physical and intellectual—a shell for the sea, a stuffed bird or some feathers for the air, a curious piece of mineral for the earth, a glass of water with some flowers in it for the visible process of creation,—a cast from sculpture for the mind of man ;—and underneath all, is the bright and ever-springing fire, running up through them heavenwards, like hope through materiality. We like to have any little curiosity of the mantle-piece kind within our reach and inspection. For the same reason, we like a small study, where we are almost in contact with our books. We like to feel them about us ;-to be in the arms of our mistress Philosophy, rather than see her at a dis tance. To have a huge apartment for a study is like lying in the great bed at Ware, or being snug on a mile-stone upon Hounslow Heath. It is space and physical activity, not repose and concentration. It is fit only for grandeur and ostentation,-for those who have secretaries, and are to be approached like gods in a temple. The Archbishop of Toledo, no doubt, wrote his homilies in a room ninety feet long. The Marquis Marialva must have been approached by Gil Blas through whole ranks of glittering authors, standing at due distance. But Ariosto, whose mind could fly out of its nest over all nature, wrote over the house he built, " parva, sed apta mihi "-small, but suited to me. However, it is to be observed, that he could not afford a larger. He was a Duodenarian, in that respect, like ourselves. We do not know how our ideas of a study might expand with our walls. Montaigne, who was Montaigne" of that ilk" and lord of a great chateau, had a study "sixteen paces in diameter, with three noble and free prospects." He congratulates himself, at the same time, on its circular figure, evidently from a feeling allied to the one in favour of smallness. "The figure of my study," says he, " is round, and has no more flat (bare) wall, than what is taken up by my table and my chairs; so that the remaining parts of the circle present me with a view of all my books at once, set upon five degrees of shelves round about me." (Cotton's Montaigne, B. 3. ch. 3.) A great prospect we hold to be a very disputable advantage, upon the same reasoning as before; but we like to have some green boughs about our windows, and to fancy ourselves as much as possible in the country, when we are not there. Milton expressed a wish with regard to his study, extremely suitable to our present purpose. He would have the lamp in it seen; thus letting others into a share of his enjoyments, by the imagination of them. And let my lamp at midnight hour What world or what vast regions hold Her mansion in this fleshly nook. There is a fine passionate burst of enthusiasm on the subject of a study, in Fletcher's play of the Elder Brother, Act 1, Scene 2: Sordid and dunghill minds, composed of earth, Shake off that clog of human frailty. Give me And sometimes for variety I confer With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels; Unto a strict account; and in my fancy, To augment a heap of wealth: it shall be mine IV. ACONTIUS'S APPLE. ACONTIUS was a youth of the island of Cea (now Zia), who at the sacrifices in honour of Diana fell in love with the beautiful virgin, Cydippe. Unfortunately she was so much above him in rank, that he had no hope of obtaining her hand in the usual way; but the wit of a lover helped him to an expedient. There was a law in Cea, that any oath, pronounced in `the temple of Diana, was irrevocably binding. Acon tius got an apple, and writing some words upon it, pitched it into Cydippe's bosom. The words were these: ΜΑ ΤΗΝ ΑΡΤΕΜΙΝ ΑΚΟΝΤΙΩ ΓΑΜΟΥΜΑΙ. By Dian, I will marry Acontius. Or as a poet has written them: Juro tibi sanctæ per mystica sacra Dianæ, Thy bride betrothed, and bear thee company. Cydippe read, and married herself.-It is said that she was repeatedly on the eve of being married to another person; but her imagination, in the shape of the Goddess, as often threw her into a fever; and the lover, whose ardour and ingenuity had made an impression upon her, was made happy. Aristænetus in his Epistles calls the apple xvdwviov unλov, a Cretan apple, which is supposed to mean a quince; or as others think, an orange, or a citron. But the apple was, is, and must be, a true, unsophisticated apple. Nothing else would have suited. "The apples, methought," says Sir Philip Sydney of his heroine in the Arcadia, "fell down from the trees to do homage to the apples of her breast.” The idea seems to have originated with Theocritus (Idyl. 27. v. 50, edit. Valckenaer), from whom it was copied by the Italian writers. It makes a lovely figure in one of the most famous passages of Ariosto, where he describes the beauty of Alcina (Orlando Furioso, Canto 7. st. 14)— Bianca neve è il bel collo, e'l petto latte: Her bosom is like milk, her neck like snow; And after him, Tasso, in his fine ode on the Golden Age: Then among streams and flowers, The little Winged Powers Went singing carols, without torch or bow; The nymphs and shepherds sat Mingling with innocent chat Sports and low whispers, and with whispers low Kisses that would not go. |