Part 117
Plato terms colours “the effect of light transmitted from bodies, the small particles of which were adapted to the organ of sight.” This seems precisely what sir Isaac Newton teaches in his “Optics,” viz. that “the different sensations of each particular colour are excited in us by the difference of size in those small particles of light which form the several rays; those small particles occasioning different images of colour, as the vibration is more or less lively, with which they strike our sense.” But the _ancient_ philosopher went further. He entered into a detail of the composition of colours; and inquired into “the visible effects that must arise from a mixture of the different rays of which light itself is composed.” He advances, however, that “it is not in the power of man exactly to determine what the proportion of this mixture should be in certain colours.” This sufficiently shows, that he had an idea of this theory, though he judged it almost impossible to unfold it. He says, that “should any one arrive at the knowledge of this proportion, he ought not to hazard the discovery of it, since it would be impossible to demonstrate it by clear and convincing proofs:” and yet he thought “certain rules might be laid down respecting this subject, if in following and imitating nature we could arrive at the art of forming a diversity of colours, by the combined intermixture of others.”
It is to be remarked, that Plato adds what may be regarded as constituting the noblest tribute that can be offered in praise of sir Isaac Newton; “Yea, should ever any one,” exclaims that fine genius of antiquity, “attempt by curious research to account for this admirable mechanism, he will, in doing so, but manifest how entirely ignorant he is of the difference between divine and human power. It is true, that God can intermingle those things one with another, and then sever them at his pleasure, because he is, at the same time, all-knowing and all-powerful; but there is no man now exists, nor ever will perhaps, who shall ever be able to accomplish things so very difficult.”
What an eulogium is this from the pen of Plato! How glorious is he who has successfully accomplished what appeared impracticable to the prince of ancient philosophers! Yet what elevation of genius, what piercing penetration into the most intimate secrets of nature, displays itself in these passages concerning the nature and theory of colours, at a time when Greek philosophy was in its infancy!
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LIGHT--Aristotle and Descartes.
Although the system of Descartes, respecting the propagation of light in an instant, has been discarded since Cassini discovered that its motion is progressive; yet it may not be amiss to show from whence he obtained the idea. His opinion was, that light is the mere action of a subtile matter upon the organs of sight. This subtile matter he supposes to fill all that space which lies between the sun and us; and that the particle of it, which is next to the sun, receiving thence an impulse, instantaneously communicates it to all the rest, between the sun and the organ of sight. To evidence this, Descartes introduces the comparison of a stick; which, by reason of the continuity of its parts, cannot in any degree be moved lengthways at one end, without instantaneously being put into the same degree of motion at the other end. Whoever will be at the pains to read, attentively, what Aristotle hath written concerning light, will perceive that he defines it to be the action of a subtile, pure, and homogeneous matter. Philoponus, explaining the manner in which this action was performed, makes use of the instance of a long string, which being pulled at one end, will instantaneously be moved at the other: he resembles the sun, to the man who quills the string; the subtile matter, to the string itself; and the instantaneous action of the one, to the movement of the other. Simplicius, in his commentary upon this passage of Aristotle, expressly employs the motion of a stick, to intimate how light, acted upon by the sun, may instantaneously impress the organs of sight. This comparison of a stick seems to have been made use of first, by Chrysippus--lastly, by Descartes.
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~Durhamiana.~
_For the Table Book._
WILLEY WALKER AND JOHN BOLTON.
Willey Walker, a well-known Durham character, who has discovered a new solar system different from all others, is a beadsman of the cathedral; or, as the impudent boys call a person of his rank, from the dress he wears, “a blue mouse.” It is Willey’s business to toll the curfew: but to our story. In Durham there are two clocks, which, if I may so express myself, are both _official_ ones; viz. the cathedral clock, and the gaol or county clock. The admirers of each are about equal: some of the inhabitants regulating their movements by one, and some by the other. Three or four years ago it happened, during the middle of the winter, that the two clocks varied considerably; there was _only_ three quarters of an hour’s difference between them. The citizens cared very little about this _slight_ discrepancy, but it was not at all relished by the guard of the London and Edinburgh mail, who spoke on the subject to the late John Bolton, the regulator of the county clock. John immediately posted off to the cathedral, where he met Willey Walker, and the following dialogue is said to have passed between them.
_Bolton._ Willey, why doa’nt ye keep t’ abba clock reet--there’s a bit difference between it and mine?
_Willey._ Why doa’nt ye keep yours so--it never gans reet?
_Bolton._ Mine’s set by the sun, Willey! (Bolton was an astronomer.)
_Willey._ By the sun! Whew! whew! whew! Why, are ye turned fule? Nebody would think ye out else! and ye pretend to be an astronomer, and set clocks by ’t’ sun in this _windy_ weather!--ther’s ne depending on it: the winds, man, blaw sa, they whisk the sun about like a whirligig!
Bolton, petrified by the outpouring of Willey’s astronomical knowledge, made no answer.
Bolton was a very eccentric character, and a great natural genius: from a very obscure origin he rose to considerable provincial celebrity. Such was his contempt of London artists, that he described himself on his sign as being “from Chester-le-Street, not London.” He was an indefatigable collector of curiosities; and had a valuable museum, which most strangers visited. His advertisements were curious compositions, often in doggerel verse. He was a good astronomer and a believer in astrology. He is interred in Elvet church-yard: a plain stone marks the place, with the following elegant inscription from the classic pen of veterinary doctor Marshall. I give it as pointed.
Ingenious artist! few thy skill surpast In works of art. Yet death has beat at last. Tho’ conquer’d. Yet thy deeds will ever shine, Time cant destroy a genius large as thine!
Bolton built some excellent organs and turret clocks. For one of the latter, which he made for North Shields, he used to say, he was not paid: and the following notice in his shop, in large characters, informed his customers of the fact--“North Shields clock never paid for!”
R. I. P. _Preb. Butt._
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A SENSUALIST AND HIS CONSCIENCE.
The following lines, written in the year 1609, are said, in the “Notes of a Bookworm,” to have induced Butler to pursue their manner in his “Hudibras.”
DIALOGUE.
_Glutton._ My belly I do deify. _Echo._ Fie! _Gl._ Who curbs his appetite’s a fool. _Echo._ Ah! fool! _Gl._ I do not like this abstinence. _Echo._ Hence! _Gl._ My joy’s a feast, my wish is wine. _Echo._ Swine. _Gl._ We epicures are happy truly. _Echo._ You lie. _Gl._ May I not, Echo, eat my fill? _Echo._ Ill. _Gl._ Will it hurt me if I drink too much? _Echo._ Much. _Gl._ Thou mock’st me, nymph, I’ll not believe it. _Echo._ Believe it. _Gl._ Do’st thou condemn, then, what I do? _Echo._ I do. _Gl._ Is it that which brings infirmities? _Echo._ It is. _Gl._ Then, sweetest Temperance, I’ll love thee. _Echo._ I love thee. _Gl._ If all be true which thou dost tell. To gluttony I bid farewell. _Echo._ Farewell!
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PLAYWRIGHT-ING.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--The following short matter-of-fact narrative, if inserted in your widely circulated miscellany, may in some degree tend to lessen the number of dramatic aspirants, and afford a little amusement to your readers.
I was, at the age of sixteen, apprenticed to a surgeon, and had served but two years of my apprenticeship, when I began to conceive that I had talents for something superior to the profession I had embraced. I imagined that literature was my forte; and accordingly I tried my skill in the composition of a tale, wherein I was so far successful, as to obtain its insertion in a “periodical” of the day. This was succeeded by others; some of which were rejected, and some inserted. In a short time, however, I perceived that I had gained but little fame, and certainly no profit. I therefore determined to attempt dramatic writing, by which I imagined that I should acquire both fame and fortune. Accordingly, after much trouble, I concocted a plot, and in three months completed a farce! I submitted it to my friends, all of whom declared it to be “an excellent thing;” and that if merit met with its due reward, my piece would certainly be brought out. Flattered and encouraged by their good opinion, I offered it, with confidence of success, to the proprietors of Drury-lane theatre. In the space of a week, however, my piece was returned, with a polite note, informing me, that it was “not in any way calculated for representation at _that_ theatre.” I concluded that it could not have been read; and having consoled myself with that idea, I transmitted it to the rival theatre. One morning, after the lapse of a few days, my hopes were clouded by a neat parcel, which I found to contain my manuscript, with the same polite but cutting refusal, added to which was an assurance, “that it had been read most attentively.” I inwardly execrated the Covent Garden “reader” for a fool, and determined to persevere. At the suggestion of my friends I made numerous alterations, and submitted my farce to the manager of the Haymarket theatre, relying upon his liberality; but, after the usual delay of a week, it was again returned. At the Lyceum it also met with a similar fate. I was much hurt by these rejections, yet determined to persevere. The minor theatres remained for me, and I applied to the manager of one of these establishments, who, in the course of time, assured me, that my piece should certainly be produced. I was delighted at the brilliant prospects which _seemed_ to open to me, and I _fancied_ that I was fast approaching the summit of my ambition. Three tedious months ensued before I was summoned to attend the rehearsal; but I was then much pleased at the pains the actors appeared to have taken in acquiring their parts. The wished-for night arrived. I never dreamed of failure; and I invited a few of my select friends to witness its first representation--it was the last: for, notwithstanding the exertions of the performers, and the applause of my worthy friends, so unanimous was the hostility of the audience, that my piece was damned!--damned, too, at a _minor_ theatre! I attributed its failure entirely to the depraved taste of the audience. I was disgusted; and resolved, from that time, never more to waste my talents in endeavouring to amuse an unappreciating and ungrateful public. I have been firm to that resolution. I relinquished the making up of plays for the more profitable occupation of making up prescriptions, and am now living in comfort upon the produce of my profession.
AUCTOR.
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EPIGRAM.
A few years ago a sign of one of the Durham inns was removed, and sent to Chester-le-Street, by way of a frolic. It was generally supposed that the feat was achieved by some of the legal students then in that city; and a respectable attorney there was so fully persuaded of it, that he immediately began to make inquiries corroborative of his suspicions. The circumstances drew forth the following epigram from our friend T. Q. M., which has never appeared in print.
From one of our inns was a sign taken down. And sent by some wags to a neighbouring town. To a limb of the law the freak caus’d much vexation, And he went through the streets making wild lamentation; And breathing revenge on the frolicsome sparks, Who, he had not a doubt, were the “gentlemen clerks.”[363] From the _prophets_ methinks we may inference draw To prove how _perverse_ was this man of the _law_. For we find it inscrib’d in the pages divine-- “A _perverse_ generation looks after _a sign_!”
[363] A favourite expression of the legal gentleman alluded to.
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THE ROMANS.
The whole early part of the Roman history is very problematical. It is hardly possible to suppose the Romans could have made so conspicuous a figure in Italy, and not be noticed by Herodotus, who finished his history in Magna Græcia. Neither is Rome mentioned by Aristotle, though he particularly describes the government of Carthage. Livy, a writer by no means void of national prejudice, expressly says, they had never heard of Alexander; and here we surely may say in the words of the poet,
“Not to know him, argues themselves unknown.”
Pliny, it is true, quotes a passage of Theophrastus, to show that a certain Greek writer, named Clitarchus, mentions an embassy from the Romans to Alexander; but this can never be set against the authority of Livy, especially as Quintilian gives no very favourable opinion of the veracity of the Greek historian in these words,--“Clitarchi, probatur ingenium, fides infamatur.”[364]
[364] H. J. Pye.
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A LITERARY BLUNDER.
When the Utopia of sir Thomas More was first published, it occasioned a pleasant mistake. This political romance represents a perfect, but visionary republic, in an island supposed to have been newly discovered in America. As this was the age of discovery, (says Granger,) the learned Budæus, and others, took it for a genuine history; and considered it as highly expedient, that missionaries should be sent thither, in order to convert so wise a nation to Christianity.
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TREASURE DIGGING.
A patent passed the great seal in the fifteenth year of James I., which is to be found in Rymer, “to allow to Mary Middlemore, one of the maydes of honor to our deerest consort queen Anne, (of Denmark,) and her deputies, power and authority, to enter into the abbies of Saint Albans, Glassenbury, Saint Edmundsbury, and Ramsay, and into all lands, houses, and places, within a mile, belonging to said abbies;” there to dig, and search after treasure, supposed to be hidden in such places.
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PERSONAL CHARMS DISCLAIMED.
BY A LADY.
If any human being was free from personal vanity it must have been the second duchess d’Orleans, Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria. In one of her letters, (dated 9th August, 1718,) she says, “I must certainly be monstrously ugly. I never had a good feature. My eyes are small, my nose short and thick, my lips broad and thin. These are not materials to form a beautiful face. Then I have flabby, lank cheeks, and long features, which suit ill with my low stature. My waist and my legs are equally clumsy. Undoubtedly I must appear to be an odious little wretch; and had I not a tolerably good character, no creature could enduer me. I am sure a person must be a conjuror to judge by my eyes that I have a grain of wit.”
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FORCIBLE ABDUCTION.
The following singular circumstance is related by Dr. Whitaker in his History of Craven:--
Gilbert Plumpton, in the 21 of Henry II., committed something like an Irish marriage with the heiress of Richard Warelwas, and thereby incurred the displeasure of Ranulph de Glanville, great justiciary, who meant to have married her to a dependant of his own. Plumpton was in consequence indicted and convicted of a rape at Worcester; but at the very moment when the rope was fixed, and the executioner was drawing the culprit up to the gallows, Baldwin, bishop of Worcester, running to the place, forbade the officer of justice, in the name of the Almighty, to proceed: and thus saved the criminal’s life.
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POLITENESS.
A polite behaviour can never be long maintained without a real wish to please; and such a wish is a proof of good-nature. No ill-natured man can be long well-bred. No good-natured man, however unpolished in his manners, can ever be essentially ill-bred. From an absurd prejudice with regard to good-nature, some people affect to substitute good temper for it; but no qualities can be more distinct: many good-tempered people, as well as many fools, are very ill-natured; and many men of first-rate genius--with which perhaps entire good temper is incompatible--are perfectly good-natured.
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A FRENCH TRIBUTE TO ENGLISH INTEGRITY.
The Viscount de Chateaubriand gratefully memorializes his respect for the virtue of a distressed family in London by the following touching narrative prefixed to his Indian tale, entitled “The Natchez:”--
When I quitted England in 1800 to return to France, under a fictitious name, I durst not encumber myself with too much baggage. I left, therefore, most of my manuscripts in London. Among these manuscripts was that of _The Natchez_, no other part of which I brought to Paris but _René_, _Atala_, and some passages descriptive of America.
Fourteen years elapsed before the communication with Great Britain was renewed. At the first moment of the Restoration I scarcely thought of my papers; and if I had, how was I to find them again? They had been left locked up in a trunk with an Englishwoman, in whose house I had lodged in London. I had forgotten the name of this woman; the name of the street and the number of the house had likewise escaped my memory.
In consequence of some vague and even contradictory information which I transmitted to London, Messrs. de Thuisy took the trouble to make inquiries, which they prosecuted with a zeal and perseverance rarely equalled. With infinite pains they at length discovered the house where I resided at the west end of the town; but my landlady had been dead several years, and no one knew what had become of her children. Pursuing, however, the clue which they had obtained, Messrs. de Thuisy, after many fruitless excursions, at last found out her family in a village several miles from London.
Had they kept all this time the trunk of an emigrant, a trunk full of old papers, which could scarcely be deciphered? Might they not have consigned to the flames such a useless heap of French manuscripts? On the other hand, if my name, bursting from its obscurity, had attracted, in the London journals, the notice of the children of my former landlady, might they not have been disposed to make what profit they could of those papers, which would then acquire a certain value?
Nothing of the kind had happened. The manuscripts had been preserved, the trunk had not even been opened. A religious fidelity had been shown by an unfortunate family towards a child of misfortune. I had committed with simplicity the result of the labours of part of my life to the honesty of a foreign trustee, and my treasure was restored to me with the same simplicity. I know not that I ever met with any thing in my life which touched me more than the honesty and integrity of this poor English family.
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DEVONSHIRE WRESTLING.
_For the Table Book._
Abraham Cann, the Devonshire champion, and his brother wrestlers of that county, are objected to for their play with the foot, called “showing a toe” in Devonshire; or, to speak plainly, “kicking.” Perhaps neither the objectors, nor Abraham and his fellow-countrymen, are aware, that the Devonshire custom was also the custom of the Greeks, in the same sport, three thousand years ago. The English reader may derive proof of this from Pope’s translation of Homer’s account of the wrestling match at the funeral of Patroclus, between Ulysses and Ajax, for prizes offered by Achilles:--
Scarce did the chief the vigorous strife propose, When tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose. Amid the ring each nervous rival stands, Embracing rigid, with implicit hands: Close lock’d above, their heads and arms are mixt; Below, their planted feet, at distance fixt. Now to the grasp each manly body bends; The humid sweat from every pore descends; Their bones resound with blows; sides, shoulders, thighs Swell to each gripe, and bloody tumours rise. Nor could Ulysses, for his art renown’d, O’erturn the strength of Ajax on the ground; Nor could the strength of Ajax overthrow The watchful caution of his artful foe.
While the long strife e’en tir’d the lookers on, Thus to Ulysses spoke great Telamon: Or let me lift thee, chief, or lift thou me; Prove we our force, and Jove the rest decree: He said, and straining, heav’d him off the ground With matchless strength; that time Ulysses found The strength t’evade, and, _where the nerves combine,_ _His ancle struck_: the giant fell supine; Ulysses following, on his bosom lies; Shouts of applause run rattling through the skies. Ajax to lift, Ulysses next essays; He barely stirr’d him but he could not raise: _His knee lock’d fast_, the foe’s attempt deny’d, And grappling close, they tumble side by side.
Here we find not only “the lock,” but that Ulysses, who is described as renowned for his art, attains to the power of throwing his antagonist by the device of Abraham Cann’s favourite kick near the ancle.
I. V.
Vol. II.--41.
Yet thus could, in a savage-styled land, A few--reviled, scorn’d, hated of the whole-- Stretch forth for Peace the unceremonious hand, And stamp Truth, even on a sealed scroll. They call’d not God, or men, in proof to stand: They pray’d no vengeance on the perjured soul: But Heaven look’d down, and, moved with wonder, saw A compact fram’d, where Time might bring no flaw.
This stanza is in a delightful little volume, entitled “The Desolation of Eyam; the Emigrant, a tale of the American Woods; and other poems: By William and Mary Howitt, authors of the Forest Minstrel, &c.” The feeling and beauty of one of the poems, “Penn and the Indians,” suggested the present engraving, after a celebrated print from a picture by the late Benjamin West. The following particulars are chiefly related by Mr. Clarkson, respecting the scene it represents.