Part 2

The person we allude to was Robert Meekins, or, as he was familiarly called, “Bob,” a violinist of great tavern-playing notoriety in his day. Like his brother professors, the harpers of the last century, of whom Mr Bunting has given us such characteristic anecdotes, Bob was a thoroughly Irish musician in every sense of the word; and though, as we believe, he had never travelled out of Dublin, his native city, few were found to equal him on his instrument either in tone, execution, or expression of feeling. From the earliest period of his musical studies, however, he had indulged in a wild and extemporaneous mode of practice, which proved most injurious to his professional career in after life, and unfortunately for him, being moreover an inveterate hater of _dry_ study, Bob more frequently wetted his whistle than he rosined his bow. Under the influence of such _bad practice_ he became at last incurably vicious, and rarely kept within reasonable bounds, either in the way of drinking or fiddle-playing. Indeed, whatever command poor Bob retained over his instrument, he had none over himself. Leader after leader sought to curb him in his wild extravagances of style, in the vain hope of diverting his great natural musical powers into legitimate courses; but Bob would never be led, and as to driving him, that was found to be equally impracticable. He would go his own way, and no other. He would read concerted music, not as it was intended, but as he thought it should be. His passion for _obligatoes_ was unconquerable, and he rarely arrived at an _ad libitum_ that he did not avail himself of it with a vengeance; and thus, while his brother musicians were attending to the pauses, perfectly content with the single note before them, an impromptu cadence would be heard meandering through a chord, telling of Bob’s wanderings, and he the while so absorbed as to be equally heedless of the elbow-punchings of his neighbours, the authority of his leader, or the intentions of the composer. No composer indeed came up to his fancy--entirely; something was always wanting, and his fingers were ever upon the alert to supply that something which was not set down for him: and should a remonstrance come from the leader, it but too frequently produced a _presto_ movement on the part of Bob, leaving a vacancy in the orchestra to be filled up as it might, at the shortest possible notice. Vain of his powers, and scorning restraint, his kicks against orchestral rule became beyond all bearing, and so he was himself at last kicked out from all decent musical society. Thus finding himself alone, he naturally turned _solo_ player, and became one of the lions of Dublin, drawing nightly crowds to the taverns he frequented, where he could indulge his love for flights of fancy to his heart’s content. But, unfortunately for him, in this new sphere he was enabled by the liberal contributions of his admirers to indulge also without restraint that more fatal passion for drink which had proved his bane through life, leading him step by step, as usual with such reckless characters, to an untimely and degraded grave. It is generally believed that poor Bob Meekins died from the effects of intemperance in some wretched doorway in an alley of our city.

Such, then, was the person selected by Doctor Cogan to perform a principal part in the little musical drama which he had prepared for the reception of the great foreign violinist of the day, and the place chosen for its performance was the once celebrated hotel or tavern called the Pigeon-house, which at that period was the common resort for the meetings or departures of friends to or from England by the Holyhead packets. Thither accordingly the Doctor and his musical companions repaired, to await the expected arrival of the Signor, and ordered dinner with the determination that he should be their guest. It is not necessary to dilate upon the reception given to the brother professor, or to particularise all the good things that were said, sung, and eaten upon the occasion. It is sufficient to say that every thing passed off in true Hibernian style, to the astonishment as well as gratification of Pinto, who was delighted to find himself surrounded by so many new and warm-hearted friends, each keeping up the tide of merriment by a rapid circulation of the bottle amid the joyous flow of song, jest, and laugh. But where was Bob all this time? He was placed in an adjoining passage awaiting a silent signal, and being primed for action, was impatient for the moment of attack upon the excitable nerves of the delighted Italian. This signal was at length given, and so effectually arranged were the parts given to each of the Doctor’s apt pupils, that as the soul-thrilling tones of Bob’s violin vibrated through the room, it seemed to produce no other effect upon their ears than a _sotto voce_ expression of displeasure, or _forzando_ of horror. All this seemed quite spontaneous, and was at the same time so judiciously managed as to allow the instrument to predominate over the voices, and thus enable the practised ear of Pinto to discover in the invisible minstrel a master spirit--nor did the well-timed _crescendo_ of “Turn the scraping villain out,” “Curse the noisy blackguard,” &c. &c. arrive at its climax, until Bob’s varied and expressive execution had completely bewildered the poor Signor with amazement. To him, indeed, the scene was one as unusual as it was unexpected; and when silence was somewhat restored, he eagerly asked in his broken English whence the tones had come; and truly ludicrous were the varied expressions of the Italian’s intellectual countenance on being assured by the Doctor and his assistants that the performer who had so enraptured him was a rascally itinerant fiddler, who gained a precarious livelihood by scraping at taverns. The effect may easily be imagined. The Signor insisted upon seeing him; and when Bob’s whisky face and tattered habiliments became visible, Pinto sat fixed in mute bewilderment, conjuring up in his excited imagination the apparition of a Meekins at the corner of every street; and the success of the Doctor’s joke was complete, when the poor Italian, with a forlorn and chopfallen visage, was heard to mutter, “Lit-el fid-el--lit-el fid-el--you call--if dis lit-el fidel, me go back, me no use!”

A simultaneous burst of laughter was the response to these hurried and broken accents of surprise and chagrin. But enough was effected, and in quick compassion for poor Pinto’s feelings, he was at once made to understand the whole contrivance, on which he laughed as loudly as any of the merry Irish group around him. The scene of joyousness was kept up till an _early_ hour, during which Meekins occasionally revelled in the music of his own dear land, to the increased delight not only of the Signor, but of all present on the occasion.

W.

THE INQUIRY.

Tell me, ye winged winds, That round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot Where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, Some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, And sigh’d for pity as it answered “No!”

Tell me, thou mighty deep, Whose billows round me play, Knowest thou some favour’d spot, Some island far away, Where weary man may find The bliss for which he sighs? Where sorrow never lives, And friendship never dies? The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopp’d for a while, and sigh’d, to answer. “No!”

And thou, serenest moon, That, with such holy face, Dost look upon the earth Asleep in night’s embrace, Tell me, in all thy round Hast thou not seen some spot, Where miserable man Might find a happier lot? Behind a cloud, the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded “No!”

Tell me, my secret soul, O! tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place From sorrow, sin, and death? Is there no happy spot Where mortals may be bless’d-- Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest? Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, Waved their bright wings, and whisper’d, “Yes! in Heaven!”

--_Mackay’s Poems_

ON THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS BY MEANS OF CHARMS, INCANTATIONS, AND DRUGS.

Second Article.

SERPENT-CHARMING AS PRACTISED BY THE JUGGLERS OF ASIA.

In my last paper I endeavoured to furnish my readers with a description of serpent-charming, as at present practised by the jugglers of Egypt, Arabia, and India. I now come to a review of the opinions maintained respecting this mysterious art, and the secret on which it depends, by some of the most eminent philosophers who have turned their attention to the subject.

These opinions are as various as they are numerous, no two individuals who have written upon the practice agreeing in any one particular, save only their determination to regard the whole affair as an imposture--the snake-charmers as clever and designing cheats, and all who believed in the reality of their performances, as silly dupes. I shall merely advert to some of the most striking of these suppositions, and then proceed to an investigation of their merits, ere advancing my own theory on the subject.

Many travellers who have written on the practice of serpent-charming have declared it as their conviction that the process is based in deception, that is, that the serpents charmed forth from holes are by no means wild creatures, who really and naturally inhabit those recesses, but animals which have been previously tamed, their poisonous fangs extracted, and placed there by the juggler or an accomplice, in order to the performance of his pretended miracle. Amongst the most prominent of these objectors are to be found the Abbé Dubois and the traveller Denon; and the latter author even goes so far as to affirm that the secret of the Psylli was a piece of nonsense that he might easily have discovered had he been so disposed. A precious traveller truly! to have had it in his power to discover a secret that a hundred naturalists would have given their very eyes to become acquainted with, and yet to neglect taking the necessary trouble. Ah, Monsieur Denon, how you do remind me of the witty fable of the fox and the sour grapes! The Abbé Dubois, though equally sceptical, does not venture to handle this mysterious subject quite so cavalierly as Denon. He says that the Psylli perform various _tricks_ with serpents, which, though apparently terrible, are not very dangerous, as they _always_ take the precaution to have the fangs previously removed, and to have with them the venomous vesicle extracted. He likewise informs us that they are _supposed_ to have the power of charming those dangerous reptiles, and of commanding them to approach and surrender themselves at the sound of music; and he quotes the passages of scripture to which I referred in my preceding article, as confirmatory of the authenticity of the practice; yet he will not admit that even this mass of evidence will convince that the charmer’s art is aught but an imposture. “Without dwelling,” says he, “on the literal accuracy of this striking passage of Holy Scripture, I may confidently affirm that the skill which the Indian _pretenders to enchantment_ claim in this particular, is rank imposture. The trick consists in placing a snake, previously tamed and accustomed to music, in some remote place, and they manage it so that in appearing accidentally to approach that place, and beginning to play, the snake comes forward at the wonted sounds. When they enter into an agreement with any simpleton who fancies that his house is infested with serpents--a notion which they sometimes contrive to infuse into his brain--they cunningly introduce some tame snakes into some crevice of his house, which come to their master as soon as he sounds his musical call. The chuckling enchanter then instantly whips up the serpent, claps it into his basket, pockets his fee, and, all the while doubtless laughing in his sleeve, goes to some other house, to renew his offers of assistance to similar dupes.”

As to the idea that the snakes are previously deprived of their fangs, and that the jugglers secure themselves against all danger of being injured by the regular dancing snakes that they carry about with them in baskets, a single anecdote related by Forbes, in his Oriental Memoirs, will I think suffice to combat and refute it. Not having the book by me while I write, I hope my readers will excuse any slight discrepancies which they may detect on a reference to my authority. Forbes states that on the cessation of the music the reptiles lapse into a sort of lethargy, and appear motionless. It is, however, he adds, necessary that they should be immediately covered up in the baskets, as otherwise they may spring upon and wound the spectators; and he informs us that fatal accidents frequently occur from inattention to this precaution. Amongst his drawings is that of a Cobra de Capella, which, under the magic influence of a professed serpent-charmer’s music, danced before him for an hour upon his table while he painted it, and during that period he repeatedly handled it and carefully examined the structure of its head, hood, and jaws, and inspected minutely the variety and extreme beauty of its spots. The following day an upper servant of his rushed into his apartment, and cried out that he was a fortunate, a most fortunate man, doubtless under the immediate protection of the Prophet--that his devotions had proved acceptable, and sundry other expressions, totally incomprehensible to Forbes, who inquired his meaning. The man then related that he had just been in the bazaar, where he had seen the same juggler who had entertained him the day preceding, performing before a crowd of people, who, as was usual on such occasions, formed a circle around the operator, seated on the ground. At the close of the performance, the reptile, whether infuriated from the music ceasing too suddenly, or from some other cause not to be explained, darted amongst the spectators, and seizing a young woman by the throat, inflicted a wound of which she died in about an hour. Here was proof positive that the extraction of the serpent’s fangs was thought by no means essential to training him to his performance.

So much for the idea that the _dancing_ snakes are always deprived of their fangs--now as to the reality of the circumstance of the _wild_ serpents being drawn forth from their holes by the charmer’s pipe, and not being _tamed animals_ placed in those holes for the express purpose of deception.

Perhaps the best refutation of this idea that I can adduce, will be found in a highly interesting account I received lately from a friend resident for many years in India, and who directed a more than ordinary degree of attention to snake-charmers and their feats; nay, not merely to them, but to every other description of magical rites, of which no land now furnishes so many wonder-working adepts as India, not even Egypt.

He told me of men who would sow a seed of corn in a flower-pot, and by sundry mysterious incantations cause it to sprout, grow up, throw off leaves, bud, produce grain, and ripen, all within the space of an hour. He told me of men who would turn an empty hamper upside down, and produce from thence shawls, jewels, strings of beads, muslin turbans, and, in short, any article the spectators chose to demand. He told me many other singular and wondrous stories; but, what at present is of more immediate importance, he gave me a singular account of serpent-charming. I need not recapitulate its details, as they precisely resemble those quoted in a former article: I need only observe, that he assured me he had examined the subject too closely, and had taken too many precautions to prevent the possibility of fraud, to admit of its being, in any one instance, practised upon him. He had sent a distance of fifty miles up the country for a snake-catcher, and had set him to work in a spot entirely unknown to all as the place he had selected, until he conducted them and the juggler thither; and he had dozens of times seen the reptiles drawn from their retreats by the sounds of the flute or fife, which they evidently derived extreme pleasure from hearing. It was my friend’s opinion that the chief agent in the operation of serpent-charming was music; the animals positively delighted in the sound of the soft instruments employed by the performers, and were by its influence lulled into a sort of pleasurable trance whenever the exciting cause was put in operation.

My friend once sat beneath the shade of a spreading tree, and was amusing himself with his flageolet, an instrument on which he performed with much skill; he had not been thus employed above an hour, when a native, happening to come up the approach to his residence, suddenly started, and began muttering prayers as fast as he was able. My friend could scarcely refrain from laughing at this singular exhibition, being entirely ignorant of its cause, and was about to rise up, when the stranger called out to him to remain where he was, and keep playing upon his instrument if he valued his life, for that imminent danger threatened him. This announcement, instead of producing the desired effect, only confirmed my friend in the supposition that the strange Hindoo was some mad fakir, who, half knave and half crazy, was endeavouring to play upon his feelings, as he so frequently and successfully did upon those of his silly countrymen. He accordingly sprang to his feet; but what his consternation was, you, reader, may judge. As he rose, a prodigious Cobra de Capella presented itself to his astonished and affrighted gaze, hanging by its tail from the tree, its gleaming eyes and hooded head not more than two feet from his own! For a moment he felt as it were fascinated, rooted to the spot; but in a second afterwards, terror acted in her more legitimate manner: he sprang several paces backward, and running to the house, procured assistance, on which he again sallied forth, accompanied by several natives, who by their cries and hooting succeeded in inducing the snake to beat a retreat. He was watched, however, in his departure, and traced to a hole; a guard was placed over it, and that too of Europeans, so that no confederacy could exist. A snake-catcher was procured from a distance of ten miles; he approached the hole, played upon his instrument, and at length the reptile crawled forth, and was captured and secured in the usual manner.

I think that even this brief and hurried account must have compelled my readers to cast from their minds all notion of the snakes being _laid in the proper places_ by the jugglers beforehand, as preparatory to a performance, as I have shown in the instances above mentioned that no such thing could have been done. And the idea of the creature’s having been previously rendered harmless, is also overturned by the circumstance of the Cobra de Capella, handled one day with impunity by Forbes, having on the following morning bitten a young woman, who died of the effects of the poison within an hour. I trust, then, that I have brought you to admit that the art of snake-charming is a _genuine_ art, whether simple or not remains to be proved when the true secret shall have been found out; and that the professors of this secret are not impostors, at least not in this particular, but at the very least as respectable characters as the rat-catchers of our native country, who, my readers are of course aware, pretend likewise to possess the secret of charming and enticing rats from any place. In my next paper I shall conclude this subject of _charming_, and endeavour to explain some of the modes by which various animals are thus seduced.

H. D. R.

KNOWLEDGE AND IGNORANCE.--No. I.

BOULDERS.

In using the above terms, let it not be supposed that I mean to imply by the one a perfect knowledge, or a knowledge of everything, and by the other a perfect ignorance, or a total want of any knowledge. Either of such conditions of the mind is incompatible with human organization; the one, a perfect knowledge, belongs alone to an order of intelligence infinitely excelling that of man; and the other, a perfect ignorance, must be sought for in creatures so far below him as to possess no intelligence. The idiot is not without perception and knowledge, though of an imperfect and irregular kind. The dog knows its master, recognizes and obeys his voice. The horse knows and traces, after years of absence, the road he had once been accustomed to travel; and even reptiles and fishes acquire a knowledge of persons, of times, and of things; all this being independent of that range of intelligences which has been given to every creature for the preservation of its own existence, and for ensuring the continuance of its species. The terms Knowledge and Ignorance are used, then, in a comparative sense, being, according to circumstances, convertible one into the other. What, for instance, is knowledge at one time, becomes ignorance at another; and the man who seems wise to those who know less than he does, seems equally foolish to those who know more--a strong reason surely why no one, however gifted he may to himself appear, should despise his less gifted brethren. Mounted he may indeed be on a hill so high that he can discern objects in the distance which are hidden from the more humble plodders of the plain below, and yet his own horizon be proportionately limited when compared to that of others who have climbed the still higher mountain above him. Can we not all bring home to our minds this varying value of our acquirements at successive periods of our lives? and are we not sometimes surprised to reflect that some problem was once difficult, or some fact obscure, which is now as familiar to our understandings as the daylight to our eyes? We have, in short, as regards these particular objects, passed from the night of ignorance into the day of knowledge. And us with the same individual, and even with whole classes of individuals, at different epochs, so is it with different individuals at the same time: one person holding in his hand the dim taper of ignorance, sees by its flickering and ill-directed light the object of his examination, distorted by partial and shifting shadows--just as some timid traveller on a dusky night sees in each waving bush, as to his alarmed imagination it grows to a portentous size, or assumes a fearful form, some aërial phantom, or some terrestrial monster. The other, raising the bright lamp of knowledge, dispels at once by its clear and steady light, uncertainty, and sees the object as it is.