Shalum
.
He treated her in the Bower which he had planted amidst the Wood of
Nightingales. This Wood was made up of such Fruit-Trees and Plants as
are most agreeable to the several Kinds of Singing Birds; so that it had
drawn into it all the Musick of the Country, and was filled from one End
of the Year to the other with the most agreeable Consort in Season.
He shewed her every Day some beautiful and surprising Scene in this new
Region of Woodlands; and as by this Means he had all the Opportunities
he could wish for of opening his Mind to her, he succeeded so well, that
upon her Departure she made him a kind of Promise, and gave him her Word
to return him a positive Answer in less than fifty Years.
She had not been long among her own People in the Vallies, when she
received new Overtures, and at the same Time a most splendid Visit from
Mishpach
, who was a mighty Man of old, and had built a great City,
which he called after his own Name. Every House was made for at least a
thousand Years, nay there were some that were leased out for three
Lives; so that the Quantity of Stone and Timber consumed in this
Building is scarce to be imagined by those who live in the present Age
of the World. This great Man entertained her with the Voice of musical
Instruments which had been lately invented, and danced before her to the
Sound of the Timbrel. He also presented her with several domestick
Utensils wrought in Brass and Iron, which had been newly found out for
the Conveniency of Life. In the mean time
Shalum
grew very uneasie
with himself, and was sorely displeased at
Hilpa
for the Reception
which she had given to
Mishpach
, insomuch that he never wrote to her
or spoke of her during a whole Revolution of
Saturn
; but finding that
this Intercourse went no further than a Visit, he again renewed his
Addresses to her, who during his long Silence is said very often to have
cast a wishing Eye upon Mount
Tirzah
.
Her Mind continued wavering about twenty Years longer between
Shalum
and
Mishpach
; for tho' her Inclinations favoured the former, her
Interest pleaded very powerfully for the other. While her Heart was in
this unsettled Condition, the following Accident happened which
determined her Choice. A high Tower of Wood that stood in the City of
Mishpach
having caught Fire by a Flash of Lightning, in a few Days
reduced the whole Town to Ashes.
Mishpach
resolved to rebuild the
Place whatever it should cost him; and having already destroyed all the
Timber of the Country, he was forced to have Recourse to
Shalum
, whose
Forests were now two hundred Years old. He purchased these Woods with so
many Herds of Cattle and Flocks of Sheep, and with such a vast Extent of
Fields and Pastures, that
Shalum
was now grown more wealthy than
Mishpach
; and therefore appeared so charming in the Eyes of
Zilpah's
Daughter, that she no longer refused him in Marriage. On the Day in
which he brought her up into the Mountains he raised a most prodigious
Pile of Cedar and of every sweet smelling Wood, which reached above 300
Cubits in Height; He also cast into the Pile Bundles of Myrrh and
Sheaves of Spikenard, enriching it with every spicy Shrub, and making it
fat with the Gums of his Plantations. This was the Burnt-Offering which
Shalum
offered in the Day of his Espousals: The Smoke of it ascended
up to Heaven, and filled the whole Country with Incense and Perfume.
Contents
|
Friday, August 27, 1714 |
John Byrom1 |
—Quæ in vita usurpant homines, cogitant, curant, vident, Quæque
agunt vigilantes, agitantque, ea cuique in somno accidunt.
Cic.
de Div.translation
By the last Post I received the following Letter, which is built upon a
Thought that is new, and very well carried on; for which Reasons I shall
give it to the Publick without Alteration, Addition, or Amendment.
Sir ,
'It was a good Piece of Advice which Pythagoras gave to his
Scholars, That every Night before they slept they should examine what
they had been a doing that Day, and so discover what Actions were
worthy of Pursuit to-morrow, and what little Vices were to be
prevented from slipping unawares into a Habit. If I might second the
Philosopher's Advice, it should be mine, That in a Morning before my
Scholar rose, he should consider what he had been about that Night,
and with the same Strictness, as if the Condition he has believed
himself to be in, was real. Such a Scrutiny into the Actions of his
Fancy must be of considerable Advantage, for this Reason, because the
Circumstances which a Man imagines himself in during Sleep, are
generally such as entirely favour his Inclinations good or bad, and
give him imaginary Opportunities of pursuing them to the utmost; so
that his Temper will lye fairly open to his View, while he considers
how it is moved when free from those Constraints which the Accidents
of real Life put it under. Dreams are certainly the Result of our
waking Thoughts, and our daily Hopes and Fears are what give the Mind
such nimble Relishes of Pleasure, and such severe Touches of Pain, in
its Midnight Rambles. A Man that murders his Enemy, or deserts his
Friend in a Dream, had need to guard his Temper against Revenge and
Ingratitude, and take heed that he be not tempted to do a vile thing
in the Pursuit of false, or the Neglect of true Honour. For my Part, I
seldom receive a Benefit, but in a Night or two's Time I make most
noble Returns for it; which tho' my Benefactor is not a whit the
better for, yet it pleases me to think that it was from a Principle of
Gratitude in me, that my Mind was susceptible of such generous
Transport while I thought my self repaying the Kindness of my Friend:
And I have often been ready to beg Pardon, instead of returning an
Injury, after considering, that when the Offender was in my Power I
had carried my Resentments much too far.
'I think it has been observed in the Course of your Papers, how much
one's Happiness or Misery may depend upon the Imagination: Of which
Truth those strange Workings of Fancy in Sleep are no inconsiderable
Instances; so that not only the Advantage a Man has of making
Discoveries of himself, but a Regard to his own Ease or Disquiet, may
induce him to accept of my Advice. Such as are willing to comply with
it, I shall put into a way of doing it with pleasure, by observing
only one Maxim which I shall give them, viz. To go to Bed with a Mind
entirely free from Passion, and a Body clear of the least
Intemperance.
'They indeed who can sink into Sleep with their Thoughts less calm or
innocent than they should be, do but plunge themselves into Scenes of
Guilt and Misery; or they who are willing to purchase any Midnight
Disquietudes for the Satisfaction of a full Meal, or a Skin full of
Wine; these I have nothing to say to, as not knowing how to invite
them to Reflections full of Shame and Horror: But those that will
observe this Rule, I promise them they shall awake into Health and
Cheerfulness, and be capable of recounting with Delight those glorious
Moments wherein the Mind has been indulging it self in such Luxury of
Thought, such noble Hurry of Imagination. Suppose a Man's going
supperless to Bed should introduce him to the Table of some great
Prince or other, where he shall be entertained with the noblest Marks
of Honour and Plenty, and do so much Business after, that he shall
rise with as good a Stomach to his Breakfast as if he had fasted all
Night long; or suppose he should see his dearest Friends remain all
Night in great Distresses, which he could instantly have disengaged
them from, could he have been content to have gone to Bed without
t'other Bottle: Believe me, these Effects of Fancy are no contemptible
Consequences of commanding or indulging one's Appetite.
'I forbear recommending my Advice upon many other Accounts, till I
hear how you and your Readers relish what I have already said, among
whom if there be any that may pretend it is useless to them, because
they never dream at all, there may be others, perhaps, who do little
else all Day long. Were every one as sensible as I am what happens to
him in his Sleep, it would be no Dispute whether we past so
considerable a Portion of our Time in the Condition of Stocks and
Stones, or whether the Soul were not perpetually at Work upon the
Principle of Thought. However, 'tis an honest Endeavour of mine to
perswade my Countrymen to reap some Advantage from so many unregarded
Hours, and as such you will encourage it.
'I shall conclude with giving you a Sketch or two of my Way of
proceeding.
'If I have any Business of consequence to do to-morrow, I am scarce
dropt asleep to-night but I am in the midst of it, and when awake I
consider the whole Procession of the Affair, and get the Advantage of
the next Day's Experience before the Sun has risen upon it.
'There is scarce a great Post but what I have some Time or other been
in; but my Behaviour while I was Master of a College, pleases me so
well, that whenever there is a Province of that Nature vacant, I
intend to step in as soon as I can.
'I have done many Things that would not pass Examination, when I have
had the Art of Flying, or being invisible; for which Reason I am glad
I am not possessed of those extra-ordinary Qualities.
'Lastly, Mr. SPECTATOR, I have been a great Correspondent of yours,
and have read many of my Letters in your Paper which I never wrote
you. If you have a Mind I should really be so, I have got a Parcel of
Visions and other Miscellanies in my Noctuary, which I shall send you
to enrich your Paper with on proper Occasions.
I am, &c.
John Shadow.
Oxford, Aug. 20.
Footnote 1:
John Byrom, born at Manchester, in 1691, was quarrelled
with by his family for marrying a young lady without fortune, and lived
by an ingenious way of teaching short-hand, till the death of an elder
brother gave him the family estate. He died in 1763. In 1714 he had just
been elected Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1723 he was
admitted a Fellow of the Royal Society, and contributed to its
Transactions a paper upon his own System of short-hand. In his later
years he wrote much rhyme.
Contents
|
Monday, August 30, 1714 |
John Byrom |
Tho' the Author of the following Vision is unknown to me, I am apt to
think it may be the Work of that ingenious Gentleman, who promised me,
in the last Paper, some Extracts out of his Noctuary.
Sir
'I was the other Day reading the Life of Mahomet. Among many other
Extravagancies, I find it recorded of that Impostor, that in the
fourth Year of his Age the Angel Gabriel caught him up, while he was
among his Play-fellows, and, carrying him aside, cut open his Breast,
plucked out his Heart, and wrung out of it that black Drop of Blood,
in which, say the Turkish Divines, is contained the Fomes Peccati,
so that he was free from Sin ever after. I immediately said to my
self, tho' this Story be a Fiction, a very good Moral may be drawn
from it, would every Man but apply it to himself, and endeavour to
squeeze out of his Heart whatever Sins or ill Qualities he finds in
it.
'While my Mind was wholly taken up with this Contemplation, I
insensibly fell into a most pleasing Slumber, when methought two
Porters entered my Chamber, carrying a large Chest between them. After
having set it down in the middle of the Room they departed. I
immediately endeavour'd to open what was sent me, when a Shape, like
that in which we paint our Angels, appeared before me, and forbad me.
Enclosed, said he, are the Hearts of several of your Friends and
Acquaintance; but before you can be qualified to see and animadvert on
the Failings of others, you must be pure your self; whereupon he drew
out his Incision Knife, cut me open, took out my Heart, and began to
squeeze it. I was in a great Confusion, to see how many things, which
I had always cherished as Virtues, issued out of my Heart on this
Occasion. In short, after it had been thoroughly squeezed, it looked
like an empty Bladder, when the Phantome, breathing a fresh Particle
of Divine Air into it, restored it safe to its former Repository: and
having sewed me up, we began to examine the Chest.
'The Hearts were all enclosed in transparent Phials, and preserved in
a Liquor which looked like Spirits of Wine. The first which I cast my
Eye upon, I was afraid would have broke the Glass which contained it.
It shot up and down, with incredible Swiftness, thro' the Liquor in
which it swam, and very frequently bounced against the Side of the
Phial. The Fomes, or Spot in the Middle of it, was not large, but of
a red fiery Colour, and seemed to be the Cause of these violent
Agitations. That, says my Instructor, is the Heart of Tom.
Dread-Nought, who behaved himself well in the late Wars, but has for
these Ten Years last past been aiming at some Post of Honour to no
Purpose. He is lately retired into the Country, where, quite choaked
up with Spleen and Choler, he rails at better Men than himself, and
will be for ever uneasie, because it is impossible he should think his
Merit sufficiently rewarded. The next Heart that I examined was
remarkable for its Smallness; it lay still at the Bottom of the Phial,
and I could hardly perceive that it beat at all. The Fomes was quite
black, and had almost diffused it self over the whole Heart. This,
says my Interpreter, is the Heart of Dick Gloomy, who never thirsted
after any thing but Money. Notwithstanding all his Endeavours, he is
still poor. This has flung him into a most deplorable State of
Melancholy and Despair. He is a Composition of Envy and Idleness,
hates Mankind, but gives them their Revenge by being more uneasie to
himself, than to any one else.
'The Phial I looked upon next contained a large fair Heart, which beat
very strongly. The Fomes or Spot in it was exceeding small; but I
could not help observing, that which way soever I turned the Phial it
always appeared uppermost and in the strongest Point of Light. The
Heart you are examining, says my Companion, belongs to Will. Worthy.
He has, indeed, a most noble Soul, and is possessed of a thousand good
Qualities. The Speck which you discover is Vanity.
'Here, says the Angel, is the Heart of Freelove, your intimate
Friend. Freelove and I, said I, are at present very cold to one
another, and I do not care for looking on the Heart of a Man, which I
fear is overcast with Rancour. My Teacher commanded me to look upon
it; I did so, and to my unspeakable Surprize, found that a small
swelling Spot, which I at first took to be Ill-Will towards me, was
only Passion, and that upon my nearer Inspection it wholly
disappeared; upon which the Phantome told me Freelove was one of the
best-natured Men alive.
'This, says my Teacher, is a Female Heart of your Acquaintance. I
found the Fomes in it of the largest Size, and of a hundred
different Colours, which were still varying every Moment. Upon my
asking to whom it belonged, I was informed that it was the Heart of
Coquetilla.
'I set it down, and drew out another, in which I took the Fomes at
first Sight to be very small, but was amazed to find, that as I looked
stedfastly upon it, it grew still larger. It was the Heart of
Melissa, a noted Prude who lives the next Door to me.
'I show you this, says the Phantome, because it is indeed a Rarity,
and you have the Happiness to know the Person to whom it belongs. He
then put into my Hands a large Chrystal Glass, that enclosed an Heart,
in which, though I examined it with the utmost Nicety, I could not
perceive any Blemish. I made no Scruple to affirm that it must be the
Heart of Seraphina, and was glad, but not surprized, to find that it
was so. She is, indeed, continued my Guide, the Ornament, as well as
the Envy, of her Sex; at these last Words, he pointed to the Hearts of
several of her Female Acquaintance which lay in different Phials, and
had very large Spots in them, all of a deep Blue. You are not to
wonder, says he, that you see no Spot in an Heart, whose Innocence has
been Proof against all the Corruptions of a depraved Age. If it has
any Blemish, it is too small to be discovered by Human Eyes.
'I laid it down, and took up the Hearts of other Females, in all of
which the Fomes ran in several Veins, which were twisted together,
and made a very perplexed Figure. I asked the Meaning of it, and was
told it represented Deceit.
'I should have been glad to have examined the Hearts of several of my
Acquaintance, whom I knew to be particularly addicted to Drinking,
Gaming, Intreaguing, &c., but my Interpreter told me I must let that
alone till another Opportunity, and flung down the Cover of the Chest
with so much violence, as immediately awoke me.
Contents
|
Wednesday, September 1, 1714 |
H. Grove1 |
Dicitis, omnis in Imbecillitate est et Gratia, et Caritas.
Cicero
de Nat. Deor. L.translation
Man may be considered in two Views, as a Reasonable, and as a Sociable
Being; capable of becoming himself either happy or miserable, and of
contributing to the Happiness or Misery of his Fellow Creatures.
Suitably to this double Capacity, the Contriver of Human Nature hath
wisely furnished it with two Principles of Action, Self-love and
Benevolence; designed one of them to render Man wakeful to his own
personal Interest, the other to dispose him for giving his utmost
Assistance to all engaged in the same Pursuit. This is such an Account
of our Frame, so agreeable to Reason, so much for the Honour of our
Maker, and the Credit of our Species, that it may appear somewhat
unaccountable what should induce Men to represent human Nature as they
do under Characters of Disadvantage, or, having drawn it with a little
and sordid Aspect, what Pleasure they can possibly take in such a
Picture. Do they reflect that 'tis their Own, and, if we will believe
themselves, is not more odious than the Original?
One of the first that talked in this lofty Strain of our Nature was
Beneficence
, would his Followers say, is all founded in
Weakness; and, whatever be pretended, the Kindness that passeth between
Men and Men is by every Man directed to himself. This, it must be
confessed, is of a Piece with the rest of that hopeful Philosophy, which
having patch'd Man up out of the four Elements, attributes his Being to
Chance, and derives all his Actions from an unintelligible Declination
of Atoms. And for these glorious Discoveries the Poet is beyond Measure
transported in the Praises of his Hero, as if he must needs be something
more than Man, only for an Endeavour to prove that Man is in nothing
superior to Beasts.
In this School was Mr.
Hobs
instructed to speak after the same Manner,
if he did not rather draw his Knowledge from an Observation of his own
Temper; for he somewhere unluckily lays down this as a Rule,
'That from the Similitudes of Thoughts and Passions of one Man to the
Thoughts and Passions of another, whosoever looks into himself and
considers what he doth when he thinks, hopes, fears, &c., and upon
what Grounds; he shall hereby read and know what are the Thoughts and
Passions of all other Men upon the like Occasions.'
Now we will allow Mr.
Hobs
to know best how he was inclined; But in
earnest, I should be heartily out of Conceit with my self, if I thought
my self of this unamiable Temper, as he affirms, and should have as
little Kindness for my self as for any Body in the World. Hitherto I
always imagined that kind and benevolent Propensions were the original
Growth of the Heart of Man, and, however checked and over-topped by
counter Inclinations that have since sprung up within us, have still
some Force in the worst of Tempers, and a considerable Influence on the
best. And, methinks, it's a fair Step towards the Proof of this, that
the most beneficent of all Beings is He who hath an absolute Fulness of
Perfection in Himself, who gave Existence to the Universe, and so cannot
be supposed to want that which He communicated, without diminishing from
the Plenitude of his own Power and Happiness. The Philosophers before
mentioned have indeed done all that in them lay to invalidate this
Argument; for, placing the Gods in a State of the most elevated
Blessedness, they describe them as Selfish as we poor miserable Mortals
can be, and shut them out from all Concern for Mankind, upon the Score
of their having no Need of us.
But if He that sitteth in the Heavens wants not us, we stand in
continual Need of Him; and surely, next to the Survey of the immense
Treasures of his own Mind, the most exalted Pleasure He receives is from
beholding Millions of Creatures, lately drawn out of the Gulph of
Non-existence, rejoycing in the various Degrees of Being and Happiness
imparted to them. And as this is the true, the glorious Character of the
Deity, so in forming a reasonable Creature He would not, if possible,
suffer his Image to pass out of his Hands unadorned with a Resemblance
of Himself in this most lovely Part of his Nature. For what Complacency
could a Mind, whose Love is as unbounded as his Knowledge, have in a
Work so unlike Himself? a Creature that should be capable of knowing and
conversing with a vast Circle of Objects, and love none but Himself?
What Proportion would there be between the Head and the Heart of such a
Creature, its Affections, and its Understandings? Or could a Society of
such Creatures, with no other Bottom but Self-Love on which to maintain
a Commerce, ever flourish? Reason, 'tis certain, would oblige every Man
to pursue the general Happiness, as the Means to procure and establish
his own; and yet if, besides this Consideration, there were not a
natural Instinct, prompting Men to de
Sir
e the Welfare and Satisfaction
of others, Self-Love, in Defiance of the Admonitions of Reason, would
quickly run all Things into a State of War and Confusion.
As nearly interested as the Soul is in the Fate of the Body; our
provident Creator saw it necessary, by the constant Returns of Hunger
and Thirst, those importunate Appetites, to put it in Mind of its
Charge; knowing, that if we should eat and drink no oftner than cold
abstracted Speculation should put us upon these Exercises, and then
leave it to Reason to prescribe the Quantity, we should soon refine our
selves out of this bodily Life. And indeed, 'tis obvious to remark, that
we follow nothing heartily, unless carried to it by Inclinations which
anticipate our Reason, and, like a Biass, draw the Mind strongly towards
it. In order, therefore, to establish a perpetual Intercourse of
Benefits amongst Mankind, their Maker would not fail to give them this
generous Prepossession of Benevolence, if, as I have said, it were
possible. And from whence can we go about to argue its Impossibility? Is
it inconsistent with Self-Love? Are their Motions contrary? No more than
the diurnal Rotation of the Earth is opposed to its Annual; or its
Motion round its own Center, which may be improved as an Illustration of
Self-Love, to that which whirls it about the common Center of the World,
answering to universal Benevolence. Is the Force of Self-Love abated, or
its Interest prejudiced by Benevolence? So far from it, that
Benevolence, though a distinct Principle, is extreamly serviceable to
Self-Love, and then doth most Service when 'tis least designed.
But to descend from Reason to Matter of Fact; the Pity which arises on
Sight of Persons in Distress, and the Satisfaction of Mind which is the
Consequence of having removed them into a happier State, are instead of
a thousand Arguments to prove such a thing as a disinterested
Benevolence. Did Pity proceed from a Reflection we make upon our
Liableness to the same ill Accidents we see befall others, it were
nothing to the present Purpose; but this is assigning an artificial
Cause of a natural Passion, and can by no Means be admitted as a
tolerable Account of it, because Children and Persons most Thoughtless
about their own Condition, and incapable of entering into the Prospects
of Futurity, feel the most violent Touches of Compassion.
And then as to that charming Delight which immediately follows the
giving Joy to another, or relieving his Sorrow, and is, when the Objects
are numerous, and the kindness of Importance really inexpressible, what
can this be owing to but a Consciousness of a Man's having done some
thing Praise-worthy, and expressive of a great Soul? Whereas, if in all
this he only Sacrificed to Vanity and Self-Love, as there would be
nothing brave in Actions that make the most shining Appearance, so
Nature would not have rewarded them with this divine Pleasure; nor could
the Commendations, which a Person receives for Benefits done upon
selfish Views, be at all more Satisfactory, than when he is applauded
for what he doth without Design; because in both Cases the Ends of
Self-Love are equally answered.
The Conscience of approving ones self a Benefactor to Mankind is the
noblest Recompence for being so; doubtless it is, and the most
interested cannot propose anything so much to their own Advantage,
notwithstanding which, the Inclination is nevertheless unselfish. The
Pleasure which attends the Gratification of our Hunger and Thirst, is
not the Cause of these Appetites; they are previous to any such
Prospect; and so likewise is the De
Sir
e of doing Good; with this
Difference, that being seated in the intellectual Part, this last,
though Antecedent to Reason, may yet be improved and regulated by it,
and, I will add, is no otherwise a Virtue than as it is so.
Thus have I contended for the Dignity of that Nature I have the Honour
to partake of, and, after all the Evidence produced, think I have a
Right to conclude, against the Motto of this Paper, that there is such a
thing as Generosity in the World. Though if I were under a Mistake in
this, I should say as
Cicero
in Relation to the Immortality of the
Soul, I willingly err, and should believe it very much for the Interest
of Mankind to lye under the same Delusion. For the contrary Notion
naturally tends to dispirit the Mind, and sinks it into a Meanness fatal
to the Godlike Zeal of doing good. As on the other hand, it teaches
People to be Ungrateful, by possessing them with a Perswasion concerning
their Benefactors, that they have no Regard to them in the Benefits they
bestow. Now he that banishes Gratitude from among Men, by so doing stops
up the Stream of Beneficence. For though in conferring Kindnesses, a
truly generous Man doth not aim at a Return, yet he looks to the
Qualities of the Person obliged, and as nothing renders a Person more
unworthy of a Benefit, than his being without all Resentment of it, he
will not be extreamly forward to Oblige such a Man.
Footnote 1:
The Rev. Henry Grove was a Presbyterian minister, who kept
school at Taunton. He was born there in 1683, became a teacher at the
age of 23 (already married), and worked for the next 18 years in the
Taunton Academy, his department Ethics and Pneumatology. He spent his
leisure in religious controversy, writing an
Essay on the Terms of
Christian Communion
, a
Discourse on Saving Faith
, an
Essay on the
Soul's Immortality
, and miscellanies in prose and verse, including Nos.
,
,
, and
, of the
Spectator.
He received also £20 a year
for ministering to two small congregations in the neighbourhood of
Taunton. His wife died in 1736, and he in the year following. His works
appeared in 1740 in 4 vols. 8vo.
Contents
|
Friday, September 3, 1714 |
|
Persequitur scelus ille suum: labefactaque tandem
Ictibus innumeris adductaque funibus arbor
Corruit.
Ovid.
translation
Sir ,
'I am so great an Admirer of Trees, that the Spot of Ground I have
chosen to build a small Seat upon, in the Country, is almost in the
midst of a large Wood. I was obliged, much against my Will, to cut
down several Trees, that I might have any such thing as a Walk in my
Gardens; but then I have taken Care to leave the Space, between every
Walk, as much a Wood as I found it. The Moment you turn either to the
Right or Left, you are in a Forest, where Nature presents you with a
much more beautiful Scene than could have been raised by Art.
'Instead of
Tulips or
Carnations, I can shew you
Oakes in my
Gardens of four hundred Years standing, and a Knot of
Elms that
might shelter a Troop of Horse from the Rain.
'It is not without the utmost Indignation, that I observe several
prodigal young Heirs in the Neighbourhood, felling down the most
glorious Monuments of their Ancestors Industry, and ruining, in a Day,
the Product of Ages.
'I am mightily pleased with your Discourse upon Planting, which put me
upon looking into my Books to give you some Account of the Veneration
the Ancients had for Trees. There is an old Tradition, that
Abraham
planted a
Cypress, a
Pine, and a
Cedar, and that these three
incorporated into one Tree, which was cut down for the building of the
Temple of
Solomon.
'
Isidorus, who lived in the Reign of
Constantius, assures us, that
he saw, even in his Time, that famous
Oak in the Plains of
Mambré,
under which
Abraham is reported to have dwelt, and adds, that the
People looked upon it with a great Veneration, and preserved it as a
Sacred Tree.
'The Heathens still went farther, and regarded it as the highest Piece
of Sacrilege to injure certain Trees which they took to be protected
by some Deity. The Story of
Erisicthon, the Grove of
Dodona, and
that at
Delphi, are all Instances of this Kind.
'If we consider the Machine in
Virgil, so much blamed by several
Criticks, in this Light, we shall hardly think it too violent.
'
Æneas, when he built his Fleet, in order to sail for
Italy, was
obliged to cut down the Grove on Mount
Ida, which however he durst
not do till he had obtained leave from
Cybele, to whom it was
dedicated. The Goddess could not but think her self obliged to protect
these Ships, which were made of Consecrated Timber, after a very
extraordinary Manner, and therefore de
Sir ed
Jupiter, that they might
not be obnoxious to the Power of Waves or Winds.
Jupiter would not
grant this, but promised her, that as many as came safe to
Italy
should be transformed into Goddesses of the Sea; which the Poet tells
us was accordingly executed.
And now at length the number'd Hours were come,
Prefix'd by Fate's irrevocable Doom,
When the great Mother of the Gods was free
To save her Ships, and finish Jove's Decree.
First, from the Quarter of the Morn, there sprung
A Light that sign'd the Heavens, and shot along:
Then from a Cloud, fring'd round with Golden Fires,
Were Timbrels heard, and Berecynthian Quires:
And last a Voice, with more than Mortal Sounds,
Both Hosts in Arms oppos'd, with equal Horror wounds.
O Trojan Race, your needless Aid forbear;
And know my Ships are my peculiar Care.
With greater Ease the bold Rutulian may,
With hissing Brands, attempt to burn the Sea,
Than singe my sacred Pines. But you my Charge,
Loos'd from your crooked Anchors launch at large,
Exalted each a Nymph: Forsake the Sand,
And swim the Seas, at Cybele's Command.
No sooner had the Goddess ceas'd to speak,
When lo, th' obedient Ships their Haulsers break;
And, strange to tell, like Dolphins in the Main,
They plunge their Prows, and dive, and spring again:
As many beauteous Maids the Billows sweep,
As rode before tall Vessels on the Deep.
(Dryden's Virg.)
'The common Opinion concerning the Nymphs, whom the Ancients called
Hamadryads, is more to the Honour of Trees than any thing yet
mentioned. It was thought the Fate of these Nymphs had so near a
Dependance on some Trees, more especially Oaks, that they lived and
died together. For this Reason they were extremely grateful to such
Persons who preserved those Trees with which their Being subsisted.
Apollonius tells us a very remarkable Story to this Purpose, with
which I shall conclude my Letter.
'A certain Man, called
Rhœcus, observing an old Oak ready to fall,
and being moved with a sort of Compassion towards the Tree, ordered
his Servants to pour in fresh Earth at the Roots of it, and set it
upright. The
Hamadryad or Nymph who must necessarily have perished
with the Tree, appeared to him the next Day, and after having returned
him her Thanks, told him, she was ready to grant whatever he should
ask. As she was extreamly Beautiful,
Rhœcus de
Sir ed he might be
entertained as her Lover. The
Hamadryad, not much displeased with
the Request, promis'd to give him a Meeting, but commanded him for
some Days to abstain from the Embraces of all other Women, adding that
she would send a Bee to him, to let him know when he was to be Happy.
Rhœcus was, it seems, too much addicted to Gaming, and happened to
be in a Run of ill Luck when the faithful Bee came buzzing about him;
so that instead of minding his kind Invitation, he had like to have
killed him for his Pains. The
Hamadryad was so provoked at her own
Disappointment, and the ill Usage of her Messenger, that she deprived
Rhœcus of the Use of his Limbs. However, says the Story, he was not
so much a Criple, but he made a shift to cut down the Tree, and
consequently to fell his Mistress.