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And whirls into the abyss
That yawns to gorge its prey-
Drioking the last star's ray.
Beauty, and age, and youth,
And vows of faith and truth.
Amid their wild despair,
Ah, what avails it there?
As if before a foe, That may do his vengeance with bloodiest hand,
Ere they a fear will show.
Spring o'er the vessel's side,
And would dare it ere they died.
That ne'er was pale till then ;
That never dry again.
Unshaken and resign'd,
Betrays a coward mind.
His garments flung away, Plunging, shapes his course he knows not where,
Through the cold and ravenous sea. A momentall is o'er!
The living, where are they? Health, courage, hope, and the bark that bore,
And their fear and agony? Still'd as an eastern waste
The hot Simoom hath sweptFor the waters on which they triumphant past,
Upon their heads have slept-
In dark tranquillity,
Where the spoils of ocean lie.
Have follow'd that vessel's doom, And many a heart o'er its timeless bier
Shall bleed for years to come.
Over perished mortals shed-
Yet will not give back the dead!
A SCHOOLMASTER OF THE OLD LEAVEN.
The good old race of Aogging schoolmasters, who restrained the passions by giving vent to them, and took care to maintain a proper quantity of fear and tyranny in the world, are now perhaps nearly extinct; at least, are not replenished, as they used to be, with a supply of bad blood in the new ones. Education has assumed the graces fit for the calm power of wisdom. She sits now in the middle of smiles and flowers, as Montaigne wished to see her. Music is heard in her rooms; and health and vigour of body being cultivated, as well as of mind, neither master nor scholars have occasion for ill humour.
I knew a master of the old school, who fourished (no man a better rod) about thirty years back. I used to wish I was a fairy, that I might have the handling of his cheeks and wig.
He was a short thick-set man about sixty, with an aquiline nose, a long convex upper-lip, sharp mouth, little cruel eyes, and a pair of hands enough to make your cheeks tingle to look at them. I remember his short coat-sleeves, and the way in which his hands used to hang ont of his little tight wrist-bands, ready for execution. Hard little fists they were, yet not harder than his great cheeks. He was a clergyman, and his favourite exclamation (which did not appear profane to us, but only tremendous) was “ God's-my-life!" Whenever he said this, turning upon you and opening his eyes like a fish, you expected (and with good reason) to find one of his hands taking you with a pinch of the flesh under the chin, while with the other he treated your cheek as if it had been no beiter than a piece of deal.
I am persuaded there wa: some affinity between him and deal. He had a side-pocket, in which he carried a carpenter's rule (I don't know who his father was), and he was fond of meddling with carpenter's
The line and rule prevailed in his mode of teaching. I think I see him now, seated under a deal-board canopy, behind a lofty wooden desk, his wooden chair raised upon a dais of wooden steps, and two large wooden shutters or sliders projecting from the wall on either side to screen him from the wind. He introduced among us an acquaintance with manufactures. Having a tight little leg (for there was a horrible succinctness about him, through in the priestly part he tended to the corpulent), he was accustomed, very artfully, whenever he came to a passage in his lectures concerning pigs of iron, to cross one of his calves over his knee, and inform us that the pig was about the thickness of that leg. Upon which, like slaves as we were, we all looked inquisitively at his leg; as if it had not served for the illustration a hundred times.
Though serious in ordinary, and given to wrath, he was “ cruel fond” of a joke. I remember particularly his delighting to show us how funny Terence was (which is what we should never have found out); and how he used to tickle our eyes with the words “ Chremes's Daater.” He had no more relish of the joke or the poetry than we had; but Terence was a school-book, and was ranked among the comic writers ; and it was his business to carry on established opinions and an authorized facetiousness.
When he ingged, he used to pause and lecture between the blows, that the instruction might sink in. We became so critical and sensi
tive about every thing that concerned him, watching his very dress like the aspects of the stars, that we used to identify particular moods of his mind with particular wigs. One was more or less peevish; another Neronian ; a third placable and even gay; most likely the one he wore on going out to a party. There was a darkish one, old and stumpy, which
-From its horrid hair
Shook pestilence and tasks. Never shall I forget the admiration and terror, with which we bebeld M—, one summer's afternoon, when our master nodded in his chair, and we were all standing around, make slow and daring approaches upwards between this wig and the nape of the neck, with a pin! Nods of encouragement were given by some ; go it was faintly whispered by one or two. It was an unknown thing among us, for we were orderly boys at all times, and frightened ones in school. “Go it,” however, he did. Higher, a little higher, a little more high. “Hah!" cried the master, darting round; and there stood poor — all his courage gone, fascinated to the spot, the very pin upright between his fingers ! I forget what task he had ; something impossible to achieve; something too long to say by heart at once, and that would ruin the whole of his next holidays. So much for fear and respect.
I could tell tales of this man's cruelty and injustice, almost inconceivable in many such schools as we have at. present.' Our greatest check upon him, or hope of a check, (for it was hopeless to appeal against a person of his great moral character and infinite respectability) was in the subjection he himself lived in to his wife : a woman with a ready smile for us, and a fine pair of black eyes. She must have been the making of his family, if he left any. When she looked in at the door sometimes, in the midst of his tempest and rage, it was like a star to drowning mariners. Yet this man had a conscience, such as it was. He had principles, and did what he thought his duty, working hard and late, and taking less pleasure than he might have done, except in the rod. But there it was. With all his learning, he had a nervous mind and untamed passions ; and unfortunately the systems of education allowed a man at that time to give way to these, and confound them with doing his duty. He was a very lionourable man in his day, and might have been rendered a more amiable, as well as useful one in this ; but it is not the less certain (though he would have been shocked to bear it, and willingly have flogged you for saying so) that with precisely the same nature under another system of opinion, he would have made an inquisitor.
So dangerous it is to cultivate the antipathies, instead of the sympathies; and so desirable for master, as well as scholars, are the healthier and cheerfuller roads to knowledge, which philosophy has lately opened to all of us.
THE TENTH VOLUME.
for taking casts, ib.-a picture of Cen.
Childe's Destiny, the, 513.
Chivalry, Mills's, review of, 444—works
plars, 445—the festivals in times of
chivalry, 447-method of cooking a
Cigar, doggrel verses to, 86.
Civic square, the, 163.
Confessions of a junior Barrister, 11.
the Greek Schools, 424.
Conversations of Swift and Pope, 199.
Coronation of Charles the Tenth and the
364-letters of, ib. 365-studies under Costanza, 110.
Amelia, 369-decline and death, 370. Crusaders, Tales of the, reviewed, 27.
language and sophistry, 168, 169-un-
Defence of the Alphabet, 594.
Dialogue of Sir W. Temple, Dr. More,
and William Penn, 278.
with a sportsman, 323.
Dignum and his times, 403.
Dream, the maiden's, 321.
Drinking song, 356.
Dublin, Old, by Lady Morgan, 57.
East, Letters from the, No. XVII. 113–
XVIII. 335—XIX. 433-XX. 534.
Embellishments of London, 271-notice
ib. 272_remarks upon
umphal arch at Hyde Park corner, 273
-origin and nse of triumphal arches,
567_his directions respecting nature, place already in the parks, 275—the
of a letter upon,
Ionia, lines to the ruins of, 473.
-an Irish king's evidence, and mode
of treatment, 395—entrance into an
of the lower orders of Irish ou such
occasions, 398—Larry Cronan, 399
conduct of on his trial, 401-continued,
497-remarks on Irish crime, ib.-re-
specting trials for rape, 498-sin-
moirs, 78—-receives 40,040 francs for -execution of Mr. S—,506—of his
Kelly's memoirs, reviewed, 487-anec-
Nipoli di Romania, 292-different at Vienna, 488—Curran and Father
Letters from Rome, No. III.33—IV. 243.
to County Cousins, No. IV. 123.
from the East, 113. 335. 433. 534.
of Mr. J. Hunter, 366.
of Edmund Burke, original, 380.
of, 589_rights of the Indians, &c. 591. London Lyrics, 22 183. 267. 448. 556.
embellishments of, 271.
Love and ingratitude, 547.
Maiden's lament, the, 267.
Maitre Adam, song by, 356,
Man introduced to his ancestors, 343.
Memoirs of Madame de Genlis, 78.
Men, Women, and Nimmen, 267.
Menagiana, the, 236.
Merry England, 557..
Mills's Chivalry, 444.
Milton's treatise on christian doctrine re-
harmonious use of proper dames,
Moore's Life of Sheridan reviewed, 474.