Born: Germain de Saint
Foix, 1703, Rennes.
Died: William Lilly,
master of St. Paul's School, London, 1523; Robert
Earl of Essex, beheaded, 1600; Count Wallenstein,
commander, assassinated, 1634, Eger; Frederick I (of
Prussia), 1713; Sir Christopher Wren, architect, 1723,
St. James's; Dr. William Buchan, 1805, St. Pancras;
George Don, naturalist, 1856.
Feast Day: St.
Victorinus, and six companions, martyrs, 284. St.
Caesarius, physician of Constantinople, 369. St.
Walbarge, virgin, of England, 779. St. Tarasius,
patriarch of Constantinople, 806.
WILLIAM LILY, THE
GRAMMARIAN
This famous schoolmaster, the
friend of Erasmus and Sir Thomas
More, was born at Odiham, Hants, about 1468; he was educated at Oxford
University, and then travelled to the East, to acquire
a knowledge of the Greek language. On his return to
England he set up a private grammar-school, and was
the first teacher of Greek in the metropolis. In 1512,
Dean Colet, who had just founded. St. Paul's School,
appointed Lily the first master. In the following year
he produced his Grammar, which has probably passed
through more editions than any work of its kind, and
is used to this day in St. Paul's School; the English
rudiments were written by Colet, and the preface to
the first edition by
Cardinal Wolsey; the Latin
syntax
chiefly by Erasmus; and the remainder by Lily; the
book being thus the joint production of four of the
greatest scholars of the age. Lily held the mastership
of St. Paul's School for nearly twelve years; he died
of the plague in London, and was buried in the north
churchyard of St. Paul's, within bow-shot of the
school to whose early celebrity he had so essentially
contributed.
COUNT WALLENSTEIN
There is scarcely a personage
in history of more awe striking character than Count Wallenstein, the commander
of the Emperor's armies in
that struggle with Protestantism, the Thirty Years'
War.
Born of high rank in 1583,
Wallenstein found himself at forty chief of the
imperial armies, and the possessor of immense wealth.
Concentrating a powerful mind on one object, the
gratification of his ambition, he attained it to a
remarkable degree, and was for some time beyond doubt
the greatest subject in Europe. In managing troops by
a merciless discipline, in making rapid marches, in
the fiery energy of his attacks upon the enemy, he was
unrivalled. In but one battle, that of Lutzen, where
he met the Protestant army under Gustavus of Sweden,
was he unsuccessful.
The personality and habits of
the man have been strikingly described by Michiels in
his History of the Austrian Government.
'Wallenstein's
immense riches, his profound reserve, and theatrical
manners, were the principal means he employed to exalt
the imagination of the masses. He always appeared in
public surrounded by extraordinary pomp, and allowed
all those attached to his house to share in his
luxury. His officers lived sumptuously at his table,
where never less than one hundred dishes were served.
As he rewarded with excessive liberality, not only the
multitude but the greatest personages were dazzled by
this Asiatic splendour. Six gates gave entrance to his
palace at Prague, to make room for which he had pulled
down one hundred houses. Similar chateaux were erected
by his orders on all his numerous estates. Twenty-four
chamberlains, sprung from the most noble families,
disputed the honour of serving him, and some sent back
the golden key, emblem of their grade, to the Emperor,
in order that they might wait on Wallenstein.
He
educated sixty pages, dressed in blue velvet and gold,
to whom he gave the first masters; fifty truants
guarded his ante-chamber night and day; six barons and
the same number of chevaliers were constantly within
call to bear his orders. His ma�tre-d'h�tel was a
person of distinction. A thousand persons usually
formed his household, and about one thousand horses
filled his stables, where they fed from marble
mangers. When he set out on his travels, a hundred
carriages, drawn by four or six horses, convoyed his
servants and baggage; sixty carriages and fifty led
horses carried the people of his suite; ten trumpeters
with silver bugles preceded the procession. The
richness of his liveries, the pomp of his equipages,
and the decoration of his apartments, were in harmony
with all the rest. In a hall of his palace at Prague
he had himself painted in a triumphal car, with a
wreath of laurels round his head, and a star above
him.
Wallenstein's appearance was
enough in itself to inspire fear and respect. His tall
thin figure, his haughty attitude, the stern
expression of his pale face, his wide forehead, that
seemed formed to command, his black hair, close-shorn
and harsh, his little dark eyes, in which the flame of
authority shone, his haughty and suspicious look, his
thick moustaches and tufted beard, produced, at the
first glance, a startling sensation. His usual dress
consisted of a justaucorps of elk skin, covered by a
white doublet and cloak; round his neck he wore a
Spanish ruff; in his hat fluttered a large red plume,
while scarlet pantaloons and boots of Cordova leather,
carefully padded on account of the gout, completed his
ordinary attire. While his army devoted itself to
pleasure, the deepest silence reigned around the
general. He could not endure the rumbling of carts,
loud conversations, or even simple sounds.
One of his
chamberlains was hanged for waking him without orders,
and an officer secretly put to death because his spurs
had clanked when he came to the general. His servants
glided about the rooms like phantoms, and a dozen
patrols incessantly moved round his tent or palace to
maintain perpetual tranquillity. Chains were also
stretched across the streets, in order to guard him
against any sound. Wallenstein was ever absorbed in
himself, ever engaged with his plans and designs. He
was never seen to smile, and his pride rendered him
inaccessible to sensual pleasures. His only fanaticism
was ambition. This strange chief meditated and acted
incessantly, only taking counsel of himself, and
disdaining strange advice and inspirations. When he
gave any orders or explanations, he could not bear to
be looked at curiously; when he crossed the camp, the
soldiers were obliged to pretend that they did not see
him. Yet they experienced an involuntary shudder when
they saw him pass like a super-natural being. There
was something about him mysterious, solemn, and
awe-inspiring. He walked alone, surrounded by this
magic influence, like a saddening halo.'
The end of Wallenstein was
such as might have been anticipated. Becoming too
formidable for a subject, he was denounced to the
Emperor by Piccolomini, who obtained a commission to
take the great general dead or alive. On the 25th of
February 1634, he was assailed in the Castle of Eger
by a band, in which were included one Gordon, a
Scotsman, and one Butler, an Irishman, and fell under
a single stroke of a partizan, dying in proud silence,
as he had lived.
DEATH OF SR
CHRISTOPHER WREN
Wren's long and useful life,
although protracted by activity and temperance much
beyond the usual term of man's existence, was brought
to a close by an accident. After his dismissal from
the office of Surveyor-General, he occupied a town
residence in St. James's-street, Piccadilly, and
continued to superintend the repairs of Westminster
Abbey. He also rented from the Crown a house at
Hampton Court, where he often retired, and there he
passed the greater part of the last five years of his
life in study and contemplation. On his last journey
from Hampton Court to London, he contracted a cold,
which accelerated his death. The good old man had, in
his latter days, accustomed himself to sleep a short
time after his dinner, and on the 25th of February
1723, his servant, thinking his master had slept
longer than usual, went into his room, and found him
dead in his chair. He was in his ninety-first year.
The funeral of Wren was
attended by an assemblage of honourable and
distinguished personages, from his house in St.
James's-street to St. Paul's Cathedral, where his
remains were deposited in the crypt, adjoining to
others of his family, in the recess of the
south-eastern window, under the choir. His grave is
covered with a black marble slab, with a short
inscription in English; and on the western jamb of the
window recess is a handsome tablet, with a Latin
inscription written by the architect's son,
Christopher, in which are the words, 'Lector, si
monumentum quaeris, circumspice,' which.
instruction, to 'look around,' has led to the
conclusion that the tablet was intended for the body
of the cathedral, where the public might read it. It
is understood that the malice of the commissioners for
rebuilding St. Paul's pursued Wren beyond the grave,
and condemned the explanatory epitaph to the crypt,
where it could be read but by comparatively few
persons. Many years afterwards, Mr. Robert Mylne,
architect, had a copy of the inscription placed over
the marble screen to the choir, which has since been
removed.
Wren adorned London with no
fewer than forty public buildings, but was the worst
paid architect of whom we have any record: his annual
salary as architect of St. Paul's was �200; and his pay
for rebuilding the churches in the city was only �100
a year.
DR.
BUCHAN AND HIS 'DOMESTIC MEDICINE'
Who has not heard of
Buchan's Domestic Medicine, the medical Mentor,
'the guide, philosopher, and friend' of past
generations, and scarcely yet superseded by Graham and
Macaulay? This book, bearing on its title-page the
epigraph, 'The knowledge of a disease is half its
cure,' a sort of temptation to the reading of medical
books in general, first appeared in 1769: it speedily
obtained popularity by the plain and familiar style in
which it is written; and no less than nineteen
editions of the book, amounting to 80,000 copies, were
sold during the author's life-time.
Dr. Buchan, who was born in
Roxburghshire, in 1729, long enjoyed a good London
practice as a physician. He lived many years at the
house of his son, Dr Alexander Buchan, No. 6,
Percy-street, Bedford-square; and there he died, at
the age of seventy-six: he was buried in the west
cloister of Westminster Abbey church.
It was Buchan's practice to
see patients at the Chapter Coffee-house, in
Paternoster-row, where he usually might be found in
'the Wittenagemot,' a box in the north-east corner of
the coffee-room. Though he was a high Tory, he heard
the political discussions of the place with good
humour, and commonly acted as a moderator, an office
for which his fine physiognomy, and his venerable
white hairs, highly qualified him. His son belonged to
the same club or set, and though somewhat dogmatical,
added to the variety and intelligence of the
discussions, which, from the mixture of the company,
were as various as the contents of a newspaper.
Of this same Wittenagemot Dr.
George Fordyce and Dr.
Gower were also members; and it
was very amusing to hear them in familiar chat with Dr.
Buchan. On subjects of medicine they seldom agreed,
and when such were started, they generally laughed at
one another's opinions. They liberally patronised
Chapter punch, which always bore a high reputation in
London. If any one complained of being indisposed,
Buchan would exclaim:
'Now, let me prescribe for you. Here, John or Isaac, bring
a glass of punch for Mr �, unless he likes brandy-and-water better. Take that,
sir, and I'll warrant you'll soon be well�you're a peg too low, you want
stimulus; and if one glass won't do,
call for a second.'
The Domestic Medicine
was written in Sheffield; and
James Montgomery, in
his Memoirs, relates the following particulars
of the author:
'I remember seeing the old gentleman
when I first went to London. He was of venerable
aspect, neat in his dress, his hair tied behind with a
large black ribbon, and a gold-headed cane in his
hand, quite realizing my idea of an Esculapian
dignitary.' Montgomery acknowledges that he never
spoke to the Doctor, as he was quite out of his reach;
but he looked upon him with respect, as a man who had
published a book. In one of the Scottish editions of
Buchan, there was an astounding misprint, in which a
prescription containing one hundred ounces of
laudanum, instead of that number of drops, is
recommended.'
In no other science does
Pope's maxim that 'a little learning is a dangerous thing ' hold so strongly as
in medicine; for those who read medical works, professing to be popular, are
almost certain to suppose themselves affected with every disease about which
they read. They forthwith take alarm at
the probable consequences, and having some lurking suspicion that they may have
mistaken the symptoms, they follow the prescriptions laid down in their book in
secret, lest they should bring themselves into open ridicule.
Goalie shrewdly remarks:
'He who studies his body too much becomes diseased �his
mind, becomes mad'
and there is an old Italian epitaph which, with a little
amendment, would run thus:
'I was well�I wished to be better�read medical books�took
medicine�and died.'
INVASION PANIC
Towards the close of February
1744, the threatened invasion of England by the
French, accompanied by the young Pretender, caused
a
general alarm throughout the kingdom, and all Roman
Catholics were prohibited from appearing within ten
miles of London. We had then three ships in the Downs;
but the landing was expected to be in Essex or
Suffolk. Walpole writes from
the House of Commons,
February 16th:
'We have come nearer to a crisis than I
expected! After the various reports about the Brest
squadron, it has proved that they are sixteen ships of
the line off Torbay; in all probability to draw our
fleet from Dunkirk, where they have two men-of-war,
and sixteen large Indiamen to transport eight thousand
foot and two thousand horse which are there in the
town. There has been some difficulty to persuade the
people of the imminence of our danger; but yesterday
the King sent a message to both Houses to acquaint us
that he has certain information of the young Pretender
being in France, and of the designed invasion from
thence, in concert with the disaffected here.'
Immediately addresses were moved to assure the King of
standing by him with lives and fortunes. All the
troops were sent for, in the greatest haste, to
London; and an express to Holland to demand six
thousand men. On the 23
rd
, Walpole writes:
'There is
no doubt of the invasion: the young Pretender is at
Calais, and the Count de Saxe is to command the
embarkation. Sir
John Norris was to sail yesterday to Dunkirk, to
try to burn their transports; we are in the utmost
expectation of the news. The Brest squadron was
yesterday on the coast of Sussex.'
On the 25th of
February, the English Channel fleet under Sir
John Norris came within a
league of the Brest squadron. Walpole says the coasts
were covered with people to see the engagement; but at
seven in the evening the wind changed, and the French
fleet escaped. A violent storm shattered and wrecked
the transports, and the expedition was glad to put
back to Dunkirk. The dread of the invasion was then at
an end.
With regard to the
disaffected' mentioned in the King's message, Mr. P.
Yorke notes in his Parliamentary Journal:
'1744,
February 13. Talking upon this subject with Horace
Walpole, he told me confidently that Admiral Matthews
intercepted last summer a felucca in her passage from
Toulon to Genoa, on board of which were found several
papers of great consequence, relating to a French
invasion in concert with the Jacobites; one of them particularly was in the
style of an invitation from several of the nobility and gentry of England to
the Pretender. These papers, he thought, had not been sufficiently
looked into, and were not laid before the
cabinet council until the night before the message was sent to both Houses.'
The invasion designed in 1744 did not take place, but in the
next year the young Pretender, as is well known, came with only seven men, and
nearly overturned the government.
TIME�DAY�AND NIGHT
BY GEOFFREY WHITNEY, 1589
Two horses
free, a third doth swiftly chase,
The one is white, the other black of hue;
None bridles have for to restrain their pace,
And thus they both the other still pursue;
And never cease continual course to make,
Until at length the first they overtake.
The foremost horse that runs so fast away,
It is our time, while here our race we rim;
The black and white presenteth night and day,
Who after haste, until the goal be won;
And leave us not, but follow from our birth,
Until we yield, and turn again to earth.
February 26th
