A Museum for Young Gentlemen and Ladies Part 13

Not far from these is the figure of a lady, one of the Maids of Honour to Queen Elizabeth, who is said to have bled to death by only p.r.i.c.king her finger with a needle.

I must now return to those monuments, which are in the open part of the church, and free to every one's sight; for those I have been speaking of are inclosed [sic], and not to be seen without a small gratuity to the conductor.

Among these, then, on the north side, stands a magnificent monument erected to Lady Carteret, for whose death some reports a.s.sign a cause something odd, viz. the late French King Louis the XIV.'s saying, That a lady (whom one of his n.o.bles compared to Lady Carteret) was handsomer than she.

Near this stands a grand monument of Lord De Courcy, with an inscription, signifying that one of his ancestors had obtained a privilege of wearing his hat before the King.

Next these follow a groupe [sic] of Statesmen, Warriors, Musicians, &c. among whom is Col. Bingfield, who lost his head by a cannon ball, as he was remounting the Duke of Marlborough, whose horse had been shot under him.

The famous musicians Purcell, Gibbons, Blow, and Crofts, have here their respective monuments and inscriptions; as has also that eminent painter Sir G.o.dfrey Kneller, with an elegant epitaph by Mr.

Pope. As you enter the west door of the church, on the right hand stands a monument with a curious figure of Secretary Craggs, on whom likewise Mr. Pope has bestowed a beautiful epitaph. On the south side is a costly monument, erected by Queen Anne to the memory of that brave Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovel, who was shipwrecked on the rocks of Scilly. In the same aisle, and nearly opposite to this, is a beautiful monument of white marble, to the memory of Thomas Thynne, of Long-Leat, in the county of Wilts, Esq. who was shot in his coach, on Sunday the 12th of February, 1682: In the front is cut the figure of him in his coach, with those of the three a.s.sa.s.sins who murdered him. At the end of this aisle, and on one side of what is called the Poets' Row, lies covered with a handsome monument, and his effigy a large as the life, the very famous Dr.

Busby, Master of Westminster School, whose strict discipline and severity are every where so much talked of.

I must now take notice of the Poets, whose monuments stand mostly contiguous. Here are the ancient monuments of Chaucer and Spencer, with those of Ben Johnson, Drayton, Milton, and Butler; also of the great Dryden, the ingenious Phillips, the divine Cowley, the harmonious Prior, and the inimitable Shakespeare, of whose curious effigy I have spoken before: nor must I omit the gentle Mr. John Gay, to whose memory his Grace the Duke of Queensberry has erected a n.o.ble monument, which Mr. Pope has adorned with a very elegant inscription in verse. I must here end my remarks, but cannot take leave of this venerable place, without observing, that it has many curious painted windows, a n.o.ble choir, a fine organ, and a magnificent altar-piece.

I am, Honoured Madam, &c.

_A memorable Saying of the_ Duke de ORLEANS, _at the Surrender of_ _Gravelling, with a generous Action of that Prince_.

WHEN Gravelling was surrendered to the Duke of Orleans, just as he entered into town he was heard to say these words: "Let us endeavour, by generous actions, to win the hearts of all men; so we may hope for a daily victory. Let the French learn from me this new way of conquest, to subdue men by mercy and clemency."

With what a matchless virtue did this Prince dismiss a gentleman that was hired to murder him! This a.s.sa.s.sin was suffered to pa.s.s into the Duke's bedchamber one morning early, pretending business of grave moment from the Queen. As soon as the Duke cast his eyes on him, he spoke thus: "I know thy business, friend: thou art sent to take away my life. What hurt have I done thee? It is now in my power, with a word, to have thee cut in pieces before my face. But I pardon thee; go thy way, and see my face no more."

The gentleman, stung with his own guilt, and astonished at the excellent nature of this Prince, fell on his knees, confessed his design, and who employed him; and having promised eternal grat.i.tude for his Royal favour, departed without any other notice taken of him; and fearing to tarry in France, entered himself into the service of the Spanish King. It was his fortune afterwards to encounter the Duke of Orleans in a battle in Flanders. The Duke, at that instant, was oppressed with a crowd of Germans, who surrounded him; and, in the conflict, he lost his sword; which this gentleman perceiving, nimbly stept to him, and delivered one into the Duke's hand, saying withal, "Now reap the fruit of thy former clemency.

Thou gavest me my life, now I put thee in a capacity to defend thy own." The Duke by this means at length escaped the danger he was in; and that day the fortune of war was on his side. The French had a considerable victory.

You see by this, that heroic actions have something divine in them, and attract the favours of Heaven. No man was a loser by good works; for though he be not presently rewarded, yet, in length of time, some happy emergency arises to convince him, "That virtuous men are the darlings of Providence."

_The remarkable Story of_ GIOTTO, _an Italian Painter, and his_ _Crucifix_.

IT was a cruel and inhuman caprice of an Italian Painter (I think his name was Giotto), who designing to draw a crucifix to the life, wheedled a poor man to suffer himself to be bound to the cross an hour, at the end of which he should be released again, and receive a considerable gratuity for his pains. But instead of this, as soon as he had him fast on the cross, he stabbed him dead, and then fell to drawing. He was esteemed the greatest master in all Italy at that time; and having this advantage of a dead man hanging on a cross before him, there is no question but he made a matchless piece of work on't.

As soon as he had finished his picture he carried it to the Pope, who was astonished, as at a progidy [sic] of art, highly extolling the exquisiteness of the features and limbs, the languishing pale deadness of the face, the unaffected sinking of the head: In a word, he had drawn to the life not only that privation of sense and motion which we call death, but also the very want of the least vital symptom.

This is better understood than expressed. Every body knows that it is a master-piece to represent a pa.s.sion or a thought well and natural. Much greater is it to describe the total absence of these interior facilities, so as to dis tinguish the figure of a dead man from one that is only asleep.

Yet all this, and much more, could the Pope discern in the admirable draught which Giotto presented him. And he liked it so well, that he resolved to place it over the altar of his own chapel. Giotto told him, since he liked the copy so well he would shew him the original, if he pleased.

What dost thou mean by the original, said the Pope? Wilt thou shew me Jesus Christ on the cross in his own person? No, replied Giotto, but I'll shew your Holiness the original from whence I drew this, if you will absolve me from all punishment. The good old father suspecting something extraordinary from the painter's thus capitulating with him, promised, on his word, to pardon him, which Giotto believing, immediately told him where it was; and attending him to the place, as soon as they were entered, he drew a curtain back which hung before the dead man on the cross, and told the Pope what he had done.

The Holy Father, extremely troubled at so inhuman and barbarous an action, repealed his promise, and told the painter he should surely be put to an exemplary death.

Giotto seemed resigned to the sentence p.r.o.nounced upon him, and only begged leave to finish the picture before he died, which was granted him. In the mean while a guard was set upon him to prevent his escape. As soon as the Pope had caused the picture to be delivered into his hands, he takes a brush, and dipping it into a sort of stuff he had ready for that purpose, daubs the picture all over with it, so that nothing now could be seen of the crucifix, for it was quite effaced in all outward appearance.

This made the Pope stark mad; he stamped, foamed, and raved like one in a phrenzy: he swore the painter should suffer the most cruel death that could be invented, unless he drew another full as good as the former, for if but the least grace was missing, he would not pardon him; but if he would produce an exact parallel he should not only give him life, but an ample reward in money.

The painter, as he had reason, desired this under the Pope's signet, that he might not be in danger of a second repeal; which was granted him; and then he took a wet sponge, and wiped off the varnish he had daubed on the picture, and the crucifix appeared the same in all respects as it was before.

The Pope, who looked upon this as a great secret, being ignorant of the arts which the painters use, was ravished at the strange metamorphosis. And to reward the painter's triple ingenuity, he absolved him from all his sins, and the punishment due them; ordering moreover his steward to cover the picture with gold, as a farther gratuity for the painter. And, they say, this crucifix is the original, by which the most famous crucifixes in Europe are drawn.

FABLE _of the_ HARE _and many_ FRIENDS.

By Mr. GAY.

[Ill.u.s.tration: woodcut of Hare and friends]

FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame, The child whom many fathers share, Hath seldom known a father's care; 'Tis thus in friendship; who depend On many, rarely find a friend.

A hare, who, in a civil way, Complied with ev'ry thing, like _Gay_, Was known by all the b.e.s.t.i.a.l train Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain; Her care was, never to offend, And ev'ry creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies; She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; She hears the near advance of death; She doubles to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round; 'Till, fainting in the public way, Half dead with fear she gasping lay.

What transports in her bosom grew, When first the horse appear'd in view!

Let me, says she, your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend; You know my feet betray my flight, To friendship every burden's light.

The horse replied, poor honest puss, It grieves my heart to see thee thus; Be comforted, relief is near, For all your friends are in the rear.

She next the stately bull implor'd, And thus replied the mighty lord; Since every beast alive can tell That I sincerely wish you well, I may, without offence, pretend To take the freedom of a friend; Love calls me hence; a fav'rite cow Expects me near yon barley mow; And when a lady's in the case, You know all other things give place.

To leave you thus might seem unkind, But see, the goat is just behind.

The goat remark'd her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye; My back, says he, may do you harm; The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.

The sheep was feeble, and complain'd His sides a load of wool sustain'd, Said he was slow, confest his fears; For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.

She now the trotting calf addrest, To save from death a friend distrest.

Shall I, says he, of tender age, In this important care engage?

Older and abler past you by; How strong are those! how weak am I!

Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence: Excuse me then. You know my heart, But dearest friends, alas, must part!

How shall we all lament: Adieu!

For see the hounds are just in view.

_The dying Words and Behaviour of three great Men, when just quitting the Stage of Life_.

SIR Francis Walsingham, towards the end of his life, grew very melancholy, and writ to the Lord Burleigh to this purpose: "We have lived long enough to our country, to our fortunes, and to our Sovereign; it is high time we begin to live to ourselves, and to our G.o.d."

Sir Henry Wotton, who had gone on several emba.s.sies, and was intimate with the greatest Princes, chose to retire from all, saying, The utmost happiness a man could attain to, was to be at leisure to _be_, and to _do_ good; never reflecting on his former years, but with tears, he would say, "How much time have I to repent of! and how little to do it in!"

Philip III. King of Spain, seriously reflecting upon the life he had led in the world, cried out upon his death-bed, How happy were I, had I spent those twenty-three years that I have held my kingdom, _in a retirement!_ saying to his confessor, "My concern is for my soul, not my body."

_FINIS_.