The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-04-16 00:00:00

SOME PRECIOUS RBLIQUES,

" Two rings, formerly the property of and worn by
Lord Nelson; together with a 'combination knife'
used by his lordship." These were among the items
of a sale by auction the other day, at which were also
offered many other guaranteed mementoes of bygone
great men, including a pencil-case and a scent-bottle
of Lord Byron's ; the gold watch presented by the
citizens of Montreal to General Washington; and a
snuff-box made from the celebrated willow at St.
Helene, in which was set a portrait of the Emperor,
given by him to General Montholon. Here was at-
traction enough to draw together a large number of
those enthm hustle relic-hunters who collect autographs,
buy furniture which has been used by Kings and Prin-
cesses, and love to fill their cabinets with tokens of
historical personages. l'Cany people laugh at such a
passion for souvenirs and memorials; yet the relic-
hunters do but indulge a feeling common to all
humanity. Who is so hard-headed or cynical that he
shows himself proof against the charm of association?
Dean Swift kept a silken thread from the tresses of
Stella in his desk, upon the envelope of which was,
indeed, written, "Only a woman's hair 1" yet more
than once, no dcubt, the tear which conscience could
not draw from his eye fell at the sight of that reminder.
The Roman Catholic Church, indulgent to human
foibles, has ever countenanced relic-worship. Few are
her sacred edifices which fail to contain some alleged
remnants of the religious past, from pieces of the true
cross to the bones of the eleven thousand virgins of
Cologne. A little while ago an inquisitive geologist was
shown in a Romish chapel the fragment of a skeleton
reverenced as the patella of St. Augustin. He in-
stantly recognised and declared it to be a small bone
from the head of the spermwhale ; but the faith of
relic-worshippars is difficult to shake. It sometimes
survives the hardest assaults, as in the case of a
custodian of the Bodleian Library at Oxford, where
they used to show a cherished memento labelled the
skull of Oliver Cromwell. Awandering anatomist,well
up ii osteology, having inspected the treasure, ob-
served indignantly "But this is the cranium of a
youth of 20!" "Well, sir," was the answer, "what
prevents its being the skull of the Lord Protector
when he was a young man?" Still, although we
smile at the weakness, all are more or less prone to
it. Many people hoard up precious letters, the
writing pale with years; faded little bouquets or
rosebuds, a glove, a slipper, a lock of braided or
curly hair. Perhaps there is really something
magnetic in the mementoes which have come from
the possession of the beloved or the honoured
dead. An "aura," if there be any such thing,
of their personal sphere and influence may cling in-
visibly around the rings they carried, the implements
they used, the dress they wore. It is all very flue
for Pericles to say to his Athenians, "Of illustrious
personages the whole world is the tomb;" yet who
does not seem to stand nearer to him, to Miltiades,
and to the heroes of Thermopyle3 at Athens than in
Bloomsbury? It is a far juster sentiment which the
Persian verse attributes to the potsherd when it is
made to say, "I am not the rose, but I have lived nigh
to her." Let us not, therefore,' think too lightly of
the feeling which renders these relics of Nelson of
great pecuniary value. To smile at their happy pos-
sessor would be to laugh at the nation itselr, which
to this hour treasures in the Royal Naval Hospital at
Greenwich the coat and waistcoat stained with the
noble blood of England's most perfect hero, that
dauntless sailor-soul which more than any other won
for Britannia the yet unforfeited Empire of the
Seas.

Yes! the nation rightly treasures that dark-blue
coat of Nelson, with the kerseymere waistcoat, and
the other relics of the great admiral's death. Who
knows how many a young seaman visiting the Hos-
pital has caught the sacred flame of love of country,
and carried away in his heart a resolve to "do his
duty," gazing on that same russet stain which dyes the
garments of the conqueror of Trafalgar, and on the
gold lace epaulettes, torn and frayed by the passage
of the fatal bullet which flew from the maintop of the
Redoubtable? These rings of Nelson, this knife,
which could act as knife and fork together for the
one-armed sea-warrior, may very well set us thinking
of that marvellous career of victory, which ended by the
glorious death upon the ocean, in the cook-pit of the
grand old man-o'-war, still floating upon her sacred
shadow in Portsmouth Harbour. Never, assuredly,
did stouter heart inhabit a frame so slight and deli-
cate. Ho was a little bit of a man, thin and puny,
who was always sick on first going to sea; but to
whom, nevertheless, fear was absolutely unknown,
honour immeasurably dearer than life, and the
greatness and glory of his country precious beyond all
facrifices. Nobody was ever so dutiful, in small as
in great matters. When the Danes at Copenhagen
lifted all their buoys and sea-marks to baffle our
fleet, Nelson went himself in the boat of the Ele-
phant with his captain, Brisbane, to take soundings
and re-buoy the Channel. Nobody was ever so
sublimely cool in presence of danger. Think
of him writing his letter to the Crown Prince of
Denmark amid storms of shot! Nobody was ever
so reckless of himself in discharge of duty. See him,
for instance, rowing on the Baltic to join his ship at
Carlscrona. "It was extremely cold," writes Mr.
Briarly, "and I wished him to put on a great-coat of
mine which was in the boat. 'No ; I am not cold:
my anxiety for my country will keep me warm. Do
you think the fleet has sailed?' I should suppose
not, my Lord." If they have, we will follow them
in the boat, by - —.' The distance to Carlscrona was
about 5,1 leagues." Nobody was ever so sleeplessly
vigilant for England's sake. When the French fleet
put out from Cadiz in October, 1805, Nelson, by some
subt!e gift of foresight, became the first in all the
British ships to know it before a signal-gun from the
Enryalus announced that Villeneuve was on his way
to Cape Trafalgar. Nobody—despite our immortal
hero's admitted faults—mingled a more honest
piety with earnest patriotism ; witness that
moving, faithful, half-embarrassed prayer which he
offered up in his cabin before the tremendous sea-
fight, wherein, divided between his innate humanity
and his devotion to England, he supplicates the
Almighty:to grant a victory to his Majesty's flag, but
to restrain the shedding of the enemy's blood within
the smallest practicable limits. And, as none had
more gallantly lived, so no British Admiral ever more
meekly and simply died, taking Hardy's kiss upon his
cheek—a symbol of the kind salute and sad farewell
of his captains, his crews, and his fellow-countrymen.
Certainly the buyer of the rings that Nelson wore and
the knife he ate with, may treasure them without
shame, as sacred memorials, so long as sanctity
attaches to fidelity and patriotism, to manhood and
piety.

FACT VERSI73 FANCY.—A line in one of Moore's
songs reads thus: Our couch shall be roses bespangled
with dew. To which a sensible girl, according to
Landor, replied: 'Twould give me the rheumatiz, and
so it would you!
JERROLD had a fayourite dog, that followed him
everywhere. One day, in the country, a lady who
was passing turned round, and said audibly, What an
ugly ltttle brute! Whereupon Jerrold, addressing
the lady replied, Oh, madam! I wonder what he
thinks about us at this moment!
FOOTE having dined at the Merchant Tailors' Hall,
he was so well pleased with the entertainment that
be eat till most of the company left the table. At
length rising, he said: I wish both of you a very
good-night.—Both! exclaimed one of the company.
Why, you must be drunk, Foote; here are twenty of
us.—l have been counting you, and there are just
eighteen; and as nine tailors make a man, I an
right. I wish you both a vary good-nightl