Chapter 19

On the other hand, productions which are merely surprising, without being natural, can never give any lasting entertainment to the mind. To draw chimaeras is not, properly speaking, to copy or imitate. The justness of the representation is lost, and the mind is displeased to find a picture which bears no resemblance to any original. Nor are such excessive refinements more agreeable in the epistolary or philosophic style, than in the epic or tragic. Too much ornament is a fault in every kind of production. Uncommon expressions, strong flashes of wit, pointed similes, and epigrammatic turns, especially when laid too thick, are a disfigurement rather than any embellishment of discourse. As the eye, in surveying a Gothic building, is distracted by the multiplicity of ornaments, and loses the whole by its minute attention to the parts; so the mind, in perusing a work overstocked with wit, is fatigued and disgusted with the constant endeavour to shine and surprise. This is the case where a writer over-abounds in wit, even though that wit should be just and agreeable. But it commonly happens to such writers, that they seek for their favourite ornaments even where the subject affords them not; and by that means have twenty insipid conceits for one thought that is really beautiful.

There is no subject in critical learning more copious than this of the just mixture of simplicity and refinement in writing; and, therefore, not to wander in too large a field, I shall confine myself to a few general observations on that head.

First, I observe, "That though excesses of both kinds are to be avoided, and though a proper medium ought to be studied in all productions; yet this medium lies not in a point, but admits of a very considerable latitude." Consider the wide distance, in this respect, between Mr. Pope and Lucretius. These seem to lie in the two greatest extremes of refinement and simplicity which a poet can indulge himself in, without being guilty of any blameable excess. All this interval may be filled with poets, who may differ from each other, but may be equally admirable, each in his peculiar style and manner. Corneille and Congreve, who carry their wit and refinement somewhat farther than Mr. Pope (if poets of so different a kind can be compared together), and Sophocles and Terence, who are more simple than Lucretius, seem to have gone out of that medium wherein the most perfect productions are to be found, and are guilty of some excess in these opposite characters. Of all the great poets, Virgil and Racine, in my opinion, lie nearest the centre, and are the farthest removed from both the extremities.

My second observation on this head is, "That it is very difficult, if not impossible, to explain by words wherein the just medium betwixt the excesses of simplicity and refinement consists, or to give any rule by which we can know precisely the bounds betwixt the fault and the beauty." A critic may not only discourse very judiciously on this head without instructing his readers, but even without understanding the matter perfectly himself. There is not in the world a finer piece of criticism than Fontenelle's "Dissertation on Pastorals;" wherein, by a number of reflections and philosophical reasonings, he endeavours to fix the just medium which is suitable to that species of writing. But let any one read the pastorals of that author, and he will be convinced, that this judicious critic, notwithstanding his fine reasonings, had a false taste, and fixed the point of perfection much nearer the extreme of refinement than pastoral poetry will admit of. The sentiments of his shepherds are better suited to the toilets of Paris than to the forests of Arcadia. But this it is impossible to discover from his critical reasonings. He blames all excessive painting and ornament, as much as Virgil could have done had he written a dissertation on this species of poetry. However different the tastes of men may be, their general discourses on these subjects are commonly the same. No criticism can be very instructive which descends not to particulars, and is not full of examples and illustrations. 'Tis allowed on all hands, that beauty, as well as virtue, lies always in a medium; but where this medium is placed is the great question, and can never be sufficiently explained by general reasonings.

I shall deliver it as a third observation on this subject, "That we ought to be more on our guard against the excess of refinement than that of simplicity; and that because the former excess is both less beautiful and more dangerous than the latter."

It is a certain rule that wit and passion are entirely inconsistent. When the affections are moved, there is no place for the imagination. The mind of man being naturally limited, it is impossible all his faculties can operate at once; and the more any one predominates, the less room is there for the others to exert their vigour. For this reason a greater degree of simplicity is required in all compositions, where men and actions and passions are painted, than in such as consist of reflections and observations. And as the former species of writing is the more engaging and beautiful, one may safely, upon this account, give the preference to the extreme of simplicity above that of refinement.

We may also observe, that those compositions which we read the oftenest, and which every man of taste has got by heart, have the recommendation of simplicity, and have nothing surprising in the thought when divested of that elegance of expression and harmony of numbers with which it is cloathed. If the merit of the composition lies in a point of wit, it may strike at first; but the mind anticipates the thought in the second perusal, and is no longer affected by it. When I read an epigram of Martial, the first line recalls the whole; and I have no pleasure in repeating to myself what I know already. But each line, each word in Catullus has its merit; and I am never tired with the perusal of him. It is sufficient to rim over Cowley once; but Parnel, after the fiftieth reading, is fresh as at the first. Besides, it is with books as with women, where a certain plainness of manner and of dress is more engaging than that glare of paint and airs and apparel which may dazzle the eye but reaches not the affections. Terence is a modest and bashful beauty, to whom we grant every thing, because he assumes nothing, and whose purity and nature make a durable though not a violent impression upon us.

But refinement, as it is the less beautiful, so it is the more dangerous extreme, and what we are the aptest to fall into. Simplicity passes for dulness when it is not accompanied with great elegance and propriety. On the contrary, there is something surprising in a blaze of wit and conceit. Ordinary readers are mightily struck with it, and falsely imagine it to be the most difficult, as well as most excellent way of writing. Seneca abounds with agreeable faults, says Quinctilian--_abundat dulcibus vitiis_; and for that reason is the more dangerous and the more apt to pervert the taste of the young and inconsiderate.

I shall add, that the excess of refinement is now more to be guarded against than ever; because it is the extreme which men are the most apt to fall into, after learning has made great progress, and after eminent writers have appeared in every species of composition. The endeavour to please by novelty leads men wide of simplicity and nature, and fills their writings with affectation and conceit. It was thus that the age of Claudius and Nero became so much inferior to that of Augustus in taste and genius; and perhaps there are at present some symptoms of a like degeneracy of taste, in France as well as in England.

HUME.

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JOHN HAMPDEN.

The celebrated patriot, John Hampden, was descended from an ancient family in Buckinghamshire, where he was born in 1594. On leaving the University, he entered the inns of court, where he made considerable progress in the study of the law. He was chosen to serve in the Parliament which assembled at Westminster, February, 1626, and served in all the succeeding Parliaments in the reign of Charles I. That Monarch having quarrelled with his Parliament, was obliged to have recourse to the open exercise of his prerogative in order to supply himself with money. From the nobility he desired assistance; from the City of London he required a loan of £100,000. The former contributed but slowly; the latter at length gave a flat denial. To equip a fleet, an apportionment was made, by order of the Council, amongst all the maritime towns, each of which was required, with the assistance of the adjoining counties, to furnish a certain number of vessels or amount of shipping. The City of London was rated at twenty ships. And this was the first appearance in the present reign of ship-money--a taxation which had once been imposed by Elizabeth, on a great emergency, but which, revived and carried further by Charles, produced the most violent discontent.

In 1636, John Hampden became universally known by his intrepid opposition to the ship-money, as an illegal tax. Upon this he was prosecuted, and his conduct throughout the transaction gained him great credit and reputation. When the Long Parliament began, the eyes of all were fixed upon him as the father of his country. On the 3rd of January, 1642, the King ordered articles of high treason, and other misdemeanours, to be prepared against Lord Kimbolton, Mr. Hampden, and four other members of the House of Commons, and went to the House to seize them, but they had retired. Mr. Hampden afterwards made a celebrated speech in the House to clear himself from the charge brought against him.

In the beginning of the civil war Hampden commanded a regiment of foot, and did good service at the battle of Edgehill; but he received a mortal wound in an engagement with Prince Rupert, in Chalgrave-field, in Oxfordshire, and died in 1648. Hampden is said to have possessed in a high degree talents for gaining and preserving popular influence, and great courage, industry, and strength of mind, which procured him great ascendancy over other men.

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OTHELLO'S HISTORY.

Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have past. I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving incidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And 'portance in my travels' history; Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak--such was the process; And of the cannibals that each other eat-- The Anthropophagi--and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to bear Would Desdemona seriously incline: still the house affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse; which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage relate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard But not intentively: I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs; She swore--in faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful; She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd That Heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me; And bade me if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake; She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used: Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

SHAKSPEARE.

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FILIAL LOVE.

Verily duty to parents is of the first consequence; and would you, my young friends, recommend yourselves to the favour of your God and Father, would you imitate the example of your adorable Redeemer, and be made an inheritor of his precious promises; would you enjoy the peace and comforts of this life, and the good esteem of your fellow-creatures--Reverence your parents; and be it your constant endeavour, as it will be your greatest satisfaction, to witness your high sense of, and to make some returns for the obligations you owe to them, by every act of filial obedience and love.

Let their commands be ever sacred in your ears, and implicitly obeyed, where they do not contradict the commands of God: pretend not to be wiser than they, who have had so much more experience than yourselves; and despise them not, if haply you should be so blest as to have gained a degree of knowledge or of fortune superior to them. Let your carriage towards them be always respectful, reverent, and submissive; let your words be always affectionate and humble, and especially beware of pert and ill-seeming replies; of angry, discontented, and peevish looks. Never imagine, if they thwart your wills, or oppose your inclinations, that this ariseth from any thing but love to you: solicitous as they have ever been for your welfare, always consider the same tender solicitude as exerting itself, even in cases most opposite to your desires; and let the remembrance of what they have done and suffered for you, ever preserve you from acts of disobedience, and from paining those good hearts which have already felt so much for you, their children.

The Emperor of China, on certain days of the year, pays a visit to his mother, who is seated on a throne to receive him; and four times on his feet, and as often on his knees, he makes her a profound obeisance, bowing his head even to the ground.

Sir Thomas More seems to have emulated this beautiful example; for, being Lord Chancellor of England at the same time that his father was a Judge of the King's Bench, he would always, on his entering Westminster Hall, go first to the King's Bench, and ask his father's blessing before he went to sit in the Court of Chancery, as if to secure success in the great decisions of his high and important office.

DR. DODD.

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QUEEN MARY'S BOWER, CHATSWORTH.

When the widowed Mary, Queen of Scots, left France, where she had dwelt since her fifth year--where she had shared in the education of the French King's own daughters, in one of the convents of the kingdom, and been the idol of the French Court and people, it is said that, as the coast of the happy land faded from her view, she continued to exclaim, "Farewell, France! farewell, dear France--I shall never see thee more!" And her first view of Scotland only increased the poignancy of these touching regrets. So little pains had been taken to "cover over the nakedness and poverty of the land," that tears sprang into her eyes, when, fresh from the elegant luxurious Court of Paris, she saw the wretched ponies, with bare, wooden saddles, or dirty and ragged trappings, which had been provided to carry her and her ladies from the water-side to Holyrood. And then the palace itself; how different from the palaces in which she had lived in France! Dismal and small, it consisted only of what is now the north wing. The state-room and the bed-chamber which were used by her yet remain, with the old furniture, and much of the needle-work there is said to have been the work of her hands. During her long and melancholy imprisonment in England, the art of needle-work and reading were almost her only mode of relieving the dreary hours.

From the moment Mary of Scotland took the fatal resolution of throwing herself upon the supposed kindness and generosity of Elizabeth, her fate was sealed, and it was that of captivity, only to be ended by death. She was immediately cut off from all communication with her subjects, except such as it was deemed proper to allow; and was moved about from place to place, the better to ensure her safety. The hapless victim again and again implored Elizabeth to deal generously and justly with her. "I came," said she, in one of her letters, "of mine own accord; let me depart again with yours: and if God permit my cause to succeed, I shall be bound to you for it." But her rival was unrelenting, and, in fact, increased the rigours of her confinement. Whilst a prisoner at Chatsworth, she had been permitted the indulgence of air and exercise; and the bower of Queen Mary is still shown in the noble grounds of that place, as a favourite resort of the unfortunate captive. But even this absolutely necessary indulgence was afterwards denied; she was wholly confined to the Castle of Fotheringay, and a standing order was issued that "she should be shot if she attempted to escape, or if others attempted to rescue her."

Burns, in his "Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots," touchingly expresses the weary feelings that must have existed in the breast of the Royal captive:--

"Oh, soon to me may summer suns Nae mair light up the morn! Nae mair to me the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn! And in the narrow house of death, Let winter round me rave; And the next flowers that deck the spring, Bloom on my peaceful grave."

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TUBULAR RAILWAY BRIDGES.

In the year 1850, a vast line of railway was completed from Chester to Holyhead, for the conveyance of the Royal mails, of goods and passengers, and of her Majesty's troops and artillery, between London and Dublin--Holyhead being the most desirable point at which to effect this communication with Ireland. Upon this railway are two stupendous bridges, which are the most perfect examples of engineering skill ever executed in England, or in any other country.

The first of these bridges carries the railway across the river Conway, close to the ancient castle built by Edward I. in order to bridle his new subjects, the Welsh.

The Conway bridge consists of a tube, or long, huge chest, the ends of which rest upon stone piers, built to correspond with the architecture of the old castle. The tube is made of wrought-iron plates, varying in thickness from a quarter of an inch to one inch, riveted together, and strengthened by irons in the form of the letter T; and, to give additional strength to the whole, a series of cells is formed at the bottom and top of the tube, between an inner ceiling and floor and the exterior plates; the iron plates which form the cells being riveted and held in their places by angle irons. The space between the sides of the tube is 14 feet; and the height of the whole, inclusive of the cells, is 22 feet 3-1/2 inches at the ends, and 25 feet 6 inches at the centre. The total length of the tube is 412 feet. One end of the tube is fixed to the masonry of the pier; but the other is so arranged as to allow for the expansion of the metal by changes of the temperature of the atmosphere, and it therefore, rests upon eleven rollers of iron, running upon a bed-plate; and, that the whole weight of the tube may not be carried by these rollers, six girders are carried over the tube, and riveted to the upper parts of its sides, which rest upon twelve balls of gun-metal running in grooves, which are fixed to iron beams let into the masonry.

The second of these vast railway bridges crosses the Menai Straits, which separate Caernarvon from the island of Anglesey. It is constructed a good hundred feet above high-water level, to enable large vessels to sail beneath it; and in building it, neither scaffolding nor centering was used.

The abutments on either side of the Straits are huge piles of masonry. That on the Anglesey side is 143 feet high, and 173 feet long. The wing walls of both terminate in splendid pedestals, and on each are two colossal lions, of Egyptian design; each being 25 feet long, 12 feet high though crouched, 9 feet abaft the body, and each paw 2 feet 1 inches. Each weighs 30 tons. The towers for supporting the tube are of a like magnitude with the entire work. The great Britannia Tower, in the centre of the Straits, is 62 feet by 52 feet at its base; its total height from the bottom, 230 feet; it contains 148,625 cubic feet of limestone, and 144,625 of sandstone; it weighs 20,000 tons; and there are 387 tons of cast iron built into it in the shape of beams and girders. It sustains the four ends of the four long iron tubes which span the Straits from shore to shore. The total quantity of stone contained in the bridge is 1,500,000 cubic feet. The side towers stand at a clear distance of 460 feet from the great central tower; and, again, the abutments stand at a distance from the side towers of 230 feet, giving the entire bridge a total length of 1849 feet, corresponding with the date of the year of its construction. The side or land towers are each 62 feet by 52 feet at the base, and 190 feet high; they contain 210 tons of cast iron.

The length of the great tube is exactly 470 feet, being 12 feet longer than the clear space between the towers, and the greatest span ever yet attempted. The greatest height of the tube is in the centre--30 feet, and diminishing towards the end to 22 feet. Each tube consists of sides, top and bottom, all formed of long, narrow wrought-iron plates, varying in length from 12 feet downward. These plates are of the same manufacture as those for making boilers, varying in thickness from three-eighths to three-fourths of an inch. Some of them weigh nearly 7 cwt., and are amongst the largest it is possible to roll with any existing machinery. The connexion between top, bottom, and sides is made much more substantial by triangular pieces of thick plate, riveted in across the corners, to enable the tube to resist the cross or twisting strain to which it will be exposed from the heavy and long-continued gales of wind that, sweeping up the Channel, will assail it in its lofty and unprotected position. The rivets, of which there are 2,000,000--each tube containing 327,000--are more than an inch in diameter. They are placed in rows, and were put in the holes red hot, and beaten with heavy hammers. In cooling, they contracted strongly, and drew the plates together so powerfully that it required a force of from 1 to 6 tons to each rivet, to cause the plates to slide over each other. The weight of wrought iron in the great tube is 1600 tons.

Each of these vast bridge tubes was constructed on the shore, then floated to the base of the piers, or bridge towers, and raised to its proper elevation by hydraulic machinery, the largest in the world, and the most powerful ever constructed. For the Britannia Bridge, this consisted of two vast presses, one of which has power equal to that of 30,000 men, and it lifted the largest tube six feet in half an hour.

The Britannia tubes being in two lines, are passages for the up and down trains across the Straits. Each of the tubes has been compared to the Burlington Arcade, in Piccadilly; and the labour of placing this tube upon the piers has been assimilated to that of raising the Arcade upon the summit of the spire of St. James's Church, if surrounded with water.