Part 4 (2/2)

There was, a short time since, a farmer living at Ditch-heat in Somersets.h.i.+re, born without arms,--William Kingston, of whom frequent mention has been made in the public papers. He surpa.s.ses, according to accounts which seem very well attested, all that have been yet spoken of.

The following account was given a few years since, in the papers, by a person who visited him. ”In order to give the public a satisfactory account of William Kingston,” says the writer, ”I went to Ditcheat and the next morning got him to breakfast with me at Mrs. Goodfellow's, and had ocular proof of his dexterity. He highly entertained us at breakfast, by putting his half-naked feet upon the table as he sat, and carrying his tea and toast between his great and second toe to his mouth, with as much facility as if his foot had been a hand, and his toes fingers. I put half a sheet of paper upon the floor, with a pen and ink-horn. He threw off his shoes as he sat, took the ink-horn in the toes of his left foot, and held the pen in those of his right. He then wrote three lines as well as most ordinary writers, and as swiftly. He writes all his own bills and other accounts. He then shewed me how he shaves himself with the razor in his toes; and he can comb his own hair. He can dress and undress himself, except b.u.t.toning his clothes. He feeds himself, and can bring both his meat or his broth to his mouth, by holding the fork or spoon in his toes.

He cleans his own shoes, lights the fire, and does almost any domestic business as well as any other man. He can make hen-coops. He is a farmer by occupation. He can milk his cows with his toes, and cuts his own hay, binds it up in bundles, and carries it about the field for his cattle.

Last winter he had eight heifers constantly to fodder. The last summer he made all his hay-ricks. He can do all the business of the hay-field (except mowing) as fast and as well with his feet as others can with rakes and forks. He goes to the field, and catches his horse. He saddles and bridles him with his teeth and toes. If he has a sheep among his flock that ails any thing, he can separate it from the rest, and drive it into a corner when n.o.body else can: he then examines it, and applies a remedy to it. He is so strong in his teeth, that he can lift ten pecks of beans with them. He can throw a great sledge-hammer as far with his feet, as other men can with their hands. In a word, he can nearly do as much without as others can with their arms.

”He began the world with a hen and chickens. With the profit on these he procured a ewe. The sale of these procured a ragged colt (as he termed it) and a sheep, and he now occupies a small farm.”

”Necessity is the mother of invention.” This proverb was never more fully exemplified than in the cases above mentioned. Habit, early acquired and long practised, may render the toes almost as useful as the fingers: the lips are also endued with acute feeling and great flexibility, and may become powerful a.s.sistants where the hands are wanting. One lesson, at least, may be taught by this maimed tribe:--that few things are so difficult, that they cannot be acquired by perseverance and application.

While some persons are noted for their extraordinary and wonderful faculties, others are remarkable for defects in natural capacities. The reader will feel interested in the following CURIOUS ACCOUNT OF INCAPACITY OF DISTINGUIs.h.i.+NG COLOURS.

Of this extraordinary defect in vision, we have the following instances in the Philosophical Transactions for 1777. One of the persons lived at Maryport in c.u.mberland. The account was communicated by Mr. Huddart to Dr.

Priestley; and is as follows:--”His name was Harris; by trade a shoemaker.

I had often heard from others that he could discern the form and magnitude of all objects very distinctly, but could not distinguish colours. This report had excited my curiosity; I conversed with him frequently on the subject. The account he gave was this: That he had reason to believe other persons saw something in objects which he could not see: that their language seemed to mark qualities with precision and confidence, which he could only guess at with hesitation, and frequently with error. His first suspicion of this arose when he was about four years old. Having by accident found in the street, a child's stocking, he carried it to a neighbouring house to inquire for the owner: he observed the people called it a _red_ stocking, though he did not understand why they gave it that denomination, as he himself thought it completely described by being called _a stocking_. This circ.u.mstance, however, remained in his memory, and together with subsequent observations, led him to the knowledge of this defect. He also observed, that when young, other children could discern cherries on a tree by some pretended difference of colour, though he could only distinguish them from the leaves, by the difference of their size and shape. He observed also, that by means of this difference of colour they could see the cherries at a greater distance than he could, though he could see other objects at as great a distance as they, that is, where the sight was not a.s.sisted by the colour. Large objects he could see as well as other persons; and even the smaller ones, if they were not enveloped in other things, as in the case of cherries among the leaves. I believe he could never do more than guess the name of any colour; yet he could distinguish white from black, or black from any light or bright colour. Dove or straw colour he called _white_, and different colours he frequently called by the same name; yet he could discern a difference between them when placed together. In general, colours of an equal degree of brightness, however they might otherwise differ, he confounded together. Yet a striped ribbon he could distinguish from a plain one; but he could not tell what the colours were with any tolerable exactness. Dark colours, in general, he often mistook for black; but never imagined white to be a dark colour, nor dark to be a white colour. He was an intelligent man, and very desirous of understanding the nature of light and colours, for which end he had attended a course of lectures in natural philosophy.

He had two brothers in the same circ.u.mstances as to sight; and two others (brothers and sisters) who, as well as their parents, had nothing of this defect. One of the first mentioned brothers, who is now living, I met with at Dublin, and wished to try his capacity to distinguish the colours in a prism; but not having one by me, I asked him, whether he had ever seen a rainbow? he replied, he had often; and could distinguish the different colours; meaning only, that it was composed of different colours, for he could not tell what they were. I then procured, and shewed him a piece of ribbon: he immediately, and without any difficulty, p.r.o.nounced it a striped, and not a plain, ribbon. He then attempted to name the different stripes: the several stripes of white he uniformly, and without hesitation, called white: the four black stripes he was deceived in; for three of them he thought brown, though they were exactly of the same shade with the other, which he properly called black. He spoke, however, with diffidence, as to all those stripes; and it must be owned, that the black was not very distinct: the light green he called yellow; but he was not very positive: he said, ”I think this what you call yellow.” The middle stripe, which had a slight tinge of red, he called a sort of blue. But he was most of all deceived by the orange colour: of this he spoke very confidently, saying, ”This is the colour of gra.s.s, this is green.” I also shewed him a great variety of ribbons, the colour of which he sometimes named rightly, and sometimes as differently as possible from the true colour. I asked him, whether he imagined it possible for all the various colours he saw to be mere difference of light and shade; and that all colours could be composed of these two mixtures only? With some hesitation he replied, No, he did imagine there was some other difference. It is proper to add, that the experiment of the striped ribbon was made in the day-time, and in a good light.”

Incredible as the above phenomena may appear, we can add the following fact in confirmation of them, from personal knowledge. There is a gentleman now living in Edinburgh, whose optical nerves have laboured under a defect perfectly similar, since his infancy; but whose powers of vision are in other respects so much superior to those of most other people, that he draws the most striking likenesses, being a limner by profession, and requires for this purpose only once to see the person whose portrait is intended to be drawn, scarcely desiring a single sitting, much less repeated visiting. And what is still more extraordinary, he can, from such a momentary glance, retain the idea of the features, and even the gait and manner of the person, for years afterwards, so exactly as to be able to finish either a miniature head, or full portrait, at that distant period, as well as if the person were present. His friends, incredulous of this phenomenon, have, by placing his colours out of the order in which he keeps them, sometimes made him give a gentleman a _green beard_, and paint a beautiful young lady with a pair of _blue cheeks_.

We now proceed to the consideration of a very remarkable acquirement of man, called VENTRILOQUISM.

This is an art of speaking, by means of which the human voice and other sounds are rendered audible, as if they proceeded from several different places; though the utterer does not change his place, and in many instances does not appear to speak. It has been supposed to be a natural peculiarity; because few, if any persons, have learned it by being taught, and we have had no rules laid down for acquiring it. It seems to have been in consequence of this notion, that the name 'Ventriloquism' has been applied to it, from a supposition that the voice proceeds from the thorax or chest. It has seldom been practised but by persons of the lower cla.s.ses of society; and as it does not seem to present any advantages beyond that of causing surprise and entertainment, and cannot be exhibited on an extended theatre, the probability is, that it will continue amongst them.

Mr. Gough, in his Manchester Memoirs, and in various parts of Nicholson's Journal, has entertained the opinion that the voice of ventriloquists is made to proceed, in appearance, from different parts of a room, by the management of an echo. But the facts themselves do not support this hypothesis, as a great and sudden variety and change of echoes would be required; and his own judicious remarks, in the same work, on the facility with which we are deceived as to the direction of sound, are adverse to his theory. From numerous attentive observations, it appears manifest that the art is not peculiar to certain individuals, but may with facility be acquired by any person of accurate observation. It consists merely in an imitation of sounds, as they occur in nature, accompanied with appropriate action, of such a description as may best concur in leading the minds of the observers to favour the deception.

Any one who shall try, will be a little surprised to find how easy it is to imitate the noise made by a saw, or by a snuff-box when opened and shut, or by a large hand-bell, or cork-cutter's knife, a watch while going, and numberless other inanimate objects; or the voices of animals, in their various situations and necessities, such as a cat, a dog, or a hen enraged, intimidated, confined, &c.; or to vary the character of the human voice by shrillness or depth of tone, rapidity or drawling of execution, and distinctness or imperfection of articulation, which may be instantly changed by holding the mouth a little more opened or more closed than usual, altering the position of the jaw, keeping the tongue in any determinate situation, &c. And every one of the imitations of the ventriloquist will be rendered more perfect by practising them at the very time the sounds are heard, instead of depending on the memory. The leading condition of performance is, that the voices and sounds of the dramatic dialogue to be exhibited, should succeed each other so rapidly that the audience should lose sight of the probability that one actor gives effect to the whole, and that where the business is simple, the aid of scenery or local circ.u.mstance should be called in.

We have seen an eminent philosopher of our own time, who had no previous practice of this art, but when speaking on the subject in a mixed company, took up a hat, and folding the flaps together, said, by way of example, ”Suppose I had a small monkey in this hat;” and then cautiously putting his hand in, as if to catch it, he imitated the chatter of the supposed struggling animal, at the same time that his own efforts to secure it had a momentary impression on the spectators, which left no time to question whether there was a monkey in it or not: this impression was completed when, the instant afterwards, he pulled out his hand as if hurt, and exclaimed, ”He has bit me!” It was not till then that the impression of the reality gave way to the diversion arising from the mimic art; and one of the company, even then, cried out, ”Is there really a monkey in the hat?”

In this manner it was that, at the beginning of the last century, the famous Tom King, who is said to have been the first man who delivered public lectures on experimental philosophy in the country, was attended by the whole fas.h.i.+onable world, for a succession of many nights, to hear him ”kill a calf.” This performance was done in a separated part of the place of exhibition, into which the exhibiter retired alone; and the imagination of his polite hearers was taxed to supply the calf and three butchers, besides a dog who sometimes raised his voice, and was checked for his unnecessary exertions. It appears, from traditional narrative, that the calf was heard to be dragged in, not without some efforts and conversation on the part of the butchers, and noisy resistance from the calf; that they conversed on the qualities of the animal, and the profits to be expected from the veal; and that, as they proceeded, all the noises of knife and steel, of suspending the creature, and of the last fatal catastrophe, were heard in rapid succession, to the never-failing satisfaction of the attendants; who, upon the rise of the curtain, saw that all these imaginary personages had vanished, and Tom King alone remained to claim the applause.

A similar fact may be quoted in the person of that facetious gentleman, who has a.s.sumed and given celebrity to the name of Peter Pindar. This great poet, laughing at the proverbial poverty of his profession, is sometimes pleased to entertain his friends with singular effusions of the art we speak of. One of these is managed by a messenger announcing to the Doctor (in the midst of company) that a person wants to speak with him: he accordingly goes out, leaving the door a-jar, and immediately a female voice is heard, which, from the nature of the subject, appears to be that of the Poet's laundress, who complains of her pressing wants, disappointed claims, and of broken promises no longer to be borne with patience. It is more easy to imagine than describe the mixed emotions of the audience. The scene, however, goes on by the Doctor's reply; who remonstrates, promises, and is rather angry at the time and place of this unwelcome visit. His antagonist unfortunately is neither mollified nor disposed to quit her ground. Pa.s.sion increases on both sides, and the Doctor forgets himself so far as to threaten the irritated female; she defies him, and this last promise, very unlike the former ones, is followed by payment; a severe smack on the face is heard; the poor woman falls down stairs, with horrid outcries; the company, of course, rises in alarm, and the Doctor is found in a state of perfect tranquillity, apparently a stranger to the whole transaction.

A very able ventriloquist, Fitz-James, performed in public, in Soho-square, about four years ago. He personated various characters by appropriate dresses; and by a command of the muscles of his face he could very much alter his appearance. He imitated many inanimate noises, and among others, a repet.i.tion of noises of the water machine at Marli. He conversed with some statues, which replied to him; and also with some persons supposed to be in the room above, and on the landing-place; gave the watchman's cry, gradually approaching, and when he seemed opposite the window, Fitz-James opened it and asked what the time was, received the answer, and during his proceeding with his cry, Fitz-James shut the window, immediately upon which the sound became weaker, and at last insensible. In the whole of his performance, it was clear that the notions of the audience were governed by the auxiliary circ.u.mstances, as to direction, &c. This mimic had, at least, six different habitual modes of speaking, which he could instantly adapt one after the other, and with so much rapidity, that when in a small closet, parted off in the room, he gave a long, confused, and impa.s.sioned debate of democrats (in French, as almost the whole of his performance was;) it seemed to proceed from a mult.i.tude of speakers: and an inaccurate observer might have thought that several were speaking at once. A ludicrous scene of drawing a tooth was performed in the same manner.

These examples, and many more which might be added, are sufficient, in proof that ventriloquism is the art of mimicry, an imitation applied to sounds of every description, and attended with circ.u.mstances which produce an entertaining deception, and lead the hearers to imagine that the voice proceeds from different situations. When distant low voices are to be imitated, the articulation may be given with sufficient distinctness, without moving the lips, or altering the countenance. It was by a supposed supernatural voice of this kind, from a ventriloquist, that the famous musical small-coal man, Thomas Britton, received a warning of his death, which so greatly affected him, that he did not survive the affright.

The following quotation from Richerand's Physiology will be sufficient to give the reader a further idea of the mechanism of this singular art. ”At first,” says Richerand, ”I had conjectured that a great portion of the air driven out by expiration did not pa.s.s out by the mouth and nostrils, but was swallowed and carried into the stomach, reflected in some part of the digestive ca.n.a.l, and gave rise to a real echo; but after having attentively observed this curious phenomenon, in Mr. Fitz-James, who represents it in its greatest perfection, I was enabled to convince myself that the name ventriloquism is by no means applicable, since the whole of its mechanism consists in a slow gradual expiration, drawn in such a way that the artist either makes use of the influence exerted by volition over the muscles or parietis of the thorax, or that he keeps the epiglottis down by the base of the tongue, the apex of which is not carried beyond the dental arches.

”He always makes a strong inspiration just before this long expiration, and thus conveys a considerable ma.s.s of air into the lungs, the exit of which he afterwards manages with such address. Therefore, repletion of the stomach greatly incommodes the talent of Mr. Fitz-James, by preventing the diaphragm from descending sufficiently to admit of a dilatation of the thorax, in proportion to the quant.i.ty of air that the lungs should receive. By accelerating or r.e.t.a.r.ding the exit of the air, he can imitate different voices, and induce his auditors to a belief that the interlocutors of a dialogue, which is kept up by himself alone, are placed at different distances; and this illusion is the more complete in proportion to the perfection of his peculiar talent. No man possesses, to such a degree as Mr. Fitz-James, the art of deceiving persons who are least liable to delusion, he can carry his execution to five or six different tones, pa.s.s rapidly from one to another, as he does when representing an animated dispute in the midst of a popular a.s.sembly.”

Some persons are of opinion that the witch of Endor was a ventriloquist, and that she practised this art before King Saul, and deceived him in the resurrection of Samuel; the present writer, however, does not vouch for this opinion.

Another very extraordinary acquirement, and which the present writer has been witness to, is, SWORD-SWALLOWING.

This surprising act is performed by the Indian Jugglers; the following account of which, is extracted from Forbes's Oriental Memoirs.

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