ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS. A DREAM ON THE OCCUPATIONS OF DEPARTED SOULS. [Continued from Page 96] Mr conductor assured me, that repeated attempts had been made to convince him of his error, and that mirrors had been held before his eyes for that purpose, but that he always had been violently enraged, shut his eyes, and with a bludgeon, which he called his argument, had broke the mirror, and beat those, who, out of compassion, attempted to render him sensible of his deformity. His dress was exactly like the princely robe of one of those theatrical princes, who, in country towns, frequent the fairs, carrying their whole monarchy along with them on a wheel-barrow. It was in many parts torn to such a degree, that it could not entirely conceal his nakedness, which defect he had attempted to remedy by pasting upon the holes some epigrams and heroic odes which his adherents had composed in celebration of his merits I have observed that mountebanks of the common class generally endeavour to render their || theatre respectable by pasting against it several bills w..ich inform the multitude of the miracles they have performed, and strive to render their skill respected by producing certificates of kings, princes, and nobles, whom they pretend to have cured. But in this the mountebank of whom I am speaking acted upon different principles. His stage was covered all over with dedications and prefaces, and those parts which were particularly exposed to the light of his admirers exhibited his picture in various forms, resembling each other, however, in being adorned with wreaths of laurels, or with a certain glory, which was to represent immortality. Instead of letters patent he carried in his hand a pair of large bellows, which he always presse together when he spoke of his patriotism. I must not omit mentioning one circumstance, which enabled me to form some idea of the religion of our mountebank. On one side of his stage stood the image of a female idol, wearing a crown of quills, resembling the caps of the Indians in America. On this cap were inscribed the names of several ancient and modern writers, who had been condemned by her to death, because they had refused to worship her as a goddess. Her head, which had no eyes, was of an enormous size; but her belly was still larger, exactly resembling that of Püster, an idol of the ancient No. XXII. Vol. III. Germans, whom the priests made use of in order to cheat and to frighten the people, causing him, by a secret machinery to spit fire, though a mere log of wood. Her hands were very strong and misshapen. In the left she carried a telescope, which she, however, could not use, because she was blind. I observed, nevertheless, that she held it before her face, in order to conceal her want of eyes. In her right hand she held a vessel filled with ink, which she threatened to throw at the head of those that would not resolve to acknowledge her for a goddess. She sat upon a throne, consisting, however, only of an immense bladder, swelled up with air. At her feet lay a naked woman, whose name I could not learn, though she seemed to be her mortal enemy. The mountebank went up to this idol as often as he perceived that his ardour and zeal for the common good began to abate. He worshipped her as meanly as he demanded to be venerated himself, sacrificing every time, upon a litle altar, some leaves of literary compositions, which deserved to be committed to the flames, merely for not having been written by himself. The immediate effect resulting from the success of his prayers to the idol invariably discovered itself by the frothing of his mouth, and a learned convulsive motion in his hands, similar to that which in a violent paroxysm seizes envious and quarrelsome authors. He availed himself most successfully of such. moments, distributing with additional zeal his learned nostrums among the auditors, recommend. ing to them the most approved prescriptions of good taste, and enlarging upon the miraculous and happy effects which these panaceas had produced on several of his obsequious patients, who had greedily devoured them. His chief arcanum consisted in a certain kind of pills, each dose of which he wrapped in one of the panegyrics which had been composed in praise. of his name, and for the benefit of posterity, a practice from which he derived a twofold advantage, causing his patients to swallow both his pills and his celebrity. I was astoni hed to observe the amazing effect which these pills produced. No sooner had they been taken by the patient, than he felt violent pangs in his brains, which continued till nature relieved itself by discharging the impurities, not in the common way, R I was astonished at the malignant officiousness of that little garrulous spirit, who constantly kept his eager looks fixed at my pockets, whilst he extolled the justice of my cause. I began already to ap prehend that I should not be able to escape the practical hands of my zealous advocate, when I fortunately hit upon an expedient of getting rid of him, informing him that I should be happy to avail myself of his kind offer, if he would en but through the fingers. What astonished me derate. We will prosecute your aggressor, and most, was to observe that the patients caught compel him to make an apology. I can procure these impure effluvia by a paper, presenting it you, at a trifling expence, as many witnesses as with a respectful bow to their physician, for the you chuse; they shall attest upon eath any thing further diffusion of good taste. They then ob- that you may desire. I'll go immediately and tained his permission to cure others under his procure a warrant. I may be bold to assure you direction. I observed that they frequently were that your law-suit shall be as intricate thirty years more violent than their chief in their cures, for hence as it is now. I am famous for affording I saw one of them force a considerable number prompt relief to my clients; thank heaven, I am of pills down the throat of a spectator, in order not easy to be terrified, and my fingers are remarkto cure him, though much against his inclination, ably indefatigable. But you must not mind of a bad tas e I forgot to mention that the some expence; for neither myself nor your leader of these petty mountebanks related dread- || judges will be capable of forming a clear idea of ful adventures concerning his cures. He scorned your case without money. In what consists the to say, "I have cured this or that afflicted per- cause of litigation? Draw up a slatum cause; son by means of my pills and powders," pro- but let it be as brief as possible; for I am a mortesting to have preserved the health of all his tal enemy to all prolixity." countrymen; and whenever his pills took effect in a patient, he congratulated the whole community upon it. But I must not pass over in silence the most remarkable circumstance. Our mountebanks generally have suspended to their necks a few strings of teeth, extracted by them, and exhibited as trophies of their skill. My readers may easily conclude that our mountebank also must have been decorated with such convincing proofs of his skill and experience. In-deavour to prevail upon some benevolent person stead of teeth there was pending from his neck a large string of grammatical slips, which he had selected and extracted from the works of great authors. I could not refrain from laughing aloud on discovering that precious ornament, but unfortunately was detected in the fact by one of those witty adepts, who eagerly forced his way through the other spirits, and while he pressed towards me, exclaimed," Stop him! stop him!" attempted to conceal myself among the gazing multitude, but could not escape his lynx-eyes Having seized me by the throat, he roared with furious officiousness," Sir, I beg leave to cure you! you have a cataract, a most dangerous cataract! you shall not escape me till you are cured. Submit quickly to the operation, lest I should be compelled to have rocourse to force." Neither prayers nor menaces could avail; he threw me on the ground, and I should undoubtedly have been forced to undergo the most pain-rified, the lonesome situation of the place renful operation, had not my conductor found means to deliver me from the talons of my barbarous benefactor. Whilst I was yet petrified, as it were, with terror, a shade, who had observed these violent proceedings at some distance, came running towards me, out of breath, exclaiming :-" Dear Sir, indict him for an assault! avail yourself of the protection of the law! You have it in your power to pay the fees; I can clearly see that you have justice on your side. I'll serve you with pleasure. My charges will be extremely mo to assist me with a small sum of money, to enable me to pay the customary fees, my finances being totally exhausted, adding, heaven would reward him for that charitable deed. "Heaven reward me!" exclaimed he, in a low accent. "I should willingly assist you; but my conscience does not permit me to engage in a cause manifestly unjust. For heaven's sake, do not go to law; every thing is against you; I advise you as a friend to settle your differences amicably. Ishall take care not to make myself a party in your malicious design. You ought to be ashamed to make such an application to an honest and conscientious lawyer. I am your humble servant." I was rejoiced to have found out an expedient to extricate myself from that vexatious affair; but my joy was of a short duration. Before I was aware of it, a soul of a gigantic size rushed out of a thicket, and ran towards me. I was ter dering it very probable that he must have some Mæcenas kind, permit my timid muse I have not a farthing in my pocket, was my reply. Upon this he quitted me abruptly, casting a look of profound contempt at me. I saw him fly to a large troop of little spirits, who were tunning after a very corpulent soul, by whose splendid attire I could easily conclude upon his great merits and eminent talents. Their cries were so confused that I could not at first guess the meaning of it. At length one of them was thrown to the ground with astonishing violence. His conqueror seemed to have justice on his side: for his patriotism and zeal for the sciences urged him to beat his an tagonist most unmercifully. They were both covered with mud, and raised such an impenetrable cloud of dust, that I was not capable of seeing them any longer; therefore I directed my attention to the by-standers, who seemed to be differently interested in this literary contest. Some were so wanton as to encourage these furious defenders of truth to continue their criti. cal investigations with additional ardour, and whenever a violent blow was applied, signified their applause by the most thoughtless plaudits. Nay, I even observed that some of them flung money to the combatants, which encreased their fury to a most surprizing degree. Some of the spectators laughed; and these appeared to me the most impartial of all, because they considered the boxers as fools. Others strove to part the combatants; but their exertions were fruitless, and some of these even received severe blows in the heat of the contest, in return for their humane intentions. Venturing to step nearer, I could plainly distinguish the words,—altars, ornament to the country, admiration of the age and of posterity, immortality, and more than an hundred fine things of a similar tenor, each of which, on an average, was at least worth half a guinea. I imagined to know a clear voice that I distinguished from the rest, which, in order to render the wishes which it expressed the more affecting and impressive, cried, every third word-Ah! oh! It was highly diverting to observe how eagerly these little spirits ran after the hero who was the object of their praise, and, as I could plainly see, was visibly puffed up by the profusion of incense that was offered by his admirers, manifesting by his haughty looks that he presumed he was not unworthy of their panegyrics. At length he condescended to take notice of his clients, and stopped, turning himself towards them. This encreased their clamour. The little souls crowd-without knowing him, or being able to assign a ed towards him, every one being eager to be the cause for these acts of violence. Several persons first. They all raised their open hands, casting who had hitherto remained quiet, and whose wishful looks at the patriotic purse of their dear presence had not been noticed, needlessly quitted patron, who proved his generosity by distributing their station, and mingled in the contest, for na a large sum to appease the cravings of their other purpose than to render themselves constomachs. I asked one of them who had distin-spicuous, and seemed to be highly delighted guished himself from the rest by the loudness of his panegyrics, who that celebrated and virtuous man was? what he had done for the good of his country? and what rendered him deserving of such extraordinary panegyrics? "I do not know," replied he coolly; "however, he cele. brates to-day his birth-day!" Two souls, who I at first took for draymen, but who, as my conductor informed me, in their life had been critics, an! famous for their astonishing learning, caused an uncommon concourse before the town-gate, where at certain times the wrestlers and boxers exhibited their pugilistic talents to the admiration of the populace. They had seized one another by the hair in the most furious manner, and exerted themselves to the utmost of their power to throw each other down. Their contest was remarkable, and the victory uncertain, on account of their being an equal match. I could not obtain the least intelligence of the primary cause of their mutual fury; all that I could hear consisted of the most abusive language, surpassing even the doquence of the first-rate Billingsgate orators. Most of the spectators took an active part in this confusion, and the contest threatened to become general. One beat the other in the face when they saw that they also became objects of laughter. The two combatants, who had caused these disturbances, at length grew tired of the contest. They parted, and I ventured to ask the conqueror, who had so palpably convinced his antagonist of his superior good taste, what had occasioned their furious combat? I suppose, said I to him, you stood up as a protector of the real welfare of your country, and defended a truth on which depends the happiness of thousands? Surely you must have stood up in defence of the temporal or eternal happiness of your fellowcitizens, as you risked the loss of your fame and honour? "It was something of higher importance," replied he, "I do not care for such trifles. Consider only, dear Sir, consider that madman, that monster, that literary villain, that " "But tell nie in what consists the villany which that monster has committed?" "It is too shocking to be mentioned," replied he; "mon. strous beyond belief. Turnus-my hair stands erect when I think of it. Consider only, that hardened villain maintains that Turnus had blue eyes. I, Sir, who have been a celebrated critic || ridiculous; for, thank heaven! the critics of our these two hundred years, I have proved to him, time proceed in a manner widely different. They by a passage from Virgil, that Turnus had black || investigate literary truth without the least heat, eyes. He has dared to contradict me, neverthe- infatuation, or prejudice. They are modest in less, though he was a pupil of mine! Have you the midst of erudite contests; abandoning their ever heard of a similar act of audacity?" assertions, as soon as they are convinced of having been misled by error, and rejoice at being rendered sensible of it. Thus laudable is the conduct of the critics of our enlightened and refined age. In former times they acted upon different principles. I cannot express how rejoiced I was on hearing this, as I now clearly conceived that the world would not have sustained any material injury though my critical hero should have been de feated, and I was glad to see that two critics of the last two centuries had rendered themselves [To be concluded in our next.] ESSAY ON POLITENESS OF MANNERS. What Rochefoucault calls gallantry of mind, which consists in saying flattering things in an the softness of the sentiment ought to be com It is a great step towards appearing to advantage in the world to have no gross vices or defects to conceal. Without our perceiving it, || agreeable manner, I should term grace in speech; the passions leave deep traces behind in the countenance, and what is called a happy physi-pensated in the expression by something sharp, ognomy, is nothing but the expression of a tranquil mind, gently agitated by commendable pro. pensities. Accordingly, the same writer who had so acutely observed so many characters, remarks that, good grace is to the body, what good sense is to the mind." It is this good sense that prevents extravagance, thoughtlessness, and inconsistency; that makes each perfect in his part, causes him to note the adaptations of places, persons, and situations, and to mark the different shades of familiarity, consideration, or respect, the gradations of which form that art of living, that knowledge of the world, which we term politeness†. This refined notion of the decencies of life, animated with the degree of expression suitable to each, constitutes precisely what I call grace in manners, which conveys to each individual, and in a pleasing way, the sentiments we entertain for him. *La Rochefoucault, Max. 67. The Duke d'Epernon, notorious for his pride, which he carried even to madness, was re turning one day to Saint Germain in company with Monsieur, the brother of Louis XIII. The King had gone out, and the guard was in front of the palace. On perceiving Monsieur's carriages they ran to arms, and the drums began to beat. "Beat away," cried the Duke d'Epernon, putting his head out of the window, "here I am!" This want of sense was so excessive as to eclipse the impertinence, and the whim afforded a good deal of amusement to Monsieur and the whole court. that may prevent insipidity; for self-love in general resembles Tiberius, of whom Tacitus says, that "he hated liberty, and was not fond of adulation." It is possible to avoid shewing personal interest, but self-love is a shameless creditor, which demands without mercy and without measure. In the details of life, as in business, a great number of unpleasant circumstances are continually occurring, which are occasioned by nothing but trivi I neglects, of which we are not aware. Small fractions omitted in our discounts with the self-love of others, are frequently productive of very great errors in the calculation of our hopes. We have not satisfied all the claims of the world, though we may have paid our play-debts, This I take to be the meaning of the expression of Horace, molle atque facetum, which has been explined in so many different ways by translators, and by which he justly characterizes the peculiar style of Virgil. This, I think, ought to be rendered delicate and piquant. It is nothing but grace that combines what touches the heart and pleases the understanding; and in truth Virgil is by way of eminence the poet of the graces, ever tender, ever pure, ever animated; the heart is incessan ly affected by the sentiments, the images, nay even by the musical mechanism of his rhyme. The understanding is satisfied by the highly finished execution, and the judgment and the taste alike find only subjects of commendation. and have given no person any legitimate subject of complaint. The affronts which we cannot pardon, are those which we durst not, nay, which we are unable to express, which, in some measure are not appreciable by words. A multitude of little civilities, anticipations, and attentions, indicative of esteem or of interest, give a grace and a relief to the character; it is that flower of gentility, which is called the air, the tone of good company. Many people consider politeness as a kind of ostentatious parade, as a luxury in manners, adapted only to a certain fortune and a certain rank: their rudeness they term plainness and ease; they never suspect that agreeableness of forms is one of the most essential elements of a placid and happy life. But does not the true repose and serenity of our days, depend more on a multitude of trivial circumstances of hourly recurrence, than on these important events, with which the path of life is but sparingly bes'rewed? The habit of delicate sensations tends to give additional refinement to delicacy; vivacity of imagination and sensibility are improved by it; the aptitude to receive agreeable impressions is increased, and the combination of all these produces the immense interval that separates good company from the unpolished multitude. Those who are most negligent toward others, are not themselves on that account insensible to any neglect of themselves. Your manners have fixed a standard of reciprocity; this balance, however, is not indifferent to the passions. What acute pain have we often received from things which appeared to be but trifles. The repeated prick of a pin is equivalent to a large wound; and it matters not what it is that disturbs my repose, if I have once lost my tranquillity. Universal familiarity is in general insulting, and throws a discredit on that of intimacy; on the other hand, universal and excessive reserve, seems a refinement of pride, which gives itself little concern about placing you high or low, provided it keeps you at a distance. How subtle is the principle of self-love, and how difficult to be managed! It pervades every heart, as the igneous Auid pervades all nature. In society it is a restless and mistrustful passion, which we ought continually to be careful of offending; and in our own bosoms, how much more delicate still is its nature! When pure, it is honour: if it receive the slightest adulteration it is tranformed into vanity and pride. Nevertheless, like electricity, it has its conductors, and there exists an art by which it may be directed and modified. In the conduct of life, self-love ought to have the bashfulness of a virgin, and the coquetry of a courtezan; but what delicacy and what taste are required to seize the just gradations! There is an art by which we may procure esteem ourselves at the expence of the vanity of others, and which throws a great charm over the manners; but this is the secret of the most accomplished. To talk much of others and but little of ourselves, is the amiable artifice of ingenious selflove, which secretly gains the affection of the coldest hearts, which you are sure of pleasing: but vanity discovers no graces; it was not even forgiven in the rain-glorious Bishop of Noyon*, though all his pretensions would have been admitted had they any other herald than himself. Conversation is the field in which taste and the graces are exhibited to the greatest advantage; it has almost generally been relinquished for gaming, a talent too difficult for most people to acquire. It cannot be denied, that courts them. selves have lost much of their attraction by the change. Anne, of Austria, was the last Queen of France who had parties for the purpose of conversation. Conversation is become an obsolete art, the secret of which is lost like that of painting on glass; there, prevailed all the varied. tones of wit, the lively, the ingenious, the pi quant, the natural; there pressed by necessity, or animated by circumstances, the imagination created exquisite turns, expressions fraught with genius, which the French academy frequently adopted; the use of them was admitted among the laws of the language; and the quality of a man of fashion, which was then almost synonimous with that of a man of taste, gave some a seat among the chiefs of literature. At that time, when conversation constituted the amusement of the most delicate persons, no coxcombs destitute of ideas fatigued with their insipidity; no sarcastic genius stung those who were present, or calumniated the absent; wit was keen without being malicious, and grazed without wounding; the faculty of listening was left * Such was the epithet given to that prelate, who, in other respects was a sensible man, and who founded a prize for poetry at the French academy. A very entertaining collection might be made of all the sallies that escaped him, and which are preserved by tradicion in society. A single one will be sufficient in this place. As he acted consistently with his character even at the point of death, the priest who was with him, remonstrated, and assured him that he endanger ed his eternal salvation; he replied, "O never mind that, father; depend upon it God will look twice before he dooms a Clermont Tonnerre to perdition." |