Chapter D: A. M (11)

Celsus and other ancients have described a mode of operating for the stone, although it must be owned that a method, deserving the preference in many respects, and known by the name of _magnus apparatus_ or _the grand operation_, was the invention of Johannes de Romanis, of Cremona, who lived at Rome in the year 1520, and published his work at Venice in 1535. The instrument that we make use of in trepanning was doubtless first used by the ancients, and only rendered more perfect by Woodall and Fabricius. Tapping, likewise, is in all respects an invention of theirs. Laryngotomy, or the opening of the larynx in the quinsey, was practised by them with success; an operation which, though safe and needful, is out of use at present. Galen, in particular, supported by reason, experience, and the authority of Asclepiades, justly applauds it as the ultimate resource in the case of a quinsey. _Hernia intestalis_, with the distinguishing differences of the several species of that malady, and their method of cure, are exactly described by the ancients. They also cured the pterygion and cataract, and treated the maladies of the eye as judiciously as modern oculists. The opening of an artery and of the jugular vein is no more a modern invention, than the application of the ligature in the case of an aneurism, which was not well understood by Frederic Ruysch, the celebrated anatomist of Holland. The extirpation of the amygdales, or of the uvula, is not at all a late invention, though it must be owned the efficacious cauteries now used in the case of the former, were neither practised nor known by the ancients. The method we now use of treating the fistula lacrymalis, a cure so nice and difficult, is precisely that of the ancients, with the addition that Fabricius made of the cannula for applying the cautery. As to the real caustic, which makes a considerable article in surgery, although Costeus, Fienus, and Severinus have written amply on that subject, yet it is evident from a single aphorism of Hippocrates, that this great physician knew the use of it as well as those who have come after him: and besides, it is frequently spoken of in the writings of all the other ancients, who without doubt used it with great success in many cases where we have left it off, or know not how to apply it. The cure of the _varices_ by incision appears, from the works of Celsus and Paulus Eginetus, to have been a familiar practice among the ancients. The ancients describe the mode of curing the polypus of the ear, a malady little understood by the moderns. They were likewise well acquainted with all kind of fractures and luxations, and the means of remedying them; as well as with all the sorts of sutures in use among us, besides many we have lost. The various amputations of limbs, breasts, &c. were performed among them as frequently and with as great success as we can pretend to. As to the art of bandaging, the ancients knew it so well, and to such a degree of perfection, that we have not added any thing considerable to what Galen taught in his excellent tract on that subject. As to remedies externally applied, we are indebted to them for having instructed us in the nature and properties of those we now use; and in general methods of cure, particularly of wounds of the head, the moderns, who have written most judiciously upon it, thought they could do no better service to posterity, than comment upon that admirable book which Hippocrates wrote on this subject.

ANCIENT CHEMISTRY.

It is agreed almost by all, that chemistry was first cultivated in Egypt, the country of Cham, of whom it is supposed primarily to have taken its name, Χημεῑα, _Chemia, sive Chamia_, the science of Cham. Tubal-Cain, and those who with him found out the way of working in brass and iron, must have been able chemists; for it was impossible to work upon these metals, without first knowing the art of digging them out of the mine, of excavating them, and of refining and separating them from the ore.

_Potable Gold._

From the story of the golden fleece, the golden apples that grew in the gardens of the Hesperides, and the reports of Manethon and Josephus with relation to Seth’s pillars, deductions have been made in favour of the translation of metals; but to come to real and established facts, it appears that Moses broke the golden calf, reduced it into powder, to be mingled with water, and gave it to the Israelites to drink: in one word, he rendered gold potable.

It was objected within a century, that this operation was impracticable, and by some it was affirmed as having been impossible. But the famous Joel Langelotte affirms in his works, that gold may be entirely dissolved by attrition alone; and the ingenious Homberg assures us, that by pounding for a long while certain metals, and even gold itself, in _plain water_, those bodies have been so entirely dissolved as to become potable. Frederic III., king of Denmark, being curious to ascertain the fact, engaged some able chemists of his time to attempt it. After many trials they at last succeeded, but it was in following the method of Moses; by first of all reducing the gold into small parts by means of fire, and then pounding it in a mortar with water, till it was so far dissolved as to become potable. This fact is unquestionable; and probably Moses, who was instructed in all the learning of the Egyptians, became acquainted with the method from that ancient and erudite people, from whom the most eminent philosophers of Greece derived their knowledge.

_Mummies._

The art of embalming bodies, and of preserving them for many ages, never could have been carried so far as it was by the Egyptians, without the greatest skill in chemistry. Yet all the essays to restore it have proved ineffectual; reiterated analyses of mummies have failed to discover the ingredients of which they were composed. There were also, in those mummies of Egypt, many things besides, which fall within the verge of chemistry: such as their gilding,[507] so very fresh, as if it were but of fifty years’ standing; and their stained silk, vivid in its colours at the end of three thousand years. In the British Museum there is a mummy covered all over with fillets of granulated glass, various in colour, which shows that at that time they understood not only the making of glass, but could paint it to their liking. These glass ornaments are tinged with the same colours, and set off in the same taste, as the dyes in which almost all other mummies are painted.

_Painting on Cloth._

Their manner of painting upon linen was, by first drawing upon it the outlines of the design, and then filling each compartment of it with different sorts of gums, proper to absorb the various colours; so that none of them could be distinguished from the whiteness of the cloth. They then dipped it for a moment in a caldron full of boiling liquor prepared for the purpose; and drew it thence, painted in all the colours they intended. These colours neither decayed by time, nor moved in the washing; the caustic impregnating the liquor wherein it was dipped, having penetrated and fixed every colour intimately through the whole contexture of the cloth.

_Imitation of Precious Stones._

The preceding instance is sufficient to prove that chemistry had made great progress among the Egyptians. History affords similar instances of extraordinary attainment by this wonderful people, who were so ingenious and industrious, that even their lame, blind, and maimed were in constant employment. With all this, they were so noble-minded, as to inscribe their discoveries in the arts and sciences upon pillars reared in holy places, in order to omit nothing that might contribute to the public utility. The emperor Adrian attests this in a letter to the consul Servianus, upon presenting him with three curious cups of glass, which, like a pigeon’s neck, reflected, on whatever side they were viewed, a variety of colours, representing those of the precious stone called _obsidianum_, and which some commentators have imagined to be _cat’s-eye_, and others the opal. In this art of imitating precious stones, the Greeks, who derived their knowledge from the Egyptians, were also very skilful. They could give to a composition of crystal all the different tints of any precious stone they wanted to imitate. They remarkably excelled in an exact imitation of the ruby, the hyacinth, the emerald, and the sapphire.

_Gold--Nitre--Artificial Hatching, &c._

Diodorus Siculus says, that some of the Egyptian kings had the art of extracting gold from a sort of white marble. Strabo reports their manner of preparing nitre, and mentions the considerable number of mortars of granite, for chemical purposes, that were to be seen in his time at Memphis. They likewise, by artificial means, hatched the eggs of hens, geese, and other fowls, at all seasons.

_Medical Chemistry._

Egyptian pharmacy depended much upon chemistry; witness their extracted oils, and their preparations of opium, for alleviating acute pains, or relieving the mind from melancholy thoughts. Homer introduces Helen as ministering to Telemachus a medical preparation of this kind. They also made a composition or preparation of clay or fuller’s earth, adapted to the relief of many disorders, particularly where it was requisite to render the fleshy parts dry, as in dropsy, &c. They had different methods of composing salts, nitre, and alum, sal cyrenaïc or ammoniac, so called from being found in the environs of the temple of Jupiter Ammon. They made use of the litharge of silver, the rust of iron, and calcined alum, in the cure of ulcers, cuts, boils, defluctions of the eyes, pains of the head, &c.; and of pitch against the bite of serpents. They successfully applied caustics. They knew every different way of preparing plants, or herbs, or grain, whether for medicine or beverage. Beer, in particular, had its origin among them. Their unguents were of the highest estimation, and most lasting; and their use of remedies, taken from metallic substances, is so manifest in the writings of Pliny and Dioscorides, that it would be needless, and indeed tedious, to enter upon them. The latter especially often mentions their metallic preparations of burnt lead, ceruse, verdigrise, and burnt antimony, for plasters and other external applications.

All these chemical preparations the Egyptians were acquainted with in their pharmacy. The subsequent practice of the Greeks and Romans presents a field too vast to be observed on. Hippocrates, the contemporary and friend of Democritus, was remarkably assiduous in the cultivation of chemistry. He not only understood its general principles, but was an adept in many of its most useful parts. Galen knew that the energy of fire might be applied to many useful purposes; and that, by the instrumentality of it, many secrets in nature were to be discovered, which otherwise must for ever lie hid; and he instances this in several places of his works. Dioscorides has transmitted to us many of the mineral operations of the ancients, and in particular that of extracting quicksilver from cinnabar; which is, in effect, an exact description of distillation.

[507] The ancients also understood gilding with beaten, or water
gold.--Æs inaurari argento vivo, legitimum erat. Plin. Hist. Natur.
lib. xxxiii. c. 3. Vitruv. lib. vii. c. 8.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORIE.

No. II.

THE WIZARD’S CAVE.

“Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.
And when they shewed me this abhorred pit,
They told me, here, at dead time of night,
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
Would make such fearful and confused cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it,
Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.”

_Titus Andronicus._

Young Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight,
Far fam’d for his valour in border-fight,
Sat prattling so sweet on his mother’s knee,
As his arms twin’d her neck of pure ivory.

Now tell me, dear mother, young Walter said,
Some feat to be done by the bow or the blade,
Where foe may be quell’d or some charm be undone;
Or lady, or treasure, or fame may be won.

The lady, she gaz’d on her war-born child,
And smooth’d down his ringlets, and kiss’d him, and smil’d;
And she told him high deeds of the Percy brave,
Where the lance e’er could pierce, or the helm-plume wave.

And she told wild tales, all of magic spell,
Where treasures were hidden in mountain or dell;
Where wizards, for ages, kept beauty in thrall
’Neath the mould’ring damp of their dank donjon wall.

------But list thee, my Walter, by Tinmouthe’s towers grey,
Where chant the cowl’d monks all by night and by day;
In a cavern of rock scoop’d under the sea,
Lye treasures in keeping of Sorcery.

It avails not the Cross, ever sainted and true,
It avails not the pray’rs of the prior Sir Hugh,
It avails not, O dread! Holy Virgin’s care,
Great treasure long held by dark Sathan is there.

Far, far ’neath the sea, in a deep rocky cell,
Bound down by the chains of the strongest spell,
Lies the key of gold countless as sands on the shore,
And there it will rest ’till old time is no more.

Nay, say not so, mother, can heart that is bold
Not win from the fiend all this ill-gotten gold?
Can no lion-soul’d knight, with his harness true,
Do more than cowl’d monks with their beads e’er can do?

Now hush thee young Walter, how like to thy sire!
Thy heart is too reckless, thine eye full of fire:
When reason with courage can help thee in need,
I will tell how the treasure from spell may be freed.

Full many a long summer with scented breath,
Saw the flowers blossom wild on the north mountain heath;
And the fleetest in chase and the stoutest in fight,
Grew young Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight.

Full many a long winter of sleet and of snow,
Swept through the cold valleys where pines only grow;
But heedless of sleet, snow, or howling blast,
Young Walter e’er brav’d them, the first and the last.

Who is that young knight in the Percy’s band?
Who wieldeth the falchion with master hand?
Who strideth the war-steed in border fight?
----’Tis Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight!

Thy promise, dear mother, I claim from thee now,
When my reason can act with my blade and my bow;
But the lady she wept o’er bold Walter her son,
For peril is great where renown can be won.

And the lady she told what to brave knights befell,
Who reckless of life sought the dark treasure cell;
Who failing to conquer the fiends of the cave,
For ever must dwell ’neath the green ocean wave.

No tears the bold bent of young Walter could turn,
And he laugh’d at her fears, as in veriest scorn--
---- Then prepare thy good harness, my bonny brave son,
Prepare for thy task on the eve of Saint John.

O loud was the green ocean’s howling din,
When the eve of Saint John was usher’d in:
And the shrieks of the sea-gulls, high whirling in air,
Spread far o’er the land like the screams of despair.

The monks at their vespers sing loud and shrill,
But the gusts of the north wind are louder still
And the hymn to the Virgin is lost in the roar
Of the billows that foam on the whiten’d shore.

Deep sinks the mail’d heel of the knight in the sand,
As he seeks the dark cell, arm’d with basnet and brand;
And clank rings the steel of his aventayle bright,
As he springs up the rocks in the darkness of night.

His plume it is raven and waves o’er his crest,
And quails not the heart-blood that flows in his breast:
Unblenched his proud eye that shines calm and serene,
And floats in the storm his bright mantel of green.

Now leaping, now swarving the slipp’ry steep,
One spring and the knight gains the first cavern keep;
The lightnings flash round him with madd’ning glare,
And the thunderbolts hiss through the midnight air.

Down deep in the rock winds the pathway drear,
And the yells of the spirits seem near and more near,
And the flames from their eye-balls burn ghastly blue
As they dance round the knight with a wild halloo.

Fierce dragons with scales of bright burnished brass,
Stand belching red fire where the warrior must pass;
But rushes he on with his brand and his shield,
And with loud shrieks of laughter they vanish and yield.

Huge hell-dogs come baying with murd’rous notes,
Sulphureous flames in their gaping throats;
And they spring to, but shrinks not, brave Walter the Knight,
And again all is sunk in the darkness of night.

Still down winds the warrior in pathway of stone,
Now menac’d with spirits, now dark and alone;
Till far in the gloom of the murky air
A pond’rous lamp sheds unearthly glare.

Then eager the knight presses on to the flame,
Holy mother!--Why shudders his stalwart frame?
A wide chasm opes ’neath his wond’ring view,
And now what availeth his falchion true.

Loudly the caverns with laughter ring,
And the eyeless spectres forward spring:
Now shrive thee young Walter, one moment of fear,
And thy doom is to dwell ’neath the ocean drear.

One instant Sir Walter looks down from the brink
Of the bottomless chasm, then ceases to shrink;
Doffs hauberk and basnet, full fearless and fast,
And darts like an eagle the hell-gulf past.

Forefend thee, good knight, but the demon fell
Now rises to crush thee from nethermost hell;
And monsters most horrible hiss thee around,
And coil round thy limbs from the slimy ground.

A noise, as if worlds in dire conflict crash,
Is heard ’mid the vast ocean’s billowy splash;
But it quails not the heart of Sir Robert’s brave son,
He will conquer the fiend on the eve of Saint John.

He seizes the bugle with golden chain,
To sound it aloud once, twice, and again;
It turns to a snake in his startled grasp,
And its mouthpiece is arm’d with the sting of the asp.

In vain is hell’s rage, strike fierce as it may
The Wizard well knows ’tis the end of his sway;
For the bugle is fill’d with the warrior’s breath,
And thrice sounded loud in the caverns of death.

The magic cock crows from a brazen bill,
And it shakes its broad wings, as it shouts so shrill
And down sinks in lightning the demon array,
And the gates of the cavern in thunder give way.

Twelve pillars of jasper their columns uprear,
Twelve stately pillars of crystal clear,
With topaz and amethyst, sparkles the floor,
And the bright beryls stud the thick golden door.

Twelve golden lamps, from the fretted doom,
Shed a radiant light through the cavern gloom,
Twelve altars of onyx their incense fling
Round the jewell’d throne of an eastern king.

It may not be sung what treasures were seen,
Gold heap’d upon gold, and emeralds green,
And diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires untold,
Rewarded the courage of Walter the Bold.

A hundred strong castles, a hundred domains,
With far spreading forests and wide flowery plains,
Claim one for their lord, fairly purchas’d by right,
Hight Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight.

* * * * *

The tradition of the “_Wizard’s Cave_” is as familiar to the inhabitants and visitors of Tynemouth, as “household words.” Daily, during the summer season, even fair damsels are seen risking their slender necks, to ascertain, by adventurous exploration, whether young Walter the knight might not, in his hurry, have passed over some of the treasures of the cave: but alas! Time on this, as on other things, has laid his heavy hand; for the falling in of the rock and earth, and peradventure the machinations of the discomfited “spirits,” have, one or both, stopped up the dark passage of the cavern at the depth of ten or twelve feet. The entrance of the cave, now well known by the name of “_Jingling Geordie’s Hole_,” is partly formed by the solid rock and partly by masonry, and can be reached with some little danger about half way up the precipitous cliff on which Tynemouth castle and priory stand. It commands a beautiful haven, or sandy bay, on the north of Tynemouth promontory, badly sheltered on both sides by fearful beds of black rocks, on which the ocean beats with a perpetual murmur.

Αλφα

_London, Dec. 4, 1827._

* * * * *

PERSONS OF DISTINCTION.

UPRIGHTNESS IN DEATH.

Of German pride we have the following extraordinary anecdote:--A German lord left orders in his will not to be interred, but that he might be enclosed upright in a pillar, which he had ordered to be hollowed, and fastened to a post in the parish, in order to prevent any peasant or slave from walking over his body.

TAKING A LIBERTY.

The most singular instance of British pride is related of a man, known in his time by the name of the “Proud Duke of Somerset.” This pillar of “the Corinthian capital of polished society” married a second wife. One day, with an affectionate ease, she suddenly threw her arm round his neck, and fondly saluted him. “Madam,” said the unmanly peer, “my first wife was a Percy, and _she_ would not have taken such a liberty.”

ROYAL DINNER TIME.

The kham of the Tartars, who had not a house to dwell in, who subsisted by rapine, and lived on mare’s milk and horse-flesh, every day after his repast, caused a herald to proclaim, “That the kham having dined, all other potentates, princes, and great men of the earth, might go to dinner.”

SELF-ESTEEM.

Some Frenchmen, who had landed on the coast of Guinea, found a negro prince seated under a tree, on a block of wood for his throne, and three or four negroes, armed with wooden pikes, for his guards. His sable majesty anxiously inquired, “Do they talk much of me in France?”

GUINEA SOVEREIGNS.

The different tribes on the coast of Guinea have each their king, whose power is not greater than that of the negro prince mentioned in the preceding anecdote. These monarchs often name themselves after ours, or adopt the titles of great men, whose exploits they have heard of.

In the year 1743, there was among them a “King William,” whose august spouse called herself “Queen Anne.” There was another who styled himself the “Duke of Marlborough.”

This king William was a little Cæsar. For twenty years he had carried on a war against one Martin, who had dared to attempt to become his equal. At length, after a famous and decisive general engagement, wherein William lost three men, and his rival five, Martin made overtures for a cessation of hostilities, which was agreed to, on the following conditions:

1. That Martin should renounce the title of king, and assume that of captain.

2. That captain Martin should never more put on stockings or slippers when he went on board European ships, but that this brilliant distinction should thenceforth solely belong to king William.

3. That captain Martin should give the conqueror his most handsome daughter in marriage.

In pursuance of this glorious treaty, the nuptials were solemnized, and king William went on board a Danish ship in stockings and slippers, where he bought silk to make a robe for his queen, and a grenadier’s cap for her majesty’s headdress. Captain Martin paid a visit of ceremony to his royal daughter on occasion of her finery, and declared she never appeared so handsome before. This wedding ended a feud, which had divided the sable tribe into combatants as sanguinary and ferocious as the partisans of the white and red rose in England.

TITLES.

Until the reign of Constantine, the title of “Illustrious” was never given but to those whose reputation was splendid in arms or in letters. Suetonius wrote an account of those who had possessed this title. As it was _then_ bestowed, a moderate book was sufficient to contain their names; nor was it continued to the descendants of those on whom it had been conferred. From the time of Constantine it became very common, and every son of a prince was “illustrious.”

Towards the decline of the Roman empire the emperors styled themselves “divinities!” In 404, Arcadius and Honorius issued the following decree:--

“Let the officers of the palace be warned to abstain from frequenting tumultuous meetings; and those who, instigated by a _sacrilegious_ temerity, dare to oppose the authority of _our divinity_, shall be deprived of their employments, and their estates confiscated.” The letters of these emperors were called “holy.” When their sons spoke of them, they called them--“Their father of _divine_ memory;” or “Their _divine_ father.” They called their own laws “oracles,” and “celestial oracles.” Their subjects addressed them by the titles of “Your Perpetuity, Your Eternity.” A law of Theodore the Great ordains thus--“If any magistrate, after having concluded a public work, put his name rather than that of _Our Perpetuity_, let him be judged guilty of high treason.”

De Meunier observes, that the titles which some chiefs assume are not always honourable in themselves, but it is sufficient if the people respect them. The king of Quiterva calls himself the “Great Lion;” and for this reason lions are there so much respected, that it is not permitted to kill them, except at royal huntings.

The principal officers of the empire of Mexico were distinguished by the odd titles of “Princes of unerring javelins;” “Hackers of men;” and “Drinkers of blood.”

The king of Monomotapa, surrounded by musicians and poets, is adulated by such refined flatteries, as “Lord of the Sun and Moon;” “Great Magician;” and “Great Thief!”

The king of Arracan assumes the title of “Emperor of Arracan; Possessor of the White Elephant, and the two Ear-rings, and in virtue of this possession, legitimate heir of Pegu and Brama, Lord of the twelve provinces of Bengal; and of the twelve Kings who place their heads under his feet.”

His majesty of Ava, when he writes to a foreign sovereign, calls himself--“The King of Kings, whom all others should obey; the Cause of the Preservation of all Animals; the Regulator of the Seasons; the Absolute Master of the Ebb and Flow of the Sea; Brother to the Sun; and King of the Four and Twenty Umbrellas.” These umbrellas are always carried before him as a mark of his dignity.

The titles of the king of Achem are singular and voluminous. These are a few of the most striking:--“Sovereign of the Universe, whose body is luminous as the sun; whom God created to be as accomplished as is the moon at her plenitude; whose eye glitters like the northern star; a King as spiritual as a ball is round--who when he rises shades all his people--from under whose feet a sweet odour is wafted, &c. &c.”

Formerly (says Houssaie) the title of “Highness” was only given to kings. It was conferred on Ferdinand, king of Arragon, and his queen Isabella, of Castile. Charles V. was the first who took that of “Majesty;” not in quality of king of Spain, but as emperor.

Our English kings were apostrophized by the title of “Your Grace.” Henry VIII. was the first who assumed the title of “Highness,” and at length “Majesty.” Francis I. began to give him this last title, in their interview in the year 1520. Our first “_Sacred_ Majesty” was our “Most dread Sovereign, His Highness, the Most High and Mighty Prince, James I.”

THE GREAT TURK.

This designation of the sovereign of the Ottoman empire was not conferred, as some have imagined, to distinguish him from his subjects. Mahomet II. was the first Turkish emperor on whom the Christians bestowed the title of “The Great Turk.” The distinction was not in consequence of his noble deeds, but from the vast extent of his territories, in comparison of those of the sultan of Iconia, or Cappadocia, his contemporary, who was distinguished by the title of “The Little Turk.” After the taking of Constantinople, Mahomet II. deprived “The Little Turk” of his dominions, yet he still preserved the title of “The Great Turk,” though the propriety of it was destroyed by the event.

* * * * *

AN INSCRIPTION,

_Said to have been dug out of the Ruins of a Palace at Rome._

Under this monument repose the ashes of DOMITIAN, the last of the Cæsars, the fourth scourge of Rome; a tyrant, no less deliberate than Tiberius, no less capricious than Caligula, and no less outrageous than Nero.

When satiated with issuing edicts to spill human blood, he found an amusement in stabbing flies with a bodkin.

His reign, though undisturbed by war, occasioned no less calamity to his country than would have happened from the loss of twenty battles.

He was magnificent from vanity, affable from avarice, and implacable from cowardice.

He flattered incessantly the soldiery, who governed him, and detested the senate, who caressed him.

He insulted his country by his laws, heaven by his impiety, and nature by his pleasures.

While living, he was deified; and the assassins alone, whom his empress had sent to despatch him, could convince him of his mortality.

This monster governed during fifteen years; yet the administration of Titus, the delight of humankind, was confined to two.

Ye passengers! who read this inscription, blaspheme not the Gods!

* * * * *

DICKEY FLETCHER.

_To the Editor._

I hastily transcribe the following, originally written for the Hull Advertiser, and printed in that paper for September 27, 1827, and subsequently in some of the London and provincial newspapers.

On Saturday, September 22, 1827, the inhabitants and visitants of Bridlington Quay, by a fatal accident, were suddenly deprived of the services of Richard Fletcher, the facetious and well-known bellman of that place, whose singular appearance, rhyming propensity, peculiar manner of pronunciation, and drawling and general originality, have so long been a source of amusement. In the forenoon of the above-mentioned day he was following his usual vocation, with that accustomed gaiety and cheerfulness for which he was remarkable, when having occasion to call at the lodging-house of Mr. Gray, he accidentally fell down the steps of a cellar-kitchen and broke his neck. The death of “poor Dickey,” and the shocking manner in which it occurred, excited much commiseration. The deceased was seventy-nine years of age, and left a widow at the age of eighty-nine, the relict of a former bellman, to whom he had been united about four years--during which period the antiquated pair formed a striking pattern of attachment. Dickey was a freeman of Hull, and the manner in which he made up his mind to vote for a candidate is deserving of mention. In the event of a contested election he was uniformly for the “third man;” as, he would say, “the other two would not think of looking after _me_, but for _him_.”

A specimen of Dickey’s rhyming eccentricities appeared in the Hull Advertiser of August 5th, 1825; a copy of which, and the paragraph accompanying it, is here given:--

“The company at Bridlington Quay are often highly amused by that eccentric little creature, yclep’d ‘the bellman.’ He is quite a lion;--being a poet as well as a crier. His poetry is uncommonly original, and if his pronunciation, when _improvising_, be not so too, it is uncommonly _Yorkshire_, which is as good. The following lines are a very faithful imitation of the ‘cry’ this singular-looking being drawled forth on Saturday morning, July 30:--

‘Tack’n oop this forenoon a pod noarth sans
Two keyes, wich I ev i’ my ans;--
Wo-hever as lost ’um mus coom te mea,
An they sal ev ’um agean an we can agrea.’”

“Dickey’s late marriage was one of the ‘largest and the funniest’ known in Bridlington for a long time; a barouche and pair were gratuitously provided on the occasion, as well as a wedding-dinner and other _et cæteras_. Since ‘they twain became one flesh,’ Dickey has been very proud of walking abroad, at fair times and public occasions, with ‘his better part,’ when they generally formed objects of considerable attraction to those to whom they were not particularly known.”

T. C.

_Bridlington, October, 1827._

* * * * *

ANOTHER ODD SIGN.[508]

At Wold Newton, near Bridlington, there is a public-house with the sign of a crooked billet, and the following lines on an angular board:--

_First side_

When this comical stick grew in the wood
Our ALE was fresh and very good,
Step in and taste, O do make haste,
For if you don’t ’twill surely waste.

_Second side._

When you have view’d the other side,
Come read this too before you ride;
And now to end we’ll let it pass,
Step in, kind friends, and take a GLASS.

_Bridlington._

T. C.

[508] See _Table Book_, vol. i. p. 636.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

TO FANNY.

No, Fanny, no, it may not be!
Though parting break my heart in twain,
This hour I go, by many a sea
Divided--ne’er we meet again.

I love thee; and that look of thine,
That tear upon thy pallid cheek,
Assures me that I now resign
What long it was my joy to seek.

Oh! once it was my happiest dream,
My only hope, my fondest prayer;
’Tis gone, and like a meteor beam
Hath past, and left me to despair.

Yet may you still of joy partake,
Nor find like me those hopes decay,
Which ever, like a desert lake,
Attract the sight to fade away.

I could not brook to see that eye,
So full of life, so radiant now,
I could not see its lustre die,
And time’s cold hand deface thy brow--

And death will come, or soon or late,
(I could not brook to know that hour,)
But, if I do not learn thy fate,
I’ll think thou ne’er canst feel his pow’r.

Yes! I will fly! though years may roll,
And other thoughts may love estrange,
’Twill give some pleasure to my soul
To know I cannot see thee change.

Then fare thee well, death cannot bring
One hour of anguish more to me;
Since I have felt the only sting
He e’er could give, in leaving thee.

S.

* * * * *

THE PLEASURES OF ILLUSION.

_To the Editor._

Sir,--I am a person unable to reckon upon the certain receipt of sixpence per annum, and yet I enjoy all the pleasures this sublunary world can afford. My assertion may startle, but its truth will be apparent when I declare myself a visionary, or, what is called by the world, “a castle builder.” Many would denounce my profession as useless and unprofitable; but the object constantly desired and incessantly pursued by mankind is happiness, which they find as evanescent and delusive as the silver of the moon upon the waters. Most men attach to certain states of existence every pleasure that the earth can bestow. Some enter these by laborious and careful steps, but find them, upon examination, devoid of the charms which their enthusiastic imaginations had painted. Others, more ardent and less calculating, rapidly ascend towards the object of their wishes, and when their hands are stretched forth to grasp it they lose their high footing by an incautious step, and fall into an abyss of despondence and are lost for ever. How different a fate is mine! I have been the conqueror of nations, without feeling a pang at the recollection of the blood spilled in raising me to my exalted situation. I have been the idol and defender of my country, without suffering the anxieties of a statesman. I have obtained the affections of an amiable girl, without enduring the solicitudes of a protracted courtship. In fact, I possess every earthly pleasure, without any of the pains of endeavouring to obtain them. True it is, that the visions I create are easily dispelled, but this is a source of gratification rather than regret. When glutted with conquest, I sink into love; and on these failing to charm me, I enter upon scenes more congenial to the desires with which I feel myself inspired. Every wish that I conceive is instantly gratified, and in a moment I possess that which many devote their whole lives to obtain. Surely the existence I lead is an enviable one; yet many calling themselves my friends (and I believe them to be such) would wish me to think otherwise. Sometimes, to gratify their desires, I have endeavoured to break the fairy spells that bind me; but when I dissipate the mist in which I am almost constantly surrounded, the scenes of misery that present themselves to my view have such an effect upon my senses, that on returning to my peculiar regions they appear doubly delightful, from being contrasted by those of the real world.

I have obtruded this epistle on your notice, in vindication of a practice which has been deprecated by many; solely, as I believe, from their powers of imagination being unable to lead them into the abodes where I so happily dwell. Should you think it unworthy a place in your miscellany, its rejection will not occasion me a moment’s mortification, as I already possess a reputation for literary acquirements, far surpassing any which has been given to the most celebrated writers that have flourished since the creation of your miserable world.

_November 6, 1827._

T. T. B.

* * * * *

OLD MACARONIC POEM.

_To the Editor._

Sir,--I am a literary lounger, and diurnally amuse myself, during about four hours, in poring over old poetical MSS. in the British Museum: the result of yesterday’s idle labours was the accompanying transcript from a macaronic drinking song, which appears to me a very curious amalgamation of jollity and devotion. If you coincide in this opinion, perhaps you will honour its unknown author by inserting it in your delightful miscellany, which, like the diving bell, restores to the world many interesting relics of antiquity, and rescues them from eternal oblivion.

I am, sir, your obedient servant

and constant reader,

LE FLANEUR.

_Reading Room,_

_Brit. Mus. Nov. 22, 1827._

FROM THE COTTON MS. VESPASIAN A.XXV.

1.

There is no tre that growe
On earthe, that I do knowe,
More worthie praise I trowe,
Than is the vyne,
Whos grapes, as ye may rede,
Their licoure forthe dothe shede,
Wherof is made indede
All our good wyne.
And wyne, ye maye trust me,
Cause the men for to be
Merie, for so ye see
His nature is;
Then put asyde all wrathe,
For David showde us hathe,
Vinum letificat
Cor hominis.

2.

Wyne taken with excesse,
As Scripture dothe expresse,
Cause the great hevines
Unto the mynde:
But theie that take pleasure
To drinke it with measure,
No doute a great treasure
They shall it finde.
Then voide you all sadnes,
Drinke your wyne with gladnes,
To take thought is madnes,
And marke well this;
And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.

3.

How bringe ye that to pas
Cordis Jucunditas,
Is now and ever was
The lyfe of man.
Sithe that mirthe hathe no peare,
Then let us make good cheare,
And be you merie heare,
While that ye can;
And drinke well of this wyne,
While it is good and fyne,
And showe some outwarde syne
Of joye and blisse;
Expell from you all wrathe, &c. ut supra.

4.

This thinge full well ye ken,
Hevines dulleth men,
But take this medicien then,
Where’er ye come:
Refreshe yourself therewith.
For it was said long sithe,
That vinum acuit
Ingenium.
Then give not a chery
For sider nor perrye,
Wyne maketh man merie.
Ye knowe well this;
And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.

5.

In hope to have release
From all our hevines,
And mirthe for to encrease
Sum dele the more,
Pulsemus organa.
Simul cum cithara,
Vinum et musica
Vegetabit cor.
But sorowe, care, and strife
Shortnethe the days of life,
Bothe of man and of wyfe
It will not mis;
Then put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.

6.

A merie herte in cage
Makethe a lustie age,
As telleth us the sage,
Ever for the noynes;
Because we should delight
In mirthe, bothe daye and night,
He saith an hevie fright
Driethe up the bones.
Wherfor, let us alwaye
Rejoice in God, I saye,
Our mirthe cannot decaye
If we do this,
And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.

7.

Nowe ye that be presente,
Laud God Omnipotent,
That hathe us given and sent
Our dalie foode,
When thorowe sinne we’re slaine,
He sent his son againe,
Us to redeeme from paine
By his sweete bloode,
And he is the trewe vyne,
From whome distill’d the wyne,
That boughte your soules and myne,
You knowe well this:
Then put asyde all wrathe,
For David showde us hathe
Vinum letificat
Cor hominis.

* * * * *

ANTY BRIGNAL AND THE BEGGING QUAKER.

_For the Table Book._

A few years ago a stout old man, with long grey hair, and dressed in the habit of the Society of Friends, was seen begging in the streets of Durham. The inhabitants, attracted by the novelty of a “_begging_ Quaker,” thronged about him, and several questioned him as to his residence, &c. Amongst them was “Anty Brignal,” the police-officer, who told him to go about his business, or he would put him in the kitty[509] “for an _imposteror_.” “Who ever heard,” said Anthony, “of a begging Quaker?” “But,” said the mendicant, while tears flowed adown his face, “thou knowest, friend, there be bad Quakers as well as good ones; and, I confess to thee, I have been a bad one. My name is John Taylor; I was in the hosiery business at N----, and through drunkenness have become a bankrupt. The society have turned me out, my friends have deserted me. I have no one in the world to help me but my daughter, who lives in Edinburgh, and I am now on my way thither. Thou seest, friend, why I beg; it is to get a little money to help me on my way: be merciful, as thou hopest for mercy.” “Come, come,” said the officer, “it won’t do, you know; there’s not a word of truth in it; ’tis all false. Did not I see you drunk at Nevill’s Cross (a public-house of that name) the other night?” “No, friend,” said the man of unsteady habits, “thou didst not see _me_ drunk there, but I was there, and saw _thee_ drunk; and thou knowest when a man is drunk he thinks every body else so!” This was a poser for the police-officer. The crowd laughed, and “Anty Brignal” slunk away from their derision, while money fell plentifully into the extended hat of the disowned quaker.

T. Q. M.

[509] So is the house of correction called in Durham.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

THE ORPHANS.

WRITTEN ON SEEING A SMALL LITHOGRAPHIC PRINT OF TWO FEMALE ORPHAN
CHILDREN.

1.

Like two fair flowers that grow in some lone spot,
Bent by the breeze that wafts their fragrance round--
Pale, mild, and lovely; but by all forgot,--
They droop neglected on the dewy ground.

2.

Thus left alone, without a friend or guide
To cheer them, through life’s drear and rugged way
Stand these two pensive mourners side by side,
To sorrow keen, and early grief, a prey.

3.

Low in the grave, o’er which the cypress spreads
Its gloomy shade, in death their parents sleep;
Unconscious now they rest their weary heads,
Nor hear their children sigh, nor see them weep.

4.

And see, a tear-drop gems the younger’s eye,
While struggling from its coral cell to start;
Oh, how that pearl of sensibility
In silence pleads to every feeling heart.

5.

Not Niobe, when doom’d by cruel fate
To weep for ever in a crystal shower,
Could claim more pity for her hapless state,
Than does, for you, that drop of magic power.

6.

Breathes there on earth, of human form possest,
One who would in those bosoms plant a thorn,
And banish thence the halcyon’s tranquil nest,
While they its loss in secret anguish mourn?

7.

Perish the wretch! who with deceitful wile
Forsaken innocence would lead astray,
And round her like a treach’rous serpent coil,
And having stung, relentless haste away.

8.

May you the orphan’s friend find ever near
To guard you safe, and strew your path with flowers.
May hope’s bright sun your gloomy morning cheer,
And shine in splendour on your evening hours.

R. B.

_Sept. 1827._

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

JACK THE VIPER.

This is an odd name for a man, who does not bear the appearance of a viper, or “a snake in the grass.” He is a rough sort of fellow, has been at Waterloo, but did not obtain a medal. He, nevertheless, carries the hue of a triumphant soldier, wears an honest sunburnt face, and might be trusted with his majesty’s great seal, or that of another description in the British Museum. He is a lover of ringing bells and swine; but without regular employment. A singular piece of human construction, lone, and erratic in his love of nature. A shepherd lies down at ease by the sides of his flocks and fountains, listens to the plaints of injured birds, the voice of water and the music of skies, and dreams away his existence, years of youth, manhood, and old age. Jack is more tranquil even than the shepherd. He creeps silently in woods and forests, and on retired hot banks, in search of serpentine amusement--he is a viper catcher. Strange that creatures, generally feared and shunned by mankind, should win Jack’s attention and sympathy, Yet, true it is, that Jack regards them as the living beauties of solitude, the lovely but startling inhabitants of luxuriant spots in the sultry summer. Were we to look round us, in the haunts of men, we could, perhaps, discover beings as fearful and awakening. Jack has travelled, seen the world, and profited by his travels; for he has learned to be contented. He is not entirely idle, nor wholly industrious. If he can get a crust sufficient for the day, he leaves the evil if it should visit him. The first time I saw him was in the high noon of a scorching day, at an inn in Laytonstone. He came in while a sudden storm descended, and a rainbow of exquisite majesty vaulted the earth. Sitting down at a table, he beckoned the hostess for his beer, and conversed freely with his acquaintance. By his arch replies I found that I was in company with an original--a man that might stretch forth his arm in the wilderness without fear, and, like Paul, grasp an adder without harm. He playfully entwined his fingers with their coils and curled crests, and played with their forked tongues. He had unbuttoned his waistcoat, and as dexterously as a fish-woman handles her eels, let out several snakes and adders, warmed by his breast, and spread them on the table. He took off his hat, and others of different sizes and lengths twisted before me; some of them, when he unbosomed his shirt, returned to the genial temperature of his skin; some curled round the legs of the table, and others rose in a defensive attitude. He irritated and humoured them, to express either pleasure or pain at his will. Some were purchased by individuals, and Jack pocketed his gain, observing, “a frog, or mouse, occasionally, is enough for a snake’s satisfaction.”

The “Naturalist’s Cabinet” says, that “in the presence of the grand duke of Tuscany, while the philosophers were making elaborate dissertations on the danger of the poison of vipers, taken inwardly, a viper catcher, who happened to be present, requested that a quantity of it might be put into a vessel; and then, with the utmost confidence, and to the astonishment of the whole company, he drank it off. Every one expected the man instantly to drop down dead; but they soon perceived their mistake, and found that, taken inwardly, the poison was as harmless as water.”

William Oliver, a viper catcher at Bath, was the first who discovered that, by the application of olive oil, the bite of the viper is effectually cured. On the 1st of June, 1735, he suffered himself to be bitten by an old black viper; and after enduring all the agonising symptoms of approaching death, by using olive oil, he perfectly recovered.

Viper’s flesh was formerly esteemed for its medicinal virtues, and its salt was thought to exceed every other animal product, in giving vigour to a languid constitution.

_August, 1827._

----

* * * * *

A SKETCH IN SPA FIELDS.

_To the Editor._

Sir,--Allow me to draw your attention to a veteran, who in the Egyptian expedition lost his sight by the ophthalmy, and now asks alms of the passenger in the little avenue leading from Sadler’s Wells to Spa Fields, along the eastern side of the New River Head.

His figure, sir, would serve for a model of Belisarius, and even his manner of soliciting would be no disgrace to the Roman general. I am not expert at drawing portraits, yet will endeavour by two or three lines to give a slight conception of this. His present height is full six feet, but in his youth it must have been nearly two inches more; as the weight of about sixty-five years has occasioned a slight curvature of the spine. His limbs are large and muscular, his shoulders broad, his chest capacious, the lines of his countenance indicate intelligence; his motion is not graceful, for he appears to step without confidence, occasioned no doubt by his blindness.

Now, sir, give his head no other covering than a few very short grey hairs, and button him up close in the remains of a dragoon dress, and you have his likeness as exact as an unskilful artist can give it.

O.

N.B.--An old woman must lead him.

* * * * *

~Extracts~

FROM MY NOTE BOOK.

_For the Table Book._

Moore, in his life of Sheridan, says, that “he (Sheridan) had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry; particularly to that sort which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted:” and quotes some dozen lines, entitled “My Trunk,” and addressed “To Anne,” wherein a lady is made to bewail the loss of her trunk, and rhymes her lamentation. The editor, in a note, says, “Some verses by general Fitzpatrick on lord Holland’s father, are the best specimen I know of this scherzo.” The general’s lines I have never seen, and it is probable they are only in MS.; but _le Seigneur des Accords_, in his Bizarrures, (ed. 1585, Paris, Richer, feuillet 27,) quotes sixty lines, rhyming on a very indecent word from “un certain hure contre les femmes,” composed by Drusac, “un Tolosain rimailleur imitant Marot;” and who is there stated to have composed 300 or 400 verses on the same subject, and to the same rhyme. And at feuillet 162 of the same work and edition, the Seigneur adduces two other remarkable instances of “difficult trifling in poetry.” Speaking of one of which, he says, “Vn Allemant nommé Petrus Porcius Porta, autrement Petrus Placentius, a fait un petit poëme laborieux le possible auquel il descrit PUGNAM PORCORUM en 350 _vers_ ou environ, qui commencent tous par P, dont j’ai rapporté ces XVI suivas pour exemple, et pour contenter ceux qui ne l’ont pas veu.” The quotation referred to commences with

“Præcelsis Proauis Pulchrè Prognate Patrone,”

and concludes with

“Pingui Porcorū Pingendo Poemate Pugnam.”

The other instances adduced by the Seigneur of this laborious folly, is related also of a German, by name Christianus Pierius; who, says the author, “depuis peu de temps a fait un opuscule d’environ _mille ou douze cēs vers_, intitulé Christus Crucifixus, tous les mots duquel commencent par C.” Four lines are quoted; they are as follows:--

Currite Castalides Christi Comitante Camœnæ
Concelabrature Cūctorum Carmine Certum
Confugium Collapsorum Concurrite Cantus
Concinnaturæ Celebres Celebresque Cothurnos.

I myself recollect seeing and copying at Notting Hill some lines written (I think) on the battle of Waterloo, (the copy of which I have however lost;) which, although short, were sufficiently curious. They were in an album belonging to the sister of a schoolfellow, (W. O. S.,) and, as far as I have ever seen, were unique in their species of the paronœmic genus. The first line began with “A,” and each subsequent one with a successive letter of the alphabet, and each word alliterated to the initial letter of the line where it was placed. The poem went through the whole of the alphabet, not even excepting X or Z, and must have required a world of Patience and Perseverance to Perfect.

* * * * *