Chapter CCXLIV (3)

Yet farther mysteries; both hands of these marvellous statues are right hands and both are left hands, they are at once ambidexter and ambisinister. It was said by Dryden of old Jacob Tonson that he had two left legs: but these marvellous statues have two left legs and two right legs each, and yet but four legs between them, that is to say but two a-piece. In the whole course of my reading I have found no account of any statues so wonderful as these. For though the Roman Janus was bifronted, and my old acquaintance Yamen had in like manner a double face, and many of the Hindoo and other Oriental Deities have their necks set round with heads, and their elbows with arms, yet it is certain that all these Gods have backs, and sides to them also. In this point no similitude can be found for our Images. They may be likened to the sea as being bottomless,—but as being without a back and in the mystery of having both hands and legs at once right and left they are unequalled; none but themselves can be their parallel.

Now my daughter I appeal to you and to all other reasonable persons,—I put the question to your own plain sense,—is it anyways likely that statues so wonderful, so inexpressibly mysterious in their properties should be the mere work of a Keswick carpenter, though aided as he was by Mrs. L.'s directions? Is it not certain that neither he, nor Mrs. L., had the slightest glimpse, the remotest thought of any such properties,—she when she designed, he when he executed the marvellous productions? Is it possible that they should? Would it not be preposterous to suppose it?

This supposition therefore being proved to be absurd, which in mathematics is equal to a demonstration that the contrary must be true, it remains to enquire into the real origin of their stupendous qualities. Both the ancient Heathens and the Romanists teach that certain Images of the Gods or of the Saints have been made without the aid of human hands, and that they have appeared no one knew whence or how. The Greeks called such images Diopeteis, as having fallen from the sky, and I could enumerate were it needful sundry Catholic Images which are at this day venerated as being either of angelic workmanship or celestial origin. We cannot however have recourse to this solution in the present case; for Glover is so veracious a man that if he had found these figures in his workshop without knowing how they came there,—or if he had seen them grow into shape while he was looking on,—he would certainly not have concealed a fact so extraordinary. All Keswick would have known it. It must have become as notorious as Prince Hohenloe's miracles.

There remains then another hypothesis, which is also common to the ancient Pagans and the Romanists;—that some superior powers finding a congruity in the Images have been pleased to communicate to them a portion of their influence, and even of their presence, and so if I may be allowed the word, have actually become _inligneate_ in them. Were my old acquaintance, Thomas Taylor, here, who entirely believes this, he would at once determine which of his Heathen Deities have thus manifested their existence. Who indeed that looks at the Youth but must be reminded of Apollo? Said I that his face resembled in its rotundity the Moon? the Sun would have been the fitter similitude,—the sun shorn of its beams;—Phœbus,—such as he appeared when in the service of Admetus. And for his female companion, her beauty and the admiration which it excites in all beholders, identify her with no less certainty for Venus. We have named them therefore the Apollo de L., and the Venus de Glover; in justice to both artists; and in farther honour of them and of the Images themselves have composed the following inscription:

No works of Phidias we; but Mrs. L.
Designed, and we were made by Joseph Glover.
Apollo, I, and yonder Venus stands,
Behold her, and you cannot chuse but love her.
If antient sculptors could behold us here
How would they pine with envy and abhorrence!
For even as I surpass their Belvedere
So much doth she excel the pride of Florence.

EPILUDE OF MOTTOES.

Careless! bring your apprehension along with you.

CONGREVE.

If I have written a sentence, or a word, that can bear a captious or unreasonable construction, I earnestly intreat a more lenient interpretation. When a man feels acutely, he may perhaps speak at times more pointedly than he ought; yet, in the present instance, I am conscious of no sentiment which I could wish to alter.

BISHOP JEBB.

_νὴ τὸν Ποσειδῶ, καὶ λέγει γ᾽, ἅπερ λέγει,
δίκαια πάντα, κοὐδὲν αὐτῶν ψεύδεται._

ARISTOPHANES.

Will you be true?

TRO. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault.
While others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity.
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
Is—‘plain and true;’ there's all the reach of it.

SHAKESPEARE.

—_come augel che pria s'avventa e teme
Stassi fra i rami paventoso e solo
Mirando questo ed or quell' altro colle;
Cosi mi levo e mi ritengo insieme,
L'ale aguzzando al mio dubbioso volo._

GIUSTO DE' CONTI.

Whosoever be reader hereof maie take it by reason for a riche and a newe labour; and speciallie princes and governours of the common wealth, and ministers of justice, with other. Also the common people eche of theim maie fynd the labour conveniente to their estate. And herein is conteigned certaine right highe and profounde sentences, and holsome counsaylles, and mervaillous devyses agaynste the encumbraunce of fortune; and ryght swete consolacions for theim that are overthrowen by fortune. Finally it is good to them that digeste it, and thanke God that hath given such grace to the Auctour in gevyng us example of vertuous livyng, with hye and salutary doctrynes, and marvailous instructions of perfectness.—A ryght precious meale is the sentences of this boke; but fynally the sauce of the saied swete style moveth the appetyte. Many bookes there be of substanciall meates, but they bee so rude and so unsavery, and the style of so small grace, that the first morcell is lothsome and noyfull; and of suche bookes foloweth to lye hole and sounde in lybraries; but I trust this will not. Of trouth great prayse is due to the auctour of his travayle.

LORD BERNERS.

The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course;
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my rest.

SHAKESPEARE.

Sith you have long time drawn the weeds of my wit and fed yourselves with the cockle of my conceits, I have at last made you gleaners of my harvest, and partakers of my experience.—Here shall you find the style varying according to the matter, suitable to the style, and all of these aimed to profit. If the title make you suspect, compare it with the matter, it will answer you; if the matter, apply it with the censures of the learned, they will countenance the same; of the handling I repent me not, for I had rather you should condemn me for default in rhetorick, than commend my style and lament my judgement. Thus resolved both of the matter, and satisfied in my method, I leave the whole to your judgements; which, if they be not depraved with envy, will be bettered in knowledge, and if not carried away with opinion, will receive much profit.

THOMAS LODGE.

This good Wine I present, needs no Ivy-bush. They that taste thereof shall feel the fruit to their best content, and better understanding. The learned shall meet with matter to refresh their memories; the younger students, a directory to fashion their discourse; the weakest capacity, matter of wit, worth and admiration.

T. L. D. M. P's. Epistle Prefatory to the Learned Summarie
upon the famous Poem of William of Salust, Lord of BARTAS.

This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeon's pease,
And utters it again when Jove doth please;
He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares.

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

Imagination thro' the trick
Of Doctors, often makes us sick;
And why, let any sophist tell,
May it not likewise make us well!

CHURCHILL.

His mind fastens
On twenty several objects, which confound
Deep sense with folly.

WEBSTER.

It is a crown unto a gentle breast,
To impart the pleasure of his flowing mind,
(Whose sprightly motion never taketh rest)
To one whose bosom he doth open find.

THOMAS SCOTT.

—Be prepared to hear:
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.

SHAKESPEARE.

And whereas in my expression I am very plain and downright, and in my teaching part seem to tautologize, it should be considered, (and whoever has been a teacher will remember) that the learners must be plainly dealt with, and must have several times renewed unto them the same thing.—Therefore I have chosen so to do in several places, because I had rather (in such cases) speak three words too many, than one syllable too few.

THOMAS MACE.

_Lire et repasser souvent
Sur Athenes et sur Rome,
C'est dequoy faire un Sçavant,
Mais, non pas un habile homme._

_Meditez incessamment,
Devorez livre apres livre,
D'est en vivant seulement
Que vous apprendrez à vivre._

_Avant qu'en sçavoir les loix,
La clarté nous est ravie:
Il faudroit vivre deux fois
Pour bien conduire sa vie._

DE CHARLEVAL.

If we could hit on't, gallants, there are due
Certain respects from writers, and from you.