READINGS WITH MY PENCIL.
NO. I.
"Legere sine calamo est dormire."—Quintilian.
1. "I am resolved, by the grace of God, always to make my heart and tongue go together: so as never to speak with the one what I do not think with the other."—Bishop Beveridge.
There is a fine philosophy in the above excellent determination of the pious and learned bishop: it is but a paraphrase of the homely maxim, "Honesty is the best policy." But the most striking idea conveyed by it is its negative character: the resolution being, not to speak all that the heart thinketh, but never to speak what it thinketh not.
2. "I deny the lawfulness of telling a lie to a sick man for fear of alarming him. You have no business with consequences: you are to tell the truth."—Dr. Johnson.
Boswell says that the Doctor said this to him. I do not doubt it. It is nothing new. St. Paul said it before Dr. Johnson. "What then? Shall we do evil that good may come? God forbid!" Now, a lie of this kind would be venial, where other lies, told upon occasions of less magnitude and importance, would be unpardonable. And the Doctor's idea seems to be very well explained in the next passage.
3. "All truth is not of equal importance; but if little violations be allowed, all violations will, in time, be thought little."—Dr. Johnson.
So much for Truth; which, according to Herodotus, was one of the three lessons inculcated by the ancient Persians upon their children.
4. "The Four Elements are the Four Volumes in which all Nature's works are written."—Jeremy Taylor.
What is that volume, red-bound and glittering with golden tooling, more brilliant than the highest reach of Art has ever approached; dazzling with its illuminated pages, which none can read but the eagle-eye of him who has learned to gaze upon the living light of heavenly Truth, as written by the finger of the Almighty Omniscient? It is the volume of Fire—Nature's Philosophy. That beautiful volume, delicately bound in soft cerulean, sparkling with starry splendors, and redolent of "that odor within the sense, so delicate, soft, and intense," which gives its pages the fragrance no less than the shining beauty of Paradise—that volume is Air—and it is Nature's Music and Poetry. See Nature's History in those two immense volumes, Earth and Water. In them read the History of Empires, their rise, decline, and fall: the History of Man; his birth, his life, and death: the History of Passion; its conception, development, and disappointment: the History of Evil; its origin, dominion, and decay: the History of Good; its slow and steady, yet neglected and uncultured growth—its secret yet secure and strong dominion—its lasting and undying strength: and the History of all Nature and her works—recording all her beauties, all her glories, all her triumphs, all her lessons, all her immortal lore!
| 5. "Not only by the warmth, And soothing sunshine of delightful things, Do minds grow up and flourish."—Akenside. |
No more than flowers grow up and flourish best, when reared in a hot-house. Those flowers may have more beauty, but where is the strength which the free blowing blossom of the wilderness alone possesses? The corolla is delicate, its petals each a separate loveliness: but where is the noble stalk sustaining many and more voluminous, though less gaudy blossoms, which rears its enduring head aloft, living when the other is dead—fragrant when the other is withered upon the dewless earth around its drooping stem? Adversity has been the parent of master minds. Homer and Milton, and Shakspeare, and Burns—these were no hot-house plants in Nature's garden: they were born in obscurity; their upward growth was watered with the dew-like tears of adversity; they were reared in the great wilderness of the world, amid its storms, its tempests, and its fitful gleams of sunshine: and so "do minds grow up and flourish."
6. "Renewed friendships are to be conducted with greater nicety than such as have never been broken."—Rochefoucault.
Yes: just as one should handle a porcelain vase, once fractured and repaired, more carefully than before it was injured.
7. "I do not subscribe to the notion that poets are born," said Herbert.—Private Life.
Horace thought otherwise. I never agreed with the Venusian poet. Walter Scott was not a born poet: he was made by the scenes around him from his birth. Byron was not a native poet: his early "poetry" (?) proves the fact abundantly. His only true poetry was the result of circumstances. His first good poem was made by an article in the Edinburgh Review. His next was made by an unhappy marriage, and all the rest that deserved the name have an origin of the kind. Would Burns the cit have ever turned out what Burns the Ayrshire ploughman proved, think ye? And was Pope born a poet? No more than Napoleon was born Emperor of the French!
J. F. O.