Prec.Dost thou remember when first we met?Vic.It was at Cordova,In the Cathedral garden. Thou wast sittingUnder the orange-trees, beside a fountain.Prec.'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed treesFilled all the air with fragrance and with joy.The priests were singing, and the organ sounded,And then anon the great Cathedral bell.It was the elevation of the Host.We both of us fell down upon our knees,Under the orange boughs, and prayed together.I never had been happy, till that moment.Vic.Thou blessed angel!Prec.And when thou wast goneI felt an aching here. I did not speakTo any one that day.Vic.Sweet Preciosa!I loved thee even then, though I was silent!Prec.I thought I ne'er should see thy face again.Thy farewell had to me a sound of sorrow.Vic.That was the first sound in the song of love!Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound.Hands of invisible spirits touch the stringsOf that mysterious instrument, the soul,And play the prelude of our fate. We hearThe voice prophetic, and are not alone.
Prec.Dost thou remember when first we met?
Vic.It was at Cordova,In the Cathedral garden. Thou wast sittingUnder the orange-trees, beside a fountain.
Prec.'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed treesFilled all the air with fragrance and with joy.The priests were singing, and the organ sounded,And then anon the great Cathedral bell.It was the elevation of the Host.We both of us fell down upon our knees,Under the orange boughs, and prayed together.I never had been happy, till that moment.
Vic.Thou blessed angel!
Prec.And when thou wast goneI felt an aching here. I did not speakTo any one that day.
Vic.Sweet Preciosa!I loved thee even then, though I was silent!
Prec.I thought I ne'er should see thy face again.Thy farewell had to me a sound of sorrow.
Vic.That was the first sound in the song of love!Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound.Hands of invisible spirits touch the stringsOf that mysterious instrument, the soul,And play the prelude of our fate. We hearThe voice prophetic, and are not alone.
If any doubt thatWordsworth's'comfort in the strength of love' can be exaggerated, let him or her 'inwardly digest' the following picture of the power of this passion, drawn byVictorian:
WhatI most prize in womanIs her affection, not her intellect.Compare me with the great men of the earth—What am I? Why, a pigmy among giants!But if thou lovest—mark me, I say lovest—The greatest of thy sex excels thee not!The world of the affections is thy world—Not that of man's ambition. In that stillnessWhich most becomes a woman, calm and holy,Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart,Feeding its flame. The element of fireIs pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature,But burns as brightly in a gypsy campAs in a palace hall.
WhatI most prize in womanIs her affection, not her intellect.Compare me with the great men of the earth—What am I? Why, a pigmy among giants!But if thou lovest—mark me, I say lovest—The greatest of thy sex excels thee not!The world of the affections is thy world—Not that of man's ambition. In that stillnessWhich most becomes a woman, calm and holy,Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart,Feeding its flame. The element of fireIs pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature,But burns as brightly in a gypsy campAs in a palace hall.
How forcible are the following thoughtful lines:
Hyp.Hastthou e'er reflectedHow much lies hidden in that one wordnow?Vic.Yes; all the awful mystery of Life!I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito,That could we, by some spell of magic, changeThe world and its inhabitants to stone,In the same attitudes they now are in,What fearful glances downward might we castInto the hollow chasms of human life!What groups should we behold about the death-bed,Putting to shame the group of Niobe!What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells!What stony tears in those congealéd eyes!What visible joy or anguish in those cheeks!What bridal pomps, and what funereal shows!What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling!What lovers with their marble lips together!
Hyp.Hastthou e'er reflectedHow much lies hidden in that one wordnow?
Vic.Yes; all the awful mystery of Life!I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito,That could we, by some spell of magic, changeThe world and its inhabitants to stone,In the same attitudes they now are in,What fearful glances downward might we castInto the hollow chasms of human life!What groups should we behold about the death-bed,Putting to shame the group of Niobe!What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells!What stony tears in those congealéd eyes!What visible joy or anguish in those cheeks!What bridal pomps, and what funereal shows!What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling!What lovers with their marble lips together!
But we are admonished of our lack of space; and are left only room to say to every lover—whether of some precious maid, or more precious 'wife and mother now,' or lover only of the beautiful and the true in poetry—to obtain the 'Spanish Student,' and lay 'its gentle teachings to the new-warmed heart.'
Classical Studies: Essays on Ancient Literature and Art: with the Biography and Correspondence of eminent Philologists. ByDavid Sears, President of Newton Theological Institution; Professor B. B.Edwards, of Andover; and Professor C. C.Felton, of Harvard University. Boston:Gould, Kendall, and Lincoln.
Classical Studies: Essays on Ancient Literature and Art: with the Biography and Correspondence of eminent Philologists. ByDavid Sears, President of Newton Theological Institution; Professor B. B.Edwards, of Andover; and Professor C. C.Felton, of Harvard University. Boston:Gould, Kendall, and Lincoln.
Thiswork will be warmly welcomed by scholars, and all true lovers of classical learning. ProfessorEdwardsfurnishes an essay upon the study of Greek literature, of classical antiquity, and upon the school of philology in Holland; PresidentSearspresents the reader with an article upon the schools of German philology, a very voluminous correspondence between eminent philologists in Germany, together with a history of the Latin language: and ProfessorFeltoncontributes an admirable paper upon the Wealth of the Greeks in Works of Plastic Art; the superiority of the Greek Language in the use of its Dialects; the education of the Moral Sentiment among the Ancient Greeks; and, as we have reason, from internal evidence, to believe, the excellent 'Introduction.' We are glad to learn from this last-mentioned treatise, that amidst the din of practical interests, the rivalries of commerce, and the great enterprises of the age, classical studies are gaining ground in public estimation. It is a much more common thing now for youngmen to continue them after leaving college than in former days. 'The excitements of modern literature lend additional ardor to classical studies. The young blood of modern literature has put new life into the literature of the dead languages.'Goethe's'Iphigenia,'Talfourd's'Ion,'Milton's'Samson Agonistes' and its Dorian choruses, and the creations of the myriad-minded poet of England, are cited, in proof of this position. In short, the benefits, direct and indirect, of classical study are so forcibly illustrated in this work, that we hope to see it widely diffused, as an offset against the declamations of the ignorant—who undervalue what they do not understand—against classical acquirements and sound learning.
The First Ten Cantos of the Inferno of Dante Alighieri.Newly translated into English verse. By T. W.Parsons. Boston:William D. Ticknor.
The First Ten Cantos of the Inferno of Dante Alighieri.Newly translated into English verse. By T. W.Parsons. Boston:William D. Ticknor.
Thewell-printed pamphlet before us, as will be seen from its title-page, is merely a specimen of a larger, and as we infer, yet unfinished attempt. We can hardly believe however that it will long remain incomplete, if the approving voice of capable judges shall have weight with the author, to 'whet his purpose.' Although the work must needs abide a triple test, in a comparison with the original, with previous translations, and with finished English poems, it is our own belief, and that of others 'whose judgment cries in the top of ours,' that it will endure the ordeal with honor to the translator. We regard Mr.Parsons'stranslation as indeed excellent. The versification is melodious and smooth, and the translator has evidently been scrupulously careful to confine himself to the exact sense of the original. To the merits of the great creations ofDante, it is of course quite unnecessary to advert; but of the illustrious Italian's claims to the character ofa philosopherit may not be amiss to speak. We glean from a comprehensive and instructive essay, addressed by the translator to the reader, thatDantewas the greatest philosopher of his age. As early as the fourteenth century, he was familiar with the sphericity of the earth, and alluded to the existence of a western hemisphere. He was acquainted with the theory of winds, and had a curious insight into the phenomena of the production of rain. 'He hinted at the laws of gravitation, anticipatedNewton'stheory of attraction and repulsion, and announced the tendency of the magnet to the polar star. He anticipated also the discovery of the circulation of the blood; he described and explained the phenomena of the shooting stars; and long before the telescope ofGalileo, he taught us that the milky way was nothing else than the combination of light with an immense number of smaller orbs.' The fine etching of the bust ofDante, which forms the frontispiece of the pamphlet before us, indicates we think, beside the other noble characteristics of the poet, this philosophical bent of his mind. The translator's lines on this bust are admirable. We annex a few forceful stanzas:
'Seefrom this counterfeit of himWhom Arno shall remember long,How stern of lineament, how grimThe father was of Tuscan song.There but the burning sense of wrong,Perpetual care and scorn abide;Small friendship for the lordly throng;Distrust of all the world beside.Faithful if this wan image be,No dream his life was, but a fight;Could anyBeatriceseeA lover in that anchorite?To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy sightWho could have guessed the visions cameOf Beauty, veiled with heavenly light,In circles of eternal flame?The lips, as Cumæ's cavern close,The cheeks, with fast and sorrow thin,The rigid front, almost morose,But for the patient hope within,Declare a life whose course hath beenUnsullied still, though still severe,Which, through the wavering days of sin,Kept itself icy-chaste and clear.Peace dwells not here; this rugged faceBetrays no spirit of repose;The sullen warrior sole we trace,The marble man of many woes.Such was his mien, when first aroseThe thought of that strange tale divine,When hell he peopled with his foes,The scourge of many a guilty line.'
'Seefrom this counterfeit of himWhom Arno shall remember long,How stern of lineament, how grimThe father was of Tuscan song.There but the burning sense of wrong,Perpetual care and scorn abide;Small friendship for the lordly throng;Distrust of all the world beside.
Faithful if this wan image be,No dream his life was, but a fight;Could anyBeatriceseeA lover in that anchorite?To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy sightWho could have guessed the visions cameOf Beauty, veiled with heavenly light,In circles of eternal flame?
The lips, as Cumæ's cavern close,The cheeks, with fast and sorrow thin,The rigid front, almost morose,But for the patient hope within,Declare a life whose course hath beenUnsullied still, though still severe,Which, through the wavering days of sin,Kept itself icy-chaste and clear.
Peace dwells not here; this rugged faceBetrays no spirit of repose;The sullen warrior sole we trace,The marble man of many woes.Such was his mien, when first aroseThe thought of that strange tale divine,When hell he peopled with his foes,The scourge of many a guilty line.'
We counsel Mr.Parsonsto pursue the commendable task which he has allotted to himself, the commencement alone of which redounds so much to the credit of his taste, scholarship, and skill. He cannot fail of entire success.
Early Writings of the late R. C. Sands: Fourth Notice.—We resume a consideration of the early writings of this true son of genius, in a brief review of a characteristic production of his pen, which we are sorry to say was never completed. It was the singular biography of 'The Man who Never Laughed.' It purported to be a 'German story;' but the veil of pretended translation was quite too thin to deceive the writer's friends, who perused the manuscript. It was entitled 'Tristan, the Grave.' The hero was the son of a German Baron in the Duchy of Bremen, in Lower Saxony, 'who traced his ancestry up to Bruno the First.' Tristan, when an infant, was a comely child, 'perfect in his parts and proportions, with a sober and serene countenance, which seemed to indicate that he was born to be a great dignitary in the church or in the state. His lady mother and her attendants soon noticed, however, a strange idiosyncrasy in the hopes of the family; which was, that he never laughed, nor indeed did his features assume the faintest appearance of smiling! He could cry, as other babes are wont to do, and shed as many tears as are usual in the period of childhood; but after the squall was over, and the cloud cleared away, no sunshine illuminated his face and sparkled in his eyes. He looked as sedate as a little stone angel on a monument; his lips were as rigidly fixed; and his gaze expressed but little more intelligence. In vain they tickled and tousled him; instead of chirruping and smiling, he showed his dissatisfaction at this appeal to his cutaneous sensibilities, by sneezing and snarling; and if it was prolonged, by obstreperous lamentation. In vain did the maids snap their fingers, distort their countenances, and make every variety of grimace and ridiculous posture before him. He seemed to look upon their monkey tricks with an eye of compassion, and relaxed not a whit the composed arrangement of his muscles.'
Little Tristan's imperturbable gravity was a great 'thorn in the flesh' of his mother, who attributed it to thediablerieof a suspicious-looking old beldame, who hung about the premises just before he was born, and wrought the unhappy charm upon him. The old baron, however, treated the subject of his wife's uneasiness with levity, and swore that when his son was old enough to understand Dutch,hewould make him laugh till his sides ached. The learned Hieronymus Marascallerus, a great astrologer, who superintended at present the baron's kennel, and was to take charge of his son's education, when he should arrive at a suitable age, also stoutly denied the agency of anydiableriein the matter; but said that Tristan's sober demeanor was purely the result of natural causes, he having been born when Saturn and Jupiter were in conjunction in Libra. His temperament was therefore that of a generous melancholy; but whether he would make a great poet, or politician, or captain, Marascallerus could not yet decide, as part of his ephemeris had been eaten by the rats, and he could not adjust the horoscope to his satisfaction! As Tristan grew up to be a tall boy, and verged to man's estate, the same utter insensibility to ludicrous exhibitions and associations displayed itself in his physiognomyand character. He was not unsocial in his disposition, but very condescendingly joined with the younger fry of the village; and in all sports and games where violent exercise, or that dexterity which is called manual wit was concerned, he was distinguished for length of wind and ingenuity. When any one of his playmates tumbled head over heels, broke the bridge of his nose, or put any of his articulations out of joint, he saw nothing but the detriment done to the body of the suffering individual, and was incensed by the boisterous and to him inexplicable merriment of the others. He listened to a droll story as he would to a tragical one; taking an apparent interest in the incidents, but finding no farther relish in their strange combination, than as they might have been mere matters of fact. In a bull he saw nothing but the ignorance of the maker; and he did not detest puns, (if he ever heard any,) because he never suspected the jest. He heard his father's crack-joke without any other expression than that of wonder, as if he half thought the old gentleman was crazy.
As he grew in years,Tristanwas greatly vexed to find that he lacked one of the common properties of his species, and that his company was by no means considered an acquisition in jovial society. A face all rosy and radiant with unquenchable laughter, though like that of one ofHomer'sdivinities, was to him like the countenance of a baboon. He once askedMarascalleruswhether he supposed any of the heroes, knights, and kings, recorded in ancient chronicles, ever wrinkled their faces and made hysterical noises, in the manner of those who were said to be laughing? He had several times practised before a mirror the detested corrugations which he had noted on the countenances of others; but on such occasions he succeeded in producing no other expression than that which a Dutch toy for cracking nuts would wear, without any paint; while his eyes seemed looking out above, in wonder and scorn at the performance of his lower features; and he turned with disgust from the image of himself. Time, who travels on at his jog-trot pace, whether men turn the corners of their mouths upward or downward, had carriedTristanalong with him into the twenty-first year of his serious existence; when his father the baron received a letter from one of his old friends, a brotherFreiherr, as nobly descended as himself. The writer stated that he was waxing old, and that the dearest object of his heart was to establish his only child, the fairCunegunda, comfortably and according to her rank in the world, before he went out of it; and having heard much of the wisdom and good qualities of his old friend's son, he was anxious to effect a union of two illustrious houses.Tristanprofessed himself ready to set forward on the mission forthwith. Provided with a suitable answer to the epistle which had been received, and a slenderly-furnished purse, and mounted on the least carrion-like looking steed the old gentleman's stables could furnish, he set forth.Marascallerusstood by, wiping away his tears with the end of a dirty apron, which he wore at his more servile occupations, and beseeching his pupil not to go for three days longer, as the planetary influence was just then most malign to all about commencing a journey. ButTristanput spurs to his wind-galled charger, and in a short time reached the boundary of his father's domains. Here the beast came to a sudden stand, and exhibited violent symptoms of oppugnancy to the goadings and buffets he received, by way of encouraging him to proceed. Thrice did he wheel round, quivering in all his ill-assorted members, as if under the influence of powerful terror; and thrice didTristancompel him to put his nose in the direction he wished to take. Then uttering a shrill and melancholy neigh, he started forward at his wonted miscellaneous gait. The natural curiosity of so grave a lover, touching the appearance and character of a mistress whom he had never seen, are forcibly depicted:
'Allalong the road the people at the inns treated him with great respect, taking him for a messenger intrusted with important secrets and despatches, from the sobriety of his looks and seriousness of his demeanor. After three days' journey he reached the town of Stade, and after making a disbursement to the improvement of his outward man, repaired to the residence of Baron Ehrenfriedersdorf, his father-in-law elect. The baron's dwelling stood in an old part of the town, and looked a little the worse for wear. Tristan felt a little queerish as he lifted the knocker, atthe antiquated and half-ruined gate-way. What sort of a young lady was Cunegunda Ehrenfriedersdorf? Did she squint? and if so, was the obliquity single, double, or manifold? Had she a hump? and if so, where located? On her shoulder, or her back; or how was its topography? Was she subject to nervous spasms? If so, how did the twitchings exhibit themselves? All down one side of her face, or all over? Intermittently, or all the time? Had she had the smallpox? If so, were the cicatrices deep or shallow? Was her countenance rivelled by it, into longitudinal or latitudinal seams, or promiscuously? Was she a natural, or a virago? All these doubts passed over the mind of the suitor as the iron fell from his fingers. A hollow sound reverberated from the ruinous establishment, and the portal was opened by a decayed-looking serving-man, faded alike in years and in his livery. At sight of the grave-looking young man, he bowed respectfully, taking him for a candidate for holy orders, if not a licentiate, and marshalled him across the court.'
'Allalong the road the people at the inns treated him with great respect, taking him for a messenger intrusted with important secrets and despatches, from the sobriety of his looks and seriousness of his demeanor. After three days' journey he reached the town of Stade, and after making a disbursement to the improvement of his outward man, repaired to the residence of Baron Ehrenfriedersdorf, his father-in-law elect. The baron's dwelling stood in an old part of the town, and looked a little the worse for wear. Tristan felt a little queerish as he lifted the knocker, atthe antiquated and half-ruined gate-way. What sort of a young lady was Cunegunda Ehrenfriedersdorf? Did she squint? and if so, was the obliquity single, double, or manifold? Had she a hump? and if so, where located? On her shoulder, or her back; or how was its topography? Was she subject to nervous spasms? If so, how did the twitchings exhibit themselves? All down one side of her face, or all over? Intermittently, or all the time? Had she had the smallpox? If so, were the cicatrices deep or shallow? Was her countenance rivelled by it, into longitudinal or latitudinal seams, or promiscuously? Was she a natural, or a virago? All these doubts passed over the mind of the suitor as the iron fell from his fingers. A hollow sound reverberated from the ruinous establishment, and the portal was opened by a decayed-looking serving-man, faded alike in years and in his livery. At sight of the grave-looking young man, he bowed respectfully, taking him for a candidate for holy orders, if not a licentiate, and marshalled him across the court.'
The first thing the graveTristanheard, as he followed the seneschal, was 'an uproarious peal of laughter from an upper story and a female organ.' The BaronEhrenfriedersdorfand his family were at the dinner-table; and finishing his third bottle, he was telling one of his favorite High Dutch stories; at which his guests, as in duty bound, including his fair daughter, were in a roar of laughter, of that sort which the little fat schepen died of, as related byDiedrich Knickerbocker. An antique figure of a man, at the right of the baron, with lantern-jaws and a long proboscis of a nose, tipped with a pair of green goggles, a dubious figure of fun, had a peculiar asthmatic 'Hugh! hugh! hugh!'—an ancient maiden of sixty or thereabout, sat near him, whose stiff, starched deportment belied the compulsory 'He! he! he!' which issued from her inward person—and byherside sat a reverend, round-faced, jolly-looking personage, from whose rosy gills and oral cavity issued an obstreperous 'Ho! ho! ho!' which seemed to have been fabricated in the inmost recesses of hispræcordia. Other nameless, or from their German patronymics unnameable guests there were, with kindred voices and physiognomies, who expressed their delight in the same variety of intonation. The apparition ofTristan'swo-begone phiz in the midst of this assembly struck so forcibly the fairCunegunda'sperceptions of the ludicrous, that she burst into a peal of tremendous cachinnation; while the under-jaw of the baron fell convulsively, as he gazed upon 'the man who couldn't laugh,' and the merry notes of his guests died away into a quaver of consternation. This was a 'pretty fix' for the melancholyTristan! He was taken all aback with the beauty of the lovely heiress ofEhrenfriedersdorf. Fair, plump, and just turned of eighteen, she might have served as a model for Hebe. A forehead smooth and white as Parian marble; arching brows, from beneath which glanced the fires of two of the brightest eyes that ever sparkled at a merry tale; cheeks tinted with the rose's deepest dye, and graced by a pair of dimples which seemed the impress of Love's own fingers; and two ruby lips, whose innocent smile disclosed a row of ivory, fairer and purer than the pearls which gemmed her bosom, formed a combination of beauty and expression that would well have become the laughter-loving goddess Euphrosyne in her happiest moments.Tristanmade a profound obeisance to the lady, and endeavored to put a smirk upon his face, which the sageMarascallerushad tried to teach him, and which he had been practising upon the road; but it was such an utter distortion, that the young lady burst forth into another exorbitant peal of laughter. Being a comely-looking youth, however, and possessed of a sufficiency of thesavor faire, he soon removed the unpleasant feelings which his ill-timed entrance had produced. He listened to, although he could not laugh at, the baron's stories; and that was such a novelty to the old gentleman, that it 'tickled the very cockles of his heart.' The fairCunegundabegan to feel a rising partiality for him: 'If he would only laugh a little, what a charming youth he would be!' He, on the other hand, could not help exclaiming mentally: 'What a happy mortal I should be, if she didn't laugh so much!'Tristanretires to rest at length, and dreams all night of his beautiful inamorata. In the morning he is awakened by the beams of the rising sun streaming gloriously through the casement:
'Heleaned out of the window which looked down upon the baron's garden. It was a lovely morning in the month of June. The twittering of the swallows on the eaves of the roof, the humof thousands of busy insects, the gentle murmur of the morning breeze, as it played among the leaves of the old elms, and the confused sounds, which, softened by distance, came upon his ear from the awakening city, produced a soothing effect upon Tristan. Two rosy-cheeked, rugged urchins were sporting up and down one of the gravel walks, in all the buoyancy and exuberant spirits of childhood. Every now and then, as some little incident occurred, they gave vent to their feelings in loud bursts of laughter. The sound grated upon Tristan's ear as he turned from the window in disgust. 'Why am I thus continually mocked?' exclaimed he, in the bitterness of his spirit; 'why am I for ever tormented by this strange noise, which I can neither imitate nor comprehend? Why am I alone of all mankind denied the privilege of throwing the muscles of my face into that congregation of wrinkles which men call smiling; or of making that incomprehensible sound to which they give the name of laughter? I can elevate and depress my eyebrows; I can wink, stare, or squint, with my eyes; I can puff out, and suck in my cheeks; I can open or pucker up my mouth. Why can't I smile? I can make all manner of noises too. I can cough. I can whistle, I can sneeze, I can sigh, I can groan; and I can blow the German flute. Why can't I laugh?' Here the unfortunate young man, in a paroxysm of impatience, gave himself several severe thumps on his head, as if to inquire why the organ of risibility had been jostled out of his cranium; and also several plunges in the side with his elbow, as if to know why his diaphragm would not vibrate spasmodically, like those of other people.'
'Heleaned out of the window which looked down upon the baron's garden. It was a lovely morning in the month of June. The twittering of the swallows on the eaves of the roof, the humof thousands of busy insects, the gentle murmur of the morning breeze, as it played among the leaves of the old elms, and the confused sounds, which, softened by distance, came upon his ear from the awakening city, produced a soothing effect upon Tristan. Two rosy-cheeked, rugged urchins were sporting up and down one of the gravel walks, in all the buoyancy and exuberant spirits of childhood. Every now and then, as some little incident occurred, they gave vent to their feelings in loud bursts of laughter. The sound grated upon Tristan's ear as he turned from the window in disgust. 'Why am I thus continually mocked?' exclaimed he, in the bitterness of his spirit; 'why am I for ever tormented by this strange noise, which I can neither imitate nor comprehend? Why am I alone of all mankind denied the privilege of throwing the muscles of my face into that congregation of wrinkles which men call smiling; or of making that incomprehensible sound to which they give the name of laughter? I can elevate and depress my eyebrows; I can wink, stare, or squint, with my eyes; I can puff out, and suck in my cheeks; I can open or pucker up my mouth. Why can't I smile? I can make all manner of noises too. I can cough. I can whistle, I can sneeze, I can sigh, I can groan; and I can blow the German flute. Why can't I laugh?' Here the unfortunate young man, in a paroxysm of impatience, gave himself several severe thumps on his head, as if to inquire why the organ of risibility had been jostled out of his cranium; and also several plunges in the side with his elbow, as if to know why his diaphragm would not vibrate spasmodically, like those of other people.'
The next evening he accompanies the baron and his daughter to the theatre, to see 'Punch and the Devil.' The audience are ready to die with laughter; but he preserves the most serene and staid deportment amidst the broad grins, suppressed titters, sudden guffaws, and obstreperous explosions, by which he is surrounded. He said, it is true, that it was all very fine, because he heard the others say so; and he joined in encoring the bravura of 'Ich bin der Herr Ponsch!' becauseCunegundasaid she 'would give the world to hear it again;' but that was the amount of his capability. His unaltered mien and composed, imperturbable expression, however, were attributed to his good breeding and polished manners, which prevented him from descending so far from his dignity. He was accordingly looked up to with increased reverence and admiration by the more risible plebeians. But alas forTristan! the stream of love does not run more smoothly in Germany than any where else. A storm was brewing for him. FrauEickenschnauckerand the venerableGrubenhausenpropagated a report that he was under the influence of theEvil One!Grubenhausenwhispered his insinuations, in confidence, toSchwillenaehlen, the red-nosed butler, who hiccupped the story over his cups, toOhtzenstieler, the ostler, who told it toSchnippenbritschen, the tailor, with the addition, thatTristanwas followed by a spirit in the shape of a black dog;Schnippenbritschentold the tale toKettelpanschen, the fat landlord opposite the baron's, whereTristanused to take his bitters every morning, and he retailed it, with various additions, to his customers. Soon nothing was talked of in the town but 'the grave stranger, who was possessed by theOld Nick, and couldn't laugh.' As soon as the baron heard the report of witchcraft, he summonedTristanbefore him, bluntly told him his own suspicions, and read him a long lecture on the danger of evil communications, and concluded by telling him that he 'must learn to laugh like other folks, or he could be no son-in-law of his.' PoorTristanwas astounded. In vain he expostulated with the baron on the unreasonableness of his demand; and tried to prove to him that it was undignified to express his satisfaction by twisting up the corners of his mouth, showing his teeth, and making a strange noise in his throat. In vain the fairCunegunda, with an imploring look, deprecated her father's anger, and begged him to let her have a husband, even if he should not be able to speak. Her entreaties were in vain; and the baron swore with a High Dutch oath, that if he couldn't laugh, he shouldn't have his daughter. She then turned toTristan, and with a look of love and a rosy smile, that would have extorted one in return from Heraclitus himself, besought him to gratify her father by one small snigger. It was all in vain. Threats and entreaties were equally useless, andTristan, instead of growing pleasanter, became graver and graver every instant. In order, however, that the unfortunate youth might not complain of the want of a subject, or an opportunity to display his risible powers, the baron told him he would give him a fair trial the next day, when he meant to show him such droll sights, and tell such funny stories, that if he did not split his sides with laughter, the Devil must have got in him indeed. What the expedients of the baron were, and their effects uponTristan,Sands'spatient readers waited long to learn; but their curiositywas never gratified. Probably the very profusion of ludicrous incidents and situations which suggested themselves to the fertile imagination of the writer, prevented the fulfillment of his promise and design. But 'we trifle time' and space. Here endeth the fourth chapter.
The Washington Monument.—We never write the name ofWashington, without a thrill of pride that his country isourcountry, and that, as an American, we hold a property in his undying fame. And we are rejoiced to perceive that a National Monument to this great and good man, a monument worthy his towering name, is at length to be erected in the great metropolis of America. An act was passed last winter by the Legislature of New-York, to incorporate the 'WashingtonMonument Association;' and we have been favored with an examination of the design for the magnificent structure, at the rooms of the architect, Mr.Pollard. It is in the form of a pentagon, and is to be erected of granite, in or fronting on Union-Square; to be finished in the Gothic style of architecture, richly and elaborately ornamented; with spacious rooms below for a Historical Library, Gallery for Paintings, etc., approached from the main rotundas. Its rich Gothic windows, columns, friezes, cornices, and balustrades; its buttresses, turrets, tower, and pinnacle; partake, in theensemble, of the sublime in art; and when the structure shall have towered to its utmost height, the crochet of the pinnacle four hundred and twenty feet in the air, it will be pronounced the noblestmonumentin the known world. It is to be built by the voluntary contributions of the people of the United States, ofone dollarand upward. Some of our wealthy citizens have already headed subscription-lists with five and ten thousand dollars; and arrangements for the immediate commencement of the enterprise are now fast maturing. 'May Heaven speed the good work!' for that monument will rise in honor of one who has 'stamped his impress on the centuries;' whose virtuous deeds and pure example will only lose their influence on the country which he loved and whose freedom he won, 'when rolling years shall cease to move.' If we turn over the pages of history, (says our renowned progenitor, the immortalKnickerbocker) that Man has written of himself, what are the characters dignified by the appellation of great, and held up to the admiration of posterity? Tyrants, robbers, conquerors, renowned only for the magnitude of their misdeeds, and the stupendous wrongs and miseries they have inflicted on mankind; warriors, who have hired themselves to the trade of blood, not from motives of virtuous patriotism, nor to protect the injured and defenceless, but merely to gain the vaunted glory of being adroit and successful in massacreing their fellow beings! What are the great events that constitute a glorious era? The fall of empires; the desolation of happy countries; splendid cities smoking in their ruins; the proudest works of art tumbled in the dust; the shrieks and groans of whole nations ascending unto heaven! How different the means, how different the results, in the case ofWashington! Let a recent orator, an orator worthy his great theme, set forth in appropriate and adequate words what we would but could not hope to express:
'Americahas furnished Europe and the world with the character ofWashington. And if our institutions had done nothing else, they would have deserved the respect of mankind.Washington—first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen—Washingtonis all our own. And the veneration and love entertained for him by the people of the United States are proof that they are worthy of such a countryman. I would cheerfully put the question to-day to the intelligent men of all Europe—I will say to the intelligent of the whole world—what character of the century stands out in the relief of history, must pure, most respectable, most sublime; and I doubt not that, by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, the answer would beWashington. That monument itself is not an unfit emblem of his character, by its uprightness, its solidity, its durability. His public virtues and public principles were as firm and fixed as the earth on which that structure rests; his personal motives as pure as the serene heavens in which its summit is lost. But, indeed, it is not an adequate emblem. Towering far above this column that our hands have built; beheld, not by the citizens of a single city or a single State, but by all the families of man; ascends the colossal grandeur of the character and life ofWashington. In all its constituent parts; in all its acts; in all its toils: in its universal love and admiration, it is an American production. Born upon our soil; of parents born upon our soil; never having for a single dayhad a sight of the old world; reared amidst our gigantic scenery; instructed, according to the modes of the time, in the spare but wholesome elementary knowledge which the institutions of the country furnish for all the children of the people; brought up beneath and penetrated by the genial influence of American society; partaking our great destiny of labor; partaking and leading in that acmé of our glory, the War of Independence; partaking and leading in that great victory of peace, the establishment of the present Constitution; behold him,altogether an American! That glorious life,'Where multitudes of virtues passed along,Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng;Contending to be seen, then making roomFor other multitudes which were to come;'that life in all its purity, in all its elevation, in all its grandeur, was the life of an American citizen. I claim him—I claimWashington—wholly for America.'
'Americahas furnished Europe and the world with the character ofWashington. And if our institutions had done nothing else, they would have deserved the respect of mankind.Washington—first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen—Washingtonis all our own. And the veneration and love entertained for him by the people of the United States are proof that they are worthy of such a countryman. I would cheerfully put the question to-day to the intelligent men of all Europe—I will say to the intelligent of the whole world—what character of the century stands out in the relief of history, must pure, most respectable, most sublime; and I doubt not that, by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, the answer would beWashington. That monument itself is not an unfit emblem of his character, by its uprightness, its solidity, its durability. His public virtues and public principles were as firm and fixed as the earth on which that structure rests; his personal motives as pure as the serene heavens in which its summit is lost. But, indeed, it is not an adequate emblem. Towering far above this column that our hands have built; beheld, not by the citizens of a single city or a single State, but by all the families of man; ascends the colossal grandeur of the character and life ofWashington. In all its constituent parts; in all its acts; in all its toils: in its universal love and admiration, it is an American production. Born upon our soil; of parents born upon our soil; never having for a single dayhad a sight of the old world; reared amidst our gigantic scenery; instructed, according to the modes of the time, in the spare but wholesome elementary knowledge which the institutions of the country furnish for all the children of the people; brought up beneath and penetrated by the genial influence of American society; partaking our great destiny of labor; partaking and leading in that acmé of our glory, the War of Independence; partaking and leading in that great victory of peace, the establishment of the present Constitution; behold him,altogether an American! That glorious life,
'Where multitudes of virtues passed along,Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng;Contending to be seen, then making roomFor other multitudes which were to come;'
'Where multitudes of virtues passed along,Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng;Contending to be seen, then making roomFor other multitudes which were to come;'
that life in all its purity, in all its elevation, in all its grandeur, was the life of an American citizen. I claim him—I claimWashington—wholly for America.'
No wonder that 'great cheering'—that 'enthusiastic,' 'prolonged,' 'deafening,' 'long-continued,' 'renewed' applause—followed the utterance of these sentences, from the united voices of a great multitude which no man could number! There swelled the National Heart; there went up to Heaven the voice of a great People, speaking to Posterity.
'The Poetry of Life.'—This volume by Mrs.Ellis, author of the 'Women' and 'Wives' of England, savors of professional book-making. Sitting deliberately down to tell her readers how much poetry may be extracted from the moon, trees, animals, evening, sound, language, grief, flowers, woman, rural life, and the like, strikes us as a 'dead set' at the sentimental; and however well the task may be accomplished, it is but bringing together a confused mass of pleasurable or other emotions, which may not be altogether common to all the world and Mrs.Ellis. In her description of the poetry of the Bible, she has omitted by far the most prominent exhibitions of that prevalent feature in the Sacred Word. The sublimity and exquisite beauty which characterize the book of Job; the unequalled story of Joseph and his Brethren; the touching pathos ofPaul; it would not have been amiss, one would think, to have included in a notice of the poetry of the Bible. In her essay upon the 'Poetry of Language,' Mrs.Ellispresents the annexed interesting exhibition of verdancy:
'Theintroduction of unpoetical images may be pardoned on the score of inadvertency, but it is possible for such images to be introduced in a manner which almost insults the feelings of the reader, by the doggerel or burlesque style which obtains favor with a certain class of readers, chiefly such as are incapable of appreciating what is beautiful or sublime. One specimen of this kind will be sufficient. It occurs in a volume of American poetry:'There'smusic in the dash of wavesWhen the swift bark cleaves the foam;There's music heard upon her deck,The mariner's song of home.When moon and star-beams smiling meetAt midnight on the sea—And there is music once a weekIn Scudder's balcony.'The moonlight music of the wavesIn storms is heard no more,When the living lightning mocks the wreckAt midnight on the shore:And the mariner's song of home has ceased;His course is on the sea—And there is music when it rainsIn Scudder's balcony.''What could induce the poet to spoil his otherwise pretty verses in this manner, it is difficult to imagine; but as this is by no means a solitary instance of the kind, we are led to suppose that the minds, in which such incongruities originate must be influenced by the popular notion of imitating LordByron, in the wild vagaries which even his genius could scarcely render endurable.'
'Theintroduction of unpoetical images may be pardoned on the score of inadvertency, but it is possible for such images to be introduced in a manner which almost insults the feelings of the reader, by the doggerel or burlesque style which obtains favor with a certain class of readers, chiefly such as are incapable of appreciating what is beautiful or sublime. One specimen of this kind will be sufficient. It occurs in a volume of American poetry:
'There'smusic in the dash of wavesWhen the swift bark cleaves the foam;There's music heard upon her deck,The mariner's song of home.When moon and star-beams smiling meetAt midnight on the sea—And there is music once a weekIn Scudder's balcony.'The moonlight music of the wavesIn storms is heard no more,When the living lightning mocks the wreckAt midnight on the shore:And the mariner's song of home has ceased;His course is on the sea—And there is music when it rainsIn Scudder's balcony.'
'There'smusic in the dash of wavesWhen the swift bark cleaves the foam;There's music heard upon her deck,The mariner's song of home.When moon and star-beams smiling meetAt midnight on the sea—And there is music once a weekIn Scudder's balcony.
'The moonlight music of the wavesIn storms is heard no more,When the living lightning mocks the wreckAt midnight on the shore:And the mariner's song of home has ceased;His course is on the sea—And there is music when it rainsIn Scudder's balcony.'
'What could induce the poet to spoil his otherwise pretty verses in this manner, it is difficult to imagine; but as this is by no means a solitary instance of the kind, we are led to suppose that the minds, in which such incongruities originate must be influenced by the popular notion of imitating LordByron, in the wild vagaries which even his genius could scarcely render endurable.'
Isn't this rather rich, friendHalleck? We doubt whether Mrs.Elliscould take a joke, though it were shot at her from a cannon. Indeed, she would doubtless reply to this remark: 'But how can you shoot a joke out of a cannon? Surely, that can hardly be feasible!'
Gossip with Readers and Correspondents.—A Friend, writing to us from the City of Brotherly Love, under date of 'Sixth-month 15th,' respectfully inquires: 'Will the Editor accept a few remarks on the communication of 'N. S. D.', from a plain Quaker; one, whose ancestors were Quakers, and who, after a close historical scrutiny, is not ashamed to claimkith, if he cannotkin, with those of that profession who were hung on Boston Common, or were beaten at cart-tails from village to village throughout puritanic New-England?' To which we cheerfully answer: 'Yea, certainly, Friend 'N.' Lift up thy voice against the accuser of the brethren, and welcome:'
'Fromthe days ofCotton Matherdown to the present time, it has been the constant aim of the defenders of the reputation of the founders of New England, to cast upon the early Quakers all manner of aspersions. A few years since, a writer in the 'North-American Review,' having occasion to allude to the banishment ofMary FisherandAnne Austin, the first Quakers who ever visited the western world, declared that it was for molesting and interrupting ministers in their places of worship. This assertion is also made by a clergyman of Philadelphia, in a discourse delivered on the anniversary of the landing of the 'Pilgrim Fathers;' with this addition, that one of these women went naked into a place of worship.These charges are not true.I do not believe the reviewer, nor the Doctor of Divinity (so called) wilfully misrepresented the truth; but I believe them culpable in taking for granted assertions of writers living long posterior to the events they describe, without examining for themselves the original documents remaining on the subject. The records of the Massachusetts Colony, as collected byHazard, as well as the narratives published at the time by the friends of the sufferers, conclusively show that neitherMary FishernorAnne Austinhad ever set foot on the shores of New England until they were taken as prisoners from the vessel in which they came passengers, and carried to the jail of the colony. Deputy governorBellinghamhaving received intelligence that two female Quakers were in the ship Swallow, then at anchor in the Bay, commanded that they should be closely confined therein, and that all their books should be taken from them, and burned by the hangman. A writer of that day, in reference to the person employed to effect this conflagration, quaintly remarks: 'O, learned and malicious cruelty!—as if another man had not been sufficient to have burnt a few harmless books, who, like their masters, can neither fight, strike, nor quarrel.' At that time there was no law against Quakers; but the council deemed that they were liable to the penalties of a law passed in 1646, against heresy and error, which decreed to banishment the opposers of the baptism of infants, and all such as denied the lawfulness of war. The order of council in this case is now before me, bearing date 'the 11th of July, 1656.' It commences with enumerating the former laws against heretics, and goes on to say, that, notwithstanding these,Simon Kempthornhad brought in two Quakers, who, on examination, are found to hold very dangerous and heretical opinions, which they acknowledge they came purposely to propagate. It directs that the books of the prisoners shall be burned; that the prisoners themselves shall be kept close, and none admitted to see them without leave from the governor, deputy-governor, or two magistrates; and that the saidSimon Kempthornis hereby enjoined, speedily and directly to transport, or cause to be transported, the said persons from hence to Barbadoes, from whence they came, he defraying all the charges of their imprisonment; and for the effectual performance hereof, he is to give security in a bond of one hundred pounds sterling, and on his refusal to give such security, he is to be committed to prison till he do it.''Of the four individuals put to death at Boston, after examining all the records extant in the respective cases, the apologies issued byJohn Nortonand the 'General Court' of Massachusetts, I am prepared to say, that there is not the slightest evidence that they were disturbers of the public peace, or violators of public decorum. The charges brought against them prove indeed that they came to Massachusetts, alleging it was from a sense of religious duty, and that while there, as free-born citizens of England, they refused a voluntary submission to laws violating the rights guarantied them by Magna Charta, and the Common Law of England. I wish not to consume space, but would make a few remarks on the 'frequent occasions' in which the early Quakers, according to 'N. S. D.', went 'stark naked into the public assemblies.' Women of respectable connections, easy fortunes, liberal education, and modest demeanor and carriage, for preaching the gospel, and for merely coming to New-England to look after their rightful possessions, were from time to time stripped naked to the waist, and whipped from township to township; and yet the nice sense of modesty of the New-England folk of that day was not shocked. In 1664, when these scenes had been enacted for seven years,Lydia Wardell, who had been summoned repeatedly to appear before the congregation at Newbury, and whose mind was no doubt under much excitement in sympathy with her fellow-believers in their sufferings, went into the place of worship in that village, stripped in the manner the magistrates were continually stripping her friends. The modesty of the people was sorely offended; and seizing her and her female companion, they stripped the latter, and tying their naked bodies to the whipping-posts, with many lashes earnestly laid on, endeavored to heal the wounds inflicted on the sense of decorum of the gaping crowd.'I have not taken up my pen to defend the conduct ofLydia, but merely to state the facts of the case. Beside this instance, one other individual, a few months afterward, under similar excitement, performed a similar action. Now to our conclusion. These cases, which are the only ones a close examination of the charges of contemporaneous enemies of the Society, and the defense of its friends exhibit any trace of, are brought forward at this day in justification of acts of oppression committed long before these occurred; Turn to the statements forwarded to England to excuse the murder ofStevenson,Robinson,Dyer, andLeddra;examine the reasons assigned byNortonand the 'General Court' for their proceedings. Their enmity to the Quakers is strong, but not the slightest hint is given that these suffered because of any indecent exposure, or that the general persecution the Society at that time endured was occasioned by acts of this or a kindred nature. And why? Because the first instance of the kind occurred more than three years after the death ofLeddra, the last Quaker martyr in New-England. It is a remarkable fact, that soon after these two cases of voluntary exposure, the public stripping of Quaker women ceased. What effect these had in changing the feelings of the community, I cannot tell; but it is certainly a curious coincidence, that after this period the records of courts, and the copious annals of our Society, scarcely exhibit an instance of these cart-tail indecencies. The rest of the charges of 'N. S. D.' are equally unfounded; and, with sufficient space for quotations, might be satisfactorily confuted.N.'
'Fromthe days ofCotton Matherdown to the present time, it has been the constant aim of the defenders of the reputation of the founders of New England, to cast upon the early Quakers all manner of aspersions. A few years since, a writer in the 'North-American Review,' having occasion to allude to the banishment ofMary FisherandAnne Austin, the first Quakers who ever visited the western world, declared that it was for molesting and interrupting ministers in their places of worship. This assertion is also made by a clergyman of Philadelphia, in a discourse delivered on the anniversary of the landing of the 'Pilgrim Fathers;' with this addition, that one of these women went naked into a place of worship.These charges are not true.I do not believe the reviewer, nor the Doctor of Divinity (so called) wilfully misrepresented the truth; but I believe them culpable in taking for granted assertions of writers living long posterior to the events they describe, without examining for themselves the original documents remaining on the subject. The records of the Massachusetts Colony, as collected byHazard, as well as the narratives published at the time by the friends of the sufferers, conclusively show that neitherMary FishernorAnne Austinhad ever set foot on the shores of New England until they were taken as prisoners from the vessel in which they came passengers, and carried to the jail of the colony. Deputy governorBellinghamhaving received intelligence that two female Quakers were in the ship Swallow, then at anchor in the Bay, commanded that they should be closely confined therein, and that all their books should be taken from them, and burned by the hangman. A writer of that day, in reference to the person employed to effect this conflagration, quaintly remarks: 'O, learned and malicious cruelty!—as if another man had not been sufficient to have burnt a few harmless books, who, like their masters, can neither fight, strike, nor quarrel.' At that time there was no law against Quakers; but the council deemed that they were liable to the penalties of a law passed in 1646, against heresy and error, which decreed to banishment the opposers of the baptism of infants, and all such as denied the lawfulness of war. The order of council in this case is now before me, bearing date 'the 11th of July, 1656.' It commences with enumerating the former laws against heretics, and goes on to say, that, notwithstanding these,Simon Kempthornhad brought in two Quakers, who, on examination, are found to hold very dangerous and heretical opinions, which they acknowledge they came purposely to propagate. It directs that the books of the prisoners shall be burned; that the prisoners themselves shall be kept close, and none admitted to see them without leave from the governor, deputy-governor, or two magistrates; and that the saidSimon Kempthornis hereby enjoined, speedily and directly to transport, or cause to be transported, the said persons from hence to Barbadoes, from whence they came, he defraying all the charges of their imprisonment; and for the effectual performance hereof, he is to give security in a bond of one hundred pounds sterling, and on his refusal to give such security, he is to be committed to prison till he do it.'
'Of the four individuals put to death at Boston, after examining all the records extant in the respective cases, the apologies issued byJohn Nortonand the 'General Court' of Massachusetts, I am prepared to say, that there is not the slightest evidence that they were disturbers of the public peace, or violators of public decorum. The charges brought against them prove indeed that they came to Massachusetts, alleging it was from a sense of religious duty, and that while there, as free-born citizens of England, they refused a voluntary submission to laws violating the rights guarantied them by Magna Charta, and the Common Law of England. I wish not to consume space, but would make a few remarks on the 'frequent occasions' in which the early Quakers, according to 'N. S. D.', went 'stark naked into the public assemblies.' Women of respectable connections, easy fortunes, liberal education, and modest demeanor and carriage, for preaching the gospel, and for merely coming to New-England to look after their rightful possessions, were from time to time stripped naked to the waist, and whipped from township to township; and yet the nice sense of modesty of the New-England folk of that day was not shocked. In 1664, when these scenes had been enacted for seven years,Lydia Wardell, who had been summoned repeatedly to appear before the congregation at Newbury, and whose mind was no doubt under much excitement in sympathy with her fellow-believers in their sufferings, went into the place of worship in that village, stripped in the manner the magistrates were continually stripping her friends. The modesty of the people was sorely offended; and seizing her and her female companion, they stripped the latter, and tying their naked bodies to the whipping-posts, with many lashes earnestly laid on, endeavored to heal the wounds inflicted on the sense of decorum of the gaping crowd.
'I have not taken up my pen to defend the conduct ofLydia, but merely to state the facts of the case. Beside this instance, one other individual, a few months afterward, under similar excitement, performed a similar action. Now to our conclusion. These cases, which are the only ones a close examination of the charges of contemporaneous enemies of the Society, and the defense of its friends exhibit any trace of, are brought forward at this day in justification of acts of oppression committed long before these occurred; Turn to the statements forwarded to England to excuse the murder ofStevenson,Robinson,Dyer, andLeddra;examine the reasons assigned byNortonand the 'General Court' for their proceedings. Their enmity to the Quakers is strong, but not the slightest hint is given that these suffered because of any indecent exposure, or that the general persecution the Society at that time endured was occasioned by acts of this or a kindred nature. And why? Because the first instance of the kind occurred more than three years after the death ofLeddra, the last Quaker martyr in New-England. It is a remarkable fact, that soon after these two cases of voluntary exposure, the public stripping of Quaker women ceased. What effect these had in changing the feelings of the community, I cannot tell; but it is certainly a curious coincidence, that after this period the records of courts, and the copious annals of our Society, scarcely exhibit an instance of these cart-tail indecencies. The rest of the charges of 'N. S. D.' are equally unfounded; and, with sufficient space for quotations, might be satisfactorily confuted.
N.'
Religiousor sectarian controversy is foreign to the purpose of theKnickerbocker; yet we could not decline the calm consideration of facts brought forward to correct alleged misstatements. 'If,' says the writer, 'N. S. D.' wishes information on a subject with which he seems to be unacquainted, I should like to refer him to works wherein he may find the original documents.' For our own part, we think, as we have already partly intimated, that 'the less said the better' touching the treatment of the Quakers and 'others of the Non-elect' by the New-England Puritans.Washington Irvinghas driven a long nail home on this theme: 'The zeal of these good people to maintain their rights and privileges unimpaired, betrayed them into errors, which it is easier to pardon than defend. Having served a regular apprenticeship in the school of persecution, it behooved them to show that they had become proficients in the art. They accordingly employed their leisure hours in banishing, scourging, or hanging, divers heretical Papists, Quakers, and Anabaptists, for daring to abuse the 'liberty of conscience,' which they now clearly proved to imply nothing more than that every man should think as he pleased in matters of religion,providedhe thoughtright; for otherwise it would be giving a latitude to damnable heresies. Now as they were perfectly convinced that they alone thought right, it consequently followed that whoever thought differently from them, thought wrong; and whoever thought wrong, and obstinately persisted in not being convinced and converted, was a flagrant violator of the inestimable liberty of conscience, and a corrupt and infectious member of the body politic, and deserved to be lopped off and cast into the fire!' * * *Weare indebted to a most kind correspondent for the following excerpt from his note-book. It is an extract made many years ago from some author, whose name and that of his work our friend has alike forgotten. How many just such thoughtless, rattle-brained,aimlesstalkers have we encountered! We rather like the practice of an old friend of ours in this regard! He makes it a point, he says, never toinquireafter any body!
'Whoeverhas visited Cambridge, can hardly fail of recollecting Lady ——. The leading idea of her life was todo the pretty; to say civil things and make agreeable speeches. But alas! her ladyship was not infallible, and sometimes with the very best intentions would fail desperately. They relate of her at Cambridge, that during a series of concerts which MadameCatalanigave at the last grand commencement, this Queen of Song was staying at the house of her friend Mrs. F. At an evening party at D—— Lodge, Lady —— was invited to meet her. 'My dear MadameCatalani! how delighted, how transported I am to see you! When did you arrive? How is MonsieurValbrique? and your dear little boy?'Catalanichanged color; her lip quivered, and her fine dark eyes filled with tears, as she murmured: 'Ah! pauvre petit, je l'ai perdu!' 'What an engaging, interesting, elegant little creature he is!' 'Je l'ai perdu!' shrieked the foreigner, in a tone of agony. Lady —— had forgot her French. 'Is he, indeed? I am happy to hear it. I always said he would come out something extraordinary.' 'Je l'ai perdu! Je l'ai perdu!' cried poorCatalani, in a more piercing tone, and with increased emotion. 'Don't exert yourself; yes, yes; I understand you, perfectly; well, pray remember me to him very kindly, since he is not with you, and offer him my congratulations.' 'He is dead! he is dead!Lady ——,' said Mrs. F. impatiently. 'Dead! Why didn't somebody tell me so? Poor little fellow! And so he's dead! Well, I declare, I am very sorry for him! Dead! That's very surprising!' On another occasion she said to another distinguished guest: 'Ah! my dear Mrs.Siddons, what an unexpected gratification to see you at Cambridge! How d'ye do? Ah! but you are altered, when one comes to look at you! very much altered! Let me see; it must be thirty years ago since SirBenjaminand I were first delighted with your Lady Randolph. How life ebbs away! What changes we see! It was poorEdwin'snight, I think. Surely, that was the Augustan era of the British Theatre! Ah! poorEdwin! he's gone! AndPalmer, GentlemanPalmer, he's gone! AndDodd—clever actor,Dodd—he's gone! We live in a world of changes!' Mrs.Siddonslooked sad, and was silent. 'I've been recollecting when it was I saw you last. It must be about fourteen years ago. You played Queen Catherine, and your gifted brotherJohnplayed Wolsey. What a heat it was! DearJohn Kemble! andhe'sgone!' Mrs.Siddonsburst into tears. 'Amiable creature!' said Lady —— to the astonished by-standers; 'what an affectionate heart she has!'
'Whoeverhas visited Cambridge, can hardly fail of recollecting Lady ——. The leading idea of her life was todo the pretty; to say civil things and make agreeable speeches. But alas! her ladyship was not infallible, and sometimes with the very best intentions would fail desperately. They relate of her at Cambridge, that during a series of concerts which MadameCatalanigave at the last grand commencement, this Queen of Song was staying at the house of her friend Mrs. F. At an evening party at D—— Lodge, Lady —— was invited to meet her. 'My dear MadameCatalani! how delighted, how transported I am to see you! When did you arrive? How is MonsieurValbrique? and your dear little boy?'Catalanichanged color; her lip quivered, and her fine dark eyes filled with tears, as she murmured: 'Ah! pauvre petit, je l'ai perdu!' 'What an engaging, interesting, elegant little creature he is!' 'Je l'ai perdu!' shrieked the foreigner, in a tone of agony. Lady —— had forgot her French. 'Is he, indeed? I am happy to hear it. I always said he would come out something extraordinary.' 'Je l'ai perdu! Je l'ai perdu!' cried poorCatalani, in a more piercing tone, and with increased emotion. 'Don't exert yourself; yes, yes; I understand you, perfectly; well, pray remember me to him very kindly, since he is not with you, and offer him my congratulations.' 'He is dead! he is dead!Lady ——,' said Mrs. F. impatiently. 'Dead! Why didn't somebody tell me so? Poor little fellow! And so he's dead! Well, I declare, I am very sorry for him! Dead! That's very surprising!' On another occasion she said to another distinguished guest: 'Ah! my dear Mrs.Siddons, what an unexpected gratification to see you at Cambridge! How d'ye do? Ah! but you are altered, when one comes to look at you! very much altered! Let me see; it must be thirty years ago since SirBenjaminand I were first delighted with your Lady Randolph. How life ebbs away! What changes we see! It was poorEdwin'snight, I think. Surely, that was the Augustan era of the British Theatre! Ah! poorEdwin! he's gone! AndPalmer, GentlemanPalmer, he's gone! AndDodd—clever actor,Dodd—he's gone! We live in a world of changes!' Mrs.Siddonslooked sad, and was silent. 'I've been recollecting when it was I saw you last. It must be about fourteen years ago. You played Queen Catherine, and your gifted brotherJohnplayed Wolsey. What a heat it was! DearJohn Kemble! andhe'sgone!' Mrs.Siddonsburst into tears. 'Amiable creature!' said Lady —— to the astonished by-standers; 'what an affectionate heart she has!'
Weonce saw a painting of theSaviour of Men, which we could well deem to be like the divine original; and never while we live shall we forget the heavenly face which the artist had depicted. It was the countenance of a 'man of sorrows, acquainted with grief:' there was a pervadingpathosin its expression, which 'brought the water-drops to our eyes.' The picture is now in Germany, where it was painted; and we can never hope to see another so perfect an embodiment of our conception of the lineaments of theRedeemer. There was something in theensembleof the picture which we remember to have thought was like a description, by an eye-witness, of theSaviour'spersonal presence, which we had read in our youth, and which we were glad recently to encounter in an old common-place book. It was addressed byPublius Lentullus, President in Judea in the reign ofTiberius Cæsar, to the Senate of Rome:
'Conscript Fathers: There appeared in these our days a man of great virtue, namedJesus Christ, who is yet living among us, and of the Gentiles is accepted for a Prophet of truth; but his own disciples call him theSon of God. He raiseth the dead, and cureth all manner of diseases. A man of stature somewhat tall and comely, and in proportion of body well shaped; his hands and arms delectable to behold; with a very reverend countenance, such as the beholders may both love and fear. His hair is of the color of a filbert full ripe to his ears, whence downward it is more orient of color, somewhat curling or waving about his shoulders. In the midst of his head, is a seam or partition of his hair, after the manner of the Nazarites. His forehead is plain and delicate. His cheeks without spot or wrinkle, beautified with a comely red; his nose and mouth exactly formed. His beard is thick, the color of his hair; not of any great length, but forked. His look innocent and mature. His eyes gray, dear, and quick. In reproving he is awful; in admonishing, courteous and friendly; in speaking, very temperate, modest, and wise. It cannot be remembered that any have seen him laugh, but many have seen him weep. A being for his singular beauty surpassing the children of men.'
'Conscript Fathers: There appeared in these our days a man of great virtue, namedJesus Christ, who is yet living among us, and of the Gentiles is accepted for a Prophet of truth; but his own disciples call him theSon of God. He raiseth the dead, and cureth all manner of diseases. A man of stature somewhat tall and comely, and in proportion of body well shaped; his hands and arms delectable to behold; with a very reverend countenance, such as the beholders may both love and fear. His hair is of the color of a filbert full ripe to his ears, whence downward it is more orient of color, somewhat curling or waving about his shoulders. In the midst of his head, is a seam or partition of his hair, after the manner of the Nazarites. His forehead is plain and delicate. His cheeks without spot or wrinkle, beautified with a comely red; his nose and mouth exactly formed. His beard is thick, the color of his hair; not of any great length, but forked. His look innocent and mature. His eyes gray, dear, and quick. In reproving he is awful; in admonishing, courteous and friendly; in speaking, very temperate, modest, and wise. It cannot be remembered that any have seen him laugh, but many have seen him weep. A being for his singular beauty surpassing the children of men.'
Letus add here a beautiful sonnet, on this great theme, which we derive from an esteemed friend and contributor, who has been kind enough to copy it for us from the writer's manuscript:
JESUS.
By Rev. Theodore Parker.