charter, granting them great privileges, under the reign of queen Anne,
for which they were to pay to the crown, annually, a pair of barbed
arrows. One of these allowances was, that they might _meet and go forth
under their officer's conduct, in military form, in manner of
weapon-showing, as often as they should think convenient_. "But they
have made no public parade since 1743,"[3] owing, probably, to the state
of parties in Edinburgh, for their attachment to the Stuart family was
well understood, and falling under the suspicion of the British
government after the rebellion of 1745, they were watched, "and spies
appointed to frequent their company." The company possess a house built
by themselves, termed Archers' Hall. All their business is transacted by
a president and six counsellors, who are nominated by the members at
large, and have authority to admit or reject candidates _ad libitum_.
The number of this association is now very great, having been of late
years much increased; they have standards, with appropriate emblems and
mottoes, and shoot for several prizes annually; amongst these are a
silver bowl and arrows, which, by a singular regulation, "are retained
by the successful candidate only one year, when he appends a medal to
them; and as these prizes are of more than a hundred years standing, the
number of medals now attached to them are very curious."
[3] Their part in the procession formed to welcome our monarch
to his Scottish metropolis, should be excepted.
To this notice may I be permitted to subjoin a few stanzas? Old Izaak
Walton hath put songs and sylvan poesy in plenty into the mouths of his
anglers and rural _dramatis personae_, and shall _I_ be blamed for
following, in all humility, his illustrious example? Perchance - but
hold! it is one of the fairest of summer mornings; the sun sheds a pure,
a silvery light on the young, fresh, new-waked foliage and herbage; a
faint mist veils the blue distance of the landscape; but the pearly
shroud conceals not yonder troop of young blithe men, who, arranged in
green, after the olden fashion, each bearing the implements of archery,
and tripping lightly over the heath, are carolling in the joy of their
free spirits, while the fresh breeze brings to my ear most distinctly
the words of
THE ARCHER'S SONG.
Away! - away! - yon golden sun
Hath chas'd nights' shadows damp and dun;
Forth from his turfy couch, the lark
Hath sprung to meet glad day: and hark!
A mingling and delicious song
Breathes from the blithe-voiced plumy throng;
While, to the green-wood hasten _we_
Whose craft is, gentle archery!
Now swift we bound o'er dewy grass!
Rousing the red fox as we pass,
And startling linnet, merle, and thrush,
As recklessly the boughs we brush.
The _hunter's_ horn sings thro' the brakes.
And its soft lay apt echo takes;
But soon her sweet enamoured tone
Shall tell what song is all _our_ own!
On! - on! - glad brothers of the bow!
The dun deer's couching place ye know,
And gallant bucks this day shall rue
Our feather'd shafts, - so swift, - so true;
Yet, sorer than the sylvan train,
Our foes, upon the battle-plain,
Will mourn at the unerring hands
Of Albion's _matchless_ archer bands!
Now hie we on, to silent shades,
To glist'ning streams, and sunlit glades,
Where all that woodland life can give,
Renders it bliss indeed, to _live_.
Come, ye who love the shadowy wood,
Whate'er your days, whate'er your mood.
And join _us_, freakish knights that be
Of grey-goose wing, and good yew-tree!
Say - are ye _mirthful_? - then we'll sing
Of wayward feasts and frolicking; -
Tell jests and gibes, - nor lack we store
Of knightly tales, and monkish lore;
High freaks of dames and cavaliers,
Of warlocks, spectres, elfs, and seers,
Till with glad heart, and blithesome brow,
Ye bless your brothers of the bow!
Is _sadness_ courted? - ye shall lie
When summer's sultry noons are high,
By darkling forest's shadow'd stream
To muse; - or, sweeter still, to dream
Day-dreams of love; while round ye rise
Distant, delicious harmonies;
Until ye languishing declare
An archer's life, indeed is fair!
M. L. B.
* * * * *
THE NOVELIST
NO. CV.
* * * * *
THE GHIBELLINES.
_A Fragment of a Tuscan Tale_.
BY MISS EMMA ROBERTS.
"His name's Gonzago. - The story is extant, and written in very
choice Italian."
Ten thousand lights burned throughout the Alberoni palace, and all the
nobility of Florence flocked to the bridal of its wealthy lord. It was a
fair sight to see the stately mirrors which spread their shining
surfaces between pillars of polished marble reflecting the gay
assemblage, that, radiant with jewels, promenaded the saloon, or
wreathed the dance to the witching music of the most skilful minstrels
in all Tuscany. Every lattice was open, and the eye, far as it could
reach, wandered through illuminated gardens, tenanted by gay groups,
where the flush of the roses, the silver stars of the jasmine, the
crimson, purple, orange, and blue of the variegated parterre were
revealed as if the brightest blaze of day flashed upon their silken
leaves. Amid all this pomp of beauty and splendour the bride moved
along, surpassing all that was fair and resplendent around her by the
exceeding loveliness of a face and form to which every eye and every
heart paid involuntary homage. At her side appeared the exulting
bridegroom, to whom, however, more it should seem through diffidence
than aversion, her eyes were never raised; for though Count Alberoni had
advanced beyond the middle age of life, yet he still retained the
majestic port and commanding lineaments for which he had been
distinguished in early youth; his riches rendered him all potent in
Florence, and none dared dispute with him the possession of its fairest
flower. Intoxicated with the pleasures offered at the banquet and the
ball, whatever of envy or of jealousy might have been hidden in the
bosoms of the guests while contemplating the treasure which the
triumphant Alberoni had snatched from contending suitors, it was
concealed, and the most cheerful hilarity prevailed. Yet, amid the
general expression of happiness, there were two persons who, attracting
notice by the meanness of their attire, and the melancholy gloom upon
their countenances, seemed to be out of place in so stately and so
joyous an assembly. They were brother and sister, the descendants of
Ghibellines who had died in exile, and distant relations of the Count,
who though not choosing to regard them as his heirs, had, when the
abolition of a severe law enabled the proscribed faction to return to
Florence, accorded them shelter and protection. Meanly clad in vestments
of coarse serge, there were yet no cavaliers who fluttered in silk and
velvet who could compare in personal beauty with Francesco Gonzago; and
the bride alone, of all the beauties who shone in gold and silver,
appeared superior in feminine charms to the lovely Beatrice,
notwithstanding that her cumbrous robe of grey stuff obscured the
delicate proportions of her sylph-like form. Buoyant in spirit, and
animated by the scene before her, occasionally a gleam of sunshine would
irradiate her brow as she gazed upon the sparkling throng who formed the
brilliant pageant which so much delighted her; but as she turned to
express her feelings to her brother, his pale pensive features and the
recollection of the intense anguish which wrung his heart, subdued her
gaiety, the smile passed away from her lip, the rose deserted her cheek,
and she stood by his side sad and sorrowful as some monumental statue.
Many persons grieved at the depressed fortunes of the once powerful
Gonzagos, but there were others who sneered at their present
degradation, enjoying the cruel mockery with which Alberoni had forced
the man who had cherished hopes of succeeding as heir-at-law to his
immense estates, to witness the downfall of those flattering
expectations. Few and slight were the salutations which passed between
the dejected pair and the more illustrious guests; but as the bride made
the circuit of the apartments, she paused when approaching her husband's
neglected relatives, and raising eyes swimming with drops of sympathy,
greeted them with unaffected tenderness. Francesco was unprepared for
the gentle kindness of her address; his stern heart melted, his proud
glance suddenly changed to one of gracious courtesy; he gazed upon her
as upon some angelic being sent down from heaven to soothe and gladden
his perturbed soul; and henceforward he saw nothing in the glare, and
the crowd, and the splendour around him, save the sweet face and the
delicate form of the Countess Alberoni; his charmed eyes followed her
from place to place, and so entirely was he engrossed by one object,
that he did not perceive that the attention of Beatrice was almost
wholly occupied by a young and sprightly cavalier, who pursued her like
a shadow, pouring tender tales in a not unwilling ear. Group by group
the guests retired from the festive scene, and the brother and sister,
scarcely able to define the new feelings which sprung up in the heart of
each, quitted the magnificent palace to seek their forlorn abode. A
pavilion, nearly in ruins, was the sole shelter which the proud lord of
Alberoni afforded to the only surviving branches of his family, when
returning to their native city they found their patrimonial estates
confiscated, and themselves dependent upon the niggard bounty of a cold
and selfish relative. Slowly recovering from a severe wound which he had
received in the wars of Lombardy, and disgusted with the ingratitude of
the prince he served, the ill-starred Francesco was at first rejoiced to
obtain any refuge from the storms of a tempestuous world; and the
unceasing efforts of his young and affectionate sister to reconcile him
to a bitter lot were not wholly unavailing. Summer had spread her
richest treasures upon the lap of Nature; and the fairy hands of
Beatrice transformed the bare walls of the dilapidated edifice which
they inhabited into bowers of luxuriant foliage; the most delicious
fruit also, the spontaneous product of the garden, cooled at some
crystal fount and heaped with flowers, tempted her brother's languid
appetite; and, waking the soft notes of her lute, she soothed his
desponding spirit with music's gentlest sound. Fondly trusting that
Francesco might be won to prize the simple enjoyments of which fortune
could not despoil him, and to find his dearest happiness in an approving
conscience, the light hearted girl indulged in delusive hopes of future
felicity. But these expectations were soon damped; as Francesco's health
returned he became restless and melancholy; he saw no prospect of
arriving at distinction by his talents, or by his sword; peace reigned
throughout the Tuscan states, and the jealousy of the government of all
who bore the mark of Ghibelline extraction, forbade the chance of
successful exertion and honourable reward; his days were spent in moody
abstraction, his nights in feverish dreams; his misfortunes, his
accomplishments and his virtues failed to excite affection in the breast
of his kinsman, who, jealous of the youth and personal attractions of
the man apparently destined to be his heir, grew uneasy at the thought
of benefitting a person he had learned to hate; and suddenly resolving
to cut off at once the presumptuous expectations which the luckless
exile might have cherished, exerted the influence procured by his wealth
to form an alliance with the most peerless beauty which the city
boasted. A new source of anguish added to the misery already sustained
by the wretched Gonzago; his arm was paralyzed by the utter hopelessness
of any attempt to emerge from the obscurity to which fate had condemned
him; he brooded over the dismal futurity which opened before him; and,
as a solace to these gloomy meditations, suffered his imagination to
dwell upon the charms and graces of the lovely Giacinta, his kinsman's
gentle bride. He saw her sometimes flitting through the myrtle groves
which skirted the neighbouring palace; and when night favoured his
concealment, he would approach the marble porticos to catch the sound of
her voice as, accompanied by a lute, she wasted its melody upon the
silent stars. Beatrice, in the mean time, experienced only in the pale
brow and haggard form of her brother an alloy to her happiness.
Alessandro, the young heir of the Orsini family, had abandoned the gay
revels of Florence to share the solitude of the despised Ghibellines;
and although there seemed to be little chance of ultimate triumph over
the obstacles which opposed themselves to an alliance between the
prosperous scion of a noble house and the unportioned orphan of a
banished man, yet hope pre-ponderated over fear, and, blessed by her
enchanting smiles, the lover indulged in delightful anticipations.
...
Again was the Alberoni palace illumined by innumerable tapers; again
were the glittering saloons filled with all the noble population of
Florence. A second nuptial feast, more splendid and joyous than the
first, was celebrated; again Giacinta, lovelier than ever, shone as the
bride, and by her side a cavalier appeared, whose summer of life was
better adapted to match with her tender years than the mature age of her
late husband had been.
The Count Alberoni Gonzago was dead; and Francesco succeeding to his
wealth, had obtained the hand of his widow. Beatrice, also a bride,
followed in the train of the Countess, but followed more like a mourner
at some funeral solemnity than as the newly wedded consort of the
husband of her choice. Francesco all smiles and triumph, as he stood
with the fairest hand in Florence hanging on his arm, proudly greeting
the guests who crowded to pay him homage, turned frequently, and cast
looks of piercing examination and reproach upon his pale and trembling
sister, and, as if fascinated by his glance, she would rally her,
failing spirits and smile languidly upon the bridegroom, who bent over
her enamoured; and then, as if beguiled from some painful contemplation
by the sweet accents of the man she loved, she became calm, and her
quivering features resumed their wonted placidity. But these moments of
tranquillity were of short duration; she started at every shadow; the
flash of one of the jewels which broidered her satin robe would cause a
fit of trembling; and at length, when seated at the banquet opposite her
brother and his bride, a richly clad domestic offered wine in a golden
goblet; for a moment she held it to her lips, and then dashed it away,
exclaiming - "It is poison! Hide me, - save me. I see it every where; in
those green leaves from whence it was distilled. - Oh! Francesco,
Francesco, let us be poor and happy!" The guests shrunk aghast from the
speaker, who, falling from her seat, expired in convulsions.
The power conferred by Gonzago's immense riches silenced the whispered
murmurs of the assembly. No man rose to higher eminence in the state
than the idolized husband of the beautiful Giacinta; but a dark cloud
hung upon his house, his children were all cut off in their infancy,
and, after a few brief years of outward felicity, struck from his horse
by the fragment of a building which fell upon him as he rode in pomp
through the city, he received a mortal wound, surviving the accident
only long enough to unburthen his soul to his confessor.
His dying words were addressed to Alessandro, from whom since the hour
of his nuptials he had been estranged; pressing his hand, he
exclaimed - "She was innocent! she heard not of the murder until it had
been accomplished." - _London Weekly Review_.
* * * * *
THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.
* * * * *
RAFTS AND RHINE SCENERY.
Between Andernach and Bonn I saw two or three of those enormous rafts
which are formed of the accumulated produce of the Swiss and German
forests. One was anchored in the middle of the river, and looked like a
floating island. These _Krakens_ of the Rhine are composed of oak and
fir floated in smaller rafts down the tributary streams, and, their size
constantly increasing till they arrive hereabouts, they make platforms
of from four hundred to seven hundred feet long, and one hundred and
forty feet in breadth. When in motion, a dozen boats and more precede
them, carrying anchors and cables to guide and arrest their course. The
navigation of a raft down the Rhine to Dort, in Holland, which is the
place of their destination,[4] is a work of great difficulty. The skill
of the German and Dutch pilots who navigate them, in spite of the abrupt
turnings, the eddies, the currents, rocks and shoals that oppose their
progress, must indeed be of a very peculiar kind, and can be possessed
but by few. It requires besides a vast deal of manual labour. The whole
complement of rowers and workmen, together with their wives and
children, on board one of the _first-rates_, amounts to the astonishing
number of nine hundred or a thousand; a little village, containing from
forty to sixty wooden houses, is erected upon each, which also is
furnished with stalls for cattle, a magazine for provisions, &c. The
dwelling appropriated to the use of the master of the raft and the
principal super-cargoes was conspicuous for its size and commodiousness.
It is curious to observe these rafts, on their passage, with their
companies of rowers stationed at each end, making the shores ring again
to the sound of their immense oars.
[4] About twelve of these rafts annually arrive at Dort, in
July or August; when the German timber merchants, having
converted their floats into good Dutch ducats, return to their
own country. When the water is low, those machines are
sometimes months upon the journey. - _Campbell's Guide_.
The succession of grand natural pictures, which I had been gazing upon
since my departure from Mentz and the district of the Rheingau, are
undoubtedly similar, but not the same; there is alternately the long
noble reach, the sudden bend, the lake-like expanse, the shores on both
sides lined with towns whose antique fortifications rise in distant
view, and villages whose tapering spires of blue slate peer above the
embosoming foliage; the mountains clothed with vines and forests, their
sides bristled and their summits crowned with the relics of feudal
residences,[5] or of cloistered fanes: but the varieties in the shape
and character of all these are inexhaustible; it is this circumstance
that enhances the pleasure of contemplating, scenery, in which there is,
as Lord Byron says,
"A blending of all beauties, streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,
From gray but leafy walls where ruin greenly dwells."
[5] There are the ruins of fourteen castles on the left bank,
and of fifteen on the right bank of the Rhine, from Mentz to
Bonn, a distance of thirty-six leagues.
The oppositions of light and shade; the rich culture of the hills
contrasted with the rugged rocks that often rise from out of the midst
of fertility; the bright verdure of the islands which the Rhine is
continually forming; the purple hues and misty azure of the distant
mountains - these and a thousand other indescribable charms constitute
sources of visual delight which can be imparted only by a view of the
objects themselves. And is excitement awakened in contemplating the
borders of this graceful and magnificent river? Yes. When we revert to
the awful convulsions of the physical world, and the important
revolutions of human society, of which the regions it flows through have
been successively the theatre - when we meditate on the vast changes, the
fearful struggles, the tragic incidents and mournful catastrophes, which
they have witnessed from the earliest ages to the very times in which we
have ourselves lived and marked the issue of events - "the battles,
sieges, fortunes" that have passed before its green tumultuous current,
or within ken of its mountain watch-towers - the shouts of nations that
have resounded, and the fates of empires that have been decided, on its
shores - when we think of the slaughtered myriads whose bones have
bleached on the neighbouring plains, filled up the trenches of its
rock-built strong-holds, or found their place of sepulture beneath its
wave - when, at each survey we take of the wide and diversified scene,
the forms of centuries seem to be embodied with the objects around us,
and the record of the past becomes vividly associated with the
impression of present realities - it is then that we are irresistibly led
to compare the greatness of nature with the littleness of man; it is
then that we are forcibly struck with the power and goodness of the
Author of both; and that the deepest humility unites itself in a
grateful mind, with the highest admiration, at the sight of "these His
lowest works."
But do you pretend, it may be asked, in the course of a three days'
journey, however lengthened by celerity of conveyance, or favoured by
advantages of season or weather - do you pretend to have experienced that
very eminent degree of gratification which the country is capable of
communicating? Certainly not. I speak of these scenes but as of things,
which before my own hasty and unsatisfied glances came like shadows - so
departed. Instead of two or three days, a whole month should be spent
between Mentz, Coblentz, and Bonn, in order fully to know and thoroughly
to enjoy the beauties and grandeurs with which that space
abounds. - _Stevenson's Tour in France, &c._
* * * * *
THE BARBER.
Nick Razorblade a barber was,
A _strapping_ lad was he;
And he could shave with such a grace,
It was a joy to see!
And tho' employ'd within his house,
He kept like rat in hole;
All those that pass'd the barber's door,
Could always see his _pole_!
His dress was rather plain than rich,
Nor fitted over well;
Yet, tho' no _macaroni_, Nick,
He often _cut a swell_!
And Nick was brave, and he could fight,
As many times he proved;
A lamb became a lion fierce,
Whenever he was moved!
Like many of his betters, who
To field with pistols rush,
When Nicky _lather'd_ any one,
He was obliged to _brush_!
Some say Nick was a brainless _block_,
While those who've seen him waving
His bright sharp razor, o'er scap'd chins,
Declare he was a _shaving_!
His next door neighbour, Nelly Jones,
A maid of thirty-eight,
'Twas said regarded Nick with smiles,
But folks will always prate.
'Tis known in summer time that she,
(A maid and only daughter)
To show her love for Razorblade,
Kept Nicky in _hot water_!
For politics Nick always said,
He never cared a fig;
Quoth he: - "If I a Tory were,
I likewise _wear a wig_!"
No poacher he, yet _hairs_ he _wired_,
With skill that made maids prouder;
And though he never used a gun,
He knew the use of _powder_!
He never took offence at words,
However broad or blunt;
But when maids brought a _front_ to dress,
Of course he took a _front_!
Beneath his razor folks have slept,
So easy were they mown;
Yet (oh! most passing strange it was!)
His _razor_ was his _own_!
Nick doubtless had a tender heart,
But not for Nelly Jones;
He made Miss Popps "bone of his bone,"
But never made old bones!
He died and left an only son,
A barber too by trade;
But when they ope'd his will, they found
A cruel will he'd made.
And doubtless he was raving mad,
(To slander I'm unwilling)
For tho' a _barber_, Nicky cut
His _heir_ off with _a shilling!_
_Absurdities: in Prose and Verse_._
* * * * *
BONAPARTE ATTEMPTS SUICIDE.
While we endeavour to sum up the mass of misfortunes with which
Bonaparte was overwhelmed at this crisis, it seems as if Fortune had
been determined to show that she did not intend to reverse the lot of
humanity, even in the case of one who had been so long her favourite,
but that she retained the power of depressing the obscure soldier, whom
she had raised to be almost king of Europe, in a degree as humiliating
as his exaltation had been splendid. All that three years before seemed
inalienable from his person, was now reversed. The victor was defeated,
the monarch was dethroned, the ransomer of prisoners was in captivity,
the general was deserted by his soldiers, the master abandoned by his
domestics, the brother parted from his brethren, the husband severed
from the wife, and the father torn from his only child. To console him
for the fairest and largest empire that ambition ever lorded it over, he
had, with the mock name of emperor, a petty isle, to which he was to
retire, accompanied by the pity of such friends as dared express their
feelings, the unrepressed execrations of many of his former subjects,
who refused to regard his present humiliation as an amends for what he
had made them suffer during his power, and the ill-concealed triumph of
the enemies into whose hands he had been delivered.
A Roman would have seen, in these accumulated disasters, a hint to
direct his sword's point against his breast; a man of better faith would
have turned his eye back on his own conduct, and having read, in his
misuse of prosperity, the original source of those calamities, would
have remained patient and contrite under the consequences of his
ambition. Napoleon belonged to the Roman school of philosophy; and it is
confidently reported, especially by Baron Fain, his secretary, though it
has not been universally believed, that he designed, at this extremity,
to escape from life by an act of suicide.
The emperor, according to this account, had carried with him, ever since
the retreat from Moscow, a packet containing a preparation of opium,
made up in the same manner with that used by Condorcet for
self-destruction. His valet-de-chambre, in the night betwixt the 12th
and 13th of April, heard him arise and pour something into a glass of
water, drink, and return to bed. In a short time afterwards, the man's
attention was called by sobs and stifled groans - an alarm took place in
the chateau - some of the principal persons were roused, and repaired to
Napoleon's chamber. Yvan, the surgeon, who had procured him the poison,
was also summoned; but hearing the emperor complain that the operation
of the poison was not quick enough, he was seized with a panic-terror,
and fled from the palace at full gallop. Napoleon took the remedies
recommended, and a long fit of stupor ensued, with profuse perspiration.
He awakened much exhausted, and surprised at finding himself still
alive; he said aloud, after a few moments' reflection, "Fate will not
have it so," and afterwards appeared reconciled to undergo his destiny,
without similar attempts at personal violence. There is, as we have
already hinted, a difference of opinion concerning the cause of
Napoleon's illness; some imputing it to indigestion. The fact of his
having been very much indisposed is, however, indisputable. A general of
the highest distinction transacted business with Napoleon on the morning
of the 13th of April. He seemed pale and dejected, as from recent and
exhausting illness. His only dress was a night-gown and slippers, and he
drank from time to time a quantity of tisan, or some such liquid, which
was placed beside him, saying he had suffered severely during the night,
but that his complaint had left him.
After this crisis, and having ratified the treaty which his mareschals
had made for him. Napoleon appeared more at his ease than he had been
for some time before, and conversed frankly with his attendants upon the
affairs of France.
NAPOLEON TAKES LEAVE OF THE IMPERIAL GUARD.
Napoleon having now resigned himself entirely to his fate, whether for
good or evil, prepared, on the 20th of April, to depart for his place of
retreat. But first, he had the painful task of bidding farewell to the
body in the universe most attached to him, and to which he was probably
most attached, - his celebrated Imperial Guard. Such of them as could be
collected were drawn out before him in review. Some natural tears
dropped from his eyes, and his features had the marks of strong emotion
while reviewing for the last time, as he must then have thought likely,
the companions of so many victories. He advanced to them on horseback,
dismounted, and took his solemn leave. "All Europe," he said, "had armed
against him; France herself had deserted him, and chosen another
dynasty. He might," he said, "have maintained with his soldiers a civil
war of years, but it would have rendered France unhappy. Be faithful,"
he continued, (and the words were remarkable,) "to the new sovereign
whom France has chosen. Do not lament my fate; I will always be happy
while I know you are so. I could have died - nothing was easier - but I
will always follow the road of honour. I will record with my pen the
deeds we have done together. I cannot embrace you all, but I embrace
your general," - (he pressed the general to his bosom.) - "Bring hither
the eagle," - (he embraced the standard, and concluded) - "Beloved eagle,
may the kisses I bestow on you long resound in the hearts of the
brave! - Adieu, my children, - Adieu, my brave companions. - Surround me
once more - Adieu." Drowned in grief, the veteran soldiers heard the
farewell of their dethroned leader; sighs and murmurs broke from their
ranks, but the emotion burst out in no threats or remonstrances. They
appeared resigned to the loss of their general, and to yield, like him,
to necessity. - _Scott's Napoleon_.
* * * * *
THE ARK OF NOAH
The Rabbins make the giant Gog or Magog contemporary with Noah, and
convinced by his preaching. So that he was disposed to take the benefit
of the Ark. But here lay the distress; it by no means suited his
dimensions. Therefore, as he could not enter in, he contented himself to
ride upon it astride. And though you must suppose that, in that stormy
weather, he was more than half boots over, he kept his seat, and
dismounted safely, when the Ark landed on Mount Ararat. Image now to
yourself this illustrious Cavalier mounted on his _hackney_; and see if
it does not bring before you the Church, bestrid by some lumpish
minister of state, who turns and winds it at his pleasure. The only
difference is, that Gog believed the preacher of righteousness and
religion. - _Warburton's Letters_.
* * * * *
THE GATHERER.
"I am but a _Gatherer_ and disposer of other men's
stuff." - _Wotton_
* * * * *
A preacher had held forth diffusely and ingeniously upon the doctrine
that the Creator of the universe had made all things beautiful. A little
crooked lawyer met him at the church door, and exclaimed, "Well, doctor,
what do you think of my figure? does it correspond with your tenets of
this morning?" - "My friend," replied the preacher, with much gravity,
"you are handsome for a hunch-backed man."
* * * * *
Kosciusko once wished to send some bottles of good wine to a clergyman
of Solothurn; and as he hesitated to send them by his servant, lest he
should smuggle a part, he gave the commission to a young man of the name
of Zeltner, and desired him to take the horse which he himself usually
rode. On his return, young Zeltner said that he would never ride his
horse again unless he gave him his purse at the same time. Kosciusko
asking what he meant, he answered, "As soon as a poor man on the road
takes off his hat and asks for charity, the horse immediately stands
still, and won't stir till something is given to the petitioner; and, as
I had no money about me, I was obliged to make believe to give
something, in order to satisfy the horse."
* * * * *
Persons in warm countries certainly possess powers of imagination
superior to persons in colder climates. The following description of a
small room will appear very poetic to an English reader: "I am now,"
says a Turkish spy, writing to his employers, "in an apartment so
little, that the least suspicion cannot enter it."
* * * * *
An author, as too often happens, was very irritable in his disposition,
and very unfortunate in his productions. His tragedy and comedy had both
been rejected by the managers of both theatres. "I cannot account for
this," said the unfortunate bard to his friend; "for no one can say that
my tragedy was a _sad_ performance, or that my comedy was a thing to
laugh at."
* * * * *
_Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset
House,) and sold by all Newsmen and Booksellers._