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bitants. We have frequently in one day all the seasons of the year. I have shivered in the dog-days, and been forced to throw off my coat in January. I have gone to bed in August and rose in December. Summer has often caught me in my Drap de Berry, and winter in my Doily suit
. I remember a very whimsical fellow, (commonly known by the name of Posture-master), in King Charles the Second's reign, who was the plague of all the taylors about town. He would often send for one of them to take measure of him;t but would so contrive it as to have a most immoderate rising in one of his shoulders. When the clothes were brought home, and tried upon him, the deformity was removed into the other shoulder. Upon which the taylor begged pardon for the mistake, and mended it as fast as he could; but, upon a third trial, found him a straightshouldered man as one would desire to see, but a little unfortunate in a humped back. In short, this wandering tumour puzzled all the workmen about town, who found it impossible to accommodate so changeable a customer. My reader will apply this to any one who would adapt a suit to a season of our English climate.
After this short descant on the uncertainty of our English weather, I come to my moral,
A man should take care that his body be not too soft for his climate; but rather, if possible, harden and season himself beyond the degree of cold wherein he lives. Daily experience teaches us how we may inure ourselves by custom to bear the extremities of weather without injury. The inhabitants of Nova Zembla go naked, without complaining of the bleakness of the air in which they are born, as the armies of the northern nations keep the field all winter. The softest of our British ladies expose their arms and necks to the open air, which the men could not do without catching cold, for want of being accustomed to it. The whole body, by the same means, might contract the same firmness and temper. The Scythian that was asked how it was possible for the inhabitants of his frozen climate to go naked, replied, “Because we are all over face.” Mr. Locke advises parents to have their children's feet washed every morning in cold water, wbich might probably prolong multitudes of lives.
I verily believe a cold bath would be one of the most healthful exercises in the world, were it made use of in the education of youth. It would make their bodies more than proof to the injuries of the air and weather. It would be something like what the poets tell us of Achilles, whom his mother is said to have dipped, when he was a child, in the river Styx. The story adds, that this made him invulnerable all over, excepting that part which the mother held in her hand during this immersion, and which by that means lost the benefit of these hardening waters. Our com mon practice runs in a quite contrary method. We are perpetually softening ourselves by good fires and warm clothes. The air within our rooms has generally two or three more degrees of heat in it than the air without doors.
Crassus is an old, lethargic valetudinarian. For these twenty years last past, he has been clothed in frieze of the same colour and of the same piece. He fancies he should catch his death in any other kind of manufacture; and, though his avarice would incline him to wear it till it was thread-bare, he dares not do it, lest he should take cold when the nap is off. He could no more live without his frieze coat than without his skin. It is not, indeed, so properly his coat, as what the anatomists call one of the integuments of the body. • How different an old man is Crassus from myself. It is, indeed, the particular distinction of the Ironsides to be robust and hardy, to defy the cold and rain, and let the weather do its worst. My father lived till a hundred without a, cough; and we have a tradition in
the family, that my grandfather used to throw off his hat and go open breasted after four score. As for myself, they used to souse me over head and ears in water when I was a boy, so that I am now looked upon as one of the most case-hardened of the whole family of the Ironsides. In short, I have been so plunged in water and inured to the cold, that I regard myself as a piece of true-tempered Steele, and can say with the above-mentioned Scythian, that I am face, or, if
my enemies please, forehead, all over.
No. 103. THURSDAY, JULY 9.
Dum flammas Jovis, et sonitus imitatur Olympi. VIRG. I
Am considering how most of the great phænomena, or appearances in nature, have been imitated by the art of man. Thunder is grown a common drug among the chymists. Lightning may be bought by the pound. If a man has occasion for a lambent flame, you have whole sheets of it in a handful of phosphor. Showers of rain are to be met with in every water-work; and we are informed that some years ago the virtuosos of France covered a little vault with artificial snow, which they made to fall above an hour together, for the entertainment of his present majesty.
I am led into this train of thinking by the noble fire-work that was exhibited last night upon the Thames. You might there see a little sky filled with innumerable blazing stars and meteors. Nothing could be more astonishing than the pillars of flame, clouds of smoke, and multitudes of stars mingled together in such an agreeable confusion. Every rocket ended in a constellation, and strowed the air with such a shower of silver spangles, as opened and enlightened the whole scene from time to time. It put me in mind of the lines in Oedipus,
Why from the bleeding womb of monstrous night
Burst forth such myriads of abortive stars? In short, the artist did his part to admiration, and was so encompassed with fire and smoke, that one would have thought nothing but a salamander could have been safe in such a situation:
I was in company with two or three fanciful friends during this whole show. One of them being a critic, that is, a man who on all occasions is more attentive to what is wanting than what is present, begun to exert his talent upon the several objects we had before
“I am mightily pleased,” says he, “with that burning cypher. There is no matter in the world so proper to write with as wild-fire, as no characters can be more legible than those which are read by their own light. But as for your cardinal virtues, I do not care for seeing them in such combustible figures. Who can imagine Chastity with a body of fire, or Temperance in a flame? Justice, indeed, may be furnished out of this element as far as her sword goes, and Courage may be all over one continued blaze, if the artist pleases.
Our companion observing that we laughed at this unseasonable severity, let drop the critic, and proposed a subject for a fire-work, which he thought would be very amusing, if executed by so able an artist as he who was at that time entertaining us. The plan he mentioned was a scene in Milton. He would have a large piece of machinery represent the Pandæmonium, where
from the arched roof
As from a sky This might be finely represented by several illuminations disposed in a great frame of wood, with ten thousand beautiful exhalations of fire, which men versed in this art know very well how to raise. The Vol. IV.
evil spirits at the same time might very properly appear in vehicles of flame, and employ all the tricks of art to terrify and surprise the spectator.
We were well enough pleased with this start of thought, but fancied there was something in it too serious, and perhaps too horrid, to be put into execution.
Upon this a friend of mine gave us an account of a fire-work described, if I am not mistaken, by Strada. A prince of Italy, it seems, entertained his mistress with it upon a great lake. In the midst of this lake was a huge floating mountain, made by art. The mountain represented Ætna, being bored through the top with a monstrous orifice. Upon a signal given, the eruption began. Fire and smoke, mixed with several unusual prodigies and figures, made their appearance for some time. On a sudden there was heard a most dreadful rumbling noise within the entrails of the machine. After which the mountain burst, and discovered a vast cavity in that side which faced the prince and his court. Within this hollow was Vulcan's shop, full of fire and clock-work. A column of blue flame issued out incessantly from the forge. Vulcan was employed in hammering out thunder-bolts, that every now and then flew up from the anvil with dreadful cracks and flashes. Venus stood by him in a figure of the brightest fire, with numberless Cupids on all sides of her, that shot out vollies of burning arrows. Before her was an altar with hearts of fire flaming on it. I have forgot several other particulars no less curious, and have only mentioned these to show that there may be a sort of fable or design in a fire-work, which may give an additional beauty to those surprising objects.
I seldom see any thing that raises wonder in me, which does not give my thoughts a turn that makes my heart the better for it. As I was lying in my bed, and ruminating on what I had seen, I could not forbear reflecting on the insignificancy of human art,