Doctor Therne

H. Rider Haggard was an English author known for adventure novels set
in exotic locations. Haggard is considered to be one of the first
writers of the Lost World genre. Haggard's novel She: A History of
Adventure

Author: H. Rider Haggard

ISBN: 9781518369568
Category: Classics
File Fomat: PDF, EPUB, DOC...
File Details: 4.3 MB
Language: English
Publisher: Krill Press
Website: https://www.kobo.com
Access the following link to download the entire book
https://click.linksynergy.com/link?id=*C/UgjGtUZ8&offerid=15
62891.372171056585997707529635&type=15&murl=https%3A%2F%2F2.zoppoz.workers.dev%3A443%2Fhttps%2Fww
w.kobo.com%2Fus%2Fen%2Febook%2Fdoctor-therne-18

Get promotional offers when downloading the document

Download Now
 Doctor Therne

Order directly from https://www.kobo.com

( 4.4/5.0 Evaluate | 158 Downloads )
-- Click the link to download --

https://click.linksynergy.com/link?id=*C/UgjGtUZ8&offerid=1562891.37
2171056585997707529635&type=15&murl=https%3A%2F%2F2.zoppoz.workers.dev%3A443%2Fhttps%2Fwww.kobo.com%2Fus%
2Fen%2Febook%2Fdoctor-therne-18
.
vessels, begging a draught of what he called bee-wine. As he ran
about, he used to make a humming noise with his lips, resembling
the buzzing of bees. This lad was lean and sallow, and of a
cadaverous complexion; and, except in his favourite pursuit, in which
he was wonderfully adroit, discovered no manner of understanding.
Had his capacity been better, and directed to the same object, he
had perhaps abated much of our wonder at the feats of a more
modern exhibiter of bees; and we may justly say of him now,
“Thou,
Had thy presiding star propitious shone,
Should’st Wildman be.”
When a tall youth, he was removed from hence to a distant village,
where he died, as I understand, before he arrived at manhood.
Poor’s-Box in Cawston Church, Norfolk.
 Poor’s-Box in Cawston Church, Norfolk.
Before the Reformation, says Anthony à Wood, “in every church
was a poor man’s box, but I never remembered the use of it; nay,
there was one at great inns, as I remember it was, before the wars.”
Poor-boxes are often mentioned in the twelfth century. At that
period pope Innocent III. extended papal power to an inordinate
height; absolved subjects from allegiance to their sovereigns; raised
crusades throughout Europe for the recovery of the holy sepulchre;
laid France under an interdict; promised paradise to all who would
slaughter the Albigenses; excommunicated John, king of England;
and ordered hollow trunks to be placed in all the churches, to
receive alms for the remission of the sins of the donors.[214]
A communication to the Antiquarian Society, accompanied by
drawings of the poor-boxes on this and the opposite page, briefly
describes them.[215] The common poor-box in the churches appears
to have been a shaft of oak, hollowed out at the top, covered by a
hinged lid of iron, with a slit in it, for the money to fall through into
the cavity, and secured by one or two iron locks.
Perhaps the most curiously constructed of the ancient poor-boxes
now remaining, is that in the church of Cawston, near Aylsham. The
church was built between 1385 and 1414. The poor-box was
provided with three keys, two of which were for the churchwardens,
and the third was most probably for the clergyman, as one of the
key-holes is more ornamented than the others. The most singular
part of this box is an inverted iron cup, for preventing the money
from being taken out by means of any instrument through the holes
on the top of the box.
The engravings above represent—1. this poor-box, as it stands
on an octangular stone basement; 2. a perfect view of the lid; 3.
another of the interior, with the manner wherein the cup is
suspended for the security of the money; 4. a section of the box.
In places where the presumed richness of the boxes rendered
them liable to be plundered, they were strongly bound or clamped
with iron plates, as shown in the present engravings.
 Poor’s-Box in Loddon Church, Norfolk.
The church of Loddon, in the south-eastern angle of the county
of Norfolk, about five miles from Bungay, was built about 1495, and
contains a depository of this description, with two separate boxes,
each of them secured by two padlocks: over one of these is a hole in
the lid for the offerings. When a sufficient sum was collected, it was
taken out and placed in the adjoining box in the presence of the two
churchwardens.
Ben Jonson, in his “Masque of the Metamorphosed Gipsies, as it
was thrice presented before king James, 1621, &c.” makes a gipsy
tell Tom Ticklefoot, a rustic musician,—
“On Sundays you rob the poor’s-box with your tabor;
The collectors would do it, you save them a labour.”
Whereunto a countryman answers,
“Faith, but a little: they’ll do it non-upstant.”[216]
 From this we gather that it was customary at that time to put
money in the parish poor’s-box on Sundays, and that the trustees of
the poor were sometimes suspected of misapplying it.
The neglect of this mode of public contribution is noted in
Hogarth’s marriage scene of the “Rake’s Progress,” by a cobweb
covering the poor’s-box in the church. There is an intimation to the
same effect in one of Beaumont and Fletcher’s plays, which further
intimates that poor’s-boxes had posies—
The poor man’s box is there too: if ye find any thing
Besides the posy, and that half rubb’d out too,
For fear it should awaken too much charity,
Give it to pious uses: that is, spend it.
Spanish Curate, 1647.
The posies or mottoes on poor’s-boxes were short sentences to
incite benevolence—such as, “He that giveth to the poor lendeth to
the Lord,” &c.

[214] Fosbroke’s Encyclopædia of Antiquities.

[215] This communication from J. A. Repton, Esq., is printed, with
engravings from his drawings, in the “Archæologia,” 1821.
[216] Non-upstant, notwithstanding.

Poetry.
 ANGEL HELP.[217]
This rare Tablet doth include
Poverty with Sanctitude.
Past midnight this poor Maid hath spun,
And yet the work not half is done,
Which must supply from earnings scant
A feeble bed-rid parent’s want.
Her sleep-charged eyes exemption ask,
And Holy hands take up the task;
Unseen the rock and spindle ply,
And do her earthly drudgery.
Sleep, saintly Poor One, sleep, sleep on,
And, waking, find thy labours done.
Perchance she knows it by her dreams;
Her eye hath caught the golden gleams
(Angelic Presence testifying,)
That round her everywhere are flying;
Ostents from which she may presume
That much of Heaven is in the room.
Skirting her own bright hair they run,
And to the Sunny add more Sun:
Now on that aged face they fix,
Streaming from the Crucifix;
The flesh-clogg’d spirit disabusing.
Death-disarming sleeps infusing,
Prelibations, foretastes high,
And equal thoughts to live or die.
Gardener bright from Eden’s bower,
Tend with care that Lily Flower;
To its leaves and root infuse
Heaven’s sunshine, Heaven’s dews;
’Tis a type and ’tis a pledge
Of a Crowning Privilege:
Careful as that Lily Flower,
This Maid must keep her precious dower;
Live a Sainted Maid, or die
Martyr to Virginity.
Virtuous Poor Ones, sleep, sleep on,
And, waking, find your labours done.
 C. Lamb.
New Monthly Magazine,
June 1, 1827.

COWPER.
The poet of “The Sofa,” when “in merry pin,” trifled pleasantly. As
an instance of his manner, there remains the following
Letter to the Rev. J. Newton.
July 12, 1781.
My very dear Friend,—I am going to send, what, when you have
read, you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose there’s nobody
knows, whether what I have got, be verse or not; by the tune or the
time, it ought to be rhyme; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or
of yore, such a ditty before?
I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in
hopes to do good; and if the reviewers should say “to be sure, the
gentleman’s muse wears Methodist shoes; you may know by her
pace, and talk about grace, that she and her bard, have little regard,
for the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoidening play,
of the modern day: and though she assume a borrowed plume, and
now and then wear a tittering air, ’tis only her plan, to catch if she
can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production, on a
new construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap, all that
may come, with a sugar plum.”—This opinion in this will not be
amiss: ’tis what I intend, my principal end; and if I succeed, and
folks should read, till a few are brought, to a serious thought, I
should think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done,
though I have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as far from hence,
to the end of my sense, and by hook or crook, write another book, if
I live and am here, another year.
I have heard before, of a room with a floor, laid upon springs,
and such like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you
went in, you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a
grace, swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in
a figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing. And now
I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and as you
advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing away,
alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned; which
that you may do, ere madam and you are quite worn out, with
jigging about, I take my leave, and here you receive a bow
profound, down to the ground, from your humble me—
W. C.

When prevented by rains and floods from visiting the lady who
suggested “The Task,” Cowper beguiled the time by writing to her
the following lines, and afterwards printing them with his own hand.
He sent a copy of these verses, so printed, to his sister,
accompanied by the subjoined note written upon his typographical
labours.
To watch the storms, and hear the sky
Give all the almanacks the lie;
To shake with cold, and see the plains
In autumn drown’d with wintry rains:
’Tis thus I spend my moments here,
And wish myself a Dutch mynheer;
I then should have no need of wit,
For lumpish Hollander unfit;
Nor should I then repine at mud,
Or meadows delug’d with a flood;
But in a bog live well content,
And find it just my element;
Should be a clod, and not a man,
Nor wish in vain for sister Anne,
With charitable aid to drag
My mind out of its proper quag;
Should have the genius of a boor,
And no ambition to have more.
My dear Sister,—You see my beginning; I do not know but in time
I may proceed to the printing of halfpenny ballads. Excuse the
coarseness of my paper; I wasted so much before I could
accomplish any thing legible, that I could not afford finer. I intend to
employ an ingenious mechanic of this town to make me a longer
case, for you may observe that my lines turn up their tails like Dutch
mastiffs; so difficult do I find it to make the two halves exactly
coincide with each other.
We wait with impatience for the departure of this unseasonable
flood. We think of you, and talk of you; but we can do no more till
the waters subside. I do not think our correspondence should drop
because we are within a mile of each other; it is but an imaginary
approximation, the flood having in reality as effectually parted us, as
if the British Channel rolled between us.
Yours, my dear sister, with Mrs. U.’s best love,
William Cowper.
Monday, Aug. 12, 1782.

[217] Suggested by a picture in the possession of Charles Aders, Esq.

Euston-square, in which is represented the Legend of a poor female Saint,
who, having spun past midnight to maintain a bed-rid mother, has fallen
asleep from fatigue, and Angels are finishing her work. In another part of
the chamber, an Angel is tending a lily, the emblem of her purity.

HIGHLAND DEER AND SHEEP.

“The last Deer of Beann Doran.”

A note to a poem, with this title, by John Hay Allan, Esq., relates,
that in former times the barony of Glen Urcha was celebrated for the
number and the superior race of its deer. When the chieftains
relinquished their ancient character and their ancient sports, and
sheep were introduced into the country, the want of protection, and
the antipathy of the deer to the intruding animals, gradually expelled
the former from the face of the country, and obliged them to retire
to the most remote recesses of the mountains. Contracted in their
haunts from corrai to corrai, the deer of Glen Urcha at length wholly
confined themselves to Beann Doran, a mountain near the solitary
wilds of Glen Lyon, and the vast and desolate mosses which stretch
from the Black Mount to Loch Ranach. In this retreat they continued
for several years; their dwelling was in a lonely corrai at the back of
the hill, and they were never seen in the surrounding country, except
in the deepest severity of winter, when, forced by hunger and the
snow, a straggler ventured down into the straiths. But the hostility
which had banished them from their ancient range, did not respect
their last retreat. The sheep continually encroached upon their
bounds, and contracted their resources of subsistence. Deprived of
the protection of the laird, those which ventured from their haunt
were cut off without mercy or fair chase; while want of range, and
the inroads of poachers, continually diminished their numbers, till at
length the race became extinct.
About the time of the disappearance of the deer from these
wilds, an immense stag was one evening seen standing upon the
side of Beann Donachan. He remained for some time quietly gazing
towards the lake, and at length slowly descended the hill, and was
crossing the road at Stronnmilchon, when he was discovered by
some herdsmen of the hamlet. They immediately pursued him with
their cooleys; and the alarm being given, the whole straith, men,
women, and children, gathered out to the pursuit. The noble animal
held them a severe chase till, as he passed through the copse on the
north side of Blairachuran, his antlers were entangled in the boughs,
he was overtaken by the pursuers, and barbarously slaughtered by
the united onset, and assault of dogs, hay-forks, and “Sgian an
Dubh.” When divided, he proved but a poor reward for the fatigue;
for he was so old, that his flesh was scarcely eatable. From that time
the deer were seen no more in Beann Doran; and none now appear
in Glen Urcha, except when, in a hard winter, a solitary stag wanders
out of the forest of Dalness, and passes down Glen Strae or Corrai
Fhuar.
The same cause which had extirpated the deer from Glen Urcha
has equally acted in most part of the Highlands. Wherever the sheep
appear, their numbers begin to decrease, and at length they become
totally extinct. The reasons of this apparently singular consequence
is, the closeness with which the sheep feed, and which, where they
abound, so consumes the pasturage, as not to leave sufficient for
the deer: still more is it owing to the unconquerable antipathy which
these animals have for the former. This dislike is so great, that they
cannot endure the smell of their wool, and never mix with them in
the most remote situations, or where there is the most ample
pasturage for both. They have no abhorrence of this kind to cattle,
but, where large herds of these are kept, will feed and lie among the
stirks and steers with the greatest familiarity.

HIGHLAND MEALS.
Among the peculiarities of highland manners is an avowed
contempt for the luxuries of the table. A highland hunter will eat
with a keen appetite and sufficient discrimination: but, were he to
stop in any pursuit, because it was meal time, to growl over a bad
dinner, or visibly exult over a good one, the manly dignity of his
character would be considered as fallen for ever.[218]

[218] Mrs. Grant.

TREAD MILLS.
At Lewes, each prisoner walks at the rate of 6,600 feet in ascent
per day; at Ipswich, 7,450; at St. Alban’s, 8,000; at Bury, 8,650; at
Cambridge, 10,176; at Durham, 12,000; at Brixton, Guildford, and
Reading, the summer rate exceeds 13,000; while at Warwick, the
summer rate is about 17,000 feet in ten hours.[219]

[219] The Times.

Extraordinary
ORAN-OUTANG,
The Wild Man of the Woods.

The largest and most remarkable oran-outang ever seen by

Europeans, was discovered by an officer of the ship Mary Anne
Sophia, in the year 1824, at a place called Ramboon, near
Touromon, on the west coast of Sumatra.
When the officer alluded to first saw the animal, he assembled
his people, and followed him to a tree in a cultivated spot, on which
he took refuge. His walk was erect and waddling, but not quick, and
he was obliged occasionally to accelerate his motion with his hands;
but with a bough which he carried, he impelled himself forward with
great rapidity. When he reached the trees his strength was shown in
a high degree, for with one spring he gained a very lofty branch, and
bounded from it with the ease of the smaller animals of his kind.
Had the circumjacent land been covered with wood, he would
certainly have escaped from his pursuers, for his mode of travelling
by bough or tree was as rapid as the progress of a very fleet horse:
but at Ramboon there are but few trees left in the midst of
cultivated fields, and amongst these alone he jumped about to avoid
being taken. He was first shot on a tree, and after having received
five balls, his exertion was relaxed, owing, no doubt, to loss of
blood; and the ammunition having been by that time expended, his
pursuers were obliged to have recourse to other measures for his
destruction. One of the first balls probably penetrated his lungs, for
immediately after the infliction of the wound, he slung himself by his
feet from a branch with his head downwards, and allowed the blood
to flow from his mouth. On receiving a wound, he always put his
hand over the injured part, and the human-like agony of his
expression had the natural effect of exciting painful feelings in his
assailants. The peasantry seemed as amazed at the sight of him as
the crew of the ship; for they had never seen one before, although
living within two days’ journey from the vast and impenetrable
forests on the island. They cut down the tree on which he was
reclining exhausted; but the moment he found it falling, he exerted
his remaining strength, and gained another, and then a third, until
he was finally brought to the ground, and forced to combat his
unrelenting foes, who now gathered very thickly round, and
discharged spears and other missiles against him. The first spear,
made of a very strong supple wood, which would have resisted the
strength of the strongest man, was broken by him like a carrot; and
had he not been in almost a dying state, it was feared that he would
have severed the heads of some of the party with equal ease. He
fell, at length, under innumerable stabs inflicted by the peasantry.
The animal is supposed to have travelled some distance from the
place where he was killed, as his legs were covered with mud up to
the knees. His hands and feet had great analogy to human hands
and feet, only that the thumbs were smaller in proportion, and
situated nearer the wrist-joint. His body was well proportioned; he
had a fine broad expanded chest and a narrow waist; but his legs
were rather short, and his arms very long, though both possessed
such sinew and muscle as left no doubt of their strength. His head
was well proportioned with his body, and the nose prominent; the
eyes were large, and the mouth larger than the mouth in man. His
chin was fringed, from the extremity of one ear to the other, with a
shaggy beard, curling luxuriantly on each side, and forming
altogether an ornamental, rather than a frightful appendage to his
visage. When he was first killed, the hair of his coat was smooth and
glossy, and his teeth and whole appearance indicated that he was
young, and in the full possession of his physical powers. He was
nearly eight feet high.
The skin and fragments of this surprising oran-outang were
presented to the Asiatic Society at Calcutta; and on the 5th of
January, 1825, Dr. Abel examined them, and read the observations
he had made. The height already mentioned is according to the
estimate of those who saw the animal alive, but the measurement of
the skin went far to determine this question. The skin, dried and
shrivelled as it was, in a straight line from the top of the shoulder to
the point whence the ancle had been removed, measured five feet
ten inches; the perpendicular length of the neck in the preparation,
was three inches and a half; the length of the face, from the
forehead to the chin, nine inches; and of the skin attached to the
foot, from the line of its separation from the body to the heel, eight
inches. The measurements were made by Dr. Abel himself. Thus we
have one foot eight inches and a half to be added to the five feet
ten inches, in order to approximate his real stature, which would
make seven feet six inches and a half; and allowing the six inches
and a half for the shortening that would result from the folding of
the skin over the shoulders, the height would then be full seven feet.
This is the greatest ascertained height of any tail-less monkey
mentioned in the several notices which Dr. Abel collected from
different writers on man-like apes.
The skin itself was of a dark leaden colour; the hair a brownish
red, shaggy, and long over the shoulders and flanks.
Dr. Abel remarked, that of the small animals more particularly
known in Europe, under the designation of oran-outang, one was an
inhabitant of Africa, and the other of the east. Several living
specimens of both have been seen in Europe, but all were of small
stature, and very young, never exceeding three feet in height, or as
many years of age. These animals were long considered as varieties
of the same species, although in point of fact they are very distinctly
separated by external character and anatomical distinctions. The
African animal being always black with large ears, the eastern
specimens as invariably having reddish brown hair, and very small
ears; the former also are unprovided with the sacs communicating
with the windpipe, which are always found in the latter.[220]
Different naturalists have deemed the oran-outang to be the
connecting link between the brute and the human being.

[220] Calcutta Government Gazette, Jan. 13, 1825.

A LITTLE LEARNING
— “not a dangerous thing.”
Mr. Thomas Campbell having been chosen lord rector of the
university of Glasgow, made his inaugural speech on the 12th of
April, 1827, wherein are the following estimable remarks on
desultory attainments:—
“In comparing small learned acquisitions with none at all, it
appears to me to be equally absurd to consider a little learning
valueless, or even dangerous, as some will have it, as to talk of a
little virtue, a little wealth, or health, or cheerfulness, or a little of
any other blessing under heaven, being worthless or dangerous.
“To abjure any degree of information, because we cannot grasp
the whole circle of the sciences, or sound the depths of erudition,
appears to be just about as sensible as if we were to shut up our
windows because they are too narrow, or because the glass has not
the magnifying power of a telescope.
“For the smallest quantity of knowledge that a man can acquire,
he is bound to be contentedly thankful, provided his fate shuts him
out from the power of acquiring a larger portion—but whilst the
possibility of farther advancement remains, be as proudly
discontented as ye will with a little learning. For the value of
knowledge is like that of a diamond, it increases according to its
magnitude, even in much more than a geometrical ratio.—One
science and literary pursuit throws light upon another, and there is a
connection, as Cicero remarks, among them all—
“‘Omnes Artes, quæ ad humanitatem pertinent, habent quoddam
commune vinculum, et quasi cognatione quadam inter se
continentur.’
“No doubt a man ought to devote himself, in the main, to one
department of knowledge, but still he will be all the better for
making himself acquainted with studies which are kindred to and
with that pursuit.—The principle of the extreme division of labour, so
useful in a pin manufactory, if introduced into learning, may
produce, indeed, some minute and particular improvements, but, on
the whole, it tends to cramp human intellect.
“That the mind may, and especially in early youth, be easily
distracted by too many pursuits, must be readily admitted. But I now
beg leave to consider myself addressing those among you, who are
conscious of great ambition, and of many faculties; and what I say,
may regard rather the studies of your future than of your present
years.
“To embrace different pursuits, diametrically opposite, in the wide
circle of human knowledge, must be pronounced to be almost
universally impossible for a single mind.—But I cannot believe that
any strong mind weakens its strength, in any one branch of learning,
by diverging into cognate studies; on the contrary, I believe that it
will return home to the main object, bringing back illustrative
treasures from all its excursions into collateral pursuits.”

FIGURES, AND NUMBERS.

Respecting the origin of the numeral figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8,
9, there are various opinions, but the one most generally received is,
that they were brought into Europe from Spain; that the Spaniards
received them from the Moors, the Moors from the Arabians, and the
Arabians from the Indians.
Bishop Huet, however, thinks it improbable that the Arabians
received figures from the Indians, but, on the contrary, that the
Indians obtained them from the Arabians, and the Arabians from the
Grecians; from whom, in fact, they acquired a knowledge of every
science they possessed. The shape of the figures they received
underwent a great alteration; yet if we examine them, divested of
prejudice, we shall find very manifest traces of the Grecian figures,
which were nothing more than letters of their alphabet.
A small comma, or dot, was their mark for units.
The letter β (b) if its two extremities are erased, produces the
figure 2.
If we form the letter γ (g) with more inclination to the left than
usual, shorten the foot, and give some rotundity to the left horns
near the left side, we shall make the figure 3.
The letter Δ (D) is the figure 4, as we should find on giving the
left leg a perpendicular form, and lengthening it below the base,
which also should be enlarged towards the left.
From the ε (e short) is formed the 5, by only bringing towards
the right side the demicircle which is beneath inclining to the left.
From the figure 5 they made the 6, by leaving out the foot, and
rounding the body.
Of the Ζ (Z) they make the 7, by leaving out the base.
 If we turn the four corners of the Η (e long) towards the inside,
we shall make the figure 8.
The ϑ (th) was the figure 9 without any alteration.
The nought was only a point which they added to their figures, to
make them ten times more; it was necessary that this point should
be made very distinctly, to which end they formed it like a circle, and
filled it up; this method we have neglected.
Theophanus, the Eastern chronologist, says in express terms,
that the Arabians had retained the Grecian numbers, not having
sufficient characters in their own language to mark them.
Menage says, they were first employed in Europe in 1240, in the
Alphonsian Tables, made under the direction of Alphonso, son to
king Ferdinand of Castile, by Isaac Hazan, a Jew of Toledo, and Abel
Ragel, an Arabian. Dr. Wallis conceives they were generally used in
England about the year 1130.
In the indexes of some old French books these figures are called
Arabic ciphers, to distinguish them from Roman numerals.
NUMBER X, 10.
It is observed by Huet as a remarkable circumstance, that for
calculation and numerical increase the number 10 is always used,
and that decimal progression is preferred to every other. The cause
of this preference arises from the number of our fingers, upon which
men accustom themselves to reckon from their infancy. First, they
count the units on their fingers, and when the units exceed that
number, they have recourse to another ten. If the number of tens
increase, they still reckon on their fingers; and if they surpass that
number, they then commence a different species of calculation by
the same agents; as thus—reckoning each finger for tens, then for
hundreds, thousands, &c.
From this mode of reckoning by the fingers then, we have been
led to prefer the number ten, though it is not so convenient and
useful a number as twelve. Ten can only be divided by two and five,
but twelve can be divided by two, three, four, and six.
 The Roman numbers are adduced in proof of the origin of
reckoning by the number ten, viz.—
The units are marked by the letter I, which represent a finger.
The number five is marked by the letter V, which represents the
first and last finger of a hand.
Ten, by an X, which is two V’s joined at their points, and which
two V’s represent the two hands.
Five tens are marked by an L; that is half the letter E, which is
the same as C, the mark for a hundred.
Five hundred is marked by a D, half of the letter Φ, which is the
same as M, the mark for a thousand.
According to this, the calculation of the Roman numbers was
from five to five, that is, from one hand to the other. Ovid makes
mention of this mode, as also of the number ten:—
“Hic numeris magno tunc in honore fuit.
Seu quia tot digiti per quos numerare solemnus,
Seu quia bis quino femina mense parit.
Seu quod ad usque decem numero crescente venitur:
Principium spatiis sumitur inde novis.”
Vitruvius also makes the same remark; he says, “Ex manibus
denarius digitorum numerus.”
We have refined, however, upon the convenience which nature
has furnished us with to assist us in our calculations; for we not only
use our fingers, but likewise various figures, which we place in
different situations, and combine in certain ways, to express our
ideas.

Many unlettered nations, as the inhabitants of Guinea,

Madagascar, and of the interior parts of America, know not how to
count farther than ten. The Brasilians, and several others, cannot
reckon beyond five; they multiply that number to express a greater,
and in their calculations they use their fingers and toes. The natives
of Peru use decimal progression; they count from one to ten; by
tens to a hundred; and by hundreds to a thousand. Plutarch says,
that decimal progression was not only used among the Grecians, but
also by every uncivilized nation.
 Omniana.
FOX, THE QUAKER.
This individual, many years deceased, was a most remarkable
man in his circle; a great natural genius, which employed itself upon
trivial or not generally interesting matters. He deserved to have been
known better than he was. The last years of his life he resided at
Bristol. He was a great Persian scholar, and published some
translations of the poets of that nation, which were well worthy
perusal. He was self-taught, and had patience and perseverance for
any thing. He was somewhat eccentric, but had the quickest
reasoning power, and consequently the greatest coolness, of any
man of his day, who was able to reason. His house took fire in the
night; it was situated near the sea; it was uninsured, and the flames
spread so rapidly nothing could be saved. He saw the consequences
instantly, made up his mind to them as rapidly, and ascending a hill
at some distance in the rear of his dwelling, watched the picture and
the reflection of the flames on the sea, admiring its beauties, as if it
were a holiday bonfire.

DIVING-BELLS.
The first diving-bell we read of was nothing but a very large
kettle, suspended by ropes, with the mouth downwards, and planks
to sit on fixed in the middle of its concavity. Two Greeks at Toledo, in
1588, made an experiment with it before the emperor Charles V.
They descended in it, with a lighted candle, to a considerable depth.
In 1683, William Phipps, the son of a blacksmith, formed a project
for unloading a rich Spanish ship sunk on the coast of Hispaniola.
Charles II. gave him a ship with every thing necessary for his
undertaking; but being unsuccessful, he returned in great poverty.
He then endeavoured to procure another vessel, but failing, he got a
subscription, to which the duke of Albemarle contributed. In 1687,
Phipps set sail in a ship of two hundred tons, having previously
engaged to divide the profits according to the twenty shares of
which the subscription consisted. At first all his labours proved
fruitless; but at last, when he seemed almost to despair, he was
fortunate enough to bring up so much treasure, that he returned to
England with the value of 200,000l. sterling. Of this sum he got
about 20,000l., and the duke 90,000l. Phipps was knighted by the
king, and laid the foundation of the fortunes of the present noble
house of Mulgrave. Since that time diving-bells have been often
employed. On occasion of the breaking in of the water of the
Thames during the progress of the tunnel under the Thames, Mr.
Brunel frequently descended in one to the bed of the river.

GAMING.

—“The ruling passion strong in death.”

In “Arliquiniana” avarice, and love of gaming, are exemplified by
the following anecdote:—
A French woman, who resided on her estate in the country,
falling ill, sent to the village curate, and offered to play with him.
The curate being used to gaming, gladly entertained the proposal,
and they played together till he lost all his money. She then offered
to play with him for the expenses of her funeral, in case she should
die. They played, and the curate losing these also, she obliged him
to give her his note of hand for so much money lent, as her funeral
expenses would amount to. She delivered the note to her son, and
died within eight or ten days afterwards, and the curate was paid his
fees in his own note of hand.

THE TANNER.
An Epigram.
 A Bermondsey tanner would often engage,
In a long tête-à-tête with his dame,
While trotting to town in the Kennington stage,
About giving their villa a name.
A neighbour, thus hearing the skin-dresser talk,
Stole out, half an hour after dark,
Pick’d up in the roadway a fragment of chalk,
And wrote on the palings—“Hide Park!”[221]

FRIENDSHIP ON THE NAIL.

When Marigny contracted a friendship with Menage, he told him
he was “upon his nail.” It was a method he had of speaking of all his
friends; he also used it in his letters; one which he wrote to Menage
begins thus: “Oh! illustrious of my nail.”
When Marigny said, “you are upon my nail,” he meant two things
—one, that the person was always present, nothing being more easy
than to look at his nail; the other was, that good and real friends
were so scarce, that even he who had the most, might write their
names on his nail.

[221] New Monthly Magazine.

Notice
TO THE CHANCE CUSTOMERS

OF THE

COMPANY OF FLYING STATIONERS.

Formerly there was a numerous class who believed every thing

they saw in print. It is just possible that a few of these persuadable
persons may survive; I therefore venture to remark, that my name
printed on the squibs now crying about the streets is a forgery.
 W. HONE.
June 8, 1827.
Vol. I.—25.
Beckenham Church, Kent.

Beckenham Church, Kent.

The parish of Beckenham lends its name to the hundred, which is
in the lath of Sutton-at-Hone. It is ten miles from London, two miles
north from Bromley, and, according to the last census, contains 196
houses and 1180 inhabitants. The living is a rectory valued in the
king’s books at 6l. 18s. 9d. The church is dedicated to St. George.
 —Beyond “Chaffinch’s River” there is an enticing field-path to
Beckenham, but occasional sights of noble trees kept us along the
high road, till the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer signalled that we
were close upon the village. We wound through it at a slow pace,
vainly longing for something to realize the expectations raised by the
prospect of it on our way.
Beckenham consists of two or three old farm-like looking houses,
rudely encroached upon by a number of irregularly built dwellings,
and a couple of inns; one of them of so much apparent
consequence, as to dignify the place. We soon came to an edifice
which, by its publicity, startles the feelings of the passenger in this,
as in almost every other parish, and has perhaps greater tendency
to harden than reform the rustic offender—the “cage,” with its
accessory, the “pound.” An angular turn in the road, from these
lodgings for men and cattle when they go astray, afforded us a
sudden and delightful view of
“The decent church that tops the neighb’ring hill.”
On the right, an old, broad, high wall, flanked with thick buttresses,
and belted with magnificent trees, climbs the steep, to enclose the
domain of I know not whom; on the opposite side, the branches,
from a plantation, arch beyond the footpath. At the summit of the
ascent is the village church with its whitened spire, crowning and
pinnacl’ing this pleasant grove, pointing from amidst the graves—like
man’s last only hope—towards heaven.
This village spire is degradingly noticed in “An accurate
Description of Bromley and Five Miles round, by Thomas Wilson,
1797.” He says, “An extraordinary circumstance happened here near
Christmas, 1791; the steeple of this church was destroyed by
lightning, but a new one was put up in 1796, made of copper, in the
form of an extinguisher.” The old spire, built of shingles, was fired on
the morning of the 23d of December, in the year seventeen hundred
and ninety, in a dreadful storm. One of the effects of it in London I
perfectly remember:—the copper roofing of the new “Stone
Buildings” in Lincoln’s Inn was stripped off by the wind, and violently
carried over the opposite range of high buildings, the Six Clerks’