On Ink.
I am jet black, as you may see,
The son of pitch and gloomy night;
Yet all who know me will agree
I’m dead, except I live in light.
Sometimes in panegyric high,
Like lofty Pindar, I can soar,
And raise a virgin to the sky,
Or her to a * * * * *
My blood this day is very sweet,
To-morrow of a bitter juice;
Like milk, ’tis cried about the street
And so applied to different use.
Most wondrous is my magic power:
For with one color I can paint.
I’ll make the devil a saint this hour,
Next make a devil of a saint.
Through distant regions I can fly,
Provide me with but paper wings,
fairly show a reason why
There should be quarrels among kings.
And, after all, you’ll think it odd,
When learned doctors will dispute,
That I should point the word of God,
And show where they can best confute.
Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats,
’Tis I that must the lands convey,
And strip their clients to their coats,—
Nay, give their very souls away.
We find also in Pope’s epistle of Heloise to Abeillard an allusion to the power of letters, as conveying ideas, which seems appropriate in this connexion as illustrating the uses of ink.
Heaven first taught letters for some wretch’s aid,
Some banished lover, or some captive maid:
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires;
The virgin’s wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.
The genius of Byron (in a playful flash) has illuminated our subject with one of his most brilliant passages:—
But words are things: and a small drop of INK,
Falling like dew upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands (perhaps millions) think.
A less distinguished poet has, in expressive, and though in quainter, humbler, yet in noble strain, said what is equally appropriate in this place:—
Books are a part of man’s prerogative:
In formal INK, they thought and voices hold,
That we to them our solitude may give,
And make time present travel as of old.
Celsus, who lived in this world, about the commencement of the Christian era, has left a little memorandum on this subject which is worth quoting.
We give his words entire:—
There are two kinds of bald spots occurring on the human head,—one of them a baldness which creeps over the scalp like a serpent,—the other showing itself in the form of round spaces uncovered by hair. Some recommend the use of acrid irritant articles, combined with oils, &c. But there is nothing better for you than to have the bald place shaved every day with a [very dull] razor, and, after having done that, you needn’t do anything else but rub on the place thus shaved a little atramentum sutorium—(“shoemakers’ ink,” “copperas-water,”)—[solution of the Di-proto sulphate of the (per) sesquoxyd of iron].
The editor of the printed copy of the edition of the works of Aulus Cornelius Celsus which was printed in Padua, made a material error on this point.
The word “sutorium” (being unintelligible to the ignorant monk who superintended the printing) was changed to “scriptorium,”—that is, “writing-ink,” instead of “shoemakers’-ink.” It is well-known that a solution of copperas properly made, will remedy or prevent premature baldness; but we assert that no quantity of lamp-black and gum, or grease, will be found effectual for that purpose.
In the time of Celsus, the sulphate of iron (copperas) had not yet become an essential ingredient of writing-ink; and even after that its combination with carbonaceous and oleaginous matters entirely neutralized the power which renders it applicable and useful in such cases.