Chapter VI: Part 6

Imagine six men chained to their seats, entirely naked as when born,
sitting with one foot on a block of timber fixed to the footstool;
the other lifted up against the bench before them, holding in their
hands an oar of an enormous size. Imagine them lengthening their
bodies, their arms stretched out to push the oar over the backs of
those before them; who are also themselves in a similar attitude.
Having thus advanced their oar, they raise that end which they hold
in their hands, to plunge the opposite in the sea; which done, they
throw themselves back upon their benches below, which are somewhat
hollowed to receive them. But none but those who have seen them labour
can conceive how much they endure: none but such could be persuaded
that human strength could sustain the fatigue which they undergo for
an hour successively. But what cannot necessity and cruelty make men
do? Almost impossibilities. Certainly no galley can be navigated in
any other way, than by a crew of slaves, over whom a _comite_ may
exercise the most unbounded authority. No free man could continue at
the oar an hour unwearied: yet a slave must sometimes lengthen out
his toil for ten, twelve, nay, for twenty hours, without the smallest
intermission. On these occasions the _comites_, or some of the other
mariners, put into the mouths of those wretches a bit of bread steeped
in wine, to prevent their fainting through excess of fatigue or
hunger, while their hands are employed upon the oar. At such times
are heard nothing but horrid blasphemies, loud bursts of despair, or
ejaculations to Heaven; all the slaves streaming with blood, while
their unpitying taskmasters mix oaths and threats, and the smacking of
whips, to fill up this dreadful harmony.

At this time the captain roars to the _comite_ to redouble his
blows; and when any one drops from his oar in a swoon, (which not
unfrequently happens) he is whipped while any remains of life appear,
and then thrown into the sea, without any farther ceremony. The
_Diable Boitteux_, in order to make _Cleofas_ sensible of the happy
condition of an inquisitor, tells him, Was not I a Dæmon, I would be
an inquisitor? Were the devil to become a mortal, he would incline to
be the _comite_ to the galley-slaves at Marseilles, whose hearts are
inlapidated by cruelty.

How these slaves are fed, to enable them to support such enormous
toil, may be judged from the following account.--When it was necessary
we should take some refreshment, the captain ordered _the dogs to
their mess_. He only meant by this, that we should be served with
beans, the usual food allowed us. These are indeed most intolerable
eating, and what nothing but the most pinching hunger could dispense
with. They are ill boiled, with scarce any oil, a little salt, and
all to be eaten out of a capacious cauldron, not the cleanest in the
world, as may easily be conceived.

I was never so hungry but that I preferred eating my portion of
bread dipped in vinegar and water to this mess, which even offended
the sense of smelling. However, these, and twenty-two ounces of
biscuit, are all the food allowed for a galley-slave. Each of the crew
receives four ounces of this beverage; that is, provided none of it be
secreted before it is brought upon deck, which is not unfrequently the
case.

I once had the curiosity to count the number of beans which
a brother slave had got for all his portion, which amounted to
just thirty; and those of the little black bean, commonly called
horse-beans. We did not even commiserate one another. To pity, we
must be acquainted with the sufferings of our fellow-creatures, but
not feel them. When we know by experience what pain is, we pity those
who suffer; but when we ourselves are in pain, we then feel only what
we ourselves undergo. In every station, subject to the calamities of
life, we allow to others that share of our sensibility only which we
have no occasion for ourselves. People in ease, people in affluence,
may think otherwise, but it is not _in nature_.

Dreadful as this was, I have always thought death a punishment that
was no way adequate to the crimes of some public villains who have
been punished with it; and I am certain the most cowardly among men,
would prefer it to being a galley-slave. We are condemned to death by
nature; the sentence of the law, and the hand of the hangman, only
anticipate a few months or days; but to be daily wishing for death, as
a friend, to relieve us, and to be debarred of all means of meeting
him, is such a quintessence of wretchedness as would, I believe, make
all mankind keep a strict guard upon their actions, that they may
avoid falling into it.[38]

From this infernal state of existence I was delivered by Mr Worthy,
who is a slave-merchant--he saw, and pitied my distress--he had
accidentally saved the life of one of the ruffians who had assisted in
the attempt to rob my father. This man afterwards, upon his death-bed,
acquainted his good master of my situation, who promised to release
me. This was effected by his giving a large sum to the captain and the
_comite_. The secret was told me; it was agreed I should pretend to
faint, and appear insensible; when I should be thrown into the sea as
dead--This happily succeeded.

Nothing can be more unjust than to confine the instance of humanity
within the narrow circle of a few European nations. The noble, the
generous, the humane dispositions are diffused throughout all nature,
and exert their engaging force wherever a body of men subsists. Virtue
and vice are mingled in all societies: we have savages in Italy; and
there are worthy men amongst those we call savages. Christians do
often those things which a modest heathen would blush at, and, while
they boast of their religion, are strangers to the common laws of
humanity. It should be the boast of a wise man to despise nothing that
he is not well acquainted with, and to do justice to all mankind, of
whatever country or complexion.--Virtue, like the rays of the sun,
shines over the whole habitable globe, enlivens the moral, as that the
material world, and exerts its benign influences from the _scorching
equinox_ to the _frozen poles_. We feel its force; all communities are
bound together by its magnetic influence; and without it the nations
of Barbary would be covered with devastation, and no more inhabited
than the scorching sands of its inhospitable deserts.

Mr Worthy no sooner cast his eyes on me, and perceived my sorrow,
than pity, tenderness, and compassion glowed in his countenance; his
eyes moistened with generous sympathy, and the first word he spoke
convinced me that he already felt _all I had suffered_. But there is
no pleasure so transporting to him, as to be in any way instrumental
in making any of the human species happy.

I acquiesced in the justice of these sentiments--and could not
sufficiently admire the fortitude which had supported the Marquis
under such unheard-of trials! And as our sense of many high
enjoyments, both natural and moral, is exceedingly heightened by our
having observed or experienced many of the contrary evils; he bids
fair at least to be contented, when he looks back to the horrors he
has escaped. The poet says,

The heart can ne'er a transport know
That never felt a pain.

It may easily be conceived the Marquis is most anxious to inquire
after his family--but gratitude to Mr Worthy has made him accompany
him to England.

When I seemed to compassionate his sufferings, his gratitude assumed
a grateful humility; but the moment I appeared the least inattentive
to his misfortunes, his countenance collected such an air of dignity,
as not only reproached my seeming want of sensibility, but reminded
me also, that his sufferings were not the consequences of guilt, nor
could in the least degree lessen his greatness of mind.

I find Mr Worthy has a law-suit depending; when that is settled
he is to accompany my friend to Italy. He appears to me a very
acute, sensible man;--we were talking the other day of the
disturbances at Madras, and of the strange conduct of the people
in Leadenhall-Street--He said it put him in mind of Anacharsus's
observation to Solon, as they were returning from a public assembly,
'That he could not help being greatly astonished to find, that, in
their deliberations, it was the _wise that spoke_, and that _fools
that decided_.' I believe, in public assemblies, this will be found
generally to be the case, where party governs, and the most powerful
cabal is generally composed of the least rational.

I attend these dear friends everywhere. The Marquis is an _amateur_,
and his taste will be highly gratified, when at Munster-house, to view
the prodigies of _your creation_--he is a descendant of the Medici
family: consequently highly charmed with the character of the Countess
of Darnley. But this is a subject, I am incapable of entering upon--to
praise exquisite merit is perhaps the most difficult part of polite
writing, and which I have no talents for; but which if I possessed, I
should tire you with what few other ladies ever yet was--_their own
praises_. But I will yield to none in what I value myself upon, being
truly and affectionately.

Yours
MUNSTER

The Marquis de Villeroy became much enamoured with Lady Eliza, whose compassion for his misfortunes had so far softened her heart in his favor, that she listened to him first with complacency, afterwards with tenderness, and at last with the most lively interest. Congenial souls soon form an union. She acknowledged her partiality for him, but that no predilection whatever could induce her to leave her country and friends. This opinion was greatly strengthened by the idea she entertained of the inconstancy of mankind, and the little regard they pay to women after a few years possession.

The Marquis thought his renouncing his native country would be too great a sacrifice to be offered at the altar of the Graces. Yet the idea of parting with Lady Eliza was what he was unable to support.--She told him it would be in vain to think of making her soften the rigour of her decree; for it proceeded from a firmness, which nothing could conquer! for, from all her observations in life, no love ever lasted long enough to make it worth while to sacrifice every thing else to it; the _Paradisiac_ vision of eternal constancy having long vanished from these sublunary regions:--and that unless he would reside in England--she never would be his!--A sigh, which stole from him, conveyed to Lady Eliza the height of his despair--his embarrassment and dejection increased her regard for him, while it awakened a tender commiseration for them, believing herself entirely the cause of them. She therefore thought it incumbent on her to endeavour to remove them by every attention in her power.--In consequence of this consideration in his favor, she strove to look cheerful, though she was not a little hurt at finding it absolutely necessary to reject so amiable and deserving a man.

The Marquis, perceiving that remonstrances would be ineffectual, took his leave with a heart distracted by grief, perplexity, and despair! Being naturally of a restless, gloomy disposition, and of violent passions, in his despair he thought his adventures had been so extraordinary that he was doomed to be wretched! and formed a resolution of laying violent hands on himself: and the more he meditated on his situation, the more strongly was he confirmed in his precipitate resolution. Yet, as the instinct of self-preservation is one of the strongest in our frame, it inspired him with a counter-idea, that of renouncing Italy; this only acquiescence being requisite to recommend him to Lady Eliza, without whom his life would be a burthen. He communicated his intentions to Lord Munster, who apprised his sister of this proof of the Marquis's attachment for her.

Flattered to the greatest degree at the strength of his affection, she promised to give him her hand on his return from Italy--where he must necessarily go, to prove the identity of his person, and to take possession of his fortune.

The Marquis made immediate preparations for his journey, and soon set out, accompanied by his friend Mr Worthy, Mrs Worthy accompanying Lady Eliza to Munster-house--Soon after their arrival Lord and Lady Darnley rejoined them with their little son, her ladyship being too tender a mother to leave him behind her, or to commit him to the care of any but herself. The tender brain of _Newton_, or _Alexander_, altered in their infancy by a small compression, or slight commotion, might have rendered the first stupid, and the other a wise King--Yet people in general, though emulous of obtaining wealth for their heirs, commit them to the care of uninterested hirelings. Sir Harry Bingley, his aunt and sister, and most of the parties already introduced to the reader, assembled at Munster house to spend the summer.

Mrs Lee had rejected every overture from her husband for a reconciliation, whilst his health and fortune lasted--but to a mind like hers, misfortunes cancelled every injury--His fortune ruined, his health impaired, he plunged deeper and deeper into every species of excess. This soon brought him to the greatest distress, and he was so much reduced as to be in want of the common necessaries of life. Mrs Lee, upon being informed of his deplorable situation, immediately converted that villa in Wales, of which there has been a description given[39], into money, paid her husband's debts, and accompanied him at a wretched hovel, to which his poverty, the consequence of his crimes, and infidelity (_to her_) had reduced him.--There she continued, shewing him every attention until his decease; when she came with Lady Darnley to Munster-house.

Lady Eliza soon received the following Letter from the Marquis de Villeroy.

Madam, Venice.

On my arrival at this place, I found that, on the report of my
death, my father had consigned over his estate to a near relation
of mine--who knew me at once, though so emaciated, and has acted in
the most honorable manner to me. My father has retired to La-Trappe
in France: thither my duty must lead me, previous to the happiness I
shall receive in throwing myself at your feet.

Were I disposed to draw the most engaging _portrait_ imaginable,
I could easily find a subject; but as you may possibly wish for an
intimate acquaintance with the original, I shall omit the attempt,
since it would be difficult for you to obtain it from that principle
in human nature which makes us strangers _to ourselves_.

I shall detain your ladyship no longer, than to request you will
inform my friend, your brother, that I am mortified to be unable to
deliver his letter to Mademoiselle de Querci--no such person can be
found.

Need I paint that passion I have given you such proofs of?--No;
all descriptions would fall short of my feelings. I will ever yield
to every wish your soul can form; you are entirely absolute, unless
you should attempt impossibilities, amongst which I reckon this as
the greatest--for me to breathe a moment without being entirely and
inviolably yours.

DE VILLEROY.

It may here be, perhaps, proper to inform the reader of what perhaps his own sagacity may have made him anticipate--The Duke de Salis had neither been able, by intreaties or threats, to compel the Countess de Sons to marry him, though he had given out that she had; this induced him to keep both her and his daughter closely confined. It has been already related, how he had consigned over his son as a house-breaker;--when he found him condemned to the gallies--like the cruel inconsistency of an _Admiral's[40] judges_--he laid himself under the necessity of declaiming the equity of his own sentence--and when he found the decree against his son was inevitable--unable to bear the reproaches of his inward monitor, and listening to the whispers of a gloomy disposition, he became almost frantic--In this situation of mind, torn with the agonies of grief, he became more careless of his ward--and the Countess and Julia escaped from him--After his conduct to his son--they trembled lest in some act of despair he should on some future occasion equal the past scene, which _chilled them with horror_--The Countess was seized with the small-pox, which altered her features considerably, without impairing her beauty; this circumstance facilitated their eluding all search after them from the Duke, as Julia wore men's clothes; and they supported themselves by the sale of jewels.

The intelligent reader now perceives, that Mademoiselle Querci and her brother, were no other than the Countess de Sons and Julia, whom Lord Munster had met at Venice.

When the Duke de Salis retired to La-Trappe, the Countess de Sons appeared, and took possession of her fortune. She had remained constantly and sincerely attached to Lord Munster was flattered by his attentions at Venice, and found her esteem increased by the regard he paid to his pre engagements; but would not at that time discover herself, fearing that she only flattered herself that he saw her with the eyes of affection, and lest the small-pox had made _such_ an alteration, as might change his sentiments. Upon the Marquis de Villeroy's arrival in Italy, she was highly charmed to receive a letter from Lord Munster addressed to Mademoiselle de Querci, and determined to accompany him and Julia to England; but this was carefully concealed, to render the discovery more pleasing.

In the mean time, the family at Munster-house passed their time most agreeably, though Lord Munster, Sir Harry Bingley, and Mrs Lee, (who knew nothing of Mr Villars) often were melancholy and _distrait_.

Lord Munster made great preparations to celebrate the anniversary of Lady Darnley's wedding-day: on which occasion a number of buildings were added to those already mentioned on the pleasure-grounds--As all the best artificers were on the spot, these were executed in the ablest manner. One temple he finished without the inspection of any one.

On the morning of the masquerade, walking out with Sir Harry Bingley, he told him he should be glad to have his opinion of it. In this temple was painted the _cataract_ of the river Dahl, which he had drawn on the spot[41]--the cottage where Miss Harris resided--and herself at work, in the same way in which he saw her, with her lovely boy playing beside her (Miss Harris had permitted Lord Munster to draw her picture, and he had fortunately taken an exact likeness)--Sir Harry Bingley started at beholding it, and exclaimed, 'It is her, it is, by Heaven, it is her! What artist drew the picture? it is, it is herself!'--he then sunk almost motionless in a chair!--Lord Munster carelessly answered--'Bingley, are you mad? That picture _cannot_ concern you; I painted it from life! Where did you see her? Answer but that question, and I am gone, gone that instant; the world should not detain me!' 'It is, it is, my Lord, the lovely woman I told you of. But her graces were yet more charming still than her beauty! an external glare of beauty may _captivate the eye, and ravish the sight_; but it is the graces that win the heart, that powerfully attract every faculty of a kindred mind!--I loved her, and was beloved! She loved my person, not my fortune. Her tenderness, her affection were my only joy!' 'Why then, replied Lord Munster, did you leave her? but make yourself easy on her account; she can be nothing to you; I expect her soon in England.'--'In England!'--'Yes, Sir, in England, I fancy by this time she is married to my friend Ogilby.' 'Lord Ogilby!' 'Yes; he was passionately in love with her: she absolutely refused him; but it is not likely, possessing such beauty, such perfections--slighted by the author of her exclusion from every dear and valuable claim in society, relations, friends, reputation, and protection--that she should continue deaf to the earnest solicitations of _another_, who can restore her to these advantages--such a man as Ogilby, a tender lover, who would sacrifice his time and fortune to her, and who promised he would be _a father to her boy_.'

Sir Henry's senses appeared suspended.--He at last repeated, 'Distraction, madness, fury! But, by the great God of Heaven--he shall not be a _father to my boy_!' The agitation of his spirits rendered him almost unintelligible: Lord Munster could only understand that he intended to set out directly--he therefore dissuaded him from it--telling him, that if he refused staying that day (on which he meant to mark his respect to Lady Darnley) that he must renounce his friendship for ever! 'My Lord, returned he, I honor, I love you; your virtues demand the first, your amiable engaging qualities the last; but were you God instead of man you should not detain me!--A few hours may render her the wife of the happy Ogilby! There is damnation in that thought!'--As Lord Munster had contrived an agreeable surprise to Sir Henry--and Miss Harris and her child were actually arrived, and concealed at Mr Burt's, who had taken a separate house, for retirement,--it was necessary he should detain him; and as he had forgot to ask where there scene represented _was_, he availed himself of that circumstance, saying, 'Since, Sir, I cannot command your _complaisance_, I may at least enforce your _obedience_, for you know not _where_ to go, without I tell you--and my lips shall be sealed up _for ever_, unless you pass this night here--If in the morning you choose to set off, I will instruct you in every particular.' In the time Lord Munster was enjoying Sir Harry's happiness--some of his friends were equally engaged for him. The Countess de Sons and Julia, the Marquis de Villeroy, Mr Villars, and Mr Worthy, came to London before the masquerade--Mr Villars wrote to Lord Darnley, acquainting him privately with their arrival, and it was agreed in return they should all make their appearance on that occasion.

This entertainment was executed equal to the munificence and taste of Lord Munster--and as it was given entirely in honor of Lady Darnley, the principal objects in his arrangements had a reference to her. Never was parental affection more fondly evinced, never was filial gratitude more entire.--It has been already observed, that nothing was ever more elegantly planned than Munster Village, the farm adjoining, and the pleasure-grounds which lead to the house: in the farm you wandered from variety to variety; buildings of great utility and much fancy, groves inspiring different sensations, from the lucid summits that wake the mind to gaiety, to the dark brown or _clair obscure_ of trees crowding their branches together in the vale, which possess the soul with home-felt contemplation.

Above three hundred of the nobility and people of fashion in the neighbourhood were invited. Lord and Lady Darnley, Lord Munster, Lady Eliza, and Mr Worthy, were the only people unmarked. They received the company in the temple of Minerva, which faced a fine piece of water, on which there is an island. The river represented the Styx[42], the island Elysium, and Charon ferried over passengers. His boat landing, the names of Demosthenes, Aristotle, Pindar, Plato, Apelles, Phidias, and Praxiteles, were announced to Lady Darnley--They were all dressed in Grecian habits. Demosthenes, in an elegant harangue, acquainted her, that the wise Minos had indulged them in their request, of taking that opportunity of doing homage to her superlative merit, and to return her thanks for reviving their memories in the encouragement she gave to the arts and sciences, as under her patronage the Muses had made Munster Village their capital seat. He then expatiated on the advantages she had procured to society--the influence of the philosophic spirit in humanizing the mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion and delicate pleasures--in exploring, by the help of geometry, the system of the universe--in promoting navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral and political science. Lady Darnley (though totally unprepared, being ignorant of her nephew's plans) made a very ready and polite answer, returning them thanks for the honor they did her, which (she said) as it could afford them no other _pleasure_, than that of _obliging_, rendered the obligation greater. Demosthenes replied, that great geniuses are always superior to their own abilities.

Some time after Charon was observed to land some passengers in Roman habits; they proved to be Cicero, Lucretius, Livy, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Varro, Tibullus, and Vitruvius. Cicero advancing, made Lady Darnley a speech similar to that of Demosthenes--as like thoughts will be ever born of the like subjects, by people who live in corresponding periods of the _progression of manners_. In such cases some considerable _similarity_ of expression may be occasioned by the agency of _general principles_. Lady Darnley made a gracious reply, intimating her small merit, and the apprehensions she felt that physical causes might impede her good intentions; that her powers had been limited; but that she was far from thinking with Boileau, that wherever there is a Mæccenas, a Virgil or an Horace will arise, (curtsying to these gentlemen.) Cicero observed to her the happiness she enjoyed in living at a _period_ distinguished by men of such shining abilities in every department!

Lady Darnley answered, that he honored her countrymen very much: that she acknowledged we have at present very able men in every department; but that in morality she was afraid we have refined more upon the _vices_ of the ancients than _their virtues_, and she could not help questioning whether there was any minister, magistrate, or lawyer, now in Europe, who could explain the discoveries of Newton, or the ideas of Leibnitz, in the same manner as the principles of Zeno, Plato, and Epicurus, had been illustrated at Rome[43].

He thanked her for her polite compliment, and retired with his companions.

They were succeeded by Italians, who were announced Lawrence de Medicis, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian, Ariosto, and Tasso. Lawrence de Medicis expressed his happiness from having been permitted the honor of paying his respects to her, and admiring the works of her creation, and complimented her in the name of his friends for the encouragement she had afforded the arts.--She said, the applause of the worthy is too valuable to be received with indifference; but still modestly declined the praises bestowed on her, saying, she had endeavoured to follow _his_ example, although the imitation was _a faint one_; and that the only commendation she aspired to was from _the attempt_. That without her assistance, she made no doubt, if physical causes did not prevent it[44], that the society for the encouragement of arts, manufactures, and commerce in London, is well calculated to diffuse a spirit of taste in this nation--a society, which, without neglecting what tends more immediately to the improvement of agriculture, and the necessary arts of life, gives the most honorable encouragement to those which are elegant and ornamental. Had such a society been instituted fifty years ago, London, perhaps by this time, would have been the grand seat of the arts, as it is the envied seat of freedom.

Michael Angelo, that celebrated restorer of the arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture, expressed how infinitely he was charmed with Munster Village[45].--'What is really beautiful, said he, does not depend either upon fashion, or times; there may be _different ways_ of expressing things in different ages; but there can only _be one_ of conceiving them properly.' The temple, in which they were, was adorned with the paintings of Raphael[46], copied by an able artist. Lady Darnley, pointing to these, (and addressing him) said 'There is proof how much we fall short, how faintly we copy originals!'--Raphael replied, that her ladyship did him much honor; the pieces she had selected, had met with the suffrage of the public; but that, in his own acceptation, _the cartoons_ were the best of his performances--which he apprehended a juster prevailing taste at present condemned: Otherwise the father of his people, approved of by Minos--so good so indulgent a prince to his subjects--would not lock them up from public observations.--Lady Darnley was here quite at a loss; she blushed, hesitated, unwilling either to refuse her sovereign _taste_ or _philanthropy_!

Lawrence de Medicis perceiving her situation, in pity of her confusion, retired with his company.

Charon again landed a groupe of figures; their dress declared them English, of the reign of King Charles II--They proved to be the Duke of Buckingham[47], Sir William Petty, Mr Dryden, Mr Locke, Mr Waller, etc. The Duke addressed Lady Darnley with that polite address peculiar to himself in his age, and which has since been sedulously studied, to the prevention of qualities which it should only be the harbinger of--he expatiated on her merit; that she had obliged the whole nation, as every one individual might receive improvement or pleasure by her means.--Lady Darnley returned him a most gracious answer, still intimating her apprehensions, that the arts perhaps were not likely to thrive in this soil, where our pursuits, opinions, and inclinations, vary with the weather--that the declension of letters after the reign of Charles II. but too fully justified her opinion.--The Duke answered her, that indeed that was the common and received opinion, and that the reign she mentioned was the Augustan age in England; but that he had the honor to assure her, that a just taste was by no means then formed.--The progress of philological learning, and the _Belles Lettres_ was obstructed by the institution of the Royal Society, which turned the thoughts of men of genius to physical inquiries.--To that body we were indebted for the discoveries relating to light, the principle of gravitation, the motion of the fixed stars, the geometry of transcidental qualities; but that it was left to her ladyship to revive the agreeable arts, for which her name must be handed down to posterity with honor.

The following dialogue ensued between Charon and a Beau.

Beau.--I have seen all parts of the world, and should like to take
a view of Elysium, being rather tired of this side of the Styx.

[48] Mercury to Charon.--He is too frivolous an animal to present to
the wife Minos!

Charon.--Minos, Sir, knows nothing of _the graces_--but if you
please I will row you to the infernal regions.

Beau.--With all my heart, I believe I shall meet more people of
fashion there[49]; but, good master Charon, in what way shall I pass
my time?

Charon.--If you are fond of doing nothing (a favourite passion with
many fine gentlemen) Theseus will readily resign his seat to you: or
if it is your genius, like many others, to choose to be,

'_Though without business, yet in full employ,_'

you may join Sisyphus, or accompany the Danaides.

Beau.--Neither of these will suit me; _idleness_ is _insipid_, and I
_detest business_! But are there no public places?

Charon.--O! yes; great variety: each person in that place pursues
those inclinations, whereby he had been swayed, or had rendered
himself remarkable here on earth.

Beau.--There are fine women then, of course?

Charon.--As to women, no seraglio in the world comes up to it; as a
part of whatever the world, since its creation, has ever yet produced,
of lovely and enchanting amongst women are there assembled.--There
you may view and gaze, with admiration, upon Helen, whose bewitching
charms were so destructive to the family, the city, and the empire
of King Priam.--On each side of her are Galatea, and Bressis, Lais,
Phryne, and thousands more--There also you may behold in all their
charms, in the full lustre of attraction, and decked in every grace,
some of those happy fair-ones, whom the greatest poets, so lavish in
their praise, have in their lays immortalised; such, amongst many
others, are the Corinna of Ovid, the Lydia of Horace, the Lesbia
of Catullus, the Delia of Tibullus, the Licoris of Gallus, and the
Cynthia of Propertius.

Beau.--I will go; I am enchanted with the idea of seeing these _dear
creatures_.--But I will shiver the wheel and distaff of the Destinies
against the wall, and spoil their housewifery--I'll take their
spindle, where hang the threads of human life like beams driven from
the sun, and mix them all together, kings and beggars! But hark'ee,
master Charon, is there good music? I cannot do well without music!

Charon.--There are all kinds of concerto's and opera's, both vocal
and instrumental, executed by the very _best_ of the Italians, and
the most celebrated voices from every part of the world. There are
various pieces performed in all languages, and in all kinds of taste,
for the universal satisfaction of the audience. Those who have a
taste for ancient music, will be more gratified than they can be in
Tottenham-street[50]. They will hear with admiration the gentle flute
of Marsius, be ravished with the thorough-bass of Stentor, and expire
with delight at the thrilling note of Misurus's trumpet.

Beau.--All this is charming; but what sort of a table is kept?
One cannot altogether live on _love_ and _music_, though one must
_languish_ and _expire_ without them, as well _as with them_!

Charon.--If you are fond of good cheer, you have nothing to do but
to pay a visit to Tantalus. Are you thirsty? The Styx, the Cocytus,
and the Phlegethon present their waves to your acceptance.

Beau.--I should indeed rather prefer the nectar of the Gods--but as
I shall not stay long (for I make it a rule never to stay long in a
place) water may suffice!

Charon.--It would have been as easy to have escaped from the
Labyrinth of Dædalus, as the infernal regions!

Beau.--I have always (though as wild as March, and inconstant as
April) been a favourite with the fair! Ariadne procured for her
Theseus a means of escape.

Charon.--I make no doubt, from your conversation, that you are not
only the favourite, but the blessed Adonis of all the women: but
_that_ will avail you nothing. Lucifer, the unpitying Lucifer, though
you should promise to offer him every day three hundred bulls in
sacrifice[51], would not lend you even one of the smallest of his imps
to help you to get out.

Beau.--Did not Hercules escape from it, and carry Cerberus along
with him? Did not Æneas (with the assistance of the golden bough, and
led by the Cumæan Sybil) take the same journey to pay a visit to his
father? Why may not I, like Orpheus, go to visit it while living?

Charon.--Orpheus was particularly indulged, and Eurydice restored to
him on account of his charming voice, and the delightful music of his
lyre! You have no such pretensions. But Alecto, Megara, and Tysiphone,
will receive you graciously and open the gates of _Tartarus_ to you.
The least of your exploits will entitle you to their attentions:--they
are too good, too reasonable, too indulgent to require from you the
very great pains you have taken, through the whole course of your
life, to recommend yourself to them.

Beau.--Let us go then, old boy! I will try what a little flattery
will do with them! I can _say with Cæsar_, I wonder what fear
is!--(Aside) But my heart plaguily misgives me for _all that_! but in
my circumstances I must change for the better; my money is gone; and
as I never gamed, I cannot expect the _club_, _or the waiters at the
club_, to make _a subscription for me_!

Two peers and a baronet applied to Charon, to ferry them over to Munster-house: but Mercury again interfered, telling Lord C----d that although he had been thought in the world not to have been _sans quelque goût_ in the _belle maniere_, and had been an encourager of the _Belles Lettres_, yet as Minos only permitted them to come back to the world (in the present case) to do honor to superlative feminine merit, none but such who had paid a proper respect to the sex in their life-time could be indulged in that pleasure. But if he would burn his book (wherein he depreciates women, and considers them only as the toys of dalliance) in _the fiery billows of Phlegethon_, he would intercede for him with Minos. This the peer rejecting, his brother the baronet intreated to be permitted to go in his stead; but Mercury reminded him, he had pulled down a house built by Inigo Jones, and therefore could have no pretensions to taste!

Lord L----n was ferried over by himself; and after paying his compliments to Lady Darnley, returned; when the following dialogue took place in Elysium between his lordship, and the other peer above mentioned.

Lord C----d.---- Your lordship may believe that I could have no great pleasure in seeing a woman's follies: I was only desirous of inquiring what they are doing at home, or in America? Did I desire to punish an enemy in the severest manner, I would inflict nothing worse upon him than to oblige him to listen to all the follies in which he has no share, and to be witness to gaieties in which he cannot partake. My heart was never dilated by the amplitude of generous principles; nothing was ever interesting to me, but in proportion as it contributed to my _own_ particular _gratifications_. Curiosity now however prevailed with me to attempt going to discover in what way they are going on, being apprehensive of the consequences of the measures formerly adopted. Whoever would deprive men of their natural rights, is an enemy to the race of men; and he that thinks it can be effectuated without universal mischief, is a stranger to the ways of Providence; the most invariable rule of which is, That nothing contradictory to its original laws shall ever be accomplished, either of a physical or moral nature, without bringing ruin on that people which has instituted it. How few are capable of distinguishing the good and pernicious effects which will follow the instituting a new law, before it is enacted! To remedy present evils, they make a law which brings greater mischiefs along with it, though imperceptible to their shallow capacities. No two understandings on earth are more different than a judicial and legislative; many men enjoy the first, who have not the least emanation of the second. When a law is to be founded, which depends on the first principles in human nature, there genius only can effectuate any discovery of truth; the mind must dart forward into futurity, from the principles which it knows in human nature: a genius of quite a different kind from that of distinguishing between right and wrong in any particular case. The first only can form the legislator, and plan laws of utility and public good, the latter decide of the consequences of them when they are made. The one capacity is the most rare, most excellent and beneficial blessing bestowed on man; the other to be found in almost all mankind, or attainable by habit, yet useful when confined to its proper sphere of action, and not permitted to rove, with the imagination of the superior _few_, amongst the regions of exalted genius.

Lord L----n.---- It is not enough, my Lord, that the English are a _miserable_, they render themselves a _ridiculous_ people: And, after all the noise the brawlers make in the lower house, they only fight the battles, aid the wishes of the Americans, and exalt the triumph of the French! In private life it is reckoned a good expedient, for the sake of an easy, quiet life, to be patient and submissive under what are supposed _necessary evils_: but I differ so much from this maxim, that I am convinced those will ever be _trod upon_ who _creep_; and that certain submissions derogatory to a sense of honor in an individual or the nation, never _prevent the blow_, though it may be _protracted_ for a reason, in order to lay it on with a redoubled force at a time our strength is weakened, and that we are debilitated by our mortifications and a sense of the submissions we have made injurious to the honor of an individual or the pride of the nation. It is a mortifying area, but must have its place in the annals of this disgraced kingdom, whilst extravagance and every species of gaieties daily increase.

I am sorry to acquaint your Lordship, that the publication of your book has given in England the same wound to morality and business as the publication of _the spirit of laws_ has given in France to the monarchical constitution. The English study nothing now but the _Graces_. Procrastination is the _ton_, because any thing _abrupt is ungraceful_. The increase of manners has always been thought as imperceptible as the hand of a clock, which though in constant motion cannot be distinguished in _that motion_. But your book has occasioned a more rapid change: your countrymen having exchanged the _armour of Mars_ for the _amours of Venus_, their _greatness of mind_ and _magnanimity_ for _trifling pursuits_; and, instead of speaking forcibly in the senate, they whine a tale of love in the ear of their mistresses: having descended suddenly, like skilful musicians, from the _forte_ and the _pomposo_ to the _pia_ and the _pianissimo_. Refinement will bring us back to barbarity--far be it from me to suppose such an event can happen suddenly; but in the course of a few years, I make no doubt, as a man in days of yore that could read _had the benefit of clergy_, so will a man be esteemed an able minister, or an expert negotiator of business, if he can write a pretty sonnet--or dance a good minuet.

Lord C----d.---- The graces, my lord, I still say, the graces for ever--and as to dancing, can there be any science more useful for a minister to learn--to figure _out_ with a good grace, never to _lose time_, and not even to nod, instead of _sleeping a century_?[52]

Two other passengers applied to Charon to ferry them over the Styx, Homer and Ossian.

Mercury told Charon that he might carry Homer to Olympus, and place him with the Demigods; but he could not be permitted to go to Munster-house, for the same reason Lord C----d had been rejected: But Ossian had a just claim to that indulgence.

The Chief of other years being landed, addressed Lady Darnley as follows:

Ossian.----I have escaped from _the narrow-house_[53]! I have
crossed _Col-amon_[54], O daughter of Munster, to behold thy glory.
My joy returns as when I first beheld the maid, the white-bosomed
daughter of strangers, _Moina_[55] with the dark blue eyes: But
_Crimiona_[56] should be thy name, for thou art the guiding star of
the women of Albion, who mark no years with their deeds! Time rolls
on, seasons return, but they are still unknown. Vanity is their
recompence; and when their years shall have an end, no grey stone
shall rise to their renown! But the departure of thy soul shall be a
stream of light! A thousand bards shall sing of thy praise; and the
maids of harmony, with their trembling harps, shall relate thy mighty
deeds!

Thy son, when the years of his youth shall arise, will raise the
mould about thy stone, and bid it speak to other years! The joy of his
grief will be great! Like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant
and mournful to the soul. He will say, 'she will not come forth in her
beauty, will move no more in the steps of her loveliness: but she will
be like the rainbow on streams, or the gilding of sun-beams on the
hills! She has not fallen unknown! Her fame surrounded her like light;
her rays, like those of the sun, cherished all on whom they fell. Her
wealth was the support of the needy; the weak rested secure in her
halls! She softened at the sight of the sad; her blue eyes rolled in
tears for the afflicted; her breast of snow heaved for the oppressed;
and the moving of her lips assuaged their grief!--O sons of Albion,
may you behold her son, like the _halo_ of the _rainbow_, exhibit _the
same_ though _fainter colours_!'

Lady Darnley.--Father of heroes, dweller of eddying winds, thy
praise gladdens my heart! My soul is exalted, my fame secured, by the
voice of Conna[57]! Thou hast been a beam of light to latter times, as
thy mighty deeds have been remembered, though thou hast long been a
blast!

Thy renown grew only on the fall of the haughty; thy foes were the
sons of the guilty; but thine arms rescued the feeble!

Thou wentest forth in echoing steel, and conquered the king of many
isles: He brought thee his daughter Oina-moral, as an offering of
peace. She was gentle as the evening breeze; her hair was of a raven
black, and her bosom vied in whiteness with the _Canna_[58] on the
Fuar-Bhean[59].--And though thy locks were young, yielded her to the
hero she loved[60]! But like unto Cathmor[61] of old, I perceive the
sound of thy praises is displeasing to thine ear!

Ossian.--Just praise, like the water of a _clear fountain_, was ever
pleasant to my taste; but I never rejoiced in unmerited applause,
resigning that _muddy joy_ to the sons of later days!

It is true, O daughter of Albion, that, surrounded by the valiant in
arms, I conquered the king of many isles--that he presented the maid
to me in her loveliness as an offering of peace! She purpled the morn
with blushes as she approached, and scattered such bright rays, as the
sun might have dressed his beams with for that day's glory! But she
had given her heart to another, and met my eyes of love with sorrow!
In thrilling notes vibrating from her inmost soul, she conveyed to me
the pangs of her heart! 'Breaker of the shield (said she) give ear
unto the voice of mourning, attend to my tale, of woe--a tale, which
though thy eyes of steel are used more to strike fire than shed a
tear, must have that power to move thee.'

My parents had seen many returning seasons with their springs,
but no offspring of theirs arose. My mother lamented a disgrace,
scarce known amongst the daughters of Caledonia. She consulted the
cunning-man of the rock: He said, 'Daughter, be of good cheer; take
the son of thine adversary that is low, rear him; thy piety will be
rewarded; thou shalt have a daughter whom thou _must give him to
wife_!' When she declared this unto my father (as she was stricken in
years) there immediately ran a smile over his face, like the little
ruffling of water when a gentle breeze breathes upon the surface of a
lake; but he adopted Tonthormid, and some moons after I came forth as
a flower; but as the bud, hit with an envious worm ere he can spread
his sweet leaves to the air, or dedicate his beauty to the sun, dies,
so shall I soon fly away as a shadow. Not the white down that decks
the silver swan is more unlike the sooty raven's back, than my lover
from the rest of his sex. Bred up with him, my first accents were
attuned to love; he took delight in my infantine caresses. Time ran
on with its years--My father corrected my tenderness; and I became
sensible of my error as soon as I was conscious of my feelings.
Tonthormid also, from our inequality of fortune, tried to suppress his
passion, judging what was then a lambent fire, would soon blaze into a
flame! True love, like the lily of the vale, is fond of concealment;
but, as the fragrancy of the one occasions its discovery, so does the
concealment of the other prove its reality! I loved and was beloved;
my father saw, and approved our passion. A succession of moons had not
frozen the genial current of his soul, nor repeated shocks blunted all
its tenderest sensations--But we were ignorant of his intentions. When
he appointed us to meet him at his cave of contemplation, the heart of
Tonthormid palpitated with fear, mine with hope--we had a considerable
way to go, but _remained silent_!--we walked through a pleasant grassy
walk, shaded with rows of lime-trees, at the side of which ran along,
in plaintive murmurs, a crystal brook, on the side of whose mazy and
translucent stream were planted bushes of various kinds, with birds in
high harmony on the sprays.

Arrived at the cave, my father announced to my lover that he must
prepare to accompany him to battle! Aghast he stood, silent as the
midnight hour, unmoved as the statue of despair! The venerable Chief
reproached him for his coldness.

'Alas! said he, the din of arms is no more offensive to my ear than
the murmuring of falling waters, the vernal breeze sighing through the
leaves, or the melodious song of the evening nightingale; but if we
should fall in battle, what will become of this lovely maid?'

My father, swearing by the great Loda, promised I should be his--if
we conquered--but reminded him, that

'Love should be the zephyr, not the whirlwind of the soul!'

Tonthormid was all rapture, while every line in my countenance,
witnessed my satisfaction. We were restored to that unexpected
tranquility of spirits, which naturally follows a great dejection in
most minds, when the first pangs are somewhat abated--not unlike that
stillness in the sky which is sometimes observed when two opposite
and gentle winds have just overcome one another's motion--or like the
tide at the moment of high water, before it has received the contrary
direction.

They set out, receiving my caresses, intermixed with smiles and
tears, like an April sun shining through transient showers. They met
the foe, _conquered_, and _returned_.

The feast of shells was prepared, the maids of mirth attended with
their harps, and the rising sun would have beheld me Tonthormid's! The
virgins envied me in the hall, my steps were strewed with flowers, and
I was happiest, where a thousand are happy. The subtile air was calm
from mists, and water with her curled waves swept the bounded channels
of the deep; the nightingales were heard in the grove, and soothed
my soul with tender tales of love; not a breeze breathed through the
trees; all nature was still, as if it paid homage to our passion. But
oh! my summer's day was soon turned into winter's night! Ah, soul
ambition! which like water-floods, not channel bound, dost neighbours
overrun!--fell violence leaped forth like thunder wrapped in a ball of
fire! Thou camest with thy men of steel; I beheld thee from the clefts
of the rock; terrors turned upon me, like an earthquake they shook
my trembling heart! they still pursue my soul as the wind. My joy is
withered; my welfare has passed away like a cloud; my comforts have
been like winter suns, that rise late and set betimes, set with thick
clouds, that hide their light at noon!'

Thus sang the maid in her grief, like the _Lus-cromicina_, bending
in pensive silence, a beautiful flower drooping in the shade, wanting
the beams of the sun to revive it. She soon perceived my heart was
not made of brass, or carved from the stony rock. Hope animated her
weakened spirits, whilst the dignity of her soul irradiated every
feature; the blush of modesty stole over the cheek, and the graces
dwelt on her coral lips. Sweet as the dew from heaven her lovely
accents fell, and moved me. She proceeded, 'I see my tears have
mollified thy heart! If fame tells true, never over the fallen did
thine eyes rejoice, and thou knowest the herbs on the hill![62]
Restore me then to the hero that is low; my tears will refresh him,
as the dew of the morning doth the green herbage!--He mocked at fear;
never retired from the foe, or was ever vanquished, but by the son of
Fingal! Glorious is it to thee, O hero! great will be thy renown; thou
hast subdued the first of men!

Were the earth his bed, a rock his pillow, his curtain heaven,
with him alone could I be blessed! From a rock that weeps a running
crystal, I will fill his shell cup. I'll gently raise his weakened
body[63], and the murmur of this water, instead of music, shall charm
him into sleep; and whilst he sleeps my cares shall watch to preserve
him from the beast of prey! The fern on the heath, if cut a thousand
times, represents the same figure--so is the image of my love engraved
on the inmost core of my heart! I hold the _thread_ of his peace: can
I forget its delicate texture, or that it is warped with _those_ of
his heart? I could grow to my hero like ivy; but like the aspenleaf
I tremble, like the sensitive plant I shrink back at thy approach!
Thou mayest swim against the stream with a crab, feed against the wind
with the deer, but thou canst never possess my heart! Love for him, or
grief, are the only passions that can fill the heart of Oinamoral! But
thou mayest go forth in echoing steel and increase thy glory--or the
hearts of a thousand other virgins, will beat an unison to thy sighs,
and return thy passion!'