CULUMHIA LIUHAHI s , u SITE HX00025780 Columfiia mnibtvW in tt)e Citp of J^eto ^orfe ^cfjool of Bental anb (J^ral ^urgerp l^eference Hibrarp Digitized by tine Internet Arcliive in 2010 witli funding from Open Knowledge Commons (for the Medical Heritage Library project) http://www.archive.org/details/modernmethuselahOObail MODERN METHUSELAHS MODERN METHUSELAHS OB, SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF A few advanced Nonagenarians or actual Centenarians who were distinguished in Art, Science, Literature, or Philanthropy. ALSO, BRIEF NOTICES OF SOME INDIVIDUALS REMARKABLE CHIEFLY FOR THEIR LONGEVITY. JOHN BURN BAILEY. Waitij an imroDuctori? Eimttv on ** Hong^lLastuig." LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, Limited. 1888. {^All rights reserved.'] CHAELBS DICKENS AND EVANS, CEYSTAl PALACE PBESS. :5 /^ I^ t* WITHOUT PERMISSION, TO THE LORD MAYOR AKD ALDERMEN OF THE CITY OF LONDON IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE OCCASIONAL HELP WHICH ITS COMPILER DERIVED FROM THE GUILDHALL LIBRARY A NOBLE INSTITUTION, TESTIFYING TO THE ENLIGHTENED LIBERALITY OP THE CORPORATION. PREFACE. A FEW words will suffice to explain the origin and purpose of the following chapters. Circumstances thrust upon their author, for a few months, the editor- ship of a London sanitary journal. Among many an important question which arose for discussion in its columns, not one had a deeper interest for him than that which related to the duration and value of human life, especially as affected by the greater attention now so generally paid to the laws of health. The consideration of this subject naturally led him to look back upon the lives of past genera- tions, and it occurred to his mind that some light might be thrown upon the point of extraordinary longevity by bringing together, in one group, as it were, any authentic cases of extreme old age, the preference being given to those whose work in the world, of whatever kind, had caused their names to be held in remembrance. A careful examination of such careers led him ▼iii PEEFACE. to the conclusion that it was in vain to seek for any one feature which, shared by all, would satis- factorily determine to what they were indebted for lives extended far beyond the usual term of man's existence. The introductory chapter, and remarks here and there throughout the work, state in detail the hygienic lessons which these lives sometimes seem to teach, and at other times to ignore. In conclusion, the compiler found so much interest in the variety of characters thus summoned before him — individuals of different climes, of eras long removed from each other, of varying national customs, and of modes of life widely diverse — that he thought others might be glad to share the interest with him, the more so as the greater number of the lives are not those which are over and over again brought before the public. He has also endeavoured to present, as far as possible, more of the personal history and domestic habits of those whose lives are reviewed than is generally given. Some geologists describe the Mosaic creation as the rearrangement of pre-existing material ; such is very much the case with the present volume. The compiler has not scrupled to avail himself of the labours of those who have gone before him ; but PEEFACE. ix without exceeding, he hopes, the bounds of fair- ness. He is under deep obligations to Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle's "Life of Titian;" to Mrs. John Herschel's " Memoir of Caroline Herschel ; " to Miss Somerville's " Life of Mary Somerville ; " and to Mr. Lucien Wolf's "Life of Sir Moses Montefiore." He would fain hope that his readers will seek in these full records of remarkable lives the many deeply interesting particulars which he has been compelled to omit. In order to keep the volume within reasonable limits, it was necessary to select those only whose ages had exceeded their ninety-five years ; the one exception to this rule will be found in the case of Mrs. Somerville. Those alone who have had experience in a work of this kind can form any adequate idea of how great the difficulty is to escape errors. It were vain to hope that the following pages are free from them. There is, in fact, an inaccuracy on page 162, where the death of Mr. Waterton is attributed to the fall of a tree ; his fatal injuries were, however, received through his foot catching in some brambles, by which he was thrown heavily upon the trunk of a tree which had already fallen. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAOE INTRODUCTION — " LONG-LASTING " 1 CHAPTER II. ST. ANTnOXY TUE GREAT ....... 48 CHAPTER III. JOANNES CANTACUZENUS, EMPEROR OF THE EAST ... 68 CHAPTER IV. GEORGE GEMISTHUS PLETHO 80 CHAPTER V. LUIGI CORNARO 89 CHAPTER VI. TITIAN: THE PAINTER . . . . . . .113 CHAPTER VII. TITIAN : THE MAN 145 CHAPTER VIIL FONTENELLE 1G4 CHAPTER TX. THOMAS AMORY . . . . . . .176 CONTENTS. CHAPTER X. PAGB A GROUP OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS . . . 200 CHAPTEE XI. EVA MARIA GARRICK ........ 227 CHAPTER XII. CAROLINE LUCRETIA HERSCHEL 258 CHAPTEE XIII. MARY SOMERVILLE ........ 297 CHAPTER XIV. SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE : HOME LIFE AND WORK . . . 327 CHAPTEE XV. SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE : FOREIGN TRAVEL AND WORK . . 344 CHAPTER XVI. SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE : THE TOILER'S REST . . 381 CHAPTER XVII. MARTIN JOSEPH ROUTH ....... 392 CHAPTEE XVIII. MR. THOMS' INVESTIGATED CASES OF CENTENARIANISM . . 403 CHAPTEE XIX. A GROUP OF UNQUESTIONABLE CENTENARIANS , . .412 CHAPTEE XX. A FEW RECENT AND PROBABLE CASES OF CENTENARIAN IS JI . 431 CHAPTER XXI. CONCLUSION 443 MODEEN METHIJSELAHS. CHAPTER I. IXTRODUCTION — " LOXG-LASTIXG." Life's more than breath and tlie quick round of blood, 'Tis a great spirit and a busy heart. Wo live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. P. J. Bailey. Lord Bacon's quaint phrase for a ripe old age is '*' long-lasting," and in bis essay on *' Regimen of Health," he throws out some rules by which " health and lasting " may be attained. From Celsus to Lord Bacon's day, and from that time until the present, many a writer has entered upon the same field, and, singularly enough, nearly all of them have failed to attain that length of days to which they pointed the way. Bacon fell in his sixty-sixth year, but can scarcely be said to have run the natural course of his life. However much remorse and disappointment may have 2 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. undermined his health, the immediate cause of death must be considered to have been accidentah Medical men have been, as a rule, the principal writers on longevity, and, as a class, they fall below the average standard of life. There is nothing to warrant the assertion that Galen survived to his one hundred and fortieth year, or that Hippocrates reached his one hundred and four years. A wide survey of biographical examples seems to show that nothing can be more capricious than longevity ; that not seldom the reign of law is utterly subverted with regard to it ; that it is exceedingly difficult, or rather impossible, to trace that which constituted " the fittest " in the survival of not a few remarkable cases of extreme old age. For if, on the one hand, many aged men of mark have belonged to families celebrated for the long years to which several of their members have attained, so, on the other hand, a still larger number stand out as solitary instances of longevity in their kith and kin. Dryden throws out a coarsely-expressed suggestion why Absalom excelled all his brethren in the goodli- ness of his person. It may be that the conjecture is not devoid of physiological probability, and may have a direct bearing upon the point of solitary instances of long life. Some support is given to this view from the fact that, comparatively few as are the instances of abnormal longevity, first-born children, and those born out of wedlock, are more than fairly represented. But, as already mentioned, " long-lasting " admits INTRODUCTION— LONG-LASTING. 8 of no explanation. It cannot, in the majority of cases, be treated as a family peculiarity. It is in- herited neither from fiither nor mother ; it cannot be transmitted to the next generation. In these particu- lars it bears a close resemblance to the highest type of genius, that rare God-gift which seems to fall on whomsoever it listcth, and which is inscrutable to the most subtle investig-ator. Further, "lono--lastinfr " is not dependent upon any external circumstances. From time to time every vocation in life has afforded exam- ples of it, as have all conditions of life : the volup- tuary and the ascetic ; the son of affluence and the child of poverty ; the man whose existence is regu- lated by rule, and he whose habits def}' all method ; the man of the world and the recluse ; the darino- adventurer and he who clings to the safety of home ; the married man burdened with a large family, and the bachelor free as air. All these have furnished remarkable instances of longevity — instances as unac- countable as remarkable. Even an exceedingly fragile constitution in infanc}^ precarious health as childhood advanced to youth, and many years of ailing and weakness in manhood, are no criteria that advanced age may not be reached. The poet Eogers asserted that, until he had attained his fiftieth year, he never knew what health meant. Such a fact would justly be considered a most unlikely preparation for a life pro- tracted until little short of a century. Fontenelle and many other examples might be cited to the same effect. No one would call in question the good faith of B 2 4 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Mr. Easton, Dr. Buchan, and Mr. Thomas Bailey, in the compilations which they have left of remarkable instances of long-sustained vitality and long-extended lives. The minute particulars which accompany many of the cases almost disarm suspicion, until the extra- ordinary nature of the facts compels the mind to inquire on what foundation they rest, and then doubt and uncertainty creep iu. These gentlemen took, no doubt, a lively interest in the question of human longevity, but it is to be feared that they received examples with too implicit confidence, and their records are often without particulars of time and place, and therefore admit of no investigation ; they can only be received on faith, and it is a faith that fails. If their instances could be accepted as trustworthy, they would leave the influence of acci- dental and external circumstances upon health and longevity in a hopelessly perplexing position ; for advanced centenarians appear from their records to flourish on the most pernicious and incongruous diet, with habits of life at variance with all the known laws of health. It may afford a little amusement to glance at a few instances of those whose ages generally ran over ten decades. We read of one who subsisted for many long years on milk alone ; of one who drank freely of rum and brandy, assisted with claret and punch ; another sustained his vitality on biscuits and apples, with milk and water ; a fourth w\as a free drinker of wine ; a fifth found butter-milk and greens her best I' ho \ ar •/ INTRODUCTION— LONG. LASTING. 5 pabulum, and on which she preserved her faculties iu full strength until her one hundred and sixteenth year ; new-laid eggs helped on his way one who attained to his one hundred and fiftieth year another, who died at one hundred and eighteen, lived for her last sixty years on vegetables — what- ever may be included in that phrase of well-known elasticity. William Riddell, who died when one hundred and sixteen, had a remarkable love of brandy, of which he drank largely, but he carefully avoided water ; for two years before his death he subsisted on bread soaked in spirits and ale. For the closing thirty years of her life potatoes formed the principal food of one who lived to reach her one hundred and tenth year. Another advanced pilgrim enjoyed a delicate solid diet, w^ashed down with a pint of the best Xeres or La Mancha wine, with a somewhat more liberal allowance in cold weather. By eating little, and drinking only milk, the great age of one hundred and thirty-eight years was reached ; while a hearty eater failed to go beyond one hundred and three years. No greater contrast as to personal habits can be easily conceived than that which is afforded by the examples of St. Anthony the Great, and the eminent French scientist, M. Chevreul. The former, as will appear in the sequel, voluntarily laid aside the civili- sation to which his age and country had attained ; he became an alien from his fellow-men, abjured matrimony and family ties, confined himself to a 6 MODERN METHUSELAH S. diet of a few ounces of bread soaked in water daily ; never changed bis garments by day or by nigbt, and never willingly washed himself. He nevertheless reached his one hundred and fifth year. The latter gentleman is truly "the heir of all the ages " ; a partaker of the high civilisation of Paris, the fellow of his fellow-men, the head of a family household, choice in the Cjuality of his food. His diet uniformly consists, it is stated, of two eggs, a slice of chicken pasty made by his own cook, and a pint of cafe-au-lait for breakfast; tapioca soup with grated cheese, a cutlet, a bunch of grapes, cheese, and three glasses of water for dinner. He never takes either fish or wine, and is now in his hundred and third year, in remarkable health of body and strength of mind. There can be no doubt that many of the v/orthies named by Mr. Easton really attained to an excep- tionally long life, many of them under circumstances exceedingly unfavourable to length of days, for their life-conditions were against them. Some of them lived in localities neither clean nor wholesome. Susan Mills had her home in a marshy and constantly flooded district, but she saw out her hundred and first year ; while one hundred and five years w^ere spent by a poor woman in Drury Lane, before sani- tary inspectors were known to that still unsavoury neighbourhood. Extreme personal dirtiness and long life do not appear to be incompatible, as St. Anthony's case proved, and which is further established by other INTRODUCTION— LONG.LASTIXG. 7 instances on record. It is related that a Mrs. Lcwson was left a well-provided widow at the early age of twenty-six, having then eighty years of existence before her. How she passed that time is not clear, but her establishment consisted of an old man-servant, two dogs, and a cat. Her rooms were seldom swept and never washed ; in dress she adhered to the cos- tume of her young days ; but whatever its fashion may have been, it must have covered a skin as dirty as the rooms in which she lived, for she never washed even her face and neck, but smeared them daily with hog's lard, while she touched up her cheeks with rose- pink. Her apology for this utter neglect of personal cleanliness was that people who washed themselves always caught cold ! Elizabeth Durieux was a woman of Savoy, who was interviewed when she was alleged to be one hundred and nineteen j^ears old ; she was unquestionably very aged. She was reported as a large-boned, wrinkled, and very dirty woman. Another example might be cited in the person of the widow of George Dyer, that laborious literary worker whose name is now chiefly known through his intimacy with the Lambs. He died in 1841, but his w^idow was alive in 1860, then in her hundredth year. Mr. Crabb Robinson paid her a visit, and has left the remark in his Diary: "If cleanliness be next to godliness, it must be admitted that she is far from being a good woman." He further notices that she was of large size, and of great strength of constitution. 8 MODERN METHUSELAHS. An old man who was in very vigorous health at the age of ninety-seven, had been from early youth to hoar hairs a lover of gin " straight," and a smoker and chewer of the strongest and rankest possible tobacco. But without dwelliug on such evidently pernicious habits, it may be well to notice that in some cases very great liberty may be taken with Nature without bringing a punishment for the disregard of her laws. There does not appear, any reason to doubt that the Rev. W. Davis, incumbent of Staunton-on-Wye, who died in 1790, had truly reached his one hundred and fifth year. Yet for the last thirty-five years of his existence he habitually transgressed the ordinary methods of preserving health, for although he took very little indoor and no outdoor exercise, he fed heartily on substantial food, not always easy of digestion for the most active. He began the day with hot buttered rolls for breakfast, and concluded it with hot roast meats for supper. He w^as also a fair wine-drinker. Most of the centenarians whose cases have been here cited were, it is stated, of short stature ; the greater number of them were married, many of them several times, some after they were one hundred years old ; one took matrimonial fetters twice after he was a century old, and another risked the lottery three times after he was that age. John Weeks married his tenth wife when he had attained his one hundred and six years. Not a few, on the other hand, communicated the secret of "long-lasting" to INTllOUUCTION— LOX(;.LASTIN(;. 9 their tender helpmates, of whom John Rovin may- be considered a notable example, for he survived I until one hundred and seventy, and his wife reached her one hundred and sixty-fourth year ; they were spared to celebrate their one hundred and forty- eighth wedding-day. TJie one hundred and seventy years of this worthy were not enough, however, to , ^ ^ satisfy Mr. Bailey, who sent one of his patriarchs y^ to the grave at the ripe age of one hundred and r eighty-five. In his introduction to his "Records of Longevity," he may well observe : "It is true that many of these alleged facts are deficient in that strict verification which would enable a man to speak posi- tively as to the truth of the statements." And in another passage he seems to limit his belief in longevity to one hundred and twenty years, even when all due measures have been taken for the preservation of health. His own pecuniary circum- stances enabled him to regulate his own habits in accordance with his theory as to how a long life could be attained, but he w^as cut off at the comparatively early age of seventy-one. The motto for this chapter is borrowed from his son's singular and now almost forgotten poem of " Festus." The father's catalogue of centenarians tills three hundred and forty-five closely printed small octavo pages. Mr. Easton, his predecessor in the same field, recorded the " Name, Age, Place of Residence, and Year of the Decease of One Thousand seven hundred and twelve Persons who attained a Centuryand Upwards, from a.d. ^^ to 1799 ;" 10 MODEEX ilETHUSELAHS. but tlie entry is often found to consist of a single line, with nothing more denoted than the name of an individual, a place, the date of death, and the age. What the value of such a record can be is not very apparent. The number of children, grand- children, great-grandchildren, etc., which some of these patriarchs left behind them is better left untold. Few thouo-htful readers will fail to recrard most of the instances already given with suspicion ; the figures must be considered exaggerated ; probably not intentionally, but from causes which will be glanced at in a subsequent page. AYithin the last quarter of a century scientific attention has been given to the question of extra- ordinary longevity, and a late eminent man of letters vigilantly watched all the instances which came before him ; directed by a sceptical mind, and an acute method of proceeding, his investigations distinctly discredited several alleged cases of cen- tenarianism. By sparing no trouble in attempts to verify the particulars of each, Mr. Thorns found that the supposed survivor of more than a hundred years was in reality ten, fifteen, or even twenty years younger than his own statement made him, and that the lovers of the marvellous gladly believed him to be. Hence Mr. Thoms concluded that old people pride themselves on their longevity, and are more disposed to put forward the dial of time than to retard it. In an interesting letter written by Walter Savage Landor to one of his sisters, there occurs INTRODUCTION— LONG.LASTING. 11 mention of an asserted centenarian who inclined to the reverse of this tendency, for although he gave assurances which, if true, proved him to be twelve or thirteen years over a century, he would never acknowledge himself to be more than eighty- nine, and declared that he would stick to that age until the last. On beinc; told of a man in Kussia who was one hundred and thirty-two years old, he replied : "I dare say that he is more, but won't own it; people when they are getting a little in years don't like to say anything about it." Mr. Landor had faith in this case, and among other details adds : "Fifty-five years ago he walked with a stick, since that time he has left it ofi". He keeps late hours, and is not very abstemious in food or wine. . . . His hearing is perfect." Mr. Thorns was not the only literary man of his day slow to believe in centenarianism. The late Sir G. Cornewall Lewis contended that since the Christian era no person of royal or noble line, mentioned in history, whose birth was recorded at the time of its occurrence, had reached the age of one hundred years. Granted that this be true, it surely does not follow that, because the very smallest section of society has failed to furnish an instance to the point, no one has ever existed among the over- whelming majority of earth's inhabitants. More- over, the members of the small class referred to by Sir C. Lewis had to contend with physical dangers peculiarly their own, and were beset by moral 12 MODERN METHUSELAHS. temptations notoriously inimical to health and long life, unless resisted with a self-denial practically unknown in high places. From investigations made by Sir Thomas Duffus Hardy, he makes it appear that during the thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, three- score years and ten were considered a great ag^e, at which few arrived. Persons in the hiiiher or lower orders seldom attained to the age of eighty. One is almost bound to bow to so eminent an authority, and yet there are patent facts which seem to qualify this view. An inspection of the monumental stones in any of our old burying-places, or of the parish registers of our churches, yield a large number of instances of ages far exceeding the limits here assigned. If, moreover, we glance at the pages of any ordinary biographical dictionary, where the select few only are noticed who have rendered themselves famous in any walk of life, it will be seen that a very large proportion of them have attained to a much greater age than the allotted seventy years. Xot a few reached their fourscore years, many numbered ninety, several touched the centenarian line. ]\Ir. Francis Galton, an author whose writings are of rare interest and value, has pointed out that in the British Islands, at the present day, men of mark are about four hundred and twenty-five to every million of their fellow creatures. As intellectual superiority, or extraordinary endowments of any kind, cannot be considered to ensure strength of constitution or INTRODUCTION— LONG.LA.STING. 13 length of clays — their tendency being rather to break down the one and to cut short the other — it fairly follows that if so many of this comparatively small class have reached a ripe old age, there must have been amou2j the vast multitudes of the un- known a corresponding number who equalled them in this particular. Were Sir William Temple's dictum to be accepted, that "health and long life are usually the blessings of the poor," this would amount to a positive certainty. Some valuable results ought to arise from the labours of the Collective Investigation Committee of the British Medical Association, now at work. Its members have issued a form of inquiry, to be filled up by medical men, relative to any cases of remarkable longevity which may be brought under their observation. If a careful and wide response can be assured to this eflfort, the tabulated returns will give a large body of most valuable information respect- ing the family history, social condition, and general habits of life of those who have reached, or nearly reached, their ten decades. The British Medical Journal of the 11th of December, 188G, published a Supplement, in which details were given of fifty-two cases which had been reported to the Investigation Committee in reply to their queries. Professor Humphry, F.R.S., contributed "Eemarks and an Analysis." Although the table is headed as a list of centenarians. Dr. Humphry cautions his readers that nothing more is intended by that 14 MODERN METHUSELAHS. expression than that all the individuals referred to were very aged persons. Eleven of them — two males and nine females — were over their one hundred years, of which satisfactory evidence had been obtained. The baptismal certificate seems to have been the proof chiefly relied on, but Mr. Thoms has clearly shown that this is often inconclusive and untrust- worthy, requiring to be scanned with the greatest possible vigilance. Unless all cases furnished to the Committee can be most thoroughly sifted and fully established, little scientific gain will accrue from their compilation. Fourteen additional examples were given in the same journal on March 5 of the following year, from returns furnished to the same inquiries. They are of the same character in their essential features, but whereas the previous cases militated somewhat a,gainst the view that centenarians were almost always of short stature, these confirmed it, leaving it probable that tall individuals are exceptional in cases of longevity, and not the rule. Sir Moses Montefiore was a striking exception, for he was six feet three inches in heio^ht. In the very interesting department of domestic habits, these tables confirm in a great measure the views which have been expressed in former para- graphs of this chapter. They establish that extreme old age is attainable under a great variety of con- ditions, some obviously favourable, others as obvi- ously unfavourable. On the whole, however, they INTRODUCTION— LONG-LASTING. 15 distinctly show tlic value of strict modei'ation iu catiug and drinking, ;ind the advantage of very little, if any, indulgence in alcoholic beverages. They also exhibit the very interesting fact that many very aged people retain a wonderful power of combating serious diseases, for many of the sixty- six individuals in Professor Humphry's lists were attacked with severe illnesses after they were ninety- five years old, but from which they made singularly rapid and complete recoveries. All these conclusions are on the whole strengthened, or little disturbed, by eight hundred and twenty-four additional cases — ages ranging from eighty to one hundred years — which were given in the same journal, under the same authority, on the 10th of ]\Iarch of this year (1888), again followed by the valuable analysis of Professor Humphry. From these it is proved that nearly one-fourth of the individuals in question were first-born children ; that nearly one-half of them were of " placid disposition ; " that ten per cent, of them were in affluent circumstances ; thirty- five per cent, were poor ; while fifty-five per cent, were in a comfortable condition of life. Only four per cent, are recorded as having had bad digestion ; and only eleven were of "low mental power," seventy-four per cent, being of average intelligence, and fifteen per cent, possessing higli intellectual capacity. Sixty per cent, were moderate eaters ; thirty per cent, were small eaters ; nine per cent, were large eaters. In respect to the longevity of 16 MODERN METHUSELAHS. women, there exists no diflference between the married and the single, between those who did bear children and those who did not. On the important question of alcoholic beveracces, these additional returns throw no additional light, or rather, they somewhat obscure the light which the previous statistics had shed on the subject. They can scarcely be said to harmonise with the returns of those life assurance companies which have formed a separate department for the insurance of the lives of total abstainers ; for in every such case it is asserted that the deaths are so far below the computed average that much lower than ordinary premiums would cover the risk. As all the individuals cited by Professor Humphry lived to what must be considered old age, and than which no more advanced period is foand upon the books of life insurance companies, it might appear a foregone conclusion that a careful avoidance of alcoholic liquors would have been the rale among them. It was not so. The exact percentage of those who were lifelong or rigid abstainers is unfortunately not given, but fifteen per cent, took none, or very little, of such beverages. This " very little " is very vague"; for as each gave his or her own version of what they had taken, the standard of much or little no doubt greatly varied, as the Professor makes it vary when he particularises. For example, he states that thirty-three per cent, had taken alcohol in moderation, which he defines to mean one or two pints of beer daily ; as if there were scarcely any difference between seven pints and INTRODUCTION- LONG-LASTING. l7 double that quantity per week. His definition of a little is less than one pint of beer or two glasses of wine daily. A considerable number of these elderly people had drunk rather freely of intoxicating drinks, while some were found to have been heavy drinkers throughout the greater part of their lives. All ex- perience proves that some constitutions are almost proof ngainst alcoholic excesses, while others fall easy victims to the Moloch of drink ; the moral is obvious, that total abstinence, or strict moderation, is the most sure path to health and longevity. AlthouMi the late 'Mv. Thoms commenced his inquiries into the alleged existence of centenarians with a strong persuasion that no such cases could be found, he was ultimately compelled to acknowledge that several examples had been submitted to him, supported by evidence which admitted of no doubt. Dr. Beale writes : " At all times within the range of authentic history, the duration of life has not materially differed from what it is at present. In all times, and in most countries, at least in Europe, an individual has occasionally outlived a century." Should such a term of life be the exception or the rule ? That is a question which physiologists have propounded, and have endeavoured to solve. Many excellent people consider that Israel's lawgiver has settled the point when he asserts that " the days of our years are threescore years and ten, or even by reason of strength fourscore years/' but against this may be set the saying of the son of Sirach, " If the c 18 MODERN METHUSELAH3, number of a man's days be a hundredth year, it is much." No serious argument can be built upon these passages : the former may be fairly considered to show the average expectation of life at the period the words were written, and the latter to show the exceptional age to which in some cases it was possible to attain. Comparative anatomy and physiology would give to the ordinary standard of human life a much longer duration than that named by the Psalmist, and would place remarkable exceptions at a far more advanced figure than that mentioned in the Apocrypha. Many most eminent scientists have pointed out that the natural term of life of every animal is five times the period needed for the full development of the skeleton, the mark of which is, in popular phraseology, the uni- fication of the limb-bones. Man requires twenty-one years for the attainment of this maturity ; it follows, therefore, that five times that period would indicate a century and one-twentieth as man's allotted span of existence. Professor Sir Eichard Owen, with scientific exactness, calculated it at one hundred and three years and a few months. An able physician has therefore practical ground to stand on when he tells his readers that all persons who die under eighty years of age, many who die under ninety, some who die under a hundred, and even one hundred and five, die prematurely. And a French writer, in reference to the too common neglect of means prescribed by science for the preservation of health and prolongation of life, says : " Men do not usually die, they kill INTRODUCTION— LONG. L.YSTIXa. 19 tliemsclves." ITufelaiul considered that it is within man's power, by proper attention to health laws, to extend existence to two hundred years ; the accomplished Haller thought that one hundred and fifty years could be attained. Intermediate ground is taken by others ; some think that one hundred and twenty years are intended for man's earthly sojourn, and they fancy that they have scriptural warrant for this view in a passage which occurs in the sixth chapter of Genesis ; but the words are mysterious in their connection, and admit of a totally different construction. The present Bishop of Winchester having asserted in the " Speaker's Commentary " that some eminent physiologists consider it not improbable that the early dwellers upon earth really reached the ages recorded in our English Bible, Sir Kichard Owen joined issue with him. He tells the Bishop that he has no objection to the claim of theologians that the days of the patriarchs were miracu- lously extended, but he defies any scientific witness to certify that it would be possible for man, con- stituted as his frame and functions now are, to live to the ages recorded of the antediluvians. An attempt has lately been made to prove that the extraordinary ages attributed to the "earth's gray fathers" arise from a mistaken mode of translatinsj Hebrew con- Crete numbers, and that, were the true rule observed, it would crive the averag^e term of each at one hundred and twenty years only. But this would be simply c 2 20 MODERN METHUSELAHS. to get over one difficulty by the introduction of another equally formidable. According to the scientific theory just named, centenarianism ought to be very general ; in point of fact, it must be regarded as very rare. The trust- worthiness of many reputed cases may well be doubted ; in the majority of instances not a shadow of proof is afforded. And it is worthy of note that when twelve of the oldest and largest London life assurance companies were questioned on the subject, they could briug forward only one case in which a century had been reached by an assured life, although they had granted policies to none but carefully selected lives. A few years ago M. de Solaville published some interesting statistics bearing upon this question of human longevity. His figures weie taken from European censuses and registers of deaths, and therefore can only be taken for what they arc worth, as they admit of no verification. Russia, Turkey, and some small Southern States excluded, Europe in 1870 possessed a mean population of 242,940,376, which admitted of the following classi- fication as to ages: beyond sixty years, 17,313,715; beyond ninety years, 79,859 : beyond one hundred years, 62,503. A farther dissection of the figures o-ave the result that althousjh France afforded the larorer number of individuals over sixty years of age, Great Britain furnished the larger proportion of centenarians. M. de Solaville arrived at two other interesting conclusions : in the first place he found INTROUUCTIUN LONCi-LASTING. 21 tliat women afforded more examples of extreme old age than men, and the longer the lives the greater the diOerence, as at sixty years the advantage is only seven })cr cent. ; at ninety it rises to forty-five ; while at one hundred it reaches sixty. This only partially agrees with Hufeland, who concluded that, on the average, women lived longer than men, married women in particular, but that men only attain to the utmost limit of longevity. M. de Solaville's second conclusion is to the effect that centenarians have not increased with the increase of population. He formed this upon data furnished from France, the only information he had before him. In the fourteen years, 1824-37, the mean annual number of deaths over a century was 152, or one in 217,105 inhabitants; in 1855-60, when the population had increased twenty per cent., the mean annual number Avas only 111. Possibly a less loose way of making returns, and a more perfect system of registration may be the true solution of the difference. Some extraordinary instances of longevity have been reported from liussia. They are stamped with improbability ; they allow of no verification ; they are, indeed, founded upon the death-registers ; but it must be assumed that the ages were given by rela- tives, frequently inferential, seldom from reliable documents. Taking the year 1806, the returns gave no less than 1,417 deceased individuals whose ages ranged from ninety-five to one hundred and fifty. The excessive rifrour of the climate, combined with 22 MODERN METHUSELAHS. the pincliing poverty of the peasantry, disinclines the mind to place implicit confidence in these figures. Nor is less caution necessary when the former death- returns of this country are considered, esf>ecially those of the last century. A record is given each year of some forty to seventy of the departed, whose ages ranged from one hundred to one hundred and fifty as the extreme limit, one hundred and thirty being the rough average. " Rainy-day " Smith thus wrote of the year 1772 : '' To the honour of our climate, which is often abused, perhaps no country can produce in- stances of longevity equal to those of England of this year, viz. : At 100,2; 101, 5; 102, G; 103,3; 105,4 106,3; 107,4; 108,5; 109,4; 110,2; 111,2; 112,3 114, 1 ; 118, 1 ; 125, Rice, a cooper in Southwark 133, Mrs. Keith, at Newnham, in Gloucestershire 138, the widow Chum, at Ophurst, near Lichfield." These extreme ages, it must be assumed, are exaggerations, arising more often, ^^I'ol^^i^^ly' from self-deception during the life of very aged individuals, or from misinformation or hasty inference on the part of their friends, than from intentional misrepresenta- tion. The mind, gradually failing through old age, has a tendency to confound things of which it only heard in its young days with things which were seen or known to transpire in early life. Anything vividly related by some senior of many years, as of a battle or other remarkable event, suddenly occurs to an ad- vanced memory, without the power of discrimination, is believed to be a fact within its own early expe- INTRODUCTION— LONG. LASTING. 23 rience, is related as sucli to friends, and considered by tliem direct evidence of wonderful longevity. This fact is noticed by Goethe on the very first page of his Autobiography. The term which science has fixed as the extreme limit of human life is found to be precisely that at which the most carefully attended and skilfully nursed post-centenarians droop and die. Notwith- standing the many reputed cases of individuals enduring to their one hundred and twentieth, or even to their one hundred and eightieth year, no well authenticated instances can be adduced. At- tention has been drawn to the Countess of Desmond, and it may be conceded that there appeared some evidence which pointed to the conclusion that her life was protracted far beyond the span of usual extreme old age, but a close investigation led to a contrary conviction. At the same time it would be rash to conclude that even if the common standard of life was raised to one hundred and five, there could be no departures from that limit to a much longer one, as there would always be to a shorter one. Without making too much of a fact to which attention has been often drawn, that some persons are very tall and others very short ; that some are fat and others lean ; that some die young in spite of every care, while others, who live recklessly, attain to long years of life ; it surely teaches that there are influences at work in the human family of which the nature has not yet been discovered, 24 MODERN METHUSELAHS. and of ^Yllicll the bounds cannot bo fixed. This is equally the case with the lower orders of animated bein2;s, and amonof them there are found abundant examples to prove that individual members at times long survive the ordinary term of their existence, and stand out striking examples of prolonged vitality. Writers on natural history record many such cases, and in a notice of James Pearce, who died in 1790, at the reputed age of one hundred and five, mention is made of a G;oose wdiich had existed on the farm where he laboured for the remarkable period of eighty-six years, having outlived four successive tenants of the holding. If such occasional depar- tures from the general duration of life occur in the case of birds and animals, why should they be considered impossible in the case of man ? Sanitary science, although comparatively young, has already wrought a vast change in vital statistics. These clearly tell that a great improvement has taken place in the national health and life ; the standard of the one, and the value and duration of the other, have been greatly raised, without, how- ever, showing any increase in centenarianism. The diffusion of health principles has for its object the collective life of a people, and not the abnormal prolongation of that of any individual. Nor must too much be expected of hygienic science, how^ever carefully regarded. Modern life is a strangely artificial thing ; and artificial, it is to be feared, it will always continue, and therefore, when science INTUODUCTIOX i-OXd. LASTING. 25 lias accomplished its all, there will remain a great gulf between the possible and the actual term of human existence. Moreover, were there the will, there is no power of reaching the possible l)y a bound. It is a matter, unfortunately, over which neither an individual nor a generation, however wise and prudent, can ho})e to exercise efl'ectual control. Could a child be trained from the cradle under the most enliojhtened health conditions inviolablv observed, there might be in his system some hereditary taint which would sooner or later work for evil, and prematurely end his days. Every breeder of improved stock of any description has been taught by experience the danger which exists of one or another of the offsprings suddenly exhibit- inor some ancestral defect — "harkino- back" to a o o blemish which, it was hoped, had been thoroughly eradicated. So there is always a real danger of dormant evil seeds existino- in the human constitu- o tion, suddenly to become vitalised ; it is frequently thus with consumption or gout, and even w^orse still with mental maladies. If one generation is skipped, another is scourged, and thus a long series of years would be required of severe hygienic discipline before the highest type of a sound mind in a sound body could reasonably be expected. But to take life as we find it, with all its present high pressure and restless feverishness, with all its destructive over-civilisation, it is not easy to define old age, and certainly it cannot be limited to three- 26 MODERN METHUSELA.HS. score years and ten, or even to fourscore years. There is a marked difference 1)etween different members of the community in this respect, for "ageing does not synchronise with age." Never did ca more true sentence fall from the pen of Charles Dickens than when he wrote, " Father Time, though he tarries for none, often lays his hands lightly on those who have used him well." This, as the words imply, is not an invariable rule ; the inherited consti- tution, as just stated, has no little concern in the matter, while many other unseen forces may be at work to undermine health and to abrido-e life. The popular expressions of aged, a great age, and very aged, often simply imply that bodily infirmities have made a wreck of a life not necessarily far advanced in years. In many cases mind and body begin to show the inroads of time soon after six decades are passed — a period which is allowed, by very general consent, to be the one at which concessions should be made to the gradually diminishing vigour of each. As a rule, no further acquirements are expected of the sexa- genarian ; a large measure of repose is considered his due. In Dr. Johnson's opinion, notwithstanding that on one occasion lie advocated the contrary, no man adds much to his stock of knowledge or improves much after forty. Wordsworth acknowledged that he did not love the poets of his own time, giving as his reason: " My taste was formed, for I was forty-five when they appeared, and we cannot after that age love new things." Eble, a celebrated German physi- INTllODUCTION -LONG-LASTIXC. 27 ologist, considers that at forty the hair begins to turn ijray, which is an outward and visiijlc sign of diminished energy in the nervous system. One authority regards sixty-three as the age at which persons may be termed old. " That age corresponds to wliat the old philosophers designated ' the grand climacteric ' — seven multiplied by nine." Other writers have placed this change at forty-nine, seventy, and eighty-one. According to Dr. Copeland's ** Dictionary of Practical ]\Iedicine," in the case of males, declining age extends from the forty-eighth to the sixtieth year ; a green old age commences at sixty and runs to sixty-five or seventy ; a ripe old age extends from seventy-five to eighty ; decrepitude then commences. Iq the case of females, declining age commences at forty- two and extends to fifty-two ; a green old age from fifty-three to sixty or sixty-five ; a ripe old age from seventy to seventy-five ; decrepi- tude then commences. Dr. Acosta's researches led him to the probably true conclusion that the com- mencement of decadence is often deferred until very late in life. Any one looking around him among his friends and acquaintances will see many in whom both the bodily and intellectual powers are in full vigour far beyond the age of sixty, or even of seventy. Biographical annals attest the same fact. Much may depend upon the rapidity or tardiness with which the physical and mental powers were developed. Those functions and fiiculties which take the longest to mature are those w^hich endure the longest and decline 28 MODERN METHUSELAHS. the slowest. Time seems to forG^et to winof its shaft at these happy possessors of slowly ripened powers. Life appears in their case to intensify with growing years ; to increase in activity, reality, and earnestness. D'Israeli, the elder, pleasantly discusses the vitality of many distinguished men in a chapter of his " Literary Character." He gathers together many delightful proofs of the fascination w^hich art and scholarship exercised over their devotees to a very advanced age, and even to the last hour of existence. Li many instances literary or artistic enthusiasm has actually prolonged life ; it has defied the power of death until some fondly cherished task had been accomjDlished : some work of art executed, or some noble contribution oiven to literature. In such a spirit Mrs. Grant, of Laggan, states that at an advanced age she continued to correspond with absent friends, and adds, "I do think the intercourse I thus continue with persons I have long loved and valued has a tendency to prolong my life." Taken as a whole — for exceptional cases have occurred — men who have attained to eminence in any walk of life have found no injury to mental or bodily health arise from the earnest and unoTudo-iuQ- exercise of their respective powers. Or rather, on the contrary, they have found in that exercise the best and surest preservative of them. There are few more injurious agencies than rust, and the unnecessary disuse of faculties or functions which should be maintained in due working order, is the surest step to induce their INTRODUCTION LONCLASTING. 29 rapid decay : to exercise them freely, but not oxliaus- tivcly, is tlic most certain nietliod to ensure tlieir long and healthy continuance. *' Leisure and 1," said John Wesley, " have taken leave of one another. I propose to be busy as Iodh; as I live, if my health is so long indulged to me." Southey says that " this resolution was made in the prime of life, and never was resolution more punc- tually observed." He adds that Wesley was favoured with a constitution vigorous beyond that of ordinary men, and with an activity of spirit which is even rarer than his singular felicity of health and strength. '' Ten thousand cares of various kinds," he said, "were no more weight or burden to his mind thaji ten thousand hairs were to his head " " His manner of life was the most favourable that could have been devised for longevity. He rose early, and lay down at night with nothing to keep him waking, or trouble him in sleep. His mind was always in a pleasureable and wholesome state of activity, he was temperate in his diet, and lived in perpetual locomotion ; and frequent change of air is, perhaps, of all things, that which most conduces to joyous health and lonsf life." Among the " Essays " of the late Sir Henry Holland, may be found one on " Human Longevity," to which this chapter is indebted for two or three interesting facts. The author of that paper afforded a happy and remarkable instance of the conservation of mental and bodilj^ energies to a ripe old age. In / 30 MODERN METHLTSELAHS. his " Eecollections of Past Life," he informs his readers that he went to press when ah-eady advanced in his eighty-fourth year, and that his health, with rare exceptions, had been singularly good, enabling him to maintain to that advanced period most of the habits and interests of earlier life, even those in which physical activity was chiefly concerned. His mental activity is revealed in every page of his vigorously-written " Recollections," and in the manner in which he states he kept himself, even then, abreast of scientific discovery and general literature. His unimpaired bodily powers were evidenced by his long- continued autumnal journeys ; when even in his eighty-second year he started for the North-West S^tates of America and the Upper Waters of the Mississippi, which he duly reached, and by the time he had returned home, he had travelled by land, lake, or river more than three thousand five hundred miles in five weeks. He excelled in horsemanship at eighty- four years of age, and acknowledged his positive inability to walk slowly. The Quarterly Review referred to him as " a man who has been everywhere, has seen everything, has known everybody." Many equally striking examples might be in- troduced. Not a few who had reached their sixtieth or seventieth year, quietly set themselves to learn Latin, Greek, Hebrew, or Sanscrit. A remarkable German worker began the study of the English language after he had long passed his threescore years and ten, and when past fourscore, translated l\'IM{()I)i;CTIOX I,nXG. LASTING. 81 some of our j)ublicatiou.s into his motlicr tongue. Mr. Savage Landor read through Homer's Odyssey, in the original, after he had passed liis eighty-fifth year, and wrote in pure and powerful Englisli some of his most wouderfuUy-conceived " Imaginary Con- versations " after he had numbered his eighty-nine years. Mrs. Somerville wrote her work on "Mole- cular Science " when she had attained her eighty- eighth year ; the gentle Isaac Walton's literary work went on until his ninetieth year ; Mr. Crabb Eobinson retained his happy conversational powers until he had seen his ninety-first year ; and Hahnemann, the founder of the Homoeopathic School of Medicine, married when eighty years old, and was active in his profession until his ninetieth year had nearly dawned. All these were examples of what is well termed " a green old age," a term which implies health of body and activity of mind, an unimpaired judgment, an unenfeebled will, a plastic memory, and unchilled affections. To secure such a happy condition when evening shadows grow long, it is necessary that youth and early manhood should be wisely regu- lated, by which means the middle period of life is prolonged, and the constitution remains unchanged for two or three decades. It is stated of Comte do Montlosier, whose name is to be met with in the by-paths of French history and politics, that, when long past his eightieth year, his eyesight was as perfect as in youth, for he was able to read any type without glasses ; his hearing was unimpaired ; 32 MODERN METHUSELAHS. and he liaci retained every one of liis thirty-two teeth without a sign of decay. He was a man of great originality and force of character. Among other ^peculiarities, he had each wing of his house occupied by about thirty cows, with a free communication to the interior, which consequently was filled with the sweet breath of those animals, and which conduced, in the opinion of the Comte, to the health of its human inmates. Full of interest, but very painful, are those cases where the physical powers fail w^hile the mental faculties remain in full vigour, in some instances burnino- with a flame brio-hter than when the body was in strong health. Even more painful is the reverse of the picture, when darkness and decay creep over the mind — when the man "dies at the top" — while the earthly tenement appears untouched by the hand of time. Scarcely less sad are the cases where mind and body together show feebleness and decadence, and justify that dark picture which an able physiologist but crotchety man has left on record. Dr. Elliotson writes : " The intellect be- comes incapable of understanding anything new : the feelings are so blunted that spouse and children are lost without great suffering, and much of the time is now spent in sleep. Emaciation increases, and at last we are — ' Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.' In this miserable state of wreck, the powders of the brain called mind, like the powers of all other organs, are reduced to the lowest point compatible with life, and without divine assurance to INTKODUCTION- LONG-LASTlXd. 33 tlie contrary, must indicate a final extinction ; since a gradual expansion of high moral faculties might be expected the nearer our entrance into a higlier state of existence, and not a steadily increasing decline into childishness, incapacity, and absolute fatuity — dementia senilis as it is technically called — in which no evidence can be apprehended, no views conceived, and the longer life is pushed, the nearer to another world the individual arrives, the more fatuitous he grows, the more and more below the brute creation." This is no doubt a faithful por- traiture of some cases of advanced age ; it is over- drawn as regards a much larger number ; it is a caricature as applied to many thousands, for many preserve much of the glow of youth to the very entrance to the valley of death. Against this gloomy picture by Dr. Elliotson may be set the more sunlit testimony of Professor Humphry, who writes from a very extensive medical experience. He says : " I often wish Shakespeare had lived to give a brighter version of his seven stages, and to portray the old man not lean and slippered, but well favoured and booted, keen in life's interests, and happy in promoting the welfare and enjoyment of others. Even in the bed-ridden state .... all is not cheerless. The quiet coziness, the even temperature, the freedom from exposure, and the reservation of the vital oro-ans of nerve enerav and nutritive material consequent on the diminished use of the muscuh r system, contribute to prolong the lives of some feeble 34 MODERN METHUSELAHS. persons who still retain the pleasures of intellectual occupation and social intercourse, to say nothing of the enjoyment of sleep and the gratification of the appetite." Equally emphatic is Dr. Johnson's testimony, who, notwithstanding his hypochondriacal constitution, could paint a picture of life's decline without any dark shadows. In his "Vanity of Human Wishes" he writes : An age that melts with unperceived decay, And glides in modest innocence away ; Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, Whose night congratulating conscience cheers ; The general favourite as the general friend : Such age there is, and who shall wish it end 1 And a still greater poet more beautifully sings : Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die, Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh, A melancholy slave ; But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave. It has been acknowledged that Dr. Elliotson's description is unhappily not overdrawn as regards a certain number, and therefore it may be well to recognise the truth of another poet's lines, in which he tells us : We hurry to the river we must cross. And swifter downwards every footstep wends ; Happy who reach it ere they count the loss Of half their faculties and half their friends. Vital statistics have of late years shed much light upon the influence of diff"erent occupations with IXTJIODUCTION— LONG-LASTING. 83 regard to personal and national health. The wear and tear of some callings in life far exceed those of others, as ])r. Ogle's figures conclusively prove. Dealing with large averages they establish that the longest lives in this country are ecclesiastics of every name and shade. The Registrar-General takes a certain figure as the standard, and finds that the teachers of religion have a higher expectation of life than any other class, and afford more examples of exceptional length of days than any other section of society. Octogenarians abound among them, and in gradually decreasing numbers they run to and over the centenarian line, although it is singular that neither the tiara nor the mitre is represented, for no pope or bishop can be found in the roll ; some university heads of houses, and some beneficed clergymen, alone appear among the century-living divines. Perhaps it is a little rash to say no bishop, for if St. Germanus, who died in the year 734, did not actually touch his one hundredth birthday, it is nearly certain that he was within a very short period of it. The same may be said of John Leslie, Bishop of Clogher, who died in 1671. After this highly-favoured class there follow, in respective order, gardeners and nurserymen, farmers, graziers, and agricultural labourers, schoolmasters and lawyers; and, less favourable than any of these, members of the medical profession. In strange contrast with the comparative ease and safety of divines is the career of the militarv man : in addition to moral D 2 36 MODERN METHUSELAHS. dangers peculiarly besetting him, the life of the soldier is an unsettled one ; the dangers of travel have to be encountered, burning climes and tainted air can scarcely be avoided ; all the imminent risks and horrors of war must be run, in addition to the ordinary foes which ever stand in ambush to seize their prey. And yet many of the most remarkable instances of extreme and healthy old age may be found amonor the members of this class. Names are recorded of creneral after oreneral whose life's warfare was not ended until long after his ninetieth or even ninety-fifth year had been passed. Lately, in the same year, died General Sir Edward Sabine, aged ninety- five, and General George Macdonald, aged ninety- eight. Sailors do not appear to be equally privileged in regard to days long in the land. Few admirals have survived their ninety-second year, although Admiral Sir George Sartorius, who died in 1885, had numbered his ninety-five years. A general impression prevails that the scholar, pure and simple, enjoys a very extended existence. This is supposed to be particularly true of the Ger- man savant. It may be questioned if any ground exists in support of this view, for comparatively few pass much beyond their seventieth year. The life of a scholastic generally lacks exercise and variety, two elements which have an all- important bearing upon health and long life. For far too many enthusiastic students, the library and the desk have possessed seductions to which every other INTllODUCTION— LONG-LASTING. 87 attraction has been gladly sacrificed ; present hours of long uninterrupted study have proved far dearer than any remote prospect of long life. Pierre Bayle afforded an example of this over- devotion to literary pursuits. His hunger for work was so insatiable that for forty years he laboured fourteen hours daily, but paid the penalty by dying before he had reached threescore. M. Littrc, who strongly resembled M. Bayle in devotion to literary work, rose at eight o'clock, and took some task with him downstairs while his room was beinc^ arraniijed. At nine o'clock he went upstairs again, and. corrected proof sheets until breakfast time. From one o'clock until three he worked for a literary journal, and from three until six his Dictionary demanded, all his energies. At six he went down to dinner, which lasted about an hour. He confesses that he constantly violated the principle that work should not be recommenced immediately after a full meal, but he never suffered from its disreo-ard. From seven at night until three the next morning, he toiled again at his Dictionary, and then "slept at once and as soundly as man could desire." A robust constitution enabled him to number eighty years, but a far longer life would probably have been his portion had he paid more respect to hygienic laws. Many factors, it is true, enter into the question of long life, and too much stress should not therefore be laid upon any particular habit ; but, in contrast with the above cases, it is interesting to note that Leopold Von 38 MODERN METHDSELAHS. Eanke, also a scholar of untiring industry, restricted his labours to eight hours daily, and was able to continue them until he had passed his ninetieth year. One of the most admirable figures to be met with in French biography is that of Robert Joseph Pothier, a man excellent in every relationship of life from boyhood to his grave. No more diligent or inde- fatigable worker ever lived, for, in addition to the fulfilment of judicial and professional duties, his literary labours were unceasing. His " Digest of Justinian," in three volumes folio, is considered a work which might well have occupied an entire life- time ; but this is only one of his many publications. His habits were singularly unlike those of his country- man, M. Littre, for he rose every morning at four o'clock, attended early mass at the Cathedral, a habit which he maintained durins^ his whole life ; on his return home he breakfcisted ; dined at midday; supped at seven o'clock ; and retired to bed at nine. He was a great walker. Unfortunately, a fever caught when he was from home, and neglected on his return, so injured his constitution, that he did not survive his seventy-third year. Many literary workers now contend that three hours a day ought to sufiSce for mental labour, but this must surely depend upon the nature of the work ; possibly for the highest creative productions the theory may be correct. Professor Huxley asserts that the man who cannot give sixteen hours a day to intellectual exertion is not in a condition of high mental and physical health. INTRODUCTION— LONG-LASTING. 39 As the expectation of life is greater in females than in males, no surprise can be felt that some ladies, who have earned for themselves a measure of distinction, have survived to a very advanced age. Their number, in comparison with " men of mark," is of course very limited, for hitherto the theatre of their action has been circumscribed, and their almost only channel of renown has been that of authorship. Even here their number is not large, for although the late Count Leopold Ferri was a most persevering collector of the works of ladies, he suc- ceeded in gathering together only some thirty-two thousand volumes. It is siny-ular that the most remarkable instances of longevity are to be found in the case of ladies who devoted themselves to the study of physical sciences. Those who attained a high reputation for scholarship and philosophical requirements did not attain to very exceptional length of days ; Mrs. Carter did not reach her ninetieth year. As the representative of light literature, Mrs. Bray attained to ninety-two years. Any survey — however superficial that survey may be — of illustrious characters who have departed this life after a very long pilgrimage, cannot fiiil to attract notice to the fact that the most illustrious names of all countries and of all asres are not to be found in the roll-call. The world's most noble thinkers, its most distinguished authors, and its most successful workers, with scarcely an exception, find no place among those who, in addition to being otherwise eminent, 40 MODERN METHUSELAHS. have been also remarkable for " lonor-lastinfr." This conviction forced itself on the mind of Sir Humphry- Davy, who, in his " Consohitions in Travel," remarks: " As human powers are limited, there are few examples of any distinguished men living in this country to old age ; they usually fail, droop, and die before they have attained the period naturally marked for the end of human existence. The lives of our statesmen, warriors, poets, and even philosophers, offer abundant proofs of the truth of this opinion ; whatever burns, consumes — ashes remain." The life of this distin- guished man ran little over half a century, and if, as in the above quotation, we confine ourselves to the immortal writers of our own country, we shall look in vain for Chaucer, Spenser, Sydney, Shakespeare, and Ben Jonson ; for .Raleigh, Bacon, Taylor, Browne, and Milton ; for Dryden, Pope, Thomson, and Gray ; for Locke, Swift, and Johnson ; for Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne ; for Goldsmith, Cowper, and Burns ; for Hume, Gibbon, and Burke ; for Coleridge, Southey, Byron, Campbell, Scott, Lamb, and Moore. All were numbered with the de|)arted before their three- score years and ten were reached ; some of them had fallen when little more than half that age had been attained. There is no escape from the melancholy fact that, while men of very con- siderable attainment and reputation may be found in the list of those whose days were long in the land, men of genius are virtually unrepresented ; the sword wears out the scabbard ; the soul of fire con- INTRODUCTION— LONG. LASTINO. 41 siimos the vessel in which it burns. Tlius Georgia Herbert said of himself, he " had a wit like a pen- knife in a narrow sheath, too sharp for his body." As a matter of interest, a brief notice may be given to Dr. Millegen's tables, from which he inferred that moral philosophers, sculptors, and painters have a more certain expectation of life than any other classes, for their average extends to seventy years ; philologists reach sixty-six ; novelists, dramatists, and miscellaneous authors attain to sixty-two, while poets do not exceed fifty-seven years. These conclusions were reached by casting up the united ages of twenty distinsfuished members of each class, and so strikioo; the average. Medical science teaches that a principal factor in bringing on old age is the progressive hardening of the tissues of the body ; increased density of the different textures ; anything which tends to retard or remove this stiffening, is therefore one chief mean to the prolongation of active life. There is great proba- bility that calcareous water, or water holding in solution other mineral ingredients, plays a decided part in the change of tissues in question ; hence the exclusive use of distilled water has been earnestly recommended. But vain would be the effort to review all the methods which have been suggested to counteract the usual ravages of time. Many have been the bootless researches to discover an elixir of life ; surpassingly strange are the compounds which have, from time to time, been prescribed for its composition. 42 MODERN ilETHUSELAHS. Roger Bacon prepared an elixir of gold, coral, vipers, rosemary, lignum aloes, and some other mysterious in- gredients which, must have made a beverage more likely to destroy life than to prolong it indefinitely. His distinguished namesake believed in the virtue of opiates and nitre. Elias Ashmole, a doctor of physic of Oxford, and founder of the Ashmolean ]\luseum in that citv, states that "havinor the ao;ue, I took early in the morning a good dose of elixir, and hung three spiders about my neck, and they drove my ague away " ! Confections of various kinds have been invented, but, like the Friar's just named, they savour strongly of the age of alchemy, astrology, and witchcraft. Only those who retain a faith in these worn-out delusions could place confidence in such nostrums. An elixir of his own discovery is said to have kept Dr. Jermitz in good mental and bodily preservation unto his one hundred and fourth year. Simple bread and water did as much for St. Anthony. Many more modern theories as to how old age may be retarded, or rejuvenescence efi'ected, have been given to the world. Among them is the assurance that constant association with the young has magic power, and is of still greater efficacy if the breath of children be constantly inhaled by the aged ; it serves as fuel to revive their dying embers. The transference of the blood of the young to the veins of the worn-out, would work still more potent wonders. Be this as it may, George Macdonald's words are worthy of regard : " When we are out INTRODUCTION— LONG.LASTING. 48 of synipiitliy with the young, tlieii 1 tiiiuk our work ill the world is over. That is a sign that the heart has bofjuu to wither — and that is a dreadful kind of old age." A short time ago a Rejuvenescent Sanatorium was projected, to l)c established in some liealthy suburb of London, and to carry out practically all physiological aids by which those whose years were many, and of whose persons time had made havoc, might be ground young again, while those whose flying 3'ears would soon naturally place them in the same category, might have old age, or at least its ravages arrested, and be long preserved from decav. Could such success be ensured, what a marvellous popularity would the institution command ! A society of the kind is said to have a flourishing existence in the United States, and to number many thousands of members. Quackery set aside, however, the important ques- tion may fliirly be considered, how far any means can be adopted, of a legitimate nature, whereby the long and healthy lasting of mind and body may be promoted. Any attempt to answer such an inquiry would be entirely out of place in these pages. Health literature abounds ; many distin- guished medical men and sanitarians have published manuals full of practical advice, the result of scien- tific investigations and personal observations. But it must be remembered that any eft'ort to make old age healthy and happy, must have its commence- ment in early life. It must also be remembered that 44 MODERN METHUSELAES. there is as much unwisdom in a too careful attention to one's bodily condition, as there is in an utter disregard of the priceless boon of health. Due at- tention to broad hygienic principles, without undue anxiety as to their detailed application, is more likely to ward off mischief and disease than is a constant fussiness on the subject. To live by any set of cut-and-dried rules is impossible in the case of the majority of mankind, and happily it is not necessary. A Dr. W. W. Hall has compiled one thousand and ibrty-eight " Maxims for the Preservation of Physical, Moral, and Mental Health." Who could possibly regu- late his life by such a chain of hard-and-fiist rules ? Professor Hoffman, a most able physiologist, lays down a very few simple precepts, some of them within the power of every one to observe. They are, substan- tially, avoid excess in everything, respect old habits — even bad ones — breathe pure air, adapt the nourish- ment to the temperament, avoid drugs and doctors, have an easy conscience, a merry heart, and a con- tented mind. It would not be easy to over-estimate the Professor's three last-named admonitions ; they may be considered exceeding great helps to " long- lasting." But they should be discriminated from that callous disposition which one able writer on longevity asserts is consistent with his own medical observations, that those who enjoy a healthy ad- vanced old age are generally characterised by apathetic feelings ; they placidly bear life's disap- pointments and bereavements ; they are not easily INTUODCCTION-LONG-LASTIN'G. 45 ruflBed in temper ; they know neither excess of grief nor of joy. E;ich one must jnclge for himself how far lengtli of clays is worth sucli a price. A " grave, tideless-blooded, calm, and cool " condition of life is far from conferring on man his highest possible share of happiness ; it may, moreover, be questioned whether a wide experience of very aged people would justify the view of the writer in question. Certainly it is not supported by the examples of long life which the following pages consider ; neither does a wider range of eminent men of very advanced age appear to favour it. Take Mr. Savafje Landor for an in- stance ; his excitability and pugnacity have rarely been equalled, yet he retained mind and body in wonderful vis^our far into his ninth decade. Hofifman might have included bodily cleanliness in his rules. An English writer could scarcely have omitted it, for there is scarcely a more certain way of escaping disease and of enjoying high health than in keeping a well-washed and thoroughly frictionised skin, covered with garments as pure as. the condition of life will possibly allow. An eminent English surgeon would insist upon the gradual diminution of food and drink as old age advances. Instead of the physical frame and brain tissues requiring an increase of nourishment as life declines, Sir Henry Thompson contends that they require less ; bodily activity is diminished, digestion is enfeebled, assimi- lation is less perfect, the brain is less active. A smaller allowance, therefore, of solids and fluids. 46 MODERN METHUSELAHS. woiil«] generally be conducive to the comfort and well-being of those whose lamp of life burns low in its socket, as Cornaro's experience proved. But this must be, after all, very much a matter of individual constitution ; the same rule, however generally wholesome, can never safely be applied to every one. Sir Henry Thompson goes so far as to suggest that the high perfection to which mechanical dentistry has been brought, may work unfavourably for the aged, inasmuch as artificial grinders may induce them to eat too much. Sir Richard Owen, on the other hand, considers it calculated to extend the term of life of the aged, because dental helps enable them to masticate their food, and therefore to digest and assimilate it. Lord Lyndhurst attributed much of the health and comfort of his last days to the art of the dentist, and Lord Brougham is under- stood to have given expression to the conviction that he had reaped great benefit from the employment of artificial teeth. Both were noble examples of well-preserved nonagenarians, alike physically and mentally. Many eminent medical men have expressed their high opinion of the value of real personal religion as an agent for the preservation of the health, and the prolongation of the life of those who are truly influenced by its principles. An exceedingly able French physicist, himself a sceptic, has fully endorsed this view. A firm belief in the doctrines of Chris- tianity has, independently of everything else, a thera- INTRODUCTION— LONG-LASTING. 47 peutic value ; the liealcr's art is greatly aided where his patient is iiiuU'i- their influence. One of England's most noble bards, whose years are many, but whose heart and intellect are still young, beautifully sings : Grow old along with me ! The best is yet to be, Tlic last of life, for "which the first was made : Our times are in His haml Who saith : '* A whole I planned, Youth shows but half ; trust God, see all, nor be afraid." Robert Browning. From the banquet of life rise a satisfied guest. Thank the Lord of the feast, and in hope go to rest. Dr. J. Aiken. CHAPTER II. ST. ANTHONY THE GREAT. Hither, and with one accord, Sing the servants of the Lord : Sing each great ascetic sire ; Anthony shall lead the choir. Let Euthymius next him stand, Then, in order, all the band. [Translated hy the Rev. Dr. Neale from the Greek of St. Tlieophancs, of the 8th century, for the Commemoration Bay of All Holy Ascetics. Pilgrim of heaven ! thou hast no home on earth. Thou art journeying onward " to a house not made with hands ; " and, like the first apostles of thy faith, thou takest neither gold, nor silver, nor hrass, nor scrip for thy journey. Thou hast shut thy heart to the endearments of earthly love, thy shoulder beareth not the burden with thy fellow-man Thou standest aloof from man— and art thou nearer God] I know not. Thy motives, thy intentions, thy desires, are registered in heaven. I am thy fellow- man, and not thy judge. II. AV. Longfellow. There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them ; and there have been holy men, "Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. ^X. C. Bryant. According to tlie usual divisions of history, St. Anthony can scarcely be included among modern ST. A XT II OX V THE GKEAT. 49 Metliuselahs ; lie ln-loni:;.-^, liowcver, to tlic Cliristiaii era, and he bus claims for consideration in these pages which cannot be overlooked. Not only did he attain to a remarkable old age, but he lived a remarkable life, he did a remarkable work, and he left behind him, all things considered, some remark- able literary productions.* In the English calendar he has his day on the 17th of January, but pro- bably few general readers know anything more about him than that he has given his name to the very painful and frequently dangerous disease known as erysipelas, or St. Anthony's fire, or the holy fire. His name is also associated with that animal whicli Jew and Mohammedan alike abhor as unclean, and the village vulgarism of " Tantony pig" is derived from a tradition of this saint. Those who are acquainted with Art will remember that painters have largely availed themselves of St. Anthony's encounters with the Evil One for their ecclesiastical compositions. They generally represent the hermit * The life of St, Anthony is of deep interest on another account. The study of Cicero and Plato, the teachings of St. Ambrose, and the Epistles of St. Paul, had done much to lead Augustine, the future Bishop of Hippo, from a life of vanity and pleasure, darkened by mental doubt and unrest, to a longing for truth and holiness of life. Self-indulgence and irresolution conquered these nobler aspirations, until through Politanius, an old African acquaintance and an officer of rank, he became acquainted with the narrative of St. Anthony, from which time his Avhole course of life was changed, and he became the most powerful uninspired teacher of Christianity the world has ever seen. 50 MODERN METHUSELAHS. with a fire by his side, to signify his power to relieve the irritating inflammation of the disease to which reference has been made, and he is also frequently depicted with a hog for his companion, having cured, it is stated, an analogous disease in that animal ; and therefore, to the present day, in some Roman Catholic countries, a pig is kept at common charges in honour of the healer, after whom it is termed St. Anthony's hog. St. Abbas Antonius, otherwise St. Antony, or St. Anthony, either of the two last-named being most familiar in this country, is acknowledged to be the founder of monastic institutions, and has always been regarded as "a model for monks." Such was the testimony borne to him by St. Athanasius, who knew him well, who has written his memoir, and who was strongly disposed to follow his example. In St. Anthony, the patriarch of the monks, was exhibited the highest and truest type of the eremitic life ; he was born at Coma, near Heraclea, on the borders of Upper Egypt, 2.51 a.d. His parents were noble and rich ; they were also Christians, and gave to their two children — a son and daughter — a careful training and the example of a pious life. They died compara- tively young, however, leaving all their property to the son, but partly, it may be gathered, as trustee for his sister. He appears to have manifested from childhood a disinclination to study, to have been equally indifi"erent to all boyish games, but followed in the footsteps of his parents, who, to preserve him ST, ANTHONY TIIK OIIKAT. 61 from bad examples ami vicious conversation, kept liiin as much as possible to the home circle. Strictly religious from bis youth, as years advanced he became increasingly zealous in the promotion of Christian principles, and soon gave the following practical illustration of the influence which they exerted over his own soul. Six months after the death of his parents, when he was about eighteen years of age, he heard read in church the words of Christ : " If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and. give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven." The following day he heard the text announced : *' Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow" shall take thouQ-ht for the thinsfs of itself: sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." These sayings of the Master whom he professed to serve made a deep impression upon his heart ; he accepted them in their literal severity ; he lost no time in fully carrying out the injunctions which he understood them to convey. Accordingly he disposed of his whole property, " three hundred plough-lands, fertile and very fair, with all his movables," and distributed it among the poor, reserving only a maintenance for his sister, whom he consigned to the care of some devout woman — in a house of holy virgins, it is stated — which is the first glance given in history of a nunnery. Nothing more is recorded of this sister than that she was ultimately the superior of a nunnery, and that when she was very aged her brother paid her a visit. E 2 52 MODERN METHUSELA.HS. Anchorite cells were very rare at this time in Egypt, but here and there a solitary monk could be found, although never very far from human habita- tions. In a lonely spot near Coma an old hermit was known to exist, whose example moved the soul of Anthony to the same self-devotion. For this purpose he sought out a secluded retreat near Heraclea, where he could surrender himself to a course of severe discipline, to prayer, to the study of the Scriptures, and to rigorous self-examination. It has been well observed that the spiritual intensity of the Christian life found an emphatic, however defective, expression in the flight from a society demoralised to the heart's core, corrupt beyond all modern conception. A poet of the present day may easily sing : We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, Our neighbour and our work fareweli, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky, but such lines afford no adequate estimate of the times and circumstances under which eremitic life arose, and which made it an almost imperative neces- sity for certain spiritual constitutions to flee from the evils which they could not cure, but to which they might perchance succumb. His hand once put to the plough, there was no inclination on the part of Anthony to look back. After some experience of his first cell, he seems to have found himself too near to his fellow-men to fully satisfy his sense of withdrawal from the world ; he ST. ANTUONV TlIK (illKAT. 53 therefore sought out a more solitary asylum among the toml)s of the Catacombs, and this alibrded him a retreat until his thirty-fifth year. After this he retired still further into the desorl, taking up his abode in the ruins of a forsaken castle on a mountain. Plere he continued for twenty years, frequently shut up for months at a time, his privacy being secured by a great stone at the entrance of his cell. His diet consisted of bread brought to him once every six mouths — the bread of the country fortu- nately remained sweet for a great length of time — and a little salt, while water formed his only beverage. At intervals he issued forth to instruct the multitudes who flocked to see and hear him, for his fame had widely spread ; his example had proved infectious, and had attracted crowds of devotees, whom he collected together in monasteries, and regulated their mode of living by fixed rules. His first institution of the kind was founded at Phaium, when he was fifty-five years old. During the persecutions against the Christians which arose under Maximinus, Anthony quitted the solitude so dear to him in order to encourage the sufierers at Alexandria by his presence and exhorta- tions. He would gladly, it is believed, have welcomed the martyr's crown for his own head, although he was judicious enough not wilfully to provoke death. As, however, the presence of monks at the trials of Christians was strictly forbidden, because tending to encourage them in their disobedience to the Emperor's edict, Anthony's public appearance must have been 54 MODERN METHUSELAHS. fraught with danger, and reveals at least the courage of the man, as his being allowed to remain unmolested is a proof of the reverence in which he was held. Canon Bright presents his readers, in his able sketch of the life of St. Athanasius, with a charming picture of the now venerable St. Anthony. He writes : " The old hermit's energetic Christian zeal, his practical sense and sober-mindedness, not unmixed with humour, even the outward charm of a face that never lost its bright tranquillity, and that must have seemed especially radiant when, in the last days of persecu- tion, he stood, conspicuous by his white cloak, newly washed, in the very path of the Prefect of Alexandria." As soon as the storm of persecution had blown over, Anthony returned to solitude ; but not to his old cell, on account of the large increase of followers who had gathered around it. A spot of complete isolation, deep in the desert, was fixed upon, near the Eed Sea ; his cell was a cave in the side of a mountain, with a supply of cool water near it, and a few palm-trees beside it. In order to save his disciples the trouble of bringing him food, he cultivated with his own hands a small field of wheat, of which to make his bread, and a few vegetables ; he is said to have also taken to mat-making, by the instructions of an angel. Crowds, however, still followed him; gradually the whole desert was thronged with monasteries, the number of the brethren being computed, at the time of the saint's death, at fifteen thousand. From time to time he visited or wrote to his former disciples- ST. ANTIMiNY THE GUKAT. 56 in the 'I'lK'l)ai(l, and directed all their institutions ; but he always declined to preside over any one of them. AVlien very aged, considerably over a century, Anthony again visited Alexandria, at the earnest request of St. Athanasius, to utter his protest against Arianism, which he considered to be little better than heathenism itself. Large crowds everywhere followed him, hailing him as " the man of God ; " he was, however, impatient to return to the more congenial life of the recluse, althouo;h no longer strictly entitled to the character of hermit, for from his ninetieth year two chosen disciples had ministered to his wants, and were present with him at the time of his death. He expired, they stated, with evident marks of cheerfulness on his countenance, and in his last moments fancy saw and welcomed the appearance of friends. He had always expressed a disinclination for his body to be embalmed, which was then still the custom in Egypt, and left particular instructions that he should be interred. His wishes were complied with by his two faithful attendants, who kept secret the place of his sepulture ; but probably only for a time, as the remains of the Saint w^ere transferred to Alexandria in 361 a.d., five years after his death; after a century of repose there they were removed to Constantinople ; and at the end of the tenth century they were finally deposited in a Benedictine Priory at Montmajor, near Vienne, in France. All he had to bequeath were his hair sheet, which had lasted him his lifetime, two w^oollen tunics, and the rough cloak 56 MODERN METHUSELAHS. on wliicli he slept ; these were all the worldly goods of which he could boast during his eighty-seven years of wilderness seclusion. Unquestionably his mode of life w^as very rough. His austerities were severe, lifelong, and in many respects presumably destructive of health, yet he attained to the remarkable age of one hundred and five years. He lived this long existence without sickness ; to the very end he was physically robust ; his eyesight was unimpaired ; none of his teeth were loosened or lost, although they were somewhat worn ; he was in full possession of all his mental faculties. These facts make his life an interesting study, apart from the peculiar work for which his memory is par- ticularly cherished. As Epicurus fed "sweetly upon bread and water, those sweet and easy provisions of the body," so St. Anthony, for by far the larger portion of his life, contented himself with the same spare diet, his usual meal being six ounces of bread soaked in water. This was taken only once a day, at sunset, and he would frequently rigidly fast for three or four days at a time. As old age crept on he added occasionally to his bread and water a little vegetable food and a few dates ; towards the end of his pil- grimage he partook of a little oil. He was as sparing of his sleep as of his food, for the greater part of each night was spent in prayer, meditation, and frequently in conflicts with evil spirits. Unless he has been very much misrepresented, he was as sparing of his ablu- tions as of his food and sleep, for it is stated that an ST. ANTirONV Till': CHEAT. 57 occasional wadino^ tlirouujli a river, from which there was no escape, allonlcd him the only washing lie ever received. In common with the greater number of centenarians, he was of low stature, but far from insignificant in appearance, for there was a something about him which always attracted attention, especially his brisfht cheerfulness of look and manner. There O was an entire absence of anything which denoted a wild man of the woods. It must be assumed that he was born with a singularly robust constitution, which was never abused by vicious indulgences or youthful excesses. The life to which he consecrated himself left him free from the perturbing anxieties which aftect the seeker after wealth or honours. Property he had fully renounced ; ambition he had none ; even the student's application to study had no hold upon his mind. That St. Anthony was neither a scholar nor even a highly-educated man may be taken for granted ; that he was so ignorant as to be unable to read may be regarded as utterly without truth. When it is asserted that he did not know the letters of the alphabet, reference to the Greek language must be intended, for that he could both read and write Coptic seems to be clearly established. It has been well observed that, if he read little, he must have thought much ; and he himself claimed Nature for his book. His " Seven Epistles to Certain Eastern Monas- teries " are considered to abound in pregnant thoughts and sound practical observations. They were written 58 MODERX METHUSELAHS. in Coptic, were translated into Greek, and are still extant in a Latin version. Accordino: to Mosheim, there are also extant the Saint's " Monastic Rules," his " Eemarks on Cases of Conscience," and about twenty Discourses. These were published in a Latin translation from the Arabic, in 1646, at Rome. Father Butler asserts that there is no mention made in ancient authorities of the existence of the "Monastic Rules." St. Anthony's influence was great at the Court of the Emperor Constantiue, who wrote to him as to a father ; and when St. Athanasius was contending with the Meletians, the aged hermit wrote to the Emperor on behalf of his friend. He also wrote boldly to Balacius, Sub-prefect of Alexandria, who was a par- tisan of the Arians, and remonstrated with him against the persecution of the orthodox. The sudden death of Balacius, soon after, was considered a judg- ment for his disregard of the saint's appeal. His sympathies were always aroused at the cry of dis- tress ; often the only means to obtain an interview with him was to claim his intervention for some one in trouble. Gentle, bright, and affable to every one else, he was severe and repulsive to heretics, refusing to hold even a moment's intercourse with them, unless they came as truth-seekers. Efforts were repeatedly made by persons of rank to draw the hermit from his- seclusion, but to every attempt he replied : "As a fish dies out of water, so would a monk die out of his cell." Although venerated as a saint, and possessed of almost unlimited influence, he never entrenched ST. ANTHONY THE GREAT. 59 upon tlie priestly oIKce, or undertook an\' of its functions, wliile he was always careful to show honour to those in holy orders, and paid studious deference to the youngest deacon. This fact alone would go far to prove that the discretion which he insisted on as a necessary accompaniment to an austere life was not lackinrj in his own case, for he migrht well have been tempted to pride and arrogancy, as he met with much well calculated to feed vanity. On his visit to Alexandria, all the city turned out to see him ; pagans crowded to touch him, many of whom he converted to the Christian faith ; and he ably refuted the heathen philosophers who endeavoured to perplex him, for he clearly manifested the superiority of the Christian religion. Any thoughtful consideration of St. Anthony's life will furnish a key touching his conflict with evil spirits, to which reference has already been made. His long and complete isolation from his fellow-men ; his solitary days and nights in the depths of the desert, shut up with his own soul in a narrow cell ; his thouo'hts turned inwards at times on his own o spiritual condition, and then outward upon the vanity and wickedness of the world upon which he had so resolutely turned his back ; his meditations upon life and death, heaven and hell ; all this may well entitle it to be said of him : He bore by day, he bore by night The pressure of God's infinite Upon his finite soul. 60 MODERN METHUSELAHS. And the result need be no matter of surprise. Delu- sions appear to have darkened his intellect at times, and reduced him to a condition in which he was unable to distinguish phantom from reality, ttie things of the spirit from the things of the flesh. His firm faith in the personality and malignity of the devil and his angels, naturally distorted itself into the conviction that they frequently manifested themselves to him, and engaged him in actual and deadly war- fare. They began this contest at the commencement of his ascetic life, and intensified the horrible nature and frequency of their attacks as his firmness of purpose was more clearly established. Once he was found nearly dead from the chastisements inflicted on him by these demon assailants ; the noise of his terrible conflicts with them was heard at times by all who passed near his cell. St. Athanasius asserts that the holy hermit has drawn in one place a particularly striking contrast between the uproar of these demons, and the awful stillness of the destroying angel who hovered by night over the doomed hosts of Senna- cherib. No relief was gained from St. Anthony's difl'erent abodes ; wherever he went temptations followed him, and devils beset him ; they assumed all manner of frightful and grotesque shapes ; they filled his ears with obscene words, and caused sensual enticements to dance before his eyes. Yet, for a length of time, he possessed a special power of exorcising demons from others. The only efibctual instrument for this purpose was the Cross, and ST. A NT HOW TUK fJIlEAT. C,\ Salvator Rosa, in liis famous painting of St. Anthony's conflict witli the devil, represents the saint in tlie act of raisini^ tlie Cross as the certain means of putting him to llight. Lookiiif*: at the wliole character of tliis ancient anchorite, charity seems to demand tliat liis pre- tensions to miraculous powers should be referred to a state of mental delusion rather than to an attempt at gross imposition. For twenty years he is said to have resisted wonder-working endowments, but had at length reluctantly to receive and practise them.* Dr. Milner states that St. Anthony en- deavoured to make the world believe that he existed without food, but which he really took by stealth. The historian gives no authority for the accusation, and as he had to acknowledge that, as his history progressed, he saw reasons for taking a more favourable view of the saint's character than he did in some earlier pages of his work, it may be hoped that prejudice made him misconstrue some * Xo serviceable purpose Avould be answered by giving an account of the various miracles which tlie holy recluse wrought for so many years. If any reader is curious on the subject, he can find in Canon Kingsley's " Hermits " a fair sample of them trans- lated from St. Athanasius. In the Canon's section on "The Natural History of Prodigies," he will find as much, perhaps, as it is possible to say on that point. Intense spiritual enthusiasm on the one side, and a blind, superstitious credulity on the other, marked the respective parties to these miracles. In all probability each side was equally deceived, except so far as " faith-healing "' was concerned, which was then, as now, in certain forms of nervous disorders an unquestionable possibility. 62 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. incident of bis life, such as that related by St, Athanasius, that his intense realisation of the supe- riority of the soul over the body, made him reluctant for others to see him eat. The accusation, if true, would have been strangely inconsistent with his method of stern self-examination, and with the habit which he recommended of keeping a diary of the most secret thoughts of the heart. Famous in life, a still wider fame fell to his lot after his death, and his example had an incalculable influence upon the Christians of the East, in par- ticular, to adopt the monastic life. There was much evil and little good mixed up with this passion for an anchorite existence ; to gratify a feverish craving to become holy monks and sacred virgins, husbands deserted their wives and wives their husbands, and servants forsook their masters, bringing about a condition injurious to Church and State. St. An- thony's fame did not expire with the generation which had known him. A century after his death he began to be venerated as a saint by the Greek, and in the ninth century by the Latin Church, and he still retains a conspicuous place in the regard of each. At Rome there is a church dedicated to St. Anthony ; it contains some curious old frescoes, where are depicted the temptations which he en- countered. On his commemoration day there takes place the annual benediction of beasts ; they are blessed and sprinkled with holy water, and are then considered under the saint's special protection for ST. ANTHONY TIFK HREAT. (33 tliG ensuiiiir twelve nK^utlis, There is also at Rome, in the Borgliese Palace, a painting in whicli tlie saint is represented in the act of preaching to the fishes, whose eyes are riveted upon him, and whom he dis- misses with his blessing. In the year 1095 a religions Order was founded in France, called the Order of St. Anthony, the members of which undertook the charge of persons afflicted with erysipelas, a disease which raged violently in various parts of that country at that time. Allusion has already been made to the re- moval of the saint's body to Montmajor, near Vienne, where the monks built a cell, and where persons suffering from the holy fire resorted in the hope of being healed through the saint's influence. Among other victims, particular mention is made of Gaston, a rich nobleman of Vienne, and of his son Guerin, both of whom visited the cell and experienced a complete restoration to health. In gratitude for this mercy they dedicated themselves and all their property to St. Anthony, who had, they believed, wrought their cures ; they therefore spent their lives in works of kindness to those afflicted with the same malady, and in extending help to the sick and indigent generally. No Life of St. Anthony, however brief, can well omit to mention St. Paul, the hermit of Alexandria, with whom he was miraculously brought in contact. A Life of St. Paul was compiled by St. Jerome, but is so full of statements clearly legendary in their 64 MODERN METHUSELAHS. character that Neander questioned whether any such saint ever had an existence. Those who believe in him award him the honour of being the first Christian recluse, and claim for him the long term of ninety years' entire isolation from his fellow- men, for he fled to the wilderness in his twenty-second year, and he had exceeded his century of existence by more than twelve years before death's summons reached him. He was born twenty-three years before St. Anthony, and lost both his parents when only fifteen; he was left, however, with an ample provision, received a learned education, and attained to great proficiency in Greek and Egyptian scholarship. He was also an open professor of Christianity, which compelled him, during the persecution under Decius, to conceal him- self in the house of a friend. Bat hearing that a brother-in-law, in the expectation of obtaining his estate, w^as on the eve of betraying him, he fled to the desert, with the intention of hiding until the persecution had passed away. When that time had arrived, and he could have returned to social life in safety, the inclination had left him ; the holy solitude, the delights of heavenly contemplation, and the spiritual benefits of penance, irresistibly impelled him to eschew all earthly aff"airs, and to remember the outside world as only a subject of earnest prayer. He chose for his cell a cave near a palm-tree and a clear spring of water. On the fruit of the tree he lived until his forty-third year, from which time until his death a raven brought him half a loaf daily. ST. ANTHONY TlIK (iRKAT. C5 The day od w]ii(;li St. Paul IIlmI to the desert was tlie very day of St. Anthony's birth. Ninety years after, the latter saint became tempted to vanity ; he considered that no one had served God in the wilder- ness for the length of time he had, and tliat he was the first example of so stern and consistent a recluse. This pride had to be humbled ; a miraculous intima- tion was therefore conveyed to him that a more perfect solitary than himself had lived a still longer time in his hermit cell, and a command was conveyed that lie should immediately start in search of him. He at once obeyed, but strange shapes confronted liim in the way ; before him appeared centaurs — half man and half horse — and satyrs danced about him, but on his making the sign of the cross they all disappeared. xVfter two days and a night spent in the quest, St. Anthony found the cell of the ascetic by perceiving rays of light issue from it ; he knocked, the door was instantly opened by the holy inmate, who called Anthony by name, embraced him, and then fell into conversation with him, being particu- larly anxious to know if idolatry still reigned in the world. At this point a raven appeared, and droj^ped before them a whole loaf of bread, upon which the elder recluse remarked that their good God had sent them a dinner, having doubled the quantity hitherto provided. The \vhole night was spent in prayer. The followiusj mornino- St. Paul told his sfuest that the hour of his death approached, and that he 66 MODERN METHUSELAHS. had been sent by God to bury him ; he requested Anthony to go back to fetch a cloak which he had given him, who, hurrying to return, saw" his happy soul carried up to heaven, attended by choirs of angels, prophets, and apostles. Going into the cell he found the body of St. Paul in a kneeling attitude ; he carried it forth wdth the intention of burying it, but was perplexed as to how he was to dig a grave, having no appliances for the purpose. Two lions overcame the difficulty ; they quietly walked up to the living and dead saints, and then proceeded to scratch up a quantity of earth with their paws, making a suffi- cient excavation for the interment of the corpse. St. Paul died in the year of our Lord 342, in the hundred and thirteenth year of his age, and the ninetieth of his solitude. The last rites over, St. Anthony returned to his own cell, carrying with him his deceased friend's garment of palm-leaves patched together, in which he always afterwards appeared on grand festivals. It is distinctly recorded of St. Anthony that he visited all the famous ascetics which were reported to him, in order to ascertain the distinctive virtues of each, that he might combine them all in his own practice. If, therefore, such an aged and a holy hermit as St. Paul had been brought under his notice, he would no doubt have sought him out ; putting aside the miracles of the story, and granting that St. Paul had a real existence, the meeting of the two ancient eremites may be regarded as extremely ST. ANTITONV TIM-; ORKAT. 67 probable, and would allord an artist no bad subject for an easel picture. In one of Latimer's sermons another anecdote, taken from St. Athanasius, is told of St. Anthony; *'a pretty story," the good old Bishop calls it, for he had small respect for the useless life of a hermit. A voice came from heaven, saying : " Anthony, thou art not so perfect as is a cobbler that dvvelleth at Alexandria." The old saint immediately set out for the city, found the cobbler, and questioned him of his whole conversation, and how he spent his time. " Sir," said the poor man, " as for me, good works iiavc I none, for my life is but simple and slender ; I am but a poor cobbler : in the morning when I rise, I pray for the whole city wherein I dwell, especially for all such neighbours and poor friends as I have : after, I set me at my labour, where I spend the whole day in getting my living, and I keep me from all falsehood, for I hate nothing so much as I do deceitfulness ; wherefore, when I make any man a promise, I keep it, and perform it truly ; and thus I spend my time poorly, with my w^ife and children, whom I teach and instruct, as far as my wit will serve me, to fear and dread God. And this is the sum of my simple life." There exists an original sketch by Titian of St. Anthony granting speech to an infant, in order that it might testify to the innocency of its mother. Competent judges pronounce this study to be a very beautiful production. F 2 CHAPTER III. JOA?s^NES CAKTACUZENUS, EMPEROE OF THE EAST. Kebel though he was, Yet with a noble nature and great gifts "Was he endowed — courage^ discretion, wit, An equal temper, and an ample soul. ****** So prompt and capable, and yet so calm, He nothing lacked in sovereignty but the right, I^othing in soldiership except good fortune. Sir Henry Taylor. The character which the author of " Philip Van Artevelde " ascribes to that hero, as given in the motto to this chapter, is remarkably applicable to the rebel emperor whose career is now to be briefly traced. Gibbon tells his readers that the name of Cantacuzenus may " well inspire the most lively curiosity." Each of the two epochs of his life excites interest and sympathy : as a statesman, warrior, and crowned ruler of men, he played a conspicuous and distinguished part ; retired to the cell of a monk, he wrote valiantly for what he considered to be truth, added new chapters to early history. JOANNES CANTACUZEXUS, EMl'EROR 01' THE EAST. CM and left a name enrolled among the world's energetic thinkers and eloquent authors. Whether he really attained to his centennial birthday is a little un- certain, for the exact date of his birth is unknown ; the historical evidence is, however, sufficient to prove that he must have reached the very fringe of a century before his eventful life closed. It is not certain but that he died the oldest eminent man on record since the days of ]\Ioses. Although not absolutely of royal blood, Canta- cuzenus came of a highly distinguished family, some of whose members stood in very near relationship to the royal line. Mention is made of an ancestor who, in 1107, commanded the Greek fleet; one of his immediate descendants married the niece of the Emperor Manuel, and was killed in action against the Turks about 1174. Other members of the family appear on the page of history, and sufficiently attest the influential position to which it had attained. The father of the subject of the present sketch was Governor of the Peloponnesus, but died at the early age of thirty, leaving a widow with one daughter and two sons, the elder being Joannes, who early wrought out a name for himself in letters, arms, and statecraft. These qualifications naturally gained for him an exalted position at the Court of the elder Andronicus, by whom he was made, in 1320, Grand Domestic, one of the highest offices which could be given to a subject. The violent death of Michael, who shared with his father the 70 MODERN METHUSELAHS. imperial purple, made the grandson heir to the throne, a position at all times full of temptation, and especially such in the age and the land in which his lot was cast. A spoiled childhood soon developed into vicious youth and early manhood, not unstained by terrible crimes. Such a career lost him the affections of his grandfather, who transferred them to another grand- son, whom he intended to make heir to his dominions; this aroused the anger of the younger Andronicus, and in time the unhappy differences deepened from mere disputes to open defiance and rebellion. The grandson filled the palace with his armed followers, while the capital, clergy, and senate remained faithful to the aged grandfather. Cantacuzenus is accursed of having connived at the vices of the former, to have sided with him in his undutiful opposition, and to have been, by his zeal and ability, the very soul of his revolutionary action. On the other hand, it is distinctly stated that the Grand Domestic was op- posed to the harsh measures by which the emperor's life was so embittered that, after having resigned in favour of his grandson, he was glad to exchange the palace, which he still shared, for the cell of a monk, and the imperial purple, which he was still allowed to wear, for the coarse garments of the Order upon which he threw himself. Thus, after seven years of civil turmoil, the grandson was left, in 1328, in sole possession of the throne. Cantacuzenus was immediately entrusted with the JOANNKS CANTACL'ZEXUS, EMl'EROU OF THE EAST. 71 supreme administration of the affairs of the empire, in which he acquitted himself witli a prudence, an ability, and an energy which called forth the approbation of his sovereign, his Court, and his people generally. Masterly in measures, spotless in honour, he upheld the tottering State both in peace and in war ; he re- united Lesbos and Anatolia to the empire; he negotiated a treaty by which the constant piracies of the Genoese in the Archipelago were to cease. In an age of un- blushing corruption and of foul crimes, he was pure from malversations and free from violence, setting a noble example to all beneath him. Whatever natural abilities were possessed by the youthful emperor — and they were many — he managed to render them useless by carelessness, and gradually to destroy them by vicious pleasures ; he had, however, the sagacity to perceive his own inadequacy to govern alone, and to feel the value of a Minister who could hold the reins so firmly for him. Accordingly, in 1329, he proposed that his Grand Domestic should be associated with him as joint occupant of the imperial throne, such a dual monarchy having had many precedents. This arrangement did not commend itself to the mind of Cantacuzenus ; he therefore declined the honour, but retained the favour of the emperor, and con- tinued to hold his influential position as the second power in the realm. Death was, however, at hand to change the form of oovernment. Andronicus had grown old before his time ; the excesses of youth had accelerated the infirmities of age, and before he had 73 MODERN METHUSELAHS. reached liis forty -fifth year his throne became vacant. He left a signal proof of his confidence in the ability and fidelity of his Grand Domestic, for he entrusted him with the guardianship of his infant son, and with the mission to govern the empire under the regency of Anne of Savoy, the empress-mother. Jean Palseologus, the child emperor, was only nine years old ; Cantacuzeniis accepted the double trust confided to him, and set himself faithfully to discharge its duties. Nor does the whole tenour of his life warrant any other belief than that he was naturally inclined to loyalty to the throne, and wished for the happiness of its subjects. His desire for the good of the State was such that he employed his own private means to pay the troops when the public finances were not available. But he was soon taii^'ht that the higher the place the greater the danger. The empress- mother and some of the nobles before loner ovew jealous of his exalted position and great power. One, bold, subtle, and rapacious — the Grand Duke or Admiral Apocaucus — combined with the proud and feeble John of Apri, Patriarch of Constantinople, to compass the downfall of the boy emperor's guardian. At first secret slanders were circulated ; by degrees his opinions were slighted ; his prerogatives were dis- puted, and during his absence from the city, which he had left to accompany an expedition against the Bulgarians and Turks, he v*'as publicly denounced as a traitor, proscribed as an enemy of Church and State, delivered, with all his adherents, to " the sword of JOANNES CAXTACUZENDS, EMPEROR OF TUE EAKT. 73 justice, the vengeance of the people, and tlie power of the devil." Even his nf]jed mother was cast into prison, where deatli soon released her from her inftituated foes. Nothin2[ could have been more unfortunate than the absence of the guardian from the imperial city ; it deprived him of the opportunity of facing his enemies and of takincj counsel with his friends. On hearing all that had occurred, his first impulse was to return immediately, in order to throw himself at the feet of the emperor, and on the justice of the people ; his friends, both among the nobles and in the army, strongly opposed such a course, which they represented could only have a fatal termination. They convinced him at length that his sacred duty was to endeavour to save himself, his family, and his friends by the only path which lay open to him, which was to draw the sword, and to grasp at the supreme power. The standard of rebellion was therefore raised, although avowedly not against the emperor, but against his evil counsellors, and although Cantacuzenus was crowned at Demotica, the names of Jean Palseologus and his mother were proclaimed before his own. This took place in 1342, and resulted in a civil war of five years' duration. Constantinople adhered to its rightful sovereign ; the principal cities of Thrace and Macedonia rendered obedience to the usurper. His cause, however, did not flourish ; small success attended his arms ; his soldiers melted away; their oJQficers accepted bribes 74 MODERX METHUSELAHS. from his enemies ; false rumours were circulated of crushing defeats which had overtaken him, and even that he had been slain. At length he was compelled to seek refuge with the Cral of Servia, in the first instance, and afterwards with the Turkish chiefs of Asia Minor. But reverses neither quenched his spirits nor paralysed his efforts, and in time the vicissitudes of war turned in his favour, for friends who remained in Constantinople were watchful of their opportunity to act on his behalf, and at length they saw the right time arrive. The infamous Apocaucus had met at the hands of an assassin a bloody death, and the gates of the imperial city were thrown open to Canta- cuzenus. His ward was now fifteen years old ; he seems to have discerned the desirability of coming to some arranojemeut with his ouardian : his mother did not at first favourably receive his suggestions, but was at last won over to his views. On February 8th, 1347, his late foe entered the palace as joint emperor, having acknowledged by a treaty drawn up by himself the hereditary right of Jean Palaeologus to the throne of his family. The guardian reserved to himself, however, the sole administration of the affairs of the empire for a period of ten years, and cemented the whole arrangement by giving his daughter in marriage to the young emperor ; there were thus seated on the Byzantine throne two emperors and three empresses. Again the late rebel distinguished himself by great moderation ; he allowed no vindictive spirit to influence his conduct towards JOANNES CANTACUZENUS, KMPETIOU OF TIIK KAST. ?■'» thosewlio liailjie kiicwjx'cii liis enemies; he manifested an earnest desire to heal the wounds of the State whieh civil war had inHicted. llis own pen has described how far less injurious is a foreign than a civil war; as given by Gibbon his words are, "the former is the external warmth of summer, always tolerable, and often beneficial ; the latter is the deadly heat of a fever, which consumes without a remedy the vitals of the constitution." But a permanent peace was still very far off ; the young emperor began to act for liimself, and daily manifested a growing jealousy of the joint occupant of his throne, and also of his son Matthew. Jean Palosologus added to an impatient ambition the vices of his father, which his guardian in vain exerted himself to check. The empire was once more torn asunder by internal factions, and very soon civil war again raged. In 1348 Constantinople was besieged, and although the enemy was repulsed, plots and seditions continued. After a war with Servia, the young monarch, was left at Thessalouica with some companions who taught him to hate his guardian with intensified hatred, and to be sorely impatitnt of his exile from Constantinople. He eflfected a treaty with the Cral of Servia, and immediately followed it up by open revolt. At the request of his guardian the empress-mother made a journey to Thessalouica to mediate, but returned without success. By the aid of the Turks, Cantacuzeuus became master of the field, and his ward, driven from sea and land, took 76 MODERN METHUSELAHS. shelter among the Latins of the isle of Tenedos, where his obstinacy and insolence so provoked his guardian that he associated his own son Matthew with him- self in the government, and altogether set aside the succession previously agreed upon, in which he manifested an unwisdom rarely to be found in his proceedings. But again the fortune of war changed ; Constantinople was restored to Jean Palseologus, in whose favour a general rising took place. A large party still remained faithful to the rebel emperor, whose cause, though sorely tried, did not appear hopeless, and whose wife strongly leaned to a con- tinuance of the struggle. There is every reason to believe that better feelinsrs than ambition or reveno;e now took possession of the breast of Cantacuzenus ; that he felt more deeply than ever the compli- cated evils into which the State had been thrown, and perceived that the only way to heal them was for him to resign all claims to the imperial purple. He hastened, therefore, in 1355, to conclude a treaty by wdiich he renounced the crown,, and even his exalted positions under it ; he stripped himself of all his influence and power, and retired to the monastic cells of Mount Athos, adopting the name of Joasaph Christodulus. At the same time his wife retired to a nunnery, changing her name from Irene to Eugenia. A complete reconciliation with the emperor followed, who henceforth accepted his former foe as his friend and the spiritual father of his people. The ex-rebel monarch also induced his son to lay down the arms sniJ'G QT\% uAiop Avi o:^ nos siq paonpui os^'b qoi-Bnom |9q9J-X8 9qj^ -ojcToad suj jo jaq^'Bj pn^yjids 9qq. puu pn9TJJ S1I[ SB 90J J9inj:0J SIIJ p9^c[9001] I|:}JOJ90U9l[ oqM *p9i\iO|{oj j0J9dui9 9T[i i[;tm uoi^'BT[Tonoo9i 9:}9|draoo y •Bm9§ng; o:; 9n9Jj raojj 9mBn jgq SaiSiiuqo 'i(j9nunn 1? o; p9Ji;9i 9jTAi. siq 9mT!} goiBS 9ip (^y 'sn|npo:^STJi[Q qd^sBop JO QjJiva qt[% SnT^dopB 'soq:;y qnno];\[ jo s|pD OT:^ST?noin 9T{^ o:; p9jr49J pni? 'j9A\od puB gongnyni siq {[B JO jpsmiq p9ddTJ4s 9i{ ' ;t jgpnn sno^isod p9:}|BX9 siq n9A9 pnt? 'oavojo 9q^ pgonnoiioj 9q qoiqzvv iCq X;'B9j; -e 9pnpnoo o^ '£581 ui *9J0j9J9q!; 'p9n9;s'Bq 9jj •9^dind j'CTJ9draT 9q^ o; snirep \[G u°ts9i o:; raiq joj SBAi ni9q^ \B9T[ 0% Av.vs. 7C[no 9q^ ^Bq:^ p9AT90J9d pnB 'uMOjq; n99q p^q 94'n:)g gq-; qoiqAi o;ni s|ta9 pg^uo -■qdinoo 9q^ J9A9 trcq^^ /{doap 9J0iii c^pj 9q !}Bq; ' snn9znoB:^ui?;2) J^ ^SB9jq 9qq. jo uoTSS9SSod qoo; Aion 9S'u9A9i JO nopiqniB nuq; s°ut[90J J9:):}9q '\'ux[% 9A9i|9q oq. nosBgjE Xj9A9 st 9J9qj^ •9|SSn.iqs 9qq jo gouBnuT^ -noo v oq p9n'U9]; i{|.ouoj;s 9jT.\i 9soqAi pni3 'ssgpdoq .TogddB q.on pip 'p9iJ| i{|9J0S qSnoqq 'gsn^o gsoqM 'j0J9dra9 pq9J 9qq oq pijqqi'uj p9Ui'nra9J |p:|s A'\i'ud dSiv\ y 'goBpI :qoo:j. Sinsu pjougS v jiioabj 9soqA\ UT 'sriSo];o^['cj u'cgp o:^ p9Joqs9J sbav 9{douT;n'BqsnoQ ' p9Sn'Gqo ji?A\. JO giuiqjoj gq:^ mv°v %r\^ •s§nTp9900jd siq UT pnnoj 9q oq. ^{"[gjBJ raopsiMun wu p9:)S9jnreni 9q qoiqM ni 'nodn poojSi? .{{snoTAgjd noissgoons 9qq. opiSB ;9S J9q;9§o:^[i3 piiB ';n9iuaj9A0§ gqq. ui jps -xinq q!;TAV AV9q':^q'8j\[ uos umo siq pg^BioossB 9q ^^'Bq:^ tiBipiBuS siq p95[0A0jd OS 90uo];osui pire i^o'cnpsqo siq 9J9qM 'sop9U9j[ JO 9|si 9q!; JO sup'B'^ 9qq SnouiB J9:^pqs •SHA^iasanxaK xaaaoK 9i 78 MODERN METHUSELAHS. instigator and actor in the scenes which he describes." With some severity Gibbon remarks that in its pages "we should vainly seek the sincerity of a hero or a penitent. Retired in a cloister from the vices and passions of the world, he presents, not a confession, but an apology of the life of an ambitious statesman. Instead of unfolding the true counsels and characters of men, he displays the smooth and specious surface of events, highly varnished with his ow^n praises and those of his friends. Their motives are always pure, their ends always legitimate ; they conspire and rebel without any views of interest ; and the violence which they inflict or suff"er is celebrated as the spon- taneous effect of reason and virtue." A Latin trans- lation of this liistor}', from the Greek MS. in the library of the Duke of Bavaria, was published at Ino-oldstadt in 1603, and another splendid edition appeared in Paris in 1654. In 1375 Pope Gregory sent the then famous monk a highly complimentary letter on account of his efforts on behalf of Christianity. His strangely eventful life is stated to have closed on November 20, 1411 ; possibly there is an error in this date, for Cantacuzenus had attained to high rank and honour in 1320, a position which he could not possibly have filled unless years had given him political experience and military skill. That his life was extended to a very advanced old age is supported by a consensus of historical writers ; the fact is the more remarkable because of the terribly destructive forces w^hich must JOANNES CANTAOUZENUS, EMI'EROli OF THE EAST. 7'J have 1)ci'ii in action for a large portion of his exis- tence. It seems little short of a miracle that he escaped unscathed from war, treason, political agita- tions, the wear and tear of alternate hopes and fears, from disease and the accidents of travel, to all which his career continually exposed liini. He has been accused of timidity, duplicity, and falsity ; it is charged against him that he employed mercenaries to help him in his struggles. There is little to support the assertion of cowardice, and, as his opponents freely indulged in every kind of decep- tion and bought help from every quarter they could, it is scarcely a matter of surprise that he did the same. A far more damnincT allec;ation is that he formed an alliance with Orchan, on condition of sending his own daughter to the harem of the Turk, whose army he was to allow to make slaves of Greek subjects. CHAPTER IV. GEOEGE GEMISTHUS PLETHO. Uue loiigue dispute sur des matieres pliilosoplaiques peut con- tenir peu de philosophie. FOXTEXELLE. Knowledge is as food, and needs no less Her temperance over appetite, to know- In measure what the mind may well contain : Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. MiLTOX. There is very little to be told concerning this eminent scholar and philosopher ; the details which can now be gathered concerning his life are meagre in the extreme ; nothing can be found which throws any light upon his inherited constitution, or his domestic or other habits. As, however, there is ample evidence that during his remarkably long life lie was a laborious student, a man of independent thought, an untiring writer, and one of very excep- tional influence over the minds of his contemporaries, some mention of him must needs be made in these chapters. His name is variously written ; he is some- CEORGE CEMISTUUS I'LKTIIO. 81 times referred to simply as Gemiste, and at others simply as Pletho, the latter beinp^ a designation bestowed upon him, as the word im})lies, for the ful- ness of his knowledge and his great attainments in the sciences generally, as the multiplicity and variety of his published works testify. The subjects these em- l)race are grammar, history, geography, mathematics, astrology, theology, and philosophy. As a theologian he enjoyed a very high reputation ; as a philosopher he was still more eminent. This intellect of wonderful power and versatility had allotted to its working a term fiir beyond the ordinary span, for his life is truly said to have covered an entire century, although it is not (juite possible to indicate with precision the two extremes ; some historians consider that 1350 to 1451 would be the correct dates ; others suppose that his birth did not take place until some years later than this would place it. According to general consent he was born at Constantinople, and is recognised as one of the last celebrated Byzantine writers. Professor MUller, in his " History of the Literature of Ancient Greece," states " that in the fifteenth century, when the Turks were gathering around Constantinople, Georgius Gemistus Pletho and Theodorus Gaza were established at Florence and Ferrara ; George of Trebizonde was a salaried teacher at Rome ; John Bessarion, also of Trebizonde, was created a cardinal in 1439." All these are names which find themselves mixed up with the hereafter of Pletho's life, the greater portion of which, however, a 82 MODERN METHUSELAHS. was spent in the Peloponnesus, evidence existing that he occupied an important position there under the Emperor Palseologns, and had won for himself a high character for learning, prudence, and exemplary manners. This reputation led to his being selected as one of the deputies from the Greek Church to the Council of Florence, held in 1438, under Pope Eugenius. He had for fellow deputies Bessarion, Gaza, and other men of mark, by whom the possible union of the Eastern and Western Churches had to be debated. Pletho was at first opposed to the union, especially as he held, with his Church, an opinion on the nature of the Holy Spirit — the Double Procession of the Holy Ghost, as it is termed in scientific theology — at variance with that of the Eomish Church. But it is stated that, without renouncing his views on this point, he became at last an earnest advocate for the proposed measure, which was fated, however, not to be realised. At the same time he was throuo-hout a strenuous defender of the Greek Church ; he won the admiration of all by his intimate knowledge of the causes of the schism which kept the Churches divided ; he was consulted as an oracle on all debated points, and his eloquence caused him to be listened to with profound attention. Hallam says that he sustained the cause of the Greeks " with an acuteness of reason- ing, a flow of eloquence, and an unwearied zeal that entitled him to the gratitude of his countrymen, and extorted the admiration and esteem of his Latin opponents." GEORCK GEMTSTITUS rLETlK). 83 But rietlio's visit to Italy has made liis name memorable in another direction than in the Church controversy ; he is now chiefly remembered as the principal agent in the revival of Platonism in the West. The Aristotelian pliilosophy had long reigned supreme, although its spirit was lost, and there remained but an unfruitful form, a mere science of words, and Pletho became disgusted with its scholastic subtlety and sterility. He turned to Plato, at that time disregarded by scholars generally ; he made his works the object of long and profound study ; his philosophy seems to have taken full possession of his mind ; and he consecrated himself henceforth as the apostle of Plato's teaching. He became, moreover, as earnest in the disparagement of Aristotle as he was in the exaltation of Plato. The "broad-browed" founder of the Academy and Pletho were separated from each other by some two thousand years, and yet there was an unquestionable affinity between their souls which drew the latter so strongly to the teach- ing of the former. Mr. Grote writes : Plato " was sceptic, dogmatist, religious mystic and inquisitor, mathematician, philosopher, poet (erotic as well as satirical), rhetor, artist — all in one ; or, at least, all in succession, throughout the fifty years of his philo- sophical life." Plato and Pletho would have touched on almost all these points ; nor were deeper ones absent. Many of the early Fathers recognised a Christian element in Plato ; they regarded his teach- ings as foreshadows of a divine revelation ; they 84 MODERN METHUSELAHS. noticed many passages wliicli bear a striking resem- blance to the Holy " Scriptures in their picturesque parabolic and axiomatic style, and still more in the lofty moral, religious, and almost Christian sentiments Avhich they express ; these are scattered thickly all throuo-li the 'Dialoo^ues,' even those that treat of physical, political, and philosophic subjects." For these reasons some of the hio-hest ornaments of litera- ture, philosophy, and religion have been in every age Platonists. Broadly speaking, however, Plato's philo- sophy prevailed in the earliest Christian centuries, and that of Aristotle in the Middle Ages. Accordins: to the views of Mr. G. H. Lewes, Christianity left speculative philosophy no standing-point, and Kevela- tion therefore superseded all the guess-work of the schools. This remark may well be borne in mind when the latter years of Pletho's life are considered. As the apostle of Platonism in Italy, Pletho proved himself energetic and powerful. Publicly and privately he advocated the study of Plato with great zeal and with equal success ; he became the recognised leader of a school for the j)i'op3'o'i'tion of that philosophy ; he enrolled Cardinal Bessarion among his disciples, whose numbers rapidly increased, and gave existence to an entirely new mental development. As a matter of course Pletho became acquainted with Cosmo de' Medici, at whose Court he was greatly admired, and who zealously espoused the Platonic philosophy, carrying with him the Florentines as a whole, who generally saw with the eyes of the "father GEORGE GEMISTUUS PLETHO. 85 of their country." Cosmo founded a Platonic Academy at Florence, and selected Marsilius Facsinus, a young man of great promise, to be thoroughly educated in the mysteries of Platonism, that he might become the chief exponent of its doctrines and the preceptor of the new institution. Facsinus did not disappoint his patron's expectations. Meantime a controversy remarkable for its warmth and even its bitterness, raged among men of letters ; the revulsion of scholar- ship from Aristotle to Plato did not carry with it all the learned men of the day. George of Trebizonde took up the gauntlet in favour of the Peripatetic philosopher; he depreciated the teacher of the Academy ; he was not sparing of invective against those who so zealously wrought for a revival of that school. Theodore Gaza also espoused the side of Aristotle, but with temper and moderation. Cardinal Bessarion replied to George of Trebizonde in a work entitled " Adversus Calumniatorum Platonis," into which he threw almost as much heat as his adversary had displayed. Hallam remarks that the controversy appears to have been managed as much with the abuse of the lives and characters of the two ancient philosophers, as with any rational discussion of their tenets. Each side endeavoured to prove that the doctrine it advocated was more consonant with the Christian relifijion than that of the other. Sudden changes seldom bring enduring settle- ments ; heated feelings generally push controverted subjects to fanatical extremes. It was thus in the 86 MODERN METHUSELAHS. case under consideration ; the quick triumpli of the Platonists was not of long continuance ; Pletho and his friends may be said to have caused the reaction. They were not content that Plato should hold the distinguished position which rightfully belonged to him ; their extravagant admiration was pushed to an extreme that laid them open to the accusation of a desire to substitute Platonism for Christianity, and there is too much reason to believe that, as far as Pletho was concerned, the charge was not without foundation. For, after an enthusiastic and exaggerated estimation of Plato, he appears gradually to have become eclectic in his philosophy, and to have deemed it possible to merge together the teachings of all the difl'erent schools, in order to deduce from them some system of philosophy which should be worthy of universal acceptation, and which should supersede the religion of Jesus of Nazareth, and of Mahomet the Prophet. In one word, he sought a coalition of the doctrines of Plato, the traditionary tenets of Egypt and the Eastern nations, with the sacred creeds of the Jews and of the Christians. The spurious writings attributed to Zoroaster and Hermas were to be of equal authority with those of Moses and St, Paul. George of Trebizonde affirms that he heard Pletho say that such a religion would be worthy of humanity, and would conquer the world. The allegation is in a large measure supported by his treatise on the " Cardinal Virtues ; " it is still more clearly established by his "Book of the Laws," com- GEORGE GEMISTHUS PLETUO. 87 piled in imitation of the ''Laws of Plato;" this was posthumously published, and was considered by Gennadius, the Patriarch of Constantinople, so in- jurious to Christianity that he ordered it to be publicly destroyed, for its author is said to have expressed in it a conviction that paganism was preferable to the religion of Christ. Were not the page of biography full of examples of surpassingly strange mental changes, both political and religious, it would be scarcely credible that the mind of Gemiste should have suffered such a remarkable aberration, for in earlier manhood he was regarded by his Church as the personification of orthodoxy, and the champion of revealed religion. Among Pletho's numerous writings, special men- tion is made of his contributions to the great philosophic controversy \vhicli has been described : *' A Treatise on the Difference between the Platonic and Aristotelian Philosophy," and an " Explanation of the Magic Oracles of Zoroaster," in which are exhibited twelve fundamental articles of the Platonic religion, and an excellent compendium given of the entire Platonic philosophy. He was also the author of "Natural Arguments concerning God." These, like all his writings, are acknowledged to exhibit great learning, and a full acquaintance with every detail of his subject. His familiarity with the difierent schools of philosophy, especially the Alexandrian school, was singularly thorough ; his knowledge of Grecian history was profound. 88 MODERN METHUSELAHS. The last glimpse of Pletlio is obtained in 1441. He was then a public functionary in the Peloponnesus, at a very advanced age, possibly in his ninety-first year. If so, ten years of life still remained to him, for by very general consent it is allowed that he was in his one hundred and first year when overtaken by death. CHAPTER y. LUIGI CORNARO. It is reported conecining Socrates, tliat wlien Athens was destroyed by the plague, he, iu the midst of all the danger, escaped untouched hv sickness, because, by a spare and severe diet, he had Avithiu him no tumult of disorderly humours, no factions in his blood, no loads of moisture prepared for charnel-houses, or the sickly hospitals ; but a vigorous heat, and a well-proportioned radical moisture ; he had enough for health and study, philosopliy and religion, for the temples and the academy ; but no superfluities to be spent in groans and sickly nights. IjP. Jeremy Taylor. All that Bishop Taylor predicates concerning Socrates in the foreo^oinsr extract, the reformed and transformed Venetian, whose story is now to be told, claimed for himself Born some nine or ten years before Titian, and dying before him by about the same length of time, Liiigi Cornaro must have been his contemporary for nearly niuety years. There is every reason to believe that they were personally acquainted, and, wide asunder as their method of life appears to have been for the larger portion of that time, they each attained to the same remarkable age, as each had 90 MODERN METHUSELAHS. reached at least his ninety-ninth year before his end came. Peculiar interest is attached to the life of Cornaro on account of the record which he published of the havoc which dissipation and intemperance had wrought upon his constitution; and of the means which he successfully adopted for its recuperation. He is also otherwise well entitled to remembrance, for in an age signalised by the revival of intellectual activity, he stood out as a man of singularly versatile accomplishments, and of philanthropic and patriotic projects. These admirable features of his character have been, to a considerable extent, overshadowed by the striking example of his amended life, which exhibited a rare instance of self-control, of determined abstemiousness, and of a successful battle against diseases which had brought him to the brink of the grave more than sixty years before he became its tenant. No ordinary man could have submitted to the severe self-denial which enabled him to revolu- tionise the entire habits of his life, and to resist for the remainder of his days the pleasures in which he had so long indulged, and to w^hich his great w^ealth and exalted position still tempted him. Another interest is attached to Cornaro, or at all events to his tractates on "Temperance and Sobriety," inasmuch as they were first translated into English by the saintly George Herbert, although no mention is made of this fact in the many notices which have appeared of them. Sir Henry Thompson, IJ'IGI COUNAHO. 91 ill liis "J)iet ill llelation to Health and Activity," merely states that "a paper in the Spectator was one of the first notices of Cornaro in this country." The extracts which will appear in the following sketch will be chiefly taken from Herbert's version, which contains all the practical matter of the original, but omits certain severe strictures upon the reformed religion, a matter which at that time deeply affected thou2:htful and devout minds. Cornaro was a member of one of the most illustrious families in Venice, but unfortunately, from the misconduct of some of his relatives, he was early in life deprived of his rank as a nobleman, and excluded from all State employments and honours. Born in 14G8, a child of fortune so fiir as riches and possessions were concerned, his lot was cast in perhaps the most voluptuous city in Europe ; he was •early placed in a peculiar and perilous position, and threw himself into the vortex of diissipation and sensual pleasures ; he became distinguished as a rake, a gourmand, and a wine-bibber. He was also of a violent disposition, which led him into many difficulties and dangers. He ran this course of " fast life " until after he had turned his thirty-fifth year, with the result that his health then completely broke down, diseases multiplied upon him, and a premature death seemed inevitable. To quote his own words : "I say, therefore, that the infirmities which did not only begin, but had already gone far in me, first -caused me to leave intemperance, to wdiich I was 92 MODEEX METHUSELAHS. much addicted : for by it, and my ill constitution (having a most cold and moist stomach) I fell into diverse diseases, to wit, into the pain of the stomach, and often of the side, and the beginning of the gout, with almost a continual fever and thirst. From this ill temper there remained little else to be expected of me than that after many troubles and griefs I should quickly come to an end ; whereas my life seemed as far from it by nature as it w^as near it by intemperance. When, therefore, I was thus affected from the thirty-fifth year of my age to the fortieth, having tried all remedies fruitlessly, the physicians told me that there was one help for me, if I could constantly pursue it, to wit, a soberly and orderly life ; for this had every way great force for the recovery and preserving of health, as a disorderly life to the overthrowing of it, as I too w^ell by experience found. For temperance pre- serves even old men and sickly men sound ; but intemperance destroys most healthy and flourishing constitutions ; for contrary causes have contrary effects, and the faults of nature are often amended by art, as barren grounds are made fruitful by good husbandry. They added withal, that unless I speedily used that remedy, within a few months I should be driven to that exigent, that there would be no help for me but death, shortly to be exjDected. " Upon this, weighing their reasons wath myself, and abhorring: from so sudden an end, and findino; myself continually oppressed with pain and sickness. LUT(!T CORNARO. 93 I grew fully persuaded that all my griefs arose out of intemperance, and therefore, out of a hope of avoiding death and pain, I resolved to live a temperate life. "Wherefore, being directed by them in the way I oucfht to hold, I understood that the food I was to use was such as belonged to sickly constitutions, and that in a small quantity. This they had told me before ; but I then, not liking to that kind of diet, followed my appetite and did eat meats pleasing to my taste ; and when I felt inward heats, drank delightful wines, and that in great quantity, telling my physicians nothing thereof, as is the custom of sick people. But after I had resolved to follow temperance and reason, and saw that it was no hard thing to do so, but the proper duty of man, I so addicted myself to this course of life, that I never went a foot out of the way. Upon this I found within a few days that I was exceedingly helped, and by continuance thereof within less than one year, although it may seem to some incredible, I am perfectly cured of all my infirmities." Although his physicians laid down the broad principles which were to restore him to health, they appear to have left the application of them to his own judgment; he was to discover for himself what particular articles of food best suited him, and in what quantity they best agreed with him. As he observed in a later letter upon his case, "no man can be a perfect physician to another, but to himself 94 MODERN METHUSELAHS. only. The reason whereof is this ; every one by long experience may know the qualities of his own nature, and what hidden properties it hath, what meat and drink afjrees best with it : which things in others cannot be known without such observation as is not easily to be made upon others, especially since there is a greater diversity of tempers than of faces." With his mind filled with these con- victions, and with a firm determination to follow whithersoever his conclusions led him, he began most carefully to note whatever he ate or drank, to ascertain what caused him uneasiness and wdiat ao-reed with him. The grim earnestness wdth which he entered upon the quest is almost amusing ; his dow^n- right sincerity admitted of no tampering ; any instruc- tion his stomach conveyed to him was turned to practical account, without hesitation or compromise. His own words record, " I began to search out most diligently what meats w^ere agreeable unto me and what disagreeable ; and I proposed to try whether those that pleased my taste brought me commodity or discommodity ; and whether that proverb where- with gluttons use to defend themselves, to wit, ' that which savours is good and nourishing,' be consonant to truth. This upon trial I found most false ; for strong and very cool wines pleased my taste best, as also melons and other fruit ; in like manner raw- lettuce, fish, pork, sausages, pulse, cake and pie- crust, and the like ; and yet all these I found hurtful. LUIGI COllNAUO. 95 " Therefore trusting on experience I forsook all those kinds of meat and drinks, and chose that wine that fitted my stomach, but in such measure as easily might be digested ; above all, taking care never to rise with a full stomach, but so as I might well both eat and drink more." Happily this sagacious old Venetian patrician does not leave his readers in the dark as to wdiat " measure " of meat and drink he found it prudent to limit himself. His " whole day's meat," he writes, "viz., of my bread and eggs and flesh and broth, was twelve ounces exactly weighed, and the measure of my drink was fourteen ounces." Instead of taking, as formerly, only two meals daily, kind nature taught him, he says, to divide the quantity into four collations, because thus divided it was more easily digested. He held, furthermore, that as years increased, the quantity of food and drink ought to be decreased. In spite of this con- viction, he was tempted to add two additional ounces to each. How the departure came about, and what were its results, cannot be better told than in his own words : " I was led by the advice of physicians, and the daily importunity of my friends, to add something to my usual stint and measure. Divers reasons they brought, as that old age could not be sustained with so little meat and drink ; which yet needs not only to be sustained, but also to gather strength, which could not be but by meat and drink. On the other side, I argued that nature was con- tented with a little, and that I had for many years 96 MODERN METHUSELAHS. continued in good health with that little measure ; that custom was turned into nature, and therefore it w^as agreeal3le to reason that, my years increasing and strength decreasing, my stint of meat and drink should be diminished rather than increased, that the patient might be proportionable to the agent, and especially since the power of my stomach every day decreased. To this agreed two Italian proverbs, the one whereof was, ' He that will eat much, let him j eat little ' ; because by eating little he prolongs life. / The other proverb was, ' The meat w^hich remainetli profits more than that which is eaten.' By which is intimated that the hurt of too much meat is greater than the commodity of meat taken in a moderate proportion. " But all these things could not defend me against their importunities. Therefore, to avoid obstinacy and to gratify my friends, at length I yielded, and permitted the quantity of meat to be increased, yet by two ounces only. " This addition, after ten days, wrought so much upon me, that of a cheerful and merry man I became melancholy and choleric, so that all things were troublesome to me, neither did I know well what I did or said. On the tw^elfth day a pain of the side took me, which held me two-and-twenty hours. Upon the neck of it came a terrible fever, which continued thirty-five days and nights, although after the fifteenth day it grew less and less. Besides all this, I could not sleep, no, not a cparter of an hour ; Luini roRXAiio. 97 Avliorciipon all gave nie up for dead. Nevertheless I, by the grace of CJod, cured myself only with return- ing to my former course of diet, although I was now seventy-eight years okl, and my body spent with^ extreme leanness, and the season of the year was winter, and most cold air. And I am confident that,, under God, nothing holp me but the exact rule whicli I had so long continued. In all which time I felt no grief, save now and then a little indisposition for a day or two." From that time forth he stood upon the exact measure of his meat and drink as firmr as a rock, and reaped the reward in a happy old age. He did not, however, pay exclusive attention to diet ; he adopted all-round hygienic principles, telling us that with his carefully selected and scrupulously w-eicfhed food he " avoided other hurtful things alsa, as too much heat and cold, weariness, w^atching, ili air, overmuch use of the_b^nefit of marriage ; for although the power of health consists most in the proportion of meat and drink, yet these fore- named things have also their force." He adds : " I preserved me also, as much as I could, from hatred and melan- choly, and other perturbations of the mind, which have a great power over our constitutions. Yet coulcl I not so avoid all these but now and then I fell inte> them ; which gained me this experience — that I per- ceived that they had no great power to hurt those bodies which were kept in. good order by a moderate diet ; so that I can truly say, that they who in these two things that enter in at the mouth keep a 98 MODERN METHUSELAHS. fit proportion shall receive little hurt from other excesses." Mental elasticity and vigour, as well as bodily- health and streno-th, rewarded Cornaro's reformation. He had retired to Padua, where he erected for himself a palace, kept open house, and extended a warm welcome to men of science, letters, and arts. For he had become himself an earnest student, proficient in many accomplishments, and skilful in many depart- ments of practical knowledge. He is stated to have been "accomplished as a singer; he also wrote a comedy and a treatise on architecture ; he was a first- rate sportsman ; at home on all subjects relating to agriculture, draining, dykes, and fortifications. He brought waste lands into cultivation ; he planned the regulation of the lasjoons, and formed a scheme to divert the course of the Tiber by a cutting at the Ponte Molle, tluis anticipating by three centuries the plans of the present day." His comedy he evidently regarded with great satisfaction ; he terms it " a most pleasant comedy, full of honest wit and merriment ; which kind of poems useth to be the child of youth, which it most suits withal for variety and pleasant- ness, as a tragedy with old age, by reason of the sad events which it contains. And if a Greek poet of old was praised, that at the age of seventy-three years he writ a tragedy, why should I be accounted less happy, or less myself, who, being ten y^ears older, have made a comedy ? " He had before stated that it was written when he was eighty-three years old. f LUIGI COllNARO. 99 Tlis own picture of liis life is too pleasantly drawn to be omitted here. lie wrote : " I am continually in health, and I am so nimble that I can easily get on horseback without the advantage of the ground, and sometimes I go up high stairs and hills on foot. Then, I am ever cheerful, merry, and well contented, free from all troubles and troublesome thoughts, in whose place joy and peace have taken up their standing in my heart. I am not weary of life, which I pass with great delight. I confer often with worthy men, ex- cellent in wit. learninjx, behaviour, and other virtues. When I cannot have their company, I give myself to the reading of some learned book, and afterwards to writing ; making it my aim in all things how I may help others, to the furthest of my power. All these things I do at my ease, and at fit seasons, and in my own houses ; which, besides that they are in the fciirest place in this learned city of Padua, are very beautiful and convenient above most in this age, being so built by me according to the rules of architecture, that they are cool in summer and w\arm in winter. " I enjoy also my gardens, and those divers, parted with rills of running w'ater, which truly is very delightful. Some times of the year I enjoy the pleasure of the Euganean hills, wdiere also I have fountains and gardens, and a very convenient house. At other times I repair to a village of mine, seated in the valley, which is therefore very j^le^-sant, because many ways thither are so ordered that they all meet and end in a fair plot of ground, in the H 2 100 MODERN METHUSELAHS. midst whereof is a eliurcli suitable to the condition of the jDhice. This place is washed with the river of Brenta, on both sides whereof are great and fruit- ful fields, well manured, and. adorned with many habitations. In former time it was not so, because the place was moorish and unhealthy, fitter for beasts than men. But I drained the ground and made the air good, whereupon men flocked thither, and. built houses with happy success. By this means the place is come to that perfection we now see it is ; so that I can truly say, that I have both given God a temple and men to worship Him in it, the memory whereof is exceedingly delightful to me." This charming portrait of himself was drawn when he was eighty-three years old. He had. married rather late in life a lady of a distinguished house, by whom he had one child, a daughter named Clara, whom he lived to see an old woman, the mother of eio-ht sons and three daughters. These young people were evidently a source of great pleasure to their aged grandfather. He wrote of them : " Now, lest there should be any delight wanting to my old age, I daily behold a kind of immortality in the succession of my posterity. For when I come home, I find eleven OTandchildren of mine, all the sons of one father and mother, all in perfect health, all, as far as I can conjecture, very apt and well given both for learning and behaviour. I am delighted with their music and fashion, and I myself sing often, because I have now a clearer voice than ever I had in my life." LUICI CORNAllO. 101 A sneer lias been raised against Cornaro on account of liis excessive care of himself, but surely, considering all the circumstances of his ease, he was fully justified in taking all possible means to prolong the life which to him was gladsome instead of wearisome. After all his efforts to avoid risks to health, he necessarily had to encounter some, of wdiich he ofives account. For he wrote : Having endured many lieats and colds and other like discom- modities of the body and troubles of the mind, all these did hurt me little, whereas they hurt them very much who live intemperately. For Avhen my brother and other of my kindred saw some yreat and powerful men pick quarrels against me, fearing lest I should be overthrown, they were possessed with a deep melancholy (a thing usual to disorderly lives) which increased so much in them that it brought them to a sudden end ; but I, whom that matter ought to have afifected most, received no inconvenience thereby, because that humour abounded not in me. Xay, I began to persuade myself that this suit and contention was raised by the Divine Providence that I might kno\v what great power a sober and temperate life hath over our bodies and minds, and that at length I should be a conqueror, as also a little after it came to pass. For in the end I got the victory, to my great honour and no less profit ; whereupon also I joyed exceedingly, "which excess of joy neither could do me any hurt. By which it is manifest, that neither melancholy nor any other passion can hurt a temperate life. Moreover, I say that even bruises and squats and falls, which often kill others, can bring little grief or hurt to those who are temperate. This I found by experience Avhen I was seventy years old; for riding in a coach in great haste, it happened that the coach was overturned, and then was dragged for a good space by the fury of the horses, whereby my head and whole body was sore hurt, and also one of my arms and legs put out of joint. Being carried home, when the physicians saw in what case I was, they concluded that I would die withijL-U»ee days ; nevertheless at a 102 MODERN METilUSELAHS. venture, two remedies might be used — letting of blood and purging,, that the store of humours and inflammation and fever which was certainly expected, might be hindered. But I, considering Avhat an orderly life I had led for many years together, which must needs so temper the humour^ of the body that they could not be much troubled or make a great con- course, refused both remedies, and only commanded that my arm and leg should be set and my whole body anointed with oil ; and so without other remedy or inconvenience I recovered, which seemed as a miracle to the physicians. Whence I conclude that they that live a temperate life can receive little hurt from other inconveniences. Never did a more enthusiastic worshipper bend the knee at the shrine of temperance, and he seeks throughout all his pages to justify his practice by abstract principles. He argues that, " If the world consist of order, if our corporal life depend upon the harmony of humours and elements, it is no wonder that order should preserve and disorder destroy. Order makes art easy, and armies victorious, and retains and confirms kingdoms, cities, and families in peace. Whence I conclude that an orderly life is the most sure way and ground of health and long days, and the true and only medicine of many diseases. Neither can any man deny this who will narrowly consider it. Hence it comes that a phy- sician when he cometh to visit his patient, prescribes this physic first, that he use a moderate diet ; and when he hath cured him, commends this also to him, if he will live well in health. Neither is it to be doubted but that he shall ever after live free from diseases if he will keep such a course of life, because this will LUIGI COUNARO. 108 cut oir all caiisi'3 of diseases, so that he shall need neither physic nor physician ; yea, if he will give his mind to those things which he should, he will prove himself a pliysician, and that a very complete one." In corrohoration of these views, lie quotes in one place the opinion of Galen, with whose writings he appears to have been familiar, and whose example he certainly closely copied. AVithout consciousness, perhaps, of the fact, Galen was in many respects his prototype. Like many who have lived to a re- markable old age, this physician of ancient days had a weakly constitution when young, which led him to study his health as carefully as the excesses of his youth and early manhood compelled the Venetian patrician to study his future ways. Each adopted a severe regimen ; each carefully watched the eflects of different foods, drinks, and exercises upon himself; each learned to strictly govern passion and mental emotions ; each preached to others the gospel of temperance and purity ; each, by practising his ow^n preaching, enjoyed a long and healthy decline of life. But after all, the members of the healing art were not to be swept away as quite without their use, for Cornaro further adds : "Nevertheless I deny not but that physicians are necessary, and greatly to be esteemed for the knowinor and curino; of diseases, into which they often fall who live disorderly. For if a friend who visits thee in thy sickness, and only com- forts and condoles, doth perform an acceptable thing to thee, how much more dearly should a physician be lot MODERN METHUSELAIIS. esteemed, wlio not only as a friend dotli visit tliee, but help thee ? J— *' But that a man may preserve himself in health, I advise that, instead of a physician, a regular life is to he embraced, which, as is manifest by experience, is a natural physic most agreeable to us, and also doth preserve even ill tempers in good health, and procure that they prolong their life even to a hundred years or more, and that at length they shut up their days like a lamp, only by a pure consumption of the radical moisture, without grief or perturbation of jiumours. Many have thought this could be done by aurum potahile, or the philosopher's stone, sought by many and found of few. But surely there is no such matter if temperance be wanting." This allusion to life being extended to "a hundred years and more," affords an incidental proof that in Italy, at that period, such a term was considered the extreme limit of old age, as it has been in all climes and in all times. There appears always to have been a possibility of reaching that age, although it was very rarely attained ; there is no authentic proof that it was ever to any appreciable extent exceeded. A glance has already been given of the renovated w^orthy in his ow^n homes, to which, how^ever, he did not confine himself. In extreme old age, he tells his readers : " Sometimes I ride to some of the neigh- bouring cities, that I may enjoy the sight and communication of my friends, as also of excellent artificers in architecture, painting, stone-cutting, LUICI (OUNAHO. ICI music, and liusbaiuln', whereof in tliis iigc tlirrc is great plenty. I compare them witli those of anti- quity; and ever I learn somewhat which is worthy of my knowledge : I survey places, gardens, and anti- quities, public fabrics, temples, and fortifications; neither omit 1 anything that may either teach or delight me. I am also much pleased in my travels with the beauty of situation. Neither is this my pleasure made less by the decaying dulness of my senses, which are all in their perfect vigour, but especially my taste ; so that any simple fiire is more savoury to me now than heretofore, when I was given to disorder and all the delights that could be. " To change my bed troubles me not ; I sleep well and quietly anywhere, and my dreams are fair and pleasant. But this chiefly delights me, that my advice hath taken effect in the reducing of many rude and untoiled places in my country to cultivation and good husbandry. I was one of those that were deputed for the managing of that work, and abode in those fenny places two whole months in the heat of summer (which in Italy is very great), receiving not any hurt or inconvenience thereby : so great is the power and efficacy of that temperance which ever accompanied me." There is much in these autobiographical sketches of Cornaro which recalls the narrative of another pleasant gossiper upon his own career and principles of action, and, although a digression, a brief notice of him may not be without interest. Agnolo Pan- lOG MODERN METKUSELAnS. dolfini must have been a contemporary, or nearly SO5 of the Venetian ; he was, however, a Florentine, a successful merchant, who had enjoyed good health, a peaceful mind, and an attached family, blessings which naturally enabled him to reach a ripe old age. For the benefit of his children, he left a record of the means by which he attained to wealth and honour, and earnestly desired that they might walk in the same path. In the first place he states that he kept his soul to God, by preserving, as far as possible, his heart light, undisturbed by anger, hate, or covetousness, and abstaining from everything of which he would be likely to repent. In the second place, he considered that work, exercise, and cleanli- ness were required for the body ; for the attainment of these, abundant and pure air, a wholesome house, and personal activity were necessary. " Exercise preserves life, kindles the natural warmth and vigour, carries off superfluities and evil humours, fortifies the body and the nerves, is necessary to youth, useful to the aged. He who takes no exercise can never live a cheerfid and healthy life." He further insists, that the residence should be in the purest air, in a pleasant country, with good water ; in short, everything should be wholesome, pure, and good. His own country house must have been a model of a rural mansion, so carefidly arranged that every- thing contributed to a free and joyous life, occupation and recreation constantly succeeding each other. There were several points at which the Venetian I.UIGI CORNAUO. 107 aiul tljc Florcntiue touched ; tliey were both clearly sanitaruuis, although they lived so many centuries ago, for they recognised tlic iiuportance of well- drained lauds, of unpolluted water ; of abundant and pure air, of wholesome dwelling-houses, and of habitual exercise. To this last-named point the one looked to carry off any ill humours the body might generate ; the other regarded a minimised quantity of food as a mean to prevent any ill humours being- bred in the system. Each was no doubt right according: to the nature of his constitution, for no one rule will apply to all. As already quoted, Cornaro asserted that the diversity of tempers among men, by which of course he meant constitutions, was greater than that of their faces, and asked : " "Who would believe that old wine should hurt my stomach, and new" should help it ; or that cinnamon should heat me more than pepper?" He therefore remarks: "No man is confined to that exact measure or particular sort of food I am, nor yet prohibited the use of many kinds of victuals. In short, he who is not offended at anything has the quantity and not the quality for his rule ; than which nothing is more easy to be observed." Among possible objections to his system, he considered it likely to suggest itself to some, that if so meagre a diet were habitually employed, there would be no margin left for a reduction in the case of sickness. His reply is, that Nature's voice instructs the sick man that he ought to eat very little indeed, and -'// 108 MODERX METHUSELAHS. that lie who " lives a really temperate life " has taken "away the causes of disease, and therefore there is no place for the effect." To the objection that so severe a diet was too hard a thing to bo kept, he replied : " Galen kept it, and held it for the best physic ; so did Plato also, and Isocrates, and Tidly, and many other of the ancients ; and in our own age, Paul the Third and Cardinal Bembo, who therefore lived so long ; and among our dukes, Laudus and Donatus, and many other of inferior condition, not only in the €ity, but also in villages and hamlets." He antici- pates a third objection, namely, " that a long life is no such desirable thing, because that after one is sixty-five years old, all the time we live after that is rather death than life." He replies by a reference to bis own case, as he was then able, at the advanced age of eighty-three, to take pleasure and delight in himself and all around him. " By which," he says, " it is evident that the life which 1 live at this age is not a dead, dumpish, and sour life, but cheerful, lively, and pleasant." Cornaro then proceeds to speak of death as a terrible thing to young men ; but he thought it not only a shameful thing to fear it, as it could not be avoided, but he hoped, when it should come to him, that he would " find no little comfort in the favour of Jesus Christ." But, although he looked to death as finally inevitable, he knew, he said, that at the time he then wrote, his end was far from him, " for, settinc^ casualties aside, I shall not die but by a pure LUIGI COKNAIJO. 109 resolution, because tliat by tlie reguliiiity of my life I have shut out death all other ways, and that is a fair and desirable death which nature brings by way of resolution." This impression that death was still far from him at the time he w'rote the above words, was not an idle one, for at the age of ninety-one he wrote his " Earnest Exhortation to a Sober Life," and at ninety-five, his letter on the same subject addressed to Barbaro, Patriarch of Aquileia. His expectation of the manner of his death was also fully justified, for his dissolution was accompanied by no physical agonies and no mental disturbance. His end was calm and peaceful, the euthanasia of the Greeks ; it took place in his own arm-chair, in his own palace at Padua, wdien he had practically attained his century of existence. Number 195 of the Spectator contains an allusion to the afijed Venetian's collected tractates in the followincj words: *'The most remarkable instance of the Efficacy of Temperance towards the procuring of Long Life is what we meet with in a little book published by Lewis Cornaro the Venetian ; which I the rather mention because it is of undoubted credit, as the late Venetian Ambassador, who was of the same family, attested more than once in conversation, when he resided in England." The passages quoted in this chapter from the tractates must convince every reader, it may be presumed, that they contain much sound wisdom — the result of shrewd observation and a sincere love of truth. It speaks much for their 110 MODERN METHUSELAHS. author's sagacity that, three centuries after Lis views were given to the world, they have been endorsed by one of the most eminent surgeons of the present day. Sir Henry Thompson. This high authority supports Cornaro's principle that, " with increasing age and diminished powers, a corresponding decrease of food must be taken in order to preserve health." He contends that " the typical man of eighty or ninety years, still retaining a respectable amount of energy of body and mind, is lean and spare, and lives on slender rations." Dr. Chcyne, in the last century, was a notable example of what a diminished and different course of diet could accomplish in the reduction of enormous corpulency, occasioned by the free indulgence of the pleasures of the table. He was not only terribly incommoded by the burden of his flesh, but his health was most seriously impaired. A milk and vegetable diet so greatly benefited him, that he wrote several works earnestly urging its value upon his readers' attention. Lord Byron so injudiciously and suicidally treated his unfortunate tendency to fatness, that he can scarcely be brought forward as a case in point. The present century does, however, afford a very remarkable instance of the success which attended a strict adherence to Cornaro's method of diet. It is stated that the late Lord Lucan did fidl justice to all the good things which his Parisian cA^ could set before him, and did equal justice to the choice wines his butler brought up from the cellar. At fifty years LUKIl C'OllNAlK). Ill of age he foiuul himself portly in persou, but sadly deranged in health. Taking an honest view of the situation, he delerniined to try the plan of the ohl Italian ; indeed, he was less indulgent to himself than was his prototype, for he limited his allowance of solid food to eight ounces daily. Upon this narrow supply his superfluous flesh and fat gradually vanished ; he became spare, active, and healthy, dying at last of heart-disease of very old standing. This would no doubt have proved fatal many long years earlier had he continued his former course of life ; as it was, he survived until his seventy-fifth year. Many editions have been published of Cornaro's treatises, both in the original and translations. In the preface to a Cambridge copy of 1636, there is an interesting allusion to the translator of Cornaro's portion of the work. The writer says : " Master George Herbert, of blessed memorie, having at the request of a noble personage translated it into English, sent a copy thereof, not many months before his death, unto some friends of his, who a good while before had given an attempt of regulating themselves in matter of diet ; which, although it was after a very imperfect manner in regard to that exact course therein pre- scribed, yet it was of great advantage to them, inas- much as they were enabled, through the good prepara- tion that they had thus made, to go immediately to the practice of that pattern which Cornaro had set them, and so have reaped the benefit thereof in a larger and emineuter manner than could otherwise 112 MODERN METHUSELAHS. possibly have been imagined in so short a space." The reference to " Cornaro's portion " of the Cambridge issue requires a word of explanation. The title of the volume is, " A Treatise on Temperance and Sobrietie. Written by Lud. Cornarus, and translated into English by Mr. George Herbert." Published with it, but separately paginated, appears " Hygiasticon, or the Eio;ht Course of Preservino^ Life and Health unto Extreme Old Age ; together with Soundnesse and Inteofritie of the Senses, Judg;ment, and Memorie. "Written in Latin by Leonard Lessius, and now done into English." Aj^pended to this, with a continued pagination, was " A Discourse, Translated out of Italian, that a Spare Diet is better than a Splendid and Sumptuous. A Paradox." CHAPTER VI. TITIAN : THE PAINTER. Mind appears, from the beginning of the sixteenth century, to have been ever less an object of study with the Venetian painters than the mere pictorial representation, wliich may perhaps be safely said to be the end of their efforts as a school ; the moral or lesson of a picture, if it has any, being always subordinate to the one great aim of displaying a beautiful composition of colours. R. Js^. WORXUM. Biographical annals furnish no more striking instance of "lonsf-lastino: " than that which is afforded by the life of this celebrated painter. His career is the more remarkable because, not only was the fire of his genius unquenched at the patriarchal age of ninety- nine years, but his eye and his hand were still obedient servants, and he fell a victim at last to a malignant pestilence, and not to natural decay. Art critics have written much upon Titian without being able to arrive at any exact 'agreement in their estimate of his true position in Art. There is a great gulf between the views of Sir Joshua Eeynolds and William Blake, between those of ]Mr. Ruskin nnd I 114 MODERN METHUSELAHS. M. Eio ; many intermediate judgments have been recorded by those who have weighed him in their critical scales. To arrive at the true character of any great master in any department of work, there must be considered the age in which he lived, the atmo- sphere by which he was surrounded, and the con- ditions nnder which he laboured. Titian was the grand representative of the third or final stage of the renaissance of painting in Italy, for Venice was the last of the Eepublics visited by that strange awaken- ing. It gave in response results in various respects different from those of Florence or Umbria, for example, and failed to exercise any permanent influence for the exaltation of the painter's art, for. immediately after the days of Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese, a marked decline is acknowledofcd to have taken place. Art historians are at no loss to account for the fact ; the very personality of those painters whose works have left an abiding stamp npon each stage of the entire movement affords a key to the rise, culmination, and decline of the pictorial art. In Tuscany inspiration fell upon men full of deep religious feeling, of keen emotions, of energy of thought, all of which they brought to their work, and which left an enduring impress upon all that they accomplished. Not quite thus was it with the Venetian masters. They were neither scholars, philosophers, nor mystics. Not even that absolute hierarchy to which they pro- fessed to belong possessed any firm grasp over them. They were citizens of no mean city; profit, pleasure, TITIAN: THE PAINTKlt. 115 and honour held important phices in their afFections ; they were essentially mundane ; they saw the world with thoroughly worldly eyes, without any wish or effort to penetrate to its spiritual mysteries. This is no unjust estimate of Titian. He was certainly not a religious painter ; he handled scripture stories and pagan myths, ecclesiastical themes and proAiue subjects in exactly the same style, and raised the soul no hiG;her in the one class than in the other. One of his grandest productions is undoubtedly the "Assumption of the Virgin," but even of this it has been well said that it leads " the soul away from worship to dwell on the delight of youthful faces, blooming colour, graceful movement, delicate emo- tion." These are the main characteristics of Titian's style. All his pictures have to tell is immediately visible ; there is no subtlety, no mystery, no essential underlying truth in the vast body of his work. Unrivalled as a portrait painter, with scarcely an equal as a colourist, skilful in grouping, successful in depicting action, he was supreme master of all the technicalities of his art. As years rolled by he be- came more and more realistic in execution ; his paintings were marvellous for their vividness and fidelity, but they exhibited no passion, nor any earnestness, nor any intensity. Eichness of colour and distinctness of eflfect are pronounced to be his grand excellencies. It must be remembered that in his day, and in his city, painting was a trade rather than a profession ; it was in no wise derogatory to the I 2 116 MODERN METHUSELAHS. artist to open a hottega, or, in plain English, a shop, where customers could look over his stock-in-trade, purchase anything to which they took a fancy, or commission any portrait or composition. Indeed, work of a lower description would not be disregarded. When Giotto resented the order which was given to him to paint the " arms " of a conceited official, it was not the nature of the work itself which ofiended him so much as the manner in which the order was conveyed. Titian loved profit ; he knew his patrons' require- ments ; he suited his pictures to their tastes ; if those tastes were not of a very elevated nature, the fault was none of his. As far as Titian's life-story can be related, it has been admirably and exhaustively told by Mr. J. A. Crowe, C.B., and Count Cavalcaselle, in two stout volumes, with illustrations. These gentlemen give the result of their diligent researches into all the details of the great painter's life ; they particularise all his known genuine works ; they give notices of lost and spurious ones ; and critically examine, with great impartiality, the merits of those which they have had opportunities to inspect, and these include nearly all his pictures in this country and on the Continent. If they have been a little too fond of finding or coining uncouth words to describe the technique of Titian's art, it interferes little with the reader's interest, and detracts nothing from the instructive nature of the work. The following sketch is largely indebted to their pages. TITIAN: THE PAINTER. 117 Titian, Titiano, or Tiziano — 'Ml Divino Tiziano," as his countrymen call him — was born in 1477, in a modest house or cottage, the property of his fore- fiitliers, situated at Cadore, a small town in a district also so called. His home was a mountain one ; his early outlook consisted of dolomite peaks, wild and even sublime scenery, diversified by quiet valleys^ tliickly foliaged woods, and the rushing torrent of the Pieve. A loving admirer of the great painter has published a charming volume giving an account of his personal visits to the locality of Titian's birthplace and childhood. Any reader interested in the subject will find Mr. Gilbert, in his " Cadore, or Titian's Country," a genial and skilful guide. The ancestors of the painter had long held a conspicuous position among the Cadorines ; he was descended from a Guecello, who in 1320 settled at Cadore as administrator for its then feudal lords, the Counts of Carmino, and from that date the annals of the district record the names of various members of the family who were prominent actors iu all local events. It was a Guecello, the grand- son of the Podesta, who brought into the family tho name of Titian by his marriage with Bartolommea, whose dowry consisted in part of the patronage of a chapel in the Pieve, dedicated to San Tiziano, of Oderza. Titian's father, Gregoria Vicelli, as the name had become, although a distinguished soldier and sao-o counsellor of the place, appears to have had a slender income, with two sons and two daughters to establish in life. Cadore was not a fruitful or plentiful district ; 118 MODERN METHUSELAHS. its agricultural produce sufficed for only one-fourth of •the year's consumption ; it depended, therefore, upon outside supplies for the sustenance of its inhabitants. There existed wealth in the mines and forests, but to a large extent these were undeveloped ; as far as the works went, they gave employment to the strong and an impulse to the carrying trade. On the whole, life at its best was far from luxurious, and at times had something akin to privations ; the natives were conse- quently hardy, energetic, and thrifty. Not much light can be thrown upon the early days of Titian, for although traditions exist which represent his genius shining forth at a very juvenile age, they are open to considerable suspicion. As, however, the members of his family were principally bred to the profession of law or arms, it may be presumed that, in common with many of our great artists, the child was father of the man, and that childhood gave clear indications of a natural leaning to Art. At any rate, it was resolved to make him a jDainter, Happily he had an uncle — whether brother of his father or his mother is uncertain — in Venice, to whom it was arranged he should be entrusted. Ac- cordingly, when only nine or ten years of age, he exchanged his father's roof for a residence in that city of the waters, some seventy miles distant. Whatever darkness had fallen at that period on the former glory of Venice, it retained much wherewith to dazzle the eyes of its every visitor. Proud of its wealth, its freedom, its power, its isolation, it was unique in its TITIAN : TUE rAINTEK. 119 situation unci utmospberc, in its state pageantries, tlie pomp of its rulers, the ostentatious display of every- thing that appealed to the lust of the eye and the l^ride of life. It could not have failed to have opened up an entirely new world to that art-born brain which had exchanged its physical birth-scenery for soul-stirring impressions of artificial city life. All that can be certainly ascertained of the student days of Titian may be told in a few words. He is known to have been a pupil of Sebastian Zuccato, who is described as a mosaicist and a then painter of note, but whose name, if on the page of George Sand, is not now to be found on the roll of distinguished artists. Fame has dealt more kindly with the brothers Gentile and Giovanni Bellini, under whom Titian also studied. These artists were, it is recorded, not mere designers of altar-pieces, but masters of portrait, creators of composed pictures, and founders of landscape art. They were therefore admirably adapted to develop the genius of the young student whose future was to be one of unrivalled success in all these depart- ments. For a time Titian had as a fellow-pupil Giorgione, w4io in after days almost rivalled him as a colourist, and excelled him in fresco painting ; time has destroyed his frescoes, while scarcely more than half-a-dozen of his panel pictures are known to exist. He died at the early age of thirty-six. The elder Palma is also believed to have been a •companion in the same studio. Titian, in his early 120 MODERN METHUSELAHS. days, sometimes imitated the style of his teachers, and sometimes that of his fellow-students. He had, how- ever, far too much originality of genius to allow him to be long enslaved by external influences or even by worthy examples. Although he did not rise by any extraordinary leap to reputation, Titian gave early indication that he could make his art speak a language of its own, and that so far from being a mere copyist of others, there was every probability that he would become the founder of an orioinal O school. Tradition points to his earlier labours having been the decoration of house-fronts, for the Venetians were proud of dwelling-places so adorned. He also employed himself as a painter of Madonnas ; a small Madonna at the Belvedere of Venice still bears witness to his early rejection of the traditional treat- ment of the subject, and conveys a promise of brilliant success in more mature days. But a thick cloud of doubt hangs over many of the pictures attributed to the early manhood of this master, and no very certain data can be adduced by which it is possible to trace bis upward career ; the task is rendered the more hopeless because time has eflfaced his frescoes, and fire and other accidents have destroyed many of his panel and canvas pieces. Step by step he advanced in skilful work, and by slow degrees in reputation. Even at the age of thirty he is found working under Giorgione, to whom had been entrusted the external decoration of the Fondaco de' Tedeschi, of which TITIAN': TIIK I'AINTKH. 121 mciitiuii will have to be iikilIc hereafur. At first, he worked iu the style of his colhil^orateur, but speedily struck out a manner of lii.s own, producing work which met with the warm approbation of sound judges. Au anecdote runs that a distinguished party of connoisseurs overvvhebncd (iliorgione with praise for work which they supposed had been executed by him, but which in reality had been done by Titian. This is said to have greatly annoyed Giorgione, and recalls a somewhat similar occurrence between Ghirlandajo and his pupil, j\Iichael Angclo. If any- thing of the kind really took place between the two workers on the Foudaco, the irritation must soon have passed away, for they were friends until the plague of 1511 carried Giorgione to an untimely grave ; his un- finished pictures were completed by Titian, by w^hom no subordinate position was henceforth held. He began to be well known as a painter of Madonnas of remarkable beauty and very high finish ; of sacred and ecclesiastical compositions which won general admiration, such as the "Man of Sorrows," and " Christ carrying Ilis Cross," and of secular ptieces equally beautiful, such as "Artless and Sated Love." At this time also commenced that series of the likenesses of earth's great ones which consumed so large a portion of his artistic life ; the splendid portrait of a Doge, now in the Vatican Museum, was the earnest of the extraordinary success which was to crown this branch of Titian's art. But the master- piece of his comparatively early days is to be found 122 MODERN METHUSELAHS. ill the Dresden Gallery, under the title of "Christ and the Tribute Money." Notwithstanding a recent eminent critic considers this picture is too highly rated, it is generally confessed to be, for simplicity and power, for combined detail and breadth, for brightness and delicacy of colour, " the most perfect easel picture of which Venice ever witnessed the production." The history of Italy records the disturbed con- dition of Venice and its districts from 1508 to 1512. In the June of 1509, the province of Friuli was occupied by Maximilian ; in the following month the capital was burned, and the whole of the villages of Western Cadore were sacked. These unsettled times had a discjuieting effect upon artists, and among the migrations of the craftsmen, Titian took up his abode at Padua, at that time distinguished for its university, galleries of antiquities, museums, and literary collec- tions. Here he resumed fresco-painting, scarcely rising equal to his reputation, certainly adding nothing to it. Eeport represents him as having been employed in the decoration of Cornaro's palace. It was for a brief season only ; after a short stay at Vicenza, he returned to Venice, and threw himself into more congenial work. The "St. Mark of the Salute" was a production of this period ; it is noted for its mellow colours and its masterly treatment of atmospheric lights and shades ; it denoted a large increase of artistic power. An incident is recorded in the thirty-sixth year TITIAN: TlIK PAINTKIJ. 123 of tlic painter's life wliieli liad a marked influence upon his future career ; lie could apparently act upon the impression that his genius could no longer be called in question, and that he was therefore entitled to a certain recognised and remunerative position in his adopted city which the authorities had it in their power to give him. This was a broker's patent in the Fondaco de' Tedeschi, which he petitioned might be granted him on the first vacancy, with all the privileges enjoyed by Giovanni Bellini, who held a like appoint- ment. The peculiar institution referred to was a State building erected and maintained for the use of foreigners of various nationalities, but chiefly German, where they were permitted to reside and trade ; it was strictly regulated by Government, and free-trade principles were never more thoroughly ignored than they were by the rules to which foreign merchants had to submit. Among the officers connected with the establishment were thirty brokers, through one or other of whom all business had to be transacted. A broker's patent was a State prize, for it carried with it a salary of about one hundred ducats a year, an immunity from taxes, and other privileges ; it seems to have been in some cases a sinecure, in others the work was done by deputy, and it was conferred from time to time upon some eminent painter — a sort of retaining fee for his services to be at the disposal of the Great Council. It was as a painter that Titian re- quested the patent ; he based his petition upon the fact that he had studied painting from his childhood 124 MODERN METHUSELAHS. upwards ; that he was desirous of fame rather than profit ; and that he vvoukl prefer to serve the Doge rather than the Pope, who then, as in earlier days, earnestly wished to employ him. He also desired to have a position in the Council Ilall allotted to him, in which to paint a large battle-piece. In all particulars Titian's prayer was granted ; two youths wore given to him as assistants, who, with all colours and neces- saries, were to be paid by the ►Salt Office, the State department answerable for the public buildings. Bellini's adverse influence, it is conjectured, caused all these privileges to be withdrawn in the course of a few months, and Titian was informed that he would have to wait his turn for a broker's patent. He immediately sent in another petition, in which he urged that he should succeed Bellini in his office, and continue to work in the meantime. The office which Bellini held, and for which the broker's parent was given him, was that of la Sanseria, the principal duty being — and it w^as one to which the Venetians attached great importance — to paint the portrait of each successive Doge, at a payment of twenty-five ducats ; a votive picture for each Doge was also expected, at a fixed price ; and the privilege was con- veyed of working on the decorations of the great hall. Titian's rec[uest was again granted, but only to be again revoked; for an official examination of the work already executed in the great hall led to an unqualified report that the cost had been largely excessive, and all the artists were therefore dismissed. After some TITIAN' : TIIK I'AINTKU. 125 furtlier negotiation, liowcvor, and the deatli of Dclliiii, Titian found liimsclf in full possession of the ollice and its privileges. As is too often the case, tlie privileges appear to have been more highly prized than the duties. When each successive occasion arose, Titian painted the new Doge with due regu- larity, but the work in the great Council Chamber was utterly neglected. In vain, from time to time, the authorities remonstrated and threatened to annul his appointment ; he disregarded all their expressions of dissatisfaction for the long period of twenty-one years. During that whole time he had no rival to compete with him, which made him feel so secure in his position that he went his own way in defiance of protest and threat. In 1537, however, he was rudely awakened to the twofold fact that a formidable rival had appeared in Venice, and that he bid fair to supersede him in his office. Pordenone, who had acquired an established reputation in other parts of Italy, took up his abode about this time in the city of the waters, was soon admitted to State service, received the thanks of the Council of Ten for the manner in which he had executed the work entrusted to him, and made that body eager to turn over to him the unheeded task of Titian. A resolution was accordingly passed, and served on the great painter, in which he was plainly reminded that since his appointment he had drawn his salary without performing his promise, and closed with the remark : " It is proper that this state of things should cease, and accordingly Titian is 126 MODERN METHUSELAHS. called upon to refund all tliat lie lias received for the time in wliicli he has done no work." This rebuke, the intimation it conveyed, and the appointment of Pordenoue to paint in the Council Hall, immediately aroused Titian from his indifference, and he girded himself up for the speedy execution of the task so long overdue. AVitli astonishing energy, and with inimitable skill, he soon produced his famous piece, the " Battle of Cadore," a painting of large dimensions, as the principal figures were life-size. It represented the field of Tai, where the troops of Maximilian were overthrown in sioht of the Castle of Cadore, an incident in Venetian history of deep interest to all, to the Cadorines in particular, and had special attrac- tions for the artist and his family. A disastrous fire in 1577 consumed this masterpiece, of which an engraving by Fontana, and some studies and copies, alone remain to convey an impression of its high qualities. At the time it was pronounced to be the finest painting which had ever adorned the Hall, and it at once appeased the anger of the authorities. More than once again, however, his oflfice was threatened, and in 1567 he besought the Council of Ten to transfer the patent to his son and assistant Orazio, with which wish the Ten complied. During more than the half-century these facts comprise Titian had painted many portraits of the Doges who had reigned and died, and several of their votive pictures. His portraits, admirable as faithful likenesses, did not merely give the " outward skin," but each one was TITIAN': TIIK I'AINTKlt. 127 stampod with the lih; and soul of the sitter, jind was so niai^torlv in its execution as to leave upon the mind of tlie beholder an impression of *' something divine," a feeliuG: of minified astonishment and admiration. r>ut it is necessary to go back the long years just named, and to trace the artist's footsteps in other directions. At the date of his appointment to the Sanscria, he had attained to a position which soon brought him more commissions tban it was possible to execute within the time his patrons deemed reasonable. Among those early patrons particular mention should be made of Alfonso d'Este, the Duke of Ferrara, his wife being the too well-known Lucretia Borgia. Like his father, this prince encouraged Art and smiled upon letters ; therefore Titian attracted his notice, was invited to his Court, became his guest in lolG, and on many subsequent occasions. The prince projected great things, the painter promised great things, which promise was not soon fulfilled, although renewed by abject and flattering letters. In vain the duke wrote ; in vain his agent in Venice remonstrated with the painter in mingled terms of pride and anger ; in vain Alfonso sought a personal interview. There was in all this an exhibition of one of Titian's peculiarities. He would promise anything, but he mentally reserved to himself his own time for the execution of his promise. There can be no room, therefore, for surprise that his patrons often had their patience sorely tried. For not only were no com- 128 MODERN METHUSELAHS. missions rejected, however thick and fast they poured in upon him, but as a rule his works were of slow growth. He could, it is true, at times show himself a very iraprovisatore, by dashing off a masterpiece with singular speed, but such was not his ordinary method of production. The foundation of a picture once laid, it would be turned to the wall, and there left for weeks, or for months ; on being again taken in hand, defects would be remedied, and again it would be put aside, to be resumed three or four times more, until its creator could rcfrard it with satisfac- tion. This fact goes far to explain the difficulty which exists with regard to the exact date of many of Titian's pictures, as mention is frequently made of this or that one before the artist had touched the canvas which would one day o;low with it. The same holds good with reference to its successive stages ; so, while the painter was devoting himself exclusively, "body and soul," to Alfonso, he was deeply engaged in other productions carefully kept from the know- ledoje of the duke. Time brouorht that nobleman his reward ; he received portraits of himself and probably of his first wife ; certainly one of Laura Dianti, who was either his second wife or his mistress ; portraits of Ariosto, and many compositions, among which may be named "Venus Worship," "Noli me Tangere," "The Virgin's Rest," and "Bacchus and Ariadne." Further intercourse led the duke to entertain a very high esteem for the artist, whose help he often sought in matters beyond his own profession. TITIAN : TIIK PAINTKU. 129 Nothing woulil be more futile tlian an attempt to enumerate all the noted pictures which for so remark- ably extended a term left the easel of tlie artist. A few representative ones can alone iind mention. Among these must come the magnificent composition of the " Assumption of the Virgin," now in the Academy of Venice ; it was executed for the high altar of Santa Maria de' Frari, in that city, and was exhibited to the public on St. Bernardino's Day, March 20, 1518. Crowds of his fellow- citizens gazed on the painter's creation with undisguised delight, and not- withstanding certain defects, and the unsuitable posi- tion it now occupies, competent judges pronounce it to be a truly grand production. A masterly altar-piece at Brescia contained a majestic figure of St. Sebastian, which in a great measure satisfied the artist's own ideal, as it met with the warmest admiration of all who saw it. The " ]\Iadonna di Casa Pesaro " is considered to tell of the maturity of Titian's power, and to contain " the most splendid and solemn union of the laws of composition and colour, with magic light and shade." A few words will explain the picture. The artist had painted Pesaro, the Bishop of Paphos, many years before, in the act of praying to St. Peter to grant him victory in an impending conflict with the Moslems. His prayer was not disregarded, and in this piece the bishop is depicted in the act of returninoj thanks for his victory. An altar-piece painted for Doge Andrea Gritti, of "St. John the Almso;iver," had thrown into it all the K 130 MODERN METHUSELAHS. artist's originality and power, for the noble old Doge entertained very kindly feelings for Titian, who painted his portrait and also executed for him a fresco. An incident connected with the painter's *'St. Peter, Martyr," is of considerable interest. In iDi'S the brotherhood of St. Peter Martyr invited all Venetian artists to compete for a new altar-piece for the church of Giovanni e Palola, which should represent the death of their patron saint. Palma and Pordeuone, each of eminent reputation, entered the lists against Titian, but signally failed, for after a public exhibition of the designs he carried off the prize. After two years of careful labour, the painting was delivered and exhibited, and excited then, as in subsequent. times, intense admiration. " Generations of artists, from Benvenuto Cellini and Tribolo in the sixteenth to Rubens and the Caracci in the seven- teenth, and Reynolds in the eighteenth century, spent hours in admiring and studying it." Wilkie and Turner also expressed unfeigned delight with this masterpiece. Tradition states that the Signoria threatened with death any one who should have the audacity to remove it from its position. Unhappily the original was destroyed by fire in 1867 ; a copy, however, exists in the church of the brotherhood, and one is abo to be found in Paris. Lono- before the death of the Duke of Ferrara, he had introduced Titian to his nephew, Federico Gon- zaga, Marquess of ]Mantua. A gratifying reception was extended to the painter in 1523, when he TITIAN: THE PAINTER. 131 visitiul the rourt of the marques3-dukc, who fully appreciated his genius, and always treated him with marked courtesy, even sj^eaking of the love he bore to hiin, nnd of the "singular pleasure" which it would give him to receive him again. Further viiits followed, and among the noted pictures painted for the duke's castello there must be named the "Entombment," and the "Madonna del Coneglio," which obtained a promise of a benefice for the artist's priestly son, but it was long before any advantage reached the hands of his father, to his "great dis- content." A series of the Roman Emperors, executed from medals, were commissioned by the marquess, and eleven of them were finished before the patron's career was closed by death, which event took place in 1540. Titian attended his funeral, and no doubt keenly felt his loss, for he had always treated him with generosity and kindness, and had gained bim the patronage of the Emperor, Charles V. But before anv details are given of his connection with this renowned monarch, mention should be made of two other princely patrons for whom much work w-as executed. For the Marquess of Mantua's brother Titian painted the "Eape of Proserpine," and for Francesco Maria, Duke of Urbino, w^hose wife w^as sister to the Marquess of Mantua, he painted portraits of himself and of his duchess. They were finished in 1537, in the painter's noblest style; so admirable were they that the high-born of Venice were en- chanted with them, and they called forth the K 2 132 MODERN METHUSELAHS. unbonght praises of Aretino. The duke was a soldier of tried skill and courage ; lie arrived at Venice as o-eneralissimo under orders to assume command. But in the midst of war preparations the duke fell ill, and \vas anxious to return to Pesaro ; at his request Titian accompanied him, but change of place failed to counteract the poison which had been treacherously administered, and after weeks of great agony he died in 1538. Courtly in person, dress, and manner, Titian may be considered the true type of a Court painter, and step, by step he rose in favour among the great ones of the earth, until he numbered Charles Y. and Pope Paul III. among his friendly patrons. A sight of the Duke of Mantua's portrait made the emperor wish for one of himself by the same artist ; and by invitation Titian visited his Court at Bologna, 1532-3, accom- plished an eminently successful likeness, to the great satisfaction of Charles, and laid the foundation of much future intercourse with him and with his degenerate son Philip after him. The emperor paid a thousand scudi in gold for the painter's services on this occa- sion, and created him a Count of the Lateran Palace, of the Aulic Council, with all the advantages which accompanied those privileges ; he was made a Knight of the Golden Spur, by which he was entitled to wear the sword, the chain, and the golden spur ; while his children were raised to the rank " of nobles of the empire, wdth all the privileges pertaining to families with four generations of ancestors. During this visit TITIA.N: TlIK TAINTEU. 138 Titian was introduecil to General Davalos del Vasto and to Ippolito de Medici, both of whom held high state at the emperor's Court, and were secured as the painter's warm friends, sittiug to him for their portraits, William ILizlitt was an enthusiastic admirer of Titian, and in his young days, before he had deserted Art for Literature, executed, with great success, a copy of Ippolito's portrait. His own like- ness of Charles Lamb was said to have had a Titianesque air about it. The monarch would fain have had the painter accompany him on his campaigns, that his brush might hand down to posterity some of their striking incidents. A quieter and a safer life ])etter suited the taste of the artist. He had, never- theless, a perfect willingness to visit the Court in any of its temporary homes, and in 153G he accompanied his friend the Marquess of Mantua to Asti, where the emperor was then meditating the invasion of France. Personal interviews did not limit the painter's dealings with the monarch. Acting on the advice of Aretino, Titian sent the emperor the painting of the " Annunciation," prepared for the church of Santa Maria deorli An^jeli, of Murano, for which the nuns of the convent had refused to pay the five hundred scudi charged for it. Charles accepted the painting with great gladness, w^hich he testified by a present of one thousand five hundred scudi above the price originally fixed by the painter. Another meeting with the emperor, in 1541, resulted in the grant of an annuity upon the treasury 134 MODERN METHUSELAHS. of Milan ; he received also a pension from General Davalos, for whom he painted the " Allocution," a marvel of art which caused a lively sensation when exhibited at Milan. Another meeting took place at Busseto, in 1543, the painter then being the guest of Cardinal Farnese. He painted for Charles a portrait of the late empress, from a likeness supplied to liim ; the execution was signally successful ; the emperor made one of the two eventually produced his constant companion during the remainder of his life, and allowed almost the last look of his djing moments to rest upon it. In 1548 Titian was again at Augsburg, at the summons of Charles, who sent him an outfit and money for the journey. He was graciously received, and painted his imperial patron on the horse ridden by him at Mlllberg. As usual, the portrait was eminently satisfactory, and in acknowledgment his pension on the treasury of Milan was doubled. Incessant labour must have been the lot of Titian during this visit, for he was called upon to paint the portraits of a large number of the noble and dis- tinguished company assembled on the occasion, as also of the elector and other of the prisoners. He had also to execute many composed pictures. Once more the monarch and the artist met; in 1550 the latter was again invited, or commanded, to Augsburg ; lie found Charles in gloomier mood than ever, his health broken, his heart sick of thrones, Courts, and combats, his soul yearning for the seclusion and rest of the cloister, to which he had determined to retire. TITIAN : TllK TAINTER. 135 Hc3 granted Titian rc[)eatLHl and confidential inter- views, to tlie surprise and displeasure of the courtiers. lie is said to have hushed their complaints by telling them that he had many nobles, but only one Titian. His eonimunicalions w ith the painter admitted of an easy (.•x}>lanation. Charles earnestly desired a com- posed picture which should express in Art language the feelings which induced him to withdraw from the world, and end his days in religious exercises. He had an equally earnest desire to possess a portrait of his son Philip, then twenty-four years of age, of un- gainly figure and of unattractive features. From a masterly, although rapid, study which Titian made on this occasion, two portraits were ultimately pro- duced. Philip was represented in one as a warrior, in a suit of damasked steel, while in the other he was portrayed as a courtier. Attitude and costume were changed in replicas, but the head, into which Titian had thrown all his strength, was the same in each. The one now in the Museum at Madrid is the one which Mary of Hungary sent to this country for Mary Tudor to see the likeness of him who aspired to share her throne. Thanks to the skill of the painter, the portrait decided Mary in Philip's favour. In February, 1551, the Court left Auojsburir, and Charles and Titian saw each other no more, but the latter received a pension of five hundred scudi, nominally from Philip. The emblematic composition, which occupied the artist's thoughts at the same time as the portraits, was finished in the autumn of 1554. A more difficult 13G MODERN METHUSELAHS. subject could scarcely have beeu presented to an artist's imagination ; it was no less than a repre- sentation of the Trinity, seen in the radiancy and glory of heaven, surrounded by patrian-hs, prophets, and evangelists, with the Mother of the Saviour pleading with her Son for the pardon of the sins of the royal family. Charles was to figure as a penitent in the company of his empress, with Philip and Mary of Hungary. In imagination and execution the picture is considered a magnificent specimen of art, notwithstanding certain unquestionable defects. It delighted the emperor; it was his i-ompanion in the solitude of Yuste, after his abdication ; special mention was made of it in his will ; his dvinsj oiances were thrown upon it. The " Grieving Virgin," a picture of considerable pathos and of beautiful execu- tion, was also with the emperor in his last days. Many canvases from Titian's studio had reached Philip before the death of his father ; after that event the great painter's brush appeared to be constantly at work for him. The pictures forwarded to him are far too numerous for special mention. One, a pure and. simple landscape, was a novel step in painting, for hitherto, although Titian had thrown into his com- posed pictures many beautiful "bits" of Cadore and other scenery, they had always been subordinate to the composition as a whole. In the present instance the landscape itself was the principal feature, and he had every reason to be satisfied with the success of his experiment. TITIAN: Till-; I'AINTKH. 137 111 lapitl succession there were despiitclieut the small ailments of life ; few of earth's daily toilers ever lost so little time from ill-health. In reply to a question put to him by a surgeon of note at Venice, be acknowledged that he was subject to the general experience of task-workers, being eager to labour on some days, and painfully disinclined to it on others. But, after all, his manner of life, as far as it can be ascertained, affords no key to the wonderful preservation of his working powers, nor to the length of days to which he attained ; for it is certain that he did not regulate bis life by any stern principles of health, but indulged, throughout his days, in festive living and pleasant companionship. The happiness to which Vasnri alludes was marred by domestic sorrows and troubles. He saw death snatch from him a child, a wife, a sister, a brother, and, more bitter than all, jDerhaps, his daughter Lavinia, whom he termed the one " dearest to him on earth," even "the absolute mistress of liis soul." She was happily married when twenty-four years old, and became the mother of six children ; death came to her, as to her mother, in child-birth. The one great trouble which disturbed Titian's happiness was the conduct of his eldest son, Pomponio. Although dedi- cated to the priestly office from his childhood, he ran the career of a profligate and spendthrift ; he mocked every one who admonished him, and scorned all his TITIAN : TllK MAX. 150 fiitlirr's rcmoiisLriUiccs. I lis conduct was so dis- graceful that his father had, after all his efforts to obtain him prcferaieut, at last to refuse him induction when it fell within his power to give it, for he looked upon his reformation as liopeless. After a time he relented, but Pomponio's character remained un- changed; he was a non-resident canon of Milan, but never discharo;ed clerical duties. Lookinjx at the strong contrast wdiicli the habits of the father pre- sented, w'c can in some measure realise the bitterness and misery which he must have experienced through this reckless scapegrace, who, immediately after his father's death, squandered all the property for which the painter had so long and successfully toiled. When Vasari visited Titian, in 15G6, beino* then eighty-nine years old, he found him with brushes in hand, painting as usual. Seven years after he \vas hale and hearty enough to receive royal visits, to write letters, to paint pictures, and to superintend the labours of his pupils. Time had not, however, altogether overlooked the aged pilgrim ; he appears to have been conscious that death's dart would soon reach him, and he therefore delegated more and more of his work to his son and to his pupils. But even in the last year of his wonderful life another example was given to the world of " a brush mani2)ulated by one whose hand never grew weary, and never learned to tremble." The "Christ of Pity " comes naturally under the personal history of the artist, for it was painted under the conviction that his last loug rest 160 MODERN METHUSELAHS. was near at liand ; it was tbc outpouring of the dying soul in colours, as the musician would express his expiring thoughts in notes — as indeed, one true poet did in his Kequiem, and another in his beautiful chorale, "When my last hour is close at hand." Titian's " Pieta" was offered to the Franciscans for a tomb in the chapel of the "Crucified Saviour." But before it was finished, differences arose between the brethren and the painter, which induced him to leave the picture incomplete, and to direct that he should be entombed in the chapel of his family at Pieve. He had not long to wait ; the messenger came with awful suddenness and in terrible guise at last. In 1576 a malignant plague swept away fifty thousand of the inhabitants of Venice, the great painter being amono" the victims. A sanitary law had been passed 1)}^ the authorities which prohibited the burial of those who fell by the epidemic in any of the churches of the city, but it was set aside without scruple iu the case of their world-renowned painter ; so the 27th of August saw a solemn procession wend its w^ay to the chapel of the Crucified Saviour, where he origin- ally wished to be laid, and there, with his knightly insignia, the mourners consigned Titian to his long sleep, and conferred their last honours on him. The "Christ of Pity" was finished by another brush, but it is still possible to trace much of the work of the ao-ed master, and Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle state that " the touch is massive, broad, and firm, telling still of incomparable steadiness of hand. It is TITIAN: TUE MAN. 161 truly surprising that a man so far advanced in years should have had the power to put together a com- position so perfect in line, so elevated in thought, or so tragic in expression." After a full description of the composition, reference is made to the tablet portion, which still contains the portraits, although defaced, of Titian and Orazio, kneeling before the pitying Saviour. The kniglitly arms of the master are seen at the feet of a sibyl, while he, " wearied with the toils and anxieties of life, conscious of lofty aimfi not wholly reached, exhausted with a vexing service rendered to earthly dignities, casts himself at last upon the compassion of the Christ whose life and sufiferings he knew so well, and left so wondrously set forth." Thus one writer interprets this ex- ceedingly interesting monument of Titian's expiring genius. The same plague which carried off the father struck down his son Orazio, his faithful companion and assistant, who died in a lazaretto. The city was panic-stricken with the calamity which had fallen on it ; fearfulness and dismay everywhere prevailed ; law and order were paralysed. Bands of thieves took advantage of this condition of affairs, and before Titian's house could be guarded it was stripped of many of its most precious treasures. To deepen the melancholy termination of a laborious life, by the death of Orazio, to whom the painter had bequeathed all his property, Pomponio inherited everything, and in a very brief period consumed all in fully and dissi 162 MODERN METHUSELAHS. pation. Not even the home of his ancestors was spared ; that home which had been bestowed by the grandfather of the painter upon his father Gregorio, at whose death it passed to Francesco, and finally to Titian. The property at Biri Grande, the cherished home of the painter, shared the same fate. It is somewhat singular, and cannot but be a matter of regret, that three eminent men of great constitutional vigour at an extremely advanced period of life, should not have died a purely natural death. Isocrates, when on the verge of one hundred years, cut short his life by voluntary starvation; Titian, as just related, fell a victim at the same age to the plague ; Charles Waterton, when eighty-three years old, was in ftdl possession of all his physical and mental powers, but lost his life by the falling of a tree. Each would probably have attained to five years over a century but for the disastrous causes named. It may be well to notice here that not a few of Titian's contemporaries attained to a remarkable old age. Sansovino, the architect and sculptor, reached his ninety-first year ; Antonio Grimani was eighty- seven when he assumed the sovereign office of Doge ; one of his predecessors perished by the hand of the executioner after he had numbered his eighty years ; and the Bishop of Paphos would have been sent to the Council of Trent had not his eighty-five years TITIAN : THE MAN. 168 somewhat impaired liis once keen intellect. Francesco Sforza is said to have lived to " a areat old aire." The case of Luigi Cornaro has already been considered in detail. JMichael Angclo attained the ripe old age of ninety, although he frequently ate only one meal a day, which consisted of nothing more than bread and wine. Gentile Bellini died at eighty-one, his brother Giovanni at eighty-nine ; while a distinguished artist of a somewhat earlier day, Spinello Aretino, survived until his ninety-second year. These examples of men of note which have presented themselves unsought in looking over the records of Titian's time, not only fail to sustain the view of Sir Thomas DufFus Hardy, to which reference was made in the introductory chapter, but go far to prove that a near approach to a century was not an uncommon event in the sixteenth century, at any rate. CHAPTER VIII. FONTENELLE. Je connois une compagnie de fleuristes qui avoient cornmence de donner a chaque nouvelle espece de renoncule le nom de quelque personne de merite distingu6e dans le monde Assez ordi- nairement une certaine conformite entre ragrement propre a une espece et le caractere d'une personne connue les regloit dans le choix des noms. Par exemple, la renoncule qui avec I'eclat des roses par dehors montre par dedans une candeur toute unie, sans fard ni moucheture ; ils I'appelloient la Rollin. Celle ou les mouchetures sont si multipliees et si serrees I'une contre I'autre, qu'elles empecheni/ de voir le fond qui les soutient ; c'etoit la De la Motte. Celle qui avec une riclie couleur embellit reguli^rement d'un joli panache I'extremitu de chacune de ses feuilles ; c'etoit La ro>'TEXELLE, Spectacle de la Nature, In the introductory pages of this work, allusion was made to the theory that those who attain to an extreme old age are generally characterised by an unemotional and apathetic temperament. Fontenelle certainly aflfords an example in point. He had nearly turned his one hundredth year at the time of his death, and had through life been distinguished for his even temper, unruffled demeanour, and steady FONTENELLE. 165 avoidance of all violent exertions, cither mental or bodily. He knew nothing of outbursts of joy or of anguish ; he avowed that he had never laughed and had never wept ; like Galen of old, he carefully avoided all perturbations of the physical and spiritual man. All he ever knew of love was admiration of the female form, and was rather an afifair of the brain than of the heart. It has been truly said of him that he was exempt from the great passions and was master of the little ones. Fontenelle, Bernard le Bovier de, was born at Rouen, February 11, 1G57, where his father, who was of a noble family, practised as an advocate. The real family name is stated to have been Le Bouyer, of which Le Bovier was an alteration or corruption, but Fontenelle was the name by which the subject of this sketch always sought to be known. His mother was Marthe, a sister of Pierre and Thomas Corneille, and a woman of great mental superiority. He was edu- cated at the Jesuits' College of his native city, where his faculties developed themselves easily and rapidly, so that his student career was a brilliant one. At the early age of thirteen he wrote Latin verses worthy of being printed ; he manifested great proficiency in all his other studies when very young, and the college register has a note by the side of his name : "Adolescens omnibus partibus absolutus, et inter discipulos princeps." The Jesuits were anxious to gather him into their fold, but attractions of another kind very soon drew him far away from their order. 166 MODERX METHUSELAHS. When only seventeen he paid a visit to Paris, and became publicly known by the verses which he pub- lished in the Mercure Galant, then edited by his uncle, Thomas Corneille, of whom Voltaire said he would have won a great reputation if he had not had a greater brother. Fontenelle is stated to have tried several times for the poetry prize of the French Academy, but always failed. Like his father and his uncle, Pierre Corneille, Fontenelle was admitted as an advocate ; he pleaded a cause entrusted to him, lost it, and immediately and for ever renounced law for letters. He entered upon an author's career under circumstances much more favourable than those which surround many an aspirant for literary distinc- tion. He had naturally lively intellectual powers, which had been carefully cultivated ; he had good family connections, being the nephew of two men who had made a mark in the literature of their country, one of whom — the elder — had earned the highest honours of a dramatic poet ; they both believed in their young kinsman. He was, moreover, of an agreeable personal appearance, was habitually cheerful, and carried a kindly smile into society, notwithstand- ing he never laughed. A second visit to Paris is recorded when he was twenty -two years old ; he had then for companions St. Pierre, De Vertot, and Varignon, the eminent mathe- matician. He has left on record the pleasantness of their meetings : they were all young ; full of the first ardour of knowledge ; they were united ; they had FONTENELLE. 167 also tlie possibly unappreciated happiness of being unknown. Various literary contributions were the work of this period ; in addition to these fugitive pieces he aided his uncle Thomas Corneille in the composition of two operas ; and he ventured before a theatrical audience a little comedy in one act, but under the name of another. In 1G80 his tragedy of Asjxir appeared, which turned out so complete a failure that on his return home he threw the copy into the fire, and hoped that total oblivion would be its portion. It was rescued from that fate, not for its worth but for its worthlessness. Paris was at that time divided into two dramatic cabals : Corneille and his friends were in one camp, and Racine and his follow^ers in the other ; each side depreciated the great man at the head of the other party, and eagerly seized upon anything which could give annoyance to their foes. The hopes of the former had fixed them- selves upon Fontenelle, under the belief that the mantle of his distinguished uncle had fallen upon him ; the complete failure of Aspar severely dis. appointed them, and turned their expected triumph into a bitter humiliation. Racine therefore took care that As}Ktr should not be forgotten, and Fontenelle, contrary to his lifelong habit, retaliated, and endeavoured by epigrams to disparage Esther and Athalie, and to avenge himself upon Boileau in like manner. The failure of the first youthful literary venture does not warrant the conclusion that its author will not succeed in future efforts, and 168 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Fontenelle had a persistent predilection for dramatic composition ; moreover, it could scarcely have been without some distinct evidence of ability that both his uncles encouraged his attempts ; nevertheless, defeat attended his prose tragedy of Iclcdie, while his six comedies are pronounced to be below mediocrity. Possibly, if instead of having been met with bitinsc sarcasm he had received from the first a little generous public encouragement, his supple mind might have successfully adapted itself to the task evidently dear to his ambition ; this is the more probable as Tlietis and Peleus, which was brought out in 1689, was received with applause, and was praised by Voltaire. Fontenelle did not allow his disappointments to lessen his self-esteem or to shorten his days. Six years before Thetis and Peleus appeared, its author had ventured upon an entirely new style of composition, in which he met with decided encourage- ment. His "Dialogues of the Dead" was, in fact, the first work which raised him among the " men of mark " of his time, although now his own countrymen acknowledge that its success bears witness to the corrupt taste of that day, for the w^ork is full of subtleties and paradoxes, without brilliancy or solidity. He was soon again before the public, for in 1686 appeared his " Entretiens sur la Pluralite des Mondes," which much augmented his reputation, for it was universally read, was pronounced to be a fascinating work, and was translated into many FONTENELLE. 169 languages. Its author sought to convey to his readers scientific truths in a liv'cly and interesting manner ; this he endeavoured to effect by the intro- duction of a lady who sustained the principal cha- racter of the work. In the following year^Fontenelle published a ''History of Oracles," based upon the labours of Van Daale, a Dutch author, who wrote, however, in Latin, in which the heathen oracles w^re exposed, and proved to be impositions and forgeries. This view was in direct opposition to that entertained by many of the ancient fathers, who held that the oracles had been directed by the supernatural operation of evil spirits ; it was therefore attacked by Balthus, a Jesuit, on the ground that it tended to free- thou 2jht. As in conversation Fontenelle never replied to objection or contradiction, so in regard to his writings he took no notice of hostile criticism ; there remains, however, a remark by him on this argument of Balthus, for, after pointing out that the responsibility of the views rested with Van Daale, and not with himself, he wrote : " J'aime mieux que le diable ait ete prophete, pisque le pere Jesuite le veut et qu'il croit cela plus ortho- doxe." Another new species of composition was entered upon in 1688, as in that year he published a small volume of *' Pastoral Poems," with an intro- ductory discourse on the Eclogue. This was for a time eminently successful, but it soon ceased to be read, and is now confessed to be greatlv deficient in the qualities demanded by that style of poetry, for it 170 MODERN METHUSELAHS. is destitute of any genuine appreciation of the beauties of nature ; its descriptions of rural life are artificial, and, with the exception of " Ismene," there is really nothing to save the volume from the oblivion into which it has fallen. Another venture, the "Lettres du Chevalier d'Her," was published anonymously, and proved a failure ; Fontenelle would neither avow himself nor disavow himself as the author. Notwithstanding these numerous publications, Fontenelle was still comparatively a young man, and if before his twenty-fourth year he had composed a large part of the operas of Psyche and Bellerophon, he had since exhibited great mental activity and compre- hensiveness. During this time there had risen around him many rivals and many enemies. For a large portion of his literary life he had to endure ridicule and sarcasm from men of higher intellectual powers than his own. Reference has already been made to Racine's enmity • it had been intensified by the part which Fontenelle took in the controversy of that day upon the pre-eminence of the ancients over the moderns ; he gave his voice for the superiority of the latter, with indiscreet judgments upon the former, while Racine and Boileau advocated the contrary view. These two powerfid foes managed to keep Fontenelle long excluded from the membership of the French Academy ; he failed of admission four times. His close intimacy with M. de la Motte, who was also the butt of superior intellects, told against him ; for thirty years, however, they were united in unbroken FONTENELLE. 171 friendship. They hud tlic same admirers and the same enemies, and Fontenelle, wlio was tlie survivor, dechired that the most beautiful trait of his life was that he had never been jealous of his friend. The coveted membership rewarded each in time, Fontenelle being only thirty-five years old when elected. Eight years after he became secretary of the Academy of Sciences, a position which he honourably occupied for the long period of forty-two years, and the literary labours connected with which form the most valuable portion of his contributions to letters. Fontenelle's " L'Histoire du Theatre Francais," his " Reflexions sur la Poctique du Theatre et du Theatre Tragique," and his " Elemens de Geometric de ITnfini," w^re received with respect, and sustained their author's reputation for a wide acquaintance with light literature, conjoined with a considerable attain- ment in science. Whatever renown he gained as an author rested, indeed, upon his art of popularising science. He learned to combine the art of instruction with amusement ; to render dark subjects clear ; to employ colloquial expressions to explain scientific facts. In his " Histoire de TAcademie des Sciences" he manifests the variety of his knowledge, the grasp and subtlety of his mind, and the graces of his style. If his eloges of deceased members of the Academy, which he pronounced for more than forty years, are a little too favourable at times, they are acknowledged to have been penned with great liberality, skill, aud delicacy. 172 MODEKN METHUSELAHS. No son of literature was ever more happily placed for the remainder of his days than was Fontenelle soon after his fortieth year. His life glided away in the discharge of congenial duties, in pleasant friend- ships, and in social gatherings. His conversation is reported to have had a singular charm, and his manners were highly attractive. A man of note as a writer, and a favourite in society, was little likely to have escaped jealous enemies, especially as he had his weak points in each case. If the representations of his detractors were to be accepted as true, it would be clear that Fontenelle was little better than a literary charlatan and a social impostor .; it must certainly have required all the imperturbability of character which characterised him to have quietly accepted the scathing criticism of Jean-Baptiste Eousseau and La Bruyere, and the pungent satires of other wits of the day. La Bruyere, writing of him under the name of Cydias, makes the galling remarks : " Whether he speaks or writes, he ought not to be suspected of having an eye either to the true or to the false, or the reasonable, or the ridiculous ; he avoids both acting on other people's judgment and being of other people's opinion ; thus, in company, he waits for each one to explain his views on the subject in hand, or the subject which he has himself brought forward, in order to say something entirely new, in a dogmatic style, but, as he thinks, decisive, and incapable of reply. Cydias matches himself with Lucian and Seneca, sets himself above Plato, Virgil, and Theo- FONTENKLLK. 173 critus, and his llattercr (La Motte) takes care to strengthen him every morning in this opinion. United by taste and interest witli tlie despisers of Homer, he waits calmly until the undeceived world shall prefer other poets to him ; he sets himself in this respect above other poets, and knows to whom he assigns the second place. He is, in a word, a compound of the pedant and the i^recieux, made to be admired by the cits and the provincials ; in whom, nevertheless, one perceives nothing great except the opinion which he has of himself." The translation of this passage is taken from Van Laun's very useful " History of French Literature," in which, however, Fontenelle is depreciated a little unduly ; his best work is ignored, although at the same time it is acknowledged that he was a literary force in France for more than half-a-century. But the days of the "Nestor de la Litterature" were drawing to a close, and probably no example of "long-lasting" is more remarkable, for he was so fragile at birth that it seemed an impossibility that he could live an hour ; extreme feebleness continued to mark his infancy ; in youth he required such con- tinual care that he had to abstain from all amuse- ments of an active character, even from billiards. His chest was so delicate that any agitation caused him to spit blood, and yet, during his exceptionally long life, he sufiered from a single malady only, which was slight, and of short duration. He was largely helped by the possession of a serviceable 174 MODEEX METHUSELAHS. stomach, which ^Yas always good, and equal to the demands made upon it. During a great portion of his life he was subject to occasional swooning fits ; he reached his ninetieth year, however, without any of the infirmities of old age weighing upon him, deaf- ness excepted ; later on his eyesight failed, hut his constitution held out with wonderfully sustained power, so that his declining years were happy, and his old ao-e serene and without sufferino^. Death reached him in a final swoon ; the event took place at Paris, on the 9th of January, 1757 ; he was there- fore a very few weeks short of having attained his one hundredth year. "Whatever flutterings of heart or of brain the fair sex may have occasioned Fontenelle, he never ventured upon matrimonial life. In his personal habits he was economical without being niggardly, and as his income much exceeded his expenditure, he gradually grew rich. His friendship with La Motte has already been noticed ; he contracted another very sincere friendship with one of his fellow-collegians of the name of Brunei, who on one occasion did not scruple to write to his friend for a considerable sum of money in the curtest possible terms, and without any apology. It was immediately sent, with just as little cere- moniousness. The death of Brunei was deeply felt by Fontenelle. Hence it may be inferred that he was not destitute of heart, although naturally of a self- contained and calm temperament, which the delicate state of his health had compelled him to humour to FONTEXELLE, 175 the utmost. Hi.s religious opinions have been described as a modest scepticism. lie frequently declared that the Christian religion alone had proofs of its authority, and highly praised the " Imitation of Christ," terming it one of the most beautiful books which the hand of man had ever given the world. Beyond the satirists who dwelt with almost savage severity upon the weak points of Fontenelle as a man and as an author, there existed a more moderate party who considered that his influence on letters was pernicious rather than beneficial ; that his constant use of epigram and antithesis set the fashion of an afi'ected, theatrical style, which tended to corrupt the purity of the French language. He was spoken of as the Seneca of his day, for while his admirers claimed for him the old Roman's vigour of style, his striking sentiments, and his pithy maxims, his detractors saw in his w^orks nothing but elaborate conceits, over- embellished sentences, and idle play upon w^ords. At the present time he is little more than a name in the literary annals of his country. An admirable estimate of his principal works, as also of his style and cha- racter, may be found in the " Histoire de la Litterature Francaise," by Frederic Godefroy. It should not be forgjotten that Voltaire considered him the most universal o;enius of the asae of Louis XIV., and other critics have acknowledsjed that he was remarkable for the variety of his knowledge, the finesse of his mind, and the suppleness and graces of a talent eminently French. CHAPTER IX. THOMAS AMORY. .... That delirious man AYhose fancy fuses old. and new, And flashes into false and true, And mingles all -without a plan. Tennyson. The " Curiosities of Literature " scarcely furnisli any more singular figure of an author, or any more strangely conceived works, than are afi'orded by the eccentric being and the children of his brain, now to be considered. Unfortunately, very little is known of Amory's personality ; the meagre details concern- ing him which can be gathered up do little to satisfy curiosity ; at best he is seen in a thick haze, as it were, the shape perceptible, but the features un- discernible. Moreover, his works may be said to be unknown to the general reader ; they are familiar to those only who delight to wander in the bye-paths of literature, and to seek out the peculiarities and follies of authors. Amory's claims are sufficient, however, to entitle him to a little nook in this gallery of those THOMAS AMORY. 177 who have a liiLrlicr riirlit to be remembered tliaii the mere fact of extraordinary tenure of life confers. As he attained to his ninety-seventh year, and gave to the world several volumes marked by some literary ability, originality of thought, extensive knowledge of theology, and close observation of nature, he has the double qualification demanded of those whose lives are here sketched. At times his pen appears to have been guided by a mind eccentric to the very verge of insanity ; yet William Hazlitt did not scruple to assert that the soul of Rabelais had passed into that of Thomas Amory ; a ^reader may find some little difiiculty in tracing the points of resemblance. Hazlitt also gave Amory a wrong Christian name. Mr. Crabb Robinson wrote of one of his w^orks : *' Amory 's descriptions are in a high style ; his scene- painting is of the first order ; and it is the w^himsical mixture of romantic scenery, Millennium-hall society, and dry disputation in a quaint style which gives this book so strangle and amusing^ a character." Charles Lamb pronounced it to be " written in better spirits' than any book he knew. Thomas Amory is asserted to have been a member of an ancient and honourable family. He was the son of Councillor Amory, who accompanied William HI. to Ireland, received the appointment of Secretary for Forfeited Estates, and became possessed of considerable landed property in County Clare. This w^as the son of another Thomas Amory, a younger brother of the raiser Amory, or Damer, whom Pope called the 178 MODERN METHUSELAHS. " wealthy and the wise," and whose mother was the daughter of Fitz-Maurice, the nineteenth Lord Kerry, another of whose daughters was married to Sir William Petty, and a third to the Duke of Leinster. It has been conjectured that the hero of this narrative received an education for some branch of the medical profession, and there are passages in his works which favour this view, as far as it is safe to draw inferences from anything which he writes concerning himself. In one place, for instance, he observes : " Lay open the thorax of a dog (as I have often done), and you will find," etc., where follows an anatomical description implying some special knowledge of the subject. The preface, or dedication, prefixed to " John Buncle," Amory's best-known work, claims that it is to a large extent autobiographical ; but what is apparently true is so interwoven with what is transparently fictitious that it is difiicult to know how far any portion of it may be accepted as genuine. He says himself: "As to some strange things you will find in the following journal, and a life in various particulars quite contrary to the common course of action, I can assure you, gentlemen, that, however wonderful they appear to you, yet they are, exclusive of a few decoratio7is and figures (necessary in all works), strictly true." The italics are not in the original, but the words here thus emphasized have to be taken in a very broad sense, for the " few^ decora- tions " appear to form the bulk of the narrative portion of the two volumes. THOMAS AMOllY. 179 Til til is ])reface he tells his readers : " I was bom in Jvoiuloii, and carried an infant to Ireland, where I learned the Irish language, and became intimately acquainted with its original inhabitants." "I was not only a lover of books from the time I could spell them to this hour ; but read with an extraordinary pleasure, before I was twenty, the works of several of the fathers, and all the old romances, which tinged my ideas \vith a certain piety and extravagance that rendered my virtues as well as my imperfections particularly mine : — that by hard measure, I was compelled to be an adventurer when very young, and had not a friend in the universe but what I could make by good fortune and my own address." The "hard measure" to which he refers was occasioned by his father having married a second time, one of his young maid-servants having been selected for the honour. Many are the strong epithets which Amory heaps upon the head of this individual, rising to a climax with the remark that she was " the most cruel stepmother that ever the devil inspired to make the son of another woman miserable." This second marriage had taken place in the interval of the son's college career, during which time he does not appear to have visited his father's house. On his return home he not only found this new mother — vulgar, selfish, tyrannical — but also a nephew of hers — a spoiled, empty-headed, greedy lad — on whom was lavished all that money could procure to gratify his inordinate desires, while the rightful heir was be- N 2 180 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. grudged everything befitting his position. Moreover, his father expected him to become tutor to this hated interloper. The unhappiness of the situation was intensified by the fact that his college tutor had turned Amory into a strong Unitarian, while bis father was a firm Trinitarian, so that the orthodox family prayers, which the son was requested to read, violated the convictions of his conscience, while the prayers of his own, which in a few days he sub- stituted, for those given him to use, extremely irritated the head of the household. A long disputation on the part of the young man, ended in the father sending him adrift ; so with his horse, his dog, his gun, and his lad attendant, he became "the adven- turer" which he designated himself. The college tutor, to whom reference has been made, was probably the Jack Bruce of the " Memoirs," to be presently noticed, who taught " religion over a little bowl of nectar, for he never taught in a dry, sour method.' AVith his own personal appearance, address, and acquirements Buncle was perfectly satisfied. During his five years at college, he had studied philoso|)hy, cosmography, mathematics, languages, and history. He derived special benefit from the careful reading of Locke's "Essay on the Human Understanding." His principal recreations were walking, and practising on the German flute. But beyond this, he asserts that in the days of his youth he was one of the most active men in the world at every exercise, that he was rash and venturesome where there was no THOMAS AMOllY. 181 occasion to run any hazards, that he was a first-rate swimmer and a skilful swordsman. A romantic adventure which occurred during his college days ought not to be omitted. He entitles it, " The Story of the Beautiful Harriet Noel." Divested of its descriptive passages, many of which are admitted to he admirably written, he records that on a glorious morning of a first day of August he wandered forth at early dawn, and after a five hours' ramble, in which everything had been forgotten in the beauty of the scenery and the exhilara- tion of the air, he awakened to find himself very hungry. Looking about, he espied a mansion, to which he immediately directed his steps, passed through the grounds without ceremony, and, on reaching a grotto, saw at one of its windows a singu- larly beautiful young lady sitting with her eyes intent upon what he afterwards discovered was a Hebrew Bible. She did not at first perceive him, but on raising her head was astonished at the vision before her, and immediately inquired the occasion of his visit. Before he could reply he found a venerable old gentleman at his side, ^vho proved to be the owner of the house and estate and the father of the young lady. Mr. Noel, of Eden Park, proved all that a wanderinc: stranger could have desired ; an invitation to breakfast was given, the lovely Harriet presided, and charmed the guest with her modesty, grace, and wisdom. Her father was so delifi^hted with his visitor that he extended the invitation to any length of time 182 MODERN METHUSELAHS. it migbt be convenient for the wanderer to stay. Very gladly Buncle found himself quite at home in an abode of elegance and abundance, with the delightful heiress of all not seldom his sole companion. Deep Biblical and theological questions were at first dis- cussed, as subjects dear to each ; but a declaration of love soon escaped his lips, which the " glorious Miss Noel " did not take in good part. Hardness of heart was not, however, any feature of her character, and ere lono; she relented, and love-making beo;an in earnest. The German flute did much good service, for music and song were thus enlisted in the wooing, and brousfht the sire on the side of the wooer. Never did serener skies smile upon two lovers, for the maiden was at once captivated and the father was eager to see the union effected, that he might settle his estate and fortune upon the happy couple. A long visit was succeeded by a weekly short one, until within a fortnight fixed for the marriage, when a terrible blight fell upon this second Eden, for Miss Noel was smitten with the small-pox, which made woeful havoc of her beauty and consigned her to an early grave. The desolated mourner had thus early, he tells us, stamped upon his soul the dismal fact that " all is vanity." Possibly in this estimate he excepted a Bank of England note for £500, which Miss Noel left him by will. On leaving his father's house, equipped as before stated, he carried with him a purse of gold and the legacy of the £500 note. He set out, he relates, with TUOMAS AMOllY. 188 " a passion for extraordinary things and places," which, he continues, " brought me into several great dis- tresses," from which he had " quicker and more wonderful deliverances tlian people in tribulation generally receive." He proceeds to tell his readers that " the dull, the formal, and the visionary, the hard- honest man, and the poor liver, are a people I have had no connection w^ith, but have always kept com- pany with the polite, the generous, the lively, the rational, and the bris^htest free-thinkers of this ao-e." By free-thinkers he simply meant to imply those who were not so decidedly Trinitarian in their views as to decline to weigh his arguments for pure Theism. A few only of his marvellous experiences can be touched on here ; they are so utterly improbable that their only value consists in showing the romantic and peculiar character of the man's mind, his vivid imagi- nation, his keen sense of physical, mental, and moral beauty, and possibly a psychological peculiarity which induced him to believe that his dreams, or visions, were in very truth realities. He confesses that his narratives may " at first sight " seem strange, and next to incredible, but on consideration of all the particulars noticed in the preface, he hoped they would not long remain so ; adding : " though you may think the relator an odd man. As to that, I have nothing to say. And if oddness consist in spirit, freedom of thought, and a zeal for the divine unity ; in a taste for what is natural, antique, romantic, and wild ; in honouring women who are 184 MODERN METHUSELAHS. admirable for goodness, letters, and arts ; and in thinking, after all the scenes I have gone through, that everything here is vanity, except that virtue and charity which gives us a right to expect beyond the grave; and procures us, in this world, the direction of infinite wisdom, the protection of infinite power, and the friendship of infinite goodness ; then may it be written on my stone — ' Here lies an odd man.' " His rambles commenced on the morning of a May- day ; journeying from the western coast of Ireland, he reached Eingsend, " that lies on the Bay of Dublin," in five days. After a rest, he shipped him- self and his horse for England, but a terrible tempest caught the vessel, and the passengers were thrown into unutterable confusion and distress. Among these was a Miss Melmoth, whose life he was instrumental in saving, and with whom he contracted a close but platonic attachment. When the ship reached Whitehaven they put up at the same hotel, where they continued for three weeks ; they took their meals together ; they rambled about together ; they amused themselves with cards and singing to his German flute ; above all, they discussed religious and profitable topics. They had but one soul between them ; but, although she was young and beautiful, rich and accomplished, not a hint of love disturbed their enjoyment of each other's society, and on leaving Whitehaven they travelled together to Westmoreland. Here they had to part, for the lady and her servants were bound for Yorkshire ; the gentleman had to THOMAS AMOIIV. 185 seek a college fricud in the county at whicli they had arrived. A deep melancholy seized upon l)()th wlien the hour of separation came ; the lady burst into tears, and confessed that the thought of never seeing him again was too much for her ; whereupon a future meeting was happily arranged, and a first kiss sealed a continuance of their friendship. Ilis search for his colleo:c friend then commenced, and was attended with a series of wonderful and romantic adventures, all related with a most trans- parent air of reality, intermingled with descriptive passages of scenery and never-ending dialogues on almost all branches of knowledge, but especially theology. For everywhere he fell in with beautiful and highly-cultivated women, and they were always mysteriously able controversialists, thoroughly well acquainted with Scripture and all its vexed questions, especially the Unitarian creed. He discovered them in earth's most secluded places ; he found himself un- expectedly brought into communities of fliir maidens associated tocjether in some kind of Protestant nunnery, where they led spotless, thoughtful, studious, happy lives, and were not in the least disconcerted at the appearance of a gentleman ; on the contrary, they made him a welcome visitor, and freely set before him the best entertainment the establishment could afi"ord. Such an institution he found in Burcot hamlet and its lodge, on nearing which he was informed that women alone inhabited the place ; that there were one hundred of them, presided over by a youug lady 186 MODERN METHUSELAHS. named Azora, who suddenly appeared before liim, attended by ten young women, " straight, clean, handsome girls," but far inferior to their head, who was of commanding height, with every feature beautiful. For three days the bold visitor remained, charmed with Azora's conversation, and with her strong, clear, musical voice. An interesting descrip- tion is given of the ladies' gardens, fish-ponds, etc., which manifests the enlightened views which the writer held on these points of social life, as the morning and evening prayers put into the mouth of Azora show the earnest and devout side of his character. A pretty hermitage is next reached, which had belonged to a gentleman of whom nothing remained but his skeleton, which Buncle found, with a paper lying beside it which gave some particulars of John Orton, the deceased : a desperate sinner until his fortieth year was reached, when he repented of his evil ways, sold all his property and gave the proceeds to the poor, reserving just sufficient for his own maintenance in the hermit-like life to which he doomed himself. Buncle found Orton Lodge most comfortably appointed, with all its surroundings admirably arranged. He immediately took possession of the house and grounds, leaving behind him an attendant as care-taker. It became his future home. Travellino; onward, he encountered Mr. and Miss Harcourt, the latter of whom was the foundress of a religious house of Protestant recluses ; she was only THOMAS A.MOKY. 187 one-aiKl-twenty ; "she liad all the qualities that con- stitute a beauty, for she was tall and graceful, and in every action, and her whole behaviour, to the last degree charming ; her eyes were vastly fine, large and long, even witJi her face, black as night, and had a sparkling brightness as great as could appear from the refraction of diamonds ; her hair was as the polished jet, deep and glossy ; and yet her complexion fresh as the glories of the spring, and her lips like a beautiful flower." She excelled in music and painting. The unknown wanderer was warmly welcomed by father and daughter ; into their sym- pathetic ears were poured his family grievances and his religious heterodoxies, the Athanasian Creed greatly vexing his soul at this time. Their souls were touched ; their home was at his service ; the father's purse was ready to fly open if money were wanted ; and the heart of the daughter could easily have been won had the slightest siege been laid to it. But destiny impelled him onward, and dreams or visions too numerous to be even glanced at are gravely recorded. In his usual mysterious fashion he appeared before the dwelling of two ladies, both young and charming, by whom he w^as cordially received, and although a perfect stranger to them, was invited to share their dinner. An elesjant and abundant meal was speedily before him, and it soon transpired that he had accidentally found the home of his college friend of which he was in search ; its owner, however, was in Italy, but he had left word that the hero of 188 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. the story might be expected, and that on his arrival the residence and all its contents should be placed at his service. His friend's sister and her companion were about to visit Scarborough and London, but at once offered to postpone their departure for a month, in order to keep their visitor company, and they would return to cheer him duriu2r the season of winter, or, if more agreeable to him, they would abandon their trip altogether. Miss Turner, for so this most amiable lady was called, had all the beauty and accomplishments of the other fair ones with whom he had fallen in ; she had also a fortune of fifty thousand pounds, which it was soon apparent she was willing to place, with herself, in the hands of this heaven-sent pilgrim, but he considered that it would be taking an undue advantage of the situation, and therefore refrained from speaking the word. Besides which he remembered Miss Melmoth, whom he " liked " as " well as her circumstances," and the time was now at hand when the arranged meeting was to take place. Again a wanderer, he reached a house beautifully situated and admirably appointed, which turned out to be occupied by a gentleman with whom he had travelled from Ireland, who warmly pressed him to stay the summer with him and his sister. The short stay he made sufficed for the latter to lose her heart to him, but in vain, for Miss Melmoth was drawing him to herself. After a time he came upon an abode of three brothers, all Eoman Catholics — one was TUOMAS AMUUY. 189 a Frauciscan friar, the two otlicrs were farmers — with one of wliom a strong friendship was immediately formed, and he was quickly turned from a Papist to a Protestant. Finally, he arrived at the residence of Mrs. Asfrill. at whose house he was to meet Harriet Melmoth, but' alas, the former lady had died a month before, and the latter had gone away, witliout leaving any address, while a letter which she had written for Buncle had been accidentally burned. He was " struck to the soul," and immediately set out to discover the fair lost one, but for three weeks he was unsuccessful. Meanwhile, ]\Iiss Melmoth had heard of his visit, and had commenced an active search for him, and in the usual romantic fashion of the work, her quest was not in vain ; they met, she joyfully accepted an offer of his hand, proceeded with him to the Flemings, and the next day to Orton Lodge, where the friar made them man and wife after the rites of the Eomish Church. Two years glided away in unclouded happiness ; gardening and farm improve- ments, fishing and shooting, books and song, filled the golden hours of the day. The fascinating Charlotte sang divinely to the soft, sweet notes of her hus- band's German flute, but amidst all, time w^as found for delicate repasts and nectared bowls. But death, alas, was drawing near to this theatre of pastoral happiness, and his "swarthy curtain," as Amory else- where terms it, soon fell over the whole scene, and the young wife was numbered with the departed. Overwhelmed with orief at his bereavement. 190 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Buncle locked up Orton Lodge, mounted his horse, and, accompanied by his man, set off to find relief in change of scene, and also to get, he says, "another country girl for a wife, and a little more money, as they were the only two things united which would screen me from melancholy and confer real happi- ness." He soon found the object of his search, by peculiar providence, of course, and a very lovely Statia unexpectedly found herself mistress of Orton Lodge ; but her reign, like that of her predecessor, soon came to an end. For three days the mourner sat with his eyes shut ; he then aroused himself, called for his horse, and determined to try the effect of exercise and variety in the way of consolation. He soon returned to iustal Miss Cramer in Statia's place, but before many moons had waxed and waned that place was again empty. Hereupon he sought to lose his grief at Harrogate, and very soon, from the willing ones there, he selected Maria Spencer to fill the void at Orton Lodge. She was a young lady of vast arithmetical attainments, but after six short months of matrimonial happiness she also sought "the lightsome fields of Hades," as her disconsolate husband called the place of the departed. This left room for number five to have her opportunity ; Miss Turner accepted it, but shortly gave place to Miss Fitzgibbon, who speedily retired in favour of Agnes Duck, by whom the charming series was brought to a close. Well might the poor, solitary husband exclaim : " What a wink is life ! " After these THOMAS AMOllV. 191 bereavements he wandered about the world for nine years insensible to all the attractions of the lovely ones he met, and willing to consider that his day had passed ; finally he returned to Orton Lodge to await his own summons to Hades. Critics have called Buncle a " Bluebeard," an unbloody Henry VIII,, and "a strange mixture of vehement Unitarianism in faith, liberality in ordinary judgment, and jovial selfishness in practice." In the author's lifetime, and before the publication of " John Buncle," he appears to have had unfriendly things said of him, for in the preface to that work he wrote : ** That tradition might not hand me down, when I am gone, in that variety of bad and foolish characters, which a malice, that knows nothing of me, whispers while I am living, it was necessary that I should tell my own story." He was also, he professed, influenced by a less personal consideration; he wrote: "My principal intention in this piece is to serve the interest of truth, liberty, and religion, and to advance useful learning, to the best of my abilities. That I have the happiness of mankind at heart, and attempt, in a historical manner, to increase their knowledge in general, and in particular, to lead them to a pious contemplation and acknowledgment of God's un- speakable wisdom and goodness manifested in the works of creation ; show them the truth of the testimony of Jesus Christ concerning a divine provi- dence, immortality, and a future state ; and that as virtue advances and improves, human felicity aug- 192 MODERN METHUSELAHS. ments, and becomes a sure prognostic of that fulness of bliss which men of goodness and integrity are to enjoy, without intermission, frailty, and infirmity in an unchangeable and everlasting life." A more than usually quaint sentence dismisses his readers to his very curious narratives and discussions ; he writes : " I have only to add that I wish you all happiness ; that your heads may lack no ointment, and your garments be alwa5^s white and odoriferous." The first volume of "John Buncle" was published in 1756 ; the second part appeared in 1766. This work was not, however, Amory's first venture as an author. His pen had been active in 1751 ; but although in that year a " Letter to Lord Orrery " was advertised, it is almost certain that it was never published. The announcement in the Whitehall Evening Post, of December 12, 1751, ran thus : " Soon will be published, ' A Letter to Lord Orrery,' in answer to what his lordship says in his late remarks in praise of Swift's Sermon on the Trinity ; being an attempt to vindicate the divinity of God, the Father Almighty ; and to convince his lordship, if he has a mind open to conviction, that the tritheistic discourse preached by the dean of St. Patrick's, is so far from being that master-piece my lord Orrery calls it, that it is in reality the most senseless and despicable performance that ever was produced by orthodoxy to corrupt the divine religion of the blessed Jesus. By Thomas Amory, Es-i." The first work which is certainly known to be by Amory appeared in 1755 ; although THOMAS AMORY. 193 tlic title-page docs not hear his name, its incoherent and overcrowded condition would almost of itself proclaim it to be his production, were other evidence absent. It runs : " Memoirs containing the Lives of Several Ladies of Great Britain : A History of Antiquities, Productions of Nature and Monuments of Art : Observations on the Christian Eeligion as professed by the Established Church and Dissenters of every Denomination : Remarks on the Writings of the Greatest English Divines, and a Review of AVriters called Infidels, from Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, to the late Viscount Bolingbroke : with a variety of Disquisitions and Opinions relative to Criticism and Manners." The names of twenty ladies are given in the index whose lives were to be included in the w^ork, and as the narratives were to be interspersed with all the miscellaneous matter indicated on the title-page, it need be no matter of surprise that eight octavo volumes were to be issued. Volume I. alone was published, and that without a promised appendix which would have given an account of Dean Swift and of Mrs. Grierson, of Dublin. That he never issued his sketch of the dean is greatly to be regretted ; he wrote : "I think I can draw his character ; not from his writings, but from my own near observation of the man. I knew him well, though I never was withinside of his house ; because I could not flatter, cringe, or meanly humour the extravagancies of any man. I am sure I knew him better than any of 194 MODERN METHUSELAHS. those friends lie entertained twice a week at the Deanery, Stella excepted. I had him often to myself in his rides and walks, and have studied his soul when he little thouorht what I was about. As I lodc^ed for a year within a few doors of him, I knew his times of going out to a minute, and generally nicked the opportunity." From further remarks it appears that the dean did not know who was his companion, and Amory pretended that he was not aware with w^hom he was in intercourse. The volume of the " Memoirs " contained the " History of Mrs. Marinda Benlow," wdth a very long postscript, and an almost equally long dedication to Mrs. Monkhouse, of Paterdale, in Westmoreland. This lady was a charm- ing young widow of one-and-twenty, who had with- drawn from the w^orld, and devoted herself, he says, to " obtaining understanding, that you may ever think and act to the glory of God, your own eternal happiness, and the good of others." It is needless to say that she was a sound Unitarian ; not one of those who "fancy themselves pious for swallowing the preparation of the doctors ; that tritheistic apostacy which the Fathers and Councils forged, and Popes and Theologers have conspired to establish." She, he goes on to say, continued " to worship the Father of the Universe only, through Christ the glorious Mediator." The preface to the work was dated " Barbican, Feb. 10, 1755," and fully do its pages answer to the miscellaneous character its title promised. Nor is it possible to deny that it contains much that amuses THOMAS AMOUV. 195 cand interests ; there is clear cvidcuce that it is the production of a vigorous, original, independent, and ingenious mind, however strangely warped in some particulars. Space docs not admit of a long quota- tion, or a good example of Amory's peculiarities might be given in his description of the dress in which the ladies of one chiustral house arrayed them- selves ; it combined the sanitary and the aesthetic. Those, however, who were not fully admitted were allowed to wear what garments they chose, with one exception — they were forbidden " that diabolical invention, that for ever execrable design, the impious and unnatural hoop-petticoat. This dreadful machine is never to appear among these wise and amiable women." Occasionally, but very rarely, Amory touches on delicate subjects ; when he does so, it is in a style too robust for the eyes or ears of the present generation of gentle readers. An unfavourable notice of the volume appeared in the monthly reviews, to which a reply was published, ostensibly by a lady, with an addition by another lady, but which is under- stood to have been by Amory himself. After all these hifjh fiio-hts, it is more than a little disappointing to descend to the few dry particulars which are really known of his life. Whether or not he visited foreign countries is uncertain ; he makes mention of havinor been in Peru, as also of haviuor "journeyed over England and Scotland," and of havinoj a familiar knowleds-e of Ireland. The remarks already quoted concerning Dean Swift seem to render o 2 196 MODERN METHUSELAHS. it certain that be resided for sonie time in Dublin. At the date of bis publications be bad settled down in Orcbard Street, Westminster, and bad, during the latter part of bis residence tbere, a little country retreat at Belfont, near Hounslow. Wbere, wben, or to wbom be was married remains unknown ; no particulars of bis domestic life are recorded, but bis wife is stated to bave borne berself as a lady of great respectability. One son can be traced, w^bo was educated for tbe medical profession, and practised, as Dr. Robert Amory, for many years as a pbysiciac at Wakefield. Little can be really gathered from some account of bis father's life which he contributed to the pages of a magazine. If the wTitino;s of Thomas Amory were at times sus^'estive of a disturbed brain, the sino-ular habits of his life supported that impression. For, although be had the appearance, manners, and honourable conduct of a gentleman, be led a most secluded and bat-like existence, shunning all company, and never stirring abroad until tbe fall of tbe evening, when be w^ould w^ander in tbe streets in abstract meditation, possessed of nothing in common with those wdio surged around him. Such a habit of life was w'ell calculated to nurse visionary tendencies, and to confound the real and the unreal It may be a matter of surprise that such a recluse should ever bave entered into print. He has himself stated that be did so to place himself in a true light with the public, and to instruct bis fellow men on some highly important points. His leading motive THOMAS AMOKY. 197 was, no doubt, the advocacy and propagation of the doctrines of a pure Theism, which he evidently held with great jealousy and tenacity. Possibly he may have been influenced by another motive ; his personal seclusion may have, as in the case of his contemporary, the poet Cowper, found a certain compensation in his printed publicity ; it may have given him a gratifying feeling of still holding communion with his kind, from whom otherwise there would have been total estrangement. A noteworthy feature in Amory's case is that, although he led a life apart from the human family generally, he was not a morose man, nor in any degree a misanthrope ; on the contrary, as far as his writings reveal his true character, he was keenly alive to the pleasures of society, love, and friendship. He intensely enjoyed the beauties of nature, and was not in the least indifferent to what are termed the good gifts of Providence ; he was full of sympathy and kindly feeling for others, goodwill to man beinsr an essential article of his creed. He even deprecated any of the usual Protestant abuse of nunneries and monasteries, testifying that he had known many most excellent nuns and friars. "This," he declared, "is the testimony of an enemy; an enemy to popery, not to the professors of it. I love the men ; I hate the thing." He was a great reader, as his works testify. There is nothing to show how the twenty-two years of life, which were left to him after the publication of the second part of "John Buncle," were passed ; he does not again appear in 198 MODERN METHUSELAHS. print, as far as is known, nor can any personal details of him be found. His death took place in 1789, in the ninety-seventh year of his age. Amory's books are said to be without a parallel in literature. Their hizavre character was, however, even exceeded in the work of a Dominican friar, born at Venice, about the middle of the fifteenth century, and, as he lived to his ninety-fourth year, a passing glance may be taken of his remarkable production. It bears the Latin title of " Poliphili Hypnerotomachia," and, as far as it can be said to be written iii any one language, the native tongue of the author appears to have been selected ; but this is so strangely inter- mingled with Hebrew, Greek, Chaldaic, Arabic, Latin, and other words, that its pages form a very Babel of tongues. And if the language is perplexing, the subject matter is not less so ; it is pronounced to be a confused melange of fable, history, architecture, antiquities, mathematics, and a thousand other things, all of which the author had evidently studied, and his views are, on some points, of interest even in the present day. Some readers have supposed that they could see in them a prefiguring of the Eeformation doctrines of Luther. It is generally conceded, however, that the work had its origin in an attachment which the author had formed for Lucretia Lelia, a niece of the Bishop of Trevise, in which place Francesco Colonna was pro- fessor of grammar and belles lettres. She is said to have been called Ippolita — by abbreviation, Polita, THOMAS AMORY. l'J9 then Polia — hence the first word of the title of the book, which signifies the love of Polia. The second word of tlic title implies the strife, or struggle, of sleep and love ; and the initial letters of all the cha[)ters form the Latin phrase : " Poliam frater Franciscus Columna adamavit," or, " Brother Francois Colonna has loved Polia, Polita, or Hippolyta." If there be any lesson at all intended to be conveyed by the author, it is that all human passions are but dreams. The work has been more than once translated into French, but no English version has ever ap- peared ; and no wonder, for it is stated to be un- intelligible in any language. But, however fantastic and incomprehensible its pages may really be, they are worthy of profound respect, for no doubt they were the channel througjh which their author relieved his full- charged soul, and stilled the throbbings of that love-sick breast which the cowl and the cloister had been unable to freeze to stone. In mystic characters the work speaks of a passion which its possessor possibly never dared to avow, and which he may have cherished with many a penitent pang, and with painful mortifications of what he would have deemed his unruly flesh. There may be more of true romance in that strange volume than in three-fourths of the sentimental novels of the circulating libraries. Colonna died in 1527, at Padua, where he was professor of theology and a doctor of divinity. CHAPTER X. A GROUP OF FAR-ADYAXCED XOXAGEXAEIANS. By what crooked paths soever we walk, the same leadeth on directly to the house of death, whose doors lie open at all hours and to all persons. For this tide of man's life, after it once turneth and declineth, ever runneth with a perpetual eLb and falling stream, but never fioweth again. Sir "Walter Ealeigh. DIED I DIED PELLERIN .... 1782 BRAY 1832 KLIXGEXSTIERXA . . 1785 ] LATHAM 1837 GOSSEC 1829 : castaxos .... 1852 Xo better illustration of the " crooked " — that is, devious or various — paths by which men walk to the grave could be given than that which is afforded by the six " men of mark " of whom mention has now to be made, ^yith one exception the life-work of each was totally different, the probabilities of life were very unequal, and yet each attained to years bordering upon a century, one, indeed, to within scarcely more than a few months of that remarkable acre. This was Pellerin, between whom and Bray there exists, to a A GROUP OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 201 certain degree, a parallel, for each for many loug years bad to devote himself to official routine work, while each won a niche in the temple of fame for archaeological pursuits, although not quite in the same department. Pelleuin (Joseph) was born at ]\Iarly-le-Roi, near Versailles, on April 27th, 1G84 ; his studies were prosecuted at the Royal College of Paris, where he eminently distinguished himself in philosophy and languages. For the latter he manifested a peculiar aptitude, for in addition to a knowledge of Greek and Latin, he acquired, under skilful professors, an intimacy with Hebrew, Syriac, and Arabic ; to these he added familiarity with Italian, Spanish, and Eusrlish. He was indebted to the knowledo^e of these three modern languages for an appointment in the Bureau of Marine at Paris, where they were of great service. Although only two-and-twenty at the time of his nomination, he was immediately entrusted with the w^ork of makinoj translations and extracts of the Government correspondence in these tongues. He carried to his official duties a mind of great general capacity as well as of particular acquirements, and threw himself into his work in a spirit the very opposite to the perfunctory manner in which official duties are so often discharged. His remarkable efficiency and skill were manifested on an occasion when some important despatches fell into the hands of the Ministry. A Spanish frigate had been taken, on board of which was the Archduke of Austria, and 202 MODEEX METHUSELAHS. with him some documents believed to be of great political value, but unfortunately they were written in cryjDtic characters, which could not therefore be deciphered without a key. Every endeavour to reach their contents seemed hopeless and impossible, but Pellerin's intellect was quickened by the difficulty, and he determined to make the mystic papers yield up their meaning. After a few days of intense application success rewarded his difficult labours, the more perplexing because some of the documents were in French, while others were in Italian. The Minister of Foreign Affiiirs was highly gratified with the remarkable skill the young official had manifested in the matter ; he appointed an interview, with the double purpose of expressing his satisfaction and of satisfying his curiosity, for he was eager to know by what means the result had been attained. After such an achievement, follow^ed by other valuable services in his department, Pellerin naturally attracted the attention of those high in Government, and with whom patronage was vested. In 1718 he was appointed Commissioner of Marine, and after some official changes of the Ministry, and of his own duties, he settled down as Commissary-General and Clerk of the Marine. The manner in which he per- formed the duties of his post gained him universal esteem ; he united with great activity and firmness a pleasant and conciliatory address, while everything was conducted wdth conspicuous ability. His country reaped the advantage of his services for the long A GROUP OF FAK-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 2()J period of forty years. Infirmities admonished Jiini, however, in 1745, that he had better resign public for private life, a step which accordingly he took, although ho had not far passed his sixtieth year. He had the satisfiiction to see his son succeed him in his otHce. It must be inferred, from the notices of his biographers, that, during the years of the active life of Pellerin, he had not occupied his leisure hours with those studies which were to prove the solace of his later days, and by which alone his name is now remembered. Not as the skilful and honourable French official is he now known, but, as in reality he was, the very founder of the science of numismatics, especially of the department of medals. During his official career he had availed himself of the large opportunities it afforded, and had made a considerable collection of foreign and antique monuments, especially of coins and medals. Curiosity prompted him to this in the first instance, but by degrees he acquired a taste for such tokens of past ages, and, as soon as he became master of his own time, he turned his atten- tion to a careful study of his treasures. Among them were many Samaritan and Phoenician coins and medals ; to understand them he found it necessary to recall his knowledge of Eastern languages, and to rub np his Latin and Greek, the more so, as, without constant reference to ancient authors and history, he could never satisfactorily arrange and explain his cabinet. He found happiness in the pursuit thus 204 MODERN METHUSELAIIS. opened up to him ; it gave occupation to his active intellect, and diverted his attention from his bodily- ailments, which, happily, left his mind in full vigour. Moreover, whatever they may have been, they per- mitted him a very long term of life after his with- drawal from public work. And both time and mental power were necessary to complete the labour upon which he now entered ; for up to that time numismatics had received no scientific attention, and was devoid of all true principles of arrangement. Pellerin immediately perceived this unsatisfactory position ; he sought a remedy ; he instituted a geographical and historical classification, alphabeti- cally arranged. His own cabinet of medals became in time the richest collection ever formed by a private individuaL During the years 1762-1778 he published a descriptive catalogue of them, which occupied ten volumes quarto ; these were illustrated with plates executed with the utmost possible fidelity and beauty, even every flaw and irregularity of the edges being exhibited. Thus the plates are, for study, almost equal in value to the coins themselves. The work, under the title of " Recueils de Medailles de Eois, Peuples, et Villes," is acknowledged to remain a monument of its author's knowledge, industry, and zeal. Errors have, of course, been discovered in it, as would inevitably be the case in a first labour of the kind. Pellerin's love for the study had taken such full possession of his soul that he did not abandon his work even after the terrible calamity of blindness had A CROUP OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 205 fallen on Lini. When a very advanced nonagenarian, and without tlic power of sight, he invented an ingenious machine which enabled him to compile and write the last volume. Six years before its author's death, Louis XVI. purchased his cabinet of medals for the sum of 300,000 francs ; it comprised thirty- two thousand five hundred specimens ; the king, how^ever, permitted its aged collector to enjoy its possession during his life. He was taken to his rest on the 30th of August, 1782, and has left behind him a striking instance that a pursuit which keeps the mind in a state of healthy activity acts also favourably upon the physical constitution, so that life is actually prolonged by it. Klingenstierna, Samuel. — This eminent Swedish natural philosopher and mathematician, who died in his ninety-seventh year, was born on August 8 th, 1689, at Tolefors, near Lindkoping. He was descended from a highly respectable family, at wdiose desire he entered upon the study of jurisprudence at the University of Upsal, with a view to follow the pro- fession of law. He very soon found it, however, an utterly uncongenial study ; he was irresistibly drawn to that of mathematics, to which, and to subjects con- nected with that science, he henceforth devoted himself. In 1723 he composed two dissertations which laid the foundation of his future fame ; one was on the height of the atmosphere, the other on the improvement of the thermometer. Four years later 20G MODERN METHUSELAHS. he started on a lengthened tour through Germany, France, and Enghind, which afforded him oppor- tunities to become acquainted with the most eminent scientists of those countries. He was particularly attracted to the philosophical teaching of Wolff, whose disciple he afterwards avowed himself, and whose principles he endeavoured to propagate on his return to his native land. With all the scientific thinkers of reputation in the countries through which he travelled he held much interesting discussion ; he especially brought forward his observations on the integral calculus, and upon the figure of the earth. During his sojourn in Paris he made the acquaintance of Fontenelle, of whose work in popularising science mention has already been made. Klingenstierna returned to Sweden in 1730. Before he commenced his travels he appears to have been promised that as soon as he settled down he should receive the appointment of Professor of Mathematics in the University ; in a short time he found himself in the due occupation of that chair, which he held to the close of his long life. At this period he began to teach the metaphysical doctrines of Wolff, whose influence had so strongly possessed his own mind ; but, as in Wolff's own country, so in Sweden, those doctrines were considered hostile to the dogmas of religion ; and, as the faculty of theology in Upsal decided that they were incompatible, the young pro- fessor had to submit to an enforced silence. He thereupon threw greater ardour iuto his mathematical A GROUP OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 207 instruction.s, and succeeded in training many eminent pupils. His pen was also active, for he sought to extend the then limits of the science, and his contri- butions gained him the reputation of possessing a creative genius. He paid profound attention to optical science, which brought him into correspondence with the most eminent opticians of that day, among others with Dollond, to whom he is said to have been of very great service. On the retirement of Daliii, instructor of the Prince Koyal of Sweden, the future Gustavus HI., Klingenstierna was appointed his successor, an ap- pointment which received the cordial approval of the nation, for his moral character stood as hioh as his scientific attainments were eminent. The fiiaht of years only added to his learned labours, and to the rewards by which they were acknowledged ; he was created Councillor of State and a Knight of the Polar Star. Unremitting toil did not, however, fail at last to tell upon his constitution ; his health declined, and the closing years of his life were spent in comparative seclusion. That repose was broken by only one public incident : the Academy of St. Petersburg had pro- posed a very difficult problem in optical science ; the aged philosopher collected and arranged all his observations on that branch of knowledge, and wrote a general theory deduced from his studies, having a special reference to that question. He forwarded his treatise to the Academy, and had the gratification to learn that a prize of one hundred ducats had been 208 MODERN METHUSELAHS. awarded to liim, by acclamation, in acknowledgment of its liigli scientific value. That melancholy lot which must ever attend an abnormally extended life did not escape this aged philosopher. His friends were, one after another, gathered to the tomb, while he lived on, the survivor of all his old associates. His long and honourable career came to an end, October 28th, 1785. His remains were laid in the same tomb with those of Dalin, and the mother of his former royal pupil erected a marble pyramid over them, in honour of one of Sweden's most worthy sons. Klingenstierna was a member of the Royal Societies of London and Upsal, and of the Swedish Academy. He enriched all their journals with his contributions, and also published several separate treatises. An edition of Euclid was prepared by him, and he translated several foreign scientific works. GossEC, Francois Joseph. — Few musical com- posers have reached a very advanced age ; with the exception of Sir George Smart, who died at ninety- one, and the eminent Belgian whose life is now to be considered, who died at ninety-six, not one appears to have reached his ninth decade. Gossec had the double qualification of being a skilful player and an accomplished writer. He was born January 17th, 1733, at Vergnies, in Hainaut ; in Grove's "Dic- tionary of Musicians" his father is stated to have been a small farmer ; in Belgian biographies he is A GROUP OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 209 stated to have been an ac^ricultural labourer. In either case his lot was, no doubt, a lowly one, and his bread was eaten by the sweat of his brow. His son's earliest experiences were those connected with cattle- herding ; while thus employed his innate love of music manifested itself by the construction of a fiddle out of no other material than an old sabot and some horse-hair. A bright general intelligence and the possession of a fine voice drew upon him the attention of the cure of the village, and by his influence the lad found admission into the choral-house of the Church of Notre Dame at Antwerp. Six pupils were here maintained and instructed at the expense of the Chapter, and here Gossec received his earliest lessons in his future profession. He applied himself with great zeal to his studies, and made quick progress in violin-playing and musical composition. At the end of eight years the master of the school confessed that his pupil had learned all that he could teach him ; he was evidently considered to be far above the average of lad-choristers, and his friends therefore naturally considered Paris would aff"ord him the best theatre for his future career. In 1751, at the age of eighteen, he accordingly found his way to the city of his hopes, recommended by his late master to the notice of Eamau, who was then in the full enjoyment of Parisian musical favour. Gossec had the good fortune to be favourably received ; valuable lessons were given to him, and La Popeliniere quickly made him director of his orchestra. 210 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. The youthful aspirant was soon so struck with the poverty of the instrumental music of France that he determined to make an effort to enrich it, which resulted in the production of a symphony, a style of composition until then unknown, for Haydn had not at that time made the public familiar with works of a similar character. Gossec's attempt did not at first become popular, but it gradually grew into esteem. Shortly after this experiment he became director of the music of the Prince of Conde, an appointment which afforded him leisure to produce original compositions of various kinds, and in 1759 he pub- lished his first quartet, which was received with great applause, and immediately found its way into many European cities. The following year he founded the Concert of Amateurs, the orchestra of which was led by the Chevalier St. George ; during four seasons this institution enjoyed great popularity. It was at this period that Gossec wrote his very popular sym- phony of " The Chase," and also the work on which his reputation now chiefly rests, namely, the " Mass of the Dead." This was performed at St. Roche in 1762, by an orchestra of two hundred performers, with remarkable effect, much aided by a novel and ingenious arrangement of the instrumentalists, who were divided, according to their instruments, into two bands, one concealed and the other visible. A strong feeling of mystery, awe, and reverence thrilled the audience. In 1773 was undertaken the enterprise of the Spiritual Concert, and soon afterwards, under the A GllOUP OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 211 auspices of the Baron Rretcuil, the cstablishmont of tlie Royal School of Music, in which were trained the greater part of the actors who adorned the French tlieatre at the close of the eighteenth century. At the commencement of the French Revolution, Gossec became director of tlie Band of the National Guards, and, in coujunction with Catel, composed many of the most soul-stirring martial airs of the period. On the foundation of the Conservatoire of Music, in 1795, Gossec, Mehul, and Cherubini were appointed inspectors ; the first-named becoming also Professor of Composition, and was so successful with his pupils that many of them obtained the grand prize. An interesting anecdote is related of his still admired Te Deum, " Salutaris ; " it is arranged for three voices, and was composed under the following circumstances : accompanied by Lais, Cherubini, and Rousseau, the author often went to dine at a villao^e near Paris, with M. de la Salle, secretary of the Opera, On one occasion the cur^ of the parish met them there, and begged of them the favour to supplement that day the choir of his parish church, as it was the festival of its patron. Lais replied : " With all my heart if Gossec will give us something of his compo- sition." Gossec immediately called for waiting materials, and, while the others were at breakfast, produced his beautiful piece which, two hours afterwards, was sung in the church to the great gratification of the good" priest and his parishioners. He long continued zealously to fulfil the duties he had p 2 212 MODERN METHUSELAHS. undertaken at tlie Conservatoire of Music, and, until it was abolished in 1815, he had preserved all the activity of a young man. He was now over eighty years of age, and being in the receipt of a pension from his late offices, he ceased to occupy himself publicly with his art. After a few years of quiet life in Paris, he retired to Passy, where in the house of a friend who took tender care of him, he enjoyed perfect repose, but before the last summons reached hina his faculties had become enfeebled. How far the enfeebled faculties were the result of the perfect repose must remain an interesting but an open question ; as a rule, mental activity preserves mental strength. He breathed his last sigh on the 16th of February, 1829. Gossec is little known to the musical public of the present day ; among musical publications in this country only one piece is to be found by him. He is, however, acknowledged to be of no slight historical importance ; he was the originator of many standard reforms in orchestral practice, as well as of a fuller and richer style of orchestral music. His industry was untiring ; he wrote many oratorios, eighteen quartets for strings, eleven operas, twenty-nine symphonies, serenades, trios, overtures, etc. He composed the apotheosis of Voltaire and J. J. Kousseau, as well as the funeral hymn for Mirabeau. He also wrote several monographs upon music, and subjects which had relation to that art. It is to his honour that the successes of his life were achieved by his own personal exertions. He had few adventitious helps ; A GROUP OF r.\ll-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 213 liis career commenced Avitliout money, family cou- nectious, or influential friends ; some say without genius, but this must not be too literally interpreted. Circumstances had debarred him from advantages which might have developed a higher range of attain- ment ; this he felt, and always expressed a regret that he had not received the advantage of studying at the musical schools of Italy. There is little to be found concerning his personal habits or character. He is stated to have been usually very reserved, of a calm, unemotional demeanour, of affable manners, and of a benevolent disposition ; he composed his arousing political pieces with the same impassibility with which he wrote his church music, for, although he was the leader of the revolutionary band, he w^as at heart no republican. Absolutely exempt from envy, he was always ready to promote, to the utmost of his power, the works of his greatest rivals, even those who sur- passed him on lines of his own creation. He was a member of the Institute from its formation in 1795, and in 1802 Napoleon made him a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour. To the end of his days he adhered to a pig-tail, to powdered hair, and to shoes with silver buckles. He supported himself upon a malacca cane wath an ivory knob. Tlie Belgians have not neglected to do honour to the memory of their countryman. On September 9th, 1877, there w-as uncovered at Vergnies a quadran- gular fountain, surmounted by the marble bust of their distinguished musician. 214 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Bray, William. — Every lover of county histories is familiar with the name of this distinguished anti- quary, who, it may be observed at the outset, did not belong to the " dry-as-dust school," buried in the past, indifferent to the present, more of the fossil than the man. On the contrary, Mr. Bray's life was one of activity, energy, interest in things and people of his day, and full of practical sympathy with works of benevolence. He was born in 1735 at Shere, in Surrey, the son of a gentleman who possessed an estate there, as he did also one at Gomshall. The family were originally Norman ; le Sieur de Bray came to these shores with the Conqueror ; in more modern days they were seated at Eaton Bray, in Bedfordshire, and could clearly trace their ancestors back to the time of Henry VH. If their pedigree had, however, re- mained unbroken, their fortunes had not ; and the subject of this sketch was wont to declare that the family estates had been " worn threadbare." The father died when William was quite a child, two elder brothers and himself being left to the care of their mother, who admirably fulfilled the duties imposed upon her. When only ten years old AVilliam was entered at Rugby, where he was not otherwise distin- guished than by being always ready with his lessons, so that he never suffered from the discipline of the school. He had little taste for the sports of boyhood, much preferring the pleasure of books ; his first purchases of these were made at Daventry, where, on one occasion, he nearly ruined himself by an inadvertent A GPvOUP OF FAR-ADVANOED NONAGENARIANS. 215 order be gave fur the " llainblcr." On leaving itugby he was articled to a solicitor at Guildford, where hv was esteemed, but Avliere he was not by any means spoiled by indulgences. Through the influence of Mr. Evelyn, of the well-known Surrey family, William Bray received an appointment in the Board of Green Cloth, immediately after the Coronation of George III,, and found himself in genial society, with satisfac- tory prospects. This secured position enabled him to marry at the early age of twenty-two ; he was blessed, he records, with " a most excellent wife," by whom he had a large family — but three only reached maturity ; of these one was a son, whom death over- took long before his father's call came. A lover of books from his boyhood, his studies appear gradually to have inclined to archaeology, although other departments of literature claimed his attention, and were the first to give employment to his pen. In a letter to *' Urban " he refers to a small poetical piece which he early contributed to The Gentleman's Magazine, under the heading of " Avaunt? ye noisy sons of wine." His first separate work was published anonymously in 1777, being a "Sketch of a Tour in Derbyshire and Yorkshire," a second edition of which appeared five years after, bearing his name on the title-page. He was responsible for a privately printed volume, " Collections relating to Henry Smith, sometime Alderman of London ; " and he was the author of many articles in The Archceological Journal and other serials. His great and important work, 216 MODERN METHUSELAES. however — the monument of his diligence, knowledge, and skill — exists in his history of his native county. There died, in 1801, the Rev. Owen Manning, Vicar of Godalming, a topographer of industry and ability, who had made considerable progress in a history of Surrey, the first volume being nearly completed. The congenial duty of the further execution of the work was undertaken by Mr. Bray, with the full determination that neither labour nor expense should be spared to make it a worthy history of the county. In its accomplishment he visited every parish and church within its bounds, and by personal investiga- tions succeeded in producing a work which, for accuracy, completeness, laboriousness, and intelligence, is acknowledged to hold a very high place in county histories. It was published in three volumes folio ; an interval of some years extended between the appearance of each volume, the third of which came out ten years after the first was issued. There is in the British Museum a duplicate copy of this work, in thirty folio volumes, illustrated with over six thousand prints and drawings by Mr. R. Perceval. Mr. Bray was eminently distinguished by his industry ; he was an incessant worker ; for the long period of fifty years he occupied his official post at the Board of Green Cloth. To find time to make the necessary digest and transcripts for the " History of Surrey," it was his custom to rise at four o'clock all the summer mornings, and throughout his life he was an economist of time. He was elected F.S.A. in A GROUP OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 217 1771, aiitl treasurer of the society in 1803, tbc year in which he inherited, through the death of his brother, the manor of Shere and the remainder of the family estates. His manner of life was frugal and unostentatious, but without a shadow of parsi- mouiousness. He paid frequent visits to the Evelyn family at AVotton, during some of which he became familiar with the Diary of the author of " Sylva," which he obtained permission from the family to publish. It appeared in 1818, with a " Life and Correspondence." It was afterwards reprinted in five volumes, and has taken its place among the literary treasures of this country. It is noted that Mr. Bray was not of a robust frame of body, but enjoyed singular freedom from bodily infirmities. He was short-sighted, had used a glass from boyhood, but was able to read a news- paper until within a few years of his death. Through- out his long life he kept very early hours, took much horseback exercise, and was a strict observer of Sunday. He was of a benevolent disposition, took an active part in philanthropic work of many kinds, and, from his legal training and official habits, he was able to render much valuable aid in conducting the various institutions with which he connected himself. At the time of his death, December 21st, 1832, he was nearing his ninety -seventh birthday, being, as far as can be observed, the only long-lived member of his family, and afifording a remarkable instance of life- long mental and bodily activity. 218 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Latham, Dk. Johk — Through the death of ]\Ir. Bray the gentleman whose life is now to be sketched became the father of the Society of Antiquaries, and he well deserves a place in any gallery of literary veterans, for his whole life was devoted to scientific nnd intellectual pursuits, a life extended to ninety- seven years, less a very few months. He was born at Eltham, Kent, on June 27th, 1740, his father being in active practice as a surgeon in that place. He was educated at Merchant Taylors' School, but remained there for so short a period that he was unable to make any great progress in classical attainments, his father being anxious to secure his services as early as possible in his own profession. For the attainment of this object he commenced his medical studies at Eltham when very young ; he completed them in the London hospitals, being for some time one of Mr. William Hunter's anatomy students. At the early age of twenty-one he is stated to have had a much larger medical experience than falls to the lot of most practitioners at a far more advanced age. When scarcely twenty-three years old he liad established himself in practice at Dartford, Kent, where the following thirty-three years of his life were spent in the diligent and successful discharge of his professional duties, in keej^ing himself well read in medical literature, and in the eager pursuit of various branches of science. As during these years he was enabled to acquire a comfortable competency on which to retire, it is evident that he did not allow his A GROUP OF FAll-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 21') favourite non-professional studies to encroach upon liis duties to his patients. Those studies were priiici- pallv antiquarian and ornithological, but he also turned his attention to other branches of science. In 1797 he wrote : " In respect to natural history and antiquities, I compare myself to Garrick between tragedy and comedy, and, though not so great a man, I cannot hell?, like him, squinting towards that which pleases me best." Many years before this he had become distinc^uished as an intellie'ent and a zealous archaeologist, which caused him to be elected F.S.A. in 1774. Many papers from his pen appeared in the Archa'ologia ; one of them gave an account of some ancient sculptures and inscriptions in the abbey church of Eomsey ; another had reference to an engraved brass-plate discovered in Netley Abbey. On one occasion he exhibited at a meeting of the society a bill, or knife, made of gold, tipped with amber, the supposed instrument with which the Druids severed the sacred mistletoe sprig. He attained to considerable skill with his pencil, which enabled him to take sketches of churches, and to depict any objects of antique art. The Kev. S. Denne, a brother F.S.A. of the neighbourhood, has borne testimony to the value of Mr. Latham's library, as being rich in volumes on this branch of knowledge. But he had, as Mr. Denne also observes, *'a more favoured hobby than antiquities," and one by which his name is now chiefly preserved, and that was natural history in general, but birds in particular. 220 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. He is stated to have been " remarkably assiduous in the collecting of birds, judicious in his mode of pre- serving them, and skilful in his representation of them." Mr. Latham's knowledge of this department enabled him to point out to Mr. Pennant several omissions in his work on birds ; the correspondence thus opened resulted in a warm friendship, and in 1797, when Mr. Latham made a tour in Wales, he spent a fortnight with his brother ornithologist. In that year he also paid a visit to Colonel Montague, of Lackham, whose study of natural history generally included a familiar acquaintance with birds. Mr. Latham also numbered Sir Joseph Banks and other British and foreio-n scientists amonsj his friends and correspondents. Many contributions from his pen are to be found in Tlie Philosophical Transactions, and other literary journals, and a more enduring monument of his patient labour, comprehensive knowledge, and great technical skill was given to the public between the years 1781 and 1801. At intervals between these dates there appeared his " General Synopsis of Birds," issued in six volumes quarto, with two supple- mentary volumes, a work which is acknowledged to be of creat merit. To this succeeded his " Index Ornithologicus," in two volumes quarto, written in Latin, published in 1790. In 1795 Mr. Latham relincpished active pro- fessional life and letired to Eomsey, where his son was in practice as a surgeon. A few years later he A GROUP OF FAR-ADVANCED XONAGENARIANS. 221 retired to Wincliostcr, to the liouse of liis daughter, Mrs. Wickliam, to whom he was deeply attached, and whose husband was a medical practitioner of that city. As early as 1775 he had been elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and three years later he assisted Dr. Smith in the formation of the Linncean Society. In the year of his retirement from Dartford the University of Erlano;er conferred on liim the deg:ree of M.D. His retirement into private life gave him tlie opportunity to devote himself with the greater zeal to his favourite study of birds, and, considering his advanced age, it may well be a matter of surprise that he had the courage to enter upon the task he set himself, or that his energies and life should have been spared to enable him to accomplish it. At the age of eighty-two he began to publish his " General History of Birds," which extended to ten volumes quarto, the whole of the plates being designed, etched, and coloured by the venerable author. The figures mani- fest singular fidelity to nature, and the entire work forms a remarkably interesting witness to the skill, patience, and industry of an advanced octogenarian. The publication involved a severe pecuniary sacrifice, but friends ultimately came forward who relieved him in some measure from the painful burden. Up to his ninety-fifth year he had enjoyed a singular immunity from the ravages of time ; in 1835, how^ever, his eye- sight began to fail ; infirmities made themselves felt ; yet he continued active and cheerful, took daily walks without any assistance, and only four days before his 222 MODERN METHUSELAHS. death manifested unusual vivacity. This flickering of life's expiring lamp was followed by a loss of intellectual power, which ended in a deep sleep, from which he never awakened. Not a pang indicated the moment of dissolution. Dr. Latham was twice married ; his second wife was Miss Delamott, of Ealing, whose pen proved of considerable value to her husband in the way of correspondence, etc. The loss by death of this lady, as also of his son, and his only daughter, Mrs. Wickham, did much to hasten the breaking up of his constitution. He died at Winchester, February 11th, 1837. Several other publications have been erroneously ascribed to Dr. Latham. He is stated to have been the author of '•' A Letter on Gout and Eheumatism ; " of " Facts and Opinions concerning Diabetes ; " of " A Plan of a Charitable institution on the Sea-Coast for Persons afflicted with such diseases as are usually relieved by Sea-Bathing ; " of one of the Harveian orations ; and the editor of a new edition of " Heald's London Pharmacopoeia." Many honours also, which he never received, are set down as accorded' to him for his high professional attainments. The explana- tion is simple : for a long series of years there were two John Lathams in the medical profession, both men of note, and both bearing the degree of M.D. The author of the works just enumerated was, how- ever, purely a physician, a F.^llow of the College of Physicians, and who filled the qffice of president. ^ He was educated at Brasenose Coll'ege, Oxford, where in A CROUP OP FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENARIANS. 223 clue course he took both the M.A, aud IM.D. dcixrccs, with liceuse to practise. lie commenced his pro- fessional career at Manchester, removed to Oxford, and finally settled in London, where he was eminently successful, and universally esteemed as a gentleman of great ability and of noble character. Mr. John Thorp, the eminent antiquary, in a letter dated 1792, states that "Mr. William Latham, of Eltham, Kent, who is a member of our society, is a fjood herald, and married the daus^hter of Shukburfr Ashby, Esq. of Quarby, Leicestershire." This would probably be a brother of Dr. John Latham, of Dartford, as his father was also John, and would most likely have been dead at that time. Castanos, Francisco Xavier. — A Spanish soldier and statesman of considerable reputation, whose name is frequently met with in Sir W. Napier's " History of the Peninsular War," and also in the annals of Spanish politics and history. He was born, according to some authorities, in 1753 ; according to others, in 1756 ; as his death did not take place until 1852, he must have been, even on the latter computation, at least ninety-six years old at the time. He was a native of Biscay, the son of a military officer of good family. At the age of twelve he received a com- mission as captain, and when still very young accom- panied his brother-in-law, General Count Oreilly, to Prussia, to study military tactics at the school of Frederick the Great, at Berlin. In 1794 Castaiios 221. MODERN METHUSELAHS. served with distinction as colonel of the army of Navarre, and four years after was nominated lieutenant-general ; but having immediately after, with several other officers, incurred the displeasure of Godoy, the Prince of the Peace, and favourite of Carlos IV., he was exiled from Madrid. On the entry of the French into Spain in 1808, Castanos was in command of a body of men near the frontiers of Andalusia ; here was fought the battle of Baylen, in which General Dupont was utterly defeated, and eighteen thousand of his soldiers were captured. This victory has been reckoned the crowning glory of Castanos' military career, and for which he was created Duke of Baylen. It has been said, however, that the chief credit of it was really due to the Swiss, Aloys Reding. Napier further detracts from the success by asserting that the French " laid down their arms before a raw army, incapable of resisting half that number led by an able man." The very year of this victory, moreover, saw the name of Castanos a little tarnished by the loss of the battle of Tudela. Nevertheless, the Eegency of Cadiz named him general-in-chief of the 4th body of the army, and commandant of several provinces. He was in command at the battle of Vittoria, June, 1813, in which engagement some assert that he manifested great military ability, and largely contributed to the success of the day. Napier says that he was " active in preparation, but slow in the field, and his movements were generally false." But then the same able historian acknowledges that he had only the name A C.H0U1' OF FAR-ADVANCED NONAGENAIU ANS. 225 and cares of a uciu'ia], without the autliority. He was thwarted Ijv those whose hiwless proceedings it was feared lie woidd frustrate. It is, liowever, recorded tliat he became the associate of AVellinGfton, and emulated his glory, and when, soon after the battle of Yittoria, the Spanish Regency deprived him of his command, he wrote to AVellin£ton on the subject, who immediately remonstrated with the authorities. He was, however, nominated Councillor of State. On the release and restoration of Fernando YII. Castafios was appointed captain -_2:eneral of Catalonia, and in 1815 he was placed at the head of the army which was sent to assist the Allies against France. The following 3^earhe resigned that command. Seven years after, when the Cortes had been dissolved, and be had purged himself from a suspicion of having been a party to their constitution, he was again appointed captain-general In 1825, he was called to the Council of State, when he ardently advocated, as regarded the Carlists, a system of toleration. He afterwards received the appointment of President of the Council of Castile ; in 1833 he manifested opposi- tion to the modifications which were jDroposed of the right of succession to the Crown, and for some years took no further part in public afifairs. On the fall of Esparto, be was appointed tutor to Queen Isabel, although he was then nearing his ninetieth year. He was named by Louis Philippe Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honour. It is not easy to arrive at Q 226 MODEEN METIIUSELAHS. a true estimate of cither the military or political genius of Castanos. His lot was cast in the midst of a perturbed people, and those who rose to the surface were more often greedy adventurers than disinterested patriots. In this respect the civil and military services were alike. Castanos, actuated by higher principles, was no doubt intrigued against, efforts were made to lessen his influence and to destroy his authority. Nor does he appear to have had either the moral or physical fibre to have success- fully contended against the opposing forces. Sir W. Napier plainly says that he was of an indolent disposition, and it seems to be apparent on the surface that there was some lack of muscularity in most of his actions. But he certainly rose to high political and military offices, and throughout his very long life must have been a power, and that for good, in his distracted country. CFIAPTER XL EVA MARIA GARKICK. .... She conies ! behold That figure, like a ship with snow-white sail ! Nearer she draws ; a breeze uplifts her veil ; Upon her coming Avait As pure a sunshine and as soft a gale As e'er, on herbage covering earthly mould, Tempted the bird of Juno to unfold His richest splendour — when his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seemed governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone. Wordsworth. Under her maiden name tliis lady was, for a short period, an idol of the English public, but the members of the profession to which she belonged, however distinguished in their day, earn for them- selves a crown that very soon fades, and in a few generations they are forgotten. Moreover, in the case now to be considered, an early retirement from the practice of her art consigned Mrs. Garrick to semi-private if not to absolutely private life, so that w^hatever lustre now belongs to the name Q 2 228 MODERN METHUSELAHS. is attached to her husband ; hers is but deflected glory. Nevertheless, she is a character well worthy of attentive consideration, and, as she lived to reach her ninety-eighth year, she has some claims for a brief notice apart from the great master actor to whom she was so happily married. Even when the interest arising from the mystery of her birth and from the romance of her early days is put out of the question, the practical side of her life affords an instructive chapter, and proves that it is perfectly possible for a beautiful, flattered, and successful dcmseuse to turn into a loving and beloved wife, a very model of womanly amiability, playful sprightliness, and kindly dignity. Eva Maria Veigel was born at Vienna on leap year's day, February 29th, 1725. A cloud of doubt hangs over her paternity. She was supposed to have been the daughter of John Veigel, a respectable citizen of Vienna ; she was suspected to have been an illegitimate child of some member of a noble family, possibly that of Count Stahremberg's; she was asserted to have been the unsanctioned offspring of the Earl of Burlington, the story told being that his lordship accidentally discovered her, when on a Continental tour with his countess, from the strong likeness which she bore to her mother, to whom at one time the earl was devotedly attached. A comparison of dates and probabilities renders this rumour in the highest degree unlikely, or rather impossible. All that can be said on the subject is that, on one EVA MAllI.V flARUICK. 229 occasion, ]\Irs. Garrick declared she was of noble l)irtli. Two or three circumstances to be mentioned hereafter, tend to the conclusion that the second of the above surmises is probably the correct one. ])at whatever may have been the circumstances of her birth, there is no doubt that she appeared early in life as an opera- dancer at the Imperial Court of Vienna, and that she was thus brought under the notice of the Empress Maria Theresa, whose children were then learning to dance. To aid them in the acquirement of the accomplishment, the Empress selected several young girls to form a class to learn with the Royal pupils, and Eva Maria Yeigel was one of the chosen. Attractiveness characterised her through life ; in these early days it drew the empress to her with so much interest that — so the tradition runs — she requested her to change her name from the harsher German Yeigel, itself a corruption, to the more euphonious French name Violette, each meaniuo^ the same as Violet in Ensflish. A little circumstance disturbed the future connections of the empress and her protegee; she saw reason to fear that the emperor as well as herself felt the influence of the young dancer's attractiveness, and the discovery once made, no time was lost in sending her out of the way. London was selected as the scene of her banish- ment, and she travelled thither under conditions which afford reasons for the belief that she was other than the daughter of the Vienna tradesman. The 230 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Kev. Dr. Carlyle mentions in his interesting "Auto- biography" that early in the year 1746, he and some young Scotch friends, who had been studying at the University of Leyden, embarked at Helvoet on their return to Scotland. They sailed at eight o'clock a.m. with a fair but brisk gale, which soon grew disagree- ably strong. The doctor goes on to state : " We had one cabin passenger, who was afterwards much celebrated. "When we were on the quarter-deck in the mornino- we observed three foreio'ners, of different ages, who had under their care a young person of about sixteen, very handsome indeed, whom we took for a Hanoverian baron coming to Britain to pay his court at St. James's. The gale freshened so soon that we had not an opportunity of conversing with these foreio-ners, when we were oblio-ed to take to our beds in the cabin. The young person was the only one of the strangers who had a berth there, because as we supposed, it occasioned an additional freight. My bed was directly opposite to that of the stranger, but we were so sick that there was no conversation amono- us till the young foreigner became very frightened in spite of the sickness, and called out to me in French if we were not in danger. The voice betrayed her sex at once, no less than her fears. I consoled her as well as I could, and soon brought her above the fear of danger. This beautiful person was Violetti, the dancer, who was engaged to the Opera in the Hay- market. This we were made certain of by the man who called himself her father, waiting on us next day EVA MAUIA GAUiaCK. 281 at Harwich, rcquostiug our countenance to liis daughter on her fir.^>t appearance, and on lier benefit. I accordingly was at the Opera the first night she appeared, when she was the first dancer, and main- tained lier ground till Garrick married her." On some minor points the memory of the doctor may have deceived him a little, but the essential part of the narrative is no doubt true. Mademoiselle Violetti did not reach these shores under any malignant star ; on the contrary, the kindliest influences which heaven ever shed around an alien almost mysteriously surrounded her from the first moment of her arrival. It is true that she broucfht letters of recommendation with her, and especially one from the Countess of Stahremberg to the Countess of Burlington ; the nature of that intro- duction is not known ; its results were at any rate remarkable. Eva Maria was almost immediately received with maternal kindness ; she became an in- mate of Burlington House ; the earl, the countess, the Countess of Talbot, her sister, all united in treating the young Viennese with marked esteem, and intro- duced her on terms of equality to all their aristocratic friends and acquaintances. The year of her arrival had not expired when Horace Walpole wrote that the fame of " the Violette " increased daily ; that the sister countesses exerted all their stores of partiality for her ; that she was taken to one grand house after another, and that Lady Burlington was having her likeness taken. According to a French life of her, 232 MODERN METHUSELAHS. she was one of the most beautiful women in Europe ; it is beyond dispute that she was marvellously graceful in figure, sweet in countenance, fascinating in manner. There was a charming piquancy, modesty, and even shyness in her deportment, which, combined with her beauty, told greatly in her favour. Taken altogether, she was a refined, a dainty, and an elegant damsel, one who was personally well fitted to adorn the drawiuof-rooms of the hio^liest circles of society. But it was not as a mere ornament of fashionable life that " the Yiolette " had cast her lot on this island ; her letters of recommendation were to bespeak the good ofiices of friends to procure for her a professional engagement as an opera-dancer. Xo difficulties presented themselves, and she accordingly soon made her dehut at the Opera House, the king being present on the occasion. She is recorded to have been an ex- quisite ar^^Ve; Horace Walpole designated her ''the finest and most admired dancer in the world." She became the rage of fashionaljle life, and Lady Burling- ton did not hesitate to stand waiting at night with wraps to throw over the shoulders of the fair per- former. In December of 1746 she made her appearance at Drury Lane, and with unqualified success, but without the least disturbance of her well- balanced mental constitution. Although she was young and not over-experienced, she neither lacked discernment nor decision of character ; the exercise of these qualities brought her on one occasion under the displeasure of the Prince of Wales. With Lord KVA MAUTA GARRICK. 238 I\Ii»lillesox, lie was joint conductor of the theatre, and wished "the Violettc " to take lessons in dancing of Denoyer, a celebrated teacher, who was notorious for the assistance he was ready to leud to the intrigues of the class to which the prince belonged. She firmly refused to have anything to do with Denoyer, a refusal which gained her the esteem of many influential friends. Her popularity became so great that sin- gular scenes took place in the theatre if she did not appear even when her name had been put down without her knowledgre. After an outbreak of the kind, she volunteered an apology, or rather an explanation ; in substance, she humbly begged leave to acquaint the public that she was very much con- cerned to hear that she had been charofed with beinor the cause of the noise on Wednesday night, and, after stating the circumstances, she ended by saying that she could not possibly have been guilty of an intention to disobey or give ofience to an English audience, especially after meeting with so much indulgence, for which she retained all possible gratitude. Simplicity and good feeling pervaded the address, which was re- ceived with all the grace its fair speaker could have wished. Her generous, sympathetic nature was revealed at this time by a little incident which may find mention here. On one occasion her friend Lord Burlington took her to see the political prisoners then in the Tower, and she was much shocked to hear that every one of them would be executed the folio win 2: morninfr. 234 MODEEN METHUSELA.HS. There appeared among them an interesting-looking young man — scarcely more than a youth — a member of an old Eno;lish Catholic family. Mademoiselle Violette was so deeply moved by the impending fate of this lad, that with intense earnestness she besought his lordship to exert all his influence to procure a mitio-ation of the sentence. Her wish was regarded, and a pardon was obtained on the condition that AVildino- should transfer himself to a North American colony, where death, not to be thwarted of its prey, soon afterw^ards overtook him in an encounter with some natives. Lord and Lady Burlington may well be excused if in their affection for "the Violette," in their pride of her beauty, and in their admiration of her character, they cherished a hope that her hand would be sought by one of the titled and wealthy of the land, and that they w^ould soon see her united to some member of their own circle. Sio^ns were not wantino- to w^arrant the wish ; it was doomed to be in part disappointed, in part fulfilled. The stor}^ of David Garrick's sudden bound to fame is too familiar to need repetition here ; when, however, that sudden bound is spoken of, it must not be supposed that he had achieved the full victory which ultimately awaited him. It took time firmly to establish and to extend his reputation ; it w^as by degrees that he found himself an honoured guest in the houses of the greatest, and in the certain prospect of an income that would entitle him, as far as money was concerned, to take his position among the EVA MAIMA (iAlillR'K. 2:55 lords aiul ladies with whom he so dearly loved to find himself associated. ]\Iaiiy are the curious stories told of his unintentional conquests of the hearts of ladies who saw him act, and of the devices hy which he had to try and cure them of their infatuation. In these cases his own affections had been untouclicd, l)ut they were now aljout to be caught by one whose heart had already secretly given itself to him. One night Violette saw Garrick perform, and fell desperately in love with him ; but as this was in the early days of his upward march, the Countess of Burlington did not approve of the wayward maiden's choice, and set herself earnestly to oppose it. As, how^ever, Garrick was gradually getting into the same circle of society as Violette herself, they frequently met at parties, they planned clandestine interviews, and on one occasion, if not on more than one, Garrick disguised himself as a woman in order to hand Violette a hillet- doux as she passed in her chair. When Lady Burlington was present at any assemblage where the two enamoured ones met, she kept a fierce watch over Violette, while Garrick had to stand afar, ogling and sighing all the time. Her ladyship took an opportunity to remonstrate with the actor, and implored him to try and wean Violette from her attachment ; a curious and novel mission on which to send one whose passion was equal to tliat which he was urged to cool. He appears to have made the attempt, whether feignedly or unfeignedly may be left to each reader's judgment. The countess 236 MODERN METHUSELAHS. believed in his sincerity, but his efforts, real or sham, "were of no avail with the smitten one ; they had, however, a value in the eyes of Lady Burlington, who was softened by the generous spirit of self-sacrifice which Garrick displayed, and further still, by the representation of a physician that the attachment was a matter of life or death to her young friend. Garrick saw his opportunity, sent in a formal proposal, opposition was withdrawn, and the marriage was duly arranged. The young couple were happily united on June 22nd, 1749, he being then thirty years old, and the bride twenty-four. They went through the marriage ceremony twice ; in the morning at the church in Russell Street, Bloomsbury, and in the afternoon at the chapel of the Portuguese Embassy in Audley Street, the reason of the double celebration beingr that the wife Wcis a Roman Catholic, while the husband was a Protestant. A handsome settlement was made upon Mrs. Garrick : her husband arranged for four thousand pounds, and the Earl of Burlington was understood to have given six thousand pounds as a wedding portion. But here again mystery steps in. In after days Mrs. Garrick denied that she ever received this sum from the earl ; she spoke of him rather as the ao;ent throusfh whom the annual interest on that amount was paid, the actual trustee being the Duke of Devonshire, whose son was married to Lord Burlington's daughter. A brief but happy honeymoon followed the marriage, short trips being taken in this country ; a KVA MAIIIA GAKRICK. 237 visit to Licli field was proposed, as one of these trips, but this was opposed by Lady Burlington, who, although she had consented to the union, did not wish that there should be any close intimacy with Garrick's family. On other occasions the countess manifested a strong desire for control in matters which concerned the husband and wife alone, and the former had to make it apparent that he knew and intended to keep his own independent path. In 1752, the trip which they regarded as their real wedding tour was taken ; they visited Paris that summer, but while honour was not altogether lacking to the distinguished actor, he was quietly received, and nothing occurred of any particular notice. In a few weeks they were at home again ; they had commenced domestic life at No. 27, Southampton Street, Strand, a locality not then out of the bounds of fashion, and one very convenient for the master's professional engagements. The liouse was large and comfortable, and many variously distinguished visitors were w^elcomed within its doors. Breakfast was a favourite meal, and guests were often invited to share it, Dr. Johnson amonir the number. Unfortunately, on his first visit the great Cham con- sidered that Garrick's manner was patronising, and his sensitiveness once aroused, everything tended to wound it ; he saw ostentation and pride in all that his host did to entertain him. He went home in this unhappy frame of mind, and relieved himself by devoting a number of Tlie Rambler to a paper descriptive of the breakfast to which Prospero had 23S ilODERN METIIUSELAITS. invited Aspar. It concerns this sketch only so far as it gives a little peep into the house over which the wife had now to preside. There is mention made of the footman who opened the door ; of the mats to protect the staircase from pollution ; of the magnificence of the best apartments ; of the carefully covered carpet and chairs ; of the display of Dresden china ; of the tea of good flavour ; of the little back- room in which breakfast was served. In this same little back-room many an actor had with pride and pleasure sat down to breakfast w^ith the happy tenants ; many a candidate for the stage had also shared the same privilege, while the lady would help her lord to arrive at a sound judgment on any important case. The silver tea-kettle and the little casket for keeping the tea, with which the bridegroom presented the bride on their wedding-day, were always conspicuous on these occasions. Each year saw the Roscius of his age increase in reputation, in the esteem of the great ones of the land, in the attainment of wealth, and in the enjoy- ment of unclouded domestic happiness, for he always bore testimony to his wife that she was "the best of women and wives," an opinion in which it wdll presently be seen that every one who knew her fully shared, so that she was always spoken of as " a charmino- and much-loved wife." But it must not be supposed that her husband's sunshine knew no shadows. Every reader of Mr. Fitzgerald's interest- ino- ''Life of David Garrick " will recall the trials and i;VA .MA IMA C.ARIUCK. 230 (lidicukies which beset the great actor, partly from liis own peculiar constitution, partly from the inr^rati- tutle and never-ceasing annoyance of those with whom he was associated, and partly from the grave respon- sibilities and harassing cares which his position un- avoidably entailed upon him. At times he acutely felt " the heavy and weary weight " of all these, which probably gave him a longing for country life, in which to refresh his spirits and to enjoy a quieter existence and a purer air than the neighbourhood of the Strand afforded. Not long after his marriage he found the retreat for which he longed at Hampton, and in 1754 became its owner. Although the rooms were low and not very large, there were plenty of them, drawing-room, dining-room, library, bow-room, small-room, and bedrooms. The spare or best bed- room had a curtain suspended across the ceiling at one end, which completely cut off the bed, and gave the appearance of an elegant sitting-room to the other portion. The gardens were ample and the ornamen- tal grounds extensive ; the high-road separated the house and a portion of its grounds from a portion on the river-side. " Capability " Brow^n was consulted as to the best method of effecting a communication ; he advised a tunnel, which after some little consideration was cut, and gave easy access to the most attractive portion of the domain, for a beautiful sward ran down to the Thames, which could be seen sparkling and flashing in the glorious sunshine. These grounds afforded Mrs. 240 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Garrick occupation and delight ; she planted trees and shrubs, concerning which she struck up a strong intimacy with the esteemed old clergyman, whose heart was much in his flowers and ornamental plants ; here she grouped her visitors from town, after a com- paratively early dinner ; and here she and her husband might be found in the summer evenings, eating fiers or other fruit from their o-ardens. From notices met with here and there in the pages of con- temporary literature, their visitors must have been many. In 1758, Home, the author of "Douglas," and some of his Scottish friends were invited to spend a day at the villa ; singularly enough, the Rev^ Alexander Carlyle was one of the party. This was the gentleman whose description of the voyage from Helvoet has already been quoted. In reference to this Hampton visit, he says : " They dined sumptuously, Mrs. Garrick the only lady, now grown fat, though still very lively, being a woman of uncommon good sense, and now mistress of English, was in all respects most agreeable company. She did not seem at all to recoo'nise me, which was no wonder, at the end of twelve years, having thrown away my bag-wig and sword, and appearing in my own grisly hairs, and in parson's clothes ; nor was I likely to remind her of her former state. . . . We passed a very agreeable afternoon ; and it is hard to say which were happier, the landlord and landlady, or the guests." Among other visitors, Hannah More was a frequent and welcome guest. In her young days in London EVA :\r.\TIIA fiARRICK. 2-tl society the theatre Jul not frighten her conscience, and Garrick as an actor had no more enthusiastic admirer than that miich-patronised young hidy, nor ])robably had any admirer who would so extravagantly express her admiration. At any rate, CJarrick was greatly taken with her ; both his residences were open to her ; he did his best to introduce her into high society. From Miss More's letters, she appears to have intensely enjoyed life at Hampton, and, like every one else, she was strongly drawn to the mistress of the establishment. She asserts that whoever might be at table, " Mrs. Garrick, bv her elec^ance of taste, her correctness of manner, and her very original tone of humour, was the briirhtest ornament." " I can hardlv sav whether I love or esteem her the most." At Hampton, '' everything that could please the ear, charm the eye, and gratify the understanding, passed in quick succession." "We go to-morrow to smell the lilacs and syringas at Hampton." *' I long for the tranquillity of that delicious retreat." Another testimony of far greater weight may be quoted, for its author was a lady of gentle birth, ac- customed from childhood to the society of the highest and most polished circles, knew life thoroughly, and possessed large powers of observation and penetra- tion. She was also a' comparative stranger to the Garricks, but accompanied other friends to spend a day with them at Hampton. Mrs. Delany wrote in 1770, and the italics are her own: "As to Mrs. 242 MODERX METHUSELAHS. Garrick, the more one sees her, the better one must like her ; she seems never to depart from a perfect propriety of behaviour, accompanied with good sense, and gentleness of manners, and I cannot help looking on her as a wonderful creature, considering all circum- stances relating to her. The house is singular. , . . We had an excellent dinner nicely served, and when over, went directly into the garden — a piece of irregular ground slopes down to the Thames, ver}' well laid out, and planted for shade and shelter ; and an opening to the river, which appears beautiful from that spot, and from Shakespeare's temple." Mrs. Delany had also a word of commendation for the way in which Mr. Garrick did the honours of the day. The fact is evident that the Garricks were great people at Hampton, and well maintained the character. There were noblemen and noble ladies in the neighbourhood who treated them as equal and attached friends ; they kept good state, a well- appointed house, honourable company, an excellent table ; drove into town in their handsome four-horsed carriage ; Avere exceedingly kind and generous to all their poor fellow-residents. Among other friendly acts, Mr. Garrick gave a high festival to all the poor children of the village on the May Day of each year ; this was probably partly in honour of his wife, whose name Maria connected her with that month. Mention of Dr. Johnson must not be omitted as a guest at Hampton ; he came and went at his pleasure, not seldom arriviog after every one had KVA MAltIA GAUKICK. 213 retired for the ni^s^lit, knocking the liouschold up, and refusing to go to bed until supper had been served to him. It may also be mentioned that the house still stands, and has every appearance of a commodious and comfortable rural residence ; it is known as Garrick's Villa, and retains the pleasant gardens and grounds which so attracted the actor and his wife, and there still flourish several trees planted by the latter ; among them a tulip-tree, a cedar-tree, and the mulberry-tree, which sprang from a sucker from Shakespeare's celebrated tree at Stratford-on-Avon. Country pleasures, however pure, did not efifec- tually counteract town worries, and the renowned actor bee:an to talk of retirement from the staore : there was probably more of finesse than sincerity in bis declarations ; at heart he considered that a temporary withdrawal might be conducive to future and prolonged prosperity. Moreover, Mrs. Garrick's health was scarcely satisfactory ; complaints of sciatica and rheumatism were loud and frequent ; indeed, the attacks w^ere severe enough to make a stick necessary for moving about. The Duke of Devonshire gave husband and wife an invitation to Chatsworth in 1763, to meet Quin among others, to whom Garrick jocosely wa'ote that the prospect of seeing him seemed to please Mrs. Garrick more " than was quite agreeable to a prudent husband." Im- mediately on their return home they made pre- parations for an extended Continental tour. On September 15th, they set off, via, Dover, for Paris, R 2 214 MODERJJ METHUSELAHS. where the welcome the great actor received was most enthusiastic, and Vv'here his wife made a highly favourable and lasting impression. After about three weeks in Paris they continued their journey to Lyons, over Mont Cenis to Milan, Genoa, Eome, and Naples. Everywhere they were received with great cordiality ; the rich and titled English settled in or visiting these places showered dinner and other invitations thickly upon them. By April they were again at Eome ; Venice was next reached ; but Mrs. Garrick had thus far reaped little benefit to her health from change ; she still suffered severely from sciatica ; to relieve it, every nostrum had been ineffectually tried. The mud-baths of Albano were now recommended, and happily they were used with most satisfactory results ; the cure was so far complete that the stick was dispensed with. At Munich, in August, a severe bilious attack confined her husband to his bed for a month. As soon as he was able to travel they returned to Paris, where they were welcomed back with flattering^ demonstrations of ejladness. Mrs. Garrick deepened the favourable impression she had before made upon Paris circles. By one she was spoken of as a " chavmante epouse,'^ although entirely devoted to her husband ! Another wrote to Garrick : " Mille respects, et j'ose le dire, mille sentimens d'affection a votre chere epouse." Gibbon wrote : " May I beg to be remembered to Mrs. Garrick ? By this time she has probably discovered the philosopher's stone. She has long possessed a more EVA MA IMA GARRICK. 215 valu;il)le secret, tlial of gaining the hearts of all who have the liappiness of knowing her." Sterne, who saw in the garden of the Tuileries all the beauties of France, asserted that she could annihilate them " in a sinorle turn." Another admired her " sourires fins." The w\andercrs reached home again on April 27th, 1765, after an absence of about eighteen months. The great success which attended Garrick's re- appearance on the stage, and the flood of wealth which it brought to him, belong properly to the details of his life. Allusion is made to them here simply to explain the change of residence which has to be noted. After twenty years of life in South- ampton Street, a removal was considered desirable ; a more fashionable and lari^er establishment was decided on ; one which would put him more on a par with the great ones with whom he was increasingly familiar Adelphi Terrace, then just finished and regarded as an imposing architectural erection, was deemed to meet the requirements of the case ; accordingly number four was taken, and fitted up and furnished in a sumptuous style. The ceiling of the drawing- room was painted by Zocchi, the subject being Venus attired by the Graces ; the chimney-piece of the room is stated to have cost eight hundred pounds, Garrick's besetting weakness was to mingle freely with the great, and to vie with them in style and grandeur of living ; they gladly accorded to him their friendship, for they fully recognised his rare union of special histrionic powers, intellectual endowments. 246 MODERN METHUSELAHS. sparkling conversatiou, polished manners, and high moral character : it may be questioned if they esteemed him any the more because he closely copied the ways of life of those born to affluence and state. Sir "Watkyn Wynn surely thought none the better of him for travelling; with six horses and four men- servants when he and his wife went on a visit to Wynnstay. At the same time it must be admitted that if he incurred terribly heavy expenses, they were no more than he could honourably meet ; his vast gains not only sufficed for all his own costly method of living, but enabled him with rare and most large-hearted generosity to help his relatives, his friends, and even his foes with sums of no mean magnitude. They were also sufficient to leave his widow a most ample provision, and to enrich his nephews and nieces. No doubt he was mean and shabby at times, but where can a perfectly consistent character be found ? The years of his life in his handsome new abode were not to be many. Intimations of disease, and distaste for the continued annoyances of theatrical management and performance, induced him to retire from both in 1776 ; on June 10th of that year he came for the last time before an audience, amid such touching demonstrations of regard that he was completely overcome, and broke down utterly in trying to give his farewell address, while his wife vs^as in her box in an agony of hysterical tears. On January 20th, 1779, the trials and triumphs of his KVA MARIA GARRICK. 247 life Avero alike over, ami in a f(;\v days lie was CDiisiguccl to his long resting-place, at the foot of Shakespeare's statue in Westminster Abbey, amid such marks of honour and esteem as perhaps never before had been, and never again will be, bestowed upon one of his profession. In the first moment of her bereavement, the widow turned to Hannah More, then at her home in Dristol. Slie reached town before the preparations for the funeral were completed, Mrs. Garrick being for the time at the house of a friend. There Miss ]\Iorc followed her ; after silent embraces, the mourner re- covered herself a little, and said : "The goodness of God to me is inexj)ressible ; I desired to die, but it is His will that I should live, and He has convinced me He will not let my life be quite miserable, for He gives astonishing strength to my body and grace to my heart ; neither do I deserve, but I am thankful for both." Yet the wrench from her "dear Davy" must have been a terrible one, for the husband and wife had been as inseparable as the late Lord and Lady Hatherley are reported to have been. Garrick declared that for the twenty-eight years of their married life they had not spent a single day apart from each other She was always present at his rehearsals, taking her work with her ; she listened attentively, and her husband sought hur opinion on every doubtful pointy Wherever he was invited, it was understood that she was included, and where she could not go, he would not go. On one occasion he would gladly have accepted 248 MODEElsr METHUSELAHS. an invitation to Ireland, but lie declined it, because his wife was always so distressed by sea-sickness that she could not undertake the journey, and he would not go without her. He invariably treated her with the utmost respect and delicacy, and acknowledged that she had been to him in all possible respects the most devoted and best of wives. He did not even regret that they had no children, for he said if they had turned out unkind or disobedient, the trial would have been greater than he could have supported. This absence of sons or daug-hters enabled him to make a verv liberal provision for his widow ; he willed to her the Adelphi Terrace residence and the Hampton Villa, with all their linen, plate, wines, pictures, etc., six thousand pounds in money, and fifteen hundred per annum. The full amount was made subject to the condition that she should continue to reside in England ; if she fixed her home either on the Continent, in Scotland, or in Ireland, the annual income was to sufi'er a reduction. A little scandal was created by some Chancery proceedings which Mrs. Garrick instituted with reference to the residue of her husband's estate. Her own legacy was to stand paramount to every other ; that secured, about thirty-four thousand pounds went in bequests to his two brothers, his one sister, his two nieces, and his wife's German niece ; the residue, if any, was to be divided between his next of kin, as if he had died intestate. It was to obtain a share in this residue that the application was made to the KVA MARIA GAURICK. 219 Court of Chancery ; but the Lord Chancellor refused such a construction of the will, and the endeavour to so interpret it was generally considered to reflect un- favourably on the applicant. That she was amply provided for, and well able to keep up the two estab- lishments, became clear some years after this, for her savings had amounted to twelve thousand pounds, which she then distributed among her German relations. Although she always appeared cheerful, and never indulged in any appearance of melancholy in the presence of others, there is every reason to believe that her heart was really buried in the grave of her husband ; on Hannah More asking her how she could maintain such self-command, she replied : " Groans and complaints are very w^ell for those who are to mourn but a little while ; but a sorrow that is to last for life will not be violent or romantic." And so a large portion of the anniversary of each returning wedding-day was spent at the tomb of her husband ; and so also, although she had many offers of a second marriage made by men of rank, wealth, and in all other respects eligible, she declined them all. One who saw her at this time declares that she "looked very well, very sweet, and very elegant," and afforded, it may be assumed, another proof *' that the autumn of the beautiful is beautiful." After two years of widowhood, Mrs. Garrick gave her first party, at which were present Dr. Johnson, Bos well, Colman, Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah More, and others of reputation. The hostess is stated to 250 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. have looked well ; she talked of her husband with complacency, and while she cast her eyes on his portrait, which hung over the chimney-piece, said that " death was now the most agreeable object to lier." She held a grand reception in the evening. But it would be a mistake to suppose that she ever returned to anything like festivity, or took pleasure in going into or receiving company. A witness records : " As to poor Mrs. Garrick, she keeps herself as secret as a piece of smuggled goods, and neither stirs out herself nor lets anybody in." In the Diary of Miss Fanny Burney (Madame D'Arblay) there are frequent allusions to Mrs. Garrick, which are always couched in admirincr and affectionate terms, such as " the greatest pleasure I received was from meeting Mrs. Garrick again," and after, on another occasion meeting her in company, she wrote: "She was cheerfully grave, did not speak much, but was followed and addressed by every one " of the distin- guished guests. She was in point of fact esteemed and honoured wherever she went. At Hampton the c[ueen often visited her, and finding her on one occasion peeling onions, she requested a knife and commenced to help in the occupation. George IV. and his brothers frequently called on her. Hannah More was for many years a guest at Hampton, and in the summer of 1788, Mrs. Garrick went on a visit to Miss More and her sisters at Bristol. From various causes personal interviews became less frequent in the course of time, but the two ladies never lost the KVA MAIMA (;ai!i;i(:k, 251 warm regard they had for cacli other, as a letter Irom Mrs. Garrick testifies, written when she wa.s half a year over the nonagenarian line. Pier words are : "" Indeed, my beloved friend, I have been very near parting for ever from this world ; but the great care taken of me set me up again upon my feet, but not so high as my knees, for they are as yet very dodderiiuj. But when you consider that 1 am six months past ninety, you would say that I am a w^onder still if you were to see me. I do not often show my teeth, as there is but one and a quarter left. God bless you all ! and love me as I do you from my very soul." The unknown and uncouth w^ord printed in italics was a playful allusion to her pronunciation of English. Alexander Carlyle wrote that when he saw her at Hampton, Mrs. Garrick had become *' Mistress of English ; " but he could only have meant so far as the power of freely expressing herself in it went, for it seems clear that she spoke it with that foreign accent wdiich is so frequently heard from foreign lips, and which is acknowledged to be very pleasant when those lips haj^pen to be beautiful. Among other peculiarities she appears to have always pronounced d for t, which explains the above word and which caused Lord Lyttleton to call her with friendly familiarity, *' Pid-Pad," as she could not say Pit-a-pat. In his correspondence, her husband frequently amuses his friends by giving her messages phonetically, as in writing on one occasion to Foote he sends her best wishes, with the hope that he will 252 MODERN METHUSELAHS. not keep too miicli company, and makes her conclude with the remark, '"' It is a bitty you are so bleasant to so riot yourself to teth." Elsewhere he makes her speak of her '"' liumatiz." So ]\[is3 Burney says she met Mrs. Garrick in 1788: "I passed through her most cordial hands, was frankly embraced by her, and addressed : ' To I see you once more pefore I tie, my little spark.' " In reference to her physical frame, Mrs. Garrick's letter to Hannah ^Sloie fitly introduces the little that can be said on that subject. Like most of those w^ho live to a very advanced age, she appears to have been scarcely of the average height ; slender in person when young, and never very stout ; erect in bearing ; quick in movement, and, on the whole, of well sus- tained health. She did not escape touches of rheumatism and its kindred ailments ; she had also other indispositions from time to time ; but in extreme old age it is recorded of her that she had great activity of body as well as of mind, although she spent " so very few hours in bed." One of her contemporaries wrote : '•'Mrs. Garrick at a period of life when infirmities might naturally be expected, still possesses the power of delighting by the brilliancy of her conversation, which unites the experience of age with the liveliest sallies of youth." About fourteen months before her death, she visited the British Museum, in order to inspect the collection of Mr. Garrick's likenesses which were in the ten folio volumes of theatrical portraits collected by Dr. Burney. Mr. J. T. Smith, EVA MAKIA GARllICK. who was tlieii Keeper of tlie Prints and Drawings at the Museum, had the pleasure of showing lier these art treasures, and, in his " Book for a llainy Day," records that " her observations on some of them were extremely interesting ; " he adds some of her remarks, which show that her memory had retained wonderful freshness. She invited Mr. Smith to Hampton, and at his request kindly gave him her signature, which she wrote without spectacles, but not without some exertion, as she had not had a pen in her hands for many months. The late Dean Stanley's picture of her in her last days may be a true one, but it scarcely corresponds with the impression other records leave on the mind. He wrote : " A little bowed-down old woman, who went about leaning on a gold-headed cane, dressed in deep widow's mourning, and always talking of her dear Davy." This is in direct conflict with the obituary notice in The Annual Register of the year of her death, which states that " Mrs. Garrick was remarkably beautiful in face and person, and till her death she retained that erect deportment which she derived from her original profession." Mrs. Garrick never lost her interest in the theatre ; she kept her box at Drury Lane, and even privately sat in judgment on new theatrical candidates ; her very end came to her, it may be said, through her connection with the theatre. Drury Lane had been re-decorated, and on the IGth of October, 1822, in response to an invitation, she purposed to visit it for 254 MODERN METHUSELAHS. a private view. As the time approached, she had two or three dresses laid out on. chair-backs, from which to select one for the occasion ; she wished also to have a cup of tea before setting out. Seated in her arm-chair in the front drawing-room of her house in Adelplii Terrace, she a little resented what she appears to have considered the officious attention of one of her maid-servants, whose act seemed to imply that her venerable mistress could not help herself to a cup of tea. She took it, however, but had scarcely put it to her lips when she fell back in her chair and expired. The lamp of life was extinguished without a sino-le sio;n of warnins^, and without the slio;htest struo-o'le. Mr. J. T. Smith was one of those who saw her after death, and in answer to an inquiry as to why the coffin was covered with sheets, was informed that it was the mutual wish of husband and wife that each should die in their wedding-sheets. The funeral was a very simple one ; only three mourning coaches followed the hearse ; the first contained two great- nephews of the great actor, and the two executors of the widow ; the second, her solicitor and his wife ; the third, the solicitor's head clerk and her apothecary. She was buried with her husband in Westminster Abbey ; " Lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided." By her w^ill, St. George's Hospital and several benevolent institutions of a like kind received £100 each ; to the parish of Hampton she left £300 to be invested in the name of EVA MAIUA UAUinCK. 255 the vicar for the tiiiio. being, the interest to be expended in coals for the poor. Archdeacon Pott had £200 left him in trust for the education of the poor children of St. Martin's parish. Nephews on her husband's side received legacies, and her executors and many private friends had bequests of money, plate, jewels, linen, etc. The residue of her estate went to her niece Elizabeth de Saar, wife of Peter de Saar, of Vienna. It has already been noted that Mrs. Garrick pro- fessedly belonged to the Romish Church, and mention is made of her attendance at Mass. In a very unwar- rantable allusion to her from the pen of Dr. Bower, in an angry controversy, he designated her a Papist, and almost insinuated that therefore, in the matter in question, her testimony was not trustworthy ; to which her husband replied that she would not, " though a Papist, vary a tittle from that or any other truth, though commanded by the Pope and his whole conclave of Cardinals." From the o-eneral tenour of her life, and the choice of her especial friends, the inference may, perhaps, be fairly drawn that the peculiar tenets of Romanism exercised little influence over her ; that the noble ethical principles inculcated by all Christian Churches were those which commended themselves to her judgment, by which she reo-ulated her life, which maintained her in O unbroken harmony with her husband, and which enabled her to regard Hannah More as her domestic chaplain. 256 MODERN METHUSELAHS. A very sweet and gracious disposition endeared lier to that liusband and to all his friends. His "sweet woman," his "sweet wife," "sweet Mrs. Garrick," were the terms constantly employed by his correspondents when they alluded to her, widely as those correspondents differed from each other in position and character. Even Foote bore witness to her worth as a woman, and although he distressed her by his constant depreciation of her husband, he declared that he could not sufficiently express his gratitude to her. Mr. Garrick took charo-e of the two daughters of his brother George, sent them to be educated in Paris, and wrote them many pleasant and affectionate letters, to which Mrs. Garrick fre- quently added a portion, always lively, genial, and full of good sense, this latter quality being a characteristic almost as conspicuous as her sweetness. Little is heard of Mrs. Garrick's great accomplish- ment of dancing after her marriage, but on the last night of the Stratford Shakespeare Jubilee, in 1769, she is stated to have walked a minuet in a manner so oraceful as to have excited the admiration of all who o saw her, and one witness declared that "it was the most elegant dance" he should ever behold. There are stated to be several portraits of jMrs. Garrick extant : one as Violette, holding a mask, painted by Zoffany ; another by the same artist, of Garrick and his wife sitting in their grounds taking tea ; also one with husband and wife standing on the steps of their villa, of which Zoffany also painted two EVA MARIA GAinnCK. 257 small views. An etching of ]\Irs. Oarrick in her ninety-seventli year was made hy George Cruikshank ; she is presented with full face, standing perfectly erect, in walking costume, with a large muff on her right arm. There is not tlic least indication of decrepitude, but, on the contrary, the form and attitude are suggestive of unabated activity. There is also vigour in the countenance, although the traces of time are more apparent there than in the fio-ure. Mr. Smith, of the British Museum, executed a drawino- of Mrs. Garrick after her death. CHAPTER Xir. CAEOLINE LUCKETIA HERSCHEL. Go to yon tower, where busy science plies Her vast antennae, feeling through the skies ; That little vernier on whose slender lines The midnight taper trembles as it shines, A silent index, tracks the planets' march In all their wanderings through the ethereal arch, Tells through the mist where dazzled Mercury burns, And marks the spot where Uranus returns. 0. W. Holmes. Four years before the death of Castanos, the ranks of science had been thinned by the loss of a lady whose life had been extended to the same remarkable age which had been reached by him, and whose career will always form an interesting chapter in the history of distino-uished women. The life of Miss Herschel was, however, so entwined with the existence of her brother, Sir William Herschel, her work was so largely his work or for him, her whole being was so entirely sub- ordinated to him, that it is difficult to separate the one from the other. His wish was her law ; his CAROLINE LUCRETIA IIERSCnEL, 259 requirements aroused her skill and energy ; she could rise equal to any emergency for him ; she could qualify herself as a singer at his concerts, or as an assistant for his astronomical observations. lie was her motive spring, and her efforts met with all the success for which she really cared if they received his approbation. The Herschel family could trace back their ancestors to the early part of the seventeenth century, but the fortunes of its members had declined rather than flourished during the interval ; and the father of the eminent brother and sister who have rendered the name so familiar to English ears, was, at the time of his marriage in 1731, hautboy player in the band of the Guards at Brunswick. Ten children were the issue of the marriage, four of whom died in infancy, while four sons and two daughters reached mature life. Frederick William, chiefly known by his second Christian name, was born November 15th, 1738 ; his sister Caroline Lucretia, was born March 15th, 1750, and was therefore his junior by several years. From the scanty records which have been pre- served, it is clear that Isaac Herschel, the father, was an enthusiastic musician, and a man of strong powers of mind, of general information, and of a particular leaninof to astronomical studies. The mother, on the contrary, seems to have regarded bread-wdnning and household manasrement as the first articles of her O creed, the former as regarded the man, the latter as respected the woman. Nor can she be blamed for s 2 260 MODERN METHUSELAHS. this practical view of life's duties, for without suffer- ing from absolute want, it is clear that the family knew no superfluity of worldly goods, and that their food, raiment, and home comforts were of no higher nature than the calling of the head of the house would lead one to conclude. The special interest in the difference between the father and the mother lies in the fact that all the children appear to have been endowed not only with the musical genius of the former, but also with his general intellectual superi- ority, thus reversing the ordinary rule that gifts of mind are derived from the mother. AVilliam and Caroline excepted, there w^as an unfortunate absence of steady perseverance in the children of the famity, who did well only so far as they came under the influence of William ; their habits were otherwise fitful and unsettled, offer- insf a strono- contrast to the calm and unflinching firmness of purpose with which he worked out his career. The father's ambition was to see his children become accomplished musicians, his own hard destiny beino- unable to w^ean him from his attachment to music, much as fortune had frowned upon the brave hautboy player, for his health had been destroyed, and a premature death superinduced, by the privations and toils which he endured with his recriment during^ the Seven Years' War. While his life lasted, however, he did all in his power to develop the musical talent of his children, who, for their general education, went from infancy to their fourteenth year to the garrison school. William CAROLINE LUCRETIA HERSCnEL. 261 profited by these op})ortuiiitics beyond his brothers, and before his sehool-days were over had picked up a knoudedge of Freucli, a little Latin, with all the ordinary subjects taught, and had become an excellent performer on the hautboy and violin. At the age of fourteen he became a member of the band of the Hanoverian Foot Guards, soon after which war broke up the household. The father, with the two sons old enough, went with their regiment to England ; they returned home the following year, and the health of William not being sufficiently strong to stand a soldier's rough life, his parents managed to withdraw him from his regiment ; or, in plain words, he became a deserter, and it is said that many years after, when fame and fortune had smiled upon him, his king, with great good-humour, handed him a royal pardon. AVilliam found his way back to England, and for three years his life is a blank. Meantime his sister Caroline, young as she was, had been no unobservant witness of the family vicissitudes, especially as regarded AYilliam, for whom she entertained an intense aflfection, which was returned by his strong- regard for her. Not many sun-glints had fallen upon her childhood. No one seemed to care any- thing about her ; in the depth of winter she was turned out to play on the walls of the city, but could not join in the games of other children, and stood freezing while her brother Alexander amused himself by skating on the town ditch. With this brother she went regularly to the garrison school until three 262 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. o'clock each clay, after which she attended another school until six, to learn knitting and such-like work, which qualified her to provide her brothers with stockings. She was also early installed as scribe to her mother, whose letters to her absent husband were penned by Caroline, as were also those of many a poor soldier's wife whose lord was with the army. A large share of the household work also fell upon her. On the final return of the father, in May, 1760, with shattered health, he devoted himself to teaching music, and Caroline had some direct, and many indi- rect, opportunities of learning this branch of educa- tion, of which she eagerly availed herself. An attack of typhus fever, in 1761, so reduced her strength that she was obliged to mount the staircase on her hands and knees, like an infant. As strength returned, she had to prepare for Confirmation, and, notwithstanding her mother's objection to girls receiving any educa- tion, Caroline was allowed some little release from the drudgery of the scullery in order to prepare for the solemn rite. Unfortunately, it was at this very time, when she was compelled to be much from home, at school and at church, that her "dearest" brother William paid his family a flying visit, so only a small share of the pleasure fell to her lot. To add to her disappoint- ment, he was compelled to leave on the very Sunday fixed for her first Communion, which was thus turned into a dark instead of a happy day. The renewed separation, she long after declared, shattered her CAIIOLIXE LUCllETIA HERSCFfEL. 263 nerves, aiul tlirew lier into a state of hopeless lethargy, from which she was aroused by another great life-sorrow, for her father, to whom she was deeply attached, had a paralytic seizure, from which he never fully rallied, although he still manfully struggled to help his family. Three years after, the closing scene came, and Caroline was again thrown into " a kind of stupefaction," which lasted for some weeks ; she awakened to a sense of the dismal pros- pect which was before her, for she had acquired only the barest elements of knowledge, with the one ac- complishment of violin playing which she had learned from her father. Yet she had an earnest desire to qualify herself for something better than domestic service. In the summer of 17 GG she was enabled to im- prove herself in music and fancy-work, through intercourse with a young friend ; but this was only possible by their meeting at daybreak, as her house- hold duties commenced at seven o'clock. At her own desire she was also allowed to learn millinery and dressmaking, with the secret hope that this would enable her the better to fight the battle of life. It had to be kept a secret hope, for the brother who ruled the house at this time made it a condition that if she learned that industry, it should only be to employ her needle for family purposes. There was small sympathy between this brother and Caroline ; he treated her with severity for any little awkward- nesses which displeased his fastidiousness. The poor 264 MODERN METHUSELAHS. girl's outlook at this time was sufficiently uncertain and dreary, giving no possible earnest of the noble work which the coming years would bring, and oJBfering small prospect of the long life to which she would attain. The darkest moment before the dawn had, however, now been reached. Those admirable qualities which her brother William possessed had met with their reward in this country. Failing to obtain suitable employment in London, he accepted a post in the band of the Durham Militia, and at Doncaster, where his regiment was stationed, became aecjuainted with Dr. Miller, organist of the parish church, and a musician of some eminence, both as a player and composer. By his advice Herschel applied for the then vacant office of organist at Halifax, and found himself the successful candidate. In 1766 he became organist of the Octagon Chapel at Bath, to wdiich he added the teaching of music, and soon had for his pupils many of the young branches of the aristocracy of the city. On the retirement of ]\lr. Linley, he became leader of the orchestra at the public rooms, and during the Bath season had his time filled up with exhausting and never-ceasing labours. In the direct path of his professional work he com- posed a large number of anthems, chants, and other ecclesiastical music, in addition to many secular pieces, few of which have survived. Feeling perfectly assured of his position at Bath — an unmarried man with no prospect of changing his condition — his thousjhts turned at this time to his CAUOLIXE LUCIIKTIA IIKUSCII KI.. 2C5 sister Caroline, who lie considered might be service- able to him in many ways, not least as a singer at his winter concerts and oratorios. The better to qualify her for this position, he requested his brother Jacob to give her lessons, but he threw ridicule ui)on the whole plan. Nothing disheartened, Caroline says she took " every opportunity, when all were from home, to imitate, with a gng between my teeth, the solo parts of concertos, shake and all, such as I had heard them play on the violin ; in consequence I had Grained a tolerable execution before I knew how to sing." No better key can be afforded to her deter- mination of character than this little incident offers : it tells aloud of her decision, her ingenuity, her perseverance, and her independence of all outside help ; qualities which were called into full and con- stant play in her future life. In the spring of 1772 William arrived at Hanover, when his sister's return with him was definitively arranged, to her great relief, for she had been held in suspense for many weeks, her mind alternately exercised with the fear that she would not be allowed to accept her brother's offer, and that if she did, it would cause her mother to lose some of the comforts her services assured her. On this point her fears were removed by her brother William settling a small annuity upon his mother, which enabled her to enefasje a substitute for her daughter. On Sunday, August IGth, 1772, the brother and sister commenced, their journey, the narrative of which, written by Caroline, gives a vivid 266 MODERX METHUSELAHS. picture of travel in those clays, which contrasts strangely with that of the present time. She says : " i\.fter travelling for six days and nights on an open (in those days very inconvenient) post-wagen, we were on the following Saturday conveyed in a small open vessel from the quay at Helvotsluison on a stormy sea, to the packet-boat, W'hich lay two miles distant, at anchor ; from which we were again obliged to go in an open boat to be set ashore, or rather thrown like bales by two English sailors, on the coast of Yarmouth." A rough experience was yet before the travellers ere they could reach London, for, after a night's rest they mounted a rude vehicle to carry them to the nearest point at which they could catch the London diligence, but had scarcely started when the horse ran away, overturned the cart, and threw the passengers into a ditch — happily it was a dry one. They were soon rescued, but it was not until the 26th, at noon, that they reached the metropolis, having been de- prived of regular rest for between eleven and twelve nights. After a little sight-seeing, they arrived at Bath on the 28th. Caroline's knowledge of English consisted of a few words picked up during her journey ; but at breakfast-time, on the second morning, William began to give her lessons in the tongue indispen- sable for her future, and added some instruction in arithmetic. And now, at the age of twenty-two, began that totally new life for Caroline which forms a singularly CAUOLIXE LUCRETIA HERSCHKL. 2G7 iuterestiui,^ chapter iu the annals of biography. It was a life, as lias already been observed, of entire self-abnegation ; a sacrifice of her own individuality made not simply passively, but with all her heart, and rejoicingly. She gladly sacrificed herself for her brother, in whom she reposed the most implicit faith ; in whose genius she fully believed ; in whose aS"ection she entirely confided ; whose labours she gladly shared ; in whose successes she found her richest reward. Yet anything but a path of roses had to be trodden. At first she was no stran^jer to home- sickness ; she had much to unlearn, as well as much to learn. Among other duties, she was to be house- keeper, and had therefore to study how to set down cash receipts and payments ; she was to appear as a public singer, and had therefore to learn art-singing by taking three or four lessons daily, and by giving much time to practise on the harpsichord ; and, finally, she had to qualify herself for an efiicient astronomical assistant, and therefore had to learn how to turn her hand to various mechanical contrivances, to quickly and correctly note observations, to make calculations, and to sweep the heavens independently of her brother. In addition to all this, it must be remembered that she had not been brought up in polished circles, and had to be drilled into an elegant lady ; to accomplish this she had to take lessons twice a week for a whole twelvemonth. She appears, how- ever, not to have been formed of the stuS" out of which a fashionable fair one can be manufactured, for. 268 MODERN ilETHUSELAHS. after a visit to London, wliicli gave lieran opportunity of seeing something of high life, her spirits were depressed by the expenses which attended her relaxa- tion. Nor were the young ladies with whom she was brought in contact much to her taste, for she un- flatteringly left on record that she " thought them little better than idiots." But this is to anticipate. A stout heart, a firm will, and a few grains of en- courao-ement from her brother, enabled her to rise equal to all these demands — yea, more than all, for she won for herself an enduring name in scientific achievements. Thoroughly to understand how this was accom- plished, it is necessary to trace her brother's career from the day brother and sister arrived at Bath to that dark occasion w^hen Caroline saw him consigned to his last long resting-place. However skilful he may have been as a musician — and skilful beyond all doubt he must have been — his love of natural philo- sophy predominated, and the study of astronomy made more and more imperious demands upon his time. Nor was he content to know merely what others had observed and noted of the mechanism of the heavens : he threw liimself heartily into the work of discovery, and soon found that more perfect appliances were necessary for the attainment of his hopes. Telescopes were at that time small, poor, and expen- sive. This suggested the manufacture of instruments for his own use, as no mirrors could be obtained of the size he was anxious to employ. And one of his CAROLINE LUCBETIA IIEllSCUEL. 2C9 sister's earliest tasks in the liue of her future work consisted in making a paste-board tube, eighteen or twenty feet long, for mirrors which were expected from London ; for at that time Bath had no optician. A further step in the mechanical career before them, arose from the purchase of a miscellaneous collection of tools, hones, polishers, and unfinished mirrors, which had belonged to a Bath Quaker, who had attempted the construction of small telescopes. This acquisition turned the brother's suite of handsomely furnished apartments into workshops, where the different branches of labour could be carried on, such as cabinet-work, clock-work, the turning machine, etc. The sister states that in all these she became " as useful a member of the workshop as a boy might be to his master in the first year of his apprenticeship." Her brother Alexander, who for some time boarded iind lodsfed with them, had a decided taste for mechanics, and rendered essential service in this department. But music was the mainstay of the family still ; Mr. Herschel had moved to a larger house with a garden in the rear, and an open space running down to the river. Here, as a chans^e from tube-makinor and such-like work, Caroline had to copy the score of "The Messiah" and "Judas Maccabceus" into parts for an orchestra of nearly one hundred performers, and the vocal parts of " Samson ; " besides instructing the treble sino-ers, of whom she herself was the first. Personally, she was pronounced to be an ornament to 270 MODERX METHUSELAHS. the stage ; professionally, she was liighly compli- mented on her singing, and on her pronunciation of English. She was offered an en2;ao;ement at the Birmingham Festival, but refused to sing in public unless her brother was the conductor. The various musical appointments which Mr. Herschel held at this time yielded him a handsome income, besides carrying with them many privileges in which his sister could share. But music and astronomy were rival forces very difficult to be kept in proper relation^ ship, and it seemed for a time doubtful as to which would gain the ascendancy. As is often the case, circumstances unfolded themselves which almost took the decision out of the hands of those whose destiny was at stake. Mr. Herschel's proficiency in astro- nomical science had become well known in Bath ; he was enrolled as a member of the newly-established Philosophical Society of the city ; a telescope of his own construction brought him many visitors ; and several ladies of high position became his astronomical pupils. Papers contributed to the Eoyal Society and to the Bath Philosophical Society, which gave rectifi- cations of the observations of others, or information of new and important discoveries of his own, soon made his name a familiar word in London and in science circles generally. His fame had induced the Astronomer-Royal to pay a visit to his workshop at Bath. Georgium Sidus (now called Uranus) had been discovered in 1781, in which year Mr. Herschel had been elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, who CAROLINE LUCRETIA IIEUSCIl KL. 271 liad awarJcd him the Society's and the Copley medals ; rumours had also arisen that the King intended to command his presence at Court, with one of his powerful instruments. It is clear from his corre- spondence that while he was on a visit to Sir William AVatson, in 1782, he received an introduction to the King and Queen at Buckingham Palace. During this visit to London he was a frequent visitor to the Greenwich Observatory, where, on one occasion, a comparison of instruments was instituted, and the telescope of the Bath musician was found to be superior to any in our national establishment. His self-invented mechanism for its adjustment was also more efficient, and Dr. Maskelyne had a model taken to have the Greenwich instruments mounted on the same principle. Mr. Herschel now found himself invited to the dinner-tables of many wealthy and scientific men ; and, on a visit to Windsor, the King expressed his pleasure that he should abandon his musical profession and be aj)- pointed Royal Astronomer on a salary of £200 per annum. This involved a heavy loss of income, but W'ould enable him to prosecute his favourite study with undivided attention. It also involved a removal from Bath to some locality nearer the royal family. A house, with a garden and grass-plot, was therefore secured at Datchet, whither, in the end of July, all the household goods of the brother and sister were transferred ; and on the first of August the coach set down the travellers at Slough, who walked over 272 MODERN METHUSELAHS. to their new home. Great was the brother's delight at findino; stables in which his mirrors could be ground, a grass-plot where the twenty-foot telescope could be erected, and a laundry which could be turned into a library. The sister's anxieties were aroused at finding the house in a ruinous condition, and at the appalling price of everything, from coals to butcher's meat ; but her brother assured her that, being now in the country, they could live on eggs and bacon, which would cost little worth consideration. And here a new chapter in the life of Caroline Herschel begins. Her brother had to be frequently absent, either in attendance on the royal family, or suuerintending the removal of all his mirrors and tools from Bath. Miss Herschel was consequently left much alone ; she confesses that her thoughts at the time were not over-cheerful. She understood that her future training would be to qualify her to act as assistant astronomer to her brother. To make an immediate beginning, she was supplied with a telescope for " sweeping" the heavens ; it consisted of a tube with two glasses, such as is usually used in a finder. With this she was to search for comets, and to keep a written description of all remarkable appearances which presented themselves in the firmament. This journal Miss Herschel began on Auo-ust 22nd, 1782. The work set before her was one which made much heavier demands upon a young lady than many would have accepted under any con- ditions. She had to spend every starry night on a CAUOLINE LDCRETIA IIEllSCllEL. 273 grass-plot covered with dew or hoar-frost, without a human hcing near enough to be within calh Her .slight knowledge of the heavenly bodies caused her to lose much time in consulting a celestial atlas. Her brother's presence, when he was taking observations near her, gave her much comfort ; and very soon she found herself closely associated with him, for she helped with the clocks, wrote down memoranda, brought instruments, measured the ground with poles, and performed other duties which required constant attention. During the winter a twelve-inch speculum was perfected ; eye-pieces were constructed ; improved methods were devised for mountinor and usino: various instruments ; and efforts were made to procure suitable workmen for the different necessary manu- facturing processes. Spring and summer found brother and sister exerting themselves with almost martyr activity, for a large twenty-foot instrument w^as to be ready, if possible, by the following winter. So the carpenters and smiths of Datchet were pressed into service ; and when patterns for tools and mirrors were ready, Mr. Herschel went to London to have them cast. But with him a day's labour did not earn a night's repose. His own original observations went on ; at the same time his sister had to be instructed in the re-measurement of double stars, when she was not engaged in the survey of the heavens through the Newtonian sweeper, or in the duties of the writing- desk. Not only active labour, but constant anxiety T 274 MODERN METHUSELAHS. and personal peril fell to her share. Her brother began his sweeps before his instrument was finished, or a safe stage erected, or the ladders even braced ; yet he was raised some fifteen feet or more from the ground, and ran an imminent risk of a serious fall. On one occasion he had scarcely touched the earth when a high wind overturned the whole erection ; at another time the mould in which a mirror was being cast suddenly leaked, and in consequence the stone flooring flew about in all directions, as high as the ceiling, while all engaged in the work had to fly for their lives. Mr. Herschel fell exhausted on a heap of brickbats. He had also a narrow escape from being crushed to death by the breal^ing of a beam when taking the forty-foot mirror out of the tube. His sister sustained on one occasion a severe and painful accident : one dark December night, when running over melted snow a foot deep, she was caught by an iron hook used in the o;ear, which entered her riofht leg above the knee, from which she could be extri- cated only by leaving about tw^o ounces of flesh behind. Many weeks of sufl"ering were borne with admirable patience, the great comfort beipg that for the remainder of the night of the accident, and for several nights after, the heavens refused to show their glory, and therefore she was not greatly missed. How varied and incessant were Miss Herschel's labours may be seen from the record in her journal, where she writes of this period : " In my leisure hours I ground seven-foot and plain mirrors from rough to CAIUiMNK LUCUETIA UERSCHEL. 27o filling down, and was indulged with poli.sliing and the last finisliing of a very beautiful mirror for Sir Willinm Watson." It did not take Mr. Herschel long to discover that there was more honour than profit in his appointment of Royal Astronomer ; but he was able to supplement his absurdly small salary by the manufacture and sale of telescopes, by which he made large profits, at the expense, however, of his own pursuit of science, his time and energies being exhausted by what was little other than a commercial industry. Through the representations of some influential friends, a grant of two thousand pounds was made to enable Mr, Herschel to construct an instrument for himself worthy of his attainments ; subsequently another grant of the same amount was obtained, with a yearly sum of two hundred pounds to keep his forty-foot telescope in good working order. Before the optical parts of this monster instrument were finished, many visitors had the curiosity to walk through the tube, among whom were the King and the Archbishop of Canterbury ; His Grace follow^ed His Majesty with some diflBculty, on which the King turned round, gave hiua his hand, and observed : " jNIy Lord Bishop, I will show you the way to heaven." At a later period, Haydn paid his brother musician a visit, and was greatly astonished at his giant telescope and at his unceasing astronomical labours. Owing to the pre- mises at Datchet being so very much out of repair, a removal was made to Clay Hall, Old AVindsor, but was T 2 276 MODEKN METHUSELAHS. speedily followed by another to Slough. In the house and garden here on the 3rd of April, 1786, the brother and sister settled down, gathered their instruments together, and collected between thirty and forty workmen, who were soon occupied in the various branches necessary for the construction of the forty-foot instrument ; and for many months they were incessantly at work. Miss Herschel remarks that had it " not been sometimes for the intervention of a cloudy or moonlight night, I know not when my brother (or I either) should have got any sleep : never did man or woman lead less restful lives." Extracts from the sister's "Book of Work Done" reveal the writer unceasingly active at all kinds of employment during an absence of her brother in Germany ; from cleaning brass-w^ork to calculations for Flamsteed's Catalogue ; from cutting out ruffles for shirts at the breakfast-table, to spending the night in sweeping the heavens. The year just named proved a memorable one to Miss Herschel, for while her brother was still absent she saw an object in the heavens which she surmised to be a comet, and on the following night she satisfied herself that she was not mistaken. ''It luas a comet." She immediately communicated her discovery to Dr. Blagden and Mr. Aubert by letter, and to Dr. Lind and Mr. Cavallo personally on the following day. She had the extreme satisfaction to find herself acknowledged as the original discoverer of this heavenly visitant ; for it was evident that no observers CAROLINK LUCKKTIA IIERSCnEL. 277 liad seen it until tluy had received her announcement of its position and ai:)pearance. After her brother's return to Slough, work seemed to be more tlie portion of their lives than ever ; the day was too short for their efforts, while the night was consumed in observations of the heavenly bodies, the brother being richly rewarded by the discovery of the Georgian satellites, and the sister being gratified by her appointment of assistant to him, with a salary of fifty pounds per annum, the first money, she observes, " I ever in all my lifetime thought myself to be at liberty to spend to my own liking." Truly the sum, small as it was, removed a weight from her mind, for, keeping her brother's purse as she did, and knowing the heavy expenses to which he was habitually put, she confesses that nothing but bank- ruptcy ran in her ''silly head;" she had therefore kept her own personal outlay down to an average of seven or eight pounds annually. A constant un- easiness pervaded her mind touching the dearness of provisions, the excessive charges of the men employed, the incompetency of servants generally, and the un- ceasing pilfering which went on among all around her. These anxieties were soon to come to an end, or the weight of them removed from her shoulders, for on May 8, 1788, her brother was happily married, and the conditions of her life were to be considerably changed. For more than fifteen years she had been his devoted companion and assistant in every phase of his life and work ; she had kept his house ; watched over his 278 MODERN METUUSELAHS. health, of which he appears to have been very careless, for often his impetuous desire for rapid progress in any work on hand led him to neglect even his meals : her hand prepared him a dish of coffee to refresh him in his midnight watches ; at times that same hand had actually to feed him ; and when he took a set meal, his sister had to read to him to economise his time. All this had been to her a labour of love ; henceforth, however, his home was to be hers no longer ; his domestic comfort and all his pecuniary affairs were to go into the keeping of another. Outward signs were not wanting to show that the change was keenly felt ; but the loyalty and conse- cration of life to her brother's welfare, which had been so conspicuous a feature in her character hitherto, knew no change, underwent no diminution. She was equally faithful to science, retaining her position as assistant, and livinsf in lodo^ins^s near her brother's residence. Sweeping the heavens, whenever possible, still engaged her attention, and before the year expired she had gained a signal reward, for on the 21st of December she discovered a second comet, a fact wdiich she immediately communicated to Dr. Maskelyne, the Astronomer Eoyal, and to other friends, one of whom pleasantly predicted that she would " soon be the great comet-finder, and bear away the palm from Messier and Mechain." As a third comet was observed by her early in the follow- ing year, and a fourth in less than a month after, the prophecy was more literally fulfilled than its author CAROLINE LUCRETIA IIERSCHEL. 279 prohably expected. On tlic J 5th of December, 1791' ;i lit til comet presented itself to bcr instrument ; on the 7 til of October of the following year her sixth discovery took place ; four years later a seventh of these celestial strangers was observed ; on August G, 1797, she had the gratification to announce to her friends that an eiohtli comet had rewarded the labours of her midnight hours. She might well term them ** my comets," for at least five of them were announced by her before they had been seen by any other astronomer in any country. She considered that the whole eight were hers on the principle expressed in her words : '"'I never called a comet mine till several <;lays were passed without any account of them coming to hand." And she did not fail to say sharp things when any attempt was made to reduce the number of her comets, especially when others wrote of them as only five. Comet-finding was, however, only a small portion of Miss Herschel's astronomical success, for she discovered several remarkable nebulae and clusters of stars. Moreover, her calculations for Flamsteed's "Catalogue, the preparation of the index to his observa- tions, the discovery of omitted stars in AYollaston's Catalogue, and making clean copies of all these labours, consumed her days and nights. Through Dr. Maskelyne's influence the Eoyal Society published in 1798 these laborious works, the former under the title of "A Catalogue of 860 Stars observed by Flamsteed, but not included in the British Catalogue ;" the title of the latter runs, *'A General Index of 280 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Eeference to Every Observation of Every Star in the above-mentioned British Catalof^ue." Her brother's pipers were also always copied " in the clear " by the hand of the sister. During all this time her domestic life had not been a smooth one : from one cause or another her abode had been frequently changed, and little satisfaction had been found in any of them. On separation from her brother, she went to "lodo-e and board," strano-e to say, v>'ith one of his workmen, whose wife was to attend on her ; her dinner hour was one o'clock ; when she went to drink tea with Mr. Herschel and his wife, she returned to her lodgings at seven o'clock. The lodgings were soon after at Slough, but she had to leave them in all haste, as bailiflfs had seized all her landlord's goods ; she found refuge in a garret. A'^isits to Bath, where her brother had now a house, relieved the disagreeableness of lodgings, and in December, 1800, she removed to the house of her eldest nephew (her sister's son) at Windsor ; but, for some unex- plained reason, m the following year another removal took place to (Jhalvy, which was exchanged a year after for Upton, where, during the winter, she suffered much from a violent cold and cough. It may well be a matter of surprise that these ailments were not constant companions of both brother and sister, for if they had any knowledge of the laws of health, they utterly ignored them. Among other statements which could be advanced to prove this, the following must suffice. Miss Herschel writes: " Durinof the CAROLINE LUCRETIA IIEUSCIIEL. 281 ^vllole montli my brotlicr liad not an evening to himself. As he was tlieii iii the midst of polishing the forty-foot mirror, rest became absolutely necessary after a clay spent in the most laborious work ; and it has ever been my opinion that on the 14th of October his nerves received a shock, of which he never got the better afterwards ; for on that day (in particular) he had hardly dismissed his troop of men, when visitors assembled, and from the time it was dark till past midnight, he was on the grass-plot surrounded by between fifty and sixty persons, without having had time for putting on proper clothing, or for the least nourishment passing his lips." As a severe trial to her own constitution, an illness from which her brother Dieterich suffered, gave her for four years " accumulated trouble and anxiety ; " the time which she bestowed upon him was taken entirely from sleep, or from the brief period usually allotted for meals, *' which were mostly taken running, or sometimes entirely forgotten." A bad cough, illness, and a sprained ankle marked the opening of the year 1809 ; the last-named calamity was caused by an attempt to w^alk through snow on pattens. With early autumn illness returned, and some fears were awakened that blindness might supervene. Time after time strength of w^ill overcame bodily indisposition ; if there was work to be done. Miss Herschel very soon rose equal to its performance, and no occupation came amiss to her. One of her achievements w^as to paper and paint the rooms of her Slough cottage. Great 82 ilODEEN METIIUSELAHS. gladness was occasioned in 1813 by her nepLew, afterwards Sir J. F. Herscliel, having obtained the Senior Wranglership at Cambridge, and soon after- wards a Fellowship. The severe winter of 1814 forced the conviction upon Miss Herschel that she should " never be anything else but an invalid for life." Another removal took place in February of that year, although Slough was not left. Concurrently with all these shifting scenes in the life of the sister, the health of her brother grew more and more precarious and unsatisfactory, so that he was frequently compelled to suspend all his labours, and to seek rest and strength at health resorts. On April 5th, 1816, he was made a Knight of the Koyal Hanoverian Guelphic Order, but he was growing more feeble each week of his life, a painful change in his health and spirits being plainly visible to his friends. "Sorrow and sadness" began to be present at the interviews of brother and sister ; the diary of the latter dwells much upon his increasing weakness, accompanied by constant giddiness in the head. A visit to Bath in 1818 was accomplished only by spending four nights on the road, the return journey requiring equally slow stages, as no benefit had been derived from the change. In July of the following year he appeared to be dying, but surgical help enabled him to recover for a time. Still no strength could be gained, and the years 1820-1 saw him slowly sinking; on the loth of August, 1822, he was unable to remain up, and his sister wrote in her CAROLINE LUCRKTIA IIEUSCIIKL. 283 j')urnal : " For ten days and nights W(3 rcmahu'd in the most lieart-rending situation till the 2.jth of Aii2fust, whon not one comfort was left to me hut that of retiring to the chamber of death, there to ruminate without interruption on my isolated situa- tion." On the day named the angel of death liad truly invaded the sick man's chamber, and on the 7th of September the grave had closed over his mortal remains, at the good old age of eighty-four. No words could adequately describe the terrible blow which this bereavement proved to the sister whose whole existence had been so long bound up in that of her idolised brother. It subverted for a time her usual calm judgment ; it induced her to take the step — afterwards bitterly regretted — of leaving for ever the country in which she had so long found a home, and where her singular abilities had been generously recognised, at any rate by friendship and honours. For fifty years she had been her brother's companion and assistant ; now the land of their adoption and the theatre of their labours became intolerable to her, so the dogged resolution was taken that she would return to Hanover, the scene of her childhood, the home of her relatives. Two days after the funeral she began her preparations, and on the IGth of the following month a farewell had been taken of all her friends ; on the 1 8th she and her brother Dieterich went on board the steam-packet, and arrived at his house in Hanover on the 28 th. With this important change commences the third 284 MODERN METHUSELAHS. epocli in Miss Herscliel's long existence. As flir as the usual exjiectation of life went, it would have been assumed that at the age of seventy-two, with a deep sorrow for her heart's guest, and with a body already familiar with maladies, she would soon have followed her brother to another world ; she had, in fact, to wait more than a quarter of a century before the end came. Unfortunately Miss Herschel did not settle down to a serene and happy old age. She soon found that her hastily formed determination to return to Hanover was a mistake. All-round chancres had been wrought by time ; she was changed, her relations were changed, the city of her childhood had changed almost beyond recognition. All was as different from her mind's picture as the earth which the dove found on its liberation from Noah's ark was different from that which it remembered on the day it entered its place of refuge. There was as little place of rest for the sole of the returned pilgrim to Hanover as there was for the dove on the semi-aqueous earth ; and the exclamation soon escaped her lips, to be often repeated : " Why did I leave happy England ? " Her life henceforth has to be traced chiefly from her letters to Lady Herschel — her brother's widow — and to her nephew, wdio took even a more distinguished place in science than his father. There early arise in these letters intimations of impaired health. " Yain to struggle any longer against age and infirmity ; " " not above six hours' tolerable ease out of the twenty- four, and not one hour's sleep ; " and yet the wish CAROLINE LUCRETIA IfERSCIIEL. 285 prevailed tliat she might live a little longer, in order to make a more correct catalocrue of 2500 nebulae for her nephew. A visit from this eminent relative, in the autumn of 1824, greatly gladdened her, and her future letters reveal how intensely her heart went out to this surviving link between herself and her lost brother ; the more so, no doubt, because he was not only walking in his father's science-footsteps, but had already shed, additional lustre upon the family name. Although no sentimentalist, this fact could not fliil to be grateful to Miss Herschel, because it sustained the honour which her l)rother had won. Her own life had been one of hard work, physical and mental ; she was a believer in honest and suc- cessful labour. In some of her kindred she had to lament the absence of energy and self-reliance. She wrote on the death of one of them: "Nothinir but the grave could relieve him of wretchedness, and nothing but that w^ould arouse his posterity to a sense of their duty, which is to work for an honest livelihood ; even the youngest is old enough to do so ; and I hope to hear that they may awake from their dreams of commissions in the army and midshipmen in the navy. The lot of the children of a poor musician and descendants of a menial servant (even to a king) is not to look too high, but to trust to their own good behaviour, and serving faithfully those who can employ them ; then they will not want encourage- ment." These are sound and wholesome words, appli- cable to not a few in every age and every civilised 286 MODERN METHUSELAHS. country. There is a postscrijDt to the letter : " Mr. H. is released from his plague, for his wife is dead." A little sharpness, not far removed from acidity, appears at times in these letters ; and, naturally enough, perhaps, some measure of contempt betrays itself for any other branch of science than astronomy. The brother with whom she now resided must have had a taste for entomology, for she whites : " It is almost the only subject with which he amuses himself. It is well he does not see the word ' amuses,' for I suppose it should be ' sublime study ; ' for whenever he catches a fly with a leg more than usual, he says it is as good as catching a comet ! " There was evidently little affinity between herself and this brother. She stated on several different occa- sions her bitter disappointment with regard to him and his family. At first she gave herself up to him, with all she was worth ; for she made over to him, on learn- ing the misfortunes his family had suffered, her stock of five hundred pounds. She soon found, however, great difficulty in remaining mistress of her own actions or opinions ; the latter were always disputed. Whatever subject was touched upon, he maintained a contrary view to that expressed by his sister. He would allow, she wrote, no one to know anything but himself, so that conversation between them was im- possible, and was at last confined to a remark on the w^eather, or the flavour of a dish. Chiefly from this cause. Miss Herschel arranged for some external relaxa- tion, and for some intercourse with those who CAROLINE LUCRETIA JfEKSCIIKL. 287 formed the intellectual society of tlie city, although she did not rate their attainments very highly, her vision being bounded by astronomy, and even there confined to that exact department ^vhich her brother William had made his own. As soon as his influence was withdrawn, she lost the open, recep- tive, and adaptive mind by which she had been distinguished. In her home at Hanover practical astronomy was out of the question ; she had, indeed, her twelve-foot Neptune sweeper, but the roofs of the opposite houses shut out her siirht of the heavens. As she has left on record, she was "placed between roofs of houses," which prevented her seeing even an eclipse of the moon when in a low part of the ecliptic ; it passed away behind the houses of her opposite neighbours. None the less did she continue her astronomical toils, for she now " undertook and completed the laborious reduction of the places of 2500 nebulae, to the 1st of January, 1800, presenting in one view the results of all Sir William Herschcl's observations on those bodies, thus bringing to a close half a century spent in astronomical labours." This testimony was borne to Miss Herschel on the occasion of the Gold Medal of the Royal Astronomical Society being awarded to her in February, 1828, and chiefly in consideration of the valuable nature of the above-named work. Sir David Brewster pronounced it to be one " of immense labour," and " an extraordinary monument of the unextinguished ardour of a lady of seventy-five in the 2S8 MODERN METHUSELAHS. cause of abstract science." The work bears the title of " The Eeduction and Arrangement in the form of a Cataloo-ue, in Zones, of all the Star-clusters and Nebula3 observed by Sir William Herschel in his Sweeps." This great work accomplished, her deep interest in her favourite study induced her to com- mence to read and weigh all the memoranda made in former years by her brother and herself, much of which, for want of time, had never been sufficiently considered, or their value duly estimated. Her mind was also keenly alive to the work of her eminent nephew, and to any discoveries on the lines of her late brother's labours : her sympathies were scarcely wide enouo-h to embrace new methods, or to welcome fresh results. A new and flattering recognition of her astro- nomical services greeted her early in 1835, for then the Eoyal Astronomical Society, for the first time in its history, conferred an honorary membership upon ladies, herself and Mrs. Somerville receiving the unusual and high honour. In the letter of thanks which the former wrote to the Council, she observed that at the " feeble age of eighty-five " she could entertain no hope of deserving the great honour of having her name joined with that of the author of " The Connection of the Physical Sciences." Each lady was also presented with a complete set of the Society's Memoirs. But, unless Miss Herschel magni- fied her ailments, the hand of time began to press heavily upon her bodily frame, for she wrote " that after CAROLINP] LUCRETIA. HERSCIIKI.. 2S9 tlic fatigue ofgctliiig up and clrcs.siiig," slic fell asleep on the sofa, with a newspaper or otlier uninterestin'ebra,"' which proved to be the very aids for which she craved. This tutor heard her demonstrate a few MAUY SOMERVILLE. 307 problems in the first book of Euclid, and as those wore correctly done, she took courage, and continued the study with earnestness and self-reliance. As household duties, such as making and mending her own clothes, and helping in domestic matters generally, consumed all her time but that given to music and painting, she was compelled to sit up very late to study her new pursuit, and this ran away with more candles than had hitherto been used. An explanation of the apparent waste was required from the servants ; on their explanation, an order was issued that a light was not to be allowed beyond the time necessary to get into bed. Having already mastered the first six books of Euclid, the persevering student went through a number of problems from memory every night, until she could work out nearly the whole. To ensure time for study, she rose at daybreak, dressed, wrapped herself in a blanket from the bed on account of the excessive cold — havinor no fire at that hour — and read alc^ebra and the classics till breakfast time. On one of his home visits, her father found out her pursuit of algebra, and, greatly disturbed, said to her mother, " Peg, we must put a stop to this, or we shall have I\[ary in a strait-jacket one of these days. There was X., who went raviuor mad about the longitude." But Mary Fairfax was no moping, spiritless recluse, however earnest a student she may have been. During each winter season, Edinburgh was a festive city, thronged with families of X 2 308 MODEEN METHUSELAUS. distinctioD, to several of whom Mary was related, while she stood on terms of pleasant intimacy with many others. She had therefore friends to chaperone her to most of the gaieties which took place, among which were theatrical performances, public and private balls, with social parties of various descriptions. In after life, Mrs. Somerville wrote of these days: "Girls had perfect liberty at that time in Edinburgh ; we walked together in Prince's Street, the fashionable promenade, and were joined by our dancing partners. AVe occasionally gave little supper parties, and presented these young men to our parents as they came in. At these meetings we ];)kayed at games, danced reels, or had a little music — never cards. After supper there were toasts, sentiments, and songs. There were always one or two hot dishes, and a variety of sweet things and fruit. . . . Like other girls, I did not dislike a little quiet flirtation." Several visits to relatives also relieved the monotony of life at Burntisland ; one of the most important of these was to the residence of her uncle, the Eev. Dr. Somerville, at the manse of Jedburgh, under wdiose roof, it will be remembered, she was born. He extended to her sympathy and encourage- ment as regarded her course of self-education, while her aunt charmed her with her wit, her local legends, her sweetly-sung Scottish songs, and her extensive in- formation. Visits are also recorded to Lady Hope of Pinkie; to the Boswells of Balmuto; to the Oswalds of Duunikeir ; and to the Lyells of Kinnordy, parents MARY SOMEIlVll.LK. 30!) of Sir Charles Lycll. An excursion to tlic lliglilands, Avitli lier father and motlier, jjave her intense delight. As a further relief from severe studies, she had recourse to poetry, novels, and liglit literature in general. Flying years developed the girl into the young woman, and a pleasantly word-painted portrait exhibits her as havinor " had a fjraceful fiishop Stillingfleet, and Doctors Grebe and Whitby were living to read what 1 have been reading. . . . Martin Routli is of the right stamp — orthodox, not intolerant ; profound, not obscure ; wary, not sceptical ; very, very, very learned, not pedantic at all." A third volume of the work was published in 1815. In 1823 Dr. Routh edited Bishop Burnet's " History of His Own Times," of which an improved edition appeared ten years after, followed at a considerable interval by Bishop Burnet's " Reign of James II." In the meantime appeared his "Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Opuscula," of which a second edition was issued in 1840 ; and four years after a new edition was brought out of the " Reliquiae " in four volumes, to which a fifth volume was added in 1848. These works procured him the friendship of the most eminent scholars of his day. Mr. Mozley, in his work on Oxford under a certain phase, wrote : "The greatest name in patristic theology at Oxford — indeed, a name in Europe, which is a rare thing to be said of any English scholar — was Routh, the asfed President of Mao-dalen." Amongf his w^armest Ensrlish admirers were the eminent scholars Parr and O Porson. The former penned a glowing eulogy upon his friend, which, as a specimen of a bygone style, is weU worthy of study. The Doctor wrote : *' Dr. Martin Joseph Routh, President of Magdalen College, Oxford. Let me pause at the mention of this venerable name. Why should I deny myself the 396 MODERN METHUSELAHS. satisfaction I must feel in saying of Lim here what of such a man I should say everywhere with equal justice and with equal triumph? The friendship of this excellent person, believe me, readers, will ever be ranked by me among the sweetest consolations and the proudest ornaments of my life. He, in the language of Milton, is the ' virtuous son of a virtuous father,' whose literary attainments are respected by every scholar to whom he is known, whose exemplary virtues shed a lustre on that Church in which thev have not been rewarded, and whose gray hairs will never descend to the grave but amidst the blessings of the devout and the tears of the poor. He fills a station for which other men are sometimes indebted to the cabals of parties or to the caprices of fortune, but in which he was himself most honourably placed from the experience his electors had long had of his integrity, and the confidence they reposed on his discernment, his activity, and his im- partiality. The attachment he professes to academical institutions proceeds not less from a sincere conviction of their utility, than from a deep reverence for the wisdom of antiquity in the regulations it has made for preserving the morals of youth, and for promoting the cultivation of learning. His government over the affairs of a great and respectable college is active without officiousness, and firm without severity. His independence of spirit is the effect not of ferocious pride, but of a cool and steady principle, which claims only the respect it is ever ready to pay, and which :\I.\11TI\ .lOSKPlI ROUTir. 397 (Equally disdains to trample upon subordination and to crouch before the insolence ot" power. Ills correct judgment, his profound erudition, and his various knowledge are such as seldom fall to the h3t of man. His liberality is scarcely surpassed by his orthodoxy, and his orthodoxy is not the timid and fungous excrescence of prejudice, but tlie sound and mellowed fruit of honest and indefatigable inquiry. In a word, his mind, his whole mind, is decked at once with the purest crystals of simplicity and the brightest jewels of benevolence and piety." Alas that such a panegyric should require the large qualification which, in the cause of truth, must rtnd a place in some of the following paragraphs ! Notwithstanding the possession of some eminently good qualities, the President had from the first a fair share of doubtful ones, of littlenesses and of prejudices which time unfortunately did not remove, and which occasionally led him into acts of something very like injustice. It is to be feared that if Magdalen College walls could tell secrets, it would be heard that the profession of what are termed evangelical views in Churchmen always ensured his opposition to the holders of them being admitted, however otherwise eligible, to the honours and emoluments of that splendid foundation of which he was the head. As time went on, his retired habits and absorption in self resulted in his utter negligence of the discipline of that noble institution, so that one who knew Oxford well, had to write of him as " the faithless 398 MODERN METHUSELAHS. guardian of a great Christian college." He would neither exert his own authority, nor would he delegate that authority to those who were immediately under him, and in part responsible with himself for the order and tone of the society. He even unconcernedly let one Fellow drink himself to death, although he was conscious that the work of destruction was going on. According to Mr. Compton Keade, he hated the tutors of the college beyond expression, and his " autocratic temper was extraordinary." " His diction, when he chanced to be out of temper, which was seldom, was as full-flavoured as that of another Martin, the fulcrum of the Eeformation." The same authority relates that the favourite joke of the President was to inquire after people whom he knew to be long since dead, " and, on being informed of their decease, to express astonishment." Mr. Mozley severely says of him : "In his excessive care of himself and his almost morbid craving for longevity the longevity of Tithonus — he made a rule of carino- for no other person or thing." "As longevity is justly regarded as a blessing, it may be well to remember that it is possible to survive, not the physical powers or the mental, but such heart as one may have. It may be possible to attain length of days without becoming at all the better for it." Truly the learned President had a strangely com- pounded character, and of the few whose lives have passed under review in these pages, he is the only one of whom the ungracious remark can be made that MAUTIN' JOSKIMI KOUTII. 399 he lived too lonpr. It would have been l^etter for himself and for his college had he been removed to hi3 rest a quarter of a century earlier. However, No further seek his merits to disclose, Or ilraw his frailties from their dnvul abode. Few records can be found of Dr. Routh's personal or domestic habits. It has been seen that he con- tented himself with a single life until advanced in years — Mr. Cox says his seventieth year — and he then chose a lady whose watchful care of his health largely contributed to his length of days. He was, moreover, known to have been himself most particular in following: rules which he believed to be conducive to his bodily well-being ; for example, in going out for a walk, he studiously faced the wind on startins:, that he might have it at his back on his return, his theory being that he thus protected his lungs from being suddenly chilled by cold air. AlthouG^h a recluse in the most literal sense of the word, the President was far from being indifferent to the course of public events as they ever and anon shifted durinff his lonsj-sustained career. " Throuorh the loopholes of retreat" he peeped at the outer world ; saw with no uninterested eyes the foreign and domestic policy of his country's ditfcrent Ministers, and the combinations or antaoronisms of different political parties. Although his own religious views were those of Laud, and his political sympathies those of Stafford, he oddly enough 400 MODERN METHUSELAHS. contracted and maintained a warm friendship witli Sir Francis Burdett, who, on one occasion, pro- nounced, in the House of Commons, a strong euloo'ium upon his ecclesiastical friend. He was to the very last a diligent reader of the daily papers, was well up in the Russian War Question, and had a mind stored with the historic events of the eighty or ninety years of his recollection. His conversational powers were considerable, and at his own table he would talk with great animation ; "his regulation topic was the young Pretender and the Jacobite faction." Trained in the old dignified school, be had the courteous, if somewhat stiif, man- ners of the now traditionary Oxford Don, and is stated to have been, as a rule, kind to all, whether hio"h or low. And it should be mentioned to his honour that, in conjunction with Dr. Parr, he was instrumental in raising a subscription sufficient to pur- chase an annuity for Professor Porson, which secured him against the poverty which might otherwise have been his lot. To the last, Dr. Routh refused to believe in the existence of the Great Western Railway at Oxford, although he heard its noises every day of his life. In his visits to London he adhered to the stage-coach system, and the past retained such a hold upon his mind that when the fare was reduced from twenty-five shillings to twenty-one, he refused to pay less than the old charge, and so enriched the driver by four shillings. In 1854 Dr. Routh celebrated the sixty-third year MARTIN JOSEPH ROUTK. 401 of liis election to the Presidentship of IMagdalen Collefjc. Durinc: that remarkal)lc tenure of office, he had admitted one liundrcd and cighty-tliree Fellows, two hundred and thirty-four Demies, and one hundred and sixty-two Choristers. Among the last- named, Mr. Cox, to whom reference has before been made, was admitted by him, and sixty years after, his grandson was also admitted by the same venerable authority. The year 1855 would have made the aged President an actual centenarian ; lie fell short of this standard by less than nine months, for the shaft of death found him on December 24th, 1854. "The poor human fossil was writing a book — one of the sort that nobody reads — when the dread summons sounded," and weary nature, however desirous, could sustain life's burden no longer. In peaceful exhaus- tion, the man who treasured within himself the reminiscences of more than eighty years of Oxford scholastic life, exchanged his gown and hood for the garments of the grave, and the place which had known him so long, knew him no more for ever. And the Rev. Compton Reade, in his recent life of his uncle, the author of " Never Too Late to Mend," well remarks : " The veneration accorded to extreme age was never more thoroughly exhibited than by the College and its individual members, from the highest to the humblest." "The Fellows resolved that he should have the grandest funeral that could be organised, and repose in front of the altar in the College Chapel." There, on the 29th of December, 2 D 402 MODEEN METHUSELAHS. were laid to rest tlie aged bones, the funeral being attended by a large number of University dignitaries, private friends, and nearly the whole of the forty Fellows and thirty Demies of the foundation. " Among the Fellows who clustered round the gaping grave . . . none in his surplice and Doctor's hood looked more impressed, or presented in himself a more impressive figure, than Charles Keade," to whom the President's college had been a good mother since the future novelist and dramatist had reached his seventeen years, for he was early elected a Demy, and in due time became a Fellow, holding his Fellowship to the end of his life. The name of Dr. Kouth is now but an Oxford tradition, and he is known out- side of his University only as one of the few who, at the time of death, was unquestionably on the fringe of centenarianism. CHAPTER XVm. MR. THO.MS' INVESTIGATED OASES OF CENTENARIANISM. AVe are spirits. Tliat Ijoilics sliould be lent us "wliile tlicy can afford us pleasure, assist us in acquiring knowledge, or in doing good to our fellow creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God. AVheu they become unlit for these purposes, and afford us j^ain instead of pleasure, instead of an aid become an incumbrance, and ■answer none of the intentions for which they were given, it is equally kind and benevolent that a way is provided by which we may get rid of them. Deatli is that way. Benjamin Franklin. Referexce has already been made to the scepticism felt by an eminent man of letters touching the genuineness of many recorded cases of centenarianism. That gentleman was the late Mr. Thoms, Deputy Librarian, House of Lords, and for some time editor of Notes and Queries. Every one deeply interested in the question of abnormal longevity will, of course, carefully study Mr. Thorns' own work on the subject ; at the same time, this volume would be very incom- jjlete were it not to embrace a rough outline of the results of Mr. Thoms' investigations. L^p to that ■date there were three cases of extraordinary length of 2 D 2 404 MODERN METHUSELAHS. days which were takea for granted as authentic, and which it was considered almost profane to challenge. Those cases were Henry Jenkins, who is reputed to have counted 169 years; Thomas Parr, who could reckon his 152 years; and the Countess of Desmond, for whom 140 years w^ere claimed. The little that is really known of the first-named can be easily told. Jenkins was a poor labouring man, who could neither read nor write ; he was an inhabitant of the parish of Bolton ; was born about 1501 ; was ten or eleven years of age at the battle of Flodden Field, which he professed he could remember ; and died at Ellerton- upon-Swale, December 8th, 1670. So runs the tradi- tion, with the further support that he once swore as a witness in the assize- court at York that a right of way had existed to his personal knowledge for one hundred and twenty years. The two hundred years which had elapsed since his death, rendered Mr. Thoms' inquiries to some extent fruitless, but the thorough sifting which he gave the case brought out that the evidence on which it rests is full of incon- sistency, contradiction, and absurdity. No reliance can be placed upon the facts as popularly received, and no scientist can for the future regard the instance as other than an unestablished allegation. Much the same may be said with regard to Thomas Parr, who was a native of Shropshire, by occupation an agricultural labourer, a calling which he followed until his one hundred and thirtieth year, as tradition runs. Parr did not marry until he had Mil. TIIOMS' INVKSTIGATED CASKS OF CKNTKXARIANISM. 405 reached his eightieth year ; the two cliildrea borne by his wife died in infancy ; at the end of thirty-two years he was left a widower, and so remained for ten years, when he married a widow, by whom he had no chiklrcn. It is rehited that during the life of his iirst wife, and after he had turned his hundredth year, he had to undergo public penance in Alberbury Church for having had a child by a Catherine Milton. There can be no question that towards the close of his life he had the reputation of being a very, very old man, and his fiime as such reached the ears of the Earl of Arundel, who had him conveyed by slow stages to London, and when there presented him to the King. Possibly the excitement, the exchange of the pure air of the country for that of the town, and a richer diet than he had ever known, shortened his days, for on November 14th, 1G35, death claimed him, at the reputed patriarchal age of one hundred and fifty-two years, nine months, and some odd days. The immortal Harvey examined the body after death, and found all the organs remarkably free from visible signs of decay. He was unquestionably a wonderful specimen of " long-lasting," but Mr. Thorns conclu- sively shows that there is no solid foundation for the confident assertion that he had reached the abnormal age attributed to him, and that partly from his own exaggeration, and partly from the accretion which a story out of the common always receives, some fifty years were most likely added to his real length of life. In the third instance, that of the Countess of 406 MODEEX METHUSELAHS. Desmond, Mr. Thorns met with more positive success^ than in the case of either of the foregoing, for he very clearly established that an earlier Countess of that title had been confounded with the one whose age was in question, and that thus forty years should be taken off from the one hundred and forty which constituted the marvel. There exists at Muckross, in Ireland^ a portrait of Catherine, the aged lady of the tradition,, with an inscription which gives the reputed particulars of her case. In 1614, she appeared at the Court of Kino- James, havino- travelled from Bristol to seek relief, the house of Desmond having been ruined by attainder. She was then in her one hundred and fortieth year, and had twice renewed her teeth. Elsewhere it is stated that even at that age she was able to go on foot four or five miles to the market town every week,, and that at last her death was caused by a fall from a cherry-tree, up which she had climbed. Sir \Yalter Ealeigh records that he knew the old Countess, and other contemporary testimony is borne to her which most clearly proves that she survived to an extreme old age, for she was a widow for seventy years, but documentary evidence shows that about a century was the limit of her life. Another reputed case, supposed to be as unim- peachable as the foregoing examples, was that of the dramatic author and actor, Charles Macklin. It was claimed that he had continued on the stage until his ninety-ninth year, and at the time of his death had numbered one hundred and seven years ; the latter MR. THO.MS' INVESTIGATED CASES OF CENTENARIANISM. 407 portion of that time, however, having been spent in mental darkness. Circumstances almost accidental demolished the marvel of this instance. Macklin and his wife (who survived him) were buried in the vaults of St. Paul's Church, Covent Garden. (Ju the church- yard l)eing closed for burials, the Vestry determined to cover up the cotHus in the vaults. In carryin"- out this resolution, the inscription on the plate of Macklin's coffin was found to be, after his name, " died July 11, 1797, aged ninety-seven years." A popular reputation is not easily destroyed, and within the last few months Dr. Burney Yeo has made reference to Macklin's alleged abnormal longevity as if no proof had ever demonstrated its inaccuracy. Mr. Thoms proceeds further to consider twenty- two cases of asserted centenarians, many of whom far exceeded their one hundred years, and on a thorough sifting of the facts connected with each, he could not find a single one which stood the test. Through one cause of error or another, many years had been added to the actual life, so that the individual whose alleged age was one hundred and twelve, was clearly proved to have been only ninety-one, and ninety-five might I'oughly be taken as the standard of the whole. But, as Mr. Thoms well observes, the very method of investigation which threw discredit on so many instances, firmly established the truth of some others, a few details of which may here be given. Williams, Mks., of Moor Park, Herts, and 408 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Bridehead, Dorset, aged 102. — This lady was the fourth and youngest daughter of Francis Chassereau, Esq., of Marylebone, formerly of Niort, in France. She was born on November 13th, 1739, and was married on October 27th, 1764, being then in her twenty-fifth year, to Eobcrt Williams, Esq., M.P. for Dorchester, and an influential banker. She had a family of sons and daughters ; two of the* latter were married, one to the late Sir Colman Eashleigh, Bart., and the other to the late Eev. J. W. Cunningham, Vicar of Harro\v-on-the-Hill. At her death she had only one surviving son. Mrs. Williams was a very remarkable instance of healthy bodily powers and vigorous intellectual faculties. At the age of eighty-one she underwent a successful operation for cataract in both eyes, by which her sight was fully restored, and preserved to the end of her life. When in her ninetieth year, she held her great-granddaughter and godchild in her arms at the font, and in her ninety- third year, when her grandson came of age, she addressed at some length the friends and tenants assembled on the occasion. At the advanced age of ninety-five she was accustomed to make breakfast for a large party, and remembered the different tastes of each, from the eldest to the youngest. To the last her memory was wonderfully retentive. But, like every fully authenticated case, the century of existence once turned, nature's gentle decay set in steadily but surely, and on October 8th, 1841, the venerable lady quietly departed this life, MU. TIIOMS' INVESTIGATKD CASKS OF CENTENABIANISM. 409 leaving a cherisbcd memory, for she was eniineiit iK^t only for her length of days ia the land, Ijut also for her gracious disposition, her affectionate nature, and her earnest piety. Plank, Mr. William, aged TOO. — A stone slab, which covers a tomb only a few yards distant from the church-porch of Harrow-on-the-Hill, gives the following information : " Here lie the remains of William Plank, who died at Karro\v-on-the-Hill, 20th November, 18G7, aged one hundred years and twelve days." Mr. Thorns' inquiries into this case led him to the conclusion that it was an indisputable instance of centenarianism, for reference can be made to City official records which mark various periods of his life, in addition to which his baptismal register is plain. He was born at Wandsworth, Surrey, November 7th, 1767, received his education at a Clapham school, having for a schoolfellow the future Lord Lyndhurst. In his fifteenth year he was bound apprentice at Salters' Hall, to an elder brother, a member of the Salters' Company, and a calico printer. He was admitted to the freedom and livery of the Company and the City on October 20th, 1789 ; seventy-eight years after admission, the then members of the Company drank his health at their monthly court, on the centenary of his birthday. For fifty-six years he occupied the same house at Harrow ; until within a week or two of his death he was able to walk out, with the assistance of a friend ; 410 MODERN METHUSELAHS. to the last lie had the use of all his faculties, eyesight excepted, of which he had been deprived for eleven years. LuNNiNG, Mr. Jacob William, aged 103. — This case is remarkable as furnishing the solitary instance that has been found in the records of life assurance companies of a centenarian. Although they admit only selected lives, and those lives are presumably of the most provident and careful classes of society, not a life, with the above exception, has survived to ninety-eight years. The genuineness of Mr. Lunning's case is proved beyond the possibility of doubt. He was born at Hamelvorden, in Hanover, on May 19th, 1767; at the age of twenty-three he reached London ; was naturalised ; boarded at Toot- ing ; married at Spalding when twenty-nine ; had twelve children born, six of whom died during his- life. At the age of thirty-six he insured his life in the Equitable office for £200, and having survived for sixty-seven years, the value of the policy, by the addition of bonuses, had risen to £1292 10.s. He appears to have been unsuccessful in business on his. own behalf, and therefore engaged himself as a book- keeper to a large mercantile house in the City, a position which he occupied until he was ninety-one. He then sent in a memorial to the trustees of Morden College, which was favourably received, and he was admitted a member in 1859, residing in the College for the remaining eleven years of his life. His health was good until within a few months of MR. THOMS' INVKSTIGATKD CASES OF CKNTKN'ARIANISM. 411 his death, and with tlie exception of deafness, he was in the possession of all his fat;ultics. The end caniu June 23rd, 1870. It is interesting to note that he chximed to be the eleventh in descent from Christina Luther, the sister of the great lleformcr. Shafto, Mrs. Catherine Duncombk, aged 101. — This hidy was born on February 10th, 1771, being the daughter of Sir John and Lady Dorothy Eden, of Windleston, and was baptized at the church of St. Andrew, Auckland, the following day. In October, 1790, when nineteen years of age, she was selected one of the Government nominees in the tontine of that year, a fact which sufficiently establishes her identity and age. She was married when thirty-two years old to Robert Eden Duncombe Shafto, Esq., of Whitworth Park, Co. Durham, who represented the city of Durham in the House of Commons for some years. They had five sons and one daughter, the father dying in 1848, and his widow surviving for very nearly a quarter of a century. She was blessed with a strono; constitution and a viwrous intellect. On the day she completed her one hundredth* year, she was able to appear both at breakfast and dinner at the wedding of a granddaughter, which took place on that day. She took a benevolent interest in the welfare of all around her, dispensed a generous hospitality, enjoyed unbroken health, and retained her intellect unimpaired to the last. She died at Whitworth Park on March 19 th, 1872, having lived one year, one month, and nine days over her century. CHAPTER XIX. A GROUP OF UNQUESTIONABLE CENTENAPJANS. The alert and active. Measure life By its true worth, the comforts it affords, And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. Good health, and its associate in the most, Good temper : spirits prompt to undertake. And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs ; E'en age itself seems privileged in them. With clear exemption from its own defects. A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front The veteran shows, and, gracing a gray beard "With youthful smiles, descends towards the grave Sprightly, and old almost without decay. COWPER. Baillie, Miss Smith, Lady DIED 1860 1877 Beadon, The Rev. Canox 1879 Hastings, Miss . .1886 Mr. Thoms' probable but unproven cases of centena- rianism need not be noticed here, but there call for consideration four eminently trustworthy examples which have been brought before the public since his volume was issued. Some twenty-five years ago, the French Ministry addressed a circular to all its Prefets directing them to institute inquiries as to the con- A GKOUl' OF DNQUKSTIONABI.K C'KNTKNARIANS. -H.'J ditions most favourable to longevity ; the replies were singularly in agreement one with the other, all denoting that a comparatively well-to-do life forms an important condition. This view is substantiated by at least three of the instances given in the last chapter, and by the whole four of tlie present one. In each case it may be clearly seen that after ten decades arc past a very feeble and flickering spark of life remains, which requires every possible attention to keep it from extinction, an attention which, in all fully verified instances, proved ineffectual to preserve it l)eyond two or three years. Ever3'tliing that aff'ec- tionate watchfulness, domestic comfort, judicious nourishment, and medical skill can do, ftiil to sustain life at the very farthest beyond the period marked by scientific deduction as the extreme limit of man's earthly pilgrimage. All those narratives, therefore, which tell of individuals surviving until their one hundred and ten, twenty, or even one hundred and fifty years were attained, may be looked upon with unqualified scepticism, to be removed only by the strongest possible documentary evidence. Baillie, Miss Agxes, aged 100. — This venerable lady, elder sister of the better known Miss Joanna Baillie, expired on the 27th of April, 1860, at her residence, Hollybush Hill, Hampstead, of which she had been the inhabitant for fifty-four years. The sisters were the daughters of the Picv. Dr. Baillie, minister of Bothwell, N.B., and were born 414 MODERN METHUSELAHS. at Both well Manse, of parents descended from ancient and influential families. Their mother was Dorothea, sister to the distinguished anatomists, William and John Hunter ; she was a lady of great mental power, and her husband took eminent rank as a scholar and divine, which gained for him in 1776 the Professor's Chair of Divinity at the University of Glasgow. Of their three children, two became well known to fame, for Dr. Matthew Baillie won for himself a high position in medical science, and his sister Joanna a still wider reputation in the field of dramatic literature and poetry. Agnes, the subject of this sketch, gave in early life greater promise of intellectual capacity than did her sister, for she manifested much greater facility in the acquirement of all educational subjects, while the latter appeared deficient in the quick grasp of the tasks set before her. She profited largely, however, by all sources of knowledge except books ; her keen observation and lively interest in everything she saw or heard, led her father to the conclusion that hers was the superior intellect. The sisters appear to have never been separated in life, they shared the same early home, the same training, the same school discipline, the same residences during the life of their mother, and the same home during the whole term of their lives after her death ; it is, therefore, scarcely possible to speak of them individually, so far as regards their outward existences. For a time the two sisters were sent to a A (lUOUP or UNQUESTIONABLE CENTENARIANS. 115 boarding-school at Glasgow, an arrangement wliicli ceased on their father being appointed to the Colle- giate Church at Hamilton ; on his transference to Glasgow, in 177('), tlie family settled in that city, but Dr. Baillic died two years after that event, and the home was broken up. The widow and her two daughters went into deep seclusion at Long Calder- wood, a small estate which belonged to the mother's eldest brother, on which they resided for nearly six years, and then returned to Glasgow. Matthew had meantime finished his medical curriculum, and resided with his uncle, Dr. William Hunter, in his newly- erected house in Great Windmill Street, to which were attached a medical theatre, rooms for dissec- tions and lectures, and a splendid museum apartment. Dr. Hunter died in 1783, leaving his nephew in occupation of the residence ; his mother and sisters immediately joined him, and remained under his roof until his marriage in 1791. They then settled at Eed Lion Hill, Hampstead, where death sej)arated the mother from her daughters in 1806. After this be- reavement they visited Scotland, going over the scenes of their childhood, and exploring the Western Highlands. On their return to England, they occupied the house near Hampstead Heath which continued their residence for the remainder of their lives. Each sister had her own attractive qualities, for although literary distinction had been gained by the younger one only, Agnes was greatly esteemed for her vigorous understanding, and the vast stores of valuable 410 MODERN METHUSELAHS. information which she possessed. Although un- married, the sisters led no dull or secluded lives ; they kept a social table, and welcomed to it all who joined to intellectual superiority a spotless moral character- Among the distinguished authors who visited the sisters, the bard of Abbotsford occupied a foremost place; he greatly admired the waitings of Joanna, extended to her a generous friendship, and entertained an almost equal regard for Agnes. Both sisters became his guests at Abbotsford in 1820. Three years after, they had to mourn the loss of their eminent brother Dr. Baillie. After this trial, the calm current of the sisters' lives flowed on without disturbance for the long period of twenty- eight years. Gradually, as age increased and death swept away old friends, the social gatherings were allowed to fall away, and a more secluded life was preferred. They w^ere now aged ladies ; they recognised the fact ; they prepared themselves for the inevitable hour of separa- tion ; the affairs of each were arranged exactly alike ; they speculated upon which of the two would be first summoned to another world. The call came to Joanna in February, 1851 ; she had reached the good old age of eighty-nine, was in full possession of her faculties, and met her end with great content- ment. For nine years Agnes had to travel life's journey alone ; they were years of serene peacefulness, of quiet service to the sick and suflfering of the neighbourhood, and of patient waiting for the last change, which came just as Nature was putting on her A (iUOUP OF UNQUESTIONABLE CENTENARIANS. 417 robes of spring beauty. Agnes is stated to liavc possessed a considerable gift of song, although she never committed her compositions to print. Smith, Lady, aged 104. — As the baptismal register and the family Bible in which her father entered the birth of his infant at the time are in exact agreement as to the date of that event, it may be considered satisfactorily established, and if so. Lady Smith affords a very remarkable example of a long-extended life, an example which has very few parallels. She was born on May 14th, 1773, two years before the outbreak of the American war ; she was the daughter of Kobert Eeeve, Esq., of Lowestoft, and of Pleasance, his wife, whose father was Thomas Clarke, Esq., of Saxmundham. She was named after her mother, and when twenty-three years old was married to Dr. James Edward Smith, then a young and enter- prising physician settled at Norwich, who had already gained for himself a literary reputation, which was afterwards greatly augmented by the publication of his costly works on Entomology, and particularly on Botany. He was also the founder of the Linusean Society, having ventured to purchase the library and collection of the great naturalist Linnssus. Dr. Smith was the first President of the Society, and received the honour of knighthood from George IV. After thirty -two years of domestic happiness, Lady Smith was left a widow, with nearly fifty years of life still before her. She found herself in 2 E 418 MODERN METHUSELAHS. comfortable circumstances, and after a time took up lier abode in a house built bj her father at Lowestoft^ her native place. Here she entered upon a very simple and regular course of life, which resulted in that exceptional health and length of days which render her case in no small degree remarkable. Lady Smitli appears to have been, like Mrs. Garrick, an eminently beautiful and attractive woman ; Mr. Roscoe wrote of her that " lie who could see and hear Mrs. Smith without beino; enchanted, had a heart not worth a farthing." Her personal beauty has been perpetuated by Opie in his portrait of her as a gipsy, but from Mr. Koscoe's testimony it may be inferred that Lady Smith had higher claims to admiration than mere loveliness of person afforded, and many contemporary witnesses confirm this, with a full acknowledgment of her great mental power and attainments. In point of fact, she was distinguished for the perfect balance of her physical, intellectual, and moral natures, for she enjoyed a marvellously healthy constitution, had a mind singularly vigorous, keen, and cultivated, witli lively sympathies and warm affections, the whole forming a character of rare completeness and harmony. Also like Mrs. Garrick, she was childless. In figure Lady Smith was slight, erect, five feet three inches in height, about ten stone in weight,, until a little beyond her eightieth year, when this somewhat decreased. She never suflered from dys- pepsia or a headache, and may be said to have enjoyed uninterrupted health, an attack of rheumatic A GROUP OF UNQUESTIONABLE CENTENARIANS. 419 fever excepted, until her one liundrecltli year, and at that age her luidiinmed eye and fresh colour excited the admiration of every one who saw her. In 1873 she was under medical treatment, but made a good recovery from her trouble ; she also suffered from an occasional attack of gout in the feet. In the fol- lowing year an alarming seizure of bronchitis was experienced, but her excellent constitution carried her through in safety ; some months, however, before her death there was a steady decline of health, the power of resisting disease was enfeebled, and the way pre- pared for a fatal issue to any serious illness which might arise. This came through an attack of pericarditis, caused by a severe chill. There is nothing to account for Lady Smith's unusual longevity in the habits of her life ; these were no doubt simple and conducive to health, but differed little from those of many hundreds and thousands of persons in her rank of society. Lady Smith usually retired to rest at 9 p.m. ; slept well until 8 a.m., when she arose ; on summer mornings she would often leave her bed for a time to watch the rising of the sun ; breakfast was served at nine, which was followed of late years by a short sleep ; dinner w^as taken at two o'clock, and another short sleep ensued. Each meal was enjoyed, strict moderation being practised in both food and drink ; as a rule, one glass of beer and one of w^ine formed the daily allowance of stimulants. After dinner, nothing more was taken than a quarter of a glass of 2 E 2 420 MODERN METHUSELAHS. ale ; if this applies to solid food, it was surely a dietetic mistake, for a fast from two or three o'clock of one afternoon to nine of the following morning must have tended to exhaustion of the system, and is quite contrary to the teachings of science on the point. Summer mornings were devoted to reading and other indoor engagements ; carriage exercise was taken in the afternoons ; in the winter, Lady Smith drove out in the morning instead, and remained in the house for the remainder of the day. A drive was taken daily, whatever the weather misfht be, under the full conviction that fresh air was essential to health. Her circulation to the last was strikingly regular, being sixty-five pulsations to the minute ; her eyesight remained unimpaired, as she could read The Times without glasses ; her teeth, up to a very advanced age, were almost complete and sound ; her memory, both as to past and current events, was perfect ; almost to the last hour of her life she retained a lively interest in the common occurrences of the day. Lady Smith delighted in literature, and her love of reading remained unabated until her one hundredth year ; her correspondence with friends and the transaction of business matters continued to within a few weeks of her death. At a very advanced age her handwriting was clear and very beautiful. On the attainment of the one hundredth anni- versary of her birthday. Lady Smith gave a dinner to all the aged poor of Lowestoft and its neighbourhood, A GROUP OF UNQUESTIONABLE CENTENARIANS. 421 and received from tlic Queen a copy of " Our Life in the Highlands," with an inscription written by Her Majesty's own hand, "From Victoria K., to her friend Lady Smith on her birthday." The writer of the obituary notice of Lady Smith, given in The Times, concluded with the following words : " Those who knew her need not to be reminded of the memory, the intelligence, the sympathy with all that was beautiful in poetry and in nature, the graceful courtesy of manner, the openness of heart, the freedom from prejudice and narrowness of mind, the expansive benevolence and true Christian charity which all remained unblighted by the snows of more than a century of years." The end came in perfect peace, February 3rd, 1877. Beadon, The Rev. Canon, aged 102. — The deatli of this aQ:ed ecclesiastic occurred on June 10th, 1879. Some time before that event public attention had been drawn to his marvellously extended life, in consequence of the valuable Church preferment which he had held for a period of nearly seventy years. The total of his clerical income for that time amounted to a sum of vast magnitude. He was born in London, on December 6th, 1777, being the third son of the Rev. Edward Beadon, rector of North Stoneham, a parish about three miles from Southampton, who lived to be eighty years old, while his wife attained to her eighty-sixth year. 422 MODERN METHUSELAHS. Frederick Beadon, the subject of the present sketch, was educated at the Charterhouse, entered at Trinity College, Oxford, was ordained at the earliest canonical age, and presented when very young to the living of Weston-super-Mare, then in the gift of his uncle, the Bishop of Bath and Wells. After an exchange to Tetley, he succeeded, in 1811, his father as rector of North Stoneham, a living worth about £550 per annum, with a house. This living the father and son together held for upwards of a century. The follow- ing year he was appointed Canon Residentiary of Wells, and kept annual residence there for the re- markable period of sixty- three years. He married in 1803, and had issue one son and two dausfhters. In early manhood Canon Beadon had a slight illness, the nature of which cannot now be known ; but from that time his health was unbroken until he neared his century of existence. He was a man of singularly w^ell-developed physique, stood about five feet nine inches in height, was broad-shouldered, deep- chested, with very long arms, large hands, and of great muscular power ; even when past seventy he had extraordinary strength of wrist. In middle age, when out shooting for the day, he could walk from morning until night, could stand exposure to any amount of cold or wet, and could knock up many men who were many years his juniors. Yet he never knew the meaning of rheumatism, and never sufiered from a headache. For the latter fact he had, no doubt, to thank a digestion not only excellent, but A GROUP OP UNQUESTIONABLE CENTKNAKIANS, 423 perfect, ^vllich enabled him to eat anything. And he not only ate heartily at every meal, but frequently consumed biscuits in the intervals. He was very fond of sweet things, and ate pastry and fruit more freely than meat. His favourite pursuits were those likel}" to give the owner of a strong constitution a keen appetite, for he was not only a devoted angler and an enthusiastic sportsman, but also loved his garden and his farm, and was a hearty patron of cricket. In his ninety-eighth year he was observed seated under an oak, which he had himself planted in his grounds, watching with great interest a game being played. He was by no means an abstainer from alcoholic beverasres, althoug^h he never exceeded the allowance of a moderate drinker. The pursuits, or recreations, to which reference has been made, did not, however, prevent Canon Beadon from fulfilling the duties of his sacred calling, so far as those duties were then understood. He took a part in the public services up to his ninety- sixth year. He was watchful over the efficiency of those services ; he was active in capitular afi"airs ; he was energetic in promoting the repair of the cathedral. It is also recorded of him that he was one of the founders of the Southampton Savings' Bank, was for more than sixty years one of its managers, and for many years acted as chairman. During his long life he travelled only once on the Continent, and to the last was not quite reconciled to railways. His bodily condition from middle life to 424 MODERN METHUSELAHS. old age remained the same ; he neither grew thinner nor stouter ; gradually his step grew slow, but he never tottered, and he retained his ruddy complexion to the very last. He continued to fish until he was eighty, and to shoot until his ninety-fourth year. His first severe illness came upon him when ninety- seven, in an attack of bronchitis, caught through going out on a bitterly cold day. From that time his health declined ; successive slight attacks of bronchitis, varied wdth or accompanied by severe colds, much shattered his system. In 1878 he was confined to his room, which he did not again leave ; but he continued to take an interest in matters generally, and in his farm in particular. In the early months of 1879 he gradually lost strength, and, when summer was at its brightest, he easily and. quietly passed away. On the attainment of his one hundredth year, the Queen graciously sent him her congratulations, and shortly after forwarded her photograph, signed by herself To most of the letters which he received on that occasion, the aged Canon sent immediate replies, written with his own hand. Among other addresses, he received one from the Corporation of Southampton, of which borough he was the last surviving freeman whose name had remained on the annual Parliamentary Register ; this privilege had been reserved under the Reform Bill, among all other rights which were possessed by the freemen at the time of the change. A GROUP OF UNQUESTIONABLE CENTENARIANS. 425 A slight consideration of Canon Bcatlon's case will suflice to show that he had everything in his favour calculated to ensure an exceptionally long life. He came of a sound stock, famous for longevity ; he had a constitution strong in all points ; he married when young ; his profession was one which has a far higher expectation of life than any other ; he early received from it an income that left him no pecuniary cares ; he had so imperturbable a temper that nothing could ruffle it ; his spirits were uniformly equal and cheerful ; he was a hearty eater and drinker, but never to excess ; and finally, he allowed himself agreeable pursuits, healthy exercise, and abundance of recreation. If a centenarian could not be found under this combination of happy circumstances, under what conditions could one be souoht ? Hastings, Miss, aged 104. — Among all the recorded cases of centenarianism there is not one that is more fully confirmed, or that offers a more interesting study of extreme old age, than the instance now to be considered. The last years of the life of Miss Hastings were carefully watched by Dr. Pike, of Malvern, at which beautiful place she long resided ; the details of his observations were given in The British Medical Journal by Dr. Humphry, F.R.S., whose many and valuable contributions on the sub- ject of longevity have already been noticed. He had himself visited Miss Hastings, had seen the entry of her birth in the family Bible, and had been 426 MODERN METHUSELAHS. kept fully informed of her condition by a corre- spondence with the niece who resided with her. Her father was the Eev. Jtimes Hastings, rector of Marti ey, Worcestershire ; she was the first child of her parents, who were, at the time of her birth, of the respective ages of twenty-six and twenty-two. Fourteen children were afterwards born to them ; the father is stated to have reached his hundred years, or rather to have exceeded that age by six months ; the mother died at eighty-six. One of their sons became Admiral Thomas Hastings, K.C.B. ; another son was Eear- Admiral Hastino;s : a third son was the late Sir Charles Hastings, M.D., D.C.L., etc., by whom the British Medical Association was founded. The present member of Parliament for East Worcester- shire, Mr. G. W. Hastings, is a nephew of the venerable lady whose life is now to be considered. Miss Hastings was born at Sutton Coldfield, on the 14th of March, 1782; in early life she was spare in person, but of robust health ; she had a good digestion, was a sound sleeper, usually rose about seven o'clock in the morniDg, and although not a large eater, always had a fair appetite. Her usual course of diet was meat at dinner only, with a glass of beer or cider, taking neither wine nor spirits ; for breakfast she took tea, which was latterly exchanged for coffee. She took occasional horse exercise, was a good walker, led a generally active life, much out of doors, visited the sick, and shared in all works of parochial benevolence. As her home was at her A GROUP OF UNQUESTIONABLE CENTHXARIANS. 427 father's residence until his death in 185G, she was a stranger to any anxiety touching ways and means of living, and appears to have been finally left in •comfortable circumstances. She ultimately settled at Malvern, as has been stated. Few places afibrd health conditions more favourable to certain constitutions, for many elements of hygiene centre in the district. The life of Miss Hastings would have been pronounced an advanced one at the time she settled there, for she had passed her three-score years and ten, although she had more than thirty years of life still before her. The routine of that life during its early portion at Malvern is not to be found; in September, 1885, when Professor Humphry saw her, she was one hundred and three 3^ears and six months old ; *' was in good condition, rather fat, and tolerably strong, but not able to walk. iShe thought she could walk, but had been advised not to try to do so, since her confinement to bed by bronchitis during the winter. She had a clear, full voice, and, although deaf and obliged to resort to an ■ear trumpet, she was remarkably fond of conversation and hearing the news, taking an interest in the things of life, and in everything that passed ; she amused herself with crochet, and had the newspaper read to her daily. She never talked, her niece told me, about dying, and on taking leave of her friends, never observed, ' I shall not see you again,' but usually said, ' I hope when you visit Malvern again you will come HALL, LIMITED. II FANE (VJOr.F.T)— QUKKN OF THE FAIRIES (A Village Story), and other I'ocins. Crown 8vo, 6s. ANTHONY BABINGTON : a Drama. Crown 8vo, 6s. /•■ IKR (WII.UAAf) and THRUPP {GEORGE A.)~ COACH TRIMMING. With 60 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. P/FE-COOASON (L/EUT-COL. J. C.)— TIGER-SHOOTING IN THE DOON AND ULWAR, AN1> LIFE IN INDIA. With numerous Illustrations by E. Hobday, R.H. A. Large crown 8vo, los. 6il. FITZGERALD (PERCY), I'\S.A.— THE CHRONICLES OF UOW STREET POLICE OFFICE, with an Account of the Magistrates, " Runners," and Police ; and a Sclcct'on of thi; most interesting Cases. With numerous Illustrations. 2 vols. Demy Svo, 213. FLEMING (GEORGE), F.R.C.S.— ANIMAL PLAGUES: THEIR HISTORY, NATURE, AND PREVENTION. Svo, cloth, 15s. PRACTICAL HORSE-SHOEING. With 37 Illustrations. Fifth Edition, enlarged. Svo, sewed, 2S. RABIES AND HYDROPHOBIA: THEIR HISTORY, NATURE, CAUSES, SYMPTOMS, AND PREVENTION. With 8 Illustra- tions. Svo, cloth, 15s. POPSTER (JOHN)— THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. Uniform with the Illustrated Library Edition of Dickens's Works. 2 vols. Demy Svo, 20s. THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. Uniform with the Library Edition. Post Svo, los. 6d. THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. Uniform with the "C. D." Edition. With Numerous Illustrations. 2 vols. 7s. THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. Uniform with the Household Edition. With Illustrations by F. Barnard. Crown 4to, cloth, 5s. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR : a Biography, 1775-1864. With Portrait. A New and Revised Edition. Demy Svo, 12s. FORSTER, THE LIFE OF THE RIGHT HON. W. E. By T. Wemvss Reid. With Portraits. Fourth Edition. 2 vols. Demy Svo. 32s, PORTESCUE (THE HON. JOHN)— RECORDS OF STAG-HUNTING ON EXMOOR. With 14 full page Illustrations by Edgar Giisekne. Large crown Svo, i6s. POP TNIGHTL Y RE VIE W— FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW.— First Series, May, 1865, to Dec. 1S66. 6 vols. Cloth, 13s. each. New Series, 1867 to 1872. In Half-yearly Volumes. Cloth, 13s. each. From January, 1873, to the present time, in Half-yearly Volumes. Cloth, i6s. each. CONTENTS OF FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW. From the commencement to end of 1878. Sewed, 2S. B 2 BOOKS PUBLISHED B Y FORTNUM [C. D. £.). F.S.A.— MAIOLICA. With numerous Woodcuts. Large crown 8vo, cloth, 2S. 6d. BRONZES. With numerous Woodcuts. Large crown 8vo, cloth, 25. 6d. FOUQUE (DE LA MOTTE)— UNDINE : a Romance translated from the German. With an Introduction by Julia Cartwright. Illustrated by Heywood Sumner. Crown 4to. 55. FRANCATELLI {C. E.)~ THE ROYAL CONFECTIONER: EngUsh and Foreign. A Practical Treatise. With Illustrations. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo, ss. FRANCIS {FRANCIS), JUNR. SADDLE AND MOCASSIN. 8vo, 12s. PRANKS {A. W.)— JAPANESE POTTERY. Being a Native Report, with an Introduction and Catalogue. With numerous Illustrations and Marks. Large crown Bvo, cloth, 2S. 6d. FROBEL, FRIEDRICH ; a Short Sketch of his Life, including Frobel's Letters from Dresden and Leipzig to his Wife, now first Translated into Englibh. By Emily Shirreff. Crown 8vo, 2s. GALLENGA [ANTONIO)— ITALY: PRESENT AND FUTURE. 2 vols. Dmy.8vo,2is. EPISODES OF MY SECOND LIFE. 2 vols. Dmy.8vo,28s. IBERIAN REMINISCENCES. Fifteen Years' Travelling Impressions of Spain and Portugal. With a Map. 2 vols. Demy 8vo, 32s. GASNA ULT (PA UL) and GARNI ER [ED. )— FRENCH POTTERY. With Illustrations and Marks. Large crown Evo, 3s. GILLMORE [PARKER] — THE HUNTER'S ARCADIA. With numerous Illustra- tions. Demy 8vo, ids. 6d. GIRL'S LIFE EIGHTY YEARS AGO (A). Selections from the Le'ters of Eliza Southgate Bowne, with an Introduction by Clarence Cook. Illustrated with Portraits and Views. Crown 410, 12s. GLEICHEN [COUNT), Greriadier Guards— WITH THE CAMEL CORPS UP THE NILE. With numerous Sketches by the Author. Second Edition. Large crown Svo, gs. GORDON [GEN ERA D— LETTERS FROM THE CRIMEA, THE DANUBE, AND ARMENIA. Edited by Demetrius C. Boulger. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, 5s. GORST (SIR 7. E.), Q.C., M.P.— An ELECTION MANUAL. Containing the Parliamentary Elections (Corrupt and Illegal Practices) Act, 1883, with Notes. Third Edition. Crown Svo, is. 6d. GOWER (A. R.). Royal School of Mines— PRACTICAL METALLURGY. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 3s. GRAHAM (SIR GERALD), V.C, K.C.B.— LAST WORDS WITH GORDON. Crown 8vo, cloth, is. CHAPMAN ^ JIALL, LIMITED. 13 GRF.SWEI.L (WIU./AM). M.A., r.R.C./.— OUR SOUTH AFRICAN EMPIRE. With Map. 2 vols. Crown 8vo, ais. GREV/U.F. (I.ADY VIOLET)— MONTROSE. With an Introduction by the Earl of AsiiniRMiAM. With Portraits. Large crown Evo, 75. 6d. GR/FF/N (S/R LEPEL HENRY), K.C.S.I.— THE GREAT REPUBLIC. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, 4S. 6d. GRIFFITHS (MAJOR ARTHUR), H.M. Inspector of Prisons— FRENCH REVOLUTIONARY GENERALS. Large crown 8vo. CHRONICLES OF NEWGATE. Illustrated. New Edition. Demy 8vo, i6s. MEMORIALS OF MILLBANK : or, Chapters in Prison Historj'. With Illustrations by R. Goff and Author. New Edition. Demy 8vo, I2S. GRIMBLE [AUGUSTUS)— DEER-STALKING. A New Edition, revised and enlarged. Imperial 410, 31s. 6d. With 18 Full-page Illustrations. HALL (SIDNEY)— A TRAVELLING ATLAS OF THE ENGLISH COUN- TIES. Fifty Maps, coloured. New Edition, including the Railways, corrected up to the present date. Demy 8vo, in roan tuck, los. 6d. HARDY {LADY D UFFUS)— THROUGH CITIES and PRAIRIE LANDS. Sketches of an American Tour. Demy 8vo, 14s. HATTON (JOSEPH) and HARVEY (REV. M.)— NEWFOUNDLAND. The Oldest British Colony. Its History, Past and Present, and its Prospects in the Future. Illustrated from Photographs and Sketches specially made for this work. Demy Svo, i8s. HA VVKINS (FREDERICK)— THE FRENCH STAGE IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. With Portraits. 2 vols. Demy Svo, 30s. ANNALS OF THE FRENCH STAGE: FROM ITS ORIGIN TO THE DEATH OF RACINE. 4 Portraits. 2 vols. Demy Svo, 2SS. HILDEBRAND (HANS), Royal Antiquary of Sweden— INDUSTRIAL ARTS OF SCANDINAVIA IN THE PAGAN TIME. With numerous Woodcuts. Large crown Svo, 2S. 6d. HILL (MISS G.)— THE PLEASURES AND PROFITS OF OUR LITTLE POULTRY FARM. Small Svo, 3s. HOLBEIN— TWELVE HEADS AFTER HOLBEIN. Selected from Drawings in Her Majesty's Collection at Windsor. Reproduced in Autotype, i portfolio. £i i6s. HOLLINGSHEAD (JOHN)— FOOTLIGHTS. Crown Svo, 7s. 6d. 14 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY HOPE {ANDREE)— CHRONICLES OF AN OLD INN; or, a Few Words about Gray's Inn. Crown 8vo, 5s. HOVELACQUE [ABEL)— THE SCIENCE OF LANGUAGE: LINGUISTICS, PHILOLOGY, AND ETYMOLOGY. With Maps, Large crown 8vo, cloth, ss. HOZIER (H. M.)— TURENNE. With Portrait and Two Maps. Large c^o^\•n 8vo, 4s. HUMP HP IS (H.D.)~- PRINCIPLES OF PERSPECTIVE. Illustrated in a Series of Examples. Oblong folio, half-bound, and Text 8vo, cloth, £1 is. HUNTL Y [MARQUIS OF)— TRAVELS, SPORTS, AND POLITICS IN THE EAST OF EUROPE. With Illustrations by the Marchioness of Huntly. Large Crown 8vo, 12s. I.D.B. ; or, the Adventures of Solomon Davis on the Diamond Fields and Elsewhere. By W. T. E. Crown Svo, 6s. INDUSTRIAL ARTS: Historical Sketches. With numerous Illustrations. Large crown Svo, 3s. INTERNATIONAL POLICY: Essay on the Foreign Relations of England. By Frederic Harrison, Prof. Beesley, Richard Congeeve, and others. New Edition. Crown Svo, 2s. 6d. IRELAND IN THE DAYS OF DEAN SWIFT. By J. B. Daly, LL.D. Crown Svo, 5s. IRISH ART OF LACEMAKING, A RENASCENCE OF THE. Illustrated by Photographic Reproductions of Irish Laces, made from new and specially designed Patterns. Introductory Notes and Descriptions. By A. S. C. Demy Svo, 2s. 6d. IRON [RALPH), [OLIVE SCHREINER)— THE STORY OF AN AFRICAN FARM. Third Edition. Crown Svo, cloth, 2s. JACKSON [FRANK G. )' Master in the Birmingham Municipal Schooloj Art— DECORATIVE DESIGN. An Elementary Text Book of Principles and Practice. With numerous Illustrations. Crown Svo, 7s. fid. JAMES [HENRY A.)— HANDBOOK TO PERSPECTIVE. Crown Svo. 2S. 6d. JARRY [GENERAL)— OUTPOST DUTY. Translated, with TREATISES ON MILITARY RECONNAISSANCE AND ON ROAD-MAKING. By Major- Gen. W. C. E. Napier. Third Edition. Crown Svo, 5s. JEANS [W. T.)— CREATORS OF THE AGE OF STEEL. Memoirs of Sir W. Siemens, Sir H. Bessemer, Sir J. Whitworth, Sir J. Brown, and other Inventors. Second Edition. Crown Svo, 7s. fid. JOHNSON [DR. SAMUEL)— LIFE AND CONVERSATIONS OF DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. By A. Main. Crown Svo, los. fid. CHAPMAN ///^^. THE POPULAR LIBRARY EDITION OF THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS, In 30 Vols. , large crown 2>vo, price £6 ; separate Vols. 4J. each. An Edition printed on good paper, each volume containing 16 full-page Illustrations, selected from the Household Edition, on Plate Paper. SKETCHES BY "BOZ." PICKWICK. 2 vols. OLIVER TWIST. NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 2 vols. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 2 vols. DOMBEY AND SON. 2 vols. DAVID COPPERFIELD. 2 vols. CHRISTMAS BOOKS. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 2 vols. CHRISTMAS STORIES. BLEAK HOUSE. 2 vols. LITTLE DORRIT. 2 vols. OLD CURIOSITY SHOP and REPRINTED PIECES. 2 vols. BARNABY' RUDGE. 2 vols. UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. TALE OF TWO CITIES. CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. EDWIN DROOD and MISCELLANIES. PICTURES FROM ITALY and AMERICAN NOTES. 36 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY DICKENS'S (CHARLES) WORKS.— G?«//w