Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 540, March 31, 1832», sayfa 6
"As I passed up one of the streets which led to the merchant's lodgings, my head bending under the weight of the coffin I was carrying, at every step I took, the air seemed to grow more thick around me, and at length, overcome by weariness, both of body and mind, I stopped, loosed the straps which steadied my melancholy burden, and placing it in an upright position against the wall, wiped the dew from my forehead, and (shall I confess it?) the tears from my eyes. I was endeavouring to combat the depression of my feelings by the reflection that I was the support and comfort of my poor old mother's life, when my attention was roused by the evident compassion of a young lady, who, after passing me with a hesitating step, withdrew her arm from that of her more elderly companion, and pausing for an instant, put a shilling into my hand, saying, 'You look very weary, my poor man; pray get something to drink with that.' A more lovely countenance (if by lovely be meant that which engages love) was never moulded by nature; the sweetness and compassion of her pale face and soft innocent eyes; the kindness of her gentle voice, made an impression on my memory too strong to be effaced. I saw her once again! I reached the merchant's lodgings and my knock was answered as on the former occasion, by the widow herself. She sighed heavily as she saw me, and after one or two attempts to speak, informed me that her son was awake, but that it was impossible for her to administer the opiate, as he refused to let the smallest nourishment pass his lips; but that he was quite quiet, indeed had never spoken since he woke, except to ask her how she felt; and she thought I might proceed without fear of his interruption. I entered accordingly, followed by a lad, son to the landlady who kept the lodgings, and with his assistance I proceeded to lift the corpse, and lay it in the coffin. The widow's son remained motionless, and, as it were, stupified during this operation: but the moment he saw me prepare the lid of the coffin so as to be screwed down, he started up with the energy and gestures of a madman. His glazed eyes seemed bursting from their sockets, and his upper lip, leaving his teeth bare, gave his mouth the appearance of a horrible and convulsive smile. He seized my arm with his whole strength; and, as I felt his grasp, and saw him struggling for words, I expected to hear curses and execrations, or the wild howl of an infuriated madman. I was mistaken. The wail of a sickly child, who dreads its mother's departure, was the only sound to which I could compare that wretched man's voice. He held me with a force almost supernatural; but his tongue uttered supplications in a feeble monotonous tone, and with the most humble and beseeching manner. 'Leave him,' exclaimed he, 'leave him a little while longer. He will forgive me; I know he will. He spoke that horrible word to rouse my conscience. But I heard him and came back to him. I would have toiled and bled for him; he knows that well. Hush! hush! I cannot hear his voice for my mother's sobs; but I know he will forgive me. Oh! father, do not refuse! I am humble—I am penitent. Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before thee—father, I have sinned! Oh! mother, he is cursing me again. He is lifting his hand to curse me—his right hand. Look, mother, look! Save me, O God! my father curses me on his dying bed! Save me, oh!–' The unfinished word resolved itself into a low hollow groan, and he fell back insensible. I would have assisted him, but his mother waved me back. 'Better so, better so,' she repeated hurriedly; 'it is the mercy of God which has caused this—do you do your duty, and I will do mine,' and she continued to kneel and support the head of her son, while we fastened and secured down the coffin. At length all was finished, and then and not till then we carried the wretched youth from the chamber of death, to one as dark, as gloomy, and as scantily furnished, but having a wood fire burning in the grate, and a bed with ragged curtains at one end of it. And here, in comparative comfort, the landlady allowed him to be placed, even though she saw little chance of her lodgers being able to pay for the change. Into the glass of water held to his parched lips, as he recovered his senses, I poured a sufficient quantity of the opiate to produce slumber, and had the satisfaction of hearing his mother fervently thank God, as still half unconscious, he swallowed the draught. I thought he would not have survived the shock he had received; but I was mistaken. The merchant was buried and forgotten; the son lived, and we met again in a far, far different scene."
THE GATHERER
NOBLES OF JOHANNA
We had long been aware that the potentates of the Guinea coast not only assume English titles, but wear under, or in place of, diadems, the cast-off wigs of our Lord Chancellors—but we were not prepared for what follows in the latitude of the Mozambique Channel, as related by Captain Basil Hall.
"We proceeded to our guide's house, where he introduced us, not indeed to his wives, for all these ladies were stowed away behind a screen of mats, but to some of the males of his family, and, amongst others, to a queer copper-coloured gentleman, who styled himself, in his communications with us, 'the Duke of Devonshire,' and begged very hard to be allowed the honour of having our linen to wash. His Grace was a little dumpy fellow, who stooped considerably, wore neither shoes nor stockings, and exhibited so little of a nose, that when you caught his countenance in profile, the facial line, as the physiognomists call it, suffered no interruption when drawn from the brow to the lips. The poor Duke little knew the cause of the laughter which his occupation, title, and the contrast of looks, excited in those of our party who had seen his grace's noble namesake in the opposite hemisphere."
"Most of the natives of Johanna, even the negro slaves, talk a little English; but the best examples of such acquirements were found, where they ought to be, amongst the grandees of the island. The following is a fair specimen of the conversation of the dukes and earls at the capital of the Comoros.—'How do you do, sir? Very glad see you. D—n your eyes! Johanna man like English very much. God d—n! That very good? Eh? Devilish hot, sir! What news? Hope your ship stay too long while, very. D—n my eye! Very fine day.' After which, in a sort of whisper, accompanied by a most insinuating smile, his lordship, or his grace, as the rank of the party might be, would add:—'You want orange? You want goat? Cheap! I got good, very. You send me you clothes; I wash with my own hand—clean! fine! very! I got every thing, plenty, great, much! God d—n!' And then, as if to clench the favourable opinion which these eloquent appeals had made, the speaker was sure to produce a handful of certificates from mates of Indiamen, masters of Yankee brigs, and middies of men-of-war; some written in solemn earnest, some quizzically, but all declaring his lordship, the bearer, to be a pretty good washerman, but the sort of person not to be trusted far out of sight, as he would certainly walk off with your clothes-bag if he could safely do so."—Autobiography, Second Series.
Bed of Leaves.—In some countries the leaves of the beech tree are collected in autumn, before they have been injured by the frost, and are used instead of feathers for beds; and mattresses formed of them are said to be preferable to those either of straw or chaff.
Pure Style.—Cardinal Bembo was so rigorous with regard to purity of style, that he is said to have had forty different partitions, through which his writings, as he polished them by degrees, successively passed; nor did he publish them till they had sustained these forty examinations. How would the cardinal have acted with the editorship of a daily newspaper.
To lie at the Pool of Bethesda is used proverbially in Germany, in speaking of the theological candidates who are waiting for a benefice.
Court Pun.—The witty Marquess de Bièvre was asked by Louis XV. for a pun. "Give me a subject, sire,'" said B. "Make it on myself," said Louis. "Sire, the king is not a subject," was the pleasant reply.
History.—The first page of Thucydides is, in my opinion, the commencement of real history. All preceding narrations are so intermixed with fable, that philosophers ought to abandon them in a great measure, to the embellishment of the poet and orator.—Hume.
Old Squibs.—Richard Bentley and Charles Boyle (Earl of Orrery,) had a warm dispute relative to the genuineness of the Greek Epistles of Phalaris, an edition of which was published by the latter. Bentley was victorious, though he was kept in hot water with the critics and wits of the age. Dr. Garth assailed him thus:
So diamonds owe a lustre to their foil,
And to a Bentley 'tis we owe a Boyle.
Conyers Middleton was a sad thorn in Bentley's side, from the latter having called the former, when a young student in the university, fiddling Conyers, because he played on the violin. A punning caricature represented B. about to be thrust into the brazen bull of Phalaris, and exclaiming, "I had rather be roasted than Boyled."
Hip, Hip, Hurra!—During the stirring times of the Crusades, the chivalry of Europe was excited to arms by the inflammatory appeals of the well-known Peter the Hermit. While preaching the Crusade, this furious zealot was accustomed to exhibit a banner emblazoned with the following letters, H.E.P., the initials of the Latin words, "Hierosolyma Est Perdita," Jerusalem is destroyed. The people in some of the countries which he visited, not being acquainted with the Latin, read and pronounced the inscription as if one word—HEP. The followers of the Hermit were accustomed, whenever an unfortunate Jew appeared in the streets, to raise the cry, "Hep, hep, hurra," to hunt him down, and flash upon the defenceless Israelite their maiden swords, before they essayed their temper with the scimetar of the Saracen.—Tatler.
Wool-gathering.—A very patriotic landlord, Squire Henry, of Straffan, county of Kildare, had hit on an expedient to benefit the wool-growers in general, and his numerous tenantry in particular. Knowing that market value is in the direct ratio of demand and scarcity, he annually buried the wool shorn from his own sheep, lest it might interfere with the profitable sale of his tenants' fleeces. But, alas! this generous system of self-sacrifice did not "work well." The result was—though Squire Henry never suspected the existence of such turpitude in the human heart—the ungrateful tenantry dug up by night what he buried by day, wool never rose in price, and they never were able to pay up their arrears of rent.—Fraser's Magazine.
One day, a physician alighted from his carriage, and entering the shop of a medical bookseller, inquired of its sleek-faced master, "whether he had a copy of Heberden's Commentaries?" "No, sir," replied the man of letters, "but we have Caesar's Commentaries, and they are by far the best."—Metropolitan.
Mortality in the reign of William IV.—Since the accession of King William not less, we are told, than twenty-four generals and twenty-six admirals, have found their way into Westminster Abbey, or elsewhere. Considering that his majesty continues to receive the most friendly assurances from all foreign powers, this attack upon the army and navy list is rather prodigious. Napoleon himself could scarcely have made greater gaps in the United Service Club in the time. To be sure they were not all Nelsons and Marlboroughs, or we should have marked them as they dropped off; whereas one can hardly name, five of the fifty great warriors. —Ibid.
Origin of Black Monday.—Black Monday—Easter Monday, in the year 1359, when hail stones killed both men and horses in the army of our King Edward the Third, in France. He was on his march, within two leagues of Chartres, when there happened a storm of piercing wind, that swelled to a tempest of rain, lightning, and hail stones, so prodigious, as instantly to kill 6,000 of his horses, and 1,000 of his best troops. P.T.W.
