Part 150
Sir,--I am a person unable to reckon upon the certain receipt of sixpence per annum, and yet I enjoy all the pleasures this sublunary world can afford. My assertion may startle, but its truth will be apparent when I declare myself a visionary, or, what is called by the world, “a castle builder.” Many would denounce my profession as useless and unprofitable; but the object constantly desired and incessantly pursued by mankind is happiness, which they find as evanescent and delusive as the silver of the moon upon the waters. Most men attach to certain states of existence every pleasure that the earth can bestow. Some enter these by laborious and careful steps, but find them, upon examination, devoid of the charms which their enthusiastic imaginations had painted. Others, more ardent and less calculating, rapidly ascend towards the object of their wishes, and when their hands are stretched forth to grasp it they lose their high footing by an incautious step, and fall into an abyss of despondence and are lost for ever. How different a fate is mine! I have been the conqueror of nations, without feeling a pang at the recollection of the blood spilled in raising me to my exalted situation. I have been the idol and defender of my country, without suffering the anxieties of a statesman. I have obtained the affections of an amiable girl, without enduring the solicitudes of a protracted courtship. In fact, I possess every earthly pleasure, without any of the pains of endeavouring to obtain them. True it is, that the visions I create are easily dispelled, but this is a source of gratification rather than regret. When glutted with conquest, I sink into love; and on these failing to charm me, I enter upon scenes more congenial to the desires with which I feel myself inspired. Every wish that I conceive is instantly gratified, and in a moment I possess that which many devote their whole lives to obtain. Surely the existence I lead is an enviable one; yet many calling themselves my friends (and I believe them to be such) would wish me to think otherwise. Sometimes, to gratify their desires, I have endeavoured to break the fairy spells that bind me; but when I dissipate the mist in which I am almost constantly surrounded, the scenes of misery that present themselves to my view have such an effect upon my senses, that on returning to my peculiar regions they appear doubly delightful, from being contrasted by those of the real world.
I have obtruded this epistle on your notice, in vindication of a practice which has been deprecated by many; solely, as I believe, from their powers of imagination being unable to lead them into the abodes where I so happily dwell. Should you think it unworthy a place in your miscellany, its rejection will not occasion me a moment’s mortification, as I already possess a reputation for literary acquirements, far surpassing any which has been given to the most celebrated writers that have flourished since the creation of your miserable world.
_November 6, 1827._
T. T. B.
* * * * *
OLD MACARONIC POEM.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--I am a literary lounger, and diurnally amuse myself, during about four hours, in poring over old poetical MSS. in the British Museum: the result of yesterday’s idle labours was the accompanying transcript from a macaronic drinking song, which appears to me a very curious amalgamation of jollity and devotion. If you coincide in this opinion, perhaps you will honour its unknown author by inserting it in your delightful miscellany, which, like the diving bell, restores to the world many interesting relics of antiquity, and rescues them from eternal oblivion.
I am, sir, your obedient servant
and constant reader,
LE FLANEUR.
_Reading Room,_
_Brit. Mus. Nov. 22, 1827._
FROM THE COTTON MS. VESPASIAN A.XXV.
1.
There is no tre that growe On earthe, that I do knowe, More worthie praise I trowe, Than is the vyne, Whos grapes, as ye may rede, Their licoure forthe dothe shede, Wherof is made indede All our good wyne. And wyne, ye maye trust me, Cause the men for to be Merie, for so ye see His nature is; Then put asyde all wrathe, For David showde us hathe, Vinum letificat Cor hominis.
2.
Wyne taken with excesse, As Scripture dothe expresse, Cause the great hevines Unto the mynde: But theie that take pleasure To drinke it with measure, No doute a great treasure They shall it finde. Then voide you all sadnes, Drinke your wyne with gladnes, To take thought is madnes, And marke well this; And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
3.
How bringe ye that to pas Cordis Jucunditas, Is now and ever was The lyfe of man. Sithe that mirthe hathe no peare, Then let us make good cheare, And be you merie heare, While that ye can; And drinke well of this wyne, While it is good and fyne, And showe some outwarde syne Of joye and blisse; Expell from you all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
4.
This thinge full well ye ken, Hevines dulleth men, But take this medicien then, Where’er ye come: Refreshe yourself therewith. For it was said long sithe, That vinum acuit Ingenium. Then give not a chery For sider nor perrye, Wyne maketh man merie. Ye knowe well this; And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
5.
In hope to have release From all our hevines, And mirthe for to encrease Sum dele the more, Pulsemus organa. Simul cum cithara, Vinum et musica Vegetabit cor. But sorowe, care, and strife Shortnethe the days of life, Bothe of man and of wyfe It will not mis; Then put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
6.
A merie herte in cage Makethe a lustie age, As telleth us the sage, Ever for the noynes; Because we should delight In mirthe, bothe daye and night, He saith an hevie fright Driethe up the bones. Wherfor, let us alwaye Rejoice in God, I saye, Our mirthe cannot decaye If we do this, And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
7.
Nowe ye that be presente, Laud God Omnipotent, That hathe us given and sent Our dalie foode, When thorowe sinne we’re slaine, He sent his son againe, Us to redeeme from paine By his sweete bloode, And he is the trewe vyne, From whome distill’d the wyne, That boughte your soules and myne, You knowe well this: Then put asyde all wrathe, For David showde us hathe Vinum letificat Cor hominis.
* * * * *
ANTY BRIGNAL AND THE BEGGING QUAKER.
_For the Table Book._
A few years ago a stout old man, with long grey hair, and dressed in the habit of the Society of Friends, was seen begging in the streets of Durham. The inhabitants, attracted by the novelty of a “_begging_ Quaker,” thronged about him, and several questioned him as to his residence, &c. Amongst them was “Anty Brignal,” the police-officer, who told him to go about his business, or he would put him in the kitty[509] “for an _imposteror_.” “Who ever heard,” said Anthony, “of a begging Quaker?” “But,” said the mendicant, while tears flowed adown his face, “thou knowest, friend, there be bad Quakers as well as good ones; and, I confess to thee, I have been a bad one. My name is John Taylor; I was in the hosiery business at N----, and through drunkenness have become a bankrupt. The society have turned me out, my friends have deserted me. I have no one in the world to help me but my daughter, who lives in Edinburgh, and I am now on my way thither. Thou seest, friend, why I beg; it is to get a little money to help me on my way: be merciful, as thou hopest for mercy.” “Come, come,” said the officer, “it won’t do, you know; there’s not a word of truth in it; ’tis all false. Did not I see you drunk at Nevill’s Cross (a public-house of that name) the other night?” “No, friend,” said the man of unsteady habits, “thou didst not see _me_ drunk there, but I was there, and saw _thee_ drunk; and thou knowest when a man is drunk he thinks every body else so!” This was a poser for the police-officer. The crowd laughed, and “Anty Brignal” slunk away from their derision, while money fell plentifully into the extended hat of the disowned quaker.
T. Q. M.
[509] So is the house of correction called in Durham.
* * * * *
_For the Table Book._
THE ORPHANS.
WRITTEN ON SEEING A SMALL LITHOGRAPHIC PRINT OF TWO FEMALE ORPHAN CHILDREN.
1.
Like two fair flowers that grow in some lone spot, Bent by the breeze that wafts their fragrance round-- Pale, mild, and lovely; but by all forgot,-- They droop neglected on the dewy ground.
2.
Thus left alone, without a friend or guide To cheer them, through life’s drear and rugged way Stand these two pensive mourners side by side, To sorrow keen, and early grief, a prey.
3.
Low in the grave, o’er which the cypress spreads Its gloomy shade, in death their parents sleep; Unconscious now they rest their weary heads, Nor hear their children sigh, nor see them weep.
4.
And see, a tear-drop gems the younger’s eye, While struggling from its coral cell to start; Oh, how that pearl of sensibility In silence pleads to every feeling heart.
5.
Not Niobe, when doom’d by cruel fate To weep for ever in a crystal shower, Could claim more pity for her hapless state, Than does, for you, that drop of magic power.
6.
Breathes there on earth, of human form possest, One who would in those bosoms plant a thorn, And banish thence the halcyon’s tranquil nest, While they its loss in secret anguish mourn?
7.
Perish the wretch! who with deceitful wile Forsaken innocence would lead astray, And round her like a treach’rous serpent coil, And having stung, relentless haste away.
8.
May you the orphan’s friend find ever near To guard you safe, and strew your path with flowers. May hope’s bright sun your gloomy morning cheer, And shine in splendour on your evening hours.
R. B.
_Sept. 1827._
* * * * *
_For the Table Book._
JACK THE VIPER.
This is an odd name for a man, who does not bear the appearance of a viper, or “a snake in the grass.” He is a rough sort of fellow, has been at Waterloo, but did not obtain a medal. He, nevertheless, carries the hue of a triumphant soldier, wears an honest sunburnt face, and might be trusted with his majesty’s great seal, or that of another description in the British Museum. He is a lover of ringing bells and swine; but without regular employment. A singular piece of human construction, lone, and erratic in his love of nature. A shepherd lies down at ease by the sides of his flocks and fountains, listens to the plaints of injured birds, the voice of water and the music of skies, and dreams away his existence, years of youth, manhood, and old age. Jack is more tranquil even than the shepherd. He creeps silently in woods and forests, and on retired hot banks, in search of serpentine amusement--he is a viper catcher. Strange that creatures, generally feared and shunned by mankind, should win Jack’s attention and sympathy, Yet, true it is, that Jack regards them as the living beauties of solitude, the lovely but startling inhabitants of luxuriant spots in the sultry summer. Were we to look round us, in the haunts of men, we could, perhaps, discover beings as fearful and awakening. Jack has travelled, seen the world, and profited by his travels; for he has learned to be contented. He is not entirely idle, nor wholly industrious. If he can get a crust sufficient for the day, he leaves the evil if it should visit him. The first time I saw him was in the high noon of a scorching day, at an inn in Laytonstone. He came in while a sudden storm descended, and a rainbow of exquisite majesty vaulted the earth. Sitting down at a table, he beckoned the hostess for his beer, and conversed freely with his acquaintance. By his arch replies I found that I was in company with an original--a man that might stretch forth his arm in the wilderness without fear, and, like Paul, grasp an adder without harm. He playfully entwined his fingers with their coils and curled crests, and played with their forked tongues. He had unbuttoned his waistcoat, and as dexterously as a fish-woman handles her eels, let out several snakes and adders, warmed by his breast, and spread them on the table. He took off his hat, and others of different sizes and lengths twisted before me; some of them, when he unbosomed his shirt, returned to the genial temperature of his skin; some curled round the legs of the table, and others rose in a defensive attitude. He irritated and humoured them, to express either pleasure or pain at his will. Some were purchased by individuals, and Jack pocketed his gain, observing, “a frog, or mouse, occasionally, is enough for a snake’s satisfaction.”
The “Naturalist’s Cabinet” says, that “in the presence of the grand duke of Tuscany, while the philosophers were making elaborate dissertations on the danger of the poison of vipers, taken inwardly, a viper catcher, who happened to be present, requested that a quantity of it might be put into a vessel; and then, with the utmost confidence, and to the astonishment of the whole company, he drank it off. Every one expected the man instantly to drop down dead; but they soon perceived their mistake, and found that, taken inwardly, the poison was as harmless as water.”
William Oliver, a viper catcher at Bath, was the first who discovered that, by the application of olive oil, the bite of the viper is effectually cured. On the 1st of June, 1735, he suffered himself to be bitten by an old black viper; and after enduring all the agonising symptoms of approaching death, by using olive oil, he perfectly recovered.
Viper’s flesh was formerly esteemed for its medicinal virtues, and its salt was thought to exceed every other animal product, in giving vigour to a languid constitution.
_August, 1827._
----
* * * * *
A SKETCH IN SPA FIELDS.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--Allow me to draw your attention to a veteran, who in the Egyptian expedition lost his sight by the ophthalmy, and now asks alms of the passenger in the little avenue leading from Sadler’s Wells to Spa Fields, along the eastern side of the New River Head.
His figure, sir, would serve for a model of Belisarius, and even his manner of soliciting would be no disgrace to the Roman general. I am not expert at drawing portraits, yet will endeavour by two or three lines to give a slight conception of this. His present height is full six feet, but in his youth it must have been nearly two inches more; as the weight of about sixty-five years has occasioned a slight curvature of the spine. His limbs are large and muscular, his shoulders broad, his chest capacious, the lines of his countenance indicate intelligence; his motion is not graceful, for he appears to step without confidence, occasioned no doubt by his blindness.
Now, sir, give his head no other covering than a few very short grey hairs, and button him up close in the remains of a dragoon dress, and you have his likeness as exact as an unskilful artist can give it.
O.
N.B.--An old woman must lead him.
* * * * *
~Extracts~
FROM MY NOTE BOOK.
_For the Table Book._
Moore, in his life of Sheridan, says, that “he (Sheridan) had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry; particularly to that sort which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted:” and quotes some dozen lines, entitled “My Trunk,” and addressed “To Anne,” wherein a lady is made to bewail the loss of her trunk, and rhymes her lamentation. The editor, in a note, says, “Some verses by general Fitzpatrick on lord Holland’s father, are the best specimen I know of this scherzo.” The general’s lines I have never seen, and it is probable they are only in MS.; but _le Seigneur des Accords_, in his Bizarrures, (ed. 1585, Paris, Richer, feuillet 27,) quotes sixty lines, rhyming on a very indecent word from “un certain hure contre les femmes,” composed by Drusac, “un Tolosain rimailleur imitant Marot;” and who is there stated to have composed 300 or 400 verses on the same subject, and to the same rhyme. And at feuillet 162 of the same work and edition, the Seigneur adduces two other remarkable instances of “difficult trifling in poetry.” Speaking of one of which, he says, “Vn Allemant nommé Petrus Porcius Porta, autrement Petrus Placentius, a fait un petit poëme laborieux le possible auquel il descrit PUGNAM PORCORUM en 350 _vers_ ou environ, qui commencent tous par P, dont j’ai rapporté ces XVI suivas pour exemple, et pour contenter ceux qui ne l’ont pas veu.” The quotation referred to commences with
“Præcelsis Proauis Pulchrè Prognate Patrone,”
and concludes with
“Pingui Porcorū Pingendo Poemate Pugnam.”
The other instances adduced by the Seigneur of this laborious folly, is related also of a German, by name Christianus Pierius; who, says the author, “depuis peu de temps a fait un opuscule d’environ _mille ou douze cēs vers_, intitulé Christus Crucifixus, tous les mots duquel commencent par C.” Four lines are quoted; they are as follows:--
Currite Castalides Christi Comitante Camœnæ Concelabrature Cūctorum Carmine Certum Confugium Collapsorum Concurrite Cantus Concinnaturæ Celebres Celebresque Cothurnos.
I myself recollect seeing and copying at Notting Hill some lines written (I think) on the battle of Waterloo, (the copy of which I have however lost;) which, although short, were sufficiently curious. They were in an album belonging to the sister of a schoolfellow, (W. O. S.,) and, as far as I have ever seen, were unique in their species of the paronœmic genus. The first line began with “A,” and each subsequent one with a successive letter of the alphabet, and each word alliterated to the initial letter of the line where it was placed. The poem went through the whole of the alphabet, not even excepting X or Z, and must have required a world of Patience and Perseverance to Perfect.
* * * * *
Marot, christened Clement, the French poet, who is said, in a quotation from le Seigneur des Accords in the foregoing note, to have been imitated by Drusac, lived in the reign of Francis I., and was a Protestant. There is a portrait of him at page 161 of “Les Vrais Portraits des Hommes Illustres” of Théodore de Bèze, Geneva, 1581, whereto a short sketch of his life is attached; which says, that “par une admirable félicité d’esprit, _sans aucune cognoissance des langues_ ni des sciences, il surpassa tous les poëtes qui l’auoient dévancé.” He was twice banished on account of his religion; and when in exile translated one-third of the Psalms into French verse. “Mais au reste,” says Théodore, “ayant passé presque toute sa vie à la suite de cour, (où la piété et l’honēsteté n’ōt guères d’audiance,) il ne se soucia pas beaucoup de réformer sa vie peu Chrétienne, ains se gouuernoit à sa manière accoutumée mesmes en sa vieillesse, et mourut en l’âge de 60 ans à Turin, où il s’estoit retiré sous la faueur du Lieutenant du Roi.” He was a Quercinois, having been born at Cahors, in Quercy.
The following lines were written after his death by Jodelle, who was famed for these “vers rapportez.”
Quercy, la Cour, le Piedmont, l’Univers Me fit, me tint, m’enterra, me cogneut, Quercy mon los, la cour tout mon temps eut. Piedmont mes os, et l’univers mes vers.
* * * * *
GUILDHALL.--Misson, in his “Mémoires et Observations faites par un Voyageur en Angleterre,” published anonymously at the Hague in 1698, under this head, accounts thus philologically for the name:--“Il est à croire que la grande salle étoit autrefois dorée, puisque le mot _de Guild_ ou _Gild-hall_, signifie SALLE DOREE.” To do him justice, however, after quoting so ridiculous a passage, I must annex his note, as follows:--“D’autres disent que _Guild_ est un ancien mot qui signifie _incorporé_: _Guildhall_; la salle des incorporez ou associez.”--p. 236.
* * * * *
Juliet was no doubt a delectable little creature, but, like most of the genus, she was but a flimsy metaphysician. “What’s in a name?” that depends now-a-days on the length or age of it. The question should be put to a Buckinghamshire meeting man, if one would desire to know the qualities of all the component parts of an Abraham or Absalom. In some parts of the country, people seem to think they have bilked the devil, and booked sure places in heaven for their children, if, at their christening, they get but a scripture name tacked to the urchins. “In proof whereof,” Esther, Aaron, and Shadrack Puddyfat, with master Moses Myrmidon, formed a blackberrying party that I fell in with a summer back near Botley, on the road between Chesham and Hemel Hempstead. At a farm-house in Bucks it is no uncommon sight for the twelve apostles to be seen tucking in greens and bacon, or for the tribes of Israel to be found drunk together in a pot-house. Some poor drunken-brained bigots would not accept even the free services of a ploughman, whose name was not known before the flood.
NOTE.--The names above seem so very ludicrous, that I have no doubt there will be many sceptics to the belief of their reality if this passage be printed; but I declare positively, on the word, honour, and faith of a man and a gentleman, that they are as true, real, and existent, as Thomas Tomkins, or any other the most usual and common place.
J. J. K.
* * * * *
WHIMSIES.
AN ESSAY ON THE UNDERSTANDING.
“Harry, I cannot think,” says Dick, “What makes my _ancles_ grow so thick:” “You do not recollect,” says Harry, “How great _a calf_ they have to carry.”
* * * * *
“OLD WESTMINSTER QUIBBLES.”
_Toes._
A fellow did desire To warm at a fire His toes, before he went home; But the man said “No, If you put fire and _toe_ Together, you will burn the room.”
_B. C._
One did ask, why B Was put before C, And did much desire to know-- Why a man must _be_, Before he can _see_, And I think I have hit on it now.
_The Red Nose._
A Man did surmise, That another man’s eyes Were both of a different frame; For if they had been _matches_, Then, alas! poor wretches, His nose would a set ’em in a flame.
* * * * *
“NEW WESTMINSTER QUIBBLES.”
_The Soldier._
“There is one soldier less,” Exclaimed sister Bess, As a funeral passed by the door; Then said Mr. Brown, “I’ll bet you a crown, I’ll prove it is one soldier _mort_.”
_Scilicet._
Why every silly cit Has pretensions to wit, You may learn if you listen to my ditty: The word _scilicet_ In law means _to wit_, So citizens, by law, must be _witty_.
Vol. II.--52.