Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

large and powerful painting, in which suicide is treated melodramatically. The time is daybreak; a golden-haired girl has just been fished out of the Thames, near one of the bridges, and brought to the head of the stairs by two watermen; the body is held in the arms of a motherly-looking flower-woman, and the face of the unfortunate is illuminated by the bull's-eye lantern of a kneeling policeman, a girl with a basket of early wildflowers on the head standing by and looking pityingly on. A body of wild revellers in masquerade costumes, crossing the bridge, comes suddenly upon the sad group, and from the startled and horrified face of the first reveller, a gentleman, who has a brilliant and laughing Traviata hanging upon his arm, we learn the history and source of

the suicide's fall.

Without ascribing undue weight to these indications of suicide becoming, or seeming as if it were about to become, a favorite subject with our artists, or to the fact of certain fatalistic doctrines, of which suicide is advanced as one of the principal illustrations and proofs, being received with avidity by the reading public, it is well to ask to what such things might tend. The answer to this question is best derived, first, from a history of the modern æstheticism of suicide, which we have endeavored to sketch in this article; and secondly, from an examination of the latest manifestation of this æstheticism, as exhibited in recent French literature. This we propose to deal with hereafter. In conclusion we would repeat certain remarks that we have already made

use of in reference to this subject in the past series of this Journal:

66

And

- Wherever Mr. Buckle's reasoning finds acceptance, it may be anticipated that it will lead to an unfortunate indifference to suicide in its social relations. Meriting neither praise nor blame, and uninfluenced by moral restraints, the act must be submitted to as a disagreeable necessity of every-day life, and we must accustom ourselves to it in the best way we can. how will this be brought about? Shall we rest content to have this revolting creation of a new Frankenstein hunting its victims day by day to death among us in commonplace ghastly guise? Surely not. We shall strive to hide the most horrible features bein the pathways of the demon with a wealth neath a profusion of conceits; we shall fence of fanciful sentiment, and, it may be, we shall end as many others have done . . . by enthroning an image of him, and worshipping it. . . . Let us have a care. We have our present artists who find a charm in suicide; we have an apologist for the act in certainly one of the most facile and attractive historical writers of the day; and the prescriptions of both the law and the gospel in reference to it are in a great measure unheeded. This is not a bad starting-point and groundwork in favor of a reactionary movement, sympathetic of suicide, and if we do not take heed, we shall have our young men and maidens looking upon the deed as And so, in due time, we should come to a matter of feeling, and not of morality. hear the legitimacy of suicide babbled of at our firesides and in our workshops, while sympathy would find an outlet in song."

601.

[ocr errors]

Journal of Psychological Medicine, vol. xii. p.

[ocr errors]

M. VOGEL, THE AFRICAN TRAVELLER.Our contemporary, Cosmos, states that M. Hartmann, recently returned from the Upper Nile, has communicated the following letter to M. Vogel, containing unlooked-for intelligence respecting his unfortunate son, the African traveller: In June of last year (1860), when travelling with my friend Baron Barnim (since carried off by a fever), I met at Rasères, on the River Bleu, the elephant-hunter, Evangelisti, who told me that a native of Bauman had imparted to him the important intelligence that E. Vogel is kept close prisoner at Wara (in the

Wadai); that the sultan makes use of him as an adviser, but that he is so strictly watched that escape is impossible. The information, though far from being authentic, is, nevertheless, of a nature which will, doubtless, cause Dr. Henglin, who is now conducting an expedition through the above country, to use every effort to ascertain whether M. Vogel be alive." M. Hartmann adds, that the embassy sent in September last, by the pacha of Egypt, to Darfour will, in all probability, obtain some information respecting M. Vogel; and that this is the more probable, as the sultans of Wadai and Darfour are on amicable terms.—Athenæum.

From The Examiner.

Hora Subseciva. By John Brown, M.D., F.R.S.E. A Second Series. Edmonston and Douglas.

the Old Playhouse close, Hugh had revived his memory of Mary Duff; a lively girl who had been bred up beside him in Cromarty. The last time he had seen her was at a brother mason's marriage, where Mary was

still to see her bright young careless face, her tidy shortgown, and her dark eyes, and to hear her bantering, merry tongue.

THE second volume of Dr. Brown's leis-best maid,' and he 'best man.' He seemed ure talk is as good as the first; indeed it is better, for although it does not contain another story so good as that of "Rab and his Friends," it is more uniformly entertaining. The anecdote is abundant; so abundant, indeed, as to give the book some of that sort of popularity which has been so well earned by Dean Ramsay's "Recollections; " the natural expression of the writer's mind is as honest and more unrestrained;

"Down the close went the ragged little woman, and up an outside stair, Hugh keeping near her with difficulty; in the passage she held out her hand and touched him; taking it in his great palm, he felt that she wanted a thumb. Finding her way like a cat through the darkness, she opened a door, and saying That's her!' vanished. By the light of a dying fire he saw lying in the corner of the large empty room something like a woman's clothes, and on drawing nearer became aware of a thin pale face and two dark eyes looking keenly but helplessly at him. The eyes were plainly Mary Duff's, though he could recognize no other feature. She wept si'Are you lently, gazing steadily at him. Mary Duff? It's a' that's o' me, Hugh.' She then tried to speak to him, something plainly of great urgency, but she couldn't, and seeing that she was very ill, and was making herself worse, he put half a crown into her feverish hand, and said he would call again in the morning. He could get no information about her from the neighbors; they were surly or asleep.

there is the same genial appreciation of genius and worth, the same sense of poetry as well as of fun; and deeper chords are struck. A letter to Dr. Cairns which supplied some of the material for a memoir of his brother minister, prefixed to a posthumous volume of discourses, Dr. Brown now includes in his book, giving recollections of his father written with profound tenderness, though often playful in their tone. Subject and treatment work together on the reader's mind. Both are so full of human truth, and find their way straight to the heart with so manly a simplicity, that we can hardly point to a short memoir from any hand that we think better than this "Letter to John Cairns, D.D." Quotation from it would be She's deid.' He went in, and found that easy, but we leave it untouched to be read it was true; there she lay, the fire out, her and felt in its own place, and turn to more face placid, and the likeness to her maiden trivial matter. self restored. Hugh thought he would have Here is a good story-not at all comic-known her now, even with those bright black which we may quote entire, a fair example

of the author's skill in anecdote :

66

66 HER LAST HALF-CROWN.

[ocr errors]

Hugh Miller, the geologist, journalist, and man of genius, was sitting in his newspaper office late one dreary winter night. The clerks had all left, and he was preparing to go, when a quick rap came to the door. He Said Come in,' and, looking towards the entrance, saw a little ragged child all wet with sleet. Are ye Hugh Miller?' 'Yes.' Mary Duff wants yer.' 'What does she want?' 'She's deeing.' Some misty recollection of the name made him at once set out, and with his well-known plaid and stick, he was soon striding after the child, who trotted through the now deserted High Street, into the Canongate. By the time he got to

[ocr errors]

"When he returned next morning, the little girl met him at the stairhead, and said,

eyes closed as they were, in æternum.

"Seeking out a neighbor, he said he would like to bury Mary Duff, and arranged for the funeral with an undertaker in the close. Little seemed to be known of the poor outcast, except that she was a 'licht,' or, as Solomon would have said, a strange woman.' Did she drink?' Whiles.'

[ocr errors]

"On the day of the funeral one or two residents in the close accompanied him to the Canongate churchyard. He observed a decent-looking little old woman watching them, and following at a distance, though the day was wet and bitter. After the grave was filled, and he had taken off his hat, as the men finished their business by putting on and slapping the sod, he saw this old woman remaining. She came up, and, courtesying, said, Ye wad ken that lass, sir ?' 'Yes; I knew her when she was young.' The wo

man then burst into tears, and told Hugh that she keepit a bit shop at the Closemooth, and Mary dealt wi' me, and aye paid regular, and I was feared she was dead, for she had been a month awin' me half a crown' and then with a look and voice of awe, she told him how on the night he was sent for, and immediately after he had left, she had been awakened by some one in her room; and by her bright fire-for she was a bein', well-to-do body-she had seen the wasted dying creature, who came forward and said, Wasn't it half a crown?' 'Yes.' 'There it is,' and putting it under the bolster, vanished!

"Alas for Mary Duff! her career had been a sad one since the day when she had stood side by side with Hugh at the wedding of their friends. Her father died not long after, and her mother supplanted her in the affections of the man to whom she had given her heart. The shock was overwhelming, and made home intolerable. Mary fled from it blighted and embittered, and after a life of shame and sorrow, crept into the corner of her wretched garret, to die deserted and alone; giving evidence in her latest act that honesty had survived amid the wreck of nearly every other virtue.

66

My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

Dr. Brown is a friend of dogs. He cherishes and knows them, and in his chapters on "our dogs" describes them with the humor of a friend. He believes also great things of the dog understanding.

"Mr. Carruthers' of Inverness, told me a new story of these wise sheep dogs. A butcher from Inverness had purchased some sheep at Dingwall, and giving them in charge to his dog, left the road. The dog drove them on, till coming to a toll, the toll-wife stood before the drove, demanding her dues. The dog looked at her, and, jumping on her back, crossed his forelegs over her arms. The sheep passed through, and the dog took his place behind them, and went on his way."

From an anecdotical essay upon presence of mind we quote one or two more stories.

"Robbie Watson, whom I now see walking mildly about the streets-having taken to coal-was driver of the Dumfries coach by Biggar. One day he had changed horses, and was starting down a steep hill, with an acute turn at the foot, when he found his wheelers, two new horses, utterly ignorant of backing. They got furious, and we outside got alarmed. Robbie made an attempt to pull up, and then with an odd smile took his whip, gathered up his reins, and lashed the entire four into a gallop. If we had not seen his face we would have thought him a maniac; he kept them well together, and shot down like an arrow, as far as we could see to certain destruction. Right in front at the turn was a stout gate into a field, shut; he drove them straight at that, and through we went, the gate broken into shivers, and we finding ourselves safe, and the very horses enjoying the joke. I remember we emptied our pockets into Robbie's hat, which he had taken off to wipe his head. Now, in a few seconds all this must have passed through his head-that horse is not a wheeler, nor that one either; we'll come to mischief; there's the gate; yes I'll do it.' And he did it; but then he had to do it with his might; he had to make it impossible for his four horses to do any thing but toss the gate before them.

"One more instance of nearness of the

Nous. A lady was in front of her lawn with her children, when a mad dog made his apdid she do? What would you have done? pearance, pursued by the peasants. What Shut your eyes and think. She went straight to the dog, received its head in her thick stuff gown between her knees, and muffling it up, held it with all her might till the men came up. No one was hurt, Of course she fainted after it was all right."

There are few books giving the enjoyment of talk with a clever, well-read, genial and individual man, who speaks for himself through a strong sense of hearty fellowship, that are more likely to give pleasure to a reader in any mood than Dr. John Brown's Hora Subseciva.

From All the Year Round.
THE LAST LEWISES.

A WELL-BELOVED.

and business must wait until his highness has slept off his last debauch.

It is that notorious old Duchess "DouairiON the frieze of worthies who have glori- ère," reigning princess of scandal-mongers, fied these last two centuries may be made out who furnishes us with the best and most distinctly the figures of no less than two fat copious details. The terrible old lady posRegents. We can point with a just pride to itively scares us with her vile stories, and our First Gentleman of Europe, and un- though her editors have been hard at work rivalled Adonis of fifty; and our French" deodorising" her letters, some delightful neighbors, competing with us in that line of bits remain behind, very wicked, and I fear article, can lay their finger on an antecedent very entertaining. She was proud of her Regent who was fat also, dreadfully partial to child; and tells of his artless frolics with an the ladies, coarse and unmannerly; in fact, appalling unction, and a smirk of maternal conspicuous for all the first-gentlemanly affection. She grins and chatters over his qualities. vices, and mumbles out how he graduated in About the time, then, that a poor old grand iniquity at the early age of thirteen. She is monarch, gasping on his death-bed, discov- angry, and chides him for that free life of his; ered the hollowness of that trick to cheat him but it is because he shows such bad taste and of his crows'-feet and wrinkles, and that indifference in the matter of good looks. And majesty was indeed, but in a wholly different yet a panegyrist of this old harridan, speaks sense, "of the age of all the world,”—about in touching language of her "solid piety," this time, the lamps being lighted, and the fiddles striking up cheerfully in the orchestra, the curtain rolls upwards briskly, and the new piece, with the new actors, begins. The original First Gentleman is the first figure that comes down to the front.

and of the "grandeur of her sentiments," which, panegyrist fears, "made of her only too perfect an exemplar for the common run of women to hope to imitate."

Suddenly there comes bounding on the stage, into the very heart of this polluted Would we know what manner of people atmosphere, a pretty boy, full of life and were the fine ladies and gentlemen of these gayety. He has the richest brown hair, tossprime Bourbon days? Then let us put our ing in curls on his shoulders, the most brilliant eyes to the glass of this most curious raree-black eyes, and the handsomest figure in the show. What a scene and what figures! world. The court ladies soon found out that One in the centre, to whom the rest do Ko- he had a pretty hand, and a most elegant leg, too; short, corpulent, with great round cheeks and, we may be sure, contrived to let him and inflamed countenance, a squint, an un- know it. It was discovered, with admiration, gainly walk, a hoarse rough voice- this is that he put his hat on exactly as the late the fat Regent. He had a great square face; king did, and no one put on a hat like the and, when he opened his mouth, rows of late king. They said he danced "like an white carnivorous tusks flashed out, very un- angel." A hundred little traits are recorded pleasant to look on. Fat Regent the First of his amiability, his naïveté, his taste for loved the table to the full as much as fat innocent amusement. He wept when his Regent the Second, and feasted enormously. governess was taken from him, calling her his He loved his bottle also very dearly, and got" dear maman," presenting her with jewels of drunk in a strictly gentlemanly way upon some six thousand pounds' value. He was Tockai (so the partial parent spells it) and shrewd and clever, and actually wrote champagne. But the terrible orgies-lasting had written for him- a little geographical from five o'clock in the evening until late treatise on "The Rivers of Europe." This next morning, where he collected the vilest the courtiers voted a prodigy of genius. He elements, affectionately styled by him his was smart. Lord, how ugly he is!" said "roués," and to which society he did not the lively youth, as a rather plain-featured scruple to introduce his daughter-have, prelate was presented to him. The bishop perhaps, most of all contributed to the rep- looked at him sourly and walked away, sayutation of this model First Gentleman. ing, "What an ill-bred boy!" and it began Dusty, travel-stained couriers arrive with to be whispered that in Master Louis a spice pressing despatches; but the doors are barred, of malice was showing itself.

66

or

There were serious questions abroad and royal lily reared! The air is heavy with unat home then pressing; the finances in fright- wholesome scents; through which pierces a ful disorder; the navy in a state of dry rot, sharp recking vapor from the festering mass moral and physical; but the court was ab- underneath. It is a sewer painted and gilded sorbed with far more important matter. What over; it is corruption glorified. There is was Universal Dry Rot to the exciting ques- an old church legend of an angel leading a tion of the Cap and the Crossing of the Floor youth, and their meeting a dead dog in the with which men's minds were now agitated? last stage of decomposition, the odor of which Was the President of the Parliament to take made the youth nearly faint, but affected the off his cap? Who were entitled to this angel not at all; and of their falling in with, salute? Who had the right of going round by and by, a fine and elegant young man in by the benches, and who that of crossing the gorgeous raiment, and breathing round him floor diagonally? These famous questions clouds of musk; on which the angel turned very justly made a great noise at the time. sick in his turn, revolting from the oder of The two governors of the king taking him vice which overbore the musk. This quaint out to drive one day, fell into a hot dispute apologue is a type of this age. How shall about their places in the carriage; and it the bright handsome youth with the flowing being found impossible to arrange this affair, curls-who still says his prayers and confesses the drive had to be given up. The life-pass through untainted? The stairs, the guardsmen and gendarmerie presently fell galleries, the saloons are packed close with out about their order of riding with the king's fauns and satyrs in beautiful snowy bag-wigs, carriage, and the dispute could only be settled in the bleu de roi coats overlaid with gold by nicely allotting the right of the hind wheel and flaps, in lace ruffles and swords the to the gentlemen of the guard, and the fore most elegant creatures in the world, only wheel to the gendarmes. Those nice impal- their hairy limbs and cloven hoofs are hidden pable refinements about the "familiar entry" carefully in those blushing silk hose. Packed and the "bedroom entry," the "grand entry" closely, too, with sweetly powdered woodand the "first entry;" the confounding of nymphs and Eastern odalisques, brilliant in which degrees was matter of life and death. the glow of the rouge-pot, behooped, beflowNoodle, who had the familiar entry and could ered, bepatched. Exquisite dainty bits of actually see the king as he lay in bed, was Sèvres porcelain; but, alack! cracked all of more beatified than Doodle, who had only the them. Ever so slightly, the little faint lines first entry, and could see the king up and in crossing faintly, but still cracked. Here are his dressing-gown. This butterfly spawn- the famous peaches, all at three sous, of they were not men or women— were fret- younger Dumas; choice fruit, with the slightting and breaking their hearts for promotion est little discoloration on one side. There from one rank to the other; but the man was no uncomfortable straight-lacing, no to whom royalty, stepping into its sheets, cramping moral shackles. It was the gayest, handed the bed-chamber candlestick was liveliest, wittiest, prettiest, and I fear — in trebly blessed, and went next day frantically fact, I am sure-the freest society in the uniproclaiming his triumph, and made others burst with envy. Only the other day we In those days it was an eternal jokery. heard of some young Bourbons gravely hold- Those old clumsy weapons of reason, and aring "pour-parler" over the grand question of gument, and syllogism, and good sense, as apa flag was it to be the old white flag or the plied to serious matters and affairs of state, tricolor? and there results a noble yielding were never so much as dreamt of; such rusty of the point on one side, and what is called a weapons were powerless. But the quip, the "Fusion!" Poor fools, and with no flagstaff quatrain, the mot, and the calembourg, fell in to fly it from! This playing with bits of rib- light showers, and were worth the whole Ars bon, and fleurs-de-lys, and flags and such Logica. And it must be confessed that the toys, runs in the family. They are all chips, little sparkling, hissing trifles thus turned, by not of the old block, for there is no old block the ladies chiefly, are, for neatness and punto get chips off, but of the old bending rotten gency, of the very highest order. The fine reed. ladies fell out with one another, and spat at In what a corrupt hothouse is the young each other little rhymed personalities, which

THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE.

725

verse.

« ZurückWeiter »