Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

quite enough of us generally-but my turn will come. I cannot twit where is the security for their being my neighbour with the meanness of believed and remembered, or read being buried one of these days. We A few complimentary stanzas may will move, however, to more open be delivered over to the keeping of ground. print--and how are you the more It is by no means necessary, for famous for that? Who sees them ? the preservation of a name, that you Who reads them? If you could should have a monument made exmake interest with some poet, safe pressly for yourself, with an immein his own renown, to spare you a diate reference in all its parts and few lines, (any thing would do,) you intentions to your person and merits. might, perhaps, come in amongst his There may be something flattering minor pieces in some sweep-all edi- to the feelings in this sort of undition of his works, and so, as it were, vided greatness; but, from the imbe taken in tow down to future ages. perfectness of man's art, and the I know no other means of keeping fragility of such materials as he can an epitaph afloat.

controul and combine, it is humThe church-yard, that centre of blingly transitory, as I have shown ; universal interest and observation, not very lively or distinct, and, mores should seem, in point of situation, over, exceedingly expensive. There not ill-recommended to the candi- is a great variety of ready-made dates for fame; yet, loaded as it is monuments in still life and inanimate with sculptured stone and monu- nature, which, if they appear in mental brass, it can confer little dis- themselves to have little concern tinction either in degree or duration with man's good or evil fame, may Here is publicity more than enough; yet be made pertinent to him by the but no individuality; you are but consent and courtesy of society. If one in a crowd; your claims to notice you will travel far enough, where are confounded with those of your such things are not already bespoke, fellows; while the whole mass of you may, by the transference of your tombs affects the living, only as one name, adopt, and identify yourself great memento of general mortality. with, an island--a strait-a mounThen again the vulgarity of the tain-a promontory-or“ a queer place! It is not every one, were hummock,"—and so go halves with there the opportunity, who would them in the notice of the world. If be willing to travel to posterity with monuments of this compound chathe canaille of the common ground. racter are less personal, and excite Not to insist upon this objection, less of present attention, than more there is the insecurity of possession appropriate works of statuary or to check our hopes and mortify our sculpture, they are considerably pride. An inscription is soon worn cheaper, we must remember, and, away, and who expects to be re- if not quite so vivacious, will carry newed in the stone by his great- you down into far more distant ages grand-children? The age of mar- of time. Such forms of existence tyrs is gone, and there is no “ Old are somewhat too dull, I acknowMortality who would waste his ledge, to please my fancy; but tastes time upon us poor drones who die in differ. It is not every one, indeed, our beds. I would not willingly who has interest to get such honours, expose myself to a charge of un- who can take his place among the becoming levity towards any of the Croker Heads," and " Pitt Points," natural solemnities of this momentous and such lofty company; we, theresubject. I have no such thought in fore, of lower powers, must content my heart; but our whims and vani- ourselves with more petty and pe-i ties a good-humoured laugh at rishable objects, which may, perhaps, them can do no harm, I believe, compensate us for their greater frailwhether they be on the earth or under ty, by their greater liveliness, and it. I have my human right of a word their more constant and intimate on this topic, be it merry or other communion with the eyes, and wise: I am a party concerned. It tongues, and thoughts of men. is not like the rich man sneering at What think you of being a stagethe poor, or the proud man taunting coach with six insides, as The Wels the humble : I claim no exemptions: lington ? This is a common vehicle

me see

a

of fame, and, with its horn (trumpet); time at least. There are other ca fame-like, is certainly a jolly, noisy, sualties too, out of the ordinary rattling, kind of remembrancer, that course of service, that might raise may make a man as notorious, over you to very enviable distinction. some hundred miles or so, on any of Who would have thought of the the great roads, as a moderate am- marvellous chance that fell upon the bition should desire. Your life must old Northumberland ? But luck like have a period in such a state-its this no man has a right to calculate journey's end ; and as you are but a upon; and, as the world goes, you tenant at will, you are, of course, might find your life as a ship neither exposed to all the changes that are very glorious nor very long - let peculiar to that uncertain tenure. -fifty years (at the outside) Not to mention the common wear of easy sailing between Plymouth and tear of wheels, there can be no and the Downs, with an occasional comfortable reliance on the affection trip to the West Indies and back and fidelity of coach proprietors. again; to which may be appended Such people will be truckling to ten years more of a kind of secondevery flashy novelty of the passing ary existence, under jury-masts, or hour; and no man should be sur- as a sheer hulk, and floating prison. prised to see the Old Original Corn- This is about the best that you could wallis brightened up in a moment, reaso

asonably hope for; and you must without provocation or apology, into not conceal from yourself, that you the New Opposition Canning: Ne might be prematurely dispatched by

; vertheless, this condition of being is the common accidents of the sea, or better than nothing.

hurried off in your prime by the dryOur horses, who perform so many rot. Merchant ships I barely allude hard services for us, are no bad to, for they are scarcely fit for a hacks for our names. People of li- gentleman's use. No one, I presume, mited merits, at least, may trust above a tallow-chandler, would desire themselves to worse reporters. Mr. to be the William of Yarmouth. M's bay colt Jones (I forget A street-a town-(think of Rothe pedigree) will, if there ever was mulus)-are good monuments on truth in two pair of legs, do incal- many accounts, independent of duculably more towards the celebrity rability, and more dear to our feel, of the name it bears, than ever willings even than that very important be done for it by Mr. Jones. We quality. They are, as one may say, honour these animals with our names, pleasant, cheerful, monuments, that we are pleased to say; but that is will keep a man's name, not only as it may happen. What if the alive always, but awake. For my brute should turn out an Eclipse? part I should like very well to be a Who would be the gainer then? I square-a terrace-or a row; and have a dog called after Lord should prefer them to a hill or a and, unless his lordship be strangely headland, on the principle of " a short scandalized, his vicegerent with a life and a merry one." I might on tail ----- but comparisons, they say, any disastrous day be burned out by are odious.

a fire, or expunged by other inter Some prefer a ship-a man-of-lopers; but then as long as I was war-as their deputy; and it is un- permitted to endure, how infinitely doubtedly an official, to which any should I be looked at and talked of! man may be proud to confide his Never out of somebody or other's name. As a three-decker, or a tight mouth from year's end to year's end frigate, you might, by a fortunate -thousands of people continually concurrence of circumstances, be inquiring after and trying to find me lifted on even to the utmost period out; and a bag-full of letters daily, (and a period there must be) of sub- with the same invariable reference to celestial immortality. If you could me! More homage might be done engage for a smart war, a gallant to my name during a single week as action, and some great death on a street, than might be incident to board, you would at once be mixed it as a hill in five centuries. I can up with events for history,–become conceive no pleasure in moping out “ booked," as they say of a parcel, my immortality as an Egyptian deand sure of your place to the end of sart, or an eternal mountain at the

[ocr errors]

a

North Pole. I have not the smallest vanity may be gratified by leaving a wish to be Melville Island: I would representative so purely and exclu- . rather be Houndsditch. I should not sively personal to yourself; but the feel comfortable as Botany Bay: misfortune is, that these kind of Waterloo I might put up with; but, trustees, while they may preserve if I had my free choice, I think Í your face, are very apt to lose your would be Hyde-Park-Corner.

On name.

If you allow yourself to be the same grounds of preference, were transcribed by an inferior hand, you I to live beyond the grave as a book, know very well that ere long your I would rather be some light, lively, resting-place will be among

the volume, to be thumbed, and dog's- enigmatical lumber of some reper, eared, and tossed about from table tory of “ Marine Stores,"—the Caputo chair for my little term of fame, let's tomb of such productions; and and then be forgotten for ever, than if you apply to an artist of emisome huge folio, immortal and im- nence, you may find his name so moveable, on the top shelf - the Pole paramount and absorbing, as to carry of the library-dull region of prime- you to posterity, not as Mr. B. or val dust, and perpetual cobwebs. Mrs. W., but as “ a Lawrence," or

There are people who have a an Owen.” Why should you let strange fancy for trusting their names out your features for the benefit only under the foundation-stone of a new of another's reputation? If I were bridge, or church, or free-mason's dead and gone, I would not give lodge. I consider this to be the very two-pence to be “a Titian;"- And worst scheme of fame that ever was yet I would too; yes - yes—there invented. Fame !-it is wilfully must be something in that—a secret hiding yourself from day; hoard- satisfaction-I only mean to say that ing yourself up, in the blundering such a distinction is not the road to spirit of the miser, who at once se- glory. A portrait is a memorial cretes, and nullifies his gold. You rather for private or family affection, may amuse yourself with the notion, than for public fame. It should nethat there you are snug and out of ver travel from its native walls, and harm's way for centuries ; but if the tutelary partialities of its own no body is to see, hear, or think of friends and relations. At home, as you, in your solitude, you are not a “ a little ugly gentleman over the whit more alive, as it appears to me, settee,” it may give a man a sort of under your stone, than in your immortality of domestic life-keep coffin. It is in fact precisely burying him warm in the love and esteem of yourself alive. If these structures his kindred, down to the remotest tumbled to pieces with the same limit of tradition-even to his grandorder and etiquette with which they children -- and thenceforward hold are founded, you might, perhaps, him in preservation, to the end of be turned up to the light again for a colour and canvas, as an ancestor, moment among some remote gene- at least, or a curiosity, perhaps, worth rations of men - which would be something for the cut of his coat pleasing ;-—but, as they are not in and the tie of his neck-cloth. Once the habit of going to ruin so methode out of doors and at large, it is no ically, you would, in all probability, longer a portrait, but a painting ; no never be released from your confine- longer you, but a fine piece of colour, ment; and, for any purposes of no- or a noble design. toriety, might as well be ending There is one method, now I think your days with Mr. Southey's Arva- of it, of introducing yourself to the lan, “ ten thousand thousand fathoms public as a portrait, without change down in an ice-rift.” No-heaven of place and consequent danger to keep me and my friends from the your identity:- I allude to the foundation-stone of a bridge ! agency of the sign-post. A sign is

A portrait, on canvas or in stone, really no bad guardian and dispenser though not within the class of monu- of a name: but it is not for the vulments ready-made, and free of cost, gar, for those whom nobody knows. is yet a means of extending a little it.cannot be made the founder of a the natural allowance of life, which name: a man must have done someis within the reach of common men. thing before he can take the place of I think little of it myself. Your the Saracen's Head. As an accessary to other sources of fame, it is not lasting) has not grown a day older beneath the consideration of any one within the memory of man.

Yes who has an honest ambition to mul- there is another—the Garrick's Head tiply his acquaintance. The extra- (a very good head in its way) stands genteel may affect to think it low- almost cheek by jowl with the imand why?-_what are their exquisite mortal poet, and keeps itself young reasons? It may not add any mate- and fresh in the light of his counterial brilliancy to your rank among tenance. the best company in the higher re- Cutting or scratching a name on a gions—the “ dress walks” of fame; tree, a wall, or an inn-window, is, but, as a means of publishing yours in the way of monument-making, the self to the multitude, who have no simplest and most unpretending deed access to the prouder evidences of that I can think of the humblest your greatness, where will you find exercise of the love of fame-of that a more effective chaperon, or more great passion of high and low, which useful master of the ceremonies ? will work with a pin's point, and has How many are there at this time of cumbered the earth with the pyraday, even among the polite and mids. Yet how blind is our pride! well-taught, who, if they would speak how limited our foresight! Works the truth, derive their liveliest im- thus insignificant-the labour of a pressions of old Benbow and Rod- minute--the merest hints of ambiney from their honest faces swinging tion, have lived through more cenaloft, or staring steadily from their turies than the proudest productions frames, at inn-doors and ale-houses! of human art and toil. On some of Envy, rankling envy, must be at the the walls of Pompeii (if I remember bottom of their contempt, who pro- rightly) the scrawlings--the "T.Jenfess to despise such distinctions. kins," “ I love you,” and “ Burdett Talk about low indeed! Who will for ever,” of the Roman soldiers, are make you a sign? You give your- still visible-frail memorials, preself airs of haughtiness and self- served by the same catastrophe that denial, but—" let me whisper in buried the town and its people, and your lug_You're aiblins nae temp- now brought to light, when the tation.' The only sensible objection ETERNAL CITY has scarcely a vestige that I can propose to signs, as depo- left of all that it contained of great, sitories of our posthumous life, is and good, and fair. In the little vile the precariousness—the briefness of lage of Bowness, on the Cumberland their reign. They do in some in- border of the Solway Firth, the trastances maintain a specific symboli- veller, if he have ardour enough to zation with wonderful constancy, hunt for them, may see here and through all changes of time, men, there a smooth tablet of freestone manners, and customs; but it is (fragments from the Picts' wall) set rather in favour of abstractions in like a picture on the unhewn front allegories—fictions-prodigies (what of a cottage or a barn, showing names, shall we call them?) than of any de- Roman names, as rudely cut, and finite lady or gentleman. There will nearly as old, as those at Pompeii, be no end to the Good Woman-no and whose authors, no doubt, as litupper end worth talking of, cer- tle calculated upon a reader outliving tainly; the Green Man and still is the era of Rome. still green; and the King's Head I have pretty nearly exhausted, I never dies; but the King of Prussia, believe, the whole catalogue of moI fear, is fading fast; our first and numents, as supplied by the matesecond Georges look deadly dull, and rials and ingredients of our own dim, and pale; and the Duke of world. The heavens present a more Cumberland (I think it must be the barren field to our ambition. The Duke of Cumberland) has only a fleeting clouds will not abide at our speck or two of horse--a rag of coat bidding; and there are no points of -a scrap of hat-half a face-a bit of note, or marks of difference -no restsword, and a leg, to stand between ing-places for us in the blue etherhim and oblivion. There is an excep- the equal and infinite sky. The stars tion, and only one that occurs to me, are the only objects that we can seto this law of signal death. The parate and individualize, and they Shak speare's Head (just the head for are all engaged. Oh! to have bee

[ocr errors]

the moon--the sonnet-hallowed moon! But that is out of the question now: -she is the moon. I have not heard that comets have yet been appropriated by human vanity, and I see not why they should be disregarded. Their visits are few and far between; but what a stir they make when they do come! The Prince Regent Comet! it sounds as well as the Prince Regent Bath Coach. It is Fontenelle, I think, who observes, that "as the very things (our monuments) which should secure us from death, moulder away, and die after their manner-as a city-a province-nay, an empire, cannot be responsible for our immortality-it is no bad plan to give your name to a star, which lasts for ever." The stars are creditable monuments, no doubt-sound funds in which to vest a name; but I do not see why they are better than any solid parts of our earth in sufficient quantity. A hill or a valley you might not be willing to trust-then choose a continent or a good bouncing island. He who adopts a star has a whole world to himself, which is certainly preferable to any part of a world; so much I grant; but the notion that the stars will be more durable as our monuments, than the four quarters of our own globe, is purely fanciful. Allowing them this precedence in stability, as an honour to themselves, as stars, it is still an enigma to me, how we are to perpetuate in them our mortal interests and vanities. We cannot conjecture what revolutions and catastrophes await those bodies; but, admitting that our dear planet is to perish first, how, after its dissolution, are we to preserve our names here or in the heavens? There the stars are, to be sure, and may be; but where will be our authority for the Jupiter and the Mars-the Liverpool and the Wellington, amongst them? Nowhen the earth tumbles to pieces, there is an end of the Georgium Sidus, as surely as of the Laureate's hexameters. We must not confound the perishable name with the immortal star. It is not as if our excellent monarch had become an indestructible part and parcel of this luminary. We loyal earthites may be pleased to think so; but what may the moonites and the whole "starry host" say to such a notion? The star was,

before we discovered it, and we can not be permitted to name it, as if we had made it. A transitory conjunction-a pretty compliment, perhaps, to both parties, during the natural life of this terraqueous globe-but no farther: the nature of things forbids it.

Yet I freely allow that, to our feelings and natural prejudices, the name and the thing are in most cases inseparable. Beachy Head is a lofty promontory on the Sussex coast; and this same promontory is-is Beachy Head. There is nothing more to be said about it. It is the same with the names of persons. The name and the individual are so identified and confused-so co-existent, co-ordinate, and co-operative, that the imagination can scarcely separate them. They are one to all intents and purposes. Who is that gentleman?-Mr. Jones. And who is Mr. Jones? There he stands. Turn them as you will, you cannot part them: they must be and die together. There are persons, indeed, who change their names, and, we are given to believe, live; but such self-desertion is a most barbarous and unnatural practice, to which I can scarcely concede my faith, and to which I never can reconcile my affections. I cannot help considering it as a kind of suicide. A man's name is so much flesh of his flesh, particularly in the estimation of his friends, that he can scarcely get rid of it without blood-guiltiness. When my friend E- is not E, or he, he is lost to me: I know him not; he is a stranger; Mr. Anybody. By such an act of exchange (which, if it is not robbery, is murder in this instance), a man at least destroys all his past being-kills and buries a whole life of impressions, associations, and recollections, that were as real as himself. He begins again: he is another and not the same. Who is Lord Bexley? Mr. Vansittart that was-the deceased Mr. Vansittart. It is so: our habits and prejudicesin short, it is so. Nay-you may say

there is Lord Bexley just as usual semper idem:-but where is Mr. Vansittart? No-I enter my solemn protest against all such doings-such puzzling anomalies-such vicarious representations of ourselves. I cannot allow a man to stand proxy for himself. Lord Bexley, or Mr. Van

[ocr errors]
« AnteriorContinuar »