Part 33

Mrs. Aurelia Sparr not only knows all the modern languages, but enough of the ancient to set up a parson, and every dialect of every county she has ever been in. If you ask her the name of any thing, she will give you a polyglot answer; you may have the satisfaction to know how the citizens of every town and the peasants of every province express themselves, on a matter you may never have occasion to name again. But I earnestly recommend you never to ask anything; it is better to go without hearing one thing you do want to hear, than to be constrained to hear fifty things that are no more to you than I to Hecuba--not half so much as Hecuba is to me. Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is not easy to deal with; she looks upon all politeness as affectation, and all affectation as perfidy: she palsies all the courtesies of life by a glum air of disbelief and dissatisfaction. When one sees nobody else, one forgets that such qualities as urbanity, grace, and benignity exist, and is really obliged to say civil things to one’s self, to keep one’s hand in. Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is more eminent as a chronicler than as a logician; some of her conclusions and deductions are not self-evident. For instance--she interprets a reasonable conformity to the dress and manners of persons of other countries, while sojourning among them, into “hating one’s own country.” Command of temper is “an odious, cold disposition.” Address, and dexterity in female works, what good ladies in England term notability, are deemed by her “frivolous vanity,” &c. &c. &c. She has learnt chemistry, and she distils vexation and bitterness from every person and every event--geometry, and she can never measure her deportment to circumstances--algebra, merely to multiply the crosses of all whose fate makes them parallel with her--navigation, and she does but tack from one absurdity to another, without making any way--mathematics, and she never calculates how much more agreeable a little good-nature would make her than all her learning--history, and that of her own heart is a blank--perspective, without ever learning to place self at the “vanishing point”--and all languages, without ever uttering in any one of them a single phrase that could make the eyes of the hearer glisten, or call a glow on the cheek of sympathy. Every body allows that Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is very clever--poor, arid praise, what is it worth?

N.

* * * * *

~Wine.~

EWART’S OLD PORT.

TO J. C----Y, ESQ.

ON RECEIVING FROM HIM A PRESENT OF A WINE-STRAINER.--1825.

This life, dear C----y,--who can doubt?-- Resembles much friend Ewart’s[83] wine; When first the ruby drops flow out, How beautiful, how clear they shine!

And thus awhile they keep their tint, So free from ev’n a shade,--that some Would smile, did you but dare to hint, That darker drops would ever come.

But soon, alas, the tide runs short;-- Each minute makes the sad truth plainer; Till Life, like Ewart’s crusty Port, When near its close, requires a _strainer_.

This, Friendship, can, alone, supply,-- Alone can teach the drops to pass, If not with all their rosiest dye, At least, unclouded, through the glass.

Nor, C----y, could a boon be mine, Of which this heart were fonder, vainer, Than thus, if Life be like old wine, To have thy friendship for its strainer!

E.

For many years the goodness of Mr. Ewart’s old Port has been duly appreciated by his private friends. The preceding verses, in _The Times_ of Monday, (March 5, 1827,) have disclosed “the secret,” and now, probably, he will “blush to find it fame.” The knowledge of his “ruby drops” should be communicated to all who find it necessary to “use a little wine for their stomach’s sake, and their often infirmities.” Can the information be conveyed in more agreeable lines?

[83] A vender of capital old Port in Swallow-street.

* * * * *

~Beauty.~

A NATURAL COMPLIMENT.

As the late beautiful duchess of Devonshire was one day stepping out of her carriage, a dustman, who was accidentally standing by, and was about to regale himself with his accustomed whiff of tobacco, caught a glance of her countenance, and instantly exclaimed, “Love and bless you, my lady, let me light my pipe in your eyes!” It is said that the duchess was so delighted with this compliment, that she frequently afterwards checked the strain of adulation, which was constantly offered to her charms, by saying, “Oh! after the dustman’s compliment, all others are insipid.”

* * * * *

PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ.

BY SIR WILLIAM JONES.

Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight, And bid these arms thy neck infold; That rosy cheek, that lily hand, Would give thy poet more delight Than all Bocara’s vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcand.

Boy! let yon liquid ruby flow, And bid thy pensive heart be glad, Whate’er the frowning zealots say:-- Tell them their Eden cannot show A stream so clear as Rocnabad, A bower so sweet as Mosellay.

O! when these fair, perfidious maids, Whose eyes our secret haunts infest, Their dear destructive charms display;-- Each glance my tender breast invades, And robs my wounded soul of rest; As Tartars seize their destin’d prey.

In vain with love our bosoms glow, Can all our tears, can all our sighs, New lustre to those charms impart? Can cheeks, where living roses blow, Where nature spreads her richest dyes, Require the borrow’d gloss of art?

Speak not of fate:--ah! change the theme, And talk of odours, talk of wine, Talk of the flowers that round us bloom:-- ’Tis all a cloud, ’tis all a dream: To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.

Beauty has such resistless power, That ev’n the chaste Egyptian dame Sigh’d for the blooming Hebrew boy; For her how fatal was the hour, When to the banks of Nilus came A youth so lovely and so coy!

But ah, sweet maid! my counsel hear,-- (Youth shall attend when those advise Whom long experience renders sage) While music charms the ravish’d ear; While sparkling cups delight our eyes, Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age.

What cruel answer have I heard! And yet, by heaven, I love thee still: Can aught be cruel from thy lip? Yet say, how fell that bitter word From lips which streams of sweetness fill, Which nought but drops of honey sip?

Go boldly forth, my simple lay, Whose accents flow with artless ease, Like orient pearls at random strung: Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say; But O! far sweeter, if they please, The nymph for whom these notes are sung.

* * * * *

“OUR LIVES AND PROPERTIES.”

BY MR. WILLIAM HUTTON, F. A. S. S.

If we survey this little world, vast in our idea, but small compared to immensity, we shall find it crusted over with property, fixed and movable. Upon this crusty world subsist animals of various kinds; one of which, something short of six feet, moves erect, seems the only one without a tail, and takes the lead in the command of this property. Fond of power, and conscious that possessions give it, he is ever attempting, by force, fraud, or laudable means, to arrive at both.

_Fixed_ property bears a value according to its situation; 10,000 acres in a place like London, and its environs, would be an immense fortune, such as no man ever possessed; while 10,000, in some parts of the globe, though well covered with timber, would not be worth a shilling--no king to govern, no subject to submit, no market to exhibit property, no property to exhibit; instead of striving to get possession, he would, if cast on the spot, strive to get away. Thus assemblages of people mark a place with value.

_Movable_ property is of two sorts; that which arises from the earth, with the assistance of man; and the productions of art, which wholly arise from his labour. A small degree of industry supplies the wants of nature, a little more furnishes the comforts of life, and a farther proportion affords the luxuries. A man, by labour first removes his own wants, and then, with the overplus of that labour, purchases the labour of another. Thus, by furnishing a hat for the barber, the hatter procures a wig for himself: the tailor, by making a coat for another, is enabled to buy cloth for his own. It follows, that the larger the number of people, the more likely to cultivate a spirit of industry; the greater that industry, the greater its produce; consequently, the more they supply the calls of others, the more lucrative will be the returns to themselves.

It may be asked, what is the meaning of the word _rich_? Some have termed it, a little more than a man has; others, as much as will content him; others again, the possession of a certain sum, not very _small_. Perhaps all are wrong. A man may be rich, possessed only of one hundred pounds; he may be poor, possessed of one hundred thousand. He alone is rich, whose _income_ is more than he uses.

Industry, though excellent, will perform but half the work; she must be assisted by economy; without this, a ministerial fortune will be defective. These two qualities, separated from each other, like a knife from the handle, are of little use; but, like these, they become valuable when united. Economy without industry will barely appear in a whole coat; industry without economy will appear in rags. The first is detrimental to the community, by preventing the circulation of property; the last is detrimental to itself. It is a singular remark, that even industry is sometimes the way to poverty. Industry, like a new cast guinea, retains its sterling value; but, like that, it will not pass currently till it receives a sovereign stamp: economy is the stamp which gives it currency. I well knew a man who began business with 1500_l._ Industry seemed the end for which he was made, and in which he wore himself out. While he laboured from four in the morning till eight at night, in the making of gimlets, his family consumed twice his produce. Had he spent less time at the anvil, and more in teaching the lessons of frugality, he might have lived in credit. Thus the father was ruined by industry, and his children have, for many years, appeared on the parish books. Some people are more apt to _get_ than to _keep_.

Though a man, by his labour, may treat himself with many things, yet he seldom grows rich. Riches are generally acquired by purchasing the labour of others. He who buys the labour of one hundred people, may acquire ten times as much as by his own.

What then has that capricious damsel, _Fortune_, to do in this chain of argument? Nothing. He who has capacity, attention, and economy, has a fortune within himself. She does not command _him_, he commands _her_.

Having explained the word _riches_, and pointed out the road to them, let us examine their use. They enable a man with great facility to shake off an old friend, once an equal; and forbid access to an inferior, except a toad-eater. Sometimes they add to his name, the pretty appendage of Right Honourable, Bart. or Esq. additions much coveted, which, should he happen to become an author, are an easy passport through the gates of fame. His very features seem to take a turn from his fortune, and a curious eye may easily read in his face, the word _consequence_. They change the tone of his voice from the submissive to the commanding, in which he well knows how to throw in a few graces. His style is convincing. Money is of singular efficacy; it clears his head, refines his sense, points his joke. The weight of his fortune adds weight to his argument. If, my dear reader, you have been a silent spectator at meetings for public business, or public dinners, you may have observed many a smart thing said unheeded, by the man without money; and many a paltry one echoed with applause, from the man with it. The room in silent attention hears one, while the other can scarcely hear himself. They direct a man to various ways of being carried who is too idle to carry himself; nay, they invert the order of things, for we often behold two men, who seem hungry, carry one who is full fed. They add refinement to his palate, prominence to his front, scarlet to his nose. They frequently ward off old age. The ancient rules of moderation being broken, luxury enters in all her pomp, followed by a group of diseases, with a physician in _their_ train, and the rector in _his_. Phials, prayers, tears, and galley-pots, close the sad scene, and the individual has the honour to _rot_ in state, _before_ old age can advance. His place may be readily supplied with a _joyful mourner_.[84]

[84] History of Birmingham.

* * * * *

A MUSICAL CRASH.

The Rev. Mr. B----, when residing at Canterbury, was reckoned a good violoncello player; but he was not more distinguished for his expression on the instrument, than for the peculiar appearance of feature whilst playing it. In the midst of the adagios of Corelli or Avison, the muscles of his face sympathised with his fiddlestick, and kept reciprocal movement. His sight, being dim, obliged him often to snuff the candles; and, when he came to a bar’s rest, in lieu of snuffers, he generally employed his fingers in that office; and, lest he should offend the good housewife by this dirty trick, he used to thrust the _spoils_ into the _sound-holes_ of his violoncello. A waggish friend resolved to enjoy himself “at the parson’s expense,” as he termed it; and, for that purpose, popped a quantity of gunpowder into B.’s instrument. Others were informed of the trick, and of course kept a respectable distance. The tea equipage being removed, music became the order of the evening; and, after B---- had tuned his instrument, and drawn his stand near enough to snuff his candles with ease, feeling himself in the meridian of his glory, he dashed away at Vanhall’s 47th. B---- came to a bar’s rest, the candles were snuffed, and he thrust the ignited wick into the usual place; _fit fragor_, bang went the fiddle to pieces, and there was an end of harmony that evening.

* * * * *

FASHIONABLE RELIGION.

A French gentleman, equally tenacious of his character for gallantry and devotion, went to hear mass at the chapel of a favourite saint at Paris; when he came there, he found repairs were doing in the building which prevented the celebration. To show that he had not been defective in his duty and attentions, he pulled out a richly decorated pocket-book, and walking with great gravity and many genuflexions up the aisle, very carefully placed a card of his name upon the principal altar.

* * * * *

A POLITE TOWN.

Charles II. on passing through Bodmin, is said to have observed, that “this was the politest town he had ever seen, as one half of the houses appeared to be _bowing_, and the other half _uncovered_.” Since the days of Charles, the houses are altered, but the inhabitants still retain their politeness, especially at elections.

Vol. I.--12.

Who first uprear’d this venerable stone, And how, by ruthless hands, the column fell, And how again restor’d, I fain would tell.

*

A few years ago, an artist made a water-colour sketch of this monument, as a picturesque object, in the romantic vicinage of Llangollen; from that drawing he permitted the present, and the following are some particulars of the interesting memorial.

Mr. Pennant, during his “Tour in Wales,” entered Merionethshire, “into that portion for ever to be distinguished in the Welsh annals, on account of the hero it produced, who made such a figure in the beginning of the fifteenth century.” This tract retains its former title, “Glyndyfrdwy,” or the valley of the Dee. It once belonged to the lords of Dinas Brân. After the murder of the two eldest sons of the last lord, the property had been usurped by the earl of Warren, and that nobleman, who appears to have been seized with remorse for his crime, instead of plunging deeper in guilt, procured from Edward I. a grant of the territory to the third son, from whom the fourth in descent was the celebrated Owen Glyndwr.[85]

In this valley, about a quarter of a mile from Valle Crucis Abbey, Mr. Pennant found the present monument. It was thrown from its base, and lay in the hedge of a meadow. He figures it by an engraving of the pillar in an upright position, showing the fracture of the lower part as it then appeared in relation to the square socket-stone, its original supporter. Mr. Pennant calls it the “remainder of a round column, perhaps one of the most ancient of any British inscribed pillar now existing;” and he thus proceeds:--

“It was entire till the civil wars of the last century, when it was thrown down and broken, by some ignorant fanatics, who thought it had too much the appearance of a cross to be suffered to stand. It probably bore the name of one; for the field it lies in is still called ‘Llwyn-y-Groes,’ or the Grove of the Cross, from the wood that surrounded it. It was erected at so early a period, that there is nothing marvellous if we should perceive a tincture of the old idolatry, or at least of the primeval customs of our country, in the mode of it when perfect.

“The pillar had never been a cross; notwithstanding folly and superstition might, in later times, imagine it to have been one, and have paid it the usual honours. It was a memorial of the dead; an improvement on the rude columns of Druidical times, and cut into form, and surrounded with inscriptions. It is among the first lettered stones that succeeded the ‘Meinihirion,’ ‘Meini Gwyr,’ and ‘Llechau.’ It stood on a great tumulus; perhaps always environed with wood, (as the mount is at present,) according to the custom of the most ancient times, when standing pillars were placed ‘under every green tree.’

“It is said that the stone, when complete, was twelve feet high. It is now reduced to six feet eight. The remainder of the capital is eighteen inches long. It stood enfixed in a square pedestal, still lying in the mount; the breadth of which is five feet three inches; the thickness eighteen inches.

“The beginning of the inscription gives us nearly the time of its erection, ‘Concenn filius Cateli, Cateli filius Brochmail, Brochmail filius Eliseg, Eliseg filius Cnoillaine, Concenn itaque pronepos Eliseg edificavit hunc lapidem proavo suo _Eliseg_.’

“This Concenn, or Congen, was the grandson of Brochmail Yseithroc, the same who was defeated in 607, at the battle of Chester. The letters on the stone were copied by Mr. Edward Llwyd: the inscription is now illegible; but, from the copy taken by that great antiquary, the alphabet nearly resembles one of those in use in the sixth century.

“One of the seats of Concenn and Eliseg was in this country. A township adjacent to the column bears, from the last, the name of Eglwyseg; and the picturesque tiers of rocks are called Glisseg for the same reason. The habitation of this prince of Powys in these parts was probably Dinas Brân, which lies at the head of the vale of Glisseg. Mr. Llwyd conjectures that this place took its name from the interment of Eliseg.”

Mr. Pennant continues to relate that “There are two ways from this pillar: the usual is along the vale, on an excellent turnpike road leading to Ruthyn; the other is adapted only for the travel of the horsemen, but far the more preferable, on account of the romantic views. I returned by Valle Crucis; and, after winding along a steep midway to the old castle, descended; and, then crossing the rill of the Brân, arrived in the valley of Glisseg; long and narrow, bounded on the right by the astonishing precipices, divided into numberless parallel strata of white limestone, often giving birth to vast yew-trees; and, on the left, by smooth and verdant hills, bordered by pretty woods. One of the principal of the Glisseg rocks is honoured with the name of Craig-Arthur; another, at the end of the vale called Craig y Forwyn, or the Maiden’s, is bold, precipitous, and terminates with a vast natural column. This valley is chiefly inhabited (happily) by an independent race of warm and wealthy yeomanry, undevoured as yet by the great men of the country.”

The “Tour in Wales” was performed by Mr. Pennant in 1773; and his volume, containing the preceding account of the “Pillar of Eliseg,” was published in 1778. In the following year, the shaft was reared from its prostrate situation on its ancient pedestal, as appears by the following inscription on the column, copied by the artist who made the present drawing of the monument.

QUOD HUJUS VETERIS MONUMENTI SUPEREST DIU EX OCULIS REMOTUM ET NEGLECTUM TANDEM RESTITUIT T. LLOYD DE TREVOR HALL A.D. M.DCC.LXX.IX.

It is not in my power to add more respecting this venerable memorial of early ages than, that, according to a printed itinerary, its neighbourhood is at this time further remarkable for the self-seclusion of two ladies of rank. At about two miles’ distance is an elegant cottage, situated on a knoll, the retreat of lady Elizabeth Butler and Miss Ponsonby; who, turning from the vanity of fashionable life, have fixed their residence in this beautiful vale.

[85] His quarrel with Howel Sele forms an article in the _Every-Day Book_, vol. ii. p. 1021-1032.

* * * * *

~Hard Fare.~

ACCOUNT OF A STONE-EATER.

BY FATHER PAULIAN.

The beginning of May, 1760, was brought to Avignon, a true lithophagus or stone-eater. He not only swallowed flints of an inch and a half long, a full inch broad, and half an inch thick; but such stones as he could reduce to powder, such as marble, pebbles, &c. he made up into paste, which was to him a most agreeable and wholesome food. I examined this man with all the attention I possibly could; I found his gullet very large, his teeth exceedingly strong, his saliva very corrosive, and his stomach lower than ordinary, which I imputed to the vast number of flints he had swallowed, being about five and twenty, one day with another.

Upon interrogating his keeper, he told me the following particulars. “This stone-eater,” says he, “was found three years ago in a northern inhabited island, by some of the crew of a Dutch ship, on Good Friday. Since I have had him, I make him eat raw flesh with his stones; I could never get him to swallow bread. He will drink water, wine, and brandy; which last liquor gives him infinite pleasure. He sleeps at least twelve hours in a day, sitting on the ground with one knee over the other, and his chin resting on his right knee. He smokes almost all the time he is not asleep, or is not eating.” The keeper also tells me, that some physicians at Paris got him blooded; that the blood had little or no serum, and in two hours’ time became as fragile as coral.

This stone-eater hitherto is unable to pronounce more than a few words, _Oui_, _non_, _caillou_, _bon_. I showed him a fly through a microscope: he was astonished at the size of the animal, and could not be induced to examine it. He has been taught to make the sign of the cross, and was baptized some months ago in the church of St. Côme, at Paris. The respect he shows to ecclesiastics, and his ready disposition to please them, afforded me the opportunity of satisfying myself as to all these particulars; and I am fully convinced that he is no cheat.[86]

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A STONE EATER.

A FRAGMENT.