet and man of genius, something well worth our notice, but hardly a prolix history of the ancient world, hardly disquisitions on the sites of Paradise and the travels of Cain." Sir W. Raleigh's biography has been written by several authors. His Life, by Oldys, appealed in 17355 by T. Birch, in 1751; by A. Cayley, in 1805; by Mrs. Thompson, in 1830: by P. F. Tytler, in 1833; by M. Napier, in 1853; and by C. Whitehead, in 1854. The " Edinburgh Review," vol. Ixxi. contains an article on Sir Walter Raleigh, and a bio- graphy is given by Wood in his " Athen. Oxon."] That which we properly call tyranny is a violent form of governraentj not respecting the good of the subject, but only the pleasure of the comniander, I purposely forbear to say, that it is the unjust rule of one over many : for very truly doth Cleon, in Thucydides,* tell the Athenians, that their dominion over their subjects was none other than a mere tyranny -, though it were so, that they themselves were a great city, and a popular estate. Neither is it peradventure greatly needful, that I should call this form of commanding violent j since it may well and easily be conceived, that no man willingly performs obedience to one regardless of his life and welfare, unless himself be either a madman, or (which is little better) wholly possessed with some extreme passion of love. The practice of tyranny is not always of a like extremity ; for some lords are more gentle than others to their very slaves 5 and he that is most cruel to some is mild enough towards others, though it be but for * Book i84 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Raleigh. his own advantage. Nevertheless, in large dominions, wherein the ruler's discretion cannot extend itself unto notice of the ditference which might be found between the worth of several men ; it is commonly seen that the taste of sweetness, drawn out of oppression, hath so good a relish, as continually inflames the tyrant's appetite, and will not suffer it to be restrained within any limits of respect. Why should he seek out bounds to prescribe unto his desires, who cannot endure the face of one so honest, as may put him in remembrance of any moderation ? It is much that he hath gotten by extorting from some few ; by sparing none, he should have riches in goodly abun- dance : he hath taken a good deal from every one ; but every one could have spared more : he hath wrung all their purses, and now he hath enough ; but (as covetousness is never satisfied) he thinks that all this is too little for a stock, though it were indeed a good yearly income. Therefore he deviseth new tricks of robbery, and is not better pleased with the gains than with the art of getting. He is hated for this, and he knows it well ; but he thinks by cruelty to change hatred into fear. So he makes it his exercise to torment and murder all whom he suspecteth : in which course, if he suspect none unjustly, he may be said to deal craftily ; but if innocency be not safe, how can all this make any conspirator to stand in fear, since the traitor is no worse rewarded than the quiet man ? Wherefore he can think upon none other security than to disarm all his subjects, to fortify himself within some strong place, and, for defence of his person and state, to hire as many lusty soldiers as shall be thought suffi- cient. These must not be of his own country ; for if not every one, yet some one or other might chance to have a feeling of the public misery. This considered, he allures unto him a desperate rabble of strangers, the most unhonest that can be found ; such as have neither wealth nor credit at home, and will therefore be careful to support him by whose only favour they are maintained. Now, lest any of these, either by detestation of his wickedness, or (which in wicked men is most likely) by promise of greater reward than he doth give, should be drawn to turn his sword against the tyrant himself, they shall all be permitted to do as he doth j to rob, to ravish, to murder, and to satisfy their own appetites in most outrageous manner : being thought so much the more assured to their master, by how much the more he sees them grow hateful to all men else. Considering in what age and in what language I write, I must be fain to say that these are not dreams j though some Englishmen, perhaps, that were unacquainted with history, lighting upon this leaf, might suppose this discourse to be Ainsworth.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 185 little better. This is to show both how tyranny grows to stand in need of mercenary soldiers, and how those mercenaries are, by mutual obligation, firmly assured unto the tyrant. — The History of the Worlds Book V. ch. ii. sect. ii. § i. 72.— OLD LONDON FROM OLD ST. PAUL'S. [Ainsworth, 1805. [William Harrison Ainsworth, born at Manchester, February, 1805, and educated for the bar, embraced literature as a profession at an early age. Having contributed to several periodicals he published his first novel, " Sir John Chiverton,'* in 1825. " Rookwood'^ appeared in 1834, " Crichton" in 1837, ^^d the first chapter of "Jack Sheppard" in Bentley's Miscellany" for January, 1839. "Old St. Paul's" was published in the " Sunday Times" in 1841. In addition to these works Mr. Ainsworth is the author of a large number of historical romances, some of which have been translated into various modern languages. He edited " Bentle/s Mis- cellany" from 1839 to 1 841, established " Ainsworth's Magazine" in 1842, became editor and proprietor of the "New Monthly Magazine" in 1845, ^'^^ again editor and proprietor of " Bentley's Miscellany" in 1854. A collected edition of his works has been published in a cheap form.] Resolved to free himself at any hazard, Leonard Holt once more repaired to the summit of the tower of the Cathedral, and, leaning over the balustrade, gazed below. It was a sublime spectacle, and, in spite of his distress, filled him with admiration and astonishment. He had stationed himself on the south side of the tower, and immediately beneath him lay the broad roof of the transept, stretching out to a dis- tance of nearly two hundred feet. On the right, surrounded by a double row of cloisters, remarkable for the beauty of their architecture, stood the convocation, or chapter-house. This exquisite building was octagonal in form, and supported by large buttresses, ornamented on each gradation by crocketed pinnacles. Each side, moreover, had a tall pointed window, filled with stained glass, and was richly adorned with trefoils and cinquefoils. Further on, on the same side, was the small low church dedicated to St. Gregory, overtopped by the south- western tower of the mightier parent fane. It was not, however, the cathedral itself, but the magnificent view it commanded, that chiefly attracted the apprentice's attention. From the elevated point on which he stood, his eye ranged over a vast tract of country, bounded by the Surrey hills, and at last settled upon the river, which in some parts was obscured by a light haze, and in others tinged with the ruddy beams of the newly-risen sun. Its surface was spotted, even at this early hour, with craft, while innumerable vessels of all shapes and sizes were moored to its banks. On the left, he 186 THE EVERY-BAY BOOK [Ainsworth. noted the tall houses covering London Bridge^ and on the right, traced the sweeping course of the stream as it flowed from West- minster. On this hand, on the opposite bank, lay the flat marshes of Lambeth ; while nearer stood the old bull-baiting and bear-baiting establishments, the flags above which could be discerned above the tops of the surrounding habitations. A little to the left was the borough of Southwark, even then a large and populous district — the two most prominent features in the scene being Winchester-house, and St. Saviour's old and beautiful church. Filled with wonder at what he saw, Leonard looked towards the east, and here an extraordinary prospect met his gaze. The whole of the city of London was spread out like a map before him, and pre- sented a dense mass of ancient houses, with twisted chimneys, gables, and picturesque roofs — here and there overtopped by a hall, a college, an hospital, or some other lofty structure. This vast collection of buildings was girded in by grey and mouldering walls, approached by seven gates, and intersected by innumerable narrow streets. The spires and towers of the churches shot up into the clear morning air — for^ except in a few quarters, no smoke yet issued from the chimneys. On this side, the view of the city was terminated by the fortifications and keep of the Tower. Little did the apprentice think, when he looked at the magnificent scene before him, and marvelled at the countless buildings he beheld, that, ere fifteen months had elapsed, the whole mass, together with the mighty fabric on which he stood, would be swept away by a tremendous conflagration. Unable to foresee this direful event, and lamenting only that so fair a city should be a prey to an exterminating pestilence, he turned towards the north, and suffered his gaze to wander over Finsbury-fields, and the hilly ground beyond them — over Smithfield and Clerkenwell, and the beautiful open country adjoining Gray's-inn-lane. So smiling and beautiful did these districts appear, that he could scarcely fancy they were the chief haunts of the horrible distemper. But he could not blind himself to the fact that in Finsbury-fields, as well as in the open country to the north of Holborn, plague-pits had been digged and pest-houses erected ; and this consideration threw such a gloom over the prospect, that, in order to dispel the effect, he changed the scene by looking towards the west. Here his view embraced all the proudest mansions of the capital, and tracing the Strand to Charing Cross, long since robbed of the beautiful structure from which it derived its name, and noticing its numerous noble habitations, his eye finally rested upon Whitehall: and he heaved a sigh as he thought that the palace of the sovereign was infected by as foul a moral taint as the hideous disease that ravaged the dwelhngs of his subjects. Rapin.] OF MODERN LITERATURE, 187 At the time that Leonard Holt gazed upon the capital, its pictu- resque beauties were nearly at their close. In a little more than a year and a quarter afterwards, the greater part of the old city was consumed by fire 5 and though it was rebuilt, and in many respects improved, its original and picturesque character was entirely de- stroyed. It seems scarcely possible to conceive a finer view than can be gained from the dome of the modern cathedral at sunrise on a May morning, when the prospect is not dimmed by the smoke of a hundred thousand chimneys — when the river is just beginning to stir with its numerous craft, or when they are sleeping on its glistening bosom — when every individual house, court, church, square, or theatre, can be discerned — when the eye can range over the whole city on each side, and calcu- late its vast extent. It seems scarcely possible, we say, to suppose at any previous time it could be more striking ', and yet, at the period under consideration, it was incomparably more so. Then, every house was picturesque, and every street a collection of picturesque objects. Then, that which was objectionable in itself, and contributed to the insalubrity of the city, namely, the extreme narrowness of the streets, and overhanging stories of the houses, was the main source of their beauty. Then the huge projecting signs, with their fantastical iron- work — the conduits — the crosses (where crosses remained) — the may- poles — all were picturesque 3 and as superior to what can now be seen, as the attire of Charles the Second's age is to the ugly and disfiguring costume of our own dav. — Old Si. Paul's. 73.— REFLECTIONS ON THE TRIAL OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. [Rapin, 1661 — 1725. [Paul de Rapin, Sieur of Thoyras, was born at Castres in 1661, of a Protestant family, which came originally from Savoy. He studied at Saumur, and entered the profession of the law. Soon after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685), he went to Holland and entered the service of William of Orange, whom he accom- panied to England in 1688. He settled at Wesel in 1707, and applied himself to the composition of his famous work, the " History of England," which took him seven- teen years to finish. It appeared in French at the Hague, in 9 vols., in 1726-7. It was translated into English by Tindal* in 1732. Rapin died at Wesel, May 16, 1725.] It is hardly to be questioned that Mary's death was determined, when Elizabeth and her Council resolved to have her tried by commissioners. * Nicholas, nephew of Matthew Tindal, was born in 1687, and educated at Oxford. He was appointed chaplain to Greenwich Hospital in 1738, and died June 27, 1774. i88 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Rapin. But it must not be imagined that it was their intention to punish her for attempting the life of EHzabeth. If that had been all, they would never have proceeded to extremities, but would, doubtless, have been satisfied with putting it out of her power to contrive any such plots for the future, which would have been easy, by confining her more closely. But it was not so easy to hinder the Pope, the King of Spain, the House of Guise, the English catholics, the Irish, the Scottish malcon- tents, from considering her as a princess to whom of right belonged the two crowns of England and Scotland, and from using their continual endeavours to restore her to the throne of Scotland, and place her on that of England, even in Elizabeth's life-time. Though she had been so closely confined, that she could not herself have been concerned in these plots, it would not have prevented her friends from acting in her favour ; nothing, therefore, but her death, could break their measures, and put an end to the plots which were daily framing on her account. So, it might with truth be said, that as Elizabeth's death was Mary's life, so Mary's death alone could preserve Elizabeth, and with her, liberty and the Protestant religion in England. But as it was not likely Mary, who was the younger, should depart first out of this world by a natural death, recourse was to be had to violence, that the Queen and the realm might be freed from their imminent danger. The share Mary had in Babington's conspiracy, and which probably was greater than what Camden intimates, was not, therefore, the cause of her con- demnation, but the pretence used to be rid of a queen, on whose life Elizabeth's adversaries built all their hopes. It was, therefore, Mary's own friends that occasioned her misfortune by serving her too zealously, or rather by making her their instrument to execute their grand pro- ject against the Protestant religion. The Pope flattered himself with restoring, by her means, the Catholic religion in England -, and the English catholics looked upon her as the only person that could free them from the intolerable yoke of a Protestant Government. Philip II. saw no other way to subdue the Netherlanders. In short, the House of Guise, whose ambitious projects are well known, thought to find in her an infallible means to crush the Huguenots of France, who supported the title of the lawful heir to the crown of that kingdom. Mary herself gave too much countenance to all these plots. She was so imprudent, as, being a prisoner incessantly to confound two things, which could well be distinguished and separated j I mean, her liberty, and her title to the crown of England. She thereby gave Elizabeth occasion to confound these two, and to ruin her, in order to preserve her own life and crown. These were the real motives of Mary's condemnation. If we consider them politically, they may be said to be good and necessary j Livingstone.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 189 but it happens very frequently that policy is repugnant to justice and equity. Upon this condemnation it is that Elizabeth's enemies have triumphed ; and, indeed, it is a very fit subject for rhetoric. But if it is considered who they were that exclaimed the loudest against Elizabeth, they will be found to be the very persons who would have murdered her to set Mary on the throne of England. Had they succeeded in their design, would their deed have been more just or more agreeable to the precepts of the Christian religion ? Doubtless it would, were the thing to be tried by the principle of the adversaries to Elizabeth and her religion. But if it were allowed by the laws of religion, justice, and equity, to take away the life of Elizabeth, in order to set Mary on the throne, and restore the Catholic religion in England, was it less allowable for the English to put Mary to death, in order to preserve their queen and religion from the destruction they were continually threatened with ? Let us say rather, tliese maxims are equally blameable and repugnant to the rules of the Gospel, to whatever party they are applied. — The History of England. Book xvii. 74.— LAKE NY ASS A. [Livingstone, 1817. [David Livingstone, of humble parentage, born at Blantyre, near Glasgow, in 1817, was in a great measure self-educated. He was admitted a licentiate of the faculty of physicians and surgeons in 1838, and offered himself to the London Mis- sionary Society for Missionary work in Africa. In 1840 he was ordained, and set out for South Africa. Here he laboured until 1856, when he left for England, where he arrived Dec. 12. During his sojourn in Africa he went on several exploring ex- peditions, and became well acquainted with the interior and many of the savage tribes. He is said to have traversed no less than 1 1,000 miles of African territory. His "Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa," appeared in 1857. Having been appointed British Consul at Quilimane in 1858, Dr. Livingstone again left for Africa, explored the Zambesi, made further discoveries, and returned July 20, 1864. His "Expedition to the Zambesi and its Tributaries," was published in November, 1865. Dr. Livingstone has given a short account of his early life in the introduction to his " Missionary Travels."] Looking back to the southern end of Lake Nyassa, the arm from which the Shire flows was found to be thirty miles long, and from ten to twelve broad. Rounding Cape Maclear, and looking to the south- west, we have another arm which stretches some eighteen miles south- ward, and is from six to twelve miles in breadth. These arms give the southern end a forked appearance j and with the help of a little imagination, it maybe likened to the "boot-shape" of Italy. The narrowest part is about the ankle, eighteen or twenty miles. From 19© THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Livingstone. this it widens to the north, and in the upper third or fourth it is fifty or sixty miles broad. The length is over 200 miles. The direction in which it lies is as near as possible due north and south. Nothing of the great bend to the west, shown in all the previous maps, could be detected by either compass or chronometer — and the watch we used was an excellent one. The season of the year was very un- favourable. The *' smokes" filled the air with an impenetrable haze, and the equinoctial gales made it impossible for us to cross to the eastern side. When we caught a glimpse of the sun rising from behind the mountains to the east, we made sketches and bearings of them at different latitudes, which enabled us to secure approximate measurements of the width. These agreed with the times taken by the natives at the different crossing-places — as Tseuga and Molamba. About the beginning of the upper third, the lake is crossed by taking advantage of the island Chizumara, which name in the native tongue means the *' ending;" further north they go round the end instead, though that takes several days. The lake appeared to be surrounded by mountains, but it was afterwards found that these beautiful tree-covered heights were, on the west, only the edges of high table-lands. Like all narrow seas encircled by highlands, it is visited by sudden and tremendous storms. We were on it in September and October, perhaps the stormiest season of the year, and were repeatedly detained by gales. At times, while sailing over the blue water with a gentle breeze, suddenly and without any warning was heard the sound of a coming storm, roaring on with crowds of angry waves in its wake. We were caught one morning with the sea breaking all around us, and, unable either to advance or recede, anchored a mile from shore, in seven fathoms. The furious surf on the beach would have shivered our slender boat to atoms, had we tried to land. The waves most dreaded came rolling on in threes, with their crests, driven into spray, streaming behind them. A short lull followed each triple charge. Had one of these white-maned seas struck our frail bark, nothing could have saved us ; for they came on with resistless force ; seaward, in shore, and on either side of us, they broke in foam, but we escaped. For six weary hours we faced these terrible trios, any one of which might have been carrying the end of our expedition in its hoary head. A low, dark, detached, oddly-shaped cloud came slowly from the mountains, and hung for hours directly over our heads. A flock of night-jars {cometoriiis vexillarius) , which on no other occasion come out by day, soared above us in the gale, like birds of evil omen. Our black crew became sea-sick and unable to sit up or keep the boat's head to the sea. The natives and our land party stood on the high cliffs looking at us and ex.claiming, as the Von Humboldt.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 191 waves seemed to swallow up the boat, " They are lost ! — they are all dead!" When at last the gale moderated, and we got safely ashore, they saluted as warmly, as after a long absence. From this time we trusted implicitly to the opinions of our seaman, John Neil, who, baving been a fisherman on ttae coast of Ireland, understood boating on a stormy coast, and by his advice we often sat cowering on the land for days together waiting for the surf to go down. He had never seen such waves before. We had to beach the boat every night to save her from being swamped at anchor ; and, did we not believe the gales to be peculiar to one season of the year, would call Nyassa the " Lake of storms." Lake Nyassa receives no great affluents from the west. The five rivers we observed in passing did not at this time appear to bring in as much water as the Shire was carrying out. They were from fifteen CO thirty yards wide, and some too deep to ford j but the evaporation must be very considerable. These streams, with others of about the same size from the mountains on the east and north, when swollen by the rains, may be sufficient to account for the rise in the lake without any large river. The natives nearest the northern end denied the ex- istence of a large river there, though at one time it seemed necessary to account for the Shire's perennial flow. Distinct white marks on the rocks showed that, for some time during the rainy season, the water of the lake is three feet above the point to which it falls towards the close of the dry period of the year. The rains begin here in November, and the permanent rise of the Shire does not take place till January. The western side of Lake Nyassa, with the exception of the great harbour to the west of Cape Maclear, is a succession of small bays of nearly similar form, each having an open sandy beach and pebbly shore, and being separated from its neighbour by a rocky headland, with detached rocks extending some distance out to sea. The great south-western bay referred to would form a magnificent harbour, the only really good one we saw to the west. — Narrative of an Expedition to the Zambesi and its Tributaries ; and of the Discovery of the Lakes Shirwa and Nyassa, 1858 — 1864, ch. xix. 75.— ON MAGNETISM. [Baron von Humboldt, 1769 — 1859. [Frederick Henry Alexander, Baron von Humboldt, was born at Berlin, Sep- tember 14, 1769. He early distinguished himself in studies referrini to physical nature, by contributions to various German periodici^ls. In 1799 he set out on a scientific voyage to South America, returning in 1804, and an account of his travels. 192 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Von Humboldt. under the title " Voyage to the Interior of America," appeared between 1807 and 181 7. In 1829 Humboldt set out again on a journey of scientific discovery to the Asiatic region of the Russian empire, and after his return published " Fragments of Asiatic Geology and Climatology" in 1831. His great work, " Cosmos," a general survey of the physical phenomena of the Universe, appeared between the years 1845 and 1858. This indefatigable author and traveller, who wrote several other works, died May 6, 1859.] But whatever be'fhe cause of the internal temperature of our planet, and of its limited or unhmited increase in the deeper strata, it still leads in this Essay to present a general picture of nature, through the intimate connexion of all the primary phenomena of matter, and through the common bond which surrounds the molecular forces into the obscure domain of magnetism. Changes of temperature elicit magnetical and electrical currents. Terrestrial magnetism, whose principal character in the threefold manifestation of its force is an uninterrupted periodic changeableness, is ascribed either to the un- equally heated mass of the earth itself, or to those galvanic currents which we consider as electricity in motion, as electricity in a circuit returning into itself. The mysterious march of the magnetic needle is equally influenced by the course of the sun, and change of place upon the earth's surface. The hour of the day can be told between the tropics by the motion of the needle, as well as by the oscillations of the mercury in the barometer. It is suddenly, though only passingly, affected by the remote aurora, by the glow of heaven which emanates in colours at one of the poles. When the tranquil hourly motion of the needle is disturbed by a magnetical storm, the perturba- tion frequently proclaims itself over hundreds and thousands of miles, in the strictest sense of the word simultaneously, or it is propagated gradually, in brief intervals of time, in every direction over the sur- face of the earth. In the first case the simultaneousness of the storm might serve, like the eclipses of Jupiter's satellites, fire signals, and well observed shooting stars, within certain limits for the determination of geographical longitudes. It is seen with amazement that the tremblings of two small magnetic needles, were they suspended deep in subterraneous space, measure the distance that intervenes between them ; that they tell us how far Kasan lies east from Gottingen, or from the banks of the River Seine. There are regions of the earth where the seaman, enveloped for days in fog, without sight of the sun or stars, without all other means of ascertaining the time, can still accurately determine the hour by the variation of the dip of the needle, and know whether he be to the north or south of the port towards which he would steer his course. If the sudden perturbation of the needle in its hourly course makes known the occurrence of a magnetic storm, the seat of the perturbing Tasso.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 193 cause — whether it be to seek in the crust of the earth itself, or in the upper regions of the air — remains^ to our extreme regret, as yet unde- termined. If we regard the earth as an actual magnet, then are we compelled, according to the decision of the deep thinking founder of a general theory of terrestrial magnetism, Frederick Gauss, to admit, that every eighth of a cubic metre, or thirty-sev(i«i tenths of a cubic foot of the earth, possesses, on an average, at least as much magnetism as a one pound magnetic bar. If iron and nickel, and probably cobalt also — not chrome, as was long supposed — be the only substances which become permanently magnetic, and retain polarity by a certain coercive force, the phenomena of Arago's rotative magnetism and Faraday's induced currents, assure us, on the other hand, that probably all ter- restrial substances may passingly comport themselves magnetically. From the experiments of the first of the great natural philosophers just mentioned, water, ice, glass, and charcoal affect the oscillations of the needle precisely as quicksilver does in the rotatory experiments. Almost all substances show themselves in a certain degree magnetic when they are conductors — that is to say, when they are traversed by a current of electricity. — Cosmos. 76.— THE COMBAT BETWEEN TANCRED AND ARGANTES. [Tasso, 1544 — 1595. Fairfax, — 1632. [ToRQUATO Tasso, born at Sorrento, March 11, 1544, studied law at the University of Padua, and wrote his first poem, "Rinaldo," at the age of eighteen. It was dedicated to the Cardinal Luigi d'Este, who took the young poet into his service as a gentleman attendant. Tasso fell in love with Laura Peperara, a lady of Mantua, in 1564, to whom he addressed many sonnets. He was afterwards captivated by the Princess Eleonora, sister of Alphonso II,, Duke of Ferrara, and the passion led to loss of favour and imprisonment. A complete edition of his great epic poem, " Godfrey of BuUoigne ; or the Recovery of Jerusalem," in twenty cantos, was published at Parma in 1581, and at Mantua in 1584. Tasso visited Rome for the last time in Nov., 1594, when the Pope and the Senate decreed that he was to be solemnly crowned with the laurel leaf in the Capitol, but the poet fell ill and died April 25, 1595. There are several English translations of the "Jerusalem," which has been rendered into most modern languages. Edward Fairfax, from whose version the following extract is taken, was a native of Yorkshire. His translation appeared in 1600, and he died in 1632. Hoole's life of Tasso appeared in 1762, Black's in 1810, and Milman's in 1850. There are numerous biographies of the poet. Hallam says: "'The Jerusalem' is read with pleasure in almost every canto. No poem, perhaps, if we except the ' ^Eneid,' has so few weak or tedious pages ; the worst passages are the speeches, which are too diffuse."] Tancred of body active was and light. Quick, nimble, ready both of hand and foot : But higher by the head the Pagan knight Of limbs far greater was, of heart as stout. o 194 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Tasso. Tancred laid low and traversed in his fight, Now to his ward retired, now struck out j Oft with his sword his foe's fierce blows he broke. And rather chose to ward than bear his stroke. But bold and bolt upright Argantes fought. Unlike in gesture, like in skill and art ; His sword outstretched before him far he brought. Nor would his weapon touch, but pierce his heart : To catch his point Prince Tancred strove and sought. But at his breast or helm's unclosed part He threatened death, and would with stretched-out brand His entrance close and fierce assaults withstand. With a tall ship so doth a galley fight. When the still winds stir not th' unstable main. Where this in nimbleness as that in might Excels ; that stands, this goes and comes again. And shifts from prow to poop with turnings light : Meanwhile the other doth unmoved remain, A-nd on her nimble foe approacheth nigh. Her mighty engines tumbleth down from high. The Christian sought to enter on his foe. Voiding his point, which at his breast was bent j Argentes at his face a thrust did throw. Which while the Prince awards and doth prevent,. His ready hand the Pagan turned so That all defence his quickness far o'erwent. And pierced his side, which done, he said, and smiled — *'The craftsman is in his own craft beguiled " Tancredie bit his lips for scorn and shame. Nor longer stood on points of fence and skill, But to revenge so fierce and fast he came. As if his hand could not o'ertake his will 3 And at his vizor aiming just, 'gan frame To his proud boast an answer sharp ; but still Argantes broke the thrust, and at half-sword. Swift, hardy, bold, in stept the Christian lord 3 With his left foot fast forward 'gan he stride. And with his left the Pagan's right arm hent -, With his right hand meanwhile the man's right side He cut, he wounded, mangled, tore, and rent : — Tasso.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 195 "To his victorious teacher/' Tancred cried, " His conquered scholar hath this answer sent." — Argantes chafed, struggled, turned and twined. Yet could not so his captive arm unbind : His sword at last he let hang by the chain. And griped his hardy foe in both his hands ; In his strong arms Tancred caught him again. And thus each other held and wrapt in bands. With greater might Alcides did not strain The giant Anteus on the Sylvian sands 3 On hold-fast knots their brawny arms they cast. And whom he hateth most each held embraced. Such was their wrestling, such their shocks and throws. That down at once they tumbled both to ground j Argantes (were it hap or skill, who knows ?) His better hand loose and in freedom found , But the good Prince, his hand more fit for blows. With his huge weight the Pagan underbound j But he, his disadvantage great that knew. Let go his hold, and on his feet up flew. Far slower rose th' unwieldy Saracine, And caught a rap ere he was reared upright : But as against the blust'ring winds a pine Now bends his top, now lifts his head on height. His courage so, when it 'gan most decline. The man reinforced and advanced his might. And with fierce change of blows renewed the fray. Where rage for skill, horror for art bore sway. The purple drops from Tancred's sides down railed. But from the Pagan ran whole streams of blood. Wherewith his force grew weak, his courage quailed. As fires decay which fuel want for food. Tancred, that saw his feeble arm now failed To strike his blows, that scant he stirred or stood. Assuaged his anger and his wrath allayed. And stepping back, thus gently spoke and said : — *' Yield, hardy knight, and chance of war, or me. Confess to have subdued thee in this fight ; I will no trophy, triumph, spoil of thee. Nor glory wish, nor seek a victor's right." — O 3 196 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Tasso. More terrible than erst herewith grew he. And all awaked his fury, rage, and might. And said — " Dar'st thou of 'vantage speak or think. Or move Argantes once to yield or shrink ? *' Use, use thy 'vantage ; thee and fortune both I scorn, and punish will thy foolish pride." — As a hot brand flames most ere it forth go'th. And, dying, blazeth bright on every side 5 So he (when blood was lost) with anger wroth. Revived his courage, when his puissance died ; And would his latest hour, which now drew nigh. Illustrate with his end, and nobly die. He joined his left hand to her sister strong. And with them both let fall his weighty blade. Tancred, to ward his blow, his sword up flung. But that it smote aside, nor there it stayed. But from his shoulder to his side along It glanced, and many wounds at once it made : Yet Tancred feared nought, for in his heart Found coward dread no place, fear had no part. His fearful blow he doubled, but he spent His force in waste, and all his strength in vain ; For Tancred from the blow against him bent Leaped aside, the stroke fell on the plain : With thine own weight o'erthrown to earth thou went, Argantes stout, nor could'st thyself sustain. Thyself thou threwest down, O happy man ! Upon whose fall none boast or triumph can. His gaping wounds the fall set open wide, The streams of blood about him made a lake ; Helped with his left hand, on one knee he tried To rear himself, and new defence to make. The courteous prince stepped back, and ''Yield thee," cried 3 No hurt he proffered him, no blow he strake. Meanwhile, by steahh, the Pagan false him gave A sudden wound, threat'ning with speeches brave. Herewith Tancredie furious grew, and said — " Villain ! does thou my mercy so despise?" Therewith he thrust and thrust again his blade. And through his vental pierced his dazzled eyes. Latimer.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 197 Argantes died, yet no complaint he made. But as he furious lived he careless dies ; Bold, proud, disdainful, fierce, and void of fear. His motions last, last looks, last speeches were. — Godfrey of Bulloigne ; or, the Recovery of Jerusalem, Book xix. § xi — xxvi. 77.— THE APOSTLES FISHERS OF MEN. [Bishop Latimer, 1472 — 1555. [Hugh Latimer, born at Thorcaston, in Leicestershire, in 1472, finished his education at Cambridge. Having, in 1535, been made Bishop of Worcester, he laboured zealously in his see, and became one of the most active promoters of the Refor- mation. On the passing of the Six Acts in 1539, Latimer resigned his bishopric, and on coming to London soon after to obtain surgical advice, was thrown into the Tower. Here he remained a prisoner six years. On the accession of Edward VL he obtained his liberty, but refused, on account of his great age, to resume his see. When Mary came to the throne, he was again committed to the Tower, and suffered at the stake at Oxford, with Ridley, Oct. i6th, 1555. Several of his sermons were published during his lifetime, and they have since been collected and reprinted. Hallam says ("Lit. Hist.," part i, ch. vi.): "They are read for their honest zeal and lively delineation of manners. They are probably the best specimens of a style then prevalent in the pulpit, and which is still not lost in Italy, nor among some of our own sectaries ; a style that came at once home to the vulgar, animated and effective, picturesque and intelligible, but too unsparing both of ludicrous associations and com- monplace invective." At the stake he encouraged his fellow-sufferer, Ridley, in these memorable words — " Be of good comfort. Master Ridley, and play the man ; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out." His life, by William Gilpin, appeared in 1755, and is given in the first volume of his Lives of the Reformers, published in 1809. A life, by Dr. Watkins, is prefixed to an edition of Latimer's "Fruitful Sermons," published in 1824, and a memoir, by the Rev. G. E. Corrie, is prefixed to the edition of his works, published by the Parker Society in 1844.] This is the gospel (Matthew iv. 18 — 20) which is read in the church this day : and it sheweth unto us how our Saviour called four persoi>s to his company j namely, Peter and Andrew, James and John, which were all fishers by their occupation. This was their general vocation j but now Christ our Saviour called them to a more special vocation. They were fishers still, but they fished no more for fish in the water, but they must fish now for men, with the net which was prepared to the same purpose, namely, with the gospel ; for the gospel is the net wherewith the apostles fished after they came to Christ, but specially after his departing out of this world : then they went and fished throughout the whole world. And of these fishers was spoken a great while ago by the prophet : for so it is written — " Behold, saith the Lord, I will send out many fishers to take them 3 and after that will I 198 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Latimer. send hunters to hunt them out from all mountains and hills, and out of the caves of stone." By these words God signified by his prophets,* how those fishers, that is, the apostles, should preach the gospel, and take the people therewith, (that is, all they that should believe,) and so bring them to God. It is commonly seen that fishers and hunters be very painful people both ; they spare no labour to catch their game, because they be so desirous and so greedy over their game, that they care not for pains. Therefore our Saviour chose fishers, because of these properties, that they should be painful and spare no labour j and then that they should be greedy to catch men, and to take them with the net of God's word, to turn the people from wickedness to God. Ye see, by daily experience, what pain fishers and hunters take^ how the fisher watcheth day and night at his net, and is ever ready to take all such fishes that he can get, and come in his way. So, likewise, the hunter runneth hither and thither after his game ; leapeth over hedges, and creepech through rough bushes j and all this labour he esteemeth for nothing, because he is so desirous to obtain his prey, and catch his venison. So all our prelates, bishops, and curates, parsons and vicars, should be as painful and greedy in casting their nets ; that is to say, in preaching God's word j in shewing unto the people the way to everlasting life; in exhorting them to leave their sins and wickedness. This ought to be done of them, for thereunto they \)Q called of God ; such a charge they have. But the most part of them set, now-a-days, aside this fishing j they put away this net -, they take other business in hand : they will rather be surveyors, or receivers, or clerks in the kitchen, than to cast out this net : they have the living of fishers, but they fish not, they are otherways occupied. But it should not be so j God will plague and most heinously punish them for so doing. They shall be called to make account one day, where they shall not be able to make answer for their misbehaviours, for not casting out this net of God's word, for suffering the people to go to the devil, and they call them not again, they admonish them not. Their perishing grieveth them not ; but the day will come when they shall repent from the bottom of their hearts ; but then it will be too late : then they shall receive their well deserved punishment for their negli- gence and slothfulness, for taking their living of the people, and not teaching them. The evangelists speak diversely of the calling of these four men, Peter, Andrew, James and John. Matthew saith, that ^^ Jesus called them, and they immediately left their nets, and followed him."t Luke * Jer. xvi. 16. -f Matthew iv. 20. Latimer.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 199 saith that our Saviour '' stood by the Lake of Genezareth, and there he saw two ships standing by the lake side, and he entered in one of these ships, which was Peter's, and desired him that he would thrust it a little from land : and so he taught the people -, and after that^ when he had made an end of speaking, he said to Simon Peter, cast out thy net in the deep : and Simon answered, we have laboured all night and have taken nothing ; nevertheless at thy commandment I will loose forth the net. And when they had cast it out they enclosed a great multitude of fishes. Now Peter, seeing such a multitude of fishes, was beyond himself, and fell down at Jesus's knees, saying, Lord, go from me, for I am a sinful man : for he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes, which they had taken. And there were also James and John the sons of Zebedee. And Jesus said unto Peter, Fear not from henceforth thou shalt catch men : and they brought the ships to land, and forsook all and followed him."* So ye hear how Luke describeth this story, in what manner of ways Christ called them -, and though he make no mention of Andrew, yet it was like that he was amongst them too, with Peter, John and James. The evangelist John, in the first chapter, describeth this matter of another manner of ways, but it pertaineth all to one end and to one effect : for it was most like that they were called first to come in acquaintance with Christ, and afterwaTds to be his disciples, and so in the end to be his apostles, which should teach and instruct the whole world. John the Evangelist saith, that Andrew was a disciple of John Baptist ; and when he had seen his master point to Christ with his finger, saying, *' Lo the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world"t — (they used in the law to offer lambs for the pacifying of God : now John called Christ the right Lamb M^hich should take away indeed all the sins of the world) ; now when Andrew heard whereunto Christ was come, he forsook his master John, and came to Christ 3 and fell in acquaintance with him, asked him where he dwelled j and, finding his brother Simon Peter he told him of Christ, and brought him to Him. He brought him not to John, but to Christ : and so should we do too ; we should bring to Christ as many as we could, with good exhortations and admonitions. Now Christ seeing Peter, said unto him, "Thou art Simon the son of Jonas ; thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpretation a stone :"t signifying that Peter should be a stedfast fellow, not wavering hither and thither. — Sermon on Matthew iv. 18, 19, and 20, preached on St. Andrew's Day, 1552. * Luke V. I — II. t John i. 29. % John i. 42. THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Hazlitt. 78.—KNOWLEDGE OF MANKIND. [Hazlitt, 1778 — 1830. [William Hazlitt, son of a Unitarian minister, was born at Maidstone, April 10, 1778, and became a student at the Unitarian College, at Hackney, in 1793. He left college in 1795, visited Paris in 1802, and having devoted himself to literary pur- suits, published anonymously " An Essay on the Principles of Human Action" in 1803. Hazlitt, who contributed to various periodicals, delivered a course of lectures on the History of English Philosophy in 18 13. The "Round Table," a collection of essays which appeared in 181 7, was followed by numerous works, amongst which "Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth," published in 182 1, and "A Life of Napoleon Buonaparte," in 1828, are best known. Sir A. Alison remarks : " In critical disquisitions on the leading characters and works of the drama he is not surpassed in the whole range of English literature." He died Sept. 18, 1830. A life by his son is prefixed to "Literary Remains," published in 1836.] A KNOWLEDGE of mankind is a little more than Sir Pertinax's instinct of bowing, or of never standing upright in the presence of a great man, or of that great blockhead the world. It is not a perception of truth, but a sense of power, and an instant determination of the will to submit to it. It is, therefore, less an intellectual acquirement than a natural disposition. It is on this account that I think both cunning and wisdom are a sort of original endowments, or attain maturity much earlier than is supposed, from their being moral qualities, and having their seat in the heart rather than the head. The difference depends on the manner of seeing things. The one is a selfish, the other is a disinterested view of nature. The one is the clear open look of integrity, the other is a contracted and blear-eyed obliquity of mental vision. If any one has but the courage and honesty to look at an object as it is in itself, or divested of prejudice, fear, and favour, he will be sure to see it pretty right ; as he who regards it through the refractions of opinion and fashion, will be sure to see it distorted and falsified, however the error may redound to his own advantage. Cer- tainly, he who makes the universe tributary to his convenience, and subjects all his impressions of what is right or wrong, true or false, black or white, round or square, to the standard and maxims of the world, who never utters a proposition but he fancies a patron close at his elbow who overhears him, who is even afraid in private to suffer an honest conviction to rise in his mind, lest it should mount to his iips, get wind, and ruin his prospects in life, ought to gain something in exchange for the restraint and force put upon his thoughts and faculties : on the contrary, he who is confined by no such petty and debasing trammels, whose comprehension of mind is " in large heart enclosed," finds his inquiries and his views expand in a degree com- mensurate with the universe around him -, makes truth welcome wher- Balzac] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 201 ever he meets her, and receives her cordial embrace in return. To see things divested of passion and interest, is to see them with the eye of history and philosophy. It is easy to judge right, or at least to come to a mutual understanding in matters of history^ and abstract morality. Why then is it so difficult to arrive at the same calm certainty in actual life ? Because the passions and interests are concerned, and it requires so much more candour, love of truth, and independence of spirit to encounter ^' the world and its dread laugh," to throw aside every sinister consideration, and grapple with the plain merits of the case. To be wiser than other men is to be honester than they ; and strength of mind is only courage to see and speak the truth. Perhaps the courage may be also owing to the strength ; but both go together and are natural, and not acquired. Do we not see in fables the force of the moral principle in detecting the truth ? The only effect of fables is, by making inanimate or irrational things actors in the scene, to remove the case completely from our own sphere, to take our self- love off its guard, to simplify the question ; and yet the result of this obvious appeal is allowed to be universal and irresistible. Is not this another example that ''the heart of man is deceitful above all things 3" or, that it is less our incapacity to distinguish what is right, than our secret determination to adhere to what is wrong, that prevents our dis- criminating one from the other ? It is not that great and useful truths are not manifest and discernible in themselves 3 but little dirty objects get between them and us, and from being near and gross, hide the lofty and distant. The first business of the patriot and the philan- thropist is to overleap this barrier, to rise out of this material dross. Indignation, contempt of the base and grovelling, makes the philosopher no less than the poet ; and it is the power of looking beyond self, that enables each to inculcate moral truth and nobleness of sentiment, the one by general precepts, the other by individual example. — Sketches and Essays. 79.— BALTHAZAR CLAES IN HIS LABORATORY. [Balzac, 1799 — 1850. [HoNOR^ DE Balzac, born at Tours, May 20, 1799, and educated at the college at Vendome, was aftei-wards placed with a notary at Paris, where he began writing for the press. Between 1821 — 7, he published several tales under the assumed name of Horace de St. Aubin, and in 1826, commenced as a partner in a printing and book- selling business, which did not prove successful. The first novel published vdth his own name, "Les Derniers Chouans, ou la Bretagne en 1800," appeared at Paris in 1829. This was followed by a long series of works of fiction, several of which have been translated into the English language. His " La Peau de Chagrin," published at Paris in 1829, first rendered him famous. The Countess Eveline THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Balzac. de Hanska, wife of a Polish nobleman, possessing large estates, wrote Balzac a complimentary letter on the publication of the " Medecin de Campagne" in 1835. This led to a correspondence ; the Countess, to whom he dedicated his novel " Sera- phita," became a widow, and they were married in 1848. He tried to write dramas, but failed. A complete edition of his works in 20 vols, was published at Paris 1853-5. Balzac died at Paris Aug. 18, 1850. A BANKER of the city came to demand payment of a bill of exchange for ten thousand francs, accepted by Claes. Marguerite having requested the banker to wait during the day, and evincing regret that she had not been made aware of this bill coming due, the latter informed her that the house of Protez and Chiffreville had nine others, of the same amount, falling due from month to month. ''^ All is said !" cried Marguerite ; '^the hour is come !" She sent for her father, and walked with hasty steps and in great agitation about the parlour, talking to herself. " Find a hundred thousand francs !" said she, '' or see our father in prison ! What is to be done ?" Balthazar did not come down. Tired of waiting for him. Mar- guerite went up to the laboratory. On entering, she found her father in an immense apartment, strongly lighted, furnished with machines, and heavy pieces of glasswork ; here and there books, tables loaded with products, ticketed and numbered. Everywhere the disorder which the profession of the savant drags in its train, offensive to Flemish habits. This collection of long-necked bottles, retorts, metals, fantastically-coloured crystallizations, sketches fastened against the walls, or cast upon the stoves, was dominated by the figure of Balthazar Claes, without his coat, his shirt-sleeves tucked up like those of a workman, and his open breast covered with hair as white as that on his head. His eyes were intensely, frightfully, fixed upon a pneu- matic machine. The recipient of this machine was surmounted and closed by a lens of double convex glasses ; the interior was filled with alcohol, and it collected in the powerful focus the rays of the sun, which entered by one of the compartments of the little garret window. The recipient, the plateau of which was isolated, communi- cated with the wires of an immense voltaic pile. Lemulquinier, occupied in moving the plateau of this machine, mounted on a movable axle, in order to keep the lens in a direction perpendicular to the rays of the sun, rose up, with a face black with dust, exclaiming — " Ah, mademoiselle, don't come in !" The aspect of her father, who, almost kneeling before his machine, received the light of the sun full upon his bald, bumpy head, the thin hairs of which resembled fine silver wire 3 his countenance contracted by fearful expectation 3 the singularity of the objects which sur- Balzac] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 203 rounded him ; the obscurity of most parts of this immense loft from which gleamed strange machines — all contributed to strike Marguerite, who exclaimed in an accent of terror, — "My father is mad!" She approached him, and whispered in his ear — " Send away Lemulquinier." " No, no, my child ; I want him. I expect the issue of a beautiful experiment, which nobody has dreamt of. We have been three days watching for a ray of the sun. I have found the means of submitting metals, in a perfect void, to concentrated sun-rays and electric currents. Look, then j in a moment the most energetic action a chemist has in his power is about to be displayed, and I alone " " Yes, father, but instead of vaponrizing metals, you ought to keep them to discharge your bills of exchange !" "Wait ! wait ! I tell you." " M. Mersktus has been here, father 3 he demands ten thousand francs within four hours !" '' Yes, yes, I know ; presently will do for that. I did sign a bill for some such trifle, which would be due this month 5 that is true j but I thought I should have found the absolute. Good God ! if it were a July sun my experiment would be completed!" He clutched his thin grey hair, seated himself in an old cane chair, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. " Monsieur is right. All this is owing to that beggarly sun ; it is too weak ! — the mean, idle " " Leave us, Lemulquinier," said she. " I am engaged in a new experiment, I tell you," said Claes. " Father, you must forget your experiments," said his daughter to him, when they were left alone ; " you have a hundred thousand francs to pay, and you do not possess a farthing. Leave your laboratory, your honour is at stake. What will become of you in prison ? Would you stain your grey hairs and the name of Claes by the infamy of bankruptcy? I will oppose myself to it 5 I will find strength to combat your madness ; it would be frightful to see you without bread in your last days. Open your eyes upon your position ! exercise a little reason !" "Madness!" cried Balthazar, who drew himself up, fixed his luminous eyes upon his daughter, crossed his arms upon his breast, and repeated the word madness so majestically, that Marguerite trembled. "Ah, your mother would not have spoken that word !" replied he j " she was not ignorant of the importance of my researches ; she studied my science in order to understand me ; she knew that I worked for humanity's sake, that there is nothing personal or sordid in me. The sentiment of a woman who loves is, I see, above filial 204 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Turner. affection. Yes, love is the most beautiful of all sentiments ! Exercise reason, indeed !" continued he, striking his breast. "Am I wanting in it ? Am I not myself ? We are poor, my child, very well ! I wish it to be so. I am your father, — obey me. I will make you rich when I please. Your fortune ! Bah ! that is a trifle ! When I shall have discovered a dissolvent for carbon, I will fill your parlour with diamonds ; and that is a nothing in comparison with what I am in search of. You surely can wait while I am consuming myself in gigantic efforts." " Father, I have no right to demand an account of you of the four millions you have squandered in this garret without a result. I will not mention my mother, whom you killed. If I had a husband, I should, no doubt, love him as much as my mother loved you, and should be ready to sacrifice everything to him. I have followed her orders in giving myself up to you entirely. I have proved it to you by not marrying, that you might not be forced to render an account of your guardianship. Let us leave the past and think of the present. I am come here to represent a necessity you have yourself created. Money must be had to provide for your bills of exchange, — do you understand that ? There is nothing left here that can be seized but the portrait of your ancestor, Van-Claes. I come, then, in the name of my mother, who proved too weak to defend her children against their father, and who ordered me to resist you ; — I come in the name of my brothers and sister — I come, father, in the name of all the Claes, to command you to discontinue your experimenrs, and to make a fortune by other means before you resume them. If you arm your- self with your paternity, which only makes itself felt to kill us, I have on my part, your ancestors and honour, which speak with a louder voice than chemistry ; families take precedence of science. I have been too much your daughter!" " And would now wish to be my executioner," said he, in. a weak voice. Marguerite made her escape, to avoid failing in the part she had undertaken to play: she thought she heard the voice of her mother, when she had said : " Do not thwart your father too much, love him dearly.'' — Balthazar, or Science and Love. 80.— THE WITENA-GEMOT, OR ANGLO-SAXON PARLIAMENT. [Turner, 1768 — 1847. [Sharon Turner, born in London, Sep. 24, 1768, was educated at a school in Pen- tonville, and at an early age was articled to an attorney. The first volume of his "History of the Anglo-Saxons" appeared in 1799, and the third in 1805. The three volumes of the " History of England during the Middle Ages, from the Turner.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 205 »r Norman Conquest to 1509," appeared in 1814, 1815, and 1823; "The History of the Reign of Henry VIII." in 1826; and "The History of the Reigns of Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth/' in 1829. Sharon Turner wrote some poems, and "The Sacred History of the World," in three volumes, which appeared in 1832, 1834, and 1837. He died in Red Lion Square, London, Feb. 13, 1847.] The gemot of the witan was the great council of the Anglo-Saxon nation j their parliament, or legislative and supreme judicial assembly. As the highest judicial court of the kingdom, it resembled our present House of Lords 5 and in those periods, when the peers of the realm represented territorial property, rather than hereditary dignities, the comparison between the Saxon witena-gemot and the Upper House of our modern parliament might have been more correctly made in their legislative capacity. As the German states are recorded by Tacitus to have had national councils, so the continental Saxons are also stated to have possessed them. If we had no other evidence of the political wisdom of our Gothic or Teutonic ancestors than their institution of the witena-gemots, or national parliaments, this happy and wise invention would be sufficient to entitle them to our veneration and gratitude. For they have not only given to Government a form, energy, and direction, more promo- tive of the happiness of mankind than any other species of it has exhibited, but they are the most admirable provision for adapting its exercise and continuance to all the new circumstances ever arising of society, and for suiting and favouring its continual progress. Of these assemblies, originating amid the woods and migrations of the Teutonic tribes, one important use has been to remove from the nation that has possessed and preserved them, the reproach, the bondage, and the miseiy of an immutable legislation. The Medes and Persians made it their right that their laws should never be changed ; not even to be improved. This truly barbaric conception, a favourite dogma also with the kingly priests, or priestly kings of the Nile, and even at Lacedemon, could only operate to curtail society of its fair growth, and to bind all future ages to be as imperfect as the past. It may produce such a political and inteDectual monstrosity as Egypt long exhibited, and force a nation to remain a piece of mechanism of bygone absurdity. But internal degradation and dis- comfort, external weakness, and national inferiority and decay, are the certain accompaniments of a policy so violent and unnatural. Instead of thus making the times of ignorance, national infancy, and incipient experience the standard and the laws of the country's future manhood, the Anglo-Saxon witena-gemot or parliament was a wise and parental lawgiver j not bound in the chains of an obsolete anti- 2o6 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Turner. quity, but always providing with a nurturing care 3 always living, feeling, and acting with the population and circumstances of the day, and providing such regulations, either by alterations of former laws, or by the additions of new ones, as the vicissitudes, novelties, wants, im- provement, sentiment, situation, and interest of the co-existing society, in its various classes, were found to be continually needing : sometimes legislating for the benefit of the rich, or the great, or the clergy, or the commercial, or the agriculturist j sometimes for the middling and lower orders ; and sometimes collectively for all. Open to petitions stating the grievances from which certain classes or individuals occa- sionally suffer, and acquiring thus a knowledge of the wants and feelings of society, which no vigilance of its own, or of Government, could by other means obtain : ready to enact new laws, as manifest evils suggest, and reasoning wisdom patronizes, an English parliament, with all its imperfections, many, perhaps, inevitable, is — I speak with reverence, and only use the expression from the want of another as meaning — the nearest human imitation of a superintending Providence which our necessities or our sagacity have as yet produced or devised. The right of petitioning brings before it all the evils, real or imagi- nary, that affect the population which it guards 3 and the popular part being new-chosen at reasonable intervals, from the most educated orders of society, is perpetually renewed with its best talents ; and, what is not less valuable, with its living and contemporaneous feelings, fears, hopes, and tendencies. No despotic Government, how- ever pure and wise, can have these advantages. It cannot so effec- tually know what its subjects want. It cannot so well judge what they ought to obtain. It cannot so completely harmonize with the sympa- thies and flowing mind of the day, because its majesty precludes the acquisition of such identity as a septennial or hexennial election infuses. Whether new members are chosen, or old ones are re-elected, in both cases the election bespeaks their affinity with the hearts and under- standings that surround them, and provides the security for a kind, vigilant, and improved legislation, more effectually than any other system has yet imparted. Our Anglo-Saxon ancestors had all these advantages, though the peculiar state of their society prevented them from having that full benefit of such a noble institution as we now enjoy. But they were petitioned, and they legislated ; and the dom-boc, or laws, of every Anglo-Saxon reign that has survived to us contains some im- provements on the preceding. Some of their members were also most probably chosen, like our own august parliament. The noble tree was then planted and growing, and had begun to produce fruit, though it had not obtained the majestic strength and dilation, and the beauty Park.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 207 and fertility of that which now overshadows^ protects, and distinguishes the British islands and their dependencies. — The History of the Anglo- Saxons from the Earliest Period to the Norman Conquest, Book viii, ch. iv. 81.— MANDINGO NEGRO'S STORY. [Park, 1771 — 1805. [MuNGO Park was born Sept. 10, 1771, at a farm on the banks of the Yarrow, near Selkirk, at the Grammar School of which town he received his education. When fifteen he was apprenticed to a surgeon, and enteied the University of Edinburgh in 1789. On completing the course he removed to London, and he went as surgeon of the " Worcester," which sailed for the East Indies in Feb. 1792. Under the auspices of his friend Sir Joseph Banks, and the African Association, Mungo Park left England to explore the Niger, May 22, 1795, and landed near the mouth of the Gambia June 21. After undergoing a variety of adventures he set sail for EngUmd, where he arrived Dec. 22, 1797. An account of his travels appeared in 1799. He was married Aug. 2 of that year, and resided for some time at his native place, but accepted the invitation to undertake another expedition into the interior of Africa, and left England Jan. 30, 1805, and reached Goree March 28. The expedition suffered severely from illness, and of forty-four Europeans who left Gambia in April, only three. Park and two soldiers, remained alive in November. The last letter he wrote was addressed to his wife, from Sansanding, Nov. 19, 1805. For some time nothing more was heard of the traveller, and investigation having been instituted, it was found that he had perished in the Niger, into which he plunged to escape from the natives, by whom he had been treacherously assailed. Some journals and letters which he had sent to England a short time before were published in 18 15, with a Memoir of this enterprising traveller, by Major RennelL] In the evening we marched out to see an adjoining village belonging to a Slatee named JemafFoo Maraadoo, the richest of all the Gambia traders. We found him at home 3 and he thought so highly of the honour done him by this visit, that he presented us with a fine bullock, which was immediately killed, and part of it dressed for our evening's repast. The Negroes do not go to supper till late ; and in order to amuse ourselves while our beef was preparing, a Mandingo* was desired to relate some diverting stories ; in listening to which, and smoking tobacco, we spent three hours. These stories bear some resemblance to those in the Arabian Nights Entertainments 3 but, in general, are of a more ludicrous cast. I shall here abridge one of them for the reader's amusement. *'^Many years ago," said the relater, "the people of Doomasansa (a * The Mandingoes, so called from having originally migrated from Manding, form the bulk of the inhabitants of the countries bordering on the river Gambia. 2o8 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Park. town on the Gambia) were much annoyed by a lion, that came every night, and took away some of their cattle. By continuing his depre- dations, the people were at length so much enraged, that a party of them resolved to go and hunt the monster. They accordingly pro- ceeded in search of the common enemy, which they found concealed in a thicket 3 and immediately firing at him, were lucky enough to wound him in such a manner, that, in springing from the thicket towards the people, he was thrown among the grass, and was unable to rise. The animal, however, manifested such appearance of vigour, that nobody cared to approach him singly ; and a consultation was held concerning the properest means of taking him alive ; a circum- stance, it was said, which, while it furnished undeniable proof of their prowess, would turn out to great advantage, it being resolved to convey him to the coast, and sell him to the Europeans. While some persons proposed one plan, and some another, an old man offered a scheme. This was, to strip the roof of a house of its thatch, and to carry the bamboo frame (the pieces of which are well secured together by thongs), and throw it over the Hon. If, in approaching him, he should attempt to spring upon them, they had nothing to do but to let down the roof upon themselves, and fire at the lion through the rafters. This proposition was approved and adopted. The thatch was taken from the roof of a hut, and the lion-hunters, supporting the fabric, marched courageously to the field of battle -, each person carrying a gun in one hand, and bearing his share of the roof on the opposite shoulder. In this manner they approached the enemy 3 but the beast had by this time recovered his strength 3 and such was the fierceness of his countenance, that the hunters, instead of proceeding any further, thought it prudent to provide for their own safety by covering themselves with the roof. Unfortunately, the lion was too nimble for them 3 for, making a spring while the roof was setting down, both the beast and his pursuers were caught in the same cage, and the lion devoured them at his leisure, to the great astonish- ment and mortification of the people of Doomasansa 3 at which place it is dangerous even at this day to tell the story 3 for it is become the subject of laughter and derision in the neighbouring countries, and nothing will enrage an inhabitant of that town so much as desiring him to catch a lion alive." — Travels in the Interior Districts of Africa, 1795—7^ vol. i. ch. 3. Browne.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 209 82.— OF THE PICTURES OF THE NINE WORTHIES.* [Sir THOMi\s Browne, 1605 — 1682. [Thomas Browne, born in Cheapside, October 19, 1605, was educated at Winchester, and Broadgate Hall, now Pembroke College, Oxford. He followed the medical pro- fession, took the degree of Doctor at Leyden, in 1633, and settled at Norwich in 1636. His first work, the "Religio Medici," published anonymously, in 1642, met with great success, and has been translated into most modern languages. His "Pseudo- doxia Epidemica; or Inquiries into Vulgar and Common Errors," appeared in 1646, and his " Hydriotaphia: Urn-burial, or a Discourse of Sepulchral Urns," called by Hallam his "best work," in 1658. He was the author of other works, some of which were not published during his lifetime. A collected edition of his writings, by Archbishop Tenison, appeared in 1684, and a complete edition by S. Wilkins in 1836. Browne, chosen honorary fellow of the College of Physicians in 1665, was knighted by Charles II. on his visit to Norwich in 167 1. A life accompanied his posthumous works published in 17 12; another was prefixed to the thirteenth edition of the "Religio Medici" in 1736; and Dr. Johnson wrote a memoir for the second edition of the "Christian Morals," published in 1756. Sir Thomas Browne was called "the philosopher of Norwich," at which city he died October T9th, 1682.] The pictures of the Nine Worthies are not unquestionable, and to critical spectators may seem to contain sundry improprieties. Some will inquire why Alexander the Great is described upon an elephant : for we do not find he used that animal in his armies, much less in his own person 3 but his horse is famous in history, and its name alive to this day.f Besides, he fought but one remarkable battle wherein there were any elephants, and that was with Porus, King of India, in which, notwithstanding, as Curtius, Arrianus, and Plutarch report, he was on horseback himself. And if because he fought against elephants he is with propriety set upon their backs, with no less (or greater) reason is the same description agreeable unto Judas Maccabaeus, as may be observed from the history of the Maccabees, and also unto Julius Caesar, whose triumph was honoured with captive elephants, as may be observed in the order thereof set forth by Jacobus Laurus.:}: And if * Namely, Joshua, Gideon, Samson, David, Judas Maccabaeus, Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Boulogne. The list varies in different authors, Richard, or Robert Burton, (probably an assumed name for Nath. Crouch,) in his "History of the Nine Worthies," published in 1687, enumerates them thus : — three Gentiles, viz.. Hector, Alexander the Great, and Julius Caesar; three Jews, viz., Joshua, David, and Judas Maccabaeus ; and three Christians, viz., Arthur, Charle- magne, and Godfrey of Boulogne. In the pageant of the nine worthies in " Love's Labour's Lost," (Act v, sc. 2) Shakespeare introduces only five out of the nine worthies, the five being Pompey, Alexander, Judas Maccabaeus, Hercules, and Hector. A pamphlet, by Richard Johnson, author of "The Seven Champions of Christendom," published in 1592, and reprinted in the "Harleian Miscellany," (vol. viii. p. 437,) entitled "The Nine Worthies of London," gives an account of nine illustrious citizens. t See page 169, Cowley. X In Splendore Urbis Antiquae. THE EFERY-DJY BOOK [Browne. also we should admit this description upon an elephant, yet were not the manner thereof unquestionable, that is, in his ruling the beast alone j for beside the champion upon their back, there was also a guide or ruler which sat more forward to command or guide the beast.. Thus did King Porus ride when he was overthrown by Alexander; and thus are also the towered elephants described, (Maccabees, ii. 6.) Upon the beasts there were strong towers of wood, which covered every one of them, and were girt fast unto them by devices; there were also upon every one of them thirty-two strong men, beside the Indian that ruled them. Others will demand, not only why Alexander upon an elephant, but Hector upon an horse ; whereas his manner of fighting, or presenting himself in battle, was in a chariot,* as did the other noble Trojans, who, as Pliny affirmeth, were the first inventors thereof. The same way of fight is testified by Diodorus, and thus delivered by Sir Walter Raleigh : " Of the vulgar, little reckoning was made, for' they fough , all on foot, slightly armed, and commonly followed the success of their captains, who rode not upon horses, but in chariots drawn by two or three horses. "f And this was also the ancient way of fight among the Britons, as is delivered by Diodorus, Caesar, and Tacitus; and there want not some who have taken advantage hereof, and made it one argument of their original from Troy. Lastly, by any man versed in antiquity, the question can hardly be avoided, why the horses of these worthies, especially of Caesar, are described with the furniture of great saddles and stirrups ; for saddles, largely taken, though some defence there may be, yet that they had not the use of stirrups seemeth of lesser doubt; as Pancirollus hath observed, as Polydore, Virgil, and Petrus Victorius have confirmed, expressly dis- coursing hereon ; as is observable from Pliny, and cannot escape our eyes in the ancient monuments, medals, and triumphant arches of the Romans. Nor is there any ancient classical word in Latin to express them. ****** Polybius, speaking of the way which Hannibal marched into Italy, useth the word l3el3r)iJiaTi(7Tat, that is, saith Petrus Victorius, it was stored with devices for men to get upon their horses, which ascents were termed hemata, and in the life of Caius Gracchus, Plutarch expresseth as much. For endeavouring to ingratiate himself with the people, besides the placing of stones at every mile's end, he made at nearer distances certain elevated places * The use of chariots for war and other purposes is of very ancient origin. See Gen. xiv. 7, and xlv. 27. t History of tlie World. Herbert.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 211 and scalary ascents, that by the help thereof they might with better ease ascend or mount their horses. Now if we demand how cavahers, then destitute of stirrups, did usually mount their horses, as Lipsius informeth, the unable and softer sort of men had their avafioy/iQ, or stratores, which helped them upon horseback, as in the practice of Crassus, in Plutarch, and Caracalla, in Spartianus, and the later example of Valentinianus, who because his horse rose before, that he could not be settled on his back, cut off the right hand of his strator. But how the active and hardy persons mounted, Vegetius^ resolves us, that they used to vault or leap up, and therefore they had wooden horses in their houses and abroad, that thereby young men naight enable themselves in this action ; wherein by instruction and practice they grew so perfect, that they could vault upon the right or left, and that with their sword in hand. Julius Pollux adviseth to teach horses to incline, dimit, and bow down their bodies, that their riders may with better ease ascend them. And thus may it more causally be made out what Hippocrates affirmeth of the Scythians, that using continual riding they were generally molested with the sciatica, or hip gout. Or what Suetonius delivereth of Germanicus, that he had slender legs, but increased them by riding after meals ; that is, the humours descending upon their pendulosity, they having no support or suppe- daneous stability. Now if any shall say that these are petty errors and minor lapses, not considerably injurious unto truth, yet is it neither reasonable nor safe to contemn inferior falsities, but rather as between falsehood and truth there is no medium, so should they be maintained in their distances ; nor the contagion of the one approach the sincerity of the other. — Pseudodoxia Epidemica, or Inquiries into Vulgar and Common Errors, book V. ch. 13. 83.— DEMEANOUR IN CHURCH. [George Herbert, 1593 — 1633. [George Herbert, fifth brother of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, was born at Mont- gomery Castle, April 3, 1593, and educated at Westminster and Trinity College, Cambridge. He was elected Fellow in 1615, public orator in 1619, and having taken orders, was made prebendary of Leighton Bromswold, in 1626. He married and obtained the rectory of Bemerton, near Salisbury, in 1630, and died of a quotidian ague in February, 1633. His chief work, "The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations," was published at Cambridge in 1631. He left a prose work, " A Priest to the Temple ; or, the Country Parson, his Character and Rule of Holy Life," which appeared in 1652. His Life, by Isaac Walton, appeared in 1670, and other biographies have been published.] * De re Milit. P 2 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Herbert. Though private prayer be a brave design. Yet public hath more promises, more love. And love is a weight to hearts ; to eyes, a sign. We all are but cold suitors, let us move Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven ; Pray with the most ; for, where most pray, is heaven. When once thy feet enters the church, be bare. God is more there than thou r for thou art there Only by his permission. Then beware ; And make thyself all reverence and fear. Kneeling ne'er spoiled silk stockings. Quit thy state : All equal are within the church's gate. Resort to sermons ; but to prayers most : Praying is the end of preaching. Oh, be dresl ! Stay not for the other pin. Why, thou hast lost A joy, for it, worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee ; Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose, about thee. In time of service seal up both thine eyes, And send them to thy heart ; that, spying sin. They may weep out the stains by them did rise. Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in. Who marks in church -time others' symmetry. Makes all their beauty his deformity. Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part. Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures thither. Christ purged his Temple -, so must thou thy heart. All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well ; For churches either are heaven or hell. Judge not the preacher j for he is thy judge. If thou mislike him, thou conceivest him not. God calleth preaching, folly. Do not grudge To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. The worst speak something good. If all want sense, God takes a text and preacheth patience. He that gets patience, and the blessings which Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains. He that, by being at church, escapes the ditch. Which he might fall in by companions, gains. ChiUingworth.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 213 He that loves God's abode, and to combine With saints on earth, shall with them one day shine. Jest not at preachers' language or expression. How know^'st thon but thy sins made him miscarry? Then turn thy faults and his into confession. God sent him whatsoe'er he be. Oh, tarry And love him for his Master ! His condition. Though it be ill, makes him no ill physician. The Temple. The Church Porch. 84.— THE RELIGION OF PROTESTANTS. [Rev. W. Chillingworth, 1602 — 1644. [William Chillingworth, born at Oxford in October, 1602, and educated at the Universit}^, was made a Fellow of Trinity College in 1628. He was induced by the Jesuit, Fisher, to renounce the Protestant faith, and to join the Jesuit College at Douay. In 1631 he left the Roman Catholics, and returned to Oxford.. His "Religion of Protestants: a Safe Way to Salvation" appeared in 1635. He was made Chancellor of Salisbury in 1639, and during the civil war attached himself to the royal cause. At Arundel Castle he was taken prisoner by the parliamentary army, and died at the bishop's palace at Chichester Jan. 30, 1644. His life, by Dr. Birch, is prefixed to the folio edition of "The Religion of Protestants," published in 1742, and a complete list of his controversial works is given in Kippis's "Biog. Brit." vol. iii. p. 515.] When I say the religion of Protestants is in prudence to be preferred before yours (the Roman CathoHc), as, on the one side, I do not understand by your religion the doctrine of Bellarmine or Baronius, or any other private man amongst youj nor tlie doctrine of the Sor- bonne, or of the Jesuits, or of the Dominicans, or of any other parti- cular company among you, but that wherein you all agree, or profess to agree, "The doctrine of the Council of Trent}" so accordingly on the other side, by the '^'Religion of Protestants," I do not understand the doctrine of Luther, or Calvin, or Melancthon j nor the Confession of Augusta, Augsbourg, or Geneva, nor the Catechism of Heidelberg, nor the Articles of the Church of England, no, nor the harmony of Protestant confessions; but that wherein they all agree, and which they all subscribe with a greater harmony, as a perfect rule of their taith and actions; that is, the Bible. The Bible, I say, the Bible only, is the religion of Protestants ! AVhatsoever else they believe besides it, and the plain, irrefragable, indubitable consequences of it, well may they hold it as a matter of opinion ; but as matter of faith and reli- gion, neither can they with coherence to their owai grounds believe it 214 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Stephen. themselves, nor require the behef of it of others, without most high and most schismatical presumption. I for my part, after a long and (as I verily believe and hope) impartial search of " the true way to eternal happiness," do profess plainly that I cannot find any rest to the sole of my foot but upon this rock only. I see plainly and with mine own eyes, that there are popes against popes, councils against councils, some fathers against others, the same fathers against themselves, the consent of fathers of one age against the consent of fathers of another age, the church of one age against the church of another age. Traditive interpretations of Scripture are pretended ; but there are few or none to be found : no tradition, but only of Scripture, can derive itself from the fountain, but may be plainly proved either to have been brought in, in such an age after Christ, or that in such an age it was not in. In a word, there is no sufficient certainty but of Scripture only for any considering man to build upon. This therefore, and this only, I have reason to believe: this I will profess, according to this I will live, and for this, if there be occasion, I will not only willingly, but even gladly, lose my life, though I should be sorry that Christians should take it from me. Propose me anything out of this Book, and require whether 1 believe it or no, and seem it never so incomprehen- sible to human reason, I will subscribe it with hand and heart, as knowing no demonstration can be stronger than this ; God hath said so, therefore it is true. In other things I will take no man's liberty of judgment from him -, neither shall any man take mine from me. I will think no man the worse man, nor the worse Christian, I will love no man the less, from differing in opinion from me. And what measure I mete to others, I expect from them again. I am fully assured that God does not, and therefore that man ought not, to require any more of any man than this, to believe the Scripture to be God's word, to endeavour to find the true sense of it, and to live according to it. This is the religion which I have chosen after a long deliberation, and I am verily persuaded that I have chosen wisely, much more wisely, than if I had guided myself according to your church's autho- rity. — The Religion of Protestants, ch. vi. § j6. 85.— PASCAL'S PROVINCIAL LETTERS. [Stephen, 1789 — 1859. [James Stephen, whose father was a Master in Chancery, was born in 1789. Educated at Trinity Hall, Cambridge,* he was afterwards called to the bar. He held various offi- cial appointments, commencing as counsel of the Colonial Department, and was made Stephen.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 215 permanent Under-Secretary to the Colonies. On his retirement in 1847, he received the honour of knighthood. His contributions to the "Edinburgh Review" were pubhshed in 1849, under the title "Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography." He was made Regius Professor of Modern History in the University of Cambridge in 1849. His "Lectures on the History of France" appeared in Nov. 1851. Sir James Stephen died at Coblentz, Sept. 16, 1859.] In the whole compass of literature, ancient and modern, there is pro- bably nothing in the same style which could bear a comparison with tlie "Provincial Letters." Their peculiar excellence can be illus- trated only by the force of contrast 5 and, in that sense, the '' Letters of Junius" may afford the illustration. To either series of anonymous satires must be ascribed the praise of exquisite address, and of irresistible vigour. Each attained an imme- diate and a lasting popularity 3 and each has exercised a powerful influ- ence on the literature of succeeding times. But here all resemblance ends. No writer ever earned so much fame as Junius with so little claim to the respect or gratitude of his readers. He embraced no large principles 5 he awakened no generous feelings 3 he scarcely advo- cated any great social interest. He gives equally little proof of the love of man, and of the love of books. He contributed nothing to the increase of knowledge, and but seldom ministered to blameless de- light. His topics and his thoughts were all of the passing day. His invective is merciless and extravagant ; and the veil of public spirit is barely thrown over his personal antipathies and inordinate self-esteem. No man was ever so greatly indebted to mere style ; yet, with all its recommendations, his is a style eminently vicious. It is laboured, pompous, antithetical — never self-forgetful, never flowing freely, never in repose. The admiration he extorts is yielded grudgingly 3 nor is there any book so universally read which might become extinct with so little loss to the world as "The Letters of Junius." Reverse all this, and you have the characteristics of the " Provincial Letters." Their language is but the transparent, elastic, unobtrusive medium of thought. It moves with such quiet gracefulness as entirely to escape attention, until the matchless perspicacity of discussions, so incomprehensible under any management but his, forces on the mind an inquiry into the causes of so welcome a phenomenon. Pascal's wit, even when most formidable, is so tempered by kindness, as to show that the infliction of pain, however salutary, was a reluctant tribute to his supreme love of truth. His playfulness is the buoyancy of a heart which has no burden to throw off, and is gay without effort. His in- dignation is never morose, vindictive, or supercilious : it is but philan- thropy, kindling into righteous anger and generous resentment, and imparting to them a tone of awful majesty. The unostentatious 2i6 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Sidney. master of all learning, he finds recreation in toils which would para- lyse an ordinary understanding, yet so sublimated is that learning with the spirit of philosophy, as to make him heedless of whatever is trivial, transient, and minute, except as it suggests or leads to what is compre- hensive and eternal. But the canons of mere literary criticism were never designed to measure that which constitutes the peculiar greatness of the author of the " Provincial Letters." His own claim was to be tried by his peers — by those who in common with him, possess a mental vision purified by contemplating that light in which is no darkness at all, and affections enlarged by a benevolence which, having its springs in heaven, has no limits to its diffusion on earth. Among his ascetic brethren in the valley of Port- Royal, he himself recognised the meet, if not the im- partial, judges of his labours. They hailed with transport an ally who, to their own sanctity of manners, and to more than their own genius, added popular arts to which they could make no pretension. We infer, indeed, though doubtfully, that they were taught by the excellent M. Singlin to regard and censure such exultation as merely human. That great spiritual anatomist probably rebuked and punished the glee which could not but agitate the innermost folds of Arnauld's heart, as he read his apologist's exquisite analysis of the Pouvoir Prockain and of the Graces suffisantes qui ne sont pas efficaces. For history records the misgivings of Mademoiselle Pascal on the question, whether M. Singlin would put up with the indomitable gaiety which would still chequer with some gleams of mirth her brother's cell at Les Granges, even after his preternatural ingenuity had been exhausted in rendering it the most desolate and cheerless of human abodes. — Essay vi. The Port Royalists. 86.— THE STORM AT SEA. [Sir Philip Sidney, 1554 — 1586. [Philip Sidney, called by Sir Walter Raleigh the English Petrarch, born at Penshurst, in Kent, Nov, 29, 1554, went to school at Shrewsbury in 1564, entered at Christ- church, Oxford, in 1569, and afterwards studied at Cambridge. In 1572 he set out on his travels, and did not return to England until May, 1575. Having held various appointments, he was knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1583, and made by her Governor of Flushing in 1585. In an encounter near Zutphen, September 22, 1586, he received a wound, and after lingering some days, died (October 7) in the arms of his wife, the only daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham, to whom he had been married in 1583. His body was brought to England, and, after lying in state, was interred with great ceremony in Old St. Paul's Cathedral, February 16, 1587. None of his works ai)pearc(l during his lifetime. "The Arcadia," written at Wilton, was published in 1590 under the title "The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia." Sidney.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 217 " Astrophel and Stella/' written in 1581, first appeared in 1591. "The Defence of Poesie/*' composed in 1581, was published in 1595. Sir Philip Sidney contributed several small poems to collections of the period. Hallam (Lit. Hist, part ii. ch. 7) calls him "the first good prose writer in any positive sense of the word/' and says of his " Defence of Poesie/' " The great praise of Sidney in this treatise is, that he has shown the capacity of the English language for spirit, variety, gracious idiom, and masculine firmness." His life, by Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke, was published in 1652, by Thomas Zouch in 1808, by Julius Lloyd in 1862, and by H. R. F. Bourne in 1862. A notice of this writer appears in Fuller's " Worthies," in Wood's " Athen. Oxon.," and in "The Retrospective Review," vols. ii. and x.] But bj that the next morning began a little to make a gilded show of a good meaning, there arose even with the sun, a vail of dark clouds before his face, which shortly, like ink poured into w^ater, had blacked over all the face of heaven 3 preparing as it w^ere a mournful stage for a tragedy to be played on. For forthwith the wqnds began to speak louder, and as in a tumultuous kingdom, to think themselves fittest instruments of commandment 3 and blowing w^hole storm^s of hail and rain upon them, they were sooner in danger than they could almost bethink themselves of change. For then the traitorous sea began to swell in pride against the afflicted navy, under which, while the heaven favoured them, it had lain so calmly, making mountains of itself, over w^hich the tossed and tottering ship should climb, to be straight carried down again to a pit of hellish darkness 3 with such cruel blows against the sides of the ship, that, which way so ever it went, was still in his mahce, that there was left neither power to stay, nor way to escape. And shortly had it so dissevered the loving company, which the day before had tarried together, that most of them never met again, but w'ere swallowed up in his never-satisfied mouth. Some, indeed, as since was knowm, after long w^andering, returned into Thessalia ; others recovered Bi%antium, and served E?iarcJius in his w^ar. But in the ship wherein the princes were, now left as much alone as proud lords be wdien fortune fails them, though they employed all industry to save themselves, yet w4iat they did w^as rather for duty to nature than hope to escape so ugly a darkness as if it would prevent the night's coming, usurped the day's right, which, accompanied sometimes wdth thunders, always with horrible noises of the chasing winds, made the masters and pilots so astonished, that they knew not how to direct 3 and if they knew, they could scarcely, when they directed, hear their own whistle. For the sea strove with the winds which should be louder, and the shrouds of the ship, with a gastfal noise to them that were in it, witnessed that their ruin w^as the wager of the others con- tention, and the heaven roaring out thunder the more amazed them, as having those powers for enemies. Certainly there is no danger carries with it more honour than that which grows in those floating- 2i8 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Foxe. kingdoms. For that dwelling-place is unnatural to mankind : and then the terribleness of the continual motion, the desolation of the far- being from comfort, the eye and the ear having ugly images ever before it, doth still vex the mind even when it is best armed against it. But thus the day past, if that might be called day, while the cunningest mariners were so conquered by the storm, as they thought it best with stricken sails to yield to be governed by it 3 the valiantest feeling in- ward dismayedness, and yet the fearfuUest ashamed fully to show it, seeing that the princes, who were to part from the greatest fortunes, did in their countenances accuse no point of fear, but encouraging them to do what might be done, putting their hands to every most painful office, taught them at one instant to promise themselves the best, and yet to despise the worst. But so were they carried by the tyranny of the wind, and the treason of the sea all that night, which the elder it was, the more wayward it showed itself towards them : till the next morn- ing known to be a morning better by the hour-glass than by the day's clearness, having run fortune as blindly as itself ever was painted, least the conclusion should not answer to the rest of the play, they were driven upon a rock, which, hidden with those outrageous waves, did, as it were, closely dissemble his cruel mind, till with an unbelieved violence, but to them that have tried it, the ship ran upon it 3 and seeming willingerto perish than to have her course stayed, redoubled her blows till she had broken herself in pieces, and, as it were, tearing out her own bowels to feed the sea's greediness, left nothing with it but despair of safety and expectation of a loathsome end. There was to be seen the divers manner of minds in distress : some sat upon the top of the poop weeping and wailing till the sea swallowed them 3 some one more able to abide death, than fear of death, cut his own throat to pre- vent drowning ; some prayed, and there wanted not of them which cursed, as if the heavens could not be more angry than they were. But a monstrous cry begotten of many roaring voices, was able to infect with fear a mind that had not prevented it with the power of reason. — The Arcadia. Book ii. 87.— WOLSEY'S EXACTIONS. [Rev. J. Foxe, 1517 — 1587. [John Foxe, commonly called the Martyrologist, was born at Boston, in Lincolnshire, in 1517; was educated at Oxford, and became Fellow of Magdalen College in 1543. He was deprived of his fellowship July 22, 1545, and travelled abroad till the accession of Elizabeth, when he became a prebend of Salisbury. The first part of his " History of the Acts and Monuments of the Church," otherwise called " Foxe's Book of I Foxe,] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 219 Martyrs," was published atStrasburg in 1554, and the first English edition in 1562-3. His " Ecclesiastical History^" appeared in 1570. Foxe died April 18, 1587. His life, by S. R. Cadey, was published, with an edition of his work, 1843-9.] This glorious cardinal, in his tragical doings, did exceed so far all measure of a good subject, that he became more like a prince than a priest ; for although the King bore the sword, yet he bore the stroke, making (in a manner) the whole realm to bend at his beck, and to dance after his pipe. Such practices and fetches he had, that when he had well stored his own coffers first, he fetched the greatest part of the king's treasure out of the realm, in twelve great barrels full of gold and silver, to serve the Pope's wars : and, as his avaricious mind was never satisfied with getting, as his restless head was so busy, ruffling in public matters, that he never ceased before he had set both England, France, Flanders, Spain, and Italy, together by the ears. Thus this Legate well following the steps of his master, the Pope, and both of them well declaring the nature of their religion, under the pretence of tlie Church, practised great hypocrisy ; and under the authority of the king, he used great extortion, with excessive taxes and loans, and valuation of every man's substance, so pilling the commons and merchants, that every man complained, but no redress was had. Neither yet were the churchmen altogether free from the pill-axe and poU-axe 3 from the pilling and polling, I mean, of this cardinal, who, under his power legantine, gave by preventions all benefices belonging to spiritual persons ; by which, hard it is to say, whether he purchased to himself more riches or hatred of the spiritualty. So far his license stretched, that he had power to suppress divers abbeys, priories, and monasteries 3 and so he did, taking from them all their goods, movables, and unmovables, except it were a little pension, left only to the heads of certain houses. By the said power legantine, he kept also general visitations through the realm, sending Doctor John Alein, his chaplain, riding in his gown of velvet, and with a great train, to visit all religious houses 3 whereat the friars observ^ant, much grudged, and would in nowise condescend thereunto 3 wherefore they were openly accursed at Paul's Cross, by Friar Forest, one of the same order 3 so that the cardinal at length prevailed both against them and all others. Against whom great disdain arose among the people, perceiving how, by visitations, making of abbots, probates of testaments, granting of faculties, licenses, and other pollings in his courts legantine, he had made his treasure equal with the king's, and yet every year he sent great sums to Rome. And this was their daily talk against the cardinal. Besides many other matters and grievances which stirred the hearts of the commons against the cardinal, this was one which much 220 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Kinglake. pinched them -, for that the said cardinal had sent out certain straight commissions in the King's name, that every man should pay the sixth part of his goods. Whereupon there followed great mutterings amongst the commons 3 in such sort, that it had almost grown to some riotous commotion or tumult, especially in the parts of Suffolk, had not the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, with wisdom and gentleness stepped in and appeased the same. Another thing that nibbed the stomachs of many, or rather which moved them to laugh at the cardinal, was this : to see his insolent presumption, so highly to take upon him, as the King's chief coun- cillor, to set a reformation in the order of the King's household, making and establishing new ordinances in the same. He likewise made new officers in the house of the Duke of E.ichmond, which was then newly begun. In like manner, he ordained a council, and established another household for the Lady Mary, then being princess 5 so that ail things were done by his consent, and by none other. All this, with much mxore, he took upon him, making the King believe that all should be to his honour, and that he needed not to take any pains ; insomuch that the charge of all things was committed unto him : whereat many men smiled, to see his great folly and presumption. At this time the cardinal gave the King the lease of the manor of Hampton Court, which he had of the lord of St. John's, and on which he had done great cost. Therefore the King again, of his gentle nature, licensed him to lie in his manor of Richmond -, and so he lay there certain times. But when the common people, and especially such as were King Henry the Seventh's servants, saw the cardinal keep house in the royal manor of Richmond, which King Henry the Seventh so much esteemed, it was a marvel to hear how they grudged, saying, " See, a butcher's dog lies in the manor of Richmond !" These, with many other opprobrious words, were spoken against the cardinal, whose pride was so high, thac he regarded nothing : yet he was hated of all men." — Acts and Monuments, 88.— LADY HESTER STANHOPE AND THE ARABS. [Kinglake, 1811. [Alexander William Kinglake, born at Taunton in 1802, wa.s educated at Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge, and was called to the bar at Lincoln's Inn in 1837. His first work, " Eothen," an account of Eastern travel, was published in 1844. He retired from the bar in 1856, and was elected member for Bridgewater in 1857. The first portion of a " History of the Russian War, 1854-6," appeared in 1863. Mr. Kinglake has contributed to the " Quarterly Review " and other periodicals.] Kinglake.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 221 For hours and hours this wondrous white woman poured forth her speech, for the most part concerning sacred and profane mysteries ; but every now and then she would stay her lofty flight, and swoop down upon the world again : whenever this happened, I was interested in her conversation. She adverted more than once to the period of her lost sway amongst the Arabs, and mentioned some of the circumstances that aided her in obtaining influence with the wandering tribes. The Bedouin, so often engaged in irregular warfare, strains his eyes to the horizon in search of a coming enemy, just as habitually as the sailor keeps his '' bright look- out" for a strange sail. In the absence of telescopes, a far-reaching sight is highly valued J and Lady Hester Stanhope had this power. She told me that on one occasion when there was good reason to expect hostilities, a far-seeing Arab created great excitement in the camp by declaring that he could distinguish some moving objects upon the very farthest point within the reach of his eyes ; Lady Hester was consulted, and she instantly assured her comrades in arms that there were indeed a number of horses within sight, but that they were without riders. The assertion proved to be correct ; and from that time forth, her superiority over all others, in respect of far sight, remained undisputed. Lady Hester related this other anecdote of her Arab life. It was when the heroic qualities of the Englishwoman were just beginning to be felt amongst the people of the desert, that she was marching one day, along with the forces of the tribe to which she had allied herself. She perceived that preparations for an engagement were going on • and upon her making inquiry as to the cause, the Sheik at first affected mystery and concealment, but at last confessed that war had been declared against his tribe, on account of its alliance with the English princess, and that they were now unfortunately about to be attacked by a very superior force : he made it appear that Lady Hester was the sole cause of hostility betwixt his tribe and the impending enemy, and that his sacred duty of protecting the Englishwoman whom he had admitted as his guest, was the only obstacle which prevented an amicable settlement of the dispute. The Sheik hinted that his tribe was likely to sustain an almost overwhelming blow, but at the same time declared that no fear of the consequences, however terrible to him and his whole people, should induce him to dream of abandoning his illustrious guest. The heroine instantly took her part : it was not for her to be a source of danger to her friends, but rather to her enemies j so she resolved to turn away from the people, and trust for help to none, save only her haughty self. The Sheiks affected to dissuade her from so rash a course, and fairly told her, that although they (having been freed from her presence) would be able to make good terms for themselves 222 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Hobbes. yet that there were no means of allaying the hostility felt towards her, and that the whole face of the desert would be swept by the horsemen of her enemies so carefully as to make her escape into other districts almost impossible. The brave woman was not to be moved by terrors of this kind ; and, bidding farewell to the tribe which had honoured and protected her, she turned her horse's head, and rode straight away, without friend or follower. Hours had elapsed, and for some time she had been alone in the centre of the round horizon, when her quick eye perceived some horsemen in the distance. The party came nearer and nearer ; soon it was plain that they were making towards her ; and presently some hundreds of Bedouins, fully armed, galloped up to her, ferociously shouting, and apparently intending to take her life at the instant with their pointed spears. Her face at the time was covered with the yashmack, according to Eastern usage ; but at the moment when the foremost of the horsemen had all but reached her with their spears, she stood up in her stirrups, withdrew the yashmack that veiled the terrors of her countenance, waved her arm slowly and disdainfully, and cried out, with a loud voice, "Avaunt!"* The horsemen recoiled from her glance, but not in terror. The threatening yells of the assailants were suddenly changed for loud shouts of joy and admiration at the bravery of the stately Englishwoman, and festive gun-shots were fired on all sides around her honoured head. The truth was, that the party belonged to the tribe with which she had allied herself, and that the threatened attack, as well as the pretended apprehension of an engagement, had been contrived for the mere purpose of testing her courage. The day ended in a great feast, prepared to do honour to the heroine ; and from that time her power over the minds of the people grew rapidly. Lady Hester related this story with great spirit ; and I recollect that she put up her yashmack for a moment, in order to give me a better idea of the effect which she produced by suddenly revealing the awfulness of her countenance. — Eothen, ch. viii. 89.— PRECISION OF LANGUAGE. [Hobbes, 1588 — 1679. [Thomas Hobbes was born at Malmesbury April 5, 1588. Educated at Magdalen Hall, Oxford, he became private tutor in Lord Hardwicke's (afterwards Earl of Devonshire) family in 1608. He was intimate with Lord Bacon, Lord Herbert of * She spoke it, I dare say, in English. The words would not be the less effective for being spoken in an unknown tongue. Lady Hester, I believe, never learnt to speak the Arabic with a perfect accent. ftoboes.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 223 Cherbury, Ben Jonson, and Descartes. His translation of " Thucydides " appeared in 1628, and his " Elementa Philosophica de Give" was published at Paris in 1642^ and a second edition was published in Holland in 1647. In the latter year Hobbes was ap- pointed mathematical tutor to the Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles II. His treatises, entitled " Human Nature," and " De Corpore Politico," appeared in London in 1650, and the " Leviathan" in 165 1. Soon after the Restoration a pension of looZ. per annum was settled on Hobbes, and in 1666 his " Leviathan " and " De Give" were censured by Parliament. He wrote his life in Latin verse in 1672, and published his transla- tion of Homer in 1675. A memoir is prefixed to the folio edition of his " Moral and Political Works " published in 1759. Hobbes, called, from the place of his birth, the Philosopher of Malmesbury, died Dec. 4, 1679, in his ninety-second year. An edition of his English and Latin works, first collected and edited by Sir William Molesworth, appeared in 1839-45. Dr. Warburton termed him the terror of his age, and Hallam (Lit. His., Part iii. ch. 3, § 154) says: — " In nothing does Hobbes deserve more credit than in having set an example of close observation in the philosophy of the human mind. If he errs, he errs like a man who goes a little out of the right track, not like one who has set out in a wrong one. The eulogy of Stewart on Descartes, that he was the father of this experimental psychology, cannot be strictly wrested from him by Hobbes, inasmuch as the publications of the former are of an earlier date ; but we may fairly say that the latter began as soon, and prosecuted his inquiries farther. It seems natural to presume that Hobbes, who is said to have been employed by Bacon in translating some of his works into Latin, had at least been led by him to the inductive process which he has more than any other employed. But he has seldom mentioned his predecessor's name ; and indeed his mind was of a different stamp ; less excursive, less quick in discovering analogies, and less fond of reasoning from them, but more close, perhaps more patient, and more apt to follow up a predominant idea, which sometimes becomes one of the ' idola speciis ' that deceived him."] Seeing that truth consisteth in the right ordering of names in our affirmations, a man that seeketh precise truth had need to remember what every name he useth stands for, and to place it accordingly, or else he will find himself entangled in words, as a bird in lime twigs, the more he struggles the more belimed. And therefore in geometry, which is the only science that it hath pleased God hitherto to bestow on mankind, men begin at settling the significations of their words j which settling of significations they call definitions, and place them in the beginning of their reckoning. By this it appears how necessary it is for any man that aspires to true knowledge, to examine the definitions of former authors 3 and either to correct them where they are negligently set down, or to make them himself. For the errors of definitions multiply themselves according as the reckoning proceeds, and lead men into absurdities, which at last they see, but cannot avoid, without reckoning anew from the begin- ning, in which lies the foundation of their errors. From whence it happens, that they which trust to books, do as they that cast up many little sums into a greater, without considering whether those little sums were rightly cast up or not ; and at last finding the error visible, and not mistrusting their first grounds, know not which way to clear 224 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Gascoigne. themselves, but spend time in fluttering over their books ; as birds that entering by the chimney, and finding themselves enclosed in a chamber, flutter at the false light of a glass v^dndow, for want of wit to consider which way they came in. So that in the right definition of names lies the first use of speech j which is the acquisition of science; and in wrong, or no definitions, lies the first abuse ; from which proceed all false and senseless tenets 3 which make those men that take their instruction from the authority of books, and not from their own meditation, to be as much below the condition of ignorant men, as men endued with true science are above it. For between true science and erroneous doctrines, ignorance is in the middle. Natural sense and imagination are not subject to absurdit)\ Nature itself cannot err ; and as men abound in copiousness of language, so they become more wise, or more mad than ordinar)^ Nor is it possible without letters for any man to become either excellently wise, or, unless his memory be hurt by disease or ill constitution of organs, excellently foolish. For words are wise men's counters, they do but reckon by them j but they are the money of fools, that value them by the authority of an Aristotle, a Cicero, or a Thomas,* or any other doctor whatsoever, if but a man. — Leviathan, part i. ch. iv. 90.— C H R I S T M A S . [Mrs. Gascoigne, 1813- [Mrs. Gascoigne, youngest daughter of John Smith, M.P,, of Dale Park, born in 1813, and married to General Gascoigne in 1834, was, at an early age, distinguished for her devotion to literature. Her first work, " Temptation, or a Wife's Perils," appeared in .1839, ^^^ '^^ attributed to several authors of note, and, amongst others, to the Hon. Mrs. Norton. "The School for Wives" appeared in 1842, *•' Evelyn Harcourt" in 1847, and " Belgravia," a poem, in 1851. " Spencer's Cross Manor House," a child's story, " Recollections and Tales of the Crystal Palace," a poem, and "The Next-door Neighbours," a novel, appeared in 1852. Mrs. Gascoigne has con- tributed to " All the Year Round," and other periodicals. " Doctor Harold," a novel, was published in 1865.] But turn we now, to a more gladsome strain. For Christmas comes, and pleasures in its train ; Thrice happy Christmas, with its festive mirth. Its heavenly message, ' Peace — good will on earth' — Blest be the welcome season ! blest to all Its glad event — its glorious festival ! Nor rich nor poor at this bright time should mourn ; For all alike the Saviour Child was born ; Aquinas, called the Angelic Doctor, born 1224; died March 7, 1274. Gascoigne.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 225 And though some hearts be sad — some eyes be dim. Yet shall He comfort all who come to Him, And at His bidding, inward strife shall cease. As once the storm was stayed — and all was peace. Lo ! now the day is come — the wished- for day. And all this Christian land shines bright and gay. Aromid Belgravia's thousand homes, the voice Of joy and health is heard, and bids rejoice. From heart to heart the kindly wish is sped. The rich are merry, and the poor are fed. The toiling artisan can thankful share The general rest, and eat his Christmas fare j The smoke-dried shopman to the country hies. And revels in the sight of clear blue skies j The weary clerk, who scribbles all the year. Can take the pen from his enduring ear And banquet on the bird, by whose grey wing He earns the pittance that the feast can bring. The pallid usher, worn with ceaseless noise. And freed at length from fifty graceless boys. His aged mother seeks, and by her side Forgets his wretched lot, his injured pride. Looks with a hopeful eye to better things. And feels the grateful peace that Christmas brings. Each jocund school-boy to his home departs. To be received by longing, loving hearts. To sport and feast at will, and, if he can. Ride, drive, skate, dance — and be in all a man. The statesman, burthened with a nation's cares. For this one day that nation's quiet shares. Casts off the onerous weight of public life. And smiles his own old smile upon his wife j Watches with secret joy his children's play. And in tliese hours of peace, rejoices more than they. Nor is the female world less full of glee 3 The moping governess at last is free. And from the schoolroom, where with patient mind. She daily drudges, " cabined, cribbed, confined," Comes forth — unwonted smiles upon her face. And in the railroad takes a first-class place j To London hies, and there with cherished friends, A joyous Christmas, gay with pleasures, spends j Q 226 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Gascoigne. Dances the old year out, and new year in. And, like her betters, seeks fond hearts to win. Hails blest Vacuna's* short but welcome reign. And dreads return to plodding life again. Meanwhile her pupils, wild with youthful glee. Like her, enjoy the sweets of liberty. Revel in games, charades, and endless fun. And do much mischief, leaving tasks undone j Lament, like her, the hours' too swift career. And wish that Christmas lasted all the year. The sempstress, pale with toil and scanty fare. Creeps forth to revel in the ambient air. Glad — for this day hath brought its wonted treat. One rare for her — a taste of wholesome meat. The cloak-room damsel, who with well-built shape Fits on all day the mantle, shawl, and cape. Surveying in the glass with flippant stare First her own form, and then the whisp'ring Fair, Rude to the set her practised eye deems poor. Cringing to those whose purse is full and sure — E'en she at length is free, and can to-day Her figure to the out- door world display. Can don her own smart shawl — the shop forget. And spend her hours with some congenial set. The ancient spinster, who in country town. Has one small tenement she calls her own. Boasts now a guest — her favourite brother — come To spend his Christmas in her humble home. Together they discourse of bygone years. Of buried parents — former hopes and fears — Each past event — each ancient hope and pain. Till, as they talk, their youth returns again. And they forget how soon the mouldering stone That bears those honoured names, must bear their own. Thus all are happy. On this happiest day. Sorrow and toil alike seem scared away. And a short respite from distress and fear Marks this bright period of the Christian's year. Belgravia, * Vacuna, the Goddess of Vacations, whose festival was in December. Aiford.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 227 91.— THE HOUSEHOLD OF A CHRISTIAN. [Rev. Dr. Alford, 1810. [Henry Alford, born in London in 1810, was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. His firstwork," Poems and Poetical Fragments/' appeared in 1831 ; "The School of the Heart," and other poems in 1835. He became Fellow of his College in 1835, ^^^ from that year till 1853 was Vicar of Wymeswold, Leicestershire. In 1841 he was Hul- sean Lecturer in the University of Cambridge, and Examiner of Logic and Moral Philosophy in the University of London from 1841-1857. The hrst volume of his Greek Testament appeared in 1841. In 1853 he was appointed Minister of Quebec Chapel, and in 1857 Dean of Canterbury. In addition to the afore-mentioned pub- lications. Dr. Aiford is the author of many sermons and other works.] The household is not an accident of nature, but an ordinance of God. Even nature's processes, could we penetrate their secrets, figure forth spiritual truths 5 and her highest and noblest arrangements are but the representations of the most glorious of those truths. That very state out of which the household springs, is one, as Scripture and the Church declare to us, not to be taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, seeing that it sets forth and represents to us the relation between Christ and his Church. The household is a representation, on a small scale, as regards numbers, but not as regards the interests concerned, of the great family in heaven and earth. Its whole relations and mutual duties are but reflexions of those which subsist between the Redeemer and the people for whom He hath given Himself. The household, then, is not an institution whose duties spring from beneath — from the necessities of circumstances merely j but it is an appointment of God, whose laws are His laws, and whose members owe direct account to Him. The father of a household stands most immediately in God's place. His is the post of greatest responsibility, of greatest influence for good or for eviL His it is, in the last resort, to fix and determine the character which his household shall bear. According as he is good or bad, godly or ungodly, selfish or self-denying, so will for the most part the complexion of the household be also. As he values that which is good, not in his professions, for which no one cares, but in his practice, which all observe, so will it most likely be valued also by his family as they grow up and are planted out in the world. Of all the influences which can be brought to bear on man, paternal influence may be made the strongest and most salutary : and whether so made or not, is ever of immense weight one way or the other.. For remem- ber, that paternal influence is not that which the father strives to exeri; merely, but that which in matter of fact he does exert. That superior life, ever moving in advance of the young and observing and imitative life of all of us, that source from which all our first ideas came, that voice which sounded deeper into our hearts than all other voices, a 2 228 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Alford. ilay by day, year by year, through all our tender and plastic childhood, will all through life, almost in spite of ourselves, still keep in advance of us, still continue to sound : no other example will ever take so firm hold, no other superiority be ever so vividly and constantly felt. And again remember, this example goes for what it is really worth. Words do not set it — religious phrases do not give it its life and power — it is not a thing of display and effort, but of inner realities, and recurring acts and habits. It is not the raving of the wind round the precipice, — not the sunrise and sunset, clothing it with golden glory, — which moulded it and gave it its worn and rounded form : but the unmarked dropping of the silent waters, the melting of the yearly snows, the gushing of the inner springs. And so it will be, not that which the outward eye sees in him, not that which men repute him, not public praise, nor public blame, that will enhance or undo a father's influence in his household ; but that which he really is in the hearts of his family : that which they know of him in private : the worth to which they can testify, but which the outer world never saw ; the affections which flow in secret, of which they know the depth, but others only the surface. And so it will be likewise with a father's religion. None so keen to see into a man's religion, as his own household. He may deceive others without J he may deceive himself: he can hardly long succeed in deceiving them. If religion with him be merely a thing put on : an elaborate series of outward duties, attended to for ex- pediency's sake, — something fitting his children, but not equally fitting him : O, none will so soon and 50 thoroughly learn to appreciate this, as those children themselves : there is not any fact which, when dis- covered, will have so baneful an effect on their young lives, as such an appreciation. No amount of external devotion will ever counter- balance it : no use of religious phraseology, nor converse with rehgious people without. But if, on the other hand, his religion is really a thing in his heart : if he moves about day by day as seeing One invisible : if the love of Christ is really warming the springs of his inner life, then, however inadequately this is shown in matter or in manner, it will be sure to be known and thoroughly appreciated by those who are ever living their lives around him. — Quebec Chapel Sermons, xxvi. Sermon on Joshua, xxiv. 15. Smith.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 229 92.— OF THE ORIGIN AND USE OF MONEY. [Adam Smith, 1723 — 1790. [Adam Smith, who is said to have laid the foundation of the science of political economy, was born at Kircaldy, June 5, 1723, and received his education at the grammar-school of his native town, the University of Glasgow and Balliol College, Oxford. He took up his residence at Edinburgh in 1748, and was elected Professor of Logic in the University of Glasgow in 1751, and Professor of Moral Philosophy in 1752. His "Theory of Moral Sentiments" appeared in 1759. In 1764 Adam Smith accompanied the Duke of Buccleugh on a continental tour which lasted three years. The first edition of the "Inquiry into the Nacure and Causes of the Wealth of Nations" appeared in 1776, and the third edition, withseveral additions, in 1784. The rectorship of the University of Glasgow was conferred upon him in 1787. On receiving in 1788 the appointment of one of the Commissioners of Customs for Scotland, Adam Smith again took up his residence in Edinburgh, where he died July 8, 1790. His life, by Dugald Stewart, was published in 1795, and another life, by W. Play fair, in 1805.] When the division of labour has been once thoroughly established, it is but a very small part of a man's wants which the produce of his own labour can supply. He supplies the far greater part of them by ex- changing that surplus part of the produce of his own labour, which is over and above his own consumption, for such parts of the produce of other men's labour as he has occasion for. Every man thus lives by exchanging, or becomes in some measure a merchant, and the society itself gro\^'s to be what is properly a commercial society. But when the division of labour first began to take place, this power of exchanging must frequently have been very much clogged and embarrassed in its operations. One man, we shall suppose, has more of a certain commodity than he himself has occasion for, while another has less. The former consequently would be glad to dispose of, and the latter to purchase, a part of this superfluity. But if this latter should chance to have nothing that the former stands in need of, no exchange can be made between them. The butcher has more meat in his shop than he himself can consume, and the brewer and the baker would each of them be willing to purchase part of it. But they have nothing to otfer in exchange, except the dift^erent productions of their respective trades, and the butcher is already provided with all the bread and beer which he has immediate occasion for. No exchange can, in this case, be made between them. He cannot be their merchant, nor they his customers 5 and they are all of them thus mutually less service- able to one another. In order to avoid the inconveniency of such situations, every prudent man in every period of society, after the first establishment of the division of labour, must naturally have endeavoured to manage his atfairs in such a manner, as to have at all times by him, besides the peculiar produce of his own industry, a certain quantity of 23© THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Smith. some one commodity or other, such as he imagined few people would be likely to refuse in exchange for the produce of their industry. Many different commodities, it is probable, were successively both thought of and employed for this purpose. In the rude ages of society, cattle are said to have been the common instruments of commerce 5 and, though they must have been a most inconvenient one, yet in old times we find things were frequently valued according to the number of cattle which had been given in exchange for them. The armour of Diomede, says Homer, cost only nine oxen 5 but that of Glaucus cost an hundred oxen. Salt is said to be the common instrument of commerce and exchanges in Abyssinia ; a species of shells in some parts of the coast of India ; dried cod at Newfoundland j tobacco in Virginia ; sugar in some of the West India Colonies ; hides or dressed leather in some other countries -, and there is at this day a village in Scotland where it is not uncommon, I am told, for a work- man to carry nails instead of money to the baker's shop or to the ale- house. In all countries, however, men seem at last to have been determined by irresistible reasons to give the preference, for this employment, to metals above every other commodity. Metals can not only be kept with as little loss as any other commodity, scarce anything being less perishable than they are, but they can likewise, without any loss, be divided into any number of parts, as by fusion those parts can easily be re-united again ; a quality which no other equally durable commodi- ties possess, and which more than any other quality renders them fi.t to be the instruments of commerce and circulation. The man who wanted to buy salt, for example, and had nothing but cattle to give in exchange for it, must have been obliged to buy salt to the value of a whole ox, or a whole sheep at a time. He could seldom buy less than this, because what he was to give for it could seldom be divided with- out loss ; and, if he had a mind to buy more, he must, for the same reasons, have been obliged to buy double or triple the quantity, the value, to wit, of two or three oxen, or of two or three sheep. If, on the contrary, instead of sheep or oxen, he had metals to give in exchange for it, he could easily proportion the quantity of the metal to the precise quantity of the commodity which he had immediate occa- sion for. Different metals have been made use of by different nations for this purpose. Iron was the common instrument of commerce among the ancient Spartans ; copper among the ancient Romans ; and gold and silver among all rich and commercial nations. — An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the fVealth of Nations, vol. 1. boctk i. ch. 4. Hawthorne.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 231 93.— PHCEBE PYNCHEON'S CHAMBER. [Hawthorne, 1804 — 1864. [Nathaniel Hawthorne, or Hathorne, born at Salem, Massachusetts, July 4, 1804, was contemporary with Longfellow atBowdoin College, where he graduated in 1825. His first literary production was a romance published anonymously at Boston in 1832. The first series of "Twice Told Tales" contributed to an American periodical, appeared in 1837, ^^^^ the second series in 1842. "Mosses from an Old Manse" appeared in 1846. In 1847 he was appointed surveyor in the custom-house at Salem, and in 1853 American Consul at Liverpool. "The Scarlet Letter" was published in i8f;o; "The House of the Seven Gables" in 1851; "The Blithesdale Romance" in 1852, and "The Life of President Pierce" in 1852. Hawthorne retired from the Consulship in 1857, published " Transformation" in i860, and died in America, May 19, 1864. Many of this writer's works have been republished in England, though his popularity has suffered from the offensive remarks upon the English people in his last work, " Our Old Home," pubhshed in 1862.] Phcebe Pyncheon slept, on the night of her arrival, in a chamber that looked down on the garden of the old house. It fronted towards the east, so that at a very seasonable hour a glow of crimson light came flooding through the window, and bathed the dingy ceiling and paper-hangings in its own hue. There were curtains to Phosbe's bed 5 a dark, antique canopy and ponderous festoons, of a stuff which had been rich, and even magnificent, in its time ; but which now brooded over the girl like a cloud, making a night in that one corner, while elsewhere it was beginning to be day. The morning light, however, soon stole into the aperture at the foot of the bed, betwixt those faded curtains. Finding the new guest there, — with a bloom on her cheeks like the morning's own, and a gentle stir of departing slumber in her limbs, as when an early breeze moves the foliage, — the dawn kissed her brow. It was the caress which a dewy maiden — such as the Dawn is, immortally — gives to her sleeping sister, partly from the impulse of irresistible fondness, and partly as a pretty hint that it is time now to unclose her eyes. At the touch of those lips of light, Phcebe quietly awoke, and, foe a moment, did not recognise where she was, nor how those heavy cur- tains chanced to be festooned around her. Nothing, indeed, was absolutely plain to her, except that it was now early morning, and that, whatever might happen next, it was proper, first of all, to get up and say her prayers. She was the more inclined to devotion, from the grim aspect of the chamber and its furniture, especially tbe tall stiff chairs^ one of which stood close by her bedside, and looked as if some old- fashioned personage had been sitting there all night, and had vanished only just in season to escape discovery. When Phoebe was quite dressed, she peeped out of the window. 232 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Hawthorne. and saw a rose-bush in the garden. Being a very tall one, and of luxurious growth, it had been propped up against the side of the house, and was literally covered with a rare and very beautiful species of white rose. A large portion of them, as the girl afterwards discovered, had blight or mildew at their hearts j but, viewed at a fair distance, the whole rose-bush looked as if it had been brought from Eden that very summer, together with the mould in which it grew. The truth was, nevertheless, that it had been planted by Alice Pyncheon, — she was PhoRbe's great-great-grand- aunt, — in soil which, reckoning only its cultivation as a garden -plat, was now unctuous with nearly two hun- dred years of vegetable decay. Growing as they did, however, out of the old earth, the flowers still sent a fresh and sweet incense up to their Creator j nor could it have been the less pure and acceptable, because Phoebe's young breath mingled with it, as the fragrance floated past the window. Hastening down the creaking and carpetless stair- case, she found her way into the garden, gathered some of the most perfect of the roses, and brought them to her chamber. Little Phcebe was one of those persons who possess, as their ex- clusive patrimony, the gift of practical arrangement. It is a kind of natural magic that enables these favoured ones to bring out the hidden capabilities of things around them ; and particularly to give a look of comfort and habitableness to any place, which, for however brief a period, may happen to be their home, A wild hut of underbush, tossed together by wayfarers through the primitive forest, would acquire the home aspect by one night's lodging of such a woman, and would retain it long after her quiet figure had disappeared into the surround- ing shade. No less a portion of such homely witchcraft was requisite, to reclaim, as it were, Phoebe's waste, cheerless, and dusky chamber, which had been untenanted so long — except by spiders, and mice, and rats, and ghosts — that it was all overgrov/n with the desolation which watches to obliterate every trace of man's happier hours. What was precisely Phoebe's process, we find it impossible to say. She appeared to have no preliminary design, but gave a touch here and another there j brought some articles of furniture to light, and dragged others into the shadow ; looped up or let down a window-curtain ; and, in the course of half an hour, had fully succeeded in throwing a kindly and hospitable smile over the apartment. No longer ago than the night before, it had resembled nothing so much as the old maid's heart j for there was neither sunshine nor household fire in one nor the other, and, save for ghosts and ghostly reminiscences, not a guest, for many years gone-by had entered the heart or the chamber. There was still another peculiarity of this inscrutable charm. The bed-chamber, no doubt, was a chamber of very great and varied ex- Alison.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 233 perience, as a scene of human life : the joy of bridal nights had throbbed itself away here; new immortals had first drawn earthly breath here 3 and here old people had died. But — whether it were the white roses, or whatever the subtle influence might be — a person of delicate instinct would have known at once that it was now a maiden's bed-chamber, and had been purified of all former evil and sorrow by her sweet breath and happy thoughts. Her dreams of the past night, being such cheerful ones, had exorcised the gloom, and now haunted the chamber in its stead. — The House of the Seven Gables, chap. V, 94.— THE GIRONDISTS. [Sir A. Alison, Baut., 1792 — 1867. Archibald Alison, born Dec. 29, 1792, at Henley, in Shropshire, of which place his father held the perpetual curacy, and educated at the University of Edinburgh, was called as an advocate to the Scottish bar in 1814, and was appointed deputy-advocate in 1822, which office he held till 1830. His first literary production, "Principles of the Criminal Law of Scotland," pubhshed at Edinburgh in 1832, is a standard work. It was followed by "The Practice of the Criminal Law" in 1833. The first volume of his great work, "The History of Europe, from the Commencement of the French Revolution in 1789 to the Battle of Waterloo" was published in 1839. It was com- pleted in ten volumes, the last of which appeared in 1842. A continuation of the work, under the title " History of Europe from the Fall of Napoleon in 1815 to the Accession of Louis Napoleon in 1852," in nine vols., was brought out between 1852 and 1859. ^^^ ^- Alison, who has written a "Life of the Duke of Marlborough" which appeared in Nov. 1847, ^^^ several other works,- was created a baronet in 1852. A writer in the "Foreign Quarterly Review" remarks, " The History of Europe during the French Revolution is by far the most remarkable historical work of the century."] The Girondists were the philosophers of the Revolution. Their ideas were often grand and generous, drawn from the heroes of Greece and Rome, or the more enlarged philanthropy of modern times ; their language ever indulgent and seducing to the people ; their principles those which gave its early popularity and its immense celebrity to the Revolution. But they judged of mankind by a false standard : their ruinous error consisted in supposing that the multitude could be regu* lated by the motives which influenced the austere patriots, whom they numbered among their own body. An abstract sense of justice, a passion for general equality, a repugnance for violent governments, distinguished their speeches ; but yet from their innovarions has sprung the most oppressive tyranny of modern times, and they were at last found joining in many measures of the most flagrant iniquity. The dreadful war which ravaged Europe for twenty years was provoked by their 434 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Alison. declamations j the death of the King, the overthrow of the throne, the Reign of Terror, flowed from the principles which they pro- rnulgated. It is no apology for such conduct to allege that they were sincere in their desire for a Republic and the happiness of France : the common proverb, that " Hell is paved with good intentions," shows how generally perilous conduct, even when flowing from pure motives, is found to lead to the most disastrous consequences. They were too often, in their political career, reckless and inconsiderate 3 and thence their eloquence and genius only rendered them the more dangerous from the multitudes who were influenced by such alluring expressions. Powerful in raising the tempest, they were feeble and irresolute in allaying it ; invincible in suffering, heroic in death, they were destitute of the energy and practical experience requisite to avert disaster. The democrats supported them as long as they urged forward the Revolution, and became their bitterest enemies as soon as they strove to allay its fury. They were constantly misled by ex- ipecting that intelligence was to be found among the lower orders ; that reason and justice would prevail with the multitude; and as con- stantly disappointed by experiencing the invariable ascendant of passion or interest among their popular supporters ; — the usual error of elevated and generous minds, and which so frequently unfits them for the actual administration of affairs. Their tenets would have led them to support the constitutional throne, but they were unable to stem the torrent of democratical fury which they themselves had ex- cited, and compelled, to avert still greater disasters, to concur in many cruel measures, alike contrary to their wislies and their principles. The leaders of this party were Vergniaud, Brissot, and Roland; men of powerful eloquence, generous philanthropy, and Roman firm- ness ; who knew how to die, but not to live ; who perished because they wanted the audacity and wickedness requisite for success in a Revolution. The radical and inherent vice of this party was their irreligion ; and the dreadful misfortunes in which they involved their country proved how inadequate the most splendid talents are to the management of human affairs, or the right discharge of social duty, without that over- ruling principle. With all their love of justice, they declared Louis guilty; with all their humanity they voted for his death. The peasants of La Vendee, who trusted only to the rule of duty pre- scribed in their religion, were never betrayed in the same manner into acts for which no apology can be found. Whenever statesmen abandon the plain rules of duty and justice, and base their conduct on the quicksands of supposed expedience, they are involved in a series of errors which quickly precipitate them into the most serious crimes. Macartney.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 23^ But the greatest efforts of human wisdom or virtue are unequal to direct or sustain the mind in the trying scenes which a Revolution induces : it is the belief of futurity, and a sense of religion alone, which can support humanity in such calamities 3 and their want of such principles rendered all the genius and philanthropy of the Girondists of no practical avail in stemming the disasters of the Revo- lution. — History of Europe, from the Commencement of the French Revolution in 1789 to the Restoration of the Bourbons in 1815, vol. i. ch. vi. 95.— SMALL FEET OF THE CHINESE WOMEN. [Lord Macartney, 1737 — 1806. [George Macartney, born at Lissanoure, near Belfast, May 14, 1737, was educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and entered the Inner Temple, London, in 1759. In 1764 he was appointed Envoy Extraordinary to the Empress of Russia, and in 1767 Ambassador, which post he resigned. In Jan. 1769, he became Chief Secretary for Ireland; in 1775 Governor of Granada; and in 1780 Governor of Madras. In 1792 was appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to the Court of Pekin, and was the first Envoy sent to China, from which country he returned to England in 1794. The title of baron was conferred upon him in 1776, and he obtained an earldom in 1794. He was appointed Governor of the Cape of Good Hope in 1796. Lord Macartney died at Chiswick, March 31, 1806. ^neas Anderson published a narrative of this Embassy in 1795, but the best work on the subject, " An Authentic Account of an Embassy from the King of Great Britain to the Emperor of China," by Sir George Leonard Staunton,* who accompanied Lord Macartney as secretary, was published in 1797. This work was prepared from the papers of Earl Macartney, who is the actual author of many of the descriptions. Sir John Barrow'sf "Life of Earl Macartney," and a selection from his unpublished papers, appeared in 1807.] Of most of the latter (Chinese women), even the middle and inferior classes, the feet were unnaturally small, or rather truncated. They appeared as if the fore part of the foot had been accidentally cut off, leaving the remainder of the usual size, and bandaged like the stump of an amputated limb. They undergo, indeed, much torment, and cripple themselves in great measure, in imitation of ladies of higher rank, among whom^ it is there the custom to stop, by pressure, the growth of the ankle as well as foot from the earliest infancy ; and, leaving the great toe in its natural position, forcibly to bend the others, and retain them under the foot, till at length they adhere to, as if * Born in 1737, died Jan. 12, 1801. f The author of various works of travel, was born in Lancashire, June 19, 1764, and died in London, Nov. 23, 1848. 236 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Macartney. buried in the sole, and can no more be separated. Notwithstanding the phabiHty of the human frame in tender years, its tendency to expansion at that period must, whenever it is counteracted, occasion uneasy sensations to those who are so treated 3 and before the ambition of being admired takes possession of those victims to fashion, it requires the vigilance of their female parents to deter them from relieving themselves from the firm and tight compresses, which bind their feet and ankles. Where those compresses are constantly and carefully kept on, their feet are symmetrically small. The young creatures are indeed obliged, for a considerable time, to be supported when they attempt to walk. Even afterwards they totter,- and always walk upon their heels. An exact model was afterwards procured of a Chinese lady's foot,* from which the opposite engraving has been taken. This artificial diminutiveness of the feet, though it does not entirely prevent their use, must certainly cramp the general growth, and injure the constitution of those who have been subjected to it. Some of the very lowest classes of the Chinese, of a race confined chiefly to the mountains and remote places,, have not adopted this unnatural custom. But the females of this class are held by the rest in the utmost degree of contempt, and are employed only in the most menial domestic offices. So inveterate is the custom, which gives pre-eminence to mutilated before perfect limbs,, that the interpreter averred, and every subsequent information confirmed the assertion, that if, of two sisters, otherwise every way equal, the one had thus been maimed, while nature was suffered to make its usual progress in the other, the latter would be considered as in an abject state, unworthy of associating with the rest of the family, and doomed to perpetual obscurity, and the drudgery of servitude. In forming conjectures upon the origin of so singular a fashion among the Chinese ladies, it is not very easy to conceive why this mode should have been suddenly or forcibly introduced amongst them by the other sex. Had men been really bent upon confining constantly to their homes the females of their families, they might have effected it without cruelly depriving them of the physical power of motion. No such custom is known in Turkey or Hindostan, where women are kept in greater habits of retirement than in China. Opinion, indeed, more than power, governs the general actions of the human race ; and so preposterous a practice could be maintained only by the example and persuasion of those who, in their own persons, had submitted to it. Men who have silently approved, and indirectly encouraged it, as those '■• An engraving of a Chinese lady's foot appears in the original work. Feltham.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 237 of India are supposed to do that much more barbarous custom of widows burning themselves after the death of their husbands. But it is not violence, or the apprehension of corporal suffering, but the horror and disgrace in consequence of omitting, and the idea of glory arising from doing, what is considered to be an act of duty, at the expense of life, which leads to such a sacrifice. In that instance ages must have past to ripen prejudices productive of a consequence so dreadful : but the pride of superiority, and the dread of degradation, have been frequently found sufficient to surmount the common feelings of nature ; and to many women a voluntary constraint upon the body and mind is, in some degree, habitual. 1'hey who recoUect the fashion of slender waists in England, and what pains were taken, and sufferings endured, to excel in that particular, will be somewhat less surprised at extraordinary efforts made in other instances. Delicacy of limbs and person has, no doubt, been always coveted by the fair sex, as it has been the admiration of the other. Yet it could not be the extra- ordinary instance of such in any one lady, though in the most exalted rank, according to the popular story throughout China, that could induce the rest of her sex to put at once such violence upon them- selves, in order to resemble her in that respect. The emulation of surpassing in any species of beauty, must have animated vast numbers of all ranks, and have continued through successive ages, to carry it at last to an excess which defeats, in fact, its intended purpose. What- ever a lady may have gained, by the imagined charms of feet de- creased below the size of nature, is more than counter-balanced by the injury it does to her health and to her figure ; for grace is not in her steps, nor animation in her countenance. — Embassy to China, chap. ix. 96.— OF HUMILITY. [Owen Feltham, 1610 — 1678. [Owen Feltham was bofn about 1610, and but few particulars of his life have been preserved. He is supposed to have acted as secretary to the Earl of Thomond, with whom he resided tnany years. His celebrity rests upon his " Resolves/' of which the first part appeared in 1627. He published " A Brief Character of the Low Countries'* in 1659, and is believed to have died about 1678. A life by James Cumming was published in 1806. Hallam (Hist, of Lit. Pt. iii. ch. iv. § 35) remarks: " Feltham appears not only a laboured and artificial, but a shallow writer. Among his many faults none strikes me more than a want of depth, which his pointed and sen- tentious manner renders more ridiculous. There are certainly exceptions to this vacuity of original meaning in Feltham ; it would be possible to fill a few pages with extracts not undeserving of being read, with thoughts just and judicious, though never deriving much lustre from his diction. He is one of our worst writers in point 238 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Feltham. of style; with little vigour, he has less elegance; his English is impure to an exces- sive degree, and full of words unauthorized by any usage. Pedantry, and the novel phrases which Greek and Latin etymology was supposed to warrant, appear in most productions of this period; but Feltham attempted to bend the English idiom to his own affectations. The moral reflections of a serious and thoughtful mind are gene- rally pleasing, and to this perhaps is partly owing the kind of popularity which the ' Resolves' of Feltham have obtained ; but they may be had more agreeably and profitably in other books."] He that would build lastingly, must lay his foundation low. The proud man, like the early shoots of a new-felled coppice, thrusts out full of sap, green in leaves, and fresh in colours j but bruises and breaks with every wind, is nipt with every little cold, and being top-heav}'', is wholly unfit for use. Whereas the humble man retains it in the root, can abide the winter's killing blast, the ruffling concussions of the wind, and can endure far more than that which appears so flourishing. Like the pyramid, he has a large foundation, whereby his height may be more emineni: ; and the higher he is, the less does he draw at the top 3 as if the learer heaven the smaller he must appear. And, indeed, the niglier man approaches to celestials, and the more he considers God, the more he sees to make himself vile in his own esteem. He who values himself least, shall by others be prized most. Nature swells when she meets a check 3 but submission in us to others, begets sub- mission in others to us. Force can do no more than compel us ; while gentleness and unassumingness calm and captivate even the rude and boisterous. The proud man is certainly a fool -, I am sure, let his parts be what they will, in being proud he is so. One thing may assuredly persuade us of the excellence of humility ; it is ever found to dwell most with men of the noblest natures. Give me the man that is humble out of judgement, and I shall find him full of parts. Charles the Fifth, appears as great in holding the candle to his departing visi- tors, as when he was surrounded by his victorious officers. Moses, who was the first and greatest divine, statesman, historian, philosopher, and poet 3 who, as a valiant general, led Israel out of Egypt 3 who v/as re- nowned for his miracles, and could roll up the waves to pass his men, and tumble them down again upon his enemies 3 who was a type of Christ, and styled a friend of God, and, as Ecclesiasticus tells us, beloved both of God and 7nen ; was nevertheless meek above all that were upon the face of the earth : — and lest our proud dust should think it a disparagement to be humble, we are assured by our Saviour himself, that to be so will be rest to our souls. We are sent to the pismire for industry, to the lion for valour, to the dove for innocence, to the serpent for wisdom 3 but for humility unto God himself, as an attribute more peculiar to his excellence. No man ever lost the esteem of a wise man by stooping to an honest lowness when there was occa- Gray.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 239 sion for it. I have known a great duke to fetch in wood to his inferior's fire J and a general of nations descend to a footman's office in hfting up the boot of a coach ; — yet, neither thought it a degradation to their dignity. The text gives it to the pubhcan's humihty, rather than to the Pharisee's boasting. He may well be suspected to be defective within, that would draw respect to himself by unduly assuming it. What is that man the worse, who lets his inferior go before him ? The folly is in him who arrogates respect when it is not his due ; but the prudence rests with him, who in the sereneness of his own worth does not seek for it. I am not troubled, if my dog outruns me. The sun chides not the morning star, though it presumes to usher in day before him. While the proud man bustles in the storm, and begets himself enemies, the humble peaceably passes in the shade unenvied. The full sail over- sets the vessel, which drawn in, may make the voyage prosperous. Humility prevents disturbance : it rocks debate asleep, and keeps men in continued peace. When the two goats met on a narrow bridge over a deep stream, was not that the wiser, which lay down for the other to pass over him, than that one which would rather hazard both their lives by contending ? The former preserved himself from danger, and made the latter indebted to him for his preservation. I will never think myself disparaged either by preserving peace or doing good. He is charitable, who for Christian ends, can be content to part with his due : and he who would take my due from me, wrongs not me so much as himself. I have ever thought it indiscretion to vie it in continued strife. Prevailing is but victory in part. The pride of my opponent may still remain unconquered. If I be subdued, beside my shame, I purchase his contempt to boot, when yielding out of prudence, I triumph over all, and bring him in to be mine. I had rather be accounted too humble, than be esteemed a little proud. The former tends to virtue and wisdom : the latter to dishonour and vice. — Resolves, Divine, Moral, and Political. Part ii. Of Humility. 97.— ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. [Thomas Gray, 1716 — 1771. [Thomas Gray, the son of a money scrivener, born in Cornhill, Dec. 26, 17 16, was educated at Eton and Cambridge. He accompanied Horace Walpole on a tour through France and Italy, 1739 — 1 741, and returned to Cambridge to study Civil Law. His "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College," written in 1742, appeared in 1747, and the " Elegy written in a Country Churchyard," commenced in 1742, and completed in 1749, was first published in Feb. 1751. His Pindaric Odes were published at Strawberry Hill in 1757. He declined the Laureateship offered to 14© THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Gray. him in 1757, and was appointed Professor of Modern History at Cambridge in 1768. Gray died at Cambridge, July 30, 1771. A Memoir, by the Rev. N» Mason, appeared in 1775, and another, by the Rev. J. Mitford, in 1814.J Ye distant spires, ye antique towers. That crown the watery glade. Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade j And ye, that from the stately brow. Of Windsor's heights t:i' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey. Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders th^hoar^^liames along His silver-winding way : Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! Ah, fields beloved in vain ! -^ Wiiere once ray careless childhood strayed, A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bhss bestow. As waving fresh their gladsome wing. My weary soul they seem to soothe, • And, redolent of joy and youth, * To breathe a secood spring. Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race Disporting on thy margent green. The paths of pleasure trace ; 1 Who foremost now delight to cleave. With pliant arm, thy glassy w^ve ? The captive linnet which enthral ? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed. Or urge the flying ball ? While some on earnest business bent Their murmuring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty : Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign. Gray.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 241 And unkno\xTi regions dare descn^- : Still as they run tliey look behind. They hear a voice in every wind. And snatch a fearful J07. Gay hope is theirs hj fancy fed. Less pleasing when possest ; The tear forgot as soon as shed. The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue. Wild wit, invention ever new. And Hvely cheer, of \4gour bornj The thoughtless day, tli^ easy night. The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn. Alas ! regardless of their doom The httle victims play ; No sense have tliey of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day : Yet see, how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train ! Ah, show them where in ambush stand. To seize their prey, the murth'rous band ! Ah, tell them, they are men I ^ These shall the fiiry Passions tear. The \niltures of the mind. Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame tliat sculks behind ; Or pining Love shall waste their youth. Or Jealousy, with ranlding tooth. That inly gnaws the secret heart ; And Emy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise. Then whirl the wretch from high. To bitter Scorn a sacriiice. And grinning Infamy. 442 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Hare. The sting of Falsehood those shall try. And hard Unkindness' altered eye. That mocks the tear it forced to flow 3 And keen Remorse with blood defiled. And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo ! in the vale of years beneath A griesly troop are seen. The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins. That every labouring sinew strains. Those in the deeper vitals rage : Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band. That numbs the soul with icy hand. And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings : all are men. Condemned alike to groan 3 The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate. Since sorrow never comes too late. And happiness too swiftly flies ? Thought would destroy their Paradise, No more ; — where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton. 98.— THE BLESSEDNESS OF GOD'S HOUSE. [Archdeacon Hare, 1795 — 1855. [Julius Charles Hare, born Sept. 13, 1795, was educated at the Charter House and at Cambridge, and became a fellow of Trinity College in 1818. He obtained the family living of Hurstmonceaux, in Sussex. In 1840 he was appointed archdeacon of Lewes; in 1851, a prebendary of Chichester; and in 1853 one of the Queen's chaplains. Archdeacon Hare died Jan. 23, 1855. He is one of the authors of "Guesses at Truth," published in 1827. "The Victory of Faith," a course of sermons, appeared in 1840; "The Mission of the Comforter" in 1846, and a "Life of John Sterling" in 1848.] One hour in the house of God is better than a thousand, than a tliousand spent in any of the world's houses, even tliough it be the Hare.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 243 world's richest, most luxurious palace. To him who knows the real value of tlie world's pleasures, who has experienced them, and knows how soon they pall on the heart, this will not seem much to say. He who had taken his fill of all the world's choicest pleasures, declared of them that they are vanity and weariness and vexation 3 and every one is sure to make the same discovery, if he has but to spend a long time in them. For one day tliey may seem to be pleasant ; if we had to endure them for a tliousand days in succession, there is no pain or toil that we should not hail as a relief from their sickening palsy. You too, my brethren, who do not dwell in palaces, or glut yourselves with the choicer pleasures of tlie world, must have found out how weari- some your coarser pleasures soon become, and what a refreshment it is to turn from them after a little while, even to the hardest labour. Even a single day spent in pleasure, in revelling, in self-indulgence, is wearisome. What then would a thousand days be ! — a heavy burthen, too heavy for man to bear. They would turn a man, body and soul, into a bloated mass of festering diseases. Think of this, brethren • and then tliink further, what would a thousand years of uninterrupted revelling and self-indulgence be. There would be no need of any other hell ; so terrible would this be, that the flames of hell itself would be almost welcome, if they would consume our gnawing pleasures. Yes, my brethren, assuredly, it is only at the right hand of the Lord, it is only in the house of God, and the courts around it, that there are pleasures which endure for evermore. The pleasures of the world soon turn to pains. The mask drops oiF, and the serpent's head and fangs shew themselves. But tlie pleasures which are to be found in the house of God endure for evermore, and become continually sweeter and more delightful. Of the world's pleasures it may truly be said, tliat one day spent in tliem is better than a thousand spent in them. But one day spent in the house of God is not better than a thousand spent in the house of God. To the children of this world, indeed, it seems that all pleasures must partake in the fleeting, changeful nature of tlieir own : and often, when they have been told of the joys of heaven, they have exclaimed that after awhile those pleasures must become insuflerably dull and tiresome. But this arises solely from the dulness of their spiritual perceptions, from their having no relish for spiritual pleasures. Alas ! too, all, even the ripest Christians, have more or less of this spiritual dulness. As our whole nature became subject to death, when it turned away from God, so did ail our feelings and thoughts and purposes become fleeting, transient, perishable. God is eternal : truth is eternal: whatever is of God. His thoughts, his purposes are eternal : but everything that is of man passes away, and R 2 244 THE EPERY- DAY BOOK [Robertson. is almost like a foot-print in the sand of the desert, over which the wind blows, and it is gone. Hence we are unable to conceive what would be the blessedness of a thousand days spent in the house of God. Even one day, one whole day, is too much for our spiritual weakness. After a couple of hours we grow faint, weary, distracted, — often before. Hence God has mercifully vouchsafed in training us for heaven, to call us to spend a few hours every week in his presence. He trains us, as children are trained to walk, little by little, first a step or two, then a few more, then more. Yet we are far slower to learn than children are r and even in the course of a long life, few make much progress in learning the blessing of dwelling in God's \iouse. Hence the natural man will readily agree that one di. \r in God's courts is better than a thousand in them. For one day a man may fancy he could support ;. but how could he bear up through a thousand ? If this, however, be our state of mind, how shall we be fitted for dwelling in God's presence for ever ? The painfulness of it to the natural man, the painfulness of dwelling in His light, and His eye piercing ever through all the windings of our hearts and minds, must seem utterly insupportable. Great need, therefore, have we to learn from the Psalmist that one day in his courts is a blessing. And how can we learn it ? Only by learning to love God. This is the only way. In proportion as we love God, we shall love to be in His courts. Even human love bears witness of this ; even human love declares and feels that one day, with those whom we love dearly, is better than a thousand away from them. So would it also be, — if we really loved God, — if we had ever really tasted the joy of living in His presence, the joy, the blessedness of having our will at one with His will, of looking up to Him with trustful, childly love, as to our Father to whom we have been brought by His only begotten Son. — Sermons Preached on Particular Occasions. No. XV. Psalm Ixxxiv. lo. 99.— THE PROGRESS OF CIVILISATION. [Rev. Dr. Robertson, 1721 — 1793. [William Robertson, born at Borthwick, near Edinburgh, Sept. 19, 1721, was educated at the university of Edinburgh, and obtained the living of Gladsmuir, in 1743. His "History of Scotland" appeared in Feb. 1759. He was made one of the deans of the chapel royal in 1761, principal of the University of Edinburgh in 1762, and historiographer for Scotland in 1764. He published his "History of Charles V." in 1769, and his "History of America" in 1777. His last work, "An Historical Disquisition Concerning the Knowledge which the Ancients had of India," appeared in 1791, towards the end of which year his health began to fail, and he died at Edin- burgli, June 11, 1793. Dugald Stewart published an account of Robertson's Life and Writings in 1801, and his Works, with Life, in 8 vols., appeared in 1825.] Robertson.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 245 The progress of science, and the cultivation of literature, had consider- able effect in changing the manners of the European nations, and intro- ducing tliat civility and refinement by which they are now distinguished. At tlie time when their empire was overturned, the Romans, though they had lost that correct taste wliich has rendered the productions of their ancestors standards of excellence, and models of imitation for suc- ceeding ages, still preserved their love of letters, and cultivated the arts with great ardour. But rude barbarians were so far from being struck with any admiration of these unknown accomplishments, that they despised them. They were not arrived at that state of society, when those faculties of the human mind, which have beauty and elegance for tlieir objects, begin to unfold themselves. They were strangers to most of those wants and desires which are the parents of ingenious in- vention ; and as tliey did not comprehend either the merit or utility of the Roman arts, tliey destroyed the monuments of them witli an industry not inferior to tliat with which their posterity have since studied to preserve or to recover them. The convulsions occasioned by the settlement of so many unpolished tribes in the empire 3 the frequent as well as violent revolutions in every kingdom which they established, together with the interior defects in the form of government which they introduced, banished security and leisure 3 prevented the growth of taste, or the culture of science ; and kept Europe, during several centuries, in that state of ignorance which has been already described. But the events and institutions which I have enumerated, produced great alterations in society. As soon as their operation in restoring liberty and independence to one part of the community began to be felt ; as soon as they began to communicate to all the members of society some taste of the advantages arising from commerce, from public order, and from personal security, the human mind became conscious of powers which it did not formerly perceive, and fond of occupations or pursuits of which it was formerly incapable. Towards the begin- ning of the twelfth century, we discern the first symptoms of its awakening from that lethargy in which it had been long sunk, and observe it turning with curiosity and attention towards new objects. The first literary efforts, however, of tlie European nations in the Middle Ages, were extremely ill-directed. Among nations, as well as indi- viduals, the powers of imagination attain some degree of vigour before the intellectual faculties are much exercised in speculative or abstract disquisition. Men are poets before they are philosophers. They feel with sensibility, and describe with force, when they have made but httle progress in investigation or reasoning. The age of Homer and of Hesiod long preceded that of Thales or of Socrates. But, unhappily for hterature, our ancestors, deviating from tliis course which nature ►46 THE EP-ERY-DAY BOOK [Tieck. points out, plunged at once into tlie depth of abstruse and metaphysical inquiry. They had been converted to the Christian faith, soon after they settled in their new conquests. But tliey did not receive it pure. The presumption of men had added to tlie simple and instructive doctrines of Christianity tlie theories of a vain philosophy, that attempted to penetrate into mysteries and to decide questions A\'hich the limited faculties of the human mind are unable to comprehend or to resolve. These over-curious speculations M'ere incorporated \^'ith the system of religion, and came to be considered as the most essential part of it. As soon, then, as curiosit}^ prompted men to inquire and to reason, tliese were the subjects \^"hich lirst presented themselves, and engaged their attention. The scholastic theology, with its inlinite train of bold disquisitions, and subtle distinctions concerning points ^^'hich are not tlie object of human reason, was the tirst production of the spirit of inquiry after it began to resume some degree of activit}' and vigour in Europe. It was not, ho\\-ever, tliis circumstance alone, that gave such a wrong turn to tlie minds of men, ^^-llen they began again to exercise talents which tliey had so long neglected. INIost of the persons who attempted to revive literature in tlie t^^'elftll and thirteenth centuries, had received instruction, or derived their principles of science from the Greeks in the Eastern Empire, or troni the Arabians in Spain and Africa. Both these people, acute and inquisitive to excess, had corrupted those sciences which they cultivated. The former rendered theology a system of speculative retinement, or of endless controversy. The latter commu- nicated to philosophy a spirit of metaphysical and frivolous subtlety. Misled by these guides, the persons who tirst applied to science were involved in a maze of intricate inquiries. Instead of allowing their fancy to take its natural range, and to produce such ^^•orks of invention as might have improved their taste, and retined their sentiments ; instead of cultivating those arts which embellish Jiuman life, and render it comfortable ; tliey were fettered by authority, they were led astray by example, and wasted tlie whole force of their genius in speculations as unavailable as they were ditiicult. — The History of Charles the Fifth, hitroductory Chapter : On the State of Society in Europe. loo.— THE GOLDEN GOBLET. [Tieck, i773— 1853. [LuDwiG Tieck, born at Berlin, May 31, 1773, and educated at the universities of Halle, Gottingcn, and Erlangen, published " Almansur," a prose idyll, in 1790, and " Alia Media," a prose plav, in 1791. From this time he produced a succession of tales, no\els, and dramas. From an early age he applied himself to the study of the Tieck.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 24'r English language and literature, and in 181 7 visited this country for the purpose of making himself acquainted with the literature of the Elizabethan period. Having pursued his researches at the British Museum, and at private collections, he returned to Germany, and settled at Dresden, where he produced a great variety of works. The first volume of his translation of Shakspeare appeared in 1825, and the last in 1829. He took up his residence at Berlin in 1840, at the invitation of Frederick William IV. A collected edition of his works, in 20 vols., appeared at Berlin between the years 1828 — 1846. Tieck died at Berlin, April 28, 1853. His efforts to make Shakspeare appreciated in Germany entitle him to the gratitude of Englishmen.] They sat down at the table, which was covered with red cloth; and the old man placed something on it which was carefully wrapped up. " From pity to your youth," he began, " I lately promised to fore- tell you whether or not you could become happy 3 and this promise I am willing to fulfil at the present hour, though you recently wished to treat the matter as a jest. You need not alarm, yourself, for what I design can happen without danger. I shall make no dread incanta- tions, nor shall any horrible apparition terrify you. The thing which I shall endeavour may fail in two ways 3 either if yoQ do not love so truly as you have wished to make me believe, for then my labour is in vain, and nothing will show itself 3 or if you should disturb the oracle, and destroy it by a useless question, or by a hasty movement leaving your seat, the figure would break in pieces. So you must keep your- self quite still." Ferdinand gave his word 3 and the old man unfolded from the cloths that which he had brought with him. It was a golden goblet, of very costly and beautiful workmanship 3 around its broad foot ran a wreath of flowers, twined with myrtles and various other leaves and fruit, highly chased with dim and brilliant gold. A similar ring, only richer, adorned with figures of children, and wild httle animals playing with them, or flying before them, wound itself around the centre of the cup. The chalice was beautifully turned 3 above, it was bent back toward the lips 3 and within, the gold sparkled with a ruddy glow. The old man placed the goblet between himself and the youth, and beckoned him nearer. '^ Do you feel something," said he, ^'^ when your eye loses itself in this splendour ?" '^^'Yes," said Ferdinand 3 *^ this brightness reflects into my very inmost being, — I might say, I feel it as a kiss in my longing bosom." " It is right," said the old man. " Now let your eyes no more stray around, but keep them fixed on the glance of this gold, and think as earnestly as you can on your beloved." Both sat still awhile, and, absorbed in contemplation, beheld the gleaming cup. But soon the old man, with mute gestures, first slowly, and then more quickly, and at last with rapid movement, pro- 248 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Tieck. ceeded with extended finger to draw regular circles around the glow of the goblet. Then he paused, and took the circles from the opposite direction. When he had thus continued for some time, Ferdinand thought he heard music, but it sounded as from without in a distant street. Soon, however, the tones came higher 3 they struck on his ear louder and louder, and vibrated more distinctly through the air ; so that, at last, he felt no doubt but that they issued from the interior of the goblet. The music became still stronger, and of such penetrating power, that the heart of the young man trembled, and tears rose into his eyes. Busily moved the old man's hand in various directions across the mouth of the cup ; and it appeared as if sparks from his fingers were convulsively striking and sounding on the gold. Soon the shining points increased, and followed, as on a thread, the motion of his finger j they glittered of various colours, and crowded still more closely on one another, till they rushed altogether in continuous lines. Now it seemed as if the old man in the red twilight was laying a won- drous net over the brightening gold, for at will he drew the beams hither and thither, and wove up with them the opening goblet: they obeyed him, and remained lying like a covering, waving to and fro, and playing into one another. When they thus were fastened, he again described the circles around the rim ; the music subsided, and became softer and softer, till it could no longer be perceived, and the bright net- work quivered, as if in agony. It burst in increasing agitation, and the beams rained down drops into the chahcej but out of the fallen drops arose a reddish cloud, which formed itself in manifold circles, and floated like foam over the mouth of the cup. A bright point darted up with the greatest rapidity through the clouded circles. There stood the image ; and suddenly, as it were, an eye looked out from the mist j above, golden locks flowed in ringlets ; presently a soft blush went up and down the quivering shade j and P>rdinand recognised the smiling countenance of his beloved — the blue eyes, the delicate cheeks, the lovely red mouth. The head waved to and fro, raised itself more distinctly and visibly on the slender white neck, and bowed towards the enraptured youth. The old man kept on describing his circles around the goblet, and thereout issued the glancing shoul- ders ', and at last the whole of the lovely image pressed from out the golden bed, and gracefully waved to and fro. Ferdinand thought he felt the breath as the beloved form inclined towards him, and almost touched him with burning hps. In his ravishment, he could no longer command himself, but impressed a kiss on the mouth, and endeavoured to grasp the beautiful arm, and quite to raise the lovely form out of its golden prison. Then a violent trembling suddenly struck through the image, as in a thousand frag- Burnet.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 249 ments the head and body broke together 3 and a rose lay at the foot of the goblet, in whose blush the sweet smile still appeared. Ferdinand passionately seized it, and pressed it to his mouth. At this ardent longing, it withered and dissolved away in the air. "Thou hast hardly kept thy word," said the old man, angrily: "thou canst only impute the fault to thyself." He again wrapped up his goblet, drew aside the curtains, and opened a window. The clear daylight broke in, and Ferdinand, in a melancholy mood, and with many apologies, took his leave of the murmuring old man. — Tales from the Phantasus, doc. : The Mysterious Cup, loi.— INTERCOURSE WITH PRINCES. [Bp. Burnet, 1643 — 1715. [Gilbert Burnet, born at Edinburgh, Sept. 18, 1643, and educated at the College of Aberdeen, after studying law for a short time was licensed to preach in 1661. In 1663 he visited Oxford, Cambridge, and London, and went on a tour on the Con- tinent. In 1669 he was made Professor of Divinity at Glasgow, and in 1674 resigned the chair and removed to London. Burnet, who held various appointments, retired to the Continent on the accession of James II., and returned as chaplain with William III., who made him Bishop of Salisbury in 1689. This see he held till his death, which occurred in London, March 17, 1715. His first publication, "A Modest and Free Conference between a Conformist and a Non-conformist," appeared in 1669. His "Memoirs of the Dukes of Hamilton," appeared in 1677, the first volume of "The History of the Reformation in England," in 1679, the second volume in 1681, the Introduction to the third volume in 1712, and the third volume itself in 1715. His "Exposition of the Thirty-Nine Articles," was published in 1699, and the work by which he is best known, "Bishop Burnet's History of his Own Time, from the Restoration of King Charles II. to the Conclusion of the Treaty of Utrecht," was not published till after his death, 1724 — 34. A life by his son, Thomas Burnet, the judge, was published with the " History of his Own Time," and another by Le Clerc appeared in 1715. Dryden introduced Burnet as King Buzzard in the " Hind and Panther." Dr. Johnson remarked, " Burnet's History of his Own Time is very entertaining. The style, indeed, is mere chit-chat."] I HAVE had the honour to be admitted to much free conversation with five of our sovereigns 5 king Charles the second, king James the second, king William the third, queen Mary, and queen Anne. King Charles's behaviour was a thing never enough to be commended; he was a perfectly well-bred man, easy of access, free in his discourse, and sweet in his whole deportment : this was managed with great art, and it covered bad designs 3 it was of such use to him, that it may teach all succeeding princes, of what advantage an easiness of access and an obliging behaviour may be : this preserved him 3 it often disarmed those resentments which his ill conduct in THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Burnet. everything, both public and private, possessed all thinking people with very early, and all sorts of people at last : and yet none could go to him, but they were in a great measure softened before they left him : it looked like a charm, that could hardly be resisted : yet there was no good nature under that, nor was there any truth in him. King James had great application to business, though without a right understand- ing ; that application gave him a reputation, till he took care to throw it off: if he had not come after king Charles, he would have passed for a prince of a sweet temper, and easy of access. King William was the reverse of all this ; he was scarce accessible, and was always cold and silent ; he minded affairs abroad so much, and was so set on the war, that he scarce thought of his government at home : this raised a general disgust, which was improved by men of ill designs, so that it perplexed all his affairs, and he could scarce support himself at home, whilst he was the admiration of all abroad. Queen Mary was affable, cheerful, and lively, spoke much, and yet under great reserv^es, minded business, and came to understand it well) she kept close to rules, chiefly to those set her by the king, and she charmed all that came near her. Queen Anne is easy of access, and hears every- thing very gently ; but opens herself to so few, and is so cold and general in her answers, that people soon find that the chief application is to be made to her ministers and favourites, who in their turns have an entire credit and full power with her : she has laid down the splen- dour of a court too much, and eats privately 3 so that except on Sundays, and a few hours twice or thrice a week at night in the drawing-room, she appears so little, that her court is as ih were aban- doned. Out of all these princes' conduct, and from their successes in their affairs, it is evident what ought to be the measures of a wise and good prince, who would govern the nation happily and gloriously. The first, the most essential, and most indispensable rule for a king, is, to study the interest of the nation, to be ever in it, and to be always pursuing it ; this will lay in for him such a degree of confidence, that he will be ever safe with his people, when they feel they are safe with him. No part of our story shows this more visibly than queen Eliza- beth's reign, in which the true interest of the nation was constantly pursued • and this was so well understood by all, that everything else was forgiven her and her ministers both. Sir Simonds D'Ewes' Journal shows a treatment of parliaments, that could not have been borne at any other time, or under any other administration. This was the constant support of king William's reign, and continues to support the present reign, as it will support all who adhere steadily to it. A prince, that would command the affections and purses of this nation, must not study to stretch his prerogative, or be uneasy under the re- Speke.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 2^1 straints of law 3 as soon as this humour shows itself, he must expect that a jealousy of him, and an uneasy opposition to him, will follow through the whole course of his reign 3 whereas if he governs well, parliaments will trust him, as much as a wise prince would desire to be trusted 3 and will supply him in every war that is necessary, either for their own preservation, or the preservation of those allies, with whom mutual interests and leagues unite him : but though, soon after the Restoration, a slavish parliament supported king Charles in the Dutch war, yet the nation must be strangely changed, before anything of that sort can happen again. — History of his own Time. The Con- clusion. S. 661. 102.— THE SOURCE OF THE NILE. [Capt. Speke, 1827 — 1864. [John Hanning Speke, born in May, 1827, entered the Indian army in 1847, ^"^ took part in the Punjaub campaign. He went on several exploring expeditions in the Himalayas and Thibet, and in 1858 penetrated to Lake Nyanza, in Central Africa. Accompanied by Capt. Grant,he endeavoured to clear up the mystery, which from the days of Herodotus has puzzled geographers, respecting the real source of the Nile, and in this he to a great extent succeeded. His " Discovery of the Source of the Nile," appeared in 1863. "What led to the Discovery of the Source of the Nile?" published in 1864, contains an account of this enterprising traveller's African explorations. Capt. Speke was killed by the accidental discharge of his gun whilst shooting in the neighbourhood of Bath, Sept. 15, 1864.] The expedition had now performed its functions. I saw that old father Nile without any doubt rises in the Victoria N'yanza, and, as I had foretold, that lake is the great source of the holy river which cradled the first expounder of our religious belief. I mourned, how- ever, when I thought how much I had lost by the delays in the journey having deprived me of the pleasure of going to look at the north-east corner of the N'yanza to see what connection there was, by the strait so often spoken of, with it and the other lake where the Waganda went to get their salt, and from which another river flowed to the north, making "Usoga an island." But I felt I ought to be content with what I had been spared to accomplish 3 for I had seen full half of the lake, and had information given me of the other half, by means of which I knew all about the lake, as far, at least, as the chief objects of geographical importance were concerned. Let us now sum up the whole and see what it is worth. Compara- tive information assured me that there was as much water on the eastern side of the lake as there is on the western — if anything, rather more. The most remote waters, or top head of the Nile, is the 252 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Burton. southern end of the lake, situated close on the third degree of south latitude, which gives to the Nile the surprising length, in direct mea- surement, rolling over thirty- four degrees of latitude, of above 2300 miles, or more than one-eleventh of the circumference of our globe. Now from this southern point, round by the west, to where the great Nile stream issues, there is only one feeder of any importance, and that is the Kitangulc river 3 whilst from the southernmost point, round by the east, to the strait, there are no rivers at all of any importance j for the travelled Arabs one and all aver, that from the west of the snow-clad Kilimandjaro to the lake where it is cut by the second degree, and also the first degree of south latitude, there are salt lakes and salt plains, and the country is hilly, not unlike Unyamiiezi j but they said tliere were no great rivers, and the country was so scantily watered, having only occasional runnels and rivulets, that they always had to make long marches in order to find water when they went on their trading journeys : and further, those Arabs who crossed the strait when they reached Usoga, as mentioned before, during the late inter- regnum, crassed no river either. There remains to be disposed of the " Salt Lake," which I believe is not a salt, but a fresh- water lake 3 and my reasons are, as before stated, that the natives call all lakes salt, if they find salt beds or salt islands in such places. Dr. Krapf, when he obtained a sight of the Kenia mountain, heard from the natives there that there was a salt lake to its northward, and he also heard that a river ran from Kenia towards the Nile. If his information was true on this latter point, then, without doubt, there must exist some connection between his river and the salt lake 1 have heard of, and this in all probability would also establish a connection between my salt lake and his salt lake which he heard was called Baringo. In no view that can be taken of it, however, does this unsettled matter touch the established fact that the head of the Nile is in 3° south latitude, where, in the year 1858, I discovered the head of the Victoria N'y^nza to be. — Discovery of the Source of the Nile, chap. xv. 103.— EFFECTS OF MUSIC. [Rev. R. Burton, 1576-^1640. [Robert Burton, born at Linrilcy in Leicestershire, Feb. 8, 1576, was educated at CJxford, where he distinguished hiimself by his proficiency in logic and philosophy. In 1616 he hecanie vicar of St. 'I'honuis, and in 1628 rector of Segrave in Leicester- shire. He died Jan. 25, 1640. The "Anatonny of Melancholy," by Democritus Junior, ai^pcareU in 1621. Dr. Johnson said it "was the only book that ever took him out Burton.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. .a^ of bed two hours earlier than he wished to rise." Lord Byron spoke of it as " the most amazing and instructive medley of quotations and classical anecdotes I ever perused," An account of the author is prefixed to the iith edition of the " Anatomy of Melancholy" published in 1806.] Many and sundry are the means which philosophers and physicians have prescribed to exhilarate a sorrowdFul heart, to divert those fixed and intent cares and meditations^ which in this malady so much olJend ; but, in my judgment, none so present, none so powerfull, none so apposite, as a cup of strong drink, mirth, musick, and merry company. Ecclus. 40, 20 : IVine and musick rejoyce the heart. Rhasis (cont. 9 Tract 15), Altomarus (cap, 7), CElianus Montaltus (c. 26), Ficinus, Bened. Victor. Faventinus, are almost immoderate in the commenda- tion of it J a most forcible medicine Jacchinus calls it ; Jason Pratensis, a most admirable thing, and worthy oj^ consideration, that can so mollijie the minde, and stay those tempestuous affections of it. Musica est mentis medicina 7ncestce, a roaring-meg against melancholy, to rear and re\ive the languisliing soul ; affecting not only the ears, lut the very arteries, the vital and animal spirits, it erects the minde, and makes it nimlle. Lemnius, instit. cap. 44. This it will effect in the most dull, severe, and sorrowfull souls 3 expell griefe with mirth, and if there he any cloudes, dust, or dregs of cares yet lurking in our thoughts, most powerfully it wipes them all away. (Salisbur. polit. lil\ i cap. 6) ; and that which is more, it will perform all this in an instant — chear up the countenance, expell austerity , bring in hilarity, (Girald. Camb. cap. 12 Topogr. Hiber.) informe our manners, mitigate anger. Athenaeus {Deipnosophist. lib. 14 cap. 10) calleth it an uifinite treasure to such as are endowed with it. Dulcisonum reficit tristia corda melos. — (Eobanus Hessus.) Many other properties Cassiodorus {epist. 4) reckons up of this our divine musick, not only to expell the greatest griefs, but it doth extenuate fears and furies, appeaseth cruelty, abateth heaviness ; and, to such as are watchfull, it causeth quiet rest ; it takes away spleen and hatred, bee it instrumentall, vocall, with strings, winde, quce a spiritu, sine manuum dexteritate, gubernetur, &:c. it cures all irksomeness and heaviness of the soul. Labouring men, that sing to their work, can tell as much • and so can souldiers when they go to fight, whom terror of death cannot so much aftright, as the sound of trumpet, dram, fife, and such like musick animates J metus enim mortis, as Censorinus enformeth us, rnusicd depallitur. It makes a childe quiet, the nurse's song ; and many times the sound of a trumpet on a sudden, bells ringing, a carreman's whistle, a boy singing some ballad tune early in the street, alters, revives, recreates a restless patient that cannot sleep in the night, &c. In a word it is so powerful a thing that it ravisheth the soul, regina sensuum, the queen of the senses, by sweet pleasure (which is an happy cure) j 254 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Quarles. and corporall tunes pacific our incorporeall soul : sine ore loquens, dominatum in animam exercet, and carries it beyond itself, helps, elevates, extends it. Scaliger (exercit. 302) gives a reason of these effects, because the spirits about the heart take in that trembling and dancing air into the body, are moved together and stirred up with it, or else the minde, as some suppose, harmonically composed, is roused up at the tunes of musick. And 'tis not only men that are so affected, but almost all other creatures. You know the tale of Hercules Gallus, Orpheus, and Amphion, (felices animas Ovid calls them) that could saxa movere sono testudinis &c. make stocks and stones, as well as beasts, and other animals, dance after their pipes : the dog and hare, wolf and lamb, Vicinumque lupo praebuit agna latus, Clamosus graculus, stridula comix, et Jovis aquila, as Philostratus describes it in his images, stood all gaping upon Orpheus 3 and trees, pulled up by the roots, came to hear him^ Et comitem quercum pinus arnica trahit. Arion made fishes follow him, which, as common experience evinceth, are much affected with musick. All singing birds are much pleased with it, especially nightingales, if we may believe Calcagninus ; and bees among the rest, though they be flying away when they hear any tingling sound, will tarry behinde. Harts, hindes, horses, dogs, bears, are exceedingly delighted with it. Seal, exerc. 302. Elephants, Agrippa addes lib. 1 cap. 24. And in Lydia in the midst of a lake there be certain floating ilands, (if ye will believe it,) that, after musick, will dance. — Anatomy of Melancholy. 104.— LIFE COMPARED TO A SEA. [QUARLES, 1592 1644. [Francis Quarles, born in Essex in 1592, was educated at Christ College, Cambridge, and studied law at Lincoln's Inn, He was persecuted for his devotion to Charles I., and his library was plundered. This is said to have hastened his death, which occurred September 8, 1644. Though he produced many poetical and prose com- positions, he is chiefly known by his " Emblems, Divine and Moral," first published in 1635.] Let not the water floods overfloiv vie, neither let the deeps sicallow me up. Psalm Ixii. 15. The world's a sea ; my flesh a ship that's manned With lab'ring thoughts, and steered by reason's hand. My heart's the seaman's card whereby she sails j My loose afi^e( tions are the greater sails j Quarles.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 255 The top-sail is my fancy, and the gusts That fill these wanton sheets, are worldly lusts. Prayer is the cable, at whose end appears The anchor hope, ne'er slipped but in our fears : My will's th' unconstant pilot, that commands The stagg'ring keel 3 my sins are like the sands : Repentance is the bucket, and mine eye The pump unused (but in extremes) and dry : My conscience is the plummet that does press The deeps, but seldom cries, O fathomless : Smooth calm's security : the gulph, despair ; My freight's corruption, and this life's my fare : My soul's the passenger, confusedly driven From fear to fright ; her landing port is heaven. My seas are stormy, and my ship doth leak ; My sailers rude 3 my steers-man faint and weak : My canvas torn, it flaps from side to side : My cable's crack' t, my anchor's slightly tied. My pilot's crazed 3 my ship-wrack sands are cloaked j My bucket's broken, and my pump is choaked 3 My calm's deceitful 3 and my gulf too near 3 My wares are slubbered,* and my fare's too dear : My plummet's light, it cannot sink nor sound 3 O shall my rock-bethreatened soul be drowned ? Lord, still the seas, and shield my ship from harm j Instruct my sailors, guide my steersman's arm : Touch thou my compass, and renew my sails. Send stiffer courage or send milder gales 3 Make strong my cable, bind my anchor faster j Direct my pilot, and be thou his master 3 Object the sands to my more serious view. Make sound my bucket, bore my pump anew : New-cast my plummet, make it apt to try Where the rocks lurk, and where the quick-sands lie j Guard thou the gulf with love, my calms with care ; Cleanse thou my freight 3 accept my slender fare ; Refresh the sea-sick passenger 5 cut short His voyage 3 land him in his wished port : * Nares gives as one of the meanings of to slubber, "to obscure or darken, as by smearing over." He quotes Othello i. 3. " \'ou must be content therefore to slubber the gloss of your new fortune with this more stubborn and boisterous expeditioEu** 256 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Barrow. Thou, then, whom winds and stormy seas obey. That through the deep gavest grumbhng Israel way. Say to my soqI, be safe 5 and then mine eye Shall scorn grim death, although grim death stand by. O thou whose strength-reviving arm did cherish Thy sinking Peter, at the point to perish, Reach forth thy hand, or bid me tread the wave, I'll come, I'll come : the voice that calls will save. The confluence of lust makes a great tempest, which in this sea disturbeth the sea-faring soul, that reason cannot govern it. — St. Ambrose. Apol. post, pro David, cap. 3. We labour in the boisterous sea : thou standest upon the shore and seest our dangers -, give us grace to hold a middle course between Scylla and Charybdis, that, both dangers escaped, we may arrive at the port secure. — St. Augustine. Soliloq. cap. 3^. Epig. II. My soul, the seas are rough, and thou a stranger In these false coasts j O keep aloof 3 there's danger: Cast forth thy plummet ; see a rock appears ; Thy ship wants sea-room ; make it with thy tears. Emblems, Divine and Moral, book iii. No. xi. 105.— EXAMPLE BETTER THAN PRECEPT. [Rev. Dr. Isaac Barrow, 1630 — 1677. [Isaac Barrow, the son of Thomas Barrow, linen-draper to Charles I., was born m 1630, and educated at the Charterhouse, and Peterhouse and Trinity Colleges, Cambridge. From 1655 to 1659 he travelled on the Continent. He was appointed Greek professor at Cambridge in 1660, and Gresham Professor of Geometry in 1662. These he resigned on being made Lucasian Professor of Mathematics in Cambridge University in 1663, and from this he retired in favour of Sir Isaac Newton in 1669. He was presented to a small living in Wales, and a prebendal stall at Salisbury, both of which he resigned on being appointed Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1672. He was chosen vice-chancellor in 1675. During his lifetime he published several mathematical and scientific works, but his theological writings first appeared in the folio edition of his works, edited by Dr. Tillotson, and published in four vols, in 1683 — 7. A life by Mr. Hill was prefixed. Barrow died May 4, 1677, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Dr. Dibdin says: "Barrow had the clearest head with which mathematics ever endowed an individual, and one of the purest and most unsophisticated hearts that ever beat in the human breast." Hallam (Lit. Hist., pt. iv. ch. 2) remarks : "The sermons of Barrow display a strength of mind, a com- prehensiveness and fertility, which have rarely been equalled."] Barrow.] OF MODERN LITERATURE, 257 Examples do more compendiously, easily, and pleasantly inform our minds, and direct our practice, than precepts, or any other way or in- strument of discipline. Precepts are delivered in an universal and abstracted manner, naked, and void of all circumstantial attire, without any intervention, assistance, or suffrage of sense -, and, consequently, can have no vehement operation upon the fancy, and soon do fly the memory ; like flashes of lightning, too subtle to make any great impression, or to leave any remarkable footsteps, upon what they en- counter 3 they must be expressed in nice terms, and digested in exact method 3 they are various, and in many disjointed pieces conspire to make up an entire body of direction : they do also admit of divers cases, and require many exceptions, or restrictions, which to apprehend distinctly, and retain long in memory, needs a tedious labour, and con- tinual attention of mind, together with a piercing and steady judgment. But good example, with less trouble, more speed, and greater efficacy, causes us to comprehend the business, representing it like a picture exposed to sense, having the parts orderly disposed and completely united, suitably clothed and dressed up in its circumstances: contained in a narrow compass, and perceptible by one glance, so easily insinuating itself into the fancy, and durably resting therein : in it you see at once described the thing done, the quality of the actor, the manner of doing, the minute seasons, measures, and adjuncts of the action ; with all which you might not perhaps, by numerous rules, be acquainted 3 and this in the most facile, familiar, and delightful way of instruction, which is by experience, history, and observation of sensible events. A system of precepts, though exquisitely compacted, is, in comparison, but a skeleton, a dry, meagre, lifeless bulk, exhibiting nothing of person, place, time, manner, degree, wherein chiefly the flesh and blood, the colours and graces, the life and soul of things do consist • whereby they please, affect, and move us : but example imparts thereto a goodly corpulency, a life, a motion 3 renders it conspicuous, specious, and active, transforming its notional universality into the reality of singular subsistence. This discourse is verified by various experience 3 for we find in all masters of art and science explicating, illustrating, and con- firming their general rules and precepts by particular example. Mathe- maticians demonstrate their theorems by schemes and diagrams, which in effect, are but sensible instances 3 orators back their enthymemes (or rational argumentations) with inductions (or singular examples) 3 philosophers allege the practice of Socrates, Zeno, and the like persons of famous wisdom and virtue, to authorize their doctrine : politics and civil prudence is more easily and sweetly drawn oat of good history, than out of books de Repuhlicd. Artificers describe models, and set patterns before their disciples, with greater success ;.han if they should 8 258 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Barrow. deliver accurate rules and precepts to them. For who would not more readily learn to build, by viewing carefully the parts and frame of a well contrived structure, than by a studious inquiry into the rules of architecture ; or to draw by setting a good picture before him, than by merely speculating upon the laws of perspective j or to write fairly and expeditely, by imitating one good copy, than by hearkening to a thousand oral prescriptions ; the understanding of which, and faculty of applying them to practice, may prove more difficult and tedious, than the whole practice itself as directed by a copy ? Neither is the case much different in moral concernments ; one good example may repre- sent more fully and clearly to us the nature of a virtue, than any ver- bose description thereof can do : in sooner time, and with greater ease, we may learn our duty by regarding the deportment of some excellent person, than by attending to many philosophical discourses concerning it : for instance, if we desire to know what faith is, and how we should rely upon Divine Providence, let us propose to our consideration the practice of Abraham j wherein we may see the Father of the Faithful leaving a most pleasant country, the place of his nativity, and questionless most dear unto him under that notion ; deserting his home and fixed habitation, his estate and patrimony, his kindred and acquaintance, to wander he knew not where in unknown lands, with all his family, leading an uncertain and ambulatory life in tents, sojourning and shifting among strange people, devoid of piety and civility (among Canaanites and Egyptians) upon a bare confidence in the Divine protection and guidance : we may see him, aged ninety- nine years, yet with a steady belief assuring himself, that he should, by virtue of God's Omnipotent word, become the father of a mighty nation : we may see him upon the first summons of the Divine com- mand, without scruple or hesitancy, readily and cheerfully yielding up his only son (the sole ground of his hope and prop of his family, to whose very person the promise of multiplication was affixed) to be sacrificed and slain ; not objecting to his own reason the palpable in- consistency of counsels so repugnant, nor anxiously labouring to recon- cile the seeming contrariety between the Divine promises and com- mands 3 but resolved as it were (with an implicit faith in God) to believe things incredible, and to rely upon events impossible : contem- plating these things, let us say what discourse could so livelily describe the nature of true faith, as this illustrious precedent doth. — Sermon xxxii.. On being [mitators of Christ, i Cor. iv. 16. Jeffrey.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 259 106.— LORD BYRON'S POETRY. [Francis Jeffrey, 1773 — 1850. [Francis Jeffrey, born at Edinburgh, Oct. 23, 1773, was educated at the universities of Glasgow, Oxford, and Edinburgh. In 1794 he was called to the Scotch bar, and soon after began to contribute to the " Monthly Review.'' From 1803 to 1829 he was editjr of the " Edinburgh Review." In 1821 he was elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University, in 1829 Dean of the Faculty of Advocates, and in 1830 Lord Advocate of Scotland. He was elected member for Edinburgh in 183 1, and in 1834 was raised to the Scotch bench, and became Lord Jeffrey. He died at Craig- crook Castle, near Edinburgh, Jan. 26, 1850. His contributions to the " Edinburgh Review" were republished in 1844, and a life of Jeffrey, by Lord Cockburn, appeared in 1852. Sir A. Alison says " he was fitted by nature to be a great critic."] If the finest poetry be that which leaves the deepest impression on the minds of its readers — and this is not the worst test of its excellence — Lord Byron^ we think, must be allowed to take precedence of all his distinguished contemporaries. He has not the variety of Scott — nor the delicacy of Campbell — nor the absolute truth of Crabbe — nor the polished sparkling of Moore j but in force of diction, and inextin- guishable energy of sentiment, he clearly surpasses them aU. " Words that breathe, and thoughts that burn," are not merely the ornaments, but the common staple, of his poetry ; and he is not inspired or im- pressive only in some happy passages, but through the whole body and tissue of his composition. It was an unavoidable condition, perhaps, of tliis higher excellence, that his scene should be narrow, and his persons few. To compass such ends as he had in view, it was necessary to reject all ordinary agents, and all trivial combinations. He could not possibly be amusing, or ingenious, or playful ; or hope to maintain the requisite pitch of interest by the recitation of sprightly adventures, or the opposition of common characters. To produce great eifects, in short, he felt that it was necessary to deal only with the greater passions — with the exaltations of a daring fancy, and the errors of a lofty intellect — with the pride, the terrors, and the agonies of strong emotion — the fire and air alone of our human elements. In this respect, and in his general notion of the end and the means of poetry, we have sometimes thought that his views feU more in with those of the Lake poets, than of any other existing party in the poetical commonwealth : and, in some of his later productions especially, it is impossible not to be struck with his occasional approaches to the style and manner of this class of writers. Lord Byron, however, it should be observed, like all other persons of a quick sense of beauty, and sure enough of their own originality to be in no fear of paltry imputations, is a great mimic of styles and manners, and a great borrower of external character. He and Scott, accordingly, are full of miitations s 2 26o ' THE EVERY- DAY BOOK [Gerstaecker. of all the writers from whom they have ever derived gratification 5 and the two most original writers of the age might appear, to superficial observers, to be the most deeply indebted to their predecessors. In this particular instance, we have no fault to find with Lord Byron ; for undoubtedly the finer passages of Wordsworth and Southey have in them wherewithal to lend an impulse to the utmost ambition of rival genius ; and their diction and manner of writing is frequently both striking and original. But we may say, that it would afford us still greater pleasure to find these tuneful gentlemen returning the compli- ment which Lord Byron has here paid to their talents ; and forming themselves on the model rather of his imitations, than of their own originals. In those imitations they will find that, though he is some- times abundantly mystical, he never, or at least very rarely, indulges in absolute nonsense — never takes his lofty flights upon mean or ridiculous occasions, — and, above all, never dilutes his strong conceptions, and magnificent imaginations, with a flood of oppressive verbosity. On the contrary, he is, of all living writers, the most concise and condensed ; and, we would fain hope, may go far, by his example, to redeem the great reproach of our modern literature — its intolerable prolixity and redundance. In his nervous and manly lines, we find no elaborate amphfication of common sentiments — no ostentatious polish- ing of pretty expressions ; and we really think that the brilliant success which has rewarded his disdain of those paltry artifices, should pat to shame for ever that puling and self-admiring race, who can live through half a volume on the stock of a single thought, and expatiate over divers fair quarto pages with the details of one tedious descrip- tion. In Lord Byron, on the contrary, we have a perpetual stream of thick-coming fancies — an eternal stream of fresh-blown images, which seem called into existence by the sudden flash of those glowing thoughts and overwhelming emotions, that struggle for expression through the whole flow of his poetry— and impart to a diction that is often abrupt and irregular, a force and a charm which frequently realize all that is said of inspiration. — Contributions to the Edinburgh Review, 107.— THE OFFICER AND THE CONVICT. [Gerstaecker, 1816. [Frederick Gerstaecker, born at Hamburg, May 16, 1816, emigrated to America at an early age, and travelled on foot through Canada and the United States, following the most humble occupations in order to obtain means of existence. On his return to Germany in 1842, he published an account of his travels. His romances. Gerstaecker.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 261 "The Regulators of Arkansas" appeared in 1846, and the "Pirates of the Mississippi" in 1848. The years between 1849 ^^d 1852 were spent by this enterprising traveller in visiting Australia and various parts of the American con- tinent. Since his return to Germany he has published several works of fiction and books of tiavel. "The Two Convicts" appeared in 1854.] Lieutenant Walker sat at the window of McDonald's room, with his arms crossed on his breast, and looking up in silence and meditation at the Southern Cross, which shone brightly in the firmament. Time passed rapidly — an hour he remained in this posture, without giving a sign of impatience. Below all was silent, and most of the lights which had first cast their rays on the fences, were put out. Nothing stiiTcd — the stillness of death reigned in the house, and nothing was heard but the monotonous ticking of an old German clock, whichj with its regular and loud motion, seemed to cut time into small pieces. The lamp, covered with a dark shade, shed a subdued light over the room. Suddenly steps were heard in the street. The lieutenant listened : they came nearer, and stopped before the house. He could distinctly hear the key in the lock, the door open and shut again, and the steps of some one passing through the dark passage and ascending the stairs. The lieutenant stood up, but remained by the window. A hand was laid upon the latch — the door opened, and McDonald entered. He looked pale and fatigued, but perfectly calm, and without perceiving the stranger, went to the lamp, lifted the shade, and raised the wick. " Good evening, M'Donald," said the deep and sonorous voice of Lieutenant Walker 5 and M'Donald, on hearing these sounds, started back, as if stung by an adder. The surprise lasted only a moment. With his left hand he turned the shade of the lamp so as to throw the full light upon the countenance of his antagonist, and with the right he drew a double-barrelled pistol from his pocket, cocked it, and said, in a quiet voice, but choked with suppressed emotion : " Lieutenant Walker, you have attained your aim ; but probably in a sense different from that you expect. You have ventured within the power of a desperate man, and must bear the consequence. For my own part, I am tired of this life. Hunted, pursued like a wild beast, with the blood-hounds on its track, night and day, — who would wish to live thus ?" Lieutenant Walker listened to him quietly, with his arms still crossed upon his breast. At last he said — " What if I did not come as an enemy — if I brought you peace and quietness, M'Donald !" 262 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Gerstaecker. "Those are only to be found in the grave!" the unfortunate man replied, in a hollow voice. " Put down your weapon, sir," continued Walker, in an almost friendly voice. '' I am alone ; my men are not in the neighbourhood, although they were lying in ambush round the house for an hour or two." "Betrayed, after all, then," said M'Donald, with a bitter smile. "You have no cause to complain of that," replied Walker, laughing. " Do not look at me so gloomily. If my heart were not at this moment light and glad — if I brought you only imprisonment and fresh tortures — I should certainly not be laughing. But to- morrow's sun will find you a happier man. I bring you life and liberty." "Yon?" exclaimed M'Donald, with astonishment, yet not without suspicion. "It may appear strange to you," said Walker, laughing, " that a lieutenant of the police should engage in such, I might say, negative occupations J but such is the case, nevertheless. But — " he added, suddenly, in a frank manner, " be assured, McDonald, that, from the day when we fought side by side against the blacks, I felt you were a different man from what the world supposed. From that day it was with reluctance that I fulfilled my duty. I certainly endeavoured to execute it, because it was my duty." " I do not understand you," said M'Donald, astonished at the extraordinary conduct of the man. "I will no longer keep you in suspense. Let us sit down!" he added, as, unbuckling his sabre, he placed it in a corner, drew a chair to the table, and sat down. M'Donald, who still held the pistol in his hand, laid it upon a chest of drawers, locked the door to guard against any surprise, and also sat down to the table. "Still suspicious!" observed Walker, laughing. "But — you are right. I have hitherto done nothing to entitle me to your confidence, liisten to me quietly ; the sequel of my short narration will perhaps give you a better opinion of me." " We met yesterday for the second time, in company," the lieutenant commenced, with a smile ; " and I must confess the blue spectacles and your German entirely deceived me. I had no notion you were so well acquainted with a foreign tongue, although your figure and appearance seemed familiar to me. This morning an old acquaintance of ours, allured by the hundred pounds reward offered for your appre- hension, disclosed to me that Dr. Schreiber, at Lischke's, was no other than the notorious Jack Loudon." " Red John !" exclaimed M'Donald, with a smile of contempt. Gerstaecker.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 263 " Not exactly, although I have since heard that gentleman had a hand in the affair. We caught him this evening, and he will soon get his richly-merited reward — the gallows. No : the informer was once a hut-keeper upon Mr. Powell's station, who was known there under the name of Miller, but whose real name is Hohburg." "Hohburg!" exclaimed M'Donald, starting from his chair with horror. " That was Miller ! Now I understand why that face seemed so familiar to me, and the strange and inexplicable feeling which always came over me when I looked into those eyes !" " Pray sit still !" said the lieutenant ; '^ you will hear things stranger still. The fellow looked horrible, with his matted hair, pale face, deep-sunken eyes, and trembling limbs — indeed, the very image of one ruined by drink. I was bound to make use of the information, M'Donald ; but I give you my word that I would sooner have struck the informer to the ground than arrest you. I therefore issued my orders, sent a constable here in disguise to inquire after you, and sur- rounded the house, which was to have been searched by my men somewhere about this time. I committed to my sergeant the execu- tion of the enterprise, as I did not wish to have anything further to do with it myself." "And now ?" " I have sent my men to their quarters, and come to talk over with you the events of this day. Listen. I thought you were under the penalty of law, but I also thought that you were not to be classed with ordinary criminals. Not wishing to see you after you had been arrested, towards evening I rode out of Saaldorf, in order to pay a visit to the magistrate of the next town, intending to return to-morrow morning, when all should, as I hoped, be over. On my way, at a short distance off, I passed a small house, which stands alone by the road-side, nesthng in the bush. Hearing wild and heart-rending cries, I stopped my horse. The next instant the thought struck me that my men had maintained they had come upon the tracks of Red John in this neighbourhood. The cry of terror inside was perhaps, I thought, his work ; and, turning my horse, I sprang out of the saddle, threw the reins over a bush, took the pistols out of the holsters, and rushed to the door of the hut. I found my weapons were not wanted, but my presence was the more opportune. " In the middle of the poor but clean room a man was stretched out upon a mattress. This was Miller, or Hohburg, in a state of mad- ness. A pale woman sat in the corner of the room, with clasped hands and lixed looks, and a man, the captain of a German ship in the port of Adelaide, was kneeling by his side. The woman did not even notice my sudden entrance with pistols in my hands. Her eyes 264 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Tytler. wandered meaningless past me, and were again fixed upon the ground. The captain seemed delighted at my arrival, and, in a fearful state of agitation, he took hold of my hand and led me to the couch of the unfortunate man. " M 'Donald," continued Walker, after a short pause, during which he appeared agitated in an unusual manner, " I will no longer keep you on the rack. You were transported for the murder of an Irish gentleman. Do not interrupt me — I this evening took the depositions of the real murderer, who acknowledged his crime." '^'Tlohburg !" cried M'Donald, horror-stricken. " Good God !" ''Stung with remorse," Walker continued, with emotion, " and feeling the approach of death, he acknowledged in my pi-esence and that of the German, his crime, and your innocence. Then he tried to rise, to go to Adelaide and give himself up to justice 5 but his enfeebled body was completely exhausted. He sank back upon the couch and died, uttering curses, in tlie arms of the captain." — The Two Convicts, ch. xxxi. 108.— THE CHARACTER OF JAMES III. OF SCOTLAND. [Tytler, 1791 — 1849. [Patrick Eraser Tytler, born Aug. 30, 1791, the fourth son of Lord Wood- houselee, was educated at Edinburgh, and in 18 13 became a member of the Scottish Faculty of Advocates. Tytler applied himself to literature, and published his " Life of James Crichton of Cluny, commonly called the Admirable Crichton," in 1819. His " Memoir of Sir Thomas Craig of Riccarton" was published in 1823. The first and second volumes of his "History of Scotland" appeared in 1828; the third in 1829; the fourth in 1831 ; the fifth in 1834; the sixth in 1837; the seventh in 1840; the eighth in 1842; and the ninth in 1843. Tytler, who was the author of numerous other works, obtained a royal pension in 1844, ^^^ he died at Malvern, Dec. 24, 1849. -^ memoir, by J. W. Burgon, was published in 1859.] When we find the popular historians departing so widely from the truth in the false and partial colouring which they have thrown over the history of this reign, we may be permitted to receive their personal character of the monarch with considerable suspicion. James's great fault seems to have been a devotion to studies and accomplishments which, in this rude and warlike age, were deemed unworthy of his rank and dignity. He was an enthusiast in music, and took delight in architecture, and the construction of splendid and noble palaces and buildings 5 he was fond of rich and gorgeous dresses, and ready to spend large sums in the encouragement of the most skilful and curious workers in gold and steel ; and the productions of these artists, their inlaid armour, massive gold chains, and jewel-hilted daggers, were pur- Tytler.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 265 chased by him at high prices, whilst they themselves were admitted, if we believe the same writers, to an intimacy and friendship with the sovereign which disgusted the nobility. The true account of this was probably, that James received these ingenious artisans into his palace, where he gave them employment, and took pleasure in superintending their labours — an amusement for which he might have pleaded the example of some of the wisest and most popular sovereigns. But the barons, for whose rude and unintellectual society the monarch showed little predilection, returned the neglect with which they were unwisely treated, by pouring contempt and ridicule upon the pursuits to which he was devoted. Cochrane, the architect, who had gained favour with the king by his genius in an art which, in its higher branches, is emi- nently intellectual, was stigmatized as a low mason. Rogers, whose musical compositions were fitted to refine and improve the barbarous taste of the age, and whose works were long after highly esteemed in Scotland, was ridiculed as a common fiddler or buffoon 5 and other artists, whose talents had been warmly encouraged by the sovereign, were treated with the same indignity. It would be absurd, however, from the evidence of such interested witnesses, to form our opinion of the true character of his favourites, as they have been termed, or of the encouragement which they received from the sovereign. To the Scottish barons of this age, Phidias would have been but a stone- cutter, and Apelles no better than the artisan who stained their oaken wainscot. The error of the king lay, not so much in the encourage- ment of ingenuity and excellence, as in the indolent neglect of those duties and cares of government, which were in no degree incompatible with his patronage of the fine arts. Had he possessed the energy and powerful intellect of his grandfather — had he devoted the greater por- tion of his time to the administration of justice, to a friendly inter- course with his feudal nobles, and a strict and watchful superintendence of their conduct in the offices entrusted to them, he might safely have employed his leisure in any way most agreeable to him ; but it happened to this prince, as it has to many a devotee of taste and sensi- bility, that a too exquisite perception of excellence in the fine arts, and an enthusiastic love for the studies intimately connected with them, in exclusion of more ordinary duties, produced an indolent refinement, which shrunk from common exertion, and transformed a character originally full of intellectual and moral promise, into that of a secluded, but not unamiable misanthropist. Nothing can justify the king's in- attention to the cares of government, and the recklessness with which he shut his ears to the complaints and remonstrances of the nobility 3 but that he was cruel, unjust, or unforgiving — that he was a selfish and avaricious voluptuary — or that he drew upon himself, by these dark 266 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Clarke. portions of his character, the merited execration and vengeance of his nobles, is a representation founded on no authentic evidence, and con- tradicted by the uniform history of his reign and of his misfortunes. — History of Scotland, vol. iii. ch. iv. 109.— THE CALMUCKS. [Dr. Clarke, 1769 — 1822. [Edward Daniel Clarke, born at Willingdon, Sussex, was educated at Cambridge, and acted as tutor and travelling-companion from 1792 to 1799. In the latter year he started on an extensive tour through parts of Europe and Asia, and did not return till 1802. He obtained a college living in 1805, was made professor of mineralogy at Cambridge in 1807, and he presented the university of Cambridge vnth some of the valuable marbles which he had collected. The first volume of his travels appeared in 1810, the second in 1812, the third in 1813, the fourth in 1816, the fifth in 1819, and the sixth in 1823. His Life and Remains by his friend the Rev. W. Otter appeared in 1824. Dr. Clarke died March 9, 1822. Dr. Dibdin says: — "The splendour and celebrity of all travels performed by Englishmen have been exceeded by those of the late and deeply-lamented Dr. Edward Clarke. * * * Upon the whole, if Humboldt be the first, Clarke is the second traveller of his age."] Of all the inhabitants of the Russian empire, the Calmucks are the most distinguished by peculiarity of feature and manner. In personal appearance, they are athletic and revolting. Their hair is coarse and black J their language harsh and guttural. They inhabit Thibet, Bucharia, and the countries lying to the north of Persia, India, and China -, but, from their vagrant habits, they may be found in all the southern parts of Russia, even to the banks of the Dnieper. The Cossacks alone esteem them, and intermarry with them. This union sometimes produces women of very great beauty j although nothing is more hideous than a Calmuck. High, prominent, and broad cheek- bones ; very little eyes, widely separated from each other 3 a flat and broad nose j coarse, greasy, jet-black hair 3 scarcely any eye-brows j and enormous prominent ears ; compose no very inviting countenance, however we may strive to do it justice. Their women are uncom- monly hardy ; and on horseback outstrip their male companions in the race. The stories related of their placing pieces of horse-flesh under the saddle, in order to prepare them for food, are true. They acknow- ledge that this practice was common among them during a journey, and that a steak so dressed became tender and palatable. In their large camps, they have cutlers, and other artificers in copper, brass, and iron : sometimes goldsmiths, who make trinkets for their women, idols of gold and silver, and vessels for their altars ; also persons expert at inlaid work, enamelling, and many arts vainly believed peculiar to Clarke.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 267 nations in a state of refinement. One very remarkable fact, confirming the observations of other travellers, may bear repetition ; namely, that, from time immemorial, the more Oriental tribes of Calmucks have possessed the art of making gunpowder. They boil the efflorescence of nitrate of potass in a strong lye of poplar and birch ashes, and leave it to crystallize -, after this, they pound the crystals with two parts of sulphur, and as much charcoal ; then, wetting the mixture, they place it in a caldron over a charcoal lire, until the powder begins to granulate. The generality of Calmucks, when equipped for war, protect the head by a helmet of steel with a gilded crest 5 to this is fixed a net- work of iron rings, falling over the neck and shoulders, and hanging as low as the eye-brows in front. They wear upon their body, after the Eastern manner, a tissue of similar work, formed of iron or steel rings matted together : this adapts itself to the shape, and yields readily to all positions of the body ; and ought therefore rather to be called a shirt than a coat of mail. The most beautiful of these are manufactured in Persia, and valued at the price of fifty horses, The cheaper sort are made of scales of tin, and sell only for six or eight horses each : but these are more common among the Chinese and the Mogul territory. Their other arms are lances, bows and arrows, poignards, and sabres. Only the richer Calmucks carry fire-arms : these are therefore always regarded as marks of distinction, and kept with the utmost care in cases made of badgers' skins. Their most valuable bows are constructed of the wild-goat's horn, or of whalebone 5 the ordinary sort, of maple, or thin slips of elm or fir, fastened together, and bound with a covering of linden or birch bark. Their amusements are, hunting, wrestling, archery, and horse- racing. They are not addicted to drunkenness, although they hold drinking- parties, continuing for half-a-day at a time, without interruption. Upon such occasions, every one brings his share of brandy and Koumiss j and the whole stock is placed upon the ground, in the open airj the guests forming a circle, seated around it. One of them, squatted by the vessels containing the liquor, performs the office of cup-bearer. The young women place themselves by the men, and begin songs of love or war, of fabulous adventure, or heroic achievement. Thus the fete is kept up 5 the guests passing the cup round, and singing the whole time, until the stock of liquor is expended. During all this ceremony, no one is seen to rise from the party ; nor does any one interrupt the harmony of the assembly by riot or intoxication. In the long nights of winter, the young people of both sexes amuse themselves with music, dancing, and singing. Their most common musical instrument is the lala-laika, or two-stringed lyre ; often represented in their paintings. These paintings preserve very curious memorials of the ancient super- 268 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Addison. stition of Eastern nations 3 exhibiting objects of Pagan worship which were common to the earliest mytholog}- of Egypt and of Greece. The arts of painting and music may be supposed to have continued httle hable to akeration among the Calmucks from the remotest periods of their hhtory. As for their dances^ these consist more in movements of the hands and arms, than of the feet. In winter they play at cards, draughts, backgammon, and chess. Their love of gambling is so great, that they will spend entire nights at play ; and lose in a single sitting the whole of what they possess, even to the clothes upon their body. In short, it may be said of the Calmucks that the greatest part of their life is spent in amusement. Wretched and revolting as they seem, they would be indeed miserable if compelled to change their mode of living for that of a more civilized people. — Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa, vol. i. chap. 12. T 10.— SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY AT CHURCH. [Addison, 1672 — 1719. [Joseph Addison, son of the Rev. Lancelot Addison, born at Milston, in Wiltshire, May I, 1672, was educated at Oxford. Having in 1699 obtained a pension of 300Z. a year, he set out on a Continental tour. He returned in 1702, and remained with- out employment till 1704, when his celebrated poem, "The Campaign," procured him a Commissionership of Appeals. In 1706 he became Under-Secretar\- of State, and published his opera of "Rosamond." On the appointment of the Marquis of Wharton as Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland in 1709, he became his secretary. It was in this year that the "Tatler" appeared, to which Addison contributed. The "Spec- tator" was produced Jan. 2, 171 1, and was succeeded by the "Guardian," in 171 2. The tragedy of "Cato" was brought out in 1713, and the "Freeholder," in support of the Government, was commenced in 1715, and continued till 1716. In 171 7 Addison was appointed Secretary of State, which office he resigned in 1718, and died at Holland House, Kensington, June 17, 17 19. " Whoever," says Dr. Johnson, " wishes to attain an English style, familiar, but not coarse, and elegant, but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the study of Addison." Dr. Johnson gives an account of Addison in his "Lives of the Poets." Several editions of his collected works have been published.] I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, if keeping holy the Seventh Day were only a human Institution, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country people would soon degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to con- verse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in adoration of the Supreme Addison.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 269 Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard, as a citizen does upon the Change, the whole parish pohticks being generally discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings. My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beautified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing : he has likewise given a handsome palpit-cloth, and railed in the communion table at his own expense. He has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he found his parishioners very irregular ; and that in order to make them kneel and join in the responses, he gave to every one of them a hassock and a Common Prayer Book 3 and at the same time employed an itinerant singing master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms J upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches that I have ever heard. As Sir Roger is landlord of the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suiFer nobody to sleep in it besides hknself j for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servants to them. Several other of the old Knight's parti- cularities break out upon these occasions : sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing-psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it 3 sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces Amen three or four times to the same prayer ; and sometimes stands up when every- body else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing. I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. This John Matthews it seems is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of the Knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very good efi:ect upon the parish, who are not poHte enough to see anything ridiculous in his behaviour ; besides that the general good sense and worthiness of his character makes his friends observe these little singularities and foUs that rather set otF than blemish his good qualities. 27© THE E^'ERY-DAY BOOK [Addison. As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir till Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The Knight walks down from his seat in the chancel, between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side : and every now and then inquires how such an one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at charch : which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent. The Chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising day, when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his encouragement 3 and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place j and that he may encourage the youn^ fellows to make themselves perfect in the Church Service, has promised upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit. The fair understanding bet^veen Sir Roger and his Chaplain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable, because the very next village is famous for the differences and con- tentions that rise between the Parson and the 'Squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The Parson is always preaching at the 'Squire, and the 'Squire to be revenged on the Parson never comes to church. The 'Squire has made all his tenants atheists and tithe stealers 3 while the Parson instructs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and insinuates to them in almost every sermon, that he is a better man than his patron. In short, matters are come to such an extremity, that the 'Squire has not said his prayers either in publick or private this half year 3 and that the Parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for him in tlie face of the whole congregation. Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are very fatal to the ordinary people 3 who are so used to be dazzled with riches, that they pay as much deference to the understanding of a man of an estate, as of a man of learning 3 and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how important soever it may be, that is preached to them, when they know there are several men of five hundred a year who do not believe it. — The Spectator, No. 112. July 9, 1 7 I T . Rogers.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 271 III.— EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. [Rogers, 1763 — 1855. [Samuel Rogers was born at Newington Green, London, July 30, 1763. His first publication, "An Ode to Superstition," appeared in 1786, and "The Pleasures of Memory," with other poems, in 1792. "Human Life," a poem, was published in 1819, and "Italy" in 1822. A memoir of Rogers, by the Rev. A. Dyce, appeared in 1856, and his "Recollections," edited by W. Sharpe, in 1859. Rogers died in London, Dec. 18, 1855.] As through the garden's desert paths T rove. What fond illusions swarm in every grove ! How oft, when purple evening tinged the west. We watched the emmet to her grainy nest -, Welcomed the wild-bee home on v^eary wing. Laden with sweets the choicest of the spring ! How oft inscribed, with Friendship's votive rhyme. The bark now silvered by the touch of Time ; Soared in the swing, half pleased, and half afraid. Thro' sister elms that waved their summer- shade 3 Or strewed with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat. To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat. Childhood's loved group revisits every scene j The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green ! Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live ! Clothed with far softer hues than Light can give. Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns below To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know ; Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm. When nature fades, and life forgets to charm -, Thee would the Muse invoke ! — to thee belong The sage's precept, and the poet's song. What softened views thy magic glass reveals. When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight steals ! As when in ocean sinks the orb of day. Long on the wave reflected lustres play j Thy tempered gleams of happiness resigned Glance on the darkened mirror of the mind. The School's lone porch, with reverend mosses grey. Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn. Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn : i 272 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Rogers. Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air. When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendship formed and cherished here^ And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With golden visions, and romantic dreams ! Do\^Ti by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed The gipsy's fagot — there we stood and gazed j Gazed on her sun-burnt face with silent awe. Her tattered mantle, and her hood of straw j Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore. Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred. From rilled roost at nightly revel fed ; Whose dark eyes flashed through locks of blackest shade. When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bayed : — And heroes fled the sibyl's muttered call. Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard-wall. As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew. And traced the hne of life with searching view. How throbbed my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears. To learn the colour of my future years ! Ah, then, what honest triumph flushed my breast j This truth once known — to bless is to be blest I We led the bending beggar on his way, (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-grey) Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit felt. And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. As in his scrip we dropt our little store. And sighed to think that little was no more ; He breathed his prayer, " Long may such goodness live !" 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. Angels, when Mercy's mandate winged their flight. Had stopt to dwell with pleasure on the sight. Pleasures of Memory, part i. Paley.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 273 112.— ON THE WRITINGS OF THE APOSTLES. [Dr. Paley, 1743 — 1805. [William Paley, born at Peterborough in 1743, and educated at Cambridge, was senior wrangler in 1763, and fellow in 1766. He was for some time tutor at Cambridge, and in 1780 obtained a prebendal stall at Carlisle. He became arch- deacon in 1782, and chancellor of the diocese in 1785. "The Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy" appeared in 1785, the " Horae Paulinae" in 1790, "A View of the Evidences of Christianity" in 1794, and "Natural Theology, or Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of the Deity," in 1802. He obtained valuable prefer- ment, and died May 25, 1805. A memoir by G. W. Meadley was published in 1809, and an account of his Life and Writings by his son in 1825.] No historical fact, I apprehend is more certain, than that tlie original propagators of Christianity voluntarily subjected themselves to lives of fatigue, danger, and suffering, in the prosecution of their undertaking. The nature of the undertaking ; the character of the persons employed in it ; the opposition of their tenets to the fixed opinions and expecta- tions of the country in which they first advanced them ; their undis- sembled condemnation of the religion of all other countries ; their total want of power, authority or force, render it in the highest degree probable that this must have been tlie case. The probability is increased, by what we know of the fate of the founder of the institution, who was put to death for his attempt 3 and by what we also know of the cruel treatment of the converts to the institution, within thirty years after its commencement : both which points are attested by heathen writers, and, being once admitted, leave it very incredible that the primitive emissaries of the religion, who exercised their ministry, first, amongst the people who had destroyed their master, and, afterwards amongst those who persecuted their converts, should themselves escape with impunity, or pursue their purpose in ease and safety. This probability thus sustained by foreign testimony, is advanced, I tliink, to historica: certainty, by the evidence of our own books ; by the accounts of a writer who was the companion of the persons whose sufferings he relates -, by the letters of the persons themselves ; by predictions of persecutions ascribed to the founder of the religion, which predictions would not have been inserted in his history, much less have been studiously dwelt upon, if they had not accorded with the event, and which, even if falsely ascribed to him, could only have been so ascribed because the event suggested them 3 lastly, by incessant exhortations to fortitude and patience, and by an earnestness, repetition, and urgency upon the subject, which were unlikely to have appeared, if there had not been, at the time, some extraordinary call for the exercise of these virtues. It is made out also, I tliink with sufficient evidence, that both the T 274 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Paley. teachers and converts of the religion, in consequence of their new pro- fession, took up a new course of hfe and behaviour. I'he next question is what they did this for. That it was Jbr a miraculous story of some kind or other, is to my apprehension ex- tremely manifest ; because, as to the fundamental article, the designa- tion of the person, viz., that this particular person, Jesus of Nazareth, ought to be received as the Messiah, or as a messenger from God, they neither had, nor could have, anything but miracles to stand upon. That the exertions and sufferings of the apostles were, for the story which we have now, is proved by the consideration that this story is trans- mitted to us by two of their own number, and by two others personally connected with them 3 that the particularity of the narrative proves, that the writers claimed to possess circumstantial information, that from their situation they had full opportunity of acquiring such information, that they certainly, at least, knew what their colleagues, their com- panions, their masters taught ; that each of these books contains enough to prove the truth of the religion ; that, if any one of them therefore be genuine, it is sufficient ; that the genuineness however of all of them is made out, as well by the general arguments which evince the genuineness of the most undisputed remains of antiquity, as also by peculiar specific proofs, viz., by citations from them in writings belong- ing to a period immediately contiguous to that in which they were published 3 by the distinguished regard paid by early Christians to the authority of these books (which regard was manifested by their col- lecting of them into a volume, appropriating to that volume titles of peculiar respect, translating them into various languages, digesting them into harmonies, writing commentaries upon them, and, still more con- spicuously, by the reading of them in their public assemblies in all parts of the world) : by an universal agreement with respect to these books, whilst doubts were entertained concerning some others 3 by con- tending sects appealing to them 3 by the early adversaries of the religion not disputing their genuineness, but, on the contrary, treating them as the depositories of the history upon which the religion was founded 3 by many formal catalogues of these, as of certain and authoritative writings, published in different and distant parts of the Christian world 3 lastly, by the absence or defect of the above-cited topics of evidence, when applied to any other histories of the same subject. These are strong arguments to prove, that the books actually pro- ceeded from the authors whose names they bear (and have always borne, for there is not a particle of evidence to show that they ever went under any other) 3 but the strict genuineness of the books is perhaps more than is necessary to the support of our proposition. For even supposing that, by reason of the silence of antiquity, or the loss of Reid.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 275 records, we knew not who were the writers of the four gospels, yet the fact, that they were received as authentic accounts of the transaction upon which the rehgion rested, and were received as such by Ciiristians at or near the age of the apostles, by those whom the apostles had taught, and by societies which the apostles had founded ; this fact, I say, connected with the consideration that they are corroborative of each other's testimony, and that they are farther corroborated by another contemporary history, taking up the history where they had left it, and, in a narrative built upon that story, accounting for the rise and production of changes in the world, the effects of which subsist at this day ; connected, moreover, with the confirmation which they receive, from letters written by the apostles themselves, which both assume the same general story, and, as often as occasions lead them to do so, allude to particular parts of it 5 and connected also with the reflection, that if the apostles delivered any different story, it is lost (the present and no other being referred to by a series of Christian writers, down from their age to our own 3 being likewise recognised in a variety of institutions^ which prevailed, early and universally, amongst the disciples of the religion) : and that so great a change, as the oblivion of one story and the substitution of another, under such circumstances, could not have taken place : this evidence would be deemed, I appre- hend, sufficient to prove concerning these books, that, whoever were the authors of them, they exhibit the story which the apostles told, and for which, consequently, they acted, and they suffered. — A View of the Evidences of Christianity , ch. x. Recapitulation. 113.— KNOWLEDGE OF THE MIND AND ITS FACULTIES. [Dr. Reid, 1710 — 1796. [Thomas Reid, born at Strachan, in Kincardineshire, April 26, 1710, and educated at the University of Aberdeen, was presented to the living: of New Machar, Aberdeen- shire, in 1837. He was elected professor of Moral Philosophy of King's College, Old Aberdeen, in 1752, and of the University of Glasgow in 1763. Though an indefatigable student, he did not apply his mind to original composition till late in life. His well-known work, "An Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense," appeared in 1763. It was followed by "Essays on the Intellectual and Active Powers of Man," published in 1785-8. Mr. Reid, who retired from his professorship in 1781, died Oct. 7, 1796. Dugald Stewart, who was his pupil at Glasgow, published an account of his Life and Writings in 1803.] Since we ought to pay no regard to hypotheses, and to be very suspicious of analogical reasoning, it may be asked, from what source must the knowledge of the mind and its faculties be drawn ? T 2 276 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Reid. I answer, the chief and proper source of this branch of knowledge •/S accurate reflection upon the operations of our own minds. Of this source we shall speak more fully, after making some remarks upon two others that may be subservient to it. The first of them is attention to the structure of language. The language of mankind is expressive of their thoughts, and of the various operations of their minds. The various operations of the understanding, will, and passions, which are common to mankind, have various forms of speech corresponding to them in all languages, which are the signs of them, and by which they are expressed : and a due attention to the signs may, in many cases, give considerable light to the things signified by them. There are in all languages modes of speech, by which men signify their judgment, or give their testimony 3 by which they accept or refuse 3 by which they ask information or advice 3 by which they command, or threaten, or supplicate ; by which they plight their faith in promises or contracts. If such operations were not common to mankind, we should not find in all languages forms of speech, by which they are expressed. AH languages, indeed, have their imperfections — they can never be adequate to all the varieties of human thought 3 and therefore things may be really distinct in their nature, and capable of being distin- guished by the human mind, which are not distinguished in common language. We can only expect, in the structure of languages, those distinctions which all mankind in the common business of life have occasion to make. There may be peculiarities in a particular language, of the causes of which we are ignorant, and from which, therefore, we can draw no conclusion. But whatever we find common to all languages, must have a common cause 3 must be owing to some common notion or sentiment of the human mind. We gave some examples of this before, and shall here add another. All languages have a plural number in many of their nouns 3 from which we may infer that all men have notions, not of individual things only, but of attributes, or things which are common to many individuals 3 for no individual can have a plural number. Another source of information in this subject, is a due attention to the course of human actions and conduct. The actions of men are etfects j their sentiments, their passions, and their affections are the causes of those effects 3 and we may, in many cases, form a judgment of the cause from the effect. The behaviour of parents towards their children gives sufficient evidence even to those who never had children, that the parental affection is common to mankind. It is easy to see. Mulock.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 277 from the general conduct of men, what are the natural objects of their esteem, their admiration, their love, their approbation, their resent- ment, and of all their other original dispositions. It is obvious, from the conduct of men in all ages, that man is by his nature a social animal j that he dehghts to associate with his species 3 to converse, and to exchange good offices with them. Not only the actions, but even the opinions of men may sometimes give hght into the frame of the human mind. The opinions of men may be considered as the effects of their intellectual powers, as their actions are the effects of their active principles. Even the prejudices and errors of mankind, when they are general, must have some cause no less general ; the discovery of which will throw some light upon the frame of the human understanding. — Essays on the Intellectual and Active Powers of Man. Essay i. ch. v. 114.— JOHN HALIFAX. [Miss Muloch, 1826. [Miss Dinah Maria Muloch, born at Stoke-upon-Trent, Staffordshire, in 1826, turned her attention to literature at an early age. Her first novel, "The Ogilvies," was published in 1849. It was followed by "Olive," which appeared in 1850, "John Halifax, Gentleman/' in 1856, and a variety of works, including poetry and books for children.] My "robin had done singing, and I amused myself with watching a spot of scarlet winding down the rural road, our house being on the verge where Norton Bury melted into ^'^ the country." It turned out to be the cloak of a well-to-do young farmer's wife riding to market in her cart beside her jolly looking spouse. Very spruce and self- satisfied she appeared, and the market-people turned to stare after her, for her costume was a novelty then. Doubtless, many thought as I did, how much prettier was scarlet than duffle grey. Behind the farmer's cart came another, which at first I scarcely noticed, being engrossed by the ruddy face under the red cloak. The farmer himself nodded good humouredly, but Mrs. Scarletcloak turned up her nose. " Oh, pride, pride !" I thought, amused, and watched the two carts, the second of which was with difficulty passing the farmer's, on the opposite side of the narrow road. At last it succeeded in getting in advance, to the young woman's evident annoyance, until the driver, turning, lifted his hat to her with such a merry, frank, pleasant smile. Surely, I knew that smile, and the well-set head with its light curly 278 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Mulock. hair. Also, alas ! I knew the cart with relics of departed sheep dangling out behind. It was our cart of skins, and John Halifax was driving it. *^ John ! John !" I called out, but he did not hear, for his horse had taken fright at the red cloak, and required a steady hand. Very steady the boy's hand was, so that the farmer clapped his two great lists, and shouted ^^Bray-vo !" But John — my John Halifax — he sat in his cart and drove. His appearance was much as when I first saw him — shabbier, perhaps, as if through repeated drenchings^ this had been a wet autumn, Jael had told me. Poor John ! — well might he look gratefully up at the clear blue sky to-day ; ay, and the sky never looked down on a brighter, cheerier face — the same face, which, whatever rags it surmounted, would, I believe, have ennobled them all. I leaned out, watching him approach our house ; watching him with so great pleasure, that I forgot to wonder whether or no he would notice me. He did not at first, being busy over his horse ; until, just as the notion flashed across my mind, that he was passing by our house — also, how keenly his doing so would pain me — the lad looked up. A beaming smile of surprise and pleasure, a friendly nod, then all at once his manner changed ; he took off his cap, and bowed cere- moniously to his master's son. For the moment, I was hurt -, then I could not but respect the honest pride which thus intimated that he knew his own position, and wished neither to ignore nor to alter it ; all advances between us rfiust evidently come from my side. So, having made his salutation, he was driving on, when I called after him — "John! John!" *' Yes, sir. I am so glad you're better again." " Stop one minute till I come out to you." And I crawled on my crutches to the front door, forgetting everything but the pleasure of meeting him — forgetting even my terror of Jael. What could she say ? even though she held nominally the friends' doctrine — obeyed in the letter at least, " Call no man your master" — what would Jael say if she found me, Phineas Fletcher, talking in front of my father's respectable mansion with the vagabond lad who drove my father's cart of skins ? But I braved her, and opened the door. " John, where are you ?" "Here," (he stood at the foot of the steps, with the reins on his arm) j " did you want me ?" " Yes. Come up here j never mind the cart." But that was not John's way. He led the refractory horse, settled Mulock.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 279 him comfortably under a tree, and gave him in charge to a small boy. Then he bounded back across the road, and was up the steps to my side in a single leap. . " I had no notion of seeing you. They said you were in bed yesterday." (Then he had been enquiring for me !) "Ought you to be standing at the door this cold day ^" "It is quite warm/' I Said, looking up at the sunshine and shivering. " Please go in." " If you'll come too." He nodded, then put his arm around mine, and helped me in, as if he had been a big elder brother, and I a little ailing child. Well nursed and carefully guarded as I had always been, it was the first time in my life I ever knew the meaning of that rare thing — tender- ness. A quality different from kindliness, affectionateness, or benevo- lence, a quality which can exist only in strong, deep, and undemonstra- tive natures, and therefore in its perfection is oftenest found in men. John Halifax had it more than any one, woman or man, that I ever knew. "I'm glad you're better," he said, and said no more. But one look of his expressed as much as half a dozen sympathetic sentences of other people. " And how have you been, John ? How do you like the tan-yard ? Tell me, frankly." He pulled a wry face, though comical withal, and said, cheerily — " Everybody must like what brings them their daily bread. It's a grand thing for me not to have been hungry for nearly thirty days." "Poor John!" I put my hand on his wrist — his strong, brawny wrist. Perhaps the contrast involuntarily struck us both with the truth — good for both to learn — that Heaven's ways are not so unequal as we sometimes fancy they seem. " I have so often wanted to see you, John. Couldn't you come in now ?" He shook his head, and pointed to the cart. That minute, through the open hall door, I perceived Jael sauntering leisurely home from market. Now, if I was a coward, it was not for myself this time. The avalanche of ill words I knew must fall — but it should not fall on him, if I could help it. "Jump up on your cart, John. Let me see how well you can drive. There — good bye, for the present. Are you going to the tan- yard ?" "Yes — for the rest of the day." And he made a face as if he did not quite revel in that delightful prospect. No wonder ! 28o THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [D'Aubignc. *^ I'll come and see you there this afternoon," " No ?" with a look of delightful surprise. ^' But you must not — you ought not." " But I will!'" And I laughed to hear myself actually using that phrase. What would Jael have said ? What — as she arrived just in time to receive a half malicious, half ceremonious bow from John, as he drove -off — ^what that excellent woman did say, I have not the slightest recollection. I only remember that it did not frighten and grieve me as such attacks used to do 3 that, in her own vernacular, it all ^' went in at one ear, and out at t'other j" that I persisted in looking out until the last glimmer of tlie bright curls had disappeared down the sunshiny road — then shut the front door, and crept in, content. — John Halifax, Gentleman, 115.— THE THESES OF LUTHER. [Merle D'Aubign^, 1794- [Jean Henri Merle D'Aubign:^, born at'Geneva, Aug. 16, 1794, was educated at the university of his native town and at Berlin, and became pastor of a French church in Hamburg. From 18 15 to 1830 he was chaplain to the late King of Holland at Brussels. In 1830 he was appointed Professor of Church History at the new college at Geneva. His first work was a volume of sermons published at Hamburg. The first volume of his " History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century " appeared in 1835, ^^d has been translated into most modern languages. D'Aubigne' has published numerous other works.] At length the year 1^17 arrived j Luther's theses were published} they were circulated through Christendom, and penetrated also into the monastery where the scholar of Annaberg was concealed. He hid himself in a corner of the cloister with another monk, John Voigt, that he might read them at his ease. Here were the selfsame truths he had heard from his father : his eyes were opened ; he felt a voice within him responding to that which was then re-echoing through Germany, and great consolation filled his heart. " I see plainly," said he, '' that Martin Luther is the reaper I saw in my dream, and who taught me to gather the ears." He began immediately to profess the doctrine that Luther had proclaimed. The monks grew alarmed as they heard him ; they argued with him, and declared against Luther, and against his convent. "This convent," replied Myconius, " is like our Lord's sepulchre : they wish to prevent Christ's resurrection, but they will fail." At last his superiors, finding they could not convince him, interdicted him for a year and a half from all lyAubigne.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 281 intercourse with the world, permitting him neither to write nor receive letters, and threatening him with imprisonment for life. But the hour of his deliverance was at hand. Being afterwards nominated pastor of Zwickau, he was the first who declared against the papacy in the churches in Thuringia. "Then," said he, "was I enabled to labour with my venerable father Luther in the gospel-harvest." Jonas describes him as a man capable of doing everything he undertook. No doubt there were others besides to whose souls Luther's proposi- tions were a signal of life. They kindled a new flame in many cells, cottages, and palaces. While those who had entered the convents in quest of good cheer, an idle life, or respect and honours, says Mathesius, began to load the name of Luther with reproaches, the monks who lived in prayer, fasting, and mortification, returned thanks to God, as soon as they heard the cry of that eagle whom Huss had announced a century before. Even the common-people, who did not clearly under- stand the theological question, but who only knew that this man assailed the empire of the lazy and mendicant monks, welcomed him with bursts of acclamation. An immense sensation was produced in Germany by these daring propositions. Some of the reformer's con- temporaries, however, foresaw the serious consequences to which they might lead, and the numerous obstacles they would encounter. They expressed their fears aloud, and rejoiced with trembling. "I am much afraid," wrote the excellent canon of Augsburg, Bernard Adelmann, to his friend Pirckheimer, " that the worthy man must give way at last before the avarice and power of the partisans of indulgences. His representations have produced so little effect, that the Bishop of Augsburg, our primate and metropolitan, has just ordered, in the pope's name, fresh indulgences for St. Peter's at Rome. Let him haste to secure the aid of princes ; let him beware of tempting God ; for he must be void of common sense if he overlooks the imminent peril he incurs." Adelmann was delighted on hearing it rumoured that Henry VIIL had invited Luther to England. " In that country," thought the canon, "he will be able to teach the truth in peace." Many thus imagined that the doctrine of the Gospel required the support of the civil power. They knew not that it advances without this power, and is often trammelled and enfeebled by it. Albert Kranz, the famous historian, was at Hamburg on his death- bed, when Luther's theses were brought to him : " Thou art right. Brother Martin," said he 3 " but thou wilt not succeed Poor monk ! Go to thy cell and cry, ' Lord ! have mercy upon me !' " An aged priest of Hexter, in Westphalia, having received and read the theses in his parsonage, shook his head^ and said in Low German^ 2g2 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [lyAubigne. *' Dear Brother Martin ! if you succeed in overthrowing this purgatory and all these paper dealers, you will be a fine fellow indeed !" Erbenius, who lived a century later, wrote the following doggerel under these words : — " What would the worthy parson say. If he were living at this day i" Not oniy did a great nunriber of Luther's friends entertain fears as to this proceeding, but many even expressed their disapprobation. The Bishop of Brandenburg, grieved at seeing so violent a quarrel break out in his diocese, would have desired to stifle it. He resolved to effect this by mildness. "In your theses on indulgences," said he to Luther, through the Abbot of Lenin, " I see nothing opposed to the Catholic truth ; I myself condemn these indiscreet proclamations j but for the love of peace and for regard to your bishop, discontinue writing upon this subject" Luther was confounded at being addressed with such humility by so great a dignitary. Led away by the first impulse of his heart, he replied with emotion: "I consent: I would rather obey than perform miracles, if that were possible." The elector beheld with regret the commencement of a combat that was justifiable, no doubt, but the results of which could not be foreseen. No prince was more desirous of maintaining the public peace than Frederick. Yet, what an immense conflagration might not be kindled by this spark ! What violent discord, what rending of nations might not this monkish quarrel produce ! The elector gave Luther frequent intimations of the uneasiness he felt. Even in his own order and in his own convent at Wittemberg, Luther met with disapprobation. The prior and sub-prior were terri- fied at the outcry made by Tetzel and his companions. They repaired trembling and alarmed to Brother Martin's cell, and said : " Pray do not bring disgrace upon our order ! The other orders, and especially the Dominicans, are already overjoyed to think that they will not be alone in their shame." Luther was moved at these words j but he «oon recovered and replied: "Dear fathers! if this work be not of God, it will come to naught ; but if it be, let it go forwards." The prior and sub-prior made no answer. "The work is still going forwards," added Luther, after recounting this anecdote, "and, God willing, it will go on better and better unto the end. Amen." — History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century, vol. i. book iii. oh. vi. Kitto.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 283 116.— THE CLIMATE OF PALESTINE. [Dr. Kitto, 1814— 1854. [John Kitto, the son of humble parents, was born at Plymouth, Dec, 4, 1804, and part of his childhood was passed in a workhouse, where he learned the trade of a shoemaker. Through the kindness of a Mr. Grove, of Exeter, he was enabled to indulge his literary tastes, and his first work, " Essays and Letters," appeared in 1825. Having studied at the Missionary- College at Islington, in May, 1829, he accompanied Mr. Grove on a tour in the East, returning to England in 1833. He laboured zealously at literature. His "Pictorial Bible" appeared in 1835, ^^ "Pictorial History of Palestine" in 1839 — A^' ^^'^ "Journal of Sacred Literature," 1848 — ^2. He wrote other works, and in 1844 the University- of Giessen con- ferred upon him the doctor^s degree. He died at Cannstadt, in "Wurtemberg, whither he had repaired for the benefit of his health, Nov. 25, 1854. His Life by Dr. J. E. Ryland, appeared in 1856, and another by Professor Eadie in 1858.] The climate of Palestine naturally varies in different situations. In the valleys and plains it is very warm, but upon the mountains cool 3 but on the average temperate. The climate differs from the tempe- rate parts of Europe more by the changes of wet and dry seasons than by the temperature itself. The medium warmth for Jerusalem is, according to Schubert, 64° Fahrenheit. In summer, however, it is about 84° or 86°, though the heat may occasionally rise even to 104°. The heat is greater in the plains and valleys of the Jordan and about the Dead Sea, where an almost tropical climate prevails. On the longest day the sun rises just before five, and sets just before seven o'clock j the shortest day continaes from a little after seven until a little before five 3 therefore the greatest length of day is about four- teen hours and twelve minutes, and the shortest nine hours and forty- eight minutes. As in the Bible, equally for summer and winter, twelve hours a day are reckoned from the rising to the setting of the sun, and also twelve for the night, the length of the hour necessarily varied in summer and winter. There are properly but two seasons in Palestine ; the cold and the warm, or rather the rainy and the d^}^ The rainy season comes on not suddenly but by degrees. The rain comes mostly from the west or west-north-west, and lasts two or three days successively, falling particularly during the night. The wind then turns to the east, and many days of fine weather foUow. After this first autumn rain the husbandmen sow the winter seed, particu- larly barley. Later on in the season the rain is less heavy, and occurs at longer intervals, but during no part of the winter does it entirely cease. Snow often falls in Januar)- and Februar}% but seldom lies longer than a day at most. Hail also occurs during this time 3 the ground is, however, never frozen, and ice is verv' rare. The cold attains its greatest height in December and Januar}'j 284 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Kitta towards the end of February the weather is very fine ; in March mor" or less rain still falls, but seldom after this time. The whole season from October to March may be regarded as one continued rainy season, occasionally broken by intervals of fine weather. By " the early and the latter rains " of the Bible are properly meant but the first autumnal and the latter spring rains. The suitableness of those designations arises from the fact that the autumnal rains in October agree with the beginning of the old Jewish year. Throughout the winter the roads of Palestine are dirty, uneven, and slippery^ but when the rain ceases, the foulness soon passes off, and the roads become hard, but never even. During the months of April and May the sky is generally serene, the air soft and balmy, and the aspect of nature in years of the cus- tomary rain, green and refreshing to the eye. It is the fine season of which is said in Solomon's Song ii. ii — 13, ^' Now the winter is " past, the rain is over, and the flowers appear on the earth ; the time " of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle-dove is ''heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her new figs, the "vines with the tender grape give a good smell." Showers of rain do indeed still occur, but they are mild and re- freshing. In ordinary seasons, from the cessation of the spring showers till October and November, no rain falls throughout the year, and the sky is mostly clear. The nights are generally cool, often with heavy dew. From June to August the heat is continually increasing, sometimes insupportably so. Its influence and the total want of rain soon destroys the fresh green of the fields, and invests the whole country with an aspect of sterility and barrenness -, all that is left of green is found in the foliage of the dispersed fruit-trees, and in the vineyards and millet-fields. In September the nights begin to wax cold, and the heat of the day decreases, after having dried and burnt up as it were the whole country ; the cisterns are nearly dry -, the few streams and brooks are exhausted 3 and inanimate as well as animate nature revives and exults in the return of rain. Mists and clouds begin now to show themselves 3 and showers fall at intervals until October, when the true rainy season of the year commences its periodical return. Thunder-storms are very rare in summer, but are frequent and heavy in the season of rain. — Scripture Lands, described in a Series of Historical, Geographical and Topographical Sketches. — Canaan — Climate and Seasons. Jesse.] OF MODERN LITERATURE, 285 117.— SAGACITY OF THE POODLE. [Jesse, 1780— 1868. [Edward Jesse, born at Hutton, Cranswick, Yorkshire, in January, 1780, and educated privately, entered the public service at an early age, and was private secretary to Lord Dartmouth, when President of the Board of Control. Mr. Jesse having held various appointments, was made a Commissioner of Hackney Carriages in 1812, and retired on a pension in 1830. He is the author of several popular works, amongst which "Anecdotes of Dogs," published in 1846, and "Favourite Haunts and Studies" in 1847, '^^X ^^ mentioned. Mr. Jesse died in 1868.J A SHOE-BLACK Oil the Pont Neuf at Paris, had a poodle dog, whose sagacity brought no small profit to his master. If the dog saw a person with well-polished boots go across the bridge, he contrived to dirty them, by having first rolled himself in the mud of the Seine. His master was then employed to clean them. An English gentleman, who had sufi'ered more than once from the annoyance of having his boots dirtied by a dog, was at last induced to watch his proceedings, and thus detected the tricks he was playing for his master's benefit. He was so much pleased with the animal's sagacity, that he purchased him at a high price and conveyed him to London. On arriving there, he was confined to the house till he appeared perfectly satisfied with his new master and his new situation. He at last, however, contrived to escape, and made his way back to Paris, where he rejoined his old master, and resumed his former occupation. I was at Paris some years ago, where this anecdote was related to me, and it is now pub- lished in the records of the French Institute. Nor is this a solitary instance of the extraordinary sagacity of the poodle. A lady of my acquaintance had one for many years, who was her constant companion both in the house and in her walks. When, however, either from business or indisposition, her mistress did not take her usual walk on Wimbledon Common, the dog, by jumping on a table took down the maid servant's bonnet, and held it in her mouth tiU she accompanied the animal to the Common. A friend of mine had a poodle dog, who was not very obedient to his call when he was taken out to run in the fields. A small whip was therefore purchased, and the dog one day was chastised with it. The whip was placed on a table in the hall of the house, and the next morning it could not be found. It was soon afterwards discovered in the coal cellar. The dog was a second time punished with it, and again the whip was missed. It was afterwards discovered that the dog had attempted to hide the instrument by which pain had been inflicted on him. There certainly appears a strong approach to reason in this proceeding of the dog. Cause and effect seem to have been associated in his mind, if his mode of proceeding may be called an effort of it. 286 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Pollok. The following anecdotes prove the strong affection and perseverance of the poodle. The late Duke of Argyll had a favourite dog of this description^ who was his constant companion. This dog, on the occa- sion of one of the Duke's journeys to Inverary Castle, was, by some accident or mistake, left behind in London. On missing his master, the faithful animal set off in search of him, and made his way into Scotland, and was found early one morning at the gate of the castle. - The anecdote is related by the family, and a picture shown of the dog. A poor German artist who was studying at Rome, had a poodle dog, who used to accompany him, when his funds would allow it, to an ordinary frequented by other students. Here the dog got scraps enough to support him. His master, not being able to support the expense, discontinued his visits to the ordinary. His dog fared badly in consequence, and at last his master returned to his friends in Germany, leaving his dog behind him. The poor animal slept at the top of the stairs leading to his master's room, but watched in the day time at the door of the ordinary, and when he saw his former acquaintances crowding in, he followed at their heels, and thus gained admittance, and was fed till his owner came back to resume his studies. — Anecdotes of Dogs : The Poodle, 1 18.— SLOTH AND ACTIVITY. [Pollok, 1799 — 1827. [Robert Pollok, born at Eaglesham, Renfrewshire, in 1799, and educated at Glasgow, was licensed as a preacher in 1826. He wrote some stories, published under the title of "Tales of the Covenanters," and his " Course of Time," an epic poem in ten books, appeared in March, 1827. The author fell a victim to consumption, and died at Southampton, on his way to Italy, Sept. 15, 1827, just six months after the publication of his poem. His Life, by his brother, was published in 1843.] Two principles from the beginning strove In human nature — still dividing man — Sloth and activity ; the lust of praise. And indolence that rather wished to sleep. And not unfrequently in the same mind They dubious contest held ; one gaining now, / And now the other crowned, and both again Keeping the field, with equal combat fought. Much different was their voice. Ambition called To action : sloth invited to repose. Pollok.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 287 Ambition early rose, and, being up. Toiled ardently, and late retired to rest j Sloth lay till midday, turning on his couch. Like ponderous door upon its weary hinge. And having rolled him out, with much ado. And many a dismal sigh and vain attempt. He sauntered out, accoutred carelessly — With half-oped, misty, unobservant eye. Somniferous, that weighed the object down On which its burden fell — an hour or two. Then with a groan retired to rest again. The one, whatever deed had been achieved. Thought it too little, and too small the praise ; The other tried to think — for thinking so Answered his purpose best — that what of great Mankind could do had been already done ; And therefore laid him calmly down to sleep. Diiferent in mode, destructive both alike. Destructive always indolence 3 and love Of fame destructive always too, if less Than praise of God it sought, content with less j Even then not current, if it sought his praise From other motive than resistless love : Though base, mainspring of action in the world j And under name of vanity and pride. Was greatly practised on by cunning men. It oped the niggard's purse, clothed nakedness. Gave beggars food, and threw the Pharisee Upon his knees, and kept him long in act Of prayer 3 it spread the lace upon the fop. His language trimmed, and planned his curious gaitj It stuck the feather on the gay coquette. And on her finger laid the heavy load Of jewellery. It did — what did it not? — The gospel preached, the gospel paid, and sent I'he gospel ; conquered nations ; cities built j Measured the furrow of the field with nice Directed share -, shaped bulls, and cows, and rams j And threw the ponderous stone ; and pitiful. Indeed, and much against the grain, it dragged The stagnant, dull, predestinated fool. Through learning's halls, and made him labour much Abortively, though sometimes not unpraised 288 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK, [Fuller. He left the sage's chair, and home returned. Making his simple mother think that she Had borne a man. In schools, designed to root Sin up, and plant the seeds of holiness In youthful minds, it held a signal place. The little infant man, by nature proud. Was taught the Scriptures by the love of praise. And grew religious as he grew in fame. And thus the principle, which out of heaven The devil threw, and threw him down to heU, And keeps him there, was made an instrument To moralize and sanctify mankind. And in their hearts beget humility : With what success it needs not now to say. Course of Time, Book vi. 119.— THE FAITHFUL MINISTER. [Rev. T. Fuller, 1608 — 1661. [Thomas Fuller, born at St. Peter's, Aldwinckle, in Northamptonshire, of which his father was rector, in June, 1608, was educated at Queen's College, Cambridge. He was made fellow of Sidney College, prebendary of Salisbury, and rector of St. Benet's, Cambridge, in 1631. His first work, a poem, entitled "David's Heinous Sin, Hearty Repentance, Heavy Punishment," appeared in 1631. His " History of the Holy War" was published at Cambridge in 1639. Fuller, who removed to London, and was lecturer at the Savoy, took part with the King in the Civil War, and having been appointed his chaplain, followed the royal army from place to place. In spite of his numerous avocations and the troubled state of the kingdom, he composed and published numerous works. His " Pisgah-Sight of Palestine " appeared in London in 1650, his " Church History of Britain, from the birth of Christ to 1648," at the same place in 1655. At the Restoration he resumed the lectureship of the Savoy, his prebendaryship at Salisbury, was chosen chaplain extraordinary to Charles II., and was created D.D. of Cambridge, by a mandamus dated Aug. 2, 1660. He died of a fever, known as the "new disease," Aug. 16, 1661. His "History of the Worthies of England" was published after his death, in one vol. fol., in 1662. Fuller wrote numerous other works. A life, by an anonymous author, appeared in 1661 ; and " Memorials of his Life and Works," by the Rev. A. T. Russell, in 1844. Coleridge says of him: — "Next to Shakespeare, I am not certain whether Thomas Fuller, beyond all other writers, does not excite in me the sense and emotion of the mar- vellous; the degree in which any given faculty, or combination of faculties, is possessed and manifested, so far surpassing what we would have thought possible in a single mind, as to give one's admiration the flavour and quality of wonder. Fuller was incomparably the most sensible, the least prejudiced great man of au age that boasted of a galaxy of great men. In all his numerous volumes, on so many diflerent subjects, it is scarcely too much to say, that you will hardly find a page in which some one sentence out of every three does not deserve to be quoted for itself as a motto or as a maxim."] Fuller.] OF MODERN LITERATURE, 289 1. He endeavours to get the general love and good-will of his parish. This he doth not so much to make a benefit of them as for them, that his ministry may be more effectual ; otherwise he may preach his own heart out, before he preacheth anything into theirs. The good conceit of the physician is half a cure, and his practice will scarce be happy where his person is hated ; yet he humours them not in his doctrine to get their love : for such a spaniel is worse than a dumb dog. He shall sooner get their goodwill by walking uprightly, than by crouching and creeping. If pious living and painful labouring in his calling will not win their affections, he counts it gain to lose them. As for those who causelessly hate him, he pities and prays for them : and such there will be. I should suspect his preaching had no salt in it, if no galled horse did wince. 2. He is strict in ordering his conversation. As for those who cleanse blurs with blotted fingers, they make it the worse. It was said of one who preached very well, and lived very ill. That when he was out oj the pulpitj it was a pity he should ever go into it, and when he was in the pulpit, it was a pity he should ever come out of it : but our minister lives sermons. And yet I deny not but dissolute men, like unskilful horsemen who open a gate on the wrong side, may by the virtue of their office open heaven for others, and shut themselves out. * * * 6. He will not offer to God of that which costs him nothing, but takes pains aforehandfor his sermons. Demosthenes never made any oration on the sudden ; yea, being called upon he never rose up to speak, except he had well studied the matter : and he was wont to say. That he showed how he honoured and reverenced the people of Athens, because he was careful what he spake unto them. Indeed if our minister be surprised with a sudden occasion, he counts himself rather to be excused than -commended, if, premeditating only the bones of his sermons, he clothes it with flesh extempore. As for those whose long custom hath made preaching their nature, that they can discourse sermons without study, he accounts their examples rather to be admired than imitated. 7. Having brought his sermon into his head, he labours to bring it into his heart, before he preaches it to his people. Surely that preaching which comes from the soul most works on the soul. Some have ques- tioned ventriloquy when men strangely speak out of their bellies, whether it can be done lawfully or no : might I coin the word cordiloguy, when men draw the doctrines out of their hearts, sure all would count this lawful and commendable. •x- * -x- n. His similes and illustrations are always familiar, never contemp- tible. Indeed, reasons are the pillars of the fabric of a sermon, but similitudes are the windows which give the best lights. He avoids such stories whose mention may suggest bad thoughts to the auditors, u 290 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [FuUer. and will not use a light comparison to make thereof a grave applica- tion, for fear lest his poison go farther than his antidote. 12. He provideth not only wholesome lut plentiful food for his people. Almost incredible was the painfidness of Baronius, the compiler of the voluminous Annals of the Church, who for thirty years together preached three or four times a week to the people. As for our minister, he preferreth rather to entertain his people with wholesome cold meat which was on the table before, than that which is hot from the spit, raw and half roasted. Yet in repetition of the same sermon, every edition hath a new addition, if not of new matter, of new affec- tions. Of whom., saith St. Paul, we have told you often, and now we tell you weeping. 13. He makes not that wearisome, which should ever le welcome. Wherefore his sermons are of an ordinary length except on an extra- ordinary occasion. What a gift had John Halsebach, professor at Vienna, in tediousness, who being to expound the prophet Isaiah to his auditors, read twenty-one years on the first chapter, and yet finished knot. ^ * * 19. He is careful in the discreet ordering of his own family. A good minister and a good father may well agree together. When a certain Frenchman came to visit Melancthon, he found him in his stove with one hand dandling his child in the swaddling-clouts, and in the other hand holding a book and reading it. Our minister also is as hospitable as his estate will permit, and makes ever}^ alms two by his cheerful giving it. He loveth also to live in a well-repaired house, that he may serve God therein more cheerfully. A clergyman who built his house from the ground, wrote in it this counsel to his successor — "If thou dost find an house built to thy mind Without thy cost. Serve thou the more God and the poor ; My labour is not lost." 20. Lying on his death-bed he bequeaths to each of his parishioners his precepts and example for a legacy : and they in requital erect every one a monument for him in their hearts. He is so far from that base jealousy that his memory should be outshined by a brighter successor, and from that wicked desire that his people may find his worth by the worthlessness of him that succeeds, that he doth heartily pray to God to provide them a better pastor after his decease. As for outward estate, he commonly lives in too bare pasture to die fat. It is well if he hath gathered any flesh, being more in blessing than bulk. — Holy and Profane State, Book ii. ch. 9. Lamb.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 291 120.— THE POOR RELATION. [Charles Lamb, 1775 — 1834. [Charles Lamb, bom in the Temple, Feb. 18, 1775, and educated at Christ's Hospital, became a clerk in the India Office in 1792, from which he retired with a pension in 1825. He lived in intimacy with Coleridge and Wordsworth, and published some poems jointly with the first mentioned. His first work, " John Woodvil," a drama, appeared in 180 1. He is best known by the " Essays of Elia," published in thf "London Magazine," and reprinted in 1823. The "Tales from Shakespeare," partly written by his sister, appeared in 1807, and "Specimens of English Dramatic Poets who lived about the time of Shakespeare" in 1808. Lamb died in London Dec. 27, 1834. His Works, with a sketch of his Life, by Mr. Justice Talfourd, appeared in 1838, and " Final Memorials of Charles Lamb, comprising his unpublished Letters, with Sketches of his Contemporaries," by Mr. Justice Talfourd, in 1848.] A Poor Relation is the most irrelevant thing in nature, — a piece of impertinent correspondencj^ — an odious approximation, — a haunting conscience, — a preposterous shadow, lengthening in the noon-tide of our prosperity", — an unwelcome remembrancer, — a perpetuallj recurring mortification, — a drain on your purse, — a more intolerable dun upon your pride, — a drawback upon success, — a rebuke to your rising, — a stain in your blood, — -a blot on your 'scutcheon, — a rent in your gar- ment, — a death's-head at your banquet, — Agathocles' pot, — a Mordecai in your gate, — a Lazarus at your door, — a lion in your path, — a frog in your chamber, — a fly in your ointment, — a mote in your eye, — a triumph to your enemy, — an apology to your friends, — the one thing not needful,— the hail in han^est, — the ounce of sour in a pound of sweet. He is known by his knock. Your heart telleth you " That is Mr. ." A rap, between familiarity and respect j that demands, and at the same time seems to despair of, entertainment. He entereth smiling and — embarrassed. He holdeth out his hand to you to shake, and — draweth it back again. He casually looketh in aboQt dinner- time, when — the table is full. He oifereth to go away, seeing you have company — but is induced to stay. He filleth a chair, and your visitor's two children are accommodated at a side-table. He never cometh upon open days, when your wife says, with some complacency, "My dear, perhaps Mr. will drop in to-day." He remembereth birth-days — and professeth he is fortunate to have stumbled upon one. He declareth against fish, the tarbot being small — yet sulfereth himself to be importuned into a slice, against his first resolution. He sticketh by the port — }'et will be prevailed upon to empty the remainder glass of claret, if a stranger press it upon him. He is a puzzle to the ser\'ants, who are fearful of being too obsequious, or not civil enough, to him. The guests think " they have seen him before." Every one u a 292 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Lamb. speculateth upon his condition ; and the most part take him to be — a tide-waiter. He calleth you by your Christian name, to imply that his other is the same with your own. He is too famiHar by half, yet you wish he had less diffidence. With half the familiarity, he might pass for a casual dependent j with more boldness, he would be in no danger of being taken for what he is. He is too humble for a friend ; yet taketh on him more state than befits a client. He is a worse guest than a country tenant, inasmuch as he bringeth up no rent — yet 'tis odds, from his garb and demeanour, that your guests take him for one. He is asked to make one at the whist-table ^ refaseth on the score of poverty, and — resents being left out. When the company break up, he proffereth to go for a coach — and lets the servant go. He recollects your grandfather ; and will thrust in some mean and quite unimportant anecdote — of the family. He knew it when it was not quite so flourishing as " he is blest in seeing it now." He reviveth past situations, to institute what he calleth — favourable comparisons. With a reflecting sort of congratulation, he will inquire the price of your furniture ; and insults you with a special commendation of your window-curtains. He is of opinion that the urn is the more elegant shape, but, after all, there was something more comfortable about the old tea-kettle — which you must remember. He dare say you must find a great convenience in having a carriage of your own, and appealeth to your lady if it is not so. Inquireth if yon have had your arms done on vellum yet ^ and did not know, till lately, that such-and-such had been the crest of the family. His memory is unseasonable j his com- pliments perverse j his talk a trouble j his stay pertinacious ; and when he goeth away, you dismiss his chair into a corner, as precipitately as possible, and feel fairly rid of two nuisances. There is a worse evil under the sun — and that is — a female Poor Relation. You may do something with the other j you may pass him oflT tolerably well ; but your indigent she-relative is hopeless. " He is an old humourist," you may say, " and affects to go threadbare. His circumstances are better than folks would take them to be. You are fond of having a character at your table, and truly he is one." But in the indications of female poverty there can be no disguise. No woman dresses below herself from caprice. The truth must out without shuflfling. " She is plainly related to the L 's ; or what does she at their house ?" She is, in all probability, your wife's cousin. Nine times out of ten, at least, this is the case. Her garb is something between a gentlewoman and a beggar, yet the former evidently pre- dominates. She is most provokingly humble, and ostentatiously sensible to her inferiority. He may require to be repressed sometimes — ailquando sujjlaminandus erat — but there is no raising her. You end I Lamb.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 293 her soup at dinner, and she begs to be helped — after th» gentlemen. Mr. requests the honour of taking wine with her ; she hesitates between Port and Madeira, and chooses the former — because he does. She calls the servant Sir ; and insists on not troubling him to hold her plate. The housekeeper patronises her. The children's governess takes upon her to correct her, when she has mistaken the piano for harpsichord. This theme of poor relationship is replete with so much matter for tragic as well as comic associations, that it is difficult to keep the account distinct without blending. The earliest impressions which I received on this matter, are certainly not attended with anything pain- ful, or very humiliating, in the recalling. At my father's table (no splendid one) was to be found, every Saturday, the mysterious figure of an aged gentleman, clothed in neat black, of a sad yet comely appear- ance. His deportment was of the essence of gravity 3 his words few or none 3 and I was not to make a noise in his presence. I had little inclination to have done so — for my cue was to admire in silence. A particular elbow-chair was appropriated to him, which was in no case to be violated. A peculiar sort of sweet pudding, which appeared on no other occasion, distinguished the days of his coming. I used to think him a prodigiously rich man. All I could make out of him was, that he and my father had been schoolfellows, a world ago, at Lincoln, and that he came from the Mint. The Mint I knew to be a place where all the money was coined — and I thought he was the owner of all that money. Awful ideas of the Tower twined themselves about his presence. He seemed above human infirmities and passions. A sort of melancholy grandeur invested him. From some inexplicable doom I fancied him obliged to go about in an eternal suit of mourning ; a captive — a stately being led out of the Tower on Saturdays. Often have I wondered at the temerity of my father, who, in spite of an habitual general respect which we all in common manifested towards him, would venture now and then to stand up against him in some argument, touching their youthful days. The houses of the ancient city of Lincoln are divided (as most of my readers know) between the dwellers on the hill and in the valley. This marked distinction formed an obvious division between the boys who lived above (however brought together in a common school) and the boys whose parental residence was on the plain 3 a sufficient cause of hostility in the code of these young Grotiuses. My father had been a leading Mountaineer ; and would still maintain the general superiority, in skill and hardihood, of the Above Boys (his own faction) over the Below Boys (so they were called), of which party his contemporary had been a chieftain 294 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Wilson. Many and hot were the skirmishes on this topic — the only one upon which the old gentleman was ever brought out — and bad blood bred j even sometimes almost to the recommencement (so I expected) of actual hostilities. But my father, who scorned to insist upon advan- tages, generally contrived to turn the conversation upon some adroit by-commendation of the old Minster ; in the general preference of which, before all other cathedrals in the island, the dweller on the hill, and the plain-born, could meet on a conciliating level, and lay down their less important differences. Once only I saw the old gentleman really ruffled, and I remembered with anguish the thought that came over me: 'Terhaps he will never come here again." He had been pressed to take another plate of the viand, which I have already men- tioned as the indispensable concomitant of his visits. He had refused with a resistance amounting to rigour, when my aunt, an old Lincolnian, who had something of this, in common with my cousin Bridget, that she would sometimes press civility out of season— uttered the following memorable application — " Do take another slice, Mr. Billet, for you do not get pudding every day." The old gentleman said nothing at the time — but he took occasion in the course of the evening, when some argument had interv^ened between them, to utter with an emphasis which chilled the company, and which chills me now as I write it — "Woman, you are superannuated !" John Billet did not survive long after the digesting of this affront ; but he survived long enough to assure me that peace was actually restored ! and, if I remember aright, another pudding v/as discreetly substituted in the place of that which had occasioned the offence. He died at the Mint (Anno 178 1), where he had long held, what he accounted, a comfortable indepen- dence ; and with five pounds, fourteen shillings and a penny, which were found in his escrutoire after his decease, left the world, blessing God that he had enough to bury him, and that he had never been obliged to any man for a sixpence. This was — a Poor Relation. — Last Essays of ELia. 121.— THE SNOW STORM. [Professor Wilson, 1785 — 1854. [John Wilson, born at Paisley, May 18, 178.1;, educated at the universities of Glasgow and Oxford, took up his residence about 1808, at Windermere, where he lived in companionship with Southey and Wordsworth. His " Isle of Palms, and other Poems," appeared in 181 2. He was called to the Scottish bar in 18 15, and published his second poem, "The City of the Plague, and other Poems," in 1816. "Black- wood's Magazine," to which he contributed largely under the nom de plume of Christopher North, was established in 1817. He was appointed Professor of Moral Wilson.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 295 Philosophy at the university of Edinburgh in 1820. His principal prose works are " Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life," published in 1822 ; " The Trials of Mar- garet Lindsay" in 1823 ; and "The Foresters" in 1825. A pension of 300/. per annum was settled upon him in 185 1 ; he resigned his professorship in 1852, and died at Edinburgh April 2, 1854. His works, including the "Noctes Ambrosianae," written for "Blackwood's Magazine," edited by Professor Ferrier, appeared in 1855- 58, and a "Life," by Mrs. Gordon, m 1862.] Little Hannah Lee had left her master's house, soon as the rim of the great moon was seen by her eyes, that had been long anxiously watching it from the window, rising, like a joyful dream, over the gloomy mountain-tops ; and all by herself she tripped along beneath the beauty of the silent heaven. Still as she kept ascending and descending the knolls that lay in the bosom of the glen, she sang to herself a song, a hymn, or a psalm, without the accompaniment of the streams, now all silent in the frost 5 and ever and anon she stopped to try to count the stars that lay in some more beautiful part of the sky, or gazed on the constellations that she knew, and called them, in her joy, by the names they bore among the shepherds. There were none to hear her voice, or see her smiles, but the ear and eye of Provi- dence. As on she glided, and took her looks from heaven, she saw her own little fireside — her parents waiting for her arrival — the bible opened for worship — her OM^n little room kept so neatly for her, with its mirror hanging by the window, in which to braid her hair by the morning light — her bed prepared for her by her mother's hand — the primroses in her garden peeping through the snow — old Tray, who ever welcomed her with his dim white eyes — the pony and the cow j — friends all, and inmates of that happy household. So stepped she along, while the snow diamonds glittered around her feet, and the frost wove a wreath of lucid pearls round her forehead. She had now reached the edge of the Black-moss, which lay half- way between her master's and her father's dwelling, when she heard a loud noise coming down Glen-Scrae, and in a few seconds she felt on her face some flakes of snow. She looked up the glen, and saw the snow-storm coming down fast as a flood. She felt no fears 3 but she ceased her song, and, had there been a human eye to look upon it there, it might have seen a shadow upon her face. She continued her course, and felt bolder and bolder every step that brought her nearer to her parents' house. But the snow-storm had now reached the Biack- moss, and the broad line of light that had lain in the direction of her home was soon swallowed up, and the child was in utter darkness. She saw nothing but the flakes of snow, interminably intermingled, and furiously wafted in the air, close to her head 5 she heard nothing but one wild, fierce, fitful howl. The cold became intense, and her little feet and hands were fast being benumbed into insensibility. 296 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Wilson. " It is a fearful change," muttered the child to herself j but still she did not fear, for she had been born in a moorland cottage, and lived all her days among the hardships of the hills. " What will become of the poor sheep !" thought she, — but still she scarcely thought of her own danger, for innocence, and youth, and joy, are slow to think of aught evil befalling themselves, and, thinking benignly of all living things, forget their own fear in their pity for others' sorrow. At last, she could no longer discern a single mark on the snow, either of human steps, or of the sheep-track, or the foot-print of a wild-fowl. Suddenly, too, she felt out of breath and exhausted — and, shedding tears for herself at last, sank down in the snow. It was now that her heart began to quake with fear. She remem- bered stories of shepherds lost in the snow — of a mother and a child frozen to death on that very moor — and in a moment, she knew that she was to die. Bitterly did the poor child weep ; for death was terrible to her, who, though poor, enjoyed the bright little world of youth and innocence. The skies of heaven were dearer than she knew to her, so were the flowers of earth. She had been happy at her work, happy in her sleep — happy in the kirk on Sabbath. A thousand thoughts had the solitary child — and in her own heart was a spring of happiness, pure and undisturbed as any fount that sparkles unseen all the year through, in some quiet nook among the pastoral hills. But now there was to be an end of all this — she was to be frozen to death, and lie there till the thaw might come ; and then her father would find her body, and carry it away to be buried in the kirkyard. The tears were frozen on her cheeks as soon as shed— and scarcely had her little hands strength to clasp themselves together, as the thought of an overruling and merciful Lord came across her heart. Then, in- deed, the fears of this religious child were calmed, and she heard with- out terror the plover's wailing cry, and the deep boom of the bittern sounding in the moss. *' I will repeat the Lord's Prayer 3" and, draw- ing her plaid more closely around her, she whispered, beneath its ineffectual cover — " Our Father which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name — Thy kingdom come — Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Had human aid been within fifty yards, it could have been of no avail — eye could not see her — ear could not hear her in that howling darkness. But that low prayer was heard in the centre of eternity — and that little sinless child was lying in the snow, beneath the all-seeing eye of God. The maiden, having prayed to her Father in Heaven — then thought of her father on earth. Alas ! they were not far separated ! The father was lying but a short distance from his child 3 he too had sunk Smiles.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 297 down in the drifting snow, after having, in less than an hour, exhausted all the strength of fear, pity, hope, despair, and resignation, that could rise in a father's heart blindly seeking to rescue his only child from death, thinking that one desperate exertion might enable them to perish in each other's arms. There they lay, within a stone's throw of each other, while a huge snow-drift was ever}^ moment piling itself up into a more insurmountable barrier between the dying parent and his dying child. — The Snow Storm. — A Short Story. 122.— OLD INVENTIONS REVIVED. [Smiles, 1816. [Samdel Smiles, born at Haddington in i8i6, and educated for the medical profes- sion, practised as a surgeon at Leeds, and became editor of the Leeds Times. He was appointed Secretary- to the Leeds and Thirsk Raihvay in 1845, ^^^ t:o the London and South Eastern in 1852. In addition to contributions to the " Quarterly Re\aew," and other periodicals, Mr. Smiles is the author of several works, the best known being "The Life of George Stephenson," published in 1857 ; " Self-Help," in 1859 > " Lives of the Engineers," in 3 vols. 8vo, in 1861-2, and " Industrial Biograph/' in 1863.] Steam-locomotiox, by sea and land, had long been dreamt of and attempted. Blasco de Garay made his experiment in the harbour of Barcelona as early as 1543 ; Denis Papin made a similar attempt at Cassel in 1707 5 but it was not until Watt had solved the problem of the steam-engine that the idea of the steam-boat could be developed in practice, which was done by Miller of Dalswinton in 1788. Sages and poets have frequently foreshadowed inventions of great social moment. Thus Dr. Darwin's anticipation of the locomotive, in his Botanic Garden, ^uhlishedim 1 791, before any locomotive had been invented, might almost be regarded as prophetic : — Soon shall thy arm, unconquered Steam ! afar Drag the slow barge, and drive the rapid car. Denis Papin first threw out the idea of atmospheric locomotion 3 and Gauthey, another FrcDchman, in 1782 projected a method of con- veying parcels and merchandise by subterranean tubes, after the method recently patented and brought into operation by the London Pneumatic Despatch Company. The balloon was an ancient Italian invention, revived by Mongolfier long after the original had been forgotten. Even the reaping-machine is an old invention revived. Thus Barnabe Googe, the translator of a book from the German en- titled '' The whole Arte and Trade of Husbandrie," published in 1377, in the reign of Elizabetli, speaks of the reaping-machine as a 298 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Smiles. worn-out invention — a thing " which was woont to be used in France. The device was a lowe kinde of carre with a couple of wheeles, and the frunt armed with sharp syckles, whiche forced by the beaste through the corne, did cut down al before it. This tricke/' says Googe, " might be used in level! and champion countreys ; but with us it wolde make but iJl-favoured woorke." The Thames Tunnel was thought an entirely new manifestation of engineering genius 3 but the tunnel under the Euphrates at ancient Babylon, and that under the wide mouth of the harbour at Marseilles (a much more difficult work), show that the ancients were beforehand with us in the art of tunnel- ling. Macadamized roads are as old as the Roman empire j and sus- pension bridges, though comparatively new in Europe, have been known in China for centuries. There is every reason to believe — indeed it seems clear — that the Romans knew of gunpowder, though they only used it for purposes of fireworks ; while the secret of the destructive Greek fire has been lost altogether. When gunpowder came to be used for purposes of war, invention busied itself upon instruments of destruction. When recently examining the Museum of the Arsenal at Venice, we were surprised to find numerous weapons of the fifteenth and sixteenth cen- turies embodying the most recent Enghsh improvements in arms, such as revolving pistols, rifled muskets, and breech-loading cannon. The latter, embodying Sir William Armstrong's modern idea, though in a rude form, had been fished up from the bottom of the Adriatic, where the ship armed with them had been sunk hundreds of years ago. Even Perkins's steam-gun was an old invention revived by Leonardo da Vinci, and by him attributed to Archimedes. The Congreve rocket is said to have an Eastern origin. Sir William Congreve having observed its destructive effects when employed by the forces under Tippoo Saib in the Mahratta v/ar, on which he adopted and improved the missile, and brought out the invention as his own. Coal-gas was regularly used by the Chinese for lighting purposes long before it was known amongst us. Hydropathy was generally practised by the Romans, who established baths wherever they went. Even chloroform is no new thing. The use of ether as an anaesthetic was known to Albertus Magnus, who flourished in the thirteenth cen- tury 5 and in his works he gives a recipe for its preparation. In 1681 Denis Papin published his Traite des Operatiojis sans Douleur, showing that he had discovered methods of deadening pain. But the use of anaesthetics is much older than Albertus Magnus or Papin 5 for the ancients had their nepenthe and mandragora j the Chinese their mayo, and the Egyptians their hachisch (both preparations of Cannabis Indica), the eflects of which in a great measure resemble those of Smiles.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 299 chloroform. What is perhaps still more surprising is the circumstance that one of the most elegant of recent inventions, that of sun-painting by the daguerreotype, was in the fifteenth century known to Leonardo da Vinci, whose skill as an architect and engraver, and whose accom- plishments as a chemist and natural philosopher, have been almost en- tirely overshadowed by his genius as a painter. The idea, thus early born, lay in oblivion until 1760, when the daguerreotype was again clearly indicated in a book published in Paris, written by a certain Tiphanie de la Roche, under the anagrammatic title of Giphantie. Still later, at the beginning of the present century, we find Josiah Wedgwood, Sir Humphry Davy, and James Watt, making experi- ments on the action of light upon nitrate of silver ; and only within the last few months a silvered copper-plate has been found amongst the old household lumber of Matthew Boulton (Watt's partner), having on it a representation of the old premises at Soho, apparently taken by some such process. In like manner the invention of the electric telegraph, supposed to be exclusively modern, was clearly indicated by Scherwenter in his Delassements Physico-Mathhnatiques, published in 16^6; and he there pointed out how two individuals could communicate with each other by means of the magnetic needle A century later, in 1746, Le Monnier exhibited a series of experiments in the Royal Gardens at Paris, showing how electricity could be transmitted through iron wire 950 fathoms in lengthy and in 17^3 we find one Charles Marshall publishing a remarkable description of the electric telegraph in the Scots Magazine, under the title of " An expeditious Method of con- veying Intelligence." Again, in 1760, we find George Louis Lesage, professor of mathematics at Geneva, promulgating his invention of an electric telegraph, which he eventually completed and set to work in 1774. This instrument was composed of twenty-four metallic wires, separate from each other and enclosed in a non-conducting substance. Each wire ended in a stalk mounted with a little ball of elder-wood suspended by a silk thread. When a stream of electricity, no matter how slight, was sent through the bar, the elder-ball at the opposite end was repelled, such movement designating some letter of the alphabet. A few years later we find Arthur Young, in his Travels in France, describing a similar machine invented by a M. Lomond of Paris, the action of which he also describes. In these and similar cases, though the idea was born and the model of the invention was actually made, it still waited the advent of the scientific mechanical inventor who should bring it to perfection, and embody it in a practical working form. — Industrial Biography, ch. x. 300 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Lander. 123.— AN AFRICAN KING. [Lander, 1804 — 1834. [Richard Lander, born in Cornwall in 1804, was by trade a printer. The Govern- ment, anxious to solve the mystery of the source of the Niger, formed an expedition, consisting of Clapperton, Capt. Pearce, Messrs. Dickson and Morrison. Richard Lander went as servant to Clapperton. The travellers left England in August, 1825 ; Clapperton and Richard Lander, their companions having died on the journey, reached Sakkatu, in the interior of Africa. Overcome with fatigue and vexation, Clapperton died at Changaery, near Sakkatu, April 13, 1827. Lander returned to England in 1830. He published " Records of Capt. Clapperton's Last Expedition to Africa." He was sent by the Government to make further researches in Africa, and returned to England in 1830; his "Journal of an Expedition to Explore the Course and Termination of the Niger" appeared in 1832 ; in which year he again left for Africa, and having penetrated to the Niger, received a wound in a skirmish with the natives, of which he died at Fernando Po, Jan. 27, 1834.] After crossing the river Formosa, which is about a mile in width, we arrived at Badagry at five o'clock in the afternoon, and were com- fortably accommodated in the dwelling of Mr. Houtson, who had pre- viously resided at that place. The house, like every other in the town, except the king's, is constructed of bamboo cane, and has but one story. On Friday, the 2nd of December, the king, Adolee, sent us a present of a bullock, a fine pig, and some fowls 5 and on the follow- ing day honoured us with a visit, in all the pomp and barbarous mag- nificence of African royalty. He was mounted on a diminutive black horse, and followed by about one hundred and fifty of his subjects, who danced and capered before and behind him ; whilst a number of musicians, performing on native instruments of the rudest description, promoted considerably the animation and vivacity of their motions and gestures. He was gorgeously arrayed in a scarlet cloak, literally covered with gold lace, and white kerseymere trowsers similarly em- broidered. His hat was turned up in front with rich bands of gold lace, and decorated with a splendid plume of white ostrich feathers, which, waving gracefully over his head, added not a little to the im- posing dignity of his appearance ! Close to the horse's head marched two boys, each carrying a musket in his right hand : they wore plain scarlet coats, with white collars and large cocked hats, tastefully trimmed with gold lace, which costly material all classes excessively admire. Two fighting chiefs accompanied their sovereign on foot, and familiarly chatted with him as he advanced. On approaching within a short distance of us, the monarch dismounted, and squatting himself on the ground outside our house, an umbrella was unfurled and held over his head, whilst a dozen of his wives stood round their lord and master *' With diverse-coloured fans, whose wind did seem To glow the deiicale cheeks which they did cool V* I Pepys.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 301 for the atmosphere was sultry and the heat oppressive. After paying our respects to our august visitor, — to do him honour, I was desired to hoist an Enghsh union-jack over him. This was the climax of his glory and his pride ; he was sensibly delighted, and looked as child- ishly vain as a girl when she first puts on a new dress. All hands now began to drink rum, and the spectacle became highly and singularly grotesque. Laying aside all pretensions to superiority of rank, his Badagrian majesty forgot his illustrious birth, and was as cheerful and merry as the meanest and most jovial of his subjects. Seated on the ground, his splendid dress glittering in the rays of the sun, surrounded by his generals, pages, and wives, with a British flag held by a white floating over his princely head, — his soul softened by the most in- spiring and delicious music ; and his animal spirits exhilarated by large and repeated draughts of his favourite cordial, — he was in a transport of joy, and looked and spoke as if he had been the happiest man in the universe ; while the shouts and bustle of the people, the cracking of fingers and clapping of hands, the singing, and dancing, and capering, all was so novel, and so African, that it made an impression on my memory, which will never be erased from it. This debauch continued for a couple of hours 3 when all the rum being consumed, and Adolee becoming rather tipsy, his majesty begged me to favour him, before his departure, with a tune on my bugle horn, of which he had formed the most extravagant notions. To this modest request I cheerfully acceded, and played several English and Scotch airs, until I became so completely exhausted that my breath was entirely spent, the king not permitting me to drop the instrument till then. Owing either to the effects of the liquor Adolee had partaken of so freely, or to the sound of the music, &c., he was quite in ecstasy, and shook hands and thanked me at the close of every tune. The king then remounted, and the procession returned in the same order, and performed the same antics as when it came. Captain Clapperton and his associates accompanied the monarch to his palace j whilst I and my companions repaired to our peaceful habitation. — Records of Capt. Clapperton s Last Expedition to Africa, vol. i. ch. iii. 124.— PEPYS AT THE ASSAY OFFICE. [Pepys, 1633— 1703. [Samuel Pepys, the son of a tailor, was born in London, Feb. 23, 1633, and educated at St. Paulas School and Magdalen College, Cambridge. He was appointed to a clerkship connected with the Exchequer in 1658, Clerk of the Acts of the Navy in June, 1660, and Secretary to the Admiralty in 1673. Having been committed to the 303 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Pepys. Tower, May 22, 1679, for a supposed hostility to the Protestant cause, he was released without trial, and, after accompanying Lord Dartmouth to Tangier, resumed his post at the Admiralty. Pepys was appointed President of the Royal Society. He died May 26, 1703. He left his books, MSS., &c., to Magdalen College, Cambridge. His diary, from 1659 — 1669, deciphered by the Rev. John Smith, from the original short-hand, edited by Richard Lord Braybrooke, appeared in 1825. Pepys was the author of " Memoirs relating to the State of the Royal Navy of England for ten years, determined December, 1688," published in 1690, and one or two smaller treatises. His " Life, Journals, and Correspondence, including a Narrative of his Voyage to Tangier, and Residence there," appeared in 1841.] May 19, 1663, with Sir John Minnes to the Tower j and by Mr. Shngsby and Mr. Howard, Comptroller of the Mint, we were shown the method of making this new money. That being done, the Comp- troller would have us dine with him and his company, the King giving them a dinner every day. And very merry and good discourse upon the business we have been upon, and after dinner went to the Assay Office, and there saw the manner of assaying of gold and silver, and how silver melted down with gold do part, [upon] just being put into aqua-fortis, the silver turning into water, and the gold lying whole, in the very form it was put in, mixed of gold and silver, which is a miracle 3 and to see no silver at all, but turned into water, which they can bring again into itself out of the water : and at table they told us of two cheats, the best I ever heard. One of a labourer dis- covered to convey away bits of silver cut out for pence by swallowing them, and so they could not find him out, though, of course, they searched all the labourers : but, having reason to doubt him, they did, by threats and promises, get him to confess, and did find 7/. of it in his house at one time. The other, of one that got a way of coyning as good and passable, and large as the true money is, and yet saved fifty per cent, to himself, which was by getting moulds made to stamp groats like old groats, which is done so well, and I did beg two of them, which I keep for rarities, that there is not better in the world, and is as good and better than those that commonly go, which was the only thing that they could find out to doubt them by, besides the number that the party do go to put off, and then, coming to the Comptroller of the Mint, he could not, I say, find out any other thing to raise any doubt upon, but only their being so truly round or near it. He was neither hanged nor burned j the thing was thought so ingenious, and being the first time they could ever trap him in it, and so little hurt to any man in it, the money being as good as commonly goes. They now coin between 16 and 24,000 pounds in a week. At dinner they did discourse very finely to us of the probability that there is a vast deal of money hid in the land, from this : that in King Charles's time there was near ten millions of money coined, besides what was Browning.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 303 then in being of King James's and Queen Elizabeth's, of which there is a good deal at this day in being. Next, that there was but 750,000/. coyned of the Harp and Crosse money,* and of this there was 400,000/. brought in upon its being called in. And from very good arguments they find that there cannot be less of it in Ireland and Scotland than 100,000/. ; so that there is but 150,000/. missing 3 and of that, suppose that there should be not above 50,000/. still remaining, either melted down, hid, or lost, or hoarded up in England, there will then be but 100,000/. left to be thought to have been transported. Now, if 750,000/. in twelve years' time lost but a 100,000/. in danger of being transported, then 10,000,000/. in thirty-five years' time will have lost but 3,888,880/. and odd pounds; and, as there is 650,000/. remaining after twelve years' time in England, so, after thirty-five years' time, which was within this two years, there ought in proportion to have been resting 6,^111,120/. or thereabouts, besides King James and Queen Elizabeth's money. Now, that most of this must be hid is evident, as they reckon, because of the dearth of money immediately upon the calling-in of the State's money, which was 500,000/. that come in ; and then there was not any money to be had in this City, which they say to their own observation and knowledge was so. And, therefore, though I can say nothing in it myself, I do not dispute it. — Diary of Samuel Pepys. 1663. 125.— THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. [Browning, 1812. [Robert Browning, born at Camberwell in 181 2, was educated at the University of London. His first acknowledged work, " Paracelsus," was published in 1836. His tragedy, "Strafford," appeared in 1837, and was brought upon the stage, Macready playing the chief character. Browning has written numerous dramas and poems, the best known being " Pippa Passes," published in 1841 ; " Bells and Pomegra- nates" in 1842; and " Men and Women" in 1855. In 1852, Browning married Elizabeth Barrett, the poetess, who died at Florence, June 29, 1861.] Morning, evening, noon, and night, "Praise God," sang Theocrite. Then to his poor trade he turned By which the daily meal was earned. * This was the money coined by the Commonwealth, having on one side a shield bearing the cross of St. George, and on the other a shield, bearing a harp. — Hawkins's English Coins, p. 208. 304 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Browning. Hard he laboured, long and well ; O'er the work his boy's curls fell 5 But ever, at each period. He stopped and sang, ''Praise God:" Then back again his curls he threw. And cheerful turned to work anew. Said Blaise, the listening monk, " Well done 5 " I doubt not thou art heard, my son : " As well as if thy voice to-day *' Were praising God the Pope's great way. " This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome "Praises God from Peter's dome." Said Theocrite " Would God that I " Might praise him, that great way, and die !'* Night passed, day shone. And Theocrite was gone. With God a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day. God said in Heaven, " Nor day nor night Now brings the voice of my delight." Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth. Spread his wings and sank to earth. Entered in flesh, the empty cell. Lived there, and played the craftsman well : And morning, evening, noon, and night. Praised God in place of Theocrite. And from a boy, to youth he grew 5 The Man put off the Stripling's hue: The man matured and fell away Into the season of decay : And ever o'er the trade he bent And ever lived on earth content. Browning.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 305 God said, " A praise is in mine ear 3 " There is no doubt in it, no fear : ** So sing old worlds, and so " New worlds that from my footstool go. " Clearer loves sound other ways "I miss my little human praise." Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell The flesh disguise, remained the cell. 'Twas Easter Day : he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome. In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery. With his holy vestments dight. Stood the new Pope, Theocrite : And all his past career Came back upon him clear. Since when, a boy, he plied his trade Till on his life the sickness weighed : And in his cell when death drew near An angel in a dream brought cheer : And rising from the sickness drear He grew a priest, and now stood here. To the East with praise he turned And on his sight the angel burned. " I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell, " And set thee here ; I did not well. " Vainly I left my angel's sphere, *' Vain was thy dream of many a year. " Thy voice's praise seemed weak j it dropped — • " Creation's chorus stopped ! " Go back and praise again " The early way — while I remain. X 3o6 TEE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Blair. " With that weak voice of our disdain, " Take up Creation's pausing strain. " Back to the cell and poor employ : " Become the craftsman and the boy !" Theocrite grew old at home j A new Pope dwelt in Peter's Dome. One vanished as the other died : They sought God side by side. Bells and Pomegranates, No. vii. : Dramatic Romances and Lyrics, 126.— GENTLENESS. [Dr. H. Blair, 17 18 — 1799. [Hugh Blair, born at Edinburgh, April 7, 1718, was educated at the university of his native city, and entered the church. From 1762 to 1783 he was Professor of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in the University. His sermons, in five volumes, appeared 1777- 1801, and his lectures in 1783. He died Dec. 27, 1799. A life by Dr. James Finlayson appeared in 1801.] [ BEGIN with distinguishing true gentleness from passive tameness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the manners of others. That passive tameness, which submits without struggle to every en- croachment of the violent and assuming, forms no part of Christian duty 3 but, on the contrary, is destructive of general happiness and order. That unlimited complaisance, which, on every occasion, falls in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices. It over- throws all steadiness of principle ; and produces that sinful conformity with the world which taints the whole character. In the present cor- rupted state of human manners, always to assent and to comply is the very worst maxim we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of Christian morals, without opposing the world on various occasions, even though we should stand alone. That gentle- ness, therefore, which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants. It renounces no just right from fear. It gives up no important truth from flattery. It is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires a manly spirit, and a fixed principle, in order to give it any real value. Upon this solid ground only, the polish of gentleness can with advantage be superinduced. Blair.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 307 It stands opposed, not to the most determined regard for virtue and truth, but to harshness and severity, to pride and arrogance, to violence and oppression. It is, properly, that part of the great virtue of charity which makes us unwilling to give pain to any of our brethren. Com- passion prompts us to relieve their wants. Forbearance prevents us from retaliating their injuries. Meekness restrains our angry passions -, candour, our severe judgments. Gentleness corrects whatever is offen- sive in our manners ; and, by a constant train of human attentions, studies to alleviate the burden of common misery. Its office, therefore, is extensive. It is not, like some other virtues, called forth only on peculiar emergencies 3 but it is continually in action, when we are engaged in intercourse with men. It ought to form our address^ to regulate our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole behaviour. I must warn you, however, not to confound this gentle wisdom which is from above, with that artificial courtesy, that studied smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of the world. Such accom- plishments, the most frivolous and empty may possess. Too often they are employed by the artful, as a snare ; too often affected by the hard and unfeeling, as a cover to the baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid observing the homage which even in such instances the world is constrained to pay to virtue. In order to render society agreeable, it is found necessary to assume somewhat, that may at least carry its appearance. Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is courted, when the substance is wanting. The imitation of its form has been reduced into an art 5 and, in the commerce of life^ the first study of all who would either gain the esteem or win the heart of others, is to learn the speech, and to adopt the manners, of candour, gentleness, and humanity. But that gentleness which is the characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart: and let me add, nothing, except what flows from the heart, can render even external manners truly pleasing. For no assumed be- haviour can at all times hide the real character. In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there is a charm infinitely more powerful than in all the studied manners of the most finished courtier. True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe to Him wlio made us, and to the common nature of which we all share. It arises from reflexion on our own failings and wants 5 and from just views of the condition and the duty of man. It is native feeling, heightened and improved by principle. It is the heart which easily relents j which feels for everything that is human ; and is backward and slow to inflict the least wound. It is affable in its address, and mild in its demeanour 3 ever ready to oblige, and willing to be obliged by others; breathing X 2 3o8 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Burke. habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to strangers, long-suffering to enemies. It exercises authority with moderation j administers reproof with tenderness ; confers favour with ease and modesty. It is unassuming in opinion, and temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about trifles ; slow to contradict, and still slower to blame ; but prompt to allay dissension, and to restore peace. It neither intermeddles un- necessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets, of others. It delights above all things to alleviate distress, and if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe at least the grieving heart. Where it has not the power of being useful, it is never burdensome. It seeks to please, rather than to shine and dazzle ; and conceals with care that superiority, either of talents or of rank, which is oppressive to those who are beneath it. In a word, it is that spirit and that tenor of manners, which the Gospel of Christ enjoins, when it commands us to hear one another s burdens ; to rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep ; to please every one his neighbour for his good; to be kind and tender-hearted; to be pitiful and courteous; to support the weak, and to be patient towards all men. Sermons, No. vi. On Gentleness. James iii. ij. 127.— THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION. [Burke, 1730— 1797. [Edmund Burke, born in Dublin, Jan. i, 1730, was educated at the university of his native city, and studied for the English bar, though he vsras never called. His first work, "Vindication of Natural Society," was published anonymously in 1756, and his essay, "A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful," appeared the same year. He was appointed private secretary to Mr. W. G. Hamilton, Irish Secretary, in 1761, entered parliament in 1766, and having filled the office of Paymaster of the Forces, retired in 1794. He was instrumental in bringing Warren Hastings to trial for his Indian administration ; and the speech which he delivered on that occasion extended over four days. Burke wrote several treatises and pamphlets. The well-known " Reflections on the French Revolution" appeared in 1790. His last work was "Thoughts on a Regicide Peace." Burke died at Beaconsfield in Buckinghamshire, July 9, 1797. A " Life," by Charles M. Cormick, appeared in 1797 ; by Dr. Bisset, in 1800; by Dr. Croly, in 1840; and by Jas. Napier, in 1862. Hallam (Lit. His. pt. iii. ch. 3, § 75) says: "Burke, per- haps, comes, of all modern writers, the nearest to him ;* but though Bacon may not be more profound than Burke, he is more copious and comprehensive." Sheridan spoke of him "as a gentleman whose abilities, happily for the glory of the age in which we live, are not entrusted to the perishable eloquence of the day, but will live to be the admiration of that hour, when all of us shall be mute, and most of us forgotten."] * Lord Bacon. Burke.] OF MODERN LITERATURE, 309 From Magna Charta to the Declaration of Right, it has been the uniform pohcy of our constitution to claim and assert our liberties, as an entailed inheritance derived to us from our forefathers, and to be transmitted to our posterity 3 as an estate specially belonging to the people of this kingdom, without any reference whatever to any other more general or prior right. By this means our constitution preserves an unity in so great a diversity of its parts. We have an inheritable crown 3 an inheritable peerage ; and a House of Commons and a people inheriting privileges, franchises, and liberties, from a long line of ancestors. The policy appears to me to be the result of profound reflexion j or rather the happy effect of following nature, which is wisdom with- out reflexion, and above it. A spirit of innovation is generally the result of a selfish temper, and confined views. People will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors. Besides the people of England well know, that the idea of inheritance furnishes a sure principle of conser\-ation, and a sure principle of transmission ; without at all excluding a principle of improve- ment. It leaves acquisition free 3 but it secures what it acquires. Whatever ad.vantages are obtained by a state proceeding on these maxims, are locked fast as in a sort of family settlement, grasped as in a kind of mortmain for ever. By a constitutional policy working after the pattern of nature, we receive, we hold, we transmit our government and our privileges, in the same manner in which we enjoy and transmit our property and our lives. The institutions of policy, the goods of fortune, the gifts of Providence, are handed down to us, and from us, in the same course and order. Our political system is placed in a just correspondence and symmetry with the order of the world, and with the mode of existence decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory parts 3 wherein, by the disposition of a stupen- dous wisdom, moulding together the great mysterious incorporation of the human race, the whole, at one time, is never old, or middle-aged, or young, but, in a position of unchangeable constancy, moves on through the varied tenor of perpetual decay, fall, renovation, and pro- gression. Thus, by preserving the method of nature in the conduct of the state, in what we improve, we are never wholly new 3 in what we retain, we are never wholly obsolete. By adhering in this manner and on those principles to our forefathers, we are guided not by the superstition of antiquarians, but by the spirit of philosophic analogy. In this choice of inheritance we have given to our frame of polity the image of a relation in blood 3 binding up the constitution of our country with our dearest domestic ties 3 adopting our fundamental laws into the bosom of our family aftections j keeping inseparable. 3IO THE EJ'^RY.DAY BOOK [Thackeray. and cherishing willi the warmth of all their combined and mutually reflected charities, our state, our hearths, our sepulchres, and our altars. Through the same plan of a conformity to nature in our artificial institutions, and by calling in the aid of her unerring and powerful instincts, to fortify the fallible and feeble contrivances of our reason, we have derived several other, and those no small benefits, from con- sidering our liberties in the hght of an inheritance. Always acting as if in the presence of canonized forefathers, the spirit of freedom, leading in itself to misrule and excess, is tempered with an awful gravity. This idea of a liberal descent inspires us with a sense of habitual native dignity, which prevents that upstart insolence almost inevitably adhering to and disgracing those who are the first acquirers of any distinction. By this means our liberty becomes a noble freedom. It carries an imposing and majestic aspect. It has a pedigree, and illustrating ancestors. It has its bearings and ensigns armorial. It has its gallery of portraits ; its monumental inscriptions 3 its records, evidences, and titles. We procure reverence to our civil institutions on the principle upon which nature teaches us to revere individual men 5 on account of their age, and on account of those from whom they are descended. All your sophisters cannot produce anything better adapted to preserve a rational and manly freedom, than the course that we have pursued, who have chosen our nature rather than our speculations, our breasts rather than our inventions, for the great conservatories and magazines of our rights and privileges. — Reflections on the Revolution in France. 128.— THE KNIGHTS OF THE TEMPLE. [Thackeray, 181 i — 1863. [William Makepeace Thackeray, born at Calcutta in 1811, was educated at the Charter House and the university of Cambridge, though he did not take a degree. He studied as an artist at Rome, and wrote several sketches for " Eraser's Magazine," under the pseudonyme.s Michael Angelo Titmarsh, and George Fitz-Boodle, Esq, His " Paris Sketch-book" appeared in 1840, and the first number of the work which rendered him so popular, a serial, " Vanity Fair," appeared in 1846; " Pendennis" followed, in two vols. 8vo., in 1850; and "The Histor}^ of Henry Esmond, Esq.," in three vols. 8vo, in Nov. 1852. His " Lectures on the Humorists," first delivered at Willis's Rooms in 185 1, and on the "Four Georges," were afterwards published. For two years he edited the " Cornhill Magazine," of which the first number ap- peared in Jan. i860. Though called to the bar in 1848, Thackeray never practised. He retired in his usual health Dec. 23, 1863, and the following morning was found dead in his bed.] Colleges, schools, and inns of court, still have some respect for anti- quity, and maintain a great number of the customs and institutions of our ancestors, with which those persons who do not particularly regard Thackeray.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 311 their forefathers, or perhaps are not very well acquainted with them, have long since done away. A well-ordained workhouse or prison is much better provided with the appliances of health, comfort, and cleanliness, than a respectable Foundation School, a venerable College, or a learned Inn. In the latter place of residence men are contented to sleep in dingy closets, and to pay for the sitting-room and the cup- board, which is their dormitory, the price of a good villa and garden in the suburbs, or of a roomy house in the neglected squares of the town. The poorest mechanic in Spitalfields has a cistern and an unbounded supply of water at his command j but the gentlemen of the inns of court, and the gentlemen of the universities, have their supply of this cosmetic fetched in jugs by laundresses and bedmakers, and live in abodes which were erected long before the custom of cleanliness and decency obtained among us. There are individuals still alive who sneer at the people and speak of them with ephithets of scorn. Gen- tlemen, there can be but little doubt that your ancestors were the Great Unwashed : and in the Temple especially, it is pretty certain, that, only under the greatest difficulties and restrictions, the virtue which has been pronounced to be next to godliness could have been practised at all. Old Grump, of the Norfolk Circuit, who had lived for more than thirty years in the chambers under those occupied by Warrington and Pendennis, and who used to be awakened by the roaring of the shower- baths which those gentlemen had erected in their apartments, — a part of the contents of which occasionally trickled through the roof into Mr. Grump's room, — declared that the practice was absurd, new- fangled, dandyfied folly, and daily cursed the laundress who slopped the staircase by which he had to pass. Grump, now much more than half a century old, had indeed never used the luxury in question. He had done without water very well, and so had our fathers before him. Of all those knights and baronets, lords and gentlemen, bearing arms, whose escutcheons are painted upon the walls of the famous hall of the Upper Temple, was there no philanthropist good-natured enough to devise a set of Hummums for the benefit of the lawyers, his fel- lows and successors ? The Temple historian makes no mention of such a scheme. There is Pump Court and Fountain Court, with their hydraulic apparatus, but one never heard of a bencher dis- porting in the fountain ; and can't but think how many a counsel learned in the law of old days might have benefited by the pump. Nevertheless, those venerable Inns which have the Lamb and Flag and the Winged Horse for their ensigns, have attractions for persons who inhabit them, and a share of rough comforts and freedom, which men always remember with pleasure. I don't know whether the student of law permits himself the refreshment of enthusiasm. 312 THE EFERY-DAY- BOOK [Thackeray. or indulges in poetical reminiscences as he passes by historical chambers, and says, *' Yonder Eldon lived — upon this site Coke mused upon Lyttleton — here Chitty toiled — here Barnwell and Alder- son joined in their famous labours — here Byles composed his great work upon bills, and Smith compiled his immortal leading cases — here Gustavus still toils, with Solomon to aid him :" but the man of letters can't but love the place which has been inhabited by so many of his brethren, or peopled by their creations as real to us at this day as the authors whose children they were — and Sir Roger de Coverley walking in the Temple Garden, and discoursing with Mr. Spectator about the beauties in hoops and patches who are sauntering over the grass, is just as lively a figure to me as old Samuel Johnson rolling through the fog with the Scotch gentleman at his heels on their way to Dr. Goldsmith's chambers in Brick Court ; or Harry Fielding, with inked rufflles and a wet towel round his head, dashing off arti- cles at midnight for the Covent Garden Journal, while the printer's boy is asleep in the passage. If we could but get the history of a single day as it passed in any one of those four-storied houses in the dingy court where our friends Pen and Warrington dwelt, some Temple Asmodeus might furnish us with a queer volume. There may be a great parliamentary- counsel on the ground-floor, who drives up to Belgravia at dinner time, when his clerk, too, becomes a gentleman, and goes away to entertain his friends, and to take his pleasure. But a short time since he was hungry and briefless in some garret of the Tnn ; lived by stealthy literature ; hoped, and waited, and sickened, and no clients came ; exhausted his own means and his friends' kindness ; had to remonstrate humbly with duns, and to implore the patience of poor creditors. Ruin seemed to be staring him in the face, when, behold, a turn of the wheel of fortune, and the lucky wretch in possession of one of those prodigious prizes which are sometimes drawn in the great lottery of the Bar. Many a better lawyer than himself does not make a fifth part of the income of his clerk, who, a few months since, could scarcely get credit for blacking for his master's unpaid boots. On the first floor, perhaps, you will have a venerable man whose name is famous, who has lived for half a century in the Inn, whose brains are full of books, and whose shelves are stored with classical and legal lore. He has lived alone all these fifty years, alone and for him- self, amassing learning, and compiling a fortune. He comes home now at night only from the club, where he has been dining freely, to the lonely chambers where he lives a godless old recluse. When he dies, his Inn will erect a tablet to his honour, and his heirs burn a part of his library. Would you like to have such a prospect for Thackeray.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 313 your old age, to store up learning and money, and end so ? But we must not linger too long by Mr. Doomsday's door. Worthy Mr. Grump lives over him, who is also an ancient inhabitant of the Inn, and who, when Doomsday comes home to read Catullus, is sitting down with three steady seniors of his standing, to a steady rubber at whist, after a dinner at which they have consumed their three steady bottles of Port. You may see the old boys asleep at the Temple Church of a Sunday. Attorneys seldom trouble them, and they have small fortunes of their own. On the other side of the third landing, where Pen and Warrington live, till long after midnight, sits Mr. Paley, who took the highest honours, and who is a fellow of his college, who will sit and read and note cases until two o'clock in the morning J who will rise at seven and be at the pleader's cham- bers as soon as they are open, where he will work until an hour before dinner-time ; who will come home from Hall and read and note cases again until dawn next day, when perhaps Mr. Arthur Pen- dennis and his friend Mr. Warrington are returning from some of their wild expeditions. How differently employed Mr. Paley has been ! He has not been throwing himself away : he has only been bringing a great intellect laboriously down to the comprehension of a mean subject, and in his fierce grasp of that, resolutely excluding from his mind all higher thoughts, all better things, all the wisdom of philosophers and historians, all the thoughts of poets 3 all wit, fancy, reflexion, art, love, truth altogether — so that he may master that enormous legend of the law, which he proposes to gain his livelihood by expounding. Warrington and Paley had been competitors for university honours in former days, and had run each other hard 3 and everybody said now that the former was wasting his time and energies, whilst all people praised Paley for his industry. There may be doubts, however, as to which was using his time best. The one could afford time to think, and the other never could. The one could have sympathies, and do kindnesses ; and the other must needs be always selfish. He could not cultivate a friendship or do a charity, or admire a work of genius, or kindle at the sight of beauty or the song of a sweet bird — he had no time, and no eyes for anything but his law-books. All was dark outside his reading-lamp. Love, and Nature, and Art (which is the expression of our praise and sense of the beautiful world of God), were shut out from him. And as he turned off his lonely lamp at night, he never thought but that he had spent the day profitably, and went to sleep alike thankless and re- morseless. But he shuddered when he met his old companion Warrington on the stairs, and shunned him as one that was doomed to perdition. — Pendennis, chap. xxix. 314 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [More. 129.— EXECUTION OF SIR THOMAS MORE. [Froude, 1818. [James Antony Froude, born at Dartington, Devonshire, April 23, 1818, was educated at Westminster and the university of Oxford, where he obtained the Chan- cellor's prize for the "English Essay" in 1842, and the same year was elected fellow of Exeter College. He contributed to the " Lives of the English Saints," and wrote "The Shadows of the Clouds," published in 1847 ; and " The Nemesis of Faith" in 1848. He is best known by his "History of England," commencing at the Re- formation, of which vols. i. and ii. appeared in 1856; vols. iii. andiv. in 1858; vols. v. and vi. in i860; vols. vii. and viii. in 1863; and vol. ix. in 1870.] At daybreak More was awoke by the entrance of Sir Thomas Pope, who had come to confirm his anticipations, and to tell him it was the king's pleasure that he should suffer at nine o'clock that morning. He received the news with utter composure. " I am much bounden to the king," Le said, "for the benefits and honours he has bestowed on me ; and so help me God, most of all I am bounden to him that it pleaseth his Majesty to rid me so shortly out of the miseries of this present world." Pope told him the king desired that he would not " use many words on the scaffold." "Mr. Pope," he answered, "you do well to give me warning, for otherwise I had purposed somewhat to have spoken j but no matter wherewith his Grace should have cause to be offended. Howbeit, whatever I intended, I shall obey his Highness's command." He afterwards discussed the arrangements for the funeral, at which he begged that his family might be present ; and when all was settled. Pope rose to leave him. He was an old friend. He took More's hand and wrung it, and, quite overcome, burst into tears. "Quiet yourself, Mr. Pope," More said, "and be not discomfited, for I trust we shall once see each other full merrily, when we shall live and love together in eternal bliss." As soon as he was alone, he dressed in his most elaborate costume. It was for the benefit, he said, of the executioner who was to do him so great a service.'^ Sir William Kingston remonstrated, and with some diflficulty induced him to put on a plainer suit ; but that his intended liberality should not fail, he sent the man a gold angel in compensa- tion, " as a token that he maliced him nothing, but rather loved him extremely." So about nine of the clock he was brought by the Lieutenant out of the Tower 3 his beard being long, which fashion he had never before used, his face pale and lean, carrying in his hands a red cross, casting Ills eyes often towards heaven. He had been unpopular as a judge, and * The executioner received the clothes worn by the sufferer. More.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 315 one or two persons in the crowd were insolent to him ; but the distance was short and soon over, as alJ else was nearly over now. The scaffold had been awkwardly erected, and shook as he placed his foot upon the ladder. "See me safe up," he said to Kingston. " For my coming down I can shift for myself." He began to speak to the people, but the sheriff begged him not to proceed, and he con- tented himself with asking for their prayers, and desiring them to bear witness for him that he died in the faith of the holy Catholic church, and a faithful servant of God and the king. He then repeated the Miserere psalm* on his knees 3 and when he had ended and had risen, the executioner, with an emotion which promised ill for the manner in which his part in the tragedy would be accomplished, begged his for- giveness. More kissed him. " Thou art to do me the greatest benefit that I can receive," he said. " Pluck up thy spirit, man, and be not afraid to do thine office. My neck is very short. Take heed there- fore that thou strike not awry for saving of thine honesty." The executioner offered to tie his eyes. " I will cover them myself," he said j and binding them in a cloth which he had brought with him, he knelt, and laid his head upon the block. The fatal stroke was about to fall, when he signed for a moment's delay while he moved aside his beard. "Pity that should be cut," he murmured, "that has not committed treason." With which strange words, the strangest perhaps ever uttered at such a time, the lips most famous through Europe for eloquence and wisdom closed for ever. "So," concludes his biographer, " with alacrity and spiritual joy he received the fatal axe, which no sooner had severed the head from the body, but his soul was carried by angels into everlasting glory, where a crown of martyrdom was placed upon him which can never fade nor decay 5 and then he found those words true which he had often spoken, that a man may lose his head and have no harm." This Avas the execution of Sir Thomas More, an act which sounded out into the far corners of the earth, and was the world's wonder as well for the circumstances under which it was perpetrated, as for the preternatural composure with which it was borne. Something of his calmness may have been due to his natural temperament, something to an unaffected weariness of a world which in his eyes was plunging into the ruin of the latter days. But those fair hues of sunny cheerfulness caught their colour from the simphcity of his faith 3 and never was there a Christian's victory over death more grandly evidenced than in that last scene lighted with its lambent humour. — History of England from the Fall of JVolsey to the Death of Elizabeth, vol. ii. ch. ix. * Psalm li. 31 6 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Cook. 130.— "THE KING OF ALL THE FRIENDLY ISLES." [Capt. Cook, 1728 — 1779. [James Cook, born at Marton, in Yorkshire, Oct. 27, 1728, was apprenticed to a haberdasher, and afterwards went to sea. Having accepted the command of an expedition to the Pacific Ocean, he left Plymouth in the E?ideavour, Aug. 26, 1768, and after visiting Otaheite, New Zealand, and Australia, arrived in the Downs June 12, 1 77 1. Captain Cook left Plymouth on his second voyage July 13, 1772, returning to England July 30, 1775. Soon after his return Captain Cook tendered his services to attempt the discovery of the North West Passage, and sailed from Plymouth in the Resolution, July 12, 1776. During the voyage he visited the Sandwich Islands, in one of which he was killed in a skirmish with the natives, Feb. 14, 1779. His account of the second voyage appeared in 1777, and the account of the third voyage, edited from Capt. Cook's papers, by Capt. James King, appeared in 1784. His Life, by Dr. Kippis, was published in 1788. Dibdin remarks : — " The spirit, disinterestedness, penetration, physical and intellectual energies of Captam James Cook fitted him in an especial manner for the various and extraordinary discoveries which he so successfully accomplished, and to which, alas ! he fell a victim and a sacrifice. Never were such labours closed by such a tragical catastrophe; and if the eulogies of the good and the wise of all countries be grateful to departed spirits, surely there is no spirit which can be soothed with purer attestations of worth, and higher acknowledgments of excellence, than that of this unparalleled and most unfortunate commander."] On the 6th (May, 1777,) we were visited by a great chief from Tonga- taboo, whose name was Feenou, and whom Taipa was pleased to intro- duce to us as King of all the Friendly Isles. I was now told, that, on my arrival, a canoe had been dispatched to Tongataboowith the newsj in con- sequence of which, this chief immediately passed over to Annamooka. The officer on shore informed me, that when he first arrived, all the natives were ordered out to meet him, and paid their obeisance by bowing their heads as low as his feet, the soles of which they also touched with each hand, hrst with the palm, and then with the back part. There could be little room to suspect that a person, received with so much respect, could be any thing less than the king. In the afternoon I went to pay this great man a visit, having first received a present of two fish from him, brought on board by one of his servants. * As soon as I landed, he came up to me. He appeared to be about thirty years of age, tall, but thin, and had more of the European features than any I had yet seen here. When the first salutation was over, I asked if he was the king. For, notwithstanding what I had been told, finding he was not the man whom I remembered to have seen under that character during my former voyage, I began to entertain doubts. Taipa officiously answered for him, and enumerated no less than one hundred and fifty-three islands, of which, he said, Feenou was the sovereign. After a short stay, our new visitor, and five or six of his attendants, accompanied me on board. I gave Cook.] OF MODERN LlTERATUkE. 3 17 suitable presents to them all, and entertained them in such a manner, as I thought would be most agreeable. In the evening, I attended them on shore in my boat, into which the chief ordered three hogs to be put, as a return for the presents he had received from me. I was now informed of an accident which had happened, the relation of which will convey some idea of the extent of the authority exercised here over the common people. While Feenou was on board my ship, an inferior chief, for what reason our people on shore did not know, ordered all the natives to retire from the post we occupied. Some of them having ventured to return, he took up a large stick, and beat them most unmercifully. He struck one man, on the side of his face, with so much violence, that the blood gushed out of his mouth and nostrils j and, after lying some time motionless, he was at last removed from the place in convul- sions. The person who had inflicted the blow, being told that he had killed the man, only laughed at it 3 and it was evident that he was not in the least sorry for what had happened. We heard, afterwards, that the poor sufferer had recovered. The Discovery having found again her small bower anchor, shifted her berth on the 7th 5 but not before her best bower cable had shared the fate of the other. This day, I had the company of Feenou at dinner J and also the next day, when he was attended by Taipa, Toobou, and some other chiefs. It was remarkable, that none but Taipa was allowed to sit at table with him, or even to eat in his presence. I own that I considered Feenou as a very convenient guest, on account of this etiquette. For, before his arrival, I had generally a larger company than I could well find room for, and my table overflowed with crowds of both sexes. For it is not the custom at the Friendly Islands, as it is at Otaheite, to deny to their females the privilege of eating in company with the men. — A Voyage to the Pacific Ocean, vol. i. ch. iv. 131.— FORTITUDE IN ADVERSITY. [R. Greene, 1550 — 1592. [Robert Greene, born at Norwich, in 1550, was educated at Cambridge, and after taking his degree visited Spain, Italy, and other parts of the Continent. He is said to have entered the church, and to have been one of the Queen's chaplains in 1576. His first work in prose, entitled " Mamillia, or the Triumph of Pallas, a Mirror or Looking Glass for' the Ladies of England," appeared in 1583. "Arcadia, or Menaphon," was first published in 1587. These were followed by numerous works in prose and verse. His " Groat's Worth of Wit," containing the well-known allusion to Shakespeare, appeared in 1592. Greene wrote several dramatic pieces, none of which were published until after his death, which occurred Sept. 3, 1592. ** The History of Orlando Furioso," " A Looking Glass for London and England/* 5i8 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Greene. and " The Honorable Histon,- of Friar Bacon and Friar Buns:ay," his three best know-n dnmias, though often acted during; his lifetime, were first published in 1594. His Life, by the Rev. A. Dyce, is prefixed to an edition of his works published in 183 1. Hailam remarks (Lit. Hist... part ii. ch. 6) : " Greene succeeds pretty well in that florid and £:ay style, a little redundant in images, which Shakespeare frequently gives to his princes and courtiers, and which renders some unimpassioned scenes in his historic pla}^ eftective and brilliant. There is great talent sho-wTi, though upon a vejy strange canvas, in Greene's * Looking Glass for London and England.' "] Sephestia, thou seest no physic prevails against the gaze of the basilisk, no charm against the sting of the tarantula, no prevention to divert the decree of the Fates, nor no means to recall back the baleful hurt of Fortune. Incurable sores are without Avicen's* aphorisms, and therefore no salve for them but patience. Then, my Sephestia, sithf thy fall is high and fortune lo\v, thy sorrows great and thy hope little, seeing me partaker of thy miseries, set all upon this, solamen Tuiseris socios habuisse dohvis, " it is a consolation to the wretched to have companions in their sorrow." Chance is like Janus, double- faced, as well full of smiles to comfort as of frowns to dismay j tlie ocean at the deadest ebb returns to a full tide ; when the eagle means to soar highest, he raiseth his flight in the lowest dales : so fareth it with Fortune, who in her highest extremes is most inconstant j wher the tempest of her \sTath is most fearful, then look for a calm ; when she beats thee A^ith nettles, then think she will strew thee A^ith roses ; when she is most familiar with furies, her intent is to be most prodigal, Sephestia. Thus are the arrows of Fortune feathered with the plumes of the bird halcyon, that changeth colour with the moon, ^^•hich, towever she slioots them, pierce not so deep but they may be cured. But, Sephestia, thou art daughter to a king, exiled by him from the hope of a crown ; banished from the pleasures of the court to the painful fortunes of the country; parted for love from him thou canst not but lovej from Maximus,:}: Sephestia, who for thee hath sutfered so many disfavours as either discontent or death can aftbrd. What of all this ; is not Hope the daughter of Time ? Have not stars tiieir favourable aspects, as they have froward opposition ? Is tliere not a Jupiter as there is a Saturn ? Cannot tlie influence of smiling Venus stretch as far as the frowning constitution of Mars ? I tell thee, Sephestia, Juno foldeth in her brows the volumes of the destinies ; whom melancholy Saturn deposeth from a crown, she * Avicenna, whose real name was Abu Ali Al-Hossein Abdalhih Ibu Sina, an Arabian philosopher and physician, \N-as born at Charmatain, near Bokhara, in 98^ and died on a journey to Hamadan in 1037. t Since. i This person is the husband of Sephestia. Wordsworth.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 319 mildly advanceth to a diadem ; then fear not, for if the mother live in misery, yet hath she a sceptre for the son : let the unkindness of thy father be buried in the cinders of obedience, and the want of Maximus be supplied with the presence of his pretty babe, who, being too young for Fortune, lies smihng on thy knee, and laughs at Fortune. Learn by him, Sephestia, to use patience, which is like the balm in the Vale of Jehosaphat, that findeth no wound so deep but it cureth : thou seest already Fortune begins to change her view, for after the great storm that pent our ship, we found a calm that brought us safe to shore ; the mercy of Neptune was more than the envy of ^olus, and the discourtesy of thy father is proportioned with the favour of the gods. Thus, Sephestia, being copartner of thy misery, yet do I seek to allay thy martyrdom 3 being sick to myself, yet do I play the physician to thee, wishing thou mayst bear thy sorrows with as much content as I brook my misfortunes with patience. — Arcadia^ or Menaphon. 132.— THE SHADES OF NIGHT. [Wordsworth, 1770 — 1850. [William Wordsworth, born at Cockermouth April 7, 1770, was educated at Cam- bridge. During some continental tours he imbibed republican principles. His first publication, " Descriptive Sketches during a Pedestrian Tour on the Italian, Swiss, and Savoyard Alps," appeared in 1793; "An Evening Walk, an epistle in verse, addressed to a Young Lady," was published the same year. In June, 1797, he formed an acquaintance with Coleridge, and the " Lyrical Ballads," their joint pro- duction, appeared in 1798. Wordsworth removed to Rydal Mount in 1813, and the same year obtained the appointment of distributor of stamps for Westmoreland. "The Excursion" appeared in 1814, and "The Prelude, or Growth of the Poet's Mind, an Autobiographical Poem," in 1850. He received the degree of D.C.L. from the university of Oxford in 1839, resigned his appointment as Distributor of Stamps in 1842, receiving a pension of ^^300 per annum, and succeeded Southey as Poet Laureate in 1843. Wordsworth, who died at Rydal Mount, April 23, 1850, was one of the most distinguished of the Lake Poets, ridiculed by Lord Byron,* * Next comes the dull disciple of the school. That mild apostate from poetic rule, The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay As soft as evening in his favourite May, Who warns his friend * to shake off toil and trouble;, * And quit his books for fear of growing double.'f Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose ; Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane; t Lyrical Ballads. The Tables Turned. 320 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Wordsworth. the " Edinburgh Review," and writers of that period. His " Life," by Dr. Words- worth, Archdeacon of Westminster, appeared in 185 1. Several biographies have been published. " Wordsworth, a biography," by E. Paxton Hood, appeared in 1856.] Now, with religious awe, the farewell light Blends with the solemn colouring of the night j 'Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's brow. And round the west's proud lodge their colours throw. Like Una shining on her gloomy way. The half-seen form of Twilight roams astray ; Shedding, through paly loop-holes mild and small. Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall ; Soft o'er the surface creep those lustres pale. Tracking the motions of the fitful gale. With restless interchange at once the bright Wins on the shade, the shade upon the light. No favoured eye was e'er allowed to gaze On lovelier spectacle in fairy days ; When gentle spirits urged a sportive chase. Brushing with lucid wands the water's face ; While music, stealing round the glimmering deeps. Charmed the tall circle of the enchanted steeps. — The lights are vanished from the watery plains : No wreck of all the pageantry remains. Unheeded night has overcome the vales : On the dark earth the wearied vision fails : The latest lingerer of the forest train. The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain j Last evening sight, the cottage smoke, no more. Lost in the thickened darkness, glimmers hoar j And towering from the sullen dark-brown mere. Like a black wall, the mountain-steeps appear. And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime. Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of "an idiot boy;" A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way. And like his bard, confounded night with day; So close on each pathetic part he dwells. And each adventure so sublimely tells. That all who view the " idiot in his glory," Conceive the bard the hero of the story. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, 1 Wordsworth.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 321 — Now o'er the soothed accordant heart we feel A sympathetic twilight slowly steal. And ever, as we fondly muse, we find The soft gloom deepening on the tranquil mind. Stay ! pensive, sadly-pleasing visions, stay ! Ah no ! as fades the vale, they fade away : Yet still the tender, vacant, gloom remains : Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains. The bird who ceased, with fading light, to thread Silent the hedge, or steamy rivulet's bed. From his grey re-appearing tower shall soon Salute with gladsome note the rising moon. While with a hoary light she frosts the ground. And pours a deeper blue to Other's bound 5 Pleased, as she moves, her pomp of clouds to fold In robes of azure, fleecy- white, and gold. Above yon eastern hill, where darkness broods. O'er all its vanished dells, and lawns, and woods j Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace. Even now she shews, half-veiled, her lovely face : Across the gloomy valley flings her light. Far to the western slopes with hamlets white -, And gives, where woods the chequered upland strew, To the green corn of summer autumn's hue. Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn Her dawn, far lovelier than the moon's own morn j 'Till higher mounted, strives in vain to cheer The weary hills, imperious, blackening near 5 — Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while On darling spots remote her tempting smile. Even now she decks for me a distant scene, (For dark and broad the gulf of time between) Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray. Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way ; How fair its lawns and sheltering woods appear ! How sweet its streamlet murmurs in mine ear ! Where we, my Friend, to happy days shall rise, 'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs (For sighs will ever trouble human breath) Creep hushed into the tranquil breast of death. 322 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Chalmers But now the clear bright moon her zenith gains. And, rimy without speck, extend the plains : The deepest cleft the mountain's front displays. Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays 3 From the dark-blue faint silvery threads divide The hills, while gleams below the azure tide 5 Time softly treads ; throughout the landscape breathes A peace enlivened, not disturbed, by wreaths Of charcoal-smoke, that o'er the fallen wood Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood. The song of mountain-streams, unheard by day. Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way.- Air listens, like the sleeping water, still. To catch the spiritual music of the hill. Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep. Or shout that wakes the ferry-man from sleep. The echoed hoof nearing the distant shore. The boat's first motion — made with dashing oar j Sound of closed gate, across the water borne. Hurrying the timid hare through rustling corn j The sportive outcry of the mocking owl ; And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl ; The distant forge's swinging thump profound ; Or yell, in the deep woods, of lonely hound. Poems. An Evening Walk, 133.— CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. [Rev. Dr. Chalmers, 1780 — 1847. [Thomas Chalmers, born at Anstruther, March 17, 1780, and educated at the uni- versity of St. Andrews, was ordained minister of Kilmany in 1803, and transferred to Glasgow in July, 181 5. He was appointed Professor of Moral Philosophy at the university of St. Andrews in 1823, and Professor of Theology at the university of Edinburgh in 1824. He received the degree of D.C.L. from the university of Oxford, and was the leader in the Free Church Movement, which took place in 1843. Dr. Chalmers, who was a prolific writer, is best known by "The Evidence and Authority of the Christian Revelation," published in 1814, and the Bridgewater treatise, "On the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the Adap- tation of External Nature to the Moral and Intellectual Constitution of Man," in 1833. He died at Edinburgh, May 30, 1847. " Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Dr. Chalmers," by Dr. W. Hanna, appeared in 185 1.] Man is the direct agent of a wide and continual distress to the lower animals, and the question is. Can any method be devised for its allevia- Oialiiias.^ CjV MODERK LITEP^4TURE. tion r On thas sobject that Scriptural image is strikingly realized, " The whole inferior creation groaning and travailing together in pain," because of him. It signifies not to the snhstantive amount of the sobering, whether this be prompted by the harxlness of his heart, or only permitted throngh the heedlessness of his mind. In ather way it holds troe, not only that the arch-deronier man stands pne-emineait orer the fiercest children of the wildem^s as an animal of prey, but -:jii : : J: = lordly and hisnrious appetite, as wdl as for his service or -"rTr: jrisity and amnsement, Natore mnst be ransacked throngh- i'l L-' r rr^ents. Rather thanfor^^o the vaiest gratifications of v.li^:t. i^t 1- —TTo? them firom the anguish of w^retched and iU- &ted creauirt: : i whether for the indolgence of his barbar'c ^en- soality, or r.i: :: : 5j ei^donr, can stalk paramonnt over the simerlii^^ of that pre Thatbeante trial sovere whrther we eveoine ski Tiresfe a inori iron rod of mysterious ' mataialisir Pandemon: : dicnon, an its privilege his cruelty sounds in f dreadful h: The^e r: n which has berai pla<^d b^ieath his feei. "hereof he has been constituted the tores- r:iany blissful and benignant aspects 5 and ri efil lakes, or its floweiy landsikpes, or its ill • r: a rtine which oveispreads the hills and . _e: I ^- eetest sunshine, and wheie ani- r. ?h \i.--z eiiberance of gai^y — this surely re:: -r r:ir :f clemency, than for the , e : : T : t hr = r ant. But the present is a e T : ii Ii still beais much upon its r : : I :: : . Bm a breath fiom the air of : :: er re: : ns,and so "the fear :: : eiie, i^^ :.:... upon every beast of T : ::^1 of the air^, and iqjon all 1: i:e of the earth, and upon all the ::e : la nds are they dehvaed: every moving : : e:ei ; yea, even as the green h«bs, there _ :— e. ■, Such is the extent of his juris- :e :r_ i: eDse has he revelled among T ::: e v ' ::i is in violence because of e - : : T 1 : : : : 5 entient Xature, there enirersal sufiering — 2l : :±i lord- jwer 01 '1-r felt- msT^T- : : ::. : : : fonii ih : r e e univei^ t-.-/ and tremble- ^: do. Thdis Xare:r : The :- ::on, and just :; of it. Xa: : field are not so IS ractised this r I just look, :. .i.^_^: .^, .: ,_::_ ng that we : pain. Theiis is the unequivocal : on the same aspect of terror on the y 2 324 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Chalmers. demonstrations of a menaced blow. They exhibit the same distor- tions of agony after the infliction of it. The bruise, or the burn, or the fracture, or the deep incision, or the fierce encounter with one of equal or superior strength, just affects them similarly to ourselves. Their blood circulates as ours. They have pulsations in various parts of the body like ours. They sicken, and they grow feeble with age, and, finally, they die just as we do. They possess the same feelings ; and what exposes them to like suff'erings from another quarter, they possess the same instincts with our own species. The lioness robbed of her whelps causes the wilderness to ring aloud with the proclama- tion of her wrongs ; or the bird whose little household has been stolen, fills and saddens all the grove with melodies of deepest pathos. All this is palpable even to the general and unlearned eye j and when the physiologist lays open the recesses of their system by means of that scalpel, under whose operation they just shrink and are con- vulsed as any living subject of our own species, there stands forth to view the same sentient apparatus, and furnished with the same con- ductors for the transmission of feeling to every minutest pore upon the surface. Theirs is unmixed and unmitigated pain — the agonies of martyrdom, without the alleviation of the hopes and the sentiments, whereof they are incapable. When they lay them down to die, their only fellowship is with sufl^ering^ for in the prison-house of their beset and bounded faculties, there can no relief be afforded by com- munion with other interests or other things. The attention does not lighten their distress as it does that of man, by carrying off his spirit from that existing pungency and pressure which might else be over- whelming. There is but room in their mysterious economy for one inmate ; and that is, the absorbing sense of their own single and con- centrated anguish. And so in that bed of torment whereon the wounded animal lingers and expires, there is an unexplored depth and intensity of suffering which the poor dumb animal itself cannot tell, and against which it can offer no remonstrance j an untold and un- known amount of wretchedness, of which no articulate voice gives utterance. But there is an eloquence in its silence ; and the very shroud which disguises it, only serves to aggravate its horrors. — Ser- mon on Cruelty to Animals. Proverbs xii. lo. Junius.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 325 134,— CHARACTER OF LORD MANSFIELD.* [Junius. [The qiaestion of the authorship of the Letters of Junius, which has given rise to much controversy, remains unsolved, though it is now generally attributed to Sir Philip Francis.f The first letter with this signature was published in " The Public Advertiser," January 21, 1769, and the last, the 44th, Jan. 21, 1772. Other letters by the same writer appeared under diflPerent signatures. In these anonymous contribu- tions the policy of the Grafton and North Administrations w-as assailed, and many of the more prominent members were singled out for censure. Lord Macaulay, in a letter to John Murray, dated Albany, January 3, 1852, remarks on the question of authorship : '' Lord Lyttleton's claims to the authorship of Junius are better than those of Burke or Barre', and quite as good as those of Lord George Sackville or Single-Speech Hamilton. But the case against Francis, or, if you please, in favour of Francis, rests on grounds of a very different kind, and on coincidences such as would be sufficient to convict a murderer."] The mischiefs you have done this country are not confined to your interpretation of the laws. You are a minister, my Lord,, and, as such, have long been consulted. Let us candidly examine what use you have made of your ministerial influence. I will not descend to little matters, but come at once to those important points, on which your resolution was waited for, on which the expectation of your opinion kept a great part of the nation in suspense. A constitutional question arises upon a declaration of the law of parhament, by which the freedom of election, and the birth-right of the subject, were supposed to have been invaded. The King's serv^ants are accused of violating the constitution. The nation is in a ferment. The ablest men of all parties engage in the question, and exert their utmost abilities in the discussion of it. What part has the honest Lord Mansfield acted ? As an eminent judge of the law, his opinion would have been respected. As a peer, he had a right to demand an audience of his sovereign, and inform him that his ministers were pursuing unconstitutional measures. Upon other occasions, my Lord, you have no difficulty in finding your way into the closet. The pretended neutrality of belonging to no party will not save your * William Murray, born at Perth, March 2, 1704, and educated at Oxford, was called to the bar in 1731. He was appointed Solicitor-General in 1743, and King's Attorney in 1754. He became Chief Justice of the King's Bench in 1756, taking the title of Baron Mansfield, and was created an Earl in 1776. His house was burned during the Gordon Riots. Retiring from the bench in 1788, he died March 20, 1793. t Born in Dublin, Oct. 20, 1740, went to India in 1774, became a member of the Council of Bengal, and fought a duel with Warren Hastings. He returned to England in 1 781, was elected a member of the House of Commons in 1784, received the order of the Bath in 1806, and died Dec. 22, 1818. 326 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Junius. reputation. In questions merely political, an honest man may stand neuter. But the laws and constitution are the general property of the subject ; — not to defend is to relinquish ; — and who is there so senseless as to renounce his share in a common benefit, unless he hopes to profit by a new division of the spoil ? As a lord of parliament you were repeatedly called upon to condemn or defend the new law declared by the House of Commons. You affected to have scruples, and every expedient was attempted to remove them. The question was proposed, and urged to you in a thousand different shapes. Your prudence still supplied you with evasion j — your resolution was invincible. For my own part, I am not anxious to penetrate this solemn secret. I care not to whose wisdom it is intrusted, nor how soon you carry it with you to your grave. You have betrayed your opinion by the very care you have taken to conceal it. It is not from Lord Mansfield that we expect any reserve in declaring his real senti- ments in favour of government, or in opposition to the people ; nor is it difficult to account for the motions of a timid, dishonest heart, which neither has virtue enough to acknowledge truth, nor courage to contradict it. Yet you continue to support an administration which you know is universally odious, and which, on some occasions, you yourself speak of with contempt. You would fain be thought to take no share in government, while, in reality, you are the main spring of the machine. Here, too, we trace the little, prudential policy of a Scotchman. Instead of acting that open, generous part, which becomes your rank and station, you meanly skulk into the closet, and give your sovereign such advice as you have not spirit to avow or defend. You secretly ingross the power, while you decline the title of minister -, and though you dare not be Chancellor, you know how to secure the emoluments of the office. — Are the seals to be for ever in commission, that you may enjoy five thousand pounds a year? — I beg pardon, my Lord ; — your fears have interposed at last, and forced you to resign. — The odium of continuing Speaker of the House of Lords, upon such terms, was too formidable to be resisted. What a multitude of bad passions are forced to submit to a constitu- tional infirmity ! But though you have relinquished the salary, you still assume the rights of a minister. — Your conduct, it seems, must be defended in parliament. — For what other purpose is your wretched friend, that miserable serjeant, posted to the House of Commons ? Is it in the abilities of Mr. Leigh to defend the great Lord Mansfield ? — Or is he only the Punch of the Puppet-show, to speak as he is prompted by the Chief Juggler behind the curtain ? In public affairs, my Lord, cunning, let it be ever so well wrought, will not conduct a man honourably through life. Like bad money. RadclifFe.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 32? it may be current for a time, but it will soon be cried down. It cannot consist with a liberal spirit, tho' it be sometimes united with extraordinary qualifications. When I acknowledge your abilities, you may believe I am sincere. I feel for human nature when I see a man, so gifted as you are, descend to such vile practice. — Yet do not suffer your vanity to console you too soon. Believe me, my good Lord, you are not admired in the same degree in which you are detested. It is 6nly the partiality of your friends that balances the defects of your heart with the superiority of your understanding. No learned man, even among your own tribe, thinks you qualified to preside in a court of common law. Yet it is confessed that, under Justinian, you might have made an incomparable Prcetor. — It is re- markable enough, but I hope not ominous, that the laws you under- stand best, and the judges you affect to admire most, flourished in the decline of a great empire, and are supposed to have contributed to its fall. Here, my Lord, it may be proper for us to pause together. — It is not for my own sake that I wish you to consider the delicacy of your situation. Beware how you indulge the first emotions of your resentment. This paper is delivered to the world, and cannot be recalled. The persecution of an innocent printer cannot alter facts, nor refute arguments. — Do not furnish me with farther materials against yourself. — An honest man, like the true religion, appeals to the understanding, or modestly confides in the internal evidence of his conscience. The impostor employs force instead of argument, im- poses silence where he cannot convince, and propagates his character by the sword. — Letter to Lord Mansfield, Nov. 14, 1770. i35._MIDNIGHT VISIT TO A FATHER'S GRAVE. [Mrs. Radcliffe, 1764 — 1823. [Ann Ward, born in London, July 9, 1764, was married in 1787 to William RadclifFe, afterwards proprietor and editor of the "English Chronicle." Her first work, "The Castles of Athlin and Dunbaynej a Highland Story," appeared in 1789, "A Sicilian Romance," in 1790, "The Romance of the Forest," in 1791, "The Mysteries of Udolpho : A Romance," in 1794, and "The Italian: or, the Confes- sional of the Black Penitent, a Romance," in 1797. Mrs. Radcliffe, who wrote other works and some poetry, is called by Dr. Drake " the Shakespeare of romance writers, who to the wild landscape of Salvator Rosa, has added the softer graces of a Claude." A memoir is prefixed to one of her works published in 1826, and Sir Walter Scott's Life appears in vol. xi. of Ballantyne's Novelist's Library. Mrs. Radcliffe died Feb. 7, 1823.] It was several days after the arrival of Madame Cheron's servant before Emily was sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey to 328 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [RadcliflFe. La Vallee. On the evening preceding her departure, she went to the cottage to take leave of La Voisin and his family, and to make them a return for their kindness. The old man she found sitting on a bench at his door, bet^^een his daughter and his son-in-law, who was just returned from his daily labour, and who was pla}'ing upon a pipe that in tone resembled an oboe. A flask of wine stood beside the old man, and, before him, a small table with fruit and bread, around which stood several of his grandsons, fine rosy children, who were taking their supper, as their mother distributed it. On the edge of the little green that spread before the cottage, were cattle and a few sheep reposing under the trees. The landscape was touched with the mellow light of the evening sun, whose long slanting beams played through a vista of the woods, and lighted up the distant turrets of the chateau. She paused a moment, before she emerged from the shade, to gaze upon the happy group before her — on the complacency and ease of healthy age, depictured on the countenance of La Voisin ; the maternal tenderness of Agnes, as she looked upon her children 5 and the innocency of infantine pleasures, reflected in their smiles. Emily looked again at the venerable old man, and at the cottage : the meraory of her father rose with fall force upon her mind, and she hastily stepped forv^^ard, afraid to trust herself with a longer pause. She took an affectionate and affecting leave of La Voisin and his family : he seemed to love her as his daughter, and shed tears : Emily shed many. She avoided going into the cottage, since she knew it would revive emotions such as she could not now endure. One painful scene yet awaited her — for she determined to visit again her father's grave 3 and that she might not be interrupted, or observed, in the indulgence of her melancholy tenderness, she deferred her visit till every inhabitant of the convent, except the nun who promised to bring her the key of the church, should be retired to rest. Emily remained in her chamber till she heard the convent bell strike twelve, when the nun came, as she had appointed, with the key of a private door that opened into the church ; and they descended together the narrow winding staircase that led thither. The nun offered to accompany Emily to the grave, adding, " It is melancholy to go alone at this hour j" but the former, thanking her for the consideration, could not consent to have any witness of her sorrow -, and the sister, having unlocked the door, gave her the lamp. *' You will remember, sister," said she, " that in the east aisle, which you must pass, is a newly opened grave : hold the light to the ground, that you may not stumble over the loose earth." Emily, thanking her again, took the lamp, and, stepping into the church, sister Mariette departed. But Emily paused a moment at the door 3 a sudden fear came over her, and she Strype.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 329 returned to the foot of the staircase, where as she heard the steps of the nun ascending, and, while she held up the lamp, saw her black veil waving over the spiral balusters, she was tempted to call her back. While she hesitated, the veil disappeared, and in the next moment, ashamed of her fears, she returned to the church. The cold air of the aisles chilled her ; and their deep silence and extent, feebly shone upon by the moonlight, that streamed through a Gothic window, would at any other time have awed her into superstition ; now, grief occupied all her attention. She scarcely heard the whispering echoes of her own steps, or thought of the open grave, till she found herself almost on its brink. A friar of tlie convent had been buried on the preceding evening, and, as she had sat alone in her chamber at twilight, she heard at a distance the monks chanting the requiem for his soul. This brought freshly to her memory the circumstances of her father's death ; and as the voices, mingling with a low querulous peal of the organ, swelled faintly, gloomy and affecting visions had arisen upon her mind. Now she remembered them, and, turning aside to avoid the broken ground, these recollections made her pass on with quicker steps to the grave of St. Aubert3 when, in the moonlight that fell athwart a remote part of the aisle, she thought she saw a shadow gliding between the pillars. She stopped to listen, and not hearing any footstep, believed that her fancy had deceived her, and, no longer apprehensive of being observed, proceeded. St. Aubert was buried beneath a plain marble, bearing little more than his name, and the date of his birth and death, near the foot of the stately monument of the Villerois. Emily remained at his grave, till a chime, that called the monks to early prayers, warned her to retire ; then she wept over it a last fare- well, and forced herself from the spot. After this hour of melancholy indulgence, she was refreshed by a deeper sleep than she had ex- perienced for a long time, and, on awakening, her mind was more tranquil and resigned than it had been since St. Aubert's death. — Mysteries of UdoLpho, vol. i. ch. ix. 136.— THE ACCESSION OF QUEEN MARY. [Rev. J. Strype, 1643 — 1737' [John Strype, the son of John Van Stryp, a refugee from Brabant, was born at Stepney, Nov. i, 1643, and educated at St. Paul's School, and the university of Cam- bridge. He was appointed to the perpetual curacy of Theydon-Bois, in Essex, in 1669, and obtaiiied other preferment. His " Life of Archbishop Cranmer" was pub- lished in 1694; his "Life of Sir Thomas Smith" in 1698; his "Annals of the Refor- mation" 1709 — 31; and " Ecclesiasticiil Memorials" 1721 — ^^. This prolific 330 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Strype. author wrote other historical and biographical works, all of which were republished at the Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1812 — 28. He died at Hackney, Dec. 11, I737-] Now, while all was in confusion and disturbance, every one running to arms, as he stood affected either to Jane"* or Mary 3 and the realm seemed generally to verge towards the latter ; great were the fears and anxieties that possessed the hearts of the best men, and such as loved King Edward's reformation. For they were very appre- hensive, that the good religion and pious orders established in his reign were going to wreck. They dreaded Mary's marriage with some popish foreigner 3 and they foresaw how she, being so nearly related to the Emperor, that professed enemy of reformation, would take her measures of rule and government by his influence and direc- tion. The faithful preachers, very painfully, in their several places, set before the people their imminent danger, and shewed them, that this judgment of the loss of their excellent king was come upon them for their unprofitableness under those opportunities of grace and spiri- tual knowledge they enjoyed under him ; and that this was the effect of God's angry hand. They exhorted them much to steadfastness, and by no means to comply with the popish superstitions that were now ready to break in upon them. Which if they did, they assured them utter destruction was at hand 3 otherwise, that there was a door open, after some sorrowful days, for their deliverance. Knox,t the Scotchman, who was one of the chief preachers of the nation then, at this time, and for some time before, preached in Buckinghamshire : and just while the great tumult was in England, and Sir Edward Hastings, Sir Edmund Peckham, and others, were busy in that county raising forces, he preached at Amersham before a great assembly : where, with sorrowful heart and weeping eyes, (as he tells us of himself,) he fell into this exclamation : " O England ! now is God's wrath kindled against thee ; now hath he begun to punish, as he hath threatened a long while by his true prophets and messengers. He hath taken from thee the crown of thy glory, and hath left thee without honour, as a body without a head. And this appeareth to be only the beginning of sorrows, which appear to increase. For I per- ceive that the heart, the tongue, and hand of one Englishman is * Lady Jane Grey, daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, born in 1537, married to Lord Guildford Dudley in May, 1553, proclaimed Queen July 10, 1553, was tried Nov. 13, 1553* and beheaded at the Tower, at the same time as her husband, Feb. 12, 1554. t Born in 1505, professed himself a Protestant in 1543, resided in England from 1549 to 1554, and was one of Edward the Sixth's chaplains. He died at Edinburgh, Nov. 24, 1572. Stiype.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 331 bent against another, and division to be in the whole realm : which is an assured sign of desolation to come. O England, England ! dost thou not consider, that thy commonwealth is hke a ship sailing on the sea ? If thy mariners and governors shall one consume another, shalt thou not suffer shipwreck in short process of time ? O England, Eng- land ! alas ! these plagues are poured upon thee, for that thou wouldest not know the most happy time of thy gentle visitation. But wilt thou yet obey the voice of thy God, and submit thyself to his holy word ? Truly, if thou wilt, thou shalt find mercy in his sight, and the state of thy commonweal shall be preserved. But, O England, England ! if thou obstinately wilt return into Egypt, that is, if thou contract marriage, confederacy, or league with such princes as do maintain and advance idolatry, such as the Emperor, which is no less enemy unto Christ than ever was Nero 3 if for the pleasure and friendship of such princes, I say, thou return to thy old abominations before used under Papistry 5 then, assuredly, O England ! thou shalt be plagued and brought to desolation, by the means of those whose favour thou seekest, and by whom thou art procured to fall from Christ, and to serv^e Antichrist." These were the lessons now incul- cated upon the people. MdiTj, therefore, the only child surviving of Queen Katharine of Spain, King Henry's first wife, succeeded Queen of England ; one very much addicted to the Pope and papal superstitions. She, or rather some of her friends in London for her, on the 19th day of July, that is, thirteen days after King Edward's death, issued out a proclamation, entitling herself supreme Head of the Churches of Eng- land and Ireland, signifying to her loving subjects, "that she took upon her the crown imperial of the realms of England and Ireland, and title of France 5 and that she was in lawful and just possession of the same : assuring them, that in reputing and taking her for their natural liege sovereign Lady and Queen, they should find her their benign and gracious Lady, as others her most noble progenitors had been." But Grafton, the printer of this proclamation, found her not so ; soon after turning him out of his place of printing state-papers, (which he seems to have had by letters patent from King Edward, or his father,) and constituting John Cawood her printer in his room. And this, no question, because Grafton was a Protestant, and had printed the Bible in English, and the public books of religion in the former reign : nor was this all the hard measure he found j for the next month he was clapped up in prison. She was proclaimed between five and six of the clock in the after- noon, by four trumpeters and three heralds of arms. There were present the Earls of Arundel, Shrewsbury, Pembroke, also the Lord 332 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Layard. Treasurer, Lord Privy Seal, Lord Cobham, Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, Sir John Mason, the Lord Mayor, and divers other noblemen. This proclamation was published at the Cross in Cheap : from whence they went unto St. Paul's ; and there was sung Te Deum lau- damus, with songs, and the organs playing. All the bells throughout London rung -, every street enlightened with bonfires, and everywhere tables set out furnished with beer and wine for all comers ; and much money thrown about. By which significations the people showed their complacency in the right legal heir's succession. The Duke of Northumberland,* who was departed a few days ago with a force against the Queen, to establish his daughter-in-law, (who, by his means, was seated upon the throne,) thought he had secured all at home : but the nobles, as soon as he was gone, and, some of them his confidants, turned about for Mary. And on the 21st of July, the Duke being then in Cambridge, was seized as a traitor, with divers lords and knights in his company. And, on the same day, was Queen Mary proclaimed in the same town ; and so throughout all England. And thus, on a sudden, all that fine-spun laboured artifice of consti- tuting a new queen, contrary to a law in force, came to nothing, and brought ruin upon the contrivers. — Ecclesiastical Memorials. 137.— EXCAVATIONS AT NIMROUD. [Layard, 1817. [Austen Henry Layard was born in Paris, March 5, 1817. In 1839 he travelled through Albania to Constantinople, where he acted as correspondent to a London newspaper. In 1845 he commenced his excavations at Nineveh, and succeeded in exhuming several specimens of Assyrian art, many of which have been placed in the British Museum. He was appointed Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in 1852, and sat for Aylesbury from that year till 1857, when he lost his seat. In i860 he was returned for Southwark, and in 1861 was re-appointed Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. His "Nineveh and its Remains" appeared in 1848, and *' Monuments of Nineveh" in 1849.] I HAD slept little during the night. The hovel in which we had taken shelter, and its inmates, did not invite slumber j but such scenes and companions were not new to me : they could have been forgotten, had my brain been less excited. Hopes, long cherished, were now to be realized, or were to end in disappointment. Visions of palaces under ground, of gigantic monsters, of sculptured figures, and end- less inscriptions, floated before me. * Was taken prisoner at Cambridge July 21, 1553, sent to the Tower July 25, tried Aug. 18, and beheaded Aug. 22. Layard.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 333 After forming plan after plan for removing the earth, and extri- cating these treasures, I fancied myself wandering in a maze of chambers from which I could find no outlet. Then again, all was re-buried, and I was standing on the grass-covered mound. Exhausted, I was at length sinking into sleep, when hearing the voice of Awad, I rose from my carpet, and joined him outside the hovel. The day already dawned ; he had returned with six Arabs, who agreed for a small sum to work under my direction. The lofty cone and broad mound of Nimroud broke like a dis- tant mountain on the morning sky. But how changed was the scene since my former visit ! The ruins were no longer clothed with verdure and many-coloured flowers j no signs of habitation, not even the black tent of the Arab, was seen upon the plain. The eye wandered over a parched and barren waste, across which occasionally swept the whirlwind dragging with it a cloud of sand. About a mile from us was the small village of Nimroud, like Naifa, a heap of ruins. Twenty minutes' walk brought us to the principal mound. The absence of all vegetation enabled me to examine the remains with which it was covered. Broken pottery and fragments of bricks, both inscribed with the cuneiform character, were strewed on all sides. The Arabs watched my motions as I wandered to and fro, and ob- served with surprise the objects I had collected. They joined, how- ever, in the search, and brought me handfuls of rubbish, amongst which I found with joy the fragment of a bas-relief. The material on which it M^as carved had been exposed to fire, and resembled, in every respect, the burnt gypsum of Khorsabad. Convinced from this discovery that sculptured remains must still exist in some part of the mound, I sought for a place where excavations might be commenced with a prospect of success. Awad led me to a piece of alabaster which appeared above the soil. We could not remove it, and on digging downward, it proved to be the upper part of a large slab. I ordered all the men to work round it, and they shortly uncovered a second slab to which it had been united. Continuing in the same line, we came upon a thirds and, in the course of the morning, laid bare ten more, the whole forming a square, with one stone missing at the N.W. corner. It was evident that the top of a chamber had been discovered, and that the gap was its entrance. I now dug down the face of the stones, and an inscription in the cunei- form character was soon exposed to view. Similar inscriptions occu- pied the centre of all the slabs, which were in the best preservation 3 but plain, with the exception of the writing. Leaving half the work- men to uncover as much of the chamber as possible, I led the rest to 334 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Leigh Hunt. the S.W. corner of the mound, where I had observed many fragments of calcined alabaster. I dug at once into the side of the mound, which was here very steep, and thus avoided the necessity of removing much earth. We came almost immediately to a wall, bearing inscriptions in the same cha- racter as those already described 5 but the slabs had evidently been exposed to intense heat, were cracked in every part, and, reduced to lime, threatened to fall to pieces as soon as uncovered. Night interrupted our labours. I returned to the village well satisfied with their result. It was now evident that buildings of considerable ex- tent existed in the mound ; and that although some had been destroyed by lire, others had escaped the conflagration. As there were inscrip- tions, and as a fragment of a bas-relief had been found, it was natural to conclude that sculptures were still buried under the soil. I deter- mined to follow the search at the N.W. corner, and to empty the cham.ber partly uncovered during the day. — Nineveh and its Remains, vol. i, ch. ii. 138,— THE STRAND. [Leigh Hunt, 1784 — 1859. [James Henry Leigh Hunt, born at Southgate, Middlesex, Oct. 19, 1784, was educated at Christ's Hospital. In 1808 he became joint editor of the "Examiner," and from this time devoted himself entirely to literature. His first effort, " Juve- nilia, or a Collection of Poems written between the ages of twelve and sixteen," appeared in 1801; "The Story of Rimini, a Poem," appeared in 1816; "Recollec- tions of Lord Byron," in 1828; the "Legend of Florence, a play," in 1840; and "The Town, its Character and Events," in 1848. Leigh Hunt, who was a most prolific writer, established various periodicals and wrote several successful dramas. He received a pension from the Crown in 1847, ^^^ died at Highgate, Aug. 28, 1859.] In going through Fleet Street and the Strand, we seldom think that the one is named after a rivulet, now running underground, and the other from its being on the banks of the river Thames. As little do most of us fancy that there was once a line of noblemen's houses on the one side, and that, at the same time, all beyond the other side, to Hampstead or Highgate, was open country, with the little hamlet of St. Giles's in a copse. So late as the reign of Henry VIII. we have a print containing the village of Charing. Citizens used to take an evening stroll to the well now in St. Clement's Inn. In the reign of Edward III. the Strand was an open country road, with a mansion here and there, on the banks of the river Thames, most probably a castle or stronghold. In this state it no doubt re- Leigh Hunt.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. .335 mained during the greater part of the York and Lancaster period. From Henrj VII. '3 time the castles most likely began to be ex- changed for mansions of a more peaceful character. These gradually increased ; and in the reign of Edward VI. the Strand consisted, on the south side, of a hne of mansions with garden walls ; and on the north, of a single row of houses, behind which aU was field. The reader is to imagine wall all the way from Temple Bar to Whitehall, on his left hand, like that of Kew Palace, or a succession of Bur- lington Gardens j, while the line of humbler habitations stood on the other side, like a row of ser\'ants in waiting. As wealth increased, not only the importance of rank diminished, and the nobles were more content to recollect James's advice of living in the country (where, he said, they looked like ships in a river, in- stead of ships at sea) , but the value of ground about London, especially on the river side, was so much augmented, that the proprietors of these princely mansions were not unwilling to turn the premises into money. The civil wars had given another jar to the stability of their abodes in the metropolis ; and in Charles the Second's time the great houses finally gave way, and were exchanged for streets and wharfs. An agreeable poet of the last century lets us know what he used to think of this great change in going up the Strand. " Come, Fortescue, sincere experienced friend. Thy briefs, thy deeds, and e'en thy fees suspend 5 Come, let us leave the Temple's silent walls 3 Me, business to my distant lodging calls ; Through the long Strand together let us stray j With thee conversing I forget the way. Behold that narrow street which steep descends. Whose building to the slimy shore extends • Here Arundel's famed structure reared its frame : The street alone retains the empty name. Where Titian's glowing paint the canvas warmed. And Raphael's fair design with judgment charmed. Now hangs the bellman's song ; and pasted here The coloured prints of Overton appear. Where statues breathed, the works of Phidias' hands, A wooden pump, or lonely watch-house stands. There Essex' stately pile adorned the shore. There Cecil's, Bedford's, Villiers', — now no more." The Towrij vol. i. chap. iv. 336 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Kirke- White. 139.— ON A SURVEY OF THE HEAVENS, [Kirke-White, 1785 — 1806. [Hekry Kirke-White, born at Nottingham, March 21, 1785, was placed at a stocking-loom, and then articled to a lawyer. A small volume, entitled " Clifton Grove, and other Poems," published by him in 1803, attracted the attention of Southey. In 1804 he went to Cambridge, and fell a victim to consumption, Oct. 19, 1806. His remains, vsdth an account of his life by Robert Southey, appeared in 1807. Byron alludes to Kirke- White's untimely fate in the following lines in " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers :" — " Unhappy White ! while life was in its spring. And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing. The spoiler swept that soaring lyre away. Which else had sounded an immortal lay. Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone. When Science' self destroyed her favourite son ! Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit. She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped the fruit. 'Twas thine own genius gave the fetal blow. And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low : So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain. No more through rolling clouds to soar again. Viewed his own feather on the fetal dart. And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart; Keen were his pangs, but keener fer to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel ; While the same plumage that had vsrarmed his nest. Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast."] Ye many twinkling stars, who yet do hold Your brilliant places in the sable vault Of night's dominions ! — Planets, and central orbs Of other systems ; — big as the burning sun Which lights this nether globe^ — yet to our eye Small as the glow-worm's lamp ! — To you I raise My lowly orisons, while, all bewildered. My vision strays o'er your ethereal hosts ; Too vast^ too boundless for our narrow mind. Warped with low prejudices, to unfold. And sagely comprehend. Thence higher soaring. Through ye I raise my solemn thoughts to Him, The mighty Founder of this wond'rous maze, The great Creator ! Him ! who now sublime. Wrapt in the solitary amplitude Of boundless space, above the rolling spheres Sits on his silent throne, and meditates. Kirke-White.] OF MODERX LrTERATURE. 33: The angelic hosts, in their inferior Heaven, Hymn to the golden harps his praise sublime. Repeating loud, " The Lord our God is great," In varied hannonies. The glorious sounds Roll o'er the air serene. The .^k)lian sphCTes, Harping along their viewless boundaries. Catch the full note, and cry, ''The Lord is great," Responding to the Seraphim. O'er all. From orb to orb, to the remotest verge Of the created world, the sound is bom^ Till the whole universe is full of Him. Oh I 'tis this heavenly harmony which now In fancy strikes upon my listening ear. And thrills my inmost souL It bids me smile On the vain world and all its bustling cares. And gives a shadowy glimpse of future bliss. Oh ! what is man, when at ambition's height? What even are kings, when balanced in the scale Of these stupendous worlds ? Almighty God ! Thou, the dread Author of these wondrous works. Say, canst thou cast on me, poor passing worm, 1: e I : k f k : : d benevolence ? Thou canst j Fc: Th u ir: f-J of universal love, .\:::- ::: :/. boundless goodness wilt impart Tiiy r. :^s is well to me as to the proud. The pageant insec3 of a glittering hour. Ok ! when reflecting on these truths sublime. How insignificant do all the joys. The gauds, and honours of the world appear ! How vain ambition ! Why has my wakeful lamp Outwatched the slow-paced night ? — ^Why on the page. The schoolman's laboured page, have I employed The houre devoted by the world to rest. And needful to recruit exhausted nature ? Say, can the voice of narrow Fame repay The loss of health r or can the hope of glory Lend a new throb unto my languid heart. Cool, even now, my feverish aching brow. Relume the fires of this deep-sunken eye. Or paint new colours on this paUid cheek ? s 338 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Trench. Say, foolish one, can that unbodied fame. For which thou barterest health and happiness. Say, can it soothe the slumbers of the grave ? Give a new zest to bliss, or chase the pangs Of everlasting punishment condign ? Alas ! how vain are mortal man's desires ! How fruitless his pursuits ! Eternal God ! Guide Thou my footsteps in the way of truth. And, oh ! assist me so to live on earth. That I may die in peace, and claim a place In thy high dwelling. All but this is folly. The vain illusions of deceitful life. Remains. 140.— REDEEMED FROM SIN. [Abp. Trench, 1807. [Richard Chenevix Trench, born Sep. 9, 1807, was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated in 1829, and was soon afterwards ordained. His first publication, " Salvation, and other Poems," appeared in 1838. Mr. Trench, who was Hulsean Lecturer at Cambridge, 1845-6, having held various appoint- ments in the church, was made Dean of Westminster in 1856, and Archbishop of Dublin, Jan. i, 1864. In addition to numerous poems. Dr. Trench is the author of several volumes of sermons, and other works, the best known being " Notes on the Parables," published in 1841; "Notes on the Miracles of our Lord," in 1846, and " Five Lectures on the Study of Words," in 185 1.] What again is "Know thyself" — that great saying of the heathen philosophy, in which, when it turned from being merely physical and a speculation about natural appearances, the sun, the moon and the stars, to the making of man and man's being the region in which it moved, the riddles of humanity the riddles which it sought to solve — what was that " Know thyself," that great word in which it embodied and expressed so well its own character and aim, and all that it pro- posed to effect, but a preparation afar off for a higher word, the " Repent ye," of the Gospel ? Since, let that precept only be faithfully carried out, and in what else could it issue but repentance ? or at least in what else but in an earnest longing after this great change of heart and life ? For out of this self-knowledge what else can grow but self- loathing ? So that men being once come, as they presently must, to a consciousness of their error and their departure from goodness and truth, should hate themselves, and flee from themselves to whatever higher guide was offered them ; to the end that they might become different men, and not remain the same which before they were. Delolme.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 339 What could man behold himself, if only he beheld himself aright^ but, to use the wonderful comparison of Plato, as that sea-god, in whom the pristine form was now scarcely to be recognised, so were some limbs of his body broken off, and some marred and battered by the violence of the waves, while to the rest shells and stones and sea-weed had clung and overgrown them, till he bore a resemblance rather to some monster than to that which by nature he was ? What was man but such a wreck of his nobler self, what but such a monster could he show in his own eyes, if only he could be prevailed to fix those eyes steadfastly upon himself? And when men, thus learning their fall, and how great it was, learned also to long for their restoration, very interesting and instructive is it to observe how Christ realized for yearning souls not only the very thing which they asked for, but that in the very forms under which they had asked it ; most instructive to observe how the very language of Scripture, in which it sets forth the gifts which a Saviour brings, was a language which more or less had been used already to set forth the blessings which men wanted, or which from others they had most imperfectly obtained. The Gospel falls in not only with the wants of souls, but with the expression of those wants. Thus there had continually spoken out in men a sense of that which they needed to be done for them, as a healing, as a binding up of hurts, a stanching of wounds. The art of the physician did but image forth a higher cure and care, which should concern itself not with the bodies, but with the souls, of men. They were but the branches of one and the same discipline, so much so, that the same god who was conceived master in one, the soother of passions, was master also in the other, the healer of diseases. It was conceived of sins as of stripes and wounds, leaving their livid marks, their en- during scars, on the miserable souls which had committed them, and which carried those evidences of their guilt, visibly impressed on them for ever, into that dark world, and before those awful judgment-seats, whither after death they were bound. — Hulsean Lectures for 1845. Lect. vi. Romans vii. 21, 23. 141.— THE FAVOURITE OF THE PEOPLE. [Delolme, 1740 — t8o6. [Jean Louis Delolme, born at Geneva, in 1740, followed the profession of an advocate. In consequence of the very prominent part which he took in political affairs he was compelled to quit his native country, and he settled in England. For many years he lived in great poverty, devoting himself almost entirely to literary z a 340 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Delolme. labours. His " Constitution de I'Angleterre/' &c., written in French, was published at Amsterdam, in 1771, and the English edition, translated by himself, appeared under the title of "The Constitution of England," in 1772. "The History of the Flagellants, or the Advantages of Discipline," appeared in 1777, and was re-issued under a new title, " Memorials of Human Superstition," in 1784. Delolme, who wrote some smaller treatises, returned to Switzerland in 1775, and died July 16, 1806. His life, by John Macgregor, is prefixed to an edition of "The Constitution of England," published in Bohn's Standard Library in 1853. Junius speaks of this work as " A performance deep, solid, and ingenious."] The only man, therefore, who, to persons unacquainted with the constitution of England, might at first sight appear in a condition to pat the government in danger, would be one who, by the greatness of his abilities and pubUc services, might have acquired in a high degree the love of the people, and obtained a great influence in the House of Commons. But how great soever this enthusiasm of the public may be, barren applause is the only fruit which the man whom they favour can expect from it. He can hope neither for a dictatorship, nor a consul- ship, nor in general for any power under the shelter of which he may at once safely unmask that ambition with which we might suppose him to be actuated, or, if we suppose him to have been hitherto free from any, grow insensibly corrupt. The only door which the con- stitution leaves open to his ambition, of whatever kind it may be, is a place in the administration, during the pleasure of the king. If, by the continuance of his services, and the preservation of his influence, he becomes able to aim still higher, the only door which again opens to him is that of the House of Lords. But this advance of the favourite of the people towards the establish- ment of his greatness is at the same time a great step towards the loss of that power which might render him formidable. In the first place, the people, seeing that he is become much less dependent on their favour, begii?, from that very moment, to lessen their attachment to him. Seeing him moreover distinguished by privileges which are the objects of their jealousy, I mean their political jealousy, and member of a body whose interests are frequently opposite to theirs, they immediately conclude that this great and new dignity cannot have been acquired but through a secret agreement to betray them. Their favourite, thus suddenly transformed, is going, they make no doubt, to adopt a conduct entirely opposite to that wtiich has till then been the cause of his advancement and high reputation, and, in the compass of a few hours, comj^letely to renounce those principles which he has so long and so loudly professed. In tliis, certainly, the people are mistaken^ but yet neither would they be wrong, if they feared that a zeal hitherto so warm, so constant, I will [ Dickens.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 341 even add, so sincere, when it concurred with their favourite's private interest, would — by being thenceforth often in opposition to it — become gradually much abated. Nor is this all ; the favourite of the people does not even find in his new dignity all the increase of greatness and eclat that might at first be imagined. Hitherto he was, it is true, only a private individual ; but then he was the object in which the whole nation interested them- selves : his actions and words were set forth in the public prints 5 and he everywhere met with applause and acclamation. All these tokens of public favour are, I know, sometimes acquired very lightly 3 but they never last long, whatever people may say, unless real services are performed : now, the title of benefactor to the nation, when deserved, and universally bestowed, is certainly a very handsome title, and which does nowise require the assistance of outward pomp to set it off. Besides, though he was only a member of the inferior body of the legislature, we must observe, he was the first ; and the word first is always a word of very great moment. But now that he is made a lord, all his greatness, which hitherto was indeterminate, becomes defined. By granting him privileges established and fixed by known laws., that uncertainty is taken from his lustre which is of so much importance in those things which depend on imagination ; and his value is lowered, just because it is ascertained. — The Constitution of England. Book ii. chap, i. 142.— MR. PECKSNIFF AND HIS PUPIL. [Dickens, 1812. [Charles Dickens, bom at Portsmouth in 1812, was for a short time an attorne/s clerk, and then became a reporter. Some of his contributions to the Morning Chronicle were republished in 1836, under the title " Sketches by Boz." This was his first work. The first number of the " Posthumous Papers of the Pick- wick' Club," completed in twenty parts, appeared in 1837. "The Life and Ad- ventures of Nicholas Nickleby " followed in 1839, ^^'^ "Martin Chuzzlewit " in 1844. Mr. Dickens was the first editor of Bentley's Miscellany, which appeared in Jan. 1837. In 1841, he visited America, and on his return in 1842, published his "American Notes for General Circulation." In 1843 he published "A Christmas Carol," a new style of Christmas book, of which series four more appeared, viz., "The Chimes" in 1844, "The Cricket on the Hearth" in Jan. 1846, "The Battle of Life " in Dec. 1846, and " The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain" in Dec. 1848. Mr. Dickens was the first editor of the Daily Neics, established Jan. i, 1846, and he brought out a new weekly periodical entitled " Household Words " in 1851. It ceased in 1859, when "All the Year Round" was established in its place. Mr. Dickens is the author of several other works. The first number of " Our Mutual Friend" appeared in May, 1864; "The Mystery of Edwin Drood," April i, 1870.] 342 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Dickens, Mr. Pecksniff had clearly not expected them for hours to come 3 for he was surrounded by open books, and was glancmg from volume to volume, with a black-lead pencil in his mouth, and a pair of com- passes in his hand, at a vast number of mathematical diagrams, of such extraordinary shapes that they looked like designs for fireworks. Neither had Miss Charity expected them, for she was busied, with a capacious wicker basket before her, in making impracticable nightcaps for the poor. Neither had Miss Mercy expected them, for she was sitting upon her stool, tying on the — oh, good gracious ! — the petticoat of a large doll that she was dressing for a neighbour's child ; really, quite a grown-up doll, which made it more confusing : and had its little bonnet dangling by the ribbon from one of her fair curls, to which she had fastened it, lest it should be lost, or sat upon. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to conceive a family so thoroughly taken by surprise as the Pecksniffs were on this occasion. "^ Bless my life !" said Mr. Pecksniff, looking up, and gradually ex- changing his abstracted face for one of joyful recognition. '' Here already ! Martin, my dear boy, I am delighted to welcome you to my poor house !" With this kind greeting, Mr. Pecksniff fairly took him to his arms, and patted him several times upon the back with his right hand the while, as if to express that his feelings during the embrace were too much for utterance. "But here," he said, recovering, "are my daughters, Martin: my two only children, whom (if you ever saw them) you have not beheld — ah, these sad family divisions ! — since you were infants together. Nay, my dears, why blush at being detected in your every-day pursuits ? We had prepared to give you the reception of a visitor, Martin, in our little room of state," said Mr. Pecksniff, smihng, " but I like this better — I like this better!" Oh, blessed star of Innocence, wherever you may be, how did you glitter in your home of ether, when the two Miss Pecksniffs put forth, each her lily hand, and gave the same, with mantling cheeks, to Martin ! How did you twinkle, as if fluttering with sympathy, when Mercy, reminded of the bonnet in her hair, hid her fair face and turned her head aside : the while her gentle sister plucked it out, and smote her, with a sister's soft reproof, upon her buxom shoulder ! " And how," said Mr. Pecksniff', turning round after the contem- plation of these passages, and taking Mr. Pinch in a friendly manner by the elbow, "how has our friend here used you, Martin?" " Very well indeed, sir. We are on the best terms, I assure you." " Old Tom Pinch !" said Mr. Pecksniff", looking on him with affectionate sadness. " Ah ! It seems but yesterday that Thomas was Dickens.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 343 a boy, fresh from a scholastic course. Yet years have passed, I thmk, since Thomas Pinch and I first walked the world together !" Mr. Pinch could say nothing. He was too much moved. But he pressed his master's hand, and tried to thank him. "And Thomas Pinch and I," said Mr. Pecksniff, in a deeper voice, " will walk it yet, in mutual faithfulness and friendship ! And if it comes to pass that either of us be ran over, in any of those busy cross- ings which divide the streets of life, the other will convey him to the hospital in Hope, and sit beside his bed in Bounty !" '''Well, well, well!" he added in a happier tone, as he shook Mr. Pinch's elbow, hard. " No more of this ! Martin, my dear friend, that you may be at home within these walls, let me show you how we live, and where. Come !" Witli that he took up a lighted candle, and, attended by his young relative, prepared to leave the room. At the door he stopped. "You'll bear us company, Tom Pinch?" Ay, cheerfully, though it had been to death, would Tom have followed him : glad to lay down his life for such a man ! "This," said Mr. Pecksniff, opening the door of an opposite parlour, " is the little room of state I mentioned to you. My girls have pride in it, Martin ! This," opening another door, "is the little chamber in which my works (slight things at best) have been con- cocted. Portrait of myself, by Spiller. Bust by Spoker. The latter is considered a good likeness. I seem to recognise something about the left-hand corner of the nose, myself." Martin thought it was very like, but scarcely intellectual enough. Mr. Pecksniff observed that the same fault had been found with it before. It was remarkable it should have struck his young relation too. He was glad to see he had an eye for art. " Various books, you observe," said Mr. Pecksniff, waving his hand towards the wall, " connected with our pursuit. I have scribbled myself, but have not yet published. Be careful how you come up stairs. This," opening another door, " is my chamber. I read here when the family suppose I have retired to rest. Sometimes I injure my health, rather more than I can quite 'justify to myself, by doing so 5 but art is long and time is short. Every facihty you see for jotting down crude notions, even here." These latter words were explained by his pointing to a small round table, on which were a lamp, divers sheets of paper, a piece of India rubber, and a case of instruments : all put ready, in case an architec- tural idea should come into Mr. PecksnifFs head in the night j in which event he would instantly leap out of bed, and fix it for ever. Mr. Pecksniff opened another door on the same floor, and shut it 344 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Dickens again, all at once, as if it were a Blue Chamber. But before he had well done so, he looked smilingly round, and said, ''Why not ?" Martin couldn't say why not, because he didn't know anything at all about it. So Mr. Pecksniff answered himself, by throwing open the door, and saying : *' My daughters' room. A poor first-floor to us, but a bower to them. Very neat. Very airy. Plants you observe ; hyacinths -, books again ; birds." These birds, by the bye, comprised in all one stagger- ing old sparrow without a tail, which had been borrowed expressly from the kitchen. " Such trifles as girls love are here. Nothing more. Those who seek heartless splendour, would seek here in vain." With that he led them to the floor above. "This," said Mr. Pecksniff, throwing wide the door of the memo- rable two-pair front ; "is a room where some talent has been deve- loped, I believe. This is a room in which an idea for a steeple occurred to me, that I may one day give to the world. We work here, my dear Martin. Some architects have been bred in this room : a few, I think, Mr. Pinch?" Tom fully assented -, and, what is more, fully believed it. "You see," said Mr. Pecksniff, passing the candle rapidly from roll to roll of paper, " some traces of our doings here. Salisbury Cathe- dral from the north. From the south. From the east. From the west. From the south-east. From the nor' -west. A bridge. An alms-house. A jail. A church. A powder-magazine. A wine- cellar. A portico. A summer-house. An ice-house. Plans, eleva- tions, sections, every kind of thing. And this," he added, having by this time reached another large chamber on the same story, with four little beds in it, " this is your room, of which Mr. Pinch here, is the quiet sharer. A southern aspect ; a charming prospect ; Mr. Pinch's little library, you perceive ; everything agreeable and appropriate. If there is any additional comfort you would desire to have here at any time, pray mention it. Even to strangers — far less to you, my dear Martin — there is no restriction on that point." It was undoubtedly true, and may be stated in corroboration of Mr. Pecksniff, that any pupil had the most liberal permission to mention anything in this way that suggested itself to his fancy. Some young gentlemen had gone on mentioning the very same thing for five years without ever being stopped. "The domestic assistants," said Mr. Pecksniff, "sleep above j and that is all." After which, and listening complacently as he went, to the encomiums passed by his young friend on the arrangements gene- rally, he led tlie way to the parlour again. — Martin Chuzzlewit, chap. V. More.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 345 143.— THE ISLAND OF UTOPIA. [Sir T. More, 1480— 1535. [Thomas More, born in Milk Street, London, in 1480, was educated at Oxford, where he formed a friendship with Erasmus. He applied himself to the study of the law, was made a Privy Councillor in 15 16, and Speaker of the House of Com- mons in 1523. Henry VIII. sought his society, and on the fall of Wolsey in 1529 gave him the Great Seal Oct. 17. Sir Thomas More, disapproving of the King's divorce from Catherine of Aragon, resigned the Chancellorship May 16, 1532, was attainted in 1534, condemned for denying the King's supremacy July i, 1535, and beheaded on Tower Hill July 6.* He was the author of several works, the best known of which are his " Life of Richard III." written in English, and first pub- lished in 1641, and the " Utopia," written in Latin, published in 15 15, of which a translation by Ralphe Robynson appeared in 155 1. It has been frequently trans- lated. Bishop Burnet's version was published in 1684. There are numerous biographies of this illustrious man, of whom Erasmus wrote, " What mind was ever framed by nature more gentle, more pleasing, more gifted ? It is incredible what a treasure of old books is found heref far and wide. There is so much erudi- tion, not of a vulgar and ordinary kind, but recondite, accurate, ancient, both Latin and Greek, that you would not seek anything in Italy but the pleasure of travelling."] The island of Utopia, in the middle of it, where it is broadest, is two hundred miles broad, and holds almost at the same breadth over a great part of it ; but it grows narrower towards both ends. Its figure is not unlike a crescent : between its horns, the sea comes in eleven miles broad, and spreads itself into a great bay, which is environed with land to the compass of about five hundred miles, and is well secured from winds 5 there is no great current in the bay, and the whole coast is, as it were, one continued harbour, which gives all that live in the island great convenience for mutual commerce : but the entry into the bay, what by rocks on one hand, and shallows on the other, is very dangerous. In the middle of it there is one single rock which appears above water, and so is not dangerous 3 on the top of it there is a tower built, in which a garrison is kept. The other rocks lie under water, and are very dangerous. The channel is known only to the natives, so that if any stranger should enter into the bay without one of their pilots, he would run a great danger of ship- wreck : for even they themselves could not pass it safe if some marks that are on their coast did not direct their way ; and if these should be but a little shifted, any fleet that might come against them, how great soever it were, would be certainly lost. On the other side of the island there are likewise many harbours, and the coast is so fortified, both by nature and art, that a small number of men can hinder the descent of a great army. But they ♦See page 3 1 4. f Oxford, 346 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK tMore. report (and there remain good marks of it to make it credible) that this was no island at first, but a part of the continent. Utopus, that conquered it (whose name it still carries, for Abraxa was its first name), and brought the rude and uncivilized inhabitants into such a good government, and to that measure of politeness, that they do now far excel all the rest of mankind ; having soon subdued them, he designed to separate them from the continent, and to bring the sea quite about them, and in order to that, he made a deep channel to be digged, fifteen miles long : that the natives might not think he treated them like slaves, he not only forced the inhabitants to work at it, but like- wise his own soldiers : and having set vast numbers of men to work, he brought it to a speedy conclusion, beyond all men's expectations. By this, their neighbours, who laughed at the folly of the undertaking at first, were struck with admiration and terror when they saw it brought to perfection. There are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built. The manners, customs, and laws of all their cities are the same, and they are all contrived as near in the same manner as the ground on which they stand will allow : the nearest lie at least twenty-four miles distance from one another, and the most re- mote are not so far distant but that a man can go on foot in one day from it to that which lies next it. Every city sends three of their wisest senators once a year to Amaurot, for consulting about their common concerns : for that is the chief town of the island, being situated near the centre of it, so that it is the most convenient place for their assemblies. Every city has so much ground set off' for its jurisdiction that there is twenty miles of soil round it assigned to it ; and where the towns lie wider they have much more ground : no town desires to enlarge their bounds ; for they consider themselves rather as tenants than landlords of their soil. They have built over all the country farm-houses for husbandmen, which are well contrived, and are fur- nished with all things necessary for country labour. Inhabitants are sent by turns from the cities to dwell in them ; no country family has fewer than forty men and women in it, besides two slaves. There is a master and a mistress set over every family, and over thirty families there is a magistrate settled. Every year twenty of this family come back to the town, after they hav-e stayed out two years in the country j and in their room there are other twenty sent from the town, that they may learn country work from those that have been already one year in the country, which they must teacli those that come to them the next year from the town. By this means such as dwell in those country farms are never ignorant of agriculture, and so commit no errors in it, which might otherwise be fatal to them and bring them under a scarcity of corn. But though there is every year such a Burckhardt.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 347 shifting of the husbandmen, that none may be forced against his mind to follow that hard course of living too long, yet many among them take such pleasure in it, that they desire leave to continue many years in it. These husbandmen labour the ground, breed cattle, hew wood, and convey it to the towns, either by land or water, as is most convenient. They breed an infinite multitude of chickens in a very curious manner ; for the hens do not sit and hatch them, but they lay vast numbers of eggs in a gentle and equal heat, in which they are hatched 3 and they are no sooner out of the shell and able to stir about, but they seem to consider those that feed them as their mothers, and follow them as other chickens do the hen that hatched them. They breed very few horses, but those they have are full of mettle, and are kept only for exercising their youth in the art of sitting and riding of them ; for they do not put them to any work either of ploughing or carriage, in which they employ oxen : for though horses are stronger, yet they lind oxen can hold out longer 3 and as they are not subject to so many diseases, so they are kept upon a less charge and with less trouble : and when they are so worn out that they are no more lit for labour they are good meat at last. They sow no corn but that which is to be their bread, for they drink either wine, cider, or perry, and often water, sometimes pure, and sometimes boiled with honey or licorice, with which they abound, and though they know exactly well how much corn will serve every town, and all that tract of country which belongs to it, yet they sow much more and breed more cattle than are necessary for their own consumption ; and they give that overplus of which they make no use to their neighbours. When they want anything in the country which it does not produce, they fetch that from the town, without carrying anything in exchange for it 5 .and the magistrates of the town take care to see it given them, for they meet generally in the town once a month, upon a festival day. When the time of harvest comes the magis- trates in the country send to those in the towns, and let them know how many hands they will need for reaping the harvest ; and the number they call for being sent to them, they commonly despatch it all in one day. — Utopia, or the Happy Republic ; a Philosophical Romance. Book ii. 144.— M E C C A . [Burckhardt, 1784 — 1817. [Jean Louis Burckhardt, born at Lausanne in Switzerland, Nov. 24, 1784, was educated at Leipsic and Gottingen. He came to London in 1806, and left Malta, under the auspices of the African Association, to explore the route of Hornemann in 348 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Burckhardt. the interior of Africa, Feb. 14, 1809. Having visited Damascus, Aleppo, Nubia, Mount Sinai, Upper Egypt, Mecca, he w^as seized with dysentery at Cairo, whilst waiting for the Fezzan caravan, and died Oct. 15, 1817, without having attained the main object of his mission — a visit to Central Africa. The African Association undertook the publication of his journals. His "Travels in Nubia" appeared in 1819J " Travels in Syria and the Holy Land," in 1822; "Travels in Arabia," in 1829; "Notes on the Bedouins and Wahabys," in 1830, and "Arabic Proverbs; or the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians illustrated from their Prover- bial Sayings," in 1830. A life of Burckhardt is prefixed to his "Travels in Arabia."] Mekka is dignified among the Arabs with many lofty-sounding titles. The most common are Om el Kora (the mother of towns) 3 El Mo- sherefe (the noble) ; Beled al Ameyn (the region of the faithful). Firuzabadi, the celebrated author of the Kamus, has composed a whole treatise on the different names of Mekka. This town is situated in a valley, narrow and sandy, the main direction of wliich is from north to south ; but it inclines towards the north-west near the southern extremity of the town. In breadth this valley varies from one hun- dred to seven hundred paces, the chief part of the city being placed where the valley is most broad. In the narrower part are single rows of houses only, or detached shops. The town itself covers a space of about fifteen hundred paces in length, from the quarter called El Shebeyka, to the extremity of the Mala ; but the whole extent of ground comprehended under the denomination of Mekka, from the suburb called Djerouel (where is the entrance from Djidda) to the suburb called Moabede (on the Tayf road), amounts to three thousand five hundred paces. The mountains inclosing this valley (which before the town was built, the Arabs had named Wady Mekka or Bekka) are from two to five hundred feet in height, completely barren and destitute of trees. The principal chain lies on the eastern side of the town ; the valley slopes gently towards the south, where stands the quarter called El Mesfale (the low place). The rain-water from the town is lost towards the south of Mesfale in the open valley named Wady el Tarafeyn. Most of the town is situated in the valley itself ; but there are also parts built on the sides of the mountains, principally of the eastern chain, where the primitive habitations of the Koreysah and the ancient town appear to have been placed. Mekka may be styled a handsom.e town : its streets are in general broader than those of eastern cities ; the houses lofty, and built of stone ; and the numerous windows that face the street gives them a more lively and European aspect than those of Egypt or Syria, where the houses present but few windows towards the exterior. Mekka (like Djidda) contains many houses three stories high ; few at Mekka are whitewashed ; but the dark grey colour of the stone is much pre- ferable to the glaring white that offends the eye in Djidda. In most Russell.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 349 towns of the Levant the narrowness of a street contributes to its cool- ness : and in countries where wheel-carriages are not used, a space that allows two loaded camels to pass each other is deemed sufficient. At Mekka, however, it was necessary to leave the passages wide, for the innumerable visitors who here crowd together 3 and it is in the houses adapted for the reception of pilgrims and other sojourners, that the windows are so contrived as to command a view of the streets. — Travels in Aralia. 145.— THE CAVALRY CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. [W. H. Russell, 1821. [William Howard Russell, born at Lily Vale, in the county of Dublin, March 28, 182 1, and educated at Trinity College, Dublin, joined the staff of the Times in 1843, and was called to the bar in 1850. His letters in the Times from the Crimea, which attracted considerable attention, were republished in 1855-6, and have gone through several editions. Mr. Russell joined Lord Clyde's head-quarters in India in 1857, went as special correspondent to America in i86t, andwas on board the G^-eat Eastern in the unsuccessful attempt to lay the Atlantic Telegraph in 1865. M*-. Russell's "Diary in India" appeared in i860, " My Diary North and South" in 1863, and "The Atlantic Telegraph" in 1865. The Army and Navy Gazette was established by Mr. Russell in 1859.] The cavalry who have been pursuing the Turks on the right are coming up to the ridge beneath us, which conceals our cavalry from view. The hea\y brigade in advance is drawn up in two lines. The first line consists of the Scots Greys, and of their old companions in glory, the Enniskillens ; the second of the 4th Royal Irish, of the ^th Dragoon Guards, and of the ist Royal Dragoons. The Light Cavalry Brigade is on their left, in two lines also. The silence is oppressive ; between the cannon bursts one can hear the champing of bits and the clink of sabres In the valley below. The Russians on their left drew breath for a moment, and then in one grand line dashed at the High- landers. The ground flies beneath their horses' feet; gathering speed at ever}"" stride, they dash on towards that thin red streak topped with a line of steel. The Turks fire a volley at eight hundred yards, and run. As the Russians come within six hundred yards^ down goes that line of steel in front, and out rings a rolling volley of Minie musketr}^ The distance is too great ; the Russians are not checked, but still sweep onward through the smoke, with the whole force of horse and man, here and there knocked over by the shot of our bat- teries above. With breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting of the wave upon the line of Gaelic rock ; but ere they come within a hundred and fifty yards, another deadly volley flashes from the 35° THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Russell. levelled rifle, and carries death and terror into the Russians. They wheel about, open files right and left, and fly back faster than they came. "Bravo, Highlanders! well done!" shout the excited spec- tators j but events thicken. The Highlanders and their splendid front are soon forgotten, men scarcely have a moment to think of this fact, that the 93rd never altered their formation to receive that tide of horsemen. "No," said Sir Colin Campbell, "I did not think it worth while to form them even four deep !" The ordinary British line, two deep, was quite sufficient to repel the attack of these Musco- vite cavahers. Our eyes were, however, turned in a moment on our own cavalry. We saw Brigadier-General Scarlett ride along in front of his massive squadrons. The Russians — evidently corps (T elite — their light blue jackets embroidered with silver lace, were advancing on their left, at an easy gallop, towards the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear, and several squadrons of grey- coated dragoons moved up quickly to support them as they reached the summit. The instant they came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry gave out the warning blast which told us all that in another moment we should see the shock of battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all his staff and escort, and groups of officers, the Zouaves, French generals and officers, and bodies of French infantry on the height, were spectators of the scene, as though they were looking on the stage from the boxes of a theatre. Nearly every one dismounted and sat down, and not a word was said. The Russians advanced down the hill at a slow canter, which they changed to a trot, and at last nearly halted. Their first line was at least double the length of ours — it was three times as deep. Behind them was a similar line, equally strong and compact. They evidently despised their insignificant looking enemy, but the time was come. The trumpets rang out again through the valley, and the Greys and Ennis- killeners went right at the centre of the Russian cavalry. The space between them was only a few hundred yards : it was scarce enough to let the horses "gather way," nor had the men quite space sufficient for the full play of their sword arms. The Russian line brings for- ward each wing as our cavalry advance, and threatens to annihilate them as they pass on. Turning a little to their left so as to meet the Russian right, the Greys rush on with a cheer that thrills to every heart — the wild shout of the Enniskilleners rises through the air at the same instant. As lightning flashes through a cloud, the Greys and Enniskilleners pierced through the dark masses of Russians. The shock was but for a moment. There was a clash of steel and a light play of sword-blades in the air, and then the Greys and the redcoats dis- appear in the midst of the shaken and quivering columns. In another Young.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 351 moment we see them emerging and dashing on with diminished numbers, and in broken order, against the second hne, which is advancing against them as fast as it can to retrieve the fortune of the charge. It was a terrible moment. " God help them ! they are lost!" was the exclamation of more than one man, and the thought of many. With unabated fire the noble hearts dashed at their enemy. It was a fight of heroes. The first line of Russians, which had been smashed utterly by our charge, and had fled off at one flank and towards the centre, were coming back to swallow up our handful of men. By sheer steel and sheer courage, Enniskillener and Scot were winning their desperate way right through the enemy's squadrons, and already grey horses and red coats had appeared right at the rear of the second masS;, when, with irresistible force, like one bolt from a bow, the ist Royals, the 4th Dragoon Guards, and the 5th Dragoon Guards rushed at the remnants of the first line of the enemy, went through it as though it were made of pasteboard, and dashing on the second body of Russians as they were still disordered by the terrible assault of the Greys and their companions, put them to utter rout. This Russian Horse in less than five minutes after it met our dragoons, was flying with all its speed before a force certainly not half its strength. A. cheer burst from every lip — in the enthusiasm, officers and men took off their caps and shouted with delight, and thus keeping up the scenic character of their position, they clapped their hands again and again. Lord Raglan at once despatched Lieu- tenant Curzon, aide-de-camp, to convey his congratulations to Briga- dier-General Scarlett, and to say "Well done." The gallant old officer's face beamed with pleasure when he received the message. "I beg to thank his lordship very sincerely," was his reply. The cavalry did not long pursue the enemy. Their loss was very slight — about thirty-five killed and wounded in both affairs. There were not more than four or five men killed outright, and our most material loss was from the cannon playing on our heavy dragoons afterwards, when covering the retreat of our light cavalry. — Tke lVar,fro7n the Landing at GaUipoli to the Death of Lord Raglan. 146.— THE LAST DAY. [Dr. Young, 1684 — 1765. [Edward Young, born at Upham in June, 1684, was educated at the University of Oxford. His first poem, an " Epistle to Lord Lansdowne," was published in 17 13. " A Poem on the Last Day" appeared during the same year. " Busiris," a tragedy, was brought out at Drury Lane in 171 9, and " The Revenge" in 172 1. Young, who took 352 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Young. the degree of LL.D. in 1719, entered into holy orders in 1728, and was afterwards appointed chaplain to George II. He wrote other works in prose and verse, the principal being " The Universal Passion," seven satires, 1725-6; " The Complaint j or Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality," in eight parts, 1 742-3 ; the "Centaur not Fabulous," in 1755 ; and his last work, "Resignation," in two parts, in 1762. He was appointed Clerk of the Closet to the Princess Dowager of Wales in 1 761, and he died April 12, 1765, at Welwyn, Herts, to which living he had been presented in 1730. A life of Young was prefixed to an edition of his works published in 1802; another, by the Rev. J. Mitford, appeared in 1834; and another, by J. Doran, in 185 1.] Indulgent God ! oh how shall mortal raise His soul to due returns of grateful praise. For bounty so profuse to human kind. Thy wondrous gift of an eternal mind ? Shall I, who some few years ago, was less Than worm, or mite, or shadow can express — • Was Nothing 3 shall I live, when every fire And every star shall languish and expire ? When earth's no more, shall I survive above. And through the radiant files of angels move ? Or, as before the throne of God I stand. See new worlds rolling from His spacious hand. Where our adventures shall perhaps be taught. As we now tell how Michael sung or fought ? All that has being in full concert join. And celebrate the depths of Love Divine! But oh ! before this blissful state, before Th' aspiring soul this wondrous height can soar. The judge, descending, thunders from afar. And all mankind is summoned to the Bar. This mighty scene I next presume to draw : Attend, great Anna, with religious awe. Expect not here the known successful arts To win attention, and command our hearts 5 Fiction, be far away ; let no machine Descending here, no fabled God, be seen j Behold the God of Gods indeed descend. And worlds unnumbered his approach attend ! Lo ! the wide theatre, whose ample space Must entertain the whole of human race. At heaven's all-powerful edict is prepared. And fenced around with an immortal guard. Tribes, provinces, dominions, worlds, o'erflow The mighty plain, and deluge all below : Bickersteth.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 353 And every age, and nation, pours along; Nimrod and Bourbon mingle in the throng : Adam salutes his youngest son ; no sign Of all those ages, which their births disjoin. How empty learning, and how vain is art. But as it mends the life, and guides the heart ? What volumes have been swelled, what time been spent. To fix a hero's birthday, or descent ? What joy must it now yield, what rapture raise. To see tlie glorious race of antient days ? To greet those worthies, who perhaps have stood Illustrious on record before the flood ? Alas ! a nearer care your soul demands, Ca&sar unnoted in your presence stands. How vast the concourse ! not in number more The waves that break on the resounding shore. The leaves that tremble in the shady grove. The lamps that gild the spangled vaults above : Those overwhelming armies, whose command Said to one empire. Fall; another Stand: Whose rear lay wrapt in night, while breaking dawn Roused the broad front, and called the battle on : Great Xerxes' world in arms, proud Cannes' s field. Where Carthage taught victorious Rome to yield, (Another blow had broke the fates' decree. And earth had wanted her fourth monarchy) Immortal Blenheim., famed Ra.millias host. They All are here, and here they All are lost : Their millions swell to be discerned in vain. Lost as a billow in th" unbounded main. The Last Day. 147.— RESTORATION OF THE JEWS. [Rev. E. Bickersteth, 1786 — 1850. [Edward Bickersteth, born at Kirby Lonsdale, Westmoreland, March 19, 1786, commenced life as a solicitor, entered the Church in 18 15, and was sent by the Church Missionary Society, to re-organize their mission stations in Africa. Having accomplished this work, he was appointed secretary to the Church Missionary Society, and in 1830 exchanged this post for the living of Watton, Herts, where he laboured till his death, which occurred Feb. 24, 1850. The Rev. E. Bickersteth, who was a prominent member of the Evangelical section of the Church of England, 354 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Bickersteth. published numerous sermons and other works. " Scripture Help, designed to assist in reading the Bible profitably," "The Christian Student," and " The Restora- tion of the Jews," are the best known. A collected edition of his works, in 17 vols., appeared in 1853.] Immense have been the stones of offence laid in the way of the Jews, by ages of wrong and injury, insult and oppression, and more especially by ages of a degraded Christianity. Look only at the present state of the Christian world, wherever the Jews are scattered and dispersed. The churches on the Continent, with the exception of the com^ paratively small, though, blessed be God, increasing number of the faithful followers of Christ, have been described as divided into two great sects 5 one, baptized infidels, and the other, worshippers of images, all professing to be followers of Jesus, but not doing the things which he commands. And to this day the Jews are exposed to insult and oppression of varied kinds, and are suffering wrongs from Christians in name. They behold, in Roman Catholic countries, not Christianity in its simplicity, holiness, and loveliness, but a spurious profession, deformed with adored crucifixes and images, idolatry of created beings, and innumerable and most gross superstitions : or with ungodly lives of infidel and licentious men. How can they embrace such a Christianity, when they know that for similar sins the Jews endured their first captivity in Babylon, and their descendants have ever since been witnesses against these sins ? Nor are things better in the Greek and Eastern churches ; in which pictures are honoured, and ignorance, vice, and superstition, dishonour, most fearfully and exten- sively, the name of Christ. And do the Protestant churches present no stumbling-blocks to the Jews ? Alas ! how much must we sigh over our own churches j when they see, in the Reformed churches, infidelity and formality, ungodli- ness and worldliness, enmity and bitterness, strife and divisions, railing against and devouring each other ! Nor do I conceive that our too generally accredited system of spiritualizing the prophecies, taking all the promises to the Christian church, and leaving all the threaten- ings to the Jewish nation, has been a harmless perversion ; however justly spiritual Christians are entitled in Christ Jesus to all the promises of spiritual blessings, and unbelieving Jews have forfeited them while in unbelief: }et is there a rich reserve of blessing for the Jewish nation. Nor let us ever forget the apostle's advice,"^' not to boast against the branches that are broken oft'j not to be high-minded, but fear. What is past, we explain literally, and so must we what is to come. To tell the Jews that Zion and Jerusalem mean only the * Romans xi. 18 — 20. Stewart.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 355 Gentile Church 5 and the land where their forefathers dwelt means only Heaven, is wrongfully to leave a stone of offence in their way. Oh ! when we look back on the dealings of professed Christians with the Jews, we might think that the directions which Christians had received from their divine Master had been, not to labour in- cessantly in preaching the gospel of peace to them, but " Despise the Jews ; mock them in every form ; inflict pains and cruelties upon them : leave everywhere stones of offence : make Christianity as hateful to them as possible." Thus have we, in our wickedness, dealt with them in the way of imposing penalties and sufferings, instead of in Christian love, unwearied patience, and Christ-like compassion, mourn- ing over them, and seeking to lead them to their only shepherd and Saviour. And can we think these wrongs leave no guilt on Cliristendom ? Is it in vain that God has said, '' I am jealous for Jerusalem and for Zion with a great jealousy. And I am very sore displeased with the heathen that are at ease : for I was but a little displeased, and they helped forward the affliction."* Most awful are the divine judgments to be inflicted on impenitent nations that have heretofore punished the Jews. " I will," says God, "feed them that oppress thee with their own fiesh ; and they shall be drunken with their own blood, as with sweet wine."t " I will undo all that afflict thee."t ''The Lord thy God will put all these curses upon thine enemies, and on them that hate thee, which persecuted thee."§ — Restoration of the Jews. Sermon preached in St. Clement Danes, London, May 8, 1834. — Isaiah Ixii. to — 12. 148.— MEMORY IN DIFFERENT INDIVIDUALS. [DuGALD Stewart, 1753 — 1828. [DuGALD Stewart, born in Edinburgh, Nov. 22, 1753, was educated at the High School and University of his native city, and went in 1771 to the university of Glasgow. He took charge of the mathematical classes in the university of Edin- burgh in 1772, was appointed Professor of Mathematics June 14, 1775, and Pro- fessor of Moral Philosophy in 1785. The first volume of his first work, " Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind," appeared in March, 1792, the second volume in 1814, and the third volume in 1827. Mr. Stewart is the author of several other works, the best known being " Philosophical Essays," published in 1810 ; and " The Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man," in 1828. He received the appointment of the writership to the Edinlin-gh Gazette in 1806, and he died at Edinburgh, June n, 1828. A memoir is given in Sir W. Hamilton's edition of his collected works, published 1854 — 58.] It is generally supposed, that of all our faculties. Memory is that which nature has bestowed in the most unequal degrees on different * Zech i. 14 and 15. f Isaiah xlix. 26. * Zcph. iii. 19. § Deut. xxx. 7, A A a 356 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Stewart. individuals ; and it is far from being impossible that this opinion may be well founded. If, however, we consider that there is scarcely any man who has not memory sufficient to learn the use of language, and to learn to recognise, at the first glance, the appearances of an infinite number of familiar objects j besides acquiring such an acquaintance with the laws of nature, and the ordinary course of human affairs, as is necessary for directing his conduct in life, we shall be satisfied that the original disparities among men, in this respect, are by no means so immense as they seem to be at first view 3 and that much is to be ascribed to different habits of attention, and to a difference of selection imong the various events presented to their curiosity. It is worthy of remark, also, that those individuals who possess unusual powers of memory with respect to any one class of objects, are commonly as remarkably deficient in some of the other applica- tions of that faculty. I knew a person who, though completely ignorant of Latin, was able to repeat over thirty or forty lines of Virgil, after having heard them once read to him, — not indeed with perfect exactness, but with such a degree of resemblance, as (all cir- cumstances considered) was truly astonishing ; yet this person (who was in the condition of a servant) was singularly deficient in memory in all cases in which that faculty is of real practical utility. He was iiOted in every family in which he had been employed for habits of forge tfulness, and could scarcely deliver an ordinary message without committing some blunder. A similar observation, I can almost venture to say, will be found to apply to by far the greater number of those in whom this faculty seems to exhibit a preternatural or anomalous degree of force. The varieties of memory are indeed wonderful, but they ought not to be confounded with inequalities of memory. One man is distinguished by a power of recollecting names, and dates, and genealogies j a second, by the multiplicity of speculations, and of general conclusions treasured up in his intellect ; a third by the facility with which words and com- binations of words (the ipsissima verba of a speaker or of an author) seem to lay hold of his mindj a fourth by the quickness with which he seizes and appropriates the sense and meaning of an author, while the phraseology and style seem altogether to escape his notice ; a fifth, by his memory for poetry ; a sixth, by his memory for music ; a seventh, by his memory for architecture, statuary, and painting, and all the other objects of taste which are addressed to the eye. All these different powers seem miraculous to those wdio do not possess them ; and as they are apt to be supposed by superficial observers to be commonly united in the same individuals, they contribute much to encourage those exaggerated estimates concerning the original in- Stewart.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 357 equalities among men in respect to this faculty, which I am now endeavouring to reduce to their first standard. As the great purpose to which this faculty is subservient, is to enable us to collect and to retain, for the future regulation of our cc»nduct, the results of our past experience, it is evident that the degree of per- fection which it attains in the case of ditferent persons nuist var\^j first, with the facility of making the original acquisition ; secondly, with the permanence of the acquisition 3 and tliirdly, with the quick- ness or readiness with which the individual is able, on particular occasions, to apply it to use. The qualities, therefore, of a good memory are, in the first place, to be susceptible ; secondly, to be retentive ; and thirdly, to be ready. It is but rarely that these three qualities are united in the same person. We often, indeed, meet with a nemory which is at once susceptible and ready ; but I doubt much if such memories be com- monly very retentive J for the same set of hi" bits which are favourable to the two first qualities are adverse to the third. Those individuals, for example, who with a view to conversation, make a constant busi- ness of informing themselves with respect to the popular topics of the day, or of turning over tlie ephemeral publications subservient to the amusement or to the politics of the times, are naturally led to cultivate a susceptil-Uity and readbicss of memory, but have no inducement to aim at that permanent retention of select ideas v.hich enables the scien- tific student to combine the most remote materials, and to concentrate at will, on a particular object, all the scattered lights of his experience, and of his reflections. Such men (as far as my observation has reached) seldom possess a familiar or correct acquaintance even with those classical remains of our own earlier writers, which have ceased to furnish topics of discourse to the circles of fashion. A stream of novelties is perpetually passing through their minds, and the faint im- pressions which it leaves soon vanish to make way for others — like the traces which the ebbing tide leaves upon the sand. Nor is this all. In proportion as the associating principles which lay the foundation of susceptibility and readiness predominate in the memory, those which form the basis of our more solid and lasting acquisitions may be ex- pected to be weakened, as a natural consequence of the general laws of our intellectual frame. — Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, ch. vi. § 2. 3S^ THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Nicholls. 149.— LOWOOD SCHOOL. [Mrs. Nicholls, 1816 — 1855. [Charlotte Bronte, daughter of a clergyman, was born at Thornton, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, April 21, 1816. Her father removed to Haworth, in the same county in 182 1, and his wife died soon after, leaving him with six young children, two of whom died at an early age. Charlotte was sent to a school at Cowan Bridge, described in her novel, "Jane Eyre," in 1824, was removed to another school at Roe Head in 183 1, and went to a pensionnat at Brussels in 1842. On her return home in 1844, her father's sight began to fail. Charlotte and her sisters, Emily Jane,* and Anne,t under the noms de plume of Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell, pub- lished a volume of poems in 1846. "Jane Eyre," a novel rejected by many pub- lishers, was accepted by Messrs. Smith and Elder, who brought it out in 1847. This work established her reputation. " Shirley" appeared in 1849, ^^^^ " Villette" in 1852. In the meantime her two surviving sisters and only brother had been cut off and she was left alone with her aged father, of whose curate, the Rev. A. Nicholls, she became the wife in 1854. Their union was not of long duration, for this gifted woman fell a victim to the disease which had carried off the rest of the family, March 31, 1855. Her life by Mrs. Gaskell,J appeared in 1857, ^"^^ ^^ unfinished novel in the " Cornhill Magazine" for i860.] Business now began: the day's Collect was repeated, then certain texts of Scripture were said, and to these succeeded a protracted reading of chapters in the Bible which lasted an hour. By the time that exercise was terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefati- gable bell now sounded for the fourth time : the classes were mar- shalled and marched into another room to breakfast : how glad I was to behold a prospect of getting something to eat ! I was now nearly sick from inanition, having taken so little the day before. The refectory was a great, low-ceiled, gloomy room ; on two long tables smoked basins of something hot, which, however, to my dismay, sent forth an odour far from inviting. I saw an universal manifesta- tion of discontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils of those destined to swallow it : from the van of the procession, the tall girls of the first class, rose the whispered words : — " Disgusting ! the porridge is burnt again !" " Silence!" ejaculated a voice 3 not that of Miss Miller, but of one of the upper teachers, a little and dark per- sonage, smartly dressed but of somewhat morose aspect, who installed herself at the top of one table, while a more buxom lady presided at the other. I looked in vain for her I had first seen the night before ; she was not visible : Miss Miller occupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange foreign-looking, elderly lady, the French teacher, as I afterwards found, took the corresponding seat at the other board. * Born in 18 18, died Dec. 19, 1848. f Born in 1820, died May 28, 1849. X Died suddenly at Alton, Nov. 19, 1865. XichoUs.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 359 A long grace was said and a hymn sung ; then the servant brought in some tea tor the teachers and the meal began. Ravenous, and now veiy faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my portion without thinking of its taste ; but the first edge of hunger blunted, I perceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess : burnt por- ridge is almost as bad as rotten potatoes j famine itself soon sickens over it- The spoons were moved slowlj : I saw each girl taste her food and tiy to swallow it ; but in most cases the eiibrt was soon rehnquished. Breakfast was over and none had breakfasted. Thanks being returned for what we had not got, and a second hymn chanted, the refectory was evacuated for the schoolroom. I was one of the last to go out, and in passing the tables [ saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge and taste it ; she looked at the others j all their countenances expressed displeasure, and one of them, the stout one, whispered : — " Abomi- nable stuif ! How shameful 1" A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again begun, during which the schoolroom was in a glorious tumult j for that space of time it seemed to be permitted to talk loud and more freelj, and they used their privilege. The whole conversation ran on the breakfast, which one and all abused roundly. Poor things ! it was the sole consolation they had. -Nliss ^Miller was now the only teacher in the room : a group of great girls standing about her, spoke with serious and sullen gestures. I heard the name of jNIr. Brocklehurst pronounced by some lips 3 at which Miss Miller shook her head disapprovingly; but she made no great effort to check the general wrath : doubtless she shared in it. A clock in the schoolroom struck nine 5 Miss Miller left her circle, and standing in the middle of the room cried : — " Silence 3 to your seats !" Discipline prevailed : in five minutes the confused throng was resolved into order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel clamour of tongues. The upper teachers now pimctually resumed their posts 3 but still, all seemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room the eighty girls sat motionless and erect : a quaint assem- blage they appeared, all with plain locks combed from tlieir taces, not a curl visible 3 in brown dresses, made high and surrounded by a narrow tucker about the throat, with litde pockets of holland (shaped something hke a Highlander's purse), tied in front of their frocks, and destined to serve the purpose of a work-bag : all, too, wearing woollen stockings, and country-made shoes fastened with brass buckles. Above twenty of those clad in this costume were full-grown girls, or rather young women • it suited them ill, and gave an air of oddity even to the prettiest. — Jane Eyre, chap. v. 36o THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Whiteside. 150.— THE FESTIVAL OF THE BAMBINO. [Whiteside, 1806. [James Whiteside, born in the county of Wicklow in 1806, educated at Trinity College, Dublin, was called to the Irish bar in 1830. In 1843 he was one of the counsel chosen to defend Daniel O'Connell, and in 1848 acted in the same capacity for Mr. Smith O'Brien. In 1851 he was returned for Enniskillen, which borough he represented until 1859, when he was elected for the University of Dublin. Mr. White- side acted as Solicitor-General for Ireland in Lord Derby's first administration in 1852, vas appointed Attorney-General for Ireland in Lord Derby's second administra- tion in 1858, when he was made a privy councillor for Ireland, and was made Chief Justice for Ireland in July, 1866. His "Italy in the Nineteenth Century" appeared in 1848, and "Vicissitudes of the Eternal City" in 1849.] We descend slowly to the piazza before the Capitol and find it crowded wdth people. Peasants from the Campagna are loitering on the flight of steps parallel to those already described, and leading to the church of S. Maria d'Ara Cceli, built on the site of the celebrated temple of the Capitoline Jove. What means this excitement ? It is the festival of the Be?iedizio7ie del Bamhino. I am reminded of the history of the Bambino, which shortly before had been given me by an Italian lady, and which I will here set down in her words : — " Many centuries ago a Franciscan pilgrim came to the convent of the Ara Coeli and asked for shelter. This was afforded, and on the departure of the pilgrim he left behind him a small box which lay for a year unnoticed. At the expiration of that time, a monk passing near the chamber where the box lay beheld a great and unusual light. He alarmed the brethren by the intelligence that the convent was on fire. They rushed into the apartment and found no fire, but a marvellous and brilliant lustre shining round the long-forgotten box. It was opened and there was disco- vered a Bambino, being no other than a figure of the infant Saviour, wdiich had been carved by the Franciscan out of the wood of a pecu- liar kind of tree that grew on the Mount of Olives, and painted by St. Luke himself, who was distinguished in that art." Here I ventured to suggest that the Franciscan order of monks did not exist in the time of St. Luke. The Signora, nothing disconcerted, thought they did, and proceeded : *'The Bambino was preserved and adorned, but at first had not the repute it now possesses. A princess, however, borrowed it from the convent, and pleased with the image determined to keep it ; accord- ingly, in execution of her pious fraud, she procured another image, and dressed it up so exactly like the true Bambino that the good monks were deceived, believing that they had got back their own pre- cious deposit, whereas in fact the fal,->e image had been palmed upon them. They laid it up carefully and thought no more about the matter, till one day when the monks were all at mass they heard the Whiteside.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 361 great bell ring. This surprised them. They looked about and saw that all the bretliren were present. The bell still tolled. They rushed up to the belfry, and lo ! they found tlie veritable Bambino right under the tongue of the bell. Amazed, they brought away the precious relic, and then inquired from the princess to whom they had lent it, what she had done. She, terrified, confessed the imposition, and selling all her jewels bestowed the produce upon the miraculous Bam- bino, which transported itself from the house of the lady to the belfry of the convent, and rano- the o-reat bell to arouse the monks. From that rime the Bambino has been the consolation of Rome. AVhen good Christians are dying they send for it. A chosen party of monks, dressed in tlie habit of their order (a carriage being provided for the sacred image, which is always taken abroad locked in a case), proceed to the bed of tlie sick man, and then touch his forehead with the head of the Bambino. This was done (said the Signora) when my dear father was dying, and he departed this life in peace." The above narrative prepared us for the spectacle we were about to witness. We ascended the hundred and twenty-four marble steps facing the Capitol, which are said to have belonged to the Temple of Venus at Rome, and which are worn by the knees of pilgrims and penitents. Now they were crowded by peasants f m the Campagna, dressed in their picturesque costume. We entered the church ; to the left was the chapel, where the scene of the Nativity was acted by figures as large as life. It was the strangest sight I ever beheld. The Bambino, an image of the infant Jesus, was exposed in front of the stage, with precious stones shining on its wooden forehead. All the other figures were placed suitably to their characters throughout the long stage, the church being dark, the hour four. There was a dim light, showing clearly however the spectacle to the eyes of the devout wor- shippers. A monk stood on guard over the Bambino, below the stage, and received the contributions of the faithful, — an important part of this business. Seats were arranged on each side of the centre aisle, a space wide enough for a procession being reserved between. The altar at the upper end of the church and the ancient columns were deco- rated as for a festa. The Franciscan monks, priests, and friars were chanting. There was a guard in attendance in military costume and with bayonets fixed. After some time there was a great bustle near the altar, and a grand procession was formed, consisting of priests, an immense train of monks, incense burners, and a fiag-bearer carrying a long narrow banner, on which was depicted a monk of the BVanciscan order, with the image of a Bambino at his feet. This represented, I believe, the finding of the very image (now to be exhibited) in a miraculous manner. As the procession moved on I followed in the train. What 362 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Whiteside. was my amazement when a band close behind the priests struck up a lively air, which sounded to my ears not unlike a polka, and played till the priests reached the spot before described, where the old monk stood on guard before the Bambino. Here there was a halt ; a priest in rich attire, with gloves on, stepped forward. A way was made for him to the foot of the little stage, and he saluted the Bambino reve- rentially. Then it was we 1 incensed. The priest next took the Bambino from the arms of the virgin, and bringing it out into the church, held it up amidst a general obeisance, a chant, and flourish of music. I was close to the image, and thought it badly carved and ugly, although covered with jewels and necklaces of precious stones. The procession moved on to the door of the church, and out to the top of the huge flight of steps. There it remained a few minutes on the platform, music playing as before. Ihe peasants, who were loitering about, became instantly attentive and devout, gazed at the Bambino with reverence, accepted the benediction of the priests, and departed. The procession then crossing the platform outside, entered the church by another door, and passed up the opposite aisle to the altar, where the Bambino was placed in a prominent position and a reli- gious service performed. The guards never for a moment deserted the image. Gibbon* informs us that it was here, on the i^th of October, 1764, as he sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare- footed friars were singing vespers, that he first conceived the idea of writing the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Supposing the historian to have witnessed such an exhibition as I have described, it might not be difficult to guess what effect it would produce on a mind inclined to scepticism. He might possibly contrast the ignorant monks he beheld with Cicero and Pliny ; and confounding ceremonies with creeds, visit his contempt unphilosophically on the Christian reli- gion. I'here cannot be a greater mistake than the assertion that such exhibitions do no harm. When the educated followers of the Italian church discourse upon ceremonies such as here described, and can give no more valid reason for their continuance than that they do vo harm., they admit they are indefensible. Those who add to the sim- plicity of truth are to be censured no less than those who take away from its integrity 5 and I must frankly confess it would require a strong exercise of faith to discover in such a ceremony as the bene- diction of the Bambino, any vestige of the spiritual religion of the Gospel. — Jta/y in the Nintteenlh Century, (new edition, abridged and revised,) chap, xxviii. ♦ Sec page 28. f Ross.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 363 151.— SAILING THROUGH THE ICE. [Sir John Ross, 1777 — 1856. [John Ross, born June 24, 1777, at Balsarroch, in Wigtownshire, Scotland, entered the na\y in 1786 as a volunteer, and was appointed Lieutenant in 1805. In com- mand of the Isabella, he set out to discover the north-west passage Jan. 15, 18 18, accompanied by the Alexander, under Lieut. Parry. He arrived in the Thames Dec. 14, 1818. He sailed again May 24, 1829, in the victory, and was frozen up in the Gulf of Boothia for more than a year. In April, 1832, the ship was abandoned, and the officers and crew travelled northwards in sledges tiU Aug. 26, 1833, when they were enabled to set sail in boats, and were picked up by the Isal-ella that Ross had previously commanded. In Sept. 1833, ^^ arrived in England, and was knighted in 1834. Sir John Ross, in 1850, fitted out an expedition at his own expense, in order to discover Sir John Franklin. He obtained the rank of Admiral in 1851, and died Aug. 30, 1856. His "Voyage of Discover)-, for the Purpose of exploring Baffin's Bay, and inquiring into the probability of a North- West Passage," appeared in 1819; a treatise on Steam Navigation in 1828; and his "Narrative of a Second Voyage in search of a North-West Passage in 1829 — ^^," in 1835.] The wind having increased, we got considerably ahead of the Alexander, and explored a spacious bay to the south of Cape Cock- burn, w^hich I named Banks' Bay, after the Right Honourable Baronet and President of the Royal Society. This bay, like the last, was occupied by ice, and surrounded by a continuation of the mountains which have been already mentioned. Here I was obliged to shorten sail for the Aleiander, the weather becoming thick j and we lost sight of the land, having made twenty- five miles southing. When the Alexander came up we again made sail, and having proceeded about twelve miles further, which I calcu- lated would bring me as far south as I had distinctly seen the land and determined its situation, I shortened sail -, and, under the topsails, endeavoured to maintain our position, which I judged to be the most favourable one for pushing on in any direction that circumstances might point out. Our progress which, .during the last twenty-four hours, Mas thirty-six miles in distance, was accomplished with considerable dimculty, from the innumerable masses of ice with which we were surrounded. Sometimes we were obliged to bear up, and, by giving the ship fresh way through the water, endeavour to separate the masses of ice which lay in streams across our course. In this we occasionally succeeded, and the Isabella being larger and a better sailer than the Alexander, consequently her momentum more powerful, she had, as in the whole of our progress tlirough the ice, a decided advantage in a breeze. But this operation often failed, and we were then obliged to have recourse to warping hawsers, in order to heave the ship through j or extricate her from the situation into which she had been thrown • at other times we were obliged to make several tacks to weather certain large masses, or to enable us to fetch the most likely place to be penetrated. 364 THE EFERY-DJY BOOK ^Bjireli. In all these manoeuvres, the greatest care is : - t :: . ^.e tongues^ or projections of tlie ice underwater, v- -. _.-- ::--._ . .t- depth of six or eight feet. For the purp5se of obserfing i r..: -.■:- perienced seamen are placed on each bow, who, on discoTer ^ ..e danger by the green appearance of the water, <:all out. Star ; r Port, as the occasion may require, thereby directing the hplr :: steer clear of it. Although ihe leading ship has in these ca—- - :vr disadvantages In forcing through the ice, being the first to ::r •: ::. and thereby make a passage for the next, yet the ship which : ... s has difficulties, which more than balance the aJv^antage c: - -_" through a breach already madej for, if her leader passes :: pieces of ice with considerable velocity, through anjnarrow !, some of these pieces immediately receive a tendency towards :. t - - .. : e the ship had occupied^ in order to £11 up where the water 1.: displaced. They therefore rush towards the ship's wake j the;: :: being also often accelerated by the concussion of the ship aga : r particular piece, which produces a re-action in the rest. Hr. ,- -. generally happens, that when the ship astern arrive* .: ■_ r entrance of the channel, she has mone difficulties to encoui.-r: , :: her leader, from the accumulation of pieces in the passage. T : - not uncommon for the obstruction to be so great as to render lorciDg through totally impracticable ; this often happened to the Alexander, but it only ser\ ed to redouble the zeal and perseverance of her com- mander, officers, and crew, who were unremitting in their labours, to keep up with the Isabella. The unavoidable detention arising from these circumstances, and the inferiority of that ship in sailing, were not more than sufficient to give me an opportunity of exploring the coast as I passed it, by enabling me, without lo^ of time, to stand in w henever it w as clear, and make the necessary observations. — Voyage of Discovery, cliap. x. Aug. 27, 1818. 152— HOW THE VICTORY OF BLENHEIM WAS CELEBRATED. [BCDGELL, 1685 1736. [Eustace Budgeli, bom at St. Thomas, near Exeter, in 1685, was educated at Oxford, and entered the Inner Temple. Instead of stodying for die law, he ^iplied himself to literature, wrote for the Toiler, and oontribnted to the Spectattnr the papers marked X, and to the Guardwa those marlkfd with an asterisk. He was undcr-SBcretaiy to Addison, and having filled various ^^XMntmenls, was made Accountant and Comptroller-General for Ireland in 1717. He lost a laigc sum of money by the South Sea scheme. In 1733 he commenced a weekly periodical called the Bee. It did not, however, prove successful, and though called to the bar, Budgell became very much reduced in nn-nm ; bat entreat 7 e- thin?^ moire .„ :. .:. i^^c l,„„.. ing Thmg^- .icetm a manner, .: _ le utmost spirk .i.^^ .. . .igement to begin th. „ .i jae ^icer- waids publkhed, and entitled. The Campaig. n equal to the action it celebrates ; and in which that Prescmce or Mind, for which the late Duke of Mailbonyogfa was so remarkable in a Day o£ Battle 366 THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Prior. is illustrated by a nobler simile than any to be found in Homer or Virgil. The Lord Treasurer kept the promise he had made by Mr. Boyle ; and Mr. Addison, soon after the Publication of his Poem, was preferred to a considerable Post. — Memoirs of the Boyles. 153. — THE GARLAND. [Prior, 1664 — 1721. [Matthew Prior, born at Wimborne, in Dorsetshire, July 21, 1664, was educated at Westminster, and St. John's College, Cambridge, where he wrote his first poem, " The Deity." " The Country Mouse and the City Mouse," written in conjunction with Mr. Montague, in ridicule of Dryden's " Hind and Panther," appeared in 1687. Prior was sent as secretary to the Congress at the Hague, in 1691, and to that of Rys- wick in 1697, and of Paris in 1698. He was returned member for East Grinstead in 1 701 ; was employed in the negotiations for peace at Utrecht, in 171 1 j and became ambassador at Paris in August, 1713. On the fall of the Harley Administration in 1 7 14, he was dismissed. He suffered various indignities, and Sir Robert Walpole moved his impeachment. Prior, who was released after a short imprisonment, died at Wimpole, the seat of the Earl of Oxford, Sept. 18, 1721, and was buried in West- minster Abbey. Seven collected editions of his works, with Memoir, have been published. Thackeray classes his writing amongst " the easiest, the richest, the most charmingly humorous of English lyrical poems," Dr. Johnson (*' Lives of the Poets") remarks : " Prior has written with great variety, and his variety has made him popular. He has tried all styles, from the grotesque to the solemn, and has not so failed in any as to incur derision or disgrace. His works may be distinctly con- sidered as comprising Tales, Love-verses, Occasional Poems, ' Alma' and 'Solomon.'"] The pride of every grove I chose. The violet sweet, and lily fair, The dappled pink, and blushing rose. To deck my charming Cloe's hair. At morn the nymph vouchsaft to place Upon her brow the various wreath ; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath. The flowers she wore along the day : And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they looked more gay. Than glowing in their native bed. Undrest at evening when she found Their odours lost, their colours passed j She changed her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast. Pusey.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 367 That eye dropt sense distinct and clear. As any Muse's tongue could speak. When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well. My love, my life, said I, explain This change of humour : pry'thee tell : That falling tear — what does it mean ? She sighed ; she smiled : and to the flowers . Pointing, the lovely moralist said : See, friend, in some few fleeting hours. See yonder, what a change is made. Ah me ! the blooming pride of May, And that of beauty are but one : At morn both flourished bright and gay. Both fade at evening, pale and gone. At dawn poor Stella danced and sung 5 The amorous youth around her bowed 5 At night her fatal knell was rung : I saw, and kissed her in her shroud. Such as she is, who died to-day. Such I, alas ! may be to-morrow ; Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow. Poetical IForks. 154.— GOD CALLETH THEE. [Dr. Pusey, 1800. [Edward Bouverie, son of the late Hon. Philip Bouverie, who assumed the name of Pusey by royal licence, was born in i8co. He was educated at Christ Church, Oxford, and became Fellow of Oriel College. In 1828 he was appointed Regius Professor of Hebrew in the University of Oxford, and Canon of Christ Church. He was one of the earnest contributors to the "Tracts for the Times," and » section of the High Church party received the name of Puseyites. On account of a sermon on the Eucharist, he was suspended from preaching before the University in 1843. I^""- Pusey is the author of a variety of pamphlets and sermons. His " Parochial Sermons, 1848 — 53" appeared in 1857, "The Councils of the Church from the Council of Jerusalem to that of Constantinople, a.d. 381," in 1857, and "The Church of 368 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Pusey. England a Portion of Christ's one Holy Catholic Church, and a Means of Restoring Visible Unity, An Eirenicon, in a letter to the Author of 'The Christian Year,'" in 1865.] The world is one great mirror. As we are who look into it or on it, so is it to us. It gives us back ourselves, it speaks to us the language of our own hearts. Such as we are, so doth it speak to us of pleasure, gain, honour, vanity, worldly happiness, or of everlasting rest and peace, out of itself, in God. Our inmost self is the key to all. Our ruling thought or passion, the thought or love, that is, which has the mastery of us, and governs us, and occupies our soul, is touched by everything around us. In grief, all things alike, the most joyous or the most sorrowful, suggest to the mourner thoughts of grief 3 yea, joyous sounds and sights speak mostly, most heavily to it of its own heaviness, or of the absence of the lost object of its love. Self love sees everything as it bears on self 3 love of pleasure or of gain looks on all, as it may minister to its pleasure or gain, or to envy those which have what it has not. The heart where God dwelleth, is by all things called anew to God ; His Blessed Presence draws it by Its Sweetness : or His seeming absence by the very void, may absorb it yet more, by the very vehemence of longing into Himself. It matters not what things are. Things like or things unlike ; things Divine or things deviHsh 5 the obedience, order, growth, harmony, beauty of nature, or the disobedience, disorder, decay, discord of men, and the loathsomeness of sin j sounds of harmony, which echo, as it were, the Choirs of Heaven, or sounds of discord, hatred, blasphemy, bad words uttered by the tongue, which "is set on fire of hell 3" things good, by their loveliness, or things bad, by their dreadfulness, draw the soul upward to God, or drive it onward, lest, like them, it lose Him. Everything preaches Eternity to the awakened soul. All love of gain it sees, preaches of Him, the True Riches ; all disquiet " about many things," of Him, our Only Rest, all seeking after pleasure, q/ Him, the Ever-flowing Torrent of Pleasure ; all sickness of soul and body, of Him, our soul's Only Health j all things passing, of Him, Who Alone abideth. Perhaps no place may more preach to the soul the vanity of all things beneath the sun, and the Verity of Him, the Eternal Verity, Whose and of Whom, are all things, as the vast soli- tude of this great, crowded, tumultuous city, ''full of stirs," where *' all thiijgs are full of labour j man cannot utter it -, the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing 3" where well- nigh all countenances or motions are full of eagerness, anxiety; all bent on something, seeking, but finding not, because they are seeking all things out of God ; all but Himself except when, here and there. Whately.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 369 they at last become very emptiness, because they know no more what to seek or find, but have lost themselves. But, chiefly, we know. Brethren, in our inmost selves, that whether we have obeyed the Call, first or last, or, if any are even yet disobeying it or hearing it listlessly, obeying it for awhile in solemn seasons, and then forgetting it, or thinking they obey it when untempted, and then anon, when the temptation comes, ever anew disobeying, we know that we have been called manifoldly, perhaps our whole lives through. All perhaps can recollect when, in their childhood, some Sermon or deep Scripture words touched them, or some grave look or word of parents ; or they felt ill at ease, or their soul yearned for something better than this world's poor fleeting vanities ; or they felt that within them, not made for this world, which could not rest in it, but soared up and up, as though it would find Him from Whom it came. Whose it is ; or they were affrighted within themselves, at thoughts of Judgment ; or they were inwardly bidden not to put off turning to God with their whole heart. God adapts His Calls to each several soul. He calleth gently or in Awe ; in Love or in some form of displeasure ; quickening or checking us 5 within or without, directly or indirectly, in the secret chambers of the heart or " in the chief place of concourse," " in the openings of the gates," **^in the city," ''^ Wisdom," that is Himself^ "uttereth Her Words," "How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simphcity, and the scorners dehght in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge ? Turn you at My Reproof j behold, I will pour out My Spirit unto you, I will make known My Words unto you," (Prov. i. 21-3.) Ail things stand at His Command 3 all hearts are in His Hand, Who made them, and for Whom He made them j all things may be the channels of His Holy Inspirations ; all times may be seasons of His Grace ; all words may convey His Voice to the soul. As " all things work together for good to them that love " (Rom. viii. 28) Him, so may and do all things call us to love Him. All things have, in turn, called to our souls ; all nature, the world, grace or sin, shame at our folly and our very misery, have repeated His Words in our ears, " Why stand ye all the day idle ?" — Sermons during the Season ^rom Advent to Whitsuntide. No. viii. : Matthew xx. 6 — 7. 155.— VERBAL QUESTIONS MISTAKEN FOR REAL. [Abp. Whately, 1787 — 1863. [Richard Whately, born in Cavendish Square, London, Feb. i, 1787, was educated at Oriel College, Oxford, and obtained a fellowship in 181 1. He was ap- pointed Bampton Lecturer in 1822, President of St. Alban's Hall in 1825, was made Archbishop of Dublin in 1835, ^"d died Oct. 8, 1863. Dr. Whately, who was a most prolific writer, is best known by his " Historic Doubts relative to Napo- B B 37© THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Whately. leon," published in 1819; his Essays, of which the first series appeared in 1825, the second in 1828, and the third in 1830; and his Treatises on Logic, Rhetoric, and Political Economy. This indefatigable writer published a number of charges, sermons, lectures, and treatises on various subjects.] It is by no means to be supposed that all Verbal Questions are trifling and frivolous. It is often of the highest importance to settle correctly the meaning of a word, either according to ordinary use, or according to the meaning of any particular writer or class of men. But when Verbal Questions are mistaken for Real, much confusion of thought and unprofitable wrangling, — what is usually designated as Logo- machy, — will be generally the result. Nor is it always so easy and simple a task, as might at first sight appear, to distinguish them from each other. For, sev^eral objects to which one common name is applied, will often have many points of difference ; and yet tliat name may perhaps be applied to them all [univocally] in the same sense, and may be fairly regarded as the Genus they come under, if it appear that they all agree in what is designated by that name, and that the differences between them are in points not essential to the character of that genus. A cow and a horse differ in many respects, but agree in all that is implied by the term *"' quadruped," which is therefore applicable to both in the same sense. So also the houses of the ancients differed in many respects from ours, and their sbips still more; yet no one would contend that the terms " house" and " ship," as applied to both, are ambiguous, or that oIkoq might not fairly be ren- dered house, and vavQ ship ; because the essential characteristic of a house is, not its being of this or that form or materials, but its being a dwelling for men ; these therefore would be called two different kinds of houses, and consequently the term '' house" would be applied to each, without any equivocation, [univocally] in the same sense : and so in the other instances. On the other hand, two or more things may bear the same name, and may also have a resemblance in many points, nay, and may from that resemblance have come to bear the same name, and yet if the circumstance which is essential to each be wanting in the other, the term may be pronounced ambiguous. E.G. The word " Plantain" is the name of a common herb in Europe, and of an Indian fruit-tree: both are vegetables; yet the term is ambiguous, because it does not denote them so far forth as they agree. Again, the word "Priest" is applied to the Ministers of the Jewish and of the Pagan religions, and also to those of the Christian j and doubtless the term has been so transferred in consequence of their being both ministers (in some sort) of religion. Nor would every difference that might be found between the Priests of different religions constitute the term ambiguous, provided such dili'erences b Brooks.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 371 were non-essential to the idea suggested by the word Priest ; as e.g., the Jewish Priest served the true God, and the Pagan, false Gods 5 this is a most important difference, but does not constitute the term ambiguous, because neither of these circumstances is implied and suggested by the term 'lepevQ-, which accordingly was applied both to Jewish and Pagan Priests. But the term 'lepzvQ does seem to have implied the office of offering sacrifice, — atoning for the sins of the people^ — and acting as mediator between Man and the object of his worship. And accordingly that term is never applied to any one under the Christian system, except to the ONE great Mediator. The Christian ministers not having that office which was implied as essential in the term 'lepEvg, [sacerdos] were never called by that name, but by that of TrpeajSvrepoQ. It may be concluded, therefore, that the term Priest is ambiguous, as corresponding to the terms 'lepevg and rrpea-l^vTepog respectively, notwithstanding that there are points in which these two agree. These therefore should be reckoned, not two different kinds of Priests, but Priests in two different senses; since (to adopt the phraseology of Aristotle) the definition of them, so far forth as they are Priests, would be different. * -jt * -x- -x- -je- * It is evidently of much importance to keep in mind the above distinctions, in order to avoid, on the one hand, stigmatizing, as Verbal controversies, what in reality are not such, merely because the Question turns (as every question must) on the applicability of a certain Pre- dicate to a certain Subject -, or, on the other hand, falling into the opposite error of mistaking words for things, and judging of men's agreement or disagreement in opinion in every case, merely from their agreement or disagreement in the terms employed. — Elements of Logic, Book iv. chap. iv. § 2. 156.— ARTHUR LYGON. [Shirley Brooks, 1816. [Charles Shirley Brooks, born in 1816, studied for the bar, and distinguished himself in an examination before the Incorporated Law Society. He is the author of several dramas, has contributed largely to periodical literature, and was one of the earliest writers for Punch. His best-known novels are " Aspen Court," published in J(855, "The Gordian Knot," in 1858, and "The Silver Cord," which appeared \u Once a Week in 1861-2.] *' Four," remarked St. Mary of the Strand, successor to the tall May- pole that once overlooked what is now the pleasantest, and handsomest, and most English street in London. The vibration of the Saint's voice had by no means ceased from out of the ears of the passers-by, when, with an honourable promptitude. B B 2 372 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Brooks. and a delicate anxiety not to put the country under the obligation of receiving more service than she had bargained for, groups of gentle- men of all ages and sizes came pouring out at the gate of Somerset House. One might have thought that they had been listening for the summons, and had prepared themselves to obey it on the instant. In the old days, that church did not collect the saints of Drury Lane so rapidly as it now called forth the clerks of the Civil Service. But not among the early ones at the .gate was Mr. Arthur Lygon. He heard the last stroke of the bell, and the single note with which the little black clock on his mantelpiece ratified the announcement, before he closed the large volume in which he was making entries from some half-printed, half-written papers by his side ; and he pro- ceeded to arrange all his documents with the precision of a man who intends to resume an interrupted duty, and who knows the value of order and of time. He was exact, but not the least fidgetty — a man, happily married, seldom becomes a fidget at five-and-thirty. Nor did Arthur Lygon at once take up his hat and depart. A handsome man, happily married, seldom loses, at the age of thirty-five, his bachelor habit of paying some attention to appearances ; and Mr. Lygon went to the other end of his comfortable, double-sasheil apart- ment — exclusively his own — brushed his wavy dark brown hair, washed his aristocratic hands, and gave himself that good-natured look-over which a man who has no objectionable vanity, but has the laudable desire to be as presentable as he conveniently can, usually performs before rejoining society. King Henry the Fifth, when courting, vowed that he had never looked in the glass for the love of anything he saw there ; and the vows of kings — and emperors — are always truthful ; but all of us have not the regal faculty of self-abne- gation. Arthur Lygon, finishing his arrangements with a touch at his rather effective brown whiskers, saw, and was perfectly content to see in the glass the reflection of a set of intellectual features, somewhat of the Grecian type, but manifesting much power of decision, despite the good-tempered expression which they habitually wore. He perceived also that the person thus reflected was rather slight, but well made, and a little above the average height, and that his dress was in accord- ance with the fashion of the day, with a little more lightness and colour about it than one usually sees in the costume of a man of business. Lygon was a good-looking, well-dressed man, and if he had been previously unaware of the fact, he had been told it, with other things of a pleasant character, in one of a highly complimentary series of sketches called Our Civilians, which were appearing in a pictorial paper devoted to the immortalising British Worthies of various degrees of worthiness. In the memoir annexed to the likeness of the civilian in question it Forster.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 373 was stated, with perfect accuracy, that Mr. Arthur Ljgon had entered the Plaudit Otfice when young, had risen, by his own merits, to a responsible and lucrative situation^ was much liked by his comrades, and much respected by his superiors, and was in every respect a valuable public servant. It was further stated, in classical language, that he had given hostages to society, a process that was explained lo mean that he had married Laura, third daughter of Archibald Vernon, of Lipthwaite, in the county of Surrey, and had three children. Society, therefore, had only to purchase the respectable journal containing the sketches of Our Civilians, in order to avoid betraying any ignorance upon so important a matter as the social position of Mr, Arthur Lygon, of the Plaudit Office ; and if it were in his destiny to distinguish him- self in after-time, and to join the legislative assembly of his country, here were materials ready at hand for the Parhamentary Handbooks — one is glad to be able to supply some vindication of the biographical zeal of the present age. — The Silver Cord: A Story. Chap. i. 157.— GOLDSMITH PREPARING FOR A MEDICAL DEGREE. [Forster, 1812. [John Forster, born at Newcastle in 18 12, and educated at the London Univer- sity, studied for the bar. In 1834 he became connected with the Examiner, of which he obtained the editorship in 1846. He was appointed Secretary to the Commissioners in Lunacy in 1856, and a Commissioner in Lunacy in 186 1. His " Statesmen of the Commonwealth of England" appeared in 1840; his "Life of Oliver Goldsmith," in 1848; his "Biographical and Historical Essays," in 1858; his " Arrest of the Five Members by Charles L," in 1859; ^^^ "Debates on the Grand Remonstrance," in i860; and " Sir John Eliot, a Biography, 1590 — 1632," in 1864. Mr. Forster has contributed to the "Quarterly," the "Edinburgh," and the " Foreign Quarterly" Reviews.] The years of idleness must nevertheless come to a close. To do nothing,. no matter how melodiously accompanied by flute and harpsi- chord, is not what a man is born into this world to do 5 and it required but a casual word from a not very genial visitor to close for ever Gold- smith's happy nights at uncle Contarine's. There was a sort of cold grandee of the family. Dean Goldsmith of Cloyne, who did not think it unbecoming his dignity to visit the good clergyman's parsonage now and then 5 and Oliver having made a remark which showed him no fool, the dean gave it as his opinion to Mr. Contarine that his young relative would make an excellent medical man. The hint seemed a good one, and was the dean's contribution to his young relative's fortune. The small purse was contributed by Mr. Contarine 5 and in the autumn of 17^2, Oliver Goldsmith started for Edinburgh, medical student. Anecdotes of amusing simplicity and forgetfulness in this new 374 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Forster. character are, as usual, more rife than notices of his course of study. But such records as have been preserved of the period rest upon authority too obviously doubtful to require other than a very cursory mention here. On the day of his arrival he is reported to have set forth for a ramble round the streets, after leaving his luggage at hired lodgings where he had forgotten to inquire the name either of the street or the landlady, and to which he only found his way back by the accident of meeting the porter who had carried his trunk from the coach. He is also said to have obtained, in this temporary abode, a knowledge of the wondrous culinary expedients with which three medical students might be supported for a whole week on a single loin of mutton, by a brandered chop served up one day, a fried steak another, chops with onion sauce a third, and so on till the fleshy parts should be quite consumed, v^hen finally, on the seventh day, a dish of broth manufactured from the bones would appear, and the ingenious landlady rested from her labours. It is moreover recorded, in proof of his careless habits in respect to money, that being in company with several fellow-students on the first night of a new play, he suddenly proposed to draw lots with any one present which of the two should treat the whole party to the theatre ; when the real fact was, as he afterwards confessed in speaking of the secret joy with which he heard them all decline the challenge, that had it been accepted, and had he proved the loser, he must have pledged a part of his wardrobe in order to raise the money. This last anecdote, if true, reveals to us at any rate that he had a wardrobe to pledge. Such resource in the matter of dress is one of his peculiarities found generally peeping out in some form or other : and, unable to confirm any other fact in these recollections, I can at least establish that. But first let me remark that no traditions remain of the character or extent of his studies. It seems tolerably certain that any learned celebrity he may have got in the schools, paled an inefi^ectual fire before his amazing social repute, as inimitable teller of a humorous story and capital singer of Irish songs. But he was really fond of chemistry, and was remembered favourably by the celebrated Black 5 other well known fellow-students, as William Farr, and his whilome college acquaintance, Lauchlan Macleane, conceived a regard for him, which somewhat latter Farr seems to have had the opportunity of showing ; certainly of kind quaker Sleigh, afterwards known as the eminent physician of that name, as painter Barry's first patron, Burke's friend, and one of the many victims of Foote's witty malice, so much may without contradiction be affirmed ; and it is therefore to be supposed that his eighteen months' residence in Edinburgh was, on the whole, not unprofitable. It had its mortifica- tions, of course 3 for all his life had these. " An ugly and a poor man Lord Lindsay.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 375 is society only for himself; and such society the world lets me enjoy in great abundance :" " nor do I envy my dear Bob his blessings, while I may sit down and laugh at the world ; and at myself, the most ridiculous object in it:" are among his expressions of half bitter half good-natured candour, in a letter to his cousin Bryanton. — -The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, Book i. chap. iv. 158.— THE CONVENT OF ST. CATHERINE. [Lord Lindsay, 1812. [Alexander William Crawford, Lord Lindsay, eldest son of the Earl of Craw-^ ford, born in 181 2, was educated at Eton and Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1833. Lord Lindsay afterwards travelled in Europe and Asia, and in 1838 pub- lished " Letters on Egypt, Edom, and the Holy Land." His " Letter on the Theory and Evidences of Christianity," appeared in 1841 ; his " Progression by Antagonism," in 1846; his " Sketches of the History of Christian Art," in 1847; and " Lives of the Lindsays," in 1849.] In a few minutes more, advancing up a narrow ravine at the extremity of the plain, and passing the garden with its lofty cypresses, we arrived under the walls of the Convent of St. Catherine, a regular monastic fortress — it has exactly the appearance of one, and is indeed, defended by guns against the Arabs. A window, under a projecting shed, was presently opened, and a rope (Sir Frederick Henniker calls it a halter) dropped, by which first our luggage and letter of introduction from the Greek Convent at Cairo, and then ourselves, were hoisted up by a windlass ; there once was a door, but it had been walled up, for, when- ever it was opened, which only took place on the arrival of the Arch- bishop, the Bedoains had the right of entrance. For this reason the Archbishops always reside now at Cairo. The monks are obliged to supply the Bedouins with bread a discretion, and an ample provision in that kind was lowered to them after our ascent. No Arabs are ever allowed to enter, except the servants of the convent. The maxim " quis custodiat ipsos custodes," is literally acted upon here ; our conference with Hussein, the Sheikh or chief protector of the convent, about conveyance to Akaba, was carried on throagh a hole in the wall ; we squatted on one side, and he stood at the other; it was like talking through a key-hole. We were received by the Superior and some of the monks on the landing-place, but could not answer their greeting, nor make ourselves understood, tillMissirie came up, not one of them apparently, speaking any language that we were acquainted with. Modern Greek and Arabic' seem to be the only tongues in use here. The Superior, a fine old man, witli a mild benevolent countenance, a long beard and 376 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Lord Lindsay. immense moustaches, (sadly in need of Princess Parizade's scissors,) showed us to our apartment, carpeted and divaned in the eastern style, and adorned by a print of the Virgin and Child, with a lamp burning before it ; we sat down with him, and he welcomed us kindly to Mount Sinai. He is a Greek from Candia ; I had the pleasure of informing him a day or two afterwards, when he told me of his birth- place, that an ancestor of mine. Sir Alexander de Lindesay of Glenesk, a brave and adventurous knight, died there on his pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre, in 1382. Dried fruit and rakie, a strong brandy made from dates, were presented to us while dinner was in preparation — maigre, it being Lent. Father Dimitri ciceroned us over the convent two or three days afterwards. It resembles a little fortified town, irregularly built on the steep side of the mountain, and surrounded by lofty walls ; the passages and courts are kept very neat and clean -, balconies with wooden balustrades run round each area, on which the doors of the several apartments open 3 texts of Scripture are inscribed on the walls in every direction — in inextricably contracted Greek. The principal church, built by the Emperor Justinian, the founder of the convent, is really beautiful ; the richly ornamented roof is supported by rows of granite pillars barbarously whitewashed ; the pavement is of marble ; — the walls are covered with portraits of saints, the Virgin and Child, and scenes from the Bible, in the old Byzantine style of the middle ages : most of them are modern, but some very ancient and very interesting for the history of the art ; they are almost all in good preservation. The concha of the tribune dis- plays in mosaic work, contemporary with Justinian, the Trans- figuration of our Saviour. The chapels are also full of paintings, some of them Russian, but in the same style, the painting of Russia being a branch of that of Byzantium. The nave is lighted by a superb silver chandelier, presented by Elizabeth of Russia, and I saw several candelabra of great beauty. The reading- desks, &c., are of tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl inlaid. In the choir is preserved the coffin in which Saint Catherine's bones are said to repose, and the silver lid of a sarcophagus, embossed with the portrait of Anne of Russia, who intended being buried here. We put oiFour shoes from off our feet before approaching the most revered spot on Mount Sinai, or rather Horeb, (as they call this part of the mountain,) — where our Lord is said to have appeared to Moses in the burning bush. This little chapel is gorgeously ornamented ; a New Testament in modern Greek, with superbly embossed covers, lies on the altar, — behind it, they show — not exactly the burning bush, but a shrub which they say has flourished there ever since, its lineal descendant. The kind, hospitable monks are not to blame — Mackintosh.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 377 thev believe as the tale has been handed down to them ; but on what authority, we must again and again ask, are these spots pointed out as the scenes mentioned in the Bible ? — Letters on Egypt, Edom, and the Holy Land. Letters on Edom and the Holy Land, No. i. 159.— PLATO. [Sir J. Mackintosh, 1765 — 1832. [James Mackintosh, born at Aldourie, Inverness-shire, Oct. 24, 1765, was educated at Glasgow and Edinburgh. Having studied medicine he settled in London and applied himself to literary pursuits. His " Vindicise Gallicas,'' in answer to Burke's "Reflections on the French Revolution," appeared in 1791, and he was called to the bar in 1795. He defended Peltier, Feb. 21, 1803, was appointed Recorder for Bombay in 1804, and Judge of the Admiralty Court in 1806. He returned to England in 18 11, and was elected for Nairn in 1813. Sir James Mackintosh, ap- pointed Professor of Law in the College at Haileybury in 18 18, and a member of the Board of Control in 1830, died May 22, 1832. His "Dissertation on Ethical Philosophy, chiefly during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries," written for the Encyclopcedia Britannica, was re-published in 1830, and his "History of England," in Lardner's Cabinet C?/c/op«?rf2a, appeared in 1830 — 2. His "History of the Revolution in England in 1688," with a notice of his Life, appeared in 1834, and " Memoirs of his Life," edited by his son, in 1835.] Plato, the most famous of his scholars,* the most eloquent of Grecian writers, and the earliest moral philosopher whose writings have come down to us, employed his genius in the composition of dialogues, in which his master performed the principal part. These beautiful con- versations would have lost their charm of verisimilitude, of dramatic vivacity, of picturesque representation of character, if they had been subjected to the constraint of method. They necessarily pre-suppose much oral instruction. They frequently quote, and doubtless oftener allude to, the opinions of predecessors and contemporaries whose works have perished, and of whose doctrines only some fragments are preserved. In these circumstances, it must be difficult for the most learned and philosophical of his commentators to give a just representa- tion of his doctrines, if he really framed or adopted a system. The moral part of his works is more accessible. The vein of thought which runs through them is always visible. The object is to inspire the love of truth, of wisdom, of beauty, especially of goodness — the highest Beauty, and o\ that supreme and Eternal Mind, which contains all truth and wisdom, all beauty and goodness. By the love or delightful contemplation and pursuit of these tran- scendant aims for their own sake only, he represented the mind of man as raised from low and perishable objects, and prepared for those * Socrates. 378 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Mackintosh. high destinies which are appointed for all those who are capable of them. The application to moral qualities of terms which denote out- ward beauty, though by him perhaps carried to excess, is an illustrative metaphor, as well warranted by the poverty of language as any other employed to signify the acts or attributes of mind. The beautiful in his language denoted all that of which the mere con- templation is in itself delightful, without any admixture of organic pleasure, and without being regarded as the means of attaining any farther end. The feeling which belongs to it he called love; a word which, as comprehending complacency, benevolence, and affec- tion, and reaching from the neighbourhood of the senses to the most sublime of human thoughts, is foreign from the colder and more exact language of our philosophy ; but which perhaps then happily served to lure both the lovers of poetry, and the votaries of superstition to the school of truth and goodness in the groves of the Academy. He enforced these lessons by an inexhaustible variety of just and beautiful illustrations, — sometimes striking from their familiarity, sometimes subduing by their grandeur ; and his works are the store- house from which moralists have from age to age borrowed the means of rendering moral instruction easier and more delightful. Virtue he represented as the harmony of the whole soul ; — as a peace between all its principles and desires, assigning to each as much space as they can occupy without encroaching on each other ; as a state of perfect health, in which every function was performed with ease, pleasure, and vigour ; — as a well-ordered commonwealth, where the obedient passions executed with energy the laws and commands of reason. The vicious mind presented the odious character, sometimes of dis- cord, of war • — sometimes of disease — always of passions warring with each other in eternal anarchy. Consistent with himself, and at peace with his fellows, the good man felt in the quiet of his con- science a foretaste of the approbation of God. *' Oh what ardent love would virtue inspire if she could be seen." "If the heart of a tyrant could be laid bare, we should see how it was cut and torn by its own evil passions, and by an avenging conscience." Perhaps in every one of these illustrations, an eye trained in the history of Ethics may discover the germ of the whole, or of a part, of some subsequent theory. But t(5 examine it thus would not be to look at it with the eye of Plato. His aim was as practical as that of Socrates. He employed every topic, without regard to its place in a system, or even always to its force as argument, which could attract the small portion of the community then accessible to cultivation ; who, it should not be forgotten, had no moral instructor but the philosopher. Moore.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 379 unaided, if not thwarted, by the reigning superstition j for religion had not then, besides her own discoveries, brought down the most awful and tlie most beautiful forms of moral truth to the humblest station in human society. — Dissertatioji on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy, chiefly during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. Section ii.. Retrospect of Ancient Ethics. 160.— THE FEAST OF ROSES. [Moore, 1779 — 1852. [Thomas Moore, born in Dublin May 28, 1779, was educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and studied for the English bar. Though he had before contributed verses to the magazines, his first work, " Odes of Anacreon, translated into English Verse, with Notes," appeared in 1800; and "The Poetical Works of the late Thomas Little," followed in 1801. Lord ^Sloira procured him a Government appointment at Bermuda, where he arrived in Jan. 1S04. This he soon resigned, and after a tour in the United States, which quite cured him of republican views imbibed in early life, he returned to England. His " Epistles, Odes, and other Poems," appeared in 1806; " Intercepted Letters ; or the Twopennv Post Bag," in i8i2j " Lalla Rookh," in 1817 ; "The Fudge Family in Paris," in 1818 ; "The Loves of the Angels," in 1823 ; and " Alciphron," in 1839. In 1835 he obtained a pension of ^'300 per annum. He was the author of some prose works, the principal being a " Life of Sheridan," published in 1825; a "Life of Byron," in 1830; and a "Life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald," in 1831. He wrote a Histon,^ of Ireland for Lardner's Cabinet Cyclo- pcedia, and edited a collected edition of his own poetical works, published in 1 840-1. The latter portion of his life was spent at Slopenon Cottage, near Bowood, where he died Feb. 25, 1852. His "Memoirs, Journal and Correspondence," edited by Lord John Russell, appeared in 8 vols. 1852-6, and a "' Biography," by H. R. Montgomery, in i860.] Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave. Its temples, and grortos, and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave ? Oh ! to see it at sunset, — when warm o'er the Lake Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws. Like a bride, fall of blushes, when lingering to take A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes ! — When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming half shown. And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells. Here the ISIagian his urn, full of perfume, is swinging. And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing. Or to see it by moonlight, — when mellowly shines The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines j 38o THE E VERY-DAY BOOK [Moore. When the water-falls gleam^ like a quick fall of stars. And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet — Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks. Hills, cupolas, fountains, called forth e\evy one Out of darkness, as if but just bom of the Sun- When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day. From his Harem of night-flowers stealing away ; Ajid the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover The young aspen-trees, till they tremble all over. When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes. And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurled. Shines in through the mountainous portal that opes, Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the world ! But never yet, by night or day. In dew of spring or summer' s ray. Did the sweet Valley shine so gay As now it shines — aU love and light. Visions by day and feasts by night ! A happier smile iUumes each brow. With quicker spread each heart uncloses. And all is ecstasy, — for now The Valley holds its Feast of Roses ; The joyous Time, when pleasures pour Profusely round, and in their shower. Hearts open, like the Season's Rose, The Flow' ret of a hundred leaves. Expanding while the dew-fall flows. And ever}' leaf its balm receives. 'Twas when the hour of evening came Upon the Lake, serene and cool. When Day had hid his sultrj' flame Behind the palms of Baeamoule, When maids began to lift their beads. Refresh" d from their embroidered beds. Where they had slept the sun away. And waked to moonlight and to play. All were abroad — the busiest hive On Bela's hills is less alive. SrnsSdf." 1*1. — IMD>iffH^i2!kCE OF THE WQSID TO SELfiGaD5>iL m iS24>'. and my highest delight would be that any one should be induced by them to suspect his own ignorance, and to try to gain knowledge where it is to be gained. But assuredly he who does honestly want to gain knowledge will not go to a newspaper to look for it. No, Sir, real knowledge, like everything else of the highest value, is not to be obtained so easily. It must be worked for, — studied for, — thought for, — and more than all, it must be prayed for. And that is education, which lays the foundation of such habits, — and gives them, so far as a boy's early age will allow, their proper exercise. For doing this, the materials exist in the studies actually pursued in our com- mercial schools ; but it cannot be done eifectually, if a boy's educa- tion is to be cut short at fourteen. His schooling indeed may be ended without mischief, if his parents are able to guide his education after- wards ; and the way to gain this hereafter, is to make the most of the schooling time of the rising generation, — that finding how much may be done even in their case, within the limited time allowed for their education, they may be anxious to give their children greater advantages, that the fruit may be proportionably greater. It may be that this is impracticable, to which I have only to say that I will not believe it to be so till I am actually unable to hope otherwise ; for if it be impracticable, my expectations of good from any political changes are faint indeed. These changes might still be necessary, might still be just, but they would not mend our condition ; the growth of evil, moral and political, would be no less rapid than it is now. — Miscellaneous Works: Education of the Middle Classes. Letter ii. 167.— THE GRAVE. [Montgomery, 1771 — 1854. [James Montgomery, the son of a Moravian minister, was born at Irvine, Ayrshire, Nov. 4, 1 77 1. After following various occupations, he in 1794 established the Sheffield Iris, which he edited until 1825. His first publication, "The Wanderer of Switzerland, and other Poems," appeared in 1806, and was followed by "The West Indies" in 1810; "The World before the Flood" in 1812; and "The Pelican Island and other Poems," in 1827. He obtained a pension from Government in 1835, and died April 30, 1854. Memoirs by Holland and Everett appeared in 1854, and another biography by J. W. King, in 1858.] There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found. They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground. Montgomery-.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 395 The storm that wrecks the winter sky No more disturbs their sweet repose. Than summer-evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath the soil. To slumber in that dreamless bed From all my toil. For Misery stole me at my birth. And cast me helpless on the wild : I perish ; O my Mother Eartli ! Take home tliy child. On thy dear lap these hmbs recUned S hall gently moulder into thee ; Nor leave one wretched trace behind Resembling me. Hark I — a strange sound affrights mine ear ■ INIy pulse, — my brain runs wild, — I rave ; Ah ! who art thou whose voice I hear ? '' I am THE GRAVE ! " The GRAVE, that never spake before. Hath found at length a tongue to chide j O listen 1 — I will speak no more : — Be silent. Pride ! ^^ Art thou a WRETCH of hope forlorn. The victim of consuming care ? Is thy distracted conscience torn By fell despair r *■•' Do foul misdeeds of former times AVring with remorse thy guilty breast ? And ghosts of unforgiven crimes INIurder thy rest ? " Lashed by the furies of the mind, From Wratli and Vengeance wouldst thou flee ? Ah I think not, hope not, fool, to tind A friend in me. 396 THE EFERY-DAY BOOR [Montgomery. *' By all the terrors of the tomb. Beyond the power of tongue to tell 3 By the dread secrets of my womb j By Death and Hell 3 " I charge thee LIVE ! — repent and pray 5 In dust thine infamy deplore 3 There yet is mercy 3 — go thy way. And sin no more. '' Art thou a MOURNER ?— Hast thou known The joy of innocent delights. Endearing days for ever flown. And tranquil nights ? " O LIVE ! — and deeply cherish still The sweet remembrance of the past : Rely on Heaven's unchanging will For peace at last. ''Art thou a WANDERER ?— Hast thou seen O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark ? A shipwrecked sufferer hast thou been. Misfortune's mark ? " Though long of winds and waves the sport. Condemned in wretchedness to roam, LIVE ! — thou shalt reach a sheltering port, A quiet home. " To FRIENDSHIP didst thou trust thy fame. And was thy friend a deadly foe. Who stole into thy breast to aim A surer blow ? " LIVE ! — and repine not o'er his loss, A loss unworthy to be told : Thou hast mistaken sordid dross For friendship's gold. " Seek the true treasure seldom found. Of power the fiercest griefs to calm. And soothe the bosom's deepest wound With heavenly balm. Montgomery.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 397 ''Did WO]MAN'S charms thy youth beguile. And did the fair one faithless prove ? Hath she betrayed thee witli a smile^ And sold thy love r " LIVE ! 'twas a false bewildering fire : Too often Love's insidious dart Thrills the fond soul with wild desire. But kills the heart. " Thou yet shalt know how sweet, how dear. To gaze on listening Beauty's eye -, To ask, — and pause in hope and fear Till she reply. " A nobler flame shall warm thy breast, A brighter maiden faithful prove 3 Thy youth, thine age, shall yet be blest In woman's love. " — Whate'er thy lot, — whoe'er thou be, — Confess thy folly, — kiss the rod. And in thy chastening sorrows see The hand of GOD. *' A bruised reed He will not break ; Afflictions all his children feel : 'He wounds them for his mercy's sake. He wounds to heal. *' Humbled beneath his might}^ hand. Prostrate his Providence adore : 'Tis done ! — Arise ! HE bids thee stand. To fall no more. '' Now, Traveller in the vale of tears. To realms of everlasting light. Through Time's dark wilderness of years. Pursue thy flight. '• There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for wear)- pilgrims found; And while the mouldering ashes sleep Low in tlie ground. 398 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Stanley. "The Soul, of origin divine, GOD'S glorious image, freed from clay. In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine A star of day. " The SUN is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky ; The SOUL, immortal as its Sire, SHALL NEVER DIE." Miscellaneous Poems : The Grave. 1 68.— THE CONVERSION OF S. AUGUSTINE. [Dean Stanley, 1815. [Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, born in 1815, and educated at Rugby and at Oxford, became Fellow of University College in 1840, was Select Preacher in 1845, ^"^^ Canon of Canterbury from 185 1 till 1858. Having been Regius Professor of Ecclesiastical History at Oxford, Canon of Christ Church, and Chaplain to the Bishop of London, he in 1864 was appointed Dean of Westminster. Dr. Stanley's life of Dr. Arnold* was published in 1844. He is the author of numerous Sermons and Lectures. His "Historical Memoirs of Canterbury'' appeared in 1854, "Sinai and Palestine" in 1855, " Sermons preached in the East" and "Lectures on the History of the Jewish Church" in 1863, and " Lectures on the History of the Jewish Church," Part II., in 1865.] Augustine's youth had been one of reckless self-indulgence. He had plunged into the worst sins of the heathen world in which he lived ; he had adopted wild opinions to justify those sins 5 and thus, though his parents were Christians, he himself remained a heathen in his manner of life, though not without some struggles of his better self and of God's grace against these evil habits. Often he struggled and often he fell ; but he had two advantages which again and again have saved souls from ruin, — advantages which no one who enjoys them (and how many of us do enjoy them !) can prize too highly, — he had a good mother and he had good friends. He had a good mother, who wept for him, and prayed for him, and warned him, and gave him that advice which only a mother can give, forgotten for the moment, but remembered afterwards. And he had good friends, who watched every opportunity to encourage better thoughts, and to bring him to his better self. In this state of struggle and failure he came to the city of Milan, where the Christian community was ruled by a man of fame almost equal to that which he himself afterwards won, the celebrated * See page 392. Stanley.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 399 Ambrose. And now the crisis of his Hfe was come, and it shall be described in his own words. He was sitting with his friend, his whole soul was shaken with the violence of his inward conflict, — the conflict of breaking away from his evil habits, from his evil associates, to a life which seemed to him poor, and profitless, and burdensome. Silently the two friends sate together, and at last, says Augustine, " When deep reflection had brought together and heaped up all my misery in the sight of my heart, there arose a mighty storm of grief, bringing a mighty shower of tears." He left his friend, that he might weep in solitude 5 he threw himself down under a fig-tree in the garden (the spot is still pointed out in Milan), and he cried in the bitterness of his spirit, '' How long ? how long ? — to-morrow ? to-morrow ? Why not now ? — why is there not this hour an end to my uncleanness ?" " So was I speaking and weeping in the contrition of my heart," he says, " when, lo ! I heard from a neighbouring house a voice as of a child, chanting and oft repeating, 'Take up and read, take up and read.' Instantly my countenance altered ; I began to think whether children were wont in play to sing such words, nor could I remember ever to have heard the like. So, checking my tears, I rose, taking it to be a command from God to open the book and read the first chapter I should find " Eagerly he returned to the place where his friend was sitting, for there lay the volume of S. Paul's Epistles, which he had just begun to study. '' I seized it," he says, " I opened it, and in silence I read that passage on which my eyes first fell. 'Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying. But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for thejiesh, to fulfil the lust thereof. ' No further could I read, nor needed I ; for instantly, at the end of this sentence, by a serene light infused into my soul, all the darkness of doubt vanished away." We need not follow the story further. We know how he broke off' all his evil courses j how his mother's heart was rejoiced j how he was baptized by the great Ambrose 3 how the old tradition describes their singing together, as he came up from the baptismal waters, the alternate verses of the hymn called from its opening words Te Deum Laudamus. We know how the profligate African youth was thus transformed into the most illustrious saint of the Western Church, how he lived long as the light of his own generation, and how his works have been cherished and read by good men, perhaps more extensively than those of any Christian teacher, since the Apostles. It is a story instructive in many ways. It is an example, like the conversion of S. Paul, of the fact that from time to time God calls His servants not by gradual, but by sudden changes. These conver- 400 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Brougham. sions are, it is true, the exceptions and not the rule of Providence, but such examples as Augustine show us that we must acknowledge the truth of the exceptions when they do occur. It is also an instance how, ev^en in such sudden conversions, previous good influences have their weight. The prayers of his mother, the silent influence of his friend, the high character of Ambrose, the preparation . for Christian truth in tlie writings of heathen philosophers, were ail laid up, as it were, waiting for tiie spark, and, when it came, the fire flashed at once through ever}^ corner of his soul. It is a striking instance, also, of the effect of a single passage of Scripture, suddenly but seriously taken to heart. It may come to us as to him, through the voice of a little child, or through the prompting of our own conscience, or through the recurrence of the words in the church service. . . . The Unity of Evangelical and Apostolical Teaching. Sermons, preached mostly in Canterbury Cathedral. Sermon x.. The Doctrine of S. Paul. Rom. xiii. 12—14. 169.— CONDITION OF THE CHINESE. [Lord Brougham, 1778 — 1868. [Henry Brougham, born at Edinburgh, Sep. 19, 1778, \\-as educated at Edinburgh Universit)-, and in 1800 ^^-as admitted to the Scottish Bar. He was one of the early contributors to the Edinburgh Review, and was called to the English Bar in 1808. He was elected member for Camelford in the Whig interest in 1810. From 1812 till 1816 he was without a seat, but in the latter year was returned for Winchelsea. In 1820 and 182 1 he was engaged as Attorney-General to Queen Caroline; in 1825 was elected Lord P^ector of Glasgow Universit}-, and in 1827 founded the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, and became its first President. In Aug. 1830 he was returned for Yorkshire, and having been the same year appointed Lord Chancellor, was raised to the peerage. Lord Brougham is the author of numerous works, the best known being " Historical Sketches of Statesmen of the Time of George IIL," pub- lished in 1839 — 43' " Political Philosophy," in 1840 — 44; and "Lives of Men of Letters and Science of the Time of George III.," in 1845 — 6. An edition of his works collected by himself appeared at Edinburgh in 1855 — 57. "Albert Lunel; or, the Chateau of Languedoc," a novel, suppressed on the eve of publication in 1644, has been attributed to him. Lord Brougham died in 1868.] Tnfe universal respect in which learning is held, and the privileges allowed to it, have not however made the Chinese czvry far their cul- tivation of it. They afford, on the contrary, a singular instance of a nation early making some progress, and tlien stopping short for ages j of a people, all of whom possess the instruments of education, the means of acquiring knowledge — a people most of whom have actually acquired some knowledge — and yet none of whom have ever gone beyond the most elementary studies. This can only be ascribed to the absolute form of their government, and the manifest intention which Broueham.] OF MODERX Lr2 ERJTi'RE. 401 the sovereigns h:ive always had to limit the literar}" acquisitions of their subjects. The advantages of keeping quiet and indolent a people so numerous as to be able to crush almost any ruler, and the means of tranquillits^ which elementary lessons like those of Confucius and his school bestowed, if tliey \^ere thoroughly learnt, and became, as it were, mixed up with the nature of t':e people, could not escape the Chinese monarclis. They had a people to deal with \^ hom they found it easy to occupy with such pursuits, and with the innumerable customs and ceremonies which the sacred WTitings inculcate together with far better things. The occupation was more than harmless — it was most useful in extinguishing tierce and turbulent spirits j and the lessons taught were those of absolute submission to the magistrates, though seasoned with so much other doctrine as prevented them from wearing the appearance of a mere design to secure subordination. Beyond the learning of those books, therefore, the government had no desire that Chinese education should be carried. Accordingly, true orthodoxy is closely contined to the books of Confucius and JNIencius, and one or tr-.vo commentators on tliem ; and the government discountenances by every means the acquisition of any other learning. This is the main cause of the stationary knowledge of the Chinese 3 and one of the most powerful means used by tlie government to keep it tlius stationary is the preventing of almost all intercourse with foreign nations. The amount of the learning contained in those WTitings is very moderate. ]Many of the maxims are admirable ; some indeed closely resembling those of our own religion. Thus Confucius distinctly enjoins the duty of doing unto others as we would be done to by thenij nor can anything be more urgent than his injunction to watch the secret thoughts ot the heart as the fountains of evil. It is also an admirable precept of his to judge ourselves with the severitv^ we apply to others ; and to judge others as mercifully as we do ourselves. But there are \\icked doctrines mixed with this pure wisdom, as when men are commanded not to live under the same sky with a father's assassin ; and besides, the merit of all moral maxims is much more in the acting upon them than the laying them down. Wisdom is, properly speaking, the doing what wise sayings recommend ; and he has made but a small progTess in philosophy — even in the philosophy of morals — who has only stored his memory with all the proverbs of Franklin and all the morals of ^tsop. There are few men so ignorant as not to know the substance of these aphorisms, though they may never have seen them put in terse language, or illustrated by apt comparisons. The difficulty really lies in acting up to them. Therefore the learning to which the Chinese almost entirely devote themselves is of a very trifling nature 402 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Brougham. at best. Some of it indeed is positively useless. The Li-ki, or book of rites and customs, contains three thousand of these, all of which are to be learnt and to be scrupulously observed 3 and there is a council of state with the exclusive office of seeing that this observance is complete — a manifest contrivance of the government to occupy the people with frivolous and harmless studies. It thus happens that the Chinese, after having, long before any other of the nations now deemed most refined, made a considerable progress in knowledge and still more in the arts, have stopped short as it were on the threshold, and never attempted the rank of a learned or even a very polished nation. Acquainted with paper-making for above seventeen centuries, with printing for more than nine, they have hardly produced a book which could fix the attention of a European reader in the present day 5 and yet learning is the passport to political honours, and even to power, among them ; and books are so highly valued that it is part of their religious observances never to suffer the treading on, or irreverent treatment of, a scrap of printed or written paper how worthless soever. Possessed of the mariner's compass twelve hundred years before it was known in Europe, they have scarcely ever put it to the use which it really can best serve, but creep along their coasts, from headland to headland, like the most ignorant of the South Sea islanders, and rather employ it on shore, where other marks might better serve to guide them. With a kind of glass, or something as near good glass as possible, for ages, they never have yet succeeded in making that most useful and beautiful product of the arts in its trans- parent state and plastic fabric. Capable of copying the works of the pencil with a minuteness which seems preternatural, both as to colour and form, they are wholly without invention, and, left to themselves, can make nothing like an imitation of nature. Nor in the severer sciences have they made any progress beyond the very first elements, although they have know^n one or two of the fundamental truths in geometry for hundreds of years, by induction rather than demonstration, and could calculate eclipses of the heavenly bodies long before any other nation had emerged from barbarism. It is equally certain, however, that the amount of knowledge which they have so long attained, the repute in which they have been taught to hold the quiet and sedulous pursuit of it, and the devotion of their attention to it within certain limits, joined to the being debarred from all foreign intercourse, have produced all the effect that could be desired by their rulers ; it has so far reclaimed them from the turbulent state of uncivilized tribes as to make them easily ruled, by keeping them quiet, sedentary, inactive,' even pusillanimous, without unfolding their faculties Wood.] OF MODERN LTTEILiTURE. 403 or increasing their kno\^ledge in any degree likelr to endanger the security of a system founded mainly upon the permanent position of all and each of its -pans.— Political Philosophi/. Vol. i, chap, vi , Govern- ment of China. 170.— MR. GALLOTVAY AND HIS CLERKS. [Mrs. Hexry Wood,. 1S20. [Mrs. Hexry Wood, the youngest daughter of Mr. Thomas Price, formerly head of a manufacturing firm, ^vas bom in Worcestershire in 1820, and married to Mr. Henrv Wood at sm early age. She commenced her literary career as a contributor to various periodicals. Her first novel, ''Danesbury House," which gained the Scottish Temperance prize of i'loo, appeared in i860. It was followed by "East Lj-nne," published in 1861 ; '"'The Channings" in 1S62 ; and numerous works.] Of beaut}', Mr, Galloway could boast Httle ; but of his hair he was moderatelv vain : a very good head of hair it was, curling naturally. But hair, let it be luxuriant enough to excite the admiration of a whole army of coiffeurs, is, like other things in this sublunar}^ world of ours, subject to change j it will not last for ever ; and ^Nlr. Gallo- way's, from a fine and glossy brown, turned, as years went on, to sober grey — nay, almost to white. He did not particularly admire the change, but he had to submit to it -. Nature is stronger than we are. A triend hinted that it might be 'dyed.' Mr. Galloway re- sented the suggestion : anything false was abhorrent to him. When, however, after an illness, his hair began to fall off alarmingly, he thought it no harm to use a certain specific, emanating fi-om one of Her Majesty's physicians ; extensively set forth and patronized as an undoubted remedy for the falhng off" of hair. Mr. Galloway used it extensively in his fear, for he had an equal dread both of baldness and wigs. The lotion not only had the desired effect, but it had more : the hair grew on again luxuriantly, and its grey-whiteness turned into the finest flaxen you ever saw ; a light delicate shade of flaxen, exactly like the curls you see upon the heads of blue-eyed wax dolls. This is a fact : and whether ]Mr. Galloway liked it, or not, he had to put up with it. Many would not be persuaded but what he -had used some delicate preparation of dye, hitherto unknown to science : and the suspicion vexed Mr. Galloway. Behold him, therefore, with a perfect shower of smoodi, fair curls upon his head, like any young beau. It was in this gentleman's office that Arthur Channing had been placed, with a view to his becoming ultimately a proctor. To article D D 2 404 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Wood. him to Mr. Galloway would take a good round sum of money ; and this had been put off until the termination of the suit, when Mr. Channing had looked forward to being at his ease, in regard to pecu- niary means. There were two others in the same office : the one was Roland Yorke, who was articled ; the other was Joseph Jenkins, a thin, spare, humble man of nine-and-thirty, who had served Mr, Galloway for nearly twenty years, earning twenty-five shillings per week. He was a son of old Jenkins the bedesman, and his wife kept a small hosiery shop in High Street. Roland Yorke was, of course, not paid ; on the contrary, he had paid pretty smartly to Mr. Galloway for the privilege of being initiated into the mysteries per- taining to "a proctor. Arthur Channing may be said to have occupied a position in the office midway between the two. He was to become on the footing of Roland Yorke ; but meanwhile, he received a small sum weekly, in remuneration of his services, like Joe Jenkins did. Roland Yorke, in his proud moods, looked down upon him as a paid clerk 5 Mr. Jenkins looked up to him as a gentleman. It was a somewhat anomalous position j but Arthur had held his own bravely up in it until this blow came, looking forward to a brighter time. In the years gone by, one of the stalls in Helstonleigh Cathedral was held by the Reverend Dr. Yorke : he had also some time filled the office of sub-dean. He had married, imprudently, the daughter of an Irish peer, a pretty, good-tempered girl, who was as fond of extravagance as she was devoid of means to support it. She had not a shilling j it was even said that the bills for her wedding clothes came in afterwards to Dr. Yorke : but people, you know, are given to talk scandal. Want of fortune had been nothing, had Lady Augusta but possessed common prudence ; but she spent the doctor's money faster than it came in. In the course of years Dr. Yorke died, leaving eight children, and slender means for them. There were six boys and two girls. Lady Augusta went to reside in a cheap and roomy house (somewhat dilapidated) in the Boundaries, close to her old prebendal residence, and scrambled on in her careless, spending fashion, never out of debt. She retained their old barouche, and would retain it, and was a great deal too fond of ordering horses from the livery stables and driving out in state. Gifted with good parts and qualities had her children been born j but of training, in the highest sense of the word, she had given them none. George, the eldest, had a commission, and was away with his regiment j Roland, the second, had been designed for the Church, but no persuasion could induce him to be sufficiently attentive to his studies to qualify himself for it j he was therefore placed with Mr. Galloway, and the Church honours were now intended for Gerald. The fourth son, Theodore, was also in Hume.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 405 the college school, a junior. Next came two girls, Caroline and Fanny, and there were two little boys younger. Haughty, self-willed, but of sufficiently honourable nature, were the Yorkes. If Lady Augusta had but toiled to foster the good, and eradicate the evil, they would have grown up to bless her. Good soil was there to work upon, as there was in the Channings ; but, in the case of the Yorkes, it was allowed to run to waste, or to generate weeds. In short, to do as it pleased. — The Channings, chap, v. 171,— SIMON DE MONTFORT, EARL OF LEICESTER. [Hume, 171 1 — 1776. [David Hume, born at Edinburgh, April 26, 1711, was educated at the university of that city. His friends wished him to study law. For a short time, in 1734, he was placed in a mercantile house, but he resolved to devote himself to literarj^ pursuits, and went to France to study. In 1737 he returned to London, where his first work, a "Treatise on Human Nature," was published in 1739. The first volume of his "Essays" appeared in 1741. The first volume of his "History of England," containing the reigns of James I. and Charles i. was published at Edinburgh in 1754; the second volume appeared in 1756; the third and fourth volumes, con- taining the history of the House of Tudor, in 1759 j ^'^^ -^^ ^^^ ^^"^ sixth, con- taining the earlier history of the country, in 1762. Hume was appointed Under- Secretary of State in 1766. Resigning this appointment in 1769, he retired to Edinburgh, where he died Aug. 25, 1776. His history, which has gone through numerous editions, was continued to the death of George II. by Smollett, and to the reign of Queen Victoria by the Rev. T. S. Hughes. Hume's autobiography, edited by Adam Smith, was published in 1777. His "Life," by T. E. Ritchie, appeared in 1807, and his "Life and Correspondence, from papers bequeathed by his nephew to the Royal Society of Edinburgh," edited by J, H. Burton, in 1847.] All these imprudent and illegal measures afforded a pretence to Simon de Mountfort,* Earl of Leicester, to attempt an innovation in the government, and to wrest the sceptre from the feeble and irreso- lute hand which held it (1258). This nobleman was a younger son of that Simon de Mountfort, who had conducted with such valour and renown the crusade against the Albigenses 3 and who, though he tar- nished his famous exploits by cruelty and ambition, had left a name very precious to all the bigots of that age, particularly to the ecclesiastics. A large inheritance in England fell by succession to this family ; but as the elder brother enjoyed still more opulent possessions in France, and could not perform fealty to two masters, he transferred his right to Simon, his younger brother, who came over to The earlitr orthography. 4o6 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Hume. England, did homage for his lands, and was raised to the dignity of earl of Leicester. In the year 1238, he espoused Eleanor, dowager of William, earl of Pembroke, and sister to the king ; but the marriage of this princess with a subject and a foreigner, though con- tracted with Henry's consent, was loudly complained of by the earl of Cornwall and all the barons of England ; and Leicester was sup- ported against their violence by the king's favour and authority alone. But he had no sooner established himself in his possessions and digni- ties, than he acquired, by insinuation and address, a strong interest with the nation, and gained equally the affections of all orders of men : he lost, however, the friendship of Henry from the usual levity and fickleness of that prince ; he was banished the court : he was recalled , he -was entrusted with the command of Guienne, when he did good service and acquired honour 3 he was again disgraced by the king, and his banishment from court seemed now final and irrevocable. Henry called him traitor to his face 3 Leicester gave him the lie 3 and told him that if he were not his sovereign, he would soon make him repent of that insult : yet was this quarrel accommodated, either from the good nature or timidity of the king 3 and Leicester was again admitted into some degree of favour and authority: but, as this noble- man was become too great to preserve an entire complaisance to Henry's humours, and to act in subserviency to his other minions 3 he found more advantage in cultivating his interest with the public, and in inflaming the general discontents which prevailed against the ad- ministration. He filled every place with complaints against the infringement of the Great Charter, the acts of violence committed on the people, the combination between the pope and the king in their tyranny and extortions, Henry's neglect of his native subjects and barons 3 and, though himself a foreigner, he was more loud than any in representing the indignity of submitting to the dominion of foreigners. By his hypocritical pretensions to devotion he gained the favour of the zealots and clergy 3 by his seeming concern for public good he acquired the affections of the public 3 and, besides the pri- vate friendships which he had cultivated with the barons, his ani- mosity against the favourites created a union of interests between him and that powerful order. A, recent quarrel which broke out between Leicester and William de Valence, Henry's half-brother, and chief favourite, brought matters to extremity, and determined the former to give full scope to his bold and unbounded ambition, which the laws and the king's authority had hitherto with difficulty restrained. He secretly called a meeting of the most considerable barons, particularly Humphrey de Bohun high constable, Roger Bigod earl mareschal, and the earls of Warwick Hume.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 407 and Gloucester 3 men who by their family and possessions stood in the first rank of tlie English nobility. He represented to this company the necessity of reforming the state, and of putting the execution of the laws into other hands than those which had hitherto appeared, from repeated experience, so unfit for the charge with which they were entrusted : he exaggerated the oppressions exercised against the lower orders of the state, the violations of the barons' privileges, the con- tinued depredations made on the clergy 5 and, in order to aggravate the enormity of his conduct, he appealed to the Great Charter, which Henr)^ had so often ratified, and which was calculated to prevent for ever the return of those intolerable grievances : he magnified the generosity of their ancestors, who, at a great expense of blood, had extorted that famous concession from the crown 3 but lamented their own degeneracy, who allowed so important an advantage, once ob- tained, to be wrested from them by a weak prince and by insolent strangers: and he insisted, that the king's word, after so many sub- missions and fruitless promises on his part, could no longer be relied on j and that nothing but his absolute inability to violate national privileges could thenceforth ensure the regular observance of them. These topics, which were founded in truth, and suited so well the sentiments of the company, had the desired effect 3 and the barons embraced a resolution of redressing the public grievances, by taking into their own hands the administration of government. Henry having summoned a parliament, in expectation of receiving supplies for his Sicilian project, the barons appeared in the hall, clad in com- plete armour, and with their swords by their side. The king, on his entry, struck with the unusual appearance, asked them what was their purpose, and whether they pretended to make him their prisoner : Roger Bigod replied, in the name of the rest, that he was not their prisoner, but their sovereign 3 that they even intended to grant him large supphes, in order to fix his son on the throne of Sicily 3 that they only expected some return for this expense and service 3 and that, as he had frequently made submissions to the parliament, had acknow- ledged his past errors, and had still allowed himself to be carried into the same path, which gave them such just reason of complaint 3 he must now yield to more strict regulations, and confer authority on those who were able and willing to redress the national grievances. Henry, partly allured by the hopes of supply, and partly intimidated by the union and martial appearance of the barons, agreed to their demand 3 and promised to summon another parliament at Oxford, in order to digest the new plan of government, and to elect the persons who were to be entrusted with the chief authority. — History of Eugland, chap. xii. § ii. 4oS THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Barrow. 172.— THE JAVANESE. [Sir John Barrow, 1764 — 1848. ', [JoHX Barrow, bom at Drayley-Beck, in Lancashire, June 19, 1764, at first followed the profession of a schoolmaster. He ^^-as appointed private Secretar)- to Lord Macartney in his embassy to China, and afterwards accompanied Lord Macartney to the Cape of Good Hope. In 1804 he was appointed Secretar\- to the Admiralty, and in this position promoted the advancement of geographical or scientific know- ledge. He >vas created a baronet in 1S35, '^'^^ ^^^^ Nov. 23, 1848. His "Account of Travels into the Interior of Southern Africa in the Years 1797 and 1798'' appeared in 1801 — 4; his "Travels in China" in 1806; "A Voyage to Cochin China in the Years 1792 and 1793" in 1806; his "Life of Lord Macartney" in iSoS; and his " Chronological History' of Voyages into the Polar Regions" in 1818. He published "An Autobiographical Memoir" in 1847.] The Javanese are, in general, about the middle size of Europeans, straight and well made^ all their joints, their hands and their feet, remarkably small ; the colour of their skin a deep broA^n, approaching to black ; tlieir eves are black and prominent ; the nose rather broad, and somewhat flattened ; the upper lip a little projecting, not much tliickened, but highly arched. They have a firm steady gait, and seem to feel, or at least to all'ect, a superiority over the other inhabitants of the island. They rub the head, the face and other parts of the body that are not covered \\ith clothing, with a composition of cocoa-nut oil and sandal \Aood dust, as a preventive against a too copious perspi- ration, and the biting of mosquitoes and other annoying insects. They are remarkably temperate in their diet, but neither their tem- perance nor their moderate labour seems to have the effect of promoting longevity. Females usually marry at ten or twelve years of age, till which time they go nearly naked, wearing only a belt round their loins, with a broad metal plate in front, of an oval or circular form, and sometimes shaped like a heart. Sometimes they wear rings or bracelets round the wrist, chains about the neck, and chaplets of flowers in the hair. When a girl is espoused, she is clad in a loose flowing robe, variously ornamented according to the circumstances of her parents, her hair is more tlian usually decorated with flowers, and smoothed wixh. a profusion of paste and cocoa-nut oil. In tliis dress she rides about the to\^"n or village, mounted on horseback, and, as emblematic of her chastity, the animal is always a ^hite one, when such is to be had ; and she is accompanied by all tlie friends, the rela- tions and tlie slaves of both families, and a band of music. But this is often her last public exliibition ; for, if she marries into a family of condition, she is then shut up for the remainder of her life. The diet of the Javanese forms a great contrast with that of the Dutch. A considerable part of it consists in rice, sometimes fried in Herschel.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 409 oil, and sometinies boiled in plain water, with which are used a few capsules or heads of Capsiaim or Cayenne pepper, and a little salt, to render more palatable this Insipid grain. With the use of animal food a true Javanese is whoUy unacquainted, and of milk he is very sparing, except indeed of that liquid substance, sometimes though improperly so called, which abounds in the young cocoa-nut, and which affords a cool and refreshing draught. This tree, and indeed most of the palm tribe, as the date, the sago, and the areca, all supply him .with solid food. The chief use of the areca, however, is only as an ingredient in a compound masticatory, consisting, besides this nut, of chunam or lime of sheUs and seriloo or seeds of long pepper, made into a paste and rolled up in the green leaf of betel pepper. This compo- sition, when moistened in the mouth, communicates to the tongue and lips a deep red colour, which turns afterwards to a dark mahogany brown. The teeth of a Javanese being painted black (because monkeys, he observes, have white ones) give to the countenance rather a hideous appearance. — A P^oyage to Cochin China in 1792 and 1793. Chap, viii., Batavda. 173— COMETS. [Sir J. F. W, Herschel, Bt., 1790. [JoHX Frederick William Herschel, bom at Slough, near Windsor, in 1790, educated at St, John's, Cambridge, was Senior Wrangler and Smith's Prizeman in 1813. He devoted himself to mathematics and astronomy, and in 1826 received a gold medal from the Astronomical Societv for his observations on double stars. His "Transactions of the Astronomical Society-" appeared in 1830. The Astronomical Society again awarded him, in 1836, their gold medal for his Catalogue of Nebulae. In 1834 he went to the Cape of Good Hope for the purpose of examining the southern celestial hemisphere, and he completed his observations in 1838. His work giving an account of these valuable labours was published in 1847. His "Treatise on Astronomy" appeared in 1833; his "Manual of Scientific Inquiry" in 1849; ^^d his "Outlines of Astronomy" in 1849. He was made a baronet in 1838, became President of the Royal Society in 1843, ^^^^ of the Royal Astronomical Society in 1848, was appointed Master" of the Mint in 1850, and resigned in 1855. Hallam (Lit. Hist. Part iii. ch. iii. § 61) remarks, " Sir John Herschel in his admirable Discourse on Natural Philosophy,* has added a greater number [of illustrations] from still more recent discoveries, and has also furnished such a luminous development of the difficulties of the Novum Organum, as had been vainly hoped in former times."] That feehngs of awe and astonishment should be excited by the sudden and unexpected appearance of a great comet, is no way sur- prising 3 being, in fact, according to the accounts we have of such * Published in 1830. 4TO THE EFERY-DJY BOOK [HosdifiL erents, one of the most imposing of all natural phenomena. Comets consist for the most part of a large and more or less splendid, but ill- defined nebulous mass of light, called the bead, which is nsnallj much brighter towards its center, and offers the appearance of a viyM nucleus, like a star or planet. From the head, and in a djrBcdia» opposite to that in which the sun is situated, from tbe comet appear to diverge tw"o streams of ligbt, which grow broader and more drffased at a distance from the bead, and which most commonly close in and unite at a little distance behind it, but sometimes continue distinct for a great part of their course : producing an effect like that " trains left by some bright meteors, or like the diverging fire o: . rocket (only without sparks or perceptible motion). This is tht; laiL This magnificent appendage attains occasionally an immense apparaaat length. Aristotle relates of the tail of the comet of 371 b.c.^ that it occupied a third of the hemisphere, or 60° 5 that of a.d. 161 8 is stated to have been attended by a train no less than 104° in length. The comet of 1680, the most celebrated of modem times, and tm many accounts the most remarkable of all, with a head not exceeding in brightness a star of the second magnitude, covered Tsiith its tail an extent of more than 70^ of the heavens, or, as some accounts state, 90" 5 that of the comet of 1769 extended 97°, and that of tbe ibst great comet (1843) ^^^ estimated at about 6^'' when longest TSjc figure* {Fig. 2, Plate ii.) is a representation of the comet of 1819 — loj no means one of the most considerable, but which was, however^ very- conspicuous to the naked eye. The tail is, hoA^-ever, hj no means an invariable appendage of comets. Many of the brightest have been obsen'ed to have short and feeble tails, and a few great comets have been entirely without li^ma. Those of 1585 and 1763 offered no vestige of a tail; and Casfiama de- scribes the comets of 1665 and J682 as being as round and 2^ indSi defined as Jupiter. On the other hand, instances are not wanting of comets furnished with many taQs or streams of diverging lighL llaat of 1744 had no less than six, spread out like an immense fan, exteiDi&ig to a distance of near!}- 30° in length. The small comet of 1B23 lad two, making an angle of about j 60°, the brighter turned as usual fi-oia the sun, the fainter towards it, or nearly so. The taik of comete, toa^ are often some-w'hat cun'ed, bending, in general, t^amrsaoiAs tb& 'VOffom. \^•hich the comel has left, as if moving somewhat more slowly, tar a» if resisted in tbor course. The smaller comets, such as are visible csb^ in telescopes, or with * The plate is riven in tht original work. Shakespeare.] 'CODERS LiTI 4" difficulty tv -i -::/.- rjr. ::-.:. - :: :J: :.- :- :"- :s, ::::^: ::■--::.■- o££^Teij ::z :j :.: :v vr-^r^ur ::".■. -7y----' - -■- -y-:'-r. CMT somewh^: : : > r:^-: :: r r — : ^ : r r where, ho-^ r : r y - " - -^^^ - ?: : :: ".: r.:?^ : ^2; i^ ::^ which seez:- : r ir considered as a solid bcxlj. — Outlimes of Aftronomif, r_:: I, :_^:. x.. i§ j^6 — 8. I7+-- [WlLLIiM SHAKK??i:i; at *- the Kir r'? Nevr : to havelef: r r : : : is sui^-ixsse.:: : ; r:/ ~ : - iJINCOUrii. :ia£, 1564 — 1616. 1^* prohal^ edoeaiEd — 1582, is fadieced :~rme£n^polis be :fidafs,asid be :h bad been jf 1623, :6:3, in -; .3Storal? * More musical th~ : Wben wheat is s:: ; \llio, like him, could so Metbc:: chaiaucters Hing so widefy apait :: and Queen. Kathaiine, Fal^taff a: sQ^e of Shakespeare with that of i at the Method Xrj which he w^ whtcfa are as (irdh now as in tht naj, wnicD are at tne pie>ent * April 23 is : t -reoeiT»:d date. 412 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Shakespeare. moment at once more energetic, more expressive, more natural, and more elegant, than those of the happiest and most admired living speakers or writers. " But Shakespeare was ' not Methodical in the structure of his Fable.' Oh, gentle critic ! be advised. Do not trust too much to your professional dexterity in the use of the scalping knife and tomahawk. Weapons of diviner mould are wielded by your adversary: and you are meeting him here on his own peculiar ground, the ground of Idea, of Thought, and of inspiration. The very point of this dispute is Ideal. The question is one of Unity : and Unity, as we have shown, is wholly the subject of Ideal law. There are said to be three great Unities which Shakespeare has violated; those of Time, Place, and Action. Now the Unities of Time and Place we will not dispute about. Be ours the Poet, * qui pectus inaniter angit Jrritat, mulcet, falsis terrorihus implet Ut magus, et modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis.' The Dramatist who circumscribes himself within that unity of Time which is regulated by a stop-watch, may be exact-, but is not Methodical; or his Method is of the least and lowest class. But ' Where is he living, dipt in with the sea That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland,' who can transpose the scenes of Macbeth, and make the seated heart knock at the ribs with the same force as now it does, when the mysterious tale is conducted from the open heath, on which the Weird Sisters are ushered in with thunder and lightning, to the fatal fight of Dunsinane, in which their victim expiates with life, his credulity and his ambition ?"] Henry V. No, my fair cousin : If we are marked to die^ we are enough To do our country loss ; and if to live. The fewer men the greater share of honour. God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold 3 Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost 5 It yearns me not if men my garments wear 3 Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honour I am the most offending soul alive. No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England : God's peace ! I would not lose so great an honour. As one man more, methinks, would share from me. For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more : Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland,* through my host. That he which hath no stomach to this fi»ht * This speech, delivered in the English camp before the army, is in reply to tlie Earl of Westmoreland, who, as Henry V. entered, had expressed the wish " O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day !" Bp. Pearson.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 413 Let him depart ; his passport shall be made. And crowns for convoy put into his purse : We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is called the feast of Crispian : He that outlives this day, and comes safe hom3. Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named. And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall see this day, and live old age,* Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, to-morrow is saint Crispian : Then will he strip his sleeve, and shew his scars : Old men forget j yet all shall be forgot. But he 11 remember, with advantages. What feats he did that day : Then shall our names. Familiar in hisf mouth as household words, — Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered : This story shall the good man teach his son j And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. From this day to the ending of the world. But we in it shall be remembered : We few, we happy few, we band of brothers j For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother j be he ne'er so vile This day shall gentle his condition : And gentlemen in England, now a-bed. Shall think themselves accursed they were not here j And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day. King Henry V., Act iv. Sc. 3. 175.— CHRIST'S ASCENSION. [Bp. Pearson, 1613 — 1686. [John Pearson, born at Snoring, Norfolk, in 1612, and educated at Eton and at Cam- bridge, took orders in T639. He was made a prebend of Salisbury, and having * In some modern editions the line reads. He that shall live this day and see old age. The quarto has, He that outlives this day, and sees old age. t Referring to the soldier who takes part in the fight and returns safe home. 414 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Bp. Pearson. acted as Chaplain to Lord Keeper Finch and to other leading men, was in 1650 appointed to the living of St. Clement's, East Cheap. After the Restoration his rise was rapid, and with other preferment he was appointed Margaret - Professor of Divinity in i66t. Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1662, and Bishop of Chester in 1673. His best known work, "An Exposition of the Creed," was pub- lished in I 659, and was afterwards revised and enlarged. " Pearson's Minor Theo- logical Works," with' Memoir, Notes by E. Churton, appeared at Oxford in 1842. Bishop Burnet considers Pearson " in all respects the greatest divine of his age," and Hallam terms his "Exposition of the Creed" "a standard book in English divinity." Bishop Pearson died July 16, 1686.] The ascent of Christ into heaven was not metaphorical or figurative, as if there were no more to be understood by it^ but only that he ob- tained a more heavenly and glorious state or condition after his resur- rection. For whatsoever alteration was made in the body of Christ when he rose, whatsoever glorious qualities it was invested with there- by, that was not his ascension, as appeareth by those words which he spake to Mary, Touch me not, for I am not yet ascended to my Father,^ Although he had said before to Nicodemus, No man \_hath'] ascended up to heaven, hut he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven ;\ which words imply that he had then ascended ; yet even those concern not this ascension. For that was therefore only true, because the Son of Man, not yet conceived in the Virgin's womb, was not in heaven, and after his con- ception by virtue of the hypostatical union was in heaven : from whence, speaking after the manner of men, he might well say, that he had ascended into heaven 5 because whatsoever was first on earth and then in heaven, we say ascended into heaven. Wherefore, beside that grounded upon the hypostatical union, beside that glorious condition upon his resurrection, there was yet another, and that more proper ascension : for after he had both those ways ascended, it was still true that he had not yet ascended to his Father. Now this kind of ascension, by which Christ had not yet ascended when he spake to Mary after his resurrection, was not long after to be performed ; for at the same time he said unto Mary, Go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father.X And when this ascension was performed, it appeared manifestly to be a true local translation of the Son of Man, as man, from these parts of the world below into the heaven above j by which that body, which was before locally present here on earth, and was not so then present in heaven, became substantially present in heaven, and no longer locally present in earth. For when he had spoken unto the disciples, and blessed them, laying his hands upon them, and so was corporally present John t John iii. 13. t John XX. 17, Bp. Pearson.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 415 with them, even while he Messed them, he parted from them, and while they beheld, he was taken up, and a. cloud received him out of their sight,* and so he was carried up into heaven, while they looked steadfastly towards heaven, as he went up.f This was a visible departure, as it is described ; a real removing of that body of Christ, which was before present with the apostles ; and that body living after the resurrection, by virtue of that soul which was united to it : and therefore the Son of God according to his humanity was really and truly translated from these parts below unto the heavens above, which is a proper local ascension. Thus was Christ's ascension visibly performed in the preseaice and sight of the apostles, for the confirmation of the reality and the certainty thereof. They did not see him when he rose, but they saw him when he ascended ; because an eye-witness was not necessary unto the act of his resurrection, but It was necessary unto the act of his ascension. It was sufficient that Christ shewed himself to the apostles alive after his passion ; % for being they knew him before to be dead, and now saw him alive, they were thereby assured that he rose again : for whatso- ever was a proof of his life after death, was a demonstration of his resurrection. But being the apostles were not to see our Saviour in heaven 3 being the session was not to be visible to them on earth j therefore it was necessary they should be eye-witnesses of the act, who were not with the same eyes to behold the effect. Beside the eye-witness of the apostles, there was added the testi- mony of the angels ; those blessed spirits which ministered before, and saw the face of, God in heaven, and came down from thence, did know that Christ ascended up from hence unto that place from whence they came : and because the eyes of the apostles could not follow him so far, the inhabitanis of that place did come to testify of his recep tion 3 for behold two men stood by them in white apparel, which also said. Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven ? This same Jesus which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner, as ye have seen him go into heaven.^ We must therefore acknowledge and confess against all the wild heresies of old, that the eternal Son of God, who died and rose again, did, with the same body and soul with which he died and rose, ascend up to heaven 3 which was the second particular considerable in this Article. — ^n Exposition of the Creed. Article vi. * Luke xxiv. 50-51. f Acts i. 9-11. '^ Acts i. 3. § Acts i. 10 and 11. 41 6 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Blackstone. 176.— THE LORDS AND COMMONS. [Sir W. Blackstone, 1723 — 1780. [William Blackstone, the posthumous son of a silk mercer, born in London, July 10, 1723, and educated at the Charterhouse and Oxford, was called to the bar in 1746. He was appointed Recorder of Wallingford in 1749, first Vinerian Pro- fessor of Law in 1758, was made King's Counsel in 1761, and soon after principal of New Inn Hall, Oxford. After a very successful career he was knighted and made a justice of the Court of Common Pleas in 1770. His "Commentaries on the Laws of England" appeared at Oxford in 1765-9. Sir W. Jones speaks of them as "the most correct and beautiful outline that ever was exhibited in any human science." Sir William Blackstone died Feb. 14, 1780.] The lords temporal consist of all the peers of the realm (the bishops not being in strictness held to be such, but merely lords of parliament) by whatever title of nobility distiiiguished, dukes, marquises, earls, viscomits, or barons. Some of these sit by descent, as do all ancient peers 3 some by creation, as do all new-made ones 3 others, since the union with Scotland, by election, which is the case of the sixteen peers, who represent the body of the Scots nobility. Their number* is indefinite, and may be increased at will by the power of the crown 3 and once, in the reign of Queen Anne, there was an instance of creat- ing no less than tv/elve together 3 in contemplation of v/hich, in the reign of King George the First a bill passed the house of lords, and was countenanced by the then ministry, for limiting the number of the peerage. This was thought, by some, to promise a great acquisition to the constitution, by restraining the prerogative from gaining the ascendant in that august assembly, by pouring in at pleasure an un- limited number of new created lords. But the bill was ill-relished, and miscarried in the house of commons, whose leading members were then desirous to keep the avenues to the other house as open and easy as possible. The distinction of rank and honour is necessary in every well- governed state, in order to reward such as are eminent for their ser- vices to the public, in a manner the most desirable to individuals, and yet without burden to the community 3 exciting thereby an ambitious yet laudable ardour, and generous emulation in others. And emula- tion, or virtuous ambition, is a spring of action, which, however dan- gerous or invidious in a mere republic, or under a despotic sway, will certainly be attended with good effects under a free monarchy, where, without destroying its existence, its excesses may be continually re- strained by that superior power from which all honour is derived. * The number, which varies, is 419 (1868), including 28 representative peers for Ireland and 16 for Scotland. There are in addition 30 archbishops and bishops. Blackstone.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 4^7 Such a spirit, when nationally diffused, gives life and vigour to the community : it sets all the wheels of government in motion, which, under a wise regulator, may be directed to any beneficial purpose j and thereby every individual may be made subservient to the pubhc good, while he principally means to promote his own particular views. A body of nobility is also more peculiarly necessary in our mixed and compounded constitution, in order to support the rights of both the crown and the people, by forming a barrier to withstand the encroachments of both. It creates and preserves that gradual scale of dignity, which proceeds from the peasant to the prince ; rising like a pyramid from a broad foundation, and diminishing to a point as it rises. It is this ascending and contracting proportion that adds stability to any govern- ment j for when the departure is sudden from one extreme to another, we may pronounce that state to be precarious. The nobility, therefore, are the pillars, which are reared from among the people, more immediately to support the throne 3 and, if that falls, they must also be buried under its ruins. Accordingly, when in the last century* the commons had determined to extirpate monarchy, they also voted the house of lords to be useless and dangerous. And since titles of nobility are thus expedient in the state, it is also expedient that their owners should form an independent and separate branch of the legis- lature. If they were confounded with the mass of the people, and like them had only a vote in electing representatives, their privileges would soon be borne down and overwhelmed by the popular torrent, which would effectually level all distinctions. It is therefore highly necessary that the body of nobles should have a distinct assembly, distinct deliberations, and distinct powers from the commons. The commons consist of all such men of property in the kingdom, as have not seats in the house of lords ; every one of which has a voice in parliament, either personally, or by his representatives. In a free state every man, who is supposed a free agent, ought to be in some measure his own governor ; and therefore a branch at least of the legislative power should reside in the whole body of the people. And this power, when the territories of the state are small and its citizens easily known, should be exercised by the people in their aggregate or collective capacity, as was wisely ordained in the petty republics of Greece, and the first rudiments of the Roman state. But this will be highly inconvenient, when the public territory is extended to any con- siderable degree, and the number of citizens is increased. Thus when, after the social war, all the burghers of Italy were admitted free citi- zens of Rome, and each had a vote in the public assemblies, it became * This was written during the eighteenth century. £ E 4i8 THE EVERY-DAY BOOK [Blackstone. impossible to distinguish the spurious from the real voter: and from that time all elections and popular deliberations grew tumultuous and disorderly ; which paved the way for Marius and Sylla, Pompey and Caesar, to trample on the liberties of their country, and at last to dis- solve the commonwealth. In so large a state as ours, it is therefore very wisely contrived that the people should do that by their repre- sentatives, which it is impracticable to perform in person j representa- tives, chosen by a number of minute and separate districts, wherein all the voters are, or easily may be, distinguished. The counties are there- fore represented by knights, elected by the proprietors of lands 5 the cities and boroughs are represented by citizens and burgesses, chosen by the mercantile part, or supposed trading interest of the nation ; much in the same manner as the burghers in the diet of Sweden are chosen by the corporate towns, Stockholm sending four, as London does with us, other cities two, and some only one. The number of English representatives is ^13, and of Scots 453 in all 558.* And every member, though chosen by one particular district, when elected and returned, serves for the whole realm -, for the end of his coming thither is not particular, but general -, not barely to advantage his constituents, but the common wealth ; to advise his majesty (as appears from the writ of summons) '' de communi consilio super nego- tiis quibusdam arduis et urgentihus, regem, statum, et defensionem regni Anglice et ecclesice Anglicance concernentilus,^' And therefore he is not bound, like a deputy in the united provinces, to consult with, or take the advice of, his constituents upon any particular point, unless he himself thinks it proper or prudent so to do. — Commentaries on the Laws of England, Vol. i.. Book i., ch. ii. * This was written before the union with Ireland, for which too members were added to the House of Commons. After the passing of the Reform Bill in 1832 the House of Commons was thus constituted : — Members. England and Wales ....... 500 Ireland 105 Scotland 53 658 Sudbury, returning two members, was disfranchised in 1848, and St. Albans, return- ing two, in 1852, These vacant seats were in 1861 allotted thus, two to the West Riding of Yorkshire, one to South Lancashire, and one to Birkenhead. Lever.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 419 177.— AN IRISH JOCKEY. [Lever, 1809— 1870. [Charles James Lever, born in Dublin, Aug. 31, 1806, and educated at Cambridge, was brought up to the medical profession. In 1832, he was appointed medical superintendent of a populous district in Ireland, and was afterwards attached to the Legation at Brussels as physician, lie edited the " Dublin University Magazine" from 1842 till 1845. The first number of " Harry Lorrequer/' his first work, pub- lished anonymously, appeared in 1839. T^^^^ was followed by "Charles O'Malley," in,i84l, and a variety of popular works of fiction. He was appointed vice-consul at Spezia, Nov. 26, 1858, and was promoted to Trieste in 1867. Died 1870.] Mr. Ulick Burke — for I need not say it was he — was a well-look- ing man, of about eight-and-twenty or thirty years of age. Akhough his height was below the middle size, he was powerfully and strongly made J his features would have been handsome, were it not for a certain expression of vulgar suspicion that played about the eyes, giving him a side-long look when he spoke 3 this, and the loss of two front teeth, from a fall, disfigured a face originally pleasing. His whiskers were large, bushy, and meeting beneath his chin. As to his dress, it was in character with his calling j a green coat, cut round in jockey fashion, over which he wore a white " bang up," as it was called, in one pocket of which was carelessly thrust a lash whip 5 a belcher hand- kerchief, knotted loosely about his neck, buckskin breeches, reaching far down upon the leg, and top boots completed his costume. I had almost forgotten a hat, perhaps the most characteristic thing of all. This, which once had been white, was now, by stress of time and weather, of a dirty drab colour ; its crown dinged in several places, and the leaf jagged and broken, bespoke the hard usage to which it was subjected. While speaking, he held it firmly clutched in his ungloved hand, and, from time to time, struck it against his thigh with an energy of manner that seemed habitual. His manner was a mixture of timid embarrassment and vulgar assurance, feeling his way, as it were, with one, while he forgot himself with the other. With certain remnants of the class he originally belonged to, he had associated the low habitudes and slang phraseology of his daily associates, making it difficult for one, at first sight, to dis- cover to which order he belonged. In the language of his companions Ulick Barke '''could be a gentleman when he pleased it." How often have we heard this phrase : and with what a fatal mistake is it gene- rally applied. He who can be a gentleman when he pleases, never .pleases to be anything else. Circumstances may, and do, every day in life, throw men of cultivated minds, and refined habits into the society of their inferiors ; but while, with the tact and readiness that is their especial prerogative, they make themselves welcome among those with £ £ 2 420 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Lever. whom they have few, if any sympathies in common, yet never by any accident do they derogate from that high standard that makes them gentlemen. So, on the other hand, the man of vulgar tastes and coarse propensities may simulate, if he be able, the outward habitudes of society, speaking with practised intonation, and bowing with well- studied grace, yet is he no more a gentleman in his thought, or feel- ing, than is the tinselled actor, who struts the boards, the monarch his costume would bespeak him. This being the " gentleman when he likes," is but the mere performance of the character. It has all the smell of the orange-peel and the foot-lights about it, and never can be mistaken hy any one who knows the world. But to come back to Mr. Burke. Having eyed me for a second or two, with a look of mingled distrust and impertinence, he unfolded my note, which he held beneath his fingers, and said, '* I received this from you last night, Mr. " " Hinton," said I, assisting him. " Mr. Hinton," repeated he, slowly. "Wont you be seated ?" said I, pointing to a chair, and taking one myself. He nodded familiarly, and placing himself on the window-sill, with one foot upon a chair, resumed : " It's about O'Grady's business, I suppose, you've come down here j the Captain has treated me very ill." ''You are quite right," said I, coolly, "in guessing the object of myvisitj but I must also let you know, that in any observations you make con- cerning Captain O'Grady, they are made to a friend, who will no more permit his name to be slightingly treated than his own." " Of course," pronounced with a smile of the most insulting coolness, was the only reply. " That, however, is not the matter in hand. Your friend, the Captain, never condescended to answer my letter." " He only received it a few days ago." "Why isn't he here himself? Is a gentleman rider to be treated like a common jockey that's paid for his race ?" I confess the distinction was too subtle for me, but I said nothing in reply. " I don't even know where the horse is, nor if he is here at all — will you call that handsome treatment, Mr. Hinton ?" " One thing I am quite sure of, Mr. Burke — Captain O'Grady is incapable of anything unworthy or unbecoming a gentleman -, the haste of his departure for foreign service may have prevented him ob- serving certain matters of etiquette towards you, but he has commis- sioned me to accept your terms. The horse is, or will be here to-night. Lever.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 421 and I trust nothing will interrupt the good understanding that has hitherto subsisted between you." " And will he take up the writ ?" *' He will," said I, firmly. *' He must have a heavy book on the race." '^Nearly a thousand pounds." ''I'm sorry for it, for his sake," was the cool reply, ''for iie'll lose his money." " Indeed !" said I j *' I understand that you thought well of his horse, and that with your riding " "Ay J but 1 wont ride for him." " You wont ride ! — not on your own terms ?" " No ; not even on my own terms. Don't be putting yourself into a passion, Mr. Hinton — you've come down to a country where that never does any good 3 we settle all our little matters here in a social, pleasant way of our own — but, I repeat it, I wont ride for your friend ; so you may withdraw his horse as soon as you like j except," added he, with a most contemptuous sneer, " you have a fancy for riding him yourself." Resolving that whatever course I should follow, I should at least keep my temper for the present, I assumed as much calmness as I could command, and said, "And what is there against O'Grady's horse?" "A chestnut mare of Tom Molloy's, that can beat him over any country — the rest are withdrawn ; so that I'll have a 'ride over' for my pains." "Then you ride for Mr. Molloy ?" said I. "You've guessed it," replied he, with a wink, as throwing his hat carelessly on one side of his head, he gave me an insolent nod, and lounged out of the room. I need not say that my breakfast appetite was not improved by Mr. Burke's visit ; in fact, never was a man more embarrassed than I was. Independent of the loss of his money, I knew how poor Phil would suffer from the duplicity of the transaction ; and in my sorrow for his sake, I could not help accusing myself of ill management in the matter. Had I been more conciliating, or more blunt — had I bullied, or bid higher, perhaps a different result might have followed. Alas ! in all my calculations, I knew little or nothing of him with whom I had to deal. Puzzled and perplexed, uncertain how to act, now resolving on one course, now deciding on the opposite, I paced my little room for above an hour, the only conviction I could come to being the unhappy choice that poor O' Grady had made when he selected me for his negociator. — Ouj' Mess. Jack Hinton the Guardsman, ch. xxi. 422 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Bancroft. 178.— MASSACRE OF ENGLISH COLONISTS IN AMERICA BY THE INDIANS. [Bancroft, 1800. [George Bancroft, born near Worcester, in Massachusetts, Oct. 3, 1800, was educated at Harvard College, at Gottingen, and Berlin. Having filled various ap- pointments, he was made Secretary to the Navy in 1845, '^'^d was sent on a diplo- matic mission to England in 1846. The first volume of "The History of the Colonization of the United States" appeared in 1834, the second in 1837, and the third in 1840. This was followed by "The History of the American Revolution," the first volume of which was published in 1852. Both works are included in his " History of America," of which various editions have been published in this country.] Between the Indians and the EngHsh there had been quarrels, but no wars. From the first landing of colonists in Virginia, the power of the natives was despised 3 their strongest weapons were such arrows as they could shape without the use of iron, such hatchets as could be made from stone ; and an English mastiff seemed to them a terrible adversary. Nor were their numbers considerable. Within sixty miles of James- town, it is computed, there were no more than five thousand souls, or about fifteen hundred warriors. The whole territory of the clans, which listened to Powhatan as their leader or their conqueror, comprehended about eight thousand square miles, thirty tribes, and twenty-four hun- dred warriors 3 so that the Indian population amounted to about one inhabitant to a square mile. The natives, naked and feeble compared with the Europeans, were nowhere concentrated in considerable villages 3 but dwelt dispersed in hamlets, with from forty to sixty in each company. Few places had more than two hundred 3 and many had less. It was also unusual for any large portion of these tribes to be assembled together. An idle tale of an ambuscade of three or four thousand is perhaps an error for three or four hundred 3 otherwise it is an extravagant fiction, wholly unworthy of belief. Smith once met a party, that seemed to amount to seven hundred 3 and so complete was the superiority conferred by the use of firearms, that with fifteen men he was able to withstand them all. The savages were therefore re- garded with contempt or compassion. No uniform care had been taken to conciliate their goodwill 3 although their condition had been improved by some of the arts of civilized life. The degree of their advancement may be judged by the intelligence of their chieftain. A house having been built for Opechancanough after the English fashion, he took such delight in the lock and key, that he would lock and unlock the door a hundred times a day, and thought the device incomparable. When Wyatt arrived, the natives expressed a fear lest his intentions should be hostile 3 he assured them of his wish to preserve inviolable peace 3 and the emigrants had no use for fire-arms except against a deer or a fowl. Bancroft.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 423 Confidence so far increased, that the old law, which made death the penalty for teaching the Indians to use a musket, was forgotten j and they were now employed as fowlers and huntsmen. The plantations of the English were widely extended in unsaspecting conlidence, along the James River and towards the Potomac, wherever rich grounds invited to the culture of tobacco ; nor were solitary places, remote from neigh- bours, avoided ; since there would there be less competition for the ownership of the soil. Powhatan, the father of Pocahontas, remained, after the marriage of his daughter, the firm friend of the English. He died in 1618 ; andhis younger brother was now the heir to his influence. Should the native occupants of the soil consent to be driven from their ancient patrimony ? Should their feebleness submit patiently to contempt, injur}'-, and the loss of their lands r The desire of self-preservation, the necessity of self-defence, seemed to demand an active resistance ; to preserve their dwelling-places, the English must be exterminated ; in open battle the Indians would be powerless ; conscious of their weakness, they could not hope to accomplish their end except by a preconcerted surprise. The crime was one of savage ferocity ; but it was suggested by their situation. They were timorous and quick of apprehension, and conse- quently treacherous 3 for treachery and falsehood are the vices of cowardice. The attack was prepared with impenetrable secrecy. To the very last hour the Indians preserv^ed the language of friendship ; they borrowed the boats of the Enghsh to attend their own assemblies ; on the very morning of the massacre, they were in the houses and at the tables of those whose death they were plotting. " Sooner," said they, " shall the sky fall, than peace be violated on our part." At length, on the twenty-second of March (1622), at midday, at one and the same in- stant of time, the Indians fell upon an unsuspecting population, which was scattered through distant villages, extending one hundred and forty miles on both sides of the river. The onset was so sudden, that the blow was not discerned till it fell. None were spared ; children and women, as well as men, the missionar}', who had cherished the natives with untiring gentleness, the liberal benefactors, from whom they had received daily benefits, all were murdered with indiscriminate barbarity, and every aggravation of cruelty. The savages fell upon the dead bodies, as if it had been possible to commit on them a fresh murder. In one hour three hundred and forty-seven persons were cut off. Yet the carnage was not universal 5 and Virginia was saved from so disastrous a grave. The night before the execution of the conspiracy, it was revealed by a converted Indian to an Englishman, whom he wished to rescue; Jamestown and the nearest settlements were well |24 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Bell. prepared against an attack j and the savages, as timid as they were ferocious, fled with precipitation from the appearance of wakeful re- sistance. In this manner the most considerable part of the colony was saved. — A History of the United States from the Discovery of the American Continent to the Present Time. Vol. i. ch. v. 179.— CAEN. [R. Bell, 1800 — 1867. [Robert Bell, born at Cork, Jan. 10, t 800, and educated at Dublin, was appointed editor of "The Atlas" in 1828, and with some others projected "The Monthly- Chronicle" in 1839. He is the author of two works in " Lardner's Cyclopaedia," "The History of Russia," and "The Lives of the Poets.." His "Wayside Pictures through France, Belgium, and Holland " appeared in 1849, ^"^ ^^^ novel, "The Ladder of Gold," in 1850. He is the author of several historical and biographical works, and edited an annotated edition of the English poets, the first volume of which appeared in 1854. He died April 12, 1867.] People who travel only in their arm-chairs acquire notions of foreign places which reality usually upsets at the first glance. Caen is a sort of chateau en Espagne in the story books. The reader who has been in the habit of exploring the metrical romances and the rural statistics of French love and murder has probably built an aboriginal town for himself in a sequestered district, filled it with a simple population, wearing towering caps and sabots, and noted it down in his imagination as Caen. But when he comes to see the place, he will be duly dis- appointed in finding that the scene of so many sentimental lays and tragedies of unsophisticated passion (for Caen has a celebrity of this description in the annals of romantic crime), is a large, bustling, well- paved town, of 40,000 inhabitants, with not a scrap of poetry about it except the hills and forests, its old Norman churches and sinuous streets. Caen occupies such an irregular site, that the streets run up and down, and in and out, in a very odd way, and the city partakes of the beauty as well as the inconvenience of that circumstance. The principal streets, wide enough for all purposes, are choked up with people from sunrise to sunset ; and the moment you step out of your hotel, the deafening noises of the retail business that is going on in these thronged passages, as well as in the elaborately furnished shops, soon satisfy you that, instead of being a paradise of picturesque antiqui- ties, Caen is in fact a hive of hard-working industry. In the citadel, up to which you must scramble by a narrow toilsome ascent, pleasantly relieved by clusters of women sitting making lace at their open doors and windows, you ma)- -ead the history of Caen. But as this history is to be found in a hundred and odd books, and as the birth, ad- BeU.] OF MODERN LITERATURE. 425 ventures, and death of William the Conqueror can present no novel at- tractions to an English reader, let us hurry into the streets, and look at the people. We must even pass by St. Etienne, sublime in its lofty sim- plicity^, and the old abbeys, and all the other ecclesiastical memorials, grand and beautiful as they are, to peep into the markets, and fill our eyes with coifs and aprons and tinsel caps, as deftly tricked out as if they were freshly mounted for the stage ; and staggering old houses, and broken ends of streets, that look very much as if they wxre " got up " for the same purpose. The markets throw out some picturesque materials to the eye 3 but the ensemble is distracting. The masses of men, women, and children, congregated about the booths and stands, filling to suifocation ever}- speck of ground, and the odours exhaled from the animal and vegetable composite, arrest you on the edge of the stench. Fortunately it is not in the markets the market business is done, or that we get at the contour and customs of the market people. Caen has a special way of its own in carrying on its daily traffic in vegetables and fish, flesh, and fowl. The affairs of the markets are not transacted in the places so called, but up and down through the streets. These ambulatory markets, during the hours of household preparation, give to the town the aspect of a great tumultuous fair. Sometimes there comes a donkey, pattering slowly along, heavily laden with panniers piled sky-high with all kinds of garden produce, and driven by women, with towering snow-white caps shining and stream- ing in the sun, lemon-coloured shawls, blue petticoats, and salots. Im- mediately after the donkey, comes trailing up a great puce-coloured horse, toiliug between shafts of such inordinate length that, being in advance of the wheels by at least four feet, the draft is thrown to a considerable distance behind him 3 while the shafts continue to run back to an equal extent beyond the wheels. In the centre of this rude contrivance is raised a kind of basket-work, bearing aloft a whole garden of flowers and fruits, or millinery work, or hardware, or the contents of a butcher's shop, or select extracts from the live and dead stock of a farmyard. These carts are usually escorted by men in blue check frocks and dark trousers, furnished with enormously long and powerful whips, and blowing cows' horns with most discordant energy to announce their approach. Within the cart is seated a woman perched up on a bundle, ready to serve the crowd, through which the lumber- ing machine moves at a snail's pace. Then comes a young man (some- times a girl) with a semicircular basket built up flat to his back, and ascending to a considerable height about his head, displaying an attractive variety of articles — geraniums in pots, flowering out tier above tier — crisp broccoU — turnips — beet-root — salad — cabbages 3 nor 426 THE EFERY-DAY BOOK [Walton. is he satisfied with the ponderous weight he balances so dexterously on his back, but he must needs increase his toil by shrill ear-splitting cries, describing his whole cargo in minute detail. He is not singular in this respect ; all the itinerant merchants cry their goods — and their name is legion. It is easy to imagine the prodigious uproar of the scene — the braying of donkeys, dull recipients of blows and sacres ! — the rumbling of the long carts — the cracking of whips, like irregular volleys of small arms — the Babel of cries — the shrieking of cows' horns — and the din of voices bartering, cheapening, clamouring throughout the length and breadth of the procession. But, happily, it lulls a little towards noon. By that time the townspeople have laid in their stores for dinner, and the occupation of the ambulatory vendors is over for the day. A few of them, with a surplus stock on hand, still straggle about, like drops after a shower, hoping to catch some late customer, or to tempt others, already supplied, with a bargain from the refuse. But the riot is comparatively exhausted, and, with the exception of the clatter of sabots, the reverberations of voices down the narrow streets, or an incidental whip or horn dying awgy in the distance, the town is tolerably tranquil for the rest of the day. — Wayside Pictures through France, Belgium, and Holland. Chap, vi.. The Streets of Caen. i8o.— OBSERVATIONS OX THE TENXH. [IZAAK WaLTOK, 1593 1683. [IzAAK Walton, born at Stafford, August 9, 1593, is supposed to have been appren- ticed in London, where he afterwards went into business as a hosier. He married Rachel Flood, a descendant of Archbishop Cranmer, Dec. 27, 1626, She died in Aug., 1640, and in 1647 he married Anne Ken, half-sister to the bishop of that name. His "Life of Donne," prefixed to an edition of his Sermons, appeared in 1640, and as a separate work in 1658. In the meantime the first edition of his great work, "The Complete Angler, or Contemplative Man's Recreation/' was published in 1653. His collection of Sir Henry Wotton's Letters, &c., with Life, appeared in 1651, his "Life of Hooker" in 1665, his "Life of George Herbert" in 1670, and his " Life of Bishop Sanderson" in 1678. The first collected edition of his earlier Lives ap[>eared in 1670. Walton died at Winchester, Dec. 15,1683. His life, by Sir John Hawkins, is prefixed to the edition of the "Complete Angler," published in 1760. A life, by Dr. Zouch, appeared in 1824, and anot er by Sir Harris Nicolas in 1833. Many biographies of Walton have been publishe