2 10 34 https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/a7ff5a6ea1dc8bc5812d5974fbe8729a.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=W6KMpu6PqGFaBXXvhC63icPrkbIot7DjmPM1uj3LZUhP06UF8sEo8iArnoxcuyJNSLcBWusFH7CIeCtAIqZrr%7EZ1E7SSmf4biD1PA%7EfiQ-J56hpLpBDotlYCyFq8kCYY3-XO89pouXUa1dKqQPTwHA9S8Bw97RDSxVs-4-hULvxZrZHPtKcyMLG6pKt67WrF1j%7EigjcZ5z-TMOI%7E4ug7GZ0gNWUB80LPoAOFQfsV9tzlaOMq6O6pLqELdmOdwHFSyC1JKztZMO66S3r2H7GC5fGJINwdzB87ndPeczhC3Ly0PTDSwNMabCg8qRwe3O0MFMnnngEL4TL%7E22cEVJi1mg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 57c403928fc9a44bb888b5f31c54e4ec PDF Text Text 1868.] Epic Philosophy. 501 necessity. On the same basis, we must allow at least a miocene emigration to the platyrhine monkey which first came to America with his thirty-six teeth and his prehensile tail, while we must be prepared to find the origin of the monkey tribe it­ self disappear in the enormous gap which divides the eocene from the cretaceous age. In all this there would be nothing inconsistent with our present vague geological knowledge ; for, although no pliocene man has yet been identified, few geolo­ gists would care to deny the possibility of his existence, while an eocene monkey not unlike an American type is known to have lived in Switzerland. All that we have assumed is the truth of Lamarck’s hypothesis, a purely scientific matter, about which we shall certainly not venture to express an opinion. Henry Brooks Adams. ---------- . CT Art. V. — Epic Philosophy. Homer begins the Iliad with “ Sing, Goddess,” as if not himself, but a divine being, were the true poet. Shall we suppose that his invocation is merely formal ? that it is con­ sciously addressed to Nothing ? To do so were to appreciate ill the simplicity and sincerity of Homer. Were it not also to misinterpret the law of all language ? Words are never empty formalities at the outset; it was only a veritable meaning that made them. Men do not go about consciously giving names to nonentities. As well suppose a living body to have come into being without the action of any organizing force as persuade one’s self that language is originated without belief. Words, like men, may grow old and die ; but only by sincere, vital action are they born. It is true that defunct vocables sometimes have their Hades here above ground, wandering about as shadowy semblances of their former selves, neither well dead nor yet alive. But Homer belongs to the young world; and his words are not merely living, they are in excellent health, with red blood in them, and a bloom on the cheek. When, therefore, �502 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. he says, “ Sing, 0 Goddess,” one may be sure that the invoca­ tion is no piece of perfunctory compliment, but that his heart keeps pace with his tongue. Upon whom does he call ? The question may be asked with interest, for there is in this part of the old Greek mythology a profound significance, a fine soul of meaning, which remains true for us, and will be true forever, however its forms may prove transitory or grow strange. The “ Goddess ” is the Muse, — the Muses considered as one divinity. The Muses, again, were said to be daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, or Memory. It will be no waste of study to inquire into the sig­ nificance of this parentage, and with Homer’s devout appeal in mind. Zeus, in the old Hellenic conception, is the eternal One, the unitive, sovereign genius of being. The physical meaning of the word, we are told, is sky, the pure heaven, changeless, allembracing ; but by a deeper and truer meaning it denotes the inner divine sky of the soul, rounding in, with its translucent, indivisible unity, the divided opacity and discord of time. * “ From One all things proceed, and into the same are re­ solved,” says Musaeus, as quoted by Diogenes Laertius. Zeus is this One, but rather in the moral sense, that of rule, than in the more metaphysical sense, which Musaeus seems to have in * All strictly primitive words seem to have at first a like twofold significance, physical-spiritual. It is the trick of lexicographers to represent the physical mean­ ing as primary, the higher sense as only secondary and superinduced. Let us test this procedure in a single instance. The original sense of rectus is said to be straight; the secondary sense, right. We turn, however, to the root, reg, and find that the nearest word to this, formed immediately from it, is rex (regs), a king, or straightener in the strictly moral sense. Could evidence be clearer that the moral meaning was in the word from the first, at the root of it, and that, in making it a mere afterthought, the lexicographer has followed, not the indications of language, but his own whim of opinion ? I cannot but anticipate a sure determination of the fact, one day, that man is a speaker only as he is a spiritual being; pure spiritual sensibility joined with a lower kind of impressibility to produce root-words. At first the words are held as common property by the two producing factors, nor is their twofold character for a long time, it may be, explicitly recognized. Zeus meant originally, I suppose, both a physical object, and a spiritual reality signified by that object; but to the first namers this meaning was strictly single, not double. When reflective discrimination began, and the word, instead of being divided in itself, and made to bear two widely distinct meanings, like our word heaven, went wholly over to the higher, the indication is that this import was the more powerful in it from the start. �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 503 mind. It is the testimony of language that man uttered his impression of this comprehending One when he first said sky ; and since such an object must have been among the earliest named, we can trace that supreme recognition to the very dawn of his conscious being. All-comprehending, all-recon­ ciling spiritual unity, —it is an import which the soul en­ shrines from the first and forever. And this is the Homeric Zeus, progenitor of the Muse. On the other hand, Mnemosyne, Memory, symbolizes the sum total of such things as memory is concerned with, — incident, accident, event, whatever happens. In wide contrast, there­ fore, to the peace of eternity, she images the storied variety and conflict of time, the world of things eventful, — of multi­ plicity, diversity, contrariety, contention, the surface-world of Nature and man, with heterogeneity and mutation for its insep­ arable characteristics. Thus in Zeus and Mnemosyne we have, on the one side, the universe in the everlasting peace and rest of pure unity, — on the other side, the universe in the character of dividedness, changefulness, with a myriad of diverse features and conflict­ ing energies, here playing through a colored pliantasmagory of magic mutation, there yawning in chasms of hate, set against itself, crashing in upon itself, blind with contending passion, black with tragic fate. From these opposites the Muse is born,, — from these as at once opposite, and yet joined, made one in spousal love. The Muse, then, is that symphony of existence which arises from the conjunction of these two terms, Spiritual Being in its essential pure oneness, and the world of finite character and action, of diversity and evanescence, the world of time. This conjunction is Music, — “ music of the spheres,” in the Pythag­ orean phrase: an imagination peculiar to Pythagoras only in form of statement. It is upon this melodious Voice of the All that Homer calls devoutly, and of which he would be but the reporter or secretary. Here we lay hold upon the prime fact by which he stands as the type of poetic genius. To him it is existence itself that is tuneful. Through the diversity of characters, the conflict of passions, and the whirl of events, the divine secret of the world �504 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. sings to his soul. * The impassioned, it may be infuriate, toss­ ing, warring, woe of time gives, as he deems, but the notes, out of which the Spirit of the All makes up its eternal harmony. That antique imagination may be embraced with serious modern conviction. Zeus and Mnemosyne symbolize still the two opposites, of which poesy is the wedding festival. Who­ ever truly sings, be it “ the sweet psalmist of Israel” or Greek 2Eschylus, the author of the Book of Job or that of the Excur­ sion, sings their espousal. The universe is unity ; being rests in spiritual peace and poise forever. The sky is never clouded ; only the earth is clouded. Nevertheless, there is the constant antithesis to this wholeness and repose, — antithesis expressed in ten thousand shapes, and pushed with such inexorable energy and excess that we wonder how the bands of eternity do not burst, and suffer the world to welter in immitigable craze. Oppositions and emulations arise, multiply, rage, gain appetite by what they feed on; countless tribes of creatures live only by slaughter, created to kill; existence sprouts all over in horns, fangs, tusks, claws, while from its horrid alembic venoms, hates, envies distil, and drip, drip upon its own blister­ ing heart; hungry pestilences devour nations, — then, like the boa, retire and sleep into new hunger, that they may return to new feast; “ the earthquake smacks its mumbling lips o’er some thick-peopled city,” or the volcano binds about it, while yet living, a shroud of fire; strife is around man, and strife is with­ in him; the lightning thrusts its blazing scymitar through his roof, the thief creeps in at his door, and remorse at his heart. Who, looking on these things, does not acknowledge that man is indeed fearfully as well as wonderfully made ? Who would not sometimes cry, 0 that my eyes were a foun­ tain of tears, that I might weep, not the desolations of Israel alone, but the hate of Israel to Edom and of Edom to Israel, the jar, the horror, the ensanguined passion and ferocity of Na­ * Virgil, on the contrary, regards himself only as the singer. It is true, that, after announcing himself as such, he makes a formal invocation to the Muse, but misses even formal propriety in doing so. For he does not pray the Divinity to pour for his ear the melody of existence, nor even to exalt his soul and make it melo­ dious, but only to apologize, if possible, for the strange conduct of the Olympians : Mihi causas memora: Let the Muse, since she visits in that family, tell what set on Juno to pursue with revenges that remarkably nice man, my hero. �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 505 ture ? But when we would despair, behold we cannot. Out of the conscious heart of humanity issues forever, more or less clearly, a voice of infinite, pure content: “ Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me.” Sometimes, when our trial is sorest, that voice is clearest, singing as from the jaws of death and the gates of hell. And now, though the tears fall, they become jewels as they fall; and the sorrow that begot them wears them in the diadem of its more than regal felicity. We, too, rest in the rest of Being; the changeless axis is here, it is in our souls ; an’d around it all the movement of existence becomes orbital. Eternal rest, endless unrest, — rest and unrest, it would seem, of the same universal whole. There is comprehending unity, that nothing invades, nothing eludes ; there is yawn­ ing chasm that seems to go through the world, cleaving its very heart. Every globule of existence spins between these irreconcilable opposites. And yet they are not irreconcil­ able, for they are reconciled, though it be ineffably. Now it is this tossing rest, this multiple unity, this contradic­ tory and contending identity, that makes the universe epical; and to represent this within practicable limits, embodying in human speech the enticement, the awful, infinite charm of that mystery forever resolved and forever remaining, is the grand task of the epic artist. The poet is the restorer of wholeness. He can strike the universal chord, that of identity, or spiritual unity. But he does this, observe, not by confounding distinction, blurring charac­ teristic, hiding difference, explaining away contradiction, but, on the contrary, by displaying them. No one adheres with a fidelity religious like his to special character, finite fact. Individual feature and complexion, the peculiar expression of all objects, the circumstance and finest edge of all events, are, as it were, sacred to him, and come forth from beneath his pen with an exquisite, loving exactness of rendering. He will give you form, color, manner, gait, garb, tone of voice, measure of stature, tune of thought; minute he will be as Nature her­ self, nothing small to him which is characteristic; his very hu­ man condition he will, as it were, forsake, to spring with vol. evil. — no. 221. 33 �506 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. grass-blades and hum with bees, to ripple with the ripening wheat and pass in the shadow of flying clouds, to dance with sunshine on the sea, or join its sprite-like hide-and-seek among quivering leaves ; sorrow, too, and dismay he will depict as with a kind of love, — tempests that rage across the green fields of humanity, clothed in night and whirling along boughs rent from the tree of life, — frosts that descend untimely upon vernal years, to leave their blossoms shrivelled and all the glory of their garniture gone forever ; and by this chase of di­ versities and celebration of contradictions he will bring out the refrain of the living whole, the repose, the unity, the infinite content of being. Contrast this procedure with that of the mere generalizer. The latter spares himself all this delicate and subtile exacti­ tude, very likely thinks it trivial. Betaking himself to gen­ eralities, he evaporates one generality into another more diffuse and vague, and, by an incessant elimination of feature, arrives finally at a statement the most general possible. At best he has attained only congruity, not consanguinity. His thought holds together, suppose, in itself; it does not bring souls, na­ tures, together; it does not awaken the sense of a universal kindred, wherein the one immortal heart is felt to beat. Even the naturalist, patient, tireless observer, faithful by his good-will to Nature in her speciality and her unity alike, can draw creatures into association only by mere points of outward resemblance,’ as two kinds here by a likeness in the hoof, two kinds there by a similarity in the hide, again two kinds by ap­ proximation in the shape of a scale. There is a catalogue of superficial resemblances, not community. The poet does not thus go on merely to enumerate points of external peculiarity and resemblance; he, on the one side, delineates the individ­ ual thing in the very feature, color, and aroma of its special being, yet, on the other hand, keeps up the interior conversa­ tion of each with all. Not by dead similarities, but by the liv­ ing, flowing fellowship of heart-language, do the unlikes of voiceful Nature blend and symphonize in his thought. Mr. Ruskin censures a dictum of Sir Joshua Reynolds, to the effect that poetry deals only with what is general and perma­ nent, to the exclusion of transient particulars. The eloquent �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 507 critic brings forward good instances, with which Wordsworth offered him an abundant supply, to show, on the contrary, that the poet has an inevitable eye for minute traits and evanescent expression. The truth is parted between them. The poet sees the varying surfaces of Nature, and feels in them her constant heart. By a delicately true portrayal of what is most limited and transient, he appeals to a sentiment universal and peren­ nial. Playing with the play of Nature, flitting with winged fancy through all the variety of her manifold forms and changing hues, he yet feels in all, and by the magic of melodi­ ous suggestion can make others to feel, that inner identity, that unceasing, ineffable return into oneness, which in the hidden sanctuary of existence is a joy of espousal forever. It is the ringing of these marriage-bells of Nature that is the music be­ hind the words of his verse. To be cordially sensible of an illimitable kindred, which, moreover, is not only boundless in scope, but divine in kind, purer far and richer in every beautiful claim and blessed re­ sponse than any blood relationship, — is it not a surpassing delight ? But the felicity comes to the last, finest edge, when one may enter into this immortal fellowship without loss of in­ dividual character, and, speaking there only his own vernacular, may join by means of it, and with no foreign nor provincial ac­ cent, in that language of the heart of humanity wherein was never yet a confusion of tongues. Man is a stranger in the world, looking on with remote, un­ related eye, till the Muse make him at home there. This, touching upon all that seems most shut up to itself, most set apart from the spirit and sympathy of man, awakens a surpris­ ing refrain of fellowship in his breast. Now he lives a life not bounded by the limits of his individual constitution. It is as if an invisible system of nerves ramified from his breast, with a pole in every passing shadow, in every star, in whatsoever has form of being or seeming to the sense. Once that this is rightly addressed, his own being is reflected in all, claimed by all; his voice has an illimitable echo ; his heart blends its beating with the vast rhythm of Nature; everywhere are relation and re­ sponse ; from sun and moon look down glorified human faces ; wood and river teem with half-humanities, that sway in the �508 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. trees and slip in the tide ; from the lifted mountain-tops, and from the waste grandeur of the reticent, never-covenanting sea, comes a language at once theirs and his own ; the bladed grass claims kindred from beneath his feet, and the shadow cast by a stone on the moor moves him with some deep home-feeling, as if it were inscrutably inwrought with shadowy memories of the cradle and the mother’s lullaby. The poet can touch these nerves, and give sympathy the happiness of that unmeasured scope. But he can thus touch them, observe, only at their poles on the surfaces of Nature. Of this a sufficient suggestion is given by the economy of the human body. The brain itself is insensitive; its feeling, at least its pleasurable feeling, is found at the fingers’ ends, at the surfaces and extremes of the body. So it is that this univer­ sal heart in man is to be happily awakened only at the fingers’ ends, the farthest reach, of its manifold relationship. Hence it is that the purest poetry is most objective. This touches the heart healthily, where the nerves of imaginative sympathy come to the surface. Introspection, on the contrary, invades the system, and strikes the nerves midway, hence is unhealth­ ful and painful. It is only in the sense of uni’ty with the whole that the heart finds peace. Chasm is brutal. Yet he who seeks unity otherwise than in the diversity of Nature and movement of life, he who seeks it by prying and intrusion, finds, not a charmed repose, but only sickness. Nature sings to him who respects her secret, and who only by a reverent remoteness comes near; and he who sings to others will scrupulously keep up the polarity of life, displaying identity only through the medium of peculiarity. Take as an illustration Burns’s “ To a Mouse.” The “ wee beastie ” is represented to the life, its habit and condition given without varnish. “ That wee bit heap o leaves an’ stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! ” Leaves and stubble, got by nibbling: this is a veritable mouse, no transparent sham, like Dryden’s “ Hind and Panther,” which are seen at a glance to be no more than a pair of cut and dried, theologues masquerading on four legs, whereof �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 509 two are evidently broomsticks. But while a mouse, it is yet man ; and the poet only brings his delineation to ripeness, when he says,— “ Me, thy poor earthborn companion And fellow mortal.” The outward circumstance retains its distinction, the hearts touch and beat together, and we have a truly poetical situation. Emerson’s “Humble-Bee” furnishes an illustration that will bear even closer inspection; for the external peculiarity is shown yet more pointedly, while the interior sympathy is not less, though 'suggested with a delicate reticence that adds to the charm. The painting is so minutely and exquisitely exact that I have sometimes said, should Nature one day lose the breed of bees, and forget what they were, she might recover the type from this model. Yet who reads without feeling that the humble-bee is one of us ? “ Yellow-breeched philosopher,” — it does not come jarring in, but belongs there ; and because this open stroke of sympathy — in which, however, the humor still hints at distinction — is consistent with a piece of painting so objective, we have here a poem in the right sense of the word. A like effect is reached, when a peculiar human character is so pictured that we at once perceive its remoteness from our­ selves and feel it all in ourselves. The more entire, isolated, unapproachable, the more poetic its impression, if only it be so depicted that to every stroke of the delineation our hearts vibrate response. The more peculiar it shows itself, the more does it awaken in us the sense of our community. This is poetry. It may be said, then, that poetry is the expression of com­ prehending spiritual unity by means of that which opposes and apparently denies it. This definition, however, is here only provisional. I hope soon to substitute for it another, which, while embracing this, shall be more adequate. At present let us obtain with precision what is in this. First, let it be observed that the character of things which is opposed to their unity with the soul must not be in its own place denied. Even to disguise it there is to make its sub­ sequent identification with the heart ridiculous. Dress the �510 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. mouse in jacket and trousers, as we sometimes see monkeys in the street, then say, “Fellow mortal,” and the by-standers burst out laughing. Set the bee to discoursing on fate and free-will, and “ yellow-breeched philosopher ” loses its tone of fine sym­ pathetic humor, to become a sorry jest. Observe, secondly, that the separation of objects from the heart of the poet and of man is maintained by one order of ap­ prehension, while the identity exists only to another. The one is bluntly, stubbornly, indomitably maintained by the prosaic understanding; the other is melodiously affirmed by the imag­ ining heart, eternal priest at the marriage altars of Nature. Moreover, it is the interest of imagination that the prosaic fac­ ulty should hold its ground, yielding never an inch. There can be no espousal, if there is no duality, — no making one, un­ less there are two. The sense of spiritual community plays over somewhat which contradicts it; and it is this playing over which constitutes the poetic act. The imagination abhors confusion, though it craves community. It leaves finite objects, merely as such, to stand by and for themselves, refusing all cordial kindred with the spirit of man ; and then, in neverthe­ less making fellowship between them and the human soul, it shows these objects to be capable of such fellowship only in quite another character than that which is proper to them as things merely. I will illustrate these points by a stanza of description taken from Wordsworth : — “ The sylvan slopes with corn-clad fields Are hung, as if with golden shields, Bright trophies of the sun ! Like a fair sister of the sky, Unruffled doth the blue lake lie, The mountains looking on.” Well, this is fine ! — the understanding would say. Are we to believe that the fields have put on the corn as a suit of clothes ? or that the said patches of corn, while having that sartorial character, are also captured shields, which the sun has hung up to commemorate his victories ? or that the sky and lake are a kind of Jane and Nancy in the same family? or that the mountains really do look on ? No ; so far as the under­ standing is concerned, these statements are made only to be �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 511 disbelieved. To it they are sheer untruth, and are meant for un­ truth. The understanding is pre-engaged to dispute, to deny, to repugn them altogether. Just that is a part of the programme; and to leave it out would spoil the performance. Did not the statement infold its own contradiction on a lower scale, and thereby obtain the opposition of the prosaic understanding, like the opposition of the viol-string to the bow, it were not poetic truth. To say that Peter is clad, that Jane and Nancy are sis­ ters, or look as if they were sisters, and that Hezekiah looks on, might be to affirm what is entirely credible ; but such truth is not poetic truth, for the reason that it does not address itself to spiritual credence. In order that imagination and spiritual ap­ prehension may be reached,there must be that “play over” we have spoken of, — therefore somewhat over which, and in con­ trariety to which, the play goes on. Thus the great privilege of the spirit to find the whole world kin is freed from confusion with any such community as the prosaic mind can recognize. I have thus far spoken only of poetry ; let it now be said that I have constantly had in view the being of man, regarding this as the poem of poems, — fast locked to any metaphysic which does not approach with a key corresponding to its poetic quality. In the being of man, in the universe of God, there is that “ play over.” It is, indeed, the grand secret; he that finds it out reads the Sphinx’s riddle, and may save his soul alive. Finding it out perfectly, he will know what Spirit is ; and until one knows that, does he in the highest sense know anything ? In order to clear up this matter, and prepare the way for further exposition, I wish now to establish a primary scale of degrees, that we may see definitely what is over, what under, and the validity of each in its own kind. And to invite a vigorous attention, I may say that we have now come to the hinge upon which all turns. Nature as thing is Force and Form, no more. Scrutinized to any extent, it will exhibit only these characters, fixed force and form. To the world of things corresponds in man the perceptive understanding. This finds in things a thing, — character, if one may speak so, — finds, that is, their special determinations, and the consequent isolation of each thing in itself. It is, we �512 Epic Philosophy. ' [Oct. might say, a brace between things, to keep them.forever apart, without interior communication. It sees every object—ox, grass, hill, river, stone, man — as only itself, utterly locked up in its special identity. Becoming scientific, however, the understanding not only discriminates, and specially identifies, but finds connections, and looks toward unity. But the unity is on the same level with the diversity, and is therefore only partial. There is unity of form between man and a fish, as both are vertebrate animals; there is diversity of form, as the one is a mammal and the other not such. The community of the two, and the special, isolate identity of each, are alike of form, and are therefore mutually limiting. Unity, accordingly, is never attained. The scientific intellect is more full than the ordinary perceptive understanding; but it works within the same limits, has the same kind of recognitions. It recognizes form, force, the constancy of force, and, lastly, as its highest perception, the form offorce. What we call “ natural law ” is, of course, simply force formulated, that is, constant in measure and definite in character. Gravitation, electricity, chemical affinity, do not differ as force, but only as forms of force. Force and form, then, constitute the whole character of Nature in one aspect; and to it in this aspect the prosaic understanding cor­ responds. Accordingly, the understanding can never, in any adequate manner, say God. It attempts often enough, with stretched mouth, to achieve that grand enunciation, and often supposes the feat accomplished. But its God can be only some partic­ ular object or force, supposably an immensely great thing, but after all only a thing, one thing among others. Of late some of its officers are making bold to say that no such Thing is discoverable. “ God ? ” some Lewes will say ; u what force or form of force is it ? Is gravitation God ? Is chemical affinity God ? If neither of these, what force, then, and where is it ? ” Suppose I answer, that God is in those forces, and in all others ? u In them ? ” he may reply ; “ how in them ? how in gravi­ tation ? As gravitation ? Then he is gravitation; and we have two words for the same thing. As somewhat other than gravitation ? But what ? Do we discern in gravitation any­ thing but itself ? ” �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 513 “ But there is somewhat which makes it,” I plead. “ Makes what ? ” he will say. “ Makes stones fall ? Grav­ itation does that. Is there a making behind this making ? Well, double, triple, centuple, if you will, the makings, all we come to is that stones are made to fall. There is a force which has this character; and wherever it is, the character of it is the same. Though the note of hand be indorsed by a hun­ dred individuals one after another, the value of it remains the same.” “ But,” I say, making a last effort, “ God is the unity of all forces.” He smiles provokingly. “ You mean, perhaps, that he is that correlation and mutual convertibility of forces of which we are beginning to learn. Truly, I give you joy of a God so substantial! ” I leave the savant in possession of the field, easily victorious. It should be frankly confessed, that, as by no peeping and pry­ ing and inferring among the fiddle-strings can we discover the genius of the composer, so by no inspection of the formulations of force do we obtain the smallest glimpse of infinite Spirit. Here we are, then, locked utterly into the limits of finite Nature. Can we, after all, make escape ? I do not inquire whether we find in our own breasts a hint of spiritual compre­ hension and freedom, — we undoubtedly do find such; but it is said that this subjective impression, being contradicted by everything else in the universe, must be suppressed as mere private prejudice or illusion. Some indeed bravely refuse, and pledge their faith to the testimony of “ consciousness ” ; the other party smile superior to “ consciousness ” none the less ; the contestants find no common ground. We will therefore face the difficulty, and inquire whether it is possible to dis­ cover a road leading from Nature to Spirit, and to Spirit as in itself all. I think it can be found, and without any tedious groping. Be it observed, then, that Nature has another character, very different frqm the one just noted, — the character, namely, of Sign or Expressiveness. To the primitive civilizers of hu­ manity it is scarcely known otherwise than in this nobler char­ acter. Everywhere the first grand sallies of the human mind �514 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. overleap the fixed constitution of things, and alight upon some­ what of a higher order, which the world of things suggests. Is it not to this overleaping that all human speech is due ? Man looks upon an object, and between it and the eye there springs up a felt poetic significance, which, before reflection has come to complicate mental action, is no sooner felt than it issues by a responsive sign, a word. Spontaneous naming is the act of identifying an object with its poetic significance, declaring that the thing is what it signifies. Only while the expression or suggestion of objects is taken in entire good faith as their reality is man a producer of root-words. In the case of words which convey distinctively a moral, metaphysical, or spiritual import, this repose upon the sign­ character of Nature is obvious. Spirit is breath; right is straight; wrong is crooked, — wrung, turned forcibly aside; light is truth or knowledge, — “ the light which enlighteneth every man that cometh into the world ” (the Parsees are said to worship fire or light, that is, they worship what it signifies, as Christians also do) ; heaven, too, is God, — “ kingdom of God ” and “ kingdom of heaven ” we say indifferently; warmth is love; coldness is indifference; and so on: it were easy to multiply familiar examples, — and I seek no others, — to the weariness of the reader. But I believe, still further, that man’s ability to name physi­ cal objects in the directest manner depends no less, though less obviously, upon their sign-character. Were they to man, as to the dog and ox, mere force and form, he would respond to them, in the animal fashion, by the forces of his organism only, by appetite, aversion, anger, fear, and the like. The aspect of green grass excites only the stomach of a cow : here is the mere relation of finite to finite ; and accordingly the creature opens its mouth, not to speak, but to bite, — not to utter the object, but to swallow it. Man, on the contrary, sees natural objects as picture, suggestion, significance, and speaks them because to him they are speaking. How could he repre­ sent them by signs, did they not present themselves as signifi­ cant, and as veritably present in their significance ? “ Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth forth knowledge.” Verily, statements so noble as this, �1868.] Epic' Philosophy. 515 coming to us from a far-off antiquity, might tempt one to think that the primitive poetic mind of humanity took off the cream of truth, and left its skimmed milk to science. But can we not perceive that day and night are indeed and forever voice­ ful ? Speech runs and ripples over all the surfaces of Nature: here in grand affirmative tides, Amazons and Missouris of sig­ nificance ; there in vast, perpetual eddies of reverse meaning; again in whirling and dancing equivocations, evanescent half­ expressions, with which only the flitting instability of fancy can keep pace. Speech breaks out as from an inner heart in things, and wraps itself as a many-colored mantle about them, hiding what they are in what they suggest; insomuch that the understanding must search as with a candle to discover be­ neath that glorious disguise their fixed and specific character. Science, coming late and with labor, tries to lift the mantle, tries to divest Nature of her garment of meaning; but one fold falls down as another is raised ; only by endless pertinacity of industry and wide combination of effort is the thing at last de­ nuded, and seen as it is in itself. .Half the world is now busy in this labor. “ Off with it! ” men say; “off with that garment of suggestion wherewith Nature clothed herself to the untaught intelligence of hu­ manity!” As the work goes on, there are huzzas mingled with moanings, complainings, reproaches, — huzzas over notable pro­ gress achieved, complaint that so great a labor needs now to be done. The first men did us a mischief, it would seem, by permitting Nature to assume that array of significance. Had things been seen from the start as things really are, then what toil and difficulty had our age been spared 1 But those men, perverse, must go and be “ theological,” or “ metaphysi­ cal,” or the like : hinc illce lachrymce. The greater, however, the glory of our age, when, despite these needless hindrances, it peeps and pries, until at length the world of things appears without disguise. We complain, but still more do we exult. The great enterprise prospers ; off it comes, that pictured array ; the Thing lies bare ! Not quite, however. Seen only as it is in itself, the world of things is not yet, nor, in my judgment, is likely to be. Never yet was there a mind dry and prosaic enough to behold �516 Epic Philosophy. [Oct, any object in the mere light of the understanding, — to see in a horse, for example, only anatomy and physiology. To Dryas­ dust also, even to that portentous specimen of the genus, the Dryasdust of science, — Herbert Spencer, say, — the neck of the war-horse is indeed clothed with thunder, the Pleiades have sweet influences, the zephyr whispers, the storm roars, morning blushes, the' sun rises rejoicing, night is vocal with solemn suggestion, and the blue heaven more, much more, than some gases and an optical illusion. Let Mr. Spencer do his best to see in Nature, as he says, only “ force,” it will be to him also a language, will speak to his sensibility. Let Briareus use all his hundred hands, the mantle of meaning will fall down, and with its lettered folds wrap the heart of the Titan himself. Por by the Word the worlds were indeed made, as the Scrip­ tures say. “ And God said, Let there be light, and there was light.” Was ; for light itself is but a shining syllable, and darkness another, that shines only in the breast of the Speaker, not outwardly; and all the universe exists, word-like, only for and through its expressiveness. By the Word, by the perpetual act of Spirit giving expression to its inherent import, — which is its substance, itself, for Spirit is Absolute Import, self-affirmed, — the worlds were made, and do exist. Because Nature is spoken, it speaks ; because it speaks, the spirit of man, kindred with the eternal Word, may espouse in Nature its own import, and evoke the representative world of uttered thought and feeling. The imaginative intelligence recognizes in visible existence this character of Sign, and reads off from it a significance for the soul. Force and form, says the understanding; import, says the poetic intelligence. This is thus and so, reports the one; this means thus, announces the other. The former regards the finite world as substantial, and as asserting only itself; the latter regards the finite world as denying its own substantiality in behalf of that which it signifies. * * Swedenborg sought to establish a science of significances, a science of Nature on that higher degree. Hence the gulf which separates him from the ordinary man of science. The latter is engaged in supplying what, with reference to the import of Nature, we must call its grammar; he looks to the classification and syntactical �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 517 “ As denying its own substantiality,” I say. How is that ? I hope the reader will say, How is that ? and will say it with a purpose to be pointedly dissatisfied, unless the question be answered clearly and precisely. A sign, observe, is necessarily the sign of that which itself is not. It exists only to say, “ I am not it,” and in doing so to point effectually toward that which is. As the finger on the sign-board is not the road or city, as the spoken word man is not man, but only sound, so is it with all signs whatsoever: they point wholly away from themselves, being in themselves nothing to the purpose ; they are there only for the eye to pass over; and, considered with reference to their real purpose, their entire being is a mere flitting away and vanishing into that which they suggest. Plainly, that which is meant by a word is the real thing. Plainly, a word, by the fact of having a meaning, implicitly denies that itself is at all the real thing. The meaning made the word, holds it in possession, and is all the being of it. The significance is the substantial fact; the sign, by the very fact of being such, professes itself the con­ trary. If now we venture to apply to the universe this easy and plain discrimination, all the difficulty will be in the ven­ ture, none in the application. Two and two are still neither more nor less than four, be the figures written in hundredths of an inch, or from Labrador to Cape Horn. Making bold to write our figures large, we may say with some confidence that the natural universe, as Sign, only spoken into being, and having its being only in its meaning, denies its own substantive existence ; the meaning of it, not itself, is the real Fact; it is but a pointing, as of an index-finger, to that which indeed is. What does it say is ? When one reads a word, considering it as a word, what does he implicitly affirm ? Or what does the word itself, by the fact relation of its etymons or elements. Now Shakespeare and Nature alike, merely as parsed, are void of meaning : we arrive at an order of arrangement, and at nothing more. Swedenborg sought not merely to parse, but to read ; he assumed a meaning, and attempted a scientific exposition of it. I am not of those who think his success perfect, or other than very imperfect; sometimes it is only the dignity of the enter­ prise which forbids one to laugh. On the other hand, one must own that a gram­ mar of the cosmos, were it complete, would not be sufficient. To do Lindley Murray on that scale is to work at a large task indeed; but though one parse the universe, is it enough merely to parse ? �518 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. of being such, imply ? It implies, and he who reads it im­ plicitly affirms, Mind. Only from Mind could words issue ; only to it are they expressive, — that is, indeed words. When the natural universe appears as expressive, a manifold sign, a language, it affirms Absolute Mind, Spirit. Only from this could a universal significance issue, only by it be embraced. If Nature mean anything, Spirit is what it means. And so the human race has thought; its apprehension of this truth is embodied in the confessions and litanies of all ages. Now to read the world as a language, finding in it an import for the soul, is the essentially poetic act. We have thus ar­ rived at the final definition promised: Poetry is the free read­ ing up and down from Nature to Spirit and from Spirit to Nature, each seen in the other. The outward feature of Nature and life must be preserved, with the finest, most delicate ex­ actitude, that we may not read in a blurred type; and yet in all the soul must find its own immanent secret. The understanding, meanwhile, holds out sturdily against all this. Its business is to paint the index on the guide-board, that this may be there for that traveller, the spiritual imagina­ tion, to go by. Its utmost stretch is to observe that the travel­ ler does go by, — that, looking on the sky, for example, the untaught man has cried, “ Dyaus,” “ Zeus,” “ God,” making a sign of it, and flying infinitely beyond. But it can never verify this enunciation, nor indeed can believe in it; and, trying to give some account of that passage, it will strain a point and say, “ Rhetoric.” This, too, is liberal of it, extremely liberal; it has grown to be a highly polite and tolerant understanding, when it gives the name of rhetoric to that passing by; before arriving at these handsome manners, it had bluntly said, “ Nonsense.” Has it now been made clear what poetry is ? And has it also been rendered apparent, or at least credibly indicated, that the conscious being of man is itself, in the sense ex­ plained, a poem 1 If so, we may proceed to consider the epic in particular, anticipating that epical truth will be found not only in books, but in the fact of the universe. We already know that the epic will represent comprehend­ ing spiritual unity, and beneath this its apparent contradiction. �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 519 We know also that the latter will be made to suggest just that which it seemingly contradicts, and so to negate its own nega­ tion. This is the character of all poetry; but what distin­ guishes the epic ? Its primary distinction is, that here the scale of the draw­ ing is strictly and explicitly universal. Existence in its full breadth is the ground; the import of life in its full depth is the theme. Here are to be the ultimate poles: the pure Infinite, in contrast and correlation with finite Nature, — the sovereign, perfect consciousness of man, in like contrast and correlation with the most poignant contradiction supplied by his natural experience. First, the unity is here that of Being itself, absolute Spirit. It is not merely a relative and subjective unity, that of mouse and mountain daisy, beggar and king, with me, but the pure One, which in oneness comprehends all. The oneness is, indeed, the oneness, — the One to which, in the highest sense, there is no Other, — absolute solvent, that liquefies all, englobing worlds like drops of dew, cosmic dew of suns and stars, mist of milky ways; and which, having pictured itself in Nature, whispers in the enchanted heart of man, I am. * First, then, the eter­ nal Zeus, rest of all hearts, community of all natures. No epical thought or genius has man without a consciousness of this perfect, universal Identity, this all-embracing sky of the soul. Let this point be emphasized. What sort of epic were that wherein this ultimate import of the spiritual consciousness should not nobly and expressively appear ? The sort of epic which is made such only by the title. The world has seen such, but could not keep them long in view. The Genius of the Whole is somewhat necessary to the parts, be it in a tree or in a universe, and so in a poem which attempts to sing the perennial character and relations of man’s life. It is not a little curious to see how the grasshopper intelli­ gence of Voltaire skips about this prime requisite of the epic * It is peculiar also to the epic that this Unity is made explicit, represented ob­ jectively, while in the drama proper it remains implicit, felt, not seen, a light to enlighten, but no sun visible. Compare Homer and Shakespeare. -The Prometheus hovers between the two. �520 * Epic Philosophy. [Oct. in his Essai sur La Poesie Epique. That he should attempt such a topic is laughable. Few men have been more skilful to break a jest; but here he was broken upon one. I once ' knew a youth who fancied himself a musical genius, because, having not the slightest ear for music, he was never to his own apprehension out of tune. At sight of a note he could promptly produce a noise; and though, to compare small things with great, it was like Milton’s gates of hell grating harsh thunder, yet the innocent creature, not being deaf, as the hearers wished they were, never doubted that he was melodious, since beyond doubt he was vocal. I was reminded of him by reading the “ philosopher ” of Ferney upon the Epic ; for never, perhaps, was a very clever man more incapable of following on the track of an epic imagination, or less aware of his own inability. He perceives that in Homer the gods appear; whereupon he briskly announces, that, in order to an epic, the “ marvellous ” must be introduced. Now the marvellous, merely as such, has no more a place in epic poetry than in science; nor, indeed, does it find place in any form of noble literature. The blank gape it pro­ duces is in the mind just that vacant 0, that annular eclipse of intelligence, which the moon-mouth would indicate by the shape it assumes. The Olympus of Homer is his holding-ground in the heavens. Therein he casts anchor, and so rides out the storms of time in security and peace of heart. He would have “ marvelled ” to find himself without it, and adrift on the sea of events. He sings first of all that which sings itself in him, the great faith of his soul. Homer has, indeed, a keen sympathy with that which, per­ haps ironically, is called “ real life ” ; and therefore is able to paint it with an almost matchless precision and verisimilitude. He is heroically faithful to Mnemosyne. Here is her whole story, told without euphemism. Here is, now the struggle, and now the stupor of passion, now the rolling resistless tide, and now the sudden eddy and refluence, of courage, — rivalries, too, mixed irresolvably of noble and ignoble, honor and infamy, spun into the same thread ; here are the ebb and flow, the toss and whirl, the interlacement, the twisted tangle, the blind and blurting conclusion, of actual life. Here also is the charm of �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 521 feature and picturesque detail; individual action stands out in boldest relief, individual portraiture is lavished, while to all this is added the effect of diverse costumes, tongues, manners : the details, handled in a way less masterly, were bewildering .in their multiplicity ; and the picture, but for its breadth, would be motley in the crowding of colors and contrasts. But the artist is at his ease with much as with little, — always the master. And yet, were this all, the Iliad would not be a poem: it were only a wondrous piece of photography. It is that Olympian repose with which Homer is able to over­ arch this field of action, it is that peace of the All which he makes to breathe about the storm and change of man’s little world, that shows him a poet rather than a photographer, Homer rather than De Foe. As his terrestrial observation is wide, genial, and exact, so the faith of his soul, its hold upon celestial Unity, is sure. To both he is just, and to each in. its place and kind. And the objects of both, though opposite, blend in harmony ; and the greater, though not only greater, but all, does extinguish the less ; and the less, though it re­ mains in vigor of feature and ruddiness of strength, passes while it remains, and only the One-and-All is. Thus his pic­ ture became a glass wherein the men of his time saw their life with more than mortal vision. There the visible had become ideal, yet retained its character ; there the invisible had be­ come apparent, yet nowhere had broken the lines or blurred the feature of actual experience. There the tempest of our little life was seen rounded in with skies of everlasting calm : participants in the divine secret, the mortal beholders looked on and saw with new-informed eyes the cerulean circumambi­ ent eternity, as now it condensed its viewless burden into our whirling cloudlet of time, and anon drank it off into its own transparent peace. I confess we can no longer see the same perfectly in the same mirror. To us the Iliad is not, cannot be, a pure epic. Homer’s faith is not precisely that of the modern world; we are able to follow him throughout only, as it were, by sympathy prepense. That “ majestic, deathless head,” whose nod once shook the world, and was the end of controversy to gods and men, is now subject to the dispute of any too ready tongue, vol. evil. — no. 221. 34 �522 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. sovereign no more. But the eternal Zeus lives under another name, or without name ; Greece and Ilium we have, like the poor, always with us ; the epos of existence remains; and Homer’s speech needs but a translation into that diction which is behind the words, to become ours. Have we sufficiently dwelt upon the first grand requisite of the epic ? Is it clear that this celestial unity must appear in the written poem, because in the being of man that sovereign import plays forever over the discord and disunity of our out­ ward experience ? The matter has, indeed, been treated slightly, but I will suppose that enough has been offered on this head. Let us, then, turn the leaf. That unity must have its opposite ; the nature of poetry, as we are aware, requires this. The opposite, too, must in the present case be no trivial one ; the play-over of Absolute Spirit should be worthy of it. The eagle does not display his strength of wing by merely flying across a ditch that a grass­ hopper might leap. Show us a chasm yawning all the way from east to west, wide as the world ; and when the genius of the universe shall cast over that an arch whose keystone is the zenith of eternity, it will do somewhat. Of this consummate act the epic poet is to make us witness. Every epic artist represents, as antithetic to the unitive genius of being, the infernal, — that is, sheer moral inversion, sheer head-down of moral order, the one thing with which the soul cannot be directly reconciled. Moreover, he wellnigh seems to give this abhorrent thing full possession of the field. “ I read in Homer,” said Goethe, “ that properly we enact hell here below.” Is this a true reading of 'Homer ? And if so, does Homer read the world truly ? I think that in both Goethe and Homer it is a true reading. Goethe’s statement is, indeed, one-sided; and he perhaps betrayed his own limit, while illustrating his penetration, in making it. He himself is a little lame of the right foot. His Mephistopheles is a lovely devil, cap-a-pie like a West Point cadet turned out for parade, — magister artium in his kind, compared with Milton’s Titanic undergraduate. Here Goethe is perfect; but the sovereign term, the Zeus, he does not man­ age so well. �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 523 Yet his statement about Homer can hardly be impeached. What is the situation described in the Iliad ? It is this : the crime of a coxcomb has bound two noble nations by the loftiest public sentiment of antiquity, the sentiment of national honor, to the work of mutual destruction. The occasion of their san­ guinary struggle is a deed they alike despise, a deed of which the fit notice were a hearty kicking to the culprit. And yet just that in each which dignifies and adorns their humanity it engages to the pitiless destruction of the other. Is it said, that honor, rightly understood, engaged them to nothing of the sort ? It would not in us ; in them it did so ; nor could they disobey its mandate without moral collapse. Hector says, the Trojan women, not to speak of the men, would despise him, did he decline the combat, odious to him as it was. I think it apparent that the nation which had yielded would have seen all the bands of order dissolve in the caustic of contempt. Highest enslaved by lowest, and compelled to rivet and re * new its own bonds, — that is the spectacle. What is intrinsi­ cally good, beautiful, noble, made not only to serve evil ends, but even to accept and consecrate the service,— that is the hateful situation which Homer places before us. Does it seem that the dilemma might have been easily escaped ? There is the very bite of it. So easy to escape, — and impossible! In Shakespeare we find the same. How easy for Cordelia, by two words, to save her father and herself the misery that ensues ! Easy, — and she cannot utter them. It is her true, honorable love that forbids ; it is the voluble hypocrisy of Regan and Groneril that compels her love to make its own misconstruction. The ease, and yet the impossibility ; the nobleness that immediately makes the impossibility ; the ape’s hand that behind all manipulates the dead-lock: there, there is the poison of it. Know we of nothing similar in actual life ? Have we never seen petty interests, petty strifes, spites, jealousies, envies, of no more importance than the spit-spat of belligerent tom-cats, roping in worthy natures with abhorrent bands, that multiply and tighten till the anguish is intolerable ? Thackeray’s she-catamount of a “ campaigner ” can hunt �524 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. Colonel Newcome to his death. What signifies her caterwaul, pray ? He knows that it signifies nothing, and he dies of it; the contemptibleness of the torture makes it only the more torturing. A politician rises in Congress, and proposes a compliment to the shillalah invasion of Canada. Honorable men, who despise the motion, feel compelled to sustain it; the election at New York is at hand, and such a resolution once offered, they dare not vote it down. In other circumstances, a war between England and America might easily have arisen from this move in the small game of an individual anxious to wipe out his “ Know-Nothing ” record; and when it had arisen, the purest patriotism in the land would have been driven, with loathing stomach, to sustain its country’s quarrel. History, indeed, is replete with instances — and did we see it behind the cur­ tains, more instances would be known to us — wherein the noblest sentiments of humanity have been harnessed beyond help in the dirt-carts of sordid interest, while pitiful tricksters, men who would sell what soul they have for a crossed sixpence, and cheat Mephistopheles in the bargain, hold the reins, and goad them on. It is such a case from which the incident of Homer’s story is drawn, — a case of moral head-down in the worst shape it could assume to the mind of Grecian antiquity. The great master does not hide, he is at pains to display, its hateful features. By the avowed and intense revolt of Hector’s soul from the work his hands must do, the abhorrent constraint of the situation is made to the last degree biting. And that nothing might be wanting to the keenness of the contradiction, the Trojan prince is shown to us, not only in his valor, his magnanimity, his sense of justice, but also in the tender nobility of his domestic life. Andromache comes before us, queenly, devoted, in all the pathos of wifely love; while the babe, drawn to the father, shrinks away from the warrior, to suggest the last rebuke of that dreadful strife. Meanwhile, in contrast with this beautiful picture, — the noblest touch of tenderness that has come to us from the old Hellenic world, — Paris has signalized anew his luxurious infamy, and made the occasion of the struggle, odious enough before, seem intolerable. And �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 525 yet Hector must go to the field and to his doom, and An­ dromache remain behind, helplessly awaiting her doom, and doomed Ilium also abide her day. All that follows upon the main situation is painted with the like pitiless fidelity, — pitiless only in fidelity; for deep, tender compassion is in the poet’s soul. Hero after hero comes forth, uplifted with all soaring thoughts, godlike in bearing, glorious in form and in renown; then before our eyes he goes down; we see him clutch the earth in blind agony, we hear his armor clank over him, — his only knell. Nothing is ex­ plained away; and the pathos reaches its acme in the stern, stern words, “ all-ending death.” The poet cuts off his under­ standing from all succors, — breaks down the bridges behind him. Only by a transcendent process does he escape into repose. The will of Zeus is accomplished: that is all. To Homer this all was enough. To the author of the Book of Job it was enough. * A deep sea in which to cast anchor! We in our day like shallower waters. Why is it that Homer selects the sentiment of honor to be thus enslaved ? Because he has the keenest sympathy with it. In his eyes it is noblest, best; its enslavement, therefore, shows most strikingly that moral inversion he wishes to dis­ play. Nor is he alone in this procedure; other epic poets have done the same. Dante is pre-eminently the poet of Love : read the story of Francesca, wherein the pathos of the Inferno culminates, and you find him distilling from the honey of love a cup that he swoons but to taste. Milton is the apostle of Liberty: in the Paradise Lost he has opened the heavens to show us the impulse to just this, Liberty, turned toward the pit, and drawing after it one third part of heaven’s host. Goethe’s noblest trait is his intellectual devotion, his worship of Truth: it is precisely this that in his half-epic betrays Faust. In the Ramayana, a supreme emphasis is laid upon truth in the sense of veracity, respect for the plighted word. Describing his hero, Kapila says: “ This illustrious prince could • * It is true that at the end of the Book of Job a kind of offset is got up. But we may observe, that, in representing this pay-off appreciable by the under­ standing, the poet—if he wrote the conclusion — falls from poetry to prose. The poem was already complete. �526 Epic Philosophy. > [Oct. willihgly renounce life, fortune the most opulent, desire the most dear, — but the truth never.” Now it is just this, respect for the plighted word, that brings about the catastrophe of the poem. Somewhere in his picture, and generally in the foreground, the epic artist casts in this quintessence of contradiction, this ink of indelible darkness, Worst from Best, — all the juices of sweet life going to feed cancers. Moreover, the higher the art and the grander the genius of the poet, the more resolutely does he leave this terrible fact in possession of its proper field. In the Ramayana, those who had fallen in the war against the demon were, after the victory, magically restored to life. That is impure art. In the Iliad, death has his prey undisputed, and tragic fates pursue even the living. This is the manner of the master. Worst from Best, — is it found only in poems? The stout common sense of Theodore Parker led him to say that Religion may become prince of the devils. Whence was the inquisition generated ? It was bred out of the Beatitudes and the song of the angels, “ Peace on earth, good-will to men! ” What is wourali poison, in which South American Indians dip their arrows, compared with the envenomed conscience that even the spirit of Christendom has secreted ? “We enact hell here below! ” In the epics, then, of men, and in the epic of the Supreme Poet, there is somewhat with which the heart of man cannot be reconciled, nor should be reconciled, since it is antithetic to moral order and unity: when man does not abhor it, he has forsworn his own nature. What, precisely, is this somewhat, this Satan ever going to and fro in the world, this serpent always lurking in garden ? Let us see whether this thing can be accurately defined. Having learned its nature, — if, indeed, to do so be possible, — we may further inquire whether the epic idea of the world can be seen as comprehending, commanding it, and evoking melody from it. And if the attempt be daring, and our space for exposition brief, all the more must precision be sought; nor will a little formality in the statement, if it help toward precision, be esteemed inexcusable. 1. In the world of the senses and of science all goes by law, �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 527 the savans tell us. Granted: force has definite characters and constant measures ; in measure and character alike it is inva­ riable. All there goes by law : by what kind of law, however ? By a law that is absolutely and everlastingly indifferent to any thought which man derives from his spiritual being, to any sentiment, any ideal desire or purpose of the soul. You would have a house, wherein to enshrine the sanctities and felicities of domestic life : what cares gravitation for your wish ? These Romans would build a city; Michel Angelo would lift St. Pe­ ter’s dome: gravitation enters into no complicity with such desires ; inexorably, stolidly faithful to its own business, it holds down the rock in the quarry; whoever will get a block of it away shall sweat for it. Well, the builders outwit gravi­ tation, making it help them lift the stone, and put it in place, where the stolid tug of that force shall serve their design : it is outwitted, that is all; not in the least has it been won into sympathy with a human purpose. The forces of Nature, as they do not change to approach, so cannot change to elude, the design of man: get the wind of them, and they are captive. Now, as the soul has, through the body, a foothold in Nature, and commands immediately a certain amount of force, it is enabled to take natural law by surprise, and bring it to obe­ dience. But in obedience it is remote as ever, maintaining the same impassive, unconquerable indifference to all that the soul imagines or intends. As with gravitation, so with all natural forces : even when serving the most vital uses, they are infinitely far away from man’s thought of use. Oxygen rushes into the lungs, when they create a vacuum: it is but rushing into a vacuum. It combines with the globules of the blood to recreate life; to further decomposition would suit it as well : growth and decay, life and death, man’s gain or loss, pleasure or anguish, are to it quite the same. Thus it happens that man, as a worker in the realm of finite Nature, must always work among and upon forces that are no less than infinitely removed from any sympathy with his spirit. The world serves him, but does not know him even when it serves. 2. In using these forces, man puts himself somewhat in their power. We lift the roof, but lift it over our own heads : gravi­ tation has no respect for the heads ; its business is to draw �528 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. downward, which it attends to assiduously, not considering who or what is beneath; and it holds the roof in place, I must repeat, only as it is outwitted. When the earthquake comes, comes its opportunity ; and now men fly the houses they have built for their security. Moreover, for purposes of use we must set free agencies that were not active before, that we can never be sure of our ability to control, and that, despite their services, ever continue terrible to us. Fire, for example, is a demon that man has conjured up. It is needful, indispen­ sable ; we must take it into our houses near the cradle and the couch, must sleep with it for housefellow, knowing all the while that it is an untamable demon, never a whit domesticated by its long intimacy with man. Now fire is not bad; but the burn­ ing of the house, for which it is at any moment ready, were an evil. The burning of the house, and the fall, perchance, of the flaming roof upon those it was designed to shelter, — de­ spite all the glosses of optimism, a plain man may take leave to regard that as indubitably an evil. Here, therefore, is an evil, yet no evil principle. There is a gap between human ends and natural means ; and evil — physi­ cal evil only as yet — is incidental to it. 3. Man is not only in this world of forces thus indifferent to every thought of his spirit, but, as an organized creature, he is himself composed of such forces. Yet more, they assume in him a new and peculiar intensity, becoming sensitive, and rounding into an Ego heated with immeasurable desire. Nev­ ertheless, these forces, though as an organized nature he is compounded of them, belong to that world which is forever infinitely remote from the pure thought and ideal desire of his spirit. The relation of himself as spirit to himself as organ­ ized in nature is the same with the general relation of man to force in the external world. Hunger and thirst are no less indifferent than gravitation to all that the soul believes and loves. Temperamental force has its own orbit, moves by its own springs, knows only its own ends. Indispensable utilities are exacted from it; but it transmits them, as a mail-bag does letters, without knowing what is in them. Thus the soul must not only work upon, it must also work by means of, an alien material. This material, moreover, is �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 529 not passive, it is force, fiercely intent, impersuasible. Accord­ ingly, the soul can accomplish nothing, it is annulled, until by an efflux of virtue it takes possession of the field; while only by a continuance of the same energy does it keep possession. Even in victory and supremacy, it may not retire and sleep : its authority is dead, its victory vanishes, in the moment that it ceases to act and to overcome. It is a sovereign whose sub­ jects are all rebels at heart, and become such in act the moment it does not make upon them an overmastering impression. They are rebels, not by any concerted antagonism to the regal principle, but because they are wholly moved by an intention of their own, which is alien and indifferent to spiritual ideas. 4. The soul, in building up its own architectures, and pre­ paring its own repast, must make immaterial fire, must liberate demons in its own organic household, and so newly imperil itself. For the better culture and discipline of mankind, it es­ tablishes Property, — an institution which rests wholly upon an ideal basis : instantly it creates cupidity, a very terrible demon indeed, hungry beyond measure, sometimes in its rage of appe­ tite devouring entire civilizations. What a raising of chimneys, called courts of law, there has to be! What anxious binding of the demon with precedents, statutes, legal forms! Despite all which, it will sometimes break bounds : and, indeed, when is it not breaking bounds, committing trespass, doing inde­ scribable mischief ? The soul, again, builds the state, to incarnate therein, as in a larger body, the spirit of community : at once it sets free the love of dominion,—fire again, and a fire that makes horrible conflagrations. The desire of power and sway is not bad ; the debt to it of civilization is immense, immeasurable ; never was there a great ruler or statesman whose breast did not brim with it; and only at far-distant periods of time do the Timoleons and Washingtons appear, who possess it largely without being possessed by it. Often has it wrought prodigiously, when Goodness lay asleep, wrapped in sweet dreams ; and history on many a page “ Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set, Till in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-laborers could not end.” �530 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. Nor, on the other hand, is it good; for in itself it has no moral quality whatsoever. But a force destitute of all moral char­ acter, which nevertheless must be brought into the closest intimacy with moral interests, and even fanned and stimulated in their behalf, has in it capacities of evil. The soul builds churches, architectures to house a thought higher still; and again it makes fire ; and this time may make the very fire of hell, bigotry, conscientious hatred, holy cruelty, lying for God, tyranny that not only oppresses, but makes in its victims a hunger to be oppressed. And once more we have to say, that the force thus brought into action is in itself neither good nor evil, though of both good and evil it is vastly capable. Fire, — it may kindle fagots about the martyr, and blaze abroad to devastate entire centuries and civilizations, or may genially warm the hearts and households of believing ages. Finally, this Ego of ours, —this also is demon, is fire. The Spirit makes it: never could mere organic force become con­ scious, and say I. But the Spirit makes it as the intensest conceivable antithesis to its own pure, including universality. I, — what a portentous exclusion the word implies ! It shuts out all the universe beside itself; indeed, to the egoistic appre­ hension pure and simple, I is universe, is god. A wonderful thing is this particular, limited Self. It is eccentric centre, — pure partiality in the state, and with the sense of perfect wholeness. It is Spirit inverted or reverted from its compre­ hending, universal self-identity, to sustain its own intensest contradiction, a purely limited and excluding self-identification. This special Self is demon all and only. Not good, it is yet here as the strong caryatid to sustain a spiritual conscious­ ness, which is God’s surpassing work of art. Not bad, it is nevertheless a caryatid whose head is not kept under without pains, and that at best seldom fails to put a wry face upon his labor. Fire is not bad ; but the burning 'of the house, which despite all precautions may happen, were an evil. Egoism is not bad; but its exaction and forage upon the soul, which in some degree are sure to happen, are an evil. When the forces of finite Na­ ture turn the virtue and providence of the soul against itself, then there is evil, devil. Devil is not a person, it is not even �Epic Philosophy. 531 a thing or a force ; it is simply an effect incidental to a par­ ticular form of relation. With finite Nature, fixed, resolute, inexorable in its finitude, the soul must make an intimacy, to which intimacy Nature can never respond by the faintest blush of sympathy; natural forces will seek forever, must forever seek, to carry away in their own line whatever comes within their reach; and when they succeed in appropriating and bringing into their own line of action the virtue of the soul, evil appears. The epic poet represents this most terrible inci­ dent of the Spirit’s engagement in Nature, — the soul pulled overboard by the fish it was drawing in, — the soul caught in the mesh of its own mechanism, ground in its own mill. If, now, the foregoing exposition be at all correct, it will appear, that, though there is no evil principle, though Satan is the boldest of impersonations, implying some temerity of rhetoric, yet the Satanic, the infernal, exists nevertheless. Disease is no entity; but epilepsy and lockjaw are quite real. On the other hand, the epic “ play-over ” must not be for­ gotten. Evil is real, but it is not commensurate with man’s being. Man is properly supernatural; the soul is above all its experience within the limits of finite Nature, and “ Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.” Accordingly, I find two opposite classes of theorists, who, severally following, though in contrary directions, a linear and prosaic logic, arrive at a forced conclusion on this matter. The one party, beginning from below, and perceiving evil to be real relatively to the soul as engaged in Nature, reasons to the eternal from the temporal, and asserts, a supernatural Satan, conceived of either as a person or a state of existence. The other party, setting out from man’s supreme consciousness, wherein he feels the serene eminence of his spirit over Nature, reasons downward, and declares that even within the limits of Nature evil is not real. The latter opinion seems to have been adopted with a degree of enthusiasm by the Emersonian school in America, though of Mr. Emerson himself one may rather say that he has shown a marked predilection for it than that it is sustained by him as a fixed dogma. The chief argument for it is an undeniable �532 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. fact, namely, that evil is often reconverted to use. But were this always the case, evil would not lose its proper character. At sight of somewhat with which it cannot be reconciled, the soul is stung, and newly incited. Well, why is it stung ? Whence the provocation ? It is the sight or the experience of somewhat odious to the soul that stings. If we say, “ This so-called evil is made to serve a use, therefore it is not evil; whatever is is right; the soul can and must be reconciled with it,” — where are we ? Let us shun huddled thinking. Asafoetida is the best of antispasmodics ; it does not there­ fore smell the better. Esteem me not narrow-minded, if I hold my nose. The philosopher tells me, indeed, that only devil knows devil, — that only because I am cousin-german to asa­ foetida does its odor offend me. Perhaps so; it may be, that, were the nose regenerate, it would find only frankincense in foetor. I humbly confess such grace has not been given that organ. Be it to my shame or no, I must distinguish between scent of heliotrope and scent of carrion-flower. I follow my nose as my fathers did before me. Nor in truth do I propose to be shamefaced before Philosophy in doing so. Offence is offence, make the best of it. Evil is a thing good to esteem bad, good to be offended at, good to keep the cork on. Like ipecacuanha and tartar-emetic, it is useful only as it creates nausea and is intolerantly rejected by the system. It is said further, that Good has a vast power of assimilation, a chemistry that nothing can wholly resist. This also is true. As in the physical world the organific force will masticate quartz and porphyry, gnawing away at the frozen adamant of mountain crags with teeth harder and more capable of self­ repair than those of rodents, and solving all with the alchemy of eupeptic life, until it has given the earth flesh, has clothed this with the garniture of field and forest, and digested this again into animal form and motion, so the higher genius that works in humanity to dissolve and to organize does not live upon spoon-victual alone, but has teeth to cut platinum, a stomach to digest poison, and an art out of pus and gangrene to make the vigor of dancing feet and bloom of dawning beauty. Eyes that are not sick will see this without spectacles, and sound minds will be apt to emphasize it. But let us not say �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 533 too much, and be like cowards who betray fear by voluble affir­ mation that there is no danger. Good has diamond teeth, — and it needs them! Poor logic, to say, that, because it has this masticating and digestive force, therefore all is food for it, artistically prepared by some cosmic Blot, and that what seems odious is only pepper-sauce, a sharp condiment to provoke appetite. In fine, the universe will not be spun out in one thread, and turned to prose. Our nice mental machinery can do much, but cannot do that; and this new-patented method of optimism fails like every other. It does good work of the kind, but the poetic truth of existence will not be caught on the smooth­ turning spindle. The opposition of good and evil is never to be explained away. But this opposition is itself prosaic, if only in itself consid­ ered. To deny it is fatal to epic truth; to remain only in it, the captive and jail-bird of Nature, is no less fatal. Evil, and good as merely opposed to evil, belong alike to the soul only as standing in organic connection with finite Nature; but the soul’s true being is not in Nature, it is in Spirit, the self-affirmed, eternal, indivisible Import, into which Nature, as sign, ever­ more resolves itself. To the bird as walking the wall exists, and is impassable: the bird takes wing, and the wall, though solid as ever, becomes for it no wall. But man at once walks and flies, — walks and works on these levels of Nature, yet by - his true substantive being soars and circles in the divine ether; and here, in unity with the One-and-All, he is himself the sky, which rounds in and contains in harmony his natural experi­ ence. In his breast is enshrined this exceeding great mystery, —the infinite separation of Nature from Spirit, the perfect poetic comprehension of Nature by Spirit. A mystery, nay, a very dust in the eyes, to prose thought, it is far otherwise in the being' of man, as in the universe of God: here it abides in poetic clearness forever,— so clear, that the voice of it, when it comes to speech, can be no other than a voice of singing, to which only melodious numbers and concord of sweet sound afford a fit expression. The universe rings with it like a bell; and the heart of the poet, being whole, also rings silver-clear;, and in the deep heart of humanity a poetic thought is peren nial, though in general it is shattered on the lips. �534 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. From the height of its perfect consciousness the soul looks down upon the imperfect quasi world of Nature; and seeing itself involved there, yet not involved, — locked into those limits of inexorable finitude, yet above them, including them, ’ resolving them into that breath of Spirit which sings while it passes, — it has the sentiment not only of a Whole, but of an epic Whole, including within its flawless unity the intensest contradiction. We are now prepared, let it be supposed, to attempt a final * survey of this epic Whole, this Iliad of existence, placing its grand features in their true relation to each other. Only from the summit of thought and consciousness can such a survey be attempted sanely; we must therefore begin and end with the all-comprehending Unity, with pure Spirit. 1. Man has the consciousness of Spirit in its integrity, whole and the whole, nothing if not all. He knows this, and, as knowing, is one with it. Never can it be. known as other ■ than that by which it is known ; if another, it is no longer the One, but only a particular existence. Tell me not of a God, one being particularized among others, though great or great­ est. John Stuart Mill kindly explains, that, though it be ridiculous to speak of the Infinite, the Absolute, yet God may ' be infinite in a particular way, — infinitely just and good in the sense of being entirely just and good. His infinite is merely unmixed quality. In the same sense a spider is infinitely a | spider, if it be all and only spider. Should the creature ever I be afflicted with a doubt about the propriety of catching flies, | the spiderly nature, becoming mixed, would fall from infini- I tude. Infinite in the sense of pure quality is perhaps as good ! an infinite as positivism admits of; but I quite agree with Mr. Mill in thinking it ridiculous to call this the infinite. The infinite of Spirit is not to be caught in a cobweb. The ambitious broom of positivist logic will neither sweep it down from the dark corners of the understanding nor sweep it to­ gether from the floors of phenomenal Nature. What it is we may a little conceive thus: though there were a myriad of perfectly rational minds, there were but one Reason, and each of them were it. The consciousness of reason is an integrating consciousness; in it there is a unity, not numerical, but intrinsic: �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 535 multiple in manifestation, it is not divided, nor in itself multi­ ple, but ever identical. Spirit is reason, and more than we mean by reason distinctively. It is not only integral, but is active, eternal, absolute integration. As there is not only a possible rest in motion, but also a rest of motion,— as, for example, in orbital movement, — so there is a unity, not only in multiplicity, but of multiplicity, — a unity of comprehension and embrace, which, though it contain contradiction, yet does indeed contain it, and therefore remains itself unbroken. The consciousness of this it is that the human race has confessed so often as it has said God. There is no night there; there all limit is swallowed up, freedom and necessity become one and the same ; there the jars of Nature blend in the tune of the eternal Whole, and the clash of oppositions is felt to be sus­ tained by the very unity which they seemingly oppose. “ The will of Zeus is accomplished ” : it is the key-note which to every note is a key. Spirit is; and he is Spirit who is con­ scious of it, and he the voice of it who hears its language. Spirit is, the everlasting Only, only and all, playing over op­ position, yet never opposed; abiding ever in itself, yet not aloof; dwelling only with itself, yet housing the universe. 2. Nevertheless, in precise antithesis to this, there is the world of finite Nature, also assuming to be all, and indeed complete in its way, — no escape from it, when once you have accepted its level and law. It bears, however, this ear-mark of imperfection, that the essential character of it is to be ex­ cluding. Excluding : every particle of matter shoulders away every other; — every square inch of space says, as it were, to universal space, “ Stand off! ” — every moment of time fixes itself between the two eternities of time, denying them, saying, “ Of time I alone am, I, the present moment! ” — every force, so much as it acts, negates all other force. It is a universe of exclusions, — purest conceivable opposite to the including sim­ plicity of Spirit. What then? We have a dual world: Spirit and Nature standing in irreconcilable opposition, each, it should seem, excluding the very possibility of the other. Yet as Spirit is whole and the whole, or is nothing, dualism kills it. And, indeed, many in our day espouse the cause of finite Nature to �536 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. this extent, saying, “ Spirit can be no more than a fiction of speech, since for it as a reality Nature leaves no room.” True, Nature has no room for it. Here is a difficulty, which to a prosaic speculation is, and must remain, insuperable. But the bolt turns to another key. 3. We have seen that this self-asserting finite Nature asserts itself only to the same ear which itself makes, to the finite understanding. To the higher poetic intelligence, it is only Sign, only Language. As such, it declares itself to be in and of itself nothing. A word, — for what is it here? To be somewhat in itself? No, but expressly to be nothing in itself. It is a word only as, vacating itself, pointing away from itself, denying its own substantiality, it simply and unequivocally stands for somewhat which indeed is, namely, an import exist­ ing in the mind. The world, then, as Sign, denies its sub­ stantial existence, vacates its own pretension to reality, and affirms what is not itself, affirms a significance whose unity and substantiality is Spirit. It has been said, but will bear saying again, that to this significant and therefore ever-vanishing character of Nature all human speech is due. So all mythology, all theology, comes of the impulse to render that language which Nature is into the language man uses. Poetry, painting, every fine art, is a fine art for the reason that it elects the significant impression of Nature as the real fact of it, while the so-called useful arts regard Nature only in its lower character, as force. Whence the charm of landscape painting ? It is always inferior to that which one may any day see from his doorstep. The charm of it is this: it presents Nature as only picture, only significant show, without its outdoor pretension to substantiality, — pre­ sents Nature more as what it veritably is. Hence mere fac­ simile painting, which foists upon the’picture Nature’s habitual disguise of its true character, is but mock art. 4. Having thus affirmed Spirit, then shown finite Nature as apparently denying it, then again shown the same Nature as confessing itself a mere sign of that which it seems to deny, we come to an act which concerns us human beings very nearly, but of which there seems to be in the streets of our cities little notice taken. I have never once seen mention of it on the bulletin-boards, nor found it in the column of news. �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 537 Spirit issues in person, in the person, that is, of humanity, upon this scene of finite Nature ; accepts the fiction of its sub­ stantiality; and even so, upon these hard terms, extorts a con­ fession of its presence and quality. Here, then, it is in the militant state, a warrior in armor, overcoming a hostility that never abates, compelling a confession ineffably alien to the lips that utter it. Spirit militant, Spirit accepting the fiction of Nature’s sub­ stantiality to conquer it on its own level, — this is the moral life of humanity. With this “ accepted fiction ” under the feet, we cannot wonder that our life should divide itself into the irreconcilable opposites, Right and Wrong, God and Devil. A contradiction is involved in such a state of existence; the t contradiction will appear, and make itself felt, sometimes to the utter anguish of the soul. Here the soul conquers, but always with costs; here it en­ dures defeat, but in defeat still conquers, if its quality has been signalized. No other business has it than to say effectu­ ally, I am : achieving this, though in dungeons, at the stake, on the cross, it is victorious. Partial defeat it ever does and must suffer, optimism to the contrary notwithstanding. “ All is well,” am I told ? Yes, the All is very well, undoubtedly. One gets fresh intelligence of that fact in his own breast now and then, and pipes his little note of rejoicing accordingly. But is this taken to mean that all goes well ? that in the line and on the level of outward events there is perfect process ? that the moral life of man involves no contradiction, in the midst of which the soul must strive and suffer ? that we may lie on our oars and trust the tide of events to take us to port? Enough, 0, more than enough of this! In the line of events, as related to the moral life of humanity, there is, there can be, no perfect process on the earth: the very conception of our existence forbids. We chant, with a sweet imbecility, “ the good time coming ” : it is ever coming, and never come. Some say that the golden age has been, and some that it is to be ; but I, that all events are cheap and all times tawdry, — that only the soul is golden, and that the shine of this metal out of the dust-cloud of history is the true result. vol. cvn. — no. 221. 35 �538 t Epic Philosophy. [Oct. Here is the field of the tragic poet. He causes the soul to show itself and to shine from out the utmost darkness and devilishness of events. The one is helpless and inextinguish­ able ; the other victorious and without honor. The soul suffers every conceivable defeat, and is godlike still; the law of events follows its own fatal course, making no clear distinction be­ tween good and bad, and is seen in its proper under-foot char­ acter. Thus, Shakespeare in his grand tragedies will give us scarce a crumb of comfort, so far as the course of events is concerned. Iago, indeed, ends his iniquity with his death : who is consoled ? who cares ? You crush the snake that has just fleshed its fang in priceless honor and innocence: well; it was but a snake. Iago dies; but Desdemona, Othello! — who talks of a balance struck ? Or who in this presence will pro­ claim the “ good of evil ” ? What good ? Snake number two is more likely to be regenerate ? St. Snake is somewhat less beautiful to me than the creature uncanonized. Anything, if you please, but Satan in a state of grace! I thank Shakespeare that he gives no hint of these suspi­ cious compensations. Out of wrong done and suffered the soul has shown its quality: this is the true result. All the grandeur of the great poet’s genius is found in this, his habit­ ual manner of representing life. Had he stooped to patch up events, pretending, after the fashion of the novelist, that the significance of life is found in their course and result, he would have stooped indeed, and been no longer Shakespeare. Spirit by issuing upon this scene of things brings moral good to a world which before was but a system of forces, incapable of moral character: by the same act it makes the possibility and the general (not particular) necessity of moral evil. It does so by placing the virtue of the soul within reach of the energies of the finite world, “ laws ” of Nature, organic im­ pulses and desires, — huge polypi, that throw their long tena­ cious tentacles about all that comes within their scope, and know not what they devour. Thus the Hebrew “ God of battles ” — the unity of Spirit in the militant state — says, “ I, God, make good, and I create evil.” Does this sound harsh ? But is it not true ? Are not moral good and moral evil correlative op­ posites, each of which forever wars upon and forever implies �1868.] Epic Philosophy^ 539 the other ? Does not the soul make both, the former by its intrinsic quality, and the latter by the situation it accepts ? As the human providence which evokes the element of fire makes it possible that any house may burn and certain that some houses will burn, so spiritual virtue, by creating moral good, enables the characterless energies of Nature to attain the higher, though abhorrent quality of evil. But the divining sense of humanity has touched the ultimate truth of this situation with a precision yet more admirable. Spirit militant, appearing no longer as the “ God of battles,” but as the suffering Prince of Peace, the crucified God, meekly enduring, in the consciousness of an infinite resource, all the utmost despite of Nature, — never yet has a nobler or truer imagination inspired the worship of humanity. A great in­ justice is, indeed, done this perennial poetic truth, when it is Calvinized into prose ; yet what an appeal, even so, has it made to the heart of man! Let the form change as it may and must; but let the grand imagination remain, for the trage­ dy of the world has this extent; and JEschylus and Shake­ speare and every greatest poet has touched it most nearly just then when his genius was at the supreme height. The strictly moral consciousness is dualistic, not integrating; for beneath its feet is an assumption contradictory to the eter­ nal quality of Spirit, namely, the assumed substantiality of finite Nature. Hence it dwells in a divided world, whose ulti­ mate terms a^e God (the warring or suffering God) and Devil. But optimism pretends that the moral consciousness is unitive and entire. It blinks the underlying contradiction, and .there­ fore must seek to persuade us that “ the Devil is not so black as he is painted,” and indeed is not of a black complexion at all, but is only a serviceable angel in soiled linen, — grimed with necessary labor, and none the worse for not appearing in holiday clothes. I freely make over my share in this charita­ ble judgment to those who can find a use for it, and freely confess that^a more limping, one-legged thing is not known to us than a purely moralistic theology which sets out with deny­ ing the necessary dualism of morals. 5. But the old religionists permitted themselves to speak of mere morality, as if there were a consciousness in man and a �540 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. truth in being that transcended morals, though without invali­ dating them. Were they utterly deceived ? Has humanity no consciousness, has being no character of this transcendent kind ? Are right and wrong the supreme words ? — wrong, however, being inscrutably wrung back, and so brought, as it were clandestinely, into the line of right. Epic imagination, whether as found in written poems, or as speaking in all the higher spirituality of mankind, affirms a sovereign Unity, which, indeed, becomes moral by descent into the limits of finite Na­ ture, but which is in itself, as Hooker said, “ not only one, but very oneness,” while in oneness it includes, and is, all. Let it be permitted me to speak as I can, and without reproach, of this Unspeakable, happy if the words shall in any manner or degree hint what the best of words will never more than hint. It may be read in epics, and as their supreme import, neces­ sary to render them epical, that Spirit, even while provisionally accepting this finite Nature as substantial, and issuing upon it in the militant character, remains not the less and forever in itself, in the consciousness of its pure, eternal integrity, un­ broken by the dividedness of time, untouched by its tumult. This One to which there is no Other, while yet it does not ex­ clude, but embraces and houses all multiplicity and diversity, — is it not the “ open secret,” always inaccessible to the criti­ cal understanding, while to the adoring heart and spiritual imagination it is not only accessible, but is alone to them in the deepest sense native ? Inexplicable, indubitable, not to be solved only because itself the universal solvent, it is the mys­ tery of eternity, yet is mysterious only to the prosaic mind, while only through its infinite reconciling presence is finite Na­ ture itself other than an affronting mystery to the credent and poetic soul. This is the blessed play-over, beneath which, and yet within which, all the fortune of life, all the struggle and process of existence, go on, and into which they evermore vanish, to appear in vanishing and to die in renewal, as words sink and are lost in the import that creates and sustains them. An indestructible consciousness in man, fundamental fact of his being, makes him a participant in this oneness, this whole­ ness, this perfection of Spirit in itself. Spirit as engaged in Nature, —it is Sarpedon, son of Zeus, warring, stricken, perish­ �1868.] Epic Philosophy. 541 ing, lying gory on the battle-field ; Spirit abiding in itself, — it is Zeus poised in Olympian peace, and in himself containing all. Sarpedon falling, dying, the victim of Nature ; Zeus im­ mortal, hurtless as the blue heaven, and embracing Nature as the sky the earth; — the one is the passionate experience of man, and the other is his pure, integrating consciousness. But the latter is his consciousness, not merely as his, and subjec­ tive, but as veritable, substantial, the indivisible consciousness of Spirit, existing only because Spirit is, one and indivisible, — the eternal fact impressing itself with the sense of its own infinite reality. It follows from all the foregoing that man’s being is a scale of three degrees. On the lowest, he is only an organized nature, a mote or molecule in the immeasurable system of things ; a little learning the trick of it, a little and a little better able, from age to age, to take care of his small peculium; getting to be at length, from a mote, an insect, and humming so as to be heard, 0, yards away! On the de­ gree above this, far above, he is moral, engaged in the battle without truce between good and evil; at issue with others and with himself ; finding a law in his members warring upon the law of his mind and bringing him into captivity, till he cry, “ Wretched man that I am ! ” Here he may have noble battle, but never peace ; always there is a Hannibal in his Italy, or the Gauls are gathering on the border ; and he is still bound by the necessities of the conflict in the rare hours of his tri­ umphal march. On the highest degree, he is one with the One-and-All. Here, as from the height of eternity, he looks down on his small fortunes in the world of time, and by all that he there suffers renews and intensifies the consciousness of his eternal security and sovereignty in God. It was the door into this supreme consciousness that the Christian evangel, particularly as represented .by Paul, un­ barred and threw open to the access of mankind; the doc­ trine of “ salvation by faith,” though its dryness now parches the tongue, began the epopee of Christendom, and gave the key-note to the largest symphony in which the imaginations of nations and ages have as yet joined. This consciousness, though not at all denying, but, on the contrary, admitting and �542 Epic Philosophy. [Oct. using, what is beneath it, declares itself alone veritable. Spirit only is ; all else appears, and is not. And here one can­ not help asking by what fine luck it was that Hellenic tradition made Homer blind; that which he sang he saw but as a picture within his breast. For so the eye of absolute Spirit sees Nature and the natural experience of man as things by itself imagined, airy nothings with a local habitation and a name. The epic poet sets off all the worst that the soul can suffer in Nature against that higher impossibility of its suffering at all. He gives himself the divine pleasure of beholding this troubled, tumultuous quasi existence as it vanishes momentarily and forever into the peace and perfect comprehension of Spirit in itself. That engagement in Nature, and yet an everlasting ease and delight of self-rescue out of Nature, — the perpetual play-up of finite life out of itself and into the infinite as its truer self, while Spirit in its divine play-over stoops to the world, and, stooping, remains infinitely above, and seeming tu acknowledge another than itself, makes that apparent other an instrument through which to blow its eternal affirmation, I only am ; — this is that symphony of being whose choirs are solar and stellar systems, and whose notes and numbers are in­ dividual lives, while in each note the tune of the whole, the tune of eternity, presides, and the Symphonist himself is pres­ ent. And in finding this, we find the epic interpretation of human life. D. A. Wasson. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Epic philosophy Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wasson, David Atwood Description An account of the resource Place of publication: Boston Collation: 501-542 p. ; 22 cm. Notes: Article from North American Review, vol. CVII, no. 221. Annotations in pencil "N. Amer. Rev." page 501. From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [s.n.] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1868 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CT53 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Epic philosophy), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Mythology Classics Ancient Greek Poetry Epic Poetry Homer Mythology https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/916b0db2b8afd4a7934ab45c172655ca.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=bt0ls0oOxhI54%7EE6aLIYHEq%7E5a4%7Ex0lP3rZW2mGHwYLvF6zsTmdAvFS%7EhCEgQNHWC6VssUWrCOz6ZtVVaIrsh-Za%7ECYI63ZX84avZ6KOw1ssynWk9cLp4P2UApx4kgrEOMROOXaPQy9c3VMJtxAvsk-8OPTSu8g85M8pw6vZCGSgMnUxJ3YubIhWmfhyiRBNILqa0a2VE9EaDlVv5U6SNPvjPuk2T7YoUVcBKRaNoP7Ft6lx%7ET63%7ErkQK1PwgLzfcOS5e2Pe8PPEZXZhaDMPxA0GL00CChtyLnsHH5wgbdCG01K8DkebmPh0JwoHcDW9aPpA4bvIVfZBpz-9-iPZ0A__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM a5e3b59fa24c2be7e96b3ebec36ed244 PDF Text Text ESSAYS ON CHAUCER, His Words and Works. PART II. III. Practica Chilindri : or, The Working of the Cylinder, by John Hoveden. Edited, with a Translation, by Edmund Brock. IV. The use of final -e in Early English, and especially in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. By Professor Joseph Payne. V. Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Chaucer. “ English Poets,” ed. 1863. From her VI. Specimen of a critical edition of Chaucer’s Compleynte to Fite, with the Genealogy of its Manuscripts. By Prof. BernHARd Ten-Brink, PUBLISHED FOR THE CHAUCER SOCIETY BY N. TRUBNER & CO., 57 & 59, LUDGATE HILL, �Smnir 9. JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS. �III. PRACTICA CHILINDRI: OR THE WORKING OF THE CYLINDER, BY JOHN HOVEDEN. EDITED WITH A TRANSLATION BY Edmund Brock ��57 PREFACE. By the kindness of Mr Frederick Norgate, we are now able to lay before the reader another short treatise on the cylinder. How it was found, and what it contains, may be learnt from the following notice, which we reprint from Notes and Queries, 4th Series, III, June 12, 1869. “CHILENDBE: (‘ SCHIPMANNES TALE, 206.’) "We have to thank the Chaucer Society for the publica­ tion of a very early tract on the ‘ Chilindre,’ removing to a great extent the difficulty about the meaning of this word, which for ages has puzzled all the commentators on the Canterbury Tales. This little tract is devoted almost exclusively to information as to the construction of the in­ strument in question, with only a few brief rules at the end for its use. I have recently been so fortunate as to discover another MS. which may be a useful and interest­ ing supplement to that which Mr Brock has edited for the above-named society; and before describing its contents, let me mention the strange way in which I found it. Looking through the Index of Authors at the end of Ayscough’s Catalogue of the Sloane MSS. (not thinking at the time of Chaucer or anything relating to him), my attention was arrested by the name ‘ Chilander,’ and on turning to the page referred to, I found Chilander noted as the author of a work entitled Practica Astrologorum, fyc. Hereupon I determined on taking the first opportunity of examining the MS. itself, and having done so, to my surprise I found, instead of Practica Astrologorum, with Chilander for its author, a tract entitled Practica Cliilindri secundum magistrum Johannem Astrologum 1 The MS. is of the beginning of the fourteenth century, neatly written (on vellum), and differs from that which the Chaucer Society has brought to �58 PREFACE. light, inasmuch as it is devoted exclusively to instructions for using the instrument. “ The whole is comprised in six pages, closely written, and in a small but neat hand. The titles of the several chapters are as follows1:— 1. Primum capitulum est de horis diei artificialis inueniendis. 2. De gradu solis inueniendo. 3. De altitudine solis et lune, et vtrum fuerit ante meridiem uel post. 4. De linea meridiei inuenienda et oriente et occidente. 5. Quid sit vmbra versa, quid extensa. 6. De punctis vmbre verse et extense similiter. 7. De altitudine rerum per vmbram uersam. 8. De declinacione solis omni die, et gradu eius per declinacionem inueniendo, et altitudine eius omni hora anni. 9. De latitudine omnis regionis inuenienda. 10. De inuenienda quantitate circuitus tocius orbis et spissitudine eius. “ The colophon is as follows :— ‘ Explicit practica chilindri Magistri Iohannis de Houeden astrologi.’ Fred. Norgate. “ Henrietta Street, Covent Garden." This tract, with the former, will give a tolerably clear idea of the nature and uses of the instrument; but there is much more on the subject which we have no space to print, and we must therefore be content with giving the reader references, which will enable those who care to read more about the cylinder, to do so. 1. Compositio horologiorum, in piano, muro, truncis, anulo, con[uexo], concauo, cylindro & uarijs quadrantibus, cum signorum zodiaci & diuersarum horarum inscriptionibus : autore Sebast. Munstero. Basileae, 1531. Composi­ tio cylindri, hoc est, trunci columnaris. Caput xxxix. 2. Horologiographia, post priorem seditionem per Se­ bast. Munsterum recognita, & plurimum aucta atqwe locupletata, adiectis multis nouis descriptionibus & figuris, in piano, concauo, conuexo, erecta superficie &c. Basileae. 1533. Compositio cylindri, hoc est, trunci columnaris. Caput xliii. 1 The table is printed according to the MS, from which Mr Norgate’s copy deviates in one or two cases. �PREFACE. 59 3. Set / Dber Sonnen vpren / $imftft$e Sefdjvetfcung / wt'e btefelfcigen nad) mantyerley aprt an bte SDlauren / Sffienbte / (Bme / fie fepen Stgenbe / Sluffgertc^fet / @d;reg / audf auff S'lonbe I Slu^gepolte vnb fonft alter $anbt ^nftrument / Sluf^uretffen / 2)urc^ Sebafitanum STOunfter. 23afel, 1579. 2Ste man etnen timber @ircu* Iteren vnb jurtc^ten foil. ®ad rrrvj. daptlel 4. Dialogo della descrittione teorica et pratica de gli horologi solari. Di Gio: Batt. Vimercato Milanese. In Ferrara, per Valente Panizza Mantouano Stampator Ducale. 1565. In gual modo per pratica operatione si possono fabricare i Cilindri. Capitolo xi. 5. Gnomonice Andrese Schoneri Noribergensis, hoc est: de descriptionibils horologiorum sciotericorum omnis generis, proiectionibns circulorum Sphaericorum ad superficies, cum planas, turn conuexas concauasqwe, Sphsericas, Cylindricas, ac Conicas : Item delineationibus quadrantum, annulorum, &c. Libri tres. Noribergse, 1562. The second book treats of spherical, cylindrical, and conical dials. 6. Io. Baptistae Benedicti Patritij Veneti Philosophi de Gnomonum umbrarumqwe solarium usu liber. Augustae Taurinorum. 1574. De examinations pensilium horologio­ rum, § de nouo horologio circulari. Cap. lxxviii. 7. Horarii Cylindrini Canones, 1515. Eeprinted in Opera Mathematica Ioannis Schoneri, fol. Norinbergae, 1551. This, like Hoveden’s treatise, consists of rules for using the cylinder. 8. Histoire de l’Astronomie du Moyen Age par M. Delambre, Paris. 1819, 4to. The third book, entitled Gnomonique, gives an account of the cylindrical dial (padran cylindrique') of the Arabians as treated of by Aboul-Hhasan (pp. 517—520), and of Sebastian Munster’s (pp. 597, 598). There is a large cut of the cylinder on page 166 of Munster’s Compositio Horologiorum, page 269 of his Horologiographia, and page 125 of Der Horologien Beschreibung; a smaller one on the title-page and page 131 of Horologiographia. In Vimercato’s treatise, page 165, is a cut show­ ing the separate parts of the cylinder. In Cotton MS. Nero C ix, leaves 195—226, we find eight Latin poems by John Hoveden, chaplain of Queen Eleanor, mother of King Edward. There can be little doubt that this writer is the same as the author of the present treatise. We here give the beginnings and endings of these poems. �60 PREFACE. I. Incipit meditacio Iohan?iis de houedene, clerici regine anglie, matris regis Edwardi/ de natiuitate, passione, et resurreccione domini saluatoris edita, ut legentis affeccio in christi amore profici[a]t et celerius accendatur / hoc opus sic incipzt: Aue verbum ens in principi'o. & sic finitur. & uoluzt editor quod liber medffa&onis illius philomena uocaretur. Begins : Ave uerbum ens in principio, Caro factum pudoris gremio; Fac quod fragreif presens laudaczo. Ends : Melos tzfei sit et laudacio, Salus, honor, et iubilacio, Letus amor lotus in lilio, Qui es verbum ens in principio. Explicit libellus rigtmichus1 qui philomena uocatur, que meditacio est de natiuitate, passione, et resurrecti’one, ad honorem domini noshi iesu christi saluatoris edita, a Iohanne de houedene, clerico Alianore regine anglie, matris edwardi regis anglie. II. Incipiunt .xv. gaudia virgznis gloriose, edita a Magistro Iohanne houedene Clerico. Begins : Virgo vincens vernancia Carnis pudore lilia. Ends : Et nocteni lianc excuciens, Ducas ad portum pahie. Amen. Expliciunt .15. gaudia beate virgznis, edita ritmice2 ex dictamine Iohannis de Houedene. III. Hie scribitnr meditacio Iohannis de Honedene, edita ad honorem domini saluatoris, et ut legentes earn proficiant .in amore diuino: et vocatur hec meditacio cantica .50. quod in .50. canticis continetur. The first canticle begins : In laude nunc wpirituo omnis exultet, Et leta mens do?nini laude sustollat. The last one ends : Et ut nouella cantica cumulentur, In laude nunc spmYuc omnis exultet. Amen. Explicit meditacio dicta cantica 50*?, edita a Iohanne de Houedene ad honorem domini saluatoris. IV. In honore domini saluatoris incipit meditacio, edita a Iohanne de houedene, clerico Alianore regine anglie, matr/s regis Edwardi / faciens mencionem de saluatoris redolentissima passione; et amoris christi suaue??i inducit affecturn. Hec meditacio uocatur cythara eo quod verbzs amoriferis, 1 So in MS. 2 MS. ricunce. �PREFACE. 61 qnaszquibwsdam cordis musice, ad delectacionemspmTualem legentes inuitat. Begins : I mi vena du'lcedinis, Proles pudica numinis, Verbum ens in principio, Fructns intacte virginis. Ends : Verbum ens in principio, Et des ut gost has semitas Nos foueat et felicitas In celebri coliegio. Amen. Explicit laus de domino saluatore uel meditacio que cythara nominator, a Iohanne de Houedene, edita ut legent is affectus in amore diuino proficiat et celerius accendator. V. Incipiunt 50^ salutaczones beafe virgwiis, quibns inseritor memoria domznice passionis, edita. a lohanne de houedene ad honorem virginis matris, & laudem domzni saluatoris. Begins : Ave stella maris, Virgo singularis, Vernans lilio. Ends : Fer michi remedia, Vt in luce qua lustraris Michi dones gaudia. Amen. Expliciunt 50^ salutaciones beate marie, edite a Iohanne de Houedene. VI. Incipit laus de beata virgine,. que uiola uocatur, edita a Iohanne de Houedene. Begins : Maria stella maris, Fax sum mi luminaris, Kegina singularis. Ends : Penas mittigatura, Assis in die dura, Maria virgo pura. Explicit uiola beate virginis, a Iohanne de Houedene edita. VII. Incipit lira extollens virginem gloriosam. Begins : 0 qui fontem gracie Captiuis regeneras, Celos endelichie.1 Ends ; Quos expiat sic puniat, Vt vices quas variat, i Alternis sic uniat, ne lira deliret. Explicit lira NLagistri Iohannis houedene. So in MS. �62 PREFACE. VIII. Canticu?n amoris quod composuit Iohannes de Houedene. Begins : Princeps pacis, proles puerpere, Hijs te precor labris illabere, Vt sincere possim disserere Laudem tuam, et letus legere. End lost from : Eius claui punctura perea?n, Cum superstes magis inteream. There is a copy of the first of these poems in the Lambath MS. 410, and another in Harleian MS. 985 with the heading : Incipit tractates metricus N. de lion dene, de processu cliristi & redempcfonis nostre, qui aliter dicitur philomena. At the end are merely these words : Explicit liber q?zi uocatwr philomena. It appears from Nasmith’s Catalogue that there is a French version of the poem in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, MS. 471, intitled, Li rossignol, ou la pensee Iohan de Hovedene, clerc la roine d’Engleterre, mere le roi Edward de la neissance et de la mort et du relievement et de 1’ascension Iesu Crist et de l’assumpcion notre dame. It is perhaps worthy of mention that Hoveden’s Plulo''trte.na has long been confounded by the catalogue-writers with a wholly different composition, by another writer, and beginning: Philomena preuia temporis ameni, Que recessum nuncians i??zbris atgrne ceni, Dum demulces animos tuo cantu leni, Auis predulcissima, ad me queso veni. End : Quicquid tamen alij dicant, frafer care, Istam novam martirem libens imitare; Cumque talis fueris, deum deprecare Vt nos cantus martiris faciat cantare. Amen. Copies of this poem are contained in Cotton MS. Cleo­ patra A xii., Harleian MS. 3766, and Royal MS. 8 G vi., from the first of which the above lines are taken. A late hand has written the following mistaken heading over it in the Cotton MS.: philomela Canticum per Ioannem de Houedene Capellanum Alienorse Reginse matris Ed. primi. �PREFACE. 63 The Laud MS. 368 contains both these poems; the latter has the following heading: Incipit meditaczo frafris Iohawzis de peccham, qwondam cantuarze archiepz'scojh, de ordine frafrum minorww, que Nocatur philomena. The real author, however, appears to be Giovanni Fidanza, better known as Cardinal Bonaventura. The whole poem, with some additional lines at the end, is printed in his works, Mayence, 1609, vol. 6, p. 424, and Venice, 1751-56, vol. 13, p. 338. The English poem of The Nyghtyngale in Cotton MS. Caligula A ii., leaves 59-64, has no con­ nection with Hoveden’s Philomena, but is an imitation of Bonaventura’s poem. According to Bale’s account,1 which is followed by Pits2 and Tanner,3 John Hoveden was a native of London, doc­ tor of divinity, and chaplain of Queen Eleanor, but after­ wards parish priest at Hoveden, where he died in the year 1275. Besides the poems already mentioned, Bale, Pits, and Tanner ascribe to him the work called Speculum Laicorum ; 4 but this could not have been written till long after Hoveden’s death, since it contains mention of Henry the IVth’s reign.5 1 Bale, v. 79. 2 Pitseus, p. 356. 3 Tanner, under Hocedenus 4 See Royal MS. 7 C xv and Oxford Univ. MSS. 29 and 36. 5 In chapter 36. �64 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. [Sloane MS 1620, leaf 2.] PRACTICA CHILINDRI SEOHMD DM MAGISTRITM [iOHANNEm]1 [aJstrologum. 1. Primnm capz'bdwm ost de horis diei artificiab's inueniendis. 2. De gradu sob's inueniendo. 3. De altitudine sobs et lune, et vtrum fuerit anfe meridiem uel post 4. De linea meridiei inuenienda et oriente et, occide??te. 5. (6.)2 Qzdd sit vmbra versa, (5) qnid extensa. 6. (7.) De punctis vmbre verse, et extense similiter. 7. (8.) De altifojtb'ne rerzzm per vmbram uersam. 8. (9.) De declinaczone sob's omni die, et gradueiwsper decb’nocionem inueniendo, (10) et eMitudioo eius omni hora anni. 9. (11.) De latitudine omnis regionis inuenienda. 10. (12.) De inuefnjienda qnanti/ate circuitns tociws orbis et -spissitudine eius. DE HORIS INUENIENDIS. 1. Z^vm volueris scire horas diei, verte stilum superiorem super mensem aut signuzn in quo fueris, et super partem que preteriit de ipso; cumqne hoc feceris, 1 Nearly obliterated. 2 The numbers in parentheses correspond to those which head the sections. �65 THE WORKING OF THE CYLINDER. THE WORKING OF THE CYLINDER ACCORDING TO MASTER JOHN, THE ASTROLOGER. 1. The first chapter is on finding the hours of the artificial day. 2. On finding the sun’s degree. 3. On the altitude of the sun and of the moon; and whether it is before midday or after. 4. On finding the meridian line, and the east and the west. 6. What umbra versa is, (5) and what umbra extensa. 7. On the points of the umbra versa, and likewise of the umbra extensa. 8. On (finding) the height of objects by the umbra versa.. 9. On (finding) the sun’s declination on any day, and on finding his degree by the declination; (10) and on (finding) his altitude at any hour of the year. 11. On finding the latitude of any region. 12. On finding the extent of the circumference of the whole world, and its thickness. 1. ON FINDING THE HOURS. When you wish to know the hours of the day, turn the upper style1 over the month or sign in which you are, and over the part of it which is gone by; and when you have 1 Only one style is mentioned in the former treatise. �66 . PRACTICA CH1LJNDRI. vertes etiam inferiorezzz stiluzzz in opposituzzz stili szzperioris, et erit izzstrumezztum disposituzzz ad horas sumendas. Cumqzze volueris horas sumere, suspende chilindruzzz pez* filuzzz suuzzz ad solezzz, mouezzdo ipszzm chilindruzzz hue et illuc donee vrnbra superioris stili super chilizzdruzzz eqzzidistazzter longitudzzzi eius ceciderit; et ad qzzamczzzzzqzze horazzz peruenerit vmbra stili, ipsa est hora diei pertransita. Qzzod si ceciderit finis vmbre inter duas horas, tuzzc apparebit etiam pars hore in qua fueris, secundum quod plus uel minzzs occupauerit vmhra de ipso spacz'o qzzod est inter duas lineas horarzzzzz. Est eniro. hora spacium [cojntentuzzz inter duas lineas horarzzzzz; ipse autezzz linee szzzzt fines horarzzzzz, DE GRADU SOLIS. 2. /~^vm volueris scire in quo signo fuerit sol, et in’ quoto gradu eizze, eqzzabis solem ad meridiem diei in quo volueris hoc scire, siczz£ in lecczonibz/s tabzzlarzzzzz docetzzr, et addes ei motuzzz 8ue spere, et haftebis graduzzz solz's quesituzzz. Qzzod si volueris hoc ipszzm leuizzs scire, intra cum die mezzsis in quo fueris izz aliqzzam 4 tabzzlarzzzzz, seczzzzdzzm qzzod fuerit annzzs bissextilis uel distans ab eo ; que qzzidezzz tabzzle izztitulantzzr sic :—Tabzzle solis ad izzuezzienduzzzjlocuzzz eius in orbe decliui fixo. Et izz dirp.e.to diei cum quo intras statizzz inuenies graduzzz solzs equatum, et hoc est qzzod voluisti. Qzzod si nec has nec illas tabzzlas 1 That is, straight down the cylinder. 2 The following extract from Delamhre’s Astronomic du Moyen Age, Paris, 1819, pp. 73, 74, may serve to explain the motion of the eighth sphere :— “ Thebith ben Chorath.—Son malheureux systeme de la trepi­ dation infecta les tables astronomiques jusqu’a Tycho, qui, le premier, sut les en purger. Ce long succes n’a point empeche que son livre ne soit reste inedit; mais j’en ai trouve un exemplaire latin manuscrit, a la Bibliotheque du Boi, n° 7195. Ce traite a pour titre Thebith ben Chorath de motu octaves Spheres......... “ Il imagine une ecliptique fixe, qui coupe l’equateur fixe dana les deux points equinoxiaux, sous un angle de 23° 33', et une eclip­ tique mobile, attachee par deux points diametralement opposes a deux petits cercles, qui ont pour centres les deux points equinoxiaux �67 ON THE SUN’S DEGREE. done this, turn also the lower style into the place opposite the upper style, and the instrument will be set in order for taking the hours. And when you wish to take the hours, suspend the cylinder by its string against the sun, moving it to and fro, until the shadow of the upper style falls on the cylinder parallel to its length,1 and whatever hour the shadow of the style reaches, the same is the (last) past hour of the day. But if the end of the shadow falls be­ tween two hours, then will appear also the part of the hour in which you are, according as the shadow occupies more or less of that space which is between the two hour-lines. For the space contained between two hour-lines is an hour; but the lines themselves are the ends of the hours. 2. ON THE sun’s DEGREE. ' When you wish to know in what sign the sun is, and in what degree thereof, you must adjust (?) the sun to the noon of the day on which you wish to know this, as it is taught in the readings of the tables, and add to it the motion of the eighth sphere,2 and you will have the sun’s degree which you have sought. But if you wish to know the same more easily, enter with the day of the month in which you are into one of the four tables according as it is leap-year or distant from it. These tables are thus en­ titled :—Tables of the sun for finding his place in the fixed ecliptic, and in a line -with the day with which you enter de l’ecliptique fixe, et dont le rayon est de 4° 18' 43/z. Ces points de l’ecliptique tournent sur la circonference des deux petits cercles opposes; l’ecliptique mobile s’eleve done et s’abaisse alternativement sur l’ecliptique fixe ; les points equinoxiaux avancent ou retrogradent d’une quantite qui peut aller a 10° 45z. Ce mouve­ ment est commun a tous les astres ; ce mouvement est celui de la huitieme sphere, et il s’appelle mouvement d’acces ou de reces. Le lieu de la plus grande declinaison du Soleil change done continuellement, puisqu’il est toujours a 90° de l’une et l’autre intersections de l’ecliptique mobile avec l’equateur fixe. La plus grande decli­ naison est done tantot dans les Gemeaux et tantot dans le Cancer.” For Thebit’s treatise see Harleian MS 13, leaf 117. Incipiif thehit de motu octaue spere. Or Harleian MS 3647, leaf 88, col. 2, incipit libfr tebith bewcorat de motu octave spere. �68 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. habueris, et volueris [leaf 2, bk] aliter querere gradum solis [a]ut fere, scito qnod secwndnm compotistas xv. kalendas cuiuslibet mensis ingreditur sol nouu?n signum, sicn^ patet in kalendario. Considera ergo qnot dies transierint de mense i?z qwo fueris, et adde supe?’ eos qnindecim dies, et serua eos. Computabis ergo ab inicio signi, in qno fuerit sol, totidem gradus, et ubi finitzzs fuerit nu?nerns, ip.se est gradus solis quern queris. Qwod si nu??ze?7zs tuus excesserit xxx., tot gradus qwot excedit xxx. perambulauit sol de signo seq-"^ 0 si Deus voluerit. DE ALTIT UDINE SOLIS. 3. ZA vod si altitudinem sohs seu lune placuerit inuestiAv gare, verte stilum sn^eriorem super gradus chilindri, et stilum inferiore?n in oppositum ei-us semper; et hoc sit tz&i generale, ut uersus qwamcunqwe partem chilindri verteris stilum snperiorem, semper vertas stilum inferiorem in partem ei oppositam. Post hec opponas instrnmentmn. soli, et ad qwemcunqne gradum peruenerit vmbra, ipsa est altitudo solis, seu lune, si feceris de luna, in eadem bora. Qnod si volueris scire si fuerit ante meridiem uel post, aspice snper qnot gradns ceciderit vmbra, et expectans paulisper, iterato sumes altitudinem sobs; epuod si creuerit vmbi’a, tunc est ante meridiem. Simz'k/er qnog'we scies de luna. Et per hoc ipsnm quod dzc/nm est, scies vtrum ipsa fuerit orientals 9, meridie uel occidental^; qnia dum vmbra crescit, est in parte orientali a meridie, dum uero decrescit, est in parte occidentis. o �ON THE ALTITUDE OF THE SUN. 69 you will immediately find the sun’s degree rectified, and this is what you desired. If, however, you have neither of these tables, and wish to seek, in another way, the sun’s degree or thereabouts, know that, according to the calcu­ lators, the sun enters a new sign on the 15 th before the kalends of every month, as appears in the calendar. Con­ sider, therefore, how many days of the month in which you are have passed, and add to them fifteen days, and keep them. Reckon then the same number of degrees from the beginning of the sign in which the sun is*?&p4, when the number is completed, the same is the sun’ • gree which you seek. But if your number exceeds 30, the sun has passed through as many degrees of the next sign as it (the number) exceeds 30, if God will. 3. ON THE ALTITUDE OF THE SUN. Now if it is your pleasure to investigate the altitude of the sun or of the moon, turn the upper style over the de­ grees of the cylinder, and the lower style always into the opposite place. And let this be a general rule, that to whichever part of the cylinder you turn the upper style you always turn the lower style to the part opposite to it. After that .hold up the instrument against the sun, and to whatever degree the shadow reaches, the same is the altitude of the sun; or of the moon, if you are deal­ ing with the moon, at that hour. But if you wish to know whether it is before midday, or after, see over how many degrees the shadow falls, and having waited a little time, take the sun’s altitude again, and if the shadow has increased, then it is before midday. In like manner you will know also of the moon. And by what has been said you shall know whether she is on the east of the meridian or on the west; for while the shadow increases, she is on the eastern side of the meridian, but while it decreases, she is on the western side. CH. ESSAYS. F �70 RRACTICA CHXLINDRI. DE LINEA MERIDIEI. 4. Z~\ vod si volueris scire lineam meridiei per hoc instrwmentom, fiat circizlws in swperficie aliqwa preparata, eqizidistanter orizonti, cuiwscunqzie magnitudes volueris, non sit tamen nimis paruus; deinde sumes altitudinem soli's diligentissime, et serua earn; et suspended etiam in eaAem bora filum vnum cum aliqwo ponderoso in directo iam fetch circwli, ita u.t vmbra eins cadat omnino super centrum circuli, et attingat circumferenciam in parte opposita soli; notabisque contactum vmbre in circumferencia, et post hoc expectabis donee iterato post meridiem fiat sol in prius accepta altitudine, notabisque etiam [leafs; tunc vmbram fili super centrum ut prius transeuntem notabi's, dico, contactum eius in circumferencia in opposito soli's. Deinde diuide arcum qizi est inter duas notas vmbre per equedia, et notam iizprimes, coniungesque earn cum centro, perficiens diametrum circuli, et hoc diametrum erit linea meridiei. Quadrabis cpuoque circulum ipsum per diametra, et ha&ebis lineam orientis et occidentis, ut apparet in isto circulo. Sic etiam inuenies omnes partes orizontis, si Dews voluerit. Et nota quod hec consideracio verior et leuior est quam ilia que fit per erecci'onem stilj ortogonalis in circulo, quia vix uel nuncquam possi? ita ortogonaliter erigi, sicuZ perpendiculum dummorZo pendeat inmobiliter. SeeZ hec consideracz'o verissima erit, si sumatur in solsticialibus diebws, et hoc anZequam sol ascendat multum in ilia die. Nota quod a. et b. sunt note vmbre anta meridiem et posi ad eandern altitudinem sold ; et mediuzn inter a. et b. est meridies. Occident �ON THE MERIDIAN LINE. 4. 71 ON THE MERIDIAN LINE. And if you wish to know the meridian line oy means of this instrument, let a circle he made, of whatever size you will, only let it not he too small, on some plane pre­ pared (for the purpose) parallel with the horizon. Then take the sun’s altitude very accurately, and keep it; and also at the same hour hang, over the circle already made, a thread with something heavy (on it), so that its shadow falls exactly upon the centre of the circle and reaches the circumference on the side opposite to the sun; and mark the (point of) contact of the shadow with the circumference, and after this wait until the sun again arrives at the before-, taken altitude after midday; and mark then also the shadow of the thread passing as before across the centre, mark, I say, its point of contact with the circumference opposite to the sun. Then divide the arc which is between the two shadow-marks into equal parts, and impress a mark. Join it with the centre, and complete the diameter of the circle. This diameter will be the meridian line. ■Quarter the circle itself by diameters,1 and you will have the line of east and west, as appears in this circle. Thus also you will find all parts of the horizon, if God will. Note that this observation is truer and easier than that which is made by raising a rectangular style in the circle, because it can with difficulty or never be raised as rectangularly as a plumb-line, provided it (viz. the plumb-line) hangs motion­ less. But the observation will be truest, if it be made on the solstitial days, and that before the sun rises high on that day. West �72 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. DE VMBRA EXTENSA. 5. nVTvnc dicendus est quia! sit vmbra versa, et quid 11 sit vmbra extensa. Igitur intelligamus superfi­ cies quanda??! equidistautem orizonti, et super hanc super-' ficies intelligamus aliquid ortogonaliter erectus, verbi gratia, palus rectus; huius pali sic erecti cadens vmbrrf in dzcZam superficiem (iicitur vmbra extensa. Est igitur vmbra extensa rei erecte ad superficiem orizontis perpendiculariter vmbra cadens iu eades szzperficie. DE VMBRA VERSA. 6. TTem intelligamus eande?n superficies quam prius, ei JL in ipsa aliquid perpendiculariter erectus, et ab illo sic erecto iutelligasus stilus ortogonalt'Zer prominentes, sicut sunt stili qui prominent in parietibus eccZesiarus ad horas sumendas; vmbra huius stili cadens super rem orto­ gonaliter erectas, equidistanter s[cilicet] longitudzni eiusdes rei, dicitur vmbra versa; equidistanter, dico, cadens, quia alite?' esset vmbra irregularis. Et huiusmodi vmbra cadit in chilindro. Hec auZes vmbra versa sesper crescit vsque ad meridies, et tunc, i[d est] in meridie, est maxisa. Econuerso est de vmbra extensa, quia ilia decrescit vsque ad meridie??t, et tunc fit minima. DE PUN0T1S VMBRE. vm volue?is scire omni hora quot puncta ha&ue?'it vmbra versa, verte stilus super puncta vmb/'e, et super quot puncta ceciderit vmbra, ipsa sunt puncta vmbre quesite. Quod si volue?-is [scire] vmbra?n extensa??! ad eandes altitudinem, diuide 144 pe?' [leafs&j puncta que habueris, et exibunt puncta vmbre extense in eades hora. Et si volueris scire quot status sunt i?i vmb?‘a, diuZde puncta que 7. �ON THE UMBRA. EXTENSA AND. THE. UMBRA ' VERSA. 5. ' ON THE UMBRA EXTENSA. ' 73 - Now we must explain, -what is the umbra versa, and what the umbra extensa. Therefore let us conceive some plane parallel to the horizon, and on this plane let us con­ ceive something raised at right angles, for instance, a straight stake; the shadow of this stake so raised, falling on the said plane, is called umbra extensa. The umbra extensa is, therefore, the shadow of an object which is raised perpendicularly to the plane of the horizon, falling on the same plane. 6. ON THE UMBRA VERSA. Also let us conceive the same plane as before, and upon it something raised perpendicularly; and from the latter so raised let us conceive a style jutting out at a right angle, like the styles which jut out from the walls of churches for taking the hours; the shadow of this style falling upon the object raised at right angles, parallel, of course, to the length of the same object,1 is called umbra versa—falling parallel, I say, because otherwise the shadow would be irregular. And such a shadow falls on the cylinder. Now this umbra versa always increases until midday, and then, that is at midday, it is greatest; the contrary is the case with the umbra extensa, for that de­ creases until midday, and then becomes least. 7. ON THE POINTS OF THE SHADOW. 'When you wish to know how many points the umbra versa has at any hour, turn the style over the points of the shadow; and. as many points as the shadow falls over, the same are the required points of the shadow. But if you wish to know the umbra extensa at the same altitude, divide 144 by the points which you have, and the result will be the points of the umbra extensa at the same hour. 1 That is, straight down it.' �74 TRACTICA CHILINDRI. ha&ueris per 12, et exz'bunt states. Quod si non haZ>u[er]is 12 puzzcta, uide quota pars sint puncta de 12, et tota pars erunt puncta que haftuez’is ad vnuzn statuzn. Est autezn1 status tota longitudo cuzuslibe^ rei, et quia ozzzzzem rem quo ad vmbrazn eius sumendam diuz’dimzzs in 12 partes eqwales, propterea 12 puncta vmbre faciunt vnuzn statuzn; est eniin quodlihet punctuzn longitudznis oznnis eqwale duodecimo parti2 rei cuius est vmbra. DE ALTITUDINE RERIZM PER VMBRAAf. 8. Z~^vm volueris scire altitudinem turris per vmbrazzz V.7 versazzz que cadit in chilindro, aut altitudinem alicuz'us rei erecte, cum hoc, inquam, volueris, verte stiluzzz super puncta uznbre, et vide super quot puncta ceciderit vmbra. Deinde considera izz qua pz’oporczone se ha Sent puncta uzzzbre in chilindro ad stiluzzz, izz eadezzz proporczone se ha&et oznnis res erecta ad suazzz uzzzbrazn, hoc est, si puncta uznbre in chilindro fuerint sex, stilus duplus est ad vmbrazn, et tunc in eadezn hora erit oznnis uznbz-a extensa dupla ad suam rein ; et si uzzzbra in chilindro fuerit dupla ad stiluzn, hoc est, cum vmbra fuerit 24 punctoruzn, erzt oznnis res erecta dupla ad suazn uznbrazn ; et sic semper in qua proporczone se haZzet uznbra ‘chilindri ad stiluzzz, in eadezn proporczozze se ha Set econtrario omnis res erecta ad vmbrazzz suazzz extensazn, omnis res erecta, dico, que fecerit vmbrazn sub eadezzz solzs altiZuzfzne, in,ilia hora;.vel, si, nescieris proporczonem sumez-e, diuide 144 per puncta que ha&ueris, sicut dz’cbzm est, et exibit vmbra rei erecte que dzczYur extensa, vide ergo quot status .sint in ilia uznbra extensa, auZ quota fuerint puncta de 12, et haSebis quod voluisti. 1 Read, enim. The word vmbre is wrongly inserted after parti in the MS. �FINDING THE HEIGHT OF OBJECTS BY THE SHADOW. 75 And if you wish to know how many status are in the shadow, divide the points which you have by 12, and the status will be the result. And if you have not 12 points, see what part of 12 the points are, and the points which you have will be that part of one status. For a status is the whole length of any object; and because we divide every object into 12 equal parts whereby to take its shadow, therefore 12 points of the shadow make one status; for every point is equal to a twelfth part of the whole length of the object, whose the shadow is. 8. on (finding) the height of objects by the shadow. When you wish to know the height of a tower by the umbra versa which falls on the cylinder, or the height of any upright object—I say, when you wish this, turn the style over the points of the shadow, and see over how many points the shadow falls. Then consider : what­ ever proportion the points of the shadow on the cylinder hold to the style, every upright object holds the same proportion to its shadow; that is, if the points of the shadow on the cylinder be six, the style is double of the shadow, and then at the same hour every umbra extensa will be double of its object; and if the shadow on the cylinder be double of the style, that is, when the shadow is of 24 points, every upright object will be double of its shadow; and so always, whatever proportion the shadow on the cylinder holds to the style, conversely every upright object holds the same proportion to its umbra extensa., every upright object, I say, which throws a shadow under the same altitude of the sun at that hour. Or, if you do not know how to take the proportion, divide 144 by the points which you have, as was said, and the result will be the shadow which is called extensa of the upright object; see, then, how many status are in that umbra extensa, or what part of 12 the points are, and you will have what you desired. �76 PRACTICA CHIL1NDRI. DE DECLINACIONE SOLIS. vm volueris scire declinaci'onem sobs omni die anni, scias umbram uersam Arietis in regione in qua fueris, i[d est], scias ad quem, gradum chihndri proueniat vmbra stili eius in meridie, cum fuerit sol in primo gradu Arietis, et hec est mbra Arietis in gradibns chilindri in ilia regione. Qno scito, sume vmbram meridiei per chilindrum qnocunyne die volueris scire declinacionem soli's, et vide super quot gradus chilindri ceciderit umbra, et quantum plus uel minns fuerit umbra ilia qnam vmbra Arietis, tanta erit declinacio solzs in meridie illins diei. Sed si umbra tua fuerit maior quarn vmbra Arietis, erit declinacio solis [leaf 4] septemtrionalz's ; si uero minor fuerit, erzt declinacio meridiana. Qnod si volueris scire gradum solis in ilia die per eins declinacionem, intra1 in tabnlam declinacionis solzs, et quere similem declinaci'onem ei quam inuenisti per chilindrum, et aliqnis 4 graduum quem in directo eins inueneris erit gradus sob's uel fere; et scies qnis erit gradus ex ilb’s 4, vt aspicias vtrum declinaci'o fuerit meridiana uel septemtrionab's. Qnod si fuerit meridiana, erit vnns de gradibns meridionalibas, et si fuerit declinacio septemtrionalz's, erit vnns de gradibns septemtrionalibiis; ha&ent autem omnes 4 gradus eqnidistantes ab eqninoctiali eandem declinaci'onem. Cum ergo sciueris quod fuerit vnns de gradibns septemtrionis seu meridiei, scies qnis duornzn fuerit gradus soli's, ut aspicias seqnenti die declinacionem per chilindrum, et si umbra fuerit maior qnam die precedent^ fueritqne declinacio meridiana, erit gradus ille a Capricorno in Ariete?n; et si umbra tails declinaci'onis fuerit minor, erit gradus ille a Libra in Capricornum; si uero umbra creuerit, fueritqne declinacio septemtrionalis, erit gradus ille ab Ariete in Cancruzn; si uero decreuerit, a Cancro in Libram. 9. 1 MS ‘ iuxZn.’ �ON THE DECLINATION OF THE SUN. 9. 77 ON THE DECLINATION OF THE SUN. When- you wish, to know the declination of the sun on any day in the year, know the urn,bra versa of Aries in the region in which you are, that is, know to what degree of the cylinder the shadow of its style reaches at midday, when the sun is in the first degree of Aries, and this is the shadow of Aries in the degrees of the cylinder in that region. That being known, take the midday shadow by the cylinder on whatever day you wish to know the de­ clination of the sun, and see over how many degrees of the cylinder the shadow falls, and the declination of the sun at noon of that day, will be as great as that shadow is greater or less than the shadow of Aries. But if your shadow is greater than the shadow of Aries, the sun’s de­ clination will be northern, but if it is less, the declination will be southern. And if you wish to know the sun’s de­ gree on that day by his declination, enter into the table of the sun’s declination, and seek a similar declination to that which you have found by the cylinder, and some one of the 4 degrees, which you find on a line with it will be the sun’s degree or nearly (so); and you shall know which will be the degree out of those 4, as you look whether the declination is southern or northern ; for if it be southern, it will be one of the southern degrees, and if the declina­ tion be northern, it will be one of the northern degrees. But all the 4 parallel degrees have the same declination from the equinoctial. When, therefore, you know that it is one of the northern degrees orcofi the southern, you shall know which of the two is the degree of the sun, as you observe the declination on the following day by the cylinder, and if the shadow be greater than on the preced­ ing day and the'declination be southern, the degree will be that from Capricorn towards Aries ; and if the shadow of such declination be less, ther degree will be that from Libra towards Capricorn; but if the shadow has increased and the declination is northern, the degree will be that from Aries towards Cancer; but- if it has decreased, from Cancer towards Libra. . ' �78 - PRACTICA CHILINDRI. DE ALTITUDINE SOLIS OMNI HORA ANNI. 10. IjlT si volueris scire altiinch'nem sob's que poterit -Li esse omni bora anni, vide quantum capiet quelibei hora anni de gradibns chilindri, mensurando per circinum aut per festucam, et ipsa erit altitudo sob's ad quamlibei horam anni in regione tua, s[cilicet], snj?er qnam figurantnr hore chilindri, si Deus voluerit. DE LATIT UDLVE REGIONIS. 11. Oil volueris scire latitudinem regionis ignote ad quam veneris, tunc vertes stilum super gradus altitudz'nis, et vide ad qnot gradus peruenerit vmbra. Quod si hoc feceris in die eqninoctiali, niinue gradus qnos habueris de 90, et residuuzn er it latitudo regionis. Quod si no?z feceris hoc in eqninoctio, vide per tabnlam decb'nacionis que fuerit declinacio solis in ipsa die. Quam declinacionem, si fuerit australis, adde snper susceptam altitudinem, et hafrebis altitudinem eqninoctialis in eadem regione ; et si declinacio fuerit septemtrionalis, niinue earn de accepta altiinciine, haSebisqne altitudinem eqninoctiab's in eadem regione. Haftita autem alti/nciine eqninoctialis, minuas ipsam semper de 90, et residuum er it latitudo regionis, que est distencia cenith ab eqninoctiali. DE QUANTITATE ORBIS TERRE. 12. Oil autem volueris scire quantitatem Deaf4,bk] cirKJj cuitns terre per chilindrum, verte stilum super gradus chilindri, et scias optime gradum solis et &eelinacionem eins, et serua earn. Cumqne hoc sciueris, sumas altitudinem sob's meridianam, et serua eam; post hec autem procedas directe uersus septemtrionem uel meridiem, donee altera die, absqne augmenta[ta] uel minorata interim �ON THE LATITUDE OF A REGION. 10. ON (finding) 79 THE ALTITUDE OF THE SUN AT ANY HOUR OF THE YEAR. And if you wish to -know the sun’s altitude, which may be at any hour of the year, see how much of the degrees of the cylinder any hour of the year will take, measuring with the compasses or with a rod, and the same will he the sun’s altitude at any hour of the year in your region, that is to say, (the region) upon which the hours of the cylinder are figured, if God will. 11. on (finding) the latitude of a region. If you wish to know the latitude of an unknown region to which you have come, then turn the style over the de­ grees of altitude, and see to how many degrees the shadow reaches. And if you do this on the equinoctial day, sub­ tract the degrees which you have from 90, and the re­ mainder will be the latitude of the region. But if you do this not at the equinox, see by the table of declination :what is the sun’s declination on the same day; add the declination, if it be southern, to the altitude you have taken, and you will have the altitude of the equinoctial in the same region; and if the declination be northern, sub­ tract it from the taken altitude, and you will have the altitude of the equinoctial in the same region. Moreover, the altitude of the equinoctial being had, subtract it always from 90, and the remainder will be the region’s latitude, which is the distance of the zenith from the equinoctial. 12. ON THE SIZE OF THE WORLD. If, moreover, you wish to know the extent of the earth’s circumference by the cylinder, turn the style over the degrees of the cylinder, and know most accurately the degree of the sun and his declination, and keep it. And when you know this, take the meridian altitude of the sun, and keep it. Then after this travel directly northward or southward, until on another day, without increase or de- �80 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. declinaczone, ascendent sol in gradibus chilindri plus vno gradu quam prizzs ascendent, plus dico, si processeris versus meridiem, uel minus, si processeris uersus septemtrionem, et iam pertransisti spaciuzn in terra quod subiacet vni gradui celi. Metire ergo illud, et vide quot miliaria sint in eo. Deinde multiplica, sfcilicet], miliaria illius spacij quod haSueris per 360, qui sunt gradus circuli, et tot miliaria scias esse in circuitu mundi. Quod si volueris scire spissitudinem mundi, diuide circuitum eius per tria et septimam partem vnius, eritque hoc quod exierit diametrum terre, et medietas eius erit quantitas que est a superdcie ad centrum eius, si Deus voluerit. De inueniendis autem ascendente et ceteris domibus per vmbram satis dictum est in lecczonibus tabularum, et idea de illis nichil ad presens. Et hec de practica chilindri sufficiant. Ex­ plicit. ■ Explicit practica chilindri Mag is tri Houeden astrologi. Iohannis de �ON THE SIZE OF THE WORLD. 81 crease of declination in the mean time, the sun has risen one degree more in the degrees of the cylinder than he rose before; more, I say, if you have travelled south­ ward, or less, if you have travelled northward; and now you have traversed on the earth the space which lies under one degree of the heaven. Measure it therefore, and see how many miles are in it. Then multiply, of course, the miles in that space which you have by 360, which are the degrees of a circle, and know that there are so many mi les in the circumference of the world. But if you wish to know the thickness of the world, divide its circumfer­ ence by three and the seventh part of one, and the result will be the diameter of the earth, and half of it will be the distance from its surface to the centre, if God will. But on finding the ascendant and the other houses by the shadow enough has been said in the readings of the tables, and therefore nothing of them at present. And let this suffice upon the working of the cylinder. End. Here ends Master John Hoveden, the astrologer’s, Working of the Cylinder. �‘4* I 'I �83 IV. THE USE OF FINAL -e IN EAELY ENGLISH, AND ESPECIALLY IN CHAUCER’S CANTERBURY TALES. BY JOSEPH PAYNE, ESQ. �84 SYNOPSIS OF THE ARGUMENTS. The two main arguments are :— I. That in the ordinary English speech of the 13th and 14th centuries there was no recognition of the formative, and little of th6 inflexional, -e, which, chiefly for orthoepical reasons, was appended to many words employed in written composition. II. That the phonetic recognition of final -e was confined to verse composition, and only occasionally adopted by license, under rhythmical exigency, and consequently not adopted at the end of the verse where it was unnecessary. These arguments are maintained, (1.) by considerations inherent in the nature of the case, (2.) by reference to the practice of AngloNorman and Early English writers, and are supported by illus­ trations derived (a.) from the laws which governed the formation of words in early French, (5.) from the manner in which Norman words are introduced into ancient Cornish poems, and (c.) from the usage of old Low German dialects (especially that of Mecklenburg), in respect to words identical (except as regards final -e) with Early English words. �85 THE USE OF FINAL -e IN EARLY ENGLISH, WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE FINAL -e AT THE END OF THE VERSE IN CHAUCER’S CANTERBURY TALES. 1. STATEMENT OE THE QUESTION AT ISSUE. H' The question whether the final -e, which is so obvious a feature of numerous English words in the 13th and 14th centuries, was or was not frequently recognized as a factor of the rhythm in verse, is not the question which it is here proposed to discuss. It needs, in fact, no discussion, since there can be no doubt whatever on the point. The real question is what it meant, that is, whether it was an organic and essential element of the words in which it occurred, to be accounted for by reference to original formation, inflexion, &c., or whether it was, for the most part, an inorganic orthoepic adjunct of the spelling, and only exceptionally performed any organic function. If the former hypothesis is true, the -e was recognized in the rhythm because it was recognized in ordinary parlance as a necessary part of the pronunciation of the word, and the instances in which it was silent were excep­ tional and irregular. If the latter is true, the instances in which it was silent represent the regular pronunciation of the words, and those in which it is sounded an excep­ tional pronunciation, allowed by the fashion of the times in verse composition. It is a consequence, moreover, of the former theory that the -e, being by assumption a neces­ sary organic part of the word, ought to be sounded even where, as in the case of the final syllable of the verse, it is CH. ESSAYS. G �86 THE USE OF FINAL -e not required by the rhythm. By the latter theory the -e of the final rhyme, being generally an inorganic element of the orthography, not recognized in the ordinary pro­ nunciation and not required by the rhythm, was (with rare exceptions, such as Rome—--to me, sothe—to the, &c., in the Canterbury Tales and elsewhere) silent. These theories are obviously inconsistent with each other, the exceptions of the one being the rule of the other, and vice versa. The former is that adopted by Tyrwhitt, Guest, Gesenius, Child, Craik, Ellis, Morris, and Skeat; the latter is that maintained by the present writer, supported to some extent by the authority of the late Mr Richard Price. In anticipation of the full discussion of the various points involved, it may be here briefly remarked, that the former theory requires us to assume that such words as schame, veyne, sake, space, rose, joie, vie, sonne, witte, presse, were in ordinary parlance pronounced as scha-me, vey-ne, ro-se, joi-e, son-ne, wit-te, presse; moreover, that corage, nature, were pronounced as cora-ge, natu-re, and curteisie, hethenesse, as cwrfezsz-e, hethenesse, and that the recognition of the -e in verse as a factor of the rhythm was required to represent the true pronunciation. The second theory, on the other hand, assumes that schame, veyne, seke, joie, witte, nature, curteisie, &c., conventionally represent scham, veyn, selc, joi, wit, natur, curteisi, as the ordinary pronunciation of the words, and that the recogni­ tion of the -e as significant, was a rhythmical license. By way of further illustration of the difference between the two theories, it may be noted that in such verses as these: Enbrouded was he, as it were a mede—C. T. v. 89. Ful wel sche sang the servise devyne—ib. v. 122; the first theory requires mede and devyne to be pro­ nounced me-de, devy-ne; the second, regarding mede (== A.S. med) and devyne (= Fr. devyn) as conventional �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 87 spellings, requires them to be pronounced med and devyn. Servise (Fr. servis, service), here servi-se, is regular by the first theory, exceptional by the second.1 The main principle of the theory here adopted is that very early (probably in the 12 th century) phonetic began to supersede dynamic considerations, and, as a con­ sequence, to change. the significance of the originally organic -e ; and that this change was especially due to the introduction of the Norman speech and the usages of the Norman scribes into England. The Norman dialect was the simplest and purest of all the dialects of the French language, and largely exhibited the influence of phonetic laws. This influence it began to propagate on its contact with English. The first effect was to simplify the for­ mative English terminations of nouns. Hence in the beginning of the 12th century -a, -o, -u (as in tima, hcelo, sceamu) became -e (as in time, sceame, or schame, hele). It next acted on the grammatical inflexions, as, for in­ stance, in nouns, either by suppressing the -e of the oblique or dative case altogether (cf. Orrmin’s “ be word,” “bi brsed,” “o boc,” “off stan,” &c.); or by converting it from an organic to an inorganic termination, reducing it, in short, to the same category as name, shame, hele. It next affected the orthography generally by introducing an expedient of the Norman scribes (before unknown in England), which consisted in the addition of an inorganic -e to denote the length of the radical vowel, an expedient which, when adopted in English, converted, after a time, A.S. tar, ben, bed, into tare, bene, bede, without disturbing the individuality of the words, and re-acted on name, 1 In support of the assumption that sonant -e is exceptional, not regular, it may be noted that in the first 100 lines of the Pro­ logue (Ellesmere text) out of 160 instances of final -e only 22 occur in which it is sounded before a consonant; of the remaining 138 25 are silent before a consonant, 49 before a vowel or It, and 64 in the final rhyme where its sound is superfluous—that is to say, in 138 instances the words in -e have, it is assumed, their natural pronunciation against 22 in which, by license, the -e is reckoned as an additional syllable. �88 THE USE OF FINAL -C schame, hele, &c., by treating them (whatever they may have been before) as monosyllables. It finally acted on the versification by introducing the license, well known in early and, by descent, in modern French, of recog­ nizing, under rhythmical exigency, the inorganic -e (silent in ordinary discourse) as a factor of the verse. It hence appears that certain principles introduced by the Normans, and exhibited in their own tongue, affected first the spoken and then the written English, gradually superseding the organic function of the -e, by treating it as inorganic, as an orthoepic sign to guide the pronunciation of the reader; and that this great change was fundamentally due to the law of phonetic economy, which, by its tendency to simplification, gradually overpowered the original dynamic laws of the language, and ended in converting the forma­ tive and inflexional -e into a conventional element of the spelling. 2. OBJECTIONS WITH RESPECT TO THE VERSIFICATION CON­ SIDERED. I _ Two d priori objections may be taken, and indeed have been taken, against this conclusion as applied to Chaucer’s versification. The first is indicated in these words of Mr Ellis,1 “that Chaucer and Gdthe'used the final -e in precisely the same way,” and in these of Pro­ fessor Child,2 “that the unaccented, final -e of nouns of French origin is sounded in Chaucer as it is in French verse,” by which assertions it is affirmed that the laws of modern German and French versification are identical with those of Chaucer. The full answer to this objection will be found in the subsequent investigation, but for the present it may be urged, without pressing the argument already presumptively 1 “ Early English Pronunciation,” p. 339. 2 “ Observations on the Language of Chaucer,” by Professor Child of Harvard University, a paper contributed to the “ Memoirs of the American Academy,” vol. viii. p. 461. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 89 stated, that the use of -e in German and French versifica­ tion is (with very rare exceptions) regular and constant, while that in Chaucer is continually interfered with hy instances of silent -<?, which, indeed, outnumber those in which it is sounded (see note, p.' 87), even -without taking into consideration the -e of the final rhyme. Then with regard to the final rhyme, the objection as applied to French versification proves too much, inasmuch as the -e at the end of a French verse is not, and probably never was, a factor of the rhythm. This argument, then, as far as it is worth anything, is for, not against, the theory here maintained. The following instances, which are typical, show that the laws of French versification are continually violated by Chaucer: And he hadde ben somtyme in chivachie.— v. 85. In hope to stonden in his lady grace.—v. 88. He sleep nomore than doth a nightyngale.—w. 97, 98. Ful semely aftui' hire mete sche raught.—v. 13-6. By cause that it was old and somdel streyt.—v. 174. Kfrere ther was, a wantoun and a merye.—v. 208. In alle the ordres foure is noon that can.—v. 210, &c. If these verses are read by the French rule they become unmetrical; it is only by ignoring it that they can be read with metrical precision. The conclusion, then, is that the only exact identity between French and early English versification consists in the silence of the -e at the end of the verse. Nor would it be difficult to show from the above and from thousands of other instances, that the strict applica­ tion of the laws of German versification would render Chaucer unreadable. The second'd priori argument, first put forward by Tyrwhitt, against the theory here adopted, that the -e at the end of a verse was silent, is to the effect that Chaucer intended the verse of the Canterbury Tales to be an imita­ tion of the Italian endecasyllabic, that of Boccaccio, &c., and, therefore, that he required the -e at the close of the �90 THE USE OF FINAL -0 line to be pronounced to make the eleventh syllable. Against this assumption, however, it may be urged that he simply adopted the decasyllabic French verse, of which there were numerous examples before his time. The metre of the Chanson de Roland, Huon de Bordeaux, Guillaume d’Orange, &c., as well as of many of the “Ballades” of his contemporary Eustache Deschamps, appears to be pre­ cisely that of the Canterbury Tales. The following are typical examples :— Co sent Rollenz que la mort le tresprent, Devers la teste sur le quer li descent.— Chan, de Roland. Ma douce mere jamais ne me verra.—Huon de Bordeaux. Cis las dolans, vrais dex, que devenra.—ib. Forment me poise quant si estes navres Se tu recroiz, a ma fin sui alez.— Guillaume d? Orange. En bon Anglais le livre translatas.—Eustache Deschamps. Grant translateur, noble Geoffroy Chaucier.—ib. Ta noble plant, ta douce melodie.—ib. We see, then, that there was no occasion for Chaucer to go to the Italians for a model. It may, moreover, be plausibly urged that in none of Chaucer’s earlier works is there any trace of Italian influence, whether as regards subject, general treatment, or versification.3 3. THE SECTIONAL PAUSE. Before entering on the illustration by reference to the actual usage of early French and English poets of the theory which has been already stated, some notice may be taken of a characteristic feature of early French and English verse which has an important bearing on the point at issue.1 It is that of the sectional pause, a stop made in the reading of the verse, for the sake of the sound, and having no immediate connection with the sense. This pause in decasyllabic verse (to which, however, it is by no means confined) occurred at the end of the fourth or 1 It is remarkable that scarcely any of the writers on early English versification (except Dr Guest) have noticed the sectional pause, or explained the true use of the prosodial bars or full-points found in the MSS. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 91 sixth measure, and divided the verse into two parts, which were prosodially independent of each other; that is, it made each part a separate verse. Dr Guest (History of English Rhythms, i. 181) thus states the rule generally: “ When a verse is divided into two parts or sections by what is called the middle pause, the syllable which follows such pause is in the same situation as if it began the verse.” The bearing of this point, however, on the ques­ tion at issue is more fully seen in the usage of early French verse, in which the effect of the pause was to silence the -e which closed the section. This usage is altogether unknown in modern French verse; a fact which of itself forms an argument against the presumed identity of the laws of early English and modern French versifica­ tion. The rule is thus stated by Quicherat (“Versification frangaise,” p. 325) :• “ Une preuve de Timportance que nos anciens poetes donnaient au repos de la cesure ” (he means the sectional pause) “ c’est qu'ils la traitaient comme la rime, et lui permettaient de prendre une syllabe muette, qui n'etait pas comptee dans la mesure.” This principle, in its application to early Anglo-Nor­ man and English, may be thus formulated :— The -e that occurred at the sectional pause (and, pre­ sumptively, that at the final pause closing the verse) was silent, and not a factor of the rhythm. Instances in which the -e at the pause was silent abound in early French and Anglo-Norman poems, and this usage was borrowed or imitated by English poets, as may be seen in the instances which follow. Fors Sarraguce || ki est en une muntaigne.— Chanson de Roland, v. 6. De vasselage || fut asez chevaler.—ib. v. 25. Mais ami jeune || quiert amour et amie.—Eustache Des­ champs, i. 122. Car vieillesse || sans cause me decoipt.—ib. ii.' 20. Desous la loi de Rome || na nule region.—Rutebeuf, i. 236. Si li cors voloit fere || ce que lame desire.—ib. i. 399. Toz cis siecles est foire || mais lautre ert paiement.—ib. i. 400. / �92 THE USE OF FINAL -6 De medle se purpense || par ire par rancour.—Langtoft (ecl. Wright), i. 4. Lavine sa bele file || li done par amour.—i&. Norice le tient en garde || ke Brutus le appellait.— ib. I rede we chese a hede || fat us to werre kan dight.—De Drvnne (ed. Hearne, i. 2). pat ilk a kyng of reame || suld mak him alle redie.—ib. i. 4. Sorow and site he made || per was non oper rede.—ib. 5. That ben commune || to me and the.—Eandlyng Synne (ed. Furnivall, p. 1). In any spyce || pat we falle ynne.—ib. p. 2. For none \>arefore || shulde me blame.—ib. On Englyssh tunge || to make pys boke.—ib. In al godenesse || pat may to prow.—ib. p. 3. pe yeres of grace || fyl pan to be.—ib. Faire floures for to fecclie || pat he bi-fore him seye.— William of Palerne (ed. Skeat), v. 26. and comsed pan to crye || so ken[e]ly and schille.—ib. v. 37. panne of saw he ful sone || pat semliche child.—ib. n. 49. pat alle men vpon molde || no mqt telle his sorwe.—ib. v. 85. but carfuli gan sche crie || so kenely and lowde.—ib. v. 152. It will be seen that in all these instances the power of the pause overrides the grammatical considerations. Alle, commune (plurals), reame, spyce, tunge, grace, molde (datives), crie (infin.), to fecche, to crye (gerundial infini­ tives), have the -e silent. The following examples show that Chaucer adopted the same rule :— Schort was his goune || with sleeves long and wyde.—Earl. n. 93. He sleep no more || than doth a nightingale.—ib. v. 97. Hire gretest otliex || nas but by seint Eloi.—Tyrmhitt, v. 120. Hire grettest ooth || nas | but by | seint Loi.—-Earl. v. 120. That no drope || til | uppon | hire brest.—ib. v. 131. That no drope || ne fille upon hir brist.—Ellesmere, v. 131. I durste swere || they weyghede ten pound.—Earl. v. 454. And of the feste || that was at hire weddynge.—ib. v. 885. And maken alle || this lamentacioun.—ib. v. 935. For Goddes love || tak al in pacience.—iA v. 1086. Into my herte || that wol my bane be.—ib. v. 1097. No creature || that of hem maked is.—ib. v. 1247. And make a werre || so scharpe in this cite.—ib. v. 1287. Thou mayst hire wynne || to lady and to wyf.—ib. v. 1289. Ther as a beste || may al his lust fulfille.—ib. v. 1318. 1 Othe and ooth are the same word, the inorganic -e being merely an index to the sound. This exclamation occurs in “ Nenil, Sire, par Seint Eloi ” (Theatre Frangais du Moyen Age, p. 120). Loi itself appears to be simply a contraction of Eloi, �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 93 In. the following instances the independence of the second section of the verse is shown :— Whan that Aprille || with ] hise shore | wes swoote.—• Harl. v. 1. - And whiche they were || and | of what | degree.—Elies, v. 40. In al the parisshe || wyf | ne was | ther noon.—Harl. v. 451. Sche schulde slope || in | his arm | al night.—ib. v. 3406. That wyde where' || sent | her spy | eerie.—ib. v. 4556. Than schal your soule || up | to he|ven skippe.—ib. v. 9546. For Goddes sake || think | how I | the chees.—ib. v. 10039. And with a face || deed | as ai|sshen colde.—ib. v. 13623. In view of the numerous instances given above of the silence of the -e at the sectional pause, it would seem a fortiori improbable that it would be sounded at the greater pause, that formed by the end of the verse. This argu­ ment, though as yet only presumptive, is held to be strongly in favour of the theory adopted by the present writer, who would therefore read, In God|des love || tak al | in pa|cience as ten syllables and no more. Even if the illustrations adduced are not admitted as decisive of the silence of -e at the end of the verse, they undoubtedly account for its silence at the sectional pause as a characteristic of Anglo-Norman and Early English versification, and confirm the general argument, that in Chaucer’s time the law of phonetic economy prevailed over what have been assumed to be the demands of word­ formation and grammar. 4. THE USE OF FINAL -e AS A FORMATIVE CONVENTIONAL ELEMENT OF THE SPELLING. The position to be here maintained has been already stated (see p. 87), and amounts to this, that, as a con­ sequence of Norman influence, the -e, which, whether 1 If the -e of where is sounded, it is probably the single instance in which it is so used, either in Chaucer or any other Early English writer. Here and there, too, are always monosyllables, and there­ fore Mr Child’s marking of them as dissyllables when final, as in 1821, 3502, 5222, &c., is entirely gratuitous. They will be con­ sidered hereafter. �94 THE USE OF FINAL -e formative or inflexional, was once organic and significant, became, as in time = turn, dede = ded, &c., simply a mark or index of the radical long vowel sound, or as in witte = wit, presse = press, a mere conventional append­ age of the doubled consonant which denoted the radical short vowel sound. It- is further assumed that this phonetic influence, which probably acted first on the formative -e, as in the instances just given, gradually involved with varying degrees of velocity also the inflexional -e, and therefore that the so-called oblique cases as roote, brethe, ramme, &c., and the infinitives as take, arise, telle, putte, merely repre­ sent in their spelling the sounds rot, breth, ram, tali, arts, tel, put, the formative and the inflexional -e being reduced to the same category. The doctrine here laid down in its largest generality involves, it is easily seen, the whole question of the cor­ respondence between the sound of words uttered in ordin­ ary speech and their orthographic representation, as far as the final -e is concerned, and is to be considered independ­ ently of the exceptional use of -e as, by the usage of the times, an occasional factor of the verse. If, however, it can be proved it disposes entirely of the assumption that the -e was sounded at the end of the verse, and this is the main object in view. 5. CANONS OF ORTHOGRAPHY AND ORTHOEPY APPLICABLE TO EARLY ENGLISH. The main points, then, to be proved—by reference to the nature of the case and to actual usage—are, that in the time of Chaucer and long before, final -e had become either (1) an orthoepic or orthographic mark to indicate the sound of the long radical vowel or diphthong, or (2) a superfluous letter added for the eye, not for the ear, after a doubled consonant. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 95 These conventionalities may he reduced for convenience of reference to the following Canons of orthography and orthoepy. Canon I. (1) When final -e followed a consonant or consonants which were preceded by a long vowel or diphthong, it was not sounded. Thus mede = med, rose = rds, veyne = veyn. (2) When final -e followed a vowel or diphthong, tonic or atonic, it was not sounded. Thus curteisie = curteisi, glorie = glori, weye = wey, merie = meri. Canon II. When final -e followed a doubled consonant or two different consonants, preceded by a short vowel, it was not sounded. Thus witte = wit, blisse = blis, sette = set, ende = end, reste = rest. Once more admitting that the -e in each of these cases could be made, and was made, at the will of the poet, exceptionally significant, we proceed to consider these pro­ positions seriatim, merely observing, by the way, that these rules—framed and adopted five or six hundred years ago— are in substance the same as those now in common use. (1.) Final -e suffixed to a consonant or consonants which were preceded by a long vowel or diphthong, as in mede, penaunce, veyne. On this point we are bound to listen to the doctrine of Mr Richard Price, contained in the preface to his edition of Warton’s History of English Poetry. Referring first to the fact that in A.S. the long vowel of a monosyllabic word was commonly marked by an accent, which in the Early English stage of the language was entirely disused, he inquires what was done to supply its place, and maintains that in such cases an -e was generally suffixed to indicate the long quantity of the preceding �9G THE USE OF FINAL -e radical vowel. “The Norman scribes,” he says, “or at least the disciples of the Norman school, had recourse to the analogy which governed the French language;”1 and, he adds, “ elongated the word or attached, as it were, an accent instead of superscribing it.” “ From hence,” he proceeds to say, “ has emanated an extensive list of terms having final e’s and duplicate consonants, [as in witte, synne, &c.,J which were no more the representatives of additional syllables than the acute or grave accent in the Greek language, is a mark of metrical quantity.” He adds in a note, “ The converse of this can. only be maintained under an assumption that the Anglo-Saxon words of one syllable multiplied their numbers after the Conquest, and in some succeeding century subsided into their primitive simplicity.” Illustrating his main position in another place,2 he observes, “ The Anglo-Saxon a was pronounced like the Danish aa; the Swedish ci, or our modern o in more, fore, &c. The strong intonation given to the words in which it occurred would strike a Norman ear as indicat­ ing the same orthography that marked the long syllables of his native tongue, and he would accordingly write them with an e final. It is from this cause that we find liar, sar, lidt, bat, wd, an, ban, stan, &c., written hore (hoar), sore, hote (hot), bote (boat), woe, one, bone, stone, some of 1 Mr Price makes no attempt to prove this position, but a few remarks upon it may not be out of place here. The general principle in converting Latin words into French was to shorten them, and the general rule, to effect this by throwing off the termin­ ation of the accusative case. Thus calic-em would become calic, which appears in Old French both as callz and callee, evidently equivalent sounds. So we find vertiz, devis, servis, surplis, graas, and in phonetic spelling ros, clios. Conversely, as showing the real sound of such words, we find in Chaucer and other English poets, trespaas, solaas, caas, faas, gras (also grasse~), las, which interpret solace, case, face, grace, lace, as words in which -e was mute, and this because it was mute in French. French words ending in -nee, as sentence, paclence, experience, were presumpt­ ively sounded without -e, since we find Chaucer and other English writers expressing them as sentens, paciens, experiens. See Ap­ pendix I “ On the final -e of French nouns derived from Latin.” 2 End of note to the Saxon Ode on the Victory of Athelstan. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 97 which have heen retained. The same principle of elonga­ tion was extended to all the Anglo-Saxon vowels that were accentuated; such as rec, reke (reek), lif, life, god, gode (good), scur, shure (shower); and hence the majority of those e’s mute, upon which Mr Tyrwhitt has expended so much unfounded speculation.” 1 Mr Price means to assert—what is maintained by the present writer—that an original monosyllable, as lif, for instance, was never intended by those who sub­ sequently wrote it life to be considered or treated, when used independently, as a word of two syllables, though when introduced into verse it might be employed as such, under the stress of the rhythm. There seems an a priori absurdity in the conception of such an interference with the individuality of a word, as is involved in denying the essential identity of lif and life. The fact, too, that in Early English, as distinguished from Anglo-Saxon so called, nearly, if not quite all, the words in question appear as monosyllables, seems strikingly to confirm the hypothesis. Thus in the Orrmulum we find boc, blod, brad, braed, cwen, daed, daef, daefy, god, so], wa, an, stan, nearly all of which are the identical A.S. forms, and were most of them in later texts lengthened out by an inorganic -e. As the pronunciation of these words was no doubt well established, there seemed no need for the scribe to indicate in any way what was everywhere known, but soon the confusion that began to arise, in writing, between long and short syllables, suggested the more general use of the orthoepical expedient in question, and accordingly we find in early English texts both forms employed. Thus along with lif, str if, drem, bot, &c., we see bede (A.S. bed), bene, bone (A.S. ben), bode (A.S. b6d), &c. The “ Early English Poems” (written before 1300, 1 Mr Price promised to resume the subject “ in a supplementaryvolume, in an examination of that ingenious critic’s ‘ Essay upon the Language and Versification of Chaucer.’ ” This promise was, however, never fulfilled. �98 THE USE OF FINAL -e in a “pure Southern” dialect1) supply us with numerous examples. The following are from “ A Sarmun ” : pe dere (A.S. deor) is nauqte (A.S. naht, nawht) pat pou mighte sle v. 24 If pou ertpr.wtfe (A.S. prut) man, of pi fleisse v. 25 pe wiked wede (A.S. wed) pat was abute v. 49 Hit is mi rede (A.S. rad, red) while pou him hast v. 61 pen spene pe gode (A.S. god) pat god ham send v. 68 His hondes, \sfete (A.S. fet) sul ren of blode v. 117 Of sinful man pat sadde pi blode (A.S. blod) v. 124 flopefire (A.S. fyr) and wind lude sul crie v. 125 And forto hir pe bitter dome (A.S. dom) V. 134 Angles sul quake, so seip pe bohe (A.S. hoc) v. 135 To crie ihsu pin ore (A.S. ar) v. 142 While pou ert here (A.S. her) be wel iware (A.S. gewar) v. 143 Undo pin hert and live is lore (A.S. lar) v. 144 Hit is to late (A.S. last) whan pou ert pare (A.S. pa*r, par, per) v. 146 For be pe soule (A.S. sawl) enis oute (A.S. ut) v. 171 he nel nojt leue his eir al bare (A.S. bser) v. 174 and helpip pai pat habip nede (A.S. nead, neod, ned) v. 186 pe ioi of heven hab to mede (A.S. med) v. 188 heven is heij hope lange (A.S. lang) and wide (A.S. wid) v. 213 In this long list of passages It will be seen that not one instance occurs in which the formative -e is phonetic, so that bede, bone, blode, boke, ore, here, lore, nede, bare, ware, wide, late, &c., are all treated as words of one syllable in which the -e is merely an orthoepical index to the sound. These instances, alone, go far to show what the ordinary pronunciation of the words in question was, and to make it appear very improbable that, except by poetical license, the -e which closes them was ever pronounced. It appears, then, clear that the A.S. words above quoted are absolutely equivalent to the corresponding Early English words ending in -e. But the principle admits of some ex­ tension. We find that not only A.S. words ending in a consonant assumed -e in Early English, but that the A.S. terminations -a, -o, -u, were also represented by -e. This we see in time from tima, and hele from hselo, or hselu. When 1 “ Some notes on the leading grammatical characteristics of the principal Early English dialects.” By Wm. T. P. Sturzen-Becker, Ph.D. Copenhagen, 1868. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 99 these forms were generally adopted, the next step would he to consider them as in the same category as blode, dome, &c., and to apply the same rule of pronunciation to them. Hence, except by way of license, we find in the 13th and 14th centuries no practical difference in the use of the two classes of words—crede from creda, stede from steda, care from cearu, shame from sceamu, being treated precisely as blode from blod, dome from dom, &c.; and the same remark applies to such adjectives as blithe, dene, grene, &c., which in their simple indefinite use, at least, were probably mono­ syllables. The position now gained is, that the -e in such English words as dome, mede, fode, mone, name, &c., was orthoepic, not organic. It is highly probable—as Mr Price appears to have believed—that Latin words became French by a si-mil ar process, and that the orthoepic expedient in question is of French origin.1 The Norman words place, grace, face, space, as interpreted in English by plas, graas, faas, spas, are found in “ Early English Poems,” and later, in Chaucer, and we also find conversely trespace, case, for the French trespas, cas. Both in Early French and English we moreover find as equivalent forms, devis, devise, and device; servis, servise, service; pris, prise, price; surplis, surplice; assis, assise.2 It will now be shown by examples, both Anglo-Norman and English, that in words containing a long vowel followed by a consonant and final -e, the -e was simply an index to the quantity of the vowel, and therefore not generally pronounced in verse composition—though under stress of the rhythm it might be. The usage in Anglo-Norman verse will first be shown generally: 1 See Appendix I. 2 The phonetic identity of -s, -sse, -ce, in Anglo-Norman and English is shown by numerous illustrations in a paper by the pre­ sent writer, on Norman and English pronunciation, in the Philo­ logical Transactions for 1868-9, pp. 371, 418-19, 440. �100 TIIE USE OF FINAL -e Quy a la dame de parays.—Lyrical Poetry of reign of Edward I. (ed. Wright), p. 1. Quar ele porta le noble enfant.—ib. De tiele chose tenir grant pris.— ib. p. 3. Vous estes pleyne de grant docour,—ib. p. 65. The word dame is derived from domin-am — domin — domn — dom — dam — dame, just as anim-am becomes anim, anm, dm, ame. In both instances the -e is inorganic. Dame frequently occurs in Chaucer, and generally, as we might expect, with -e silent.1 Examples are :— Of themperoures doughter dame Custaunce.—Harl. v. 4571. Madame, quod he, ye may be glad & blithe.—ib. v. 5152. (See also v. 4604, 7786, &c.) We may presume, then, that at the end of a line, the -e in this word would be silent, and that the -e of any word rhyming with it would therefore be silent, as of blame in And elles certeyn hadde thei ben to blame : It is right fair for to be clept madarne.—Harl. v. 378-0. We may infer, then, that English words of the same termination—as scliame, name, &c., would follow the same rule—and accordingly we find— J?e more scliame Jsat he him dede.—Ear. Eng. Poems, p. 39. We stunt noj?er for schame ne drede.—ib. p. 123. In gode burwes and \mx-fram Ne funden he non f>at dede hem sham.—Haveloh (ed. Skeat), v. 55-6. Ful wel ye witte his nam, Ser Pers de Birmingham.—Harl. v. 913 (date 1308) ; and in Wiclif’s “ Apology for the Lollards ” (Camden Society), “ in pe nam of Crist ” (p. 6); “ in nam of the Kirke” (p. 13), &c., as also “in the name" on the same page. We may therefore conclude that shame = sham, and name = ndm. Following out the principle we should conclude that 1 Professor Child, in a communication to Mi- Furnivall, in­ tended for publication, decides that “ dame is an exception ” from the general rule, but quotes Chaucer’s usage of fame throughout the “House of Fame ” as a dissyllable. There is, of course, no disputing the fact, but we see nothing in it beyond a convenient license. Does Mr Child pretend that fame was formed on some special principle, and for this reason employed by Chaucer as a dissyllable? �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 101 what is true of -ame would also he true of -erne, in dreme, -ime in rime, -ome in dome, -ume in coustume; and by extending the analogy we should comprehend -ene in queue, -ine in pine, as well as -ede in bede, -ete in swete, -ote in note, -ute in prute, -ere in chere, &c., and expect that the -e in all these cases would be mute. This, with exceptions under stress, is found to be the case—the Northern MSS. (as seen above) very frequently even rejecting it in the spelling. For the purpose of this inquiry it is obvious that such terminations as -ume, -ine, -ete, -ere, -age, -ance, &c., are virtu­ ally equivalent to monosyllabic words of the same elements. As, however, it would be quite impossible without extend­ ing the investigation to an enormous length, to illustrate them all, the terminations -are, -ere, -ire, -ure, -age, -ance, will be taken as types of the class. -ere. We commence -with -ere because Professor Child asserts that “ there can be no doubt -e final was generally pronounced after r,” a conclusion inconsistent with the law of formation already considered, and, as it would appear, with general usage in early Anglo-Norman and English. He farther maintains that “ the final -e of deere (A.S. deor, deore) and of cheere (Fr. chere) was most distinctly pro­ nounced ” [in Chaucer]. The first of these propositions evidently includes the second, and means that words in -are, as bare, in -ere, as here, in -ire, as fire, in -ore, as lore, generally have sonant -e. Now it has been shown (p. 98) that bare, here, fire, lore, were monosyllables in the 13th century. It is, therefore, extremely improbable that these words would in the 14th century put on another syllable. And if not these words, why others of the same termination, as deere and cheere ? However frequently, then, such words may appear in Chaucer, with sonant -e, the cases are exceptional, and being themselves exceptions from a general rule, cannot form a separate rjile to override the general one. CH. ESSAYS. n �102 THE USE OE FINAL -e Although, then, it were proved that Chaucer more generally than not uses deere as a dissyllable, that fact being exceptional cannot prove that here,1 prayere, frere, manere,1 matere, have the -e sonant because they rhyme with deere. The argument, in fact, runs the other way, inas­ much as here, which is without exception a monosyllable —manere and matere, which are almost without exception dissyllables, being themselves representatives of the general law of analogy—have a right, which no exceptional case can have, to lay down the law. When therefore we find heere and deere rhyming together, it is here, not deere, that decides the question, and proves deere in that in­ stance to be a monosyllable. We are indeed, in deter­ mining such cases, always thrown back on the formative law, which, being general, overrides the exceptions. All the instances, then, in which deere rhymes with here, manere and matere, are instances of monosyllabic deere. As to chere, on which Mr Child also relies, he seems to have forgotten that this word is very frequently written cheer (there are eight such instances in the Clerk’s Tale alone), and wherever so written confirms, and indeed proves, the contention that it was-only exceptionally a dissyllable. Every instance, then, in which deere and cheere rhyme with here, there, where, matere, manere, frere, cleere, all repre­ sentatives of the formative rule, is an argument against Mr Child’s partial induction. A few instances will now be given, showing the use of -are, -ere, -ire, -ore, -ure, in Anglo-Norman and English writers: -are, -ere, -ire, -ore:— ’ No instance has yet been met with in Chaucer of here, there, or manere with sonant -e. Two from Gower of manere, as a tri­ syllable, have been found by Professor Child. Gower however, who affected Frenchisms everywhere, being, if possible, more French than the native authorities, and in his French ballads writes in the “ French of Paris,” not Anglo-Norman—is no authority on the question. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 103 Si fut un sirex de Rome la citet.—Alexis, v. 13. . Quant vint al fare, dune le funt gentement.—ib. v. 47. En cele manere1 Dermot le reis.— Conquest of Ireland (ed. 2 Michel), p. 6. Vers Engletere la haute mer.—ib. p. 153. En Engleter sodeinement.—French Chronicle (Cam. Soc.), Appendix. Deus le tot puissant ke eeel e terre crea.—Langtoft (ed. Wright), v. 1. Ke homme de terre venuz en terre revertira.—ib. Uncore vus pri pur cel confort.—Lyrical Poetry, p. 55. Then, for English instances : Lyare wes mi latymer.— Lyrical Poetry, p. 49. Careful men y-cast in care.—ib. p. 50. Thareiena ne lette me nomon.—ib. p. 74. Ther is [mani] maner irate—Land of Cokaygne, v. 49. On fys manure handyl J>y dedes.—Handlyng Synne, p. 5. Four manere joyen hy hedde here.—Shoreham's Poems (Percy Soc.), p. 118. And alle ine nout maner . . . Ine stede of messager.—ib. p. 119. Sire quap pis holi maide our louerd himself tok.—Seinte, Margarete (ed. Cockayne), p. 27. Fyrst of my lvyre my lorde con wynne.—Allit. Poems, i. v. 582. Bifore3 J?at spot my honde I spennd.—ib. i. v. 49. pat were i-falle for prude an hove To fille har stides pat wer ilor.—Ear. Eng. Poems, p. 13. And never a day pe dore to pas.—ib. p. 137. More j?en me lyste my drede aros.—ib. v. 181. 1 In Anglo-Norman verse of the 13th century Sire is generally a monosyllable, and is even repeatedly written Sir. See in “ Polit­ ical Songs ” (Camd. Soc.), pp. 66, 67, “ Sir Symon de Montfort,” “Sir Rogier,” and also in “Le Privilege aux Bretons,” a song con­ taining, like that just quoted from, a good deal of phonetic spelling, “ Syr Hariot,” “ Syr Jac de Saint-Calons ” and “ Biaus Sir ” (Jubinal’s “Jongleurs et Trouveres,” pp. 52—62). Writings of this kind in which words are phonetically, not conventionally, spelt, are often very valuable as showing the true sound, and illustrate a pithy re­ mark of Professor Massafia’s, that “ pathological examples are fre­ quently more instructive than sound ones.” 2 In the “Assault of Massoura,” an Anglo-Norman poem (13th century, Cotton MS. Julian A. v.), we find mere,frere, banere, arere, almost always spelt without the -e. Manere (when not final) is a dissyllable, and, when final, rhymes with banere, which in its turn rhymes with/re?’. Mester and mestere both occur, and the latter rhymes with eschapere and governere, for eschaper and governer, showing that the added -e was inorganic and merely a matter of spelling. 3 A.S. biforan became in Early English biforen, which fell under the orthoepic rule which, as in many infinitives (see infra), elided the -e in the atonic syllable -en. Biforen thus became biforn, then lost the n and received an inorganic or index letter, e, becoming bifore or before. No instance has yet been found by the present writer, of bifore as a trisyllable. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Essays on Chaucer: his words and works. Part II Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: [3], 57-177, [2] p. ; 23 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed by John Childs and Son. Published for The Chaucer Society. Publisher's series list inside and on the back over. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource [Unknown] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1874] Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Trübner & Co. Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (Essays on Chaucer: his words and works. Part II), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5555 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Chaucer Conway Tracts Poetry Poetry in English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/1da3e757fffde88d011b2a33c470e7c6.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=Lv4x2YNxikMq3Iexo9Ey4V9UdjTWhvE-9Gh16b8QvViUZFbvKumePjud%7EaXMGeZsiLtsKgLut9mMDOFbf%7E6Pfl05OKKfYj7VTFPr7XCg58z%7EuT66mpwz0HuwfvfC9AEe3j%7ELCZTSSg6WZex3M2dinlpkOXxEHUqQEPlVK7IytZppF3voIIersAlDbqmtX4XdmtggO7jV3g63ByeZggWKF6jKqIt9q4Cjj0DWQWuH6YseIcEbpyobup6v5TkfPcigf%7EQelaabM9suFhFHKjJCE%7E0-%7EiyxM3bejXiGtLClKG1ZH3XUydMyRdt2XIPYep9iiaFUjZAx7-gwBLWiMjMAoA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 6a050d37757e59481c9eb939537c03da PDF Text Text FATED OTHERWISE, A POEM, BY BLANCHE AUTHORESS “IN MORTIMER, OF THE POEM OTHER LANDS,” &c, &c. FERMOY : PRINTED BY JOHN LINDSEY, KING STREET, 1871. �* - �Fated Otherwise. It is customary, now, to acknowledge the source from whence our Plays and Poesies are inspired, hence, become identified in Madame de Valerie at her meeting with Ernest Maltravers. Lord Lytton’s Romance. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Visions sweetly fair shone before me in array; A beauteous form in white, So maidenly and slight, With rosy cheeks so bright, Like a fay, Like a fay, As I lay a-dreaming, she skipped o’er heath and spray. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Gazing in a boudoir soft sounds swept by my ear: “Bright-eyed Canary, tell to me “Whether One could ever see, “ How One’s lot in life would be, “ It isn’t clear “It isn’t clear.” As I lay a-dreaming, her bird she asked in fear. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Shaking all his plumes he merrily chirped away: “ Now can I look so sage, “ When confined within my cage “ I do not know the Age, “Life’s not play, “ Life’s not play:” As I lay a-drcaming, he chirped “ we turn to clay.” As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, A Parrot from her perch screamed “ Closely watch the Page, “ Scratch poll, I’m Pol, Polly knows, “Mark the vane when it blows, “Darling is her Papa’s rose, “ Love’s the rage, “Love’s the rage.” As I lay a-dreaming, screeched “ Remain sixteen in age.” �4 FATED OTHERWISE. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Charming was the ball room presented to my view, Those bosoms heaving there, With diamonds as a snare, Like serpents in their lair, Folly too, Folly too, As I lay a-dreaming, thought Satan must have you. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Hidden in an alcove two lovers fondly coo’d; “ Darling, lavest thou me, “ My wife, Sweet, wilt thou be ?“ Say yes, for I love thee,” Oh, love’s mood, Oh, love’s mood. As I lay a-xlreaming, ’twas thus he won and woo’d.. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, His hand she gently pressed and blushing answered soon, “ There’s one more query yet, “ Papa must free his pet, “He would not see her fret.” ‘ A honeymoon ! ‘ A honeymoon ! ’ As I lay a-dreaming, she mused ‘ ’tviixt lip, and spoon.’ As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, “ Quite early yet to marry,” said the Earl in hauteur;; “ No, no, my noble boy, “ Thou must not make a toy “Of her’ nay fondest joy.” ‘ Lose my daughter ! ‘ Lose my daughter As 1 lay a-dreaming, thought could he not thwart her, As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Thus spake her Sire again, a vivid whim to strike, “ Go, England’s Flag to wave, “ To dwell amidst the brave “ A great name boy to pave, “ Cutlass and pike ! “ Cutlass and pike 1” As I lay a-dreaming, mused he, this ruse I like. �FATED OTHERWISE. 5. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Sadly sobbed the Earl with his face between his hancfe:• “ Acquired in every art, “ So fashioned to my heart, “I could not with her part, “Brief are life’s sands, “ Brief are life’s sands.” As I lay a-dreaming, willed, “ she bends to my commands.” As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, So. fondly a letter she has clasped to her breast; “Lina, Pet, I am well, “ Hugh writes from sea to tell “Love to his own Blue belle. “ Eears at rest, “ Fears at rest. As I lay a-dreaming, cried, P.S. ? No ! Which I detest. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Lina and her Aunt were embarked in fierce contest: “ His talents are so great, “ Likewise that huge estate, “ While there’s a marquisate, “ Which is no jest, “ Which is no jest. As I lay a-dreaming, ended, “ wealth'grasped is best.” As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Our heroine replies, in simple earnest tone : “ Golden fetters, ehains they are, “Happiness at best is far, “Spring and Winter more than jar, “ My love is flown, “ My love is flown.” As I lay a-dreaming.. breathed, no throne would I own. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, “ Heart-rending loss,” read the Earl from his Court Review “ A cyclone it is said, “ Caught “ Canute,” and o’erspread “ All lives in their last bed.’’ “ Poor dear Hugh, “ Poor dear Hugh.” As I lay a-dreaming, She sobbed and breathed A Djev. �6 FATED OTHERWISE. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, I wondered how quickly faces from memory fade, When from dying friends we’re torn, Nature yields our grief a bourn, Then virgins sigh, widows mourn. Born, soon decayed, Born, soon decayed. As [ lay a-dreaming, mused, How should I be laid As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, At the Altar stood a Marquis with his young bride : Her eyes glistened with tears, Her heart panted with fears, Those cheers jarred on her ears, “For life tied, “ For life tied.” As I lay a-dreaming sighed, “ wreath thou dost deride.” As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, From the Church-porch issued the joyous wedding throng, Silver coins pleased the crowd, Children strewed flowers and bowed, Harridans grinned aloud: “ May you live long! “ May you live long!” As I lay a-dreaming, the bells pealed out So-Wrong. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Lina strolled around the scenes of her childish glee : “ ’Twas here he stood that day, “Here kissed that frown away... “ That coming form! Oh stay ! “ Alive and free, “ Alive and free,’’ As I lay a-dreaming, shrieked, “ yes! to torture me.” As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Hugh bounding o’ei' a rivulet has reached her seat. ‘ His kiss gives my eyes a gleam, ‘ Do I wake as from a dream, ‘Madness, but ecstacy supreme,’ “Art sad to meet? “ Art sad to meet ?” As I lay a-dreaming, Hugh cried, “ Speak, I entreat.!” �FATED OTIIjE RAVI SE. As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Hugh rattled gaily on as there she sat tongue-tied: “Nine jumped in an open boat, “Providence kept us afloat, “ Till ta’en to a Port remote. “ What! a Bride ! “Thou! a Bride.” As I lay a-dreaming, moaned, “ Thou my life, my guide.” As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, Starting to her feet she wildly cried “leave me not, “ I will fly, if you dare; “ Spurn me not, if you share “ One wish for my wellfare, “ Pity my lot, “ Pity my lot.” As I lay a-dreaming, urged, “ help me tear that knot.” As I lay a-dreaming, a-dreaming, a-dreaming, He said, “ Darling, Civilization leads astray, “ Yet scorn her she wields hate, “Women map the maiden’s fate “ As Fiends hate, of love in hate, “ Hard to obey, “ Hard to obey.” As I lay a-dreaming, cried, “ Fortune does betray.” As I shook in dreaming, in dreaming, in dreaming— Sweetest Lutestring, another word then I am gone, “Try thy sad lot to bear, dear, “ Sorrows are not given here, “ Without some cause rests quite clear, “ But each May morn, “ But each May morn. “If I fall in dream-land I’ll muse for my lovelorn.’’ BLANCHE MOBTIMEB. 7 �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Fated otherwise, a poem Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Mortimer, Blanche Description An account of the resource Place of publication: Fermoy Collation: 7 p. ; 21 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Printed by John Lindsey Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1871 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5313 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Fated otherwise, a poem), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts English Poetry Poetry in English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/2b66309a40a1506876f841feac99d58d.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=Eqcb9HCwTGlE5Dgx9YIDN755WJReqdFeWfLlXCCI7gjRyX-Urbh3VnwoQNgasvlLGg7-WcgWTDGihG7wOBNTOWkqf3ak0%7EL3v4qZWYUTLd66p-b1OQL2YueeTA6IjEScn72GmQg5CWKu8d9hasITjCzvuRcmbw9Kca6oYypoTgWdGqMvo1IEAEVqgEff1VOkvktWzJphWWtLWY6DK1jlYcnnQmszYCmjMKzOjkwolKTUMnD1O36XbQ8xo4Rgr9L6cIxrHvhKFydYgCyGQH65S1ia1PUPHX7JoISTGVev65IOh0HI2lF98ORkwpi-KKJIcwIoOq-2vjawyaDWDcHB%7Eg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM ea2d249ad7dd93dff5ff178572644e60 PDF Text Text 167 ¿2. '•* r " . . ziOY- A?'.' f? - 4 'f c-fc s."..: Jn J^ove’s an , 0 ^TERNITY By Arthur W. E. O’Shaughnessy. My body was part of the sun and the dew, Not a trace of my death to me clave; There was scarce a man left on the earth whom I knew, And another was laid in my grave ;— I was changed and in heaven; the great sea of blue Had long washed my soul pure in its wave. My sorrow was turned to a beautiful dress; Very fair for my weeping was I, Arid my heart was renewed, but it bore, none the less, The great wound that had brought me to die— The deep wound that She gave who wrought all my distress Ah, my heart loved her still in the sky ! I wandered alone where the stars’ tracks were bright; I was beauteous and holy and sad; I was thinking of her who of old had the might To have blest me and made my death glad; I remembered how faithless she was, and how light, Yea, and how little pity she had. The love that I bore her was now more sublime, It could, never be shared now or known ; And her wound in my heart was a pledge in love’s clime, Eor her sake I was ever alone, Till the spirit of God in the fulness of time Should make perfect all love in his own. My soul had forgiven each separate tear She had bitterly wrung from my eyes ; But I thought of her lightness—ah, sore was my fear She would fall somewhere never to rise, And that no one would love her to bring her soul near To the heaven where love never dies. �168 IN love’s eternity. She had drawn me with feigning, and held me a day; She had taken the passionate price That my heart gave for love—with no doubt or delay— For I thought that her smile would suffice ; She had played with, and wasted, and then cast away The true heart that could never love twice. And false must she be; she had followed the cheat That ends loveless and hopeless below ; I remembered her words’ cruel worldly deceit When she bade me forget her and go. She could ne’er have believed after death we might meet, Or she would not have let me die so ! I thought and was sad ; the blue fathomless seas Bore the white clouds in luminous throng, And the souls that had love were in each one of these ; They passed by with a great upward song : They were going to wander beneath the fair trees In high Eden—their joy would be long. An age it is since : the great passionate bloom Of eternity burns more intense ; The whole heaven draws near to its beautiful doom With a deeper, a holier sense ; It feels ready to fall on His bosom in whom Is each love and each love’s recompense. How sweet to look back to that desolate space When the heaven scarce my heaven seemed ! She came suddenly, swiftly, a great healing grace Filled her features and forth from her streamed ! With a cry our lips met, and a long close embrace Made the past like a thing I had dreamed. ‘ Ah, love,’ she began, ‘ when I found you were dead I was changed and the world was changed too ; On a sudden I felt that the sunshine had fled, And the flowers and summer gone too ; Life but mocked me ; I found there was nothing instead But to turn back and weep all in you. When you were not there to fall down at my feet, And pour out the whole passionate store Of the heart that was made to make my heart complete, In true words that my memory bore, Then I found that those words were the only words sweet, And I knew I should hear them no more. * �in love’s eternity. ‘ I found that my life was grown empty again ; Day and year now I had but to learn How my heaven had come to me—sought me in vain, And was gone from me ne’er to return : Too earthly and winterly now seemed the plain Of dull life where the heart ceased to burn ! ‘ And soon with a gathering halo was seen, O’er a dim waste that fell into night, Your coming, your going—as though it had been The fair track of an angel of light; And my dream showed you changed in a spirit’s full sheen Fleeing from me in far lonely flight. ‘ My Angel! ’twas then with a soul’s perfect stake ' You came wooing me, day after day, With soft eyes that shed tears for my sake and the sake Of intense thoughts your lips would not say ; ’Twas a love, then, like this my heart cared not to take ! ’Twas a heart like this I cast away ! ‘ Ah yes !—but your love was a fair magic toy That you gave to a child who scarce deigned To receive it—forsook it for some passing joy, Never guessing the charm it contained : But you gave it and left it, and none could destroy The fair talisman where it remained. ‘And, surely, no child—but a woman at last Found your gift where the child let it lie, Understood the whole secret it held, sweet and vast, The fair treasure a world could not buy; And believed not the meaning could ever have past, Any more than the giver could die. ‘ And then did that woman’s whole life, with a start, Own its lover, its saviour, its lord ; He had come, he had wooed her,—and lo, her dull heart Had not hailed him with one stricken chord Of whole passion—had suffered him e’en to depart Without hope of a lover’s reward ! ‘ But, surely, there failed not at length his least look, His least pleading, his most secret tear Quite to win her and save her; her heart truly took A fond record of all: very dear, Very gracious he seemed; and for him she forsook The drear ruin her soul had come near. 169 �170 IN love’s ETERNITY. ‘ For him she made perfect her life, till she laved Her soul pure in the infinite blue : O thou Lover, who once, for a love deathless ci'aved A brief heaven of years frail and few, Take the child whom you loved and the woman you saved In the Angel who now blesses you ! ’ She ceased. To my soul’s deepest sources the sense Of her words with a full healing crept, And my heart was delivered with rapture intense From the wound and the void it had kept; Then I saw that her heart was a heaven—immense As my love ! And together we wept. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource In love's eternity Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource O'Shaughnessy, Arthur William Edgar Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London] Collation: 167-170 p. ; 23 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From The Dark Blue 2. Attribution of journal title and date: Virginia Clark catalogue. The Dark Blue was a London-based literary magazine published monthly from 1871 to 1873. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [s.n.] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1871] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5316 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (In love's eternity), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts English Poetry Poetry in English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/2ad833567bffd8c38a9a31707e49ae73.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=JccnVn8i%7Et3EsPLRJRRTwf9vsHA3OyUN0qj9ZdO8F-%7EPdTf1OjmmV0Q3Ja3u5m-G5C3GNlCQopAjFDX3RtazXyy%7EfWXgGmJMn6XyZHMSzgw01JdaoweEZsPDnkRJB0ebbQvBYS-Z53whgZQ64GsFetGB0B1GI40IrP513RrRa70gCtIcQfHzUnj7nn5Khnx%7E2fuE6DM6-LEMJ-ZtlOafcrgp3cSVVIx6QUSibIvZ8birXRuNMc404B5Bd5pH40M7bHkOfD7YNn3zTvV0I6f4FKAvw-QFbkvBGQMvhq5o%7EkvlVIChwX6XvF8QKtFc1-g7G3TWjk8gGnL-C0JYLSXdeA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 424066b8f55c8453d6e011f98db1c768 PDF Text Text 1—-----------& D U AN jor A Twofold Journey With Manifold Purposes. BY THE AUTHORS OF “THE COMING K ” and “THE SILIAD.” Contents : Dedication Canto the Canto the Canto the Canto the Canto the Canto the Canto the Canto the First . Second . Third . Fourth . Fifth . Sixth . Seventh Eighth . . . . . . . Ben Trovato. . Ancestry, Parentage, and Education. . The Queenless Court. . Progress through Bohemia. . Mother Church and her Children. . The Savour of Society. . The Lords and Ladies of the Drama. . A Sojourn in Deer Land. . The Smoke-Room at the M------ Club. Junbun ; WELDON & CO., 15, Wine Office Court, Fleet Street, E.C. 1874. �yON DUAN ADVËRTÏSEMENTS. E. MOSES & SON, Merchant Tailors and Outfitters for all Classes. OVERCOATS in Great Variety, 19s. to £7. The Newest Styles and Patterns. Extensive Preparations have been made in every Department for the Winter Season. A Distinct Department for Boys’ Clothing. ALL GOODS MARKED IN PLAIN FIGURES, RULES FOR SELF-MEASURE. Any article Exchanged, or, if desired, the money returned. Patterns, List of Prices, and Fashion Sheet, Post Free. E. MOSES & SON’S Establishments are Closed every Friday evening at sunset till Saturday evening at sunset, when business is resumed till eleven o’clock. The following are the only Addresses of E. MOSES & SON: ¿CORNER OF MINORIES AND ALDGATE, London]new oxford street, corner of hart street, (corner OF TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD & EUSTON ROAD. COUNTRY BRANCH—BRADFORD, YORKSHIRE. MUSICAL BOX DEPOTS, 56, Cheapside j and 22, Ludgate Hill. WATCHES AT ABOUT HALF-PRICE, By eminent makers (Frodsham, M'Cabe, Barraud, Dent, &c.), in Gold and Silver, quite unimpaired by wear; the system of warranty ensuring complete satisfaction to purchasers. Catalogues, with prices, gratis «id post free on application» WALES & M'CULLOCH, 22, Ludgate Hill; and 56, Cheapside, London, �DUAN. JON By the Authors of “ The Coming K----- ” and “ The Siliad.” Dedication. EN DIZZY ! you’re a humbug—Humbug­ laureate, And representative of all the race ; Although ’tis true that you turned out a Tory at Last, yours is still an enigmatic face. And now, O Sphyntic renegade, what are you at With all the Rurals in and out of place ? You'll educate them, won’t you, Master Ben ? And make them think that they are clever, very, Until the trick is won, and they’ll wish, then, They’d taken you cum grano Salis-\>Mxy. No wonder Mr. Miall’s making merry, And rallying his Liberation men— Where will you leave the boobies in the lurch— He sees your tongue so plainly in your cheek, Have you resolved to double D------ the Church ?1 When in your Church’s champion role you speak. You’ve dished the Whigs before; we now would Go on, neat humbug, laughing in your sleeve. sing, What is the pie that you’re so busy making ? A dainty dish to set before the Thing—2 Or aught that its digestion will be shaking ?— Or is it Discord’s apple that you bring Or will you set the good old Tories quaking, And winking, as you bid the Church not falter ; We joy to see her aid from you receive, To guard her ’gainst the dangers that assault her; The English Church has had her last reprieve, Now_y<?zz are standing boldly by her altar.— By saying that they hitherto have missed tricks,. Already in the glass we see the image, By not going in for equal polling districts ? Of an impending, big religious scrimmage. �DEDICA TION. O, who shall tell the turmoil and the strife— The more interminable because religious— With which the coming Session will be rife, When all the rival creeds shall wax litigious, To help the State keep Madame Church, his wife, In proper order ? It will be prodigious ! The war of politics becomes mere prattle Beside a rubrical religious battle. Thank God ! it’s coming ! we shall live to see The State Church crushed, and God from Mammon parted ; England from dowered priestcraft will be free, The Bishops from the Upper House all started ; Then flowers and fruit will fill fair wisdom’s tree, And Superstition from the land be carted. O, Dizzy, for the coming state of things, Our muse her warmest thanks, prospective, sings ! The Pope had better dance his can-cans straight­ way, For weak-souled Marquises he’s proselyted ; For Truth is mustering at Error’s gateway, Demanding that the people’s wrongs be righted ; Priestcraft is doomed, and this will go a great way Tow’rds bringing sunshine into lands be­ nighted. “ The moaning wind Oh yes, Ben, we have heard it— Is rising now, and woe to them that stirred it ! And we, because we call a spade a spade,— Despising weak and washy euphemisms,— Find everywhere false accusations made Against us by the smarting “ ists” and “isms” �DEDICA TION. We have attacked ; they like not to be flayed O’er fires made up with their own catechisms ; So, as they writhe and twist like dying eels, They make the air resound with libellous squeals. Some have accused us of a strange design Against the Heads and Tales3 of the land ; They’ve traced it in The Siliad's ev’ry line, And in The Coming K------ seen treason’s brand. Well, it no way displeases natures fine As ours are, when our readers understand More than we write ; or less, in very truth : We mean no war; we’ve only crossed the Pruth.4 To the cool readers of this temp’rate clime, Our style of writing may appear erotic ; But what is ours to Musset’s passioned rhyme, Or Hugo’s shafts ’gainst all that is despotic ? The nervous English of this modern time Will own that in our lines, poor things, is no tic— ’Xcept douloureux, perhaps, which brings a pain— We’ll hope we have not giv’n a twinge in vain. We don’t believe, however, in the painful Expression worn by some whom we have seen, Who, speaking of our work, seemed, in the main, full Of pimples on their mind, and sought to screen Impostumations foul, feigning a brainful Of purest thoughts, and fancies always clean : Such people are like blow-flies, who secrete Their poisoned ova in the freshest meat. Then there’s that cadging dodger, who saw fit To write himself down Ass, on scores of pages, And, in a volume lacking sense or wit, To tout for preferment. When next his wages �lv DEDICATION. Are paid for such like raids, perhaps he’ll hit, Or try to hit, the foe that he engages :— It must be so annoying to lickspittle As he did, and be wrong in every tittle. Go to ! you reverend, “lining” gentleman ; Go, take your ’davies, prostitute your pen ; Go, do your hireling work, as best you can, And be, as usual, all things to all men ;— Be high, or broad, or low, as suits your plan, And, greedily, essay the work of ten ; But, if you’ve got a spark of manly virtue, Don’t lie again of one who’s never hurt you. Enough of scolding—in our purpose pure, We care not what they call us—Fool, or Van­ dal; Of good and true souls’ approbation sure, We glory in the hate of those who brand all Plain truths as treason ; and who can’t endure That we should lance and probe each public scandal. The fact being that these purists, who would urge on Our flaying, need themselves the moral surgeon. ’Tis pleasanter to see that light is spreading, That Science has bowled Dogma’s middle stump ; And that the rays which Reason’s surely shedding, Are penetrating now the dense, dark lump Of Superstition ; that fair Truth is heading Splay-footed Prejudice, the ugly frump ; That Tyndall’s in the van, and naught can turn him— Oh, wouldn’t all the Bigots like to burn him ! Confusion fills the priestly camp ; the tocsin That called to Church is summoning to Arms ; I �1, - - ■ - ! iI ------ -—” | DEDICA TION. The frightened priests are calling all their flocks in, But find they heed no more the ancient charms ; | They vainly, now, are robed their smartest smocks in, Their threats and curses fill with no alarms ; But there they stand, the church’s light so dim in, And find their followers are but fools and women. v The morning comes, the outer darkness breaks, And perfect day upon her shall, at last, steal ; She dreams, and even in her visions shakes From her the bloated Bourbon of the Bastile ; Shrieks, as her hand the young Napoleon takes, For at his touch dread mem’ries of the past steal O’er her ; and, vowing on his race, Vendetta, She wakes and clings for safety to Gambetta. Confusion fills the City—Samson’s fall Has much vexed the financial Philistines ; P And for another unjust judge they call, ’Stead of King Crump, who crumples their You’re suffering—is it not so ?—from the gout; Podagral pains afflict you, so our pen designs, And is a burden to them, as King Saul Was to the Israelites. And now, we mean to spare your feelings, Ben, It is hard lines, No doubt, to find they can nowise ensnare him— He won’t be bought—no wonder they can’t “ bear” him. Confusion fills the Country—Tory Squires, Elated at their triumph, try to stop The march of progress, damp down Freedom’s fires, And ignorance’s shaking knees to prop ; The peasant’s child, these worthies say, requires No education, he his books must drop— They care not how degraded their poor neighbour, Shall show you mercy, and we will not flout You further—may you soon be well! and then, Why, then, your former mission set about, Begin again, with resolution hearty, To educate your stupid Tory party. Teach it to use its brains, and ears, and eyes, Teach it to think that Bigotry’s a blunder ; Teach it that Education is a prize, Teach it to hear the moaning wind and thunder, Teach it to heed the people’s warning cries ; Teach it to rend the Church and State asunder : TeaGh it—-but, there, we trust to your sagacity, For you know best your followers’ capacity. Their sole idea is to get cheap labour. Meantime, Ben Dizzy, we proceed to dedicate, Confusion fills fair France—her breast is torn By Royal Sham bores, Bonapartist bullies; Her grief is great, and grievous to be borne, Her cup of tribulation very full is. But hope is springing, as she sits forlorn, And waits for Fate to move the proper pulleys ; In honest, simple verse, our lays to you ; And though in flattering strains we do not predi- cate, Believe us, our intent is good and true.— We must our Cantos with a moral medicate, Because we wish a doctor’s work to do : Her lips shall never an Imperial cub lick, Our country’s sick, we’ve read the diagnosis, May she firm found a glorious, free Republic ! The knife, applied in time, may save necrosis. �DEDICA TION. vi We imply no profane intentions to Mr. Disraeli. He is on the side of the Angels, and, of course, never swears. The “ double D.” refers merely to that Disendowment and Dis­ establishment of the English Church, which we rejoice to think, thanks to our Prime Minister, are so imminent. 2 Thing or Althing. So was called the first Political Assembly of the Northern nations. To Iceland, many years before the Normans overcame the English, went many thousands of hardy, intelligent settlers from Norway. These were the men who preferred to be damned with all their an­ cestors, than to be saved without them. Rather than give way to Olaf, who had become a saint, and therefore a perse­ cutor, they elected to depart and seek other shores. Thus, little Iceland became a great community. One Ulfljot was the man for the Thing; the hour was 930, A.d. Thence­ forward it met annually on the plains of Thing Valla. For the benefit of our present Premier, who may use the informa­ tion to serve up in his next Bath Letter, or to his Aylesbury 1 Ordinary Farmers (these yeomen, surely, should be extra­ ordinary ones), when next he addresses them, we shall add one more piece of news. It may be useful to him to know, and to keep in reserve—in company with Wilkes’s Extinct Volcanoes, Coningsby's Plundering and Blundering, Balzac’s Definition of a Critic, M. Thiers’ Obituary Addresses, and the other choice specimens of his talent for eclectic epigrammatizing—that the President of the Thing was called Lagmadur. The first syllable is unpleasantly suggestive of the rural régime, under which we have the present happiness, according to the received formula, to live, but we trust to the Member for Bucks to keep us moving. Tales. Suchlike and so distinguished. See Kinglake’s "Crimea; ” or the work of any veracions historian of the Russian War, say that of M. Thiers, or, better still, that of any of the companions of the author of the “History of Caesar.” Notes to Canto the First. Our Gentleman from Dapping (VIII).—Every public schoolboy knows that the fearless and reproachless Bayard was the grandfather of Chastelard. But, as everybody is not a public schoolboy, we print from the Dictionnaire de Bouillet the following brief account of Mary’s hapless lover : •—“ Pierre de Boscobel de Chastelard, un gentilhomme Dauphinois, était petit-fils de Bayard. Ayant conçu une violente passion pour la célèbre Marie Stuart, épouse de Francois II., il suivit cette princesse en Ecosse après la mort de ce monarque. Il fut surpris dans la chambre de Marie, et condamné à perdre la tète.” Mr. Swinburne has sung, in impassioned lines, the moving history of Chastelard’s erotic adventures ; and the Saturday Review, whilst rebuking, has fully described them. David, Bathsheba (XIV).—Mr. Peter Bayle, in his Critical and Historical Dictionary, thus sums up the case he makes against the royal prophet, the man after God's own heart : — “Those who shall think it strange that I speak my mind about the actions of David compared with natural morality, are desired to consider three things :—I. They themselves are obliged to own that the conduct of this prince towards Uriah is one of the greatest crimes which can be committed. There is then only a difference of more to less between them and me ; for, I agree with them, that the other faults of the prophet did not hinder him being filled with piety, and great zeal for the glory of God. He was subject alternately to passion and grace. This is a misfor­ tune attending our nature since the fall of Adam. The grace of God very often directed him ; but on several occasions passion got the better ; policy silenced religion. 2. It is very allowable of private persons, like me, to judge of Facts contained in the Scripture, when they are not ex­ pressly characterized by the Holy Spirit. If the Scripture, in relating an action, praises or condemns it, none can appeal from this judgment: every one ought to regulate his approbation or censure on the model of Scripture. I have not acted contrary to this Rule: the facts, upon which I have advanced my humble Opinion, are related in the Holy Scripture, without any mark of approbation affixed by the Spirit of God. 3. It would be doing an injury to the Eternal Laws, and consequently to the true Religion, to give Libertines occasion to object, that when a man has been once inspired by God, we look upon his Conduct as the Rule of Manners; so that we should not dare to condemn the Actions of People, though most opposite to the notions of Equity, when such an one had done them. There is no Medium in this Case ; either these actions are not good, or Actions like them are not evil ; now, since we must choose either the one or the other, is it better not to take care of the Interests of Morality than the glory of a private Person ? • Otherwise, will it not be evident, that one chooses rather to expose the Honour of God than that of a mortal Man ? Own the Corti (XVI).—According to the strict classical ipsissima verba of the Sacred Vedas of the United States, this should be written " acknowledge the corn.” Dr. Scheie de Vere thus narrates the origin of the phrase. It arose out of the misfortune of a flat-boatman, who had come down to New Orleans, with two flat boats, laden, the one with corn, the other with potatoes. He was tempted to enter a gambling establishment, and lost his money and his produce. On re­ turning to the wharf at night, he found the boat laden with corn had sunk in the river ; and when the winner came next morning to demand the stake, he received the answer, “Stranger, I acknowledge the corn, take ’em; but the potatoes you cant have, by thunder ! ” BOOKS AT A DISCOUNT OF 30 TO 75 PER CENT. S& T. GILBERT'S , NEW CATALOGUE OF VALUABLE BOOKS, offered at the above liberal Discount, is Now Ready, and will be forwarded on application. Il S. & T. GILBERT, 36, Moorgate Street, London, E.C. BOOKS! BOOKS!! BOOKS!!! 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THE MONARCH, RECESSED TABLE, £4 4 0. £1 10 0. work required to be done, and offer this GUARANTEE to their Cus­ It is absurdly claimed for almost every Machine, of whatever descrip­ tion, that it is superior to all others, tomers : Any Machine sold by them for all kinds of work. may be EXCHANGED, SMITH & CO., having no inter­ est in selling anyparticular Machine, After One Month's trial, for any other kind, without Charge for Use. are enabled to recommend impar­ tially the one best suited for the SMITH & CO., 30, Edgware Road, Hyde-Park, (Corner of Seymour Street), and 4, CHARLES STREET, SOHO SQUARE. �i JON DUAN. Canto The First. i. HE blood of Duan’s race was very blue— In indigo, indeed, an uncle dealt— The Heralds’ College, too, had got a clue, Pursuing which, the prouder members felt The Duans were as old as any Jew, Who had been asked by them to kindly melt Certain acceptances, from time to time— As done by Israel in every clime. II. The fluid in the Duans’ veins was mixed; Not wholly Saxon, nor of Norman strain— • For early tribes had not their dwellings fixed, But wandered forth in search of grass and grain. Much as, sweet reader, yesterday, thou picksed Thy villa on the Thames, close to the train ;—To mind thy shop in London smoke; then rush Into the country from the crowd and crush. IV. They searched thro’ Lubbock, his Primeval man (Whose words weigh well, and far above his coin), Hoping to find a record of the clan, But couldn’t trace a single rib or loin From which they might have come; so chose a branNew pedigree, which sought Jon’s folk to join With one who came with Marie’s suite from France, Marie the sweet, who led the men a dance. v. All know—a periphrase which means, how few— ’Mongst Marie’s amants stood French Chastelard, Of whom ’tis saying nothing fresh or new, That his unfortunate, or lucky, star Brought her to love him whom she, after, slew;— A mangled victim ’neath her loving Car. But Bayard’s grandson felt, when he gained Mary, Ecstatic bliss, which naught could raise or vary. VI. ill. The Duans’ archives do not throw much light on What rank they held, as Cave men, in the past; But, as their modern way is just to fight on, We may suppose they were the men to last;— That age was not the one to form a Crichton, Then were no feeds to speak of, but of mast; And dinner orat’ry was not in vogue, Words were so short that all was monologue. Now, ’tis a very strange, tho’ truthful fact, That some men, tho’ they’ve known the tip-top dames, Have not disdained with lowlier maids to act, As though the Royal or Imperial flames Had something in them which so much attacked The nerves, that ’spite of the most loyal claims. They’ve fell a-flirting with a “ Waiting Lady”— • And thought it venial if the Queen was “fadey.” B �yON DUAN. 2 VII. XII. fis certain. Chastelard had no excuse Of fadiness in Mary, to atone For making eyes at others, but the deuce Is in some men, for when they’re left alone, They can’t contain themselves ; but on the loose They get ; and enter the unfaithful zone, In moment’ry unmindfulness of her Who, did she know it, would kick up a stir. She was a Marguerite, Bellanger to wit, Who pleased the Third Napoleon for awhile, By wiles well known, and for the old well fit— These to describe won’t suit our English style ; So, by your leave, we would them pretermit, Altho’ naught pleases more than scenes of guile; And, to speak truth—which is above and ’fore all— France is, of all known lands, the most immoral! VIII. To Duan’s forefathers we would return ; But must a moment keep you in the South, To note where Austria’s Empress wished to learn The English tongue from moustached, warlike mouth. Ah ! Francis Joseph, you with rage may burn, But, if you won’t forsake the ways of youth, Your charming wife, slim-waisted, full of grace, Will make her game and start a steeple chase. XIII. til Our gentleman from Dauphiny had seen The Queen’s four Maries, and full often thought Had Mary Stuart not his mistress been, One of these dames d’honneur he would have sought ; For he did fancy one of them did lean A little to his side, when he had brought, Perchance, some heather from King Arthur’s Seat, To please his Queen, whom he had come to meet. IX. And why is it, sw’eet woman, you incline To listen to /zA tongue, and note his eye, And love the fellow, when he isn’t thine ? Is it because you like to make her cry, In whose possession this same youth has lien ? We fear it is so, and must call “Fie ! fie !” Because, if we don’t, others will do’t, you know, And we, as Jove, had better scold our Juno. x. B Fîî F ’Twas true enough ; one of the four was struck, And Chastelard, the striker, had his way ; So well it is to live in way of luck ; And good such facts, for those who sing the lay— For, if there wrere no doe to please the buck, No “poor deluded,” nor “ deceiver gay”— What would become of novelists and poets, Tho’, for Afflatus’ sake, they drank up “Moet’s ”? XT. il R Have you not heard of Widow Eugénie, Who, when a wife, quitting the Emperor, Did from the Court of France instanter flee, And scandal make, because a woman bore A burden she should not ;—one of those filles Who care for naught but naughtiness, and store Of di’monds, coral, pearl, and rentes, or rolls Of billets, notes, or cheques on Coutts or Bowles ? XIV. From Dan to Beersheba ’tis all the same :— Jacob and Rachel; Sarah and the King ; David, Bathsheba ; very much to blame (She was a bad mark for the Psalmist’s sling); The tale don’t change; ’tis only in the name : ’Tis not—thank God!—otir place the dirt to fling, We leave such work to Beecher and his Church, Where’s dirt enough all Brooklyn to besmirch. xv. We hope it’s now extremely clear to all Where Duan’s people came from ; for, indeed, We can’t get on without some facts to fall Upon ; yet, now, some critic who shall read This verse, may, if permitted, choose to call Attention to the fact that our Jon’s breed Is not legitimate, but bastard-born Well, if it must be so,—we’ll own the corn. XVI. Our first love-making, that’s a great event, Standing from out the flat shores of our life, Like Devon sandstone, or chalk cliff in Kent; But seldom ending in her being our wife, Whose charms our green youth th’ unknown fire had lent; For boys of eighteen, in their first love-strife, Find older women more omnipotent Than younger demoiselles who blush and start, Not having learned the ways of Cupid’s dart. �JON DUAN. 3 XVII. | | , XXII. Not more exempt than other white or black man, Kalmuck, Caucasian, or wan d’ring Tartar, Or Indian Red, or pig-tail China Jackman— Each one for ever wanting some one’s “darter”—Jon felt a shock, and straight became a pack-man With a love load, for which he gave in barter That adoration pure, and worship truthful, Which blasé men sneer down as “ very youthful.” The hill is breasted, and the top is reached, And fast down hill the line of hounds extends; And to the yokel old, and boy just breeched, Who stand beneath the hedge, just where it bends, It is a view superb; and ’twill be preached That night, in slow Kent phrase, which greatly tends To help the talethat- “ ’twor a real bloomin’ Soight to see the hounds over plough a-roomin’.” XVIII. Though Duan often laughed at his first hit, I I When harder grown, and much more up to snuff ; Yet, when ’twas on, he felt the strong love-fit Shake him with strong sensations, quite enough To please and torture him, as he did sit In admiration mute—the simple muff !— Of sweet Maria, as she bent her head Over her book or plate, or prayed, or fed. XXIII. Lady Maria is but gently moving, She knows, the paces ; knows, too, the wire fences; And tho’ her temperament’s inclined to loving, She’s found that common sense the topping sense is; So she reserves herself, but keeps improving The place she has; but never once commences To try her very best, till she’s persuaded She must try other, charms, since youth’s are faded. XXIV. XIX. Like other women who have got to thirty, She knew a little of the ways of men, IAnd, just as happened to our Royal Bertie, Duan was taught some things he didn’t ken Before, and found the new-learned ways so “purty,” That he became Maria’s slave, and ten I Times more than many people thought was proper, They riding went:—and once Jon came a “cropper.” In following foxes, she was just the same, She was as cool at this as when a heart Was startled by her eyes; or other game, On which she’d set her mind, was in the mart; N or cruel, nor selfish was she, but a dam.e Ready on any jig or joust to start; And loved that man who near at hand did lay, To take her to the field or to the play. xxv. Now Duan suited her just to a “t,” Except in this—he was a trifle young; That didn’t matter for a vis-a-vis, But in the hunting field, it might be flung Into her face, by a dear, kind lady (Thus Charity adorns the female tongue), That she had brought her nephew out from Eton, Where, probably, he had been lately beaten. XXVI. xx. ’Twas in a hunt down with the West Kent hounds, Over the hills, from Horton to the right; And tho’ the pack’s not good, and wood abounds, Yet ’twas a pretty and exciting sight To see the horsemen; glorious, too, the sounds Of the ground-striking hoofs ; fierce, too, the light She knew that Duan loved her, but she’d passed— Like nearly all who are bon-ton, just now—■ Through such experiences in years amassed, That she well knew the value of a vow �4 JON DUAN. Made by a youth to her who’s aging fast;— She knew some day or other they would “ row.” Were there not hidden in her books and drawers, Portraits of lovers she had lost by scores ? XXVII. But if we slowly canter in this way, Searching my Lady’s mind, the night will come, And find our hunters, after a hard day, Distant a weary twenty miles from home. So that we catch Jon Duan, let us pray— And, as it’s heavy going on wet loam, We’ll spur our Pegasus with hopes of laurel; And pass the field of horses, bay and sorrel. XXVIII. In the best families, accidents occur ; And hunting accidents are never rare,— Think of the chances : you may catch your spur, Cannon your enemy, or throw your mare :, In many such ways you may make a stir, And at a county meeting gain a stare, From some sweet creature, who, like Desdemona, Loves hair-breadth ’scapes as well as Dea bona. XXIX. Duan’s last gallop was almost performed, Although he’d no idea of what was coming ; And, as veracious poets, well informed, We should not merit praises, but a drumming Out of the Laureate’s fort so late we stormed, If we delayed from saying, that the numbing Sensation Duan’s just experiencing Were not due to ill riding, or bad fencing. XXX. For ’twas no fence he’d gone at, nor drop jump, Nor anything that tries a horseman’s skill; And tho’ some roarers had begun to pump, Through having gone the pace that’s sure to kill The duffers ; yet J on’s mare, a thorough trump, Went steady, as an old ’un at a mill; So we must tell you in the following strain, Why Duan lay extended on the plain. XXXI. For him, as many others, ’twas a drain That settled him ; a drain too much, in fact, Which had been made to carry off the rain, But sent our hero spinning—a worse act, �JON DUAN. Causing, perhaps, concussion of the brain ; So sudden and so shocking the impact. For Duan’s mare, alas, put her foot in it, And Duan’s head came “ crack,” in half a minute. 5 That he the chase loved well as pill and blister— Felt Duan’s pulse; and said, there’ll be no hearse Wanted for him this bout, if common care Is taken, but he’s bound to lose his hair. XXXII. Our hero lay there very much at rest; The blood oozed from his temple, o’er his eye ; And all his get-up, hat and coat and vest, Was sadly soiled ; and some said he would die Before assistance came ; which added zest To the day’s sport; though some might haply cry, When they did hear their favourite was killed, Upon a field not warlike, but just tilled. XXXVII. He’d lost his fox, and now must lose his hair, ’Twas very hard ; at least it seemed hard lines ; But, then, you see, he’d gained a something there Which they knew not; for Providence combines A set of compensations, and don’t spare For lenience e’en to sinners’ faults and fines ; Content if of good deeds she find a few—an’ There really was a lot of good in Duan. XXXIII. Not many stopped to see what could be done : A hunt is not the place for sentiment ; Those for’ard didn’t want to lose the fun, And were on Reynard’s death much more intent, Than caring for the life of any one As human as themselves ; quite innocent Of any motive, yet no doubt believing The world would be improved by some men leaving. XXXIV. But we will do some justice while we may,— And, place aux dames, my Lady gallops up On her old grey, well warranted to stay The longest run, and ready aye to sup On his bran mash at close of hardest day ; Welcomed at home by stable cat and pup,—■ Lady Maria joins the little group, Nor lets, on seeing Jon, her courage droop. XXXV. Forth from her flask a little spirit pours Into our hero’s mouth ; his poor pale lips Reminding her of kisses by the scores She’d had of them ; such as a woman sips, Who’s fond of kissing, and, in fact, adores The men who give them ; ’twas her ladyship’s Delight, indeed ; and we repeat once more, She’d plenty had from other men before. xxxvi. Duan’s white brow she bandaged like a Sister Of Charity, or like a St. John’s nurse, With her own handkerchief, while, to assist her, A little sporting doctor—none the worse XXXVIII. Two “varmer’s” men upon a hurdle took him, Gently as if he’d been their little child, To a near cottage, nor at all they shook him ; For little food had made their natures mild. And Lady May not for an inch forsook him, But on his handsome face, all-hoping, smiled. It is quite true—if you’d a woman win, Get weak or wounded, then you will “ wire in.” XXXIX. With more of tender feeling than she’d felt For Duan all the time that he had courted her, My Lady, self-controlled, unused to melt, Smiling most sweetly just when things most thwarted her, Having the nature of the'happy Celt— (Debrett and Burke of Irish blood reported her)— My Lady led the way for Duan’s entry, And, as the yokels bore him in, stood sentry. XL. The cottage was a lovely little place, Belonging to my lord, we mean not ours, but Lady Maria’s lord, who had the grace, Being a kind lord—blessed, too, with the “Gower” strut—■ To be quite blind to the most obvious trace Of ’Ria’s “goings on,” e’en in her bower shut; Nor cared a jot for what was said by rumour, As long as Lady M. kept in good humour. �JON DUAN XLI. We hope we’re clear before our readers now— We’ve had a deal of trouble with the rhyme ; We’ve landed Duan, who will make his bow As soon as may be, in his gaysome prime ; Cured of his wound;—but, there, we don’t know how His heart will feel; still, loving is no crime, And we, with all our hearts, wish Duan joy, Having become quite spooney on the boy. XLII. And sweet on him, my Lady came—Eheu ! ’Tis ever so ; one gives the cheek to kiss, The other kisses it: we know it, so do you : Duan before his fall had felt the bliss Of loving; now, somehow, he’d lost the cue, Whilst Lady May had found how much she’d miss When Duan should depart; but in her cooings, She never once deplored her present doings. XLIII. Is that a fact about remorse, we wonder ? Is it the least true that men do repent When youth and age lie many years asunder, And all our brightness and our force are spent?— Grieve men for youthful follies as a blunder ?— Is sackcloth worn for salad merriment ?— It may be so ; still we think, indigestion Alone makes men say “Yes ” to such a question. XLIV. We’ve known a many various men in life, High, Low, Jack, Game, all four, all sorts and sizes ; Some who’ve behaved like bricks in serious strife, Some on the bench, some summon’d to th’ assizes, One’s in the Church, one’s just divorced his wife, And one’s a publisher, who advertises What he declares is “ Beeton’s Annual New,” Whilst B. asserts the statement isn’t true. XLV. Being inquisitive, that we might know From diff’rent minds what each felt on this point, We’ve asked the men above if it is so With them, if they regretted any joint �yON DUAN. Proceedings in those sweet spring days, that go So swift and are so precious, that anoint With pungent memories all the years that follow, When baldness comes, and teeth are growing hollow. XLVI. Well, each one’s answer show’d the self-same thing, Which was, that they’d enjoyed their youth-time greatly, And that the only trouble and real sting Was, in some cases, that they’d grown too stately-—(Which meant, too fat) that no new times could bring The pleasures of the past ; — when Bridget, “ nately,” Would dance a jig, Janet the Highland Fling, Rose fill the cup, and Alice ditties sing. XLVII. Ah ! dear old Béranger has caught the strain— “ La jambe bien faite et le temps perduf Never such honest verse we’ll see again ; For, readers (this betwixt ourselves and you), Humbug has on this land such strong chains lain, We ne’er, with all our strength, can break them through, Until—oh ! happy day, arise ! arise !— Truth makes Hypocrisy her lawful Prize. XLVIII. ’Twas most important you should understand Our feelings on the subject of Remorse, Because the subject that we have in hand— (That it’s objective, Bismarck would enforce) Duan, the subject, is of that stout band Who nothing but the natural, will endorse; And, as we can’t be fighting our own hero, We “ ditto” say, though Cant may weep, “Oh, dear, oh ! ” XLIX. As Duan, soon, became a little better, And his hurt temple had begun to heal ; He learnt how much he was my Lady’s debtor, And with his thanks, and more, soon made her feel How sweet caresses are ; and thinking, set her, How grateful manhood is ; and set the seal Of real fervour on the yielding wax, Which, when not felt, makes loving limp and lax. 7 L. These cottage days, alas, too quickly fled ; And ever more my Lady treasured them; For, though she gaily spent her time, and led, In after life, the rout, nor sought to stem Her later fancies, when Jon’s love was dead— Yet, when they met, it needed all her phlegm To seem as though she’d never cared about him, And had but nursed, in order just to flout, him. LI. One day a maiden, urged by anguish keen, Went down by the North Kent to Greenhithe Station, For in her country home she had just seen— Amongst the other news of our great nation—■ Duan’s mishap described, and how he’d been Thought dead. She, in a loving perturbation, Did not clap spurs into her steed, as knights would, But left by the first train which called at Briteswood. LII. Lady Maria had gone up to town, To be at Guelpho’s fancy ball that night : So, met the train which brought the damsel down. We’ll not go in for telling the brave sight At Marlborough House—but note the inquiring frown My Lady’s maid gave, as she asked “What might Miss want with Mister Jon-—-he’s very weak, And doctor has left word he mustn’t speak?” LIII. Poor Letty Lethbridge, she was near to faint, When the trained maid thus met her anxious quest; But love is strong in sinner and in saint, And to see Jon she still would do her best:— “ Is there no way to see him ?”—“ No, there ain’t,” The Cockney said.—“ I won’t disturb his rest,” Said pretty Letty,—“ Only just to see him; Oh, won’t the doctor let me, if I fee him ?” Liv. “ Fee him, indeed ! If anyone could do it, I am the party, although I dare not. My Lady, on the spot, would make me rue it.” “ Lady !—what lady ?/’ Letty gasped, all hot. �JON DUAN. 8 “ Lady Maria ; if she only knew it, She’d give up Coming K----- and all the lot; My goodness me ! it puts me in a tremyor Only to think of it! what a dilemyor 1 ” LV. Billings was yielding ; only just a little, But’twas enough to give the Lethbridge hope,— Not that my Lady’s maid did care a tittle About my Lady’s anger : she could cope With that; besides, she knew how very brittle Was man’s love, and how soon and sharp it broke; And she had seen some symptoms of Jon’s tiring, And thought 7us would go out, bar some new firing. LVI. Letty began then, in a gracious way— r She had her purse, too, in her open palm :— “I want to see Jon Duan, and I pray You do whate’er you can to bring me balm ; And I will give you all I have, to-day, If but my fears about him I may calm. Let me but have one peep at him, sweet honey, And you shall have—oh, lots and lots of money ! ” lvii. The sovereigns did it—Letty gave her purse, And Billings took her where our hero lay, Saying, “ You mustn’t make a bit of ‘ furse,’ * Then I don’t mind how long you with him stay.” And Letty, happy she was now his nurse, Felt that her night had brightened into day, Though, still, the jealous doubt would come to bother, Who was this lady, whom she longed to smother ? LVIII. Duan was dozing; men do, ill or well; And nothing’s more enjoyable on earth, Whether you’re visioning the last night’s belle You danced with ; or when comes a total dearth Of news and scandal. So that it befell Letty did gaze, as Duan dozed. No berth So pleasurable could anyone have given her— To write down all her joy, ’twould take a scrivener. LIX. Duan, in turning lazily about, Opened his peepers, and caught sight of something Which, to his half-roused mind, did seem, no doubt, A little strange ; however, like a dumb thing, He stayed ; and baby-like, tried to make out What ’twas before his eyes—a fee, fo, fum thing, His doziness divined ;—soon, shape it takes, And when it did so, quickly Duan wakes. LX. We’re not a Wilkie Collins—God be praised ’ Not that we don’t think involutions fine ; We do, in fact; but don’t wish our brain crazed To trace a tale in geometric line. So don’t imagine you are to be mazed Just after, or before, you’ve been to dine— For ’twas indeed a simple, plain old thing That Duan saw—a palpable gold ring. LXI. That plain gold rings resemble plain gold rings, Must be, we think, a proposition simple— It would not puzzle one of our old kings ; Still, there is many a woman with a dimple, Whose nerves are sensitive on such old things ; And e’en that sister, who doth wear a wimple, Is touched, maybe, when those smooth circlets golden Are seen on hands where they should not be holden. lxh. But as a cheese-mite knows another mite, In that rich Stilton cheese you have in cut; And as an oyster knows its pearl by sight,— So Duan knew this ring from out a rut Of rings ; and would have bet, e’en being “tight,” He’d spot it in whatever light ’twas put; For ’twas the one he’d put on Letty Lethbridge One day at church, when they were down at Fettridge. LXIII. Poor little Robson in that wondrous role Of wand’ring Minstrel, which he really made,— Unlike creations now, which most are “ stole,”— When he did sing of Villikins’s jade, Was wont to pause, as he his song did troll, And, looking with that look demurely staid, Would say, ’Tis not a comic song I’m singing— So we—’Tis not an intrigue we’re beginning. ���JON DUAN. LXIV. There’s nothing on the cross, we do assure you, No figure of the kind you’ll see in Spain ;— We don’t invent bad stories to allure you, We leave such things for Ouida to explain. Duan’s a gentleman, and is to cure you Of some crude notions as to future pain ; Meanwhile, there’s something in the following stanza,— At least we’ll hope so, and say—Esperanza ! LXV. Now for it; let us tell about the ring— ’Tis not the Book and Ring, remember that; But just a story of a boy in spring, Who gave his play and pew-mate, pink and fat, This rounded circlet, whose romance we sing, Causing amongst her fellows mirth and chat, Whene’er they met at Manor House or Farm—■_ Now where, ye nasty nice ones, where’s the harm? LXVI. . If you are disappointed, Tartuffe olden, So much the better ; you have bought our poem, Hoping for some things you’ll not find so golden—Or gilded, rather, as you hoped we’d show ’em— You’ve bought J. D., and carefully it folden In that same drawer with pictures where you stow ’em ; And now you’re done—we’re very glad to do you, And if we could—you and your crew, we’d stew you ! , ii You’ll always find he’s hard upon the pious,— Who, if they could, would burn us, and then try us. LXIX. Sweet, simple Letty, she was very charming, Such a good little thing, that all did love her ; And as for anyone to think of harming Her, ’twas impossible ; for those above her, And those in rank below, who did the farming Upon her father’s land, would ever cover her With blessings for her kind and thoughtful ways, And give her, what the parson wanted—praise. LXX. Duan had seen not much of London town, Before he scented something dull and vapid, And though he was too young, as yet, to frown On those who set the pace a little rapid, Yet, for all that, he often took a train down To see the little maid he ne’er found sapid ; Who, though, o’erjoyed to see her darling lover, Took time before she could her wits recover. LXXI. If you know such a maiden, and are young, Love her and bless her, keep your troth and word ; Not all the songs that poets ever sung, Not all the sweetest trills from singing-bird, Not Shelley’s lark, nor linked sweetness flung By Swan of Avon,—sweetest sounds e’er heard; Not all these, on a million others mounted, Can claim an ear, when a maid’s tale’s recounted. LXVI I. But all this time we’ve purposely abstained From peeping at Jon Duan and his Letty ; UY know she’s thoroughly by spot unstained, And think that looking on is very petty, So is eavesdropping ; and if you are pained, Good-hearted reader, kiss your own dear Betty ; And you will know, for one thing, what they did, Although we were not ’hind the curtains hid. LXXII. We’ve not a word to say for Duan’s flirting With other women in his London life ; He couldn’t be accused, ’tis true, of hurting The sentiments so dear to Grundy’s wife, His bonnes fortunes he never thought of blurting ; No cuckold threatened him with shot or knife ; No more discreet young fellow’s gone to Hades In what concerned his doings with the ladies. LXVIII. Thanks to his nature fine, a well-bred man Will reverence what is good and what is pure ; He mayn’t believe what’s told of prophet Dan, Nor many things of which the Pope’s cock-sure, Yet will he carry out what he began ; His love of truth for truth’s sake will endure ; LXXIII. My Lady knew that Duan was a leal lad, But that he loved like Jeunesse loved the L’Enclos, A petite passion, which makes one feel mad For a few weeks or months, but doesn’t often go �JON DUAN. 12 Longer than that ; then one feels hard and steelclad ’Gainst her who might have nursed you in your long clo’— Old women can’t expect men’s love for ever, Let them, of all wiles that they know, endeavour. LXXIV. It had all past—his heart was wholly L-etty’s ; Just now at any rate, and he forgot The hunting and the fall, for he had met his First love, won in past years, whom not for dot He loved ; for by the side of Lady Betty’s, The Lethbridge lands were small and mort­ gaged—not Like neighbouring Lady B.’s, who owned the park, But hadn’t quite the charms to please our spark. LXXV. The day had worn on ; Duan had been served With all his usual fare, and Letty went At times to see the walks and roads that curved Around the cottage built on an ascent, Commanding a grand view, which well deserved The title of the prettiest scene in Kent—There down below, seen through its oaks and beeches, Stretched Father Thames down to the sea in reaches. LXXVI. They’d spoken of old times, our youth and maid, And smiled and laughed, and Letty nearly cried At the remembrance of a cruel thing said By Duan once. She’d been, too, sorely tried, When older girls made eyes at Jon ;•—afraid That he might change, and take another bride. But Duan’s just that “kinder sort o’ man,” you see, Who knows the sex as well as Ballantyne, Q.C. lxxvh. He might make blunders in the books he pub­ lished, Be an enthusiast for Rochefort’s Lanterne; Be in a bargain with Barabbas vanquished (Jon in mere trading was the wee-est bairn) ; But with the women ne’er was Duan dubbed “ dished ”— As Derby dished the Whigs—but like Jules Verne, Takes Phileas round the world in eighty days, Duan the women won ; he knew their ways. LXXVIII. He had a funny theory on this head, Which may be worth reporting to the world (If it is not, just think, then, ’twas not said). Well, his assertion was, that hair which curled, Bright eyes which shone (and weren’t like cod­ fish dead), Long arms that clasped as in the waltz they twirled, The lissom limb, the backbone straight, and small feet, Were manly charms which in most men don’t all meet. LXXIX. And when they did,—and here you’ll see the point,— Women admired, and common men did hate The lucky man who showed the shapely joint : And in this life ’twas sure to be his fate That all the sex that’s fair would him anoint With sweetest unguents, morning, noon, or late— And so it worked, that men who’d luck with women, Had usually to count most males their foemen. LXXX. Poor Letty had been hovering round the question As to the lady of whom Billings spoke ; And she had often got as far as “Yes, Jon, But tell me who?”—and then her courage broke. She was afraid, perhaps, of his digestion, And more she feared that she might be awoke To listen to some fearful revelation, More shocking than poor Lady Dilke’s cremation. LXXXI. Well, and it came at last, and Duan felt it A very awkward question to discuss ; But, the bull taking by the horns, he dealt it A blow which settled it without much fuss : �JON DUAN. He knew the girl’s soft heart, and so, to melt it, He told her all about his absent “ nuss Except a fact or two, by some suspected, At which poor Letty might have felt dejected. LXXXII. But we have left Society some time, And how will that great mart get on without us ? To-day a hundred would commit a crime To gain an entry—pray, will any doubt us ?— To see the Coming I<------ ’s great pantomime At Marlborough House; and, oh, how some will flout us Because we print—what some there dared to say— “ We wonder if Lome’s mother-in-law will pay ? ” lxxxhi. A change of scene now comes ; and for a spell, Whilst Duan’s getting happier every minute, We go to town, and cab it to Pall Mall, And see the world, and hear what fresh news’ in it;— And there’s a story going, which, if no sell, Bodes mischief; so we may as well begin it:— Lady Maria, ’spite of phlegm and fashion, Has gone into a fearful, towering passion. 13 She knew how useless ’twas her wit to try, And ’gainst her Grace’s influence to fight; So unto Duan’s arms she thought she’d fly, And tell her sorrows to her youthful knight. Alas ! her cup was soon to overflow, And she was doomed to feel a harder blow. LXXXVII. A woman’s senses are extremely keen, When she’s in love, and Letty heard some words Spoken below, and ere the form was seen, She knew, as know the little mother birds When danger threatens—there must be a scene ; And, as a warrior his armour girds, So Duan’s present nurse her courage braces, Nor shows of fear even the slightest traces. LXXXVIII. Having within us tender hearts and pity, We feel grief for the elder woman’s case ; We’re not like those promoters in the City, Who laugh at victims of their schemings base; We feel that Duan’s conduct’s not been pretty, And that he don’t deserve an ounce of grace; But, having said so in our own defence, We’ll let the ladies show their skill of fence. LXXXIX. LXXXIV. A Duchess, aged, one of Guelpho’s friends, Met her at Madame Louise’s to-day ; And—see how small a thing the sex offends— Asked if her little boy went out to play. Furious, on Duchess M. a frown she bends, Retorting—“ Now, be careful what you say, Or I shall tell that little tale of Bertie, When he was but sixteen and you were thirty.” LXXXV. This shocked the Duchess very much, perforce ; But, with the sang froid of a lady born, She said, “You go to Marlborough House, of course, To-night ; you’ll be received just like poor Lome : You’ll see if Guelpho will my words endorse, For all your life yourwords to me you’ll mourn.” Then spoke to Madame Louise as to lace, Without the least emotion in her face. LXXXVI. Lady Maria did not stay to buy What she intended for the ball that night; Duan sat up upon his sofa, thinking, As on the stairs my Lady’s foot-fall fell, Whoever got the best in the sharp pinking, He could not come out of the contest well; There was no way of skulking or of blinking ; In fact, he felt quite sea-sick at the swell Of varying emotions, which, like ocean’s, Caused heavings tremulous and nauseous motions. XC. Entered, the practised woman of the world, To tread the stage, and act a scene of life ; Her look was thunder, scorn her pale lips curled, A very Amazon, arrayed for strife ; At Letty, epithets like javelins hurled, Piercing the maiden’s bosom like a knife ; Yet, past the understanding of our dull wit, She said no word against the real culprit. XCI. Letty grew fierce, as Duan’s heart was wrung; She, with the divination purely sexual, Knew why the taunts at her alone were flung ; And, though there’s no description that’s called textual, �- 14 ' JON DUAN. Of every fierce and horrid phrase that stung ; Yet, women-folk, though we, so writing, vex you all, Believe that if Jon had been absent, then, The work would have been different for our pen. xcn. ’Twas jealousy of Letty’s being there— There, in the very room for Jon made nice, By her (Maria’s) loving hands and care— Proved, ’neath the smooth exterior, there was vice— Vice like you found in that neat chesnut mare, Which, bucking freely, threw you, fairly, thrice : Vesuvian slopes, which vines and verdure drape, Hide furious fires which, one day, must escape. xcm. Letty, whose temper had been growing heated Under the bellows of my lady’s rage, Now moved from where Jon lately had been seated, Just like a frigate going to engage : “Madam, you have me in a manner treated Quite unbecoming to your rank and age ; I felt to Duan as to a dear brother, And he tells me you’ve been to him a mother. xciv. “Why, therefore, Madam, anger should you show, Because I came to see him, having read, Altho’ the news had travelled very slow, He’d had a fall, and had been left for dead ; Why was I wrong in setting forth to know If there was truth in what the papers said ? Jon Duan is my own accepted lover, Why should I from the world my true love cover ? ’ xcv. Potent is truth, and potent, too, is candour— The latter may be now and then excessive, As in some lines of Walter Savage Landor ; But there was nothing wrong, or too aggressive, In Letty’s words ; for she was bound to stand or Fall by faith in Duan—who, digressive From virtuous paths, should be received with more joy, Than if he’d always been an honest, poor boy. xcvi. The moment came, and with it came the man ; It was too much for Duan to rest longer; So, gathering his strength, he thus began : “ I would not wish in any way to wrong her, Who’s been so kind to me ; and when I scan The kindness of her ladyship, feel stronger To declare I shall remain for life her debtor, And that no woman could be kinder, better; 1 XCVII. “ Still, and with shame I am obliged to own it, However kindly Lady May has nursed me, My loyalty is due, where I’ve not shown it,— To Letty Lethbridge; for, cruel fate has cursed me With a weak nature—oh ! how I bemoan it— Which has brought grief to you two, and immersed me In what I thoroughly deserve—a slough of des­ pond— ’Twould serve me right if some one said a horse-pond.” XCVIII. But it avails not to prolong the view Of this unhappy meeting of the three ; ’Tis better to get each out of the stew As best we can ; and Duan will agree He’d rather be one of a Lascar crew Under a Yankee “boss,” or “up a tree/’; Or be in any sort of bad condition, Than stay in that room, in his then position. xcix. So plucking up his courage and his strength,— “ Lady Maria, I will take my leave,” He said ; and saying, rose, erect, full length,— “Miss Lethbridge,” turning to the girl, “I grieve That my misconduct should (here a parenthEsis occurred from failing breath)—I grieve I have occasioned so much pain to friends— I will do all I can to make amends.” c. And bowing “farewell” to her ladyship— As, with a courtesy, Letty went out too,— Duan, with faltering step and many a “ trip,” Passed down the stairs, and then the door went through, Into the grounds, where to his trembling lip Came from the beating heart, “ Thank God, I do, That that is over.” So do we sincerely ; The printers, too, whose patience we’ve tried, dearly. �JON DUAN. 15 Canto The Second. 1. E sing our Court—select, sedate, demure, Bound in the virtuous chainsVictoria forges; So good, so dull, so proper, and so pure, And O ! so different from her Uncle George’s— That “ first of gentlemen,” who, it seems sure, Was fond of “life” and bacchanalian orgies ; That blood relation of “ our kings to be,” Who did not spell his “ quean” with double (i a ” e. II. How great the change ! the courtly newsman’s pen Has never now to rise above the level Of commonplace particulars, save when Victoria in her Highland home holds revel, And dances with her Scotch dependents then, As though she’d learned the castanets at Seville—■ N ot that with such vivacity we quarrel— But why does she confine it to Balmoral ? ill. We wish our Queen would dance a little more, Would follow Queen Elizabeth’s example; And of her powers upon the dancing-floor Would give us Englishmen, down south, a sample. That Scots alone are favoured makes us sore, For surely London loyalty’s as ample : And, with all deference, we think it silly To dance a reel with gamekeeper or gillie. IV. How “ Good Queen Bess’’danced, history relates—• You find it in her memoirs by Miss Aikin, “ High and disposedly” she danced, as states Quaint Sir James Melvil, who was somewhat shaken By what he saw ; and yet we find by dates Her age then may at twenty-nine be taken— A by no means too great age for a maiden To dance, although with Queenly duties laden. V. And yet the people talked, and wagged their chins, To hear the English Church’s head was danc­ ing ;r But now, when England’s Sovereign begins To step it—vide note2—we’re not romancing— �JON DUAN. 16 We’re rather glad, nor care a pair of pins, Though she in years is certainly advancing ; But, as we’ve said, its only right and fair, Royal partners should be picked out with more care. VI. When, too, our virgin monarch ruled the land (And, by the way, there’s doubt of her virginity), She showed for certain nobles, great and grand, A manifest and somewhat warm affinity; And favourites ruled her Court, we understand, And queenly heart as well, and the divinity That hedges kings and queens—see Shakspeare’s plays— Was at a discount, rather, in those days. VII. Now quite another scene is being enacted (Our Queen has morals far above suspicion), And quite another way our Sovereign’s acted, A way not wholly fitting her position ;— For now the British public’s ear’s attracted By circumstantial tales of the admission Of menial Scotchmen to the royal favour ;— This does not of the regal instinct savour. VIII. Cophetua loved a beggar-maid, ’tis true, But that was passion, love has some excuse ; But how excuse the Sovereign who can view A set of stalwart gillies, sans the trews, With what we call a preference undue ? Not that our Lady has no right to choose, But—wishing to be loyally obedient,— We still assert such friendship’s not expedient. IX. If she’d have councillors, and friends, and guides, Let her choose them ’mongst British gentlemen ; And not select them from Scotch mountain-sides, Nor pick them from the crofter’s smoky den ; Nor trust the adventurers Germany provides, Nor furnish tattle for the reckless pen By efforts vain—the adage old and terse is — To make the sow’s ears into silken purses. Nor that she only hold high carnival . When her Scotch servants marry; ’tis not fair To us, who royal smiles are never rich in, To find them lavished freely on her kitchen. XI. It may be pleasing, in a way, to hear The luck of Ballater, and Braemar Glen; How there our Sovereign for half the year Retires from midst the haunts of Englishmen, And spends her morning, dropping the sad tear, And building Albert cairns on every Ben— Then courts reaction in the afternoons, By hearing Willie Blair play Scottish tunes. XII. Or taking tea in some dependent’s cottage, Or seeing poor old widow Farquharson, Or sharing some ’cute Highland woman’s pottage, Or choosing for a gillie her stout son;— But such things smack a “wee” too much of dotage, To make us happy when we hear they’re done; We want our Queen, in whom such duties rests, To come and entertain her Royal guests. XIII. Come, if you please, Victoria, do not waste Your valued time ’midst stalwart grooms' and keepers,— We dare not question your most royal taste, Or we would add, cut off the “widow’s weepers,”— Come back to us to do your duties, haste; And leave old memories among the sleepers; And if for quiet you still sometimes burn, Let Ireland, long-neglected, have its turn. XIV. Nor make the Crathie church a raree-show, To which the enterprising landlords run Post-chaises, omnibuses, to and fro, Crowded with tourists eager for the fun Of scrambling for the places whence they know A good view of their Sovereign may be won— And, in a spirit less devout than jocular, Their eyesight aid with Dolland’s binocular. X. xv.' It is not seemly that the servants’ hall Should form a Court, nor that the servants there Should be the sole invités to a ball Which the Queen graces with her presence rare ; They turn their backs on altar and on preacher, For the best pews with golden bribes they treat, Regardless of the words of our great Teacher— “ Make not My house a money-changer’s seat!’’— �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. DISCOUNT-THREEPENCE. Books for Christmas ; Books for Easter; In olden days, when Time was young, To publish was a glorious trade ; BOOKS for faster ; Books for feaster; Though poets grumbled, poets sung, Books for Shipping ; Books in Sets; Books about our Household Pets; And fortunes were most quickly made, Books for Wholesale; Books for Retail; By publishers, who never let General Books ; and Books of detail; Booksellers charge a penny less Books for Children; BOOKS for Babies; Than price resolved on ; or to fret Them with remonstrance. You will guess Books for Girls; and Books for Ladies; * Books with pretty Illustrations ; Books on all the Foreign Nations; That men like Stoneham could not live : (Stoneham, of Seventy-nine, Cheapside), Who discount has resolved to give, And fight the Publishers beside. For every shilling that you pay, Returned are to you just three pence, By Stoneham, bookseller; now say If it does not seem common sense, That if he can afford to sell At threepence less than other men, This very work, Jon Duan, well, May be not all the same again. Books for Prizes; Books for Presents ; . Books for Princes; Books for Peasants ; Books for Scholars ; Books for Schools ; Books about Dame Nature’s rules ; Books in binding gay or neat; BOOKS all warranted complete ; Annual Books and Magazines ; BOOKS of Fine Arts fit for Queens ; BOOKS about the search for gold; BOOKS for all; nay, we are told That—but you’ll think it is too bad— He sells that shocking Siliad. Nay more, we’ve heard some people say, “ Stoneham has yet a Coming K----- .” With Books for Young, and Books for Old; We don’t believe it, these are libels ; Books for Summer ; Books for cold ; We know he has a Stock of Bibles. �•SIIVMO SHilOOTVJLVO th e I V O R L D CHRISTMAS PRESENTS AND NEW YEAR ’S GIFTS. O N L Y E s ta b lis h m e n ts in 3d. 79, IN THE S H IL L IN G . CHEAPSIDE, AND BRANCHES. D IS C O U N T Christm as Cards, Valentines, Playing Cards, B IB L E S , P R A Y E R B O O K S , C H U R C H S E R V IC E S , The JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. �THE CENTRE AND RIGHT.—A “Coup de M‘Mahon.” �i �yON DUAN. Forgetting God, they gaze up at his creature. Your Majesty, this, surely, is not meet:-—• Then they slip out as soon as they are able, And make the tombstones serve as luncheon-table. XVI. O, stop this crying scandal, if you please, Encourage not this sacrilege so shocking ; Let not the tourists push, and rush, and squeeze, Like London roughs to play-house gallery flocking ; Nor let next summer bring such scenes as these, All that is sacred so completely mocking. It can on no pretence be right and proper, a House of God should be “ Her Majesty’s Opera!” XVII. What is there in stern Caledonia’s air That makes our Sovereign forget her grief? We wish profoundly she’d conceal her care From English subject as from Scottish fief. For we be loyal too, and cannot bear The Gael should solely give our Queen relief— That Highland pibrochs should her joys enhance, Whilst we pipe on in vain to make her dance. XVIII. Surely would sing all England a Te Deum If she could her beloved Queen persuade To lock lor once and all the Mausoleum, To leave in peace the dear, departed shade ; Be less the égoïste, think less of “ meum,” Save hard-worked ministers, and commerce aid, By ending her seclusion ;—and to lean, Being still a woman, to be more a Queen ! XIX. We know her virtues—how she drives and walks, And goes to church with charming regularity ; We know her business tact—how well she talks On politics ; we know her gracious charity To German poverty—(’tis true, want stalks In Osborne Cottages : why this disparity We cannot say, though surely what is right In Gotha, ’s ditto in the Isle of Wight). xx. We know, we say, how very pure our Queen is, And what a manager ! and what a mother ! But, though all this so very plainly seen is, We cannot quite our discontentment smother. 17 Her virtues we admire ;—but what we mean is, Of two moves she should choose the one or t’other :— The one is—Coming out amongst the nation ; The other—Going in for Abdication. XXI. ’Tis give and take. If we continue loyal— And we are so without the slightest doubt—We certainly expect our lady royal Will keep a court, and not aye fret and pout,— Water without a fire will cease to boil, And loyalty unshone on may go out. If shining on it is not in her line, Then let the Son appear and have a shine ! XXII. We do not pay our Sovereign to hide In northern solitudes, however sweet; We want to view her in her pomp and pride, And cheer her in the park and in the street; We want her in our midst and at our side, To grace our triumphs and our joys complete. It does not seem a dignified position To put Great Britain’s sceptre in commission. XXIII. Our Royal Mistress, yet, should have her due,— She did come up to town a bit last season; May she, next year, again, that course pursue, And longer stay—we trust this is not treason— Indeed, we personally yield to few In loyalty; and therein lies the reason Why on her Gracious Majesty we call To heed the handwriting upon the wall. XXIV. Well, as we’ve said, last season saw the Queen In London; and, most marvellous to say, Whilst she was ling’ring sadly on the scene, She held a drawing-room herself one day: And, naturally, with ardour very keen, Our fairest rushed their compliments to pay. Duan, of course, as in his bounden duty, Was in attendance at the beck of beauty. xxv. He wish’d, sans doittefasX beauty had not beckon’d, For drawing-rooms were not in Duan’s line,— Most etiquette insuff’rable he reckon’d, And hated going out to dance or fee; c �JON DUAN. Nor could he tolerate a single second, The social miseries that we incline To call, good God! in their inane variety, The usages of elegant society. XXVI. Despite which, to the “drawing-room” he went, For beauty draws, we know, with single hairs, (And paints with hares’ feet, we might add, if bent On being cynical, authorial bears ; But as to be so is not our intent, Our muse to no such cruel length repairs, But simply adds that our great hero’s knock Was heard in Clarges Street at twelve o’clock). XXVII. Beauty was ready, in a low-necked dress, That showed more shoulder, certainly, than sense; And dragged behind a train in all the mess, That might have served, at just the same expense, To cover up a bust which, we confess, Was fair to see, but might p’rhaps give offence To leaner sisters and to envious tongues—• N ot to forget the danger to her lungs. XXVIII. Beauty’s mamma, a Countess of four-score, Showed even more of charms, though they were bony ; And with a dress, than Beauty’s even lower, Displayed much skin, the hue of macaroni; Whilst in a wig most palpable, she wore Three ostrich plumes, — poor Duan gave a groan, he Felt tempted sore to get up an eruption ’Gainst going to Court with such bedecked cor­ ruption. XXIX. What sight on God’s earth can be more disgusting Than painted, powder’d, and made-up old age ? Its scragginess on the beholder thrusting, And fighting time with feeble, wrinkled rage ; Covering with tinsel what has long been rusting, And writing hideous lies upon life’s page. Ruins, when left alone, are often grand, But worthless if they feel the plasterer’s hand. XXX. But there’s no time to moralise like this,— The carriage of the Countess waits below, And offering his arm to ma’ and miss, Our hero hands them in, and off they go �JON DUAN. To plunge into the yaw-yawning abyss, And mingle with the never-ceasing flow That fills the Mall and Bird-cage Walk, intent To crowd and take the Social Sacrament. XXXI. Full soon the bloated coachman had to stop His horses, as the carriage falls in line ; And from the curious crowd begin to drop Remarks that made Jon Duan much incline Out of the door of the barouche to pop, And visit them with punishment condign ; Though all they said to put him in a passion Was, “ I say, here’s an old ewe dressed lamb­ fashion 1 ” 19 As ’twas, a rowel made her ankle bleed, And scores of feet her long train trod upon, Till, well-nigh fainting, and with terror dumb, She almost wished that she had never come. XXXVI. Beauty’s mamma, a tried old dowager, Made better progress, worked her skinny arms In neighbouring sides, till they made way for her, And op’ed a passage for her bony charms ; She’d often pass’d the ordeal; so the stir Filled her old crusty breast with no alarms : Indeed, she must have been devoid of feeling, As though her frame had undergone annealing. XXXII. XXXVII. A tedious houi' went by : the carriage crawled By slow degrees, and made its way by inches ; The people chaff’d and cheer’d ; the p’licemen bawled, .But not a high-born dame or maid that flinches. Nor would they, one of them, have been appall’d Had all of Purgatory’s pains and pinches To be passed through to gain St. James’s portal, And courtesy low before a royal mortal! Thus on they struggled, inch by inch, and stair By stair ; now losing, now a little gaining ; As though it were a life and death affair— As though the goal to which they all were straining Were worth an endless lot of wear and tear, And efforts manifold, and arduous training— As though, indeed, this courtly p'resentation Worked out their future and their full salvation. XXXIII. - At last the gate is gained where sentries stand, Nor aim the inroad of the great to stay, But grimly watch the fairest of the land As they pass in to mix in the wild fray ; To join the seething, surging, swaying band That pushes on, its best respects to pay To her, who for a whim—it can’t be malice— Will use what our Jeames calls St. James’s “Palice.” XXXIV. And then and there was hurrying to and fro, And hustling crowds, and symptoms of distress ; And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush’d at the sight of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden rents and sounds of woe, As skirts were torn and trampled in the press ; Till Beauty, who that day was first presented, Thought all “Who’s Who” were certainly demented. xxxv. She clung to Duan’s arm, and there was need, For like a wave the well-dressed mob surged on, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, Till she had been o’erwhelmed but for our Jon. XXXVIII. Still, ’tis no secret what they went to see, A widow’d lady ; getting near three-score ; Still mourning, in a costume “ ca.p”-d-ftU, One dead some thirteen years ago and more. An estimable lady as may be, Yet looking on the whole thing as a bore. Can we, if we dispassionately handle The subject, say the game is worth the candle ? XXXIX. Duan thought not. If you the crown respect, Go to the Tower and see the whole regalia, It costs but sixpence ; or if you affect The royal person, ’midst the penetralia Of Tussaud’s wax-works we may soon detect The waxen effigy ; and slobber daily a Kiss or two upon the figure’s garments, To show you are not democratic “varmints.” XL. But as to putting on absurd attire, And running risks of damage and mishap, Exposing corns and clothes to danger dire To see a woman in a widow’s cap— �JON DUAN. 20 George IV. As portrayed by the Tories. Jon did not to such ecstasy aspire ; In point of fact, he did not care a rap— ’Spite all the gushing of the penny journals— To gaze at royalty sans its externals : XLI. But thousands do and thousands did that day, Whose history, so far, has been related : And as these rhymes must not go on for aye, We think that Beauty long enough has waited Upon the stairs ; we’ll take her from the fray, And, with her pleasure all but dissipated, We’ll pass her on, as Yankees put it, slickly, And bring her to the presence-chamber quickly. XLII. Stay ! for thy tread is where a sovereign sits ! An Empire’s Queen is seated on that chair! N or let a palsy overwhelm thy wits, When thou perceiv’st she is not lonely there ; — Nor sink into the earth ; since fate permits Thine eyes to rest—if thou the sight canst bear— On Princes and Princesses, fecund found, In Guelphic lavishness arranged around. XLIII. See ! there is Albor’s eldest,—-language fails To write the reverence his face inspires : The sight of Coming K----- our colour pales, Till loyalty lights up our facial fires. God bless, by all means, Albert Prince of Wales! For certainly His blessing he requires. Though happily we long ago have sunk all Fear that he’ll turn out like his gross great-uncle. XLIV. We do not mean the Duke of York, that cheat ■ Who, saving that of nature, paid no debts; Nor Sussex, that nonentity complete, Whose failings, fortunately, one forgets ; Nor mean we Clarence, that buffoon effete Whose reign each loyal Englishman regrets— Rascal or madman, it is hard to class him : See for yourselves in “Greville’s Memoirs ”/zzjjz'zzz. XLV. We mean that other brother foul and false, That vulgar ruffian whom no oath restrained ; * That bloated sot, who when too fat to valse, Was fit for nothing; that coarse king who’s gained "Who’s your fat friend?”—Beau Brummel. (From the Originals, published by Hone.) * Daily News, Oct. 31, 1874. �JON DUAN. More obloquy from history’s assaults Than any monarch who has o’er us reigned. We would not visit harshly mere frivolity, But where in George was one redeeming quality ? XLVI. He lied ; he swore ; he was obscene and lewd; And rakish past e’en what’s a regal latitude ; He broke his word; his duties he eschew’d ; He understood not what was meant by gratitude; The two great aims in life that he pursued Were how to dress and howto strike an attitude— Another king so mean and vile as he, And England’s kingly race would cease to be. 2i The coming Court will not be quite so dingy As that o’er which his royal mamma has sway. And though our notion may be very shocking, We don’t like sovereigns who “make a stocking.” LI. Nor love we princes who have not large hearts— Nor love we much the Duke of Edinburgh ; He lives too late. A young man of his parts Would well have represented a “ close” borough. As ’tis, no thought incongruous ever starts At finding him a Scotchmen’s duke, for thorough Is the connection’twixt them, though ’tis troubling To find that he’s not dubbed the Duke of Doubling. LII. XLVII. He was an utter brute, a sceptred thing, A vampire sucking out his country’s life ; Eclectic in his vice, a compound king, Charles to his people, Henry to his wife. Better by far that time again should bring A Henry, or a Charles, and plunge in strife Our country, than that it should e’er disgorge Another heartless, soulless wretch like George, XLVIII. Our Heir-apparent will not be like this — He mayn’t be brilliant, but he is not brutal; He may be simple, but it’s not amiss If that is all he is : he will not suit all Tastes and desires, but it is well, we wis— Though our opinion here may meet refutal— Since kings are now for us but gilded toys, To have one who won’t make a fuss and noise. XLIX. Thank God ! the eldest son’s not like his sire, A meddling, mean, and over-rated man; A Bailiff on the throne we don’t require, However neatly he may scheme and plan To make a property’s return grow higher. We can’t forget the way Albor began His steward’s work ; with what a screwy touch he Wrung increased revenue from Cornwall’s duchy. L. No one can say that our A. E. is stingy— Indeed, his failing lies the other way ; Yet, though he on his capital infringe, he Spends his money in a British way. A sailor should be generous and hearty ; An English prince ’fore all should not be mean; And whilst rememb’ring statements made ex parte Must not be credited too much, we glean That modern Athens’ duke, however smart he Upon the fiddle plays, yet has not been So wise as to despise all petty things, And keep his scrapings for his fiddle-strings. LIII. We had a hope, being married, he’d improve— He had a lot of money with his Mary,— We’ll wish some generous impulses will move Our new Princess, and that, like some good fairy, She’ll lift her Alfred from his stingy groove, And make him for the future very chary Of any acts like those of him recorded, Which are, to put it mildly, mean and sordid. LIV. It gives our enemies so good a handle To chaff our institutions and our crown, When princes make themselves a peg for scandal, And furnish tittle-tattle for the town. For they should clearly learn to firm withstand all Queer deeds and words that tarnish their re­ renown, And those who’re near the Princess should advise her On no account let Alfred be a miser. LV. Nor let him show the instincts of a trader -, Nor bargain with his friends in search of gain ; But, that his actions never may degrade her, Let him from City ways henceforth refrain. �JON DUAN. 22 His star is now mQst surely in its nadir, But there is time the zenith to regain ; Then we will let the Malta business * slip, And not remember his Australian trip. LVI. And whilst addressing Marie, we may add We hope it is not true she made a fuss, And summoned to her aid her royal dad, Because a princess who’s most dear to us Declined to listen to her foolish fad, Or questions of precedence to discuss. But if ’tis true, then Marie must take care Lest she is called the little Russian Bear.LVII. Our coming Monarch’s Consort’s loved most dearly, Loyal respect for her is most emphatic ; And whosoever her attacks, is clearly By no means well-advised or diplomatic ; We’ll trust that Marie knew no better, merely Having been bred in Russ ways autocratic. Yet, for the future, if she’d keep her place, She mustn’t show the Tartar, but learn grace. LVIII. But all this time the royal party waits— Louise and Arthur, Uncle George and Lome ; And pretty ’Trixy, who, if rumour states The truth, will soon be to the altar borne. See Christian, too, who doubtless stands and rates His luck, that from his Fatherland he’s torn. Poor fellow ! notice his dejected carriage— s thinking of his morganatic marriage. He’s thinking of the frazt he left behind him, Of sauer-kraut perchance, and Lager beer ; And wondering that the skein the Parcee wind him Has guided him so comfortably here; With such a kind mamma-in-law to find him In pocket-money, and with lots a year As ranger of an English park.—’Tis strange How those dear Germans like our parks to range.t * As boys say—Ask the “ Governor” tokell you the story, Thumb-Nail Sketches frcm The Academy. t “ I will be thy park, and thou shalt be my deer,”— SHAKSPEARE's Venus and Adonis. �JON DUAN. 23 LX. LXV. At home they starve, but here they live in clover ; Our best positions are at their command : Since Coburg-Gotha’s prince to us came over, Legions of Deutchland’s princelings seek our land ; And Queenly eyes and ears swiftly discover The hidden virtues of that German band. But though we ’ve had experience of dozens, There’s not much love lost for these German“ cozens.” Too long our blushing Beauty’s been neglected, It’s now her turn to figure on the scene. For months a mistress has her steps directed, That she herself may properly demean, May backwards walk, and bow low, as expected When subjects dare to pass before their Queen. All natural instincts have to be dispersed, When that play called “Society” ’s rehearsed. LX I. Society ! O what a hideous sham Is veiled and masked beneath that specious name ! Society ! its mission is to damn, To curse, and blight; to burn with withering flame All that is worthiest in us—to cram The world with polished hypocrites, who claim To sin, of right—Society has said it— And think their crimes are greatly to their credit! A look of anger spreads o’er Kamdux’ face, As though the Siliad^xQ just had read. The officer would be in sorry case Who now approached our army’s titled head ; For Uncle George does not belie his race, But swears and blusters—so the Siliad said--As though he had been one of those commanders Who fought years since with Corporal Trim in Flanders. LXVI. LXII. His mind is very likely burdened now With doubts about his army’s straps and buckles; And care is seated on his massive brow, Because he fears how military “ suckles ” Will to his next new button-edict bow ; Whilst many a line his Guelphic features puckles As he decides he will, in any case, Curtail the width of sergeant-majors’ lace. LXIII. And here our muse breaks off to sing All hail Great army tailor ! and hail ! Prince Com­ mander, Thou burker of reforms, that needs must fail Whilst statesmen to the Geòrgie wishes pander ; Thou duke of details ! ’tis of no avail, Except for rhyme, to call thee Alexander :— For when thou sittest down to weep and falter, Tis ’cause thou’st no more uniforms to alter. LXIV. Now, look at poor young Lome—his face averring That, though a royal princess he has got, He’s neither fish, nor joint, nor good red-herring, Thanks to the special nature of his lot ; Snubbed by the Court : the world beneath inferring He’s now no part in it—he p’rhaps is not So happy as he might be, and may rue He ever played so very high for “ Loo.” • LXVII. What worships rank, and makes a god of gold ? What turns fair women into painted frights ? What tempts to vice and villainy untold ? And claims frorii all of us its devilish rites ? What prompts ambition, base and uncontrolled ? What never on the side of mercy fights ? What causes sin in horrible variety ?— Mostly, the demon that we call Society. LXVIII. ’Tis in obedience to its unwrit laws We bow beneath the iron yoke of Fashion ; In its stern edicts see the primal cause Why we as sin treat every healthy passion— Why we a daughter sell, without a pause, As though she were a Georgian or Circassian— Yet shudder when we meet a painted harlot, And say, “ Thank God 1 ” that she is not our Charlotte. LX IX. And what is Charlotte, then, in Heaven’s name ? She did not love the fellow that she married ; But he some hundred thousand pounds could claim, And such a weapon could not well be parried. * * Although, be it observed, the weapon in question was undoubtedly “blunt.” �24 JON DUAN. She sold herself for life.—Is’t not the same As though the sale but brief possession carried ? We think it worse—though Mother Church has prayed The sordid union may be fruitful made. LXX. And yet Society makes much of Charlotte, And takes her to its bosom with delight, Receives effusively the life-long harlot—But curses her who sins but for a night, Expels her from its midst—her sins are scarlet, And ne’er can be atoned for in its sight. Thus serves two ends—the Social Evil nourishing, And keeping the Divorce Court cause-list flourish­ ing. LXXI. But it is vain of us to run a-tilt Against Society with bitter verses, Its fabric is by far too firmly built To yield to them ; it only yields to purses. We will not longer linger on its guilt, Save to bestow upon it final curses, And in the name of all that’s pure and holy, Denounce it and its sinful doings wholly ! LXXII. In Beauty’s name denounce it;—though but twenty, She’d learn’d some of its lessons from her mother; She’d learn’d to feign the dolce far niente, And how her appetite to check and smother; She’d learned to lace too tight—to use a plenty Of toilet adjuncts : rouge, and many another Such weighty preparation.—Gott in Himmel! He’s much to answer for, has Monsieur Rimmel. LXXIH. She’d learn’d to flirt, and calmly to cast off The man she’d loved, when he his money lost; She had a lisp and an affected cough, And valued things according to their cost. She’d practised, too, the usual sneer and scoff, And could not bear her slightest wishes cross’d • In fact, although out of her teens but lately, She had advanced in worldly knowledge greatly, LXXIV. Still, as we’ve said, ’twas her first drawing-room. She’d been in mobs before at “drums” and dances, But ne’er before this had it been her doom To mix in such a mob as that which chances * �JON DUAN. When Queen Victoria comes out from her gloom, And, following out one of her widowed fancies, Won’t hold receptions where there’s space to spare, But at St. James’s has a crush and scare. LXXV. ’Twas well she had Jon Duan at her side To whisper in her ear and make her brave; “Now, go!” he said, when Beauty’s name was cried; And Beauty did go then, and by a shave Just managed not to fall down, as she tried To show the Queen she knew how to behave, By walking backwards, when she’d courtesied low, And had out at a distant door to go. LXXVI. Court etiquette of course must be maintained; But, in the name of common sense and reason, This “backwards” business long enough has reigned ; Such fooleries have long since had their season. If subjects from such crab-like steps refrained, Lese-majeste, wouldst call it, or high treason ? Surely one can the Sovereign love and honour, Although his back were sometimes turned upon her. LXXVII. Poor Beauty had a very near escape, For, as she from the presence retrograded, A gouty General interposed his shape; And had not watchful Duan once more aided, His charge had fell into a pretty scrape. As ’twas, the warrior’s steel her train invaded, And, making in it quite a deep incision, Writ ’mongst its folds much long and short division. Lxxvni. Still she escaped uninjured save in. dress, And that was cause for some congratulation; Though at that stage ’twas early to express A sense of gratitude or exultation ; For there was yet to come, we must confess, The worst alarm, the greatest consternation. To get in was a “caution ;” sans a doubt, ’Twas twenty times more trouble to get out! 25 LXXIX. It was but quitting frying-pan for fire, ’Twas very “hot,” poor Beauty quickly found; The crowd was worse; the temperature was higher; And there were swords that hitched, and heels that ground;—Patrician faces glared with anger dire, Patricians strove like porkers in a pound ; And many plainly muttered observations Sounded extremely like'to execrations. LXXX. Two hours they-pushed and pressed from pen to pen, And there was nothing there to drink or eat; A biscuit and a glass of wine would, then, Have fetched a price we scarcely dare repeat,— For tender girls were faint; and lusty men For very hunger scarce could keep their feet. Meantime, the Sovereign serenely rests Upon her chair, nor troubles ’bout her guests. LXXXI. Thus Duan thought“’Tis inconsiderate, very ; Either hold drawing-rooms where there is space, Or give the weary guests a glass of sherry, When they’ve to struggle so from place to place; The cost would not be so extraordinary— The boon would priceless be in many a case; For it is apt both strong and weak to ‘ flummox,’ To push for several hours on empty stomachs !” LXXXII. Beauty, for instance, had no breakfast eaten, Excitement took away her appetite ;— By one o’clock she felt she was dead-beaten : But there was not a chance of sup or bite. At four, resignedly, she took her seat on A chair our hero found, and fainted quite ; And then for twenty minutes she’d to stay Before her mother’s carriage stopped the way. LXXXIII. And what a scene she left !—of fainting girls, And gasping duchesses, and sinking dames; Confusion everywhere the people whirls, ’Midst hasty shouts and calling out of names ; �26 JON DUAN. And all the ground is strewn with scraps and curls, And shreds of stuff and beads which no one claims, Whilst England’s highest-born, with might and main, Fight like a gallery crowd at Drury Lane. LXXXIV. The morn beheld them full of lusty life, In radiant toilets decked and proudly gay: Four hours of pushing toil and crushing strife, And who so tattered and so limp as they? N ow rents are everywhere and rags are rife— Destruction has succeeded to display ; And wondrous costumes, “built” by foreign artistes, Are wreck’d and ruined like the Bonapartists ! LXXXV. Sweet Mistress, why let such a scandal be, When thy fond subjects flock to see thy face ? Thou wilt now to its reformation see, And act as doth become thy royal race ; For all that read this will with us agree, That such a state of things is a disgrace. And if your Highness won’t believe our rhymes, We just refer you to last July’s “ Times D LXXXVI. That night, when Beauty had devoured her dinner, And her mamma had filled up all her creases— For, truth to tell, that very ancient sinner Had almost literally been pulled to pieces— Jon Duan, looking p’rhaps a little thinner, Sits down, when casual conversation ceases, At the piano, and with anger rising, Performed the following piece of improvising. Qty -Haul nf SSHtjrafita. i. The Belgravians came down on the Queen in her hold, And their costumes were gleaming with purple and gold, And the sheen of their jewels was like stars on the sea, As their chariots roll’d proudly down Piccadill-ee. ¡QI �27 JON DUAN. 2. Like the leaves of Le Follet when summer is green, That host in its glory at noontide was seen ; Like the leaves of a toy-book all thumb-marked and worn, That host four hours later was tattered and torn. 3For the crush of the crowd, which was eager and vast, Had rumpled and ruin’d and‘wreck’d as it pass’d ; And the eyes of the wearer wax’d angry in haste, As a dress but once-worn was dragged out of waist. 4And there lay the feather and fan, side by side, But no longer they nodded or waved in their pride ; And there lay lace flounces, and ruching in slips, And spur-torn material in plentiful strips. 5And there were odd gauntlets, and pieces of hair; And fragments of back-combs, and slippers were there ; 1 The well-known exclamation of the Spanish Ambassador to Elizabeth’s Court—“ I have seen the head of the English Church dancing!”-—may be remembered. To his notion there was something strikingly incongruous in the grave and lawful governess of the Church stepping it merrily with the favourite gentlemen of the Court. What would that Spanish Ambassador have exclaimed had he witnessed the scene detailed in the next note ? What should we think now of Elizabeth if she had danced with a stable-help? And the gay were all silent; their mirth was all hush’d ; Whilst the dew-drops stood out on the brows of the crush’d. 6. And the dames of Belgravia were loud in their wail, And the matrons of Mayfair all took up the tale ; And they vow, as they hurry, unnerved, from the scene, That it’s no trifling matter to call on the Queen. LXXXVII. Soon after, seeing Beauty was so weary, Jon Duan press’d her hand and said “ Good­ bye ! ” And, fancying that his room would be too dreary, He bade a hansom to far Fulham hie. Why he should go down there we leave a query, Lest some who read these lines should say “Fie ! fle !” Though from this hint we cannot well refrain, That p’rhaps he wished to go to “ court” again. 2 Her Majesty gave a ball at Balmoral, on Friday. In the course of the evening Her Majesty danced for the first time since the death of the Prince Consort. She danced with Prince Albert Victor and Prince George, sons of the Prince of Wales, and afterwards took part in a reel with John Brown, her attendant, and Donald Stewart, game­ keeper.— The Leeds Weekly News, Saturday, June 6th, 1874. �28 JON DUAN. Canto The Third. i. There stands, or once stood, for on several pleas, It’s most unsafe to use the present tense In speaking of these paper argosies That pirate daily all a lounger’s pence ; And have to labour against heavy seas, And sail, most of them, in a fog as dense As any that rasps London lungs quite raw— Then, go to pieces on the rocks of law : II. So there stood once—we’ll say once on a time— A time when newspapers were not a spec,” Consisting in the offering for a dime Of seven murders, one rape, ditto wreck, Critiques on the Academy, sublime, The last accouchement of the Princess Teck, Fashionable scandals, exits and arrivals— All latest, news—picked from the morning rivals— ill. There stood, then, but a few doors from the Strand, A dingy mansion, such as is best fitted To shrine that fourth estate, which rules the land— That is to say, outrageously pock-pitted And tumble-down, with proofs of devil’s hand On every door, with windows grimed and gritted, And so clothed in old broad-sheets that it stood For almanack to all the neighbourhood. IV. The reader has a character to lose— Or one to sell; and characters are cheap In offices of newspapers that choose To rather scandalise than let one sleep ; And therefore all concerning them is news ; And being curious, you long to peep At places where they scarify Disraeli, Or tell Lord Salisbury his conduct’s scaly. V. A crowd of ragamuffins in a court, Who wait for papers, playing pitch and toss ; Cabmen and loafers ready at retort, And generally talking of a “ ’oss ” ; �JON DUAN. A dribbling stream who 11 flimsily ” report, And feel Sir Roger a tremendous loss ; Surely a peeler—sometimes an M.P. ; This is the usual mise en scene you see. VI. Within the temple, order of the sternest Prevails, supported by a well-drilled staff. Woe to thee, compos., if a pipe thou burnest I Woe to thee, reader, if thou dar’st to laugh ! Here everybody must appear in earnest ; They’re all half theologians here, and half Teetotallers; their aim is strict propriety—They’re read in families of Quivering piety. VII. Respectability, you Juggernaut, You fetish insular and insolent, You’re everywhere ! the nation’s neck you’ve caught In one big noose—a white cravat; you’ve sent Pecksniff to Parliament, and’gainst us wrought The worst of ills—on humbugs ever bent ; But never did we deem you so infernal As when you set up your own daily journal. VIII. There are so many Mrs. Grundys preaching A blind obedience to your nods and firmans ; There are so many Mr. Podsnaps teaching Your gospel to the French and Turks and Ger­ mans— Who’re all Bohemian vagrants and want breech­ ing— The stage and pulpit echo with your sermons— A thing they never did for Dr. Paley— Surely you’re not obliged to print them daily ! 29 x. The sheet in question, then, is widely read, Chiefly by cabmen—and it’s not elating, For when they’ve got that pure prose in their head, They always sixpence ask, at least, for waiting. Its politics are liberal, too, ’tis said, Which means they’re radical with silver plating ; But all sorts write in it, Rad, Whig, or Tory, With any coloured ink, buff, blue, or gory. XI. Mong writers, printers, clerks, and advertisers, All in a hurry and as grave as J ob, Moved by a noble rage to print the Kaiser’s Last ukase half an hour before the Globe— For that’s true journalism, though paid disguisers Essay with pompous phrase the truth to robe;— Among these, then, Jon Duan passed ; his pocket Bulged with MSS. ’twould take an hour to docket. XII. He went towards the pigeon-hole to which The needle’s eye of Scripture is a fool— That’s a mere figure to rebuke the rich— Here poor and wealthy find their welcome cool;— Why, Saint Augustine might step from his niche, And knock, and they’d not offer him a stool, Unless he’d cry “No Popery,” or would make A speech or two supporting Miss Jex Blake. XIII. There was another way, and that Jon Duan By chance alone and innocently took. One gets a civil letter written to one By some famed author of a Bill or book— If it’s a woman—she must be a blue ’un ; They’ll print the missive forthwith, and will look Thankfully on you ; one of their anxieties Is to seem popular with notorieties. IX. But we must bow, for we must read ;—a want That makes us more dyspeptic than our sires, And also favours an increase of cant; For though to highest thought a man aspires, He can’t be always reading Hume and Kant, Nor Swinburne, nor the rest of the high-flyers. The fire divine fatigues—one takes to tapers, That is to say, one reads the daily papers. XIV. Up went Jon Duan’s lucky name, and soon With beating heart and pulse his card he followed. Downstairs the steam-press hummed its drowsy tune, Clerks passed in corridors, and urchins hollo’d; He heard naught, but walked on as in a swoon, Fancying somefree and fearlesspresencehallowed �3° F' y ON DUAN. The creaking floors, the wall’s perspiring dun blank— Spirit of Wilkes, Swift, Junius, Jerrold, Fonblanque. xv. I see a smile come to the reader’s eyes, Which view, of course, all things thro’ micro­ scopes, And read between the lines of leaders—lies ; The reader, naturally, “ knows the ropes ” In these press matters : we apologise ; But faith, our hero’s sadly young, and hopes Love’s not all lust nor Liberty an ogress—And thinks—the simpleton—the press means pro­ gress. XVI. Forgive him. You may hear how he was punished; How soon the warm, quick blood oozed cooler, calmer; How women laughed at him, and men admonished; How he grew deaf unto the illusive charmer,— Was never grieved, delighted, nor astonished, Dined, slept, walked, flirted in a suit of armour— In short, so perfect got, you scarce could hit on A prettier portrait of the ideal Briton. XVII. But now we have left him innocent and blushing— Remembering those manuscripts, before A door whereon, awe-struck, he read the crushing, August, and gorgeous title : Editor ! He cleared his throat, pulled down his cuffs, and pushing With timid touches that Plutonian door, Which, opening promptly, swung back with a slam,— He saw the great chief—eating bread and jam ! XVIII. Jon Duan brought a note from Castelar, One from Caprera, one from bold Bazaine ;—So he was well received. These heroes are Acquaintances of value, for they deign Write numerous letters on the Carlist war, Peace Congresses, Courts Martial; and it’s plain Each one’s a puff for which he thanks them deeply— Besides, they serve to fill the paper cheaply. XIX. After Jon Duan had been sagely pumped, Concerning all he’d seen in his excursions, He mustered up some confidence, and plumped Into the theme of literary exertions. He said: “I am, Sir, what you may call—stumped”— (The chief sighed at neologists’ perversions)— I’ve loved, loafed, danced, drank, gambled, and played polo ; I’d try at Journalism—tho’ they say it’s so low ! XX. “ I want to write—above all to be printed ;' The modern mania burns within my breast. I’ve some experience, as I just now hinted, Perhaps ’twould give my articles a zest. Would, now, this sonnet----- ” Here his listener squinted At a broadsheet a boy presented. “ Pest!” Exclaimed the Editor ; “ the sub’s wits wander, Tell him to put in ‘ Latest from Santander !’” XXI. Then, blandly turning round: “You mentioned Verses! Young man, you’re in a very vicious path. They are among an Editor’s chief curses. I have now—pray don’t whisper it in Gath— Three spinsters who have met with sore reverses, Ten Tuppers, seven Swinburnes, very wroth, All writing daily and requesting answers Concerning all their madrigals and “ stanzers.” ’ XXII. Of course, Jon Duan said he’d naught in common With humble rhymsters, who essay to climb Parnassus in list slippers. He’d seen human Nature almost in every phase and clime ; And didn’t sing thé usual song of Woman In Alexandrines, elephants of rhyme ; He’d read a specimen—and really grew so Pressing, at last the bland chief bade him do so. iKaiuinmifclIe ^ruMjnmnre. Her dress is high, and there’s nothing within. Polished in Clapham, its pale flowers’ pick, She is just twenty-one and spruce as a pin,— Her head is the only thing she has thick. �3i JON DUAN. A meagre bosom, and shoulder, and mind, A meagre mouth, that will never miss The tender touch it will never find— The passionate pulse of a lover’s kiss. The eyes speak no language, much less a soul ; The brows are faint, and the forehead is spare, And low and empty. Then over the whole That fool’s straw crown of submissive hair. O, happy the man with wrought-iron nerves, Who shall say of this tempting morsel, “Mine”— O treasure in pottery and preserves— O Hebe, careful of gooseberry wine ! Has it a heart ? oh, arise and appeal, Lost sisters, that famine and cold destroyed ; Will you prick to pity the hearts that feel For Magdalen less than Aurora Floyd? Has it a mind ? Come, arise and unfold, Redeemer, the lives to be raised at last ! Is there room for thought in the brains that hold Kitchen and nursery sufficiently vast ? And yet she shall be a woman in fine ; Some one will worship her thimble and fan, Some one grow drunk on her gooseberry wine ; And she’ll find a husband—perhaps a man. For fate will be good and provide one—meek, And long, and good, and foolish, and flat, A curate—immaculate, sour and sleek, A Pillar of Grace with a Blanched Cravat ! And duly the two will endow their kind With the old Clapham growth as spruce as a pin ; Meagre in bosom, and shoulder, and mind, Her horrible virtue sanctifies sin. Mademoiselle Prudhomme will hamper and stay The world’s march onwards—will gossip and dress, And sew, and suckle, and dine, and pray : “Madonna Grundy have pity or bless ;”—• Mademoiselle Prudhomme will simper and slay “ Strong Minds,” with her poor little anodyne wit ; And flatter herself as she’s dying one day, She’s a heart—while the sawdust leaks out of it. XXIII. This was a little piece of lyric flattery ; For anyone not quite a savage knows Our Editor’s renowned for milk and watery Elegies on the sweeter sex’s woes. He thought their masters too much given to battery With fire-irons, doubled fists,and hobnailed shoes, Which don’t, he said, reform domestic Tartars;— At home, ’tis said, he suffers for the martyrs. XXIV. He said Jon Duan’s principles were proper ; ' He liked the matter and he liked the name ; And then abruptly he applied a stopper To all the poet’s rising hopes of fame. “The fact is, such things are not worth a copper. Your young enthusiasm I don’t blame; But really you don’t think—it is too funny !— You don’t think that this kind of thing’s worth money! XXV. “ No man writes poetry to-day, unless He’s leisure, and some hundreds sure a year— Ev’n then he’ll often find that going to press, Mean’s going to Queer Street, E.C.; and when there He’ll find the Registrar no whit the less Severe, because he’s only paid too dear For writing verse—and not for acting prose— At St. John’s Wood with Miss or Madame Chose. XXVI. “ The Press, sir, is the modern channel flowing To Pactolus : compress into a column Your finest thought, your dreams most grand and glowing ; Frequent good clubs ; grow staid, and stout, and solemn; And, with a little cringing and kotowing, Your fortune’s made. I don’t want to extol ’em, But we’ve a few bards of imagination— They’re now reporting a Great Conflagration. XXVII. “ We may not want bays, laurels, crowns, and mitres ; We’d do without some J.P.s and policemen ; We’d do without some lawyers and some fighters— The fools who bully, and the knaves who fleece men; �JON DUAN. 32 But, sir, this Age must have its ready writers— Not too profound, but aiming to release men, By aid of half a dozen library shelves, From that dread task of thinking for themselves.” XXVIII. Humility, that worst of all good qualities— And Heaven knows there’s plenty bad enough!— Is common, but Jon Duan wouldn’t call it his. He knew his intellect was of the stuff That makes men feel above such vain frivolities; He rhymed, it’s true ; but he was also tough In logic, versed in art, a studious reader, So he sat down and wrote a social leader. XXIX. You know the social leader—it’s designed To please the ladies o’er the morning toast. We’ve written them ourselves sometimes, and find Wrecks, royal visits, and divorces, most Apt to enthrall the lovely creatures’ mind. A breach of promise isn’t bad ; you coast Round naughty subjects, show an inch of stocking, Observing all the while : How very shocking ! XXX. We know the bits to quote to show your learning, And those to prove your feeling or your humour ; Swift, Hook, Hood, Smith, or Jerrold; the discerning Reader will add the rest; Pepys, Evelyn, Hume, or Bacon, La Rochefoucauld—they all bear churning In frothy paragraphs ; and one or two more Make up a hodge-podge which, served after warm­ ing, People not yet at Earlswood call quite charming. XXXI. I think Jon Duan tried his ’prentice hand At something more or less to do with Beer (What hasn’t in this free and thirsty land ?), He lashed tremendously, he had no fear ; On highly moral grounds he took his stand, And vigorously, with biting jest and jeer, Spoke out about the publicans’ last grievance, To be assuaged by brewers at St. Stephen’s. XXXII. Thumb-Nail Sketches from The Acade iy. 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Hours, from £5. \ For Presentation, tn 'k Antique Bronze & Marble .Cases, from £5 to £100. ■ is Enabled to offer purchasers the most Exfcansi'.-o Stock in London, comprising Clocks for the Drawing, Dining Rooms, and Presentation, of the Highest Quality and . Newest Designs. TO THE ADMIRALTY PRINCIPAL-RAILWAY COMPANIES GENTLEMEN’S. GOLD. SILVER. �THE “ LEFT.”—A Coup-de-Main. ��JON DUAN. 33 Of muses, singing some old London rhyme ; And then—and then we see the tribe of Levy Entering their broughams with smug ostentation— And, somehow, that arrests our inspiration. (Of course I know your strictures are deserved)—■ Largely in cafés, taverns, and hotels ; We have sent out poor Truth dress’d so succinctly, She’s caught cold—that’s why she don’t speak distinctly.” XXXVIII. XXXIII. We drop back to the role of chronicler, Following Jon Duan and his new-found,friend, Maloy. That juvenile philosopher Descanted freely on the aim and end Of literature ; and glibly could refer To several famous gentlemen who’ve penned Verse, novels, essays, which we’ve all admired— Not knowing how the authors were inspired. Jon Duan, downcast and confused was standing, Thinking he’d ne’er a leader read again, His mind with notions new and strange expanding ; When some one cried : “ Put in my news from Spain.” And bounding upstairs, bumped him on the landing, A stranger, who’s—we may as well explain, Mr. Maloy, a li special,” who makes free To date from Irun, write in Bloomsbury. xxxix. Maloy was made to be an interviewer, There was no Fleet Street curtain and no blind He didn’t raise, and with some comments truer Than tender, scarify the scribes behind. Here rose a hiccough, there a hallelujah— Not far from Shoe Lane once the two combined— Here they declare the Ballot Act’s a sad law— Here kid-glove Radicals haw-haw at Bradlaugh. XXXIV. There’s nothing like this odd kind of collision— If one’s not seeking rhymes or lost one’s purse— As introduction, it makes an incision Into that Saxon cloak of pride we curse But still will wear, through death, despair, division, The Robe of Nessus, of Ovidian verse— At least to-day it made Jon Duan enter A friendship in which he soon found a Mentor. XL. xxxv. Here, to the left, two-pennyworth of gall Wars with two-pennyworth of gall and water, One shrieking £‘ Yankee !” and the other “ Gaul!” And threatening weekly libel suits and slaughter. Flere lies poor Punch, a Taylor sews his pall, While opposite there stands the brick and mortar Palace of Truth, where, to instruct us, Stanley Finds out the Nile, while Greenwood hunts at Hanley. Fleet Street, receive the writers’ salutation! We never pass through tottering Temple Bar, Without a feeling of profound elation At the grand panorama stretched afar; We take our hats off, and from Ludgate Station See Genius coming, in triumphal car, And with a flaming crest, and waving pinions, Beating the boundaries of its own dominions. XLI. xxxvi. Here’s the great factory where they puff the Premier, The Lords, the Bishops, Publicans and Princes ; Only they’d make the soft-soap rather creamier, Were it not that my Lord of Salisbury winces ; Besides t’wards a new rival, rather dreamier, Favour at times the Government evinces. They sell though, still, from poppies of their growing, The largest pennyworth of opium going. We see the nation’s brain, its best lobe seething In the strong throb and clamour of the road : We see the legion of the teachers sheathing Theirpensin monkish creed and Pecksniff’s code; Tis here each high idea begins its breathing, From here it takes its armed flight abroad — To fall, a thunderbolt on thrones and steeples— To fall, as manna, to the calling peoples. XXXVII. XLII. Temple of Fame, all stained with dust and grime, In air oft foul, in architecture heavy, We freedom see and knowledge guard, sublime, Thy low dark eaves ; and in thy courts a bevy The best of chatterers is a scandal-monger ; His pills are bitter, and he gilds a bit ; And all men, though they smirk and say No, hunger To have their famous neighbours’ windbags slit. i D �aK 34 W' J JON DUAN. So laughed Jon Duan as Maloy grew stronger In aphorisms—those stalactites of wit ; And when they had dined en garçon at the “ Mitre,” Resolved he’d die, or be a well-known writer. XLIII. A writer—bravo ! The idea’s not new, At least, it’s shared by all the Civil Service ; The Bar, the Church, and in the Army, too, It rages with the force of several scurvies ; But, faith, the aim, with this unique reserve, is As good as any British youths pursue— It’s mostly, when a lad is fresh from school A horse, champagne, Anonyma, or pool. XLIV. “ But what’s your special genius, talent, line— Prose, verse,or ‘rhythmic Saxon,’ like dear Dixon ? Wish you to scandalise, or mildly shine ? Swinburne’s or Houghton’s, which renown d’you fix on ? Come, choose your mate among the tuneful Nine ; There’s Tupper’s Twaddle, and Buchanan’s Vixen ; That Pale One, made O’Shaughnessy’s by mar­ riage— And Browning’s Blue, oft subject to miscarriage. XLV. “ There’s Bret Harte’s Yankee—though she does say d----- n, She’s quite the lady in her principles. And what d’you say to Lockyer’s, a grande dame Coiffée at moments à la cap and bells ? There’s Tennyson’s would serve you like a lamb, And teach you to ‘ring out wild bells,’ and knells, Whene’er a German, corpulent and moral, Expires, lies in, or marries, at Balmoral. XLVI. iC But maybe odder fancies make you moody— Perhaps you’d write your novel, like your neigh­ bours ; Walk up—make your selection : There’s the goody, The gamy, the idyllic, arduous labours Which bring in millions—unto Mr. Mudie : The military, full of oaths and sabres, The hectic, allegoric, or the pastoral— But only Jeafferson has time to master all. �I JON DUAN. XLVII. “ The eight vols. like George Eliot’s—there’s afield Fresh, wide, and rich in fine food for the flail; But pray wear spectacles ; it doesn’t yield Unless you analyse each slug and snail; And read theology in blocks congealed From safes of Kant, Spinoza, Reid, and Bayle ; Unless, too, you’ve a friend, and can wade through his Complete Edition of the Works of Lewes. XLVIII. “ I might suggest likewise those smaller spheres Where several virgins, widows—even wives—• But husbands hinder terribly, one hears—Are writing novels for their very lives. Oh, if they’d do it in their uglier years— . Ink’s a cosmetic when old age arrives ; But no, the dears have scarce left pinafores, .Before they’re knocking at Sam Tinsley’s doors. XLIX. “ And what astounding manuscripts they carry, These innocents just fresh from Mangnall’s Ques­ tions ! How very oddly all their heroines marry ! How very frequently the very best shuns Her Lord and Master, for Tom, and Dick, and Harry—• Who’re always in the Guards, have good diges­ tions, Tawny moustaches, ‘ lean flanks ’ — charming Satans, Come up from Hell in kid gloves and mail phaetons. L. “ Pardon, Miss Mulocch and Miss’Yonge—you’re free From any taint the moralist impure rates ;— O, that your world were real, that we might be All Lady Bountifuls and model curates, Talking good grammar o’er eternal tea, With one ambition—to reduce the'poor rates ! But fie ! Miss Braddon, Broughton, Ouida—you Seduce us from the Band of Hope Review. Li. “Reade, Lawrance, Yates, and Holme Lee, Kings­ ley, Grant, Black the idyllic, Collins (Mortimer), 35 Collins, called Wilkie, Trollope, whom they vaunt In proud Belgravia, and in Westminster; Grave Farjeon, and E. Jenkins, who decant The wine of Dickens in a cullender ; And then there’s—but how dare you keep your hat on ?■■— That proud provincial Editor, Joe Hatton ! Lil. passe et des meilleurs] ” Maloy concluded : “ Fitzgerald, Oliphant, George Meredith, Sell ; so perhaps they shouldn’t be excluded ; Whyte Melville, Francillon, are men of pith ; I also might have said that one or two did Wonders to neutralize the brand of Smith;—■ But catalogues were ever an infliction— E’en Homer’s ships—fai- lighter than our fiction. LUI. “ One’s born a woman ; one becomes a man. Jon Duan, when you write, bear this in mind, And interest the ladies if you can ; For all the wide world over, womankind Loves the same books ; male readers pry and scan ; Boys, young men, fogies, different authors find— But schoolgirl, grandmamma, French, German' Briton— Show me the woman who don’t dote on Lytton. LIV. “But he’s their classic. You, the modern, must Select your heroes and your heroines From their own drawing-rooms, and then adjust Your dolls in patch works made of all the sins ; • Be roué, and disclose a bit of bust, Raise Dolly Vardens o’er somç shapely shins ; Suggest, but don’t be crude ; and don’t say Vice— But hint your villain’s conduct isn’t nice. LV. “ And then, slang, croquet, champagne, clubs, and horses ; Plump painted c persons,’ who will bear the blame For all misguided heroes’ evil courses; Bad French, when sloven English is too tame ; Danseuses and Guardsmen, Duchesses, divorces— Mix up and spice—the elixir this, of fame Of modern Balzacs-—of this pure and mighty Age, that’s produced two publishers for ‘ Clytie.’ ” �JON DUAN. 36 LVI. Here poor Jon Duan rose and paid the bill. “ But you must choose your set as well as style,” Pursued Maloy, who, though not meaning ill, Was apt to make his inch of talk a mile. “ There is a spectacle hard by that will Make plain my meaning in a little while.” A few steps brought them to a—well, a “pub”— (Rhyme’s a great leveller), and a liter’ry club. LVII. It is the Great Club of the Disappointed And bald Bohemian mediocrities, Who think the century is all disjointed, Because they can’t direct it as they please ; And so they choose to make their own Anointed, Regardless of the outer world’s decrees ; No matter how their idols it excoriates, Here they’re all statesmen, M.P.s, R.A.s, Laureates. LXI. I want an Invocation, for the theme Is one of that sublime and solemn kind That ought to be approached with half a ream Of “ Ohs ” addressed to deities, designed To give us time to invent and get up steam, And tune our fiddles ere we raise the blind—■ Also to make the publisher advance a Pound or two more ’cause of the extra stanza. LXII. But really I find nothing to invoke. Before the Great Apollo Club, the Muses Shrink back, and blushes clothe them as a cloak ; Venus, Diana, Jupiter refuses. Priapus might do, but much finer folk Retain his services ; one picks and chooses— But, faith, the naughtiest gods in Lempriere, Are quite surpassed in Hanoveria Square. LVIII. There’s Hack, their novelist; George Eliot quakes When one of his Scotch pastorals appears ; And Mr. Browning, too, ’tis said, “ sees snakes,” When Carver, their own poet, drops the shears, (The bard’s Sub-Editor—fate makes mistakes), And in a magazine sheds lyric tears ; Their Bowman, too, a wondrous name has got, Though it does not appear what he has shot. LIX. They’ve publishers who print railway reports, And so, of course, are guides to literature ; They’ve journalists who do the County Courts, And know the Times’ great guns, and tell you who’re The authors of the “ Coming K----- ”; all sorts Of Lilliputians, empty and obscure, Swell out here twice a week, and, lulled by shag, Dream that they’re citizens of Brobdingnag. LX. “ That’s old Bohemia,” said Jon Duan’s guide,’ “ Impotent, gouty, full of age and spite ; Let’s leave them o’er their whisky to decide Browning’s a bubble, Morris is a mite, And only Ashby Sterry opens wide A window on the starry infinite. Come westward — there’s Bohemia, young and sunny, With no gray hairs—and generally no money.” LXIII. So let the chaste Apollo Club be seen Without vain dallying at the modest door; Follow Jon Duan and Maloy between Two rows of hats, and pictures, which all bore The impress of free minds that scorned to screen The beauties Nature meant us to adore : Here they’d corrupt, such thin toilettes enwrap ’em, The seminaries most select in Clapham. LXIV. Upstairs, a lively circle is fulfilling The promise of the pictures—that’s to say, Divesting truth of all the flounce and frilling, That so disguise her in the present day; And in our “ cleanly^ English tongue” * instilling The subtle piquancy of Rabelais ; They don’t mince words here—if they did they’d hurry To put in spice, and make the mincemeat—curry. LXV. Champagne and seltzer corks are popping gaily ; It’s two o’clock ; the night has just begun ; In pour the critics from the theatres, palely, Suffering from Byron s or Burnand’s last pun. * An idiom of the Daily Telegraph. « �JON DUAN. Here comes Fred Bates, who dines with Viscounts daily, And hatches “high life” novels by the ton ; Here’s the sleek Jew band leader, Knight — and then, One “ Gentleman who writes for Gentlemen.” LXVI. Smoke, and a rivulet of seltz. and brandy ; A buzz of talk that oft becomes a roar ; Impassive waiters setting glasses handy; On settees, arm-chairs, lounging, some three­ score Tenors and poets, dramatists and dandy Diplomatists and dilettanti ; four Painters who’ve coloured nothing but a pipe, Because the Royal Academy’s not ripe LXVII. For philosophic realism ; a common Creature or two, who neither wrote nor drew, And whom, therefore, the Club expects to summon Up fierce enthusiasm for the men who do— Clerks from the War Office, who love to strum on Their red-tape lyres, and think they’re poets too ; A Communist freed from Versailles inquisitors— They make a point of showing him to visitors. LXVIII. There’s a broad line fire of buffoonery, There are the single cracks of paradox; Here, splutters from the whip of Irony ; And cynicism’s icy ooze that mocks ■One moment, the last moment’s deity :— An intellectual Babel, that oft shocks At first the pious stranger, and confuses— That’s how most of us cultivate the Muses. LXIX. Jon Duan promptly made himself at home. He’d just such erudition as they prize At the Apollo Club : he’d read Brantome, Faublas, and Casanova—which supplies A man with many anecdotes and some Vices ; but here it served to make him rise In favour with his friends, who won’t deny Their library is very like a sty. 37 LXX. As dawn approached, the conversation grew More lyrical: they passed the loving cup ; They felt all men were brothers—which is true— All Cains and Abels ; and, like men who sup In the small hours, they felt old songs steal through The vapours of the wine, and struggle up Unto the lips. So, finding they grew dreamy, a Poet trolled this Carol of Bohemia. S (¡Carol of Baljentta. 1. Bohemians ! this our trade and rank, we drift without an anchor, All idle ’prentices who’ve broke Society’s inden­ ture ; Gil Blas, whose lives are voyages to some hazy Salamanca;— We’ll pit against your L. S. D. our motto : Per­ adventure. 2. The hostelries upon our way keep open house and table; And if e’en at the first relay, we find the money short, With muleteers of old romance we sup in barn or stable, And if the bread is black, the wine but vinegar —qu? importe! 3Qu' importe the chasm and precipice, qu' importe too, death and danger 1 We take the truant’s path in life, and there one never slips. If all the men we meet are foes, there’s not a girl a stranger, When one has Murger in the heart, and Musset on the lips ! 4O, green ways trodden hand in hand ! O sweet things that mean nothing ! And Raphael’s fair sister, who makes vagrant hearts beat louder. Ah, for the golden spring of life! Ah, for the autumn loathing !— Raphael robs the traveller, Madonna’s plumes are powder. �JON DUAN. 38 5And russet comes upon the green ; we see the roses’ canker ; Lorenza’s little hands I hold have trenchant tips and scar mine, Gil Blas grows fat and falls asleep, half-way to Salamanca ; And Laura’s kisses are so sweet—they make one’s moustache carmine ! LXXI. As the last echoes into stillness sunk, Jon Duan rose and bade adieu to Babel; He’d seen and heard enough ; his ideal shrunk Within him, and he felt his gods unstable ; He left a famous poet very drunk, Reciting bits from Pindar, on the table ; And others, dry as wither’d leaves in Arden, To finish up the night at Covent Garden. LXXII. These are the ordeals through which greenhorns pass Before they’re fit to form public opinion, Or in romance to hold up a clear glass To modern men and manners ; their dominion Is reached by by-ways tortuous and crass, Wherein one’s pure ambition moults its pinion, And changes so in heart and aim and soul— What was an eagle dwindles to poor poll. LXXIII. They set forth with their poems in their wallet, And nothing much to speak of in their purse, Thinking they’re going to wield Thor’s mighty mallet, And all the bubbles of the age disperse ; Proud of their Mission, as the poor lads call it— To mend the world in philosophic verse, To speak out boldly, giving stout all-rounders, From Vested Interests unto Pious Founders ; LXXIV. To laugh to scorn our wars of sacristies, That set us flying at each other’s throats, Because some curates like gay draperies, Or rather higher collars to their coats :— And then they bandy talk of11 heresies ”— That’s what the beams denominate the motes,— Set doctors arguing and lawyers fighting— And, one good thing, set Mr. Gladstone writing ; LXXV. To tilt against—but who shall give the list Of all the wrongs and ills that want redressing In this sweet isle, where, if a sore exist, Fourscore-year bishops say it’s a great blessing? Who’ll count the reefs and rocks seen through the mist, Through which Pangloss, M.P., says we’re progressing ? Who’ll count our paupers, plutocrats—none can aver— And oh! who’ll count the Royal House of Hanover? LXXVI. One thought that one could do it all, elated With young dreams, when life’s morning star its best shone; Political economy we rated Merely the art of sidling round the question :— St. Giles’s hunger isn’t compensated Or cured by Lord St. James’s indigestion : And then we found blank looks on either hand— St. Giles can’t read—St. James can’t understand. LXXYII. And all our wings fell from us, and we stumbled, Crawled crablike, sneaked, and sidled with the best; iExalted Toole, Vance, H.R.H.S,—humbled Your Arch’s, Bradlaughs, Odgers, and the rest; We hung on to Fame’s chariot as it rumbled Down Fleet Street—and from that day, were well dressed, And had a cheque-book—knew a peer who pities Us scribes, and sat on several Club Committees. LXXVIII. An old, old tale : a lucky hero ours, To have it all made plain before he started On that road, which seems carpeted with flowers To amateurs who’re young and simple hearted ; He grieved at first, and, for a few brief hours,’ His eyes, because the scales had dropp’d off, smarted; But soon he hardened into crying, Bosh !— Couleur da res#—that colour doesn’t wash ! LXXIX. And he went in for all the browns and grays Of stern reality, for perfect prose �JON DUAN. I; I In life, in literature, in aims, and ways: He came to know the fact that no man goes To market with an ingot: bread or bays, Small change will buy the best that’s baked or grows. He sent his grand old idols to the mint— And rich and godless, soon prepared to print LXXX. L ‘J You’ve seen his progress in the magazines, Reviews and Quarterlies ; his course is planned After the best authorities, on means Whereby to keep one’s name before the land : To start with, his identity he screens, Forthwith, a weekly says : “We understand The paper in this month’s ‘True Blue,’ which no one Failed to remark, is written by Jon Duan.” I Or ere the paper’s printed : “ We’re informed The 1 Unicorn’ for next month will contain An essay by Jon Duan.” Thus he charmed The public with reiterative strain, Till simple outsiders grew quite alarmed At the prodigious business of his brain ; And he grew known so, he’d a near escape From having his fine features limned by “Ape.” 1 LXXXI. 39 LXXXIV. No bribes ! Thank Heaven, the English press is pure •— A model for all Europe, and a score tall Yankees ! but sometimes salaries aren’t secure ;— And sometimes even journalists are mortal; Therefore a little dinner-card, when you’re In want of praise, will open many a portal;— I’d name.—if libel cases weren’t so brisk— A dozen laurel wreaths that sprung from bisque. ' LXXXV. Laurels Jon Duan got, or substitutes For what they called wreaths eighty years ago : Success in our days yields more solid fruits Than figurative chaplets—fruits that grow Too quickly, maybe, and from rotten roots, But still afford a pleasant meal or so. And after all, to make a crop secure, Don’t the best cultivators use manure ? LXXXVI. We don’t say that Jon Duan did ; he merely Knew his age well, and catered for its taste. It loves the portrait of its vices dearly, Provided certain angles are effaced, And certain details not described too clearly— A photograph half libertine, half chaste, That matrons smile at, and girls in their teens Say prettily they can’t see what it means. i • i i ; LXXXVII. That is our “ social, psychologic ” fiction, In which Grub Street takes vengeance car Bel­ gravia, Denouncing all its sins with feigned affliction At having to describe the bad behaviour Of titled folks—for there’s an interdiction On vulgar crimes; we treat those that are caviar Unto the general—pigeon-shooting, gaming, Genteel polygamy—all won’t bear naming. LXXXVIII. LXXXII. And to their country cousins Cockneys said : “ Pray notice! look! he’s passing! that is he! That noble presence—that inspired head— Lit by the dawn of young celebrity—• That is Jon Duan, following up the thread Of his new serial for the 1 Busy Bee,’ Or gleaning bits of realism in the gutter, That’s what makes his romance go down like butter.” And this Jon Duan painted to the life. Ne’er was a better writer to portray Thoroughbreds, cocottes, and post-nuptial strife, And scenery in a pretty Mignard way; To show how one makes love to a friend’s wife, Or leads a virgin’s timid steps astray,— * j i . ; i | �40 JON DUAN. How to transgress the Ten Commandments daily, Wear good coats well—and not end at the Old Bailey. LXXXIX. He also touched on politics, and wrote The usual anonymous report, From Cloudland allegorical; we dote On pamphlets of the Prince Florestan sort, Putting them down to ten M.P.s of note, F or lively satire is our statesmen’s forte. Talk of the daily press, Mill, Grote—oh, fiddle ! The best loved flower of literature’s a riddle. xc. Reviews, translations, travels, essays, stories, Liberal programmes, letters to the Times— The record of his exploits would crack Glory’s Trumpet, unused to praise this kind of crimes; Each week the acid Athenaeum bore his Name in some column, linked to prose or rhymes, Which being largely advertised and often, Made the most stony critic’s bosom soften. xci. N o evanescent Period was founded, Or foundered, but he had his finger in it; No Mirror crack’d, no Junius fell down dead, No Torch illumed the country for a minute, But in their columns his MS. abounded; Eclecticism was his prevailing sin, it Led him to promise prose to that transcendent Modern press joke : The Daily Independent ! XCII. That crowns a man’s career ; no further goes The force of sane ambition. For the rest, He’d all the wealth of privilege one owes To having frequently in print express’d Old thoughts about some older joys and woes ' He had his stalls for nothing, and the best Place on first nights—a manager’s civility, Which is the author’s patent of nobility. XCIII. He had the run of philosophic bars, Where literature’s professors congregate, With haply, some clean-shaven tragic stars, And a few faithful servants of the State, Who make enough to pay for their cigars, By writing critiques for the press—a fate So few sane men in our days seem to * covet— Thank God ! the Civil Service ain’t above it. �JON DUAN. XCIV. The damsels who deign serve you with your beer Are deeply versed in literature and art; And oh! the things those virgins see and hear Would rather make the goddess Grundy start. It’s not improving always to sit near Authors, who, if they don’t attack your heart,— For they can’t touch it, though they’ve won some laurels— Do play the very devil with your morals. xcv. Wide as they range, a flavour of sour ink Goes with them, from the City to the Strand, And thence to Panton Street. Just watch them pink A reputation with a master-hand ; List to them squabbling, and observe them drink— And then reflect, to-morrow all the land Will only know which way the world’s inclining, By what they all have put into their “ lining,” XCVI. Leave them. The Muse, poor jade, has had her fill Of copy and of copy writers. Satis, Even Jon Duan, though he’s prosperous, still Cries now and then, when he sees what his fate is— To grind for ever in the same old mill The same old thoughts, for evermore to mate his Dreams with the need of publishers and editors— Because the Ideal won’t appease one’s creditors. XCVII. Leave them, and leave Jon Duan for awhile, One of their band, a brother—till one sees A way that’s safe to say his prose is vile, And his successes only plagiaries; 4i You’ll meet them all to-morrow and you’ll smile At their old jokes, weep o’er their elegies, Admire them all in copy which encumbers The New Year Annuals and the Christmas Numbers. XCVIII. We’ve seen Jon Duan through Grub Street, safe and sound— The passage isn’t always so secure : Footpads are plenty, publishers abound— Things which don’t tend to keep a young man pure. We’ve seen him fêted, published, bought and crowned, And shown at all Smith’s bookstalls : now he’s sure Of immortality—and, such is fame-— Forty years hence, e’en Timbs won’t know his name. XCIX. ’Tis the best way to leave a hero—great, The friend of critics, prosperous and fat ; Keeping his brougham, asked to civic fêtes, And noble poets’ garden parties.—That Is not invariably an author’s fate, But we want an exception, for thereat The amateurs take fire, write verse by scores— And that’s the way to punish editors. C. And so he’s reached the glorious apogee ; And success has no history ;—like Peace, He’s at an altitude whereunto we Can’t follow, for our wings are fixed with grease, And in the sun’s red rays shake wofully : But this will prove he’s found the golden fleece : We leave him, with a set, refined and manly, Talking of Gladstone’s pamphlet with Dean Stanley. �42 JON DUAN. Canto The Fourth. i. ||||T‘ PAUL once had apartments with a The street, you may remember, was called Straight,— But whether Peter lodged in such a manner, The pens of the Apostles don’t relate: We know he’d several blots upon his banner, And that he now keeps guard at Heaven’s gate: But as to what his social habits were, The details we can find are very rare. II. Though we are bound our full belief to give To that sad business about the Cock; And though that other incident will live— When he gave Ma'lchus such a sudden shock.— Our information’s mostly negative ’Bout this Barjona, who was christened “Rock”; Yet we’re inclined to think Pierre a hearty, Hot-temper’d, bold, and fearless sort of party. III. He readily gave up his little all— The fishing business p’rhaps was slow just then— And, feeling he for preaching had a call, He went forthwith to fish for souls of men. The thought of leaving home did not appal, .And that he gladly went’s no wonder, when, Alike from Matthew, Mark, and Luke, we find He must have left a mother-in-law behind! IV. However, let St. Peter have his due, He was a faithful follower, on the whole; Human, of course—so, equally, are you — But he’d a loving and an ardent soul, Which, after persecutions not a few, Bore him in triumph to a martyr’s goal; And left behind him an undying fame, Heirship to which Rome’s Pope advances claim. V. Poor Peter ! It is monstrously unfair That such a Church should take his name in vain; To say that he first filled the Papal chair Must surely give him much post mortem pain. �JON DUAN. For not his worst detractor could declare He e’er did aught the name of Pope to gain. The lives of few of them will bear inspection; For lust and blood most had a predilection. VI. And Peter’s free from that; he did not fill His life with villainies the pen can’t write; His name is not mixed up with crimes that chill; With sins incestuous that the soul affright; He did not torture, persecute, and kill, And make his influence a cursing blight;— When sinning most, he still might have the hope He’d never sinned enough to be a Pope! VII. He ne’er his helpless fellow-creatures robbed, To live in sensuality and ease; He never schemed, and lied, and planned, and jobbed, In Heaven’s name, his mistresses to please; His steps were not with guilty favourites mobbed, He did not use the Church’s holy keys The door to damned and devilish sins to ope,— In short, St. Peter never was a Pope ! VIII. He had no gold nor houses, tithes nor land, He had no pictures, and no jewels nor plate; He never bore a crozier in his hand, He never put a mitre on his pate; He simply followed Jesus Christ’s command, Which so-called Christians have not done of late;— Oh! we would raise Hosannahs in our metre, If pioús people were more like St. Peter. IX. We will not talk of Rome ; its annals black Our pages would too deeply, darkly soil; Upon the Vatican we’ll turn our back, Lest indignation should too fiercely boil ; Its fiendish crimes have reached a depth, alack ! T’wards which our feeble pen would vainly toil : We will not dabble in the dirt of Rome, We have enough to do to look at home. x. Each sect of Christians in numbers grows, Who with the nomination are suffic’d; 43 Who are to what their Founder taught, fierce foes, Boasting a bastard creed, with errors spiced. The Christians of the present day are those Whose words and actions savour least of Christ, And reckon but of very little count The precepts of the Sermon on the Mount ! XI. The English Church our serious thought bespeaks— We write as friend to it, and not as foeman; We write to save it from the trait’rous sneaks Who, English-named, at heart are wholly Roman; We write, unfettered, with a pen that seeks Fair field from all, favour undue from no man ; We write because a thousand blots besmear Th’ escutcheon of the Church we hold so dear. XII. Blots of all kinds and colours, sorts and sizes— Blots Evangelical and Ritualistic ; Blots so pronounced that indignation rises ; Blots hidden carefully in language mystic ; Blots publicly exhibited as prizes ; Blots to all usefulness antagonistic— Blots so diffuse, in fact, that without doubt They threaten soon to blot the Church right out. XIII. Our hero knew that some such blots existed, For he’d an uncle who’d been Bishop made; The reason being that he for years persisted In giving to the Tory party aid. Though how it was such services could be twisted To show a fitness for the Bishop grade, We’ve tried to find out, but we’ve tried in vain— Perhaps Lord Shaftesbury could this explain. XIV. Jon’s Bishop-uncle was a portly man, With well-filled waistcoat, and a port-wine nose; Who, since to be a vicar he began, Had never seen his watch-seals or his toes ; Who, knowing life to be at best a span, Resolved to eat good dinners to its close ; And giving thanks each day to God the giver, O’erfed himself, and took those pills called liver. �44 JON DUAN. XV. It did not seem, save as an awful warning, He thought of the directions Christ had given ; His Purse was large; he search’d the Times each morning, That he might see how well his Scrip had thriven Was far from bed-accommodation scorning, And never walked it, when he could be driven. And if the meek in heart alone are bless’d, He must for cursing long have been assessed. XVI. He hunger’d and he thirsted, it is true— But not for Righteousness—it is most clear. He mourn’d—but that was merely ’cause he knew A neighbouring Bishop had more pounds a year; He laid up earthly treasures not a few, But of the moth and rust he had no fear; And whilst of meat and drink he took much thought, Consider’d not the lilies as he ought. XVII. In sooth, Jon Duan could not find a trait In which the Bishop followed the Great Master; . His diocese brought ^15 a day, And he contriv’d to make a fortune faster Than money-changers, for he’d a’cute way Of speculating that ne’er met disaster ;—■ And as his will proved, later, it is gammon To think one cannot worship God and Mammon. XVIII. Of course he something did his pay to earn: He wrote a bitter book against Dissent ; And once a year, in May, his soul would burn, Because the Hindoo had no Testament ; And to the House of Lords his feet would turn, If by his aid reforms he could prevent : And he’d some trouble, too, in duly giving To all his reverend relatives a living ! XIX. He has in Ember * weeks to lay his hands Upon the candidates for ordination ; In his be-puffed lawn sleeves, and linen bands, He ’mongst the ladies makes no small sensation ; * It is not singular perhaps that Ember week is prolific in “ sticks." �JON DUAN. And periodically his lordship stands To consummate the rite of confirmation, Which, being an Epicure, he finds not easy, For as a rule the children’s heads are greasy. 45 Our 36fi£f)rrp)5'. Meantime, whilst this good man in wealth is rolling, His slaving curates scarce get bread to eat; As he his soul with choice old wine’s consoling (Fit follower of the Apostles’ feet !), They, as their wretched stipend they are doling (The Bishop in three months spends more in meat), Must recollect, although it seems odd, rather, That he, in God, is their Right Reverend Father. 1. Who follow Christ with humble feet, And rarely have enough to eat, Who “ Misereres ” oft repeat ?—Our Bishops. 2. Who, like the fishermen of old, Care not for house, nor lands, nor gold, But boldly brave the damp and cold ?—Our Bishops. 3Who preach the gospel to the poor, And nurse the sick, and teach the boor — Who faithful to the end endure ?— Our Bishops. 4Who give up all for Jesus’ sake, And no thought for the morrow take, But daily sacrifices make ?— Our Bishops. 5And who count everything a loss Except their Lord and Master’s cross, And reckon riches as but dross ?— Our Bishops. xx. And shame to say, this pillar of the Church Is the severest landlord in the county ; Woe to the tenant, who, left in the lurch, Is not quite ready with the right amount; he Gets no mercy, for the strictest search Reveals no instance of this Bishop’s bounty— Bounty, indeed, ne’er enters in his plans, Except it is that Bounty called Queen Anne’s ! XXI. XXII. XXIV. How very strange it is that Mr. Miall Won’t let a state of things like this alone ! For him to say the Church is on its trial Is but mere foolery, we all must own ; The Bench of Bishops cannot fail to smile,—The Church they grace is steadfast as the ♦ throne,—• “ Ged rid of us indeed, what nonsense ! Zounds 1 We cost each year two hundred thousand pounds !w Thus Duan sings as he one night is dining With his good Bishop-uncle tête à tête ; What time the prelate’s nose is redly shining, And brightly gleams his bald and polished pate. He does not speak, they had some time been wining, Yet on his face is satisfaction great ; And when his nephew the decanter passes, They toast the Bench of Bishops in full glasses. XXIII. Let’s leave the reverend Epicure to fuddle, Of many bishop-types he is but one ; And who can wonder at the Church’s muddle, When half a dozen ways its leaders run ? When some are smeared with Babylonish ruddle, And some are steeped in Evangelic dun; When Broad and High Church meet in battle­ shocks, And Low Church pelts the pair of them with Rocks. xxv. The Bishops ! What a volume in a word ! Our hearts beat quicker at the very sound ; Get rid of them, indeed !—it’s too absurd. Shame on the men who such a scheme pro­ pound! Oh ! can it be that they have never heard How in good works the Bishops all abound ? Let Science, Art, and Learning pass away, But leave us Bishops to crown Coming K----- . �JON DUAN. XXVI. Meantime, whilst High and Narrow, Low and Broad, And Deep (the Deep are those who get the prizes) All fight together, for the praise of God, The thought in some few people’s minds arises, Why any longer they the land defraud, And common-sense most certainly advises That if their zeal for fighting’s so intense, They ought to combat at their own expense. XXVII. For who takes interest in their petty quarrels ? Who cares for what they wear or how they stan Let the big babies have their bells and corals, And play the fool ; but men the right demand To say these “posers ” shall not teach us morals, Nor be upheld by law throughout the land. , ’Tis time, indeed, the Church to roughly handle, And stop what has become a crying scandal. XXVIII. When Christian Bishops do but bark and bite In silly speeches and in unread books ; When shepherds leave their flocks in sorry plight, And lay about them with their pastoral crooks ; When Congress breaks up in a smart, free fight, The state of things delay no longer brooks, But every day makes the impression stronger— We should support the Church’s wars no longer. XXIX. Nor must we in our midst still go on breeding A set of priests both pestilent and prying; Who, on our daughters’ superstition feeding, The strongest bonds of home-love are untying; At whose attacks morality is bleeding, And Englishwomen’s honour lies a-dying— Who are reviving, with zeal retrogressional, The grievous scandals of the old confessional. XXX. & These fellows are the worst;—not half so bad The Calvinists who say we must be damned, Nor those who go at times revival mad, And glory in conversions that are shamm’d ; Nor those who, Spurgeon apeing, think to add To their renown by getting churches cramm’d, Nor think how much they let religion down By posturing weekly as a pulpit clown. nwaiwwnitffic-i; �JON DUAN. XXXI. A truce, though—we are getting very prosy, And quite forgetting our long-suffering hero. . For the long sermon to atone, suppose he Appear at once and dance a gay bolero, Or sing a ditty, amorous and rosy, To bring our readers’ spirits up from zero— Or stay, what’s better still, let us prevail On him to tell a Ritualistic tale. San ©uatt’tf A STORY OF THE CONFESSIONAL. I. Know ye the place where they press and they hurtle, And do daring deeds for greed and for gain, Where the mellow milk-punch and the green-fatted turtle Now mildly digest, and now madden with pain ? Know ye the land of Stone and of Vine, Where mayors ever banquet and aidermen dine ; Where Emma was wooed, and Abbott laid low, And they fly paper kites and big bubbles blow ; Where Gold is a god unassail’d in his might, And neck-ties are loosened when stocks get too tight ? If this district you know—it is E.C. to guess, And you go up a street which the Hebrews possess, And turn to the right,—why, then, for a wager, You come to the Church of St. Wackslite the Major; And list, as o’er noises that constantly swell, Comes the soul-stirring sound of its evensong bell. 2'. Robed in the vestments of the East, Apparell’d as becomes a priest, Awaiting his sacristan’s knock, The Reverend Hippolytus Stock Sat musing in his vestry chair. Deep thought was in his pasty face, His tonsured head was racked with care:— A smell of spirits filled the place— (Terrestrial spirits such as we Call mystic’ly Brett’s O. D. V.) His crafty soul, well skill’d to hide, The guilty secrets kept inside, * Could smoothe not from his furrow’d brow The anxious lines that seared it now. 3’Twas strange what troubled him, he had All things that Ritualists make glad: Embroider’d banners, silken flags, And velvet Offertory Bags : Two Utrecht Altar-cloths with lace, Font Jugs and Buckets in their place. Of Candlesticks a wondrous pair, A Chalice Veil of texture rare. Rich Dossals in the chancel hang ; From Carven Desks the choir-boys sang ; The Pavement was encaustic tiles ; The Fauld Stools of the latest styles. Even the Hat-suspenders show’d The latest ritualistic mode ; His Maniples were fair and white ; His Sacramental Spoons a sight; The Chancel nothing could surpass, The Altar-rails were polish’d brass ; Assorted Crosses every where, Assist the congregation’s prayer ; Indeed, though it involved some loss, The Napkins were cut on the cross ; * He’d Cutters for the sacred bread ; And from an Eagle lectern read; The Pews were new, the Windows stained,— In short, no single want remained, Suggested by religious pride, Which had not promptly been supplied. So ’twas no use to go again To Cox and Sons in Maiden Lane.— Yet still those reverend features bore The anxious look we’ve named before. 4The knock was heard, a form appear’d, A black, lank form with copious beard— “ Three minutes, and the bell will cease.” Then, Hippolytus, “ Hold thy pe^ce ! Has the communion plate been clean’d?” The lank one acquiescence lean’d— “ Three boys,” he said, “ have work’d for hours, Gard’s Plate Cloth capitally scours, I never saw it look so bright, You will feel proud of it to-night.” “ And has that sack of incense come ?” The lank one, save for “ Yes,” was dumb. * A friend who thinks all Ritualists are vipers, These napkins christens Ritualistic Wipers. ” 47 �48 JON DUAN. “ Incense is up again, beware ! The Acolytes must take more care. They burn too much of it at nights.” And here the black form silence brake— “ O, Sir, concerning those wax lights : Wicks says he will a discount make On thirty pounds for ready cash.” The vicar smiled, he was not rash, And merely murmuring softly, “ Thirty ? ” Continued in a louder tone, “Joseph, that I. H. S. is dirty, See by a sister it is scrubbed, And have my pocket-service rubbed. And say to Mrs. Sniggs, it’s bosh ! That Alb did not come from the wash. And now, enough of worldly cares, Lead on the way to evening prayers ! ” 5St. Wackslite’s filled with floods of light, ’Tis celebration high to-night. The organ peals, the people kneels. The “ supers ” first their banners bear, The vergers with their wands are there, The choristers march two by two, The Acolytes their duties do. And as their censers high are sway’d, They would a sweet perfume have made, Had not the incense been of late Cheap, truly,—but adulterate. Lay brothers in due sequence walk, The assistant-priests behind them stalk. Last comes in robes which rainbows mock The Reverend Hippolytus Stock ; And round the church in order slow, They with triumphal music go. But by the door a son of sin, A writer in the rabid Rock, Has managed early to slip in— ’Tis his to cause a sudden shock. For in a tone so full and clear That everyone cannot but hear, His voice he raises and recites These lines, and not a line but bites :— dje of Rrintr. i. “ The aisles of Rome ! the aisles of Rome 1 Where burning censers oft are swung, �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. lôppëTpictürësôfalpine scenery “As studies of some of the most sublime aspects of the Upper Alpine World, these Pictures have never been surpassed for power and fidelity combined.”—Times. On View Daily at the CONDUIT STREET GALLERY EXHIBITION, 9, Conduit Street, W. Open Daily from IO a.m. until Dusk. THE ONLY PRIZE MEDAL, PARIS, 1867. a rOh? lo|ra Admission Is. FLEET’S gw . Uniter tljc ^atrnnas? of M I N E R A L o * R tije prince of UVCMä. WATERS, Specially Preparedfor Home and Foreign Consumption. IMPORTERS OF FOREIGN NATURAL MINERAL WATERS. Price List on Application. Manufactory : 161 to 171, East Street, Walworth, London, S,E. A In the Press. Library Edition. Price ion. 6<Z THE IDYLLS OF THE COMING K COMPRISING The Coming K------ . The Siliad - Jon Duan - - With a New Lay (Gaeleth and Loonette), With a New Book (Jove Deceived by a Message from a Goddess. With a New Canto. A Few Copies to be had of T H E COMING Apply to the Authors, 15, Wine Office Court. K---- �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. ULSTER HOUSE, 38, Conduit Street, W. p'HE LUXURY & PRACTICAL UTILITY QF AUTUMN & WINTER COSTUMES. JJMIFORM SUITS for LADIES and GENTLEMEN. ULSTER TRAVELLING COATS, With all the Latest Improvements, 301-. to 130J. Ditto, lined with Fur, 15 to 75 guineas. ULSTER COUNTRY & TOURING SUITS A® ULSTER SEASIDE SUITS. DITTO SUITS, 6o.v. to oo.r MORNING SUITS, 7os. to iooj FROCK DITTO SUITS, So,, to ° 201 FROCK and DRESS SUITS, 8oj. to 1301-. LADIES' DEPARTMENT J^ADIES’ CLOTH SUITS and JACKETS. — Among the Ready for immediate use, or made to order at a few hours’ notice, From Soft, Pliable Materials, specially Manufactured and Waterproofed for both Ladies and Gentlemen. „ novelties, foi-the present season which Mr. B en rAM^Jrf Ulster House, Conduit Street, has prepared for his lady custoaMHL we mav more especially call attention to one which most of A™ers, we KE S» “ f Measurement Required ; Size of Breast and Waist, and the Height. TTLSTER HOUSE, CONDUIT STREET. — It were Vy superfluous, of course, to point out that this well-known establish­ ment of Mr. benjamin s contains at all seasons every variety of the newest and most approved description of apparel, suitable both for gentlemen and the gentler sex. But certain of his novelties deserve special mention. Among the latest wonders of the tailor’s art, as here practised,„is the Universal,” which may well be described as i{no end of a coat. The cloth is all wool, soft, warm, and waterproof—the last epithet applies to all the cloths used here. It is furnished with a large hood, has numerous and capacious pockets, and is provided likewise with a gun-flap, which may be taken off when no longer needed. It is equally adapted for riding, driving, or walking, and is so built that the wearer when on horseback may, by a skilful arrangement of straps and buttons, convert Jt into both coat and leggings. For this purpose the skl?11S m three pieces, the centre one of which can be turned up inside, while the two outer ones fasten round the legs below the knee, leaving ample room for the play of those limbs. It is scarcely possible to imagine a class of coat more suitable for the sportsman. Another novelty is a new kind of shooting coat with expanding pleats, so arranged that, no matter how placed, the body and arms enjoy perfect freedom of action. It looks like an improved Norfolk jacket, and is made to fit the. figure admirably, so that it is sightly as well as useful. Another, and indeed the latest, of Mr. Benjamin’s novelties, is the Kink suit, intended for ladies, chiefly when skating, but available also for rough cross-country walking. This comprises an underskirt or petti­ coat ; an overskirt, opening both back and front ; a jacket fitting tight behind, but pleated in front ; a pair of gaiters, and a hat to match. It forms, indeed, a complete outer costume, and we should judge it would stand rough wear admirably. Above this may also be worn an over-jacket, with muff to match, when the intensity of the cold makes such additions desirable. Other habits, polonaises, ladies’ Ulsters, with hood and cape—so contrived that the wearer may detach them if she chooses—and jackets with, if required, a skirt long enough for riding, and that may be looped up and formed into a pannier for walking All these coats and costumes can be made in such different materials as homespuns, cheviots, &c., and of a thickness suitable either to our temperate climate, or the severer cold of a Russian or Canadian winter. We are not prepared to say if the garment known of ail men as an Upper Benjamin is indebted for its name to the proprietor of Ulster House, but certainly those who need such an article might do worse than test Mr. Benjamin’s skill and ingenuity as a builder of coats. L,and and Water, Nov. 21st, 1874. ULSTER COVERT COATS, 45s. to 70s” 'pHE DRAG DRIVING and RIDING COAT. 'pHE AUTUMN UPPER COAT. H * pE IMPROVED INVERNESS, with Belt, &c. ’ T TLSTER STALKING or UNIVERSAL COATS, with Movable Cape, Hood, and Pocket Gun Flaps, 70s. to 100s. WINTER OVERCOATS, 35s. to 100s. TTLSTER and HIGHLAND PLEATED SUITS for SHOOTING and FISHING. ‘^^’ITH BREEKS, Knicks, or Pants, 70J. to 905. ITH all the LATEST IMPROVEMENTS, including W Pocket Gun Flaps and Cartridge Belt JpiGHLAND KILT SUITS. which then takes fho nlan 3 ?se^u s.kirt> longer than the one] below, „ ? 1 -J ta^es the place of a petticoat; on the principle of the verv * useful riding habit introduced by this firm some Time sfoce which bv ohfeaSawaeikhiv <leimrthanCe’ reqU1fred’ can be transformed’into skirte ot a walking length—a great boon for travelling. Now that tailorfittfoVcImh1indr hS° much th<? fashi?n: Iadies wil1 find the exquisitely particularly1 tem^^V“15 anl Jackets made by Mr' ** jamin PJrtlcuIariy tempting. The same firm has a speciality for well-cut for h ThSieSa°f grey cloth Wlth velvet revers, and pockets as well as jackets Vku±terS/n tktraVClling C,l0aks’ and every variety oOadies? former years fnd °ther ?°ths are StiI1 as much "v°™ « in pan^in/thete art now exclusively trimmed with fur; and Kcom?r yln» these are muffs of the same material edged with fur Ulster House has made a name for itself in the matter of Children^ Uhtos beenCso muchfo ^7 be the leatber Petticoats wlgXhave ceen so much m request of late.—Oct. 3 rst, 1874 THERTrTrTdING HABITj^r^rto^/yTT:-------------- "pHE WATERPROOF SPENCER, 35.f. to 45j. 'T'HE ULSTER and HIGHLAND PLEATED & KILTED DRESSES, 703 to 100^. . * THE TAILORS' IMPROVED POLONAISE, 70X to 9oa IVTEW POLONAISE WALKING DRESS.—That index fatigable caterer for the ladies, Mr. Benjamin, of Ulster House, Conduit Street, is again in the field with an Improved Polonaise Walking Dress. Though in view of the recent torrid weather it seems almost out of place to speak of dresses made of woollen materials at all, yet it is not always May, and even in spring and summer the chilly and damp days of our changeable climate often, make a woollen dress of light colour and stylish make at the same time seasonable and comfortable. Both these qualifications can be united in the new polonaise suit which has been brought under our notice. It is composed of a double-breasted polonaise, with a very artistically draped pannier tunic, to be worn over a plain skint of the same material as the polonaise, both being finished off with several rows of stitching at the edge. To these may be added if desired, a double-breasted jacket for out-door wear in wet or cold­ weather. The series of garments are put and made up with the neat­ ness and accuracy of workmanship which we have always found to be the characteristics of Mr. Benjamin’s confections for ladies; neither has he forgotten to add the many convenient pockets hitherto reserved for the use of the sterner sex. To suit all requirements in the way of make of material and colour, Mr. Benjamin shows an extremely large assortment of homespuns, cheviots, and tweeds, manufactured of every imaginable tint, ranging from Oxford grey to the lightest stone colour, ¿nd including the heather, granite, and yellow shades so much worn at the present time. Some vicuna cloth in this collection, made from un­ dyed wool of the animal, whence it takes its name, is very effective from its pale golden, tint; while the softness of its texture makes it most suitable fordraping into these polonaise tunics.-Queen, May 2,1874. T ADIES’ ULSTER TRAVELLING COATS, from 42s. to roos. RADIES’ UNIVERSAL CLOAKS, y^ITH MOVABLE CAPE and HOOD, 50X. to 8oj. U’LSTER RIDING and HUNTING HABITS, yor. to iooj. LSTER WALKING and TRAVELLING DRESSES, 703'. to 1003 . * AT ULSTER HOUSE, No. 38, Conduit Street, W �3 THE “ BUSKIN.”—A Tragedy Tracing. —------------------------------- :-------------------------------------------- i, i J 1 ��JON DUAN. 49 Where saints are worshipp’d ’neath the dome, Where banners sway and mass is sung—< In Papal Sees these aisles have place, But English churches they disgrace. II. “ The vestments, many-hued and quaint, The alb, the stole, the hood, the cope, The prayers to Virgin and to saint— These are for them who serve the Pope : Shame ! that such mummeries besmirch The ritual of the English Church! ill. “ I took the train to Farringdon, From Farringdon I walked due E.; And musing there an hour alone, I scarce could think such things could be. At Smithfield—scene of martyrs slain— I could not deem they died in vain. IV. u And is it so ? and can it be, My country ? Is what we deplore Aught but a phase of idiocy ? Is England Protestant no more? Is she led captive by a man— The dotard of the Vatican ? V. “ Must we but weep o’er days more blest ? Must we but blush ?—Our fathers bled. Earth, render back from out thy breast A remnant of our martyred dead ! Of all the hundreds grant but three To fight anew Mackonochie.” This while had all around been dazed, And no one tried his tongue to stay ; The choristers had ceased, amazed, The organ did no longer play. But soon a sense of wrong return’d, And scores of eager fingers burn’d To turn the ribald traitor out; And there arose a shaming shout, And several vergers for him made; Still he no sign of fear betrayed. In truth, so full of zeal was he, Another verse he did begin, But, promptly fetched, P.C. 9 E. Appears, and forthwith “runs him in.” E �5o The organ then peals forth once more, And the processional is o’er. 6. The three assistant priests await The signal to officiate, And bide till ’tis their vicar’s will To dance the usual quadrille. Then, when he joins their little band, And all before the altar stand, They face the east, they face the west, They face the ways that please them best ; They scuffle quickly dos-à-dos, And through gymnastic motions go ; They turn to corners, do the chain, Kneel down, get up, and kneel again ; The vicar, plainly as can be, Makes an exemplary M.C. Each tangled move he regulates, And juggles with the cups and plates— No slip, no stumble, not a fault ; Though he is near two-score and fat, He could have turned a somersault, This Ritualistic acrobat. Nay, it obtains among his friends, And is in Low Church circles said, That Hippolytus soon intends To celebrate “upon his head !” 7The organ plays its final note, The church is wrapp’d in silent gloom, A dreamy stillness seems to float, The vicar seeks his robing-room. One duty now remains for him, ’Tis the Confessional to seek, Where burns the waxen taper dim, And hear the heart-thoughts of the weak. And, as he goes, he murmurs low, “ Yes ! she will come, for she was there !” And in his eyes hot passions glow, As sits he in his oaken chair. And now, one parts the curtains red, And kneels, and bows a guilty head, With many a tale of sin and woe ; Still others come, and kneel,.and go— Escaping thus, they think, the ban Shed o’er them by this wicked man. x His eyes still peer with anxious care, He mutters, “ Surely she was there !” JON DUAN. Then fiendish lustre fills his eyes, And colour to his pale cheeks flies, For down the aisle, in the light so dim, A female form comes straight to him, And he knows by the hat with the sea-gull’s wing, And the cuirass cut in the latest fashion, That those faintly-falling footsteps bring The woman he loves with a guilty passion. 8. Thoughts of the past rush through his brain, Thoughts rapturous, yet link’d with pain, Of the sweet face when first she came His spiritual aid to claim— Of her soft arms, in meekness bending Across her maiden’s budding breast; Of those soft arms anon extending To clasp the hands of him who blest. O she was fair ! her eyes were blue, Her hair was golden, as spun sunbeams are ; Her cheeks had robbed the rosebuds of their hue, Her voice was music coming from afar ; And she, suspecting naught, was full of trust— Trust, confidence and innocence inspire ; Whilst he look’d on her lovely form and bust, And vow’d to win her to his fierce desire. Yes, she was fair as first of womankind, When in her virgin innocence first smiling ; And he, with cruel purpose in his mind, Was wily as the serpent; her beguiling With holy words and hypocritic speeches, Such as the Ritualistic manual teaches. . Too many times she came, and he Plied her with subtle Jesuitry; Poison’d her mind and soil’d her heart With all his cunning, priestly art; Dealing his every venomed stroke From underneath religion’s cloak, Till, counting her within his power, He hailed th’ approach of triumph’s hour, And, as her frail form meets his sight, He plans her fall that very night. 9In silence bow’d the virgin’s head ; As if her eyes were fill’d with tears, That stifled feeling dared not shed— As if o’ercome by maiden’s fears. �51 JON DUAN. “ My daughter ! ” quoth the wicked priest, il Your face lift up, tell me, at least, What ghostly trouble rives your soul— God gives me power to make it whole.” And, as he spoke, behind her head He closely drew the curtains red ; But still no word her silence broke, Her presence sighs alone bespoke. “ My daughter ! ” thus the priest again, “Your studied reticence is vain.” His lips bent forward near her ear, “ Come, cast away your foolish fear ; Confess the sins that on you press— Confess to me, sweet girl, confess ! ” Save heavier sighs, no answer came, The vicar’s breath came quicklier, then— “ Dear Alice !”—for he knew her name— Burst forth that villain amongst men, I quite forget my own distress In telling you I love you well,— So well, that all the pains of Hell I’d bear for one long, close caress.” No movement yet. “ O, Alice, make Some answer, lest my heart should break. I am your priest, I know your heart; Alice, I will not from you part. I’ve sworn to be a celibate, And marriage vows are not for me ; But holy love and passion great A mingled fate for us decree. I claim you, who shall dare say nay, Or tear you from my arms away? Come, darling, we are all alone, One hour will all past pain atone ; Come, let no longer aught divide— Come, darling, be the Church’s bride 1 ” 10. All suddenly the female form arose, And as the vicar stretched his arms to seize her, A manly fist dash’d right into his nose, A crushing blow, call’d vulgarly a “ sneezer ”; And whilst he felt all nose and strange surprise, The fist work’d piston-like just twice or thrice, And bunged up straightway were his sunken eyes, And then his throat^was seized as in a vice. Whilst, as his breath was being shaken out, And he felt he would very quickly smother— Then, just before he fainted, came a shout, Of “Alice could not come! but I’m her brother!” i 11. The Reverend Hippolytus Stock Was kept for several weeks in bed ; It was a very sudden shock, And very copiously he bled. He suffered very dreadful pain, His mental torture was still greater ; His nose will ne’er be straight again,— Let’s hope his notions will be straighter ! XXXII. Thus told, or would, or could, or should have told Our hero Duan, in tolerable rhyme, The story of the Ritualist, so sold, A precious product of this popish time. Such men o’er wives and daughters get a hold, Combining snake-like venom with its slime.— J on knew the details well; he was no other Than the revenging metamorphosed brother, XXXIII. He’d seen his sister mope for weeks and weeks,. And grow more melancholy every day ; He half suspected Ritualistic freaks, Knowing her inclinations went that way. At last, her fullest confidence he seeks, And learns enough to fill him with dismay ; Then warns her promptly of her wily foe, And lays the stratagem of which you know. XXXIV. When all his sister’s clothes he had put on, And sought from paint and tweezers artful aid, No casual glance could have detected Jon, He looked so very like a pretty maid ; And with long tresses his head pinn’d upon, A perfect transformation was display’d. In fact, to Alice, for the parson’s liking, He show’d resemblance very much too striking t XXXV. ' Exuno disce omnes / ’Tis a saying We cannot well too strongly bear in mind— Beware the clergymen at Popery playing, The set to priestly arrogance inclined ; They are, at best, beguiling and betraying The sacred ties around our hearts entwined. Husbands and Brothers ! stamp out like small-pox, Virus that breeds in the Confession-box. b ' ; ’ ! f �52 ' JON DUAN. Canto The Fifth. i. ELL is a city (very) much like London ”— The words are Shelley’s, reader, not our own—If it be so, then there’s no lack of Pun done Down in that place where Satan has his throne. Nor would the hardened sinner be quite undone, Were he sent there for sinning to atone. In fact, the Ranters would not make us cry, If we’d to go to London when we die. i I ; j II. Of course there are two sides to every question, There’s not a medal has not its obverse— Good dinners have their following indigestion, And London has its bad side and its worse; But, if we choose the good side and the rest shun, Who can our somewhat natural choice asperse ? If Duan chose what he thought best, with zest, ’Tis not for us to say—Bad was his best. 1 III. ■ For all these things are matters of opinion— And one man’s poison is another’s meat; We’re not to say a man’s the Devil’s minion, Because no creed he happens to repeat; Or doom to flames eternal, a Socinian, Because One God to him is all complete. All men have power to choose—by which we mean, There are such things as moral fat and lean. IV. The fat suits one, the lean may suit another ; And why should we, against our will, eat fat, Or force the lean on an unwilling brother, Who thinks it fit to only feed the cat ? And if a man will eat nor one, nor t’other, He surely is best judge what he is at— No man’s a right to, wholly or in part, Prescribe his brother’s moral dinner carte. v- Wherefore, we say, we will not raise our voice To say what Duan chose as best was bad; He, certainly, did not repent his choice, And very rarely was he hipp’d or sad ; Au contraire,—in his youth he did rejoice, And who are we that he should not be glad ? He slept well, drank well, ate well, and his dinners Digested admirably for a sinner’s. . 1 * ■ | f ■ ' | ■ �JON DUAN. 53 VI. XI. And, by-the-by, what is a sinner, pray ? “ A man who sins.” Then, prithee, what is sin ? Let rival sect’ries have on this their say, And each a different answer will begin. Which is confusing, and would cause delay, The fact being, we have to look within. What use are dogmas, doctrines,myths,and creeds? A man’s own heart supplies the truth he needs. Think what he went through ! Flow he’d to observe A code of laws unwritten, but Draconic, Which make life all straight lines without a curve— And so conservative and non-Byronic, That he who from their ruling dares to swerve Is punished with severity Masonic— The eternal laws of Fashion’s legislature, Being ever urged ’gainst those who go for Nature. VII. But these digressions cannot be allow’d, Or we shall never tell how Duan fared ; Whilst seeking pleasure in the London crowd— How he was pleas’d and flatter’d, trick’d and snared— But, thanks to his good heart and lineage proud, Was yet from every degradation spared. And how he lived, and went a killing pace, With polished footsteps and a finished grace. VIII. No wonder Duan was a favourite, Or that his handsome person was admired ; That he was rather spoilt, if not so quite, And that no end of passions he inspired. It was indeed a trial by no means light When he from ’mongst the “ upper ten” retired ; And all Society was rather riled When he took refuge in Bohemia’s wild. IX. For, he was such a pet, his mirror’s frame (He had a suite of rooms in Piccadilly) Was studded with the cards with which the game Of good Society is played. ’Tis silly How one admits a piece of pasteboard’s claim, And has to do its bidding “willy-nilly,” And dine and dance, and dawdle without measure, Because it is Society’s good pleasure. x. No other mistress could be so severe, Or bully man so much, or so afflict him, As Duan found when, in his twentieth year, He to her tyranny became a victim; And served her until, from exhaustion sheer, He well-nigh wished Society had kick’d him, Or that, still better, he had kick’d Society, And gone in for Bohemian variety. ........ "«■■I«' XII. Duan soon found he had to dress by rule ; His own sartorial taste did not avail; or Could he help the idea he was a fool When he had audiences of his tailor. Scorn mixed with pity filled the face of Poole As he, as though he had been Duan’s jailer, To his directions turned a deaf ear, utter, And passed him on, unheeded, to the cutter. XIII. In vain Jon Duan very mildly states, He thinks that pattern and this cut will suit him; The cutter coolly for his silence waits, Nor deigns to take the trouble to refute him; But, standing sternly to “ Le Coupeur” plates, Seems as a forward youngster to compute him, And simply says, as though to save all fuss— “ Gents usually leave such things to us !” XIV. We know what that means; for, ’tis no small matter. Why do we wear to-day the “chimney-pot”? Because we leave our head-gear to our hatter, And not because one useful point it’s got. Why not the old delusive notion scatter, And have a hat not heavy, hard, and hot ?— (That last line, we may make especial mention, Is worth the Cockney’s serious attention.) XV. Think of the modern boot, and then say whether Such pedal torture must perforce be borne. Why not encase our feet in untann’d leather, And say farewell to blister and to corn ? Let boots and bunions pass away together, ’Mid universal ecstasy and scorn ! We are but pilgrims, yet, can’t there be made A single “Progress” without “Bunyan’s” aid? �JON DUAN. 54 XVI. Must we be always abject slaves, in fact, And martyrs to the taste of those who dress us ? Bear meekly all that Fashion does enact (She clothes poor woman in a shirt of Nessus !), And stand, and, like the tailors’ dummies, act, Whilst into trussed-up blocks our snips com­ press us ? Free Land ! Free Love !—these two cries just now press : Well, add a third, and clamour for Free Dress ! XVII. Again, digression ! Duan meekly wore The clothes his first-class tailors kindly made him; Bought Hoby’s boots, by Lincoln’s “stove-pipe” swore; And did his hair as Mr. Truefitt bade him: Had collars, gloves, and useless things galore, All which helped in Society to aid him— And warmly welcomed by Patricia’s host, His name was daily in the Morning Post. XVIII. Here could be seen—who doubts the Morning Post ? Its articles are like the Thirty-nine— How often Duan with a noble host Would, with more victims, “greatly daring, dine I” And wonder that, with such parade and boast, There was so little food, and such bad wine; And ask himself, with natural surprise, If noble hosts fed hunger through the eyes ? Dined, too, with Lord Cinqfoil, in Blankley Square, Who is another of these curious mixtures; Who has a name and reputation glorious, Yet takes his neighbours’ spoons in way notorious. XXI. He put his legs ’neath Lord Maecenas’ table, Who’s so much money and so little mind, Whose sensuality smacks of the stable, Though he to Art and Music seems inclined. He fed with Viscount Quicksot, and was able, From after-dinner confidence, to find The strongest reason why this peer should press To rescue pretty nurse-girls in distress. XXII. He dined at Lambeth Palace with the saints, He dined at Richmond (often) with a sinner; He found that nearly every lady paints, And laces far too tight to eat her dinner. Hidden, in upper circles, he found taints, ’Neath a disguise that daily waxes thinner. And that for morals ’tis a very queer age, And more especially amongst the Peerage. XXIII. Yes, ’neath the very dull and placid level, He found the morals of high life but lame; Beneath its mask of etiquette, the Devil Promoting scandals that we dare not name. We’ll leave th’ exposé to some future Gre ville, Nor hurt the fame of any high-born dame — Though, truth to tell, despite our Sovereign Lady, Society’s repute was ne’er more shady. XXIV. XIX. He dined with Omnium’s Duke, that titled rake, Who keeps a private house of assignation; Whose agents, from the West End, nightly take, Fresh damsels for his Grace’s delectation; Who, publicly, such efforts seems to make For wicked London’s moral reformation; And, as becomes his dignified position, Is liberal patron of the “ Midnight Mission.” XX. He dined with Earl Tartuffe, who takes the chair, When Vice requires his periodic strictures; And when he dined, saw his collection rare Of obscene pamphlets and indecent pictures. The air is full of scandals of divorces, The smoking-rooms of Pall Mall reek with rumour ; And if we trace it to its various sources, ’Tis not, we find, a freak of spite of humour. No ; everywhere demoralizing force is Right hard at work ; and in a very few more Years, if there is no change, our upper crust Will crumble up, destroyed—its lust in dust. XXV. At Brookes’s, Prince’s, at the “Rag” or Raleigh, Wherever Duan went, by night or day, The conversation turned, methodically, Upon patrician damsels gone astray ; : �JON DUAN. 55 And scarce an anecdote or witty sally, But took a woman’s character away. Titled transgressions seemed the only fashion; And joys, unblessed by Church, the ruling passion. XXVI. But on the surface, as has been expressed, Society was placid as before, And called, and rode, and drove, and 11 drummed,” and dressed, As though it had at heart no cancerous sore; And Duan, being so much in request, Full often entered its portentous door, And, with a Spartan heroism, danced, Or tea’d at five o’clock with air entranced. XXVII. He went to many a hostess’s “At home”— Where everybody is so much abroad— Through crammed-up halls and salons doomed to roam, Where, ’spite the heat, the etiquette’s not thaw’d; Up crowded staircases he slowly clomb, Hustled and pushed, and trodden on and claw’d.— Such inconvenience much too great a price is To pay for cold weak tea and lukewarm ices. XXVIII. Or e’en to hear the last new baritone, Or shake the hand of the receiving Duchess, Or see the Heir-apparent to the Throne, Trotted round proudly in her eager clutches; Or catch some flirting matron all alone, And make a future assignation; much is This last in vogue ; it is not hard to chouse The husbands, specially if in the “ House.” XXIX. They go, dear innocents! and sit and snore, And vote to order in St. Stephen’s Chapel ; Nor dream that gallant captains haunt their door, And Princes with their wives’ fair virtue grapple ; And—well, our womankind are as of yore, 1 They have not changed since Eve devoured the apple,— But, ’twould be “rough” on Hannen, past all doubt, If half the husbands found their spouses out. �56 yON DUAN. XXX. All her reputed pleasures he had tasted, And found them, oft repeated, apt to pall Upon his palate ; he no longer hasted To get an invite for the Prince’s ball, And thought the hours were altogether wasted He spent in evening routs and morning call ; And even found, in time, to care one fails ’Bout meeting Him of Cambridge or of Wales. XXXI. Whilst his friends’ husbands, not to be outdone, Kept pretty, painted cages in “ The Wood ” ; With pretty birdies in them, full of fun, And often in a rather naughty mood ;— Thus is it that the double trick is done. (To speak such facts is, as we know, tabooed ; But we, spite Mrs. Grundy’s interfering, Intend to strip off modern life’s veneering.) He tired of Dudley’s china and his pictures ; Nor cared for Pender’s most elaborate “ feeds”; He wearied of those Chiswick Garden mixtures, Where names so heterogeneous one reads. He shunned, at last, all Lady Devonshire’s “ fixtures,” And feared the Waldegravian "friendlyleads.” And, as a child a powder or a pill dreads, Shirked Art at Mr. Hope’s and Lady Mildred’s. XXXII. , ■ xxxv. It is not strange that, since our women marry For riches and position, name and fame, They seek for love elsewhere, and quickly carry A fierce flirtation on with some old " flame,” And freely yield to Dick, or Tom, or Harry, The pleasant leisure-hours their lords should claim. And Duan found, when once well in the swim, His friends’ wives made too many calls on him. XXXVII. XXXVI. ; ; ) , i It’s very thin, you scratch the Politician, And find that he’s a hungerer for place ; The great Philanthropist—he makes admission His motives would his character disgrace ; The Bishop—and he mourns that his position Does not admit that he should go the pace— Removes from yon Prude’s face her veil, so thin, And, with a leer, she’ll lure you into sin. XXXIII. - , i i : Pull off the Church’s gown, and she will stand A greedy tyrant, gorged with guilt and gold ; Take from Justitia’s eyes the blinding band, And see her wink as truth is bought and sold ; The mask from Thespis snatch with sudden hand, And then in every London stage behold A mart for painted women, and an aid To padded Cyprians to ply their trade. The Hamiltonian Hall no more he seeks, Nor treads the corridors of Leveson Gower; The tableaux vivants down at Mrs. Freke’s Raise no excitement in him as of yore ; He did not go to Grosvenor House for weeks, And never darkened Bentinck’s ducal door. In fact, the more he saw, and heard, and knew, Did la crème de la crème seem but “ sky-blue.” XXXVIII. And even intrigues grew great bores at last, For they, too, savoured strongly of De Brett ; And, also, when a girl was more than fast, Her sin was fenced about with etiquette To such extent that Duan was aghast At an hypocrisy unequalled yet ; And longing for an unrestrain’d variety, Vow’d he would have the sins jzz/zj' the society. ■ ' XXXIV. XXXIX. i Pull—no, please don’t, on reconsideration ! Our hero’s patient, but to keep him waiting, While we indulge in moral observation, Is calculated to be irritating. Besides, we have some further information To give you of his later doings, dating From those days when both wiser grown and older, He gave Society the frigid shoulder. So he to the " ten thousand ” bade adieu, And said ‘‘Good-bye” to "Prince’s” and its rink— (" Prince’s ” is too select for most of you, But there are warmish corners there, we think), And with regret he said " Farewell ” to few Of those who’d given him their meat and drink : i i �y'ON DUAN-. 57 For as the average modern dinner goes, ’Tis a fit torture not for friends but foes. XL. He also turned upon Mayfair his back, And wholly left Belgravia in the lurch ; Gladly he gave Tyburnia the "sack,” In vain did Kensingtonia for him search ; He sailed completely on another tack, And gave up leaving cards or going to church— Sins of omission in the topmost zone, Which no committed virtues can condone. XLI. So now behold Jon Duan set quite free To suck the sweets from every London flower ; More like a butterfly, perhaps, than bee—• For he did not improve the shining hour. And had you chance and money, then we’d see If you, good reader, would own virtue’s power. For though the truth, sweet innocents, may hurt you, Necessity’s a powerful aid to virtue. XLII. Flow often acrid women virtue boast, Of which a trial would be a new sensation ! So, all the goody-goody priggish host, Are prigs perforce—they follow their vocation, It is no credit to a senseless post, Because it does not fall into temptation ; Nor do we crown an icicle with laurels Because it hasn’t thawn into soft morals. XLIII. Therefore, our hero we don’t mean to censure For having, what in slang is called his "fling” ; He had to bear the sequel of his venture, And Nature is the goddess that we sing !— For he who breaks her laws, or tries to wrench her Rules, so well balanc’d, naturally will bring— Sure as contempt has fallen on Bazaine— Just retribution and deserved disdain. XLIV. This granted, without any more preamble, Duan may start upon his search for pleasure ; We’ll try to only chronicle his scramble, And not to moralize in every measure ; �JON DUAN. 58 But if again we into preaching ramble, And weary out your patience and your leisure,— Why, blame the metre !—which, of all we know, Most tempts one from the beaten track to go. XLV. The public pleasures of our wondrous city Are not so plentiful as one would think, Thanks to the sapient licensing committee, Who from the very thought of dancing shrink. The Alhambra’s spoiled—it is a shame and pity; The Holborn’s given up to meat and drink, And nothing could be just now so forlorn As passing a long evening at Cremorne ! ~ XLVI. ’Twas not in this direction Duan found The pleasure that he sought. He went, ’tis true, The usual dull and soul-depressing round, And raked and rioted till all was blue ; He trod, of course, the old familiar ground, And liked it not a whit more than did you, When you—consule Planco—’woke with pain, And cursed the women and the vile champagne. XLVI I. He went to the Alhambra, found it dirty, With “ Ichabod ’’.writ large upon its walls. He sought the “ Duke’s ” about eleven thirty, And wandered listlessly through Argyle’s Halls ; SawTottie, Lottie, Dottie, Mottie, Gertie,— And liquors stood responsive to their calls ; Thinking the openly conducted traffic Was far more Cityish in its tone than Sapphic. XLVIII. He lounged about the Haymarket, and smoked ; And felt quite sad amidst its scenes and sights ; He haunted bars, and with their Hebes joked, He “ finished” at Kate H.’s, several nights ; He saw, God knows ! a mass of misery, cloak’d With ghastly gaiety, beneath the lights, Until the hideous visions made his soul burn, And sent him virtuously back to Holborn. XLIX. For he had taken Chambers in Gray’s Inn, Since he had cut the West End so completely . And had a laundress smelling much of gin, Who could do nothing noiselessly or neatly. ’Twas here his other life he did begin, In rooms whose look-out, chosen most dis­ creetly, Show’d those old elms, each one of them a big tree,— And here he sinned ’neath his own vine and fig­ tree. L. If walls had ears !—the notion is not new— You’d like to hear Jon Duan’s tell their tale. And still, the same old notion to pursue, If chairs and sofas talked, we would avail Us of their confidences, also ; you May be quite sure that, were they writ, the sale' Of these poor rhymes, then, would be more immense, Though hypocritiq cries rose more intense. LI. As ’tis, we’d Figaro want to tabulate For us a list of all Jon Duan’s loves ; To catalogue his cartes, each with its date, And give the history of the flowers and gloves, And snipp’d-off tresses, which in numbers great From time to time into his drawer he shoves. But, failing that, here is a peg to hang A little song upon, that once he sang. Qty ¿Hath nf (Clapljam. Maid of Clapham ! ere I part, Tell me if thou hast a heart! For, so padded is thy breast, I begin to doubt the rest! Tell me now before I go— Apr 0ov aXX p.a.Se viropvu ? Are those tresses thickly twined, Only hair-pinned on behind ? Is thy blush which roses mocks, Bought at three-and-six per box? Tell me, for I ask in woe— Apr 6ov aXX p.a.5e vvopvu> ? �59 JON DUAN. ' 3And those lips I seem to taste, Are they pink with cherry-paste ? Gladly I’d the notion scout, But do those white teeth take out ? Answer me, it is not so— But to improve, he managed to secure This model’s services—nor did it vex Her, when, with face and voice alike demure, He called her the most lovely of her sex, And pleading but poor skill to paint her beauty, Yet many times a week essayed the duty. Apr Gov aXX /¿a.8e virbpvQi ? 4Maid of Clapham! come, no larks ! For thy shoulders leave white marks— Tell me ! quickly tell to me What is really real in thee ! Tell me, or at once I go— Apr Gov aXX /mSc vjropvco ? LII. His taste for girls was certainly eclectic, He loved the dark ones even as the fair ; He liked complexions pale, complexions hectic, He liked black tresses, he liked golden hair, And ne’er got amatorily dyspeptic— Which is a state of heart by no means rare ; But managed by the means detailed above, To never be completely out of love. LUI. Gussie was dark, a perfect gipsy she, With sloe-black eyes, of raven hair an ocean ; With lips so red, they well might tempt the bee, And full of many a quaint artistic notion,— She was an artist’s model, you could see It was so in her graceful, flowing motion. It must, we think, be a most pleasing duty To draw and paint the curves' of female beauty. LIV. The girl had sat for many a well-known painter, Before her path across Jon Duan’s came ; As beggar-girl, as sinner, and as saint, her Pretty face oft peeped from out a frame. In ’73 no picture could be quainter Than that—it bore a rising painter’s name— Which represented her in grandma’s bonnet— We recollect that it called forth a sonnet. LV. Now Jon was no great artist, that was sure,— Not much he’d ever drawn but bills and cheques, LVI. Nor did he weary of his occupation, For she was very jolly in her style ; Full of artistic chatter, animation In every look, and word, and frown, and smile. And she could play—a great consideration To have a girl who thus your time can while ; And take a hand at whist, and play it, too— A thing not one girl in ten-score can do. LVI I. And naturally she was very skilful In falling into stock artistic poses ; A little petulant, sometimes, and wilful— Que voulez-vous ? Without a thorn no rose is. A “model” girl is very often still full Of that old Adam which the Church, you know, says Is in us all ; and which, as we’re advised, Means all our hearts are old (Me) Adamized. LVIII. Be this as’t may. In time Miss Gussie went, And fair-haired Looie reigned in her stead ; Whilst Duan seemed by no means discontent---Having escaped the plate flung at his head By the retiring beauty ;—nor gave vent To vain regrets, nor wished that he were dead. Instead of this, his spirits seemed to rally, As he cried, “ L’Art est mort, so, Vive le Ballet!” LIX. For Loo was in the ballet at the Strand, And thus possess’d that halo of romance Which footlights ever throw on all who stand Before them, let them act, or sing, or dance.— It even spreads a little o’er the band— Nay, we a weak-kneed fellow knew by chance, Who was a very bad and drunken “super,” ’Cause his admirers treated him to “ cooper.” �JON DUAN. 6o LX. Looie was in the foremost row, a token She danced with more than average ability : And many a stallite’s heart no doubt she’d broken With her plump legs and marvellous agility. But when our hero once to her had spoken, The intimacy grew with great facility. And as he knew the critics, and had means, Jon Duan spent much time behind the scenes, LXI. And waited for his charmer many nights, And hung about what ‘‘Yanks” call the “ theater ” ; Supped to the full on Thespian delights ; But p’rhaps his feeling of delight was greater When she rehearsed new dances in her tights, He being her only critic and spectator. Had he been good, he should have tried to stop her, But, then, it is so nice to be improper. And then dismiss them with a curt good-bye, As though they’d been so many Brighton flymen ? No 1 if our hero had the right way fix’d on, Then what becomes of married life at Brixton—• LXV. At Peckham, Clapham, Islington, and Walworth, At Ball’s Pond, Pentonville, and Kentish Town ? Surely these homes of misery you’ll call worth The great rewards that virtue always crown. Jon Duan’s wicked life is naught at all worth, And he and all like him must be put down. He’s happy, truly, but his joy’s unstable— Most married ones are always miserable. LXVI. Sewing-machines and cooks on trial we get, And horses we may try before we buy ; And ev’n if afterwards we should regret Our bargains, we can sometimes off them cry;— But matrimonial bargains, don’t forget, Last till one of the parties chance to die. ’Twas knowing if he married, ’twas for life, Made Duan hesitate to take a wife. LXII. “ Man’s a phenomenon, one knows not what, And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure : ’Tis pity, though, in this sublime world, that Pleasure’s a sin, and sometimes sin’s a pleasure.” Which lines are Byron’s. You will find them pat, If you look up Don Juan when you’ve leisure. If sin’s unpleasant, as the churches din so, Then, why the dickens is it that we sin so ? LXVII. ’Twas very wrong of him, of course, to do so : Men ought from marriage never thus to shrink ; For is it not ordained ?—Jon Duan knew so, And yet stood lingering at the altar’s brink. He thought that he the life-long step might rue ; so Do others; and there are some men who think Hannan would hear less charging and denial If we could take our spouses upon trial. LXIII. Is it unpleasant ?—that’s the awkward question— And many sinners answer with a “ No !” Jon Duan, when he had no indigestion, Thought it was most decidedly not so ; That if you pick your sins, and all the rest shun, You may most pleasantly through this world go. Which shows us plainly, ’spite his great vitality, How very cold and dead was his morality. LXVI 11. On trial, indeed ! Why, not one in ten thousand Women would e’er be wed on such a term ; For rare’s the one who does not break her vows, and Show very quickly that she has the germ Of mutiny within her, and makes rows, and Most speedily her husband’s fears confirm. If married life were terminable at will, How many would next week be married still ? LXIV. How else could he have dared to thus defy The ethics of society and Hymen ; And half a dozen amoratas try, Just like as many tarts bought of a pieman, LXIX. How long our young friend loved the ballet dancer We do not mean to tell, nor shall we add �61 JON DUAN. More details of his charmers; ’twould not answer To waste so much space on what is so bad. No ! let us shun the subject like a cancer, ’Twould only make us and our readers sad. We will, instead, with their permission, fit a Small song in here—Jon sung it with his zither. 1. O, pocket edition of Phryne ! Your robe is bewitchingly Greek ; O, kiss me, my charmer most tiny— I mean on my mouth, not my cheek. Come, sit on my knee and be jolly— The classical’s now out of date— And let us toast passion and folly— For you are not marble, thank fate ! 2. What! haven’t you heard of her story, And how all her judges she won, By suddenly showing her glory Of beauty, which warmed like the sun? Yes, that was in Cecrops’ fair city, And we are ’neath London’s green trees— But, Tiny, you’re awfully pretty, And I’ll be your judge, if you please. LXX. Love is an ailment dangerously zymotic— ’Twould be no use for us to here deplore That Duan’s song has savour so erotic— No ! we will leave him on his second-floor, Puffing the weed the doctors call narcotic, And with his eyes fixed keenly on his door— Whom he expects it’s not for us to say, It isn't his old laundress, any way. LXXI. What are the Mission people all about, That to Gray’s Inn they do not send a preacher? Why to Ashanti and Fiji go out, And leave unvisited by tract or teacher The district where the foolish fling and flaunt, And sink the Christian too much in the creature ? Call back ! say we, the men from Timbuctoo, There’s better work at home for them to do. �62 JON DUAN. LXXII. We mean to start a Mission of our own, To preach the Testament in Grosvenor Square; And when the funds sufficiently have grown, We’ll ^end a Missionary to Mayfair ; And we’ll leave large-type leaflets on the throne, And preach in Pall Mall in the open air : In time, too, we’ll endeavour to arrange A set of sermons for the Stock Exchange. LXXIII. The texts used there shall be, “ Thou shalt not steal,” And Lying lips are an abomination” ; * All the discourses should most plainly deal With paper frauds and bubble speculation. How sweet to make a cheating broker kneel In penitent and tearful agitation I Surely a London broker on his knees Is worth a score of Christianised Burmese. LXXIV. What could be grander than a “ Bull ” in tears, Or a “ Bear ” giving up all he possesses ? How pleasant to the missionary’s ears When some McEwen his dark deed confesses, And promises repentance ! when the jeers Of jobbers cease ; and all the Mission presses. Spread the glad news that, as they’re just advised, Fifteen stockbrokers were last night baptized. Let fear and trembling come upon thee now, For closer than a leech McDougal sticketh ;— Let consternation sit upon thy brow When thought of ‘Emma,’ thy profuse heart pricketh, — Nor glory in thy riches—house or arable-— But recollect the rich fool in the parable ! ” LXXVII. The “ upper ten ” there parlous state should see; There should be preaching at the Carlton Club ; A Boanerges should the preacher be, With words and will Aristos’ sin to drub. And Lazarus should come from penury, And hold forth in the ‘‘ Row,” upon a tub. Whilst some great light—the “toppest” of topsawyers— Should the New Testament proclaim to lawyers. LXXVIII. The publishers, too, must not be forgotten, Since great above all others is their need ; For Paternoster Row is getting rotten, And worships but one God, and that is “ Greed.” To lie, cheat, cozen, and to cringe and cotton, Is now the publisher’s adopted creed ; They’r.e grasping, greedy, vulgar, and omni­ vorous,— From publishers, we pray, Good Lord deliver us! LXXIX. LXXV. Oh ! what a noble work the news to spread Amongst the streets and alleys of the City ; To tell the heathens there what has been said Of those who have no principle or pity : To pour denunciation on their head, And wake up Lothbury with a pious ditty ; And oh ! how eagerly we yearn and pant To send a special missionary to Grant 1 LXXVI. And this should be his message—“ Albert! thou Of whom ’tis said, ‘ He waxeth fat and kicketh,’ * The.se passages are evidently not included in the " Scrip­ ture ” in use in Capel Court ; though we suppose it is generally known there that “ Barabbas was a publisher.” We have heard of the “Thieves’ Litany,” maybe there is such a volume in existence as the “ Stockbrokers’ Bible." Our readers perhaps by this time will be ready, To pray to be delivered from us ;— Our Pegasus, in fact, had got his head, he Often bites his bit, and bolts off thus. But now we promise that his pace we’ll steady, And, without any further fume or fuss, To Duan we’ll return, though, since we started, He very likely has to bed departed. LXXX. There let us leave him—for ’tis doubtless best To “ring down” whilst we set the next new scene on—■ Leaning, it may be, on a maiden’s breast,— Happy the man’s who’s such a place to lean on ! For certain he’s caressing or caress’d :— But it is two a.m.; and we have been on Rhythmical duty since we dined at eight : We’ll put the light out—it is getting late. �JON DUAN. 63 Canto The Sixth. I. U Grand Hotel, Paris, the 10th November— Dear Boy,—The stage is going to the deuce, The kiosques, naked, and there’s not an ember Of fiery France alive. It is no use To seek the Imperial Paris we remember, Dear Venus Meretrix of cities, loose But lovely, and beloved—of Saxon tourists, Who when abroad are not such rigid purists. II. “ School atlases still tell us it’s called Paris, They talk French still, a little, in its walls— Though nasal North American less rare is ; There still are cafes, and the naughty balls ; The Boulevards—though they’re widowed of Gus Harris, Are not precisely hung with shrouds and palls ; Crowds, not more virtuous and not more solemn, Still saunter past the new-erected Column. III. THE BRI 1JSH ' DRAMATIST. 11 Still in the Palais Royal, yellow covers, Abhorred by strict mammas in England, beg Attention to their tales of loves and lovers, Crammed full of wholesome nurture as an egg— Still, at street crossings, prurient Saxon rovers Look shocked at some faint soupçon of a leg, Disclosed by vicious sylph or luring modiste, Loose-principled—but very tightly bodiced. IV. 11 But the sweet home of British drama—that is A thing to seek as Schliemann seeks for TroyHome of the Capouls, Schneiders, Faures, and Pattis, Who take our millions, and who give us joy— The birthplace of all persona dramatis That e’er amused since Taylor was a boy, Where is it ?—where’s the generous Providence Whence all of us draw plots, and fame, and pence ? v. “ Where’s the great reservoir of milk and water Which Oxenford’s keen pen was wont to tap, Before that horrid Madame Angot’s daughter Had made the pure old five-acts seem like pap ? �JON DUAN. 64 ■ Those old ‘grandes machines] full of fire and slaughter, And doeskin boots, that soothed one’s evening nap, Where are they ?—Ah ! they have left this drear and pallid day To Walter Scott, improved by Andrew Halliday. VI. “ The Vaudeville, preposterous and broad, Where heroes in check suits could damn a bit, And into bed get, while the house guffawed— And those brave poker-scenes that made ^us split— The singing chambermaids who weren’t outlawed 1 By chaste dress circles that like Gilbert’s wit—The gay old farce, loud, jovial, coarse, and fat— Hasn’t disastrous Sedan left us that ? VII. “It hasn’t, I assure you—not a line. I’ve tried the Variétés and Palais Royal, But though our H.R.H.’s tastes incline To that snug house—and though I’m strictly loyal— I can’t find the old salt ; defeats refine, And theatres here have grown so very coy all, They have not one poor smile for “ adaptators ”— Those eunuchs who all yearn to look like paters. VIII. “ As poor Brooks said—‘ There’s nothing in the papers,’ And I remark there’s nothing on the stage— The old familiar bony legs cut capers, Their owners in the old intrigues engage Before the usual crowd of languid gapers, Kept silent by the sanctity of age. Lemaître and Bernhardt still pass round the hat, Léonide’s still lean, and Celine’s still fat. X. “ The Demi-monde won’t do : it is enticing, I own—but no ; it really will not do, E’en though we made it seemlier by splicing A roué and a courtezan or two, According to the English way of icing French fancies, found red-hot and deemed too true ; And even then, when we have changed the visors, There’s always that prude Piggott with the scissors. XI. “Always those scissors ! Halévy might yield A thing or two, and Meilhac’s not quite dried ; But what can a poor devil do when sealed To that old haggard Spiritual bride, The Censorship? Its maimed limbs scarcely healed, On to the stage your poor piece takes a stride, And halts half-way, then with a limp crawls out— Forthose official shears are worse than gout. XII. “I think we must encourage ‘native talent’— That’s how we’ll make our poverty seem grand, And not at all enforced by the repellant Airs of our French originals. Your hand Put into those deep drawers, where all the gallant And unplayed amateurs, a numerous band, Have left the ashes of their simple hopes—Those MSS. that no one ever opes. XIII. “ Perhaps you’ll find a pearl of rarest price, Or rubbish written by a lord, which will Do quite as well ; the public aren’t too nice When a peer condescends to hold a quill. Give it to Byron—he’ll put in the spice. But as for here—my verdict still is : nil ! There’s not a piece to steal, so we must do one Ourselves. Ta, ta, old boy; till—Jon Duan.” i XIV. IX. “ And there you have the worst of the collapse Of our dear famous factory of plays. Now, what is to be done ? We’re tired of traps, And care no more to see blue-fire ablaze Around three-score old ladies, who want caps And snuff to comfort their declining days. Poor Comedy, the Comedy of Sheridan, Is done—and Mrs. Bancroft echoes : Very done. One doesn’t always call a manager Old boy, or write as lengthily as this. Some, one should call “ My Lord,” one “ Reverend Sir,” And many a “Mrs.” more correctly “Miss !” But fame, thank Heaven, ’s a glorious leveller, And straight inducts you into that great bliss Of penetrating the most awful portals, And treating even managers as mortals. i �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. SAMPSON SHIRT & CO., TAI LORS. SOLE MAKERS OF THE SURPLICE SHIRT. INDIAN SHIRTS, 7s. 6d. to 10s. 6d. Made from a soft longcloth, and suitable for India wear. LONGCLOTH SHIRTS, Military Fronts, 5s. 6d. to 6s. 6d. 1 Orders from Abroad carefully executed. India Flannel Shirts, ioj. 6d. to 14^. 6/7. Cashmere or Silk, i6j. 6d. to 18^. 6d. Best French Printed, 8y. 6d. to 9^. 6/7. Saratta Gauze Cotton Shirts, 8j. 6d. gs. 6d. Dress Shirts, Night Shirts, Front Studs, Links, Collar Studs, &c. Sampson and Co. invite special attention to their SURPLICE SHIRTS, as being peculiarlyadapted in their shape for India. Outfit orders can be executed at the shortest notice, as all Shirts and Collars are made on their own premises. Gentlemen returning from India would find a large and well assorted Stock to select from. Great attention is bestowed upon the Shrinking of Flannels. A REGISTER KEPT OF ALL SHIRTS MADE TO MEASURE. Detailed Outfit List and Self-measurement Cards sent on Application. India Gauze Vests and Drawers. Fine Merino and Cotton Half-Hose. Fine Pure Woollen Hosiery. Rugs, Plaids, Austrian Blankets. Waterproof Goods, Ground Sheets. Regulation Overland Trunks, Cabin Bags TAILORING DEPARTMENT. Coloured or White Flannel Suits, 455-, to 55 . * India Tweed Suits, 555-. to 755-. Brown Holland or Drill Suits, 355-. to 55^ White Drill Trousers, 13^ 6/7. to i8i. 6/7. Patrol Jackets, 25^. to 45J. Dress Suits. Frock or Morning Coats Dressing Robes. Lounge Suits. Overcoats. Riding Belt Drawers. GLOVES SEWN WITH THREAD FOR INDIA WEAR. SAMPSON & CO., India and Colonial Outfitters, 130, OXFORD STREET, Near HoUes Street, London, W. �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. TO THE READERS OF JON DUAN. We reprint from The Times, of Not. 2.6th, the Report re Ward v. Beeton, in order that the purchasers and readers of Jon Duan may have a correct version of the question raised between Mr. Beeton and his Publishers. We should no trepeat this notice were it not for the rumours which have been freely circulated that Jon XTunn would not be published. Even coercion has been used to prevent certain tradesmen lending us their valuable assistance in the production of the New Annual. The Public and the Trade are now in the position of being our judges, and we shall rest satisfied with the verdict which may be accorded us. ■• ■ • <; From “The Times,” Nov. 26, 1874. {Before Vice-Chancellor Sir R. Malins.) Ward v. Beeton (“Beeton’s Christmas Annual”). This was a motion on behalf of the plaintiffs, Messrs. Ward and Lock, the publishers, for an injunction to restrain the defendant, Mr. S. O. Beeton, from publishing or circu­ lating any advertisements or letters representing that he was interested or concerned in any annual book or publica­ tion other than “Beeton’s Christmas Annual,” published by .the _ plaintiffs, or that the defendant’s connexion with the plaintiffs’ firm was terminated, or that the use of the defendant’s name by the plaintiffs for the purposes of their “Beeton’s Christmas Annual” was improper or un­ authorized. According to the statements contained in the bill, the defendant was in business on his own account as a publisher down to the year 1866, and among the publica­ tions of which he was the proprietor was “ Beeton’s Christ­ mas Annual,” now in its 15th year. In 1866 the plaintiffs pur­ chased the copyrights and business property of the defendant, and in September of that year an agreement was entered into between the plaintiffs and the defendant, by which it was provided, among other things, that the defendant was to devote himself to the development of the plaintiffs’ busi­ ness and not to be interested in any other business without their consent; that the plaintiffs were to have the use of the defendant’s name for the purposes of their present and future publications, and that the defendant should not permit the use of his name for any other publication with­ out their consent; and the defendant was to be remu­ nerated by a salary which was at first to consist of a fixed annual sum, and was subsequently to be equivalent to a fourth share of the profits of the plaintiffs’ business. Under this agreement “Beeton’s Christmas Annual” was pub­ lished by the plaintiffs with the assistance of the defendant down to and including Christmas last. In the year 1872 the annual consisted of a production called “The Coming K----- .” It waspublished, however, as the plaintiffs alleged, without their having seen the MSS., and, as it con­ tained passages which they considered were open to grave objections, they refused to print or publish a second edition of it. In 1873 the annual consisted of a publication called “The Siliad,” which was written By the same author as “The Coming K----- .” In July last the plaintiffs applied to the defendant to prepare the volume of the annual for Christmas next, but desired that its character and contents might differ from those of “ The Siliad,” with which they were dissatisfied ; the defendant, however, “neglected to prepare or assist in preparing the same.” In October last th plaintiffs heard that the defendant was engaged in prepar­ ing another annual in opposition to theirs. A correspondence ensued, in which the plaintiffs gave the defendant notice that they would maintain their rights, and required him to make proper arrangements for the production _ of the annual, while the defendant denied that he was in fault, and alleged that the plaintiffs- had rejected the production he had proposed, which was to be by the authors of “The Coming K----- ,” and that those gentlemen had then made their own arrangements for publishing their work. The plaintiffs then made arrangements with one of the authors of “The Siliad ” for the annual of 1874, and announced it by advertisements in the newspapers,under the titleof “Beeton’s Christmas Annual for 1874, 15th season.” T he title of the coming annual is “The Fijiad.” The defendant then caused advertisements to be inserted in the Standard, Athenceum, and other newspapers, addressed to booksellers, advertisers, and the public, stating that he had no hand in the annual announced by the plaintiffs; that he devised long ago his usual annual in collaboration with the authors of “The Coming K.----- ” and “The Siliad;” that the title of the annual now in the press was “Jon Duan;” that it was written by the authors of “The Coming K----- ” and “ The Siliad,” and would not be published by the plaintiffs, but by another publisher. Under these circumstances the present bill was filed yesterday, and in pursuance of leave then obtained the motion for injunction was made this morning. The defendant did not appear; and upon an affidavit that service of the notice of motion had been effected upon him before five o’clock yesterday afternoon at his country residence, an order was made by the Court for an injunction in terms of the motion, extending until the hearing of the cause. London: WELDON & CO., 15, Wine Office Court, Fleet Street. �■■■■ ��JON DUAN. XV. The person whom. Jon Duan thus addressed Had an odd mania—general with his class— For novelties, without which Spring’s no zest In managerial eyes : he’d fix his glass, Perceive the world with April-green new-dressed, And only think: the Spring’s turned up the gas, We’ve done Burnand—for fear of a reversal, It’s time to put Bob Reece into rehearsal. 67 XX. But, following the ancient pure tradition Of English art to borrow from the French, Jon Duan had set out upon a mission, To see what Paris drama one could wrench. Into a Saxon shape, by clever scission Of evil branches, which emit a stench We breathe with rapture at the “ Delass. Com.,” But call a pestilential death at home. XXI. XVI. He’d got Jon Duan this year—a rare catch, That bothered Buckstone sorely, and made Bateman Talk privately of bowie-knives ; a batch Of critics—his club-fellows—all elate, man The yards of paper barks, where they keep watch On actors, ready to call Irving great man, And Neville, stickor quite the other way : It just depends on what their rivals say. XVII. Hollingshead hides his head; the craft looks sour, From classic Surrey to coquettish Court. It’s such a glorious thing to get the flower . ’ Of a young author’s mind, whom wide report Proclaims the sovereign genius of the hour, And when the stale Byronic stream runs short— Which even that perpetual fountain may, When Gilbert’s proper, and “ Old Sailors” pay. And seeing there was nothing that could give The Insular adapter a fair chance To catch the rare French nectar in a sieve— For that’s the way we get our sustenance, Who don’t know French, go to the play—and live 1— ’ Jon Duan shook the sterile dust of France From off his feet, and reappeared in town, Resolved to bring out three acts of his own. XXII. Then in a dim and dusty room, somewhere Near Covent Garden, a dull chamber, smelling Of orange-peel and gas, the native air Of Thespis, there ensued long talk, which dwelling On things theatrical, would make the hair Of stage-struck youths stand upright—so repelhng, Hard and materialistic as a Hun’s, The manager who’s looking for long “ runs.” XXIII. XVIII. You managers, when wearied—as you weary The public—of the tight dramatic ring That writes eulogious notices, and dreary Dramas, alternately, from Spring to Spring, Don’t dare too much—and don’t revive Dundreary, But simply ask a man whom critics sing, And at whose feet the publishers all grovel, To dialogue you his last prurient novel. ' XIX. ! There is your man. He’s been well advertised, Which saves a lot of posting and of puffs ; You know the papers where his copy’s prized, And which, therefore, are sure not to be rough On his new venture. Then a book, disguised In five acts, with a new name’s just the stuff To run two hundred nights ; we all adore Hearing the jokes we’ve read a month before. “ I have told you so : I’d much prefer a bouffe, A bouffe of thorough native growth: d’you see ? Something that we can say affords a proof Wit and song ain’t a French monopoly. Something that shows at times the cloven hoof— Of Meilhac, great in impropriety, But sentimental chiefly—even sad, A Tennysonian pastoral gone mad. XXIV. “ There’d be a part for Cecil—heavy father, Eccentric, muddle-headed: that’s his line. We must give little Lou a lift—I’m rather Spoony on little Lou; besides, she’ll shine, If you but give her a catch-song to gather The plaudits of the gods with. There’s a mine Worth working—there’s ten thousand pounds in that— And, by-the-by, give Isabel some fat. �JON DUAN. XXV. j Ci Lord D----- insists upon it: Bella must Have three good scenes, at least, in which to drop Her h’s—or the old boy will entrust His love and money to a rival shop. There’s Belamour, too, who will not be thrust Into a minor part; he’ll want a sop, Because of those fine legs of his^ on which He counts to catch a “relict” old and rich. XXVI. <c As for the rest, we’ll have a galaxy Of stars seduced by gold from lesser spheres: Cox, Terry, Toole, Brough, and the rest; you’ll see We’ll do the thing superbly----- Now, my dears 1” (This to two pleasing damsels who’d made free To push the door ajar, and stood all ears, And those all red, regarding the uncertain And ghostly region called Behind the Curtain.) XXVII. The postulants, for such they were, of course, Were average growths of English womanhood, Sprung from the same poor petty tradesman source, Not capable of much ill or much good ; But conscious of some appetite perforce Restrained, the which in their weak natures stood For mind, ambition, heart—some simple needs Of love, champagne, fine dresses, and good feeds. XXVIII. We all know, though decorum keeps us mute, How shop-girl, servant wench, and seamstress feel, When pretty broughams of world-wide repute Bear sinning sisters by on rapid wheel, And Regent Street’s battalions, in pursuit Of night-bound swell, flash by them, down at heel And threadbare, thinking—not: how shocking !— oh no— But simply of their labouring lives : Cui bono ? XXIX. Cui bono, having learnt one’s catechism And making shirts for close on ninepence each ? Cui bono, all this vulgar heroism That only serves to make a parson preach About our pure examples ? Egotism, That’s what you pay—the moral that you teach ; Vice has its brougham, Virtue its foul alley— This is the reason why girls join the Ballet. �JON DUAN. 69 r— XXX. The first one of the two who spoke had passed The Rubicon, and left false shame behind her ; Her bonnet might have been a whit less fast, Her speech a bit more modest and refined ; her Red hands bulged from Jouvin’s gloves. She cast A side-leer at Jon Duan rather kinder Than their acquaintance warranted, and said She knew the business ; she’d already played. XXXI. “ At the East End Imperial Bower of Song, I used to sing ‘The Chick-a-Leary Bloke,’ With breakdown, all complete. ’Twas rather strong— The beaks refused the licence. But I’ve spoke To----- (here she whispered earnestly and long) He’ll come down handsomely: just one small joke, And then a dance. What! fifty pounds!—Well, then, You’ll throw a speech in for another ten.” XXXII. “ It’s sixty pounds; no salary at first.” And then the manager turned round: “And you ?” The second humble applicant was cursed With knowledge of her own defects, and drew Back as he spoke. Then feebly from her burst: “ I heard you wanted figurantes who knew Something of music, prepossessing—Oh, I want to know, sir, if I’m like to do 1” XXXIII. Jon Duan pitied; but his friend looked stern. This one had no Protector and no past. She couldn’t pay, and might expect to earn Her living—the pretension of her caste, Who in each yawning trap and slide discern Mines where all women’s treasures are amassed— Diamonds, Bond Street dresses, silks and sashes, And tall Nonentities with blond moustaches. XXXIV. “Young woman, you may do; I don’t object To trying you: just bring your ‘props’ next week----- ■” “ Props ?”----- “ That’s your shoes and tights; but recollect, You’re never likely to do more than speak Ten words, and show—your ankles. We expect Our ladies to wear costumes new and chic, Which they provide—with some gems of pure water----The salary? It’s five pounds ten per quarter. XXXV. “ You couldn’t live on that ? Of course you can’t. Did you expect it ?— Where have you been taught ?— A brougham’s at the door : its occupant Gets one pound ten a week—and she’s just bought A pair of bays—which proves she’s not in want. No, no, young woman, salaries are nought— Our treasurer don’t count ; you’ll find far finer— A millionaire—a dotard—or a minor. XXXVI. “ All of them do it : it’s the modern plan Of getting up a pretty ballet cheap ; And since the public don’t like Sheridan— Except as Amy—and since we can’t keep Ladies—most of them of enormous space— In silken robes and satin shoes ; we leap At amateurs with protégées, whose rage It is to see their darlings on the stage.” XXXVII. Then they went back to business, and talked over Which points Odell should make,which speeches Stoyle ; If Wyndham or Lal. Brough should do the lover, Say with Laverne or Farren as a foil. And whether Miss A.’s part was not above her, Or Miss B. meet Miss C. without a broil.— In short, the heavy talk, the prime First Cause Of plays received with rapturous applause. XXXVIII. Jon Duan gave in to the bouffe idea, His hopes resigning of regenerating The public taste. He gazed, and could but see a Vast Amphitheatre, its lungs inflating With one loud universal Ave Dea, Madonna Cascade of our own creating, Gross, gaudy goddess of our fleshly charlatan ’ Period, with tinsel wings and robes of tarlatan. xxxix. That is the cry, the Ideal----- Oh, Rare Ben, See what they’ve made of your old jovial muse ! �70 JON DUAN. Enter, great Shade, no matter where or when, The bill of fare’s the same—you cannot choose. It’s an Aquarium—and once again Fifty familiar naked backs one views— Then naked breasts, legs, naked arms with wings Of gauze—innumerable naked things ! XL. The footlights glow on thin arms, twisted knees, Lean shoulders rising, fleshy chins that drop; Oh for the awful busts’ concavities ! Oh for the busts that don’t know where to stop. They smirk, and grin, and ogle at their ease, But one thinks vaguely of a butcher’s shop Lit up on Saturdays—one hears the cry, A cry they all might echo : “ Come, buy, buy ! ” XLI. a M 0K I N (r Ah, one divines how, mute, the song-nymphs flee, And Watteau’s muse drops down themagic brush Before that swollen, restless, muddy sea Of shapeless flesh, pink with a painted blush ; Those meagre shoulder-blades that don’t agree, Those overflowing waists that corsets crush, Those poor old calves, for twice a hundred nights Entombed with pain in cherry-coloured tights. XLII. A sprite, long, lean, and languid as a worm, A sprite that trails a cotton-velvet cloak, Carols a topic song, with not a germ Of tune or sense in it. Ay, Ben, they croak— These mounds of chignons-false and flesh-infirm— Dreary distortions of thy Attic joke, With tripping feet and leering eyes, and shifty, As if they weren’t all grandmammas of fifty ! XLIII. Oh Byron, Farnie, oh Burnand, and Reece, Maybe your consciences are very full, For you’ve committed many a dreary piece; But oh, we’d hold your grievous sinnings null If you had not—Heaven send your souls release !— You—and some thousand bales of cotton-wool— Produced, to torture your long-suffering patrons, That bevy of obese and padded matrons ! XLIV. But Goldie, Cibber, Knowles, whene’er we pray For one gleam of your wit or poesy; When with the jingle of Lecocq, and bray Of Offenbach distraught, we make a plea �7* JON DUAN. For Tobin or for Coleman—for the gay Old glorious peal of laughter, frank and free— Bah ! cry the lessees—Helicon !—a treat!— Sir—what the public dotes upon is Meat! XLV. And faith, they get it, calves and necks, huge boulders Smeared with cold-cream, and bismuth, and ceruse; Not much heart anywhere, but such fine shoulders ! Not much art, but such bright metallic hues ! Fat Aphrodites—born for their beholders From froth of champagne-cup—upon their cruise To spoil our gilded youth, dupe hoary age, Making a bagnio of the British stage. XLVI. Jon Duan passed some agonizing weeks, Conning Joe Miller and his Lempriere •, Laying the strata of burlesque in streaks Of slang and puns; also refusing fair Touters for parts, with badly painted cheeks, And insolently red and oily hair; Who pet one—till you don’t know where to get to— That is the worst of writing a libretto. XLVII. The paragraph, which, to the Era carried, The world tells that you’re “on” a bouffe, wakes up Three hundred ladies, who have found life arid, Because they never dine, and seldom sup, And who begin to pester you : if married, With gall they fill your matrimonial cup ; If single—well, of course they will not hurt you— Only their friendship don’t conduce to virtue ! XLIX. The formula’s quite simple : all depends On an anachronism, the more absurd The better. Take a monarch and his friends From Livy—Roman—for they’re much preferred, The Grecian’s quite used up except for bends— Send them to Prince’s, and pretend they’ve heard Of Gladstone’s pamphlets, Arnim’s case, whatever You choose, provided that you’re not too clever. L. Talent will kill. Leave actors to invent Whatever gags they can; they’ll find a number, Not too refined, about each day’s event, At those dramatic “ publics ” which encumber The lanes of Covent Garden. If they’re spent, And find the audience somewhat prone to slumber, A wink, grimace, a slang phrase—clownish acting— That stirs your patrons up—they’re not exacting. LI. They have broad backs, and not too lively brains; They’ll bear whatever burdens you impose ; So that the playbill says it entertains, Don’t think of them—they’ll never hiss nor doze, Provided you leave room for Herve’s strains, And give them a perspective of pink hose From back to footlights, in bright buoyant masses— Before six hundred levelled opera-glasses. LIL Jon Duan at his writing-table, strewn With delicately scented little notes— All begging him, as a tremendous boon, To lengthen parts and shorten petticoats— Wrote feverishly; and, humming o’er a tune, Beside him lounged his partner—who devotes His life to writing can-can and fandango— Waiting for his hour and his Madame Angot. XLVIII. LIII. As for the writing—that’s the easiest part— So easy, that if it the public guessed, They’d never pay to see Burnand, but start A theatre themselves—perhaps the best. A plot—who listens ?—Dialogue—it’s smart If loose : for ladies, have them much undressed, Have two French mimics, lime-light, vulgar jokes, Danseuses like Sara, villains like Fred Yokes. “ I must have that new song to-morrow—that About the second-class—four lines of six, And two of four for chorus. You’ve been flat Of late; redeem yourself this time, and mix The Old Hundredth up with Herve’s pit-a-pat, Or any other of their Paris tricks.” The maestro grumbled—then, remembering Gluck’s works at home—said he had just the thing. �JON DUAN. LIV. “ Have you heard anything from Piggott ?” said he, After a pause, in which Jon Duan’s quill Ran fiercely. 11 I’m afraid our chance is shady, Unless you drop those jokes he’s taken ill.” J ust then the servant came, and said a lady Wanted Jon Duan, and the maestro, still Humming, went, leaving the field free to fair Miss Constance Smith—Fitz-Fulke by nom de guerre. LV. The sweetest little creature man has ever Paid modiste’s bills for; clouds of breezy curls Blowing about her face, from such a clever And daring poem of a hat. She furls Her veil, and, drugging one—and spreading fever— Fever of love and longing, round her whirls A wind of subtle scents, corrupt and vicious— Monstrous—exaggerated—and delicious 1 LVI. Wine-scarlet was her mouth—a flower of blood— A flower fed by the dew of many kisses ; And her eyes, fathomless, made one’s heart thud, Though nought lay in their violet-grey abysses; She was a creature, on the whole, who could Give man a vast variety of blisses— The bliss of wooing, quarrelling, and playing— With one monotonous—the bliss of paying 1 LVII. And yet she doesn’t merit all the stones Austere and portly ladies, who “ sit under” Good parsons, are prepared to fling : she owns Some fervent, heavenly impulses, that sunder Those venal lips, and break out in meek moans. Not less sincere than Pharisaic thunder, About her sinfulness—whence fall, at times, Prayers not less pure because they follow rhymes. LVIII. It is a little bosom full of eddies And counter-eddies, gusts, and whirls of whimsy That turn, re-turn her, till her pretty head is A chaos of conflicting thoughts, and swims, A labyrinth through which no man can thread his Way—for she shifts and turns, and tacks and trims So wildly, that Jon Duan’s lighter, gayer Poem—composed much later—must portray her. �h t ‘ JON DUAN. ^atnt CHltnetm. i I’d give—the bliss she’s given me—to perceive What moves her most—Caprice or Charity. Turn her glove back—just where it meets the sleeve— You smell involved incense, and patchouli. I 1 2. The march of music up long aisles, the dirges, Ormolu censers, waxen saints and lights, Move the frail facile heart, albeit she merges Devoutest days in Saturnalian nights. ' ■ j ;i J ! ! i 73 -------------- --- 1 ' 3‘ I’d have you watch her as she bends alone In some prim pew, her mouth composed, hands crossed— Fancying, vaguely, the priest’s monotone Is something like Faure’s lower notes in Faust. 4She seeks salvation with the beautiful, Loves David’s psalms—no less than Swinburne’s sonnets— Respects the Follet like a papal bull, And holds we’re saved by perfect faith—and bonnets. 5Her mode of charity includes a ball; And such her pity of each pauper claimant— Watching her waltz, one deems she’s given all—Even like St. Martin—more than half her raiment. 6 9For though one lose the fabled fox’s quiet When the good grapes to low lips’ level fall ; She seems more fit for mankind’s daily diet— “ And she might like one really, after all.” IO. Like one ! to her guitar’s erotic thrum She sets the preacher’s precept: love all men; And founds her plea for pardon on muli-um— Et multos—amavi—like Magdalen. 11. She makes a dainty mouth of doubt; her fan Rebukes that soft Parisian purr: Je t’aime ! But she loves you—well, even as she can— A month or two—and then forgets your name. 12. Forgets it all—till one day when her vapours Dispose to prayer the two months’ devotee, And in the glow of Ritualistic tapers, She finds a love not in her breviary. LIX. Aye, she was Moliere’s heroine,..the jade !— “ I am Miss Constance Fitzfulke.” Duan bowed. “ They call me Rattlesnake.” “Who’s they?” he said; And felt, somehow, girls should not be allowed To make eyes of the enticing kind she made. “ They ? — Why the fellows —- all of them—a crowd, De Lacy, Pierpoint, Charlie Lisle—you know,” “ I understand—you’re not what one calls—slow !” LX. When she comes begging for a fund or mission, Jew, Greek, Voltairian, weak or very wise, You give your obolus—with shamed contrition, When Heaven returns it threefold, through her eyes. 7And when you’ve watched Saint Cdlimfene receding, Veiled like a Quakeress in coif of grey, The recollection of her tender pleading Makes you admire Lord Ripon, for the day. il Slow—not a bit, I’m fast as an express—■ Upon the Midland—and as dangerous. One of those dolls all you men die to dress, So that your wives may safely copy us ; You’ve got a part for me—now come, confess— You have one : something nice and frivolous, None of your high art that thins all the houses Of managers with tragic girls and spouses. 8. Nor that same evening, when she quits the cloister. Is the antithesis of her bare breast Aught than a drop of acid with one’s oyster'— The peppery pod that gives the dish a zest. “ You’ll hear me sing; you’ll see me dance : I flatter Myself in both I’ll rather startle you. You see we vagabond ne’er-do-wells scatter The old traditions to the winds. We’re new, LXI. �74 JON DUAN. And young, and—well, not hideous.” Staring at her, Jon Duan, with conviction murmured : “ True.’ u We ’ve seen life off the stage; while your old shoppy Damsels know nought beyond a prompter’s copy. LXII. “ Our boudoirs, which are little Royal Exchanges, Afford a curious study of mankind ; Roam as you like, from Tiber to the Ganges, And not a better point of sight you’ll find. But the pure player’s vision seldom ranges Beyond—say that small spy-hole in the blind, Through which we peer to see if he is in His stall; if 1 paper5 ’s in the house—or 1 tin.’ LXIII. “ Therefore my play will be original, I’ll be myself upon the boards—a thing The critic always sees—and ever shall, Till players are cultivated, and don’t spring, Like lichens, from the vestiges of all Professions they have failed in ; covering Gown, surplice, red coat that’s grown limp and dangles, With tragic robes or acrobatic spangles.” LXIV. Oh, wiser than the serpent—and much harder Than any stone, becomes the lovely woman Who looks on London streets as a vast larder— A Hounslow Heath where she can stop and do man Out of his purse and life. Good fortunes guard her, As though the one dear creature, frankly human, In our sick century, whose jaundiced face is Veiled, and who sespeech one endless periphrase is. LXV. Is ’t vile—the Demi monde'?—Why, sale and barter In noble drawing-rooms, are just the same,— The dot, the face, the hoary lecher’s garter, The father’s money, and the mother’s shame. Let trousseaux rain, let diamonds of pure water Deck the dear well-bred maid who’s made her game !— Arrange for monsieur’s mistress, madame’s car­ riage— You parody a vile Haymarket marriage. �JON DUAN. 75 LXXI. LXVI. “Your part, my princess ? Oh, it is the best That even Rachel ever undertook. The scene: Green Woods, that would make Telbin’s breast Grow hot with envy, a small shady nook That doesn’t smell of paint—The Prettiest Woman in the World, A Man, whose look Indicates spooniness beyond disguises— Discovered talking as the curtain rises. The wicked Demi monde !—well, is your monde So whole and sound and healthy ? Are your wives Much better than “the others,” and less fond Of princes, lions, lead they purer lives ? And is the Social Evil far beyond Your pinchbeck imitation ? If it thrives, Is it because it’s honester and franker, And don’t put so much cold cream on the canker ? LXXII. LXVII. “ The dialogue’s poetic nonsense, Wills Would give his ears to equal; the bye-play Is charming ; not all Robertson’s best quills Could sketch out ‘ business ’ half as sweet and gay : The kisses are on flesh and blood that thrills — Not the light, cold contact of Eau des Fees, With the best rouge, laid on by feet of hares, To hide—the feet of crows from searching stares. We never held Jon Duan an example Of virtue, such as one finds in the Peerage— Which teems, of course, with many a brilliant sample Of godliness—above all in the sere age, When man’s ability to sin aint ample— But lots of genteel Josephs will, I fear, rage (And wish they’d had a chance with the “ beguil-ah”,) On hearing how he gave in to Dalilah. LXXIII. “ The Time—the Present. Costume—rich enough To show the wearers are of decent station, And have a little leisure left for love. The Plot—ah, ’tis the airiest creation That ever bard—strong-voiced or silent—wove ; The simple plot that’s pleased each age and nation From Adam’s day to Darwin’s, though the latter, Thanks unto Gilbert, finds the story flatter. lxviii. He fell; where is the man who never fell At beck of like fair fingers, at th’ invite Of such a Syren, such a Satan’s belle ?— He’d be indeed a pure Arthurian knight, Unlike the Marlborough Club men in Pall Mall. Jon Duan perished—we may’nt think him right, Though even blood and iron do give in To beauty decked out with the Wage of Sin------ LXXIV. LXIX. “ The Piece is Love—The Plot, it is love-making. It’s had a run of some six thousand years. Come, let us put it in rehearsal, taking The stage alone, and keeping it. Our ears Weren’t made for prompter’s whispers !” But she, shaking That sunny head of hers, said she had fears About her memory—was he sure that he'd do ?— And was that quite a good lever de rideau ? Which isn’t a bad salary on the whole, As wages go in these degenerate days ; When violet powder is less dear than coal;— At least we know that several pairs of bays Are kept on those same wages, which a shoal Of Jew promoters, bankers, lordlings, pays, Without reflecting on that heinous libel About the Wage, they might find in the Bible. LXX. LXXV. Jon Duan, fascinated, just declared The giving of a lady’s part depended Upon Miss Constance Fitzfulke—and he stared Quite rudely at the opulent and splendid figure Before him. But, by no means scared, With coquetry and prudence subtly blended, She said his demonstrations touched her heart— But she would rather like to know her part. It might come afterwards—as final farce, For farce it must be—she’s nought, if not funny; But a too quick denouement often mars An author’s best piece—and, above all, one he Has planned so hastily. Profits are sparse, When one commences with so little money. She’d see—a little later on—and her Eyes said that day he’d be the Manager! | �JON DUAN. LXXVI. “ Well, though we’re very full, I think I’ve found A small part, that will fit you like a glove, In my ‘^Eneas,’ a burlesque that’s bound To beat ‘ Ixion.’ ” " You’re a perfect love !— But what’s the dress?” “Oh, Roman robes.” She frowned. "‘Robes,’ that sounds bad. Don’t Roman swells approve Of tights ?” " Well, don’t obey us to the letter, Wear what you like-—perhaps the less the better. i I LXXVII. “We’ve got EumidiaJohnson to play Dido. You’ll have a scene with her.”—“A scene with Miss Eumidia Johnson !”—and Miss Constance cried : " Oh, You are a darling—Come now—there’s a kiss!”— “ She enters speaking to a village guide, who Stays in the wings—Then Dido utters this : * Is this the road to Sicily ? ’ The wight Responds : ‘Just past the cabstand, to your right.’ lxxviii. ‘‘You’ll play the village lass.”—"Well, what comes next ? ” "Next—why there’s nothing.” "What! I don’t appear At all ! ”—and Miss Fitzfulke looked rather vexed,— “Of course not.” “Then why do you make me wear A costume ? ”—The librettist said the text Of his engagement stipulated there Should be, in smallest details, a sublime Aud true historic picture of the time. LXXIX. "Besides, you’re sure to make Eumidia furious, She hates a pretty colleague worse than sin ; And then the Stalls are sure to be most curious To know who’s Miss Fitzfulke, who ne’er comes in ;— A mystery is not at all injurious When figurantes, who would ‘ see life,’ begin ; It whets the appetite of wealthy sinners Seeking their vis-à-vis for Richmond dinners.” LXXX. So it was settled. Heaven knows what pact Between the pair was furthermore concluded. L �JON DUAN One can’t say always how one’s heroes act, And we’re quite ignorant of what these two did ; But there’s one positive and patent fact, Miss Constance Fitzfulke’s name henceforth obtruded Itself in bills, which said her part would be as Julia in the new Bouffe—“ Pious ?Eneas.” 77 K in. The dahlias bleus in courts of Spanish castles, And, where it’s shady, The merle blanc chanting, And floating robes, and feathers, fringe and tassels That frame the lady One’s always wanting. IV. How sweet are memories of the thin white bodies, When, sooner or later Two puffs dismiss them ; And what love grows for vague lips of the goddess When the creator Can never kiss them ! LXXXI. We know the link between them was soon broken, That he forgot—and she would not forgive ;— The usual end of light vows rashly spoken— The usual end of immortelles we weave Into a passing fancy’s foolish token. The Love goes out, and-—well, the lovers live, And, turning o’er some old creased yellow letter, He cannot, for his life, tell where he met her. V. Ah, those clouds aid the preachers’ exhortations With apt examples Of hope’s fruitions, And breed, in time, that comfortable patience Which mutely tramples On vain ambitions. lxxxii. One lives—with just another cause for saying Hard things against the sex which, from our nurses Unto our widows, lives but for betraying. One lives—to vent a few dramatic curses Upon their heads, and, for our pain’s allaying, To smoke more pipes, and write more doleful verses, Such as Jon Duan wrote in the dyspeptic Tone of the Jilted who would seem a Sceptic. VI. The goddess grows amorphous in the fusion Of fumes, and none deign To mend or drape her— Hence, stoic smokers draw the trite conclusion That most things mundane Must end in vapour. ©amtaS. ' : VII. And in the place of peace, and praise, and laurel, A bay-wrecked boat sees, From which in deep tone, Comes o’er the water’s waste—the Master’s moral Of M<xtcu6t77s i. Tell me I’m weary ; say of Pride—it cowers ; Of love—it bored me ; Of faith—dove broke it ; But add, the world’s a weed worth all its flowers, And fate afford me The time to smoke it. MaraiirijTWi' LXXXIII. II. 1 They who pretend that this last joy, disabled From pleasing, duly Will leave you lonely, Know not how fortune’s wizard-wand has labelled The fairy Thule “For smokers only ;” | A first night at the Pandemonium. All The facade is ablaze. Electric light Streams from the fronting houses on a wall, Bearing in letters, half a yard in height: “Pious .¿Eneas ; or, the Roman Fall,”— With a few witticisms just as bright ( Vide the theatre columns of the Times'), Filched from the bills of ancient pantomimes. �JON DUAN. y8 LXXXIV. Cabs are Echeloned in adjoining streets ; The first-night clan has mustered in full force : The critics, who’ve got pocketfuls of sheets Of ready-made abuse or praise, of course ; Some actors—first nights are their special treats— An actress, yearning for that strange divorce Which hangs fire—not because her lord don’t doubt her, But just because he’d get no parts without her. LXXXV. There’s the small German banker come to see If this thing threatens his majestic place As millionaire, supporting two or three Flourishing houses—not from any base Desire of pelf, but just to win the key Of a few dressing-rooms, to know a brace Of low comedians—and perhaps arrive at A knowledge of how authors look in private. LXXXVI. There’s Rhadamanthus of the Thunderer, Who generally, to prime himself, dines freely ; There’s Papa Levy, breathing nard and myrrh Proffered by Freddy Arnold—styled the Mealy Gusher—his fond and faithful thurifer. There’s Sala—with that one jocose and steely Orb levelled at Hain Friswell like a pistol—• A fierce carbuncle glowing at a crystal. LXXXVII. There’s bland E. Blanchard, with the sleek curled locks, There’s the white head that gives the Athenaum Those pure and classic notices; there flocks The Civil Service legion—You should see ’em Passing pretentiously from box to box, Chanting Anathema, or a Te Deum, According to their hearers’ love or spite, For, or against, the author of the night. LXXXVIII. And nameless crowds fill up the stalls ; a hum Subdued goes down the critics’ own first row; Dawdling Guy Livingstones are stricken dumb By their profound anxiety to know Whether Amanda, Lou or Nell will “ come Out strong ”—or make dear friends'and rivals crow : And one by one the detrimentals rise, And saunter off to see how the ground lies. LXXXIX. The secret of this theatre’s success They know. You pass behind the boxes, thread Some corridors and galleries that grow less Thronged as you push on, save by some wellbred Patrons profound of drama and the Press • They bribe the latter, by the first are bled ; You come across a small door where officials Demand of you your name and her initials. XC. And you descend a Dantesque staircase, filled With that foul feverish air of the coulisse, Into a world where all essay to build, Apparently a Babel, not a piece. At every step you take you’re nearly killed By carpenters ; by call-boys—cackling geese—■ And men who’re shifting temples, wings, and drops, Or handing Grecian goddesses their “props.” XCI. Only the maestro is self-possessed In this great madhouse, set on fire by night— That’s tHb comparison that suits it best ;— He, humming shreds of opera airs, makes light Of each defect, because all his hopes rest Upon his music, which will set all right ; Jon Duan, being a novice at the trade, Though not less vain, was rather more afraid. xcn. He gave the worst directions, quite forgetting The most important ; he strode to and fro From prompter to stage manager, upsetting The watering pots, with which the dust’s laid low, When all the scene-shifters have finished “ setting,” He felt a subtle fever stealing thro’ Him—“Author ! ” heard, and hisses, madly mingled, ’Twas like champagne drunk through his ears, which tingled. xeni. “ Lend me your rouge.”—“ Miss Amy’s borrowed it.” ‘‘The hairdresser!”—“He’s occupied.”— “ I’m in » -J �1 »" ■ I JON DUAN. The second scene.”—“I’m in the first!”—“A chit! ” “A minx!”—“Oh, dresser, take care with that pin ! ” “ Dresser—I’m sure my shoulder-straps will split.”— That is the usual last moment’s din— Traversed by call-boy’s cries, tenor’s objections, Mechanics’ oaths, and author’s last directions. XCIV. Then Dido came down from her dressing-room. Her maid held up her train—she strode superb In sheeny satin—dazzling, with a bloom From Rimmel’s on that face—that neck you curb But with a diamond necklace. Vague perfume, Distilled from many a rare and precious herb, Enveloped her—as some ethereal presence, To which all present made profound obeisance. xcv. The maestro bore her poodle, and her fan Was carried by the manager. She knew Her power, the jade ! and calmly her gaze ran Around the stage. “That chair will never do”— And it was changed. “ That drop’s too high ”— a man Was straightway sent to lower it—they flew, They bowed, they, cringed, and felt it a great honour— 1 Hadn’t they spent ten thousand pounds upon her ? XCVI. Then the bell rings—that tinkle which the hearts Of authors echo with re-tingling force. The curtain rises, and the public starts Quick to its feet, and in a moment’s hoarse With hailing the fair favourite—from all parts Bouquets rain down upon her, hurled of course, 79 By hands that have held her’s—and left, too, there, Not a few fortunes poets would call fair. xcvn. And the applause ne’er ceased, for no one heard A line, but saw legs after legs succeed Each other, caper and poussette. No word Was wanted. All who’ve come have what they need— Plenty of lime-light, music, and a herd Of puppets, pink, and finest of their breed : That’s why the papers next day chronicled The piece as one in which France was excelled. xcvin. Oh, those encores—those bravoes, how they make One’s bosom bound, one’s vanity brim o’er. The modest bounds of reticence we break, Only behind our inmost chamber’s door— Where, it is true, a rich revenge we take For the feigned meekness of an hour before— But on a first night it’s legitimate To say, as well as feel convinced, you’re great. XCIX. But o’er Jon Duan’s brow a shade would come, E’en while Queen Dido ran off, flushed with praise, And said he was “a perfect treasure.” Some Dim struggling recollections of the plays He’d hoped to write—ere this indecent dumb Show of fine legs—plays, worthy of old days, And which do one more honour in one’s desk, Perhaps, than many a popular burlesque. c. And so, when Dido and jEneas had Been called on thrice, he answered to the shout For “Author ! Author !” with a face half sad, Half cynical; as, gazing round about, He saw what philtres made the public mad, And why they hissed not those fat women out— And in his heart he thanked, the while he made his Bow, the dear friends of all his “ leading ladies.” �.8o JON DUAN. Canto The Seventh. i. EARY of London and of London ways, The glare and glitter of the London nights, And very weary also of the days, Which once could minister such rare delights, Duan, who erst had written many lays Praising the hundred pleasant sounds and sights Of this great hive of very busy bees, Resolved to quit the town and take his ease. II. He sometimes liked, although in Fashion’s season, To bid farewell to sun-dried London streets ; He could not, nor could we, afford a reason, To every stupid questioner one meets Who pries about, as'if suspecting treason, To find out why the pulse so languid beats, Or why we seek the hillside, sea, or river,— And puts it down to a disordered liver. in. So Duan turned to fields and pastures new, Taking a ticket'for the Midland line; For on the pleasant shores full" well he knew He might find scenes to soften and refine; And thinking much about the same, he grew Almost poetic—till he w ished to dine ; And then he roused from fancy’s meditation, And looked in Bradshaw for the stopping station. IV. He crossed the border, and at once he felt A keenness and a rawness in the air ; A fume of oats and cock-a-leekie smelt, Heard mingled sounds of blasphemy and prayer; And saw that on the people’s faces dwelt A hard and bony Calvinistic stare, Which seemed to express it] was a Scot’s life­ labour To skin a flint and damn outright his- neighbour. v. O, Caledonia ! very stern and wild, And only dear to those who travel through you ; The poet says you’re lov’d by each Scotch child, But you do not believe such nonsense, do you? �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. GARD & C O.’S SELF-CLEANING- CHEMICAL IN A BOX, PRICE ONE CLOTHS. PLATE SHILLING. THREE CLOTHS Directions for Use: After washing the plate with soap and water and carefully removing all grease, dry and simply rub the plate with the Plate Cloth instead of chamois leather. Instantly a splendid polish will be upon the surface of the plate. No plate-paste or powder whatever is required, because the cloth is chemically prepared and is quite sufficient alone to polish the plate. It is equally effective for Gold and Silver, Jewellery, &c. If the soap called Gard’s Sapoline is used, instead of the usual soap, the plate need only be polished once a week with the Plate Cloths, effecting a saving both in time and cloths. Each Plate Cloth will clean from 150 to 200 large and small pieces of plate, reckoning from the ordinary tea-spoon to the tea-pot, or from 450 to 600 pieces at the cost of One Shilling. After the cloths have been used for plate, they will clean Brass, Tins, &c., and finally, will serve as dusters. SELF-CLEANING BRASS & STEEL POLISHING CLOTHS. They will keep a brilliant polish on all metals save gold and silver, for which the Brass and Steel Cloths should not be used. It will be found that, by the regular use of these cloths, all the domestic metals can be kept bright with infinitely little labour, amounting, in fact, to scarcely more than the ordinary rubbing with a duster. Thus, the steel of grates and fenders, brass stair-rods, door-plates of either metal, brass-rods, shop­ fronts, harness-mounts, bits, stirrups, &c., may always be kept in good order. Note.—These cloths are not intended to remove rust from iron or steel, or an old long-standing tarnish on brass, tin, &c. Whatever material is used to remove this has too much “ cut ” in it to leave a high polish although the highest burnish may be restored by the subsequent use of these cloths. Directions for Use.—Keep the cloth once or twice doubled while using, and briskly rub the article you are polishing. If brass is slightly tarnished, sprinkle a little water on the corner of the cloth and remove the tarnish, then finish with the dry. part of the cloth. No wash-leathers nor anything else are required or should be used. • ------------------------------------ —— Prepared by GARD & CO., Dunstable, Beds. Three Cloths in a Box, Price ONE SHILLING. London Depot: 15, Wine Office Court, Fleet Street, E.C. LONDON WHOLESALE AGENTS. ' Barclay & Sons, 95, Farringdon Street. Hartee & Co., 101,102, & 103, Upper Thames: William Mather, 14, Bath Street, Newgate Burgoyne, Burbridges, & Co., x6, Coleman St Street. Street. " ■ ° Bliss & Co., 13 and 13, Sun Street, Finsbury. G. Kent & Co., xx, Great Marlborough Street. x.xnvv, Son, & Thompson, i, Little Britain. Maw, vu-., vc xnvmroviN, 1, IvLllie nruam. Lynch & Co., 171, Aldersgate Street. 171 XT---------- 00 ons, 37, Newgate Street. Crowden & Garrod, Falcon Square. F. Newbery &.S H. Edwards, 38, Old Change. Matthew & Son, xo6, Upper Thames Street. J. Sanger & Sons, 150 and 252, Oxford Street. Sold by all the principal Drapers, Ironmongers, Chemists, Fancy Stationers, and Brushmakers, and to be had at all Bazaars. AGENTS IN THE SUBURBS. Bayswater............ T. H. Squire, 4, Wellington Terrace. ..............J. Hawes & Son, 105, Queen’s Road. Brixton................ B. Little & Co., near the Church. Brompton ............ George Hammond, 173, Brompton Road. Camberwell ........ H. C. Davis. Chalk Farm Road S. Mousley and E. Nicholas. Chelsea ............... W. Aston, Sloane Square. Clayham............... Langford & Co. ,, Rise .... F. Stone. Clapton (Upper) .. A. Jenki-nson, Wood St.; J. Barker, Hill St. Clayton ............... Varley, Mount Pleasant Road. ,, Croydon............... Redgrove & Bowder. Enfield ............... E. Mann. Finchley............... E. J. Daniells. Hackney............... Stiff & Son, 171, Mare Street. „ .................. H. Rawlings, 406, Mare Street. Hammersmith .... Foster, 107, King St.; Williams, near the Gate. Highgate ............ R. James, High Street. Holloway ........ T. Condron ; Coote & Symons. „ .............. E. A. Hussey, 187, Seven Sisters Road. ,, .............. P. Barefoot, 136, Upper Street. Hornsey Rise .... H. Browne; E. Coldrey. Islington ............ J. Plumber, 230, Upper Street. Kennington ........ C. Savage, 2x6, Park Road. Kensington ........ J. Barker & Co.; Seaman, Little, & Co. Knightsbridge .... G. C. Lewis & Sons. Richmond............ W. F. Reynolds; J. G. Pierce. St. John’s Wood .. Keeble, io, King’s College Road. Tottenham) Lower) H. Woodcock. Westbourne Grove W. Whiteley ; Edw. Cox. Winchmere Hill .. H. Austin. Wood Green........ W. B. Edwards. AGENTS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM. Andover ............ Hawkins & Clarke. Birmingham .... Powell & Co., Bullring. Belfast............... R. Patterson & Co. „ ..................... David Mitchell. Bournemouth .... T. F. Short. Brighton ............The Supply Association. Cheltenham........ A. Jack. Clevedon ..............J. R. Lovegrove. Colchester........ H. Joslen. Exmouth............J. Plimsoll. Glasgow ........ Graham & Son. Gravesend........... M. H. Bevan. Hastings ............ R. Spencer. ................ Liddeard & Co. ,, Hartleyool ........ J. Stonehouse. Henley-on-Thames A. W. Pescud. ,, ,, Lee (Kent) ...... Leeds.................. Liverpool............ McBean Bros. White & Sons. Wm. Smeeton. Heintz & Co. Paisley............... Slough ............... Southampton .... Margate ............ Manchester........ Oxford............... Plymouth............ Watford............ Winchester........ McArthur. H. Groveney. H. B. Kent. M. Byles. Wm. Mather. Gill & Co. Popham, Radford. & Co W. Wise. Carter, Son, & Co. Wisbech.......... Rhdin & Sons. FOREIGN DEPOTS. Amsterdam ........ Y. H. Redeke, S.S. 35, Singel. Berlin.................... Rudolph Hertzog. Hamburgh............ P. F. Wendt, No. 20, Grimm. Milan.................. I. Hartmann, No. 2, Via Carlo Porta. Odessa.................. Thbod. Bribntana. Paris ................... F. Ampenot, 92, Rue Richelieu. Philadelphia, U.S. Rhoads & Harris, 406, Commerce Street. St. Petersburgh.... W. Douque, 26, Grande. Vienna ............... Jelinek & Mose, 4, Kollnerhofgrasse. �yON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS^ DR. ROOKE’S ANTI-LANCET. All who wish to preserve health, and thus prolong life, should read Dr. Rooke’s “Anti-Lancet ; or, HandyGuide to Domestic Medicine,” which can be had GRATIS from any Chemist, or POST FREE from Dr. ROOKE, Scarborough. Concerning this book, which contains 168 pages, the late eminent author, Sheridan Knowles, observed “ It will be an incalculable boon to every person who can read and think.” CROSBY’S BALSAMIC COUGH ELIXIR Is specially recommended by several eminent Physicians, and by Dr. Rooke, Scarborough, Author of the “ Aati-Laneet, ** It has been used with the most signal success for Asthma, Bronchitis,Consumption,Coughs, Influenza,Consumptive Night­ sweats, Spitting of Blood, Shortness of Breath, and all affec­ tions of the Throat and Chest. Sold in Bottles, at ij. gd., 45. 6d., and 115. each, by all respectable Chemists ; and Wholesale by JAMES M. CROSBY, Chemist, Scarborough. !3" Invalids should read Crosby’s Prize Treatise on ‘‘Diseases of the Lungs and Air-Vessels," a copy of which can be had Gratis of all Chemists. SIGHT IS THE GREATEST GEM OF NATURE. THE CUKES THIS LIQUID IS EFFECTING EVERY DAY ARE MARVELLOUS! 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One Cup, or Twenty, made in One Minute, with boil­ ing water only, milk or sugar not being necessary. CHOCOLATE TESTIMONIALS. "James Collier & Son have patented a Chocolate Powder, which for flavour, digestibility, and facility of preparation, equal« any with which we have hitherto met. The very moderate price charged per lb. puts this useful preparation within the reach of all classes of the commuMity.”—The Hemao/athic World. “ Is deservedly preferred to almost any other by those who have used it.**— Va.de Mecum. " It is particularly easy of digestion by the most delicate.’’—Press and St. James' s Chronisle. Prepared by J. COLLIER & SON, Manufacturers of all kinds of Prepared Ooooa and Chocolate, French, Eating, Fancy Chocolates, Chocolate Cremes, &c. Purveyors of Mustard to the International Exhibitions, iZ’jl -2, 3, and 4. Sold by Geocew, Chemiats, and Oilmen, loose is. per lb., er in I lb. square tins, I a, 4Z each. COMMERCIAL STEAM MILLS, LONDON. �I" I THE “ SOCK.”—A Comedy Company. ��JON DUAN, What Scotchman is there that would not be riled, If he was bound for life to stick close to you ? No, Land of heath, and loch, and shaggy moor, You’re only dear, say we, to those who tour. VI. 0, Land of Whisky, Oatmeal, Bastards, Bibles ; O Land of Kirks, Kilts, Claymores, Kail, and Cant,— Of lofty mountains and of very high hills, Of dreary “Sawbaths,” and of patriot rant; 0 Land which Dr. Johnson foully libels, To sound thy praises does our hero pant; And to relate how, from engagements freed, He calmly vegetated north of Tweed. VII. He saw “Auld Reekie,” climbed up Arthur’s Seat, And thought the modern Athens a fine city; Admired the view he got from Prince’s Street, And wished the lassies could have been more pretty— With smaller bones, and less decided feet; He found the cabmen insolent, though witty ; The Castle "did,” and, ere he slept, had been on The Carlton’Hill and seen the new Parthenon. VIII. The Edinburgh “Sawbath” bored him, though, ’Twas like being in a city of the dead ; With solemn steps, and faces full of woe, The people to their kirks and chapels sped, Heard damning doctrines, droned some psalms, and so Went home again with Puritanic tread; Pulled down their blinds, and in the evening glooms, Got very drunk in their back sitting-rooms. IX. All, outward form—it is the old, old story : The Pharisee his presence still discloses:— They go to church, they give to God the glory ; They roll their eyes, and snuffle through their noses; Tow’rds other sinners hold views sternly gory, And are great sticklers for the law of Moses. Then go home, shut their doors, and, as a body, Go in for secret sins and too much “ toddy.” 81 �82 JON DUAN. x. But westward was the cry, and Duan went To Balloch Pier, and steamed up Lomond’s loch ; And felt inclined for silent sentiment ;* — But tourists crowded round him in a flock, And vulgarised the scenery, and lent A disenchantment to the view ; ’tis shock­ ing how they can a fellow-traveller worry, And bore him with th'eir manners and their “ Murray.” XI. They “ do ” their nature as they would a sum, And rule off scenery like so much cash : They quote their guide-books, or they would be dumb : A waterfall to them is but a splash ; A mountain but so many feet;—they come, And go, and see that nature does not clash With dinner. And take home as travel’s fruit An empty purse and worn-out tourist-suit. XII. Soon Duan fled the beaten track, nor rested Till, fortunate, he chanced upon a village From tourist-locusts free, and uninfested By Highland landlords who the traveller pillage—• A spot with towering mountain-walls invested, And given up to pasturage and tillage, Whilst in the distance, dimly, through a crevice, You saw the summit of cloud-capp’d Ben Nevis. XIII. Here Duan stayed, and fished—there was a burn ; And flirted—for of course there was a lass there ; Tried Gaelic epithets of love to learn ; Climbed every mountain, and explored each pass there, And set himself, in philosophic turn, To study the condition of the mass there ; And found they lived, chiefly on milk and porridge, In hovels where we wouldn’t store up forage. XIV. Hovels of mud and peat, with plots of ground Just large enough to grow their owner’s oats ; A cow, a lank, lean sheep or two he found, i Some long-legged fowls, and p’rhaps a pair of goats : �JON DUAN. ------- —... —~—.-------------------- ,------------------- ---- Inside, nor roofs, nor walls, nor windows sound— They’re worse than huts of Sclaves, or Czechs, or Croats : So lives, and will live, till lairds’ hearts grow softer, That remnant of the feudal days, the crofter. xv. He pays but little rent, but even then Body and soul he scarce can keep together: His wife and daughters have to work like men, Subsistence hangs on such a fragile tether; And when the snow comes drifting up the glen, God knows how they survive the wintry weather. We fuss about the happy South Sea Islanders, But have no thought for these half-starving Highlanders. XVI. He walked through tracts of country—countless acres,— White men ejected that red-deer may live ; And let to rich and purse-proud sugar-bakers, Who care not what the rent is that they give ; Nor that they have been desolation-makers,— To use a very mild appelative— And when he saw these forests so extensive, Those Highland deer, thought he, were too ex­ pensive. XVII. Sport is a proper thing enough—we are No weak and sickly sentimentalists ; But what is sport ? For very, very far The definitions differ : one insists It’s battue-shooting; then, a butcher, bar None, is the greatest sportsman that exists— He’s slaughtering always ; not a lord whose study It is to make big bags, is half as bloody. XVIII. A slaughter-house would be a new delight For high-born ladies who “ warm corners visit,5’ And relish pigeon-shooting—’twould excite Fresh joys to see a pig stuck, and to quiz it As it dies slowly with a squeal of fright ; For if they like the killing so, why is it They draw the line at pigeon or at pheasant ?— To see big beasts killed would be still more pleasant. 83 �84 JON DUAN. XIX. But to our muttons, that is, to our deer— Stalking the stag is proper sport, we grant ; But British sport should never interfere With British people’s welfare—if we can’t Hunt deer unless a country-side’s made drear And desolate,—why, then it’s clear, we shan’t Be acting properly to make a waste To suit a few rich sportsmen’s vulgar taste. xx. John Duan heard sad tales of men being turned From ’neath their treasured and ancestral roof; And sheep by thousands could be kept, he learn’d, Where now, save for the deer, there roams no hoof ;— He look’d on ruin’d homes, and his heart burned With indignation, as he saw fresh proof Of how the man, with money in his hand, Can rough-shod ride o’er all the privileged land. * XXI. And he came back to England, his heart burning To tell his story in the Daily News ; Resolved to stay this very general turning Of fertile land to desert : but his views Met with but faint encouragement ;—discerning I® Men thought him right : but, just then, to amuse The public, there came up a new sensation—Sir Henry Thompson’s paper on Cremation. XXII. So, up in Scotland there are, still, evictions, And still all else gives way to sport a»d game : No matter how severe are the inflictions On harmless people : still it is the same. There must be deer and grouse ; and soon in fictions Alone will live the Highlander’s proud name. Perish the people, and whate’er would war With rich and selfish pleasures—Vive le Sport ! * It is worthy of record that a’ Scotch nobleman, whose large estate is, by dint of wholesale evictions and purposed neglect, being turned into deer-forests—called forests, seem­ ingly, because they do not contain a single tree—has been able, by the exercise of his lordly will, to prevent the post­ office telegraph-wires passing over a part of his property, where, for the convenience of hundreds of isolated people, it would have been especially useful. His lordship's most urgent argument against the wires was that they would frighten his grouse ! The wires have accordingly made a détour, and his lordship's unfortunate tenants are left prac­ tically cut off from the world, to get ill, and get well again, as best they can, and to die without being able to make a sign. Meanwhile, the grouse are not frightened—which is, of course, a great blessing. �JON DUAN. Canto The Eighth. 1. iHss^gji FRAGRANT odour of the choicest weeds, A hum of voices, pitched in high-born tones ; A score of fellows, some of our best breeds, The Heir-apparent to the British throne ; Soft-footed flunkeys tending to their needs— The vintage in request, to-night, is Beaune— Luxurious lounging-chairs, well-stuffed settees, An air of lavishness, and taste, and ease. II. The walls are covered with a set of frames Containing all the members limned by “ Ape”; The loungers bear our most illustrious names, At which the outside public gasp and gape. That is a duke’s son who just now exclaims— “ Avaunt, ye ‘ World’ly and unholy shape ! ” And he who enters, being the “ shape ” he means, Is little Labby, fresh from City scenes. III. There is more chatter: — “ How are ‘Anglo's' now ?”— “Were you at Prince’s Isn’t Amy stunning ? ”— “ The bets are off.”—“.She waltzes like a cow.”— “ It’s Somerset is making all the running.”— “Churchill’s on guard.”—“ 0, yes, a devilish row! ”— “ It’s in the World?—“ I say, Wales, Yorke is punning.”— “The framjous muff!”—“By Jove! an awful joke!”— Such are the words that penetrate the smoke. IV. Guelpho is beaming, as he always beams, And listening to Jon Duan’s latest “ tips”; Upon a sofa Wodecot lies and dreams Of other hearts, and Nellie’s charming lips ; The air with pretty little scandals teems, Of men’s mistakes and pretty women’s slips. What looked you for within the sacred portals ?— The Guelpho Clubmen, after all, are mortals. V. ; Again the noiseless door swings open wide, And Coachington is with a loud roar greeted. 85 1 Is Bromley still by Bow? ” a witling cried, Before the new arrival could be seated; But he—he had sat down by Guelpho’s side— Said, “ I bought this outside,” and then repeated, From a broadsheet of ballads, ’midst much laughter, The “ Coster’s Carol ” you’ll find following after. • 'GIjc Cms'trr’ja Garni. 1. I may be rough an’ like 0’ that, But I ain’t no bloomin’ fool; An’ I’m rather up to what is what, Though I never goed to school. I know my way about a bit, An’ this is what I say :—■ That it’s those as does the business As ought to get the pay ! 2. I ain’t no grudge agen the Queen, Leastways, that is, no spite ; But I helps to keep her, so I mean To ax for what’s my right:— An’ as she won’t come out at all, It’s not no ’arm to say, That if she don’t do the business, Why, she shouldn’t get the pay. * 0 She’s livin’ on the cheap, I’m told. An’ puttin’ lots away— Some gets like that when they is old— But what I want’s fair play ! Let Wictoria get her pension, An’ up in Scotland stay— But let them as do her business, Be the ones to get most pay. 4I think as ’ow her eldest son ’As got a hopen ’art; I likes his looks, myself, for one, An’ I alius takes his part. And then there’s Alexandrar, She’s a proper sort, I say ; Them’s the two as do the business, An’ they ought to get the pay. • �JON DUAN. 86 5. There ain’t to me the slightest doubt (An’ no hoffence I means)—• ’Tis the moke as draws the truck about, As ought to get most greens. We do not starve the old ’uns, But we give much less to they— ’Tis the ones as do the business As ought to have the pay« > 6. I pay my whack for queen or king, Like them o’ ’igher birth ; An’ ’taint a werry wicked thing To want my money’s worth : An’ if I’m discontented, ’Tis only ’cause I say— That the coves as does the business . Ought to get the bloomin’ pay. • 7So let the Queen her ways pursoo, An’ I for one won’t weep ; An’ all the idle Jarmints, too, As I helps for to keep. But what I ’ope ain’t treason, Is boldly for to say That the Prince and Alexandrar Ought to get their mother’s pay. VI. “ What impudence 1 ” they cry, and yet they laugh, And Duan says, “ The logic isn’t bad : A lot of truth is sometimes mixed with chaff. And, by-the-by, if’t please you, I will add A parody I’ve made : on its behalf I claim your leniency.” Then he gave tongue, And in his rich, ripe voice these verses sung :— €I)at (Germans 3)£h>. London, 18'74. Which I wish to remark— And my language is plain— That for ways that are dark, And tricks far from vain, The Germany Jew is peculiar, Which the same I’m about to explain. Eim Gott was his name ; And I shall not deny In regard to the same, He was wonderful “ fly,” But his watch-chain was vulgar and massive, And his manner was dapper and spry. It’s two years come the time, Since the mine first came out; Which in language sublime It was puffed all about:— But if there’s a mine called Miss Emma I’m beginning to werry much doubt. Which there was a small game And Eim Gott had a hand In promoting ! The same He did well understand But he sat at Miss Emma’s board-table, With a smile that was child-like and bland. Yet the shares they were “ bulled,” In a way that I grieve, And the public was fooled, Which Eim Gott, I believe, Sold 22,000 Miss Emmas, And the same with intent to deceive. And the tricks that were played’ By that Germany Jew, And the pounds that he made Are quite well known to you. But the way that he flooded Miss Emma Is a “watering” of shares that is new. Which it woke up MacD------ , And his words were but few. For he said, “ Can this be ? ” And he whistled a “ Whew !” “ We are ruined by German-Jew swindlers”!— And he went for that Germany J ew. In the trial that ensued I did not take a hand ; But the Court was quite filled With the fi-nancing band, And Eim Gott was “ had ” with hard labour, For the games he did well understand. Which is why I remark— And my language is plain— That for ways that are dark, And for tricks far from vain. The Germany Jew was peculiar,— But he won’t soon be at it again. �JON DUAN. VII. The verdict was “ Not bad ! ” and then the chat Turned on the Mordaunt Trial and Vert-Vert case :— “ The plaintiff’s 1 Fairlie ’ beaten,” Jon said ; at Which witticism there was a grimace ; Next, little Labby, who till then had sat Quite quietly, said, at Fred Bates’s place He’d seen a skit, he quite forgot to bring it, But knew the words, and if they liked, he’d sing it. “ 3E im'tlj (grant.” “ I was with Grant----- ” the stranger said ; Said McDougal, 11 Say no more, But come you in—I have much to ask— And please to shut the door.” “ I was with Grant----- ” the stranger said; Said McDougal, “Nay, no more,— You have seen him sit at the Emma board ? Come, draw on your mem’ry’s store. “ What said my Albert—my Baron brave, Of the great financing corps ? I warrant he bore him scurvily ’Midst the interruption’s roar ! ” “No doubt he did,” said the stranger then ; “ But, as I remarked before, I was with Grant----- ” “Nay, nay, I know,” Said McDougal; “but tell me more. “ He’s presented another square 1—I see, You’d smooth the tidings o’er— Or started, perchance, more Water works On the Mediterranean shore ? “ Or made the Credit Foncier pay, Or floated a mine with ore ? Oh, tell me not he is pass’d away From his home in Kensington Gore !” “ I cannot tell,” said the unknown man, “ And should have remarked before, That I was with Grant—Ulysses, I mean— In the great American war.” End 87 Then McDougal spake him never a word, But beat, with his fist, full sore The stranger who’d been with Ulysses Grant, In the great American war. VIII. Then City men they most severely “ slated”— Chiefly the banking German Jew variety. How is it, Landford asked, cads, aggravated As they, have wriggled into good society ? And some one said their path to it is plated, And looked at Guelpho with assumed anxiety. But Guelpho, ever genial, smiled and said, “ Suppose we have some loo (unlimited).” IX. But Duan wouldn’t play, but said he’d read Some of the proofs of his new work instead ; At which there was a loud outcry, indeed, And soda corks assailed our hero’s head, Until he promised he would not proceed. “ And, by the way, J on,” Beersford said, “ I read That Lord and Dock’s new Annual was out.” Jon shrugged his shoulders, “ Yes,” he said, “no doubt, X. “ Very much out indeed ; 4t seems to me That Beeton’s statement was not far from true, For from internal evidence I see He could have had naught with their book to do. I know him, and whatever he may be, He is not vulgar ; knows a thing or two ; Has brains, in fact, and has not got to grovel In worn-out notions, but goes in for novel.” XI. And now for loo the cry was raised again, And there’s a general movement towards the door; And humming as he went the coster’s strain, Duan, with Guelpho, sought the second-floor. Said Coming K----- , “ Come, Duan, please refrain; Such sentiments, you know, I must deplore.” But Duan—“ It’s done ; we’ve put it to the nation— We’ve gone in for an Early Abdication !” OF J on Duan. �88 SPINNINGS IN TOWN Spinnings in Town. • i. Although unversed in lays and ways Byronic, And of Don Juan not a line have read, Although I’ve never touched the lyre Ionic, And even nursery-rhymes in prose have said, Yet for a change I’ll try the gentle Tonic Of verses, that must be with kindness read, And, being counselled by some good advisers, Will journey, too—but to see advertisers. II. For I have heard a murmur of fair sights, All to be seen within gay London town, Of robes delicious, bonnets gay as sprites, Cuirasses braided, and jet-spangled gown. Inventions useful, such as give delight To all good housewives (those that do not frown At novelty, or, when they’re asked to try it, Say, “ It looks very nice, but I shan’t buy it.”) hi. Not for such churlish souls, I sing the news— Not for the women who don’t care for dress ; Our sex’s armour ne’er did I refuse, And, without mauvaise honte, I will confess That, when I’m asked of two new gowns to choose, I do not take the one which costs the less, Unless ’tis prettier far ; and then I say, “ Admire your sposds moderation, pray !” IV. I am a Silkworm, spinner by profession, And make long yarns from very slender case, I love new things and pretty—this confession Alone should give me absolution’s grace From all who read my lines and my digression, Which I can’t really help—words grow apace— For I could write whole volumes on a feather, If I had not to put the rhymes together. v. Man’s dress is of man’s life a thing apart: To Poole or Melton he with calmness goes ; But woman’s toilette lies so near her heart, That ’tis with doubts, and fears, and many throes �BY THE i1ILK WORM. ! ' ’ ! i In visiting the rounds of shop and mart, That she selects a ribbon or a rose. Her fate in life doth oft depend, I ween, If she be struck with just that shade of green. VI. Beauteous Hibernia ! (Britons, do not frown At rhapsodies from one who owes her much) What could one do without a poplin gown, Whose folds take graceful form from every touch ? These lips have never pressed the Blarney 11 stone ”— No flattery ’tis to speak of fabrics such As are produced in Inglis-Tinckler factory— Oh dear me! all these rhymes are so refractory. VII. To Ireland, too, we owe a great invention ; For warmth and comfort in the wintry cold, The Ulster Coat is just the thing to mention, For driving to the covert, or be rolled In, for the morning train, or Great Extension Line Terminus, within its cosy fold, N or snow nor wet shall harm you, if but ye Buy Ulster Coats alone of John McGee. X. And for yourselves, who to the coverts go, In dog-cart neat, oft in the pouring rain, The Ulster Deer-Stalker’s a coat that so Will keep you dry, and save rheumatic pain. It useful is in travelling, to and fro The country station, and must prove a gain. ’Tis so becoming to a figure tall ! In fact, it suits all mankind, great and small. XI. Where to begin, and whither wend my way ! Shall I to Atkinson or Jay first go? Look at Black Silk Costumes sold cheap by Jay; Or view chairs, tables, carpets, row by row ; Inspect the “ Brussels, five-and-two,” or say, “ Prices of furniture I wish to know ; ” Look at the mirrors, view the marquet’rie, Gaze at the inlaid work, or wander free ? XII. Through gall’ries large, and through saloons light, vast, I cast a hasty glance on either hand, Rich carvings chaste, cretonnes so bright, and fast Colours. VIII. Say what you will about furs in cold weather, Sing of the warmth of seal skin as you please, ’Gainst cold, or ice, or snow, or all together, Give me the Ulster Overcoat of frieze ! Useful in Autumn, driving the heather; Safeguard in Winter against cough or sneeze ; But, as they imitate the Ulster Coat, See that the maker’s name (McGee) you note. * IX. Ladies’ Costumes, and Suits of Irish stuff, Windermere lining, soft, of every shade, Cuirasses matelasse see enough To turn the head of either wife or maid. I think no woman born could ever “huff” If in such lovely garments but arrayed, So, Fathers, Husbands, Brothers, try to find If Ladies’ Ulster Coats” won’t suit your womankind. * John G. McGee and Co., Belfast, Ireland. 89 I note enough to deck the land With CURTAINS, COVERS, that will surely last When Time has ta’en the pencil from this hand, Which strives to give a notion (somewhat faint) Of furniture that would tempt e’en a saint. XIII. Talk of Temptation ! just call in at Jay’s ! The London Mourning Warehouses, I mean, In Regent Street ; ’tis crowded on fine days With the élite of London, and the Queen Has patronised the house, and without lèseMajesté, I may mention she has seen Such crêpe of English and of foreign make, That from no other house she will it take. XIV. Yet at the present moment ’tis not crêpe, But SILK COSTUMES that I would bid all see (Six pounds sixteen !) of the last cut and shape The best Parisian models ! flowing free, --------------- - ----------------------------._____ .___________ _t �SPINNINGS IN TOWN 90 The graceful folds from dainty bows escape, Harmonious corsages with the skirts agree; See what a change French politics have made— Silks cost just double when they Nap. obeyed ! J XV. Then there’s another Jay, whose house full well Both English maids and New York matrons know ; “ The best store out for lingerie, du tell,” ’Tis near unto the mourning warehouse, so You can’t mistake the maison Samuel Jay, of high renown for brides’ trousseaux, Infants’ layettes, and morning toilettes cozy (For my part, I like cashmere, blue or rosy). XVI. Those who do mourn, or wish to compliment Acquaintances, connections, or their friends, Who do not care to see much money spent (For crape turns brown, and ravels at the ends), Should get the Albert Crape, an excellent Crape, good to look at; it intends To be the only crape used ; GOOD and cheap— Considerations strong for those who weep. XVII. Being close by, what hinders me to visit The Wanzer Company, Great Portland Street ?— The Little Wanzer, a machine exquisite— With such a lockstitch, sewing is a treat; It works away on any stuff, nor is it One of those kind whose stitching is not neat ; Though small, it sews as well as Wanzer D, Or Wanzer F—“ machine for family.” XVIII. Why trouble we to stitch by midnight taper, New cuffs and collars for our future wear, When we can buy our lingerie of PAPER, Each day put on a parure, white and fair? Collars,which keep their stiffness ’spite of vapour, Cuffs fit for maid and matron debonair. Collars and CUFFS, shirt-fronts for gentleman— These are in Holborn sold, by Edward Tann. xix. Holborn the High, number three hundred eight, There one can buy all kinds of paper things,— Japanese curtains, ws&jupons for state Occasions, ’broidered all in wheels and rings. The paper well doth ’broidery simulate, ’Tis raised and open; then the’re blinds and strings, Of paper all, most curious to view— Think of the saving in the washing, too ! xx. How difficult it is to find out rhymes For Vose’s Portable Annihilator, Which gardens waters, fires checks betimes ! Or Loysel’s Hydrostatic Percolator For making coffee in,—oh Christmas chimes ! I can’t find any rhyme except Equator, And that means naught: I want the world to know it, They’re made at Birmingham by Griffiths, Browett. xxi. Respite is near, or surely I’d be undone; ’Tis one o’clock, and time to have some lunch. Where shall I turn ? Of course unto the London, Where, in the Ladies’ Room, we find Fim, Punch, To while the time we spend on things so mundane (As well as other papers), while we munch Good things, and menus gay and cartes unravel, Learn that the restaurant is kept by Reed and Cavell. xxii. The London Restaurant is famed for dinners, (The London is in Fleet Street, by the way, Close unto Temple Bar); too good for sinners, By far the dinner that is set each day. I took my lads there when not out of “ pinners,” The first time that they ever saw a play. When children go to see the Pantomime, ’Tis at The London they should stop and dine. XXIII. The SKATING SUITS for ladies next claim my Attention, for the weather’s very cold; �91 BY THE SILKWORM. These suits are useful both for wet and dry Weather, and draped are in graceful fold, Shorter or longer, looped up low or high, Forming jupons by means of ribbons’ hold ;— And these costumes, accompanied by muff To match, and edged with fur, are warm enough XXIV. To keep each joliefrileuse free from harm, E’en in Siberia’s frozen climate drear; Where everlasting snows keep endless calm, And toes are nipped up in a way that here We cannot comprehend, nor guess what charm Keeps men alive, far from all they hold dear— I’m sure that I should die could I not meet A friend and go to shop in Conduit Street. xxv. Where, by the bye, ladies will always find, At Benjamin’s, cloth habits to their taste ; And will discover, if they have a mind, Most useful pleated skirts, in which a waist (That’s pretty in itself) looks most refined, And tapers from the folds, if neatly laced. Dear dames, if you will give my words fair weight, Call in Conduit Street at Number Thirty-eight. xxvi. But if indeed, you will “Take my Advice,” As well as all “Things that you ought to KNOW,” You’ll go for Diaries and books so nice Unto James Blackwood’s, Paternoster Row, Where information’s given in a trice, On Pocket Books and Diaries, and so Cheap are these works that there is no excuse Left, if these diaries you do not use. xxviii. Auriferous visions on my eyeballs strike— No imitation, it must be real gold, This jewell’ry made by the Brothers Pyke ; Yet ’tis but Abyssinian, we are told; How difficult to credit! It’s so like To eighteen carat that we’re often “ sold.” As for pickpockets, I have heard that they Have left off stealing chains, finding they may XXIX. No profit get from Gold that is AS good As the real, veritable Simon Pure ; So, honest turn these rogues, once understood Among their set, that profits come no more.— With Abyssinian gold to clasp one’s hood, We safely stand at Covent Garden’s door; For many a thief has got in sad disgrace For gold made by The Pykes in Ely Place. xxx. To wear with Abyssinian Golden chain, A cheap and good watch you will get of Dyer, At Number Ninety, Regent Street; remain Till you have seen the watches you require, Superior Levers, patent keyless—gain, These watches don’t, or lose ; at prices higher You may have watches, but not better see Than Dyer’s Watches, Clocks, and Jewellery. xxxi. Oh, for the pen of Byron, or such a wight Who could help a poor rhymster in a fix I How can I e’er explain that Mr. Hight ’s invented a Revolving Cipher Disc. Easy to execute by day or night, Yet difficult to solve or to unmix The cipher, and from all suspicion clear ; Essentials held by Bacon and Napier. XXVII. But wherefore ask for clever Cooking Book, If open fires are seen where’er one roves, Or why on coloured illustrations look, If that we can’t have Solar cooking Stoves; Oh! joyful news for housewives and for cooks !— Portable, too, fancy a stove that moves Easily ! Yet these stoves are to be seen At Bishopsgate Street Within, at Brown and Green. - XXXII. To rest awhile from “ciphering” my brain, I turn to Pictures of fair Scenery— The Upper Alpine World—again, again, These visions fair by Loppe I would see : They’re shown in Conduit Street; and I would fain Return unto that lovely gallery— Pictures by Loppe please me so, I’m willing For six days in the week to pay my shilling. �92 SPINNINGS IN TOWN XXXIII. A shilling is a pretty little sum, And with three halfpence added, we can get Almost each PlLL that’s made ; let’s count them ; come And see if the long list I do know yet— I ought to, for the press is never dumb Upon the merits of the whole, round set; Thinking with Thackeray, that we shall find A favourite pill with each “ well-ordered mind.” XXXIV. First, Grains of Health must stand, because they’re new And TASTELESS, being COATED o’er with PEARL, I think they’re Dr. Ridge’s ; ’tis he who Gives us digestive biscuits fit for girl, Or infant delicate ; truth, there are few Dyspeptics who don’t take them. Where’s the churl Who will not try, to ease life’s many ills, A single remedy, say Roberts’ Pills. XXXV. Page Woodcock, too, has made a wondrous name For curing every ill that you may mention ; While Brodie’s cures (miraculous) the same For Corns and Bunions :—it wasmy intention To name Clarke’s Blood Mixture, of which the fame Is well established ; but I must my pen shun, If I go on like this : I really feel My hair turns grey while rhyming—where’s LaTREILLE ? XXXVI. Restoring and producing all one’s hair Within short time and on the baldest place : “ Waiting for copy ! ” is the cry, so there, I cannot mention half I would, with grace :— Wright’s Pilosagine, Eade’s Pills for pain in face— And yet I think ’twould really be a scandal If I omit the Hair Restorer : Sandell. xxxvii. For New Year’s Offering, and for Christmas Box, Rowland’s Odonto, and Macassar Oil, With Rowlands’ Kalydor, which really mocks Youth’s bloom, removing trace of time and toil. For Jewel-Safes and thief-detecting locks Try Chubb, his patent safes will always foil Both fire and thief, do with them all they can—■ A first-rate present for a gentleman ! XXXVIII. While for the ladies, surely you can’t err, To buy for them a Whight and Mann Ma­ chine, For hand or foot, indeed this will please her, Whom you denominate your household Oueen : But as some women dearly love to stir Abroad to choose their presents, then I ween, You will do well to take her some morn, To buy a new machine in famed Holborri. XXXIX. In Charles Street, number four, you’ll find that Smith And Co. have of MACHINES a various stock; There you can test machines and see the pith Of all their varied workings—chain and lock. ’ Oh, for the pen of Owen Meredith, That I no more with such bad rhymes need shock Your feelings ; but, remember, while you’re there, To look at Weir’s machines, also in Soho Square. XL. Taking one’s teeth out is a painful thing; — We don’t much like this parting with our bones;— But what if PAINLESS DENTISTRY I sing, Which all mankind can have from Mr. JONES? Of all the new inventions ’tis the king. Imagine teeth out, minus all the groans ! We’ll turn to other subjects, if you please, A GUINEA BUNCH of TWENTY-FIVE ROSE TREES. XLI. This is a Christmas-box for those who love Their gardens; and George Cooling’s nursery, Bath, Roses supplies in quantities above This number at a cheaper rate : he hath �93 BY THE SILKWORM. Collections good, as many prizes prove, Taken for roses for the bed or path. Another swift transition if you please, Go to H. Webber for your Christmas cheese. xlii. With cheese we want good wine; and, as the short Old-fashioned phrase is, “ Good wine needs no bush,” So I name simply Hedges-Butler’s PORT, Sure that when you your chair backward do push The vintage will not upon you retort With sudden seizure or with gouty rush. In fact, I’m told you may drink many pledges In wine that’s bought of Butler and of Hedges. xliii. How can I possibly find rhymes to fit The MAGNETICON, Or SYCHNOPHYLAX ; Even our well-beloved Ozokerit Candles, which do so much resemble wax, Not easy are to verse on ; I will quit These subjects, and try if Opoponax, Sweetest of perfumes, will not yield me any. Oh, yes ! here’s one—Piesse’s Frangipanni. XLIV. Piesse and Lubin an oasis make, All in the foggy air of New Bond Street; At number two, their resting place they take, Filling surroundings with their odours sweet. LlGN Aloes, Turkish pastiles for your sake, Oh, English maids, to make your charms com­ plete. Ladies, indeed, you will have cause to bless The labours skilled of Lubin and Piesse. xlv. No space is left of Bragg’s Carbon to speak, Or mention Stevenson’s new firewood ; To praise Slack’s spoons and forks would take a week, Or Crosby’s Elixir for cough so good ; Magnetine (Darlow’s patent for the weak), Or Barnard’s pretty novelties in wood ; The “ Eastern Condiment ” for our cold mutton, And Green and Cadbury’s the very button. xlvi. MOSES and SON require an annual quite Unto themselves to simply name their stock ; OetzmAnn’s carpets all the world delight, And scraps for SCREENS are sold by Jam&s Lock Chocolat Menier is the thing for night And morning meals. You can physicians mock If you but take—indeed I am not maline— A daily draught of the Pyretic Saline. xlvii. Who can explain why Stoneham, of Cheapside, Should of EACH SHILLING SPENT, THREEPENCE RETURN Unto the buyer? and in fact has tried, By this means, custom to his till to turn ; Succeeded, too : hath not the public hied To him, and “come” like butter in a churn. Pour moi, I feel so very, very cross, When in a crowd, that threepence gained is loss. XL VIII. Fleet’s Mineral Waters next demand a word ; Dietz and Co. have lamps not to be slighted— Where these burn grumbling tones are never heard— The largest room by Paragon’s well lighted. There are so many, that ’tis quite absurd, With Asser-Sherwin’s bags I am delighted ; Their wedding presents and their writing cases Will bring a blush of joy to merry faces. XLIX. In dear old Shakespeare I have often read Of 44 bourne from which no traveller returns,” And an idea will come into my head, Just think of never leaving Addley Bourne’s, Renowned for trousseaux and for cradle-beds, Infants’ layettes—fair robes de chambre—one learns Such trimmings, sees such treasures—willy, nilly, We can’t keep long away from Piccadilly. �SPINNINGS IN TOWN. 94 L. A change comes o’er the spirit of my dream, Where I have often stood I seem to stand, Sweet odours on my aching senses stream— I’m opposite to Rimmel in the Strand, Whose kindly influence on our homes doth beam, And fills with joy each child’s heart in the land, Where we behold his Christmas novelties, His perfumed almanacs, and such things as these: LI. The robin, and the toys for Christmas trees, The Comic Almanac and fan bouquet, Delicious scents and perfumes that do seize Upon the weary brain :—restore the gay And cheerful tone, and give the headache ease. All these we owe to him, who holdeth sway O’er all sweet scents ! Ye perfumed sachets tell This great magician’s name! It is—it is—Rimmel ! LII. And now my pen from weary hand doth fall, And with humility I lay aside A task which p’raps some spinners might appal; But pleasant has it been to me to glide From one to other subject, touching all With kindly hand, and what doth me betide At critic’s pen I care not, for the rest I’ve done,comme toujours, just my “level best.” The Silkworm. MYRA, late Editress of BEETONS “ YOUNG ENGLISHWOMAN." MYRA’S LETTERS on DRESS & FASHION. In Illustrated Wrapper. Containing Sixteen Pages, Large Quarto, size of the London Journal, Bow Bells, Qh’c. PRICE TWOPENCE, MONTHLY. PROPOSE to issue, every month, beginning next February, a Journal for Ladies, which shall contain Instruc­ tions and Advice in connection with Dress and Fashion. Several different departments will be necessary to make this Journal useful to the thousands of Ladies whom I hope to have as Subscribers or Correspondents. > Original Articles from Paris, contributed by Madame Goubaud, will appear, from which a knowledge will be gained of the newest Materials and coming Modes. Mademoiselle Agnes Verboom, long a Contributor to Mr. Beeton’S Fashion Journals here, and to the leading Lady’s Paper in America, will write a Monthly Letter on the Changes in Fashion. Diagrams, full-sized, for cutting out all kinds of Articles of Dress, will be issued every month ; and frequently Paper Models themselves will be issued with Myra’s Journal. From the Grand Magasin du Louvre, the first house in Paris, I shall receive bulletins of their latest Purchases, and accounts of what is most in vogue in the Capital of Fashion. For my. personal writing, I shall continue the same plan which I originated, under the name of Myra, in Mr. Beeton’s “Young Englishwoman.” Mr. Beeton no longer edits that Journal, and Myra's Letters will not appear there in future. My Letters there were so successful, and the Advice I was able to give seemed so prized by my Correspondents, that I believe I shall be doing some service by devoting the whole space of a Monthly Journal to the subjects of Taste and Economy in Dress, and the Alteration of Dress. I shall, therefore, every month, answer all Correspondents who seek information upon I WHAT DRESSES TO WEAR . AND HOW TO ALTER DRESSES. I will pay the most careful attention to any Letters sent me, so that I may answer enquiries with the closest and most exact details ; and whilst giving Instructions as .to the best Style of Dress and the Alteration of Dress, I shall be anxious to state what is not to be done, aS well as what is to be done, in the important matter of the Toilette. Letters from Correspondents received by me not later than the 20th of the month- will be answered in the next Myra’S Journal. But all enquiries should be made of me, as much as possible, at the beginning of the month, so as to give me ample time to obtain and prepare particular information on any knotty point. A Free Exchange, gratis, and open to all who have Articles to dispose of, or barter for others, will be opened in Myra's Journal. The Addresses of Exchangers must be printed, in order to have the benefit of the Free Exchange. Addresses, however, can be entered upon the payment of One Shilling in postage stamps, to defray necessary expenses. Rules in con­ nection with the Exchange will be found in Myra’s Journal. Some Ladies, on certain occasions, are anxious to receive immediately information as to what is the proper kind of Dress to Wear, or how to Alter the Dresses that they have. To serve these Ladies, I will state in writing, by return of post, what is the best course for them to take. When questions are thus asked for, to be answered by post, enquiries must be accom­ panied by twelve postage stamps, for expenses of various kinds which will naturally be incurred All Communications to be addressed to Myra, care of Weldon & Co., 15, Wine Office Court, London, E.C. J. OGDEN AND CO., PRINTERS, 17», ST. JOHN STRBST, LONDON, E.C. �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. ix INDIGESTION ! INDIGESTION!! J MORSON’S PREPARATIONS OF PEPSINE. See Name on Label. Highly Recommended by the Medical Profession. Sold in Bottles as Wine, at 35., 5L, and 9J.; Lozenges, zs. 6d. and 4s. 6d.-, Globules, 2j., 3^. 6d., and 6s. 6d.; and Powder in 1 oz. bottles, at 5-1. each, by all Chemists and the Manufacturers, T. MORSON & SON, Southampton Row, Russell Square, London. WHOLESALE & RETAIL MANUFACTURING 8TA TIONERS, 192, Fleet Street, and 1 & 2, Chancery Lane, London. The Sole Proprietors and Manufacturers of the VELLUM WOVE CLUB-HOUSE NOTE PAPER, Which combines a perfectly smooth surface with total freedom from grease. Relief Stamping reduced to is. per ioo. Illuminating and Die Sinking done by the Best Artists. .ZVb Charge for Plain Stamping. CHRISTMAS PRESENTS AND NEW YEAR’S GIFTS, An immense variety, suitable for every Age and every Class. HOUSEHOLD, OFFICE, COMMERCIAL, AND LEGAL STATIONERY, , Supplied 20 per cent, lower than any other House in the Trade. 192, FLEET STREET, AND 1 & 2, CHANCERY LANE, E.C. Established 1841. FUNERAL REFORM. 'pHE LONDON NECROPOLIS COMPANY, " * ■ as the Originators of the Funeral Reform, have published a small Pamphlet explanatory' of their system, which is simple, unostentatious, and inexpensive. It can be had gratis, or will be sent by post, upon application. Chief Office, 2, Lancaster Place, Strand, W.C. SOLID THIRST-QUENCHERS, Or Effervescing Lozenges, . Relieve the most intense Thirst, at the same time obviating the frequent desire for taking fluids. Price ij. • by Post, u. 2d. ' ’ W. T. OOOPEE, Patentee, 26, Oxford Street, London. EFFERVESCING ASTRINGENT VOICE LOZENGE. CRAINS OF HEALTH (Registered).—A Pearl Coated 1 • *.PlLRiT??iiessi A certdin Cure for Indigestion, Bilious and Liver Com­ plaints. Of all Chemists, at ij. 4«?. and ar. gd, per box. Used with the greatest success by Mdlle. Tietjens, Madame Marie Roze, and other distinguished Operatic Artistes. Do not produce dryness. Do not contain any irritant. Impart a most agreeable odour to the breath. Are perfectly harmless. �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. x FOR BREAKFAST. GRAND MEDAL AT THE VIENNA EXHIBITION. LOWEST PRICES. ~ " Patterns can be forwarded to the Country free. FIRST-CLASS DRAPERY. LOWEST PRICES. FIRST-CLASS SILKS. LOWEST PRICES. Patterns Post Free. FIRST-CLASS FURNITURE. LOWEST PRICES. An Illustrated Price List Post Free. ents can have the full advantageof Lowest London Prices by writing for Patterns, which will be forwarded Post Free. T. VENABLES & SONS, 103, 104, & 105, WHITECHAPEL, And 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, & 16, COMMERCIAL STREET, LONDON, E. Postal Address : T. Venables & Sons, 103, Whitechapel, London, E. A CHEERFUL HOME SECURED BY USING “THE WINDOW BLIND OF THE PERIOD.” This Blind has obtained an unimpeachable reputation for Elegance, Durability, and Economy in Window Space. It adorn.., enecrs, ul jeautifies the Palaces of the Nobility and the Mansions of the Gentry in all parts of the World. It Fixes in Less than Half the Space of a Wood Blind. SEE IT AT ONCE. Send for a Sample Lath, Price Lisi, and Testimonials, which ■will be forwarded free on application to the Patentees. HODKINSON & CLARKE, Who. are the only Corrugated Metallic Window Blind Manufacturers in the World. Best House for all kinds of Sun Blinds. Canada Works, Small Heath, Birmingham, And 2, Chiswell Street, Finsbury Square, London, E.C. THE ROYAL GALVANIC BATH, 55, Marylebone Road, N.W., close to Baker Street Station. These celebrated Galvanic Baths have been proved to be wonderfully efficacious, both as Hygienic and Curative Agents. They are soothing, tonic, and invigorating in their action, and have a specific effect upon all disorders of the nervous and muscular systems. They can be applied without pain or shock, and be adjusted with the greatest nicety to suit age, sex, and constitution. TARIFF OF PRICES. Subscription for 12 First-Class Bath Tickets .......... ,£4 45. Single Galvanic Bath.................................................... 85. The Baths are open daily from 9 to 6 (Sundays excepted). x^xiE OF WIGHT. RECOMMENDED BY EMINENT PHYSICIANS. HOPGOOD & CO.’S NUTRITIVE & SEDATIVE CREAM FOR THE HAIR, HAS THE TESTIMONY OF Eminent Physicians to its “ surprising ” and “ unfailing success.” In Bottles at 1/6, 2/-, 2/6, 3/6, 5/-, 6/6, and 11/- each. (~)UT on the Waters, Ocean, River, or Lake; in Steamer, Ship, Yacht, Yawl, Boat, Canoe, or other craft. Wherever self-help is a condition, THE PORTABLE KITCHENERS, supplied at No 11, Oxford Street, obtain for the possessor in all culinary operations ample and speedy Services. Breakfast or Tea, with Eggs and Bacon, Chops, Kidney, Sausage, &c., &c., for one-to three'or four persons, in Ten to Twenty Minutes. Dinner for ditto in Tweljve to Thirty Minutes. Fire, without fuel ! No dirt! No nuisance ! Available in Cabin or on Deck, on River Bank, in Railway Carriage, on Tour, Excursion, or Picnic; in Sanctum, Office, Chamber, Study, Boudoir, or Mountain top. Anywhere and instantly, under any circum­ stances. Price for one person, complete, 5s.; for two, ys. 6d.; for three, 105. 6d. to 13s. 6d.; for four, 185. 6d., 21s., or 255. 6d. Failure or disappointment absolutely unknown. Also THE POCKET KITCHENER, now familiarised all the world over, 35. gd. Also, THE COMRADE COOKING STOVE, for Home Service, for Jungle, Backwoods, Bush, Prairie, Gold or Dia­ mond Fields, &c., &c., los. fid. Ditto, in Japanned Case (occupying less space than a hat-box), with fifteen to twenty-five utensils, 175. fd. to 255.6^. Invented and sold Export, Wholesale, and Retail, by THOMAS GRE VILLE POTTER, Stella Lamp Depot, Full of Instructions about Seeds and Plants, with Parti­ culars of everything relating to Gardening. Price Is., Post Free. No 11, Oxford Street, near “The Oxford.” Send for Catalogtie, interesting as a Novel. HOOPER & CO, Couent Garden, London. �gp—-------- ---------—- �JON DUAN AD VERTISEMENTS. xii DARLOW & CO.’S Original Patent, 1866. IMPROVED PATENT FLEXIBLE MAGNETIC APPLIANCES. The ever-increasing success of Messrs. DARLOW & CO.’S MAGNETIC Appliances during the past EIGHT YEARS, is evidence of their apprecia—------ ~ Improved Patent 1873 tion by the public, and the testimony of gentlemen of the highest standing in medical Profession is that MAGNETINE far surpasses all other inventions of a similar character for curative purposes. mISnETINE is unique ata PERFECTLY FLEXIBLE MAGNET. It is an entirely original indention oiJlL^rs. DARI OW &CO improved by them on their previous invention patented in 1866, and possessing qualities which cannot be found in any other magnetic substance. It is soft, light, and durable-entirely elastic, perfectly flexible through­ out, and permanently magnetic.___________ _ ______ _ ________ _____ arlow D & co.’s TES TIMON I A L . magnetine appliances are now freely recommended by some of the most emi­ From Garth Wilkinson, Esq., M.D., M.R.C.S.E. nent in the medical profession, from the established fact of their 76, Wimpole Street, Cavendish square, London, W. power to afford both relief and cure to the exhausted nervous W. Darlow, Esq. F. March 17, 1874. _ system; also in Incipient Paralysis and Consumption, Sir,—I am able to certify that I have used your Magnetic Loss of Brain and Nerve power, and in cases of Appliances pretty largely in my practice, and that in personal convenience to my patients they are unexceptionable, and far GOUT and RHEUMATISM, SPINAL, LIVER, superior to any other inventions of the kind which I have KIDNEY, LUNG, THROAT, and CHEST employed ; and that of their efficacy, their positive powers, I COMPLAINTS, GENERAL DEBILITY, INDI­ have no doubt. I have found them useful in constipation, in GESTION, HERNIA, SCIATICA. NEURALGIA, abdominal congestion, in neuralgia, and in many cases involving BRONCHITIS, and OTHER FORMS of NERV­ weakness of the spine, and of the great organs of the abdomen. OUS and RHEUMATIC AFFECTIONS. In the public interest I wish you to use my unqualified testimony The adaptation of these appliances is so simple that a child in favour of your Magnetic Appliances. can use them ; and so gentle, soothing, and vitalising is their I remain, yours faithfully, action, that they can be placed on the most delicate invalid Garth Wilkinson, M.D., M.R.C.S.E. without fear of inconvenience. _____ __________ DARLOW & CO., 435, WEST STRAND, LONDON, W.C., Nearly opposite Charing Cross Station, three doors east of the Lowther Arcade. Descriptive Pamphlets pest free.} _____________________ [Illustrated Price Lists fastfree. “BREATHES THERE A MAN.”—Scott. OUT AND RHEUMATISM.—The excruciating pain of Gout or Rheumatism is quickly relieved,and cured in a few days by that celebrated Medicine, BLAIR'S GOUT AND RHEUMATIC PILLS. They require no restraint of diet or confinement during their use, and are certain to prevent the disease attacking any vital part. Sold at it. and 2s. gd. per Box by all Medicine Vendors. G T FRAM PTON’S^PILlToF^HEALTH. HIS excellent Family Medicine is the most Breathes there a man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, “To have moustaches would be grand;” Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, As o’er the paper he hath turned, And Wright’s advertisement hath scanned If such there be, go, mark him well, And in his ears the good news tell: PILOSAGINE has gained a name, All who have tried it own its fame ; While thousands prove its great renown By the moustaches they have grown, Whiskers and beards on many a face Their origin to it can trace. It contains neither oil nor grease, And now, forsooth, our rhyme must cease. But what, you ask, is the expense? ’Tis sent post free for eighteenpence. Wright and Co., Pilosagine Manufactory, Hull. effective remedy for indigestion, bilious and liver, com­ plaints, sick headache, loss of appetite, drowsiness, giddiness, spasms, and all disorders of the stomach and bowels ; and, where an occasional aperient is required, nothing can be better adapted. For Females these Pills are truly excellent, removing all obstructions, the distressing headache so very prevalent with the AA7HISKERS, MOUSTACHES, &c., guaranteed by sex, depression of spirits, dulness of sight, nervous affections, VV PILOSAGINE. Price is. (>d., of all Chemists (by post blotches, pimples, and sallowness of the skin, and give a healthy 18 stamps), a liquid free from oil and grease. Before purchasing any bloom to the complexion. preparation send add ress for Testimonials and Treatise (gratis). Whole­ sale : Sanger & Son s, London; Lofthouse & Saltmer, Hull. Sold by all Medicine Vendors, price ts. Vfd. and 2s. gd. per Box. WRIGHT & CO., Filosagine Manufactory, Hull. FREEMAN’S CHLORODYNE the original and only genuine Considered by the Faculty one of the greatest discoveries of the century. FREEMAN’S CHLORODYNE is the best remedy known for Coughs, Consumption, Bronchitis, and Asthma. ,, , , , , FREEMAN’S CHLORODYNE effectually checks and arrests those too often fatal diseases-Diphtheria, Fever, Croup, and Ague. . FREEMAN’S CHLORODYNE acts like a charm in Diarrhoea, and is the only specific in Cholera and Dysentery. FREEMAN'S CHLORODYNE effectually cuts short all attacks of Epilepsy, Hysteria, Palpitation, and Spasms. .................. FREEMAN'S CHLORODYNE is the only palliative in Neuralgia, Rheumatism, Gout. Cancer, Tooth-ache, Meningitis, &c. FREEMAN’S CHLORODYNE rapidly relieves pain from whatever FREEMAN’S CHLORODYNE allays the irritation of Fever, soothes the system under exhausting diseases, and gives quiet and refreshing sleep. IMPORTANT Caution.—Four Chancery Suits terminated in favour of FREE­ MAN'S ORIGINAL Chlorodyne. Lord Chancellor Selborne, Lord Justice James, Lord Tustice Mellish, and Vice-Chancellor Sir W. Page Wood (now Lord HatherIey) all decided in its favour, and against the proprietors of J. Collis Browne s, con­ demning their conduct, and ordering them to pay all costs of the suit» Sold by ait Chemists, in Bottles at is. fd.; 2 oz., 2s. gd.; 4 oz., 4s. 6d.; 10 oz., ui.; and 20 oz., 20s. each. CAUTION. —Beware of Piracy, Spurious Imitations, and Fraud. GOOD for the cure of WIND on the STOMACH, GOOD for the cure of INDIGESTION. GOOD for the cure of SICK HEADACHE, GOOD for the cure of HEARTBURN. GOOD for the cure of BILIOUSNESS, GOOD for the cure of LIVER COMPLAINT. JU GOOD for all COMPLAINTS arising from a disordered state of the STOMACH, BOWELS, or LIVER. Sold by all Medicine Vendors, in Boxes, at ij. ifid., 2s. gd., and 4s. 6d. each ; or, free for 14, 33, or 54 from PAGE D. WOODCOCK, “Lincoln House, St. Faith’s, Norwich. ��JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. xiv JOHN STEVEN, Bookseller, ~ 304, STRAND, W.G., Opposite St. Mary’s Church; AND 28, Booksellers’ Row, and 11, Hotel Buildings, Strand. BOOKS IN EVERYZLASS^OF LITERATURE: General, School, Classical, and Foreign,. An immense variety, at liberal Discount Terms. SCREENS. SCRAPS FOR SCREENS & SCRAP-BOOKS. A LARGE COLLECTION OF COLOURED A SCRAPS, BORDERS, &c., FOR SCREENS. Sug­ Flowers, Figures, Fruit, Birds, and Landscapesin, great variety, from II per sheet• i doz. assorted, iol 6d.; or in rolls 2Il, 42L, 63L gestions offered as to arrangement of Subjects. Screens made to Order, Varnished, or Repaired. The Cheapest House, with the greatest variety of Chromos, Engravings, Coloured Lithographs. WILLIAM BARNARD, 119, Edgware Road., London. WHITE WOOD ARTICLES, PICTURE FRAMES OF EVERY DESCRIPTION, For Painting, Fern-printing, and Decalcomanie. At the Lowest Prices. JAMES W. LOCK,Dealer in Works of Art,&o. Hand-Screens, Book-Covers ; Glove, Knitting, and Hand­ kerchief Boxes; Paper-Knives, Fans, &c. Priced List on Application. 14, Booksellers’ Row, Strand, London. WILLIAM BARNARD, 119, Edgware Road, London. VALENTINES! VALENTINES!! The Largest Valentine Manufacturers in the World. THE NEW BALL-ROOM, CHRISTMAS, AND VALENTINE FANS, “ Registered.” Just Published (highly Perfumed), price 6d., per post, id. The Largest Manufacturers in the World of Christmas Stationery, &c. LONDON LACE PAPER AND VALENTINE COMPANY. J. T. WOOD & CO., 278, 279, & 280, Strand. Manufactory, Clare Court. THINGS YOU OUGHT TO KNOW CLEARLY EX­ PLAINED Containing Thing’s Social, Personal, Profitable, Scientific, Sta­ tistical, Curious, and Useful. By ONE WHO KNOWS. With a copious Index and Diagrams. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2J". 6d, (Post free). TAKE MY ADVICE. 1 A Book for Every Home, giving complete and trustworthy Information on everything pertaining to Daily Life. Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, 360 pp. Fifteenth Thousand, zs., wrapper printed in colours ; or in cloth, 2X. (Post free). THE ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN, an Oxford Freshman. By CUTHBERT BEDE, B.A. Hundreds of Illustra­ tions by th 1 Author, noth Thousand 3-r., or 31-. 6d. in cloth (Post free). London: JAMES BLACKWOOD & CO., 8, Lovell’s Court, Paternoster Row. BLACKWOOD’S DIARIES, 1875. BLACKWOOD’S SHILLING SCRIBBLING DIARY, Seven Days on each page, interleaved with Blotting Paper, ij., fcap. folio. Size 13 Dy inches. *• The best and cheapest of its kind ”—Civil Service Gazette. BLACKWOOD’S THREE-DA Y DIARY. Three Days on each page. Price ij. 6t/. Size 13 by 8j inches. With Blotting, 2j. BLACKWOOD’S POCKET-BOOK AND DIARY, for Ladies, Gentlemen, and National, u. each, in leather. Special Information. .¿Don't take any substitute, if offered. London: JAMES BLACKWOOD & CO., 8, Lovell's Court, Paternoster Row. A few Copies to be had of “THE COMING K----- and “THE SILIAD.” Apply to the Publishers of “Jon Duan,” 15, Wine Office Court, Fleet Street. �uced by Gillotype process. J Tom *T‘wl.tu^jT-^Bimeat, I tell you,” saidthe Giant. [Ageuf, A. Maxon. �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. xvi I AT H AM'SSHK I -, POLYTCCH NI C ^AMUSEMENTS. ! ARE THE BEST PRESENTS FOR YOUTH. They combine Science with Play, Knowledge with Amusement, and afford end­ less Pastime for Holidays and Evenings. A Choice Selection of Novelties suitable for the above occasions. Statham’s Box of Chemical Magic contains materials and direc­ tions for performing 50 and 100 instructive Experiments, ix., ss. 6d.; by post, u. 2d., 2s. gd. Statham’s Youth’s Chemical Cabinets, with Book of Experiments, 6s., 8s., 11s., and 15X. 6d. Statham’s Student’s Chemical Cabinets, for studying Chemistry, Analysing, Experimenting, &c., 2ix., 3U 6d., 42s, 63X., 84X., aiox. Agent for Joseph Rodgers ’ & Sons celebrated Outlery. Statham’s “ First Steps in Chemistry,” containing 145 Experimeats, 6d. ; by post, 7<Z. Statham’s “ Panopticon ” (or see everything). No. i., 25$.; No. 2. E. N. PEARCE, (from 77, Cornhill) Albert Buildings, Queen Victoria St., E.C. Statham's Electrical Sets, 42X., 6gx , 105J. Electrotype Sets, ys. 6d., xos. 6d.t 21s., 42s. Youth's Microscopes, xos. 6d., 21s., 42s. Student's Microscopes, 63X., 105X., 210X. Geological Cabinets, jr. 6d., js. (td., 25J. Conjurer s Cabinets, js. 6d., 15X., 21s. Model Steam Engines, Ci., iox. 6d., 2ix., 42J. Magic Lanterns, with 12 Slides, ys. 6d., 10s. 6d., 21j., &c. Printing Press (with type, ink &c.), 6s. 6d.t 8x., i2X., 14$. 6d.ix6s.i 24X. Sendfor Illustrated Catalogue of above and numberless other EDUCATIONAL TOYS, SCIENTIFIC MODELS, GAMES, &c. (Near Mansion House Station.) W. STATHAM, no%, Strand, London. BARTHOLOMEW & FLETCHER, 217 & 219, TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD. DRAWING ROOM SUITES . . From IO Guineas to £50. DININGROOM SUITES 12 „ to £80. BED ROOM SUITES ....,, 8 „to 1OO. Estimates Free. Every Article Guaranteed. GENERAL HOUSE FURNISHERS. HEALTH'! STRENGTH 1 ! ENERGY ! ! 1 PEPPER’S QUININE AND IRON TONIC. HOLLOWAY’SPILLS pEPPER’S QUININE AND IRON TONIC Purifies and enriches the Blood. Sir SAMUEL BAKER, fo Ms work on the Sources of the Nile, says:— “ I ordered my dragoman Mahomet to inform the Faky that I was “ a doctor, and that I had the best medicines at the service of the ** sick, with advice gratis. In a short time I had many applicants, “ to whom I served out a quantity of Holloway’s Pills. These are “ most useful to an explorer, as, possessing unmistakable purgative “ properties, they create an undeniable effect upon the patient, which “ satisfies him of their value.” This fine Medicine cures all disorders of the Liver, Stomach, Kidneys and Bowels, is a Great PURIFIER of the BLOOD, and wonderfully efficacious in aU ailments incidental to Females. In WEAKNESS and DEBILITY, a powerful invigorator of the system. EPPER’S QUININE AND IRON TONIC Strengthens the Nerves and Muscular System._______________________ _ EPPER’S QUININE AND IRON TONIC Promotes Appetite and Improves Digestion.__________________________ _ EPPER’S QUININE AND IRON TON IC Animates the Spirits and Mental Faculties. ___ PEPPER’S QUININE AND IRON TONIC, in Scrofula, Wasting Diseases, Neuralgia, Sciatica, Indigestion, Flatulence, Weakness of the Chest and Respiratory Organs, Ague, Fevers of all kinds. ______________________________ __ PEPPER’S" QUININE AN D~IRON TON IC, for Delicate Females and weakly, ailing Children. ________ PEPPER’S QUININE AND IRON TONIC thoroughly Recruits the General Bodily Health. Is sold by Chemists everywhere, in capsuled bottles, 45. 6d. and us.,and in stone jars, 225. each. For protection be sure the Name, Address, and Trade Mark of JOHN PEPPER, «87, Tottenham Court Road, London, is on the Label. Any Chemist will procure it to order, but do not be prevailed on to try any other com­ pound. _ _________________________________________________ . LOCKYER’S SULPHUR HAIR RESTORER will completely restore, in a few days, grey hair to its original colour, without injury. The Hair Restorer is the best ever offered for sale; thoroughly cleanses the head from scurf, and causes the growth o< rew hair. It is soid everywhere by Chemists and HairDressers, in Targe bottles, at is. 6d. each. Important Notice to all who wish to preserve “Jon Duan.” A HANDSOME COVER FOR BINDING THIS ANNUAL, Specially designed, in cloth and gold, is now ready, price 2s., postage free, and may be had through any Bookseller, or of the Publisher, Weldon & Co., 15, Wine Office Court, Fleet Street, E.C._________ __ ANTIQUEPOINLaNDHONITON LACE. BY MRS. TREADWIN. "Contains full and clear directions on Lace Making, Lace Joining, and Lace Cleaning.” PRICE lOs. 6d. MRS. TREA.DWIN, 5, Cathedral Yard, Exeter. ��xviii yON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. A BEAUTIFUL SET OF TEETH. JOHN GOSN ELL & CO.’S o c-t O W s b Q> b Q O 02 K * ir t“1 & Q O SQ >3 >3 N b b Thames St., London I THE MAGNETICON, PATENTED. WETTON’S Patent Magnetic Belts, Lung Invigorators, Chest Protectors, Throat Pro­ tectors, Spine Bands, Anklets, Wristlets, Knee Caps, Friction Gloves, &c. &c., for Liver, Kidney, Spinal, and Chest Complaints, and all forms of Nervous and Rheumatic Afflictions. The Appliances, which are made up of light comfortable materials, such as flannel, silk, merino, and velvet, are powerfully Magnetic, and supply gentle and continuous currents of ELECTRICITY, withoutthe aid of batteries, chains, or acids. They are worn oyer the under-clothing, require no preparation, give no shocks, and generate no sores. Little or no sensation is experienced, unless it be the glow of returning health ; and experience has proved that the Appliances may be worn with much benefit and perfect safety by infants or the most delicate invalids. Prices, jr. to 50J. Those whose names are appended have kindly consented to aillow the same to be published, as a guarantee of the genuineness of '‘THE MAGNETICON.” Their reasons for testifying to the great curative properties of "THE MAGNETICON " are derived either from their own experience or from their knowledge of the benefits which others have received. The Dowager Lady Palmer, Dorney House, Windsor. The Rev. R. A. Knox, M.A., Rector of Shobrooke, Devon. C. R. Woodford, Esq., M.D., Marlborough House, Ventnor. Charles Lowder, Esq., M.D., Lansdowne House, Ryde. The Rev. A. Morton Brown, LL.D., Minister of the Congregational Church, Cheltenham. Thos. J. Cottle, Esq., M.R.C.S., L.S. A., Pulteney Villa, Cheltenham. E. P. Bulkeley, Esq., Strathdum, Cheltenham. I._S. Aplin, Merchant, Yeovil. Lieut.-Col. C. W. Hodson, 25, Priory Street, Cheltenham. The Rev. J. Wilkinson, Stanwell House, Ventnor. Henry Hopkins, Esq., Ph.D., M.A., F.C.P., formerly Principal of Sumner Hill School, Birmingham, and Author of several Educationa Works, 14, Belvedere, Bath, The Rev. R. Williamson, The Manse, Waltham Abbey. Mr. C. S. M. Lockhart, M.B.A.A., Author of the “ Centenary Me­ morial of Sir Walter Scott.” The Rev. J. B. Talbot, Secretary and Founder of “The Princess Louise Home,” Woodhouse, Wanstead. Arthur S. Mbdwin, Esq., 28, George Street, Euston Square, London. Mrs. Ginevkr, Kingsdown Orphan Home, 12, Kingsdown Road, Upper Holloway, London. For additional nc les see Pamphlet. WETTON & CO., 9, Upper Baker Street, Portman Square, London. A 48-page Illustrated Pamphlet, containing numerous Testimonials, a Lecture on Magnetism and Health by Professor HAGARTY, and full particulars of " THE MAGNETICON,” may be had on application, or will be forwarded post free. _ A copy of ‘ The Magnetic Review: a Record of Curative Electric Science and Journal of Health, published by Wetton and Co., 9, Upper Baker Street, will also be forwarded post free. �yCw WAN ADV£RTIS£M£NTS. Tom Thumb,—“When the ife? h>ega^ tQ|ff^| �yON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. MURDOCH &*CO., WW I®’ Laurence Pountney Hill, Cannon St, f Late of 115, Cannon Street, LONDON, E.C. Works ; Larbert, N.B. is HS THE LIVINGSTONE RANGE. (Stove and Name Registered}. CAN BE PLACED IN A FIRE-PLACE. CAN BE PLACED IN FRONT OF A FIRE-PLACE. CAN BE PLACED AWAY FROM A FIRE-PLACE. No. 6 will standin a 2 ft. 10 in. opening. ”7 ,, 3 n 2 >» ,, >> 8 _>> 3 >> 6,, ,, Height of Range, 2 ft. The “LIVINGSTONE RANGE” has been constructed to meet a want widely felt. It embraces all the best points of English Open Ranges and Fire-Places, without their faults. A Large Hot Plate is available for general cookery, and an Oven soconstructed that it will bake bread or pastry, and also roast meat as sweetly and Size of Oven in Inches. 12 hiah THOROUGHLY AS IF DONE IN FRONT OF A FIRE. A good frontage, No. 6. 12 wide. 12 deep. k ■ however, is secured to the fire itself. It can be closed in by a door, >> 7- 14 14 >, * ” which, when let down, forms a shelf or stand, and then fowls, small joints „ 8. 16 „ 16 „ ” ” of meat, steaks, fish, &c., can be roasted or broiled. The HOT-WATER SUPPLY has been well considered and provided for in constructing this stove, “ boilers being usually a source of great discomfort, expense, and danger in English Homes.” The Water Cistern is made of copper, tinned inside, or else of malleable iron, gal­ vanized ; and as it stands above, as well as below, the level of the hot plate, it affords proportionately a larger quantity of hot water than any other stove, range, or kitchener in use. The water is heated by a very safe and simple plan, which is patented, and only to be had with these stoves. The cistern can be easily taken out and replaced, made self-supplying, and the water can be used for culinary purposes, never BEING “RUSTY.” No BRICKWORK SETTING is required or these Stoves, and they are equally good in action, whether placed in or away from a fire­ place. A smoky chimney is perfectly overcome by their use. The CONSUMPTION OF COAL is wonderfully small, from the excellence of the construction of the “ Livingstone,” and the judicious arrangements of fire-place and flues. Means are used to prevent the escape of heat from the stove, and thus the full value is taken out of the pro­ ducts of combustion. We make the deliberate statement that the Economy in Fuel is such that, ¡fused daily, the whole cost of the Stove can be saved in twelve months at the normal price of Coal in London, or in nine months at the 1873-4 prices. Wood and Peat are ex'•ellent for heating these stoves, and for most kinds of cooking, Coke may be solely used. Dust is avoided, as the ashes fall into a secured pan. Fire-bricks, with which each Stove is provided, can be easily renewed when needed. The same remark applies to any part of the stove which from use or accident may need replacing. For further particulars of this and other Cooking and Heating Stoves, address MURDOCH & CO., as above. NEWTONS QUININE, RHUBARB, & DANDELION PILLS, (Prepared from the Recipe of an Eminent Physician), A Simple but Effectual Remedy for Indigestion, Stomach, and Liver Complaints. The properties of Quinine and Rhubarb in stomachic affections are too well known to require any comment, and the medicinal virtues of Dandelion have long been held in high, estimation by the faculty for all disorders of the Liver. By a peculiar process of extraction and condensation, the active properties of these valuable Medicines have been carefully com­ bined in the form of Pills, in which will be found a certain remedy for Indigestion, all Stomach Complaints, Sluggish Liver, Constipation of the Bowels, Headache, Giddiness, Loss of Appetite, Pains in the Chest, Fullness after Eating, Depression of Spirits, Disturbed Sleep, and as a Renovator to the Nervous System invaluable. These purifying Vegetable Pills may be taken lay persons of all ages, in all conditions, and by both sexes. Their action, though gentle, is effectual in removing all impurities from the blood and system, gradually compelling the bowels and various functions of the body to act in a regular and spontaneous manner; and as a general Family Aperient they are much preferred to any other medicine. Sold in Boxes, with Directions, at I J. I%<7. and 2s. gd.; or sent, Post Free, for 15 and 30 Stamps. Every Sufferer is earnestly invited to try their wonderful efficacy. Barclay & Sons are the London Agents, and all Chemists. prepared solely by J. W. NEWTON, M.P.S., Family Chemist,Salisbury. Ask your Chemist to obtain the above, if not in stock. �JtON DUAN A DIE/UWEEM ENTS. xxi �xxii JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. '4>ceneral PATENT furnishing coy' OZOKERIT NEHWiïi CANDLES. ; ~Wx4JrtriztÎvg"Rg a.cfrb -ALL.PT^e.AV^Tx-cTVg^a^^9>Sout'h/a-Ttvp fro tv S.E \ S frra/nd/7 All Sizes, Sold. Everywhere. CHOICE ROSE TREES. Ask for the 'T'HE Amateur’s GUINEA BUNDLE of ROSE TREES “LYCHNOPHYLAX,” contains 25 of the choicest-named kinds in cultivation, all extra large plants, especially selected for villa gardens. Carriage and packing free on receipt of P.O.O. for/i is-.; or twelve choice kinds as sample for 105. (id. Full particulars of other cheap collections post free. GEORGE COOLING, The Nurseries, Bath. Or Candle Guard (Patented). Sold Everywhere. J. C. & J. FIELD, London. The above make very suitable Christmas Gifts. “ Inventions to delight the taste.”—Shakspere. THE “EASTERFlOHDIMENT “ The greatest aid. to Digestion known to man.” This delicious Condiment should be eaten with all Meals. Is. and. Is. 6d. per Jar. THE “ EASTERN ” SAUCE OR RELISH, KECISTIS5O THE THE THE THE “EASTERN” “EASTERN” “EASTERN” “EASTERN” Prepared in conjunction with the celebrated Condiment, is pronounced unequalled for flavour, richness, and price. 6d., ij., and 15. 6d. per bottle. .k* MUSTARD. Ready Mixed. Most Economical. BAKING POWDER. No Penny Packet in the World can touch it. CUSTARD POWDER. A Penny Packet equal to two eggs and a half. _____ ----CURRY POWDER. The Great Baboo’s original, improved. 88 SS «EClSTtR*» These preparations are all most care­ fully compounded, are highly recom­ mended, and much approved by all classes. To be had of all Family Grocers. JONES, PALMER, & CO., “Eastern” Works, Tabernacle Walk, Finsbury. FACTORS. from ^TURKISH PASTILS^ / 7 Through all my travels few things as- ' tonished me more than seeing the Beauties of the Harem sfnoking the Stamboul. After smoking, a sweet aromatic Pastil is used, which imparts an odour of flowers to the breath. I have never.seen these Pastils but once in Europe; it was at Piesse & Lubin’s ' CBz"' ” -Lady W. Montague. \ Ladies who admire a “ Breath of Flowers” 1 take aPastil night anf /q * Ì (S' every flower that breathes a fragrance LIGN-ALOE. OPOPONAX. LOVE-AMONG-THE-ROSES. FRANGI PANNI TO BE OBTAINED OF ALL 'tv. Perfumers and THOUSAND OTHERS. case, 5ond St J RITING, BOOKKEEPING, &c.—Persons of W Steuen’s Model Cutters, Schooners, any age, however bad their Writing, may in Eight Easy Lessons acquire permanently an elegant and flowing style of Brigs, Screzi) and Paddle Boats?, propelled by Steam or Penmanship, adapted either to Professional pursuits or Private Clock-work. Correspondence ; Bookkeeping by Double Entry, as practised in Steven’s Model Fittings for Ships and the Government, Banking, and Mercantile Offices ; Arithmetic, Shorthand, &c. Apply to Mr. W. Smart, at his sole Institution, Boats. Blocks, Deadeyes, Wheels, Skylights, Com­ panions, Flags, &c. 97B, Quadrant, Regent Street. Agent to the West of England Fire and Life Steuen’s Model Steam Engines, Loco Insurance Company. IMPORTANT TO ­ LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.— C. A. can confidently recommend, as a most strictly honest person, and one whom she and her friends have dealt with for many years, Mrs. COCKREM, 1, Queen Street, Barnstaple, North Devon, who gives the greatest value for all sorts of Ladies’. Gentlemen’s, and Children’s Cast Ï-EFT-OFF WEARING APPAREL of every description. Officers * Uniforms, Misfits, Jewellery, Court Suits, Furs, Outfits, Old Lace, nff Underclothing, Boots, Household Linen, and every description of miscellaneous property, in however large or small quantities, or in good ninth nc or inferior condition, purchased for Cash at the utmost value. The viuuueb. strictest honour is observed in remitting, per return, the full value, by cheque or P.O.O., for all parcels. The expense of Carriage borne by X motive, Marine, Vertical and Horizontal; Saw and Bench. Steuen’s Model Parts of Circular Engines, Cylinders, Pumps, Steam and, Water Gauges, SafetyValves, Eccentrics, Taps, &c. STE VEN’S MODEL DOCKYARD, 22, Aidgate, London. Catalogues, 3 Stamps. Chemical Chests, Magic-Lanterns, Floor Skates, Balloons, arc. �W ADVERTISEMENT S. Reduced ly Gdloty/e/roccss.~\ , * The Golden Ass.—The King went to consult an old Druid. Uta—vol; ttk~ ' ji . WTW _ >-*g �J ON DÜAN ADVERTISEMENTS. XXIV “ FIRES INSTANTLY LIGHTED: ” GREAT SAVING of TIME to SERVANTS. By STEVENSON'S PATENT FIREWOOD, Entirely superseding Bundle Wood, requiring no paper, adapted for any grate, and not affected- by Damp. SOLD BY ALL OILMEN AND GROCERS. Extensively Patronised in the House of Peers, University of Cambridge, among the Nobility, Gentry, Principal Hotels, Club Houses, &c. 500, in Tenon. and Suburbs, 12S. fxi. Directions.—Place small coal and cinders in grate, then the Patent Fire­ wood wheel or square (dipped side down), cover over with coal, and light the centre with a match.________________________ M, STEVENSON & 00., Sole Patentees and Manufacturers, 18, Wharf Road, City Road. OETZMANN & CO., 67, 69, 71, & 73, Hampstead Road, Near Tottenham Court Road, London. CARPETS, FURNITURE, BEDDING, DRAPERY, FURNISHING IRONMONGERY, CHINA, GLASS, &c., &c. A Descriptive Catalogue {the best Furnishing Guide extant}, post free on application. HEDGES AND BUTLER Invite attention to the following WINES and SPIRITS:— Good Sherry, Pale or Gold............. 20s. 244. 304. 36s. 424. per doz. Very choice Sherry ......................... 484. 544. 604. 724. per doz. Port, of various ages......................... 24s. 304. 364, 424-. 484. per doz. Good Claret........................................ 144. 184. 204. 244. per doz. Choice De.-sert Clarets..................... 304. 364. 424. 484. È04. per doz. Sparkling Champagne ..................... 3 4. 424. 484. ¿04. 784. per doz. Hock and Moselle............................. 244. 304. 364. 424. 484. 604. per doz. Old Pa'e Brandy ............................. 444. 484. 604. 724. 844. per doz. Fine Old Irish and Scotch Whisky.. 424. 484. per doz. Wines in Wood. Callon. Octave. Otr. Cask. Hhd. Pale Sherry ................ 94. ini. £6 5 0 £12 0 O Good Sherry................. . 114. id. 15 10 0 8 0 Q 3° Choice Sherry ............ i-js. 6d. II IQ O 22 IO 44 Old Sherry................... . 23J. 6d. 29 0 O 14 15 O 57 20 O G Good Port..................... 14s. 6d. IO 5 O 39 Old Port.......................... 20s. 6d. 27 G O 13 15 O 53 Old Pale Brandy.......... 21s. 24J. 30$. 36^. per imperial gallon. IO 10 10 0 0 © 0 G O O © • Price Lists of all other Wines, &*c, on application to HEDGES & BUTLER, 155, Regent Street, London, 30 and 74, King’s Road, Brighton. RIMMEL’S PERFUMED ALMA­ VOSE’8 PATENT HYDROPULT, NAC for 1875 (the Hours), beautifully Illu­ minated, Id., by post for 7 stamps. RIMMEL’S NEW COMIC ALMANAC (Signs of the Zodiac), 14., by post for 13 stamps. RIMMEL’S CHRISTMAS BOUQUET, changing into a Fan, 14. 6<f., by post 19 stamps. RIMMEL’S FANCY ARTICLES for Christ­ mas Presents and New Year’s Gifts in endless variety. List on Application. RIMMEL, Perfumer, 96, Strand ; 128, Regent Street ; and 24, Cornhill, London. A PORTABLE FIRE ANNIHILATOR. The best article ever invented for Watering Gardens, &c.; weighs but 81bs., and will throw water 50 feet. LOYSEL’S PATENT HYDROSTATIC TEA & COFFEE PERCOLATORS. These Urns are elegant inform, are the most efficient ones yet introduced, and effect a saving of 50 per cent. The Times newspaper remarks :—“ M. Loysel’s hydrostatic machine for making tea or coffee is justly considered as one of the most complete inventions of its kind.” Sold by all respectable Ironmongers. Manufacturers: More than 200,000 now i use. GRIFFITHS & BROWETT, Birmingham. 12, Moorgate Street, London ; and 25, Boulevard Magenta, Paris, WISS FAIRY ORGANS, 2.S., ^s., and 55-. each. Patented in Europe and America. Four Gold Medals awarded for excellence. Each Instrument is constructed to play a variety of modern airs, sacred, operatic, dance, and song, perfect in tone and of marvellous power. Carriage free for Stamps, or P. O. O. at above prices. Numerous copies of fully directed Testimonials post free. Address J acques.Baum, &Co., Kingston Works, Sparkbrook, Birmingham. S DUNN &ISLANDICUS, OR ’S HEWETT “LICHEN ICELAND MOSS COCOA,'’ (registered), In i-lb., ilb., ani 1-lb. Packets, at Is. 4d. per lb. In Tin Canisters at Is. 6d. lb. Strongly recommended by the Faculty in all cases of Debility, Indigestion, Consumption and all Pulmonary and Chest Diseases. <fI have carefully examined, both Microscopically and Chenrcally, the preparation of ICELAND MOSS and COCOA, made by Messrs. DUNN & HEWITT. I find it to be carefully manufactured with ingredients of the first quality. “The combination ofTCELAND MOSS and COCOA forms a valuable article of diet, suited equally fcr the Robust and ’ 1 _ i ’’ for Invalids, especially those whose digestion is HHpwwwL It is very nutritious, of easy digestibility, and it possesses, moreover, tonic properties. impaired. (Signed) “ARTHUR HILL HASSALL, M.D.,” , . TRADE MARK. Analyst of the Lancet Sanitary Commission, Author of the Refort of the Lancet Commission j of “Food and its Adulterations \ “ “ Adulterations Detected ** and other VForks» PENTONVILLE, LONDON. �XXV JJjMMfc,. Al _ - U— —1 JM» �JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. xxvi DIETZ & CO 15 to LONDON, 21, Carter Lane, I, Sermon Lane, and Exporters of the celebrated Inventors, Manufacturers, and LAMPS PARAGON HURRICANE LANTERNS, COOKING & HEATING STOVES BURNING KEROSENE OR PARAFFIN. UNRIVALLED FOR Over 5000 Patterns of TABLE LAMPS, HALL LAMPS, SIMPLICITY, SAFETY, Chandeliers, Erackets, Billiard Lamps, Street Lamps, LIBRARY LAMPS, LANTERNS, STOVES, &c. Pitferl until J. illeCl V1UU Our Famous ¿the climax AND ABSOLUTE FREEDOM FROM SMOEE, SMELL, and DANGER. a M a g A, fl a JSL Jg i *a. BURNERS, t-AS JUa Which give a magnificent white and steady Light, equal to 25, 20, 14, and II Candles, at the cost of l-4th, l-5th, l-6th, and l-7th of a Penny per Hour. J1 _Jj fegwnnngÿ BRILLIANCY, Church Lamps, Ship Lamps, Our HURRICANE LANTERNS are absolutely windproof and safe ; simple in consr.-action, and give a splendid ■white and steady light. They are the most serviceable Lan­ terns for use in Stables, Farms, Gardens, Boats, Cellars, &c. 0 Economy, Durability, BiE.TZ.&.C”. Our CLIMAX COOKING and HEATING STOVES, in six sizes, will be found ex­ tremely useful in every house­ hold, being always ready for use, and saving time and money, coals, trouble of light­ ing fire, dust, and refuse. BLACK SILK COSTUMES, Parisian Models. Owing to the Reduced Price of manufactured French Silk, Messrs. Jay are happy to announce they sell good and Fashionable Black Silk Costumes at ^6 i6l 6d. each. J A Y S’, THE LONDON GENERAL MOURNING WAREHOUSE, 243, 245, 247, 249, 251, Regent Street, W. WHITE, EDWARD (FROM DENT’S,) Manufacturer of Chronometers, Watches and Clocks, Gold Chains, Lockets, &c., Of best quality only and moderate price. » PRIZE MEDALLIST AT LONDON, DUBLIN, AND PARIS EXHIBITIONS, For “ Excellence of Workmanship, Taste, and Sfttll.” 20, COCKSPUR STREET, LONDON, S.W. Sold by All Drapers. Ask for “THE VERY BUTTON.”—Shakespeare. GREEN & CADBURY’S PATENT 2-HOLE LINEN BUTTONS. And see that you get them, as inferior kinds are often substitutedfor the sake of extra profits. “ ‘ The Very Button ’ is a capital button for use and wear.”—The Young Englishwoman. CHUBB’S ATENT FIRE AND THIEF RESISTING ^ur?4FES’ LftlCHE.S. PATENT DETECTOR LOCKS AND Illustrated Price Lists Post Free. CHUBB & SON, 57, ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD, E.C., 68, ST. JAMES'S STREET, S.W. Manchester, Liverpool, and AND Wolverhampton. EHPI WT01 HWZX, HEBF BLEI ORZPT YGZB. TflVE POUNDS REWARD to anyone able to decipher X the above, written by HIGHT’S REVOLVING CIPHER DISC. Very useful for Telegrams, Postal Cards, and Love-letter, or any private writing. Quickly and easily written. The only absolutely undiscoverable system of Cryptography. T« be had, with full Instructions, of all Stationers, or of the Publishers, WALMESLEY & CO., 384, City Road, E.C. Post free for 14 Stamps. �JON D'JAN ADVERTISEMENTS. Reduced by allotype/recess.] Blue Beard.—* * xxvir [Agent, A.. MexAe �xxviii JON DUAN ADVERTISEMENTS. DR. ROBERTS’ POOR MAN’S FRIEND! THE COMING GREAT TRIAL By the Public in 1875. Is confidently recommended to the Public as an unfailing remedy for Wounds of every description, Burns, Scalds, Chilblains, Scorbutic Eruptions, Sore and Inflamed Eyes, &c. Sold in Pots, is. i\d., is. gd., xis., and 22s. each. DR. ROBERTS’ PILULJE ANTISGROPHULJE, Or Alterative Pills, For Scrofula, Leprosy, and all Skin Diseases. Proved by Sixty Years’ experience to be one of the best Alterative Medicines ever offered to the Public. They may be taken at all times, without confinement or change of diet. Sold in Boxes, ij. i%<Z., is. gd., 4s. 6d., 11s., and 22s. each. Sold by the Proprietors, BEACH & BABNICOTT, Bridport. And by all respec'able Medicine Vendors. OU shall well and truly try— APPROVED Y MANN’Smay quickly go ! MED’CINE buy, That your ills Take, and health will shortly flow ; Colds and Iiooping-conghs will flee. Read the bills and you will see > Nothing with it can compare. “ Nice!” the children all declare. Young and old its glories tell; Both did take, and now are well. True the evidence that stands On the bills throughout all lands, This, the public verdict, give— “ Take, oh sickly one, and live ! ” Sixteen affidavits before the Sussex Magistrates prove MANN’S APPROVED MEDICINE to be the GREAT RESTORATIVE TO HEALTH for Coughs, Colds, Asthma, Influenza, Convulsive Fits, and Consumptions. Sold by all Chemists, who will obtain it for you if not in stock, at is. , is. 6d., and 4s. 6d. per bottle. Be not persuaded to take any other remedy._________________ Proprietor, THOMAS MANN, Horsham, Sussex. QOUT, RHEUMATISM, LUMBAGO, &c. JNSTANT RELIEF AND RAPID CURE. A S professionally certified, have saved the lives of many when 11. all other nourishment has failed. In cases of Cholera Infantum, Dysentery, Chronic Diarrhoea, Dyspepsia, Prostration of the System, and General Debility, Dr. RIDGE’S Digestive Biscuits will be found particularly beneficial in co-opera­ tion with medical treatment, as a perfectly safe, nourishing, and strengthening diet In Canisters, ix. each, by post ^d. extra.—Dr. RlDGE & CO., Kingsland, London, and of Chemists and Grocers. IMPORTANT DISCOVERY. CAN D'ELL’S HAIR RESTORER, ,... O the certain Cure for Dandriff and Baldness, and the only reliable and harmless preparation for restoring grey hair to its original colour. Sold by all Chemists, in bottles, is. and 3s. 6d. UADE’S GOUT AND RHEUMATIC PILLS, the safest and most effectual cure for Gout, Rheumatism, Rheumatic Gout, Lumbago, Sciatica, Pains in the Head, Face, and Limbs. They require neither confinement nor alteration of diet, and in no case can their effects be injurious. Prepared only by GEORGE EADE, 72, Goswell Road, London, and Sold by all Chemists, in Bottles at or Three in One, 2s. gd. Ij. Do not be persuaded to have any other kind. ®ott'es sent cafr>aSe free- S.O.SANDELL,Sole Manufacturer,Yeovil. Ask for Fade's Celebrated Gout and Rheumatic Pills. DR. HAYWARD'S NEW DISCOVERY,THE TREATMENT & MODE OF CURE. HOW TO USE SUCCESSFULLY, WITH SAFETY AND CERTAINTY, In all cases of Weakness, Lou) Spirits, Indigestion, Rheumatism, Loss of Nerve Power, Functional Ailments, Despondency, Langour, Exhaustion, Muscular Debility, arising from various excesses, Loss of Strength, Appetite, &=c., &>c. WITHOUT MEDICINE. THE NEW MODE re-animates and revives the failing functions of Life, and thus imparts Energy and fresh Vitality to the Exhausted and Debilitated Constitution, and may fairly be termed the Fountain of Health THE LOCAL AND NERVINE TREATMENT imparts tone and vigour to the Nervous System, and possesses highly re-animating properties ; its inflrence on the secretions and functions is speedily manifested; and in all cases of Debility, Nervousness, Depression, Palpitation of the Heart, Trembling in the Limbs, Pains in the Back, &c., resulting from over-taxed energies of body or mind, &c. Full Printed Instructions, with Pamphlets and Diagrams, for Invalids, post-free, Six stamps, (From Sole Inventor and Patentee,) DR. HAYWARD, M.R.C.S., L.S.A., 14, York Street, Portman Square, London, W. N.B. For Qualifications, vide “ Medical Register." OPA AAA REWARD.—The above sum 50 O kJ ■ LJ kJ kJ having during the last twelve years been received on the sale of LATREILLE’S invention for the production of WHISKERS and MOUSTACHIOS and curing BALDNESS, it may fairly be called the reward of merit, as the article is universally acknowledged to be the only producer of hair. Full particulars, with Testimonials and Opinions of the Press, sent free to any person addressing John Latreille, Walworth. DRCAPLIN’S ELE TRO-CHEMICAL BATHS. NEW WORKS BY DR. SMITH. Just Published, 104 pages, Free by Post Two Stamps. UIDE TO HEALTH -, or, Prescriptions and Instructions for the Cure of Nervous Exhaustion. By Henry Smith, M.D. (Jena), Author of the “ Volunteers’ G Manual.” This work gives Instructions for Strengthening the Human Body. How to Regain Health and Secure Long Life. Prescriptions for the Cure of Debilitating Diseases, Indigestion, Mental Depression, Prostration, Timidity, &c., resulting from Loss of Nerve Power. Testimonials, Treatment, &c. “ In this Work the Doctor gives ‘ Advice as to the Choice of a Phy­ sician ;’ ‘ What to Eat, Drink, and Avoid ;’ ‘ Health: how to Procure it, and other subjects of interest to man as well as woman.”--6’zzwa'izj' Times, May 4, 1873. Also by the same Author, For the Cure of Paralysis, Rheumatism, Gout, Nervous Third Thousand. Post free in an envelope, 13 stamps, Affections, axd many kinds of Chronic Diseases. WOMAN : Her Duties, Relations, and Position. Prospectuses and Testimonials free by post, on application to N.B. A Special Edition, beautifully Illustrated by the Secretary, The Electro-Chemical Bath Institution, i Engravings on Wood. Cloth gilt, One Shilling. ��XXX DUAN ADVERTISEMENI S. TRAVELLING WEDDING PRESENTS. CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. WRITING-OASES. NEW YEAR’S PRESENTS. ASSER & SHERWIN, 80 and 81, Strand, W.C.; and 69, Oxford Street, W., London. MRS. SAMUEL JAY, LADIES’ OUTFITTER, Address. } 259, Regent Circus, Oxford Streep 259. SPECIALITY FOR THE WINTER MONTHS. THE ARAGON MORNING ROBE, In. French Cashmere, Richly Ornamented in Soutache-Broderie. COMPLETE SUITS OF WASHED AND GOT-UP UNDER-CLOTHING READY FOR IMMEDIATE USE. Guinea Flannel Dressing Gozvns, Dressing Jackets, Bodices, Fichus, and Embroidered Flannel Petticoats. Infants’ Layettes.—Marriage Trousseaux.—Good Materials.-—Tasteful Trimmings.—Dainty Stitches. MRS. ‘ABYSSINIAN GOLD JEWELLERY’ SAMUEL JAY. LIONEL & ALFRED PYKE’S. ‘ABYSSINIAN GOLD JEWELLERY ’ Is now worn by Ladies to avoid IS THE ONLY IMITA­ the risk of losing their “ Real TION which cannot be detected Sold Jewellery,” the Imitation from “Real Gold Jewellery,” •REGISTEREDbeing so perfect, detection need possessing qualities so long not befeared. It received a Prize needed and desired in Imitation Medal for its superiority over Gold Jewellery, viz. :—supe­ all other Imitation Jewellery. APPEARANCE Catalogues, with Press Opinions, riority of finish, elegance of forwardedpostfree on applica­ design, solidity, and durability. T 018 Garat qOLD tion. Sole Manufacturers, JEWELLERY.WM I. & A. PYKE, 32, Ely Place, Holborn. Retail Depots : 153, Cheapside, I53A> Cheapside; 68, Fleet Street, E. C. ; and at the Royal Polytechnic, Regent Street, W. MEDAL TRADE-MARK. 18 JO. Sole Manufacturers. L. & A. PYKE, 32, Ely Place, Holbom. Retail Depots : 153, Cheapside, 153A, Cheapside ; 68, Fleet Street, E. C.; and at the Royal Polytechnic, Regent Street, W. Medical Testimony states that, unquestionably no remedy exists which is so certain in its effects. _ ASTHMA, WINTER COUGH, DIFFICULTY OF BREATHING, TRADE MARK alike yield to its influence. One Lozenge alone gives the sufferer relief. Many remedies are sold that contain Morphia, .... . , , Opium, or violent drugs, but KEATING’S COUGH LOZENGES are composed only of the purest simple drugs and the most delicate m health may use them with perfect confidence. KEATING’S COUGH LOZENGES are prepared by Thomas Keating St Paul s Churchyard, and sold by all Chemists, in Boxes, is. i-RZ. and 2s. gd. each. ’ KEATING’S CHILDREN’S WORM TABLETS. A PURELY VEGETABLE SWEETMEAT, both in apnearance and taste, furnishing a most agreeable method of administering the onlv certain remedy for INTESTINAL or THREAD WORMS, itis a perfectly safe and mild preparation, and is especially adapted for Children. bold by all Druggists, in Tins, is. ijrf. and 2s. gd. eacn. Put up in small boxes “specially ” for post, which will be forwarded on receipt of 15 stamps. * THOMAS KEATING, St. Paul’s Churchyard, London. �JON DUAN AD UEDTISEMENDS. XXXI �JON DUAN AD VE r. riSEMENTS. xxxii DO NOT LET fOUR CHILD DIE. FENNING’S CHILDREN’S POWDERS PREVENT CONVULSIONS, Are Cooling and Soothing. M • W a) FENNINGS’CHILDREN’S POWDERS For Children Cutting their Teeth, to prevent Convulsions. Sold in Stamped Boxes at ij. x^d. and qj. gd. (great saving), with full Directions. Sent post free for 15 stamps. Direct to Alfred Fennings, West Cowes, I. W. 1-1 w Q Read FENNINGS’ EVERY MOTHER’S BOOK, sent post free for 8 stamps. REMEMBER LAMPLOUGH’S PYRETIC SALINE AND HAVE IT IN YOUR HOUSES. It is most invigorating, vitalising, and refreshing. Gives instant relief in Headaches, Sea or Bilious Sickness, and quickly cures the worst form of Eruptive or Skin Complaints. The various diseases arising from Climatic Causes, Constipation, the Liver, or Blood Impurities, Inoculation, the Results of Breathing Air Infected with Fever, Measles, or SMALLPOX, are frequently prevented, and these diseases cured by its use. Any person who has already Smallpox should take it, and be kept in a cool and darkened room to prevent its leaving any trace on the features. The numerous statements and letters relating to its marvellous effect, as a positive cure in TYPHUS, SCARLET FEVER, SMALL­ POX, and other BLOOD POISONS, are most remarkable, and are painfully suggestive of great neglect, whenever the PYRETIC SALINE is not employed in these diseases. “ It furnishes the blood with its lost Saline constituents."—Dr. Morgan, M'.D., &c. The late Dr. Turley states in his letters and lectures:—“ I found it act as a specific in the worst form of Scarlet Fever, NO OTHER Medicine being given. ’ ’ Caution.—The great reputation of this remedy having called forth spurious imitations, whose only merit is a transposition of the words of my label and wrappers, without any of the health-restoring properties, it is needful to observe my Name and Trade Mark, as above, on a buffcoloured Wrapper, without which the Saline cannot be genuine. Sold by all Chemists and the Maker, in patent glass-stoppered Bottles, at 2s. (>d., 4>r. i>d., Ilf.. and 2U. each. H. LAMPLOUGH, 113, Holborn Hill, London, E.C. “Magna est veritas, et prævalebit.” THE MIRACULOUS CURE For Corns and Bunions. BRODIE’S CELEBRATED REMEDY. This Preparation, which, from its wonder­ ful efficacy, has been named the “ Miraculous Cure,” is rapidly becom­ ing the most popular one of the day; it is quite Painless in its operation, and will remove the most obstinate Corns. ft is earnestly recom­ mended to all sufferers. Sold in Packets is. each, by all the principal the miraculous cure Chemists in England. If your Chemist does not keep it, you can obtain it direct from the Manufactory and Depot, 485, Oxford Street, London, or by Post for 14 Stamps. " : OROIDE GOLD JEWELLERY (Registered). SCARF RINGS and PINS, in New Designs of great Beauty, Y~TIEESE.—CHEDDAR, CHESHIRE, SOMERSET, and WILTSHIRE, the produce of some of the Choicest Dairies, in constant supply. AMERICAN CHEESE are relatively cheap, and very pleasing in quality this season. Buyers are requested to inspect the produce of some of the Finest United States Dairy and Fancy qualities of Factory Cheese now arriving, in splendid condition. HENRY WEBBER, Cheese and Bacon Factor, 17, Long Lanb , West Smithfield, three Doors East of Metropolitan Market. FINE CHEESE FOR CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. SEND FOR ONE ON TRIAL. WEIR’S GLOBE SEWING MACHINE, Suit­ able for Dressmakers. Reduced price, ,£2 as., Com­ plete. WEIR’S 55s. SEWING MACHINE, for Families, improved and Patented (Prize Medals), works by Hand or Foot, the most simple Sewing Machine in the world. Guaranteed to do every kind of work. Weik’S New Patent Lockstitch Machine, "THE ZEPHYR,” price £443-., Complete, works by Hand or Foot. The most perfect and simple Lock-Stitch Machine. One month’s free trial. Easy terms of payment. Carriage paid to any Railway Station. Illustrated Prospectus and Patterns of Work, Pose Frit. ■TAMFIS G. WEIR, 2, Carlisle St.,Soho Square, London. TWO TEASPOONFULS of NEWTON'S CELEBRATED I BALM OF LICORICE, Coltsfoot, Honey, and Horehound, instantly RELIEVES COUGHS, Colds, Bronchitis, Asthma, Whooping Cough, and all post free, y. ALBERT CHAINS, in best Finish, and perfectly Undistinguishable from 18 carat gold, 7J. 6d. LOCKETS, handsomely Engraved, 4J 6J.,.Obstructions of the Throat, Chest, and Lungs. For Children invaluable No . * home should be without it. In Bottles ir. t\d. and as. gd. Proprietor, J. W. and 7J. 6<Z. Post Free. Illustrated Price Lists and Opinions of the Press NEWTON, Chemist and M.P.S., Salisbury; BARCLAY & SONS, London; and free per Postall Chemists. C. C. ROWE, 53, All Saints’ Road, Westbourne Park, London, W. MW i The best article for Cleaning and Polishing Silver, Electro Plate, Plate Glass, Marble, &c. Produces an immediate, brilliant, and lasting polish. Tablets, 6a. each. Prepared expressly for the Patent Knife Cleaning Machines, India Rubber and Buff Leather Knife Boards. Knives -- eafh --_ constantly «leaned with it have a brilliant polish, equal to new cutlery. Sold m Packets, 3d. each ; and in Tins, 6d„ is., 2s. 6d., and 45. eacn. Prevent friction in cleaning and injury to the knife. Price from is. 6ff. each. OAKEY’S WELLINGTON KNIFE POLISH should be used with the boards. Sold Everywhere, by Grocers, Ironmongers, Brushmakers, Oilmen, Chemists, &c. Wholesale ■ JOHN Q A KEV & SONS, Manufacturers of Emery, Emery Cloth, Black Lead, Cabinet Glass Paper, &c. Wellington Emery and Black Lead Mills, Westminster Bridge Road, London, S.E. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Jon Duan: a twofold journey with manifold purposes by the authors of "The Coming K---" and "The Siliad" Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: vi, [2], 94, ix-xxxii p. : ill. ; 25 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Advertisements throughout the text and on numbered pages at the beginning and end. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Weldon & Co. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1874 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5455 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Periodicals Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Jon Duan: a twofold journey with manifold purposes by the authors of "The Coming K---" and "The Siliad"), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts English Poetry Poetry in English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/61c225f14db7d69c523e41b0b2f14833.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=hXgLm7%7Ea3F7POZJNNCc5cjt7JcirNrENjkUU%7E0eM6jis243MfK1mLnvBctUOLMwgbTn-vpkk5PTSGqfLM8WVhwNiB58uv8loX9Q1pKK62xpcOrNu4h4xeqksQ%7EC-f30dLNaoeeTlKC-02ebDNm2UZwj-2fF2QGRXGKLzdeVFJPVl17MsA5rG2sVE4WqnCTbCobSJWO-2KyQXUNMlossR%7E4izSXH5n%7EWUEwqkhJDG5GJPutvpkb9LZPvK-B9dwANZegvzzwSiE6vyuJr045ygHkUfpcjmgvgm3srNU%7EVOww6etHli-0Iot37UMakkBHXbp6OyXsDuD0FOWFTMiyKX4w__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM b5c740f851e9acafa466370cdee2723d PDF Text Text ������������������������������������ Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Keble and "The Christian year" Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Shairp, J.C. Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [s.l.] Collation: p. 229-264 ; 22 cm. Notes: Attribution of author and journal title from Wellesley Guide to Victorian Periodicals, 1824-1900. From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From North British Review, no. 6 (September, 1866). The North British Review was a Scottish periodical founded in 1844 to act as the organ of the new Free Church of Scotland. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [s.n.] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1866] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CT30 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Christianity Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Keble and "The Christian year"), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Christianity Conway Tracts John Keble Poetry https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/43173c56bac3c794f90b4854cd1e634b.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=DDcWDO06wWlK-ssuj2XGqh6Qaog%7EnFetE%7EtbU5-ejnb4bszfAPajYvAfZd0TU8yNmstnyHm2e-grSfbBtcS4%7EVUdvw6acQlh%7E86qAKnAxsD7HYEN4iaBjuNevdYfLf9BRJisoNn-b4ZcWLS0awMzb4Spk5nKxUYmDOpndr0Tcov5VIL56UnRH%7ECN3gyKfGpfcZhzPf1foFP0Ocp8jpUh0zRNfi7QA010yFMdVDFZy43GvBh-BKP9wuSlccITISTWnVasqzKx1Du3wj3KvBYMzSNAYtBQZ7K4KyMrEPGtZQiunHdAC6gyMEzmEODsqfn0YwLV7SqvojPOrD6huUyh3w__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 4208d40eea5f0c4944796b7dda96e5ee PDF Text Text LAUREATE DESPAIR A DISCOURSE GIVEN AT SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL DECEMBER nth 1SS1. BY Moncure D. Conway, M.A. LONDON II, SOUTH PLACE FINSBURY. PRICE TWOPENCE. �FREDERICK G. HICKSON & Co. 257, High Holborn, London, W.c. �LAUREATE DESPAIR. T ET me say at once that I am glad the Poet Laureate J—4 has written the poem called “ Despair/’ which I propose to criticise. It is a cry out of the heart of an earnest man; it utters the sorrow with which many people in our time see their old dreams fading, and no new ones rising in their place; and it reminds free­ thinkers that theirs is a heavy responsibility and duty. They have to meet and respond to that need and pain ■which thousands feel where one can give it expression. Men of science and philosophers do not always under­ stand this. The most eminent of them are pursuing ndeals far more beautiful to them than those that have set. They have special knowledge, or special aims, which Kindle into pillars of fire before their enthusiasm, and can Inot see how to those of other studies and pursuits their guiding splendour is a pillar of smoke rising from a fair world slowly consumed. The 'man of science, hourly joccupied with discoveries which blaze upon him, star by fetar, till his reason is as a vault sown with eternal lights, feels that he is in the presence of conceptions beside Which the visions of Dante and Milton are frescoes of a �( 4 ) in his eye a latter-day glory of which history is the pro­ phecy and developed man the fulfilment. Such enthu­ siasms imply continual studies, occupations, duties, which, leave little room for attention to the shadows these lights cast upon the old world of dreams—each shadow a dogma or its phantom. Nevertheless, that world of dreams,, shades, phantoms, is still real to many. It is real not only to the ignorant, whom it terrifies, and to the selfish, whose power rests on it, but to spiritual invalids, whoneed sympathy. And, beyond this reality, the phantasmson which religion and society were'lfounded possess a quasi-reality even for robust minds. You may recall the saying of Madame de Stael, that “ she did not believe in ghosts, but was afraid of them.” After dogmas are dead their ghosts walk the earth; and even some who no longer believe in the ghosts are still afraid of them. When their intellects are no longer haunted their nerves are. There are others, again, for whose vision’or nerves the pleasant dogmas alone survive in this attenuated, ghostly form. They no longer believe in the ghosts, but still love them. Of this class is the literary artist. To the pictorial artist a ruin is more picturesque than the most comfort­ able dwelling. ’Tis said of an eminent art-critic that, being invited to visit America, he replied that he could not think of visiting a country where'there were no ruins. Alfred Tennyson is the consummate artist in poetry. We all know with what tender sentiment Tennyson has �( 5 ) ■' painted the scenery of Arthur’s time, with what felicity described many other reliques of human antiquity. “ His eye will not look upon a bad colour.” He sees ■'® the mouldering ruins in their picturesque aspects, leaving lout of sight the noxious weeds and vermin that infest Anthem. Where these loathsome things appear no man more recoils from them. If the White Ladies of Superstition haunt them, these he admires ; but he impales the gnomes and vampyres. j In this, his latest poem, “ Despair,” he shows a childlike lil simplicity of desire to retain all the pleasant and reject all -f| the unpleasant consequences of the same principles. His Jl attitude is indeed kindlier to the agnostic than to the -J orthodox ; for the first he has lamentation, for the other His denunciation of orthodoxy is bitter. The Tf anathema. r poem is the supposed utterance of a man to his former ffi ■ minister. “ A man and his wife, having lost faith in God u and hope of a life to come, and being utterly miserable in this, resolve to end themselves by drowning. The woman is drowned, but the man is saved by the minister of the sect he had attended.” He has no gratitude for the rf! minister who rescued him, only a curse, attributing to him [fi the first cause of the hopeless horrors amid which the two 01 found themselves. He tells the minister they broke away 111 from Christ because Christ seemed to speak of hell, and 331 so they passed from a cheerless night to a drearier day— rt from horrible belief to total unbelief. Where you bawl'd the dark side of your faith, and a God of eternal rage �( 6 ) Till you flung us back on ourselves, and the human heart, and the Age. But pity that Pagan held it a vice—was in her and in me, Helpless, taking the place of the pitying God that should be I Pity for all that aches in the grasp of an idiot power, And pity for our own selves on an earth that bore not a flower. Again he says : Were there a God, as you say, His Love would have power over hell till it utterly vanish’d away. Ah, yet—I have had some glimmer at times, in my gloomiest woe, Of a God behind all—after all—the Great God, for aught that I know : But the God of Love and of Hell together-they cannot;be™ Jhou?ht: , It there be such a God, may the Great God curse him and bring him to nought! This is what the Poet Laureate thinks of the God of every creed in Christendom, for every creed maintains an eternal hell. But the agnostic, the know-nothing sceptic, is summoned to bear his share in this tragedy of hopelessness and suicide, fl he poet does not suggest that disbelief in a future life or in a Deity would alone lead to suicide. In his imaginary case unbelief is only a factor. The man and wife were in terrible trouble. One of their two sons had died ; the eldest had fled after committing forgery on his own father, bringing him to ruin. It is under such fearful circumstances that, without faith or hope, they sink into despair. The man says : Why should we bear with an hour of torture, a moment of pain, If every man die for ever, if all his griefs are in vain, �( 7 ) And the homeless planet at length will be wheeled thro’ the silence of space, Motherless evermore of an ever-vanishing race ? * * * * * * For these are the new dark ages, you see, of the popular press, When the bat comes out of his cave, and the owls are whooping at noon, And Doubt is the lord of this dunghill, and crows to the sun and moon, Till the Sun and Moon of our science are both of them turned to blood, And Hope will have broken her heart, running after a shadow of good. It is a striking fact, in our sceptical age, that such lamentations as these are not heard from among the poor and the drudges of society. They who are asking whether life be worth living without the old faith in immortality, and they who say it is not, are persons of position and wealth. Any one who has taken the pains to observe the crowds of working people who attend the lectures of secularists, or to read their journals, will know they are cheery enough. We never hear any of them bemoaning the vanished faith. In truth the more important fact is not that the belief in immortality is gone, or the belief in Deity, but that belief in a desirable immortality and a desirable Deity has gone out of the hearts of many. In one of his humourous pieces Lucian, describing his ima­ ginary journey through Hades, says he could recognise those who had been kings or rich people on earth by theii loud lamentations. They had parted with so much. Those who on earth had been poor and wretched were quiet enough. "We may observe similai phenomena in �( 8 ) this psychological Hades, or realm of the Unseen and Unknown, into which modern thought has entered. Those to whom God has allotted palaces, plenty, culture, beauty, can eas ly believe Him a God of Love ,• and it were to them heaven enough to wake from the grave to a continu­ ance of the same. But they who have known hunger, cold, drudgery, ignorance, have no such reason to say God is Love. Such may naturally say, “ If we have waked up in this world in dens of misery, why, under the same providence, may we not wake up to a future of misery ?” The old creeds met that difficulty. They showed a miraculous revelation on the subject, by which God had established an insurance against future misery, an assurance of future luxury. It was all to be super­ natural. By miraculous might poverty was to be changed to wealth, the hovel to a palace, rags to fine raiment, ignorance to knowledge, folly to wisdom, and scarlet sin to snow-pure virtue. Without such tremendous trans­ formations the masses of the miserable could have no interest in immortality. But gradually the comfortable scholarship and theology of our time, in trying to prove a God of nature, have done away with the God of super­ nature. Their deity of design is loaded with all the bad designs under which men suffer. Fifty years ago Carlyle groaned because he could not believe in a Devil any more. Philosophy had reasoned a Devil out of existence. The result was to make the remaining power responsible for all the evils in the world, and ultimately bling him into �( 9 X J loubt and disgrace too. Dismssing the Devil out of faith alias not dismissed evil, the mad work of earthquake, hurriiAane and fire. As we think of the shores with their wrecks, $.s we think of those people in Vienna gathered around the ^harre 1 remains of their families and friends, must we not z.iisk if this is providential work what would be diabolical oivork ? Reason says to Theology, “ At least you can be QKilent, and not malign the spirit of good within us by z'asking us to call that without good which we know to be JIDad ! ” . . P| Similarly theologians in trying to rationalise the idea of S They have tacked it on 1®immortality have naturalised it. ;o evolution. But what the miserable suffer by is evolu­ tion : unless they can be assured of a supernatural change, pf a heaven, they do not want to be evolved any more. . Only a miraculous revelation could promise them that ijBniraculous heaven; and the. only alleged revelation is . Rejected by the culture and the charity of our age. It is n&enied by Culture, because it reveals some impossibilities ; Xy Charity, because it reveals a God capable of torturing Q|Deople more than they are tortured here. What are eight .lihundred people burned swiftly in a theatre compared to ijlnillions burning in hell for ages, if not for ever, as Revelaidkon declares ? Our ?oet Laureate is a man of both iXulture and charity ; he cannot sing pf a revelation which ^Includes Hell, however he may cling to hopes that came Xy the sanae revelation, or mourn at thought of pai ting icKrom a world so fair. �( 10 ) Candour compels us to admit that there is as yet no certainty of a future life for the individual consciousness. The surviving seed of the human organism if it exist has not been discovered. There is nothing unnatural in the theory. It would not be more miraculous to find our­ selves in another world than to find ourselves in this. If two atoms of the primeval nebula, thrown together, had been for one instant capable of speculation, how little could they have imagined a company of men and women gathered to meditate on life and eternity 1 All this is very marvellous if we conceive it contemplated from a point of non-existence. For all we know there are more marvels beyond. But suppose there are none ; suppose death be the end of us; is there any reason for despair ? Even for the man and woman on whom life had brought dire calamities, was there any reason for suicide ? Just the reverse, I should say. Belief that this life was all were reason for making the most of it. Belief that their ruin would not be repaired hereafter were reason for trying torepair it here, as well as they could. Has Tennyson evolved his man and woman out of his inner con­ sciousness ? It is doubtful if in the annals of freethought such a case can be pointed out; though many instances may be shown where believers in a future world slew themselves to get there. Suicide was a mania in some old convents until the church fixed its ' canon 'gainst self­ slaughter.’ �( II ) • However, it may be that instances ofthe kind Tennyson ■describes may occur. We are but on the threshold ofthe age when men are to live and work without certainty of future rewards and payments. The doubts now in the head must presently reach the heart, then influence the hand ; if people have built their houses on the sand of mythology, and they fall, it may be that some will not have the heart to begin new buildings on the rock. What then ? It will be only the continuation of the old law—survival of the fittest. Suicides at least do not live to increase their race. Only those tend to prevail in nature who can 'adapt themselves to the conditions ofnature. If nature has arrived at a period of culture when •supernaturalism passes out of the human faith, then they "who sink into despair or death, on that account, show themselves no longer adapted to nature. There will be a ■survival of those more adapted to the new ideas ; who prefer them ; who do not aspire to live for ever, but have .a heart for any fate, and a religion whose forces and joys are concentrated in the life that now is. If natuie and humanity need such a race for their furtherance, such a race will be produced ; and they will read poems like this “ Despair,” with a curiosity mixed with compassion, wondering how their ancestors could have been troubled, about such a matter. . Something like this has occurred in the past in several instances. While Christians find fullest expression of their joyful emotions in the psalmody and prophecy ofthe �( I2 ) Hebrews they often forget that those glowing hymns say no word about a future life. There is no clear affirmation of immortality in the Old Testament, but much to the contrary. Buddhism also, which has awakened the enthusiasm of a third of a human race, arose as a protest against theism and immortality. In such instances therewould appear to have been reactions against previous, theologies, which had so absorbed mankind in metaphysics and' speculations about the future as to belittle this life and cause neglect of this world. Despised and degraded nature avenged this wrong by making asceticism its own destruction, and worldliness a source of strength and * survival. Some such Nemesis seems to be following the extreme other-worldliness which, for so many Christian centuries, has bestowed the fruits of human toil upon supposed supernatural interests. This earthward swing of the slow pendulum of faith is not likely to be arrested until religion has been thoroughly humanised. As a brave clergyman (Rev. Harry Jones) warned the Church Congress at York, the Church will never conquer Secularism, except by doing more for mankind than Secularism does. We must almost remember that no oscillations of the pendulum between theology and humanity, no reactions, determine the question. As Old Testament Secularism * As it is said in Ecclesiasticus : “ He has also, set worldli­ ness in their heart, which man cannot understand the works that God does, from beginning to end.”—Dr. Kalisch’s Translation. �s i: fi r 'I followed Egyptian Mysticism, Talmudic visions of heaven succeeded. Every ebb alternates with a flow in the tides of human feeling; and these tides are the generations which nature successively creates to fufil successive conditions, and to find their joy in such fufilment, whatever be the despair of the ebbing at faith of the flowing tide. | But, no doubt, these rising and falling ages of speculation :j and religion will show calmer and happier phenomena in h] the future than in the past. There are traces in the earth '>j of tremendous operations in the past, which geology was unable to account for by any forces now acting, i| until Astronomy discovered that the Moon had been steadily receding from the earth, its mother. The moon is now 240,000 miles away, but is proved to have b^en o once only 40,000 miles distant. At that period the tides were to the tides of our time as 216 to 1. This country r 4 and many others must then have been flooded with every if tide, and the enormous geologic results are now understood. There would appear to be some correspondence in id all this with mental and moral phenomena. In religious ‘31 geology also there are traces of convulsions and huge 511 formations which it has been difficult to account for,— at mighty religious wars, massacres, whole races committing I?) slow suicide for the sake of their Gods. Comparative. studies now show that the lunar theology was much nearer of to mankind then than now, and the tides more furious. T1 The extraneous influence is withdrawing more and more. Where theologians used to burn each other they now fight o| combats with pens. Where heretics were massacred they �( U ) are now only visited with dislike. Instead of crusades,, with Richard and Saladin, we have young poets singing on the crest of a sparkling tide, and their elder, from refluent waves, murmuring rhythmic Despair. There isa vast difference between the emotions awakened by belief in a deity near at hand, pressing down upon the life, and those awakened by a hypothetical deity of philosophy or ethics. When men attributed their every hourly hap, good or bad, to the personal favour or to the anger of their deity, their feeling at any supposed affront to their deity, mingled with selfishness and terror, rose to a pitch very different from any now known when few men refer any event to supernatural intervention. Yet do the great movements of the universe go on, the cycles and the periods fufil themselves, the planets roll on new orbits with changed revolutions; and, whatever be the corresponding changes in human opinion, they cannot alter the eternal fact. If immortality be the law of the universe, it will be reached by believers and disbelievers alike. But, could the world be made absolutely certain of it beforehand, by the only means of certainty—scientific proof—what were the advantage ? It would no longer be a miraculous thing promising all a leap from earthly sorrow to heavenly bliss, but merely a law of nature—mere continuance—the millions rising from their graves to go on with existence, just as they will rise from their beds to-morrow. There would be no further note of despair from the Laureates ; but how would it be with the general world ? One of the �! L i s j f ft i 1 > i [• i j t j ! 7 ■ E 3 j el it } a fl a J I most powerful poems of our time has been written by a. French lady, Louise Ackermann. It is entitled “LesMalheueux”—the Unhappy. The last day has come ; the trumpet has sounded. A great angel descends ; uncovers all the graves of the dead, and bids them come forth for everlasting life. Some eagerly come forth, but a large number refuse. To the divine command that they shall emerge, their voice is heard in one utterance. They tell him they have had enough of life in His creation ; they have passed through thorns, and over flinty paths—from agony to agony. To such an existence He called them— they suffered it; and now they will forgive Him only if He will let them rest, and forget that they have lived, Such is the despair with which one half of the world might answer the joy of the other should a mere natural immortality be proved. A great deal of the poetry of the world has invested with glory man’s visions of heaven and heavenly beings. The very greatest poets have invested nature and theearth with glory, and set the pulses of the human heart to music. This has been the greatness of Homer, Shakespeare, Goethe. But the majority have given the world visions of heaven, divine dramas, and hymns of immortality ; and it is these that have been taught to earth’s millions in their infancy. These happy hymns have for ages soothed sorrowing hearts, and helped the masses of mankind to bear the burthens of life—this not only in Christendom, but in so-called Pagan lands and ages.. These have been as the songs of Israfel in Eastern faith. �They said a sweet singer among the angels left heaven to go forth over the suffering world and soothe mortals with his heavenly lyre and his hymns, until all were able to Tear the griefs of life because of the joys beyond, rehearsed by Israfel. But once—while this angel was ^singing with his celestial seven-stringed lyre—one string of it snapped. No one could be found to mend the string -or supply its place; and, every time Israfel tried to make music, it was all jangling discords, through that broken ■string. So Israfel took his flight, and never returned to the world. The tale sounds like a foreboding of what has in these last days befallen the sacred poetry which so long made the world forget its griefs. The lyre of Israfel is the human heart, and the snapped string is its faith in a supernatural heaven. It has been snapped by the development of nature ; it therefore cannot be restored unless by a further development: and so Sacred Poetry has taken its flight from the world—its last great song being of a Paradise Lost. In other words, the hope of immortality has ceased to have power to soothe and uplift those who most needed it, because the recognized reign of law forbids belief that such life—should it come —would be very different from the life that uow is. ■» But there is another story of a broken string, with a •different ending. It comes from Greece (Browning has finely told it in The Two Poets of Croisic), the land of Art and of the Beauty that adorns the earth. It is of a bard who came with his lyre to sing for a prize. He •came with other competitors before the solemn judges. �The others had all sung their poems ; now came our youth, with his. His theme rose high and higher, till at length he came to the great theme of his song—Love. Just then, he felt beneath his finger that one string of his lyre had snapt, a string that presently must do its part, or else his song be put to shame. On, on, his strain went, as if to its death ; but just as he drew near his note’ of Despair, lo, a cricket chirped loud, chimed in with just that needed note ! Saved, he went on, and ever as he returned to this broken string the cricket duly made good the snapt string, and thus the judges missed no note of the music, which won the crown. On the poet’s statue was carved the cricket which contributed from the lowly hearth the needed note in that hymn of Love, when the old string had broken. That tale too, I doubt not, came out of that truest of all poets, the human heart. For the heart of our race is aged in such experiences as those which elicit rhymes of Despair. It has seen beautiful symbols fade in myriads ; symbols of heavens innumerable, every one clung to by suffering Egyptians, Persians, Greeks, as much as any Christian clings to their successors. It has seen troops of bright gods and goddesses perish, nymphs and fairies leaving wood and vale desolate ; and yet, just as its gladdest heart-string has snapt, its faith in heaven given way, some cheery note from the earth has come to remind it of the love near at hand, of the divine joy van­ ished from its ancient heavens only to be revealed at the hearth. A cricket-chirp ! That is all. While our great Laureate �( i8 ) is employing his art to sing of despair, and other poets aspire to ambitious themes, the notes are as yet but few and humble, which cheer man with a trust in the love that is near him. But there are such notes making up for the ■creed’s snapt string. Nor are they near only the happy. The cricket sings from many an overshadowed hearth. It tells the heart to be brave, and never count life lost so long as courage remain. It bids man cease thinking so much about himself—whether he be likely to die next year, or die for ever—and go fall in love with something, an out-self; to dispel morbid meditations. It warns us not to worry over what may never happen, or, if it happen, may be for the best, but turn to make what paradise we can on •earth ; nor admit into it the destroyer of every paradise, ■care about the morrow, or about the far future. All these spiritual despairs are diseases of the imagination. In a sense, it is hereditary disease. For many generations our ancestors employed their imaginations for little else than to realise the charnal-house and picture happiness or horrors beyond it. So their children have inherited a morbid tendency of imagination, whereby they may turn from the happiness they have and make themselves miserable with dreams about its vanishing. Such work of the imagination is illegitimate. Imagination is the brightest angel of the head, as Love is of the heart; they are twin angels and their office is to make life rich and beautiful. And they can so enrich and adorn life, though passed in a hovel, though amid pain, though destined to end for ever, provided they be not dismissed from their �( W ) post of present duty and sent wandering through clouds | to find love’s objects, or digging into graves to find life’s i fountain. I love and admire our Laureate for his great ; heart and his beautiful art, but will not follow his muse, I singing of Despaii, except with a hope that it is his way I of writing its epitaph. I will follow the happy minstrel. [ That poet who shows life to be environed with beauty, I makes deserts blossom in his song, whose poem is a ! fountain of joy for all the living, bringing forgetfulness [to pain, and a sweet lullaby for the dying—that shall be I my poet. And if, among the minstrels of our time, such [happy ones connot be found, because some string of faith [or heart is snapped, then let us listen to the cheery [ cricket, to the voices of children, to the gentle words of affection, to the unbroken song of the merry hearts in nature that remember only its loveliness. We will listen Ito these until the new Poetry shall arise—as arise it will |—with fresh songs, to bid all spirits rejoice in that which to the old brought despair. That is the task of Poetry and Art. Every new thing destroying the old brings (despair; none brought more than Christianity—shatter­ ing the fair gods, and Protestantism—over whose havoc of prayers and pieties Luther’s poor wife wept; but Poetry (and Art did their work, and none now long for restoration |of Aphrodite or Madonna. So also shall our age of iscience find its poets and artists, and our children shall no snore long for a buried faith than we for the holy dolls of jcrumbled altars, whose power to charm has fled. �SOUTH PLACE CHAPEL WORKS TO BE OBTAINED IN THE LIBRARY. BY M. D. CONWAY, M.A. Prices. Demonology and Devil-lore................ .............................£1 3 The Wandering Jew ... ............................. 5 Thomas Carlyle ............................. ............................. 5 The Sacred Anthology : A Book of Ethnical Scriptures ... IO Idols and Ideals ............................ 6 The Earthward Pilgrimage ... ............................ 5 Republican Superstitions ................ ............................ 2 Christianity .... ............................ 1 Human Sacrifices in England ............................ 1 Sterling and Maurice... ............................ 0 Intellectual Suicide ... ................ ............................ 0 The First Love Again ............................ 0 Entering Society ............................. ............................. 0 The Religion of Children ............................. 0 The Criminal’s Ascension ............................ 0 The Religion of Humanity ... ............................ 0 The Rising Generation ............................. 0 A Last Word ............................. 0 Thomas Carlyle ............................ 0 The Oath and its Ethics ................ ............................ .02 BY Mr. FREDERIC “ Pantheism and Cosmic Emotion ”... 4 0 0 0 0 0 6 6 0 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 HARRISON. ............................. 0 2 BY Dr. ANDREW WILSON. The Religious Aspects of Health ............................ 0 2 BY A J. ELLIS, B.A., F.R.S., &c., &c. Salvation ......................................... Truth...................................................... Speculation ......................................... Duty...................................................... The Dyer’s Hand ............................. Comte’s Religion of Humanity ............................ ............................ ............................ ............................ ............................ ............................ 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 2 2 2 4 BY W. C. COUPLAND, M.A. ............................. The Conduct of Life ... Hymns and Anthems ................ ................ 0 2 Is., 2s., 3s- REPORT OF THE CONFERENCE OF LIBERAL THINKERS, 1878 ............................................................................... 1 0 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Laureate despair: a discourse given at South Place Chapel December 11th 1881 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway, Moncure Daniel [1832-1907.] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 20, [1] p. ; 15 cm. Notes: Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 2. A list of works available from the South Place Chapel Library on back page. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available South Place Chapel Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1881] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G3352 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Laureate despair: a discourse given at South Place Chapel December 11th 1881), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Alfred Tennyson Belief and Doubt Free Thought Morris Tracts Poetry https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/13f9c10df44c59ff8057c6971276d06a.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=PxrfXvMcKQbS2g1PmC3tVZ2xtErwRZYrMs7hyarMo5QFatRQS62XSDah5sWCEjjR6rZs5AOir5HBYLPYqN7OKT2AAjMBzXC%7Ei1hK7s5Pm-c-6-mx7tXLijoM1npsavfvbnFdSjz3ta3pDKYNCjI4LPW0YGdjzfUCNjfhAeXdc3BWeVt0nT4XOrKJu8WCJpQssCUfkbX36%7EXTDcO9xZifGkL1I6aHSB6YJ5HhGegfKw24NipNDfsqDj74cWYtRYreOcIMQFEVYe5YnsDNgOIKZfao7pNDdT2ldi8cXHe8F2ht8ETkM5-O3xtqUzE9BIuCjTg2ra32yrArkmEAvqBtSQ__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM f0bf5629051e7a851f564a46172d8269 PDF Text Text HE praise of Venus has been often sung, but never in any existing verse of high order with the unhesitating frankness and untempered fervor which distinguish Mr. Swinburne’s last volume of poems* Disdaining apol­ ogy or subterfuge, he lifts up his voice, and with unfaltering tongue and un­ ambiguous phrase he tells in the rich music of his verse the joys of Aphrodite. Of his capacity and his inclination to treat this theme in this manner every attentive reader of his last two poems “ Atalanta in Calydon ” and “ Chastelard ” must be well aware. Both those poems were distinguished by a large simplicity and directness of utterance which showed that the poet had risen far above the plane of timid conventionality ; and the latter showed a ten­ dency toward an open recognition of the power of sexual love and an intense, if not an ideal, expression of its working. The promise of those two dramatic poems in this regard has been amply, but somewhat hastily fulfilled in the present volume, which, as Mr. Swinburne of course expected, is loudly con­ demned by all that class of critics who are content to “ dwell in decencies for­ ever.” We have heard of editors who have refused to notice the book even by way of condemnation, lest they should thus contribute to its notoriety. A weak, unwise, shortsighted policy. Poets of Mr. Swinburne’s grade are not to be crushed by condemnation or extinguished by neglect; least of all when they find their inspiration in a passion which has stirred and swayed the world ever since it became the habitation of two sexes. If they do wrong, if they soil their plumes by too close a contact with unmitigated human nature, let them be convicted and condemned; but let us not fondly sup­ pose, when one of them gives voice to the delight of men in the beauty of . women and of women in the manliness of men that we can stop the world’s ears by pretending that we don’t hear him. No, Mr. Swinburne’s book, like all books that, whether good or bad, are bold and able and high-toned, must be taken up and discussed and its place in literature decided by the general judgment of men, aided through, not controlled by, the decisions of criticism. The very fact that a Jftrge edition of the book was bought up here in three or four days, and that it is the subject of conversation among cultivated and thoughtful people should of itself show critics that it is not to be ignored. We have called these poems high-toned; and this epithet against which some of Mr. Swinburne's censors would most loudly protest, is the one of all at our command which we regard as most particularly expressive of their dis­ tinctive character. Their subject we have stated in plain terms ; and they present that subject unveiled, simply, without mitigation, as bare of conceal­ ment as a naked, un-fig-leaved statue. Yet, in the very essence of their thought they are high-toned. They are filled full of the utterance of that joy T * “Laus Veneris, and other Poems and Ballads.” By Algernon Charles Swinburne. Author’s Edition. New York: Carleton. London : Moxon & Co. �666 MR. SWINBURNE’S POEMS. which to gross souls is gross, but which to all others is mysteriously no les3 imaginative than Bensuous; but there is in them not one .passage that is vulgar, or coarse, or even immodest. There is in Pope’s “ Rape of the Lock,” a poem which is within the reach of any girl who desires to read it, a line of more immodesty than could be made of all Charles Swinburne’s poems concen­ trated within the same compass. And by calling Mr. Swinburne’s lyrics high-toned we do not mean merely that they are the product of genius. They are that indeed ; but so is “ Don Juan,” a poem open to objection of the same kind as those which are urged against “ Laus Veneris; ” but “ Don Juan,” work of genius although it be, is as low in tone, as light and as frivo­ lous as “ Laus Veneris” is high and impressive and serious. “ Don Juan ” was written to furnish amusement by the prurient treatment of forbidden subjects; “ Laus Veneris ” is the presentation in the naked ideal of an over­ powering passion. It is not immodest but, like other things that are also not immodest, under certain circumstances it is indecent. The line above alluded to in the “ Rape of the Lock ” is immodest and under all circumstances inde­ cent, because it belittles, and degrades, and treats with gross familiarity, and sets up for jeers and laughter one of the most masterful of human passions, and one which more than any other sways, through soul and sense, the whole being of every perfect human creature. Mr. Swinburne writes with no such motive. He shows us the figure of Love stripped bare, but never grovelling. Yet, as we have said, his book is, or rather it becomes indecent under certain circumstances. The man who would read in mixed society, at this day, or read to a young woman, or, for that matter, to an old one, such a poem as Mr. Swinburne’s sonnet, rf Love and Sleep ” would commit an act so indecent as to merit the immediate ejection from the house, which he would, probably re­ ceive. But so would he be indecent if he offered the woman a caress, which, under other circumstances, she would both desire and expect. So would he be if he read many passages in the “ Song of Solomon,” which are in every respect as plain-spoken and as fervid as anything that Mr. Swinburne has written, and certain others in the fourth and the eighth books of “ Paradise Lost.” And yet, the woman who cannot read any of these herself without harm, is already long past mental contamination. The question is plainly this, Is sexual love in itself impure ? or is it in itself entirely without moral charac­ ter, and under certain circumstances as rightful as it is joyful, and under others criminal, and in the end full of bitterness ? Will men who have wives and mothers, and women who hope to be wives and mothers decide for the former ? And if it is not impure, filling, as it does, so large a place and hav­ ing so important a function in man’s life, shall it be excluded from the domain of art, of high art ? No, but let it be draped, is th^ reply that will come from some quarters. Surely, let it be draped, except he comes who shows that he has the right to lift its veil. He will show his right by the way in which he exercises it. We do not go about unclothed. We do not put any undraped picture upon our walls, because there are few painters who have the right to paint nude figures for pure-minded people. But when one of those who have the right paints such a picture, then it hangs before our eyes and we see that it is naked, and are not ashamed. What genius and high mental tone are in art love as well as in real life—so our poet says ; Behold my Venus, my soul’s body, lies With my love laid upon her garment-wise. This is the key note of his song. To a woman who loves, the love of the �MR. SWINBURNE’S POEMS. 667 man she loves is as a garment. A modest woman never lays aside her mod­ esty ; but as to shame, one of the greatest of moralists tells us that that may be < taken off and put on like her petticoat. It is from this moral plane, and through this moral medium that Mr. Swinburne contemplates his subject. We have said that his lyrics, under certain circumstances, would be indecent: more, to many people, they will be blasphemous. Take this passage as an example curiously framed to elicit both those epithets : Lo she was thus when her clear limbs enticed All lips that now grow sad with kissing Christ, Stained with the blood fallen from the feet of God, The feet and hands where at our souls were priced. Alas, Lord, surely thoH art great and fair. But lo her wonderfully woven hair ! And thou didst heal us with thy piteous kiss; But see now, Lord ; her mouth is lovelier. She is right fair; what hath she done to thee ? Nay, fair Lord Christ, lift up thine eyes and see; Had now thy mother such a lip—like this ? Thou knowest how sweet a thing it is to me. Could the ingenuity of genius, taxed for the sole purpose, contrive to bring together within twelve lines anything more shocking to the ascetic religionist than this ? Let every man who can see in this passage only blasphemy and impurity, let every man who measures a woman’s innocence by her physio­ logical ignorance and her bodily torpidity, exclude this book from his house and the houses of all those in whom he takes an interest, as he would keep poison from his table; for it swells to bursting with such venom. There will be others who, perceiving at once the dramatic spirit through the lyric form of these poems, will find in them neither blasphemy nor the intention of blasphemy, and who, breathing the same moral atmosphere as the poet, will find in his song impurity neither of word nor thought. To all such readers they will not only be harmless, but full of deep and strong delight. Their beauty, and the joy they give, is heroic, and will consume small souls It is like the beauty of the poet's “ Dolores,” to whom he says • Thou wert fair in the fearless old fashion, And thy limbs are as melodies yet. His whole book is an expression of beauty and of passion in this fearless old fashion: naked, free and strong. Naked not for the sake of nakedness, but for the sake of freedom, strength and beauty. In this as in the dramatic motive of these lyrics, and also in his way of not beginning at the beginning, but, as it were, in the middle, and implying what has gone before, Mr. Swin­ burne is very like the greatest dramatic poet the world has seen for two cen­ turies—Robert Browning. A failure to perceive the purely dramatic charac­ ter of almost all the erotic poems in this volume must lead to a very errone­ ous and unjust judgment of the poet. Thus, in “Before Dawn" the sup­ posed speaker says, that amid the fierce joys to which he has abandoned him­ self, he is ready, **’’. • To say of shame—what is it ? Of virtue—we can miss it; Of sin—we can but kiss it And it’s no longer sin. �668 MR. SWINBURNE’S POEMS. And of a beautiful woman it is said elsewhere, All her body was more virtuous Than souls of women fashioned otherwise. These passages cause sentence to be pronounced upon him in various quarters for the crime of asserting that delight purges sin of wrong and that beauty makes vice virtue. But the poet is not preaching, he is painting. And the spirit, if not the very thought of both these passages is expressed by Brown­ ing in one of his finest poems, “ Pippa Passes.” Lucca’s wife Ottima is with her paramour Sebald, to whom she says, Sebald, as we lay Rising and falling only with our pants Who said, Let death come now—'tis right to die ! Right to be punished—naught completes such bliss But woe ? . . . Bind it [her hair] thrice about my brow Crown me your queen, your spirit’s arbitress, Magnificent in sin. True, Browning makes the voice of Pippa singing “ God is in his heaven ” rouse Sebald from his guilty trance, to loathe his paramour. But so Swin­ burne closes his poem thus : Lest all who love and choose him See Love and so refuse him ; For all who find him lose him, But all have found him fair. Whoever will read this scene of Browning’s—poet without reproach—will find in it an expression of delight in physical beauty and of abandonment to pas­ sion which it would almost seem that Mr. Swinburne had imitated and not surpassed. And in Browning’s “ Dramatic Lyrics ” and in his “ Men and Women” are other passages that glow with all the amorous fire that burns in Mr. Swinburne’s pages. There is this great difference, however, among others, between the poets, that Browning has not published a volume devoted to the celebration of sexual love and fleshly beauty. But that Mr. Swinburne fias done so is at once his sin and his salvation, as a poet writing for the general public. Whoever takes up this volume knows beforehand exactly the en­ tertainment to which he is bidden; no reader finds himself 'betrayed into reading erotic poetry. For one of the poems in this book we can, however, find no excuse, even in its marvellous beauty, because its subject is without the pale of nature. True, it is purely dramatic ; but why the poet should choose such a subject as that incomprehensible, monstrous passion known as “ Sapphic love,” and name his poem by the Greek word “ Anactoria,” i. e., sovereignty, we cannot conjecture. Had he exhausted nature and the love of man and woman for each other? Yet, in this poem, as we have already intimated, are some of the finest passages that he has written, some of the very finest in all modern poetry. We do not refer only or chiefly to such ex­ quisite expressions of love as, The fervent under lid, and that above Lifted with laughter or abashed with love, Thine amorous girdle, full of thee and fair, And leavings of the lilies in thine hair. The poem passes beyond these limits, and deals not reverentially with sub- �MR. SWINBURNE’S POEMS. 669 jeets higher and vaster than mere human passion. In a passage of this kind are the following lines, of strange power and awful beauty : For who shall change with prayers and thanksgivings The mystery of the cruelty of things ? Or say what God above all gods and years With offering and blood and sacrifice of tears, With lamentation from strange lands, from graves Where the snake pastures, from scarred mouths of slaves, From prison, and from plunging prows of ships Through flame-like foam of the sea’s closing lips— With thwarting of strange signs, and wind-blown hair Of comets, desolating the dim air, When darkness is made fast with seals and bars And fierce reluctance of disastrous stars, Eclipse, and sound of shaken hills, and wings Darkening, and blind inexplicable things— With sorrow of laboring moons, and altering light And travail of the planets of the night, And weeping of the weary Pleiad’s seven, Feeds the mute, melancholy lust of heaven This may be frightfully impious, even when put into the mouth of the heathen Sappho ; but it is not, therefore, one whit less grand. Has there lived more than one other poet who could think such thoughts and use lan­ guage with such supreme mastery ? We do not remember in all poetical literature a passage which expresses with such sustained power the vague terror and mysterious woe of the whole universe. It is in his daring use of language and his ability to justify his daring that half Mr. Swinburne’s power resides. In the above passage this power is very striking. The very phrase “ disastrous stars,” against which the etymological criticism might be brought that it is tautological—“ disastrous ” having come to mean fraught with calamity because it first meant ill-starred—is yet evidence of the poet’s right­ ful consciousness of a power which places him above all such pedagogic con­ siderations in his choice of words. A scholar himself, he can yet leave his scholarship out of sight and out of mind, while yet with the trained skill of an intellectual athlete he does feats of language which to mere scholars would be impossible. He is the master, not the servant of words, and uses them for the service that they can do to-day, not for that which they could do in days gone by. Yet that he can use them thus, as if he had been born four hun­ dred years ago, he shows in “ The Masque of Queen Bersabe ” and “ St. Dorothy.” And the name of the latter poem reminds us to mention it as one that for its spirit might have been written by a saintly nun. It is a poetic exaltation of the legend of the Christian virgin who died in Rome by the axe rather than enter the service of Venus, as that service was in the decadence of the Empire. There are other poems of like spirit in the volume. Such are “Itylus,” one of the sweetest and tenderest, as well as most musical lyric poems in the language, “ A Lamentation ” and “ Amina Ancepsand although such as these are rare, those are frequent which tell terribly of the woes that wrongful love may bring. There is not a sadder, more remorseful poem to be read than “ The Triumph of Time.” But magazines have limits, and we must stay our hand. Mr. Swinburne’s poems are not without faults, but these are trifling indeed compared with the strange, fresh beauty of the pages that they spot. One blemish of frequent occur­ �670 MR. SWINBURNE’S POEMS. rence we have noticed—the more because it should not have appeared in the work of a poet who is so fertile .of fancy, so rich in language, and who has such a remarkable gift of rhyme. The kisses that, whether implied or named must needs be plentifully scattered over the pages of an erotic poet, are too often used for sound as well as sense by Mr. Swinburne—who ought to be above making "kiss” rhyme to “bliss”—and, moreover, are incessantly repre­ sented as stings or wounds. The lips that give and take them are described as flecked with blood and very often with salt foam ; so often, indeed, that it provokes the thought that Mr. Swinburne gets his lovers into a very sad pickle. This blemish is one symptom of the general evil of these poems— that they are overwrought and have too little of the repose which is a neces­ sary condition of all high art. The turbulence is grand, the passion is real as well as fervid; but we do not li_a to live in a tempest. We cannot refrain from remarking that Mr. Swinburne has the high distinction of being the first poet since Shakespeare who has written lines that Shakespeare might have written. We do not mean to liken him to Shakespeare; and we refer not to his thoughts but to his turn of phrase, which is sometimes like Shakespeare’s in his sonnets. We can only quote as example these lines from the beautiful poem upon the myth of Hermaphroditus and Salmacis : Where between sleep and life some brief space is With love like gold bound round about the head, Sex to sweet sex with lips and limbs is wed, Turning the fruitful feud of hers and his To the waste wedlock of a sterile kiss. That last line Mr. Swinburne might have recovered from some lost sonnet of Shakespeare’s; so might he this whole passage. To what strange end hath some strange god made fair The double blossom of two fruitless flowers? Hid love in all the folds of all thy hair Fed thee on Summers, watered thee with showers Given all the gold that all the seasons wear To thee that art a thing of barren hours ? But wide as are the bounds of our admiration, our expression of it must be compressed within narrow limits. Let no one misunderstand us. These poems are of the flesh fleshly. They are not of the kind that “ will not bring a blush to the cheek of innocence,” and they should be shunned and execrated by all people who believe that a blush of awakened consciousness is the first warning of the flight of purity. Nor would those who do not so believe, and who think that these dramatic lyrics have their place in poetry, and that no mean one, be pleased to see any friend, young or old, male or female, choose them for frequent perusal. They are not written virginibus puerisque. Yet the spirit that animates them is not that of Aretino ; the pictures that they present do not bring up those that Giulio Romano drew. The men and women who speak through them are such as Raphael painted -after he had touched the lips of the Fornarina. Let every man avert his eyes who be­ lieves that there is sin in passion or pollution in beauty. Richard Grant White. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Mr Swinburne's poems Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource White, Richard Grant [1832-1907.] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [s.l.] Collation: [665]-670 p. ; 23 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Review of 'Laus Veneris, and other Poems and Ballads' by Swinburne. Author's edition. New York: Carleton; London: Moxon & Co. From Galaxy 2. Attribution: Virginia Clark catalogue. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [s.n.] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [n.d.] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5315 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Mr Swinburne's poems), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Algernon Charles Swinburne Conway Tracts English Poetry Poetry in English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/d24aa7b84cd60c734116cf90cbf0450e.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=TpUYUJPI59qZezBNChcDvwNp4bNBI5USnnuw8R8RUSUDZrhrr3WD71FXAfUMecEvquD-g511OWOpIlmQb5j4g5vtexrusFgZaXbenWOsqltLWVAH8dfoBiWBjU5adJIjip%7EOpsB-9rSVNmwpdAeemuYdQGLiobX49c-OuNFXZpdGwB25Vv3zTDQ5ZE0D0UxhIHID3YKaYXuGqw0i2wQdpyqArvXoLSAlxXcYIiKGW1qMHwJxXE4T4jqi3LNhQjK3M8fBeirOL1rTUebmsbE1UD082HTP31De0VlEohSEDP91EFDYunoQHAKJWSfv2FUmOre1VZMswWFofBjJgONHgA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM f5a3d3ae247ddd963b9b1378a1186dd4 PDF Text Text �“ They stood beside the coffin’s foot and head. Both gazed in silence, with bowed faces—Grey With bony chin pressed into bony throat.” �/ 449 BY WILLIAM M. ROSSETTI. “ Perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart ; one of the indivisible primary faculties or sentiments which give direction to the character of man. —Edgar Poe. Rain-washed for hours, the streets at last were dried. Profuse and pulpy sea-weed on the beach, Pushed by the latest heavy tide some way Across the jostled shingle, was too far For washing back, now that the sea at ebb Left an each time retreating track of foam. There were the wonted tetchy and sidelong crabs, With fishes silvery in distended death. No want of blue now in the upper sky:— But also many piled-up flab grey clouds, Threatening a stormy night-time; and the sun Sank, a red glare, between two lengthened streaks, Hot dun, that stretched to southward; and at whiles The wind over the water swept and swept. The townspeople, and, more, the visitors, Were passing to the sea-beach through the streets, To take advantage of the lull of rain. The English “ Rainy weather” went from mouth To mouth, with “Very” answered, or a shrug Of shoulders, and a growl, and “Sure to bo! Began the very day that we arrived.” “ Yes,” answered one who met a travelling friend; “ I had forgotten that in England you Must carry your umbrella every day. An Englishman’s a centaur of his sort, Man cross-bred with umbrella. All the same, I say good-bye to France and Italy, Now that I’m here again. Excuse me now, As I was going up into the town To feast my eyes on British tiles and slates.” So on he walked, looking about him. Rows Of houses were passed by, irregular ; Many compacted of the shingle-stones, Round, grey or white—with each its gar­ den patch VI. Now as the outskirts neared; and down the streets Which crossed them he was catching glimpses still Of waves which whitening shattered out at sea. The road grew steep here, climbing up a slope Strewn with October leaves, which followed him, Or drifted edgeways on. The grey ad­ vanced, Half colour and half dusk, along the sky. A dead leaf from a beech-tree loosed itself, And touched across his forehead. As ho raised His eyes, they caught a window, and he stopped— An opened upper window of a house With close-drawn blinds. A man was settled there, Eager in looking out, yet covertly. He watched, nor moved his eyes from that he watched. The passenger drew close beside the rails, Looking attentively. “ Why, Grey,” he cried; “ Can that be you, Grey ? I had thought you’d been----- ” The face turned sharply on him, and the eyes Glanced down, and both hands pulled the window shut. Pushing a wicket-gate, the other went On to the door, expecting it to unclose. The garden was but scantly stocked with flowers, And these were fading mostly, thinly leaved, The earth-plots littered with the fall of them. Stately some dahlia-clusters yet delayed, Crimson, alternating with flame-colour. He stretched his fingers to the velvet bloom Of one, and drew a petal ’twixt them. Then 29 �450 The plaited flower fell separate all to earth By ring and ring; only the calyx stood Upon its stalk. The autumn time was come. Out of the bordering box stiff plantain grew. Scarce would the loose trees have afforded shade, So lessened was the bulk between their boughs, Had there been sun to cast it. In the grass Bested the moisture of the recent rain. No one seemed coming; so he walked some steps Backward, and peered: no sign of any one. He knocked, and at the touch the door unclosed. “Don’t you remember, years ago, your friend, And correspondent since, John Harling ?” “ Oh, I know you, sir, of course—I did at once.” “ Sir ! Why, how now ? Between old friends like us ? How many letters that begin ‘Dear John' In your handwriting, I have asked after, These eight years, in some scores of postesrestantes ! Too many, I should hope, for us to Sir Each other now. But only tell me, Grey------” Grey said, “ Come up, come up.” There was a haste About his words and manner, and he seemed To half forget what first he meant to do. He paused at the stairs’ foot; then, with a glance Thrown backward at his friend, who stayed for him, He mounted hurriedly, two steps at once. They had not shaken hands yet. Harling his Had proffered with the words he uttered first, But Grey had not appeared to notice it. Harling had caught the look of the other’s face Where twilight in the doorway glimmered fresh, And he had fancied it was pale and worn, And anxious as with watchings through the night. But in the room the light no longer served Eor one to see the other, how the weeks Had changed him, and the months and years. The room Was dim between the window-blinds and dusk. Now seated—“As you see, John,” Grev began, “This is a bed-room. I have not had time To trouble myself yet about the house.” “ You are but just arrived, then ?” “Yes, but just.” He was about to say some more, but stopped. “ And now,” said Harling, “ you shall tell me all About yourself. And how and where’s your wife ? What is it brought you down here ? Have you left Oxford, in which your practice was so good? Or are you here on holidays ? I come Upon you by an unexpected chance. There must be something to be learned, I know; Chances are not all chance-work. Tell me all.” His friend rose up at this; and Harling saw His knuckles on his forehead, at his hair, And thought his eyes grew larger through the dark. Grey touched him on the shoulder, draw­ ing breath To speak with, but he then again sat down. “Why, first I ought to hear your news, I think,” At last he answered, swallowing the gasps Which came into his mouth, and clipped his words. “ Though travellers have a vested right to lie, I’ll take it all on trust.” He forged a laugh. Harling grew certain there was something now His friend had got to tell, and must, but feared. He knew how such a fear, by yielding grows, And would have had him speak it out at once. Nevertheless he answered, “ As you will. And yeti have but little left to say Since my last letter. But the whole is this. But let us first have light before we talk, That we may know each other once again. I shall not flatter you if grizzled hairs �ÎHrg; Wolmeg Æhqu Prove to outnumber your original brown, But tell you truth. Pou tell the truth of me. X am more than half a Frenchman, I be­ lieve, By this time. That’s no compliment, say I, For a John Bull at heart, and I am one ; Thank God, a Tory, and hang the Marseillaisel” “No lights, no lights,” Grey answered, moodily. “ Can we not talk again as once we used, Through twilight and through evening into night, Knowing, without a light, it was we two ?— I little thought then it would come to this,” He added, and his voice was only sad. “ And it is well, too, that the light should come, jfor then perhaps you will hare made a guess, By seeing me, before I tell it you. My dear old friend, it’s needless now to attempt To hide it. I am wretched—that’s the word. I am a fool not to have got the thing Over already, for it has to come At last. But there’s a minute’s respite still, Ifor first you were to tell me of yourself; So. Harling, you speak now. But first the light.” The other, leaning forward, took his hand, And tried to speak some comfort; but the words Faltered between his lips. For he was sure That, if he had already heard this grief, He would not talk of comfort, but sit dumb. The lights were come now, and each looked on each. The traveller’s face was bronzed, and his hah’ crisp And close, and his eyes steady—all himself Compact and prompt to any chance. And yet He was essentially the same who went, To find his level, forth eight years ago, Unformed, florid - complexioncd, easytongued : Travel and time had only mellowed him. Grey was the same in feature, not in fact. His face was paler that was always pale ; The forehead something wrinkled, and the lips Aria and meagre, faded, marked with lines ; The eyes had sunken further in the head, 451 With a dark ridge to each, and grizzled brows ; His hair, though as of old, was brown and soft. The difference was less, but more the change. Each looked on each some minutes : neither spoke. His friend was clothed in black, as Har­ ling saw, Who now resumed the thread of his dis­ course. “ As for my own adventures, they are few : For, after I left Rome—the storm will burst, Be sure, at Rome, before the year is done— I went straight back to Paris. Politics, You know, I’ve stood aloof from all the year ; But even with me, ( oo, they have done their work. My poor Louise was dead—shot down, I learned, Upon the people’s barricades in June : She turned up quite a Red Republican After their twenty-fourth of February ; And my successor in her graces fell With her—both fighting and yelling side by side. I could not but curse at them through my teeth With her own sacré-Dieu's—the whole of them Who get up revolutions and revolts. And then they swore I was an Orleanist, An English spy, or something ; and indeed I found myself, the scanty days I stopped, A centre-piece for all the blackest looks. At least I thought so. Many of my friends, Besides, were gone, waiting for better times When next they come to Paris. So I left Disgusted, and crossed over. Why should I Quit England and dear brother Tories? still, Although I do now think of settling here, Perhaps, before another twelvemonth goes, The South will tempt me back—sooner, perhaps. I must, I think, die travelling in the South.” He made an end of speaking. Grey looked up. “ Is there no more ?” he asked. He said, “ No more.” Grey’s face turned whiter, and his fingers twitched. �452 Mrs* Wohnes “ It is my turn to speak, then” :—and he I Upon a prayer-book, open at the rite rose, I Of solemnizing holy matrimony. Taking a candle: “ come this way v ith me.” Her marriage-ring was stitched into the page. They stepped aside into a neighbouring room. Grey stood a long while gazing. Then he Grey walked with quiet footsteps, and he set turned The candle on the ground, and on his knce3 So noiselessly the handle of the door Close to her unringed shrouded hand, he That Harling fancied some one lay asleep prayed, Inside. The hand recovered steadiness. Silent. With eyes still dry, he rose un­ changed. The room was quite unfurnished, striking chill. They left the room again with heeded.steps. A rent in the drawn window-blind betrayed On friendly Harling lay the awe of death A sky unvaried, moonless, cloudless, black. And pity: he took his seat without a Only two chairs were set against the wall, sound. And, not yet closed, a coffin placed on Some of the hackneyed phrases almost them. passed Harling’s raised eyes inquired why he was His lips, but shamed him, and ho held his peace. brought Hither, and should he still advance and “ Harling,” said Grey, after a pause, “ you look. think “ It is my wife,” said Grey; “ look in her No doubt that this is all—her death is all. face.” Harling, when first I saw you in the street, This in a whisper, holding Harling’s arm, I feared you meant to come and speak And tightened fingers clenched the whis­ to me; pering. So hid myself and waited till you knocked ; Darling could feel his forehead growing Waited behind the door until you knocked, Longing that you, perhaps, would go. moist, When I And sought in vain his friend's averted Had opened it, I think I called you Sir— eyes. Did you not chide me ? Do you know, it Their steps, suppressed, creaked on the un­ seemed covered boards: So strange to me that any one I knew They stood beside the coffin’s foot and Before this happened should be here the head. same, Both gazed in silence, with bowed faces— And know me for the same that once I was, Grey I could not quite imagine we were friends. With bony chin pressed into bony throat. It is not merely death would make one feel The woman’s limbs were straight inside her Like this—no, there is something more shroud. behind The death which brooded glazed upon her Harder than death, more cruel. Let me eyes wait Was hidden underneath the shapely lids ; Some moments ; then no help but I must But the mouth kept its anguish. Combed tell.” and rich The hair, which caught the light within its lie gathered up his face into his hands strings, Brom chin to temples, only just to think Golden about the temples, and as fine And not be seen. He had not seated him, And soft as any silk-web ; and the brows But leaned against the chair. Nor Harling A perfect arch, the forehead undisturbed ; spoke. B ut the mouth kept its anguish, and the “ Two months are gone now,” Grey pur­ lips, sued. “We two Closed after death, seemed half in act to Lived lovingly. I had to come down here, speak. And here I met a surgeon of the town. Covered the hands and feet; the head was Hell only knows—I cannot tell you—why, laid �fHrs, Wolrnes 453 I asked him to return with me, and spend I So that would make her sad. I thought it strange A fortnight at our house. Perhaps I wrote Th® whole of this to you when it occurred. She had not so informed me from the first. Her cousin, when I named the point, ap­ His name is Luton.” peared Here he chose to pause. Surprised ; but then to recollect herself, “Perhaps: I am not certain.” Harling And answered—I could see, a little piqued— said. She should not cry again because of her. “ I think you might be certain,” answered “ These fits of tears continued. We were Grey, now “If you’re my friend.” But then he Alone together, for the cousin went checked himself, Away soon after. Then I could not help Adding : “ Forgive me. I am not, you see, Seeing her health and strength were giving Myself to-night—this night, nor many way : nights, Her mind, too, seemed oppressed. She’d Nor many nights to come. Well, he agreed. hardly leave Of course, he must agree; else I should At nights the chair she sat in, for she said not ‘ This is the only place where I can sleep.’ Have been like this, disgraced, made al­ Yet her affection for me seemed to grow most mad.” A kind of pity for its tenderness. Oh ! what is now become of her, that I, At this he found his passion would be near After to-morrow, shall not see her more, To drive him to talk wildly : so he kept Silence again some moments—then re­ But have to hide her always from my sight ?” sumed. He took some steps, meaning to go again “ How should I recollect the days we passed Together ? There must surely have been And see her corpse; but, meeting Harling’s eye, enough Turned and sat down. To see, and yet I never saw it once. Besides, my patients kept me out all day “ Is it not,” he pursued, Sometimes. It was in August, John, was With fioorward gaze, “ hard on me I mustthis— tell The end of AuguBt, reaping just begun. This business word by word, the whole of it, We’ve had a splendid harvest, you’ll have While I can see it all before me there, heard.” And it is clear one word could tell it all ? Can you not guess the rest, and spare inc “ Indeed!” the other said, shifting the while now ?” His posture—and he knew not what to say. “ I will not guess; but you,” said Harling, “ Yes, you detect me,” Grey cried bitterly ; “keep “ You know I am afraid of what’s to come— All that remains unspoken ; for it wrings A coward. Now I do hope I shall speak, My heart, dear Grey, dear friend, to see And tell you all of it without a stop. you thus.” There was a lady staying with us then, “ No, it is better I should speak it out, A cousin of my wife’s—but older, much; For you would fancy something; and at So that you understand how I could ask least This Luton down. Before his time was up, You will not need to fancy w’hen you know. He seemed to grow uneasy, and he left,-—■ She came to me one morning—(this was Merely explaining, business called him like home. A fortnight after he had gone away,. _ I said I had not noticed anything This Luton)—saying that she found it vain Unusual; and yet I sometimes found Attempting to compose her mind at home ; Mary in tears, and could not gather why. One day she told me when I questioned her That every place made her remember what The baby had done or looked there, and It was for thinking of our girl that died ilie felt Months back—for that her cousin would Too weak for that, and meant to see -ier begin friends Often to talk to her about her own; �454 Mrs. Woltw (That is, two sisters some few miles from here). She spoke more firmly than I had heard her talk A long time past—because I thought it long— And I believed she had determined right, And so consented. But she only said ‘ I have made up my mind ’—thus waiving all Consent on my part—mere sick wilfulness I took it for. She left the house. I might Have told you she’d a lilac dress, and hair Worn plain. And so I saw her the last time— The last time, God in heaven!” He seized his fists Together, and he clutched them toward his throat. “Many days passed. She had begged me, feeling sure It would excite her, not to write a line, And said she would not write, nor let her friends. I think I did not tell you, though, how pale Her cheeks were ; and, in saying this, she sobbed, For such a lengthened silence looked like death. “ Three weeks, or nearly that, had passed away: A letter on black-bordered paper came. It was from Luton. Then I did not know The hand, but shall now, if it comes again. He wrote that I must go immediately, That I was ‘to prepare myself’—some trash : He ‘ dared not trust his pen to tell me more.’ “ On Thursday I arrived here. I cannot Attempt to tell you all about it. When You’ve read this, only call me, and I’ll come; But I will not be by you while you road. On the first day I heard it all from him, And loathe him for it. I am left alone, And all through him.” He took a newspaper From underneath his pillow, and he showed The place to read at. Then he left the room ; And Harling caught his footfall toward the corpse, And touching of his knees upon the boards. And this is what ho feverishly perused:— “ Coroner's Inquest—A Distressing Case. An inquest was held yesterday, before The County Coroner, into the cause Of the decease of Mrs. Mary Grey, A married lady. Public interest Was widely excited. “ When the Jury came From viewing the corpse, in which are seen remains Of no small beauty, witnesses were called. “ Mr. Holmes Grey, surgeon, deposed : ‘ I live In Oxford, where I practise, and deceased Had been my wife for upwards of three years. About the middle of September, she Was suffering much from weakness, and a weight Seemed on her mind. The symptoms had begun Nearly a month before, and still increased, Until at last they gave me great alarm, Of which we often spoke. On the eighteenth She told me she would like to stay awhile With two of her sisters, living on the coast, At Barksedge House, not far from here. She went Next day. I cannot speak to any more.’ “ The Coroner: ‘ How were you first ap­ prised Of this most melancholy event ?’—‘ By note Addressed to me by Mr. Luton here.’ “A Juror : ‘ Could your scientific skill Assign some cause for this debility ?’ ‘No. I believed it was occasioned (so She intimated) by a domestic grief Quite unconnected with the present case.’ “The Coroner: ‘You’ll know how to ex­ cuse The question which I feel compelled to put: I have a public duty to perform. Had you, before the period you described, Any suspicions ever?’—‘ Never once : There was no cause for any, I swear to God.’ “ The witness had, throughout his testi­ mony, Preserved his calm—though clearly not without An effort, which augmented towards the close. �Wolmeg 455 “Jane Langley: ‘I keep lodgings in the The same thing happened ; but she spoke town. of love On the nineteenth September the deceased Now, and the very word half passed her lips. Engaged a bed-room and a sitting-room. Our talk ended abruptly. Mrs. Gwyllt The name I knew her by was Mrs. Grange; Came in, and by her face I saw she had I saw but very little of her; she kept, heard. As much as that ■well could be, to herself, “ ‘ This instance was the last we talked And she would frequently leave home for alone. hours. And I began to hear from -Mr. Grey I cannot say I made any remark His wife was far from well, and had the Especially. I found a letter once— tears Just a few words, torn up. ‘ Holmes,’ it Now often in her eyes. This made me feel began. Hampered and restless : so I took my leave { This letter is the last you ever will. . .’ After my first eleven days’ stay was gone, No more, I think. I threw the bits away. Saying I had affairs that could not wait. That was, perhaps, four days before her death. “ £ Between the seventh of September, when On that day, I suppose, as usual, We parted, and the twenty-third, I saw She left the house : I did not see her, though. No more of the deceased. Towards seven She was brought home quite dead.’ o’clock That evening, I was told a lady wished “ Upon the name To speak with me. She entered : it was Of the next witness being called, some stir she— Arose through persons pressing on to look. Deceased. I can’t describe how pained I After it had been silenced, and the oath was Duly administered, the evidence At finding she had left her home like this. Proceeded. She said she loved me, and conjured me “Mr. Edward Luton, surgeon : much ‘ I lately here began for the first time Not to desert her; that she loved me In my profession. I was introduced young; To Mr. Grey in August. When he left That, after we had ceased to meet, she The seaside, he invited me to pass knew A fortnight at his house, and I agreed. And married Mr. Grey. Also, that when On seeing Mrs. Grey, I recognized He wrote to her in August I should come, In her a lady I had known before Guessing who I must be, she thought it Her marriage, a Miss Cbalsted. We had well met To treat me as a stranger—dreading lest In company, and, in particular, Her love (so she assured me) should revive. At some so-called “mesmeric evenings,” All this through sobs and blushes. I could held not At her remote connection’s house, the late Make up my mind what conduct to pursue : Dr. Duplatt. But now, as Mrs. Grey I begged her to be calm, and wait awhile. Allowed my presentation to pass off And I would write. Sae left unnerved Without a hint of knowing me, I left and weak. This point to her, and seemed a stranger : till “ ‘ I took five days, bewildered how to act. We chanced, the sixth day, to be left alone. But on the evening of the fifth, I saw, I talked on just the same, but she was silent. While looking out of window—(it was At last she answered, and began to speak dusk, Familiarly of when she knew me first; And almost nightfall)—Mrs. Grey, who Without explaining—merely as one might paced, talk Muffled in clothes, before my door. I knew Changing the subject. But I let it pass. By this how dangerous it must be to wait And yet, when we were next in company, For a day longer; so I wrote at once Once more she acted new acquaintanceship. She absolutely must return to her home. Then, two days after, I believe—one time Nothing was known as yet—all might be Her cousin, Mrs. Gwyllt, was out by well; chance— In time she would forget me ; and besides �456 ÍBrsí. Colmes I was engaged to marry, and must regard Our intercourse as ended. “ ‘ She returned Next day, the twenty-ninth; and, falling down Upon her knees, she cried, with hardly a word, Some while, and kept her face between her hands; But at the last she swore she would not go, But rather die here. It continued thus Six days. For she would come and seat herself, When I was present, in my room, and sit, An hour or near, quite silent; or break out Into a flood of words—and then, perhaps Between two syllables, stop short, and turn Round in her chair, and sob, and hide her tears. “ * The sixth day, after she had left the house, I had an intimation we were watched, And certain persons bad begun to talk. I thought it indispensable to write Once more, and tell her she could not re­ main— I owed it to myself not to allow This state of things to last; that I had given The servant orders to deny me, should She still persist in calling. “‘Towards mid-day Of the sixth instant, the deceased once more Was at my house, however;—darted through The door, which happened to be left ajar, And flung herself right down before my feet. This day she did not shed a single tear, Nor talk at all at random, but was firm : I mean, unalterably resolute In purpose, and her passion more uncurbed Than ever: swore it was impossible She should return to live with Mr. Grey Again ; that, were she at her latest hour, She still would say so, and die saying so : ‘Because’ (I recollect her words) ‘this flame All eats me up while I am here with you; I hate it, but it eats me—eats me up, Till I have now no will to wish it quenched.’ I hope to be excused repeating ail That I remember to have heard her say. She bitterly upbraided me for what I last had written to her, and declared She hated me and loved me all at once With perfect hate as well as burning love. This must have lasted fully half an hour. However fearful as to the results, I told her simply I could not retract, And she must go, or I immediately Would write to Mr. Grey. I rose at this To leave the room. “ ‘ She staggered up as well. And screamed, and caught about her with her hands : I think she could not see. I dreaded lest She might be falling, and I held her arm, Trying to guide her out. As I did so, She, in a hurry, faced on me, and screamed Aloud once more, and wanted, as I thought, To speak, but, in a second, fell. “ ‘ I raised Her body in my arms, and found her dead. I had her carried home without delay, And a physician called, whose view con­ curred With mine—that instant death must have ensued Upon the rupture of a blood-vessel.’ “ This deposition had been listened to Tn the most perfect silence. At its close We understand a lady was removed Fainting. “ The Coroner: ‘You said just now That, in your former letter to deceased, You told her nothing yet was known. Was not Her absence traced, then, and suspicion roused ? Did she inform you ?’ ‘ She informed me that Would not be, for that Mr. Grey and she Had mutually consented not to write. I have forgotten why.’ “ The Coroner: ‘ Is Mr. Grey still present ?’ Mr. Grey ; ‘Yes, I am here.’ ‘You heard the last reply; Was such the case?’ ‘It was; we had agreed To exchange no letters, that her mind might have The benefit of more complete repose.’ “A J uror to the witness : ‘ Did no acts Of familiarity occur between Deceased and you ?’ “ Here Mr. Grey addressed The Coroner, demurring to a reply. “ The Coroner : ‘ It grieves me very much �dMrs. Pointes To pain your feelings; but I feel com­ pelled To say the question is a proper one. It is the Jury’s duty to gain light On this exceedingly distressing case ; The public mind has to be satisfied; I owe a duty to the public. Let The witness answer.’ “ Witness: ‘ She would clasp Her arms around me in speaking tenderly, And kiss me. She has often kissed my hands. Not beyond that.’ “ The Juror: ‘ And did you Respond----- ’ The Coroner; ‘The wit­ ness should, I think, be pressed no further. He has given His painful evidence most creditably.’ “The Juror: ‘Did deceased, in all these days, Not write to you at all ?’ ‘ She sent me this : It is the only letter I received.’ “A letter here was handed in and read. It ran as follows, and it bore the date Of twenty-sixth September. “ ‘ Dearest Friend,— Where is your promise you would write me »©on My sentence, death or life ? This is the third Of three long days since last I saw you. Oh! To press your hand again, and talk to you, And see the moving of your lips and eyes ! lidward, I’m certain that you cannot know How much I love you; you must not decide Until convinced of it----- But words are dead. That, Edward, is a love in very truth Which can avail to overcome such shame As kept me four whole days from seeing you— Four days after my coming quite resolved To strive no more, but tell you all my heart. As daylight passed, and night devoured the dusk, The first time, and the second, and the third, I doubted whether I could ever wait Till dawn—yet waited all the fourth day too, Staring upon myhands,andlooking strange; Yes, and the fifth day’s twilight hastened oa. But love began then driving me about 457 Between my house and your house, to and fro. At last I could no more delay, but wept, And prayed of Christ (for He discerns it all), That, if this thing were sinful unto death, He would Himself be first to throw the stone. So then I came and saw you, and I spoke. Did I not make you understand how I Had loved you in the budding of my youth ; And how, when we divided, all my hope Went out from me for all the future days, And how I married, just indifferent To whom I took ? Perhaps I did not clear This up enough, or cried and troubled you. Why did I ever see your face again ? I had forgotten you; I lived content, At peace. Forgotten you! that now ap­ pears Impossible, yet I believe I had. Then see what now my life must be—con­ sumed With inner very fire, merely to think Of you, and having lost my heartless peace. How shall I dare to live except with you ?’ “ TheCoroner to Witness: ‘ Had you known When you were first acquainted with deceased, Before her marriage, that she entertained These feelings for you?’—‘Friends of mine would talk In a light way about it—nothing more— And in especial as to mesmerism. I knew that such a match could never be; Her friends would have been sure to break it off— Our prospects were so very different. I did not think about it seriously.’ ‘“The letter says that you divided : how Did that occur?’—‘I left the neighbour­ hood On account solely of my own affairs.’ “ ‘ You have deposed that you received a hint Your meetings with deceased had been observed. How did you learn this ?’—‘ Through the brother-in-law Of a young lady that’s engaged to me.’ “ The witness here retired. He looks about The age of twenty-seven,—in person, tall And elegant. His tone at times betrayed Much feeling. �458 holmes “Mrs. Celia Frances Gwyllt: ‘ Deceased and I were cousins. In the month Of August last I spent a little time With her and Mr. Grey. In the first week Of last month, I remember hearing her Speak in a manner I considered wrong To Mr. Luton, and she seemed confused When she perceived me. Shortly after­ wards, I took occasion to inform her so. This she at first made light of, and alleged It was a mere flirtation. I replied, I deemed it was my duty to acquaint Her husband; when she begged that I would not, So that at length I yielded. Then came on Some crying fits, which Mr. Grey was led To ascribe to things I chanced to talk about. This and my pledge of silence vexed me much, And so, soon after that, I took my leave.’ “ Anne Gorman: ‘ I am Mr. Luton’s servant. On Tuesday wa3 the sixth I had to go Out on an errand, with the door ajar, When I remembered something I had left Behind. On coming back, I saw deceased Race through the lobby, and whisk into the room. I had been ordered not to let her in.’ “ The evidence of Dr. Wallinger Ended the case. ‘ I was called in to see The body of deceased upon the sixth : Life then was quite extinct; the cause of death, Congestion and effusion of the ventricle. Death would be instantaneous. Any strong Emotion might have led to that result-.’ “ The Coroner, in course of summing up, Commented on the evidence, and spoke Of deceased’s conduct in appropriate terms; Observing that the Jury would decide Upon their verdict from the testimony Of the professional witness—which was clear, And seemed to him conclusive. He could do No less than note the awful suddenness With which the loss of life had followed such A glaring sacrifice of duty’s claims. “ The Jury gave their verdict in at once: ‘Died by the visitation of God.’ “ We learn On good authority that the deceased Belonged to a distinguished family. Her husband’s scientific eminence Is fully and most widely recognized.” As Hurling finished reading this, he rose To call his friend; but, shrinking at the thought, He read it all again and lingeringly. But, after that, he called in undertone; And he received the answer, “ Come in here.” He entered therefore. Grey was huddled o’er The coffin, looking hard iuto her face. “ You know it now,” he said, but did not move. “ We long have been old friends,” Harling replied. “ Words are of no avail, and worse than none. I need not try to tell you what I feel.” Grey now stood straight. “I am to bury her The day after to-morrow : I alone Shall see her covered in beneath the earth. Maj' God be near her in the stead of men, And let her rest. Yet there is with her that Which she shall carry down into the grave; Still in the dark her broken marriage-vow Under her head: they shall remain together. How can I talk like this ?” And he broke off. “ This is a crushing grief indeed, I know,” Said Harling; “yet be brave against it. When This few days’ work is over, Grey, go home, And mind to be so occupied as must Prevent your dwelling on it. If you choose, I will accompany and stay with you.” But he replied: “ My home will now be here;” And all the angles of his visage thinned. “He is here I mean to ruin. Shall he still Be free to laugh me in his sleeve to scorn, And show me pity—pity '.—when we meet ? I have no means of harming him, you think ? There’s such a thing, though, as profes­ sional fame,— I have it. Where’s the name of Luton known? is is my home : I mean to ruin him.” “Why, he,” objected Harling, “never did �Wtfltw ©reg. One hair’s-breadth wrong to you: his hands are clean Of all offence to you and yours-. For shame! It was blind anguish spoke there—not yourself.” “ Ah! you can talk like that! But it is I Who have to feel—I who can see his house From here, and sometimes watch him out and in, And think she used to be with him inside. And he could bear her coming day by day, And see the sobs collecting in her throat, And tresses out of order, as she fell Before his feet, and made her prayers, and wept! He bore this! What a heart he must have had! Must I be grateful for it ? Bid he not Admit inopportune eyes were watching him? He was engaged to marry—yes, and one For whom he’s bound to keep himself in check, And crouch beneath her whims and jealousy:— Not that I ever saw her, but I’m sure. Besides, he told me she would not be his Unless he gains the standing deemed her due,— And I’ll take care of that.” His friend was loath, 459 Seeing the burden of his agony, To harass him with argument and blame ; Yet would he not be by to hear him rave, And said he now must go. “ One moment more,” Said Grey, and oped the window. Overhead The sky was a black veil drawn close as death; The lamps gave all the light, prolonged in rows: And chill it blew upon them as they gazed, Mixed with thin drops of rain, which might not fall Straight downward, but kept veering in the wind. There was a sounding of the sea from far. Grey pointed. “ That beyond there is the house, Turning the street—that where a candle burns In the left casement of the upper three. That is, no doubt, his shadow on the blind. Often I get a glimpse of it from here, As when you saw me first this afternoon. Shall he not one day pay me down in full ? John, I can wait ; but when the moment comes . . .!” He shut the sash. Harling had seen ths. night, Equal, unknown, and desolate of stars. 1849* * The reader will observe the already remote date at which this poem was written. Those were the days when the prge-Raphaelite movement in painting was first started. I, who was as much mixed up and interested in it as any person not practically an artist could well be, entertained the idea that the like principles might be carried out in poetry; and that it would be possible, without losing the poetical, dramatic, or even tragic tone and impression, to approach nearer to the actualities of dialogue and narration tnan had ever yet been done. With an unpractised hand I tried the experiment; and the. result is this blank-verse tale, which is now published, not indeed without some revision, but without the least alteration in its general character and point of view.— vv at t? ° r � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Mrs. Holmes Greg Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Rossetti, William Michael Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [s.l.] Collation: 452, 449-459 p. : ill. (engraving) ; 23 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From Broadway 1 (1868). Attribution of journal title and date: Virginia Clark catalogue. A poem in blank verse. The illustration, page number 452, is at the front of the poem. The first page of the verse is numbered 449. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [s.n.] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1868] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5343 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Mrs. Holmes Greg), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts English Poetry Poetry in English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/4f578d38c599923b41168181b85a62df.pdf?Expires=1776902400&Signature=hMx-pUYHXD8WGFafspomDtOl4Wc8Y%7ElduNEf4IbYYiT1B0ISq%7ErM%7EPsrXEYjxZnQ2qAqNKFoATMUoF1gL-96bGoiEJVqfv8an%7EPHQMdNL-i5ObOrx1-fJY%7ETyCZ0s7FppSFz3Tyf8CedtYoTh0dqz8Mw9pkInWdIimd8WHShc8oGWvVbtkU8B4qb3qZXgpZXl45JVTY3jXyyYTzv2j%7ENjfMeT30EfbvzSBR0zE6bj35Kxu6AL8r22Qvlksw2TIzpZugjyRwTiPs%7E220Ar-EBvOdEhvax9Aw%7EwkAgfv6YiBEvQq65WEL111vLU-VwS5CLPIiKdufrQl8chXdVnlFB1A__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM d41cfd46ff5589371eff4a54e49e3bfa PDF Text Text yVlUMAL AND ‘ Read it again, and tell me, who was she ?’ ‘Well, wines are best to drink where they are grown. And tales to tell where they are old and known ; But Mumal was a fair false sorceress, Whose wiles brought half the East to nakedness, Whom Mendra and the king set out to see. Before hei’ house what seemed a river ran, And here they met a crazy beggar man Who said “ Ye soon shall be forlorn like me.” The king turned back, the river ran too high : Mendra went forward, and he found it dry. He passed the roaring lions, made of stone, The seven couches, where her shadows lie, Who stretched to clasp him as he hurried by, And found the couch where Mumal sat alone, Too idle to do anything but love. So he went back and made his boast thereof, Nor showed her to the envious king, save he Would serve them at their feast on bended knee : Who paid the scorn with bonds, yet nightly freed In the dear prison of her arms he slept Till once he found not whom her sister kept.’ ‘ And lost his faith, but not his love ; now read In the seven-gated hold Mendra sits, bound sevenfold With the meshes of fine gold; There they cast him to grow old. And the hold hath seven eyes, Where the king hath set his spies, Set to spin the captive’s sighs To a deadlier web of lies. There when night is at the noon Mendra wails beneath the moon. 1 Of. ‘Tuhfatu-1 Kiram’ in Sir H. Elliott’s History of India, voh i., pp. 345—341 and Captain Burton’s Sindh, pp. 114—125. �MUMAL AND MENDRA. ‘ Where did she go when I could not follow? Where is she gone whom. I held so dear ? She is false and fair, and her heart is hollow; I called her name and she did not hear. If she had loved me she would have heard, Though my voice were only the voice of a bird, Singing far away as the flight of a swallow, She would have heard me, called me to follow; If she had loved me she would have heard. Faster than any swallow can fly, I came to her under the cloudy sky, With neither moon nor stars above, And never a guiding light but Love, And the fleetest steed that would follow my track Panting after me under the spur, Should journey three days ere he turned back, But I journeyed in three hours to her ; And all my magic was only Love. She taught me Love’s magic, I know it yet, She taught me, and how could she forget ? She could have heard me, I know, far away, If she could not hear she had only to stay, To stay for her love where the roses blow, If she loved me, what ailed her to go ?’ In the garden at Mayapur, Where the magic lions of Mumal roar, Sitting alone on the magic bed, Mumal also made moan, and said : 4 Seven weeks, and day by day, I make the fountain of gladness play; Seven weeks, and night by night, I burn in my bower the lovers’ light; Seven weeks, and I always wear The lovers’ flower in my scented hair; Seven weeks, and I wmtch and pray, Saying, “Surely he comes to-day;” ' Seven weeks and he is away. Is Mendra dead that he comes no more To the garden of love at Mayapur ? If he lives, he can come if he will, Yet I know while he lives he loves me still.’ 301 �302 MUMAL AND MENDRA. Over against the prison tower, Mumal hath spoken the word of power. In heaven the Lord of lovers heard, Before she spake it the mighty word, And none of the seventy-seven spies Beheld her palace of love arise : But Mendra saw it with hungry eyes, And he marvelled what Mumal came to do, And he said, ‘ The false is seeking the true;’ And he waited a space while the palace grew ’Twixt the prison bars and the boundless blue. When the palace builders went away, Mumal stood at the window the livelong day. Mendra looks forth every morn To greet his love with a smile of scorn. Mendra looks forth every eve To see if his love still waits to grieve; From morning to eve his curtains fall, Lest his beloved, who loves him well, Should see but his shadow upon the wall, And all day the loveless laugh in hell, To think that one night’s fickleness Should have put hex' delight so far away, That she might not find it in many years; Though she never had loved her love the less For the night that her sister made hei' stay. But every morn and every even Tears are shed in the lovers’ heaven, And the tears of heaven are healing tears. Over against the tower again Mumal hath builded a palace of pain ; She watches there as she watched before To lure Mendra home unto Mayapur ; And Mendra also will never miss The exquisite pain, the shuddering bliss, To sit in his chains and to know that a queen Is pining to see him, and he unseen. About the seven-gated hold She builded her palaces seven fold ; Seven moons she watched in each To see her love and to hear his speech ; �DRAWN DY E. F. CLARKE. MUMA L AND MENDRA. ��MUMAL AND MENDRA. All her reward was, morn by morn, To know that he watched how she brooked his scorn ; All her rest was to know at eve He had known she was there to love and grieve ; While he did not forget, though he did not forgive, He loved her enough to help her to live. But when six times seven moons were past, And she entered the fairest palace and last; She panted greatly in hope and fear, Saying, ‘ I have done and the end is near; Will Love accept of me even yet ? I have been patient and sorely tried, There is only one night for Love to forget, Only one little stain for Love to hide, When he wraps me up into the light at his side. 0 Love, accept of me even yet, For the tears wherein I am purified.’ And the Lord of death who is Lord of love, Who is over and under the souls of all, Considered her voice when he heard her call: And he strengthened her out of his house above. And she walked to the window with steady pace, And she looked her last with a quiet face. She looked forth into the dewy dawn, And already the curtains of black were drawn ; She looked again through the noon-day skies, And the sable curtains did not rise; She watched till she saw the golden moon, And the curtains were drawn as at morn and noon,, ‘ 0 love, there is nothing to see,’ she said, ‘ 0 love, you will have me cover my head; If love hideth himself what is left to see, Though I hide myself love shall discover me, Love shall behold me, and only he, 0 love, there is nothing to do,’ she said, And she bowed to her love, and she was dead. And because of the love that had made them one,. Binding their souls in a band for ever, That either might tangle, but never sever, He understood that her watch was done, 303 �304 MUMAL AND MENDRA. That she had forgotten that love was pain, In the land of the Lord who makes all things plain, And he said, ‘ She is gone where I must follow, She will guide me now, for she holds me dear, To the land beyond the flight of the swallow, To the far-off land that is always near.’ Now the spies had said, ‘ 0 king, we see No sin in Mendra concerning thee;’ So the king commanded to set him free. But ere they came to his release, He also had entered into peace. Long ago, and long ago, Mumal and Mendra ceased from woe, In the land where seven rivers flow, Yet they, whose hearts are molten in one, By the fire that burns beyond the sun, Thank the Lord of lovers unto this day For Mumal’s and Mendra’s love, and pray To the Lord, who healed the pain and strife, They had while they sought to the Lord of-life, Crying out, with short ecstatic breath, To the Lord of love, who is Lord of death, Laughing at life which is hard and hollow, Till out of the prison of hope and fear The fluttering spirit is free to followr To the far-off land that is alwTays near. G. A. Simcox. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Mumal and mendra: a legend of Scinde Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Simcox, George Augustus Clarke, E.F. (ill) Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [London] Collation: 300-304 p. : ill. ; 23 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From The Dark Blue 2 (November 1871). Attribution of journal title and date: Virginia Clark catalogue. The Dark Blue was a London-based literary magazine published monthly from 1871 to 1873. Drawing by R.F. Clarke, engraved by C.M. Jenkin. Mumal and Mendra is a mythical love story in ancient Indian history. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [s.n.] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1871] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5336 Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Mumal and mendra: a legend of Scinde), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts English Poetry Poetry in English