LIFE AFTER DEATH. BY ANDREW WINTER, ESQ. WITH dancing plumes they brought me up here dead; They cursed me ere the priest had shut his book, And here they left me on this hill side bleak, Day after day until the end of time, The sneering lies they've graven on my tomb Whilst texts of Scripture, garnished round with clouds, Mask with a smile my dark and utter woe. Welcome to me each little sound that breaks The hideous vigil that I'm forced to keep. The sheep's short bite upon a neighbouring grave- Quickly my darken'd ear doth catch each sound, The old rope fraying 'gainst the belfry beam, The pathway swarming with quick children's feet, From every side, the people as they pour, Some from across the scented fields of bean, Some through the breast-deep, poppied, waving corn, A hundred knees soon meekly bend them down, Oh, Christ! for one short hour of living breath, Too late, too late religion's tender dew The smiling people pass out through the porch, 66 A CHAPTER ON ANTIPATHIES. BY A MAN ABOUT TOWN. -Omnis res habet aliquid timendum Et horribile, inimicum et destructionum." CORNELIUS AGRIPPA, de Occult. Philosoph., Lib. 1, cap. xvii. THE doctrine of sympathy has in all times obtained many proselytes, and has exercised a powerful influence over the minds, not only of the credulous and ignorant, but of the learned and highly gifted. It was a current belief in the early part of the seventeenth century,-the most familiar instance being Sir Kenelm Digby's mode of healing a wound by anointing the weapon that inflicted the hurt,-and at the close of the eighteenth it revived under the auspices of Cagliostro and Mesmer, whose disciples at the present day are "legion." Conjunct with this occult sensation, but subsidiary to it, was the repulsive power of Antipathy, whose reign, however, flourished principally under the dynasty of the sorcerers and witches of the middle ages, whose charms, potions, periapts, and spells, were composed and concocted for the avowed purpose of producing this violent result. The curious reader in works of Demonology, may consult with advantage the productions of the alchymists and magicians of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, where the rules for attaining the desired object are carefully laid down. Cornelius Agrippa, whose reputation as a wizard is exceeded by none, has given us a particular receipt for exciting antipathy in the following terms: "The ashes of the left claw of a hyena, mixed with eagles' blood and rubbed on any person, causes him to be hated by all the world." This process, however, seems only attainable by the keepers of menageries and a few highly-favoured naturalists, and is scarcely within the reach of general practitioners. The wise Cornelius has another method which, in the Dog days, is more get-at-able, provided always the first part of the proposition be true: "A stone that is bit by a madd dogge, if it be put in drinke, hath power to cause discorde." And something worse, or hydrophobia is only a name. 66 Then take the bones over himselfe on the Then make a powder For the credit of the learned magician, it is only fair to say, that his works furnish us with many a set-off to these experiments. For instance, in order to procure love, after swallowing a hyena pill," he says,"Take a redd frogge and bury him in a hillock. and lay them on a tile-stone redd-hot, till he lift other side. So let it lie till she is so likewise. thereof and strew them on her clothes whom thou lovest, and she shall love thee." Here is another receipt :-- "Take a batt (no very easy matter, by the way, unless you catch him asleep), let him bloud with a glass or flint, and with the bloud write this letter, D, and touch a man or woman, and they shall follow thee. For triall, touch a dogge, and he will follow thee." The gentlemen who sell dogs in Regent-street, appear to have discovered this secret, though it may be questioned whether any of them have studied the occult philosophy of Cornelius Agrippa. The advantages which were possessed in the olden time by those who studied the magic art, seem to have been great, and doubtlessly, in an age when every other science is improving, "gramarye" is not altogether neglected. In modern days it has become more generally practised under the name of "Advertisements," but I have reason to think that the power of throwing the glamour of the mind over particular individuals and things is still possessed by many, nor can I believe, that an effect which, to me, is so evident, exists without a cause. Wherefore is it else that we entertain a sense of antipathy to certain persons and objects without being able to assign a particular motive for doing so? Who is there that has not experienced this feeling-yet who can explain its origin or the reason of its continuance ? To illustrate this subject I purpose giving a few passages from the diary of my "Experiences," which will place the matter in its proper light. Aversion to animals is of various kinds. The late celebrated artist and astrologer, John Varley, used to ascribe this feeling (as he did every other) to sideral influence and, unlike Edmund, in "King Lear," attributed the cause to the predominant star which twinkled at our birth, and the position of the sun in the Zodiac at the natal hour. On this principle he averred, that a lady who was afraid of bulls and dogs (and it would be difficult to find many not included in either of these categories), was born when the sun was in Sagittarius, and, therefore, by nature, hostile to these animals! But we are not all Sagittarians, and still we all have our dislikes. There are many who appear to be intuitively aware of the proximity of the antipathetic object which leaves, like musk and other subtle essences, an odour that nothing can subdue. Our old friend Cornelius exhibits his knowledge of the existence of the sentiments amongst animals, when he tells us, that "to make that a horse may not go throughe a street," you must, take the entrails of a wolfe (he does not say how you are to get them), and lay them overthwarte the street, and cover them withe earth or sand, and he will not goe that way so long as the entrails doe lye there." A wheelbarrow very often acts as potently as the preceding charm, but a turnpike is, after all, the most effectual preventive. 66 Antipathy is a species of second sight; it heralds the unwelcome guest, and casts a shadow before it. It is universal, like light, pervading space, and equally intangible, though seen and felt, it applies itself to every sense; through all our faculties we are made aware of its noxious presence. It is, to my thinking, a general representation of the Evil One, whose image Like to a broken mirror, multiplied, is diffused over an infinite variety of objects. Not content with exciting our bad passions through the grand media of ambition, avarice, envy, revenge, and all the host of wicked thoughts, the Principle of Evil, the Universal Arimanes, the "Böser Geist," roams up and down the world, touching all things, and leaving a blight on all with which he comes in contact, and the aspect which he wears is Antipathy! I speak not of deformity of person or of feature, for in such matters we have our reason to guide us in our admiration or dislike, and can assign the cause. Antipathy in its absolute sense implies a dislike without a cause. In a city like London, the antipathist must daily meet with a thousand circumstances to excite his spleen, without numbering the many stationary objects which in his progress he knows he must encounter. I have numerous permanent antipathies whom all the world may know, and towards whom some may feel as antipathetic as I ;-others may run into the opposite extreme. A few years ago there was a man who used to excite my unmitigated aversion. I was at that time obliged almost every day to pass along the Strand, going from and returning to Charing-cross. Let me pass when I would, while daylight lasted or shops were open, there was one man whom I invariably saw in the same position at his own door, Rearing himself thereat, like the proud porter at the Soldan's gate in the old ballad. Alike to him were tide or time; if it rained, and the door was closed, there he stood behind the pane, his shoulders squared, his hands thrust into his breeches pockets, and his eyes intently fixed on the street; if the weather was fine, the door was opened, and Ecce Homo! His appearance was sufficiently remarkable to attract attention, without being antipathetic. He was of good height, sturdily built, and not ill-looking if you except that something which is my aversion, a sort of a curl somewhere in his nose or his mouth, or in the corners of his twinkling grey eyes; but he was distinguishable from the ordinary herd of mortals by a flourishing head of grey hairs, large furzy eyebrows, and an overwhelming pair of bushy whiskers of the same hue, which exaggerated his expansive physiognomy. His garments were of that description which was formerly termed "buckish," a character of costume I have always detested. He wore a dark frock, a sprigged waistcoat, an ample neckcloth of coloured muslin, loose breeches of sage or drab-colour, with a large gold seal dangling in front, and leaving a black mark on that part of the convexity against which it bumped, and an enormous pair of white, wrinkled spatterdashes, which rather attracted attention (and, indeed, his whole person), he used to parade in the full ostentation of conscious pride. I know not whether there was really any thing abstractedly objectionable in this personage, but I hated the man! I may be asked who he was? I answer, to me a hateful mystery. By the fleecy embellishments in his window, and a golden inscription over his door, I had a right to consider him a tradesman; but what in common with that calling had his pursuits to do? There was a counter within, which was unoccupied; there were piles of gloves and stockings untended; as if these objects were totally beneath his consideration, he never seemed to pay them the slightest attention, but gloriously displayed himself at his shop-door, alternating in attitudes between the Antinous and Farnesian Hercules, as he leant against the door-posts. Perhaps the reason why I disliked this individual arose from his enjoyment of the "dolce far' niente" in such unrestrained indulgence; perhaps from a vague idea that he thought to set himself off in the eyes of the fair sex; perhaps from his over display of conscious affluence. But why speculate upon the cause? "Oh, reason not the need!" The hosier and myself were antipathies, and I feel convinced that I was as much disliked by him as he by me. If ever I attempted to avoid that part of the Strand-a very great trouble and inconvenience, as Somerset House was the witness of my dismal incarceration-I fell from Scylla into Charybdis. I was then obliged to cross the street from Northumberland House to the Post Office opposite and even then I ran the risk of getting the glimpse of my sturdy aversion, for an irresistible impulse compelled me always to turn my head in the direction where he stood in spite of my previous, firm resolve. Suppose, however, that I effected that crossing without the annoyance, I could not ascend the Strand on that side, but was obliged to make a détour to reenter it at a higher point. In doing so there was a sweeper, whom it was my inevitable destiny to meet; the villain was ubiquitous, or one of a joint-stock company of sweepers, who shifted their stations at irregular intervals, for I found him ever like a lion in my path. I have never had any objection to give eleemosynary pence to the industrious worthies who, with birchen broom, smooth the pathway of life in London; on the contrary, there are some of the fraternity whom, in a very small way, I regularly pension; but this man, I could not have given him a half-penny were I to have died for it. And yet his crossing was one of the longest and dirtiest in London, was well swept, and the fellow's circumstances appeared, like Jaffier's and Jeremy Diddler's, in most forlorn condition. But I could not disburse unto him! He was no, the very reverse of hosier; my hosier's ghost," in fact! He was pale, thin, seedy, and blear-eyed. He wore garments of rusty, muddy black, his hat was indented by much pressure; boots he eschewed, and his pantaloon was a slippered one. He was unequivocally of the order of the unwashed, save by a shower of rain, the needful accompaniment of his vocation. It seemed as if he occasionally indulged in potations both of Barclay and Cream of the Valley, which in the classical regions of Long Acre and Drury Lane, used to be then translated, "Flare-up gin threepence a quartern." He was endowed with a most compass-like stride, an unwearying agility of limb, and an undying volubility of tongue. would appeal to my "Honour's benevolence," address me as "noble captain," declare that the times was hard, and that he was " werry bad off." He asked "ony one apenny," as if you must of necessity have that valuable coin concealed somewhere about your person; he wanted “ a noo broom;" he had got a "wife and twelve small children;" and had not eaten a morsel of food for six weeks. He would project a murky paw; would doff his crushed hat, would supplicate, whine, pursue. He did so for years. Me he appeared especially to haunt, but I never gave him a sou, and the worst of it was, he always said as I cleared the kerb-stone, 66 Thank yer honour all the same." Need I state that he was one of my antipathies. He About the period of which I speak, I went abroad for a time, and when I returned to town, it was with a feeling of indescribable dread, that I resumed my daily walk along the Strand. But, to my surprise, neither of the objects of my dislike were visible; my Messieurs Tonson had both disappeared. The hosier's shop was converted into a silversmith's, and a native Indian, shivering in dirty muslin, had succeeded the sweeper. The Strand became a pleasant place again, and I thought I had got rid of standing |