[73] Palmer's death took place on the Liverpool stage, August 2, 1798; he was in the fifty-seventh year of his age. The death of his wife and his son had some time before thrown him into a profound melancholy, and on this occasion he was unfortunately "cast" for the agitating part of "the Stranger." He appeared unusually moved on uttering the words "there is another and a better world," in the third act. In the first scene of the following act, when he was asked "Why did you not keep your children with you? they would have amused you in many a dreary hour," he turned to reply—and "for the space of about ten seconds, he paused as if waiting for the prompter to give him the word"—says Mr. Whitfield the actor, who was then with him upon the stage—"then put out his right hand, as if going to take hold of mine. It dropt, as if to support his fall, but it had no power; in that instant he fell, but not at full length, he crouched in falling, so that his head did not strike the stage with great violence. He never breathed after. I think I may venture to say he died without a pang." It is one of the most melancholy incidents connected with theatrical history.
[74] In it he likens Christianity to a game at cards.
[75] In his "Sermon of the Plough," preached at Paul's Cross, 1548, we meet the same quaint imagery. "Preaching of the Gospel is one of God's plough works, and the preacher is one of God's ploughmen—and well may the preacher and the ploughman be likened together: first, for their labour at all seasons of the year; for there is no time of the year in which the ploughman hath not some special work to do." He says that Satan "is ever busy in following his plough;" and he winds up his peroration by the somewhat startling words, "the devil shall go for my money, for he applieth to his business. Therefore, ye unpreaching prelates, learn of the devil: to be diligent in doing your office learn of the devil: and if you will not learn of God, nor good men, for shame learn of the devil."
[76] Sir Robert Cecil, in a letter to Sir John Harrington, happily characterized her Majesty as occasionally "being more than a man, and, in truth, sometimes less than a woman."
[77] A peculiar arrangement of letters was in use by the German and Flemish printers of the 16th century. Thus cIɔ denoted 1000, and Iɔ, 500. The date 1619 would therefore be thus printed:—cIɔ. Iɔcxx.
[78] "Day fatality" was especially insisted on by these students, and is curiously noted in a folio tract, published in 1687, particularly devoted to "Remarques on the 14th of October, being the auspicious birth-day of his present Majesty James II.," whose author speaks of having seen in the hands of "that genera scholar, and great astrologer, E. Ashmole," a manuscript in which the following barbarous monkish rhymes were inserted, noting the unlucky days of each month:—
January Prima dies menses, et septima truncat ut ensis.
February Quarta subit mortem, prosternit tertia fortem.
March Primus mandentem, disrumpit quarta bibentem.
April Denus et undenus est mortis vulnere plenus.
May Tertius occidit, et septimus ora relidit.
June Denus pallescit, quindenus fœdra nescit.
July Ter-decimus mactat, Julii denus labefactat.
August Prima necat fortem prosternit secunda cohortem.
September Tertia Septembris, et denus fert mala membris.
October Tertius et denus, est sicut mors alienus.
November Scorpius est quintus, et tertius e nece cinctus.
December Septimus exanguis, virosus denus et anguis.
The author of this strange book fortifies his notions on "day fatality" by printing a letter from Sir Winstan Churchill, who says, "I have made great experience of the truth of it, and have set down Fryday as my own lucky day; the day on which I was born, christened, married, and I believe will be the day of my death. The day whereon I have had sundry deliverances from perils by sea and land, perils by false brethren, perils of lawsuits, &c. I was knighted (by chance unexpected of myself) on the same day, and have several good accidents happened to me on that day; and am so superstitious in the belief of its good omen, that I choose to begin any considerable action that concerns me on the same day."
[79] Lilly was at one time a staunch adherent of the Roundheads, and "read in the stars" all kinds of successes for them. His great feat was a prediction made for the month of June, 1645—"If now we fight, a victory stealeth upon us." A fight did occur at Naseby, and concluded the overthrow of the unfortunate Charles the First. The words are sufficiently ambiguous; but not so much so, as many other "prophecies" of the same notable quack, happily constructed to shift with changes in events, and so be made to fit them. Lilly was opposed by Wharton, who saw in the stars as many good signs for the Royal Army; and Lilly himself began to see differently as the power of Cromwell waned. Among the hundreds of pamphlets poured from the press in the excited days of the great civil wars in England, few are more curious than these "strange and remarkable predictions," "Signs in the Sky," and "Warnings to England," the productions of star-gazing knaves, which "terrified our isle from its propriety."
[80] He was assisted in the art by one Williamson, a watchmaker, of Dalton, Lancashire, with whom Romney lived in constant companionship. They were partners in a furnace, and had kept the fire burning for nine months, when the contents of the crucible began to assume the yellow hue which excited all their hopes; a few moments of neglect led to the catastrophe narrated above.