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THE DANCE OF DEATH.

THAT dismal impersonation by which men are now accustomed to image forth the king of terrors, we owe to the middle ages. Though the figure of a skeleton has been occasionally found sculptured upon ancient tombs, it does not appear that it was ever there intended to be symbolical of death. An inverted torch, or some such graceful image, was usually adopted in classic ages to express the extinguishment of human life; and the tendency of the heathen mythology and philosophy was to dissociate the thought of the grave from any sentiments of unmanly dread.

The circumstances of the early Christians likewise tended to divest death and the grave from any associations that might awaken disgust or aversion. In the times when persecution raged, and martyrdom was not unfrequent, the faithful were taught and encouraged to look upon death as their great deliverer: the means of their triumph, and the herald of perpetual peace.

As ages rolled by, and the standard of human conduct became debased, men had reason to look with some apprehension on that event, which their religion informed them precluded all after change, and initiated them into their state of final happiness or woe. At the same time, their unrefined imagination required something gross and palpable to feed upon. The concealed truth, wrapt up in figures and symbols, they cared nothing for. It scarcely affected them at all. But any rude, homely illustration, no matter how coarse, was felt at once, and its truth and force readily acknowledged.

Under such circumstances, the human skeleton became everywhere regarded as the true and only type of death. When the idea first crept in, it is impossible to discover with any exactness; but by the close of the ninth century it was in universal use. Death once represented as an animated skeleton, the fiction of his appearing to different individuals, and summoning them away whether they would or not, seems little more than a variation of the original thought. It is supposed to have first been put definitely forward in an old Latin poem, written by a French monk. However this may be, the thought was eagerly seized upon, and, with its various embellishments, it became one of the most popular and fruitful fictions of the middle ages.

Death visiting the king, the serf, the bold man, the child, taking them off, one by one, with his most forcible persuasion, soon became a subject on which every rude painter tried his hand. It was represented in tableaux; the miser going off with his friend, and then the same friend calling away the lawyer, and then the priest, and so on; while the whole series was called "The Dance of Death." The Church seized upon the idea, and the Dominicans especially, who almost monopolized the preaching, had scarcely a convent which was not embellished with a "Dance of Death." They found it of invaluable use to them in their sermons, as every condition of men was implicated in this solemn merriment and, with such notes they could rarely fail to make an impressive discourse under any circumstances.

And in the cloisters of the cathedrals, on the walls, on the windows, on their public buildings, in the market place, on the bridges, nay, in private houses all through the northern part of Europe, especially during the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries, where might there not be found a "Dance of Death." The idea seemed to be especially congenial to the Teutonic mind. It worked its way indeed into every European literature, but the nations of German extraction most delighted to parade it in every possible form; and what sly satire

what of searching sarcasm, what grotesque humour, was it not made the vehicle! and yet the subject remained the most lugubrious that could occupy the thoughts of men. Here we see the first broad manifestation of that union of the comic and the terrible, the first balance of that strange taste which loves to contemplate buffoonery and solemnity intermingled, which is so peculiarly a characteristic of the German races.

The most celebrated of all these pieces was that which stood in a small shed in the church-yard of the Dominican convent at Basle; and which was standing, though in a dilapidated condition, so late as 1505. But the first publication upon this subject was issued at Lyons in 1538, and the prints were regarded as copies of works executed by the famous Hans Holbein, at Basle, his native place. This was soon republished with alterations, though it was not till 1545, that the work was arranged in the form in which it has come down to us. It soon attained an enormous popularity. Edition after edition was printed. The plates were transferred to missals and were used as illustrations of every kind of work. This always went by the name of "Holbein's Dance of Death," and for a long time the designs were regarded as the genuine work of that artist. But doubts have been raised upon this as upon so many other literary matters in which our fathers implicitly believed, though the weight of evidence still inclines in favour of Holbein.

The number of plates in this celebrated work amounts to fifty-three, though several of them appear to be interpolations, as they have little or nothing to do with the subject; while those which are strictly part of the Dance amount in number to forty-one. They differ from other designs on this subject, inasmuch as they frequently represent a group of persons, whereas the old paintings generally had only two individuals in each compartment, Death and his victim. The freedom, spirit, finish, and severe truth of some of these gems are truly wonderful. What a satire upon human vanity! And, oh! what fantastic humour is there; what irrepressible mirth breaks forth in every attitude of that strange dread spectre. There is the messenger bringing to a new-made cardinal the insignia of his dignity, and Death looks him in the face and takes the hat off ere it is well settled on his head. And the bishop, ah, you must come, and he tucks the prelate's arm under his own, and walks him off, to the bishop's unmitigated surprise; and see, he has put the abbot's mitre upon his own head, and has shouldered his crosier, and has got the abbot by the robe, and is laughing in the very intoxication of delight at his victim's futile reluctance. And there is the canon with his furred robe and rich vestments, walking leisurely to his cathedral, and Death steps behind him and holds up an hour-glass before his face. The sand has almost run out. And there is a friar preaching to a self-satisfied congregation, and Death peering over his head in the pulpit, and holding up a human bone. Churchmen are satirized, and kings, and emperors, age, and the Pope himself; and lawyers, and physicians, and every human passion and folly. There is the miser, who has barred himself up with his treasure, but Death walks in, in spite of bolts and bars, and helps himself to his gold at pleasure; and the merchant, who has just escaped shipwreck, grasps his recovered bales, but it is of no use, Death has got hold of him, and his recovered merchandise he must again abandon. And there is the bride, but Death is sporting even with her; and the young warrior fights with the courage of desperation, but Death is more than a match for him; and the newly-married pair are listening to each others converse, and Death is frantic with delight as he beats his suspended tabor, for there will be more work for him, so he will leave them alone for a while. There is a merry meeting, and Death pours the wine down the drunkard's throat. Death is fighting with a fiend in order to carry off the gamester, he clutches the robber just as he is chuckling over the success of his villany. The blind man submits

to his guidance, and he plays jocosely upon his dulcimer as he beguiles the old man into the open grave, takes the pack off the pedlar's back, and the fool prepares to have a merry bout with him, it will be his last. But there is one plate more touching than all, perhaps because there is less of satire in it. It shows us an old shed, bare and desolate, and a woman bowed down with poverty, is boiling some broth for her two children, when Death steps in and leads off the younger. In vain he stretches out his little hand to his mother, she can only utter exclamations of sorrow, for there is no one to help her. Why should that little one wish to remain amid all that wretchedness? Why should she wish to retain him? Oh, spare the innocent yet a little while! no; Death has him by the hand, and he cannot stay there longer. No wonder the fiction was popular. There was joy, sorrow, mirth, madness, misery-a stereotyped epitome of the world. Every one anxious, every one busy, and death sporting unexpectedly with all. It was a printed homily and satire combined, which all who read could understand, and there was a truth in it of tremendous significance, which all felt it their duty to apply though they did not always care to apply it.

The set of plates here alluded to as "Holbein's Dance of Death” has been published by Mr. H. G. Bohn, of Covent Garden, and, with the illustrative text, forms an interesting and important addition to that valuable series known as the "Antiquarian Library.” G. F. P.

A WINTER'S DAY.

BY VINCENT DOUN.

I LOVE to see a winter's day,

When earth assumes her garb of white:
Not summer in its radiance gay,

Can look so pure and bright:

The spotless dress which nature wears

Is that in which she best appears.

I love to see adorned the hills,

Ground decked, and trees enrobed with snow,

Far greater pleasure it instils,

Than autumn's fervid glow:

For then is nature better seen,

Than when she wears her robe of green.

I love to see a winter's day

Though herald of the year's decline;
It makes it bright in its decay,

And happier, man, than thine:
For this renews, ere going hence,
Its childhood's garb of innocence.

"THE TIMES," AND MR. TIDD PRATT'S ANNUAL REPORT ON FRIENDLY SOCIETIES.

BY CHARLES HARDWICK, P.G.M.

MR. PRATT'S Annual Report was ordered by parliament to be printed on the 5th of August last. It contains important statistical information, much sound advice, together with the usual sprinkling of official horror at what the Registrar, the Times newspaper, and some other distinguished parties seem to regard as the reckless, improvident, nay, drunken habits of men who are not only ostensibly but really banded together for provident purposes. A careful perusal of this report will, however, be of advantage to the members of the Manchester Unity, as well as of other societies less advanced in statistical knowledge. From their practical experience they will be enabled to place the true value upon some of the theories propounded by the worthy Registrar, and profit by the remainder. We must accept the tares along with the wheat, in official as well as agricultural routine. Our chief concern is, that we should not confound the one with the other, and pronounce the whole worthless, because some of the accessories are distasteful.

Our old enemy, the Times newspaper, is as fierce and rampant as heretofore on this subject, but much reduced in power. He has evidently had a little of the wind taken out of him by our previous encounters. In his ungovernable rage against self-governed friendly societies, and their pretensions to a respectable social status, he not only assaults with an ignorant virulence, unusual in the discussion of such questions, the most provident section of the operative population, but what is even more unusual in the Times' leaders, he considerably disfigures, and renders shockingly unintelligible, the Queen's English also. Yes, the recent article in the leading journal betrays a want of knowledge only equalled by its want of temper. Under such circumstances it could scarcely be expected but that the usual flippant, dashing declamation of the "thunderer" would become somewhat unsteady and ponderous in its roll. Indeed the redoubtable scribe seems to confess himself unequal to his task in the very first sentence of his magniloquent tirade. His first typographical bullet is fashioned as follows:-"There is no greater puzzle in this country than its friendly societies." Certainly not to men who are only in possession of a tithe of the truth respecting them, and that tithe handicapped with twice its own weight of falsehood. Really it is very funny to witness the ugly contortions which accompany this writer's spasmodic attempt to expound the nature of the "puzzle" which so pertinaciously defies all his knowledge and all his rhetorical power. Before referring to the special vituperation in the Times' leader and review of the 7th of October, I will ply the more genial task of selecting from Mr. Pratt's report some matters for congratulation and some for instruction.

In the very first paragraph, Mr. Pratt expresses his regret "that the formation of friendly societies where the funds are shared yearly or periodically, still continues." He however adds, "Under these circumstances the Registrar, not being justified in withholding his certificate, has, previously to granting it, pointed out to the members the remarks contained in pages 15 to 17 of his Report for the year 1857, where the subject is fully discussed; and

in some few instances the result has been that sharing has been abandoned, and a permanent society has been established." I have the satisfaction of informing him that large numbers belonging to two others of this class seceded a few weeks ago, in Cheshire, after listening to my lecture on friendly societies. These inen, so far from being offended at my observations, applied to me for instruction how they were to proceed in their effort to establish a society on a sounder footing. Yet, singularly enough, Lord Albemarle, the protégé of the Times, but very recently recommended societies of this class, even when denouncing the imperfections of others. In Norfolk and Suffolk they are called appropriately" goose clubs," in Cheshire and neighbouring counties, "dividend clubs." They have generally an equal contribution, whatever the age on entrance, and the surplus fund is divided at the end of the year. The consequence was, in one of the instances referred to, the young men were actually paying a much higher subscription than their liabilities demanded, which the older portion, who did not pay sufficient for theirs, shared equally with their juvenile friends the surplus capital at the year's end. Of course it is utterly unnecessary to formally condemn such a society to the members of the Manchester Unity. Yet one of these very Cheshire clubs has been in existence much over half a century, and has received the patronage and approval of wealthy landowners and stalwart yeomen during that period. Will this fact help the Times writer to read the "puzzle" of the modern Sphynx?

Mr. Pratt explains the reason why he procured the insertion of the "winding-up" clause in the recent Act of Parliament. It appears that it was more especially intended to meet the case of the "Mutual Benefit Society," formerly held at No. 51, Threadneedle-street, in the city of London. * The history of the society is as follows:-"It was commenced in the year 1820, under the patronage, as appears from the title-page of the published rules, of several noblemen and gentlemen, who allowed their names to be used as a guarantee of the soundness of the society. In addition to the list of patrons, it was stated on the title-page that there was to be a subscribed capital of £20,000. Of this large sum, in figures, it seems that only £180 was ever subscribed, and even this was returned to the subscribers. In fact the guarantee of the subscribed capital never existed, but on paper. Some of the members appear to have been early aware of the instability of the society, for in the year 1824 a considerable number seceded, and formed a new society, called the 'London Friendly Institution,' which is still in existence, and has offices in London Wall, with 2,350 members, and an invested capital of £16,000." When it is remembered that in 1825 neither parliamentary committees nor learned actuaries were able to foresee the disastrous consequences which have resulted from the use of the rates of payment then recommended, perhaps the Times may be induced to show some mercy to the "deluded" noblemen and gentlemen who so patriotically guaranteed the soundness of this society; but of course the poor deluded members, who trusted to their knowledge and judgment, will still furnish sufficient evidence to justify the monstrous assertion that our friendly societies, without any exception, are "at variance with sound principles of morality and prudence; they belie the boasted honour and good sense of Englishmen ; they prove him incapable of self-government; not a word can be said in their defence." Whether the Times can see it not, there is in Mr. Pratt's little history something that may assist in the solution of the riddle referred to. Genteel ignorance, however, may be tolerated, but poverty and ignorance in combination is monstrous! It is to be hoped the Times' writer's purse is well supplied, as his ignorance on the subject of friendly societies would otherwise unquestionably involve himself in his eloquent and patriotic (?) denunciation. If this unscrupulous writer did not know, when he penned

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