Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

himself. Alexander, upon hearing of it, lamented his death, though he himself, as well as others, had envied him while alive. MURDER OF HYPATIA.

Hypatia, of Alexandria, the daughter of Theon, the philosopher, had made such progress in learning, that she excelled all the philosophers of her time, and not only succeeded in the school of Plato, but also explained the precepts and aphorisms of all sorts of philosophers; so that a mighty confluence was made to her by all such as were desirous to improve themselves in philosophy. She came into the knowledge and courts of princes, where she behaved herself with singular modesty, and doubted not to present herself in public amongst the assemblies of men, where, by reason of her gravity and temperance of mind, she was received by all sorts, till at last the long-suppressed flames of envy began to break forth; a number of malevolent and hot-brained men, whereof Petrus, of the church of Cesarea, was the leader, seized upon her in her return home, pulled her out of her coach, carried her to the forementioned church, where, having stripped her of her clothes, they tore her flesh with sharp shells till she died; they then pulled her in pieces, and carried her torn limbs into a place called Cynaros, where they were buried. This deed was no small matter of infamy to Cyrillus, the bishop, and the whole church of Alexandria.

A BISHOP THROUGH ENVY.

Theodosius, the younger, was desirous to enlarge the city of Constantinople; and to that purpose to take down a great part of the wall. He committed the management of this work to Cyrus, the prefect of the city, who, with great industry and celerity, built up the Chersæan wall, that reached from sea to sea, within the compass of sixty days. The people of the city, who were well pleased with the work, and the prefect's expedition therein, cried aloud, "Constantine built it; and Cyrus had rebuilt it." For this only reason Cyrus became so hated, suspected, and envied, by the emperor, that he caused him to be shaven, and to enter into orders; and he was afterwards Bishop of Smyrna.

BOUNDLESS ENVY OF CALIGULA.

Caius Caligula, the emperor, was so possessed with the evil spirit of envy, that he took from the noblest personages of

Rome their ancient characters of honour, and badges of their houses; from Torquatus, the chain or collar; from Cincinnatus, the curled lock of hair; and from Cn. Pompeius, an illustrious person, the surname of Great, belonging to his family. King Ptolemæus,-whom Calligula had sent for out of his realm, and honourably entertained, he caused to be slain on the sudden, for no other reason, but that, as he entered into the theatre to behold the shows and games there exhibited, he perceived him to have turned the eyes of all the people upon him with the resplendent brightness of his purple gown. All such as were handsome, and had a thick head of hair grown out into a comely length, as they came in his way he disfigured, causing them to be shaved on the hinder part of their heads. Esius Proculus, (for his exceedingly tall and portly personage, surnamed Colosseros,) he caused suddenly to be pulled down from the scaffold where he sat, into the lists, and matched with a sword-fencer, and afterwards with one armed at all points; and when he was victorious in both, he com manded him to be pinioned, and dressed in tattered clothes, to be led through the streets, and showed to the women, and at last to have his throat cut. To conclude, there was none of so base and abject a condition, nor of so mean estate, whose advantages and good parts he did not depreciate.

JOLLY OLD BACCHUS.

A SONG.

BY FREDEBICK TYRRELL, ESQ.

'Tis the influence of Bacchus that drowns every care,
As our spirits are cheer'd with our wine;
Though Apollo and Venus our thoughts often share,
Whilst to Bacchus the heart does incline,
For all mortal pleasures are shower'd from above-
Apollo sends harmony, Venus sends love,

And jolly old Bacchus sends wine.

Of the vine and the myrtle let each wear a crown,

As a symbol of friendship below;

Then in wine, sons of Bacchus, our cares let us drown

The chief blessing the gods can bestow;

For all mortal pleasures are shower'd from above,-
Apollo sends harmony, Venus sends love,

And jolly old Bacchus sends wine.

[graphic]

DR. JOHNSON'S BIRTH PLACE.

The city of Litchfield claims the honour of giving birth to many persons of literary celebrity, especially the learned lexicographer Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was born in the house here represented, on the 7th of September, 1709, old style. Of Johnson's ancestors very little is certainly known, and he himself took no delight in talking of them, for he observed to Mrs. Piozzi," there is little pleasure in relating the anecdotes of beggary." The doctor's uncle was a well-known pugilist and wrestler, who was never thrown or conquered.

The father of Samuel Johnson was the first who emerged from the obscure occupation of the family, which resided at Cubley, in Derbyshire, as day-labourers; he became a bookseller at Litchfield, and was a man of large athletic constitution, of violent passions, and of a melancholy cast, nearly approaching to madness. He was so attached to the Stuart family, that when Dr. Sacheverell, in his memorable tour through England, came to Litchfield, he carried his son Samuel, then not three years old, to the cathedral, and placed him upon his shoulders, that he might see as well as hear the far-famed preacher.

Dr. Johnson received the rudiments of his education at G. 28.

R

the free school at Litchfield, and on the 31st of October, 1728, was entered of Pembroke college, Oxford; he remained a short time at college, and returned to Litchfield; his father died soon after, and the whole receipt out of his effects was no more than twenty pounds. The life of this great man is too well known to require our following him through all the vicissitudes of his eventful life. He died on the 13th of December, 1784, and was buried in the poets-corner, Westminsterabbey.

The house in which he was born is situated opposite the market-house, at the corner of Sadler-street; it is a square stuccoed building, the upper part projecting in the ancient fashion, and resting upon pillars at the angles! The praises of Litchfield have often been poetically celebrated. The following is not one of the least deserving preservation :

Here Johnson fashion'd his elaborate style,

:

And truth well pleas'd, the moral work survey'd ;
Here, o'er her darling's cradle, wont to smile,
Thalia with her Garrick fondly play'd;
And here the flower of England's virgin train,
Boast of our isle, Litchfield's peculiar pride;
Here Seward caught the dew-drops of her strain
From grief and fancy's magic-mingled tide :-
Exult fair city! and indulge the praise
A grateful stranger to thy glory pays.

[ocr errors]

THE BRITISH SOLDIER'S SONG.
Wherever sounds the voice of strife,
With glittering glaves we come ;
There's glory in our martial fife,
And freedom in our drum;
The dauntless banner o'er us waves,
Appalling in its wrath;

Avaunt, ye cravens, and ye slaves,
Nor dare polute our path!

To us, bright Europe's hymn ascends,
From city, tower, and sea;

And unto freedom's shrine she bends
The pure and prostrate knee.

Deal.

We free'd her when she stoop'd to slaves,
Her recreant foes we slew!

Attest it, with thy glorious graves!-
Thou lordly Waterloo !

France sent her youthful warriors forth,
With bayonet, sword, and flame;
And, like a tempest of the north,
O'er Portugal they came.
The Lusitanian nobles fled-

We cross'd the angry sea;

We reach'd their country-fought and bled--
And made their country free!

When Spain unsheath'd her patriot brand,
To check Napoleon's wrath,

Our banner beam'd in her proud land—
A lamp unto her path!

Corunna heard our cannons yell,

And saw our torches glare;
Around us Gaul's pale champions fell!
The British sword was there!

Go, ask the dark untutor'd Russ-
Go, ask the belted Hun;
How gloriously they'll speak of us,
And all the deeds we've done.

Europe! exalt thy daring crest,
And wave thy gonfalons;

Our flinchless swords have gain'd thee rest,
And broken all thy bonds!

Let jovial tars the Nile extol,

Where Nelson's honour'd name

Along the crimson decks did roll,

And through the smoke and flame;
But, deathless Albuera, we
Will deeply think upon;

And when we die, Oh, may we be
With Moore and Wellington!

R. A.

« AnteriorContinua »