Part 9

It is the present fashion to consider the pride of descent as an empty pretension, but it cannot be denied that it is a pretension which has been regarded in every country, in all ages. There are many sound philosophical arguments in favour of a regard to birth, which pretenders to deeper reasoning do not appear to be aware of. It is a counteraction to the undue influence of wealth and mere brutal power. It is impossible to prevent the accumulation of wealth in the basest of the people, at least in a free country! The easiest paths to wealth are the meanest and least virtuous. However, the most current opinion is that _wealth is wealth_, and that he who can spend the most is the most important man; and that it is idle and childish to pay any attention as to how and whence he got it. But true aristocracy knows its own place, and holds firm to it; and various are the effects it has on the mind which cannot be analysed by language. It has a tendency to create a lofty sort of sentiment, rather than a low and selfish gratification, as the guide of the thoughts and the conduct. It would find a thousand ideal comforts in adversity and obscurity, which new families, thrown back into poverty, cannot command.

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[Sidenote: The Pretender.]

James II. of England married the Princess Maria d’Este, the sister of Francis, Duke of Modena, who was as beautiful as she was unfortunate. The Queen having been married some time without having children, when this event did take place, malice, falsehood, envy, and intrigue were active in declaring the heir thus born to be “a supposititious Prince of Wales.” This tissue of forgery and falsehood still farther tended to affect the popularity of the king, and bring his person and throne into disrepute. However, upon the whole mass and evidence of history that is presented, the only conclusion to be drawn was this, and only this, that the Prince of Wales, so far from being “supposititious,” was royally and legally born the lawful successor of his father’s throne and realms.

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“That prattling Cloe fibs,” forsooth, Demure and silent Cynthia cries; But falsely! for can aught but truth Flow from a tongue that _never lies_.

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[Sidenote: Thought.]

Ah! how can a wife, she who bears his name, and shares, or ought to share, his lot, how can she ever be entirely effaced from the recollection of an honest man?

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[Sidenote: Duke of Buckingham.]

George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, the dissolute favourite of Charles II. is thus described by Dryden in his poem of Absalom and Achitophel.

“A man so various, that he seem’d to be, Not one, but all mankind’s epitome: Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, His every thing by starts, and nothing long: But in the course of one revolving moon, Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon. In squandering wealth was his peculiar art, Nothing went unrewarded, but desert: Beggar’d by fools, when still he found too late, He had his jest, and they--had his estate.”

At the time of King Charles’s death, he went into the country, and on the 16th of April, 1688, he died at a servant’s house at Rickby Meerside, from a cold caught by sitting on the ground after fox-hunting.

Pope in his Epistle to Lord Bathurst, thus alludes to his death.

“In the worst inn’s worst room, with mat half hung, The floors of plaister, and the walls of dung; On once a flock bed, but repaired with straw, With tape tied curtains, never meant to draw; The George and Garter dangling from that bed, Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, Great Villiers lies. Alas! how chang’d from him, That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim.”

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[Sidenote: A Portrait.]

Strong intellect, perception quick and clear, Talents more prone to dazzle than to warm, Virtues which serve those talents to endear, Feelings which lend a fascinating charm; A winning countenance and glowing soul, Insinuating manners soft and mild, Genius, submitting to the proud control Of Judgment, Reason’s best and favourite child: Nature design’d this creature to be great, But _Vanity_ behind the matron stole, And ere she closed the volume of his fate, Wrote her own name, and propertied the whole.

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[Sidenote: Churchyards in Denmark.]

It is customary in Denmark to surround each grave with doleful or cheerful shrubs, at the fancy of the survivors: thus alternate thickets of roses and of cypress, of lilacs and of juniper, give the air of a garden to every churchyard.

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_Machiavelli._

Machiavelli naquit à Florence le 9 Mai 1469, d’une noble famille Italienne. Il entra aux affaires en 1494, à 24 ans. En 1498 il était Secrétaire du Conseil des Dix, et pendant 14 ans employé dans les plus graves négociations. Machiavelli a acquis une grande réputation parmi les hommes, surtout comme auteur du _Prince_, ouvrage qu’il écrivit après la chute de la république de Florence. Il mourut en 1527, le 22 Juin, de douleur d’entrailles. Le Grand Duc Leopold a fait placer cette épitaphe très remarquable sur son tombeau: _Tanto nomini, nullum par elogium_. Machiavelli était doué d’une incroyable perspicacité. Il était tout esprit, et tout étude; le plus grand observateur des faits; il a prodigieusement travaillé et pratiqué le mécanisme social, et le caractère humain.

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[Sidenote: Dante.]

This famous Italian poet of the thirteenth century lived at Verona, on a pension from Prince Scaliger,[9] but so moderate, that poor as he was, he could scarcely exist.

[9] From whom Julius Cæsar Scaliger, the great critic, pretended to be descended, and from the princes of Verona of the same name. He had been a Cordelier, but left his monkish habit for the world. To conceal his real origin he sojourned in France.

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Translation of the petition sent by the wife of Almas Ali Cawn, who was lately seized and put to death for political purposes in India.

To the High and Mighty Servant of the most powerful Prince George, King of Great Britain, his most lowly and humble slave comes praying for mercy for the father of her children.

Most mighty Sir,

May the blessing of thy God ever await thee!

May the sun of glory shine round thy head!

May the gates of plenty, honour, and happiness be always open to thee and thine!

May no sorrows distress thy days!

May no grief disturb thy nights!

May the pillow of peace kiss thy cheek!

The pleasures of imagination attend thy dreams!

And when length of time makes thee tired of earthly joys, and the curtain of death gently closes round the last sleep of human existence,

May the angels of thy God attend thy bed, and take care that thy expiring lamp of life shall not receive one wide blast to hasten its extinction.

O! hearken to the voice of distress,

And grant the petition of thy servant:

Spare, oh! spare the father of my children, the partner of my bed, my husband, my all that’s dear.

Consider, oh! consider, he did not become what he is by iniquity, and that what he possesses was the inheritance of a long line of flourishing ancestors,

Who, in those smiling days, when the intruders of Great Britain were not heard of in the fertile plains of Indostan, reaped their harvest in quiet, and enjoyed their patrimony unmolested.

Think, oh! think, that the God whom thou worshippest delighteth not in the blood of the innocent; remember thy own commandment, “_Thou shalt not kill_,” and obey the order of Heaven.

Give me back my Almas Ali Cawn, and take all our wealth.

Strip us of our jewels and precious stones, of our gold and silver, but take not away the life of my husband.

Innocence is sealed on his brow,

And the milk of human kindness flows round his heart.

Let us wander through the deserts, let us become tillers and labourers on the delightful spot of which he was once the master:

But spare, oh! mighty Sir, spare his life!

Let not the instrument of death be lifted against him, for he has committed _no crime_.

Accept those treasures from gratitude, which at present thou takest by force; we will remember thee in our prayer, and forget we were once rich and powerful.

My children, the children of my Almas Ali, send up their petitions for the life of him who gave them life.

They beseech from thee the author of their existence.

By that humanity we are told glows in the breasts of Europeans;

By the tender mercy of enlightened souls of Englishmen;

By the honour, virtue, and maternal affection of thy great Queen,

Whose numerous offspring are so dear to her; the miserable wife of thy prisoner beseeches thee to save her husband’s life, and restore him to her arms.

Thy God will reward thee:

_They_ will thank thee:

And the now petitioning, will pray for thee, if thou grantest the prayer of thy humble vassal

ALMASSA ALI CAWN.

It is painful to reflect that such an appeal was vain. The petition of the wretched Almassa was presented to the great man in power. It was disregarded, and her husband met his fate.

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[Sidenote: Volcanos.]

There is great probability that Mount Vesuvius near Naples, and Mount Etna in Sicily, are the different parts of the same continuation of one chain of mountains, which passes under the sea, and the Isle of Lipari; for every time that one of these mountains breaks forth in flames, the other is seen on fire, and the volcano in the Isle of Lipari burns more fiercely than usual.

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[Sidenote: Saint George.]

Saint George, a soldier saint of great eminence, both in the Eastern and Western churches, known also by the particular name of Tropheophorus, suffered martyrdom at Lyddea in Palestine, under the persecution of Dioclesian, A. D. 302. He is supposed to have been interred at Lyddea, or Diospulia.

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’Tis is a sweet flower, the late, late rose, That decks the sallow autumn; And those, the dearest beams of joy, That burst when least we sought ’em.

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_On Lady Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia._[10]

_By Sir Henry Wootton._

You meaner beauties of the night That weaklie satisfie our eies, More by your number than your lighte, Like common people of the skies, What are yee, when the moone doth rise?

Ye violettes that first appeare, Your pride in purple garments showne, Takeing possession of the yeere As if the spring were all your owne, What are you when the rose is blowne?

Ye glorious trifles of the East, Whose lustres estimations raise, Pearles, rubies, saphires and the rest, Of precious caskets, what’s your praise When the diamond shows his rayes?

Ye warblinge chanters of the wood, That fill the eares with nature’s laies, Thinkinge your passions understood By weaker accents, what’s your praise When Philomell her voice doth raise?

Soe when my princesse shall bee seene, In sweetness of her lookes and mynde, By vertue first, then choice a queene, Tell mee if shee were not design’d The eclipsinge glorie of her kynde?

The rose, the violettes, the whole springe, For sweetness to her breath must runne; The diamond’s darken’d in the ringe; If shee appeare the moon’s undonne, As with the presence of the sunne.

[10] This amiable daughter of Charles I. supported her unhappy situation with great dignity, and showed, amidst the most distressing poverty, an illustrious example of magnanimity. In bequeathing her portrait to her nephew, Sir Henry Wootton thus expresses himself:

“I leave to the most hopeful prince, the picture of the elected and crowned Queen of Bohemia, his aunt, of clear and resplendent virtues through the clouds of her fortune.”

Sir Henry Wootton died Dec. 1639, aged seventy-two. He retained the Provostship of Eton to his death, and was buried in the chapel of the college.

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[Sidenote: Thought.]

As a material of human happiness or misery, temper is infinitely more important, because so much oftener brought into use, than high-mindedness; opportunity for a generous action may occur perhaps once in a year, while temper is actively at work for good or evil during every hour of our existence.

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In 1623 fire fell from heaven, which threw all Germany into consternation.

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[Sidenote: Origin of Coats of Arms.]

Their origin is not prior to the twelfth century, that is to say, the time of the crusades. As noblemen from all the various nations of Europe were collected in the Holy Land, and as they had no names but their baptismal ones, they agreed, in order to distinguish each other, to assume armorial ensigns, which in general expressed the name and title of the bearer, as John de la Tour, by a tower, &c.

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[Sidenote: Lord Bacon.]

The Lord Chancellor of England was the greatest genius of his age, and endued with extraordinary talents and inclination to promote the cause of literature. He died at the age of sixty-six, and so poor, that there remains a letter of his to the king, praying his bounty, “lest he, who had only wished to live to study, might be obliged now to study to live.” He was born to instruct others, and to set them in the right way to be teachers themselves.

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[Sidenote: Bells.]

Bells were first brought into use by St. Paulinus, Bishop of Nola, in the Campania of Rome: hence a bell was called Nola, or Campagna.[11] At first they were called saints: hence toc-saint, or tocsin.

[11] In the Italian language.

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[Sidenote: Arthur’s Round Table.]

Arthur, King of the Britons, who flourished about 516 A. D. whose valour was so great that the accounts of it appear fabulous rather than real, having vanquished the Saxons and effectually driven them out of his kingdom after twelve successive battles (in one of which, fought at Caerbadon in Berkshire, it is asserted he killed no less than 440 of the enemy with his own hand), and also conquered Norway, Sweden, the principal part of France, was crowned at Paris. On his return home in great splendour, a vast concourse of foreign princes and valiant knights flocked from all parts of the world to his court; the king, unwilling to create controversies amongst his noble guests, by seeming to give precedence to one more than another, caused an immense round table to be erected in the great hall at Winchester, where he then held his court, at which it was so managed that no person could take place of another. He selected a fraternity of four and twenty, and elected it into an order of knighthood, dignifying the knights whom he chose companions with the title of “Knights of King Arthur’s round table,” himself to be their chief. These princely meetings were annually held with great pomp at Winchester.

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_By Sir Walter Raleigh, in the unquiett rest of his last sickness._[12]

Eternal Mover, whose diffused glory To shew our groveling reason what thou art, Infoldes itself in cloudes of restless story, Where man (the proudest creature) acts his parte; Whom yett, alas! I know not why, we call The world’s contracted sunn, the little all.

For what are wee, but lumpes of walking clay? What are our vaunts? whence should our spirits rise? Are not brute beasts as strong, and birds as gay; Trees longer liv’d, and creeping thinges as wise? Onlie our Soules recieve more inward light, To feel our weakness, and confess thy might.

Lett these pure noates ascend unto thie throne, Where majestie doth sitt with mercy crown’d; Where my redeemer lives, in whome alone The errors of my wandringe life are drown’d. Where all the quire of heaven resound thi fame, That none but thine, thine is the saving name.

Therefore my Soule, Joye in the midst of paine, That Christ, that conquer’d Hell, shall from above With greater triumphs yett returne againe, And conquer his own justice with his love; Commandinge earth and Seas to render those Unto his bliss, for whome hee pay’d his woes.

Nowe have I doune, now are my joies at peace, And now my joies are stronger than my griefe; I feele those comforts that shall never cease, Future in hopes, but present in reliefe. Thy words are true, thy promises are just, And thou wilt knowe thy marked flock in dust.

[12] Raleigh was born in 1552, and executed 29th October, 1618, to the eternal disgrace of the reign of James I.

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The Emperor Sigismund, of Germany, made a solemn offering of the _holy heart_ of St. George, the tutelary Saint of England, upon the altar of St. George’s chapel at Windsor, during his visit in 1416 to Henry V.

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[Sidenote: Duelling.]

At Malta, duelling is permitted by _law_, but under this curious restriction; the duellists are enjoined on the severest penalties, to desist and put up their swords at the desire of a _priest_, a _woman_, or a _knight_.

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_Delight in disorder._

A sweet disorder in the dresse, Kindles in cloaths a wantonesse, A lawne about the shoulders throwne, Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there, Enthral the crimson stomacher; A cuffe neglectful, and thereby Ribbands to fly confusedly: A winning wave (deserving note) In the tempestuous petticoat: A careless shoe-string, in whose tye, I see a wilde civility, Does more bewitche me, than when art Is too precise in every part.

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_Lord Strafford’s Meditations in the Tower. MSS. (Harl.)_

Go, empty joys, With all your noise, And leave me here alone, In sad sweet silence to bemoan The fickle worldly height, Whose danger none can see aright Whilst your false splendors dim the sight.

Go, and ensnare, With your trim ware, Some other worldly wight, And cheat him with your flattering sight! Rain on his head a shower Of honour, greatness, wealth, and power, Then snatch it from him in an hour.

Fill his big mind With gallant wind Of insolent applause; Let him not fear the curbing laws, Nor king, nor people’s frown; But dream on something like a crown, Then, climbing upwards, tumble down!

Let him appear In his bright sphere Like Cynthia in her pride, With star-like troops on every side; For number and clear light, Such as may soon o’erwhelm him quite, And blind them both in one dead night!

Welcome, sad night, Grief’s sole delight! Thy mourning best agrees With honor’s funeral obsequies. In Thetis’ lap he lies, Mantled with soft securities, When too much sun light dims his eyes.

Was he too bold Who needs would hold With curbing reins to sway, And make Sol’s fiery steeds obey? Therefore as rash was I, Who with ambitious wings did fly In _Charles’s Waine_ too hastily!

I fall! I fall! Whom shall I call? Alas! shall I be heard, Who now am neither lov’d nor fear’d? You, who have vow’d the ground To kiss, where my blest steps were found, Come, catch me at my last rebound!

Now each admires Heaven’s twinkling fires, Whilst from their glorious seat, Their influence gives light and heat. But oh! how few there are, (Though danger from the act be far,) Will run to catch a falling star!

O! wer’t our fate To imitate Those lights, whose pallidness Argues no inward quietness! Their course is one way bent, Which is the course, there’s no dissent In Heaven’s High Court of Parliament.

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[Sidenote: Time.]

Every year steals away something from us. In one we lose a relation, in the next a friend; health grows more precarious, and pleasure less alluring, till by degrees the whole little mass of happiness we had been gathering drops from us insensibly, and that grave, which we had once looked on with so much horror, becomes at last our refuge and shelter.

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[Sidenote: Selfish to lament.]

When fate relentless makes the good man die, Why flows the bitter tear, why heaves the sigh? Short is his passage to the realms of rest, O! then, how selfish ’tis to mourn the blest! Lamented _father_! how few can truly feel The ardent charity, the friendly zeal That strove in thee, through life, with active power: And more--that hope, which cheer’d thy parting hour. To know thee thus, we dry the falling tear, And ill-timed sorrow were unseemly here: The mortal yields to God his parting breath; The Christian’s soul’s great triumph is in death.

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Pour ceux qui pensent, il n’y a point de langue étrangère.

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_From the Spanish of George de Montemayor._

Here on the cold clear Egla’s breezy side My hand amid her ringlets wont to rove, She proffered now the lock, and now denied, With all the baby playfulness of love. Here the false maid with many an artful tear, Made me each rising thought of doubt discover; And vowed, and wept, till hope had ceased to fear, Ah me! beguiling like a child her lover. One evening, on the river’s pleasant strand, The maid, too well beloved, sat with me, And with her finger traced upon the sand Death for Diana--not inconstancy. And Love beheld us from his secret stand, And marked his triumph, laughing to behold me; To see me trust a writing traced in sand; To see me credit what a woman told me.

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[Sidenote: Phrenology.]

Those ingenious gentlemen, the metaphysicians, who have enlightened the world by explaining away the fundamental doctrines of religion, and the principles of human actions and convictions, among other startling discoveries, have introduced a theory on good and evil actions, exceedingly applicable, comfortable, and welcome to all mankind; as it does away with conscience and duty, and makes virtue and vice affairs of physical temperament or organization--in other words, that a man’s merit or demerit is not, as they hold, to be estimated by his deeds, but by the amount of inclination with which he commits them. Men, according to those philosophers, are born with particular inclinations, which lead them insensibly and directly to particular vices or virtues, or, with some peculiar organizations, to all the vices or all the virtues. By this reasoning it appears that it is as difficult for one man to commit a certain crime, as for another to forbear; and, as a natural consequence, that since a man is not accountable for his inclination, the guilt incurred by committing it, is of very unequal account; and that if a man be not praiseworthy for abstaining from a crime towards which he has no inclination, neither is a man blameable for committing it, if he is strongly inclined to it. Nature, not man, ought to be blamed or commended; and the being able to lay the sin of vice or crime to the account of organization, will materially facilitate the completion of it.

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Stoves, in Germany, produce on one the effect of living in company with a person blind.

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[Sidenote: Christina, Queen of Sweden.]

In the year 1657, these walls (Fontainebleau) were polluted by a crime which had no parallel in the records of modern times. The murder of Monaldeschi, and all its particulars, as related so naïvely by Le Père Lobel, are too well known to make it necessary to detail them: but the letter that the haughty Christina wrote to the minister Mazarin, when the king’s displeasure was signified by him to her, is less frequently quoted. It is a masterpiece of effrontery and insolence; yet, a fortnight after receiving it, both the king and cardinal paid a solemn visit of reconciliation to the royal murderess.

_Letter of Christina, Queen of Sweden to Cardinal Mazarin._

“Monsieur Mazarin,