Part 13
He who thinks no man _above_ him but for his virtue, none below him but for his vice, can never be obsequious or assuming in a wrong place; but will frequently emulate men in rank below him, and pity those who are above him.
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[Sidenote: Anti-Moine, or Antimony.]
The origin of the use of Anti-moine, or _Antimony_, is a remarkable circumstance. Basil Valentin, Superior of a College of Religionists, having observed that this mineral fattened the pigs, imagined that it would produce the same effect on the holy brotherhood. But the case was seriously different; the unfortunate fathers, who greedily made use of it, died in a short time, and this is the origin of its name, according to the pure French word. In spite of this unfortunate beginning, _Paracelsus_ resolved to bring this mineral into practice; and by mixing it with other preparations make it useful. The Faculty at Paris were on this occasion divided into two parties, the one maintained that _Antimony_ was a _poison_; the other affirmed that it was an excellent _remedy_. The dispute became more general, and the Parliament and the College of the Sorbonne interfered in the matter; but some time afterwards people began to judge rightly concerning this excellent mineral; and its wonderful and salutary effects have occasioned the Faculty to place it among their best medicines.
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[Sidenote: Extract from Dr. Johnson’s Correspondence.]
I have three letters this day all about the balloon; I could have been content with one. Do not write about the balloon, whatever else you may think proper to say.
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In the reign of Charles VII. of France, John, Earl of Buchan, was made Constable of France, in acknowledgment of the bravery displayed by him at the battle of Beaugé, in Anjou, when the Duke of Clarence, of England, was killed by his hand.
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This is the state of man: A passing shadow Throws down the baseless fabric of his joy: And when the tablet of his fleeting state Is character’d with all felicity, Comes Malice, with a sponge moisten’d in gall, And wipes the beauteous images away.
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[Sidenote: Parfilage.]
In the reign of Louis XV. this curious employment had become paramount over all other female avocations of fancy work. It consisted in separating the bullion from the silk of gold lace, fringe, frogs, hat loops, or sword knots, for the purpose of selling it to the Jews at half the price of new; and it was quite ordinary to hear ladies begging and bespeaking the spoiled finery of their male acquaintance, to furnish material for their dexterous industry. These contributions were termed galons. The shopkeepers, taking advantage of the folly, invented a number of ingenious and expensive toys, composed of _galons_. Sheep, dogs, squirrels, cradles, carriages in miniature, &c. were offered, admired, and then pulled to pieces for “_parfilage_.”[18] It afforded good opportunity for innumerable gallantries. A gentleman went to a masked ball in a costume purposely composed of cloth of gold and bullion, worth two hundred pounds, which he sent next day to a lady.
[18] Or drawing the gold or silver thread from tissue.
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Power is right, knavery common sense, Honour a sound, and principle pretence: Virtue’s abandoned, honesty’s disgraced, Plain sense is scorned; what rivals all is--_Taste!_
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_Les Riens._
Quand on aime, _rien_ n’est frivole. Un _rien_ sert ou nuit au bonheur; Un _rien_ afflige, un _rien_ console; Il n’est point de _rien_ pour le cœur. Un _rien_ peut aigrir la souffrance; Un _rien_ l’adoucit de moitié; Tout n’est _rien_ pour l’indifférence; Un _rien_ est tout pour l’amitié.
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[Sidenote: A Cottage in Scotland.]
“_God bless you; and may the field of battle never leave your heart sair!_” It is scarcely possible to imagine a more natural and appropriate address _from_ a soldier’s wife _to_ a soldier’s wife. This, was the spontaneous effusion of grateful feeling, excited by some little service which I had been the means of rendering to a soldier of my husband’s regiment, for which his wife came to thank me. It is one of the many instances which I have met of that species of _Ossianic_ expression (if I may be allowed the term) which distinguishes the lower orders of the Scotch and Irish. I remember an occurrence in the life of an unfortunate friend of mine, which not only proves how capable this class of people are of deep and refined sentiment, but also of a strength and pathos of language which loses nothing from the simplicity of its guise. The lady to whom I allude, had, under circumstances of very peculiar misfortune, in which reason, nearly shaken from its seat, had deprived her of all sense save that of misery, been admitted to the shelter of a cottage by the road side, in the neighbourhood of D----, whose honest inhabitants hastened to afford her the only comforts their power admitted; their own bed, the warmth of their peat fire, and a share of their humble meal. They sought with kind solicitude, unmixed with obtrusive curiosity, to learn the causes which led to the sorrow they witnessed, but finding every effort vain, they checked their inquiries. “Puir thing! her heart’s crushed, and her spirit broken,” said the gudewife, whilst she placed the poor wanderer’s head upon her homely pillow, and then seated herself with her old man by their turf fire and unclosed the Bible, which with the Poems of Robert Burns constituted their library.
The activity of friendship soon traced the fugitive, but no arguments could induce those benevolent beings to accept remuneration in any form: nearly twelve months elapsed, when, journeying south, their former inmate sought the spot to which the “memory of the heart” furnished the clue. The gudewife, with looks of surprise, surveyed the handsome equipage from whence the inquiry for herself and husband was addressed, nor could she recognise, even in the still faded form before her, the distracted tenant of her lonely hut: on being joined by the old man, mutual explanations took place, and by dint of many arguments, the little offerings that had been brought for them were accepted by these good Samaritans, as “_kip sakes from the leddy, and nae for payment of what it was sae natural to do for a puir suffering fellow creter_.”
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[Sidenote: Linnæus.]
Charles Linnæus was born at Smolande in 1707, and died at Upsal in 1778. The most celebrated botanist of the eighteenth century. His eminent talents introduced him to the notice of his sovereign, Gustavus III. who relieved him from poverty and embarrassment, and protected him till his death. Linnæus presided over the gardens of the University of Upsal for forty years, where a magnificent monument is erected to his memory.
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[Sidenote: Hortensia, or Hydranger.]
The _Hortensia_, so called by _Commerson_ in compliment to Hortense le Pante, is one of the handsomest, as well as most lasting plant. Passing by different shades from white to green, till it becomes the fine bright lilac which takes its name; to this again succeeds the white and green tints. This beautiful plant is originally from China and Japan. Its Botanical name is _Hortensia mutabilis_, from the variety of its colours.
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I know not if my mother’s eyes Would find me changed in slighter things; I’ve wandered beneath many skies, And tasted of some bitter springs; And many leaves, once fair and gay, From youth’s full flower have dropp’d away. But as these looser leaves depart, The lessen’d flower gets near the core, And when deserted quite, the heart Takes closer what was dear of yore; And yearns to those who loved it first, The sunshine and the dew by which its head was nurst.
Dear mother! dost thou love me yet? Am I remember’d in my home? When those I love for joy are met, Does some one wish that I would come? Thou dost--I _am_ beloved of these! But, as the schoolboy numbers o’er Night after night the Pleiades, And finds the stars he found before; As turns the maiden oft her token; As counts the miser aye his gold; So, till life’s silver cord is broken, Would I of thy fond love be told: My heart is full, mine eyes are wet; Dear mother! dost thou love thy long-lost wanderer yet?
Oh! when the hour to meet again Creeps on, and speeding o’er the sea, My heart takes up its lengthen’d chain, And link by link, draws nearer thee-- When land is hail’d, and, from the shore, Comes off the blessed breath of home, With fragrance from my mother’s door Of flowers forgotten, when I come--
When port is gain’d, and slowly now, The old familiar paths are past, And entering, unconscious how, _I gaze upon thy face at last_, And run to thee, all faint and weak, And feel thy tears upon my cheek--
Oh! if my heart break not with joy, The light of heaven will fairer seem; And I shall grow once more a boy; And, mother, ’twill be like a dream That we were parted thus for years; And, once that we have dried our tears, How will the days seem long and bright, To meet thee always with the morn, And hear thy blessing every night, Thy “dearest,” thy “first born!” And he no more, as now, in a strange land forlorn.
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Among many vestiges of the ancient Saxon dialect and idiom, we reckon a small space of time by the night, as did the Saxons. Sen’night, or seven nights hence; fortnight, or fourteen nights hence, are both of Saxon origin, and both are used in modern calculation of time.
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[Sidenote: The Torpedo.]
The Torpedo is found in the British Seas, particularly at Torbay, near Waterford, on the coast of Ireland. This extraordinary fish likes to bury itself lightly in the sand, in which situation the Torpedo gives its most forcible shock, and throws down the astonished passenger who inadvertently treads upon it. On touching the fish with the fingers, it sometimes happens that the person feels an unusual painful numbness, which suddenly seizes the arm up to the elbow, and sometimes to the very shoulder and head. The pain is almost indescribable, and bears some resemblance to the sensation felt in the arm on striking the elbow violently against a hard body. It is even affirmed that it will benumb the astonished fisherman through the whole length of the line and rod.
The Torpedo is so far amphibious as to live in air twenty-four hours, and but little longer in water.
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Silence is not very culpable, when nothing pleasing is suppressed.
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[Sidenote: Wait and Hope.]
Il ne faut que savoir attendre, dans cette vie: sous la neige il y a de la verdure, et derrière le plus épais nuage le ciel est bleu.
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[Sidenote: Mother and Child.]
The tie which links mother and child is of such pure and immaculate strength, as to be never violated, except by those whose feelings are withered by the refining of vitiated society. Holy, simple, and beautiful in its construction, is the emblem of all we can imagine of fidelity and truth, is the blessed tie whose value we feel in the cradle, and whose loss we lament on the verge of the very grave, where our mother moulders in dust and ashes. In all our trials, amid all our afflictions, she is our friend: let the world forsake us, she is still by our side; if we sin, she reproves more in sorrow than in anger, nor can she tear us from her bosom, nor forget we are her child.
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[Sidenote: Louis XVIII.]
“There is no etiquette requisite when we talk to our friends:” such was the kind encouragement given to me by the benevolent Louis XVIII. of France, when I expressed my apprehension that the deep interest of the subject on which he permitted me to address him, might so engross my feelings as to render me, (in appearance,) unmindful of the respectful deference due to his exalted station; and with truth did the monarch honour me by designating himself as a friend. At his death I had not to regret only the loss of a sovereign whose condescending kindness admitted the petitioner to his presence, but also those lengthened conversations in which were displayed the brilliant emanations of his highly cultivated mind, and the fruits of deep classical research: or did I only lament the deprivation of his royal bounties. I wept for the loss of the beneficent being, whose heart had expanded in sympathy to the sorrows of a widowed mother, whose gracious recollections honoured a father’s grave, and to whom in the hour of trial I never appealed in vain. Would that my words could do justice to the devoted veneration my heart bears him! Wit and eloquence were his to a supreme degree. None ever possessed to a greater extent the talent of saying that which was appropriate, kind, or conciliating. In his language he reminded me of the fairy tale, which describes pearls, diamonds, and precious stones as falling from the lips of the speaker.
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[Sidenote: Education.]
’Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, Our most important are our earliest years; The mind, impressible and soft, with ease Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, And through life’s labyrinth holds fast the clue That _Education_ gives her, false or true.
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[Sidenote: Dr. Johnson on the loss of his Mother.]
In alluding to the death of his mother, Dr. Johnson observes that, notwithstanding the warnings of philosophers, and the daily experience of losses and misfortunes which life forces upon our observation, such is the business of the present day, such the resignation of our reason to empty hopes of future felicity, or such our unwillingness to foresee what we dread, that every calamity comes suddenly upon us, and not only presses as a burthen, but crushes as a blow.
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[Sidenote: Recollections in the Cathedral at Malines or “Mechlin” in Belgium.]
On this anniversary of the day on which my loved little one closed his short earthly career, called by the will of our Creator to early beatitude, I saw in the cathedral at Malines a beautiful sculptured monument; the subject, I conclude, adopted by some afflicted mother from the passage in Holy Writ which I, in my own sorrow, had engraven on my child’s tomb:
“Suffer little children to come to me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
On the monument I have referred to, an angel presents to Jesus Christ a little boy, of age and size resembling dear C----; his hands are clasped, and raised as in entreaty; and the sculptor has given to the features of our Saviour all the gentle benignity of his character, while he extends his hands to the infant claimant of heaven, and seems to say, “Come to my bosom, there to be cradled till I replace you in your mother’s arms.”
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_A Madame Warner née Shipley, 1817._
Pour vous exprimer dignement Le doux et tendre sentiment Que votre mérite inspire, Que ne puis-je emprunter au plus brillant auteur, Ces vers légers, ces rimes fugitives, Que le bon goût inscrit dans ses archives, Et que chacun veut apprendre par cœur. Pour égaler son talent enchanteur, S’il ne fallait que le désir de plaire Et le choix heureux du sujet, Mes vers seraient dignes de leur objet, Vous croiriez entendre Voltaire.
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[Sidenote: To change the colour of a Rose.]
Place a fresh gathered rose in water as far as the stem will allow, then powder it over with fine rappee snuff, being careful not to load it too much--in about three hours, on shaking off the snuff, it will have become a green rose.
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[Sidenote: Wholesome Truth.]
It is wonderful how soon and how completely a finely organized mind adapts itself to inevitable circumstances of reverse, which would lead a blunted intellect to despair: the rough blasts of suffering are requisite to clear away the romantic haze through which the world is viewed; nothing renders us so independent in mind, as to have been ruined in fortune. We then learn the feeble hold we have on the mere sympathies of feeling of our kind, and that much which has appeared to spring from such causes, in fact has only been the result of mutual interests.
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[Sidenote: Sir Sidney Smith.]
I cannot admit the belief, that the _Laurel_ is a protection against thunder, for my gallant friend Sir Sidney Smith once related to me, that his life had been endangered during a thunder storm.
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_Written at the age of Eighty by Maucroix._
A. D. 1629.
Chaque jour est un bien que du Ciel je reçois: Je jouis aujourdhui de celui qu’il me donne; Il n’appartient pas plus aux jeunes gens qu’à moi; Et celui de demain, n’appartient à personne.
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[Sidenote: The Prisoner of St. Helena.]
It is well known that to one of our most honoured countrymen, and most distinguished naval commanders was for a short period given the arduous and difficult charge of the prisoner of St. Helena, and that he was designated by Napoleon as “l’homme à la marche droite.” Too often in other instances chafed and irritated by the method of his imprisonment, the ex-emperor did full justice to the gentlemanlike bearing of the officer, who, though equally strict in the faithful discharge of a painful duty, never forgot the courtesy and consideration due to misfortune.
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It has been often observed that nothing brings a little child to our recollection in a more affecting manner than the sight of its little shoes. Victor Hugo eloquently represents this fact, in his Notre Dame de Paris.
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Brantome dit que du tems de François premier, une jeune personne ayant un amant babillard, lui imposa silence absolu et illimité, qu’il garda si fidelement deux ans entiers qu’on le crut devenu muet par maladie. Un jour en pleine assemblée sa maitresse se vanta de le guérir sur le champ, et le fit avec ce seul mot: Parlez!
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[Sidenote: Hopelessness.]
I was once _hopeful_, but hope has gone out at last. It is perhaps better that it should be so: the first step towards bearing our fate becomingly, is to know it fully; and my mind must be made up to endure what it cannot prevent: after many a cruel struggle, _mind_ may so far gain the mastery that no outward sign of the wounded heart, no token of the bruised spirit, shall be visible. Many learn at last to conceal the pangs they cannot stifle.
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The Coffee Tree was originally introduced from Arabia, brought from the Isle of France, to the Botanical Garden in Paris, a plant was sent from thence to Martinique; and in proof of the great estimation in which the acquisition was held, Mr. Desdieux, who had taken the charge of it, gave up his allowance of water to be employed for the plants, when the passengers in the ship were reduced to a ration, on account of a lengthened voyage.
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[Sidenote: A Portrait.]
Even now, at three score years, that which forms the basis, or constitutes the soul of all true beauty was but little abated in her countenance; dignified graciousness of aspect, added to a gentle and lovely deportment.
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[Sidenote: A Key to the Thoughts.]
En marchant les gens qui pensent au passé regardent la terre, les gens qui pensent à l’avenir regardent au ciel, les gens qui pensent au présent regardent devant eux, les gens qui regardent du coté et d’autre ne pensent à rien.
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Cato, as his aphorisms inform us, never repented but of two things, and the one was that he went a journey by sea when he might have gone by land.
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In the reign of Henry VIII. coals were only allowed for the King, Queen, and Lady Mary’s chambers.
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Le travail du corps délivre des peines de l’esprit, et c’est ce qui rend les pauvres heureux.
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[Sidenote: Old China.]
Lady Wortley Montague says, she cannot forgive the disrespect of old china, which is below nobody’s taste.
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[Sidenote: The indulgence of Providence.]
Dieu est un grand reviseur de procès: nous ne voyons que les faits, mais Dieu voit les causes.
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_Les Assassins._
Entre Antioche et la ville de Tripoli, à l’orient de Tortose, il y a une plaine, dont l’étendue est de six milles de largeur, et de douze milles de longueur. Elle est terminée par des groupes de petites montagnes. Ces montagnes étaient habitées autrefois par un peuple qui se donnait le nom d’Arsacides, prétendant être descendus du fameux Arsace, fondateur de l’empire des Parthes, àpres la mort d’Alexandre. Ce peuple sorti, vers le septième siècle, des confins de Perse, vers Babylone vint former un petit état dans un coin de la Phénicie.--Ils s’y batirent des forteresses sur des rochers inaccessibles, d’où ils se rendaient redoutables à tous leurs voisins. Leurs brigandages et leurs assassinats leur firent donner le nom de _Buveurs de Sang_, qu’on changea bientôt en celui d’_Assassin_, à cause de leur arme favorite, le poignard, qu’on appelle en Persan _Hassisan_. Les Assassins élisaient eux-mêmes leur chef; il se nommait _le Vieux de la Montagne_, nom fameux dans les histoires de ce temps-là. Il portait ce nom, soit parceque le choix qu’on en faisait tombait toujours sur un des plus anciens de la nation, soit parcequ’il habitait un chateau nommé _Almeet_, ou _Alameet_, situé sur une haute montagne inattaquable. Nos vieux historiens ont mal entendu l’Arabe: _Scheik_ signifie le plus _vieux_, _senior_; mais il signifie aussi _Seigneur_. Il n’est pas vrai que les Assassins choissient pour Prince le plus ancien de la nation, il fallait donc traduire le _Seigneur_ de la _Montagne_. Son empire sur ses sujets était si absolu, que fallait il commettre les actions les plus noires, ils étaient toujours prêts à les exécuter au premier signal qu’on leur faisait, et au péril de leur propre vie. On les accuse de l’assassinat de Louis de Bavière, en 1231, et d’avoir osé attenter à la vie de Saint Louis. Il parait étonnant qu’une si monstreuse tribu ait pu se maintenir pendant près de quatre cents ans: ce ne fut qu’en 1257 que les Tartares, sous leur roi Allan, ou Haloan, pour délivrer leur pays de si dangereux voisins entreprirent de massacrer leur chef et de les détruire; ce qu’ils exécutèrent.
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_Pausilippo_
Is the name of a mountain in the kingdom of Naples, which is pierced through the middle, and forms a passage for travellers. This chasm, according to the popular notion, was effected by the magic of Virgil’s Muse.
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_Gesner._
Conrad Gesner died at Zurich in 1565, aged forty-nine. This great man, who had passed all his life in labouring for the benefit of literature at large, was seized with the plague, and finding his disorder incurable, was by his desire conveyed to his study, where he shortly expired. Thus, dying on the spot in which during his life he had composed his immortal works.
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[Sidenote: Futurity.]
As to what becomes of the soul after death, we may be very sure that not the apparent interval of an instant takes place between our loss of consciousness here, and our waking in the wide world of eternity. Even supposing that a hundred million of years were to elapse between the moment of our death, and the moment at which we are to rise to judgment, those long years would not seem to us more than the space of a minute. Time is an invention of our own, or at the utmost, is but marked by the consciousness of passing events; as soon as that consciousness is at an end to any one, time is annihilated also: whether judgment follows instantly upon death, or thousands of years intervene, we shall perceive no difference, and to us it will be immediate.
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What art thou, Death? that we should fear The shadow of a shade; What’s in thy name that meets the ear Of which to be afraid?
Thou art not care, thou art not pain, But thou art rest and peace; ’Tis thou can make our terrors vain, And bid our torments cease.
Thy hand can draw the rankling thorn From out the wounded breast; Thy curtain screens the wretch forlorn, Thy pallet gives him rest.