ADDENDA TO THE CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MAN. (continued 2)

Pleased with this bloody performance, the duke of Mantua is said immediately to have chosen Crichton as preceptor to his son Vincentio di Gonzaga, who is represented as a youth of a turbulent disposition, and a dissolute life. This appointment was pleasing to the court, and highly flattering to the vanity of the victor; who, to testify his gratitude, and to contribute to their diversion, is said to have framed a comedy, in which he exposed to ridicule, the foibles, weaknesses, and defects of the several employments in which men were engaged. The composition was regarded as one of the most ingenious satires that was ever made upon mankind. In the performance of this comedy, Crichton is represented as sustaining no less than fifteen characters in his own person. Among the rest, he acted the divine, the philosopher, the lawyer, the mathematician, the physician, and the soldier, with such an inimitable grace, that every time he appeared on the theatre, he seemed to be a different person.

But it was not long after he had sustained these various characters, in the comedy which he had composed for public entertainment, before he became the subject of a dreadful tragedy, which furnished a melancholy occasion for lamentation.

It happened one night, during the time of carnival, as he was walking along the streets of Mantua, playing upon his guitar, that he was attacked by six persons in masks. He immediately drew his weapon to defend himself; and soon convinced his assailants, that they had something more than an ordinary person with whom to contend. In this conflict, when they found they were unable to stand their ground, their leader, being disarmed, pulled off his mask, and begged his life, telling him that he was prince Gonzaga his pupil. Crichton, on making this discovery, fell upon his knees, and expressed much concern for his mistake; alleging that what he had done was only in his own defence, and that if Gonzaga had any design upon his life, he was always master of it. Having said this, he took his sword, and holding it by the point, presented the handle to the prince, who instantly received it, and, with a degree of barbarous meanness, that will always be associated with his name, immediately stabbed Crichton to the heart.

On the causes which led to this brutal action, various conjectures have been started. Some have imagined, that it arose from the mortification of being foiled, disarmed, and discovered, and being obliged to beg for his life. Others have supposed, that it was nothing more than the effect of a drunken frolic, in which the passions assumed the dominion over reason. And others have intimated, that it was the effect of jealousy, Gonzaga being suspicious that Crichton was more in favour than himself, with a lady whom he passionately loved. In one point, however, all who have recorded these transactions mutually agree, namely, that Crichton lost his life in this rencontre; but whether the meeting was premeditated on the part of the prince and his associates, or purely as accidental as it was on that of Crichton, we have no means of ascertaining. The time when this disastrous event took place, is said, by the generality of his biographers, to have been early in July 1583; but Lord Buchan thinks it to have happened one year earlier. The difference is still greater with regard to his age, when he was thus assassinated. The common accounts declare, that he was killed in his thirty-second year; but Imperialis asserts, that he was only in his twenty-second; and in this he is confirmed by the testimony of Lord Buchan. His death was universally lamented, the people of Mantua mourned for him three-quarters of a year, and his picture appeared in the chambers and houses of every Italian.

The fame of Crichton, like that of an actor, was chiefly confined to those who had witnessed his achievements. He wrote little, but he performed much. The latter was soon forgotten; or so blended with fiction, that it became doubtful. He blazed like a meteor for a moment; his coruscations dazzled the eyes of the beholder; but when he vanished, the impression which he had made was no where to be found. Yet, we must again repeat, he was certainly one of the most accomplished men, who, in that age, had ever appeared.

To those who feel the aspirings of genius, he furnishes an example of the heights to which it can ascend. And to those who are less gifted by nature, his unsettled life, and his melancholy end, may at least teach acquiescence in the humbler gifts which Providence has assigned them.—See British Nepos, p. 101.

In favour of Crichton’s moral character, we fear that little can be said. His warmest admirers have furnished us with the means of making this reflection. They have occasionally palliated dissipation; but unfortunately, while softening his vices into youthful foibles, they have recorded facts, to which posterity have given names. On the vanity, which in too many instances marked his life, and the unhappy manner in which it was terminated, no comment can be deemed necessary. In his whole history, all those, “who in the confidence of superior capacities or attainments disregard the common maxims of life, shall be reminded, that nothing will supply the want of prudence; and that negligence and irregularity, long continued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible.”—Johnson’s Life of Savage.

Miss Margaret M‘Avoy.—Some time in the year 1815, an extraordinary phenomenon appeared at Liverpool, in the person of Miss M‘Avoy, a young lady about fifteen years of age, reputed to be totally blind; but whose exquisite nervous sensibility enabled her to distinguish, by the power of touch, a variety of objects, which, to all other persons, were perceptible only through the medium of vision. The circumstances connected with this case, taken in all their bearings, are such, that it may be justly doubted if any thing more extraordinary has ever occurred in the physiological history of our species.

The following interesting narrative is an abridged copy of what appeared in the Liverpool Mercury, at the time when her astonishing powers excited a considerable degree of public attention. The article is signed by Mr. Egerton Smith, the proprietor of the above paper, and his relation is founded on personal observations.

“Some time in September, 1816, I accompanied Dr. Renwick, on a professional visit he paid to Miss M‘Avoy, at her residence in St. Paul’s-square, on the east side. She was then between sixteen and seventeen years of age, of a pleasing and ingenuous countenance, and apparently of an amiable and artless disposition. Her mother informed me, that in the preceding June, her daughter had been attacked with hydrocephalus, or water in the head, together with paralytic affection on one side, and a complication of other disorders, which I forbear to enumerate, because I am wholly ignorant of that part of the subject. According to her own statement, corroborated by that of her mother, the hydrocephalus preceded, and in their opinion produced, the blindness of gutta serena, under which she is supposed to labour, but which has been called in question, I understand, by some of the professional men who have visited her.

“Her mother, however, declared, that the light of the sun produced not the slightest sensible effect upon her eyes; and some of the professional gentlemen who happened to be present at one of my repeated visits, declared, that though some slight contraction of the pupil was perceptible upon the approach of a lighted candle to the eye, it was by no means such as uniformly occurs when the visual organs perform their regular functions.

“At my first interview, I learned from herself, what I had indeed previously been told by others, that she had recently acquired the faculty of distinguishing not only the colours of cloth and stained glass, but that she could actually decipher the forms of words in a printed book; and, indeed, could read, if the phrase may be permitted, with tolerable facility. To put these pretensions to the test, she permitted a shawl to be passed across the eyes in double folds, in such a way that all present were convinced they could not under similar circumstances discern day from night. In this state a book was placed before her, and opened indiscriminately; when, to our extreme surprise, she began to trace the words with her finger, and to repeat them correctly. She appeared to recognize a short monosyllable by the simple contact of one finger; but in ascertaining a long word, she placed the fore-finger of her left hand on the beginning, whilst with that of her right hand she proceeded from the other extremity of the word; and when the two fingers, by having traversed over all the letters, came in contact with each other, she invariably and precisely ascertained the word. By my watch I found that she read about thirty words in half a minute; and it very naturally occurred to us, that if, notwithstanding her supposed blindness, and the double bandage over her eyes, she could still see, she would have read much more rapidly, if her motive had been to excite our astonishment. And here it may not be amiss to state, that there does not appear to be any adequate motive for practising a delusion upon the public. Her situation in life is respectable; and her mother disavows any intention of ever exhibiting her daughter as a means of pecuniary remuneration. Fifteen months have now elapsed since the period at which she laid claim to the extraordinary faculty which has given rise to so much curiosity, astonishment, and perplexity; during which time the reputation of so wonderful a circumstance has subjected her to the fatigue and inconvenience of daily and almost hourly visits.

“According to her own statement, her powers of touch vary very materially with circumstances; when her hands are cold, she declares that the faculty is altogether lost; and that it is exhausted, also, by long and unremitting efforts; that she considers the hours of from ten till twelve, of each alternate day, the most favourable for her performance. Her pulse, during the experiments, has varied from 110 to 130 degrees.

“One circumstance, which has created much doubt and suspicion, must not be concealed; which is, that if any substance, for instance, a book or a shawl, be interposed between her eyes and the object she is investigating, she is much embarrassed, and frequently entirely baffled. She explains this by saying, that it is necessary there should be an uninterrupted communication between her finger and her breath. I leave it to others to draw their own conclusions upon this point; as my object is not to establish any theory, or give currency to any mystery, but to relate the simple facts. I am, therefore, compelled to express my conviction, that she can neither ascertain colours, nor the words of a book, in total darkness; and, as many persons very naturally will ask, why has not such a test been proposed? the reply must be, that as the young lady is not the subject of a public exhibition, and as an introduction to her is merely a matter of favour, it might not be very courteous or delicate, under such circumstances, to make any proposal which seemed to imply a suspicion that she was an impostor.

“There are persons, however, who, giving her implicit credit for the reality of the extraordinary powers to which she lays claim, will contend that it is altogether unfair to propose the test of total darkness. Proceeding upon their belief that she actually ascertains colour, &c. by the finger, or that the visual organ is transferred to the touch, still they say that light is essentially necessary to produce that effect upon the surface of the body felt, which enables her to distinguish one shade from another; they add, that as there is no such thing as colour in total darkness, it is perfectly ridiculous to expect that she should ascertain the various shades without the presence of that light which alone produces those shades. It is, according to their mode of considering the subject, as absurd as to expect an effect without a cause.

“It has already been stated, that, with the double bandage over her eyes, she read several lines of a book indiscriminately opened; as it was possible that the letters of a printed book might leave some slight impression sensible to an exquisite touch, I took from my pocket-book an engraved French assignat, which was hot-pressed, and smooth as glass; she read the smallest lines contained in this with the same facility as the printed book. A letter received by that day’s post was produced, the direction and post-mark of which she immediately and correctly deciphered. She also named the colour of the separate parts of the dresses of the persons in company, as well as various shades of stained glass which were purposely brought.

“What I had seen at my first interview was so extremely astonishing, and so far surpassed any thing I had ever known or read of the powers ascribed to persons deprived of sight, that I could only account for it on the supposition that she was not blind, and that she had some secret mode of discerning an object, notwithstanding the bandage, through which I myself could not distinguish night from day, when it was applied to my own eyes. I therefore made the best apology I could for visiting her house again the same evening, having previously prepared myself with several tests, which I begged permission to submit to her examination, when the candle was withdrawn. Not the slightest objection was offered to my proposal, and the candle was extinguished: her mother stationed herself before the fire, which was extremely low, and afforded so little light that I could not have read one word of moderate-sized print, if it had been brought almost in contact with the bars of the grate. I then took from my pocket a small book, the type of which was very little larger than that of an ordinary newspaper; observing at the time, that I was afraid the print was too minute; to which she replied, that her fingers were in excellent order, and that she had no doubt she could be able to make it out.

“The candle, as was before observed, had been extinguished; and her mother and myself were so stationed, that had there been any light afforded by the fire, we must have completely intercepted it. Miss M‘Avoy sat in the furthest part of the room, with her back towards the grate, in such a situation that I could barely discern even the leaves of the book which lay open before her; the title of which she proceeded to read with complete success, with the exception of one very minute word. I then presented to her a small piece of smooth writing paper, which was ruled with horizontal faint blue lines, with a pen and black ink; there were also perpendicular red lines, between which were scored black lines: all these, with their direction and order, she determined without any apparent difficulty. She also told correctly the colour of a variety of species of cloth, procured immediately before at a draper’s shop. All the experiments hitherto described, as well as those which follow, were performed by Miss M. with the bandage before her eyes; and as the shawl, which was usually applied to this purpose, produced considerable warmth and inconvenience, a pair of what, in the optician’s shops, are called goggles, had been provided, which so completely excluded the light, that no person who tried them could discern the difference between day and night, when they were fitted to the face. As these goggles have been generally used when Miss M. has exhibited her surprising talent, it is necessary that the reader should have a correct idea of them. They are intended to be worn by travellers, to guard the eyes against the wind or the dust, and consist of two glasses, sometimes green, fitted into a bandage of leather, which is passed horizontally across the face, and is tied with ribands round the back of the head. The goggles provided for Miss M. instead of glasses, were fitted up with opake pasteboard, lined with paper, and not an aperture was left through which a single ray of light could penetrate.

“Mr. Nichol, a scientific gentleman, who was delivering a course of philosophical lectures in Liverpool, having heard of this extraordinary property, applied to me to obtain an introduction to Miss M‘Avoy, and I accompanied him to her house, along with Mr. James Smith, printer, of Liverpool. At this interview, the experiments I have already detailed were repeated with complete success, whilst the goggles were applied. One part of the performance was so truly astonishing, that I should almost hesitate to relate it, if those two gentlemen had not been present to vouch for the truth. I had furnished myself with a set of stained landscape glasses, usually termed Claude Lorrain glasses. They were seven in number, contained in a frame. She ascertained the precise shade of each correctly; one glass, however, appeared to embarrass her, and after considerable scrutiny, she said it was not black, nor dark blue, nor dark brown, but she thought it was a very deep crimson. We did not know whether her conjecture was correct or not, as we could not ourselves ascertain the shade. By reflected light it appeared to us to be perfectly black; nor was the flame of the fire, which was stirred for the occasion, visible through it in the faintest degree. We had abandoned all expectation of determining this point, when the sun suddenly emerged from behind the clouds; and by that test, and that alone, were we enabled to discover that she was correct, as we could just discern the solar image of a very deep crimson. It has been said, and with some plausibility, that this must have been a bold guess on her part; if not, it will puzzle our physiologists to explain how a person reputed to be blind, with an opake bandage also over her eyes, could declare the colour of a glass, which persons in full enjoyment of their eyesight, and without any such obstacles, could not discern by any other light than that of the meridian sun! At this meeting, we were informed that Miss M‘Avoy had recently found out that this extraordinary faculty was not confined to her fingers; and that she could also distinguish the colour of an object which was brought into contact with the back of her hands. This was immediately made the subject of experiment by Mr. Nichol, who successively applied several objects which he had with him to that part of the hand; in placing which he used so much precaution, that I could not see them myself, although my eyes were fixed upon his hands. She was completely successful also upon this occasion.”

The paragraph which follows is from the Liverpool Advertiser:—

“As the extraordinary powers attributed to Miss Margaret M‘Avoy, of this town, have lately attracted the attention of the public in an uncommon degree, permit me to send you a fact, which has lately occurred, and which must silence the scepticism of the most incredulous:—Two ladies of this town, whose habits of rigid veracity and cautious inquiry are well known, and whose names are left with the publishers, in order to satisfy any doubts which may arise, went to the house of this phenomenon, impelled by that curiosity which has now become general. Fortunately, Miss M‘Avoy’s marvellous powers, which are known to be sometimes fluctuating and capricious, were that day in the highest perfection, and the following experiment was actually tried:—One of these visitors stood behind the young lady’s chair, and pressed down her eyelids with both hands so closely, that it was a physical impossibility for a single ray of light to enter. I may here remark, that no method of closing the eyes, by any sort of covering that can be devised, is half so effectual as this, for obvious reasons. The other lady then took up a printed book of sermons, which was lying in the apartment, and which appeared to have just come from the bookseller’s, as the leaves were not yet cut open; she opened it in a place where the leaves were united, and placed it before Miss M‘Avoy, (her eyes still closed as above described,) who read several lines in it, without hesitation. The lady then took a written note out of her pocket, which had been received that morning, and Miss M. also read that, without any other difficulty than what arose from the badness of the hand-writing. This experiment, which can be ascertained on oath, seems so decisive as to the power possessed by Miss M. of reading by the touch alone, that I am not aware of any possible way in which it can be controverted.”

At the time when the case of this young lady came before the public, her claims to extraordinary powers were examined with the utmost scrutiny, both by those who admitted, and those who doubted her abilities. In every experiment that was made, the former were confirmed in their opinion; and the latter, while they withheld their assent, were constrained to acknowledge themselves overwhelmed with an accumulation of facts, for which they were unable to account.

An old English ’Squire.—The following character of the Honourable William Hastings, of the Woodlands, in Hampshire, was copied in the year 1737, from a manuscript of Anthony Ashley Cooper, the first earl of Shaftsbury, by W. Cowper, Esq. then clerk of parliament.

In the year 1638, lived Mr. Hastings, by his quality, son, brother, and uncle, to the earls of Huntingdon. He was, peradventure, an original in our age, or rather the copy of our ancient nobility in hunting, not in warlike times.

He was low, very strong, and very active; of a reddish flaxen hair. His clothes always of green cloth, and never all worth, when new, five pounds.

His house was perfectly of the old fashion: in the midst of a large park well stocked with deer, and near the house, rabbits to serve his kitchen; many fishponds; great store of wood and timber; a bowling-green in it, long, but narrow, full of high ridges, it being never levelled since it was ploughed; they used round sand-bowls; and it had a large banqueting-house like a stand, built in a tree.

He kept all manner of sport hounds, that ran buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger; and hawks, long and short winged He had all sorts of nets for fish. He had a walk in the New Forest and the manor of Christ Church; this last supplied him with red deer, sea and river fish; and indeed all his neighbours’ lands and royalties were free to him, who bestowed all his time on these sports, but what he borrowed to caress his neighbours’ wives and daughters. This made him very popular, always speaking kindly to the husband, brother, or father, who was, besides, always welcome to his house. There he would find beef, pudding, and small beer in great plenty; a house not so neatly kept as to shame him, or his dusty shoes; the great hall strewed with marrow-bones, and full of hawks’ perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers; the upper side of the hall hung with the fox-skins of this and the last year’s killing, with here and there a pole-cat intermixed; and gamekeepers’ and hunters’ poles in great abundance.

The parlour was a large long room, curiously furnished:—on a great hearth paved with bricks lay some terriers, and the choicest hounds and spaniels; usually two of the great chairs had litters of young cats in them, which were not to be disturbed, he having always three or four attending him at dinner, and a little round white stick of fourteen inches long lying by his trencher, that he might defend such meat as he had no mind to part with to them. The windows, which were very large, served for places to lay his arrows, cross-bows, stone-bows, and other such like accoutrements: the corners of the room were full of the best-chosen hunting and hawking poles. An oyster table stood at the lower end, of constant use twice a day, all the year round, for he never failed to eat oysters before dinner and supper through all seasons; with these the neighbouring town of Poole supplied him.

The upper part of the room had two small tables and a desk, on the one side of which was a Church Bible, and on the other the Book of Martyrs. On the tables were hawks’ hoops, bells, and such like, two or three old green hats, with their crowns thrust in so as to hold ten or a dozen eggs; which were of a pheasant kind of poultry he took much care of and fed himself. Tables, dice, cards, and boxes, were not wanting. In the holes of the desk were store of tobacco-pipes that had been used.

On one side of this end of the room was a door of the closet, wherein stood the strong beer and the wine, which never came thence but in single glasses, that being the rule of the house exactly observed, for he never exceeded in drink, or permitted others to transgress.

On the other side was a door into an old chapel, not used for devotion; the pulpit, as the safest place, was never wanting of a cold chine of beef, venison pasty, gammon of bacon, or great apple pie, with thick crust extremely baked.

His table cost him not much, though it was well provided. His sports supplied all but beef and mutton, except Fridays, when he had the best salt fish, as well as other fish, he could get. This was the day his neighbours of first quality most visited him. He never wanted a London pudding, and always sung it in with “My pert eyes therein a.” He drank a glass or two of wine at meals; very often syrup of gillyflowers in his sack; and had always a tun glass, without feet, standing by him, holding a pint of small beer, which he often stirred with rosemary.

He was good-natured, but soon angry, calling his servants bastards, and cuckoldy knaves; in one of which he often spoke truth to his own knowledge, and sometimes in both, though of the same man. He lived to be an hundred, never lost his eyesight, but always wrote and read without spectacles, and got on horseback without help. Until past fourscore, he rode to the death of a stag as well as any one.

Joan of Arc, commonly called the Maid of Orleans.—This celebrated heroine was the daughter of a peasant of Domremi, near Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Lorrain, and born about the beginning of the fifteenth century. At the age of twenty-seven years, she was servant in a small inn, where she was accustomed to tend horses, and to perform other menial offices which commonly fall to the share of men-servants. About this time, king Charles VII. was reduced to the most distressed condition by the English; but the siege of Orleans, which was bravely defended by the garrison and inhabitants, in some measure retarded their progress. Joan partook of the feelings of sympathy with the besieged, that very generally prevailed, and determined to make some effort for relieving her sovereign in his present distresses. Whilst she was indulging these feelings, her enthusiasm led her to fancy that she saw visions and heard voices exhorting her to re-establish the throne of France, and to expel the foreign invaders. Under the strong impulse of passion and imagined inspiration, she obtained admission to Baudricourt, the governor of Vaucouleurs, who after being informed of her inspiration and intentions, treated her for some time with neglect; but, in consequence of her renewed and importunate solicitations, he gave orders that she should be conducted to the French court, which then resided at Chinon. It is pretended that Joan, immediately on her admission, knew the king, though she had never seen his face before, and though he purposely kept himself in the crowd of courtiers, and laid aside every thing in his apparel that might seem to distinguish him; and that she offered, in the name of the supreme Creator, to raise the siege of Orleans, and to conduct him to Rheims, to be there crowned and anointed. In order to remove his doubts of her mission, it is said, that she disclosed a secret, known only to himself, and which she must have derived from heavenly inspiration. She also demanded, as the instrument of her future victories, a particular sword which was kept in the church of St. Catharine of Fierbois, and which, though she had never seen it, she described by all its marks, and by the place in which it had long lain neglected. Her intrepid and determined mode of address excited attention, and gained confidence; and she was referred to matrons for proofs of her virginity, and to doctors of the church for evidence of her inspiration: their report being favourable, she was sent to the parliament at Poictiers; but they, considering her as insane, demanded from her a miracle. Her reply was, that she would soon exhibit one at Orleans.

Accordingly, she was at length completely armed, mounted on horseback in the presence of the multitude, and sent, amidst the loudest acclamations, to join the army destined to the relief of Orleans. Upon joining the army, consisting of 10,000 men, she ordered all the soldiers to confess themselves before they set out on the enterprise; she banished from the camp all women of bad fame; she displayed in her hands a consecrated banner, representing the Supreme Being as grasping the globe of earth, and surrounded with flower-de-luces; and after thus communicating to the soldiers a great degree of that enthusiasm by which she herself was actuated, she advanced towards Orleans. The English besiegers were overawed by her orders and menaces, dictated in the name of the Almighty Creator; and she entered Orleans arrayed in her military garb, and displaying her consecrated standard, and was received by all the inhabitants as a celestial deliverer. The convoy approached without finding any resistance on the part of the besiegers; the waggons and troops passed without interruption between the redoubts of the English; and a dead silence and astonishment reigned among those troops, formerly so elated with victory, and so fierce for the combat.

Joan, having thus far succeeded, ordered the garrison, at the same time encouraging them with the promise of heavenly assistance, first, to attack the English redoubts, in which measure they were successful; and then to fall upon the main body of the English in their entrenchments. In one of these latter attacks the French were repulsed, but the intrepid maid led them back to the charge, and overpowered the English. In one of these attacks, she was wounded in the neck with an arrow; but retreating behind the assailants, she pulled it out with her own hands, had the wound quickly dressed, and hastened back to head the troops, and to plant her victorious banner on the ramparts of the enemy. In consequence of these successes, attended with a loss to the English of more than 6000 men, their courage and confidence gave way to amazement and despair. The French, in order to magnify the wonder of all these prosperous events, represent the maid as not only active in combat, but as performing the office of general; directing the troops, conducting the military operations, and swaying the deliberations in all the councils of war. But whatever the policy of the French court might suggest for maintaining this opinion among the multitude, it is much more probable, that this inexperienced country girl was prompted in all her measures by the wiser commanders.

Having raised the siege of Orleans, Joan now insisted that she should proceed to the accomplishment of the second part of her promise, which was that of crowning the king at Rheims. The king, accompanied by the victorious maid, marched at the head of 12,000 men towards Rheims, receiving the submission of the towns through which he passed; till at length arriving near Rheims, a deputation met him with the keys of the city, and he was admitted into it with transport. Here the ceremony of his coronation was performed with the holy oil of Clovis; and the maid stood by his side in complete armour, and displayed her sacred banner. When the ceremony was finished, she threw herself at the king’s feet, embraced his knees, and with a flood of tears she congratulated him on this singular and marvellous event. Charles testified his gratitude by ennobling the family of Joan, giving it the name of du Lys, probably in allusion to the lilies of her banner, and assigning to her a suitable estate in land. Having accomplished both the objects which she had proposed, the maid of Orleans expressed her wish to return to her former condition, and to the occupation and course of life which became her sex: but the French general Dunois, urged her continuance with the army, till the English should be completely expelled, and her predictions fully accomplished.

Overpowered by his advice, she threw herself into the town of Compeigne, which was then besieged by the duke of Burgundy and the English; where, on a sally, having twice driven the enemy from their entrenchments, and finding their number increasing, she ordered a retreat; but was deserted by her friends, surrounded by the enemy, and taken prisoner by the Burgundians. Instead of treating Joan as a prisoner of war, with the courtesy and good usage, to which, as such, she was entitled, and which civilized nations practise towards enemies on occasions of this kind, she was purchased from the captors by the regent duke of Bedford, and a criminal prosecution was instituted against her on the charges of sorcery, impiety, idolatry, and magic. The clergy in his interest, and even the university of Paris, concurred in the accusation. An ecclesiastical commission was held at Rouen for her trial, and the maid, clothed in her former military apparel, but loaded with irons, was produced before this tribunal. Her trial lasted four months; and in the course of that time, many captious interrogatories were put to her, which she answered with firmness and dignity.

Upon being asked, whether she would submit to the church the truth of her pretended visions, revelations, and intercourse with departed saints? she replied, that she would submit them to God, the fountain of truth: and when she was charged with being a heretic, and denying the authority of the church, she appealed to the pope; but her appeal was rejected. When she was asked, why she put her trust in her standard, which had been consecrated by magical incantations? she answered, that she put her trust in the Supreme Being alone, whose image was impressed upon it. When it was demanded, why she carried in her hand that standard at the unction and coronation of Charles at Rheims? she replied, that the person who had shared the danger was entitled to share the glory. When she was accused of going to war, she scrupled not to declare, that her sole purpose was to defeat the English, and to expel them the kingdom. In the issue, however, she was condemned for all the crimes of which she had been accused, aggravated by heresy; her revelations were declared to be inventions of the devil to delude the people; and she was sentenced to be delivered over to the secular arm. At length her resolution failed her; and through dread of the punishment to which she was sentenced, she declared that she was willing to recant; and, accordingly, she acknowledged the illusion of those revelations which the church had rejected; and she promised never more to maintain them. Upon this, her sentence was mitigated; and she was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and to be fed during life on bread and water. But with this vengeance her enemies were not satisfied. In order to justify the severest measures against her, they insidiously placed in her apartment a suit of men’s apparel; upon the sight of this garb, in which she had acquired so much renown, and assumed, as she once believed, by the appointment of heaven, her former ideas and passions revived, and she ventured in her solitude to put on the forbidden dress. In this apparel she was detected; it was regarded as a relapse into heresy; her recantation became void; her partial pardon was revoked; and she was to be burned in the market-place of Rouen. In June, 1431, this barbarous sentence, much more ignominious to those who inflicted it than to her who was the object of it, was executed.

“This admirable heroine, to whom the more generous superstition of the ancients would have erected altars, was, on pretence of heresy and magic, delivered over alive to the flames, and expiated, by that dreadful punishment, the signal services which she had rendered to her prince and to her native country.” She met her fate with resolution, and the English themselves beheld the scene with tears. The king made no effort for avenging her cause; he merely procured a revision of the process, and a restoration of her memory ten years afterwards by the pope, in an act which styled her a “Martyr to her religion, her country, and her king.” Her countrymen, more prompt in the tribute of their respect, propagated many tales relating to her execution; and some of them would not even allow her to be dead, but professed to expect her speedy return to conduct them again to victory.

Of the character and conduct of this singular heroine, the most probable opinion is, that of her being an honest and deluded enthusiast, of whose fancies and passions the principal persons in the interest of Charles availed themselves for deluding and rousing into exertion the passions of the people, at a crisis of peculiar importance; in which the maid of Orleans was instrumental in giving a decisive turn to the contest between the French and English. The exploits of Joan of Arc have been celebrated both in prose and verse. Of the latter, the serious poem of Chapelain has been much less successful than the burlesque and licentious one of Voltaire; but the injury done by it to her memory has been in some degree repaired in England, by Southey’s sublime and spirited poem of “Joan of Arc,” which exhibits her in the brightest colours of virtue and heroism.

Pope Joan.—Among the numerous individuals who have figured on the great theatre of public life, few characters have ever been more distinguished than this celebrated lady, who, by a singular compound of dexterity, secrecy, and address, contrived to reach the pontificate. Many doubts have, indeed, been entertained of the authenticity of the tale; but it is well known, that prior to the Reformation it was sanctioned by universal belief.

It is said, that about the middle of the ninth century, a woman named Joan, born at Mentz, and who had received an excellent education, conceiving a violent passion for a young monk named Fulda, resolved to desert her family and friends, to assume the male habit, and gain admittance into the monastery. The plan succeeded; and having long indulged in their amours undisturbed and unsuspected, they eloped together, and travelled into most of the countries of Europe, availing themselves of every opportunity for increasing their knowledge, by engaging the assistance of the best masters in the different cities through which they passed. On the death of her lover, Joan repaired to Rome, still in the dress of a man; where her address and engaging manners raising her into notice, she commenced the duties of professor, and persons of the highest rank and most considerable talents enlisted in the number of her disciples. At length, on the death of pope Leo X. in 855, she was unanimously elected his successor to the pontifical throne. So prudently did she conduct herself, and with so much ability did she perform the duties of her station, that the people had reason to congratulate themselves on their choice. At length she confided her secret to a domestic whom she took to her bed, the consequence of which was her pregnancy, and she was taken in labour at one of the most solemn processions, delivered of a child in the street, and died on the spot. It is likewise said, that to perpetuate the memory of such an extraordinary adventure, a statue was erected on the place where it happened; that in abhorrence of the crime, the pope and clergy, in their subsequent annual processions from the Vatican to the Lateran, have turned off from that street; and that, to prevent a similar imposition, a custom was introduced of examining each pope previously to his consecration, in order to ascertain his sex. Such are the particulars of a story that seems not to have been called in question till the time of Luther, but which the best informed historians usually abandon as fictitious. “Till the Reformation, (says Gibbon,) the tale was repeated and believed without offence, and Joan’s female statue long occupied her place among the popes in the cathedral of Sienna. She has been annihilated by two learned Protestants, Blondel and Bayle, but their brethren were scandalized by this equitable and generous criticism. Spanheim and L’Enfant attempted to save this poor engine of controversy; and even Mosheim condescends to cherish some doubt and suspicion.”

History of the memorable Sir Richard Whittington, three times Lord Mayor of London; in the years 1397, 1406. 1419.—

The obscurity of the origin of this remarkable character, has given occasion to many fabulous accounts, but our readers may rely upon the following being the result of careful research, from the best authorities. Whittington came to London, from Shropshire, about the year 1368, in the reign of king Edward III. and in his way he chiefly lived upon the charity of well-disposed persons. On his arrival in town, he made an application to the prior of the hospital of St. John’s, Clerkenwell, where he was kindly relieved; and being handy and willing, was soon put into an inferior post in the house. How long he remained here, is, I believe, no where mentioned; but to the piety of this charitable foundation he was certainly indebted for his first support in London. His next reception was in the family of Mr. Fitzwarren, a rich merchant, whose house was in the Minories, near the Tower. Here he undoubtedly acted as under scullion, for his keep only.

In this situation he met with many crosses and difficulties; for the servants made sport of him; and particularly the ill-natured cook, who was of a morose temper, used him very ill, and not unfrequently, with a sturdy arm, laid the ladle across his shoulders: so that, to keep in the family, he had many a sore bout to put up with; but his patience carried it off, and at last he became accustomed to her choleric disposition.

This was not the only misfortune he laboured under; for lying in a place for a long time unfrequented, such abundance of rats and mice had bred there, that they were almost ready at times to dispute the possession of the place with him, and full as troublesome by night as the cook was by day, so that he knew not what to think of his condition, or how to mend it. After many disquieting thoughts, he at last comforted himself with the hopes that the cook might soon marry, or die, or quit her service; and as for the rats and mice, a cat would be an effectual remedy against them.

Soon after, a merchant came to dinner, and it raining exceedingly, he staid all night; whose shoes Whittington having cleaned, and presented at his chamber door, he gave him a penny. This stock he improved, for going along the street of an errand, he saw a woman with a cat under her arm, and desired to know the price of it: the woman praised it for a good mouser, and told him, sixpence; but he declaring that a penny was all his stock, she let him have it.

He took the cat home, and kept her in a box all day, lest the cook should kill her if she came into the kitchen, and at night he set her to work for her living. Puss delivered him from one plague; but the other remained, though not for many years.

It was the custom with the worthy merchant, Mr. Hugh Fitzwarren, that God might give him a greater blessing for his endeavours, to call all his servants together when he sent out a ship, and cause every one to venture something in it, to try their fortunes.

Now all but Whittington appeared, and brought things according to their abilities; but his young mistress being by, and supposing that poverty made him decline coming, she ordered him to be called, on which he made several excuses: however, being constrained to come, he hoped they would not jeer a poor simpleton for being in expectation of turning merchant, since all that he could lay claim to as his own, was but a poor cat, which he had bought for one penny, which he had given to him for cleaning shoes, and had much befriended him in keeping the rats and mice from him. Upon this, the young lady proffered to lay something down for him, but her father told her the custom; it must be his own which must be ventured; and then ordered him to bring his cat, which he did, but with great reluctance, fancying nothing would come of it; and with tears delivered it to the master of the ship, which was called the Unicorn, and had fallen down to Blackwall, in order to proceed on her voyage.

On their arrival in the Mole of Algiers, they heard that the plague was raging in the country, having been but a few years before brought from China, viz. in 1346, at which period it was first noticed to rage in Africa, from whence it soon proceeded to Europe, overspreading the northern countries. This news did not deter the captain from sending to trade on shore, where, at first, they found but little encouragement, the people of the country appearing very shy to every offer. The news of the arrival of a vessel soon reached the notice of the Dey, who immediately ordered the captain and officers to wait upon his highness with presents; for then, as well as now, nothing could be done without first bribing him. After this ceremony was over, trade went on pretty briskly, at the conclusion of which, his Moorish majesty gave a grand entertainment, which, according to custom, was served upon carpets, interwoven with gold, silver, and purple silk. This feast was no sooner served up with the various dishes, but the scent brought together a number of rats and mice, who unmercifully fell on all that came in their way.

These audacious and destructive vermin did not shew any symptoms of fear upon the approach of the company, but, on the contrary, kept to it as if they only were invited. This made the captain and his people very much wonder; who, interrogating the Algerines, were informed, a very great price would be given by his highness, the Dey, for a cure, and a riddance of these vermin, which were grown so numerously offensive, that not only his table, but his private apartments, and bed, were so infested, that he was forced to be constantly watched for fear of being devoured.

This information put the English company immediately in mind of poor Dick Whittington’s cat, which had done them such notable service on the passage; and wishing to serve the youth, they thought this the best time to come forward with the industrious animal. Accordingly, she was brought on shore the next day, when her presence suddenly kept off most of the vermin; a few only of the boldest daring to venture forward, all of whom she dispatched with wonderful celerity. This pleased his Algerine highness so much, that he immediately made very advantageous proposals to the factor of the ship for the possession of this surprising and useful animal. At first our people seemed very reluctant to part with it; but his liberality soon overcame every objection; and her purchase amounted, in various commodities, to several thousands of pounds. During the time the English remained here, her industry in destroying those noxious vermin so completely pleased the Moorish chief, that, at our people’s departure, he again loaded them with rich presents.

The cook, who little thought how advantageous Whittington’s cat would prove, had kept up such a continual alarm of noise and reproach at the poor youth’s unfortunate penury, that he grew weary of enduring it, and not the least expecting what followed, he resolved rather to try his fortune again in the wide world, than lead any longer such a disagreeable life. For this step he might be blamed, as, had he complained to his master, who was a kind gentleman, the difference would have been set to rights, and he, not like a Jonas, cast out. With this resolution, however, he set out early on Allhallows morning, resolving to go into the country, and get into a more agreeable service.

As he went over Finsbury Moor, since called Moor-fields, his mind began to fail; he hesitated, and halted several times: he grew pensive, and his resolution left him. In this solitary manner he wandered on until he reached Holloway, where he sat down upon a large stone, which remains there to be seen to this day. Here he began to ruminate in earnest upon his ill-luck in not pleasing the cook; and in the depth of his meditation, he suddenly heard Bow bells strike out for a peal. This changed his attention; for, as he listened, on a sudden, he fancied they called him back again to his master. The more he hearkened, the more he became confirmed in this notion of his recall, conceiting the bells expressed the following distich:—

This proved a happy thought for him; and it made so great an impression on his fancy, that, finding it early, and thinking he might yet get back before the family were stirring, he instantly turned upon his heel, and reaching home in less time than he went out, he got in unperceived to his usual daily drudgery.

Things were in this situation when the news arrived of the success of the voyage; and that night he was installed with the appellation of Mr. by his master, who informed him, that his ship had just arrived at Blackwall, being the richest vessel of her burden that had ever floated into an English port. His master concluded his discourse with a pious admonition to all his servants, after which they all joined in a thanksgiving to the Almighty for such a prosperous voyage.

The cook was among the first to change her demeanor towards Whittington, calling him Sir, and inviting him to such and such relishes as the kitchen afforded.

When the bill of lading was presented to the merchant, the principal part was found to belong to Mr. Whittington, amongst which was a cabinet of rich jewels, the last present of the Dey. This was the first thing brought to Mr. Fitzwarren’s house, it being deemed too valuable to remain on board.

When the servants’ goods for their ventures were all brought up to be divided, Mr. Whittington’s was too bulky to be unpacked before them; but the pearls and jewels alone were estimated at several thousand pounds.

The humility of Mr. Whittington’s mind arising from a strong sense of his duty to society in general, prevented his temper from exhilarating into arrogance, petulance, or superciliousness: though suddenly grown rich, and become equal to the first merchants in the city, pride had no share in the change of his circumstances. On the contrary, at first, he could hardly be prevailed upon to let the scullery alone; but Mr. Fitzwarren took much pains with him, and introduced him to the first characters in town, not omitting the court, as well as the clergy and military, who at that time were reckoned the most agreeable connections.

King Edward the Third being then at war with the French, and preparing for the siege of Rochelle, solicited all the privileged orders in the kingdom for a subsidy to carry on his expedition. The loyalty of the city of London induced them to offer a large gift in their corporate capacity. In this scheme Mr. Whittington joined, and paid in £10,000, an astonishing sum in those days from an individual; but the military ardour of the country has always been remarkable; hence it is not wonderful that an enterprising and fortunate young man should come forward with so large a sum, when it is considered that history has almost left us in the dark as to the remuneration expected. Be this as it may, history places it in the 46th year of the king’s reign, A. D. 1372.

What contributed much at this time in favour of Whittington, was the absence of the Lombard merchants, who withdrew themselves from London, on account of the oppression of the king, which became excessive towards the latter end of his reign, for continual draughts to support his ambition in France. These, and the Jews abroad, conducted at that time the whole financial commerce of the city of London; but Mr. Whittington, upon their departure, came in for a considerable share of it.

We are now regularly come to the last year of king Edward’s reign, the fifty-second, when the Lords and Commons granted the king a poll-tax, at four-pence a head, for every man and woman passing the age of fourteen years, beggars excepted. The clergy at the same time granted twelve-pence for every person beneficed; and of all other religious persons, four-pence by the poll, the four orders of Friars Mendicants only excepted. Here it is worth observing, that the king demanding of the city of London to advance him £4000, upon this poll, and the Mayor, Adam Staple, proving backward in performing the same, he was by the king turned out of that office, and Sir Richard Whittington put into his place, to finish the year; and this is the first mention of his being knighted, and of his great importance in the city at that time, being only about ten years after his arrival there, in circumstances so widely different.

According to Stow, Sir Richard Whittington was a great dealer in wool, leather, cloth, and pearls, which were universally worn at that time by the ladies. In 1377, the first year of king Richard II. he was called by summons to the parliament that met at London, which commenced at Michaelmas, and lasted till the feast of St. Andrew, when it was dissolved by the mutinous conduct of the Londoners, and adjourned to Northampton the following year, where was passed the noted poll-tax, the collecting of which occasioned and created the rebellion of Wat Tyler and Jack Straw.

In 1395, the eighteenth of this king’s reign, Edmund, duke of York, the king’s uncle, held a parliament at London, the king being absent in Ireland; and relating to the citizens the great streights the king was reduced to in Ireland, they granted him a tenth upon their personal estates; first protesting that they were not in rigour of right obliged to it, but that they did it out of affection. The mission to this parliament, we are particularly informed by Sir Robert Cotton, from Leland’s papers, was managed by the uprightness and good judgment of Sir Richard Whittington.

Thus he grew in riches and fame the most considerable of the citizens, greatly beloved by all, especially the poor, several hundreds of whom he publicly or secretly assisted or supplied.

About this time it was that he married his master’s daughter, Miss Fitzwarren; and at their wedding were present, among other noble characters, the Lord Mayor, Aldermen &c. &c.

According to the pretorian banner, once existing in Guildhall, but since destroyed by the fire which consumed the city archives, Whittington served his first mayoralty in 1397. He was now near forty years of age, of a goodly form, and chosen into the office by his fellow citizens, whose approbation of his conduct, after his having once before filled the office, when king Edward put him in, is a sound and substantial proof that he was a good, loyal, and patriotic man.

Sir Richard’s second mayoralty occurred in 1406, in the reign of Henry IV. His third and last service of mayor happened in 1419, in Henry the Fifth’s time, in which situation he behaved with his usual prudence. Though age had now taken off much of his activity, yet he was the most vigilant magistrate of his time. Soon after Henry’s conquest of France, Sir Richard entertained him and his queen at Guildhall, in such grand style, that he was pleased to say, “Never prince had such a subject;” and conferred upon some of the aldermen the honour of knighthood.

At this entertainment, the king particularly praised the fire, which was made of choice wood, mixed with mace, cloves, and all other spices; on which Sir Richard said, he would endeavour to make one still more agreeable to his majesty, and immediately tore, and threw into the fire, the king’s bond for 10,000 marks, due to the company of Mercers; 12,500 to the Chamber of London; 21,000 to the Mercers, Staplers, Goldsmiths, Haberdashers, Vintners, Brewers, and Bakers; 3,000 marks each. “All these, (said Sir Richard,) with divers others sent for the payment of your soldiers in France, I have taken in and discharged, to the amount of £60,000 sterling. Can your majesty desire to see such another sight?” The king and nobles were struck dumb with surprise at his wealth and liberality.

Sir Richard spent the remainder of his days in honourable retirement at home, in his house in Grub-street, beloved by the rich and the poor. By his wife he left two sons, some of whose posterity are still worthy citizens. He built many charitable houses, founded a church in Vintry ward, and dedicated it to St. Michael. Here he built a handsome vault, for the sepulchre of his father and mother-in-law, and the remainder of the Fitzwarren family, and where himself and wife lay afterwards.

This Richard Whittington was (in this church) three times buried; first by his executors, under a fair monument; then in the reign of Edward VI. the parson of that church, thinking some great riches (as he said) to be buried with him, caused his monument to be broken, his body to be spoiled of his leaden sheet, and again the second time to be buried; and in the reign of queen Mary, the parishioners were forced to take him up to wrap him in lead, as afore, to bury him a third time, and to place his monument, or the like, over him again; which remained, and so he rested, till the great fire of London violated his resting-place again.

This church of St. Michael Pater-noster in the Vintry, the Capital House, and site thereof, called Whittington College, alias Whittington, and one garden belonging to the same, of the yearly value of four pounds, six shillings, and eight-pence, was sold to Armagill Waad, clerk of the council, in the second of Edward VI. for ninety-two pounds two shillings.

In 1413, he founded an alms-house and college in the Vintry, which was afterwards suppressed by order of council in king Edward the Sixth’s time: but his alms-houses on College-hill remain; these are under the direction of the Mercer’s company, who allow each pensioner 3s. 10d. per week.

Sir Richard built the gate and prison of Newgate as it formerly stood; gave large sums to Bartholomew’s Hospital; founded a Library in Grey Friars; endowed Christ’s Hospital with a considerable sum; built Guildhall chapel, and the east end of the Hall.

Dame Alice, his wife, died in the 63d year of her age; after which he never re-married, though he outlived her near twenty years. At last he died like the patriarch, full of age and honour, leaving a good name to posterity; and the following epitaph was cut on the upper stone of his vault, and continued perfect till destroyed by the fire of London:—

The Travelling Faquirs.

The following curious circumstance in natural history is related by a gentleman of veracity, learning, and abilities, who filled a considerable post in the Company’s Service in India.—

The Travelling Faquirs in this country are a kind of superstitious devotees, who pretend to great zeal in religion, but are, in fact, the most vicious and profligate wretches in the world. They wander about the country here, as the gipsies do with you; and having some little smattering of physic, music, or other arts, they introduce themselves by these means wherever they go. One of them called a few days ago at my house, who had a beautiful large snake in a basket, which he made rise up and dance about to the tune of a pipe on which he played.

It happened that my out-house and farm-yard had for some time been infested with snakes, which had killed me several turkeys, geese, ducks, fowls, and even a cow and a bullock. My servants asked this man whether he could pipe these snakes out of their holes, and catch them? He answered them in the affirmative, and they carried him instantly to the place where one of the snakes had been seen. He began piping, and in a short time the snake came dancing to him: the fellow caught him by the nape of the neck, and brought him to me. As I was incredulous, I did not go to see this first operation; but as he took this beast so expeditiously, and I still suspected some trick, I desired him to go and catch another, and went with him myself to observe his motions. He began by abusing the snake, and ordering him to come out of his hole instantly, and not be angry, otherwise he would cut his throat and suck his blood. I cannot swear that the snake heard and understood this elegant invocation. He then began piping with all his might, lest the snake should be deaf; he had not piped above five minutes, when an amazing large cobra capella (the most venomous kind of serpent) popped his head out of a hole in the room. When the man saw his nose, he approached nearer to him, and piped more vehemently, till the snake was more than half out, and ready to make a dart at him; he then piped only with one hand, and advanced the other under the snake as it was raising itself to make the spring. When the snake darted at his body, he made a snatch at his tail, which he caught very dexterously, and held the creature very fast, without the least apprehension of being bit, until my servants dispatched it. I had often heard this story of snakes being charmed out of their holes by music; but never believed it, till I had this ocular demonstration of the fact. In the space of an hour the Faquir caught five very venomous snakes close about my house.[26]

Incubus, or Nightmare.

This strange affection or complaint, which is more generally known by the term Nightmare, than by that of Incubus, has obtained a considerable degree of notice in the world, from the singular manner in which it seizes its victims. The term Incubus is derived from the Latin incubare, signifying to sit or lie upon, which very forcibly expresses the nature of the disease. Hence, many have thought, and they even continue to think, that some incomprehensible creature, being, or agent, actually sits or lies upon them while sleeping, from which they suffer acute torment and oppression, bordering on suffocation. Many also have even affirmed, that while they have been lying perfectly awake, they have perceived this nightly tormentor creeping slowly over their feet, and have watched its advances until it has taken its seat on the breast, and inflicted those severe sufferings which no language can fully describe. But we shall consider the nightmare rather as a disease, than the creature of imagination.

This disorder seizes persons while sleeping, who imagine that they feel an extraordinary compression or weight about the breast and stomach, which they cannot by any effort shake off. In this agony they sigh, groan, and utter indistinct sounds; sometimes they cry out, but more frequently they attempt to speak, or to move in vain. These feelings give rise to various frightful suggestions of the imagination: the patient fancies himself to be struggling with strong men or devils, or to be in a house on fire, or in danger of being drowned in the sea or some river; and in attempting to run away from danger, or climb up a hill, he fancies he falls back as much after every step as he had advanced before. At length the sensations of oppression become intolerable, and the patient awakes; but the terror excited by the frightful ideas attending the nightmare, leaves often a palpitation of the heart, with great anxiety and languor, and sometimes a tingling of the ears, and a tremor over the whole body.

It is altogether unnecessary to attempt an enumeration of the numerous hypothetical explanations which have been attempted to be given of the phenomenon of incubus, and which have been detailed by Awen, Bond, and other writers. The disorder has commonly been supposed to proceed from a stagnation of the blood in the sinuses of the brain, or in the vessels of the lungs, or from too great a quantity of blood being sent to the head. The horizontal posture, in time of sleep, and the pressure of the stomach upon the aorta, in a supine situation, have been thought sufficient to occasion a more than usual distention of the sinuses and other vessels of the brain; and the weight of the heart, pressing on the left auricle and large trunks of the pulmonary veins, may, it is supposed, prevent the easy return of the blood from the lungs, and thus produce an oppression and sense of weight and suffocation in the breast. But without entering into a particular examination of these opinions, which are far from being satisfactory, we may observe, with Dr. Whytt, that, if they were true, some degree of the nightmare ought to happen to every body that lies upon his back, especially after eating a full meal. Further, if a horizontal situation could overcharge the brain with blood, so as to occasion the incubus, how comes it that people, who remain for some time in an inverted posture, do not feel this disease beginning to attack them? And why does a slighter degree of the nightmare sometimes seize people who sleep in an erect situation in a chair? a circumstance which sometimes occurs, not only after eating, but when the stomach is out of order, and troubled with wind. As the weight of the stomach, even when filled with food, can have scarcely any effect upon the motion of the blood in the aorta, so the pressure of the heart is by much too small to be able sensibly to retard the motion of that fluid in the pulmonary veins; otherwise, people exhausted by tedious diseases, who generally lie on their back, would be constantly affected with the incubus.

We know that certain medicines or poisons, worms, and even corrupted bile, or other humours, by disagreeably affecting the nerves of the stomach, produce an oppression about the breast, wild imaginations, frightful dreams, raving, and insensibility; and there is no doubt that low spirits, melancholy, and disturbed sleep, often proceed from a disordered state of the stomach. It seems, therefore, more probable that the seat of nightmare is principally in that organ. It is well ascertained, that some forms of epilepsy, and of hysterical fits, originate from disorder in that viscus; and Galen considered the incubus as a nocturnal or slighter epilepsy. People troubled with nervous and hypochondriac affections, and who have delicate or flatulent stomachs, are more peculiarly subject to this disorder; and it is observed, that a heavy or flatulent supper greatly aggravates the nightmare, in those who are predisposed to it. The sympathy of the stomach with the head, heart, lungs, and diaphragm, is so remarkable, that there can be no difficulty in referring the several symptoms of the incubus to a disagreeable irritation of the nerves of the stomach.

The incubus is most apt to seize persons when lying on their back, because, in this position, on account of the stomach and other abdominal viscera pressing more upon the diaphragm, we cannot inspire with the same ease as when we sit up or lie on one side. Further, in that situation of the body the food seems to lie heavier on the stomach, and wind in it does not separate so readily by the æsophagus and pylorus, as in an erect posture, when these orifices are higher than the other parts of the stomach. The nightmare only occurs in the time of sleep, because the strange ideas excited in the mind, in consequence of the disordered feelings of the stomach, are not then corrected by the external senses, as they are when we are awake; nor do we, by an increased respiration or other motions of the body, endeavour to shake off any beginning uneasy sensation about the stomach or breast. The incubus generally occurs in the first sleep, and seldom towards morning, because at the earlier period the stomach is more loaded with food, and that in a more crude and indigested state than in the morning. A lesser degree, amounting only to frightful dreams, is almost a constant concomitant of overloaded stomach in some habits.

In fact, if the nightmare were owing to a stagnation of the blood in the lungs from the weight of the heart, or in the sinuses and other vessels of the brain, from the horizontal posture of the body, it would become greater the longer it continued, and would scarcely ever go off spontaneously. But we know that this disease, after affecting people for some time, often gradually ceases, and is succeeded by refreshing sleep: for as soon as the load of meat, or wind, or other cause disagreeably affecting the nerves of the stomach, is removed, the oppression and weight on the breast, wild imaginations, frightful dreams, &c. vanish; as all these proceed originally from the disorder of the stomach. It may be remarked, however, that, as neither flatulency, phlegm, nor crudities in the stomach, ever produce the symptoms of hypochondriasis, unless the nerves of that organ be indisposed; so neither a horizontal posture, sleep, nor heavy suppers, ever produce the nightmare, at least in any considerable degree, unless the person be already predisposed to the complaint, from the particular condition of the nerves of the stomach.

But although the stomach is the part commonly affected primarily in the case of incubus; yet symptoms like those of the nightmare may sometimes arise without any fault of the stomach, when the lungs, or even the brain, are affected. Thus Dr. Whytt observes, that asthmatic patients, whose lungs are much obstructed, are sometimes disturbed, in time of sleep, with distressing dreams, and oppressed with a sense of suffocation. Startings and oppressions about the præcordia, with painful dreams, are indeed common occurrences from hydrothorax, chronic coughs, and other pulmonary obstructions; but they are not strictly analogous to the common nightmare. Dr. Lower mentions a patient, who, though he could sleep pretty easily with his head inclined forward; yet, in the opposite situation, he was always soon awaked with horrid dreams and tremors; the cause of which appeared, after his death, to have been a great quantity of water in the ventricles of the brain. At all events, a plethoric state of habit, by rendering the circulation through the lungs less free, may help to produce, or at least increase, the oppression of the breast in the nightmare.

The Cure.—As incubus, then, is only a symptom of disordered or loaded stomach, and arises out of the irritation and morbid feelings which are thus produced during sleep, the relief of the disease, generally speaking, lies within a narrow compass. Temperance in eating and drinking, especially at late hours; taking, in fact, either extremely light suppers or none at all; and when the dinner is so late as to be only a supper with another name, being cautious that that also should be moderate in quantity, and easily digestible and unstimulating in its nature; drinking thin, sub-acid liquors, where these are agreeable to the constitution,—these are the principal remedies required. Brisk active exercise, by which the digestive powers may be aided and the stomach strengthened, is also advisable. It were useful, too, to sleep with high pillows, and to lie on the side as much as possible, in preference to the back. If the functions of the stomach are much disordered with flatulency, heartburn, acidity, or oppression, with pain, or nausea, after taking food, the usual remedies recommended for indigestion must be resorted to. The bowels should be kept open. See Whytt on Nervous Disorders, chap. vi. § 18.

Celebrated Speech on Religion.

The Editor of this work well recollects, many years ago, reading in a newspaper a most interesting speech on religion, delivered by a French priest; it made a great impression on his mind at the time, and he frequently regretted he had not transcribed it. He made all inquiry possible, but could not meet with the interesting article till seventeen years had elapsed, when it was published by a person who had preserved the paper in question. It is now presented to the reader as a curiosity worthy of his notice.—This speech was delivered at the Bar of the French Convention, and is copied from the Cambridge Intelligencer of March 24th, 1798.

A few days after the archbishop of Paris and his vicars had set the example of renouncing their clerical character, a rector from a village on the banks of the Rhone, followed by some of his parishioners, with an offering of gold and silver saints and chalices, rich vestments, &c. presented himself at the bar of the convention. The rector, a thin venerable-looking man, with gray hairs, was ordered to speak.

“I come (said he) from the village of ——, where the only good building standing is a very fine church: my parishioners beg you will take it, to make an hospital for the sick and wounded of both parties, they being both equally our countrymen. The gold and silver, part of which we have brought to you, they entreat you will devote to the service of the state, and that you will cast the bells into cannon, to drive away its foreign invaders. For myself, I came with great pleasure to resign my letters of ordination, of induction, and every deed and title by which I have been constituted a member of your ecclesiastical polity. Here are the papers; you may burn them, if you please, in the same fire with genealogical trees and patents of nobility. I desire, likewise, that you will discontinue my salary; I am still able to support myself by the labour of my hands, and I beg you to believe, that I never felt sincerer joy than I now do in making this renunciation. I have longed to see this day! I see it, and am glad.”

When the old man had thus far spoken, the applauses were immoderate. The rector did not seem greatly elated with these tokens of approbation: he retired back a few steps, and thus resumed his discourse:—

“Before you applaud my sentiments, it is fit you should understand them; perhaps they may not entirely coincide with your own. I rejoice in this day, not because I wish to see religion degraded, but because I wish to see it exalted and purified. By dissolving its alliance with the state, you have given it dignity and independence. You have done it a piece of service; a service which its well-wishers would perhaps never have had courage to render it, but which is the only thing wanted to make it appear in its genuine beauty and lustre. Nobody will now say of me, when I am performing the offices of religion, ‘It is a trade; he is paid for telling the people such and such things; he is hired to keep up a useless piece of mummery.’ They cannot say this, and therefore I feel myself raised in my own esteem, and shall speak to them with a confidence and a frankness, which before this I never durst venture to assume. We resign without reluctance our gold and silver images, and embroidered vestments, because we never have found that looking upon gold and silver made the heart more pure, or the affections more heavenly; we can also spare our churches, for the heart that wishes to lift itself up to God, will never be at a loss for a place to do it in: but we cannot spare religion, because, to tell you the truth, we never had so much occasion for it. I understand that you accuse us priests of having told the people a great many falsehoods. I suspect this may have been the case, but till this day we have never been allowed to inquire whether the things which we taught them were true or not. I cannot but hope, however, that the errors we have fallen into have not been very material, since the village has in general been sober and good; the peasants honest, docile, and laborious; the husbands love their wives, and the wives their husbands; they are fortunately not too rich to be compassionate, and they have constantly relieved the sick and fugitives of all parties, whenever it has lain in their way. I think, therefore, what I have taught them cannot be so much amiss.

“You want to extirpate priests: but will you hinder the ignorant from applying for instruction, the unhappy for comfort and hope, the unlearned from looking up to the learned? If you do not, you will have priests, by whatever name you may order them to be called; but it is certainly not necessary they should wear a particular dress, or be appointed by state letters of ordination. My letters of ordination are my zeal, charity, and my ardent love for the children of the village: if I were more learned, I would add knowledge; but, alas! we all know very little: to a man every error is pardonable, but want of humanity. We have a public walk, with a spreading elm-tree at one end of it, and a circle of green around it, with a convenient bench. Here I shall draw together the children that are playing round me: I shall point to the vines laden with fruit, to the orchard, to the herds of cattle lowing round us, to the distant hills stretching one behind another; and they will ask me, how came all these things? I shall tell them all I know; what I have heard from the wise men who have lived before me; they will be penetrated with love and adoration! They will kneel; I shall kneel with them; they will not be at my feet, but all of us at the feet of that good Being, whom we shall worship together, and thus they will receive within their tender minds a religion.

“The old men will come sometimes, from having deposited under the green sod one of their companions, and place themselves by my side: they will look wistfully at the turf, and anxiously inquire,—Is he gone for ever? Shall we soon be like him? Will no morning break over the tomb? When the wicked cease from troubling, will the good cease from doing good? We will talk of these things: I will comfort them; I will tell them of the goodness of God; I will speak to them of a life to come; I will bid them hope for a state of retribution.

“You have changed our holidays; you have an undoubted right, as our civil governors, so to do: it is very immaterial whether they are kept once in seven days, or once in ten; some, however, you will leave us, and when they occur, I shall tell those who choose to hear me, of the beauty and utility of virtue, and of the dignity of right conduct. There is a book out of which I have sometimes taught my people; it says we are to love those who do us hurt, and to pour oil and wine into the wounds of the stranger. In this book we read of Christ Jesus: some worship him as a God; others, as I am told, say it is wrong to do so; some teach that he existed before the beginning of ages; others, that he was born of Joseph and Mary. I cannot tell whether these controversies will ever be decided: but, in the mean time, I think we cannot do otherwise than well in imitating him—for I learn that he loved the poor, and went about doing good.”

Addenda to Vesuvius.—See page 441.

A grand eruption of Vesuvius took place on Sunday night, Feb. 24, 1822. It continued for several days. The following is an extract from a private letter, dated Naples, March 8, 1822.—

“Towards the evening of Tuesday, February the 26th, as appearances promised a good night’s work, we set off from Naples to view the operations nearer; the road to Resina was covered with people going and returning, as if a fair had been in the vicinity. When we reached the spot where strangers are on common occasions surrounded by guides, and asses, and mules, to conduct them up to the mountain, we found that no animals were to be procured, and it was with difficulty we could get a stupid old man for a cicerone, who rendered us no other service than carrying a torch. The ascent was thronged with people, some pushing on eagerly to the object of their curiosities, and others returning, and discussing what they had seen. Far below San Salvator we saw the stream of fire rolling along a wide hollow, and approaching the path by which we were going up: it was then, however, at a considerable distance, and its course was very slow. On reaching the hermitage, we refreshed ourselves as well as the crowd there assembled would permit; we then continued our journey, and approached the lava, which was chiefly formed by the eruption of January, 1821. We found it about thirty feet wide; it was not liquid lava, but consisted of ashes, ignited stones, and old masses of volcanic ejections, swept away by the present eruption, and heated again. These lumps, rolling over each other, produced a strange clinking noise. Some of them were of a very great size; and the whole stream, though descending a steep cone, moved but slowly.

“Beyond this principal stream, midway up the cone, was an opening, whence very large stones and other burning matters were continually thrust out. This mouth fed a scattered stream, beyond which was another narrow stream, proceeding like the principal one from the crater. They both united with the main body in the deep hollow below, and rolled on towards the road which leads from Resina up to the hermitage. The multitude of the spectators standing by the sides of the burning river being seized with astonishment, we, with a great many of the more adventurous, determined to ascend the cone; we therefore passed a little to the left of the great stream, and began to scramble to the deep loose cinders and ashes which cover this part of the mountain, and render it at all times a most fatiguing climb. A little path or track formerly existed, in which the guides laid masses of lava to facilitate the mounting, but it was just in that line that the present eruption descended, and we were in consequence obliged to go up over the sand and cinders, in which we frequently stuck up to our knees, and, at every three steps, lost one on an average. After a most fatiguing toil of an hour and a half, we found ourselves, with a few others, on the edge of the grand crater: hence the coup d’œil was terrifically sublime; the flames rushed out of the mouth, and threw themselves in the air in a broad body to the elevation of at least a hundred feet, whilst many of the fiery stones flew up twice that height. Sometimes the flames fell back into the mouth of the crater, and then burst out again, as though impelled by a fresh impulse, like the blast of a bellows. In their descent, some of the stones and lumps of cinder returned into the mouth, but the greater part fell outside of the flames, like the jets of a fountain.

“While we were standing on the exposed side of the crater, very intent in observation, all of a sudden the volcano gave a tremendous roar. It was like the crash of a long line of artillery, and was instantly succeeded by such a discharge of stones as we had never before seen. At the same moment, the wind, which was very high, gave an irregular gust, which directed a great part of the stones towards the place where we were posted. Hence our situation was for a minute or two very perilous; but there was no shelter near, and we stood still, looking at the descending shower which fell around us. We, however, happily sustained no other injury than a short alarm, and having some ashes dashed in our faces by stones which fell near us. Two or three gentlemen who were ascending the cone after us, were not quite so fortunate, for many of the stones falling outside of the ridge, rolled down the side with great velocity, loosening and carrying with them lumps of cold lava, &c. some of which struck those persons on the legs with great violence, and nearly precipitated one of them headlong to the foot of the cone.

“After this, we thought we had seen enough, and turned to go down. The descent is as easy as the ascent is difficult; the cinders and ashes sliding away beneath the feet, nothing further is necessary than to step out, the quicker the better, to keep one’s equilibrium, and to avoid the fixed or large stones and pieces of lava. We were not more than ten minutes in reaching the point whence it had taken us an hour and a half to mount. In coming down, we were struck with the strange appearance of the torches of companies ascending and descending; they formed a pale wavering line from Resina to the hermitage; and thence to the cone, they were scattered about in thick and fantastic groups. On reaching the hermitage, we found it so crowded, that we could not enter. The large flat around was covered like a crowded fair, by people of all nations, and of all ranks, from the beautiful and accomplished countess of Fiquelmont, wife of the Austrian ambassador, to the Austrian sergeant and his wife, who had come to see the blazing mountain. Numbers of people had come from towns and villages below, with bread and wine, and fruit and aqua-vitae, all of which articles seemed in very great demand. The motley scene was illuminated by the bright silvery moon, and the red towering flames at the summit of the volcano. We took some slight refreshments, and repaired homewards in the midst of as merry groups as ever returned from scenes of festivity and joy.

“When we got lower down, we found that the lava had approached very near to the road, and had already seized upon a fine vineyard, which was blazing very brilliantly. After our retreat, we learned that the lava traversed the road. On Wednesday, the 27th, the eruption was in a great measure tranquillized; still, however, crowds of people continued going up the mountain; and an Austrian officer, who had come from Caspua to see it, was unfortunately killed on the ridge of the cone, by a large stone striking him on the head. On Thursday scarcely any thing but smoke issued from the crater, and it has continued from that time in the same peaceful state.”

Anagrams.

In “The Book of Curiosities,” even that mechanical, yet curiously fortuitous species of wit, called the Anagram, must not escape notice. It can scarcely be necessary to premise, that anagram, or metagram, is the dissolution of a word into its letters, as its elements; and then, by a new connection of them, making some perfect sense, applicable to the person or thing named. As there are some modern ones of this sort, exhibiting astonishing coincidences, we shall here subjoin a selection of the best:—

Lo i dress, Soldiers.—’Tis ye govern, Sovereignty.—Spare him not, Misanthrope.—Great Helps, Telegraphs.—No more Stars, Astronomers.—No Charm, Monarch.—March on, Monarch.—Comical Trade, Democratical.—Best in Prayer, Presbyterian.—A just Master, James Stuart.—To love Ruin, Revolution.—Oh poison Pitt, Th’ Opposition.—Honor est a Nilo, Horatio Nelson.—A Bear upon ’t, Buonaparte.

The unhappy Sir Edmundburie Godfry, having dared, as a magistrate, to take some legal depositions against the Papists, was, by three of those fellow-subjects, Green, Berry, and Hill, waylaid, and shockingly murdered, in 1678, upon which was then written,

Modern Dictionary.

To illustrate life at the present day, we insert the following whimsical Encyclopædia of Manners at the Commencement of the Nineteenth Century!

Age ... An infirmity nobody owns.

At Home ... The domestic amusement of three hundred visitors in a small room, to yawn at each other.

Bore ... Every thing one dislikes; it also means any person who talks of religion.

Buying ... Ordering goods without purpose of paying.

Chariot ... A vehicle for one’s servants, the dickey being the seat for the ladies, and the coach-box for the gentleman.

Charity ... A golden ticket to Catalani, or any other favourite performer.

Coachman ... A gentleman or accomplished nobleman.

Common Sense ... A vulgar quality.

Conscience ... Something to swear by.

Day ... Night; or, strictly speaking, from ten in the evening to six in the morning.

Debt ... A necessary evil.

Decency ... Keeping up an appearance.

Dress ... Half naked.

Duty ... Doing as other people do.

Economy ... Obsolete.

Fashion ... The Je ne scai quoi of excellence.

Fortune ... The Summum Bonum.

Friend ... Meaning not known.

Highly-accomplished ... Reading music at sight, painting flowers for the borders of a screen, and a talent for guessing charades.

Home ... Every one’s house but your own.

Honour ... Standing fire well.

Hospitality ... Obsolete.

Husband ... A person to pay your debts.

Love ... The meaning not known, now that the ossification of the heart has become a fashionable disease; but the word is still to be found in novels and romances.

Matrimony ... A bargain.

Modest ... Sheepish.

Morning ... From noon to sunset.

Music ... Execution.

New ... Delightful.

Nonsense ... Polite conversation.

Not at Home ... Sitting in your own drawing-room.

Pay ... Only applied to visits.

Piety ... Hypocrisy.

Prodigality ... Generosity.

Prudence ... Parsimony.

Quiz ... Any inoffensive person, out of your own circle.

Religion ... Occupying a seat in some genteel chapel.

Spirit ... Contempt of decorum and morality.

Style ... Splendid extravagance.

Time ... Only regarded in music.

Truth ... Meaning uncertain.

Vice ... Any fault in horses, dogs, and servants.

Wicked ... Irresistibly agreeable.

World ... The circle of fashionable people when in town.

Recipe for Establishing True Friendship.

In Pliny’s Natural History, we find a curious recipe for making the Roman Friendship, a cordial that was universally esteemed in those days, and very few families of any credit were without it. In the same place (he says) they were indebted to the Greeks for this recipe, who had it in the greatest perfection. The old Roman Friendship was a composition of several ingredients, of which the principal were:

Union of hearts, (a fine flower, that grew in several parts of the empire,) sincerity, frankness, disinterestedness, pity, and tenderness, (of each an equal quantity.) These were all mixed with two rich oils, which they called perpetual kind wishes, and serenity of temper; and the whole was strongly perfumed with the desire of pleasing, which gave it a most grateful smell, and was a sure restorative in all sorts of vapours. This cordial was of so durable a nature, that no length of time could waste it: and what is very remarkable, (says our author,) it increased in weight and value the longer you kept it.—The moderns have most grossly adulterated this fine cordial; some of the ingredients indeed are not to be found, but what they impose upon you as friendship, is as follows:

Outward professions, (a common weed that grows every where,) instead of the flower of union; the desire of being pleased; a large quantity of self-interest, conveniency, and reservedness (many handfuls;) a little pity and tenderness. But some pretend to make it up with these two last, and the common oil of inconstancy (which, like our linseed oil, is cold-drawn every hour) serves to mix them together. Most of these ingredients being of a perishable nature, it will not keep, and it shews itself to be counterfeit, by lessening continually in weight and value.

Footnotes:

[1] This subject will be more fully explained hereafter.

[2] Besides these, amongst the internal parts are enumerated,—the lachrymal gland, which secretes the tears; the lachrymal caruncle, a small fleshy substance at the inner angle of the eye; the puncta lachrymalia, two small openings on the nasal extremity of each eye-lash; the lachrymal duct, formed by the union of the ducts leading from the puncta lachrymalia, and conveying the tears into the nose; the lachrymal sac, a dilatation of the lachrymal canal.

[3] An instrument, called the Pulmometer, has been invented, which enables us to measure the capacity of the lungs, and which may communicate information to the physician, of some importance, in diseases of this organ.