Part 68

One Catherinot all his life was printing a countless number of _feuilles volantes_ in history and on antiquities; each consisting of about three or four leaves in quarto: Lenglet du Fresnoy calls him “Grand auteur des petits livres.” This gentleman liked to live among antiquaries and historians; but with a crooked head-piece, stuck with whims, and hard with knotty combinations, all overloaded with prodigious erudition, he could not ease it at a less rate than by an occasional dissertation of three or four quarto pages. He appears to have published about two hundred pieces of this sort, much sought after by the curious for their rarity: Brunet complains he could never discover a complete collection. But Catherinot may escape “the pains and penalties” of our voluminous writers, for De Bure thinks he generously printed them to distribute among his friends. Such endless writers, provided they do not print themselves into an alms-house, may be allowed to print themselves out; and we would accept the apology which Monsieur Catherinot has framed for himself, which is preserved in _Beyeri Memoriæ Librorum Rariorum_. “I must be allowed my freedom in my studies, for I substitute my writings for a game at the tennis-court, or a club at the tavern; I never counted among my honours these _opuscula_ of mine, but merely as harmless amusements. It is my partridge, as with St. John the Evangelist; my cat, as with Pope St. Gregory; my little dog, as with St. Dominick; my lamb, as with St. Francis; my great black mastiff, as with Cornelius Agrippa; and my tame hare, as with Justus Lipsius.” Catherinot could never get a printer, and was rather compelled to study economy in his two hundred quartos of four or eight pages; his paper was of inferior quality, and when he could not get his dissertations into his prescribed number of pages, he used to promise the end at another time, which did not always happen. But his greatest anxiety was to publish and spread his works; in despair he adopted an odd expedient. Whenever Monsieur Catherinot came to Paris, he used to haunt the _quaies_ where books are sold, and while he appeared to be looking over them, he adroitly slided one of his own dissertations among these old books. He began this mode of publication early, and continued it to his last days. He died with a perfect conviction that he had secured his immortality; and in this manner he disposed of more than one edition of his unsaleable works.[209]

[209] D’Israeli.

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LOVE’S PROGRESS OF A TOBACCONIST.

_For the Table Book._

1.

When bless’d with Fanny’s rosy smiles, I thought myself in heaven; Fanny is blooming twenty-two, And I am--_thirty-seven_.

2.

I thought her deck’d with every grace, Without one vice to _jar_, Fresh as new _carrot_ was her face And sweet as _Macabar_.

3.

Besides a person fair to view She had a thousand pounds; Not to be _sneezed at_--I had two, And credit without bounds.

4.

Our courtship oft consisted in Slight _taps_ and gentle _knocks_; And when I gave her a small _pinch_, She quick return’d a _box_.

5.

Howe’er, one morning, in a rage, With me herself she put, She call’d me _blackguard_, and declar’d I was from thence _short cut_.

6.

In vain I tried the cause to _smoke_, When she had ta’en offence; In vain recall’d the words I spoke, That she had deem’d _bad scents_.

7.

But soon a mutual friend contriv’d Our quarrel up to botch; Fanny confess’d her temper warm-- ’Twas natural--she was _Scotch_.

8.

We married--snugly in my shop Fanny’s become a fixture, And all the neighbourhood declare, We’re quite a _pleasant mixture_.

SAM SAM’S SON.

* * * * *

THE LORD CHANCELLOR.

The title of chancellor originated with the Romans. It was adopted by the church, and became a half ecclesiastic, and half lay office. The chancellor was intrusted with all public instruments which were authenticated; and when seals came into use, the custody of them was confided to that officer. The mere delivery of the king’s great seal, or the taking it away, is all the ceremony that is used in creating or unmaking a chancellor, the officer of the greatest weight and power subsisting in the kingdom. The first chancellor in England was appointed in the reign of William the Conqueror, and with only one exception, it was enjoyed by ecclesiastics until the time of Elizabeth, when such officers were called keepers of the great seal. From the time of sir Thomas More’s appointment, which took place in the reign of Henry VIII., there is only one instance of a clergyman having been elevated to the office--namely, Dr. Williams, dean of Westminster, in the time of James I.--The chancellor is a privy counsellor by office, and speaker of the house of lords by prescription. To him belongs the appointment of all justices of the peace throughout the kingdom. When the chancellor was an ecclesiastic, he became keeper of the king’s conscience, and remained so. He is also visitor of all hospitals and colleges of the king’s foundation. He is patron of all livings under twenty pounds per annum in the king’s book. He is the general guardian of all infants, idiots, and lunatics, and has the superintendence of all charitable institutions in the kingdom. He takes precedent of every temporal lord, except the royal family, and of all others, except the archbishop of Canterbury. It is declared treason by statute of Edward III. to slay the chancellor in his place, and doing his office.--In the year 1689, there were commissioners appointed for executing the office of lord chancellor.

* * * * *

~Anonymiana.~

THE GREAT LORD CHANCELLOR.

Sir Thomas More, when at the bar, is said to have undertaken only such causes as appeared just to his conscience, and never to have accepted a fee from a widow, orphan, or poor person; yet he acquired by his practice the considerable sum, in those days, of four hundred pounds per annum. When he rose to the height of his profession, his diligence was so great, that one day being in court he called for the next cause, on which it was answered, that there were no more suits in chancery. This made a punning bard of that time thus express himself:--

When _More_ some years had chancellor been, No _more_ suits did remain; The same shall never _more_ be seen. Till _More_ be there again.

CHANCERY.

_Cancellæ_ are lattice-work, by which the chancels being formerly parted from the body of the church, they took their names from thence. Hence, too, the court of _chancery_ and the lord _chancellor_ borrowed their names, that court being enclosed with open work of that kind. And, so, to _cancel_ a writing is to _cross_ it out with the pen, which naturally makes something like the figure of a lattice.

DILIGENCE AND DELIGHT.

It is a common observation, that unless a man takes a _delight_ in a thing, he will never pursue it with pleasure or assiduity. _Diligentia_, diligence, is from _diligo_, to love.

PAMPHLET, PALM, PALMISTRY.

_Pamphlet._--This word is ancient, see Lilye’s Euphnes, p. 5; Lambarde’s Perambulation of Kent, p. 188; Hearne’s Cur. Disc. p. 130; Hall’s Chronicle, in Edward V. f. 2; Richard III. f. 32; Skelton, p. 47; Caxton’s Preface to his Virgil, where it is written _paunflethis_; Oldys’s British Librarian, p. 128; Nash, p. 3, 64; and also his preface, wherein he has the phrase, “to _pamphlet_ on a person” and _pampheleter_, p. 30.

The French have not the word pamphlet, and yet it seems to be of French extraction, and no other than _palm-feuillet_, a leaf to be held in the hand, a book being a thing of a greater weight. So the French call it now _feuille volante_, retaining one part of the compound.

_Palm_ is the old French word for _hand_, from whence we have _palmistry_, the _palm_ of the hand, a _palm_ or span, and to _palm_ a card, and from thence the metaphor of _palming_ any thing upon a person.

CAMBRIDGE WIT.

A gentleman of St. John’s College, Cambridge, having a clubbed foot, which occasioned him to wear a shoe upon it of a particular make, and with a high heel, one of the college wits called him _Bildad the shuhite_.

GRADUAL REFORM.

When lord Muskerry sailed to Newfoundland, George Rooke went with him a volunteer: George was greatly addicted to lying; and my lord, being very sensible of it, and very familiar with George, said to him one day, “I wonder you will not leave off this abominable custom of lying, George.” “I can’t help it,” said the other. “Puh!” says my lord, “it may be done by degrees; suppose you were to begin with uttering one truth a day.”

PRIVATE AND PUBLIC.

Charles II. spending a cheerful evening with a few friends, one of the company, seeing his majesty in good humour, thought it a fit time to ask him a favour, and was so absurd as to do so: after he had mentioned his suit, Charles instantly and very acutely replied, “Sir, you must ask your _king_ for that.”

A HUNDRED TO ONE.

“There were a hundred justices,” says one, “at the monthly meeting.” “A hundred,” says another. “Yes,” says he, “do you count, and I will name them. There was justice Balance, put down one; justice Hall, put down a cipher, he is nobody; justice House, you may put down another cipher for him--_one_ and _two ciphers_ are a _hundred_.”

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THE CHILD OF MIGHT.

_For the Table Book._

War was abroad, and the fleeting gale Loud, o’er the wife’s and the daughter’s wail, Brought the summoning sound of the clarion’s blast-- Age and affection looked their last On the valour and youth that went forth to the tomb-- Young eyes were bright at the nodding plume-- Banner and spear gleam’d in the sun-- And the laugh was loud as the day were won: But the sun shall set, and--ere ’tis night,-- _Woe_ to thee, Child of Pride and Might.

’Tis the hour of battle, the hosts are met, Pierc’d is the hauberk, cleft the bass’net: Like a torrent the legions thunder’d on-- Lo! like its foam, they are vanish’d and gone _Thou_ whom this day beauty’s arms carest, The hoof of the fleeing spurns thy crest-- Thy _pride_ yet lives on thy dark brow’s height, But, where is thy _power_, CHILD OF MIGHT?

J. J. K.

Vol. I.--24.

“Any New-River water here.”

This is another of the criers of a hundred years ago, and, it seems, he cried “_New-River_ water.” The cry is scarce, though scarcely extinct, in the environs of London.

I well remember the old prejudices of old-fashioned people in favour of water brought to the door, and their sympathy with the complaints of the water-bearer. “Fresh and fair new River-water! none of your pipe sludge!” vociferated the water-bearer. “Ah dear!” cried his customers, “Ah dear! Well, what’ll the world come to!--they wo’n’t let poor people live at all by and by--here they’re breaking up the ground, and we shall be all under water some day or other with their goings on--I’ll stick to the carrier as long as he has a pail-full and I’ve a penny, and when we haven’t we must all go to the workhouse together.” This was the talk and the reasoning of many honest people within my recollection, who preferred taxing themselves to the daily payment of a penny and often twopence to the water-carrier, in preference to having “Company’s-water” at eighteen shillings per annum. Persons of this order of mind were neither political economists nor domestic economists: they were, for the most part, simple and kind-hearted souls, who illustrated the ancient saying, that “the destruction of the poor is their poverty”--they have perished for “lack of knowledge.”

The _governing_ principle of Napoleon was, that “every thing must be done for the people, and nothing by them:” the ruling practice of the British people is to do every thing for themselves; and by the maintenance of this good old custom they have preserved individual freedom, and attained to national greatness. All our beneficial national works have originated with ourselves--our roads, our bridges, our canals, our water-companies, have all been constructed by our own enterprise, and in the order of our wants.

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~Garrick Plays.~

No. XXI.

[From Sir Richard Fanshaw’s Translation of “Querer Por Solo Querer”--“To love for love’s sake”--a Romantic Drama, written in Spanish by Mendoza: 1649.]

_Felisbravo, Prince of Persia, from a Picture sent him of the brave Amazonian Queen of Tartary, Zelidaura, becoming enamoured, sets out for that realm; in his way thither disenchants a Queen of Araby; but first, overcome by fatigue, falls asleep in the Enchanted Grove, where Zelidaura herself coming by, steals the Picture from him. The passion of the Romance arises from his remorse at being taken so negligent; and her disdain that he should sleep, having the company of her Picture. She here plays upon him, who does not yet know her, in the disguise of a Rustic._

_Fel._ What a spanking Labradora! _Zel._ You, the unkent Knight, God ye gud mora![210] _Fel._ The time of day thou dost mistake. _Zel._--and joy-- _Fel._--of what? _Zel._ That I discover. By a sure sign, you are awake. _Fel._ Awake? the sign-- _Zel._ Your being a lover. _Fel._ In love am I? _Zel._--and very deep. _Fel._ Deep in love! how is that seen? _Zel._ Perfectly. You do not sleep. _Fel._ Rustic Excellence, unscreen, And discover that sweet face, Which covers so much wit and grace. _Zel._ You but dream so: sleep again, And forget it. _Fel._ Why, now, Saint? _Zel._ Why, the Lady, that went in,[211] Looks as if that she did paint. _Fel._ What has that to do with sleeping? She is indeed angelical. _Zel._ _That_ picture now’s well worth your keeping. For why? ’tis an original. _Fel._ Is this Shepherdess a Witch? Or saw the sleeping treason, which I committed against Love Erst, in the Enchanted Grove? Me hast thou ever seen before? _Zel._ Seen? aye, and know thee for a man That will turn him, and sleep more Than a dozen dunces can. Thou ken’st little what sighs mean. _Fel._ Unveil, by Jove, that face serene. _Zel._ What, to make thee sleep again? _Fel._ Still in riddles? _Zel._ Now he sees: This pinching wakes him by degrees. _Fel._ Art thou a Nymph? _Zel._ Of Parnass Green. _Fel._ Sleep I indeed, or am I mad? _Zel._ None serve thee but the Enchanted Queen? I think what dull conceits ye have had Of the bird Phœnix, which no eye E’er saw; an odoriferous Lye: How of her beauty’s spells she’s told; That by her spirit thou art haunted; And, having slept away the old, With this new Mistress worse enchanted. _Fel._ I affect not, Shepherdess, Myself in such fine terms to express; Sufficeth me an humble strain: Too little happy to be vain.-- Unveil! _Zel._ Sir Gallant, not so fast. _Fel._ See thee I will. _Zel._ See me you shall: But touch not fruit you must not taste.

(_She takes off her veil._)

What says it, now the leaf doth fall? _Fel._ It says, ’tis worthy to comprize The kernel of so rare a wit: Nor, that it grows in Paradise; But Paradise doth grow in it. The tall and slender trunk no less divine, Tho’ in a lowly Shepherdesses rine.

(_He begins to know her._)

This should be that so famous Queen For unquell’d valour and disdain.-- In these Enchanted Woods is seen Nothing but illusions vain. _Zel._ What stares the man at? _Fel._ I compare A Picture--I once mine did call-- With the divine Original. _Zel._ Fall’n again asleep you are: We poor human Shepherd Lasses Nor are pictured, nor use glasses. Who skip their rank, themselves and betters wrong: To our Dames, god bless ’em, such quaint things belong. Here a tiny brook alone, Which fringed with borrow’d flowers (he has Gold and silver enough on his own) Is heaven’s proper looking-glass, Copies us: and its reflections, Shewing natural perfections, Free from soothing, free from error. Are our pencil, are our mirror. _Fel._ Art thou a Shepherdess? _Zel._--and bore On a mountain, called THERE. _Fel._ Wear’st thou ever heretofore Lady’s clothes? _Zel._ I Lady’s gear?-- Yes--what a treacherous poll have I!-- In a Country Comedy I once enacted a main part; Still I have it half by heart: The famous History it was Of an Arabian--let me see-- No, of a Queen of Tartary, Who all her sex did far surpass In beauty, wit, and chivalry: Who with invincible disdain Would fool, when she was in the vein, Princes with all their wits about ’em; But, an they slept, to death she’d flout ’em. And, by the mass, with such a mien My Majesty did play the Queen; Our Curate had my Picture made, In the same robes in which I play’d.

To my taste this is fine, elegant, Queen-like raillery; a second part of Love’s Labours Lost, to which title this extraordinary Play has still better pretensions than even Shakspeare’s: for after leading three pair of Royal Lovers thro’ endless mazes of doubts, difficulties; oppositions of dead fathers’ wills; a labyrinth of losings and findings; jealousies; enchantments; conflicts with giants, and single-handed against armies; to the exact state in which all the Lovers might with the greatest propriety indulge their reciprocal wishes--when, the deuce is in it, you think, but they must all be married now--suddenly the three Ladies turn upon their Lovers; and, as an exemplification of the moral of the Play, “Loving for loving’s sake,” and a hyper-platonic, truly Spanish proof of their affections--demand that the Lovers shall consent to their mistresses’ taking upon them the vow of a single life; to which the Gallants with becoming refinement can do less than consent.--The fact is that it was a Court Play, in which the Characters; males, giants, and all; were played by females, and those of the highest order of Grandeeship. No nobleman might be permitted amongst them; and it was against the forms, that a great Court Lady of Spain should consent to such an unrefined motion, as that of wedlock, though but in a play.

Appended to the Drama, the length of which may be judged from its having taken nine days in the representation, and me three hours in the reading of it--hours well wasted--is a poetical account of a fire, which broke out in the Theatre on one of the nights of its acting, when the whole Dramatis Personæ were nearly burnt, because the common people out of “base fear,” and the Nobles out of “pure respect,” could not think of laying hands upon such “great Donnas;” till the young King, breaking the etiquette, by snatching up his Queen, and bearing her through the flames upon his back, the Grandees, (dilatory Æneases), followed his example, and each saved one (Anchises-fashion), till the whole Courtly Company of Comedians were got off in tolerable safety.--Imagine three or four stout London Firemen on such an occasion, standing off in mere respect!

C. L.

[210] She affects rusticity.

[211] The Enchanted Queen of Araby, of whom Zelidaura is jealous.

* * * * *

THE STUART PAPERS,

IN POSSESSION OF THE KING.