[502]Of which there is an English translation in 8vo.[503]It is entitled “The Unnoticed Theories of Servetus, a Dissertation addressed to the Medical Society of Stockholm. By George Sigmond, M.D. late of Jesus College, Cambridge, and formerly President of the Royal Physical Society of Edinburgh. London, 1826.” 8vo. pp. 80.[504]“An Inquiry concerning that disturbed State of the Vital Functions, usually denominated Constitutional Irritation. By Benjamin Travers, F.R.S. Senior Surgeon to St. Thomas’s Hospital, and President of the Medico-Chirurgical and Hunterian Societies of London, &c. second edition. London, 1827.” 8vo.[505]Dr. Adam Clarke; Bibliographical Dict. vol. vi.
[502]Of which there is an English translation in 8vo.
[503]It is entitled “The Unnoticed Theories of Servetus, a Dissertation addressed to the Medical Society of Stockholm. By George Sigmond, M.D. late of Jesus College, Cambridge, and formerly President of the Royal Physical Society of Edinburgh. London, 1826.” 8vo. pp. 80.
[504]“An Inquiry concerning that disturbed State of the Vital Functions, usually denominated Constitutional Irritation. By Benjamin Travers, F.R.S. Senior Surgeon to St. Thomas’s Hospital, and President of the Medico-Chirurgical and Hunterian Societies of London, &c. second edition. London, 1827.” 8vo.
[505]Dr. Adam Clarke; Bibliographical Dict. vol. vi.
LINES,On seeing in the Table Book the Signatureof a brother, W. W. K.Where’er those well-known characters I see,They are, and ever will be, dear to me!How oft in that green field, beneath the shadeOf beechen-boughs, whilst other youngsters play’d,Have I, a happy schoolboy, o’er and o’er,Conn’d those dear signs, which now I read once more!How oft, as on the daisied grass I laid,Full pleas’d, the W. W. K. I’ve read!—When once espied, how tedious ’twas to waitThe crippled postman’s well-known shuffling gait,As, slowly creeping down the winding lane,With such a sluggish pace he onward came;Or if in school,—his ring no sooner heard,Than home, with all its sweets, to mind recurr’d;And whilst the letter’s page its news reveal’d,The gath’ring drop my boyish sight conceal’d!Something then whisper’d, Bill, that life begunSo well, the same still happily would run;That tho’ for years the briny sea divide,Or be it good, or ill, that each betide,The same fond heart would throb in either’s breast,Fondness by years and stealing time increas’d!So, as in early days it first became,Shall it in riper life, be still the same,That by and by, when we’re together laid’Neath the green moss-grown pile—it may be said,As lonely footsteps tow’rds our hillock turn,“They were in life and death together one!”
LINES,On seeing in the Table Book the Signatureof a brother, W. W. K.
Where’er those well-known characters I see,They are, and ever will be, dear to me!How oft in that green field, beneath the shadeOf beechen-boughs, whilst other youngsters play’d,Have I, a happy schoolboy, o’er and o’er,Conn’d those dear signs, which now I read once more!How oft, as on the daisied grass I laid,Full pleas’d, the W. W. K. I’ve read!—When once espied, how tedious ’twas to waitThe crippled postman’s well-known shuffling gait,As, slowly creeping down the winding lane,With such a sluggish pace he onward came;Or if in school,—his ring no sooner heard,Than home, with all its sweets, to mind recurr’d;And whilst the letter’s page its news reveal’d,The gath’ring drop my boyish sight conceal’d!Something then whisper’d, Bill, that life begunSo well, the same still happily would run;That tho’ for years the briny sea divide,Or be it good, or ill, that each betide,The same fond heart would throb in either’s breast,Fondness by years and stealing time increas’d!So, as in early days it first became,Shall it in riper life, be still the same,That by and by, when we’re together laid’Neath the green moss-grown pile—it may be said,As lonely footsteps tow’rds our hillock turn,“They were in life and death together one!”
Where’er those well-known characters I see,They are, and ever will be, dear to me!How oft in that green field, beneath the shadeOf beechen-boughs, whilst other youngsters play’d,Have I, a happy schoolboy, o’er and o’er,Conn’d those dear signs, which now I read once more!How oft, as on the daisied grass I laid,Full pleas’d, the W. W. K. I’ve read!—When once espied, how tedious ’twas to waitThe crippled postman’s well-known shuffling gait,As, slowly creeping down the winding lane,With such a sluggish pace he onward came;Or if in school,—his ring no sooner heard,Than home, with all its sweets, to mind recurr’d;And whilst the letter’s page its news reveal’d,The gath’ring drop my boyish sight conceal’d!
Something then whisper’d, Bill, that life begunSo well, the same still happily would run;That tho’ for years the briny sea divide,Or be it good, or ill, that each betide,The same fond heart would throb in either’s breast,Fondness by years and stealing time increas’d!So, as in early days it first became,Shall it in riper life, be still the same,That by and by, when we’re together laid’Neath the green moss-grown pile—it may be said,As lonely footsteps tow’rds our hillock turn,“They were in life and death together one!”
To the Editor.
Sir,—To the fact of the underwritten narrative there are many living witnesses of high respectability. Anatomists and philosophers may not think it unworthy their notice, and the lovers of the marvellous will doubtless be interested by a subject which assimilates with the taste of all.
On the 14th of December, 1810, several considerable falls of the cliffs, both east and westward of Dover, took place; and one of these was attended by a fatal domestic catastrophe. A house, situated at the base of that part of the cliffs between Moat’s Bulwark and where the Dover Gas Company’s works are built, was buried, with its inmates, consisting of the father, mother, and five of their children, and a sister’s child. The father only was dug from the ruins alive. All his family perished with the ruin of his household property.
Behind the house, which stood just clear of the cliffs’ base, in an excavation, was a pig-sty; which, when the cliff fell, was inhabited by a solitary and very fat hog, supposed to weigh about eight score. In the midst of his distress, the unfortunate owner of the quadruped forgot this animal; and when it occurred to his recollection, so much time had passed since the accident, that the pig was numbered with the dead. In the ensuing summer, on the evening of the 23d of May, some workmen of the Ordnance department, going home from labour, stopped, as they had sometimes done before, to contemplate the yet remaining ruin. While thus engaged, a sound broke the silence of the moment. It seemed like the feeble grunting of a hog. The men listened, and the sound was repeated, till it ceased to be matter of doubt. One of them immediately went to the commanding officer of the Ordnance, and returned with a party of the miners, who set to work; and as soon as they had cleared away the chalk from before the chasm, the incarcerated animal came staggering forth, more like the anatomy of a pig than a living one. Its skin was covered with a long shaggy coat: the iris had disappeared from its eyes; and the pupils were pale, and had almost lost their colour. Nothing beyond these particulars was apparent externally. With great attention to its feeding, the creature recovered from its debility, and its coat fell off, and was renewed as before. When I saw this hog in the following November, the eyes were of a yellowish tint, and the iris only discoverable by a faint line round the pupil; no defect showed itself in the vision of the organ: and, but for being told that the pig before me was the one buried alive for six months, there was nothing about it to excite curiosity. To the owner it had been a source of great profit, by its exhibition, during the summer season, at the neighbouring towns and watering-places; and, finally, it ended its existence in the way usual to its race, through the hands of the butcher.
I have stated the supposed weight of this long-buried quadruped at the time of its incarceration, to be about eight score, or twenty stone; when liberated, it was weighed, and had lost half of its former quantity, being then four score. A peculiar character of the pig is—its indiscriminate gluttony and rapid digestion. The means by which the life of this particular animal was sustained during the long period of its imprisonment, may be worth the consideration of the zootomist.
I am, &c.
September, 1827.K. B.
Levinz reports a case in the King’s Bench, “Fosterv.Hawden,” “wherein the jury, not agreeing,cast lotsfor their verdict, and gave it according to lot; for which, upon the motion of Levinz, the verdict was set aside, and the jury were ordered to attend next term to be fined.”
On an appeal of murder, reported in Coke, the killing was not denied by the murderer, but he rested his defence upon a point of law, viz. that the deceased had provoked him, by mocking him; and he therefore contended that it was not murder. The judges severally delivered their opinions, that it was murder; but the jury could not agree. They however came to the following understanding—“That they should bring in, and offer their verdict not guilty; and if the court disliked thereof, that then they should all change their verdict, and find him guilty.” They brought in a verdict ofNot Guilty. The court demurred, and sent them back; when, according to the above understanding, they returned again in a few minutes with a verdict ofGuilty.
In 1752, Owen, a bookseller, was prosecuted by the attorney-general, on information, for a libel. The direction of the lord chief justice Lee to the jury does not appear at full length in the State Trials, but it seems that he “declared it as his opinion, that the jury ought to find the defendant guilty.” The jury brought in their verdict “Not Guilty.” The report proceeds to state, “that the jury went away; but at the desire of the attorney-general, they were called into court again, and asked this leading question: viz. “Gentlemen of the Jury, do you think the evidence laid before you, of Owen’s publishing the book by selling it, is not sufficient to convince you that the said Owen did sell this book.” Upon which the foreman, without answering the question, said, “Not guilty, not guilty;” and several of the jury said, “That is our verdict, my lord, and we abide by it.” Upon which the court broke up, and there was a prodigious shout in the hall.”
When Dr. Beadon was rector of Eltham, in Kent, the text he one day took to preach from was, “Who art thou?” After reading it he made a pause, for the congregation to reflect on the words; when a gentleman, in a military dress, who at the instant was proceeding up the middle aisle of the church, supposing it a question addressed to him, replied, “I, sir, am an officer of the sixteenth regiment of foot, on a recruiting party here; and have come to church, because I wish to be acquainted with the neighbouring clergy and gentry.” This so deranged the divine and astonished the congregation, that the sermon was concluded with considerable difficulty.
Pliny informs us, the art of making glass was accidentally discovered by some merchants who were travelling with nitre, and stopped near a river issuing from Mount Carmel. Not readily finding stones to rest their kettles on, they employed some pieces of their nitre for that purpose. The nitre, gradually dissolving by the heat of the fire, mixed with the sand, and a transparent matter flowed, which was, in fact, glass. It is certain that we are more indebted to chance than genius for many of the most valuable discoveries.
For the Table Book.
Many Englishmen, who venerate the name of Alfred, will learn, with surprise and indignation, that the ashes of this patriot king, after having been scattered by the rude hands of convicts, are probably covered by a building at Winchester, erected in 1788 for the confinement of criminals. No one in the neighbourhood was sufficiently interested towards his remains to attempt their discovery or preservation.
It is remarkable, that the oldest book in the German law is entitled “Spiegel,” or the Looking-glass which answers to our “Mirror of Justices:” it was compiled by Eckius de Reckaw, and is inserted in Goldastus’s Collectanea. One of the ancient Icelandish books is likewise styled “Speculum Regale.” There is also in Schrevelius’s Teutonic Antiquities a collection of the ancient laws of Pomerania and Prussia, under the title of “Speculum.” Surely all this cannot be the effect of pure accident.
Mr. Lambe, an attorney, who died at Cambridge in the year 1800, left about eleven hundred pounds; and directed his executors (three gentlemen of the university) to appropriate the sum of eight hundred pounds as they might think proper. For this arduous task he bequeathed them one hundred pounds each.
S. S. S.
For the Table Book.
‘Thesetell in homely phrase who lie below.’Blair.
‘Thesetell in homely phrase who lie below.’
‘Thesetell in homely phrase who lie below.’
Blair.
In Bois Church-yard, near Chesham, Bucks.
In Memory ofMrs. Elizabeth, Wife ofMr. Edward Pinchbeck,of Chesham, who departed thisLife 1st Oct. 1781, aged 60 years.Here a painful head is at rest,Its violent throbbings are o’er;Her dangerous mortified breast,Neither throbs nor aches any more.Her eyes, which she seldom could closeWithout opiates to give her some rest,Are now most sweetly composed,With her whom her soul did love best.
In Memory ofMrs. Elizabeth, Wife ofMr. Edward Pinchbeck,of Chesham, who departed thisLife 1st Oct. 1781, aged 60 years.Here a painful head is at rest,Its violent throbbings are o’er;Her dangerous mortified breast,Neither throbs nor aches any more.Her eyes, which she seldom could closeWithout opiates to give her some rest,Are now most sweetly composed,With her whom her soul did love best.
In Memory ofMrs. Elizabeth, Wife ofMr. Edward Pinchbeck,of Chesham, who departed thisLife 1st Oct. 1781, aged 60 years.
Here a painful head is at rest,Its violent throbbings are o’er;Her dangerous mortified breast,Neither throbs nor aches any more.Her eyes, which she seldom could closeWithout opiates to give her some rest,Are now most sweetly composed,With her whom her soul did love best.
On a Rail in Chesham Church-yard.
In memory of Sarah Bachelor, wife of Benjamin Bachelor, daughter of Joseph and Sarah Barnes, who departed this life May 23d, 1813, aged 25 years.
These three lines are on the reverse of the rail inquestion:—
My time was short not long in this world to stay GodSummon’d me and I was snatch’d away pray God to blessAnd friends be kind to my husband and children left behind.
My time was short not long in this world to stay GodSummon’d me and I was snatch’d away pray God to blessAnd friends be kind to my husband and children left behind.
My time was short not long in this world to stay GodSummon’d me and I was snatch’d away pray God to blessAnd friends be kind to my husband and children left behind.
A plain white marble slab, placed over the remains of the illustrious Boerhaven, in St. Peter’s, Leyden, bears only these four words in black letters.
Salutifero Boerhavii Genio Sacrum.
Salutifero Boerhavii Genio Sacrum.
Salutifero Boerhavii Genio Sacrum.
J. J. K.
For the Table Book.
There is nothing I find so difficult to fill up as my spare time. Talk as they will about liberty, it is after all nothing but a sort of independentennui—a freedom we are better without, if we do not know how to use it. To instance myself:—the first thing I do on the cessation of my daily avocations, which terminate rather early, is to throw my two legs upon one chair, and recline my back against another—when, after a provoking yawn of most ambiguous import, I propound to myself with great gravity—what the deuce shall I do? A series of questions instantly occur, which are as instantly answered—generally in the negative. Shall I read Blackstone?—no: Coke upon Littleton?—worse still: Fearne on Contingent Remainders?—horrid idea!—it was recommended the other day to a young friend of mine, who before he got to the end of the first page was taken with a shivering fit, from which he has not yet recovered—no, no; confound the law! I had enough of that this morning—What’s to be done then? TheTable Bookdoes not come out till to-morrow—Scott’s novels (unfashionable wretch) I don’t like,—have read the Epicurean already twenty times—and know Byron by heart. Take up my flute, mouthpiece mislaid, and can’t play without—determined to try, notwithstanding it should be my three thousandth failure; accordingly, blow like a bellows for about half an hour—can make nothing of it, suddenly stop, and throw the instrument to the other end of the room—forgetting the glass in the bookcase, the largest pane of which it goes through with a loud crash. Still musical, persist in humming a favourite air I have just thought of—hit the tune to a T, and immediately strike up a most delightful strain, beginning “Sounds delicious,” &c., when a cry comes from the parlour, “We really must leave the house if that horrid noise is to be continued!”—Rather galled by this rub—begin to get angry—start up from my two chairs and walk briskly to the fireplace—arrange my hair pettishly—then stick my hands in my pockets, and begin to muse—glass catches my eye—neckcloth abominably out of order, instinctively untie and tie it again—tired of standing—sit down to my desk—commence a Sonnet to the Moon, get on swimmingly to the fifth line, and then—a dead stop—no rhyme to be got, and the finest idea I ever had in my life in danger of being lost—this will never do—determined to bring it in somewhere, and after a little alteration introduce it most satisfactorily into a poem I had begun yesterday on Patience, till, upon reading the whole over, I find it has nothing whatever to do with the subject; and disgusted with the failure tear up both poem and sonnet in a tremendous rage. Still at a loss what to do—at length I have it—got a communication for theTable Book—I’ll take a walk and leaveit—
Gulielmus.
Under severe affliction I cannot make up this sheet as I wish. This day week my second son was brought home with his scull fractured. To-day intelligence has arrived to me of the death of my eldest son.
The necessity I have been under of submitting recently to a surgical operation on myself, with a long summer of sickness to every member of my family, and accumulated troubles of earlier origin, and of another nature, have prevented me too often from satisfying the wishes of readers, and the claims of Correspondents. I crave that they will be pleased to receive this, as a general apology, in lieu of particular notices, and in the stead of promises to effect what I can no longer hope to accomplish, and forbear to attempt.
W. Hone.December 12, 1827.
To the Editor.
Sir,—While the praises of our wild, native, simple flowers, the primrose, the violet, the blue bell, and daisy, as well as the blossoms of the hawthorn, wild rose, and honey-suckle, have been said and sung in many a pleasant bit of prose and verse in the pages of your extra-ordinaryEvery-Day Book, as connected with the lively descriptions given therein of many a rural sport and joyous pastime, enjoyed by our forefathers and foremothers of the “olden time,” particularly in that enlivening and mirth-inspiring month, sweet May; when both young and old feel a renovation of their health and spirits, and hail the return of sunshine, verdure, and flowers; permit me to call the attention of such of your readers as are fond of flowers (and there is no one, who has “music in his soul” and a taste for poetry, that is not) to that highly interesting plant, the Indian Chrysanthemum, which serves, by its gay blossoms, to cheer the gloom, and enliven the sadness of those dreary months, November and December.
Since the introduction of the Camellia and the Dahlia, I know of no plant that produces so striking an effect upon the sight as the Chrysanthemum. We have now about forty distinct varieties of it in the country, for the greater part of which we are indebted to the London Horticultural Society. Many of the flowers are much larger than the largest full-blown Provence rose, highly aromatic, and of extremely bright, vivid, and varied colours; as white, yellow, copper, red, and purple, of all the different gradations of tint, and several of those colours mixed and blended. Some very fine specimens of this flower have been exhibited at the society’s rooms and greenhouse. Nothing, in my opinion, could equal their beauty and splendour; not even the well-known collection of carnations and foreign picotées of my neighbour, Mr. Hogg, the florist.
This flower gives a very gay appearance to the conservatory and the greenhouse at this season of the year, when there is hardly another in blossom; and it may also be introduced into the parlour and drawing-room; for it flowers freely in small sized pots of forty-eight and thirty-two to the cast, requires no particular care, is not impatient of cold, and is easily propagated by dividing the roots, or by cuttings placed under a hand-glass in the months of May or June, which will bloom the following autumn, for it is prodigal of its flowers; the best method is to leave only one flowering stem in a pot.
The facility with which it is propagated will always make the price moderate, and render it attainable by any one; there is much dissimilarity in the form of the flowers, as well as in the formation of the petals—some flowers are only half spread, and have the appearance of tassels, while others are expanded fully, like the Chinese aster; some petals are quilled, some half quilled, some are flat and lanceolated, some crisped and curled, and others are in an imbricated form, decreasing in length towards the centre. There is also some variation in their time of flowering, some come much earlier than others.
This plant is not a stranger to the country, for it was introduced about thirty-five years ago; but the splendid varieties, of which I am speaking, are new, having been brought hither, mostly from China, by the Horticultural Society within these four or five years; and as the society has made a liberal distribution of plants and cuttings to the different nurserymen and florists round London, who are members thereof, they can now be easily obtained. There is little chance of its ever ripening its seed, from its coming into flower at the commencement of winter, so that we can only look for fresh varieties from India or China.
In conclusion, I will just note down a few that particularly engaged my attention,namely:—
The pure or large paper white.
The large white, with yellow tinged flowerets, or petals round the disk or centre.
The early blush.
The golden lotus.
The superb clustered yellow.
The starry purple.
The bright red, approaching to scarlet.
And the brown, red, and purple blended.
I remain, sir, &c.Jerry Blossom.
Paddington,December.
[From “Blurt, Master Constable:” a Comedy by T. Middleton, 1602.]
Lover kept awake by Love.
Ah! how can I sleep? he, who truly loves,Burns out the day in idle fantasies;And when the lamb bleating doth bid good nightUnto the closing day, then tears beginTo keep quick time unto the owl, whose voiceShrieks like the bellman in the lover’s ears:Love’s eye the jewel of sleep oh! seldom wears.The early lark is waken’d from her bed,Being only by Love’s plaints disquieted;And singing in the morning’s ear she weeps,Being deep in love, at Lovers’ broken sleeps.But say a golden slumber chance to tieWith silken strings the cover of Love’s eye;Then dreams, magician-like, mocking presentPleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent.
Ah! how can I sleep? he, who truly loves,Burns out the day in idle fantasies;And when the lamb bleating doth bid good nightUnto the closing day, then tears beginTo keep quick time unto the owl, whose voiceShrieks like the bellman in the lover’s ears:Love’s eye the jewel of sleep oh! seldom wears.The early lark is waken’d from her bed,Being only by Love’s plaints disquieted;And singing in the morning’s ear she weeps,Being deep in love, at Lovers’ broken sleeps.But say a golden slumber chance to tieWith silken strings the cover of Love’s eye;Then dreams, magician-like, mocking presentPleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent.
Ah! how can I sleep? he, who truly loves,Burns out the day in idle fantasies;And when the lamb bleating doth bid good nightUnto the closing day, then tears beginTo keep quick time unto the owl, whose voiceShrieks like the bellman in the lover’s ears:Love’s eye the jewel of sleep oh! seldom wears.The early lark is waken’d from her bed,Being only by Love’s plaints disquieted;And singing in the morning’s ear she weeps,Being deep in love, at Lovers’ broken sleeps.But say a golden slumber chance to tieWith silken strings the cover of Love’s eye;Then dreams, magician-like, mocking presentPleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent.
Violetta comes to seek her Husband at the house of a Curtizan.
Violetta.—Imperia, the Curtizan.
Vio.By your leave, sweet Beauty, pardon my excuse, which sought entrance into this house: good Sweetness, have you not a Property here, improper to your house; my husband?Imp.Hah! your husband here?Vio.Nay, be as you seem to be, White Dove, without gall. Do not mock me, fairest Venetian. Come, I know he is here. I do not blame him, for your beauty gilds over his error. ’Troth, I am right glad that you, my Countrywoman, have received the pawn of his affections. You cannot be hardhearted, loving him; nor hate me, for I love him too. Since we both love him, let us not leave him, till we have called home the ill husbandry of a sweet Straggler. Prithee, good wench, use him well.Imp.So, so,so—Vio.If he deserve not to be used well (as I’d be loth he should deserve it), I’ll engage myself, dear Beauty, to thine honest heart: give me leave to love him, and I’ll give him a kind of leave to love thee. I know he hears me. I prithee try my eyes, if they know him; that have almost drowned themselves in their own saltwater, because they cannot see him. In troth, I’ll not chide him. If I speak words rougher than soft kisses, my penance shall be to see him kiss thee, yet to hold my peace.
Vio.By your leave, sweet Beauty, pardon my excuse, which sought entrance into this house: good Sweetness, have you not a Property here, improper to your house; my husband?
Imp.Hah! your husband here?
Vio.Nay, be as you seem to be, White Dove, without gall. Do not mock me, fairest Venetian. Come, I know he is here. I do not blame him, for your beauty gilds over his error. ’Troth, I am right glad that you, my Countrywoman, have received the pawn of his affections. You cannot be hardhearted, loving him; nor hate me, for I love him too. Since we both love him, let us not leave him, till we have called home the ill husbandry of a sweet Straggler. Prithee, good wench, use him well.
Imp.So, so,so—
Vio.If he deserve not to be used well (as I’d be loth he should deserve it), I’ll engage myself, dear Beauty, to thine honest heart: give me leave to love him, and I’ll give him a kind of leave to love thee. I know he hears me. I prithee try my eyes, if they know him; that have almost drowned themselves in their own saltwater, because they cannot see him. In troth, I’ll not chide him. If I speak words rougher than soft kisses, my penance shall be to see him kiss thee, yet to hold my peace.
Good Partner, lodge me in thy private bed;Where, in supposed folly, he may endDetermin’d Sin. Thou smilest. I know thou wilt.What looseness may term dotage,—truly read,Is Love ripe-gather’d, not soon withered.
Good Partner, lodge me in thy private bed;Where, in supposed folly, he may endDetermin’d Sin. Thou smilest. I know thou wilt.What looseness may term dotage,—truly read,Is Love ripe-gather’d, not soon withered.
Good Partner, lodge me in thy private bed;Where, in supposed folly, he may endDetermin’d Sin. Thou smilest. I know thou wilt.What looseness may term dotage,—truly read,Is Love ripe-gather’d, not soon withered.
Imp.Good troth, pretty Wedlock, thou makest my little eyes smart with washing themselves in brine. I mar such a sweet face!—and wipe off that dainty red! and make Cupid toll the bell for your love-sick heart!—no, no, no—if he were Jove’s own ingle Ganymede—fie, fie, fie—I’ll none. Your Chamber-fellow is within. Thou shalt enjoy him.Vio. Star of Venetian Beauty, thanks!
Imp.Good troth, pretty Wedlock, thou makest my little eyes smart with washing themselves in brine. I mar such a sweet face!—and wipe off that dainty red! and make Cupid toll the bell for your love-sick heart!—no, no, no—if he were Jove’s own ingle Ganymede—fie, fie, fie—I’ll none. Your Chamber-fellow is within. Thou shalt enjoy him.
Vio. Star of Venetian Beauty, thanks!
[From “Hoffman’s Tragedy, or Revenge for a Father,” 1631. Author Unknown.]
The Sons of the Duke of Saxony run away with Lucibel, the Duke of Austria’s Daughter.—The two Dukes, in separate pursuit of their children, meet at the Cell of a Hermit: in which Hermit, Saxony recognises a banished Brother; at which surprised, all three are reconciled.
Austria.That should be Saxon’s tongue.Saxony.Indeed I am the Duke of Saxony.Austria.Then thou art father to lascivious sons,That have made Austria childless.Saxony.Oh subtle Duke,Thy craft appears in framing the excuse.Thou dost accuse my young sons’ innocence.I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongues,Not to be metamorphosed with the viewOf flattering Beauty—peradventure painted.Austria.No, I defy thee, John of Saxony.My Lucibel for beauty needs no art;Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mindEver inclin’d to this ignoble course,But by the charms and forcings of thy sons.Saxony.O would thou would’st maintain thy words, proud Duke!Hermit.I hope, great princes, neither of you dareCommit a deed so sacrilegious.This holy CellIs dedicated to the Prince of Peace.The foot of man never profan’d this floor;Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voiceAffright these buildings. Charity with Prayer,Humility with Abstinence combined,Are here the guardians of a grieved mind.Austria.Father, we obey thy holy voice.Duke John of Saxony, receive my faith;Till our ears hear the true course, which thy sonsHave taken with me fond and misled child,I proclaim truce. Why dost thou sullen stand?If thou mean peace, give me thy princely hand.Saxony.Thus do I plight thee truth, and promise peace.Austria.Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart.In vows of combination there’s a grace,That shews th’ intention in the outward face.Look chearfully, or I expect no league.Saxony.First give me leave to view awhile the personOf this Hermit.—Austria, view him well.Is he not like my brother Roderic?Austria.He’s like him. But I heard, he lost his lifeLong since in Persia by the Sophy’s wars.Hermit.I heard so much, my Lord. But that reportWas purely feign’d; spread by my erring tongue,As double as my heart, when I was young.I am that Roderic, that aspired thy throne;That vile false brother, that with rebel breath,Drawn sword, and treach’rous heart, threaten’d your death.Saxony.My brother!—nay then i’ faith, old John lay byThy sorrowing thoughts; turn to thy wonted vein,And be mad John of Saxony again.Mad Roderic, art alive?—my mother’s son,Her joy, and her last birth!—oh, she conjured meTo use thee thus; [embracing him] and yet I banish’d thee.—Body o’ me! I was unkind, I know;But thou deservd’st it then: but let it go.Say thou wilt leave this life, thus truly idle,And live a Statesman; thou shalt share in reign,Commanding all but me thy Sovereign.Hermit.I thank your Highness; I will think on itBut for my sins this sufferance is more fit.Saxony.Tut, tittle tattle, tell not me of sin.—Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand:I’ll look thee in the face, and smile; and swear.If any of my sons have wrong’d thy child,I’ll help thee in revenging it myself.But if, as I believe, they mean but honour,(As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim’d),Then thou shalt be content toname[506]him thine,And thy fair daughter I’ll account as mine.Austria.Agreed.Saxony.Ah, Austria! ’twas a world, when you and IRan these careers; but now we are stiff and dry.Austria.I’m glad you are so pleasant, good my Lord.Saxony.’Twas my old mood: but I was soon turn’d sad,With over-grieving for this long lost Lad,—And now the Boy is grown as old as I;His very face as full of gravity.
Austria.That should be Saxon’s tongue.Saxony.Indeed I am the Duke of Saxony.Austria.Then thou art father to lascivious sons,That have made Austria childless.Saxony.Oh subtle Duke,Thy craft appears in framing the excuse.Thou dost accuse my young sons’ innocence.I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongues,Not to be metamorphosed with the viewOf flattering Beauty—peradventure painted.Austria.No, I defy thee, John of Saxony.My Lucibel for beauty needs no art;Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mindEver inclin’d to this ignoble course,But by the charms and forcings of thy sons.Saxony.O would thou would’st maintain thy words, proud Duke!Hermit.I hope, great princes, neither of you dareCommit a deed so sacrilegious.This holy CellIs dedicated to the Prince of Peace.The foot of man never profan’d this floor;Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voiceAffright these buildings. Charity with Prayer,Humility with Abstinence combined,Are here the guardians of a grieved mind.Austria.Father, we obey thy holy voice.Duke John of Saxony, receive my faith;Till our ears hear the true course, which thy sonsHave taken with me fond and misled child,I proclaim truce. Why dost thou sullen stand?If thou mean peace, give me thy princely hand.Saxony.Thus do I plight thee truth, and promise peace.Austria.Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart.In vows of combination there’s a grace,That shews th’ intention in the outward face.Look chearfully, or I expect no league.Saxony.First give me leave to view awhile the personOf this Hermit.—Austria, view him well.Is he not like my brother Roderic?Austria.He’s like him. But I heard, he lost his lifeLong since in Persia by the Sophy’s wars.Hermit.I heard so much, my Lord. But that reportWas purely feign’d; spread by my erring tongue,As double as my heart, when I was young.I am that Roderic, that aspired thy throne;That vile false brother, that with rebel breath,Drawn sword, and treach’rous heart, threaten’d your death.Saxony.My brother!—nay then i’ faith, old John lay byThy sorrowing thoughts; turn to thy wonted vein,And be mad John of Saxony again.Mad Roderic, art alive?—my mother’s son,Her joy, and her last birth!—oh, she conjured meTo use thee thus; [embracing him] and yet I banish’d thee.—Body o’ me! I was unkind, I know;But thou deservd’st it then: but let it go.Say thou wilt leave this life, thus truly idle,And live a Statesman; thou shalt share in reign,Commanding all but me thy Sovereign.Hermit.I thank your Highness; I will think on itBut for my sins this sufferance is more fit.Saxony.Tut, tittle tattle, tell not me of sin.—Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand:I’ll look thee in the face, and smile; and swear.If any of my sons have wrong’d thy child,I’ll help thee in revenging it myself.But if, as I believe, they mean but honour,(As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim’d),Then thou shalt be content toname[506]him thine,And thy fair daughter I’ll account as mine.Austria.Agreed.Saxony.Ah, Austria! ’twas a world, when you and IRan these careers; but now we are stiff and dry.Austria.I’m glad you are so pleasant, good my Lord.Saxony.’Twas my old mood: but I was soon turn’d sad,With over-grieving for this long lost Lad,—And now the Boy is grown as old as I;His very face as full of gravity.
Austria.That should be Saxon’s tongue.Saxony.Indeed I am the Duke of Saxony.Austria.Then thou art father to lascivious sons,That have made Austria childless.Saxony.Oh subtle Duke,Thy craft appears in framing the excuse.Thou dost accuse my young sons’ innocence.I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongues,Not to be metamorphosed with the viewOf flattering Beauty—peradventure painted.Austria.No, I defy thee, John of Saxony.My Lucibel for beauty needs no art;Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mindEver inclin’d to this ignoble course,But by the charms and forcings of thy sons.Saxony.O would thou would’st maintain thy words, proud Duke!Hermit.I hope, great princes, neither of you dareCommit a deed so sacrilegious.This holy CellIs dedicated to the Prince of Peace.The foot of man never profan’d this floor;Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voiceAffright these buildings. Charity with Prayer,Humility with Abstinence combined,Are here the guardians of a grieved mind.Austria.Father, we obey thy holy voice.Duke John of Saxony, receive my faith;Till our ears hear the true course, which thy sonsHave taken with me fond and misled child,I proclaim truce. Why dost thou sullen stand?If thou mean peace, give me thy princely hand.Saxony.Thus do I plight thee truth, and promise peace.Austria.Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart.In vows of combination there’s a grace,That shews th’ intention in the outward face.Look chearfully, or I expect no league.Saxony.First give me leave to view awhile the personOf this Hermit.—Austria, view him well.Is he not like my brother Roderic?Austria.He’s like him. But I heard, he lost his lifeLong since in Persia by the Sophy’s wars.Hermit.I heard so much, my Lord. But that reportWas purely feign’d; spread by my erring tongue,As double as my heart, when I was young.I am that Roderic, that aspired thy throne;That vile false brother, that with rebel breath,Drawn sword, and treach’rous heart, threaten’d your death.Saxony.My brother!—nay then i’ faith, old John lay byThy sorrowing thoughts; turn to thy wonted vein,And be mad John of Saxony again.Mad Roderic, art alive?—my mother’s son,Her joy, and her last birth!—oh, she conjured meTo use thee thus; [embracing him] and yet I banish’d thee.—Body o’ me! I was unkind, I know;But thou deservd’st it then: but let it go.Say thou wilt leave this life, thus truly idle,And live a Statesman; thou shalt share in reign,Commanding all but me thy Sovereign.Hermit.I thank your Highness; I will think on itBut for my sins this sufferance is more fit.Saxony.Tut, tittle tattle, tell not me of sin.—Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand:I’ll look thee in the face, and smile; and swear.If any of my sons have wrong’d thy child,I’ll help thee in revenging it myself.But if, as I believe, they mean but honour,(As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim’d),Then thou shalt be content toname[506]him thine,And thy fair daughter I’ll account as mine.Austria.Agreed.Saxony.Ah, Austria! ’twas a world, when you and IRan these careers; but now we are stiff and dry.Austria.I’m glad you are so pleasant, good my Lord.Saxony.’Twas my old mood: but I was soon turn’d sad,With over-grieving for this long lost Lad,—And now the Boy is grown as old as I;His very face as full of gravity.
C. L.
[506]By one of the Duke’s sons (her Lover) in honour of Lucibel.
[506]By one of the Duke’s sons (her Lover) in honour of Lucibel.
Mr. Bernard, principal surgeon to king William, affirms respecting ancient surgical skill asfollows:—
There is no doubt but the perfection to which surgery has been carried in these last ages, is principally owing to the discoveries which have been made in anatomy. But the art of curing wounds, to which all the other parts ought to give way, remains almost in the same state in which the ancients transmitted it to us.
Celsus and other ancients have described a mode of operating for the stone, although it must be owned that a method, deserving the preference in many respects, and known by the name ofmagnus apparatusorthe grand operation, was the invention of Johannes de Romanis, of Cremona, who lived at Rome in the year 1520, and published his work at Venice in 1535. The instrument that we make use of in trepanning was doubtless first used by the ancients, and only rendered more perfect by Woodall and Fabricius. Tapping, likewise, is in all respects an invention of theirs. Laryngotomy, or the opening of the larynx in the quinsey, was practised by them with success; an operation which, though safe and needful, is out of use at present. Galen, in particular, supported by reason, experience, and the authority of Asclepiades, justly applauds it as the ultimate resource in the case of a quinsey.Hernia intestalis, with the distinguishing differences of the several species of that malady, and their method of cure, are exactly described by the ancients. They also cured the pterygion and cataract, and treated the maladies of the eye as judiciously as modern oculists. The opening of an artery and of the jugular vein is no more a modern invention, than the application of the ligature in the case of an aneurism, which was not well understood by Frederic Ruysch, the celebrated anatomist of Holland. The extirpation of the amygdales, or of the uvula, is not at all a late invention, though it must be owned the efficacious cauteries now used in the case of the former, were neither practised nor known by the ancients. The methodwe now use of treating the fistula lacrymalis, a cure so nice and difficult, is precisely that of the ancients, with the addition that Fabricius made of the cannula for applying the cautery. As to the real caustic, which makes a considerable article in surgery, although Costeus, Fienus, and Severinus have written amply on that subject, yet it is evident from a single aphorism of Hippocrates, that this great physician knew the use of it as well as those who have come after him: and besides, it is frequently spoken of in the writings of all the other ancients, who without doubt used it with great success in many cases where we have left it off, or know not how to apply it. The cure of thevaricesby incision appears, from the works of Celsus and Paulus Eginetus, to have been a familiar practice among the ancients. The ancients describe the mode of curing the polypus of the ear, a malady little understood by the moderns. They were likewise well acquainted with all kind of fractures and luxations, and the means of remedying them; as well as with all the sorts of sutures in use among us, besides many we have lost. The various amputations of limbs, breasts, &c. were performed among them as frequently and with as great success as we can pretend to. As to the art of bandaging, the ancients knew it so well, and to such a degree of perfection, that we have not added any thing considerable to what Galen taught in his excellent tract on that subject. As to remedies externally applied, we are indebted to them for having instructed us in the nature and properties of those we now use; and in general methods of cure, particularly of wounds of the head, the moderns, who have written most judiciously upon it, thought they could do no better service to posterity, than comment upon that admirable book which Hippocrates wrote on this subject.
It is agreed almost by all, that chemistry was first cultivated in Egypt, the country of Cham, of whom it is supposed primarily to have taken its name, Χημεῑα,Chemia, sive Chamia, the science of Cham. Tubal-Cain, and those who with him found out the way of working in brass and iron, must have been able chemists; for it was impossible to work upon these metals, without first knowing the art of digging them out of the mine, of excavating them, and of refining and separating them from the ore.
From the story of the golden fleece, the golden apples that grew in the gardens of the Hesperides, and the reports of Manethon and Josephus with relation to Seth’s pillars, deductions have been made in favour of the translation of metals; but to come to real and established facts, it appears that Moses broke the golden calf, reduced it into powder, to be mingled with water, and gave it to the Israelites to drink: in one word, he rendered gold potable.
It was objected within a century, that this operation was impracticable, and by some it was affirmed as having been impossible. But the famous Joel Langelotte affirms in his works, that gold may be entirely dissolved by attrition alone; and the ingenious Homberg assures us, that by pounding for a long while certain metals, and even gold itself, inplain water, those bodies have been so entirely dissolved as to become potable. Frederic III., king of Denmark, being curious to ascertain the fact, engaged some able chemists of his time to attempt it. After many trials they at last succeeded, but it was in following the method of Moses; by first of all reducing the gold into small parts by means of fire, and then pounding it in a mortar with water, till it was so far dissolved as to become potable. This fact is unquestionable; and probably Moses, who was instructed in all the learning of the Egyptians, became acquainted with the method from that ancient and erudite people, from whom the most eminent philosophers of Greece derived their knowledge.
The art of embalming bodies, and of preserving them for many ages, never could have been carried so far as it was by the Egyptians, without the greatest skill in chemistry. Yet all the essays to restore it have proved ineffectual; reiterated analyses of mummies have failed to discover the ingredients of which they were composed. There were also, in those mummies of Egypt, many things besides, which fall within the verge of chemistry: such as theirgilding,[507]so very fresh, as if it were but of fifty years’ standing; and their stained silk, vivid in its colours at the end of three thousand years. In the British Museumthere is a mummy covered all over with fillets of granulated glass, various in colour, which shows that at that time they understood not only the making of glass, but could paint it to their liking. These glass ornaments are tinged with the same colours, and set off in the same taste, as the dyes in which almost all other mummies are painted.
Their manner of painting upon linen was, by first drawing upon it the outlines of the design, and then filling each compartment of it with different sorts of gums, proper to absorb the various colours; so that none of them could be distinguished from the whiteness of the cloth. They then dipped it for a moment in a caldron full of boiling liquor prepared for the purpose; and drew it thence, painted in all the colours they intended. These colours neither decayed by time, nor moved in the washing; the caustic impregnating the liquor wherein it was dipped, having penetrated and fixed every colour intimately through the whole contexture of the cloth.
The preceding instance is sufficient to prove that chemistry had made great progress among the Egyptians. History affords similar instances of extraordinary attainment by this wonderful people, who were so ingenious and industrious, that even their lame, blind, and maimed were in constant employment. With all this, they were so noble-minded, as to inscribe their discoveries in the arts and sciences upon pillars reared in holy places, in order to omit nothing that might contribute to the public utility. The emperor Adrian attests this in a letter to the consul Servianus, upon presenting him with three curious cups of glass, which, like a pigeon’s neck, reflected, on whatever side they were viewed, a variety of colours, representing those of the precious stone calledobsidianum, and which some commentators have imagined to becat’s-eye, and others the opal. In this art of imitating precious stones, the Greeks, who derived their knowledge from the Egyptians, were also very skilful. They could give to a composition of crystal all the different tints of any precious stone they wanted to imitate. They remarkably excelled in an exact imitation of the ruby, the hyacinth, the emerald, and the sapphire.
Diodorus Siculus says, that some of the Egyptian kings had the art of extracting gold from a sort of white marble. Strabo reports their manner of preparing nitre, and mentions the considerable number of mortars of granite, for chemical purposes, that were to be seen in his time at Memphis. They likewise, by artificial means, hatched the eggs of hens, geese, and other fowls, at all seasons.
Egyptian pharmacy depended much upon chemistry; witness their extracted oils, and their preparations of opium, for alleviating acute pains, or relieving the mind from melancholy thoughts. Homer introduces Helen as ministering to Telemachus a medical preparation of this kind. They also made a composition or preparation of clay or fuller’s earth, adapted to the relief of many disorders, particularly where it was requisite to render the fleshy parts dry, as in dropsy, &c. They had different methods of composing salts, nitre, and alum, sal cyrenaïc or ammoniac, so called from being found in the environs of the temple of Jupiter Ammon. They made use of the litharge of silver, the rust of iron, and calcined alum, in the cure of ulcers, cuts, boils, defluctions of the eyes, pains of the head, &c.; and of pitch against the bite of serpents. They successfully applied caustics. They knew every different way of preparing plants, or herbs, or grain, whether for medicine or beverage. Beer, in particular, had its origin among them. Their unguents were of the highest estimation, and most lasting; and their use of remedies, taken from metallic substances, is so manifest in the writings of Pliny and Dioscorides, that it would be needless, and indeed tedious, to enter upon them. The latter especially often mentions their metallic preparations of burnt lead, ceruse, verdigrise, and burnt antimony, for plasters and other external applications.
All these chemical preparations the Egyptians were acquainted with in their pharmacy. The subsequent practice of the Greeks and Romans presents a field too vast to be observed on. Hippocrates, the contemporary and friend of Democritus, was remarkably assiduous in the cultivation of chemistry. He not only understood its general principles, but was an adept in many of its most useful parts. Galen knew that the energy of fire might beapplied to many useful purposes; and that, by the instrumentality of it, many secrets in nature were to be discovered, which otherwise must for ever lie hid; and he instances this in several places of his works. Dioscorides has transmitted to us many of the mineral operations of the ancients, and in particular that of extracting quicksilver from cinnabar; which is, in effect, an exact description of distillation.