From Chaucer to Tennyson Part 21

[From the _Epistle of the Characters of Women_.]

See how the world its veterans rewards!

A youth of frolic, an old age of cards; Fair to no purpose, artful to no end, Young without lovers, old without a friend; A fop their pa.s.sion, but their prize a sot; Alive, ridiculous, and dead, forgot.

Ah! Friend,[144] to dazzle let the vain design; To raise the thought and touch the heart be thine!

That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the Ring[145]

Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing.

So when the sun's broad beam has tired the sight, All mild ascends the moon's more sober light, Serene in virgin majesty she s.h.i.+nes, And un.o.bserved, the glaring orb declines.

Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day; She who can love a sister's charms, or hear Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear; She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, Yet has her humour most when she obeys; Let fops or fortune fly which way they will, Disdains all loss of tickets or Codille;[146]

Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all, And mistress of herself though china fall....

Be this a woman's fame; with this unblest, Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest.

This Phoebus promised (I forget the year) When those blue eyes first opened on the sphere; Ascendant Phoebus watched that hour with care, Averted half your parents' simple prayer; And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf That buys your s.e.x a tyrant o'er itself.

The generous G.o.d who wit and gold refines, And ripens spirits as he ripens mines, Kept dross for d.u.c.h.esses, the world shall know it, To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.

[Footnote 142: A reference to Addison's tragedy of _Cato_.]

[Footnote 143: Young lawyers resident in the temple. See Spenser's _Prothalamion_.]

[Footnote 144: Martha Blount, a dear friend of the poet's.]

[Footnote 145: The fas.h.i.+onable promenade in Hyde Park.]

[Footnote 146: The "pool" in the game of ombre.]

JOSEPH ADDISON.

SIGNOR NICOLINI AND THE LION.

[From the _Spectator_.]

There is nothing that of late years has afforded matter of greater amus.e.m.e.nt to the town than Signor Nicolini's combat with a lion in the Haymarket, which has been very often exhibited to the general satisfaction of most of the n.o.bility and gentry in the kingdom of Great Britain....But before I communicate my discoveries I must acquaint the reader that upon my walking behind the scenes last winter, as I was thinking on something else, I accidentally jostled against a monstrous animal that extremely startled me, and, upon my nearer survey of it, appeared to be a lion rampant. The lion, seeing me very much surprised, told me in a gentle voice that I might come by him if I pleased; "for,"

says he, "I do not intend to hurt any body." I thanked him very kindly and pa.s.sed by him, and in a little time after saw him leap upon the stage and act his part with very great applause. It has been observed by several that the lion has changed his manner of acting twice or thrice since his first appearance, which will not seem strange when I acquaint the reader that the lion has been changed upon the audience three several times.

The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who, being a fellow of a testy, choleric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer himself to be killed so easily as he ought to have done; besides, it was observed of him that he grew more surly every time he came out of the lion; and having dropt some words in ordinary conversation, as if he had not fought his best, and that he suffered himself to be thrown upon his back in the scuffle, and that he would wrestle with Mr. Nicolini for what he pleased, out of his lion's skin, it was thought proper to discard him; and it is verily believed to this day that had he been brought upon the stage another time he would certainly have done mischief. Besides, it was objected against the first lion that he reared himself so high upon his hinder paws, and walked in so erect a position, that he looked more like an old man than a lion.

The second lion was a tailor by trade, who belonged to the playhouse, and had the character of a mild and peaceful man in his profession. If the former was too furious, this was too sheepish, for his part; inasmuch that, after a short, modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of 'Hydaspes'[147] without grappling with him and giving him an opportunity of showing his variety of Italian trips; it is said, indeed, that he once gave him a rip in his flesh-colored doublet; but this was only to make work for himself in his private character of a tailor. I must not omit that it was this second lion who treated me with so much humanity behind the scenes.

The acting lion at present is, as I am informed, a country gentleman who does it for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says very handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain, that he indulges an innocent pleasure in it, and that it is better to pa.s.s away an evening in this manner than in gaming and drinking; but at the same time says, with a very agreeable raillery upon himself, that if his name should be known the ill-natured world might call him _the a.s.s in the lion's skin_. This gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and the choleric that he outdoes both his predecessors, and has drawn together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man.

I must not conclude my narrative without taking notice of a groundless report that has been raised to a gentleman's disadvantage, of whom I must declare myself an admirer; namely, that Signor Nicolini and the lion have been seen sitting peaceably by one another and smoking a pipe together behind the scenes, by which their common enemies would insinuate that it is but a sham combat which they represent upon the stage; but upon inquiry I find that if any such correspondence has pa.s.sed between them it was not till the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked upon as dead, according to the received rules of the drama. Besides, this is what is practiced every day in Westminster Hall, where nothing is more usual than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each other to pieces in the court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of it.

[Footnote 147: In the opera of _Hydaspes_, presented at the Haymarket in 1710, the hero, whose part was taken by Signor Nicolini, kills a lion in the amphitheater.]

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

DETACHED Pa.s.sAGES FROM BOSWELL'S LIFE.

We talked of the education of children, and I asked him what he thought was best to teach them first. _Johnson_: Sir, it is no matter what you teach them first, any more than what leg you shall put into your breeches first. Sir, while you are considering which of two things you should teach your child first, another boy has learnt them both.

Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well, but you are surprised to see it done at all.

A gentleman who had been very unhappy in marriage married immediately after his wife died. Johnson said it was a triumph of hope over experience.

He would not allow Scotland to derive any credit from Lord Mansfield, for he was educated in England. "Much," said he, "may be made of a Scotchman if he be _caught_ young." _Johnson_: An old tutor of a college said to one of his pupils, "Read over your compositions, and wherever you meet with a pa.s.sage which you think is particularly fine strike it out." A gentleman who introduced his brother to Dr. Johnson was earnest to recommend him to the doctor's notice, which he did by saying: "When we have sat together some time you'll find my brother grow very entertaining."

"Sir," said Johnson, "I can wait."

"Greek, sir," said he, "is like lace; every man gets as much of it as he can."

Lord Lucan tells a very good story, that when the sale of Thrale's brewery was going forward, Johnson appeared bustling about with an inkhorn and pen in his b.u.t.ton-hole, like an exciseman, and on being asked what he really considered to be the value of the property which was to be disposed of, answered, "We are not here to sell a parcel of boilers and vats, but the potentiality of growing rich beyond the dreams of avarice."

_Johnson_: My dear friend, clear your _mind_ of cant. You may _talk_ as other people do; you may say to a man, "Sir, I am your most humble servant." You are _not_ his most humble servant. You may say, "These are bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved to such times." You don't mind the times. You tell a man, "I am sorry you had such bad weather the last day of your journey and were so much wet." You don't care sixpence whether he is wet or dry. You may _talk_ in this manner; it is a mode of talking in society, but don't _think_ foolishly.

A lively saying of Dr. Johnson to Miss Hannah More, who had expressed a wonder that the poet who had written _Paradise Lost_ should write such poor sonnets: "Milton, madam, was a genius that could cut a colossus from a rock, but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones."

A gentleman having said that a _conge d'elire_ has not, perhaps, the force of a command, but may be considered only as a strong recommendation. "Sir," replied Johnson, "it is such a recommendation as if I should throw you out of a two pair of stairs window, and recommend you to fall soft."

Happening one day to mention Mr. Flaxman, the doctor replied, "Let me hear no more of him, sir; that is the fellow who made the index to my _Ramblers_, and set down the name of Milton thus: 'Milton, _Mr_, John.'"

Goldsmith said that he thought he could write a good fable, mentioned the simplicity which that kind of composition requires, and observed that, in most fables, the animals introduced seldom talk in character.

"For instance," said he, "the fable of the little fishes, who saw birds fly over their heads, and, envying them, pet.i.tioned Jupiter to be changed into birds. The skill," continued he, "consists in making them talk like little fishes." While he indulged himself in this fanciful reverie, he observed Johnson shaking his sides and laughing. Upon which he smartly proceeded, "Why, Dr. Johnson, this is not so easy as you seem to think; for if you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like WHALES."

He expressed a particular enthusiasm with respect to visiting the wall of China. I caught it for the moment, and said I really believed I should go and see the wall of China, had I not children of whom it was my duty to take care. "Sir," said he, "by doing so, you would do what would be of importance in raising your children to eminence. There would be a l.u.s.ter reflected upon them from your spirit and curiosity. They would be at all times regarded as the children of a man who had gone to view the wall of China--I am serious, sir."

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

THE VILLAGE PASTOR AND SCHOOL-MASTER.

[From _The Deserted Village_.]

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

A man he was to all the country dear, And pa.s.sing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his G.o.dly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.

Unskillful he to fawn or seek for power By doctrines fas.h.i.+oned to the varying hour: Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.

His house was known to all the vagrant train-- He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long-remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast.

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire and talked the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won.

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave e'er charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side....

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools who came to scoff remained to pray.

The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; E'en children followed with endearing wile And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile.

His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed; To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal suns.h.i.+ne settles on its head.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitable gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school.

A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew.

Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes (for many a joke had he); Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal, tidings when he frowned Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore for learning was his fault.