Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

a

little all to the Rev. Mr. gentleman of the evangelical persuasion. Ah, persuasion, indeed!-as the facetious James Johnson the elder very wittily turned one evening, with little or no forethought, in the double sense of alluding to his power of persuasion over the lady, and the phrase as used for religion).-Wellmy daughter Parthenissa-for short, called Parthy-declares that you are young, and something not amiss from Fitzaubin, in one of Miss Langford's books.-Howbeit, this I cannot say, because to my open knowledge I have not seen you, and certainly I never perused the book.-Nevertheless, you may be like, and she be right which would be an odd coincidence-but on this I cannot de

cide.

However, whoever, and whatever you may have been, it does not belong to me to be curious in inquiring, though this is not Mrs. Gale's way, as she takes a particular interest in people, and the more so if she has no knowledge of them, which is liberal, you'll say, and disinterested-though a disinterested interest seems a contradiction.--How beit, the cause of my addressing this letter to you must not longer be kept from you, and it is to make known a few observations of our little circle of gossips upon several of your observations, which truly appear to some of us not altogether impartial-not that we mean to accuse you of favouring any one in particular, be cause we cannot give in to the belief that you gentlemen who write at sight, as one might say (for my style is clean the contrary, being extreme slow and open to remark), have any prejudices, or bickerings, or partialities, or the like, or the unlike, being above the failings and sinkings of other illiterate people. Our being on the spot, and familiar with the wrestling people, and the village, and your book having been talked over a good deal of an evening hefore the rubber, or after a pool at quadrille (I held last week a superb hand, played in hearts.-Alone! to the great detriment of Mrs. Gale's temper,-though she is mild in general, and loses her fish like another woman-but, perhaps, I should explain that we used shells for fish, which is a curious coincidence, as

fish are said to build and inhabit shells, as man does a house or cottage, or the like)-Well, as I was saying (before I was interrupted by my parenthesis) your book having occasioned much pertinent and lively observation, particularly in Mrs. Gale, who reads a good deal in the back parlour, with one eye to the book, and another through a little window covered with white muslin, that commands an extensive prospect of canisters, and so forth-I was begged to convey to you (that is to express to you, for Mrs. Gale has promised to convey my letter to you, through Mr. Nanson, but I have seen the word used for express) divers and several remarks on the subject, touching what you have discussed.

the

We have nothing to say of your learned and notable observations on coach-riding, or as it is more generally called, travelling :--because, with the exception of Mr. curate, few of us have taken the road much:-I mean, as travellers-not as highwaymen-which the phrase might intimate- though highwaymen are considerably impaired in these days. We know nothing about the Green Park, except that to call a park green seems unnecessary, though perhaps it is not so to a Londoner, who is not used to parks. To be sure, the picture of the arrival of the coach is tolerably just, as I have had the power of noticing, having seen the Exeter subscription coach (a quick and noticeable conveyance as Mr.

the curate declares) come in of a market-day morning. Only I do not go the length of comparing a guard to a maggot, nor do any of us exactly see where the comparison touches. But, be this as it may, I may not distinguish readily-for it may be a figure of speech-and that allows of latitudes.

The exclamations of us country people on seeing absent friends, are well given, as I have witnessed on Mrs. Gale's tall college nephew coming down among us in what he called vacation time. I recollected him when he was at school-and the tutors at Oxford, though they had made him stoop, and had given his face a pale Latin look, had not altered his voice, nor remedied his club-foot.

And I therefore broke out after the fashion mentioned in your December

number. "Bless me!" said I, "Alexander!" (for I did not drop the Christian, though he might be said to be older and grown up, for I knew him when he ran about in a pinafore, and was used to be called little Alic!)—Alexander! said I, I did not say, little Alic! just then-your voice is like the days of old-you talk like 1802 (a figure-put for his then image in my eyes) "what still lame Alic-Eh?"-His lameness was so exactly the same that I could not resist the word Alic here. He took all kindly and did not answer me, as he might, in latin-which was a condescension in a scholar-and a setting aside of his dues, as we say in reference to the rector.-I hope you are not Mrs. Gale's nephew !-if you are, pray skip_the_passage about the club-foot. But I am inclined to think you are not, as Mrs. Gale says he (that is, you, if you are he) is abroad as tutor to the young Lord. And you (or he) could not be here and there at once, "like a bird," as the proverb says, though I am not sure it is a proverb-only a saying -Irish perhaps. Well.

You speak of Exmouth with the eye of a correct observer, Mrs. Gale only takes exception to the passage, "the village is seated, as its name intimates, at the mouth of the river Ex," she says she has been used all her life to say, that "it stands at the entrance of the river," and she does not see why a stranger should alter its position. But you must not mind this in Mrs. Gale-learned trifling it may be called-only Mrs. Gale is not learned and certainly no trifler. The sunsets as you say, are extremely to the point. But I did not know that ours were better than those of other people. But all places are celebrated for something in particular-Devonshire for its cream-Cheshire for its cheese-Dorset for its butter, and Exmouth for its sunsets. The other evening we had one as ruddy as though the sky were one garden of crimson carnations. I stood on the quay (near Manchester House)-the water was out-far off-in the river! a black fishing boat, with one mast, lay sideways on the clay shore.

• Mr.

The light was reflected in long keen streaks on the wet and flat and extended bank. All seemed one intense scene (is this right?) of lateness-stillness and light. The me lancholy of glory!-The pomp of evening!-The poetry of the sun.Mr.

the curate, who stood with me, made these remarks as nearly as I can recollect them, and they seemed to me so just and pertinent, that I intended to send them to your Magazine.

I know the very house you allude to. You complain of the wind justly:-in that part it blows, as through a speaking trumpet.-But touching your purchase of a basket for the shells, and your walks, and enjoyments by the sea, I do not altogether comprehend your meaning. How you should buy a shilling basket and only for shells, surprizes me, in a gentleman of your erudition:-And then to pick no shells afterwards (you call it cull, but I do not hold to the word, as we are not speaking of flowers) is most weak. As to your great delight in watching the waves

that may be. But were you not always walking with the robust elderly lady, who told Mrs. Gale that she screamed when she was in the water, and was qualmish when she was on it-and who only came to be miserable at the sea-side, because it was healthy. If this was the case, how could you delight to see the waves "weave their untumultuous fringe of silver foam," (foam by the bye is not silver.) Tell me this, Mrs. Gale says that the old lady and the sea were two, owing to some damage done to a pea-green slipper, by a wave that curled about the kid, and walked off with the colour.People talk of the beauty of the ocean, but if you saw it as often as I do, you would find a good deal of sameness in it. It is all very useful to the ships; and the bathing machines are, perhaps, assisted by it—but I do not go the lengths that you writers do, in thinking it the grandest thing in nature. It is flat, as James Johnson, the Elder (heretofore alluded to as a wit), has said—and you know it is flat, in reference to its surface.

said that the wonder before us, was an Ode on Evening, by Apollo himself. But this was extravagant, and as Mr. Collins, of Chichester, had written on the same subject first (so Mrs. Gale says), Apollo would hardly follow.

I now come to the part of your paper referring to the wrestlers, which is ingenious in portions, but not altogether kind and just (Mrs.

Gale knows "the little Coast Hercules," as you call him). I remember the day you mention. I know the very spot of ground-I think I see it now!-I think so, because I do. The morning was indeed wet; it was wet through! I was there; and I stood near Mr. Roe (kind Mr. Roe, you may well call him, for he is a good man and a skilful medical!)-Mr. Simpson, and one or two others, were also there, under the awning and near the Canus.

I must say a word or two about the men of the Moors. Mr. the curate, has looked in Squire 's library, and has found the book on wrestling which you quote, and I and Mrs. Gale, and Mr. Norris, and Miss Knowles, have thoroughly read it (the old quarto book with wood prints, and a powerful picture of the Baronet) to the end that we might discuss your remarks the better, and comment upon them in return.* And so without more ado I proceed with my letter.

It is not in my power, neither is it in Mrs. Gale's, to talk of the early wrestlers of this country.-Except to rejoice in the laudable part, which the primitive Lord Mayors and magistrates took in supporting the sports of the poor. It gratifies us all to know, that the men of Devon have been celebrated, time out of mind, for their skill in throwing their neighbours. And I see, by an extract from Robin Hood, the Poet, that the amusement is of great antiquity :for by the language, I guess Robin to be an old writer. Mrs. Gale protests that Miss Hood, near the Postoffice, is a grand-daughter of Mr. Robin the Bard, but she only surmizes, and from no very potent points. It may be so. Heaven only knows!-I do not think Mrs. Gale does.

You have described the Canns

very favourably. We were not aware that they were half such fine men as you say they are,-not that we do not believe it now, for they

are Devon-born, like Mrs. Gale and myself and therefore they may be well grown. (Mrs. Gale is a tall woman of her size, and I am hard on the heels of five feet nine inches, which, as men go, is not diminutive. -In proof of this, when I was young, the grenadier company in the militia, panted to possess me.-But I was not warlike-I could never fight at school. A musket gives me a turn at all times, for I have my mother's idea that "it may go off.") Well.-The Canns are very respectable young men,-farmers on their own land. They come to the holi day meetings to increase the fame of the family, and to gladden the eyes of the country girls (my servant Sukey inclines to the youngest,-but Mrs. Gale's Elizabeth leans towards the second one with dark hair). I do not wish to take from the reputa tion you have given them, but I like fair play. And really, we all question your treatment of the men of the Moors.

The Coast Hercules (John Jones, son of old Jones the fisherman) was not so awkward as you mention. He is less than Cann-at least not so tall. Broader he may be, a trifle. His skill lies in his under play, and on that account he must not be reviled-not that you altogether revile him, but he ought to be graciously treated. Cann did not throw him:→→ Remember that.

What had Widdicomb of the Moors done, to deserve your dark represen tations (Mr. the curate, says thus much)-was he not tall-manly, well-shaped, powerful and courageous?-Had he the feelings of the crowd with him? - Was he mean or ignoble in his play? We well know that he and all the men of the Moors are silent but sensitive,

rude, but honest, and brave, and good men, (Widdicomb purchased a trifle at Mrs. Gale's shop)-Do not, Sir, therefore, because the popular voice was with the Canns, forsake the men of the Moors. I do not speak my own language here, for I do not write after this fashion, nor indeed, after any fashion, for fashion in writing seems a contradiction.

We do not understand Sir Thomas. I wished to try the Flying Horse with Mr. Norris, but the gout is against me. I think a man has no chance with only two hands, of working any of Sir Thomas's problems.

I quote the words of Mr. the curate, who wrote to me, in a letter, his feelings on the subject. And Mrs. Gale and the rest think as much. Cann was thrown:-Remember that. Widdicomb shall wrestle with Cann for three guineas-a great sum you'll say, and correctly-any day through the summer;-and the money is ready at the Dolphin.

We do not very well understand Sir Thomas Parkyns, inasmuch as he writes in a way not very well to be understood; his style being aged, mysterious, and not altogether English-but compounded of Greek, Latin, and, I dare say, Welsh. At any rate, he is too fond of uttering words which are not most intelligible to me, being of languages out of my sphere. That he may speak to the purpose, I do not deny; but the purpose is beyond me. Mrs. Gale thinks his book a joke upon wrestling but Mr. Norris holds to its having been written for political purposes.

I cannot myself decide. Mrs. Gale is a shrewd woman; but Mr. Norris reads the Courier and knows what's what. They both may be right— there's no saying.

The length of my letter surprizes me, and the more particularly as 1 have written it all since December last; which you will own is easy writing. I trust you will not dislike this first public attempt, which conveys the sentiments of others besides myself. Mr. Norris says, the style is not amiss: and Mrs. Gale, whose name I have mentioned to you before, thinks that I have written to the point. I am, Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

HUMPHREY NIXON.

P.S. Circumstances may prevent me from writing to you again very speedily-I am going to change my condition. Mrs. Gale will in a few days be Mrs. Nixon. You are down for cake.

[blocks in formation]

MR. EDITOR, One of our modern philosophers has asserted that poetry pervades the whole system of nature, and that every inhabitant of the earth (I know not whether the observation extends to the other planets) is born a poet. I am perfectly satisfied with his reasoning and his proofs; (as who can be otherwise?) although I am aware that the expression which we were formerly accustomed to quote as the result of philosophical speculation," poeta nascitur, non fit," now becomes a mere truism. But I do not consider this nearly so material as the almost universal ignorance that exists among the bulk of mankind, of the powers with which they are endowed,-powers, the exercise of which would add so much to the happiness and enjoy ment of themselves and their fellowpoets (I was going to say-creatures) -but which are suffered to sleep, and lie useless in decay. It is true, that, notwithstanding this ignorance, almost all classes of society are daily giving involuntary proofs of their

Horace, O. 2, lib. iv.

poetical capabilities. In travellers, and dealers in general, we invariably perceive the developement of the fiction of poetry; in the daily--and indeed nightly-cries of London, we hear its music;-in the trades of shoemakers and hosiers, we find its measurement of feet;—in the accidents of children, and in the performance of pantomimic actors, we may recognize its cadence

With a dying, dying fall,— and even in the miscalled vulgarity of swearers, we discover the germs of sublime invocation.

The class of society which seems to be most unaware of its poetical temperament, is the profession of the law. Although their study has been charged by some with a very intimate connection with one of the principal constituents of poetry-fiction ;-it is apparently of that dry and systematic kind, that few have recognized its relationship to poetry itself. It would, indeed, be difficult to appropriate it to any particular class of

[ocr errors]

poetry. It cannot be called strictly didactic, for where shall we find its morality?-nor descriptive, for who can understand it? nor humorous, at least suitors deny that, nor pathetic, unless we look at its consequences. It has a touch perhaps of the pastoral, in settlement cases;

and of the dramatic in the uncer

tainty of its issues. Its dullness, it is said, has nothing analogous to poetic genius, whatever it may have to some of its professors.

I, Mr. Editor, have the honour to belong to this profession, which I have long considered as scandalized by these depreciating insinuations; and, in order to prove their falsity, and to redeem the poetical character of my brethren, I have lately resolved to reduce all its technicalities into metre, and at all events to hold my legal correspondence in measured lines. If possible, I intend to introduce the practice of charging by stanzas, instead of by folio, being convinced, with the Newcastle Apothecary, who seems to have adopted the same means to obviate a similar objection-that as my clients must have the requisite quantity, which they too often consider to be without reason,—

It is but fair to add a little rhime.

As it must be allowed to be of

great importance to teach mankind themselves, and to point out to them the talents, the instincts, and, I may say, the properties, they possess,-I conceive, Sir, that in thus endeavouring to sweeten the bitterness of law, to smooth down its excrescences,

and to render more musical its ex

pressions,-in short, to show that there is poetry in its practice,—I have deserved the thanks of my countrymen, and of my professional brethren in particular; for I have thus not only made the study of it more palatable to our pupils, but its practice also more attractive to

our clients.

The following is a slight specimen of my new mode, in a letter which I lately sent to an opposing brother, with whom, however, I am on familiar terms, giving him notice of my intention to file a demurrer to some of his proceedings. I generally adapt my letters to some favorite tune, and the last which happened to be in my head was that to which Moore has written the beautiful words, beginning with "Oh think not my spirits are always as light."

AIR" JOHN O'REILLY THE ACTIVE."
OH! think not your pleadings are really so sly,
And as free from a flaw as they seem to you now;
For, believe, a demurrer will certainly lie,-

The return of to-morrow will quickly show how:

No, all is a waste of impertinent reading,

Which seldom produces but quibbles and broils;
And the lawyer, who thinks he's the nicest in pleading,
Is likeliest far to be caught in its toils.

But, brother attorney! how happy are we!

May we never meet worse in our practice of law,
Than the flaw a demurrer can gild with a fee,

And the fee that a conscience can earn from a flaw!

Yet our doors would not often be dark, on my soul!
If Equity did not to Law lend its aid:

And I care not how soon I am struck off the roll,
When I for these blessings shall cease to be paid!
But they who have fought for the weakest or strongest,
Too often have wept o'er the credit they gave;
Even he, who has slumber'd in Chancery longest,
Is happy if always his costs he can save.
But, my brother in law! while a quarrelling germ
Is in mau or in woman, this pray'r shall be ours,
That actions-at-law may employ ev'ry term,
And equity-suits cheer vacational hours!

Temple, April 1, 1821.

Yours devotedly,

ONE, &c.

« AnteriorContinuar »