OF RSITY H Z cientifie Anecdotes, 09000), PPIDPENG-LON Beokseller, ; Toronto. Ry Presented to The DLibrary of. the University of Toronto by | Mrs. 3. S. Dart ANECDOTES LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE CHARACTERS, HABITS, AND CONVERSATION OF MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE EDITED. BY WILLIAM SEDDIE, SECRETARY TO THE PITILOSODRICAL: SOCIETY OF GLASGOW 4b Third Edition AY 0 U ee’ re ~>LONDON CHARLES GRIFFIN AND COMPANY STATIONERS’ HALL COURT 1863 PREFACE. Tue contents of the following pages have been culled from many sources, and embrace a great diversity of subjects. It has been the: purpose of the compiler to combine useful information with innocent entertainment ; te invite to the cultivation of literature and of science 3 to minister to refined tastes, and foster large intel- lectual sympathies. Whilst the volume aims at the gratification -of a general class of readers, the interests of the young have been constantly kept in view in the selection, which, it is hoped, contains nothing, either in sentiment or expression, adverse to their moral and intellectual improvement. The paucity of soleailatg in the annals of science, possessed of personal interest, will account for the meagreness of this department of the collection, as compared with the amplitude and variety of the literary portion. The subject of Art and Artists is deferred for another of the Cyclopedias projected by the Publishers. Gt aoa tee isa = Ag ; a a Digitized | by the Internet / rc sti in 2007 with fundir : i a Microsoft Corpo # eM " Bs Mae 5 ; - a ————— CONTENTS. PAGE Aberncthy, fs and Curran, . 99 Fe ‘A Glass Illustration, 100 ” Integrity and Honour, 104 % Generosity, . . 104 a Wit and Eccentricity, 103 Actors and Preachers, . é Addison and the Poetaster, . Addison’s Companions, . . « » Diffidence, . - « » 184 9 Gravity; sf «\ ° < Timidity, . oe Admiral Hosier’s Ghost, vs er AGrolites in British Musenm, ‘ Agassiz, M., onthe Alps, . . 20 Age, Literary and Scientife pur- suits of,. . 211 Ainsworth’s Dicitionary burnt by EM WaRGd at) oe), (hye. efter | ee Akenside and Rolt, . . . 251 Akenside’ s ‘ Pleasures of Tmagina- HON, Eee 44 Albert, Prince, Experiments with Gun-Cotton, . ° . . 89 Alchymists, Common lot of onde eee Aldrich’s Love of Music,. . . 254 Alfieri and his Assistant Transla- tors, y 367 Alfred the Great Learning to "Read, 196 Alibi, Proving an; | .. «).. (297 Almanac, First English, . - 48 Almanac Weather Wisdom, - 48 Amanuenses, . . +/+ «4 American Goethe, « . - 180 3 and Puns, . ‘ Anatomists and Anatomy, “ Anatomy of Melancholy,” . . 18 Anderson, Dr. W., a Ponderous Anesthetic Agents, .« » « Author, its dee 187 Animals, Footprints of, on Ancient Rocks. s. «oe A299 Animals, Playfulness ica Mes > ee SRO Animosity, Judicial, . . .« . 4110 Antiquarian Enthusiasm, -. . 293 Antiquarianism, .,. .« e« « 82 Antiquary Described, . 2. . 383 * Apprentices,” Hogarth’s, . . 246 PAGE Arachnoid Garment, . « . . 241 Archimedes and the Lever, . . 81 Army, Literature in the, ‘i epeOo Arnauld and Spelman, . . . 211 Art Criticism, Pe hehe Mery he 0, Art of Printing, Origin of, . . 188 Asinine Bishopric, : - 108 “Asses and Savans,” Napoleon’ 3 in Bgyptyiaeese i pelt Stee 209 Astronomer, Female; . Pate an Mane OS Astronomers and Astronomy, . 5 Atomic Theory of Dalton, La Place’s Opinionsvafsee) Seog hs Sth ets-: 207 Attainments of Dr. Whewell, . 209 Atterbury’s, Bishop, Oratory, . 119 Anthor; a Mad, Wen 6198) etal ISL sg Mendioant a (arts 15 Authoress, American, and Sir Walter Scotty. 25 )°'a) el) <1 8 Authors, Amanuenses of, . .» 34 * Conversation of, . . 35 90, v, Deseptionis-ofy(et 2. s oh 627 sp SB, pled psa ae cht, SES ie Favourite Dishes of, . 36 Pe Honours and Rewards of, 14 a Irritability and Vanity of, 31 ” Learning and Labours of, 22 i Miscellaneous Anecdotes of, 35 + Not the Best Judges of their own Writings, . 382 - Peculiarities and Eccentri- hs Ch) ae ei ” Precocity Ofss Ren °s 7 of Tenderness and Affection of, 28 9 Trials and Miseries of, . 17 +, | Whims and Caprices of, 81 Wit and Humour of, . 24 Authorship, Profits of Recent, . 218 Autographs in British Museum, - 3841 Babbage’s Calculating Machine, . 280° Bacon, Lady,. . 366 «+ Founder of the Inductive Philosophy, . . 73 Bacon’s, Lord, Name and Memory, 111 » Inconsistencies, . . . 270 Baillie, Joanna, . . oe 187 Bainbridge, Dr., Epigram on, . 253 “vi PAGE Ballantyne, John, Amanuensis to COE ae! Dies hire sy fake ee “Balzae’s, M., Romantic Marriage, 95 Bank Note for a Million Pounds, 167 ‘Bank of England’s ee Ma- chine, . 87 Banks, Sir Joseph, and ‘Dr. So- Wander, “3 ) 55 SOE ehauel te Bards, Honour to the, ot Nee ie SAG Bargain-Huntersof Books, . . 47 Barton and Nash, ey eM ee ee Bateman’s, Dr., Economy of Time, 97 mautti, M.ide; 6 0: is chew LORE Bayle’s Pyrrhonism, . . . . 11 Beccher’s Chemical Enthusiasm, 56 Bee in the Crystal Palace, . . 315 Beecher, Dr. Lyman, Sermon to a Small Audience, 109 Bells, . . 340 » What they said to the Widow, 233 Berthollet the Chemist, . . . 207 Berzelius the Chemist, . . Bettesworth and Swift, . . Bible, Early Translations of, 3 Present Translation of, » Lost Books Mentioned in, 9) ° the“ Vinegar,”.°. Bibles, English, Inaceuracies of, Bibliomania, os Se ek Binding of Books, . . . e©ee¢¢ ee 6-8 6 » oO Bindings, Preservation of, . . 46 Bishop, Madame A., Singing in Ten Languages, . 126 Black, Dr., and the Hydrogen Gas Balloon, . . F Black and Hutton’s Snail-Dinner, + Mrs., the “‘Maidof Athens,” Visit of N. P. Wilts to}... - 189 Black-Letter Books, . . °. . 42 ss Hontera AL Blacklock and David Hume, A eee Oe Blood, Transfusion of, in Royal Society, 5 - 206 Blue Stockings, Origin of ‘the Name, 57 Boerhaave, Old Ageof, . . . 103 Boileau and Racine, . . . . 155 Bolingbroke, Lord, ... « « 231 Book Auctions,®. . . . . 45 » ‘Trade of Leipsig, . . 46 4, Attempt to Print a Perfect, 199 » the first Printed, . .° . 190 3, Collectors, . * ls 2 2 347 » Making, - . Ree!» B46 Books, Ancient Value of, . . 346 » Hood the Humourist on,. 198 Bookseller and Author, . . . 44 CONTENTS. — Booksellers and Printers, . . » the Patronsof Literature, 44 Booksellers, Books, and Biblioma- NSCS). ., “) Soy 2 Manceuvres of, . . 290 Bossuet, .G, Saks ° \e: elem Boswell, James, and J ohnson, 218 » and the Writ of ‘ Quare adhesit pavimento,” . 90 » Bear-Leading Rewarded, 224 Botanical Satire, . . 314 Botanist, the, and the Irish Mail- Coach Driver, ~... s0 65 uae eee Botanists and Botany, . .« . 49 Bourdonne, Madame de, . . . 275 Bowles, Caroline, . o 1.6 Sig eee Bowles and Moore, . . o19aeen Bowles’, Canon, Absence of Mind, 144 Boyse, Samuel, a Poor Fag Author, 152 Boxhorn’s Smoking and Reading, 250 Brain, How to Turnthe,. . . 240 Bramble’s, Matthew, ‘“* Vimonda,” 19 Brandt, the Indian Chief, and Campbell the Poet, . . . 169 Breakfast at Rogers’, oe oe HISD Br ebeuf, . . . . o te SRG Brevity, is og! Sen Bristol Milkwoman’s Poetry, « 275 Brougham and Lyndhurst, . . 121 Brougham’ s, Lord, Chancellorship, 92 Ks Labours, rs ead Skat * Natural Portraits, . 92 Buchanan, George, and Henry VEE. 3) a> ea Buchanan’ ig Scotland, Peta) cee eee Buckland’s, Dr., Alligator and Dinner. Party, ... is) S50 2e: eae Buffon, the Naturalist, . . . 242 Buffon’s Son, . . - 286 Bumper, Origin of the Word, - 38 Bunbury, Selina, and the Norwe- gian Fairy Legend-Hunter, . 212 Bunker Hill Monument, Effect of Heat, . «., B6B Bunyan: and the “Book of Martyrs, "226 Burke, Edmund, at Hastings’ Trial, 124 » and the Riot Act, S80 x put to Flight in the Com- mons,“ . eS oes eee Burke’s Conversation, . . . 216 » Melodramatic Trick and Sheridan’s Sarcasm, . 122 Burnet, the Judge and the Bishop, 220 Burnet’s Absence of Mind, . . 297 Burney, Dr., and Johnson, . . 236 » Miss (Madame D’Arblay), 118 —— ae re CONTENTS. R / Vil PAGE Burney’s Anagram on Nelson, . 195 Burning of Shelley’ s Remains, . 180 Burn’s “Justice,” < iw, SBE Burns in a Printing Office, pad Cervantes, Magnanimity rc Pome 374 Chalmers’, Dr. Thos., Literary PRBS iy iS eats LO a Pulpit Oratory in London, 122 = Simplicity and Tender- ness, : 28 Estimate of Butler's 4 Analogy,” .., «. ey 252 * Chapelain and the Spider, fo oak Charles V., Saying of, . . . 266 Chatham, Lord) .i.%5, oy oe) 28h Chatterton’s Misery, . - - . 136 Chaucer in the Tower, na) ae, Chaucer’s Dream of a Crystal. Palace, . . aed Oe Cheeryble, Brothers, sid pacyli Chemical Experimenting, . Chemists and Chemistry, . Chemist’s Dream, 4 Power over Matter, Chesterfield, Lord, and Johnson, Chillingworth, Ne. Pe Chloroform and Ether, . . Christianity, Sir H. Davy on, Churchill’s, ‘‘Rosciad,” . . Clairvoyance,. . Clarkson the Philanthropist, . Classical Application, . ” Glory, . . >. * Spotsin, . . Club, The Roxburgh, ‘ Coal, Steam, and Iron, . Cobbett’s Early Recollections, Coffee-Houses, Literary,-. . Coleridge asa Horseman, . ee asaSoldier, . . » at Rogers’, ; » Wordsworth, and Cottle, Te “28 © © @ > ee @ © © @ © © © eo we we ee He ee ww eo bo °°) alee BOR 3. 4) Lig nee & Opium-eating, oy, a 3 » Remorse for . 160 ar Absence of mind, . 161 Ke Mistake of Silence for Wisdom: .ic6. 2 210 ‘‘Watchman,” . . 228 - Collins the -Pott,..o: h.uaaneaie te c0O Collodion and Gun-cotton, . . 88 ‘Colman’s, the Younger, Recollec- ‘of Goldsmith, . 248 “Coming Events cast their Sha- dows before,” . . . « 108 Commerce and Science, . . . 218 viii CONTENTS. PAGE Comptroller of Stamps and Words- BIOL. it os PARS Dale, Dr., and Queen Elizabeth, . 3!9 8} Dalrymple, Sir J., and Burns, . 191 Conchology and Collectors, vin 6 OB Consonants, Doing Justice to the, 123 Contentment of Boerhaave, oe 98 Controversy, Scholastic,. . 266 Conversation,. . 2 ib he SLD : of Birch, =) tee) Ba ee 9 Barke, oe. (246 ” Coleridge, 217 ” Descartes, La Fon- taine, Butler, Ad- dison, Milton,&e., 33 ” Johnson, . . 216 3 Literary Men, 110 Copyrights, American, . . 272 Rtornehlas ss < Menta? a Te x? Ee De ‘*¢ Corsair,” Byron’s, . 224 “ Cotter’s Saturday Night,” " 272 Cottle’s, Jos., Anecdotes of Cole- ridge, F 140 » Anecdotes of Wordsworth, 142 Courtly Complaisance, D’Usez, 234 Cowley and his Misfortunes,. . 171 Cowper and his Critic, . . . 225 Cowper’s, William, Letters, . . 138 ” Schoolboy Tormentor, 138 MS Amusements, . . . 147 sy “John Gilpin,” . . 178 9 Habits of Composition,, 143 * Poems at first unsaleable, 43 eC Masks?! +4, a2, 144 Crabbe and Lord- Chancellor Thur low, 147 Cranmer and Henry VIII., 825 Critic, a true, defined by Swit, +) "6D iat aROVEly tee ; 60 Critical Dictionary of Bayle, 11 Criticism, Dying of, . . . . 216 » ofa Hatter’s Sign,. . 269 Criticized Poet, . . . . 227 Critics and Criticism, 60 Crusoe, Robinson, Manuscript of,. 107 Crystal Palace and Victoria Regia, 291 49 Poetical Predictionof, 86 s Statistics of, . . 86 Curran, Judicial Animosity against, 110 » and Abernethy, . . . 99 Curran’s Rebuke to Lord Clare on the Benth, =S eae 202 » Opinion of Byron’s Sorrows, 133 Cuvier, Baron, . . 2» « « 206 Cuvier’s Literature and Science, “pani 9, Childhood, ‘Same ©. “ Reconstruction of Organic Remains, . 2. . «@ Czarand Monk, . . . e « 71 Dalton’s Atomic Theory and La Place, -.% + op Dante’s * Comedia, Po ee Darwin’s Prediction of Railways and Steam-boats, . . Davies, Eleanor, and the Anagram, 194 Davy, Sir Humphry, on Christianity, 227 . Geologizing in Sicily, e » Scott, and the Tyrolese Patriot, * <> i epee eee » and Wordsworth, . . . 150 », and the French Savans, < Oe Davy’s, Sir Humphry, Industry and Devotedness, 2. | Nee » Disinterested Humanity, 73 Dawes’, Sir W., Fondness of a Pun, . «20 Day in the Cryst: al Palace, : =, ae Day, Author of *‘ Sandford and Merton,” ° 5 “1. %) Uae Decimals, So Te) eee Dedications, . ~. . 9s. . 2is2p2 De Lolme’s Treatment in England, 21 ** De Mortuis nil nisi Bonum,” . 246 Defoe, Daniel, ~ s' .. T3225) eee and the Ghost,’ <2) eee 55. and’ the"Union, ~ ><, are Denon and Madame Talleyrand, 16 Deodati and Dumoulin, . . . 260 Derby, Lord, and Brougham, . 246 Dermody and Chatterton, . . vi Descartes, ° ‘ 242, 262 ‘* Deserted Village,” Goldsmith’ 8; i658 Devil and Dr. Faustus, . . . 190 Diary, Moore's, Notes of aSpeechin, 149 Dibdin’s Poems, . . Sa ee Dickens, Charles, and Squeera, > Lb = and the Brothers Cheery- lg, 6 eae Diet, Singular, 6%): 9s) 2 eee Dinner, Poetical invitation to, gs Moore, . 230 ” at Haydon’s Painting- Room, ° 2. 2 eee: ‘ Literary, . . « 214 Diplomatists, Singing and Dancing, 185 Dipping Charles Lamb, . . . 135 Diversion, Literary, . 2. « « 92 Diving-bell, Descentin, . . . 82 Doctors, Female, ; ¢_le( eae Dollar, Origin of the Word, - « 289 Don Quixote, “ : en Douglas’, David, Botanical Ardour and Hapless Fate, ee te eee CONTENTS. ix PAUE PAGE Dream, the Chemist’s, . . . 56} Fielding’s * Amelia,” Prarie ny +1 Drelincourt upon Death, sun 2h 1 Rife andeDramsn Mew So ae 24 ‘Drummond, . . 81) Pilicaia’s Sonnets, . . . « - 38 Dryden at Westminster School, . 145) Fitzgibbon and Curran, . . . 110 Dryden’s Poverty and Toils,. . 152) Forbes, Professor, in the Alps, . 208 Ducking-Stool, . . . . .«. 813! Foulises of Glasgow, their Editions Dungeon Compositions, 177 of Classies,. . wos TOL Duns Scotusy. ... . . . 25] Fox, Charles J., at Hastings’ Trial, 122 Dutch, the, ‘ . 242) France, Savans ‘of, Unie Mn beh LOO Dwight’s Theology Dictated to an Branca Lijpwees Palestro sk2Z06 Amanuensis, . . . $84] Franklin, Benjamin, asa Bookseller, 41 Franklin’s, Benjamin, Discoveries, 8&8 “ Edinburgh Review,” 279 r ” Knowledge of Edward VI., the Gifted, . . . 243 Eldon, Lord, Travelling to London, whenia' Boy, .-. . oe oo Electioneering Epigram, 324 Electric Spark, AS F 80 » Telegraph, Comic, : 75 ” 9 Early Ideas of, 75 - 93 Marriage by, 78 % -: Origin of, 76 ” ” Parliamentary, 78 = ” Romance of,. 74 Storm of, 74 Electricity, Velocity Ole ake see ai 1eo, Eliot and the Indians, . . . 3867 Eloquence in'Wine, . . 39 Engineering, the Pyramids and the BME sh fs rcs” 6.3) t! 83 English and German, ope ee 242 English Wife on Saturday Night, 297 Epitaph, Progress of an, . 63 Erasmus’ “ Colloqnies,” . 260 Errata, Intentional, . . . 193 Errors of the Press, a 190; 192, 193 Erskine’s, Lord, Points, . . . 91 » Debut at the Bar, 122 a Essay on Man,” Pope’s, .\|. 176 Ether and Chloroform, ee etiver UD Ettrick Shepherd and Scott, . . 277 Euripides’ Three Verses, ees, “LGE **Exegi Monumentum,” . . . 367 Experiments on the Lower Animals, 1 Explorers of Africa, Early, . . 66 Extempore Preaching, . . . Falstaff’s i ener @ er wripaao CN CSS oe doles er WOES Faraday, Michael, ‘as a 1 Lecturer, 121 ' Faraday’s Perseverance, ho een es OO ‘Faustus, Dr., and the Devil,. . 190 Favourite Authors, Predilection for, 37 Female Promoters of Science and manosopny, 05 Fe oh ge! S67 Fenelon, a Saying of, ier de 11 *Ferula of the Ancients, . . . 342 Languages, 128 French Academy, 3 « 298 » Blunders, in translation, 367 sand English, . < 2297 » Mrs., a Female Doctor, 102 Friend- hunter, a Disappointed, . 363 Froissart’s Antiquarianism, . . 23 Fuselion Small Talk, . . . 228 Galileo’s Blindness, . A arate as 6 fi Youthful Pursuits, S20 a Abjuration, ‘ 210 Gallery of the House of Commons, Scenein, . . 120 Galvanic Experiments on a Mur. ‘ dérer 3s ae 3 Galvanism, Discovery of, os 6846 Galvanizing an Indian, . 324 Gardiner, W., in the Gallery of the House of Commons, . . . 120 - Gassands, 6! te PE Re Al Gay-Lussac, . . 207 Gay’s Wealth and Improvidence, 185 We ortrarty tie SESE » Appetite at Table, erie 186 Geological Allegory,. . . . 69 FA Discovery, . - 3849 Geology and Natural History, - 69 Geometry of Newton, . . . 5 German Student, “ . 339 “* Gertrude of Wyoming,” and Son Of Brandy =. & 1 SP Gibbon and Lord North,. . . nia) Gibbon’s Roman Empire, sete eBZ # Rule for Reading, . . 198 Gladiatorship, Intellectual, . . 261 Glazing of Ancient Windows, . 348 Glover, Dr., and the Tulips, . 182 ‘* God Save the King,” authorship of, 19 _ originof, . 178 Goethe’s Nov: ow wis a Facility of Composition, 146 Goldsmith at Green Arbor Court, 215 » and the Dog, or ei7 x PAGE Goldsmith’s Blossom-coloured Coat, 238 * Death and Debts, er ey = ‘Deserted Village,” 156 ws Domestic Habits, . 180 & Playfulness, « « 248 * Trial ofan Amanuensis, 34 Good Company, . . . «. . 827 Gottingen, Celebration at, . . 276 Graham, Dr. Robert, the Botanist, Grahame’s, James, Singing, . . 35 Rf ‘* Sabbath,” Wet!) Grattan’s Expression of Contempt, 121 49 Gray and the Duchess, .. . . 228 5, and Mason, Progress of an Mipitaph,.syaeiieee 350/88 Gray’s “ Elegy,” quasi Johnsonian Criticism of, . . 186 Manuscript of, 161 Great Plague and Great Fire in CONTENTS. PAGE Heroines, Poctical, . . « « 130 Herschel, Miss Caroline L., . . 68 Hervey, Lord, and Pope, . . 10 Hieroglyphics, a Poet’s, . . . 144 Historical Omissions of Goldsmith, 227 Hoax, Etymology of the Word, . 38 Hogg, James, « « « »« 204,040 ‘“* Hohenlinden,” Campbell’s,. . 182 Holy Writ, Illustrations of, . . 344 ‘““ Home, Sweet Home,” Fate of its Author, >. 54 =4/.3- een Hood, "Thomas, « . 257 Hook’ s, Theodore E., "Extempore Versifying,. . - G2 Hope, Dr. J., and the Stethoscope, 105 Hough, Bishop, ss House ‘of Commons, Applause in Gallery of, . . ee House of Commons, Speaker’ 's Mace, 334 London, oka wlllde Veen eee » . -OF Lords; 12 5.. cagt eee Greatness, Symptoms of, , « « 273) ‘Hudibras,” Elaboration of,. . 33 ~ Grub Street, . . + a2 e Pride of Author of, 155 Guadaloupe Fossil Skeleton, « 806} Human Skeleton, Fossil, in British Guizot, Precocity of, . » . 243} Museum, . 306 Gun-Cotton and Collodion, . . 88} Humboldt, Baron, ‘and the Frenok Gutta Percha, its Discovery and Savans in Egypt, . .«'. . 209 BIBGH, | xs “ihe bar es te. Mate 5| Hume, David, . 249 Hume’s Generosity to “Blacklock, 154 Hale, Sir Matthew, »« . « -« Haller’s, Baron, Opinion of his own Poetry,. . as On, Phe Hall’s, Robert, Precocity, » « 244 Handel’s ** Messiah,” . 37 Harpers, the New York Publishers, 193 Harrington’s Extravagance, - 274 Oceana pie a / BO Harvey Ridiculed for his Discovery of the Circulation, . . 96 Harvey’s Examination of the Living : Heart, ... * | Hastings, Mrs., a Female Doctor, Hawkesworth and Bishop Newton, ‘Haydon and Clarkson the Philan- , thropist, . _ 4). at Sir Joshua Reynold’s, ‘Ttazlitt and Gifford, . . Heart, Examinations of in Motion, 102 215 107 12 173 by Harvey, . rae | \s 4 Heights and Depths, oe pe 354 Helen, oth & ieee ae cane Hemans, Felicia, Visit £65" eh ae 188 x» Described an Ame- rican, 139 9 Described by Miss J ews- bury, « 171 Henry, Patrick, the American Statesman, ne era a » Habits of Composition, . 8 Hunt, Leigh, and Thos. Campbell, 168 Hunt's, Leigh, Description of Moore,...... “ae av ake eee Hunter and Cullen, Drs, . . 2238 Hunter's, John, Operation for An- eurism, . » 1 Hutton and Black’s Snail-Diuner, 224 » | W., the Bookseller, . . 193 Hutton’s, Dr., Geological Enthu- siasm, . . . . 71 Ibrahim Pasha’s Autograph, Ignoranée, arp =, 01 ES idee Song os in Translators, . Tiluminators,... . ‘« ; Illustration, Equivocal, in Law, Imagination, Force of, . . Immortality, . 2 -s.\ eo Impromptu, : e- Improvisatori of Ttaly, oie * In Hoe Signo Vinces,” ° Information, the Latest, . . Ingenious Trifling in Latin, . Inoculation Introduced by Lady M. W. Montagu, §. As. #0 Inquisition and Galileo, . . Insanity and Book-hunting, . . Inventions and Discoveries, « Se 8 a, e 8 4 dh Os. € n a i= CONTENTS. PAGE Invitations, . ae Sig fees Tron, Coal, and Steam, rine 83 Irving, Edward, . . . 227 James I. and Archie Armstrong, 320 9» inDancaslire, . . . 300 aay Wisiacated, .» « .« « « 100 Jebb’s, Sir R., Rapacity as a Physi- cian, . Jefirey, Francis, Whe aece s 10E “ Ultimus Ro- manoram,” . a SR Jeffrey’s Duel with Moore, . oe) a ay Mamie ec. | e ~ OE 3 Presentation Speech to Kemble, Pe ks 29 100 *s Playfulness and Affection, Jenner, Dr., and the Foreign Poten- Pietra at si fi/e fe 8 | Jenner's, Dr., Discovery of Vaccina- tion, eae 97 3 Discouragement, Honour, and Influence, *« Jerusalem Delivered,” Tasso’s, Jesuitina Storm, . . . . 234 * Joan of Arc,” Southey’s, . . John Gilpin,” Origin of, 178 Johnson, Dr., on Milton’s Sonnets, |156 ” and Goldsmith, . 16,237 ” and his “ Beauties,” , 17 9 and Dr. Parr, po ere LOO io and Voltaire, enol 208 as and Burney, . . . 236 ee. and Lord Elibank, . 224 9» and Osborne the Book- BOMeT 4 iis a te, J0G a and the Philologist, . 126 < and the Poetess, . 269 fe on Robertson’s ‘‘ Scot- WAMGe os hah ey) or. as OS on John Bunyan, .. 238 Johnson’s, Dr. Samuel, Rudeness, 12 FP Conversation, See ” Dictionary and Millar the Bookseller,. . 44 at) @& Parliamentary Re- Worse ses | SO4 3 Sermons, rh ae ee, ae PRC gee oie La hs 288 a Treatment of Boswell, 218 Johnsoniana, . . ce Tan o.oo Jones’, Sir William, Learning, «125 and his Mother, + 198 Julian « the Apostle,” . . 91 Junker, Professor, and the Revived Criminal, eee ic ‘Ess, John, the First Poet-Laureate, 165 X1 PAGE Keats, Wordsworth, and Lamb, . 167 Keith, Mrs. M., and Waverley, . 119 Kemble, John, and Jefirey’s Pre- sentation Speech, . . . . 122 Kenyon’s Lord, Lapsus Lingue,. 91 Kepler’s, John, Enthusiasm, . 6 Kew, Royal Botanic Garden, . 344 Knocking outanz, . . « 218 Knowing and Judging Books, FPN: co! Knowledge, Mode of ‘Acquiring, - 214 Knox, John, .« « « «: «)\» 242 Lia Places! Sage) Se, Pah es ue eee 3 and his English Translator and Expositor, . . 68 Laconic Lady, and Dr. Abernethy, 104 Laidlaw, Wm., Amanuensis to Scott, 35 Lalandeand the French Revolutionists, 6 Talla: Rookie aie) fis. 98 Lamartine’s, M., Marriage, . . 96 Lamb, Charles, and the Comptrol- ler of Stamps, . 167 Bee Dipping at Hastings, 135 and the Poetaster, . 135 Lamb’s Wit ad Eccentricity, . 134 » Stammering Wit, . . 230 Lamb, Lady Caroline, . « « 249 Lamp, the Davy, . . speared Landon, Letitia (L. E. L.), evel E48 Language, English, . of Detee290 Laud, Archbishop, and Ar chie Arm- strong . . roe 321 “ Laudamny and Calamy,” a) Ke) ee Lavoisier’s Discoveries and Fate, 84 Law and Lawyers, . . . 89 Ledyard and Lucas, African Dis- covery, . . = Pie te Legislator from the Plough, « «| 836 Leighton, Archbishop, . .» ~. 250 Less than no time,” ~ . 77 Leti the Historian, and Charles Il., 227 Letters, Cowper’s, Elegance of, . 138 Letter-Writing, . . ~ \« 325 Leyden’s, Dr. a ohn, Early Studies, 11 e Complaynt of Scotland,” a & Liberty, a Pinnt,”: «5 we osaeRe Libraries, Frederick the Great, . 197 ” Arrangement of Books in Ancient, 2 .« «. 46 e Early English, . . 46 Library, a Dictionary, . « ~. 266 » of British Museum, . . 300 Lightning Steed, . . . « 7 Linguist, Female, We tore tas Linneus’s Herbarium, Visit to, in _- London, Cre. .é) oe . se 6 50 xl CONTENTS. PAGE PAGE Literary and Scientific Pursuits of Medicis, Maryde, . 2. « « 234 Ageia JF. Mis - 211]|Menage, . . oo tee, Oe 3 Cautiousness, . . . 155/ Milton and James Te = ay ep >. Diversion, 0. ier We, Hee 92 Ay MEMBOUNS Oc hes roo) eS s» Men, Conversation of, . 110 9) Eroperty, bls Cee ee, ea, 3, | Propertyand Remuneration, 93 » Residences, . 2 oe ae Works, Cheapness of, . 94 Literature, its Pleasures and oils, 129 “A as aProfession, . . 284 e and the Card- Playing EA. Fei es 4280 Locke, J., onacquiring Knowledge, 214 Lodi’s, Marco de, Sonnet, . . 235 London, Classical Spots in; . . x» Docks and Warehouses, » Old, Recollections of, . Longfellow, Henry W., . . . Lonsdale’ s Parliamentary “ Nine- pms; i “Serra Re Lord, a Whimsical, Shs te 822 355 246 157 Loughborough, Lord, and the Re- porters,;s. STNG ee SOR Lubricating Business, . . .« 89 Lunatic and Sportsman, . . « 295 Lycoperdon, or Puff-Ball, . . 105 Lyndhurst and Brougham, . . 121 Lyons, Archbishopof, ., . .° 275 Lyrical Writer, Fateofa, . . 143 Macdiarmid’s, J., Trials and Death, 20 Mace of the Royal Society, . . 205 Machiavel and “Old Nick,” . . 388 Machine, Calculating, . . . 280 Mackintosh and Madame de Stael, 287 Mackintosh’s, Sir J., Humour, . 227 Madman’s Art, . . oo) BGA Magazine, The Gentleman’ 8, =, - OE Magazines, . ee 5 The First, | atest oN OD Magnet, Sir I. Newton’s, - « 88 Mammoth Cave of Martinique, . 348 Manner, Effect of, in Speaking, . 124 Manuscript of Gray’s ** Elegy,” 161 Marlborough’s, Duchess of, Apology, 10 Marriages of Men of Genius, mittee | 96 ‘1 Marseillaise,” Originof, . . 181 Martineau, Miss, and the Pyramids, 83 Mary Queen of Scots, her Letters, 36 Mather, two Drs. of Boston, . . 244 Mechanical Triumphs, . . . 96 Medical Men,. .. Teo "eure aeEoO Medicinal Anecdote, . . . « 230 Milton’s Daughters, his Amanuenses, 34 » Domestic Habits, . . 179 » Literary Habits, <2 uae » ‘Paradise Lost,” . . 144 » ‘Paradise Regained,” . 145 Sonnets, . . + se Mithridates and Cleopatra, 0 ats ee ‘Monologues of Coleridge, . . 217 Monomaniac in Chancery, . . Montagu’s, Lady Mary W., Letters, 37 fa Latinity, 24 33 Edward Wortley, Liter- ary Stratagem, . 27 Montgomery, James, the Poet, . 183 x» andthe Robber, 158 Monumental Conceit,a, . . 194 Moore, Thos., Bowles, and Crabbe, 149 ” ‘and Leigh Hunt, . 170 Moore’s Diary, Extracts from, 2 (232 » Duel with Jeffrey, . . 62 » Invitation to the Marquis = of Lansdowne, . . 230 9) SLR eae mgt ote More, Hannah, and the Bristol Milkwoman, . 175 * True and False Sympathy, . 220 More, Sir Thomas, . . . 39, 251 More, Sir T., and Henry VIII., 3847 Museum, British, Founded by Sir H. Sloane, . . sat ae Mythology of Sotence, Se ek Namby-Pamby, . ~ « »« « 19 Names Latinized,. . «© » » 200 Napoleon, Anagram on, . oc 8eD as Shooting a Bookseller, 155 Napoleon’s Savans in Egypt, . 209 National Characteristics, . . . 234 Nationality, French, . . . » 291 Natural Compass, . . « « S41 Necker and Le Veger, . . « 212 Necker’s, Madame, Table-Talk, . 214 Newspapers, . . - 347 Newton, Bishop, and Hawkesworth, 215 » Sir Isaac, and the Royal Academy,).' >. tates 5 Newton’s Experiments on Soap Bubble,. . 2... 6 7 Methods, "Ss 5 * Absence of Mind, o Se eet Niagara Safety Bridge, . . . S41 OE CONTENTS, é Niebuhr on Baiz and Avernus, . “Night Thoughts,” Young’s, . Nineveh, Rapid Decay of, . . ty Sculptures in British Mu- seum, . Benoa ye Norton’ 85 Sir F., “ Two Little Ma- Ord. pias 4s SS Se sae Novels and Novelists, P » of Defoe, Goethe, and Miss Burney, . 2» Botanical Classification of, O'Carroll; The, 6! « *s Le Ocean Voleano, . .« Ogilvie, Dr. Johnson’s Sarcasm to, Old Names with New Faces, . Oldys, W., and his Anagram, . Graciess ) 3.75.9 s Sl ets Oratory and Elocution, eae os Organic Remains, Superstitions Respecting, ae i a Origines, . . pe sid eet! 4 Orthography, Foreign, ae ee Ossian’s Poems, . O'Sullivan the Reporter, and Wil- OMOXGRy hs the et we Otranto, Castle of, . - . Otway’s Death and Debts, . Over-Poetic Poet, - « -« Overtasking the Mind, . . “Pamela,” Richardson’s,. . . Paper-Making Machinery, ee *¢ Paradise Lost,’ 4 ” French. Transla- tionof,. . Parliamentary Electric Telegraph, + Reprimand, . . Ey Repartee,. . « Parr, Dr., and Samuel Johnson, . 4 and Thos. Moore, . . Hi Erudition, ‘’.-. .*. Pasta teh s eS) «287, 288, Paselikin, a Russian Poct, . Pastimes of Poets, . . Patronage, an Author Soliciting, Pedagogue and Pig-iron,. . . Peeland Byron, . . . « « Pennant’s Eccentricities,. . . Percival, the American Poet, . Perfumed Gloves at Oxford,. . Perils ofthe Alps, . . « « Peter the Great a Surgeon, . . ‘*Peveril of the Peak,” . . « Philology and Linguists,. . . Philosophy, Inductive—Bacon its Boundary Se esate a we) PAGE 338 172 328 309 Phiysiopnomyjs 4) 55) Se) 6 Piracy in the Pulpit,. . . . Pitcairne and Dutch Degrees, . Pitt and the Duke of Newcastle, . xn PAGE 288 128 281 290 Pitt, Fox, and Sheridan, in Debate, 123 Planet-watchers at Greenwich, . 340 Planta, Britishy se 6h. 9 B65 Pleasures and Toils of Literature, 129 Plundering a Crystal Grotto,. . | 335 Poe, Edgar Allen, the American Poet, . . 134 4 “6 +» Retort upona Critic, . 368 Poet Laureate, the First, ee at GO Poetic Effusion, First in America, 173 3, Inspiration, Goldsmith’s, . 169 Poetry and Poets, ..+ «. « 133 pONdebraAGhices (s. Tek Ve c- 2OL Poets at Breakfast, . . . e« 133 » Extempore, of Italy, . . 186 », Unharnessing a Horse, ere 5) | Pollok, Robert, as a Divinity Stu- dent, . wie. s. 163 Polyglot Housekeeper, « « « 336 Pompeian Drawing-room, . . 365 Ponderous Erudition, ahen* ge 18 Pope Innocent XI., . . .« « 267 Pope no Public Speaker, ele 9 Pope’s Accuracy,

+) =e Schiller’s True Nobility, °c Renee Scheeffer, Peter, Inventor of Mov- able Types, « sctetues tiene Scholar,a Scarred, . . + = Schénbein, Professor, Inventor of Gun-Cotton, . eer “ Schoolmaster Abroad, ” > « 2 Science and Commeree, e «© « 213 » Royal Problemin, . ~. 27% »» and Superstition, . . 206 o ats ‘Triumphs, --.1) 5, me eee Scientific Adventure, rg 55 and Literary Pursuits of Age, ~ | wees oe Pee Be CC Se ee Seot.and Sot,.s:: 5! 4.cteeea ee Scott, Sir Walter, Sir H. Davy, and the Tyro- lese Patriot, » on Acquiring Knowledge, . » and the American Authoress, 115 228 214 Reid’s, Dr. John, Heroism, pines 4| Scott’s, Sir Walter, Amanuenses, 34 Relies, ¢ Stes ihe 2 BOD 53 Breakfasts, . 283 . Religion and Law, . +. « « 94 99% Early Life, . 112 Reporting and Reporters,. . « 200 ” First Verses, 146 “2 from Memory, Rie) OD = Habits, -. acdie Reports, the First Parliamentary, 203 9 Habits of Com- Retort, Courteous, . . - « 271 position, . 112 Reward of Poetical Composition, 156 Reverses,. . i114 Richard'I,,.- 24) <2». ts) ew ott, Sir William, his Wit, and Richelieu, Cardinal, . . . . 272] Disliketo Novelty, . . . 89 Ritson the Antiquary, and Leyden, 23 | Scottish Prospects, Johnson on, . 11 CONTENTS. Ba PAGE PAGE Scribe, Indian, in the Field of Southey’s Visit to Sidney Smith, 256 Battle, . « : oe we B64 3 “deanieftAre <0 uot ay LIF af Seasons, ” Thomson’ , Pes Sia © Es » Sonnet to Miss Bowles, 149 Sedan Chairs, «|» « «| « 8331 South’s, Dr., Stolen Sermon, . 128 Sedgwick's, Miss, Visit to Joanna Spaniards in Spanish Town, - 828 Bailliey s 9. 5 «oe + « 132) Speaking, Evil, . . si) wh 2a? Servants, . . «.« »« » « 2801 Speaking a Foreign Language, - 212 Sex, the Fair, . +. . «© « 273) Speckbacker the Tyrolese Patriot, Shakspeare, . . . « + «© 267] Sir W. Scott, and Sir H. Davy, 228 “ee and the Climate of Speeches, Long, and Gray Hairs, 235 Oe Ea 108 | Spinola and Lonis X1V.,. . . 235 Shelley’s Amusements, . . 282 | Squeers and the Yorkshire School, 116 Aa Death and Funeral, . 180|Staél, Madame, . . le 9 OF = Dibrary;.) 2+ < ». # \ 245 Stammering Wit, Lamb's, » « 230 Sheridan and Richardson, . . 25/ Stationers’ Company, e- eet £2 s Parliamentary Retort of, 120] Statues to Great Men, . . 2 3822 Sheridan’s Critical Formula for New Steam-Horse,. . Be Books, . . ~. . 60] Sterne Rebuked for Profanity, o, 229 » ° Debts and Evasions, . 26)|Sterne’s Death, .. . . « « 249 oe Potions,. . .« 124 » Hard-Heartedness, . . 117 s in Bellamy’s, and cS up” » Maudlin Sensibility,. . 247 in the House,. . . 125 » Sermons (Yorick’s), .. . 11 Shirt Tree, . . « «» « 862|Stethoscope, . - 105 Shooting a Bookseller, » « « 155) Stewart, Scott, Chalmers, and Jefirey, 61. Sketches in the Great Exhibition, $29 | Stories, 'Stupid, cp aaa! Ont aval A OOM Silence not the Indication of Wis- Stowe the Antiquary, . . . 15 doin se? - « « . 110} Stowell’s, Lord, Aversion to Changes, 89 Sloane’s, Sir H., Liberality, - . 102|Study, .-. «.) a0 BARS Smellie, William, the Edinburgh Sugar Plums in Henry III.’s time, 220 Printer, and Burns, .° . :191 | Sua; Spotsion,. Sf vowaue a oo BOT Smith, James, Author, of “ Re- Superstition and Science, ‘ 206. jected Addresses,” . . ..220) Supple, Mark, the Parliamentary » Sidney, and Brougham, . 214] Reporter, . . 202 = » and Landseer . the Surgery, Ancient State of, in Scot- Pemier, 2. QT4 pi vdands, 0°. Seuees » His Cup, and his Petu- + Literary Talk, . 133 TANGA AT Wis we es Od & Lyrical Ballads,, 94 a and Johnson, Arete eed Want of Smell, . 162 Voltaire’s Eagle, . Pa, 8bo 1 ae riting, Characters in, . . . 259 ” Feud with Pope, 5 154 Ay for the Present, . . 176 ¥y ETS le me? | vs History, . 227 “s Marianne, . . . ~. 268 AS South Sea Islanders’ No- tion Of, «s+ ae ee Walpole’s Opinion of Johnson, . 291 3 Ww orthless, © _* , Sep Speer vento, eid, | aig | Xearsley, Ann, the Poetic Milk- Warburton and Pope, 176 Y Ane ts Epi * * = eae - ‘Watering-Places, Ancient Roman, 338 | *OC78> *'T eH ram i aLi ke t Watts, Dr., and Mrs. Rowe, 155 th b bi a Onn ae 42 Waverly, Authorship of, . . 119] y Ie eae a center, 2 gis) Yona De Lamp tr tingaay, i g ~ ight Thoughts, 2 Weighing Machine of Bank of Eng . ai Satite oa Sir Flan : Welsh Curate and Tillotson’s Ser- Sloane, > +s eee mons, . oN: Ue 865 |} Zimmerman’s Retort to Frederic * Wet, the Ropes,” se! he Oe the Great, et 193 a ee LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC ANECDOTES, ANATOMISTS AND? ANATOMY. EXPERIMENTS ON THE LOWER ANIMALS, Dr. George Wilson, in his Life of Dr. John Reid, shows by the following instance, that there are occasions on which the infliction of suffering on the lower animals may, so far from being intention- ally cruel, be the fruit of an enligh- tened and profound humanity. Till late in the last century, aneurism in the arteries was treated by cut- ting off the limb. The great phy- siologist, John Hunter, was led by his intimate knowledge of anatomy’ to think it probable, that by the simple device of tying a silk thread round the artery in a certain part of its course, he should be able to eure the disease, and save both life and limb, He made trial on living dogs, and succeeded ; he proceeded to do the same with the human sufferer from aneurism, and, at the expense of a small amount of pain, effected a cure. No one in his senses (Says the writer) will say that the infliction of a little tran- Bient pain on a dog some eighty years ago, has not been amply com- “Sean by the untold sum of uman agony which it has since prevented ; or deny that he who tortured the living dog, did not merely a lawful, but also a merito- rious act. One could almost ima- gine the dog proud of the ser- vice it had rendered to mankind. The operation introduced by Hun- ter is now universally practised in surgery. ' PROFESSOR JUNKER. Many who were personally ac- quainted with the celebrated Junker, professor of the Univer- sity of Halle, have frequently heard him relate the following anecdote:— Being professor of anatomy, he once procured, for dissection, the bodies of two criminals who had been hanged. The key of the dis- secting-room not being immediately at hand, when they were brought home to him, he ordered them to be laid down in an apartment which opened into his bed-chamber. The evening came, and Junker, accord- ing to custom, proceeded to resume his literary labours before he re- tired to rest. It was now near midnight, and all his family were fast asleep, when he heard a rumb- ling noise in his closet.. Thinkin that, by some mistake, the cat ha been shut up with the dead bodies, he arose, and taking the candle, went to see what had happened. But what must have been his asto- nishment, or rather his ic, on perceiving that the sack, which contained the two bodies, was rent through the middle? He ap- proached, and found that one of them was gone ! 2 - The doors and windows were well secured, and that the body could have been stolen he thought impossible. He tremblingly looked round the closet, and found the dead man seated in a corner. Junker stood for a moment motion- less ; the dead man seemed to look towards him; he moved both to ‘the right and to the left, but the dead man still kept his eyes fixed on him. The professor then retired, step by step, with his eye still fixed upon the object of alarm, and hold- ing the candle in his hand until he reached the door. The dead man instantly started up and followed him. A figure of so hideous an appearance, naked, and in motion, the lateness of the hour, the deep silence which prevailed, everything concurred to overwhelm him with confusion. He let fall the only candle which was burning, and all ‘was darkness! He made his es- cape to his apartment, and threw himself on his bed; thither, how- ever, he was followed; and he soon found the dead man embracing his legs, and loudly sobbing. Repeated cries of “Leave me! leave me!” released Junker from the grasp of the dead man, who now exclaimed, “Ah! good execu- tioner! good executioner! have mercy upon me !” Junker soon perceived the cause of what had happened, and resumed hisfortitude. He informed the reani- mated sufferer whom he really was, and made a motion in order to call up some of his family. “You then wish to destroy me,” exclaimed the criminal. “If you call up any one, my adventure will become public, and I shall be executed a second time. In the name of humanity I implore you to save my life.” The physician struck a light, decorated his guest with an old ‘night-gown, and having made him drink a cordial, requested to know what had brought him to the gib- ANATOMISTS AND ANATOMY. bet? “It would have been trulya singular exhibition,” observed Jun- ker, “to have seen me, at that late hour, engaged in a tée-d-tée witha dead man, decked out in an old night-gown.” he poor wretch informed him, that he had enlisted as a soldier, but that, having no great attach- ment to the profession, he had de- termined to desert; that he had in- trusted his secret to a kind of crimp, a fellow of no principle, who recom- mended him to a woman, in whose house he was to remain concealed ; that this woman had discovered his retreat to the officers of police, &e. Junker was extremely perrlesse how to save the poor man. Itwas impossible to retain him in his own house; and to turn him out of doors was to expose him to certain destruction. He resolved to con- duct him out of the city, in order that he might get him into a fo- reign jurisdiction; but it was ne- cessary to pass the gates, which were strictly guarded. To accom- plish this point, he dressed him in some of his old clothes, covered him with a cloak, and, at an earl hour, set. out for the country, with his protégébehind him. On arriv- ing at the city-gate, where he was well known, he said, in a hurried tone, that he had been sent for to visit a sick person in the suburbs who was dying. He was permitted to pass. Having both got into the fields, the deserter threw himself at the feet of his deliverer, to whom he vowed eternal gratitude; and, after receiving some pt assistance, departed, offering up prayers for his happiness. Twelve years after, Junker, having™ occa- sion to go to Amsterdam, was ac- costed on the Exchange by a man well dressed, and of the first ap- arance, who, he had been in- ormed, was one of the most respec- table merchants of that city. e merchant, in a polite tone, inquired SS Ee eel company to dinner. SINGULAR GALVANIC EXPERIMENTS, 3 whether he was not Professor Junker, of Halle? and, being an- swered in the affirmative, he re- quested, in an earnest manner, his The professor consented. Havingreached the mer- chant’s house, he was shown into an elegant apartment, where he founda beautiful wife, and two fine healthy children ; but he could scarcely sup- press his astonishment at meeting so cordial a reception from a family, with whom he thought he was en- tirely unacquainted. After dinner, the merchant, tak- ing him into his counting-room, ' said, “ You do not recollect me ?— “Not at all” “But I will recol- lect you, and never shall your fea- tures be effaced from my remem- - brance: you are my benefactor: I am the person who came to life in your closet, and to whom you paid so much attention. On parting from you, I took the road to Hol- land; I wrote a good hand; was tolerably good at accounts; my figure was somewhat interesting, and I soon obtained employment as a merchant's clerk. My good conduct, and my zeal for the inte- rests of my patron, procured me his confidence, and his daughter’s love. On his retiring from busi- ness I succeeded him, and became his son-in-law. But for you, how- ever, I should not have lived to experience all these enjoyments. Henceforth, look upon my house, my fortune, and myself, as at your disposal.” Those who possess the smallest portion of sensibility can easily represent to themselves the feelings of Junker. SINGULAR GALVANIC EXPERIMENTS. The galvanic experiments which have hitherto been made by philo- sophers upon animal bodies, may be reduced nearly to a single point ; the statement of which will suffice to give the reader a general idea of the subject. Lay bare any princi- pal nerve, which leads immediately to some great limb or muscle ; when this is done, let that part of the nerve which is exposed, and which is farthest from the limb or muscle, be brought into contact with a piece of zinc. While in this state, let the zine be touched by a piece of silver, while another part of the silver touches the naked nerve, if not dry, or the muscle to which it leads, whether dry or not. In this state, violent contractions will be produced in the limb or muscle, but not in any muscle on the other side of the zine. Among the numerous experi- menis which have lately been made, very few have been more singular in their effects than those which were produced by Dr. Ure, in Glas- gow, on the body of a man named Clydesdale, who had been executed. for murder. These effects were produced by a voltaic battery of 270 pair of four-inch plates, of which the results were terrible. Tn the first experiment, on moving the rod from the thigh to the heel, the leg was thrown forward with so much violence as nearly to over- turn one of the assistants. In the second experiment, the rod was ap- plied to the phrenic nerve in the neck, when laborious breathing commenced ; the chest heaved and. fell; the belly was protruded and collapsed with the relaxing and retiring diaphragm; and it was thought that nothing but the loss of blood prevented pulsation from being restored. -In the third experi- ment, the supra-orbital nerve was touched, when the muscles of the face were thrown into frightful ac- tions and contortions. The scene was hideous, and many spectators left the room ; and one gentleman nearly fainted, either from terror, or from the momentary sickness which the scene occasioned. In the fourth experiment, from meeting the electric power, from the spinal 4 marrow to the elbow, the fingers were put in motion, and the arm was agitated in such a manner, that it seemed to point to some spectators, who were dreadfully ter- rified, from an apprehension that the body was actually coming to life. From these experiments Dr. Ure seemed to be of opinion, that had not incisions been made in the blood-vessels of the neck, and the spinal marrow been lacerated, the body of the criminal might have been restored to life. ' HARVEY’S EXAMINATION OF THE HEART. In the time of Charles I., a young nobleman of the Montgomery family chad an abscess in the side of his chest, in consequence of a fall. The -wound healed, but an opening was left in his side of such a size that the heart and lungs were still visible, and could be handled. On ‘the return of the young man from his travels, the King heard of the circumstance, and requested Dr. Harvey to examine his heart. The following is Harvey’s own account of ne examination :—“ ee Thad id my respects to this young pobicaie 4g conveyed to him the King’s request, he made no con- cealment, but exposed the left side of his breast, where I saw a cavity into which I could introduce my finger and thumb. Astonished with the novelty, again and again I ex- plored the wound, and, first mar- velling at the extraordinary nature of the case, I set about the exami- nation of the heart. Taking it in one hand, and placing the finger of the other on the pulse of the wrist, I satisfied myself that it was indeed the heart which I grasped. I then brought him to the King, that he might behold and touch so extraor- dinary a thing, and that he might perceive, as I did, that unless when we touched the outer skin, or when . he saw our fingers in the cavity, ANATOMISTS AND ANATOMY. this young nobleman knew not that — we touched the heart.” DR. JOHN REID—HIS WEROISM. The late Dr. Reid was afflicted with cancer in the tongue, which ultimately extended to the throat, causing his death. He was twice operated upon, and directed the surgeon’s knife on both occasions, the parts affected being those on which he had thrown fresh light by his physiological researches. In his memoir by Dr. George Wilson, an admirable piece of scientific and religious biography, the following particulars are given : —“There were unusual elements of piety in Dr. Reid’s case. The physician was for the time the patient ; the public speaker was struck inarticulate and dumb; and it was a surgeon who was under the knife of the surgeons. But this was by no means all. The surgeons were the attached friends of the patient. They did not gather round him, with cold professional eye, to discharge an official duty. Fellow-lecturers, fellow-students, or fellow-scholars, and old playmates, they all were, and now they were assembled to perform, with grieved hearts, a cruel and pai task. For doctors so circumstanced there is no sympathy in the unprofessional public heart. The surgeon who can lift his knife upon his friend, is looked upon as little better than an assassin in spirit, Yet among the medical men who were with Dr. Reid on that painful day, were hearts as tender, affectionate, and gentle, as we need wish or may hope to find. Sorely reluctant had they been to undertake the unwelcome duty to which they were now called. Only the conviction that there was no other way of serving him whom they loved so deeply, gave them courage to go on ; and no one under- stood this better than he who was the object of all this sympathy, Onhis side there was corresponding ASTRONOMERS AND ASTRONOMY. courage, and he showed entire sub- mission to their guidance. The operation he had to undergo was not one which admitted of ailevia- tion of its pains by the administra- tion of anesthetics. It required not merely endurance, but firmness andactive fortitude ; and the patient was 1 ag to be something more than that negative term implies. Nor was the expectation disap- pointed. His face wore even a smile, as before putting himself in Mr. Fergusson’s hands he re- cognized an old school-fellow among the non-medical attendants, and saluted him with a sobriquet of the play-ground. Throughout the operation he rendered every assist- ance, by deliberate acts implying real heroism. Chloroform was pur- 5 posely withheld, that the sufferer, with; every sensation and faculty alive, might assist, and literally become an operator upon himself.” The wound had scarcely healed, when the disease returned, and another operation was performed ; on this occasion under the effects of chloroform. When he partially awoke from the state of insensibility thus induced, his resolute firmness was strangely mingled with gleams of his native humour. He remem- bered afterwards that whilst his friends were anxiously applying a ligature to a divided artery, he was seized with a strong desire to let it “spout” on the white neckcloth of one of them. This genial man and ingenious physiologist, sank under a third recurrence of the fatal disease, \ ASTRONOMERS AND ASTRONOMY. SIR ISAAC NEWTON AND THE ROYAL SOCIETY, In 1671, Mr. Isaac Newton, Pro- fessor of Mathematics at Cambridge, was proposed as a Fellow of the Royal Society by Seth Ward, Bishop of Sarum. Newton, then in his thirtieth year, had made several of his greatest discoveries. He had diseovered the different refrangi- bility of light. He had invented the reflecting telescope. He had deduced the law of gravity from Kepler’s theorem ; and he had dis- covered the method of fluxions. When he heard of his being pro- osed as a Fellow, he expressed to Piscatery, the secretary, his hope that he would be elected, and added, that “he would endeavour to testify his gratitude by communicating what his poor and solitary endea- vours could effect towards the pro- moting their philosophical désign.” : The communications which Newton made to the Society, excited the deepest interest in every part of Europe. His little reflecting tele- scope, the germ of the colossal in- struments of Herschel and Lord Rosse, was deemed one of the won- ders of the age.— (Brewster, North British Review.) NEWTON’S METHODS. The doctrine of universal gravi- tation is one of the greatest of hu-- man discoveries. he following. remarks by Mr. Whewell tend to enhance the admiration and wonder with which the immortal discoverer will always be regarded. “No one for sixty years after the publication of the Principia, and, with New- ton’s methods, no one up to the present day, has added anything of any value to his deductions. We know that he calculated all the principal lunar inequalities; in_ 6 many of the cases he has given us his processes, in others only his re- sults. But who has presented in his beautiful geometry, or deduced from his simple principles, any of the inequalities which he left un- touched? ‘The ponderous instru- ment of synthesis, so effective in his hand, has never since been grasped by one who could use it for such purposes; and we gaze at it with admiring curiosity, as on some gi- gantic implement of war, which stands idleamong the memorials of ancient days, and makes us wonder what manner of man he was who could wield as a weapon what we can hardly lift as a burden.” SIR ISAAC NEWTON’S EXPERIMENTS. When Sir Isaac Newton changed his residence, and went to live in Leicester Place, his next-door neigh- bour was a widow lady, who was much puzzled by the little she had observed of the philosopher. One of the Fellows of the Royal Society of London called upon her one day, when, among other domestic news, she mentioned that some one had come to reside in the adjoining house, who she felt certain was a poor crazy gentleman, “because,” she continued, “he diverts himself in the oddest ways imaginable. Every morning, when the sun shines so brightly that we are obliged to draw the window-blinds, he takes his seat in front of a tub of soap- suds, and occupies himself for hours blowing soap-bubbles through a common clay pipe, and intently , watches them till they burst. He is doubtless now at his favourite - amusement,” she added ; “do come and look at him.” The gentleman smiled, and then went up stairs, when, after looking through the ‘window into the adjoining yard, he turned round and said, “My dear madam, the person whom you sup- pose to be a poor lunatic is no other than the great Sir Isaac Newton, ASTRONOMERS AND ASTRONOMY. on thin plates, a phenomenon is beautifully exhibited upon surface of a common soap-bubble.” This anecdote serves as an excellent moral not to ridicule what we do not understand, but gently and in- dustriously to gather wisd om from every circumstance around us. studying the refraction of i the JOHN KEPLER—HIS ENTHUSIASM. When John Kepler discovered, after seventeen years of incessant investigation, the third of his laws, namely, that relating to the con- nection between the iodic times and the distances of the planets, his delight knew no bounds. “Nothing holds me,” says he; “I willi in my sacred fury; I will trium over mankind by the honest con- fession, that I have stolen the golden vases of the Egyptians, to build up a tabernacle for my God, far away from the confines of t. If you forgive me, I rejoice ; if you are angry, I can bear it. The die is cast ; the book is written, to be read either now or by posterity,— I care not which. It may well wait a century for a reader, as God has waited six thousand years for. an observer.” LALANDE, Lalande, the French astronomer, when the Revolution broke out, only paid the more attention to the revolutions of the heavenly bodies ; and when he found, at the end, that he had escaped the nia Robespierre and his fellow- be ne remarked, “I may t my stars for it.” GALILEO’S BLINDNESS. The last telescopic observations of Galileo resulted in the discovery of the diurnal libration of the moon. Although his right eye had forsome years lost its power (says Sir David Brewster), yet his general vision was suiliciently periect to enable AUTHOBS. va him to carry on his usual researches. ' In 1636, however, this affection of the eye became more serious ; and, in 1637, his left eye was attacked with the same disease. His medi- eal friends at first supposed that cataracts were formed in the crys- talline lens, and anticipated a cure from the operation of couching. These hopes were fallacious. The disease turned out to be in the cornea, and every attempt to restore its arency was fruitless. Ina few months the white cloud covered the whole aperture of the pupil, and Galileo became totally blind. This sudden and severe calamity had almost overwhelmed Galileo and his friends. In writing to a corres- pondent he exclaims, “Alas! your dear friend and servant has become totally andirreparably blind. These heavens, thig earth, this universe, which by wonderful observation I had enlarged a thousand times be- yond the belief of past ages, are henceforth shrunk into the narrow space which I oceupy myself. So it pleases God; it shall, therefore, please me also.” AUTHORS. PRECOOCITY. DERMODY, CHATTERTON, ETC. Cowley received the applauses of the great at eleven, Pope at twelve, — ilton at Srgsasen hee — of distinguish raise, therefore, eannot be denied this wonderful boy [Dermody], when it is related that at ten years old he had written as much genuine poetry as either of these great men had produced at nearly double that age. Reared in the metropolis of a great nation, where genius finds many excite- ments, their early effusions were blazoned forth with admiration. Very.different at this time was the fate of our extraordinary youth; with no pattern of prudence before his eyes, no stimulus to exertion, no protecting hand to cherish the opening bud of genius; but, like the unhappy Chatterton, slumbering in one 5 pasar yy unknown. e by Raymond. Dermody died at the age of twenty-seven years and six months. In the cast of his mind he resembled the unfortunate Chatterton, and in his propensities the eccentric Sa- vage, but in precocity of talent and of classical information, excelled both them and every other rival, having in the first fourteen years of his life acquired a competent know- ledge of the Greek, the Latin, the French, and Italian languages, and alittleofthe Spanish. LikeSavage, he would participate in the plea- sures of thelowest company, buthad not the same eagerness after money, - nor the same effrontery in demand- ing it of his friends. d notwith- standing Dermody’s insatiate desire for liquor kept him in perpetual po- verty, yet his applications (though full of lamentations) were never de ote by meannessorfulsome adu-~ | ation ;/nor did ingratitude, in his © worst excesses, ever sully his charac- terthrough life. ... Had he qualified those errors which hurt only him- self; had his ambition kept pace with the encouragement vais he received; had he studied and pur- sued moral with the same ardour as poetical; had his regard for cha- racter and decorum equalled his pores and his love of dissipation; e might have lived to be the ad- 8 AUTHORS, miration of the great, the wonder terity with delight would record his of the learned, and the ornament of |name. But mistaking the way to society: science might have smiled upon his labours, fame might have proclaimed his excellence, and pos- happiness he plunged into misery, and fell an early victim to impru- dence.—(Life by Raymond.) ‘PECULIARITIES AND ECCENTRICITIES. ¢ ADAM SMITH AND DAVID HUME. Mr. Smith observed to me, not long before his death, “that after all ‘his practice in writing, he com- posed as slowly, and with as great difficulty, as at first.” He added, at the same time, that Mr. Hume had acquired so great a facility in this respect, that the last volume of his History was printed from the origi- nal copy, with a few marginal cor- rections. Mr. Smith, when he was employed in composition, generally walked up and down his apartment, dictating to a secretary. All Mr. Hume’s works (it has been said) were written with his own hand.— (Stewart) ADAM SMITH. The comprehensive speculations with which Mr. Smith had always been occupied, and the variety of materials which his own invention continually supplied to histhoughts, rendered him habitually inattentive to familiar objects, and to common occurrences. On this account, he was remarkable, throughout ‘ the whole of life, for speaking to him- self when alone, and for being so absent in company, as, on some oc- casions, to exceed almost what the fancy of a Bruyere could imagine In company, he was apt to be en- grossed by his studies; and ap- peared, at times, by the motion of his lips, as well as by his looks and gestures, to be in the fervour of composition. It was observed, that he rarely started a topic himself, or even fell in easily with the common dialogue of conversation. When he did speak, however, he was some- what apt to convey his ideas in the form of a lecture; but this never proceeded from a wish to engross the discourse,or to gratify his vanity. His own inclination disposed him so strongly to enjoy, in silence, the gaiety of those around him, that his friends were often led to concert little schemes, in order to bring on the subjects most likely to interest him.—(Life.) VOLTAIRE. This extraordinary person has contrived to excite more curiosity, and toretain the attention of Europe for a longer space of time, than an other man this age has produced, monarchs and heroes included. His person is that of a skeleton; but this skeleton, this composition of ~ skin and bone, has a look of more spirit and vivacity than is generally produced by flesh and blood, how- ever blooming and youthful. The most piercing eyes I ever beheld are’ those of Voltaire, now in his eigh- tieth year. His whole countenance is expressive of genius, observation, and extreme sensibility. An air of irony never entirely forsakes his. face, but may always be observed lurking in his features, whether he frowns or smiles. By far the greatest part of his time is spent in his study, and whether he reads himself, or listens to another, he always has a pen in his hand, to take down notes or make remarks. Composition is his principal amusement. Noauthor who writes for daily bread, no young poet ardent for distinction, is more assiduous with his pen, or more anxious for fresh fame, than. the wealthy and applauded Seigneur Ferney. Happy if this extraordi- PECULIARITIES AND ECCENTRICITIES. ° nary man had confined his genius to its native home, to the walks which the muses love; and that he had never deviated from these into the thorny paths of impiety !— (Dr. John Moore.) POPE NO PUBLIC SPEAKER. IT never could speak in public; and I do not believe that if it was a set thing, I could give an account of any story to twelve friends to- gether; though I could tell it to any three of them with a great deal ofpleasure. When I was to appear “for the Bishop of Rochester on his trial, though I had but ten words to say, and that on a plain easy point (how that bishop spent his time whilst I was with him at Bromley), I made two or three blunders in it; and that, notwith- standing the first row of Lords (which were all I could see), were mostly ofmy acquaintance.—(Pope.) RALEIGH’S HISTORY. Raleigh’s History of the World was composed during his imprison- ment in the Tower. Only a small portion of the work was published, owing to the following singular cir- eumstance :—One afternoon looking through his window into one of the courts in the Tower, Sir Walter saw two men quarrel, when the one actually murdered the other ; and shortly after two gentlemen, friends to Sir Walter, coming into his room, after expressing what had happened, they disagreed in their manner of relating the story; and Sir Walter, who had seen it him- self, concurred that neither was accurate, but related it with another variation. The three eye-witnesses disagreeing about an act so recently committed put Sir Walter ina rage, when he took up the volumes of manuscript which lay by, contain- ing his History of the World, and threw them on a large fire that was in the room, exclaiming, that “it 9 was not for him to write the history of the world, if he could not relate what he saw a quarter of an hour before.”” One of his friends saved two of the volumes from the flames, but the rest were consumed. The world laments that so strange an accident should have mutilated the work of so extraordinary a man.— (Granger’s Wonderful Magazine.) THOS. CAMPBELL, THE LORD RECTOR. Southey tells the following story of the poet Campbell :— Taking a walk with Campbell, one day, up Regent Street, we were accosted by a wretched-looking woman, with a sick infant in her arms, and another starved little thing at her mother’s side. -The woman begged fora copper. I had no change, and Campbell had no- thing but a sovereign. The woman stuck fast to the poet, as if she read his heart in his face, and I could feel his arm beginning to tremble. At length, saying something about it being his duty to assist poor creatures, he told the woman to wait; and, hastening into a mer- cer’sshop, asked, ratherimpatiently, for change. You know what an excitable person he was, and how he fancied all business must give way till the change was supplied. The shopman thought otherwise ; the poet insisted; an altercation ensued ; and in a minute or two the master jumped over the counter and collared him, telling us he would turn us both out; that he believed/we came there to kick up a row for some dishonest purpose. So here was a pretty dilemma. We defied him, but said we would out instantly, on his apologising fr his gross insult. was uproar. Campbell called out, ¥ Thrash the fellow! thrash him !” “You will not go out, then?” said the mercer. “No, never, till you apologise.” 10 “Well, we shall soonsee. John, go to Vine Street, and fetch the police.” In a few minutes two policemen appeared ; one went close up to Mr. ampbell, the other to myself. The poet was now in such breath- less indignation, that he could not articulate a sentence. I told the policemen the object he had in asking change; and that the shop- man had most unwarrantably in- sulted us. “This gentleman,” I added, by way of a climax, “is Mr. Thomas Campbell, the distinguished poet, a man who would not hurt a fly, much less act with the dishonest intention that person has insinu- ated”’ The moment I uttered the name, the policeman backed away two or three paces, as if awe-struck, and said, “ Guidness, mon, is that Maister Cammell, the Lord Rector 0’ Glas- gow?” “Yes, my friend, he is, as this card may convince you,” handing it to him; “all this commotion has been caused by a mistake.” By this time the mercer had cooled down to a moderate tem- perature, and in the end made every reparation in his power, say- ing he was very busy at the time, and had he but known the genile- man, “he would have changed fifty sovereigns for him.” “ My dear fellow,” said the poet, who had recovered his speech, “Tam not at all offended,” and it was really laughable to see them shaking hands long and vigorously, each with perfect sincerity and mutual forgiveness, SARAH, DUCHESS-DOWAGER OF MARLBOROUGH. This favourite duchess, who, like the proud Duke of Espernon, lived to brave the successors in a court where she had domineered, wound up her capricious life with an apo- logy for her conduct. The piece, though weakened by the prudence AUTHORS. of those who were to’ correct it, though maimed by her grace’s own corrections, and though great part of it is rather the annals ofa ward- robe than ef a reign, yet it has still curious anecdotes, and a few of those sallies of wit, which fourscore years of arrogance could not fail to pro- duce in so fantastic an understand- ing.—(Walpole’s R. & N. Authors.) LORD HERVEY AND POPE. Lord Hervey, having felt some attacks of the epilepsy, entered upon and persisted in a very strict regi- men, and thus stopped the pro; and prevented the effects of that dreadful disease. His daily food was a small quantity of asses’ milk and a flour biscuit: once a-week he indulged himself with eating an apple: he used emetics daily. Mr. Pope and he were once friends ; but they quarrelled; and persecuted each other with virulent satire. Pope, knowing the abstemious regi- men which Lord Hervey observed, was so ungenerous as to him “a mere cheese-curd of asses’ milk.” Lord econ used paint to soften his ghastly appearance. Mr. Pope must have known ¢his also, and therefore it was unpardonable in him to introduce it into his cele- brated portrait. That satirist had the art of laying hold on detached circumstances,and of applying them. to his purpose, without much regard for historical accuracy. Thus, to his hemistic, ““Endow a college or @ cat,’ he adds this note, that “a Duchess of Richmond left annuities to her cats.” The lady, as to whom he seems so uncertain, was La Belle Stuart of the Comte de Grammont, She left annuities to certain female friends, with the burden of main- taining some of her eats; a delicate way of providing for poor, and, pro- bably, proud gentlewomen, without making them feel that they owed their livelihood to her mere libe- rality.—(Lord Hailes.) PECULIARITIES AND ECCENTRICITIES. FENELON,. Monsieur Fenelon, the author of Telemachus, and Archbishop of Cambray, used to say, that he loved his family better than himself, his country better than his family, and mankind better than his country ; - for Iam more a Frenchman, added he, than a Feneion, and more a man than a Frenchman.— (Chevalier y:) _ BAYLE’S DICTIONARY. His Critical Dictionary is a vast repository of facts and opinions ; and he balances the false religions in his sceptical scales, till the oppo- site quantities (if I may use the language of algebra) annihilate each other. The wonderful power which he so boldly exercised, of assem- bling doubts and objections, had tempted him jocosely to assume the title of the vePernyegera Zeus, the cloud-compelling Jove; and in a conversation with the ingenious Abbé (afterwards cardinal) de Po- lignae, he freely disclosed his uni- versal Pyrrhonism. “I am most truly,” said Bayle, “a Protestant ; for I protest indifferently against all systems and all sects.’”—(Gibbon.) STERNE’S SERMONS. - Mr. Sterne, it may be supposed, was no great favourite with Dr. Johnson; and a lady once ventured to ask the grave doctor how he liked Yorick’s Sermons. “I know nothing about them, madam,” was his reply. But sometime after- wards, forgetting himself, he se- verely censured them; and the lady very aptly retorted, “I understood you to say, sir, that you had never read them.” “No, madam; I did read them, but it was in a stage eoach. I should not have even deigned to have looked at them had T been at large”’—(Cradock’s Lite- rary Memoirs.) 11 DR. JOHN LEYDEN, His chief place of retirement was the small parish church, a gloomy and ancient building, generally be- lieved in the neighbourhood to be haunted. To this chosen place of study, usually locked during week- - days, Leyden made entrance by means of a window, read there for many hours in the day, and de- posited his books and specimens in aretired pew. It was a well-chosen spot of seclusion, for the kirk (ex- cept during divine service) is rather a place of terror to the Scottish rustic, and that of Cavers was ren- dered more so by many a tale of ghosts and witchcraft, of which it was the supposed scene; and to which Leyden, partly to indulge his humour, and partly to secure his retirement, contrived to make some modern additions. The nature of his abstruse studies, some specimens of natural history, as toads and adders, left exposed in their spirit- vials, andone or two practical jests played off upon the more curious of the peasantry, rendered his gloomy haunt not only venerated by the wise, but feared by the simple of the parish—(Memoirs by Sir Wal- ter Scott.) DR. OGILVIE Was one of the few Scotsmen of whom Dr. Johnson entertained a favourable opinion. The sanctity of the character of Ogilvie, the re- ligious tendeticy of his writings, in some measure abated the fierce an- tipathy with which the great Eng- lish critic regarded the nation whose literaryefforts have raised them to sohigh a rank in the intellectual his- tory of mankind. It was to Dr. Ogilvie that the unreasonable John- son uttered the sarcasm relative to Seotch prospects. When in Lon- don, Ogilvie one day, in Johnuson’s company, observed, in speaking of grand scenery, that Scotland had a great many wild prospects. “Yes, 12 . sir,” said Johnson, “I believe you have a great many. Norway, too, has noble wild prospects, and Lap- land is remarkable for prodigious noble wild prospects. But, sir, let me tell you, the noblest prospect which a Scotsman ever sees is the high road that leads him to Lon- don.” “T admit,” rejoined Ogilvie, “that the last prospect is a very noble one, but I deny that it is as wild as any of those we have enu- merated.”—(Scotsman’s Library.) DR, SAMUEL JOHNSON—-URSA MAJOR. Oct. 13, 1845.—On the 7th I left town by express train to visit Mrs. Gwatkin at Plymouth, to examine Sir Joshua’s private memorandum concerning the Academy quarrel. Mrs. Gwatkin was Miss Palmer, sister to the Marchioness of Tho- mond, and niece to Sir Joshua. . . At twelve I called. Mr. Reynolds Gwatkin came down and introduced me. I went up with him, and found on a sofa, leaning on pillows,a vener- able aged lady, holding an ear- trumpet, like Sir Joshua, showing in her face great rémains of regular beauty, and evidently the model of Sir Joshua in his Christian virtues (a notion of mine which she after- wards confirmed), After a few minutes’ chat, we entered on the purport of my visit, which was to examine Sir J oshua’s private papers relating to the Academy dispute which produced his resignation. Mrs. Gwatkin rose to give orders ; her figure was fine and elastic, up- right as a dart, with nothing of de- crepitude ; certainly extraordinary for a woman in her eighty-ninth year. . . . We had a delightful chat about Burke, Johnson, Gold- smith, Garrick, and Reynolds. She said she came to Sir Joshua quite a little girl, and at the first d party Dr. Johnson staid, as Re a: ways did, after all were gone; and that she, being afraid of hurting her new frock, went up stairs, and put AUTHORS. on another, and came down to sit with Dr. J. and Sir Joshua. John- son thundered out at her, scolded her for her disrespect to him, in supposing he was not as worthy of her best frock as fine folks. He sent her erying to bed, and took a dislike to her ever after. She had a goldfinch, which she had left at home. Her brother and sister dropped water on it from a great height, for fun, The bird died from fright, and turned black. She told Goldsmith, who was writing his Animated Nature. Goldsmith begged her to get the facts, and he would allude to it. “Sir,” roared out Johnson, “if you do, you'll ruin your work, for, depend upon it, it’s alie.? She said that after Sir Joseph Banks and Dr. Solander came from their voyage, at a grand dinner at Sir Joshua’s, Solander was relating that in Iceland he had seen a fowl boiled in a few minutes in the hot springs. Johnson broke up the whole party by roaring out, “Sir, unless I saw it with my own eyes I would not believe it.” No- body spoke after, and Banks and Solander rose and left the dining- room.—(Taylor’s Life of Haydon.) J. J. ROUSSEAU. When obliged to exert myself I am ignorant what to do! when forced to speak Iam ‘at a loss for words; and if any one looks at me I am instantly out of countenance. If animated with my subject I ex- press my thoughts with ease, but in ordinary conversations I can say nothing—absolutely nothing; and, being obliged to speak, renders them insupportable. . . The timidity com- mon to my age was heightened by a natural benevolence, which made me dread the idea of giving pain. Though mymind had received some cultivation, having seen nothing of the world, I was an absolute stran- ger to polite address, and my mental acquisitions, so far from supplying : the author must PECULIARITIES AND ECCENTRICITIES. this defect, served to increase my embarrassment by making me sen- sible of every deficiency. When I write, my ideas are ar- ranged with the utmost difficulty. They glance on my imagination, and ferment till they discompose, heat, and bring on a palpitation: during this state of agitation I see nothing properly, cannot writea single word, and must wait till it ‘is over. In- sensibly the agitation subsides, the chaos acquires form, and each cir- eumstance takes its proper place. Had I always waited till that con- fusion was past, and then painted, in their natural beauties, the objects that had presented themselves, few authors would have surpassed me. —(Confessions.) BENVENUTO CELLINI. T have been reading lately a most extraordinary work, which I did read once before, but had totally for- gotten, Zhe History of Benvenuto Celiini, a Florentine goldsmith and designer, translated from the Italian by Thomas Nugent. There is some- thing in it so singularly character- istical, that it is impossible to reject the whole as fabulous, and yet it is equally impossible not to reject a great part of it as such. To recon- cile this I would suppose, what the work itself strongly evinces, that ave been an in- genious, hot-headed, vain, audacious man, and that the violence of his passions, the strength of his super- stition, and the disasters into which he plunged himself, made him mad in the end. We know that the Tialians of the sixteenth century were very ingenious in everything that relates to drawing and design- ing; but it cannot be believed that popes, emperors, and kings were so totally engrossed with those mat- ters as Signior Cellini represents them. If you have never seen the book I would recommend it as a curiosity, from which I promise that 13 you willreceive amusement. Nay, in regard to the manner of those times, there is even some instruc- tion in it—(Dr. Beattie.) WORDSWORTH AND HAYDON THE PAINTER. “May 22—Wordsworth called to-day, and we went to church to- gether. There was no seat to be got at the chapel near us belonging to the rectory of Paddington, and we sat among publicans and sinners. I determined to try him, so advised our staying, as we could hear more easily. He agreed like a Christian ; and [ was much interested in seeing his venerable white head close to a servant in livery, and on the same level. The servant in livery fell asleep, and so did Wordsworth. I jogged him at the Gospel, and he opened his eyes and read well. A preacher preached when we ex- pected another, so it was a disap- pointment. We afterwards walked to Rogers’s, across the park. He had a party to lunch, so I went into the pictures, and sucked Rem- brandt, Reynolds, Veronese, Rafiael, ‘Bassan, and Tintoretto. Words- worth said, ‘Haydon is downstairs.’ —‘ Ah,’ said Rogers, ‘he is better employed than chattering nonsense up stairs.’ As Wordsworth and I crossed the park, we said, ‘Scott, Wilkie, Keats, Hazlitt, Beaumont, Jackson, Charles Lamb are all gone —we only are left.’ He said, ‘How old are you ?’—‘Fifty-six,’ I replied. ‘How old are you?’—‘ Seventy- three, he said; ‘in my seventy- third year. I was born in 1770,’ — And I in 1786’—‘ You have many yéars before you.—‘I trust I have ; and you, too, I hope. Let us cut out Titian, who was ninety- nine.’—‘ Was he ninety-nine?’ said Wordsworth —‘ Yes,’ said, I, ‘and his ya er & moral ; for as he lay dying o e plague, he was me So and po help him- self.’—We got on Wakley’s abuse, 14 AUTHORS. We laughed at him. I quoted his. own beautiful address to the stock- dove. He said, once in a wood Mrs. Wordsworth and a lady were walking, when the stock-dove was cooing. A farmer’s wife coming by said to herself, ‘O, I'do like stock -doves” Mrs. Wordsworth, in all her enthusiasm for Words worth’s poetry, took the old woman to her heart. ‘But,’ continued the old mst ‘some like them in a pie; for my part, there’s nothing like em brandi in onions.’ (Hay- don’s Diary.) HONOURS AND REWARDS. LITERARY RESIDENCES. _ Men of genius have usually been condemned to compose their finest works, which are usually their ear- liest, under the roof of a garret; and few literary characters have lived, like Pliny and Voltaire, ina villa or chateau of their own. It has not therefore often happened, that a man of genius could raise lo- cal emotions by his own intellectual suggestions. Ariosto, who built a palace in his verse, lodged himself in a small house, and found that stanzas and stones were not put to- gether at the same rate: old Mon- taigne has left a description of his library— over the entrance of my house where I view my court-yards and garden, and at once survey all the operations of my family.” A literary friend, whom a hint of mine had induced to visit the old tower in the garden of Buffon, where that sage retired every morning to com- e, passed so long a time -in that onely apartment, as to have raised some solicitude among the honest folks of Monthbar, who, having seen “the Englishman” enter, but not re- turn, during a heavy thunder-storm which had oecurred in the interval, informed the good mayor, who came in due form to notify the ambiguous state of the stranger. My friend is, as is well known, a genius of that cast who could pass two hours in the Tower of Buffon, without being aware that he had been all that time occupied by suggestions of ideasand reveries, which such a locality may excite in some minds. He was also busied by his hand; for he has fa- voured me with two drawings interior and the exterior of this old tower in the garden; the nakedness within can only be compared to the solitude without.» Such was the studying room of Bufion, where his eye, resting on no object, never in- terrupted the unity of his medita- tions on nature. Pope, who had far more enthusiasm in his poetical disposition than is generally under- stood, was extremely susceptible of those literary associations with lo- calities: one of the volumes of his Homer was begun and finished in an old tower over the chapel at Stanton Harcourt; and he has per- petuated the event, if not conse- crated the Hew, by scratching with a diamond on a pane of stained glass this inscription:— In the year 1718, Alexander Pope Finished HERE The fifth volume of Homer. It was the same feeling which in- duced him one day, when taking his usual walk with Harte in the | Haymarket, to desire Harte to en- ter a little shop, where going up three pair of stairsinto a smallroom, Pope said, “In this garret Addison wrote his Campaign!” WN ae less than a strong feeling impell the poet to ascend this garret—it was a consecrated spot to his eye; . and certainly a curious instance of the power of ¢ genius contrasted with its miserable locality! Addison, whose mind had fought through “a campaign” in a garret, could he ofthe ° a ea — — Se HONOURS AND REWARDS. have called about him “the plea- sures of imagination,” had probably planned a house of literary repose, where all would have been in harmony with his mind. Such residences of men of genius have been enjoyed by some; and the vivid descriptions which they have left us, convey something of the delightfulness which charmed their studious repose. — (D’Israeli’s Cu- riosities.) GIBBON AND LORD NORTH. Mr. Gibbon, in the genera}. pre- ' face to the three last volumes of ’ his history, has the following pas- sage, which we consider worthy of notice, not less on account of its elegance, than for the striking con- trast it exhibits between Mr. Gib- bon’s original enmity of spirit to Lord North, and his subsequent ressions of friendship for that nobleman :—* Were I ambitious of any other patron than the public (says Mr. Gibbon), I would inseribe this work to a statesman, who, in a long, a stormy, and at length an -unfortunate administration, had} many political opponents, almost without a personal enemy; who has retained, in his fall from power, many faithful and disinterested ‘friends; and who, under the pres- sure of severe infirmity, enjoys the lively vigour of his mind, and the felicity of his incomparable temper. Lord North will permit me to ex- _ press the feelings of friendship in the e of truth; but even _ to the hammer. truth and friendship should be silent, if he still dispensed the fa- vours of the crown.” For the sake of contrast, one anecdote may be added. In June, 1781, Mr. Fox’s library came to be sold, Amongst his other books, the first volume of Mr, Gibbon’s history was brought In the blank leaf of this was a note, in the hand- writing of Mr. Fox, stating a re- -markable declaration of our his- 15 torian at a well-known tavern in Pall-Mall, and contrasting it with Mr. Gibbon’s political conduct afterwards. “The author (it ob- served) at Brookes’s said, That there was no salvation for this coun- try, until siz heads of the principal ersons in administration (Lord orth being then prime minister) were laid upon the table. Yet (as the observation added) eleven days afterwards, this same gentleman accepted a place of a lord of trade under those very ministers, and has acted with them ever since.” This extraordinary anecdote, thus recor- ded, very naturally excited the at- tention of the purchasers. Numbers wished to have in their own pos- session such an honowrable testi- mony from Mr. Fox in favour of Mr. Gibbon. The contention for it rose to a considerable height, arid the volume by the aid of this manu- » seript addition to it, was sold for three guineas.—(English Review. 1788.) A MENDICANT AUTHOR, ’ Even in the reign of the literary James, great authors were reduced to a state of mendicity, and lived on alms, although their lives and: their fortunes had been consumed in forming national labours. The antiquary Stowe exhibits a strik- ing example of the reward confer- red on such valued authors. Stowe had devoted his life, and exhausted his patrimony, in the study of English antiquities; he had tra- velled on foot throughout the king- dom, inspecting all monuments of anti uity, and rescuing what he could fiom the dispersed libraries of the monasteries. . His stupen- ° dous collections, in his own hand- writing, still exist, to provoke the feeble industry of literary loiter- ers. It was in his eightieth year that Stowe at length reccived a public acknowledgement of his ser- viees which will appear to us of a 16 very extraordinary nature. He was so reduced in his circumstances that he petitioned James I. for a License to collect alms for himself! “as a recompense for his labour and travel of forty-five years in set- ting forth the chronicles of England, and eight years taken up in the survey of the cities of London and Westminster, towards his relief now in his old age; having left his for- mer means of living, and only em- .ploying himself for the service and good of his country.” Letters pa- tent under the great seal were granted. After no penurious com- mendation of Stowe’s labours, he is _halag “to gather the benevo- ence of well-disposed people within this realm of England: to ask, ga- ther, and take, the alms of all our loving subjects.” These letters patent were to be published by the clergy from their pulpits ; they pro- duced so little that they were re- newed foranother twelvemonth; one entire parish in the city, gave seven shillings and sixpence! Such then was the patronage received by Stowe, to be a licensed beggar throughout the kingdom for one twelvemonth! Such was the pub- lic remuneration of a man who had been useful to his nation, but not to himself—(D'Israeli.) HONOUR TO THE BARDS. At a court held at Icolmkill, Au- ‘gust 23, 1609, by Andrew, Bishop of the Isles, at which most of the gentry of the neighbouring isles were present, amongst other good resolutions for reformation is the following :— “The which day it being consi- dered, that amongst the remanent abuses which, without reformation, chas defiled the whole isles, has been the entertainment and bearing with idle bellies, special vagabonds, bards, idle and sturdy beggars, express contrare the laws and laudable acts of Parliament ; for the remedy AUTHORS. whereof it is likewise enacted, common consent, that no bond, bard, nor profest pleasant (fool by profession), pretending liberty to bard and flatter, be received within the bounds of the said isles, by any of said special barons and gentlemen, or any other inhabitants thereof, or entertained by them, or any of them, in any sort; but in case any vagabond, bard, juggler, or such like, be cmehaean by them, or any of them, he is to be taken, and put in sure seizement and keeping in the stocks, and thereafter to be debarred forth of the country with all goodly expedi- dition,_(Geotaman'a kiana ' DIBDIN’S POEMS, I have not the smallest preten- sions to the “rhyming art,” al- though in former times I did ven- ture to dabble with it. About twelve years ago I was rash enough to publish a small volume of poems, with my name affixed. They were the productions -of my juvenile years; and I need hardly say, at this period, how ashamed I am of their authorship. The Monthly and Analytical Reviews did me the kind- ness of just tolerating them, and of . warning me not to commit any fu- ture trespass upon the premises of Parnassus. I struck off 500 copies, and was glad to get rid of half of them as waste paper; the remain- ing half has been partly destroyed by my own hands, and has partl mouldered away in oblivion amidst the dust of booksellers’ shelves. My only consolation is, that the vo- lume is exceedingly rare !—(Rev. T. F. Dibdin.) DENON AND MADAME TALLEYRAND, It is told of Madame Talleyrand, that one day her husband paving told her that Denon, the Fren savan, was coming to dinner, bid her read a little of his book on ile a a = a a TRIALS. AND MISERIES. ¢,just published, in order that ae aight Be enabled to say some- thing civil to him upon it, adding that he would leave the volume for her on his study-table. He forgot this, however, and madame, upon going into the study, found a volume of Robinson Crusoe on the table in- stead, which having read very atten- tively, she was not long in opening upon Denon after dinner about the desert island, his manner of living, &c., to the great astonishment of poor Denon, who could not make ead or tail of what she meant. At last, upon her saying, “ Lh puis, ce cher Vendredi /” he perceived she took him for no less a person than Robinson Crusoe.—(Moore.) 17 DR. YOUNG. When Dr. Young was deeply en- gaged in writing one of his trage- dies, the Duke of Wharton, who had presented him with £2000 on the publication of his Universal Passion, made him a gift of a differ- ent kind. He procured a human skull, and fixed a candle in it, and gave it to the doctor, as the most proper lamp for him to write tra- gedy by.—(Rawlinson.) JOHNSON AND HIS BEAUTIES. “The Beauties of Johnson” are said to have got money to the col- lector; if the “ Deformities” have the same success, I shall. be still amore extensive benefactor.—(Dr. Johnson.) TRIALS AND MISERIES. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Of poor, dear Dr. Goldsmith, there is little to be told more than the papers have made public. He died of a fever, made, I am afraid, more violent by uneasiness of mind. His debts began to be heavy, and all his resources were exhausted. He had raised money and squan- dered it by every acquisition and folly of expense. Sir Joshua [Rey- nolds]| is of opinion, that he owed not less than two thousand pounds. Was ever poet so trusted before 1— (Dr. Johnson.) MILTON. After Milton was driven from all public stations, he was still too great not to be traced by curiosity to his retirement, where he has been found by Mr. Richardson, the fondest of his admirers, sitting before his door in a grey coat of coarse cloth, in warm, sultry weather, to enjoy the fresh air; and so, as in his own room, receiving the visits of a few of distinguished parts as well as quality. According to another ac- count, he was seen in a small house, neatly enough dressed in black clothes, sitting in a room hung with rusty green; pale, but not cadave- rous, with chaik-stones in his hand. He said that, if it were not for the gout, his blindness would be toler- able. In the intervals of his pain, being made unable to use the com- mon exercises, he used to swing in a chair, and sometimes played upon an organ. He was at this time em- ployed upon his Paradise Lost. His domestic habits, so far as they are known, were those of a severe stu- dent. He drank little strong drink of any kind, and fed without excess in quantity, and in his earlier years, without delicacy of choice. In his youth, he studied late at night ; but. afterwards changed his hours, and: rested in bed from nine to four in the summer; and five in the winter. The course of his day was best known after he was blind. When he first rose, he heard a chapter in the Hebrew Bible, and then studied till twelve; then took some exer- cise for an hour; then dined, then layed on the organ, and sang, or neard another sing; then ‘studied B 18 to six ; then entertained his visitors till eight; then supped, and after a pipe of tobacco and a glass of water, went to bed. Milton has the repu- tation of having been in his youth eminently beautiful, so as to have been called the lady of his college. His hair, which was ofalight brown, d at the fore-top, and hung own upon his shoulders, according to the picture which he has given of Adam. He was, however, not of the heroic stature, but rather be- low the middle size, though both vigorous and active. His eyes, which are said never to have been good, weremuch weakened bystudy, and are believed to have been of little service to him after writing his Defence of the People,in answer to the Defensio Regis of Salmasius ; and as Salmasius reproached Milton, with losing his eyes in this quarrel, Milton delighted himself with the belief that he had shortened Sal- masius’ life; but both, perhaps, with more. malignity than reason. Salmasius, however, died at the Spa about two years after; and as con- troversists are commonly said to be killed by their last dispute, Milton was flattered with the credit of de- stroying him.—(Johnson’s Lives.) DEATH OF OTWAY. Otway died in his thirty-third year, in a manner which I am un- willing to mention. Having been compelled by his necessities to con- tract debts, and hunted, as is sup- posed, by the terriers of the law, he retired to a public-house on Tower Hill, where he is said to have died of want; or, as it is related by one of his biographers, by. swallowing, after a long fast, a piece of bread which charity had supplied. He Went out, as is reported, almost naked in the rage of hunger, and, finding a gentleman in aneighbour- ing coffee-house, asked him for a shilling. The gentleman gave him @ guinea; and Otway going away, AUTHORS. bought a roll, and was choked with the first mouthful. All this, [ho is not true; and there is groun better hope that Pope, who lived near enough to be well informed, relates, in Spence’s Memorials, that. he died of a fever, caught by violent. pursuit of a thief that had robbed him of his funds. But that indi- gence, and its concomitants, sorrow and despondency, pressed hard upon. him, has never been denied, what- ever immediate cause might bring him to the grave.— (Johnson’s Lives.) BURTON’S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY.. The first edition of this book was published in 1621, in 4to. The author is said to have composed it. with a view of relieving his own melancholy, but increased it to such a degree, that nothing could make him laugh, but going to the brid foot and hearing the ribaldry of the bargemen, which rarely failed to — throw him into a violent fit of laughter. Before he was overcome with this horrid disorder, he, in the intervals of his vapours, was esteem- ed one of the most facetious com- panions in the university [Christ’s. Church College, where he died at or very near the time he had some years before foretold, from the cal- culation of his own nativity, and which, says Wood, bei exact, several of the students did not for- © bear to whisper among themselves, that rather than there should be a mistake in the calculation, he sent up his soul to heaven through a slip about his neck |- (Grane DE FOE AND THE UNION. He appears to have been no great favourite in Scotland, although, while there, he published Caledonia, a poem in honour of the nation. He mentions many hair-breadth’scap which, by “his own prudence an God’s providence,” he effected; and it is not wonderful, that where almost TRIALS AND MISERIES, the whole nation was decidedly averse tothe Union, a character like De Foe, sent thither to promote it by all means, direct and indirect, should be regarded with dislike, and even pa the danger of assas- sination. The act for the Union was passed by the Scotch Parlia- ment in January, and De Foe re- turned to London in February, 1707, to write a history of that great in- ternational treaty. It is believed that his services were rewarded by a pension from Queen Anne —(Me- moirs by Mr. John Ballantyne.) MATTHEW BRAMBLE, About twenty years ago, the town was amused almost every morning by a series of humorous burlesque poems by a writer under the as- sumed name of Matthew Bramble— he was at that very moment one of the most moving spectacles of hu- man melancholy I have ever wit- nessed. It was one evening I saw a tall, famished, melancholy man enter a bookseller’s shop, his hat flapped over his eyes, and his whole frame evidently feeble from exhaus- tion and utier misery. The book- seller inquired how he proceeded in his new tragedy? “Do nottalk to me about my tragedy! Do not talk to me about my tragedy! Ihave indeed more tragedy than I can bear at home!” was the reply, as the voice faltered as he spoke. This man was Matthew Bramble, or rather M‘Donald, the author of the tragedy of Vimonda, at that mo- ment the writer of comic poetry ; his tragedy was indeed a domestic one, in which he himself was the greatest actor among a wife and seven children—he shortly after- wards perished. I heard at the time, that M‘Donald had walked from Scotland with no other for- tune than the novel of Zhe Inde- ' pendent in one pocket, and the tra- gedy of Vimonda in the other. Yet e lived some time in all the bloom 19° and fiush of poetical confidence. Vimonda was even performed several nights, but not with the suecess the romantic poet, among his native rocks, had conceived was to crown his anxious labours—the theatre disappointed him—and afterwards, to his feelings, all the world.—(D’Israeli’s Calamities of Authors.) HENRY CAREY—NAMBY-PAMBY, Henry Carey was a true son of the Muses. He is the author of several little national poems. In early life he successfully burlesqued the affected versification of Am- brose Phillips, in his baby poems ; to which he gave the fortunate appellation of “ Vamby-Pamby, a panegyrie on the new versifica- tion ;” a term descriptive in sound of these chiming follies, and now adopted in the style of criticism. Carey's Namby- Pamby was at first considered by Swift as the satirical effusion of Pope, and by Pope as the humorous ridicule of Swift. His ballad of Sally in our Alley was more than once commended for its nature by Addi- son, and is sung to this day. Of the national song, God Save the King, he was the author, both of the words and the music. He was very successful on the stage, and wrote admirable burlesques of the Italian opera, in The Dragon of Waniley, and The Dragoness ; and the mock tragedy of Chro- | nonhotonthologos is not forgotten. Among his poems lie still concealed several original pieces ; those which have a political turn are particu- larly good, for the polities of Carey were those of a poet and a patriot. Yet poor Carey, the delight of the Muses, and delighting with the Muses, experienced all their trials and all their treacheries. ‘At the time that this poet could neither walk the streets, nor be seated at the convivial board, without listen- 20 ing to his own songs and his own music—for in truth, the whole nation was echoing his verse, and crowded theatres were clapping to his wit and honour— while - this very man himself, urged by his strong humanity, had founded a’ “Fund for decayed musicians’”— at this moment was poor Carey himself so broken-hearted, and his own common comforts so utterly neglected, that, in despair, not waiting for nature to relieve him from the burthen of existence, he laid violent hands on himself ; and when found dead, had only a half- penny in his pocket! Such was the fate of the author of some of the most popular pieces in our lan- guage! He left a son who inhe- rited his misery and a gleam of his genius.—(D’Israeli’s Calamities.) JOHN MACDIARMID Was one of those Scotch stu- dents whom the golden fame of Hume and Robertson attracted to the metropolis. He mounted the first step of literary adventure with credit; and passed through the probation of editor and reviewer, till he strove for more heroic ad- ventures. He published some vo- lumes, whose subjects display the aspirings of his genius: “ An in- quiry into the nature of civil and military subordination ;’ -another into “the system of military de- fence.” It was during these labours I beheld this inquirer, of a ten- der frame, emaciated, and study- worn, with hollow eyes, where the mind dimly shone like a lamp in a tomb. With keen ardour he opened a new plan of biographical politics. When, by one who wished the author and his style were in better condition, the dangers of excess of study were brought to his recollection—he smiled, and, with something of a mysterious air, talked of unalterable confidence in Ahe powers of his mind—of the in- AUTHORS. definite improvement in our facul- ties; and, although his frame was not athletic, he considered himself capable of trying it to the extre- mity—his whole life indeed was one melancholy trial—often the da; cheerfully passed without its m but never without its page. The new system of political biography was advancing, when our young author felt a paralytic stroke. He afterwards resumed his pen, and a second one proved fatal. He lived just to pass through the press his Lives of British Statesmen, a splen- did quarto, whose publication he owed to the generous temper of a friend, who, when the author could not readily procure a publisher, would not see even the dyi author’s last hopes disappointed. Some research and reflection are combined in this lite and civil history of the sixteenth and seven- teenth centuries—but it was writ- ten with the blood of the author, for Macdiarmid died of over-study. —(D'Israeli’s Calamities.) TOBIAS SMOLLETT. Of most authors by profession— who has displayed a more fruitful genius, and exercised more intense industry, with a loftier sense of his independence, than Smollett? But look into his life and enter into his feelings, and you will be shocked at the disparity of his situation with the genius of the man. His life was a succession of struggles, vexations, and disappointments, yet of success in his writings. Smollett, who is a great poet though he has written little in verse, and whose rich genius had composed the most original pictures of human life, was compelled by his wants to debase his name by selling it to voyages and translations, which he never could have read. When he had worn himself down in the ser- vice of the public or the booksel- lers, there remained not, of all his the editions of his works. TRIALS AND MISERIES. 21 slender remunerations, in the last stage of life, sufficient to convey him to a cheap country and a re- storative air on the cia Smollett ually perishing in a foreign Toe te by an ad- miring public, and without fresh resources from the booksellers, who were ‘receiving the income of his works—threw out his injured feel- ings in the character of Bramble ; the warm generosity of his temper, but not his genius, seemed fleeting with his breath. Yet when Smol- let died, and his widow in a foreign land was raising a plain monument over his dust, her love and her iety but “made the little less.” Khe erished in friendless solitude! Yet Smollett dead—soon an orna- mented column it raised at the place of his birth, while the grave of the author seemed to multiply There are indeed grateful feelings in the public at Mees for a. favourite author; but the awful testimony of those feelings by its gradual pro- gress, must appear beyond the grave! . They visit the . column consecrated by his name, and his features are most loved, most vene- rated, in the bust.—(D’Israeli’s Ca- lamities.) DE LOLME. I do not know an example in our literary history that so loudly accuses our tardy and phlegmatic feeling respecting authors, as the treatment De Lolme experienced in this country. His book on our constitution still enters into the studies of an English patriot, and is not the worse for flattering and elevating the imagination, painting everything beautiful, to encourage our love as well as our reverence for the most perfect system of go- vernments. It was a noble as well as an ingenious effort in a foreigner —but could not obtain even indi- vidual patronage. The fact is mor- tifying to record, that the author, who wanted every aid, received less encouragement than if he had solicited subscriptions for a raving novel, or an idle poem. De Lolme was compelled to traffic with book- sellers for this work; and, as he was a theoretical rather than a practical politician, he was a bad’ trader, and acquired. the smallest remuneration. He lived, in the country to which he had rendered a national service, in extreme ob- security and decay; and the walls of the Fleet too often inclosed the English Montesquieu. He never appears to have received a solitary attention (except from the hand of literary charity, having been more than once relieved by the Literary Fund), and became so disgusted with authorship, that he preferred silently -to endure its poverty, rather than its other vexations. He ceased almost to write. Of De LolmeT have heard little recorded, but his high-mindedness; a strong sense that he stood degraded be- neath that rank in society which his book entitled him to enjoy. The cloud of poverty that covered him, only veiled without conceal- ing its object; with the manners and dress of a decayed: gentleman, he still showed the few who met him, that he cherished a spirit, perpetually’ at variance with the adversity ‘of his circumstances.— (D’Israeli.) ~ 23 AUTHORS. LEARNING AND LABOURS. PROFESSOR PORSON. ‘Porson by no means excelled in ‘eonversation ; he neither wrote nor spoke with facility. His elocution was perplexed and embarrassed, except where he was exceedingly intimate, but there was strong in- dication of intellect in his counte- nance, and whatever he said was manifestly founded on judgment, sense, and knowledge. Composition was no less diflicult to him. Upon one occasion he undertook to write a dozen lines upon a subject which he had much turned in his mind, and with which he was exceedingly familiar. But the number of era- sures and interlineations was so great as to render it hardly legible; yet, when completed, it was, and is, a memorial of his sagacity, acute- ness, and erudition, It is sufficiently notorious that - our friend was not remarkably at- tentive to the decoration of his person; indeed, he was at times disagreeably negligent. On one occasion he went to visit a learned friend, afterwards a judge, where a gentleman, who did not know Por- son, was waiting in anxious and impatient expectation of the barber. On Porson’s entering the -library, where the gentleman was sitting, he started up and hastily said to Porson, “Are you the barber?” “No, sir,” replied Porson, “but I am a cunning shaver, much at your service.” His peculiarities and failings have been by some too harshly pointed out and commented upon, without due consideration of how exceed- ingly they were counterbalanced by the most extraordinary and most valuable endowments. Of what importance is it, that when he shaved himself he would walk u and down his room, conversing with whomsoever might happen to be present; that he knew the precise number of steps from his apartment to the houses of those of his friends with whom he was the most inti- mate, which, by the way, in the metropolis, must have been strongly indicative of a mind not easily made to swerve from its purpose; that at one period he was remarkably fond of the theatre, and all at once, as it were, ceased to frequent it? The circumstance most remarkable con- cerning his habits and propensities is, that he latterly became a hoarder of money, and, when he died, had _ not less than two thousand pounds in the funds. Al! these, however, are minor subjects of reflection. In him criticism lost the most able, most expert, mostaccomplished sup- port of her sceptre ; learning one of its greatest ornaments. His know- ledge was far more extensive than was generally understood, or ima- gined,or believed. ‘There are vi few languages with which he not some acquaintance. His dis- cernment and acuteness in correct- ing what was corrupt, and explain- ing what was difficult and perplexed, were almost intuitive; and, in ad- dition to all this, his taste was ele- gant and correct. His recitations and repetitions were, it must be confessed, sometimes tedious and irksome, which would not, however, have been the case, unless they had been too often heard before, for he never repeated anything that was not ¢ ized by excellence of some kind or other.—(Beloe’s Sexa- genarian.) GIBBON’S ROMAN EMPIRE. It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the capitol, while the bare-footed friars were singing ee LEARNING AND LABOURS. vespers in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the Decline and Fall of the city first started to my mind. But my original plan was circumscribed to the decay of the city rather than of the empire: and, though-my reading and reflec- tions began to point towards that object, some years elapsed, and seve- = avocations intervened, before I was seriously engaged in the execu- tion of that laborious work.—(Gib- bon.) _ BUCHANAN’S SCOTLAND. | Tf Buchanan’s history had been - written ona subject far enough back, all the world might have mistaken it for a piece writ in the Augustan age! It is not only his words that are so pure, but his entire manner of writing is of that age—(Dean Lockier.) LEYDEN—“ COMPLAYNT OF SCOT- LAND.” ' A new edition of an ancient and singularly rare tract, bearing this title, written by an uncertain au- thor, about the year 1548, was pub- lished in 1801, by Dr. Leyden. As the tract was itself of a diffuse and comprehensive nature, touching up- on many unconnected topics, both of scare policy and private life, as well as treating of the learning, the poetry, the music, and the arts of that early period; it gave Leyden an opportunity of pouring forth such a profusion of antiquarian knowledge in the ey dis- sertation, notes, and glo , as one would have thought could hardly have been accumulated during so short a life, dedicated, too, to so many and varied studies. The in- timate acquaintance which he has displayed with Scottish antiquities of every kind, frém manuscript his- tories and -rare chronicles down to the tradition of the peasant, and the thymes even of the nursery, evince an extent of research, power of ar- rangement, and facility of recollec- 23 tion, which have never been equalled in this department. This singular work was the means of introducing Leyden to the notice and corre- spondence of Mr. Ritson, the cele- brated antiquary, who, in a journey to Scotland, in the next summer, found nothing which delighted him so much as the conversation of the editor of the Complaynt of Scotland, in whose favour he smoothed down and softened the natural asperity of hisown disposition. The friendship, however, nen — two authors was broken off by Leyden’s running his Border hobby-horse a full tilt against the Pythagorean palfrey of the English antiquary. Ritson, it must be well remembered, written a work against the use of animal food ; Leyden, on the other hand, maintained it was a part of a masculine character to eat what- ever came to hand, whether the substance was vegetable or animal, cooked or uncooked ; and he con- cluded a tirade to this purpose, by eating a raw beef-steak before the. terrified antiquary, who neverafter- wards could be prevailed upon to regard him, except as a kind of learned ogre—(Memoirs by Sir Walter Scott.) DANTE’S COMEDIA. Dante wrote before we began at all to be refined ; and, of course, his eelebrated poem. is a sort of Gothic work. He is very singular and very beautiful in his similes, and more like Homer than any of our ts since, . He was prodigiously earned for the time he lived in, and knew all that a man could then know. His poem got the name of Comedia after his death. He, in that piece, had called Virgil’s works i (or sublime poetry), and, in deference to him, ‘his own comedy (or low); and hence was that word used afterwards by mis- take, for the title of his poem— (Ficoroni.) 24° DR. SAMUEL PARR. It may very reasonably be ques- tioned whether the services which Dr. Parr has done to the world have been adequate to his ability or his knowledge. . Much is to be allowed, however, for that want of leisure and opportunity which every man of letters must feel whose con- stant and necessary occupation is the instruction of youth. To the character of a profound scholar, though the printed testimonies he has afforded us may have been slen- der, none shall dare to dispute his claim ; and were our remaining pos- sessions of Greek and Latin authors to share the fate of the celebrated Alexandrian Library, we believe that this gigantie proficient could afford us, from recollection, a very tolerable idea of Grecian and Ro- man literature. Of the English style of Dr. Parr it has been said that it unites the strength of John- son with the richness of Burke— (Literary Memoirs, 1798.) AINSWORTH’S DICTIONARY. When Mr. Ainsworth was en- gaged in the laborious work of his AUTHORS. Dictionary of the Latin language, his wife made heavy complaints at — enjoying so little of his society. When he had reached the letter 8 of his work, the patience of his hel meet was completely oxhautens and, in a fit of ill-nature, she re- venged herself for the loss of his company, by committing the whole — manuscript tothe flames! Such an accident would have deterred most men from prosecuting the under- taking; but the persevering indus- try of Ainsworth repaired the loss ofthis manuscript by the most assi- duous application. LADY M. WORTLEY MONTAGU. When I was young I was a vast admirer of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and that was one of the chief rea- sons that set me upon the thoughts of stealing the Latin langaaees, mee Wortley was the only person to whom I communicated my design ; and he encouraged meinit. Iused to study five or six hours a-day for two years in my father’s library, and so got that language, whilst everybody thought I was reading nothing but novels and romances, —(Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.) WIT AND HUMOUR. THOMAS CAMPBELL.—UNIVERSITY SPREE. seh A respectable apothecary named Fife had a shop in the Trongate of Glasgow (when Campbell, at the age of seventeen, was attending the University of that city in 1795), with: this notice in his window, printed in lange letters, “ Lars pierced by A. Fife;” meaning the operation to which young ladies. submit for the sake of wearing ear- rings. Mr. Fife’s next door neigh- bour was a citizen of the name of Drum, a spivit-dealer, whose win- dows exhibited various samples of the liquors which he sold. *The worthy shopkeepers having become alienated by jealousy in trade, Thomas Campbell and two trusty college chums fell upon the. fol- lowing expedient for reconciling them. During the darkness of night, long before the streets of Glasgow were lighted with gas, Camp and. his two associates having pro- cured a long fir-deal, had it ex- tended from window to window of the two contiguous shops, with this inscription from Othello, which it fell to the youthful poet, as his share of the practical joke, to paint in flaming capitals :— “THE SPIRIT-STIRRING DRUM, THE EAR-PIERCING FIFE.” Hitherto (observes Campbell’s bio- WIT AND HUMOUR, grapher) the two neighbours had pursued very distinct callings ; but, to their utter surprise, a sudden co- partnership had been struck during the night, and Fife and Drum were now united in the same martial line. A great sensation was produced in the morning, when, of course, the new co-partnery was suddenly dis- solved. Campbell was, after some inquiry, found to have been the sign-painter, and threatened with ins and penalties, which were, ee ome into a severe reprimand, suggesting to the poet the words of Parolles i “Tl no more drumming: a plague of all Drums.” SHERIDAN AND RICHARDSON. Lord John Russell told us a good trick of Sheridan’s upon Richard- son. Sheridan had been driving out three or four hours in a hack- ney coach, when, seeing Richardson pass, he hailed him and made him et in, He instantly contrived to introduce a topic upon which Rich- “ ardson (who was the very soul of disputatiousness) always differed with him; and at last, affecting to be mortified at Richardson’s argu- ments, said, “You really are too bad, I cannot bear to listen to such things; I will not stay in the same coach with you.” And accordingly Bot down and left him, Richardson allooing out triumphantly, “ Ah, you're beat, you’re beat!” Nor was it till the heat of his victory had a little cooled, that he found out he was left in the lurch to pay for Sheridan’s three hours’ dnchtoes= (Diary of Thomas Moore.) DUNS SCOTUS, This eminent theologian and scholar of the ninth century, known as the “subtle doctor,” combined with his philosophic genius a cor- dial love of pleasantry. Charles the Bald, when seated opposite to 25 him at table, asked him archly, “ What is the distance between a Scot anda sot?” “The width of the table,” was the ready answer, which drew a smile from the king. SYDNEY SMITH AND THOS. CAMPBELL, I met Sydney Smith (wrote Campbell) the other day. “ Camp- bell,” he said, “we met last, two years ago, in Fleet Street-; and, as you may remember, we got into a violent argument, but were sepa- rated by a waggon, and have never met since. Let us have out that argument now. Do you recollect the subject?’ “No,” I said, “I have clean forgotten the subject ; but I remember that I was in the right, and that you were violent, and in the wrong!” I had scarcely uttered these words, when a violent shower came on. I took refuge in a shop, and he in a cab. He parted with a proud threat that he would renew the argument the next time we met, “ Very well,” I said, “ but you shan’t get off again, either ina waggon or a cab.” DR. BUCKLAND—FORCE OF IMAGINA- TION. This distinguished geologist one day gave a dinner, after dissecting a Mississippi alligator, having aske a good many of the most distin- ished of his classes to dine with im. His house and all his estab- lishment were in good style and taste. His guests congregated ; the dinner tableshowed splendidly, with glass, china and plate, and the meak commenced with excellent soup. “How do you like the soup?” asked the Doctor, after having fin- ished his own plate, addressing a famous gourmand of the day. “Very good, indeed,” answered the other. “Turtle, is it not? I only ask because I do not find any green fat.” The Doctor shook his head. “T think it has somewhat of a 26 musky taste,” said another; “not unpleasant, but peculiar.” “All alligators have,’ replied Buckland ; “the cayman peculiarly so. The fellow whom I dissected this morning, and whom you have just been eating—” There was a general rout of the whole guests. Every one turned pale. Half a dozen started up from the table. Two or three of them ran out of the room and vomited; and only those who had stout sto- machs remained to the close of an excellent entertainment. “See what imagination is,” said Buckland. “If I told them it was turtle, or terrapin, or bird’s-nest soup—salt water amphibia or fresh, or the gluten of a fish from the maw of a sea-bird, they would have pro- nounced it excellent, and their di- gestion been none the worse. Such is prejudice.” “ But was it really an alligator?” asked a lady. “ As good a calf’s head as ever ler a coronet,” answered Buck- and. SHERIDAN. Shaw, having lent Sheridan near £500, used to dun him very con- siderably for it; and one day, when he had been rating §. about the debt, and insisting that he must be paid, the latter, having played off some of his plausible wheedling upon him, ended by saying that he ‘was very much in want of £25 to pay the expenses of a journey he was about to take, and he knew Shaw would be good-natured enough to lend it to him. “’Pon my word,” says Shaw, “this is too bad; after keeping me out of my money in so shameful a manner, you now have the face to ask me for more; but it won't do; I must be paid m money, and it is most di fal,” &e., &e. “My dear fellow,” says Sheridan, “hear reason; the sum you ask me for is a very consider- AUTHORS. able one; whereas I ask you for five-and-twenty pounds.” —- ‘ CAUSE AND EFFECT. Charles Lamb tells a story of a rencontre with a. fellow-traveller, which illustrates his iar hu- mour. “We travelled,” says he, “with one of those troublesome fel- low-passengers in a stage coach that is called 9 welsmibiaee man. For twenty miles we discoursed about the properties of steam, probabilities of carriage by ditto, till all my science, and more than all, was ex- hausted, and I was thinking of escaping my torment by getting up on the outside, when getting into Bishop’s Stortford, my gen spying some farming land, put an unlucky question tome—‘ Whatsort of a crop of turnips I thought we should have this year.’ temas eyes turned to me, to know what in the world I could have to say; and she burst out into a violent fit of laughter, maugre her pale, serious cheeks, when, with the greatest gravity, I replied, that ‘it depended, I believed, upon boiled legs of mut- ton.’ 2? DON QUIXOTE, We are here presented with an instance of that species of partial madness, which occours not unfre- quently a eae worthy man, in other respects of a sound ju ment, has his head so prot a reading books of chivalry, that he sees nothing in nature but castles and palaces, giants and enchanters. Into these he transforms everything he meets with; and the author has very happily chosen the meanest objects of common life for the sub- ject of this metamorphosis. The~ striking contrasts which are thus produced, the monstrous mistakes. and ludicrous distresses of the hero, are painted in so lively a manner as to render this the most ble performance perhaps that the wit of man evar Prauael- Seer Morality of Fiction.) ‘ a i : | | a DECEPTIONS. 27 DECEPTIONS. DE FOE AND THE GHOST THAT MADE THE BOOK SELL. An adventurous bookseller had ventured to print a considerable edition of Drelincourt’s Book of Ct ion against the Fears of Death, translated by M. D’ Assigny. But, however certain the prospect of death, it is not so agreeable (un- fortunately) as to invite the eager contemplation of the public, and the book, being neglected, lay a dead stock on the hands of the publisher. Tn this emergency he applied to De Foe to assist him in rescuing the unfortunate book from the liter- ary death to which general neglect seemed about to consign it. De Foe’s genius and audacity devised a plan, which, for assurance and in- nuity, defied even the powers of Mr. Put in the Critic; for who but himself would have thought of sum- moning up a ghost from the grave to bear witness in favour ofa halting body of divinity? There is a mat- ter-of-fact, business like style in the whole account of the transaction, | which bespeaks ineffable powers of self-possession. The apparition of Mrs. Veal is represented as appear- ing to a Mrs. Bargrave, her intimate friend, as she sat in her own house in deep contemplation of certain distresses of her own, After the ghostly visitor had announced her- self as prepared for a distant jour- ney, her friend and she began to talk in the homely style of middle- aged ladies, and Mrs. Veal proses concerning the conversations they had formerly held, and the books they had read together. Her very recent experience probably led Mrs. Veal to talk of death and the books written on the subject, and she pro- nounced, ea cathedra, as a dead per- son was best entitled to do, that “Drelincourt’s book on death was the best book on the subject ever written.” She also mentioned Dr. Sherlock, two Dutch books which had been translated, and several others ; but Drelincourt, she said, had the clearest notions of death and the future state ofany who had handled that subject. She then asked for the work, and lectured on it with great eloquence and af- fection. Dr. Kenrick’s Ascetick was also mentioned with approbation by this critical spectre (the Doctor's work was no doubt a tenant of the shelf in some favourite publisher’s shop), and Mr. Norris’ poem on Friendship, a work which, I doubt, though honoured with the ghost’s approbation, we may now seek for as vainly as Corelli tormented his memory to recover the sonata which the devil played to him in a dream. The whole account is so distinctly circumstantial, that, were it not for the impossibility, or extreme im- probability at least, of such an oc- currence, the evidence could not but support the story. The effect was most wonderful. Drelincourt wpon Death, attested by one who could speak from ex- erates, took an unequalled run. he copies had hung on the book- « * seller’s hands as heavy as a pile of bullets. They now traversed the town in every direction, like the . same balls discharged from a field- iece. In short, the object of Mrs. eal’s apparition was perfectly at- tained.—(Scott’s Memoir of De Foe.) EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. Mr. Foster had, in the early part of his life, been selected by old i imaed Wortley Mon »(bus- band of the celebrated Lady Mary), to superintend the education of that very eccentric character, the late Edward Wortley Montagu. Young Montagu, after thrice running away from his tutor,and being discovered 28 by his father’s valet crying floun- ders about the streets of Deptford, was sent to the West Indies, whither Foster accompanied him. On their return to England a good-natured stratagem was practised to obtain a temporary supply of money from old Montagu, and, at the same time, to give him a favourable opinion of his son’s attention to a particular species of erudition. The stratagem was this :—Foster wrote a book which he entitled, Zhe Rise and Fall of the Roman Republics. To this he subjoined the name of Edward Wortley Montagu, jun., Esq. Old Wortley seeing the book advertised, sent for his son, and gave him a bank note of one hun- dred pounds, promising him a simi- lar present for every new edition which the book should pass through. It was well received, and therefore a second edition occasioned a second supply. It is now in libraries with the name of Wortley Montagu pre- fixed as the author, although he did not write a line of it—(L. T. Rede’s Anecdotes. London. 1799.) ; AUTHORS. DR. JOHNSON’S SERMONS, ETC. The papers in the Adventurer, signed with the letter T., are com- monly attributed to one of Mr. Johnson’s earliest and most inti- mate friends, Mr. Bathurst the bookseller; but there is reason to believe they were written by John- son, and by him given to his friend. At that time Johnson was himself engaged in writing the Rambler, and could ill afford to make a pre- sent of his labours, The various other pieces he gave away have conferred fame, and probably for- tune, on several persons, to the great disgrace of some of his cleri- cal friends; forty sermons, which he himself tells us he wrote, have not yet been deterré—(L. T. Rede’s Anecdotes. London. 1799.) [Query: Are the sermons here alluded to those left for publication by John Taylor, LL.D., which havelong been recognized as the genuine produc- tion of the learned lexicographer? —(See a letter of Dr. Beattie’s, o: date October 31, published in his life by Sir W. Forbes.) TENDERNESS AND AFFECTION, DR. CHALMERS. The simplicity and tenderness of Dr. Chalmers’s character have never been better illustrated than in the details given in the, follow- ing passage from the Memoir by Dr. ai— “Tn the spring of 1845, Dr. Chal- mers visited his native village. It almost looked as if he came to take farewell, and as if that peculiarity of old age which sends it back to the days of childhood for its last earthly reminiscences, had for a time} and prematurely, taken hold of him. His special object seemed to be to revive the recollections of his boyhood — gathering Johnny- Groats by the sea-beach of the Bil- lowness, and lilacs from an ancient hedge, taking both away to be laid up in his repositories at Edinburgh. Not a place or person familiar to him in earlier years was left unvi- sited. On his way to the church- yard, he went up the very road along which he had gone of old to the parish school. Slipping into a poor-looking dwelling by the way, he said to his companion, Dr, Wil- liamson, ‘I would just like to see the ey where Lizzy Geen’s water- bucket used to stand? —the said water-bucket having been a fa- ae haunt oF ec over-heated all-players, an izzy & % vcnrite for the free Ge ai allowed to it. He called on two contemporaries of his boyhood, one of whom he had not seen for forty- five, the other for fifty-two years, and took the most boyish delight TENDERNESS AND AFFECTION. in recognizing how the ‘mould of antiquity had gathered upon their features, and in recounting stories of his school-boy days. ‘James,’ said he to the oldest of the two, a tailor, now upwards of eighty, who in those days had astonished the children, and himself among the number, with displays of superior knowledge, ‘you were the first man that ever gave me something like a correct notion of the form of the earth. I knew that it was round, but I thought always that it was round like a shilling, till you told me that it was round like a marble.’ ‘Well, John, said he to the other, whose face, like his own, had suf- fered severely from small-pox in his childhood ; ‘you and I have had one advantage over folk with finer faces—theirs have been aye getting the waur, but ours have been aye getting the better o’ the wear! e dining-room of his grand- father’s house had a fireplace fitted up behind with Dutch tiles, adorned with various quaint devices, upon which he had used to feast his eyes in boyish wonder and delight. These he now sought out most diligently, but was grieved to find them all so blackened and be- grimed by the smoke of half-a- century, that not one of his old windmills or burgomasters was visible. To one apartment he felt a peculiar tie, as having been ap- propriated exclusively to his use in his college days, when the love of solitary study was at times a passion. But the most interesting visit of all was to Barnsmuir, a place a few miles from Anstruther, on the way to Crail. In his school- boy days it had been oceupied by Capt. R——, whose eldest daugh- ter rode in daily on a little pony to the school at Anstruther. Dr. Chalmers was then a boy of from twelve to fourteen years of age, but he was not too young for an attachment of a singularly tena- 29 cious hold. Miss R——- was mar- ried (I believe while he was yet at college) to Mr. F——,, and his op- portunities of seeing her in after- life were few, but that early im- pression never faded from his heart. At the time of his visit to Anstru- ther in 1845, she had been dead for many years, but, at Dr. Chalmers’s particular request, her younger sis- » ter met him at Barnsmuir. Having made the niost affectionate inquiries about Mrs. F and her family, he inquired particularly about her death, receiving with deep emotion the intelligence that she had died in the full Christian hope, and that some of his own letters to her sister had served to soothe and comfort her latest hours. “Mrs. W——,” said he eagerly, “is there a portrait of your sister anywhere in this house?” She took him to a room, and pointed to a profile which hung upon the wall. He planted himself before it—gazed on it with intense earnestness — took down the pic- ture, took out his card, and, by two wafers fixed it firmly on the back of the portrait, exactly opposite to the face. Having replaced the like- ness, he stood before it and burst into a flood of tears, accompanied by the warmest expressions of at- tachment. After leaving the house, he sauntered in silence round the garden, buried in old recollections, heaving a sigh occasionally, and muttering to himself—*“ More than forty years ago!” JEFFREY’S PLAYFULNESS AND AFFECTION. The gentle and playful disposition of the distinguished reviewer of the Edinburgh, is finely illustrated in the following letter to his grand- child :-— “My sonsy Naney!—I love you very much, and think very often of your dimples and your pimples, and your funny little plays, and all your pretty ways; and 1 send you my 30 blessing, and wish I were kissing your sweet rosy lips, or your fat finger tips ; and that you were here so that I could hear your stammer- ing words, from a mouthful of curds; and a great purple tongue (as broad as it’s long); and see your round eyes open wide with surprise, and your wondering look to find your- self at Craigerook! To-morrow is Maggie’s birthday, and we have built up a great bonfire in honour of it; and Maggie Rutherfurd (do you remember her at all?) is coming out to dance round it; and all the servants are to drink her health, and wish her many happy days with you and Frankie; and all the ipacyaen and papas, whether grand or not a We are very glad to hear she and you love each other so well, and are happy in making each other happy, and that you do not forget dear Tarley or Frankie when they are out of sight, nor Granny either, or even old Granny pa, who is in most danger of being forgotten, he thinks.” Here is another exquisite letter to one of his grandchildren, when its writer was in his seventy-fifth year :— “ Craigcrook, June 21, 1847. “A high day! and a holiday! the longestand the brightest of the year; the very middle day of the sum- mer, and the very day when Mag- gie first opened her sweet eyes on the light! Bless you ever, my dar- ling and bonny bairn. You have now blossomed beside us for six pleasant years, and been all that time the light of our eyes and the love of our hearts; at first the cause ofsome tender fears from your weak- ness and delicacy, then of some litile Spat from your too great ove, as we thought, of your own will and amusement, but now only of love and admiration for your gentle obedience to your parents, and your sweet yielding to the, 2 a AUTHORS. - wishes of your younger sister and brother. God bless and you. then for ever, my deli and. ever-improving child, and make you not only gay and happy as an angel without sin and sorrow, but meek and mild like that heavenly Child, who was once sent down to earth for our example. Well, the sun is shining brightly on our towers and trees, and the great bonfire is all piled up and ready to be lighted, when we come out after drinki your health at dinner; and we have got a great blue and yellow flag hung out on the tower, wavi proudly in the wind, and telling all fe country rabeos that this is a y of rejoicing and thanksgivi and wishes of hacplenaa with all who live under its shadow. And the servants are all to have a fine dinner, and wine and whisky to drink to your health, and all the young Christies (thatis, thenew dener’s children) will be taught to repeat your name with blessings; and when they are drawn up round. the bonfire will wonder a little, I dare say, what sort of a creature this Miss Maggie can be, that we are making all this fuss about! and so you must take care, when you come, to be good enough and pretty enough, to make them understand why we all so love and honour you. Frankie and Tarley have been talk- ing a great deal about you this morning already, and Granny is going to take them, and Rutherfurd and her brother, down to the sea at Cramond, that they may tell the fishes and the distant _ shores what a happy and a hopeful day it is to them, and to us all. And so bless you again, my sweet one, for this and future years. Think kindly of one who thinks always of you, and believe, that of all who love you there is none who has loved you better or longer, or more constantly, than your loving Grandpa.” —(Life of Lord Jeffrey.) ae WHIMS AND CAPRICES. 3t IRRITABILITY AND VANITY. ‘ROUSSEAU AND DAVID HUME. In 1762, the Parliament of Paris issued an arret against Jean Jacques Rousseau, on account of his opinions, and the good offices of David Hume were engaged to find him a retreat in England. He was established comfortably in the mansion of Mr. Davenport, at Wooton, in Derbyshire. This vain man appeared in public in London wearing an Armenian dress, which of course attracted much notice ; and so long as he was an object of curi- osity, his vanity found ample gra- tification. But being irritable as ng be ag whenever the Dent of his first a ance in began to su mide, and he found himself exposed to the animadver- ~ sions of the press, he became dis- satisfied and jealous, and quarrelled with his benefactor, Hume, whom he accused of conceiving horrible designs inst him. Rousseau has related an amusing interview with Hume at the time when he entertained this morbid suspicion of the historian’s sincerity. The contrast betwixt the phlegmatic reserve of Hume, and the violent effervescence of the Genevese phi- losopher is highly characteristic. The scene arose out of a dispute about the payment of a return Patan we were sitting one evening, r supper, silently by the fireside, I Gackt his tg in- tently fixed on mine, as indeed happened very often ; and that ina manner of which it is very difficult. to give an idea, At that time he gave me a steadfast, piercing look, mixed with a sneer, which greatly disturbed me. To get rid of the embarrassment I lay under, I en- deavoured to look full at him in my turn; but in fixing my eyes against his, I felt the most inex- pressible terror, and was obliged soon to turn them away. ‘The speech and physiognomy of the good David is that of an honest man; but where, great God! did this good man borrow those eyes he fixes so sternly and unaccountably on those of his friends? The im- pression of this look remained with me, and gave me much uneasiness. My trouble increased even to a de- gree of fainting; and if I had not been relieved by an effusion of tears I had been suffocated. Pre- sently after this I was seized with the most violent remorse; I even despised myself; till at length, ina transport, which I still remember with delight, I sprang on his neck, embraced him eagerly, while almost. ‘choked with sobbing, and bathed in tears, I cried out in broken ac- cents, No, no, David Hume cannot be treacherous. If he be not the best of men, he must be the basest. of mankind. David Hume politely returned my embraces, and, gently tapping me on the back, repeated several times, in a good-natured and easy tone, Why, what, my dear sir! nay, my dear sir! O, my dear sir! He said nothing more. I felt my heart yearn within me. We went to bed ; and I set out the next day’for the country.” WHIMS AND CAPRICES. A MAD AUTHOR. An insane author, once placed in confinement, employed most of his time in writing. One night, being thus engaged by aid of a bright moon, a slight cloud passed over the luminary, when, in an impetu- ous manner, he called out—* Arise, Oo? a2 Jupiter, and snuff the moon.” The cloud became thicker, and he ex- claimed —“The stupid! he has _ snuffed it out.” AUTHORS NOT THE BEST JUDGES OF THEIR OWN WRITINGS. It is known that Milton preferred his Paradise Regained to his divine poem of Paradise Lost. Virgil is recorded to have ordered, on his deathbed, that the 4/neid should be burnt, because he did not think it sufficiently finished for publica- tion; and it is to the disobedience of his executors that we are indebted for the possession of that exquisite performance. ‘Tasso new-modelled andinjured his Gierusalemme Liber- ata. And it may reasonably be doubted, from the specimen which Akenside has left of the manner in which he intended to alter his Pleasures of Imagination, whether that beautiful poem would have been improved by the experiment, had he lived to finish it. Sir William Forbes, in his Life of Dr. - Beattie, adduces his omitting, in the late editions of his poems, of several beautiful pieces published in his first collection, and reprinting others of inferior poetical merit, as another of the many instances of AUTHORS, authors differing from the general opinion. RABELAIS, Rabelais had writ some sensible , pieces, which the world did not re- gard at all. “I will write some- thing,” says he, “that they shall take notice of;” and so sat down to write nonsense. Everybody allows that there are several things without any manner of meaning in his Pantag- ruel. Dr. Swift likes it much, and thinks there are more good things in it than I do.—(Pope.) CAPRICES AND CONTRADICTIONS. A More, fiercely persecuting for opinion while writing in favour of the rights of thought; a Bacon, teaching morals and taking bribes ; a La Fontaine, writing intrigues while avoiding, in his own person, a single amour; a Young, making wretched puns and writing Wight Thoughts; a Sterne, beating his wife and crying over a dead ass; a melancholy Cowper, gasping out the laughter-moving story of John Gilpin: truly that chapter which shall have to deal with all the oddi- ties and anomalies of the literary life must be long and curious, in- finitely various in its illustrations, and deep in its insight and its philosophy.—(Athenzeum.) ANTIQUARIANISM. FROISSART. I rejoice you have met with Froissart, he is the Herodotus of a barbarous age; had he but had the luck of writing in as good language, he might have been immortal! His locomotive disposition (for then there was no other way of learning things); his simple curiosity, his religious crédulity, were much like those of the old Grecian —(Thomas Gray to Mr. Nicholls.) [In a letter ‘to Dr. Wharton more than ten years before this, he says] Froissart is a favourite book of mine (though T have not attentively read them, but only dipped here and there) ; and it is strange to me that people, who would give thousands for a dozen portraits (originals of that time) to furnish a gallery, should never cast an eye on so many mov- ing pictures of the life, actions, manners, and thoughts of their an- cestors, done on the spot, and in strong, though simple colours. In the succeeding century Froissart, T find, was read with great satisfac- tion by everybody that could read ; and on the same footing with King CONVERSATION. Arthur, Sir Tristram, and Arch- bishop Turpin: not because they thought him a fabulous writer, but because they took them all for true and authentic historians ; to so little purpose was it in that age for a man to be at the pains of writing truth. AN ANTIQUARY. He is a man strangely thrifty of a3” wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do cheese) the better for being mouldy and worm-eaten. He is of our religion, because we say it is most ancient; and yet a broken - statue would almost make him an idolater. A great admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and reads only those characters, where time hath eaten out the letters. time past, and an enemy indeed to | He will go with you forty miles to his maw, whence he fetches out see a saint’s well or a ruined abbey ; many things when they are now) all rotten and stinking. He is one, and there be but a cross or stone footstool in the way, hell be con- that hath that unnatural disease | sidering it so long, till he forget his to be enamoured of old age and journey.—(Bishop Earle.) CONVERSATION. PESCARTES, LA FONTAINE, MARMON- TEL, CORNEILLE, BUTLER, ADDISON, ROUSSEAU, MILTON, ETC. Descartes, the famous mathema- tician and philosopher; La Fontaine, celebrated for his witty fables; and Buffon, the great naturalist, were all singularly deficient in the powers of conversation. Marmontel, the novelist, was so dull in society that, his friend said of him, after an in- terview, “I must go and read his tales to recompense myself for the weariness of hearing him.” As to Corneille, the greatest dramatist of France, he was completely lost in society—so absent and embarrassed that he wrote of himself a witty couplet,importing that he was never intelligible but through the mouth of another. Wit on paper seems to be something widely different from that play of words in conversation, which, while it sparkles, dies; for Charles IL., the wittiest monarch that ever sat on the English throne, was so charmed with the humour of Hudibras, that he caused himself to be introduced, in the character of a private gentleman, to Butler, its author. The witty king found the author a very dull companion, and was of opinion, with many others, that so stupid a fellow could never have written so clever a book. Ad- dison, whose classic elegance has long been considered the model of style, was shy and absent in society, preserving, even before a single stranger, stiff and dignified silence. . . . In conversation Dante was ta- citurn or satirical. Gray and Alfieri seldom talked or smiled. Rousseau was remarkably trite in conversa- tion; not a word of fancy or elo- quence warmed him, Milton was unsocial, and even irritable, when much pressed by talk of others, Dryden has very honestly told us, “My conversation is dull and slow, my humour is saturnine and re- served; in short, Iam not one of those who endeavour to break jest in company, or make repartees,’— (Salad for the Solitary.) - c 34 AUTHORS. AMANUENSES OF AUTHORS. MILTON’S PARADISE LOST. Milton was blind when he com- posed that immortal work, the ‘ “Paradise Lost.” His daughters were his amanuenses. Nor did they merely write what he dictated; but they read to him from day to day whatever classical or other authors he might wish to consult in the way of reference, or to relax or invigorate his mind. But read- ing to their father the Greek and Latin authors must have been very tedious to them, as it is said they were quite ignorant of both those ancient languages. GOLDSMITH’S TRIAL. A voluminous author was one day expatiating on the advantages of employing an amanuensis, and thus saving time and the trouble of writing. “How do you manage it?” said Goldsmith. “Why, I walk , about the room, and dictate to a . clever man, who puts down very correctly all that I tell him, so that I have nothing to do more than just to look over the manuscript, and then send it to the press.” Goldsmith was delighted with the information, and desired his friend to send the amanuensis the next morning. The scribe accord- ingly waited upon the Doctor, with the implements of pens, ink, and paper placed in order before him, ready to catch the oracle. Gold- smith paced the room with great solemnity, several times, for some time; but, after racking his brains to no purpose, he put his hand into his pocket, and, presenting the amanuensis with a guinea, said, “Tt won’t do, my friend, I find that my head and hand must go to- gether.” DWIGHT’S THEOLOGY. Dr. Timothy Dwight, of New- haven, prepared his System of Theology for the press in his old age, when his defective sight no longer enabled him to Has pen. He dictated to an amanuensis that long and eloquent course of sermons on the various doctrines of religion, which will carry down his name through coming time, and spread his influence over the world. WILBERFORCE. The style of Wilberforce’s Prac- tical View of the Prevailing Re- ligious System, on the appearance of that elegant essay, was charac- terized as possessing all the fluency, ease, and e of an unwritten ad- dress, and all the author’s skill in debate and Parliamentary tact. It turned out that the work had not been written, but dictated to an amanuensis while the author walked backward and forward in his study. SIR WALTER SCOTT'S AMANUENSIS. William Laidlaw (author of the beautiful song of “ Lucy’s Flittin’ ””),. and John Ballantyne the printer, were Scott’s amanuenses, when, suffering from extreme bodily pai he was composing the “Bride of Lammermoor.” "He preferred the latter, says Lockhart, on account of the superior rapidity of his pen ; and also Beto ohn kept his pen to the paper without interruption, and, though with many an arch twinkle in his eyes, and now and. then an audible smack of his lips, had resolution to work on like a well-trained clerk; whereas good Laidlaw entered with such keen zest into the interest of the story as it flowed from the author's li that he could not suppress exc mations of surprise and -delight— “Gude keep us a’ !—the like 0’ that !—eh sirs! eh sirs!” and so forth—which did not promote des- patch. I have often, however, in the sequel, heard both these secre- ' into popularity. MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES. taries describe the astonishment with which they were equally af- fected when Scott began this expe- riment. The affectionate Laidlaw beseeching him to stop dictating, when his audible suffering filled every pause, “ Nay, Willie,” he an- swered, “only see that the doors are fast. I would fain keep all the as well as all the wool to our- selves; but as to giving over work, that can only be when I am in woollen.” John Ballantyne told me, that after the first day, he always took care to have a dozen of pens made before he seated him- self opposite to the sofa on which 35 Scott lay, and that though he often turned himself on his pillow with a groan of torment, he usually con- tinued the sentence in the same breath. But when dialogue of peculiar animation was in progress, spirit seemed to triumph altogether over matter—he arose from his eouch and walked up and down the room, raising and lowering his voice, and as it were acting the parts. It was in this fashion that Scott produced the far greater por- tion of The Bride of Lanvmermoor —the whole of the ——" of Mon- trose—and almost the whole of Ivanhoe.—(Scott’s Life, p. 397.) MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES. THOMAS MOORE—HIS SINGING. Thomas Moore sung his songs We have this entry in his diary :— - © Dined with the Fieldings: sung in the evening to him, her, Montgomery, and the governess— all four weeping. This is the true tribute to my singing.’ Similar entries are common in his diary, in which all who shed tears at his singing invariably found a place. “No one believes how much 1 am sometimes affected in singing, partly from being touched myself, and partly from an anxiety to . touch others.” JAMES GRAHAME—HIS SINGING. Thomas Campbell preserved the following reminiscence of the devo- tional feeling of James Grahame, author of Zhe Sabbath, with whom he was on a familiar footing when both were young men residing in Edinburgh :—- “One of the most. endearing cir- cumstances which J remember of Grahame was his singing. I shall never forget one summer evening that we agreed to sit up all night, and go together to Arthur’s Seat to see the sun rise. We sat, accord- ingly, all night in his delightful parlour, the seat of so many happy remembrances! We then went and saw a beautifulsunrise. I returned home with him, for I was living in his house at the time. He was un- reserved in all his devoutest feel- ings before me; and from the beauty -of the morning scenery, and the re- cent death of his sister, our conver-. sation took a serious turn on the: proofs of Infinite Benevolence in the - creation,and the goodness of God. As I retired to my own bed I overheard his devotions—not his prayer, but a bymn which he sung, and with a power and inspiration beyond him- self, and beyond anything else. At. that time he was a strong-voiced,, and commanding-looking man. The remembrance of his large expressive features when he climbed the hill, and of his organ-like voice in prais- ing God, is yet fresh, and ever pleas- ing, in my mind.” BUTLER’S HUDIBRAS, Hudibras was not a hasty effu- sion; it was not produced by a sud- den tumult of mea orashort paroxysm of violent labour. To accumulate such a mass of senti- mentsat the call of accidental desire, 36 or of sudden necessity, is beyond the reach and power of the most active and comprehensive mind. I am informed by Mr. Thyer of Man- chester, that excellent editor of this author’s reliques, that he couldshow something of Hudibrasin prose. He has in his possession the common- place book, in which Butler repo- sited, not such events and precepts as are gathered by reading, but such remarks, similitudes, allusions, as- semblages, or inferences, as occasion prompted, or meditation produced, those thoughts that were generated in his own mind, and might be use- fully applied to some future purpose. Such is the labour of those who write for immortality—(Dr. John- son.) FAVOURITE DISHES. Dr. Rondelet, an ancient writer on fishes, was so fond of figs, that he died in 1566, of a surfeit occa- -sioned by eating them to excess. In a letter to a friend, Dr. Parr -confesses his love of “hot boiled lobsters, with a profusion of shrimp sauce.” Pope, who was an epicure, ~would lie in bed for days at Lord Bolingbroke’s, unless he were told that there were stewed lampreys for dinner, when he arose instantly, and came down to table. A gentle- man treated Dr. Johnson to new honey and clouted cream, of which he ate so largely, that his enter- tainer became alarmed. All his lifetime Dr. Johnson had a vora- cious attachment for a leg of mut- ton. “At my aunt Ford’s,’ says he, “T ate so much of a boiled leg of mutton, that she used to talk of it. My mother, who was affected by little things, told me seriously that it would hardly ever be forgotten.” Dryden, writing in 1699 to a lady, declining her invitation to a hand- some supper, says, “If beggars might be choosers, a chine of honest bacon would please my appetite more than all the marrow puddings, | AUTHORS. for I like them better plain, havi avery vulgar stomach! Dr. Garis Fordyce contended that as one meal a day was enough for a lion, it ought to suffice fora man. Ac- cordingly, for more than twenty years, the Doctor used to eat only a dinner in the whole course of the day. ‘This solitary meal he took - regularly at four o'clock, at Dolly’s chop-house. A pound and a-half ofrump steak, half a broiled chicken, a plate of fish, a bottle of port, a quarter of a pint of brandy, and a tankard of strong ale, satisfied the Doctor’s moderate wants till four o'clock next day, and regularly en- gaged one hour and a-half of his time. Dinner over, he returned to his home in Essex Street, Strand, to deliver his six o'clock lecture on anatomy and chemistry. Baron Maseres, who lived nearly to the age of ninety, used to go home one * day in every week without any din- ner, eating only a round of dry toast at tea. Aristotle, like a true t, seems to have literally feasted on fancy. Few could live more frugally ; in one of his poems, he says of him- self, “that he was a fit person to have lived in the world when acorns were the food of men.”—(Salad for the Solitary.) MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. At Paris, you may be sure, we met with entertainment enough: at the Scotch Jesuits there, I faney either you or Mr. Baker would have willingly took a peep with us. There was a folio volume of letters of Mary Queen of Scots and her husband, and King James I. and his Queen, &c., all originals: but most were Queen Mary’s to the Archbishop of Glasgow, who gave the Society this book, and many other papers. At the end of the book was Queen Mary’s will in her own writing, the day before her being beheaded; all in French. I read many parts of it; and last of a MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES, all a sort of a codicil in her own hand (disposing of four or five other particulars), dated in her own words, “ Le Matin de ma Mort.”— (Rev. J. Church to Dr. Z. Grey, 1736.) ORIGIN OF THE NAME BLUE i STOCKINGS. It is well known that Mrs. Mon- tagu’s house was at that time (1771) the chosen resort of many of those of both sexes most distinguished for rank, as well as classical taste and literary talent, in London. This society of eminent friends consisted, originally, of Mrs. Montagu, Mrs. Vesey, Miss Boscawen, and Mrs. Carter, Lord Lyttelton, Mr. Pul- teney, Horace Walpole, and Mr. Stillingfleet. To the latter gentle- man, a man of great piety and worth, and author of some works in natural history, &c., this constella- tion of talents owed that whimsical appellation of “Bas Bleu.” Mr. Stillingfleet being somewhat of an humorist in his habits and man- ners, and a little negligent in his dress, literally wore gray stockings ; from which circumstance Admiral Boscawen used,by way of pleasantry, to call them “The Blue Stocking Society,” as if to intimate that when these brilliant friends met, it was not for the purpose of forming a dressed assembly. A foreigner of distinction hearing the expression, translated it literally “Bas Bleu,” by which these meetings came to be afterwards distinguished, — (For- bes’ Life of Beattie.) A FAVOURITE AUTHOR, A predilection for some great author, among the vast number which must transiently oceupy our attention, seems to be the happiest preservative for our taste. Ac- customed to that excellent author whom we have chosen for our fa- vourite, we may possibly resemble him in this intimacy. It is to be 37 feared that if we do not form such a permanent attachment, we may be acquiring knowledge while our enervated taste becomes less and less lively. Taste embalms the know- ledge which otherwise cannot pre- serve itself. He who has long been intimate with one great author, will always be found to be a formidable antagonist; he has saturated his mind with the excellencies of geni- us; he has shaped his faculties, in- sensibly to himself, by his model; and he is like a man who ever sleeps in armour, ready at a moment! The old Latin proverb reminds us of this fact, Cave ab homine unius libri—be cautious of the man of one book.—(D’Israeli in Curiosities of Literature.) LADY M. W. MONTAGU’S LETTERS FROM THE LEVANT. The publication of these letters: will be an immortal monument to the memory of Lady Mary Wort- ley Montagu, and will show, as. long as the English language en- dures, the sprightliness of her wit, _ the solidity of her judgment, the elegance of her taste, and the excel- lence of her real character. These . letters are so bewitchingly enter- taining, that we defy the most phleg- matic man on earth to read one without going through them, or, after finishing the third volume, not to wish there were twenty more of — them.—(Dr. Smollett.) HANDEL'S MESSIAH. When Handel's Messiah was first, performed; the audience were ex- ceedingly struck and affected by the music in general ;“but when that chorus struck up, “For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth,’ they were so transported, that they all, together with the king (who hap- pened to be present), started up, and remained standing till the chorus ended: and hence it became the - fashion in England for the audience. 38 to stand while that part of the mu- sic is performing. Some days after the first exhibition of the same di- vine oratorio, Mr. Handel came to pay his respects to Lord Kinnoul, with whom he was particularly ac- quainted. His Lordship, as was natural, paid him some compliments on the noble entertainment which he had lately given the town. “My Lord,” said Handel, “I should be sorry if I only entertained them; I wish to make them better.” These two anecdotes I had from Lord Kinnoul himself. You will agree with me, that the first does great honour to Handel, to music, and to the English nation : the second tends to confirm my theory, and Sir John Hawkins’ testimony, that Handel, in spite of all that has been said to the contrary, must have been a ious man.—(Dr. Beattie to Rev. r. Laing.) : ETYMOLOGY—HOAX. This word is now very common in our language. Dr. Johnson has notintroduced itinto his Dictionary, although it was employed long be- fore his time, but disguised by its orthography. In Richard Head’s Art of Wheedling,12mo, 1634, p. 254, it is thus used—* The mercer cries, Was ever a man so hocus’d?” So that hoar, or, as it was 6riginally written, hocus, is any species of dex- terous imposition—similar to the tricks of the juggler, whose art was termed hocus pocus, which is gene- rally admitted to be a corruption of Hoe est corpus. MACHIAVEL AND OLD NICK. As cunning as Old Nick, and as wicked as Old Nick, were originally meant of our Nicolas Machiavel ; and so came afterwards to be per- verted to the devil.—_(Dr. Cocchi, Florence.) Machiavel has been generally called so wicked from people mis- taking the design of his writings. AUTHORS. In his “ Prince,” his design, at bot- tom, was to make a despotic go- vernment odious. “A despotic prince,” he says, “to secure himself, must kill such and such people.” He must so; and therefore no wise people would suffer such a prince. This is the natural consequence ; and not that Machiavel seriously advises pease to be wicked.—_(Dr. Cocchi, Florence.) ORIGIN OF BUMPER. When the English were good Catholics, they usually drank the Pope’s health in a full glass, every day after dinner—au bon pere: whence your word bwmper—(Dr. Cocchi, Florence.) IN HOC SIGNO VINCES. When Henry the Fourth of France was reconciled to the church of Rome, it was expected that he should give some remarkable testi- monial of his sincerity in returning to the true faith. He accordingly ordered a cross to be erected at Rome, near the church, of Santa Maria Maggiore, with this inseri tion, In hoc signo vinces, on the principal part of it. This at first as very Catholic, till it was observed that the part in which the inscription is put is shaped in the form of a cannon, and that he had really attributed only to his artil- lery what they had taken to bead- dressed to heaven.—(Ficaroni.) FILICAIA’S SONNETS. Filicaia, in his sonnets, makes use of many expressions borrowed from the Psalms, and consequently not generally understood among us. A gentleman of Florence, tim, = some of the passages in him, whi were literally taken from David, cried out, “O! are you there a with your barbarisms?” and flung away the book, as not worth his reading.—(Crudeli of Florence.) MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES. HARRINGTON’S OCEANA. Tt is strange that Harrington, so little while ago, should be the first man to find out so evident and de- monstrable a truth, as that of pro- rty being the true basis of power. His Oceana, allowing for the differ- ent situations of things (as the less number of Lords then, those Lords having no share in the Parliament, and the like), is certainly one of the best founded political pieces that ever was writ.—(Dean Lockier.) ELOQUENCE IN WINE.. Sir Thomas More was sent by Henry VIII. on an embassy to the emperor of Germany, where, before he delivered it, he commanded one of his servants to fill him a beer- glass of wine, which he drank off ; and afterwards repeated, and at the same time directing his servant to bring him a third; the servant knowing his master’s usual tem- perance, at first refused to fill him another, being under a concern for his behaviour, but on a second com- mand of Sir Thomas, he did it; which being drank, he then made his immediate address to the em- peror, and delivered his oration in tin like one inspired, to the very great admiration of all the auditors. This I mention to show the influence of wine!—(Life of Sir T. Moore.) OSSIAN’S POEMS. That there never existed poems exactly in the form in which Fin- gal and Z'emone were published by acpherson, seems now to be the opinion generally entertained. But it is still maintained by many, with 39 the strongest appearance of reason, that there certainly were poetical compositions, consisting of songs and ballads, and other pieces, exist- ing in the Highlands many years ~ before Macpherson was born, of which sufficient traces are even yet to be found in various parts of that country, some in a more, some in a less perfect form. From these scat- tered fragments it probably was, that Macpherson, by imitations and additions of his own, wrought his work into a whole, and thus gave it the appearance, in some degree, of a regular epic poem. Nor is it diffi- cult, perhaps, to conceive how these fragments may have been handed down from father to son, even with- out the use of writing, among a peo- ple, who, with seareely any know- ledge of agriculture, commerce, or the useful arts, filled up the vacancies of a pastoral life, by the recital of those popular songs and ballads. This is a practice not peculiar to the Highlands of Scotland, but to be found in all nations, who, by their local situation in the midst of hills and fastnesses, are cut off from an great degree of intercourse wit neighbouring countries, farther ad- vanced in the arts of polished life. Nor will it appear so very wonder- ful if, in this manner, that poetry may have been preserved, which is believed by many to have existed in the Hishlands, when the powers of the memory are considered, and the strength it acquired by the per- petual exercise of listening to the bards, who were an appendage of the state’and magnificence of a Highland chieftain.—(Sir William Forbes.) 40 - THE BIBLE, BIBLE, EARLY TRANSLATIONS OF THE BIBLE. ° The translation of the Bible was begun very early in this kingdom. Some part of it was done by king Alfred. Adelmus translated the Psalms into Saxon in 709. Other pore were done by Edfrid, or Eg- ert, 750; the whole by Bede. . In 1357 Trevisa published the whole in English. ‘Tindall’s translation . appeared in 1334, was revised and altered in 1538, published with a preface of Cranmer’s in 1549, and allowed to be read in churches. In 1551 another translation was pub- lished, which, being revised by seve- ral bishops, was printed with their alterations in 1560. In 1613 anew translation was published by autho- rity, which is that in present use. There was not any translation of it into the Irish language till 1685. The pope did not give his permis- sion for the translation of it into any language till 1759.—(J enoway’s Notes.) PRESENT TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. This translation was made at the command of King James I; the translators were fifty-four of the most learned men of that time, who were divided into five bodies, of which each was to labour on a par- ticular part of the Bible, which was thus divided:—-The Pentateuch, and the Books of Judges, Ruth, Samuel, and Kings, to the Deans of Westminster and St. Paul’s, Doc- tors Saravia, Clark, Layfield, Leigh, Messrs. Stretford, Sussex, Clare, Bedwell. From the Chronicles to Eeclesiastes, to Dr. Richardson, and Messrs. Sirley, Chadderton, Dilling- ham, Harrison, Andrews, Spalding, Binge. All the Prophets and La- mentations to Dr. Harding, Rein- olds, Holland, Kilby, Messrs. Here- ford, Brett, Fareclowe. All the Epistles to the Dean of Chester, Dr. Hutchinson, Spencer, Messrs. Fenton, Rabbit, Sanderson, Dakins. The Gospels, Acts, and Apocalypse, to the Deans of Christchurch, Wine chester, Worcester, Windsor, Drs. Perin, Ravins, Messrs. Savile, Har- mer. And the Apocrypha, to Drs. Duport, Braithwaite, Ratcliffe, Messrs. Ward, Downes, Boyse, Warde. They met at Westminster, Oxford, and Cambridge, as it was convenient for each body. The method in which they proceeded was thus :—Several translations of each part were drawn up by the members of that body to which it was allotted, who then, in a joint consultation, selected three of the best, or compiled them out of the wholenumber. Thus in three years three translations of the whole were sent to London ; then six deputi two from each place, were appointe to extract one translation out of the three, which was finished and printed in the year 1611. BOOKS MENTIONED IN THE BIBLE, NOW LOST OR UNKNOWN. At your request, I have copied out, from the collection I have made, the ten underwritten (I think) lost books; but should be glad to be set to rights by better information :— I. “The Prophecy of Enoch? See Epistle to Jude 14, II. “The Book of the Wars of the Lord.” See Numb. xxi. 14. III. “'The Prophetical Gospel of Eve, which relates to the Amours of the Sons of God with the Daugh- ters of Men.” See Origen Cont. Celsum, Tertul. &e. IV. “The Book of Jeshur.” See Joshua x. 13; and 2 Sam. i. 18. — ssa. BOOKS, BOOKSELLERS, V.“The Book of Iddo the Seer.” See 2 Chron. ix. 29; and xii. 15. VI. “The Book of Nathan the Prophet.” See as above. VII. “ The Prophecies of Ahijah the Shilonite.” See as above. VIII. “The Acts of Rehoboam, in the Book of Shemaiah.” See 2 Chron. xii. 15. IX. “The Book of Jchu the son ~ BOOKS, BOOKSELLERS, FRANKLIN AS A BOOKSELLER. One fine morning when Franklin was busy preparing his newspaper for the press, a lounger stepped into the store, and spent an hour or more looking over the books, &c., and finally taking one in his hand, asked the shop-boy the price. “One dollar,” was the answer. “One dollar,” said the lounger, “can’t you take less than that?” “No, indeed; one dollar is the price.” Another hour had nearly passed, when the lounger said— “Ts Mr. Franklin at home?” “Yes, he is in the printing-office.” “T want to see him,” said the lounger. The shop-boy immediately in- formed Mr. Franklin that a gentle- man was in the store, waiting to seehim. Franklin was soon behind the counter, when the lounger, with book in hand, addressed him thus : “Mr. Franklin, what is the low- est you can take for that book?” “One dollar and a quarter,’ was the ready answer. “One dollar anda quarter! Why, your young man asked me only a dollar.” “True,” said Franklin, “and I could have better afforded to have taken a dollar then, than to have been taken out of the office.” The lounger seemed surprised, 4} See 2 Chron. xx. AND BIBLIOMANIACS. of Hanani.” 34. X. “The Five Books of Solo- mon, treating on the nature of trees, beasts, fowl, serpents, and fishes.” See 1 Kings iv. 33. XI. You may add the 151st Psalm. I have it somewhere in the house, but cannot at present find it —-(Mr.Ames to Mr. Da Costa.) AND BIBLIOMANTACS. and wishing to end the parley of his own making, said— “Come, Mr. Franklin, tell me what is the lowest you can take for it?” “One dollar and a half.” “A dollarand a half! Why, you offered it yourself for a dollar and a quarter.” “Yes,” said Franklin, “and I had better have taken that price then, than a dollar and a half now.” The lounger paid down the price, and went about his business—if he had any—and Franklin returned into the printing-office. : SALE OF ROXBURGH’S LIBRARY. Unlike most other species of pro- perty, books, in some instances, ad- vance in value in proportion to their age. Many cases might be cited to prove this; the most remarkable on record is that of the great sale of Lord Roxburgh’s library, in 1812, which occupied forty-five days at. auction, and which cost its founder, fifty years’before, less than £5000, but which actually realized on the oceasion referred to the enormous sum of £23,341. One book, the folio (first) edition of Boceaccio, printed: by Valdarfer, of which it is believed this was the only copy extant, brought £2260. Its original price was something like ten shillings. Bibliomania was at this time, cer- tainly, at its extreme height. 49 BOOKS, BOOKSELLERS, BLACK-LETTER BOOKS. It was in the period of Scott’s early manhood that the mania for black-letter books began to mani- fest itself in the land, and, like the once notable tulip madness in Hol- land, proved an important source of emolument to those who had even a smail capital to embark in the purchase of rare specimens. It was quite possible for such traders occa- sionally to purchase for a trifling sum an entire library from some improvident or illiterate represen- tative of an old family, by whom the books were looked upon as mere lumber. From these the fortunate purchaser well knew how to select the gems inestimable in the eyes of a collector, any one of which, being properly set and adorned in its fra- grant binding of Russia leather, would sometimes bring nearly as much money as had been given for the whole lot. It was, indeed, on this basis principally that Mr. Con- stable, who had the honour of pub- lishing the Lay of the last Minstrel, and Marmion, contrived to accumu- late that wealth, or acquire that credit, which, if more prudently managed, might have insured him stability and reputation for life. Mr. Scott was one of the very few among Constable’s patrons who could turn this mania to good ac- count; for, whilst he seemed to the uninitiated to have an indiscrimi- nate appetite for old books of every description, the truth was, that he seldom made a purchase of one without some rational and special object in view. RIVAL PUBLISHERS. Both Tonson and Lintot were rivals for publishing a work of Dr. Young’s. The poet answered both their letters the same morning, but unfortunately misdirected them. In these epistles, he complained of the rascally cupidity of each. In the one he intended for Tonson, he AND BIBLIOMANIACS. said that Lintot was so great a scoundrel, that printing with him was out of the question; and writ- ing to Lintot, he declared that Ton- son was an old rascal, with many other epithets equally opprobrious. BLACK-LETTER HUNTERS. ‘Others, like Kemble, en black-letter ore, And what they do not understand, adore; Buy at vast sums the trash of ancient days, And draw on prodigality for praise. These when some lucky hit, or lucky price, Has blessed them with “ The Boke of gode advice,” For ekes and algates only deign to see And live upon a whilome for a week.” Though no great catalogue-hun- ter, Llove to look into such marked ones as now and then fall in my way. That of poor Dodd’s books amused me not a little. It exhi- bited many instances of BLACK-LET- TER mania; and what is more to my purpose, a transfer of much valuable “trash of ancient days,” to the fortunate Mr. Kemble. For example :— “First part of the tragicall £ s, d. reigne of Selimus Emperor Of. the Turkss..ccussembann 111 6 Jacob and Esau, a Mery and Whittie Comedie .....sscs.s0+ 3.5 0 Look about You, a Comedie, 5° 7 6 The Tragedie of T. Nero, Rome’s Greatest Tyraunte, 1 4 0 &e., &e.” “How are we ruined !”—(Gifford, in Baviad.) ILLUMINATORS. As to the word Alluwminor in the “ Richard IIL,” I take it that, even before the invention of print- ing, when, as well as afterwards, it was the custom to illuminate the initial letters, such had the privi- lege of being members, and were entitled to the privileges of univer- sities, whereof you will find some memorandums in the history of Bullens, or that of Paris ; and if _— ld COWPER’S POEMS. 43 you will inspect the present Judge Fortescue’s edition ys Fortescue’s work of Supreme Power (or some such title), you will find a pleasant dispute about the import of the word Jiluminators, in the case of the University of Oxford, among the wise judges of the Common Pleas, .... In the early printed books the initial letter was gene- rally a small one, with a large room left for the illuminator to make a larger letter, and to adorn or illu- minate it either with colours or metals. I take it that among those who enjoy the privilege of the uni- versities, are illuminators. The word is used figuratively in our liturgy,—“ illuminate all bishops, priests, and deacons,” though with relation to spiritual gifts.—(Mr. Aunstis to Mr. Ames.) THE ELDER TONSON. The elder Tonson’s portrait re- ents him in his gown and cap, holdin in his right hand a volume lettered Paradise Lost—such a fa- vourite object was Milton and copy- right. Jacob Tonson was the foun- der of a race who long honoured literature. His rise in life is curi- ous. He was at first unable to pay twenty pounds for a play by i den, Cee ined with another book- seller toadvance that sum ; the play sold, and Tonson was afterwards enabled to purchase the succeeding ones. Heand his nephew died worth two hundred thousand pounds. Much old Tonson owed to his in- dustry ; but he was a mere trader. He and Dryden had frequent bick- erings ; he insisted on receiving ten thousand verses for two hundred and sixty-eight pounds, and poor Dryden threw in the finest ae in the language towards that number. He would pay in the base coin which was then current, which was a loss to the poet. Tonson once complained to Dry- den, that he had only received four- teen hundred and forty-six lines of his translations of Ovid for his Miscellany for fifty guineas, when he had calculated at the rate of fif- teen hundred and eighteen lines for forty guineas; he gives the poet a piece of critical reasoning, that he considered he had a better bargain with Juvenal, which is reckoned not so easy to translate as Ovid. In these times such a mere trader in literature has disappeared. COWPER’S POEMS. Mr. Johnson, the bookseller in St. Paul’s Churchyard, obtained the copyright of Cowper’s Poems, which proved a source of great profit to him, in the following manner:— A relation of Cowper called one evening, at dusk, on Johnson, with a bundle of these poems, which he offered to him for publication, pro- vided he would print them on his own risk, and let the author have a few copies to give to his friends. Johnson perused, and approved of them, and accordingly printed and espe them. Soon after they d appeared before the public, there was not a review which did not load them with the most scur- rilous abuse, and condemn them to the butter-shops. In consequence of the public taste being thus terri- fied, or misled, these charming ef- fusions lay in a corner of the book- seller’s shop as an unsaleable pile for a long period. Some time after- wards, the same person appeared, with another bundle of manuscripts from the same author; which were offered and accepted upon the same terms. In this fresh collection was the inimitable poem of The Task. Not alarmed at the fate of the for- mer publication, and thoroughly assured, as he was, of their great merit, Mr. Johnson resolved to pub- lish them. Soon after they had appeared, the tone of the reviewers instantly changed ; and Cowper was hailedas thefirst poet of hisage. The 44 success of this second publication set the first in motion, and Johnson immediately reaped the fruits of his undaunted judgment. BOOKS, BOOKSELLERS, BOOKSELLER AND AUTHOR. Un libraire et un auteur sont deux especes de filoux, qui ne peu- vent |’un sans l'autre attraper l’ar- gent du public.—(Lesage.) BOOKSELLERS THE PATRONS OF LITERATURE, Johnson has dignified the book- sellers as “the patrons of litera- ture,” which was generous in that great author, who had written well and lived but ill all his life on that patronage. Eminent booksellers, in their constant intercourse with the most enlightened class of the community, that is, with the best authors and the best readers, par- take of the intelligence around them; their great capitals, too, are roductive of good and evil in iterature ; useful, when they carry on great works; and pernicious, when they sanction indifferent ones. Yet are they but commercial men. A trader can never be deemed a patron, for it would be romantic to purchase what is not saleable ; but where no favour is conferred, there isnopatronage. Authors continue oor, and booksellers become opu- ent; an extraordinary result! Booksellers are not agents for authors, but proprietors of their works; so that the perpetual re- venues of literature are solely in the possession of the trade.—-(D’Isr.) Tonson, and all his family and as- signees, rode in their carriages with the profits of Milton’s jive-pownd Epic. SMOLLETT’S ENGLAND. Smollett never wrote a continu- ation to Hume's History, but the booksellers, wanting a continuation of Hume, took that portion of Smol- lett’s history from the Revolution to AND BIBLIOMANTIACS. the death of George II., and print- ing it in five volumes in 1791, called it Smollett's Continuation of Hume. Mr. Dibdin says it was first pub- lished in 1763, but that was the continuation of Smollett’s own his- tory from 1748, which was brought down to the end of 1765, and the last volume not being reprinted in the bookseller’s edition gave oc- casion to the report that it was suppressed by authority, because it contained the only mention of the first appearance of the late king’s malady in 1765.—(Gent. Mag. Nov. 1824.) JOHNSON’S DICTIONARY. Mr. Andrew Millar, bookseller in the Strand, took the princi charge in conducting the publication of Johnson’s Dictionary; and as the patience of the proprietors was repeatedly tried, and almost ex- hausted, by their expecting that the work would be completed within the time which Johnson had san- guinely supposed, the learned au- thor was often goaded to despatch, more especially as he had received all the copy-money by different drafts, a considerable time before he had finished his task. When the messenger who carried the last sheet to Millar returned, Johnson asked him, “Well, what did he say?” “Sir,” answered the mes- senger, “he said, ‘Thank God, I have done with him”” “I am glad,” replied Johnson with a smile, “that he thanks God foranything.” —(Boswell’s Life of Johnson.) AKENSIDE’S PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. In 1744 appeared before the pub- lic Akenside’s Pleasures of Imagi- nation, which so long as genius: holds an admirer, will ever be valued for chasteness of design,. purity of morals,and all that pleasin, witchery which marks the healthf offspring of genuine poetry. It wag BOOK-TRADE welcomed asa work of such intrinsi¢ worth ought to be welcomed. From its sale the author’s finances were improved and his fame established. Dr. Johnson mentions, that he has heard Dodsley (by whom it was published) say, that when the copy was offered him, the price demanded for it, which was a hundred and twenty pounds, being such as he was not inclined to give precipi- tately, he carried the work to Pope, who having looked into it, advised him not to make a niggardly offer, for “this was no every aay writer.” —(Hutchinson’s Biog. Medica.) BOOK AUCTIONS. Thefirst book-auction in England, | of which there is any record, was in | 1676, when the library of Dr. Sear- nan was brought to the hammer. Prefixed to the catalogue there is an address to the reader, saying, “Though it has been unusual in! England to make sale of books by | auction, yet it hath been practised in other countries to advantage.” For general purposes this mode of sale was scarcely known till 1700. —(Jenoway’s Notes.) BOOK TRADE OF LEIPSIG. As Frankfort monopolizes the trade in wine, so Leipsig monopo- lizes the trade in books. It is here that every German author (and in no country are authors so numer- ous) wishes to produce the children of his brain, and that, too, only dur- ing the Easter fair. He will submit to any degree of exertion that his work may be ready for publication by that important season, when the whole brotherhood is in labour, from the Rhine to the Vistula. If the auspicious moment pass away, he willingly bears his burden twelve months longer, till the nextadvent of thebibliopolical Lucina. This perio- dical littering at Leipsig does not at all arise, as is sometimes supposed, from all or most of the books being OF LEIPSIG. 45 | printed there; Leipsig has only its own proportion of printers and pub- lishers. It arises from the manner in which this branch of trade is carried on in Germany. Every bookseller of any eminence, through- out the confederation, has an agent or commissioner in Leipsig, to whom he applies for whatever books he may want, whether published there or elsewhere. The whoie book trade of Germany thus centres in Leipsig. Wherever books may be printed, it is there they must be bought ; it is there that the trade is supplied. Before the end of the sixteenth century the book-fair was estab- lished. It prospered so rapidly that, in 1600, the Easter catalogue, which has been annually printed ever since, was printed for the first time. It now presents every year, in a thick octavo volume, a collec- tion of new books and new editions to which there is no parallel in Europe. At the fair ali the bre- thren of the trade flock together in Leipsig, not only from every part of Germany, but from every Euro- pean country where German books are sold, to settle accounts and exa- mine the harvest of the year. The number always amounts to several hundreds, and they have built an exchange for themselves. Yet a German publisher has less chance of making great profits, and a German author has fewer pros- pects of turning his manuscript to good account, than the same classes of persons in any other country that knows the value of intellectual la- bour. Each state of the confedera- tion has its‘own law of copyright, and an author is secured against piracy only in the state where he prints. Ifthe book be worth any- thing it is immediately reprinted in some neighbouring state, and as the pirate pays nothing for the copy- right, he can obviously afford to undersell the original publisher. Such a system almost annihilates 46 the value of literary labour. The unpleasing exterior of ordinary Ger- man printing, the coarse watery paper, and worn-out types, must be referred, in some measure, to the same cause. The publisher, or au- thor, naturally risks as little capital as ible in the hazardous specu- lation. Besides, it is his interest to diminish the temptation to reprint, by making his own edition as cheap as maybe. The system has shown its effects, too, in keeping up the frequency of publication by sub- scription, even among authors of the most settled and popular repu- tation. Klopstock, after the Mes- siah had fixed his name, published in this way. There has been no more successful publisher than Cot- ta,and no German writer has been so well repaid as Géthe, yet the last Tibingen edition of Géthe himself is adorned with a long list of sub- scribers. What would we think of Byron or Campbell, of Scott or Moore, publishing a new poem by suibseription }—(Eiaaecll's Tour in Germany.) : BINDING OF BOOKS. King Alphonsus, about to lay the foundation of a castle at Naples, ealled for Vitruvius, his booke of architecture ; the booke was brought in very bad case, all dustie and without covers; which the king observing said, “Hee that must cover us all, must not goe uncovered himselfe;” then commanded the booke to bee fairely bound and brought unto him. “So say I, suf- fer them not to lie neglected, who must make you regarded ; and goe in torne coates, who must apparell your minde with the ornaments of knowledge, above the roabes and riches of the most ificent princes. — ( Peacham’s Compleat Gentleman, 1627.) BOOKS, BOOKSELLERS, PRESERVATION OF BINDINGS. It was supposed that a binding of Russian leather secured books AND BDIBLIOMANIACS, against insects, but the was recently demonstrated at' by two volumes pierced in every direction. The first bookbinder in Paris, Bozerian, told me he knew of no remedy except to steep the blank leaves in muriatic acid — (Pinkerton’s Recoll. of Paris.) MODE OF PLACING BOOKS IN ANCIENT LIBRARIES. It may not be known to those who are not accustomed to meet with old books in their origina bindings, or of seeing public libra- ries of antiquity, that the volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the leaves, not the back, in ee ; and that the ae sides of the binding were joined together with orgs or other are in some instances, where the boo. were of greater value and curiosi than common, even fastened wi gold or silver chains —(Philip Bliss, Oxen.) EARLY ENGLISH LIBRARIES. Never had we been offended for the loss of our libraries, being ‘so many in number, and in so desolate places for the most part, if the chief monuments and most notable works of our excellent writers had been reserved. If there had been in every shire of England but one Solempne Library, to the preserva- tion of those noble works, and pre- ferment! of good learning in our. posterity, it had been yet some- what. But to destroy all without consideration is, and will be, unto England for ever, a most horrible infamy among the grave seniors of other nations. A great number of them which purchased those su stitious mansions, reserved of those library-books, some to serve the jakes, some to scour their candle- sticks, and some to rub their boots. Some they sold to the grocers and soap-sellers; some they sent over sea to the bookbinders, not in small a PARGAIN- HUNTERS. number, but at times whole ships full, to the wondering of the foreign nations. Yea, the universities of this realm are not all clear of this detestable fact. But, cursed is that sen which seeketh to = fed = such ungodl ins, and shamet his natural feeuniey. I know a merchantman, which shall at this time be nameless, that bought the contents of two noble libraries for forty shillings price; a shame it is to be spoken! This stuff hath he occupied in the stead of gray paper, by the of more than ten years, and yet he hath store enough for as many years to come !—(Bale’s Pre- face to the Laboryouse Journey of Leland. LITERARY PROPERTY. Mr. Alexander Donaldson, book- seller, of Edinburgh, had for some time opened a shop in London and sold his cheap editions of the most popular English books, in defiance of the supposed common-law right of literary property. Dr. Johnson, though he concurred in the opinion which was afterwards sanctioned by a judgment of the House of Lords, that there was no such right, was at this time very angry that the booksellers of London, for whom he uniformly professed much regard, should suffer from an invasion of what they had ever considered to be secure, and he was loud and violent against Mr. Donaldson. “He isa fellow who takes advantage of the law to injure his brethren; for notwithstanding that the statute secures only fourteen years of ex- clusive right, it has always been understood by the trade that he who buys the copyright of a book from the author obtains a perpetual pro- perty and, upon that belief, num- erless bargains are made to transfer that property after the expiration of the statutory term. Now Don- aldson, I say, takes advantage here of people who have really an equit- 47 able title from usage; and if we consider how few of the books of which they buy the property suc- ceed so well as to bring profit, we should be of opinion that the term of fourteen years is too short; it should be sixty years.” Dempster:—“ Do- naldson, sir, is anxious for the encouragement of literature. He reduces the price of books so that poor students may buy them.” Johnson (laughing):—“Well, sir, allowing that to be his motive, he is no better than Robin Hood, who robbed the rich in order to give to the poor.’”—(Boswell’s Life of John- son. BARGAIN-HUNTERS. ‘You will perhaps be surprised when I inform you that there are in London (and, I suppose, in other populous places), persons who pur- chase every article which they have occasion for (and also many articles which they have no occasion for, nor ever will) at stalls, beggarly shops, pawnbrokers, &c., under the idea of purchasing cheaper than they could at respectable shops, and of men of property. .A considerable number of these customers I had in the beginning, who forsook my shop as soon as [began to appear more re- spectable, by introducing better or- er, possessing more valuable books, and having acquired a better judg- ment, &c. Notwithstanding iol I declare to you upon my honour, that these very bargain-hunters have given me double the price that T now charge for thousands and tens of thousands of volumes. For, as a tradesman increases in respec- tability and opulence, his opportu- nities of purchasing increase propor- tionably, and the more he buys and sells the more he becomes a judge of the real value of his goods, . It was for want of the experience and judgment, stock, &e., that for several years I was in the habit of charging more than double the 48 price I do for many thousand ar- ticles. But professed bargain-hun- ters often purchase old locks at the stalls in Moorfields, when half the wards are rusted off, or taken out, and give more for them than they would have paid for new ones to any reputable ironmonger, And what numerous instances of this infatuation do we meet with daily at sales by auction, not of books ' only, but of many other articles, of which I could here adduce a variety of glaring instances. At the sale of Mr. Rigby’s books at Mr. Chris- tie’s, Martin’s Dictionary of Natu- ral History sold for fifteen guineas, which then stood in my catalogue at four pounds fifteen shillings; Pilkington’s Dictionary of Painters at seven guineas, usually sold at three ; Francis’ Horace, two pounds eleven shillings; and many others in the same manner. At Sir George Colebrook’s sale the octavo edition of the Yatler sold for two guineas and a half. Ata sale a few weeks since Rapin’s History in folio, thetwo first volumes only (instead of five) sold for upwards of five pounds! I charge for the same from ten shil- lings and sixpence to one pound ten shillings. I sell great numbers of books to pawnbrokers, who sell them out of their windows at much higher prices, the purchasers be- lieving that they are buying bar- gains, and that such articles have been pawned. And it is not only books that pawnbrokers purchase, but various other matters, and they always purchase the worst kind of every article they sell. I willeven add, that many shops which are called pawnbrokers never take in any pawn, yet can live by selling things which are supposed to be kept overtime.—(Lackington’s Me- moirs.) BOOKS, BOOKSELLERS, FIRST ENGLISH ALMANAC. The first almanac in England was printed in Oxford, in 1673, “There AND BIBLIOMANTIACS. were,” says Wood, “near thirty thousand of them printed, besides a sheet almanac for twopence, that — was printed for that year; and be- cause of the novelty of the said almanac, and its title, they were all . vended. Its sale was so great, that the Society of Booksellers in Lon- don bought off the copy for the future, in order to engross the profits in their own hands.” ALMANAC WEATHER WISDOM. An English paper tells a pleasant anecdote of Partridge, the celebrated almanac maker, about one hundred years since. In travelling on horse- back into the country, he stopped for his dinner at an inn, and after- wards called for his horse, that he might reach the next town, where he intended to sleep. “Tf you will take my advice, sir,” said the hostler, as he was about to mount his horse, “you will stay where you are for the night, as you will surely be overtaken by a pelt- ing rain.” “ Nonsense, nonsense,” exclaimed the almanac maker ; “there is a six- pence for you,my honest fellow, and good afternoon to you.” He proceeded on his journey, and sure enough he was well drenched in a heavy shower. Partridge was struck by the man’s prediction, and being always intent on the interest of his almanac, he rode back on the instant, and was received by the hostler with a broad grin. “Well, sir, you see I was right after all.” “Yes, my lad, you have been so, and here is a erown for you; but I give it to you on condition that you tell me how you knew of this rain,” “To be sure, sir,” replied the man; “why, the truth is, we have an almanac at our house called Part- ridge’s Almanac, and the fellow is such a notorious liar, that when- ever he promises us a fine day, we always know that it will be the = BOTANISTS AND BOTANY, 49 direct contrary. Now, your honour, |looked at that before I brought this day, the 21st of June, is put | your honour’s horse out, and so down in our almanac in-doors as| was enabled to put you on your ‘settled fine weather ; no rain, I! guard.” BOTANISTS AND BOTANY. DAVID DOUGLAS—HIS ARDOUR AND DEVOTEDNESS. The introduction of ornamental plants from abroad was effected, in tormer days, by diplomatic persons, merchants, or travellers, who inte- rested themselves about such things, and forwarded or took them home. Afterwards travelling botanists, es- cially those accompanied by skil- ul gardeners, were the chief pro- - moters of such importations. More recently our shrubberies and plea- sure-grounds have been enriched by scientific gardeners sent abroad ex- pressly for that purpose. Among the latter class no one deserves eater credit than David Douglas. eing sent out by the Horticultural Society of London to the northern states of America, and its north- west coast, especially the banks of the river Columbia, he introduced into England a greater number of hardy trees, shrubs, and. animals, than any one had done before him ; namely, 53 woods and 145 herbace- ous plants, making, altogether, 198 ecies, for the most part quite new. These plants being hardy enough to bear the climate of Europe, have multiplied to an incredible extent in England, as well as on the Con- tinent, so that one scarcely ever sees a garden, however humble, that is without some of these ornaments. Having done so much in America, Douglas went to the Sandwich Isl- ands, where he fell a sacrifice to his ardent zeal, being gored to death iby a wild bull, caught in a pit dug by the natives, and into which the unfortunate traveller fell. He was only thirty-six years old. If we consider the powerful moral influ- ence which floriculture exerts on mankind, we may assuredly rank that young man among those who have honourably sacrificed their lives in the performance of their duty, not less than the soldier who dies on the field of battle. DR. ROBERT GRAHAM OF EDINBURGH. Dr. Ransford, in a biographical sketch read before the Harveian Society of Edinburgh of the late Dr. Graham, relates that when that ardent botanist was on an excursion in Ireland, in order to obtain a desired specimen he had recourse to a stratagem, which, for the benefit of future tourists, it may be useful to mention. The incident ‘was related to Dr. R. by an eye-wit- ness. When travelling from Gal- way to Ballinasloe on Bianconi’s mailcar, Dr.Graham noticed Vepeta Cataria at the side of the road. This being a plant which had not been gathered during the trip, he was anxious to get some of it. To have asked the driver'of. her Ma- jesty’s mail to stop for such a purpose would have been deemed Quixotic; he therefore intentionally dropped his hat, and immediately his companions, previously made aware of the trick, shouted’ loudly to Paddy, whose politeness induced him instantly to pull up. Dr. Grahame’s anxiety to get at the plant was so great, that he jumped from the car before it had fully stopped, and received a very severe abrasion of his arm. In spite of D 50 this, however, he and the rest of the party rushed to the spot where the Nepeta was growing, and, to the no small surprise of their fellow-pas- sengers, proceeded to pull large quantities of it, the hat being, of course, a minor object of considera- tion, though it was not left behind. Having thus detained the mail for afew minutes, the party resumed their seats, highly pleased with their successful botanical adventure. SIR J. E. SMITH—LINN-ZUS'S HER- BARIUM. The stranger whose predilections are botanical will not be long in London till he turns aside from the heady current and distracting tur- moil of its great thoroughfares, into the comparative seclusion and tran- quillity of Soho Square, to pay a pilgrim’s homage at a shrine which commands the veneration of bota- nists from all quarters of the world. In a quiet nook of the square is the suite of rooms occupied by the Lin- neean Society. The house formerly belonged to Sir Joseph Banks, and was for many years the rendezvous of the savans of England, and the resort of scientific foreigners visiting the metropolis. Itis now the repo- sitory of the herbarium of Linnzeus, that collection of plants which fur- nished the illustrious Swede with the materials for the construction of the artificial method of classifica- tion, with an ultimate view to the establishment of the more philoso- phical system which has since taken its place, founded on the natural alliances of plants. It was in this collection that Linnzeus studied the characters of individual plants, and accumulated the observations which have enabled su ing botanists to group them into families, here is a little history connected with the herbarium, which may prove interesting to other than bo- tanical readers. Sir James Edward Smith, the eminent English botan- BOTANISTS AND BOTANY. ist, was, when a young man, @ con- stant visitor at Sir Joseph Banks’s, — to whom he had recommended him- self by his taste for natural hi : It was in this house, in 1783, that he learned from his patron that the library and natural history collec- tions of Linnzeus had been offered to him for a thousand guineas. Afteralife of labour and vicissitude, Linnzus had died at Upsal, full of honoursand even of wealth, in 1778, in the seventy-first year of his age. He had twenty years before been elevated to the nobility, and as- sumed the title of Von Linné. Still greater honours were paid to his memory after his death. His re- mains were borne to their resting- place in the cathedral of Upsal by members of his university, sixteen doctors of medicine, his former pu- — pils, supporting the funeral pall. A. general mourning of the citizens showed that his. death was felt to bea publicloss. King Gustavus II. caused a medal to be struck in com- memoration of his name; and at- tended a meeting of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm, held in honour of the memory of the great naturalist. In his speech from the throne, Gustavus lamented the death of Linneeus as a public calamity. It seems t in so brief a period as five years after these national tributes were paid to his memory, a portion of his pro- perty so identified with his seientifie fame as his books and colleetions in natural history, should have been offered for sale in land. But although Linnzeus, while he lived; had enjoyed moe ee m both of wt countrymen and of forei an after bis. déath, waa:eaiaiiaaalle their remembrances, his honour and happiness had been betrayed by the relative who, of all others, should have most dearly cherished them ; whose tyrannical disposition and unnatural treatment of her own offspring had deprived his home of Ses laa all that should have constituted it the sanctuary of his affections; and whose sordid parsimony was now eager to convert his collections into money, and send away for ever, from the country which claimed him as the most distinguished of hersons, the priceless inheritance of his sci- entific treasures. The eldest son of Linnzeus, who was sedulously fol- lowing in the footsteps of his father, and had already proved himself not unworthy to share in his renown, was, in consequence of the merce- nary conduct of his mother, obliged to purchase, at her own price, the books and collections, including the herbarium, which were his own by birthright. He died in 1783, and his books, plants, &c., reverted to his mother and sisters. The offer of sale made to Sir Joseph Banks was at the instance of the mother, who was thus making merchandise a second time of the collections of the t naturalist. Sir Joseph declined to avail himself ofthe offer, but recommended the purchase to Smith, then a student of medicine. He made the purchase, and the pos- session of Linnzeus’s collections de- termined his future pursuit as a botanist. “Though enthusiasm and aloveoffame,” remarks Lady Smith in his memoirs, “had perhaps some influence, a love of science and of truth had greater still.. He said to others, ‘The fairest flower in the garden of creation isa young mind, offering and unfolding itself to the influence of Divine wisdom, as the heliotrope turns its sweet blossoms to the sun;’ and may it not be said of him that taste and virtue fixed his choice?” The number of vo- lumes was upwards of 2000, includ- ing some valuable manuscripts; there were 3198 insects ; 1564 shells; 2424 minerals; and 19,000 plants. Deducting a small herbarium which belonged to young Linnzus, and contained no species that were not included in the great collection, LINNZUS’S HERBARIUM. 51 Smith obtained the whole for 900 guineas: but the entire cost, includ- ing the freight, ultimately amounted to £1088. Through the interven- tion of Sir John Jervis, afterwards Earl St. Vincent, and at this period one of the members for Great Yar- mouth, an order was obtained from the Treasury passing the whole col- lection, except the books, free of” Custom-house duty. It was in October, 1784, that a ship, named The Appearance, was freighted with. the precious treasures. The vessel had just left the shores of Sweden, when King Gustavus III., who had been absent in France, returned to his dominions, and on learning that the herbarium and other monu- ments of the labours of the illustri- ous naturalist had been sent out of his native kingdom, he despatched a frigate to the Sound to intercept the voyage of The Appearance to Engiand. But the latter vessel dis- tanced her pursuer, and the valu- able cargo was safely landed at the Custom-house of London. This singular race between the two ves- sels has been commemorated in a pictorial representation. The event is still remembered in Sweden, as we learned from a botanist of that country whom we found em- ployed upon the herbaria of the Linnean Society. Sir James Smith’s own views of the conduct of the Swedish nation in allowing the herbarium and other collections to be sold to a foreigner, were ex- “lbs in the following terms, ina etter to Dr. Acrel, who had nego- tiated the bargain with him :—* tween ourselves, it is certainly a disgrace to the university (of Upsal) that they suffered such a treasure to leave them; but if those who ought most to have loved and pro- tected the immortal name of Linné failed in their duty, he shall not want a friend or an asylum while I live or have any power, though ever so small, todo himhonour”’ After 52 the death of Smith, the herbarium was purchased by the Linnean Society of London, of which he was the founder. The herbarium of Linneeus con- tains only 10,000 species, which, along with duplicate specimens, are fixed upon 14,000 sheets of paper. At Kew, Sir William Hookerkindly showed us his herbarium, contain- ing about 140,000 species of flower- ing plants alone, being the largest and completest collection in the world. The difference between the two collections shows the progress which has been made jn descriptive botany since the days of Linnzeus. The Swedish herbarium is contained in three plain wooden cases or presses, the doors of which stillretain impressions of a series of illustra- tions of the forms of leaves, which were cut in tin, and fastened upon the wood, andemployed by Linnzeus in lecturing to his class. A royal Swedish physician, M. Pontin, has described the country residence and lecture-room of Linnzeus, at Ham- marby, near Upsal, which he visited in 1834 :—* The building containing Linneus’s dwelling-house consists of two houses, and is situated at the footofa stony height,surrounded by large rocks, as if an earthquake had ‘thrown the granite rocks around it. It was only here and there that a tree could find space enough to spring up among these rocky ruins ; and yet the lecture-room of Lin- _ neeus, so well known to the world, CHEMISTS AND CHEMISTRY. is found at the summit of a majestic uptowering pyramid, formed of them.” It was here where he established his collections in ev department of natural history, an during the academical vacations, lectured eight hours a-day, com- municating his discoveries “to a select audience, who lodged with the neighbouring peasantry, so as to be always present at these lec- tures, which were venerated as the sayings of an oracle.” The pious and grateful spirit of the illustrious naturalist was shown in the inserip- tion over the entrance to his par- lour — “Dum faveat Ccelum,’”— “ While it pleases Heaven.” We took advantage of the oblig- ing offer of the Curator to show us some of the more remarkable plants in the herbarium, and the simple style in which res were — upon very unpretendin r, wit. the panes written on the eats of the sheet. Of all the collection, which plant could we select for ex- amination so appropriate as the modest and beautiful Linnea bo- realis!’ Sir James Smith, in the English Botany, observes that “ Lin- neus has traced a pretty fanciful analogy between his own early fate, and this ‘little northern plant, long overlooked, depressed ,abject, flower- ing early,—and we may now add, more honoured in its name than any other.” It was the favourite plant of Linneeus, who had it painted on his China vases and tea service. CHEMISTS AND CHEMISTRY. CAVENDISH—HIS ODDITIES, The following anecdotes of this - eccentric chemist, betwixt whom and Watt lies the merit of the dis- covery of the nature of water, are from the Life of the Hon. Henry Cavendish, by Dr. George Wilson : —“ At this period (1785) Caven- dish’s reputation was widespread, in spite of his solicitous endeavours to prevent himself becoming fa- mous. It may be well, therefore, to refer here to his position in London between the years 1783 and 1785, when his most remarkable chemi- ‘ CAVENDISH—HIS ODDITIES. eal researches were either made or published. His town residence was close to the British Museum, at the corner of Montague Place and Gower Street. Few visitors were admitted, but some found their way across the threshold, and have re- ported that books and apparatus formed its chief furniture. For the former, however, Cavendish set apart a separate mansion in Dean Street,Soho. Here he had collected a large and carefully chosen library of works on science, which he threw open to all engaged in research, and to this house he went for his own books as one would go to a circu- lating library, signing a formal re- ceipt for such of the volumes as he took with him, “His favourite residence was a beautiful suburban villa at Clap- ham, which, as well as a street or row of houses in the neighbourhood, now bears his name. ‘The whole of the house at Clapham was occu- pied as workshops and laboratory.’ It was stuck about with thermo- meters, rain-gauges, &c. deliciousness of the perfume. The first was the solitary, the second the social student. He wanders among many gardens of thought, but always brings back some flower in his hand. Who can estimate the advantages that may result from this toil, and this application of it ! The domestic history of the ami- able Cowper, notwithstanding his abiding melancholy, presents us _ with some placid and even glowing pictures—when contemplated seat- ed on his sofa, rehearsing each newly constructed, passage to his faithful ~ Mary Unwin. In their method of economizing _ time, we find a certain uniformity in the practice of authors and stu- dents, of gathering up their spare minutes. Some writers yielding to their pleasing toils over the mid- night lamp; others, again, devoting the early dawn of day to the sweet and silent communings of their muse. Says an anonymous writer: “The morning has been specially consecrated to study by the exam- le of the Christian scholar. Hac- ett calls it, very prettily, and in the spirit of Cowley or Carew, ‘the mother of honey dews and pearls which drop upon the paper from the student’s pen.’ The learned and excellent Bishop Jewell affords a very delightful specimen of the day of an English scholar, who not only lived among his books but among men, He commonly rose at four o'clock, had private prayers at five, and attended the public service of the church in the cathedral at six. The remainder of the morning was given to study. One of his biogra- phers has drawn a very interesting sketch of Jewell during the day. “At meals, a chapter being first read, he recreated himself witli scholastic wars between young scholars whom he entertained at his table. After meals, his doors and ears were open to all suits and causes ; at these times, for the most part, he despatched all those busi- nesses which either his place, or others’ importunity forcedupon him, making gain of the residue of this time for study. About the hour of nine at night he called his servants to an account of how they had spent I 130 the day, and admonished them ac- cordingly. From this examination to his study, (how long it is uncer- tain, oftentimes after midnight) and so to bed; wherein, after some part of an author read to him by the gentlemen of his bed-chamber, com- mending himself to the protection of his Saviour, he took his rest.” So it was with Fielding, Gold- smith, Steele, and many others, honourable in literature; so also with Handel, Mozart, and Weber, in music; and it is one of the kindly recompenses of nature, by which she contrives to adjust,so equitably, the good and evil in thislife. We owe POETICAL POETICAL HEROINES. BYRON’s “MAID OF ATHENS.” “ Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, O give me back my heart.” The Maid of Athens, in the very teeth of poetry, has become Mrs. Black, of Egina! The beautiful Teresa Makri, of whom Byron asked back his heart, of whom Moore and Hobhouse, and the poet himself, have written so much and so passionately, has forgotten the sweet burden of the sweetest of love-songs, and taken the unro- mantic name, and followed the un- romantic fortunes, of a Scotchman! The commodore proposed that we should call upon her on our way to the temple of Jupiter, this morn- ing. We pulled up to the town in the barge, and landed on the handsome pier built by Dr. Howe (who expended thus, most judici- ously, a part of the provisions sent from our country in his charge), and, finding a Greek in the crowd who understood a little Italian, we were soon on our way to Mrs. Black’s. Our guide was a fine, grave-looking man of forty, with a small cockade on his red eap, which indicated that he was some way in HEROINES. that magnificent oratorio, the “Mes- siah,” and others of his master productions to the author’s most adverse circumstances; and it is doubted whether men of geniu generally would have achieved half as much as they have, had their circumstances in life been more pro- pitious. Sir Walter Seott wrote hia Waverley, however, for love—not — of pelf, but his pen. Not so his — ae A romances. Beaumont — was of opinion that aman of genius: could no more help putting his shosighte on paper a traveller — in a burning desert can help drink- ing when he sees water. the service of the government. He laid his hand on his heart when I asked him if he had known Americans in Egina. “They bui this,” said he, pointing to the pier, the handsome granite of which we were passing at the moment. “They gave us bread, and meat, and clothing, when we should otherwise have perished.” It was: said with a look and tone that — thrilled me. I felt as if the whole debt of sympathy which Greece owes our country were repaid by this one energetic ex ion of gratitude. We stopped opposite a small gate, and the Greek went in without cards. It was a smalk stone house of a story and a half, with a ricketty flight of wooden steps at the side, and not a blade of grass or sign of a flower in court — or window. If there had been but. a geranium in the ed or a rose- tree by the gate, for description’s sake. "Mr. Black was out—Mrs. Black was in. We walked up the creaking steps, with a Scotch ter- rier barking and snapping at our heels, and were met at the door by, really, a very pretty woman. She smiled as I apologized for our ’ BYRON'S “MAID OF ATHENS.” _ intrusion, and a sadder or a swecter smile I never saw. She said her welcome in a few simple words of Italian, and I thought there were few sweeter voices in the world. T asked her if she had not learned lish yet. She coloured, and “No, signore!” and the deep in her cheek faded gradually wn in tints a painter would re- member. Her husband, she said, had wished to learn her language, and —— —s se her speak English. to feel a preju- dice agai him. Poeniily « boy of perhaps three years came into the room—an ugly, white-headed, Scotch-looking little ruffian, thin- li and freckled, and my aver- sion for Mr. Blaek became quite decided. “Did you not regret leaving Athens?” I asked. “Very much, signore,’ she answered with half a sigh ; “but my husband dis- likes Athens.” Horrid Mr. Black! thought I. I wished to ask her of Lord Byron, but I had heard that the poet’s admiration had occa- sioned the usual scandal attendant on every kind of pre-eminence, and her modest and timid manners, _ while they assured me of her pu- rity of heart, made me afraid to venture where there was even a possibility of wounding her. She sat in a drooping attitude on the coarsely-covered divan, which oc- cupied three sides of the little room, and it was difficult to be- lieve that any eye but her hus- band’s had ever looked upon her, or that the “wells of her heart” had ever been drawn upon for any- _ thing deeper than the simple du- ties of a wife and mother. She offered us some sweetmeats, the usual Greek compliment to visi- tors, as we rose to go, and, laying her hand upon her heart, in the beautiful custom of the country, re- quested me to express her thanks to the commodore for the honour he had done her in calling, and 131 to wish him and his family every happiness. A servant-girl, very shabbily dressed, stood at the side door, and we offered her some money, which she might have taken unnoticed. She drew her- self up very coldly, and refused it, as if she thought we had quite mistaken her. In a country where gifts of the kind are so univer- sal, it spoke well for the pride of the family, at least. I turned after we had taken leave, and made an apology to speak to her again ; for in the interest of the general im- oh aki she had made upon me I ad forgotten to notice her dress, and I was not sure that I could remember a single feature of her face. We had called unexpectedly, of course, and her dress was very plain. A red cloth cap, bound about the temples with a coloured. shawl, whose folds were mingled: with large braids of dark-brown hair, and decked with a tassel of blue silk, which fell to her left. shoulder, formed her head-dress. In other respects she was dressed like a European. She is a little above the middle height, slight and well formed, and walks weakly, like most Greek women, as if her feet. were too small for her weight. Her skin is dark and clear, and she has a colour in her cheek and lips that looks to me consumptive. er teeth are white and regular, her face oval, and her forehead and nose form the straight line of the Grecian model—one of the few in- stances I have ever seen of it. Her eyes are large, and of a soft, liquid hazel, and this is her chief beauty. There is that “looking out of the soul through them,” which Byron always described as constitutin the loveliness that most sgived him. I made wp my mind, as we walked away, that she would be a lovely woman anywhere. Her hor- rid name, and the unprepossessin circumstances in which we foun 132 POETICAL her, had uncharmed, I thought, all poetical delusion that would natu- rally surround her as the “ Maid of Athens.” We met her as simple Mrs. Black, whose Scotch husband’s terrier had worried us at the door, and we left her, feeling that the etry which she had called forth om the heart of Byron was her due by every law of loveliness.— (N. P.- Willis’s Cruise in the Medi- terranean.) BURNS’ “CHLORIS.” “Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie.” Mr. Lorimer’s eldest daughter -Jean was at this time a very young lady, but possessed of uncommon personal charms. Her form was “symmetry itself, and, notwithstand- ing hair of flaxen lightness, the beauty of her face was universally -admired. A Mr, Gillespie, a bro- -ther-officer of Burns, settled at Dumfries, was already enslaved by Miss Lorimer; and to his suit the ~poet lent all his influence. But it ~was in vain. Miss Lorimer became ‘the wife of another, under some- what extraordinary circumstances. A young gentleman named W help- dale, connected with the county of Cumberland, and who had already signalized himself by profuse ha- bits; settled at Barnhill, near Mof- fat,asafarmer. He was acquainted with a respectable farmer named Johnston, at Drumcrieff, near Crai- gieburn, where Miss Lorimer .vi- sited. He thus became acquainted with the young beauty. He paid his addresses to her, and it is sup- posed that she was not adverse to his suit. One night, in March 1793,-when the poor girl was still some months less’ than eighteen years of age, and of course pos- sessed of little prudence or know- ledge of the world, he took her aside, and informed her that he could no longer live except as her husband; he therefore entreated HEROINES. her to elope with him that very night to Gretna Green, in order that they might be married, and threatened to do himself some ex- treme mischief if she should refuse, A hard-wrung consent to this most imprudent step fixed her fate to sorrow through life. The pair had not been united for many mon when Mr. Whelpdale was obli by his debts to remove hastily from Barnhill, leaving his yo wife no resource but that of re- turning to her parents at Kemmis- hall, She saw her husband no more for twenty-three years. * * The subsequent history of the lady is pitiful. Some years after this outpouring of poesy in her praise, her father was unfortunate in business, and ceased to be the wealthy man he once was. The tuneful tongue which had sung her praise was laid in silence in Dum- tries church-yard. She continued to derive no income from her hus- band, and scarcely even to know in what part of the world he lived. She was now, therefore, compelled to accept of a situation as plain governess in a gentleman’s family; and in such situations she some years of her life. In 1816, returning from a visit to her bro- ther in Sunderland, she inquired at Brampton for her husband, and learned that she had only missed seeing him by a few hours, as he had that day been in the vi He was now squandering some fourth or fifth fortune, which had been left to him by a relation. Not long after, learning that he was imprisoned for debt at Car- lisle, she went to see ifn. Having announced to him her wish for an interview, she went to the place where he was co and was desired to walk in. His lodgi was pointed out to her on the op- posite side of a quadrangle, round which there was a covered as in the ambulatories of the an- POETRY AND POETS. cient religious houses. As she walked along one side of this court, she passed a man whose back was towards her—a bulky-looking per- son, slightly paralytic, and who shuffled in walking as if from lameness. As she approached the. door, she heard this man pronounce her name. “Jean,” he said, and then immediately added, as under a more formal feeling, “ Mrs. Whelp- dale!” It was her husband—the y youth of 1793 being now trans- ormed into a broken-down middle- aged man, whom she had passed without even suspecting who he was. The wife had to ask the figure if he was her husband, and the figure answered that he was. To such a scene many a romantic marriage leads! There was kind- ness, nevertheless, between the long- separated pair. Jean spent a month in Carlisle, calling upon her husband 133 every day, and then returned to Scotland. Some months after- wards, when he had been libe- rated, she paid him another visit ; but his utter inability to make a prudent use of any money intrusted to him, rendered it quite impossible that they should ever renew their conjugal life. After this she never saw him again. It is understood that this poor, unprotected woman at length was led into an error which cost her the respect of so- ciety. She spent some time in a kind of vagrant life, verging on mendicancy, and never rising above the condition of a domestic servant. She never ceased to be elegant in her form and comely of face; nor did she ever cease to recollect that she had been the subject of some dozen compositions by one of the greatest modern masters of the lyre.—(Chambers’s Life of Burns.) POETRY AND POETS. LORD BYRON AND MR. CURRAN. When Lord Byron rose into fame, Curran constantly objected to his talking of himself,as the great draw- back on his poetry. “ Any subject,” said he, “but that eternal one of self. I am weary of knowing oncea month the state of any man’s hopes or fears, rights or wrongs. I should as soon read a register of the weather, the barometer up so many inches to-day and down so many inches to-morrow. I feel scepticism all over me at the sight of agonies on paper, things that come as regular and as notorious as the full of the moon. The truth is, his lordship weeps for the press, and wipes his eyes with the public.” POETS AT BREAKFAST. The following specimen of the table-talk of poets is taken from “Moore’s Diary.” The entry is dated October 27, 1820 :— “Wordsworth came at half-past eight, and stopped to breakfast. Talked a good deal. Spoke of Byron’s plagiarisms from him ; the whole third canto of Childe Ha- rold founded on his style and sen- timents. The feeling of natural objects which is there expressed, not caught by B. from nature her- self, but from him (Wordsworth), and spoiled in the transmission, Tintern Abbey, the source of it all; from which same poem, too, the cele- brated passage about Solitude, in the first canto of Childe Hurold is (he said) taken, with this differ- ence, that what is naturally ex- ressed by him, has been worked! By Byron into a laboured and anti- thetical sort of declamation. Spoke: of the Scottish Novels. Is sure they are Scott's. The only doubt. 134 he ever had on the question did not arise from thinking them too good to be Scott’s, but, on the con- trary, from the infinite number of clumsy things in them ; common- place contrivances, worthy only of the Minerva press, and such bad vulgar English as no gentleman of education ought to have written. When I mentioned the abundance of them, as being rather too great for one man to produce, he said, that great fertility was the charac- teristic of all novelists and story- tellers. Richardson could have gone on for ever; his Sir Charles Gran- dison was originally in thirty vo- lumes. Instanced Charlotte Smith, Madame Cottin, &., &. Scott, since he was a child, accustomed to legends, and to the exercise of the story-telling faculty, sees no- thing to stop him as long as he can hold a pen. Spoke of the very little knowledge of real poetry that existed now ; so few men had time to study. For instance, Mr. Can- ning; one could hardly select a cleverer man; and yet, what did Mr. Canning know of poetry? What time had he, in the busy po- litical life that he led, to study Dante, Homer, &c., as they ought to be studied, in order to arrive at the true principles of tastein works of genius? Mr. Fox, indeed, to- wards the latter part of his life, made leisure for himself, and took to improving his mind ; and, accord- ingly, all his later public displays bore a greater stamp of wisdom and good taste than his early ones. Mr. Bake alone was an exception in this description of public men ; by far the greatest man of his age ; not only abounding in knowledge himself, but feeding, in various di- rections, his most able contempo- raries ; assisting Adam Smith in his Political Economy and Rey- nolds in his Lectures on Painting. Fox, too, who acknowledged that all he had ever learned from books POETRY AND POETS. and ghastliest grandeur, or in those was nothing to what he had de- rived from Burke.” ms EDGAR ALLEN POE. The conversation of Edgar Allen © Poe, the gifted American poet, was at times, says R. W. Griswold, al- most supermortal in its His voice was modulated with as-— tonishing skill, and his and variably expressive eyes looked re- pose or shot fiery tumult into theirs who powers. while his own face lowed or was changeless in pallor ce his imagination quickened his blood or drew it back frozen to his heart. His imagery was from the worlds which no mortal can see but with the vision of genius. Sud- denly starting from a proposition exactly and sharply defined in terms of utmost simplicity and clearness, he rejected the forms of customary logic, and, by a erystalline process of accretion, built up his ocular de- monstrations in forms of gloomiest of the most airy and delicious beauty—so minutely and distinetly, yet so rapidly, that the attention — which was yielded to him was chained till it stood among his won- derful creations, till he himself dis-- solved the spell, and brought his” hearers back to common and base — existence by vulgar fancies or exhi- bitions of the ignoblest passion. CHARLES LAMB, It is told of Charles Lamb, that one afternoon returning from a din- ner-party, having taken a seat ina crowded omnibus, a stout gentle- man subsequently looked in, and politely asked, “All full inside?” “T don’t know how it may be with the other passengers,” answered Lamb, “but that last piece of oyster- — pie did the business for me.” Coleridge, during one of his in- terminable table-talks, said to Lamb, “ Charley, did you ever hear me preach?” “I never heard you _ do anything else,” was the prompt _ and che reply of Elia, which has become a favourite byword at the present day. The regular routine of clerkly business ill suited the literary tastes and the wayward though innocent habits of ouressayist. Once atthe India House, one in authority said to him—“I have remarked, Mr. Lamb, that you come very date in the morning.” “Yes, sir,” replied the wit, “but I go away early in the afternoon.” The oddness of the excuse silenced the reprover, who turned away with a smile. A retired cheesemonger, who hated any allusion to the business that had enriched him, once re- marked to Charles Lamb, in the course of a discussion on the poor- law, “ You must bear in mind, sir, that I have got rid of all that stuff which you poets call the ‘milk of ‘human kindness’” Lamb looked at him steadily, and gave his ac- uiescence in these words: “Yes, sir, I am aware of it; you turned it all intocheese several years ago.” CHARLES LAMB AND TILE POFTASTER. Lamb was once invited by an old friend to meet an author, who had just published a volume of poems. hen he arrived, being somewhat early, he was asked by his host to look over the volume of theexpected visitor. A few minutes convinced Elia that it possessed very little merit, being a feeble echo of differ- ent authors. This opinion of the poetaster was fully confirmed by the appearance of the gentleman himself, whose self-conecit, and contidence in his own book, were so manifest as to awaken in Lamb that spirit of mis- chievous waggery so characteristic ofthe humorist. Lamb’s rapid and tenacious memory enabled him dur- ing the dinner to quote fluently se- veral passages from the pretender’s volume. These he gave with this DIPPING CHARLES LAMB. 135 introduction—“ This reminds me of some verses I wrote when I was very young.” He then, to the as- tonishment of the gentleman in question, quoted something from the volume. Lamb tried this a second time: the gentleman looked still more surprised, and seemed evidently bursting with suppressed indigna- tion. At last, as a climax to the fun, Lamb coolly quoted the well- known opening lines of Paradise Lost as written by himself. This was too much for the verse- monger. He immediately rose to his legs, and with an impressive so- lemnity of manner thus addressed the claimant to so many poetical honours: “Sir, I have tamely sub- mitted all this evening to hear you claim the merit that may belong to any little poems of my own ; this I have borne in silence; but, sir, I never will sit quietly by and see the immortal Milton robbed of Paradise Lost.” DIPPING CHARLES LAMB. “Coleridge,” says De Quincey, “told me of a ludicrous embarrass- ment which Lamb’s stammering caused him at Hastings. Lamb had been medically advised to a course of sea-bathing ; and accord- ingly, at the door of his bathing- machine, whilst he stood shivering with cold, two stout fellows laid hold of him, one at each shoulder, like heraldic supporters ; they wait- ed for the word of command from their principal, who began the fol- lowing oration to them: “Hear me, men! Take notice of this ; I am to be dipped——” ; What more he would have said is unknown to land or sea bathing machines ; for, having reached the word dipped, he commenced such @ rolling fire of di—di—di—di, that when at length he descended & plomb upon the full word dipped, the two men, rather tired of the 136 long suspense, became satisfied that they had reached what lawyers call the “ operative” clause of the sen- tence, and both exclaiming at once, “O, yes, sir, we're quite aware of that,’ down they plunged him into the sea. On emerging, Lamb sobbed so much from the cold, that he found no voice suitable to his indignation ; from necessity he seemed tranquil ; and again addressing the men, who stood respectfully listening, he be- gan thus: “Men, is it possible to obtain yourattention?” “O,surely, sir, by all means.” “Then listen: once more I tell you Iam to be di— di—di—,” and then, with a burst of indignation, “ dipped, I tell you ——’ “QO, decidedly, sir.” And down the stammerer went for the second time. Petrified ‘with cold and wrath, once more Lamb made a feeble at- tempt at explanation. “Grant me pa—pa—patience; is it mum—um —murder you me—me—mean? Again and a—ga—ga—gain, I tell you, 'm to be di—di—di— dipped ——” now speaking furiously with the voice of an injured man. “O, es, sir,” the men replied, “ we ow that—we fully understand it; and, for the third time, down went Lamb into the sea. “O limbs of Satan!” he said, on coming up for the third time, “it’s now too late. I tell you that I am —no, that I was to be di—di—di— dipped only once.” POPE'S ACCURACY. “ At fifteen years of age,” says Pope, “I got acquainted with Mr. Walsh. Heencouraged memuchand used to tell me that there was one way left of excelling ; for though we had several great poets, we never had any one great poet that was correct. He ended his remarks by desiring me to make accuracy my study and aim.” This, perhaps, first led Pope POETRY AND POETS. to turn his lines over and over again so often. This habit he con- tinued to the last, and he did it with a surprising facility. CAMPBELL AND WILSON, “Campbell,” says Dr. Beattie, “went to Paisley races, got prodi- giously interested in the first race, and betted on the success of one horse, to the amount of fifty pounds, with Professor Wilson. At the end of the race he thought he had lost the bet, and said to Wilson, “ Lowe you fifty pounds; but really, when I reflect that you are a professor of moral philosophy, and that betting is a sort of gambling only fit for blacklegs, I cannot bring my con- science to pay the bet.” “O,” said Wilson, “I very much approve of your principles, and mean to act upon them. In point of fact, Yellow Cap, on whom you betted, has won the race ; and, but for conscience, I ought to pay yor the fifty pounds ; but you will ex- cuse me.” CUATTERTON’S MISERY. A prodigy of genius, the unfor- tunate Chatterton, was amusi himself one day, in company with — a friend, reading the epitaphs in Pancras Church-yard. He was so deep sunk in thought as he walked on, that, not perceiving a grave that was just dug, he tumbled into it. His friend, observing his situa- ticn, ran to his assistance, and, as he helped him out, told him, in a jocular manner, he was happy in assisting at the resurrection of ge- nius. Poor Chatterton smiled, and, taking his companion by the arm, replied, “My dear friend, I feel the sting of a speedy dissolution. I have been at war with the grave for some time, and find it is not so easy to vanquish it as Iimagined. We can find an asylum to hide from every creditor but that.” His friend endeavoured to divert JOANNA his thoughts from the gloomy re- ’ Co flection : but what will not melan- choly and adversity combined sub- jugate? In three days after, the neglected and disconsolate youth put an end to his miseries by poison. JAMES MONTGOMERY. A writer in the Boston Atlas ives the following account of an interview with Montgomery, the of his age :— “J found Montgomery, in con- versation, delightful. There was nothing of the ‘I am a poet’ about him; but he entered freely and familiarly into conversation, and expressed his opinions on the lite- rature of the day with as much diffidence as if he had himself only worshipped the Muse ‘afar off’ . . “Tn the course of the evening, _the conversation turned on Robert Montgomery’s poetry, which was then making some noise. James, for some time, took no part in what was going on, but was an at- tentive listener. At last it seemed as if flesh and blood could bear it no longer, for he commented on the meanness of Satan Bob in assum- ing his name, for the purpose of cheating the public into the pur- chase of his wares. ‘It has been a serious business to me, said the true Montgomery, ‘for I am con- stantly receiving letters, evidently intended for another person, in which I am either mercilessly abused for what I never wrote, or bespattered with compliments of the most nauseating character. Many, to this day, do not distin- ish between me and Robert ontgomery; and so I am, in a great measure, robbed of what lit- tle hard-earned fame I possess.’ “The poet, evidently, was much Dbertified by Robert’s assumption of his name, and did not endea- vour to disguise his contempt for the literary pirate, who sailed under false colours. His intimate friends 137 say that this is the only subject which rufiles the habitual serenity of his mind; and well it may, for it must be no trifling annoyance to see that fame, which was acquired by years of toil and patient endur- ance, perilled in the minds of many by the productions of such a popin- jay as the author of Oxford and Woman.” BAILLIE. JOANNA BATLLIE, “T believe,” says Miss Sedgwick, “of all my pleasures here, dear J. will most envy me that of seeing Joanna Baillie, and of seeing her repeatedly at her home—the best point of view for all best women. She lives on Hampstead Hill, a few miles from town, in a modest house, with Miss Agnes Baillie, her only sister, a kindly and agreeable rson. “Miss Baillie—I write this for J., for women always like to know how one another look and dress— Miss Baillie has a well-preserved appearance: her face has nothing of the vexed or sorrowful expres- sion that is often so deeply stamped by a long experience of life. It in- dicates a strong mind, great sensi- bility, and the benevolence that, f believe, always proceeds from it if the mental constitution be a sound one, as it eminently is in Miss Baillie’s case. “She has a pleasing figure, what we call lady-like, that is, delicate, erect, and graceful; not the large- boned, muscular frame of most English women. She wears her own gray hair—a general fashion, by the way, here, which I wish we elderly ladies of America may have the courage and the taste to imi- tate; and she wears the prettiest of brown silk gowns and bonnets, fitting the beau-ideal of an old lady—an ideal she might inspire, if it has no pre-existence, “You would, of course, expect her to be free from pedantry and 138 all modes of affectation; but I think you would be surprised to find yourself forgetting, in a do- mestic and confiding feeling, that you were talking with the woman whose name is best established among the female writers of her country ; in short, forgetting every- thing but that you were in the society of a most charming private gentlewoman. She might—would that all female writers could—-take for her device a flower that closes itself against the noontide sun, and unfolds in the evening shadows.” COWPER’S LETTERS. William Cowper is pre-eminently the Christian poet of our age and nation, and, high as is the rank assigned to his verse by the unani- mous consent of the whole lite- rary world, it is not higher than that to which his prose is entitled. Robert Hall, himself a master of English, said—“ I have always con- sidered the letters of Mr. Cowper as the finest specimens of the epistolary style in our language.” Southey, who was also distin- guished as a prose-writer, pays a similar tribute to Cowper’s letters. Such, indeed, is the universal judg- ment passed upon the unstudied grace and inimitable ease of those compositions with which the poet charmed his friends and occupied the leisure of his secluded life, when not engaged in the work of his high poetical vocation. COWPER’S SCHOOLBOY TORMENTOR. At school, first in his native vil- lage, and subsequently at West- minster, Cowper suffered much from the cruelty of boys older and stronger than himself, who took a malicious delight in tyrannizing over hint; and such was the effect of the savage treatment upon his gentle spirit, that, speaking of a lad. of about fifteen years of age, who acted towards him with pecu- POETRY AND POETS. liar barbarity, “I well he says, “being afraid 4o eye upon him higher than his knees, and that I knew him better by his shoe-buckles than by any other part of his dress. May the Lord pardon him, and may we meet in glory!” TELICIA HEMANS, A traveller who called on Mrs. Hemans, at Wavertree, in 183-, gives us some pleasing recollec- tions. “After some conversation — in the parlour,” he says, “Mrs. H. | proposed a visit to her study. “ testified, “he had heard him mutter, © as he walked, in some outlandish brogue that nobody could under-— stand.” This last, we suppose, is the rustic version of the poet’s own — statement,— - “He murmurs near the running brooks, A musie sweeter than their own.”, Others, however, took a different ; view of his habits, as little flatter- ing to his morals as the other view to his sense. One wiseacre re- marked confidently, “I know what he is, We have all met him ing away towards the sea. Would any man in his senses take all that trouble to look ata parcel of water ? I think he carries on a snug busi- ness in the smuggling line, and, in these journeys, is on the look-out for some wet cargo.” Another carrying out this bright idea, added, “I know he has got a private still in his cellar ; for I once passed his house at a little better than a hundred yards’ distance, and I could smell the spirits as plain as an ashen fagot at Christmas.” But the charge which probably had the most weight in those times was the last. “TI know,” said one, “that he is surely a desperate French Jaco- bin ; for he is so silent and dark that no one ever heard him say one word about politics.” While the ludicrous tattle to which we have referred was sound- ing all around him, he was medi- tating Peter Bell. and the I Ballads in the depths of the Allfox~ den woods, and consecrating the rustics who were scandalizing hi The great Poet of the Poor, who has made the peasant a grander object of contemplation than the , peer, and who saw through vulgar ‘externals and humble occupations to the inmost soul of the man, had sufficient provocations to be the satirist of those he idealized. COWPER’S HABITS OF COMPOSITION. We learn from Southey, who had seen his MS. letters, that they “were written as easily as they ap- _ pear to have been ; they would not otherwise (he observes) have been ’ inimitable ; they are written ina clear, beautiful, running hand, and it is rarely that an erasure occurs in them, or the slightest alteration of a phrase.” Cowper himself de- seribes the painstaking attention he bestowed a his poetical com- position :—* Whatever faults I may be chargeable with as a poet, I cannot accuse myself of negligence. I never suffer a line al yen till I ean.” 2ave made it as good as FATE OF A LYRICAL WRITER. _ As I sit in my garret here (in Washington) watching the course of great men, and the destiny of party, I meet often with strange contradictions in this eventful life. The most remarkable was that of J. Howard Payne, author of Sweet Home. I knew him personally. He oceupied the rooms under me for ome time, and his conversation was so captivating that I often spent whole days in his apartment. He was an applicant for office at the time—consul at Tunis—from which he had been removed. What asad thing it was to see the poet Subjected to all the humiliation of ffice-seeking. Of an evening we would walk along the streets. Once a while we would see some fa- mily circle so happy, and formin 80 beautiful a group, that we woul both stop, and then pass silently a. On such occasions he would give mea history of his wanderings, his trials, and all the cares incident _ to his sensitive nature and poverty. = : i POETICAL POPULARITY. 143 “ How often,” said he once, “I have been in the heart of Paris, Berlin, and London, or some other city, and heard persons singing, or the hand-organ playing, Sweet Home, without a shilling to buy the next meal or a place to lay my head. The world has literally sung my song until every heart is familiar with its melody. Yet I have been a wanderer from my boyhood. My country has turned me ruthlessly from my office ; and in my old age I have to submit to humiliation for bread.” Thus he would complain of his haplesslot. His only wish was to die ina foreign land, to be buried by strangers, and sleep in obscurity. Imet him one day looking unusually sad, “Have you got your consu- late?” said I. “Yes, and leave in a week for Tunis ; I shall never re- turn.” Poor Payne! his wish was realized—he died at Tunis. POETICAL POPULARITY. One of Campbell’s most popular lyrics was the Wounded Hussar. Tn 1802 it was a street ballad, a fact which was very annoying to the sensitive poet, who was quizzed on this proof of his success by his waggish companions. In after years Campbell regarded his street ee, in a different light. “Coming home one evening to my house in Park Square (narrates Dr. Beattie), where as usual he had dropped in to spend a quiet hour, I told him that I had been agreeably detained listening to some street music near Portman Square.” “Vocal or instrumental?” he in- quired. “ Vocal; the song was an old favourite, remarkably good, and of at least forty years’ standing.” “Ha!” said he, “I congratulate the author, whoever he is.” “ And so do I—it was your own song, the Soldier's Dream; and when I came away the crowd was still increas- ing.” “Well,” he added, musing, | wy is is something like popularity !’ 144 He then, as an instance of real po- pularity, mentioned that, happening to enter a blacksmith’s forge on some trifling errand many years ago, he saw a small volume lying on the bench, but so begrimmed and tattered, that its title-page was almostillegible. It was Goldsmith’s Deserted Village and other Poems ; every page of which bore testimony tothe rough hands—guided by feel- ing hearts—that had so often turned over its leaves. “This,” he added, “was one of the most convincing instances of an author’s popularity I ever met with.” BOWLES. The canon’s absence of mind was very great, and when his coachman drove him into Bath, he had to ractise all kinds of cautions to seep him to time and place. The act of composition was a slow and laborious operation with Mr. Bowles. He altered and re-wrote his MS., until, sometimes, hardly anything remained of the original, excepting the general conception. When we add that his handwriting was one of the worst that ever man wrote —insomuch that frequently he could not read that which he had written the day before—we need not say that his printers had very tough work in.getting his works into type. At the time when we printed for Mr. Bowles, we had one compositor who had asort of knack in making out the poet’s hierogly- phics, and he was once actually sent or by Mr. Bowles into Wiltshire to copy some MS. written a year or two before, which the poet had himself vainly endeavoured to de- cipher.— (Newspaper.) COWPER’S “TASK.” Cowper, like many other men of eminence, was often indebted to others for the subjects on which he wrote. Lady Austen was very fond of blank verse, and urged her POETRY AND POETS. friend to try his powers in t species of composition. At k he promised to do so if she furnish him with a subject. replied, “O you can never be want of a subject: you can v upon any: write upon this sofa. The poet obeyed her command, and — produced the Zask. > This poem, which thus arose from the lively repartee of familiar conversation, presents a variety in- cluding almost every subject and every style, without the violation of order and harmony, while it~ breathes a spirit of the purest and most exalted morality. ’ Thomas Campbell finely re- marks, that “ his whimsical outset in a work, where he promises so — little and performs so much, a 7 be advantageously contrasted with — those magnificent commencemenis — of poems which pledge both the reader and the writer, in earnest, to a task. Cowper's poem, — on the contrary, is like a river, which rises from a playfui little © fountain, and which gathers beauty — and magnitude as it proceeds.” “ PARADISE LOST.” When this great production a peared, in 1667, the cele a Waller wrote of it—“The blind schoolmaster, John Milton, hath published a tedious poem on the fall of man; if its le be — not considered a merit, it 268 other.” ; Thomas Ellwood, an intelligent and learned Quaker, who was oured by the intimate friendship of Milton, used to read to him various authors in the learned and thus contributed as well to hi: own improvement as to solace the dark hours of the poet when he had lost his sight. “The curious ear of John Milton,” said Ellwood, in his own Life, “could discover, by the tone of my voice, — when I did not clearly understs SIR WALTER SCOTT. what I read, and open the difficult | es.” ilton lent Ellwood the manu- seript of Paradise Lost to read. When he returned it, Milton asked him how he liked it. “I like it much,” said the judicious Quaker : “thou hast written well, and said much of Paradise Lost; but what hast thou tosay of Paradise Found?” Milton made no answer, but sat musing for some time. When business afterwards drew Ellwood to London, he called on Milton, who showed him the poem of Paradise Regained; and in a pleasant tone said to his friend, “This is owing to you ; for you put it into my head by the question ou asked me at Charlfont, which fore I had not thought of.” JONATHAN SWIFT. Tn one of his letters, Pope the following illustration of Swift's eccentricity :— “Dean Swift has an odd, blunt way, that is mistaken by strangers for ill nature: it is so odd that there is no describing it but by facts. I'll tell you one that first comes into my head. “One evening, Gay and I went to see him: you know how inti- mately we were all acquainted. On our one in, ‘Heyday, gentlemen, says the doctor, ‘ what’s the mean- iy this visit? How came you to leave all the great lords that you are so fond of, to come hither to see a poor dean? ‘Because we would rather see you than any of them.’ *Ay, anyone that did not know you 80 well as I do might believe you. But since you hare wae T must t some supper for you I suppose.’ tNo, doctor, we have su Bi al- ready.” ‘Supped already? That's impossible: why, it is not eight Oclock yet. That’s very strange: but if you had not supped, I must have got something for you. Let me see ; what should I have had ? ives ean 145 A couple of lobsters? Ay that would have done very well—two shillings ; tarts, a shilling’ “<«But you will drink a glass of wine with me, though you supped so much before your usual time only to spare my pocket.’ ‘No, we had rather talk with you than drink with you.” ‘But if you had supped with me, as in all reason you ought to have done, you must then have drank with me. A bottle of wine, two shillings. Two and two are four, and one is five; just two and sixpence a piece. There, Pope, there’s half a crown for you ; and there’s another for you, sir; for I won't save anything by you, I am determined, “ This was all said and done with his usual seriousness on such occa- sions ; and in spite of everything we could say to the contrary, he actu- ally obliged us to take the money.” DRYDEN. This poet, when a boy at West- minster school, was put with others to write a copy of verses on the miracle of the conversion of water into wine. Being a great truant, he had not time to compose his verses ; and, when brought up, he had only made one line of Latin, and two of English :— Videt et erubit lympha pudica Deum!” “The modest water, awed by power divine, Beheld its God, and blushed itself to wine ;” which so pleased the master, that, instead of being angry, he said it was a presage of future greatness, and gave the youth a crown on this occasion. SIR WALTER SCOTT, When Sir Walter Scott was a schoolboy, between ten and eleven ears of age, his mother one morn- Ing saw him standing still in the street, and looking at the sky, in the midst of a tremendous thunder- K 146 storm. She called to him repeat- ‘edly, but he did not seem to hear: at length he returned into the house, and told his mother that if she would give him a pencil, he would tell her why he looked at the sky. She acceded to his request, and in a few minutes he laid on her lap the following lines :— “Loud o’er my head what awful thun- ders roll! What vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole! Tt * thy voice, O God, that bids them y> Thy voice directs them through the vaulted sky ; . Then let the good thy mighty power revere ; Let hardened sinners thy just judg- ments fear.” BURNS. Burns, in his autobiography, in- forms us that a life of Hannibal, which he read when a boy, raised the first stirrings of his enthusiasm ; and he adds, with his own fervid expression, that “the Life of Sir William Wallace poured a tide of Scottish prejudices into his veins, which would boil along them till the floodgates of life were shut in eternal rest.” He adds, speaking of his retired life in early youth, “This kind of life, the cheerless gloom of a hermit, and the toil of a galley slave, brought me to my six- teenth year, when love made me a poet.” BYRON. Moore relates, in his Life of Lord Byron, that on a certain occasion, ‘he found him occupied with the Mistory of Agathon, a romance, by Wieland ; and, from some remarks made at the time, he seemed to be of opinion that Byron was reading the work in question as a means of | furnishing suggestions to, and of quickening, his own imaginative powers. He then adds, “I am in- clined to think it was his practice, when engaged in the composition POETRY AND POETS. of any work, to excite his vein by the perusal of others on the same subject or plan, from which the slightest hint caught by imagina- tion, as he read, was sufficient to kindle there such a train of thought. as but for that spark had never been awakened.” GOETHE. The singular facility with which Goethe’s poems were produced, re- prvengincs 3 improvisation or inspira- tion rather than composition, has. contributed in some cases, no doubt, to enhance their peculiar charm. “T had come,” says he, “to re the poetic talent dwelling in me entirely as nature; the rather that I was directed to look upon exter- nal nature’ as its proper subject. The exercise of this tie gift might bestimulated and determined by occasion, but it flowed forth most joyfully, most richly, when it came involuntarily, or even against my will. “T was so accustomed to say over a song to myself without being able rushed to the desk, and, without. taking time to adjust a sheet that was lying crosswise, wrote the poem diagonally from beginning to end, without stirring from the For the same reason I preferred to use a pencil, which gives the charac- ters more willingly ; for it had some- times happened that the seratchin and spattering of the pen would wake me from my somnambulistic poetizing, distract my attention, and stifle some small product in the birth. For such poetry I had a special reverence. My relation to it was something like a hen to the | chickens, which, being pie for she sees chirping about her. My former desire to communicate these things only by reading them aloud renewed itself again. To barter them for money seemed to me de- testable.” : to collect it again, that I sometimes. | » — QUEEN VICTORIA AND THOMAS CAMPBELL. ‘UT yee amusement, twangs under the en- When the poet Crabbe once pre- sented one of his poems to the late Lord-Chancellor Thurlow, his lord- ship said, “I have no time to read verses ; my avocations do not per- mit it.” Crabbe instantly retor- ted, “ There was a time when the encouragement of literature was considered to be a duty appertain- ing tothe illustrious situation which your lordship holds.” Thurlow frankly acknowledged his error, and nobly returned it. He ob- served, “I ought to have noticed your poem, and I heartily forgive your rebuke.” In proof of his sin- cerity he presented him with one hundred pounds, and subsequently gave him preferment in the church. COWPER’S AMUSEMENTS. “Amusements (he writes to Wm. Unwin) are necessary in a retire- ment like mine, especially in such a sablestate of mind as [labour under. The necessity of amusement makes me a carpenter, a bird-cage maker, a gardener, and has lately taught - me to draw, and to draw too with such surprising proficiency in the art, considering my total ignorance of it two months ago, that, when I show your mother my productions, she is all admiration and applause.” To Mr. Newton he writes :—“I draw mountains, valleys, woods, and streams, and ducks, and dab-chicks. I admire them myself, and Mrs. Unwin admires them, and her praise and my praise put together are fame enough for me.” The pleasure he derives from his pursuits he thus describes :—“I never received a little pleasure from anything in my life; if I am delighted, it is in the extreme. The unhappy consequence of this temperament is, that my attachment to any occupation sel- dom outlives the novelty of it. That nerve of my imagination, that feels the touch of any particular ergy of the pressure with so much vehemence, that it soon becomes sensible of weariness and fatigue.” Adverting in another letter to his — amusements, he says : —“ Poetry above all things is useful to me in this respect. While I am held in pursuit of pretty images, ora pretty way of expressing them, I forget everything that is irksome.” The remark may remind us of one of his verses :— “ There is a pleasure in poetic pains, Which only poets know.” QUEEN VICTORIA AND THOMAS CAMPBELL, The following story narrates the most graceful compliment and delicate return ever made by royalty :— “T was at her Majesty’s corona- tion, in Westminster Abbey,” said Campbell, “and she conducted her- self so well, during the long and fatiguing ceremony, that I shed tears many times. On returning home, I resolved, out of pure esteem and veneration, to send her a copy of all my works. “ Accordingly, I had them bound up, and went personally with them _ to Sir Henry Wheatly, who, when he understood my errand, told me that her Majesty made it a rule to decline presents of this kind, as it placed her under obligations which were unpleasant to her. ‘Say to her Majesty, Sir Henry, I replied, ‘that there isnot a single thing the Queen can touch with her sceptre in any of her dominions which I covet; and [ therefore entreat you, - in your office, to present them with my devotion as a subject” But the next day they were returned. “TJ hesitated,’ continued Camp- bell, “to open the parcel; but, on doing so, I found, to my inexpres- sible joy, a note inclosed, desiring my autograph on them. Having complied with the wish, I again 148 transmitted the books to her Ma- jesty ; and, in the course of a day or two, received in return this elegant: engraving, with her Ma- jesty’s autograph, as you see below.” He then directed particular atten- tion to the royal signature, which was in her Majesty’s usual bold and beautiful handwriting. CANNING. When Canning was challenged to find a rhyme for Julianna, he immediately wrote— “ Walking in the shady grove With my Julianna, For lozenges I gave my love Ip-e-cac-u-an-ha.”’ There might be now as much fact as there was then fiction in the verses. Ipecacuanha lozenges are now sold by the apothecaries. MISS LANDON—L.E.L. We quote the following from William Howitt :— “On the other hand, in mixed companies, witty and conversant as she was, you had a feeling that she was playing an assumed part. Her manner and conversation were not only the very reverse of the tone and sentiment of her poems, but she seemed to say things for the sake of astonishing you with the very contrast. You felt not only no confidence in the truth of what she was asserting, but a strong assurance that it was said merely for the sake of saying what her hearers would least expect to hear her say. “T recollect once meeting her in company, at a time when there was a strong report that she was ac- tually though secretly married. Mrs. Hofiand, on her entering the room, went up to her in her plain, straightforward way, and said,‘ Ah! i what must I-call you ?— $s Landon, or whom? “ After a well-feigned surprise at athe question, Miss Landon began POETRY AND POETS. to talk in a tone of merry ridicule at this report, and ended by de- claring that as to love or marriage, they were things that she never thought of. ‘ What, then, have you been doing with yourself this last month ? “QO, I have been puzzling my brain to invent a new sleeve; pray, how do you like it?’ showing her arm. “You never think of such a thing as love!’ exclaimed a senti- mental young man ; ‘you, who have written so many volumes of poetry upon it? “*O that’s all professional, you know, exclaimed she, with an air of merry scorn. 4 “¢ Professional exclaimedagrave Quaker who stood near ; ‘ why dost thou make a difference between what is professional and what is real? Dost thou write one thing and think another? Does not that look very much like hypocrisy ? “To this the astonished poetess made no reply, but by a look of genuine amazement. It was a mode of putting the matter to which she had evidently never been acecus- tomed. And, in fact, there can be no question that much of her writ- ing was professional. She had to win a golden harvest for the com- fort of others as dear to her as her- self; and she felt, like all authors who have to eater for the public, that she must provide, notso mu¢h what she would of her free-will choice, but what they expected from her.” MRS. SOUTHEY. And who was Mrs. Southey ?— who but she who was so long known, and so great a favourite, as Caroline Bowles ; transformed by the gal- lantry of the laureate, and the grace of the parson, into her matrimonial appellation. Southey, so long ago as the 21st of February, 1829, pre- faced his most amatory poem of Ad — 7 MOORE, BOWLES, AND CRABBE, for Love with a tender address, that is now, perhaps, worth re- printing :— ‘TO CAROLINE BOWLES. “ Could I look forward to a distant day, With hope of building some elaborate la Then would I wait till worthier strains of mine Might have inscribed thy name, O Caro- line! For I would, while my voice is heard on earth, : Bear witness to thy genius and thy worth. But we have been both taught to feel with fear Tow frail the tenure of existence here; What unforeseen calamities prevent, Alas ! how oft, the best resolved intent ; And, therefore, this poor volume I ad- dress To thee, dear friend, and sister poetess ! “*Ropert SouruEy. * Keswick, Feb. 21, 1829.” The laureate had his wish; for in duty he was bound to say, that worthier strains than his bore in- scribed the name of Caroline con- nected with his own; and, more- over, she was something more than a dear friend and sister poetess. “The laureate,” observes a writer in Fraser's Magazine, “is a fortunate man - his queen supplies him with butts (alluding to the laureateship), and his lady with Bowls : then may his cup of good fortune be over- flowing.” ; MOORE, 3OWLES, AND CRABBE. Thomas Moore writes in his diary as follows, showing his excessive love of praise :— “January 21, 1825.—The grand opening to-day of the Literary In- stitution at Bath. Attended the inaugural lecture by Sir G. Gibbs, at two. Walked about a little afterwards, and to the dinner at six—Lord Lansdowne in the chair. Two bishops present; and about 108 persons altogether. Bowles and Crabbe of the number. Lord L, alluded to us in his first speech, 149 as among the literary ornaments, if not of Bath itself, of its precincts; and in describing our respective characteristics, said, beginning with me, ‘the one, a specimen of the most glowing, animated, and im- passioned style,” &c.; this word ‘impassioned’ spoken out strongly in the very ear of the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who sat next him. On the healths of the three poets being given, though much called for, | did not rise, but motioned to Crabbe, who got up and said a few words. When it came to my turn to rise, such a burst of enthusiasm received me as I could not but feel proud of. Spoke for some time, . and with much success. . Concluded by some tributes -to Crabbe and Bowles, and said of the latter, that ‘his poetry was the first fountain at which [ had drunk the pure freshness of the English language, and learned (however little I might have profited by my learning) of what variety of sweetness the music of English verse is capable. : From admiration of the poet, I had been at length promoted into friendship with the man, and I felt it particu- larly incumbent upon me,’ from some late allusions, to say, that I had found the life and the poetry of my friend to be but echoes to each other; the same sweetness and good feeling pervades and! modu- lates both. Those who call my friend a wasp, would not, if they knew him better, make such a mis- take in natural history. They would find that he is a dce, of the Hest called the apes neatina, and that, however he may have a sting ready on the defensive, when at- tacked, his native element is that den of social life which he adorns, and the proper business and delight of his lite are sunshine and flowers.’ In talking of the ‘springs of health with which nature had gifted the fair city of Bath, and of her physicians, I said, ‘it was not ’ 150 ~ necessary to go back to the relation- | - ship between Apollo and Esculapius to, show the close consanguinity that exists between literature and - the healing art; between that art which purifies and strengthens the body, and those pursuits that refine and invigorate the intellect. Long,’ I added, ‘ may they both continue to bless you with their beneficent effects! Long may health and the Muses walk your beautiful hills to- gether, and mutually mingle their respective influences, till your springs themselves shall grow springs of inspiration, and it may be said, * Flavus Apollo Pocula Castalia plena ministrat aqua.’’ ‘Quite overwhelmed with praises, I left the room. Elwyn and I, ac- companied by Bayly, and a sensi- ble Irishman, E. introduced me to (Ellis); went to the play together. Home to Elwyn’s house, where I slept. . “Jan. 22, 1825.—Bowles highly gratified with what I said of him. Asked by every one to give a cor- rect copy of it for the newspapers, ‘but shail not, for it would break the charm which all lies in manner, ‘the occasion, &., &. Duncan of Oxford said to me, ‘I have had that sweet oratory ringing in my ears all night.” “ April 11 to May 11—For this whole month have been too closely occupied with my Sheridan task to write a word here, and must, there- fore, only recollect what I can. Received a letter from some Mrs. F. (whom [ never heard of before) in which she says, ‘ Your talents and excellence have long been the idols of my heart. With thee were the dreams of my earliest love,’ &c. The object of the letter is to invite me to a dinner she is about | | ‘to give to ‘a few select friends in memory of Lord Byron! Her hus- band, she adds, is a ‘gentleman ¥ a ‘ 5 ‘ 7 . . POETRY AND POETS. and_a scholar 7 I wish him: joy of her ”» WORDSWORTH AND SIR H. DAVY. We talked of Wordsworth’s ex- ceedingly high opinion of himself; and she mentioned that one day, in a large party, Wordsworth, with- out any thing having been pre-— viously said that could lead to the subject, called out suddenly from the top of the table to the bottom in his most epic tone, “Davy? and, on Davy’s putting forth his head in awful expectation of what was coming, said, “Do you know the reason why I publi the White Doe in quarto?” “No, what was it?” “To show the world my own opinion of it.’”—(Moore.) i. K. WHITE'S LOVE OF FAME, That youthful poet and eminent scholar, Henry Kirke White, toiled hard for fame. His ambition was, that his name might not be for- gotten; that among the aspirants to literary distinction he might be recognized, and his genius ow- ledged. . It was the fear of falling short of this that made him mourn- fully inquire, ‘* Fifty years hence, and who will hear of Henry ?” Under this impulse he sacrificed health, and even life. He trimmed the midnight lamp with a tremu- lous hand, and scanned the classie page with an eye almost drowsy in” death. ‘‘ He nursed the pinion that impelled . the steel.” : Having received, according to his aims, the highest honours of the university, he exclaimed, respect- ing these laurels, which he had so hardly won, and which, as the se- quel proved, he was so soon to re- inquish, a “ What are ye now, But thorns about my bleeding brow ?”” In sacrificing health to fame, how- a WORDSWORTH, COLERIDGE, AND COTTLE. ever, Henry Kirke White saw his error in time to reach that higher, urer motive, which combines with eelings of regret and sorrow, the hopes and aspirations of the Chris- tian, ' WORDSWORTH, COLERIDGE, AND COTTLE. Coleridge had met with Words- ‘worth’s Descriptive Sketches in 1794, and discerned amid the faults of an immature understanding the romise of an original poetic genius. Fre, on his part, needed no other voucher for the possession of the richest intellectual gifts than what proceeded from his own most elo- quent tongue. His mind, as yet undimmed by the fumes of opium, “was now in its fullest and freshest loom. Transcendental metaphy- ics had not monopolized his thoughts. His sympathies had a wider range than afterwards, and, if his discourse sometimes lost itself in clouds, they were clouds which glowed with gorgeous hues, All who saw him in his early prime are agreed that his finest works convey a feeble notion of the profusion of ideas, the brilliancy of imagery, the subtlety of speculation, the sweep of knowledge, which then distin- ished his inexhaustible colloquial displays. Each poet had traversed regions of thought to which the other was comparatively a stranger: Wordsworth full of original con- templations upon nature — Cole- ridge more conversant with systems of philosophy, and all the varieties of general literature. Coleridge was astonished to find a man who, out of the common appearances of the world, could evolve new and unexpected feelings—Wordsworth was dazzled with the splendour of apparently boundless intellectual hoards. ‘There sprang up between them on the instant the strongest sentiments of admiration and affec- tion. “I feel myself,” writes Cole- 151 ridge, “a little man by his side.” Of Miss Wordsworth he speaks with equal enthusiasm. “His ex- quisite sister is a woman indeed !— in mind, I mean, and heart; for her person is such that, if you expected to see a pretty woman, you would think her rather ordinary—if you expected to see an ordinary woman, you would think her pretty! Her manners are simple, ardent, impres- sive. In every motion her most innocent soul outbeams so brightly that who saw would say— * Guilt was a thing impossible in her? Her information varies; her eye watchful in minutest observation of nature, and her taste a perfect electrometer—it bends, protrudes, and draws in at subtlest. beauties and most recondite faults.”” What Wordsworth thought of his guest may be summed up in his well- known saying, that other men of the age had done wonderful things, but Coleridge was the only won- derful man he had ever known. Here is an anecdote of these two poets and their publisher Cottle :-— “The publisher has preserved no memorials of his professional visit ; but some particulars he has re- corded of a former jaunt afford an amusing glimpse of the simplicity of living, and ignorance of common things, which then distinguished the gifted pair. Cottle drove Wordsworth from Bristol to Allfox- den in a gig, calling at Stowey by the way to summon Coleridge and ‘Miss Wordsworth, who followed swiftly .on foot. The Allfoxden pantry was empty—so they carried \ with them bread and cheese, and a bottle of brandy. rious figures, and f a display of clever tricks; for all which his demand in payment was a kiss from each. His company was much sought after. Hewas always lively and agreeable, and his conversation full of variety and interesting anec- dotes. SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH AND MADAME DE STAEL. Sir J. Mackintosh, who spoke of Madame de Stael as the most cele- brated woman of this, or, perhaps, any age, said: “She treats me as the person whom she most delights to honour. Iam generally ordered with her to dinner as one orders beans and bacon. She is one of the few persons who surpass ex- pectation ; she has every sort of talent, and would be universally popular if, in society, she were to confine herself to her inferior ta- lents—pleasantry, anecdote, and literature—which are so much more suited to eonversation than her eloquence and genius.” HUMANITY OF MR. DAY. While Mr. Day, the eccentric au- thor of Sandford and Merton, was. visiting his friend, Sir William Jones, at his chambers, the latter, in removing some books, perceived a spider fall from them ; on which he eried hastily—* Kill that spider, Day ; kill that spider!” “No,” sai Mr. Day, with that coolness for which he was conspicuous, “I will not kill that spider, Jones; I do not know that I have a right to kill that spider! Suppose when you are going in the coach to West- minster Hall, a superior being who, know ; but they were always ready' perhaps, may have as much power and appropriate in company, when! over you as you have over this in- 288 sect, should say to his companion, ‘Kill that lawyer! kill that law- yer!’ how should you like that, Jones?—and I am sure, to most people, a lawyer is a more noxious animal than a spider.” CORRUPTIONS OF WORDS. Many of our most popular vul- garisms have their origin in some whimsical perversion of language or of fact. St. Martin is one of the worthies of the Romish calen- dar, and a form of prayer com- mences with the words, “0, mihi, beate Martine,’ which was corrupted to “ My eye and Betty Martin.” “The Goat and Compasses,” with appropriate emblazonment, was a favourite name for the old English hostelries. The name is a corrup- tion of the ancient legend, “God encompasseth us.” DR. JOHNSON’S STYLE. Macaulay, in his Review of Bos- well’s Johnson, says he wrote in a style in which no one ever made love, quarrelled, drove bargains, or even thinks. When he wrote for publication, “he did his sentences into Johnsonese.” Goldsmith remarked to him, “If you were to write a fable about little fishes, doctor, vow would make the little fishes to talk like whales.” LITERARY ACQUIREMENTS IN THE ARMY. Lieut.-Gen. Sir George Murray served in the expedition to Egypt, and when before Alexandria, the troops having suffered severely from want of water, his literary acquirements were of the greatest service, instructing him that Ceesar’s army had suffered from the same cause, and in very nearly the same lace. Referring to his Cesar, which e always carried in his travelling ey library, he found his recol- ection right, and that water had been obtained by the Romans from I Mi » i ; TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. digging wells to a certain depth in the sands. The trial was imme- diately made, and the result was a most copious supply of that neces- sary article, which enabled the Bri- tish troops to hold their ground, and ultimately to triumph. PASCAL’S “LETTERS.” When Pascal became warm in his celebrated controversy, he ap- plied himself with incredible labour to the composition of his Province Letters. He was frequently ocecu- pied twenty days on a single letter. He recommenced some above seven or eight times, and by this means obtained that perfection which has made his work, as Voltaire says, one of the best books ever published in France. ORIGIN OF THE WORD “TEETOTAL.” The word teetotal originated with a Lancashire working-man, who, being unused to public s ing, and wishing to pronounce the word “total” in connection with “absti- nence from intoxicating liquors,” hesitated,.and pronounced the first letter by itself, and the word after it, making altogether ¢-total. This fact it is well to be acquainted with, because it sufficiently refutes the vulgar notion that ¢ee has reference to tea. PHYSIOGNOMY. Lavater, in his Phystognomy, says that Lord Anson, from his coun- tenance, must have been a very wise man. He was one of the most stupid men I ever knew.—(Walpole.) LORD WILLIAM POULET. Lord William Poulet, though often chairman of committees of the House of Commons, was & t dunce, and could scarceread. Havy- ing to read a bill for naturalizin, Jemima, Duchess of Kent, he calle her Jeremiah, Duchess of Kent. Having heard south walls com- j PENNANTS ECCENTRICITIES. mended forripening fruit,he showed all the four sides of his garden for south walls. A gentleman writing to desire a fine horse he had, offered him an rea Lord William replied, that the horse was at his service, but he did not know what to do with an elephant. A pamphiet, called The Snake in the Grass, being reported (probably in joke) to be written by this Lord William Poulet, a gentleman, abused in it, sent him a challenge. Lord _ William professed his innocence, and that he was not the author; but the gentleman would not be: satisfied without a denial under his hand. Lord William took a pen, and began, “ This is to seratify, that the buk called the Snak—”’ “O, my Lord,” said the person, “I am satis- fied; your Lordship has already ' eonvinced me you did not write the book.” EXCUSE FOR A LONG LETTER. In a postscript to one of the Provincial Letters, Pascal excuses himself for the letter being so long, on the plea that he had not had time to make it shorter. WIT AND WISDOM. Philip, King of Macedon, having , invited Dionysius the younger to dine with him at Corinth, attempted to deride the father of his royal guest, because he had blended the characters of prince and poet, and had employed his leisure in writing odes and tragedies. “How coul the king find leisure,” said Philip, “to write such trifles?” “Tn those hours,” answered Dionysius, “which you and I spend in drunkenness and debauchery.” STUPID STORIES. A stupid story, or idea, will some- times make one laugh more than wit. I was once removing from Berkeley Square to Strawberry- 289 hill, and had sent off all my books, when a message unexpectedly ar- rived, which fixed me in town for that afternoon. What to do? I desired my man to rummage for a book, and he brought me an old Grub Street thing from the garret. The author, in sheer ignorance, not humour, discoursing of the difficulty of some pursuit, said, that- even if a man had as many lives as a cat, nay, as many lives as one Plutarch is said to have had, he could not accomplish it. This odd guid pro guo surprised me into vehement aughter.—(Walpole.) SYMPTOMS OF INSANITY. My poor nephew, Lord ——, was deranged. The first symptom that appeared was, his sending a chal- dron of coals as a present to the Prince of Wales, on learning that he was loaded with debts. He de- lighted in what he called - book- hunting. This notable diversion consisted in taking a volume of a book, and hiding it in some secret part of the library, among volumes of similar binding and size. When he had forgot where the game lay, he hunted till he found it—(Wal- pole.) PENNANT’S TOUR IN CHESTER. Mr. Pennant is a most ingenious and pleasing writer. His Tours display a great variety of know- ledge, expressed in an engaging way. In private life, I am told, he has some peculiarities, and even eccentricities. Among the latter may be classed his singular anti- pathy to a wig—which, however, he can suppress, till reason yields a little to wine. But when this is the case, off goes the wig next to him, and into the fire. Dining once at Chester witn an officer who wore a wig, Mr. Pennant became half-seas over; and another’ friend that was in company carefully placed himself between Pennant T 290 and wig, to prevent mischief. After much patience, and many a wistful look, Pennant started up, seized the wig, and threw it into the fire. It was in flames in a moment, and so -was the officer, who ran to hissword. Down stairs runs Pennant, and the officer after him, through all the streets of Chester. But Pennant escaped, from superior local know- ledge. A wag called this “ Pen- nant’s Tour in Chester.” —(Wal- pole.) ENGLISH LANGUAGE, Some years ago a gentleman, after carefully examining the folio edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, formed the following table of English words derived from other languages :— Latin, . 5 ° e 6732 French, . ° e . 4812 Saxon, . . ° ° 1665 Greek, . ‘ 4 : Dutch, . Aj 4 . . 691 Italian, . e . German, 4 ‘ ; - 106 Welsh, . ght ‘ 95 Danish, oid ce TFs 5 Td Spanish,, 0}. Heine.) )\« 56 Icelandic, . . s . 50 Swedish, . 4 * ° 34 Gothic, e ° > . 31 Hebrew, . x . Fy 16) Teutonic, . ; a ee es 15 Arabie, . . ° . 13 Trish, . e . ° . _Runie, ° - . ; Flemish, . ‘ i ° Erse, . ° . 4 Syriac, ° e * : Scottish, . > . * Trish and Erse, .- . > Turkish, . A * Trish and Scottish, . e Portuguese, . eine Persian, Ve . ° e Frisi, « ° ° © Persic, ° e = & Uncertain, * Sy Total, TWO MINISTERS. Mr. Pitt’s plan, when he had the gout, was to have no fire in his room, but to load himself with bed- clothes. At his house at Hayes he Fa het ed et et DD CO OO He PR PR OO 15,784 TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. slept in a long room, at one end of which was his bed, and his lady’s at the other. His way was, when he thought the Duke of Newcastle had fallen into any mistake, to send for him, and read him a lecture. The Duke was sent for once, and came, when Mr. Pitt was confined to bed by the gout. usual, no fire in the room ; the day was very chilly, and the Duke, as usual, afraid of catching cold. The Duke first sat down on Mrs. Pitt’s bed, as the warmest place; then drew up his legs into it, as he got colder. The lecture unluckily con- — a considerable time, the uke at length fairly lod him- self under Ars Pitts Been A person, from whom I had the story, suddenly going in, saw the two ministers in bed, at the two ends of the room; while Pitt's long nose, — — beard unshaved for some days, added to the ue of the scene.—( Walpole.) Aid BOOKSELLERS. The manceuvres of bookselling are now equal in number to the stratagems of war. Publishers open and shut the sluices of reputation as their various interests lead them ; and it is become more and more difficult to judge of the merit or fame of recent publications—(Wal- pole.) WORTHLESS WRITING. Gilbert Wakefield tells us that he wrote his own memoirs (a "3 octavo) in six or eight days. It cost him nothing, and, whatis very natural, is worth nothi One might yawn scores of such books into existence; but who could be the wiser or the better? DR. JOHNSON. I cannot imagine that Dr John- son’s reputation will be very last- ing. His Dictionary is a surprising work for one man; but sufficient There was, as. —— THE VICTORIA REGIA AND THE CRYSTAL PALACE, examples in foreign countries show that the task is too much for one man, and that a society should alone pretend to publish a standard dic- tionary. In Johnson’s Dictionary, T can y find anything I look for. It is full of words nowhere else to be found, and wants numerous words occurring in good authors. In writing it is useful ; as, if one be doubtful in the choice of a word, it displays the authorities for its usage. His essays I detest. They are full of what I call triptology, or re- peating the same thing thrice over, so that’ three papers to the same effect might be made out of any one paper in the Rambler. He must have had a bad heart—his story of the sacrilege in his Voyage to the Western Islands of Scotland is a lamentable instance.—(Wal- pole.) : FRENCH NATIONALITY. The Abbé Raynal came, with some Frenchmen of rank, to see me at Strawberry-hill. They were standing at a window, looking at the prospect to the Thames, which in found flat, and one of them said in French, not thinking that Tand Mr. Churchill overheard them, “Everything in England only serves to recommend France to us the more.”. Mr. Churchill instantly stepped up and said, “Gentlemen, when the Cherokees were in this country they could eat nothing but train-oil.”—(Walpole.) THE VICTORIA REGIA AND THE CRYSTAL PALACE. On new-year’s day, 1837, a tra- veller, proceeding in a native boat up the river Berbice, in Demerara, discovered on the margin of a lake into which the river expanded, a Titanic waterplant, unlike any other he had before seen, though an ac- complished botanist, and familiar with the flora of South America. 291 “T felt asabotanist,” said Sir Rich- ard Schomburg, “and felt myself réwarded. All calamities were for- gotten. 308 those other revolutions by which the strata containing the bones have been laid bare. Hence it clearly appears,” he adds, “that no argument for the antiquity of the human race in those countries, can be founded either upon these fossil bones, or upon the more or less considerable collections of rocks or earthy materials by which they are covered.” The occurrence of human skele- tons at Guadeloupe was first an- nounced by General Ernouf in 1805. The skeleton in the Museum was de- scribed in the Philosophical Trans- actions, in 1814, by Mr. Charles Konig, the same gentleman, we pre- sume, who, till lately, superintended the Natural History department of the Museum. The paper is accom- panied by an accurate representa- tion of the skeleton, a fair tran- script of which is given in Mantell’s Wonders of Geology. The skeleton ~wants the skull, and it is a curious fact, mentioned by Sir Charles Lyell, in his 7’ravels in North Ame- rica, in 1842, that in the Museum at Charleston, South Carolina, he was shown a fossil human skull from Guadeloupe, imbedded in solid limestone, “which they say belongs to the same skeleton of a female as that now preserved in the British Museum, where the skull is want- ing.” Dr. Moultrie, of the Medical College of that State, has described the bones, together with the entire skeleton disentombed from the limestone deposit at Guadeloupe, and is of opinion—taking for anted the relation of the skull at harleston to the headless trunk in London— that the latter is not the skeleton of a Carib, as has been generally supposed, but that of one of the Peruvians, or of a tribe pos- sessing a similar craniological de- velopment. The slab of limestone in which the skeleton is imbedded is 4 feet 2inches long by 2 feet in breadth ; it TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. has been considerably reduced since it was deposited in the Museum, having originally measured nearly double the size, and weighed about two tons. As described by Mr. Konig, the whole had very much the appearance of a huge nodule disengaged from a _ surrounding mass; and the situation of the skeleton must have been so super- ficial, that its presence in the rock on the coast had probably been in- dicated by the projection of part of one of the arms. The rock hasa reddish hue, caused by the detritus of a madrepore of that colour. Several shells were also found in the rock, along with the fragment of a tusk, e piece of peed” stone, and asmall quantity of powdery matter of the iahive of chntealre In re- ducing the slab to convenient di- mensions, its resistance to the tool — showed it to be harder than statu- ary marble. Dr. Thomson found phosphate of lime in the stone, derived, doubtless, from the bones of the skeleton. The vertebre of the neck have been lost along with the head, and the bones of the thorax are considerably dislocated and shattered. The vertebre of the spinal column are all present, although they are individually not well defined. The bones of one of the legs are in a good state of pre- servation; those of the other are less entire. Both the arms are broken, and their parts displaced, But notwithstanding these and other defects, the outline of the skeleton is sufficiently complete to ‘indicate to the least practised eye, that when these imprisoned bones were united by ligaments, and clothed with muscles and sinews, and the system was permeated by blood-vessels, and instinct with nervous sensibility, the life which animated the whole was human—- the spirit which inhabited the mortal frame, was immortal—and survives! Mr. Hugh Miller, in his O——— _ NINEVEIL SCULPTURES, 309 too brief sketch of the British! tions, and interprets bass-relicfs, Museum, finely apostrophises this “prisoner of the marble, haply once an Indian wife and mother :”— “Mysterious framework of bone, locked up in the solid marble, un- wonted prisoner of the rock !—an irresistible voice shall yet call thee from out the stony matrix. The other organisms, thy partners in the show, are incarcerated in the lime forever —thou but for a term !” THE NINEVEH SCULPTURES IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM. Antiquarian and archeological research is treading hard after the investigations of geology itself. For the purpose of establishing the suc- cession and superposition of rocks, as first elaborated in our own island, geologists have extended their ex- plorations from the back woods of America on the west, to the con- fines of Asia on the east—demon- strating the vast and prolonged pre- arations made by Creative Wis- oo and Benevolence to fit the sur- face of the globe for becoming the habitation of rational and immortal beings ;—and what an august light does science thus shed on the power and progress of creative agency! Where geology terminates the re- cord of creation, archeology begins to illustrate the history of God’s Providence in his dealings with the early races of man—“ the gray fa- thers of the world.” Carrying us back to the earliest era of post-dilu- vian history, and setting us down in the country which was the cradle of the human race, it disentombs from the oblivion of ages confirmations the most unequivocal of the state- ments of the Sacred Writings, his- torical and prophetic, respecting the first dwellers on the plains of the Tigris and the Euphrates. It places before our eyes the monuments on which the Assyrian kings recorded their victories—deciphers inserip- sculptured in the infancy of twenty centuries before the Chris- tian era; and describes Assyrian arts and manners which long after- wards effloresced into the myths and symbols of the Greeks. Nine- veh, the metropolis of the Assy- rians, had been levelled with the ground before the period of authen- tie profane history began; even its site was involved in doubt when Xenophon and his army encam upon its ruins, (for the Mespila ot the Anabasis is understood to have been the ancient Nineveh,) during the celebrated retreat of the Ten Thousand. According to the chro- nology adopted by Mr. Layard, whose authority we shall follow, and of whose singularly interesting work we shall freely avail ourselves in the notice of his discoveries, it was in the year 606 B.c. that Nine- veh was captured by Cyaxares, king of Persia and Media a date which agrees with the period as- signed both by the Sacred Serip- tures and by Herodotus to the con- quest and destruction of “that great city.” Of the history of Nineveh few particulars that can be relied on have descended to us in profane history. The extraordinary feats related of Ninus and Semiramis, the two founders of the Assyrian empire—the vast armies of men at their command, their immense trea- sures, their stupendous buildin and hanging gardens, are ovidently in a large degree fabulous. It is from the incidental allusions to Nineveh in the Bible that we de- rive our chief knowledge of the actual condition of the Assyrian cia pe ; and the corroborative light reflected upon the statements of the Bible by the discoveries of Mr. Layard, is probably the most im- - portant and valuable contribution of modern times to the external evi- dences of the Divine origin of our holy religion. ‘ 310 There is monumental evidence that of the various buildings which he excavated, that of the palace of Nimroud was older by several cen- turies than the edifices of Khorsa- bad and Kouyunjik, which ‘he also uncovered, and which he proves by the same undoubted evidence to have been built by a later dynasty of kings. The palace of Nimroud represents the original site of Ni- neveh. To this, the first palace, the son of its founder added a second; subsequent additions are recorded in the inscriptions; and the place at last attained the di- mensions ascribed to it by Jonah and Diodorus. “If (says Mr. Layard) we take the four great mounds of Nimroud, Kouyunjik, Khorsabad, and Karamles, as the angle of a square, it will be found that its four sides corresponded pretty accu- rately with the 480 stadia, or 60 miles of the geographer, which makes the three days’ journey of the prephet.” Within this space there are many mounds, ruins of edifices, vestiges of streets and gar- dens; and the face of the country is strewed with fragments of pottery and bricks. As to the number of inhabitants, mentioned in the book of Jonah to be above 120,000, a number apparently incommensu- rate with acity of such magnitude, Mr. Layard remarks that cities in the East are not like those in Eu- rope; for a place like London or Paris would not contain above a third of the number of their inha- bitants. The women have separate apartments from the men; there is a separate house for each family ; and gardens and arabie land are inclosed by the city walls. Hence it is mentioned in Jonah that there was “much cattle” within the walls, and of course there was pasture for them. Damascus, Ispahan, and other Eastern cities are thus built at the present day. The existing ruins, our author adds, “show that TABLE-TALK: AND VARIETIES. Nineveh acquired its greatestextent in the time of the kings of the se- cond dynasty, that is, of the kin mentioned in Scripture ; it was t that Jonah visited it, and that re- ports of its magnificence were car- ried to the west, and gave rise to the traditions from which the Greek authors mainly derived the infor- mation which has been handed down to us.” At different periods between the years 1812 and 1820, the late Mr. Rich, the East India Company’s resident at Bagdad, partially ex- amined some of the mounds on the site of Nineveh, and to his investi- gations we owe the little knowledge we possessed of these ruins up till _ the present time. Mr. Layard com- menced his explorations in 1845— his education, his indomitable ener- gy, his knowledge of eastern man- ners and languages, acquired durin prolonged journeyings in Asia Mi- nor and Syria, and his strong anti- quarian tastes, all qualifying him for the task he had undertaken. In one respect the monuments of Assyria appear in striking contrast to those of Egypt. On the banks of the Nile rise the stupendous structures of the Pyramids, the only edifices built by the hand of man which appear likely to last as long as time lasts. The vast plains of the Tigris and the Euphrates only ex- hibit at distant intervals green and shapeless mounds, the rains of an- cient towns and villages. Mr. Lay- ard counted, from the walls of an up- land fort, “above a hundred mo throwing their dark and lengthen- ing shadows across the plain ;— these were the remains of ria civilization and prosperity.” The difference between the monumental remains of the Egyptians and the Assyrians, shows how much a na- tion’s architectural taste may be modified by the geological features of a country. The Egyptians em- bodied their conceptions in granite Ue EE = a fa eit i ia i TE a i NINEVEH SCULPTURES. and marble. The Assyrians had not the means of building in either, else, our author is of opinion, they would have rivalled or excelled the Pyramids. They lived upon an alluvial soil, sufficiently tenacious to be formed into bricks, with the addition of a little chopped straw, and which, being dried in the sun, furnished the building materials for their houses and palaces. But a more compact and durable mate- ial was required for their sculp- tures and written characters, and such a substance was found in the coarse alabaster or gypsum occur- ring abundantly in the plains of Mesopotamia, and which was cut into slabs and used for the orna- mental parts of the public build- ings. It is of this material that the monuments brought to this country by Mr. Layard chiefly consist. The are generally slabs of from nine to twelve feet in height, and of a dark yellowish colour, resembling lime- stone. Some of the monuments are indeed limestone (carbonate of lime), the rock named gypsum or alabaster being sulphate of lime. The alabaster slabs, which were covered with carved figures or in- scriptions, occupied the place of els in the walls of the palaces. Phe walls themselves, constructed of sun-dried brick, were from five to fifteen feet in thickness. The slabs stood upright against the walls, and were carved after being laced in their position, as is shown ir continuous series of figures and inscriptions. The door-ways were formed of human-headed lions and bulls, from ten to sixteen feet in height, the wall being carried some feet above them. In excavating the ruins, it was observed that the upper wall was built of baked bricks richly coloured, or of sun-dried bricks covered by a thin .coat of plaster, on which were painted va- rious ornaments. These colours had lost little of their original 311 freshness and brilliancy. It is in- teresting to notice that it is to these upper walls that the complete cover- ing of the building, and the conse- quent preservation of the sculp- tures, is attributed by the excava- tor, who observes that when the edifices had been deserted, they fell in, and the unbaked bricks, having again softened and assumed their original earthy consistency, incased the whole ruin. The structure of the edifices has been so satisfac- torily examined, that no part of them has been left to conjecture except the roof, which is naturally supposed to have been formed of beams supported by the walls. ‘The apartments were long and narrow, one at Nimroud being 160 feet in length by 35 in breadth ; and it ap- enw that they must have been ighted from above. We conclude by quoting Mr. Layard’s descrip- tion (or restoration) of an Assyrian palace, premising that these build- ings were of a monumental charac- ter, in which the chronicles of the empire were inscribed, the achieve- ments of heroes were commemo- rated, and the power and majesty of the nation’s deities were cele- brated. The author supposes a stranger ushered for the first time into the palace of the Assyrian kings :— “He entered through a a guarded by colossal lions or bulls, of white alabaster. In the first hall he found himself surrounded by sculptured records of the empire. Battles, sieges, triumphs, exploits of the chase, ceremonies of reli- gion, were portrayed on its bis 4 sculptured in alabaster, and pain in gorgeous colours. Under each picture were engraved in charac- ters. filled up with bright copper, inscriptions describing the scenes represented. Above the sculptures were painted other events— the - king, attended by his eunuchs and 312 TABLE-TALEK AND VARICTICS. warriors, receiving his presents, entering into alliance with other monarchs, or performing some sa- cred duty. These representations were inclosed in coloured borders of elaborate and elegant design. The emblematic tree, with winged bulls, and monstrous animals, was conspicuous amongst the ornaments. At the upper end of the hall was the colossal figure of the king in adoration before the supreme deity, or receiving from his eunuch the holy cup. He was attended by warriors bearing his arms, and by the priests or presiding divinities. His robes and those of his followers were adorned with groups of figures, animals and. flowers, all painted with brilliant colours. The stranger trode upon alabaster slabs, each bearing an inscription recording the titles, genealogy, and achieve- ments of the great king. Several door - ways formed by gigantic winged lions or bulls, or by figures of guardian deities, led into other apartments, which again opened into more distant halls. In each were new sculptures. On the walls of some were processions of colossal figures, armed men and eunuchs fol- lowing the king, warriors laden with spoil, leading prisoners, or bearing presents and offerings to the gods. On the walls of others were por- trayed winged priests or presiding divinities, standing before the sa- cred trees. The ceiling was divided into square compartments, painted with flowers or figures of animals, Some were inlaid with ivory, each compartment being surrounded by elegant borders and mouldings. The rarest woods, in which the cedar was conspicuous, were used for the woodwork.” , For the practice of ceiling, or panelling, or wainscoting with cedar wood, reference is made by the author to Zephaniah ii. 14, Jere- miah xxii, 143-1 Kings vi. 15; Vil. 3. FANS. Thomas Coryat’s story about the use of forks in Italy, and his intro- duction of those cteanly and con- venient implements into England, whereby, and “for no other cause,” he obtained the nickname of /ur- cifer, is very generally known. The following description of fans by the same odd, fantastic traveller, which goes to prove that paper fans were not used in England at the time of his tour (1608), and that we borrowed them as well as forks from the Italians, has been less noticed. “Here I will mention a thing, that although perhaps it will seeme but frivolous to divers readers that have already travelled in Italy, yet because unto many that neither have beene there, nor ever intend to go thither while they live, it will be a meere novelty, I will not let it passe unmentioned. The first Italian fannes that I saw in Italy did I observe in this space betwixt Pizighiton and Cremona; but after- wards I observed them common in most places of Italy where I tra- velled. These fannes both men and women of the country doe carry, to coole themselves withall in the time of heat, by the often fanning of their faces. Most of them are very elegant and pretty things. For whereas the fanne consisteth of a painted piece of paper and a little wooden handle; the paper, which is fastened into the top, is on both sides most curiously adorned with excellent pictures, having some witty Italian verses or fine emblems written under them; or of some notable Italian city, with a briefe description thereof added thereunto, These fannes are of a meane price, for a man may buy one of the fairest of them for so much. money as countervaileth our English groate”— (Coryat’s Crudities.) ee eee eeEeE— TIE DUCKING-STCOL, THE DUCKING-STOOL, Boswell relates that Dr. John- son, ina conversation with Mrs. Knowles, the celebrated Quaker lady, said, “Madam, we have different modes of restraining evil —stocks for the men, a DUCKING- STOOL for WOMEN, and a pound for beasts.” In early times it was called the eucking-stool. Brand describes it as an engine invented for the punishment of scolds and unquiet women, by ducking them in the water, after having placed them in a stool or chair fixed at the end of a long pole, by which they were immerged in some muddy or stink- ing pond. ‘Blount thought this last name a corruption of ducking-stool ; and an- other antiquary guessed that chok- ing-stool was its etymology.— (See Brand’s Popular Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 442.) But in a manu- seript of the “Promptorium Par- vulorum” “ esyn, or CUKKYN, is in- terpreted by stercoris; and the etymology is corroborated by a no less ancient record than the Domesday Survey, where, at Ches- ter, any man or woman who brewed bad ale, according to the custom of the city, had their choice either to pay a fine of four shillings, or be placed in the cathedra stercoris.” Blount says this chair was in use in the Saxon times, In the Saxon dictionaries its name is Scealking-stool. In Queen Elizabeth’s time the ducking-stool was a _ universal punishment for scolds, Cole, the antiquary, in his Zx- tracts from Proceedings in the Vice-chancellor’s Court ‘at Cam- bridge, in that’ reign, quotes the following entries :— “Jane Johnson, adjudged to the ducking-stool for scoulding, and commuted her penance. “Katherine Sanders, accused by 313 the churchwardens of St. Andrewe’s for a common scold and slanderer of her neighbours, adjudged to the ducking-stool.” Every great town, at that time, appears to have had at least one of these penitential chairs in ordinary use, provided at the expense of the corporation. Lysons, in his Environs of Lon- don, vol. i. p. 233, gives a bill of expenses for the making of one in 1572, from the churchWardens’ and chamberlain’s accompts at Kings- ton-upon-Thames. Itis there called the cucking-stool. 1572. The making of the cucking-stool.. £0 8 © Tron-work for th SOME! !o,< « 5/21 < 3 0 Timber for sam 076 Three brasses for the same, and three wheels .. 0 410 £1 3 4 In Harwood’s History of Lich- field p. 383, in 1578, we find a charge “for making a cuck-stool, with appurtenances, 8s.” One was erected at Shrewsbury, by order of the corporation, in 1669.—See the history of that town, quarto, 1779, p. 172. Misson, in his 7ravels in Eng- land, makes particular mention of the cucking-stool. He says, “This way of punishing scolding women is pleasant enough. They fasten an arm-chair to the end of two beams twelve or fifteen feet long, and parallel to each other; so that these two pieces of wood with their two ends embrace the chair, which hangs between them upon a sort of axle ; by which means it pla freely, and always remains in the natural horizontal position in which a chair should be that a person may sit conveniently in it, whether you raise it or let it down. They set up a post upon the bank of a pond or river, and over this post S14 they lay, almost in equilibrio, the two pieces of wood, at one end of which the chair hangs just over the water; they place the woman in this chair, andso plunge her into the water as often as the sen- tence directs, in order to cool her immoderate heat.” Cole, the antiquary already men- tioned, in one of his manuscript volumes in the British Museum, . says, “In my time, when I was a boy and lived with my grand- mother in the great corner-house at the bridge-foot, next to Mag- dalen College, Cambridge, and re- built since by my uncle, Joseph Cock, I remember to have seen a ,woman ducked for scolding. The chair hung by a pulley fastened to a beam about the middle of the bridge, in which the woman was confined, and let down under the water three times, and then taken out. The bridge was then of tim- ber, before the present stone bridge of one arch was builded. The ducking-stool was constantly hang- ing in its place, and on the back pont of it was engraved devils ying hold of scolds, &. Some time after, a new chair was erected in the place of the old one, havi the same devices carved on it, an well painted and ornamented. When the new bridge of stone was erected in 1754, this was taken away ; and I lately saw the carved and gilt back of it nailed up by the shop of one Mr. Jackson, a white- smith in the Butcher Row, behind the town-hall, who offered it to me, but I did not know what to do with it. In October, 1776, 1 saw in the old town-hall a third duck- ing-stool, of plain oak, with an iron bar before it to confine the person in the seat; but I made no in- quiries about it. I mention these things, as the practice seems now to be totally laid aside.” Mr. Cole died in the year 1782. The custom of the ducking-stool TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. was not confined to England. In the Regiam Majestatem ot Sir John Skene it occurs as an ancient punishment in Scotland, under “Burrow Lawes,” chap. 69, notic- ing Browsters, that is, “ Wemen quha brewes aill to be sauld,” it is said, “ gif she makes gude Ail, that is sufficient; bot gif she makes evill Ail, contrair to the use and consuetude of the Burgh, and is convict thereof, she sall pay ane unlaw of aucht shillinges, or sall sufier the justice of the Burgh, that is, she sall be put upon the Cock-sTuLn, and. the Ail sall be distributed to the pure folke.” Gay mentions the ducking-stool, _ peines ent. in his Pastorals, as a p in use in his time: “T’ll speed me to the pond, where the high stool On the long plank hangs o’er the muddy pool, That stool, the dread of every scold- ing quean. (The Shepherd’s Week. Pastoral iii.} BOTANICAL SATIRE. Some of the systematic names of plants are very eee little lam- poons. Thus Sauvages having given the name Buffonia, in hon- our of ‘Buffon, Linnzeus added the epithet tenuifolia, which suits the slender leaves of the plant, and er slender pretensions of Buffon the character of a botanist. Another plant he named Brow- allia, after Browal, a scholar of his; and as Browal was of humble. fortune, he called one of its species Browallia depressa; but -when Browal rose in the world, and for- got his old friends, Linnzeus gave~ another species the name of Brow- alia elata. Thus, too, the Petiveria alliacea, while it commemorates the botani- cal zeal of Petiver, who a century ago was apothecary to the Charter- house, at the same time points out by its acridity the defect of his temper, THE BEE IN THE CRYSTAL PALACE. Sometimes, again, the name of the plant, though equally epigram- matic, is kinder than in the in- stances just mentioned. Thus Linneus gave the name of Bau- hinia to a plant which has its leaves in pairs in honour of two brother-botanists, John and Gaspard Bauhins; and bestowed the name of Banisteria on a climb- ing-plant, in memory of M. Banis- ter, who lost his life by falling from a rock while herborizing. In the name Salix Badyloni- ea, there is an elegant allusion to a well-known passage in the Psalms. PULPIT CLIMAXES. The late Rev. Robert Hall was remarkably happy and apt at hit- ting off in conversation, by a few bold strokes, dashed occasionally with sarcasm, the peculiarities of his acquaintance, whether they ha pened to lie in their style, their manners, or their character. We have not seen the following instance in print. It was told us by the tleman to whom it was ad- Sasi When talking of the Rev. ——— of ——, one of the most popular preachers of the day among the Dissenters, in some of whose sermons there is a contrast be- tween the plainness with which they begin, and the flights of metaphor in which they end, our friend asked Mr Hall how he liked this style of eloquence? He ¢-e “Not at all, sir; not at all. hy, sir, every sentence is a climax, every paragraph is 4 climax, every rterey is a climax, and the whole sermon isaclimax. And then, at the end of every head and division of his sermon he shouts out, though scarcely audible at first, in a shrill voice that makes one’s ears tingle, some text of Scripture in the shape of an exclamation. Why, sir, he ats me in mind ofa little sweep y, running up a succession of . 815 parallel chimneys, and at the top of each erying—sweep! sweep !” PUNNING TEXT. James the First of England, and Sixth of Scotland, was, as every one knows, deficient in vigour and steadiness. Having heard of a famous preacher who was very witty in his sermons, and peculiarly * so in his choice of texts, he ordered this clergyman to preach before him. With all suitable gravity, the learned divine gave out his text in the following words :— “James, first and sixth, in the latter part of the verse, ‘He that wavereth is like a wave of the sea, driven by the winds and tossed.” “Ods chickens! he’s at me al- ready,” exclaimed the king. THE BUSY BEE IN THE CRYSTAL PALACE. The primary object of the Great Exhibition was to collect from all nations the products of human in- dustry. It was of course not only consistent with this end, but neces- sary to its attainment, to bring together specimens of the mineral, vegetable, and animal kingdom, constituting the materials upon which man exercises his industry and ore te The processes of nature had therefore no place in the plan and purpose of this temple of science and art. Itishuman thought alone that operates upon the pro- ducts of nature exhibited in the Crystal Palace, moulding and trans- forming them for the purposes of use and ornament. The few speci- mens of vegetable growth formed no exception to the rule excluding the delice of nature from the pro- cesses and products of art, since the three elm-trees in the transept were left there less in virtue of the per- mission of the royal commissioners, than by the will of the people of London, who prohibited their bei hewn down; while the Gepieal 516 plants in the transept, and the Wardian cases in the eastern gallery --the meritorious but unrequited invention of our estimable friend at Clapham Rise, for the transportation of living plants from foreign lands, —were introduced chiefly as orna- mental accessories, to refresh the eye fatigued by the artificial splen- dours of the Exhibition. The Irish Flax Society had indeed been allow- ed toadd to its products exhibited in the gallery a living specimen of the common flax plant (Linum usita- tissinvum), Which was the only in- stance in the Exhibition, so far as we could discover, in which a vege- table product was illustrated by a living plant. One exception there was also in favour of the animal kingdom, and one more appropriate could not have been chosen, to connect the processes of human skill and industry with the operations of instinct and the provident eco- nomy of nature. We refer to the bees in the north transept gallery, where, amongst different kinds of hives, there was a crystal palace in miniature, in which these interesting little insects were seen busily ply- ing their respective avocations. The hives were variously construc- ted. There were cottage hive working bell glasses ; the ladies’ ‘observatory hive, made of glass covered with straw; a collateral hive to obtain the honey without destroying the bees ; besides other curious contrivances for apiarians. The Town Mansion Hive was in- habited by four swarms of July, 1850, from four distinct families, or stocks of bees, all living and work- ing in perfect harmony. Till they were brought to the Great Exhibi- tion, they had been keptin a secluded place on the border ofa heath. The entrance to the hive was connected with an opening in the glass of the Crystal Palace, and the bees were seen constantly returning to the hive laden with their treasured sweets, TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. or taking their departure for tho fields and flower-gardens in the neighbourhood. For six months, they accommodated themselves to their very peculiar circumstances; and their curious operations, as seen distinctly through the glass cover- ing, were not the least pleasing and instructive portion of the exhibition oftheworld’sindustry. Youlooked — down into their miniature city, with its streets composed of houses built of a material which the skill of the chemist cannot produce, and on a plan of structural symmetry and geometrical exactness which it would puzzle the mathematican to imitate. In the formation of their cells, the bees solve the problem of accommodating the largest possible number in the least possible space, and with the smallest possible ex- penditure of material. Here, as in the great metropolis itself, were streets of plebcian houses, each of them consisting of a six-sided cell, the form best adapted for a cylin- drical-bodied animal. These were inhabited by the workers. . Houses of more spaciousand palatial dimen- sions were tenanted by, the males. There were store-houses, deeper and more capacious than the dwell- ing-houses, for the reception of the honey and pollen. And there was a Buckingham Palace for the Queen Bee. The workers of the hive illus- trated the advantages of the divi- sion of labour, being classed into the nurse bees, whose function is to con- struct and unite the cells, collect the honey, and feed the larvee ; and the wax-makers, or labourers, who earry the stone and mortar, and lay the foundation upon which the nurse bees, or builders, raise their super- structure. When you looked out in the bright sunshine, you might see that the arrivals and departures were incessant. Where did the bees fly in quest of honey, and how did they find their way back again ? How few of the strangers who went a ee THE BEE IN THE CRYSTAL PALACE, 317 to London, like the bees, from|bee constructed its cells on the secluded places on the borders of heaths, from quiet English villages, or distant manufacturing towns, could have gone as far from the Crystal Palace, and returned with- out losing their way? But where the stranger in London had only two eyes, the bee was possessed of myriads ; and in addition to its compound eyes fitted for horizontal sight, it was supplied with a sort of secondary eyes, or stemmata, for vertical vision. And thus clear and comprehensive of sight, it winged its way to the wild-flowers in the Parks, and the cultivated flowers in Kensington Gardens and Hammersmith—-to the banks of the Thames—“ where Thames firstrural grows”’—perhaps to imperial Kew —perhaps to the forest glades of beautiful Richmond— “To lofty Harrow now, and now to where Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow; - + + + Toroyal Hampton’s pile, To Clermont’s terraced elght, and Esher’s groves, ; By the soft windings of the silent The same wonderful instinct that guides the little busy bee in its wanderings amongst the fields and gardens, and brings it back again with unfailing certainty to the hive, laden with honey extracted from the nectaries of flowers, and pollen from their anthers, directs it also in‘ selecting the plants suitable for its purpose, and in rejecting those which are pernicious or wnproduc- tive; and this discrimination the bee could exercise ages before the mind of man had elaborated the science which classifies plants according to their structure, and infers their ualities from their classification. n like manner, when the inhabi- tants of our island’ lived in huts of wattle and mud, painted their persons, and roamed about in the rude freedom of savage life, the same architectural and geometrical lg aa as it does at the present y, having neither fallen below nor improved upon the attainments of that sagacious instinct with which the God of nature has so wisely and beneficently endowed it. In- stinct, perfect and persistent, con- structs the curious prisms of the bee-hive, and governs the social economy of its industrious and orderly community. It was well to give a place to these social work- ers in the temple consecrated to the triumphs of reason and the tro- phies of art. In this the scene of his proudest achievements, man might learn a lesson, fitted at once to humble and exalt him, from “the little busy bee.” “One thing,” says Kirby, “is clear to demonstra- tion, that by these creatures and their instincts, the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Great Father of the universe are loudly pro- claimed; the atheist and infidel con- futed, the believer confirmed in his faith and trust in Providence, which he thus beholds watching with in- cessant care over the welfare of the meanest of his creatures; and from which he may conclude that he, the prince of the creation, will never be overlooked or forsaken ; and from these what lessons may be learned of patriotism and self- devotion to the public good—of loyalty —of prudence, temperance, diligence, mak self-denial !” THE WIG RIOT. In the year 1764, owing to changes in the fashion, people gave over the use of that very artificial appendage—the wig, and wore their own hair, when they had any. In consequence of this, the wig-makers, who had become very numerous in London, were suddenly thrown out of work, and reduced to great distress. For some time both town and country 318, rang with their calamities, and their complaints that men should wear their own hair instead of perukes; and at last it struck them that some legislative enact- ment ought to be procured in order to oblige gentlefolks to wear wigs, for the benefit of the suffering wig- trade. Accordingly they drew up a petition for relief, which, on the llth of February, 1765, they car- ried to St. James's to present to his Majesty George the Third. As they went processionally through the town, it was observed that most of these wig-makers, who wanted to force other people to wear them, wore no wigs them- selves; and this striking the Lon- don mob as something monstrously unfair and inconsistent, they seized the petitioners, and cut off all their hair par force. Horace Walpole, who alludes - to this ludicrous petition, says, “Should one wonder if carpenters were to remonstrate, that since the . peace their trade decays, and that there is no demand for wooden legs ?”—(Letters to the Earl of Hertford.) PARLIAMENTARY REPARTEE. Atterbury, the celebrated Bishop of Rochester, happened to say in the House of Lords, while speak- ing on a certain bill then under discussion, that “he had prophe- sied last winter this bill would be attempted in the present session ; and he was sorry to find he had proved a true prophet.” My Lord Coningsby, who spoke after the bishop, and always spoke in a pas- sion, desired the House to remark, that one of the right reverend had set himself forth as a prophet; but, for his part, he did not know what prophet to liken him to, un- less to that furious prophet Ba- laam, who was reproved by his own ass.” Atterbury in reply, with great TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. wit and calmness, exposed this | rude attack, concluding thus:— “Since the noble lord has dis- — covered in our manners such a similitude, I am well content to be compared to the prophet Balaam; but, my lords, I am at a loss how to make out the other part of the parallel; I am sure that I have been reproved by. nobody but his lordship.” —(Political and Literary Anecdotes of his own Times, by Doctor William King, Principal of St. Mary, Oxon.) TRANSLATABLE PUNS. - Addison has given an excellent test by which we may know whe- ther a piece of real wit has been achieved, or merely a pun perpe- trated. We are to endeavour to translate the doubtful production into another language: and if it passes through this ordeal un- harmed, it is true wit; if not, it is a pun. Like most tests, however, this fails occasionally; for there are some few puns that, in spite ot the prohibitory law, can smuggle themselves into the regions of true wit—just as foreigners, who have perfectly learned the language of a country, can enter as natives, and set alien acts at defiance. We will give two or three ex- amples of these slippery fellows, who, to use a modern phrase, have succeeded in driving a coach-and- six through Addison’s Act. The leetures of a Greek philoso- pher were attended by a young girl of exquisite beauty. One day, a grain of sand happened to get into her eye, and, being unable to extricate it herself, she requested his assistance. As he was ob- served to perform this little opera- tion with a zeal which, perhaps, a less sparkling eye might not have commanded, somebody ealled out to him, My ray xogny dsaPbesens, V.¢., Do not spoil the pupil. . Cicero said of a man who had ™” ’ ———— ee DOCTOR DALE. father was buried, Hoc est vere colere monumentum patris—This is really cultivating one’s father’s memory. A punster, being requested to give a specimen of his art, asked for a subject. “The king.” “The king is not a subject,” he replied. This holds good in French like- wise—(Le roi nest pas un sujet.) The last two cases belong to a elass which is, perhaps, more ex- tensive than is commonly sup- posed ; where the two senses of the word are allied by an easy metaphor, and may consequently be found in more than one lan- _ guage. We will give another of the same kind. Erskine was reproached with his propensity of punning, and was told that puns were the lowest kind of wit. “True,” said he, “and therefore they are the foundation of all wit.” Madame de Lamotte was con- demned to be marked with a hot iron on both shoulders, as well as to tual imprisonment, for her frauds in the affair of Marie An- toinette’s diamond necklace. At the end of ten months, however, she made her escape from V’Aépital, where she was confined, by the aid of a sewr, who said, when quitting her, “ Adieu, madame, prenez-garde de vous faire re-marquer.” (Fare- well, madam; take care not to be re-marked.) A French editor, when quoting this, observes, “Nots ajouterons wil faut bien avoir la fureur de ire de tristes bons-mots pour en faire sur un pareil sujet.” At a time when public affairs were in a very unsettled state, M. de G——, who squinted terribly, asked Talleyrand : ae things were going on. “Mais, comme vous voyez, mon- sieur.” (Why, as you see, sir.) Another pun, attributed to the pg eee up the ground in which 319 ‘same, great master, is not only translatable, but is much better in English than in French. During the reign of Bonaparte, when an arrogant soldiery affected to de- spise all civilians, Talleyrand asked a certain general what was meant by calling people peguins. “Nous appelons pequin tout ce qui n’est pas militaire, said the general. (We call everybody who is not a soldier, a peqguin—a miserable crea- ture.) “Eh! oui,” replied Talley- rand, “comme nous autres nous appelons militaires tous ceux qui ne sont pas civiles.” (Oh! yes; as we call military all those who are not civil.) DOCTOR DALE. “This makes me think on that famous civilian, Doctor Dale, who, being employed in Flanders by Q. Elizabeth, sent in a packet to the secretary of state two letters, one to the queen, the other to his wife; but that which was meant for the queen ‘was superscribed, Jo his dear wife; and that for his wife, To her most excellent majesty: so that the gueen having opened his letter, she found it beginning with Sweetheart, and afterwards with My Dear, and Dear Love, with such expressions ; acquainting her with the state of his body, and that he began to want money. You may easily guess what mo- tions of mirth this mistake raised ; but the doctor by this oversight (or cunningness rather) got a supply of money. * * And since 1 am fallen upon Doctor Dale, who was a witty kind of drole, I will tell you, instead of news (for there is little good stirring now), another facetious tale of his; and familiar tales may become familiar letters well enough. When Q. Elizabeth did first propose to him that foreign employment to landers, among other encouragements she told him that he should have twenty shil- 320 lings per diem for his expenses: “Then, madam,” said he, “I will spend nineteen shillings a-day.” “ What will you do with the odd shilling?” the queen replied. “I will reserve that for my Aate, and for Tom and Dick; meaning his wife and children. This induced the queen to enlarge his allowance. —(Epistole Hoeline.) SOUNDS INAUDIBLE BY CERTAIN EARS. Dr. Wollaston says that in the natural and healthy state of the human ear, there seems to be no limit to the power of discerning low sounds, whereas acute ones are often inaudible by persons not otherwise deaf. His attention was called to this cireumstance by find- ing a person insensible to the sound of a small organ-pipe, which, was far within the limits of his own hearing. This person’s hearing terminated at a note four octaves nbove the middle E of the piano- forte. Others again cannot hear the chirping of the grasshopper, the cricket, the sparrow, and the bat; the latter being about five octaves above the middle E of the piano. The limit of Wollaston’s own hearing was about six octaves above the middle E. The range of human hearing includes more than nine octaves, the whole of which are distinct to most ears, though the vibrations of a note at the higher extreme are six hundred or seven hundred times more frequent than those which constitute the gravest audible sound; and as vi- brations incomparably more fre- quent may exist, we may imagine, says Wollaston, that animals like the grylli, whose powers appear to commence nearly where ours ter- minate, may hear still sharper sounds which we do not know to exist; and that there may be in- ‘sects hearing nothing in common with us, but endued with a power TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. of exciting, and a sense that ceives, the same vibrations whi constitute our ordinary sounds, but so remote that the animal who per- ceives them may be said to possess another sense, agreeing with our own solely in the medium by which it is excited, and possibly wholly unaffected by those slower vipra- tions of which we are sensible. is there be no limit to the power of discerning low sounds, the “ gray- est audible sound” is a nonentity, and we ought to read “ the gravest known sound.” THE WISE KING AND HIS COURT FOOL. In his account of the court of King James the First, Sir Anthony Weldon describes the peculiar func- tion of Archie Armstrong, the ee jester, as follows :—* For — egan to a’ re a glimeri 4 a new fxvoulite bile ale. Gene Villiers, a younger son (by a second venter) of an ancient knight in Leicestershireas I take it; hisfather of an ancient family, his mother but of a meane, and a waiting gentle- woman, whom the old man fell in love with and married, by whom he had three sons, all raised to the nobility by meanes of their brother favourite. This gentleman was come also but newly from travell, and at that time did beleeve it a great fortune to marry a daughter of Sir Roger Astons, and in truth it was the highest of his ambition, and for that only end was an hanger-on upon the court; the gentlewoman loved him so well, as could all his friends have made her (for her great fortune) but an hundred markes’ joynture, she had married him pre- sently, in dispight of all her friends; and no question would_have had him without any joynture aé all. “ But, as the Fates would have it, before the closing up of this match, the king cast a glancing eye towards him, which was easily perceived by such as observed their prince’s eS ee JAMES I, AND HIS JESTER. humour; and then the match was daid aside, some assuring him a great fortune was comming towards him. Then one gave him his place of eup- bearer, that he might be in the king’s eye; another sent to his mercer and taylor to put good cloathes on him; a third, to his sempster for curious linnen; and all as prefacive insinuations to obtaine office upon his future rise: then others tooke upon them to be his bravoes, to undertake his quarrels upon affronts put on him by Somer- Set’s faction: so all hands helped to the piecing up this new favourite. “Then begun the King to eat abroad, who formerly used to eat in his bed-chamber, or if by chance supped in his bed-chamber, after supper would come forth to see astimes and fooleries; in which ir Ed. Zouch, Sir George Goring, and Sir John Finit were the chiefe and master fools; and surely this fooling got them more than any others’ wisdome farre above them in desert. Zouch his part was to sing lewd songs, and tell lewd. tales; Finit’s, to compose these songs. Then was a set of fidlers brought to court on purpose for this fooling ; and Goring was master of the game for fooleries, sometimes presenting David Droman, and Archee Armstrong the King’s foole, on the back of the other fools, to tilt one at another ti'l they fell to- gether by the eares; sometimes the property was presented by them in antick dances. But Sir John Mil- licent (who was never known before) was commended for notable fool- ing, and so was he indeed the best extemporary foole of them all: with this Jollity was this favourite usheredin.”—(Court of King James, by Sir A.W. 12mo. London, 1651, . 82. » Archie became the victim of the ruthless bigot, Laud. When news arrived from Scotland of the bad re- eeption which the King’s proclama- 321 tion respecting the Book of Common Ar ie had met with there, Archi- bald, the King’s fool, happening to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was going to the council-table, said to his grace, “ Wha’s feule now ? doth not your grace hear the news from Striveling about the Liturgy?” But the bec jester soon learned that Laud was not a person whom even his jester’s coat and privileged folly permitted him to tamper with. The primate of all England imme- diately laid his complaint before the council. How far it was at- tended to, the following order of council, issued the very same day on which the offence was committed, willshow. “At Whitehall, the 11th of March, 1637.—It is this day or- dered by his Majesty, with the advice of the board, Archibald Armestrong, the King's fool, for certain scandalous words of a high nature spoken by him against the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury his grace, and proved to be uttered by him by two witnesses, shall have his coat pulled over his head, and be discharged of the King’s service and banished the court; for which the lord chamberlain of the King’s household is prayed and required to give order to be executed.’ And immediately the same was put in execution!* In a pamphlet print- ed in 1641, entitled Archy’s Dream,t the following reason is given for Archy’s banishment from court. A. certain nobleman asking him what he would do with his hand- some daughters, he replied he knew very well what todo with them, but he had sons whom he knew not well what to do with; he would gladly make scholars of them, but that he * Rushworth, part ii. vol. i., pp. 470, 471. Welwood’s Memoirs, p. 278. + ‘‘Archy’s Dream, sometime Jester to his Majestie; but exiled the court by Canterburie’s malice: with a relation for whom an odde chair stood yoid in —. London, 1641.” x 322 feared the archbishop would cut off their ears. STATUES TO GREAT MEN. I may be askt by the studious, the contemplative, the pacifick, whether I would assign a higher station to any publick man than to a Milton and a Newton. My an- swer is plainly and loudly, Yes. But the higher station should be in streets, in squares, in houses of parliament; such are their places: our vestibules and our libraries are best adorned by poets, philosophers, and philanthropists. There is a feeling which street-walking and publick-meeting men improperly call loyalty; a feeling intemperate and intolerant, smelling of dinner and wine and toasts, which swell their stomachs and their voices at the sound of certain names rever- berated by the newspaper press. As little do nid nee aes the roprie of these names as pot- at, sain’ tah about the candi- dates at a borough election, and are just as vociferous and violent. A few days ago I received a most courteous invitation to be named on a committee for erecting a statue to Jenner. It was impossible for me to decline it; and equally was it impossible to abstain from the observations which I am now about to state. I recommended that the statue should be placed before a public hospital, expressing my sense of impropriety in confounding so great a benefactor of seeaiinn in any street or square or avenue, with the Dismemberer of America and his worthless sons. Nor would I willingly see him among the worn- out steam-engines of parliamentary debates. The noblest parliamen- tary men who had nothing to dis- tribute, not being ministers, are without statues. The illustrious Burke, the wisest, excepting Bacon, who at any time sat within the people’s house; Romilly, the: sin- TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. cerest patriot of his day; Husk the at intelligent is comet affairs; have none. Peel is become popular, not by his incomparable merits, but by his untimely death. Shall we never see the day when Oliver and William mount the chargers of Charles and George; — and when a royal swindler is sw seded by the purest and most exalted of our heroes, Blake ?— (Walter Savage Landor.) CLASSICAL SPOTS IN LONDON, In Cannon Street we had the good fortune to stumble accidentally on the oldest existing memorial of ancient London, and which, pro- bably, as the Londoners are said to- know less of their own city than visitors, few of the multitudes passing it daily and hourly ever ob- serve. It is the famous London Stone, which has been carefully pre- served from age to age. It is found mentioned by this name in a record so early as the time of Ethelstan,king of the West Saxons. What was its. original use does not appear. Itis generally conjectured to have been erected by the Romans, and is be- lieved to have marked the centre of the city burnt by Boadicea, and, like the miliarium auwreum, the golden pillar inthe Forum at Ro to have been the point where the ways met, and relatively to which their distances were mea- sured by the Romans. Atanear! period the street where it issituat formed the centre of the ancient city, and appears to have been the place where proclamations were made to the citizens. Thus it is re- lated in the English Chronicles that “When Jack Cade, the Kent- ish rebel, anno 1450, in Henry VI.’s time, who feigned himself the Lord Mortimer, came through South- wark into London, he ed to London Stone, amidst a great con- fluence of people, and the lord mayor among the rest ;—he struck LONDON STONE AND MONUMENT. , his sword upon it, and said, ‘ Now is Mortimer lord of this city ? and there making a formal but lyi declaration to the mayor, dagunaa back again to Southwark.” This incident is introduced by Shak- speare in the second part of King Henry VI, one of the scenes of that drama being laid in Cannon Street, where Cade is represented as striking his staff on London Stone, and saying, “ Now is Morti- mer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon London Stone, I charge and command, that of the city’s cost, the conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign.” This venerable relic of antiquity is now built. into the wall of St. Swithin’s Church, where it is pro- tected by iron bars; and as it ex- isted before London was built or inhabited by the Anglo-Saxons, it may be destined to survive amongst the monuments of its fallen great- ness, and attract the pensive re- gards of the wandering tourist m New Zealand, who in some distant epoch, according to Mr.. Macaulay, is to take his station on the remaining arch of London Bridge, and contemplate the ruins of the modern Babylon. Here, also, where the leading thoroughfares of William Street, Cannon Street, and East Cheap ‘converge upon London aa stood the famous Boar’s-head Ta- vern, immortalized by Shakspeare, which Goldsmith made the subject of one of his Seca essays, and Washington Irving in our own day delighted to visit for the’ sake of its ancient recollections, but which was removed a few years o to make room for a statue of illiam IV, The most conspicu- ous object of all is the London Mo- nument on Fish Street Hill, built in 1671-77 to commemorate the great fire, which commenced in this quarter in September, 1666, and covered 436 acres of the city with ‘chery and malice of t 323 [ruins, extending from the Tower to the Temple’'Church. The monu- ment is a column of fluted Dorie, 202 feet high, and was designed by Sir Christopher Wren. Cibber, father of the comedian, sculptured. for the pedestal a representation in bas-relief of the destruction of the city ; and the column is surmount- ed by a blazing urn which has re- cently been re-gilt. This noble pillar unfortunately stands in alow position, otherwise it would have been amongst the most conspicu- ous architectural ornaments of the city. It originally bore an inscrip- tion ascribing the fire in London to the malice of the Papists. It was to this accusation that Pope alluded in the well-known couplet— “ Where London’s column pointing to the skies, ie a tall bully, lifts the head and 8.” The “spe aia was expunged in the time of James IT. restored in the reign of {William III., and finally obliterated in 1830, in ac- cordance with a resolution of the Court of Common Council. The following were the terms of this notable inscription:—*This pillar was set up in perpetual remem- brance of that most dreadful burning of this Protestant City, begun and carried on y the trea- fi he b inulan oy = action, in the beginning o tember, in the year of our leak 1666, in order to the carrying on their horrid plot for extirpating the Protestant religion and old English liberty, and the introducing Po and slavery.” A man named Hu- bert made a judicial confession that he set the first house on fire at the instigation of the Papists, and was executed for the crime. He was believed, by those who discredited the origin assigned by him to the conflagration, to be bereft of his senses. On the house in Pud- 324 TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. ding Lane, erected over the spot where the fire began, was placed by authority the following inscrip- tion, which was also removed in consequence of the inhabitants being incommoded by the multi- tudes who were thus induced to visit the place: “ Here by the per- mission of Heaven, Hell broke loose upon this Protestant city, from the malicious hands of barba- rous Papists, by the hand of their agent Hubert ; who confessed, and, on the ruins of this place, declared this fact for which he was hanged, viz., that here began the dreadful fire, which is described and perpe- tuated, on and by the neighbouring pillar, erected anno,” &e. _ ELECTIONEERING EPIGRAM. Thomas Moore has recorded in his diary, that Lord John Russell repeated to him the following epi- gram of Lord Holland’s, on one of the two candidates for. Bedford- shire saying in his address, that “the memory of his struggle would exist to the end of time” :— “¢ When this earth to the work of de- struction shall bend, And the seasons be ceasing to roll, How surprised will old Time be to see, at his end, The state of the Bedfordshire poll!” GALVANIZING AN INDIAN On the afternoon ofa very sultry day in June I had gota table out in the verandah of my bungalow, and was amusing myself with a galvanic apparatus, giving such of my servants as had the courage a taste of what they called wwudatee boinjee (English lightning), when a long, gaunt figure, with his hair hanging down in disordered masses over his face, was observed to cross the lawn. On arriving within a few paces of where I stood he drew himself up in an imposing attitude, one of his arms akimbo, while the other held out towards me what appeared to be a pair of tongs, with a brass dish at the extremity of it. “Who are you?’ I called ont. “Fuqueer,’ was the guttural re- sponse. “What do you want?” “ Bheek” (alms). claimed, “surely you are joking ‘ great stout fellow like you can’t be wanting bheek?” The fuqueer paid not the slightest attention, but con- tinued holding out his tongs with the dish at the end of it. “You had better be off,” I said ; “I never give bheek to people who are able to beet “We do Khooda’s work,” replied the fuqueer with a swagger. a Oh! you rin then,” I answered, “vou had better ask Khooda for bheek.” So ‘saying, I turned to the table, and began arranging the apparatus for making some ex- periments. Happening to look up about five minutes after I observed that the fuqueer was standing npon one leg, and struggling to assume as much majesty as was consistent with his equilibrium. The tongs and dish were still extended, while his left hand sustained his right foot across his abdomen. I turned to the table and tried to go on with my work; but I blundered awfully, broke a glass jar, cut my fingers, and made a mess on the table. I. had a consciousness of the fuqueer’s staring at me with his extended dish, and could not get the fellow out of my head. I looked up at him again. ‘ There he was as grand as ever, on his one leg, and with his eyes rivetted on mine. He continued this performance for nearly an hour, yet there did not seem to be the faintest indication of his unfolding himself; rather a picturesque ornament to the lawn if he should take it into his head, as these fellows sometimes do, to remain in the same position for a twelvemonth. “If,” I said, “you stand there much longer, I'll give you such a taste of boinjee (light- “Bheek!” I ex- CRANMER AND HENRY VIIL ning) as will soon make you glad | to go.” The only answer to this threat was a smile of derision that sent his moustache _ bristlin against his nose. “Lightning!” he sneered ; “your lightning can’t touch a fuqueer ; the gods take care of him.” Without more ado I charged the battery and connected it with a coil: machine, which, as those who have tried it are aware, is capable of racking the nerves in sucha way as few people care to try, and which none are capable of vo- luntarily enduring beyond a few seconds. Thefuqueerseemed rather amused at the queer-looking im- plements on the table, but other- wise maintained a look of lofty stoicism ; nor did he seem in any way alarmed when I approached with the conductors. Some of my servants who had already experi- enced the process now came clus- tering about with looks of ill-sup- pressed merriment to witness the fuqueer’s ordeal. I fastened one wire to his still extended tongs, and the other to the foot on the ground. As the coil machine was not yet in action, beyond dis- concerting him a little, the attach- ment of the wires did not otherwise affect him. But when I pushed the magnet into the coil, and gave him the full strength of the bat- tery, he howled like a demon; the tongs, to which his hand was now fastened by a force against his will, quivered in his unwilling p as if it were burning the esh from his bones. He threw himself on the ground, yelling and gnashing his teeth, the tongs clanging an irregular eager: si ment. Never was human pride so abruptly cast down. He was roll- ing about in such a frantic way that I began to fear he would do himself mischief; and, thinking he had now had as much as was good for him, I stopped the machine and released him.—(Household Words.) 325 * CRANMER AND HENRY VIII. The following is Dr. Merle D’Aubigne’s sketch of Cranmer at the time of his first introduction to the notice of Henry VIII. during the negotiations for that, monarch’s divorce :— “Cranmer was descended from an ancient family, which came into England, as is generally believed, with the Conqueror. He was born at Aslacton, in Nottinghamshire, on the 2nd July 1489, six years after Luther. His early education had been very much neglected; his tutor, an ignorant and severe priest, had taught him little else than pa- tiently to endure severe chastise- ment—a knowledge destined to be very useful to him in after-life. His father was an honest country gentleman, who cared for little be- sides hunting, racing, and military sports. At this school the son learnt to ride, to handle the bow and the sword, to fish, and to hawk ; and he never entirely ne- glected these exercises, which\ he thought essential to his health. Thomas Cranmer was fond of walking, of the charms of nature, and of solitary meditations ; and a hill, near his father’s mansion, used often to be shown where he was wont to sit, gazing on the fertile country at his feet, fixing his eyes on the distant spires, listening with melancholy pleasure to the chime of the bells, and indulging in sweet contemplations. About 1504, he was sent to Cambridge, where barbarism still prevailed, says an historian. His plain, noble, and modest air conciliated the affections of many, and, in 1510, he was elected fellow of Jesus College. Possessing a tender heart, he be- came attached, at the age of twenty- three, to a young person of good birth (says Fox), or of inferior rank, as other writers assert. Cranmer was unwilling to imitate the disor-. 326 derly lives of his fellow-students, and although marriage would ne- _ eessarily close the career of hon- ours, he married the young lady, resigned his fellowship (in confor- mity with the regulations), and took a modest lodging at the Dol- phin. He then began to study ear- nestly the most remarkable writings - of the times; polishing, it has been said, his old asperity on the produc- tions of Erasmus, of Lefevre, of Etaples, and other great authors ; every day his crude understanding received new brilliancy. He then began to teach in Buckingham (afterwards Magdalene) College,and thus provided for his wants. His lessons excited the admiration of enlightened men, and the anger of obscure ones, who disdainfully called him (because of the inn at which he lodged) the hostler. ‘This name became him well, said Fuller, ‘for in hislessons he roughly rubbed the back of the friars, and famously curried the hides of the lazy priests.’ His wife dying a year after his marriage, Cranmer was re-elected fellow of his old college, and the first writing of Luther’s having ap- peared, he said: ‘I must know on which side the truth lies. There is only one infallible source, the Scriptures ; in them I will seek for God’s truth” And for three years he constantly studied the holy books, without commentary, with- out human theology, and hence he gained the name of the Seripturist. At last his eyes were opened; he saw the mysterious bond which unites all biblical revelations, and understood the completeness of God’s design. Then, without for- saking the Scriptures, he studied all kinds of authors. He was a slow reader, but a close observer; he never opened a book without having a pen in his hand. He did not take up with any particular party or age; but possessing a free and philosophic mind, he weighed all TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES. opinions in the balance of his jud ment, taking the Bible for his stan- dard. Honours soon came him: he was made suecessivel: doctor of divinity, professor, uni- versity preacher, and examiner. * * Fox and Gardiner having re- newed acquaintance with their old friend at Waltham Abbey, they sat down to table, and both the al- moner and the secretary asked the doctor what he thought of the di- , vorce. It was the usual topie of conversation, and not long before, Cranmer had been named member of a commission appointed to give their opinion on this affair. ‘ vou are not in the right path) said Cranmer to his friends ; ‘ you should not cling to the decisions of the church. There is a surer and a shorter way, which alone can give peace to the king’s conscience.’— “What is that?’ they both asked. —‘The true question is this, re- plied Cranmer: ‘ What says the Word of God? Tf God has declared a marriage of this nature bad, the pope cannot make it good. Dis- continue these interminable Roman, negotiations. When God has spoken man must obey. —‘ But how shall we know what God has said? —‘Consult the universities; they will discern it more surely than Rome’ * * The day after this conversation, Fox and Gardiner arrived at Greenwich, and the king summoned them into his presence the same evening. ‘ Well, gentle- men,’ he said to them, ‘our holidays are over; what shall we do now? If we still have recourse to Rome, God knows when we shall see the end of this matter.’—‘ It will not be necessary to take so long a jourz.ey,’ said Fox ; ‘we know a shorter surer way.—‘ What is it?’ asked the king eagerly—‘ Doctor Cran- mer, whom we met yesterday at Waltham, thinks that the Bible should be the sole judge in your cause. Gardiner, vexed, at his col- EEE — OO ee ae eee CRANMER AND HENRY VIII. league’s frankness, desired to claim all the honour of this luminous idea for himself; but Henry did not listen to him. ‘Where is Doctor Cranmer ?’ said he, much affected. “Send, and fetch him immediately. Mother of God! (this was his cus- tomary oath) this man has the right sow by the ear. If this had only been suggested to me two years ago, what expense and trouble I should have been spared! Cran- mer had gone into Nottinghamshire; a messenger followed and brought him back. ‘Why have you en- tangled me in this affair?’ he said to Fox and Gardiner. ‘Pray make my excuses to the king” Gardiner, who wished for nothing better, pro- mised to do all he could; but it was of no use. ‘I will have no excuses, said Henry. The wily courtier was obliged to make up his mind to introduce the ingenuous and up- pce man, to whom that station, which he himself had so coveted, ‘was one day to belong. Cranmer and Gardiner went down to Green- wich, both alike dissatisfied. Cran- mer was then forty years of age, with pleasing features, and mild and winning eyes, in which the candour of his soul seemed to be reflected. Sensible to the pains as well as to the pleasures of the heart, he was designed to be more exposed than other men to anxieties and falls; a peaceful life in some remote parsonage would have been more to his taste than the court of Henry VIII. Blessed with a generous mind, unhappily he did not possess the firmness necessary in a public man; a little stone sufficed to make him stumble. His excellent under- standing showed him the better way; but his great timidity made him fear the more dangerous. He ‘was rather too fond of relying upon the power of men, and made them unhappy concessions with too great facility. Ifthe king had questioned him, he would never have dared 327 advise so bold a course as that he _ sorta ret the advice had ipped from him at table during the intimacy of familiar conversa- tion. Yet he was sincere, and after doing dik age : to escape from the consequences of his frankness, ‘he was ready to maintain the opinion he had given. Henry, perceiving Cranmer’s timidity, graciously ap- proached him. What is your name?’ said the king, endeavouring to put him at his ease. ‘Did you not meet my secretary and my al- moner at Waltham?’ And then he added: ‘Did you not speak to them of my great affair ?’—repeat- ing the words ascribed to Cranmer. The latter could not retreat: ‘Sir, it is true, I did say so”—‘I see,’ re- plied the king with animation, ‘that you have found the breach through which we must storm the fortress. Now, sir doctor, I beg you, and as youare my subject I command you, to lay aside every other occupation, and to bring my cause to a conclu- sion in conformity with the ideas you have put forth. All that I desire to know is, whether my marriage is contrary to the law of God or not. Employ all your skill in investigating the subject, and thus bring comfort to my conscience as well as to the queen’s. Cranmer was confounded ; he recoiled from the idea of an affair on which de- pended, it might be, the destinies of the nation, and sighed after the lonely fields of Aslacton. But ed by the vigorous hand of anry: he was compelled to ad- vance.” GOOD COMPANY The Rev. Mr. Moffatt, the mis- sionary in South Africa, relates the following incident, which it is to be feared will rebuke multitudes ‘in more highly-favoured circum- stances:—“ One there was, a young man of talent and genuine piety, and from whom I expected valuable 328 TABLE-TALK AND VARIETIES, assistance; but the Lord took him to Himself. For a twelvemonth before his death he was speechless. During the greater part of that time he sat gazing on the New Testament, nodding to an attending relative when he wished the leaves turned over. On one occasion I entered and found him alone. On my saying to’ him, ‘All alone, Andria?’ he gave a negative shake of his head, and, with eyes full of animation, directed me to the Bible before him. .It was as much as saying that he could not be aldne when he was in possession of that precious book.” RAPID DECAY OF NINEVEH. The decay of Nineveh must have been very rapid, since, in the time of the young Cyrus, Xenophon seems to have passed close by its side, yet not even the name of the once mighty city appears to have survived its downfall. He only mentions a ruined town called Mespila, which probably the Medes had erected in the neighbourhood. Yet, according to Tacitus, Ninus or Nineveh was a city worthy of being captured even in the days of Claudius.—(Notes from Nineveh.) SPANIARDS UNINTELLIGIBLE IN SPANISH TOWN, At the stables I found two Spanish gentlemen, who had come with us in the steamer from Sta. Martha, in rather a “fix,” for al- though in Spanish Town, they a not find any one who could speak that language; and when I came into the stable-yard I found the owner of the place and two or three hostlers going through all manner ofindescribable pantomime; but of course the English people had no more idea of what the strangers wanted than the man in the moon. After enjoying the joke for some vime, I came out of my hiding-place, and was immediately collared on both sides by the spiration, from their exertions both bodily and mental. It seems they wanted to go to and return from — Old Harbour, but they had forgot- ten the name of the place, and had _ been for I do not know how long, roaring at the stable-owner, “ Vieja Puerta” (Old Port). They might as well have cried “Oysters,” . or anything else, for no pantomime could transmogrify those words into Old Harbour in the mind of the Frenchmen. However, I soon sent them on their way rejoicing —(A Ramble from Sydney to South- ampton.) THE PEDAGOGUE AND THE PIG-IRON. The boys had no helps to infor- mation, bad or good, except what the master afforded them respecting manufactures; a branch of know- ledge to which, as I before observed, he had a great tendency, and which was the only point on which he was: enthusiastic and gratuitous. I do not blame him for what he taught us of this kind: there was a use in it beyond what he was aware of; but it was the only one on which he volunteered any assistance. In this he took evident delight. TI re- member, in explaining pigs of iron or lead to us, he made a point of crossing one of his legs with the other, and cherishing it up and down with great satisfaction, say- ing, “A pig, children, is about the thickness of my leg.” Upon which, with a slavish pretence of novelty, we all looked at it, as if he had not told us so a hundred times. In everything else we had to hunt out our own knowledge.—(Auto- biography of Leigh Hunt.) CLATRVOYANCE, The laws of suggestion, and the- occasional coincidences of a dream with facts, explain all the real phe- nomena connected with what is called clairvoyance, bearing any re~ or Spaniards, who were in a terrible state of per- SE SKETCHES IN THE lation to a supernatural knowledge of events. There is nothing incre- dible in the statement of somnam- bulists predicting the hour of their sleeping or walking, nor in the dying foretelling the precise time of their decease. These are simply cases in which the mind, under the influence of a strong impression, and acting upon a feeble physical organization, has the power of ful- filling its own prophecy. It is otherwise with the prophecies re- lating to persons or events over which the somnambulist could have no control, which for the most part turn out unhappy guesses. Take, for example, the prophecies, of which there were several, from mesmeric patients in the clairvoyant state, thatSir John Franklin would return home about the middle of Septem- ber, last year. Had the event been realized, the coincidence would not have been extraordinary, as Sep- tember was the most likely season for him to be expected, and many ersons were then looking for him; ué its non-fulfilment, and the vagueness of the description of the circumstances of the position of Sir John franklin and his companions, clearly proved that the clairvoy- antes had not a single idea on the subject which had not been put into their heads by the conjectural para- graphs of nik ey or by ques- tions so framed as to suggest the answer expected. Indeed, clair- voyance, instead of being clear- si¢htedness, is about the obscurest kind of vision, and almost useless, that a human being can possess; for there is no well-authenticated ease of a person discovering by it a single fact which it was of the slightest importance for him to know. ce ' . 368 ’ upon the table warned the tsa tor that he might continue lecture. ial Or The lesson began ag concluded with a slight and silent obeisance ; and during thirteen months thus spent, the ot scareely spoke as many words to the assistant of his studies )° Syne czar anv rue mone. Peter the Great having directed the translation of Puffendorff’s n- troduction to the Knowledge of the States of Europe into the Russian language, a monk to whom this translation was committed, -pre- sented it to the emperor when fin- ished, who turned over the leaves, and exclaimed with an indignant air, “Fool! what did I order you to do? Is this a translation?” Then referring to the original, he showed him a paragraph in which the author had spoken with great asperity of the Russians, but the translator had omitted it. “Go in- stantly,” said the czar, “and exe- cute my orders rigidly. It is not to flatter my subjects that I have this book translated and printed, but to instruct and reform them.” THE WELSH CURATE AND TILLOT- SON’S SERMONS. A Welsh curate, being asked how he managed to preach sermons so far above his own powers of com- position, replied, “I have a volume of sermons by one Archbishop Til- lotson, which I translate into Welsh, and afterwards re-translate into English, after which the archbishop himself would not know his own compositions.” a a » TRANSLATION; SAN. D ae ee. ye " ; ‘idiom of English literature . a/ , 2 __o | - IGNORANCE BETTER PAID THAN i “KNOWLEDGE. = _ Sir John Hill contracted to trans- late Swammerdam’s work on In- _ sects for fifty guineas. After the agreement with the bookseller, he — recollected that he did not'under- _ stand a single word of the Dutch — language, nor did there exist a — French translation. ‘*e The work, however, Was not the less closely attended to on account of this small obstacle. Sir John bargained with another translator for twenty-five guineas. Thesecond — translator was precisely inthesame _ situation as the first—as ignorant, _ though not so well paid, as the knight. He re-bargained with a third;who — perfectly understood the original, — for twelve guineas. So that the — translators who could not translate a word feasted on venison and tur- tle, while the modest drudge, whose name never appeared to the world, broke in patience his daily bread. ‘ “VICAR OF WAKEFIELD” IN FRENCH, ~_ The Vicar of Wakefield has been. translated perhaps as many as fifty times’ into French, but alwaysina blundering manner, in consequence __ of the ignorance of the translators of the meaning of certain phrases. In one case, for instance, a transla- tor has completely misunderstood the meaning of the words, “ Moses flayedalive,”and rendered it,“Moses almost devoured alive by fleas.” Lately, however, the worthy Vicar has had justice done to him by the translation of M. Charles Nodier, , — who is well acquainted with the PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY ie Ae 4 habe Es oT ate Aes Se tt Pea erat ae theca usie prakaee = aZetry = Sea e oF SERS cease prance et, ; ait Rtas oak spice aan heatech cre ee Sea NE Re Cn epy ie ata te ee |