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Title: Dealings With The Dead - Volume II
Author: School, A Sexton of the Old
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Dealings With The Dead - Volume II" ***

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Dealings with the Dead.



  DEALINGS WITH THE DEAD.


  BY A SEXTON OF THE OLD SCHOOL.


  VOLUME II.


  BOSTON:
  PUBLISHED BY DUTTON AND WENTWORTH,
  33 AND 35 CONGRESS STREET:
  AND
  TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
  CORNER OF WASHINGTON AND SCHOOL STREETS.
  MDCCCLVI.



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by DUTTON AND
WENTWORTH, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.



Dealings with the Dead.

BY A SEXTON OF THE OLD SCHOOL.



No. XC.


My earliest recollections of some, among the dead and buried aristocracy
of Boston, find a ready embodiment, in cocked hats of enormous
proportions, queues reaching to their middles, cloaks of scarlet
broadcloth, lined with silk, and faced with velvet, and just so short, as
to exhibit the swell of the leg, silk stockings, and breeches, highly
polished shoes, and large, square, silver buckles, embroidered vests, with
deep lappet pockets, similar to those, which were worn, in the age of
_Louis Quatorze_, shirts ruffled, at the bosoms and sleeves, doeskin or
beaver gloves, and glossy, black, Surinam walking canes, six feet in
length, and commonly carried by the middle.

Of the last of the Capulets we know nearly all, that it is desirable to
know. Of the last of the cocked hats we are not so clearly certified.

The dimensions of the military cocked hat were terrible; and, like those
enormous, bear skin caps, which are in use, at present, eminently
calculated to put the enemy to flight. I have seen one of those enormous
cocked hats, which had long been preserved, as a memorial of the wearer's
gallantry. In one corner, and near the extremity, was a round hole, said
to have been made by a musket ball, at the battle of White Plains, Nov.
30, 1776. As I contemplated this relic, it was impossible to avoid the
comforting reflection, that the head of the gallant proprietor was at a
very safe distance from the bullet.

After the assassination of Henry IV., and greatly to the amusement of the
gay and giddy courtiers of his successor, Louis XIII.--old Sully
obstinately adhered to the costume of the former reign. Colonel Barnabas
Clarke was very much of Sully's way of thinking. "And who," asks the
reader, "was Colonel Barnabas Clarke?" He was a pensioner of the United
States, and died a poor, though highly respected old man, in the town of
Randolph, and Commonwealth of Massachusetts. For several years, he
commanded the third Regiment of the first Brigade, and first Division of
infantry; and he wore the largest cocked hat and the longest queue in the
known world. He was a broad-shouldered, strong-hearted Revolutioner. Let
me take the reader aside, for a brief space; and recite to him a pleasant
anecdote of old Colonel Barnabas Clarke, which occurred, under my own
observation, when John Brooks--whose patent of military nobilty bears date
at Saratoga, but who was one of nature's noblemen from his cradle--was
governor of Massachusetts.

There was a militia muster of the Norfolk troops, and they were reviewed
by Governor Brooks. They were drawn up in line. The Governor, bare headed,
with his suite, had moved slowly down, in front of the array, each
regiment, as he passed, paying the customary salute.

The petty _chapeau militaire_ had then become almost universal, and, with,
or without, its feather and gold edgings, was all over the field. Splendid
epaulettes and eaglets glittered, on the shoulders of such, as were
entitled to wear them. Prancing horses were caracoling and curvetting, in
gaudy trappings. In the midst of this showy array, in front of his
regiment, bolt upright, upon the back of his tall, chestnut horse, that,
upon the strength of an extra allowance of oats, pawed the ground, and
seemed to forget, that he was in the plough, the day before, sat an old
man, of rugged features, and large proportions. Upon his head was that
enormous cocked hat, of other days--upon his shoulders, scarcely
distinguishable, was a small pair of tarnished epaulettes--the gray hairs
at the extremity of his prodigious queue lay upon the crupper of his
saddle--his ancient boots shaped to the leg, his long shanked spurs, his
straight silver-hilted sword, and lion-headed pistols were of 1776. Such
was the outer man of old Colonel Barnabas Clarke.

As the Governor advanced, upon the line of the third Regiment of the first
Brigade, the fifes of that regiment commenced their shrill whistle, and
the drums began to roll; and, at the appropriate moment, the veteran
saluted his excellency, in that rather angular style, which was common, in
the days of our military fathers.

At that moment, Governor Brooks checked his horse, and, replacing his hat
upon his head, dismounted, and walked towards the Colonel, who,
comprehending the intention, returned his sword to its scabbard, and came
to the ground, with the alertness of a much younger man. They met midway,
between the line and the reviewing cortege--in an instant, each grasped
the other's hand, with the ardor of men, who are mutually endeared, by the
recollection of partnership, in days of danger and daring--they had been
fellow lodgers, within the intrenchments of Burgoyne, on the memorable
night of October 7, 1777. After a few words of mutual respect and
affection, they parted--the review went forward--the fifers and drummers
outdid themselves--the beholders sent forth an irrepressible shout--and
when old Colonel Barnabas got up once again, upon his chestnut horse, I
thought he looked considerably more like old Frederick, hat, queue, and
all, than he did, before he got down. He looked as proud as Tamerlane,
after he had caged the Sultan, Bajazet--yet I saw him dash a tear from his
eye, with the sleeve of his coat--I found one in my own. How frail we
are!--there is one there now!

While contemplating the remarkable resurrection that has occurred, within
a few years, of old chairs and tables, porcelain and candlesticks, I
confidently look forward to the resurrection of cocked hats. They were
really very becoming. I speak not of those vasty beavers, manufactured, of
yore, by that most accomplished, gentlemanly, and facetious of all
hatters, Mr. Nathaniel Balch, No. 72 old Cornhill; but such as he made,
for his excellent friend, and boon companion, Jeremiah Allen, Esquire,
high Sheriff of Suffolk. When trimmed with gold lace, and adorned with the
official cockade, it was a very becoming affair.

No man carried the fashion, as I have described it, in the commencement of
this article, to a greater extent, than Mr. Thomas Marshall, more commonly
known as _Tommy Marshall_. He was a tailor, and his shop and house were in
State Street, near the present site of the Boston Bank. In London, his
leisurely gait, finished toilette, admirable personal equipments, and
exceedingly composed and courtly carriage and deportment would have passed
him off, for a gentleman, living at his ease, or for one of the nobility.
Mr. Marshall was remarkable, for the exquisite polish, and classical cut
of his cocked hat. He was much on 'change, in those primitive days, and
highly respected, for his true sense of honor. Though the most
accomplished tailor of his day, no one ever suspected him of cabbage.

When I began the present article, it was my design to have written upon a
very different subject--but since all my cogitations have been "_knocked
into a cocked hat_," I may as well close this article, with a short
anecdote of Tommy Marshall.

There was a period--there often is, in similar cases--during which it was
doubtful, if the celebrated James Otis was a sane or an insane man. During
that period, he was engaged for the plaintiff, in a cause, in which Mr.
Marshall was a witness, for the defendant. After a tedious cross
examination, Mr. Otis perceived the impossibility of perplexing the
witness, or driving him into any discrepancy; and, in a moment of despair,
his mind, probably, not being perfectly balanced, he lifted his finger,
and shaking it, knowingly, at the witness, exclaimed--"_Ah, Tommy
Marshall, Tommy Marshall, I know you!_" "_And what do you know of me,
sir?_" cried the witness, doubling his fist in the very face of Mr. Otis,
and stamping on the floor--"_I know you're a tailor, Tommy!_"



No. XCI.


Wake--Vigil--Wæcan--import one and the same thing. So we are informed, by
that learned antiquary, John Whitaker, in his History of Manchester,
published in 1771. Originally, this was a festival, kept by watching,
through the night, preceding the day, on which a church was dedicated. We
are told, by Shakspeare--

  He that outlives this day, and sees old age,
  Will yearly, on the _vigil_, feast his neighbors,
  And say _tomorrow_ is Saint Crispian.

These vigils, like the _agapæ_, or love-feasts, fell, erelong, into
disrepute, and furnished occasion, for disgraceful revelry and riot.

The Irish _Wake_, as it is popularly called, however it may have sprung
from the same original stock, is, at present, a very different affair.
Howling, at a wake, is akin to the ululation of the mourning women of
Greece, Rome, and Judea, to which I have alluded, in a former number. The
object of the Irish _Wake_ is to rouse the spirit, which, otherwise, it is
apprehended, might remain inactive, unwilling, or unable, to quit its
mortal frame--to _wake_ the soul, not precisely, "by tender strokes of
art," but by long-continued, nocturnal wailings and howlings. In practice,
it has ever been accounted extremely difficult, to get the Irish soul
fairly off, either upward or downward, without an abundance of
intoxicating liquor.

The philosophy of this is too high for me--I cannot attain unto it. I know
not, whether the soul goes off, in a fit of disgust, at the senseless and
insufferable uproar, or is fairly frightened out of its tabernacle. This I
know, that boon companions, and plenty of liquor are the very last means I
should think of employing, to induce a true-born Irishman, to give up the
ghost. I have read with pleasure, in the Pilot, a Roman Catholic paper of
this city, an editorial discommendation of this preposterous custom.

However these barbarous proceedings may serve to outrage the dignity, and
even the decency, of death, they have not always been absolutely useless.
If the ravings, and rantings, the drunkenness, and the bloody brawls, that
have sometimes occurred, during the celebration of an _Irish wake_, have
proved unavailing, in raising the dead, or in exciting the lethargic
soul--they have, certainly, sometimes sufficed, to restore consciousness
to the cataleptic, who were supposed to be dead, and about to be committed
to the grave.

In April, 1804, Barney O'Brien, to all appearance, died suddenly, in the
town of Ballyshannon. He had been a terrible bruiser, and so much of a
profligate, that it was thought all the priests, in the county of Donegal,
would have as much as they could do, of a long summer's day, to confess
him. It was concluded, on all hands, that more than ordinary efforts would
be required, for the _waking_ of Barney O'Brien's soul. A great crowd was
accordingly gathered to the shanty of death. The mountain dew was
supplied, without stint. The howling was terrific. Confusion began. The
altercation of tongues was speedily followed, by the collision of fists,
and the cracking of shelalahs. The yet uncovered coffin was overturned.
The shock, in an instant, terminated the trance. Barney O'Brien stood
erect, before the terrified and flying group, six feet and four inches in
his winding sheet, screaming, at the very top of his lungs, as he
rose--"_For the love o' the blissed Jasus, jist a dhrap o' the crathur,
and a shelalah!_"

In a former number, I have alluded to the subject of premature interment.
A writer, in the London Quarterly, vol. lxiii. p. 458, observes, that
"there exists, among the poor of the metropolitan districts, an inordinate
dread of premature burial." After referring to a contrivance, in the
receiving houses of Frankfort and Munich,--a ring, attached to the finger
of the corpse, and connected with a lightly hung bell, in the watcher's
room--he significantly asks--"_Has the corpse bell at Frankfort and Munich
ever yet been rung?_"--For my own part, I have no correspondence with the
sextons there, and cannot tell. It may possibly have been rung, while the
watcher slept! After admitting the possibility of premature burial, this
writer says, he should be content with Shakspeare's test--"_This feather
stirs; she lives_," This may be a very good affirmative test. But, as a
negative test, it would be good for little--_this feather stirs not; she
is dead_. In cases of catalepsy, it often happens, that a feather will not
stir; and even the more trustworthy test--the mirror--will furnish no
evidence of life.

To doubt the fact of premature interment is quite as absurd, as to credit
all the tales, in this connection, fabricated by French and German
wonder-mongers. During the existence of that terrible epidemic, which has
so recently passed away, the necessity, real or imagined, of removing the
corpses, as speedily as possible, has, very probably, occasioned some
instances of premature interment.

On the 28th of June, 1849, a Mr. Schridieder was supposed to be dead of
cholera, at St. Louis, and was carried to the grave; where a noise in the
coffin was heard, and, upon opening it, he was found to be alive.

In the month of July, 1849, a Chicago paper contained the following
statement:--

"We know a gentleman now residing in this city, who was attacked by the
cholera, in 1832, and after a short time, was supposed to have died. He
was in the collapsed state, gave not the least sign of life, and when a
glass was held over his mouth, there was no evidence that he still
breathed. But, after his coffin was obtained, he revived, and is now
living in Chicago, one of our most estimable citizens."

"Another case, of a like character, occurred near this city, yesterday. A
man who was in the collapsed state, and to all appearances dead, became
reanimated after his coffin was procured. He revived slightly--again
apparently died--again revived slightly--and finally died and was buried."

I find the following, in the Boston Atlas of August 23, 1849:--

"A painful occurrence has come to light in Baltimore, which creates
intense excitement. The remains of the venerable D. Evans Reese, who died
suddenly on Friday evening, were conveyed to the Light Street
burying-ground, and while they were placed in the vault, the hand of a
human being was discovered protruding from one of the coffins deposited
there. On a closer examination, those present were startled to find the
hand was firmly clenched, the coffin burst open, and the body turned
entirely over, leaving not a doubt that the unfortunate being had been
buried alive. The corpse was that of a very respectable man, who died,
apparently, very suddenly, and whose body was placed in the vault on
Friday last."

The _Recherches Medico-legales sur l'incertitude des risques de la mort,
les dangers dés inhumations précipiteés, les moyens de constater les décès
et de rappeler á la vie ceux qui sont en etat de mort apparente_, by I. de
Fontenelle, is a very curious production. In a review of this work, and of
the _Recherches Physiologiques, sur la vie et la mort_, by Bichat, in the
London Quarterly, vol. lxxxv. page 369, the writer remarks--"_A gas is
developed in the decaying body, which mimics, by its mechanical force,
many of the movements of life. So powerful is this gas, in corpses, which
have laid long in the water, that M. Devergie, the physician at the
Morgue, at Paris, says that, unless secured to the table, they are often
heaved up and thrown to the ground._"

Upon this theory, the writer proposes, to account for those posthumous
changes of position, which are known, sometimes to have taken place. It
may serve to explain some of these occurrences. But the formation of this
gas, in a greater or less degree, must be universal, while a change in the
position is comparatively rare. The curiosity of friends often leads to an
inspection of the dead, in every stage of decomposition. However valuable
the theory, in the writer's estimation, the generation of the most
powerful gas would scarcely be able to throw the body entirely out of the
coffin, with its arms outstretched towards the portal of the tomb; of
which, and of similar changes, there exist well authenticated records.

It is quite probable, that the _Irish wake_ may have originated, in this
very dread of premature interment, strangely blended with certain
spiritual fancies, respecting the soul's reluctance to quit its tenement
of clay.

After relating the remarkable story of Asclepiades of Prusa in Bithynia,
who restored to life an individual, then on his way to the funeral
pile--Bayle, vol. ii. p. 379, Lond. 1735, relates the following
interesting tale. A peasant of Poictou was married to a woman, who, after
a long fit of sickness, fell into a profound lethargy, which so closely
resembled death, that the poor people gathered round, and laid out the
peasant's helpmate, for burial. The peasant assumed a becoming expression
of sorrow, which utterly belied that exceeding great joy, that is natural
to every man, when he becomes perfectly assured, that the tongue of a
scolding wife is hushed forever.

The people of that neighborhood were very poor; and, either from economy
or taste, coffins were not used among them. The corpses were borne to the
grave, simply enveloped in their shrouds, as we are told, by Castellan, is
the custom, among the Turks. Those who bore the body, moved,
inadvertently, rather too near a hedge, at the roadside, and, a sharp
thorn pricking the leg of the corpse, the trance was broken--the supposed
defunct sprang up on end--and began to scold, as vigorously as ever.

The disappointed peasant had fourteen years more of it. At the expiration
of that term, the good woman pined away, and appeared to die, once more.
She was again borne toward the grave. When the bearers drew near to the
spot, where the remarkable revival had occurred, upon a former occasion,
the widower became very much excited; and, at length, unable to restrain
his emotions, audibly exclaimed--"_don't go too near that hedge!_"

In a number of the London Times, for 1821, there is an account of the
directions, given by an old Irish expert in such matters, who was about to
die, respecting his own _wake_--"Recollect to put three candles at the
head of the bed, after ye lay me out, two at the foot, and one at each
side. Mind now and put a plate with the salt on it, just atop of my
breast. And d'ye hear--have plinty o' tobacky and pipes enough; and
remimber to have the punch strong. And--blundenoons, what the devil's the
use o' pratin t'ye--sure it's mysilf knows ye'll be after botching it, as
I'll not be there mysel."



No. XCII.


That man must be an incorrigible _fool_, who does not, occasionally, like
the Vicar of Wakefield, find himself growing weary of being always _wise_.
In this sense, there are few men of sixty winters, who have not been
guilty of being over-wise--of assuming, at some period of their lives, the
port and majesty of the bird of Minerva--of exercising that talent, for
silence and solemnity, ascribed by the French nobleman, as More relates,
in his travels, to the English nation. A man, thus protected--dipped, as
it were, in the waters of Lethe, _usque ad calcem_--is truly a pleasant
fellow. There is no such thing as getting hold of him--there he is,
conservative as a tortoise, _unguibus retractis_. He seems to think the
exchange of intellectual commodities, entirely out of the question; he
will have none of your folly, and he holds up his own superlative wisdom,
as a cow, of consummate resolution, holds up her milk. If society were
thus composed, what a concert of voices there would be, in unison with
Job's--_we would not live alway_. Life would be no other, than a long
funeral procession--the dead burying the dead. I am decidedly in favor of
a cheerful philosophy. Jeremy Taylor says, that, "_the slightest going off
from a man's natural temper is a species of drunkenness_." There are some
men, certainly, who seem to think, that total abstinence, from every
species of merriment, is a wholesome preparative, for a residence in
Paradise. The Preacher saith of laughter, _it is mad, and of mirth, what
doeth it?_ But in the very next chapter, he declares, _there is a time to
dance and a time to sing_. We are told in the book of Proverbs, that _a
merry heart doeth good, like a medicine_.

There has probably seldom been a wiser man than Democritus of Abdera, who
was called the laughing philosopher; and of whom Seneca says, in his work
De Ira, ii. c. 10, _Democritum aiunt nunquam sine risu in publico fuisse;
adeo nihil illi videbatur serium eorum, quæ serio gerebantur_: Democritus
never appeared in public, without laughter in his countenance; so that
nothing seemed to affect him seriously, however much so it might affect
the rest of mankind.--The Abderites, with some exceptions, thought him
mad; or, in Beattie's words, when describing his minstrel boy--

  "Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believ'd him mad."

These Abderites, who were, notoriously, the most stupid of the Thracians,
looked upon Democritus precisely as the miserable monks, about Oxford,
looked upon Roger Bacon, in the thirteenth century--they believed him a
magician, or a madman.

To laugh and grow fat is a proverb. Whether Democritus grew fat or not, I
am unable to say; but he died at a great age, having passed one hundred
years; and he died cheerfully, as he had lived temperately. Lucretius says
of him, lib. iii. v. 1052--

  "_Sponte sua letho caput obvius obtulit ipse_."

The tendency of his philosophy was to ensure longevity. The grand aim and
end of it all were comprehended, in one word, [Greek: euphymia], or the
enjoyment of a tranquil state of mind.

There is much good-natured wisdom, in the command, and in the axiom of
Horace--

  "_Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem
  Dulce est desipere in loco_"--

which means, if an off-hand version will suffice--

  Mix with your cares a little folly,
  'Tis pleasant sometimes to be jolly.

One of the most acceptable images, presented by Sir Walter Scott, is that
of Counsellor Pleydell, perched upon the table, playing at high jinks, who
compliments Colonel Mannering, by continuing the frolic, and telling him,
that, if a fool had entered, instead of a man of sense, he should have
come down immediately.

My New England readers would be very much surprised, if they had any
personal knowledge of the late excellent and venerable Bishop Griswold, to
be told, that, among his works, there was an edition of Mother Goose's
Melodies, with _prolegomina, notæ, et variæ lectiones_; well--there is no
such thing there. But every one knows, that the comic romance of
Bluebeard, as it is performed on the stage, was written by Bishop Heber,
and is published in his works. Every one knows that Hannah More wrote
tolerable plays, and was prevented, by nothing but her sex, from being a
bishop. Every one knows that bishops and archbishops have done very funny
things--_in loco_. And every one knows, that all this is quite as
respectable, as being very reverently dull, and wearing the phylactery for
life--_stand off, for I am stupider than thou_.

I have now before me a small octavo volume--a very _bijou_ of a book, with
the following title--_Arundines Cami, sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Lusus
Canori_, and bearing, for its motto--_Equitare in arundine longa_. This
book is printed at Cambridge, England; and I have never seen a more
beautiful specimen of typography. The work is edited by Henry Drury, Vicar
of Wilton: and it contains a collection of Greek and Latin versions; by
Mr. Drury himself, and by several good, holy, and learned men--Butler,
late Bishop of Litchfield--Richard Porson--Hodgson, S. J. B. of Eton
College--Vaughan, Principal of Harrow--Macaulay--Hallam--Law--and many
others.

The third edition of this delightful book was published in 1846. And now
the reader would know something of the originals, which these grave and
learned men have thought it worthy of their talents and time, to turn into
Greek and Latin. I scarcely know where to select a specimen, among
articles, every one of which is prepared, with such exquisite taste, and
such perfect knowledge of the capabilities of the language employed. Among
the readers of the Transcript, I happen to know some fair scholars, who
would relish a Greek epigram, on any subject, as highly, as others enjoy a
pointed paragraph in English, on the subject of rum and molasses. Here is
a Greek version of the ditty--"What care I how black I be," by Mr.
Hawtrey, Principal of Eton, which I would transcribe, were it not that a
Greek word, now and then, presented in the common type, suggests to me,
that you may not have a Greek font. It may be found by those, who are of
the fancy, on page 49 of the work.

Here is a version by Mr. Hodgson--how the shrill, thready voice of my dear
old nurse rings in my ears, while reading the original! God reward her
kind, untiring spirit--she has gone where little Pickles cease from
troubling, and where weary nurses are at rest:--

      Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man,
      So I do, master, as fast as I can.
      Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with C,
      Then it will answer for Charley and me.

  Tunde mihi dulcem pistor, mihi tunde farinam.
      Tunditur, O rapida tunditur illa manu.
  Punge decenter acu, tituloque inscribe magistri;
      Sic mihi, Carolulo, sic erit esca meo.

The contributions of Mr. H. Drury, the editor, are inferior to none--

  There was an old man in Tobago,
  Who liv'd on rice gruel and sago;
    Till, much to his bliss,
    His physician said this:
  'To a leg, sir, of mutton you may go.'

      Senex æger in Tarento
      De oryxa et pulmento
      Vili vixerat invento;
        Donec medicus
      Seni inquit valde læto,
      'Senex æger, o gaudeto,
      Crus ovinum, jam non veto
        Tibi benedicus.'

Decidedly the most felicitous, though by no means the most elaborate in
the volume, is the following, which is also by the editor, Mr. Drury--

  Hey diddle diddle! The cat and the fiddle!
    The cow jumped over the moon;
  The little dog laughed to see such sport;
    And the dish ran away with the spoon.

  Hei didulum--atque iterum didulum! Felisque fidesque!
    Vacca super lunæ cornua prosiluit.
  Nescio qua catulus risit dulcedine ludi;
    Abstulit et turpi lanx cochleare fuga.

A Latin version of Goldsmith's mad dog, by H. J. Hodgson, is very clever,
and there are some on solemn subjects, and of a higher order.

How sturdily these little ditties, the works of authors dead, buried, and
unknown, have breasted the current of time! I had rather be the author of
_Hush-a-bye baby, upon the tree top_, than of Joel Barlow's Vision of
Columbus--for, though I have always perceived the propriety of putting
babies to sleep, at proper times, I have never entirely appreciated the
wisdom of doing the very same thing to adults, at all hours of the day.

What powerful resurrectionists these nursery melodies are! Moll Pitcher of
Endor had not a greater power over the dry bones of Samuel, than has the
ring of some one of these little chimes, to bring before us, with all the
freshness of years ago, that good old soul, who sat with her knitting
beside us, and rocked our cradle, and watched our progress from petticoats
to breeches; and gave notice of the first tooth; and the earliest words;
and faithfully reported, from day to day, all our marvellous achievements,
to one, who, had she been a queen, would have given us her sceptre for a
hoop stick.



No. XCIII.


Byles is a patronymic of extraordinary rarity. It will be sought for,
without success, in the voluminous record of Alexander Chalmers. It is not
in the Biographia Britannica; though, even there, we may, occasionally,
discover names, which, according to Cowper, were not born for
immortality--

  "_Oh fond attempt to give a deathless lot
  To names ignoble, born to be forgot!_"

Even in that conservative record of choice spirits, the Boston Directory
for 1849, this patronymic is nowhere to be found.

Henry Byles came from Sarum in England; and settled at Salisbury in this
Commonwealth, as early as 1640. I am not aware, that any individual,
particularly eminent, and bearing this uncommon name, has ever existed
among us, excepting that eccentric clergyman, who, within the bounds of
our little peninsula, at least, is still occasionally mentioned, as "_the
celebrated Mather Byles_." I am aware, that he had a son, who bore the
father's prænomen, and graduated at Harvard, in 1751; became a doctor of
divinity, in 1770; was a minister, in New London, and dismissed from his
charge, in 1769; officiated, as an Episcopal clergyman, in Boston, for
several years; went to St. Johns, N. B., at the time of the revolution;
officiated there; and died, March 12, 1814.

But my dealings, this evening, are with "_the celebrated Mather Byles_,"
who was born of worthy parents, in the town of Boston, March 26, 1706. His
father was an Englishman. Through the maternal line, he had John Cotton
and Richard Mather, for his ancestors. He graduated, at Harvard, in 1725;
was settled at the Hollis Street Church, Dec. 20, 1733; created D. D. at
Aberdeen, in 1765; was, on account of his toryism, separated from his
people, in 1776; and died of paralysis, July 5, 1788, at the age of 82. He
was twice married; a niece of Governor Belcher was his first, and the
daughter of Lieut. Governor Tailer, his second wife.

I should be faithless, indeed, were I to go forward, without one passing
word, for precious memory, in regard to those two perennial damsels, the
daughters of Dr. Byles. How many visitations, at that ancient manse in
Nassau Street! To how many of the sex--young--aye, and of no particular
age--it has occurred, at the nick of time, when there was nothing under
Heaven else to be done, to exclaim--"What an excellent occasion, for a
visit to Katy and Polly!" And the visit was paid; and the descendants of
"_the celebrated Mather Byles_" were so glad to see the visitors--and it
was so long since their last visit--and it must not be so long again--and
then the old stories, over and over, for the thousandth time--and the
concerted merriment of these amiable visitors, as if the tales were quite
as new, as the year itself, upon the first January morn--and the filial
delights, that beamed upon the features of these vestals, at the effect,
produced, by the recitation of stories, which really seemed to be made of
that very _everlasting_ of which the breeches of our ancestors were
made--and then the exhibition of those relics, and _heir looms_, or what
remained of them, after some thirty years' presentation to all comers,
which, in one way and another, were associated with the memory of "_the
celebrated Mather Byles_,"--and then the oh don't gos--and oh fly not
yets--and when will you come agains!

The question naturally arises, and, rather distrustingly, demands an
answer--what was "_the celebrated Mather Byles_"--celebrated for? In the
first place, he was _Sanctæ Theologiæ Doctor_. But his degree was from
Aberdeen; and the Scotch colleges, at that period, were not particularly
coy. With a cousin at court, and a little gold in hand, it was somewhat
less difficult, for a clergyman, without very great learning, or talent,
to obtain a doctorate, at Aberdeen, in 1765, than for a camel, of unusual
proportions, to go through the eye of a very small needle. Even in our
cis-atlantic colleges, these bestowments do not always serve to mark
degrees of merit, with infallible accuracy--for God's sun does not more
certainly shine, upon the just and upon the unjust, than doctorates have,
in some cases, fallen upon wise men, and upon fools. That, which, charily
and conservatively bestowed, may well be accounted an honor, necessarily
loses its value, by diffusion and prostitution. Not many years ago, the
worthy president of one of our colleges, being asked, how it happened,
that a doctorate of divinity had been given to a certain person of
ordinary talents, and very little learning; replied, with infinite
_naiveté_--"_Why ---- had it; and ---- had it; and ---- had it; and we
didn't like to hurt his feelings_."

Let us not consider the claims of Mather Byles as definitely settled, by
the faculty at Aberdeen.--He corresponded with Pope, and with Lansdowne,
and with Watts. The works of the latter were sent to him, by the author,
from time to time; and, among the treasures, highly prized by the family,
was a presentation copy, in quarto, from Pope, of his translation of the
Odyssey. This correspondence, however, so far as I was ever able to gather
information from the daughters, many years ago, did not amount to much;
the letters were very few, and very far between; on the one side
complimentary, and bearing congratulations upon the occasion of some
recent literary success; and, on the other, fraught with grateful
civility; and accompanied, as is often the case, with copies of some of
the author's productions.

Let me here present a somewhat disconnected anecdote: At the sale of the
library of Dr. Byles, a large folio Bible, in French, was purchased, by a
private individual. This Bible had been presented to the French Protestant
Church, in Boston, by Queen Anne; and, at the time, when it came to the
hands of Dr. Byles, was the last relic of that church, whose visible
temple had been erected in School Street, about 1716. Whoever desires to
know more of these French Protestants, may turn to the "Memoir," by Dr.
Holmes, or to vol. xxii. p. 62, of the Massachusetts Historical
Collections.

Dr. Byles wrote, in prose and verse, and quite _respectably_ in both.
There is not more of the spirit of poetry, however, in his metrical
compositions, than in his performances in prose. His versification was
easy, and the style of his prose works was unaffected; his sentences were
usually short, and never rendered unintelligible, by the multiplication of
adjuncts, or by any affectation of sententious brevity. Yet nothing, that
I have ever met with, from the pen of Dr. Byles, is particularly
remarkable for its elegance; and it is in vain to look, among such of his
writings, as have been preserved, for the evidences of extraordinary
powers of thought. Some dozen of his published sermons are still extant.
We have also several of his essays, in the New England Weekly Journal; a
poem on the death of George I., and the accession of George II., in 1727;
a sort of monodial address to Governor Belcher, on the death of his lady;
a poem called the Conflagration; and a volume of metrical matters,
published in 1744.

If his celebrity had depended upon these and other literary labors, he
would scarcely have won the appellation of "_the celebrated Mather
Byles_."

The _correspondent_ of Byles, Isaac Watts, never imagined, that the time
would arrive, when his own voluminous lyrics and his address to "_Great
Gouge_," would be classed, in the _Materia Poetica_, as soporifics, and
scarcely find one, so poor, as to do them reverence; while millions of
lisping tongues still continued to repeat, from age to age, till the
English language should be forgotten,

  "Let dogs delight
  To bark and bite,
  For God hath made them so;
  Let bears and lions
  Growl and fight,
  For 'tis their nature to."

Dr. Byles himself could not have imagined, while putting the finishing
hand to "_The Conflagration_," that, if he had embarked his hopes of
reaching posterity, in that heavy bottom, they must surely have foundered,
in the gulf of oblivion--and that, after all, he would be wafted down the
stream of time, to distant ages, astride, as it were, upon a feather--and
that what he could never have accomplished, by his grave discourses, and
elaborate, poetical labors, would be so certainly and signally achieved,
by the never-to-be-forgotten quips, and cranks, and bon mots, and puns,
and funny sayings, and comical doings of the reverend pastor of the Hollis
Street Church.

The reader must not do so great injustice to Dr. Byles, as to suppose,
that he mingled together _sacra profanis_, or was in the habit of
exhibiting, in the pulpit, that frolicsome vein, which was, in him, as
congenital, as is the tendency, in a fish, to swim in water.

The sentiment of Horace applies not here--

  ------------ridentem dicere verum
  Quid vetat?

The serious writings of Dr. Byles are singularly free from everything,
suggestive of frivolous association. In his pulpit, there was none of it;
not a jot; while, out of it, unless on solemn occasions, there was very
little else. I have heard from those, who knew him well, that he ransacked
the whole vocabulary, in search of the materials for punning. Yet of his
attempts, in this species of humor, few examples are remembered. The
specimens of the wit and humor of this eccentric divine, which have been
preserved, are often of a different character; and not a few of them of
that description, which are called practical jokes. Some of these
pleasantries were exceedingly clever, and others supremely ridiculous. It
is now more than half a century, since I listened to the first, amusing
anecdote of Mather Byles. Many have reached me since--some of them quite
as clever, as any we have ever had--I will not say from Foote, or Hook, or
Matthews; for such unclerical comparisons would be particularly
odious--but quite as clever as anything from Jonathan Swift, or Sydney
Smith. Suppose I convert my next number into a penny box, for the
collection and safe keeping of these petty records--I know they are below
the dignity of history--so is a very large proportion of all the thoughts,
words, and actions of Kings and Emperors--I'll think of it.



No. XCIV.


There were political sympathies, during the American Revolution, between
that eminent physician and excellent man, Dr. James Lloyd, and Mather
Byles; yet, some forty-three years ago, I heard Dr. Lloyd remark, that, in
company, the Reverend Mather Byles was a most troublesome puppy; and that
there was no peace for his punning. Dr. Lloyd was, doubtless, of opinion,
with Lord Kaimes, who remarked, in relation to this inveterate habit, that
few might object to a little salt upon their plates, but the man must
have an extraordinary appetite, who could make a meal of it.

The daily employment of our mental powers, for the discovery of words,
which agree in sound, but differ in sense, is a species of intellectual
huckstering, well enough adapted to the capacities of those, who are unfit
for business, on a larger scale. If this occupation could be made _to
pay_, many an oysterman would be found, forsaking his calling, and
successfully competing with those, who will not suffer ten words to be
uttered, in their company, without converting five of them, at least, to
this preposterous purpose.

No conversation can be so grave, or so solemn, as to secure it from the
rude and impertinent interruption of some one of these pleasant fellows;
who seem to employ their little gift upon the community, as a species of
laughing gas. A little of this may be well enough; but, like musk, in the
gross, it is absolutely suffocating.

The first story, that I ever heard, of Mather Byles, was related, at my
father's table, by the Rev. Dr. Belknap, in 1797, the year before he died.
It was upon a Saturday; and Dr. John Clarke and some other gentlemen,
among whom I well remember Major General Lincoln, ate their salt fish
there, that day. I was a boy; and I remember their mirth, when, after Dr.
Belknap had told the story, I said to our minister, Dr. Clarke, near whom
I was eating my apple, that I wished he was half as funny a minister, as
Dr. Byles.

Upon a Fast day, Dr. Byles had negotiated an exchange, with a country
clergyman. Upon the appointed morning, each of them--for vehicles were not
common then--proceeded, on horseback, to his respective place of
appointment. Dr. Byles no sooner observed his brother clergyman
approaching, at a distance, than he applied the whip; put his horse into a
gallop; and, with his canonicals flying all abroad, passed his friend, at
full run. "_What is the matter?_" he exclaimed, raising his hand in
astonishment--"_Why so fast, brother Byles?_"--to which the Dr., without
slackening his speed, replied, over his shoulder--"_It is Fast day!_"

This is, unquestionably, very funny--but it is surely undesirable, for a
consecrated servant of the Lord, thus lavishly to sacrifice, upon the
altars of Momus.

The distillery of Thomas Hill was at the corner of Essex and South
Streets, not far from Dr. Belknap's residence in Lincoln Street. Dr. Byles
called on Mr. Hill, and inquired--"Do you still?"--"That is my business,"
Mr. Hill replied.--"Then," said Dr. Byles--"will you go with me, and still
my wife?"

As he was once occupied, in nailing some list upon his doors, to exclude
the cold, a parishioner said to him--"the wind bloweth wheresoever it
listeth, Dr. Byles."--"Yes sir," replied the Dr. "and man listeth,
wheresoever the wind bloweth."

He was intimate with General Knox, who was a bookseller, before the war.
When the American troops took possession of the town, after the
evacuation, Knox, who had become quite corpulent, marched in, at the head
of his artillery. As he passed on, Byles, who thought himself privileged,
on old scores, exclaimed, loud enough to be heard--"_I never saw an ox
fatter in my life_." But Knox was not in the vein. He felt offended by
this freedom, especially from Byles, who was then well known to be a tory;
and replied, in uncourtly terms, that he was a "---- fool."

In May, 1777, Dr. Byles was arrested, as a tory, and subsequently tried,
convicted, and sentenced to confinement, on board a guard ship, and to be
sent to England with his family, in forty days. This sentence was changed,
by the board of war, to confinement in his own house. A guard was placed
over him. After a time, the sentinel was removed--afterwards replaced--and
again removed--when the Dr. exclaimed, that _he had been
guarded--regarded--and disregarded_. He called his sentry his
_observ-a-tory_.

Perceiving, one morning, that the sentinel, a simple fellow, was absent,
and seeing Dr. Byles himself, pacing before his own door, with a musket on
his shoulder, the neighbors stepped over, to inquire the cause--"_You
see_," said the Dr., "_I begged the sentinel to let me go for some milk
for my family, but he would not suffer me to stir. I reasoned the matter
with him; and he has gone, himself, to get it for me, on condition that I
keep guard in his absence._"

When he was very poor, and had no money to waste on follies, he caused the
little room, in which he read and wrote, to be painted brown, that he
might say to every visitor--"_You see I am in a brown study_."

His family, having gone to rest, were roused one night, by the reiterated
cry of _thieves!--thieves!_ in the doctor's loudest voice--the wife and
daughters sprang instantly from their beds, and rushed into the
room--there sat the Dr. alone, in his study chair--"_Where, father?_"
cried the astonished family--"_there!_" he exclaimed, pointing to the
candles.

One bitter December night, he called his daughters from their bed, simply
to inquire if they lay warm.

He had a small collection of curiosities. Some visitors called, one
morning; and Mrs. Byles, unwilling to be found at her ironing board, and
desiring to hide herself, as she would not be so caught, by these ladies,
for the world, the doctor put her in a closet, and buttoned her in. After
a few remarks, the ladies expressed a wish to see the Dr's curiosities,
which he proceeded to exhibit; and, after entertaining them very
agreeably, for several hours, he told them he had kept the greatest
curiosity to the last; and, proceeding to the closet, unbuttoned the door,
and exhibited Mrs. Byles.

He had complained, long, often, and fruitlessly, to the selectmen, of a
quagmire, in front of his dwelling. One morning, two of the fathers of the
town, after a violent rain, passing with their chaise, became stuck in
this bog. As they were striving to extricate themselves, and pulling to
the right and to the left, the doctor came forth, and bowing, with great
politeness, exclaimed--"_I am delighted, gentlemen, to see you stirring in
this matter, at last_."

A candidate for fame proposed to fly, from the North Church steeple, and
had already mounted, and was clapping his wings, to the great delight of
the mob. Dr. Byles, mingling with the crowd, inquired what was the object
of the gathering--"_We have come, sir_," said some one, "_to see a man
fly_."--"_Poh, poh_," replied the doctor, "_I have seen a horse-fly_."

A gentleman sent Dr. Byles a barrel of very fine oysters. Meeting the
gentleman's wife, an hour or two after, in the street, the doctor assumed
an air of great severity, and told her, that he had, that morning, been
treated, by her husband, in a most _Billingsgate_ manner, and then
abruptly left her. The lady, who was of a nervous temperament, went home
in tears, and was quite miserable, till her husband returned, at noon, and
explained the occurrence; but was so much offended with the doctor's
folly, that he cut his acquaintance.

A poor fellow, in agony with the toothache, meeting the doctor, asked him
where he should go, to have it drawn. The doctor gave him a direction to
a particular street and number. The man went, as directed; and, when the
occupant came to the door, told him that Dr. Byles had sent him there, to
have his tooth drawn. "_This is a poor joke, for Dr. Byles_," said the
gentleman; "_I am not a dentist, but a portrait painter--it will give you
little comfort, my friend, to have me draw your tooth_." Dr. Byles had
sent the poor fellow to Copley.

Upon the 19th of May, 1780, the memorable dark day, a lady wrote to the
doctor as follows--"_Dear doctor, how do you account for this darkness?_"
and received his immediate reply--"_Dear Madam, I am as much in the dark,
as you are_." This, for sententious brevity, has never been surpassed,
unless by the correspondence, between the comedian, Sam Foote, and his
mother--"_Dear Sam, I'm in jail_"--"_Dear Mother, So am I._"

He had, at one time, a remarkably stupid, and literal, Irish girl, as a
domestic. With a look and voice of terror, he said to her, in haste--"_Go
and say to your mistress, Dr. Byles has put an end to himself_." The girl
flew up stairs, and, with a face of horror, exclaimed, at the top of her
lungs--"_Dr. Byles has put an end to himself!_" The astonished wife and
daughters rushed into the parlor--and there was the doctor, calmly walking
about, with a part of a cow's tail, that he had picked up, in the street,
tied to his coat, or cassock, behind.

From the time of the stamp act, in 1765, to the period of the revolution,
the cry had been repeated, in every form of phraseology, that our
_grievances_ should be _redressed_. One fine morning, when the multitude
had gathered on the Common, to see a regiment of red coats, paraded there,
who had recently arrived--"_Well_," said the doctor, gazing at the
spectacle, "_I think we can no longer complain_, that our _grievances_ are
not _red dressed_." "_True_," said one of the laughers, who were standing
near, "_but you have two ds, Dr. Byles_." "_To be sure, sir, I have_," the
doctor instantly replied, "I had them from _Aberdeen_, in 1765."

These pleasantries will, probably, survive "THE CONFLAGRATION." Had not
this eccentric man possessed some very excellent and amiable qualities, he
could not have maintained his clerical relation to the Hollis-Street
Church and Society, for three and forty years, from 1733 to 1776; and have
separated from them, at last, for political considerations alone.

Had his talents and his influence been greater than they were, the
peculiarities, to which I have alluded, would have been a theme, for
deeper deprecation. The eccentricities of eminent men are mischievous, in
the ratio of their eminence; for thousands, who cannot rival their
excellencies, are often the successful imitators of their peculiarities
and follies.

I never sympathized with that worthy, old lady, who became satisfied, that
Dr. Beecher was a terrible hypocrite, and without a spark of vital
religion, because she saw him, from her window, on the Lord's day, in his
back yard, gymnasticising, on a pole, in the intermission season; and
thereby invigorating his powers, for the due performance of the evening
services. Yet, as character is power, and as the children of this
generation have a devilish pleasure in detecting inconsistencies, between
the practice and the profession of the children of light--it is ever to be
deplored, that clergymen should hazard one iota of their clerical
respectability, for the love of fun; and it speaks marvels, for the moral
and religious worth of Mather Byles, and for the forbearance,
intelligence, and discrimination of his parishioners, that, for
three-and-forty years, he maintained his ministerial position, in their
midst, cutting such wild, unpriestly capers, and giving utterance to such
amusing fooleries, from morning to night.



No. XCV.


I have already referred to the subject of being buried alive. There is
something very terrible in the idea; and I am compelled, by some recent
information, to believe, that occurrences of this distressing nature are
more common, than I have hitherto supposed them to be.

Not long ago, I fell into the society of a veteran, maiden lady, who, in
the course of her evening revelations of the gossip she had gathered in
the morning, informed the company, that an entire family, consisting of a
husband, wife, and seven children, were buried alive.

You have heard, or read, I doubt not, of that eminent French surgeon, who,
while standing by the bedside of his dying friend and patron, utterly
forgot all his professional cares and duties, in his exceeding great joy,
at beholding, for the first time in his life, the genuine Sardonic grin,
exhibited upon the distorted features of his dying benefactor. For a
moment, my sincere sorrow, for the terrible fate of this interesting
family, was utterly forgotten, in the delight I experienced, at the
prospect of receiving such an interesting item, for my dealings with the
dead.

My tablets were out, in an instant--and, drawing my chair near that of
this communicative lady, I requested a relation of all the particulars. My
astonishment was very much increased, when she asserted, that they had
actually buried themselves--and my utter disappointment--as an artist--can
scarcely be conceived, when she added, that the whole family had gone to
reside permanently in the country, giving up plays, concerts, balls,
soirees and operas.

Putting up my tablets, with a feeling of displeasure, illy concealed, I
ventured to suggest, that opportunities, for intellectual improvement,
were not wanting in the country; and that, perhaps, this worthy family
preferred the enjoyment of rural quiet, to the miscellaneous cries of
fire--oysters--and murder. She replied, that she had rather be murdered
outright, than live in the country--listen to the frogs, from morning to
night--and watch the progress of cucumbers and squashes.

Seriously, this matter of being buried alive, is very unpleasant. The
dead, the half-dead, and the dying, were brutally neglected, in the
earlier days of Greece. Diogenes Laertius, lib. 8, _de vita et moribus
philosophorum_, relates, that Empedocles, having restored Ponthia, a woman
of Agrigentum, to life, who was on the point of being buried, laws began
to be enacted, for the protection of the apparent dead. At Athens, no one
could be buried, before the third day; and, commonly, throughout all
Greece, burial and cremation were deferred, till the sixth or seventh day.
Alexander kept Hephestion's body, till the tenth day. I have referred, in
a former number, to the remarkable cases of Aviola and the Prætor Lamia,
who revived, after being placed on the funeral pile. Another Prætor,
Tubero, was saved, at the moment, when the torch was about to be applied.
I have also alluded to the act of Asclepiades, who, in disregard of the
ridicule of the bystanders, stopped a funeral procession, and reanimated
the body, about to be burnt.

A perusal of the _Somnium Scipionis_, and of the accounts of Hildanus,
Camerarius, and Horstius--of Plato, in his Republic--and of Valerius
Maximus, will satisfy the reader, that premature burials were, by no
means, uncommon, of old.

The idea of reviving in one's coffin--one of Fisk and Raymond's "_Patent
Metallic Burial Cases, Air-Tight and Indestructible_"--is really awful!
How truly, upon such an awakening as this, the wretch must wish he had
been born a savage--a Mandan of the upper Missouri--neither to be burnt
nor buried--but placed upon a mat, supported by poles--aloof from the
accursed wolves and undertakers--with a reasonable supply of pemmican and
corncake, and a calabash of water, by his side!

The dread of such an occurrence has induced some very sensible people, to
prefer cremation to earth and tomb burial. Of this we have a remarkable
example, in our own country. An infant daughter of Henry Laurens, the
first President of Congress, had, to all appearance, died of the small
pox. She was, accordingly, laid out, and prepared for the grave. A window,
which, during her illness, had been kept carefully closed, having been
opened after the body was shrouded, and a stream of air blowing freshly
into the apartment, the child revived, and the robes of death were
joyfully exchanged, for her ordinary garments. This event naturally
produced a strong impression, upon the father's mind. By his will, Mr.
Laurens enjoined it upon his children, as a solemn duty, that his body
should be burnt; and this injunction was duly fulfilled.

In former numbers, I have referred the reader to various authorities, upon
this interesting subject. I will offer a brief quotation from a sensible
writer--"According to the present usage, as soon as the semblance of death
appears, the chamber is deserted, by friends, relatives, and physicians,
and the apparently dead, though frequently living, body is committed to
the management of an ignorant or unfeeling nurse, whose care extends no
further than laying the limbs straight, and securing her accustomed
perquisites. The bed clothes are immediately removed, and the body is
exposed to the air. This, _when cold_, must extinguish any spark of life,
that may remain, and which, by a different treatment, might have been
kindled into a flame; or it may only continue to repress it, and the
unhappy person revive amidst the horrors of the tomb."--"Coldness,
heaviness of the body, a leaden, livid color, with a yellowness in the
visage," says the same author, "are all very uncertain signs." Mr.
Zimmerman observed them all, upon the body of a criminal, who fainted,
through the dread of the punishment he had merited. He was shaken, dragged
about, and turned, in the same manner dead bodies are, without the least
sign of resistance: and yet, at the end of twenty-four hours, he was
recalled to life, by means of volatile alkali.

In 1777, Dr. William Hawes, the founder of the Humane Society in London,
published an address, on premature interment. This is a curious and
valuable performance. I cannot here withhold the statement, that this
excellent man, before the formation of the Humane Society, for several
years, offered rewards, and paid them from his own purse, for the rescue
of persons from drowning, between Westminster and London bridge. Dr. Hawes
remarks, that the appearance of death has often been mistaken for the
reality, in apoplectic, and fainting fits, and those, arising from any
violent agitation of the mind, and from the free use of opium and
spirituous liquors. Children, he observes, have often been restored, who
have apparently died in convulsions. In case of fevers, in weak habits, or
when the cure has been chiefly attempted, by means of depletion, the
patient often sinks into a state, resembling death; and the friends, in
the opinion of Dr. Hawes, have been fatally deceived. In small pox, he
remarks, when the pustules sink, and death apparently ensues, means of
restoration should by no means be neglected.

In Lord Bacon's _Historia Vitæ et Mortis_, a passage occurs,
commencing--"Complura fuerunt exempla hominum, tanquam mortuorum, aut
expositorum e lecto, aut delatorum ad funus, quinetiam nonnullorum in
terra conditorum, qui nihilominus revixerunt," etc. But the passage is
rather long, and in a dead language; and my professional experience has
admonished me to be economical of space, and to occupy, for every dead
subject, long or short, as little room, as possible. I therefore give an
English version, of whose sufficiency the reader may judge, by glancing at
the original, vol. viii. p. 447, Lond. 1824.--There were many examples,
says Lord Bacon, of men, supposed to be dead, taken from their beds as
corpses, or borne to their graves, some of them actually buried, who,
nevertheless, revived. This fact, in regard to such as were buried, has
been proved, upon re-opening their graves; by the bruises and wounds upon
their heads; and by the manifest evidences of tossing about, and
struggling in their coffins. John Scott, a man of genius, and a scholar,
furnishes a very recent and remarkable example; who, shortly after his
burial, was disinterred, and found, in that condition, by his servant, who
was absent at the time of Mr. Scott's interment, and well acquainted, it
seems, with those symptoms of catalepsy, to which he was liable.

A like event happened, in my time, to a play-actor, buried at Cambridge. I
remember the account, given me by a clever fellow, who being full of
frolic, and desirous of knowing what were the feelings of persons, who
were hanging, suspended himself to a beam, and let himself drop, thinking
that he could lay hold on the beam, when he chose. This, however, he was
unable to do; but, luckily, he was relieved by a companion. Upon being
interrogated, he replied, that he had not been sensible of any pain--that,
at first, a sort of fire and flashing came about his eyes--then extreme
darkness and shadows--and, lastly, a sort of pale blue color, like that of
the ocean. I have heard a physician, now living, say, that, by frictions
and the warm bath, he had brought a man to life, who had hanged himself,
and remained suspended, for half an hour. The same physician used to say,
that he believed any one might be recovered, who had been suspended no
longer, unless his neck was broken. Such is a version of Lord Bacon's
statement.

In the Gentleman's Magazine, for 1834, page 475, the following account is
given of the feelings, during the process of hanging, by one, who was
restored--"The preparations were dreadful, beyond all expression. On being
dropped, he found himself midst fields and rivers of blood, which
gradually acquired a greenish tinge; and imagined, if he could reach a
certain spot in the same, he should be easy. He struggled forcibly to
attain this, and felt no more."



No. XCVI.


It were greatly to be desired, that every driver of brute animals, Guinea
negroes, and hard bargains, since he will not be a Christian, should be a
Pythagorean. The doctrine of the metempsychosis would, doubtless, instil a
salutary terror into his mind; and soften the harshness of his character,
by creating a dread of being, himself, spavined and wind-galled, through
all eternity; or destined to suffer from the lash, which he has
mercilessly laid upon the slave; or condemned to endure that hard measure,
which he has meted, in this world, to the miserable debtor.

This opinion, which Pythagoras is said to have borrowed from the
Egyptians, or, as some assert, from the Brachmans, makes the chief basis
of religion, among the Banians and others, in India and China, at the
present day; and is the cause of their great aversion to take the life of
brute animals, and even insects. The accidental destruction of any living
thing produces, with them, a feeling of sorrow, similar to that,
experienced, as Mr. Catlin says, by an Indian, who unfortunately shot his
_totem_, which, in that case, chanced to be a bear; that is, an animal of
a certain race, one of which his guardian angel was supposed to inhabit.

Vague and fantastical, as have been the notions of a future state, in
different nations, the idea of a condition of being, after death, has been
very universal. Such was the conclusion from the reasonings of Plato. Such
were the results "quæ Socrates supremo vitæ die de immortalitate animorum
disseruisset." Such was the faith of Cicero--"Sic mihi persuasi, sic
sentio, quum tanta celeritas animorum sit, tanta memoria præteritorum,
futurorumque prudentia, tot artes, tantæ scientiæ, tot inventa, non posse
eam naturam, quæ res eas contineat, esse mortalem." De Senec. 21.

Seneca was born a year before the Christian era. There is a remarkable
passage, in his sixty-third letter, addressed to Lucilius. He is striving
to comfort Lucilius, who had lost his friend Flaccus--"Cogitemus ergo
Lucili carissime, cito nos eo perventuros quo illum pervenisse moeremus.
Et fortasse (si modo sapientium vera fama est, recipitque nos locus
aliquis) quem putamus perisse, præmissus est:"--Let us consider, my dear
Lucilius, how soon we, ourselves, shall go whither he has gone, whose fate
we deplore. And possibly (if the report of certain wise men be true, and
there is indeed a place to receive us hereafter) he whom we consider as
gone from us _forever_, has only gone _before_. Here is, indeed, a shadowy
conception of a future state. The heathen and the Christian, the savage
and the sage concur, in the feeling, or the faith, or the philosophy,
whichever it may be, that, though flesh and blood, bone and muscle shall
perish, the spirit shall not. An impression, like this, swells into
conviction, from the very contemplation of its own instinctive and
pervasive character.

The Egyptians believed, in the abiding presence of the spirit with the
body, so long as the latter could be preserved; and therefore bestowed
great pains, in its preservation. In the travels of Lewis and Clarke, the
Echeloot Indians are reported to pay great regard to their dead; and
Captain Clarke was of the opinion, that they were believers in a future
state. They have common cemeteries; the bodies, carefully wrapped in
skins, are laid on mats, in vaults made of pine or cedar, eight feet
square; the sides are covered with strange figures, cut and painted, and
images are attached. On tall poles, surmounting these structures, are
suspended brass kettles, old frying-pans, shells, skins, baskets, pieces
of cloth, and hair. Sometimes the body is laid in one canoe, and covered
with another. It is not easy to conjecture what occasion these poor
Echeloots supposed spirits could have, for frying-pans and brass kettles.

The faith of the inhabitants of Taheite is very peculiar. They believe,
that the soul passes through no other purgatory, than the stomach of the
_Eatooa_ bird. They say of the dead, that they are _harra po_, gone to the
night; and they believe, that the soul is instantly swallowed, by the
_Eatooa_ bird, and is purified by the process of deglutition; then it
revives; becomes a superior being; never more to be liable to suffering.
This soul is now raised to the rank of the _Eatooa_, and may, itself,
swallow souls, whenever an opportunity occurs; which, having passed
through this gastric purgation, may, in their turn, do the very same
thing. Vancouver was present, at the obsequies of the chief, _Matooara_.
The priest gave a funeral sermon--"_The trees yet live_," said he, "_the
plants flourish, yet Matooara dies!_" It was a kind of expostulation with
_Eatooa_.

Baron Swedenborg's notions of the soul's condition, after death, are very
original, and rather oriental. He believed, "that man eats, and drinks,
and even enjoys conjugal delight, as in this world; that the resemblance
between the two worlds is so great, that, in the spiritual world, there
are cities with palaces and houses, and also writings and books,
employments and merchandizes; that there are gold and silver, and precious
stones there. There is, in the spiritual world, all and every thing that
there is in the natural world; but that in Heaven, such things are in an
infinitely more perfect state." Trade, in Heaven, is conducted,
doubtless, on those lofty principles, inculcated, by the late Dr.
Chalmers, in his commercial discourses; counterfeiters and bank robbers,
marriage squabbles and curtain lectures are unknown; and no angel lendeth
upon usury. In this arrangement, there is a remarkable oversight; for, as
death is dispensed with, our vocation is no better, than Othello's. The
superior advantages of the Baron's Heaven scarcely offer a fair
compensation, for the suffering and inconvenience of removing, from our
present tabernacles; and, for one, I should decidedly prefer to remain
where I am, especially now that we have gotten the Cochituate water.

Such being the fashion of Swedenborg's Heaven, it would be quite
interesting, were he now among us, in the flesh, to have, under his own
hand, a rough sketch of his Hell. As the former is a state, somewhat
better, the latter must be a state somewhat worse, than our present
condition. It would not be very difficult to give some little idea of
Swedenborg's Orcus, or place of punishment. We should have an eternal
subtreasury, of course, with a tariff, more onerous, if possible, than
that of 1846: the infernal banks would not discount, and money, on prime
paper, would be three per cent. a month. Slavery would cover the earth;
and the South would rage against the North and its interference, like the
maniac, against his best friend, who strives to prevent him, from cutting
his own throat, with his own razor.

Among the fancies, which have prevailed, in relation to the soul and its
habits, none, perhaps, have been more remarkable, than the belief, in an
actual _exodus_, or going forth, of the soul from the body, during life,
on excursions of business or pleasure. This may be placed in the category
of sick men's dreams; and probably is nothing else than that mighty
conjuration of the mind, especially the mind of an invalid; of whose power
no man had greater experience than Emanuel Swedenborg. The inhabitants of
some of the Polynesian islands believe, that the spirits of their
ancestors become divinities, or _Tees_. They believe the soul walks
abroad, in dreams, under the charge of its _Tee_, or tutelary angel.

Mydo, a boy, was brought from Taheite, by an English whaler, and died,
kindly cared for, by the Moravians. One morning, he spoke to these
friends, as follows:--"You told me my soul could not die, and I have been
thinking about it. Last night my body lay on that bed, but I knew nothing
of it, for my soul was very far off. My soul was in Taheite. I am sure I
saw my mother and my friends, and I saw the trees and dwellings, as I left
them. I spoke to the people, and they spoke to me; and yet my body was
lying still in this room, all the while. In the morning, I was come again
into my body, and was at Mirfield, and Taheite was a great many miles off.
Now I understand what you say about my body being put into the earth, and
my soul being somewhere else; and I wish to know where it will be, when it
can no more return to my body." Such were the humble conceptions of the
dying Taheitean boy--let the reader decide for himself what more there may
be, under the grandiloquence of Addison--

  --------Plato, thou reasonest well.
  Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
  This longing after immortality?
  Or whence this secret dread and inward horror
  Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
  Back on herself, and startles at destruction!
  'Tis the divinity, that stirs within us;
  'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
  And intimates eternity to man.



No. XCVII.


The ashes of the dead are ransacked, not only for hidden treasure, and for
interesting relics, but there is a figurative species of raking and
scratching, among them, in quest of one's ancestors. This is, too
frequently, a periculous experiment; for the searcher sometimes finds his
progress--the pleasure of his employment, at least--rudely interrupted, by
an offensive stump, which proves to be the relic of the whipping-post, or
the gallows.

Neither the party himself, nor the world, trouble their heads, about a
man's ancestors, until he has distinguished himself, in some degree, or
fancies that he has; for, while he is nobody, they are clearly nobody's
ancestors. In Note A, upon the article _Touchet_, vol. ix., fol. ed.,
Lond., 1739, Bayle remarks--"It is very common to fall into two extremes,
with regard to those, whom Providence raises greatly above their former
condition: some, by fabulous genealogies, procure them ancestors of the
first quality; others reduce them to a rank, much below the true one."
This remark was amply illustrated, in the case of Napoleon Bonaparte:
while some there were, who thought they could make out a clear descent
from the prince of darkness, others were ready to accommodate him with the
most illustrious ancestry. The Emperor of Austria had a fancy, for tracing
Napoleon's descent, from one of the petty sovereigns of Treviso; and a
genealogist made a merit of proving him to be a descendant, from an
ancient line of Gothic princes; to all this Napoleon sensibly replied,
that he dated his patent of nobility, from the battle of Monte Notte.
Cicero was of the same way of thinking, and prided himself, on being
_novus homo_. Among the _fragmenta_, ascribed to him, there is a
declamation against Sallust, published by Lemaire, in his edition of the
Classics, though he believes it not to be Cicero's; in which, sec. ii.,
are these words--_Ego meis majoribus virtute mea præluxi; ut, si prius
noti non fuerint, a me accipiant initium memoriæ suæ_--_By my virtue, I
have shown forth before my ancestors; so, that if they were unknown
before, they will receive the commencement of their notoriety from me_. "I
am no herald," said Sydney, "to inquire of men's pedigrees: it sufficeth
for me if I know their virtues."

This setting up for ancestors, among those, who, from the very nature of
our institutions, are, and ever must be, a middling interest people, is as
harmless, as it is sometimes ridiculous, and no more need be said of its
inoffensiveness.

From the very nature of the case, there can be no lack of ancestors. The
simplest arithmetic will show, that the humblest citizen has more than
_one million of grand parents_, within the twentieth degree; and it is
calculated, in works on consanguinity, that, within the fifteenth degree,
every man has nearly _two hundred and seventy millions of kindred_. There
is no lack, therefore, of the raw material, for this light work; unless,
in a case, like that of the little vagrant, who replied to the
magistrate's inquiry, as to his parents, that he never had any, but _was
washed ashore_. The process is very simple. Take the name of Smith, for
example: set down all of that name, who have graduated at the English,
American, and German colleges, for Schmidt is the same thing--then enrol
all of that name, upon the habitable earth, who have, in any way,
distinguished themselves; carefully avoiding the records of criminal
courts, and such publications as Caulfield's Memoirs, the State Trials,
and the Newgate Calendar. Such may be called the genealogy of the Smiths;
and every man of that name, while contemplating the list of worthies, will
find himself declaring a dividend, _per capita_, of all that was good, and
great, and honorable, in the collection; and he will arise, from the
perusal, a more complacent, if not a better man.

This species of literature is certainly coming into vogue. I have lately
seen, in this city, a large duodecimo volume, recently printed, in which
the genealogy of a worthy family, among us, is traced, through Oliver
Cromwell, to Æneas, not Æneas Silvius, who flourished in the early part of
the fifteenth century, and became Pope Pius II., but to Æneas, the King of
the Latins. This royal descent is not through the second marriage with
Lavinia; nor through the accidental relation, between Æneas and Dido--

  Speluncam Dido dux et Trojanus eandem
  Deveniunt----------;

but through the first marriage with the unfortunate Creusa, who was burnt
to death, in the great Troy fire, which took place, according to the
Parian Marbles, on the 23d of the month, Thargelion, i. e., 11th of June,
1184 years before Christ. Ascanius was certainly therefore the ancestor of
this worthy family, the son of Æneas and Creusa; and the grandson of
Anchises and Venus. Such a pedigree may satisfy a Welchman.

I am forcibly reminded, by all this, of a very pleasant story, recounted
by Horace Walpole, in a letter to Horace Mann: I refer to Letter CCV. in
Lord Dover's edition. In 1749, when Mirepoix was ambassador in England,
there was a Monsieur de Levi, in his suite. This man was proud of his
Jewish name, and really appeared to set no bounds to his genealogical
_gout_. They considered the Virgin Mary a cousin of their house, and had a
painting, in which she is represented, as saying to Monsieur Levi's
ancestor, who takes off his hat in her presence--"_Couvrez vous, mon
cousin_:" to which he replies--"_Non pas, ma très sainte cousine, je scai
trop bien le respect que je vous dois_." The editor, Lord Dover, says, in
a note, that there is said to have been another ridiculous picture, in
that family, in which Noah is represented, going into the ark, carrying a
small trunk under his arm, on which is written--"_Papiers de la maison de
Levis_."

Very few persons are calculated for the task of tracing genealogies;
patience and discrimination should be united with a certain slowness of
belief, and wariness of imposition. Two of a feather do not more readily
consociate, than two of a name, and of the genealogical fancy, contrive to
strike up a relationship. There are also greater obstacles in the way,
than a want of the requisite talents, temper, and
attainments:--"Alterations of sirnames," says Camden, "which, in former
ages, have been very common, have so obscured the truth of our pedigrees,
that it will be no little labor to deduce many of them." For myself, a
plain, old-fashioned sexton, as I am, I am much better satisfied, with the
simple and intelligible assurance of my Bible, that I am a child of Adam,
than I could possibly be, with any genealogical proofs, that Anchises and
Venus were my ancestors. However, there is no such thing as accounting for
taste; and it is not unpleasant, I admit, to those of us, who still
cherish some of our early, classical attachments, to know, that the blood
of that ancient family is still preserved among us.

No man is more inclined than I am, to perpetuate a sentiment of profound
respect for the memory of worthy ancestors. Let us extract, from the
contemplation of their virtues, a profitable stimulus, to prevent us from
being weary in well-doing. By the laws of Confucius, a part of the duty,
which children owed to their parents, consisted in worshipping them, when
dead. I am inclined to believe, that this filial worship or reverence may
be well bestowed, in the ascending line, on all, who have deserved it, and
who are, _bona fide_, our grandfathers and grandmothers. It seems to me
quite proper and convenient, to have a well-authenticated catalogue or
list of one's ancestors, as far back as possible; but let us exercise a
sound discretion in this matter; and not run into absurdity. I am ready
and willing to obey the laws of Confucius, as implicitly, as though I were
a Chinaman, and reverence my ancestors; but I must, first, be well
satisfied, as to their identity. I will never consent, because some
professional genealogist has worked himself into a particular belief, to
worship the man in the moon, for my great Proavus, nor Dido for my great,
great grandmother.

Domestic arboriculture is certainly getting into fashion, and a family
tree is becoming quite essential to the self-complacency, at least, of
many well-regulated families. The roots are found to push freely, in the
superficial soil of family pride. Generally, these trees, to render them
sightly, require to be pruned with a free hand; and the proprietor, when
the crooked branches are skilfully removed, and all the small and
imperfect fruit put entirely out of sight, may behold it, with heartfelt
pleasure, and rejoice in the happy consciousness, that he is a SMINK. If,
however, these family matters, instead of being preserved, for private
amusement, are to be multiplied, by the press, there will, indeed, in the
words of the wise man, be no end of making books.

Ancestors are relics, and nothing else. Whenever the demand for ancestors
becomes brisk, and genealogy becomes a _profession_--it becomes a _craft_.
Laboureur, the historian, in his _Additions de Castelnau_, tom. ii. p.
559, affords a specimen of genealogical trust-worthiness. "In 1560,
Renatus of Sanzay built, with John le Feron, king at arms of France, a
genealogy of the house of Sanzay, made up of near fifty descents, most of
them enumerated, year by year; with the names, sirnames, and coats of arms
of the women; whilst all those names, families, and arms were mere
phantoms; brother Stephen of Lusignan, out of this mighty tub, as from a
public fountain, let flow the nobility and blood of Lusignan to all
persons, who desired any of it."--Again, on page 320, Laboureur
says--"They admitted, as true, all that was vented by certain false
antiquaries and downright enthusiasts, such as John le Maire de Belges,
Forcatel, a civilian, Stephen of Lusignan, and John le Feron, whom I will
charge with nothing but credulity." This, doubtless, is the stumbling
block of most men, who engage in this semi-mythical employment.

Nothing is more easy, than to mistake one dead person, for another, when
corruption has done its work, upon the form and features. There is
something bituminous in time. What masculine mistakes are committed by
experts! Those relics, which have been the object of hereditary
veneration, for thirty centuries, as the virgin daughter of some great
high priest in the days of Cheops and Cephrenes, may, by the assistance of
the savans, with the aid of magnifiers of extraordinary power, be
demonstrated to be the blackened carcass of Hum-Bug-Phi, the son of
Hassan, the camel-driver; who kept a little khane or caravansera near
Joseph's granaries, in old Al Karirah, on the eastern banks of the Nile,
famous--very--for the quality of its leeks and onions, three thousand
years ago.



No. XCVIII.


Thank Heaven, I am not a young widow, for two plain reasons; I do not wish
to be young again--and I would not be a widow, if I could help it. A young
widow, widder, or widdy, as the word is variously spelt, has been a
byword, of odd import, ever since the days, when Sara, the daughter of
Raguel, exclaimed, in the fifteenth verse of the third chapter of the book
of Tobit--"_My seven husbands are already dead, and why should I live?_"
All this tilting against the widows, with goose quills for spears, arises
from the fact, that these weapons of war are mainly in the hands of one
sex. Men are the scribblers--the lions are the painters. Nothing, in the
chapters of political economy, is more remarkable, than the fact, that,
since all creation was divided into parishes, there has never been a
parish, in which there was not a Mr. Tompkins, who was the very thing for
the widow Button. But the cutting out and fitting of these matters
commonly belongs to that amiable sisterhood, who are ever happy, without
orders, to make up, at short notice.

The result of my limited reading and observation has satisfied me
entirely, that there is, and ever has been, a very great majority of bad
husbands, over the bad wives, and of bewizzarded widowers, over the widows
bewitched. When a poor, lone, young widow, for no reason under Heaven, but
the desire to prove her respect, as Dr. Johnson says, for the state of
matrimony, takes the initiative, every unmarried female, over thirty,
longs to cut her ears off.

If there be sin or silliness, in the repetition of the matrimonial
relation, or in strong indications of uneasiness, in the state of single
blessedness, man is the offender in chief.

_Quadrigamus_, signifying a man who had been four times married, was a
word, applicable of old. Henry VIII. had six wives, in succession. Let us
summon a witness, from among the dead. Let us inquire, where is there a
widow, maid, or wife, who would not be deemed a candidate for the old
summary punishment of Skymmington, should she behave herself, as boldly,
and outrageously, as John Milton behaved?

Milton, though he did not commence his matrimonial experiments, until he
was thirty-five, married, in succession, Mary Powell, in 1643--Catherine
Woodcock, in 1653--and Elizabeth Minshull, in 1662. Mary Powell, who was
the daughter of a Cavalier, and accustomed to the gaiety of her father's
house, soon became weary of her solitary condition, with John Milton, who
was, constitutionally, of a choleric and lordly temper. Contrasted with
the loneliness, and slender appliances of her new home, the residence of
her father, at Forest Hill, appeared to her, like paradise lost. So she
went home, at the end of a month, ostensibly upon a visit; and, probably,
gave no very flattering account of the honeymoon. Just about that period,
the King's forces had thrashed Fairfax, in the North, and taught Waller
the true difference, between prose and poetry, in the West; and "the
Powells," says Dr. Symmons, "began to repent of their Republican
connection." Milton wrote to his wife to return. She neither came, nor
responded. He next sent a messenger, who was treated with contempt.
Thereupon Milton immediately proceeded to pay his suit to a very beautiful
and accomplished young lady, the daughter of a Dr. Davis; and Dr. Symmons
is evidently of opinion, that the lady and her family had no objections to
the proceeding, which is fully exhibited, in Milton's Prose Works, vol.
vii. p. 205, Lond., 1806.

Talk not of widows after this. Finding, even in those days of disorder,
that no divorce, _a vinculo_, could be obtained, under existing laws, he
wrote his celebrated works--The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, and
the Judgment of Martin Bucer, concerning Divorce. In these works he sets
forth his particular grievance, which the reader may easily comprehend,
from one or two brief quotations--he speaks of a "_mute and spiritless
mate_" and of "_himself bound to an image of earth and phlegm_."

After the fight of Naseby, the Powells appear to have thought better of
it; and Madame Milton returned, made the amende, and was restored in full.
What sort of composition Milton made with Miss Davis nobody has ever
disclosed. Certain it is, that compasionate damsel and the works upon
divorce were all laid upon the same shelf. We are apt to find something
of value, in a thing we have discarded, when we perceive, that it is
capable of giving high satisfaction to another. This consideration may
have influenced Mrs. Milton; and, very possibly, the desire of returning
to the residence of Milton may have been secondary to that of jilting Miss
Davis, which she was certainly entitled to do. I knew an old gentleman,
who was always so much affected, in this manner, by the sight of his
cast-off clothing, upon the persons of his servants, that nothing would
content him, short of reclaimer.

Milton was ever Milton still--_nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_. Take a
brief extract or two from his work on divorce:--"What therefore God hath
joined let no man put asunder. But here the Christian prudence lies, to
consider what God hath joined. Shall we say that God hath joined error,
fraud, unfitness, wrath, contention, perpetual loneliness, perpetual
discord? Whatever lust, or wine, or witchery, threat or enticement,
avarice or ambition hath joined together, faithful or unfaithful,
Christian with anti-Christian, hate with hate, or hate with love--shall we
say this is God's joining?"--"But unfitness and contrariety frustrate and
nullify forever, unless it be a rare chance, all the good and peace of
wedded conversation; and leave nothing between them enjoyable, but a prone
and savage necessity, not worth the name of marriage, unaccompanied with
love." Every word of all this was written with an eye to the object of his
unlawful passion: but the legislature very justly considered the greatest
good of the greatest possible number; and would not turn aside, to pass a
bill, for the special relief of John Milton and Miss Davis.

Selden, in his _Uxor Hebraica_, has proved, that polygamy existed, not
only among the Hebrews, but among all nations, and in all ages. Mark
Anthony is mentioned, as the first, among the Romans, who took the liberty
of having two wives. What a gathering there would have been, in the Forum,
if the news had been spread, that Mrs. Mark Anthony had taken the liberty
of having two husbands! Every body knows, that widows are occasionally
burnt, in Hindostan, on the funeral pile with their husbands. Whoever
heard of a widower being burnt or even scorched, on a similar occasion?

The Landgrave of Hesse, the most warlike of the Protestant leaders, caused
a representation to be made to the theologians, that he must have two
wives, and that he would not be denied. A most rampant and outrageous
protocol was prepared, and handed to Bucerus, for the ministers at
Wittemberg. The substance of this was equally discreditable to the
Landgrave, and insulting to Luther and the holy fathers. The Landgrave was
no gentleman, for he told the theologians, that his lady got drunk, and
was personally disagreeable to him. He calls God to witness, that, if they
do not sanction his polygamy, he will do just what he likes, and the sin
will be upon their heads. He particularly wishes information, on one
point--why he is not as good as Abraham, Jacob, David, Lamech, and
Solomon; and why he has not as good a right to have a spare wife or two,
as they had. He asks for two only.

Luther was deeply troubled, and perplexed. The Reformation professed to
bring back the world to the Scriptures, in which polygamy was expressly
recognized. The Reformers held marriage to be _res politica_, and
therefore subject to the law of the State. The matter became worse by
delay. The Landgrave was filled with fury, and the theologians with fear.
At last, poor Luther and the rest signed a paper, concluding with these
memorable words--"If however your highness is utterly determined upon
marrying a second wife, we are of opinion, that it ought to be done
secretly. Signed and sealed at Wittemberg, after the feast of St.
Nicholas, in the year 1539. Martin Luther, Philip Melancthon, Martin
Bucer, Antony Corvin, Adam John Lening, Justin Wintfert, Dyonisius
Melanther."

The detail of all this may be found, in Hazlitt's translation of
Michelet's Life of Luther, page 251, Lond. 1846. Bayle, article Luther,
observes, that the theologians would have promptly refused to sanction
such a thing, had the request come from any private gentleman--or, permit
me to add, if it had come from the lady of the Landgrave, for a brace of
husbands.

It is my opinion, that great injustice is done to widows. The opinion of
St. Jerome, who never was a widow, and knew nothing about it, that they
should never marry again, is perfectly absurd; for there are some men,
whose constitutional timidity would close the matrimonial highway forever,
were it not for that peculiar species of encouragement, which none but
widows can ever administer. For my own part, I would have a widow speak
out, and spare not; for I am very fearful, that the opposite course is
productive of great moral mischief, and tends to perpetuate a system of
terrible hypocrisy. But let a sound discretion be exercised. I disapprove
altogether of conditional engagements, made _durante vita mariti_.



No. XCIX.


Jonny Moorhead was a man of a kind heart and a pleasant fancy. He came
hither from Belfast, in 1727. He became pastor of the Presbyterian Church
in Long Lane, in 1730.--_Tempora mutantur_--Long Lane, and Jonny Moorhead,
and the little, old, visible temple, and Presbyterianism itself, are like
Rachel's first born--they are not. But in 1744, the good people built a
new church, for Jonny Moorhead; in due time, Long Lane became Federal
Street; and, Jonny's church bore the bell, which had rung so many peals,
and the gilded tell-tale, which, for so many years, had done obeisance to
all the winds of Heaven, upon the _old_ Brattle Street Church. These, upon
the demolition of that church, in 1774, were the gift of John Hancock.
Jonny Moorhead had little comfort from that bell, for he died December 3,
1774, and could he have lived to see that Presbyterian weathercock go
round, in after-times, it would have broken the tough, old strings of
Jonny Moorhead's Irish heart.

About one hundred years ago, Jonny Moorhead, upon a drowsy summer
afternoon, gave out the one hundred and eighty-seventh psalm--the chief
minstrel, with infinite embarrassment, suggested, that there were not so
many in the _Book_--and tradition tells us, that Jonny replied--"_Weel,
then, sing as mony as there be_."

My recollection of this anecdote of Jonny Moorhead will be painfully
revived, when I send forth the one hundredth number of these dealings with
the dead. They have been prepared like patch-work, from such fragments, as
my common-place book supplied, and at such broken hours of more than
ordinary loneliness, as might otherwise have been snoozed, unconsciously
away. I had cast all that I had written into a particular drawer; and
great was my surprise, to find, that the hundredth was the last, and that,
with that number, I shall have sung--"_as mony as there be_."

One hundred--thought I--is an even number--few individuals care to survive
one hundred. When these dealings with the dead had reached the number of
four-score, I had serious misgivings, that their _strength_, to my weary
reader, might prove nothing better than _labor and sorrow_;
notwithstanding the occasional tokens of approbation, from some
exceedingly old-fashioned people, who were altogether behind the times.

Having attained this _point d'appui_, which appears well enough adapted
for the long home of an old sexton, it occurred to me, that I could not
possibly do a better thing, for myself, or a more acceptable thing for the
public, than to gather up my tools, as snugly as possible, and quietly
give up the ghost. But giving up the ghost, even in the sacristan sense of
that awful phrase, is not particularly agreeable, after all. If I look
upon each one of these hundred dealings, as a sepulchre of my own
digging--I cannot deny, that the employment of my spade has been a
particular solace to me. But there are other solaces--I know it--there are
an hundred according to the exiled bard of Sulmo--

                "----centum solatia curæ
  Et rus, et comites, et via longa dabunt."

Other suggestions readily occur, and are as readily, discarded. Parents,
occasionally, experiment upon the sensibility of their children, by fondly
discoursing of the uncertainty of human existence, and mingling deep drawn
sighs, with shadowy allusions to wills and codicils.

For three-and-thirty years, our veteran, maiden aunt, Jemima Wycherly, at
the close of her annual visit, which seldom fell short of six weeks, in
its duration, though it seemed much longer, took each of us by the hand,
and, with many tears, commended us fervently to the protecting arm of an
overruling Providence, and bade us an eternal farewell!

I have always contemplated the conduct of Charles V. in relation to the
rehearsal of his funeral obsequies, as a piece of imperial foolery. "He
ordered his tomb to be erected, in the chapel of the monastery. His
domestics marched thither in funeral procession, with black tapers in
their hands. He himself followed, in his shroud. He was laid in his
coffin, with much solemnity. The service for the dead was chanted; and
Charles joined in the prayers, which were offered for the rest of his
soul, mingling his tears with those, which his attendants shed, as if
they had been celebrating a real funeral. The ceremony closed, with
sprinkling holy water on the coffin, in the usual form, and, all the
assistants retiring, the doors of the chapel were shut. Then Charles rose
out of the coffin, and withdrew to his apartment." Such is the statement
of Dr. Robertson.[1]

Notwithstanding this high authority, it is comforting, even at this late
day, to believe, that a story, so discreditable to the memory of Charles,
is without any substantial foundation. It has ever appeared remarkable,
that Bayle should not have alluded to this curious anecdote. After
bestowing the highest praise, on Richard Ford's Hand Book, for Travellers
in Spain, the London Quarterly Review[2] furnishes an extract from the
work, in which, after giving a minute and interesting account of the
convent of St. Yuste, the final retreat of Charles V., Mr. Ford
says--"_the story of his having had the funeral service said over himself,
while alive, is untrue; no record, or tradition of the kind existed among
the monks_."

There is something, in these drafts upon _posterity_, to be accepted and
paid, by the _present generation_, for the honor of the drawer, resembling
the conduct of a man, who encroaches on his principal, or who anticipates
his revenues.

There is, undoubtedly, a species of luxury in leave-taking. We have
delighted, to contemplate the edifying history of that gray-headed old
rat, who, weary of the world, and determined to spend the remnant of his
days, in pious meditation, took a final and affectionate leave of all his
relatives and friends, and retired to a quiet hole--_in the recesses of a
Cheshire cheese_.

However gratified we may be, to witness the second, or third coming of an
able, ardent, and ambitious politician, it is not in the gravest nature to
restrain a smile, while we contrast that vehemence, which no time can
temper--that _vis vivida vitæ_--ready for all things, in the forum or the
field--that unquenchable fire, brightly burning, beneath the frost of more
than seventy winters--with those sad infirmities of ace--those silver
hairs--that one foot in the grave--the necessity of turning from all
sublunary things, and making way for Heaven, under the pale rays of life's
parting sun--those senatorial adieus--and long, last farewells--those
solemn prayers and fervent hopes for the happiness of his associates,
whom he should meet no more, on this side of the eternal world--those
_esto perpetuas_ for his country! How touching these things would be, but
for their frequency! What more natural, or more excusable, having enjoyed
the luxury of leave-taking, than a desire--after a reasonable interval--to
repeat the process, which afforded so much pleasure, and inflicted so
little pain!

As to my own comparatively humble relation to the public--_parvis
componere magna_--I am of opinion, that I should gain nothing, by
affecting to retire, or by pretending to be dead. As to the former, it may
be as truly averred of sextons, as it was, by Mr. Jefferson, of
office-holders--"_few die and none resign_;" and, in respect to the
latter, I not only despise the idea of such an imposition upon the public,
but have some little fear, that the affectation might be too suddenly
followed, by the reality, as Dr. Robertson, rightly or wrongly, affirms it
to have been, in the case of Charles the Fifth.

I am now fairly committed, for the first number, at least, of another
hundred, but for nothing more. I pretend not to look deeper into futurity,
than six feet, which is the depth of a well-made grave. When I shall have
completed the second hundred, and commenced upon a third, I shall be well
nigh ready to exclaim, in the words of Ovid--

                                      "Vixi
  Annos bis centum: nunc tertia vivitur ætas."

A relation of liberty and equality is decidedly the best, for my reader
and for me--I am not constrained to write, nor he to read--if he cannot
lie cozily, in a grave of my digging--I do not propose to detain him
there--to bury him alive. Dealing with the dead has not hardened my heart.
I am a sexton of very considerable sensibility; and have, occasionally,
mingled my tears with the earth, as I shovelled it in.

In less figurative phrase, it is my desire to write, for my amusement,
till one of us, the reader or myself, gives in, or gives out, and cries
_enough_. I have a perfect respect for the old proverb, _de gustibus_, and
by no means anticipate the pleasure of pleasing every body--

  Men' moveat cimex Pantilius? aut cruciet, quod
  Vellicet absentem Demetrius? aut quod ineptus
  Fannius Hermogenis lædat conviva Tigelli?

There are some readers, for example, who seem to look upon a classical
quotation, as a personal affront. I conceive this objection to be scarcely
equitable, from those, whose hybrid English, it is quite as hard to bear.

There are mortals--offenders in some sort--whom it is difficult to please,
like the culprit who cried _higher_ and _lower_, under the lash, till the
Irish drummer's patience was perfectly exhausted, and he exclaimed--"_By
Jasus, there's no plasing ye, strike where I will_."



No. C.


The sayings of eminent men, in a dying hour, are eminently worthy of being
gathered together--they are often illustrative of the characters of the
dead, and impressive upon the hearts of the living. Not a few of these
parting words are scattered, over the breadth and length of history, and
might form a volume--a _Vade Mecum_, for the patriot and the Christian--a
casket of imperishable jewels.

As an example of those sayings, to which I refer, nothing can be more
apposite, than that of the Chevalier Bayard, while dying upon the field of
battle. "He received a wound," says Robertson, "which he immediately
perceived to be mortal, and being unable any longer to continue on
horseback, he ordered one of his attendants to place him under a tree,
with his face toward the enemy; then fixing his eyes on the guard of his
sword, which he held up, instead of a cross, he addressed his prayers to
God; and, in this posture, which became his character, both as a soldier
and as a Christian, he calmly awaited the approach of death." Bourbon, who
led the foremost of the enemy's troops, found him in this situation, and
expressed regret and pity, at the sight. "_Pity not me_," cried the
high-spirited chevalier, "_I die, as a man of honor ought, in the
discharge of my duty; they indeed are objects of pity, who fight against
their king, their country, and their oath_."

How significant of the life of that great military phlebotomist, who, from
the overthrow of the council of five hundred, in 1799, to his own in 1815,
delighted in blood, and in war, were those wild, wandering words of the
dying Napoleon--_tete d'armee!_

We have the last words of consciousness, that were uttered, by the younger
Adams, when stricken by the hand of death in the capitol--_the last of
earth!_ We have also those of his venerable father, who expired, on the
anniversary of that day, which he had so essentially contributed to render
glorious, so long as the annals of our country shall continue to be
preserved. On the morning of that day, the dying patriot, at the age of
ninety-one, was awakened, by the customary pealing of bells, and the roar
of artillery. Upon being asked, if he recognized the day, he replied--"_it
is the glorious Fourth--God bless the day--God bless you all_."

On the ninth day of July, 1850, another patriot died, at his post, and in
the service of his country, whose parting words will long remain, engraven
at full length, upon the broad area of the whole American heart,--I AM
PREPARED--I HAVE ENDEAVORED TO DO MY DUTY! Here, in this comprehensive
declaration of General Taylor, are embodied all, and more than all,
contained in the long cherished words of the departing patriot--ESTO
PERPETUA!

  "And you brave Cobham, to the latest breath,
  Shall feel your ruling passion, strong in death:
  Such in those moments, as in all the past;
  'O save my country, Heaven!' shall be your last."

The ninth day of July is, with the Swiss, the day of their National
Independence. On that memorable day, in 1836, they fought, and won the
great battle of Sempach, against Leopold, Duke of Austria, which victory
established the liberties of Switzerland.

Upon the anniversary of that very day, just ninety-five years ago,
Washington was signally preserved, from the sweeping and indiscriminate
carnage of Indian warfare, for those high destinies, which he fulfilled so
gloriously. The ninth day of July, 1755, was the day of General Braddock's
defeat--the battle, as it is sometimes called, of Fort du Quesne.
Hereafter, it will be noted, as a day of gloom, in our national calendar.
A great--good man has fallen--in a trying hour--in the very midst of his
labors--a wiser, a worthier could not have fallen, at a moment of deeper
need. From sea to sea--from the mountain tops to the valleys below--from
the city and from the wilderness--from the rich man's castle, and from the
hunter's cabin--from the silver-haired and from the light-hearted, what an
acclaim--what a response, as the voice of one man--has already answered
to that dying declaration--I AM PREPARED--I HAVE ENDEAVORED TO DO MY DUTY!
As an entire people, we know it--we feel it--and may God, in his infinite
wisdom and goodness, enable us to profit, by a dispensation, so awfully
solemn, and so terribly severe.

The spirit of this great, good man is now by the side of that sainted
shade, which once animated the form of the immortal Washington. They are
looking down upon the destinies of their country. Who is so dull of
hearing, as not to catch the context of those dying words? _I am
prepared_--_I have endeavored to do my duty_--AND MAY MY DEATH CEMENT THAT
UNION, WHICH I SO CHEERFULLY DEVOTED MY LIFE TO PRESERVE!

It is finished. The career of this good man has closed forever.
Ingratitude and calumny to him are nothing now. After days and nights of
restless agitation, he has obtained one long, last night of sweet repose,
reserved for those, who die _prepared, and who have endeavored to do
their duty_. He has gone where the wicked cease from troubling, and where
the weary are at rest. No summons to attend the agitating councils of the
Cabinet shall disturb his profound repose--no sarcastic commentaries upon
his honest policy, from the over-heated leaders of the Senate or the
House, shall give him additional pain. Party malignity can no longer reach
that ear. Even the hoary-headed, political Zoilus of the age can scarcely
find a motive, base enough, among the recesses of an envenomed heart, for
posthumous abuse. In view of this solemnizing event, the raving
abolitionist and the Utopian non-resistant may be expected to hold their
incomparably senseless tongues, at least till these obsequies be past.

If I do not greatly mistake, the death of General Harrison and the death
of General Taylor, so very soon after entering upon the performance of
their presidential duties, will not fail to present before the whole
American people, for their learning, a first and a second lesson, so
perfectly legible, that he, who runs, may read.

It perfectly comports with a respect, sincere and profound, for the
memories of these excellent men, solemnly to inquire, if, upon certain
well known and universally acknowledged principles, it would not be as
wise, and even more wise, to select a statesman, whose conduct in the
cabinet had made him preëminently popular, and to place him, with a
sword, in his unpractised hand, at the head of the armies of the
Republic--than to place, in the Presidential chair, a great soldier,
universally and deservedly popular, for his success in war--however strong
his common sense--however inflexible his integrity--however pure and
devoted his patriotism--unless he also possesses that skill, and knowledge
of affairs, which never came to man, by intuition; and which cannot be
acquired, but by the laborious training and experience of years? This is a
solemn question, for the people; and it may well be put, irrespectively of
the public weal, and with a reference, directly, to the happiness, and
even to the continued existence, of those, who may be so unfortunate as to
become the objects of the popular favor. Is there any doubt, that all the
battles, in which General Taylor has ever been engaged, have occasioned
less wear and tear of body and mind, than have been produced, by the
numberless trials and anxieties of the Presidential relation? It is a
popular saying, and, perhaps, not altogether unworthy of general
acceptation, that both General Harrison and General Taylor were _killed,
not by kindness, but by care_.

It may readily be supposed, that a gallant soldier would rather encounter
the brunt of a battle, than such torrents of filth, as have been poured,
professionally, upon the chief magistrate of the nation, from week to
week, by the great scavenger, and his auxiliaries, at Washington. All this
would have been borne, with comparative indifference, by a practised
statesman, whose training had been among the contests of the forum, and
whose moral cutis had been thickened, by time and exposure.

To appear, and to be, all that a chief magistrate ought to appear, and to
be, in the centre of his cabinet, what a mass of information, on a great
variety of subjects--what tact, amid the details of the cabinet--must be
required, which very few gentlemen, who have devoted themselves to the
military profession, can be supposed to possess! If knowledge is power,
ignorance is weakness; and the consciousness of that weakness produces a
condition of suffering and anxiety. Instead of coming to the great work of
government, with the necessary stock of knowledge, training, and
experience--how incompetent is he, who comes to that work, like an actor,
who is learning his part, during the progress of the play.

The crude, iron ore is quite as well adapted to the purposes of the
smith, or the cutler, without any subjection to the preparatory processes
of metallurgy, as talent and virtue, however consummate, without
preparatory training, and appropriate study, for the great and complicated
work of government.

Too much confidence is apt to be reposed, upon the idea, that the
President will be sustained, by his cabinet; and that any deficiencies, in
him, will be compensated, by their wisdom and experience. The President is
an important, component part of the acting government. He is not, like the
august Personage, at the head of the government of England, who can do no
wrong; and whose chief employment is the breeding of royal babies, and the
occasional reading of a little speech. He can do a great deal of wrong,
and must do a great deal of work; and, when he differs from his cabinet,
the more need he feels of practical and applicable wisdom and knowledge;
and, the more upright and conscientious he is, the more miserable he
becomes, under an oppressive sense of his incapacity.

General Taylor will long be remembered, by the people of the United
States, with profound and affectionate respect. His amiable and excellent
qualities are embalmed in their hearts. He fought the battles of his
country, with consummate skill and bravery. He led their armies, in many
battles--and never, but to victory!

A grateful people, in the fulness of their hearts, and amid the blindness
of popular enthusiasm, and with the purest purposes, and with sentiments
of patriotic devotion, rewarded their gallant soldier, by placing upon his
brows, A GILDED CROWN OF THORNS!



No. CI.


The form of a Chinese tomb, says Mr. Davis, in his "Description of the
Empire of China," whether large or small, is exactly that of the Greek
_omega_ [Greek: Ô]. Their mourning color is white. Their cemeteries are
upon the hills. No interments are permitted in cities. No corpse is
suffered to be carried, through any walled town, which may lie in its way
to the place of interment.

The tombs of the rich, says M. Grosier, are shaped like a _horse shoe_,
which, when well made, might pass for a very respectable [Greek: Ô].
Almost immediately after death, says the latter writer, the corpse is
arrayed in its best attire. A son will sell himself, as a slave, to
purchase a coffin, for his father. The coffin, upon which no cost is
spared, remains, frequently, for years, the most showy article of the
expectant's furniture. The body lies in state, and is visited by all
comers, for seven days. The hall of ceremony is hung with white,
interspersed with black or violet colored silk. Flowers, perfumes, and wax
lights abound. Those, who enter, salute the dead, as if he were alive, and
knock their heads, three times, upon the ground. Upon this, the sons of
the defunct creep forth, on their hands and knees, from behind a curtain,
and, having returned the salutation, retire in the same manner.

A Chinese hearse is a very elegant affair; it is covered with a
dome-shaped canopy of violet-colored silk, with tufts of white, neatly
embroidered, and surmounted with net work. In this the coffin reposes; and
the whole is borne, by sixty-four men.

Mourning continues for three years, during which the aggrieved abstain
from flesh, wine, and all ordinary amusements.

As we have had recently, among us, some half a dozen visitors, male and
female, from the Celestial Empire, I am strongly tempted to turn from the
dead, to the living.

I have repeatedly attended the morning levees of Miss PWAN YEKOO, who was
exhibited with her serving-maid, LUM AKUM, Mr. SOO CHUNE, the musical
professor, his son and daughter, MUN CHUNG and AMOON, and Mr. ALEET MONG,
the interpreter. This was certainly a very interesting group; such as
never before has been presented in this city, and will not be again, I
presume, for many years.

Miss Yekoo is said to be seventeen, which appears to be her age. With the
costume of the Chinese, which, in our eyes, is superlatively graceless, we
have become sufficiently familiar, by the exhibition of the living males
and the stuffed females, in our Chinese Museums. Of their music, we had an
interesting specimen, a few years since. Being fortunately deaf, I can say
nothing of the performances of Miss _Yekoo_ and Professor _Chune_. Their
features and complexions are Chinese, of course, and cannot be better
described than in the words of Sir John Barrow, as applicable to the race:
"The narrow, elongated, half-closed eye; the linear and highly-arched
eyebrow; the broad root of the nose; the projection of the upper jaw a
little beyond the lower; the thin, straggling beard, and the body
generally free from hair; a high, conical head, and triangular face: and
these are the peculiar characteristics which obtained for them, in the
_Systema Naturæ_ of Linnæus, a place among the varieties of the species,
distinguished by the name of _homines monstrosi_."

Apart from these and other considerations, it was well for all, who had it
in their power, to avail themselves of an opportunity, which is not likely
to be presented again, for years, and examine, with their own eyes, those
"_golden lilies_," for the production of which this little Chinese
spinster, Miss _Pwan Yeekoo_ has been severely tortured, from her cradle.
She is neither very large, nor very small, for a girl of seventeen, and
her feet are precisely _two inches and a half_ in length. A small female
foot, as it came from the hand of the great Creator, has ever been
accounted a great beauty, since Eve was born. But, to the eyes of all
beholders, on this side of the Yellow Sea, no more disgusting objects were
ever presented, than the horribly contracted and crippled deformities,
upon the ends of Miss Yekoo's little trotters.

The bare feet are not exhibited; but a model of the foot, two inches and a
half in length, on which is a shoe, which is taken off, by the exhibitor,
and put upon the real foot of Miss Yekoo, over a shoe, already there. This
model is affirmed to be exact. As it is presented in front, the great toe
nail alone is visible, forming a central apex, for the foot. On being
turned up, the four smaller toes are seen, closely compacted, and inverted
upon the sole. It is not possible to walk, with the weight of the body
upon the inverted toes, without pain. Miss Yekoo, like all other Chinese
girls, with these crippled feet, walks, with manifest uneasiness and
awkwardness, upon her heels. The _os calcis_ receives the whole weight of
the body.

To sustain the statement, that Miss Yekoo is a "_Chinese lady_," it is
said, that these crippled feet are signs of aristocracy. Not infallible, I
conceive:--not more so, than crippled ribs, occasioned by tight lacing,
which may originate in the upper circles, but find hosts of imitators,
among the lower orders. "We may add," says Mr. Davis, writing of this
practice, "that this odious custom extends lower down, in the scale of
society, than might have been expected, from its disabling effect, upon
those, who have to labor for their subsistence. If the custom were first
imposed, by the tyranny of the men, the women are fully revenged, in the
diminution of their charms and domestic usefulness."

Mr. Davis evidently supposes, that the custom had its rise in jealousy,
and a desire to prevent the ambulatory sex, from gadding about. Various
causes have been assigned, for this disgusting practice. Sir John Barrow,
after expressing his surprise, at the silence of Marco Polo, on the
subject of crippled feet, which were, doubtless, common in his time,
observes--"Of the origin of this unnatural custom, the Chinese relate
twenty different accounts, all absurd. Europeans suppose it to have
originated in the jealousy of the men, determined, says M. de Pauw, to
keep them '_si etroit qu'on ne peut comparer l'exactitude avec laquelle on
les gouverne_.'"

A _practice_, which, at its very birth, and during its infancy, required
the assignment of some plausible reason, for its existence and
support--when it grows up to be a _custom_, lives on and thrives,
irrespectively of its origin, and, frequently, in spite of its absurdity.
The blackened teeth of the Japanese--the goitres of the Swiss, in the
valley of Chamouni--the flattened heads of certain Indian races--the
crippled feet of the Chinese are illustrations of this truth, in the
admiration which they still continue to receive. "Whatever," says Sir John
Barrow, "may have been the cause, the continuance may more easily be
explained: as long as the men will marry none but such as have crippled
feet, crippled feet must forever remain in fashion among Chinese ladies."

M. De Pauw, in his Philosophical Dissertations, alludes to this practice,
in connection with that, formerly employed by the Egyptians, and which he
calls--"_the method of confining the women anciently, in Egypt, by
depriving them, in some measure, of the use of their feet_."

Plutarch, in his _Precepta Connub_, says, that shoes were entirely
forbidden to women, by the Egyptians. "Afterwards," says De Pauw, "they
imagined it to be inconsistent with decency, that they should appear in
public, with the feet naked, and, of course, they remained at home."

The Kalif, Hakin, who founded the religion of the Druses, re-enacted this
law. De Pauw remarks, that the assertion of Plutarch might seem doubtful,
if a decree, prohibiting the manufacture of shoes for women, under the
pain of death, were not found, as it is, in the _Kitab-al-Machaid_, or
bible of the Druses.

Upon my first visit to Pwan Yekoo and her _suite_, in connection with
other visitors, I was not admitted for nearly two hours, after the
appointed time. Ample sleeping arrangements had not been made, for these
Celestials; and, for one night, at least, they had been packed, like a
crate of China ware, in a closet, or small apartment, contiguous to the
hall of exhibition. Yekoo was indignant, and refused to show her "golden
lilies." By dint of long importunity, she appeared, but in no gentle
humor. Indeed, when Yekoo came forth, followed by Lum Akum, I was
reminded, at a glance, of Cruikshank's illustration of Mrs. Varden,
followed by Meigs, with the Protestant manual. They soon recovered their
better nature; and some little attention, paid by the visitors, to the
Celestial pappooses, put them into tolerably good humor.

At the close of the exhibition, we were invited near the platform. It
would be superfluous to describe the Chinese costume, so commonly
presented, in various works. I was especially attracted by the hair of
Yekoo, and Lum Akum, who passes for her waiting woman. I examined it with
my glasses. It was jet black, coarse, abundant, and besmeared with a
stiffening paste or gluten, which mightily resembled grease. Upon the top
of the head a slender, round stick, about the size of a crow's quill, is
attached, projecting _aft_, in marine parlance, several inches, like a
small ring tail boom. The design of this is to support the hair, which is
thrown over it, and hangs, or is plastered, down with the shining paste,
assuming the appearance, seen _a tergo_, of a rudder.

The Chinese, in relation to the rest of mankind, are, certainly, a
contrarious people. In 1833, Mr. Charles Majoribanks addressed a letter to
the Right Hon. Charles Grant, in which he says:

"China may, in many respects, be said to stand alone, among the nations;
not only differing, but, in many instances, diametrically opposed, in the
nature of its laws, customs, and institutions. A Chinese, when he goes
into mourning, puts on white; the left hand they consider the place of
honor; they think it an act of unbecoming familiarity to uncover the head;
their mariner's compass, they assert, points to the South; the stomach
they declare to be the seat of the understanding; and the chief God of
their idolatry is the Devil."

Suicide is no crime, with the Chinese. To receive a present, with one
hand, is deemed an act of rudeness. They never say of the departed, that
he is _dead_, but that he has _gone to his ancestors_. Among the good
traits of the Chinese are to be numbered filial respect, and general
sobriety. In one particular, their legislation may be considered superior
to our own--among the grounds of divorce, says Mr. Davis, they include
"_excessive talkativeness_."

I have been reared, in the faith, that the Chinese are not only a
_peculiar_, but an exceedingly _nasty_ generation. According to Barrow,
and to Du Halde, in his _Hist. Gén. de la Chine_, they are so liable to a
species of leprosy, that, for the purpose of arresting its progress, it is
numbered among the causes of divorce. The itch and other cutaneous
diseases are extremely common. "They seem," says De Pauw, "to have neither
horror nor repugnance for any kind of food; they eat rats, bats, owls,
storks, badgers, dogs," &c. Brand, in his _Reise nach China_,
observes--"Dogs are chiefly employed, as food, by the Chinese, during the
great heat in summer, because they fancy their flesh to have a cooling
quality."

Barrow was private secretary to the Earl of Macartnay, and, in 1804,
published his travels in China, a work of great merit, and which has been
highly lauded, for its candor and fidelity. In proof of my remark, I offer
the following quotation, from that work, on pages 76 and 77. After
alluding to the custom of crippling the feet, Mr. Barrow proceeds--"The
interior wrappers of the ladies' feet are said to be seldom changed,
remaining sometimes, until they can no longer hold together; a custom that
conveys no very favorable idea of Chinese cleanliness. This indeed forms
no part of their character; on the contrary, they are what Swift would
call a _frowzy_ people. The comfort of clean linen, or frequent change of
under-garments, is equally unknown to the sovereign and the peasant. A
sort of thin coarse silk supplies the place of cotton or linen next the
skin, among the upper ranks; but the common people wear a coarse kind of
open cotton cloth. These vestments are more rarely removed for the purpose
of washing, than for that of being replaced with new ones; and the
consequence of such neglect is, as might naturally be supposed, an
abundant increase of those vermin, to whose growth filthiness is found to
be most favorable. The highest officers of state made no hesitation of
calling their attendants, in public, to seek in their necks, for those
troublesome animals, which, when caught, they very composedly put between
their teeth. They carry no pocket handkerchief, but generally blow their
noses into small square pieces of paper, which some of their attendants
have ready prepared for the purpose. Many are not so cleanly, but spit
about the rooms, or against the walls, like the French, and they wipe
their dirty hands, in the sleeves of their gowns. They sleep at night in
the same clothes they wear by day. Their bodies are as seldom washed, as
their articles of dress. They never make use of the bath, warm or cold.
Notwithstanding the vast number of rivers and canals, with which every
part of the country is intersected, I do not remember to have seen a
single group of boys bathing. The men, in the hottest day of summer, make
use of warm water, for washing the hands and face. They are unacquainted
with the use of soap."

I do not disbelieve, that we, occasionally, meet men, who are very dirty,
and remarkably orthodox, and, now and then, a well-washed and well-dressed
villain--but sin and filth are too frequently found to form the very bond
of iniquity. "Great crimes," says Sir John Barrow, "are not common, but
little vices pervade all ranks of society. A Chinese is cold, cunning, and
distrustful; always ready to take advantage of those he has to deal with;
extremely covetous and deceitful; quarrelsome, vindictive, but timid and
dastardly. A Chinese in office is a strange compound of insolence and
meanness. All ranks and conditions have a total disregard for truth. From
the Emperor downwards, the most palpable falsehoods are proclaimed, with
unblushing effrontery, to answer a political, an interested, or
exculpatory purpose."

I beg leave respectfully to suggest to Miss Yekoo, to pay a little more
attention to her teeth, and somewhat improve her personal appearance. The
collections, upon their upper portions, are, by no means, necessary to
prove her Tartar origin.



No. CII.


Death is rarely more unwelcome to any, than to those, who reasonably
suppose the perils of the deep to be fairly passed, and who are permitted,
after a long sojourn in other lands, to look once again upon their own--so
near withal, that their eyes are gladdened, by the recognition of familiar
landmarks; and who, in the silent chancel of their miscalculating hearts,
thank God, that they are _at home at last_--and yet, in the very midst of
life and joy, they are in death!

There has ever seemed to me to be something exceedingly impressive, in the
death of that eminent patriot, Josiah Quincy. He died when the bark, which
bore him homeward was in sight of land--the headlands of Gloucester, April
26, 1775--

  ----Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.

Few men, of our own country, have accomplished more, or acquired a more
honorable celebrity, at the early age of thirty-one.

His was a death in the common course of nature. I more especially allude,
at this moment, to death as it occurs, from shipwreck, on one's own
shores, when the voyage is apparently at an end, and the voyagers are
anticipating an almost immediate reunion with their friends.

The frequency of these occurrences revives, at the present moment, the
sentiment of Horace, delivered some eighteen centuries ago--

  Illi robur et æs triplex
    Circa pectus erat, qui fragilem truci
  Commisit pelago ratem
    Primus.------------

We are oblivious of perils past. The tax on commerce, levied by the
whirlwind, and by recklessness, and ignorance, far exceeds the common
calculation of those, who know little, experimentally, of the perils of
the deep; and who go not down upon the sea in ships. Precisely fifty years
ago, it was estimated, at Lloyd's, that one ship per diem, three hundred
and sixty-five ships, annually, were lost, in the open sea, and on lee
shores. And, in Lloyd's Lists, for 1830, it was stated, that six hundred
and seventy-seven British vessels were lost, during that year.

Whether or not it be attributable to that natural eagerness, which
increases, as the object of our heart's desire draws near, and is apt to
abate somewhat of our ordinary vigilance--certain it is, that calamities
of this nature are of no unfrequent occurrence, near the termination of a
voyage, and when we have almost arrived at the haven, where we would be.

About ten years ago, while enjoying the hospitality of some Southern
friends, I became acquainted with a lady, the varying expression of whose
features arrested my attention, and excited my surprise. Whenever her
countenance was lighted up, by a smile, it was for an instant only; and an
expression of solemnity, and even of sadness, immediately succeeded; as
the darkness of an autumnal sky follows the feeble flashes of electric
light.

I sought an explanation of this peculiarity, from an old friend, who knew
this lady well, Mr. Doddridge Crocker, formerly a merchant of this city,
and then a resident of Charleston.

He informed me, that, many years before, he had been a passenger, in
company with this lady and her father, together with other citizens of
Charleston, for New York, on board the Rose in Bloom. They had a
prosperous voyage, until they came in sight of the Highlands. The
passengers proceeded to make their toilets; and arrangements were in
progress, for going speedily on shore. The ship was under a press of
canvas, with a strong breeze. The wind shifted its direction suddenly, and
soon became a gale. The Rose in Bloom was capsized, and lost. The lady,
said Mr. Crocker, to whom you refer, and her father, amid the terrible
confusion, which ensued, clung to some floating article, whose buoyancy,
it soon became apparent, was not sufficient to support them both. The
filial and paternal contest may be easily conceived, each entreating the
other, to retain the only means of preservation. At length, the father
abandoned his hold, and struck out for a floating spar, at some little
distance. His struggles were ineffectual--he sunk, before his daughter's
eyes! We were, ere long, rescued from our imminent peril. The impression,
left upon her mind, was left there forever.

The reader may possibly surmise, that my leading remarks have a particular
reference to the recent shipwreck of the Elizabeth, upon the coast of New
York. This catastrophe, which is imputed to ignorance and miscalculation,
involves the loss of an interesting and intelligent young gentleman, Mr.
Horace Sumner, of this city, and of the Marquis and Marchioness Ossoli,
and their child. One of these sufferers I have known, in earlier days.
Under the quiet, unpresuming roof of her worthy father, Mr. Timothy
Fuller, I have met his daughter Margaret. Few then would have anticipated
her melancholy fate, and fewer still, that she would become an Italian
marchioness!

Let me devote the remaining space, in the present article, to those
unmitigated wretches, with hearts of flint, who rioted and revelled, amid
the sufferings of their fellow-beings. An opportunity will now be
afforded, to stamp this hellish practice, with all the force of the law,
and whatever there may be of indignant severity, in public sentiment.

Luring vessels on shore, by arranging false lights, and robbing wrecks are
crimes of great antiquity. But I had no suspicion, that even the latter
practice was carried on, so systematically, and so boldly, as it appears
to have been, at the present day, in the State of New York. The names of
the places, where these atrocities were committed, Fire Island, Patchogue,
Islip, Babylon have something of a Cornish sound, undoubtedly.

Of old, in all the northern regions of Europe, and especially, along the
coasts of the Baltic Sea, a wreck was deemed "_a Providence_;" and laws
were in force, authorizing the inhabitants to fall on, and plunder at
discretion, or, in the language, then employed--"_in naufragorum miseria
et calamitate, tanquam vultures, ad prædam currere_." Of the earlier
periods of our own history, tales have been told, which, though almost
beyond belief, would not have been related, if they had not been
somewhere, upon the outskirts or frontiers of probability. Thus
many--many--very many years ago, tradition intimates, that a worthy
clergyman of Truro was interrupted, in the middle of his discourse, by one
of his deacons, who caused the whole congregation to rise _en masse_, by
seizing his hat and crying aloud--"_a wreck!_" whereupon the good man is
reported, while putting up his notes, and opening the pulpit door, to have
exclaimed--"_Stay--stay, my Christian friends, let us all have a fair
start_."

More than five hundred years ago, in the 13th of Edward III., laws were
passed, in England, for the punishment of such offenders. These laws were
amended and confirmed, in the 12th of Anne, and 4th of George I., 26th of
George II., and 8th of Elizabeth. By the statute of 26 George II., ch.
19, plundering a vessel, in distress, or wrecked, and putting out false
lights, to deceive, were made capital felonies. By the civil law, stealing
even a plank from a vessel, in distress, or wrecked, made the offender
liable, for the entire ship and cargo. The early Neapolitan constitutions
and the laws of the Wisigoths inflicted the severest punishment, not only
upon such as plundered a wreck, but upon all, who were convicted of
neglecting to aid a vessel in distress, when in their power to render
comfort and assistance.

By the laws of the United States--I refer to the act of March 3,
1825--persons who plunder vessels in distress; and all, who obstruct the
escape of the sufferers; the exhibitors of false lights and extinguishers
of true ones, with intent to produce shipwreck, are punishable, by fine,
not exceeding five thousand dollars, and imprisonment and hard labor, not
exceeding ten years. The extreme mildness of this law has always struck me
with amazement; for, among the offenders, described in the statute, are
those, "_who shall wilfully obstruct the escape of any person, endeavoring
to save his or her life_," &c.

Since men went down upon the sea in ships, there has rarely occurred, in
our own country, a case of deeper atrocity, than the present; and, it is
to be hoped, that the tribunals of New York will exhibit a forcible
example of mercy to the whole community, by a prompt and condign
punishment of these heartless wretches.

The fiendish spirit, which, of old, animated the Buccaneers of the
Tortugas, will probably never entirely die out from the heart of man, till
the period of millennial purgation. It is impossible to conceive of
anything, in a population of hyænas, more selfish, cold, and cruel, than
the conduct of that abandoned class, of whose existence we have abundant
evidence; to whom no music is so sweet, as that of the midnight hurricane;
and who have, immemorially, obtained the appellation of _moon-cursers_,
because they delight in that darkness, which is suited to their infernal
profession.

The laws of England have been unable to accomplish the extinction of these
miscreants. The Cornish coast, exposed, as it is, to marine disaster, has
ever been famous, for this species of crime and cruelty. It is chiefly
confined to a few parishes, on the craggy shore, between Mount's Bay and
the Lizard. "When a wreck takes place," says Mr. Haydn, page 559,
following the words of Phillips, "thousands assemble with hatchets, axes,
crowbars, &c., and many women and children fight, by habit, for the
plunder, utterly regardless of the sufferers."

For the honor of human nature I trust, that many, very many years have
gone by, since any such atrocities were practised, upon the sea-coast of
New England. The late Dr. Holbrook, of Milton, related an incident, which
occurred, during the last war with Great Britain, extending not beyond
mere pilfering; and which, in the case of one individual, at least, had
rather an amusing termination.

A vessel was wrecked, on Nantasket beach; and, her cargo was broken up,
and scattered along the shore. On the following day, Dr. Holbrook was
hastily summoned, to visit a patient, who was thought to be dying. He was
thoroughly exhausted, and had vomited, through the whole day, a substance,
in no degree offensive, but, on the contrary, exceedingly aromatic and
agreeable. Nevertheless, he was sinking from exhaustion. Dr. Holbrook
could not prevail upon the patient to admit, that he had partaken of any
other, than his customary diet. His wife stated, that he had been absent
the preceding night, and had not told her, in what manner he had been
engaged.

At last, the doctor gravely informed him, that it was folly to practise
such deception; that, unless a physician knew the nature of the poison, he
could not easily prescribe an antidote; and, that, if he persisted in his
folly, death might be the consequence.

At this, the fellow, who, with others, had been pilfering from the wreck,
became thoroughly frightened; and, with an expression of great terror,
confessed, that he feared he had _eaten rather too heartily of nutmegs_.



No. CIII.


In the Transcript of August 14, I notice an editorial criticism, upon the
recent employment of the word _catafalque_. In primitive strictness, I
believe that criticism to be perfectly correct; and that, in its original
signification, _catafalque_ cannot be understood to mean a _funeral car_.

In the _grand Dictionaire_, by Fleming & Tibbins, _catafalque_ is thus
defined--"_decoration funebre qu'on eleve au milieu d'une église pour y
placer le cercueil ou le representation d'un mort a qui l'on veut rendre
les plus grands honneurs_."

Herse is defined, by the same lexicographers, "_un cercueil, une biere,
voiture pour porter un mort au tombeau, un char funebre, corbillard,
pierre tumulaire provisoire_."

Thus, while _catafalque_ seems to signify an ornamental structure, erected
in the middle of a church, to support the coffin or the effigy of the
dead, whom it is intended to honor--_herse_, at the present day, is
understood to mean a coffin, a bier, a carriage to bear the dead to the
tomb, a funeral car, a van, a temporary mausoleum or gravestone.

_Herse_, whose etymology, according to Johnson, is unknown, imported,
three hundred years ago, a temporary structure, in honor of the dead; such
also is the meaning of the word _catafalque_; of this, there cannot be the
slightest doubt. In this sense, herse was employed by Shakspeare, in his
Henry IV.:

                        "To add to your laments
  Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's herse," &c.

Johnson furnishes two definitions of the word, herse--1. A carriage, in
which the dead are conveyed to the grave. 2. A temporary monument, set
over a grave. It is quite certain, however, that the _herse_, whether
justly styled _a monument_, or not, was _not_ usually "_set over the
grave_," but more frequently, like the _catafalque_, agreeably to the
definition given above--_au milieu d'une eglise_.

No writer, probably, refers to the _herse_, so frequently, as old John
Strype, in his Memorials; and, in no instance, I believe, in the sense of
a _car_ or _vehicle_, or as a structure, "_set over the grave_."

Strype's Memorials are the records of a Roman Catholic age, or of a
period, during which, the usages of the Romish Church, in England, had not
entirely worn out their welcome with the people--the reigns of Henry
VIII., Edward VI., Bloody Mary, and Elizabeth. For, even during the reigns
of Edward VI., and of Elizabeth, not a few of those pompous practices,
which grew up, in the times of their respective predecessors, still clung
upon the imaginations of the populace, and were reluctantly surrendered.

The church is the theatre of the Romish ecclesiastic. The service is an
attractive spectacle. If the world were struck blind, who does not
perceive, that the principal supports of Romanism would be instantly taken
away! It has been the practice of all churches, that deal somewhat
extensively, in forms and ceremonies, to demand of their members, with a
greater or less degree of peremptoriness, that certain acts shall be
publicly performed--_au milieu d'une eglise_. Thus the ceremony of
marriage--the baptism of infants--the churching of women--and the burial
of the dead furnish occasion, for throwing open the temple, and exhibiting
its showy furniture to the multitude; and of verifying a pleasing saying
of the late eminent, and excellent Archbishop of Bordeaux, while Bishop of
Boston--"_If we cannot catch them, in one way, we catch them in another_."

Nothing has ever been a more prolific source of capital to the Romish
church, in former ages, than funereal parade, _au milieu d'une eglise_.
Strype, with very few exceptions, speaks of the _herse_ as a "_herse of
wax_." To this I have alluded in an earlier number. It may require a brief
explanation here. Wax candles, of divers colors and forms, were attached
to the _herse_, and the wax chandler of those days was in great request,
and often rose to wealth and distinction.

The reader will readily perceive, that the _herse_, of those early times,
was identical with the _catafalque_, if he will give his attention to the
following statements--"1554, on the 5th of October were the obsequies of
the said Duke of Norfolk celebrated at St. Mary Overy's: an herse being
made with timber, and hanged with black, with his arms, and four goodly
candlesticks gilded, and as many great tapers standing about it, all the
choir hung in black," &c. Mem. vol. iii., part 1, ch. 25. Here is no
_car_, but a temporary structure, _au milieu d'une eglise_--not "_set over
the grave_"--_the choir hung in black, &c._

To show how Strype distinguished between the _herse_ and a _car_ for
conveyance, the reader may turn to the Memorials, vol. iii., part 1, page
471, where, after describing the ceremonies, in the church, at the funeral
of the Bishop of Winchester, Strype adds--"at the gate, the corpse was put
into a _wagon_ with four horses, all covered with black," &c. This is our
modern _herse_, but was not so called by Strype.

"1557.--On the 5th of May was the Lady Chamberlin buried, with a fair
hearse of wax." The following is sufficiently explicit--"1557, the same
day (July 29) began the hearse, at Westminster, for the Lady Anne of
Cleves, consisting of carpenters' work of seven principals; being as
goodly a hearse, as had been seen." Vol iii. p. 11.

"1557.--On the 3d of August, the body of the Lady Anne of Cleves was
brought from Chelsy, where her house was, unto Westminster, to be buried;
with all the children of Westminster, and many priests and clerks." Father
Strype did not probably intend to say they were all to be buried together.

"Then the gray Amis of Paul's, and three crosses, and the monks of
Westminster, and my Lord Bishop of London, and Lord Abbot of Westminster,
rode together next the monks. Then the two secretaries, Sir Edmund Peckham
and Sir Robert Freston, cofferer to the Queen of England, my Lord Admiral
and Mr. Darcy, of Essex, and many knights and gentlemen. And before her
corpse, her servants, her banner of arms. Then her gentlemen and her head
officers; and then her chariot, with eight banners of arms, consisting of
divers arms, and four banners of images of white taffeta, wrought with
gold, and her arms. And so they passed by St. James's, and thence to
Charing Cross, with an hundred torches burning, her servants bearing them.
And the twelve beadmen of Westminster had new black gowns, bearing twelve
torches burning. There were four white branches with arms; then ladies and
gentlewomen, all in black with their horses; eight heralds of arms, in
black, with their horses, &c., &c. At the church door all did alight; and
there the Lord Bishop of London and the Lord Abbot, in their copes, did
receive the good lady, censing her. Men bore her under a canopy of black
velvet, with four black staves _and so brought her into the hearse_, and
there tarried dirge, remaining there all night, with lights burning."
Ibid. "On the 22d was the hearse of the Lady Anne of Cleves, lately set up
in Westminster Abbey, taken down, which the monks, by night, had spoiled
of all the velvet cloth, arms, banners, pensils, majesty, and valance and
all,--the which was never seen afore so done." Ibid. page 15.

Hence it is manifest, that the _herse_, in the time of Strype, was
identical with the _catafalque_ of the present day. Nevertheless, _herse_
and _catafalque_ are as clearly not convertible terms, since the latter
word can never be correctly applied to a funeral car.

Two and twenty pages of original record are devoted, by Strype, to an
account of the "ceremonies and funeral solemnities, paid to the corpse of
King Henry VIII." These pages are extremely interesting, and full of
curious detail. They also furnish additional evidence, that _the herse_
was then understood to mean all, that is now meant by _the catafalque_.
The works of Strype are not in the hands of very many; and the reader will
not be displeased to know, in what manner they dealt with the dead body of
an English King, some three hundred years ago. A few extracts are all,
that my limits will allow:--

"After the corps was cold, and seen by the Lords of the Privy Council and
others of the nobility of the realm, as appertained, commandment was given
to the apothecaries, chirurgeons, wax-chandlers, and others, to do their
duties in spurging, cleansing, bowelling, cering, embalming, furnishing,
and dressing with spices the said corpse; and also for wrapping the same
in cerecloth of many folds over the fine cloth of rains and velvet, surely
bound and trammel'd with cords of silk: which was done and executed of
them accordingly, as to the dignity of such a mighty prince it
appertaineth; and a writing in great and small letters annexed against the
breast, containing his name and style, the day and year of his death, in
like manner. And after this don, then was the plumber and carpenter
appointed to case him in lead, and to chest him. Which being don, the said
chest was covered about with blew velvet, and a cross set upon the same."

"And the corps being thus ordained, the entrails and bowels were honorably
buried in the chappel," &c. Mem., vol. 2, p. 289.

"Then was the corps in the chest had into the midds of the privy chamber,
and set upon tressels, with a rich pall of cloth of gold, and a cross
thereon, with all manner of lights thereto requisite." Ibid.

"In the said chappel was ordained a goodly, formal herse, with four-score
square tapers; every light containing two foot in length, poising in the
whole eighteen hundred weight of wax, garnished about with pensils and
escutcheons, banners and bannerols of descents. And, at the four corners,
four banners of saints, beaten in fine gold upon damask, with a majesty
thereover," &c., &c. Ibid. 290.

"The second day of the month of February, being Wednesday and Candlemas
day, betwixt eight and nine of the clock at night, the herse being
lighted, and all other things appointed and prepared, the said most royal
corps was reverendly taken and removed from the chambers, &c., and so
brought to the chappel, &c., and there it was honorably set and placed
within the said herse under a pall of rich cloth of tissue, garnished with
escutheons, and a rich cloth of gold, set with precious stones." Ibid.
292.

"And the herse, standing in the midst of said choir, was of a wonderful
state and proportion; that is to say formed in the compass of eight panes
and thirteen principals, double storied, of thirty-five foot high,
curiously wrot, painted and gilded, having in it a wonderful sort of
lights, amounting, in price, of wax, to the sum of four thousand pound
weight, and garnished underneath with a rich majesty, and a doome double
vallanced: on the which, on either side, was written the King's word, in
beaten gold, upon silk, and his arms of descents. And the whole herse was
richly fringed with double fringes of black silk and gold on either side,
both within and without very gorgeous and valiant to behold." Ibid. 295.

It does not appear, that, in those days any _single_ English word was
employed, to express the _vehicle_, which we call a _hearse_, at the
present day, unless the word _bier_ may suffice: and this, like the Roman
_feretrum_, which I take to be much like our common graveyard article with
legs, will scarcely answer the description of a four-wheeled car. I infer,
that the _feretrum_ was a thing, which might be taken up, and set down,
from the word _posito_ in Ovid's Fasti, iv., 851--

  Osculaque applicuit posito suprema feretro.

The _feretrum_ and the _capulus_, among the Romans, were designed mainly,
for the poor. Citizens of any note were borne, as was our own practice,
not very many years ago, on the shoulders of their friends.

The _funeral car_ of Henry VIII. was a noble affair:--

"There was ordained for the corps a sumptuous and valuable chariot of four
wheels, very long and large, with four pillars, overlaid with cloth of
gold at the four corners, bearing a pillow of rich cloth of gold and
tissue, fringed with a goodly deep fringe of blew silk and gold; and
underneath that, turned towards the chariot, was a marvellous excellent
cloth of majesty, having in it a doom artificially wrought, in fine gold
upon oyl: and at the nether part of the said Chariot was hanged with blew
velvet down to the ground, between the wheels, and at other parts of the
chariot, enclosed in like manner with blew velvet." Ibid. 295.

"The next day early, the 14 February, the chariot was brought to the court
hall door; and the corps with great reverence brought from the _herse_ to
the same, by mitred prelats and others, temporal lords." Ibid. 598.

Then, over the area of thirteen remaining pages, the record contains the
minute particulars of the monarch's obsequies, which, though full of
interest, are no farther to our present purpose.



No. CIV.


Bull--I speak not of Ole, but of John--Bull, when the teazle of opposition
has elevated the nap of his temper, is a pestilent fellow: whatever the
amount--and there is enough--of the milk of human kindness within him,
there is, then, but one way, known among men, of getting it out, and that
is, by giving Bull a bloody nose; whereupon he comes to his senses
directly, and to a just appreciation of himself and his neighbors. True
indeed it is, Bull is remarkably oblivious; and it sometimes becomes
necessary to give him another, which is invariably followed, by the same
happy result.

_Qui hæret in cortice_ will never come at the milk of a cocoa nut. It is
necessary to strip off its rough coat, and punch sundry holes in its
_wooden walls_, and give it a regular cracking. It is precisely so with
Bull. When the fit is upon him, Bull is terrible. He is the very Bull of
Crete--the Bull of Claudian, in his rape of Proserpine--

  Dictæus quatiens mugitibus urbes
  Taurus--------------------------

    Bull is a prodigious fellow;
    Nations tremble at his bellow.

There seems to have existed a strange, political hallucination, in regard
to Bull and Jonathan. We are clearly, all of us, of one and the same
family--a Bull-begotten people; and have a great deal of pleasure, in
believing, that old madam Bull was the mother of us all. A goodly number
of highly respectable Bulls came over the water, of old, and were well
contented with the green pastures of the New World. They differed, upon
some points, from the Bulls they had left behind. They did not believe,
that there was a power or right, to bellow louder than the rest, vested in
any particular Bull, which power came down from Bull to Bull, in unbroken
succession, from the Bull of Bashan. Such a belief, in their opinion,
would have been a terrible Bull. Well; all at once, the trans-atlantic
Bulls began to call the cis-atlantic Bulls--_Jonathans_. A very good name
it was--a great deal better than _Bulls_. There could be no objection to
the name, in the abstract.

But, unfortunately, it was bestowed, as a diminutive, and in derision; and
the old Bulls, ere long, began to beat their flanks with their tails, and
paw up the earth, and look unutterable things, about Jonathan's cowardice;
and they came over the water in droves, and began to roar awfully; and
tore up the earth, under our very noses: and, after doing all, in our
power to spare the world the miserable spectacle of a conflict, among
Bulls, that were brothers, of the whole blood, we went to work, _ex
necessitate_, with hoofs and horns; and tossed up such a terrible dust, at
Lexington, and Concord, and Bunker's Hill, and Long Island, and White
Plains, and upon the Lakes, and at Sheensborough, and Albany, and
Brandywine, and Saratoga, and Bennington, and Germantown, and Rhode
Island, and Briar's Creek, and Camden, and Broad River, and Guilford, and
Hobkirk's Hill, and the Eutaw Springs, and York Town, and at fifty places
beside, that the old Bulls were perfectly astonished; and so very severely
gored withal, that their roaring sunk, at last, into something like
Snug's, when he became fearful of frightening the ladies. The old
Bulls--those that survived--went _back again_, like Sawney, out of the
peach orchard; and the mammoth Bull, in London, publicly acknowledged,
that we were as independent a set of Bulls, as ever he saw, or heard of.

No man, in his senses, marvels, that a contemptuous, and supercilious
sentiment, towards us, in our days of small things, should have been
indulged, by the vulgar and unphilosophical, among the English people. It
is matter for surprise, nevertheless, that so much ignorance of the
American character should have existed, in the higher ranks of British
society--such disparaging estimates of men and _materiel_, on this side
the water--such mistaken conceptions--such a general belief of almost
universal pusillanimity, among men, who were not a whit the less
Englishmen, than their revilers; as though there were something,
particularly enervating, in breathing the bracing air of America, and
listening to the thorough bass of the wild waters, breaking on our
original walls of granite; and in struggling, with our horny hands, along
the precipices, for bread--such an awful miscalculation of probabilities,
as resulted at last, in the loss to King George of thirteen inestimable
jewels, of the fairest water.

The impressions, entertained of the Americans, by the English people, or a
great majority of them, about that period, were truly amusing. It is
scarcely worth while to comment on the abuse of us, by the early
reviewers, and the taunting inquiry, long--long ago, what American had
ever produced an epic?--Unluckily, Joel did, at last.--This question, thus
early and impudently propounded, was quite as sensible, as it might be, to
ask men, who, by dint of industry and thrift, are just getting plain
shirts to their backs--who among them ever had lace ruffles? We have
improved since that time; and _halmost hevery man in the ole population
can hutter imself hin werry decent Henglish_.

Josiah Quincy, _then_ junior, father of the late President of Harvard
University, has noted some curious facts, in his journal, as reported by
Gordon, i. 438. In a conversation between him and Col. Barré, who, though
he opposed the Stamp Act, in 1765, supported the Boston Port Bill, in
1774. Col. Barré said to Mr. Quincy--"About fourteen or fifteen years ago,
I was through a considerable part of your country; for, in the expedition
against Canada, my business caused me to pass by land, through
Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and Albany; and, when I returned again
to this country, I was often speaking of America, and could not help
speaking well of its climate, soil, and inhabitants; for you must know,
sir, America was always a favorite with me. But, will you believe it, sir,
yet I assure you it is true, more than two thirds of this island, at this
time, thought the Americans were all negroes." Mr. Quincy replied that he
did not in the least doubt it, for, if he was to judge by the late acts of
Parliament, he should suppose, that a great majority of the people of
Great Britain still thought so, for he found that their representatives
still treated them as such.

The ministry had decided, that "_the punishment of a few of the worst
sort of traitors, such as Hancock and his crew, might be sufficient to
teach the rest their duty, in future_."--"Some men of rank in the army,"
says Gordon, i. 457, "treated all idea of resistance, by the Americans,
with the utmost contempt. They are neither soldiers, nor ever can be made
so, being naturally of a pusillanimous disposition, and utterly incapable
of any sort of order or discipline; and by their laziness, uncleanliness,
and radical defect of constitution, they are disabled from going through
the service of a campaign. Many ludicrous stories, to that purport, were
told, greatly to the entertainment of the house."

Jonathan turned out, at the end of the Bull baiting, to have been neither
a fool nor a coward: and the American Congress received a memorable
compliment from Lord Chatham--"_For genuine sagacity, for singular
moderation, for manly spirit, for sublime sentiments, and simplicity of
language, for everything respectable and honorable, the Congress of
Philadelphia shines unrivalled_."

In the war of 1812, Bull was the very identical Bull, that he had been
before: Frenchmen were frogs; Yankees were cowards--there was nobody that
could fight, on the land or the sea, but Bull.

"It has always," says that wittiest, and, I fear, wickedest of wags,
William Cobbett, while addressing Lord Liverpool, "been the misfortune of
England, that her rulers and her people have spoken and have thought
contemptuously of the Americans. Was there a man in the country, who did
not despise the American navy? Was there a public writer beside myself,
who did not doom that navy to destruction in a month? Did not all parties
exceedingly relish the description given, in a very august assembly, of
'_half a dozen of fir frigates, with bits of striped bunting tied to their
mast heads_'! Did not the Guerriere sail up and down the American coast,
with her name, written on her flag, challenging those fir frigates? Did
not the whole nation, with one voice exclaim at the affair of the _Little
Belt_--'Only let Rogers come _within reach_ of one of our _frigates_!' If
such was the opinion of the whole nation, with what justice is the Board
of Admiralty blamed, for not sending out the means of combatting this
extraordinary sort of foe? and for issuing a privilege to our frigates to
run away from one of those _fir things with a bit of striped bunting at
its mast head_? The result of the former war, while it enlightened nobody,
added to the vindictiveness of hundreds of thousands; so that we have
entered into this war with all our old stock of contempt, and a vastly
increased stock of rancor. To think that the American republic is to be a
great power is unsupportable. Of the effect of this contempt I know
nobody, who has so much reason to repent, as the officers of his Majesty's
navy. If they had triumphed, it would only have been over half a dozen
_fir things, with bits of bunting at their mast heads_. They were sure to
gain no reputation in the contest; and, if they failed, what was their
lot? The worst of it is, they themselves did, in some measure, contribute
to their own ill fate: for, of all men living, none spoke of poor Jonathan
with so much contempt. There are some people, who are for taking the
American commodores at their word, and ascribing their victories to the
immediate intervention of Providence. Both Perry and McDonough begin their
despatches by saying--"_Almighty God has given us a victory_."

This is keen political satire; and it is well, that it should come to
neighbor Bull's ears, from the mouth of an Englishman. It is more
gracefully administered thus. That it was entirely deserved, no one will
doubt, who has any recollection of Bull's unmeasured and unmitigated
impudence, during the war of 1812, in its earlier stages. May God of his
infinite mercy grant, that Peace Societies may have these matters,
hereafter, very much their own way; though I have a little misgiving, I
confess, as to the expediency of any sudden, or very general conversion of
swords into ploughshares, or spears into pruning hooks.



No. CV.


_Modus in rebus_--an admirable proverb, upon all common occasions--is
inapplicable, of course, to musical matters. No doubt of it. The luxury of
sweet sounds cannot be too dearly bought; and, for its procurement,
mankind may go stark mad, without any diminution of their respectability.

Such I infer to be the popular philosophy of today--_while it is called
today_. The moderns have been greatly perplexed, by the legends, which
have come down to us, respecting the melody of swans. The _carmina
cycnorum_ of Ovid, and the _Cantantes sublime ferent ad sidera cycni_, of
Virgil, are perfectly incomprehensible by us. Cicero also, in his Tusculan
Questions, i. 74, says, they die, _cum cantu et voluptate_. Martial, xiii.
77, asserts the matter, very positively--

  _Dulcia defecta modulatur carmina lingua
  Cantator cycnus funeris ipse sui._

I no more believe in the power of a living or a dying swan to make melody
of any kind, than I believe in the antiquated hum-bug of immediate
emancipation. Pliny had no confidence in the story, and expresses himself
to that effect, x. 23, _Olorum morte narratur flebilis cantus (falso, ut
arbitror) aliquot experimentis_.

No mortal has done more than Shakspeare, among the moderns, to perpetuate
this pleasant fancy--no bard, when weary of Pegasus, and preferring a
drive to a ride, has harnessed his cygnets more frequently--or compelled
them to sing more sweetly, in a dying hour. A single example may suffice.
When prince Henry is told, that his father, King John, sang, during his
dying frenzy, he says--

  "Tis strange, that death should sing--
  I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
  Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death:
  And, from the organ pipe of frailty, sings
  His soul and body to their lasting rest."

One brief example more--Emilia, after the murder of her mistress--

  "Hark! canst thou hear me? I will play the swan;
  And die in music."

In all this there lurks not one particle of sober prose--one syllable of
truth. The most learned refutation of it may be found, in the Pseudodoxia
of Sir Thomas Browne, ii. 517, Lond. 1835.

In the "_Memoires de l'Académie des Inscriptions_," M. Morin discusses the
question very agreeably, why swans, that sang so delightfully, of old,
sing so miserably, at the present day. Tame swans, he observes, are mutes:
but the wild swan exerts its vocal powers, after a fashion of its own. He
introduces the observations of the Abbé Arnaud, upon the performances of a
couple of wild swans, which had located, upon the lagoons of Chantilly.
"One can hardly say," says the Abbé, "that the swans of Chantilly
sing--they cry; but their cries are truly and constantly modulated. Their
voice is not sweet; on the contrary, it is shrill, piercing, and rather
disagreeable; I could compare it to nothing better than the sound of a
clarionet, winded by a person unacquainted with the instrument." Nothing
surely savors less of melody than this. So thought Buffon--"_Des sons
bruyans de clarion, mais dont les tons aigus et peu diversifiés sont
néanmoins tres--éloignés de la tendre mélodie et de la variété douce et
brilliante du ramage de nos oiseaux chanteurs_." Nat. Hist. des Oisaux,
ix. 25.

In his exposition of this error, imposed upon mankind, by the poets,
Buffon expresses himself with singular beauty, in the concluding
paragraph--"Nulle fiction en Histoire Naturelle, nulle fable chez les
Anciens n'a ete plus célébrée, plus répétée, plus accréditee; elle s'étoit
emparée de l'imagination vive et sensible des Grecs; poëtes, orateurs,
philosophes méme l'ont adoptée, comme une verité trop agreable pour
vouloir en douter. Il faut bien leur pardonner leurs fables; elles étoient
aimables et touchantes; elles valoient bien de tristes, d'arides verités
c'etoient de doux emblémes pour les ames sensibles. Les cygnes, sans
doute, ne chantent point leur mort; mais toujours, en parlant du dernier
essor et de derniers élans d'un beau génie pret á s'éteindre, on
rappellera avec sentiment cette expression touchante--_c'est le chant du
cygne!_" Ibid. 28.

It is not surprising, that these celebrated naturalists, Buffon and Morin,
who discourse, so eloquently, of Grecian and Roman swans, should say
nothing of Swedish nightingales, for, between their time and the present,
numerous additions have been made to the catalogue of songsters.

The very thing, which the barber, Arkwright did, for all the spinning
Jennies, in Lancashire, some seventy years ago, has been done by Jenny
Lind, for all the singing Jennies upon earth, beside herself--they are
cast into the shade.

She came here with an irresistible prestige. A singing woman has been a
proverb, since the world began; and, of course, long before Ulysses
dropped in, upon the island of Ogygia, and listened to Calypso; or fell
into serious difficulty, among the Sirens. A singing woman, a Siren, has
been frequently accounted, and with great propriety, a singing bird of
evil omen. How grateful then must it be, to know, that, while lending
their ears and their eyes to this incomparable songstress, our wives, our
daughters, and our sisters have before them a pure, and virtuous, and
gentle, and generous creature, as free, as poor, human nature can well be
free, from life's alloy, and very much as she was, when created--_a little
lower than the angels_.

Among other mythological matters, Pausanias relates, that the three
Sirens, instigated by Juno, challenged the Muses to a trial of skill in
singing. They were beaten, of course, for the Muses, being nine in number,
there were three upon one. The victors, as the story goes, proceeded very
deliberately, to pluck the golden feathers, from the wings of the
vanquished, and converted them into crowns, for their own brows.

Now, it cannot be denied, that Jenny has vanquished us all, and made the
golden feathers fly abundantly. But this is not Jenny's fault; for,
whatever the wisdom or the folly, the affair was our own entirely. If, for
the sake of distinction, any one has seen fit to pluck every golden
feather from his back, and appear, like the featherless biped of Diogenes,
and give the golden feathers to Jenny, to make her a crown; we have
substantial facts, upon which to predict, that Jenny will make a better
use of those golden feathers, than to fool them away, for a song. If Jenny
plucks golden feathers, from the backs of the rich, she finds bare spots
enough, for a large part of them all, upon the backs of the poor: and, as
for the crown, for Jenny's brows, if she goes onward, as she has begun,
investing her treasure _in Heaven_, and selecting the Lord for her
paymaster, _there_ will be her coronation; and her crown a crown of Glory.
And, when she comes to lie down and die, let the two last lines of
Johnson's imperishable epitaph, on Philips, be inscribed upon her tomb--

  "Rest undisturb'd, beneath this marble shrine,
  Till angels wake thee, with a note like thine."

Orpheus was changed into a swan; Philomela into a nightingale; and Jenny,
in due time, will be changed into an angel. Indeed, it is the opinion of
some competent judges, that the metamorphosis has already commenced.

Music is such a delightful, soothing thing, that one grieves, to think its
professors and amateurs are frequently so excessively irritable.

The disputes, between Handel and Senesino, and their respective partisans,
disturbed all London, and finally broke up the Academy of Music, after it
had been established, for nine years. The quarrels of Handel and
Buononcini are said to have occasioned duels, among the amateurs; and the
nation was filled, by these musical geniuses, with discord and uproar.
Good humor was, in some degree, restored, by the following epigram, so
often ascribed to Swift, the two last lines of which, however, are alone
to be found in the editions of his works, by Nicholls, and Scott:

  "Some say, that signor Buononcini,
  Compar'd with Handel, is a ninny;
  Others aver to him, that Handel
  Does not deserve to hold a candle;
  Strange, all this difference should be,
  'Twixt tweedle dum and tweedle dee."

This epigram cannot be attributed to that contempt for music, which is
sometimes occasioned, by a constitutional inability to appreciate its
effect, upon the great mass of mankind. It undoubtedly sprang from a
desire to put an end, by the power of ridicule, to these unmusical
disturbances of the public peace.

Swift's musical pun, upon the accidental destruction of a fine Cremona
fiddle, which was thrown down by a lady's mantua, has always been highly
and deservedly commended; and recently, upon the very best authority,
pronounced the finest specimen extant of this species of wit--"Perhaps,"
says Sir Walter Scott, in his life of Swift, speaking of his puns, i. 467,
"the application of the line of Virgil to the lady, who threw down with
her mantua a Cremona fiddle, is the best ever made--

  "Mantua væ miseræ nimium vicina Cremonæ!"

In every nation, and in every age, the power of music has been
acknowledged by mankind. Now and then, the negative idiosyncracies of
certain persons place this particular department of pleasure, beyond the
sphere of their comprehension, as effectually as utter blindness denies
the power of enjoying the finest specimens of the painter's art.
Occasionally, some pious divine, absolutely drunk with over-potent
draughts of orthodoxy, like the friar, before Boccaccio, shakes his holy
finger at this wicked world, and warns them to beware of the singing
woman!

The vocal power of music is ascribed to the angels in Heaven; and my own
personal knowledge has assured me, that it affords a melancholy solace, to
the slave in bonds.

I passed the winter of 1840-41 with an invalid daughter, in the island of
St. Croix. With a party of some six or eight, we devoted one delightful,
moonlight evening, to a ride, on horseback, among the sugar-loaf summits
of that beautiful speck amid the main. We were ascending the hills, in the
neighborhood of the Annelly plantation--the moon was at full, that night;
and the Caribbean Sea, far and wide, shone like a boundless prairie of
burnished silver. As we were slowly winding our way, to the summit, one of
our party called the attention of the rest to the sounds of music, coming
from the slave cabins, at a distance. As we advanced, slowly and silently,
towards the spot, the male and female voices were readily distinguished.

We drew near, unperceived, and, checking our horses, listened, for several
minutes, to the wild, simple notes of these children of bondage. "There is
melody in this"--said one of our party aloud, and all was hushed, in an
instant. We rode down to the cabins, and begged them to continue their
song--but our solicitations were in vain--even the offer of sundry five
stiver pieces, which operate, like a charm, upon many occasions, with the
_uncles_ and the _aunties_, was ineffectual then. "_No massa--b'lieve no
sing any more_"--were the only replies, and we went upon our way.

As we descended the Annelly hills, on the opposite side, after leaving the
negroes and their cabins, at some distance, we halted and listened--they
had recommenced--the same wild music was floating upon the breeze.

As we rode slowly along, my daughter asked me, if I could account for
their reluctance to comply with our request. I told her, I could not.
"Perhaps," said she, "they have a reason, somewhat like the reason of
those, who sat down, by the waters of Babylon, and wept, and who could not
sing one of the songs of Zion, in a strange land."

It might have been thus. "_They that carried us away captive, required of
us a song! They, that wasted us, required of us mirth!_"



No. CVI.


While pursuing his free inquiry into the origin of evil, I doubt, if Soame
Jenyns had as much pleasure, as Sir Joseph Banks enjoyed, in his famous
investigation, if fleas were the prototypes of lobsters.

These inquiries are immeasurably pleasant. When a boy, I well remember my
cogitations, what became of the old moons; and how joyously I accepted the
solution of my nurse, who had quite a turn for judicial astrology, that
they were unquestionably cut up, for stars.

It is truly delightful to look into these occult matters--_rerum
cognoscere causas_. There are subjects of deep interest, which lie
somewhat nearer the surface of the earth--the origin of certain usages and
undertakings, and the authorship of certain long-lived works, which appear
to be made of a species of literary everlasting, but whose original
proprietors have never been discovered. I have great respect, for those
antiquarians, whose researches have unlocked so many of these long hidden
mysteries; and, however bare-headed I may be, when the venerated names of
Speed, or Strype, or Stow, or Rushworth, or Wood, or Holinshed occurs to
my memory, I have an involuntary tendency to take off my hat.

It was, doubtless, in allusion to their grotesque and uncouth
versification, that the Earl of Rochester prepared his well-known
epigram--

  "Sternhold and Hopkins had great qualms,
  When they translated David's Psalms."

This version, which held its ground, for a century and a half, and, as
Chalmers says, slowly gave place to the translation, by Tate and Brady,
had an origin, of which, I presume, few individuals are apprized.

Thomas Sternhold lived to translate fifty-one only of the Psalms; and the
first edition was published in 1549, with this title--"_All such Psalms of
David as Thomas Sterneholde, late groome of the king's majestye's robes
did in his lyfetime drawe into Englyshe metre_."

About this period, the larger cities of the kingdom had become inundated
with obscene and blasphemous songs, to such a degree, that some powerful
expedient seemed to be required, for the removal of this insufferable
grievance. Accordingly, the felicitous idea occurred to Mr. Thomas
Sternhold, of substituting the Psalms of David, as versified by himself,
for the bacchanalian songs, then in use, throughout the realm. He
anticipated a practical illustration of the command of St. James--"_Is any
merry let him sing Psalms_."

Ostensibly prepared for the use of the churches, the moving consideration,
for this version, with Mr. Sternhold, was such as I have shown it to be.
The motive is plainly stated, in the title-page--"_Set forth and allowed
to be sung in churches of the people together, before and after evening
prayer, as also before and after sermon; and moreover, in private houses,
for their godly solace and comfort, laying apart all ungodly songs and
ballads, which tend only to the nourishment of vice and the corrupting of
youth_."

Wood, in his Athenæ Oxonienses, i. 183, Lond: 1813, says of
Sternhold--"Being a most zealous reformer and a very strict liver, he
became so scandalized, at the amorous and obscene songs used in the court,
that he, forsooth turned into English metre fifty-one of David's Psalms,
and caused musical notes to be set to them, thinking thereby, that the
courtiers would sing them, instead of their sonnets, but did not, only
some few excepted."

How cheerfully would I go, undieted, for a long summer's day, to know who
was the author of "Jonny Armstrong's Last Good Night;" and for a much
longer term, to ascertain the writer of Chevy Chase, of which Ben Jonson
used to say, he had rather have been the author of it, than of all his
works. The words of Sir Philip Sidney, in his Discourse on Poetry, are
quoted, by Addison, in No. 70 of the Spectator--"_I never heard the old
song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved than with
a trumpet_." The ballad of Chevy Chase was founded upon the battle of
Otterburn, which was fought in 1388, and of which a brief account will be
found in the fourteenth chapter of Sir Walter's first series of the
Grandfathers Tales.

The author of those songs for children, which have been lisped, by the
tongues of millions, shall never be forgotten, while dogs delight to bark
and bite--but who was the author of Hush-a-bye baby--Now we go up, up,
up--Cock Robin--or Dickory Dock, no human tongue can tell!

Poor André, we know, was the author of the Cow Chace; but the composer of
our national air is utterly unknown. Who would not give more of the
_siller_, to know to whose immortal mind we are indebted for Yankee
Doodle, than to ascertain the authorship of the Letters of Junius?

Both France and England have been more fortunate, in respect to the
origin and authorship of their most popular, national songs. Speaking of
Barbaroux and the Marseillois, Sir Walter Scott, in his Life of Napoleon,
observes--"Besides the advantage of this enthusiastic leader, the
Marseillois marched to the air of the finest hymn, to which Liberty or the
Revolution had yet given birth."

I am aware that something like doubt or obscurity hangs over the reputed
authorship of the Hymn of the Marseillais. But in respect to the national
air of Great Britain--_God save the King_--the authorship appears to be
more satisfactorily, if not perfectly, indicated.

It is certainly worthy of note, that this celebrated air, in which _John
Bull_ has taken so much delight, ever since it came into existence, is by
some persons supposed to have been the production of JOHN BULL himself, a
celebrated composer of his day. An engraving of him may be found, in the
History of Music, by Hawkins. There is an original painting of him, by J.
W. Childe, in the Music School, at Oxford, which was engraved by Illman,
with the words below--"John Bull, Mus. Doct. Cantab. Instaur. Oxon.
MDXCII." A portrait of Dr. Bull will also be found, in Richard Clarke's
_Account of the National Anthem, God save the King_, 8vo. Lond. 1822.

The account of Bull, by Wood, in his Fasti, i. 235, Lond. 1815, is
somewhat amusing--"1586, July 9.--John Bull, who had practised the fac. of
music for 14 years, was then admitted batch, of music. This person, who
had a most prodigious hand on the organ, and was famous, throughout the
religious world, for his church music, had been trained up under an
excellent master, named Blitheman, organist of Qu. Elizabeth's chappel,
who died much lamented, in 1591. This Blitheman perceiving that he had a
natural geny to the faculty, spared neither time nor labor to advance it
to the utmost. So that in short time, he being more than master of it,
which he showed by his most admirable compositions, played and sung in
many churches beyond the seas, as well as at home, he took occasion to go
incognito, into France and Germany. At length, hearing of a famous
musician, belonging to a certain cathedral, (at St. Omers, as I have
heard,) he applied himself, as a novice, to learn something of his
faculty, and to see and admire his works. This musician, after some
discourse had passed between them, conducted Bull to a vestry, or music
school, joyning to the cathedral, and shew'd him a lesson, or song of
forty parts, and then made a vaunting challenge to any person in the world
to add one more part to them, supposing it to be so compleat and full,
that it was impossible for any mortal man to correct or add to it. Bull
thereupon desiring the use of ink and rul'd paper (such as we call musical
paper) prayed the musician to lock him up in the said school for 2 or 3
hours; which being done, not without great disdain by the musician, Bull,
in that time or less, added forty more parts to the said lesson or song.
The musician thereupon being called in, he viewed it, try'd it and retry'd
it. At length he burst out into great ecstacy, and swore by the great God,
that he that added those 40 parts must either be the Devil or Dr. Bull,
&c. Whereupon Bull making himself known, the musician fell down and adored
him."

Of music it may be said, as of most other matters--_the fashion of these
things passeth away_. So great was the fame of Bull in his day, and such
tempting offers of preferment were made him, by the Emperor, and by the
Kings of France and Spain, that Queen Elizabeth commanded him home. It is
stated, in the Biographical History of England, ii. 167, that the famous
Dr. Pepusch preferred some of the lessons in Bull's Partheniæ, to the
productions of most of the composers of that time. Yet Dr. Burney says of
these lessons--"_They may be heard, by a lover of music, with as little
emotion as the clapper of a sawmill, or the rumbling of a post-chaise_."

Musicians are a sensitive and jealous generation. "Handel," says Chalmers,
"despised the pedantry of Pepusch; and Pepusch, in return, refused to
join, in the general chorus of Handel's praise."

Handel, when a stripling at Hamburgh, laid claim to the first harpsichord,
against a master, greatly his superior, in point of years, and the matter,
upon trial, was decided in Handel's favor, which so incensed the other,
that he drew, and made a thrust, at his young rival, whose life, according
to Dr. Burney's version, was saved, by a fortunate contact, between the
point of the rapier and a metal button.

The principles, which govern, in all mutual admiration societies, are
deeply laid in the nature of man. If Handel had borne the pedantry of Dr.
Pepusch, with forbearance, or common civility, the Doctor would have,
doubtless, afforded Handel the advantage of his highest commendation.

The managers of musical matters act wisely, in tendering, to every
conductor of a public journal, the

  Melle soporatam et medicatis frugibus offam--

But I fear they are not always as cautious and discriminating, as the
occasion appears to demand. How very different would have been the fate of
the poor strolling player, whom Goldsmith so pleasantly describes, had he
taken a little more pains--only a little--to propitiate "_the lady, who
had been nine months in London_!"

The managers, upon such occasions, should never omit the most careful
espionage, into the musical pretensions of every member of the press--I
speak of their pretensions, and not of their actual knowledge--that, in
the present connection, is of little importance: and, when they discover
one of this powerful brotherhood, who, in musical matters, would be
thought to know more than his neighbors, however mistaken he may be--let
them pay him particular attention--let them procure him an excellent
seat--once--twice perhaps--express a hope, that he is well
accommodated--and occasionally, during the performance, be sure to catch
his eye, as if with a "fearful longing after immortality," such as
tomorrow's leader may possibly confer on the candidate for fame. How often
the omission to observe these simple rules has been followed, by faint
praise, and invidious discriminations!



No. CVII.


My great grandmother used to say, that she never desired to be told, that
anything was broken, in her household; for, though she had been a
housekeeper, for fifty years, nothing was ever broken, in her family, that
had not been cracked before. I have the very same feeling in regard to the
majority of all inventions and discoveries; for some ingenious fellow
invariably presents himself, who, as it turns out, had verified the
suggestion already.

I never found my mind in a very feverish condition, while pursuing the
inquiry, whether the art of medicine was first invented, by Hermes, Isis,
or Osiris; nor while examining the arguments, ingenious though they are,
of Clemens Alexandrinus, to prove, that Moses was a very respectable
apothecary.

I have ever supposed, that Necessity, the mother of invention, was the
inventress of the blessed art; and that the origin was somewhat on this
wise:--before the transgression, all went on well--there were neither
aches nor ails--the apple certainly disagreed with Adam--he sought relief,
by hunting for an antidote; and finding great comfort, in chewing such
carminative herbs, as catmint and pennyroyal, he prescribed them to the
sharer of his joys and sorrows. It is quite likely, that, with no family,
and a great deal of time upon her hands, while walking in her garden, as
poppies were not forbidden, Eve, to satisfy her curiosity, might have
sucked their narcotic juice; and thus acquired a knowledge of opiates, so
useful, ever since the fall.

Physicking was, at first, a very general affair. Whether benevolence, or
the desire of a little reputation lies at the bottom, there has ever
existed, among mankind, a pungent, irresistible desire to physick one
another. It is to be regretted, that Irenæus, who was just the man for it,
had not given a few years of his life to ascertain, if Eve, during the
parturition of Cain, or Abel, received any alleviation, from slippery elm.
Plato, Theoctet. p. 149, says, the midwives of Athens did great, good
service, on these occasions, with certain drugs and charms.

In the beginning, so little was to be known, upon this subject, it is not
wonderful, that almost every man should have known that little. Thus,
according to Homer, Od. iv., 320, every Egyptian was a doctor:--

  "From Pæon sprung, their patron god imparts
  To all the Pharian race his healing arts."

Herodotus, who was born, about 484, B. C., in Book II. of his history,
sec. 84, speaks distinctly of the fact, that the Egyptian _doctors_ were
not physicians, in the general sense, but confined their practice,
respectively, to particular diseases. The passage may be thus
translated--_Now, in truth, the art of medicine with them was so
distributed, that their physicians managed particular disorders, and not
diseases generally; thus, though all were referred to the physicians, some
were doctors for the eyes, some for the head, some for the teeth, some for
the belly, and some for the occult diseases_.

The first mention of physicians, in Holy Writ, is in Genesis, 50, 2--"_And
Joseph commanded his servants, the physicians, to embalm his father: and
the physicians embalmed Israel_." _Physicians_, to this extent, were
mechanical operators; and the celebrated physicians of Greece, Chiron,
Machaon, Podalirius, Poeon, and even Æsculapius, were _surgeons_. Their
art, as Pliny says, did not go beyond curing a green wound. The cure of
internal, or complicated, disorders was beyond their province. Celsus
says, that Podalirius and Machaon, the physicians, who went with
Agamemnon, to the wars of Troy, were never employed, to cure the plague,
or internal maladies, nor anything but external injuries.

No physician was required to manage external applications, in certain
cases of common occurrence. In Kings II. xx. 7, Hezekiah appears to have
thought himself extremely sick; when Isaiah applied a poultice of figs to
his boil, and he soon was upon his legs again. This seems to have been
accounted a remarkable cure, in those days, for Isaiah thought it worth
repeating, xxxviii. 21. Job does not appear to have resorted to fig
poultices, nor to any remedies, whatever: and, while Hezekiah behaved like
a great baby, and wept bitterly, Job toughed it out, like a man; and,
instead of mourning and murmuring, under the torment, not of one, but of
countless boils, he poured forth torrents of incomparable eloquence, all
the while, on various topics.

Job's affliction, being viewed in the light of a direct judgment, it was
deemed quite outrageous, by many, to stave off the wrath of Heaven, by
interposing fig poultices, or remedies of any kind. Thus it appears, that
Asa suffered severely with the gout; and there is a sharp fling against
him, Chron. II. xvi. 12, on account of his want of faith--"_Yet in his
disease he sought not to the Lord, but to the physicians_."

This seems to be in accordance, with the opinion of those modern Fathers,
who consider the use of ether or chloroform, in obstetric cases, a point
blank insult to the majesty of Heaven, because of the primeval fiat--_in
sorrow shalt thou bring forth children_.

The race of Cyclops entertained a similar sentiment of submission, in
sickness, according to Homer, Od. IX. 485. When _Oudeis_ (_Anglice Noman_)
which always seemed to me an undignified pun, for an Epic, had put out the
eye of Polyphemus, his roaring collected the neighboring giants. They
inquired, outside the portal, what was the matter; and he replied, that
_Oudeis_--_Noman_--was killing him; upon which they reply--

  "If _Noman_ hurts thee, but the power divine
  Inflict disease, it fits thee to resign.
  To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray,
  The Cyclops cried, and instant strode away."

The theory was, that God worked upon mortals, by the agency of a great
number and variety of evil spirits, or devils; and that the employment of
remedial means was therefore neither more nor less, than withstanding the
Almighty. Hence arose the custom, being supposed less offensive, in the
sight of Heaven, of resorting to charms and incantations; and of employing
diviners and magicians; and, as old Sir Robert Walpole is reported to have
said, that every man has his price; so it was supposed to be the case,
with those devils, who were engaged, in the system of tormenting mankind.
Instead therefore of turning directly to the Lord, the sufferers were much
in the habit of making their propitiatory suit, directly, to some false
god, or influential demon. Of this we have an example, in Kings II. i. 2,
et seq. Ahaziah, King of Israel, went up into his garret, probably, in the
dark, and fell through the scuttle. He was severely bruised, and sent a
messenger, post haste, to Ekron, to consult the false god, Baalzebub.
Elisha, who, though a prophet, had no reputation, as a physician, was
consulted by Hazael and by Naaman, about their distempers.

Enchantments, talismans, music, phylacteries were in use, among the
Hebrews, and formed no small part of their _materia medica_. Charms were
used, as preventives against the bites of serpents. "Who," says
Ecclesiasticus xii. 13, "_will pity a charmer, that is bitten with a
serpent_?" This seems not to have availed, against the deaf adder,
"which," Psalm lviii. 5, "_will not hearken to the voice of charmers,
charming never so wisely_." And Jeremiah, viii. 17, declares, that the
Lord will send cockatrices and serpents, that will not be charmed, upon
any terms whatever.

Some verses are preserved, by Cato, De Re Rustica, art. 160, which were
used, in reducing a dislocated member. Dr. Johnson has informed us, though
without naming his authority, that ABRACADABRA was a superstitious charm,
against agues.

It is quite amusing, while reading Sir Thomas Browne's remarks on
quackery, in his Pseudodoxia, ch. xi. to see how readily he admits satanic
agency, himself. Take the following passage--"When Gracchus was slain, the
same day the chickens refused to come out of the coop; and Claudius
Pulcher underwent the like success, when he commanded the tripudiary
augurations; they died, not because the pullets would not feed, but
because the devil foresaw their death, and contrived that abstinence in
them."

Sir Thomas was a wise and safe counsellor, in all cases, in which there
was no chance for the devil to operate; but whenever there was a loop
hole, according to the belief in those days, for diabolical influence to
creep through, no man was more inclined to give the devil his due, than
Sir Thomas.

In this chapter, designed to be purely philosophical, he says of
satan--"He deludeth us also by philters, ligatures, charms, ungrounded
amulets, characters, and many superstitious ways, in the cure of common
diseases, seconding herein the expectation of men with events of his own
contriving, which, while some, unwilling to fall directly upon magic,
impute unto the power of imagination, or the efficacy of hidden causes, he
obtains a bloody advantage." This description of the devil and of his
manoeuvres so precisely fits the empiric, and all his proceedings, that I
should suspect Sir Thomas of the unusual sin of perpetrating a pleasantry;
and, under the devil's _effigies_, presenting the image of a charlatan;
were it not, for the knowledge we have of this great and good man's
credulity, and his firm belief in satanic realities; and, that, in part
upon his own testimony, two miserable women were condemned and executed,
for witchcraft.



No. CVIII.


John Jahn says, in his Biblical Archæology, Upham's translation, page 105,
that, in Babylon, when first attacked with disease, the patients were
placed in the streets, for the purpose of ascertaining, from casual
passengers, what practices or medicines _they_ had found useful, in
similar cases. Imagine a poor fellow, suddenly attacked with a windy
colic, and deposited for this purpose, in State Street, in the very place,
formerly occupied, by the razor-strop man, or the magnolia merchant! If it
be true--I very much doubt it--that, in a multitude of counsellors, there
is safety, this must be an excellent arrangement for the patient.

I have often thought, that benevolence was getting to be an epidemic;
particularly when I have noticed the attentions of one or two hundred
charitably disposed persons, gathered about a conservative horse, that
would not budge an inch. They have not the slightest interest in the
horse, nor in the driver--it's nothing under heaven, but pure brotherly
love. The driver is distracted, by the advice of some twenty persons,
pointing with sticks and umbrellas, in every direction, and all
vociferating together. In the meanwhile, three or four volunteers are
belaboring the shins of the refractory beast, while as many are rapping
his nose with their sticks. Four stout fellows, at least, are trying to
shove the buggy forward, and as many exerting their energies, to shove the
horse backward. Half a dozen sailors, attracted by the noise, tumble up to
the rescue; three seize the horse's head, and pull _a starboard_, and
three take him, by the tail, and pull _to larboard_, and all yell
together, to the driver, to put his helm hard down. At last, urged, by
rage, terror, and despair, the poor brute shakes off his persecutors, with
a rear, and a plunge, and a leap, and dashes through the bow window of a
confectioner's shop, or of some dealer in naked women, done in Parian.

I am very sorry we have been delayed, by this accident. Let us proceed.
Never has there been known, among men, a more universal diffusion of such
a little modicum of knowledge. The knowledge of the materia medica and of
pathology, what there was of it, seems to have been held, by the
Babylonians, as tenants in common, and upon the Agrarian principle--every
man and woman had an equal share of it. Such, according to John Jahn,
Professor of Orientals in Vienna, was the state of therapeutics, in
Babylon.

The Egyptians carried their sick into the temples of Serapis--the Greeks
to those of Æsculapius. Written receipts were preserved there, for the
cure of different diseases. Professor Jahn certainly seems disposed to
make the most of the knowledge of physic and surgery, among the
Israelites. He says they had "_some acquaintance with chirurgical
operations_." In support of this opinion, he refers to the rite of
circumcision, and to--nothing else. He also says, that it is evident
"_physicians sometimes undertook to exercise their skill, in removing
diseases of an internal nature_."

If the reader is good at conundrums, will he be so obliging as to _guess_,
upon what evidence the worthy professor grounds this assertion? I perceive
he gives it up--Well--on Samuel I. xvi. 16. And what sayeth Samuel?--"And
Saul's servants said unto him, behold now an evil spirit from God
troubleth thee. Let our Lord now command thy servants, which are before
thee, to seek out a man, who is a cunning player on a harp: and it shall
come to pass, when the evil spirit from God is upon thee, that he shall
play with his hand, and thou shalt be well." This, reduced into plain
language, is simply this--Saul's servants took the liberty of telling his
majesty, that the devil was in him, and he had better have a little music.
Accordingly, David was called in--_as a physician_, according to Jahn--and
drove the devil out of Saul, by playing on his Jews'-harp. Jahn also
informs us, and the Bible did before, that the art of healing was
committed to the priests, who were specially bound, by law, "_to take
cognizance of leprosies_." There were, as he admits, other _physicians_,
probably of little note. _The priests_ were the regular, legalized
faculty. On this ground, we can explain the severe reproach, cast upon
Asa, who, when he had the gout, "_sought not the Lord but to the
physician_:" that is, he did not seek the Lord, in prayer, through the
intermediation of the regular faculty, the priests.

There are ecclesiastics among us, who consider, that the Levitical law is
obligatory upon the priesthood, throughout the United States of America,
at the present day; and who believe it to be _their_ bounden duty, to take
cognizance of leprosies, and all other disorders; and to physick the
bodies, not less than the souls, of their respective parishioners. To this
I sturdily object--not at all, from any doubt of their ability, to
practise the profession, as skilfully, as did the son of Jesse, and to
drive out devils with a Jews'-harp; and to cure all manner of diseases, in
the same manner, in which the learned Kircherus avers, according to Sir
Thomas Browne, vol. ii. page 536, Lond. 1835, the bite of the tarantula is
cured, by songs and tunes; and to soothe boils as big as King Hezekiah's,
with fig poultices, according to Scripture; for I have the greatest
reverence for that intuition, whereby such men are spared those _studia
annorum_, so necessary for the acquirement of any tolerable knowledge of
the art of medicine, by all, who are not in holy orders. My objection is
of quite another kind--I object to the union of the cure of souls and the
cure of bodies, in the same person; as I object to the union of Church and
State, and to the union of the power of the purse and the power of the
sword. It is true, withal, that when a sufferer is killed, by ministerial
physic, which never can happen, of course, but for the patient's want of
faith, nobody dreams of such an irreverent proceeding, as pursuing the
officious priest, for _mala praxis_.

Priests and witches, jugglers, and old women have been the earliest
practitioners of medicine, in every age, and every nation: and the
principal, preventive, and remedial medicines, in all the primitive,
unwritten pharmacopæias, have been consecrated herbs and roots, charms and
incantations, amulets and prayers, and the free use of the Jews'-harp. The
reader has heard the statement of Professor Jahn. In 1803, Dr.
Winterbottom, physician to the colony of Sierra Leone, published, in
London, a very interesting account of the state of medicine, in that
colony. He says, that the practice of physic, in Africa, is entirely in
the hands of old women. These practitioners, like the servants of Saul,
believe, that almost all diseases are caused by evil spirits; in other
words, that their patients are bedevilled: and they rely, mainly, on
charms and incantations. Dr. W. states, that the natives get terribly
drunk, at funerals--funerals produce drunkenness--drunkenness produces
fevers--fevers produce death--and death produces funerals. All this is
imputed to witchcraft, acting in a circle.

In the account of the Voyage of the Ship Duff to Tongataboo, in 1796, the
missionaries give a similar statement of the popular notion, as to the
origin of diseases--the devil is at the bottom of them all; and exorcism
the only remedy.

In Mill's British India, vol. ii. p. 185, Lond. 1826, the reader may find
a statement of the paltry amount of knowledge, on the subject, not only of
medicine, but of surgery, among the Hindoos: "Even medicine and surgery,
to the cultivation of which so obvious and powerful an interest invites,
had scarcely attracted the rude understanding of the Hindus."

Sir William Jones, in the Asiatic Researches, vol. i. p. 354, says, "there
is no evidence, that, in any language of Asia, there exists one original
treatise on medicine, considered as a science." Crawford, in his
Sketches, and he has an exalted opinion of the Hindoos, states, that
surgery is unknown among them; and, that, in cases of wounds from the
sabre or musket, they do no more than wash the wound; bind it up with
fresh leaves, and keep the patient on rice gruel. Buchanan, in his
journey, through Mysore, vol. i. p. 336, informs us, that medicine was in
the hands of ignorant and impudent charlatans. Origen, who was born, about
185 A. D., states that the Egyptians believed thirty-six devils divided
the human body, among them; and that diseases were cured, by supplication
and sacrifice, to the particular devil, within whose precinct the malady
lay. This is a convenient kind of practice. May it not have some relation
to the fact, referred to by Herodotus, in his History, book ii. sec. 84,
that the doctors, in Egypt, were not practitioners, in a general sense,
but for one part of the body only. Possibly, though I affirm nothing of
the sort, Origen may have written _devils_ for _doctors_, by mistake: for
the doctors, in those days, were, manifestly, very little better.

If it be true--_et quis negat?_--that Hippocrates was the father of
physic--the child was neither born nor begotten, before its father, of
course, and Hippocrates was born, about 400 B. C., which, according to
Calmet, was about 600 years after David practised upon Saul, with his
Jews'-harp. His genealogy was quite respectable. He descended from
Æsculapius, through a long line of doctors; and, by the mother's side, he
was the eighteenth from Hercules, who was, of course, the great
grandfather of physic, at eighteen removes; and who, it will be
remembered, was an eminent practitioner, and doctored the Hydra. Divesting
the subject of all, that is magical and fantastical, Hippocrates thought
and taught such rational things, as no physician had thought and taught
before. It appears amazing to us, the uninitiated, that the healing art
should have been successfully practised at all, from the beginning of the
world, till 1628, in utter ignorance of the circulation of the blood; yet
it was in that year the discovery was made, when Dr. William Harvey
dedicated to Charles I. and published his _Exercitatio anatomica de motu
cordis et sanguinis_.



No. CIX.


Quackery may be found, in every vocation, from the humblest, to the
holiest.

_If the dead rise not at all_, says St. Paul, _what shall they do, who are
baptized for the dead_! Nine different opinions are set forth, by Bosius,
in regard to the true meaning of this passage. Scaliger and Grotius, who
were men of common sense, conclude, that St. Paul referred to a practice,
existing at the time; and St. Chrysostom tells a frolicsome story of this
vicarious baptism; that a living sponsor was concealed under the bed of
the defunct, and answered all the questions, put by the sagacious priest,
to the corpse, about to be baptized.

The dead have been, occasionally, through inadvertence, summoned to give
evidence, in courts of justice. But, fortunately for quacks, in every
department, dead men are mute upon the stand.

Saul, if we may believe the singing women, who came out to meet him, after
the fall of Goliath, hath slain his thousands; and, could dead men
testify, it would, doubtless, appear, that quacks have slain their tens of
thousands. When we consider the overbearing influence of that ignorant,
impudent, and plausible jabber, which the quack has always at command, it
must be admitted, that these, his fatal victories, are achieved, with the
very same weapon, employed by Samson, in his destruction of the
Philistines.

There is nothing marvellous, in the existence of quackery, if we recognize
the maxim of M. Sorbiere, in his _Relation d'une Voiage en Angleterre_, p.
155, _homo est animal credulum et mendax_--man is a credulous and lying
animal. David said, that all men were liars; but, as this is found in one
of his lyrics, and he admits, that he uttered it in haste, it may be
fairly carried to the account of _poetica licentia_. With no more,
however, than a moderate allowance, for man's notorious diathesis towards
lying, for pleasure or profit, it is truly wonderful, that credulity
should preserve its relative level, as it does, and ever has done, since
the world began. Many, who will not go an inch with the Almighty, without
a sign, will deliver their noses, for safe keeping, into the hands of a
charlatan, and be led by him, blindfold, to the charnel-house. Take away
credulity, and the world would speedily prove an exhausted receiver, for
all manner of quackery.

At the close of the seventeenth century, there was a famous impostor in
France, whom the royal family, on account of his marvellous powers,
invited to Paris. His name was James Aymar. I shall speak of him more
fully hereafter; and refer to him, at present, in connection with a remark
of Leibnitz. Aymar's imposture had no relation to the healing art, but the
remark of Leibnitz is not, on that account, the less applicable. That
great man wrote a letter, in 1694, which may be found in the Journal of
Tenzelius, in which he refers to Aymar's fraud, and to his subsequent
confession, before the Prince of Condè. Aymar said, according to Leibnitz,
that he was led on, _non tam propria audacia, quam aliena credulitate
hominum, falli volentium, et velut obtrudentium sibi_--not so much by his
own audacity, as by the credulity of others, who were not only willing to
be cheated, but actually thrust themselves upon him. All Paris was
occupied, in attempting to explain the mystery of Aymar's performances,
with his wonderful wand: and Leibnitz says--

_Nuper scripsi Parisios, utilius et examine dignius, mihi videri problema
morale vel logicum, quomodo tot viri insignes Lugduni in fraudem ducti
fuerint, quam illud pseudo-physicum, quomodo virga coryllacea tot miracula
operetur_--I wrote lately to the Parisians, that a solution of the moral
or logical problem, how it happened, that so many distinguished persons,
in Lyons, came to be taken in, seemed to me of much greater utility, and
far more worthy of investigation, than how this fellow performed miracles,
with his hazel wand.

It is worth noting, perhaps, that Leibnitz himself, according to the
statement of the Abbé Conti, in the _Gazzette Litteraire_, for 1765, fell
a victim to a quack medicine, given him by a Jesuit, for the gout.

Ignorance is the hotbed of credulity. This axiom is not the less
respectable, because the greatest philosophers, occasionally, place
confidence in the veriest fools, and do their bidding. Wise and learned
men, beyond the pale of their professional pursuits, or peculiar studies,
are, very frequently, the simplest of simple folk--_non omnia possumus
omnes_. Ignorance must be very common; for a vast majority of the human
race have not proceeded so far, in the great volume of wisdom and
knowledge, as that profitable but humiliating chapter, whose perusal is
likely to stimulate their energies, by convincing them, that they are of
yesterday and know nothing. Credulity must therefore be very common.

Credulity has very little scope, for its fantastical operations among the
exact sciences. Who does not foresee the fate of a geometrical quack, who
should maintain, that the square of the hypothenuse, in a right-angled
triangle, is either greater or less than the sum of the squares of the
sides; or of the quack arithmetician, who would persuade our housewives,
that of two and two pounds of Muscovado sugar, he had actually discovered
the art of making five?

The healing art--the science of medicine, cannot be placed, in the exact
category.

It is a popular saying, that _there is a glorious uncertainty in the law_.
This opinion has been ably considered, by that most amiable and learned
man, the late John Pickering, in his lecture, on the alleged uncertainty
of the law--before the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, in
1834. The credulity of the client, to which Mr. Pickering does not refer,
must, in some cases, be of extraordinary strength and quality. After
presenting a case to his counsel, as favorably to himself as he can, and
carefully suppressing much, that is material and adverse, he fondly
believes, that his advocate will be able to mesmerise the court and jury,
and procure a verdict, in opposition to the facts, apparent at the trial.
He is disappointed of course; and then he complains of the uncertainty of
the law, instead of the uncertainty of the facts.

In a dissertation, before the Medical Society, in June, 1828, Dr. George
Cheyne Shattuck, after setting forth a melancholy catalogue of the
troubles and perplexities of the medical profession, concludes by saying,
that "all these trials, to which the physician is subjected, do not equal
that, which proceeds from the _uncertainty_ of the healing art." When we
contrast this candid avowal, from an accomplished and experienced
physician, with the splendid promises, and infallible assurances of
empirics--with their balms of Gilead, panaceas, and elixirs of everlasting
life--we cannot marvel, that the larger part of all the invalids, in this
uncertain and credulous world, fly from those conservative professors, who
promise nothing, to such as will assure them of a perfect relief, from
their maladies, no matter how complicated, or chronic, they may be--with
four words of inspiriting import--NO CURE NO PAY.

I am no physician; my opinion therefore is not presented _ex cathedra_:
but the averment of Dr. Shattuck is, I presume, to be viewed in no other
light, than as the opinion of an honorable man, who would rather claim too
little, than too much, for his own profession: who would rather perform
more, than he has promised, than promise more, than he can perform. If the
regularly bred and educated physician complains of uncertainty, none but a
madman would seek for its opposite, in the palace, or the kennel, of a
quack; for the charlatan may occasionally be found in either.

The first thing to be done, I suppose, by the regular doctor, is to
ascertain what the disease is. This, I believe, is the very last thing,
thought of by the charlatan. He is spared the labor of all pathological
inquiry, for all his medicines are, fortunately, panaceas. Thus, he
administers a medicine, for the gout; the patient does not happen to have
the gout, but the gravel; it is the same thing; for the physic, like our
almanacs, was calculated, for different meridians.

These gentlemen sometimes limit their practice to particular diseases,
cancers, fistulas, fevers, &c. A memorial was presented, some few years
since, to the legislature of Alabama, for the establishment of a medical
college, to be devoted, exclusively, to vegetable practice. A shrewd, old
member of the assembly rose, and spoke, much after this fashion--I shall
support this measure, Mr. Speaker, on one condition, that a neighbor of
mine shall be appointed president of this college. It is proper,
therefore, that you should know how far he is qualified. He was a
travelling merchant; dealt chiefly in apple-trade and other notions, and
failed. He had once taken an old book, on fevers, in exchange for
essences. This he got by heart. Fevers are common with us. He was a man of
some tact; and, a week after he failed, he put up his sign, "BELA BODKIN,
FEVER DOCTOR--ROOTS AND HERBS--F. R. S.--L. L. D.--M. D. No charge to the
poor or the reverend clergy."--When asked, what he meant by adding those
capital letters to his name, he said the alphabet was common property;
that F. R. S. stood for Feverfew, Ragwort, and Slippery Elm--L. L. D. for
Liverwort, Lichens, and Dill--and M. D. for Milk Diet.

The thing took--his garret was crowded, from morning till night, and the
regular doctor was driven out of that town. Those, who got well,
proclaimed Dr. Bodkin's praises--those, who died, were a very silent
majority. Everybody declared, of the dead, 'twas a pity they had applied
too late. Bodkin was once called to a farmer's wife. He entered the house,
with his book under his arm, saying FEVER! with a loud voice, as he
crossed the threshhold. This evidence of his skill was astonishing.
Without more than a glance at the patient, he asked the farmer, if he had
a sorrel sheep; and, being told, that he had never heard of such a thing,
he inquired, if he had a sorrel horse. The farmer replied, that he had,
and a very valuable one. Dr. Bodkin assured him the horse must be killed
immediately, and a broth made of the _in'ards_ for the sick wife. The
farmer hesitated; the wife groaned; the doctor opened the book, and showed
his authority--there it was--readable enough--"_sheep sorrel, horse
sorrel, good in fevers_." The farmer smiled--the doctor departed in anger,
saying, as he went, "you may decide which you will sacrifice, your wife or
your nag." The woman died, and, shortly after, the horse. The neighbors
considered the farmer a hard-hearted man--the wife a victim to the
husband's selfishness--the sudden death of the horse a particular
providence--and Dr. Bodkin the most skilful of physicians.



No. CX.


No class of men, not even the professors of the wrangling art, are, and
ever have been, more universally used and abused, than the members of the
medical profession. It has always appeared to me, that this abuse has been
occasioned, in some degree, by the pompous air and Papal pretensions of
certain members of the faculty; for the irritation of disappointment is,
in the ratio of encouragement and hope; and the tongue of experience can
have little to say of the infallibility of the medical art. The candid
admission of its uncertainty, by Dr. Shattuck, in his dissertation, to
which I have referred, is the true mode of erecting a barrier, between
honorable and intelligent practitioners, and charlatans.

The opinion of Cato and of Pliny, in regard to the art is, of course, to
be construed, with an allowance, for its humble condition, in their day.
With the exception of the superstitious, and even magical, employment of
roots and herbs, it consisted, essentially, in externals. There was
nothing like a systematic nosology. The [Greek: iatroi] of Athens, and the
_medici_ of Rome were _vulnerarii_, or surgeons. Cato, who died at the age
of 85, U. C. 605, is reported, by Pliny, lib. xxix. cap. 7, to have said
of the doctors, in a letter to his son Marcus--_Jurarunt inter se,
barbaros, necare omnes, medicina_. They have sworn among themselves,
barbarians as they are, to kill us all with their physic. In cap. 5 of the
same book, he thus expresses his opinion--_mutatur ars quotidie, toties
interpolis, et ingeniorum Greciæ flatu impellimur: palamque est, ut
quisque inter istos loquendo polleat, imperatorem illico vitæ nostræ
necisque fieri: ceu vero non millia gentium sine medicis degant_. The art
is varying, from day to day: as often as a change takes place, we are
driven along, by some new wind of doctrine from Greece. When it becomes
manifest, that one of these doctors gains the ascendency, by his
harangues, he becomes, upon the spot, the arbiter of our life and death;
as though there were not thousands of the nations, who got along without
doctors. In the same passage he says, the art was not practised, among the
Romans, until the sixth hundredth year, from the building of the city.

The healing art seems to have been carried on, in those days, with fire
and sword, that is, with the knife and the cautery. In cap. 6, of the same
book, Pliny tells us, that, U. C. 535, _Romam venisse--vulnerarium--mireque
gratum adventum ejus initio: mox a sævitia secandi urendique transisse
nomen in carnificem, et in tædium artem_--there came to Rome a surgeon,
who was, at first, cordially received, but, shortly, on account of his
cuttings and burnings, they called him a butcher, and his art a nuisance.

A professional wrestler, who was unsuccessful, in his profession, met
Diogenes, the cynic, as we are told, by Diog. Laertius, in Vita, lib. vi.
p. 60, and told him, that he had given up wrestling, and taken to
physic--"_Well done_," said the philosopher, "_now thou wilt be able to
throw those, who have thrown thee_."

The revolutions, which took place, in the practice of the healing art,
previously to the period, when Pliny composed his Natural History, are
certainly remarkable. Chrysippus, as far as he was able, overthrew the
system of Hippocrates; Erasistratus overthrew the system of Chrysippus;
the Empirics, or experimentalists, overthrew, to the best of their
ability, the system of Erasistratus; Herophilus did the very same thing,
for the Empirics; Asclepiades turned the tables, upon Herophilus; Vexius
Valens next came into vogue, as the leader of a sect; then Thessalus, in
Nero's age, opposed all previous systems; the system of Thessalus was
overthrown by Crinas of Marseilles; and so on, to the end of the
chapter--which chapter, by the way, somewhat resembles the first chapter
of Matthew, substituting the word _overthrew_ for the word _begat_.

Water doctors certainly existed, in those ancient days. After Crinas, says
Pliny, cap. 5, of the same book, there came along one--_damnatis non solum
prioribus medicis, verum, et balineis; frigidaque etiam hibernis algoribus
lavari persuasit. Mergit ægros in lacus. Videbamus senes consulares usque
in ostentationem rigentes. Qua de re exstat etiam Annæi Senecæ stipulatio.
Nec dubium est omnes istos famam novitate aliqua aucupantes anima statim
nostra negotiari._ Condemning not only all former physicians, but the
baths, then in use, he persuaded his patients to use cold water, during
the rigors of winter. He plunged sick folks in ponds. We have seen certain
aged, consular gentlemen, freezing themselves, from sheer ostentation. We
have the personal statement of Annæus Seneca, in proof of this practice.
Nor can it be doubted, that those quacks, greedily seeking fame, by the
production of some novelty, would readily bargain away any man's life, for
lucre. The statement of Seneca, to which Pliny refers, may be found in
Seneca's letters, 53, and 83, both to Lucilius; in which he tells his
friend, that, according to his old usage, he bathed in the Eurypus, upon
the Kalends of January.

It would be easy to fill a volume, with the railings of such peevish
philosophers, as Michael De Montaigne, against all sorts of physic and
physicians. We are very apt to treat doctors and deities, in the same
way--to scoff at them, in health, and fly to them, in sickness.

That was a pertinent question of Cicero's, lib. i. de Divinatione, 14. _An
Medicina, ars non putanda est, quam tamen multa fallunt? * * * num
imperatorum scientia nihil est, quia summus imperator nuper fugit, amisso
exercitu? Aut num propterea nulla est reipublicæ gerendæ ratio atque,
prudentia, quia multa Cn. Pompeium, quædam Catonem, nonnulla etiam te
ipsum fe fellerunt?_ As to medicine shall it be accounted not an art,
because of the great uncertainty therein? What, then, is there no such
thing as military skill, because a great commander lately fled, and lost
his army? Can there be no such thing as a wise and prudent government,
because Pompey has been often mistaken, even Cato sometimes, and yourself,
now and then?

If much more than all, that has been proclaimed, were true, in regard to
the uncertainty of the healing art, still the practice of seeking some
kind of counsel and assistance, whenever a screw gets loose, in our
tabernacle of the flesh, is not likely to go out of fashion. What shall we
do? Follow the tetotum doctor, and swallow a purge, if P. come uppermost?
This is good evidence of our faith, in the doctrine of uncertainty. Or
shall we go for the doctor, who works the cheapest? There is no reason,
why we should not cheapen our physic, if we cheapen our salvation; for
pack horses of all sorts, lay and clerical, are accounted the better
workers, when they are rather low in flesh. Or shall we follow the example
of the mutual admiration society, and get up a mutual physicking
association? Most men are pathologists, by intuition. I have been
perfectly astonished to find how many persons, especially females and root
doctors, know just what ails their neighbors, upon the very first hint of
their being out of order, without even seeing them.

It is a curious fact, that, while men of honor, thoroughly educated, and
who have devoted their whole lives, to the study and practice of the
healing art, candidly admit its uncertainty, the ignorant and unprincipled
of the earth alone, who have impudently resorted to the vocation,
suddenly, and as an antidote to absolute starvation, boast of their
infallibility, and deal in nothing, but panaceas. The fools, in this
pleasant world, are such a respectable and wealthy minority, that the
charlatan will not cease from among us, until the last of mortals shall
have put on immortality: and then, like the fellow, who entered Charon's
boat, with his commodities, he will try to smuggle some of his patent
medicines, or _leetil doshes_, into the other world.

A curious illustration of the popular notion, that no man is guilty of any
presumptuous sin, merely because, after lying down, at night, a notorious
_pedler_ or _tinker_, he rises, in the morning, a _physician_, may be
found, in the fact, that a watchmaker, who would laugh at a tailor, should
he offer to repair a timekeeper, will readily confide in him, as a
physician, for himself, his wife, or his child.

The most delicate female will sometimes submit her person, to the rubbings
and manipulations of a blacksmith, in preference to following the
prescriptions of a regular physician. A respectable citizen, with a pimple
on the end of his nose, resembling, upon the testimony of a dozen old
ladies, in the neighborhood, the identical cancer, of which every one of
them was cured, by the famous Indian doctress, in Puzzlepot Alley, will,
now and then, give his confidence to a lying, ignorant, half-drunken
squaw, rather than to the most experienced member of the medical
profession.

Suffer me to close this imperfect sketch, with the words of Lord Bacon,
vol. i. page 120, Lond. 1824. "We see the weakness and credulity of men is
such, as they will often prefer a mountebank or witch, before a learned
physician. And therefore the poets were clear-sighted, in discerning this
extreme folly, when they made Æsculapius and Circe brother and sister.
For, in all times, in the opinion of the multitude, witches, and old
women, and impostors have had a competition with physicians. And what
followeth? Even this, that physicians say, to themselves, as Solomon
expresseth it, upon a higher occasion, _If it befall to me, as befalleth
to the fools, why should I labor to be more wise?_"



No. CXI.


Van Butchell, the fistula-doctor, in London, some forty years ago, had a
white horse, and he painted the animal, with many colored spots. He also
wore an enormous beard. These tricks were useful, in attracting notice. In
the Harleian Miscellany, vol. viii. page 135, Lond. 1810, there is a
clever article on quackery, published in 1678, from which I will extract a
passage or two, for the benefit of the fraternity: "Any sexton will
furnish you with a skull, in hope of your custom; over which hang up the
skeleton of a monkey, to proclaim your skill in anatomy. Let your table be
never without some old musty Greek or Arabic author, and the fourth book
of Cornelius Agrippa's Occult Philosophy, wide open, with half a dozen
gilt shillings, as so many guineas, received, that morning for fees. Fail
not to oblige neighboring ale-houses to recommend you to inquirers; and
hold correspondence with all the nurses and midwives near you, to applaud
your skill at gossippings. The admiring patient shall cry you up for a
scholar, provided always your nonsense be fluent, and mixed with a
disparagement of the college, graduated doctors, and book-learned
physicians. Pretend to the cure of all diseases, especially those, that
are incurable."

There are gentlemen of the medical and surgical professions, whose high
reputation, for science and skill, is perfectly established, and who have
humanely associated their honorable names with certain benevolent
societies. Such is the fact, in regard to Dr. John Collins Warren, who, by
his adoption of the broad ground of total abstinence from all intoxicating
liquors, as a beverage, by men in health, and by his consistent practice
and example, has become entitled to the grateful respect of every
well-wisher of the temperance cause. To the best of my ability, I have
long endeavored to do, for the sextons, the very thing, which that
distinguished man would accomplish for the doctors, and other classes.
Never did mortal more certainly oppose his own interest, than a physician,
or a sexton, who advocates the temperance reform.

There are, however, personages, in the medical profession, regulars, as
well as volunteers, who cling to certain societies, with the paralyzing
grasp of death--holding on to their very skirts, as boys cling behind our
vehicles, _to get a cast_. The patronage and advocacy of some of these
individuals are absolutely fatal. It may be surely affirmed of more than
one of their number, _nihil tetigit quod non damnavit_.

I have long been satisfied, that, without a great increase of societies,
it will be utterly impossible to satisfy the innumerable aspirants, for
the offices of President, Vice President, &c., in our ambitious community.
A sagacious, medical friend of mine, whose whole heart is devoted to the
public service, and I am sorry to say it, to the injury of his wife and
children, has handed me a list of several societies, for the want of
which, he assures me, the citizens of Boston are actually suffering, at
the present moment. For myself, I cannot pretend to judge of such
matters. A publication of the list may interest the benevolent, and,
possibly, promote the cause of humanity. I give it entire:--

A society, for soothing the feelings and relieving the apprehensions of
criminals, especially midnight assassins.

A mutual relief society, in case of flatulent colic.

A society, for the diffusion of buttermilk, with funds to enable the
visiting committee to place a full jug, in the hands of every man, woman
and child, in the United States, upon the first Monday of every month.

A friendly cockroach-trap society.

A society, composed exclusively of medical men, without practice, for the
destruction of sowbugs and pismires, throughout the Commonwealth.

A society, for the promotion of domestic happiness, with power to send for
persons and papers.

A society, for elevating the standard of education, by introducing
trigonometry into infant schools.

An association, for the gratuitous administration, to the poorer classes,
by steam power, of anodyne clysters.

Let us return to the faculty. I am in favor of some peculiarity, in the
dress and equipage of medical men. With the exception of certain stated
hours, they cannot be found at home; and the case may be one of emergency.
Van Butchell's spotted horse was readily distinguished, from Charing Cross
to Temple Bar. This was very convenient for those, who were in quest of
that remarkable leech. A small mast, abaft the vehicle, whether sulky,
buggy, chariot, or phaeton, bearing the owner's private signal, would
afford great public accommodation. There is nothing more nautical in such
an arrangement, than in the use of the _killeck_, or small anchor, which
many of the faculty regularly cast, when they are about to board a
patient, and as regularly weigh, when they are about to take a new
departure.

The bright yellow chariot of Dr. Benjamin Rush was universally known in
Philadelphia, and its environs; and his peculiar features are not likely
to escape from the memory of any man, who ever beheld them. These striking
points were seized, by that arch villain, Cobbett, when he published his
pictured libel, representing that eminent physician, looking out of his
chariot window, with a label, proceeding from his mouth--_Bleed and purge
all Kensington!_ Upon Cobbett's trial for this libel, Dr. Rush swore,
that, by making him ridiculous, it had seriously affected his practice.

Dr. James Lloyd was easily discovered, by his large bay horse--take him
for all in all--the finest harness gelding of his day, in Boston. With the
eyes of a Swedenborgian, I see the good, old doctor now; and I hear the
tramp of those highly polished, white topped boots; and I almost feel the
lash of his horsewhip, around my boyish legs, rather too harshly
administered, for mild practice however--but he was an able physician, and
a gentleman--_factus ad unguem_. His remarkable courtliness of manner,
arose, doubtless, in some degree, from his relation to the nobility.
During the siege, General Howe and Lord Percy were his intimate friends;
the latter was his tenant in 1775, occupying the Vassal estate, for which
Dr. Lloyd was the agent, and which afterwards became the residence of the
late Gardner Greene.

Dr. Danforth, who resided, in 1789, near the residence of Dr. Lloyd, on
Pemberton's Hill, nearly opposite Concert Hall, and, subsequently, in
Green Street, might be recognized, by the broad top of his chaise, and the
unvarying moderation of the pace, at which he drove. He was tall and thin.
His features were perfectly Brunonian. There seemed to be nothing
antiphlogistic about him. When pleased, he was very gentlemanly, in his
manner and carriage. He ever placed himself, with remarkable exactitude,
in the very centre of his vehicle, bolt upright; and, with his stern
expression, wrinkled features, remarkably aquiline nose, prominent chin,
and broad-brimmed hat, appeared, even some fifty years ago, like a remnant
of a by-gone age. He had been a royalist. His manners were occasionally
rough and overbearing.

I remember to have told my mother, when a boy, that I should not like to
take Dr. Danforth's physic. The character of his practice is, doubtless,
well remembered, by those, who have taken his _divers_, as they were
called, and lived to tell of it. The late Dr. Benjamin Waterhouse being
interrogated, by some aged spinsters, as to the difference, between the
practice of Dr. Danforth and his opponents, replied, that there were two
ways of putting a disordered clock in tolerable condition--the first, by
taking it apart, cleaning its various members of their dust and dirt,
applying a little oil to the pivots, and attaching no other than its
former weight; "and then," said he, "it will go very well, for a
considerable time; and this we call the anti-Brunonian system."

The second method he described, as follows: "You are to take no pains
about examining the parts; let the dust and dirt remain, by all means;
apply no oil to the pivots; but hitch on three or four times the original
weight, and you will be able to drag it along, after a fashion; and this
is the Brunonian system." In this, the reader will recognize one of the
pleasantries of Dr. Waterhouse, rather than an impartial illustration.

Dr. Isaac Rand, the son of Dr. Isaac Rand, of Charlestown, lived, in 1789,
some sixty years ago, in Middle Street, just below Cross: in after years,
he resided, till his death, in 1822, in Atkinson Street. He was a pupil of
Dr. Lloyd. His liberalities to the poor became a proverb. The chaise, in
which he practised, in his latter days, was a notable object. The width of
it, though not equal to that of Solomon's temple, was several cubits. It
became the property of the late Sheriff Badlam, who filled it to
admiration. The mantle of Elijah was not a closer fit, upon the shoulders
of Elisha.

Dr. Rand was an able physician, and a truly good man. He made rather a
more liberal use of the learned terms of his profession, than was the
practice of other physicians. With him, this arose from habit, and a
desire to speak with accuracy, and not from affectation. Charles Austin
was shot dead, in State Street, by Thomas O. Selfridge, August 4, 1806, in
self-defence. Dr. Rand was a witness, at the trial; and his long and
learned, professional terms, so completely confounded the stenographers,
that they were obliged to beat the _chamade_, and humbly beg for plainer
English.

I have more to say of these interesting matters, but am too near the
boundary wall of my paper, to enter upon their consideration, at present.



No. CXII.


In my last number, I referred to three eminent physicians, of the olden
time, Drs. Lloyd, Danforth, and Rand. Some sixty years ago, there were
three and twenty physicians, in this city, exclusive of quacks. The
residences of the three I have already stated. Dr. James Pecker resided,
at the corner of Hanover and Friend Street--Thomas Bulfinch, in Bowdoin
Square--Charles Jarvis, in Common Street--Lemuel Hayward, opposite the
sign of the White Horse, in Newbury Street--Thomas Kast, in Fish Street,
near the North Square--David Townsend, in Southack's Court--John Warren,
next door to Cromwell's Head, in South Latin School Street, then kept by
Joshua Brackett--Thomas Welsh, in Sudbury Street, near Concert
Hall--William Eustis, in Sudbury Street, near the Mill Pond--John Homans,
No. 6 Marlborough Street--John Sprague, in Federal Street--Nathaniel W.
Appleton, in South Latin School Street, near the Stone Chapel--Joseph
Whipple, in Orange Street--Aaron Dexter, in Milk Street, opposite the
lower end of the rope walks, that were burnt, in the great fire, July 30,
1794--Abijah Cheever, in Hanover Street--William Spooner, in Cambridge
Street--John Fleet, in Milk Street--Amos Winship, in Hanover
Street--Robert Rogerson, in Ship Street--Alexander A. Peters, in
Marlborough Street--John Jeffries, who, in 1776, went to Halifax, with the
British garrison, did not return and resume practice in Boston, till 1790.

Ten years after, in 1799, the number had increased to twenty-nine, of whom
nineteen were of the old guard of 1789.

In 1816, the number had risen to forty-three, of whom eight only were of
1789. In 1830, the number was seventy-five, two only surviving of
1789--Drs. William Spooner and Thomas Welsh.

In 1840, we had, in Boston, one hundred and twenty-two physicians,
surgeons, and dentists, and a population of 93,383. There are now, in this
physicky metropolis, according to the Directory, for 1848-9, physicians,
of all sorts, not including those for the soul, but doctors, surgeons,
dentists, regulars and quacks, of all colors and both sexes, 362. THREE
HUNDRED AND SIXTY-TWO: an increase of two hundred and forty, in eight
years. This is certainly encouraging. If 122 doctors are quite as many, as
93,383 Athenians ought to bear, 362 require about 280,000 patients, and
such should be our population. Let us arrange this formidable host. At the
very _tete d'armee_, marching left in front, we have seven _Female
Physicians_, preceded by an _Indian doctress_--next in order, come the
surgeon _Dentists_, seventy in number--then the main body, to whom the
publisher of the Directory courteously and indiscriminately applies the
title of _Physicians_, two hundred and fifty-seven, rank and file;--seven
and twenty _Botanic Doctors_ bring up the rear! How appropriate, in the
hand of the very last of this enormous _cortege_, would be a banner,
inscribed with those well known words--GOD SAVE THE COMMONWEALTH OF
MASSACHUSETTS!

I shall devote this paper to comparative statistics. In 1789, with
twenty-three physicians in Boston, four less, than the present number of
_botanic doctors_ alone, and three hundred and thirty-nine less, than the
present number of regulars and pretenders, there were nine only of _our_
profession, regularly enrolled, as F. U., funeral undertakers, and placed
upon a footing with the Roman _designatores_, or _domini funerum_. There
were several others, who bore to our profession the same relation, which
bachelors of medicine bear to theirs, and who were entitled to subscribe
themselves D. G., diggers of graves. Yet in 1840, the year, which I take,
as a _point d'appui_ for my calculations, there were only twenty, enrolled
as F. U., with 362 medical operatives, busily at work, day and night, upon
the insides and outsides of our fellow-citizens! Here is matter for
marvel! How was it done? Did the dead bury the dead? I presume the
solution lies, in the fact, that there existed an unrecorded number of
those, who were D. G. only.

There were few dentists, _eo nomine_, some sixty years ago. Our ancestors
appear to have gotten along pretty comfortably, in spite of their teeth.
Many of those, who practised the "_dental art_," had so little employment,
that it became convenient to unite their dental practice, with some other
occupation. Thus John Templeman, was a _broker and dentist_, at the
northeast corner of the Old State House. Whitlock was, doubtless,
frequently called out, from a rehearsal, at the play house, to pull a
refractory grinder. Isaac Greenwood advertises, in the Columbian Sentinel
of June 1, 1785, not only his desire to wait upon all, who may require his
services, at their houses, in the dental line; but a variety of umbrellas,
canes, silk caps for bathing, dice, chess men, and cane for hoops and
bonnets, by the dozen, or single stick. In the Boston Mercury of Jan. 6,
1797, W. P. Greenwood combines, with his dental profession, the sale of
piano-fortes and guitars. In 1799, the registered dentists were three
only, Messrs. Isaac and Wm. P. Greenwood, and Josiah Flagg. In 1816, there
were three only, Wm. P. Greenwood, Thomas Parsons, and Thomas Barnes.

It would appear somewhat extravagant, perhaps, to state, that, including
doctors of all sorts, there is a fraction more than two doctors to every
one merchant, _eo nomine_, excluding commission merchants, of course, in
the city of Boston. Such, nevertheless, appears to be the fact, unless Mr.
Adams has made some important error, which I do not suspect, in his
valuable Directory, for 1848-9.

It will not be utterly worthless, to contemplate the quartermaster's
department of this portentous army; and compare it with the corresponding
establishment of other times. In 1789, there were fifteen druggists and
apothecaries, in the town of Boston. Examples were exceedingly rare, in
those days, of wholesale establishments, exclusively dealing in drugs and
medicines. At present, we have, in this city, eighty-nine apothecaries,
doing business, in as many different places--drugs and medicines are also
sold, at wholesale, in forty-four establishments--there are fourteen
special depots, for the sale of patent medicines, Gordak's drugs, Indian
purgatives, Holman's restorative, Brandreth's pills, Sherry wine bitters,
and pectoral balsam, Graefenberg's medicines, and many other kinds of
nastiness--eighteen dealers exclusively in botanic medicines--ninety-seven
nurses--twenty-eight undertakers--and eight warehouses for the sale of
coffins!

It is amusing, if nothing worse, to compare the relative increase, in the
number of persons, who are, in various ways, employed about the sick, the
dying, and the dead, in killing, or curing, or comforting, or burying,
with the increase in some other crafts and callings. In 1789, there were
thirty-one bakers, in Boston: there are now fifty-seven. The number has
not doubled in sixty years. The number of doctors then, as I have stated,
was twenty-three: now, charlatans included, it falls short, only six, of
sixteen times that number.

There were then sixty-seven tailors' shops; there are now one hundred and
forty-eight such establishments. There were then thirty-six barbers,
hair-dressers, and wig-makers: there are now ninety-one. There were then
one hundred and five cabinet-makers and carpenters: there are now three
hundred and fifty. This ratio of comparison will, by no means, hold, in
some other callings. There were then nine auctioneers: there are now
fifty-two. There were then seven brokers, of all sorts: there are now two
hundred and ten. The source from which I draw my information, is the
Directory of 1789, "printed and sold by John Norman, at Oliver's Dock,"
and of which the writer speaks, in his preface, as "_this first attempt_."
For want of sufficient designation, it is impossible, in this primitive
work, to pick out the members of the legal profession. Compared with the
present fraternity, whose name is legion, they were very few. There are
more than three hundred and fifty practitioners of the law, in this city.
In this, as in the medical profession, there are, and ever will be, _ex
necessitate rei_, infernal scoundrels, and highly intelligent and
honorable men--blind guides and safe counsellors. Not very long ago, a day
of purification was appointed--some plan seemed to be excogitating, for
the ventilation of the brotherhood. For once, they were gathered together,
brothers, looking upon the features of brothers, and knowing them not.
This was an occasion of mutual interest, and the arena was common
ground--they came, some of them, doubtless, from strange quarters, lofty
attics and lowly places--

  "From all their dens the one-eyed race repair,
  From rifted rocks, and mountains high in air."

When doctors, lawyers, and brokers are greatly upon the increase, it is
very clear, that we are getting into the way of submitting our bodies and
estates, to be frequently, and extensively, tinkered.

I cannot doubt, that in 1789, there were quacks, about town, who could not
contrive to get their names inserted, in the same page, with the regular
physicians. I cannot believe, however, that they bore any proportion to
the unprincipled and ignorant impostors, at the present time. In the
"Massachusetts Centinel," of Sept. 21, 1785, is the following
advertisement--"_John Pope, who, for eighteen years past, has been noted
for curing Cancers, schrophulous Tumours, fetid and phagedenic Ulcers,
&c., has removed into a house, the north corner of Orange and Hollis
Street, South End, Boston, where he proposes to open a school, for
Reading, Writing, Arithmetick, &c._"

In 1789 there were twenty-two distillers of rum in Boston: there are nine
only, named in the Directory of 1848-9. The increase of doctors and all
the appliances of sickness and death have not probably arisen from the
falling off, among distillers. In 1789, there were about twenty
innholders: there are now eighty-eight public houses, hotels, or
taverns--ninety-two restaurants--thirty-five confectionery
establishments--thirty-nine stores, under the caption of "liquors and
wines"--sixty-nine places, for the sale of oysters, which are not always
the _spiritless_ things they appear to be--one hundred and forty-three
wholesale dealers, in West India goods and groceries--three hundred and
seventy-three retailers of such articles: I speak not of those, who fall
below the dignity of history; whose operations are entirely subterraneous;
and whose entire stock in trade might be carried, in a wheelbarrow. We
have also one hundred and fifty-two provision dealers. We live well in
this city. It would be very pleasant, to walk over it, with old Captain
Keayne, who died here, March 23, 1656, and who left a sum of money to the
town, to erect a granary or storehouse, for the poor, in case of famine!



No. CXIII.


The Quack is commonly accounted a spurious leech--a false
doctor--clinging, like a vicious barnacle, to the very bottom of the
medical profession. But impostors exist, in every craft, calling, and
profession, under the names of quacks, empirics, charmers, magicians,
professors, sciolists, plagiaries, enchanters, charlatans, pretenders,
judicial astrologers, quacksalvers, muffs, mountebanks, medicasters,
barrators, cheats, puffs, champertors, cuckoos, diviners, jugglers, and
verifiers of suggestions.

Butler, in his Hudibras, says, of medical quacks, they

  Seek out for plants, with signatures,
  To quack of universal cures.

In the Spectator, Addison has this observation--"At the first appearance,
that a French quack made in Paris, a boy walked before him, publishing,
with a shrill voice, '_my father cures all sorts of distempers_;' to which
the doctor added, in a grave manner, '_what the boy says is true_.'"

The imposture of James Aymar, to which I have alluded, was of a different
kind. Aymar was an ignorant peasant of Dauphiné. He finally confessed
himself to be an impostor, before the Prince of Condè; and the whole
affair is narrated, by the apothecary of the prince, in a _Lettre à M.
L'Abbé, D. L., sur les veritables effets de la baguette de Jaques Aymar
par P. Buissiere; chez Louis Lucas, à Paris, 1694_.

The power of this fellow's wand was not limited, to the discovery of
hidden treasures, or springs of water; nor were his only dupes the lowly
and the ignorant. As I have said, he was detected, and made a full
confession, before the Prince of Condè. The magistrates published an
official account of the imposture; yet such is the energy of the credulous
principle, that M. Vallemont, a man of note, published a treatise "_on the
occult philosophy of the divining wand_;" in which he tries to show, that
Aymar, notwithstanding his mistakes, before the Prince, was really
possessed of all the wonderful power he claimed, of divining with his
wand. The measure of this popular credulity will be better understood,
after perusing the following translation of an extract from the _Mercure
Historique_, for April, 1697, page 440.--"The Prior of the Carthusians
passed through Villeneuve with Aymar, to discover, by the aid of his wand,
some landmarks, that were lost. Just before, a foundling had been left on
the steps of the monastery. Aymar was employed, by the Superior, to find
out the father. Followed by a great crowd, and guided by the indications
of his wand, he went to the village of Comaret, in the County of
Venaissin, and thence to a cottage, where he affirmed the child was born."

Bayle says, on the authority of another letter from M. Buissiere, in 1698,
that Aymar's apparent simplicity, and rustic dialect, and the rapid motion
of his wand went far, to complete the delusion. He was also exceedingly
devout, and never absent from mass, or confession. While he was at Paris,
and before his exposure, the Pythoness, herself, would not have been more
frequently, and zealously consulted, than was this crafty and ignorant
boor, by the Parisians. Fees showered in from all quarters; and he was
summoned, in all directions, to detect thieves; recover lost property;
settle the question of genuine identity, among the relics of _prima facie_
saints, in different churches; and, in truth, no limit was set, by his
innumerable dupes, to the power of his miraculous wand. "I myself," says
M. Buissiere, "saw a simple, young fellow, a silk weaver, who was engaged
to a girl, give Aymar a couple of crowns, to know if she were a virgin."

Joseph Francis Borri flourished, about the middle of the seventeenth
century, and a most complicated scoundrel he was--heresiarch, traitor,
alchymist, and empiric. He had spiritual revelations, of course. He was an
intelligent and audacious liar, and converts came in apace. At his
suggestion, his followers took upon themselves an oath of poverty, and
placed all they possessed in the hands of Borri, who told them he would
take care it should never again interfere with their devotions, but would
be spent in prayers and masses, for their ulcerated souls. The bloodhounds
of the Inquisition were soon upon his track, at the moment he was about to
raise the standard of insurrection in Milan.

He fled to Amsterdam--made capital of his persecution by the Inquisition;
and won the reputation of a great chemist, and wonderful physician. He
then went to Hamburg, and persuaded Queen Christina, to advance him a
large sum of money, to be reimbursed, from the avails of the philosopher's
stone, which Borri was to discover. This trick was clearly worth
repeating. So thought Borri; and he tried it, with still better success,
on his Majesty of Denmark. Still the stone remained undiscovered; and the
thought occurred to Signor Borri, that it might not be amiss, to look for
it, in Turkey. He accordingly removed; but was arrested at Vienna, by the
Pope's agents; and consigned to the prisons of the Inquisition, for life.
His fame, however, had become so omnipotent, that, upon the earnest
application of the Duke d'Etrée, he was let loose, to prescribe for that
nobleman, whom the regular physicians had given over. The Duke got well,
and the world gave Borri the credit of the cure. When a poor suffering
mortal is given over, in other words, _let alone_, by half a dozen
doctors--I am speaking now of the regulars, not less than of the
volunteers--he, occasionally, gets well.

A wit replied to a French physician, who was marvelling how a certain Abbé
came to die, since he himself and three other physicians were unremitting,
in their attentions--"_My dear doctor, how could the poor abbé sustain
himself, against you all four?_" The doctors do much as they did of old.
Pliny, lib. xxix. 5, says, of consultations--"_Hinc illæ circa ægros
miseræ sententiarum concertationes, nullo idem censente ne videatur
accessio alterius. Hinc illa infelicis monumenti inscriptio_, TURBA SE
MEDICORUM PERIISSE." Hence those contemptible consultations, round the
beds of the sick--no one assenting to the opinion of another, lest he
should be deemed his subaltern. Hence the monumental inscription, over the
poor fellow, who was destroyed in this way--KILLED BY A MOB OF DOCTORS!

Who has not seen a fire rekindle, _sua sponte_, after the officious
bellows have, apparently, extinguished the last spark? So, now and then,
the vital spark, stimulated by the _vis medicatrix naturæ_ will rekindle
into life and action, after having been well nigh smothered, by all sorts
of complicated efforts to restore it.

This is the _punctum instans_, the very nick of time, for the charlatan:
in he comes, looking insufferably wise, and brim full of sympathetic
indignation. All has been done wrong, of course. While he affects to be
doing everything, he does exactly nothing--stirs up an invisible,
impalpable, infinitessimal, incomprehensible particle, in a little water,
which the patient can neither see, feel, taste, nor smell. Down it goes.
The patient's faith, as to the size of it, rather resembles a cocoanut
than a grain of mustard seed. His confidence in the _new_ doctor is as
gigantic, and as blind, as Polyphemus, after he had been _gouged_, by him
of Ithaca. He plants his galvanic grasp, upon the wrist of the little
doctor, much in the manner of a drowning man, clutching at a full grown
straw. He is absolutely better already. The wife and the little ones look
upon the mountebank, as their preserver from widowhood and orphanage.
"_Dere ish noting_," he says, "_like de leetil doshes_;" and he takes his
leave, regretting, as he closes the door, that his sleeve is not large
enough, to hold the sum total of his laughter. Yet some of these quacks
become _honest men_; and, however surprised at the result, they are
finally unable, to resist the force of the popular outcry, in their own
favor. They almost forget their days of duplicity, and small things--they
arrive, somehow or other, at the conclusion, that, however unexpectedly,
they are great men, and their wild tactics a system. They use longer
words, move into larger houses, and talk of first principles: and all the
practice of a neighborhood finally falls into the hands of Dr. Ninkempaup
or Dr. Pauketpeeker.

Francis Joseph Borri died, in prison, in 1695. Sorbiere in his _Voiage en
Angleterre_, page 158, describes him thus--"He is a cunning blade; a
lusty, dark-complexioned, good-looking fellow, well dressed, and lives at
considerable expense, though not at such a rate, as some suppose; for
eight or ten thousand livres will go a great way at Amsterdam. But a
house, worth 15,000 crowns, in a fine location, five or six footmen, a
French suit of clothes, a treat or two to the ladies, the occasional
refusal of fees, five or six rix dollars distributed, at the proper time
and place among the poor, a spice of insolence in discourse, and sundry
other artifices have made some credulous persons say, that he gave away
handfulls of diamonds, that he had discovered the philosophers stone, and
the universal medicine." When he was in Amsterdam, he appeared in a
splendid equipage, was accosted, by the title of "_your excellence_," and
they talked of marrying him to one of the greatest fortunes.

I have no taste for unsocial pleasures. Will the reader go with me to
Franklin Place--let us take our station near No. 2, and turn our eyes to
the opposite side--let us put back the hand of the world's timekeeper,
some thirty years. A showy chariot, very peculiar, very yellow, and
abundantly supplied with glass, with two tall bay horses, gaudily
harnessed, is driven to the door of the mansion, by a coachman, in livery;
and there it stands; till, after the expiration of an hour, perhaps, the
house door is flung open, and there appears, upon the steps, a tall, dark
visaged, portly personage, in black, who, looking slowly up and down the
avenue, proceeds, with great deliberation, to draw on his yellow, buckskin
gloves. Rings glitter upon his fingers; seals, keys, and safety chain,
upon his person. His beaver, of an unusual form, is exquisitely glossy,
surpassed, by nothing but the polish of his tall suwarrows, surmounted
with black, silk tassels.

He descends to the vehicle--the door is opened, with a bow of profound
reverence, which is scarcely acknowledged, and in he gets, the very fac
simile of a Spanish grandee. The chariot moves off, so very slowly, that
we can easily follow it, on foot--on it goes, up Franklin, and down
Washington, up Court, into Tremont, down School, into Washington, along
Washington, up Winter, and through Park to Beacon Street, where it halts,
before the mansion of some respectable citizen. The occupant alights, and,
leaving his chariot there, proceeds, through obscure and winding ways, to
visit his patients, on foot, in the purlieus of _La Montagne_.

This was no other than the celebrated patentee of the famous bug liquid;
who was forever putting the community on its guard, by admonishing the
pill-taking public, that they _could not be too particular_, for _none
were genuine, unless signed W. T. Conway_.



No. CXIV.


Charity began at home--I speak of Charity Shaw, the famous root and herb
doctress, who was a great blessing to all undertakers, in this city, for
many years--her practice was, at first, purely domestic--she began at
home, in her own household; and, had she ended there, it had fared better,
doubtless, with many, who have received the final attentions of our craft.
The mischief of quackery is negative, as well as positive. Charity could
not be fairly classed with those reckless empirics, who, rather than lose
the sale of a nostrum, will send you directly to the devil, for a dollar:
Charity was kind, though she vaunted herself a little in the newspapers.
She was, now and then, rather severely handled, but she bore all things,
and endured all things, and hoped all things; for, to do her justice, she
was desirous, that her patients should recover: and, if she believed not
all things, her patients did; and therein consisted the negative
mischief--in that stupid credulity, which led them to follow this poor,
ignorant, old woman, and thus prevented them, from applying for relief,
where, if anywhere, in this uncertain world, it may be found--at the
fountains of knowledge and experience. In Charity's day, there were
several root and herb practitioners; but the greatest of these was
Charity.

Herb doctors have, for some two thousand years, attempted to turn back the
tables, upon the faculty--they are a species of _garde mobile_, who have
an old grudge against the _corps regulier_: for they have not forgotten,
that, some two thousand years ago, herb doctors had all things pretty much
in their own way. Two entire books, the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh of
Pliny's Natural History, are devoted to a consideration of the medicinal
properties of herbs--the twentieth treats of the medicinal properties of
vegetables--the twenty-third and twenty-fourth of the medicinal properties
of roots and barks. Thus, we see, of what importance these simples were
accounted, in the healing art, in that early age. Herbs, barks, and roots
were, and, for ages, had been, the principal _materia medica_, and were
employed, by the different sects--by the Rationalists, of whom Pliny, lib.
xxvi. cap. 6, considers Herophilus the head, though this honor is
ascribed, by Galen, to Hippocrates--the Empirics, or experimentalists--and
the Methodics, who avoided all actions, for _mala praxis_, by adhering to
the rules. Pliny manifestly inclined to herb doctoring. In the chapter,
just now referred to, after alluding to the _verba, garrulitatemque_ of
certain lecturers, he intimates, that they and their pupils had an easy
time of it--_sedere namque his in scholis auditioni operatos gratius erat,
quam ire in solitudines, et quoerere herbas alias aliis diebus anni_--for
it was pleasanter to sit, listening in the lecture-rooms, than to run
about in the fields and woods, culling certain simples, on certain days in
the year.

Herb doctors were destined to be overthrown; and the account, given by
Pliny, in chapters 7, 8 and 9, book xxvi. of the sudden and complete
revolution, in the practice of the healing art, is curious and
interesting.

Asclepiades, of Prusa, in Bythinia, came to Rome, in the time of Pompey
the Great, about one hundred years before Christ, to teach rhetoric; and,
like an impudent hussy, who came to this city, as a cook, from Vermont,
some years ago, and, not succeeding, in that capacity, but hearing, that
wet nurses obtained high wages here, prepared herself, for that lucrative
occupation--so Asclepiades, not succeeding, as a rhetorician, prepared
himself for a doctor. He was ignorant of the whole matter; but a man of
genius; and, as he knew nothing of root and herb practice, he determined
to cut up the whole system root and branch, and substitute one of his
own--_torrenti ac meditata quotidie oratione blandiens omnia abdicavit:
totamque medicinam ad causam revocando, conjecturæ fecit_. By the power of
his forcible and preconcerted orations, pronounced from day to day, in a
smooth and persuasive manner, he overthrew the whole; and, bringing back
the science of medicine to cause and effect, he constructed a system of
inference or conjecture. Pliny is not disposed to be altogether pleased
with Asclepiades, though he recounts his merits fairly. He says of
him--_Id solum possumus indignari, unum hominem, e levissima gente, sine
ullis opibus orsum, vectigalis sua causa, repente leges salutis humano
genere dedisse, quas tamen postea abrogavere multi_--at least, we may feel
rather indignant, that one, born among a people, remarkable for their
levity, born also in poverty, toiling for his daily support, should thus
suddenly lay down, for the human race, the laws of health, which,
nevertheless, many rejected afterwards.

Now it seems to me, that Asclepiades was a very clever fellow; and I
think, upon Pliny's own showing, there was more reason, for indignation,
against a people, who had so long tolerated the marvellous absurdities of
the herb system, such as it then was, than against a man, who had the good
sense to perceive, and the courage and perseverance to explode, them. What
there was in the poverty of Asclepiades, or in the character of his
countrymen, to rouse Pliny's indignation, I cannot conceive. Pliny says,
lib. xxvi. cap. 9, after naming several things, which promoted this great
change, in the practice of Physic--_Super omnia adjuvere eum magicæ
vanitates, in tantum erectæ, ut abrogare herbis fidem cunctis possent_. He
was especially assisted in his efforts, by the excesses, to which the
magical absurdities had been carried, in respect to herbs, so that they
alone were enough to destroy all confidence, in such things.

Pliny proceeds to narrate some of these magical absurdities--the plant
Æthiops, thrown into lakes and rivers, would dry them up--the touch of it
would open everything, that was shut. The Achæmenis, cast among the enemy,
would cause immediate flight. The Latace would ensure plenty. Josephus
also, De Bell, Ind. lib. vii. cap. 25--speaks of an excellent root for
driving out devils.

Pliny says, Asclepiades laid down five important
particulars--_abstinentiam cibi_, _alias vini_, _fricationem corporis_,
_ambulationem_, _gestationes_--abstinence from meat, and, at other times,
from wine, friction of the body, walking, and various kinds of gestation,
on horseback, and otherwise. There were some things, in the old practice,
_nimis anxia et rudia_, too troublesome and coarse, whose rejection
favored the new doctor greatly, _obruendi agros veste sudoresque omni modo
ciendi; nunc corpora ad ignes torrendi_, etc.--smothering the sick in
blankets, and exciting perspiration, by all possible means--roasting them
before fires, &c. Like every other ingenious physician, he had something
pleasant, of his own contriving, to propose--_tum primum pensili
balinearum usu ad infinitum blandientem_--then first came up the
employment of hanging baths, to the infinite delight of the public. These
hanging baths, which Pliny says, lib. ix. 79, were really the invention of
Sergius Orata, were rather supported than suspended--fires were kindled
below--there were different _ahena_, or caldrons, the _caldarium_, and
_frigidarium_. The _corrivatio_ was simply the running together of the
cold and hot water. Annexed was the _laconicum_, or sweating room. The
curious reader may compare the Roman baths with those at Constantinople,
described by Miss Pardoe.

_Alia quoque blandimenta_, says Pliny, _excogitabat, jam suspendendo
lectulos, quorum jactatu aut morbos extenuaret, aut somnos alliceret_. He
excogitated other delights, such as suspended beds, whose motion soothed
the patient, or put him to sleep. The principle here seems pretty
universal, lying at the bottom of all those simple contrivances,
rocking-chairs, cribs, and cradles, swings, hammocks, &c. This is truly
Indian practice--

  Rock-a-bye baby upon the tree top,
  And, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.

_Præterea in quibusdam morbis medendi cruciatus detraxit, ut in anginis
quas curabant in fauces organo demisso. Damnavit merito et vomitiones,
tunc supra modum frequentes._ He also greatly diminished the severity of
former practice, in certain diseases, in quinsies for example, which they
used to cure, with an instrument, introduced into the fauces. He very
properly condemned those vomitings, then frequent, beyond all account.
This refers to the Roman usage, which is almost incomprehensible by us.
Celsus, De Med. lib. i. 3, refers to it, as the practice _eorum, qui
quotidie ejiciendo, vorandi facultatem moliuntur_--of those, who, by
vomiting daily, acquired the faculty of gormandizing. Suetonius says of
the imperial brute, Vitellius, sec. xiii. that he regularly dined, at
three places daily, _facile omnibus sufficiens, vomitandi
consuetudine_--easily enabled to do so, by his custom of vomiting.

Pliny's reflection, upon the success of the new doctor, is very
natural--_quæ quum unusquisque semetipsum sibi præstare posse
intelligeret, faventibus cunctis, ut essent vera quæ facillima erant,
universum prope humanum genus circumegit in se, non alio modo quam si
coelo emissus advenisset_. When every one saw, that he could apply the
rules for himself, all agreeing that things, which were so very simple,
must certainly be true, he gathered all mankind around him, precisely as
though he had been one, sent from Heaven.

In the following passage, Pliny employs the word, _artificium_, in an
oblique sense. _Trahebat præterea mentes artifcio mirabili, vinum
promittendo ægris._ He attracted men's minds, by the remarkable _artifice_
of allowing wine to the sick.

During the temperance movement, some eminent physicians have asserted,
that wine was unnecessary, in every case--others have extended their
practice, and increased their popularity, by making their patients as
comfortable, as possible--_while they continued in the flesh_. A German,
who had been very intemperate, joined a total abstinence society, by the
advice of a temperance physician. In a little time the _tormina_ of his
stomach became unbearable. Instead of calling his temperance physician,
who would, probably, have eased the irritation, with a little wormwood, or
opium, he sent for the popular doctor, who told him, at once, that he
wanted brandy--"How much may I take?" inquired the German. "An ounce,
during the forenoon;" replied the doctor. After he had gone, the German
said to his son, "Harman, go, get de measure pook, and zee how mooch be
won ounz." The boy brought the book, and read aloud, eight drachms make
one ounce--the patient sprang half out of bed; and, rubbing his hands,
exclaimed--"dat ish de toctor vor me; I never took more nor voor trams in
a morning, in all my porn days--dat ish de trouble--I zee it now."



No. CXV.


Miss Bungs is dead. It is well to state this fact, lest I should be
suspected of some covert allusion to the living. She firmly believed in
the XXXIX. articles, and in a fortieth--namely--that man is a
fortune-hunter, from his cradle. She often declared, that, sooner than wed
a fortune-hunter, she would die a cruel death--she would die a maid--she
did so, in the full possession of her senses, to the last.

Her entire estate, consisting of sundry shares, in fancy stocks, two
parrots, a monkey, a silver snuff-box, and her paraphernalia, she directed
to be sold; and the avails employed, for the promotion of celibacy, among
the heathen.

Yet it was the opinion of those, who knew her intimately, that Miss Bungs
was, at heart, sufficiently disposed to enter into the holy state of
matrimony, could she have found one pure, disinterested spirit; but,
unfortunately, she was fully persuaded, that every man, who smiled upon
her, and inquired after her health, was "_after her money_." Miss Bungs
was not unwilling to encourage the impression, that she was an object of
particular regard, in certain quarters; and, if a gentleman picked up her
glove, or escorted her across a gutter, she was in the habit of
instituting particular inquiries, among her acquaintances--in strict
confidence of course--in regard to his moral character--ejaculating with a
sigh, that men were so mercenary now-a-days, it was difficult to know who
could be trusted.

Now, this was very wrong, in Miss Bungs. By the English law, if a man or a
woman pretends, falsely, that he or she is married to any person, that
person may libel, in the spiritual court, and obtain an injunction of
silence; and this offence, in the language of the law, is called
_jactitation of marriage_. I can see no reason why an injunction in cases
of _jactitation of courtship_, should not be allowed; for serious evils
may frequently arise, from such unauthorized pretences.

After grave reflection, I am of opinion, that Miss Bungs carried her
opposition to fortune-hunters, beyond the bounds of reason. Let us define
our terms. The party, who marries, only for money, intending, from the
very commencement, to make use of it, for the selfish gratification of
vain, or vicious, propensities--is a fortune-hunter of the very worst
kind. But let us not forget, as we go along, that this field is occupied
by huntresses, as well as by hunters; and that, upon such voyages of
discovery, the cap may be set, as effectually, as the compass.

There is another class, with whom the degree of personal attachment, which
really exists, is too feeble, to resist the combined influence of
selfishness and pride. Such also, I suppose, may be placed in the category
of fortune-hunters. We find an illustration of this, in the case of Mr.
Mewins. After a liberal arrangement had been made, for the young lady, by
her father; Mr. Mewins, having taken a particular fancy to a little, brown
mare, demanded, that it should be thrown into the bargain; and, upon a
positive refusal, the match was broken off. After a couple of years, the
parties accidentally met, at a country ball--Mr. Mewins was quite willing
to renew the engagement--the lady appeared not to have the slightest
recollection of him. "Surely you have not forgotten me," said he--"What
name, sir?" she inquired--"Mewins," he replied; "I had the honor of paying
my addresses to you, about two years ago."--"I remember a person of that
name," she rejoined, "who paid his addresses to my father's brown mare."

In matrimony, wealth is, of course, a very comforting accessory. It
renders an agreeable partner still more so--and it often goes, not a
little way, to balance an unequal bargain. Time and talent may as wisely
be wasted, in pursuit of the philosopher's stone, as of an unmixed good or
evil, on this side the grave. Temper may be mistaken, or it may change;
beauty may fade; but £60,000, well managed, will enable the _happy man or
woman_, to bear up, with tolerable complacency, under the severest trials
of domestic life. What a blessed thing it is, to fall back upon, when one
is compelled to mourn, over the infirmities of the living, or the absence,
of the dead! What a solace!

It was therefore wrong, in Miss Bungs, to designate, as fortune-hunters,
those, of either sex, who have come to the rational conclusion, that money
is essential to the happiness of married life. No man or woman of common
sense, who is poor, will, now-a-days, commit the indiscretion of _falling
in love_, unless with some person of ample possessions.

What, then, is to become of the penniless, and the unpretty! We must adopt
the custom of the ancient Babylonians, introduced about 1433 B. C., by
Atossa, the daughter of Belochus. At a certain season of the year, the
most lovely damsels were assembled, and put up, singly, at auction, to be
purchased, by the _highest_ bidder. The wealthy swains of Babylon poured
forth their wealth, like water; and rivals settled the question, not by
the length of their rapiers, but of their purses. The money, thus
obtained, became the dowry of those, whose personal attractions were not
likely to obtain them husbands. They also were put up, and sold to the
_lowest_ bidder, as the poor were formerly disposed of, in our villages.
Every unattractive maiden, young, old, and of no particular age, was put
up, at a _maximum_, and bestowed on him, who would take her, with the
smallest amount of dowry. It is quite possible, that certain lots may have
been withdrawn.

I rather prefer this practice to that of the Spartans, which prevailed,
about 884 B. C. At an appointed time, the marriageable damsels were
collected, in a hall, perfectly dark; and the young men were sent into the
apartment; walking, evidently, neither by faith nor by sight, but,
literally, feeling their way, and thus selected their helpmates. This is
in perfect keeping with the principle, that love is blind.

The ancient Greeks lived, and multiplied, without marriage. Eusebius, in
the preface to his Chronicon, states, that marriage ceremonies were first
introduced among them, by Cecrops, about 1554 B. C. The Athenians provided
by law, that no unmarried man should be entrusted with public affairs, and
the Lacedemomans passed severe laws against those, who unreasonably
deferred their marriage. It is not easy to reconcile the general policy of
promoting marriages, with the statute, 8 William III., 1695, by which they
were taxed; as they were again, in 1784.

The earliest celebration of marriages, in churches, was ordained by Pope
Innocent III., A. D. 1199. Marriages were forbidden in Lent, A. D. 364,
conforming, perhaps, to the rule of abstinence from flesh.

Fortune-hunting has not always been unaccompanied with violence. Stealing
an heiress was made felony, by 3 Henry VII. 1487, and benefit of clergy
denied, in such cases, by 39 Eliz. 1596. In the first year of George IV.
1820, this offence was made punishable by transportation. In the reign of
William III., Captain Campbell forcibly married Miss Wharton, an heiress.
The marriage was annulled, by act of Parliament, and Sir John Johnston was
hanged, for abetting. In 1827, two brothers and a sister, Edward, William,
and Frances Wakefield, were tried and convicted, for the felonious
abduction of Miss Turner, an heiress, whose marriage with Edward Wakefield
was annulled, by act of Parliament.

No species of fortune-hunter appears so entirely contemptible, as the
wretch, who marries for money, intending to employ it, not for the joint
comfort of the parties, but for the payment of his own arrearages; and who
resorts to the expedient of marriage, not to obtain a wife, but to avoid a
jail. And the exultation is pretty universal, when such a vagabond falls,
himself, into the snare, which he had so deliberately prepared, for
another.

In the fifth volume of the Diary of Samuel Pepys, pages 323, 329 and 330,
Lord Braybrooke has recorded three letters to Pepys, from an extraordinary
scoundrel of this description. The first letter from this man, Sir Samuel
Morland, who seems to have had some employment in the navy, bears date
"Saturday, 19 February, 1686-7." After communicating certain information,
respecting naval affairs, he proceeds, as follows:--

"I would have wayted on you with this account myself, but I presume you
have, ere this time, heard what an unfortunate and fatall accident has
lately befallen me, of which I shall give you an abreviat."

"About three weeks or a month since, being in very great perplexities, and
almost distracted for want of moneys, my private creditors tormenting me
from morning to night, and some of them threatening me with a prison, and
having no positive answer from his Majesty, about the £1300 which the late
Lord Treasurer cutt off from my pension so severely, which left a debt
upon me, which I was utterly unable to pay, there came a certain person to
me, whom I had relieved in a starving condition, and for whom I had done a
thousand kindnesses; who pretended, in gratitude to help me to a wife, who
was a very vertuous, pious, and sweet disposition'd lady, and an heiress,
who had £500 per ann. in land and inheritance, and £4000 in ready money,
with the interest since nine years, besides a mortgage upon £300 per ann.
more, with plate, jewels, &c. The devil himself could not contrive more
probable circumstances than were layd before me; and when I had often a
mind to enquire into the truth, I had no power, believing for certain
reasons, that there were certain charms or witchcraft used upon me; and,
withall, believing it utterly impossible that a person so obliged should
ever be guilty of so black a deed as to betray me in so barbarous a
manner. Besides that, I really believ'd it a blessing from Heaven for my
charity to that person: and I was, about a fortnight since, led as a fool
to the stocks, and married a coachman's daughter not worth a shilling, and
one who, about nine months since, was brought to bed of a bastard; and
thus I am both absolutely ruined, in my fortune and reputation, and must
become a derision to all the world."

"My case is at present in the Spiritual Court, and I presume, that one
word from his Majesty to his Proctor, and Advocate, and Judge, would
procure me speedy justice; if either our old acquaintance or Christian
pity move you, I beg you to put in a kind word for me, and to deliver the
enclosed into the King's own hands, with all convenient speed; for a
criminal bound and going to execution is not in greater agonies than has
been my poor, active soul since this befell me: and I earnestly beg you to
leave in three lines for me with your porter, what answer the King gives
you, and my man shall call for it. A flood of tears blind my eyes, and I
can write no more, but that I am your most humble and poor distressed
servant,

  S. MORLAND."

All that befell Sir Samuel and _Lady_ Morland, after his application to
Pepys and the King, will be found fully set forth, by this prince of
fortune-hunters, in the two remaining letters to which I have referred,
and which I purpose to lay before the reader in the ensuing number.



No. CXVI.


The reader will remember, that we left Sir Samuel Morland, in deep
distress, his eyes, to use his own words, in the letter to Pepys, _blinded
by a flood of tears_. Of all fortune-hunters he was the most unfortunate,
who have recorded, with their own hands, the history of their own most
wretched adventures. Instead of marrying a "_vertuous, pious, and sweet
disposition'd lady, with £500 per ann. in land, and £4000 in ready money,
with plate, jewels, &c._," he found himself in silken bonds, with a
coachman's daughter, "not worth a shilling," who, nine months before, had
been introduced to a new code of sensations, by giving birth to a child,
whose father was of that problematical species, which the law terms
_putative_.

I have promised to lay before the reader two additional letters, from Sir
Samuel Morland, to Pepys, on the subject of his difficulties with Lady
Morland. Here they are: the first will be found, in Pepys' Diary, vol. v.
page 329.

"17 May, 1688. Sir: Being of late unable to go abroad, by reason of my
lame hip"--no wonder he was hipped--"which gives me great pain, besides
that it would not be safe for me, at present, because of that
strumpet's"--_Lady Morland's_--"debts, I take the boldness to entreat you,
that, according to your wonted favors, of the same kind, you will be
pleased, at the next opportunity, to give the King this following
account."

"A little before Christmas last, being informed, that she was willing, for
a sum of money, to confess in open court a precontract with Mr. Cheek, and
being at the same time assured, both by hir and my own lawyers, that such
a confession would be sufficient for a sentence of nullity, I did deposit
the money, and accordingly a day of tryall was appoynted; but after the
cause had been pleaded, I was privately assured, that the Judge was not
at all satisfyd with such a confession of hers, as to be sufficient ground
for him to null the marriage, and so that design came to nothing."

"Then I was advised to treat with her, and give her a present sum and a
future maintenance, she giving me sufficient security never to trouble mee
more; but her demands were so high, I could not consent to them."

"After this she sent me a very submissive letter, by her own advocate. I
was advised, both by several private friends, and some eminent divines, to
take her home, and a day of treaty was appoynted for an accommodation."

"In the interim, a certain gentleman came on purpose, to my house, to
assure me that I was taking a snake into my bosome, forasmuch as she had
for six months last past, to his certain knowledge, been kept by, and
cohabited with Sir Gilb. Gerrard, as his wife, &c. Upon which making
further enquiry, that gentleman furnishing me with some witnesses, and I
having found out others, I am this term endeavoring to prove adultery
against her, and so to obteyn a divorce, which is the present condition of
your most humble and faithful servant,

  SAMUEL MORLAND."

It was fortunate, that Sir Samuel, whose _naïveté_ and rascality are most
amusingly mingled, did not take the "_snake into his bosome_,"
notwithstanding the advice of those "_eminent divines_," whose counsel is
almost ever too celestial, for the practical occasions of the present
world.

The issue of Sir Samuel's fatal plunge into the abyss of matrimony, in
pursuit of "£500 per annum in land and £4000 in ready money," and of all
that befell the Lady Morland, until she lost her title, is recorded, in
the third and last letter to Pepys, in vol. v., page 330.

"19 July, 1688. Sir: I once more begg you to give yourself the trouble of
acquainting His Majesty that upon Munday last, after many hott disputes
between the Doctors of the Civil Law, the sentence of divorce was solemnly
pronounced in open Court against that strumpet"--_Lady Morland_--"for
living in adultery with Sir Gilbert Gerrard, for six months last past; so
that now, unless shee appeal, for which the law allows her 15 days, I am
freed from her for life, and all that I have to do, for the future, will
bee to gett clear of her debts, which she has contracted from the day of
marriage to the time of sentence, which is like to give me no small
trouble, besides the charge, for severall months in the Chancery. And
till I gett cleared of these debts, I shall bee little better than a
prisoner in my own house. Sir, believing it my duty to give His Majesty
this account of myselfe and of my proceedings, and having no other friend
to do it for mee, I hope you will forgive the trouble thus given you, by,
yours, &c.,

  S. MORLAND."

This must have interested His Majesty, very deeply. Poor James had then
enough of care. If he had possessed the hands of Briareus, they would have
been full already. In less than four months, after the date of this
letter, William of Orange had landed at Torbay, Nov. 5, 1688, and the last
days of the last of the Stuarts were at hand.

If Miss Bungs were living, even that inexorable hater of all
fortune-hunters would admit, that the punishment of Sir Samuel Morland was
sufficient for his crimes. Few will pretend, that his sufferings were more
than he deserved. A more exact retribution cannot well be imagined. It was
his intention to apply "_£4000 ready money_," belonging to "_a very
vertuous, pious, and sweet disposition'd lady_," to the payment of his
pre-contracted debts. Instead of effecting this honorable purpose, he
becomes the husband of a low-born strumpet, who is not worth a shilling,
and for whose debts, contracted before, as well as after marriage, he is
liable; for the law decrees, that a man takes his wife and her
circumstances together.

There are few individuals, of either sex, however constitutionally grave,
who have not a little merriment to spare, for such happy contingencies as
these. Retributive justice seldom descends, more gracefully, or more
deservedly, or more to universal acceptance, upon the crafty heads of
unprincipled projectors. For all, that may befall him, the fortune-hunter
has little to expect, from male or female sympathy. The scolding
tongue--those bewitching tresses, nocturnally deposited on the
bedpost--those teeth of pearly brilliancy, which Keep or Tucker could so
readily identify--the perpetual look of distrust--the espionage of
jealousy--these and all other _tormina domestica_ are the allotments of
the fortune-hunter, by immemorial prescription, and without the slightest
sympathy, from man or woman.

The case of Sir Samuel Morland is a valuable precedent, on account of his
station in society, and the auto-biographical character of the narrative.
But there are very few of us, who have not the record of some similar
catastrophe, within the compass of our knowledge, though, probably, of a
less aggravated type.

There is a pleasant legend, in the humbler relations of life, to which I
have listened, in earlier days, and which illustrates the principle,
involved in these remarks. Molly Moodey was an excellent cook, in the
family of an avaricious old widower, whose god was mammon, and who had
been deterred, by the expensiveness of the proceeding, from taking a
second goddess.

The only sentiment, in any way resembling the tender passion, which had
ever been awakened, in the bosom of Molly Moodey, was a passion for
lotteries.

She gave such of her waking hours, as were not devoted to roasting and
boiling, to the calculation of chances, and her sleeping hours to the
dreaming of dreams, about £20,000: and by certain combinations, she had
come to the conclusion, that No. 26,666 was the fortunate number, in the
great scheme, then presented to the public.

Molly avowed her purpose, and demanded her wages, which, after severely
berating her, for her folly, were handed over, and the identical ticket
was bought. With the hope of being the first to inform her, after the
drawing, that her ticket was a blank, her old master noted down the
number, in his tablets.

In about seven weeks after this occurrence, the old gentleman, while
reading the newspaper, in one of the public offices, came upon the
following notice--"HIGHEST PRIZE! £20,000. No. 26,666 the fortunate
number, sold at our fortunate office, in one entire ticket, SKINNER,
KETCHUM, & CLUTCH, and will be paid to the lucky proprietor, after the
27th current."

The old gentleman took out his tablets; compared the numbers; wiped his
spectacles; collated the numbers again; resorted to the lottery office;
and, upon inquiry there, became satisfied, that Molly Moodey had actually
drawn £20,000.

A new code of sensations came over the spirit of his dreams. He hastened
home, oppressed by the heat and his emotions. He bade Molly lay aside her
mop, and attend him in the parlor, as he had something of importance to
communicate.--"Molly," said he, after closing the doors--"I find a partner
absolutely necessary to my happiness. Let me be brief. I am not the man to
make a fool of myself, by marrying a young flirt. I have known you, Molly,
for many years. You have what I prize above all things in a wife, solid,
substantial qualifications. Will you have me?"

Taken thus by surprise, she gave a striking evidence of her
self-possession, by requesting leave of absence, for a moment, to remove a
kettle of fat, which she was trying out, lest it should boil over. She
soon came back, and turned her eye--she had but one--with great respect,
upon her old master--said something of the difference of their
stations--and consented.

The old gentleman's attachment for Molly appeared to be very
extraordinary. Until the wedding-day, which was an unusually early one, he
would not suffer her to be out of his sight. The day came--they were
married. On their way from church--"Molly," said the bridegroom,
"whereabouts is your ticket, with that fortunate number?"--"Oh," she
replied, "when I came to think of it, I saw, that you were right. I
thought, 'twas quite likely it would draw a blank. Crust, the baker,
offered me what I gave for it, and a sheet of bunns, to boot, and I let
him have it, three weeks ago."--"Good God," exclaimed the poor old
gentleman--"£20,000 for a sheet of bunns!"

The shock was too much for his reason; and, in less than six weeks, Molly
was a widow. She attended him, with great fidelity, to the last moment;
and his dying words were engraven upon her heart--"_Twenty thousand pounds
for a sheet of bunns!_"

How true to reality are the gay words of Tom Moore--

  "In wedlock a species of lottery lies,
  Where in blanks and in prizes we deal."



No. CXVII.


The Archbishop of Cambray, the amiable Fenelon, has remarked, that God
shows us the high value he sets upon time, by giving us, in absolute
possession, one instant only, leaving us, in utter uncertainty, if we
shall ever have another. And yet, so little are we disturbed, by this
truly momentous consideration, that, long before the breath is fairly out
of the old year's body, we are found busily occupied, in gathering
chaplets, for the brows of the new one.

The early Christians were opposed to New Year's Gifts, as fixedly, as some
of the latter Christians are opposed to the song and the dance. But I am
inclined to believe the rising generation will take steps, very like their
fathers--that light fantastic tongues and toes, will continue to wag, to
all eternity--and that the unmusical and rheumatic will deplore over such
heterodox and ungodly proceedings, till the world shall be no more.

The New Year's gifts of the Romans were, originally, exceedingly simple.
Sprigs of vervain, gathered in a wood, consecrated to Strenia, the goddess
of Strength, somehow or other, came into favor, and were accounted of good
omen. A custom arose of sending these sprigs about the neighborhood, as
tokens of friendship, on New Year's day; and these trifling remembrancers
obtained the name of _Strenæ_. These sprigs of vervain, ere long, wore out
their welcome; and were followed, in after years, by presents of dates,
figs and honey. Clients thus complimented their patrons; and, before many
anniversaries, the coin of Rome began to mingle with the donative,
whatever it might be; and, very soon, the advantage of the receiver came
less to be consulted, than the reputation of him, who gave.

When I contemplate those ample storehouses of all, that is gorgeous and
glittering--those receptacles of useless finery, which nobody actually
wants--and, at the same time, reflect upon all that I know, and much that
I conjecture, of the necessities and distresses of mankind, I am not
certain, that it may not be wise to resume the earlier custom of the
Romans, and embody, in certain cases, our annual tokens of friendship and
good will, in such useful materials, as _figs, dates and honey_.

Are there not individuals, who, upon the reception of some gaudy and
expensive bagatelle, are ready to exclaim, with the cock in Æsop--"_I had
rather have one grain of dear, delicious, barley, than all the jewels
under the sun!_"

I am not so utopian, as to anticipate any immediate or very extensive
reformation, in this practice, which, excellent as it is, when restrained
within reasonable bounds, is, unquestionably, under certain circumstances,
productive of evil. It is not to be expected, that expensive _bijoux_, for
new year's gifts, will speedily give place to _sugar and molasses_. But
there are cases, not a few, when, upon a new year's day, the wealthy
giver, without paining the recipient, may convert the annual compliment,
into something better than a worthless toy--a fantastical token of
ostentatious remembrance.

The Christian world has settled down, at last, upon the first of January,
as New Year's day. It was not always thus; and, even now, no little
difficulty occurs, in our attempts to refer historical events to
particular years. We can do no better, perhaps, than to devote this number
to a brief exposition of this difficulty.

Every schoolboy knows, that Romulus divided the year into ten months. The
first was March, and, from March to December, they have retained their
original names, for some six and twenty centuries, excepting the fifth and
sixth month, which, from _Quintilis_ and _Sextilis_, have been changed, in
honor of _Julius_ and _Augustus_.

Numa added two months, _Januarius_ and _Februarius_. Numa's year consisted
therefore of twelve months, according to the moon's course. But Numa's
lunar year did not agree with the course of the sun, and he therefore
introduced, every other year, an _intercalary_ month, between the 23d and
24th of February. The length of this month was decided by the priests, who
lengthened or shortened the year, to suit their convenience. Cicero, in a
letter to Atticus, x. 17, writes, in strong disfavor, of Numa's calendar.

Julius Cæsar, with the aid of Sosigenes of Alexandria, adjusted this
astronomical account. To bring matters into order, Suetonius, in his life
of Julius Cæsar, 40, says, they were constrained to make one final year of
fifteen months, to close the confusion.

Hence arose the Julian or Solar year, the year of the Christian world. The
"_alteration of the style_" is only an amendment of the Julian calendar,
in one particular, by Pope Gregory, in 1582. In 325, A. D., the vernal
equinox occurred March 21, and in 1582 it occurred March 10. He called the
astronomers to council, and, by their advice, obliterated ten days from
the current year, between October 4, and 15.

These ten days make the difference, from 1582 to February 29, 1700. From
March 1, 1700, to February 29, 1800, eleven days were required, and from
March 1, 1800, to February 29, 1900, twelve days. In all Roman Catholic
countries, this alteration of the style was instantly adopted; but not in
Great Britain, till 1752. The Greeks and Russians have never adopted the
Gregorian alteration of the style.

The commencement of the year has been assigned to very different periods.
In some of the Italian states, as recently as 1745, the year has been
taken to commence, at the Annunciation, March 25. Writers of the sixth
century have, occasionally, like the Romans, considered March 1 as New
Year's day. Charles IX. by a special edict, in 1563, decreed, that the
year should be considered to commence, on the first of January. In
Germany, about the eleventh century, the year commenced at Christmas. Such
was the practice, in modern Rome, and other Italian cities, as late as the
fifteenth century.

Gervais of Canterbury, who lived early in the thirteenth century, states,
that all writers of his country considered Christmas the true beginning of
the year. In Great Britain, from the twelfth century, till the alteration
of the style in 1752, the Annunciation, or March 25, was commonly
considered the first day of the year. After this, the year was taken to
commence, on the first of January.

The Chaldæan and Egyptian years commenced with the Autumnal equinox. The
Japanese and the Chinese date their year from the new moon, nearest the
Winter solstice.

As Diemschid, king of Persia, entered Persepolis, the sun happened to be
entering into Aries. In commemoration of this coincidence, he decreed,
that the year should change front, and commence, forever more, in the
Vernal, instead of the Autumnal equinox. The Swedish year, of old, began,
most happily, at the Winter solstice, or at the time of the sun's
reäppearance in the horizon, after the usual _quarantine_, or absence of
forty days. The Turks and Arabs date the advent of their year, upon the
sixteenth of July.

In our own country, the year, in former times, commenced in March. In the
Mass. Hist. Coll., vol. xvii. p. 136, may be found certain votes, passed
in Boston, Nov. 30, 1635, among which is the following--"_that all such as
have allotments for habitations allotted unto them, shall build thereon,
before the first of the first month next, called March_." In Johnson's
Wonder-working Providence, ch. 27, the writer says of the Boston pilgrims,
in 1633: "Thus this poor people, having now tasted liberally of the
salvation of the Lord, &c. &c., set apart the 16 day of October, which
they call the _eighth Moneth_, not out of any pevish humor of singularity,
as some are ready to censor them with, but of purpose to prevent the
Heathenish and Popish observation of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares, that they
may be forgotten, among the people of the Lord." If October was their
_eighth_ month, March was necessarily their _first_. Whatever the
practice may have been, in this respect, it was by no means universal, in
New England, during a considerable period, before the alteration of the
style in 1752.

A reference to the record will show, that, until 1752, the old style was
adhered to, by the courts, in this country, and the 25th of March was
considered to be New Year's day. But it was not so with the public
journals. Thus the Boston News Letter, the Boston Gazette, the New England
Courant and other journals, existing here, before the adoption of the new
style, in Great Britain, in 1752, considered the year, as commencing on
the first of January.

Private individuals very frequently did the same thing. At this moment, a
letter from Peter Faneuil is lying at my elbow, addressed to Messrs. Lane
and Smethurst of London, bearing date January 1, 1739, at the close of
which he wishes his correspondents _a happy new year_, showing, that the
first of January, for ordinary purposes, and in common parlance, was
accounted New Year's day.

The little people, of both sexes, would, doubtless, have voted for the
adoption of the old style and of the new; in other words, for having two
new year's days, in every year. They would have been as much delighted
with the conceit, as was Rousseau, with the pleasant fancy of St. Pierre,
who wrote, from the Isle of France, to a friend in Paris, that he had
enjoyed two summers in one year; the perusal of which letter induced
Rousseau, to seek the acquaintance of the author of Paul and Virginia.



No. CXVIII.


Dion remarks, while speaking of Trajan--_he that lies in a golden urn,
eminently above the earth, is not likely to rest in peace_. The same thing
may be affirmed of him, who has raised himself, eminently above his peers,
wherever he may lie. During the Roman Catholic rage for relics, the graves
were ransacked, and numberless sinners, to supply the demand, were dug up
for saints. Sooner or later, the finger of curiosity, under some plausible
pretext, will lift the coffin lid; or the foot of political sacrilege will
trample upon the ashes of him, whom a former generation had delighted to
honor; or the motiveless spirit of mischief will violate the sanctity of
the tomb.

When Charles I. was buried, in the same vault with Henry VIII. and Anne
Boleyn, a soldier, as Wood relates, in his Athenæ Oxonienses, vol. iv. p.
39, Lond. 1820, attempted to steal a royal bone, which was afterwards
found upon his person, and, which he said, upon examination, he had
designed, for a handle to his knife.

John Milton died, according to the respective accounts of Mitford,
Johnson, and Hayley, on the 8th--about the 10th--or on the 15th of
November, 1674. He was buried, in the chancel of St. Giles, Cripplegate.
In the London Monthly Magazine, for August, 1833, there appeared an
extract from the diary of General Murray, giving a particular account of
the desecration of Milton's remains. The account was given to General
Murray, at a dinner party, Aug. 23, 1790, by Mr. Thornton, who received
it, from an eye-witness of the transaction. The church of St. Giles
requiring repairs, the occasion was thought a proper one, to place a
monument, over the body of Milton. Messieurs Strong, Cole, and others, of
that parish, sought for, and discovered, the leaden coffin, the outer
coffin of wood having mouldered away. Having settled the question of
identity, these persons replaced the coffin, and ordered the workmen to
fill up the grave. The execution of this order was postponed, for several
days. In the interim, some of the parish, whose names are given, by
General Murray, having dined together, and become partially drunk,
resolved to examine the body; and proceeded, with lights, to the church.
With a mallet and chisel, they cut open the coffin, rolled back the lead,
and gazed upon the bones of John Milton! General Murray's diary shall
relate the residue of a proceeding, which might call the rouge to the
cheeks of a Vandal:--

"The hair was in an astonishingly perfect state; its color a light brown,
its length six inches and a half, and, although somewhat clotted, it
appeared, after having been well washed, as strong as the hair of a living
being. Fountain said he was determined to have two of his teeth; but as
they resisted the pressure of his fingers, he struck the jaw, with a
paving stone, and several teeth then fell out. There were only five in the
upper jaw, and these were taken by Fountain; the four, that were in the
lower jaw, were seized upon, by Taylor, Hawkesworth, and the sexton's man.
The hair, which had been carefully combed, and tied together, before the
interment, was forcibly pulled off the skull, by Taylor and another; but
Ellis, the player, who had now joined the party, told the former, that
being a good hair-worker, if he would let him have it, he would pay a
guinea-bowl of punch. Ellis, therefore, became possessed of all the hair:
he likewise took a part of the shroud, and a bit of the skin of the skull:
indeed, he was only prevented from carrying off the head, by the sextons,
Hoppy and Grant, who said, that they intended to exhibit the remains,
which was afterwards done, each person paying sixpence to view the body.
These fellows, I am told, gained near one hundred pounds, by the
exhibition. Laming put one of the leg-bones in his pocket."

After reading this short, shameless record, one half inclines to
cremation; even if, instead of being enshrined or inurned, our dust be
given, in fee simple, to the winds. How forcibly the words of Sir Thomas
ring in our ears--"_To be gnawed out of our graves, to have our skulls
made drinking bowls, and our bones turned into pipes, to delight and sport
our enemies, are tragical abominations, escaped in burning burials_." The
account from General Murray's diary, and at greater length, may be found
also, in the appendix to Mitford's life of Milton, in the octavo edition
of his poetical works, Cambridge, Mass., 1839.

Great indignation has lately been excited, in England, against a vampyre
of a fellow, named Blore, who is said to have destroyed one half of
Dryden's monument, and defaced Ben Jonson's, and Cowley's, in Westminster
Abbey. Inquiring after motive, in such cases, is much like raking the
ashes, after a conflagration, to find the originating spark. There is a
motive, doubtless, in some by-corner of the brain; whether a man burns the
temple, at Ephesus; or spears the elephant of Judas Maccabæus, with
certain death to himself; or destroys the Barberrini vase. The motive was
avowed, on the trial, in a similar case, by a young man, who, some years
ago, shot a menagerie elephant, while passing through a village, in the
State of Maine, to be a wish "_to see how a fellow would feel, who killed
an elephant_."

Dryden's, and Cowley's monuments are on the left of Ben Jonson's, and
before you, as you approach the Poet's Corner. Dryden's monument is a
lofty affair, with an arch and a bust, and is thus inscribed: "J. Dryden,
born 1632, died May 1, 1700.--John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, erected
this monument, 1720." It is not commonly known, that the original bust was
changed, by the Duchess, for one of very superior workmanship, which, of
course, is the one mutilated by Blore. The monument, erected by George,
Duke of Buckingham, to Cowley, is a pedestal, bearing an urn, decorated
with laurel, and with a pompous and unmeaning epitaph, in Latin
hexameters. If Blore understood the language, perhaps he considered these
words, upon the tablet, a challenge--

      --------Quis temerarius ausit--
  Sacrilega turbare manu venerabile bustum.

The monument of Ben Jonson is an elegant tablet, with a festoon of masks,
and the inscription--_Oh rare Ben Jonson!_ It stands before you, when
Dryden's and Cowley's are upon your left, and is next to that of Samuel
Butler. In the north aisle of the nave, there is a stone, about eighteen
inches square, bearing the same inscription. In the "History of
Westminster Abbey," 4to ed Lond. 1812, vol. ii. p. 95, note, it is stated,
that "Dart says one Young, afterwards a Knight in the time of Charles II.,
of Great Milton, in Oxfordshire, placed a stone over the grave of Ben
Jonson, which cost eighteen pence, with the above inscription:" but it is
not stated, that the stone, now there, is the same.

Dr. Johnson, in his Life of Dryden, recites what he terms "_a wild story,
relating to some vexatious events, that happened, at his funeral_."
Dryden's widow, and his son, Charles, had accepted the offer of Lord
Halifax, to pay the expenses of the funeral, and five hundred pounds, for
a monument. The company came--the corpse was placed in a velvet
hearse--eighteen coaches were in attendance, filled with mourners.--As
they were about to move, the young Lord Jeffries, son of the Chancellor,
with a band of rakes, coming by, and learning that the funeral was
Dryden's, said the ornament of the nation should not so be buried, and
proceeded, accompanied by his associates, in a body, to wait upon the
widow, and beg her to permit him to bear the expense of the interment, and
to pay one thousand pounds, for a monument, in the Abbey.

The gentlemen in the coaches, being ignorant of the liberal offers of the
Dean and Lord Halifax, readily descended from their carriages, and
attended Lord Jeffries and his party to the bedside of the lady, who was
sick, where he repeated his offers; and, upon her positive refusal, got
upon his knees, as did the whole party; and he there swore that he would
not rise, till his entreaty was granted. At length, affecting to
understand some word of the lady's, as giving permission, he rushed out,
followed by the rest, proclaiming her consent, and ordered the corpse to
be left at Russell's, an undertaker's, in Cheapside, till he gave orders
for its embalmment. During this proceeding, the Abbey having been lighted
up, Lord Halifax and the Dean, who was also Bishop of Rochester, to use
the tea-table phrase, waited and waited, and waited. The ground was
opened, the choir attending, and an anthem set. When Mr. Dryden went, next
day, to offer excuses, neither Lord Halifax, nor the Dean, would accept of
any apology. After waiting three days for orders, the undertaker called on
Lord Jeffries, who said he knew nothing about it, and that it was only a
tipsy frolic, and that the undertaker might do what he pleased with the
corpse. The undertaker threatened to set the corpse before the widow's
door. She begged a day's respite. Mr. Charles Dryden wrote to Lord
Jeffries, who replied, that he knew nothing about it. He then addressed
the Dean and Lord Halifax, who refused to have anything to do with it. He
then challenged Lord Jeffries, who refused to fight. He went himself, and
was refused admittance. He then resolved to horsewhip his Lordship; upon
notice of which design, the latter left town. In the midst of this misery,
Dr. Garth sent for the body, to be brought to the college of physicians;
proposed a subscription; and set a noble example. The body was finally
buried, about three weeks after the decease, and Dr. Garth pronounced a
fine Latin oration. At the close of the narrative, which, as repeated by
Dr. Johnson, covers more than three octavo pages of Murphy's edition, the
Doctor remarks, that he once intended to omit it entirely, and that he had
met with no confirmation, but in a letter of Farquhar's.

The tale is simply alluded to, by Gorton, and told, at some length, by
Chalmers. Both, however, consider it a fabrication, by Mrs. Thomas, the
authoress, whom Dryden styled _Corinna_, and whom Pope lampooned, in his
comatose and vicious performance, the Dunciad, probably because she
provoked his wrath, by publishing his letters to H. Cromwell.

In the earlier editions of the Encyclopædia Britannica, the tale is told,
as sober matter of fact: in the last, Napier's, of 1842, it is wholly
omitted. Malone, in his Life of Dryden, page 347, ascribes the whole to
Mrs. Thomas.

Dryden died, in 1700. The first four volumes of Johnson's Lives of the
Poets, containing Dryden's, went to the press in 1779. Considering the
nature of this outrage; the eminence, not only of the dead, but of some of
the living, whose names are involved; its alleged publicity; and its
occurrence in the very city, where all the parties flourished; it is
remarkable, that this "_wild story_," as Johnson fitly calls it, should
have obtained any credit, and survived for nine-and-seventy years.



No. CXIX.


Deeply to be commiserated are all those, who have not read, from beginning
to end, the writings of the immortal Oliver--a repast, _ab ovo usque ad
mala_, to be swallowed, and inwardly digested, while our intellectual
stomachs are young and vigorous, and to be regurgitated, and chewed over,
a thousand times, when the almond tree begins to flourish, and even the
grasshopper becomes a burden. Who does not remember his story of the
Chinese matron--the widow with the great fan!

The original of this pleasant tale is not generally known. The brief
legend, related by Goldsmith, is an imperfect epitome of an interesting
story, illustrating the power of magic, among the followers of Laou-keun,
the founder of a religious sect, in China, resembling that of Epicurus.

The original tale was translated from the Chinese, by Père Dentrecolles,
who was at the head of the French missionaries, in China, and died at
Pekin, in 1741. The following liberal version, from the French, which may,
perhaps, be better called a paraphrase, will not fail, I think, to
interest the reader.

Wealth, and all the blessings it can procure, for man, are brief and
visionary. Honors, glory, fame are gaudy clouds, that flit by, and are
gone. The ties of blood are easily broken; affection is a dream. The most
deadly hate may occupy the heart, which held the warmest love. A yoke is
not worth wearing, though wrought of gold. Chains are burdensome, though
adorned with jewels. Let us purge our minds; calm our passions; curb our
wishes; and set not our hearts upon a vain world. Let our highest aim be
liberty--pleasure.

Chuang-tsze took unto himself a wife, whose youth and beauty seduced him
from the busy world. He retired, among the delightful scenery of Soong,
his native province, and gave himself up, entirely, to the delights of
philosophy and love. A sovereign, who had become acquainted with the fame
of Chuang-tsze, for superior wisdom, invited him to become his wuzzeer, or
prime minister. Chuang-tsze declined, in the language of parable--"A
heifer," said he, "pampered for the sacrifice, and decked with ornaments,
marched triumphantly along, looking, as she passed, with mingled pride and
contempt, upon some humble oxen, that were yoked to the plough. She
proudly entered the temple--but when she beheld the knife, and
comprehended that she was a victim, how gladly would she have exchanged
conditions with the humblest of those, upon whom she had so lately looked
down with pity and contempt."

Chuang-tsze walked by the skirts of the mountain, absorbed in thought--he
suddenly came among many tombs--the city of the dead. "Here then," he
exclaimed, "all are upon a level--caste is unknown--the philosopher and
the fool sleep, side by side. This is eternity! From the sepulchre there
is no return!"

He strolled among the tombs; and, erelong, perceived a grave, that had
been recently made. The mound of moistened clay was not yet thoroughly
dry. By the side of that grave sat a young woman, clad in the deepest
mourning. With a white fan, of large proportions, she was engaged, in
fanning the earth, which covered this newly made grave. Chuang-tsze was
amazed; and, drawing near, respectfully inquired, who was the occupant of
that grave, and why this mourning lady was so strangely employed. Tears
dropped from her eyes, as she uttered a few inaudible words, without
rising, or ceasing to fan the grave. The curiosity of Chuang-tsze was
greatly excited--he ascribed her manner, not to fear, but to some inward
sense of shame--and earnestly besought her to explain her motives, for an
act, so perfectly novel and mysterious.

After a little embarrassment, she replied, as follows: "Sir, you behold a
lone woman--death has deprived me of my beloved husband--this grave
contains his precious remains. Our love was very great for each other. In
the hour of death, his agony, at the thought of parting from me, was
immoderate. These were his dying words--'My beloved, should you ever think
of a second marriage, it is my dying request, that you remain a widow, at
least till my grave is thoroughly dry; then you have my permission to
marry whomsoever you will.' And now, as the earth, which is quite damp
still, will take a long time to dry, I thought I would fan it a little, to
dissipate the moisture."

Chuang-tsze made great efforts, to suppress a strong disposition to laugh
outright, in the woman's face. "She is in a feverish haste," thought he.
"What a hypocrite, to talk of their mutual affection! If such be love,
what a time there would have been, had they hated each other."

"Madam," said the philosopher, "you are desirous, that this grave should
dry, as soon as possible; but, with your feeble strength, it will require
a long time, to accomplish it; let me assist you." She expressed her deep
sense of the obligation, and rising, with a profound courtesy, handed the
philosopher a spare fan, which she had brought with her. Chuang-tsze, who
possessed the power of magic, struck the ground with the fan repeatedly;
and it soon became perfectly dry. The widow appeared greatly surprised,
and delighted, and presented the philosopher with the fan, and a silver
bodkin, which she drew from her tresses. He accepted the fan only; and the
lady retired, highly gratified, with the speedy accomplishment of her
object.

Chuang-tsze remained, for a brief space, absorbed in thought; and, at
length, returned slowly homeward, meditating, by the way, upon this
extraordinary adventure. He sat down in his apartment, and, for some time,
gazed, in silence, upon the fan. At length, he exclaimed--"Who, after
having witnessed this occurrence, can hesitate to draw the inference, that
marriage is one of the modes, by which the doctrine of the metempsychosis
is carried out. People, who have hated each other heartily, in some prior
condition of being, are made man and wife, for the purpose of mutual
vexation--that is it, undoubtedly."

The wife of the philosopher had approached him, unobserved; and, hearing
his last words, and noticing the fan, which he was still earnestly gazing
upon--"Pray, be so good, as to inform me," said she, "what is the meaning
of all this; and where, I should like to know, did you obtain that fine
fan, which appears to interest you so much?" Chuang-tsze, very faithfully,
narrated to his wife the story of the young widow, and all the
circumstances, which had taken place, at the tomb.

As soon as the philosopher had finished the narrative, his wife, her
countenance inflamed with the severest indignation, broke forth, with a
torrent of contemptuous expressions, and unmeasured abuse, against the
abominable, young widow. She considered her a scandal to her sex. "Aye,"
she exclaimed, "this vile widow must be a perfect monster, devoid of every
particle of feeling."

"Alas," said the philosopher, "while the husband is in the flesh, there is
no wife, that is not ready to flatter and caress him--but no sooner is the
breath out of his body, than she seizes her fan, and forthwith proceeds to
dry up his grave."

This greatly excited the ire of his wife--"How dare you talk in this
outrageous manner," said she, "of the whole sex? You confound the virtuous
with such vile wretches, as this unprincipled widow, who deserves to be
annihilated. Are you not ashamed of yourself, to talk in this cruel way? I
should think you might be restrained, by the dread of future punishment."

"Why give way," said Chuang-tsze, "to all this passionate outcry? Be
candid--you are young, and extremely beautiful--should I die, this day--do
you pretend, that, with your attractions, you would suffer much time to be
lost, before you accepted the services of another husband?"

"Good God," cried the lady, "how you talk! Who ever heard of a truly
faithful wuzzeer, that, after the death of his master, served another
prince? A widow _indeed_ never accepts a second partner. Did you ever know
a case, in which such a wife as I have been--a woman of my qualities and
station, after having lost her tenderly beloved, forsook his memory, and
gave herself to the embraces of a second husband! Such an act, in my
opinion, would be infamous. Should you be taken from me, today, be
assured, that I should follow you, with my imperishable love, and die, at
last, your disconsolate widow."

"It is easy to promise, but not always so easy to perform," replied the
philosopher. At this speech, the lady was exasperated--"I would have you
to know," said she, "that women are to be found, without much inquiry,
quite as noble-hearted and constant, as _you_ have ever been. What a
pattern of constancy you have been! Dear me! Only think of it! When your
first wife died, you soon repaired your loss: and, becoming weary of your
second, you obtained a divorce from her, and then married me! What a
constant creature you have been! No wonder you think so lightly of women!"
Saying this, she snatched the fan out of her husband's hand, and tore it
into innumerable pieces; by which act she appeared to have obtained very
considerable relief; and, in a somewhat gentler tone, she told her
husband, that he was in excellent health, and likely to live, for very
many years; and that she could not, for the soul of her, see what could
induce him to torment her to death, by talking in this manner.

"Compose yourself, my dear," said Chuang-tsze, "I confess that your
indignation delights me. I rejoice to see you exhibit so much feeling and
fire, upon such a theme." The wife of the philosopher recovered her
composure; and their conversation turned upon ordinary affairs.

Before many days, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and severely attacked, by
some unaccountable disease. The symptoms



No. CXX.


Let us continue the story of Chuang-tsze, the great master of magic.

Before many days, as I have stated, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and
severely attacked, by some unaccountable disease. The symptoms were full
of evil. His devoted wife was ever near her sick husband, sobbing
bitterly, and bathing him in tears. "It is but too plain," said the
philosopher, "that I cannot survive--I am upon the bed of death--this very
night, perhaps--at farthest, tomorrow--we shall part forever--what a pity,
that you should have destroyed that fan--it would have answered so well,
for the purpose of drying the earth upon my tomb!"

"For heaven's sake," exclaimed the weeping wife, "do not, weak and feeble
as you are, harrass yourself, with these horrible fancies. You do me great
wrong. Our books I have carefully perused. I know my duties well. You have
received my troth--it shall never be another's. Can you doubt my
sincerity! Let me prove it, by dying first. I am ready." "Enough," said
the philosopher--"I now die in peace--I am satisfied of your constancy.
But the world is fading away--the cold hand of death is upon me." The head
of Chuang-tsze fell back--the breath had stopped--the pulse had ceased to
beat--he was already with the dead.

If the piercing cries of a despairing, shrieking widow could have raised
the dead, Chuang-tsze would have arisen, on the spot. She sprang upon the
corpse, and held it long, in her fond embrace. She then arrayed her person
in the deepest mourning, a robe of seamless white, and made the air
resound with her cries of anguish and despair. She abjured food; abstained
from slumber; and refused to be comforted.

Chuang-tsze had the wide-spread fame of an eminent sage--crowds gathered
to his obsequies. After their performance, and when the vast assemblage
had all, well nigh, departed--a youth of comely face, and elegantly
arrayed, was observed, lingering near the spot. He proclaimed himself to
be of most honorable descent, and that he had, long before, declared to
Chuang-tsze his design of becoming the pupil of that great philosopher.
"For that end," said he, "and that alone, I have come to this place--and
behold Chuang-tsze is no more. Great is my misfortune!"

This splendid youth cast off his colored garments, and assumed the robes
of lamentation--he bowed himself to the earth, before the coffin of the
defunct--four times, he touched the ground with his forehead; and, with an
utterance choked by sobs, he exclaimed--"Oh Chuang-tsze, learned and wise,
your ill-fated disciple cannot receive wisdom and knowledge from your
lips; but he will signify his reverence for your memory, by abiding here
an hundred days, to mourn, for one he so truly revered." He then again
bent his forehead, four times, to the earth, and moistened it with his
tears.

The youthful disciple, after a few days, desired permission to offer his
condolence to the widow, which she, at first declined: but, upon his
reference to the ancient rites, which allow a widow to receive the visits
of her late husband's friends, and especially of his disciples, she
finally consented. She moved with slow and solemn steps to the hall of
reception, where the young gentleman acquitted himself, with infinite
grace and propriety, and tendered the usual expressions of consolation.

The elegant address and fine person of this young disciple were not lost
upon the widow of Chuang-tsze. She was fascinated. A sentiment of
tenderness began to rise in her bosom, whose presence she had scarcely the
courage to recognize. She ventured, in a right melancholy way, to suggest
a hope, that it was not his purpose immediately to leave the valley of
Soong. "I have endured much in the loss of my great master," he replied.
"Precious forever be his memory. It will be grateful to my heart to seek
here a brief home, wherein I may pass those hundred days of mourning,
which our rites prescribe, and then to take part in the obsequies, which
will follow. I may also solace myself the while, by perusing the works of
my great master, of whose living instructions I am so unhappily deprived."

"We shall feel ourselves highly honored, by your presence, under our
roof," replied the lady; "it seems to me entirely proper, that you should
take up your abode here, rather than elsewhere." She immediately directed
some refreshments to be brought, and caused the works of Chuang-tsze to be
exhibited, on a large table, together with a copy of the learned
Taou-te-King, which had been a present to her late husband, from Laou-keun
himself.

The coffin of Chuang-tsze was deposited, in a large hall; and, on one
side, was a suite of apartments, opening into it, which was assigned to
the visitor. This devoted widow came, very frequently, to weep over the
remains of her honored husband; and failed not to say a civil word to the
youth, who, notified of her presence, by her audible sobs, never omitted
to come forth, and mingle his lamentations with hers. Mutual glances were
exchanged, upon such occasions. In short, each, already, was effectually
smitten with the other.

One day, the pretty, little widow sent privately for the old domestic, who
attended upon the young man, in the capacity of body servant, and
inquired, all in a seemingly casual way, if his master was married. "Not
yet"--he replied.--"He is very fastidious, I suppose"--said the lady, with
an inquiring look.--"It is even so, madam," replied the servant--"my
master is, indeed, not easily suited, in such a matter. His standard is
very high. I have heard him say, that he should, probably, never be
married, as he despaired of ever finding a female resembling yourself, in
every particular."--"Did he say so?" exclaimed the widow, as the warm
blood rushed into her cheeks.--"He certainly did," replied the other, "and
much more, which I do not feel at liberty to repeat."--"Dear me," said the
widow, "what a bewitching young man he is! go to him, and if he really
loves me, as you say, tell him he may open the subject, without fear, for
his passion is amply returned, by one, who is willing, if he so wishes, to
become his wife."

The young widow, from day to day, threw herself repeatedly, and as if by
accident, into the old servant's way; and began, at last, to feel
surprised, and somewhat nettled, that he brought her no message from his
master. At length, she became exceedingly impatient, and asked him
directly, if he had spoken to his master on the subject. "Yes, madam," the
old man replied.--"And pray," asked the widow, eagerly, "what said
he?"--"He said, madam, that such an union would place him upon the
pinnacle of human happiness; but that there was one fatal
objection."--"And do, for pity's sake, tell me," said she, hastily
interrupting the old man, "what that objection can be."--"He said,"
rejoined the old domestic, "that, being a disciple of your late husband,
such a marriage, he feared, would be considered scandalous."--"But," said
she, briskly, "there is just nothing in that. He was never a disciple of
Chuang-tsze--he only proposed to become one, which is an entirely
different thing. If any other frivolous objections arise, I beg you to
remove them; and you may count upon being handsomely rewarded."

Her anxiety caused her to become exceedingly restless. She made frequent
visits to the hall, and, when she approached the coffin, her sobs became
more audible than ever--but the young disciple came not forth, as usual.
Upon one occasion, after dark, as she was standing near the coffin, she
was startled, by an unusual noise. "Gracious Heaven!" she exclaimed, "can
it be so! Is the old philosopher coming back to life!" The cold sweat came
upon her lovely brow, as she started to procure a light. When she
returned, the mystery was readily explained. In front of the coffin there
was a table, designed as an altar, for the reception of such emblems and
presents, as were placed there by visitors. The old servant, had become
tipsy, and finding no more convenient place, in which to bestow himself,
while waiting his master's bidding, he had thrown himself, at full length,
upon this altar; and, in turning over, had occasioned the noise, which had
so much alarmed the young widow. Under other circumstances, the act would
have been accounted sacrilegious, and the fellow would have been subjected
to the bastinado. But, as matters stood, the widow passed it by, and even
suffered the sot to remain undisturbed.

On the morning of the following day, the widow encountered the old
domestic, who was passing her, with as much apparent indifference, as
though she had never entrusted him, with any important commission.
Surprised by his behavior, she called him to her private
apartment--"Well," said she, "have you executed the business, which I gave
you in charge?"--"Oh," said he, with an air of provoking indifference,
"that is all over, I believe."--"How so," inquired the widow--"did you
deliver my message correctly?"--"In your own words," he replied--"my
master would make any sacrifice to make you his wife; and is entirely
persuaded, by your arguments, to give up the objection he stated, in
regard to his being the disciple of Chuang-tsze; but there are three other
objections, which it will be impossible to overcome; and which his sense
of delicacy forbids him to exhibit before you."--"Poh, poh," said the
widow, "let me hear what they are, and we shall then see, whether they are
insurmountable or not."--"Well, madam," said the old man, "since you
command me, I will state them, as nearly as I can, in the words of my
young master. The first of these three objections is this----"



No. CXXI.


We were about to exhibit those three objections of the young disciple, to
his marriage, with the widow of Chuang-tsze, when we were summoned away,
by professional duties. Let us proceed--"The first of my master's
objections," said the old domestic, "is this--the coffin of Chuang-tsze is
still in the hall of ceremony. A sight, so sad and solemnizing, is
absolutely inconsistent with the nuptial celebration. The world would cry
out upon such inconsistency. In the second place, the fame of your late
husband was so great--his love for you so devoted--yours for him so ardent
and sincere, and founded, so obviously, upon his learning and wisdom--that
my master fears it will be impossible for him, to supply the place of so
good, and so great, a man; and that you will, ere long, despise him, for
his inferiority; and that your affections will be entirely and
unchangeably fixed, on the memory of the great defunct. The third and
last objection, named by my master, whose passion for you knows no
bounds, is serious indeed. Though of lofty pedigree, he is very poor. He
has neither money nor lands; and has not the means of purchasing those
marriage gifts, which custom requires him to offer."

"And are these the only objections?" said she. "There are no others," he
replied; "if it were not for these insurmountable objections, the
happiness of my master would be complete, and he would openly manifest
that passion, by which he is now secretly consumed."

"They are, by no means, insurmountable," said the young widow, with
animation. "As for the coffin, what is it? A mere shell, containing the
remains of poor Chuang-tsze. It is not absolutely necessary, that it
should remain in the hall, during these one hundred days. At the farther
end of my garden is an ancient smoke-house. It is quite dilapidated, and
no longer in use. Some of my people shall carry the coffin thither,
without farther delay. So you may inform your sweet, young master, that
his first objection will be instantly removed. And why should he distress
himself so needlessly, in regard to the second? Chuang-tsze certainly
passed, with the world, for a great philosopher, and a wonderful man. The
world sees from a distance. A sort of haze or mist impedes its vision.
Minute particulars escape its observation. That, which is smooth and fair,
seen from afar, may appear full of inequalities to one, who is near at
hand. God forbid, that I should undervalue the dead; but it is well known,
that Chuang-tsze repudiated his second wife, because she did not precisely
suit his humor, and then married me. His great reputation induced a
certain sovereign, to appoint him his chief minister. But the philosopher
was not deficient in shrewdness--he knew his incapacity, and resolved to
hide himself, in that solitude, where we have vegetated, so long."

"About a month ago, he encountered a young widow, who, with a large fan,
was endeavoring to dry up her husband's grave, because she could not marry
again, under the condition her husband had imposed upon her, until this
was done. Chuang-tsze, if you will believe it, made the acquaintance of
this shameless woman; and actually assisted her, in drying up her
husband's grave. She gave him a fan, as a keepsake; and he valued it
highly. I got possession of it however, and tore it to tatters. You see
how great my obligations are to this wonderful philosopher; and you may
judge of the real affection, which I must feel, for the memory of such a
man."

"The last objection," continued the widow, "is easily disposed of. I will
furnish your master with all the means he can desire. Chuang-tsze, to do
the man justice, has left me the absolute mistress of an ample
fortune--here, present these twenty taels to your master, from me, with
such expressions of devotion, as may befit the lips of one, whose heart is
all his own; and say to him, unless he himself is desirous of a longer
delay, that, as the whole of life is not too long for love, I shall be
happy, if he desires it, to become his bride, this very day."

Thus far the course of true love, in despite of the proverb, certainly ran
smooth.

"Here," said the young disciple, upon sight of the twenty taels, as he
turned them over, "is something substantial--run back immediately to the
widow, and tell her my passion will endure the curb no longer. I am
entirely at her disposal." The widow was quite beside herself, upon
receiving these tidings; and, casting off her garments of heaviness, she
began to embellish her fine person. The coffin of Chuang-tsze, by her
directions, was immediately transferred to the old smoke-house.

The hall was made ready, for the approaching nuptials. If murmurs
occasionally arose, among the old, faithful domestics of Chuang-tsze, the
widow's passion was more blind than moonless midnight, and deafer than the
time-stricken adder. A gorgeous feast was made ready. The shades of
evening drew on apace--the lanterns were lighted up, in all
directions--the nuptial torch cast forth its bright beams from an elevated
table.

At the appointed signal, the bridegroom entered, most skilfully and
splendidly arrayed,--so that his fine, manly figure was exhibited, to the
greatest advantage. The young widow soon appeared, her countenance the
very tabernacle of pleasure, and her bewitching form, adorned in the most
costly silks, and splendid embroidery. They placed themselves, side by
side, in front of the hymeneal taper, arrayed in pearls, and diamonds, and
tissue of gold. Those salutations, which custom demands, having been duly
performed, and the bride and bridegroom having wished each other eternal
felicity, in that manner, which the marriage rites prescribe, the
bridegroom holding the hand of the bride, they proceeded to the festal
hall; and having drunk from the goblet of mutual fidelity, they took their
places, at the banqueting board.

The repast went joyously forward--the darkest cloud--how suddenly will it
come over the smiling face of the bewitching moon! The festival had not
yet passed, when the bridegroom fell to the floor, in horrible
convulsions. With eyes turned upward, and mouth frightfully distorted, he
became an object of horror. The bride, whose passion for the young
disciple was ardent and sincere, screamed aloud. She threw herself, in all
her bridal array, upon the floor, by his side; clasped him in her arms;
covered him with kisses; and implored him, to say what she could do, to
afford him relief. Miserable youth! He was unable to reply, and seemed
about to expire.

The old domestic rushed into the apartment, upon hearing the noise, and
taking his master from the floor, proceeded to shake him with violence.
"My God," cried the lady, "has this ever happened before?" "Yes, Madam,"
he replied, "he has a return of it about once, in every year." "And, for
Heaven's sake, tell me what remedies do you employ?" she eagerly inquired.
"There is one sovereign remedy," the old man replied; "his physician
considers it a specific." "And what is it? tell me, in the name of
Confucius," she passionately exclaimed, for the convulsions were growing
more violent. "Nothing will restore him, but the brains of a man, recently
dead, taken in warm wine. His father, who was governor of a province, when
his son was last attacked, in this way, caused a criminal to be executed,
that his brains might be thus employed." "Good God!" exclaimed the
agonizing bride, for the convulsions, after a short remission, were
returning, with redoubled violence, and the bridegroom was foaming
terribly, at the mouth. "Tell me instantly, will the brains of a man who
died a natural death answer as well?" "Undoubtedly," the old servant
replied. "Well then," said she, in a tone somewhat subdued--"there is
Chuang-tsze in the smoke-house." "Ah, Madam," said the old domestic, "I am
aware of it--it occurred to me--but I feared to suggest it." "And of what
possible use," she exclaimed, "can the brains of old Chuang-tsze be to him
now, I should like to know?"

At this moment, the convulsions became absolutely terrific. "These
returns," said the old man, "will become more and more violent, till they
destroy my poor master. There is no time to be lost." The wretched bride
rushed from the apartment, and, seizing a hatchet, which happened to be
lying in the outer passage, she hastily made her way to the old
smoke-house. Elevating the hatchet above her head, she struck a violent
blow, on the lid of the coffin.

If the whole force of the blow had descended upon a secret spring, the lid
could not have risen more suddenly. It seemed like the power of magic. The
bride turned her eyes upon the closed lids of the corpse--they gradually
opened; and the balls were slowly turned, and steadily fixed, upon her. In
an instant Chuang-tsze sat, bolt upright, in his coffin! She sent forth a
shriek of terror--the hatchet fell from her paralyzed hand--the cold sweat
of confusion gathered thickly upon her brow.

"My beloved wife," said the philosopher, with perfect calmness, "be so
obliging as to lend me your hand, that I may get out.--I have had a
charming nap," continued he, as he took the lamp from her hand, and
advanced towards the hall. She followed, trembling at every step, and
dreading the meeting, between the old philosopher and the young disciple.

Though the air of unwonted festivity, under the light of the waning
tapers, still hung over the apartment, fortunately the youth and the old
servant seemed to have departed. Upon this, her courage, in some measure,
revived, and, turning a look of inexpressible tenderness upon
Chuang-tsze--"Dearest husband," said she, "how I have cherished your
memory! My day thoughts and dreams have been all of you. I have often
heard, that the apparent dead were revived, especially if not confined
within closed apartments. I therefore caused your precious coffin to be
removed, where the cool, refreshing air could blow over it. How I have
watched, and listened, for some evidence of returning life! And how my
heart leaped into my mouth, when my vigilance was at last rewarded. I flew
with a hatchet to open the coffin; and, when I saw your dear eyes turned
upon me, I thought I should"--"I can never repay your devotion," said the
philosopher, interrupting her, with an expression of ineffable tenderness,
"but why are you thus gaily apparelled--why these robes--these jewels--my
love?"

"It seemed to me, my dear husband," she readily replied, "that some
invisible power assured me of your return to life. How, thought I, can I
meet my beloved Chuang-tsze, in the garments of heaviness? No; it will be
like a return of our wedding day; and thus, you see, I have resumed my
bridal array, and the jewels you gave me, during our honeymoon."--"Ah,"
said the philosopher, "how considerate you are--you always had your
thoughts about you." He then drew near the table. The wedding taper, which
was then burning low in its socket, cast its equivocal rays upon the
gorgeous bowls and dishes, which covered the festal board. Chuang-tsze
surveyed them attentively, in silence; and, calling for warm wine,
deliberately drained the goblet, while the lady stood near him, trembling
with confusion and terror.

At length, setting down the goblet, and pointing his finger--"Look behind
you!" he exclaimed. She turned her head, and beheld the young disciple, in
his wedding finery, with his attendant--a second glance, and they were
gone. Such was the power of this mighty master of magic. The wife slunk to
her apartment; and, resolving not to survive her shame and disappointment,
unloosened her wedding girdle, and ascending to the garret, hung herself
therewith, to one of the cross-beams, until she was dead. Tidings were
soon brought to Chuang-tsze, who, deliberately feeling her pulse, and
ascertaining that she was certainly dead, cut her down, and placed her
precious remains, in the coffin, in the old smoke-house.

He then proceeded to indulge his philosophical humor. He sat down, among
the flickering lamps, at the solitary board, and struck up a dirge,
accompanying his voice, by knocking with the chopsticks, and whatever else
was convenient to his purpose, upon the porcelain bowls and dishes, which
he finally broke into a thousand pieces, and setting fire to his mansion,
he consumed it to ashes, together with the smoke-house, and all its
valuable contents.

He then, abandoning all thoughts of taking another wife, travelled into
the recesses of Latinguin, in pursuit of his old master, Laoukeun, whom,
at length, he discovered. There he acquired the reputation of a profound
philosopher; and lay down, at last, in the peaceful grave, where wicked
widows cease from troubling, and weary widowers are at rest.



No. CXXII.


A grasshopper was not the crest of Peter Faneuil's arms. I formerly
supposed it was; for a gilded grasshopper, as half the world knows, is the
vane upon the cupola of Faneuil Hall; and a gilded grasshopper, as many of
us well remember, whirled about, of yore, upon the little spire, that rose
above the summer-house, appurtenant to the mansion, where Peter Faneuil
lived, and died. That house was built, and occupied, by his uncle, Andrew;
and he had some seven acres, for his garden thereabouts. It was upon the
westerly side of old _Treamount_ Street, and became the residence of the
late William Phillips, whose political relations to the people of
Massachusetts, as their Lieutenant Governor, could not preserve him from
the sobriquet of _Billy_.

I thought it not unlikely, that Peter's crest was a grasshopper, and that,
on that account, he had become partial to this emblem. But I am duly
certified, that it was not so. The selection of a grasshopper, for a vane,
was made, in imitation of their example, who placed the very same thing,
upon the pinnacle of the Royal Exchange, in London. The arms of the
Faneuils I have seen, upon the silver castors, which once were Peter's
own; and, upon his decease, became the property of his brother, Benjamin,
from whom they descended to his only daughter, Mary Faneuil, who became,
October 13, 1754, the wife of George Bethune, now deceased; and was the
mother of George Bethune, Esquire, who will complete his eighty-second
year, in April, 1851. From this gentleman, whose grand-uncle Peter Faneuil
was, and from other descendants of old Benjamin Faneuil, of Rochelle, I
have received some facts and documents--interesting to me--possibly to
others.

In conversation with an antiquarian friend, not long ago, we agreed, that
very much less was generally known of Peter Faneuil, than of almost any
other great, public benefactor. His name, nevertheless, is inseparably
associated, with the cradle of American liberty. Drs. Eliot and Allen, in
their Biographical Dictionaries, have passed him over, very slightingly,
the former finishing up this noble-hearted Huguenot, with fifteen lines;
and the latter, with eight; while not a few of their pages have been
devoted, to the very dullest doctors of the drowsiest theology, and to--

  "Names ignoble, born to be forgot."

Mr. Farmer, in his Genealogical Register, does not seem to be aware, that
the name of Faneuil existed, for he has not even found a niche for it
there. His Register, I am aware, purports to be a register of the "_First
Settlers_." But he has found room for the Baudouins (Bowdoins) and their
descendants. They also were Huguenots; and came hither, with the Faneuils,
after 1685. One of that family, as will be more fully shown, Claude
Baudoin, presented Peter Faneuil in baptism. Yet, such was the public
sense of Peter's favors, _when they were green_, that John Lovell--that
same Master Lovell, who retired with the British army, in 1776--delivered,
under an appointment of the town, an oration, to commemorate the virtues,
and laud the munificence of Peter Faneuil. Such, in truth, was the very
first occasion, upon which the citizens were summoned to listen to the
voice of an orator, in Faneuil Hall; and then, in honor of him, who
perfected the noble work, at his own proper cost, and whose death so
speedily followed its completion--for a noble work assuredly it was,
relatively to the times, in which it was wrought.

The Faneuils were Huguenots. The original pronunciation of this patronymic
must have been somewhat different from the present: there was an excusable
_naïveté_, in the inquiry of a rural visitant of the city--if a well known
mechanical establishment, with a tall, tubular chimney, were not _Funnel_
Hall?

After the revocation of the edict of Nantes, by Louis XIV., in 1685, the
Faneuils, in common with many other Huguenots of France,--the Baudouins,
the Bernons, the Sigourneys, the Boudinots, the Pringles, the Hugers, the
Boutineaus, the Jays, the Laurenses, the Manigaults, the Marions, the
Prioleaus, and many others, came to these North American shores--as our
pilgrim fathers came--to worship God, in security, and according to their
consciences. Many of these persecuted men conferred, upon their adopted
home, those blessings, which the exercise of their talents, and the
influence of their characters, and of the talents and characters of their
descendants have confirmed to our common country, for many generations.

They came, by instalments, and arrived at different points. Thirty
families of these expatriated Protestants came hither, and settled upon a
tract, eight miles square, in the "Nipmug country," where now stands the
town of Oxford, in the County of Worcester. This settlement commenced, in
Gov. Dudley's time, and under his particular auspices; but continued only
till 1696, when it was broken up, by the inroads of the savages. In the
overthrow of this settlement, rum was a material agent, and occasioned,
though upon a very small scale, a second massacre of some of these
Huguenots. There is a letter to Gov. Dudley, from M. Bondet, the Huguenot
clergyman, dated July 6, 1691, complaining bitterly of the unrestricted
sale, among the Indians, of this fatal fire water; and giving a graphic
account of the uproar and outrage it produced.

After the failure of this attempt, many of the scattered planters
collected, in Boston. For several years, they gathered, for devotional
purposes, in one of the larger school-houses. Jan. 4, 1704, they purchased
a piece of land, in South School Street, of John Mears, a hatter, for
"£110 current silver money of New England;" but, for several years, the
selectmen, for some cause, unknown to us, refused their consent, that
these worthy French Protestants should build their church thereon. About
twelve years after the purchase of the land, the little church--the
visible temple--went up. It was of brick, and very small. Monsieur Pierre
Daillé was their first pastor, André Le Mercier the second; and, if there
be any truth, in tradition, these Huguenot shepherds were pure and holy
men. Daillé died testate, May 20, 1715. His will bears date May 15, of
that year. He directs his body to be interred, at the discretion of his
executor, James Bowdoin, "_with this restriction, that there be no wine at
my funeral, and that none of my wife's relations have mourning cloaths_."
He empowers his executor to give them gloves; and scarfs and gloves to all
the ministers of Boston. To his wife, Martha, he gives £350, Province
bills, and his negro man, Kuffy. His Latin and French books he gives to
the French Church, as _the nucleus of a library_. £100 to be put at
interest for the use of the minister. £10 to be improved by the elders,
for the use of the church, and should a meeting-house be built, then in
aid of that object. To John Rawlins the French schoolmaster, £5. He then
makes his brother Paul, of Armsfort, in Holland, residuary legatee. His
"_books and arms_" were appraised at £2. 10. The whole estate at £274. 10.
sterling.

Le Mercier dedicated his book, on Detraction, to his people. Therein he
says, "You have not despised my youth, when I first came among you; you
have since excused my infirmities; and, as I did the same, in respect to
yours, it has pleased our Saviour, the head of his church, to favor us
with an uninterrupted peace and union in our church, for the almost
eighteen years that I have preached the word of salvation to you." His
book was published in 1733. He therefore became their pastor between 1715,
when Daillé died, and 1716. He died March 31, 1764, aged 71. He was
therefore born in 1693, and ordained about the age of 22.

Le Mercier's will is dated, at Dorchester, Nov. 7, 1761. A codicil was
added, at Boston, Feb. 3, 1764. He left his estate to his four children,
"_Andrew, Margaret, Jane, and my son Bartholomew, if living_." He enjoins
upon his heirs the payment of Bartholomew's debt to Thomas Hancock, for
which he had become responsible, and which he had partly paid. By his
will, he appointed Jane and Margaret to execute his will. In the codicil,
he refers to the disordered state of Margaret's mind, and appoints
Zachariah Johonnot, in her stead, requesting him to be her guardian. The
whole estate was appraised at £232. 18. 6. sterling.

Years rolled on: juxtaposition and intermarriage were Americanising these
Huguenots, from month to month; and, ere long, they felt, less and less,
the necessity of any separate place of worship. On the 7th of May, 1748,
"Stephen Boutineau, the only surviving elder," and others, among whom we
recognize the Huguenot names of Johonnot, Packinett, Boudoin, and
Sigourney, conveyed their church and land to Thomas Fillebrown, Thomas
Handyside Peck, and others, trustees for the "new congregational church,
whereof Mr. Andrew Croswell is pastor." After a while, this church became
the property of the Roman Catholics; and mass was first celebrated there,
Nov. 2, 1788. The Catholics, in 1803, having removed to Franklin Place,
the old Huguenot church was taken down; and, upon the site of it, a temple
was erected, by the Universalists; showing incontrovertibly, thank God,
that the soil was most happily adapted to toleration.

The reader fancies, perhaps, that I have forgotten Peter Faneuil. Not so:
but I must linger a little longer with these Huguenots, who attempted a
settlement in the Nipmug country. In the southwesterly part of Oxford,
there rises a lofty hill, whose summit affords an extensive and delightful
prospect. Beneath, at the distance of a mile, or more, lies the village
of Oxford; and the scenery, beyond, is exceedingly picturesque. Upon this
eminence, which now bears the name of Mayo's Hill, are the well-defined
remains of an ancient fort. Its construction is perfectly regular. The
bastions are clearly marked; and the old well, constructed within the
barrier, still remains. As recently, as 1819, says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, in
his able and interesting account of the Huguenots, "grapevines were
growing luxuriantly, along the line of this fort; and these, together with
currant bushes, roses, and other shrubbery, nearly formed a hedge around
it. There were some remains of an apple orchard. The currant and asparagus
were still growing there."

Such were the vestiges of these thirty families, who, in 1696, fled from a
foe, not more savage and relentless, though less enlightened, than the
murderers of Coligny, in 1572.

The Faneuils formed no part of these thirty families; but, not many years
after the little Oxford colony was broken up, and the fugitive survivors
had found their way to Boston, the Faneuils, one after another, seem to
have been attracted hither, from those points of our country, where they
first arrived, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, in 1685, or
from other, intermediate stations, to which they had removed.

There are not elements enough, I fear, for a very interesting memoir of
Peter Faneuil. The materials, even for a brief account, are marvellously
few, and far between; and the very best result, to be anticipated, is a
warp and woof of shreds and patches.

But, if I am not much mistaken, I know more of Peter Faneuil, than Master
Lovell ever wot of, though he delivered the funeral oration; and, albeit
the sum total is very small, it seems but meet and right, that it should
be given to the world. I think it would so be decided, by the citizens, if
the vote were taken, this very day--in _Faneuil Hall_.

Our _neighbors_, all over the United States have heard of _Faneuil Hall_;
and, though, of late years, since we have had a race, or breed, of mayors,
every one of whom has endeavored to be _worthier_ or more _conceding_ than
his predecessor, Faneuil Hall has been converted into a sort of omnibus
without wheels; yet the glory of its earlier, and of some, among its
latter days, is made, thank God, of that unchangeable stuff, that will
never shrink, and cannot fade.

No man has ever heard of Faneuil Hall, who will not be pleased to hear
somewhat of that noble-minded, whole-souled descendant of the primitive
Huguenots--and such indeed he was--who came, as a stranger and sojourner
here, and built that hall, at his own proper cost and charge, and gave
it--the gift of a cheerful giver--to those, among whom he had come to
dwell--and all this, in the midst of his days, in the very prime of his
life, not waiting for the almond tree to flourish, and for desire to fail,
and for the infirmities of age to admonish the rich man, that he must set
his house in order, and could carry nothing with him, to those regions
beyond.

Faneuil Hall has been called the _Cradle of Liberty_, so long and so
often, that it may seem to savor of political heresy, to quarrel with the
name--but, for the soul of me, I cannot help it. If it be intended to say,
that Faneuil Hall is the _birth place_ of Liberty, I am not aware of a
single instance, on record, of a baby, _born in a cradle_. The proverbial
use of the cradle has ever been to rock the baby to sleep; and Heaven
knows our old fathers made no such use of Faneuil Hall, in their early
management of the bantling; for it was an ever-wakeful child, from the
very moment of its first, sharp, shrill, life cry.



No. CXXIII.


General Jackson has been reported--how justly I know not--upon some
occasion, in a company of ladies, to have given a brief, but spirited,
description of all his predecessors, in the Presidential chair, till he
came down to the time of President Tyler, when, seizing his hat, he
proceeded to bow himself out of the room. The ladies, however, insisted
upon his completing the catalogue--_"Well, ladies," said he, "it is matter
of history, and may therefore be spoken--President Tyler, ladies,
was--pretty much nothing."_

A very felicitous description; and not of very limited application to men
and things. I cannot find a better, for Master John Lovell's funeral
oration, upon Peter Faneuil. This affair, which Dr. Snow, in his history
of Boston, calls "_a precious relic_," is certainly a wonderfully
flatulent performance. A time-stained copy of the original edition of
1743 lies under my eye. I hoped, not unreasonably, that it would be a lamp
to my path, in searching after the historical assets of Peter Faneuil. But
not one ray of light has it afforded me; and, with one or two exceptions,
in relation to the _Hall_, and the general beneficence of its founder, it
is, in no sense, more of a funeral oration, upon Peter Faneuil, than upon
Peter Smink. In their vote of thanks to Master Lovell, passed on the day
of its delivery, the committee speak of "_his oration_," very judiciously
abstaining from all unwarrantable expletives. From this oration we can
discover nothing of Faneuil's birth-place, nor parentage, nor when, nor
whence, nor wherefore he came hither; nor of the day of his birth, nor of
the day of his death, nor of the disease of which he died; nor of his
habits of life, nor of the manner, in which he acquired his large estate;
nor of his religious opinions, nor of his ancestors.

We collect, however, from these meagre pages, that Mr. Faneuil meditated
other benefactions to the town--that his death was sudden--that votes of
thanks had been passed, for his donation of the Hall, "a few months
before"--that the meeting, at which the oration was pronounced, March 14,
1742, was the very first annual meeting, in Faneuil Hall--that Peter
Faneuil was the owner of "a large and plentiful estate"--that "no man
managed his affairs with greater prudence and industry"--that "he fed the
hungry and clothed the naked; comforted the fatherless and the widows, in
their affliction, and his bounty visited the prisoner."

Master Lovell, not inelegantly, observes of Faneuil's intended
benefactions, which were prevented by his death--"_His intended charities,
though they are lost to us, will not be lost to him. Designs of goodness
and mercy, prevented as these were, will meet with the reward of
actions_." This passage appears to have found favor, in the eyes of the
late Dr. Boyle, who has, accordingly, on page 21, of his memoir of the
Boston Episcopal Charitable Society, when speaking of Faneuil, made a very
free and familiar appropriation of it, with a slight verbal variation.

Master Lovell's fervent aspirations, in regard to Faneuil Hall, one
hundred and nine years ago, have not been fulfilled, to the letter. The
gods have granted the orator's prayer--"_May Liberty always spread its
joyful wings over this place_"--but not with Master Lovell's conditions
annexed; for he adds--"_May_ LOYALTY _to a_ KING, _under whom we enjoy
that Liberty, ever remain our character_."

In this particular, Master Lovell was not to be indulged. Yet he steadily
adhered to his tory principles; and, like many other conscientious and
honorable men, whom it is much less the fashion to abuse, at present, than
it was, of yore, adhered to his royal master; and relinquished his own
sceptre, as monarch of the South Grammar School, with all the honors and
emoluments thereof, choosing rather to suffer affliction, with his
thwarted and mortified master, than to enjoy the pleasures of rebellion,
for a season. He retired to Halifax, with the British army, in 1776, and
died there, in 1778.

Original copies of Master Lovell's oration are exceedingly rare; though
the "_precious relic_" has been reprinted, by Dr. Snow, in his history of
Boston. The title may be worth preserving--"A funeral oration, delivered
at the opening of the annual meeting of the town, March 14th, 1742. In
Faneuil Hall, in Boston. Occasioned by the death of the founder, Peter
Faneuil Esq. By John Lovell, A. M., Master of the South Grammar School, in
Boston. _Sui memores alios fecere merendo._ Boston, printed by Green,
Bushell & Allen, for S. Kneeland & T. Green, in Queen Street, 1743."

As an eminent historian conceived it to be a matter of indifference, at
which end he commenced his history, I shall not adhere to any
chronological arrangement, in the presentation of the few facts, which I
have collected, relating to Peter Faneuil and his family. On the contrary,
I shall begin at the latter end, and, first, endeavor to clear up a little
confusion, that has arisen, as to the time of his death. Allen, in his
Biog. Dic., says, that Peter Faneuil died, March 3, 1743. I am sorry to
say, that, in several instances, President Allen's _dates_ resemble
Jeremiah's _figs_, in the second basket; though, upon the present
occasion, he is right, on a certain hypothesis. In a note to the "Memoir
of the French Protestants," also, M. H. C. vol. xxii. p. 55, Peter Faneuil
is said to have died, March 3, 1743. Pemberton, in his "Description of
Boston," Ibid. v. 3, p. 253, by stating that the funeral oration was
delivered, March 14, 1742, makes 1742 the year of Faneuil's death. The
title page of the oration itself, quoted above, fixes the death, in 1742.
Dr. Eliot, in his Biog. Dic., says 1742. The Probate records of Suffolk
show administration granted, on Peter Faneuil's estate, March 18, 1742.
His _obiit_, on a mourning ring, that I have seen, is 1742.

Now, if all dealers in dates, of the olden time, would discriminate,
between the old style and the new, we should be spared a vast deal of
vexation; and the good people of Boston, notional as they proverbially
are, would not appear, in their creditable zeal to do honor to a public
benefactor, to have given him a funeral oration, a twelve month before he
was dead. If the year be taken to begin, on the first of January, then Dr.
Allen is right; and Peter Faneuil died March 3, 1743. But if it did not
begin, till the twenty-fifth of March, and, legally, it certainly did not,
before 1752, when the new style was adopted, in Great Britain, and the
Provinces, then Eliot, and Pemberton, and the title page of the oration,
and the records of the court, and the mourning ring are right, and Peter
Faneuil died, in 1742.

An illustration of this principle may be found, on the title page of the
oration itself. It is stated to have been delivered, March 14, 1742, and
printed in 1743. Having been delivered near the close of the year 1742, it
was printed, doubtless, soon after March 25, which was New Year's day for
1743.

The public journals, nevertheless, seem to have adopted, and adhered to
the idea, that January 1, was the first day of the historical year, long
before the style was altered; and thus, in the Weekly News Letter,
published in Boston, Faneuil is stated to have died, in 1743. This journal
contains an obituary notice. A few imperfect numbers of this paper are all
that remain, and its extreme rarity leads me to copy the obituary here:--

"Thursday, March 10, 1743. On Thursday last, dyed at his seat in this
Town, PETER FANEUIL, Esq., whose remains, we hear, are to be enterred this
afternoon; a gentleman, possessed of a very ample fortune, and a most
generous spirit, whose noble benefaction to this town, and constant
employment of a great number of tradesmen, artificers and labourers, to
whom he was a liberal paymaster; whose hospitality to all, and secret
unbounded chirity to the poor--made his life a public blessing, and his
death a general loss to, and universally regretted by, the inhabitants;
who had been so sensible of their obligations to him, for the sumptuous
edifice, which he raised at his private expence, for their Market house
and Town Hall, that, at a general town meeting, as a testimony of their
gratitude, they voted, that the place of their future consultations should
be called by his name forever: in doing which they perpetuated their own
honor as much as his memory; for, by this record posterity will know the
most publick spirited man, in all regards, that ever yet appeared on the
Northern continent of America, was a member of their community."

In the Boston Evening Post of March 7, 1743, in a brief notice of Peter
Faneuil's death, the disease of which he died is said to have been
"_dropsey_."

Now that we have established the period of Peter's death, it may be well,
to establish the period of his birth; and this we can do, with certainty,
even to an hour, from authentic documents. In addition to other means, for
ascertaining dates, and various particulars, respecting Peter Faneuil, and
the members of his family--through the kindness of the Genealogical
Society, I have, before me, a folio volume of his commercial
correspondence: mutilated, indeed it is, by some thoughtless hand, but
furnishes some curious and interesting matter. Many of his letters are
written in French; and those, which are in English, are well composed. I
have found but a single instance, in which he writes our language, like a
Frenchman. Upon that occasion, he was in a passion with a certain judge of
the admiralty, complained of his ill usage, and charged him with
"_capporice_."



No. CXXIV.


I am indebted to Mr. Charles Faneuil Jones, a grandson of Mary Ann Jones,
Peter Faneuil's sister, for the use of some ancient papers, and family
relics; and to George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston, the grandson of
_Benjamin Faneuil_, Peter's brother, for the loan of a venerable
document--time worn, torn, and sallow--the record of the birth of Peter
Faneuil, and of his brothers and sisters. This document, from its manifest
antiquity, the masculine character of the hand writing, and the constant
use of the parental expressions--_notre fils_--_notre fille_--I, at first,
supposed to be the original autograph of _Benjamin_, the father of Peter.
This conjecture was, of course, demolished, by the last entry, on the
record, which is of old _Benjamin's_ decease, but in the same peculiar
hand.

The document is in French; and, after a careful
comparison--_literatim_--with the volume of Peter's commercial
correspondence, now in my possession--I have very little doubt, that this
record was copied, by Peter, from the paternal original, with the
additional entry, by himself, of the date of his father's death. At the
bottom, and beneath a line of separation, and by another hand, with a
fresher ink, is the following entry--"_Le 6 D'Aout 1725, M. Gillam
Phillips de Boston a epousee ma Fille Marie Faneuil agée de dix sept et
quatre mois_." The 6th of August, 1725, Mr. Gillam Phillips, of Boston,
married my daughter, Marie, aged seventeen and four months. The expression
_ma file_, shows this entry to have been made by Peter's mother, then the
widow of _Benjamin_, who appears, by this record, to have died, at New
York, March 31, 1718-9, aged 50 years and 8 months.

This unusual prænomen, _Gillam_, I, at first, supposed to be a corruption
of _Guillaume_. But there was a merchant, of that day, in Boston, bearing
the name of _Gillam Phillips_. In the Registry of Deeds, for Suffolk, lib.
43, fol. 13, there is recorded a deed, from "_Wentworth Paxton, and Faith,
his wife, formerly Faith Gillam_," in which, reference is made to Faith's
father, _Benjamin Gillam_. Mr. Gillam Phillips is thus named, in the will
of his wife's uncle, Andrew Faneuil, to which I shall have occasion to
refer. Jan 22, 1738, Peter, in a letter to Lane & Smethurst, of London,
speaks of his brother-in-law, _Mr. Gillam Phillips_.

This gentleman was the elder brother of _Mr. Henry Phillips_, who was
indicted, for killing Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, in a duel, fought with
swords, and without seconds, on Boston Common, upon the evening of July 3,
1728. This extremely interesting affair cannot be introduced, as an
episode here, on account of the space it must necessarily occupy. The
original documents, relating to this encounter, which terminated in the
immediate death of Mr. Woodbridge, have fallen into my possession; and, as
Peter Faneuil personally assisted, in the escape of the survivor, who
found a city of refuge, in Rochelle, and a friend and protector, in
Peter's uncle, _Jean Faneuil_; it seems, in some degree, related to the
history of Peter and his kinsfolk. I may, possibly, refer to it hereafter.

In 1685, the period of the revocation of the edict of Nantes, there were
living, in or near Rochelle, in France, three brothers and two sisters of
the Faneuil family. One of these, _Benjamin_, became the father of _our_
Peter Faneuil--the others, his uncles and aunts, when the persecution
commenced, so ably and touchingly described, by James Saurin, fled for
safety to foreign lands. Andrew, the elder brother, escaped into Holland,
and took up his abode in Amsterdam; where he married that preëminently
beautiful lady, whose portrait is now in the possession of Col. Benjamin
Hunt, whose mother was Jane Bethune, a daughter of Mary Faneuil, the neice
of Peter.

_Andrew Faneuil_, before many years, came to this country--precisely when,
I cannot say. That he was here, as early as 1709, is evident, from the
proposals of Oliver Noyes and others, to build a wharf from the bottom of
King Street, to low-water mark, "of the width of King Street, between Mr.
East Apthorp's and Mr. Andrew Faneuil's." These proposals are dated Feb.
20, 1709, and are inserted in Dr. Snow's History of Boston, p. 209.

In Holland, doubtless, Andrew acquired that passion, for flowers, which he
gratified, in his seven-acre Eden, on the westerly side of Treamount
Street, where he is said to have erected the first hothouse, that ever
existed in New England. His warehouse, the same, by him devised, for the
support of the minister of the French Church, was at the lower end of King
Street, near Merchant's Row, from which Butler's Wharf then extended, as
laid down, by John Bonner, in 1722. This warehouse, under the will of
Andrew, reverted, to his heirs, upon the extinction of the French Church.
It was then, just where we find it, in the New England Weekly Journal, of
Jan. 13, 1729. "_Good New York Flower. To be sold, at Mr. Andrew Faneuil's
Warehouse, at the lower end of King Street, at 35s per Hundred, as also
good chocolate, just imported._" He was engaged in commerce; and, for
those days of small things, acquired a large estate, which his forecast
taught him to distribute, among the public funds of France, England, and
Holland. His warehouse was purchased of one of his descendants, by the
late John Parker.

_Jean Faneuil_, another of Peter's uncles, held fast to the faith of his
fathers; and lived, and died, a Roman Catholic. He died in Rochelle, of
apoplexy, June 24, 1737, about four months after the decease of his
brother Andrew, as appears by Peter's letter of Sept. 8, 1737.

_Susannah Faneuil_ also continued, in the Roman Catholic faith, and
remained in Rochelle; where she became the wife, and the widow, of Abraham
de la Croix. She survived her brother Andrew, the date of whose decease is
clearly shown to have been Feb. 13, 1737, by Peter's letter to S. & W.
Baker, of London, giving them the inscription, "_for the handsomest
mourning rings_."

_Jane Faneuil_ was a Huguenot. She became the wife of Pierre Cossart, and
took refuge, with her husband, in Ireland, where she died.

_Benjamin Faneuil_, the father of _our_ Peter, was closely associated with
that little band of Huguenots, who clustered about the town of
Narragansett, otherwise called Kingstown, and the region round about, at
the very close of the seventeenth century. In that village, in 1699, he
married a French lady, whose name was Anne Bureau. The record, in Peter's
transcript from his father's original, is now upon my table--"_Le 28 de
Juillet 1699. Benjamin Faneuil et Anne Bureau ont eté marié a
Narragansett, en nouvelle Angleterre, en la maison de Mons. Pierre Ayross,
par Mons. Pierre Daillé ministre de L'Eglise francoise de Boston_." The
28th of July, 1699, Benjamin Faneuil and Ann Bureau were married at
Narragansett, in New England, at the house of Mr. Peter Ayross, by Mr.
Peter Daillé, minister of the French Church in Boston. Three years before,
in 1696, Sept. 4, the name of this Benjamin Faneuil will be found, M. H.
C., xxii. 60, attached to a certificate, in favor of Gabriel Bernon,
referring to the massacre of John Johnson and his three children, at New
Oxford. Johnson had married the sister of old _André Sigournay_.

This _Benjamin Faneuil_, the præpositus, or stirps, became the father of
eleven children, by his wife, _Anne Bureau_, who were all born in New
Rochelle, in the State of New York, and of whom _our_ Peter was the first
born. Their names, in the order of birth, are these--_Peter_, _Benjamin_,
_Francis_, _Anne_, _Anne_, _Marie_, _John_, _Anne_, _Susannah_, _Mary
Anne_, and _Catherine_. The two first Annes, John, and Catherine, died in
infancy.

The birth of our Peter is thus chronicled, in the family record--"_Le 20
de Juin, 1700, Estant Jeudy a 6 heures du soir est né nostre fils Pierre
Faneuil, et a eté baptisé le 14 Juillet, par M. Peyret, ministre de
l'Eglisse francoise de la Nouvelle York, presenté au Bâpteme par M. Claude
Baudoin et par Sa Mere_." The 20th of June, 1700, being Thursday, at 6
o'clock in the evening, was born our son, Peter Faneuil, and he was
baptized the 14th of July, by Mr. Peyret, minister of the French Church,
in New York; presented in baptism, by Mr. Claude Bowdoin and its mother.

_Benjamin_, _our_ Peter's brother, was born Dec. 29, 1701. He was a
merchant in Boston, about the time of his uncle Andrew's death, in 1737.
Shortly after that event, he went to England, and France, and returned,
about two years before the death of his brother Peter, in 1742-3, upon
whose estate he administered. His nephew, Edward Jones, in a letter to his
mother, June 23, 1783, informs her, that "_Uncle Faneuil seems to be
growing very low; I think he will not continue long_." He was then in his
eighty-second year. He died in October, 1785.

After Peter's death, Benjamin resided in Brighton, then Cambridge, in the
street, which now bears the family name, where he erected an expensive
mansion, successively occupied, after his decease, by Messieurs Bethune,
English, Parkman, and Bigelow. By his wife, Mary Cutler, he had three
children, Benjamin, Mary, and Peter.

_This_ Benjamin, nephew of _our_ Peter, is the "_Benjamin Faneuil,
junior_," whose name appears, among the signers of the "_Loyall Address_"
to Gov. Gage on his departure Oct. 6, 1775. He left Boston for Halifax,
with the British army, in March, 1776. He is the person, referred to, by
Ward, in his Memoirs of Curwen--"_the merchant of Boston, and with Joshua
Winslow, consignee of one third of the East India Company's tea, destroyed
in 1773, a refugee to Halifax, afterwards in England_." He married Jane,
daughter of Addington Davenport, by his first wife, Jane, who was the
daughter of Grove Hirst, and sister of the Lady Mary Pepperell; and, with
his wife, lived many years, abroad, chiefly in Bristol, England, which
became the favorite resort of many refugees, and where he died. I have, in
my possession, several of his letters, written to his relatives, during
his exile. These letters are spiritedly written; and, to the very last, in
the most perfect assurance, that the colonies must submit.

_Mary_, _our_ Peter's niece, became the wife of George Bethune, Oct. 13,
1754, and died in 1797. A portrait, by Blackburn, of this beautiful woman,
is in the possession of her son, George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston. After
a very careful inspection of this portrait, not long ago, I went directly
to the rooms of the Historical Society, to compare it with the portrait
there of her uncle Peter, to which it seems to me to bear a strong family
resemblance. This portrait of Peter was presented to the Society, by Miss
Jones, the grand niece of _our_ Peter, now the wife of Dr. Cutter of
Pepperell. It has been erroneously ascribed to Copley. If its manifest
inferiority to the works of that eminent master were not sufficiently
germaine to this question--Copley was born in 1738, and not quite five
years old, when Peter Faneuil died.

_Peter_, the youngest child of Benjamin, and, of course, the nephew of
_our_ Faneuil Hall Peter, who may be otherwise distinguished, as Peter the
Great--was baptized, in Trinity Church, in Boston, in 1738, and entered
the Latin School, in 1746. He entered into trade--went to
Montreal--failed--resorted to the West Indies--and, after his father's
death, returned to Boston.



No. CXXV.


Let us conclude our post mortem examination of the brothers and sisters of
Peter Faneuil.

_Francis_, the third son of _Benjamin_, the old Rocheller, Peter's father,
was born Aug. 21, 1703, of whom I know nothing, beyond the fact, that he
was baptized, by M. Peyret, minister of the French church in New York, and
presented "_par son grand pere, Francois Bureau, et Mad'selle Anne
Delancey_."

_Mary_, the eldest sister of _our_ Peter, that came to maturity, was born
April 16, 1708, and is the _Marie_, to whom I have already referred, as
having married Mr. Gillam Phillips, Aug. 6, 1725. Their abode, before the
revolution, was in the mansion, more recently occupied by Abiel Smith, at
the corner of State and Devonshire Streets; or, as they are called, on
Bonner's plan of 1722, King Street and Pudding Lane. Her husband was a
refugee. After his death, she resided in Cambridge, Mass., where she died,
in April, 1778.

_Anne_, the next, in order of time, was born Oct. 9, 1710, and married
Addington Davenport. This fact is stated, by Peter, in a letter, of Sept.
26, 1738. This is the same gentleman, undoubtedly, to whom the ancient
record of King's Chapel refers: "_Oct. 11, 1733. Voted, that the brass
stand for the hourglass be lent to the church at Scituate, as also three
Diaper napkins, provided the Rev. Mr. Addington Davenport, their minister,
gives his note to return the same_," &c. He was, afterwards, promoted, to
be assistant minister of King's Chapel, in 1737, and Rector of Trinity
Church, in 1740, and was, probably, the son of Addington Davenport, who
was the Register of Deeds, for Suffolk, in 1706.

_Susannah_, the third sister of _our_ Peter, in the order of birth, was
born March 14, 1712, and became the wife of James Boutineau, the son of
Stephen Boutineau, that "_only surviving elder_," who joined in the
conveyance of the French Church, in 1748. James was a royalist; and,
according to Ward's Curwen, died in exile. This marriage is also referred
to, by Peter, in his letter of Sept. 26, 1738. Mr. James Boutineau was a
lawyer, in Boston; and occupied the "_old Dorr house_," so called, in Milk
Street.

Mr. Sabine, in his "American Loyalists," says _his fate is unknown, but he
was in England, in 1777_. An original letter from his widow, "_Susanna
Boutineau_," now before me, is dated _Bristol, Eng., Feb. 20, 1784_, and
refers to the recent decease of her husband there.

_Mary Ann_ was the last of Peter's sisters, that survived her infancy. She
was born April 6, 1715, and died October, 1790. She became the wife of
John Jones, who died at Roxbury, in 1767, and whose son, Edward, died in
Boston, in 1835, at the age of 83. _She_ was a refugee; and resided, for
some time, in Windsor, Nova Scotia. She is omitted by Mr. Sabine, in his
list of refugees; but named by Ward, page 444. A letter, from her son,
Edward, dated at Boston, June 23, 1783, advises her, if desirous of
returning, not to come directly to Boston, as the law was still in force;
but first, to some other State, and thence to Boston.

Such were Peter Faneuil's brothers and sisters; with whom, so far as I
have been able to ascertain, from his correspondence, and from all other
sources, he appears to have maintained an amiable and becoming relation,
as the file leader of the flock--the elder brother of the house: and it
speaks a folio volume, in favor of Benjamin's equanimity, that he
continued to fraternize, as the correspondence abundantly proves, that he
did, in the most cordial and affectionate manner, with his brother Peter,
to whom uncle Andrew had, with the exception of a few legacies, willed the
whole of his "_large and plentiful estate_," as Master Lovell calls
it--while five vindictive shillings were all, that were found, after the
death of this unforgiving, old gentleman, in the mouth of poor Benjamin's
sack.

Uncle Andrew's testamentary phraseology, though not so anathematical, as
that of some other obstinate, old uncles, is sufficiently uncivil, and
even bitter, in relation to his "loving sister, Susannah," and his nephew,
Benjamin.

But, of the will of Andrew Faneuil, and his motive--an exceedingly
preposterous motive, to be sure, for cutting his adopted nephew off, with
five shillings--in other words, of the cause, manner, and instrument,
whereby Benjamin was put in the ablative, I shall treat, more fully,
hereafter.

There were collaterals of the Boston Faneuils, residing in St. Domingo, in
1738. There was then, in that island, a Benjamin Faneuil, to whom Peter
addressed a letter of mere friendship, in the French language, informing
him, that Peter's brother Benjamin was then in Europe. It was probably a
son of the St. Domingo Benjamin, the "_Monsieur Fanneuil_," of whom
Washington writes to the President of Congress, Feb. 20, 1777, Sparks, iv.
327, as having memorialized, for leave to raise and command troops. The
application failed, principally, on the ground of his entire ignorance of
the English language.

We have seen, that Peter Faneuil died, at the early age of forty-two. His
premature decease becomes the more remarkable, when contrasted with the
longevity of all his brothers and sisters, who lived beyond the period of
infancy. Marie attained the age of seventy--Susannah was living, in
Bristol, at seventy-two--Mary Ann died at seventy-five--Benjamin died, in
October, 1735, being two months less than eighty-four years old.

This veteran had been a generous liver, all his days. He was not a man,
whose devotion was abdominal--whose God was his belly. He was no
anchorite, but an advocate for social worship--he was preëminently
hospitable. For more than forty years, from the period, when Peter's death
afforded him the means, his hospitality had been a proverb--a by-word--but
never a reproach. There was a refinement about it--it was precisely such
hospitality, as Apicius would have practised, had Apicius been a bishop.

His appetite never forsook him. He died suddenly--ate a cheerful dinner,
on the day of his death--and went not to his account, on an empty stomach.
A post mortem examination, under the autopsy of that eminently shrewd, and
most pleasant, gentleman, Dr. Marshall Spring of Watertown, exhibited the
whole gastric apparatus, in admirable working order, for a much longer
campaign. A nephritic malady occasioned his decease.

The death of Benjamin Faneuil, _the elder_, in 1718, and the previous
adoption of his son Benjamin, Peter's brother, by Andrew, the wealthy
Boston uncle, naturally turned the thoughts of the family, in this
direction. Their interest in Boston was necessarily increased, by the
marriage of sister Marie with Mr. Gillam Phillips, and her consequent
removal hither. The entry of the marriage--"_ma fille_"--on the family
record, shows, that her mother was then living. The time of her death I
have not ascertained, but suppose it to have occurred within a year or two
after, for all the daughters were wending hither, and I find no mention of
the mother. Peter was here, as early, as 1728, in which year, his name is
associated, with the duel, in which Woodbridge was killed. Anne had
married Mr. Davenport, and Susannah Mr. Boutineau, before uncle Andrew's
death, in 1737. His will was dated, in 1734. From that document, it is
evident, that Mary Ann was here then.

The elder Benjamin having died, in 1718,--Andrew, his brother, in
1737,--and Peter, in 1742-3, there were living Peter's brother and
sisters, Benjamin, Anne, Susannah, Marie, and Marianne. They were living,
during the revolution. So were their husbands, excepting Mr. Addington
Davenport, who died Sept. 8, 1746. Their children also were living. The
object of this particular statement is to invite the reader's attention to
the extraordinary fact, that, while a religious persecution, in 1685,
drove the Huguenot ancestors of these very individuals hither, for
security--in 1776, a political persecution here drove many of their
descendants into exile, and confiscated their estates.

That very many of those refugees, during the phrensy of political
excitement, were just as truly persecuted, for conscience' sake, as were
the Huguenots, in 1685, is a simple truth, which the calm, impartial voice
of an after-age has been willing to concede. Among those refugees, the
Huguenot and the old Anglo-Saxon patronymics are blended together. The
Boutineaus and the Bethunes, the Faneuils and the Johonnots are mingled
with the Sewalls and the Hutchinsons, the Hollowells and the Paxtons.

While perusing the letters of Samuel Curwen--and a most kind-hearted,
conscientious, old gentleman was he--the veriest saint in crape cannot
restrain a smile, as he contemplates the conflict, in Curwen's mind,
between the loyal and the patriotic--_his most gracious majesty, and his
poor bleeding country_! Mr. Curwen met frequently with Mr. Benjamin
Faneuil, Peter's nephew, at Bristol. Thus, on page 240, of the Journal,
under date, April 28, 1780--"_Afternoon and evening at Judge Sewall's;
company, Mrs. Long, of Ireland, Mr. and Mrs. Faneuil, Mr. Oxnard, with
young Inman and his wife, a son of Ralph's, in the military line, and Miss
Inman_."

The more intelligent of the refugees, who resorted to Bristol, hovered
about the former Attorney General of Massachusetts, Jonathan Sewall, as
their _Magnus Apollo_. Of all the New England tories he was the most
illustrious. He was a man of eminent talents, and easy eloquence. His
opinions were the opinions of the rest. As crowed the great tory cock, so
crowed the bantams, the Faneuils, the Boutineaus, and the others, around
the Attorney General's hospitable board, at Bristol. I mean not to
intimate, that this worthy gentleman maintained, at this period, anything,
beyond the most frugal hospitality. He and his associates were mainly
dependent upon the British government, for their daily bread.

One or two extracts from the letters of "_Benjamin Faneuil junior_,"
Peter's nephew, while they establish this fact, may serve to exhibit the
confidence, in the entire subjugation of the colonies,
entertained--_cherished_, perhaps--by him and his companions.

March 9, 1777, he writes to his aunt, Mary Ann Jones, at Halifax, thus--"I
cannot say I am very sorry, for your disappointment, in missing your
passage for England, for unless you could bring a barrel of guineas, you
are much better anywhere than here." * * * * "As soon as the Christmas
holidays were over, we presented a petition to the Lords of the Treasury,
setting forth our suffering, and praying for a support, till the affairs
in America are settled. This method was taken, by the council, and indeed
by all the refugees. Within these few days, the Lords of the Treasury have
agreed to allow, for the present, Chief Justice Oliver £400 a year, Lieut.
Governor Oliver and Mr. Flucker £300. The council (Mr. Boutineau among
the rest) £200, the refugees in general £100, some only £50. Our affair is
not yet absolutely determined, on account of Lord North's sickness; but we
are told we shall be tuckt in, between the council and the refugees, and
be allowed £150 a year. This is a very poor affair, and we can by no means
live upon it: but there are such a confounded parcel of us, to be provided
for, that I am told no more will be allowed." * * * * "Should there be any
opportunity of writing to Boston, I should take it kind, if cousin Betsey
would write to my father and let him know what I now write, and give our
loves to Mr. Bethune's family, and my aunt Phillips. I do not mention my
poor mother, as, from the accounts I have received, I doubt, whether she
be alive at this time." She died in October, 1777.

"When we shall be able to return to Boston I cannot say; but hope and
believe it will not exceed one year more; for, sooner or later, America
will be conquered, and on that they may depend."

May 14, 1777. He writes from London thus--"We were promised, three months
ago, that some provision should be made for us; and, about ten days since,
we were assured, at the Treasury, that, in a very few days, something
should be done for us. As soon as there is, we propose to set out for
Bristol, and fix ourselves there, or, at least, in that part of the
country, till the American affairs are settled, which, from the last
advice from New York, we flatter ourselves will not be longer than this
year; though I am not without my doubts, at least as to the time: but
submit they must, sooner or later. Mr. Boutineau and my aunt were very
well, at their lodging, at Bristol, a few days ago. Mr. Robinson has
bought himself a new post chaise, horses, &c., and sets out for Wales, in
five or six days; where, I suppose, they will remain, till the American
affairs are brought to a conclusion."

This Mr. Robinson was James Boutineau's son-in-law, the officer of the
customs, who inflicted that fatal blow, upon James Otis, which is said to
have affected his brain, and compelled him to retire from public life. The
issue of that affair is not generally known. Mr. Sabine, in his "American
Loyalists," p. 169, says--"the jury assessed £2000 sterling, damages.
Boutineau appeared, as attorney, for Robinson, and, in his name, signed a
submission, asking the pardon of Otis, who, thereupon, executed a free
release for the £2000." The same statement may be found in Allen, and
elsewhere.

Mr. Benjamin Faneuil, junior, continues thus--"Mrs. Faneuil received a
letter, a few days since, from Mrs. Erving (at Bristol). She sends her the
prices of provisions, which are much the same they were in Boston, before
the troubles came on. * * * * Miss Peggy Hutchinson has been at death's
door. * * * * All the rest of us Yankees are well, but growl at each other
most confoundedly, for want of money." * * * * "We hope to see you in
Boston, in the course of another year." * * * * "Mrs. Faneuil is sitting
by me, trying to transmography an old gown. No money to buy new."



No. CXXVI.


To some persons it has appeared a mystery, how Peter Faneuil, having had
but a short lease of life, some two and forty years, should have acquired
the "_large and plentiful estate_," that Master Lovell speaks of, in his
funeral oration. This mystery is readily explained. He had, for several
years, before the death of his uncle, Andrew, been engaged in commerce. As
Master Lovell justly observes--"No man managed his affairs with greater
prudence and industry." His commercial correspondence proves that his
relations were extensive and diversified, though it must be admitted, that
_rum, fish, sugar and molasses_, are the chorus, or burden, of the song.
It will also appear, that the _large and plentiful estate_, was, probably
overrated.

Though he had a high sense of commercial honor, no man had a sharper eye
for the main chance, as it is called, by money getting men. Let me
illustrate both these positions, by extracts--not from "_Peter's letters
to his kinsfolks_," but from Peter's letters to his correspondents. He
repeatedly scolds Signor Miguel Pacheco de Silva, and Monsieur Sigal,
severely, for inattention to his drafts. To S. & W. Baker, of London, who,
by reason of the informality of a power to transfer stock, were unsupplied
with funds, to meet his drafts, yet paid them, for the honor of the
drawer; he writes a letter of cordial thanks, Sept. 7, 1737, in which he
says--"_I would not for £500 you had not accepted all those drafts; for,
if you had not, it would have been a slur to my character, which I value
more than all the money upon earth_."

January 22, 1738, he requests Mr. Peter Baynton to advise him, on several
points--"_also what good French brandy is worth, and if it be possible to
cloak it so, as to ship it for rum_." On the 13th of March, in the same
year, he writes Mr. Peter Baynton, that he has sent him four hogsheads of
brandy, and adds--"_Pray be as cautious as possible, in taking them on
shore, by reason the man has signed bills of lading, for four hogsheads
rum, not knowing the contents, which it is not convenient he should_."

What a goodly number will openly pronounce Peter a very bad fellow, who,
if they have not done this identical thing, have done things, quite as
exceptionable, or more so, and who are willing to--

  "Compound for sins they are inclined to,
  By damning those they have no mind to."

Merchant princes, if I am rightly instructed, do not place the offence of
cheating the Government, in the category of cardinal, or unpardonable,
sins. And, notwithstanding all, that we so frequently hear, of commercial
integrity, and the chivalry of trade; I rather doubt, upon the whole, if
traffic is really the "_ne plus ultra strap_," upon which the very finest
possible edge can be given to the moral sense. Exceptions there are, but
they only establish, more fully, the general rule: and, in accordance with
the spirit of the old, prudential legend, we are rather too much in the
habit of postponing prayers, till we have sanded the sugar, and watered
the molasses. I have long entertained the opinion, that a cheap _vade
mecum_ edition of Dr. Chalmers' Commercial Discourses, for New Year's
gifts, might be very beneficially distributed.

Exceptions certainly there are. I have one, within my own memory. The
collector of a Southern port--a Huguenot withal--of whom my personal
recollections are exceedingly agreeable, and whose integrity was a
proverb, was surprised one day, upon his return, at the dinner hour, by
the display of a costly service of plate, which his lady had procured from
London. A few inquiries developed the fact, that, by the agency of a
gentleman, a friend of the family, it had been gotten over, with _his_
baggage, duty free--in other words, _smuggled_. In an instant, the old
gentleman ordered his wife's whole service of silver to the public stores;
and seized it for the government. Such cases, I apprehend, are not of
frequent occurrence.

If Peter Faneuil made not broad his phylactery, he made broad that mantle
of charity, which covereth a multitude of sins. If such had not been the
fact, and notoriously so, Master Lovell would not have ventured to
proclaim, in Faneuil Hall, one hundred and eight years ago, and before a
scanty population, as cognizant, as the population of a village, of all
the shortcomings of their neighbors that--

"_Peter's acts of charity were so secret and unbounded, that none but they
who were the objects of it could compute the sums, which he annually
distributed_"--that "_his alms flowed, like a fruitful river_"--that "_he
fed the hungry, clothed the naked, comforted the fatherless, and the
widows in their affliction, and his bounty visited the prisoner. So that
Almighty God, in giving riches to this man, seems to have scattered
blessings all abroad among the people_"--that the building "_erected by
him at an immense charge, for the convenience and ornament of the town, is
incomparably the greatest benefaction ever yet known to our Western
shoar_"--that this act of munificence, however great, "_is but the first
fruits of his generosity, a pledge of what his heart, always devising
liberal things, would have done for us, had his life been spared_." To all
this good Master Lovell adds the assertion--"_I am well assured from
those, who were acquainted with his purposes, that he had many more
blessings in store for us, had Heaven prolonged his days_."

These statements, publicly pronounced, one hundred and eight years ago,
have never been gainsayed, nor even qualified. They must therefore be
viewed, in the light of an ancient deposition, read before the grand
inquest of the whole people, before whom Peter Faneuil was tried, shortly
after his decease, according to the fashion of the Egyptians, while
dealing with their departed kings.

I, by no means, approve of Peter's conduct, in jostling the Government,
out of the excise, on a few casks of brandy; but, in full view of all
these public and private charities, there seems to be something about it,
like the gallantry of Robin Hood, whose agrarian philosophy taught him to
rob the rich, and feed the poor. And, when the trial comes on, in the
Higher Court, about the duties upon these four hogsheads of brandy; and
Peter Baynton is summoned to testify; and, upon his evidence, Peter
Faneuil is convicted; most truly, do I believe, that some good natured
angel, will slyly draw, over the record, a corner of that broad mantle of
gold and tissue--that mantle of charity--whose warp and woof were formed
of private alms and public benefactions, and which good Peter Faneuil
spent so many of his hours, in weaving, in this lower world.

If Peter Faneuil was otherwise an offender, I am sorry for it; having a
passion for rarities, I should like to behold the _tabula immaculata_--the
unsullied sheet of one human being! I am not aware of anything, in the
life of Peter Faneuil, which that mantle will not abundantly cover.

It may be otherwise. If the schoolmaster is not always abroad, the
antiquarian is--the moral virtuoso--who delights, metaphorically speaking,
to find spots on snow, and specks in amber. This species of antiquarian,
male or female, may be found in every city and village. It is a curious
creature, and, in the cabinet of a malicious memory, has stowed carefully
away the weak points, and the peccadilloes of the living and the dead. In
its contracted receptacle, there is no room for public or private
charities, nor for merits of any kind: it is capable of holding nothing
but delinquencies.

Nothing is more refreshing to this species of antiquarian, than any fair
pretence, for opening his cabinet, and showing his precious collection.
Nollikens, among his _terra cottas_, was not more adroit, in fitting the
heads and members of Priapi to the trunks of fauns and satyrs, than is the
ingenious character, of whom I speak, in adapting the legendary gossip,
which has been told, till it is stale, of one individual, to the person of
another. Such personages are, characteristically, selfish and ungenerous.
It would not be a very notable miracle, if some person, of this
description, pained and offended, by the trying contrast, between the
munificent and charitable career of Peter Faneuil, and the extremely dry
and unprofitable character of his own existence, should ransack the
charnel-house of his memory, for some offensive offset, against Master
Lovell's laudation of Peter.

For this I can truly vouch, excepting that affair of the brandy, the
commercial correspondence of Peter Faneuil--and I have read the whole
volume, that remains, French and English--is highly honorable to the head
and the heart of the writer.

The charity of Peter Faneuil was not that clap-trap munificence, examples
of which are frequently heralded, among us, in demi-stipendiary
journals--it did not so truly _spring_--it _oozed_ from Peter's warm
heart, continually, and constitutionally. He required no impressive hints,
to be charitable--he _felt_ for the poor and needy, habitually. His letter
of Sept. 19, 1738, is before me, to one of his commercial correspondents,
to whom he has just then made a shipment, Mons. Thomas Bayeaux--"Inclosed
you have Madame Guinneau's account, by which you are indebted to that poor
widow £16, which you will do well to pay her, it being for money she
advanced, for the board of you and your family. One would have thought you
should have paid that, before you left the country, and not to have served
the poor widow as you did."

However direct, and even severe, while addressing delinquents, his French
politeness never forsakes him. Such letters always conclude--"_Sir, I
salute you_," or "_I kiss your hand_."

April 24, 1740, he writes thus to Peter Baynton--"This accompanies Capt.
Burgess Hall, who carries with him to your parts two unfortunate Palatine
women, that were some time ago shipwrecked, in their voyage from Europe to
your place, who, being objects of charity, which the providence of God has
thrown in our way, I take leave to recommend to you, as such, not doubting
you will so far commisserate their condition, as to direct them the
nearest way, to get among their friends, with such other relief as you may
think necessary."

Though Peter Faneuil had acquired property, before the death of his uncle
Andrew; yet, as we shall presently see, by far the larger part of his
"_large and plentiful estate_" came to him, by that uncle's will.



No. CXXVII.


Peter Faneuil was thirty and seven years old, when he began to reign--that
is, when his uncle, Andrew, died, Feb. 13, 1737, according to Peter, in
his letter to the Bakers, of London, or 1738, agreeably to the historical
style, adopted by the public journals. In the News Letter of February "16,
to 23," we have the following account of the funeral.--"Last Monday the
Corpse of _Andrew Faneuil_ Esquire, whose death we mentioned in our last,
was honorably interr'd here; above 1100 Persons, of all Ranks, besides the
Mourners, following the Corpse, also a vast number of Spectators were
gathered together on the Occasion, at which time the half-minute guns,
from on board several vessels, were discharged. And 'tis suppos'd that as
this Gentleman's Fortune was the greatest of any among us, so his funeral
was as generous and expensive as any that has been known here."

Peter was appointed executor sole of Andrew's will, and residuary legatee.
He appears to have proceeded with great propriety. He immediately
announced his uncle's death to foreign correspondents; and furnished
those, who had been custodiers of his property, with duly authenticated
copies of the will; and took prompt measures, for the procurement of "_the
handsomest mourning rings_."

John, Archbishop of Canterbury, as was usual then, sent his commission to
Judge Willard, from the Prerogative Court, to swear Peter, to render a
true inventory, &c.; and Peter responded to John, that, although he was
not bound so to do, by the laws of the Province, yet, for his "_own
satisfaction_," he should. Peter probably changed his mind, for no
inventory of Andrew's estate appears, among the ancient records of the
Probate Court, in Suffolk. It is not, therefore, possible, to estimate the
value of that "_large and plentiful estate_," which came to Peter, from
his uncle. That it was very considerable, for the times, there cannot be a
doubt; but the times--one hundred and fourteen years ago--were the days of
small things.

It has been observed, by an eminent man, that prayer and almsgiving are
the pathways to Paradise. Andrew Faneuil commences his will, with a
supplication, for the _perfecting of his charities_--"_I commit my soul to
God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, humbly begging the pardon of my
sins, the perfecting of my charities, and everlasting life above_." This
will was made, Sept. 12, 1734, and witnessed, by John Read, William Price
and Charles Morris; and a codicil was added, Jan. 23, 1737; and both were
proved, Feb. 15, 1737, two days after the testator's death.

Wills have ever been accounted an interesting department of _belles
lettres_; and I shall therefore furnish the reader with an abstract of
Uncle Andrew's.

_First._ He gives his warehouse in Boston, in trust, to the minister of
the French Church, in Boston, and his successors; two thirds of the income
for the minister's support, and one third to the elders, to create a fund
for repairing the warehouse; and after the creation of such fund, the
whole income to the minister; and, should the French church cease to be,
then said warehouse to revert to his heirs--"_excluding Benjamin Faneuil,
of Boston, and the heirs of his body forever_."

_Secondly._ To said French Church, three pieces of plate, of the value of
£36 sterling, "_a flaggon for the communion table, a plate for the bread,
and a bason to christen the children, with the coat of arms and name of
the donor, engraven upon each of them_." On the 27th of February, fourteen
days after his uncle's death, Peter sent a copy of the will to Claude
Fonnereau, in France, requesting him to purchase the plate, and
added--"_of the best fashion, and get engraved, agreeably to his orders,
for which end you have his coat of arms in wax herewith, and if it should
cost some small matter more, be pleased to charge the same_."

_Thirdly._ £100, in Province Bills, to be paid to the elders, for the poor
of the French Church.

_Fourthly._ £50, in Province bills, and "_a suit of mourning throughout_,"
to the French minister.

_Fifthly._ £100, in Province bills, to the overseers, for the poor of
Boston.

_Sixthly._ To the Rev. Benjamin Colman, "_a suit of mourning throughout_."

_Seventhly._ "To my loving brother, John Faneuil, of Rochelle, £100,
sterling."

_Eighthly._ "To my loving brother-in-law, Peter Cossart, of Cork, in
Ireland, and his sister Susannah Cossart, of Amsterdam, £50 each to buy
mourning."

_Ninthly._ "To Benjamin Faneuil of Boston, son of my brother, Benjamin
Faneuil, deceased, _five shillings and no more_."

_Tenthly._ To his executor, in trust, 8000 ounces of silver, or pieces of
eight, to purchase an estate of inheritance, at his discretion, within one
year after the testator's death, for his loving niece, Mary, wife of
Gillam Phillips, and the heirs of her body, remainder to her right heirs.
Peter, in correspondence with S. & W. Baker, refers to this purchase, and
directs them to sell stocks of his late uncles, to meet the drafts.

_Eleventhly_. To her son, Andrew, 500 ounces of silver, or pieces of
eight, to be put at interest, till majority--to his mother, in case of his
death before--and, in case of _her_ death and _his_ before--to her other
children.

_Twelfthly, thirteenthly, and fourteenthly._ To his nieces, Anne,
Susannah, and Marian, £2000 sterling, each; the two first to be paid six
months, after his death, and the last, at majority, or marriage; four per
cent. to be allowed her, per annum, ad interim, and she to be maintained
by the executor, till she attained full age, or married. These legacies
were paid from the funds of Uncle Andrew, in the hands of S. & W. Baker,
of London.

_Fifteenthly._ To his loving sister, Susannah F., widow of Abraham de la
Croix, of Rochelle, £1000 sterling.

_Sixteenthly._ To his servant maid, _Hendrine Boyltins_, who probably
came, with the family, from Holland, "_a suit of mourning throughout_,"
and 500 ounces of silver, in pieces of eight, or the value, in Province
bills, at her election.

_Seventeenthly._ To Henry Johnson, her son, who became the confidential
clerk of Peter Faneuil, 150 ounces, in pieces of eight, to be paid, at
majority.

_Eighteenthly._ "I give, bequeath, and devise all the rest of my estate,
both real and personal, whatsoever and wheresoever 'tis, in New England,
Great Britain, France, Holland, or any other part of the world, to my
loving nephew, PETER FANEUIL, eldest son of my late brother, Benjamin
Faneuil, to hold to him and his heirs forever."

He then appoints Peter, sole executor.

The codicil revokes the legacy to his _loving_ sister, the widow Susannah
de la Croix, of Rochelle--"my mind and my will is, that my said sister,
Susannah F., shall not have the said thousand pounds, _nor any part of
it_."

The severity of these five last words--and the phrase, in relation to his
nephew--"_excluding Benjamin Faneuil of Boston, and the heirs of his body
forever_;" and those final words of the ninth clause, by which the
testator cuts off poor Benjamin, with "_five shillings and no more_," are
sufficiently piquant. Well may such an _avunculus Hector_ commence his
last will, with a fervent supplication to "God, the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost," for _the perfecting of his charities_.

How the widow, Susannah, came to lose her thousand pounds I do not know.
Something, that she said or did, or did not say or do, was wafted, all the
way over the water, from Rochelle, no doubt, and came to the old
gentleman's irritable ears, and roused his ire.

But I well comprehend the occasion, upon which he came to disinherit his
nephew, Benjamin Faneuil. My female readers have already arrived at the
conclusion, doubtless, that Benjamin so far forgot himself, and his duty
to his opulent, old uncle, as to fall in love without asking his
permission. Well: they are perfectly right--such was the fact. Benjamin
fell in love. He was determined not to be found, like tinkling brass, even
at the hazard of losing the good will, and the gold of his uncle
Andrew--so he fell in love. And, if the girl of his heart resembled her
daughter, _Mary Faneuil_, as she is represented by Blackburn, how the poor
fellow could have helped it, God only knows.

There is nothing, in all Amboyna, more spicy, than this little incident,
in the history of the Faneuils; and, having spoilt it, perhaps, by this
_avant courier_, I will now venture to tell the story; premising, that it
was far better told, by the lady, who related it to me, and who is a
lineal descendant of Benjamin, himself.

To give proper effect to this little episode, I must take the reader to a
pretty village, as it was just then beginning to be, one hundred and fifty
years ago, on the banks of the Hudson, some twenty miles, only, from the
city of New York. There, the persecuted Huguenots gathered together, and
planted their new home, their _New Rochelle_. Almost immediately after his
marriage with Anne Bureau, in 1699, at Narragansett, Benjamin Faneuil
rejoined his Huguenot friends, and fellow-townsmen, in _New Rochelle_; and
there his children were born. _New Rochelle_, as I have stated, was the
birth-place of PETER FANEUIL.

Andrew, having arrived in Boston from Holland, very soon after the
beginning of the eighteenth century; having buried his wife; and being
childless, selected Benjamin, the second son of his brother, Benjamin
Faneuil, as an object of particular regard. The boy, was, accordingly,
transferred from New Rochelle to Boston. He was educated, and brought up,
under his patron's eye; and was considered, by the world, as the heir
apparent of his opulent uncle. As he grew up, towards man's estate, it
would have been an unheard of circumstance, if the dowagers of Shawmut,
with their marriageable daughters, had not fixed their hopeful eyes, upon
young Benjamin, if it were only for the sake of whatever might be found,
sooner or later, in the mouth of his sack. It would have been a miracle,
if their exhibitions of regard, for the young man, had not visibly
increased; and their fears had not been frequently and feelingly
expressed, lest that excellent, old gentleman, Andrew Faneuil Esquire, had
taken cold.

A patron is rather too prone to look upon a _protégé_, as a puppet. The
idea, that Benjamin could be led astray, however tempting the provocation,
to commit the crime of matrimony, however lawful and right, however
accomplished, and virtuous, and lovely the object, without leave, first
had and obtained, from him, at whose board he ate his daily bread, never
occurred to Uncle Andrew, for an instant. He supposed, of course, that he
had the key to Benjamin's soul. It never occurred to the old gentleman,
whose courtship was carried on, in Holland, that falling in love was
precisely as much of an accident, as falling into the fire, or into the
water.

Well: Benjamin was an intelligent young man; and he was admirably posted
up, upon the subject of his uncle's opinions, and prejudices.
Nevertheless, he fell in love, very emphatically; and with a girl, as
pretty, doubtless, as she was poor. He knew, that his uncle would never
consent to such a marriage. But he knew, that he had plighted his troth;
and he clearly saw, since he must run the hazard of breaking _one_ heart,
or _two_, that it would be rather more equitable to risk the old
gentleman's, instead of the girl's and his own.

Accordingly, Benjamin secretly took unto himself a lawful wife; and, for a
while, though Benjamin was, doubtless, much the happier, Uncle Andrew was
nothing the wiser. However strange it may appear, though there were no
giants, there were mischievous women, in those days. One of this category,
in an evil hour, like a toad, as she was, whispered the secret, into the
ear of Uncle Andrew.

The old Huguenot was not of the melting mood. The conduct of his nephew
produced not grief, but anger. It reached no tender spot, in the recesses
of his heart, but chafed the old man's pericardium, till it drew a blister
there. He bottled up his wrath, and corked it well; that the offender
might have the full benefit of the fermentation, when the old gentleman
came to pour the contents of the vial, on the devoted head of his
unsuspecting nephew.

The following morning, they met, at the breakfast table. The meal passed,
as usual. But with what feelings must that old man have contemplated the
poor fellow, the boy of his adoption, whom he was about to prostrate, as
he finished the last mouthful he was ever to partake at that board! The
repast was finished.--A brief colloquy ensued--"_I hear you are
married_"--"_Yes, uncle, I am_"--"_Then you will leave my house_." The
young man instantly took his departure. They never met again, until years
had passed away,--and then, in that place, where there is no work nor
device. There they lie, in the Faneuil tomb, in the Granary Ground; the
unforgiving uncle and the disinherited nephew, side by side. Benjamin
Faneuil died, at his residence in Brighton, in October, 1785, and was
buried, in the family vault.



No. CXXVIII.


Notwithstanding the "_large and plentiful estate_," which Peter Faneuil
derived from his uncle's will, it is my opinion, that his munificence, his
unbounded charities, his hospitalities, his social, genial temperament
were such, that, had he lived a much longer life, he would have died a
much poorer man. Almost immediately, upon the death of his uncle, it is
manifest, from his letters, that certain magnificent fancies came over the
spirit of his waking dreams. And it is equally certain, that,
subsequently, he had occasional misgivings, as to the just relation
between his means and his prospective arrangements, which, for the times,
and upon our little peninsula, were sufficiently expanded.

Feb. 27, 1737, fourteen days after his uncle's death, he announced that
event to his commercial friends, Messrs. S. & W. Baker of London;
prescribed the arrangement of funds, for the payment of legacies; and
instructed them to honor his draft, in favor of James Pope & Company, of
Madeira, in payment for five pipes of wine.

Four days after, on the first of March, he writes Pope & Company
thus--"Send me, by the very first opportunity, for this place, five pipes
of your very best Madeira wine, of an amber color, of the same sort, which
you sent to our good friend, De Lancey, of New York."

He directs them to draw on the Bakers of London, and adds--"As this wine
is for the use of my house, I hope you will be careful, that I have the
best. I am not over fond of the strongest. I am to inform you, that my
uncle, Mr. Andrew Faneuil, departed this life, the 13 current, and was
interred the 20, for which God prepare all his friends. I shall expect to
hear from you, by the first opportunity."

Feb. 27, 1737, the same day, on which he writes the Bakers, he addresses
Lane & Smethurst, of London, as follows--"Be so good as to send me a
handsome chariot with two sets of harness, with the arms, as enclosed, on
the same, in the handsomest manner, that you shall judge proper, but at
the same time nothing gaudy: and send me also, well recommended, two sober
men, the one, for a coachman the other a gardener; and agree with the
same, to be paid either in London, quarterly, or here, allowing for the
exchange of the money, which they shall choose. And, as most servants from
Europe, when here, are too apt to be debauched with strong drink, rum,
&c., being very plenty, I pray your particular care in this article."

On the 6th of March, he writes Gulian Verplanck, of New York--"Send me the
pipe of wine, having none good to drink." Again, March 20--"By the first
good opportunity the best pipe of wine you can purchase." On the 25th of
April, he acknowledges the receipt of the wine from Verplanck--"The wine I
hope will prove good--comes in very good time, there being none good in
town."

On the 22d of May, he writes the Bakers, for a bountiful supply of glass
and China, and for "enough of the best scarlet cloth to trim a cloak:"
and, in September of that year, for silver spoons and "silver forks with
three prongs, with my arms cut upon them: let them be made very neat and
handsome." Shortly after, he writes for several pairs of silver
candlesticks, "with my arms engraved thereon," and sends out a piece of
wax candle, as a pattern of the size.

On the 1st of January, 1738, he writes Lane & Smethurst, to send him a
pair of spectacles, "for a person of 50 years, as also, for the use of my
kitchen, the latest, best book of the several sorts of cookery, which pray
let be of the largest character, for the benefit of the maid's reading."
As Peter then was not quite thirty-eight years of age, the spectacles were
probably for "the maid," to enable her to master "the _best book_ of the
several sorts of cookery."

Dec. 20, 1738, he writes for "four stone horses." On the 18th of September
of that year, he writes Thomas Kilby--"Pray don't forget the larding pins,
wine, and sweetmeats, which I have wrote you about before." He frequently
writes to his friend Verplanck, for "Albany horses."

In a brief sketch of Brighton, published in 1850, it is stated that
Peter's "_large and heavy silver punch bowl_" is in the possession of
George Bethune, Esquire, of this city. This is an error. Peter's punch
bowl came into the possession of James Lovell, who married a
grand-daughter of Benjamin Faneuil, a sister of Mr. Bethune; and it is now
in the possession of Mr. Lovell's descendants.

Oh, if that "_large and heavy silver punch bowl_" could speak out, in good
French or English, what glorious tales it would tell of Peter, in all his
glory, enjoying, as Master Lovell says, "_that divine satisfaction, which
results from communicating happiness to others_"--around that preëminently
hospitable board, where, in the language of the writer of the obituary, in
the News Letter of March 10, 1743--

  "Divites ac parvi gustârunt dulcia mensæ."

Peter's punch bowl was not at all like Oliver's "_broken teacups, wisely
kept for show_." June 22, 1741, some twenty months before his death, he
writes Lane & Smethurst, to send him "_six gross of the very best London
King Henry's Cards, and six half chests of lemons, for my house winter
supply_."

Let not the reader surmise, for all this, that Peter had denied his Lord,
or was exclusively absorbed in his care for creature comforts. March 5,
1738, he writes the Bakers, to send him "four handsome, large, octavo,
Common Prayer Books, of a good letter and well bound, with one of the
same, in French, for my own use."

March 13, 1738, he writes John Depuister, to send him "six of the largest
bearskins, and two large, fine, well painted beaver coats, to use in a
slay."

It is, in no sense, discreditable to Peter Faneuil, that his
correspondence shows him to have been exceedingly partial to sweetmeats
and citron water. Nor does it lower him, in my humble esteem, that his
letters clearly indicate his temperament to have been somewhat irritable
and fiery. I have found such to be the case, almost ever, when generosity,
frankheartedness, and a noble spirit are blended together, as closely as
they were, in the character of Peter Faneuil. The converse of this
position, to be sure, it is not easy to maintain.

It is quite amusing, to contemplate, now and then, in men, whose brains
are brim full of magnificent purposes, and whose habitual dealings are
with tens and hundreds of thousands--a remarkable concentration of thought
and care, upon some one insignificant item of property, which is in
jeopardy of falling into naught. It is, doubtless, the spirit of the
woman, who lighted her candle and swept the house, and called her
neighbors together, to rejoice with her, over the recovery of that one
piece of silver.

A brief episode will exhibit this trait, in Peter's character, and show,
at the same time, that his spirit was perfectly placable. Some time before
his death, Uncle Andrew, being aware, that pulmonic affections were
benefited, by the air of the tropics, consigned a broken-winded horse to
Mr. Joseph Ward, of Barbadoes, for sale. No account having been rendered,
the fate of the old horse appears to have become a subject of exciting
interest, with the residuary legatee. Before he writes to Ward, he
addresses three letters of inquiry, in other directions. He then opens
upon Mr. Joseph Ward, Jan. 12, 1738. I give the entire letter, as
illustrative of Peter's character--"I have been very much surprised, that,
ever since the death of Captain Allen, you have not advised me of the sale
of a horse, belonging to my deceased uncle, left in your hands by him,
which I am informed you sold for a very good price, and I am now to
request the favor you would send me the net proceeds, with a fair and just
account for the same, in sweetmeats and citron water; your compliance with
which will stop me from giving some of my friends the trouble of calling
you to an account there. I shall be glad to know, if Captain Allen did not
leave a silver watch and some fish, belonging to a servant of mine, with
some person of your island, and with who. I expect your speedy answer."

Mr. Ward appears to have responded, more calmly, than tropical gentlemen
commonly do, when accosted in this piquant style. He sent his account, and
Peter was manifestly mollified, by a box of sweetmeats. Mr. Ward,
however, complained of Peter's want of grace. March 24, 1738, Peter wrote
to Mr. Ward--"Yours of 7 February, with the account sales of a horse, left
by Captain Allen, accompanying a box sweetmeats I received, in which I
observe you refer to my former, which you are pleased to look upon as in
too unhandsome a stile. I must own it was not in so soft terms, as I
sometimes make use of; but, at that time, I really thought the state of
the case required it, not having heard anything to be depended upon,
concerning the horse in dispute, either if he was dead, sold, or run away;
upon either of which, I presumed the common complaisance, if not honor,
among merchants, might have entitled either my uncle, in his lifetime, or
myself, after his decease, to some advice at least. I had indeed
transiently heard here you had kept him, for your own use, but had
undervalued him, which, in some measure prest my writing you on that head,
&c. I thank you for your speedy answer, and am, with return of your own
compliment, as much as you are mine," &c.

March 6, 1737.--Peter informs M. Isaac Beauchamp, that, he, Peter, has
been empowered, by his Excellency, M. Brouillan, Governor of Cape Breton,
to call him to account and says--"I am now to let you know, that out of
honor and of the regards I have ever had to that gentleman, I am obliged
to see some honorable issue made to that affair, for which reason I shall
be glad you will advise me, after what manner you propose to satisfye the
gentleman or me, without forcing violente means." This affair was
occasioned, by a dispute, about tobacco, and ended in smoke.

One brief illustration more. April 6, 1738, he complains to Captain
Greenou of certain ill usage and says--"You may see what handsome parcell
of protested bills I must pay. If this be the honor of you Ragon men, God
deliver me from them, for the future. I would not take their word for a
groat &c. These pretended gentlemen think I will tamely sit down by their
unhandsome usage, but they will find themselves very much mistaken," &c.

Many years ago, while standing by the artist, as he was working up, from
the old portrait, belonging to the Historical Society, the lineaments of
Peter, as he is represented, in Faneuil Hall, we agreed, that his
temperament must have been choleric. He had that conformation of body,
which hints of apoplexy. John, his uncle, the Rocheller, died of that
disease; and Peter, as Master Lovell inform us, died _suddenly_. He
belonged not to any total abstinence society. And though there is no
evidence, nor the slightest suspicion, that he fell below that standard of
gentlemanly temperance, which was in vogue, among those, who were given to
hospitality, in our peninsula, one hundred years ago--yet I have not any
reasonable doubt, that Peter would have lived longer, had it been the
pleasure of his uncle Andrew to have disinherited _him_, instead of _his
brother Benjamin_.



No. CXXIX.


Peter Faneuil was an affectionate brother. I have it from the lips of
Benjamin's lineal descendants, who have preserved the tradition, that,
after he had sacrificed his hopes of the inheritance, not for a mess of
pottage, but for a lovely wife; and Peter had been called from New
Rochelle, to supply his place, as the heir apparent; uncle Andrew,
probably, without exacting an absolute promise, enjoined it upon Peter, to
abstain from assisting Benjamin; to which injunction Peter paid no
practical regard whatever; but, like a Christian brother, remembered, that
old Benjamin Faneuil and Anne Bureau had been the father and the mother of
them both. The commercial correspondence shows, that Peter gave Benjamin
his confidence and affection. The relation between them plainly
demonstrates, that there was no deficiency of kind and generous offices.

The ease and intimacy of their friendship will be perceived, by the
following note, which I copy literally from the original, in my
possession. There was a difference of eighteen months only, in their ages.
In this note, which was written, after Benjamin's return from Europe,
Peter addresses him, by a cant name. "Boston the 18 August, 1741. Dear
Cockey: The Occasion of my not Sending my Chase for you was on Account of
Mr. Shirley's receiving of his Majties Commission Last Thursday appointing
him Govr of this Province wh. was read the Next day, upon which Occasion
he ask't me to Loane of my Charrot wh. I granted him till Last Night, so
that I presume will plede my xcuse. I now Send you up the Chase, to bring
you home, and have deliver'd ye Coachman Some Boild Beef, a dozen of
brown biskett 6 bottles of Madera and 2 of Frontinan with a dozen of
Lemmons. Your relations and friends are all well, and desire their Love
and service may be made acceptable to you. Pray my Compliments to the
Gentn and Ladys with you--and give me Leave to assure you that I am, Dear
Cockey, Your Affectionate Brother, Peter Faneuil."

The superscription of this note is torn off, but to Benjamin alone can it
apply. Mr. Jones was not married, till after Peter's death. His relation
to Phillips was rather formal; and still more so with Boutineau; and he
never would have thought of calling his brother Addington Davenport, the
Rector of Trinity, his _dear cockey_. His letters also record the
evidences of his kindness to his sisters, and his attention to their most
trifling wishes. Nov. 24, 1736, he writes Lynch and Blake--"My youngest
sister desires, that you wont forget to send her the Canary birds, which
you promised her, when you was here." May 16, 1736, he writes Lane and
Smethurst of London--"My sisters have received their things, in good order
and to their liking, except the stockings: for the Hosier put up white
worsted, instead of thread, although the patern was sent. I have sent them
back to you to be changed, in the ship Union, John Homans, master. Be
pleased to send them, by the first opportunity: viz, for Mrs. Anne
Faneuil, 3 pairs thread hose, with worsted clogs, and a pair of
Galoushoes. Mrs. Susannah Faneuil, 2 pairs thread ditto. Mrs. Mary Anne
Faneuil, 4 pairs thread stockings, and 3 pairs clogs." It is of small
moment, at this late day, whether these ladies wore thread or worsted
stockings, one hundred and fourteen years ago; but this ancient example of
brotherly regard may not be altogether lost, upon the race of brothers,
that has sprung up, during the present century. It is remarkable, that
Peter, though he applies the title, _Mrs._ to each of his sisters, gives
them the maiden name. The two, first named, were then the wives of
Addington Davenport and James Boutineau; the last, Mary Ann, afterwards
the wife of John Jones, was then single.

At that early day, the moral sense of the people of the North appears to
have been thoroughly asleep, on the subject of slavery. The reverend
clergy were no exception from the general rule. After the decease of
Parson Moorhead, in 1774, a slave was sold, among his effects, "at his
late residence, near _Liberty Tree_." Jonny Moorhead was a cotemporary of
Peter Faneuil, having assumed the charge of the Presbyterian Church, as it
then was, in 1730. The reader will not be startled, therefore, when he
comes to be informed, as, in good time he will be, at how many pounds, old
tenor, each of Peter Faneuil's five slaves were appraised, after his
decease. Slavery was not uncommon then, in the Province of Massachusetts
Bay. Douglass, in his Summary, vol. i. page 351, states, that in 1735,
about seven years before Peter's death, the whole number of whites, of 16
years and upwards, in the Province, was 35,427; and of negroes, 2600.

Feb. 3, 1738. Peter Faneuil writes thus, to Peter Buckley--"Herewith you
have invoice of six hogsheads fish and eight barrells of alewives,
amounting to £75.9.2, which, when you arrive at Antigua, be pleased to
sell, for my best advantage, and, with the nett produce of the same,
purchase, for me, for the use of my house, as likely a strait negro lad as
possibly you can, about the age of from 12 to 15 years; and, if to be
done, one that has had the small-pox, who being for my own service, I must
request the favor, you would let him be one of as tractable a disposition
as you can find, which I leave to your prudent care and management,
desiring, after you have purchased him, you would send him to me, by the
first good opportunity, recommending him to a particular care, from the
captain." I have no doubt, that Peter was a kind, considerate master; and,
though I have an unconquerable aversion to being the slave of anybody, I
had rather have been Peter's _born thrall_ than his _uncle Andrew_. What a
glorious kitchen Peter's must have been!

My female readers will scarcely find it in their eyelids to be weary, or
in their hearts to blame me, for giving them one or two passages more,
from Peter Faneuil's letters; when they are told, that those passages
relate to a love affair, in which Peter, though not a principal, performed
an important part.

The Faneuils and the Jekylls were intimate--so much so, at least, as to
bring the Jekylls within the circle of those, who, upon Uncle Andrew's
death, were accounted the legitimate recipients of mourning rings. In a
letter to Mr. Joseph Jekyll, of Jan. 22, 1738, Peter alludes to Miss
Jekyll's extraordinary conduct; and, most happily and truthfully, remarks,
that "_there is no accounting for the sex, in affairs of love_." On the
same day, he writes Mr. Richard Blacket Jekyll--"Doubtless, you'll be
surprised to find, that, by this opportunity, only your sister, Mrs.
Hannah, of the family, who I hope will arrive safe to you, has the
pleasure of seeing you, and her other brothers, in England. I am sorry
Mrs. Mary does not consult her own interest, so much, as I could wish,
whose conduct I should say nothing of, were it not out of regard to the
family in general. It is now only one month past, since she suffered
herself to be published to one Mr. Linnington, of St. Christophers,
formerly known here, by the name of My Lord Linnington, or My Lord, whose
character, if you remember the man, I need not trouble you with a
description of it; but, if you do not, I can only say, that he is a
worthless pretender to a great deal of money and wit, without, according
to the best account I can learn, any of either: with whom she would,
inevitably have been married, had not some other friends joined forces
with me, and interposed."

"Inclosed I send you my letter to her, on that head, and her answer, for
your more private satisfaction. That affair being tolerably well over, and
Captain Homan's state-room hired for the two young ladies, and their maid,
I had supplied them, according to your desire, with what money they might
have occasion for, to fit them out for the voyage, and paid the captain,
for their laying in, and tomorrow being the appointed time to go aboard, I
was, in the morning, advised Mrs. Mary had changed her mind, on account of
some new proposals of matrimony, made her, by Col. Saltonstall of
Haverhill, which sudden alteration I find to be, on examination, from a
visit or two, within these two or three days last past, at farthest, but,
however, concluded upon and determined, so that she does not come to you,"
&c., &c.

Peter proceeds to comment, with great discretion, upon the absence of any
reasonable interval, for the heart of Miss Mary Jekyll to recover its due
tone and tension, after its first expansion towards _My Lord Linnington_,
and before the second spasm. But, truly, in the language of the anatomist,
the heart is a "wonderful muscle."

I had surmised a relation of consanguinity between Peter Faneuil and the
late Peter Chardon Brooks, from the fact, that, on the 29th of March,
1737, Peter Faneuil writes to the executors of Isaac Chardon, in South
Carolina, whom he calls his cousin; and, in that letter, speaks of his
cousin, _Peter Chardon_. But, from the best authority, I have learned,
that the name of Peter Chardon was bestowed, by the Rev. Edward Brooks,
formerly of North Yarmouth, and more recently of Medford, upon his son,
_causa amicitiæ_; the Rev. Mr. Brooks and Peter Chardon, having been
classmates, of the year 1757. It was, probably, the father of this Peter
Chardon, whom Peter Faneuil calls his cousin, in 1737, and the same Peter
Chardon, who is named, on the record, as one of the appraisers of Peter
Faneuil's estate, in 1742-3. The name is rare; it occurs once only, on the
Cambridge Catalogue; and, from its rarity, it may not be unreasonable, to
look for the _stirps_, on the pages of Charlevoix, iii. 392, who speaks of
_Peter Chardon_, the Jesuit, a missionary, among the Indians, bordering
upon Lake Michigan, at the very close of the seventeenth century. _Our_
Peter Chardon, the cousin of Faneuil, resided in Bowdoin Square, near the
street, that bears his name.

After the death of his uncle Andrew, Peter Faneuil, by the power of
wealth, in addition to his other qualities, intelligence, industry, and
courtesy, necessarily became an influential character; and the use, which
he immediately began to make of his wealth, his public spirit, his private
benevolence, all conspired to make him an object of very general interest.
His hospitalities were unbounded. He associated himself with the Episcopal
Church. He subscribed £2000 old tenor, £200 sterling for the rebuilding of
King's Chapel, in 1740, and was chosen treasurer of the building fund. His
death, in 1742-3, put a stop to the project. No money had ever been
collected, for that object. In 1747, the project was revived. New
subscriptions were solicited, and the old ones demanded, "_at the end of
this year 1748_." Peter Faneuil died March 3, 1742-3, and had therefore
been dead, between five and six years. "For the subscription of Peter
Faneuil," says Mr. Greenwood, in his history of the Chapel, "they were
unfortunately obliged to sue his brother, and executor, Benjamin Faneuil,
from whom, after a disagreeable lawsuit, they at last recovered it." Mr.
Greenwood erred, in the supposition, that Peter left a will. He died
intestate, and administration was granted to Benjamin, March 18, 1742, old
style. The estate, of course, had been settled, doubtless, some years
before the demand on the administrator, "_at the end of 1748_." Having
other heirs to consult, he very properly resisted this tardy and
unexpected claim; and cast the responsibility upon the court.

For several years, Peter Faneuil worshipped in Trinity Church, of which
his brother-in-law, Addington Davenport, became rector, in 1740. Peter's
pew, in Old Trinity, was No. 40. He was an active and liberal member of
the Episcopal Charitable Society. "Mr. Faneuil," says the late Dr. Boyle,
"was one of the earliest members of the society. He was a liberal
subscriber to its funds, and acted, as a trustee of the institution."

Peter Faneuil's heart was proverbially warm, and sensitive to the
necessities and distresses of his _neighbor_; and he seems to have
cherished the true scriptural construction of that _ubiquitary_ word. The
accession of wealth, upon his uncle's death, hardened not his heart, but
gave it a deeper, fuller, and stronger pulse, upon every call of charity.
To him, as to other men, who admit their motives to be human, upon common
occasions, the applause of the _wise_ and _good_ was exceedingly
agreeable. Whatever the prominency of higher and holier considerations, he
turned a willing and a grateful ear to the approbation of the judicious
and upright. Not contented with the opportunities of doing good, on a
small scale, which were, doubtless, frequently presented, before a man,
whose wealth and warmheartedness were equally notorious; he coveted some
fair occasion, for pouring forth of his abundance, in a more magnificent
manner--pleased--naturally and justifiably pleased--with the thought, that
his name and his memory would be associated with the deed, in after times.



No. CXXX.


One may, as successfully, search for that identical peck of pickled
peppers, that Peter Piper picked, as for the original Hall, that Peter
Faneuil built. Like Rachel's first born, _it is not_. After all the
reparations, and changes, and hard hammerings she has undergone, we may as
well search, within the walls of Old Ironsides, for those very ribs of
live oak, which, some fifty years ago, were launched, in the body of the
frigate Constitution.

In the olden time, the market men, like the mourners, went "about the
streets." The inhabitants were served, at their doors. As early as 1634,
Gov. Winthrop, in his journal, speaks of a market, which was kept in
Boston, "on Thursday, the fifth day of the week." This weekly market on
the fifth day is mentioned, by Douglass, as of 1639, vol. i. p. 434. This,
I think, refers only to a gathering of sellers and buyers, at one spot,
and not to any "visible temple," for storage and shelter. Citizens
differed, as to the best method of getting their _provant_; some preferred
the old mode, as it was supposed to save time; others were in favor of
having a common point, with a covered building. Parties were formed; the
citizens waxed wroth; and quarrelled about their meat, like angry dogs.
Those, who were in favor of market-houses, prevailed. Three were erected;
one, at the Old North Square--one, where Faneuil Hall now stands--and one,
near Liberty Tree. People were no longer supplied, at their houses.

It seems very strange, that this sensible arrangement should have led to
violent outrage. The malcontents assembled together, in the night,
"disguised like clergymen"--the devil, sometimes assumes this
exterior--and "totally demolished the centre market-house." This occurred,
about the year 1736-7, or about the time of Andrew Faneuil's death. Such
is the account of good old Thomas Pemberton. M. H. C. iii. 255.

The popular sentiment prevented the reconstruction of the centre
market-house, till, in 1740, July 14, a town meeting was held to consider
a petition, for this object, from Thomas Palmer and 340 others. At this
meeting, it was stated, that Peter Faneuil had offered, at his own cost,
to build a market-house, on the town's land, in Dock Square, for the use
of the town, if the citizens, would legally empower him so to do; place
the same under proper regulations; and maintain it, for that use.

An impression has, somewhat extensively, prevailed, that Mr. Faneuil's
proposal was not courteously received, by his fellow-citizens, and that a
majority of seven only were in favor of it.

On the contrary, Mr. Faneuil's proposal was received, with the most ample
demonstrations of grateful respect. There were two questions before the
meeting--first: shall a vote of thanks be passed to Peter Faneuil, for his
liberal offer? Secondly: shall we give up the itinerant system, and have a
market-house, on _any_ conditions? Upon the first question, there was but
_one_ mind--on the second, there were _two_. A vote of thanks to Mr.
Faneuil was instantly passed, without a dissentient. But the second
question was the vexed question, revived, and excited the passions of the
people. Of 727 persons present, 367 only voted in favor of granting the
petition of Palmer and others, giving a majority of seven only.

Accordingly, the work was commenced; and it was completed, Sept. 10, 1742,
"on which day," says Dr. Snow, "Mr. Samuel Ruggles, who was employed, in
building the market house, waited on the selectmen, by order of P.
Faneuil, Esq., and delivered them the key of said house."

Peter was a magnificent fellow. An antiquarian friend, to whom the fancy
has lineally descended, through a line of highly respectable, antiquarian
ancestors, informs me, that his father handed down to him a tradition,
which is certainly plausible. It runs thus: while the market-house was in
progress--probably on paper--it was suggested to Peter, that, with very
little additional expense, a splendid town hall might be constructed over
it. Peter's heart was quite as _roomy_ as the market-house, and town hall
together, and he cheerfully embraced the suggestion. The tradition goes a
little farther--when the cost was summed up, Peter scolded--a little. Very
likely. Mr. Peter Faneuil was not an exception, I presume, to the common
rule.

The keys, as I have stated, were presented to the town, Sept. 10, 1742,
with all that courtesy, doubtless, for which he was remarkable. Peter's
relatives and connections are somewhat numerous. The descendants of
Benjamin his brother are scattered over the country. It will be equally
grateful to them, and honorable to our forefathers, to exhibit a portion
of the record.

Sept. 13, 1742, at a meeting, in the new hall, a vote of thanks was moved,
by the Hon. John Jeffries, uncle of the late Dr. John Jeffries. In this
vote, it is stated, that, whereas Peter Faneuil has, "at a very great
expense, erected a noble structure, far exceeding his first proposal,
inasmuch, as it contains, not only a large and sufficient accommodation
for a market place, but a spacious and most beautiful town hall over it,
and several other convenient rooms, which may prove very beneficial to the
town, for offices or otherwise. And the said building being now finished,
he has delivered possession thereof to the selectmen for the use of the
town; it is therefore voted, that the town do, with the utmost gratitude,
receive and accept this most generous and noble benefaction, for the use
and intentions it is designed for; and do appoint the Hon. Thomas Cushing
Esquire, the moderator of this meeting, the Hon. Adam Winthrop, Edward
Hutchinson, Ezekiel Lewis, and Samuel Waldo, Esquires, Thomas Hutchinson,
Esq. the selectmen and representatives of the town of Boston, the Hon.
Jacob Wendell, James Bowdoin, Esq., Andrew Oliver, Esq., Captain Nathaniel
Cunningham, Peter Chardon, Esq., and Mr. Charles Apthorp, to wait upon
Peter Faneuil, Esq., and in the name of the town, to render him their most
hearty thanks, for so bountiful a gift, with their prayers, that this and
other expressions of his bounty and charity may be abundantly recompensed
with the divine blessing."

In addition to this vote, the citizens passed another, that the hall
should be called Faneuil Hall, forever; and that the portrait of Faneuil
should be painted, at full length, and placed therein. On the 14th of
March, 1744, a vote was passed "to purchase the Faneuil arms, carved and
gilt, by Moses Deshon, to be fixed in the hall."

Pemberton says--"Previous to the Revolution, the portraits of Mr. Faneuil,
General Conway, and Colonel Barré were procured by the town, and hung up
in the hall. It is supposed they were carried off by the British." The
portrait of Faneuil at present, in the hall, was painted by Henry Sargent,
from the portrait, presented to the Massachusetts Historical Society, by
Miss Jones, a grandchild of Peter's sister, Mary Ann.

The original building was but half the width of the present, and but two
stories high. The hall could contain but 1000 persons. In the memorable
fire of Tuesday, Jan. 13, 1761, Faneuil Hall was destroyed, and nothing
left standing but the walls. On the 23d of the following March, the town
voted to rebuild, and the State authorized a lottery, to meet the expense.
There were several classes. A ticket, of the seventh class, lies before
me, bearing date March, 1767, with the spacious autograph of John Hancock,
at the bottom.

The building retained its primitive proportions, till 1806, when, the
occasions of the public requiring its enlargement, its width was
increased, from 40 to 80 feet, and a third story added. A very simple rule
may be furnished, for those, who would compare the size of the present
building, with that of the genuine Peter Faneuil Hall. Take a northeast
view of the Hall--there are seven windows before you, in each story--run a
perpendicular line, from the ground, through the centre of the middle
window to the top of the belt, at the bottom of the third story--carry a
straight line from that point nearly to the top of the second window, on
the right, in the third story. That point is the apex of the old pediment.
From that point, draw the corresponding roof line down to the belt, at the
corner; and you have a profile of the ancient structure; all which is well
exhibited by Dr. Snow, on the plan, in his History of Boston.

Small as the original structure may appear, when compared with the
present, it was a magnificent donation, for the times. It may well be
considered a munificent gift, from a single individual, in 1742, when we
consider, that its repairs, in 1761, were accomplished, by the aid of the
Commonwealth, and the creation of a lottery, which continued to curse the
community, for several years.

Peter Faneuil was then in all his glory. How readily, by the power of
Imagination, I raise him from the dead, bolt upright; with his over portly
form, and features full of _bon homie_; speaking volumes, about those five
pipes of amber-colored Madeira, such as his friend Delancey had; and that
best book of all sorts of cookery, of a large character, for the maid's
reading! There he is, at the door of his English chariot, "handsome, but
nothing gaudy," with his arms thereon, and his English coachman, and his
English horses, and that "strait negro lad" perched behind. I see him now,
helping in Miss Mary Anne, his youngest maiden sister; and, as he ascends
the steps, wrapping his cloak around him, trimmed with that identical
"_scarlet cloth of the very best quality_."

The vanity of man's anticipations, the occasional suddenness of his
summons away--seldom find a more graphic illustration, than in the case of
this noble hearted, and most hospitable gentleman. When he received the
grateful salutations of the magnates of the town, who came to thank him,
for his munificence, what could have been so little in his thoughts, or in
theirs, as the idea, that he was so soon to die!

In about five years--five, short, luxurious years--after the death of
Andrew Faneuil, Peter, his favorite nephew, was committed to the ground,
March 10, 1742, old style. The event, from its suddenness, and from the
amiable and benevolent character of the individual, produced a deep
sensation, in the _village_, for Boston was nothing but a seashore village
then. In 1728, some fourteen years before, we learn from Douglass, i. 531,
that there were but 3000 rateable polls, on the peninsula. This event was
unexpected, by the living, and had been equally unexpected, by the dead.
Death came to Peter, like a thief in the stilly night. He had not looked
for this unwelcome visitor. He had made no will. By this event, Benjamin
came into possession; and old Andrew is supposed to have turned over,
indignantly, in his coffin.



No. CXXXI.


To such of my readers, as the Lord has abundantly blessed, in their basket
and their store, and who have loaned him very little, on his simple
promise, to be repaid, in Paradise; and who are, peradventure, at this
very moment, excogitating revengeful wills; the issue of uncle Andrew's
vindictive, posthumous arrangements may prove a profitable lesson, for
their learning. Verily, God's ways are not as our ways, nor God's will as
Uncle Andrew's.

It may be remembered, that, in the devise of his warehouse, in trust, for
the benefit of the French Church, Andrew Faneuil provided, that, in the
event of the extinction of that church, the estate should revert to his
_right heirs--excluding Benjamin Faneuil, of Boston, and the heirs of his
body forever_, whom he cuts off, as the popular phrase runs, with "_five
shillings, and no more_." In passing along, it may not be amiss to notice
this popular error. The law has, at no time, required the bequest of a
farthing, to one, near of kin, whom the testator intends to cut off. It is
enough, if it be manifest, that the testator has _not forgotten him_; and,
to leave no possible doubt upon the subject, a churlish curmudgeon, as in
the present case, will transmit, in this offensive manner, the record of
his vindictiveness and folly, to future generations.

When Andrew Faneuil makes Peter his residuary legatee, there is no
provision, for the exclusion of Benjamin, in the event of Peter's death,
without heirs of his body. Prepared, as this amiable, old gentleman was,
to believe, in the possible extinction of the French Church, he seems to
have looked upon Peter, an inveterate old bachelor, as immortal. Yet, in
regard to Peter, the issue hung, by a single hair. There was no child,
with the cup in his hand, to catch the ball, and prevent it from lapsing
directly into Benjamin's sack, who, with his sisters, stood close at hand,
the next of kin to Peter, and heirs at law.

Well: as I have said, God's will was not as Uncle Andrew's. After a few
flying years, during which Peter executed the intentions of the testator,
with remarkable fidelity; and lived, as magnificently, as a nobleman, and
as hospitably, as a bishop, and, as charitably, as an apostle--suddenly,
the silver cord was loosed, and the golden bowl was broken, and Peter
dropped into the grave. The title of Benjamin and his sisters to all
Peter's estate, and to all Andrew's estate, that remained, as the heirs at
law of Peter, passed into them, through the atmosphere, at once; and
Andrew's will, by the act of God, was set aside, in the _upper_ Court.

Administration was granted to Benjamin, March 18, 1742, O. S., who
returned an inventory, April 21, 1744. The appraisers of the estate were
William Price, Joseph Dowse, and Peter Chardon; and the sum total of their
valuation was £44,451.15.7. This, certainly, will incline the reader to
Master Lovell's idea, of "_a large and plentiful estate_," until I add
those words of withering import--_Old Tenor_. Sterling decimates old tenor
with a vengeance--_ten_ pounds, old tenor, were but _one_ pound, sterling.
The valuation, therefore, amounted to about £4,445 sterling, or, in
dollars, at five to the pound, to $22,225. It may seem rather surprising,
that the balance, which fell to Peter, from his uncle, under the will, and
his own accumulations, should amount to no more. But a few reflections may
tend to moderate our surprise.

The estate of his uncle had been seriously diminished, by the payment of
legacies, £2,000 stg. to each of his three nieces, $30,000--more than
$8,000 to his niece, Marie Phillips; and about $2,000, in smaller
legacies, raising the amount of legacies to $40,000. He had also given his
warehouse, in King Street, to the French Church. These legacies Peter had
paid. He had also built and presented the Market-house and the Hall to the
town. But there is another important consideration. Funds still remained,
in other countries, part and parcel of Andrew's property. This is evident,
from an original document before me, the marriage settlement of Peter's
sister, Mary Anne with John Jones, bearing date March 15, 1742, the very
month of Peter's death. This document recites, that one part of her
estate, as one of the heirs of Peter Faneuil, "_is in Public Funds, such
as the Bank of England_." As this does not figure in Benjamin's inventory
here, it is impossible to say what was the amount of foreign funds, which
Peter owned, at the time of his death. For some five years, while he had
been living, in a style of unbounded hospitality, he had also enjoyed the
luxury of doing good, and paid, most liberally, for that enjoyment. From
his commercial correspondence, I infer, that his enterprise suffered no
material abatement, after his uncle's decease.

I cannot doubt, that his free expenditure of money, for his personal
enjoyment, the gratification of his pride, and the pleasure of ministering
to the wants of the poor and needy, had lessened, and was lessening, from
month to month, the amount of his estate. There is yet another
consideration, which belongs to this account, the great disparity, between
the value of money, then, and at the present day.

The items, or particular heads, of the inventory, are one hundred and
fifty-eight; and cover near four folio pages of the record. Some of them
may not be wholly uninteresting to the reader. The mansion-house, the
same, as I have stated, in which Lieutenant Governor Billy Phillips lived
and died, and Isaiah Doane before him, the extensive garden, outhouses and
yard were appraised, one hundred and eight years ago, at £12,375, or
£1,237 stg., about $6,185, at five dollars to the pound. Fourteen hundred
ounces of plate, at £2,122 10. This plate was divided into five parts, for
the brother, and four sisters of the deceased. A memorandum lies upon my
table, labelled, in the original hand of Gillam Phillips--"An account of
my proportion of plate, belonging to the estate of Peter Faneuil, Esq.,
deceased." This document contains a list of "_Gillam Phillips' Lot_," and
side by side--"_a coffee pot_--_a large, handsome chamber pot_." They made
a free use of the precious metals, in those days.

A parcel of jewels are appraised, at £1,490--1 white horse, £15--2 Albany
horses, £100--2 English horses, £250--2 other English horses, £300--4 old
and 4 new harnesses, £120--2 pairs runners, £15--1 four-wheel chaise,
£150--1 two-wheel chaise, £50--a coach, £100--1 chariot, £400--5 negroes,
£150--130--120--120--100. Then follows a variety of articles--fowling
pieces--fishing tackle--silver-hilted sword--pistols--china, glass,
hangings, carpets, and culinary articles, in profusion--lignum vitæ coffee
cups, lined with silver--silver snuff-boxes--gold sleeve-buttons and
rings--195 dozen of wine--arrack--beer--Cheshire and Gloucester cheeses.
Indeed, Peter's establishment appears to have been a variorum edition of
all manner of elegancies, luxuries, and creature comforts. The inventory
comprehends eight tenements, in Cornhill, and King Street; a number of
vessels, and parts of vessels; and various other items of property.

The remains of this noble-spirited descendant of the Huguenots of Rochelle
were deposited, in the Faneuil tomb, in the westerly corner of the Granary
Ground. This tomb is of dark freestone, with a freestone slab. Upon the
easterly end of the tomb, there is a tablet of slate, upon which are
sculptured, with manifest care and skill, the family arms; while, upon the
freestone slab, are inscribed, at the top, M. M.--_memento mori_, of
course,--and, at the bottom of the slab--a cruel apology for the old
Huguenot patronymic--"PETER FUNEL. 1742," and nothing more.

The explanation, which arises, in my mind, of this striking inconsistency,
is this: I believe this tomb, whose aspect is simple, solid, and antique,
to have been built by Andrew Faneuil, who was a wealthy merchant here as
early as 1709: and I think it is quite certain, that the lady, whom he
married, in Holland, and whose beauty is traditional, among her
descendants, made the great exchange--beauty for ashes--in this very
sepulchre. In this tomb, Andrew was buried, by Peter, Feb. 20, 1737, and
Peter, by his brother, Benjamin, March 10, 1742, old style, and here
Benjamin himself, was laid, after an interval of two-and-forty years,
where there is neither work, nor device, nor will, nor codicil.

The arms of Peter Faneuil--I have them before me, at this moment, on his
massive, silver pepper-pot--he found a place for them, on many of his
possessions, though I cannot say, if on all the articles which came into
the possession of Gillam Phillips,--were a field argent--no chevron--a
large heart, truly a suitable emblem, in the centre, gules--seven stars
equidistant from each other, and from the margin of the escutcheon,
extending from the sinister chief to the dexter base--in the sinister base
a cross molin, within an annulet--no scroll--no supporters; crest, a
martlet.

The arms upon the tomb, though generally like these, and like the arms, on
other articles, once Peter's, and still extant, differ in some important
particulars; and seem to have been quartered with those of another family,
as the arms of Andrew, being a collateral, might have been. A helmet,
beneath the martlet, especially, is wholly different from Peter's crest.
Such precisely are the arms, on the seal of wax, upon Andrew's will, in
the Registry. Hence I infer, that Uncle Andrew built this ancient
sepulchre. Arms, in days of old, and still, where a titled nobility
exists, are deemed, for the popular eye, sufficient evidence of ownership,
without a name. So thought Uncle Andrew; and he left the freestone tablet,
without any inscription.

Some five years after the testator's burial, the tomb was again opened, to
let in the residuary legatee. Peter's was a grand funeral. The Evening
Post, of March 3, 1742-3, foretold, that it would be such; but the papers,
which, doubtless, gave an account of it, are lost--the files are
imperfect, of all those primitive journals. At first, and for years, the
resting place of Peter's remains was well enough known. But the rust of
time began to gather upon men's memories. The Faneuil arms, ere long,
became unintelligible, to such, as strolled among the tombs. That
"_handsome chariot, but nothing gaudy_," with Peter's armorial bearings
upon its panels, no longer rolled along Treamount, and Queen Streets, and
Cornhill, and drew up, of a Sabbath morning, before Trinity Church, that
brother Peter and the ladies might sit upon their cushions, in No. 40,
while brother Addington Davenport gave them a sermon, upon the Apostolical
succession. The good people had therefore forgotten all about the Faneuil
arms; and, before a great many years had rolled away, the inquiry
naturally arose, in popular phraseology--"_Whereabouts was it, that Peter
Faneuil was buried?_"

Some worthy old citizen--God bless him--who knew rather more of this
matter than his neighbors, and was well aware, that the arms would be but
a dead letter to posterity, resolved to serve the public, and remedy the
defect. Up he goes into the Granary Ground, in the very spirit of Old
Mortality, and, with all his orthography in his ear, inscribes P. FUNEL
upon the tablet!



No. CXXXII.


"_But Simon's wife's mother lay sick of a fever._" Mark i. 30. From this
text, a clergyman--_of the old school_--had preached just as many,
consecutive sermons, as I have already published articles, concerning
Peter Faneuil and his family. A day or two after the last discourse, the
bell of the village church was tolled, for a funeral; and a long-suffering
parishioner, being asked, whose funeral it was, replied, that he had no
doubt it was Simon's wife's mother's; for she had been sick of a fever,
for nine weeks, to his certain knowledge. Let the reader possess himself
in patience--our dealings with the Faneuils cannot last forever.

We have stated, that Peter's death was sudden, the very death, from which,
as a churchman, he had prayed to be delivered. But let us not forget, that
no death is sudden, in the sense of the good man's prayers, however
instantaneously the golden bowl may be broken, to him, whose life has been
well spent, and who is prepared to die.

In this connection, two interesting questions arise--how Peter Faneuil
came to be a churchman--and if his life was a well-spent life, affording
him reasonable assurance of admission into Paradise.

The old Huguenots styled themselves "THE REFORMERS," and embraced the
doctrines of Calvin, in full. Oppression commonly teaches even intolerant
men the value of toleration. Our Puritan fathers, it is true, who fled
from Episcopal, as the Huguenots from Roman Catholic tyranny, profited
very little, by the lesson they had learned; and turned upon the Catholics
and Quakers, in the spirit of preposterous cruelty. The government of
Massachusetts, according to Hazard, received a profitable lesson of
moderation, from that of Rhode Island.

The Huguenots soon began to abate somewhat of that exorbitant severity and
punctiliousness, in their religion, which, in no slight degree, had
brought upon them that persecution, which was gathering, and impending
over them, in 1684, a twelvemonth before the revocation of the edict of
Nantes; compelling many of them, thus early, to fly from their homes, into
other lands. The teachings of James Saurin, the great Huguenot preacher of
the refugees, at the Hague, in 1705, and in subsequent years, were of a
milder type. He was "_a moderate Calvinist_." Such, also, were Daillé and
Le Mercier, the ministers of the French Church, in Boston.

Peter Faneuil, undoubtedly, worshipped in this church, during a certain
period. We have seen the liberal arrangement of his uncle, in 1734, for
the support of its minister, and the testator's provision for its poor.
Even then, he evidently anticipated, that it might cease to be; and shaped
his testamentary provisions accordingly. Natural causes were in operation;
I have referred to them--intermarriage, with our English people--merging
the language of the few, in that of the many--juxtaposition--all tending
to diminish the necessity for maintaining a separate church.

There was no dissolution of the society, at first, by any formal vote. The
attendance became irregular and scanty--the members went elsewhere--Le
Mercier, "a worthy character," says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, ceased to
officiate, and the church broke up. For years, there were no services,
within the little temple; and, in 1748, it was sold, as I have stated, to
the members of another denomination.

It became a question with these Huguenots, the Faneuils, the Boutineaus,
the Johonnots, the Oliviers, the Sigourneys, and their associates, where
they should worship God. In 1740-41, the preachers, in Boston, were
Charles Chauncey, at the Old Brick--at the Old North, Increase Mather,
supplying the place of his brother Samuel, who, though ordained, in 1732,
preached but one winter, and parted--at the Old South, Joseph Sewall, and
Thomas Prince--at the Baptist, in Back Street, Jeremy Condy--at King's
Chapel, Stephen Roe--at Brattle Street, William Cooper--at the Quaker
meeting-house, in Leverett's Lane, whoever was moved by the Spirit--at the
New North, John Webb--at the New South, Samuel Checkley--at the New Brick,
Ellis Gray--at Christ Church, Timothy Cutler--at Long Lane, Jonny
Moorhead--at Hollis Street, Mather Byles--at Trinity, Addington
Davenport--at Lynde Street, William Hooper.

Several of the descendants of the Huguenots, not at all deterred, by the
resemblance, whatever that might be, between the forms of Episcopalian
worship, and those of their religious persecutors, the Roman Catholics,
mingled with the Episcopalians. Thus they clung to the common element, the
doctrine of the Trinity; and escaped, like Saurin, from the
super-sulphuretted vapors of primitive Calvinism.

It is not very surprising, that the Faneuils should have settled down,
upon the new and fashionable temple--Trinity had been erected but a few
years before; and the new rector was Peter's brother-in-law, Mr. Addington
Davenport.

Peter therefore became, _pro tanto_, an Episcopalian--a liberal subscriber
to the Charitable, Episcopal fund, and to the fund for the rebuilding of
King's Chapel; and identified himself with the Episcopal interest.

The religious character of Peter Faneuil, and the present whereabouts of
this public benefactor, will be determined, by different individuals,
according to the respective indications of their spiritual thermometers.

I have already ventured an opinion, that the mantle of charity, which
covereth a multitude of sins, should be extended, for Peter's behoof, over
that little affair with Peter Baynton, touching the duties, on those four
hogsheads of brandy. But there is another matter, over which, I am aware,
that some very worthy people will doubt, if the mantle of charity, can be
stretched, without serious danger of lesion--I refer to the importation,
about the same time with the prayer books, of that enormous quantity--six
gross--of "the very best King Henry's cards." I have often marvelled, how
the name of the Defender of the Faith ever came to be connected, with such
pestilent things.

I am well aware, how closely, in the opinions of some learned divines,
cards are associated with the idea of eternal damnation. If it be so; and
a single pack is enough to send the proprietor to the bottomless pit, it
is truly grievous to reflect how much deeper Peter, our great public
benefactor, has gone, with the oppressive weight of six gross of the very
best, upon his soul. Now-a-days, there seem to be very few, the Romanists
excepted, who believe in purgatory; and it is pretty generally agreed,
that all, who attempt the bridge of _Al Sirat_, will surely arrive, either
at Paradise, or Pandemonium.

How delightful it would be, to have the opinion of good old André Le
Mercier, in a case like this. Though Peter no longer waited upon Le
Mercier's ministrations; but, for several years, before the dissolution of
the French Church, had settled down, under brother Addington Davenport,
first, as the assistant at King's Chapel, and, afterwards, as the Rector
of Trinity; yet Le Mercier could not forget the nephew of his benefactor,
Andrew Faneuil. He was, doubtless, at Peter's funeral, who died one and
twenty years, before the holy man was summoned to his account, in 1764.
Yes, he was there.

I have heard of a man, who accounted, for the dryness of his eyes, when
all around him wept, at a pathetic discourse, on the ground, that he
belonged to another parish. I have known Christian ministers--_very_--not
many, thank heaven--who were influenced, to such a degree, by that spirit,
which may be supposed to govern the proprietors of opposition omnibuses,
as to consider the chord of human sympathy cut, through and through, and
forever, between themselves, and a parishioner, who, for any cause,
elected to receive his spiritual treasures out of some other earthen
vessel, albeit of the very same denomination of crockery ware.

Poverty, and disease, and death, and misery, in every type, might stalk
in, and upon, and over that homestead, and hearth, where these Christian
ministers had been warmed, and refreshed, and fostered--but it was no
longer a concern of theirs. No visit of condolence--no kind inquiry--not
one, cheap word of consolation had they, for such, as had ceased to
receive their ideas of damnation from them--enough--these individuals had
sold their pews--"_crimen difficile expiandum_"--they belonged to another
parish!

André Le Mercier, was not a man of this description. He was not a holy
huckster of spiritual things, having not one crumb of comfort, for any,
but his regular customers. André was a man, whose neighbor's ubiquity was
a proverb.

But what he would say, about these six gross of King Henry's cards, I am
by no means, certain. He was a man of a tolerant spirit; but on certain
points, the most tolerant are, occasionally, found to be imbued, with
unalterable prejudices. On page 85, of his Church History of Geneva, which
I have read with pleasure, he quotes approvingly, the maxim of "a doctor
of the church." "_In necessariis rebus sit unitas, in dubiis libertas, in
omnibus charitas._" This breathes the spirit of toleration:--what are
_dubia_, what _necessaria_ are not quite so readily settled, however.

On page 100, I find a passage, not quite so favorable for Peter, in this
matter of the six gross. Referring to Calvin's return to Geneva, in 1536,
after his banishment, Le Mercier says--"And then _Balls and Dances_ and
profane songs were forbidden, by the magistrates. And that form of
Discipline remains entire, to the present Time, notwithstanding the
repeated Attempts, that have been made by wicked People to overset it.
King Henry's cards, I fear, even of the very best quality, would,
undoubtedly, fall into this category, of things Calvinized on earth, in
the opinion of André Le Mercier."

The meaning of the words, "_profane songs_," may not be universally
intelligible. It undoubtedly meant, as used by the Council, _all songs not
sacred_. Calvin, undoubtedly, adopted the commendation of Scripture, to
such, as were merry, to sing psalms. It appears, however, that certain
persons entertained conservative notions, in those early days; even beyond
the dictum of holy writ; for, on page 101, Le Mercier states, that
Sebastian Castalio, a preacher, and professor, in the College of Geneva,
"_condemned Solomon's Songs, as being profane and immodest_;" the very
charge, as the reader is aware, which has been so often urged, against the
songs of Tom Moore. Moore, at last, betook himself to sacred melodies.
Solomon, had his life been spared, would, probably, have done the same
thing, to the entire satisfaction of Sebastian Castalio.

I see wisdom, and mercy, and truth, in a part of the maxim, quoted by
André Le Mercier--_in dubiis libertas_. I have long suspected there were
some angels in Heaven, who were damned by Calvin, on earth. I verily
believe, that Peter Faneuil is in Paradise.



No. CXXXIII.


Some of my readers, I doubt not, have involuntarily clenched their fists,
and set their teeth hard, while conning over the details of that merciless
and bloody duel, so long, and so deliberately projected, and furiously
fought, at last, near Bergen op Zoom, by the Lord Bruce, and Sir Edward
Sackville, with rapiers, and in their shirts. Gentle reader, if you have
never met with this morceau, literally dripping with blood, and are born
with a relish for such rare provant--for I fear the appetite is
congenital--you will find an ample account of the affair, in numbers 129
and 133 of the Guardian.

This wrathful fight is of an early date, having taken place, in 1613. Who
could measure the popular excitement, if tomorrow's dawn should bring the
tidings of a duel, fought the night before, on Boston Common, by two
young gentlemen, with rapiers, not, perhaps, quite so brutal, in its
minute details, but quite as deliberately planned, and quite as fatal, in
its result! What then must have been the effect of such an announcement,
on the morning of the fourth of July, 1728, one hundred and twenty-three
years ago, when Boston was a seaport village, just six years, after the
"_perlustration_" of Mr. Salter had rated the population, at 10,670 souls.

It is matter of sober history, that such a duel was actually fought, then
and there, on the evening of the third of July, 1728, near the
powder-house, which is indicated, on Bonner's plan of 1722. This was a
very different affair from the powder-house, erected at West Boston, in
1774, with walls of seven feet in thickness.

The parties, engaged, in this fatal affair were two young gentlemen, whose
connections were highly respectable, whose lives had been amiable, whose
characters were of good report, and whose friends were numerous and
powerful. The names of Peter Faneuil and of his uncle, Jean Faneuil, of
Rochelle, are associated with this transaction.

The parties were very young; the survivor twenty-two, and the victim but
little more. The survivor, Henry Phillips, was the brother of Gillam
Phillips, who, the reader of the preceding articles will remember, married
Marie, the sister of Peter Faneuil. Peter was then just twenty-eight; and,
doubtless, if there were dandies in those days, one of the foremost, on
the peninsula. The natural interest he felt, in the brother of his
sister's husband, engaged his efforts, to spirit the wretched survivor
away. He was consigned to the uncle of Peter, beyond the sea--to whom
Marie, his niece, very probably, wrote a few lines, bespeaking kind
offices, for the unfortunate brother of her husband. It is not impossible,
that old André added a prudential word or two, by way of postscript,
confirming brother Jean, as to the safety of the operation. Be this as it
may, Henry Phillips escaped from his pursuers, who were speedily put upon
the scent, by Governor Dummer. Henry Phillips arrived safely in Rochelle.
What befel him, in the strange land, is not the least interesting portion
of the narrative.

Benjamin Woodbridge--such was the name of the individual, who was the
victim, in this fatal encounter--was a young merchant, in partnership with
Mr. Jonathan Sewall. Of his particular origin I am not entirely
satisfied. The name, among us, is of the olden time. Benjamin Woodbridge
was the very earliest alumnus of Harvard College: born in England in 1622,
and graduated here in 1642.

The originating cause of this duel, like that, which produced the terrible
conflict, between the Lord Bruce and Sir Edward Sackville, is unknown.

That the reader may walk along with me, confidingly, upon this occasion,
it may be well to indicate the sources, from which I derive my knowledge
of a transaction, so exciting at the time, so fatal in its results, and so
almost universally unknown, to those, who daily pass over the very spot,
on our Common, upon which these young gentlemen met, and where young
Woodbridge fell.

I have alluded to the subsequent relation of Peter Faneuil, and of his
uncle, Jean, of Rochelle, to this affair. In my investigation into the
history of Peter and his relatives, I have been aided by Mr. Charles
Faneuil Jones, the grandson of Peter's sister, Mary Ann. Among the
documents, loaned me, by that gentleman, are sundry papers, which belonged
to Gillam Phillips, the brother of Henry, the survivor in the duel.

Among these papers, are original documents, in Jean Faneuil's handwriting,
relative to the fate of the miserable wanderer, after his arrival in
Rochelle--accounts of disbursements--regularly authenticated copies of the
testimony, relative to the duel, and to the finding of the dead body of
Woodbridge, and to the coöperation of Peter Faneuil and others, in
concealing the survivor, on board the Sheerness, British man of war, and
of his indictment, the "_Billa Vera_," in August, 1728, by the grand jury
of Suffolk, for murder. In addition to these documents, I have found a
certified copy of a statement, highly favorable to the character of Henry
Phillips, the survivor, and manifestly intended to have an influence upon
the public mind. This statement is subscribed, by eighty-eight prominent
citizens, several of them holding high official stations, and among the
number, are four ministers of the Gospel, with the Rev. Timothy Cutler, of
Christ Church, at their head. Appended is the certificate of Governor
Burnett, who, in that very month, succeeded Governor Dummer, stating the
official, professional and social position of the signers of this
document, with which it was clearly intended to fortify an application to
George II. for a pardon of the offender.

The discovery of these papers, affording, as they do, some account of a
transaction, so very remarkable, for the time and place of its occurrence,
and of which I had never heard nor read before, excited my curiosity, and
led me to search for additional information.

If my reader is of the fancy, he will readily comprehend my chagrin, when,
upon turning over the leaves of Green's "_Boston Weekly News Letter_"--the
imperfect files--all that time has left us--preserved in the library of
the Massachusetts Historical Society--the very paper, that next ensued,
after July 3, 1728, the date of the duel, and which, doubtless, referred
to an occurrence, so very extraordinary, was among the "_things lost upon
earth_." I was not less unfortunate with the files of the old "Boston
Gazette," of that early day. I then took up Kneeland's "New England Weekly
Journal," but with very little confidence of success. The file, however,
was there--No. 68--July 8, 1728, and my eyes soon fell, as the reader's
fall at this moment, upon Governor Dummer's proclamation:--

"Whereas a barbarous murder was last night committed, on the body of
Benjamin Woodbridge, a young gentleman, resident in the town of Boston;
and Henry Phillips, of said town, is suspected to be the author of said
murder, and is now fled from justice; I have therefore thought proper to
issue this proclamation, hereby commanding all justices, sheriffs,
constables, and all other officers, within this Province, and requiring
all others, in his Majesty's name, to use their utmost endeavors, that the
said Henry Phillips may be apprehended and brought to justice; and all
persons, whosoever, are commanded, at their utmost peril, not to harbor
nor conceal him. The said Henry Phillips is a fair young man, about the
age of twenty-two years, well set, and well dressed; and has a wound in
one of his hands. Given at Boston, the 4th of July, 1728, in the second
year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord and King, George II." This
proclamation bears the signature of his Excellency, William Dummer.

The editor of the journal, which contains the proclamation, expresses
himself as follows--"On Thursday last, the 4th current, about 3 in the
morning, after some hour's search, was found dead, near the Powder House,
the body of Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, a young gentleman, merchant of this
place. He had a small stab, under the right arm; but what proved fatal to
him was a thrust he received, under his right breast, which came out, at
the small of his back. The fore-finger of his left hand was almost cut
off, at the uppermost joint, supposed to be done, by grasping a naked
sword. The coroner's inquest immediately set upon the body; and, after the
best information and evidence they could obtain, upon their oaths say,
that 'the said Benjamin Woodbridge was killed, with a sword, run through
his body, by the hands of Henry Phillips, of Boston, merchant, on the
Common, in said Boston, on the third of this instant, as appears to us, by
sundry evidences.' The body was carried to the house of Mr. Jonathan
Sewall, (his partner,) and, on Saturday last, was decently and handsomely
interred, his funeral being attended, by the Commander-in-Chief, several
of the Council, and most of the merchants and gentlemen of the town. There
are many and various reports respecting this tragic scene, which makes us
cautious of relating any of them. But the above, being plain matters of
fact, we thought it not improper to give the public an account thereof.
The unhappy gentleman, who is supposed to have committed the act, is not
as yet found. This new and almost unknown case has put almost the whole
town into great surprise."

A sermon, upon this occasion, of uncommon length, was delivered July 18,
1728, by the Rev. Dr. Joseph Sewall, of the Old South, at the Public
Lecture, and published, with a preface, by the "_United Ministers_" of
Boston. To give dignity to this discourse, it is adorned with a Latin
prefix--"_Duellum est damnandum, tam in acceptante quam in provocante;
quamvis major sit culpa provocantis_." This discourse is singularly barren
of all allusion to the cause and circumstances of this event; and appears,
like our almanacs, adapted to any meridian.

At his Majesty's Court of Assize and General Gaol Delivery, on the second
Tuesday of August, 1728, the grand jurors, under the Attorney General
Hiller's instructions, found a "_Vera Billa_" against Henry Phillips, for
the murder of Benjamin Woodbridge. Phillips was then far beyond the
influence and effect of the _vera billa_--on the high sea--upon his voyage
of expatriation. For some cause, which I am entirely unable to comprehend,
and can barely conjecture, a sympathy existed, for this young man,
extending far beyond the circle of his personal friends and relatives, and
engaging, on his behalf, the disinterested efforts, not only of several
persons in high official stations, but in holy orders, who cannot be
supposed to have undervalued the crime, of which he was unquestionably
guilty, before God and man. The reader, as we proceed, may possibly be
more successful than I have been, in discovering the occasion of this
extraordinary sympathy.



No. CXXXIV.


That strong sympathy, exhibited for Henry Phillips, by whose sword a
fellow creature had so recently fallen, in a duel, must have sprung, if I
am not greatly mistaken, from a knowledge of facts, connected with the
origin of that duel, and of which the present generation is entirely
ignorant.

Truth lies not, more proverbially, at the bottom of a well, than, in a
great majority of instances, a woman lurks at the bottom of a duel. If
Phillips, unless sorely provoked, had been the challenger, I cannot think
the gentlemen, who signed the certificate, in his behalf, would have
spoken of him thus:--

"These may certify to all whom it may concern, that we, the subscribers,
well knew and esteemed Mr. Henry Phillips of Boston, in New England, to be
a youth of a very affable, courteous, and peaceable behavior and
disposition, and never heard he was addicted to quarrelling, he being
soberly brought up, in the prosecution of his studies, and living chiefly
an academical life; and verily believe him slow to anger, and with
difficulty moved to resentment."

Among the eighty-eight signers of this certificate, the names of Peter and
Benjamin Faneuil, and of their uncle, Andrew, occur, almost as a matter of
course. They were family connections. Who the others were, appears, by the
Governor's certificate, under the seal of the Province:--

"By his Excellency, William Burnet, &c. &c. These may certify whom it may
concern, that John Wentworth Esquire is Lieut. Governor of the Province of
New Hampshire; that William Tailor Esquire was formerly Lieut. Governor of
the Province of the Massachusetts Bay, and is now a member of his
Majesty's Council for said Province; that James Stevens is Surveyor
General of the Customs, for the Northern district, in America; that Thomas
Lechmere Esquire was late Surveyor General of the same; that John Jekyll
Esquire is Collector of the Customs, for the port of Boston; that Thomas
Steele is Justice of the Peace; that William Lambert Esquire is Controller
of the Customs, at Boston; that J. Minzies Esquire was Judge of the Vice
Admiralty; that Messieurs Timothy Cutler, Henry Harris, George Pigot, and
Ebenezer Miller are ministers of the Gospel; and that the other
subscribers to the certificate on the other side, are, some of them
merchants and others gentlemen of the town of Boston." This certificate,
bearing the signature of Gov. Burnet, is dated Oct. 21, 1728.

Of the origin of this affair, I have discovered nothing. Immediately after
its consummation, Phillips manifested deep distress, at the result. About
midnight, of July 3, 1728, with the assistance of his brother, Gillam,
Peter Faneuil, and several other persons, Henry Phillips was removed to a
place of safety. He was first conducted, by Peter Faneuil, to the house of
Col. Estis Hatch, and there concealed. His brother, Gillam, in the
meanwhile, applied to Captain John Winslow, of "_the Pink, Molly_," for a
boat, to carry Henry, on board the British man of war, then lying between
the Castle and Spectacle Island. Gillam and the Captain repaired to
Hatch's, and had an interview with Peter and Henry, in the yard. It was
then concluded, that Henry should go to Gibbs' Wharf, probably as the most
retired wharf, for embarkation. The reader, who loves to localize--this
word will do--will find this little wharf, on Bonner's plan, of 1722, at
the southeastern margin of Fort Hill, about half way between Whitehorn's
Wharf and South Battery. It lay directly northeast, and not far distant
from the lower end of Gibbs' Lane, now Belmont Street.

Henry Phillips, with Peter Faneuil, accordingly proceeded, as quietly as
possible, to Gibbs' Wharf. I see them now, stealing through Hatch's back
gate, and looking stealthily behind them, as they take the darker side of
Belcher's Lane. I trust there was no moon, that night. It was very foggy.
The reader will soon be sure, that I am right, in that particular.

Gillam and Captain Winslow had gone to the Long Wharf, where the Molly's
boat lay; and, as the distance was very considerable to the man-of-war,
they went first to the Pink, Molly--named, doubtless, for the Captain's
lady. There they took on board, four of the Pink's crew.

How heavily the moments passed that night! That "_fair young man_," as
Governor Dummer calls him, in the _lettres de cachet_--too young, it may
seem, at twenty-two, to commence a pilgrimage, like Cain's--how sublimated
his misery must have been! What sacrifice would he not have made, to break
the dead man's slumber! There he lay; as yet unfound, stark, and stiff,
and with eyes unclosed--

  "Cut off, ev'n in the blossoms of my sin,
  Unhousel'd, unanointed, unanneal'd."

Bootless sorrow! He had made his bloody bed--and therein must he lie
o'nights, and in no other. There were no hops in that pillow, for his
burning brain. The undying memory of a murdered victim--what an
everlasting agrypnic it must be!

Time, to this wretched boy, seemed very like eternity, that night--but the
sound of the splashing oar was audible at last--the boat touched the
wharf--for the last time he shook the hand of his friend, Peter Faneuil,
and left the land of his birth, which he was destined never to revisit.

The boat was turned from the shore, and the rowers gave way. But so
intense was the fog, that night, that they got on shore, at Dorchester
Neck; and, not until long after midnight, reached the Sheerness, man of
war. They were received on board. Captain Conrad and Lieutenant Pritchard
were very naturally disposed to sympathize with "_a fair young man_," in a
predicament, like this--it was all in their line. Gillam, the elder
brother, related the occurrence; and, before day, parted from Henry, whom
he was destined to meet no more. Early, on the following morning, the
events of the preceding night had been whispered, from man to man; for the
pleasure of being among the earliest, to communicate the intelligence of a
bloody murder, was precisely the same, in 1728, as it is, at the present
day. Mrs. Winslow, the lady of the Captain of the Molly, had learned all
the details, doubtless, before the morning watch. The surgeons, who
dressed the wounds of Henry Phillips, for he also was wounded, felt
themselves under no obligation to be silent. The sailors of the Molly, who
had overheard the conversation of several of the party, were under no
injunction of secrecy. Indeed, long before the dawn of the fourth of
July--not then the glorious Fourth--the intelligence had spread, far and
wide; and parties were scouring the Common, in quest of the murdered man.
At an early hour, Governor Dummer's proclamation was in the hands of some
trusty compositor, in the office of Samuel Kneeland, in Queen Street; and
soon the handbills were upon all the town pumps, and chief corners,
according to the usage of those days.

There is a pleasure, somewhat difficult of analysis, undoubtedly, in
gazing for hours upon the stuffed skin of a beast, that, when in the
flesh, has devoured a respectable citizen. When good Mr. Bowen--not the
professor--kept his museum in the mansion, occupied, before the
Revolution, by the Rev. Dr. Caner, and upon whose site the Savings Bank,
and Historical Society have their apartments, at present, nothing in all
his collection--not even the Salem Beauty--nor Marat and Charlotte
Cordé--interested me so much, as a broken sword, with a label annexed,
certifying, that, during the horrors of St. Domingo, seven and twenty of
the white inhabitants had fallen, beneath that sword, in the hands of a
gigantic negro! How long, one of the fancy will linger--"_patiens pulveris
atque solis_" for the luxury of looking upon nothing more picturesque than
the iron bars of a murderer's cell!

It had, most naturally, spread abroad, that young Philips was concealed,
on board the man of war. Hundreds may be supposed to have gathered, in
groups, straining their eyes, to get a glimpse of the Sheerness; and the
officer, who, in obedience to the warrant, proceeded, on that foggy
morning, to arrest the offender, found more difficulty, in discovering the
man of war, than was encountered, on the preceding evening, by those, who
had sought for the body of Woodbridge, upon the Common. At length, the fog
fled before the sun--the vista was opened between the Castle and Spectacle
Island--but the Sheerness was no longer there--literally, the places that
had known her, knew her no more.

Some of our worthy fathers, more curious than the rest, betook themselves,
I dare say, to the cupola of the _old_ townhouse--how few of us are aware,
that the present is the third, that has occupied that spot. There, with
their glasses, they swept the eastern horizon, to find the truant
ship--and enjoyed the same measure of satisfaction, that Mr. Irving
represents the lodger to have enjoyed, who was so solicitous to get a
glimpse of the "Stout Gentleman."

Over the waters she went, heavily laden, with as much misery, as could be
pent up, in the bosom of a single individual.

He was stricken with that malady, which knows no remedy from man--a mind
diseased. In one brief hour, he had disfranchised himself for ever, and
become a miserable exile.

Among the officers of the Sheerness, he must have been accounted a young
lion. His _gallantry_, in the estimation of the gentlemen of the wardroom,
must have furnished a ready passport to their hearts--_he had killed his
man_!--with the _civilized_, not less than with the _savage_, this is the
proudest mark of excellence! How little must he have relished the
approbation of the thoughtless, for an act, which had made him the
wretched young man, that he was! How paltry the compensation for the
anguish he had inflicted upon others--the mourning relatives of him, whom
he had, that night, destroyed--his own connections--_his mother_--he was
too young, at twenty-two, to be insensible to the sufferings of that
mother! God knows, she had not forgotten her poor, misguided boy; as we
shall presently see she crossed the ocean, to hold the aching head, and
bind up the broken heart of her expatriated son--and arrived, only in
season, to weep upon his grave, while it was yet green.



No. CXXXV.


It is known, that _old_ Chief Justice Sewall, who died Jan. 1, 1730, kept
a diary, which is in the possession of the Rev. Samuel Sewall, of
Burlington, Mass., the son of the _late_ Chief Justice Sewall. As the
death of the _old_ Chief Justice occurred, about eighteen months after the
time, when the duel was fought, between Phillips and Woodbridge, it
occurred to me, that some allusion to it, might be found, in the diary.

The Rev. Samuel Sewall has, very kindly, informed me, that the diary of
the Chief Justice does not refer to the duel; but that the event was
noticed by him, in his interleaved almanac, and by the Rev. Joseph Sewall,
who preached the occasional sermon, to which I have referred--in _his_
diary: and the Rev. Mr. Sewall, of Burlington, has obligingly furnished me
with such extracts, as seem to have a bearing on the subject, and with
some suggestions, in relation to the parties.

On the 4th of July, 1728, Judge Sewall, in his interleaved almanac,
writes thus--"_Poor Mr. Benjam. Woodbridge is found dead in the Comon this
morning, below the Powder-house, with a Sword-thrust through him, and his
own Sword undrawn. Henry Phillips is suspected. The town is amazed!_" This
wears the aspect of what is commonly called foul play; and the impression
might exist, that Phillips had run his antagonist through, _before he had
drawn his sword_.

It is quite likely, that Judge Sewall himself had that impression, when he
made his entry, on the fourth of July: the reader will observe, he does
not say _sheathed_ but _undrawn_. If there existed no evidence to rebut
this presumption, it would seem, not that there had been murder, in a
duel, but a case of the _most atrocious_ murder; for nothing would be more
unlikely to happen, than that a man, after having received his death
wound, in this manner, should have sheathed his own sword. The wound was
under the right pap; he was run through; the sword had come out, at the
small of his back. How strongly, in this case, the presumptive evidence
would bear against Phillips, not that he killed Woodbridge, for of this
there is no doubt; but that he killed him, before he had drawn his own
sword.

When the reader shall have read the authenticated testimony, which now
lies before me, he will see, not only that the swords of both were
drawn--but that both were wounded--that, after Woodbridge was wounded, he
either dropped his sword, or was disarmed--and, that, when he had become
helpless, and had walked some little distance from the spot, Phillips
picked up the sword of his antagonist, and returned it to the scabbard.
The proof of this, by an eye-witness, is clear, direct, and conclusive.

The next extract, in order of time, is from the diary of the Rev. Joseph
Sewall, under date July, 1728--_"N. B. On ye 4th (wch was kept, as a Day
of Prayr upon ye account of ye Drought) we were surpris'd wth ye sad
Tidings yt Mr. Henry Phillips and Mr Woodbridge fought a duel in wch ye
latter was slain. O Ld Preserve ye Tow. and Land from the guilt of
Blood".----"In ye Eveng. I visited Mrs. Ph. O Ld Sanctify thine awful
judgt to her. Give her Son a thorow Rcpentce."_

These extracts are of interest, not simply because they are historical,
but as illustrative of the times.

"_1728, July 18. I preached ye Lecture from yese words, Ps. 119, 115,
Depart from me ye evil Doers, &c. Endeavd to shew ye evill and danger of
wicked Company.--Condemned Duelling as a bloody crime, &c. O Lord, Bless
my poor labours._"

"_1728-9, January 22. Mr. Thacher, Mr. Prince, and I met at Mrs.
Phillips, and Pray'd for her son. I hope G. graciously assisted. Ld Pardon
the hainous Sins of yt young man, convert and Heal his soul._"

Writing to a London correspondent, June 2, 1729, Chief Justice Sewall
says--"_Richard put the Letter on board Capt. Thomas Lithered, who saild
this day; in who went Madam Hannah Phillips_." In his interleaved almanac
is the following entry--"_1729, Sept. 27, Saturday Madam Phillips arrives;
mane_." The explanation of these two last entries is at hand. Jean Faneuil
of Rochelle had, doubtless, written, either to his brother André, in
Boston, or to his nephew, by marriage, Gillam Phillips, giving an account
of the wanderer, Gillam's brother. At length, the tidings came hither,
that he was sick; and, probably, in May, 1729, intelligence arrived, that
he was _dangerously ill_. The mother's heart was stirred within her. By
the first vessel she embarked for London, on her way to Rochelle. The eyes
of that unhappy young man were not destined to behold again the face of
her, whose daylight he had turned into darkness, and whose heart he had
broken.

He died about the twentieth of May, 1729, as I infer from the documents
before me. The first of these is the account, rendered by Jean Faneuil, to
Gillam Phillips, in Jean's own hand--"_Deboursement fait par Jean faneuil
pour feu Monsieur heny Phillipe de Boston_," &c. He charges in this
account, for amount paid the physician, "_pendant sa maladie_." The
doctor's bill is sent as a voucher, and is also before me. Dr. "_Girard De
Villars, Aggregé au College Royal des Medicins de la Rochelle_"
acknowledges to have received payment in full _pour l'honoraire des
consultes de mes confreres et moy a Monsieur Henry Phillipe Anglois_, from
the fourth of April, to the twentieth of May.

The apothecary's bill of Monsieur Guinot, covering three folio pages, is
an interesting document, for something of the nature of the malady may be
inferred, from the _materia medica_ employed--_potion anodine_--_baume
tranquille sant_--_cordial somnifere_. How effectually the visions, the
graphic recollections of this miserable young man must have _murdered
sleep_!

The Rev. Mr. Sewall of Burlington suggests, that Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge,
who fell in this duel, was, very probably, the grandson of the Rev. John
Woodbridge of Andover, and he adds, that his partner, Jonathan Sewall, to
whose house the body was conveyed, was a nephew of the _old_ Chief
Justice, and, in 1717, was in business with an elder brother, Major Samuel
Sewall, with whom he resided. In 1726, Major Sewall "lived in a house,
once occupied by Madam Usher, near the Common;" whither the body of
Woodbridge might have been conveyed, without much trouble.

The General Court, which assembled, on the 28th of that month, in which
this encounter took place, enacted a more stringent law, than had existed
before, on the subject of duelling.

I shall now present the testimony, as it lies before me, certified by
Elisha Cook, J. P., before whom the examination was had, on the morning
after the duel:--

"Suffolk, ss. Memorandum. Boston, July 4, 1728. Messrs. Robert Handy,
George Stewart and others being convented on examination, concerning the
murther of Benja. Woodbridge last night, Mr. Handy examined saith--that
sometime before night Mr. Benja. Woodbridge come to me at the White
horse[3] and desired me to lett him (have) his own sword. I asked ye
reason: he replied he had business called him into the Country. I was
jealous he made an excuse. I urged him to tell me plainly what occasion he
had for a sword, fearing it was to meet with Mr. Henry Phillips, who had
lately fell out. He still persisted in his first story, upon which I gave
him his sword and belt,[4] and then he left the Compy, Mr. Thomas Barton
being in Company, I immediately followed, and went into the Common, found
said Woodbridge walking the Common by the Powder house, his sword by his
side. I saw no person save him. I againe urged the occasion of his being
there. He denied informing. In some short time, I saw Mr. Henry Phillips
walking towards us, with his Sword by his side and Cloke on. Before he
came nere us I told them I feared there was a Quarrel and what would be
the events. They both denied it.

"Mr. Phillips replied again Mr. Woodbridge and he had some particular
business that concerned them two onley and desired I would go about my
business. I still persuaded them to let me know their design, and if any
quarrel they would make it up. Mr. Phillips used me in such a manner with
slites (slights) that I went of and left them by the powder house, this
was about eight in the evening. I went up the Common. They walked down.
After some short space I returned, being justly fearful of their designe,
in order to prevent their fiteing with Swords. I mett with them about the
Powder House. I first saw Mr. Woodbridge making up to me, holding his left
hand below his right breast. I discovered blood upon his coat, asked the
meaning of it. He told me Mr. Phillips had wounded him. Having no Sword I
enquired where it was. He said Mr. Phillips had it. Mr. Phillips
immediately came up, with Woodbridge's sword in his hand naked, his own by
his side. I told them I was surprized they should quarrel to this degree.
I told Mr. Phillips he had wounded Mr. Woodbridge. He replied yes so he
had and Mr. Woodbridge had also wounded me, but in the fleshy part onley,
shewing me his cut fingers. Mr. Phillips took Mr. Woodbridge's scabbard,
sheathed the Sword, and either laid it down by him, or gave it to him.

"Mr. Woodbridge beginning to faint satt down, and begged that surgeons
might be sent for. I immediately went away, leaving these two together.
Phillips presently followed, told me for God's sake to go back to
Woodbridge, and take care of him, till he returned with a surgeon. I
prayed him to hasten, but did not care to returne. Mr. Phillips went away
as fast as he could and went down the lane by the Pound.[5] I returned to
the White Horse. I found Mr. Barton and Geoe Reason together. I told Mr.
Barton Phillips and Woodbridge having quarreled, Woodbridge was much
wounded. I asked Barton to go and see how it was it with Woodbridge. We
went a little way from the house, with a designe to go, but Barton,
hearing Phillips was gone for a Chirurgeon, concluded Phillips would
procure a Chirurgeon, and so declined going, and went to Mr. Blin's house
where we ware invited to supper. I have not seen Mr. Hy Phillips or
(heard) any from him, since I left him going for a Chirurgeon."

Such is the testimony of Robert Handy; and the reader will agree with me,
that, if he and Barton had been choked with their supper at Mr. Blin's, it
would have been a "Providence." It would be difficult to find the record
of more cruel neglect, towards a dying man. When urged to go back and
sustain Woodbridge, till a surgeon could be procured, he "_did not care to
returne_." And Barton preferred going to his supper. The principle, which
governed these fellows, was a grossly selfish and cowardly fear of
personal implication. Upon an occasion of minor importance, a similar
principle actuated a couple of Yorkshire lads, who refused to assist, in
righting the carriage of a member of parliament, which had been
overturned, because their father had cautioned them never to meddle with
state affairs.

I shall present the remaining testimony, in the following number.



No. CXXXVI.


Let us proceed with the examination, before Justice Elisha Cook, on the
fourth of July, 1728.

"John Cutler, of Boston, Chirurgeon, examined upon oath, saith, that, last
evening, about seven, Dr. George Pemberton came to me, at Mrs. Mears's,
and informed, that an unhappy quarrel hapned betwene Mr. Henry Phillips
and Benja. Woodbridge, and it was to be feared Mr. Woodbridge was
desperately wounded. We went out. We soon mett Mr. Henry Phillips, who
told us he feared he had killed Mr. Woodbridge, or mortally wounded him;
that he left him at the bottom of the Common, and begged us to repaire
there and see if any relief might be given him. Doct. Pemberton and I
went, in compy with Mr. Henry Phillips, in search of said Woodbridge, but
could not find him, nor make any discovery of the affair. Mr. Phillips
left us. I bid him walk in Bromfield's lane. We went to Mr. Woodbridge's
lodgings, and severall other houses, but heard nothing of him. Upon our
return Mr. H. Phillips was at my house. I dresed his wound, which was
across his belly and his fingers. Mr. Phillips shew a great concern and
fear of having killed Mr. Woodbridge. I endeavored to appease him, and
hope better things; but he said, could he think he was alive, he should
think himself a happy man."

"Doct. George Pemberton, sworn, saith that last evening about seven or
eight o'clock Mr. Henry Phillips came to the Sun Tavern and informed me,
first desiring me to go out wch I did and went to my house, where said
Phillips shew me some wounds, and that he had wounded Mr. Benjamin
Woodbridge, and feared they would prove mortal--begged of me to repair to
the Comon. Accompanied with Dr. Cutler and said Phillips, in quest of said
Woodbridge, we went to the Powder house, and searched the ground there,
but could make no discovery. Mr. Phillips then left us, and walked towards
Mr. Bromfield's lane. Dr. Cutler and I went to Mr. Woodbridge's lodging,
and several other places, but could hear nothing of him. We returned and
found Henry Phillips, at Dr. Cutler's, who was very greatly concerned;
fearing he had killed Mr. Woodbridge. We dressed Mr. Phillips' wounds
which were small."

"Capt. John Winslow examined saith that last night being at Mr. Doring's
house, Mr. Gillam Phillips, about eleven in the evening, came to me and
told me he wanted my boat to carry off his brother Henry, who had wounded
or killed a man. I went, by appointment, to Mr. Vardy's where I soon mett
Gillam Phillips. I asked him where his brother was--who he had been
fiteing with. He made answer I should see him presently. Went down to
Colo. Estis Hatche's where Mr. Gillam Phillips was to meet me. I gott
there first, knocked at Mr. Hatche's door. No answer. From Mr. Hatche's
house Mr. Peter Faneuil and Henry Phillips came into Mr. Hatche's
yard--Mr. Gillam Phillips immediately after with Mr. Adam Tuck. I heard no
discourse about the man who was wounded. They concluded, and sent Mr.
Henry Phillips to Gibb's wharf. Then Gillam Phillips with me to the long
wharf. I took boat there, and went on board my ship, lying in the harbor.
Mr. Phillips (Gillam) being in the bote, I took four of the Ship's crew,
and rowed to Gibb's Wharf, where we mett with Mr. Henry Phillips, Peter
Faneuil, and Adam Tuck. I came on shore. Henry Phillips and Tuck entred
the boat. I understood by discourse with Gillam Phillips, they designed on
board his Majestys Ship-Sheerness, Captain James Conrad Comdr. This was
about twelve and one of the Clock."

"Adam Tuck of Boston farier, examined upon oath saith, that, about eleven
of the clock, last evening, being at Luke Vardy's I understood there had
bin a quarril betwene Henry Phillips and Benja. Woodbridge, and that
Phillips had killed or mortally wounded Woodbridge. Gillam Phillips Esq.
being there, I walked with him towards Colo. Hatches, where we came up
with Capt. Jno. Winslow, and Henry Phillips, and Peter Faneuil. We all
went to Gibb's wharf, when we, that is Mr. Gillam and Henry Phillips, with
the examinant went on board Capt. John Winslow's boat. We designed, as I
understood, to go on board his Majesie's ship Sheerness, in order to leave
Mr. Henry Phillips on board the man of War, who, as he told me, had, he
feared, wounded a man, that evening on the Comon, near the water side. The
person's name I understood was Woodbridge. Soon after our being on board
Lt. Pritchard caried us into his apartment, where Gillam Phillips related
to the Leut. the rancounter that hapned betwene his brother Henry and
Benja. Woodbridge. I took the intent of their going on board the man of
War was to conceale Mr. Henry Phillips. We stayed on board about an hour
and a half. We left Mr. Henry Phillips on board the Man of War and came up
to Boston."

"John Underwood, at present residing in Boston, mariner, belonging to the
Pink Molle, John Winslow Comdr. now lying in the harbour of Boston, being
examined upon oath, concerning the death or murther of Mr. Benjamin
Woodbridge, saith, that about twelve o'clock last night, his Captn John
Winslow, with another person, unknown to him came on board. The Captn
ordered the boat with four of our hands, I being one, to go to a Wharf at
the South end of the Town, where we went, and there the Capt. went on
Shore, and two other persons came into the Boat without the Captn. We put
of and by the discourse we were designed to go on board the Man of Whar,
but by reason of the fogg or thick weather we gott on shore at Dorchester
neck, went up to a house and stayed there about an hour and half, then
returned to our boat, took in the three persons affore-named, as I
suppose, with our crew, and went on board the Man of War, now lying
betwene the Castle & Specta Island. We all went on board with the men we
took in at the Wharf, stayed there for the space of an hour, and then came
up to Boston, leaving one of the three onley on board, and landed by
Oliver's Dock."

"Wm. Pavice of Boston, one of the Pink Molly's crew, examined upon oath,
saith as above declared by John Underwood."

"James Wood and John Brown, mariners, belonging to the Pink Molly, being
examined upon oath, declare as above. John Brown cannot say, or knows not
how many persons they took from the shore, at Gibb's wharf, but is
positive but two returned to Boston. They both say they cant be sure
whether the Capt. went in the boat from the ship to the shoar."

"Mr. Peter Faneuil examined saith, that, last evening, about twelve, he
was with Gillam Phillips, Henry Phillips and Adam Tuck at Gibb's wharf,
and understood by Gillam Phillips, that his brother Henry had killed or
mortally wounded Mr. Benja. Woodbridge this evening, that Henry Phillips
went into Capt'n Winslow's boat, with his brother and Adam Tuck with the
Boat's crew, where they went he knows not."

Such was the evidence, presented before the examining justice, on the
fourth of July, 1728, in relation to this painful, and extraordinary
occurrence.

I believe I have well nigh completed my operation, upon Peter Faneuil: but
before I throw aside my professional apron, let me cast about, and see, if
there are no small arteries which I have not taken up. I perceive there
are.

The late Rev. Dr. Gray, of Jamaica Plains, on page 8 of his half century
sermon, published in 1842, has the following passage--"_The third or
Jamaica Plain Parish, in Roxbury, had its origin in the piety of an
amiable female. I refer to Mrs. Susanna, wife of Benjamin Pemberton. She
was the daughter of Peter Faneuil, who, in 1740 erected and gave to the
Town of Boston the far-famed Hall, which still bears his name; and who
built also the dwelling house, now standing here, recently known, as late
Dr. John Warren's Country seat._"

Nothing could have been farther from the meaning of the amiable Mr. Gray,
than a design to cast a reproach, upon the unimpeachable pedigree of this
excellent lady. But Peter Faneuil was, unfortunately, never married. He
was a bachelor; and is styled "_Bachelour_," in the commission, from John,
Archbishop of Canterbury, to Judge Willard, to administer the oath to
Benjamin Faneuil, as administrator, on Peter's estate. Peter's estate was
divided, among his brother, Benjamin, and his four sisters, Anne
Davenport, Susanna Boutineau, Mary Phillips, and Mary Ann Jones. This fact
is established, by the original indenture of marriage settlement, now
before me, between John Jones and Mary Ann Faneuil, dated the very month
of Peter's decease. He had no daughter to inherit. Mrs. Susanna Pemberton
had not a drop of the Faneuil blood, in her veins. Her nearest
approximation consisted in the fact, that George Bethune, her own brother,
married, as I have already stated, Mary Faneuil, Peter's niece, and the
daughter of Benjamin. Benjamin occupied that cottage, before he removed to
Brighton. He had also a town residence, in rear of the Old Brick
Meeting-house, which stood where Joy's buildings now stand.

Thomas Kilby was the commercial agent of Peter Faneuil, at Canso, Nova
Scotia, in 1737, 8 and 9. He was a gentleman of education; graduated at
Harvard, in 1723, and died in 1740, and according to Pemberton, published
essays, in prose and verse. Not long ago, a gentleman inquired of me, if I
had ever heard, that Peter Faneuil had a wooden leg; and related the
following amusing story, which he received from his collateral ancestor,
John Page, who graduated at Harvard, in 1765, and died in 1825, aged 81.

Thomas Kilby was an unthrifty, and rather whimsical, gentleman. Being
without property and employment, he retired, either into Maine, or Nova
Scotia. There he made a will, for his amusement, having, in reality,
nothing to bequeath. He left liberal sums to a number of religious,
philanthropic, and literary institutions--his eyes, which were very good,
to a blind relative--his body to a surgeon of his acquaintance, "excepting
as hereinafter excepted"--his sins he bequeathed to a worthy clergyman, as
he appeared not to have any--and the choice of his legs to Peter Faneuil.

Upon inquiry of the oldest surviving relative of Peter, I found, that
nothing was known of the wooden leg.

A day or two after, a highly respectable and aged citizen, attracted by
the articles, in the Transcript, informed me, that his father, born in
1727, told him, that he had seen Peter Faneuil, in his garden, and that,
on one foot, he wore a very high-heeled shoe. This, probably, gave
occasion to the considerate bequest of Thomas Kilby.

The will, as my informant states, upon the authority of Mr. John Page,
coming to the knowledge of Peter, he was so much pleased with the humor of
it, that, probably, having a knowledge of the _testator_ before, he sent
for him, and made him his agent, at Canso.

Peter was a kind-hearted man. The gentleman who gave me the fact,
concerning the high-heeled shoe, informed me, upon his father's authority,
that old Andrew Faneuil--the same, who, in his will, prays God, for "_the
perfecting of his charities_"--put a poor, old, schoolmaster, named
Walker, into jail, for debt. Imprisonment then, for debt, was a serious
and lingering affair. Peter, in the flesh--not his angel--privately paid
the poor man's debt, and set the prisoner free.



No. CXXXVII.


Those words of Horace were the words of soberness and truth--_Oh
imitatores, vulgum pecus!_--I loathe imitators and imitations of all
sorts. How cheap must that man feel, who awakens _hesterno vitio_, from
yesterday's debauch, on _imitation_ gin or brandy! Let no reader of the
Transcript suppose, that I am so far behind the times, as to question the
respectability of being drunk, on the real, original Scheidam or Cogniac,
whether at funerals, weddings, or ordinations. But I consider _imitation_
gin or brandy, at a funeral, a point blank insult to the corpse.

Everybody knows, that old oaks, old friendships, and old mocha must
grow--they cannot be made. My horse is frightened, nearly out of his
harness, almost every day of his life, by the hissing and jetting of the
steam, and the clatter of the machinery, as I pass a manufactory, or
grindery, of _imitation_ coffee. _Imitation_ coffee! What would my old
friend, Melli Melli, the Tunisian ambassador, with whom--long, long ago--I
have taken a cup of his own particular, once and again, at Chapotin's
Hotel, in Summer Street, say to such a thing as this!

This grindery is located, in an Irish neighborhood, and there used to be a
great number of Irish children thereabouts. The number has greatly
diminished of late. I know not why, but, as I passed, the other day, the
story that Dickens tells of the poor sausage-maker, whose broken buttons,
among the sausage meat, revealed his unlucky destiny, came forcibly to
mind. By the smell, I presume, there is a roastery, connected with the
establishment; and, now I think of it, the atmosphere, round about, is
filled with the odor of roast pig--a little overdone.

Good things, of all sorts, have stimulated the imitative powers of man,
from the diamond to the nutmeg. Even death--and death is a good thing to
him, whose armor of righteousness is on, _cap-a-pie_--death has been
occasionally imitated; and really, now and then, the thing has been very
cleverly done. I refer not to cases of catalepsy or trance, nor to cases
of total suspension of sensibility and voluntary motion, for a time, under
the agency of sulphuric ether, or chloroform.

In 1843, at the request of her Majesty's principal Secretary of State, for
the Home Department, Mr. Edwin Chadwick, Barrister at Law, made "_a report
on the results of a special inquiry into the practice of interment in
towns_." This report is very severe upon our fraternity; but, I must
confess, it is a most able and interesting performance, and full of
curious detail. The demands of the English undertaker, it appears, are so
oppressive upon the poor, that burial societies have been formed, upon the
mutual principle. It is asserted by Mr. Chadwick, that parents, under the
gripings of poverty, have actually poisoned their children, to obtain the
burial money. At the Chester assizes, several trials, for infanticide,
have occurred, on these grounds. "_That child will not live, it is in the
burial club_," is a cant and common phrase, among the Manchester paupers.

Some very clever impositions, have been practised, to obtain the burial
allowance. A man, living in Manchester, resolved to play corpse, for this
laudable object. His wife was privy to the plot, of course,--and gave
notice, in proper form, of her bereavement. The agent of the society made
the customary domiciliary visit. There the body lay--stiff and stark--and
a very straight and proper corpse it was--the jaw decently tied up. The
visitor, well convinced, and quite touched by the widow's anguish, was
turning on his heel to depart, when a slight motion of the dead man's
eyelid arrested his attention: he began to smell--not of the body, like
the bear in Æsop--but a rat. Upon feeling the pulse, he begged the chief
mourner to be comforted; there was strong ground for hope! More obstinate
than Rachel, she not only would not be comforted, but abused the visitor,
in good Gaelic, for questioning her veracity. Had she not laid out the
daar man, her own daar Tooly Mashee, with her own hands! and didn't she
know better than to be after laying him out, while the brith was in his
daar buddy! and would she be guilty of so cruel a thing to her own good
man! The doctor was called; and, after feeling the pulse, threw a bucket
of water, in the face of the defunct, which resulted in immediate
resurrection.

The most extraordinary case of imitation death on record, and which, under
the acknowledged rules of evidence, it is quite impossible to disbelieve,
is that of the East India Fakeer, who was buried alive at Lahore, in 1837,
and at the end of forty days, disinterred, and resuscitated. This tale is,
_prima facie_, highly improbable: let us examine the evidence. It is
introduced, in the last English edition of Sharon Turner's Sacred History
of the World, vol. iii., in a note upon Letter 25. The witness is Sir
Claude M. Wade, who, at the time of the Fakeer's burial, and disinterment,
was political resident, at Loodianah, and principal agent of the English
government, at the court of Runjeet Singh. The character of this witness
is entirely above suspicion; and the reader will observe, in his
testimony, anything but the marks and numbers of a credulous witness, or a
dealer in the marvellous. Mr. Wade addressed a letter to the editor of
Turner's History, from which the following extracts are made:--

"I was present, at the court of Runjeet Singh, at Lahore, in 1837, when
the Fakeer, mentioned by the Hon. Capt. Osborne, was buried alive, for six
weeks; and, though I arrived, a few hours after his interment, I had the
testimony of Runjeet Singh, himself, and others, the most credible
witnesses of his court, to the truth of the Fakeer having been so buried
before them; and from having been present myself, when he was disinterred,
and restored to a state of perfect vitality, in a position so close to
him, as to render any deception impossible, it is my firm belief that
there was no collusion, in producing the extraordinary fact, that I have
related."

Mr. Wade proceeds to give an account of the disinterment. "On the approach
of the appointed time, according to invitation, I accompanied Runjeet
Singh to the spot, where the Fakeer had been buried. It was a square
building, called, in the language of the country, _Barra Durree_, in the
midst of one of the gardens, adjoining the palace at Lahore, with an open
verandah all around, having an enclosed room in the centre. On arriving
there, Runjeet Singh, who was attended on the occasion, by the whole of
his court, dismounting from his elephant, asked me to join him, in
examining the building, to satisfy himself that it was closed, as he had
left it. We did so. There had been an open door, on each of the four sides
of the room, three of which were perfectly closed with brick and mortar.
The fourth had a strong door, also closed with mud, up to the padlock,
which was sealed with the private seal of Runjeet Singh, in his own
presence, when the Fakeer was interred. In fact, the exterior of the
building presented no aperture whatever, by which air could be admitted,
nor any communication held, by which food could possibly be conveyed to
the Fakeer; and I may also add, that the walls, closing the doorways, bore
no marks of having been recently disturbed or removed."

"Runjeet Singh recognized the impression of the seal, as the one, which he
had affixed: and, as he was as skeptical, as any European could be, of the
successful result of such an enterprise, to guard, as far as possible,
against any collusion, he had placed two companies, from his own personal
escort, near the building, from which four sentries were furnished, and
relieved, every two hours, night and day, to guard the building from
intrusion. At the same time, he ordered one of the principal officers of
his court to visit the place occasionally, and report the result of his
inspection to him; while he himself, or his minister, kept the seal which
closed the hole of the padlock, and the latter received the reports of the
officers on guard, morning and evening."

"After our examination, and we had seated ourselves in the verandah,
opposite the door, some of Runjeet's people dug away the mud wall, and one
of his officers broke the seal, and opened the padlock."

"On the door being thrown open, nothing but a dark room was to be seen.
Runjeet Singh and myself then entered it, in company with the servant of
the Fakeer. A light was brought, and we descended about three feet below
the floor of the room, into a sort of cell, in which a wooden box, about
four feet long, by three broad, with a square sloping roof, containing the
Fakeer, was placed upright, the door of which had also a padlock and seal,
similar to that on the outside. On opening it, we saw"--

But I am reminded, by observing the point I have reached, upon my sheet of
paper, that it is time to pause. There are others, who have something to
say to the public, of more importance, about rum, sugar and molasses,
turtle soup and patent medicine, children, that are lost, and puppies,
that are found.



No. CXXXVIII.


Sir Claude M. Wade, the reader may remember, was proceeding thus--"On
opening it," (the box containing the Fakeer) "we saw a figure, enclosed in
a bag of white linen, drawn together, and fastened by a string over the
head; on the exposure of which a grand salute was fired, and the
surrounding multitude came crowding to the door to see the spectacle.
After they had gratified their curiosity, the Fakeer's servant, putting
his arms into the box, took the figure of his master out; and, closing the
door, placed it, with his back against the door, exactly as he had been
squatted, like a Hindoo idol, in the box itself. Runjeet Singh and I then
descended into the cell, which was so small, that we were only able to sit
on the ground in front, and so close to the body, as to touch it with our
hands and knees. The servant then began pouring warm water over the
figure, but, as my object was to watch if any fraudulent practice could be
detected, I proposed to Runjeet Singh, to tear open the bag, and have a
perfect view of the body, before any means of resuscitation were
attempted. I accordingly did so; and may here remark, that the bag, when
first seen by us, looked mildewed, as if it had been buried for some time.
The legs and arms of the body were shrivelled and stiff, the face full, as
in life, and the head reclining on the shoulder, like that of a corpse."

"I then called to the medical gentleman, who was attending me, to come
down and inspect the body, which he did, but could discover no pulsation,
in the heart, temples or the arms. There was however, a heat, about the
region of the brain, which no other part of the body exhibited. The
servant then commenced bathing him with hot water, and gradually relaxing
his arms and legs from the rigid state, in which they were contracted;
Runjeet Singh taking his right and left leg, to aid by friction in
restoring them to their proper action, during which time the servant
placed a hot wheaten cake, about an inch thick, on the top of the head--a
process, which he twice or thrice repeated. He then took out of his
nostrils and ears the wax and cotton plugs, with which they were stopped,
and after great exertion, opened his mouth, by inserting the point of a
knife between the teeth, and while holding his jaws open, with his left
hand, drew the tongue forward, with the forefinger of the right, in the
course of which the tongue flew back, several times, to its curved
position upwards, that in which it had originally been placed, so as to
close the gullet. He then rubbed his eyelids with ghee (clarified butter)
for some time, till he succeeded in opening them, when the eye appeared
quite motionless and glazed. After the cake had been applied for the third
time, to the top of the head, the body was convulsively heaved, the
nostrils became violently inflated, respiration ensued, and the limbs
began to assume a natural fulness. The servant then put some ghee on his
tongue, and made him swallow it. A few minutes afterwards, the eyeballs
became slowly dilated, recovered their natural color, and the Fakeer,
recognizing Runjeet Singh, sitting close by him, articulated, in a low
sepulchral tone, scarcely audible--'_Do you believe me now?_'"

"Runjeet Singh replied in the affirmative; and then began investing the
Fakeer with a pearl necklace, a superb pair of gold bracelets, shawls, and
pieces of silk and muslin, forming what is called a _khilet_, such as is
usually conferred, by the princes of India, on persons of distinction.
From the time of the box being opened to the recovery of the voice, not
more than half an hour could have elapsed; and, in another half an hour,
the Fakeer talked with himself and those about him freely, though feebly,
like a sick person, and we then left him, convinced that there had been no
fraud or collusion, in the exhibition, which we had witnessed."

The Hon. Captain Osborne, who was attached to the mission of Sir William
Macnaughten, in the following year, 1838, sought to persuade the Fakeer to
repeat the experiment, and to suffer the keys of the vault to remain in
Captain Osborne's custody. At this the Fakeer became alarmed, though he
afterwards consented, and, at the request of Runjeet Singh, he came to
Lahore for the purpose; but, as he expressed a strong apprehension, that
Captain Osborne intended to destroy him, and as Sir William Macnaughten
and his suite were about to depart, the matter was given up. This is
related by Captain Osborne, in his "Court and Camp of Runjeet Singh."

After avowing his entire belief in all the facts, set forth in the
previous narrative, Sir Claude M. Wade remarks--"I took some pains to
inquire into the mode, by which such a result was effected; and was
informed, that it rested on a doctrine of the Hindoo physiologists, that
heat constitutes the self existent principle of life; and, that, if the
functions are so far destroyed, as to leave that one, in perfect purity,
life could be sustained for considerable lengths of time, independently of
air, food, or any other means of sustenance. To produce such a state, the
patients are obliged to go through a severe preparation. How far such
means are calculated to produce such effects physiologists will be better
able to judge than I can pretend to do. I only state what I saw, and
heard, and think."

This narrative certainly belongs to the very first part of the very first
book of very wonderful things. But this marvellous book is no longer a
closed volume. Millions of ingenious fingers have, for fifty years, been
busily employed, in breaking its mysterious seals, one after another.
Demonstration has trampled upon doubt, and the world is rapidly coming to
my shrewd old grandmother's conclusion, that nothing is so truly
wonderful, as that we wonder at all. There is nothing more difficult, than
to exonerate the mind from the weight of its present consciousness, and to
wonder by rule. We readily lose the recollection of our doubt and
derision, upon former occasions, when matters, apparently quite as absurd
and impossible, are presented for contemplation, _de novo_.

If putrefaction can be kept off, mere animal life, the vital principle,
may be preserved, for a prodigious length of time, in the lower ranks of
animal creation, while in a state of torpidity. Dr. Gillies relates, that
he bottled up some _cerastes_, a species of small snakes, and kept them
corked tight, with nothing in the bottle, but a little sand, for several
years; and, when the bottle was uncorked, they came forth, revived by the
air, and immediately acquired their original activity.

More than fifty years ago, having read Dr. Franklin's account of the
flies, which he discovered, drowned, in a bottle of old wine, and which he
restored to life, by exposure to the sun's rays; I bottled up a dozen
flies, in a small phial of Madeira--took them out, at the expiration of a
month--and placed them under a glass tumbler, in a sunny window. Within
half an hour, nine revived; got up; walked about, wiped their faces with
their fore legs; trimmed their wings, with their hinder ones; and began to
knock their heads, against the tumbler, to escape. After waiting a couple
of hours, to give the remaining three a fair chance, but to no purpose,
and expecting nothing from the humane society, for what I had already
accomplished, I returned the nine to their wine bath, in the phial. After
rather more than three months, I repeated the experiment of resuscitation.
After several hours, two gave evidence of revival, got upon their legs,
reeled against each other, and showed some symptoms of _mania a potu_. At
length they were fairly on their trotters. I lifted the tumbler; they took
the hint, and flew to the window glass. It was fly time. I watched one of
those, who had profited by the revival--he got four or five flies about
him, who really seemed to be listening to the account of his experience.

"Ants, bees, and wasps," says Sharon Turner, in his Sacred History, vol.
i. ch. 17, "especially the smallest of these, the ants, do things, and
exercise sensibilities, and combine for purposes, and achieve ends, that
bring them nearer to mankind, than any other class of animated nature."
Aye, I know, myself, some of our fellow-citizens, who make quite a stir,
in their little circles, petty politicians, who extort responses from
great men, and show them, _in confidence_, to all they meet--overgrown
boys, in bands and cassocks, who, for mere exercise, edit religious
newspapers, and scribble _treason_, under the name of _ethics_--who, in
respect to all the qualities, enumerated by Sharon Turner, are decidedly
inferior to pismires.

The hybernation of various animals furnishes analogous examples of the
matter, under consideration. A suspension of faculties and functions, for
a considerable time, followed by a periodical restoration of their use,
forms a part of the natural history of certain animals.

Those forty days--that wonderful quarantine of the Fakeer, in the tomb,
and his subsequent restoration, are marvels. I have presented the facts,
upon the evidence of Sir Claude M. Wade. Every reader will philosophize,
upon this interesting matter, for himself. If such experiments can be
made, for forty days, it is not easy to comprehend the necessity of such a
limit. If trustees were appointed, and gave bonds to keep the tomb
comfortable, and free from rats, and to knock up a corpse, at the time
appointed, forty years, or an hundred, might answer quite as well. What
visions are thus opened to the mind. An author might go to sleep, and wake
up in the midst of posterity, and find himself an entire stranger. Weary
partners might find a temporary respite, in the grave, and leave
directions, to be called, in season to attend the funeral. The heir
expectant of some tenacious ancestor might thus dispose of the drowsy and
unprofitable interval. The gentleman of _petite fortune_ might suffer it
to accumulate, in the hands of trustees, and wake up, after twenty or
thirty years, a man of affluence. Instead of making up a party for the
pyramids, half a dozen merry fellows might be buried together, with the
pleasant prospect of rising again in 1949. No use whatever being made of
the time thus relinquished, and the powers of life being husbanded in the
interim, years would pass uncounted, of course; and he, who was buried, at
twenty-one, would be just of age when he awoke. I should like, extremely,
to have the opinion of the Fakeer, upon these interesting points.



No. CXXXIX.

  "And much more honest to be hir'd, and stand
  With auctionary hammer in thy hand,
  Provoking to give more, and knocking thrice,
  For the old household stuff or picture's price."
                                          DRYDEN.


Old customs, dead and buried, long ago, do certainly come round again,
like old comets; but, whether in their appointed seasons, or not, I cannot
tell. Whether old usages, and old chairs, and old teapots revolve in their
orbits, or not, I leave to the astronomers. It would be very pleasant to
be able to calculate the return of hoops, cocked hats, and cork rumpers,
buffets, pillions, links, pillories, and sedans.

I noticed the following paragraph, in the Evening Transcript, not long
ago, and it led me to turn over some heaps of old relics, in my
possession--

"A substitute for the everlasting 'going, going, gone,' was introduced at
a recent auction in New York. The auctioneer held up a sand-glass, through
which the sand occupied fourteen seconds in passing. If a person made a
bid, the glass was held up in view of all, and if no person advanced on
the bid before the sand passed through, the sale was made. This idea is a
novel one, though we believe it has long been practised in Europe."

It was formerly the custom in England, to sell goods, at auction, "by
inch of candle." An inch of candle was lighted, and the company proceeded
to bid, the last crier or bidder, before the candle went out, was declared
the purchaser. Samuel Pepys, who was Secretary of the Admiralty, in the
reigns of the two last Stuarts, repeatedly refers to the practice, in his
Diary. Thus, in Braybrook's edition, of 1848, he says, vol. i. page 151,
under date Nov. 6, 1660--"To our office, where we met all, for the sale of
two ships, by an inch of candle, (the first time that I saw any of this
kind,) where I observed how they do invite one another, and at last how
they all do cry; and we have much to do to tell who did cry last."

Again, Ibid., vol. ii. page 29, Sept. 3, 1662--"After dinner, we met and
sold the Weymouth, Successe, and Fellowship hulkes, where pleasant to see
how backward men are at first to bid; and yet, when the candle is going
out, how they bawl, and dispute afterwards who bid the most first. And
here I observed one man cunninger than the rest, that was sure to bid the
last man, and carry it; and, inquiring the reason, he told me, that, just
as the flame goes out, the smoke descends, which is a thing I never
observed before, and, by that he do know the instant when to bid last."
Again, Ibid., vol. iv. page 4, Ap. 3, 1667, he refers to certain prize
goods, "bought lately at the candle."

Haydn says this species of auction, by inch of candle is derived from a
practice, in the Roman Catholic Church. Where there is an excommunication,
by inch of candle, and the sinner is allowed to come to repentance, while
yet the candle burns. The sinner is supposed, of course, to be
_going--going--gone_--unless he avails of the opportunity to bid, as it
were, for his salvation. This naturally reminds the reader of the
spiritual distich--

  "For while the lamp holds out to burn,
  The vilest sinner may return."

Where the bids are, from a maximum, downward, the term--_auction_--is
still commonly, though improperly employed, and in the very teeth of all
etymology. When I was a boy, the poor, in many of our country towns, were
disposed of, in this manner. The question was, who would take Daddy
Osgood, one of the town's poor, for the smallest weekly sum, to be paid by
the town. The old man was started, at four shillings, and bid down to a
minimum. There was yet a little work in his old bones; and I well remember
one of these auctions, in 1798, in the town of Billerica, at which Dr.
William Bowers bid off Daddy Osgood, for two and sixpence.

The Dutch have a method of selling fresh fish, which is somewhat analogous
to this, and very simple and ingenious. An account of it may be found, in
Dodsley's Annual Register, for 1760, vol. iii. page 170. The salesman is
called the Affslager. The fish are brought in, in the morning, and placed
on the ground, near the fish stalls of the retailers. At ten, precisely,
the Affslager rings his bell, which may be heard, for half a mile.
Retailers, and individual consumers collect, and the Affslager--the
auctioneer--puts up a lot, at a maximum price. No one offers a less sum,
but the mynheers stand round, sucking at their pipes, and puffing away,
and saying nothing. When the Affslager becomes satisfied, that nobody will
buy the lot, at the price named, he gradually lowers it, until one of the
mynheers takes his pipe from his mouth and cries "_mine!_" in High Dutch.
He is, of course, the purchaser; and the Affslager proceeds to the sale of
another lot.

It will be seen, from one of the citations from Pepys, that some of _the
auctions_ of his time were called _the candles_; precisely as the
auctions, at Rome, were called _hastæ_; a spear or _hasta_, instead of a
flag, being the customary signal for the sale. The proper word, however,
was _auctio_, and the auctioneer was called _auctor_. Notice of the sale
was given, by the crier, _a præcone prædicari_, Plaut. Men., v. 9, 94, or,
by writing on tables. Such is the import of _tabulum proscripsit_, in
Cicero's letter to his brother Quintus, ii. 6.

In the year 1824, passing through the streets of Natchez, I saw a slave,
walking along, and ringing a bell, as he went; the bell very much
resembled our cowbells, in size and form. Upon a signal from a citizen,
the slave stopped ringing, and walked over to him, and stood before him,
till he had read the advertisement of a sale at auction, placarded on the
breast of the slave, who then went forward, ringing his bell, as before.
The Romans made their bids, by lifting the finger; and the auctioneer
added as many _sesterces_, as he thought amounted to a reasonable bid.

Cicero uses this expression in his fine oration against Verres, i
54--_digitum tollit Junius patruus--Junius, his paternal uncle, raised his
finger_, that is, he made a bid.

The employment of a spear, as the signal of an auction sale, is supposed
to have arisen from the fact, that the only articles, originally sold, in
this manner, were the spoils of war. Subsequently, the spear--_hasta_--came
to be universally used, to signify a _sale at auction_. The auction of
Pompey's goods, by Cæsar, is repeatedly alluded to, by Cicero, with great
severity, as the _hasta Cæsaris_. A passage may be found, in his treatise,
_De Officiis_, ii. 8, and another, in his eighth Philippic, sec.
3--"Invitus dico, sed dicendum est. Hasta Cæsaris, Patres Conscripti,
multis improbis spem affert, et audaciam. Viderunt enim, ex mendicis fieri
repente divites: itaque hastam semper videre cupiunt ii, qui nostris bonis
imminent; quibus omnia pollicetur Antonius." I say it reluctantly, but it
must be said--Cæsar's auction, Conscript Fathers, inflames the hopes and
the insolence of many bad men. For they see how immediately, the merest
beggars are converted into men of wealth. Therefore it is that those, who
are hankering after our goods and chattels, and to whom Antony has
promised all things, are ever longing to behold such another auction, as
that.

The auctioneer's bell, in use, at the Hague, in 1760, was introduced into
Boston, seventy-seven years ago, by Mr. Bicker, whose auction-room was
near the Market. Having given some offence to the public, he inserted the
following notice, in the Boston Gazette and Country Journal, Monday, April
18, 1774--"As the method, lately practised by the Subscriber, in having a
Person at his Door, to invite Gentlemen and others to his public
Sales--has given Dissatisfaction to some (Gentlemen Shopkeepers in
particular) to avoid giving Offence for the future, he shall desist from
that Practice, and pursue one (as follows) which he flatters himself
cannot fail giving universal Satisfaction, as he sincerely wishes so to
do. The Public are most earnestly requested to remember (_for their own
advantage_) that, for the future, Notice will be given, by sounding a
Bell, which he has purchased for that Purpose, which is erected over the
Auction Room Door, near the Market, Boston, where constant Attendance is
given both early and late, to receive the favors of all such who are
pleased to confer on their _Much obliged, Most Obedient, and very humble
Servant_, M. Bicker."

Albeit there is no less bickering or dickering here now, than of yore, yet
Bicker and his bell have gone, long ago, to the "receptacle of things lost
upon earth." The very name is no more.

Haydn says, the first auction in Britain was about 1700, by Elisha Yale,
a Governor of Fort George, in the East Indies, of the goods he had brought
home with him. That Mr. Haydn must be mistaken is manifest, from the
citation from Pepys, who speaks of auctions, by inch of candle, as early
as 1660; and not then as a novelty, but the first of the kind that he had
witnessed.

Fosbroke says, in his Antiquities, page 412--"In the middle age, the goods
were cried and sold to the highest bidder, and the sound of a trumpet
added with a very loud noise. The use of the spear was retained, the
auctions being called _Subhastationes_; and the _Subhastator_, or
auctioneer, was sworn to sell the goods faithfully. In Nares, we have,
_sold at a pike or spear_, i. e. by public auction or outcry; and auctions
called _port sales_, because originally, perhaps, sales made in ports--the
crier stood under the spear, as in the Roman æra, and was, in the
thirteenth century, called _cursor_."

Of late, _mock auctions_, as they are termed, have become a very serious
evil, especially in the city of New York. In 1813 petitions, in regard to
these public impositions, were sent to the Lords of the Treasury, from
many of the principal cities of Great Britain. In 1818 a select committee
reported, very fully, upon this subject, to the British Parliament. This
committee, after long and critical investigation, reported, that great
frauds were constantly committed on the public, by _mock_ or fraudulent
_auctions_. The committee set forth several examples of this species of
knavery. Goods are sold, as the furniture of gentlemen, going abroad. For
this purpose, empty houses are hired for a few days, and filled with
comparatively worthless furniture. Articles of the most inferior
manufacture are made for the express purpose of being put into such sales,
as the property of individuals of known character and respectability. To
impose, more effectually, on the public, the names of the most respectable
auctioneers have been used, with the variation of a letter. This bears
some analogy to the legislative change of name, in this city, for the
purpose of facilitating the sale of inferior pianos. Respectable
auctioneers have been compelled, in self-defence, to appear at such mock
auctions, and disclaim all connection therewith. Great masses of cutlery
and plated ware of base manufacture, with London makers' names, and
advertised, as made in London, are constantly sold, at these auctions;
forcing the London makers to appear at the sales rooms, and expose the
fraud.

The committee say that no imposition is more common than the sale of
ordinary wine, in bottles, as the _bonne bouche_ of some respectable
Amphitryon deceased.

They farther state, that daring men are known to combine, attend real
sales, and by various means, drive respectable purchasers away, purchase
at their own price, and afterwards privately sell, under a form of public
sale, among themselves, at _Knock Out_ auctions, as they are called.

The committee recommended an entire revision of the auction laws--an
increase of the license--heavier penalties for violation--no sale, without
previous exposure of the goods for twenty-four hours, or printed
catalogue--name and address of the auctioneer to be published--severe
penalty, for using a fictitious name, &c.

The whole advertising system of mock auctions, like that, connected with
the kindred impostures of quackery and patent medicines, furnishes a vast
amount of curious and entertaining reading; and affords abundant scope,
for the exercise of a vicious ingenuity. I have heard of a horse, that
could not be compelled, by whip or spur, to cross a bridge, which lay in
the way to his owner's country residence--the horse was advertised to be
sold at auction for no fault but that his owner was _desirous of going out
of the city_.



No. CXL.


Few things are more difficult, than shaving a cold corpse, and making,
what the _artistes_ call _a good job of it_. I heard Robert New say so,
forty years ago, who kept his shop, at the north--easterly corner of
Scollay's buildings. He said the barber ought to be called, as soon, as
the breath was out of the body, and a little before, if it was a clear
case, and you wished the corpse "_to look wholesome_." I think he was
right. Pope's Narcissa said--

  "One need not sure be ugly, though one's dead."

There is considerable mystery, in shaving a living corpse. I find it so;
and yet I have always shaved myself; for I have never been able to
overcome a strong, hereditary prejudice, against being taken by the nose.

My razor is very capricious; so, I suppose, is everybody's razor. There is
a deep and mystical philosophy, about the edge of a razor, which seems to
have baffled the most scientific; and is next of kin to witchcraft. A
tract, by Cotton Mather, upon this subject, would be invaluable. The
scholar will smile, at any comparison, between Pliny the elder and Cotton
Mather. So far, as respects the scope of knowledge, and power of
intellect, and inexhaustible treasures, displayed in Pliny's thirty-seven
books of Natural History, one might as well compare Hyperion to a mummy. I
allude to nothing but the _Magnalia_ or _Improbabilia_; and, upon this
point of comparison, Mather, witchcraft and all fairly fade out of sight,
before the marvels and fantastical stories of Pliny. In lib. xxviii. 23,
Pliny assigns a very strange cause, why _aciem in cultris tonsorum
hebetescere_--why the edge of a barber's razor is sometimes blunted. The
reader may look it up, if he will--it is better in a work, _sub sigillo
latinitatis_, than in an English journal.

I have often put my razor down, regretting, that my beard did not spread
over a larger area; so keenly and agreeably has the instrument performed
its work. It really seemed, that I might have shaved a sleeping mouse,
without disturbing his repose. After twelve hours, that very razor,
untouched the while, has come forth, no better than a pot-sherd. The very
reverse of all this has also befallen me. I once heard Revaillon, our old
French barber, say, that a razor could not be strapped with too light a
hand; and the English proverb was always in his mouth--"a good lather is
half the shave."

Some persons suppose the razor to be an instrument, of comparatively
modern invention, and barbers to have sprung up, at farthest, within the
Christian era. It is written, in Isaiah vii. 20, "In the same day shall
the Lord shave with a razor, that is hired," &c. Ezekiel began to
prophecy, according to Calmet, 590 years before Christ: in the first verse
of ch. v. he says--"take thee a sharp knife, take thee a barber's razor,
and cause it to pass upon thy head and upon thy beard." To cause a razor
_to pass upon the beard_ seems to mean something very different from
_shaving_, in the common sense of that word. Doubtless, it does: the
_culter_ or _novacula_, that is, _the razor_, of the ancients, was
employed, for _shearing_ or _shortening_, as well as for _shaving_ the
beard. Barbers were first known, among the Romans A. U. C. 454, i. e. 298
years before Christ. Pliny says, vii. 59--Sequens gentium consensus in
tonsoribus fuit, sed Romanis tardior. In Italiam ex Sicilia venere post
Romam conditam anno quadringentessimo quinquagessimo quarto, adducente P.
Ticinio Mena, ut auctor est Varro: antea intonsi fuere. Primus omnium radi
quotidie instituit Africanus sequens: Divus Augustus cultris semper usus
est. Then barbers came into use, among the nations, but more slowly among
the Romans. In the year of the city 454, according to Varro, P. Ticinius
Mena introduced barbers into Italy from Sicily: until that time, men wore
their beards. The latter Africanus first set the example of being shaven
daily. Augustus constantly used razors. The passage of Varro, referred to
by Pliny, showing, that, before A. U. C. 454, men wore their beards,
states the fact to be established, by the long beards, on all the old male
statues. That _passing of the sharp knife or razor, upon the beard_,
spoken of, by Ezekiel, I take to be the latter of the two modes, employed
by the Romans--"vel strictim, hoc est, ad cutem usque; vel paulo longius a
cute, interposito pectine"--either close to the skin, or with a comb
interposed. That both modes were in use is clear from the lines of Plautus
in his play of the Captives, Act ii. sc. 2, v. 16--

  Nunc senex est in tonstrina; nunc jam cultros adtinet;
  Sed utrum strictimne adtonsurum dicam esse, an per pectinem,
  Nescio.

Now the old man is in the barber's shop and under the razor; but whether
to be close shaved, or clipped with the comb, I know not.

Pliny, as we have seen, states, that the practice came from Sicily. There
it had been long in use. There is a curious reference to the custom in
Cicero's Tusculan Questions, v. 20. Speaking of the tyrant, Dionysius he
says--Quin etiam ne tonsori collum committeret, tondere suas filias
docuit. Ita sordido ancillarique artificio regiæ virgines, ut tonstriculæ
tondebant barbam et capillum patris. For, not liking to trust his throat
to a barber, he taught his daughters to shave him, and thus these royal
virgins, descending to this coarse, servile vocation, became little, she
barbers, and clipped their father's beard and hair.

There is a curious passage in Pliny which not only proves, that barbers'
shops were common in his time, but shows the very ancient employment of
cobweb, as a styptic. In lib. xxix. 36, he says--Fracto capiti aranei tela
ex oleo et aceto imposita, non nisi vulnere sanato, abscedit. Hæc et
vulneribus tonstrinarum sanguinem sistit. Spiders' web, with oil and
vinegar, applied to a broken head, adheres, till the wound heals. This
also stops the bleeding from cuts, in barbers' shops.

Razors were sharpened, some two thousand years ago, very much as they are
at present. Pliny devotes sec. 47, lib. xxxvi. to hones and whetstones,
oil stones and water stones--quarta ratio--he says--est saliva hominis
proficientium in torstrinarum officinis--the fourth kind is such as are
used in the barbers' shops, and which the man softens with his saliva.

Most common, proverbial sayings are, doubtless, of great antiquity.
Chopping-blocks with a razor is a common illustration of the employment of
a subtle ingenuity, upon coarse and uninteresting topics. Thus Goldsmith,
in his Retaliation, says of Burke--

  In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir,
  To eat mutton cold, and chop blocks with a razor.

The latter illustration is as old as Livy--_novacula cotem discindere_.

The Romans made a prodigious fuss, about their beards. The first crop,
called _prima barba_, and sometimes _lanugo_, was, according to Petronius,
consecrated to some god. Suetonius says, in his Life of Nero, 12--Gymnico
quod in septis edebat, inter buthysiæ apparatum, barbam primam posuit,
conditamque in auream pyxidem, et pretiosissimis margaritis adornatam,
capitolio consecravit.--During the games, which he had given in the
enclosures, and in the very midst of the splendor of the sacrifice, for
the first time, he laid down his beard, and having placed it in a golden
box, adorned with precious stones, he made a sacred deposit thereof, in
the capitol.

After the custom of shaving had been introduced, by Mena, A. U. C. 454, it
went out, for a short time, in Rome, during the time of Adrian, who as
Spartianus relates, in his Life of that Emperor, having some ugly
excrescences on his chin, suffered his beard to grow to conceal them--of
course the courtiers followed the example of the emperor--the people, that
of the courtiers. The grave concealed those excrescences, more
effectually, A. D. 139, and the _navacula_ again came into use, among the
Romans: Marcus Antoninus, his successor, had no excrescences on his chin.

The day, upon which a young Roman was said _ponere barbam_, that is, to
shave for the first time, was accounted a holiday; and Juvenal says, iii.
187, he received presents from his friends.

Ovid, Trist. iv. 10, 67, dates his earliest literary exhibitions, before
the people, by his first or second shave, or clip--

  Carmina quum primum populo juvenilia legi,
  Barba resecta mihi bisve semelve fuit.

Which may be thus translated--

  When first in public I began
    To read my boyish rhymes,
  I scarcely could be call'd a man,
    And had not shav'd three times.

Cæsar says of the Britons, B. G. V. 14--omni parte corporis rasa, præter
caput et labrum superius--they shave entirely, excepting the head and
upper lip.

Half-shaving was accounted, in the days of Samuel, I suppose, as reducing
the party to a state of semi-_barbarism_: thus, in Samuel II. x.
4--"Wherefore Hanan took David's servants, and shaved off the one half of
their beards."

To be denied the privilege of shaving was accounted dishonorable, among
the Catti, a German nation, in the days of Tacitus; for he says, De
Moribus Germanæ, 31--Apud Cattos in consensum vertit, ut primum
adoleverint, crinem barbamque submittere, nec, nisi hoste cæso--It was
settled among the Catti, that no young man should cut his hair, or shave
his beard, till he had killed his man.

Seneca, Cons. Polyb. xxxvi. 5, blames Caius, for refusing to shave,
because he had lost his sister--Idem ille Caius furiosa in constantia,
modo barbam capillumque submittens--There is that Caius, clinging so
absurdly to his sorrow, and suffering his hair and beard to grow on
account of it.

There is an admirable letter, from Seneca to Lucillus, Ep. 114, which
shows, that the dandies, in old Rome, were much like our own. He is
speaking of those--qui vellunt barbam, aut intervellunt; qui labra
pressius tondent et abradunt, servata et submissa cætera parte--who pull
out the beard, by the roots, or particular parts of it--who clip and shave
the hair, either more closely, or leave it growing, on some parts of their
lips.

Juvenal, ii. 99, and Martial, vi. 64, 4, laugh at such, as use a mirror
while shaving. Knives and razors of _brass_, are of great antiquity,
according to the Archæological Æliana, p. 39.--Fosbroke, p. 351, says,
that razors are mentioned by Homer. But I am going to a funeral, this
afternoon, as an amateur, and it is time for me to shave--not with a razor
of brass, however--Pradier is too light for me--I use the Chinese.
Hutchinson, i. 153, says, that Leverett was the first Governor of
Massachusetts, who is painted without a beard, and that he laid it aside,
in Cromwell's court.

China is the paradise of barbers. There, according to Mr. Davis, they
abound. No man shaves himself, the part, to be shorn, being out of his
reach. There would be no difficulty in removing the scanty hair upon their
chins; but the exact tonsure of the crown, without removing one hair from
the Chinaman's long tail, that reaches to his heels, is a delicate affair.
Their razors are very heavy, but superlatively keen.



No. CXLI.


Barbers were chiefly peripatetics, when I was a boy. They ran about town,
and shaved at their customers' houses. There were fewer shops. This was
the genteel mode in Rome. The wealthy had their domestic barbers, as the
planters have now, among their slaves. I am really surprised, that we hear
of so few throats cut at the South. Some evidence of this custom--not of
cutting throats--may be found, in one of the neatest epitaphs, that ever
was written; the subject of which, a very young and accomplished
slave-barber, has already taken a nap of eighteen hundred years. I refer
to Martial's _epitaphium_, on Pantagathus, a word, which, by the way,
signifies one, who is good at everything, or, as we say--a man of all
works. It is the fifty-second, of Book VI. Its title is _Epitaphium
Pantagathi, Tonsoris_:

  Hoc jacet in tumulo raptus puerilibus annis
    Pantagathus, domini cura, dolorque sui,
  Vix tangente vagos ferro resecare capillos
    Doctus, et hirsutas excoluisse genas.
  Sic, licet, ut debes, Tellus placata, levisque;
    Artificis levior non potes esse manu.

In attempting a version of this, I feel, as if I were about to disfigure a
pretty spinster, with a mob-cap.

  Here lies Pantagathus, the slave,
    Petted he liv'd, and died lamented;
  No youth, like him could clip and shave,
    Since shears and razors were invented.

  So light his touch, you could not feel
    The razor, while your cheeks were smoothing;
  And sat, unconscious of the steel,
    The operation was so soothing.

  Oh, mother Earth, appeas'd, since thou
    Back to thy grasping arms hast won him,
  Soft be thy hand, like his, and now
    Lie thou, in mercy, lightly on him.

Rochester was right; few things were ever benefited, by translation, but a
bishop.

The _Tonstrinæ_, or barbers' shops, in Rome, were seldom visited by any,
but the humbler classes. They were sometimes called the _Shades_. Horace,
Ep. i. 7, 50, describes Philippus, an eminent lawyer, as struck with
sudden envy, upon seeing Vulteius Mena, the beadle, sitting very much at
ease, in one of these shades, after having been shaved, and leisurely
cleaning his own nails, an office commonly performed by the barbers:--

  Adrasum quendam vacua tonsoris in umbra,
  Cultello proprios purgantem leniter ungues.

There were she-barbers, in Rome, residing in the _Saburra_ and
_Argiletum_, very much such localities, as "_the Hill_," formerly in
Boston, or _Anthony Street_, in New York. Martial describes one of these
_tonstrices_, ii. 17--

  Tonstrix Saburræ fancibus sedet primis, etc.

Some there were, of a better order. Plautus, Terence, and Theophrastus
have many allusions to the barbers' shops. They have ever been the same
"_otiosorum conciliabula_," that they were, when Terence wrote--resorts of
the idle and garrulous. In old times--very--not now, of course--not now, a
dressmaker, who was mistress of her business, knew that she was expected
to turn out so much work, and so much _slander_. That day has fortunately
gone by. But the "barber's tale" is the very thing that it was, in the
days of Oliver Goldsmith, and it was then the very thing, that it was, as
I verily believe, in the days of Ezekiel. There are many, who think, that
a good story, not less than a good lather, is half the shave.

It is quite _in rerum natura_, that much time should be consumed, in
waiting, at the _tonstrinæ_--the barbers' shops; and to make it pass
agreeably, the craft have always been remarkable, for the employment of
sundry appliances--amusing pictures around the walls--images and
mechanical contrivances--the daily journals--poodles, monkeys, squirrels,
canaries, and parrots. In the older countries, a barber's boy was greatly
in request, who could play upon the _citterne_, or some other musical
instrument.

If there had not been a curious assemblage of _materiel_, in an old Roman
_tonstrina_, it would not have been selected as an object for the pencil.
That it was so selected, however, appears from a passage in Pliny, XXXV.
37. He is writing of Pureicus--arte paucis postferendus: proposito, nescio
an destruxerit se: quoniam humilia quidem sequutus, humilitatis tamen
summam adeptus est gloriam. Tonstrinas, sutrinasque pinxit, et asellos, et
obsonia, ac similia--He had few superiors in his art: I know not if the
plan he adopted was fatal to his fame; for, though his subjects were
humble, yet, in their representation, he attained the highest excellence.
He painted barbers' and shoemakers' shops, asses, eatables, and the like.

A rude sketch of Heemskerck's picture of a barber's shop lies now upon my
table. Here is the poodle, with a cape and fool's cap, walking on his hind
legs--the suspended bleeding basin, and other et cætera of the profession.

Little is generally known, as to the origin and import of the barber's
pole. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, surgery was in such low
repute, that farriers, barbers, sow-spayers, and surgeons were much upon a
level. The truth of this, in respect to surgeons and barbers, has been
established by law: and, for about two hundred years, both in London and
Paris, they were incorporated, as one company. I remember a case, reported
by Espinasse--not having the book at hand, I cannot indicate the volume
and page--which shows the judicial estimate of surgery then, compared with
the practice of physic. A physician's fees, in England, were accounted
_quiddam honorarium_, and not _matter of lucre_, and therefore could not
be recovered, in an action at law. Upon an action brought for surgical
services, the fees were recoverable, because surgeons, upon the testimony
of Dr. Mead, were of a lower grade, having nothing to do with the
pathology of diseases, and never prescribing; but simply performing
certain mechanical acts; and being, like all other artificers and
operatives, worthy of their hire.

Nothing can more clearly exhibit the low state of this noble science, at
the time, and the humble estimation of it, by the public. Chirurgery
seemed destined to grovel, in etymological bondage, [Greek: cheir ergon],
a mere _handicraft_. Barbers and surgeons were incorporated, as one
company, in the fifteenth century, in the reign of Edward IV., and were
called barber-surgeons. At the close of the sixteenth century, Ambrose
Paré, the greatest surgeon of his time in France, did not reject the
appellation of _barber-surgeon_. Henry VIII. dissolved this union, and
gave a new charter in 1540, when it was enacted, that "_no person, using
any shaving or barbery in London, shall occupy any surgery, letting of
blood, or other matter, excepting only the drawing of teeth_." The
_barber-surgeon_ was thus reduced to the _barber-dentist_, which seems not
so agreeable to the practitioner, at present, as the loftier appellation
of _surgeon-dentist_. Sterne was right: there is something in a name. The
British surgeons obtained a new charter, in 1745, and another, in 1800,
and various acts have been subsequently passed, on their behalf. July 17,
1797, Lord Thurlow, in the House of Peers, opposed a new bill, which the
surgeons desired to have passed. Thurlow was a man of morose temperament,
and uncertain humor.

He averred, that so much of the old law was in force, that, to use his own
words, "the barbers and surgeons were each to use a pole, the barbers were
to have theirs blue and white, striped, with no other appendage; but the
surgeons', which was the same, in other respects, was likewise to have a
gallipot and a red rag, to denote the particular nature of their
vocation."

Brand, in his Popular Antiquities, says, that the barber's pole, used in
bleeding, is represented, in an illuminated missal, of the time of Edward
I., Longshanks, whose reign began in 1272. Fosbroke, in his Encyc. of
Antiquities, page 414, says--"A staff, bound by a riband, was held, by
persons being bled, and the pole was intended to denote the practice of
phlebotomy." According to Lord Thurlow's statement, in the House of Peers,
the pole was required, by the statute, to be used, as a sign. The first
statute, incorporating the barber-surgeons, was that of Edward IV., as I
have stated. The missal of Edward I., referred to by Brand, shows, that
the usage was older than the law, and, doubtless, that the popular emblem
was adopted, in the statute, to which Lord Thurlow refers, as still in
force, in 1797.

In Brand's Newcastle, I find, that "it is ordered, Dec. 11, 1711, that
periwig-making be considered part and branch of the Company of
Barber-_Chirurgeons_."

The history of the pole is this: A staff about three feet high, with a
ball on the top, and inserted, at the bottom, in a small cross-piece, was
very convenient for the person to hold, who extended his arm, as he sat
down, to be bled; and a fillet, or tape, was equally convenient for the
ligature. These things the barber-surgeons kept, in a corner of their
shops; and, when not in use, the tape or fillet was wound or twirled round
the staff. When the lawgivers called for a sign, no apter sign could be
given unto them, than this identical staff and fillet; much larger of
course, and to be seen of men much farther.



No. CXLII.


Ancient plays abound with allusions to the barber's _citterne_, or lute,
upon which not only he himself, and his apprentices were accustomed to
play, but all the loiterers in the _tonstrina_. Much of all this may be
found, in the Glossary of Archdeacon Nares, under the article CITTERNE,
and in Fosbroke's Antiquities.

The commonness of its use gave rise to a proverb. In the Silent Woman, Act
II., scene 2, Ben Jonson avails of it. Morose had married a woman,
recommended by his barber, and whose fidelity he suspected, and the
following passage occurs, between Morose and Truewit. Lond., 1816, iii.
411.

    _Morose._ That cursed barber!

    _Truewit._ Yes, faith, a cursed wretch indeed, sir.

    _Morose._ I have married his _cittern_, that's common to all men.

Upon this passage is the following note--"It appears from innumerable
passages, in our old writers, that barbers' shops were furnished with some
musical instrument, commonly a cittern or guitar, for the amusement of
such customers as chose to strum upon it, while waiting for their turn to
be shaved, &c. It should be recollected, that the patience of customers,
if the shop was at all popular, must, in those tedious days of love-locks,
and beards of most fantastical cuts, have been frequently put to very
severe trials. Some kind of amusement therefore was necessary, to beguile
the time."

In old times, in old England, barbers were in the habit of making a
variety of noises, with their fingers and their shears, which noises were
supposed to be agreeable to their customers. Fosbroke, p. 414, refers to
Lily's old play of Mydas, iii. 2, as showing the existence of the custom,
in his time. Lily was born about 1553. There were some, who preferred to
be shaved and dressed quietly. Nares, in his Glossary, refers to Plutarch,
De Garrulitate, for an anecdote of King Archelaus, who stipulated with his
barber to shave him in silence. This barbers' trick was called the "_knack
with the fingers_;" and was extremely disagreeable to Morose, in Ben
Jonson's play, to which I have referred. Thus, in i. 2, Clerimont,
speaking of the partiality of Morose for Cutbeard, the barber, says--"The
fellow trims him silently, and has not the knack with his shears or his
fingers: and that continence in a barber he thinks so eminent a virtue, as
it has made him chief of his counsel."

As barbers were brought first into Rome, from Sicily, so the best razors,
according to Nares and Fosbroke, before the English began to excel in
cutlery, were obtained in Palermo. Their form was unlike those now in use,
and seems more perfectly to correspond with one of the Roman names,
signifying a razor, i. e. _culter_. The blade, like that of a pruning
knife, or sickle, curved slightly inward, the reverse of which is the
modern form.

Smith, in his Ancient Topography of London, says--"The flying barber is a
character now no more to be seen in London, though he still remains in
some of our country villages: he was provided with a napkin, soap, and
pewter basin, the form of which may be seen, in many of the illustrative
prints of Don Quixote. His chafer was a deep leaden vessel, something like
a chocolate pot, with a large ring or handle, at the top; this pot held
about a quart of water, boiling hot; and, thus equipped, he flew about to
his customers."

Old Randle Holme says, "_perawickes_" were very common in his time, about
1668, though unused before "contrary to our forefathers, who wore their
own hair." A barber, in Paris, to recommend his bag wigs, hung over his
door the sign of Absalom. Hone, i. 1262, states that a periwig-maker, to
recommend his wares, turned the reason into rhyme:

  "Oh, Absalom, oh Absalom,
    Oh Absalom, my son,
  If thou hadst worn a periwig,
    Thou hadst not been undone."

Hutchinson, i. 152, says periwigs were an eyesore in New England, for
thirty years after the Restoration of Charles II.

Among the Romans, after Mena introduced the practice of shaving, those,
who professed philosophy, still maintained their dignity, and their
beards, as an _ecce signum_. Hence the expression of Horace, Sat. ii. 3,
35, _sapientem pascere barbam_: and of Persius, iv. 1, when speaking of
Socrates:

    barbatum hæc crede magistrum
  Dicere, sorbitio tollit quem dira cicutæ.

Of those, who wear beards, at the present day, it has been computed, that,
for one philosopher, there are five hundred fools, at the very lowest
estimate. Manage them as you will, they are troublesome appendages; of
very questionable cleanliness; and mightily in the way of such, as are
much addicted to gravy and spoon victual. Like the burden of our sins, the
postprandial odor of them must be sometimes intolerable.

What an infinite variety of colors we have now-a-days! Bottom, in
Midsummer Night's Dream, i. 2, is in doubt, what beard he shall play
Pyramus in, and, at last, he says--"I will discharge it in either your
straw-colored beard, your orange tawny beard, your purple ingrain beard,
or your French crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow." Now I can
honestly aver, that every fifth dandy I meet, looks precisely like Bottom,
performing Pyramus. Now and then, I meet a fine, full, black beard; but,
even then, it seems to me, that the proud satisfaction the fortunate
proprietor must feel, in going about town with it, must be, in some
degree, counterbalanced, by the necessity of sleeping in it, during the
summer solstice.

The fancy colors, proposed by Bottom, refer to the dyes, in use, at the
period, when Bottom flourished. Indeed, dyeing the beard is of the highest
antiquity. I have no authority that Aaron dyed his. In 1653, John Bulwer
published his "Anthropo-Metamorphosis," or Artificial Changeling, a very
able and curious production. For the antiquity of the silly practice of
dyeing the beard, he refers to Strabo. Old John Bulwer, ch. ix., comments,
with just severity, upon the conduct of those ancient fools, who adopt the
practice--"_In every haire of these old coxcombs, you shall meet with
three divers and sundry colors; white at the roots, yellow in the middle,
and black at the point, like unto one of your parrat's feathers_." What a
graphic description of this nasty appendage! It has ever been to me a
matter of infinite surprise, how any mortal can presume to say his
prayers, with one of these pied abominations on his chin; giving the lie
direct to the volume of inspiration, which avers that he cannot make one
hair black nor white.

Another mystery--how can any man's better half become reconciled to a
husband, dyed thus, in the wool! The colors are not all fast colors, I
believe; and are liable to be rubbed off, by attrition.

Beards were cultivated, to such an excess, in Elizabeth's time, as to
require and receive a check from the legislature. "The growth of beards,"
says Nares, in his Glossary, "was regulated by statute, at Lincoln's Inn,
in the time of Eliz.--Primo Eliz. it was ordered, that no fellow of that
house should wear a beard above a fortnight's growth. Transgression was
punished with fine, loss of commons, and finally expulsion. But fashion
prevailed, and in November, the following year, all previous orders,
touching beards, were repealed."

It was formerly calculated, by Lord Stanhope, that the sum, expended upon
snuff, and the value of the time, consumed in taking it, and the cost of
snuff-boxes, handkerchiefs, &c., if duly invested, would pay off the
national debt. I have a proposal to offer, and I offer it, timidly and
respectfully, for the consideration of those amiable females, who go
about, so incessantly, doing good. Perhaps I may not be able to awaken
their interest, more effectually, than by suggesting the idea, that here
is a very fair opportunity, for the formation of another female auxiliary
society. I take it for granted, that there are some of these bearded
gentlemen, from whom contributions in money, could not easily be obtained,
for any benevolent object. There are some, whose whole estate, real,
personal, and mixed, comprehends very little, beyond a costly malacca
joint, a set of valuable shirtstuds, and a safety chain. Still if we
cudgel the doctrine of political economy, we may get some small
contributions, even from them.

Cortez found, in the treasury of Montezuma, a multitude of little bags,
which were, at last, discovered to be filled with dead lice. The Emperor,
to keep the Mexican beggars out of mischief, had levied this species of
tax. I am well aware, that the power of levying taxes is not vested in
young ladies. They have certain, natural, inherent rights, however, and,
among them, the right and the power of persuasion. Let them organize,
throughout the Union, and establish committees of correspondence. Let them
address a circular to every individual, who wears a beard; and, if their
applications succeed, they will enjoy the luxury of supplying a
comfortable hair mattrass, to every poor widow, and aged single woman in
the United States.



No. CXLIII.


The barber's brush is a luxury of more modern times. Stubbe, in his
"Anatomy of Abuses," says--"When they come to washing, oh, how gingerly
they behave themselves therein. For then shall your mouths be bossed with
the lather or some that rinseth of the balles, (for they have their sweete
balles, wherewith all they use to washe) your eyes closed must be anointed
therewith also. Then snap go the fingers, ful bravely, God wot. Thus, this
tragedy ended; comes the warme clothes to wipe and dry him with all."
Stubbe wrote, about 1550.

Not very long ago, a writer in the Gentleman's Magazine, observed--"I am
old enough to remember when the operation of shaving in this kingdom, was
almost exclusively performed by the _barbers_: what I speak of is some
threescore years ago, at which time gentlemen shavers were unknown.
Expedition was then a prime quality in a barber, who smeared the lather
over his customer's face with his hand; for the delicate refinement of the
brush had not been introduced. The lathering of the beard being finished,
the operator threw off the lather, adhering to his hand, by a peculiar
jerk of his arm, which caused the joints of his fingers to crack, this
being a more expeditious mode of clearing the hand, than using a towel for
that purpose; and, the more audible the crack, the higher the shaver
stood, in his own opinion, and in that of the fraternity. This I presume
is the custom alluded to by Stubbe."

The Romans, when bald, wore wigs. Some of the emperors wore miserable
periwigs. Curly locks, however becoming in a male child, are somewhat
ridiculous, trained with manifest care, and descending upon the shoulders
of a full grown boy of forty. In addition to the pole, a peruke was
frequently employed, as the barber's sign. There was the short bob, and
the full bottom; the "hie perrawycke" and the scratch; the top piece, and
the periwig with the pole lock; the curled wig with a dildo, and the
travelling wig, with curled foretop and bobs; the campain wig, with a
dildo on each side, and the toupet, a la mode.

It may seem a paradox to some, that the most _barbarous_ nations should
suffer the hair and beard to grow longest. The management of the hair has
furnished an abundant subject matter for grave attention, in every age and
nation. Cleansing, combing, crimping, and curling, clipping, and
consecrating their locks gave ample occupation to the ladies and gentlemen
of Greece and Rome. At the time of adolescence, and after shipwreck, the
hair was cut off and sacrificed to the divinities. It was sometimes cut
off, at funerals, and cast upon the pile. Curling irons were in use, at
Rome. Girls wore the hair fastened upon the top of the head; matrons
falling on the neck. Shaving the crown was a part of the punishment of
conspirators and thieves. We know nothing, at present, in regard to the
hair, which was unknown at Rome--our _frizzing_ was their _capillorum
tortura_. They had an instrument, called _tressorium_, for plaiting the
hair. In the time of Edward the Confessor, the hair was worn, universally,
long, the laws of England not compelling all, but the nobility, as in
France, to cut the hair short, in that age.

The Romans are said, occasionally to have worn wigs of an enormous size,
which gave occasion to the term, in Martial's epigram, _caput calceatum_.
We have no exact record of the size of those Roman wigs--but I sincerely
wish, that Augustus Cæsar or--

  "Mæcenas, whose high lineage springs,
  From fair Etruria's ancient kings,"

could have seen the Rev. Dr. Lathrop's! In Mr. Ward's journal of Samuel
Curwen, that venerable and truly respectable, and amiable, old tory is
represented, with precisely such a wig, but of much smaller diameter. Dr.
John Lathrop died, Jan. 4, 1816, at the age of 75. He published a
considerable number of sermons on various occasions, no one of which is
remarkable for extraordinary talent, or learning. It was, by some
intelligent persons, supposed, that the wig was a great help to him. In
his latter days, he found himself unable, any longer, to bear up, under
such a portentous superstructure, which really appeared to "_overhang_,"
contrary to the statute, and he laid it aside. His influence certainly
appeared to diminish, in some measure, probably, from the increasing
infirmities of age; but, doubtless, in some degree, from the deposition of
the wig. I honestly confess, that I never felt for Dr. Lathrop the same
awful reverence, after he had laid aside this emblem of wisdom. A "wig
full of learning" is an ancient saying, and Cowper makes use of it, in one
of his lighter poems.

I have always looked upon barbers, as an honorable race of men, quite as
much so, as brokers; the barbers seldom fail to shave more gently, and
commonly dismiss an old customer, without drawing blood, or taking off the
skin. We owe them a debt of gratitude withal, on other scores. How very
easily they might cut our throats!

In this goodly city, at the present time, there are more than one hundred
and ten gentlemen, who practice the art of barbery, beside their
respective servants and apprentices. When I was a small boy--very--some
sixty years ago, there were but twenty-nine, and many of them were most
respectable and careful operators--an honor to their profession, and a
blessing to the community.

There was Charles Gavett, in Devonshire Street, the Pudding Lane of our
ancestors. Gavett was a brisk, little fellow; his _tonstrina_ was small,
and rather dark, but always full.

In Brattle Square, just behind the church, John Green kept a shop, for
several years. But John became unsteady, and cut General Winslow, and some
other of his customers, and scalded several others, and lost his business.

In Fish Street, which had then, but recently, ceased to be the court end
of the town, there were several clever barbers--there was Thomas Grubb,
and Zebulon Silvester, and James Adams, and Abraham Florence. I never
heard a syllable against them, or their lather.

At No. 33, Marlborough Street, William Whipple kept a first rate
establishment, and had a high name, among the dandies, as an accomplished
haircutter.

Jonathan Edes kept a small shop, in Ann Street, and had a fair run of
transient custom. He had always a keen edge and a delicate hand. He was
greatly urged to take a larger establishment, in a more fashionable part
of the town, near Cow Lane, but Mr. Edes was not ambitious, and turned a
wiry edge to all such suggestions.

William Mock kept a shop, in Newbury Street, an excellent shaver, but
slow; his shop was not far from the White Horse. He was a peripatetic. I
suspect, but am not certain, that he shaved Dr. Lemuel Hayward.

At the corner of Essex Street, old Auchmuty's Lane, George Gideon kept a
fine stand, clean towels, keen edge, and hot lather; but he had a rough,
coarse hand. He had been one of the sons of liberty, and his shop being
near the old site of Liberty tree, he was rather apt to take liberties
with his customers' noses, especially the noses of the disaffected.

There were two professed wig-makers, in Boston, at that time, who
performed the ordinary functions of barbers beside, William Haslet, in
Adams Street, and John Bosson, in Orange Street. Mr. Bosson was very
famous, in his line, and in great request, among the ladies.

In Marshall's Lane, Edward Hill was an admirable shaver; but, in the
department of hair cutting, inferior to Anthony Howe, whose exceedingly
neat and comfortable establishment was in South Latin School Street. An
excellent hotel was then kept, by Joshua Bracket, at the sign of
Cromwell's Head, on the very spot, where Palmer keeps his fruit shop, and
the very next door below the residence of Dr. John Warren. Bracket
patronized Howe's shop, and sent him many customers. Captain John Boyle,
whose house and bookstore were at No. 18 Marlborough Street, patronized
Anthony Howe.

Samuel Jepson kept his _barbery_, as the shop was sometimes called, in
Temple Street, between the two bakeries of William Breed and Matthew
Bayley.

James Tate was established in Purchase Street. He would have been a good
barber, had he not been a poor poet. He was proud of his descent from
Nahum Tate, the psalmodist, the copartner of Brady. Richard Fox kept also
in Purchase Street, and had a large custom.

A much frequented barber's shop was kept, by William Pierce, near the
Boston Stone. Jonathan Farnham was an excellent barber, in Back Street. He
unluckily had an ominous squint, which was inconvenient, as it impressed
new comers, now and then, with a fear lest he might cut their throats.
Joseph Alexander shaved in Orange Street, and Theodore Dehon, on the north
side of the Old State House.

Joseph Eckley was one of the best shavers and hair cutters in town, some
sixty years ago. His shop was in Wing's Lane. Daniel Crosby, who was also
a wig maker, in Newbury Street, was clerk of Trinity Church.

Augustine Raillion, whose name was often written Revaillion kept his
stand, at No. 48 Newbury Street. He was much given to dogs, ponies, and
other divertisements.

State Street was famous, for four accomplished barbers, sixty years
ago--Stephen Francis, John Gould, John M. Lane, and Robert Smallpiece. The
last was the father of Robert Smallpiece, who flourished here, some thirty
years ago or more, and kept his shop, in Milk Street, opposite the Old
South Church.

It is well known, that the late Robert Treat Paine wrote an ode, upon the
occasion of the Spanish successes, to which he gave the title of "_Spain,
Commerce and Freedom, a National Ode_." It bore unquestionable marks of
genius; but some of the ideas and much of the phraseology were altogether
extravagant. It commenced finely--

  "Sound the trumpet of fame! Strike that pæan again!
  Religion a war against tyranny wages;
  From her seat springs, in armor, regenerate Spain,
  Like a giant, refresh'd by the slumber of ages.
          From the place, where she lay,
          She leaps in array,
  Like Ajax, to die in the face of the day."

The ode contained some strange expressions--"redintegrant war"--"though
the dismemberd earth effervesce and regender," and so many more, that the
ode, though evidently the work of a man of genius, was accounted
bombastic. A wag of that day, published a parody, of which this Robert
Smallpiece was the hero. It was called, if I mistake not--"Soap, Razors,
and Hot Water, a Tonsorial Ode." The first stanza ran thus--

  "Strap that razor so keen! Strap that razor again!
  And Smallpiece will shave 'em, if he can come at 'em;
  From his stool, clad in aprons, he springs up amain,
  Like a barber, refresh'd by the smell of pomatum.
          From the place, where he lay,
          He leaps in array,
  To lather and shave, in the face of the day.
  He has sworn from pollution our faces to clean,
  Our cheeks, necks, and upper lips, whiskers and chin."

"Paullo majora canamus."



No. CXLIV.


In 1784, Mr. Thomas Percival, an eminent physician, of Manchester, in
England, published a work, against duelling, and sent a copy to Dr.
Franklin. Dr. Franklin replied to Mr. Percival, from Passy, July 17, 1784,
and his reply contains the following observations--"Formerly, when duels
were used to determine lawsuits, from an opinion, that Providence would in
every instance, favor truth and right, with victory, they were excusable.
At present, they decide nothing. A man says something, which another tells
him is a lie. They fight; but whichever is killed, the point in dispute
remains unsettled. To this purpose, they have a pleasant little story
here. A gentleman, in a coffee-house, desired another to sit further from
him. 'Why so?'--'Because, sir, you stink.'--'That is an affront, and you
must fight me.'--'I will fight you, if you insist upon it; but I do not
see how that will mend the matter. For if you kill me, I shall stink too;
and, if I kill you, you will stink, if possible, worse than you do at
present.'"

This is certainly germain to the matter. So far from perceiving any moral
courage, in those, who fight duels, nothing seems more apparent, than the
triumph of one fear, over four other fears--the fear of shame, over the
fear of bringing misery upon parents, wives and children--the fear of the
law--the fear of God--and the fear of death. Many a man will _brave_
death, who fears it.

Death is the king of terrors, and all men stand in awe of him, saving the
Christian, with his armor of righteousness about him, _cap-a-pie_; and
even he, perhaps, is slightly pricked, by that fear, now and then, in
articulo, between the joints of the harness. I must honestly confess, that
I once knew a man, who had a terrible vixen of a wife, and, when about to
die, he replied to his clergyman's inquiry, if he was not afraid to meet
the king of terrors, that he was not, for he had lived with the queen, for
thirty years.

I do not suppose there is a more hypocritical fellow, upon earth, than a
duellist. Mandeville, in his Fable of the Bees, in the second dialogue,
part ii., puts these words into the mouth of Cleomenes, when speaking to
Horatio, on the subject of his duel: "I saw you, that very morning, and
you seemed to be sedate and void of passion: you could have no concern."
Horatio replies--"It is silly to show any, at such times; but I know best
what I felt; the struggle I had within was unspeakable: it is a terrible
thing. I would then have given a considerable part of my estate, that the
thing which forced me into it, had not happened; and yet, upon less
provocation, I would act the same part again, tomorrow." Such is human
nature, and many, who sit down quietly, to write in opposition to this
silly, senseless, selfish practice, would be quite apt enough, upon the
emergency, to throw aside the pacific steel, wherewith they indite, and
take up the cruel rapier. When I was a young man, a Mr. Ogilvie gave
lectures, in Boston, on various subjects. He was the son of Mr. Ogilvie,
to whose praises of the prospects in Scotland, Dr. Johnson replied, by
telling him, that "the noblest prospect, which a Scotchman ever sees, is
the high road, that leads him to England."

The son of this gentleman gave his lectures, in the old Exchange Coffee
House, where I heard him, several times. Under the influence of opium,
which he used very freely, he was, occasionally, quite eloquent. He
lectured, one evening, with considerable power, against duelling. On his
way to his lodgings, some person repeated to him, several piquant and
cutting things, which a gentleman had said of his lecture. Ogilvie was
exceedingly incensed, and swore he would call him out, the very next day.

This law of honor is written nowhere, unless, in letters of blood, in the
volume of pride, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. "What,"
says Cleomenes, in the work I have just now referred to--"What makes so
just and prudent a man, that has the good of society so much at heart, act
knowingly against the laws of his country?"--"The strict obedience," says
Horatio, "he pays to the laws of honor, which are superior to all
others."--"If men of honor," says Cleomenes, "would act consistently, they
ought all to be Roman Catholics."--"Why so?"--"Because," he rejoins, "they
prefer oral tradition, to all written laws; for nobody can tell, when, in
what king's or emperor's reign, in what country, or by what authority,
these laws of honor were first enacted: it is very strange they should be
of such force."

It is certainly very strange, that their authority should have been
acknowledged, in some cases, not only by professing Christians, but even
by the ministers of religion. Four individuals, of this holy calling,
stand enrolled, as duellists, on the blood-guilty register of England. In
1764, the Rev. Mr. Hill was killed in a duel, by Cornet Gardner. On the
18th of June, 1782, the Rev. Mr. Allen killed Mr. Lloyd Dulany, in a duel.
In August, 1827, Mr. Grady was wounded in a duel, by the Rev. Mr. Hodson.
The Rev. Mr. Bate fought two duels--was subsequently made Baronet--fought
a third duel, and was made Dean. If such atrocities were not preëminently
horrible, how ridiculous they would be!

It would not be agreeable to be placed in that category, in which a worthy
bishop placed those, who, after Dr. Johnson's death, began to assail his
reputation. "_The old lion is dead_," said the bishop, "_and now every ass
will be kicking at his hide_." Better and safer, however, to be there,
than to bide with those, who receive all the coarse, crude, mental
eructations of this truly good and great man, for _dicta perennia_. A
volume of outrageously false teachings might readily be selected, from the
recorded outpourings of this great literary whale, whenever Boswell, by a
little tickling, caused his Leviathan to spout. Too much tea, or none at
all, too much dinner, or too little certainly affected his qualifications,
as a great moral instructor; and, under the teazle of contradiction, the
nap of his great spirit fairly stood on end; and, at such times, he sought
victory too often, rather than the truth. It has always seemed to me, that
dinner-table philosophy, especially _aprés_, is often of very questionable
value.

Dr. Johnson has frequently been quoted, on the subject of duelling. Some
of his opinions were delivered, on this subject, suddenly, and seem
entirely unworthy of his majestic powers. At a dinner party, at Gen.
Oglethorpe's--I refer to Boswell's Johnson, in ten volumes, Lond. 1835,
vol. iii. page 216--Boswell brought up the subject of duelling. Gen.
Oglethorpe, _the host_, "fired at this, and said, with a lofty air,
'undoubtedly a man has a right to defend his honor.'"

Dr. Johnson, the _principal guest_, did the civil thing, and took the same
side, and is reported, by Boswell, to have said substantially--"Sir, as
men become in a high degree refined, various causes of offence arise;
which are considered to be of such importance, that life must be staked to
atone for them; though, in reality, they are not so. A body, that has
received a very fine polish, may be easily hurt. Before men arrive at
this artificial refinement, if one tells his neighbor he lies--his
neighbor tells him he lies--if one gives his neighbor a blow, his neighbor
gives him a blow: but, in a state of highly polished society, an affront
is held to be a serious injury. It must therefore be resented, or rather a
duel must be fought upon it; as men have agreed to banish, from society,
one, who puts up with an affront, without fighting a duel. Now, sir, it is
never unlawful to fight, in self-defence. He, then, who fights a duel,
does not fight from passion against his antagonist, but out of
self-defence, to avert the stigma of the world, and to prevent himself
from being driven out of society. I could wish there was not that
superfluity of refinement; but, while such notions prevail, no doubt a man
may lawfully fight a duel." I must have another witness, besides Mr.
Boswell, before I believe, that Dr. Johnson uttered these words. Dr.
Johnson could never have maintained, that the _lawfulness_ of an act
depended upon the existence of certain popular _notions_. Nor is it true,
nor was it then true, that _men have agreed to banish, from society, one,
who puts up with an affront, without fighting a duel_.

Dr. Johnson seems to have made no distinction, between military men and
the rest of the world. It is impossible to doubt, that the Doctor was
graciously disposed to favor Gen. Oglethorpe's _notions_, and that he
would have taken the opposite side, had he been the guest of the
Archbishop of Canterbury. "_It is not unlawful to fight, in
self-defence_:" the law, by punishing all killing, in a duel, as murder,
in the very first degree, shows clearly enough, that duelling is never
looked upon, as fighting, in self-defence. It is remarkable, that Mr.
Boswell, himself a lawyer, should have thought this paragraph worthy of
preservation.

On page 268, of the same volume, Mr. Boswell has the following
record--"April 19, 1773, he again defended duelling, and put his argument
upon what I have ever thought the most solid basis; that, if public war be
allowed to be consistent with morality, private war must be equally so."
And this, in Mr. Boswell's opinion, was _the most solid basis_! It is
difficult to perceive what is stubble, if this is not. Whither does this
argument carry us all, but back to the state of nature--of uncovenanted
man--of man, who has surrendered none of his natural rights, as a
consideration for the blessings of government and law? A state of nature
and a state of society are very different things. Who will doubt, that, if
Dr. Johnson really uttered these things, he would have talked more warily,
could he have imagined, that Bozzy would have transmitted them to distant
ages?

It is, nevertheless, perfectly clear, that Dr. Johnson, upon both these
occasions, had talked, only for the pride and pleasure of talking; for Mr.
Boswell records a very different opinion, vol. iv. page 249. Sept. 19,
1773.--Dr. Johnson then had thoroughly digested General Oglethorpe's
dinner; and Mr. Boswell's record runs thus--"_He fairly owned he could not
explain the rationality of duelling_."

Poor Mr. Boswell! It is not unreasonable, to suppose, that he had
inculcated his notions, upon the subject of duelling, in his own family,
and repeated, for the edification of his sons, the valuable sentiments of
Dr. Johnson. Mr. Boswell died, May 19, 1795. Seven and twenty years after
his death, his son, Sir Alexander Boswell, was killed, in a duel, at
Auchterpool, by Mr. James Stuart, March 26, 1822. Upon the trial of
Stuart, for murder, Mr. Jeffrey, who defended him, quoted the very
passage, in which Dr. Johnson had justified, to the father, that fatal sin
and folly, which had brought the son to an untimely grave!



No. CXLV.


Dr. Franklin, in his letter to Mr. Percival, referred to, in my last
number, observes, that, "formerly, when duels were used, to determine
lawsuits, from an opinion, that Providence would, in every instance, favor
truth and right with victory, they were excusable." Dr. Johnson did not
think this species of duel so absurd, as it is commonly supposed to be:
"it was only allowed," said he, "when the question was in equilibrio, and
they had a notion that Providence would interfere in favor of him, who was
in the right." Bos., vol. iv. page 14. The lawfulness of a thing may
excuse it: but there are some laws, so very absurd, that one stares at
them, in the statute book, as he looks at flies in amber, and marvels
"_how the devil they got there_." There was, I am gravely assured, in the
city of New Orleans, not very long ago, a practitioner of the healing art,
who was called _the Tetotum doctor_--he felt no pulse--he examined no
tongue--he asked no questions for conscience' sake, nor for any other--his
tetotum was marked with various letters, on its sides--he sat down, in
front of the patient, and spun his tetotum--if B. came uppermost, he bled
immediately--if P., he gave a purge--if E., an emetic--if C., a clyster,
and so on. If there be less wisdom, in this new mode of practice, than in
the old wager of Battel, I perceive it not.

Both Drs. Franklin and Johnson refer to it, as an _ancient_ practice. It
was supposed, doubtless, to have become obsolete, and a dead letter,
extinguished by the mere progress of civilization. Much surprise,
therefore, was excited, when, at a period, as late as 1818, an attempt was
made to revive it, in the case of Ashford _vs._ Thornton, tried before the
King's Bench, in April of that year. This was a case of appeal of murder,
under the law of England. Thornton had violated, and murdered the sister
of Ashford; and, as a last resort, claimed his right to _wager of battel_.
The court, after full consideration, felt themselves obliged to admit the
claim, under the unrepealed statute of 9, William II., passed A. D. 1096.
Ashford, the appellant, and brother of the unfortunate victim, declined to
accept the challenge, and the murderer was accordingly discharged. This
occurred, in the 58th year of George III., and a statute was passed, in
1819, putting an end to this terrible absurdity. Had the appellant, the
brother, accepted this legalized challenge, what a barbarous exhibition
would have been presented to the world, at this late day, through the
inadvertence of Parliament, in omitting to repeal this preposterous law!

In a former number, I quoted a sentiment, attributed, by Boswell, to Dr.
Johnson, and which, I suppose, was no deliberate conviction of his, but
uttered, in the course of his dinner-table talk, for the gratification of
Gen. Oglethorpe, "_Men have agreed to banish from society, a man, who puts
up with an affront without fighting a duel_." This is not asserted, as an
independent averment, but assumed or taken for granted, as the basis of
the argument, such as it was. Is this a fact? Cannot cases innumerable be
stated, to prove, that it is not? The words, ascribed to Dr. Johnson, are
not confined to any class or profession, but are of universal
application. Have men agreed to banish from society every man, who refuses
to fight a duel, when summoned to that refreshing amusement? Let us
examine a few cases. General Jackson did not lose caste, because he
omitted to challenge Randolph, for pulling his nose. Josiah Quincy was not
banished from society, for refusing the challenge of a Southern Hotspur. I
believe, that Judge Thacher, of Maine, would have been much less
respected, had he gone out to be shot, when invited, than he ever has
been, for the very sensible answer to his antagonist, that he would talk
to Mrs. Thacher about it, and be guided by her opinion. Nobody ever
supposed, that Judge Breckenridge suffered, in character or standing,
because he told his challenger, that he _wouldn't come_; but, that he
might sketch his, the Judge's, figure, on a board, and fire at that, till
he was weary, at any distance he pleased; and if he hit it, upon a
certificate of the fact, the Judge would agree to it.

Had Hamilton refused the challenge of Burr, his _deliberate murderer_, his
fame would have remained untarnished--his countrymen would never have
forgotten the 14th of October, 1781--the charge of that advanced
corps--the fall of Yorktown! On his death-bed, Hamilton expressed his
abhorrence of the practice; and solemnly declared, should he survive,
never to be engaged in another duel. "_Pendleton knows_," said he, in a
dying hour, referring to Burr, and addressing Dr. Hossack, "_that I did
not intend to fire at him_." How different from the blood-thirsty purposes
of his assassin! In vol. x. of Jeremy Bentham's works, pages 432-3, the
reader will find a letter from Dumont to Bentham, in which the Frenchman
says, referring to a conversation with Burr, in 1808, four years after the
duel--"_His duel with Hamilton was a savage affair_:" and Bentham
adds--"_He gave me an account of his duel with Hamilton; he was sure of
being able to kill him, so I thought it little better than murder_."

In England, _politics_ seem to have given occasion to very many affairs of
this nature--the duels of the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohun, in 1712,
fatal to both--Mr. Martin and Mr. Wilkes, in 1763--the Lords Townshend and
Bellamont, in 1773--C. J. Fox and Mr. Adam, in 1779--Capt. Fullerton and
Lord Shelburne, in 1780--Lord Macartney and Major General Stuart, in
1786--the Duke of York and Colonel Lenox, in 1789--Mr. Curran and Major
Hobart, in 1790--Earl of Lonsdale and Capt. Cuthbert, in 1792--Lord
Valentia and Mr. Gawler, in 1796--William Pitt and George Tierney, in
1798--Sir Francis Burdett and Mr. Paull, in 1807--Lord Castlereagh and Mr.
Canning, in 1809--Mr. O'Connell and Mr. D'Esterre, in 1815--Mr. Grattan
and the Earl of Clare, in 1820--Sir A. Boswell and James Stuart, in
1822--Mr. Long Wellesly and Mr. Crespigny, in 1828--the Duke of Wellington
and the Earl of Winchelsea, in 1829--Lord Alvanley and Morgan O'Connell,
in 1835--Sir Colquhon Grant and Lord Seymour, in 1835--Mr. Roebuck and Mr.
Black, in 1835--Mr. Ruthven and Mr. Scott, in 1836--the Earl of Cardigan
and Mr. Tuckett, in 1840.

Sir J. Barrington says, that, during his grand climacteric, two hundred
and twenty-seven duels were fought. In different ages and nations, various
preventives have been employed. Killing in a duel, here and in England, is
murder, in the surviving principal, and seconds. To add effect to the law,
it was proclaimed, by 30, Charles II., 1679, to be _an unpardonable
offence_.

Disqualification from holding office, and dismissal from the army and navy
have, at different times, been held up, in terrorem. In England, eighteen
survivors have suffered the penalty, provided against duelling. Major
Campbell was hung, in 1808, for having killed Capt. Boyd, in a duel.

In 1813, Lieutenant Blundell was killed in a duel at Carisbroke Castle:
the survivor and both seconds were tried, and convicted of murder; and,
though subsequently pardoned, dismissed the service. "Duels," says Sir
George Mackenzie, "are but illustrious murders." Mr. Addison recommends
the pillory. The councils of Valentia and Trent excommunicated such
combatants; but a man, who has made up his mind to fight a duel, cares
little for the church.

During the first eighteen years of the reign of Henry IV., four thousand
persons were slain, in duels, in France. He published his famous edict of
Blois, against duels, in 1602: and, in 1609, added, to the existing
penalties, punishment by death, confiscations, fines, and imprisonment,
respectively, for all, concerned in fighting or abetting, even as
spectators, or as casual passers, who did not interpose. All this,
however, was the work of Sully: for this consistent king, at this very
time, gave Crequi leave to fight the Duke of Savoy, and even told him,
that he would be his second, were he not a king.

Duels were so frequent, in the reign of his successor, Louis XIII., that
Lord Herbert, who was then ambassador, at the court of France, used to
say, there was not a Frenchman, worth looking at, who had not killed his
man. "_Who fought yesterday?_" was the mode of inquiring after the news of
the morning. The most famous duellist of the age was Montmorenci, Count de
Bouttville. He and the Marquis de Beuoron, setting their faces against all
authority, and, persisting in this amusement, it was found necessary to
take their stubborn heads off. They were tried, convicted, and beheaded. A
check was, at length, put to these excesses, by Louis XIV. A particular
account of all this will be found in Larrey, _Histoire de France, sons le
Régne de Louis XIV._, tom. ii. p. 208. Matters, during the minority of
Louis XIV., had come to a terrible pass. The Dukes de Beaufort and Nemours
had fought a duel, with four seconds each, and converted it into a _Welch
main_, as the cock-fighters term a _meleé_. They fought, five to five,
with swords and pistols. Beaufort killed Nemours--the Marquis de Villars
killed D'Henricourt, and D'Uzerches killed De Ris. In 1663, another affair
took place, four to four. The king finally published his famous edict of
1679. The marshals of France and the nobility entered into a solemn league
and covenant, never to fight a duel, on any pretence whatever; and Louis
le Grand adhered to his oath, and resolutely refused pardon to every
offender. This greatly checked the evil, for a time.

Kings will die, and their worthy purposes are not always inherited by
their successors; soon after the death of the great monarch, the practice
of duelling revived in France.

The only radical and permanent preventive, of this equally barbarous, and
foolish custom, lies, in the moral and religious education of the people.
The infrequency of the practice, in New England, arises entirely from the
fact, that the moral and religious training of the community has taught
them to look upon a duellist, as an exceedingly unfashionable personage.

New Englanders are a calculating race. They _calculate_, that it is
infinitely better to mind their business, and die quietly in their beds,
than to go out and be shot, by the very fellow, who has not the decency to
say he is sorry, for treading on their toes, when he was drunk--and they
are a fearful race, for they fear the reprehension of the wise and good,
and the commands of God, more than they fear the decisions of a lawless
tribunal, where fools sit in judgment, and whose absurd decrees are
written on the sand.



No. CXLVI.


Some nine and thirty years ago, I was in the habit, occasionally, when I
had no call, in my line, of strolling over to the Navy Yard, at
Charlestown, and spending an evening, in the cabin of a long, dismantled,
old hulk, that was lying there. Once in a while, we had a very pleasant
dinner party, on board that old craft. That cabin was the head-quarters of
my host. It was the cabin of that ill-fated frigate, the Chesapeake. My
friend had been one of her deeply mortified officers, when she was
surrendered, by James Barron, to the British frigate Leopard, without
firing a gun, June 23, 1807.

A sore subject this, for my brave, old friend. I well remember to have
dined, in that cabin, one fourth of July, with some very pleasant
associates--there were ten of us--we were very noisy then--all, but
myself, are still enough now--they are all in their graves. I recollect,
that, towards the close of the entertainment, some allusion to the old
frigate, in which we were assembled, revived the recollection of the day,
when those stars and stripes came down. We sat in silence, listening to
the narrative of our host, whose feelings were feverishly and painfully
excited--"It would have been a thousand times better," said he, "if the
old hulk had gone to bottom and every man on board. The country might
then, possibly, have been spared the war; for our honor would have been
saved, and there would have been less to fight for. Unprepared as we were,
for such an attack, at a time of profound peace, we ought to have gone
down, like little Mudge, who, while his frigate was sinking, thanked God
the Blanche was not destined to wear French colors!"

When he paused, and, with the back of his hand, brushed away the tears
from his eyes, we were all of his mind, and wished he had been in command,
that day, instead of James Barron; for this old friend of mine was a very,
very clever fellow--a warmer heart never beat in a braver bosom. There was
one thing, however, that I could never break him of, and yet I had some
little influence with him, in those days--I mean the _habit_ of fighting
duels. He would not harm a fly, but he would shoot a man, in an honorable
way, at the shortest notice, and the shortest distance. He fought a duel,
on one occasion, when, being challenged, and having the choice of
distance, he insisted on three paces, saying he was so near-sighted, he
could not hit a barn door, at ten. He was apt to be, not affectedly, but
naturally, jocular, on such occasions.

Another old friend of mine, in by-gone days, the elder son of the late
Governor Brooks, was second, in one of these duels, to the friend, of whom
I am speaking. Major Brooks had, occasionally, indulged himself, in the
publication of poetical effusions. When the parties and their seconds came
upon the ground, he found, that he had brought no leather, to envelop the
ball, as usual, in loading; and, drawing a newspaper from his pocket, tore
off the corner, on which some verses were printed: at this moment, his
principal drawing near, said, in an under tone, "_I hope that isn't one of
your fugitive pieces, Alek_."

Though our lines were, of late years, cast far apart, I always rejoiced in
his good fortune. After having occupied a very elevated position, for some
time, in the naval department, he fell--poor fellow--not in a duel--but in
a moment, doubtless, of temporary, mental derangement, by his own hand.
The news of my old friend's death reached me, just before dinner--I
postponed it till the next day--went home--sat alone--and had that old
dinner, in the cabin of the Chesapeake, warmed over, upon the coals of the
imagination, and seated around me every guest, who was there that day,
just as fresh, as if he had never been buried.

James Barron was an unlucky dog, to say the least of it. Striking the
stars and stripes, without firing a gun, was enough for one life. For this
he was tried, found guilty, and suspended from duty, for five years, from
Feb. 8, 1808, and deprived of his pay. He went abroad; and, during his
absence, war was declared, which continued about two years, after the
termination of his suspension. He returned, at last, and sought
employment; Decatur officially opposed his claims; and thereupon he
challenged, and killed Decatur, the pride of the American navy; and, after
this, he received employment from the government. The services of James
Barron are not likely to be undervalued. Decatur's offence consisted, in
his declaration of opinion, that Barron did not return to the service of
his country, as in duty bound. The duel took place March 22, 1820. After
this, Barron demanded a Court of Inquiry, to settle this point. The Court
consisted of Commodores Stewart and Morris and Captain Evans, and
convened May 10, 1821, and the conclusion of the sentence is this--"It is
therefore the opinion of the court, that his (Barron's) absence from the
United States, without the permission of the government, was contrary to
his duty, as an officer, in the navy of the United States."

Here then was another silly and senseless duel. Mr. Allen, in his
Biographical Dictionary remarks--"The correspondence issued in a challenge
from Barron, though he considered duelling '_a barbarous practice, which
ought to be exploded from civilized society_.' And the challenge was
accepted by Decatur, though he '_had long since discovered, that fighting
duels is not even an unerring criterion of personal courage_.'"

They fired at the same instant; Barron fell immediately, wounded in the
hip, where Decatur had mercifully declared his intention to wound him;
Decatur stood erect, for a moment--put his hand to his right side--and
fell, mortally wounded. He was raised, and supported, a few steps, and
sunk down, exhausted, near Barron. Captain Mackenzie, in his Life of
Decatur, page 322, gives his opinion, that this duel could have been
gracefully prevented, on the ground; and such will be the judgment,
doubtless, of posterity. Capt. Jesse D. Elliot was the second of
Barron--Com. Bainbridge of Decatur. After they had taken their stands,
Barron said to Decatur, that he hoped, "_on meeting, in another world,
they would be better friends, than they had been in this_."

To this Decatur replied, "_I have never been your enemy, sir_." "Why,"
says Captain Mackenzie, "could not this aspiration for peace, between
them, in the next world, on one part, and this comprehensive disclaimer of
all enmity, on the other, have been seized by the friends, for the
purposes of reconciliation?" A pertinent question truly--but of very ready
solution. These seconds, like most others, acted, like military
undertakers; their office consists, as they seem to suppose, in seeing the
bodies duly cared for; and all consideration for the chief mourners, and
such the very principals often are, is out of the question. With all his
excellent qualities, Commodore Bainbridge, as every one, who knew him
well, will readily admit, was not possessed of that happy mixture of
qualities, to avail of this pacific _prestige_. It was an overture--such
Barron afterwards avowed it to have been. On the 10th of October, 1818,
Decatur had been the second of Com. Perry, in his duel with Captain Heath,
which was terminated, after the first fire, by Decatur's declaration,
that Com. Perry had avowed his purpose, not to fire at Capt Heath. Had
Perry lived, and been at hand, it is highly probable, that Decatur would
not have fallen, for Perry would, doubtless, have been his second, and
readily availed of the expressions of the parties, on the ground.

Had Charles Morris, whose gallantry and discretion have mingled into a
proverb--had he been the second of his old commander, by whose side, he
stood, on the Philadelphia's deck, in that night of peril, February, 1804,
who can doubt, the pacific issue of this most miserable adventure!
Seconds, too frequently, are themselves the instigators and supporters of
these combats. True or false, the tale is a fair one, of two friends, who
had disputed over their cups; and, by the exciting expressions of some
common acquaintances, were urged into a duel. They met early the next
morning--the influence of the liquor had departed--the seconds loaded the
pistols, and placed their principals--but, before the word was given, one
of them, rubbing his eyes, and looking about him, exclaims--"there is some
mistake, there can be no enmity between us two, my old friend; these
fellows, who have brought us here, upon this foolish errand, are our
enemies, let us fire at them." The proposition was highly relished, by the
other party, and the seconds took to their heels.

Well: we left Decatur and Barron, lying side by side, and weltering in
their blood. The strife was past, and they came to a sort of friendly
understanding. Barron, supposing his wound to be fatal, said all things
had been conducted honorably, and that he forgave Decatur, from the bottom
of his heart. Mackenzie, in a note, on page 325, refers to a conversation
between them, as they lay upon the ground, until the means of
transportation arrived. He does not give the details, but says they would
be "creditable to the parties, and soothing to the feelings of the
humane." I understood, at the time, from a naval officer of high rank, and
have heard it often, repeated, that Decatur said, "Barron, why didn't you
come home and fight your country's battles?" that Barron replied, "I was
too poor to pay my debts, and couldn't get away,"--and that Decatur
rejoined, "If I had known that, we should not be lying here." Strip this
matter of its honorable epidermis, and there is something quite ridiculous
in the idea of doing such an unpleasant thing, and all for nothing!

These changes, from hostility to amity, are often extremely sudden. I have
read, that Rapin, the historian, when young, fought a duel, late in the
evening, with small swords. His sword broke near the hilt--he did not
perceive it, and continued to fence with the hilt alone. His antagonist
paused and gave him notice; and, like the two girls, in the Antijacobin,
they flew into each other's arms, and "swore perpetual amity."



No. CXLVII.


M. De Vassor wrote with a faulty pen, when he asserted, in his history,
that the only good thing Louis XIV. did, in his long reign of fifty-six
years, consisted in his vigorous attempts, to suppress the practice of
duelling. Cardinal Richelieu admits, however, in his _Political
Testament_, that his own previous efforts had been ineffectual, although
he caused Messieurs de Chappelle and Bouteville to be executed, for the
crime, in disregard of the earnest importunities of their numerous and
powerful friends. No public man ever did more, for the suppression of the
practice, than Lord Bacon, while he was attorney general. His celebrated
charge, upon an information in the star chamber, against Priest & Wright,
vol. iv. page 399, Lond. 1824, was ordered to be printed, by the Lords of
Council; and was vastly learned and powerful, in its way. It is rather
amusing, upon looking at the decree, which followed, dated Jan. 26, 2
James I., to see how such matters were then managed; the information,
against Priest, was, "_for writing and sending a letter of challenge
together with a stick, which should be the length of the weapon_."

Such measures are surely well enough, as far as they go; but can be of no
lasting influence, unless certain processes are simultaneously carried on,
to meliorate the moral tone, in society. Without the continual employment
of moral and religious alteratives--laws, homilies, charges, decrees,
ridicule, menances of disinherison here, and damnation hereafter will be
of very little use. They are outward applications--temporary repellants,
which serve no other purpose, than to drive back the distemper, for a
brief space, but reach not the seat of the disorder. As was stated, in a
former number, nothing will put an end to this practice, but
indoctrination--the mild, antiphlogistic system of the Gospel. Wherever
its gentle spirit prevails, combined with intellectual and moral culture,
there will be no duels. Temperance forms, necessarily, an important part
of that antiphlogistic system--for a careful examination will show, that,
in a very great number of cases, duels have originated over the table--we
import them, corked up in bottles, which turn out, now and then, to be
vials of wrath.

One of the most ferocious duels, upon record, is that, between Lord Bruce
and Sir Edward Sackville, of which the survivor, Sir Edward, wrote an
account from Louvain, Sept. 8, 1613. These fellows appear to have been
royal tigers, untameable even by Herr Driesbach. This brutal and bloody
fight took place, at Bergen op Zoom, near Antwerp. The _cause_ of this
terrible duel has never been fully ascertained, but the _manner and
instrument_, by which these blood-thirsty gentlemen were put in the
ablative, are indicated in the letter--they fought with _rapiers and in
their shirts_. I have neither room nor taste for the details: by the
curious in such matters, some account may be gathered, in Collins's
Peerage, which refers to the correspondence, preserved in manuscript, in
Queen's College library, Oxford. These, with Sir Edward's letter, may be
found in Wood's Athenæ Oxonienses also, vol. iii. page 314, Lond. 1817.
Wood says--"_he (Sackville) entered into a fatal quarrel, upon a subject
very unwarrantable, with a young Scottish nobleman, the Lord Bruce_."
Sackville was afterward Earl of Dorset. A more accessible authority, for
the reader, probably, is the Guardian, vol. iii. No. 133, though the
former is more full, and taken from the original manuscript, in the
Ashmole Museum, with the ancient spelling.

The duel, with swords, between the Lords Mohun and Hamilton, in Hyde Park,
Nov. 15, 1712, was nearly as brutal. Both were killed. Richard Brinsley
Sheridan's duel with Matthews--the second I mean, for they had two
duels--was a very doglike thing indeed. They fought, first, with pistols,
and, not killing each other, as speedily as they wished, resorted to their
swords. They cut and pricked each other, at a terrible rate; and, losing
all patience and temper, closed, rough and tumble, went heels over head,
rolled, and puffed, and tussled, in the dust and dirt, till, at last, they
were literally pulled apart, like two dogs, by their tails, and a part of
Matthews' sword was found sticking in Sheridan's ear. Gentlemanly
satisfaction this! It has sometimes occurred, that advantages, unduly
taken, on the ground, such as firing out of order, for example, have
converted the killing into murder, in the eyes even of the seconds, which
it ever is, at all such meetings, in the eye of the law. Such was the case
in the duels, between M'Keon and Reynolds, Jan. 31, 1788, and between
Campbell and Boyd, June 23, 1808.

Doubtless, there are men of wonderfully well balanced minds, who go about
their business, with great apparent composure, after they have killed
their antagonists in duels. Now and then, there is one, who takes things
more gravely--_nervously_, perhaps. Poor fellow, he feels rather
unpleasantly, when he chances to go by the husbandless mansion--or passes
that woman, whom he has made a widow--or sees, hand in hand, those little
children, in their sober garments, whom the accursed cunning of his red,
right hand has rendered orphans! Such feeble spirits there are--the heart
of a duellist should be made of sterner stuff.

June 8, 1807, Mr. Colclough was killed in a duel, by Mr. Alcock, who
immediately lost his reason, and was carried from the ground to the
madhouse. Some years ago, I visited the Lunatic Hospital in Philadelphia;
and there saw, among its inmates, a well known gentleman, who had killed
_his friend_, in a duel. He had referred, while conversing, to his hair,
which had grown very gray, since I last saw him. A bystander said, in a
mild way--gray hairs are honorable--"_Aye_," he replied, "_honor made my
hairs gray_."

I know, very well, that the common, lawless duel is supposed, by many
persons, to have sprung from the old _wager of battel_, defined, by Fleta,
in his law Latin, _singularis pugnus inter duos ad probandum litem, et qui
vicit probasse intelligitur_. The first time we hear of the _wager of
Battel_, as a written judicial rule, is A. D. 501, in the reign of
Gundibald, king of Burgundy; and it was in use, among the Germans, Danes,
and Franks. The practice or usage was common, however, to all the Celtic
nations. It came into England, with William the Conqueror. It happens,
however, that men have ever been disposed to settle their disputes, by
fighting about them, since the world began.

If the classical reader will open his Velleius Paterculus, lib. ii., and
read the first sentence of section 118, he will see, that, when Quintilius
Varus endeavored to persuade the rude Germans, to adopt the laws and
usages of Rome, in the adjustment of their disputes, between man and man,
they laughed at his simplicity, and told him they had a summary mode of
settling these matters, among themselves, by the arm of flesh. This
occurred, shortly after the birth of Christ, or about 500 years _before_
the time of Gundibald. Instead of attempting to trace the origin of modern
duelling to the legalized _wager of battel_, we may as well look for its
moving cause, in the heart of man.

Duels are of very ancient origin. Abel was a noncombatant. Had it been
otherwise, the affair, between him and Cain, would have been the first
affair of honor; and his death would not have been _murder_, but _killing
in a duel_! One thousand and fifty-eight years, according to the
chronology of Calmet, before the birth of Christ, the very first duel was
fought, near a place called _Shochoh_, which certainly sounds as roughly,
on the ear, as _Hoboken_. There seems not to have been, upon that
occasion, any of the ceremony, practised, now-a-days--there were no
regular seconds--no surgeons--no marking off the ground--and each party
had the right, to use whatever weapons he pleased.

Two armies were drawn up, in the face of each other. A man, of unusually
large proportions, stepped between them, and proposed an adjustment of
their national differences, by single combat, and challenged any man of
his opponents, to fight a duel with him. He was certainly a fine looking
fellow, and armed to the teeth. He came, without any second or friend, to
adjust the preliminaries; and no one was with him, but an armor bearer,
who carried his shield. The audacity of this unexpected challenge, and the
tremendous limbs of the challenger, for a time, produced a sort of panic,
in the opposite army--no man seemed inclined to break a spear with the
tall champion. At last, after he had strutted up and down, for some time,
there came along a smart little fellow, a sort of cowboy or sheep-herd,
who was sent to the army by his father, with some provisions, for his
three brothers, who had enlisted, and a few fine cheeses, for the colonel
of their regiment, the father thinking, very naturally, doubtless, that a
present of this kind might pave the way for their promotion. The old
gentleman's name was Jesse--an ancestor, doubtless, of John Heneage Jesse,
whose memoirs of George Selwyn we have all read, with so much pleasure.
The young fellow arrived with his cheeses, at the very time, when this
huge braggart was going about, strutting and defying. Hearing, that the
King had offered his daughter in marriage, with a handsome dowry, to any
one, who would kill this great bugbear out of the way, this stripling
offered to do it.

When he was brought into the royal presence, the King, struck by his youth
and slender figure, told him, without ceremony, that the proposition was
perfect nonsense, and that he would certainly get his brains knocked out,
by such a terrible fellow. But the young man seemed nothing daunted, and
respectfully informed his majesty, that, upon one occasion, he had had an
affair with a lion, and, upon another, with a bear, and that he had taken
the lion by the beard, and slain him.

The King finally consented, and proceeded to put armor on the boy, who
told his majesty, that he was very much obliged to him, but had much
rather go without it. The challenge was duly accepted. But, when they came
together, on the ground, all the modern notions of etiquette appear to
have been set entirely at defiance. Contrary to all the rules of
propriety, the principals commenced an angry conversation. When the
challenger first saw the little fellow, coming towards him, with a stick
and a sling, he really supposed they were hoaxing him. He felt somewhat,
perhaps, like Mr. Crofts, when he was challenged, in 1664, by Humphrey
Judson, the dwarf; who, nevertheless, killed him, at the first fire.

When the youngster marched up to him, the challenger was very indignant,
and asked if he took him for a dog, that he came out to him, with a stick;
and, in a very ungentlemanly way, hinted something about making mince meat
of his little antagonist, for the crows. The little fellow was not to be
outdone, in this preparatory skirmish of words; for he threatened to take
off the giant's head in a jiffy, and told him the ravens should have an
alderman's meal, upon his carcass.

Such bandying of rough words is entirely out of order, on such occasions.
At it they went; and, at the very first fire, down came the bully upon his
face, struck, upon the frontal sinus, with a smooth stone from a sling.
The youngster, I am sorry to say, contrary to all the rules of duelling,
ran up to him, after he was down, and chopped off his head, with his own
sword; for, as I have already stated, there were no seconds, and there was
no surgeon at hand, to attend to the mutilated gentleman, after he was
satisfied.

The survivor, who seems to have been the founder of his own
fortune--_novus homo_--became eminently distinguished for his fine
poetical talents, and composed a volume of lyrics, which have passed
through innumerable editions. The one hundred and forty-fourth of the
series is supposed, by the critics, to have been commemorative of this
very affair of honor--_Blessed be the Lord, my strength, who teacheth my
hands to war, and my fingers to fight_.



No. CXLVIII.


The duel, between David and Goliath, bears a striking resemblance to that,
between Titus Manlius and the Gaul, so finely described, by Livy, lib.
vii. cap. 10. In both cases, the circumstances, at the commencement, were
precisely alike. The armies of the Hernici and of the Romans were drawn
up, on the opposite banks of the Anio--those of the Israelites and of the
Philistines, on two mountains, on the opposite sides of the valley of
Elah. "Tum eximia corporis magnitudine in vacuum pontem Gallus processit,
et quantum maxima voce potuit, _quem nunc_ inquit _Roma virum fortissimum
habet, procedat, agedum, ad pugnam, ut noster duorum eventus ostendat,
utra gens bello sit melior_." Then, a Gaul of enormous size, came down
upon the unoccupied bridge, and cried out, as loud as he could, let the
bravest of the Romans come forth--let him come on--and let the issue of
our single combat decide, which nation is superior in war.--And there went
out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named Goliath of Gath,
whose height was six cubits and a span. * * * * And he stood, and cried
unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them, why are ye come out to set
your battle in array? Am not I a Philistine, and ye servants of Saul?
Choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me. If he be able to
fight with me and to kill me, then will we be your servants; but if I
prevail against him and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve
us.

The next point, is the effect upon the two armies: "Diu inter primores
juvenum Romanorum silentium fuit, quum et abnuere certamen vererentur, et
præcipuam sortem periculi petere nollent." There was a long silence, upon
this, among the chiefs of the young Romans; for, while they were afraid to
refuse the challenge, they were reluctant to encounter this peculiar kind
of peril.--When Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine,
they were dismayed and greatly afraid.

After Titus Manlius had accepted the challenge, he seems desirous of
giving his commander a proof of his confidence in himself, and the
reasons, or grounds, of that confidence: "Si tu permittis, volo ego illi
belluæ ostendere, quando adeo ferox præsultat hostium signis, me ex ea
familia ortum, quæ Gallorum agmen ex rupe Tarpeia dejecit." If you will
permit me, I will show this brute, after he has vaunted a little longer,
in this braggart style, before the banners of the enemy, that I am sprung
from the family, that hurled the whole host of Gauls from the Tarpeian
rock.--And David said to Saul, let no man's heart fail because of him, thy
servant will go and fight with this Philistine. * * * * Thy servant kept
his father's sheep, and there came a lion and a bear, and took a lamb out
of the flock. And I went out after him, and delivered it out of his mouth;
and when he arose against me, I caught him, by his beard, and smote him
and slew him. Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear, and this
uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of them.

The difference in their port and appearance may also be considered.
"Nequaquam visu ac specie æstimantibus pares. Corpus alteri magnitudine
eximium, versicolori veste, pictisque et auro cælatis refulgens armis;
media in altero militaris statura, modicaque in armis habilibus magis quam
decoris species." In size and appearance, there was no resemblance. The
frame of the Gaul was enormous. He wore a vest whose color was changeable,
and his refulgent arms were highly ornamented and studded with gold. The
Roman was of middle military stature, and his simple weapons were
calculated for service and not for show. Of Goliath we read--He had a
helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail. * * *
And he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between
his shoulders, and the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and
David took his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of
the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip,
and his sling was in his hand. The General's consent is given to Titus
Manlius, in these words--"Perge et nomen Romanum invictum, juvantibus
diis, præsta." Go, and have a care, the gods assisting thee, that the
Roman name remains unconquered. And Saul said unto David, Go, and the
Lord be with thee. The Philistine and the Gaul were both speedily killed,
and here the parallel ends; for David hewed off the Philistine's head. The
Roman was more generous than the child of Israel--"Jacentis inde corpus,
ab omni alia vexatione intactum, uno torque spoliavit; quem, respersum
cruore, collo circumdedit suo." He despoiled the body of his fallen foe,
in no otherwise insulted, of a chain, which, bloody, as it was, he placed
around his own neck. I cannot turn from this gallant story, without
remarking, that this Titus Manlius must have been a terrible wag: Livy
says, that his young companions having prepared him for the duel--"armatum
adornatumque adversus Gallum stolide lætum, et (quoniam id quoque memoria
dignum antiquis visum est) linguam, etiam ab irrisu exscrentem,
producunt"--they brought him forward, armed and prepared for his conflict
with the Gaul, childishly delighted, and (since the ancients have thought
it worth repeating) waggishly thrusting his tongue out of his mouth, in
derision of his antagonist.

Doubtless, the challenge of Charles V. by Francis I., in which affair,
Charles, in the opinion of some folks, showed a little, if the cant phrase
be allowable, of the white feather, gave an impetus to the practice of
duelling. Doubtless, the _wager of battel_ supplied something of the form
and ceremony, the use of seconds, and measuring the lists, the signal of
onset, &c. of modern duels: but the principle was in the bosom of Adam,
and the practice is of the highest antiquity.

Woman, in some way or other, has been, very often, at the bottom of these
duels. Helen, as the chief occasion of the Trojan war, was, of course, the
cause of Hector's duel with Ajax, which duel, as the reader will see, by
turning to his Iliad, lib. viii. v. 279, was stopped, by the police, at
the very moment, when both gentlemen, having thrown their lances aside,
were drawing their long knives. Lavinia set Turnus and Æneas by the cars.
Turnus challenged him twice. Upon the first occasion, Æneas was unwell;
but, upon the second, they had a meeting, and he killed his man. David
would not have accepted Goliath's challenge, had not his heart been set
upon Saul's daughter, _and the shekels_. I find nothing of this, in the
commentators; but the reader may find it, in the Book of Nature, _passim_.
For one so young, David practised, with all the wariness of an old
bachelor. When he first arrived in camp, some one asked him, if he had
seen Goliath, and added, _and it shall be that the man who killeth him
the King will enrich him with great riches, and will give him his
daughter_. David had no idea of going upon a fool's errand; and, to make
matters sure, he turned to those about him, and inquired, clearly for
confirmation, _what shall be done to the man that killeth this
Philistine?_ And they repeated what he had heard before. David was a
discreet youth, for one of his time, the titman, as he was, of Jesse's
eight children--and, to avoid all chance of mistake, he walks off to
another person, near at hand, and repeats his inquiry, and receives a
similar answer. Sam. I. xvii. 30. A wide difference there is, between the
motives of Titus Manlius, in accepting the challenge of the Gaul, and
those of David, in accepting that of the Philistine--the love of country
and of glory in the first--in the last, the desire of possessing Saul's
daughter _and the shekels_.

Duels have been occasioned, by other Helens than her of Troy. A pleasant
tale is told, by Valvasor, in his work, _La Gloire de Duche de Carniole_,
Liv. ii. p. 634--of Andrew Eberhard Rauber, a German Knight, and Lord of
the fortress of Petronel. Maximilian II., Emperor of Germany, had a
natural daughter, Helen Scharseginn, of exquisite beauty, who had a brace
of gallant admirers, of whom Rauber was one--the other was a Spanish
gentleman, of high rank. Both were at the court of Maximilian, and in such
high favor, that the Emperor was extremely unwilling to disoblige either.
Upon the lifting of a finger, these gallants were ready to fight a score
of duels, for the lady's favor, in the most approved fashion of the day.
To this the Emperor was decidedly opposed; and, had they resorted to such
extremities, neither would have taken anything, by his motion. The Emperor
secretly preferred the German alliance, but was unwilling to offend the
Spaniard. He was young and of larger proportions, than his German rival;
but Rauber's prodigious strength had become a proverb, through the land.
He had the power of breaking horse-shoes with his thumbs and fingers; and,
upon one occasion, at Gratz, in the presence of the Archduke Charles,
according to Valvasor's account, he seized an insolent Jew, by his long
beard, and actually pulled his jaw off. He was a terrible antagonist, of
course.

Maximilian, heartily wearied with their incessant strife and importunity,
finally consented, that the question should be settled, by a duel, in
presence of the whole court. The hour was appointed, and the parties duly
notified. The terms of the conflict were to be announced, by the Emperor.
The day arrived. The Lords and Ladies of the Court were assembled, to
witness the combat; and the rivals presented themselves, with their
weapons, prepared to struggle manfully, for life and love.

The Emperor commanded the combatants to lay their rapiers aside, and each
was presented with a large bag or sack; and they were told, that whichever
should succeed, in putting the other into the sack, should be entitled to
the hand of the fair Helen Scharseginn.

Though, doubtless, greatly surprised, by this extraordinary announcement,
there appeared to be no alternative, and at it they went. After a
protracted struggle, amid shouts of laughter from the spectators, Rauber,
Lord of the fortress of Petronel, obtained the victory, bagged his bird,
and encased the haughty Spaniard in the sack, who, shortly after, departed
from the court of Maximilian.

Would to God, that all duels were as harmless, in their consequences. It
is not precisely so. When the gentleman, that does the murder, and the two
or more gentlemen, who aid and abet, have finished their handiwork, the
end is not yet--mother, wife, sisters, brothers, children are involuntary
parties--the iron, or the lead, which pierced that selfish heart, must
enter their very souls.

Where these encounters have proved fatal, the survivors, as I have stated,
have, occasionally, gone mad. It is not very common, to be sure, for duels
to produce such melancholy consequences, as those, which occurred, after
that, between Cameron and McLean, in 1722. McLean was killed. Upon
receiving the intelligence, his aged mother lost her reason, and closed
her days in a mad-house. The lady, to whom he was betrothed, expired in
convulsions, upon the third day, after the event--_n'importe!_



No. CXLIX.


It is quite unpleasant, after having diligently read a volume of memoirs,
or voyages, or travels, and carefully transferred a goodly number of
interesting items to one's common-place book--to discover, that the work,
_ab ovo usque ad mala_, is an ingenious tissue of deliberate lies. It is
no slight aggravation of this species of affliction, to reflect, that one
has highly commended the work, to some of his acquaintances, who are no
way remarkable, for their bowels of compassion, and whose intelligible
smile he is certain to encounter, when they first meet again, after the
_éclaircissement_.

There is very little of the _hæc olim meminisse juvabit_, in store, for
those, who have been thus misled. If there had been, absolutely, no
foundation for the story, in the credulity of certain members of the Royal
Society, Butler would not, probably, have produced his pleasant account of
"_the elephant in the moon_." There were some very grave gentlemen, of
lawful age, who were inclined to receive, for sober truth, that
incomparable hoax, of which Sir John Herschell was represented, as the
hero.

Damberger's travels, in Africa, and his personal adventures there gave me
great pleasure, when I was a boy; and I remember to have felt excessively
indignant, when I discovered, that the work was written, in a garret, in
the city of Amsterdam, by a fellow who had never quitted Europe.

I never derived much pleasure or instruction, from Wraxall's memoirs of
the Kings of France of the race of Valois, nor from his tour through the
Southern Provinces, published in 1777. But his Historical memoirs of his
own time, prepared, somewhat after the manner of De Thou, and Bishop
Burnet, and extending from 1772 to 1784, I well remember to have read,
with very considerable pleasure, in 1816; and was pained to find them cut
up, however unmercifully, with so much irresistible justice, in the
Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, and the British Critic. Mr. Wraxall made
matters immeasurably worse, by his defence. There could be no adequate
defence, for a man, who had asserted, that Lord Dorset told him an
anecdote, touching an event, _which event did not happen, till Lord Dorset
was dead_. A single instance of this kind, in a writer of common accuracy,
might be carried, in charity, to the debit of chance, or forgetfulness;
but the catalogue, presented by the reviewers, is truly overpowering. To
close the account, Sir N. W. Wraxall was, in May, 1816, convicted of a
libel, in these very memoirs, upon Count Woronzow, the Russian minister;
and Mr. Wraxall was imprisoned in Newgate, for that offence.

After this disqualification of my witness, I am, nevertheless, about to
vouch in Mr. Wraxall, by reciting one of his stories, in illustration of a
principle. I quote from memory--I have not the work--the reviewers
prevented me from buying it. June 16, 1743, the battle of Dettingen was
fought, and won, by George II. in person, and the Earl of Stair, against
the Marechal de Noailles and the Duke de Grammont. Mr. Wraxall
relates--_me memoria mea non fallente_--the following incident. After the
battle, the Earl gave a dinner, at his quarters; and, among the guests,
were several of the French prisoners of war. Of course, the Earl of Stair
presided, at one end of the table--at the other sat a gentleman, of very
common-place appearance, of small stature, thin and pale, evidently an
invalid, and who, unless addressed, scarcely opened his lips, during the
entertainment. This unobtrusive, and rather unprepossessing, young man was
the Lord Mark Kerr, the nephew, and the aid-de-camp of the Earl. After the
removal of the cloth, the gentlemen discussed the subject of the battle,
and the manoeuvres, by which the victory had been achieved. A difference
of opinion arose, between the Earl and one of the French Colonels, as to
the time of a particular movement. The latter became highly excited, and
very confident he was right. The Earl referred to Lord Mark Kerr, whose
position, at the time of that movement, rendered his decision conclusive.
Lord Mark politely assured the French Colonel, that he was mistaken; upon
which the Frenchman instantly insulted him, without saying a word, but in
that felicitous manner, which enables a Frenchman to convey an insult,
even by his mode of taking snuff. Soon after, the party broke up, and the
Earl of Stair was left alone. In about half an hour, Lord Mark Kerr
returned, and found his uncle very much disturbed.

"Nephew," said he, "you know my strong dislike of duelling. In our
situation we are sometimes, perhaps, unable to avoid it. The French
Colonel insulted you, at table; others noticed it, besides myself. I fear,
my dear nephew, you will have to ask him to apologize."

"I noticed it myself, my Lord," replied the Lord Mark; "you need have no
trouble, on that account--we have already met--I ran him through the body;
and they are now burying him, in the outer court."

Duels are often produced, by a foolish, and fatal misestimate, which one
man makes of another's temperament. The diminutive frame, the pale cheek,
and small voice, modest carriage, youth, and inexperience, afford no
certain indicia: _nimium ne crede colori_. Men of small stature, are
sometimes the more _brusque_, and more on the _qui vive_, from this very
circumstance.

  Ingentes animos angusto in pectore volvunt.

That a man will not fight, like a dragon, simply because he has neither
the stature of Falstaff, nor the lungs of Bottom, is a well authenticated
_non sequitur_.

A well told, and well substantiated illustration of all this, may be
found, in Mackenzie's Life of Decatur, page 55. I refer to the case of
Joseph Bainbridge, who, in 1803, when a midshipman, and an inexperienced
boy, was purposely and wantonly insulted, at Malta, by a professed
duellist, the Secretary of Sir Alexander Ball, the Governor. No one can
read Mackenzie's Narrative, without a conviction, that Bainbridge owed the
preservation of his life, to the address of Decatur. They met--fired
twice, at four paces; and, at the second fire, the English duellist fell,
mortally wounded in the head: Bainbridge was untouched.

When I was a school boy, more than fifty years ago, I remember to have
read, in an English journal, whose name I have now forgotten, a story,
which may have been a fiction; but which was very naturally told, and made
a deep impression upon me then. I will endeavor to draw it forth from the
locker of my memory; and engage, beforehand, to be very much indebted to
any one, who will indicate its original source.

Three young gentlemen, who had finished the most substantial part of their
repast, were lingering over their fruit and wine, at an eating-house, in
London; when a man, of middle age, and middle stature, entered the public
room, where they were sitting; seated himself, at one end of a small,
unoccupied table; and, calling the waiter, ordered a simple mutton chop,
and a glass of ale. His appearance, at first view, was not likely to
arrest the attention of any one. His hair was getting to be thin and gray;
the expression of his countenance was sedate, with a slight touch,
perhaps, of melancholy; and he wore a gray surtout, with a standing
collar, which, manifestly, had seen service, if the wearer had not--just
such a thing, as an officer would bestow upon his serving man. He might be
taken for a country magistrate, or an attorney, of limited practice, or a
schoolmaster.

He continued to masticate his chop, and sip his ale, in silence, without
lifting his eyes from the table, until a melon seed, sportively snapped,
from between the thumb and finger of one of the gentlemen, at the opposite
table, struck him upon the right ear. His eye was instantly upon the
aggressor; and his ready intelligence gathered, from the illy suppressed
merriment of the party, that this petty impertinence was intentional.

The stranger stooped, and picked up the melon seed, and a scarcely
perceptible smile passed over his features, as he carefully wrapped up the
seed, in a piece of paper, and placed it in his pocket. This singular
procedure, with their preconceived impressions of their customer, somewhat
elevated, as they were, by the wine they had partaken, capsized their
gravity entirely, and a burst of irresistible laughter proceeded from the
group.

Unmoved by this rudeness, the stranger continued to finish his frugal
repast, in quiet, until another melon seed, from the same hand, struck
him, upon the right elbow. This also, to the infinite amusement of the
other party, he picked from the floor, and carefully deposited with the
first.

Amidst shouts of laughter, a third melon seed was, soon after, discharged,
which hit him, upon the left breast. This also he, very deliberately took
from the floor, and deposited with the other two.

As he rose, and was engaged in paying for his repast, the gayety of these
sporting gentlemen became slightly subdued. It was not easy to account for
this. Lavater would not have been able to detect the slightest evidence of
irritation or resentment, upon the features of the stranger. He seemed a
little taller, to be sure, and the carriage of his head might have
appeared to them rather more erect. He walked to the table, at which they
were sitting, and with that air of dignified calmness, which is a thousand
times more terrible than wrath, drew a card from his pocket, and presented
it, with perfect civility, to the offender, who could do no less than
offer his own, in return. While the stranger unclosed his surtout, to take
the card from his pocket, they had a glance at the undress coat of a
military man. The card disclosed his rank, and a brief inquiry at the bar
was sufficient for the rest. He was a captain, whom ill health and long
service had entitled to half pay. In earlier life he had been engaged in
several affairs of honor, and, in the dialect of the fancy, was a dead
shot.

The next morning a note arrived at the aggressor's residence, containing a
challenge, in form, and one only of the melon seeds. The truth then
flashed before the challenged party--it was the challenger's intention to
make three bites at this cherry, three separate affairs out of this
unwarrantable frolic! The challenge was accepted, and the challenged
party, in deference to the challenger's reputed skill with the pistol, had
half decided upon the small sword; but his friends, who were on the alert,
soon discovered, that the captain, who had risen by his merit, had, in the
earlier days of his necessity, gained his bread, as an accomplished
instructor, in the use of that very weapon. They met and fired,
alternately, by lot; the young man had elected this mode, thinking he
might win the first fire--he did--fired, and missed his opponent. The
captain levelled his pistol and fired--the ball passed through the flap of
the right ear, and grazed the bone; and, as the wounded man involuntarily
put his hand to the place, he remembered that it was on the right ear of
his antagonist, that the first melon seed had fallen. Here ended the first
lesson. A month had passed. His friends cherished the hope, that he would
hear nothing more from the captain, when another note--a challenge of
course--and another of those accursed melon seeds arrived, with the
captain's apology, on the score of ill-health, for not sending it before.

Again they met--fired simultaneously, and the captain, who was unhurt,
shattered the right elbow of his antagonist--the very point upon which he
had been struck by the second melon seed: and here ended the second
lesson. There was something awfully impressive, in the _modus operandi_,
and exquisite skill of this antagonist. The third melon seed was still in
his possession, and the aggressor had not forgotten, that it had struck
the unoffending gentleman, upon the left breast! A month had
past--another--and another, of terrible suspense; but nothing was heard
from the captain. Intelligence had been received, that he was confined to
his lodgings, by illness. At length, the gentleman who had been his
second, in the former duels, once more presented himself, and tendered
another note, which, as the recipient perceived, on taking it, contained
the last of the melon seeds. The note was superscribed in the captain's
well known hand, but it was the writing evidently of one, who wrote
_deficiente manu_. There was an unusual solemnity also, in the manner of
him, who delivered it. The seal was broken, and there was the melon seed,
in a blank envelope--"And what, sir, am I to understand by this?"--"You
will understand, sir, that my friend forgives you--he is dead."



No. CL.


A curious story of vicarious hanging is referred to, by several of the
earlier historians, of New England. The readers of Hudibras will remember
the following passage, Part ii. 407--

  "Justice gives sentence, many times,
  On one man for another's crimes.
  Our brethren of New England use
  Choice malefactors to excuse,
  And hang the guiltless in their stead,
  Of whom the churches have less need:
  As lately 't happen'd:--in a town
  There liv'd a cobbler, and but one,
  That out of doctrine could cut use,
  And mend men's lives, as well as shoes.
  This precious brother having slain,
  In times of peace, an Indian,
  Not out of malice, but mere zeal,
  Because he was an infidel;
  The mighty Tottipottymoy
  Sent to our ciders an envoy;
  Complaining sorely of the breach
  Of league, held forth by brother Patch,
  Against the articles in force
  Between both churches, his and ours,
  For which he crav'd the saints to render
  Into his hands, or hang th' offender:
  But they, maturely having weigh'd
  They had no more but him o' the trade,
  A man that served them, in a double
  Capacity, to teach and cobble,
  Resolved to spare him; yet to do
  The Indian Hoghan Moghan too
  Impartial Justice, in his stead did
  Hang an old weaver, that was bedrid."

This is not altogether the sheer _poetica licentia_, that common readers
may suppose it to be. Hubbard, Mass. Hist. Coll. xv. 77, gives the
following version, after having spoken of the theft--"the company, as some
report pretended, in way of satisfaction, to punish him, that did the
theft, but in his stead, hanged a poor, decrepit, old man, that was
unserviceable to the company, and burthensome to keep alive, which was
the ground of the story, with which the merry gentleman, that wrote the
poem, called Hudibras, did, in his poetical fancy, make so much sport. Yet
the inhabitants of Plymouth tell the story much otherwise, as if the
person hanged was really guilty of stealing, as may be were many of the
rest, and if they were driven by necessity to content the Indians, at that
time to do justice, there were some of Mr. Weston's company living, it is
possible it might be executed not on him that most deserved, but on him
that could be best spared, or was not likely to live long, if let alone."

Morton published his English Canaan, in 1637, and relates the story Part
iii. ch. iv. p. 108, but he states, that it was a proposal only, which was
very well received, but being opposed by one person, "they hanged up the
real offender."

As the condemned draw nigh unto death--the scaffold--the gibbet--it would
be natural to suppose, that every avenue to the heart would be effectually
closed, against the entrance of all impressions, but those of terrible
solemnity; yet no common truth is more clearly established, than that
ill-timed levity, vanity, pride, and an almost inexplicable pleasure,
arising from a consciousness of being the observed of all observers, have
been exhibited, by men, on their way to the scaffold, and even with the
halter about their necks.

The story is well worn out, of the wretched man, who, observing the crowd
eagerly rushing before him, on his way to the gallows, exclaimed,
"gentlemen, why so fast--there can be no sport, till I come!"

In Jesse's memoirs of George Selwyn, i. 345, it is stated, that John
Wisket, who committed a most atrocious burglary, in 1763, the evidence of
which was perfectly clear and conclusive, insisted upon wearing a large
white cockade, on the scaffold, as a token of his innocence, and was swung
off, bearing that significant appendage.

In the same volume, page 117, it is said of the famous Lord Lovat, that,
in Scotland, a story is current, that, when upon his way to the Tower,
after his condemnation, an old woman thrust her head into the window of
the coach, which conveyed him, and exclaimed--"_You old rascal, I begin to
think you will be hung at last_." To which he instantly replied--"_You old
b----h, I begin to think I shall_."

In Walpole's letters to Mann, 163, a very interesting and curious account
may be found, of the execution of the Lords Kilmarnock, and Balmarino.
These Lords, with the Lord Cromartie, who was pardoned, were engaged, on
the side of the Pretender, in the rebellion of 1745. "Just before they
came out of the Tower, Lord Balmarino drank a bumper to King James's
health. As the clock struck ten, they came forth, on foot, Lord Kilmarnock
all in black, his hair unpowdered, in a bag, supported by Forster, the
great Presbyterian, and by Mr. Home, a young clergyman, his friend. Lord
Balmarino followed, alone, in a blue coat, turned up with red, _his
rebellious regimentals_, a flannel waistcoat, and his shroud beneath, the
hearses following. They were conducted to a house near the scaffold; the
room forwards had benches for the spectators; in the second was Lord
Kilmarnock; and in the third backwards Lord Balmarino--all three chambers
hung with black. Here they parted! Balmarino embraced the other, and
said--'My lord, I wish I could suffer for both.'"

When Kilmarnock came to the scaffold, continues Walpole,--"He then took
off his bag, coat, and waistcoat, with great composure, and, after some
trouble, put on a napkin cap, and then several times tried the block, the
executioner, who was in white, with a white apron, out of tenderness
concealing the axe behind himself. At last the Earl knelt down, with a
visible unwillingness to depart, and, after five minutes, dropped his
handkerchief, the signal, and his head was cut off at once, only hanging
by a bit of skin, and was received in a scarlet cloth, by four
undertakers' men kneeling, who wrapped it up, and put it into the coffin
with the body; orders having been given not to expose the heads, as used
to be the custom. The scaffold was immediately new strewed with sawdust,
the block new covered, the executioner new dressed, and a new axe brought.
Then came old Balmarino, treading with the air of a general. As soon as he
mounted the scaffold, he read the inscription on his coffin, as he did
again afterwards: he then surveyed the spectators, who were in amazing
numbers, even upon masts of ships in the river; and, pulling out his
spectacles, read a treasonable speech, which he delivered to the sheriff,
and said the young Pretender was so sweet a prince, that flesh and blood
could not resist following him; and, lying down to try the block, he
said--'if I had a thousand lives I would lay them all down here in the
same cause.' He said, if he had not taken the sacrament the day before,
he would have knocked down Williamson, the Lieutenant of the Tower, for
his ill usage of him. He took the axe and felt of it, and asked the
headsman how many blows he had given Lord Kilmarnock, and gave him two
guineas. Then he went to the corner of the scaffold, and called very loud
to the Warder, to give him his periwig, which he took off, and put on a
night cap of Scotch plaid, and then pulled off his coat and waistcoat and
lay down; but being told he was on the wrong side, vaulted round, and
immediately gave the sign, by tossing up his arm, as if he were giving the
signal for battle. He received three blows, but the first certainly took
away sensation. As he was on his way to the place of execution, seeing
every window open, and the roofs covered with spectators--'Look, look,' he
cried, 'see how they are piled up like rotten oranges!'"

Following the English custom, the clergymen of Boston were in the habit,
formerly, of preaching to those, who were under sentence of death. I have
before me, while I write, the following manuscript memoranda of Dr. Andrew
Eliot--"1746, July 24. Thursday lecture preached by Dr. Sewall to three
poor malefactors, who were executed P. M." "1747, Oct. 8. Went to
Cambridge to attend Eliza Wakefield, this day executed. Mr. Grady began
with prayer. Mr. Appleton preached and prayed." There is a printed sermon,
preached by Dr. Andrew Eliot, on the Lords' day before the execution of
Levi Ames, who was hung for burglary Oct. 21, 1773. Ames was present, and
the sermon was preached, by his particular request. The desire of
distinction dies hard, even in the hearts of malefactors.

Dr. Andrew Eliot was a man of excellent sense, and disapproved of the
practice, then in vogue, of lionizing burglars and murderers, of which,
few, at the present day, I believe, have any just conception. For their
edification I subjoin a portion of a manuscript note, in the hand writing
of the late Dr. Ephraim Eliot, appended to the last page of the sermon,
delivered by his father. "Levi Ames was a noted offender--though a young
man, he had gone through all the routine of punishment; and there was now
another indictment against him, where there was positive proof, in
addition to his own confession. He was tried and condemned, for breaking
into the house of Martin Bicker, in Dock Square. His condemnation excited
extraordinary sympathy. _He was every Sabbath carried through the streets
with chains about his ankles and handcuffed, in custody of the Sheriff's
officers and constables, to some public meeting, attended by an
innumerable company of boys, women and men._ Nothing was talked of but
Levi Ames. The ministers were successively employed in delivering
occasional discourses. Stillman improved the opportunity several times,
and absolutely persuaded the fellow, that he was to step from the cart
into Heaven."

It is quite surprising, that our fathers should have suffered this
interesting burglar--"_misguided_" of course--to be hung by the neck, till
he was dead. When an individual, as sanguine, as Dr. Stillman appears to
have been, in regard to Levi Ames, remarked of a notorious burglar, a few
days after his execution, that he had certainly been _born again_, an
incredulous bystander observed, that he was sorry to hear it, for some
dwelling-house or store would surely be broken open before morning.



No. CLI.


We are sufficiently acquainted with the Catholic practice of roasting
heretics--that of boiling thieves and other offenders is less generally
known. _Caldariis decoquere_, to boil them in cauldrons, was a punishment,
inflicted in the middle ages, on thieves, false coiners, and others. In
1532, seventeen persons, in the family of the Bishop of Rochester, were
poisoned by Rouse, a cook; the offence was, in consequence, made treason,
by 23 Henry VIII., punishable, by boiling to death. Margaret Davie was
boiled to death, for the like crime, in 1541. Quite a number of Roman
ladies, in the year 331 B. C., formed a poisoning society, or club; and
adopted this quiet mode of divorcing themselves from their husbands:
seventy of the sisterhood were denounced, by a slave, to the consul,
Fabius Maximus, who ordered them to be executed. None of these ladies were
boiled.

Boiling the dead has been very customary, after beheading or hanging, and
drawing, and quartering, whenever the criminal was sentenced to be hung
afterwards, in chains. Thus father Strype--"1554.--Sir Thomas Wyatt's
fatal day was come, being the 11th of April, when, between nine and ten of
the clock, aforenoon, on Tower Hill, he was beheaded; and, by eleven of
the clock, he was quartered on the scaffold, and his bowels and members
burnt beside the scaffold; and, a car and basket being at hand, the four
quarters and the head were put into the basket, and conveyed to Newgate,
to be parboiled." One more quotation from Strype--"1557.--May 28th, was
Thomas Stafford beheaded on Tower Hill, by nine of the clock, Mr. Wode
being his ghostly father; and, after, three more, viz., Stowel, Proctor,
and Bradford were drawn from the Tower, through London, unto Tyburn, and
there hanged and quartered: and, the morrow after, was Stafford quartered,
and his quarters hanged on a car, and carried to Newgate to boil."

How very ingenious we have been, since the days of Cain, in torturing one
another! Boiling and roasting are not to be thought of. The Turkish
bowstring will never be adopted here, nor the Chinese drop, nor their mode
of capital punishment, in which the criminal, having been stripped naked,
is so confined, that he can scarcely move a muscle, and, being smeared
with honey, is exposed to myriads of insects, and thus left to perish.
Crucifixion will never be popular in Massachusetts, though quite common
among the Syrians, Egyptians, Persians, Africans, Greeks, Romans, and
Jews. Starving to death, sawing in twain, and rending asunder, by strong
horses, have all been tried, but are not much approved of, by the moderns.
The rack may answer well enough, in Catholic countries, but, in this
quarter, there is a strong prejudice against it. Exposure to wild beasts
is objectionable, for two reasons; one of these reasons resembles the
first of twenty-four, offered to the Queen of Hungary, for not ringing the
bells upon her arrival,--there were no bells in the village--we have no
wild beasts. The second reason is quite germain--man is savage enough,
without any foreign assistance. Burying alive, though it has been
employed, as a punishment, in other countries, is, literally, too much for
flesh and blood; and, I am happy to say, there is not a sexton in this
city, who would, knowingly, be a party to such a barbarous proceeding.

Death has been produced, by preventing sleep, as a mode of punishment.
Impaling, and flaying alive, tearing to pieces with red hot pincers,
casting headlong from high rocks, eviscerating the bowels, firing the
criminals from the mouths of canons, and pressing them slowly to death, by
weights, gradually increased, upon the breast, the _peine forte et dure_,
are very much out of fashion; though one and all have been frequently
employed, in other times. There is a wheel of fashion, as well as a wheel
of fortune, in the course of whose revolutions, some of these obsolete
modes of capital punishment may come round again, like polygon porcelain,
and antiquated chair-backs. Should our legislature think proper to revive
the practice, in capital cases, of heading up the criminal in a barrel,
filled with nails, driven inward, a sort of inverted _cheval de frize_,
and rolling him down hill, I have often thought the more elevated corner
of our Common would be an admirable spot for the commencement of the
execution, were it not for interrupting the practice of coasting, during
the winter; by which several innocent persons, in no way parties to the
process, have been very nearly executed already.

Shooting is apt to be performed, in a bungling manner. Hanging by the
heels, till the criminal is dead, is very objectionable, and requires too
much time. The mode adopted here and in England, and also in some other
countries, of hanging by the neck, is, in no respect agreeable, even if
the operator be a skilful man; and, if not, it is highly offensive. The
rope is sometimes too long, and the victim touches the ground--it is too
frail, and breaks, and the odious act must be performed again--or the
noose is unskilfully adjusted, the neck is not broken, and the struggles
are terrible.

The sword, in a Turkish hand, performs the work well. It was used in
France. Charles Henry Sanson, the hereditary executioner, on the third of
March, 1792, presented a memorial to the Constituent Assembly, in which he
objected to decollation, and stated that he had but two swords; that they
became dull immediately; and were wholly insufficient, when there were
many to be executed, at one time. Monsieur Sanson knew nothing then of
that delightful instrument, which, not long afterward, became a mere
plaything, in his hands.

Stoning to death and flaying alive have been employed, occasionally, since
the days of Stephen and Bartholomew. The axe, so much in vogue, formerly,
in England, was a ruffianly instrument, often mangling the victim, in a
horrible manner.

After all, there is nothing like the guillotine; and, should it ever be
thought expedient to erect one here, I should recommend, for a location,
the knoll, near the fountain, on our Common, which would enable a very
large concourse of men, women, and children, to witness the performances
of both, at the same moment.

The very best account of the guillotine, that I have ever met with, is
contained in the London Quarterly Review, vol. lxxiii. page 235. It is
commonly supposed, that this instrument was invented by Dr. Guillotin,
whose name it bears. It has been frequently asserted, that Dr. Guillotin
was one of the earliest, who fell victims to its terrible agency. It has
been still more generally believed, that this awfully efficient machine
was conceived in sin and begotten in iniquity, or in other words, that its
original contrivers were moved, by the spirit of cruelty. All these
conjectures are unfounded.

The guillotine, before its employment, in France, was well known in
England, under the name of the Halifax gibbet. A copy of a print, by John
Doyle, bearing date 1650, and representing the instrument, may be found,
in the work, to which I have, just now, referred. Pennant, in his Tour,
vol. iii. page 365, affirms, that he saw one of the same kind, "in a room,
under the Parliament house, at Edinburgh, where it was introduced by the
Regent, Morton, who took a model of it, as he passed through Halifax, and,
at length, suffered by it, himself."

The writer in the London Quarterly, puts the question of invention at
rest, by exhibiting, on page 258, a copy of an engraving, by Henry
Aldgrave, bearing date 1553, representing the death of Titus Manlius,
under the operation of "an instrument, identical with the guillotine."

During the revolution, Dr. Guillotin was committed to prison, from which
he was released, after a tedious confinement. He died in his bed, at
Paris, an obscure and inoffensive, old man; deeply deploring, to the day
of his decease, the association of his name, with this terrible
instrument--an instrument, which he attempted to introduce, in good faith,
and with a merciful design, but which had been employed by the devils
incarnate of the revolution, for the purposes of reckless and
indiscriminating carnage.

Dr. Guillotin was a weak, consequential, well-meaning man, willing to
mount any hobby, that would lift him from the ground. He is described, in
the _Portraits des Personnes célebres_, 1796, as a simple busybody,
meddling with everything, _à tort et à travers_, and being both
mischievous and ridiculous.

He had sundry benevolent visions, in regard to capital punishment, and the
suppression, _by legal enactment_, of the _sentiment_ of prejudice,
against the families of persons, executed for crime! Among the members of
the faculty, in every large city, there are commonly two or three, at
least, exhibiting striking points of resemblance to Dr. Guillotin. In
urging the merits of this machine, upon merciful considerations, his
integrity was unimpeachable. He considered hanging a barbarous and cruel
punishment; and, by the zeal and simplicity of his arguments, produced,
even upon so grave a topic, universal laughter, in the constituent
assembly--having represented hanging, as a tedious and painful process, he
exclaimed, "Now, with my machine, _Je vous sauter le tête_, I strike off
your head, in the twinkling of an eye, and you never feel it."



No. CLII.


The Sansons, hereditary executioners, in Paris, were gentlemen. In 1684,
Carlier, executioner of Paris, was dismissed. His successor was Charles
Sanson a lieutenant in the army, born in Abbeville, in Picardy, and a
relative of Nicholas Sanson, the celebrated geographer. Charles Sanson
married the daughter of the executioner of Normandy, and hence a long line
of illustrious executioners. Charles died in 1695; and was succeeded by
his son Charles.

Charles Sanson, the second, was succeeded by his son, Charles John
Baptiste, who died Aug. 4, 1778, when his son Charles Henry was appointed
in his place; and, in 1795, retired on a pension. By his hand, with the
assistance of two of his brothers, the King, Louis XVI. was guillotined.
This Charles Henry had two sons. His eldest, the heir-apparent to the
guillotine, was killed, by a fall from the scaffold, while holding forth
the head of a man, executed for the forgery of assignats. Henry, the
younger son of Charles Henry, therefore became his successor, at the time
of his retirement, in 1795. To fill this office, he gave up his military
rank, as captain of artillery. He died Aug. 18, 1840. He was an elector,
and had a taste for music and literature. He was succeeded by his son,
Henry Clement, Dec. 1, 1840. These particulars will be found on page 27 of
_Recherches Historiques et Physiologiques, sur la Guillotine, &c._, par M.
Louis du Bois. Paris, 1843. Monsieur du Bois informs us, that all these
Sansons were very worthy men, and that the present official possesses a
fine figure, features stamped with nobility, and an expression sweet and
attractive. How very little all this quadrates with our popular
impressions of the common hangman!

The objection to the guillotine, which was called, for a time, _Louison_,
after M. Louis, Secretary of the College of Surgeons, that it would make
men familiar with the sight of blood, was urged by the Abbé Maury, and
afterwards, by A. M. La Cheze. The Duke de Liancourt, inclined to _mercy_,
that is, to the employment of the guillotine. He contended, that it was
necessary to efface all recollections of hanging, which, he gravely
remarked, had recently been so _irregularly applied_, referring to the
summary process of lynching, as we term it--_à la lanterne_.

It is curious to note the doubt and apprehension, which existed, as to the
result of the first experiment of decollation. March 3, 1792, the
minister, Duport du Tertre, writes thus to the Legislative Assembly--"It
appears, by the communications, made to me, by the executioners
themselves, that, without some precautions, the act of decollation will be
horrible to the spectators. It will either prove them to be monsters, if
they are able to bear such a spectacle; or the executioner, himself,
alarmed, will fall before the wrath of the people."

The matter being referred to Louis, then Secretary of the Academy of
Surgeons, he made his report, March 7, 1792. The new law required, that
the criminal should be decapitated--_aura la tête tranchée_; and that the
punishment should be inflicted _without torture_. Louis shows how
difficult the execution of such a law must be--"We should recollect," says
he, "the occurrences at M. de Lally's execution. He was upon his knees,
with his eyes covered--the executioner struck him, on the back of his
neck--the blow was insufficient. He fell upon his face, and three or four
cuts of the sabre severed the head. Such _hacherie_ excited a feeling of
horror." To such a polite and gentle nation, this must have been highly
offensive.

April 25, 1798. Roederer, Procureur Genéral, wrote a letter to Lafayette,
telling him, that a public trial of the new instrument would take place,
that day, in the _Place de Grève_, and would, doubtless, draw a great
crowd, and begging him not to withdraw the gens d'armes, till the
apparatus had been removed. In the Courrier Extraordinaire, of April 27,
1792, is the following notice--"They made yesterday (meaning the 25th) the
first trial of the _little Louison_, and cut off a head, one Pelletier. I
never in my life could bear to see a man hanged; but I own I feel a
greater aversion to this species of execution. The preparations make me
shudder, and increase the moral suffering. The people seemed to wish, that
M. Sanson had his old gallows."

After the _Louison_, or guillotine, had been in operation rather more than
a year, the following interesting letter was sent, by the Procureur
Genéral, Roederer, to citizen Guideu. "13 May, 1793. I enclose, citizen,
the copy of a letter from citizen Chaumette, solicitor to the commune of
Paris, by which you will perceive, that complaints are made, that, after
these public executions, the blood of the criminals remains in pools, upon
the _Place de Grève_, that dogs came to drink it, and that crowds of men
feed their eyes with this spectacle, which naturally instigates their
hearts to ferocity and blood. I request you therefore to take the earliest
and most convenient opportunity, to remove from the eyes of men a sight so
afflicting to humanity."

Voltaire, who thought very gravely, before he delivered the sentiment to
the world, has stated of his countrymen, that they were a mixture of the
monkey and the tiger. Undoubtedly he knew. In the revolution of 1793, and
in every other, that has occurred in France--those excepted which may have
taken place, since the arrival of the last steamer--the tiger has had the
upper hand. Prudhomme, the prince of pamphleteers, having published
fifteen hundred, on political subjects, and author of the General History
of the crimes, committed, during the revolution, writing of the execution
of Louis XVI. remarks--"Some individuals steeped their handkerchiefs in
his blood. A number of armed volunteers crowded also to dip in the blood
of the despot their pikes, their bayonets, and their sabres. Several
officers of the Marseillais battalion, and others, dipped the covers of
letters in this impure blood, and carried them, on the points of their
swords, at the head of their companies, exclaiming 'this is the blood of a
tyrant.' One citizen got up to the guillotine itself, and plunging his
whole arm into the blood of Capet, of which a great quantity remained; he
took up handsful of the clotted gore, and sprinkled it over the crowd
below, which pressed round the scaffold, each anxious to receive a drop on
his forehead. 'Friends,' said this citizen in sprinkling them, 'we were
threatened, that the blood of Louis should be on our heads, and so you see
it is.'" Rev. de Paris, No. 185, p. 205.

Upon the earnest request of the inhabitants of several streets, through
which the gangs of criminals were carried, the guillotine was removed,
June 8, 1794, from the _Place de la Revolution_ to the _Place St.
Antoine_, in front of the ruins of the Bastile; where it remained five
days only, during which time, it took off ninety-six heads. The proximity
of this terrible revolutionary plaything annoyed the shopkeepers. The
purchasers of finery were too forcibly reminded of the uncertainty of
life, and the brief occasion they might have, for all such things,
especially for neckerchiefs and collars. Once again then, the guillotine,
after five days' labor, was removed; and took its station still farther
off, at the _Barrière du Trône_. There it stood, from June 9 till the
overthrow of Robespierre, July 27, 1794: and, during those forty-nine
days, twelve hundred and seventy heads dropped into its voracious basket.
July 28, it was returned to the _Place de la Revolution_.

Sanson, Charles Henry, the executioner of Louis XVI. had not a little
_bonhomie_ in his composition--his infernal profession seems not to have
completely ossified his heart. He reminds me, not a little, of Sir Thomas
Erpingham, who, George Colman, the younger, says, carried on his wars, in
France, in a benevolent spirit, and went about, I suppose, like dear, old
General Taylor, in Mexico, "pitying and killing." On the day, when
Robespierre fell, forty-nine victims were ascending the carts, to proceed
to the guillotine, about three in the afternoon. Sanson, at the moment,
met that incomparable bloodhound, the _Accusateur Public_, Fouquier de
Tinville, going to dinner. Sanson suggested the propriety of delaying the
execution, as a new order of things might cause the lives of the condemned
to be spared. Fouquier briefly replied, "the law must take its course;"
and went to dine--the forty-nine to die; and, shortly after, their fate
was his.

The guillotine, viewed as an instrument of justice, in cases of execution,
for capital offences, is certainly a most merciful contrivance, liable,
undoubtedly, during a period of intense excitement, to be converted into a
terrible toy.

During the reign of terror, matters of extreme insignificancy, brought
men, women, and children to the guillotine. The record is, occasionally,
awfully ridiculous. A few examples may suffice--Jean Julian, wagoner,
sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment, took it into his head, on the
way--_s'avisa_--to cry--_Vive le Roi_; executed September, 1792.--Jean
Baptiste Henry sawed a tree of liberty; executed Sept. 6, 1793.--M.
Baulny, ex-noble, assisted his son to emigrate; executed Jan. 31,
1794.--La veuve Marbeuf _hoped_ the Austrians would come; executed Feb. 5,
1794.--Francis Bertrand, publican, sold sour wine; executed May 15,
1793.--Marie Angelique Plaisant, sempstress, exclaimed--"a fig for the
nation;" executed July 19, 1794.



No. CLIII.


An interesting, physiological question arose, in 1796, whether death, by
decollation, under the guillotine, were instantaneous or not. Men of
science and talent, and among them Dr. Sue, and a number of German
physicians, maintained, that, in the brain, after decapitation, there was
a certain degree--_un reste_--of thought, and, in the nerves, a measure of
sensibility. An opposite opinion seems to have prevailed. The controversy,
which was extremely interesting, acquired additional interest and
activity, from an incident, which occurred, on the scaffold, immediately
after the execution of Marie Anne Charlotte de Corday d'Armont--commonly
known, under the imperishable name of _Charlotte Corday_. A brute,
François Le Gros, one of the assistant executioners, held up the beautiful
and bleeding head, and slapped the cheek with his hand. A blush was
instantly visible to the spectators. In connection with the physiological
question, to which I have referred, a careful inquiry was instituted, and
it was proved, very satisfactorily, that the color--the blush--appeared on
_both_ cheeks, after the blow was given. Dr. Sue's account of this matter
runs thus--"The countenance of Charlotte Corday expressed the most
unequivocal marks of indignation. Let us look back to the facts--the
executioner held the head, suspended in one hand; the face was then pale,
but had no sooner received the slap, which the sanguinary wretch
inflicted, than both cheeks visibly reddened. Every spectator was struck,
by the change of color, and with loud murmurs cried out for vengeance, on
this cowardly and atrocious barbarity. It can not be said, that the
redness was caused by the blow--for we all know, that no blows will recall
anything like color to the cheeks of a corpse; besides this blow was
given on one cheek, and the other equally reddened." _Sue; Opinion sur le
supplice de la guillotine, p. 9._

Sir Thomas Browne, in his Religio Medici, remarked, that he had never
known a religion, in which there were impossibilities enough to give full
exercise to an active faith. This remark greatly delighted Sir Kenelm
Digby, who was an ultra Catholic. The faith of Browne, in regard to things
spiritual, was not an overmatch for his credulity, in regard to things
temporal, which is the more remarkable, as he gave so much time to his
Pseudodoxia, or exposition of vulgar errors? He was a believer in the
existence of invisible beings, holding rank between men and angels--in
apparitions; and affirmed, _from his own knowledge_, the certainty of
witchcraft. Hutchinson, in his essay on witchcraft, repeats the testimony
of Dr. Browne, in the case of Amy Duny and Rose Cullender, who were tried,
before Sir Matthew Hale, in 1664; and executed, at St. Edmunds Bury, as
witches. Sir Thomas stated in court, "_that the fits were natural, but
heightened, by the devil's coöperating with the malice of the witches, at
whose instance he did the villanies_." He added that "a great discovery
had lately been made, in Denmark, of witches, who used the very same way
of afflicting persons, by conveying pins into them." Now it would be
curious to know what Sir Thomas thought of the famous and apposite story
of Sir Everard Digby, the father of Sir Kenelm, and if the faith of Sir
Thomas were strong enough, to credit that extraordinary tale.

Charlotte Corday was _beheaded_, and Sir Everard Digby was _hanged_. The
difference must be borne in mind, while considering this interesting
subject. Sir Everard, who was an amiable young man, was led astray, and
executed Jan. 30, 1606, for the part he bore, in the gunpowder plot. Wood,
in his "Athenæ Oxonienses," vol. iii. p. 693, Lond. 1817, has the
following passage--"Sir Everard Digby, father to Sir Kenelme, was a goodly
gentleman, and the handsomest man of his time, but much pitied, for that
it was his ill fate to suffer for the powder plot, in 1605, aged 24, at
which time, when the executioner pluck'd out the heart, when the body was
to be quartered, and, according to the manner, held it up, saying, _here
is the heart of a traytor_, Sir Everard made answer, _thou liest_. This a
most famous author mentions, but tells us not his name, in his _Historia
Vitæ et Mortis_." This most famous author is Lord Bacon--Hist. Vit. et
Mort., vol. viii. p. 446, Lond. 1824. The passage is so curious, that I
give it entire--"Anguillæ, serpentes et insecta diu moventur singulis
partibus, post concisionem. Etiam aves, capitibus avulsis, ad tempus
subsultant: quin et corda animalium avulsa diu palpitant. Equidem
meminimus ipsi vidisse hominis cor, qui evisceratus erat (supplicii genere
apud nos versus proditores recepto) quod in ignem, de more, injectum,
saltabat in altum, primo ad sesquipedem, et deinde gradatim ad minus;
durante spatio (ut meminimus) septem aut octo minutarum. Etiam vetus et
fide digna traditio est, de bove sub evisceratione mugiente. At magis
certa de homine, qui co supplicii genere (quod diximus) evisceratus,
postquam cor avulsum penitus esset, et in carnificis manu, tria aut
quatuor verba precum auditus est proferre"--which may be Englished
thus--Snakes, serpents, and insects move, a long time, after they have
been cut into parts. Birds also hop about, for a time, after their heads
have been wrung off. Even the hearts of animals, after they have been torn
out, continue long to palpitate. Indeed, we ourselves remember to have
seen the heart of a man, who had been drawn, or eviscerated, in that kind
of punishment, which we employ against traitors, and which, when cast upon
the fire, according to custom, leapt on high, at first, a foot and a half,
and gradually less and less, during the space, if we justly remember, of
seven or eight minutes. There is also an ancient tradition, well entitled
to credit, of a cow, that bellowed, under the process of evisceration. And
more certain is the story of the man, who was eviscerated, according to
the mode of punishment we have referred to, who, when his heart was
actually torn out, and in the hands of the executioner, was heard to utter
three or four words of imprecation. Sir Everard was executed, as I have
stated, in 1605. Lord Bacon was born Jan. 22, 1561, and died April 9,
1626, twenty-one years only after Digby's execution, and at the age of 65.
Lord Bacon was therefore 44 years old, when Digby's execution took place,
which fact has some bearing upon the authenticity of this extraordinary
story. Lord Bacon speaks confidently of the fact; and his suppression of
the name was very natural, as the family of Sir Everard were then upon the
stage.

A writer in the London Quarterly Review remarks, in a note on page 274,
vol. 73, comparing the case of Charlotte Corday with that of Sir Everard
Digby--"This" (Sir Everard's) "was a case of _evisceration_, and not of
_decapitation_, which makes the whole difference, as to the credibility of
the story."

Chalmers relates the anecdote, and refers to Wood's Athenæ, and Lord
Bacon's Historia Vitæ et Mortis, but speaks of the tale, as "_a story,
which will scarcely now obtain belief_." In the Harleian Miscellany, vol.
iii. page 5, Lond. 1809, there is an account of the discovery of the
gunpowder plot, imprinted at London, by Robert Barker, 1605. On page 47, a
very brief cotemporaneous account is given of Digby's execution, in St.
Paul's churchyard, which contains no allusion whatever to the
circumstance, stated by Wood, and so very confidently, by Lord Bacon.

I suppose few will really believe, that any man's conversational abilities
can be worth much, after his head is off, or his heart is out. From the
expression of the Quarterly reviewer, it may be inferred, that he did not
consider the story of Sir Everard Digby utterly impossible and incredible.
For my own part, I am very much inclined to hand over this extraordinary
legend to Judæus Appella. Every man, who has not, by long experience, like
George Selwyn, acquired great self-possession, while enjoying an
execution, inclines to the marvellous. Sir Everard, before the work of
evisceration began, it must be remembered, had been hanged, the usual
length of time; and the words--"_thou liest_"--are stated to have been
uttered, at the moment, when the heart, having been plucked out, was held
up by the executioner. It is more easy of belief, that some guttural
noise, like that, spasmodically uttered by certain birds, after their
heads have been chopped off, may have sounded to the gaping bystanders,
who looked and listened, _auribus arrectis_, not very unlike the words in
question. The belief, that Digby spoke these words, seems to be analogous
to the belief, that, in _hydrophobia_, the sufferers bark like dogs,
simply because, oppressed with phlegm, and nearly strangled, their
terrific efforts, to clear the breathing passages, are accompanied with a
variety of unintelligible, and horrible sounds.

There are some curious cases, on record, which may have something to do
with our reasoning, upon this subject. A similar species of death,
attended by spasms or convulsions, is said to have been produced, by the
bite of other animals. Dr. Fothergill relates cases of death, from the
bite of a cat. Thiermayer recites two cases, both terminating fatally,
from the bite of a goose, and a hen. Le Cat, Receuil Periodique, ii. page
90, presents a similar case, from the bite of a duck. But we are not
informed, that, the patient, in either of these cases, during the spasms,
mewed, quacked, cackled, or hissed; and yet there seems to be no rational
apology for a patient's _barking_, simply because he has been bitten, by a
cat, or a duck, a goose, or a hen.

Spasmodic or convulsive motion, in a human body, which has been hung, or
shot, or eviscerated, is a very different thing, from an intelligent
exercise of the will, over the organs of speech, producing the utterance
even of a word or syllable.

In the cases of persons, who have been shot through the heart, violent
spasmodic action is no unusual phenomenon. When I was a boy, the duel took
place, between Rand and Millar, at Dorchester Point, then a locality as
solitary, as Hoboken, or the Hebrides. The movements of the parties were
observed, and their purposes readily surmised, by the officers, on Castle
William; and a barge was immediately despatched, from the fort. Shots were
exchanged, between the combatants, while the barge was passing over. Rand
fell, wounded through the heart; and, after lying motionless, for a very
brief space, was seen to leap into the air several feet, and fall again,
upon the earth.



No. CLIV.


We are living and learning, forever. Life is a court of cassation, where
truth sits, as chancellor, daily reversing the most incomparably beautiful
decrees of theoretical philosophy.

It is not unlikely, that a very interesting volume of 600 pages, folio,
might be prepared, to be called the _Mistakes of Science_. The elephant in
the moon, and the weighing of the fish have furnished amusement, in their
day. Even in our own times, philosophers, of considerable note, have
seriously _doubted_ the truth of that incomparable hoax, concerning Sir
John Herschell's lunar discoveries.

Savans were completely deceived, for a considerable period, by the
electrical beatifications of Mr. Bose. One of the most amusing
occurrences, upon record, on which occasion, the philosopher, unlike Mr.
Bose, was a perfectly honest man, befell the famous mathematical
instrument-maker, Mr. Troughton. He became fully possessed, by the idea,
that certain persons, a select few, were capable of exerting a magnetic
influence, over the needle, by advancing their faces towards it. So far
from being common, this power was limited to a very small number. The
statements of Mr. Troughton, and his well-established reputation, for
integrity, caused the subject to be gravely discussed, by members of the
Royal Society.

Every individual of the very small number, who possessed this remarkable
power--every _medium_--was carefully examined. Collusion seemed utterly
impossible. A new theory appeared to be established. Amazement ran through
the learned assembly. A careful inquiry was instituted, in relation to the
manner of life of these _mediums_, from their youth upwards, their
occupations, diet, &c., and some very learned papers would, erelong, have
been read, before the Royal Society, if Mr. Troughton himself had not
previously made a most fortunate discovery--he discovered, that he wore a
wig, constructed with _steel_ springs--such, also, was the case with every
other _medium_!

The tendency to predicate certainty, of things, manifestly doubtful, is
exceedingly common. I fell, recently, into the society of some very
intelligent gentlemen, who were _certain_, that Sir John Franklin was
lost, irrecoverably lost.

There are some--perhaps their name is not Legion--whose faith is of
superior dimensions to the mustard seed, and who believe, that Sir John
Franklin is not destroyed; that he yet lives; and, that, sooner or later,
he will come back to his friends and the world, with a world of wonders to
relate, of all that he has seen and suffered. God, all merciful, grant it
may be so. To all human observation, after a careful balancing of
probabilities, there is certainly nothing particularly flattering in the
prospect. Yet, on the other hand, absolute, unqualified despair is
irrational, and unjustifiable.

The present existence of Sir John Franklin is certainly _possible_. No
one, I presume, will say it is _probable_. Some half a dozen good,
substantial words are greatly needed, to mark shades between these two,
and to designate what is more than _possible_, and less than _probable_.

A careful consideration of the narrative of Sir John Ross, the narrative,
I mean, of his second voyage, in quest of a northwest passage, and of his
abode in the Arctic regions, and of the opinion, very generally
entertained, for a great length of time, that he was lost, will strengthen
the impression, that Sir John Franklin also may be yet alive, _somewhere_!
Even then, a question may arise, in connection with the force of certain
currents, referred to, by those, who have lately returned, from an
unsuccessful search for Sir John Franklin, whether it may be possible to
return, against those currents, with such means and appliances, as he
possessed; and whether, even on this side the grave, there may not be a
bourne, from which no presumptuous voyager ever shall return.

The residence of Sir John Ross, in the Arctic regions, continued, through
five consecutive years, 1829, '30, '31, '32, '33. To such, as imagine
there is any effective summer, in those regions, and who have been
accustomed to associate spring and summer, with flowers and fruits, it may
not be amiss, by way of corrective, to administer a brief passage, from
the journal of Sir John Ross, in August, 1832--"But to see, to have seen,
ice and snow, to have felt snow and ice forever, and nothing forever but
snow and ice, during all the months of a year; to have seen and felt but
uninterrupted and unceasing ice and snow, during all the months of four
years, this it is, that has made the sight of those most chilling and
wearisome objects an evil, which is still one in recollection, as if the
remembrance would never cease."

At this period, August, 1832, very little hope was entertained, that Sir
John Ross and his companions were living. Even a year before, they were
generally supposed to be lost.

The abandonment of their ship, which had been locked fast in the ice, for
years, and their almost inconceivable toil, while crossing, with their
boats, on sledges, to the confluence of Regent's Inlet, and Barrow's
Strait, are fully presented in the narrative. Their hour of deliverance
came at last, and the event cannot be better described, than in the words
of Sir John Ross himself. As they were standing along the southern shore
of Harrow's Strait, in their boats, on the 26th of August, a sail, to
their inexpressible joy, hove in sight. After a period of great anxiety,
lest she should not observe their signals of distress, their deep delight
may be imagined, even by an unpractised landsman, when they first became
assured, that they had attracted the notice of the crew, in one of the
ship's boats. The reader will be better satisfied with an account from
the lips of the [Greek: polytropos os malla polla], himself.

"She was soon along side, when the mate in command addressed us, by
presuming, that we had met with some misfortune and lost our ship. This
being answered in the affirmative, I requested to know the name of his
vessel, and expressed our wish to be taken on board. I was answered, that
it was the 'Isabella, of Hull, once commanded by Captain Ross;' on which I
stated, that I was the identical man in question, and my people the crew
of the Victory. That the mate, who commanded this boat, was as much
astonished, as he appeared to be, I do not doubt; while, with the usual
blunderheadedness of men, on such occasions, he assured me, that I had
been dead two years. I easily convinced him, however, that what ought to
have been true, according to his estimate, was a somewhat premature
conclusion; as the bear-like form of the whole set of us, might have shown
him, had he taken time to consider, that we were certainly not whaling
gentlemen, and that we carried tolerable evidence of our being 'true men
and no imposters,' on our backs, and in our starved and unshaven
countenances."

However close the resemblance, between Sir John Ross and his comrades to
_bears_, they soon become _lions_ on board the Isabella. Sir John
continues thus--

"A hearty congratulation followed, of course, in the true seaman style,
and, after a few natural inquiries, he added, that the Isabella was
commanded by Captain Humphreys; when he immediately went off in his boat
to communicate his information on board; repeating, that we had long been
given up as lost, not by them alone, but by all England."

In this precedent, there is kindling stuff for hope, if not substantial
fuel. After reading this account, the hearts of the strong-hearted cannot
fail to be strengthened the more. A scientific and elaborate comparison of
all the facts and circumstances, in the respective cases of Ross and
Franklin, may lead to dissipate our hope. But hope is a vivacious
principle, like the polypus, from the minutest particle remaining, growing
up to be the integral thing, that it was. Science, philosophy, perched
upon theoretical stilts, occasionally walk confidently into the mire. Sir
John Franklin may yet be among the living, notwithstanding those negative
demonstrations, in which many so very plausibly indulge themselves.

Let us follow Sir John Ross and his companions on board the Isabella.--"As
we approached slowly after him (the mate of the Isabella) he jumped up the
side, and, in a minute, the rigging was manned; while we were saluted with
three cheers, as we came within cable's length, and were not long in
getting on board my old vessel, where we were all received, by Captain
Humphreys, with a hearty seaman's welcome. Though we had not been
supported by our names and characters, we should not the less have
claimed, from charity, the attentions we received; for never was seen a
more miserable looking set of wretches. If to be poor, wretchedly poor, as
far as all our present property was concerned, were to have a claim on
charity, none could well deserve it more; but, if to look so, be to
frighten away the so called charitable, no beggar, that wanders in
Ireland, could have outdone us, in exciting the repugnance of those, who
know not what poverty can be. Unshaven, since I know not when, dirty,
dressed in the rags of wild beasts, instead of the tatters of
civilization, and starved to the very bones, our gaunt and grim looks,
when contrasted with those of the well dressed and well fed men around us,
made us all feel, I believe, for the first time, what we really were, as
well as what we seemed to others."

Very considerable training must, doubtless, be required, to reconcile a
Mohawk Indian to a feather bed. A short passage from the Journal of Sir
John Ross forcibly illustrates the truth, that we are the creatures of
habit. "Long accustomed, however, to a cold bed, on the hard snow or the
bare rock, few could sleep, amid the comforts of our new accommodations. I
was myself compelled to leave the bed, which had been kindly assigned me,
and take my abode in a chair for the night, nor did it fare much better
with the rest. It was for time to reconcile us to this sudden and violent
change, to break through what had become habit, and to inure us, once
more, to the usages of our former days."



No. CLV.


Good, old Sir William Dugdale was certainly the prince of antiquaries. His
labors and their products were greater, than could have been anticipated,
even from his long and ever busy life. He was born, Sept. 12, 1605, and
died, in his eighty-first year, while sitting quietly, in his antiquarian
chair, Feb. 6, 1686.

It seemed not to have occurred, so impressively, to other men, how very
important was the diligent study of ancient wills, not only to the
antiquarian, but to the historian, of any age or nation. Dugdale's
annotations, upon the royal and noble wills of England, are eminently
useful and curious. A collection of "royal wills" was published, by Mr.
John Nicholls, the historian of Leicestershire, and the "Testamenta
Vetusta," by Mr. Nicolas. These works are in very few hands, and some of
them almost as rarely to be met with, as those of Du Cange, Charpentiere,
Spelman, or Lacombe.

There is no small amount of information and amusement, to be gathered from
these ancient declarations of the purposes of men, contemplating death, at
a distance, or about to die; though it cannot be denied, that the wills of
our immediate ancestors, especially, if they have amassed great wealth,
and, after a few unimportant legacies to others, have made us their
residuary legatees, furnish a far more interesting species of reading, to
the rising generation.

There are worthy persons, who entertain a superstitious horror, upon the
subject of making a will: they seem to have an actual fear, that the
execution of a will is very much in the nature of a dying speech; that it
is an expression of their willingness to go; and that the King of Terrors
may possibly take them, at their word.

There are others, who are so far from being oppressed, by any
apprehension, of this nature, that one of their most common amusements
consists in the making, and mending of their wills.

"Who," says the compiler of the Testamenta Vetusta, "would have the
hardihood to stain with those evil passions, which actuate mankind, in
this world, that deed, which cannot take effect, until he is before the
Supreme Judge, and consequently immediately responsible for his conduct?"
To this grave inquiry I, unhesitatingly answer--_thousands_! The secret
motives of men, upon such occasions, if fairly brought to light, would
present a very curious record. That record would, by no means, sustain the
sentiment, implied, in the preceding interrogatory. Malice and caprice,
notoriously, have governed the testator's pen, upon numberless occasions.
The old phrase--_cutting off with a shilling_--has been reduced to
practice, in a multitude of instances, for considerations of mere hatred
and revenge, or of pique and displeasure. The malevolent testator, who
would be heartily ashamed, to avow what he had done, on this side the
grave, is regardless of his reputation, on the other.

Goldsmith places in the mouth of one of his characters, a declaration,
that he was disinherited, for liking gravy. This, however it may have been
intended as a pleasantry, by the author, is, by no means, beyond the
region of probability. Considerations, equally absurd and frivolous, have,
occasionally, operated upon the minds of passionate and capricious people,
especially in the decline of life; and, though they are sensible of the
Bible truth, that they can carry nothing with them, they may, yet a little
while, enjoy the prospective disappointment of another.

The Testamenta Vetusta contain abstracts of numerous wills of the English
kings, and of the nobility, and gentry, for several centuries, from the
time of Henry second, who began to reign, in 1154. The work, as I have
stated, is rare; and I am mistaken, if the general reader, any more than
he, who has an antiquarian diathesis, will complain of the exhumation I
propose to make of some, among the "reliques of thae antient dayes."

It is almost impossible, to glance over one of these venerable testaments
of the old English nobility, without perceiving, that the testator's
thoughts were pretty equally divided, between beds, masses, and wax
tapers. Beds, with the gorgeous trappings, appurtenant thereto, form a
common subject of bequest, and of entailment, as heir-looms.

Edward, the Black Prince, son of Edward III., died June 8, 1376. In his
will, dated the day before his death, he bequeaths "To our son Richard,[6]
the bed, which the King our father gave us. To Sir Roger de Clarendon,[7]
a silk bed. To Sir Robert de Walsham, our confessor, a large bed of red
camora, with our arms embroidered at each corner; also embroidered with
the arms of Hereford. To Monsr. Allayne Cheyne our bed of camora, powdered
with blue eagles. And we bequeath all our goods and chattels, jewels, &c.,
for the payment of our funeral and debts; after which we will, that our
executors pay certain legacies to our poor servants. All annuities, which
we have given to our Knights, Esquires, and other, our followers, we
desire to be fully paid. And we charge our son Richard, on our blessing,
that he fulfil our bequests to them. And we appoint our very dear and
beloved brother of Spain, Duke of Lancaster,[8] &c., &c., executors," &c.

Joan, Princess of Wales, was daughter of Edmund Plantagenet. From her
extreme beauty, she was styled the "_Fair Maid of Kent_." I find the
following record in regard to Joan--"She entered into a contract of
marriage with Thomas Montacute, Earl of Salisbury; but Sir Thomas Holland,
H. G., on a petition to Pope Clement VI. alleged a precontract, _consensus
et concubitus_, but that, he being abroad, the Earl of Salisbury unjustly
kept her from him; and his Holiness gave her to Sir Thomas."

Joan seems to have been a wilful body, and the reader may like to know
what sort of a will she made, four hundred and sixty-six years ago. She
finally became the wife of Edward, the Black Prince, and, by him, the
mother of Richard II. An abstract of her will runs thus--"In the year of
our Lord, 1385, and of the reign of my dear son, Richard, King of England
and France, the 9th at my castle of Walyngford, in the Diocese of
Salisbury, the 7th of August, I, Joan, Princess of Wales, Duchess of
Cornwall, Countess of Chester, and Lady Wake. My body to be buried, in my
chapel, at Stanford, near the monument of our late lord and father, the
Earl of Kent. To my dear son, the King, my new bed of red velvet,
embroidered with ostrich feathers of silver, and heads of leopards of
gold, with boughs and leaves issuing out of their mouths. To my dear son,
Thomas, Earl of Kent, my bed of red camak, paied with red and rays of
gold. To my dear son, John Holland, a bed of red camak."

Katherine of Arragon wills, _inter alia_--"I supplicate, that my body be
buried in a convent of Observant Friars. Item, that for my soul be said C.
masses. Item, that some personage go to our Lady of Walsingham, in
pilgrimage, and in going by the way, dole XX nobles. Item, I ordain that
the collar of gold, that I brought out of Spain be to my daughter. * * *
Item, if it may please the King, my good Lord, that the house ornaments of
the church be made of my gowns, which he holdeth, for to serve the
convent thereat I shall be buried. And the furs of the same I give for my
daughter."

William de Longspee, Earl of Salisbury, was a natural son of Henry II., by
Fair Rosamond, daughter of Walter de Clifford, and distinguished himself
in the Holy Land. He bequeaths to the Monastery of the Carthusians--"A cup
of gold, set with emeralds and rubies; also a pix of gold with XLII. s.
and two goblets of silver, one of which is gilt; likewise a chesible and
cope of red silk; a tunicle and dalmatick of yellow cendal; an alba,
amice, and stole; also a favon and towel, and all my reliques; likewise a
thousand sheep, three hundred muttons, forty-eight oxen, and fifteen
bulls."

It was not unusual, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, to
dedicate children, at the hour of their baptism, to the _military_ service
of _God_, in Palestine. An example of this may be found, in the will of
William de Beauchamp, who was the father of the first Earl of Warwick, and
died before 1269--"My body to be buried in the Church of Friars Minors at
Worcester. I will, that a horse, completely harnessed with all military
caparisons, precede my corpse: to a priest to sing mass daily, in my
chapel without the city of Worcester, near unto that house of Friars,
which I gave for the health of my soul, and for the soul of Isabel my
wife, Isabel de Mortimer, and all the faithful deceased, all my rent of
the fee of Richard Bruli, in Wiche and Winchester, with supply of what
should be short, out of my own proper goods. * * * To William, my oldest
son, the cup and horns of St. Hugh. * * * To Isabel, my wife, ten
marks[9]: to the Church and nuns of Westwood one mark: to the Church and
nuns without Worcester one mark: to every Anchorite in Worcester and the
parts adjacent four shillings: to the Church of Salewarp, a house and
garden, near the parsonage, to find a lamp to burn continually therein to
the honor of God, the blessed Virgins St. Katherine, and St. Margaret."

The will of his son, the Earl of Warwick, is full of the spirit of the
age. He died in 1298--"My heart to be buried wheresoever the Countess, my
dear consort, may, herself, resolve to be interred: to the place, where I
may be buried two great horses, viz., those which shall carry my armor at
my funeral, for the solemnizing of which, I bequeath two hundred pounds:
to the maintenance of two soldiers in the Holy Land one hundred pounds:
to Maud, my wife, all my silver vessels, with the cross, wherein is
contained part of the wood of the very cross, on which our Saviour died. *
* * To my said wife a cup, which the Bishop of Worcester gave me, and all
my other cups, with my lesser sort of jewels and rings, to distribute for
the health of my soul, where she may think best: to my two daughters, nuns
at Shouldham, fifty marks."

Elizabeth De Burgh, Lady of Clare, was the daughter of Gilbert de Clare,
Earl of Gloucester, by Joan D'Acres, daughter of Edward I. She was thrice
married. Her will is a curious affair, and bears date Sept. 25, 1355. She
leaves legacies to her "servants" numbering, about one hundred and forty,
and among whom are several knights and "peres."--"My body to be buried in
the Sisters Minories, beyond Aldgate. I devise c. c. lb. of wax, to burn
round my corpse. I will that my body be not buried for fifteen days after
my decease. * * * For masses to be sung for the souls of Monsr. John de
Bourg, Monsr. Theobaud de Verdon, and Monsr. Roger Dammory, my lords, my
soul, and for the souls of all my good and loyal servants, who have died
or may die in my service CXL., li.: To find five men for the Holy Land C.
marks, to be spent, in the service of God and destruction of his enemies,
if any general voyage be made within seven years after my decease: To my
daughter Bardoff my bed of green velvet."

Elizabeth, Countess of Northampton, wife of William de Bohnn, made her
will, in 1356. To the Church of the Friars Preachers, in London, she
bequeaths: "C. marks sterling, and also the cross, made of the very wood
of our Saviour's cross which I was wont to carry about me, and wherein is
contained one of the thorns of his crown; and I bequeath to the said
Church two fair altar cloths of one suit, two of cloth of gold, one
chalice, one missal, one graille,[10] and one silver bell; likewise
thirty-one ells of linen cloth for making of albes, one pulpitory, one
portfory,[11] and a holy water pot of silver." She also wills, that "one
hundred and fifty marks be distributed to several other convents of Friars
Preachers, in such manner as Friar David de Stirrington shall think best,
for my soul's health: To the Grey Friars, in London five marks: To the
Carmelites five marks: and to the Augustines five marks * * * to Elizabeth
my daughter a bed of red worsted embroidered: To my sister, the Countess
of Oxford a black horse and a nonche.[12]"

Believers in the doctrine of transubstantation must extend their faith to
the very cross; for, to comprehend all the wood, in possession of the
faithful, it must have consisted of many cords of substantial timber.



No. CLVI.


The testamentary recognition of bastards, _eo nomine_, was very common, in
the olden time. There were some, to whom funereal extravagance and pomp
were offensive. Sir Ottro De Grandison says, in his will, dated Sept. 18,
1358--"I entreat, that no armed horse or armed man be allowed to go before
my body, on my burial day, nor that my body be covered with any cloth,
painted, or gilt, or signed with my arms; but that it be only of white
cloth, marked with a red cross; and I give for the charges thereof XX_l._
and X. quarters of wheat: to a priest to celebrate divine service, in the
church at Chellesfield for three years after my decease, XV_l._: to
Thomas, my son, all my armor, four horses, twelve oxen, and two hundred
ewe sheep. * * * * To my bastard son," &c.

Henry, Duke of Lancaster, 1360, wills, "that our body be not buried for
three weeks after the departure of our soul."

Humphrey De Bohun, Earl of Hereford, 1361, bequeaths to his nephew
Humphrey--"a nonche[13] of gold, surrounded with large pearls, with a ruby
between four pearls, three diamonds, and a pair of gold paternosters of
fifty pieces, with ornaments, together with a cross of gold, in which is a
piece of the true cross of our Lord: to Elizabeth, our niece of
Northampton, a bed with the arms of England. * * * * We will also that a
chaplain of good condition be sent to Jerusalem, principally for my Lady
my mother, my Lord my father, and for us; and that the chaplain be charged
to say masses by the way, at all times that he can conveniently, for the
souls."

Agnes, Countess of Pembroke, daughter of Roger Mortimer, Earl of March,
wills, in 1367, that her body be buried, "within two days after my death,
without any other cost than a blue cloth and two tapers of ten pound
weight."

Robert, Earl of Suffolk, 1368--"I will, that five square tapers and four
mortars,[14] besides torches, shall burn about my corpse, at my funeral:
To William my oldest son my sword, which the King gave me, in name of the
Earldom, also my bed with the eagle, and my summer vestment, powdered with
leopards."

Roger, Lord de Warre, personally took John, King of France, prisoner, at
the battle of Poictiers, and obtained the crampet or chape of his sword,
as a memorial of his chivalry. His will bears date 1368--"My body to be
buried without pomp, and I will that, on my funeral day, twenty-four
torches be placed about my corpse, and two tapers, one at my head and one
at my feet, and also that my best horse shall be my principal, without any
armour or man armed, according to the custom of mean people." He orders
his estate to be divided into three parts--"one to be disposed of for the
health of my soul."

Joan, Lady Cobham, 1369--"I will that VII. thousand masses be said for my
soul by the canons of Tunbrugge and Tanfugge and the four orders of Friars
in London, viz. the Friars Preachers, Minors, Augustines, and Carmelites,
who, for so doing shall have XXIX_l._ III_s._ IV_d._ Also I will that, on
my funeral day, twelve poor persons, clothed in black gowns and hoods,
shall carry twelve torches."

Sir Walter Manney, 1371--"My body to be buried at God's pleasure * * * but
without any great pomp * * * twenty masses to be said for my soul, and
that every poor person coming to my funeral shall have a penny to pray for
me, and for the remission of my sins. * * * To my two bastard daughters,
nuns, viz., Mailosel and Malplesant, the one cc. franks, the other c.
franks. * * * To Margaret Mareschall, my dear wife, my plate, which I
bought of Robert Francis; also a girdle of gold, and a hook for a mantle,
and likewise a garter of gold, with all my girdles and knives, and all my
beds and clossers in my wardrobe, excepting my folding bed, paly of blue
and red, which I bequeath to my daughter of Pembroke."

Thomas, Earl of Oxford, 1371--"For my funeral expenses CXXXIII_l._ To Maud
my wife all my reliques now in my own keeping, and a cross made of the
very wood of Christ's cross. To Sir Alberic de Vere, my brother, a coat of
mail, which Sir William de Wingfield gave me, also a new helmet and a
pair of gauntlets."

Anne, Lady Maltravers, 1374--"No cloth of gold to be put upon my corpse,
nor any more than five tapers, each weighing five pounds, be put about
it."

Edward, Lord Despencer, 1375--"To the Abbot and Convent of Tewksbury one
whole suit of my best vestments, also two gilt chalices, one gilt hanap,
likewise a ewer, wherein to put the body of Christ, on Corpus Christi day,
which was given to me by the King of France. To Elizabeth, my wife, my
great bed of blue camaka with griffins; also another bed of camaka,
striped with white and black, with all the furniture, thereto belonging."

Mary, Countess of Pembroke, 1376--"To the Abbey of Westminster a cross
with a foot of gold and emeralds, which Sir William de Valence, Kt.,
brought from the Holy Land."

Philipa, Countess of March, 1378--"To Edmond, my son, a bed, &c. Also a
gold ring, with a piece of the true cross, with this writing, _In nomine
Patris, et Filii, el Spiritus Sancti, Amen_. Which I charge him, on my
blessing to keep."

Sir John Northwood, Knight, 1378--"I will that two Pilgrims be sent to
visit the shadow of St. Peter, Paul, and James, in Gallacia."

Sir Roger Beauchamp, Kt., 1379--"My body to be buried in the church of the
Friars Preachers, near to the grave, where Sybil, my wife resteth. And I
desire, that, at my funeral, there be a _placebo_ and _dirige_ with note,
and, on the morrow after, two masses, one of our Lady, and another of
Requiem. And whereas I am bound to do a service on the Infidels, by devise
of my grandsire, Sir Walter Beauchamp, to the expense of two hundred
marks, I will, that Roger, son to Roger, my son, shall perform the same,
when he comes of age. To my Chauntrey of Bletnesho one hundred pounds, for
the maintenance of one priest, to sing there perpetually, for my soul, and
also for the soul of Sybil, late my wife, and for all Christian souls."

William, Lord Latimer, 1380--"I will that my house in the parish of St.
Mary's be sold, to found prayers for King Edward's soul."

Guichard, Earl of Huntington, 1380--"I will that my heart be taken out of
my body and preserved with spices, and deposited in the said church of
Engle. I will that the expenses of my funeral, if celebrated with pomp,
be bestowed in masses for my soul."

Edmond, Earl of March, was a man of great note. His will is dated May 1,
1380--"To the Abbey of Wigmore a large cross of gold, set with stones with
a relique of the cross of our Lord, a bone of St. Richard the Confessor,
Bishop of Chicester, and a finger of St. Thomas de Cantelowe, Bishop of
Hereford, and the reliques of St. Thomas, Bishop of Canterbury. To Roger,
our son and heir, the cup of gold with a cover called _Benesonne_, and our
sword, garnished with gold, which belonged to the good King Edward, with
God's blessing and ours. * * * Also our large bed of black satin,
embroidered with white lions and gold roses."

William, Earl of Suffolk, 1381--"I will that, on the eve and day of my
funeral, there shall be five square tapers of the height, which my nearest
of kin shall think fit, and four morters; also forty-eight torches borne
by forty-eight poor men, clothed in white. * * * I will that a picture of
a horse and man, armed with my arms, be made in silver, and offered to the
altar of our Lady of Walsingham; and another the like be made and offered
at Bromeholme."

One of the most interesting, among the olden wills, is that of John, Duke
of Lancaster--the famous John of Gaunt. He died in February, 1399. His
will bears date Feb. 3, 1397--"My body to be buried, in the Cathedral
church of St. Paul of London, near the principal altar, beside my most
dear wife, Blanch, who is there interred. If I die out of London, I desire
that the night my body arrives there, it be carried direct to the Friars
Carmelites, in Fleet Street, and the next day taken strait to St. Paul's,
and that it be not buried for forty days, during which I charge my
executors, that there be no cering or embalming my corpse. * * * I desire
that chauntries and obits be founded for the souls of my late dear wives
Blanch and Constance, whom God pardon; to the altar of St. Paul's my
vestment of satin embroidered, which I bought of Courtnay, embroider of
London. * * * To my most dear wife, Katherine, my two best nonches, which
I have, excepting that, which I have allowed to my Lord and nephew, the
King, and my large cup of gold, which the Earl of Wilts gave to the King,
my Lord, upon my going into Guienne, together with all the buckles, rings,
diamonds, rubies and other things, that will be found, in a little box of
cypress wood, of which I carry the key myself, and all the robes, which I
bought of my dear cousin, the Duchess of Norfolk;[15] also my large bed of
black velvet, embroidered with a circle of fetter locks[16] and garters,
all the beds, made for my body, called trussing beds, my best stay with a
good ruby, my best collar, all which my said wife had before her marriage
with me, also all the goods and jewels, which I have given her, since my
marriage. To my Lord and nephew, the king,[17] the best nonche, which I
have, on the day of my death, my best cup of gold, which my dear wife
Katherine gave me, on New Year's day last, my gold salt-cellar with a
garter, and the piece of arras, which the Duke of Burgoyne gave me, when I
was in Calais." This is a mere extract. The will bequeaths numerous
legacies of nonches, beds, and cups of gold; and abundantly provides for
chauntries, masses, and obits.

Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester, 1399--"To the Abbess and Convent of the
Sisters Minoresses, near London, without Aldgate, VI_l._ XIII_s._ IIII_d._
and a tonel of good wine. * * * To my Lady and mother, the Countess of
Hereford, a pair of paternosters of coral."

Thomas Mussenden, 1402--"I will, that all my arms, swords, bastard,[18]
and dagger be sold, and disposed of, for my soul."

William Heron, Lord Say, 1404--"Whereas I have been a soldier, and taken
wages from King Richard and the Realm, as well by land as by water, and
peradventure received more than my desert, I will that my Executor pay six
score marks to the most needful men, unto whom King Richard was debtor, in
discharge of his soul."

Sir Lewis Clifford, Kt.--"I, Lewis Clifford, false and traitor to my Lord
God, and to all the blessed company of Heaven, and unworthy to be called a
Christian man, make and ordaine my testament and my last will the 17th of
September, 1404. At the beginning, I, most unworthy and God's traitor,
recommend my wretched and sinful soul to the grace and to the mercy of the
blissful Trinity, and my wretched carrion to be buried in the furthest
corner of the churchyard, in which parish my wretched soul departeth from
my body. And I pray and charge my executors, as they will answer before
God, that on my stinking carrion be neither laid cloth of gold nor of
silk, but a black cloth, and a taper at my head and another at my feet;
no stone nor other thing, whereby any man may know where my stinking
carrion lieth." In the original, this word is written _careyne_.

The reader will be amused to know the cause of all this humility. Sir
Lewis had joined the Lollards, who rejected the doctrines of the mass,
penance for sins, extreme unction, &c.; but was brought back to the church
of Rome; and thus records his penitence.



No. CLVII.

  "Tell thou the Earl his divination lies." SHAKSPEARE.


An impertinent desire to pry into the future, by unnatural means--to
penetrate the hidden purposes of God--is coeval with the earliest
development of man's finite powers. It is Titanic insolence--and resembles
the audacity of the giants, who piled Pelion upon Ossa, to be upon a level
with the gods.

Divination, however old it may be, seems not to wear out its welcome with
a credulous world, nor to grow bald with time. It has been longer upon the
earth, than from the time, when Joseph's silver cup, "whereby he
divineth," was deposited, in Benjamin's sack, to the days of Moll Pitcher
of Lynn, whose divining cup was of crockery ware.

"_Mediums_" are mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles--"_And it came to
pass, as we went to prayer, a certain damsel, possessed with a spirit of
divination, met us, which brought her masters much gain, by soothsaying_."
Paul cast out the evil spirit; an example worthy of consideration, by
those, to whom the power is given, in the statute, to commit "_all
persons, who use any juggling_," to the house of correction, unless their
exhibitions are licensed, according to law.

All manner of rogues and roguery has immemorially delighted in _aliases_.
So has it been with that species of imposture, which assumes, that man's
_finite_ powers are sufficient, for _infinite_ purposes. The black art,
magic, fortune telling, sorcery, divination, soothsaying, augury, oracular
responses, witchcraft, judicial astrology, palmistry, which is the same
thing as chiromancy, or divination, by the lines of the hand or palm,
horoscopy, which is a part of judicial astrology, haruspicy, or
divination, from an inspection of entrails, aeromancy, the art of divining
by the air, pyromancy, by flame or fire, hydromancy, by water, geomancy,
by cracks or clefts in the earth, hepatoscopy, by the liver, stareomancy,
by the elements, theomancy, by the spirit, demonomancy, by the revelation
of genii or devils, idolomancy, by images, psychomancy, by the will or
inward movement of the soul, antinopomancy, by the viscera of animals,
theriomancy, by beasts, ornithomancy, by birds, icthyomancy, by fishes,
botanomancy, by herbs, lithomancy, by stones, cleromancy, by lots,
oneiromancy, by dreams, onomancy, by names, arithmancy, by numbers,
logarithmancy, by logarithms, sternomancy, by the chest, gastromancy, by
abdominal sounds, omphelomancy, by the signs of the navel, pedomancy, by
the feet, onychomancy, by the nails, cephaleonomancy, by the marks of the
head, tuphramancy, by ashes, capnomancy, by smoke, livanomancy, by the
burning of frankincense, carromancy, by the burning of wax, lecanomancy,
by basins of water, catoxtromancy, by mirrors, chartomancy, by certain
writings on paper, machanomancy, by knives, chrystallomancy, by glasses,
dactylomancy, by rings, coseinomancy, by seives, axinomancy, by saws,
cattobomancy, by brazen chalices, roadomancy, by stars, spatalamancy, by
bones and skins, sciomancy, by shadows, astragalomancy, by dice,
oinomancy, by wine, sycomancy, by figs, typomancy, by the coagulation of
cheese, alphitomancy, by flour or bran, crithomancy, by grain or corn,
alectromancy, by cocks and hens, gyromancy, by rounds and circles,
lampadomancy, by candles and lamps, nagomancy, or necromancy, by
consulting, or divining with, by, or from the dead.

The reader must bear in mind, that this list of absurdities is brief and
imperfect. All these _mancies_, and many more may be found in Gaule's
Mag-Astro-Mancer, page 165, and many of them are described in the Fabricii
Bibliographia Antiquaria.

These mischievous follies have prevailed, in a greater or less degree, in
every age, and among every people. During the very days of auguries,
nevertheless, individuals have appeared, whose rough, common sense tore
itself forcibly away, from the prevailing delusions of the age. A pleasant
tale is related, by Claude Millot, of an old Roman Admiral. He was in
pursuit of the Carthagenian fleet; and, as he gained upon the enemy, and a
battle seemed to be unavoidable, the haruspex, or priest, who, as usual,
accompanied the expedition, with the birds of omen, and who had probably
become alarmed, for his personal safety, came suddenly on deck,
exclaiming, that the sacred pullets _would not eat_, and that, under such
circumstances, it would be unsafe to engage. The old Roman tar ordered the
sacred pullets, then in their cage, to be brought before him, and, kicking
them overboard, exclaimed, "_let them drink then_."

The etymology of the word necromancy, [Greek: nekros mantis], shows its
direct application to the scandalous orgies, which are matters of weekly
exhibition, in many of our villages and cities, under the name of
_spiritual knockings_. Though Sir Thomas Browne could mark, learn, and
inwardly digest a witch, a _necromancer_ was beyond his powers; and in
Book I., Chap. X. of his Pseudodoxia, he speaks, with deep contempt, of
such as "can believe in the real resurrection of Samuel, or that there is
anything but delusion, in the practice of _necromancy_, and popular
raising of ghosts."

_Necromancers_ are those, who pretend to a power of communing with the
dead, that is, conjuring up spirits, and of consulting them, in regard to
the affairs of this or the other world. In the strictest sense, the Fishes
and the Foxes and their numerous imitators are _necromancers_, of course.

This impious and eminently pernicious practice has been condemned, in
every age, and by every civilized nation. It was condemned, by the law of
Moses--"There shall not be found among you any one, that maketh his son or
his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an
observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, or a charmer, or a
consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard or a necromancer. For all
that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord." Deut. xviii. 10,
11, 12.

Conjurers may justly be accounted disturbers of the public peace; and such
undoubtedly they are, most effectually, by unsettling the minds of
credulous people, murdering sleep, and, occasionally, as in repeated
instances, during the progress of the present delusion, by driving their
infatuated victims to despair, insanity, and suicide. Severe laws have
often been enacted, against these pestilent impostors. Conjuration was
made felony by statute 1, James I., 1603. This was repealed by 9 Geo. II.,
1763. This repeal was in keeping with the ascendancy of common sense,
which decreed, that all conjuration was an absurdity: but, at the same
time, all _pretensions_ to exercise this or any similar art was made
punishable, as a misdemeanor. All laws, against witchcraft and sorcery,
founded on the presumption of their possibility, are now justly accounted
cruel and absurd. Laws, for the punishment of such, as disturb the public
repose, by pretending to exercise these unnatural agencies, are no less
judicious; though they have not always been effectual, against the
prejudices of the people. The _Genethliaci_, who erected their horoscopes
in Rome, for the purpose of foretelling future events, by judicial
astrology, were expelled, by a formal decree of the senate; yet they long
retained their hold, upon the affections of a credulous people.

This species of divination, by the heavenly bodies, commenced with the
Chaldeans, and, from them, passed to the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans.
Henault informs us, that it was much in vogue, in France, during the days
of Catherine de Medicis. Roger Bacon was greatly devoted to the practice
of Judicial Astrology. Cecil, Lord Burleigh, is known, gravely and
elaborately to have calculated the nativity of Queen Elizabeth, who was
feverishly addicted to magic. The judicial astrologers of the middle ages
were a formidable body, and their conjuring cups and glasses were in high
esteem. In Sweden, judicial astrology was in the greatest favor, with
kings and commoners. A particular influence was ascribed to the conjuring
cup of Erricus, king of Sweden. The Swedes firmly believed, that
Herlicius, their famous astrologer, had truly predicted the death of the
monarch, Gustavus Adolphus, in 1632, at the battle of Lutzengen, or
Lippstadt.

In the reigns of Henry III. and Henry IV. of France, this absurd delusion
was in such repute, that judicial astrologers were consulted, upon the
most trivial occasions; and their daily predictions were the theme of
grave and constant conversation, with every class of society. It was no
uncommon thing, even in England, for those, who were desirous of
communicating with the dead, to make a previous arrangement with some
favorite astrologer, and _bespeak a spirit_, as we bespeak a coach, for
some particular hour.

In the Autobiography of William Lilly, the famous astrologer, in the time
of the Stuarts, a curious account is given of Alexander Hart, an
astrologer, living in Houndsditch, about the year 1632. It seems, that
Hart had entered into a contract with a countryman, who had paid him
twenty or thirty pounds, to arrange a meeting between this countryman and
a particular spirit, at an appointed time. But, either Hart's powers of
raising the dead were unequal to the task, or the spirit had no
inclination to keep up the countryman's acquaintance; certain it is, the
spirit was unpunctual; and, the patience of the countryman becoming
exhausted, he caused the astrologer to be indicted, for a cheat. He was
convicted, and about to be set in the pillory, when John Taylor, the water
poet, persuaded Chief Justice Richardson to bail him, and Hart was fairly
spirited away. He then fled into Holland, where, a few years after, he
gave up the spirit, in reality.

Its unintelligible quality is the very essence of delusion. Nothing can be
more unreasonable, therefore, than to mistake our inability to explain a
mystery, for conclusive evidence of its reality and truth. That it is
unintelligible or inexplicable surely affords less evidence of its
reality, and truth, than is furnished of its falsehood, by its manifest
inconsistency with all known natural laws. Bruce informs us, that the
inhabitants of the western coasts of Africa pretend to hold a direct
communication with the devil; and the evidence of the thing they assert is
so very curious and imposing, that he and other travellers are entirely at
fault, in their attempts to explain the mystery. Yet no one, for a moment,
supposes, that Bruce had the slightest confidence in these absurdities.

And yet, so great, so profound, was the belief of Friar Bacon, in this
preposterous delusion, that, in his Opus Majus, page 65, he exclaims--"Oh,
how happy had it been for the church of God, and how many mischiefs would
it have prevented, if the aspects and qualities of the Heavenly bodies had
been predicted, by learned men, and known to the princes and prelates of
those times! There would not then have been so great a slaughter of
Christians, nor would so many miserable souls have been sent to hell."

This eminently learned man, Roger Bacon, refers, in this remarkable
passage, to the various calamities, which existed, in England, Spain, and
Italy, during the year 1264.

The word, mathematician, seems to have been applied, in that age,
exclusively to astrologers. Peter de Blois, one of the most learned
writers of his time, who died A. D. 1200, says, in the folio edition of
his works, by Gussanville, page 596--"Mathematicians are those, who, from
the position of the stars, the aspect of the firmament, and the motion of
the planets, discover things, that are to come."

"These prognosticators," says Henry, in his History of Great Britain, vol.
vi. page 109, "were so much admired and credited, that there was hardly a
prince, or even an earl, or great baron, in Europe, who did not keep one
or more of them, in his family, to cast the horoscopes of his children,
discover the success of his designs, and the public events, that were to
happen."



No. CLVIII.


There are sundry precepts, delivered by Heathen poets, some eighteen
hundred years ago, which modern philosophy may not disregard with
impunity. If it be true, and doubtless it is true, that a certain
blindness to the future is given, in mercy, to man, how utterly unwise are
all our efforts to rend the veil, and how preposterous withal!

The wiser, even among those, who were not confirmed in the belief, that
there was absolutely nothing, in the doctrines of auguries, and omens, and
judicial astrology, have discountenanced all attempts to pry into the
future, by a resort to such mystical agencies. The counsel of Horace to
Leuconoe is fresh in the memory of every classical reader:--

  "Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi
  Finem Dì dederint, Leuconoë, neu Babylonios
  Tentàris numeros. Ut melius, quidquid erit pati!
  Seu plures hyemes, seu tribuit Jupiter ultimam,
  Quæ nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
  Tyrrhenum"----

The version of Francis, however imperfect, may not be unwelcome to the
English reader:--

  "Strive not, Leuconoe, to pry
    Into the secret will of fate;
  Nor impious magic vainly try
    To know our live's uncertain date.

  Whether th' indulgent Power divine
    Hath many seasons yet in store,
  Or this the latest winter thine,
    Which breaks its waves against the shore."

This passage from Horace is not required, to establish the fact, that
magical arts were practised, among the Babylonians. A certain measure of
superstition seems to belong to the nature of man; and to grow greater or
less, in proportion to the exercise, or neglect, of his reasoning
faculties. From this general rule history has furnished us with eminent
exceptions. Cunning, and cupidity, and credulity are destined to be ever
present: it is therefore to be expected, that, from age to age, the most
egregious absurdities will pass, upon a portion of the community, for
sober truths.

The fact, that popular absurdities have won the patient, if not the
respectful, consideration of certain distinguished individuals, who have
spoken, and written, doubtingly, if not precisely, in their favor, goes
but a very little way, in their behalf. There was a time, when all the
world believed, that the sun revolved around the earth, and that the blood
was a stagnant pool, in the human body. There are none, I presume, of all,
who give their confidence to any marvel of modern times, who are more
learned or more wise, than Sir Matthew Hale, or Sir Thomas Browne. Yet
both these wise and learned men were firm believers, in witchcraft; and
two miserable people, Cullender and Duny, were given over to be hung, by
Sir Matthew, partly upon the testimony of Sir Thomas.

Though nobody, whose sense is of the common kind, believes in witchcraft,
at the present day, there was formerly no lack of believers, in any rank,
or profession, in society. The matter was taken for a fixed and
incontrovertible fact. The evidence was clear and conclusive, in the
opinion of some, among the most eminent judges. If to doubt was not
exactly to be damned, it often brought the audacious unbeliever, in danger
of being hanged. Competent witnesses gravely swore, that pins and needles
were run into their bodies, by persons, at the distance of a mile or more.
For this offence, the witches were sentenced to be hanged; and, upon the
gallows, confessed, with tears in their eyes, that they did really stick
those identical pins, into the bodies of their accusers, being at the
time, at the distance of a mile or more; and were swung off; having thus
made their peace with God. Witnesses actually swore, that their houses
were rocked, by old women, apparently too feeble to rock an infant's
cradle, and that tables and chairs were turned topsy turvy; and the old
ladies confessed, that they had actually rocked two-story houses and
upset those tables, and seemed to be pleased with the distinction of being
hanged, for the achievement.

Whoever doubted these miracles was called upon to _explain_, or _believe_;
and, if he could not indicate clearly the mode, in which this jugglery was
effected, he was required to believe in a thing, which was manifestly not
_in rerum natura_. In this dilemma, he might suggest an example of
legerdemain, familiar to us all--a juggler puts an egg into an ordinary
hat, and, apparently, in an instant, the egg is converted into a pancake.
If the beholder cannot demonstrate how this is done, he, of course, must
believe in the actual conversion, that is in transubstantiation. I have
seen this little miracle performed, and confess I do not understand it;
and yet I exceedingly doubt, if an egg can be so instantly converted into
a pancake.

The witch of Endor pretended to conjure up the dead. The effigy was
supposed to be made manifest to the eye. Our modern witches and wizards
conjure, up or down, whichever it may be, invisible spirits. These spirits
have no power of audible speech; thus far, at least, they seem not to have
recovered the use of their tongues. To be sure, spirit without matter
cannot be supposed to emit sounds; but such is not the case here, for they
convey their responses, audibly, by knockings. This is rather a circuitous
mode of conveying intelligence, with their fingers and toes, which might
be more easily conveyed by the voice.

The difference, between our Blitzes and Samees, and the Fishes and the
Foxes, consists in this--the former never, for a moment, pretend, that
eggs are in reality pancakes, or that they actually perform the pretty
miracles, which they seem to perform--the latter gravely contend, as it
was contended, in the days of witchcraft, those days, that tried old
women's souls, that their achievements are realities.

So long as these matters are merely harmless, even though they consume
much valuable time, that might be more worthily employed, and transfer the
illy-spared coin of the credulous poor, from their own pockets, to the
pockets of unprincipled jugglers and impostors, perhaps it may be well to
suffer the evil to correct itself, and die even a lingering death. But,
when it is manifestly spreading, broadcast, over the land, and even
receiving a dash of something like grave importance from the pen,
occasionally, of some professional gentleman, whose very doubt may dignify
delusion; the matter seems really to demand some little consideration, at
least: not that the doubts, even of a respectable physician, elaborately
uttered, in a journal of fair repute, can do more to establish the power
of mother Fish or mother Fox, to raise the dead, than was achieved, by the
opinion of Lord Chief Justice Hale, in favor of witchcraft. That has
fallen, as, in due time, this will fall, into merited contempt. But the
expression of doubts, from a respectable quarter, upon an occasion like
the present, tends, obviously, to strengthen those hands, which probably
deserve to be paralyzed.

So long, as a matter, like this, is confined to speculation, it may be
suffered to flit by, like the folly of a day. But the pestilent thing, of
which I am speaking, has, long ago, assumed an entirely different, and a
severer, type. At this very time, individuals, who are strictly entitled
to the name of vagabonds, male and female, are getting their bread, by
cheating the curious and the credulous, in a great number of our towns and
villages, by the performance of these frightful antics. This term is
altogether too feeble, to express the meaning, which I would gladly fix,
in the public mind. By these infernal agencies, children are imbued with a
superstitious fear, which tends to enfeeble their intellects, and has a
mischievous influence, upon life and conduct, to the end of their
days--upon children of a larger growth, especially upon those of nervous
temperament, and feeble health, the pernicious effect is incalculable. The
fact is perfectly well known, and thoroughly established, that these
diabolical orgies, and mystical teachings have not only inflicted the
deepest misery on many minds, but have induced several infatuated persons,
to commit self murder; and driven others to despair; deprived them of
their reason; and caused them to be placed, in asylums for the insane.

It is no longer therefore the part of wisdom to treat this evil, with
sheer contempt. The conflagration has advanced too far, for us to hope it
will go out, erelong, of its own accord. What is then the part of wisdom?

There are individuals, whose opinions are certainly entitled to respect,
and who conceive, that these mysteries deserve a full and formal
examination, by a committee of wise and learned men, that the world may be
guided by their decision. I am fearful, that such a course would result in
nothing better than disappointment, if in nothing worse.

These mysteries are Protean, in their character--

  "Verum, ubi correptum manibus vinclisque tenebis,
  Turn variæ eludent species atque ora ferarum."

If the members of the learned inquisition should furnish an explanation of
one, or more, of these _mirabilia_, a new series of perplexing novelties
would speedily arise, and demand their attention;--so that the _savans_
would, necessarily, become a standing committee, on modern miracles. The
incomparable Blitz, if the process were discovered, by which he appears,
instantaneously, to convert an egg into a pancake, would challenge you to
explain another, by which he rapidly deduces some thirty yards of ribbon
from the nose of a bystander. And, if we cannot explain this mystery, he
may as reasonably demand of us to believe it a reality, as goody Fox or
goody Fish may require her _customers_--for raising the dead is a
trade--to believe in her power, to conjure up spirits, because we may not
be able to discover the process, by which the rappings are produced.

But, even if an investigation were made, by the most competent
physiologists, and the decree should go forth, _ex cathedra_; it would,
probably, produce a very slight impression upon the whole community. That
same self-conceit, which often fills an old woman to the brim, with the
belief, that she is a more skilful leech, than Æsculapius ever was, will
continue to stand the credulous instead; and the rappings will go on, in
spite of the decree of the _savans_; the spirits of the dead will continue
to be raised, as they are, at present, at fifty cents apiece; men, women,
and children will insist upon their inalienable right to believe, that
eggs are pancakes, and that, in violation of all the established laws of
nature, ghosts may be conjured up, at the shortest notice; and examples
will continue to occur, of distressing nervous excitement, domestic
misery, self-murder, and madness.

The question recurs--what shall be done, for the correction of this
increasing evil? Some suggestions have been made, sufficiently germain to
several of the extraordinary pretensions of the present day. Thus, in
respect to _clairvoyance_, a standing offer of several thousand francs has
been made, by certain persons, in Paris, to any individual, who will prove
his ability to see through a pine plank. In regard also to the assumption
of knowledge, obtained, through a pretended communication with spirits, a
purse of gold has been offered to any person, who, with the aid of all
the spirits he can conjure up to his assistance, will truly declare the
amount it contains, with a moderate forfeit, in case of failure.

This whole matter of conjuration, and spiritual rapping has become an
insufferable evil. It is a crying nuisance, and should be dealt with
accordingly. It is, by no means, necessary, before we proceed to abate a
nuisance, to inquire, in what manner it is produced. It is not possible to
distinguish, between the _chevaliers d'industrie_, who swindle the
credulous out of their money, by the exhibition of these highly pernicious
orgies, from conjurors and jugglers. If this construction be correct, and
I perceive nothing to the contrary, then these mischief-makers come within
the fifth section of chapter 143 of the Revised Statutes of Massachusetts.
Any police court or justice of the peace, has power to send to the house
of correction, "_all persons who use any juggling_." It would be a public
service to apply this wholesome law to goody Fox, or goody Fish, or any
other goody, of either sex, holding these conjurations within our
precinct. Upon a complaint, the question would necessarily arise if the
offence charged were "_juggling_" or not; and the rule of evidence,
_cuique in sua arte_, would bring out the opinions of men, learned in
their profession. I am aware of no other mode, by which those persons are
likely to be gratified, who believe these proceedings entitled to serious
examination. Let us not drop this interesting subject here.



No. CLIX.


In the olden time, almanacs were exclusively the work of judicial
astrologers. The calendar, in addition to the registration of remarkable
events, and times, and tides, and predictions, in relation to the weather,
presumed to foretell the affairs of mankind, and the prospective changes,
in the condition of the world; not by any processes of reasoning, but by a
careful contemplation of the heavenly bodies.

On most occasions, these predictions were sufficiently vague, for the
soothsayer's security; quite as much so, as our more modern
foreshadowings, in relation to the weather, whose admonitions, to _expect
a change_, _about these times_, are frequently extended from the beginning
to the end of the calendar month. An example of this wariness appears, in
a letter of John of Salisbury, written in 1170. "The astrologers," says
he, "call this year the wonderful year, from the singular situation of the
planets and constellations; and say, that, in the course of it, the
councils of kings will be changed, wars will be frequent, and the world
will be troubled with seditions; that learned men will be discouraged;
but, towards the end of the year, they will be exalted."

Emboldened, by the almost universal deference, paid to their predictions,
the astrologers soon began to venture, on a measure of precision, which
was somewhat hazardous.

In the commencement of the year 1186, the most distinguished judicial
astrologers, not only in England, but upon the continent, proclaimed, that
there existed an unprecedented conjunction of the planets, in the sign
Libra. Hence they predicted, that, on Tuesday, the sixteenth day of
September, at three o'clock in the morning, a storm would arise, such as
the world had never known before. They asserted, with an amazing
confidence, that, not only individual structures would be destroyed, by
this terrible storm, but that great cities would be swept away, before its
fury. This tempest, according to their predictions, would be followed, by
a far spreading pestilence, and by wars of unexampled severity. A
particular account of these remarkable predictions may be found, on page
356 of the annals of Roger de Hoveden.

No more conclusive evidence is necessary of the implicit, and universal
confidence, which then prevailed, in the teachings of judicial astrology,
than the wide spread dismay and consternation, produced by these bold and
positive predictions. It is not possible to calculate the sum of human
misery, inflicted upon society, by the terrible anticipations of these
coming events. As the fatal day drew near, extraordinary preparations were
everywhere made, to secure property, from the devastating effects of the
approaching tempest. Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, commanded a solemn
fast of three days' continuance, throughout his precinct. On the night of
the fifteenth of September, very many persons sat up, in solemn
expectation of the coming tempest.

It has been cruelly observed of medical men, that, to some of their
number, the death of a patient would, on the whole, be rather more
agreeable, than that he should falsify their prediction, by the recovery
of his health. How powerfully a sentiment, similar to this, must have
exercised the spirits of these astrologers, as the appointed hour drew
nigh! It came at last--bright and cloudless--followed by a day of unusual
serenity. The season was one of extraordinary mildness; the harvest and
vintage were abundant; and the general health of the people was a subject
of universal observation. Old Gervase, of Tilbury, in his Chronicles,
alluding to the Archbishop's fears and fastings, remarks, that there were
no storms, during the whole year, other than such, as the Archbishop
himself raised in the church, by his own absurdity and violence.

The astrologers hung their heads, for very shame, and lost caste, for a
time, with the people.

Divination was, of old, emphatically, a royal folly; and kings have been
its dupes and votaries, from the earliest ages of the world. The secret
manner, in which Saul betook himself to the witch of Endor, arose, partly,
from his knowledge, that such orgies were a violation of divine and human
laws. The evils, resulting from such absurdities, had become so apparent,
that Saul, himself, had already banished all the soothsayers and magicians
from his kingdom. It is manifest, from the experience of Saul, that it is
unwise to consult a witch, upon an empty stomach--"_Then Saul fell
straightway all along on the earth, and was sore afraid, because of the
words of Samuel: and there was no strength in him; for he had eaten no
bread all the day, nor all the night_."

Lucan, lib. vi. v. 570, et seq., represents young Pompey, just before the
battle of Pharsalia, as paying a nocturnal visit, to a sorceress of
Thessaly, of whom he inquires, in relation to the issue of the combat.
With the ordinary preliminaries, charms, and incantations, the necromancer
conjures up the ghost of a soldier, who had recently fallen in battle. At
length, she pronounces a denunciation, between which and the prediction of
the witch of Endor, delivered to Saul, the resemblance is certainly
remarkable.

The laws of France, in the time of Louis XIV., were extremely rigorous,
against sorcery and divination, inflicting the severest penalties, upon
all, who pretended to exercise their skill, in these worse than
unprofitable mysteries. Nevertheless, an extraordinary story is related,
in the autobiography of Madame Du Barri, as communicated to her, by Louis
XV., of several visits stealthily paid, by Louis XIV., and Madame de
Maintenon, to a celebrated judicial astrologer, in Paris. This narrative
may be found recorded, at length, in the first volume of Madame Du Barri's
Memoirs, commencing on page 286.

The age of Louis XIV. was an age of superstition. An Italian priest, a
secret professor of the art of necromancy, was induced, upon the King's
promise of protection, against the parliament, in the event of a
discovery, to satisfy the royal curiosity, and open the book of fate. At
the hour appointed, being midnight, Madame de Maintenon and the _Duc de
Noailles_ were conveyed to a house in Sevrès, where they met the sorcerer,
who had celebrated the mass alone, and consecrated several wafers. After
performing a variety of ceremonies, he drew the horoscope of the King, and
Madame de Maintenon. He promised the King, that he should succeed, in all
his undertakings. He then gave his Majesty a parcel, wrapped in new
parchment, and carefully sealed, saying to the King--"the day, in which
you form the fatal resolution of acquainting yourself with the contents of
this package, will be the last of your prosperity; but, if you desire to
carry your good fortune to the highest pitch, be careful, upon every great
festival, Easter, Whitsunday, the Assumption, and Christmas, to pierce
this talisman with a pin; do this, and be happy."

Certain events confirmed the sorcerer's predictions--others gave them the
lie direct. The royal confidence was shaken.

Upon one occasion, the Bishop of Meaux, the great Bossuet, chanced to be
at the apartments of Madame de Maintenon; and the subject of magic and
sorcery being introduced, the good Bishop expressed himself, with such
abhorrence of the profanation, as effectually to stir up a sentiment of
compunction, in the bosom of the King and Madame. At length, they
disclosed the secret to their confessors, to whom the most effectual means
of breaking the charm appeared to be, to break open the talismanic
package; and this was accordingly imposed, as a penance, on the King.

His sacred Majesty was thus painfully placed, _inter cornua_, or, as we
trivially say, between hawk and buzzard--between the priest and the
sorcerer. His good sense, if not his devotion, prevailed. The package was
torn open, in the presence of Madame de Maintenon, and father la Chaise.
It contained a consecrated wafer, pierced with as many holes, as there had
been saints' days in the calendar, since it had been in the King's
possession. That consternation fell upon the King, which becomes a good
Catholic, when he believes, that he has committed sacrilege. He was long
disordered, by the recollection, and all, that masses and starvation could
avail, to purge the offence, was cheerfully submitted to, by the King.
Louis XV. closes this farcical account, with a grave averment, that his
ancestor, after this, lost as many male descendants, in the right line, as
he had stuck pins, in the holy wafer. There may, possibly, be some little
consolation, in the reflection, that, if the private history of Louis le
Grand be entitled to any credit, like Charles the Second of England, he
could well afford the sacrifice--of whom Butler pleasantly remarks--

  "Go on, brave Charles, and if thy back,
  As well as purse, but hold thee tack,
  Most of thy realm, in time, the rather
  Than call thee king, shall call thee father."

The Millennarians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries--and these
enthusiasts are, by no means, of modern origin--may be said to have
hunted, in company with the judicial astrologers. Herlicius and the
Millennarians solemnly predicted the destruction of the Turkish Empire, in
1665, the one relying upon the aspect of the stars, and the other upon
their fantastical interpretation of the Scriptures; and both, in all
likelihood, chiefly, upon the good sword and stubborn will of the Emperor;
who, to their infinite disappointment and mortification, finally made
peace with the Ottomans. Yet David Herlicius was no impostor, or if so,
there was no greater dupe to his astrological doctrines than himself. He
was a learned, pious, and honest man.

There is, probably, no more extensively popular error, than that a
deceiver must possess, on all occasions, a greater measure of knowledge
than the deceived. Herlicius was an eminent physician; and Bayle says of
him, vol. vi. page 137--"One can hardly imagine why a man, who had so much
business, in the practice of physic, and who never had any children,
should fear to want bread in his old age, unless he drew horoscopes."

This eminent man had doubtless some little misgivings, as to the
infallibility of the art, after the failure of his prediction, in relation
to the Ottomans. Bayle recites an extract of a letter, from Herlicius to a
friend, in which the writer says: "Oh that fortune would look kindly upon
me! that, without meddling with those astrological trifles, I might make
provision for old age, which threatens me with blindness; and I would
never draw any horoscope. In the mean time, when a great many persons
inquire for, and desire to know more things, than are within the compass
of our art, or more than it can explain, I choose rather to act with
conscience, than to disgrace, and, as it were, to defile, our sacred
Astrology, and to cast a blemish upon it. For our art abounds with a great
number of Chaldean superstitions, which several of our countrymen are
still obstinately fond of. A great many ask me what color of clothes and
horses will be lucky for them? Sometimes I laugh heartily, at these and
other such absurd questions, but I do also often abhor them. For I am
enamored with the virgin state of our art, nor can I suffer that it should
be so abominably defiled, as to give the enemies of astrology an
opportunity to object to us those abuses, to the contempt of the art
itself."

At the period, when Herlicius unfortunately predicted the destruction of
the Ottoman power, Judicial Astrology was in the highest favor in England.
The date of the prediction, 1665, was the sixth year of Charles the
Second. Whatever space remained, unoccupied by other follies, during the
reign of the Stuarts, and even during the interregnum, was filled by the
preposterous doctrines of Judicial Astrology. It is perfectly well
established, that Charles the First, when meditating his escape from
Carisbrook castle, in 1647, consulted the famous astrologer, Sir William
Lilly.



No. CLX.


Isabel, Countess of Warwick, 1439--"My body is to be buried, in the Abbey
of Tewksbury; and I desire, that my great Templys[19] with the Baleys[20]
be sold to the utmost, and delivered to the monks of that house, so that
they grutched not my burial there. Also I will that my statue be made, all
naked, with my hair cast backwards, according to the design and model,
which Thomas Porchalion[21] has, for that purpose, with Mary Magdalen
laying her hand across, and St. John the Evangelist on the right side, and
St. Anthony on the left." The singularity of this provision would lead one
to believe that the testatrix made her will, under the influence of St.
Anthony's fire.

John, Lord Fanhope, 1443--"To John, my bastard son, now at Ampthill, ccc.
marks; and, in case he should die, before he attain the age of twenty-one,
I will that Thomas, my other bastard son, shall have the said ccc. marks."

Henry Beaufort was the second son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, by
Katherine Swinford, a bastard born, but with his brothers and sister,
legitimated by act of Parliament, 20 Rich. II., became Bishop of Lincoln
1397--translated to Winchester, 1404, and made a Cardinal. He was
remarkable, for his immense wealth, prudence, and frugality. He was four
times Chancellor of England. He is reported to have clung to life with a
remarkable tenacity. Rapin says, he died for grief, that wealth could not
save him from death. The death bed of this Cardinal is admirably described
by Shakspeare, in the second part of King Henry VI., Act III., Scene III.:

  _K. Henry._  How fares my lord? Speak Beaufort to thy Sovereign.

  _Cardinal._  If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
               Enough to purchase such another island,
               So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

         *       *       *       *       *

  _Warwick._   See how the pangs of death do make him grin.

  _Salisbury._ Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.

  _K. Henry._  Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
               Lord Cardinal, if think'st on Heaven's bliss,
               Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
               He dies, and makes no sign; Oh God forgive him!

  _Warwick._   So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

  _K. Henry._  Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all--
               Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains close.

The Cardinal's will, though without date, was made about 1443.--"I will
that ten thousand masses be said for my soul, as soon as possible after
my decease, three thousand of requiem, three thousand of _de rorate coeli
desuper_, three thousand of the Holy Ghost, and one thousand of the
Trinity. * * * * Item, I bequeath to my Lord, King Henry, a tablet with
reliques, which is called the tablet of Bourbon, and a cup of gold with a
ewer, which belonged to the illustrious prince, his father, and offered by
him on Easter Eve, and out of which cup he usually drunk, and for the last
time drank. * * * * Item, I bequeath to my Lord the King, my dish or plate
of gold for spices, and my cup of gold, enamelled with images."

In two codicils to this will, Cardinal Beaufort refers to certain crown
jewels, and vessels of silver and gold, pledged to him by the King and
Parliament, for certain sums lent. When the King went into France and
Normandy, and upon other subsequent occasions, the Cardinal had loaned the
King £22,306 18_s._ 8_d._ It appears in Rymer, vol. x. page 502, that the
King redeemed the sword of Spain and sundry jewels, pledged to the
Cardinal, for £493 6_s._ 8_d._

John, Duke of Exeter, 1447--"I will that four honest and cunning priests
be provided, to pray perpetually every year, for my soul." He then conveys
certain manors to his son Henry, "provided always, that an annuity of
XL_l._ be reserved for my two bastard sons, William and Thomas."

William Burges, garter King of Arms, 1449, bequeaths to the church of St.
George at Staunford--"to the seyd chirch for ther solempne feste dayes to
stand upon the high awter 11 grete basque of silver, and 11 high
candlesticks of sylver, 1 coupe of sylver, in the whych is one litel box
of yvory, to put in the blessid sacrament." He also gives to said church
"two greter candelstykkes, and for eiche of these candelstykkes to be
ordayned a taper of waxe of 1 pound wight, and so served, to be lighted
atte dyvyne servyce at pryncipal fest dayes, and al other solempne festes,
as, at matyns, pryme, masse, and the yeven songs."

John, Lord Scrope, 1451--"To the altar, in the chapel of St. Mary, at
York, a jewel, with a bone of St. Margaret, and XL_s._ for ringing their
bells, at my funeral."

Ann, Duchess of Exeter, 1457--"I forbid my executors to make any great
feast, or to have a solemn hearse, or any costly lights, or largess of
liveries according to the glory or vain pomp of the world, at my funeral,
but only to the worship of God, after the discretion of Mr. John
Pynchebeke, Doctor of Divinity."

Edmund Brudenell, 1457--"To Agmondesham Church; to the Provosts of the
Church for the maintenance of the great light before the cross XX_s._ To
the maintenance of the light before St. Katherine's Cross, III_s._ IV_d._"

John Younge, 1458--"To the fabrick of the Church of Herne, viz., to make
seats, called puyinge, X. marks."

John Sprot, Clerk, 1461--"To each of my parishioners XL_d._"

The passion for books, merely because of their antique rarity, and not for
their intrinsic value, is not less dangerous, for the pursuer, than that,
for collecting rare animals, and forming a private menagerie, at vast
expense. Even the entomologist has been known to diminish the comforts of
his family, by investing his ready money in rare and valuable bugs. It has
been pleasantly said of him,

  "He leaves his children, when he dies,
  The richest cabinet of flies."

There is no doubt, that, in those superstitious days, the traffic in
relics must have been a source of very great profit to the priests; equal,
at least, to the traffic in _ancient terra cottas_, in the days of
Nollekens. The sleeves of those crafty friars could not have been large
enough, to hold their laughter, at the expense of the faithful. The heir
apparent, whose grief, for the death of his ancestor, was sufficiently
subdued, by his refreshing anticipations of some thousands of marks in
ready money, must have been somewhat startled, upon the reading of the
will, to find himself residuary legatee, _for life_, of the testator's
"reliques, remainder over to the Carthusian Friars!"

Such, and similar, things were of actual occurrence. William Haute,
Esquire, made his will, May 9, 1462, of course, in the reign of Edward the
Fourth. This worthy gentleman ordains--"My body to be buried, in the
Church of the Augustine Friars, before the image of St. Catherine, between
my wives. * * * * I bequeath one piece of that stone, on which the
Archangel Gabriel descended, when he saluted the Blessed Virgin Mary, to
the image of the Blessed Virgin Mary of the Church of Bourne, the same to
stand under the foot of the said image. I bequeath one piece of the bone
of St. Bartholomew to the Church of Waltham. One piece of the hair cloth
of St. Catherine, the Virgin, and a piece of the bone of St. Nicholas, to
the Church of the Augustine Friars aforesaid. I bequeath all the remainder
of my relicks to my son William, _for life_, with remainder to the
Augustine Friars forever."

Humphrey, Earl of Devon, 1463--"I will, that Mr. Nicholas Goss and Mr.
Watts, Warden of the Grey Friars, at Exeter, shall, for the salvation of
my soul, go to every Parish Church, in the Counties of Dorset, Somerset,
Wilts, Devon, and Cornwall, and say a sermon, in every Church, town, or
other; and as I cannot recompense such as I have offended, I desire them
to forgive my poor soul, that it be not endangered."

William, Earl of Pembroke, 1469--"In nomine Jesu, &c. And wyfe, that ye
remember your promise to me, that ye take the ordre of widowhood, as ye
may the better mayster your owne * * * * Wyfe pray for me, and take the
said ordre, that ye promised me, as ye had, in my lyfe, my hert and love."
This lady, who was the daughter of Sir Walter Devereux, observed her vow,
and died the widow of the Earl; which is the more remarkable, as these
injunctions have often produced an opposite effect, and abbreviated the
term of continency.

Sir Harry Stafford, Kt., 1471--"To my son-in-law, the Earl of Richmond, a
trappur, four new horse harness of velvet; to my brother, John, Earl of
Wiltshire, my bay courser; to Reynold Bray, my Receiver General, my
grizzled horse."

Cecilia Lady Kirriel, 1472--"In my pure widowhood, &c. To John Kirriel,
bastard, &c."

It is not unusual for the consciences of men, in a dying hour, to clutch,
for security, at the veriest straws. It is instructive to consider the
evidences, exhibited in these ancient testaments, of superfluous
compunction. Sir Walter Moyle, Knt., 1479, directs his feoffees "to make
an estate, in two acres of land, more or less, lying in the parish of
Estwell, in a field called Calinglond, and deliver the same, in fee
simple, to three or four honest men, to the use and behoof of the Church
of Estwell aforesaid, in recompense of a certain annual rent of £2 of wax,
by me wrested and detained from the said Church, against my conscience."

It was not unusual, to appoint overseers, to have an eye upon executors; a
provision, which may not be without its advantages, occasionally, even in
these days of more perfect morality, and higher law. Sir Ralph Verney,
Knt., 1478, appoints four executors, and "my trewe lover, John Browne,
Alderman of London, to be one of the _overseers_ of this my present
testament, and to have a remembrance upon my soul, one of my cups,
covered with silver gilt."

Monks and Friars were pleasant fellows in the olden time, and Nuns are not
supposed to have been without their holy comforts. Landseer's fine picture
of Bolton Abbey is a faithful illustration. The fat of the land, when
offered to idols, has commonly been eaten up by deputy. However shadowy
and attenuated the souls of their humble and confiding tributaries, the
carcasses of abbots are commonly represented as superlatively fat and
rubicund.

Bequests and devises to Lights and Altars were very common. Eustace
Greville, Esquire, 1479, bequeaths "to the Light of the Blessed Mary, in
the said Church of Wolton, three pounds of wax in candles and two torches;
to the Altar of the Blessed Mary in the said church, one bushel of wheat
and as much of barley; and to the Lights of the Holy Cross there one
bushel of barley and as much of beans; and the same to the Light of St.
Katherine there."


FINIS.



DUST TO DUST.


In utter disregard of all precedent, I have placed this dedication at the
end of the volume, deeming it meet and right, that the corpse should go
before.

How very often the publication of a ponderous tome has been found to
resemble the interment of a portly corpse! How truly, ere long, it may be
equally affirmed, of both--the places, that knew them, shall know them no
more!

Mæcenas was the friend and privy counsellor of Augustus Cæsar; and,
accordingly, became, in some measure, the dispenser of executive
patronage. The name of Mæcenas has been employed, ever since, to signify a
patron of letters and the arts. Dedications are said to have been coeval
with the days of his power.

In almost every case, a dedication is neither more nor less, than an
application for convoy, from the literary mariner, who is scarcely willing
to venture, with his fragile bark, "_in mare Creticum_" or _criticum_,
unaided and alone. He solicits permission to dedicate his work to some
distinguished individual--in other words, to place his influential name,
upon the very front of the volume, as an amulet--a sort of passover--to
keep evil spirits and critics, at a distance. If the permission be
granted, of which the public is sure to be informed, the presumption, that
the patron has read and approved the work, amounts to a sanction, of
course, to the extent of his credit and authority. In some cases, however,
I have reason to believe, that the only part of the work, which the patron
ever reads, is the dedication itself. That most amiable and excellent man,
and high-minded bibliopolist, the late Mr. JAMES BROWN, informed me, that
an author once requested permission, to dedicate his work, to a certain
professor, in the State of New York, tendering the manuscript, for his
perusal; and that the professor declined reading the work, as superfluous;
but readily accepted the dedication, observing, that he usually received
five dollars, on such occasions.

There was one, to whom it would afford me real pleasure to dedicate this
volume, were he here, in the flesh; but he has gone to his account.
GROSSMAN is numbered with the dead!

READER--if you can lay your hand upon your heart, and honestly say, that
you have read these pages, or any considerable portion of them, with
pleasure--that they have afforded you instruction, or amusement--I
dedicate this volume--with your permission, of course--most respectfully,
to you; having conceived the most exalted opinion of your taste and
judgment.

  L. M. SARGENT,
  ROCK HILL, DECEMBER, 1855.



GENERAL INDEX.


The figures refer to the numbers--not to the pages.

  A.

  ABNER, cautioned by his father, as to his behavior to aged people, 1.

  ADAMS, John, anecdote of, 45:
    --lines written under his name, in a lady's album, 46.

  AIRS, national, authorship of, 106.

  ALMSGIVING, 56.

  AMBASSADORS, from U. S. A. to G. B. 73.

  ANCESTRY, pride of, 97.

  ANTIQUARIES, sometimes malicious, 126.

  APOTHECARIES, in Boston--some notice of, 112.

  ARISTOCRACY, of Boston--examples of, 90:
    --among the dead, 1.

  ARMS, reversed, at military funerals, of great antiquity, 30.

  ARNOLD, Benedict, what made him a traitor, 87.

  ARUNDINES CAMI, 92.

  ASCLEPIADES, of Prusa, his medical practice, 114.

  ASTROLOGERS, Judicial, formerly part of a nobleman's household, 157.
    --False prediction of, in 1186. Ibid.
    --Consulted by Louis XIV. and Madame de Maintenon, 159.

  ASTROLOGY, Judicial, Q. Elizabeth addicted to.--Much practised, in the
        middle ages, 157, 159.

  AVARICE, 31.

  AVERY, steals three negroes:--attempts to sell them:--their rescue, 47.

  AYMAR, James, a famous impostor, 113.

  AUCTIONS, various modes of:--by inch of candle:--by sand glass:--of fish
        among the Dutch:--various modes of notifying, and bidding at, 139.

  AUCTIONEER'S BELL, used at the Hague:--formerly in Boston, 139.


  B.

  BABYLONIANS, their mode of obtaining husbands, for homely women, 115.

  BACHELORS punished by the Lacedemonians for their celibacy:--not trusted
        with affairs of state at Athens, 115.

  BARBERS, 140, 141, 142, 143:
    --their antiquity, 140:
    --formerly peripatetics, 141:
    --their shops and poles, 141:
    --female, 141:
    --their citternes and "knack with the fingers," 142.

  BAPTISM, vicarious, 109.

  BATHS, ancient, 114.

  BATTEL, wager of, 145.

  BEARDS, habits of the ancients, respecting, 140:
    --modern, 142:
    --dyeing them an ancient practice, 142.

  BELKNAP, Jeremy, Rev. 47:
    --his desire for a sudden death, 75:
    --regard for historical truth, 75:
    --error, as to Gosnold, 75.

  BELLS, and bell ringing:--weight of several:--a terror to "evill
        spirytes," 37.

  BENEVOLENCE, remarkable example of, 55.

  BENTHAM, Jeremy, dissected by his own request, 8.

  "BLEED AND PURGE all Kensington," 111.

  BODIES, posthumous preservation of, 20.

  BODKIN, the famous root and herb doctor, 109.

  BOILING TO DEATH, a mode of punishment, 151.

  BOODLE, William, his self-conceit, 49.

  BOORN, Stephen and Jesse, remarkable case of erroneous conviction, on
        circumstantial evidence, 79 to 85, both inclusive.

  BORRI, Joseph Francis, a famous impostor, 113.

  BRADFORD, Sheriff, anecdote of, 5.

  BROCKLEBANK, Parson, anecdote of, 49.

  BURIAL, joint stock companies, 58:
    --their profits enormous, 58:
    --of weapons, by the slaves, at Charleston, 34.

  "BRING OUT YOUR DEAD," 27.

  BUCHANAN, James, his errors, in relation to Major André, corrected, 19.

  BURKE AND BISHOP, executed, for murder, with intent to sell the bodies,
        7.

  BURYING THE DEAD, manner of, commended, 21:
    --in cities and under churches, objections to, 10, 11, 60, 61:
    --manner of, and practices, connected therewith, in different ages and
        nations, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 21, 30, 38, 96, 101:
    --premature, 15, 91, 95:
    --means for preventing, 91, 95.

  BULL JOHN, and brother Jonathan, 104:
    --John, the musician, author of "God save the King," 106.

  BYLES, Mather, anecdotes of, 93, 94.


  C.

  CADES, sexton, how he lost his office, 44.

  CALIFORNIA fever, 31.

  CAMPBELL, hung for killing Boyd in a duel, 145.

  CAMPBELL, Captain, steals an heiress, 115.

  CANDLES, burnt in the day, at a church, in Nantucket, 24:
    --of wax, at Popish funerals, in old times, 2.
    --by inch of, ancient mode of selling at auction, 139.

  CANER, Rev. Dr., some notice of, 78.

  CAPITAL PUNISHMENT, 50, 51, 53, 54, 57, 89.

  CAPITAL OFFENCES, in Massachusetts, in 1618, 62.

  CARTER, sexton, insulted by a chirurgeon, 43.

  CATACOMBS, 10:
    --of Paris, 12, 13.

  CATAFALQUE, its import, 103.

  CHADWICK, Edwin, his report on interments, to the British Parliament, 58.

  CHAPEL, King's, some account of, 78.

  CHARLES I. funeral of, 39:
    --his body discovered, in 1813, 40:
    --V. legend of his mock funeral, denied, 99.

  CHILDREN, female, destruction of, in China, and elsewhere, 29.

  CHINESE, habits of the, 101.

  CHUANG-TSZE, story of, 119, 120.

  CLARENDON, in error, as to the burial place of King Charles I. 40.

  CLARKE, Barnabas, anecdote of, 90.

  CLARK, Alvan, his versatility of talent, 46.

  CLAY, Henry, his frequent leavetakings, 99.

  COBBETT, William, his letter to Lord Liverpool, on the American
        triumphs, 104.

  CONGRESS, American, Lord Chatham's opinion of, 104.

  COURAGE, personal, externals no sure criterion of--two remarkable
        examples, 149.

  CONSCIENCE PARTIES, 29.

  CORDAY, CHARLOTTE de, an interesting question, connected with her
        decapitation, 153.

  CREMATION, cost of--least expensive mode, excepting the urns, 74:
    --of Henry Laurens, 95:
    --of Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley:--their diet in prison, 74.

  CRIMINALS, how to dispose of, 89:
    --bodies of, delivered for dissection, 7:
    --number waiting to be hung, 51.

  CROMWELL, Oliver, various estimates of his character:--views and handles
    the dead body of Charles I.:--his funeral:--his body dug up, and hung,
    at Tyburn, 39.

  CRUCIFIXION, 151.


  D.

  DADDY OSGOOD, sold at auction, 139.

  DANFORTH, Dr. Samuel, notice of, 111.

  DEACONS, their dispute about a tomb, 11.

  DEAD SEA, some account of, 35, 36.

  DEATH, certain evidence of, 91:
    --condition of the soul, after, 96:
    --imitation of, 137:
    --by shipwreck, 102.

  DENTISTS, in Boston, some notice of, 112.

  DESECRATION, of the dead, 14, 21, 23.

  DICKSON, provost of Dundee, his epitaph, 9.

  DIEDRICK VAN PRONK'S widow, anecdote of, 7.

  DIGBY, Everard, account of his having spoken, after the removal of his
        heart, 153.

  DINAH FURBUSH, her corpse insulted, 77.

  DIOGENES, anecdote of, 4.

  DISTILLERS, in Boston, number of, 112.

  DIVINATION, some account of, 157, 158.

  DIVINING ROD, of James Aymar, 113.

  "DON'T GO too near that hedge," 91.

  DREAMS, of Martin Smith and King's Chapel, by the Old Sexton, 76, 77, 78.

  DRUNKENNESS, at ordinations, 37.

  DRYDEN, John, disturbance at his funeral, 118.

  DUELS, between Benjamin Woodbridge and Henry Phillips, on Boston Common,
        133 to 136, both inclusive:
    --various, 144 to 149, both inclusive:
    --punishment of, 145:
    --number killed in, 145:
    --Decatur and Barron, 146:
    --Lord Bruce and Sir Edward Sackville, 147:
    --Lords Mohun and Hamilton, 147:
    --Sheridan and Matthews, 147:
    --M'keon and Reynolds, 147:
    --Campbell and Boyd, 147:
    --Colclough and Alcock, 147:
    --David and Goliath, 147:
    --Titus Manlius and the Gaul, 148:
    --Hector and Ajax, 148:
    --Turnus and Æneas, 148:
    --Rauber and a Spanish gentleman, 148:
    --Cameron, and McLean, 148:
    --Lord Mark Kerr and a French Colonel, 149:
    --Joseph Bainbridge and the Secretary of Sir Alexander Ball, 149:
    --Rand and Millar, 153.

  DUGDALE, Sir William, the antiquary, 155.

  DYONISIUS, to save his throat, taught his daughters to shave, 140.


  E.

  EFFIGIES of the dead, made of cinnamon, and carried in the procession,
        30.

  EGYPTIANS, trials of their kings, after death, 5:
    --every Egyptian a doctor, 107.

  ELI, the sexton, his hallucinations, 55.

  ELIOT, Rev. Andrew, gloves and rings, given him at funerals, and the
        sale of, 28.

  EMBALMING, process of, 4.

  EMPIRICS, 109, 110, 111, 113, 114.

  EPITAPHS, 5, 9.

  ESTIMATE OF AMERICANS by the English people, in 1775 and 1812, 104.

  EVIDENCE, circumstantial, remarkable examples of, 79 to 85, both
        inclusive:
    --Webster's case, 86.

  EXECUTION, in Ballyconnel, 54.


  F.

  FAKEER, East India, account of his apparent death, and resurrection,
        137, 138.

  FAMINE, Keayne's granary in case of, 112.

  FANEUIL HALL, origin of:--burnt:--rebuilt and enlarged, 130, 131.

  FANEUIL PETER, and his relatives, some account of, 122 to 132, both
        inclusive:
    --aids Henry Phillips, to escape, after his fatal duel, with
        Woodbridge, 134.

  FOOD for ghosts, 25.

  FORTUNE-HUNTERS, remarkable disappointment of one, 115, 116.

  FRANKLIN, Benjamin, his account of the resurrection of flies, drowned in
        wine, 138:
    --his letter to Thomas Percival, on duelling, 144:
      --Sir John, probably lost, 154.

  FREEMAN, Dr., manner of his ordination, 78.

  FRIENDSHIPS, rarely lifelong:--examples of, 59:
    --Cicero's first law of, 59.

  FRIZZELL'S BELL, 37.

  FUNERALS, invitations to, 8:
    --baked meats at:--games, and festivals at, 25.


  G.

  GIFTS, New Year's, 117.

  GLOVES and rings, at funerals, 28.

  GOSNOLD, Bartholomew, his abode, at Cuttyhunk, 75.

  GOVERNOR of Mass., anecdote of a, 52.

  GRANNY, anecdote of skinning, 58.

  GROSSMAN threatened to be shot, 13.

  GUILLOTIN, Dr. 151:
    --the instrument that bears his name, 151, 152.


  H.

  HAIR, management of the, 143.

  HALLEY, Thomas, great pomp, and much guzzling, at his funeral, 25.

  HALIFAX GIBBET and the guillotine identical, 151.

  HANDEL, rivalry, between him, and Senesino, and Buononeini, 105:
    --Swift's epigram, on their squabbles, 105.

  HANGING, sensations produced by, 95:
    --vicarious, 150:
    --persons differently moved, in prospect of, 150.

  HANWAY, Sir Jonas, his account of the practice of giving vales, 28.

  HAPPINESS, 48.

  HASTÆ, why auctions were so called, at Rome, 139.

  HAWES, Dr. William, his work on premature interment, 95.

  HEIRESS, stealing an, made felony:--remarkable examples of, 115.

  HENRY VIII. bone stolen from his corpse, 39:
    --some account of his funeral, 103.

  HERSE, ancient import of the word, 103.

  HOOK, Theodore, anecdote of, 24.

  "HOW could the poor Abbé sustain himself against you all four?" 113.

  HOWLERS, at funerals, ancient and modern, 32, 38.

  HUGUENOTS, in Boston:--their early settlement, in Oxford, Mass. 122:
    --their church in Boston, 122, 123.


  I.

  IDLENESS, effects of, 22.

  INFANTICIDE, 29.

  INNHOLDERS, in Boston, number of, 112.

  INTOLERANCE, in Massachusetts, 62.


  J.

  JAMES II., his gallantry, when Duke of York, in a sea-fight, 66.

  JEWS usurious, 15,000 banished, 52.

  JE vous sauter le tête, 151.


  L.

  LACERATION, of the cheeks and hair, at funerals, in Greece, Rome, and
        elsewhere, 30, 32, 38.

  LARGESSES at funerals, 25.

  LAURENS, Henry, his body burnt, after death, by his request, 95.

  LAWYERS, in Boston, their number at different periods, 112.

  LE MERCIER, André, minister of the Huguenots, in Boston, 132.

  LEVI, M. de, his pride of ancestry, 97.

  LIBERTY TREE, 41, 42.
    Philip Billes devises his estate, on condition of being buried under
        that tree, 42.

  LICINIUS, P., games, &c., at his funeral, 25.

  LILLY, Sir William, the astrologer, notice of, 157.

  LIND, Jenny, some account of, 105.

  LLOYD, Dr. James, his appearance, 111.

  LOCALITIES, certain interesting, 7.

  LONGEVITY, some examples of, 45.

  LOT'S WIFE, pillar of salt, &c., 35, 36:
    --seen by Irenæuis and others, after she was salted, 36.

  LOUIS XVI., brutal behaviour of the French people, at his execution, 152.

  LOVAT, Lord, his repartee, on his way to be hung, 150.

  LUDII, HISTRIONES, SCURRÆ, 30.

  LUXURY, ever injurious, and often fatal, to Republics, 87, 88.

  LYMAN, Theodore, notice of him, and his public and private charities, 56.


  M.

  MARCUS FLAVIUS, anecdote of, 25.

  MARRIAGES, taxed:--first celebration of, in churches:--forbidden during
        Lent, 115.

  MARINER bound for Africa, reaches Norway, 48.

  MARSHALL, Tommy, anecdote of, 90.

  MARTYRS, cremation of:--cost of burning Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley, 24.

  MASHEE, Tooley, plays corpse, 137.

  MCPHEE, widow Nelly, anecdote of, 7.

  MEDICINE, origin of the practice of, 107:
    --practice of, among the Babylonians, Greeks, Egyptians, Israelites,
        and Hindoos, 108.

  MEDIUMS, some notice of, 157.

  MEXICAN BEGGARS, how employed by Montezuma, 142.

  MILTON, John, his marriages, 98:
    --writes in favor of polygamy, 98:
    --desecration of his remains, 118.

  MINGLING the ashes of dear friends, in the same urn, practice of, 21.

  MINISTERS of the Gospel, in Boston, in 1740, 132.

  MIRTHFULNESS, its advantages, 92.

  MONEY, George Herbert's address to, 31.

  MONTGOMERY, Gen. Richard, his exhumation, and reinterment, 18.

  MONUMENTS, Dryden's, Ben Jonson's, and Cowley's, mutilation of, 118.

  MOONCURSERS, laws for their punishment:--anecdote of, 102.

  MOORHEAD, Rev. John, some notice of, 99.

  MOSES, an apothecary, 107.

  MOURNERS, their peculiar consolations, 32:
    --for the year 1848, 33.

  MOURNING, time allowed for:--color of the vesture, in different
        countries, 32.
    Irish, consists in the number of coaches and the quantity of whiskey,
        74.

  MULE, a bad one, 30.


  N.

  NAPOLEON'S last words, 31.

  NEW YEAR'S DAY, when, 117, 123.

  NEW NORTH CHURCH, uproar there, 37.

  NORTH CHURCH, peal of bells there, 37.

  NUISANCE, affecting the air, not necessary to prove it noxious, 60.


  O.

  OBSEQUIES, provisions for, by persons, while living, 7.

  OTIS, James, anecdote of, 90.


  P.

  PARKMAN, Dr. George, his murder:--his peculiarities, 72.

  PENN, William, reply to Macaulay's abuse of:--memoir of, 62 to 71, both
        inclusive:
    --death bed of his son, 71.

  PERCIVAL, Thomas, his work, on duelling, 144.

  PERE LA CHAISE, 11.

  PESTILENCE, numbers destroyed by, 27.

  PHILADELPHIANS, saved from being Welchmen, 68.

  PHYSICIANS, various schools of, named by Pliny, 110, 114:
    --number of the old Boston doctors, and their residences, 112.

  PIPERS, at funerals, 8.

  PIRATES, hung on Boston Common, 50.

  PITCAIRN, Major, the honor of killing him, claimed by many:--the
        remains, under Westminster Abbey, said to have been erroneously
        selected, from under the North Church, 17.

  PLAGUE, some account of the, 27.

  PLINY, in favor of herb doctoring, 114.

  PLANTER, funeral of an old, in St. Croix, 30.

  POLHAMUS, the good Samaritan, 83.

  POMPADOUR, Madame de, her remains transferred to the Catacombs, 13.

  PONTRACI, the prince of undertakers, 12.

  PORTLAND VASE, history of the, 20.

  PRIDE AND POVERTY, excess of, dangerous, 87.

  PUNISHMENT, various kinds of, 151.

  PUNSTERS habitual, nuisances, 94.

  PWAN YAKOO, and other Chinese, their visit to Boston:--description of
        her golden lilies, 102.


  Q.

  QUACKS of great use to sextons, 27.

  QUAKERS, persecution of, in Massachusetts, 62, 63.


  R.

  RAND, Dr. Isaac, brief notice of, 111.

  RAZORS, their antiquity:--mentioned by Homer, Samuel, Ezekiel:--how
        sharpened:--of brass, 140:
    --the best formerly from Palermo, 142.

  RECHERCHES, Historiques et Physiologiques sur la Guilotine, 152.

  RELICS, traffic and jugglery in, by the priests, 17.

  REPUBLICS, extravagance fatal to, 87, 88.

  REVENGE Church of Christ, 37.

  REVIVAL, amusing example of, on the way to the grave, 91:
    --of a child of Henry Laurens, which caused him to order his own
        corpse to be burnt, 95.

  ROCHEFOUCAULT, maxim erroneously ascribed to, 59.

  ROMAN CATHOLICS, persecution of, in Massachusetts, 29.

  ROSS, Sir John, his residence, in the Arctic regions:--discovery of him
        and his company, 154.

  ROTHSCHILD, Nathan Meyer, his funeral solemnities, 3.

  RUM, mainspring of the slave trade in Massachusetts, 47.

  RUSH, Dr. Benjamin, alluded to:--anecdote of, 111.


  S.

  "SACRED TO THE MEMORY"! 77.

  SANTA CRUZ, gross extortion there, from surviving friends, 16.

  SANSONS, the hereditary executioners of Paris, 151, 152.

  SAYINGS, of eminent men, in articulo, or just before death, 100.

  SCOTCH WEAVER'S VANITY, 39.

  SELWYN, George, seldom absent from an execution, 50.

  SENECA, quotation from, 48.

  SEXTONS, their office, its origin, and duties, of old:--their extortion,
        occasionally, in the hour of affliction, 16
    --their business much benefited by steam, 2.

  SCIENCE, some curious mistakes of, 154.

  SHAYS, his insurrection, 29.

  SHAVING, suggestions concerning, 140.

  SHELLEY, the poet, cremation of, 20.

  SHIPWRECKS, their number, 102.

  SLAVERY, 34:
    --in Boston, 43, 47:
    --early attempts to abolish, in Massachusetts, 44:
    --how and when abolished there, 47:
    --Slave trade, in Boston, 47.

  SLAVES, example of their ingenuity, 34.

  SMITH, Martin, sexton of King's Chapel, his apparition to the sexton of
        the old school, 76, 77, 78.

  SOLDIERS, their sufferings, as statesmen, 100.

  SONS OF LIBERTY, some account of the, 41.

  SOUTHERN STATES, liberality to Boston, in 1774, 44.

  SPARTANS, their mode of selecting wives, 115.

  SPIDER and chambermaid, 29.

  SPIRITUAL KNOCKINGS, sometimes resulting in madness, and self-murder,
        157, 158:
    --remedy for, 158.

  STAMP ACT, resolutions in Faneuil Hall, 58.

  STEAM, of great benefit to sextons, 27.

  STERNHOLD AND HOPKINS, their version of the Psalms gave place to that of
        Tate and Brady:--motive of Sternhold little suspected, 100.

  STONECUTTER, anecdote of a, 6.

  STYLE, old and new, some account of, 117.

  SUCCESSION, Apostolic, 78.

  SUMNER, Governor, funeral of, 39.

  SUMPTUARY LAWS, some account of, 88.

  SURGEONS, the earliest:--limited nature of their functions, 107:
    --among the Israelites, 108.

  SUTTEES, description of, 74.

  SWANS, their musical power fabulous, 105.

  SWEATING SICKNESS, some account of, 27.

  SWEDENBORG, his notions of Heaven:--of the soul, 96.


  T.

  TALLOW CHANDLER, retired from business, anecdote of, 22.

  TASMAN'S BOWL, used for conjuration, in Tongataboo, 38.

  TEA, thrown overboard, 44.

  TEARS, power of shedding at will, 32.

  TEMPERANCE "has done for funerals," 2.

  TETOTUM DOCTOR, 111.

  THATCHER, Rev. Peter, installation of, 37.

  THREE CHEERS for the elephant, 39.

  TOMBS, reasons for preferring graves:--outrage upon five, in Salem,
        Massachusetts, 13, 14.

  "TOO HEARTILY of nutmegs," 103.

  TORIES, their faith in the royal cause, 125.

  TREASURES, buried with the dead, 21.

  TURENNE, singular fate of his remains, 23.


  U.

  URNS, funeral, forms, and materials of, 20:
    --occasionally large enough to contain the mingled ashes of whole
        families, 21.

  USURY, some remarks on, 48, 52.


  V.

  VALES, practice of giving, 27.

  VANITY, illustration of, 49.

  VIANDS, deposited near the dead, 25.

  VISCERATION among the ancients, 25.

  VOLTAIRE, his description of a Frenchman, 152.


  W.

  WADE, Sir Claude M. his account of the East India Fakeer, who was
        restored, after a suspension of consciousness, for six weeks, 137,
        138.

  WAGER OF BATTEL, the law of England, so late, as 1819, 145.

  WAKES, their origin:--some account of, 91.

  WARREN, Gen. Joseph, manner of discovering his remains:--the bullet, by
        which he was killed, in possession of the Montague family, 17.

  WASHINGTON, George, illustration of the reverence for his memory, in New
        England:--opinion of, by Lords Erskine and Brougham:--national
        neglect of his monument:--sale of some of his effects, 26.

  WATERHOUSE, Dr. Benjamin, anecdote of, 111.

  "WEEL THEN sing as mony as there be," 99.

  WEBSTER, Dr. John White, his trial for the murder of Dr. Parkman, 72:
    --his case stated, at the close of, 89.

  WEEVER'S funeral monuments, 24.

  "WHAT that boy says is true," 113.

  WIDOWS, Numa severe upon:--marrying within ten months accounted
        infamous, 32:
    --unjustly censured, 98:
    --"with the great fan," 119.

  WIGS, scratches, bobs, and full bottomed:--their antiquity, 142, 143:
    --periwigs in N. England, 142:
    --Roman, 143.

  WILLS, ANCIENT, 155, 156, 160:
    --superstitious dread of making, 155:
    --Andrew Faneuil's, 127.

  WITCHES, their right to travel through the air, decided by Lord
        Mansfield, 29.

  WOODBRIDGE, Benjamin, killed in a duel on Boston Common, 133 to 137:
        both inclusive.

  WRAXALL'S MEMOIRS, inaccurate, 149.


  Z.

  ZISCA, John, anecdote of, 7.



INDEX TO PROPER NAMES.


The figures refer to the pages--not to the numbers.

  A.

  Abbeville, 635.

  Abbott, 112, 204.

  Abel, 429.

  Aberdeen, 364.

  Abner, 9, 13, 108, 172, 173, 197, 289.

  Absalom, 591.

  Achilles, 12, 17, 67, 107.

  Adam, 70, 429, 605.

  Adams, 596.

  Adams, John, 142, 156, 157, 160, 275, 276, 394.

  Adams, John Q., 156, 394.

  Adams, Samuel, 142.

  Addison, 35, 38, 454, 606.

  Admetus, 12.

  Adrian, 584.

  Æneas, 382.

  Æsculapius, 433, 436, 445, 667.

  Affslager, 587.

  Africa, 33, 168, 435, 622, 662.

  Africans, 632.

  Africanus, 583.

  Agamemnon, 17, 430.

  Agathias, 16.

  Agrigentum, 373.

  Agmondesham, 676.

  Agrippa, 261.

  Agrippa, Cornelius, 445.

  Ahaziah, 431.

  Alaricus, 65.

  Albany, 38, 415.

  Alcock, 614.

  Aldgate, 652.

  Aldgrave, 634.

  Aleet Mong, 398.

  Alexander, 373.

  Allen, 353, 495, 502, 503, 601, 610.

  Allwick, 69.

  Almotanah, 123.

  Almshouse, 24.

  Alvanley, 606.

  America, 265, 416.

  Ames, 91, 630, 631.

  Ammianus, 64.

  Amphytrion, 217, 581.

  Amoon, 398.

  Amory, 94.

  Amsterdam, 456, 622.

  Anderson, 309.

  Andover, 561.

  André, 57 to 62, passim.

  Andrews, 24, 159.

  Andros, 298.

  Anecy, 56.

  Angouleme, 124.

  Anio, 617.

  Annan, 286.

  Anne Boleyn, 477.

  Annelly, 423.

  Anne of Cleves, 78, 81, 410.

  Anne, Queen, 186, 248, 262, 365, 406.

  Antijacobin, 612.

  Antoninus, 67.

  Antony, 579.

  Antwerp, 618.

  Appleton, 450, 506, 538, 630.

  Apthorp, 297.

  Arabian Nights, 269.

  Arabs, 119, 123.

  Aratus, 12.

  Archelaus, 102, 591.

  Archimimus, 98.

  Arcueil, 39, 42.

  Argiletum, 587.

  Aristotle, 186, 217, 218.

  Arkwright, 420.

  Arnaud, 419.

  Arnold, 62, 228, 338, 339, 340.

  Arundel, 157.

  Asa, 430, 434.

  Aselepiades, 358, 373, 443, 460, 461.

  Ashford, 604.

  Ashmole Museum, 613.

  Asiatic Researches, 435.

  Athenæ Oxonienses, 133, 135, 136, 232, 248, 250, 425, 640, 642.

  Athens, 11, 88, 343, 373, 420, 442.

  Atherton, 30, 167.

  Atossa, 465.

  Atticus, 51, 474.

  Attleborough, 31.

  Auchterpool, 603.

  Augustines, 652, 654, 677.

  Augustus, 99, 583.

  Auld Reekie, 334.

  Aulus Gellius, 218.

  Austin, 449.

  Austria, 321.

  Austrians, 539.

  Auxerre, 220.

  Avery, 166, 167.

  Aviola, 49, 373.

  Avis, 92.

  Aymar, 438, 454, 455.

  Azotus, 33.


  B.

  Bacon, Roger, 360, 361, 362.

  Bacon, Lord, 185, 188, 375, 376, 445, 641, 642.

  Babylon, 406, 422, 432, 433.

  Babylonians, 664.

  Baiæ, 320.

  Bahar Loth, 123.

  Bailey, 246.

  Bainbridge, 610, 624.

  Balch, 269, 353.

  Baldwin, 57, 181, 303, 311.

  Ball, 624.

  Ballyconnel, 194.

  Ballymahon, 195.

  Ballyshannon, 355.

  Balmarino, 629.

  Bancroft, 277.

  Banians, 377.

  Banks, 298, 424.

  Barataria, 123, 265.

  Barbaroux, 426.

  Barbary, 88.

  Barbut, 29.

  Barcephas, 120.

  Barclay, 252.

  Barker, 642.

  Barlow, 288, 361.

  Barnes, 451.

  Barnard, 24.

  Barra Durree, 570.

  Barré, 140, 145, 416.

  Barrington, 606.

  Barron, 608, 609.

  Barrow, 398, 400, 402, 403.

  Barrow's Strait, 645.

  Barton, 561, 562, 563.

  Bartholomew, 633.

  Bartholomew's Eve, 93.

  Bassorah, 88.

  Bastile, 84.

  Bate, 601.

  Battenkill, 303.

  Baulny, 639.

  Baulston, 228.

  Baxter, 252.

  Bayard, 393.

  Bayeaux, 519.

  Bayle, 56, 358, 380, 388, 391, 455, 672, 673.

  Bayley, 597.

  Baynton, 516, 519.

  Bay State, 163.

  Beattie, 360.

  Beauchamp, 529, 651, 655.

  Beaufort, 607, 674, 675.

  Beccaria, 207.

  Beckford, 145.

  Bedouin, 119.

  Beecher, 372.

  Belcher, 298.

  Belfast, 389.

  Belknap, 163 to 167, and 283 to 286, passim: 368.

  Bellamont, 605.

  Bellingham, 228, 229, 230.

  Belochus, 465.

  Belzoni, 33.

  Bengal, 281.

  Benin, 33.

  Bennington, 415.

  Bentham, 27, 52, 176, 605.

  Benton, 159.

  Bergen-op-Zoom, 549, 613.

  Berlin, 89.

  Bernon, 496, 508.

  Berthier, 109.

  Bertrand, 639.

  Bethune, 495, 506, 508, 514, 567.

  Beuoron, 607.

  Bias, 217, 218.

  Bichat, 357.

  Bildad, 217.

  Billes, 147.

  Biographia Brittanica, 363.

  Bishop, 27, 227.

  Blackburn, 508, 523.

  Black Prince, 649.

  Blackstone, 301.

  Blackwood's Mag., 243.

  Blaisdell, 182, 183.

  Blanche, 608.

  Blin, 562.

  Blitheman, 426.

  Blitz, 665.

  Blundell, 606.

  Boccacio, 218, 422.

  Bodkin, 189, 190, 192, 440, 441.

  Bogle, 195.

  Boies, 159.

  Bolton Abbey, 678.

  Bondet, 497.

  Bonet, 49.

  Bonner, 506, 550, 562.

  Bonrepaux, 239, 240, 242.

  Boodle, 171, 172, 173.

  Boorn, 301 to 331, passim.

  Borri, 456.

  Borromeo, 220.

  Bose, 643, 644.

  Bosius, 437.

  Bosphorus, 22.

  Bosson, 597.

  Bossuet, 671.

  Boston, 66, 125, 151, 153, 165, 167, 179, 184, 191, 194, 210, 221, 223,
        270, 351, 452, 497, 514, 536.

  Boston Athen'm, 269, 324.

  Boston Common, 549.

  Boswell, 601, 602, 603, 606.

  Bottom, 592, 624.

  Boudinot, 496.

  Bourbon, 393, 675.

  Bourbon, Jeanne of, 74.

  Bourdeaux, 210.

  Boutineau, 496, 498, 510, 512, 514, 531, 566.

  Bouttville, 607.

  Bowdoin, 284, 496, 498, 508, 538.

  Bowen, 557.

  Bowers, 82.

  Boyd, 606, 614.

  Boyle, 243, 535, 597.

  Brachmans, 377.

  Brackett, 592.

  Braddock, 394.

  Bradford, 19, 301, 632.

  Brady, 31, 55, 597.

  Brague, 220.

  Brand, 402, 589.

  Brandreth, 86.

  Brandywine, 415.

  Branodunum, 65.

  Bray, 81, 677.

  Braybrooke, 577.

  Breck, 270, 271.

  Breckenridge, 605.

  Breed, 597.

  Briareus, 56, 91.

  Briar's Creek, 415.

  Briggs, 175.

  Brighton, 508, 525, 527.

  Bristol, 508.

  British Critic, 622.

  Britons, 585.

  Brocklebank, 174.

  Brockwell, 297.

  Bromeholme, 656.

  Bromfield, 269, 564.

  Brooks, 352, 353, 553, 554, 609.

  Brougham, 84, 347.

  Brouillan, 529.

  Brown, 580.

  Browne, 42, 65, 67, 118, 122, 131, 180, 215, 227, 282, 419, 431, 478,
        640, 660, 664, 677.

  Bruce, 549, 551, 662.

  Bruli, 651.

  Buchanan, 58, 59, 61, 436.

  Buckingham, 479.

  Buckley, 532.

  Buddikin, 108.

  Buffon, 420.

  Buissiere, 455.

  Bulfinch, 450.

  Bull, 414, 415, 426, 427.

  Bullivant, 298.

  Bulwer, 592.

  Bungs, 463.

  Bunker's Hill, 54, 55, 415.

  Buononcini, 422.

  Burdett, 606.

  Bureau, 507, 530.

  Burgoyne, 353, 617.

  Burgundy, 614.

  Burke, 27, 268, 613.

  Burleigh, 76, 661.

  Burnett, 33, 76, 233, 262, 551.

  Burney, 427.

  Burr, 332, 605.

  Burritt, 177.

  Burton, 26, 66.

  Busching, 119.

  Bute, 140, 146.

  Butler, 56, 208, 361, 454, 622.

  Byles, 143, also 363 to 372, passim: also 546.


  C.

  Cades, 152.

  Cæsar, Augustus, 29, 36, 99, 595, 679.

  Cæsar, Julius, 29, 474, 579, 585.

  Cæsars, the twelve, 67.

  Cæsar, the slave, 31.

  Caffraria, 103.

  Cain, 377, 429, 556, 615.

  Cairo, 241.

  Caius, 88, 585.

  Calabria, 87.

  Calais, 657.

  Calhoun, 114.

  Calcraft, 346.

  California, 101.

  Calinglond, 677.

  Callender, 163.

  Calmet, 119, 120, 187, 436, 582, 615.

  Callowhill, 267.

  Calvin, 548, 549.

  Calypso, 420.

  Cambridge, 630.

  Camden, 145, 146, 383, 415.

  Camerarius, 373.

  Cameron, 621.

  Camillus Papers, 277.

  Campbell, 614.

  Caner, 289 to 300, passim.

  Canning, 606.

  Canso, 567.

  Canterbury, 520, 656, 669.

  Cape Anne, 16.

  Capet, 73, 81, 637.

  Capulets, 351.

  Cardigan, 606.

  Caribs, 130.

  Carisbroke Castle, 606, 673.

  Carmelites, 652, 654.

  Carne, 117, 119.

  Carroll, 181.

  Carter, 148.

  Carthago, 152.

  Carthusians, 651.

  Cartwright, 240.

  Cass, 85, 110.

  Cassieres, 59.

  Castalio, 549.

  Castellan, 358.

  Castelnau, 384.

  Castlereagh, 606.

  Catanea, 33.

  Catholics, 535.

  Catlin, 23.

  Cato, 71, 431, 442, 443, 444.

  Catti, 585.

  Caulfield, 382.

  Cavan, 193.

  Cecil, 661.

  Cecrops, 64.

  Celsus, 429, 462.

  Cemetery des Innocens, 39, 43, 65.

  Cephrenes, 384.

  Chace, 310 to 330, passim.

  Chadsey, 80.

  Chadwick, 212, 278, 320, 321, 322, 333, 569.

  Chaise, Père la, 672.

  Chaldeans, 661.

  Chalmers, 49, 238, 248, 249, 268, 363, 427, 480, 516, 612.

  Chamberlain, 77, 80.

  Chamouni, 400.

  Chantilly, 419, 420.

  Chapel Yard, 225.

  Chapotin, 568.

  Chappelle, 612.

  Chardon, 533, 534, 538, 541.

  Charles, Archduke, 620.

  Charles I., 133, 134, 135, 137, 138, 157, 177, 248, 436, 477, 673.

  Charles II., 99, 136, 159, 170, 177, 248, 249, 259, 309, 426, 479, 592,
        606, 672, 673.

  Charles V., 25, 74, 390, 392, 619.

  Charles IX., 475.

  Charles XII., 217.

  Charleston, 112, 405.

  Charlestown, 608.

  Charlemagne, 37, 73.

  Charlotte, Queen, 145.

  Charlton, 125.

  Charon, 68.

  Charpentiere, 648.

  Chartreuse, 162.

  Chateaubriand, 117, 118, 119, 122.

  Chatham, 146, 417.

  Chaumette, 637.

  Chauncey, 148, 546.

  Chazlett, 244.

  Checkley, 546.

  Cheever, 450.

  Chelesfield, 653.

  Chenoo, 129.

  Cheops, 384.

  Chesapeake, 608, 609.

  Chester, 239, 240, 650.

  Chesterfield, 108.

  Chevy Chace, 425.

  Cheverus, 210, 410.

  Cheyne, 649.

  Chicago, 357.

  Chigwell, 248.

  Childe, 426.

  Chilperic, 66, 67.

  China, 93, 94, 106, 397, 401, 481, 586.

  Chinese, 67, 632.

  Chiron, 429.

  Chitty, 192.

  Christ Church, 143.

  Christian Observer, 281.

  Christianstadt, 97.

  Christina, 456.

  Christmas, 124, 671.

  Christopherson, 228.

  Chronicles, 122, 430.

  Chrysippus, 442, 443.

  Chrysostom, 437.

  Chuang-tsze, 482 to 494, passim.

  Cicero, 51, 64, 79, 97, 176, 214, 217, 218, 279, 282, 377, 381, 419,
        443, 578, 579, 583.

  Cimon, 11.

  Circe, 445.

  Claflin, 124.

  Clarendon, 135, 136, 137, 649.

  Clarissa, 320.

  Clare, 606, 652.

  Clarke, 121, 122, 129, 132, 159, 378.

  Clarkson, 237 to 269, pas.

  Claudius, 67, 99.

  Claudius Pulcher, 432.

  Clemens Alexandrinus, 429.

  Clement, 121, 650.

  Cleomenes, 590, 600.

  Clerimont, 591.

  Clifford, 271, 651, 657.

  Clinton, 60, 62.

  Clytemnestra, 11.

  Cobbett, 417, 447.

  Cobham, 20, 654.

  Coke, 181.

  Colclough, 614.

  Colebrooke, 22.

  Colman, 214, 638.

  Columbus, 362.

  Colvin, 301 to 331, passim.

  Commodus, 67.

  Concord, 415.

  Condé, 455.

  Condy, 516.

  Coneyball, 299.

  Confucius, 383.

  Congo, 129.

  Conrad, 556, 564.

  Constantinople, 22, 55, 87, 88.

  Constantius, 55.

  Conway, 145, 458, 538.

  Cook, 129, 561.

  Cooley, 316.

  Coolidge, 180.

  Cooper, 181, 546.

  Copeland, 227.

  Copley, 371, 508.

  Corday, 639, 640, 641.

  Cornish, 237, 332.

  Cornwall, 650, 676.

  "Corpse Hill," 92.

  Corry, 232.

  Cortez, 593.

  Cossart, 507.

  Cotton, 229, 230.

  Courland, 227.

  Courrier Extraordinaire, 639.

  Courtnay, 656.

  Coventry, 180.

  Cow Lane, 596.

  Cowley, 478.

  Cowper, 222, 596.

  Cox, 252.

  Cranmer, 279.

  Crawford, 436.

  Creech, 244.

  Crequi, 606.

  Crespigney, 606.

  Creusa, 382.

  Crinas, 443.

  Cripplegate, 477.

  Crocker, 405.

  Crockett, 209.

  Croese, 239, 240, 242, 262.

  Crofts, 616.

  Cromartic, 629.

  Cromwell, 134, 135, 170, 177.

  Cromwell's Head, 597.

  Crosby, 598.

  Croyland Abbey, 124.

  Cruikshanks, 401.

  Cullender, 33, 664.

  Cunningham, 538.

  Curran, 605.

  Curwen, 513, 595.

  Cushing, 537.

  Cutbeard, 591.

  Cuthbert, 37, 606.

  Cutler, 508, 546, 551, 553, 554, 563.

  Cutter, 509.

  Cyclops, 430.

  Cyrus, 332.


  D.

  Daddy Osgood, 578.

  Dagobert, 74.

  Daillé, 497, 498, 507, 546.

  Damberger, 622.

  Dammory, 652.

  Dana, 142, 190, 191, 276, 337.

  Danes, 614.

  Danforth, 448.

  Darden, 184.

  Davenport, 299, 509, 510, 512, 531, 535, 546, 547, 566.

  David, 16, 221, 617, 618, 619, 620.

  Davis, 397, 399, 400, 402, 586.

  Dead Sea, 116, 118, 119, 121, 123.

  D'Acres, 652.

  D'Arblay, 105.

  De Blois, 24, 662.

  De Burgh, 652.

  Decatur, 609, 610, 611, 624.

  Dedication, 679.

  Defoe, 87.

  De Grandison, 653.

  De Henricourt, 607.

  Dehon, 597.

  De Hoveden, 669.

  De la Croix, 507.

  Delancey, 509.

  Delaware, 252.

  Delia, 100.

  Demades, 52.

  Demarat, 58, 59.

  De Medicis, 661.

  Demetrius, 97.

  Deming, 302, 312, 322.

  Democritus, 360.

  Demosthenes, 97.

  Dentrecolles, 481.

  Denmark, 52, 53, 88, 640.

  De Pauw, 400, 402.

  Deptford, 267.

  De Ris, 607.

  Desdemona, 82.

  Deshon, 538.

  Despencer, 655.

  De Thou, 622.

  Dettingen, 623.

  De Uzerches, 607.

  De Valence, 655.

  De Vassor, 612.

  De Verdon, 652.

  Devergie, 357.

  Devereux, 677.

  Devon, 677.

  De Warre, 654.

  De Worde, 125.

  Dexter, 25, 450.

  Didian Law, 342.

  Dido, 382.

  Dickens, 568.

  Dickson, 31.

  Diemerbroeck, 49.

  Diemschid, 475.

  Digby, 640, 641, 642.

  Diodorus, 18, 342.

  Diogenes, 16, 17, 18, 217.

  Diogenes Laertius, 373.

  Dionysius, 12, 98, 583.

  Dirk Hatteraick, 238.

  Dodsley's Annual Register, 578.

  Domitian, 67, 106, 120.

  Don Quixote, 591.

  Doolittle, 330.

  Dorchester Neck, 575.

  Dorchester Point, 643.

  Doring, 564.

  Dorsett, 66, 613, 622, 677.

  Douglas, 425, 536.

  Dover, 319.

  Doyle, 634.

  Dowse, 541.

  Draco, 206, 207, 209, 226.

  Draper, 91.

  Drury, 361.

  Druses, 400, 401.

  Dryden, 478, 480, 481, 576.

  Du Barri, 671.

  Dublin, 89, 249.

  Dubois, 635.

  Ducange, 648.

  Dudley, 181, 298, 497.

  Duff, 129, 435.

  Dugdale, 647, 648, 674.

  Du Halde, 402.

  Dulany, 601.

  Dummer, 550, 551, 552, 556.

  Dumont, 605.

  Dundee, 31.

  Dunciad, 480.

  Dunmow, 124.

  Duny, 331, 640, 664.

  Duport, 636.

  Durandus, 124.

  Dutch, 578.

  Dyer, 232.


  E.

  Earle, 94.

  Easter Eve, 675.

  Eastman, 182, 183.

  Easton, 158.

  Eatooa, 378.

  Ecclesiastes, 111, 267.

  Ecclesiasticus, 431.

  Echeloot Indians, 378.

  Eckley, 597.

  Eden, 70.

  Edes, 596.

  Edessa, 57.

  Edgeworth, 103.

  Edinburgh, 89, 241.

  Edinburgh Review, 178, 209, 346.

  Edmund I., 124.

  Edmund Plantagenet, 650.

  Edom, 116.

  Edward, I., 26, 187, 589, 652.

  Edward III., 342, 406, 649.

  Edward IV., 342, 589, 676.

  Edward, the Confessor, 595.

  Egypt, 33, 88, 106, 129, 400, 436.

  Egyptians, 19, 102, 110, 111, 129, 131, 206, 377, 378, 400, 517, 632,
        661.

  Ekron, 431.

  Elah, 617.

  Eldon, 192, 193, 230.

  El Dorado, 71, 103.

  Eli, 197, 198.

  Eliot, 91, 495, 502, 630.

  Elliot, 610.

  Eliphaz, 217.

  Elizabeth, 103, 170, 407, 409, 593, 661.

  Elizabeth Island, 285.

  Embomma, 129, 130.

  Empedocles, 373.

  Encyclopædia Britannica, 268.

  Endor, 363, 480, 665, 670, 678.

  England, 188, 206, 210, 229, 253, 268, 346, 407, 409, 576, 588, 591,
        595, 599, 600, 601, 604, 605, 606, 614, 632, 633, 634.

  English Canaan, 628.

  English Mark, 651.

  Enoch, 57.

  Epicurus, 481.

  Erasistratus, 442, 443.

  Erasmus, 152.

  Erfurth, 125.

  Erpingham, 638.

  Erricus, 661.

  Erskine, 84.

  Erving, 515.

  Estwell, 677.

  Espinasse, 588.

  Ethiopia, 106.

  Europe, 106, 131, 576, 622, 663.

  Eurypus, 443.

  Eusebius, 465.

  Eustis, 450.

  Eutaw Springs, 415.

  Evans, 610.

  Eve, 429.

  Evelyn, 134.

  Everett, 55, 204, 277.

  Ewins, 159.

  Exeter, 20, 204, 211, 675, 677.

  Ezekiel, 582, 583, 587.


  F.

  Fabius Maximus, 631.

  Fabrieii Bibliographia Antiquaria, 659.

  Fagan, 193.

  Fairbanks, 190, 191, 337.

  Fakeer, 570, 571, 573, 576.

  Fales, 190, 337.

  Falmouth, 243.

  Falstaff, 624.

  Faneuil, 476:--495 to 563, passim.

  Faneuil Hall, 211, 199, 500, 501, 535.

  Fanhope, 674.

  Farmer, 496.

  Farnham, 597.

  Farnsworth, 314, 327, 328.

  Farquhar, 480.

  Farraday, 103.

  Farrar, 159.

  Farrago, 189, 347.

  Fasti, 426.

  Faulconbridge, 321.

  Favor, 98.

  Feild, 228.

  Fenelon, 472.

  Fenner, 228.

  Ferrari, 27.

  Fielding, 272.

  Fillebrown, 493.

  Fire Island, 406.

  Fish, 665, 666, 667.

  Flaccus, 106, 337.

  Flanders, 88.

  Florence, 125, 596.

  Fleet, 147.

  Fleet Prison, 268.

  Fleet Street, 656.

  Fleta, 614.

  Flagg, 431.

  Flaherty, 196.

  Flechier, 215.

  Flucker, 514.

  Folsom, 189.

  Fontenelle, 357.

  Fonnereau, 521.

  Foote, 367, 371.

  Ford, 25, 268, 391.

  Fordyce, 27.

  Forresters, 286.

  Forest Hills, 68, 225.

  Forster, 629.

  Fosbroke, 591.

  Fothergill, 642.

  Fox, 597, 665, 666, 667.

  Foxcroft, 298.

  France, 68, 88, 188, 426, 438, 595, 606, 607, 633, 634, 637, 638, 661,
        670, 675.

  Francis I., 73, 97, 619, 654.

  Francis, 598, 663.

  Frankfort, 15.

  Franklin, 20, 142, 574, 599, 603, 604, 644, 645, 646.

  Franks, 614.

  Freand, 56.

  Frederick I., 28.

  Freedly, 181.

  Freeman, 165.

  French Church, 521.

  Frescati, 64.

  Frizzell, 126.

  Frizzles, 189.

  Fuller, 66, 265, 466.

  Fullerton, 605.


  G.

  Gabriel, 57, 119.

  Galen, 459.

  Galilee, 57.

  Gannett, 92, 286.

  Gardner, 299, 601.

  Garth, 480.

  Gates, 77, 81.

  Gath, 617.

  Gato, 33.

  Gaul, 617, 618, 619.

  Gaule, 659.

  Gauls, 618.

  Gaunt, 237, 656, 674.

  Gavett, 596.

  Gawler, 606.

  Gellia, 107.

  Genesis, 122, 429.

  Genethliaci, 661.

  Genevieve, 73, 75.

  Genoa, 89.

  Gentleman's Magazine, 376, 594.

  George I., 28, 248, 406.

  George II., 406, 407, 551, 623, 660.

  George III., 59, 90, 103, 144, 145, 147, 275, 604.

  George IV., 207, 209.

  Gerard, 469.

  Germanicus, 29.

  Germans, 614.

  Germantown, 415.

  Germany, 88, 426, 620.

  Gervais, 475, 670.

  Ghizeh, 33.

  Gibraltar, 88.

  Gideon, 597.

  Gill, 61.

  Gillies, 514.

  Gilpin, 74.

  Girondists, 68, 74.

  Glossin, 388.

  Gloucester, 349, 404, 652, 657.

  Goethe, 287.

  Golgotha, 35.

  Goliath, 437, 617, 618, 619.

  Gold, 227.

  Goldsmith, 24, 123, 362, 481, 584, 587, 649.

  Gomorrah, 117, 119, 221.

  Good, 49.

  Goode, 181, 184, 338.

  Gooseberry, 70.

  Gordon, 62, 147, 153, 416, 417.

  Gore, 277.

  Gorton, 480.

  Gosnold, 283.

  Goss, 677.

  Gould, 598.

  Gracchus, 431.

  Grady, 601.

  Grammont, 623.

  Granger, 260.

  Granary, 24, 46, 48, 148, 197, 428, 525, 543.

  Grant, 401, 606.

  Grattan, 606.

  Gratz, 620.

  Graunt, 103.

  Gray, 161, 162, 269, 546, 556.

  Great Britain, 186, 207, 277, 347, 416, 474, 580, 663.

  Great Tom, 125.

  Greece, 105, 128, 204, 355, 373, 430, 595.

  Greeks, 68, 106, 131, 632, 661.

  Green, 596.

  Greene, 62, 159, 474.

  Greenlanders, 35.

  Greenleaf, 192, 329, 330.

  Green Mount, 38.

  Greenwood, 300, 451, 534.

  Gregory, Pope, 474.

  Grey, 347.

  Grey Friars, 652.

  Greville, 678.

  Gridley, 142.

  Griswold, 160, 360.

  Grossman, 7, 8, 18, 24, 25, 44, 50, 115, 132, 288, 680.

  Grotius, 437.

  Grouchy, 132.

  Grozier, 397.

  Grubb, 596.

  Guardian, 613.

  Guerriere, 417.

  Guiana, 130.

  Guideu, 637.

  Guienne, 656.

  Guilford, 415.

  Guillotin, 634, 635.

  Guillotine, 634, 635, 638.

  Guinneau, 519.

  Gundebald, 614, 615.

  Gussanville, 663.

  Gustavus Adolphus, 661.


  H.

  Hades, 345.

  Hague, 445.

  Hakin, 400.

  Hale, 62, 124, 177, 188, 189, 190, 209, 220, 301, 310, 315, 324, 331,
        332, 334, 640, 664, 666.

  Halford, 134, 135, 136, 139.

  Halifax, 223, 479, 480, 634.

  Hall, 130.

  Hallam, 361.

  Haller, 157.

  Halley, 81.

  Hamilton, 277, 298, 605, 613.

  Hammond, 180.

  Hancock, 142, 143, 166, 299, 417, 498, 589.

  Handel, 297, 422, 427.

  Handy, 561.

  Hanan, 585.

  Hannibal, 45.

  Hanover Square, 140.

  Hanway, 90.

  Harleian Miscellany, 217, 445, 642.

  Harper, 227.

  Harris, 555.

  Harrison, 265, 395, 396.

  Hart, 661, 662.

  Hartop, 158.

  Harvey, 157, 436.

  Haslett, 597.

  Hatch, 555, 564, 565.

  Haute, 676.

  Hawes, 375.

  Hawkins, 426.

  Hawles, 332.

  Hawtrey, 361.

  Haydn, 346, 407, 577, 579, 580.

  Hayes, 301.

  Hayley, 477.

  Haynes, 302, 307, 310, 316, 317, 321, 322.

  Hayward, 450, 561, 597.

  Hazael, 431.

  Hazzard, 226, 545.

  Heath, 172, 610, 611.

  Heber, 360.

  Hebrews, 33, 431.

  Hebrides, 643.

  Hector, 619.

  Heemskerck, 588.

  Helen, 619.

  Henault, 661.

  Henderson, 304.

  Henry II., 649, 651.

  Henry III., 187, 241, 661.

  Henry IV., 73, 74, 342, 352, 409, 606, 661.

  Henry VI., 349, 674.

  Henry VII., 87, 88, 134, 185.

  Henry VIII., 78, 133, 136, 138, 139, 170, 185, 188, 342, 346, 385, 409,
        411, 413, 477, 589, 631.

  Henry, 639, 663.

  Hephestion, 373.

  Herbert, 104, 133, 138, 607.

  Hercules, 436.

  Hereford, 649, 656, 657.

  Herlicius, 661, 672, 673.

  Hermes, 428.

  Herne, 676.

  Herod, 93.

  Herodotus, 18, 21, 436.

  Heron, 657.

  Herophylus, 443, 459.

  Herr Driesbach, 613.

  Herschell, 622, 643.

  Hertford, 133, 135.

  Highgate, 37.

  Hildanus, 49, 373.

  Hill, 298, 307, 308, 310, 368, 369, 597.

  Hiller, 553.

  Hindoos, 22, 436.

  Hindostan, 93, 100.

  Hippocrates, 436, 442, 459.

  Hirst, 508.

  Hobart, 134, 605.

  Hobkirk's Hill, 415.

  Hoboken, 615, 643.

  Hodgson, 361.

  Hodson, 601.

  Hog Alley, 562.

  Hogarth, 271.

  Holborn, 134.

  Holbrook, 408.

  Holden, 124, 227.

  Holinshed, 87, 424.

  Holland, 88, 506, 650, 662.

  Holme, 591.

  Holmes, 365, 499, 546.

  Holy Land, 651, 652.

  Homans, 450.

  Homer, 15, 17, 143, 429, 430, 585, 586.

  Hone, 591.

  Hook, 76, 367.

  Hooper, 309, 546.

  Hopkins, 221, 422, 424.

  Horace, 36, 51, 97, 168, 360, 367, 404, 568, 587, 592, 663, 664.

  Horatio, 599, 600.

  Horne, 178.

  Horstius, 373.

  Hossack, 605.

  Hottentots, 34.

  Hough, 245, 246.

  Houndsditch, 661.

  Howe, 55, 597.

  Hubbard, 627.

  Hudibras, 260, 454, 627, 628.

  Huger, 496.

  Huguenots, 496 to 500, passim: also, 506, 507, 523, 545, 546.

  Hull, 66, 274, 646.

  Hume, 186, 241.

  Humphreys, 646, 647.

  Hungary, 632.

  Hungerford, 233.

  Hunt, 506.

  Huntington, 655.

  Hutchinson, 226, 228, 229, 230, 515, 538, 586, 592, 640.

  Hydriotaphia, 42, 65, 131, 281.

  Hydrophobia, 193.

  Hyperion, 582.


  I.

  Idumea, 116.

  Inman, 513.

  Innocent III., 466.

  Ireland, 87, 93.

  Irenæus, 171.

  Ireton, 134.

  Irish, 193.

  Irving, 557.

  Isabella, 646.

  Israel, 431.

  Israelites, 102.

  Isis, 428.

  Islip, 406.

  Istampol, 186.


  J.

  Jabbok, 118.

  Jackson, 55, 500, 605.

  Jacobs, 312.

  Jahn, 33, 432, 433, 434, 435.

  Jamaica Pond, 69.

  James I., 170, 612, 660.

  James II., 232, 243, 248, 253, 259.

  Jardin des Plantes, 75.

  Jasper, 256.

  Jay, 276.

  Jefferson, 85, 163, 344, 392.

  Jeffrey, 603.

  Jeffreys, 235.

  Jeffries, 450, 479, 480, 537.

  Jekyll, 532, 555.

  Jenkins, 157.

  Jenks, 117, 118.

  Jenyns, 42.

  Jepson, 597.

  Jeremiah, 105.

  Jerusalem, 119.

  Jesse, 615, 620, 628.

  Jew, 620.

  Jews, 106, 131, 170, 186, 188, 632.

  Job, 217, 225, 430.

  Jonathan, 116, 167, 414, 417.

  Jones, 159, 181, 435, 510, 513, 531, 541, 551, 566.

  Johnson Samuel, 31, 90, 107, 108, 183, 277, 409, 421, 477, 480, 481,
        601, 602, 603, 604.

  Johnson, 55, 305, 308, 475.

  Johonnot, 493.

  Jonny Armstrong, 425.

  Jonson Ben, 59, 479, 591.

  Jordan, 117, 118.

  Joseph, 57, 429.

  Josephus, 118, 120.

  Josselyn, 283.

  Judah, 116.

  Judæus Apella, 642.

  Judd, 77.

  Judea, 105, 116, 128, 355.

  Judicial Astrology, 661, 673.

  Judson, 616.

  Julia, 67.

  Junius, 525, 578.

  Juno, 421.

  Juvenal, 79, 585.


  K.

  Kaimes, 367.

  Kamschatka, 35.

  Kast, 450.

  Katherine of Arragon, 650.

  Keatinge, 128.

  Keayne, 454.

  Keith, 239.

  Kensall Green, 37.

  Kent, 650.

  Kerr, 623.

  Kidd, 285.

  Kidder, 86.

  Kilby, 567.

  Kilmarnock, 629, 630.

  King, 276.

  Kings, 431.

  King's Chapel, 48, 55, 288, 297, 510, 534.

  Kingsmill, 227.

  Kingstreet, 509.

  Kingstown, 507.

  Kircherus, 434.

  Kirchmaun, 106.

  Kirriel, 677.

  Kishon, 118.

  Kitchen, 231, 232.

  Kittal-al-Machaid, 401.

  Knox, 369.

  Koran, 21.


  L.

  Lacedemonians, 12, 13, 17.

  La Cheze, 636.

  Lacombe, 648.

  Lafayette, 62, 84, 636.

  Lahore, 570.

  Lally, 636.

  Lamartine, 68.

  Lambert, 555.

  Lamia, 49, 373.

  Lancashire, 420.

  Lancaster, 650.

  Landgrave of Hesse, 387.

  Landseer, 678.

  Lane, 598.

  Langdon, 92, 427.

  Langstaff, 92.

  Lansdowne, 365.

  Laou-Keun, 481.

  Larassy, 179.

  Lares, 64.

  Larkin, 101

  Larrey, 607.

  Larvæ, 64.

  Lathrop, 595.

  Latimer, 75, 279, 655.

  Laurel Hill, 38.

  Laurens, 374, 496.

  Lavater, 625.

  Lavinia, 619.

  Lazarus, 56.

  Leadenhall Market, 213, 220.

  Le Cat, 643.

  Lechemere, 554.

  Lectouse, 37.

  Ledea, 228.

  Lee, 126, 276.

  L'Etombe, 166.

  Le Gros, 639.

  Leibnitz, 438.

  Leicestershire, 68, 648.

  Le Mercier, 497, 498, 546, 547, 548, 549.

  Lemures, 64.

  Lenoie, 40.

  Lenox, 605.

  Leopard, 608.

  Lepidus, 52.

  Leuconoe, 663.

  Levi, 382.

  Leviticus, 230.

  Lewis, 378.

  Lewyn, 81.

  Lexington, 415.

  Liancourt, 636.

  Libo, 99.

  Licinius, 80.

  Lilly, 591, 661, 673.

  Lincoln, 94, 312, 674.

  Lincoln's Inn, 593.

  Lind, 420.

  Lindsey, 133, 135.

  Linnæus, 399.

  Linnington, 533.

  Lippstadt, 661.

  Lithered, 560.

  Little Belt, 417.

  Liverpool, 417.

  Livingston, 276.

  Livy, 52, 80, 617, 619.

  Lizard, 407.

  Lloyd, 35, 265, 367, 448, 449.

  Lloyd's Lists, 404.

  Locke, 266.

  Locrian Law, 342.

  Loe, 248, 249.

  Lollards, 658.

  Lombards, 186.

  London, 37, 56, 67, 76, 87, 88, 89, 94, 118, 211, 213, 220, 237, 346,
        421, 588, 589, 591, 624, 632, 652, 676.

  London Quarterly Review, 212, 356, 357, 391, 622, 634, 641.

  London Times, 358.

  Long, 513.

  Long Branch, 320.

  Long Island, 62.

  Longshanks, 187, 583.

  Longspee, 651.

  Lot's Wife, 116, 119, 120, 121, 122.

  Loudon, 213, 214.

  Louis, 636.

  Louis XI., 74.

  Louis XII., 73.

  Louis XIII., 74, 352, 607.

  Louis XIV., 38, 74, 75, 351, 607, 612, 670, 671.

  Louis XV., 671, 672.

  Louis XVI., 635, 637, 638.

  Louison, 636, 637.

  Lovat, 628.

  Lovell, 159:--496 to 530, passim.

  Lowell, 83.

  Lucan, 670.

  Lucilius, 106, 107, 168, 377, 443.

  Ludlow, 226.

  Lum Akum, 398.

  Luther, 388.

  Lutton, 123, 132.

  Lutzengen, 661.

  Lycurgus, 17.

  Lyman, 202, 203.

  Lynn, 658.

  Lyon, 324.

  Lyons, 438.


  M.

  Mabillon, 124.

  Macabe, 195.

  McAndrew, 181.

  Macartney, 402, 605.

  Macaulay, 231 to 269, passim:--also 361.

  McDonough, 418.

  McGammon, 196.

  McGill, 332.

  Machaon, 430.

  Machiavelli, 95, 115, 220, 234.

  Machyl, 82.

  McKeon, 614.

  Mackenzie, 606, 610, 611, 624.

  Mackintosh, 207, 316.

  McLean, 621.

  McNamara, 197.

  McNaughten, 573.

  Machpelah, 299.

  Mæcenas, 36, 679.

  Mag-Astro-Mancer, 659.

  Magdalen College, 243, 244, 246.

  Magdalene, 56.

  Magee, 195.

  Magnalia, 582.

  Mahomet, 171.

  Mahoney, 195.

  Maillard, 73.

  Mailosel, 654.

  Maintenon, 671, 672.

  Majoribanks, 401.

  Mahnsbury, 87.

  Malone, 481.

  Malplesant, 654.

  Malta, 33, 624.

  Maltravers, 655.

  Mammon, 170.

  Mamre, 299.

  Manchester, 303 to 325, passim.

  Mandans, 23, 51.

  Mandeville, 118, 344, 345, 599.

  Manlius, 617, 618, 619, 634.

  Manes, 64.

  Manigault, 496.

  Mann, 382, 629.

  Mannering, 360.

  Manney, 654.

  Mansfield, 95, 115, 220, 234.

  Mantua, 422.

  Marat, 217.

  Marbeuf, 639.

  Marc Antony, 387.

  Marcellinus, 64.

  March, 653, 655, 666.

  Marco Polo, 400.

  Marcus Antoninus, 584.

  Mareschall, 654.

  Maret, 37.

  Mariner, 129.

  Marion, 496.

  Mariti, 88.

  Marius, 63.

  Marseillais, 426, 637.

  Marseilles, 88.

  Marshall, 55, 83, 355.

  Martel, 73.

  Martial, 107, 419, 586, 587, 595.

  Martin, 189.

  Martinico, 166.

  Martinique, 29.

  Mary, Bloody, 75, 82, 93, 405.

  Maryland, 153, 154.

  Mashee, 596.

  Mason, 101, 102.

  Massachusetts, 84, 94, 114, 155, 156, 164, 165, 166, 176, 187, 231, 276,
        632.

  Mather, 94, 280, 327, 364, 367, 546, 582, 668.

  Matthews, 180, 367, 613.

  Matooara, 378.

  Maury, 636.

  Maverick, 163.

  Maximilian II., 620, 621.

  Maynard, 81.

  Mazarin, 135.

  Mazzei, 163.

  Mead, 588.

  Mears, 497, 563.

  Meaux, 671.

  Mediterranean, 118.

  Megret, 217.

  Melancthon, 388.

  Melli Melli, 568.

  Mena, 130, 583, 587, 592.

  Menalcas, 90.

  Menander, 217.

  Menu, 130.

  Merrick, 221.

  Merrill, 313 to 325, passim.

  Mewins, 464.

  Mexico, 101, 638.

  Michaelis, 119.

  Midsummer Night's Dream, 592.

  Milan, 220, 456.

  Mildmay, 133.

  Miletum, 342.

  Milford Haven, 88.

  Millar, 643.

  Millenarians, 672.

  Millengen, 36, 49.

  Millens, 92.

  Miller, 555.

  Millot, 659.

  Mills, 435.

  Miltiades, 11.

  Milton, 159, 386, 387, 477.

  Minzies, 555.

  Minoresses, 657.

  Minors, 654.

  Minshull, 386.

  Mirepoix, 382.

  Mirfield, 380.

  Misson, 56.

  Missouri, 23.

  Mitford, 477.

  Moab, 116.

  Mock, 597.

  Mohawk Indian, 647.

  Mohun, 605, 613.

  Momus, 368.

  Monmouth, 235.

  Montacute, 650.

  Montaigne, 27, 104, 343, 443.

  Montague, 55.

  Montefiore, 15.

  Monte Notte, 381.

  Montesquieu, 342.

  Montezuma, 63, 593.

  Montmorenci, 607.

  Moody, 30, 189, 471.

  Moore, 472.

  Moorhead, 150, 286, 389, 531, 532, 546.

  Moors, 138.

  Moravians, 379.

  More, 359, 361.

  Morin, 419, 420.

  Morland, 466 to 470, passim.

  Morose, 591.

  Morris, 420, 609, 611.

  Mortimer, 651, 653.

  Morton, 628, 634.

  Moses, 429, 660.

  Mount Auburn, 38, 46, 68, 225.

  Mounts Bay, 407.

  Mount Hope, 33.

  Moyle, 677.

  Mudge, 608.

  Mullowny, 194.

  Mun Chung, 398.

  Murphy, 101, 102, 107, 193.

  Murray, 477.

  Murullus, 106.

  Muses, 421.

  Muskerry, 243.

  Mussenden, 657.

  Mydas, 591.

  Mysore, 436.

  Mytelene, 12.


  N.

  Naaman, 431.

  Nain, 320.

  Nantasket, 408.

  Nantes, 37.

  Nantucket, 77.

  Naples, 33, 88.

  Napoleon, 105, 381, 393.

  Narcissa, 22.

  Nares, 580, 591, 593.

  Narragansett Bay, 283, 284.

  Naseby, 134, 386.

  Natchez, 587.

  Nau, 122.

  Negoose, 189, 190, 191, 347.

  Nemours, 607.

  New, 581.

  Newcastle, 90.

  New England, 177, 221, 283, 408, 476, 607, 627.

  Newgate, 179, 183, 259, 622, 632.

  New London, 363.

  New North Church, 125, 126.

  New Orleans, 604.

  New Rochelle, 523, 530.

  Newton, 66.

  New York, 576.

  New York Evening Post, 330, 331.

  New Zealand, 23, 94.

  Nicholls, 193, 422, 648.

  Nicolas, 648.

  Ninkempaup, 456.

  Niobe, 121.

  Nipmug, 496.

  Noah, 176.

  Noailles, 623, 671.

  Noble, 262.

  Noddle's Island, 163.

  Nollekens, 676.

  Norfolk, 677.

  Norman, 453.

  Normandy, 635, 675.

  Norris, 232.

  North American Review, 330.

  Norway, 88, 168.

  Norwich, 346.

  Notre Dame, 124.

  Nova Scotia, 568.

  Noyes, 506.

  Numa, 69, 105, 106.

  Numbers, 122.

  Nunhead, 37.


  O.

  Oak Hall, 133.

  O'Brien, 355.

  O'Connell, 606.

  Odyssey, 11.

  Ogilvie, 606.

  Oglethorpe, 601, 603, 604.

  Ogygia, 420.

  Olam Fodla, 93.

  Old Brick, 123, 132, 128, 567.

  Oldmixon, 268.

  Oliver, 140, 141, 142, 513, 538.

  Omnibus, 191, 347.

  Oporto, 55.

  Orde, 188.

  Orfila, 219.

  Origen, 436.

  Orinoco, 130.

  Orleans, 135.

  Orrery, 250.

  Osborne, 573.

  Osiris, 428.

  O'Shane, 194.

  Ossa, 658.

  Ossoli, 406.

  Otis, Harrison Gray, 159.

  Otis, James, 211, 354.

  Ottomans, 672, 673.

  Outhier, 51.

  Ovid, 64, 98, 105, 106, 223, 248, 392, 413, 558.

  Oxford, 87, 125, 244, 245, 248, 249, 360, 497, 498, 499, 653, 654.

  Oxnard, 513.


  P.

  Packinett, 498.

  Page, 566.

  Paine, 598.

  Palestine, 34, 121, 204, 651.

  Palermo, 591.

  Palinurus, 168.

  Pallas, 99.

  Palmer, 536, 537, 597.

  Pantagathus, 586.

  Parant Duchatelet, 219.

  Paré, 589.

  Pareicus, 588.

  Parian Marbles, 382.

  Paris, 37, 39, 73, 89, 249, 438, 634, 635, 637, 667, 671.

  Parker, 246, 506.

  Parkman, 270 to 273, passim:--also 278, 335, 336.

  Parr, 157.

  Parsees, 130.

  Parsons, 276, 451.

  Passy, 599.

  Patchogue, 406.

  Patroclus, 15, 67, 107.

  Pauketpeeker, 457.

  Paulding, 62.

  Paul, 658.

  Paull, 606.

  Pausanias, 421.

  Pavice, 565.

  Paxton, 513.

  Paybody, 175.

  Peake, 192.

  Pearson, 175, 189.

  Peck, 498.

  Pecker, 449.

  Peel, 207, 346.

  Pekin, 481.

  Pelion, 658.

  Pelletier, 637.

  Pemberton, 536, 563, 566.

  Pembroke, 653, 654, 655, 677.

  Penn, 231 to 269 passim:--also 339.

  Pennant, 634.

  Pennsylvania, 94.

  Pendleton, 605.

  Pepin, 73.

  Pepperell, 508.

  Pepusch, 427.

  Pepys, 466, 468, 577.

  Percival, 599, 603.

  Percy, 425.

  Perry, 418, 610, 611.

  Persepolis, 475.

  Persia, 475.

  Persians, 632.

  Persius, 592.

  Peters, 450.

  Petre, 281.

  Petronel, 620, 621.

  Pew, 49.

  Peyret, 508.

  Pharamond, 72.

  Pharsalia, 670.

  Phelps, 227.

  Philadelphia, 36, 38, 268, 339, 614.

  Philip Augustus, 39.

  Philip the Bold, 73.

  Philippus, 588.

  Phillips, 408, 421, 495, 505, 531, 541, 542:--also 550 to 566
        passim:--also 568.

  Philistines, 617, 618, 619.

  Philomela, 42.

  Picardy, 635.

  Pickering, 165, 221, 439.

  Pickett, 189.

  Pickworth, 283.

  Pierce, 597.

  Pierre de Nemours, 39.

  Pierson, 226.

  Pigot, 555.

  Pinchbeke, 675.

  Pinckney, 277.

  Pindar, 96.

  Pineau, 49.

  Pinohe, 81.

  Pitcairn, 54, 223.

  Pitcher, 363, 658.

  Pitt, 145, 146, 606.

  Pittacus, 12.

  Place de Grève, 73, 636, 637.

  Place de la Revolution, 638.

  Place St. Antoine, 638.

  Plaine de Mont Louis, 40.

  Plaisant, 639.

  Plaistowe, 230.

  Plato, 20, 49, 373, 377, 429.

  Plautus, 577, 587.

  Pleydell, 360.

  Plimouth, 283, 628.

  Pliny, 79, 99, 117, 121, 419, 430, 442, 443, 450, 459, 461, 462, 582,
        583, 588.

  Plutarch, 105, 106, 217, 400, 591.

  Pococke, 111, 118.

  Podalirius, 430.

  Poeon, 430.

  Poictiers, 654.

  Poictou, 358.

  Polack, 23.

  Pole, 75.

  Polhamus, 319, 320, 323.

  Pollard, 29.

  Pompadour, 41, 43.

  Pompey, 443, 444, 670.

  Ponthia, 373.

  Pontraçi, 39, 40, 54, 89.

  Popayan, 130.

  Pope, 111, 334, 364, 453, 480.

  Popple, 263.

  Porchalion, 674.

  Portland, 64, 65.

  Port Mahon, 42.

  Potter, 12.

  Powell, 386.

  Pratt, 314, 327.

  Pretender, 629.

  Prevot, 49.

  Priam, 322.

  Price, 520, 541.

  Priest, 612.

  Primrose, 111.

  Prince of Orange, 233.

  Pringle, 496.

  Prioleau, 496.

  Prior, 54, 233.

  Pritchard, 550.

  Proctor, 632.

  Prudhomme, 637.

  Psamatticus, 33.

  Pseudodoxia, 431, 660.

  Puddifant, 131, 133.

  Pudding Lane, 596.

  Purchase Street, 597.

  Puzzlepot, 189.

  Pwan Yekoo, 398.

  Pyramus, 592.

  Pythagoras, 377.


  Q.

  Quakers, 445.

  Quincy, 43, 156, 404, 416, 605.

  Quintilius Varus, 614.

  Quintus, 578.


  R.

  Rachel, 569.

  Radziville, 121.

  Rand, 449, 643.

  Randall, 228.

  Randolph, 85, 605.

  Ranelagh, 266.

  Rapin, 87, 185, 186, 241, 349, 612, 674.

  Rauber, 620, 621.

  Ravaillac, 73.

  Ravenscroft, 298.

  Raymond, 309, 315, 326, 327.

  Read, 520.

  Reason, 562.

  Receuil Periodique, 643.

  Reese, 357.

  Regent's Inlet, 645.

  Religio Medici, 640.

  Remus, 64.

  Reuben, 116.

  Revallion, 532.

  Richard II., 649, 650, 657.

  Richardson, 662.

  Richelieu, 612.

  Richmond, 133, 135, 677.

  Ridley, 279, 571.

  Riley, 181.

  Rivet, 20.

  Robertson, 241, 299, 391, 392, 393.

  Robespierre, 638.

  Robinson, 232, 260, 261, 514.

  Robin Hood, 517.

  Rochelle, 495, 506, 507, 551.

  Rochester, 216, 266, 424, 480, 587, 631.

  Rochefoucault, 217, 218, 338.

  Rockingham, 145.

  Rockport, 16.

  Roebuck, 606.

  Roederer, 636, 637.

  Rogers, 279, 417.

  Rogerson, 450.

  Roma, 617.

  Roman, 618, 619.

  Romans, 68, 106, 131, 475, 592, 594, 595, 617, 632, 661.

  Roman Catholics, 600.

  Rome, 87, 89, 263, 343, 442, 460, 475, 614, 658, 661.

  Romilly, 207, 346.

  Romulus, 105, 474, 591, 595.

  Rosamond, 651.

  Roscius, 215.

  Rose Cullender, 640.

  Rose in Bloom, 405.

  Ross, 641, 645, 646, 647.

  Rothschild, 15, 54.

  Rous, 227.

  Rouse, 631.

  Rousseau, 476.

  Rowlett, 82.

  Roxbury, 220, 221, 227, 566.

  Royal Society, 622, 644.

  Rue d'Enfer, 39, 42.

  Rufus, 320.

  Runjeet Singh, 570, 571, 572, 573.

  Russell, 29.

  Rush, 447.

  Rushworth, 424.

  Russia, 276.

  Russians, 129, 474.

  Ruthven, 606.

  Rutland Herald, 318, 331.

  Rymer's Foedera, 349, 675.


  S.

  St. Andrew, 55.

  St. Anne, 56.

  St. Augustine, 51.

  St. Clara, 52.

  St. Christophers, 533.

  St. Croix, 11, 52, 98, 422.

  St. Denis, 73, 75.

  St. Edmunds Bury, 640.

  St. James, 424.

  St. Katherine, 651.

  St. Luke, 55.

  St. Margaret, 651, 675.

  St. Martins, 124.

  St. Mary, 655, 675.

  St. Matthew, 217.

  St. Michael, 57, 124.

  St. Omers, 263, 426.

  St. Paul, 437.

  St. Paul's, 225, 642, 656.

  St. Peter, 56.

  St. Pierre, 476.

  St. Richard, 656.

  St. Saba, 122.

  St. Saturnin, 37.

  St. Thomas, 56, 321, 656.

  Sabine, 510.

  Saburra, 587.

  Sackville, 145, 549, 551, 613.

  Salem, 54.

  Salewarp, 651.

  Salisbury, 307, 650, 651, 669, 674.

  Sallust, 381.

  Salmon, 87.

  Salter, 550.

  Saltonstall, 533.

  Samee, 665.

  Samson, 437.

  Samuel, 111, 363, 434, 585, 620, 660, 670.

  Samuels, 15.

  Sancho Panza, 192, 265.

  Sanderson, 131.

  Sanson, 633, 635, 636, 637, 638.

  Sardinia, 88.

  Sargent, 180, 538.

  Sarsaparilla, 133.

  Sarum, 363.

  Saul, 16, 67, 434, 617, 618, 670.

  Saulien, 37.

  Saunders, 176.

  Sauvages, 101.

  Savage, 55.

  Savoy, 606.

  Scaliger, 437.

  Scharsegin, 620, 621.

  Schmidt, 381.

  Schridieder, 356.

  Scipio Africanus, 22, 216.

  Scott, 49, 227, 269, 360, 375, 376, 422, 426, 606.

  Scrope, 675.

  Scutari, 22.

  Segor, 117.

  Seignelay, 239.

  Seltridge, 449.

  Selkirk, 171.

  Selwyn, 179, 237, 615, 628, 642.

  Seneca, 106, 107, 168, 169, 377, 443, 585.

  Senisino, 421.

  Serampore, 281.

  Sergius Orator, 461.

  Servius, 97, 279.

  Sevrès, 671.

  Sewall, 142, 165, 513, 546, 553, 558, 561, 630.

  Seymour, 133, 136, 608.

  Shades, 587.

  Shakspeare, 83, 409, 419, 658.

  Shandois, 77, 82.

  Sharp, 93.

  Shattuck, 222, 439, 440.

  Shaw, 112, 221, 459.

  Shays, 94.

  Shea, 54.

  Sheerness, 558, 564.

  Shelburne, 605.

  Shelden, 261.

  Sheldon, 314, 327.

  Shelson, 299.

  Sheridan, 613.

  Shirley, 291, 297, 530.

  Shochoh, 615.

  Shouldham, 652.

  Shrewsbury, 320.

  Shute, 298.

  Shylock, 171.

  Siberia, 35.

  Sicily, 33, 591.

  Sicilies, the Two, 89.

  Siddim, 117.

  Sidney, 425.

  Sigal, 515.

  Sigourney, 496, 498.

  Simmons, 130.

  Skinner, 309, 331.

  Smallpiece, 598.

  Smith, Sidney, 367.

  Smith, 24, 27, 71, 152, 164, 227, 289, 509, 591.

  Smink, 101.

  Smollett, 241, 243.

  Snow, 537.

  Socrates, 592.

  Sodom, 117, 119, 120, 123, 215, 221.

  Sodoma, 122.

  Solomon, 192.

  Solon, 209.

  Somersett, 677.

  Somnium Scipionis, 373.

  Soo Chune, 398.

  Soong, 482.

  Sophia Charlotte, 28.

  Sorbiere, 437, 457.

  Sosigenes, 474.

  Southampton, 135.

  Southwick, 227.

  Spain, 650, 662, 675.

  Spaniards, 130.

  Sparks, 62, 561.

  Speed, 76, 424, 677.

  Spelman, 648.

  Spitalfields, 67, 256.

  Spooner, 450.

  Spring, 512.

  Springett, 252.

  Sprott, 676.

  Stafford, 632.

  Stair, 623.

  Stanford, 650.

  Stanhope, 593.

  Starkie, 192.

  Staunford, 675.

  Steele, 555.

  Stephanus, 105.

  Stephens, 117, 118, 121, 122, 123.

  Sterne, 37.

  Sternhold, 231, 424, 425.

  Steuben, 62.

  Stevens, 554.

  Stevenson, 232.

  Stewart, 609.

  Stillman, 631.

  Stirling Castle, 95.

  Stirrington, 652.

  Stockholm, 52.

  Stone Chapel, 296.

  Story, 268.

  Stow, 20, 67, 346, 349, 424.

  Stowell, 632.

  Strabo, 592.

  Streatfield, 105.

  Strype, 77, 81, 82, 88, 139, 279, 280, 281, 409, 410, 424, 631, 632.

  Stuart, 603, 605, 606.

  Stuarts, 661.

  Stubbe, 594.

  Sue, 639, 640.

  Suetonius, 29, 67, 79, 98, 99, 107, 462.

  Suffolk, 654.

  Sully, 352, 606.

  Sulmo, 390.

  Sumner, 19, 132.

  Sunderland, 89, 233.

  Surinam, 351.

  Sweden, 661.

  Swedenborg, 378, 379.

  Swedes, 661.

  Swift, 32, 193, 367, 422.

  Swingford, 674.

  Switzerland, 394.

  Sykes, 244.

  Sylla, 63, 97.

  Sylvester, 596.

  Syracuse, 33.

  Syrens, 421.

  Syria, 34, 88.

  Syrians, 632.


  T.

  Tacitus, 29, 99, 107.

  Taheite, 378, 380.

  Tailor, 554.

  Tappan, 58, 60.

  Tarpeian Rock, 618.

  Tasman, 129.

  Tate, 31, 596.

  Taylor, 84, 110, 157, 215, 394, 395, 396, 397, 638, 662.

  Taunton, 235.

  Tees, 379.

  Templeman, 451.

  Terence, 587.

  Tertullian, 122.

  Testamenta Vetusta, 648, 649.

  Tewksbury, 655, 673.

  Thacher, 31, 58, 61, 126, 127, 568, 605.

  Thebes, 16, 32.

  Theodolphus, 37.

  Theodosius, 36.

  Theophrastus, 587.

  Thessalus, 443.

  Thessaly, 670.

  Thevet, 118.

  Thiermeyer, 642.

  Thomas, 346, 480.

  Thomas of Canterbury, 281.

  Thompson, 86.

  Thornton, 477, 604.

  Thurlow, 589.

  Tiberius, 98.

  Tibullus, 100, 160.

  Tierney, 606.

  Tilbury, 670.

  Tillotson, 178, 238, 240, 262, 266.

  Timoleon, 12.

  Tinville, 638.

  Tonga Islands, 129.

  Tongataboo, 129.

  Tonstrina, 588.

  Tortugas, 407.

  Touchet, 380.

  Tournay, 67.

  Tower Hill, 631, 632.

  Townshend, 145.

  Trajan, 476.

  Trenchard, 265.

  Trent, 606.

  Tresham, 77.

  Treviso, 381.

  Troughton, 644.

  Troutbeck, 297.

  Troy, 322, 430.

  Trunnion, 221.

  Truro, 406.

  Tanfugge, 654.

  Tubero, 373.

  Tuck, 564, 566.

  Tuckett, 606.

  Tuckey, 129, 130.

  Tudor, 76.

  Tunbrugge, 654.

  Turkey, 106.

  Turkish Empire, 672.

  Turks, 123.

  Turenne, 73, 75.

  Turner, 155, 157, 231, 570, 575.

  Twiss, 230.

  Tyburn, 340, 632.

  Tyler, 500.


  U.

  Ucalegon, 143.

  Ula-Deguisi, 123.

  Ulysses, 106, 109, 420.

  United States, 347, 407, 434, 610.

  Usher, 561.

  Uxbridge, 16.


  V.

  Val de Grace, 68.

  Valentia, 606.

  Valerius Maximus, 374.

  Vallemont, 455.

  Valois, 622.

  Valvasor, 620.

  Van Buren, 85, 95, 96.

  Van Butchell, 445, 447.

  Vandyke, 137.

  Van Gelder, 59.

  Van Pronk, 25.

  Vans, 184.

  Van Wart, 63.

  Varden, 401.

  Vardy, 564.

  Varro, 583.

  Vassal, 296.

  Vaughan, 361.

  Velleius Paterculus, 614.

  Vere, 654.

  Verney, 677.

  Vermont, 114.

  Veronica, 57.

  Verulam, 258.

  Vespasian, 29, 67, 98.

  Vesuvius, 121.

  Vexius Valens, 443.

  Victoria, 208.

  Victory, 646.

  Vieq d'Azyr, 37.

  Vienna, 433.

  Villars, 607.

  Vincent, 256, 257, 258.

  Virgil, 76, 79, 97, 99, 419, 422.

  Virginia, 153, 154.

  Volney, 117, 119, 121.

  Voltaire, 217, 637.


  W.

  Wade, 570, 572, 573, 575.

  Wakefield, 359, 466.

  Waldo, 90, 302.

  Walpole, 382, 431, 629, 674.

  Waltham, 676.

  Walsingham, 65, 83, 84, 650, 656.

  Ward, 281, 282, 528, 529, 595.

  Ward's Curwen, 510.

  Warre, 235, 236.

  Warren, 55, 66, 222, 446, 450, 597.

  Warwick, 651.

  Washington, 62, 277, 394, 511.

  Waterhouse, 448.

  Waterloo, 132.

  Watts, 366, 677.

  Webb, 91, 126, 546.

  Webster, 159, 160, 271, 280, 335, 336, 337.

  Wedgewood, 64.

  Weever, 76, 124.

  Wellesley, 606.

  Wellington, 606.

  Wells, 273.

  Welsh, 450.

  Wendell, 538.

  Wentworth, 554.

  Westminster, 37, 134.

  Westminster Abbey, 34, 78, 136, 290, 478.

  Weston, 628.

  Westwood, 651.

  Wharton, 227.

  Whelpley, 322.

  Whipple, 450, 596.

  Whiston, 120.

  White, 82.

  Whitehall, 134.

  Whitehead, 256, 257, 258.

  Whitehurst, 158.

  White Plains, 351, 415.

  Wiche, 651.

  Wigmore, 656.

  Wilkes, 145, 605.

  Willard, 520, 566.

  William the Conqueror, 614.

  William and Mary, 248.

  William III., 232, 233, 248, 253.

  William IV., 37, 207, 208.

  Williams, 27, 29, 63, 164, 204.

  Williamson, 630.

  Willis, 88, 181.

  Wilts, 656.

  Wiltshire, 677.

  Winchelsea, 606.

  Winchester, 220, 400, 651.

  Windsor, 133, 135, 136.

  Winkle, 281.

  Winslow, 555, 564, 565, 595.

  Winterbottom, 435.

  Winthrop, 535, 538.

  Wisigoths, 407.

  Wisket, 628.

  Wode, 632.

  Wolton, 678.

  Wood, 133, 181, 232, 248, 249, 424, 425, 426, 613, 642.

  Woodbridge, 550 to 564, passim.

  Woodcock, 386.

  Woods, 127.

  Worcester, 124, 651, 652.

  Woronzow, 622.

  Wraxall, 622, 623.

  Wyatt, 631.


  Y.

  Yale, 580.

  York, 675.

  York, Duke of, 252, 256.

  Yorktown, 415.

  Younge, 676.


  Z.

  Zaire, 129.

  Zeleucus, 342.

  Zeno, 49.

  Zeres, 56.

  Zimmerman, 347.

  Zion, 423.

  Zisca, 26.

  Zoar, 121.

  Zophar, 217.



FOOTNOTES:

[1] Hist, of Charles V., vol. v. page 139, Oxford ed. 1825.

[2] Lond. Quart. Rev., vol. lxxvi. page 161.

[3] Nearly opposite the residence of Dr. Lemuel Hayward, deceased, where
Hayward Place now is.

[4] Woodbridge, I suppose, belonged to some military company, whose arms
and accoutrements were probably kept at the White Horse tavern, under the
charge of Robert Handy.

[5] _Hog Alley._ See Bonner's plan, of 1722.

[6] Afterwards Richard II.

[7] His natural son.

[8] John of Gaunt.

[9] An English mark was two-thirds of a pound sterling, or 13s. 4d.

[10] A church book.

[11] Breviary.

[12] A button of gold.

[13] A button.

[14] Round funeral tapers.

[15] Margaret Plantagenet, grand-daughter of King Edward I.

[16] The badge of the house of Lancaster.

[17] Richard II.

[18] A culverin.

[19] Dugdale says these were jewels, hanging over the forehead, on
bodkins, thrust through the hair.

[20] Pale or peach-colored rubies.

[21] This effigy is referred to by Walpole, in his Anecdotes of Painting,
vol. i. p. 37.



Transcriber's Notes:

Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.

The original text includes Greek characters. For this text version these
letters have been replaced with transliterations.

No. CXIX. ends with the phrase "The symptoms" as is printed in the
original text.





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