conversation, he proposed a drive a few miles out of London, which he said would revive and refresh him.Stanton objected, on account of the difficulty of getting a hackney coach (for it is singular that at this period the number of private equipages, though infinitely fewer than they are now, exceeded the number of hired ones), and proposed going by water.This, however, did not suit the kinsman's views; and, after pretending to send for a carriage (which was in waiting at the end of the street), Stanton and his companions entered it, and drove about two miles out of London.
* Rochefoucauld.
The carriage then stopped.Come, Cousin," said the younger Stanton,--"come and view a purchase I have made." Stanton absently alighted, and followed him across a small paved court; the other person followed."In troth, Cousin," said Stanton, "your choice appears not to have been discreetly made; your house has somewhat of a gloomy aspect."--"Hold you content, Cousin," replied the other; "I shall take order that you like it better, when you have been some time a dweller therein." Some attendants of a mean appearance, and with most suspicious visages, awaited them on their entrance, and they ascended a narrow staircase, which led to a room meanly furnished."Wait here," said the kinsman, to the man who accompanied them, "till I go for company to divertise my cousin in his loneliness." They were left alone.Stanton took no notice of his companion, but as usual seized the first book near him, and began to read.It was a volume in manuscript,--they were then much more common than now.
The first lines struck him as indicating insanity in the writer.
It was a wild proposal (written apparently after the great fire of London) to rebuild it with stone, and attempting to prove, on a calculation wild, false, and yet sometimes plausible, that this could be done out of the colossal fragments of Stonehenge, which the writer proposed to remove for that purpose.Subjoined were several grotesque drawings of engines designed to remove those massive blocks, and in a corner of the page was a note,--"I would have drawn these more accurately, but was not allowed a KNIFE to mend my pen."The next was entitled, "A modest proposal for the spreading of Christianity in foreign parts, whereby it is hoped its entertainment will become general all over the world."--This modest proposal was, to convert the Turkish ambassadors (who had been in London a few years before), by offering them their choice of being strangled on the spot, or becoming Christians.Of course the writer reckoned on their embracing the easier alternative, but even this was to be clogged with a heavy condition,--namely, that they must be bound before a magistrate to convert twenty Mussulmans a day, on their return to Turkey.The rest of the pamphlet was reasoned very much in the conclusive style of Captain Bobadil,--these twenty will convert twenty more apiece, and these two hundred converts, converting their due number in the same time, all Turkey would be converted before the Grand Signior knew where he was.
Then comes the coup d'eclat,--one fine morning, every minaret in Constantinople was to ring out with bells, instead of the cry of the Muezzins; and the Imaum, coming out to see what was the matter, was to be encountered by the Archbishop of Canterbury, in pontificalibus, performing Cathedral service in the church of St.
Sophia, which was to finish the business.Here an objection appeared to arise, which the ingenuity of the writer had anticipated.--"It may be redargued," saith he, "by those who have more spleen than brain, that forasmuch as the Archbishop preacheth in English, he will not thereby much edify the Turkish folk, who do altogether hold in a vain gabble of their own." But this (to use his own language) he "evites," by judiciously observing, that where service was performed in an unknown tongue, the devotion of the people was always observed to be much increased thereby; as, for instance, in the church of Rome,--that St.Augustine, with his monks, advanced to meet King Ethelbert singing litanies (in a language his majesty could not possibly have understood), and converted him and his whole court on the spot;--that the sybilline books....
.....
Cum multis aliis.
Between the pages were cut most exquisitely in paper the likenesses of some of these Turkish ambassadors; the hair of the beards, in particular, was feathered with a delicacy of touch that seemed the work of fairy fingers,--but the pages ended with a complaint of the operator, that his scissors had been taken from him.However, he consoled himself and the reader with the assurance, that he would that night catch a moonbeam as it entered through the grating, and, when he had whetted it on the iron knobs of his door, would do wonders with it.In the next page was found a melancholy proof of powerful but prostrated intellect.It contained some insane lines, ascribed to Lee the dramatic poet, commencing,"O that my lungs could bleat like buttered pease," &c.
There is no proof whatever that these miserable lines were really written by Lee, except that the measure is the fashionable quatrain of the period.It is singular that Stanton read on without suspicion of his own danger, quite absorbed in the album of a madhouse, without ever reflecting on the place where he was, and which such compositions too manifestly designated.
It was after a long interval that he looked round, and perceived that his companion was gone.Bells were unusual then.He proceeded to the door,--it was fastened.He called aloud,--his voice was echoed in a moment by many others, but in tones so wild and discordant, that he desisted in involuntary terror.As the day advanced, and no one approached, he tried the window, and then perceived for the first time it was grated.It looked out on the narrow flagged yard, in which no human being was; and if there had, from such a being no human feeling could have been extracted.
