Old Isaac Walton has amused us with a variety of absurd fables and superstitions: the author of Salmonia, on the other hand, touches, as with the spear of Ithuriel, the monsters and prodigies of the older writers, and they at once assume the forms of well-ascertained animals, or vegetables. The sea snake seen by American and Norwegian captains, appears as a company of porpoises, which in their gambols, by rising and sinking in lines, would give somewhat the appearance of the coils of a snake. The Kraken, or island fish, is reduced into an assemblage of urticæ marinæ, or sea blubbers. The Mermaid, into the long-haired seal;[113] and lastly, the celebrated Caithness Mermaid assumes the unpoetical form of a stout young traveller;—but this story is far too amusing to be dismissed with a passing notice.
"A worthy Baronet, remarkable for his benevolent views and active spirit, has propagated a story of this kind, and he seems to claim for his native country the honour of possessing this extraordinary animal; but the mermaid of Caithness was certainly a gentleman, who happened to be travelling on that wild shore, and who was seen bathing by some young ladies at so great a distance, that not only genus but gender was mistaken. I am acquainted with him, and have had the story from his own mouth. He is a young man, fond of geological pursuits, and one day in the middle of August, having fatigued and heated himself by climbing a rock to examine a particular appearance of granite, he gave his clothes to his Highland guide, who was taking care of his pony, and descended to the sea. The sun was just setting, and he amused himself for some time by swimming from rock to rock, and having unclipped hair and no cap, he sometimes threw aside his locks, and wrung the water from them on the rocks. He happened the year after to be at Harrowgate, and was sitting at table with two young ladies from Caithness, who were relating to a wondering audience the story of the mermaid they had seen, which had already been published in the newspapers: they described her, as she usually is described by poets, as a beautiful animal with remarkably fair skin and long green hair. The young gentleman took the liberty, as most of the rest of the company did, to put a few questions to the elder of the two ladies,—such as, on what day and precisely where this singular phenomenon had appeared. She had noted down not merely the day, but the hour and minute, and produced a map of the place. Our bather referred to his journal, and showed that a human animal was swimming in the very spot at that very time, who had some of the characters ascribed to the mermaid, but who laid no claim to others, particularly the green hair and fish's tail, but, being rather sallow in the face, was glad to have such testimony to the colour of his body beneath his garments."
With this story, I must conclude my review of "Salmonia,"—a work of considerable scientific and popular interest, and which cannot fail to become the favourite companion of the philosophical angler. The only production with which it can be at all compared is that of the "Complete Angler, by Izaac Walton." I agree with the critic who regards the two authors as pilgrims bound for the same shrine, resembling each other in their general habit—the scalloped hat, the dalmatique, and the knobbed and spiked staff—which equalize all who assume the character; yet, though alike in purpose, dress, and demeanour, the observant eye can doubtless discern an essential difference betwixt those devotees. The burgess does not make his approach to the shrine with the stately pace of a knight or a noble; the simple and uninformed rustic has not the contemplative step of the philosopher, or the quick glance of the poet. The palm of originality and of exquisite simplicity, which cannot perhaps be imitated with entire success, must remain with the common father of anglers—the patriarch Izaac; but it would be absurd to compare his work with the one written by the most distinguished philosopher of the nineteenth century, whose genius, like a sunbeam, illumined every recess which it penetrated, imparting to scarcely visible objects, definite forms and various colours.
If the advanced age of Walton was pleaded by himself as a sufficient reason for procuring "a writ of ease," the friends of Davy may surely claim at the hands of the critic an indulgent reception for a congenial work written in the hour of bodily lassitude and sickness. This benevolent feeling, however, did not penetrate every heart. A passage, which I shall presently quote, appears to have given great offence to the President of the Mechanics' Institute, and to have been considered by him as the indication of a covert hostility to the spread of knowledge. The earth had scarcely closed upon the remains of the philosopher, when, in his anniversary speech,[114] the Autocrat of all the Mechanics, availing himself of this pretext, assailed his character with the charge of "conceit, pride, and arrogance."
The following is the passage in Salmonia, which provoked this angry and unjust philippic.
"I am sorry to say, I think the system carried too far in England. God forbid, that any useful light should be extinguished! let the persons who wish for education receive it; but it appears to me that, in the great cities in England, it is, as it were, forced upon the population; and that sciences, which the lower classes can only very superficially acquire, are presented to them; in consequence of which they often become idle and conceited, and above their usual laborious occupations. The unripe fruit of the tree of knowledge is, I believe, always bitter or sour; and scepticism and discontentment—sicknesses of the mind—are often the result of devouring it."
Methinks I hear the reader exclaim—"How little could Davy imagine that his prophetic words would have been so soon fulfilled!"—But I would seriously recommend to the President of the Mechanics' Institute, an anecdote which, if properly applied, cannot fail to be instructive.—When Diogenes, trampling with his dirty feet on the embroidered couch of Plato, cried out—"Thus do I trample on the pride of Plato!" the philosopher shook his head, and replied—"Truly, but with more pride thou dost it, good Diogenes."
CHAPTER XV.
Sir H. Davy's paper on the Phenomena of Volcanoes.—His experiments on Vesuvius.—Theory of Volcanic action.—His reception abroad.—Anecdotes.—His last letter to Mr. Poole from Rome.—His paper on the Electricity of the Torpedo.—Consolations in Travel, or the Last Days of a Philosopher.—Analysis of the work.—Reflections suggested by its style and composition.—Davy and Wollaston compared.—His last illness.—Arrival at Geneva.—His Death.