Part 85
Moorfields gathered more regiments than any other spot excepting the Park, in which reviews and sham-fights concentrated the corporate forces on field-days. Wimbledon Common became also an occasional scene of busy parade and preparation; baggage long drawn out, multitudes of friends, sweethearts and wives, and nondescripts. In the roads were collected the living beings of half of the metropolis. It seemed a stir in earnest of great achievements. Many a white handkerchief dried the parting tear. There were the adieu and the farewell; salutes given behind the counter, or snatched in the passage, affected the sensibilities like last meetings. Sir W. Curtis and other colonels reminded the “gentlemen” they had “the honour” to command, that they were in “good quarters.” Sermons were preached in and out of the establishment to “soldiers.” Representations were given at the theatres to “soldiers.” The shop-windows presented tokens of courage and love to “soldiers.” Not a concert was held, not a “free and easy” passed, without songs and melodies to “soldiers.” It was a fine time for publicans and poets. Abraham Newland’s promises kept army-clothiers, gun-makers, Hounslow powder-mills, and Mr. Pitt’s affairs in action. No man might creditably present himself if he were void of the tone of military distinction; and Charles Dibdin and Grimaldi--“wicked wags!”--satirized the fashion of “playing at soldiers.”
In process of time, Maidstone, Colchester, and Rochester were select places for trying the shopkeeping volunteers: they were on duty for weeks, and returned with the honours of the barracks. Things taking a more peaceful aspect, or rather the alarm of invasion having subsided, the regimentals were put by, and scarcely a relic is now seen to remind the rising generation of the deeds of their fathers.
I could travel further, and tell more of these and similar doings, but I refrain, lest I tire your patience and your readers’ courtesy.
Dear sir,
Truly yours,
A CITY VOLUNTEER.
_June, 1827._
* * * * *
~Discoveries~
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. I.
It has been ascertained by the researches of a curious investigator,[270] that many celebrated philosophers of recent times have, for the most part, taken what they advance from the works of the ancients. These modern acquisitions are numerous and important; and as it is presumed that many may be instructed, and more be surprised by their enumeration, a succinct account of them is proposed.
It appears as unjust to praise and admire nothing but what savours of antiquity, as to despise whatever comes from thence, and to approve of nothing but what is recent. The moderns certainly have much merit, and have laboured not a little in the advancement of science; but the ancients paved the way, wherein at present is made so rapid a progress: and we may in that respect join Quintilian, who declared, seventeen hundred years ago, “that antiquity had so instructed us by its example, and the doctrines of its great masters, that we could not have been born in a more happy age, than that which had been so illuminated by their care.” While it would be ingratitude to deny such masters the encomiums due to them, envy alone would refuse the moderns the praise they so amply deserve. Justice ought to be rendered to both. In comparing the merits of the moderns and ancients, a distinction ought to be made between the arts and sciences, which require long experience and practice to bring them to perfection, and those which depend solely on talent and genius. Without doubt the former, in so long a series of ages, have been extended more and more; and, with the assistance of printing and other discoveries, have been brought to a very high degree of perfection by the moderns. Our astronomers understand much better the nature of the stars, and the whole planetary system, than Hipparchus, Ptolemy, and others of the ancients; but it may be doubted, whether they had gone so far, unaided by telescopes. The moderns have nearly perfected the art of navigation, and discovered new worlds; yet without the compass, America had probably remained unknown. Likewise, by long observation, and experiments often repeated, we have brought botany, anatomy, and chirurgery, to their present excellence. Many secrets of nature, which one age was insufficient to penetrate, have been laid open in a succession of many. Philosophy has assumed a new air; and the trifling and vain cavils of the schools, have at length been put to flight by the reiterated efforts of Ramus, Bacon, Gassendi, Descartes, Newton, Gravesand, Leibnitz, and Wolf. While, therefore, willingly conceding to the moderns every advantage they are fairly entitled to, the share which the ancients had in beating out for us the pathways to knowledge is an interesting subject of inquiry.
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For two thousand years the ancient philosophers were so fully in possession of the general esteem, that they often led men blindfold. They were listened to as oracles, and their very obscurities regarded as too sacred to be pried into by common eyes. An _ipse dixit_ of Pythagoras, Aristotle, or any other ancient sage, was enough to decide the most difficult case: the learned bowed in a body, and expressed their satisfaction, while they surrendered their judgment. These habits of submission were ill adapted to advance knowledge. A few noble spirits, who, in recompense of their labours, have been honoured with the glorious title of restorers of learning, quickly felt the hardship of the bondage, and threw off the yoke of Aristotle. But instead of following the example of those great men, whose incessant studies, and profound researches, had so enriched the sciences, some of their successors were content to make them the basis of their own slight works; and a victory, which might have tended to the perfecting of the human mind, dwindled into a petty triumph. Bruno, Cardan, Bacon, Galileo, Descartes, Newton, and Leibnitz, the heroes of the literary commonwealth, had too much merit, not to own that of the ancients. They did them justice, and avowed themselves their disciples; but the half-learned and feeble, whose little stock and strength were insufficient to raise to themselves a name, rail at those from whom they stole the riches with which they are bedecked, and ungratefully conceal their obligations to their benefactors.
The method made use of by the moderns, in the new philosophy, recommends itself by its own excellence; for the spirit of analysis and geometry that pervades their manner of treating subjects, has contributed so much to the advancement of science, that it were to be wished they had never swerved from it. It is not, however, to be denied, that the noblest parts of that system of philosophy, received with so much applause in the three last centuries, were known and inculcated by Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, and Plutarch. Of these great men, it may be believed that they well knew how to demonstrate what they communicated; although the arguments, upon which some portions of their demonstrations were founded, have not come down to us. Yet, if in those works which have escaped destruction from the fanaticism of ignorance, and the injuries of time, we meet with numberless instances of penetration and exact reasoning in their manner of relating their discoveries, it is reasonable to presume that they exerted the same care and logical accuracy in support of these truths, which are but barely mentioned in the writings preserved to us. Among the titles of their lost books are many respecting subjects mentioned only in general in their other writings. We may conclude, therefore, that we should have met with the proofs we now want, had they not thought it unnecessary to repeat them, after having published them in so many other works, to which they often refer, and of which the titles are handed down to us by Diogenes Laertius, Suidas, and other ancients, with exactness sufficient to give us an idea of the greatness of our loss. From numerous examples of this kind, which might be quoted, one may be selected respecting Democritus. That great man was the author of two books, from the titles of which it evidently appears, that he was one of the principal inventors of the elementary doctrine which treats of those lines and solids that are termed irrational, and of the contact of circles and spheres.
It is remarkable, that the illustrious ancients, by the mere force of their own natural talents, attained to all those acquisitions of knowledge which our experiments, aided by instruments thrown in our way by chance, serve only to confirm. Without the assistance of a telescope Democritus knew and taught, that the milky way was an assemblage of innumerable stars that escape our sight, and whose united splendour produces in the heavens the whiteness, which we denominate by that name; and he ascribed the spots in the moon to the exceeding height of its mountains and depth of its vallies. True it is, that the moderns have gone farther, and found means to measure the height of those same mountains; yet Democritus’s researches were those of a great genius; whereas the operations of the moderns are merely organical and mechanic. Besides which, we have this advantage,--that _we_ work upon _their_ canvass.
Finally, it may be repeated, that there is scarcely any discovery ascribed to the moderns, but what was not only known to the ancients, but supported by them with the most solid arguments. The demonstration of this position will at least have this good effect; it will abate our prejudices against the ancients, occasioned by a blind admiration of some moderns, who had never shone at all but for the light they borrowed of their masters. Their opinions fairly stated from their own works, and often in their words, must render the decision easy; and the result may restore to the early philosophers some part at least of their disputed glory.
[270] The Rev. L. Dutens, in his “Inquiry into the Origin of the Discoveries attributed to the Moderns.”
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_For the Table Book._
THE GOSSIP AND STARE.
A creature of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen.
It is feminine; a lower animal of the tribe _Inquisitoria_; and with all others of its species indescribably restless. It is commonly found with the bosom slatternly arrayed, leaning with folded arms out of a “two-pair front,” looking cunningly and maliciously over the side of a garden-pot--like a starling through the water-hole of its cage over the water-pot--with its head always on the bob, like that of the Chinese figure in grocers’ shops. Its features are lean and sharp as the bows of a Folkstone cutter, or the face of a Port Royal pig; its nose, like a racoon’s, is continually on the twist; the ears are ever pricking up for vague rumours and calumnious reports, and the eyes roll from side to side, like those of the image in the wooden clock at Kaltenbach’s in the Borough; the tongue is snake-like, is perpetually in motion--pretty yet pert--and venomous. Its habit is bilious, its temper splenetic. It is a sure extractor of all secrets, a thorough heart-wormer, a living diving-bell, a walking corkscrew. It generally “appears as well as its neighbours,” but it is fastidious, and loves to be different. Upon its legs, which are of the sparrow order, it looks a merry, light-hearted, artless, and good-natured little thing; but it is the green-bag-bearer of the parish, and its food is scandal. Hear it talk on a first meeting with a regular listener! Its voice is at first soft as the low piping of the nightingale, but gradually becomes like the loud hissing of an adder, and ends hoarse, and ominous of evil as that of the raven. It is an untiring spreader of idle and false reports, to the injury of many a good character. It is only innoxious to reasonable beings, for they never listen to it, or when obliged to do so, are no more amused by its sayings than by the singing of a tea-kettle; but these being few in number, compared with the lovers of small talk, to whom its company is always acceptable, it is a dangerous animal,
---- mother of deceit and lies.
Look at it sitting in its habitation!--every sound from the street draws it to the light-hole[271]--every thing from a bonnet to a patten furnishes it with matter for gossip--every opening of a neighbour’s door brings its long neck into the street. Every misfortune that assails others is to it a pleasure--every death a new life to itself--and the failings of the departed are eternal themes for its envenomed slander. It is at the heels of every thing that stirs, and the sooner it is trodden upon the better. But people tolerate and like it, because it is “so amusing,” and “so clever;” and yet each of its listeners is traduced in turn. There is no dealing with it, but by giving it rope enough; it will then hang itself, which, by the by, will be such an end as the creature merits.
S. R. J.
[271] Window.
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NAVAL MANNERS.
When the old duke of York (brother to George III.) went on board lord Howe’s ship, as a midshipman, the different captains in the fleet attended, to pay him their respects, on the quarter-deck. He seemed not to know what it was to be subordinate, nor to feel the necessity of moderation in the display of superiority resulting from his high rank, and he received the officers with some hauteur. This a sailor on the forecastle observed; and after expressing astonishment at the duke’s keeping his hat on, he told one of his messmates, that “the thing was not in its sphere;” adding, “it is no wonder he does not know manners, as he was never at sea before.”
* * * * *
LEGAL RECREATION.
It is alleged in a memoir of the Life of Lord Eldon, that, when plain John Scott, his zeal for knowledge of the law was so great, that he abandoned the pursuit of almost every other species of information, and never sacrificed a moment from his legal studies, beyond what was absolutely necessary to his health. His brother William, (afterwards lord Stowell,) with a view of engaging him to meet Dr. Johnson and other men of distinguished literary talent, would sometimes say, “Where do you dine to-day?” To this question John’s uniform answer was, “I dine on Coke to-day.” William would then demur, with a “Nay, but come to my chambers--you’ll see the doctor;” whereupon John argued, concerning the doctor, “He can’t draw a bill;” and so the friendly suit concluded.
It is further affirmed, on the best authority, that it was an amusement in the early legal life of John Scott to turn pieces of poetry into the form of legal instruments; and that he actually converted the ballad of “Chevy Chace” into the shape and style of a bill in chancery.
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A professional gentleman, who, during his pupilage, was recommended by a distinguished barrister to commit the following verses to memory, duly availed himself of that advantage, and obligingly communicates them.
_For the Table Book._
CANONS OF DESCENT.
BY AN APPRENTICE OF THE LAW.
_Canon_ I.
Estates go to the issue (_item_) Of him last seized _in infinitum_; like cow-tails, downward, straight they tend, But never, lineally, ascend:
_Cannon_ II.
This gives that preference to males, At which a lady justly rails.
_Canon_ III.
Of two males, in the same degree, The eldest, only, heir shall be: With females we this order break, And let them all together take.
_Canon_ IV.
When one his worldly strife hath ended, Those who are lineally descended From him, as to his claims and riches, Shall stand, precisely, in his breeches.
_Canon_ V.
When lineal descendants fail, Collaterals the land may nail: So that they be (and that a bore is) _De sanguine progenitores_.
_Canon_ VI.
The heir collateral, d’ye see, Next kinsman of whole blood must be:
_Canon_ VII.
And, of collaterals, the male Stocks are preferred to the female; Unless the land come from a woman, And then her heirs shall yield to no man.
* * * * *
FRENCH JUDICIAL AUTHORITY.
In the “Thuana” we read of a whimsical, passionate, old judge, who was sent into Gascony with power to examine into the abuses which had crept into the administration of justice in that part of France. Arriving late at Port St. Mary, he asked “how near he was to the city of Agen?” He was answered, “_two_ leagues.” He then decided to proceed that evening, although he was informed that the leagues were long, and the roads very bad. In consequence of his obstinacy the judge was bemired, benighted, and almost shaken to pieces. He reached Agen, however, by midnight, with tired horses and harassed spirits, and went to bed in an ill humour. The next morn he summoned the court of justice to meet, and after having opened his commission in due form, his first decree was, “That for the future the distance from Agen to Port St. Mary should be reckoned _six_ leagues.” This decree he ordered to be registered in the records of the province, before he would proceed to any other business.
* * * * *
A LONG MINUET.
Hogarth, in his “Analysis of Beauty,” mentions the circumstance of a dancing-master’s observing, that though the “minuet” had been the study of his whole life, he could only say with Socrates, that he “knew nothing.” Hogarth added of himself, that he was happy in being a painter, because some bounds might be set to the study of his art.
Vol. II.--30.
There is a way from Bromley market-place across meadow grounds to the palace of the bishop of Rochester. This edifice, about a quarter of a mile from the town, is a plain, homely mansion, erected in 1783 by bishop Thomas, on the site of the ancient palace built there by bishop Gilbert Glanville, lord chief justice of England, after he succeeded to the see in 1185, instead of a still more ancient palace, founded by the prelate Gundalph, an eminent architect, bishop of Rochester in the reign of William the Conqueror. At a few hundred yards eastward of the palace is the “Bishop’s Well;” which, while I minutely examined it, Mr. Williams sketched; and he has since engraved it, as the reader sees.
The water of the “Bishop’s Well” is a chalybeate, honoured by local reputation with surprising properties; but, in reality, it is of the same nature as the mineral water of Tunbridge Wells. It rises so slowly, as to yield scarcely a gallon in a quarter of an hour, and is retained in a small well about sixteen inches in diameter. To the stone work of this little well a wooden cover is attached by a chain. When the fluid attains a certain height, its surplus trickles through an orifice at the side to increase the water of a moat, or small lake, which borders the grounds of the palace, and is overhung on each side with the branches of luxuriant shrubs and trees. Above the well there is a roof of thatch, supported by six pillars, in the manner of a rustic temple, heightening the picturesque appearance of the scene, so as to justify its representation by the pencil. On visiting it, with Mr. W., this pleasant seclusion, consecrated by former episcopal care, and the fond recollections of ancient adjacent residents, was passing to ruin: we disturbed some boys in their work of pulling reeds from the thatched roof. A recent vacancy of the see seemed to have extended to the superintendence of the well; the seeds of neglect had germinated, and were springing up. I have revisited the spot, and seen
the wild-briar, The thorn, and the thistle, grown broader and higher.
The “Bishop’s Well” is said to have been confounded with a spring of more ancient note, called St. Blase’s Well. Of this latter well topographers[272] say, “It anciently had an oratory annexed to it, dedicated to St. Blasius, which was much frequented at Whitsuntide, because Lucas, who was legate for Sixtus the Fourth, here in England, granted an indulgent remission of forty days; enjoined penance to all those who should visit this chapel, and offer up their orizons there in the three holidays of Pentecost. This oratory falling to ruin at the Reformation, the well too became disused, and the site of both in process of time was forgotten, and continued so till the well was discovered again in the year 1754, by means of a yellow ochrey sediment remaining in the tract of a small current leading from the spring to the corner of the moat, with the waters of which it used to mix. In digging round the well there were found the remains of the old steps leading down to it, made of oak plank, which appeared to have lain under ground many years. The water of this spring is chalybeate, and rises at the foot of a declivity, at a small distance eastward from the bishop’s palace. The soil through which it passes is gravel, and it issues immediately from a bed of pure white sand. The course of the spring seems to be about north-north-east and south-south-west from its aperture; its opening is towards the latter; and as Shooter’s Hill bears about north-north-east from its aperture, it probably comes from thence. The water being thus found to be a good chalybeate, was, by the bishop’s orders, immediately secured from the intermixture of other waters, and enclosed.”
Wilson, a recent writer, affirms, that “the old well, dedicated to St. Blase, is about two hundred yards north-west of the mineral spring, in a field near the road, with eight oaks in a cluster, on an elevated spot of ground adjoining.” This, however, seems wholly conjectural, and wholly nugatory; for, if “the old steps made of oak-plank, which appeared to have lain under ground many years,” led to the “Bishop’s Well,” it may reasonably be presumed that they were the “old steps” to St. Blase’s Well, and that the water of the ancient oratory now flows within the humble edifice represented by the engraving.
*
[272] Philipot, and Hasted.
* * * * *
MISS KELLY.
_To the Editor._
Dear Sir,--Somebody has fairly play’d a _hoax_ on you (I suspect that pleasant rogue _M--x--n_[273]) in sending you the Sonnet in my name, inserted in your last Number. True it is, that I must own to the Verses being mine, but not written on the occasion there pretended, for I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing the Lady in the part of Emmeline; and I have understood, that the force of her acting in it is rather in the expression of new-born sight, than of the previous want of it.--The lines were really written upon her performance in the “Blind Boy,” and appeared in the Morning Chronicle some years back. I suppose, our facetious friend thought that they would serve again, like an old coat new turned.
Yours (and his nevertheless)
C. LAMB.
[273] It was.--ED.
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~Garrick Plays.~
No. XXVI.
[From “Doctor Dodypol,” a Comedy, Author unknown, 1600.]
_Earl Lassenburgh, as a Painter, painting his Mistress_ al grotesco.