that forty were demanded, for a like article, in a village, not far off; and inquired if the article was scarce; “no,” was the reply, “but cowries are very plenty.”
Our adventurers intend to remain, perhaps, only till they obtain a competency. Even that is not the work of a day; and will be longer, or shorter, in the ratio of the consumption of means, for daily support, during the operation. There will, doubtless, be some difference also, as to the meaning of the word competency. An intelligent merchant, of this city, once defined it to mean a little more, in every individual’s opinion, than he hath. Like the lock of hay, which Miss Edgeworth says is attached to the extremity of the pole, and which is ever just so far in advance of the hungry horses, in an Irish jaunting car, so competency seems to be forever leading us onward, yet is never fairly within our grasp.
John Graunt, of whom a good account may be found in Bayle, says, that, if the art of making gold were known, and put extensively in practice, it would raise the value of silver. Of course it would, and of everything else, so far as the quantity of gold, given in exchange for any article, is the representative of value. As gold becomes plenty, it will be employed for other uses, sauce-pans perhaps, as well as for the increase of the circulating medium. The amount of gold, which has passed through the British mint, from the accession of Elizabeth, 1558, to 1840, is, according to Professor Farraday, 3,353,561 pounds weight troy; and nearly one half of this was coined during the reign of George III.
Gold is a good thing, in charitable fingers; but it too frequently constructs for itself a chancel in our hearts. It then becomes the golden calf, and man an idolater. How dearly we get to love the chink and the glitter of our gold! How much like death it does seem, to go off ’change, before the last watch!
Three score years and ten, devoted to the turning of pennies! How many of us, after we have had our three warnings, still hobble up and down, day after day, infinitely more anxious about pennies, than we were, fifty years ago, about pounds! An angel, the spirit, for example, of Michael de Montaigne, perched upon the City Hall—the eastern end of the ridge pole—must be tempted to laugh heartily. Without any angelic pretensions, I have done so myself, when, upon certain emergencies, the kegs, boxes, and bags of gold and silver, hand-carted and hand borne, have gone from bank to bank, backward and forward, often, in a morning, like the slipper, in the jeu de pantoufle! What an interest is upon the faces of the crowd, who gaze upon the very kegs and boxes; feasting upon the bald idea—the unprofitable consciousness—that gold and silver are within; and reminding one of old George Herbert’s lines—
“Wise men with pity do behold
Fools worship mules, that carry gold.”
“Verily,” saith an ancient writer, “traffickers and the getters of gain, upon the mart, are like unto pismires, each struggling to bear off the largest mouthful.”
I am glad to see that the moderns are collecting the remains of good old George Herbert, and giving them an elegant surtout. His address to money is a jewel, and none the worse for its antique setting:
“Money! Thou bane of bliss, and source of wo!
Whence com’st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?
I know thy parentage is base and low;
Man found thee, poor and dirty, in a mine.
“Surely thou didst so little contribute
To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,
That he was fain, when thou wert destitute,
To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot.
“Then, forcing thee by fire, he made thee bright;
Nay, thou hast got the face of man, for we
Have, with our stamp and seal, transferred our right;
Thou art the man, and we but dross to thee!
“Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich,
And, while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.”
The mere selfish getters of gain, who dispense it not, are, civiliter et humaniter mortui—dead as a door nail—dead dogs in the manger! I come not to bury them, at present; but, if possible, to awaken some of them with my penny trumpet; otherwise they may die in good earnest in their sins; their last breath giving evidence of their ruling passion—muttering not the tête d’armée of Napoleon, but the last words of that accomplished Israelite, who caused his gold to be counted out, before his failing eyes—per shent.
No. XXXII.
Making mourning, as an abstract phrase, is about as intelligible, as making fish. These arbitrary modes of expression have ever been well enough understood, nevertheless, by those employed in the respective operations. Making mourning, in ancient times, was assigned to that class of hired women, termed præficæ, to whom I have had occasion to refer. They are thus described, by Stephans—adhiberi solebant funeri, mercede conductæ, ut flerent, et fortia facta laudarent—they were called to funerals, and paid, to shed tears, and relate the famous actions of the defunct. Doubtless, by practice, and continual exercise of the will over the lachrymary organs, they acquired the power of forcing mechanical tears. We have a specimen of this power, in the case of Miss Sophy Streatfield, so often referred to, by Madame D’Arblay, in her account of those happy days at Mrs. Thrale’s. Making mourning, in modern times, is, with a few touching exceptions, confined to that important class, the dress-makers.
The time allowed, for mourning, was determined, by the laws of Numa. Plutarch informs us, that no mourning was allowed, for a child, that died under three years, and for all others, a month, for every year it had lived, but never to exceed ten, which was the longest term, allowed for any mourning. We often meet with the term, luctus annus, the year of mourning; but the year of Romulus contained but ten months; and, though Numa added two, to the calendar, the term of mourning remained unchanged. The howlers, or wailing women, were employed also in Greece, and in Judea. Thus in Jeremiah ix. 17, call for the mourning women, &c., and let them make haste and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with tears, &c.
By the laws of Numa, widows were required to mourn ten months or during the year of Romulus. Thus Ovid, Fast. i. 35:
Per totidem menses a funere conjugis uxor
Sustinet in vidua tristia signa domo.
Numa was rather severe upon widows. The tristia signa, spoken of by Ovid, were sufficiently mournful. According to Kirchmaun de Fun. iv. 11, they were not to stir abroad in public—to abstain entirely from all entertainments—to lay aside every kind of ornament—to dress in black—and not even to kindle a fire, in their houses. Not content with stinting and freezing these poor, lone creatures, to death, Numa forbade them to repeat the matrimonial experiment, for ten months. Indeed, it was accounted infamous, for a widow to marry, within that period. As though he were resolved to add insult to injury, he, according to Plutarch, permitted those to violate this law, who would make up their minds, to sacrifice a cow with calf. This unnatural sacrifice was intended, by Numa, to frighten the widows. Doubtless, in many instances, the legislative bugbear was effectual; but it is quite probable there were some courageous women, in those days, as there are, at present, who would have slaughtered a whole drove,
