learn to what these palaces are destined, and how much I ought to abhor the impious knowledge thou hast taught me." "The height of power to which thou art arrived has certainly turned thy brain," answered Carathis; "but I ask no more than permission to show my respect for the Prophet. It is, however, proper thou shouldest know that (as the Afrit has informed me neither of us shall return to Samarah), I requested his permission to arrange my affairs, and he politely consented; availing myself therefore of the few moments allowed me, I set fire to the tower, and consumed in it the mutes, negresses, and serpents which have rendered me so much good service; nor should I have been less kind to Morakanabad had he not prevented me by deserting at last to thy brother. As for Bababalouk, who had the folly to return to Samarah, and all the good brotherhood to provide husbands for thy wives, I undoubtedly would have put them to the torture could I but have allowed them the time; being however in a hurry, I only hung him after having caught him in a snare with thy wives, whilst them I buried alive by the help of my negresses, who thus spent their last moments greatly to their satisfaction. With respect to Dilara, who ever stood high in my favour, she hath evinced the greatness of her mind by fixing herself near in the service of one of the Magi, and I think will soon be our own.' Vathek, too much cast down to express the indignation excited by such a discourse, ordered the Afrit to remove Carathis from his presence, and continued immersed in thought, which his companion durst not disturb. Carathis, however, eagerly entered the dome of Soliman, and, without regarding in the least the groans of the Prophet, undauntedly removed the covers of the vases, and violently seized on the talismans; then, with a voice more loud than had hitherto been heard within these mansions, she compelled the Dives to disclose to her the most secret treasures, the most profound stores, which the Afrit himself had not seen; she passed by rapid descents known only to Eblis and his most favoured potentates, and thus penetrated the very entrails of the earth, where breathes the Sansar or icy wind of death; nothing appalled her dauntless soul; she perceived however in all the inmates who bore their hands on their heart a little singularity not much to her taste. As she was emerging from one of the abysses Eblis stood forth to her view, but, notwithstanding he displayed the full effulgence of his infernal majesty, she preserved her countenance unaltered, and even paid her compliments with considcrable firmness. This superb Monarch thus answered: "Princess, whose knowledge and whose crimes have merited a conspicuous rank in my empire, thou dost well to employ the leisure that remains; for the flames and torments, which are ready to seize on thy heart, will not fail to provide thee with full employment." He said this, and was lost in the curtains of his tabernacle. Carathis paused for a moment with surprise; but, resolved to follow the advice of Eblis, she assembled all the choirs of Genii, and all the Dives, to pay her homage; thus marched she in triumph through a vapour of perfumes, amidst the acclamations of all the malignant spirits, with most of whom she had formed a previous acquaintance; she even attempted to dethrone one of the Solimans for the purpose of usurping his place, when a voice, proceeding from the abyss of Death, proclaimed, “All is accomplished!" Instantaneously the haughty forehead of the intrepid Princess was corrugated with agony; she uttered a tremendous yell, and fixed, no more to be withdrawn, her right hand upon her heart, which was become a receptacle of eternal fire. In this delirium, forgetting all ambitious projects and her thirst for that knowledge which should ever be hidden from mortals, she overturned the offerings of the Genii, and having execrated the hour she was begotten and the womb that had borne her, glanced off in a whirl that rendered her invisible, and continued to revolve without intermission. At almost the same instant the same voice announced to the Caliph, Nouronihar, the five princes, and the princess, the awful and irrevocable decree. Their hearts immediately took fire, and they at once lost the most precious of the gifts of heaven-Hope. These unhappy beings recoiled with looks of the most furious distraction; Vathek beheld in the eyes of Nouronihar nothing but rage and vengeance, nor could she discern aught in his but aversion and despair. The two princes who were friends, and till that moment had preserved their attachment, shrunk back, gnashing their teeth with mutual and unchangeable hatred. Kalilah and his sister made reciprocal gestures of imprecation, whilst the two other princes testified their horror for each other by the most ghastly convulsions, and screams that could not be smothered. All severally plunged themselves into the accursed multitude, there to wander in an eternity of unabating anguish. Such was, and such should be, the punishment of unrestrained passions and atrocious VALENTINE'S DAY. actions! Such is, and such should be, the chastisement of blind ambition, that would transgress those bounds which the Creator hath prescribed to human knowledge; and by aiming at discoveries reserved for pure Intelligence, acquire that infatuated pride which perceives not the condition appointed to man is to be ignorant and humble. HYMN TO THE CREATOR. [Sir Richard Blackmore, born about 1658; died in London, 8th October, 1729. Author of the Creation, a philosophical poem in seven books, from which we quote; Prince Arthur: King Arthur: Eliza; and other heroic poems, besides numerous miscellaneous pieces in prose and verse.] Hail, King Supreme! of Power immense Abyss! Father of Light! Exhaustless Source of Bliss! Thou uncreated, Self-existent Cause, Control'd by no superior being's laws, Ere infant light essay'd to dart the ray, Smil'd heav'nly sweet, and try'd to kindle day: Ere the wide fields of æther were display'd, Or silver atars coerulean spheres inlaid; Ere yet the eldest child of time was born, Or verdant pride young nature did adorn; Thou art; and didst eternity employ In unmolested peace, in plenitude of joy. In its ideal frame the world, design'd From ages past, lay finish'd in thy mind. Conform to this divine imagin'd plan, With perfect art th' amazing work began. Thy glance survey'd the solitary plains, Where shapeless shade inert and silent reigns; Then in the dark and undistinguish'd space, Unfruitful, uninclos'd, and wild of face, Thy compass for the world mark'd out the destin'd place. Then didst thou through the fields of barren night Next, man arose at thy Creating Word, Of Thy terrestrial realms vicegerent lord. His soul, more artful labour, more refin'd, And emulous of bright Seraphic Mind, Ennobled by thy image, spotless shone, Prais'd Thee her author, and ador'd Thy throne; Able to know, admire, enjoy her God, She did her high felicity applaud. 223 Since Thou didst all the spacious worlds display, Homage to Thee let all obedient pay. Let glittering stars, that dance their destin'd ring VALENTINE'S DAY. BY CHARLES LAMB. Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name in the rubric, thou venerable Arch-flamen of Hymen! Immortal Go-between! who and what manner of person art thou? Art thou but a name, typify. ing the restless principle which impels poor humans to seek perfection in union? or wert thou indeed a mortal prelate, with thy tippet and thy rochet, thy apron on, and decent lawn sleeves? Mysterious personage! like unto thee, assuredly there is no other mitred father in the calendar; not Jerome, nor Ambrose, nor Cyril; nor the consigner of undipt infants to eternal torments, Austin, whom all mothers hate; nor he who hated all mothers, Origen ; nor Bishop Bull, nor Archbishop Parker, nor Whitgift. Thou comest attended with thousands and ten thousands of little Loves, and the air is "brush'd with the hiss of rustling wings." Singing Cupids are thy choristers and thy precentors; and instead of the crosier, the mystical arrow is borne before thee. In other words, this is the day on which those charming little missives, yeleped Valentines, cross and intercross each other at every street and turning. The weary and all-forspent twopenny-postman sinks beneath a load of delicate embarrassments, not his own. It is scarcely credible to what an extent this ephemeral courtship is carried on in this loving town, to the great enrichment of porters, and detriment of knockers and bell-wires. In these little visual interpretations, no emblem is co common as the heart-that little three- often seen, unseen, from his parlour window cornered exponent of all our hopes and fears-in C-e Street. She was all joyousness and the bestuck and bleeding heart; it is twisted innocence, and just of an age to enjoy receivand tortured into more allegories and affecta-ing a Valentine, and just of a temper to bear tions than an opera-hat. What authority we the disappointment of missing one with good have in history or mythology for placing the humour. E. B. is an artist of no common head-quarters and metropolis of god Cupid in powers; in the fancy parts of designing, perthis anatomical seat rather than in any other, haps inferior to none; his name is known at is not very clear; but we have got it, and it the bottom of many a well-executed vignette will serve as well as any other. Else we might in the way of his profession, but no further; easily imagine, upon some other system which for E. B. is modest, and the world meets might have prevailed for anything which our nobody half-way. E. B. meditated how he pathology knows to the contrary, a lover could repay this young maiden for many a addressing his mistress, in perfect simplicity favour which she had done him unknown; for of feeling, "Madame, my liver and fortune are when a kindly face greets us, though but passentirely at your disposal;" or putting a deli- ing by, and never knows us again, nor we it, cate question, "Amanda, have you a midriff we should feel it as an obligation; and E. B. to bestow?" But custom has settled these did. This good artist set himself at work things, and awarded the seat of sentiment to to please the damsel. It was just before Valenthe aforesaid triangle, while its less fortunate tine's day three years since. He wrought, neighbours wait at animal and anatomical unseen and unsuspected, a wondrous work. distance. We need not say it was on the finest gilt paper with borders-full, not of common hearts and heartless allegory, but all the prettiest stories of love from Ovid, and older poets than Ovid (for E. B. is a scholar). There was Pyramus and Thisbe, and be sure Dido was not forgot, nor Hero and Leander, and swans more than sang in Cayster, with mottoes and fanciful devices, such as beseemed-a work, in short, of magic. Iris dipped the woof. This on Valentine's eve he commended to the all-swallowing indiscriminate orifice-(0 ignoble trust)-of the common post; but the humble medium did its duty, and from his watchful stand the next morning, he saw the cheerful messenger knock, and by-and-by the precious charge delivered. He saw, unseen, the happy girl unfold the Valentine, dance about, clap her hands, as one after one the pretty emblems unfolded themselves. She danced about, not with light love, or foolish expectations, for she had no lover; or, if she had, none she knew that could have created those bright images which delighted her. Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds, exceed in interest a knock at the door. It "gives a very echo to the throne where Hope is seated." But its issues seldom answer to this oracle within. It is so seldom that just the person we want to see comes. But of all the clamorous visitations the welcomest in expectation is the sound that ushers in, or seems to usher in, a Valentine. As the raven himself was hoarse that announced the fatal entrance of Duncan, so the knock of the postman on this day is light, airy, confident, and befitting one that bringeth good tidings. It is less mechanical than on other days; you will say, "That is not the post, I am sure." Visions of Love, of Cupids, of Hymens-delightful eternal common-places, which "having been will always be;" which no school-boy nor school-man can write away; having your irreversible throne in the fancy and affections-what are your transports when the happy maiden, opening with careful finger, careful not to break the emblematic seal, bursts upon the sight of some well-designed allegory, some type, some youthful fancy, not without verses-"Lovers All, a madrigal," or some such device, not over-abundant in sense -young Love disclaims it-and not quite silly-something between wind and water, a chorus where the sheep might almost join the shepherd, as they did, or as I apprehend they did, in Arcadia. All Valentines are not foolish; and I shall not easily forgot thine, my kind friend (if I may have leave to call you so) E. B.-E. B. lived opposite a young maiden, whom he had It was more like some fairy present; a God-send, as our familiarly pious ancestors termed a benefit received, where the benefactor was unknown. It would do her no harm. It would do her good for ever after. It is good to love the unknown. I only give this as a specimen of E. B. and his modest way of doing a concealed kindness. Good-morrow to my Valentine, sings poor Ophelia; and no better wish, but with better auspices, we wish to all faithful lovers, who are not too wise to despise old legends, but are content to rank themselves humble diocesans of old Bishop Valentine and his true church. PEPYS AT THE PLAY. 225 LIFE'S CARES. ADDRESSED TO THE HON. CHARLES MONTAGUE, AFTERWARDS EARL OF HALIFAX. [Matthew Prior, born at Abbot Street, Dorsetshire, 21st July, 1664; died at Wimpole, Cambridgeshire, 18th September, 1721. He began life in the tap-room of his uncle the landlord of the Rummer Tavern, Charing Cross; and his genius raised him to several important appointments under government. He wrote numerous lyrics and odes; his longest poems are Alma, or the Progress of the Mind; Solomon on the Vanity of the World; Conversation. "Prior's seem to me among the easiest, the richest, the most charmingly humorous of English lyrical poems."-Thuckeray.] Howe'er, 'tis well, that while mankind To combat against real cares. Fancies and notions he pursues, The image he himself has wrought. Against experience he believes; He argues against demonstration; Pleas'd, when his reason he deceives; And sets his judgment by his passion. The hoary fool, who many days Has struggled with continued sorrow, Renews his hope, and blindly lays The desp'rate bet upon to-morrow. To-morrow comes: 'tis noon, 'tis night; Our hopes, like tow'ring falcons, aim Our anxious pains we, all the day, In search of what we like, employ: Scorning at night the worthless prey, We find the labour gave the joy. At distance through an artful glass To the mind's eye things well appear: They lose their forms, and make a mass Confus'd and black, if brought too near. If we see right, we see our woes: Then what avails it to have eyes? From ignorance our comfort flows. The only wretched are the wise. VOL. VIII. PEPYS AT THE PLAY. [Samuel Pepys, born in London, 23d February, 1632; died at Clapham, May, 1703. He was the son of a London tailor; was educated at Cambridge; became clerk to the admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II., and held other offices, the duties of which he discharged with much ability. He wrote: Portugal History, or a Relation of the Troubles in the Court of Portugal in 1667 and 1668; The State of the Royal Navy of England for Ten Years, ending December, 1688; and the famous Pepys' Diary, or which Sir Walter Scott said: "If, quitting the broad paths of history, we seek for minute information concerning ancient manners and customs, the progress of arts and sciences, and the various branches of antiquity, we have never seen so rich a mine as the volumes before us. The variety of Pepys' tastes and pursuits led him into almost every department of life." The following passages present a picture of the stage in the seventeenth century.] 18th August, 1660. Captain Ferrers took me and Creed to the Cockpitt play, the first that I have had time to see since my coming from sea, "The Loyall Subject" (by Beaumont and Fletcher), where one Kinaston, a boy, acted the Duke's sister, but made the loveliest lady that ever I saw in my life. 11th October. To walk in St. James's Park, where we observed the several engines at work to draw up water, with which sight I was very much pleased. Above all the rest, I liked that which Mr. Greatorex brought, which do carry up the water with a great deal of ease. Here, in the Park, we met with Mr. Salisbury, who took Mr. Creed and me to the Cockpitt to see "The Moore of Venice," which was well done. Burt acted the Moore; by the same token, a very pretty lady that sat by me called out, to see Desdemona smothered. 20th November. Mr. Shepley and I to the new play-house near Lincoln's-Inn-Fields (which was formerly Gibbons' tennis-court), where the play of "Beggar's Bush" (a comedy by Beaumont and Fletcher) was newly begun; and so we went in and saw it well acted: and here I saw the first time one Moone, who is said to be the best actor in the world, lately come over with the King; and indeed it is the finest play-house, I believe, that ever was in England. This morning I found my Lord in bed late, he having been with the King, Queen, and Princesse at the Cockpit all night, where General Monk treated them; and after supper a play, where the King did put a great affront upon Singleton's musique, he bidding them stop and made the French musique play, which, my Lord says, do much outdo all ours. 4th November, 1661. With my wife to the Opera, where we saw "The Bondman," which 184 of old we both did so doate on, and do still; though to both our thinking not so well acted here (having too great expectations), as formerly at Salisbury Court. But for Beterton,' he is called by us both the best actor in the world. March 1, 1662. To the Opera, and there saw "Romeo and Juliet," the first time it was ever acted. I am resolved to go no more to see the first time of acting, for they were all of them out more or less. 29th September. To Mr. Coventry's, and so with him and Sir W. Pen up to the Duke, where the King came also and staid till the Duke was ready. It being Collar-day, we had no time to talk with him about any business. To the King's Theatre, where we saw "Midsummer's Night's Dream," which I had never seen before, nor shall ever again, for it is the most insipid ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life. October 2. At night hearing that there was a play at the Cockpit (and my Lord Sandwich, who come to town last night, at it), I do go thither, and by very great fortune did follow four or five gentlemen who were carried to a little private door in a wall, and so crept through a narrow place and come into one of the boxes next the King's, but so as I could not see the King or Queene, but many of the fine ladies, who yet are not really so handsome generally as I used to take them to be, but that they are finely dressed. Then we saw "The Cardinall" (a tragi-comedy by James Shirley), a tragedy I had never seen before, nor is there any great matter in it. The company that come in with me into the box were all Frenchmen, that could speak no English, but Lord! what sport they made to ask a pretty lady that they got among them that understood both French and English to make her tell them what the actors said. 17th November. To the Duke's to-day, but he is gone a-hunting. At White Hall by appointment, Mr. Creed carried my wife and I to the Cockpitt, and we had excellent places, and saw the King, Queene, Duke of Monmouth, his son, and my Lady Castlemaine, and all the fine ladies; and "The Scornfull Lady," 1 Thomas Betterton, the celebrated actor, born in 1635, was the son of an under-cook to Charles I., and first appeared on the stage at the Cockpit in Drury Lane in 1659. After the Restoration two distinct theatres were established by royal authority; one in Drury Lane, called the King's Company, under a patent granted to Killigrew: the other in Lincoln's Inn Fields, styled the Duke's Troop, the patentee of which was Sir W. Davenant, who engaged Mr. Betterton in 1662. Mr. B. died in 1710, and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. well performed. They had done by eleven o'clock, and it being fine moonshine, we took coach and home. 5th January, 1663. Elborough (my old schoolfellow at Paul's) do tell me, and so do others, that Dr. Calamy is this day sent to Newgate for preaching, Sunday was se'ennight, without leave, though he did it only to supply the place; otherwise the people must have gone away without ever a sermon, they being disappointed of a minister: but the Bishop of London will not take that as an excuse. Dined at home; and there being the famous new play acted the first time to-day, which is called "The Adventures of Five Hours," at the Duke's house, being, they say, made or translated by Colonel Tuke, I did long to see it; and so we went; and though early, were forced to sit, almost out of sight, at the end of one of the lower formes, so full was the house. And the play, in one word, is the best, for the variety and the most excellent continuance of the plot to the very end, that ever I saw, or think ever shall. 28th May. By water to the Royal Theatre; but that was so full they told us we could have no room. And so to the Duke's house; and there saw "Hamlett" done, giving us fresh reason never to think enough of Betterton. Who should we see come upon the stage but Gosnell, my wife's maid? but neither spoke, danced, nor sung; which I was sorry for. 29th. This day is kept strictly as a holy-day, being the King's Coronation. Creed and I abroad, and called at several churches; and it is a wonder to see, and by that to guess the ill-temper of the City, at this time, either to religion in general, or to the King, that in some churches there was hardly ten people, and those poor people. To the Duke's house, and there saw "The Slighted Mayde," wherein Gosnell acted Eromena, a great part, and did it very well. Then with Creed to see the German Princesse, at the Gatehouse, at Westminster. 12th June. To the Royal Theatre; and there saw "The Committee" (by Sir Robert Howard), a merry but indifferent play, only Lacey's part, an Irish footman, is beyond imagination. Here I saw my Lord Falconbridge, and his Lady, my Lady Mary Cromwell, who looks as well as I have known her, and well clad: but when the House began to fill she put on her vizard, and so kept it on all the 2 Sir George Tuke of Cressing Temple in Essex, Mr Evelyn's cousin. The play was taken from the original of the Spanish poet Calderon. |