Chapter I: Part 1

Transcriber’s Note

Words in italics are marked with _underscores_.

Words in small capitals are shown in UPPER CASE.

Please also see the note at the end of the book.

THE CAIRN.

THE CAIRN

A GATHERING OF PRECIOUS
STONES FROM MANY
HANDS.

LONDON:
GEORGE BELL, 186, FLEET STREET.

1846.

TO THE READER.

My “Cairn” is principally raised by the hands of many friends whose honoured names are now with the dead, whose kind sympathies have cheered my checquered existence, and whose intercourse has often corrected and enlightened my mind, leading it to seek in occupation a refuge from painful feeling. These contributions, together with original thoughts, and the gleanings of my own reading, I presume to offer to the public; with the hope that where criticism finds ample cause to condemn, my acknowledged weakness may plead for indulgence. Several pages bear the record of memories associated with those dear to me, and of events long past. I presume to believe, that the perusal of the “Cairn,” cannot injure, and may not fruitlessly occupy or amuse an idle hour.

A SOLDIER’S DAUGHTER.

CONTENTS.

Page

Joy and Sorrow 1

Anne of Austria 2

Maternal Love 2

Anecdote of Cardinal d’Estrées 3

The Cemetry at Pisa 3

Lady Vane 4

Benevolence 5

Woman’s Pride 5

Sir Walter Raleigh 5

Poverty 6

Atheism 6

Detraction--_Montesquieu_ 6

Temper 7

Set forms of expression--_Philips_ 7

Henri Quatre 8

A Parliament Heel 9

On a new-born Child--_Sir W. Jones_ 9

Speech of Mr. Cuffe 9

Woman’s Devotion 10

Savage the Poet 11

A Fable--_The Hon. Henry Erskine, late
Lord Advocate of Scotland_ 11

Poverty 17

Charity twice blessed 18

Portrait of Charles I. 18

The Ballad 19

On a Lady not celebrated for cleanliness--_The
late Lord Chancellor, The Lord Erskine_ 19

Lady M. W. Montague 20

Inscrutable Providence 20

The Mother of the Cagot 21

Virtue of Absence 21

Overstrained Feeling 21

The Essex Ring 22

A Prayer 23

Letter from his late Majesty, King William IV. 24

Joan of Arc 25

Bear and forbear 26

A Gentleman 26

The awakened Idolater 27

Henry IV. of France 28

Time 30

Charles I. 30

Merit and good Fortune 31

The Petition of a Monkey--_Lord Erskine, late
Chancellor_ 32

Taste and Custom 35

Filial Duty 36

King of Prussia and Voltaire 36

To a Daughter, on her Marriage 37

James I. 37

On the Death of the Hon. John Gore 38

Abraham to Isaac 39

Zarapha to Rebecca 39

The Mansion of Rest 40

National Taciturnity 42

Election by Balls 42

Anecdote of Robespierre 43

The Old Woman and her Ass--_The Hon.
Henry Erskine, Lord Advocate of Scotland_ 44

Life a mingled Yarn 46

Henry VIII. and Francis I. 47

Anecdote of Torregiano 47

Decline of Families 48

Robert Bruce 49

How to meet Afflictions 49

Soho 50

Loss of a Parent 51

Fruit 51

Anecdote of Frederick the Great 52

Equity 53

Mussulman 54

Matthias, Count Thurnes 54

Sir Thomas More 55

Key to Happiness 55

John de Pelham 56

Prayer on the Prospect of Death 57

Whitehall 58

Adieu 59

Indifference 59

Unrequited Love 60

The Cross 60

Solitude 60

Prayer--_Voltaire_ 61

Method of preserving a Plant 61

Misfortune a Crime 61

Grecian Tablets 62

Christmas Day 62

George IV. 62

Ton of the French 63

Frederick the Great 63

The Widow of Barnevelt 64

Filial Love 64

Submission to Providence 66

A Gentleman 66

Love silent 66

The Wandering Jew 67

Statues 67

Charles, Prince of Wales 68

Affliction 68

Philadelphia 69

Tradition 72

Sicilians 73

Ancient Poetry 74

The Hottentots 74

Sedley 75

On the Loss of a Watch--_Lord Erskine_ 75

L’amicale Persévérance 77

Epigram 77

To the May Fly 78

From my Mother 79

To revive a Flower 80

Scenes from the Life of Titian 81

Trees for my Cottage 93

The Hand of Heaven 94

Effects of Sorrow on the Mind 94

Bayle and his Mother 94

Traditions 95

The Graves of the Departed Loved 96

Eyes of the Mind 96

Philosophy 96

Refinement 97

Sea Bathing 97

Effect of Scenery 98

Inscription on a Sun Dial 99

Law of Jury 99

Tradition 100

Tobacco 100

Duchess d’Abrantes 101

Philip II. of Spain 102

Beauty 102

Jacobite Poetry 103

Ill-placed Confidence 104

Charity of Mind 104

Bells 104

La Mélancolie 105

A Fire Screen 105

Banquo’s Son 106

Uncertainty 106

The Drowning Fly 107

The Mulgrave Family 107

Le Bonheur 108

Catherine de Medicis 109

Epitaph 109

Prosperity and Adversity 110

The great Condé 110

Resignation 110

Le Tems 111

A Reflection--_Seneca_ 111

Maréchale de Luxembourg 112

The Spider 112

On Fenelon 112

Flowers 112

To-morrow 113

Letter of Marian Delorme 113

Physiognomy 116

A Father’s Death Bed 117

The Plague 118

Trifles 121

Margaret of Anjou and Renè of Sicily 122

To Julia 123

Good Nature 123

Welsh Air 124

Lines by Henry VI. 124

Manner 124

Lines by Raleigh 125

Speech of a Shawanese Chief 125

Greek Costume 126

On a Rose growing in a Skull--_Gen. Carrol_ 127

A fearful Witness 127

Thirteenth Century 128

Game of Cassino 128

Local Associations 128

On the Choice of a Wife 129

Henry IV. 129

Prayer by Mary Queen of Scots 129

Anecdote of the Duke of Suffolk 130

To the Memory of Sir Thomas Picton 130

True Magnanimity 131

On a Music Master--_The Hon. H. Erskine_ 131

The Emperor and the Opera Dancer 131

Gibbon 135

Herveys 135

Coquetry 135

Charles V. 136

Family MSS. 136

Dirge 137

Sir Thomas More 141

Providence--_Felicaii_ 142

Cromwell 143

Spanish Proverb 143

Epigram--_The Hon. H. Erskine_ 144

Hyder Ali--_Burke_ 144

The Seal 148

Thought 148

Pride of Birth 149

The Pretender 150

Chloe--_The Hon. H. Erskine_ 150

Thought 150

Duke of Buckingham 151

A Portrait 152

Churchyards in Denmark 152

Machiavelli 153

Dante 153

Petition of the Wife of an Indian Chief 154

Volcanos 157

Saint George 157

Poem 157

Queen of Bohemia--_Sir H. Wootton_ 158

Thought 159

Fire from Heaven 159

Origin of Coats of Arms 160

Lord Bacon 160

Bells 160

Arthur’s Round Table 161

Sir Walter Raleigh 162

Saint George 163

Duelling 163

Delight in Disorder--_Herrick_ 164

Lord Strafford’s Meditations 164

Time 167

Lamentations selfish 167

Thought 167

Lines from the Spanish 168

Phrenology 168

Stoves 169

Christina, Queen of Sweden 170

Sir Benjamin Rudyerd 172

King of Prussia’s Guard 174

Premature Judgment 174

Benvenuto Cellini 175

Thought 176

Mind and Body 176

Love 179

Wedding Rings 179

Hope and Grief--_W. Maddocks_ 180

Unjust Suspicion 181

Thought 181

Capucine Friars 181

Arms of the House of Medici 182

Michael Angelo 182

Sir Sidney Smith 192

Bees 192

Bayonets 194

Hope 194

Oliver Cromwell 195

Sandwiches 196

Catherine, Empress of Russia 196

The Milk Score 197

Duke of Monmouth 197

Death 199

Origin of the Title of Earl 200

Thought 201

James II. 202

Thought 202

Thought 202

Thought 202

Sea-fire 203

Lisez et Croyez 203

To a Lady 204

Troubadours 204

Thought 204

Letter from Mde. Du Duffand 205

Thought 205

Pride and Humility 205

Thought 206

Thought 206

Voltaire 206

Antipathies 208

Anne of Austria 209

The MSS. 213

Thought 213

The Nursing of Love--_Hon. W. Spencer_ 214

An Opera 215

Calumny and Detraction 215

Goût and Gout--_Lord Erskine_ 215

Les Lazzaroni 216

Louis XVIII. 217

Directions to a Porter 218

Title of Sforza 219

Duke of Calabria 219

Love and Reason 220

Clocks 222

Tea and Coffee 222

French and English 223

Scandal 223

Thought 223

Thought 224

Personal Beauty 224

Daguerrotype 224

Thought 224

Thought 224

Pyramids 225

The Congress 225

Sketch of our Saviour’s Person--_Josephus_ 226

Ennui 227

Thought 227

On an Infant 228

English, French, and Germans 228

Hôtel à Paris “à vendre, ou à louer” 228

Epigram 228

Russian Anecdote 229

Russian Anecdote 230

Hospitality of the remote Ages 231

Turkish Anecdote 231

Thought 231

Anti-Moine, or Antimony 232

Extract from Dr. Johnson’s Correspondence 232

Earl of Buchan 233

The State of Man 233

Parfilage 233

Taste 234

Les Riens 234

A Cottage in Scotland 235

Linnæus 237

Hortensia, or Hydranger 237

Filial Affection 237

Vestige of ancient Saxon Dialect 239

The Torpedo 240

Thought 240

Wait and Hope 240

Mother and Child 241

Louis XVIII. 241

Education 242

Dr. Johnson on the loss of his Mother 243

Recollections in the Cathedral at Malines or
“Mechlin” in Belgium 243

`A Madame Warner 244

To change the Colour of a Rose 244

Wholesome Truth 245

Sir Sidney Smith 245

Lines by Maucroix 245

The Prisoner of St. Helena 246

Children’s Shoes 246

Brantome 246

Hopelessness 247

The Coffee Tree 247

A Portrait 247

A Key to the Thoughts 248

Old China 248

The Indulgence of Providence 248

Les Assassins 249

Pausilippo 250

Gesner 251

Futurity 251

Death 252

Ambergris 252

Quinquina, or Peruvian Bark 253

Critique on David’s Picture of the Deluge 253

THE CAIRN

A GATHERING OF PRECIOUS STONES FROM MANY HANDS.

[Sidenote: Joy.]

Joy paints with its own colours every act and thought. The _happy_ do not feel poverty, for delight is a gold tissued robe, and crowns them with priceless gems. Enjoyment plays the cook to their homely fare, and mingles intoxication with their simple drink. Joy strews the hard couch with roses, and makes labour ease. Sorrow doubles the burthen to the beaten down, plants thorns in the unyielding pillow, mingles gall with water, adds saltness to their bitter bread, clothing them in rags and strewing ashes on their bare heads. To our irremediable distress every small and petty inconvenience comes with added force. We sink beneath the additional feather chance throws on us; The grass-hopper is a burthen.

❦

[Sidenote: Purgatory.]

Anne of Austria, queen of Louis XIII. was extremely delicate in all that concerned the care of her person; it was scarcely possible to find lawn or cambric sufficiently fine for her use. Cardinal Mazarin used to say that her punishment in purgatory would be, her being obliged to sleep in Holland sheets!

❦

[Sidenote: The recollection of a Mother.]

It is ever thus, whenever I am unhappy I bring distant and impossible events together, I turn to the thought of you, my Mother, for comfort, and I feel that _you are not_, that on earth you can never be again, that all my grief, and all my love, multiplied a thousand fold, could not recall you for one little hour; and I wish again for you, my blessed Mother, as though but just snatched from me. Time, they say, lessens grief. Yes, its constancy, not its intensity; it may give us even long intervals of peace and happiness, but when grief does return, it is strong and keen and deep as ever. How indeed can regret for such a loss be lessened? Can the thought of a Mother’s love, such a love as mine bore me, ever lose its charm, its influence? Not, I am sure, even when the reality is lost; what it _was_ to me, so it _is_. Perishable things alone lose their value. Time withers flowers, but does not dim the diamond; and shall love for the being who gave us birth, the only real emanation of the Deity, that burns within us, perish as a passion of the earth? Can what is ethereal change its nature, as grosser substances? the eternal become mortal, the infinite be bounded, and what is born of the soul know death? Never!

❦

[Sidenote: Anecdote of Cardinal d’Estrées.]

“Cæsar bishop of Laon and Cardinal d’Estrées, son of the first Marshall of France of that name, was employed in various negotiations with the Princes of Italy; but is now more remembered for his courtier-like reply to Louis XIV. That Monarch one day at dinner complained of having lost all his teeth. ‘And who is there, Sire, that has any teeth?’ said the Cardinal (Sire, qui est-ce qui a des dents?). What made the flattery the more ludicrously gross was, that the Cardinal, though an old man, had remarkably fine teeth and showed them very much whenever he opened his mouth.”

❦

[Sidenote: Church-yard at Pisa.]

The Church yard at _Pisa_ is surrounded by a superb Portico, and contains earth impregnated with alkali, or calcareous salts, which reduces the dead bodies to ashes in twenty four hours.

❦

[Sidenote: An Advertisement.]

Whereas Frances wife of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount Vane, has for some months past absented herself from her husband, and the rest of her friends:--I do hereby promise to any person, or persons who shall discover where the said Lady Vane[1] is concealed, to me, or to Francis Harwes, Esq. her father, so that either of us may come to the speech of her, the sum of £100, as a reward to be paid by me on demand at my lodgings in Piccadilly. I do also promise, the name of the person, who shall make such discovery shall be concealed if desired. Any person concealing or lodging her after this advertisement shall be prosecuted with the utmost rigour; or if her Ladyship will return to me, she may depend upon being kindly received. She is about twenty two years of age, tall, well shaped, has light brown hair, is fair complexioned, and has her upper teeth placed in an irregular manner. She had on when she absented a red damask French Lacque, and was attended by a French woman who speaks very bad English.

VANE.
January the 24th. 1737.

[1] Lady Vane was the Lady of fashion whose adventures form so interesting an episode in “Peregrine Pickle.”

❦

[Sidenote: Delicacy of Feeling.]

The best parts of human qualities are the tenderness and delicacy of feeling in little matters, the desire to soothe and please others, the minutiæ of the social virtues. Some ridicule these feminine attributes, which are left out of many men’s natures: but I have known the brave, the intellectual, the eloquent possess these gentle qualities; the braggart, the weak, never! Benevolence and feeling ennoble the most trifling actions.

❦

_On a Tablet in the South Aisle of St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster._

[Sidenote: Inscription.]

Within the walls of this Church was deposited the body of the great Sir Walter Raleigh Kt. on the day he was beheaded in the old Palace yard Westminster Oct. 18th. 1618.

Reader, should you reflect on his errors, remember his many virtues, and that he was a mortal.

❦

[Sidenote: Alienation from Society.]

A woman must have either a very good or a very bad conscience, to find happiness in a complete alienation from society.

❦

[Sidenote: Poverty.]

Oh Poverty! or what is called a reverse of fortune, among the many bitter ingredients that thou hast in thy most bitter cup, thou hast not one so insupportably bitter, as that which brings us in close and hourly contact with the earthen ware and huckaback beings of the nether world. Even the vulgarity of inanimate things it requires time to get accustomed to, but living, breathing, bustling, plotting, planning, human vulgarity, is a species of _moral ipecacuanha_, enough to destroy any comfort.

❦

[Sidenote: Athéisme impossible.]

Si l’impiété pouvait se comprendre, ce serait au sein des grandes villes où il ne reste presque plus rien de ce que Dieu a fait, où on ne voit pas le Ciel. Mais en présence des grandes colères de l’océan, l’homme se trouve à chaque instant dans des situations telles que la puissance de tous les hommes réunis n’en pourrait sauver un seul. Peut-on oublier Dieu, peut-on croire que les fleurs n’ont été inventées que pour être jetées au théâtre à des danseuses en sueur?--

❦

[Sidenote: Calumny.]

Montesquieu says, I never listen to calumnies, because if they are untrue I run the risk of being deceived, and if they be true, of hating persons not worth thinking about.

❦

[Sidenote: Temper.]

When moralists, religionists, and philosophers of all sorts, set about reasoning on the phenomena of the world we live in, and contemplating the mass of human misery to be found therein, trace it to fearful crimes, they overlook one little cause of suffering which blights more happiness, and neutralises a greater portion of God’s bounteous favours, than all the heinous enormities of our depraved race put together. This hateful, stealthy, heart-destroying blight is often found, where every thing like atrocious vice is utterly unknown, and where many of the highest virtues flourish. All may exist, with a _sour temper_!

❦

_Set forms of expression inserted for imitation, by Edward Philips, a
nephew of_ Milton’s.

[Sidenote: Forms of expression.]

You are the miracle of friendship.

You are the usurer of fame.

My genius and yours are friends.

I will unrip my very bosom to you.

My tongue speaks the freedom of my heart.

Sure winter dwells upon your lip, the snow is not more cold.

The sun never met the summer with more joy.

It is no pilgrimage to travel to your lips.

You are a white enchantress, lady, you can enchain me with a smile.

Her name like some celestial fire quickens my spirit.

Midnight would blush at this.

There’s music in her smiles.

I will, like the perfumed winde, sport with your hair. Report could never have a sweeter air to fly in, than your breath.

Would I were secretary to your thoughts.

You walk in artificial clouds, and bathe your silver limbs in wanton dalliance.

❦

[Sidenote: An Answer to Vanity.]

In the reign of Louis XIV. the citizens of Pau had petitioned the King for leave to place a statue of “Henri quatre” in the market place of this his native town. The only reply which the vain monarch condescended to make was to send them his own statue. Of course obedience was imperative, but in erecting the statue of Louis the XIV. they inscribed on the pedestal, “This is the grandson of our good Henri.”[2]

[2] Celui-ci est le petit fils de notre bon Henri.

❦

[Sidenote: Woman’s pride.]

The _Pride_ of woman, natural to her, never sleeps till _modesty_ is gone.

❦

[Sidenote: “Parliament Heel.”]

What satire can be more pointed than the term applied by seamen when desirous of ascertaining the rottenness of a ship’s lower timbers, or detecting her unsoundness, they give her what they call a “_Parliament heel_.”

❦

[Sidenote: On a new-born child.]

From the Persian by Sir William Jones.

On Parent knee, a naked new-born child,
Weeping thou sat’st, whilst all around thee smil’d,
So live, that sinking in thy last long sleep,
Pleas’d thou may’st smile, whilst all around thee weep.

❦

_Speech of Mr. Cuffe, Secretary to the Earl of Essex, who was executed
in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, for the same offence that brought his
master to the block._

[Sidenote: Speech of Mr. Cuffe.]

“I am here adjudged to die for acting an act never plotted, for plotting a plot never acted. Justice will have her course; accusers must be heard; greatness will have the victory; scholars and naturalists (though learning and valour should have the pre-eminence) in England must die like dogs, and be hanged.

To mislike this, were but folly! to dispute it, but time lost! to alter it, impossible! but to endure it is manly, and to scorn it, magnanimity! The Queen is displeased, the lawyers injurious, and death terrible; but I crave pardon of the Queen; forgive the lawyers and the world; desire to be forgiven, and welcome death!

❦

[Sidenote: Woman’s Love.]

Look at the career of Man, as he passes through the world; of Man, visited by misfortune! How often is he left by his fellow man, to sink under the weight of his afflictions, unheeded and alone! one friend of his own sex forgets him, another neglects him, a third perhaps betrays him; but woman, faithful woman, follows him in his misery with unshaken affection; braves the changes of his feelings, of his temper, embittered by the disappointments of the world, with the highest of all the passive virtues; a resigned patience ministers to his wants, even when her own are hard and pressing; weeps with him, “_tear for tear_,” in his distress, and is the first to catch and to reflect a ray of joy, should but one light up his languid countenance in the midst of his sufferings: and never leave him to his misery, whilst there remains one act of love, duty, or compassion to be performed. And at the last, when life and sorrow cease together, follows him to the tomb with that ardour of affection which death alone can destroy.

❦

[Sidenote: Life of Savage.]

It is related in proof of the deep interest with which Johnson’s life of Savage must be perused, that Sir Joshua Reynolds, during a visit at a friend’s in Devonshire, took it up one day by accident, and so intensely did the work occupy his attention, that he continued in the same position, leaning his elbow on the chimney piece till he had read it through, when attempting to move his arm it was benumbed.

❦

_The Musical Instruments._

[Sidenote: A Fable.]

The Beaux and Belles were gone, the Concert o’er,
And Kelly’s sprightly strains were heard no more;
Thro’ the deserted room dead silence reign’d,
And still and dumb each tuneful string remain’d;
When from the case in which a Fiddle lay
Arose a voice that said or seem’d to say:
“Basses and Tenors, Kettledrums and Flutes,
Trumpets, and Horns, Fiddles, Flageolets,
From you that solemn groan to you that squeak,
Patient attend and hear a brother speak:
Oft have I mused with sorrow and regret,
Since here confined I mourn’d my captive state,
That tho’ from Harmony our being rose,
We unconnected live, nor friends nor foes;
Nor know society, till in the band
We yield our music to the master’s hand;
Those happy moments o’er, confined again,
Silent and un-united we remain:
Let us for mutual interest then combine;
To each his different share of power assign;
And from our choice that no dissension spring,
Speak, all, and let the worthiest be our King,
Under whose reign, by man when unemploy’d,
Peace, harmony and bliss may be enjoy’d.”
He spoke, thro’ all melodious accents ran,
And the slow solemn Organ thus began:
“Much I approve my four string’d brother’s scheme,
And own it oft has been my silent theme,
And since harmonic merit mounts the throne,
I claim the royal title as my own.
Observe me well when glorious here I stand,
And with a look alone respect command.
On me has man bestow’d his utmost care,
And as he found me great he found me fair;
My front with pipes of radiant gold array’d
Above the painter’s utmost art display’d;
This made a thousand instruments combine
And all in one great, glorious whole conjoin:
Nor do I boast of outward form alone,
For Harmony has mark’d me as her own;
Has taught my sweetly solemn sounds to flow
In all the pomp and majesty of woe;
Has taught my notes on seraph’s wings to fly,
And raise the ravish’d soul above the sky;
Has made in Heaven’s own that voice rever’d,
And kings to kneel whenever it is heard.
To whom then but to me shall pow’r be given,
Who rule on earth and lead the way to heaven?”
The Organ spoke majestically slow,
And thus the brazen Trumpet ’gan to blow:
“Were size enormous or were colours bright
To strike the judgment as they strike the sight,
The world’s great empire would disputed lie
’Twixt the huge whale and gilded butterfly;
But the gay peacock vainly strives to sing,
In vain the unwieldy ostrich spreads his wing,
While music swells the homely linnet’s throat,
And on the yielding air the little swallows float.
I boast no beauty then, I boast no size,
Since nought but merit true can gain the prize:
If so, I boldly call that prize my own,
And claim, whoe’er oppose that claim, the throne.
If warlike feats, if deeds of high renown,
Bravely perform’d, on men bestow the crown,
Like right is mine, who still am heard afar,
The dreadful harbinger of glorious war;
At whose loud voice, heroic ardour springs
In the bold hearts of heroes and of kings.
With them where’er they go, I brave my fate,
With them victorious share their royal state;
Till men whene’er my glorious voice they hear,
Know that a hero or a prince is near.
Such are my claims, let me your ruler be,
Receive a hero and a King in me.”
He ended, and the silver sounding Flute
Thus strove the boaster’s title to confute:
“Brothers of Harmony, whose breathings move
The human soul to virtue, peace, and love,
Shall we be ruled by one whose dreadful breath
Spreads thro’ the world division, discord, death?
Let kings for fame forget their people’s good,
And butchering heroes wade in harmless blood,
While we endeavour, as by Heaven design’d,
To soothe and not inflame the human mind.
In the sweet shade, and by the silent stream,
I softly sing, and peace and love my theme.
To my gay notes, beneath the checker’d shade,
Dance the blithe shepherd and the harmless maid.
Far from destroying war or faithless courts
I seek the scenes where innocence resorts,
There have I learnt betimes, in virtue’s school,
The _art_, do you bestow the _power_ to rule.”
Soon as the gentle Flute had spoke his claim
From every corner mingling murmurs came:
With loud commanding note the Fiddle swore
Ne’er was _his_ preference denied before;
’Twas he that still employed the master’s hand,
Follow’d obsequious by the list’ning Band;
Nay swore, that _Kelly_ learnt from him the art
To rule with magic sounds the human heart!
The Harpsichord, the fav’rite of the fair,
Talk’d much of _them_, and plac’d his merits there.
Clamour on clamour grew, each prais’d his own,
And strove his neighbour’s merits to run down;
Till frightened Harmony forsook the room,
And crashing Discord shook the lofty dome;
Up rose at last a chief of little _fame_,
Yet mighty _use_, and _Pitch pipe_ was his name;
In steady unison he thus began,
While wonder thro’ the place in murmur ran:
“Brethren of melody, to whom ’tis given
By man, first taught the glorious art by Heaven,
The various passions of the human soul,
To raise, to soothe, to heighten, to controul;
To thrill with softest sounds the lover’s heart,
To raise his transports, or to soothe his smart;
To cheer the sinking soul with liveliest air,
To soften madness or to calm despair;
To rule the thousand sympathies that bind,
With strongest, sweetest ties, the human mind.
Such are your powers while Harmony _shall_ reign,
By her forsaken, all those powers are vain.
His hallow’d notes in vain the Organ blows,
The Fiddle’s tone with sweet expression glows;
In vain the Flute soft blows his am’rous breath,
The strepent Trumpet speaks the sounds of death;
Vainly they strive to move the feeling soul,
Till heaven-born Harmony conduct the whole.
For _me_ one _note_ does all my power confine,
Employ’d for others’ uses, not for mine;
And yet, however small my compass be,
Harmonic _Union_ you must owe to me;
For still by me, whene’er you sound alone,
Or mix in concerts, must be fix’d your _tone_.
Then strive no more but fix on _me_ your choice,
Who save from discord, strife, confusion, noise;
So shall the powers of music matchless reign,
Nor has divine Cecilia come from heaven in vain.”
He said, and straight his tone, tho’ simple sound,
Conviction follow’d, and himself was crown’d.
’Tis thus, my friend, that in the human soul
The various movements _Reason_ should controul,
While headlong sallies Prudence should restrain,
And fancy yield to Judgment’s shady reign;
If the kind muse poetic rage inspire,
Or glows the breast with patriotic fire,
If wit, that seldomer does good than harm
’Midst social scenes, shall teach the tongue to charm,
If love with sweet sensations fills the mind,
Or sacred friendship mutual bosoms bind,
Howe’er with _genius_, _fancy_, _feeling_ blest,
’Tis Prudence must direct, or vain are all the rest.

❦

[Sidenote: Reflection.]

Let none imagine that the bare letter of duty or even the reputation of good resolutions will bear them with “golden opinions” through a life of action, despising those means which, like the farmer’s heavy rollers, smoothen the ground they are compelled to crush. Let such persons neglect that amenity, that considerate bearing, so essential in the intercourse of life, and infallibly the return will be found a bitter harvest of aversion.

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[Sidenote: Poverty.]

Print this in thy thought, that whatever virtue thou hast, be it never so manifold, if thou be poor withal thou and thy qualities shall be despised: besides Poverty is a shame amongst men, an imprisonment of the mind, a vexation of every worthy spirit. Thou shalt neither help thyself or others, thou shalt drown thee in all thy virtues, having no means to show them; thou shalt be a burthen and an eyesore to thy friends; every one will fear thy company.

❦

If you are wretched, the world will mock your wretchedness--if you are poor, you will be insulted and contemned--and if proud, you will be exposed to hourly mortification.

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Though nothing can be more galling to a generous spirit than to be placed under obligation by meanness, it is purely delightful to be beholden to one of its own calibre. Charity _is_ then indeed twice blessed, when the giver and the receiver are equally elevated above the selfish and sordid feelings of vulgar humanity.

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[Sidenote: Portrait of Charles I.]

It is recorded of the celebrated Sculptor Giovanni Lorenzi Bernini, that on his seeing the painting by Vandyke which presents three portraits of King Charles I. on the same canvass, the one a front face, the other a half side, and the third a profile, the artist observed, “whoever the individual be whose likeness these three portraits represent, I am of opinion that the same will come to an untimely end.”

This painting had been expressly taken and forwarded to Rome in order that Bernini might, from the resemblance, sculpture a marble bust of the king; which accordingly he did, and King Charles, the best and greatest patron of the arts that England can boast of, was so much pleased with the performance, that he sent Bernini a very valuable ring, saying to the person whom he commissioned to deliver it, “Andate a coronar quello mano, che ha fatto si bel lavarno.”

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“The _Ballad_” was the favourite dance of the Italians. This word now used only to designate the words of a peculiar species of _song_, is derived from the Italian “_ballare_” to dance, and originally signified a dance accompanied by a chaunt. This dance was probably pantomimic, exhibiting the story of the accompanying verse by that expressive gesticulation in which the Italians of all ages have excelled.

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_On a Lady not celebrated for her attention to cleanliness._

Accept, dear Peg, in moral lays,
The thanks a grateful heart repays;
Oft has my soul, puff’d up with pride,
The truths of sacred writ denied,
And to myself I still have said,
Sure mankind ne’er of dust was made,
Till thou, dear Peg, revers’d my creed,
And shew’d me, we are _dirt_ indeed.

❦

Relate your story simply, and never forget that overcharged accusations will always assume in the eyes of the court the appearance of calumny.

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[Sidenote: Lady M. W. Montague.]

Spence says of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, that she is one of the most shining characters in the world; but she is like a comet, she is all irregularity, and always wandering: the most wise, most imprudent, loveliest, most disagreeable, best natured, cruelest woman in the world.

Of herself she writes, “I thank God I still retain my taste for the gay part of reading. Wise people may think it trifling, but it serves to sweeten life to me, and is at least better than the generality of conversation.” I know by experience how far the love of reading is capable of softening the cruelest accidents of life: even the happiest cannot be passed without many weary hours, and there is no remedy so easy as books, which if they do not give cheerfulness, at least restore quiet to the most troubled mind.

Gardening is certainly the next amusement to reading.

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The mild air gives birth to pestilence, and the whirlwind, though it uproots trees, destroys the devouring locust. God blesses in a blow, and punishes in a gift. To hasten the ripening of the fig, we pierce it; and what so sweet as the wounded pulp?

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[Sidenote: The Mother of the Cagot.]

Strange but beautiful is the strength of maternal affection. This object to all others so hideous--that for earth to hide his deformity, for death to close upon his afflictions, seems a boon to be prayed for, a mercy to be acknowledged with thankfulness--in the eyes of his mother is one of hope and of interest as great as the most perfect. She weeps not that he was born, but that he dies; weeps as passionately as the parent who loses the most beautiful, the most gifted offspring: perhaps more so than if he _had_ been beautiful and gifted, for then he would not have been exclusively dependant on her love and care. Is it not right there should be a source in the desert as well as in the valley? Blessed is the illusion the mother’s heart lends to her eyes! yet alas! for the “_Cagot_,” the earth brings forth healing herbs in vain, the Church withholds her rites in vain. Their degradation, their destitution is appalling.

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As the storm which bruises the flower nourishes the tree, so absence, which starves a weak affection, strengthens a strong one.

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Strain the Bow, and the arrow swerves; such is the case with the mind.

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[Sidenote: The Essex Ring.]

_Lines written by Buchanan, in the year 1564, and sent by Mary Queen of
Scotland, with a diamond ring, to Elizabeth Queen of England._

This Gem, behold, the emblem of my heart,
From whence my Cousin’s image ne’er shall part;
Clear in its lustre, spotless does it shine;
As clear, as spotless is this heart of mine.
What tho’ the stone a greater hardness wears,
Superior firmness still the figure bears.

This is the same ring so celebrated afterwards as that given by Queen Elizabeth to the Earl of Essex, and intrusted with a prayer for his life by that unfortunate nobleman to the Countess of Nottingham, who perfidiously concealed her mission till the solemnity of a death-bed influenced her to disclose the circumstance to the Queen. The ring is now in the possession of the descendant of Sir Thomas Warner, to whom it was given by King James I.

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[Sidenote: Reflections.]

I regret the not having oftener noted down the hopes and agitations which have often influenced my feelings: it would have furnished some apology for that fitful and impatient inequality of manner, which has arisen from the strain of feeling which each hour has brought with it--the pain arising from the ineffectual struggle to obtain the credit for good intentions, and the just appreciation of my motives.

I begin to find every effort vain; and after years of anxious labour and personal sacrifice, I have only reaped one certain harvest--the just valuation of my fellow beings; so different from what I saw it under happier circumstances. I have acquired the certainty that the poor are made poorer, the sorrowing more sad, whenever it is from a fellow worm we look for aid or comfort; and that the best, the most upright intentions will not shield the unprotected from those who are only strong from our incapacity to resist.

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_Flacourt’s History of Madagascar contains the following sublime
Prayer, said to be used by the people we call Savages._

“O Eternal, have mercy upon me, because I am passing away. O Infinite, because I am weak. O Sovereign of life, because I draw nigh to the grave. O Omniscient, because I am in darkness. O All bounteous, because I am poor. O All sufficient, because I am nothing.”

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_From his late Majesty, King William IV. to Sir Charles Shipley, on his
release from a French prison, through the heroic exertions of his
wife._

Richmond, January 6th, 1796.

Dear Sir,

Last week I received yours of the 31st and Mrs. Shipley’s of the 8th of October, by which I am happy to find you have at last effected your exchange, and that you have the additional satisfaction to receive it at the hands of your affectionate wife. My best wishes and compliments attend Mrs. Shipley. Assure her from me I shall always preserve her letter as a proof of her real affection for her husband and children. I hope and believe the time will come when I shall have the power to exert my friendship in your behalf; and be persuaded, that this instance of Mrs. Shipley’s fortitude and exertions for her family will ever find in me the warmest friend. I shall be happy to hear from you of those events which may both tend to the honour of our country and the advantage of you and your family. Adieu, my dear friend: God bless you and yours again and again, and ever believe me, my good Sir,

Yours sincerely,

WILLIAM.

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[Sidenote: Joan of Arc.]

It is not possible to reflect on the fate of this hapless Visionary without the deepest interest: whether she be considered as really believing herself as _Heaven-sent_, or as a young and uneducated enthusiast, quitting her humble path in life, and by the sole aid of her own talents obtaining the confidence of the greatest heroes of the day. If policy rendered her a necessary victim to its purposes, it must be lamented that such was the case.

Her statue in the market place at _Rouen_, is the first object to which the Cicerone of that town conducts the curious traveller; but I would recommend my countrymen to avoid this spot: as an _Englishwoman_ I felt uncomfortable, when I turned from the meek placid features shaded by the plumes of the warrior’s casque. The comments of my Norman guide were needless, and in reply to his invectives against “les Anglais,” I could only sigh, “’Tis true, ’tis pity--pity ’tis ’tis true.”

“Jeanne d’Arc, known by the designation of the ‘Maid of Orleans,’ was born at the village of Domremi sur Meuse, and was a servant at an inn: being endowed with bodily strength, and a hardihood of character beyond her sex, she introduced herself to the brave _Dunois_, as the chosen champion of France, and distinguished herself in the cause of Charles VII. She was taken prisoner at _Compiegn_ in 1430, and conducted to _Rouen_, where, being condemned as a sorceress by the Ecclesiastical Power, to which she was given up by the English chiefs, she was burnt alive in the public market place. In speaking of this unfortunate Amazon, _Malherbe_ aptly observes that, having lived like _Alcides_, it was just she should die as he died.

L’ennemi tous droits violant,
Belle Amazone, en vous brûlant
Témoigna son âme perfide;
Mais le destin n’eut point de tort;
Celle qui vivoit comme _Alcide_,
Devoit mourir comme il est mort.

❦

_Bear and forbear._

The longer I live in this world of roses and thorns, the more I learn to revere those philanthropic axioms, “Bear and forbear,” “Live and let live,”--and to reverence a faith, whose Christian founder has made it a condition of having our trespasses forgiven, that we should forgive the trespasses against us.

❦

Liberality and generosity of feeling is the surest test of a gentleman.

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[Sidenote: The awakened Idolater.]

Until I sought and found the living God, I was an Idolater. I asked the carved wood to lengthen my days, and the sapless image to give me health. I fashioned a statue of molten silver, and bowed down before the works of my hands. I adored the brute nourished by my care, and demanded protection from the herbs planted by my labour. But when I reflected that all things perished, I asked how I could be indebted for life to that which could not ensure life to itself? The glorious sun then appeared to me deserving of worship, until my mind enquired by whom that sun was made.

I examined the texture of a flower, and called it admirable: I watched the motions of an insect, and beheld its organs perfect: I strove to build a nest, but the sparrow was the better workman. I saw the cranes fly against the wind, and the fishes against the stream, and I asked, who had taught them thus to protect their feathers and their scales. I marked the birds of passage, and said to the new-fledged swallow prepared for flight, Why thus leave thy home for distant and unknown regions? Wilt thou find good and congenial air whither thou goest? Who instructs thee when to depart? Who will guide thy course through the trackless firmament? and how wilt thou know the season to return? I saw the woodpecker turn her eggs, that they might equally receive the vital warmth; and the partridge trail her wing before the ensnarer, to beguile his footsteps from her young. I observed that the wild beasts slept while man was abroad, and that they sought their prey while man slept. How equally, said I, are the waters balanced, and how great the influence of the stars! The movements of the planets, the changes of the moon, the repelling and attracting qualities of the sun, all--all alike marvellous and sublime. Whom do these things obey? what hand doth direct the great machinery of the universe? and for whom were all these goodly wonders created? I then looked upon myself: I examined my limbs, my powers, my senses. There is a Providence! I cried, and the idols of wood dropped from my hand. There is but one God! I exclaimed, the Almighty, Creator of all things in heaven and on earth, Source of all good and harmony; and henceforth, Him only will I worship!

❦

[Sidenote: Henry IV. of France.]

“Henry, par la grâce de Dieu, roi de Navarre, prince souverain de Béarn, premier pair et prince de France, s’oppose à la déclaration et excommunication de Sixte V. soi-disant pape de Rome, la maintient fausse et en appelle comme d’abus en la cour des pairs de France, desquels il a l’honneur d’être le premier; et en ce qui touche le crime d’hérésie, de laquelle il est faussement accusé par cette déclaration, dit et soutient que Monsieur Sixte, soi-disant pape, sauve sa sainteté, en a malicieusement menti, et que lui-même est hérétique. Ce qu’il fera prouver en plein concile libre et légitimement assemblé; auquel, s’il ne consent, et ne s’y soumet, comme il est obligé par ses droits canons mêmes, il le tient et déclare pour anté-christ et hérétique: et en cette qualité veut avoir guerre perpétuellement irréconciliable avec lui; proteste cependant de nullité; et de recourir contre lui et ses successeurs, pour réparation d’honneur et de l’injure qui lui est faite, et à toute la maison de France: que si, par la passé, les rois et princes ses prédécesseurs ont bien su chatier la témérité de tels galans, comme est ce prétendu pape Sixte, lorsqu’ils se sont oubliés de leurs devoirs, confondant le temporel avec le spirituel: le dit roi de Navarre, qui n’est en rien inférieur à eux, espère que Dieu lui fera la grâce de venger l’injure faite à son roi, à sa maison et à toutes les cours des parlemens de France, sur lui et ses successeurs; implorant, à cet effet, l’aide et secours de tous les princes, rois, villes et communautés vraiment chrétiennes, auxquelles ce fait touche: aussi, prie tous alliés et confédérés de cette couronne de France, de s’opposer, avec lui, à la tyrannie et usurpation du pape et des ligués conjurateurs en France, ennemis de Dieu, de l’état, de leur roi, et du repos général de toute la chrétienté. Autant en proteste Henry de Bourbon, prince de Condé. Affiché en la ville de Rome, le 6 Novembre, 1585.”

Cette protestation fut placardée pendant la nuit dans les rues principales de Rome, contre les palais des cardinaux, et sur les portes même du Vatican.

❦

[Sidenote: Time.]

Time is but a name; it is what is done in time that is the substance: what are twenty-four centuries to the hard rock, more than twenty-four hours to man, or twenty-four minutes to the ephemera? Are there not periods in our own existence in which space, computed by its true measure of thoughts, feelings, and events, mocks the penury of man’s artificial scale, and comprises a lifetime in a day.

❦

[Sidenote: Charles I.]

Authorised by the doctrines of the age, by his consequent education, and by the natural gravity and elevation of his own mind to ascend the throne as the anointed of his Creator, it was the doom of Charles I. to witness the divine authority of his crown trampled upon, the might of his magnificent hierarchy overwhelmed, the civil institutions of his realm swept away, all that he deemed sacred profaned, all that he revered denied, all that he considered established subverted, and in their stead new doctrines and new practices introduced, much of which was monstrous, and all extraordinary. In this unparalleled state of affairs, instead of disappearing from the stage like an insignificant actor overwhelmed by the unexpected importance of his part, we find on the contrary the English monarch the most energetic and the most interesting personage during the long, the fearful, and the dubious struggle. When the struggle was over, the king came forward, and closed his career by a most miserable death--dying with the same decision with which he had lived; and while he was covered with execration and obloquy as the _tyrant_, by one party, who feared that if he were not a tyrant, they might perhaps be considered traitors, he was hailed by the greater portion of the nation with tears and prayers as the martyr.

❦

Notre mérite nous attire l’estime des honnêtes gens, et notre étoile celle du public.

❦

The late Lord Chancellor Erskine was at the commencement of his career in life in the army, and when a young Ensign was quartered at Minorca, under the command of General Johnston, whose wife, the Lady Cecilia, had a favourite monkey, which had so incurred her disgrace from its mischievous propensities, as to have been ordered to be sent out of the house. Mr. Erskine having learnt the sad fate which awaited the culprit monkey, and being invited to dine at the Government house, wrote the following lines, and placed them in Peter’s paw; they were thus offered to his mistress’s attention as the party passed on to the dining room, and obtained Peter’s pardon.

❦

_The Petition of a Monkey under Sentence of Exile._

The humble petition of sorrowful Peter!
With submission set forth, and runs thus in metre.
I think if I’m rightly informed of the crime
For which I am banish’d, it stands thus in rhyme;
For tearing of books, for mischief and stealing,
And tricks of all kinds, from the ground to the ceiling.
All culprits are punished, if Lord Coke says true,
Not for love of revenge, but for harm that they do;
On this common maxim my pleadings I found,
And th’ affair of the book must soon fall to the ground.
There was never a book, I’ll be bound to engage,
Above all, in our day, but might well spare a page,
And mankind, as well as e’en authors, might look
With smiles on a monkey devouring a book.
’Tis as well for a volume, I’ll hazard an oath,
To be chew’d by a monkey, as by critic or moth:
And then, as to reading, all wits have confest it,
You never can profit, unless you digest it;
And monkeys and men, from the north to the south,
Can only digest what they put in their mouth.
Much more might be said, if I chose to enlarge,
But I’d rather proceed to the rest of my charge.
To accuse me of mischief, and tax me with stealing,
Is really a want of all sense and all feeling,
Since Nature, who ripens the figs and the grapes,
Is no nearer kindred to man than to apes;
And the fair teeming Earth, our bountiful mother,
Loves Peter as dearly as Adam his brother.
’Tis because you are strongest, you seize upon all,
And the weakest, we know, must be forc’d to the wall.
Equipt as I am, in my shabby old gray,
I cannot quite hazard what other folks may;
But could I, yet I speak with respect and submission,
By some lucky hit get an Ensign’s commission--
I see you all laugh, but titter away,
I’m not the _first_ monkey, I’ll venture to say.
’Tis no such hard matter to play well at cards,
And I think I should soon be the _ton_ in the Guards.
As to height, I confess with regret I’m not tall,
But Lord A--c--m and I might parade in the Mall.
And a bag from Miss Brace,[3] with a good handsome wig,
Might, I think, pretty soon put on foot an intrigue.
What might not be done with my air, and my shape,
At a Court where ’tis the fashion to look like an ape?
What duels! what battles! what murders! what slaughters!
What tears would be shed both by mothers and daughters!
What groups in the anguish of cutting a horn,
Would wish in despair I had never been born!
Yet faith, to my sorrow I fear I should see
Ten thousand much more like to monkeys than me,
And mad for some fair one might steal forth to meet her,
And find her eloping with some other Peter.
Yet spite of these rubs, I should have the renown,
To be one of the finest young fellows in town.
Then since exile’s my fate, I implore with a tear,
To be shipped off for England, for that is my sphere.
If to this my petition, you start no objection,
My cousin, Tom Erskine, has pledged his protection,
I suppose, like the Scots--on account of connection!

[3] A celebrated Milliner of the day. Lord Ancram was of particularly low stature.

❦

[Sidenote: Taste and Custom.]

Taste and custom govern the opinion in this day, as in those more ancient. An Athenian and a Lacedemonian lady being placed near to each other at an assembly where they met, each hastily, and with apparent disgust, turned her head from the other. The Athenian, because she could not endure the smell of _oil_ which came from the Spartan, and the latter from her dislike to the perfumes of the Grecian.

❦

[Sidenote: Filial Duty.]

It was the commandment of the Eternal God himself, delivered amid the lightnings and thunders of the holy mountain, “Honour thy father and mother;” and there was no reservation found upon the tablet of stone. Man may persecute, sickness may change, grief may depress, poverty may chill, or grief may blacken the heart of the parent, but the bonds of the child are never loosened.

The affection of a child for a parent, in its strongest degree does not amount to a hundredth part of that which a parent feels for a child; and it is not until the child becomes a parent, that he is aware of this. If the voice of infancy should ever call you “Mother,” you will then know (but never till then) how hard, how impossible it is to dry up the fountain of a parent’s love, or teach the trunk to shake off and cast from it the blossoms which thence derive their being.

❦

[Sidenote: King of Prussia and Voltaire.]

Kings who affect to be familiar with their companions, make use of _men_ as they do of _oranges_; they take oranges to extract their juice, and when they are well sucked they throw them away. The King of Prussia applied this observation to himself in his dispute with Voltaire.

❦

[Sidenote: To a daughter on her marriage.]

Dear to my heart, as life’s warm stream
Which animates this mortal clay,
For thee I court the waking dream,
And deck with smiles the future day:
And thus beguile the present pain
With hopes that we shall meet again!

Yet will it be as when the past
Twined every joy, and care, and thought,
And o’er our minds one mantle cast
Of kind affections, finely wrought?
Ah no! the groundless hope were vain
For so, we ne’er can meet again!

May he who claims thy tender heart,
Deserve its love, as I have done;
For kind and gentle as thou art,
If so beloved thou’rt fairly won.
Bright may the sacred torch remain,
And cheer thee till we meet again.

❦

[Sidenote: James I.]

It was said of King James I. that there were two sorts of men he never had kindness for; those whose hawks flew, and dogs ran as well as his own, and those who were able to speak as much reason as himself.

❦

_On the death of the Hon. John Gore, who commanding his Majesty’s ship
Scorpion, was drowned off the coast of Africa, after having by his
heroic exertions saved the lives of two of his ship’s company who had
fallen overboard, February 18th, 1812._