We cannot do better than conclude with one or two other passages out of the same Essay, full of his usual calm wisdom. "If you fly physic in health altogether, it will be too strange for your body when you need it." (He means that a general state of health should not make us over-confident and contemptuous of physic; but that we should use it moderately if required, that ay not be too strange to us no extraordinary effect when make it too familiar, it will have when required most.) "If you cometh. I commend rather some diet for certain seasons, than frequent use of physic, except it be grown into a custom; for those diets alter the body more, and trouble it less." "As for the passions and studies of the mind," says he, “avoid envy, anxious fears, anger fretting inwards, subtil and knotty inquisitions, joys and exhilirations in excess, sadness not communicated" (for as he says finely, somewhere else, They who keep their griefs to themselves, are cannibals of their own hearts.") "Entertain hopes; mirth rather than joy;" (that is to say, cheerfulness rather than what we call boisterous merriment); "variety of delights rather than surfeit of them; wonder and admiration, and therefore novelties; studies that fill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories, fables, and contemplations of nature." CHARLES BRANDON, AND MARY QUEEN OF FRANCE. The fortune of Charles Brandon was remarkable. He was an honest man, yet the favourite of a despot. He was brave, handsome, accomplished, possessed even delicacy of sentiment; yet he retained his favour to the last. He even had the perilous honour of being beloved by the despot's sister, without having the least claim to it by birth; and yet instead of it's destroying them both, he was allowed to be her husband. Charles Brandon was, the son of Sir William Brandon, whose skull was cleaved at Bosworth by Richard the Third, while bearing the standard of the Duke of Richmond. Richard dashed at the standard, and appears to have been thrown from his horse by Sir William, whose strength and courage however could not save him from the angry desperation of the king. But Time, whose wheeles with various motion runne, Who marries Richmond's daughter, born betweene Sir John Beaumont's Bosworth Field. The father's fate must doubtless have had it's effect in securing the fortunes of the son. Young Brandon, we believe, grew up with Henry the Seventh's children, and was the playmate of his future king and bride. The prince, as he increased in years, seems to have c carried the idea of Brandon with him like that of a second self; and, the princess, whose affection was not hindered from becoming personal by any thing sisterly, nor on the other hand allowed to waste itself in too equal a familiarity, may have felt a double impulse given to it by the great improbability of her ever being suffered to become his wife. Royal females in most countries have certainly none of the advantages of their rank, whatever the males may have. Mary was destined to taste the usual bitterness of their lot; but she was amply repaid. At the conclusion of the war with France, she was married to the old king Louis the Twelfth, who witnessed from a couch the exploits of her future husband at the tournaments. The doings of Charles Brandon that time were long remembered. The love between him and the young queen was suspected by the French court; and he had just seen her enter Paris in the midst of a gorgeous procession, like Aurora come to marry Tithonus. He dealt his chivalry about him accordingly with such irresistible vigour, that the Dauphin, in a fit of jealousy, secretly introduced into the contest a huge German, who was thought to be of a strength incomparable. But Brandon grappled with him, and with seeming disdain and detection so pummelled him about the head with the hilt of his sword, that the blood burst through the vizor. Imagine the feelings of the queen, when he came and made her an offering of the German's shield. Drayton, in his Heroical Epistles, we know not on what authority, tells us, that on one occasion during the combats, perhaps this particular one, she could not help saying out loud, "Hurt not my sweet Charles," or words to that effect. He then pleasantly represents her as doing away suspicion by falling to commendation of the Dauphin, and affecting not to know who the conquering knight was;-an ignorance not very probable; but the knights sometimes disguised themselves purposely. The old King did not long survive his festivities. He died in less than three months, on the first day of the year 1515; and Brandon, who had been created Duke of Suffolk the year before, re-appeared at the French court, with letters of condolence, and more persuasive looks. The royal widow was young, beautiful, and rich; and it was likely that her hand would be sought by many princely lovers; but she was now resolved to reward herself for her late sacrifice, and in less than two months she privately married her first love. The queen, says a homely but not mean poet (Warner, in his Albion's England) thought that to cast too many doubts Were oft to erre no lesse Than to be rash: and thus no doubt The gentle queen did guesse, That seeing this or that, at first Or last, had likelyhood, A man so much a manly man Then kisses revelled on their lips, To either's equal good. Henry shewed great anger at first, real or pretended: but he had not then been pampered into unbearable self-will by a long reign of tyranny. He soon forgave his sister and friend; and they were publicly wedded at Greenwich on the 13th of May. It was during the festivities on this occasion (at least we believe so, for we have not the chivalrous Lord Herbert's life of Henry the 8th by us, which is most probably the authority for the story; and being a good thing, it is omitted, as usual, by his historians) that Charles Brandon gave a proof of the fineness of his nature, equally just towards himself, and conciliating towards the jealous. He appeared at a tournament on a saddle-cloth, made half of frize and half of cloth of gold, and with a motto on each half. One of the mottos ran thus:Cloth of frize, be not too bold, The other: Though thou art match'd with cloth of gold, Cloth of gold, do not despise, Though thou art match'd with cloth of frize. It is this beautiful piece of sentiment which puts a heart into his history, and makes it worthy remembering. ON THE HOUSEHOLD GODS OF THE ANCIENTS. The Ancients had three kinds of Household Gods, the Daimon (Dæmon) or Genius, the Penates, and the Lares. The first was supposed to be a spirit allotted to every man from his birth, some say with a companion; and that one of them was a suggester of good thoughts, and the other of evil. It seems, however, that the Genius was a personification of the conscience, or rather of the prevailing impulses of the mind, or the other self of a man; and it was in this sense most likely that Socrates condescended to speak of his wellknown Dæmon, Genius, or Familiar Spirit, who, as he was a good man, always advised him to a good end. The Genius was thought to paint ideas upon the mind in as lively a manner as if in a lookingglass; upon which we chose which of them to adopt. Spenser, a most learned as well as imaginative poet, describes it in one of his most comprehensive though not most poetical stanzas, as That celestial Powre, to whom the care Of life, and generation of all That lives, pertaine in charge particulare; That is our Selfe, whom though we do not see, Therefore a God him sage antiquity Did wisely make.-Faerie Queene, Book 2, st. 47. Of the belief in an Evil Genius, a celebrated example is furnished in Plutarch's account of Brutus's vision, of which Shakspeare has given so fine a version (Julius Cæsar, Act 4, Sc. 3.). Beliefs of this : kind seem traceable from one superstition to another, and in some instances are no doubt immediately so. But fear, and ignorance, and even the humility of knowledge are at hand to furnish them, where precedent is wanting. There is no doubt, however, that the Romans, who copied and in general vulgarized the Greek mythology, took their Genius from the Greek Daimon and as the Greek word has survived and taken shape in the common word Dæmon, which by scornful reference to the Heathen religion came at last to signify a Devil, so the Latin word Genius, not having been used by the translators of the Greek Testament, has survived with a better meaning, and is employed to express our most genial and intellectual faculties. Such and such a man is said to indulge his genius :-he has a genius for this and that art:-he has a noble genius, an airy genius, an original and peculiar genius. And as the Romans from attributing a genius to every man at his birth, came to attribute one to places and to soils, and other more comprehensive peculiarities, so we have adopted the same use of the term into our poetical phraseology. We speak also of the genius, or idiomatic peculiarity, of a language. One of the most curious and edifying uses of the word Genius took place in the English translation of the French Arabian Nights, which speaks of our old friends the Genie and the Genies. This is nothing more than the French word retained from the original translator, who applied the Roman word Genius to the Arabian Dive or Elf. One of the stories with which Pausanias has enlivened his description of Greece, is relative to a Genius. He says that one of the companions of Ulysses having been killed by the people of Temesa, they were fated to sacrifice a beautiful virgin every year to his manes. They were about to immolate one as usual, when Euthymus, a conqueror in the Olympic Games, touched with pity at her fate and admiration of her beauty, fell in love with her, and resolved to try if he could not put an end to so terrible a custom. He accordingly got permission from the state to marry her, provided he could rescue her from her dreadful expectant. He armed himself, waited in the temple, and the Genius appeared. It was said to have been of an appalling presence. It's shape was every way formidable, it's colour of an intense black; and it was girded about with a wolf-skin. But Euthymus fought and conquered it; upon which it fled madly, not only beyond the walls, but the utmost bounds of Temesa, and rushed into the sea. The Penates were Gods of the house and family. Collectively speaking, they also presided over cities, public roads, and at last over all places with which men were conversant. Their chief government however was supposed to be over the most inner and secret part of the house, and the subsistence and welfare of it's inmates. They were chosen at will out of the number of the gods, as the Roman in modern times chose his favourite saint. In fact, they were only the higher gods themselves, descending into a kind of household familiarity. They were the personification of a particular Providence. The most striking mention of the Penates which we can call to mind is in one of Virgil's most poetical passages. It is where they appear to Æneas, to warn him from Crete, and announce his destined empire in Italy. (Book 3, v. 147.) Nox erat, et terris animalia somnus habebat. 'Twas night; and sleep was on all living things. Dread shapes of gods, and Phrygian deities, Which the moon poured into the room that night. And again, after they had addressed him, Nec sopor illud erat; sed coram agnoscere vultus, It was no dream: I saw them face to face, The Lares, or Lars, were the lesser and most familiar Household Gods; and though their offices were afterwards extended a good deal, in the same way as those of the Penates, with whom they are often wrongly confounded, their principal sphere was the fire-place. This was in the middle of the room; and the statues of the Lares generally stood about it in little niches. They are said to have been in the shape of monkies; more likely mannikins, or rude little human images. Some were made of wax, some of stone, and others doubtless of any material for sculpture. They were represented with goodnatured grinning countenances, were clothed in skins, and had little dogs at their feet. Some writers make them the offspring of the goddess Mania, who presided over the spirits of the dead; and suppose that originally they were the same as those spirits; which is a very probable as well as agreeable superstition, the old nations of Italy having been accustomed to bury their dead in their houses. Upon this supposition, the good or benevolent spirits were called Familiar Lares, and the evil or malignant ones Larvæ and Lemures. Thus Milton, in his awful Hymn on the Nativity: In consecrated earth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint. A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. But Ovid tells a story of a gossiping nymph Lara, who having told Juno of her husband's amour with Juturna, was sent to hell" |