Part 95
In wealth and power stupendous is our isle! Obtain’d by Labour’s persevering hand: And heaven-born Liberty extends her smile To the remotest corners of our land: The meanest subject feels her potent wand; Peasant and peer are by one law controll’d; And this it is, that keeps us great and grand: This is the impulse makes our warriors bold, And knits more close the bond our fathers seal’d of old.
The prevailing feature in Robert Millhouse’s effusions is of a domestic nature. He loves his country, and deems his birthplace and the hearth of his family its brightest spots. One of his sonnets combines these feelings:--
HOME.
Scenes of my birth, and careless childhood hours. Ye smiling hills, and spacious fertile vales! Where oft I wander’d, plucking vernal flowers, And revell’d in the odour-breathing gales; Should fickle Fate, with talismanic wand, Bear me afar where either India glows, Or fix my dwelling on the Polar land, Where Nature wears her ever-during snows; Still shall your charms my fondest themes adorn, When placid evening paints the western sky, And when Hyperion wakes the blushing Morn, To rear his gorgeous sapphire throne on high. For, to the guileless heart, where’er we roam, No scenes delight us like our much-lov’d Home.
A man so humble, with such acquirements as have been here exemplified, and so unfortunate as to have derived little from their exercise but pain and disappointment, may be imagined to have penned the following address in distress and despondency:--
TO GENIUS.
O born of heaven, thou Child of magic Song! What pangs, what cutting hardships wait on thee, When thou art doom’d to cramping Poverty; The pois’nous shafts from Defamation’s tongue,-- The jeers and tauntings of the blockhead throng, Who joy to see thy bold exertions fail; While Hunger, pinching as December’s gale, Brings moody dark Despondency along. And, should’st thou strive Fame’s lofty mount to scale, The steps of its ascent are cut in sand; And half-way up,--a snake-scourge in her hand, Lurks pallid Envy, ready to assail: And last, if thou the top, expiring, gain, When Fame applauds, thou hearest not the strain.
In this sheet there is not room to further make known, or plead at greater length, the claims of Robert Millhouse to notice and protection. I should blush for any reader of poetical taste, with four shillings to spare, who, after perusing the preceding extracts, would hesitate to purchase the poet’s last little volume. I should more than blush for the more wealthy, who are reputed patrons of talent, if they decline to seek out and effectually succour him. I am, and am likely to remain, wholly unacquainted with him: my only wish is to induce attention to a talented and estimable individual, who is obscure and neglected, because he is unobtrusive and modest.
_August 8, 1827._
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[304] Robert Hall.
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AN INFERNAL PALINDROME.
[_Palindrome._ A word or sentence which is the same read backward as forwards: as, _madam_; or this sentence _Subi dura a rudibus_.
_Johnson._]
Whence did Geoffry Crayon derive “The Poor Devil Author,” the title to one of his “Tales of a Traveller,” but from a legendary story, according to which the devil is acquainted with versification, although his lines are constructed in a very remarkable manner; for they can be read forward and backward, and preserve the same sense. There is a specimen of this “literary ingenuity” in the present volume of the _Table Book_, (col. 28.) The “Lives of the Saints” afford another, viz:--
St. Martin (of whom there is an account in the _Every-Day Book_, vol. i. p. 1469) having given up the profession of a soldier, and being elected bishop of Tours, when prelates neither kept carriages, horses, nor servants, had occasion to go to Rome, in order to consult his holiness upon some important ecclesiastical matter. As he was walking gently along the road, he met the devil, who politely accosted him, and ventured to observe how fatiguing and indecorous it was for him to perform so long a journey on foot, like the commonest of cockle-shell-chaperoned pilgrims. The saint knew well the drift of Old Nick’s address, and commanded him immediately to become a beast of burthen, or _jumentum_; which the devil did in a twinkling, by assuming the shape of a mule. The saint jumped upon the fiend’s back, who, at first, trotted cheerfully along, but soon slackened his pace. The bishop, of course, had neither whip nor spurs, but was possessed of a much more powerful stimulus, for, says the legend, he made the sign of the cross, and the smarting devil instantly galloped away. Soon, however, and naturally enough, the father of sin returned to sloth and obstinacy, and Martin hurried him again with repeated signs of the cross, till twitched and stung to the quick by those crossings so hateful to him, the vexed and tired reprobate uttered the following distich in a rage:--
Signa te, Signa: temere me tangis et angis: Roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor.
That is--“_Cross_, cross _thyself_--thou plaguest and vexest _me_ without necessity; for, owing to my exertions, Rome, the object of thy wishes, will soon be near.” The singularity of this distich, consists, as hinted above, in its being _palindromical_; or it reads backwards as well as in the common way--_Angis_, the last word of the first line, makes _signa_--_et_ makes _te_--and so on to the beginning. _Amor_, the last of the last line, read backwards, makes _Roma_--_ibit_ makes _tibi_--and so forth.
These lines have been quoted imperfectly and separately in “Encyclopedies” and other books, under the words “Palindromical verses;” but the reader will not easily meet with the legendary tale, which gives them historical consistence and meaning.
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~Garrick Plays.~
No. XXIX.
[From the “Gentleman Usher,” a Comedy, by G. Chapman, 1606.]
_Vincentio, a Prince (to gain him over to his interest in a love-affair) gulls Bassiolo, a formal Gentleman Usher to a Great Lord, with commendations of his wise house-ordering at a great Entertainment._
_Vinc._--besides, good Sir, your Show did shew so well-- _Bass._ Did it indeed, my Lord? _Vinc._ O Sir, believe it, ’Twas the best fashion’d and well-order’d thing, That ever eye beheld: and therewithal, The fit attendance by the servants used, The gentle guise in serving every guest, In other entertainments; every thing About your house so sortfully disposed, That ev’n as in a turn-spit (call’d a Jack) One vice[305] assists another; the great wheels, Turning but softly, make the less to whirr About their business; every different part Concurring to one commendable end: So, and in such conformance, with rare grace Were all things order’d in your good Lord’s house. _Bass._ The most fit Simile that ever was. _Vinc._ But shall I tell you plainly my conceit, Touching the _man_ that (I think) caused this order? _Bass._ Aye, good my Lord. _Vinc._ You note my Simile? _Bass._ Drawn from the turn-spit---- _Vinc._ I see, you have me. Even as in that quaint engine you have seen A little man in shreds stand at the winder, And seems to put in act all things about him, Lifting and pulling with a mighty stir,-- Yet adds no force to it, nor nothing does: So, though your Lord be a brave gentleman, And seems to do this business, he does nothing. Some man about him was the festival robe That made him shew so glorious and divine. _Bass._ I cannot tell, my Lord; but I should know, If any such there were. _Vinc._ Should know, quoth you? I warrant, you know well. Well, some there be, Shall have the fortune to have such rare men (Like brave Beasts to their arms) support their state; When others, of as high a worth and breed, Are made the wasteful food of them they feed.-- What state hath your Lord made you for your service?
* * * * *
_The same Bassiolo described._
_Lord’s Daughter._--his place is great; for he is not only My father’s Usher, but the world’s beside, Because he goes before it all in folly.
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[From the “Bastard,” a Tragedy, Author Unknown, 1652.]
_Lover’s Frown._
_Roderiguez._ Thy uncle, Love, holds still a jealous eye On all my actions; and I am advised, That his suspicious ears Are still behind the hangings; that the servants Have from him in command to watch who visits. ’Tis safest, in my judgment, in his presence That thou forbear to cast a smile upon me; And that, like old December, I should look With an unpleasant and contracted brow. _Varina._ What, can’st thou change thy heart, my dear, that heart Of flesh thou gav’st me, into adamant, Or rigid marble? can’st thou frown on me? _Rod._ You do mistake me, sweet, I mean not so To change my heart; I’ll change my countenance, But keep my heart as loyal as before. _Var._ In truth I cannot credit it, that thou Can’st cast a frown on me; I prithee, try. _Rod._ Then thus:
(_he tries, and cannot; they smile on each other._)
_Var._ I prithee, sweet, betake thyself to school; This lesson thou must learn; in faith thou art out. _Rod._ Well, I must learn, and practice it, or we Shall blast our budding hopes. _Var._ Come, try again. _Rod._ But if I try, and prove a good proficient; If I do act my part discretely, you Must take it as a play, not as a truth; Think it a formal, not a real frown. _Var._ I shall---- _Rod._ Then thus: i’faith, minion, I’ll look to thee.
(_she swoons._)
_Rod._ Why, how now, sweet!--I did mistrust thy weakness: Now I have learn’d my part, you are to seek. _Var._ ’Faith, ’twas my weakness; when I did perceive A cloud of rage condensed on thy brow, My heart began to melt.----
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[From “Love Tricks,” a Comedy, by James Shirley.]
_Passionate Courtship._
_Infortunio._ I must have other answer, for I love you. _Selina._ Must! but I don’t see any necessity that I must love you. I do confess you are A proper man. _Inf._ O do not mock, Selina; let not excellence, Which you are full of, make you proud and scornful. I am a Gentleman; though my outward part Cannot attract affection, yet some have told me, Nature hath made me what she need not shame. Yet look into my heart; there you shall see What you cannot despise, for there you are With all your graces waiting on you; there Love hath made you a throne to sit, and rule O’er Infortunio; all my thoughts obeying, And honouring you as queen. Pass by my outside, My breast I dare compare with any man. _Sel._ But who can see this breast you boast of so? _Inf._ O ’tis an easy work; for though it be Not to be pierced by the dull eye, whose beam Is spent on outward shapes, there is a way To make a search into its hidden’st passage. I know you would not love, to please your sense. A tree, that bears a ragged unleav’d top In depth of winter, may when summer comes Speak by his fruit he is not dead but youthful, Though once he shew’d no sap: my heart’s a plant Kept down by colder thoughts and doubtful fears. Your frowns like winter storms make it seem dead, But yet it is not so; make it but yours, And you shall see it spring, and shoot forth leaves Worthy your eye, and the oppressed sap Ascend to every part to make it green, And pay your love with fruit when harvest comes. _Sel._ Then you confess your love is cold as yet, And winter’s in your heart. _Inf._ Mistake me not, Selina, for I say My heart is cold, not love. _Sel._ And yet your love is from your heart, I’ll warrant. _Inf._ O you are nimble to mistake. My heart is cold in your displeasures only, And yet my love is fervent; for your eye, Casting out beams, maintains the flame it burns in. Again, sweet Love, My heart is not mine own, ’tis yours, you have it; And while it naked lies, not deign’d your bosom To keep it warm, how can it be but cold, In danger to be frozen? blame not it, You only are in fault it hath no heat. _Sel._ Well, Sir; I know you have rhetoric, but I Can without art give you a final answer. _Inf._ O stay, and think awhile; I cannot relish You should say final: sweet, deliberate; It doth concern all the estate I have; I mean not dunghill treasure, but my life Doth stand or fall to it; if your answer be That you can love me, be as swift as light’ning; But if you mean to kill me, and reject My so long love-devotions, which I’ve paid As to an altar, stay a little longer, And let me count the riches I shall lose By one poor airy word; first give me back That part of Infortunio that is lost Within your love; play not the tyrant with me.
C. L.
[305] Turn.
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RIDICULE.
In many cases ridicule might be used in the place of severe chastisement, and sometimes with a more lasting effect, especially among young people. One scheme of this kind was tried with great success by the elder Dr. Newcome, who governed a school at Hackney about forty years ago. When a pupil mistook in the pronunciation of a Latin word, he used to make the faulty lad repeat after him, before the whole school, “Nos Germăni, non curămus, quantītătem, syllābărum.” The penalty of uttering, in false quantity, this absurd assertion, supposed to be made by a German, importing that “His countrymen minded not how they pronounced Latin,” was more dreaded by the boys than the ferula or the rod.
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RIDICULOUS SITUATIONS.
LITERARY NURSERYMEN.
Melancthon studied the gravest points of theology, while he held his book in one hand, and in the other the edge of a cradle, which he incessantly rocked.
“M. Esprit, a celebrated author and scholar, has been caught by me,” says M. Marville, “reading Plato with great attention, considering the interruptions which he met, from the necessity of frequently sounding his little child’s whistle.”
A PRINCESS A-PICK-A-PACK.
The great constable of France, Anne de Montmorency, a man whose valour and military skill was only exceeded by his pride, his cruelty, and his bigotry, was ordered by Francis I. to carry on his shoulders, or any way that he could contrive it, his niece, the princess of Navarre, to the altar, where she was, against her will, to be married to the duc de Cleves. Brantome observes, that this was a hard task, as the little lady was so loaded with jewels, and rich brocade of gold and silver, that she could scarcely walk. The whole court were amazed at the king’s command; the queen of Navarre was pleased, as she wished her daughter to be humbled, on account of her having imbibed Lutheran principles; but the constable was much hurt, at being exposed to the ridicule of the whole world, and said, “It is henceforward over with me; my favour at court is passed away:” accordingly, he was dismissed as soon as the wedding was over.
Running at the “Quintain,” an old sport formerly common in England, unexpectedly occurs, and is sufficiently described, in the following report of a recent fashionable entertainment:--
COURT CIRCULAR.
Viscount and viscountess Gage gave a grand fête on Friday, (August 3, 1827,) at their seat at Firle-place, Sussex, to about a hundred and sixty of the nobility and gentry, at which the ancient game of _quintain_ was revived. The sports commenced by gentlemen riding with light spiked staves at rings and apples, suspended by a string, after which they changed their weapons to stout poles, and attacked the two quintains, which consisted of logs of wood fashioned to resemble the head and body of a man, and set upright upon a high bench, on which they were kept by a chain passing through the platform, and having a weight suspended to it, so that if the log was not struck full and forcibly the figure resumed its seat. One was also divided in the middle, and the upper part being fixed on a pivot turned, if not struck in the centre, and requited its assailant by a blow with a staff, to which was suspended a small bag of flour.
The purses for unhorsing this quintain were won by John Slater and Thomas Trebeck, Esqrs. The other figure which did not turn, opposed a lance towards the assailant’s face, and the rider was to avoid the lance, and unhorse the quintain at the same time. The purses were won by Sheffield Neave, Esq. and the hon. John Pelham.
A third pair of purses were offered for unhorsing the quintain, by striking on a coloured bell, which hooped round the waist of the figure, thereby raising the weight, which was considerable, by a much shorter lever than when struck higher up. This was a feat requiring great strength of arm and firmness of seat, and though not fairly won according to the rules of the game, the purses were ultimately assigned to the very spirited exertions of Messrs. Cayley and Gardener.
Viscountess Gage distributed the prizes to the conquerors.
About six o’clock the numerous party sat down to a cold collation of upwards of three hundred dishes, consisting of every delicacy the season could possibly afford, including the choicest collection of fruits, and wines of the finest quality: after which many recontinued the game of quintain; others diverted themselves at rifling the target. The ladies amused themselves at archery. In the evening the assemblage of nobility and gentry retired to the grand hall, where fashionable quadrilles concluded the amusements of the day.[306]
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Combating the quintain is presumed to have preceded jousts and tournaments. It was originally nothing more than the trunk of a tree, or a post, set up for the practice of tyros in chivalry. Afterwards a staff or spear was fixed in the earth, and a shield being hung upon it was the mark to strike at: the dexterity of the performer consisted in smiting the shield so as to break the ligatures, and throw it to the ground. In process of time this diversion was improved, and instead of the staff and the shield, the resemblance of a human figure carved in wood was introduced. To render its appearance formidable it was generally made in the likeness of an armed Turk or Saracen, with a shield on his left arm, and brandishing a club or sabre with his right. The quintain was placed upon a pivot, so as to move round with facility. In running at this figure the horseman directed his lance to strike the forehead, between the eyes or on the nose; for if he struck wide of those parts, especially upon the shield, the quintain turned about with much velocity, and unless he was exceedingly careful gave him a severe blow upon the back with the wooden sabre; when this occurred it was deemed disgraceful to the performer, and excited the laughter and ridicule of the spectators.
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The quintain is more particularly described by the late Mr. Strutt in his account of “The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England,” a large quarto volume, with plates, which, from its increasing scarcity and price, is scarcely attainable by the general reader. The above representation of the armed quintain is one of a series of illustrations for a new and correct edition of Mr. Strutt’s “Sports,” which is now preparing for the press under the superintendence of the editor of the _Table Book_. It will be accurately printed in octavo. Each of the engravings will be fac-simile, and of the same size as the engravings in the quarto volume. The price of the new edition will not exceed one-sixth of the cost of the original, and it will be published in shilling parts.
[306] Times, August 7, 1827.
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DAVID LOVE.
_For the Table Book._
Died, on Tuesday afternoon, June 12th, 1827, David Love; of whom there is a portrait, with a memoir, in the _Every-Day Book_, vol. ii. p. 225, with a further notice at p. 1575. He had nearly attained his seventy-seventh year; and, till within a few weeks of his death, pursued his avocation of “walking stationer” in Nottingham. It was unnecessary for him to take out an hawker’s license, as the commodities in which he dealt were entirely of his own manufacture.
According to the memoirs of David Love’s life, (a curious specimen of “autobiography,”) which he published in twenty-four penny numbers, in 1824, and which he sold very numerously, he was born near Edinburgh in the year 1750; at three years of age he was abandoned by his father, and his mother shortly afterwards became blind; he led her about, and was an “unlucky urchin;” when older grown he worked in a coal-pit, but broke his arm, and was discharged, and commenced hawking tracts and small books. At twenty-five he was worth upwards of three pounds. Then, thinking of settling in the world, he wooed, won, and married a young woman: a small shop was established, which succeeded at first; but finding his fortune wasting, he paid his first court to the Muses, by composing two songs, of which the titles only are now extant:--“The Pride and Vanity of Young Women, with Advice to Young Men, that they may take care who they marry;” and “The Pride and Vanity of Young men, with Advice to the Maids, to beware of being ensnared by their Flatteries and enticing Words.” These versifyings he printed, and first started at a distant fair. Their sale exceeded his expectations; he discontinued his shop, paid his debts, and soon after (during the American war) enlisted into the duke of Buccleugh’s regiment of South Fencibles. His wife quickly presented him with a son, which being “the first man child born in the regiment,” the duke accepted as his name-son. After experiencing the vicissitudes of a soldier’s life, and getting out of the “black hole” two or three times by his verses, he was discharged, in consequence of a weakness in his arm. He then had his soldier’s poems printed, resumed his old trade of walking stationer, turned his face to the south, and was the more successful the farther he went from home. After travelling for some years he settled at Gosport, commenced bookseller with his old stock of old books, and printed a fourpenny volume of original poems. He then lived for three years in London, and composed many poems. Bristol was his next place of residence, and there he performed several remarkable cures out of an old receipt-book, but was too conscientious to turn quack doctor. Here, he saw his father, who died shortly after, “a repenting sinner,” aged ninety-three. Still travelling, he reached Newbury, in Berkshire, where he tells us he was “converted,” and he dates his “new birth” on the 17th of April, 1796. Many pages of his work are occupied by his religious experience, and various texts of scripture, whence he derived consolation.
In 1804 David Love buried his wife, (aged fifty-one,) after a long illness, at Rugby, in Warwickshire. He journeyed to Leicester, and thence to Nottingham, where he from that time continued to reside, except at intervals, and where he married again. In eighteen months his second wife died suddenly, also at Rugby. The following is the commencement of a long elegy on the subject:--
“In this vain world my troubles still abound, My two wives lie in Rugby burial ground; Both of one name, and both of them one age, And in one house both were called off the stage.”