The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures 43

The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures 43

"So the firm oak's deep roots, eccentric, winding through the

heaving earth, fast bound and chasmed deep, with many a widening

gap, by blazing Sol's mid ray, at summer's sultry noon, opposes

strength to strength; or round the impervious rocks, in weighty

balance to its broad branch, and highly-lifted head, up to

the mountain's summit, shrinks not from the prospect of the

blackening storm, and while it sends its sweeping arms around

over the circling numerous acres, shadowing under its expanded

greatness, fears not the threatening blast, nor for protection

looks to man. Too great to need a screen; it were children's

play to throw a mantle over its full broad majesty, to try to

save its foliage luxuriant from the rude element. The attempt

would be as weedy muslin's cobweb insipidity; its flimsy partial

covering would only hide its full matured richness; and the first

breeze of whirlwind's opening rising tempest, tear from the

disdainful surface to streaming raggedness the feeble effort, and

open to the eye the golden fruit, freshening by the tempest, and

glittering in the storm."

 

We know very little of human nature, if Mr. Ward, in spite of his

disclaiming any wish to be considered as an author, does not think

all this very fine. By way of simply explaining his allegory, it is

particularly useful;--of Mr. Ward's view of the necessity of such

explanation we may assure ourselves by his very apposite allusion

to Milton, Walter Scott, Homer, and Burn (as he calls him). This

paragraph we must quote:--

 

"It is contended by some, that a picture should be made up only

of such materials as are capable of telling its own story;

such confinement would shut out the human mind from a depth of

pursuit in every branch of art. Poetry requires prose fully to

explain its meaning, and to create an interest; for who would be

without the notes in Walter Scott's 'Lay of the Last Minstrel,'

or a glossary to the poems of Burn, the argument to Milton

or Homer? If then it be necessary to make use of language to

explain poetry, should not the same medium be used to explain

personification? It has been thought necessary on the stage to

send a person between the acts as a comment on the past, and a

preface to the future, and can we, I ask, understand what is

going on even in nature, by dumb show? If we see a crowd of

people assembled in the streets, do we expect that the action and

__EXPRESSION__ should inform us the cause of their congregating in an

unusual manner? Experience proves more than volumes of argument.

We ask 'what does all this mean?'"

 

To which we most candidly reply, we really do not know.

 

Mr. Ward then proceeds in the following manner:--

 

"Wellington has his hand upon the tri-coloured cross, on the

shield of Britannia, expressive of the Christian's emblem,

and the three colours of which it is composed are the colours

answerable to the three principles in Trinity!!!

 

Red is the first fiery principle in the Godhead;

Blue the second in the Saviour, or Mediator;

White the third in the Dove of Peace."

 

This ingenious explanation of the mysteries of the Union Jack must be

highly satisfactory to every thinking Englishman: there is, indeed,

but one drawback to the holy pleasure we feel at Mr. Ward's sublime

discovery, which is, that the Revolutionary flag of France was

composed of the same three colours.

 

The enlightened artist then informs us--speaking of Britannia, "that

the twisted lock of hair _laying_ in front upon her bosom, and over

the right arm, is emblematic of"--what do you suppose, reader?--"of

the spirit of justice."

 

"Justice, stern and unrelenting, whose sword is forward, and

whose plaited hair is answerable to that sword, and makes in the

person of Justice the number three, as expressive of the Trinity,

or the whole of Godhead manifested in the awful administration of

justice. That sword is serpentine, as expressive of flame, Deity

in its principle of fire."

 

This is "finely confused, and very alarming;" but observe:--

 

"With the other hand she points through the medium of the Trident

to the Trinity in Unity, commanding him to look up to Providence

as alone able to give success to his efforts."

 

This puzzles us; pointing through the medium of "the Trident" appears

to us to be something like looking at the Sun through the medium of

a toasting-fork; but we may be wrong.

 

Mr. Ward then continues:--

 

"The cat and broken spear are emblems of rebellion and

anarchy."--P. 11.

 

"The British Lion is majestically observing the effects of his

own operations; his countenance shows no symptom of the reign of

passion--anger is alone signified by the movement of his tail."

 

For this illustration of natural history Mr. Ward appears to be

indebted to Mathews, who, in his "At Home," told a capital story of a

showman and one of the noble beasts in question, in which, while his

head is in the lion's mouth, he anxiously inquires of a by-stander,

"Doth he wag his tail?" That bit of waggery being indicative (as Mr.

Ward has comically painted it) of the ire of lions generally.

 

Mr. Ward, as matter of information, tells us, page 19, that "the

palm-tree grows to the height of five hundred feet, and bears the

date and cocoa-nut." What date the trees Mr. Ward alludes to might

have borne we cannot say; but certain it is, that modern palms

have left off growing to the height of five hundred feet; which,

considering it to be about three times the height of the Monument,

and one hundred feet more than the height of St. Paul's, is not so

very surprising.

 

The following information, conveyed in page 20, is likely to be very

interesting from its importance:--

 

"Juvenile antagonists in the streets dare not strike an unfair

blow, take the other by the hair, or maltreat him when fallen

upon the ground. In such case, he not only loses his battle, but

also--his character!!!"

 

At page 22 we have, perhaps, the most finished description of docking

a horse that ever was put to paper; it is somewhat lengthy, but it

will repay the lover of the sublime for his trouble in reading it:--

 

"Can any thing be so far from true taste, as to round the ears

of a dog, or to cut them off; whatever may be the beauty, breed,

or character, to cut off the thumb, or fifth toe, and call it

a Dew claw, and consider it of no use! To chop off the tail

of a waggon-horse, so necessary and useful to that class of

creature; above all, to separate every joint of the tail, with

all the misery attending upon it, in order to reverse the order

of Nature, and make that turn up which ought to turn down, all

equally show the want of taste, as the want of humanity? Who has

ever witnessed the operation last alluded to, if not, pause; and

in your imagination, behold a nobly-formed, and finely-tempered

creature, led from the stable in all the pride of health, and all

the playful confidence of being led out, and held by his master

and his friend, view the hobbles fastened to his legs, his feet

drawn to a point, and himself cast to the earth, so contrary

to his expectations and his hopes; observe the commencement,

and the lingering process; behold the wreathing of the lovely

and as useful animal; how does his heaving breast manifest

his astonishment, while his greatly oppressed and labouring

heart beats high with resentment, at being thus tampered. His

quivering flesh sends through every pore streams of sweat; his

open nostrils are bursting with agony of body and spirit, while

his strained eye-balls flash as with the fixed glare of expiring

nature. Heard you that groan? poor animal. They have began the

deed of barbarism! he faintly shrieks, 'tis as the piteous cry

of the timid hare, when sinking under the deadly gripe of the

fierce, agile, and ravenous greyhound. How he grinds his teeth,

and bores his tightly-twitched and twisted lip, and smoking

nostril, into the thick litter, or grovelling, rubs his aching

forehead into the loose sand; now the sudden and convulsive

effort! what a struggle! every nerve, sinew, tendon, stretched

to its full bearing, with fearful energy! Oh! that he could now

disencumber his fettered limbs, and spring from his tormentors.

Those limbs, that would joyfully bound over the broad plain,

or patient bear the cumbrous load, nor utter one complaint in

the deep toil; or drag with unwearied submission, harnessed,

galled, and parched with thirst, the lumbering machine to the

very borders of his opening tomb. He groans again, the struggle's

over, and he again lays down; while the hoarse breathing and his

panting sides, prove that all his energies, his mighty energies,

have failed: and the work goes on, still continues, and now

another and another gash, and now the iron hook, to tear out from

among the separated complicated bones, the tenacious ligament

that binds the strong vertebræ; and lastly the burning steel to

staunch the streaming blood. Tedious process!--but at length it

ceases, and the noble, towering, majestic steed is led back,

tottering, trembling, reeling, and dejected, to repose apparently

in peace; but ah! another torment, the cord, the weight, the

pulley, day o'er day, and week after week, to keep the lips of

the gaping, throbbing, aching wounds asunder, to close no more

for ever. Enough! enough! our country's shame, for cruelty is not

our natural character, our country's vice."

 

We by no means intend to ridicule Mr. Ward's humanity; but, we

confess, as throwing lights upon an allegorical picture of the Duke

of Wellington's triumphs, we do not consider the passage quite as

much to the purpose as it might be.

 

At page 29, Mr. Ward states (and with every appearance of believing

it) that "Cicero was once a lisping infant, and Sampson, at one

period, could not go alone;"--to which assertions we must beg to add,

for Mr. Ward's satisfaction, that "Rome was not built in a day."

 

In his simple style, at page 30, Mr. Ward, speaking of ignorance,

says,--

 

"Loose veins of thought, imaginative intellects, evaporation. As

the school-boy's frothy bubble, rising from the turbid elements"

soap and water, "its inflated globule exhibits in proud mimicry

the Rainbow's gaily painted hues, and calls rude mirth to dance

upon its glittering surface, when suddenly it bursts, and all is gone!"