The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, No. 487 written by Various
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Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, No. 487
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 17, No. 487.] SATURDAY, APRIL 30, 1831. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF LOCKE.]
At the village of Wrington, in Somersetshire, in a cottage by the
churchyard, was born JOHN LOCKE. What a simple, unostentatious record is
this of him whom the biographers call "one of the most eminent
philosophers and valuable writers of his age and country." Yet the cottage
is not preserved with any special care;--there is nothing about it to
denote that within its walls the man of whom every Englishman is
proud--first drew breath. The house is now divided into tenements; and,
fortuitously, one of its rooms is used as a school for young children. It
is grateful to know this, even were it only for associating the
appropriation of this apartment with the master-mind of Locke, as
developed in his "Thoughts on Education," and his perspicuous "Essay on
the Human Understanding."
Locke was born August 29, 1632: his father, Mr. J. Locke, who was
descended from the Lockes of Charton Court, in Dorsetshire, possessed a
moderate landed property at Pensfold and Belluton, where he lived. He was
a captain in the Parliamentary army during the civil wars, and his fortune
suffered so considerably in those times, that he left a smaller estate to
his son than he himself had inherited. It is not our intention to follow
the biographers of Locke further than by quoting from the last published
Life of the Philosopher[1] a brief example of his filial affection:--
[1] The Life of John Locke, with Extracts from his Correspondence,
Journals, and Commonplace Books. By Lord King. New Edition.
2 vols. 8vo. 1830.
John Locke, says the biographer, was the eldest of two sons, and was
educated with great care by his father, of whom he always spoke with the
greatest respect and affection. In the early part of his life, his father
exacted the utmost respect from his son, but gradually treated him with
less and less reserve, and, when grown up, lived with him on terms of the
most entire friendship; so much so, that Locke mentioned the fact of his
father having expressed his regret for giving way to his anger, and
striking him once in his childhood, when he did not deserve it. In a
letter to a friend, written in the latter part of his life, Locke thus
expresses himself on the conduct of a father towards his
son:--"That which I have often blamed as an indiscreet and dangerous
practice in many fathers, viz. to be very indulgent to their children
whilst they are little, and as they come to ripe years to lay great
restraint upon them, and live with greater reserve towards them, which
usually produces an ill understanding between father and son, which cannot
but be of bad consequences; and I think fathers would generally do better,
as their sons grow up, to take them into a nearer familiarity, and live
with them with as much freedom and friendship as their age and temper will
allow." The following letter from Locke to his father, which is without a
date, but must have been written before 1660, shows the feeling of
tenderness and affection which subsisted between them. It was probably
found by Locke amongst his father's papers, and thus came again into his
possession:--
"December 20.
"_Most dear and ever-loving Father_,
"I did not doubt but that the noise of a very dangerous sickness here
would reach you, but I am alarmed with a more dangerous disease from
Pensford, and were I as secure of your health as (I thank God) I am of my
own, I should not think myself in danger; but I cannot be safe so long as
I hear of your weakness, and that increase of your malady upon you, which
I beg that you would, by the timely application of remedies, endeavour to
remove. Dr. Meary has more than once put a stop to its encroachment;--the
same skill, the same means, the same God to bless you, is left still. Do
not, I beseech you, by that care you ought to have of yourself, by that
tenderness I am sure you have of us, neglect your own and our safety too;
do not, by a too pressing care for your children, endanger the only
comfort they have left. I cannot distrust that Providence which hath
conducted us thus far, and if either your disappointments or necessities
shall reduce us to narrower conditions than you could wish, content shall
enlarge it; therefore, let not these thoughts distress you. There is
nothing that I have which can be so well employed as to his use, from whom
I first received it; and if your convenience can leave me nothing else, I
shall have a head, and hands, and industry still left me, which alone have
been able to raise sufficient fortunes. Pray, sir, therefore, make your
life as comfortable and lasting as you can; let not any consideration of
us cast you into the least despondency. If I have any reflections on, or
desires of free and competent subsistence, it is more in reference to
another (whom you may guess) to whom I am very much obliged, than for
myself: but no thoughts, how important soever, shall make me forget my
duty; and a father is more than all other relations; and the greatest
satisfaction I can propose to myself in the world, is my hopes that you
may yet live to receive the return of some comfort, for all that care and
indulgence you have placed in,
"Sir, your most obedient son,
"J.L."
Locke, it appears, originally applied himself to the study of physic; and
he became essentially serviceable in his medical capacity to Lord Ashley,
afterwards the celebrated Earl of Shaftesbury, to whom he was introduced
in 1666, and who was led to form so high an opinion of Locke's general
powers, that he prevailed upon Locke to take up his residence at his
house, and urged him to apply his studies to politics and philosophy. This
proved the stepping-stone to his subsequent greatness; and it is
gratifying to learn that his career, literary and political, was closed as
honourably as it had been commenced. His last publications were in a
controversy with the celebrated Bishop Stillingfleet, who had censured
some passages in Locke's immortal "Essay." The prelate yielded to the more
powerful reasoning of the philosopher, yet Locke's writing was uniformly
distinguished by mildness and urbanity. At this time he held the post of
commissioner of trade and plantations. An asthmatic complaint, with which
he had long been afflicted, now began to increase, and, with the rectitude
which distinguished the whole of his conduct, he resigned: the sovereign,
(William) was very unwilling to receive Locke's resignation; but the
philosopher, who made his precepts his own rule of life, pressed the
point, observing that he could not in conscience hold a situation to which
a considerable salary was attached without performing the duties of it.
Would that such political philosophy were more common in our days! From
this time, Locke lived wholly in retirement, where he applied himself to
the study of the Scriptures, till, in 1704, after nearly two years'
declining health, he fell asleep. He was buried at Oates, where there is a
neat monument erected to his memory, with a modest Latin inscription
indited by himself.
* * * * *
THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBURG.
FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.
(_For the Mirror_.)
"Knight, a sister's truest love,
This mine heart devotes to thee--
Ask no other love to prove;
Marriage! no, that ne'er can be.
Still unmov'd to all appearing,
Calmly can I see thee fly--
Still break the chain no sorrow fearing,
Save a tear from lover's eye."
This he heard without replying,
Silent woes his bosom wrung;
In his arms he clasp'd her sighing--
On his courser's back he sprung.
Thro' the Switzer's rugged land
Vassals, at their lord's behest,
Sought Judea's sainted strand--
Each the red-cross on his breast.
Mighty deeds all dangers braving
Wrought the Christian hero's arm;
Oft his helmet plumes were waving
High above the Paynim _swarm_.[2]
But tho' Moslem hosts were quaking
At the Toggenburger's name,
Still his breast, with anguish breaking,
Felt its sorrow yet the same:
Felt it till a year departed--
Felt it of all hope bereft;
Restless, joyless, broken-hearted,
Then the warring bands he left;--
Bade on Joppa's sandy shore
Seamen hoist the swelling sail;
Swift the bark to Europe bore
O'er the tide the fav'ring gale.
When the pilgrim, sorrow laden,
Sought the gates he lov'd so well;
From the portals of his maiden
_Words of thunder_[3] rang his knell:
"She ye seek has ta'en the veil,
To God alone her thoughts are given;
Yestere'en the cloisters pale
Saw the bride betroth'd to heaven."
From the castle of his sires,
Mad with grief, the hero flew;
War no more his bosom fires,
Arms he spurns, and courser true.
Far from Toggenburg alone
Wends he on his secret way,
To friend and foe alike unknown,
Clad in peasant's mean array.
On a mountain's lonesome glade,
'Neath a hut he sought repose--
Near where 'mid the lime-tree's shade,
The convent pinnacles arose;
There, from morning's dawn first bright'ning
Till the ev'ning stars began,
Secret hopes his anguish light'ning,
Sate the solitary man.
On the cloister fixed his eye,
Thro' the hours' weary round,
To his maiden's lattice nigh,
Till he heard that lattice sound--
Till that dearest form was seen--
Till she on her lover smil'd--
And the turret-grates between
Look'd devout and _angel-mild_.[4]
There he sate thro' many a day,
Thro' many a year's revolving round--
Alike to hope and grief a prey,
Till he heard the lattice sound.
Years were fleeting; when one morning
Saw a corse the cloister nigh--
To the long-watch'd turret turning
Still its cold and glassy eye.
H.
[2] Literally translated.
[3] _Donnerworte._
[4] _Engelmild_.
* * * * *
CORFE CASTLE--EDWARD II.
(_To the Editor._)
I should be glad to be informed by your correspondent, _James Silvester,
Sen._, on what authority he grounds his assertion (contained in No. 484.)
that it was in the fortress of _Corfe Castle_ that the unfortunate Edward
II. was so inhumanly murdered. I have always, considered it an undisputed
fact that the scene of this atrocity was at Berkeley Castle, in
Gloucestershire. Hume states, that while in the custody of Lord Berkeley,
the murderers, Mautravers and Gournay, "taking advantage of Berkeley's
sickness, _in whose custody he then was, came to Berkeley Castle_, threw
him on a bed," &c. &c. giving the particulars of the cruel deed. An
abridged history, the only other authority I have at hand to refer to,
says, "After these transactions, he was treated with the greatest
indignities, and at last inhumanly murdered _in Berkeley Castle_, and his
body buried in a private manner in the Abbey Church, at Gloucester." The
lines of Gray, in his celebrated poem of "_The Bard_," are familiar to
most school-boys, where he alludes to the cries of the suffering monarch
"Through _Berkeley's roofs_ that ring
Shrieks of an agonized king!"
Yet as your correspondent, _J.S._ seems of the intelligent kind, he may be
in possession of some authority to which he can refer, and thereby prove
it is not merely an assertion inadvertently given, to increase the
interest of his _Visit to Corfe Castle_. Knowing your wish that the pages
of your entertaining _Mirror_ should reflect the truth, the insertion of
this will oblige your Constant Reader,
W.
* * * * *
LINES WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD.
(_For the Mirror_.)
Why am I here?--Thou hast not need of me,
Home of the rotting and the rotten dead--
For thou art cumber'd to satiety,
And wilt be cumber'd--ay, when I am fled!
Why stand I here, the living among tombs?
Answer, all ye who own a grassy bed,
Answer your dooms.
Thou, massy stone! over whose heart art thou?
The lord who govern'd yonder giant place,
And ruled a thousand vassals at his bow.
Alack! how narrow and how small a space
Of what was human vanity and show
Serves for the maggot, when 'tis his to chase
The greatest and the latest of his race.
One of Earth's dear ones, of a noble birth,
Slumbers e'en _here_; of such supernal charms,
That but to smile was to awaken mirth,
And for that smile set loving fools in arms.
The grave ill balances such living worth,
For here the worm his richest pasture farms,
Unconscious of his harms.
Yon grassy sod, that scarcely seems a grave,
Deck'd with the daisy, and each lowly flower,
Time leaves no stone, recording of the knave,
Whether of humble, or of lordly power:
Fame says he was a bard--Fame did not save
His name beyond the living of his hour--
A luckless dower.
'Tis strange to see how equally we die,
Though equal honour be unknown to light,
The lord, the lady of distinction high,
And he, the bard, who sang their noble might,
Sink into death _alike_ and _peacefully_;
Though some may want the marble's honour'd site,
Yet earth holds all that earthliness did slight.
P.T.
* * * * *
ANCIENT BOROUGH OF WENDOVER.
(_For the Mirror._)
This borough sent members to parliament in the 28th of Edward I. and again
in the 1st and 2nd of Edward II.; after which the privilege was
discontinued for above three hundred years. "The intermission, (says
Britton,) was attended by the very remarkable circumstance of all
recollection of the right of the borough having been lost, till about the
period of the 21st of James I. when Mr. Hakeville, of Lincoln's Inn,
discovered by a search among the ancient parliament writs in the Tower,
that the boroughs of Amersham, Wendover, and Great Marlow, had all sent
members in former times, and petitions were then preferred in the names of
those places, that their ancient liberty or franchise might be restored.
When the King[5] was informed of these petitions, he directed his
solicitor, Sir Robert Heath, to oppose them with all might, declaring,
that he was troubled with too great a number of burgesses already," The
sovereign's opposition proved ineffectual, and the Commons decided in
favour of the restoration of the privilege. Some particulars of this
singular case may be found in Willis's _Notitia Parliamentaria_.
[5] James the First.
The celebrated John Hampden represented this borough in five parliaments.
P.T.W.
* * * * *
MANNERS & CUSTOMS OF ALL NATIONS.
* * * * *
HIPPODROME GAMES.
(_For the Mirror._)
The Olympian _Hippodrome_, or horse-course, was a space of ground of six
hundred paces long, surrounded with a wall, near the city of Elis, and on
the banks of the river Alpheus. It was uneven, and in some degree
irregular, on account of the situation;--in one part was a hill of
moderate height; and the circuit was adorned with temples, altars, and
other embellishments. There was a very famous _hippodrome_ at
Constantinople, which was begun by Alexander Severus, and finished by
Constantine. This circus, called by the Turks _atmeican_, is four hundred
paces long, and above one hundred paces wide. At the entrance of the
hippodrome there is a pyramidical obelisk of granite, in one piece, about
fifty feet high, terminating in a point, and charged with hieroglyphics.
The Greek and Latin inscriptions on its base show that it was erected by
Theodosius. The machines that were employed to raise it are represented
upon it in basso-relievo. We have some vestiges in England of the
_hippodromus_, in which the ancient inhabitants of this country performed
their races. The most remarkable is that near Stonehenge, which is a long
tract of ground, about three hundred and fifty feet, or two hundred Druid
cubits wide, and more than a mile and three quarters, or six thousand
Druid cubits in length, enclosed quite round with a bank of earth,
extending directly east and west. The goal and career are at the east end.
The goal is a high bank of earth, raised with a slope inwards, on which
the judges are supposed to have sat. The metae are two tumuli, or small
barrows, at the west end of the course. These _hippodromes_ were called,
in the language of the country, _rhedagua_; the racer, _rhedagwr_; and the
carriage, _rheda_--from the British word rhedeg, to run.
One of these _hippodromes_, about half a mile to the southward of
Leicester, retains evident traces of the old name, _rhedagua_ in the
corrupted one of Rawdikes. "There is another of these," says Dr. Stukely,
"near Dorchester; and another on the banks of the river Lowther, near
Penrith, in Cumberland; and another in the valley just without the
town of Royston."
WALTER E.C.
_Pratt-street, Lambeth._
* * * * *
THE SKETCH-BOOK.
* * * * *
THE BEGGAR WOMAN OF LOCARNO.
At the foot of the Alps, near Locarno, was an old castle, belonging to a
marquess, the ruins of which are still visible to the traveller, as he
comes from St. Gothard--a castle with lofty and roomy apartments, high
towers, and narrow windows. In one of these rooms, an old sick woman was
deposited upon some straw, which had been shaken down for her by the
housekeeper of the marquess, who had found her begging before the gate.
The marquess, who was accustomed to go into this room on his return from
hunting, to lay aside his gun, ordered the poor wretch to get up
immediately out of her corner, and begone.
The creature arose, but slipping with her crutch upon the smooth floor,
she fell, and injured her back so much, that it was with great difficulty
she got up, and, moving across the room as she had been desired, groaning
and crying sadly, sank down behind the chimney. Several years afterwards,
when the circumstances of the marquess had been much reduced by war and
the failure of his crops, a Florentine gentleman visited the castle, with
the intention of purchasing it, in consequence of the beauty of the
situation. The marquess, who was very anxious to have the bargain
concluded, gave his wife directions to lodge the stranger in the same
upper room in which the old woman had died, it having, in the meantime,
been very handsomely fitted up; but, to their consternation, in the middle
of the night, the stranger entered their room, pale and agitated,
protesting loudly that the chamber was haunted by some invisible being;
for that he had heard something rise up in the corner, as if it had been
lying among straw, move over the chamber with slow and tottering steps,
and sink down, groaning and crying, near the chimney.
The marquess, terrified, though he scarcely knew why, endeavoured to put a
fair face upon the matter, and to laugh off the fears of his visiter,
telling him he would rise himself, and spend the rest of the night with
him in his room; but the stranger begged that he would rather allow him to
occupy a couch in the adjoining room; and as soon as morning broke, he
saddled his horse, took his leave, and departed. This occurrence, which
occasioned much notice, made so unpleasant an impression upon intending
purchasers, that not another inquiry was made; and at last, even the
servants in the house becoming possessed with the notion that there was
something dreadful in the room, the marquess, with the view of setting the
report to rest, determined to investigate the matter himself next night.
Accordingly, in the twilight, he caused his bed to be brought to the
apartment, and waited, without sleeping, the approach of midnight. But
what was his consternation, when, on the stroke of midnight, he actually
heard some inconceivable noise in the apartment, as if some person had
risen up from among straw, which rustled beneath them, walked slowly over
the floor, and sank, sighing and groaning, behind the chimney. When he
came down the next morning, the marchesa asked him how the investigation
had gone on; and he, after gazing about him with wondering glances, and
bolting the door, told her the story of the chamber's being haunted was
true. She was terrified out of her senses; but begged him, before making
any public disclosure, once more to make the experiment coolly in her
company. Accompanied by a trusty servant, they accordingly repeated their
visit next night, and again heard, as the marquess had done before, the
same ghostly and inconceivable noise; and nothing but the anxious wish to
get rid of the castle, cost what it would, enabled them to suppress their
terrors in presence of the servant, and to ascribe the sound to some
accidental cause. On the evening of the third day, when both, determined
to probe the matter to the bottom, were ascending with beating hearts the
stair leading to the stranger's apartment, it chanced that the house dog,
who had been let loose from the chain, was lying directly before the door
of the room; and, willing perhaps to have the company of any other living
thing in the mysterious apartment, they took the dog into the room along
with them. The husband and wife seated themselves on the couch--the
marquess with his sword and pistols beside him; and while they
endeavoured, the best way they could, to amuse themselves with
conversation, the dog, cowering down on the floor at their feet, fell
asleep. Again, with the stroke of midnight, the noise was
renewed;--something, though what they could not discover, raised itself us
if with crutches in the corner; the straw rustled as before. At
the sound of the first foot-fall, the dog awoke, roused itself, pricked up
its ears, and growling and barking as if some person were advancing
towards him, retreated in the direction of the chimney. At this sight, the
marchioness rushed out of the room, her hair standing on end; and while
the marquess seized his sword, exclaimed "Who is there?" and receiving no
answer, thrust like a madman in all directions, she hastily packed up a
few articles of dress, and made the best of her way towards the town.
Scarcely, however, had she proceeded a few steps, when she discovered that
the castle was on fire. The marquess had, in his distraction, overturned
the tapers, and the room was instantly in flames. Every effort was made to
save the unhappy nobleman, but in vain: he perished in the utmost
tortures, and his bones, as the traveller may be aware, still lie where
they were collected by the neighbouring peasants--in the corner of the
apartment from which he had expelled the beggar woman of
Locarno.--_Edinburgh Literary Journal and Gazette._
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.
* * * * *
HYDROSTATICS AND PNEUMATICS.
(_Cabinet Cyclopaedia_, vol. xvii.)
This volume is in every respect worthy of standing beside the luminous
_Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy_, by Mr. Herschel. It is
just in the method that we wish to see all branches of science treated,
and it is the only means of rendering such knowledge familiar; and this
has only to be known to become popular. We understood this to be the aim
of the _Cabinet Cyclopaedia_ at its outset, and the scientific volumes
already published are an earnest of the Editor's zeal and success. The
best method of illustrating this recommendation, is to seize from the
volume a few familiar effects whose causes are imperfectly understood, and
thus to show how closely the spread of science is identified with
civilization and the common comforts of social life:--
_Deceptive appearance of Waves_
If we observe the waves continually approaching the shore, we must be
convinced that this apparent motion is not one in which the water has any
share: for were it so, the waters of the sea would soon be heaped upon the
shores, and would inundate the adjacent country; but so far from the
waters partaking of the apparent motion of the waves in approaching the
shore, this motion of the waves continues, even when the waters are
retiring. If we observe a flat strand when the tide is ebbing, we shall
still find the waves moving towards the shore.
_Ornamental Fountain Clocks._
It is the same cause (that which produces the deceptive appearance of a
progressive motion in the waves of the sea) which makes a revolving
cork-screw, held in a fixed position, seem to be advancing in that
direction in which it would actually advance if the worm were passing
through a cork. That point which is nearest to the eye, and which
corresponds to the crest of the wave in the former example, continually
occupies a different point of the worm, and continually advances towards
its extremity.--This property has lately been prettily applied in
ornamental clocks. A piece of glass, twisted so that its surface acquires
a ridge in the form of a screw, is inserted in the mouth of some figure
designed to represent a fountain. One end of the glass is attached to the
axle of a wheel, which the clock-work keeps in a state of constant
rotation, and the other end is concealed in a vessel, designed to
represent a reservoir or basin. The continual rotation of the twisted
glass produces the appearance of a progressive motion, as already
explained, and a stream of water continually appears to flow from the
fountain into the basin.