ROUND ROBIN.

[203]Mr. Coates in Trans. Bombay Lit. Soc.

It was customary among the ancients to write names, whether of the gods, or of their friends, in a circle, that none might take offence at seeing another’s name preferred to his own. The Cordeliers have formerly been known to have paid the same attention to delicacy, and when a pope has demanded the names of some priests of their order, that one might be raised to the purple, they have sent those names written circularly, that they might not seem to recommend one more than another. The race of sailors are the only people who preserve this very ancient custom in its purity, for when any remonstrance is on foot among them, they sign it in a circle, and call it around robin.

Toward the middle of the fifteenth century, it was the fancy of the wits and learned men of the age, particularly in Italy, to change their baptismal names for classical ones. As Sannazarius, for instance, who altered his own plain name “Jacopo” to “Actius Syncerus.” Numbers did the same, and among the rest, Platina the historian, at Rome, who, not without a solemn ceremonial, took the name of “Callimachus,” instead of “Philip.” Pope Paul II., who reigned about that time, unluckily chanced to be suspicious, illiterate, and heavy of comprehension. He had no idea that persons could wish to alter their names, unless they had some bad design, and actually scrupled not to employ imprisonment, and other violent methods, to discover the fancied mystery. Platina was most cruelly tortured on this frivolous account; he had nothing to confess, so the pope, after endeavouring in vain to convict him of heresy, sedition, &c. released him, after a long imprisonment.

Formerly there were many persons surnamedDevil. In an old book, the title of which does not recur, mention is made of one Rogerius Diabolus, lord of Montresor.

An English monk, “Willelmus, cognomento Diabolus,” and another person, “Hughes le Diable, lord of Lusignan.”

Robert, duke of Normandy, son to William the Conqueror, was surnamed “the Devil.”

In Norway and Sweden there were two families of the name of “Trolle,” in English “Devil,” and every branch of these families had an emblem of the “Devil” for their coat of arms.

In Utrecht there was a family of “Teufels,” or “Devils,” and another in Brittany named “Diable.”

An Irishman, who served on board a man of war in the capacity of a waister, was selected by one of the officers to haul in a tow-line of considerable length, which was towing over the tafrail. After rowsing in forty or fifty fathoms, which had put his patience severely to proof, as well as every muscle of his arms, he muttered to himself, “Sure, it’s as long as to day and to-morrow! It’s a good week’s work for any five in the ship!—Bad luck to the arm or leg it’ll leave me at last!—What! more of it yet!—Och, murder; the sa’s mighty deep to be sure!”—After continuing in a similar strain, and conceiving there was little probability of the completion of his labour, he suddenly stopped short, and addressing the officer of the watch, exclaimed, “Bad manners to me, sir, if I don’t think somebody’scut off the other end of it!”

Lodovick Cortusius, an eminent lawyer, who died at Padua on the 15th of July, 1518, when upon his death-bed forbad his relations to shed tears at his funeral, and even put his heir under a heavy penalty if he neglected to perform his orders. On the other hand, he ordered musicians, singers, pipers, and fiddlers, of all kinds, to supply the place of mourners, and directed that fifty of them should walk before his corpse with the clergymen, playing upon their several instruments; for this service he ordered each of them half a ducat. He likewise appointed twelve maids in green habits to carry his corpse to the church of St. Sophia, where he was buried, and that they too as they went along should sing aloud, having each of them, as a recompense, a handsome sum of money allotted for a portion. All the clergy of Padua marched before in long procession, together with all the monks of the convent, except those wearing black habits, whom he expressly excluded by his will, lest the blackness of their hoods should throw a gloom upon the cheerfulness of the procession.

Mr. Pye, the late poet laureate, in his “Sketches,” says, “When I was at Oxford, my tutor having the revisal of some papers relative to the civil war, (I know not if they have been published,) showed me a letter from one of the king’s secretaries, with remarks on the margin in the king’s own handwriting. One expression particularly struck me, as seeming to show his determination to lay aside the use of parliaments. The paper was a circular request to some of the counties for their pecuniary assistance, I believe on the Scots’ invasion. The words were, as nearly as I can recollect, (sixteen years having elapsed since I saw the letter,) ‘Your obliging me in this instance will induce me to ask your aid in a manner more agreeable to yourselves.’ These words had a line drawn through them; and there was written on the margin, in the king’s hand: ‘I haveSCOREDout these words, as they seem to imply a promise of calling a parliament, of which I have no intention.’”

For the Table Book.

A Pat—an odd joker—and Yankee more sly,Once riding together, a gallows pass’d by:Said the Yankee to Pat, “If I don’t make too free,Give that gallows its due, pray where then would you be?”“Why honey,” said Pat, “faith that’s easily knownI’d be riding to town—by myself—all alone.”Sam Sam’s Son

Sam Sam’s Son

Bridge on the Road to Beckenham.—Ancient Charity let flow this brookAcross the road, for sheep and beggar-menTo cool their weary feet, and slake their thirst.*

Bridge on the Road to Beckenham.

—Ancient Charity let flow this brookAcross the road, for sheep and beggar-menTo cool their weary feet, and slake their thirst.*

—Ancient Charity let flow this brookAcross the road, for sheep and beggar-menTo cool their weary feet, and slake their thirst.

On our way fromPenge,[204]W. thoughtthis objectworth sketching. He occupied himself with his pencil, and I amused myself with dropping grains of dust among a fleet of tadpoles on the yellow sands, and watching their motions; a few inches from them, in a clearer shallow, lay a shoal of stickle-backs as on their Dogger-bank: a thread and a blood-worm, and the absence of my friend, and of certain feelings in behalf of the worms, would have afforded me excellent sport. The rivulet crosses the road from a meadow, where I heard it in its narrow channel, and muttering inwardly “the rapids are near,” from the “Canadian Boat-song,” I fell into a reverie on Wilson’s magnificent painting of the falls of Niagara, in Mr. Landseer’s painting-room. While I seated myself by the wayside, and, among ground-ivy and periwinkle, discriminating the diminutive forms of trees in the varied mosses of an old bank, I recollected descriptions I had read of transatlantic scenery, and the gigantic vegetation on the Ohio and Mississipi.

A labourer told us, that this little brook is called “Chaffinch’s River,” and that it springs from “the Alders,” near Croydon, and runs into the Ravensbourne.

[204]Seep. 674.

[From “Bussy D’Ambois his Revenge,” a Tragedy, by George Chapman, 1613.]

Plays and Players.Guise.—I would have these thingsBrought upon Stages, to let mighty MisersSee all their grave and serious mischiefs play’d,As once they were in Athens and old Rome.Clermont.Nay, we must now have nothing brought on StagesBut puppetry, and pied ridiculous antics.Men thither come to laugh, and feed fool-fat:Check at all goodness there, as being profaned:When, wheresoever Goodness comes, she makesThe place still sacred, though with other feetNever so much ’tis scandal’d and polluted.Let me learn any thing, that fits a man,In any Stables shewn, as well as Stages.—Baligny.Why, is not all the World esteem’d a Stage?Clermont.Yes, and right worthily; and Stages tooHave a respect due to them, if but onlyFor what the good Greek Moralist says of them:“Is a man proud of greatness, or of riches?Give me an expert Actor; I’ll shew allThat can within his greatest glory fall:Is a man ’fraid with poverty and lowness?Give me an Actor; I’ll shew every eyeWhat he laments so, and so much does fly:The best and worst of both.”—If but for this then,To make the proudest outside, that most swellsWith things without him, and above his worth,See how small cause he has to be so blown up;And the most poor man, to be griev’d with poorness;Both being so easily borne by expert Actors:The Stage and Actors are not so contemptful,As every innovating Puritan,And ignorant Swearer out of jealous envy,Would have the world imagine. And besidesThat all things have been liken’d to the mirthUsed upon Stages, and to Stages fitted;The Splenetive Philosopher, that everLaugh’d at them all, were worthy the enstaging:All objects, were they ne’er so full of tears,He so conceited, that he could distill thenceMatter, that still fed his ridiculous humour.Heard he a Lawyer, never so vehement pleading,He stood and laugh’d. Heard he a Tradesman, swearingNever so thriftily, selling of his wares,He stood and laugh’d. Heard he a Holy Brother,For hollow ostentation, at his prayersNe’er so impetuously, he stood and laugh’d.Saw he a Great Man, never so insulting,Severely inflicting, gravely giving laws,Not for their good but his—he stood and laugh’d.Saw he a Youthful Widow,Never so weeping, wringing of her handsFor her dead Lord, still the Philosopher laugh’d.—Now, whether he supposed all these PresentmentsWere only maskeries, and wore false faces,Or else were simply vain, I take no care;But still he laugh’d, how grave soe’er they were.

Guise.—I would have these thingsBrought upon Stages, to let mighty MisersSee all their grave and serious mischiefs play’d,As once they were in Athens and old Rome.Clermont.Nay, we must now have nothing brought on StagesBut puppetry, and pied ridiculous antics.Men thither come to laugh, and feed fool-fat:Check at all goodness there, as being profaned:When, wheresoever Goodness comes, she makesThe place still sacred, though with other feetNever so much ’tis scandal’d and polluted.Let me learn any thing, that fits a man,In any Stables shewn, as well as Stages.—Baligny.Why, is not all the World esteem’d a Stage?Clermont.Yes, and right worthily; and Stages tooHave a respect due to them, if but onlyFor what the good Greek Moralist says of them:“Is a man proud of greatness, or of riches?Give me an expert Actor; I’ll shew allThat can within his greatest glory fall:Is a man ’fraid with poverty and lowness?Give me an Actor; I’ll shew every eyeWhat he laments so, and so much does fly:The best and worst of both.”—If but for this then,To make the proudest outside, that most swellsWith things without him, and above his worth,See how small cause he has to be so blown up;And the most poor man, to be griev’d with poorness;Both being so easily borne by expert Actors:The Stage and Actors are not so contemptful,As every innovating Puritan,And ignorant Swearer out of jealous envy,Would have the world imagine. And besidesThat all things have been liken’d to the mirthUsed upon Stages, and to Stages fitted;The Splenetive Philosopher, that everLaugh’d at them all, were worthy the enstaging:All objects, were they ne’er so full of tears,He so conceited, that he could distill thenceMatter, that still fed his ridiculous humour.Heard he a Lawyer, never so vehement pleading,He stood and laugh’d. Heard he a Tradesman, swearingNever so thriftily, selling of his wares,He stood and laugh’d. Heard he a Holy Brother,For hollow ostentation, at his prayersNe’er so impetuously, he stood and laugh’d.Saw he a Great Man, never so insulting,Severely inflicting, gravely giving laws,Not for their good but his—he stood and laugh’d.Saw he a Youthful Widow,Never so weeping, wringing of her handsFor her dead Lord, still the Philosopher laugh’d.—Now, whether he supposed all these PresentmentsWere only maskeries, and wore false faces,Or else were simply vain, I take no care;But still he laugh’d, how grave soe’er they were.

Stoicism.—— in this one thing all the disciplineOf manners and of manhood is contain’d;A Man to join himself with the UniverseIn his main sway; and make (in all things fit)One with that All; and go on, round as it:Not plucking from the whole his wretched part,And into straits, or into nought revert;Wishing the complete Universe might beSubject to such a rag of it as He.

—— in this one thing all the disciplineOf manners and of manhood is contain’d;A Man to join himself with the UniverseIn his main sway; and make (in all things fit)One with that All; and go on, round as it:Not plucking from the whole his wretched part,And into straits, or into nought revert;Wishing the complete Universe might beSubject to such a rag of it as He.

Apparitions before the Body’s DeathScotice,Second Sight.—— these true Shadows of the Guise and Cardinal,Fore-running thus their Bodies, may approve,That all things to be done, as here we live,Are done before all times in th’ other life.

Apparitions before the Body’s DeathScotice,Second Sight.

—— these true Shadows of the Guise and Cardinal,Fore-running thus their Bodies, may approve,That all things to be done, as here we live,Are done before all times in th’ other life.

[From “Satiromastix,” a Comedy, by Thomas Decker, 1602: in which Ben Jonson, under the name of Horace, is reprehended, in retaliation of his “Poetaster;” in which he had attacked two of his Brother Dramatists, probably Marston and Decker, under the names of Crispinus and Demetrius.]

Horace.What could I do, out of a just revenge,But bring them to the Stage? they envy me,Because I hold more worthy company.Demetrius.Good Horace, no; my cheeks do blush for thine,As often as thou speaks’t so. Where one trueAnd nobly-virtuous spirit for thy best partLoves thee, I wish one ten even from my heart.I make account I put up as deep shareIn any good man’s love, which thy worth owns,As thou thyself; we envy not to seeThy friends with bays to crown thy Poesy.No, here the gall lies; we that know what stuffThy very heart is made of, know the stalkOn which thy learning grows, and can give lifeTo thy (once dying) baseness, yet must weDance antics on thy paper.Crispinus.This makes us angry, but not envious.No; were thy warpt soul put in a new mould,I’d wear thee as a jewel set in gold.

[From the “Antipodes,” a Comedy, by Richard Brome, 1633.]

Directions to Players.Nobleman.———My actorsAre all in readiness, and I think all perfect,But one, that never will be perfect in a thingHe studies; yet he makes such shifts extempore,(Knowing the purpose what he is to speak to),That he moves mirth in me ’bove all the rest.For I am none of those Poetic Furies,That threats the actor’s life, in a whole PlayThat adds a syllable, or takes away.If he can fribble through, and move delightIn others, I am pleased.—****Let me not see you now,In the scholastic way you brought to town with you,With see-saw sack-a-down, like a sawyer;Nor in a comic scene play Hercules Furens,Tearing your throat to split the audients’ ears;—And you, Sir, you had got a trick of lateOf holding out your breech in a set speech;Your fingers fibulating on your breast,As if your buttons or your bandstrings wereHelps to your memory; let me see you in’tNo more, I charge you. No, nor you, Sir,In that o’er-action of your legs I told you of,Your singles and your doubles—look you—thus—Like one of the dancing-masters of the bear-garden;And when you’ve spoke, at end of every speech,Not minding the reply, you turn you roundAs tumblers do, when betwixt every featThey gather wind by firking up their breeches.I’ll none of these absurdities in my house;But words and actions married so together,That shall strike harmony in the ears and eyesOf the severest, if judicious, critics.Players.My Lord, we are corrected.Nobleman.Go, be ready.—But you, Sir, are incorrigible, andTake licence to yourself to add untoYour parts your own free fancy; and sometimesTo alter or diminish what the writerWith care and skill composed; and when you areTo speak to your Co-actors in the scene,You hold interloqutions with the audients.Player.That is a way, my Lord, has been allowedOn elder stages, to move mirth and laughter.Nobleman.Yes, in the days of Tarleton and Kemp,Before the Stage was purged from barbarism,And brought to the perfection it now shines with.Then Fools and Jesters spent their wits, becauseThe Poets were wise enough to save their ownFor profitabler uses.—

Nobleman.———My actorsAre all in readiness, and I think all perfect,But one, that never will be perfect in a thingHe studies; yet he makes such shifts extempore,(Knowing the purpose what he is to speak to),That he moves mirth in me ’bove all the rest.For I am none of those Poetic Furies,That threats the actor’s life, in a whole PlayThat adds a syllable, or takes away.If he can fribble through, and move delightIn others, I am pleased.—****Let me not see you now,In the scholastic way you brought to town with you,With see-saw sack-a-down, like a sawyer;Nor in a comic scene play Hercules Furens,Tearing your throat to split the audients’ ears;—And you, Sir, you had got a trick of lateOf holding out your breech in a set speech;Your fingers fibulating on your breast,As if your buttons or your bandstrings wereHelps to your memory; let me see you in’tNo more, I charge you. No, nor you, Sir,In that o’er-action of your legs I told you of,Your singles and your doubles—look you—thus—Like one of the dancing-masters of the bear-garden;And when you’ve spoke, at end of every speech,Not minding the reply, you turn you roundAs tumblers do, when betwixt every featThey gather wind by firking up their breeches.I’ll none of these absurdities in my house;But words and actions married so together,That shall strike harmony in the ears and eyesOf the severest, if judicious, critics.Players.My Lord, we are corrected.Nobleman.Go, be ready.—But you, Sir, are incorrigible, andTake licence to yourself to add untoYour parts your own free fancy; and sometimesTo alter or diminish what the writerWith care and skill composed; and when you areTo speak to your Co-actors in the scene,You hold interloqutions with the audients.Player.That is a way, my Lord, has been allowedOn elder stages, to move mirth and laughter.Nobleman.Yes, in the days of Tarleton and Kemp,Before the Stage was purged from barbarism,And brought to the perfection it now shines with.Then Fools and Jesters spent their wits, becauseThe Poets were wise enough to save their ownFor profitabler uses.—

C. L.

To the Editor.

Sir,—Mr. Brydone, in the quotations you havemade,[205]appears to doubt the accuracy of the stories relating to Charybdis. I never recollect to have heard mention of the name of Colus, but apprehend he was the same as the famous Sicilian diver, Nicolo Pesce. Associated with Charybdis, some notice of this extraordinary man may not be uninteresting.

The authenticity of this account depends entirely on the authority of Kircher. He assures us, he had it from the archives of the kings of Sicily; but its having so much of the marvellous in it, many have been disposed to doubt its accuracy. Historians are too fond of fiction, but we should by no means doubt their sincerity, when we find them on other subjects not contemptible authorities.

“In the time of Frederic, king of Sicily, (says Kircher,) there lived a celebrated diver, whose name wasNicholas, and who, from his amazing skill in swimming, and his perseverance under the water, was surnamed thefish. This man had from his infancy been used to the sea; and earned his scanty subsistence by diving for corals and oysters, which he sold to the villagers on shore. His long acquaintance with the sea at last brought it to be almost his natural element. He was frequently known to spend five days in the midst of the waves, without any other provisions than the fish which he caught there, and ate raw. He often swam over from Sicily into Calabria, a tempestuous and dangerous passage, carrying letters from the king. He was frequently known to swim among the gulfs of Lipari, no way apprehensive of danger.

“Some mariners out at sea one day observing something at a distance from them, regarded it as a sea-monster; but upon its approach it was known to be Nicholas, whom they took into their ship. When they asked him whither he was going in so stormy and rough a sea, and at such a distance from land, he showed them a packet of letters, which he was carrying to one of the towns of Italy, exactly done up in a leather bag, in such a manner that they could not be wetted by the sea. He kept them company for some time in their voyage, conversing and asking questions; and, after eating with them, took his leave, and jumping into the sea, pursued his voyage alone.

“In order to aid these powers of enduring in the deep, nature seemed to have assisted him in a very extraordinary manner; for the spaces between his fingers and toes were webbed as in a goose: and his chest became so very capacious, that he was able, at one inspiration, to take in as much breath as would serve him a whole day.

“The account of so extraordinary a person did not fail to reach the king himself;who commanded Nicholas to be brought before him. It was no easy matter to find Nicholas, who generally spent his time in the solitudes of the deep; but, at last, after much searching, he was discovered, and brought before his majesty. The curiosity of this monarch had long been excited by the accounts he had heard of the bottom of the gulf of Charybdis; he now therefore conceived that it would be a proper opportunity to obtain more certain information. He therefore commanded the poor diver to examine the bottom of this dreadful whirlpool; and, as an incitement to his obedience, he ordered a golden cup to be thrown into it. Nicholas was not insensible of the danger to which he was exposed; dangers best known only to himself, and therefore he presumed to remonstrate; but the hopes of the reward, the desire of pleasing the king, and the pleasure of showing his skill, at last prevailed. He instantly jumped into the gulf, and was as instantly swallowed up in its bosom. He continued for three quarters of an hour below, during which time the king and his attendants remained on shore anxious for his fate: but he at last appeared, holding the cup in triumph in one hand, and making his way good among the waves with the other. It may be supposed he was received with applause when he came on shore; the cup was made the reward of his adventure; the king ordered him to be taken proper care of; and, as he was somewhat fatigued and debilitated with his labour, after a hearty meal he was put to bed, and permitted to refresh himself with sleeping.

“When his spirits were thus restored, he was again brought before the king, to satisfy his curiosity with a narrative of the wonders he had seen; and his account was to the following effect:—He would never, he said, have obeyed the king’s commands, had he been apprized of half the dangers that were before him. There were four things, he said, which rendered the gulf dreadful, not only to men but to the fishes themselves. 1. The force of the water bursting up from the bottom, which required great strength to resist. 2. The abruptness of the rocks, which on every side threatened destruction. 3. The force of the whirlpool dashing against these rocks. And, 4. The number and magnitude of the polypous fish, some of which appeared as large as a man; and which, every where sticking against the rocks projected their fibrous arms to entangle him. Being asked, how he was able so readily to find the cup that had been thrown in, he replied, that it happened to be flung by the waves into the cavity of a rock against which he himself was urged in his descent. This account, however, did not satisfy the king’s curiosity. Being requested once more to venture into the gulf for further discoveries, he at first refused: but the king, desirous of having the most accurate information possible of all things to be found in the gulf, repeated his solicitations; and to give them greater weight, produced a larger cup than the former, and added also a purse of gold. Upon these considerations the unfortunate diver once again plunged into the whirlpool, and was never heard of more.”

This is Kircher’s account, some assertions of whom will undoubtedly excite incredibility in the minds of all. I do not wish to offer any remarks, but leave your readers to form their own opinions.

People, by being accustomed to the water from their infancy, may often, at length, not only be enabled to stay much longer under water, but putting on a kind of amphibious nature, have the use of all their faculties as well under the water as on the dry land. Most savage nations are remarkable for this; and, even among civilized nations, many persons are found capable of continuing submerged for an incredible time.

I am, &c.,A. B.

Hackney, May, 1827.

[205]Atpage 643, &c.

We have to inform the public of a remarkable discovery, which, though partially disclosed by former travellers, has still remained, for the most part, a strange secret. It is this;—that there is actually, at this present moment, and in this our own beautiful country of Great Britain, a large tract of territory, which to nine hundred and ninety-nine thousandths of our beloved countrymen is as much an undiscovered land as the other end of New South Wales, or the Pole which they have gone to find out. We have read of places in romance, which were more shut out by magic from people’s eyes, though close to them, than if a fifty-foot wall encircled them. It would seem as if some such supernatural prohibition existed with regard to the land in question; for the extremities of it reach to within a short distance from the metropolis, which it surrounds on all sides; nay, we have heard of persons riding through it,without seeing any thing but a sign-post or some corn; and yet it is so beautiful, that it is called emphatically “the country.”

It abounds in the finest natural productions. The more majestic parts of it are at a distance, but the zealous explorer may come upon its gentler beauties in an incredibly short time. Its pastures and cattle are admirable. Deer are to be met with in the course of half a day’s journey; and the traveller is accompanied, wherever he goes, with the music of singing birds. Immediately towards the south is a noble river, which brings you to an upland of the most luxuriant description, looking in the water like a rich-haired beauty in her glass: yet the place is in general solitary. Towards the north, at a less distance, are some other hilly spots of ground, which partake more of the rudely romantic, running however into scenes of the like sylvan elegance; and yet these are still more solitary. The inhabitants of these lands, called the country-people, seem, in truth, pretty nearly as blind to their merits as those who never see them; but their perceptions will doubtless increase, in proportion as their polished neighbours set the example. It should be said for them, that some causes, with which we have nothing to do in this place, have rendered them duller to such impressions than they appear to have been a century or two ago; but we repeat, that they will not live in such scenes to no purpose, if those who know better take an interest in their improvement. Their children have an instinct that is wiser, till domestic cares do it away. They may be seen in the fields and green lanes, with their curly locks and brown faces, gathering the flowers which abound there, and the names of which are as pretty as the shapes and colours. They are called wild roses, primroses, violets, the rose campion, germander, stellaria, wild anemone, bird’s-eye, daisies and buttercups, lady-smocks, ground-ivy, hare-bells or blue-bells, wake-robin, lillies of the valley, &c. &c. The trees are oaks, elms, birches, ash, poplar, willow, wild cherry, the flowering may-bush, &c. &c. all, in short, that we dote upon in pictures, and wish that we had about us when it is hot in Cheapside and Bond-street. It is perfectly transporting, in fine weather, like the present for instance, to lounge under the hedge-row elms in one of these sylvan places, and see the light smoke of the cottages fuming up among the green trees, the cattle grazing or lying about with a heavy placidity accordant to the time and scene, “painted jays” glancing about the glens, the gentle hills sloping down into water, the winding embowered lanes, the leafy and flowery banks, the green oaks against the blue sky, their ivied trunks, the silver-bodied and young-haired birches, and the mossy grass treble-carpeted after the vernal rains. Transporting is it to see all this; and transporting to hear the linnets, thrushes, and blackbirds, the grave gladness of the bee, and the stock-dove “brooding over her own sweet voice.” And more transporting than all is it to be in such places with a friend, that feels like ourselves, in whose heart and eyes (especially if they have fair lids) we may see all our own happiness doubled, as the landscape itself is reflected in thewaters.[206]

[206]The Indicator.

Nicolai, the celebrated German bookseller, a member of the royal society of Berlin, presented to that institution a memoir on the subject of a complaint with which he was affected, and one of the singular consequences of which was, the representation of various spectres. M. Nicolai for some years had been subject to a congestion in the head, and was blooded frequently for it by leeches. After a detailed account of the state of his health, on which he grounds much medical as well as psychological reasoning, he gives the following interestingnarrative:—

In the first two months of the year 1791, I was much affected in my mind by several incidents of a very disagreeable nature; and on the 24th of February a circumstance occurred which irritated me extremely. At ten o’clock in the forenoon my wife and another person came to console me; I was in a violent perturbation of mind, owing to a series of incidents which had altogether wounded my moral feelings, and from which I saw no possibility of relief: when suddenly I observed at the distance of ten paces from me a figure—the figure of a deceased person. I pointed at it, and asked my wife whether she did not see it. She saw nothing, but being much alarmed endeavoured to compose me, and sent for the physician. The figure remained some seven or eight minutes, and at length I became a little more calm; and as I was extremely exhausted, I soon afterwards fell into a troubled kind of slumber, whichlasted for half an hour. The vision was ascribed to the great agitation of mind in which I had been, and it was supposed I should have nothing more to apprehend from that cause; but the violent affection having put my nerves into some unnatural state, from this arose further consequences, which require a more detailed description.

In the afternoon, a little after four o’clock, the figure which I had seen in the morning again appeared. I was alone when this happened; a circumstance which, as may be easily conceived, could not be very agreeable. I went therefore to the apartment of my wife, to whom I related it. But thither also the figure pursued me. Sometimes it was present, sometimes it vanished; but it was always the same standing figure. A little after six o’clock several stalking figures also appeared; but they had no connection with the standing figure. I can assign no other reason for this apparition than that, though much more composed in my mind, I had not been able so soon entirely to forget the cause of such deep and distressing vexation, and had reflected on the consequences of it, in order, if possible, to avoid them; and that this happened three hours after dinner, at the time when the digestion just begins.

At length I became more composed with respect to the disagreeable incident which had given rise to the first apparition; but though I had used very excellent medicines, and found myself in other respects perfectly well, yet the apparitions did not diminish, but, on the contrary, rather increased in number, and were transformed in the most extraordinary manner.

After I had recovered from the first impression of terror, I never felt myself particularly agitated by these apparitions, as I considered them to be what they really were, the extraordinary consequences of indisposition; on the contrary, I endeavoured as much as possible to preserve my composure of mind, that I might remain distinctly conscious of what passed within me. I observed these phantoms with great accuracy, and very often reflected on my previous thoughts, with a view to discover some law in the association of ideas, by which exactly these or other figures might present themselves to the imagination.—Sometimes I thought I had made a discovery, especially in the latter period of my visions; but, on the whole, I could trace no connection which the various figures that thus appeared and disappeared to my sight had, either with my state of mind or with my employment, and the other thoughts which engaged my attention. After frequent accurate observations on the subject, having fairly proved and maturely considered it, I could form no other conclusion on the cause and consequence of such apparitions than that, when the nervous system is weak, and at the same time too much excited, or rather deranged, similar figures may appear in such a manner as if they were actually seen and heard; for these visions in my case were not the consequence of any known law of reason, of the imagination, or of the otherwise usual association of ideas; and such also is the case with other men, as far as we can reason from the few examples we know.

The origin of the individual pictures which present themselves to us, must undoubtedly be sought for in the structure of that organization by which we think; but this will always remain no less inexplicable to us than the origin of these powers by which consciousness and fancy are made to exist.

The figure of the deceased person never appeared to me after the first dreadful day; but several other figures showed themselves afterwards very distinctly; sometimes such as I knew, mostly, however, of persons I did not know, and amongst those known to me, were the semblances of both living and deceased persons, but mostly the former; and I made the observation, that acquaintances with whom I daily conversed never appeared to me as phantasms; it was always such as were at a distance. When these apparitions had continued some weeks, and I could regard them with the greatest composure, I afterwards endeavoured, at my own pleasure, to call forth phantoms of several acquaintance, whom I for that reason represented to my imagination in the most lively manner, but in vain.—For however accurately I pictured to my mind the figures of such persons, I never once could succeed in my desire of seeing themexternally; though I had some short time before seen them as phantoms, and they had perhaps afterwards unexpectedly presented themselves to me in the same manner. The phantasms appeared to me in every case involuntarily, as if they had been presented externally, like the phenomena in nature, though they certainly had their origin internally; and at the same time I was always able to distinguish with the greatest precision phantasms from phenomena. Indeed, I never once erred in this, as I was in general perfectly calm and self-collected on the occasion. I knew extremely well, when it only appeared to me that thedoor was opened, and a phantom entered, and when the door really was opened and any person came in.

It is also to be noted, that these figures appeared to me at all times, and under the most different circumstances, equally distinct and clear. Whether I was alone, or in company, by broad daylight equally as in the nighttime, in my own as well as in my neighbour’s house; yet when I was at another person’s house, they were less frequent; and when I walked the public street they very seldom appeared. When I shut my eyes, sometimes the figures disappeared, sometimes they remained even after I had closed them. If they vanished in the former case, on opening my eyes again nearly the same figures appeared which I had seen before.

I sometimes conversed with my physician and my wife, concerning the phantasms which at the time hovered around me; for in general the forms appeared oftener in motion than at rest. They did not always continue present—they frequently left me altogether, and again appeared for a short or longer space of time, singly or more at once; but, in general, several appeared together. For the most part I saw human figures of both sexes; they commonly passed to and fro as if they had no connection with each other, like people at a fair where all is bustle; sometimes they appeared to have business with one another. Once or twice I saw amongst them persons on horseback, and dogs and birds; these figures all appeared to me in their natural size, as distinctly as if they had existed in real life, with the several tints on the uncovered parts of the body, and with all the different kinds of colours of clothes. But I think, however, that the colours were somewhatpalerthan they are in nature.

None of the figures had any distinguishing characteristic; they were neither terrible, ludicrous, nor repulsive; most of them were ordinary in their appearance—some were even agreeable.

On the whole, the longer I continued in this state, the more did the number of phantasms increase, and the apparitions became more frequent. About four weeks afterwards I began to hear them speak: sometimes the phantasms spoke with one another; but for the most part they addressed themselves to me: those speeches were in general short, and never contained any thing disagreeable. Intelligent and respected friends often appeared to me, who endeavoured to console me in my grief, which still left deep traces in my mind. This speaking I heard most frequently when I was alone; though I sometimes heard it in company, intermixed with the conversation of real persons; frequently in single phrases only, but sometimes even in connected discourse.

Though at this time I enjoyed rather a good state of health, both in body and mind, and had become so very familiar with these phantasms, that at last they did not excite the least disagreeable emotion, but on the contrary afforded me frequent subjects for amusement and mirth; yet as the disorder sensibly increased, and the figures appeared to me for whole days together, and even during the night, if I happened to awake, I had recourse to several medicines, and was at last again obliged to have recourse to the application of leeches.

This was performed on the 20th of April, at eleven o’clock in the forenoon. I was alone with the surgeon, but during the operation the room swarmed with human forms of every description, which crowded fast one on another; this continued till half-past four o’clock, exactly the time when the digestion commences. I then observed that the figures began to move more slowly; soon afterwards the colours became gradually paler; and every seven minutes they lost more and more of their intensity, without any alteration in the distinct figure of the apparitions. At about half-past six o’clock all the figures were entirely white, and moved very little; yet the forms appeared perfectly distinct; by degrees they became visibly less plain, without decreasing in number, as had often formerly been the case. The figures did not move off, neither did they vanish, which also had usually happened on other occasions. In this instance they dissolved immediately into air; of some even whole pieces remained for a length of time, which also by degrees were lost to the eye. At about eight o’clock there did not remain a vestige of any of them, and I have never since experienced any appearance of the same kind. Twice or thrice since that time I have felt a propensity, if I may be so allowed to express myself, or a sensation, as if I saw something which in a moment again was gone. I was even surprised by this sensation whilst writing the present account, having, in order to render it more accurate, perused the papers of 1791, and recalled to my memory all the circumstances of that time. So little are we sometimes, even in the greatest composure of mind, masters of our imagination.

The Porch of Beckenham Church-yard.Beyond theLich-gatestand ten ancient yews—Branching so high they seem like giant mutes,With plumes, awaiting rich men’s funeralsAnd poor men’s bury’ngs:—stretching, over all,An arch of triumph for Death’s victories.*

The Porch of Beckenham Church-yard.

Beyond theLich-gatestand ten ancient yews—Branching so high they seem like giant mutes,With plumes, awaiting rich men’s funeralsAnd poor men’s bury’ngs:—stretching, over all,An arch of triumph for Death’s victories.*

Over the wickets to many of the church-yards in Kent is a shed, or covered way, of ancient structure, used as a resting-place for funerals, and for the shelter of the corpse until the minister arrives to commence the service for the dead. This at Beckenham is one of the most perfect in the county: the footway beyond, to the great entrance-door of the church, is canopied by a grove of trees, “sad sociate to graves.” These old church-yard buildings, now only seen in villages, were formerly calledlich-gates, and the paths to them were calledlich-lanes, orlich-ways.

The wordlichsignified a corpse. Hence the death-owl was anciently called thelich-owl.

The shriekingLitch-owl, that doth never cryBut boding death, and quick herself intersIn darksome graves, and hollow sepulchres.Drayton.

The shriekingLitch-owl, that doth never cryBut boding death, and quick herself intersIn darksome graves, and hollow sepulchres.

Drayton.

Also, fromlichis derived the name of the city ofLichfield, so called because of a massacre on that spot.

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