Introductory material (continued 2)

“Signor Titian,” said Alphonso, “consider our house as your own, and be at perfect ease and freedom: my dearest wish is to render it so agreeable to you, as to induce you to remain with us. It shall be our care that your residence at Ferrara may lessen your regret at quitting your beautiful Venice! Recollect though, that here pleasure takes the precedence of business; however, if in your leisure hours you should take up your pencil, we know too well how to appreciate your reputation and your talent, not to recollect at proper seasons that our court is honoured by the presence of the first painter in Venice.”

Alphonso’s conduct towards Titian fully bore out his professions, and his favour, by giving to the artist the full scope of his enthusiasm in his art, left to Titian nothing to desire. His sojourn at this court was terminated by an event which not only proves the estimation with which the duke honoured him, but gives also some idea of the morals of the period of which we speak.

Alphonso, thinking the favour which he had bestowed on Titian entitled him to make the request, one day entreated the great artist would gratify him by taking the portrait of Dona Laura Eustochio d’Este, the reigning Duchess of Ferrara.

“Listen to me, my dear Titian,” said the prince, in a tone of cordial intimacy, “you are not ignorant (for every thing is known at a court), that it was the surpassing beauty of my wife which induced me to marry her, and you will easily believe how much it will gratify me, if by your pencil her charms are rendered immortal. I know not whether the ducal mantle will be allowed to fall at your request, this favour it must be your task to obtain of the Duchess, but understand me well, great master, that my ardent desire is that by your talent I should be possessed of the faithful copy of those transcendent charms, which have so enslaved me; and divested of all veil or drapery, as though reflected in a mirror, such as are seen in your delightful paintings—so that in after times, when she is represented (such as I knew and adored her), it may be said, ‘her beauty was perfect; he was not to blame for marrying her!’”

“Monsignore,” replied Titian, “although the artist sees and thinks only as of a model, in the woman who is before him, were she a queen, yet I will confess to your Highness, that I have so seldom seen the Duchess since I have had the honour of residing at your court, and at such times she has appeared to look on me with so much coldness and dignity, that even by your order, I never could venture to prescribe what attitude and costume would be most suitable: and I really think that this would be best intimated by your Highness.”

“Not at all, my dear Titian, you know nothing of women. It suffices that a husband wishes one thing, for them to press another. What objections, what remonstrances, what reproaches I should have to endure! She would insist that I had ceased to love her, and was no longer jealous—whilst you would only speak as the painter, and would be listened to and believed, for when Titian had said ‘On my honour, Madam, I can make you a Venus,’ where is the woman who could oppose him? In short, Titian, you know my wishes, do the best you can; the Duchess expects you;” and in fact the Prince had scarcely left the room, when two pages announced that the Duchess of Ferrara waited for him.

In a room richly embellished with all the luxury of art, and which would have inspired Ariosto with the enchantment of Armida’s palace, the Duchess reclined on cushions, which yielded to every movement, a young page of such beauty as is described in Raphael’s angels, gently waved a fan of peacock’s feathers, and a little Ethiopian slave knelt at his mistress’s feet, as though placed there in order to display the whiteness of her skin by the contrast.

Into this scene Titian followed his conductor, but was struck dumb, and seized as if with vertigo: he thought himself transported into some region of fancy. On a sign from their mistress a seat, the easel, the palette, the pencils and the colours were presented to the artist, and the attendants lowly bowing withdrew, leaving Titian and the Duchess alone.

The beauty of Laura is historical, and it were difficult to give any adequate description of it. When Titian had recovered sufficient self-command to render the feelings of the man subservient to those of the artist, he raised his eyes, and fixed them on the Duchess; it was the first time he had ever ventured to do so, for, as he had hinted, Laura had ever appeared desirous of avoiding him; but recollecting that he was now in her presence by the orders of the Prince, and by nature of his business, he continued his gaze, and met in return her gracious smile. Strange, it even seemed to him that he had seen that face before—long since—in a dream possibly—or when the artist’s imagination was inspired by some ideal beauty.

Titian drew the easel towards him, and respectfully bowing, said, “Madam, I am here by your order.”

“Am I well placed thus, Sir Artist?” she replied.

The sound of this voice thrilled every nerve. He was now certain that it was not the first time they had met; but when, where, or in what country he had seen this woman, he had no recollection.

The Duchess with a little of impatience repeated her question.

“Perfectly, Madam,” replied Titian, beginning at the same time to sketch the outline of the head.

“However,” he added, somewhat hesitating, “if your Highness would show more of the hair, I think the portrait would be improved.”

“Of course, Signor Titian, your advice is law.” And the Duchess proceeded to unbind her veil, and remove the jewels which confined those beautiful tresses, which like a golden shower fell on her snow white neck and shoulders. “What magnificent hair!” exclaimed the artist in an under tone; “yes, surely I have seen this woman before; but then she had not the transcendent beauty she has since attained, and which now renders her the most perfect model a painter could wish.”

Titian worked on as if inspired; and when the head and part of the shoulders were sufficiently advanced to allow the artist to satisfy the curiosity of the fair original, Titian permitted the Duchess to look at the canvass. On beholding the likeness, and the beauty of the sketch, Laura d’Este uttered a cry of surprise and admiration.

“You see, Madam, how much has been gained by yielding to my request to remove that heavy head dress, and you will, I hope, equally comply with my wish to see that gown taken off; attend, I beg you, Madam, to an artist’s advice—uncover those shoulders, so perfect in shape, that bust, so exquisitely formed, the contour of which is perfection. Surely it was not to paint a bit of stuff, or a knot of riband that God has endowed us with a talent of creation only secondary to his own great power; for I too can give life to that world of beauty, and when it shall have ceased to exist, it will survive on my canvass.”

“I no longer wonder that I was told to beware of Titian,” said the Duchess, as she gradually obeyed the painter’s directions; “our great Ariosto is not the only flatterer at our court.”

“If, Madam, you doubt my word, consult this mirror; its reflection is not more true than my language.”

As by degrees the Duchess, in compliance with Titian’s wishes, uncovered her foot, her leg, her knee—the whole of the admirable form which had placed on her fair brow the crown of Ferrara—Titian recalled the past; the vague ideas which had floated in his brain assumed consistency, and a name, a date, were all left wanting to satisfy him.

And now the exquisite outline was nearly complete; one only obstacle remained, the few folds of velvet which like a dark shade fell on the form of snow white beauty, and prevented this master-piece of art from shining forth in all its dazzling perfection.

“How happy was that artist,” exclaimed Titian with bitterness, “whose chisel was suffered to sculpture the Venus of old in all the chaste nudity of nature! He did not look on diamonds and draperies. Oh! were the same privilege given me, this day should my pencil also produce a Venus de Medicis!”

“Behold me, then!” exclaimed the Duchess, half laughing.

Titian, turning round, uttered a cry of amazement.

The wife of Don Alphonso of Ferrara had dropped her last veil, and reclined on her divan precisely in the same attitude in which at this time Titian’s Venus may still be seen with delight in the gallery at Florence.

“Great God! I was not then mistaken,” said Titian, hurrying towards her.

“Well!”

“It is you!”

“It is me. Your model—your Laurette! Ungrateful man! you had then forgotten me!”

“Can I believe it? the daughter of poor Guanetto?”

“Yes, she, who for a morsel of bread came to stand in your studio as a model, at Venice, is now the Sovereign of Ferrara. But the most surprising part of the event is, that her old lord and master persisted in his forgetfulness, and refused to recognise the Duchess of Ferrara till she had again descended to her humble capacity of a model.”

“I thought, indeed, those features were not unknown to me.”

“Well, this is something.—However, I forgive you. Twelve years have elapsed, and I must be much altered.”

“And how did you attain your present position?”

“As the wife of Don Alphonso? Simply thus. He saw me, loved me, and married me—nothing more natural.”

“Yes, he loves you, I have the proof of this.”

“He adores me. Ever since your arrival at Ferrara, he has entreated me to give him this portrait. I avoided it as long as I could, but was at length obliged to consent to prevent his being seriously grieved. God knows, I dreaded the moment enough! for....” And the young woman hesitated, and sighed.

“I understand: prudence bade you avoid me.”

“No, it was shame.”

Titian bowed down his head, and appeared buried in thought: when he had somewhat recovered himself, and was able to speak—“Come, Madam,” he said kindly but firmly, “replace your splendid robe, and adjust your head-dress. This sketch is now useless, and I will complete it another time. In my studio I have a portrait of you such as the Prince desires to possess. But I wish also to paint you for your subjects: since fate has placed a sovereign crown on your head, it shall not be said that I have deprived you of it, even in a picture.”

“But what will my husband say?”

“He can but be pleased; for instead of the one portrait ordered, there will be two—one as a Venus, the other as a Princess.”

Three days afterwards, Titian had returned to Venice....

Titian at this period was about thirty-seven years of age. He was tall and dignified, his forehead high, his eyes large and full of expression and feeling, his profile was correctly Grecian, his long beard curled naturally, he was framed to inspire respect and love. His manners were all grace, his smile enchanting.

After his return to Venice, he lived in princely style, so as to vie even with the splendour of the palace of the Doge. Affable, cheerful, generous, he was beloved even by his rivals. No artist ever acquired such wealth, or lavished it more generously and willingly.

Pacheco. Granella.

Two Cardinals one day called unexpectedly at his Atelier, and told him they came to dine with him. Titian detained them a short time under pretence of retouching their portraits, and when unobserved, threw his purse out of the window, saying to a servant, “I have some one to dinner.” In an hour after, their Eminences sat down to a repast served with regal splendour.

Titian’s studio was the resort and rendezvous of every remarkable personage in Europe: from every quarter of the world people hurried to behold the venerable old man, who approached his hundredth year. Henry III. King of France and Poland, attended by the Dukes of Ferrara, Mantua, and Albano, paid a visit of ceremony to the distinguished artist, and conversed at length with him on the subject of his honourable reception at the several courts of Charles V. and of Ferdinand and Philip. He admired all his collection of pictures, and having selected those he was desirous of purchasing, he begged that Titian would himself name the sum he should pay for them, and which should be immediately laid down. The old man smiled, and rising with some difficulty from his chair, he bowed respectfully to the king, saying, “Your Majesty will confer on me the favour of accepting these pictures, as a proof of my gratitude. I never take money from my guests.”

Pope.

Titian was unequalled in his talent for giving life to his portraits. It is an undoubted fact that having placed the portrait of Paul III. on his terrace, to dry the varnish, the people who passed by, supposing it to be really the Pope taking the air on the balcony, stopped to bow with reverence to his Holiness.

Titian died of the plague raging in Venice, in 1576. Regrets and tears followed the splendid artist to the tomb, in the church of St. Luc, where he was interred with the highest honours.

Trees for my Cottage.

For my Cottage.

Diospyrus Lotus is a handsome tree for a shrubbery. It grows very gracefully, spreading out its branches, and its leaves are tinged underneath with a beautiful pink, and covered with a long, soft, pinkish down. It is quite hardy.

Also the Locust tree of the Americans, Robina pseudacacia; it receives its name from Jean Robins, the Herbalist of Henry IV. and is very hardy. The flowers, which are very sweet, resemble a bunch of white laburnum.

The Hand of Heaven.

Effects of Sorrow on the Mind.

Sorrow, though it ever sharpens the intellect, also sometimes sours the heart.

Bayle and his Mother.

It is said of the celebrated writer, Bayle, that when his mother desired to receive his portrait, he sent her a picture of his heart.

Traditions.

In a palace on the site of Hatton Garden, died John of Gaunt. Brook House, at the corner of Brook Street, Holborn, was the residence of Sir Fulke Greville, Lord Brook, the friend of Sir Philip Sydney. In the same street died Chatterton, by poison, and was buried in the Workhouse, Shoe Lane. In Gray’s Inn lived, and meditated, Lord Bacon. At the corner of Chancery Lane, Fleet Street, Cowley was born. In Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, was the house of Thomas Sackville, first Earl of Dorset, one of the first authors of English Tragedy. In Bolt Court, not far distant, lived Dr. Johnson. Congreve died in Surrey Street, Strand, at his own house. In Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, Voltaire lodged while in London, at the sign of the White Peruke. In Leicester Square was the town mansion of the Sydneys, Earl of Leicester, and the families of Sir Philip and Algernon Sydney. Dryden lived and died in Gerard Street. Newton lived in St. Martin’s Street. Steele in Bury Street, St. James’s. Spencer died at an inn where he put up, in King Street, Westminster. Sir Thomas More lived at Chelsea. Addison lived and died in Holland House, Kensington. Handel lived in Brook Street, Grosvenor Square, and Gibbon in Bentinck Street, Manchester Square. De Foe kept a hosier’s shop in Cornhill.

The Graves of the Departed loved.

Eyes of the Mind.

Objects are but bright and happy as the eyes of the mind see them; with a vision clouded or unclouded by its secret shadow.

Philosophy.

La Philosophie triomphe aisément des maux passés et des maux à venir; mais les maux présens triomphent d’elle.

Refinement.

Those who rail at poetry and refinement as superfluous ingredients in every day happiness, little know what main props they thus seek to undermine. These will abide when even principles wave. Manly delicacy is as necessary in family life as manly rectitude; and womanly tact as womanly virtue. There is as much happiness wrecked from the absence of the one, as of the other, and perhaps more. Those who neglect the varnishes of life, commit an insidious sin towards themselves: and these lie in the mind, and not in the purse.

Sea Bathing.

Delights of Sea Bathing as usually the custom.

A chilly early rising with a walk to the beach before the day is aired, a tormentor in the shape of a rough sailor, or fat fisherwoman, to plunge you remorselessly beneath a horrid wave, whence you issue blinded, deafened, and stifled, and incomparably colder and crosser than you went in.

Why not, when the day is at the hottest, step leisurely in like a water-nymph, bathe head and face, nestle gradually beneath the rippling waves, and dabble with their smooth resistance for twenty minutes at least, emerging with limbs pliant and strengthened?

Effect of Scenery.

Effect of Scenery on the Mind.

Surely the presence of sublimity and beauty must render the temperament of those who dwell in such solitudes poetical; and yet the mountain shepherd is only weather wise. Always simple, often stupid, he is scarcely superior in intelligence to his watch dogs, which are at the same time his coadjutors, his playfellows, and his protectors.

It is strange, if—living here alone amid the snows, removed from the contagious vices of mankind, from the coarse sensuality, the brutality, the debasement too often found in the world, from the temptations, the struggles, the strife produced by want, envy, ambition, the love of gain; constantly familiar with the ever varying face of primitive nature, with her grandest and loveliest aspects—the mind be not elevated, and the soul pure. Hourly are sights beheld, seen only in these regions. The glaciers reflecting tints of every hue, gilded with sunshine, or glowing with rose light. The stars, no longer brilliant specks, but appearing as they are, globes of intense fire. The moon, seeming to shed with her white beams the coldness of the icy skies. The whistling, the howling of the blast, its subterranean muttering, the roar of the thunder, all prolonged by a hundred echoes. The lightning flashing upon a numerous crystal-like pinnacle, the shivered pines, the rent rocks, the sublimity of the tempest! Then the dread silence which succeeds. The fleecy snow no longer falls; all is entranced by the mighty spell of frost; all mute, all motionless. Spring returns; the sun regains his power; light fleecy clouds float in the heavens; soft, balmy rains descend: below, verdure, foliage, and flowers burst forth with almost the first gleam of sunshine: but ah! the torrents are unbound, the masses of snow tremble, they are loosened, they fall: the avalanche overwhelms the valley with destruction and desolation.

Inscription on a Sun Dial.

Law of Jury.

The English law of Jury is founded on the law of nature. Man is to be judged by his Peers, because by them only can he be loved.

Tradition.

The Rainbow Coffee-house, near Temple Bar, one of the oldest taverns in the metropolis, was kept by James Fan, a barber, soon after the introduction of coffee into England. Three years previous to the Restoration, anno 1657, he was presented by the Inquest of St. Dunstan’s in the West, “For making and selling a sort of liquor called ‘Coffee,’ as a great nuisance and prejudice of the neighbourhood,” &c. Strange as it may appear, within half a century of this period, namely in 1708, there were upwards of three thousand Coffee-houses in London alone. An old author says, Who would have thought, after the prejudice against coffee, which was considered pernicious and a public nuisance, it would have been, as now, so much drunk “by the best of quality, and by physicians?”

Tobacco.

In the archives of the Society of Antiquaries, amongst other curious documents, is an alehouse license, granted by six justices of the peace in Kent, in which the innkeeper is thus enjoined: “Item, You shall not utter, nor suffer to be uttered, drunke, or taken, any tobacco within your house, cellar, or other place thereunto belonging.” This is dated in the time of James I.

Duchesse d’Abrantes.

Her writings are not better known to the world, than her kind and generous mind were to those who had remained faithful during her many and great reverses of fortune. In the zenith of power, when her smile or frown could give value or discredit to those who surrounded her, she was a friend of the needy, a protectress of the weak. Her position often created envy, but her winning manner, her graceful accueil converted many an envious discontented spirit into an admiring friend. In her trials and reverses she was made to feel how few are the friends and followers of prosperity whose feelings do not become chilled by the sight of adversity.

The same kind and conciliatory manner, the same noble enthusiasm, the same powers of conversation, refined and heightened by the literary career she had adopted to ward off the actual and pressing gripe of poverty, were still hers; but their value was differently estimated. The small and modest apartment could boast of but few of the habitués who had formerly swelled to suffocation the crowd that formerly frequented her gilded salons. Some few were to be found, however, surrounding her couch of pain, and never had she taken so much trouble to court and conciliate the richest nobles, the reigning princes of her own and other lands, as she now did to show her cordial welcome, and the heartfelt pleasure she felt in beholding the faithful few, who dreamed not while listening to her brilliant wit, her sparkling reminiscences of bright fêtes in which she had been a principal actress, that the finger of death was already on her, that her moments of life and vivacity freely given for their amusement, were stimulated by the excessive use of opium, while her hours of racking pain and mental anguish were confined to her own bosom.

She died in poverty; she who had given away in charity a hundred times more than would have made her last days comparatively affluent and easy—died in want. Her last days, nay hours, disturbed by pressing, though trifling demands. She died in an Hospital for the destitute.

I am proud to remember that she honoured me with her esteem and friendship.

Philip II. of Spain of Spain.

Philip II.

Philip II. of Spain, said satirically, but truly, that actions in themselves are nothing, it is the result that stamps them with right or wrong.

Beauty.

Bacon says justly, the best part of beauty is that which a picture cannot express.

Jacobite Poetry.

The following are the words to which the Jacobites sing the air of “God save the king,” which was originally a Jacobite song. Copied from an inscription cut on a glass drinking cup, at Fingarth, in the Carse of Gourie, Perthshire.

This tradition may remind the reader of the answer of the Jacobite Countess, to the reproach of “not praying for the King.”—“For the King, I do pray; but I do not think it necessary to tell God who is the King.”

Ill-placed Confidence.

Among the bitter varieties of sorrow, forming the inheritance of the human kind, there are few more humiliating, more fitted to cleave into the inmost soul, than a discovery of the unworthiness of those we love; of a breach of confidence in that heart wherein we have deposited the whole treasure of our affections. There is a degree of self-abasement connected with the disappointment, which recoils with double force on our perceptions; the sharpness of the pain admits of no mitigation.

Charity of Mind.

The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions of little (not) soon forgotten charities. The humblest may throw in their mite.

Bells.

The sound of bells is never heard in Turkey, their necessity is superseded in the following manner: a circular gallery is built round the turrets of the mosques, where Turkish boys are stationed, who in a loud voice summon the Mahometans three times a day to prayers; at sunrise, at noon, and at sunset. They do not employ watchmen, as their maxim is, “each for himself, and God for us all.”

La Mélancolie.

A Fire Screen.

Draw a landscape on paper with common Indian ink, representing a winter scene, a mere outline, the foliage to be painted with muriate of cobalt (green), muriate of copper (yellow), and acetate of cobalt (blue), all which colours are invisible; but on the screen being held near the fire, the gentle warmth will occasion the trees, flowers, &c. to display themselves in their natural colours, and winter is magically changed to summer. As the paper cools, the colours disappear, and the effect may be repeated as often as required.

Banquo’s Son.

Fleance, Banquo’s son, who escaped from the murderous designs of Macbeth, fled into Wales; where for some time he kept himself close, and having afterwards married Nesta, the daughter of Griffith ap Llewelin, prince of North Wales, he begat Walter, who returning into Scotland, suppressed the rebellion of the Highlanders with the reputation of so much bravery, and managed the king’s revenues in those parts with so great prudence, that the king made him Steward of the whole kingdom of Scotland. Whereupon, this name of an office gave the surname of Stewart to his posterity: which, spreading through all parts of Scotland in many noble branches, and being advanced to several honours, hath long flourished there. Three hundred and thirty years ago, Robert Stewart, a descendant of this house, in right of Marjorie his mother, daughter of King Robert Bruce, obtained the kingdom of Scotland.

Uncertainty.

There are many people who falter and tremble as long as there is any mixture of doubt in their minds as to what they can, or what they ought to do, but who, the moment that doubt ceases, have power and will to dare every thing.

The Drowning Fly.

The Drowning Fly.

The Mulgrave Family.

Mulgrave Family.

The first diving bell was nothing but a very large kettle, suspended by ropes, with the mouth downwards, and planks to sit on fixed in the middle of its concavity. The Greeks at Toledo, in 1588, made an experiment before the Emperor Charles V. with it, when they descended with a lighted candle to a considerable depth. In 1683, William Phipps, the son of a blacksmith, formed a project for unloading a rich Spanish ship, sunk at Hispaniola; Charles II. gave him a ship, with every necessary for the undertaking, but being unsuccessful, Phipps returned in great poverty. He then endeavoured to procure another vessel, but failing, he got a subscription, to which the Duke of Albemarle contributed. In 1687, Phipps set sail in a ship of 200 tons, having previously engaged to divide the profits according to the twenty shares of which the subscription consisted. At first all his labours proved fruitless, but at length, when he seemed almost to despair, he was fortunate enough to bring up so much treasure that he returned to England with £200,000 sterling. Of this sum he got about £20,000, and the Duke of Albemarle £90,000. Phipps was knighted by the King, and laid the foundation of the present house of Mulgrave.

Le Bonheur.

Il ne faut jamais renoncer au bonheur. Les sources du bien et du mal sont cachées, et nous ignorons laquelle doit s’ouvrir pour arroser l’espace de la vie.

Catherine de Medicis.

After the massacre of St. Bartholomew, the following lines were stuck up in every part of France:

The murders that Catherine is accused of, with too great probability, are a fearful list: Queen Jane of Navarre, her own son Charles IX. the Viscount de Chartres, the Secretary Lomerica, Du Guast, favourite of Henri III. and others ad infinitum.

Epitaph.

Prosperity and Adversity.

The virtue of prosperity is temperance. The virtue of adversity is fortitude. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in needle-works and embroidery it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground. Judge therefore of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly, virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed; for prosperity doth best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.

The great Condé.

Condé.

“On marche lentement, sous le poids des Lauriers,” was the answer of Louis XIV. to the apology of the great, but gouty Condé, for detaining him on the staircase of Versailles.

Resignation.

“The miseries, the calamities, the heart-rendings, and the tears, which are so intimately interwoven by the great Artist in our natures as not to be separated in a single instance, are in the first place, our security of a future state, and in the next place, seem to slope the way before us, and by gradual operation fit our minds for viewing, with some sort of fortitude, that hideous chasm that lies between us and that state, death. View those miseries, then, as the special acts of mercy and commiseration of a beneficent Creator, who with every calamity, melts away a link of that earthly chain that fetters our wishes to this dismal world. Accept his blessings and his goods when he sends them, with gratitude and enjoyment; receive his afflictions too with as joyous acceptance, and as hearty gratitude.

Thus, and not otherwise, you will realize all your Utopian flights of desire; by turning every thing to matter of comfort, and living contented with dispensations which you cannot alter, and if you could, would most assuredly alter for the worse. So limited is man, so imperfect in his nature, that the extent of his virtues borders on vice, and the extent of his wisdom on error.”

Le Tems.

Le tems passe, la vie s’écoule, l’homme meurt et s’anéantit; rien ne lui survit que le bien ou le mal qu’il a fait.

A Reflection—Seneca.

The good things which belong to prosperity are to be wished, but the good things that belong to adversity are to be admired.

Maréchale de Luxe­mbourg.

La Maréchale de Luxembourg retirait de ses promenades deux effets très-salutaires, l’exercice du corps, et la satisfaction de faire du bien; car pour ne pas être prise au dépourvu elle imagina de remplir la pomme de sa longue canne de pièces de monnaie. La Maréchale aimait les inventions singulières. Un jour, qu’elle avait une fluxion, elle imagina de faire monter une chaise à porteur dans son salon, et elle s’y trouva si bien qu’elle y resta tout l’hiver. Quel est le plus grand des deux? lui demanda-t-on, La Fontaine, ou Molière?—Celui-ci, répondit-elle, sans balancer, en montrant La Fontaine, est plus parfait, dans un genre moins parfait.

The Spider.

It is an oriental idea, that the spider draws its venom from the rose; and thus it is that too often from the sweetest sources comes the blight of happiness and human affections.

On Fenelon.

Sur Fénélon.

Sous cette pierre repose Fénélon; Passant, n’efface point par tes pleurs cette épitaphe, afin que d’autres la lisent, et pleurent comme toi.

Flowers.

“Flowers are one of the many beautiful gifts of God to man.”

To-morrow.

Letter of Marian Delorme.

Letter of Marian Delorme to M. de Cinq. Mars.

Paris, Feb. 1641.

My dear Effiat,

While you are forgetting me at Narbonne, and giving yourself up to the pleasures of the court and the delight of thwarting M. le Cardinal de Richelieu, I, according to your express desire, am doing the honours of Paris to your English lord, the Marquis of Worcester; and I carry him about, or rather he carries me, from curiosity to curiosity, choosing always the most grave and serious, speaking very little, listening with extreme attention, and fixing on those whom he interrogates two large blue eyes, which seem to pierce to the very centre of their thoughts. He is remarkable for never being satisfied with any explanations which are given him; and he never sees things in the light in which they are shown him: you may judge of this by a visit we made together to Bicêtre, where he imagined he had discovered a genius in a madman. If this madman had not been actually raving, I verily believe your Marquis would have entreated his liberty, and have carried him off to London, in order to hear his extravagancies, from morning till night, at his ease. We were crossing the court of the madhouse, and I, more dead than alive with fright, kept close to my companion’s side, when a frightful face appeared behind some immense bars, and a hoarse voice exclaimed, “I am not mad! I am not mad! I have made a discovery which would enrich the country that adopted it.” “What has he discovered?” I asked of our guide. “Oh!” he answered, shrugging his shoulders, “something trifling enough; you would never guess it: it is the use of the steam of boiling water.” I began to laugh. “This man,” continued the keeper, “is named Solomon de Caus: he came from Normandy four years ago, to present to the king a statement of the wonderful effects that might be produced from his invention. To listen to him, you would imagine that with steam you could navigate ships, move carriages, in fact, there is no end to the miracles which, he insists upon it, could be performed. The Cardinal sent the madman away without listening to him. Solomon de Caus, far from being discouraged, followed the Cardinal wherever he went, with the most determined perseverance, who, tired of finding him for ever in his path, and annoyed to death with his folly, ordered him to be shut up in Bicêtre, where he has now been for three years and a half, and where, as you hear, he calls out to every visitor that he is not mad, but that he has made a valuable discovery. He has even written a book on the subject, which I have here.”[6] Lord Worcester, who had listened to this account with much interest, after reflecting a time, asked for the book, of which, after having read several pages, he said, “This man is not mad. In my country, instead of shutting him up, he would have been rewarded. Take me to him, for I should like to ask him some questions.”

He was, accordingly, conducted to his cell, but after a short time, he came back sad and thoughtful—“He is, indeed, mad now,” said he, “misfortune and captivity have alienated his reason, but it is you who have to answer for his madness: when you cast him into that cell, you confined the greatest genius of the age.”

After this, we went away, and since that time he has done nothing but talk of Solomon de Caus.

Adieu, my dear friend and faithful Henry. Make haste and come back, and pray do not be so happy where you are, as not to keep a little love for me.

Marian Delorme.

Physiog­nomy.

Was there ever seen a smile on the lip, with which the upper part of the face agrees not in expression, that was not evidently feigned and forced,[7] to be the disguise of a mind ill at ease, and of a sick spirit? The mind looks through the eyes, and the brow should smile in unison with the lip, to show the joy sincere.

A Father’s Death Bed.

The Plague.

The fearful progress and effects of the dreadful pestilence which visited England during the reign of Edward III. are traced by a masterly hand in the work from which this extract is made.

“In the malignancy of this extraordinary disease, it engrossed the ill of all other maladies, and made doctors despicable. Of a potency equal to death, it possessed itself of all its armouries, and was itself the death of every other mortal distemper. The touch, yea, the very sight of the infected was deadly; and its signs were so sudden, that families seated in happiness at their meals, have seen the plague-spot begin to redden, and have wildly scattered themselves for ever. The cement of society was dissolved by it. Mothers, when they saw the sign of the infection on the babes at their bosom cast them from them with abhorrence. Wild places were sought for shelter: some went into ships, and anchored themselves afar off on the waters. But the angel that was pouring the vial had a foot on the sea as well as on the dry land. No place was so wild that the plague did not visit,—none so secret that the quick-sighted pestilence did not discover—none could fly that it did not overtake.

“It was as if Heaven had repented the making of mankind, and was shovelling them all into the sepulchre. Justice was forgotten, and her courts deserted. The terrified jailors fled from the felons that were in fetters; the innocent and the guilty leagued themselves together, and kept within their prisons for safety; the grass grew in the market places; the cattle went moaning up and down the fields, wondering what had become of their keepers: the rooks and the ravens came into the towns, and built their nests in the mute belfries; silence was universal, save when some infected wretch was seen clamouring at a window.

“For a time all commerce was in coffins and shrouds; but even that ended. Shrift there was none; churches and chapels were open, but neither priests nor penitent entered; all went to the charnel-house. The sexton and the physician were cast into the same deep and wide grave; the testator and his heirs and executors were hurled from the same cart into the same hole together. Fire became extinguished, as if its element too had expired; the seams of the sailorless ships yawned to the sun. Though doors were open, and coffers unwatched, there was no theft; all offences ceased, and no cry but the universal woe of the pestilence was heard of among men. The wells overflowed, and the conduits ran to waste; the dogs banded themselves together, having lost their masters and ran howling over all the land; horses perished of famine in their stalls; old friends but looked at one another when they met, keeping themselves far aloof; creditors claimed no debts, and courtiers performed their promises; little children went wandering up and down, and numbers were seen dead in all corners. Nor was it only in England that the plague raged; it travelled over a third part of the whole earth, like the shadow of an eclipse, as if some dreadful thing had been interposed between the world and the sun-source of life.”

Trifles.

Margaret of Anjou and Renè of Sicily.

So little resemblance in character was there between Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI. and her father Renè, King of Sicily and Jerusalem, that it is related of him, that when the news of the loss of one of his kingdoms was brought to him, while he was engaged in painting a partridge from nature, he paid no attention to the communication, nor would he see the messenger till he had given the finishing strokes to his design. Renè’s compositions in music, are at this very time the delight of his native country, and indeed of Europe. He was the inventor of the Opera ballet; and the drama of La Tentation, lately revived with so much splendour at Paris in 1832, was originally composed by this Prince. The wild story is his own, and the delightful melodies his composition, which have been merely tamed and regulated by modern art. This Prince, adored for his beneficence by his people, who named him the “Good,” was scorned by the destructive nobles of his era as fainéant and feeble-minded. After the death of his first wife, Isabella of Lorraine, he married Jeanne de Lovel. She was of so grave a character, that she was never known to laugh but once, at a pageant devised by her royal husband—namely, a boat filled with water-pipes, which played on every side, and completely drenched the spectators that did not use some agility in getting out of the way.

Margaret’s elder sister, Yolente, survived her two years; she had a beautiful daughter called Margaret of Anjou the younger. Maria Louisa, Napoleon’s Empress, possessed the breviary of this Princess, in which there is one sentence supposed to have been written by the once beautiful, powerful, and admired Margaret, Queen of England, her aunt:

To Julia.

Good Nature.

Good nature must be a qualification peculiar to the English, as it is remarkable that there is no term for it in any other language.

Welsh Air.

Among the most beautiful of the Welsh Melodies still exists the well known air of “Sweet Richard.” Tradition declares this melody was composed by Owen Glendower, as a tribute of regret to his Prince, it was afterwards sung and played in the many risings in favour of Richard II. with the same powerful effect that the celebrated Jacobite airs had on the partisans of the house of Stuart.

Lines by Henry VI.

The following touching lines, which have been attributed to Henry VI. were probably written during his long imprisonment in the Tower.

Manner.

There is no policy like politeness; and a good manner is the best thing in the world, either to get a good name or to supply the want of it.

Lines by Raleigh.

Found in Sir Walter Raleigh’s Bible in the Gate House at Westminster.

Speech of a Shawanese Chief.

Speech of a Shawanese Chief to Lord Dunmore.

“I appeal to any white man to-day, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if he ever came cold or naked, and he gave him not clothing. During the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle, ignominious in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love of the Whites, that those of my own country pointed at me as I went by, and said, Logan is the friend of white men! I had even thought to live with you, but the iniquities of one among you did away that thought, and dragged me from my cabin of peace. Colonel Cressop the last spring, in cold blood, cut off all the relations of Logan, sparing neither woman nor child. There runs not a drop of the blood of Logan in the veins of any human creature. This called on me for revenge; I have sought it; I have killed many; revenge has been fully glutted.

“For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace; but harbour not the thought, that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear; he will not turn his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan?—not one.”

Greek Costume.

Costume of a Greek Woman.

Over the petticoat a loose jacket of white cloth, reaching to the knee, and open in front; its edges and sleeves wrought very tastefully with red cord. The head dress was composed entirely of money. A fillet of gold sequins was first put, à la feronière, around the forehead, and a close cap, with a throat piece like the gorget of a helmet, fitted the skull exactly, stitched with coins of all values, folded over each other according to their sizes, like scales. The hair was then braided, and fell down the back, loaded also with money. The greater proportion of pieces are paras, a small and thin Turkish coin of small value. Among the larger pieces are dollars and coins of all nations. This head dress often constitutes the marriage portion of the wearer.

On a Rose growing in a Skull—Gen. Carrol.

On a Rose which was growing in a Skull.

Translation by Gen. Carrol.

A fearful Witness.

In the commission of evill, feare no man so much as thy own selfe. Another is but one witnesse against thee; thou art a thousand. Another thou may’st avoid, but thyself thou can’st not. Wickedness is its own punishment.

Thirteenth Century.

Long toed shoes were invented by Fulk, Count of Anjou, to hide an excrescence on one of his feet. These toes were so long as to be fastened to the knees with gold chains, and carved at the extreme point with the representation of a church window, a bird, or some fantastic device.

Game of Cassino.

The game of Cassino is thus played in some parts of Germany:—

Great Cassino takes sixteen.

Little Cassino—fifteen.

Every Ace—fourteen.

King—thirteen.

Queen—twelve.

Knave—eleven.

Local As­socia­tions.

Particular places become dear to the heart of man more generally by the associations attached to them, than by their beauty, convenience, or fertility. Nor is this the case only as affecting individuals, for attachment founded on memories or traditions binds tribes and nations likewise to certain spots, and this is carried so far occasionally that the mere name of a distant country will call from the bosom feelings of affection and devotion, joy, pride, and hope.

On the Choice of a Wife.

Henry IV.

On the night of the twentieth of January, 1608, the historian Pierre Mathieu relates, that he was present at the levee of Henry IV. of France, when that monarch said, that such had been the intense frost on that night, “his whiskers had been frozen when in bed by the side of the queen.”

Prayer by Mary Queen of Scots.

The following Latin prayer was composed by Mary, Queen of Scots, and repeated by her immediately before her execution.

Anecdote of the Duke of Suffolk.

In the year 1429, the same year Margaret of Anjou was born, Jargeau was taken by the Maid of Orleans. The Duke of Suffolk was the governor of the town, and when great part of the garrison was slain, being hard pressed to surrender by William Renaud, the following colloquy passed between them in the breach: “Are you a gentleman?” demanded Suffolk, finding it impossible to escape. “I am,” replied Renaud. “But are you a knight?” rejoined the Earl. “I am not,” answered Renaud. “Kneel down, then,” said Suffolk, “that I may make you one, for I cannot otherwise yield to you.” This was accordingly done, and affords a rich characteristic of the age of chivalry.

To the Memory of Sir Thomas Picton.

To the Memory of the gallant Sir Thomas Picton.

“My arm a nobler victory never gained.”

True Magnani­mity.

Hath any wronged thee? be bravely revenged: slight it, and the work is begun; forgive it, and ’tis finished. He is below himself, that is not above an injury. Was it not Plato who said, that when an injurious speech was offered to him, he placed himself so high that it could not reach him?

On a Music Master—The Hon. H. Erskine.

On a Music Master who after gaining Credit of many, ran away in every one’s Debt.

The Emperor and the Opera Dancer.

The insurrection and popular tumult which took place during the first days of the reign of the present Emperor of Russia, Nicolas, are facts well known; yet it may not be uninteresting to relate some of the circumstances attending the substitution of the Grand Duke Nicolas Paulowitsch in place of his brother the Grand Duke Constantine, who had abdicated, as was declared, and renounced his right to the crown in consequence of the marriage which had been in opposition, it was stated, to the opinions of his family, and by them averred, with his own abdication of his rights in favour of his brother Nicolas. After the, to say the least, awfully mysterious death of Alexander, the Archduke Constantine’s abdication was thus explained.

It was towards the end of 1825 that St. Petersburg was the scene of the struggle between the subjects and the sovereign; marked, in the first instance, by the fearless and intrepid exposure of his own royal person, and in the latter, by the terrible vengeance and inflictions with which many of the agents of this revolt were made to suffer by the merciless decree of the new Emperor. Even where life was spared, scarcely preferable to death were the punishments awarded indiscriminately, and without mitigation to age, youth, or sex.

Amongst the nobler victims of the Autocrat’s implacable revenge, was the Prince Troubeitzkoi, a young colonel, but lately married to the daughter of one of the most distinguished members of the diplomacy at St. Petersburg. This unfortunate man had sought a refuge in the house of his father in law; but his retreat being discovered to Nicolas, he was pursued, and with the trembling ambassador carried before the Emperor. The Prince Troubeitzkoi, throwing himself on his knees, implored his clemency, and in tears the wretched parent pleaded his youth and the sincerity of his repentance. Disdaining to reply to the prostrate nobleman, Nicolas turned to the ambassador, saying that, in consideration for him, the life of his son in law was granted, but that his name would be added to those who were sentenced to the second degree of punishment.

“To lay their head on the block whilst reeking with the blood of their accomplices, and afterwards to hard labour for life, in exile: that exile, Siberia!”

Before relating the fate of any of the other conspirators, we will add to the sad story of this young couple, that the wife sued for and obtained leave to follow her husband into banishment; she nobly shared his trials, his privations, and his labours in the mines. Her devotion had no limit; and it was by the trifling produce of her industry that she sustained her family. Five times, in these desolate regions, she became a mother. In the year 1838, she gave her husband a fresh proof of her sublime and unwearying affection. She quitted Siberia, and alone crossing the dreadful country, after a journey of sixteen hundred leagues, she threw herself at the feet of the Emperor, and implored his pardon for her husband.

The autocrat was inflexible, and forbade the name of the individual who had dared to conspire against his person, to be mentioned in his presence.

The wretched wife withdrew, and again retrod the desert path to exile and her husband.

Four years subsequently, this hapless victim again resolved to undertake this dreadful journey, and to make another effort to soften the iron will of her sovereign. And this time she succeeded, through the influence of—an opera dancer!

* * * *

Marie Taglioni had by her talent, and her good qualities, acquired the favour and indulgence of the Emperor and the Empress. Whilst none dared to speak in behalf of the miserable exiles, or to utter the suppliant’s cry for mercy, it was suggested, that probably Marie Taglioni would venture to lay the petition at the Sovereign’s feet; she did so, and, aided by the noble intercession of the Empress, the pardon was obtained; and after sixteen years banishment the Prince Troubeitzkoï was released, but on the condition of never approaching the Russian territory.

Gibbon.

A reflection is attributed to the illustrious historian Edward Gibbon, which those who are capable of giving it just value ought more frequently to apply.

“My lot,” he says, “might have been that of a peasant, a slave, or a savage; nor can I reflect without pleasure on the bounty of nature, which cast my birth in a free and civilized country, in an age of science and philosophy, in a family of honourable rank, and decently endowed with the gifts of fortune.”

Herveys.

Lady Wortley Montague says of the Hervey family, “They were a clever but eccentric race, and of whom it was observed, that the world consisted of men, women, and Herveys.”

Coquetry.

Tacitus remarks of Poppea, the Queen of Nero, that she concealed a part of her face: to the end, that the imagination having fuller play by irritating curiosity, they might think more highly of her beauty than if the whole of her face had been exposed.

Charles X.

Charles V.

Charles V. spoke five languages: the Flemish, the German, the Spanish, the French, and the Italian. He used to say, that to employ the vulgar languages according to the use for which they were most proper, he would speak Italian to the ladies, French to men, German to horses, and Spanish to God. He used also to say, the Portuguese appeared to be madmen, and were so; the Spaniards appeared to be wise, and were not so; the Italians appeared to be wise, and were so; the French appeared to be madmen, and were not such. That the Germans spoke like carmen, the English like simpletons, the Italians like lovers, the French like masters, and the Spaniards like kings.

Family MSS.

To the Right Honourable the Earl of Leycester, Extraordinary Embassador for his Majesty of Great Britain with the King of France.

My Lord,

I have received a great honour and favour from your Lordship, that you would think upon a servant so far off, which I can but acknowledge, being unable to requite. For news (which is the Embassador’s philosophie), I have so many employments of my vocation, and now so little means to enquire near at hand, as I am utterly ignorant of any thing worth writing; but that I hear your Lordship hath given his Majesty very good satisfaction in his business, and planted in him a great opinion of your abilities. I heartily wish your Lordship may likewise find a proportionable compensation for both at your return. No man, shall be more glad to see your Lordship in the right place of your merit than

Your Lordship’s humble and faithful servant,

Ben. Rudyard.

St. James’s Lodge, 20 June, 1637.

Dirge.

Man was made to mourn.

Thought.

Two opposite opinions should not lie on the same bolster.

Thought.

Afflictions are sent us by Providence to teach us to recollect our ways.

Sir Thomas More.

This was a witty satire on the zeal of Sir Thomas for the dogma of the Romish church, Transubstantiation.

It was by Sir Thomas More that Hans Holbein was introduced to King Henry VIII. He resided during three years at his patron’s house at Chelsea. Holbein was born at Augsburgh in 1495 or 8. His father was a citizen of that place, and an esteemed painter. At Basil in Switzerland he became known to Erasmus, who sent him with his introduction to England, to Sir Thomas More.

Thought.

You think me in danger of becoming an unhappy being, from my turn of thought and taste. Young as I am, I feel the truth of your observation. I differ from those I converse with, they mortify and disappoint me, I draw back with disgust; I raise wonder, and perhaps hatred also. Sometimes my reserve is construed into pride and affectation. When I am talkative my ideas are laughed at, as inconsistent with the opinions of the world; my conduct and character are not understood, and I am stigmatized with being romantic, that is, ridiculous. What am I to do? either I must give up the world or my own faculties. Am I born to say, “Yes, certainly,” and “that’s right,” when my conviction impels me to say, “No, I doubt,” and “that’s wrong?”

Providence—Felicaii.

Providence.

Cromwell.

“Cromwell was formed to delude the minds of men. His hypocrisy, a thing far removed from what is ordinarily known by that name, was fervent, and excited sympathy, and created awe in the beholders. The bluntness of his manner, and the occasional familiarity of his deportment, even to the entire emptying himself of all extrinsic and accidental greatness, won the favour of those with whom he had intercourse. There was something deep in his conceptions, that none of his assistants could fathom. He was moderate in his temper, and forbearing in his actions; never allowing himself in violence more frequently, or to a greater extent, than was necessary to his purposes. Add to which the firmness and courage of his spirit, and the greatness of his abilities, whether to procure intelligence, or to overawe the insidiousness and crooked hostility of foreign courts: and we shall own that he was most singularly fitted for the station he filled.”[8]

Spanish Proverb.

When the child is christened, you may have godfathers enough: when a man’s need is supplied, or his necessities over, people are ready to offer their assistance or service.

Epigram—The Hon. H. Erskine.

Hyder Ali—Burke.

Hyder Ali Khan.

In the following extract from the speech of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, on the subject of the Nabob of Arcot’s debts, the reader is led by all the enthusiasm of characteristic feeling and the ornamental graces of imagination which distinguished that orator, to the contemplation of a great though savage mind, which he so strongly paints as struggling against the toils of oppressive power, and in the operation of determined revenge, collecting, calculating, and measuring the vengeance with which he purposed to visit his oppressors.

“When at length Hyder Ali found that he had to do with men who either would sign no convention, or whom no treaty and no signature could bind, and who were the determined enemies of human intercourse itself, he decreed to make the country possessed by these incorrigible and predestinated criminals a memorable example to mankind. He resolved, in the gloomy recesses of a mind capacious of such things, to leave the whole Carnatick an everlasting monument of vengeance, and to put perpetual desolation as a barrier between him and those against whom the faith which holds the moral elements of the world together, was no protection. He became at length so confident of his force so collected in his might, that he made no secret whatsoever of his dreadful resolution. Having terminated his disputes with every enemy and every rival, who buried their mutual animosities in their common detestation against the creditors of the Nabob of Arcot, he drew from every quarter whatever a savage ferocity could add to his new rudiments in the arts of destruction; and, compounding all the materials of fury, havock, and desolation into one black cloud, he hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains. Whilst the authors of all these evils were idly and stupidly gazing on this menacing meteor, which blackened all their horizon, it suddenly burst, and poured down the whole of its contents upon the plains of the Carnatick. Then ensued a scene of woe, the like of which no eye had seen, no heart conceived, and which no tongue can adequately tell. All the horrors of war, before known or heard of, were mercy to that new havock. A storm of universal fire blasted every field, consumed every house, destroyed every temple. The miserable inhabitants, flying from their flaming villages, in part were slaughtered; others, without regard to sex, to age, to the respect of rank, or sacredness of function, fathers torn from children, husbands from wives, enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the goading spears of drivers and the trampling of pursuing horses, were swept into captivity, in an unknown and hostile land. Those who were able to evade this tempest fled to the walled cities; but, escaping from fire, sword, and exile, they fell into the jaws of famine. The alms of the settlement, in this dreadful exigency, were certainly liberal; and all was done by charity that private charity could do; but it was a people in beggary; it was a nation which stretched out its hands for food. For months together those creatures of sufferance, whose very excess and luxury in their most plenteous days had fallen short of the allowance of our austerest fasts, silent, patient, resigned, without sedition or disturbance, almost without complaint, perished by a hundred a day in the streets of Madras. Every day seventy at least laid their bodies in the streets, or on the glacis of Tanjore, and expired of famine in the granary of India. I was going to awake your justice towards this unhappy part of our fellow citizens, by bringing before you some of the circumstances of this plague of hunger. Of all the calamities which beset and waylay the life of man, this comes the nearest to our heart, and is that wherein the proudest of us all feels himself to be nothing more than he is: but I find myself unable to manage it with decorum; these details are of a species of horror so nauseous and disgusting, they are so degrading to the sufferers and to the hearers, they are so humiliating to human nature itself, that, on better thoughts, I find it more advisable to throw a pall over this hideous object, and to leave it to your general conceptions. For eighteen months, without intermission, this destruction raged from the gates of Madras to the gates of Tanjore; and so completely did these masters in their art, Hyder Ali, and his more ferocious son, absolve themselves of their impious vow, that when the British armies traversed, as they did, the Carnatick for hundreds of miles in all directions, through the whole line of their march they did not see one man, not one woman, not one child, not one four-footed beast of any description whatever. One dead, uniform silence reigned over the whole region. With the inconsiderable exceptions of the narrow vicinage of some few forts, (I wish to be understood as speaking literally; I mean to produce to you more than three witnesses, above all exception, who will support this assertion in its full extent) that hurricane of war passed through every part of the central provinces of the Carnatick. Six or seven districts to the North and to the South (and these not wholly untouched) escaped the general ravage.

The Seal.

The Seal displays a taste for music. They will long follow a boat in which any musical instrument is played, and even a tune whistled has attraction for them.

Thought.

There is perhaps no pang so acute, no sentiment so humiliating to the heart of woman, as the consciousness of awakening distrust, when she most deserved to have inspired confidence.

Pride of Birth.

It is the present fashion to consider the pride of descent as an empty pretension, but it cannot be denied that it is a pretension which has been regarded in every country, in all ages. There are many sound philosophical arguments in favour of a regard to birth, which pretenders to deeper reasoning do not appear to be aware of. It is a counteraction to the undue influence of wealth and mere brutal power. It is impossible to prevent the accumulation of wealth in the basest of the people, at least in a free country! The easiest paths to wealth are the meanest and least virtuous. However, the most current opinion is that wealth is wealth, and that he who can spend the most is the most important man; and that it is idle and childish to pay any attention as to how and whence he got it. But true aristocracy knows its own place, and holds firm to it; and various are the effects it has on the mind which cannot be analysed by language. It has a tendency to create a lofty sort of sentiment, rather than a low and selfish gratification, as the guide of the thoughts and the conduct. It would find a thousand ideal comforts in adversity and obscurity, which new families, thrown back into poverty, cannot command.

The Pretender.

James II. of England married the Princess Maria d’Este, the sister of Francis, Duke of Modena, who was as beautiful as she was unfortunate. The Queen having been married some time without having children, when this event did take place, malice, falsehood, envy, and intrigue were active in declaring the heir thus born to be “a supposititious Prince of Wales.” This tissue of forgery and falsehood still farther tended to affect the popularity of the king, and bring his person and throne into disrepute. However, upon the whole mass and evidence of history that is presented, the only conclusion to be drawn was this, and only this, that the Prince of Wales, so far from being “supposititious,” was royally and legally born the lawful successor of his father’s throne and realms.

Chloe—The Hon. H. Erskine.

Thought.

Ah! how can a wife, she who bears his name, and shares, or ought to share, his lot, how can she ever be entirely effaced from the recollection of an honest man?

Duke of Bucking­ham.

George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, the dissolute favourite of Charles II. is thus described by Dryden in his poem of Absalom and Achitophel.

At the time of King Charles’s death, he went into the country, and on the 16th of April, 1688, he died at a servant’s house at Rickby Meerside, from a cold caught by sitting on the ground after fox-hunting.

Pope in his Epistle to Lord Bathurst, thus alludes to his death.

A Portrait.

Church­yards in Denmark.

It is customary in Denmark to surround each grave with doleful or cheerful shrubs, at the fancy of the survivors: thus alternate thickets of roses and of cypress, of lilacs and of juniper, give the air of a garden to every churchyard.

Machiavelli.

Machiavelli naquit à Florence le 9 Mai 1469, d’une noble famille Italienne. Il entra aux affaires en 1494, à 24 ans. En 1498 il était Secrétaire du Conseil des Dix, et pendant 14 ans employé dans les plus graves négociations. Machiavelli a acquis une grande réputation parmi les hommes, surtout comme auteur du Prince, ouvrage qu’il écrivit après la chute de la république de Florence. Il mourut en 1527, le 22 Juin, de douleur d’entrailles. Le Grand Duc Leopold a fait placer cette épitaphe très remarquable sur son tombeau: Tanto nomini, nullum par elogium. Machiavelli était doué d’une incroyable perspicacité. Il était tout esprit, et tout étude; le plus grand observateur des faits; il a prodigieusement travaillé et pratiqué le mécanisme social, et le caractère humain.

Dante.

This famous Italian poet of the thirteenth century lived at Verona, on a pension from Prince Scaliger,[9] but so moderate, that poor as he was, he could scarcely exist.

Petition of the Wife of an Indian Chief.

Translation of the petition sent by the wife of Almas Ali Cawn, who was lately seized and put to death for political purposes in India.

To the High and Mighty Servant of the most powerful Prince George, King of Great Britain, his most lowly and humble slave comes praying for mercy for the father of her children.

Most mighty Sir,

May the blessing of thy God ever await thee!

May the sun of glory shine round thy head!

May the gates of plenty, honour, and happiness be always open to thee and thine!

May no sorrows distress thy days!

May no grief disturb thy nights!

May the pillow of peace kiss thy cheek!

The pleasures of imagination attend thy dreams!

And when length of time makes thee tired of earthly joys, and the curtain of death gently closes round the last sleep of human existence,

May the angels of thy God attend thy bed, and take care that thy expiring lamp of life shall not receive one wide blast to hasten its extinction.

O! hearken to the voice of distress,

And grant the petition of thy servant:

Spare, oh! spare the father of my children, the partner of my bed, my husband, my all that’s dear.

Consider, oh! consider, he did not become what he is by iniquity, and that what he possesses was the inheritance of a long line of flourishing ancestors,

Who, in those smiling days, when the intruders of Great Britain were not heard of in the fertile plains of Indostan, reaped their harvest in quiet, and enjoyed their patrimony unmolested.

Think, oh! think, that the God whom thou worshippest delighteth not in the blood of the innocent; remember thy own commandment, “Thou shalt not kill,” and obey the order of Heaven.

Give me back my Almas Ali Cawn, and take all our wealth.

Strip us of our jewels and precious stones, of our gold and silver, but take not away the life of my husband.

Innocence is sealed on his brow,

And the milk of human kindness flows round his heart.

Let us wander through the deserts, let us become tillers and labourers on the delightful spot of which he was once the master:

But spare, oh! mighty Sir, spare his life!

Let not the instrument of death be lifted against him, for he has committed no crime.

Accept those treasures from gratitude, which at present thou takest by force; we will remember thee in our prayer, and forget we were once rich and powerful.

My children, the children of my Almas Ali, send up their petitions for the life of him who gave them life.

They beseech from thee the author of their existence.

By that humanity we are told glows in the breasts of Europeans;

By the tender mercy of enlightened souls of Englishmen;

By the honour, virtue, and maternal affection of thy great Queen,

Whose numerous offspring are so dear to her; the miserable wife of thy prisoner beseeches thee to save her husband’s life, and restore him to her arms.

Thy God will reward thee:

They will thank thee:

And the now petitioning, will pray for thee, if thou grantest the prayer of thy humble vassal

Almassa Ali Cawn.

It is painful to reflect that such an appeal was vain. The petition of the wretched Almassa was presented to the great man in power. It was disregarded, and her husband met his fate.

Volcanos.

There is great probability that Mount Vesuvius near Naples, and Mount Etna in Sicily, are the different parts of the same continuation of one chain of mountains, which passes under the sea, and the Isle of Lipari; for every time that one of these mountains breaks forth in flames, the other is seen on fire, and the volcano in the Isle of Lipari burns more fiercely than usual.

Saint George.

Saint George, a soldier saint of great eminence, both in the Eastern and Western churches, known also by the particular name of Tropheophorus, suffered martyrdom at Lyddea in Palestine, under the persecution of Dioclesian, A. D. 302. He is supposed to have been interred at Lyddea, or Diospulia.

Poem.

Queen of Bohemia—Sir H. Wootton

On Lady Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia.[10] By Sir Henry Wootton.

Thought.

As a material of human happiness or misery, temper is infinitely more important, because so much oftener brought into use, than high-mindedness; opportunity for a generous action may occur perhaps once in a year, while temper is actively at work for good or evil during every hour of our existence.

Fire from Heaven.

In 1623 fire fell from heaven, which threw all Germany into consternation.

Origin of Coats of Arms.

Their origin is not prior to the twelfth century, that is to say, the time of the crusades. As noblemen from all the various nations of Europe were collected in the Holy Land, and as they had no names but their baptismal ones, they agreed, in order to distinguish each other, to assume armorial ensigns, which in general expressed the name and title of the bearer, as John de la Tour, by a tower, &c.

Lord Bacon.

The Lord Chancellor of England was the greatest genius of his age, and endued with extraordinary talents and inclination to promote the cause of literature. He died at the age of sixty-six, and so poor, that there remains a letter of his to the king, praying his bounty, “lest he, who had only wished to live to study, might be obliged now to study to live.” He was born to instruct others, and to set them in the right way to be teachers themselves.

Bells.

Bells were first brought into use by St. Paulinus, Bishop of Nola, in the Campania of Rome: hence a bell was called Nola, or Campagna.[11] At first they were called saints: hence toc-saint, or tocsin.

Arthur’s Round Table.

Arthur, King of the Britons, who flourished about 516 A. D. whose valour was so great that the accounts of it appear fabulous rather than real, having vanquished the Saxons and effectually driven them out of his kingdom after twelve successive battles (in one of which, fought at Caerbadon in Berkshire, it is asserted he killed no less than 440 of the enemy with his own hand), and also conquered Norway, Sweden, the principal part of France, was crowned at Paris. On his return home in great splendour, a vast concourse of foreign princes and valiant knights flocked from all parts of the world to his court; the king, unwilling to create controversies amongst his noble guests, by seeming to give precedence to one more than another, caused an immense round table to be erected in the great hall at Winchester, where he then held his court, at which it was so managed that no person could take place of another. He selected a fraternity of four and twenty, and elected it into an order of knighthood, dignifying the knights whom he chose companions with the title of “Knights of King Arthur’s round table,” himself to be their chief. These princely meetings were annually held with great pomp at Winchester.

Sir Walter Raleigh.

By Sir Walter Raleigh, in the unquiett rest of his last sickness.[12]

Saint George.

The Emperor Sigismund, of Germany, made a solemn offering of the holy heart of St. George, the tutelary Saint of England, upon the altar of St. George’s chapel at Windsor, during his visit in 1416 to Henry V.

Duelling.

At Malta, duelling is permitted by law, but under this curious restriction; the duellists are enjoined on the severest penalties, to desist and put up their swords at the desire of a priest, a woman, or a knight.

Delight in Disorder—Herrick.

Delight in disorder.

Lord Strafford’s Meditations.

Lord Strafford’s Meditations in the Tower. MSS. (Harl.)

Time.

Every year steals away something from us. In one we lose a relation, in the next a friend; health grows more precarious, and pleasure less alluring, till by degrees the whole little mass of happiness we had been gathering drops from us insensibly, and that grave, which we had once looked on with so much horror, becomes at last our refuge and shelter.

Lamentations selfish.

Selfish to lament.

Thought.